Table of Contents
Preface
Some sage observations that naturally introduce our important history.
A superficial view of our hero’s infancy.
He is initiated in a military life, and has the good fortune to acquire a generous patron.
His mother’s prowess and death; together with some instances of his own sagacity.
A brief detail of his education.
He meditates schemes of importance.
Engages in partnership with a female associate, in order to put his talents in action.
Their first attempt; with a digression which some readers may think impertinent.
The confederates change their battery, and achieve a remarkable adventure.
They proceed to levy contributions with great success, until our hero sets out with the young count for Vienna, where he enters into league with another adventurer.
Fathom makes various efforts in the world of gallantry.
He effects a lodgment in the house of a rich jeweller.
He is exposed to a most perilous incident in the course of his intrigue with the daughter.
He is reduced to a dreadful dilemma, in consequence of an assignation with the wife.
But at length succeeds in his attempt upon both.
His success begets a blind security, by which he is once again well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea’s apartment.
The step-Dame’s suspicions being awakened, she lays a snare for our adventurer, from which he is delivered by the interposition of his good genius.
Our hero departs from Vienna, and quits the domain of Venus for the rough field of Mars.
He puts himself under the guidance of his associate, and stumbles upon the French camp, where he finishes his military career.
He prepares a stratagem but finds himself countermined—proceeds on his journey, and is overtaken by a terrible tempest.
He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his reception.
Acquits himself with address in a nocturnal riot.
He overlooks the advances of his friends, and smarts severely for his neglect.
He bears his fate like a philosopher; and contracts acquaintance with a very remarkable personage.
The history of the noble Castilian.
A flagrant instance of Fathom’s virtue, in the manner of his retreat to England.
Some account of his fellow-travellers.
Another providential deliverance from the effects of the smuggler’s ingenious conjecture.
The singular manner of Fathom’s attack and triumph over the virtue of the fair Elenor.
He by accident encounters his old friend, with whom he holds a conference, and renews a treaty.
He appears in the great world with universal applause and admiration.
He attracts the envy and ill offices of the minor knights of his own order, over whom he obtains a complete victory.
He performs another exploit, that conveys a true idea of his gratitude and honour.
He repairs to bristol spring, where he reigns paramount during the whole season.
He is smitten with the charms of a female adventurer, whose allurements subject him to a new vicissitude of fortune.
Fresh cause for exerting his equanimity and fortitude.
The biter is bit.
Our adventurer is made acquainted with a new scene of life.
He contemplates majesty and its satellites in eclipse.
One quarrel is compromised, and another decided by unusual arms.
An unexpected rencontre, and a happy revolution in the affairs of our adventurer.
Fathom justifies the proverb, “What’s bred in the bone will never come out of the flesh.”
Anecdotes of poverty, and experiments for the benefit of those whom it may concern.
Renaldo’s distress deepens, and Fathom’s plot thickens.
Our adventurer becomes absolute in his power over the passions of his friend, and effects one half of his aim.
The art of borrowing further explained, and an account of a strange phenomenon.
Count Fathom unmasks his battery; is repulsed; and varies his operations without effect.
Monimia’s honour is protected by the interposition of heaven.
Fathom shifts the scene, and appears in a new character.
Triumphs over a medical rival.
Repairs to the metropolis, and enrols himself among the sons of paean.
Acquires employment in consequence of a lucky miscarriage.
His eclipse, and gradual declination.
After divers unsuccessful efforts, he has recourse to the matrimonial noose.
In which his fortune is effectually strangled.
Fathom being safely housed, the reader is entertained with a retrospect.
Renaldo abridges the proceedings at law, and approves himself the son of his father.
He is the messenger of happiness to his sister, who removes the film which had long obstructed his penetration, with regard to Count Fathom.
He recompenses the attachment of his friend; and receives a letter that reduces him to the verge of death and distraction.
Renaldo meets with a living monument of justice, and encounters a personage of some note in these memoirs.
His return to England, and midnight pilgrimage to Monimia’s tomb.
He renews the rites of sorrow, and is entranced.
The mystery unfolded—another recognition, which, it is to be hoped, the reader could not foresee.
A retrospective link, necessary for the concatenation of these memoirs.
The history draws near a period.
The longest and the last.
You and I, my good friend, have often deliberated on the
difficulty of writing such a dedication as might gratify the
self-complacency of a patron, without exposing the author to the
ridicule or censure of the public; and I think we generally agreed
that the task was altogether impracticable.—Indeed, this was
one of the few subjects on which we have always thought in the same
manner. For, notwithstanding that deference and regard which we
mutually pay to each other, certain it is, we have often differed,
according to the predominancy of those different passions, which
frequently warp the opinion, and perplex the understanding of the
most judicious.
In dedication, as in poetry, there is no medium; for, if any one
of the human virtues be omitted in the enumeration of the
patron’s good qualities, the whole address is construed into
an affront, and the writer has the mortification to find his praise
prostituted to very little purpose.
On the other hand, should he yield to the transports of
gratitude or affection, which is always apt to exaggerate, and
produce no more than the genuine effusions of his heart, the world
will make no allowance for the warmth of his passion, but ascribe
the praise he bestows to interested views and sordid adulation.
Sometimes too, dazzled by the tinsel of a character which he has
no opportunity to investigate, he pours forth the homage of his
admiration upon some false Maecenas, whose future conduct gives the
lie to his eulogium, and involves him in shame and confusion of
face. Such was the fate of a late ingenious author [the Author of
the “Seasons”], who was so often put to the blush for
the undeserved incense he had offered in the heat of an
enthusiastic disposition, misled by popular applause, that he had
resolved to retract, in his last will, all the encomiums which he
had thus prematurely bestowed, and stigmatise the unworthy by
name—a laudable scheme of poetical justice, the execution of
which was fatally prevented by untimely death.
Whatever may have been the fate of other dedicators, I, for my
own part, sit down to write this address, without any apprehension
of disgrace or disappointment; because I know you are too well
convinced of my affection and sincerity to repine at what I shall
say touching your character and conduct. And you will do me the
justice to believe, that this public distinction is a testimony of
my particular friendship and esteem.
Not that I am either insensible of your infirmities, or disposed
to conceal them from the notice of mankind. There are certain
foibles which can only be cured by shame and mortification; and
whether or not yours be of that species, I shall have the comfort
to think my best endeavours were used for your reformation.
Know then, I can despise your pride, while I honour your
integrity, and applaud your taste, while I am shocked at your
ostentation.—I have known you trifling, superficial, and
obstinate in dispute; meanly jealous and awkwardly reserved; rash
and haughty in your resentments; and coarse and lowly in your
connexions. I have blushed at the weakness of your conversation,
and trembled at the errors of your conduct—yet, as I own you
possess certain good qualities, which overbalance these defects,
and distinguish you on this occasion as a person for whom I have
the most perfect attachment and esteem, you have no cause to
complain of the indelicacy with which your faults are reprehended.
And as they are chiefly the excesses of a sanguine disposition and
looseness of thought, impatient of caution or control, you may,
thus stimulated, watch over your own intemperance and infirmity
with redoubled vigilance and consideration, and for the future
profit by the severity of my reproof.
These, however, are not the only motives that induce me to
trouble you with this public application. I must not only perform
my duty to my friends, but also discharge the debt I owe to my own
interest. We live in a censorious age; and an author cannot take
too much precaution to anticipate the prejudice, misapprehension,
and temerity of malice, ignorance, and presumption.
I therefore think it incumbent upon me to give some previous
intimation of the plan which I have executed in the subsequent
performance, that I may not be condemned upon partial evidence; and
to whom can I with more propriety appeal in my explanation than to
you, who are so well acquainted with all the sentiments and
emotions of my breast?
A novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the
characters of life, disposed in different groups, and exhibited in
various attitudes, for the purposes of an uniform plan, and general
occurrence, to which every individual figure is subservient. But
this plan cannot be executed with propriety, probability, or
success, without a principal personage to attract the attention,
unite the incidents, unwind the clue of the labyrinth, and at last
close the scene, by virtue of his own importance.
Almost all the heroes of this kind, who have hitherto succeeded
on the English stage, are characters of transcendent worth,
conducted through the vicissitudes of fortune, to that goal of
happiness, which ever ought to be the repose of extraordinary
desert.—Yet the same principle by which we rejoice at the
remuneration of merit, will teach us to relish the disgrace and
discomfiture of vice, which is always an example of extensive use
and influence, because it leaves a deep impression of terror upon
the minds of those who were not confirmed in the pursuit of
morality and virtue, and, while the balance wavers, enables the
right scale to preponderate.
In the drama, which is a more limited field of invention, the
chief personage is often the object of our detestation and
abhorrence; and we are as well pleased to see the wicked schemes of
a Richard blasted, and the perfidy of a Maskwell exposed, as to
behold a Bevil happy, and an Edward victorious.
The impulses of fear, which is the most violent and interesting
of all the passions, remain longer than any other upon the memory;
and for one that is allured to virtue, by the contemplation of that
peace and happiness which it bestows, a hundred are deterred from
the practice of vice, by that infamy and punishment to which it is
liable, from the laws and regulations of mankind.
Let me not, therefore, be condemned for having chosen my
principal character from the purlieus of treachery and fraud, when
I declare my purpose is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit
of the unexperienced and unwary, who, from the perusal of these
memoirs, may learn to avoid the manifold snares with which they are
continually surrounded in the paths of life; while those who
hesitate on the brink of iniquity may be terrified from plunging
into that irremediable gulf, by surveying the deplorable fate of
Ferdinand Count Fathom.
That the mind might not be fatigued, nor the imagination
disgusted, by a succession of vicious objects, I have endeavoured
to refresh the attention with occasional incidents of a different
nature; and raised up a virtuous character, in opposition to the
adventurer, with a view to amuse the fancy, engage the affection,
and form a striking contrast which might heighten the expression,
and give a relief to the moral of the whole.
