No More Learning

Hope's Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Modern Greek,' Lewis's The
Monk, the German Hauff's admirable
(Stories of the Caravan, the Inn, and the
Palace, Rückert's Tales of the Genii,' and
William Beckford's History of the Caliph
Vathek,' are among the finest performances
of the sort : productions more or less East-
ern in sentiment and in their details of
local color, but independent of direct ori-
ginals in the Persian or Arabic, so far as is
conclusively known.
William Beckford, born at London in
1759 (of a strong line which included a
governor of Jamaica), dying in 1844, is a
figure of distinction merely as an English William BECKFORD
man of his time, aside from his one claim
to literary remembrance. His father's death left him the richest
untitled citizen of England. He was not sent to a university, but
immense care was given to his education, in which Lord Chatham
personally interested himself; and he traveled widely. The result
of this, on a very receptive mind with varied natural gifts, was to
make Beckford an ideal dilettante. His tastes in literature, painting,
music in which Mozart was his tutor), sculpture, architecture, and
what not, were refined to the highest nicety. He was able to gratify
each of them as such a man can rarely have the means to do. He
built palaces and towers of splendor instead of merely a beautiful
country seat. He tried to reproduce Vathek's halls in stone and
stucco, employing relays of workmen by day and night, on two sev-
eral occasions and estates, for many months. Where other men got
together moderate collections of bibelots, Beckford amassed whole
museums. If a builder's neglect or a fire destroyed his rarities and
damaged his estates to the extent of forty or fifty thousand pounds,



## p. 1700 (#498) ###########################################

1700
WILLIAM BECKFORD
a
Beckford merely rebuilt and re-collected. These tastes and lavish
expenditures gradually set themselves in a current toward things
Eastern. His magnificent retreat at Cintra in Portugal, his vast
Fonthill Abbey and Lansdowne Hill estates in England, were only
appanages of his sumptuous state. England and Europe talked of
him and of his properties. He was a typical egotist: but an agree-
able and gracious man, esteemed by a circle of friends not called
upon to be his sycophants; and he kept in close touch with the intel-
lectual life of all Europe.
He wrote much, for an amateur, and in view of the tale which
does him most honor, he wrote with success. At twenty he invited
publicity with a satiric jeu d'esprit, Biographical Memoirs of Extraor-
dinary Painters'; and his Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Port-
ugal,' and 'Recollections of an Excursion to the Monasteries of
Alcobaba and Baltalha,' were well received. But these books could
not be expected to survive even three generations; whereas "Vathek,'
the brilliant, the unique, the inimitable Vathek, took at once
place in literature which we may now almost dare to call perma-
nent. This story, not a long one,- indeed, no more than a novel-
ette in size, was originally written in French, and still lives in that
language; in which an edition, hardly the best, has lately been
issued under the editorship of M. Mallarmé. But its history is com-
plicated by one of the most notable acts of literary treachery and
theft on record. During the author's slow and finicky composition of
it at Lausanne, he was sending it piecemeal to his friend Robert
Henley in England for Henley to make an English version, of course
to be revised by himself. As soon as Henley had all the parts, he
published a hasty and slipshod translation, before Beckford had seen
it or was even ready to publish the French original; and not only
did so, but published it as a tale translated by himself from a gen-
uine Arabic original. This double violation of good faith of course
enraged Beckford, and practically separated the two men for the rest
of their lives; indeed, the wonder is that Beckford would ever recog-
nize Henley's existence again. The piracy was exposed and set
aside, and Beckford in self-defense issued the story himself in French
as soon as he could; indeed, he issued it in two versions with curi-
ous and interesting differences, one published at Lausanne and the
other at Paris. The Lausanne edition is preferable.
Vathek) abides to-day accredited to Beckford in both French
and English; a thing to keep his memory green as nothing else of his
work or personality will. The familiar legend that in its present
form it was composed at a single sitting, with such ardor as to entail
severe illness, and without the author's taking off his clothes,
cannot be reconciled with the known facts. But the intensely vivid
a


## p. 1701 (#499) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1701
movement of it certainly suggests swift production; and it could
easily be thought that any author had sketched such a story in the
heat of some undisturbed sitting, and filled, finished, and polished it
at leisure. It is an extraordinary performance; even in Henley's
unsatisfactory version it is irresistible. We know that Beckford
expected to add liberally to it by inserting sundry subordinate tales,
put into the mouths of some of the personages appearing in the last
scene. It is quite as well that he did not. Its distinctive Orientalism,
perhaps less remarkable than the unfettered imagination of its epi-
sodes, the vividness of its characters, the easy brilliancy of its literary
manner — these things, with French diction and French wit, alternate
with startling descriptive impressiveness. It is a French combination
of Cervantes and Dante, in an Oriental and bizarre narrative. It is
not always delicate, but it is never vulgar, and the sprightly pages
are as admirable as the weird ones. Its pictures, taken out of their
connection, seem irrelevant, and are certainly unlike enough; but
they are a succession of surprises and fascinations. Such are the
famous description of the chase of Vathek's court after the Giaour;
the moonlit departure of the Caliph for the Terrace of Istakhar; the
episodes of his stay under the roof of the Emir Fakreddin; the pur-
suit by Carathis on “her great camel Alboufaki,” attended by the
hideous Nerkes and the unrelenting Cafour”; Nouronihar drawn to
the magic flame in the dell at night; the warning of the good Jinn;
and the tremendous final tableau of the Hall of Eblis.
The man curious in letters regards with affection the evidences
of vitality in a brief production little more than a century old;
unique in English and French literature, and occupying to-day a high
rank among the small group of quasi-Oriental narratives that repre-
sent the direct workings of Galland on the Occidental literary tempera-
ment. To-day “Vathek) surprises and delights persons whose mental
constitution puts them in touch with it, just as potently as ever it
did. And simply as a wild story, one fancies that it will appeal
quite as effectually, no matter how many editions may be its future,
to a public perhaps unsympathetic toward its elliptical satire, its
caustic wit, its fantastic course of narrative, and its incongruous
wavering between the Aippant, the grotesque, and the terrific.


