BECKFORD'S ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.

To the present generation, the name of BECKFORD is better known titan his works. Had his celebrity depended altogether upon his productions, it would probably have been less than it Ilis voluptuous tastes, his enormous wealth, and the extraordinary uses to which lie turned it—the singularity of some parts of his

career, the affected mystery of others, and the solitude which has overshadowed its close—have given him in some sense a repu- tation of circumstances. On the other hand, it may be truly said, that had his apparent advantages of fortune been less, the gifts of nature would hare been turned to greater and to better account. His works—and they were all written at a very early period—exhibit indications of genius, which a sterner moral train-

ing, a laborious cultivation, the manure of study, and the accom- plishments of practice, would have enabled to vie with any of his contemporaries. The name of BECKFORD would illustrate the moral nocitura of excessive wealth, better than the names of LoNursus, SENECA, and LATERANUS, exhibited its physical evils.

The first of the two volumes before us has been privately printed for many years ; of the whole of the second, we are, from internal evidence, somewhat more doubtful. The cause of their present appearance is the approval with which some authors of high repu- tation have read them, and the uses to which they have applied their reading.

" some justly- admired authors," says 3Ir. BECK FORD in his Advertisement, " having e,nde.ectuled to glean a few stray thoughts from these Letters, evhich have rentable(' dormant a great many years, I have been at length emboldened to lay them before the public. Perhaps, as they happen to contain passages which persons of acknowledged taste have honoured with their notice, they may pos- sibly be less unworthy of emerging from the shade into daylight than I ima- gined. "Most of these Letters were written in the bloom and heyday of youthful spirits and youthful confidence; at a period when the old order of things existed with all its picturesque pomp% and absurdities ; when Venice enjoyed her piombi and submarine dungeons; France her Bastile; the Peninsula her holy Inquisition. To look back upon what is beginning to appear almost a fabulous ara in the eyes of the modern children of light, is not unamusiug or uninstructive ; for, still better to appreciate the present, we should be led not unfrequently to recall the intellectual muzziness of the past.

" But, happily, these pages are not crowded with such records; they are chiefly filled with delineations of landscape, and those effects of natural phe- nomena which it is not in the power of revolutions or constitutions to alter or destroy."

These Letters, which have at last appeared, seem all to have been addressed to one individual, the confidant of the writer's joeosa and seria—if at that time really serious matters oppressed the mind of "England's wealthiest son." The greater portion of the first volume is devoted to a descriptive account of part of his grand tour. The first letter, written in 17110, is dated Ostend; whence the writer proceeded to the Hague, by Ghent and Antwerp. Travelling onward through the Low Countries, and occasionally skirting the Rhine, he reached Bavaria ; crossed the mountains into Italy; sojourned at Venice; and passing on, visited the chief cities of Italy, from Padua to Naples. A second excursion, in 1782, gave rise to other epistles ; the best of which describe his visit to the Carthusian convent-of the Grande Chartreuse. In 1787, he went to Portugal; saw the sights and the curiosities of Lisbon and its vicinity ; mixed with its court and its nobles, and made sport of its characters. Unwillingly obeying, as we understand him, medi- cal orders and presettled arrangements, he travelled by land to Madrid; where the volumes close.

The subject matter of the work has been partly indicated by the author himself, in the passage already quoted. Nature, natural phenomena, and the picture-like effects which men or their produc- tions throw over a scene or present to the eye, arc not, however, all upon which his pen is exercised. Throughout, but especially in the second volume, we have sketches of manners, indications of character, and reports of conversations with the great ones of the earth—princes, nobles, bishops, and inquisitors—intermingled with light and elegant, but somewhat mystical criticism, on works of art and vertu.