If I have not succeeded in my endeavours to unfold the mysteries
of fraud, to instruct the ignorant, and entertain the vacant; if I
have failed in my attempts to subject folly to ridicule, and vice
to indignation; to rouse the spirit of mirth, wake the soul of
compassion, and touch the secret springs that move the heart; I
have, at least, adorned virtue with honour and applause, branded
iniquity with reproach and shame, and carefully avoided every hint
or expression which could give umbrage to the most delicate
reader—circumstances which (whatever may be my fate with the
public) will with you always operate in favour of,
Dear sir, your very affectionate friend and servant,
THE AUTHOR.
Cardinal de Retz very judiciously observes, that all historians
must of necessity be subject to mistakes, in explaining the motives
of those actions they record, unless they derive their intelligence
from the candid confession of the person whose character they
represent; and that, of consequence, every man of importance ought
to write his own memoirs, provided he has honesty enough to tell
the truth, without suppressing any circumstance that may tend to
the information of the reader. This, however, is a requisite that,
I am afraid, would be very rarely found among the number of those
who exhibit their own portraits to the public. Indeed, I will
venture to say, that, how upright soever a man’s intentions
may be, he will, in the performance of such a task, be sometimes
misled by his own phantasy, and represent objects, as they appeared
to him, through the mists of prejudice and passion.
An unconcerned reader, when he peruses the history of two
competitors, who lived two thousand years ago, or who perhaps never
had existence, except in the imagination of the author, cannot help
interesting himself in the dispute, and espousing one side of the
contest, with all the zeal of a warm adherent. What wonder, then,
that we should be heated in our own concerns, review our actions
with the same self-approbation that they had formerly acquired, and
recommend them to the world with all the enthusiasm of paternal
affection?
Supposing this to be the case, it was lucky for the cause of
historical truth, that so many pens have been drawn by writers, who
could not be suspected of such partiality; and that many great
personages, among the ancients as well as moderns, either would not
or could not entertain the public with their own memoirs. From this
want of inclination or capacity to write, in our hero himself, the
undertaking is now left to me, of transmitting to posterity the
remarkable adventures of FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM; and by the time
the reader shall have glanced over the subsequent sheets, I doubt
not but he will bless God that the adventurer was not his own
historian.
This mirror of modern chivalry was none of those who owe their
dignity to the circumstances of their birth, and are consecrated
from the cradle for the purposes of greatness, merely because they
are the accidental children of wealth. He was heir to no visible
patrimony, unless we reckon a robust constitution, a tolerable
appearance, and an uncommon capacity, as the advantages of
inheritance. If the comparison obtains in this point of
consideration, he was as much as any man indebted to his parent;
and pity it was, that, in the sequel of his fortune, he never had
an opportunity of manifesting his filial gratitude and regard. From
this agreeable act of duty to his sire, and all those tendernesses
that are reciprocally enjoyed betwixt the father and the son, he
was unhappily excluded by a small circumstance; at which, however,
he was never heard to repine. In short, had he been brought forth
in the fabulous ages of the world, the nature of his origin might
have turned to his account; he might, like other heroes of
antiquity, have laid claim to divine extraction, without running
the risk of being claimed by an earthly father. Not that his
parents had any reason to disown or renounce their offspring, or
that there was anything preternatural in the circumstances of his
generation and birth; on the contrary, he was, from the beginning,
a child of promising parts, and in due course of nature ushered
into the world amidst a whole cloud of witnesses. But, that he was
acknowledged by no mortal sire, solely proceeded from the
uncertainty of his mother, whose affections were so dissipated
among a number of admirers, that she could never pitch upon the
person from whose loins our hero sprung.
Over and above this important doubt under which he was begotten,
other particularities attended his birth, and seemed to mark him
out as something uncommon among the sons of men. He was brought
forth in a waggon, and might be said to be literally a native of
two different countries; for, though he first saw the light in
Holland, he was not born till after the carriage arrived in
Flanders; so that, all these extraordinary circumstances
considered, the task of determining to what government he naturally
owed allegiance, would be at least as difficult as that of
ascertaining the so much contested birthplace of Homer.
Certain it is, the Count’s mother was an Englishwoman,
who, after having been five times a widow in one campaign, was, in
the last year of the renowned Marlborough’s command, numbered
among the baggage of the allied army, which she still accompanied,
through pure benevolence of spirit, supplying the ranks with the
refreshing streams of choice Geneva, and accommodating individuals
with clean linen, as the emergency of their occasions required. Nor
was her philanthropy altogether confined to such ministration; she
abounded with “the milk of human kindness,” which
flowed plentifully among her fellow-creatures; and to every son of
Mars who cultivated her favour, she liberally dispensed her smiles,
in order to sweeten the toils and dangers of the field.
And here it will not be amiss to anticipate the remarks of the
reader, who, in the chastity and excellency of his conception, may
possibly exclaim, “Good Heaven! will these authors never
reform their imaginations, and lift their ideas from the obscene
objects of low life? Must the public be again disgusted with the
grovelling adventures of a waggon? Will no writer of genius draw
his pen in the vindication of taste, and entertain us with the
agreeable characters, the dignified conversation, the poignant
repartee, in short, the genteel comedy of the polite
world?”
Have a little patience, gentle, delicate, sublime critic; you, I
doubt not, are one of those consummate connoisseurs, who, in their
purifications, let humour evaporate, while they endeavour to
preserve decorum, and polish wit, until the edge of it is quite
worn off. Or, perhaps, of that class, who, in the sapience of
taste, are disgusted with those very flavours in the productions of
their own country which have yielded infinite delectation to their
faculties, when imported from another clime; and d—n an
author in despite of all precedent and prescription;—who
extol the writings of Petronius Arbiter, read with rapture the
amorous sallies of Ovid’s pen, and chuckle over the story of
Lucian’s ass; yet, if a modern author presumes to relate the
progress of a simple intrigue, are shocked at the indecency and
immorality of the scene;—who delight in following Guzman
d’Alfarache, through all the mazes of squalid beggary; who
with pleasure accompany Don Quixote and his squire, in the lowest
paths of fortune; who are diverted with the adventures of
Scarron’s ragged troop of strollers, and highly entertained
with the servile situations of Gil Blas; yet, when a character in
humble life occasionally occurs in a performance of our own growth,
exclaim, with an air of disgust, “Was ever anything so mean!
sure, this writer must have been very conversant with the lowest
scenes of life”;—who, when Swift or Pope represents a
coxcomb in the act of swearing, scruple not to laugh at the
ridiculous execrations; but, in a less reputed author, condemn the
use of such profane expletives;—who eagerly explore the jakes
of Rabelais, for amusement, and even extract humour from the
dean’s description of a lady’s dressing-room; yet in a
production of these days, unstamped with such venerable names, will
stop their noses, with all the signs of loathing and abhorrence, at
a bare mention of the china chamber-pot;—who applauded
Catullus, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucan, for their spirit in lashing
the greatest names of antiquity; yet, when a British satirist, of
this generation, has courage enough to call in question the talents
of a pseudo-patron in power, accuse him of insolence, rancour, and
scurrility.
If such you be, courteous reader, I say again, have a little
patience; for your entertainment we are about to write. Our hero
shall, with all convenient despatch, be gradually sublimed into
those splendid connexions of which you are enamoured; and God
forbid, that, in the meantime, the nature of his extraction should
turn to his prejudice in a land of freedom like this, where
individuals are every day ennobled in consequence of their own
qualifications, without the least retrospective regard to the rank
or merit of their ancestors. Yes, refined reader, we are hastening
to that goal of perfection, where satire dares not show her face;
where nature is castigated, almost even to still life; where humour
turns changeling, and slavers in an insipid grin; where wit is
volatilised into a mere vapour; where decency, divested of all
substance, hovers about like a fantastic shadow; where the salt of
genius, escaping, leaves nothing but pure and simple phlegm; and
the inoffensive pen for ever drops the mild manna of
soul-sweetening praise.
Having thus bespoken the indulgence of our guests, let us now
produce the particulars of our entertainment, and speedily conduct
our adventurer through the stage of infancy, which seldom teems
with interesting incidents.
As the occupations of his mother would not conveniently permit
her to suckle this her firstborn at her own breast, and those happy
ages were now no more, in which the charge of nursing a child might
be left to the next goat or she-wolf, she resolved to improve upon
the ordinances of nature, and foster him with a juice much more
energetic than the milk of goat, wolf, or woman; this was no other
than that delicious nectar, which, as we have already hinted, she
so cordially distributed from a small cask that hung before her,
depending from her shoulders by a leathern zone. Thus determined,
ere he was yet twelve days old, she enclosed him in a canvas
knapsack, which being adjusted to her neck, fell down upon her
back, and balanced the cargo that rested on her bosom.
There are not wanting those who affirm, that, while her double
charge was carried about in this situation, her keg was furnished
with a long and slender flexible tube, which, when the child began
to be clamorous, she conveyed into his mouth, and straight he
stilled himself with sucking; but this we consider as an
extravagant assertion of those who mix the marvellous in all their
narrations, because we cannot conceive how the tender organs of an
infant could digest such a fiery beverage, which never fails to
discompose the constitutions of the most hardy and robust. We
therefore conclude that the use of this potation was more
restrained, and that it was with simple element diluted into a
composition adapted to his taste and years. Be this as it will, he
certainly was indulged in the use of it to such a degree as would
have effectually obstructed his future fortune, had not he been
happily cloyed with the repetition of the same fare, for which he
conceived the utmost detestation and abhorrence, rejecting it with
loathing and disgust, like those choice spirits, who, having been
crammed with religion in their childhood, renounce it in their
youth, among other absurd prejudices of education.
While he was thus dangled in a state of suspension, a German
trooper was transiently smit with the charms of his mother, who
listened to his honourable addresses, and once more received the
silken bonds of matrimony; the ceremony having been performed as
usual at the drum-head. The lady had no sooner taken possession of
her new name, than she bestowed it upon her son, who was
thenceforward distinguished by the appellation of Ferdinand de
Fadom; nor was the husband offended at this presumption in his
wife, which he not only considered as a proof of her affection and
esteem, but also as a compliment, by which he might in time acquire
the credit of being the real father of such a hopeful child.