## p. 1702 (#500) ###########################################

1702
WILLIAM BECKFORD
THE INCANTATION AND THE SACRIFICE
From «The History of the Caliph Vathek)
B
Y SECRET stairs, known only to herself and her son, she [Cara-
this] first repaired to the mysterious recesses in which were
deposited the mummies that had been brought from the
catacombs of the ancient Pharaohs. Of these she ordered several
to be taken. From thence she resorted to a gallery, where, under
the guard of fifty female negroes, mute, and blind of the right
eye, were preserved the oil of the most venomous serpents, rhi-
noceros horns, and woods of a subtle and penetrating odor, pro-
cured from the interior of the Indies, together with a thousand
other horrible rarities. This collection had been formed for a
purpose like the present by Carathis herself, from a presentiment
that she might one day enjoy some intercourse with the infernal
powers, to whom she had ever been passionately attached, and to
whose taste she was no stranger.
To familiarize herself the better with the horrors in view the
Princess remained in the company of her negresses, who squinted
in the most amiable manner from the only eye they had, and
leered with exquisite delight at the skulls and skeletons which
Carathis had drawn forth from her cabinets.
Whilst she was thus occupied, the Caliph, who, instead of the
visions he expected, had acquired in these insubstantial regions a
voracious appetite, was greatly provoked at the negresses: for,
having totally forgotten their deafness, he had impatiently asked
them for food; and seeing them regardless of his demand, he
began to cuff, pinch, and push them, till Carathis arrived to ter-
minate a scene so indecent.
“Son! what means all this? ” said she, panting for breath.
“I thought I heard as I came up, the shriek of a thousand bats,
tearing from their crannies in the recesses of a cavern.
You but ill deserve the admirable provision I have brought you. "
"Give it me instantly! ” exclaimed the Caliph: "I am perish-
ing for hunger! ”
“As to that,” answered she, "you must have an excellent
stomach if it can digest what I have been preparing. ”
« Be quick,” replied the Caliph. But oh, heavens! what hor-
rors! What do you intend ? ”
“Come, come,” returned Carathis, “be not so squeamish, but
help me to arrange everything properly, and you shall see that


## p. 1703 (#501) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1703
1
1
what you reject with such symptoms of disgust will soon complete
your felicity. Let us get ready the pile for the sacrifice of to-
night, and think not of eating till that is performed. Know you
not that all solemn rites are preceded by a rigorous abstinence ? ”
The Caliph, not daring to object, abandoned himself to grief,
and the wind that ravaged his entrails, whilst his mother went
forward with the requisite operations. Phials of serpents' oil,
mummies, and bones were soon set in order on the balustrade of
the tower. The pile began to rise; and in three hours was as
many cubits high. At length darkness approached, and Carathis,
having stripped herself to her inmost garment, clapped her hands
in an impulse of ecstasy, and struck light with all her force.
The mutes followed her example: but Vathek, extenuated with
hunger and impatience, was unable to support himself, and fell
down in a swoon. The sparks had already kindled the dry wood;
the venomous oil burst into a thousand blue flames; the mum-
mies, dissolving, emitted a thick dun vapor; and the rhinoceros
horns beginning to consume, all together diffused such a stench,
that the Caliph, recovering, started from his trance and gazed
wildly on the scene in full blaze around him. The oil gushed
forth in a plenitude of streams; and the negresses, who supplied
it without intermission, united their cries to those of the Princess.
At last the fire became so violent, and the flames reflected from
the polished marble so dazzling, that the Caliph, unable to with-
stand the heat and the blaze, effected his escape, and clambered
up the imperial standard.
In the mean time, the inhabitants of Samarah, scared at the
light which shone over the city, arose in haste, ascended their
roofs, beheld the tower on fire, and hurried half-naked to the
square.
Their love to their sovereign immediately awoke; and
apprehending him in danger of perishing in his tower, their whole
thoughts were occupied with the means of his safety. Morakana-
bad flew from his retirement, wiped away his tears, and cried
out for water like the rest. Bababalouk, whose olfactory nerves
were more familiarized to magical odors, readily conjecturing that
Carathis was engaged in her favorite amusements, strenuously
exhorted them not to be alarmed. Him, however, they treated as
an old poltroon; and forbore not to style him a rascally traitor.
The camels and dromedaries were advancing with water, but no
one knew by which way to enter the tower. Whilst the populace
was obstinate in forcing the doors, a violent east wind drove such
1
1


## p. 1704 (#502) ###########################################

1704
WILLIAM BECKFORD
a volume of flame against them, as at first forced them off, but
afterwards rekindled their zeal. At the same time, the stench of
the horns and mummies increasing, most of the crowd fell back-
ward in a state of suffocation. Those that kept their feet mut-
ually wondered at the cause of the smell, and admonished each
other to retire. Morakanabad, more sick than the rest, remained
in a piteous condition. Holding his nose with one hand, he per-
sisted in his efforts with the other to burst open the doors, and
obtain admission. A hundred and forty of the strongest and most
resolute at length accomplished their purpose.
Carathis, alarmed at the signs of her mutes, advanced to the
staircase, went down a few steps, and heard several voices calling
out from below:
“You shall in a moment have water! ”
Being rather alert, considering her age, she presently regained
the top of the tower, and bade her son suspend the sacrifice for
some minutes, adding:
We shall soon be enabled to render it more grateful. Cer-
tain dolts of your subjects, imagining, no doubt, that we were on
fire, have been rash enough to break through those doors, which
had hitherto remained in violate, for the sake of bringing up water.
They are very kind, you must allow, so soon to forget the wrongs
you have done them: but that is of little moment. Let us offer
them to the Giaour. Let them come up: our mutes, who neither
want strength nor experience, will soon dispatch them, exhausted
as they are with fatigue. ”
«Be it so," answered the Caliph, "provided we finish, and I
dine. ”
In fact, these good people, out of breath from ascending
eleven thousand stairs in such haste, and chagrined at having
spilt, by the way, the water they had taken, were no sooner
arrived at the top than the blaze of the flames and the fumes of
the mummies at once overpowered their senses. It was a pity!
for they beheld not the agreeable smile with which the mutes
and the negresses adjusted the cord to their necks: these amiable
personages rejoiced, however, no less at the scene. Never before
had the ceremony of strangling been performed with so much
facility. They all fell without the least resistance or struggle; so
that Vathek, in the space of a few moments, found himself sur-
rounded by the dead bodies of his most faithful subjects, all of
which were thrown on the top of the pile.


