k-collectors. Each
was a remarkable man in several respects. William Beckford, the author
of 'Vathek' and the owner of Fonthill, was a universal collector. No
less enthusiastic in amassing pictures and objects of art than books,
he never scrupled to sell anything and everything except his books,
which he dearly loved. A man who could draw eulogy from Byron could not
have been an ordinary person. Fonthill and its treasures were announced
for sale in September, 1822, the auctioneer being James Christie, the
catalogue being in quarto size, and comprising ninety-five pages. The
auction, however, did not take place, but the collection was sold _en
masse_ to a Mr. John Farquhar for L330,000, Beckford reserving, however,
some of his choicest books, pictures, and curiosities. In the following
year the whole collection was dispersed by Phillips, the auctioneer, the
sale occupying thirty-seven days. With the money he received from
Farquhar, Beckford purchased annuities and land near Bath. He united two
houses in the Royal Crescent by a flying gallery extending over the
road, and his dwelling became one vast library. He added to his
collection up to his last days, and obtained many books at Charles
Nodier's sale. Beckford was one of the greatest book-enthusiasts that
ever lived. His passion was more particularly for Aldines, and other
early books bearing the insignia of celebrities, such as Frances I.,
Henri et Diane, and De Thou, and especially of choice old morocco
bindings by Desseuil, Padeloup, and Derome. He was especially strong in
old French and Italian books, generically classified as _facetiae_.
Beckford would read for days and weeks at a stretch, with no more
recreation than an occasional ride. That he read his books there is
ample testimony, for at his sale one lot comprised seven folio volumes
of transcripts from the autograph notes written by him on the fly-leaves
of the various works in his library. For example, to the copy of Peter
Beckford's 'Familiar Letters from Italy,' 1805, he concludes five pages
of notes with, 'This book has at least some merit. The language is
simple; an ill-natured person might add, and the thoughts not less so.'
In Brasbridge's 'Fruits of Experience,' 1824, he writes: 'They who like
hog-wash--and there are amateurs for anything--will not turn away
disappointed or disgusted with this book, but relish the stale, trashy
anecdotes it contains, and gobble them up with avidity.' After
Beckford's