Notwithstanding this new engagement with a foreigner, our
hero’s mother still exercised the virtues of her calling
among the English troops, so much was she biassed by that laudable
partiality, which, as Horace observes, the natale solum generally
inspires. Indeed this inclination was enforced by another reason,
that did not fail to influence her conduct in this particular; all
her knowledge of the High Dutch language consisted in some words of
traffic absolutely necessary for the practice of hex vocation,
together with sundry oaths and terms of reproach, that kept her
customers in awe; so that, except among her own countrymen, she
could not indulge that propensity to conversation, for which she
had been remarkable from her earliest years. Nor did this instance
of her affection fail of turning to her account in the sequel. She
was promoted to the office of cook to a regimental mess of
officers; and, before the peace of Utrecht, was actually in
possession of a suttling-tent, pitched for the accommodation of the
gentlemen in the army.
Meanwhile, Ferdinand improved apace in the accomplishments of
infancy; his beauty was conspicuous, and his vigour so uncommon,
that he was with justice likened unto Hercules in the cradle. The
friends of his father-in-law dandled him on their knees, while he
played with their whiskers, and, before he was thirteen months old,
taught him to suck brandy impregnated with gunpowder, through the
touch-hole of a pistol. At the same time, he was caressed by divers
serjeants of the British army, who severally and in secret
contemplated his qualifications with a father’s pride,
excited by the artful declaration with which the mother had
flattered each apart.
Soon as the war was (for her unhappily) concluded, she, as in
duty bound, followed her husband into Bohemia; and his regiment
being sent into garrison at Prague, she opened a cabaret in that
city, which was frequented by a good many guests of the Scotch and
Irish nations, who were devoted to the exercise of arms in the
service of the Emperor. It was by this communication that the
English tongue became vernacular to young Ferdinand, who, without
such opportunity, would have been a stranger to the language of his
forefathers, in spite of all his mother’s loquacity and
elocution; though it must be owned, for the credit of her maternal
care, that she let slip no occasion of making it familiar to his
ear and conception; for, even at those intervals in which she could
find no person to carry on the altercation, she used to hold forth
in earnest soliloquies upon the subject of her own situation,
giving vent to many opprobrious invectives against her
husband’s country, between which and Old England she drew
many odious comparisons; and prayed, without ceasing, that Europe
might speedily be involved in a general war, so as that she might
have some chance of re-enjoying the pleasures and emoluments of a
Flanders campaign.
While she wearied Heaven with these petitions, the flame of war
broke out betwixt the houses of Ottoman and Austria, and the
Emperor sent forth an army into Hungary, under the auspices of the
renowned Prince Eugene. On account of this expedition, the mother
of our hero gave up housekeeping, and cheerfully followed her
customers and husband into the field; having first provided herself
with store of those commodities in which she had formerly
merchandised. Although the hope of profit might in some measure
affect her determination, one of the chief motives for her visiting
the frontiers of Turkey, was the desire of initiating her son in
the rudiments of his education, which she now thought high time to
inculcate, he being, at this period, in the sixth year of his age;
he was accordingly conducted to the camp, which she considered as
the most consummate school of life, and proposed for the scene of
his instruction; and in this academy he had not continued many
weeks, when he was an eye-witness of that famous victory, which,
with sixty thousand men, the Imperial general obtained over an army
of one hundred and fifty thousand Turks.
His father-in-law was engaged, and his mother would not be idle
on this occasion. She was a perfect mistress of all the camp
qualifications, and thought it a duty incumbent on her to
contribute all that lay in her power towards distressing the enemy.
With these sentiments she hovered about the skirts of the army, and
the troops were no sooner employed in the pursuit, than she began
to traverse the field of battle with a poignard and a bag, in order
to consult her own interest, annoy the foe, and exercise her
humanity at the same time. In short, she had, with amazing prowess,
delivered some fifty or threescore disabled Mussulmen of the pain
under which they groaned, and made a comfortable booty of the
spoils of the slain, when her eyes were attracted by the rich
attire of an Imperial officer, who lay bleeding on the plain, to
all appearance in the agonies of death.
She could not in her heart refuse that favour to a friend and
Christian she had so compassionately bestowed upon so many enemies
and infidels, and therefore drew near with the sovereign remedy,
which she had already administered with such success. As she
approached this deplorable object of pity, her ears were surprised
with an ejaculation in the English tongue, which he fervently
pronounced, though with a weak and languid voice, recommending his
soul to God, and his family to the protection of Heaven. Our
Amazon’s purpose was staggered by this providential incident;
the sound of her native language, so unexpectedly heard, and so
pathetically delivered, had a surprising effect upon her
imagination; and the faculty of reflection did not forsake her in
such emergency. Though she could not recollect the features of this
unhappy officer, she concluded, from his appearance, that he was
some person of distinction in the service, and foresaw greater
advantage to herself in attempting to preserve his life, than she
could possibly reap from the execution of her first resolve.
“If,” said she to herself, “I can find means of
conveying him to his tent alive, he cannot but in conscience
acknowledge my humanity with some considerable recompense; and,
should he chance to survive his wounds, I have everything to expect
from his gratitude and power.”
Fraught with these prudential suggestions, she drew near the
unfortunate stranger, and, in a softened accent of pity and
condolence, questioned him concerning his name, condition, and the
nature of his mischance, at the same time making a gentle tender of
her service. Agreeably surprised to hear himself accosted in such a
manner, by a person whose equipage seemed to promise far other
designs, he thanked her in the most grateful terms for her
humanity, with the appellation of kind countrywoman; gave her to
understand that he was colonel of a regiment of horse; that he had
fallen in consequence of a shot he received in his breast at the
beginning of the action; and, finally, entreated her to procure
some carriage on which he might be removed to his tent. Perceiving
him faint and exhausted with loss of blood, she raised up his head,
and treated him with that cordial which was her constant companion.
At that instant, espying a small body of hussars returning to the
camp with the plunder they had taken, she invoked their assistance,
and they forthwith carried the officer to his own quarters, where
his wound was dressed, and his preserver carefully tended him until
his recovery was completed.
In return for these good offices, this gentleman, who was
originally of Scotland, rewarded her for the present with great
liberality, assured her of his influence in promoting her husband,
and took upon himself the charge of young Ferdinand’s
education; the boy was immediately taken into his protection, and
entered as a trooper in his own regiment; but his good intentions
towards his father-in-law were frustrated by the death of the
German, who, in a few days after this disposition, was shot in the
trenches before Temiswaer.
This event, over and above the conjugal affliction with which it
invaded the lady’s quiet, would have involved her in infinite
difficulty and distress, with regard to her temporal concerns, by
leaving her unprotected in the midst of strangers, had not she been
thus providentially supplied with an effectual patron in the
colonel, who was known by the appellation of Count Melvil. He no
sooner saw her, by the death of her husband, detached from all
personal connexions with a military life, than he proposed that she
should quit her occupation in the camp, and retire to his
habitation in the city of Presburg, where she would be entertained
in ease and plenty during the remaining part of her natural life.
With all due acknowledgments of his generosity, she begged to be
excused from embracing his proposal, alleging she was so much
accustomed to her present way of life, and so much devoted to the
service of the soldiery, that she should never be happy in
retirement, while the troops of any prince in Christendom kept the
field.
The Count, finding her determined to prosecute her scheme,
repeated his promise of befriending her upon all occasions; and in
the meantime admitted Ferdinand into the number of his domestics,
resolving that he should be brought up in attendance upon his own
son, who was a boy of the same age. He kept him, however, in his
tent, until he should have an opportunity of revisiting his family
in person; and, before that occasion offered, two whole years
elapsed, during which the illustrious Prince Eugene gained the
celebrated battle of Belgrade, and afterwards made himself master
of that important frontier.
It would have been impossible for the mother of our adventurer,
such as she hath been described, to sit quietly in her tent, while
such an heroic scene was acting. She was no sooner apprised of the
general’s intention to attack the enemy, than she, as usual,
packed up her moveables in a waggon, which she committed to the
care of a peasant in the neighbourhood, and put herself in motion
with the troops; big with the expectation of re-acting that part in
which she had formerly acquitted herself so much to her
advantage.—Nay, she by this time looked upon her own presence
as a certain omen of success to the cause which she espoused; and,
in their march to battle, actually encouraged the ranks with
repeated declarations, importing, that she had been eye-witness of
ten decisive engagements, in all of which her friends had been
victorious, and imputing such uncommon good fortune to some
supernatural quality inherent in her person.
Whether or not this confidence contributed to the fortune of the
day, by inspiring the soldiers to an uncommon pitch of courage and
resolution, I shall not pretend to determine. But, certain it is,
the victory began from that quarter in which she had posted
herself; and no corps in the army behaved with such intrepidity as
that which was manifested by those who were favoured with her
admonitions and example; for she not only exposed her person to the
enemy’s fire, with the indifference and deliberation of a
veteran, but she is said to have achieved a very conspicuous
exploit by the prowess of her single arm. The extremity of the line
to which she had attached herself, being assaulted in flank by a
body of the spahis, wheeled about, in order to sustain the charge,
and received them with such a seasonable fire, as brought a great
number of turbans to the ground; among those who fell, was one of
the chiefs or agas, who had advanced before the rest, with a view
to signalise his valour.
Our English Penthesilea no sooner saw this Turkish leader drop,
than, struck with the magnificence of his own and horse’s
trappings, she sprung forward to seize them as her prize, and found
the aga not dead, though in a good measure disabled by his
misfortune, which was entirely owing to the weight of his horse,
that, having been killed by a musket-ball, lay upon his leg, so
that he could not disengage himself. Nevertheless, perceiving the
virago approach with fell intent, he brandished his symitar, and
tried to intimidate his assailant with a most horrible exclamation;
but it was not the dismal yell of a dismounted cavalier, though
enforced with a hideous ferocity of countenance, and the menacing
gestures with which he waited her approach, that could intimidate
such an undaunted she-campaigner; she saw him writhing in the
agonies of a situation from which he could not move; and, running
towards him with the nimbleness and intrepidity of a Camilla,
described a semicircle in the progress of her assault, and
attacking him on one side, plunged her well-tried dagger in his
throat. The shades of death encompassed him, his life-blood issued
at the wound, he fell prone upon the earth, he bit the dust, and
having thrice invoked the name of Allah! straight expired.
