Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and IncidentsBeckford, William
General
Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents
Beckford, William
Beckford, William, 1760-1844
_July _13_th_.—The pure air of the morning invited me early to the hills.
Hiring a skiff, I rowed about a mile down the stream, and landed on a
sloping meadow, level with the waters, and newly mown. Heaps of hay
still lay dispersed under the copses which hemmed in on every side this
little sequestered paradise. What a spot for a tent! I could encamp
here for months, and never be tired. Not a day would pass by without
discovering some new promontory, some untrodden pasture, some unsuspected
vale, where I might remain among woods and precipices lost and forgotten.
I would give you, and two or three more, the clue of my labyrinth: nobody
else should be conscious of its entrance. Full of such agreeable dreams,
I rambled about the meads, scarcely knowing which way I was going;
sometimes a spangled fly led me astray, and, oftener, my own strange
fancies. Between both, I was perfectly bewildered, and should never have
found my boat again, had not an old German naturalist, who was collecting
fossils on the cliffs, directed me to it.
When I got home it was growing late, and I now began to perceive that I
had taken no refreshment, except the perfume of the hay and a few wood
strawberries; airy diet, you will observe, for one not yet received into
the realms of Ginnistan. {127}
_July_ 14_th_.—I have just made a discovery, that this place as full of
idlers and water-drinkers as their Highnesses of Orange and Hesse
Darmstadt can desire; for to them accrue all the profits of its
salubrious fountains. I protest, I knew nothing of all this yesterday,
so entirely was I taken up with the rocks and meadows; no chance of
meeting either card or billiard players in their solitudes. Both abound
at Ems, where they hop and fidget from ball to ball, unconscious of the
bold scenery in their neighbourhood, and totally insensible to its
charms. They had no notion, not they, of admiring barren crags and
precipices, where even the Lord would lose his way, as a coarse lubber
decorated with stars and orders very ingeniously observed to me; nor
could they form the least conception of any pleasure there was in
climbing like a goat amongst the cliffs, and then diving into woods and
recesses where the sun had never penetrated; where there were neither
card-tables prepared nor sideboards garnished; no _jambon de Mayence_ in
waiting; no supply of pipes, nor any of the commonest delights, to be met
with in the commonest taverns.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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