## p. 1705 (#503) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1705
VATHEK AND NOURONIHAR IN THE HALLS OF EBLIS
From (The History of the Caliph Vathek)
Th
He Caliph and Nouronihar beheld each other with amazement,
at finding themselves in a place which, though roofed with
a vaulted ceiling, was so spacious and lofty that at first
they took it for an immeasurable plain. But their eyes at length
growing familiar with the grandeur of the objects at hand, they
extended their view to those at a distance, and discovered rows
of columns and arcades, which gradually diminished till they
terminated in a point, radiant as the sun when he darts his last
beams athwart the ocean; the pavement, strewed over with gold
dust and saffron, exhaled so subtle an odor as almost overpowered
them; they however went on, and observed an infinity of censers,
in which ambergris and the wood of aloes were continually burn-
ing; between the several columns were placed tables, each spread
with a profusion of viands, and wines of every species sparkling
in vases of crystal. A throng of genii and other fantastic spirits
of each sex danced lasciviously in troops, at the sound of music
which issued from beneath.
In the midst of this immense hall a vast multitude was inces-
santly passing, who severally kept their right hands on their
hearts, without once regarding anything around them; they had
all the livid paleness of death; their eyes, deep sunk in their
sockets, resembled those phosphoric meteors that glimmer by
night in places of interment. Some stalked slowly on, absorbed
in profound reverie; some, shrieking with agony, ran furiously
about, like tigers wounded with poisoned arrows; whilst others,
grinding their teeth in rage, foamed along, more frantic than the
wildest maniac. They all avoided each other, and though sur-
rounded by a multitude that no one could number, each wandered
at random, unheedful of the rest, as if alone on a desert which
no foot had trodden.
Vathek and Nouronihar, frozen with terror at a sight so bale-
ful, demanded of the Giaour what these appearances might seem,
and why these ambulating spectres never withdrew their hands
from their hearts.
"Perplex not yourselves,” replied he bluntly, with so much
at once; you will soon be acquainted with all: let us haste and
present you to Eblis. ”


## p. 1706 (#504) ###########################################

1706
WILLIAM BECKFORD
They continued their way through the multitude; but not-
withstanding their confidence at first, they were not sufficiently
composed to examine with attention the various perspectives of
halls and of galleries that opened on the right hand and left,
which were all illuminated by torches and braziers, whose flames
rose in pyramids to the centre of the vault. At length they
came to a place where long curtains, brocaded with crimson and
gold, fell from all parts in striking confusion; here the choirs
and dances were heard no longer, the light which glimmered
came from afar.
After some time Vathek and Nouronihar perceived a gleam
brightening through the drapery, and entered a vast tabernacle
carpeted with the skins of leopards; an infinity of elders with
streaming beards, and Afrits in complete armor, had prostrated
themselves before the ascent of a lofty eminence, on the top of
which, upon a globe of fire, sat the formidable Eblis. His
person was that of a young man, whose noble and regular feat-
ures seemed to have been tarnished by malignant vapors; in his
large eyes appeared both pride and despair; his flowing hair
retained some resemblance to that of an angel of light; in his
hand, which thunder had blasted, he swayed the iron sceptre
that causes the monster Ouranabad, the Afrits, and all the
powers of the abyss to tremble; at his presence the heart of the
Caliph sunk within him, and for the first time he fell prostrate
his face. Nouronihar, however, though greatly dismayed,
could not help admiring the person of Eblis; for she expected to
have seen some stupendous giant. Eblis, with a voice more mild
than might be imagined, but such as transfused through the soul
the deepest melancholy, said:-
“Creatures of clay, I receive you into mine empire; ye are
numbered amongst my adorers. Enjoy whatever this palace
affords: the treasures of the pre-Adamite Sultans, their bickering
sabres, and those talismans that compel the Dives to open the
subterranean expanses of the mountain of Kaf, which communi-
cate with these. There, insatiable as your curiosity may be,
shall you find sufficient to gratify it; you shall possess the
exclusive privilege of entering the fortress of Aherman, and the
halls of Argenk, where are portrayed all creatures endowed with
intelligence, and the various animals that inhabited the earth
prior to the creation of that contemptible being whom ye denom-
inate the Father of Mankind. ”
on


## p. 1707 (#505) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1707
Vathek and Nouronihar, feeling themselves revived and en-
couraged by this harangue, eagerly said to the Giaour:-
« Bring us instantly to the place which contains these precious
talismans. ”
“Come! answered this wicked Dive, with his malignant grin,
«come! and possess all that my Sovereign hath promised, and
more. ”
He then conducted them into a long aisle adjoining the tab-
ernacle, preceding them with hasty steps, and followed by his
disciples with the utmost alacrity. They reached at length a hall
of great extent, and covered with a lofty dome, around which
appeared fifty portals of bronze, secured with as many fastenings
of iron. A funereal gloom prevailed over the whole scene.
Here, upon two beds of incorruptible cedar, lay recumbent the
fleshless forms of the pre-Adamite kings, who had been mon-
archs of the whole earth. They still possessed enough of life to
be conscious of their deplorable condition; their eyes retained a
melancholy motion; they regarded each other with looks of the
deepest dejection, each holding his right hand motionless on his
heart. At their feet were inscribed the events of their several
reigns, their power, their pride, and their crimes. Soliman Raad,
Soliman Daki, and Soliman Di Gian Ben Gian, who, after having
chained up the Dives in the dark caverns of Kaf, became so pre-
sumptuous as to doubt of the Supreme Power,--all these main-
tained great state, though not to be compared with the eminence
of Soliman Ben Daoud [Solomon the son of David).
This king, so renowned for his wisdom, was on the loftiest
elevation, and placed immediately under the dome; he appeared
to possess more animation than the rest, though from time to
time he labored with profound sighs, and like his companions,
kept his right hand on his heart; yet his countenance was more
composed, and he seemed to be listening to the sullen roar of a
vast cataract, visible in part through the grated portals; this
was the only sound that intruded on the silence of these dole-
ful mansions. A range of brazen vases surrounded the eleva-
tion.
«Remove the covers from these cabalistic depositaries,” said
the Giaour to Vathek, “and avail thyself of the talismans, which
will break asunder all these gates of bronze, and not only ren-
der thee master of the treasures contained within them, but also
of the spirits by which they are guarded. ”


