Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents

W >> William Beckford >> Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents

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Transcribed from the 1891 Ward, Lock and Co. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents; in a Series of Letters from
Various Parts of Europe

LETTER I

June 19th, 1780.--Shall I tell you my dreams?--To give an account of
my time is doing, I assure you, but little better. Never did there
exist a more ideal being. A frequent mist hovers before my eyes,
and, through its medium, I see objects so faint and hazy, that both
their colours and forms are apt to delude me. This is a rare
confession, say the wise, for a traveller to make: pretty accounts
will such a one give of outlandish countries: his correspondents
must reap great benefit, no doubt, from such purblind observations.
But stop, my good friends; patience a moment!--I really have not the
vanity of pretending to make a single remark, during the whole of my
journey: if--be contented with my visionary way of gazing, I am
perfectly pleased; and shall write away as freely as Mr. A., Mr. B.,
Mr. C., and a million others whose letters are the admiration of the
politest circles.

All through Kent did I doze as usual; now and then I opened my eyes
to take in an idea or two of the green, woody country through which I
was passing; then closed them again; transported myself back to my
native hills; thought I led a choir of those I loved best through
their shades; and was happy in the arms of illusion. The sun set
before I recovered my senses enough to discover plainly the
variegated slopes near Canterbury, waving with slender birch-trees,
and gilt with a profusion of broom. I thought myself still in my
beloved solitude, but missed the companions of my slumbers. Where
are they?--Behind yon blue hills, perhaps, or t'other side of that
thick forest. My fancy was travelling after these deserters, till we
reached the town; vile enough o' conscience, and fit only to be
passed in one's sleep. The moment after I got out of the carriage,
brought me to the cathedral; an old haunt of mine. I had always
venerated its lofty pillars, dim aisles, and mysterious arches. Last
night they were more solemn than ever, and echoed no other sound than
my steps. I strayed about the choir and chapels, till they grew so
dark and dismal, that I was half inclined to be frightened; looked
over my shoulder; thought of spectres that have an awkward trick of
syllabling men's names in dreary places; and fancied a sepulchral
voice exclaiming: "Worship my toe at Ghent; my ribs at Florence; my
skull at Bologna, Sienna, and Rome. Beware how you neglect this
order; for my bones, as well as my spirit, have the miraculous
property of being here, there, and everywhere." These injunctions,
you may suppose, were received in a becoming manner, and noted all
down in my pocket-book by inspiration (for I could not see), and
hurrying into the open air, I was whirled away in the dark to
Margate. Don't ask what were my dreams thither: --nothing but
horrors, deep-vaulted tombs, and pale, though lovely figures,
extended upon them; shrill blasts that sung in my ears, and filled me
with sadness, and the recollection of happy hours, fleeting away,
perhaps for ever! I was not sorry, when the bustle of our coming-in
dispelled these phantoms. The change, however, in point of scenery
was not calculated to dissipate my gloom; for the first object in
this world that presented itself, was a vast expanse of sea, just
visible by the gleamings of the moon, bathed in watery clouds; a
chill air ruffled the waves. I went to shiver a few melancholy
moments on the shore. How often did I try to wish away the reality
of my separation from those I love, and attempt to persuade myself it
was but a dream!

This morning I found myself more cheerfully disposed, by the queer
Dutch faces with short pipes and ginger-bread complexions that came
smirking and scraping to get us on board their respective vessels;
but, as I had a ship engaged for me before, their invitations were
all in vain. The wind blows fair; and, should it continue of the
same mind a few hours longer, we shall have no cause to complain of
our passage. Adieu! Think of me sometimes. If you write
immediately, I shall receive your letter at the Hague.

It is a bright sunny evening: the sea reflects a thousand glowing
colours, and, in a minute or two, I shall be gliding on its surface.

LETTER II

OSTEND, June 21st.

T'other minute I was in Greece, gathering the bloom of Hymettus, but
now I am landed in Flanders, smoked with tobacco, and half poisoned
with garlic. Were I to remain ten days at Ostend, I should scarcely
have one delightful vision; 'tis so unclassic a place--nothing but
preposterous Flemish roofs disgust your eyes when you cast them
upwards; swaggering Dutchmen and mongrel barbers are the principal
objects they meet with below. I should esteem myself in luck, were
the nuisances of this seaport confined only to two senses; but, alas!
the apartment above my head proves a squalling brattery, and the
sounds which proceed from it are so loud and frequent, that a person
might think himself in limbo, without any extravagance.

