Transcribed from the 1893 edition ,
The Manuscript of the following Letters, written by my Father, hasbeen in my possession fifty years. He intended to publish it atthe time of Mr. Beckford’s death, in 1844, but delayed the executionof the work, and sixteen years afterwards was himself called to enteron the higher life of the spiritual world.
Mr. Beckford and my Father were kindred spirits, conversant withthe same authors, had visited the same countries, and were both giftedwith extraordinary memories. Mr. Beckford said that he had nevermet with a man possessed of such a memory as my Father; and many a timehas my Father told me that he never met a man who possessed such a memoryas Mr. Beckford.
If my Father had published the Reminiscences himself I think thatmuch 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 beplaced, he remarked, “There shall I lie, Lansdown, until the trumpof God shall rouse me on the Resurrection morn.”
CHARLOTTE LANSDOWN.
8 Lower East Hayes, Bath;
July, 1893.
My Dear Charlotte,—I have this dayseen such an astonishing assemblage of works of art, so numerous andof so surprisingly rare a description that I am literally what LordByron calls “Dazzled and drunk with beauty.” I feelso bewildered from beholding the rapid succession of some of the veryfinest productions of the great masters that the attempt to describethem seems an impossible task; however, I will make an effort.
The collection of which I speak is that of Mr. Beckford, at his housein Lansdown-crescent. Besides all this I have this day been introducedto that extraordinary man, the author of “Vathek” and “Italy,”the builder of Fonthill, the contemporary of the mighty and departeddead, the pupil of Mozart; in fact, to the formidable and inaccessibleVathek himself! I have many times passed the house, and longedto see its contents, and often have I wondered how a building with soplain and unostentatious an exterior could suit the reception of theworks 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 accompaniedme to the house, which we reached at half-past twelve o’clock. We were shown upstairs, passing many fine family pictures, and wereushered into the neat library, where Mr. Beckford was waiting to receiveus. I confess I did at first feel somewhat embarrassed, but alovely spaniel ran playfully towards us, licking our hands in the mostaffectionate p. 6andhospitable manner; “You are welcome” was the silent language. I assure you I judge much, and often truly, of the character of individualsfrom the deportment of their favourite dogs. I often find themexactly indicative of their master’s disposition. When youare attacked by snarling, waspish curs is it at all wonderful if youfind them an echo of the proprietor? But this beautiful animalreassured me, and gave me instantly a favourable idea of its master. My astonishment was great at the spaciousness of the room, which hadin length a magnificent and palatial effect, nor did I immediately discoverthe cause of its apparent grandeur. It opens into the gallerybuilt over the arch connecting the two houses, at the