The pervading spirit of the work is that of an elegant volup- tuary—of an Aristippean who lives for pleasure, whose wealth is unlimited, whose health is sufficient, and the exercise of whose will is unshackled by a thought of means. Is he tired of his car- riage—a horse is at hand for more manly exercise. His gon- dola, though swift, is slower than he likes—be gets into " a bark with six oars, which sweeps along the waters." The country Ise is passing through is dreary—lie sleeps away the monotonous ride, and spends the night in a garden or a grove, surrounded by the flowers and plants of a Southern clime, and canopied by a Southern sky with its brilliant lights. In the more civilized countries, he takes no heed of his table—milk, bread, wine, and

fruits, are almost the only eatables he mentions : in a barbarous region like Spain, we guess from a casual expression, that, like Pharoaln a chief baker attended him, to supply the breakfast- table with hot rolls. From the triumphs of art lie is content to receive an impression, without tasking his mind to investigate the causes which have produced the effect. But the scientific follower of' pleasure knows that its essence is variety and contrast: the Sybarite was not unreasonable who complained of his crumpled rose leaf, fora luxury should be perfect in itself; but a harder bed would at times be necessary to add soundness to slumber. Mr. BECKFORD knew all this. When the formal dulness of a court and its courtiers wearied, or the inane chatter of dowager dutehesss dis- gusted him, he stole away to the solitude of a mountain, or the society of a mixed company. Ile would leave his carriage or his steed, to thread forests or climb crags, brave the most piercing wind or the most scorching- sun, for the sake of a prospect, and cross a stream that he might look at a cottage and its children. It must not be understood from this, that there is any thing boastful or obtrusive in his book. What we have stated broadly and briefly is .scattered in detached passages, only perceptible to close attention, and at last indicated naturally and by the by. We /snow not whether he had a valet, or even a " insn ;" his liairins are barely hinted at. There is nothing- of the moss and gloomy licentiousness of Childe Harold about him. His luxury is more than Oriental, but ennobled by a classical taste, and dig- nified by a gentlemanly tone, a chivalric " sensibility of prin- ciple, under which vice itself lust all its grossness," if it lost not " half its evil."

The literary character of the work is soon told. Its merits are- a flowing narrative, much vivacity and animation, with an elegance which would have been greater had the point and smart- ness been less. Its defect is—slightness and superficiality, and want of hearty sympathy with titan; not that Alt. liscisimRn is here heartless, but there is sometimes too much of " let them cat pie-crust"—or rather, perhaps, the necessity of bread is over- looked. The style is clear and terse, frequently sparkling ; the tone coloured by the feelings of the writer. In this point of view,. it has some of the interest of an autobiography. We see the mo- dern Cruisus (without a Selon)—amused, pleased, nay sometimes gratified, if not contented, with the first novelty of foreign scenes, and the excitement of rapid motion. As these lose their freshness,

a stronger stimulus becomes necessary ; bolder but more barren prospects must be viewed, higher and bleaker mountains must be climbed. When nature fails, he must resort to friendship, or what is called such, whimsies, characters, and high life. We feel that even these pall upon the jaded pleasure-hunter, so wretched as to have no object of pursuit, till at last he is ilium] rellTring to the bygone days, when he was "fervid and ecstatic, the toy of every impulse, the willing dupe of every gay illusion."

We have little room for extracts; but here is a picture of

THE SPA NISH NOBILITY OF 1795.

If the race of grandees could, by judicious crossing, he sustained as successfully (as the King's bulls). Spain would not have to lament her present scurvy, ill, favoured generation of nobility. Should they be suffered to dwindle much longer, and accumulate estates and diseases by eternal intermarriages in the same family, I expect to see them on all-fours before the next century is much advanced in its course. These little men, however, ate not without some sparks of a lofty, resolute spirit ; very few, indeed, have bowed the knee to the Baal of the present humour, to the image which the King has set up. A train of eager, hungry dependants, picked out of inferior and foreign %losserm, for ni the company of the Duke of Alendia. Notwithstanding his loftw titles, unbounded wealth, solid power, and dazzling magnificence, he is treated hy the first class with silent contempt and passive indifference. They read the tale of his illustrious descent with the same sneering incredulity, as the patents and decrees which enumerate the services he has thole the state. Few instances, perhaps, are upon record, of a mire steady, perseveting contempt of an object in actual power, stamped with every ornament royal favour can devise to give it credit, value, and currency.