While his destiny was thus fulfilled, his followers began to
reel; they seemed dismayed at the fate of their chief, beheld their
companions drop like the leaves in autumn, and suddenly halted in
the midst of their career. The Imperialists, observing the
confusion of the enemy, redoubled their fire; and, raising a
dreadful shout, advanced in order to improve the advantage they had
gained. The spahis durst not wait the shock of such an encounter;
they wheeled to the right-about, and clapping spurs to their
horses, fled in the utmost disorder. This was actually the
circumstance that turned the scale of battle. The Austrians pursued
their good fortune with uncommon impetuosity, and in a few minutes
left the field clear for the mother of our hero, who was such an
adept in the art of stripping, that in the twinkling of an eye the
bodies of the aga and his Arabian lay naked to the skin. It would
have been happy for her, had she been contented with these
first-fruits, reaped from the fortune of the day, and retired with
her spoils, which were not inconsiderable; but, intoxicated with
the glory she had won, enticed by the glittering caparisons that
lay scattered on the plain, and without doubt prompted by the
secret instinct of her fate, she resolved to seize opportunity by
the forelock, and once for all indemnify herself for the many
fatigues, hazards, and sorrows she had undergone.
Thus determined, she reconnoitred the field, and practised her
address so successfully, that in less than half an hour she was
loaded with ermine and embroidery, and disposed to retreat with her
burden, when her regards were solicited by a splendid bundle, which
she descried at some distance lying on the ground. This was no
other than an unhappy officer of hussars; who, after having the
good fortune to take a Turkish standard, was desperately wounded in
the thigh, and obliged to quit his horse; finding himself in such a
helpless condition, he had wrapped his acquisition round his body,
that whatever might happen, he and his glory should not be parted;
and thus shrouded, among the dying and the dead, he had observed
the progress of our heroine, who stalked about the field, like
another Atropos, finishing, wherever she came, the work of death.
He did not at all doubt, that he himself would be visited in the
course of her peregrinations, and therefore provided for her
reception, with a pistol ready cocked in his hand, while he lay
perdue beneath his covert, in all appearance bereft of life. He was
not deceived in his prognostic; she no sooner eyed the golden
crescent than, inflamed with curiosity or cupidity, she directed
thitherward her steps, and discerning the carcase of a man, from
which, she thought, there would be a necessity for disengaging it,
she lifted up her weapon, in order to make sure of her purchase;
and in the very instant of discharging her blow, received a brace
of bullets in her brain.
Thus ended the mortal pilgrimage of this modern Amazon; who, in
point of courage, was not inferior to Semiramis, Tomyris, Zenobia,
Thalestris, or any boasted heroine of ancient times. It cannot be
supposed that this catastrophe made a very deep impression upon the
mind of young Ferdinand, who had just then attained the ninth year
of his age, and been for a considerable time weaned from her
maternal caresses; especially as he felt no wants nor grievances in
the family of the Count, who favoured him with a particular share
of indulgence, because he perceived in him a spirit of docility,
insinuation, and sagacity, far above his years. He did not,
however, fail to lament the untimely fate of his mother, with such
filial expressions of sorrow, as still more intimately recommended
him to his patron; who, being himself a man of extraordinary
benevolence, looked upon the boy as a prodigy of natural affection,
and foresaw in his future services a fund of gratitude and
attachment, that could not fail to render him a valuable
acquisition to his family.
In his own country, he had often seen connexions of that sort,
which having been planted in the infancy of the adherent, had grown
up to a surprising pitch of fidelity and friendship, that no
temptation could bias, and no danger dissolve. He therefore
rejoiced in the hope of seeing his own son accommodated with such a
faithful attendant, in the person of young Fathom, on whom he
resolved to bestow the same education he had planned for the other,
though conveyed in such a manner as should be suitable to the
sphere in which he was ordained to move. In consequence of these
determinations, our young adventurer led a very easy life, in
quality of page to the Count, in whose tent he lay upon a pallet,
close to his field-bed, and often diverted him with his childish
prattle in the English tongue, which the more seldom his master had
occasion to speak, he the more delighted to hear. In the exercise
of his function, the boy was incredibly assiduous and alert; far
from neglecting the little particulars of his duty, and embarking
in the mischievous amusements of the children belonging to the
camp, he was always diligent, sedate, agreeably officious and
anticipating; and in the whole of his behaviour seemed to express
the most vigilant sense of his patron’s goodness and
generosity; nay, to such a degree had these sentiments, in all
appearance, operated upon his reflection, that one morning, while
he supposed the Count asleep, he crept softly to his bedside, and
gently kissing his hand, which happened to be uncovered,
pronounced, in a low voice, a most fervent prayer in his behalf,
beseeching Heaven to shower down blessings upon him, as the
widow’s friend and the orphan’s father. This
benediction was not lost upon the Count, who chanced to be awake,
and heard it with admiration; but what riveted Ferdinand in his
good graces, was a discovery that our youth made, while his master
was upon duty in the trenches before Belgrade.
Two foot soldiers, standing sentry near the door of the tent,
were captivated with the sight of some valuable moveables belonging
to it; and supposing, in their great wisdom, that the city of
Belgrade was too well fortified to be taken during that campaign,
they came to a resolution of withdrawing themselves from the severe
service of the trenches, by deserting to the enemy, after they
should have rifled Count Melvil’s tent of the furniture by
which they were so powerfully allured. The particulars of this plan
were concerted in the French language, which, they imagined, would
screen them from all risk of being detected, in case they should be
overheard, though, as there was no living creature in sight, they
had no reason to believe that any person was privy to their
conversation. Nevertheless, they were mistaken in both these
conjectures. The conference reached the ears of Fathom, who was at
the other end of the tent, and had perceived the eager looks with
which they considered some parts of the furniture. He had
penetration enough to suspect their desire, and, alarmed by that
suspicion, listened attentively to their discourse; which, from a
slender knowledge in the French tongue, he had the good fortune
partly to understand.
This important piece of intelligence he communicated to the
Count at his return, and measures were immediately taken to defeat
the design, and make an example of the authors, who being permitted
to load themselves with the booty, were apprehended in their
retreat, and punished with death according to their demerits.
Nothing could have more seasonably happened to confirm the good
opinion which the colonel entertained of Ferdinand’s
principles. His intentions towards the boy grew every day more and
more warm; and, immediately after the peace of Passarowitz, he
retired to his own house at Presburg, and presented young Fathom to
his lady, not only as the son of a person to whom he owed his life,
but also as a lad who merited his peculiar protection and regard by
his own personal virtue. The Countess, who was an Hungarian,
received him with great kindness and affability, and her son was
ravished with the prospect of enjoying such a companion. In short,
fortune seemed to have provided for him an asylum, in which he
might be safely trained up, and suitably prepared for more
important scenes of life than any of his ancestors had ever
known.
He was not, in all respects, entertained on the footing of his
young master; yet he shared in all his education and amusements, as
one whom the old gentleman was fully determined to qualify for the
station of an officer in the service; and, if he did not eat with
the Count, he was every day regaled with choice bits from his
table; holding, as it were, a middle place between the rank of a
relation and favourite domestic. Although his patron maintained a
tutor in the house, to superintend the conduct of his heir, he
committed the charge of his learning to the instructions of a
public school; where he imagined the boy would imbibe a laudable
spirit of emulation among his fellows, which could not fail of
turning out to the advantage of his education. Ferdinand was
entered in the same academy; and the two lads proceeded equally in
the paths of erudition; a mutual friendship and intimacy soon
ensued, and, notwithstanding the levity and caprice commonly
discernible in the behaviour of such boys, very few or rather no
quarrels happened in the course of their communication. Yet their
dispositions were altogether different, and their talents unlike.
Nay, this dissimilarity was the very bond of their union; because
it prevented that jealousy and rivalship which often interrupts the
harmony of two warm contemporaries.
The young Count made extraordinary progress in the exercises of
the school, though he seemed to take very little pains in the
cultivation of his studies; and became a perfect hero in all the
athletic diversions of his fellow-scholars; but, at the same time,
exhibited such a bashful appearance and uncouth address, that his
mother despaired of ever seeing him improved into any degree of
polite behaviour. On the other hand, Fathom, who was in point of
learning a mere dunce, became, even in his childhood, remarkable
among the ladies for his genteel deportment and vivacity; they
admired the proficiency he made under the directions of his
dancing-master, the air with which he performed his obeisance at
his entrance and exit; and were charmed with the agreeable
assurance and lively sallies of his conversation; while they
expressed the utmost concern and disgust at the boorish demeanour
of his companion, whose extorted bows resembled the pawings of a
mule, who hung his head in silence like a detected sheep-stealer,
who sat in company under the most awkward expressions of
constraint, and whose discourse never exceeded the simple
monosyllables of negation and assent.
In vain did all the females of the family propose to him young
Fathom, as a pattern and reproach. He remained unaltered by all
their efforts and expostulations, and allowed our adventurer to
enjoy the triumph of his praise, while he himself was conscious of
his own superiority in those qualifications which seemed of more
real importance than the mere exteriors and forms of life. His
present ambition was not to make a figure at his father’s
table, but to eclipse his rivals at school, and to acquire an
influence and authority among these confederates. Nevertheless,
Fathom might possibly have fallen under his displeasure or
contempt, had not that pliant genius found means to retain his
friendship by seasonable compliances and submission; for the sole
study, or at least the chief aim of Ferdinand, was to make himself
necessary and agreeable to those on whom his dependence was placed.
His talent was in this particular suited to his inclination; he
seemed to have inherited it from his mother’s womb; and,
without all doubt, would have raised upon it a most admirable
superstructure of fortune and applause, had not it been inseparably
yoked with a most insidious principle of self-love, that grew up
with him from the cradle, and left no room in his heart for the
least particle of social virtue. This last, however, he knew so
well how to counterfeit, by means of a large share of ductility and
dissimulation, that, surely, he was calculated by nature to dupe
even the most cautious, and gratify his appetites, by levying
contributions on all mankind.