Am I not an object of pity, when I tell you that I was tormented
yesterday by a similar cause? But I know not how it is; your violent
complainers are the least apt to excite compassion. I believe,
notwithstanding, if another rising generation should lodge above me
at the next inn, I shall grow as scurrilous as Dr. Smollett, and be
dignified with the appellation of the Younger Smelfungus. Well, let
those make out my diploma that will, I am determined to vent my
spleen, and like Lucifer, unable to enjoy comfort myself, tease
others with the details of my vexatious. You must know, then, since
I am resolved to grumble, that, tired with my passage, I went to the
Capuchin church, a large solemn building, in search of silence and
solitude; but here again was I disappointed. Half-a-dozen squeaking
fiddles fugued and flourished away in the galleries, and as many
paralytic monks gabbled before the altars, while a whole posse of
devotees, in long white hoods and flannels, were sweltering on either
side.

Such piety, in warm weather, was no very fragrant circumstance; so I
sought the open air again as fast as I was able. The serenity of the
evening, joined to the desire I had of casting another glance over
the ocean, tempted me to the ramparts. There, at least, thought I to
myself, I may range undisturbed, and talk with my old friends the
breezes, and address my discourse to the waves, and be as romantic
and whimsical as I please; but it happened that I had scarcely begun
my apostrophe, before out flaunted a whole rank of officers, with
ladies and abbes and puppy dogs, singing, and flirting, and making
such a hubbub, that I had not one peaceful moment to observe the
bright tints of the western horizon, or enjoy the series of antique
ideas with which a calm sunset never fails to inspire me.

Finding, therefore, no quiet abroad, I returned to my inn, and should
have gone immediately to bed, in hopes of relapsing into the bosom of
dreams and delusions; but the limbo I mentioned before grew so very
outrageous, that I was obliged to postpone my rest till sugar-plums
and nursery eloquence had hushed it to repose. At length peace was
restored, and about eleven o'clock I fell into a slumber, during
which the most lovely Sicilian prospects filled the eye of my fancy.
I anticipated the classic scenes of that famous island, and forgot
every sorrow in the meadows of Enna.

Next morning, awakened by the sunbeams, I arose quite refreshed by
the agreeable impressions of my dream, and filled with presages of
future happiness in the climes which had inspired them. No other
idea but such as Trinacria and Naples suggested, haunted me whilst
travelling to Ghent. I neither heard the vile Flemish dialect which
was talking around me, nor noticed formal avenues and marshy country
which we passed. When we stopped to change horses, I closed my eyes
upon the whole scene, and was transported immediately to some Grecian
solitude, where Theocritus and his shepherds were filling the air
with melody. To one so far gone in poetic antiquity, Ghent is not
the most likely place to recall his attention; and I know nothing
more about it, than that it is a large, ill-paved, dismal-looking
city, with a decent proportion of convents and chapels, stuffed with
monuments, brazen gates, and glittering marbles. In the great church
were two or three pictures by Rubens, mechanically excellent, but
these realities were not designed in so graceful a manner as to
divert my attention from the mere descriptions Pausanias gives us of
the works of Grecian artists, and I would at any time fall asleep in
a Flemish cathedral, for a vision of the temple of Olympian Jupiter.
But I think I hear, at this moment, some grave and respectable
personage chiding me for such levities, and saying, "Really, Sir, you
had better stay at home, and dream in your great chair, than give
yourself the trouble of going post through Europe, in search of
inspiring places to fall asleep. If Flanders and Holland are to be
dreamed over at this rate, you had better take ship at once, and doze
all the way to Italy." Upon my word, I should not have much
objection to that scheme; and, if some cabalist would but transport
me in an instant to the summit of AEtna, any body might slop through
the Low Countries that pleased.

Being, however, so far advanced, there was no retracting; and as it
is now three or four years since I have almost abandoned the hopes of
discovering a necromancer, I resolved to journey along with Quiet and
Content for my companions. These two comfortable deities have, I
believe, taken Flanders under their especial protection; every step
one advances discovering some new proof of their influence. The
neatness of the houses, and the universal cleanliness of the
villages, show plainly that their inhabitants live in ease and good
humour. All is still and peaceful in these fertile lowlands: the
eye meets nothing but round, unmeaning faces at every door, and
harmless stupidity smiling at every window. The beasts, as placid as
their masters, graze on without any disturbance; and I scarcely
recollect to have heard one grunting swine or snarling mastiff during
my whole progress. Before every village is a wealthy dunghill, not
at all offensive, because but seldom disturbed; and there they bask
in the sun, and wallow at their ease, till the hour of death and
bacon arrives, when capacious paunches await them. If I may judge
from the healthy looks and reposed complexions of the Flemings, they
have every reason to expect a peaceful tomb.