## p. 1708 (#506) ###########################################

1708
WILLIAM BECKFORD
The Caliph, whom this ominous preliminary had entirely dis-
concerted, approached the vases with faltering footsteps, and was
ready to sink with terror when he heard the groans of Soliman.
As he proceeded, a voice from the livid lips of the Prophet
articulated these words:-
“In my lifetime I filled a magnificent throne, having on my
right hand twelve thousand seats of gold, where the patriarchs
and the prophets heard my doctrines; on my left the sages and
doctors, upon as many thrones of silver, were present at all my
decisions. Whilst I thus administered justice to innumerable
multitudes, the birds of the air librating over me served as a
canopy from the rays of the sun; my people flourished, and my
palace rose to the clouds; I erected a temple to the Most High
which was the wonder of the universe. But I basely suffered
myself to be seduced by the love of women, and a curiosity that
could not be restrained by sublunary things; I listened to the
counsels of Aherman and the daughter of Pharaoh, and adored
fire and the hosts of heaven; I forsook the holy city, and com-
manded the Genii to rear the stupendous palace of Istakhar, and
the terrace of the watch-towers, each of which was consecrated
to a star. There for a while I enjoyed myself in the zenith of
glory and pleasure; not only men, but supernatural existences
were subject also to my will. I began to think, as these un-
happy monarchs around had already thought, that the vengeance
of Heaven was asleep, when at once the thunder burst my
structures asunder and precipitated me hither; where however I
do not remain, like the other inhabitants, totally destitute of
hope, for an angel of light hath revealed that, in consideration
of the piety of my early youth, my woes shall come to an end
when this cataract shall for ever cease to flow. Till then I am
in torments, ineffable torments! an unrelenting fire preys on my
heart. ”
Having uttered this exclamation, Soliman raised his hands
towards Heaven in token of supplication, and the Caliph dis-
cerned through his bosom, which was transparent as crystal, his
heart enveloped in flames. At a sight so full of horror, Nou-
ronihar fell back like one petrified into the arms of Vathek, who
cried out with a convulsive sob:-
"Q) Giaour! whither hast thou brought us? Allow us to
depart, and I will relinquish all thou hast promised. O Ma-
homet! remains there no more mercy i
- )


## p. 1709 (#507) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1709
"None! none! ” replied the malicious Dive. Know, miser-
able prince! thou art now in the abode of vengeance and despair;
thy heart also will be kindled, like those of the other votaries of
Eblis. A few days are allotted thee previous to this fatal period.
Employ them as thou wilt: recline on these heaps of gold;
command the Infernal Potentates; range at thy pleasure through
these immense subterranean domains; no barrier shall be shut
against thee. As for me, I have fulfilled my mission; I now
leave thee to thyself. ” At these words he vanished.
The Caliph and Nouronihar remained in the most abject
affliction; their tears unable to flow, scarcely could they sup-
port themselves.
At length, taking each other despondingly by
the hand, they went faltering from this fatal hall, indifferent
which way they turned their steps. Every portal opened at their
approach; the Dives fell prostrate before them; every reservoir
of riches was disclosed to their view: but they no longer felt the
incentives of curiosity, pride, or avarice. With like apathy they
heard the chorus of Genii, and saw the stately banquets pre-
pared to regale them. They went wandering on from chamber
to chamber, hall to hall, and gallery to gallery, all without
bounds or limit, all distinguishable by the same lowering gloom,
all adorned with the same awful grandeur, all traversed by per-
sons in search of repose and consolation, but who sought them
in vain; for every one carried within him a heart tormented in
flames. Shunned by these various sufferers, who seemed by their
looks to be upbraiding the partners of their guilt, they withdrew
from them, to wait in direful suspense the moment which should
render them to each other the like objects of terror.
“What! ” exclaimed Nouronihar; “will the time come when I
shall snatch my hand from thine ? ”
“Ah," said Vathek; "and shall my eyes ever cease to drink
from thine long draughts of enjoyment! Shall the moments of
our reciprocal ecstasies be reflected on with horror! It was not
thou that broughtest me hither: the principles by which Carathis
perverted my youth have been the sole cause of my perdition! ”
Having given vent to these painful expressions, he called to an
Afrit, who was stirring up one of the braziers, and bade him
fetch the Princess Carathis from the palace of Samarah.
After issuing these orders, the Caliph and Nouronihar con-
tinued walking amidst the silent crowd, till they heard voices at
the end of the gallery. Presuming them to proceed from some


## p. 1710 (#508) ###########################################

1710
WILLIAM BECKFORD
unhappy beings who, like themselves, were awaiting their final
doom, they followed the sound, and found it to come from a
small square chamber, where they discovered sitting on sofas
five young men of goodly figure, and a lovely female, who were
all holding a melancholy conversation by the glimmering of a
lonely lamp; each had a gloomy and forlorn air, and two of
them were embracing each other with great tenderness. On
seeing the Caliph and the daughter of Fakreddin enter, they
arose, saluted and gave them place; then he who appeared the
most considerable of the group addressed himself thus to Vathek:
“Strangers! — who doubtless are in the same state of sus-
pense with ourselves, as you do not yet bear your hand on your
heart, — if you are come hither to pass the interval allotted pre-
vious to the infliction of our common punishment, condescend to
relate the adventures that have brought you to this fatal place,
and we in return will acquaint you with ours, which deserve but
too well to be heard. We will trace back our crimes to their
source, though we are not permitted to repent; this is the only
employment suited to wretches like us! »
The Caliph and Nouronihar assented to the proposal, and
Vathek began, not without tears and lamentations, a sincere re-
cital of every circumstance that had passed. When the afflicting
narrative was closed, the young man entered on his own. Each
person proceeded in order, and when the fourth prince had
reached the midst of his adventures, a sudden noise interrupted
him, which caused the vault to tremble and to open.
Immediately a cloud descended, which, gradually dissipating,
discovered Carathis on the back of an Afrit, who grievously com-
plained of his burden. She, instantly springing to the ground,
advanced towards her son and said:-
“What dost thou here in this little square chamber ? As the
Dives are become subject to thy beck, I expected to have found
thee on the throne of the pre-Adamite Kings. ”
"Execrable woman! » answered the Caliph;
answered the Caliph; "cursed be the
day thou gavest me birth! Go, follow this Afrit, let him conduct
thee to the hall of the Prophet Soliman; there thou wilt learn to
what these palaces are destined, and how much I ought to abhor
the impious knowledge thou hast taught me. ”
« The height of power to which thou art arrived has certainly
turned thy brain,” answered Carathis; “but I ask no more than
permission to show my respect for the Prophet. It is however