So little are the common instructors of youth qualified to judge
the capacities of those who are under their tutelage and care, that
Fathom, by dint of his insinuating arts, made shift to pass upon
the schoolmaster as a lad of quick parts, in despite of a natural
inaptitude to retain his lessons, which all his industry could
never overcome. In order to remedy, or rather to cloak this defect
in his understanding, he had always recourse to the friendship of
the young Count, who freely permitted him to transcribe his
exercises, until a small accident happened, which had well-nigh put
a stop to these instances of his generosity.—The adventure,
inconsiderable as it is, we shall record, as the first overt act of
Ferdinand’s true character, as well as an illustration of the
opinion we have advanced touching the blind and injudicious
decisions of a right pedagogue.
Among other tasks imposed by the pedant upon the form to which
our two companions belonged, they were one evening ordered to
translate a chapter of Caesar’s Commentaries. Accordingly the
young Count went to work, and performed the undertaking with great
elegance and despatch. Fathom, having spent the night in more
effeminate amusements, was next morning so much hurried for want of
time, that in his transcription he neglected to insert a few
variations from the text, these being the terms on which he was
allowed to use it; so that it was verbatim a copy of the original.
As those exercises were always delivered in a heap, subscribed with
the several names of the boys to whom they belonged, the
schoolmaster chanced to peruse the version of Ferdinand, before he
looked into any of the rest, and could not help bestowing upon it
particular marks of approbation. The next that fell under his
examination was that of the young Count, when he immediately
perceived the sameness, and, far from imputing it to the true
cause, upbraided him with having copied the exercise of our
adventurer, and insisted upon chastising him upon the spot for his
want of application.
Had not the young gentleman thought his honour was concerned, he
would have submitted to the punishment without murmuring; but he
inherited, from his parents, the pride of two fierce nations, and,
being overwhelmed with reproaches for that which he imagined ought
to have redounded to his glory, he could not brook the indignity,
and boldly affirmed, that he himself was the original, to whom
Ferdinand was beholden for his performance. The schoolmaster,
nettled to find himself mistaken in his judgment, resolved that the
Count should have no cause to exult in the discovery he had made,
and, like a true flogger, actually whipped him for having allowed
Fathom to copy his exercise. Nay, in the hope of vindicating his
own penetration, he took an opportunity of questioning Ferdinand in
private concerning the circumstances of the translation, and our
hero, perceiving his drift, gave him such artful and ambiguous
answers, as persuaded him that the young Count had acted the part
of a plagiary, and that the other had been restrained from doing
himself justice, by the consideration of his own dependence.
This profound director did not fail, in honour of his own
discernment, to whisper about the misrepresentation, as an instance
of the young Count’s insolence, and Fathom’s humility
and good sense. The story was circulated among the servants,
especially the maids belonging to the family, whose favour our hero
had acquired by his engaging behaviour; and at length it reached
the ears of his patron, who, incensed at his son’s
presumption and inhospitality, called him to a severe account, when
the young gentleman absolutely denied the truth of the allegation,
and appealed to the evidence of Fathom himself. Our adventurer was
accordingly summoned by the father, and encouraged to declare the
truth, with an assurance of his constant protection; upon which
Ferdinand very wisely fell upon his knees, and, while the tears
gushed from his eyes, acquitted the young Count of the imputation,
and expressed his apprehension, that the report had been spread by
some of his enemies, who wanted to prejudice him in the opinion of
his patron.
The old gentleman was not satisfied of his son’s integrity
by this declaration; being naturally of a generous disposition,
highly prepossessed in favour of the poor orphan, and chagrined at
the unpromising appearance of his heir, he suspected that Fathom
was overawed by the fear of giving offence, and that,
notwithstanding what he had said, the case really stood as it had
been represented. In this persuasion, he earnestly exhorted his son
to resist and combat with any impulse he might feel within himself,
tending to selfishness, fraud, or imposition; to encourage every
sentiment of candour and benevolence, and to behave with moderation
and affability to all his fellow-creatures. He laid upon him strong
injunctions, not without a mixture of threats, to consider Fathom
as the object of his peculiar regard; to respect him as the son of
the Count’s preserver, as a Briton, a stranger, and, above
all, an helpless orphan, to whom the rights of hospitality were
doubly due.
Such admonitions were not lost upon the youth, who, under the
rough husk of his personal exhibition, possessed a large share of
generous sensibility. Without any formal professions to his father,
he resolved to govern himself according to his remonstrances; and,
far from conceiving the least spark of animosity against Fathom, he
looked upon the poor boy as the innocent cause of his disgrace, and
redoubled his kindness towards him, that his honour might never
again be called in question, upon the same subject. Nothing is more
liable to misconstruction than an act of uncommon generosity; one
half of the world mistake the motive, from want of ideas to
conceive an instance of beneficence that soars so high above the
level of their own sentiments; and the rest suspect it of something
sinister or selfish, from the suggestions of their own sordid and
vicious inclinations. The young Count subjected himself to such
misinterpretation, among those who observed the increased warmth of
civility and complaisance in his behaviour to Ferdinand. They
ascribed it to his desire of still profiting by our
adventurer’s superior talents, by which alone they supposed
him enabled to maintain any degree of reputation at school; or to
the fear of being convicted by him of some misdemeanour of which he
knew himself guilty. These suspicions were not effaced by the
conduct of Ferdinand, who, when examined on the subject, managed
his answers in such a manner, as confirmed their conjectures, while
he pretended to refute them, and at the same time acquired to
himself credit for his extraordinary discretion and
self-denial.
If he exhibited such a proof of sagacity in the twelfth year of
his age, what might not be expected from his finesse in the
maturity of his faculties and experience? Thus secured in the good
graces of the whole family, he saw the days of his puerility glide
along in the most agreeable elapse of caresses and amusement. He
never fairly plunged into the stream of school-education, but, by
floating on the surface, imbibed a small tincture of those
different sciences which his master pretended to teach. In short,
he resembled those vagrant swallows that skim along the level of
some pool or river, without venturing to wet one feather in their
wings, except in the accidental pursuit of an inconsiderable fly.
Yet, though his capacity or inclination was unsuited for studies of
this kind, he did not fail to manifest a perfect genius in the
acquisition of other more profitable arts. Over and above the
accomplishments of address, for which he hath been already
celebrated, he excelled all his fellows in his dexterity at fives
and billiards; was altogether unrivalled in his skill at draughts
and backgammon; began, even at these years, to understand the moves
and schemes of chess; and made himself a mere adept in the mystery
of cards, which he learned in the course of his assiduities and
attention to the females of the house.
It was in these parties that he attracted the notice and
friendship of his patron’s daughter, a girl by two years
older than himself, who was not insensible to his qualifications,
and looked upon him with the most favourable eyes of prepossession.
Whether or not he at this period of his life began to project plans
for availing himself of her susceptibility, is uncertain; but,
without all doubt, he cultivated her esteem with as obsequious and
submissive attention as if he had already formed the design, which,
in his advanced age, he attempted to put in execution.
Divers circumstances conspired to promote him in the favour of
this young lady; the greenness of his years secured him from any
appearance of fallacious aim; so that he was indulged in frequent
opportunities of conversing with his young mistress, whose parents
encouraged this communication, by which they hoped she would
improve in speaking the language of her father. Such connexions
naturally produce intimacy and friendship. Fathom’s person
was agreeable, his talents calculated for the meridian of those
parties, and his manners so engaging, that there would have been no
just subject for wonder, had he made an impression upon the tender
unexperienced heart of Mademoiselle de Melvil, whose beauty was not
so attractive as to extinguish his hope, in raising up a number of
formidable rivals; though her expectations of fortune were such as
commonly lend additional lustre to personal merit.
All these considerations were so many steps towards the success
of Ferdinand’s pretensions; and though he cannot be supposed
to have perceived them at first, he in the sequel seemed perfectly
well apprised of his advantages, and used them to the full extent
of his faculties. Observing that she delighted in music, he betook
himself to the study of that art, and, by dint of application and a
tolerable ear, learned of himself to accompany her with a German
flute, while she sung and played upon the harpsichord. The Count,
seeing his inclination, and the progress he had made, resolved that
his capacity should not be lost for want of cultivation; and
accordingly provided him with a master, by whom he was instructed
in the principles of the art, and soon became a proficient in
playing upon the violin.
In the practice of these improvements and avocations, and in
attendance upon his young master, whom he took care never to
disoblige or neglect, he attained to the age of sixteen, without
feeling the least abatement in the friendship and generosity of
those upon whom he depended; but, on the contrary, receiving every
day fresh marks of their bounty and regard. He had before this time
been smit with the ambition of making a conquest of the young
lady’s heart, and foresaw manifold advantages to himself in
becoming son-in-law to Count Melvil, who, he never doubted, would
soon be reconciled to the match, if once it could be effectuated
without his knowledge. Although he thought he had great reason to
believe that Mademoiselle looked upon him with an eye of peculiar
favour, his disposition was happily tempered with an ingredient of
caution, that hindered him from acting with precipitation; and he
had discerned in the young lady’s deportment certain
indications of loftiness and pride, which kept him in the utmost
vigilance and circumspection; for he knew, that, by a premature
declaration, he should run the risk of forfeiting all the
advantages he had gained, and blasting those expectations that now
blossomed so gaily in his heart.
Restricted by these reflections, he acted at a wary distance,
and determined to proceed by the method of sap, and, summoning all
his artifice and attractions to his aid, employed them under the
insidious cover of profound respect, in order to undermine those
bulwarks of haughtiness or discretion, which otherwise might have
rendered his approaches to her impracticable. With a view to
enhance the value of his company, and sound her sentiments at the
same time, he became more reserved than usual, and seldomer engaged
in her parties of music and cards; yet, in the midst of his
reserve, he never failed in those demonstrations of reverence and
regard, which he knew perfectly well how to express, but devised
such excuses for his absence, as she could not help admitting. In
consequence of this affected shyness, she more than once gently
chid him for his neglect and indifference, observing, with an
ironical air, that he was now too much of a man to be entertained
with such effeminate diversions; but her reproofs were pronounced
with too much ease and good-humour to be agreeable to our hero, who
desired to see her ruffled and chagrined at his absence, and to
hear himself rebuked with an angry affectation of disdain. This
effort, therefore, he reinforced with the most captivating carriage
he could assume, in those hours which he now so sparingly bestowed
upon his mistress. He regaled her with all the entertaining stories
he could learn or invent, particularly such as he thought would
justify and recommend the levelling power of love, that knows no
distinctions of fortune. He sung nothing but tender airs and
passionate complaints, composed by desponding or despairing swains;
and, to render his performances of this kind the more pathetic,
interlarded them with some seasonable sighs, while the tears, which
he had ever at command, stood collected in either eye.