But it is high time to leave our swinish moralities behind us, and to
jog on towards Antwerp. More rich pastures, more ample fields of
grain, more flourishing willows!--a boundless plain before this city,
dotted with cows and flowers, from whence its spires and quaint roofs
are seen to advantage. The pale colours of the sky, and a few gleams
of watery sunshine, gave a true Flemish cast to the scenery, and
everything appeared so consistent, that I had not a shadow of
pretence to think myself asleep.

After crossing a broad, noble river, edged on one side by beds of
osiers beautifully green, and on the other by gates and turrets
preposterously ugly, we came through several streets of lofty houses
to our inn. Its situation in the "Place de Mer," a vast open space
surrounded by buildings above buildings, and roof above roof, has
something striking and singular. A tall gilt crucifix of bronze,
sculptured by some famous artist, adds to its splendour; and the tops
of some tufted trees, seen above a line of magnificent hotels, have
no bad effect in the perspective.

It was almost dusk when we arrived; and as I am very partial to new
objects discovered by this dubious visionary light, I went
immediately a-rambling. Not a sound disturbed my meditations; there
were no groups of squabbling children or talkative old women. The
whole town seemed retired into their inmost chambers; and I kept
winding and turning about, from street to street, and from alley to
alley, without meeting a single inhabitant. Now and then, indeed,
one or two women in long cloaks and mantles glided about at a
distance; but their dress was so shroud-like, and their whole
appearance so ghostly, that I was more than half afraid to accost
them. As the night approached, the ranges of buildings grew more and
more dim, and the silence which reigned amongst them more awful. The
canals, which in some places intersect the streets, were likewise in
perfect solitude, and there was just light sufficient for me to
observe on the still waters the reflection of the structures above
them. Except two or three tapers glimmering through the casements,
no one circumstance indicated human existence. I might, without
being thought very romantic, have imagined myself in the city of
petrified people, which Arabian fabulists are so fond of describing.
Were any one to ask my advice upon the subject of retirement, I
should tell him,--By all means repair to Antwerp. No village amongst
the Alps, or hermitage upon Mount Lebanon, is less disturbed: you
may pass your days in this great city without being the least
conscious of its sixty thousand inhabitants, unless you visit the
churches. There, indeed, are to be heard a few devout whispers, and
sometimes, to be sure, the bells make a little chiming; but walk
about, as I do, in the twilights of midsummer, and be assured your
ears will be free from all molestation.

You can have no idea how many strange, amusing fancies played around
me whilst I wandered along; nor how delighted I was with the novelty
of my situation. But a few days ago, thought I within myself, I was
in the midst of all the tumult and uproar of London: now, as if by
some magic influence, I am transported to a city equally remarkable
for streets and edifices, but whose inhabitants seem cast into a
profound repose. What a pity that we cannot borrow some small share
of this soporific disposition! It would temper that restless spirit
which throws us sometimes into such dreadful convulsions. However,
let us not be too precipitate in desiring so dead a calm; the time
may arrive when, like Antwerp, we may sink into the arms of
forgetfulness; when a fine verdure may carpet our Exchange, and
passengers traverse the Strand, without any danger of being smothered
in crowds, or lost in the confusion of carriages.

Reflecting, in this manner, upon the silence of the place, contrasted
with the important bustle which formerly rendered it so famous, I
insensibly drew near to the cathedral, and found myself, before I was
aware, under its stupendous tower. It is difficult to conceive an
object more solemn or imposing than this edifice at the hour I first
beheld it. Dark shades hindered my examining the lower galleries or
windows; their elaborate carved work was invisible; nothing but huge
masses of building met my sight, and the tower, shooting up four
hundred and sixty-six feet into the air, received an additional
importance from the gloom which prevailed below. The sky being
perfectly clear, several stars twinkled through the mosaic of the
spire, and added not a little to its enchanted effect. I longed to
ascend it that instant, to stretch myself out upon its very summit,
and calculate from so sublime an elevation the influence of the
planets.