## p. 1711 (#509) ###########################################

WILLIAM BECKFORD
1711
1
1
proper thou shouldest know that (as the Afrit has informed me
neither of us shall return to Samarah) I requested his permission
to arrange my affairs, and he politely consented: availing myself
therefore of the few moments allowed me, I set fire to the tower,
and consumed in it the mutes, negresses, and serpents which
have rendered me so much good service; nor should I have been
less kind to Morakanabad, had he not prevented me by deserting
at last to my brother. As for Bababalouk, who had the folly to
return to Samarah, and all the good brotherhood to provide hus-
bands for thy wives, I undoubtedly would have put them to the
torture, could I but have allowed them the time; being however
in a hurry, I only hung him after having caught him in a snare
with thy wives, whilst them I buried alive by the help of my
negresses, who thus spent their last moments greatly to their
satisfaction. With respect to Dilara, who ever stood high in my
favor, she hath evinced the greatness of her mind by fixing her-
self near in the service of one of the Magi, and I think will
soon be our own. ”
Vathek, too much cast down to express the indignation excited
by such a discourse, ordered the Afrit to remove Carathis from
his presence, and continued immersed in thought, which his com-
panion durst not disturb.
Carathis, however, eagerly entered the dome of Soliman, and
without regarding in the least the groans of the Prophet, un-
dauntedly removed the covers of the vases, and violently seized
on the talismans. Then, with a voice more loud than had hith-
erto been heard within these mansions, she compelled the Dives
to disclose to her the most secret treasures, the most profound
stores, which the Afrit himself had not seen; she passed by rapid
descents known only to Eblis and his most favored poten-
tates, and thus penetrated the very entrails of the earth, where
breathes the Sansar, or icy wind of death. Nothing appalled her
dauntless soul; she perceived however in all the inmates, who
bore their hands on their hearts, a little singularity, not much to
her taste. As she was emerging from one of the abysses, Eblis
stood forth to her view; but notwithstanding he displayed the
full effulgence of his infernal majesty, she preserved her counte-
nance unaltered, and even paid her compliments with consider-
able firmness.
This superb Monarch thus answered: - "Princess, whose
knowledge and whose crimes have merited a conspicuous rank


## p. 1712 (#510) ###########################################

1712
WILLIAM BECKFORD
in my empire, thou dost well to employ the leisure that remains;
for the flames and torments which are ready to seize on thy
heart will not fail to provide thee with full employment. " He
said this, and was lost in the curtains of his tabernacle.
Carathis paused for a moment with surprise; but, resolved to
follow the advice of Eblis, she assembled all the choirs of Genii,
and all the Dives, to pay her homage; thus marched she in
triumph through a vapor of perfumes, amidst the acclamations
of all the malignant spirits, with most of whom she had formed
a previous acquaintance. She even attempted to dethrone one of
the Solimans for the purpose of usurping his place, when a
voice proceeding from the abyss of Death proclaimed, "All is
accomplished! ” Instantaneously the haughty forehead of the
intrepid princess was corrugated with agony; she uttered a tre-
mendous yell, and fixed, no more to be withdrawn, her right
hand upon her heart, which was become a receptacle of eternal
fire.
In this delirium, forgetting all ambitious projects and her
thirst for that knowledge which should ever be hidden from
mortals, she overturned the offerings of the Genii, and having
execrated the hour she was begotten and the womb that had
borne her, glanced off in a whirl that rendered her invisible, and
continued to revolve without intermission.
At almost the same instant the same voice announced to the
Caliph, Nouronihar, the five princes, and the princess, the awful
and irrevocable decree.
Their hearts immediately took fire, and
they at once lost the most precious of the gifts of Heaven -
Hope. These unhappy beings recoiled with looks of the most
furious distraction; Vathek beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar
nothing but rage and vengeance, nor could she discern aught in
his but aversion and despair. The two princes who were friends,
and till that moment had preserved their attachment, shrunk
back, gnashing their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred.
Kalilah and his sister made reciprocal gestures of imprecation,
whilst the two other princes testified their horror for each other
by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that could not be
smothered. All severally plunged themselves into the accursed
multitude, there to wander in an eternity of unabating anguish.


## p. 1713 (#511) ###########################################

1
1713
HENRY WARD BEECHER
(1813–1887)
BY LYMAN ABBOTT
He life of Henry Ward Beecher inay be either compressed
into a sentence or expanded into a volume. He was born
in Litchfield, Connecticut, on the 24th day of June, 1813,
the child of the well-known Lyman Beecher; graduated at Amherst
College in 1834, and subsequently studied at Lane Theological Semi-
nary (Cincinnati), of which his father was the president; began his
ministerial life as pastor of a Home Missionary (Presbyterian) church
at the little village of Lawrenceburg, twenty miles south of Cin-
cinnati on the Ohio River; was both sexton and pastor, swept the
church, built the fires, lighted the lamps, rang the bell, and preached
the sermons; was called to the pastorate of the First Presbyterian
Church of Indianapolis, the capital of Indiana, where he remained for
eight years, 1839 to 1847, and where his preaching soon won for him
a reputation throughout the State, and his occasional writing a repu-
tation beyond its boundaries; thence was called in 1847 to be the first
pastor of the newly organized Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, where he
remained with an ever increasing reputation as preacher, lecturer,
orator, and writer, until the day of his death, March 8th, 1887.
Such is the outline of a life, the complete story of which would
be the history of the United States during the most critical half-
century of the nation's existence. Living in an epoch when the one
overshadowing political issue was pre-eminently a moral issue, and
when no man could be a faithful preacher of righteousness and not a
political preacher; concerned in whatever concerned humanity; believ-
ing that love is the essence of all true religion, and that love to God
is impossible without love to man; moral reformer not less than gos-
pel preacher, and statesman even more than theologian ; throwing
himself into the anti-slavery conflict with all the courage of a heroic
nature and all the ardor of an intensely impulsive one,- he stands
among the first half-score of writers, orators, reformers, statesmen,
and soldiers, who combined to make the half-century from 1835 to
1885 as brilliant and as heroic as any in human history.
The greatness of Henry Ward Beecher consisted not so much in
a predominance of any one quality as in a remarkable combina-
tion of many.
His physique justified the well-known characteriza-
tion of Mr. Fowler, the phrenologist, Splendid animal. ”
He was
11-108