It was impossible for her to overlook such studied emotions; she
in a jocose manner taxed him with having lost his heart, rallied
the excess of his passion, and in a merry strain undertook to be an
advocate for his love. Her behaviour was still wide of his wish and
expectation. He thought she would, in consequence of her discovery,
have betrayed some interested symptom; that her face would have
undergone some favourable suffusion; that her tongue would have
faltered, her breast heaved, and her whole deportment betokened
internal agitation and disorder, in which case, he meant to profit
by the happy impression, and declare himself, before she could
possibly recollect the dictates of her pride.—Baffled however
in his endeavours, by the serenity of the young lady, which he
still deemed equivocal, he had recourse to another experiment, by
which he believed he should make a discovery of her sentiments
beyond all possibility of doubt. One day, while he accompanied
Mademoiselle in her exercise of music, he pretended all of a sudden
to be taken ill, and counterfeited a swoon in her apartment.
Surprised at this accident, she screamed aloud, but far from
running to his assistance, with the transports and distraction of a
lover, she ordered her maid, who was present, to support his head,
and went in person to call for more help. He was accordingly
removed to his own chamber, where, willing to be still more
certified of her inclinations, he prolonged the farce, and lay
groaning under the pretence of a severe fever.
The whole family was alarmed upon this occasion; for, as we have
already observed, he was an universal favourite. He was immediately
visited by the old Count and his lady, who expressed the utmost
concern at his distemper, ordered him to be carefully attended, and
sent for a physician without loss of time. The young gentleman
would scarce stir from his bedside, where he ministered unto him
with all the demonstrations of brotherly affection; and Miss
exhorted him to keep up his spirits, with many expressions of
unreserved sympathy and regard. Nevertheless, he saw nothing in her
behaviour but what might be naturally expected from common
friendship, and a compassionate disposition, and was very much
mortified at his disappointment.
Whether the miscarriage actually affected his constitution, or
the doctor happened to be mistaken in his diagnostics, we shall not
pretend to determine; but the patient was certainly treated
secundum artem, and all his complaints in a little time realised;
for the physician, like a true graduate, had an eye to the
apothecary in his prescriptions; and such was the concern and
scrupulous care with which our hero was attended, that the orders
of the faculty were performed with the utmost punctuality. He was
blooded, vomited, purged, and blistered, in the usual forms (for
the physicians of Hungary are generally as well skilled in the arts
of their occupation as any other leeches under the sun), and
swallowed a whole dispensary of bolusses, draughts, and apozems, by
which means he became fairly delirious in three days, and so
untractable, that he could be no longer managed according to rule;
otherwise, in all likelihood, the world would never have enjoyed
the benefit of these adventures. In short, his constitution, though
unable to cope with two such formidable antagonists as the doctor
and the disease he had conjured up, was no sooner rid of the one,
than it easily got the better of the other; and though Ferdinand,
after all, found his grand aim unaccomplished, his malady was
productive of a consequence, which, though he had not foreseen it,
he did not fail to convert to his own use and advantage.
While he displayed his qualifications in order to entrap the
heart of his young mistress, he had unwittingly enslaved the
affections of her maid. This attendant was also a favourite of the
young lady, and, though her senior by two or three good years at
least, unquestionably her superior in point of personal beauty; she
moreover possessed a good stock of cunning and discernment, and was
furnished by nature with a very amorous complexion. These
circumstances being premised, the reader will not be surprised to
find her smitten by those uncommon qualifications which we have
celebrated in young Fathom. She had in good sooth long sighed in
secret, under the powerful influence of his charms, and practised
upon him all those little arts, by which a woman strives to attract
the admiration, and ensnare the heart of a man she loves; but all
his faculties were employed upon the plan which he had already
projected; that was the goal of his whole attention, to which all
his measures tended; and whether or not he perceived the impression
he had made upon Teresa, he never gave her the least reason to
believe he was conscious of his victory, until he found himself
baffled in his design upon the heart of her mistress.—She
therefore persevered in her distant attempts to allure him, with
the usual coquetries of dress and address, and, in the sweet hope
of profiting by his susceptibility, made shift to suppress her
feelings, and keep her passion within bounds, until his supposed
danger alarmed her fears, and raised such a tumult within her
breast, that she could no longer conceal her love, but gave a loose
to her sorrow in the most immoderate expressions of anguish and
affliction, and, while his delirium lasted, behaved with all the
agitation of a despairing shepherdess.
Ferdinand was, or pretended to be, the last person in the family
who understood the situation of her thoughts; when he perceived her
passion, he entered into deliberation with himself, and tasked his
reflection and foresight, in order to discover how best he might
convert this conquest to his own advantage. Here, then, that we may
neglect no opportunity of doing justice to our hero, it will be
proper to observe, that, howsoever unapt his understanding might be
to receive and retain the usual culture of the schools, he was
naturally a genius self-taught, in point of sagacity and
invention.—He dived into the characters of mankind, with a
penetration peculiar to himself, and, had he been admitted as a
pupil in any political academy, would have certainly become one of
the ablest statesmen in Europe.
Having revolved all the probable consequences of such a
connexion, he determined to prosecute an amour with the lady whose
affection he had subdued; because he hoped to interest her as an
auxiliary in his grand scheme upon Mademoiselle, which he did not
as yet think proper to lay aside; for he was not more ambitious in
the plan, than indefatigable in the prosecution of it. He knew it
would be impossible to execute his aims upon the Count’s
daughter under the eye of Teresa, whose natural discernment would
be whetted with jealousy, and who would watch his conduct, and
thwart his progress with all the vigilance and spite of a slighted
maiden. On the other hand, he did not doubt of being able to bring
her over to his interest, by the influence he had already gained,
or might afterwards acquire over her passions; in which case, she
would effectually espouse his cause, and employ her good offices
with her mistress in his behalf; besides, he was induced by another
motive, which, though secondary, did not fail in this case to have
an effect upon his determination. He looked upon Teresa with the
eyes of appetite, which he longed to gratify; for he was not at all
dead to the instigations of the flesh, though he had philosophy
enough to resist them, when he thought they interfered with his
interest. Here the case was quite different. His desire happened to
be upon the side of his advantage, and therefore, resolving to
indulge it, he no sooner found himself in a condition to manage
such an adventure, than he began to make gradual advances in point
of warmth and particular complacency to the love-sick maid.
He first of all thanked her, in the most grateful terms, for the
concern she had manifested at his distemper, and the kind services
he had received from her during the course of it; he treated her
upon all occasions with unusual affability and regard, assiduously
courted her acquaintance and conversation, and contracted an
intimacy that in a little time produced a declaration of love.
Although her heart was too much intendered to hold out against all
the forms of assault, far from yielding at discretion, she stood
upon honourable terms, with great obstinacy of punctilio, and,
while she owned he was master of her inclinations, gave him to
understand, with a peremptory and resolute air, that he should
never make a conquest of her virtue; observing, that, if the
passion he professed was genuine, he would not scruple to give such
a proof of it as would at once convince her of his sincerity; and
that he could have no just cause to refuse her that satisfaction,
she being his equal in point of birth and situation; for, if he was
the companion and favourite of the young Count, she was the friend
and confidant of Mademoiselle.
He acknowledged the strength of her argument, and that her
condescension was greater than his deserts, but objected against
the proposal, as infinitely prejudicial to the fortunes of them
both. He represented the state of dependence in which they mutually
stood; their utter incapacity to support one another under the
consequences of a precipitate match, clandestinely made, without
the consent and concurrence of their patrons. He displayed, with
great eloquence, all those gay expectations they had reason to
entertain, from that eminent degree of favour which they had
already secured in the family; and set forth, in the most alluring
colours, those enchanting scenes of pleasure they might enjoy in
each other, without that disagreeable consciousness of a nuptial
chain, provided she would be his associate in the execution of a
plan which he had projected for their reciprocal convenience.
Having thus inflamed her love of pleasure and curiosity, he,
with great caution, hinted his design upon the young lady’s
fortune, and, perceiving her listening with the most greedy
attention, and perfectly ripe for the conspiracy, he disclosed his
intention at full length, assuring her, with the most solemn
protestations of love and attachment, that, could he once make
himself legal possessor of an estate which Mademoiselle inherited
by the will of a deceased aunt, his dear Teresa should reap the
happy fruits of his affluence, and wholly engross his time and
attention.
Such a base declaration our hero would not have ventured to
make, had he not implicitly believed the damsel was as great a
latitudinarian as himself, in point of morals and principle; and
been well assured, that, though he should be mistaken in her way of
thinking, so far as to be threatened with a detection of his
purpose, he would always have it in his power to refute her
accusation as mere calumny, by the character he had hitherto
maintained, and the circumspection of his future conduct.
He seldom or never erred in his observations on the human heart.
Teresa, instead of disapproving, relished the plan in general, with
demonstrations of singular satisfaction. She at once conceived all
the advantageous consequences of such a scheme, and perceived in it
only one flaw, which, however, she did not think incurable. This
defect was no other than a sufficient bond of union, by which they
might be effectually tied down to their mutual interest. She
foresaw, that, in case Ferdinand should obtain possession of the
prize, he might, with great ease, deny their contract, and disavow
her claim of participation. She therefore demanded security, and
proposed, as a preliminary of the agreement, that he should
privately take her to wife, with a view to dispel all her
apprehensions of his inconstancy or deceit, as such a previous
engagement would be a check upon his behaviour, and keep him
strictly to the letter of their contract.