Whilst I was indulging my astrological reveries, a ponderous bell
struck ten, and such a peal of chimes succeeded, as shook the whole
edifice, notwithstanding its bulk, and drove me away in a hurry. No
mob obstructed my passage, and I ran through a succession of streets,
free and unmolested, as if I had been skimming along over the downs
of Wiltshire. My servants conversing before the hotel were the only
sounds which the great "Place de Mer" echoed.

This universal stillness was the more pleasing, when I looked back
upon those scenes of horror and outcry which filled London but a week
or two ago, when danger was not confined to night only, and the
environs of the capital, but haunted our streets at midday. Here, I
could wander over an entire city; stray by the port, and venture
through the most obscure alleys, without a single apprehension;
without beholding a sky red and portentous with the light of fires,
or hearing the confused and terrifying murmurs of shouts and groans,
mingled with the reports of artillery. I can assure you, I think
myself very fortunate to have escaped the possibility of another such
week of desolation, and to be peaceably roosted at Antwerp. Were I
not still fatigued with my heavy progress through sands and
quagmires, I should descant a little longer upon the blessings of so
quiet a metropolis, but it is growing late, and I must retire to
enjoy it.

LETTER III

ANTWERP, June 23rd.

My windows look full upon the Place de Mer, and the sun, beaming
through their white curtains, awoke me from a dream of Arabian
happiness. Imagination had procured herself a tent on the mountains
of Sanaa, covered with coffee-trees in bloom. She was presenting me
the essence of their flowers, and was just telling me that you
possessed a pavilion on a neighbouring hill, when the sunshine
dispelled the vision; and opening my eyes, I found myself pent in by
Flemish spires and buildings: no hills, no verdure, no aromatic
breezes, no hope of being in your vicinity: all were vanished with
the shadows of fancy, and I was left alone to deplore your absence.
But I think it rather selfish to wish you here, for what pleasure
could pacing from one dull church to another, afford a person of your
turn? I don't believe you would catch a taste for blubbering
Magdalens and coarse Madonnas, by lolling in Rubens' chair; nor do I
believe a view of the Ostades and Snyders, so liberally scattered in
every collection, would greatly improve your pencil.

After breakfast this morning I began my pilgrimage to all those
illustrious cabinets. First, I went to Monsieur Van Lencren's, who
possesses a suite of apartments, lined, from the base to the cornice,
with the rarest productions of the Flemish school. Heavens forbid I
should enter into a detail of their niceties! I might as well count
the dew-drops upon any of Van Huysem's flower-pieces, or the pimples
on their possessor's countenance; a very good sort of man, indeed;
but from whom I was not at all sorry to be delivered.

My joy was, however, of short duration, as a few minutes brought me
into the courtyard of the Chanoin Knyfe's habitation; a snug abode,
well furnished with easy chairs and orthodox couches. After viewing
the rooms on the first floor, we mounted a gentle staircase, and
entered an ante-chamber, which those who delight in the imitations of
art rather than of nature, in the likenesses of joint stools and the
portraits of tankards, would esteem most capitally adorned: but it
must be confessed, that, amongst these uninteresting performances,
are dispersed a few striking Berghems and agreeable Polemburgs. In
the gallery adjoining, two or three Rosa de Tivolis merit
observation; and a large Teniers, representing a St. Anthony
surrounded by a malicious fry of imps and leering devilesses, is well
calculated to display the whimsical buffoonery of a Dutch
imagination.

I was observing this strange medley, when the Canon made his
appearance; and a most prepossessing figure he has, according to
Flemish ideas. In my humble opinion his Reverence looked a little
muddled or so; and, to be sure, the description I afterwards heard of
his style of living, favours not a little my surmises. This worthy
dignitary, what with his private fortune and the good things of the
church, enjoys a revenue of about five thousand pounds sterling,
which he contrives to get rid of in the joys of the table and the
encouragement of the pencil.

His servants, perhaps, assist not a little in the expenditure of so
comfortable an income; the Canon being upon a very social footing
with them all. At four o'clock in the afternoon, a select party
attend him in his coach to an alehouse about a league from the city;
where a table, well spread with jugs of beer and handsome cheeses,
waits their arrival. After enjoying this rural fare, the same
equipage conducts them back again, by all accounts, much faster than
they came; which may well be conceived, as the coachman is one of the
brightest wits of the entertainment.