## p. 1714 (#512) ###########################################

1714
HENRY WARD BEECHER
always an eager student, though his methods were desultory. He was
familiar with the latest thought in philosophy, had studied Herbert
Spencer before his works were republished in the United States, yet
was a child among children, and in his old age retained the char-
acteristic faults and virtues of childhood, and its innocent impul-
siveness.
His imagination might have made him a poet, his human sym-
pathies a dramatic poet, had not his strong common-sense kept him
always in touch with the actualities of life, and a masterful con-
science compelled him to use his æsthetic faculties in sterner service
than in the entertainment of mankind. The intensity of his moral
nature enhanced rather than subdued his exuberant humor, which
love prevented from becoming satire, and seriousness preserved from
degenerating into wit. His native faculty of mimicry led men to
call him an actor, yet he wholly lacked the essential quality of a
good actor,-power to take on another's character, - and used the
mimic art only to interpret the truth which at the moment possessed
him.
Such power of passion as was his is not often seen mated to such
self-control; for while he spoke with utter abandon, he rarely if ever
did so until he had carefully deliberated the cause he was espousing.
He thought himself deficient in memory, and in fact rarely borrowed
illustrations from his reading either of history or of literature; but
his keenness of observation photographed living scenes upon an un-
fading memory which years after he could and did produce at will.
All these contrary elements of his strangely composite though not
incongruous character entered into his style, - or, to speak more
accu
curately, his styles, – and make any analysis of them within rea-
sonable limits difficult, if not impossible.
For the writer is known by his style as the wearer by his clothes.
Even if it be no native product of the author's mind, but a conscious
imitation of carefully studied models, — what I may call a tailor-
made style, fashioned in a vain endeavor to impart sublimity to
commonplace thinking, — the poverty of the author is thereby re-
vealed, much as the boor is most clearly disclosed when wearing
ill-at-ease, unaccustomed broadcloth. Mr. Beecher's style was not
artificial; its faults as well as its excellences were those of extreme
naturalness. He always wrote with fury; rarely did he correct
with phlegm. His sermons were published as they fell from his
lips, - correct and revise he would not. The too few editorials which
he wrote, on the eve of the Civil War, were written while the press
was impatiently waiting for them, were often taken page by page
from his hand, and were habitually left unread by him to be cor-
rected in proof by others.


## p. 1715 (#513) ###########################################

HENRY WARD BEECHER
1715
His lighter contributions to the New York Ledger were thrown off
in the same way, generally while the messenger waited to take them
to the editorial sanctum. It was his habit, whether unconscious or
deliberate I do not know, to speak to a great congregation with the
freedom of personal conversation, and to write for the press with as
little reserve as to an intimate friend. This habit of taking the pub-
lic into his confidence was one secret of his power, but it was also
the cause of those violations of conventionality in public address
which were a great charm to some and a grave defect to others.
There are few writers or orators who have addressed such audiences
with such effect, whose style has been so true and unmodified a
reflection of their inner life. The title of one of his most popular
volumes might be appropriately made the title of them all — Life
Thoughts.
But while his style was wholly unartificial, it was no product of
mere careless genius; carelessness never gives a product worth pos-
sessing The excellences of Mr. Beecher's style were due to a
careful study of the great English writers; its defects to a tempera-
ment too eager to endure the dull work of correction. In his early
manhood he studied the old English divines, not for their thoughts,
which never took hold of him, but for their style, of which he was
enamored. The best characterization of South and Barrow I ever
heard he gave me once in a casual conversation. The great English
novelists he knew; Walter Scott's novels, of which he had several edi.
tions in his library, were great favorites with him, but he read them
rather for the beauty of their descriptive passages than for their
romantic and dramatic interest. Ruskin's Modern Painters' he both
used himself and recommended to others as a text-book in the obser-
vation of nature, and certain passages in them he read and re-read.
But in his reading he followed the bent of his own mind rather
than any prescribed system. Neither in his public utterances nor in
his private conversation did he indicate much indebtedness to Shake-
speare among the earlier writers, nor to Emerson or Carlyle among
the moderns. Though not unfamiliar with the greatest English
poets, and
the great Greek poets in translations, he was less a
reader of poetry than of poetical prose. He had, it is true, not
only read but carefully compared Dante's Inferno) with Milton's
Paradise Lost'; still it was not the Paradise Lost, it was the
Areopagitica' which he frequently read on Saturday nights, for the
sublimity of its style and the inspiration it afforded to the imagina-
tion. He was singularly deficient in verbal memory, a deficiency
which is usually accompanied by a relatively slight appreciation of
the mere rhythmic beauty of literary forma. It is my impression
that for amorous poems, such as Moore's songs, or even Shake-
speare's sonnets, and for purely descriptive poetry, such as the best


## p. 1716 (#514) ###########################################

1716
HENRY WARD BEECHER
of Childe Harold' and certain poems of Wordsworth, he cared com-
paratively little.
But he delighted in religious poetry, whether the religion was
that of the pagan Greek Tragedies, the medieval Dante, or the
Puritan Milton. He was a great lover of the best hymns, and with
a catholicity of affection which included the Calvinist Toplady, the
Arminian Wesley, the Roman Catholic Faber, and the Unitarian
Holmes. Generally, however, he cared more for poetry of strength
than for that of fancy or sentiment. It was the terrific strength in
Watts's famous hymn beginning
“My thoughts on awful subjects dwell,
Damnation and the dead,)
which caused him to include it in the Plymouth Collection, abhor-
rent as was the theology of that hymn alike to his heart and to his
conscience.
In any estimate of Mr. Beecher's style, it must be remembered
that he was both by temperament and training a preacher. He was
brought up not in a literary, but in a didactic atmosphere. If it
were as true as it is false that art exists only for art's sake, Mr.
Beecher would not have been an artist. His art always had a pur-
pose; generally a distinct moral purpose. An overwhelming propor-
tion of his contributions to literature consists of sermons or extracts
from sermons, or addresses not less distinctively didactic. His one
novel was written avowedly to rectify some common misapprehensions
as to New England life and character. Even his lighter papers,
products of the mere exuberance of a nature too full of every phase
of life to be quiescent, indicated the intensity of a purposeful soul,
much as the sparks in a blacksmith's shop come from the very vigor
with which the artisan is shaping on the anvil the nail or the shoe.
But Mr. Beecher was what Mr. Spurgeon has called him, the
most myriad-minded man since Shakespeare”; and such a mind must
both deal with many topics, and if it be true to itself, exhibit many
styles. If one were to apply to Mr. Beecher's writings the methods
which have sometimes been applied by certain Higher Critics to the
Bible, he would conclude that the man who wrote the Sermons on
Evolution and Theology could not possibly have also written the
humorous description of a house with all the modern improvements.
Sometimes grave, sometimes gay, sometimes serious, sometimes
sportive, concentrating his whole power on whatever he was doing,
working with all his might but also playing with all his might, when
he is on a literary frolic the reader would hardly suspect that he was
ever dominated by a strenuous moral purpose. Yet there were cer-
tain common elements in Mr. Beecher's character which appeared in
his various styles, though mixed in very different proportions and