He could not help subscribing to the righteousness of this
proposal, which, nevertheless, he would have willingly waived, on
the supposition that they could not possibly be joined in the bands
of wedlock with such secrecy as the nature of the case absolutely
required. This would have been a difficulty soon removed, had the
scene of the transaction been laid in the metropolis of England,
where passengers are plied in the streets by clergymen, who
prostitute their characters and consciences for hire, in defiance
of all decency and law; but in the kingdom of Hungary,
ecclesiastics are more scrupulous in the exercise of their
function, and the objection was, or supposed to be, altogether
insurmountable; so that they were fain to have recourse to an
expedient, with which, after some hesitation, our she-adventurer
was satisfied. They joined hands in the sight of Heaven, which they
called to witness, and to judge the sincerity of their vows, and
engaged, in a voluntary oath, to confirm their union by the
sanction of the church, whenever a convenient opportunity for so
doing should occur.
The scruples of Teresa being thus removed, she admitted
Ferdinand to the privileges of a husband, which he enjoyed in
stolen interviews, and readily undertook to exert her whole power
in promoting his suit with her young mistress, because she now
considered his interest as inseparably connected with her own.
Surely nothing could be more absurd or preposterous than the
articles of this covenant, which she insisted upon with such
inflexibility. How could she suppose that her pretended lover would
be restrained by an oath, when the very occasion of incurring it
was an intention to act in violation of all laws human and divine?
and yet such ridiculous conjuration is commonly the cement of every
conspiracy, how dark, how treacherous, how impious soever it may
be: a certain sign that there are some remains of religion left in
the human mind, even after every moral sentiment hath abandoned it;
and that the most execrable ruffian finds means to quiet the
suggestions of his conscience, by some reversionary hope of
Heaven’s forgiveness.
Be this as it will, our lovers, though real voluptuaries, amidst
the first transports of their enjoyment did not neglect the great
political aim of their conjunction. Teresa’s bedchamber, to
which our hero constantly repaired at midnight, was the scene of
their deliberations, and there it was determined that the damsel,
in order to avoid suspicion, should feign herself irritated at the
indifference of Ferdinand, her passion for whom was by this time no
secret in the family; and that, with a view to countenance this
affectation, he should upon all occasions treat her with an air of
loftiness and disdain.
So screened from all imputation of fraud, she was furnished by
him with artful instructions how to sound the inclinations of her
young mistress, how to recommend his person and qualifications by
the sure methods of contradiction, comparisons, revilings, and
reproach; how to watch the paroxysms of her disposition, inflame
her passions, and improve, for his advantage, those moments of
frailty from which no woman is exempted. In short, this consummate
politician taught his agent to poison the young lady’s mind
with insidious conversation, tending to inspire her with the love
of guilty pleasure, to debauch her sentiments, and confound her
ideas of dignity and virtue. After all, the task is not difficult
to lead the unpractised heart astray, by dint of those
opportunities her seducer possessed. The seeds of insinuation
seasonably sown upon the warm luxuriant soil of youth, could hardly
fail of shooting up into such intemperate desires as he wanted to
produce, especially when cultured and cherished in her unguarded
hours, by that stimulating discourse which familiarity admits, and
the looser passions, ingrafted in every breast, are apt to relish
and excuse.
Fathom had previously reconnoitred the ground, and discovered
some marks of inflammability in Mademoiselle’s constitution;
her beauty was not such as to engage her in those gaieties of
amusement which could flatter her vanity and dissipate her ideas;
and she was of an age when the little loves and young desires take
possession of the fancy; he therefore concluded, that she had the
more leisure to indulge these enticing images of pleasure that
youth never fails to create, particularly in those who, like her,
were addicted to solitude and study.
Teresa, full fraught with the wily injunctions of her
confederate, took the field, and opened the campaign with such
remarkable sourness in her aspect when Ferdinand appeared, that her
young lady could not help taking notice of her affected chagrin,
and asked the reason of such apparent alteration in her way of
thinking. Prepared for this question, the other replied, in a
manner calculated for giving Mademoiselle to understand, that,
whatever impressions Ferdinand might have formerly made on her
heart, they were now altogether effaced by the pride and insolence
with which he had received her advances; and that her breast now
glowed with all the revenge of a slighted lover.
To evince the sincerity of this declaration, she bitterly
inveighed against him, and even affected to depreciate those
talents, in which she knew his chief merit to consist; hoping, by
these means, to interest Mademoiselle’s candour in his
defence. So far the train succeeded. That young lady’s love
for truth was offended at the calumnies that were vented against
Ferdinand in his absence. She chid her woman for the rancour of her
remarks, and undertook to refute the articles of his dispraise.
Teresa supported her own assertions with great obstinacy, and a
dispute ensued, in which her mistress was heated into some
extravagant commendations of our adventurer.
His supposed enemy did not fail to make a report of her success,
and to magnify every advantage they had gained; believing, in good
earnest, that her lady’s warmth was the effect of a real
passion for the fortunate Mr. Fathom. But he himself viewed the
adventure in a different light, and rightly imputed the violence of
Mademoiselle’s behaviour to the contradiction she had
sustained from her maid, or to the fire of her natural generosity
glowing in behalf of innocence traduced. Nevertheless, he was
perfectly well pleased with the nature of the contest; because, in
the course of such debates, he foresaw that he should become
habitually her hero, and that, in time, she would actually believe
those exaggerations of his merit, which she herself had feigned,
for the honour of her own arguments.
This presage, founded upon that principle of self-respect,
without which no individual exists, may certainly be justified by
manifold occurrences in life. We ourselves have known a very
pregnant example, which we shall relate, for the emolument of the
reader. A certain needy author having found means to present a
manuscript to one of those sons of fortune who are dignified with
the appellation of patrons, instead of reaping that applause and
advantage with which he had regaled his fancy, had the
mortification to find his performance treated with infinite
irreverence and contempt, and, in high dudgeon and disappointment,
appealed to the judgment of another critic, who, he knew, had no
veneration for the first.
This common consolation, to which all baffled authors have
recourse, was productive of very happy consequences to our bard;
for, though the opinions of both judges concerning the piece were
altogether the same, the latter, either out of compassion to the
appellant, or desire of rendering his rival ridiculous in the eye
of taste, undertook to repair the misfortune, and in this manner
executed the plan. In a meeting of literati, to which both these
wits belonged, he who had espoused the poet’s cause, having
previously desired another member to bring his composition on the
carpet, no sooner heard it mentioned, than he began to censure it
with flagrant marks of scorn, and, with an ironical air, looking at
its first condemner, observed, that he must be furiously infected
with the rage of patronising, who could take such a deplorable
performance into his protection. The sarcasm took effect.
The person against whom it was levelled, taking umbrage at his
presumption, assumed an aspect of disdain, and replied with great
animosity, that nothing was more easily supported than the
character of a Zoilus, because no production was altogether free
from blemishes; and any man might pronounce against any piece by
the lump, without interesting his own discernment; but to perceive
the beauties of a work, it was requisite to have learning,
judgment, and taste; and therefore he did not wonder that the
gentleman had overlooked a great many in the composition which he
so contemptuously decried. A rejoinder succeeded this reply, and
produced a long train of altercation, in which the gentleman, who
had formerly treated the book with such disrespect, now professed
himself its passionate admirer, and held forth in praise of it with
great warmth and elocution.
Not contented with having exhibited this instance of regard, he
next morning sent a message to the owner, importing, that he had
but superficially glanced over the manuscript, and desiring the
favour of perusing it a second time. Being indulged in this
request, he recommended it in terms of rapture to all his friends
and dependants, and, by dint of unwearied solicitation, procured a
very ample subscription for the author.
But, to resume the thread of our story. Teresa’s practices
were not confined to simple defamation. Her reproaches were
contrived so as to imply some intelligence in favour of the person
she reviled. In exemplifying his pertness and arrogance, she
repeated his witty repartee; on pretence of blaming his ferocity,
she recounted proofs of his spirit and prowess; and, in explaining
the source of his vanity, gave her mistress to understand, that a
certain young lady of fashion was said to be enamoured of his
person. Nor did this well-instructed understrapper omit those other
parts of her cue which the principal judged necessary for the
furtherance of his scheme. Her conversation became less guarded,
and took a freer turn than usual; she seized all opportunities of
introducing little amorous stories, the greatest part of which were
invented for the purposes of warming her passions, and lowering the
price of chastity in her esteem; for she represented all the young
lady’s contemporaries in point of age and situation, as so
many sensualists, who, without scruple, indulged themselves in the
stolen pleasures of youth.
Meanwhile, Ferdinand seconded these endeavours with his whole
industry and address. He redoubled, if possible, his deference and
respect, whetting his assiduity to the keenest edge of attention;
and, in short, regulated his dress, conversation, and deportment,
according to the fancy, turn, and prevailing humour of his young
mistress. He, moreover, attempted to profit by her curiosity, which
he knew to be truly feminine; and having culled from the library of
his patron certain dangerous books, calculated to debauch the minds
of young people, left them occasionally upon the table in his
apartment, after having directed Teresa to pick them up, as if by
accident, in his absence, and carry them off for the entertainment
of Mademoiselle; nay, this crafty projector found means to furnish
his associate with some mischievous preparations, which were
mingled in her chocolate, tea, or coffee, as provocations to warm
her constitution; yet all these machinations, ingenious as they
were, failed, not only in fulfilling their aim, but even in shaking
the foundations of her virtue or pride, which stood their assaults
unmoved, like a strong tower built upon a rock, impregnable to all
the tempestuous blasts of heaven.
Not but that the conspirators were more than once mistaken in
the effects of their artifices, and disposed to applaud themselves
on the progress they had made. When at any time she expressed a
desire to examine those performances which were laid before her as
snares to entrap her chastity, they attributed that, which was no
other than curiosity, to a looseness of sentiment; and when she
discovered no aversion to hear those anecdotes concerning the
frailty of her neighbours, they imputed to abatement of chastity
that satisfaction which was the result of self-congratulation on
her own superior virtue.
So far did the treacherous accomplice of Fathom presume upon
these misconstructions, that she at length divested her tongue of
all restraint, and behaved in such a manner, that the young lady,
confounded and incensed at her indecency and impudence, rebuked her
with great severity, and commanded her to reform her discourse, on
pain of being dismissed with disgrace from her service.
