pursued like "an
invulnerable football," the oppressive horror of the subterranean
recesses, the mischievous pleasantry of the Gulchenrouz idyll
reveal different facets of Beckford's ever-varying temper. In
_Vathek_, Beckford found expression not only for his devotion to
the Eastern outlook on life, but also for his own strangely
coloured, vehement personality. The interpreter walks ever at our
elbow whispering into our ear his human commentary on Vathek's
astounding adventures.

Beckford's pictures are remarkable for definite precision of
outline. There are no vague hints and suggestions, no lurking
shadows concealing untold horrors. The quaint dwarfs perched on
Vathek's shoulders, the children chasing blue butterflies,
Nouronihar and her maidens on tiptoe, with their hair floating in
the breeze, stand out in clear relief, as if painted on a fresco.
The imagery is so lucid that we are able to follow with
effortless pleasure the intricate windings of a plot which at
Beckford's whim twists and turns through scenes of wonderful
variety. Amid his wild, erratic excursions he never loses sight
of the end in view; the story, with all its vagaries, is
perfectly coherent. This we should expect from one who "loved to
bark a tough understanding."[72] It is the intellectual strength
and exuberant vitality behind Beckford's Oriental scenes that
lend them distinction and power.

_The History of the Caliph Vathek_ did not set a fashion. It is
true that the Orient sometimes formed the setting of nineteenth
century novels, as in Disraeli's _Alvoy_ (1833), where for a
brief moment, when the hero's torch is extinguished by bats on
his entry into subterranean portals, we find ourselves in the
abode of wonder and terror; but not till Meredith's _Shaving of
Shagpal_ (1856) do we meet again Beckford's kinship with the
East, and his gift for fantastic burlesque.

CHAPTER VI - GODWIN AND THE ROSICRUCIAN NOVEL.

When Miss Austen was asked to write a historical romance
"illustrative of the house of Coburg," she airily dismissed the
suggestion, pleading mirthfully:

"I could not sit down seriously to write a serious
romance under any other motive than to save my life,
and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and
never relax into laughing at myself or at other people
I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the
first chapter."[73]

If Godwin had been confronted with the same offer,