## p. 1717 (#515) ###########################################

HENRY WARD BEECHER
1717
producing very different combinations. Within the limits of such a
study as this, it must suffice to indicate in very general terms some
of these elements of character which appear in and really produce
his literary method.
Predominant among them was a capacity to discriminate between
the essentials and the accidentals of any subject, a philosophical per-
spective which enabled him to see the controlling connection and to
discard quickly such minor details as tended to obscure and to per-
plex. Thus a habit was formed which led him not infrequently
to ignore necessary limitations and qualifications, and to make him
scientifically inaccurate, though vitally and ethically true.
It was
this quality which led critics to say of him that he was no theo-
logian, though it is doubtful whether any preacher in America since
Jonathan Edwards has exerted a greater influence on its theology.
But this quality imparted clearness to his style. He always knew
what he wanted to say and said it clearly. He sometimes produced
false impressions by the very strenuousness of his aim and the
vehemence of his passion; but he was never foggy, obscure, or
ambiguous.
This clearness of style was facilitated by the singleness of his pur-
pose. He never considered what was safe, prudent, or expedient to
say, never reflected upon the effect which his speech might have on
his reputation or his influence, considered only how he could make
his hearers apprehend the truth as he saw it. He therefore never
played with words, never used them with a double meaning, or
employed them to conceal his thoughts. He was indeed utterly
incapable of making a speech unless he had a purpose to accomplish;
when he tried he invariably failed; no orator ever had less ability to
roll off airy nothings for the entertainment of an audience.
Coupled with this clearness of vision and singleness of purpose
was a sympathy with men singularly broad and alert. He knew the
way to men's minds, and adapted his method to the minds he wished
to reach. This quality put him at once en rapport with his auditors,
and with men of widely different mental constitution. Probably no
preacher has ever habitually addressed so heterogeneous a congre-
gation as that which he attracted to Plymouth Church. In his famous
speech at the Herbert Spencer dinner he was listened to with
equally rapt attention by the great philosopher and by the French
waiters, who stopped in their service, arrested and held by his
mingled humor, philosophy, and restrained emotion. This human
sympathy gave a peculiar dramatic quality to his imagination. He
not only recalled and reproduced material images from the past
with great vividness, he re-created in his own mind the experiences
of men whose mold was entirely different from his own.
As an


## p. 1718 (#516) ###########################################

1718
HENRY WARD BEECHER
illustration of this, a comparison of two sermons on Jacob before
Pharaoh, one by Dr. Talmage, the other by Mr. Beecher, is interest-
ing and instructive. Dr. Talmage devotes his imagination wholly to
reproducing the outward circumstances, the court in its splendor
and the patriarch with his wagons, his household, and his stuff; this
scene Mr. Beecher etches vividly but carelessly in a few outlines, then
proceeds to delineate with care the imagined feelings of the king,
awed despite his imperial splendor by the spiritual majesty of the
peasant herdsman. Yet Mr. Beecher could paint the outer circum-
stances with care when he chose to do so. Some of his flower pictures
in Fruits, Flowers, and Farming' will always remain classic models
of descriptive literature, the more amazing that some of them are
portraits of flowers he had never seen when he wrote the description.
While his imagination illuminated nearly all he said or wrote, it
was habitually the instrument of some moral purpose; he rarely
ornamented for ornament's sake. His pictures gave beauty, but they
were employed not to give beauty but clearness. He was thus saved
from mixed metaphors, the common fault of imaginative writings
which are directed to no end, and thus are liable to become first
lawless, then false, finally self-contradictory and absurd.
The mass-
ive Norman pillars of Durham Cathedral are marred by the attempt
which some architect has made to give them grace and beauty by
adding ornamentation. Rarely if ever did Mr. Beecher fall into the
error of thus mixing in an incongruous structure two architectural
styles. He knew when to use the Norman strength and solidity, and
when the Gothic lightness and grace.
Probably his keen sense of humor would have preserved him from
this not uncommon error. It is said that the secret of humor is the
quick perception of incongruous relations. This would seem to have
been the secret of Mr. Beecher's humor, for he had in an eminent
degree what the phrenologists call the faculty of comparison. This
was seen in his arguments, which were more often analogical than
logical; seen not less in that his humor was not employed with
deliberate intent to relieve a too serious discourse, but was itself the
very product of his seriousness. He was humorous, but rarely witty,
as, for the same reason, he was imaginative but not fanciful. For
both his imagination and his humor were the servants of his moral
purpose; and as he did not employ the one merely as a pleasing
ornament, so he never went out of his way to introduce a joke or a
funny story to make a laugh.
Speaking broadly, Mr. Beecher's style as an orator passed through
three epochs. In the first, best illustrated by his "Sermons to Young
Men, preached in Indianapolis, his imagination is the predominant
faculty. Those sermons will remain in the history of homiletical