My compliments, alas! were not much relished, you may suppose, by
this jovial personage. I said a few favourable words of Polemburg,
and offered up a small tribute of praise to the memory of Berghem;
but, as I could not prevail upon Mynheer Knyfe to expand, I made one
of my best bows, and left him to the enjoyment of his domestic
felicity.

In my way home, I looked into another cabinet, the greatest ornament
of which was a most sublime thistle by Snyders, of the heroic size,
and so faithfully imitated that I dare say no ass could see it
unmoved. At length, it was lawful to return home; and as I
positively refused visiting any more cabinets in the afternoon, I
sent for a harpsichord of Rucker, and played myself quite out of the
Netherlands.

It was late before I finished my musical excursion, and I took
advantage of this dusky moment to revisit the cathedral. A flight of
starlings was fluttering about one of the pinnacles of the tower;
their faint chirpings were the only sounds that broke the stillness
of the air. Not a human form appeared at any of the windows around;
no footsteps were audible in the opening before the grand entrance;
and, during the half hour I spent in walking to and fro beneath the
spire, one solitary Franciscan was the only creature that accosted
me. From him I learnt that a grand service was to be performed next
day in honour of St. John the Baptist, and the best music in Flanders
would be called forth on the occasion. As I had seen cabinets enough
to form some slight judgment of Flemish painting, I determined to
stay one day longer at Antwerp to hear a little how its inhabitants
were disposed to harmony.

Having taken this resolution, I formed an acquaintance with Mynheer
Vander Bosch, the first organist of the place, who very kindly
permitted me to sit next him in his gallery during the celebration of
high mass. The service ended, I strayed about the aisles, and
examined the innumerable chapels which decorate them, whilst Mynheer
Vander Bosch thundered and lightened away upon his huge organ with
fifty stops.

When the first flashes of execution were a little subsided, I took an
opportunity of surveying the celebrated "Descent from the Cross,"
which has ever been esteemed one of Rubens's chef d'oeuvres, and for
which they say old Lewis Baboon offered no less a sum than forty
thousand florins. The principal figure has, doubtless, a very
meritorious paleness, and looks as dead as an artist could desire;
the rest of the group have been so liberally praised, that there is
no occasion to add another tittle of commendation. A swinging St.
Christopher, fording a brook with a child on his shoulders, cannot
fail of attracting your attention. This colossal personage is
painted on the folding-doors which defend the capital performance
just mentioned from vulgar eyes; and here Rubens has selected a very
proper subject to display the gigantic coarseness of his pencil.

Had this powerful artist confined his strength to the representation
of agonizing thieves and sturdy Barabbases, nobody would have been
readier than your humble servant to offer incense at his shrine, but
when I find him lost in the flounces of the Virgin's drapery, or
bewildered in the graces of St. Catherine's smile, pardon me if I
withhold my adoration. After I had most dutifully observed all the
Rubenses in the church, I walked half over Antwerp in search of St.
John's relics, which were moving about in procession, but an
heretical wind having extinguished all their tapers, and discomposed
the canopy over the Bon Dieu, I cannot say much for the grandeur of
the spectacle. If my eyes were not greatly regaled by the Saint's
magnificence, my ears were greatly affected in the evening by the
music which sang forth his praises. The cathedral was crowded with
devotees and perfumed with incense. Several of its marble altars
gleamed with the reflection of lamps, and, altogether, the spectacle
was new and imposing. I knelt very piously in one of the aisles
while a symphony in the best style of Corelli, performed with taste
and feeling, transported me to Italian climates, and I was quite
vexed, when a cessation dissolved the charm, to think that I had
still so many tramontane regions to pass, before I could in effect
reach that classic country, where my spirit had so long taken up its
abode. Finding it was in vain to wish or expect any preternatural
interposition, and perceiving no conscious angel, or Loretto-vehicle,
waiting in some dark consecrated corner to bear me away, I humbly
returned to my hotel in the Place de Mer, and soothed myself with
some terrestrial harmony; till, my eyes growing heavy, I fell fast
asleep, and entered the empire of dreams, according to custom, by its
ivory portal. What passed in those shadowy realms is too thin and
unsubstantial to be committed to paper. The very breath of waking
mortals would dissipate all the train, and drive them eternally away;
give me leave, therefore, to omit the relation of my visionary
travels, and have the patience to pursue a sketch of my real ones
from Antwerp to the Hague.

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