Vathek and Other Stories (Penguin Classics) by Malcolm Jack & William Beckford

Author:Malcolm Jack & William Beckford [Jack, Malcolm]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780141960142
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2007-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

SATIRES

II

From Modern Novel Writing or the Elegant Enthusiast, by Lady Harriet Malowy [i.e. William Beckford], 2 Vols, London, 1796. The extracts are given the volume number and the page reference.

SENSIBILITY:

THE GENERAL’S GRANDMOTHER DIES

The grief, the anguish of the General, is not to be described: that heart alone can sympathize with such sensations, which has experienced such a loss. The revival of his grandmother’s virtues obliterated the impression of her failings: – he remembered only the dignity of her form, and the graces of her mind! – nor could all his philosophic resolution support with fortitude, this unexpected stroke of fortune! He felt, bereaved of every social joy, the comfort of his life– deserted and forlorn! Thus the fair blooming branches cropped from the venerable tree, are left unsheltered, to the rude elements and boisterous tempest!

Scarce could the gentle force of friendship drag this heart-stricken General from the deformed remains of what was once his grandmother. Fixed like a statue, he gazed upon her face! then smote his gallant breast, and with a smile of anguish thus exclaimed.

‘Yes, it is past! the only tie of nature that remained to attach me to existence, is now dissolved! – Life has no more a charm, nor death a pang for me! O thou who lately wert so kind, so talkative, so venerable! – thou art fled for ever – the ravages of sickness have defaced thine awe-inspiring wrinkles, and left thee a spectacle of horror! O my grandmother! my grandmother!’

Thus did the afflicted General vent his soul’s anguish; neither when borne from this scene of desolation, did his piercing lamentation cease: – still he addressed the invisible object of his sorrows, till overwhelmed with grief, he sunk into a silent stupor.

[Vol. I, pp. 153–5]

A SONG OF DEATH

With blushing modestly she glows,

And from her bosom takes a rose,

Accept my Cordon!1 she cries,

With sweetest look, and downcast eyes,

Accept from me this fading flower -

He scarce can live another hour,

Yet while ’tis fresh, O let it be

A dear remembrancer of me!

Rash sleep,

Slash deep,

Loory loory loo.

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