Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and IncidentsBeckford, William
General
Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents
Beckford, William
Beckford, William, 1760-1844
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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