The next is a bit of description, which proves that he might have forestalled W ASHINGTON IRVING in elaborate elegance of style and fancy, even if he had not chosen to aim at higher ex- cellencies.

I am resolved to journey along with Quiet and Content fir my companions. These two comfortable deities have, I believe, taken Flanders under their espe- cial protection; every step one advances discovering some new proof of their influence. The neatness of the houses, and the universal cleanliness of the vil- lages, show plainly that their inhabitants live in ease and good humour. AR 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 ; amid there sows and porkers bask in the sun and wallow at their ease, till the hour of death and bacon arrives.

But it is high tittle to lead you towards Antwerp. More rich pastures, more ample fields of grain, more flourishing willows ! A boundless plain lies before this city, dotted with cows, and speckled with flowers,—a level whence its spires and quaint roofs are seen to advantage. The pale colours of the sky and a few gleams of watery smohine gave a true Flemish cast to the scenery ; and every thing appeared so consistent, that I had not a shadow of pretence to think myself asleep.

A contemporary, referring to the Preface, considers that ROGERS in his Ray, and Alooaz in his Rhymes on the Road, have been indebted to the Letters, but doubts about Bsracm. To our apprehension, the coincidences between BECKFORD and Bsraost are the most striking. It is not likely that the noble poet had read the Letters before the First Canto of Childe Harold was written, but there is a faint reflection of similar ideas in the Letters from Lisbon; and they each saw the same curiosities, and travelled when departing the same route. The coincidences of thought, and even of plan, in the Third and Fourth Cantos, are more perceptible. And perhaps the elo..iw.T pail of the following extruct might have furnished a hint for the magnificent opening of the Fourth.

" I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,

A palace and a prison on each hand."

Be this as it may, the passages have an interest of their own.

I was entering into a grand harum-scarum discourse with sonic Russian eosin's or princes, or whatever you please, just landed with dwarfs and footmen and governors, and staring like me about them, when Madame de Roseuberg ars rived, to whom I had the happiness of being recommended. She presented me to some of the most distinguished of the Venetian families, at their great casino which looks into the piazza, and cousists of live or six rooms, fitted up in a gay flimsy taste, neither lich nor elegant ; where were a great many lights and a great many ladies negligently dressed, their hair falling very freely about then), and innumerable adventures written in their eyes. The gentlemen were lolling upon the sofas or lounging about the apartments. The whole assembly seemed upon the verge of gaping, till coffee WAS carried round. This magic beverage diffused a temporal!, animation ; and for a mo- ment or two, conversation moved on with a degree of pleasing extravagrnce ; but the flash was soon dissipated, and nothing remained save cards and stupidity. In the intervals of shuffling and dealing, some talked over the alLirs of the Grand Council with less reserve than 1 expected ; and two or three of them &eked some feeble questions about the late tumults in London. It was one o'clock before all the company were assembled, and I left them at three, still dreaming over their coffee and card-tables. Trieze is their favourite game ; nuns due, ere, quairn, cirque, fante, cavallo re, are eternally repeated : the apart- ments echoed no other sound.

I wonder a lively people can endure such monotony; for I have been told the Venetians are remarkably spirited, and so eager in the pursuit of amusement as hardly to allow themselves any sleep. Some, for instance, after declaimiug in the Senate, walking an hour in the square, and fidgeting about from one casino to another till morning dawns, will get into a gondola, row across the lagtmes, take the post to Mestre or Fusina, and jumble over craggy pavements to Tre- viso; breakfast in haste, and rattle back again as if the Devil were charioteer; by eleven the party is restored to Venice, resumes rube and perriwig, and goes to Council.