## p. 1719 (#517) ###########################################

HENRY WARD BEECHER
1719
1
literature as remarkable of their kind, but not as a pulpit classic for
all times; for the critic will truly say that the imagination is too
exuberant, the dramatic element sometimes becoming melodramatic,
and the style lacking in simplicity. In the second epoch, best illus-
trated by the Harper and Brothers edition of his selected sermons,
preached in the earlier and middle portion of his Brooklyn ministry,
the imagination is still pervasive, but no longer predominant. The
dramatic fire still burns, but with a steadier heat. Imagination, dra-
matic instinct, personal sympathy, evangelical passion, and a growing
philosophic thought-structure, combine to make the sermons of this
epoch the best illustration of his power as a popular preacher. In
each sermon he holds up a truth like his favorite opal, turning it
from side to side and flashing its opalescent light upon his congre-
gation, but so as always to show the secret fire at the heart of it.
In the third epoch, best illustrated by his sermons on Evolution and
Theology, the philosophic quality of his mind predominates; his
imagination is subservient to and the instrument of clear statement,
his dramatic quality shows itself chiefly in his realization of mental
conditions foreign to his own, and his style, though still rich in color
and warm with feeling, is mastered, trained, and directed by his
intellectual purpose.
In the first epoch he is the painter, in the
second the preacher, in the third the teacher.
Judgments will differ: in mine the last epoch is the best, and its
utterances will long live a classic in pulpit literature. The pictures
of the first epoch are already fading; the fervid oratory of the sec-
ond epoch depends so much on the personality of the preacher, that
as the one grows dim in the distance the other must grow dim also;
but the third, more enduring though less fascinating, will remain so
long as the heart of man hungers for the truth and the life of
God, – that is, for a rational religion, a philosophy of life which shall
combine reverence and love, and a reverence and love which shall
not call for the abdication of the reason.
1
Lyman den


## p. 1720 (#518) ###########################################

1720
HENRY WARD BEECHER
BOOK-STORES AND BOOKS
From (Star Papers)
N
.
OTHING marks the increasing wealth of our times, and the
growth of the public mind toward refinement, more than
the demand for books. Within ten years the sale of com-
mon books has increased probably two hundred per cent. , and it
is daily increasing. But the sale of expensive works, and of
library editions of standard authors in costly bindings, is yet
more noticeable. Ten years ago such a display of magnificent
works as is to be found at the Appletons' would have been a
precursor of bankruptcy. There was no demand for them. A
few dozen, in one little show-case, was the prudent whole.
Now, one whole side of an immense store is not only filled with
admirably bound library books, but from some inexhaustible
source the void continually made in the shelves is at once re-
filled. A reserve of heroic books supply the places of those that
fall. Alas! where is human nature so weak as in a book-store!
Speak of the appetite for drink; or of a bon vivant's relish
for a dinner! What are these mere animal throes and ragings
compared with those fantasies of taste, those yearnings of
the imagination, those insatiable appetites of intellect, which
bewilder a student in a great bookseller's temptation-hall ?
How easily one may distinguish a genuine lover of books
from a worldly man!
lly man! With what subdued and yet glowing en-
thusiasm does he gaze upon the costly front of a thousand embat-
tled volumes! How gently he draws them down, as if they were
little children; how tenderly he handles them! He peers at the
title-page, at the text, or the notes, with the nicety of a bird
examining a flower. He studies the binding: the leather, -rus-
sia, English calf, morocco; the lettering, the gilding, the edging,
the hinge of the cover! He opens it and shuts it, he holds it off
and brings it nigh. It suffuses his whole body with book magnet-
ism. He walks up and down in a maze at the mysterious allot-
ments of Providence, that gives so much money to men who
spend it upon their appetites, and so little to men who would
spend it in benevolence or upon their refined tastes! It is aston-
ishing, too, how one's necessities multiply in the presence of the
supply. One never knows how many things it is impossible to
do without till he goes to Windle's or Smith's house-furnishing


## p. 1721 (#519) ###########################################

HENRY WARD BEECHER
1721
stores. One is surprised to perceive, at some bazaar or fancy
and variety store, how many conveniences he needs. He is satis-
fied that his life must have been utterly inconvenient aforetime.
And thus too one is inwardly convicted, at Appletons', of hav-
ing lived for years without books which he is now satisfied that
one cannot live without!
Then, too, the subtle process by which the man convinces
himself that he can afford to buy. No subtle manager or broker
ever saw through a maze of financial embarrassments half so
quick as a poor book-buyer sees his way clear to pay for what
he must have. He promises himself marvels of retrenchment;
he will eat less, or less costly viands, that he may buy more
food for the mind. He will take an extra patch, and go on
with his raiment another year, and buy books instead of coats.
Yea, he will write books, that he may buy books! The appe-
tite is insatiable. Feeding does not satisfy it. It rages by the
fuel which is put upon it. As a hungry man eats first and
pays afterward, so the book-buyer purchases and then works at
the debt afterward. This paying is rather medicinal. It cures for
a time. But a relapse takes place. The same longing, the same
promises of self-denial. He promises himself to put spurs on
both heels of his industry; and then, besides all this, he will
somehow get along when the time for payment comes! Ah! this
SOMEHOW! That word is as big as a whole world, and is stuffed
with all the vagaries and fantasies that Fancy ever bred upon
Hope. And yet, is there not some comfort in buying books, to
be paid for? We have heard of a sot who wished his neck as
long as the worm of a still, that he might so much the longer
enjoy the flavor of the draught! Thus, it is a prolonged excite-
ment of purchase, if you feel for six months in a slight doubt
whether the book is honestly your own or not. Had you paid
down, that would have been the end of it. There would have
been no affectionate and beseeching look of your books at you,
every time you saw them, saying, as plain as a book's eyes can
say, “Do not let me be taken from you. ”
Moreover, buying books before you can pay for them pro-
motes caution. You do not feel quite at liberty to take them
home. You are married. Your wife keeps an account-book.
She knows to a penny what you can and what you cannot
afford. She has no “speculation” in her eyes. Plain figures
make desperate work with airy “somehows. ” It is a matter of


## p. 1722 (#520) ###########################################

1722
HENRY WARD BEECHER
no small skill and experience to get your books home, and
into their proper places, undiscovered. Perhaps the blundering
express brings them to the door just at evening. (What is it,
my dear? ” she says to you. “Oh! nothing — a few books that
I cannot do without. That smile! A true housewife that loves
her husband can smile a whole arithmetic at him at one look!
Of course she insists, in the kindest way, in sympathizing with
you in your literary acquisition. She cuts the strings of the
bundle (and of your heart), and outcomes the whole story.
You have bought a complete set of costly English books, full
bound in calf, extra gilt! You are caught, and feel very much
as if bound in calf yourself, and admirably lettered.
Now, this must not happen frequently. The books must be
smuggled home.
Let them be sent to some near place.