This may be very true, and yet I will never cite the Venetians as examples of vivacity. Their nerves, unstrung by early debaucheries, allow no natural flow of lively spirits, and at best but a few moments of a false and a feverish activity. The approaches of sleep, forced back by au immoderate use of coffee, render them weak and listless ; and the facility of being wafted from place to place in a gondola, adds not a little to their indulence. In short, 1 can scarcely regard their Eastern neighbours in a more lazy light ; who, thanks to their opium and

their harems, pass their lives in one perpetual doze. *

At last, I reached once more the colonnades at the entrance, and caught the sea-breeze in the open porticos which front San Giorgio Alaggiore. The walls are covered in most places with grim visages sculptured in marble, whose mouths gape for accusations, and swallow every lie that malice and revenge can dictate. I wished for a few ears of the same kind, dispersed about the Doge's residence, to which one might apply one's own, and:catch some account of the mysteries within ; some little dialogue between the three Inquisi- tors, or debate in the Council of Ten.

This is the tribunal which holds the wealthy nobility in continuel awe; before which they appear with trembling and terror; and whose summons they dare not disobey. Sometimes, by way of clement"-, it condemns its victims to per-

petual imprisonment, in close, stilling between the leads and beams of the Palace; or, unwilling to spill the blood of a fellow-citizen, generously sinks them into dungeons, deep under the canals which wash its foundations ; sn that, above and below, its majesty is coutantinaied by the abodes of putibdi,o..i.t. What other sovereign could e!al ere the idea of having Iris immediate n. dence panted with tears? or revel in his eeteeitets that many et' his %tele consuming their hours in lameotations above his head, and that but a kw 1;:_;e; separated lion from the scene of their tort:ires? However gayly disposed, could one dance with pleasure on a pavement, bAteath which lie damp and gloomy caverns, whose inhabitants waste ;mar by p riuful degrees, and feel themselves whole years a dying? Impressed by tii• t. rrihla ideas, I could not regard the palace without horror, amt wished for the strength of a thousand antediluvians, to level it with the sea, lay open the secret recesses of punishment, and admit free gales and sunshine into every den. * * Abaudoning therefine the sad tenants of the piambi to their fate, I left the courts, and stepping into my bark was rowed down a canal overshadowed by the lofty walls of the palace. Beneath these fatal waters the dungeons I have also been speaking of are situated. 'fliere tle. wretches lie, marking the sound of the oars, and counting the free passage of every gondola. Above, a ion ble bridge, of bold majestic architecture, jun!, the highest part of the prisons to the secret galleries of the palace; front whence criminals are conducted over the arch to a cruel and mysterious death. I shuddered whilst prising below ; and believe it is not without cause, this strurtme is named forte dei Sospiri. Horrors and dismal prospects haunted my fancy upon my return. I could not dine in peace, so strongly was my imagination affected ; but snatching my pencil, I drew chasms and subterraneous hollows, the domain of kar and torture, with chains, racks, wheels, and dreadful engines, in the style of Piranesi. About sunset I went and refreshed myself with the cool air and cheerful scenery of the Fondamenti Nuovi ; a vast quay or terrace of white marble, which commands the whole series of isles, from San Michele to Toreclb,

"Thad rise and glitter o'er the a7abient ride."

'Nothing can be more picturesque than the groups of towers and cupolas which they present, mixed with flat roofs and low buildings, and now and then a pine or cypress. Afar off, a little woody isle, called 11 Deserto, swells from the ocean and diversifies its expanse.

The slightness and superficiality already alluded to, is traceable perhaps to the absence of a pursuit—to the want of knowledge -either scientific or practical. The condensation of verse gives weight and vigour to individual ideas, which become diffusive in prose, and retain their chief interest only for a temporary period. Facts are more enduring; at least as objects of comparison, if no 'longer of instruction. The power of the work, too, is perhaps chemical—combining, rather than creative. It has more the spark- ling effervescence of a mineral water, than the spirit of wine; at all events, the wine had scarcely suffieient body to keep for so long a period as forty or fifty years.