Thunderstruck at this disappointment, the confederates held a
council, in order to deliberate upon the next measures that should
be taken; and Ferdinand, for the present, despairing of
accomplishing his grand aim, resolved to profit in another manner,
by the conveniency of his situation. He represented to his
helpmate, that it would be prudent for them to make hay while the
sun shone, as their connexion might be sooner or later discovered,
and an end put to all those opportunities which they now so happily
enjoyed. All principles of morality had been already excluded from
their former plan; consequently he found it an easy task to
interest Teresa in any other scheme tending to their mutual
advantage, howsoever wicked and perfidious it might be. He
therefore persuaded her to be his auxiliary in defrauding
Mademoiselle at play, and gave her suitable directions for that
purpose; and even tutored her how to abuse the trust reposed in
her, by embezzling the young lady’s effects, without
incurring the suspicion of dishonesty.
On the supposition that every servant in the house was not able
to resist such temptation, the purse of her mistress, to which the
maid had always access, was dropped in a passage which the
domestics had occasion to frequent; and Fathom posted himself in a
convenient place, in order to observe the effect of his stratagem.
Here he was not disappointed in his conjecture. The first person
who chanced to pass that way, was one of the chambermaids, with
whom Teresa had lived for some time in a state of inveterate
enmity, because the wench had failed in that homage and respect
which was paid to her by the rest of the servants.
Ferdinand had, in his heart, espoused the quarrel of his
associate, and longed for an occasion to deliver her from the
malicious observance of such an antagonist. When he, therefore, saw
her approach, his heart throbbed with joyful expectations; but,
when she snatched up the purse, and thrust it in her bosom, with
all the eagerness and confusion of one determined to appropriate
the windfall to her own use, his transports were altogether
unspeakable. He traced her to her own apartment, whither she
immediately retreated with great trepidation, and then communicated
the discovery to Teresa, together with instructions how to behave
in the sequel.
In conformity with these lessons, she took the first opportunity
of going to Mademoiselle, and demanding money for some necessary
expense, that the loss might be known before the finder could have
leisure to make any fresh conveyance of the prize; and, in the
meantime, Ferdinand kept a strict eye upon the motions of the
chambermaid. The young lady, having rummaged her pockets in vain,
expressed some surprise at the loss of her purse; upon which her
attendant gave indications of extreme amazement and concern. She
said, it could not possibly be lost; entreated her to search her
escritoir, while she herself ran about the room, prying into every
corner, with all the symptoms of fear and distraction. Having made
this unsuccessful inquiry, she pretended to shed a flood of tears,
bewailing her own fate, in being near the person of any lady who
met with such a misfortune, by which, she observed, her character
might be called in question. She produced her own keys, and begged
upon her knees, that her chamber and boxes might be searched
without delay.
In a word, she demeaned herself so artfully upon this occasion,
that her mistress, who never entertained the least doubt of her
integrity, now looked upon her as a miracle of fidelity and
attachment, and was at infinite pains to console her for the
accident which had happened; protesting that, for her own part, the
loss of the money should never affect her with a moment’s
uneasiness, if she could retrieve a certain medal which she had
long kept in her purse, as a remembrance of her deceased aunt, from
whom she received it in a present.
Fathom entered accidentally into the midst of this well-acted
scene, and, perceiving the agitation of the maid, and the concern
of the mistress, desired, in a respectful manner, to know the cause
of their disorder. Before the young lady had time to make him
acquainted with the circumstances of the case, his accomplice
exclaimed, in an affected passion, “Mr. Fathom, my lady has
lost her purse; and, as no persons in the family are so much about
her as you and I, you must give me leave, in my own justification,
to insist upon Mademoiselle’s ordering the apartments of us
both to be searched without loss of time. Here are my pockets and
my keys, and you cannot scruple to give her the same satisfaction;
for innocence has nothing to fear.”
Miss Melvil reprimanded her sharply for her unmannerly zeal; and
Ferdinand eyeing her with a look of disdain, “Madam,”
said he, “I approve of your proposal; but, before I undergo
such mortification, I would advise Mademoiselle to subject the two
chambermaids to such inquiry; as they also have access to the
apartments, and are, I apprehend, as likely as you or I to behave
in such a scandalous manner.”
The young lady declared that she was too well satisfied of
Teresa’s honesty and Ferdinand’s honour, to harbour the
least suspicion of either, and that she would sooner die than
disgrace them so far as to comply with the proposal the former had
made; but as she saw no reason for exempting the inferior servants
from that examination which Fathom advised, she would forthwith put
it in execution. The chambermaids being accordingly summoned, she
calmly asked if either of them had accidentally found the purse she
had dropped? and both replying in the negative, she assumed an air
of severity and determination, and demanding their keys, threatened
to examine their trunks on the instant.
The guilty Abigail, who, though an Hungarian, was not inferior,
in point of effrontery, to any one of the sisterhood in England, no
sooner heard this menace, than she affected an air of affronted
innocence, thanked God she had lived in many reputable families,
and been trusted with untold gold, but was never before suspected
of theft; that the other maid might do as she should think proper,
and be mean-spirited enough to let her things be tumbled
topsy-turvy and exposed; but, for her own part, if she should be
used in that inhuman and disgraceful manner, she would not stay
another hour in the house; and in conclusion said, that
Mademoiselle had more reason to look sharp after those who enjoyed
the greatest share of her favour, than believe their malicious
insinuations against innocent people whom they were well known to
hate and defame.
This declaration, implying an hint to the prejudice of Teresa,
far from diverting Miss Melvil from her purpose, served only to
enhance the character of the accused in her opinion, and to confirm
her suspicion of the accuser, of whom she again demanded her keys,
protesting that, should she prove refractory, the Count himself
should take cognisance of the affair, whereas, if she would deal
ingenuously, she should have no cause to repent of her confession.
So saying, she desired our adventurer to take the trouble of
calling up some of the men-servants; upon which the conscious
criminal began to tremble, and, falling upon her knees,
acknowledged her guilt, and implored the forgiveness of her young
mistress.
Teresa, seizing this occasion to signalise her generosity,
joined in the request, and the offender was pardoned, after having
restored the purse, and promised in the sight of Heaven, that the
devil should never again entice her to the commission of such a
crime. This adventure fully answered all the purposes of our
politician; it established the opinion of his
fellow-labourer’s virtue, beyond the power of accident or
information to shake, and set up a false beacon to mislead the
sentiments of Mademoiselle, in case she should for the future meet
with the like misfortune.
Under this secure cover, Teresa levied contributions upon her
mistress with great success. Some trinket was missing every day;
the young lady’s patience began to fail; the faithful
attendant was overwhelmed with consternation, and, with the
appearance of extreme chagrin, demanded her dismission, affirming
that these things were certainly effected by some person in the
family, with a view of murdering her precious reputation. Miss
Melvil, not without difficulty, quieted her vexation with
assurances of inviolable confidence and esteem, until a pair of
diamond earrings vanished, when Teresa could no longer keep her
affliction within bounds. Indeed, this was an event of more
consequence than all the rest which had happened, for the jewels
were valued at five hundred florins.
Mademoiselle was accordingly alarmed to such a degree, that she
made her mother acquainted with her loss, and that good lady, who
was an excellent economist, did not fail to give indications of
extraordinary concern. She asked, if her daughter had reason to
suspect any individual in the family, and if she was perfectly
confident of her own woman’s integrity? Upon which
Mademoiselle, with many encomiums on the fidelity and attachment of
Teresa, recounted the adventure of the chambermaid, who immediately
underwent a strict inquiry, and was even committed to prison, on
the strength of her former misdemeanour. Our adventurer’s
mate insisted upon undergoing the same trial with the rest of the
domestics, and, as usual, comprehended Fathom in her insinuations;
while he seconded the proposal, and privately counselled the old
lady to introduce Teresa to the magistrate of the place. By these
preconcerted recriminations, they escaped all suspicion of
collusion. After a fruitless inquiry, the prisoner was discharged
from her confinement, and turned out of the service of the Count,
in whose private opinion the character of no person suffered so
much, as that of his own son, whom he suspected of having embezzled
the jewels, for the use of a certain inamorata, who, at that time,
was said to have captivated his affections.
The old gentleman felt upon this occasion all that internal
anguish which a man of honour may be supposed to suffer, on account
of a son’s degeneracy; and, without divulging his sentiments,
or even hinting his suspicions to the youth himself, determined to
detach him at once from such dangerous connexions, by sending him
forthwith to Vienna, on pretence of finishing his exercises at the
academy, and ushering him into acquaintance with the great world.
Though he would not be thought by the young gentleman himself to
harbour the least doubt of his morals, he did not scruple to
unbosom himself on that subject to Ferdinand, whose sagacity and
virtue he held in great veneration. This indulgent patron expressed
himself in the most pathetic terms, on the untoward disposition of
his son; he told Fathom, that he should accompany Renaldo (that was
the youth’s name) not only as a companion, but a preceptor
and pattern; conjured him to assist his tutor in superintending his
conduct, and to reinforce the governor’s precepts by his own
example; to inculcate upon him the most delicate punctilios of
honour, and decoy him into extravagance, rather than leave the
least illiberal sentiment in his heart.
Our crafty adventurer, with demonstrations of the utmost
sensibility, acknowledged the great goodness of the Count in
reposing such confidence in his integrity; which, as he observed,
none but the worst of villains could abuse; and fervently wished
that he might no longer exist, than he should continue to remember
and resent the obligations he owed to his kind benefactor. While
preparations were making for their departure, our hero held a
council with his associate, whom he enriched with many sage
instructions touching her future operations; he at the same time
disburdened her of all or the greatest part of the spoils she had
won, and after having received divers marks of bounty from the
Count and his lady, together with a purse from his young mistress,
he set out for Vienna, in the eighteenth year of his age, with
Renaldo and his governor, who were provided with letters of
recommendation to some of the Count’s friends belonging to
the Imperial court.
Such a favourable introduction could not fail of being
advantageous to a youth of Ferdinand’s specious
accomplishments; for he was considered as the young Count’s
companion, admitted into his parties, and included in all the
entertainments to which Renaldo was invited. He soon distinguished
himself by his activity and address, in the course of those
exercises that were taught at the academy of which he was pupil;
his manners were so engaging as to attract the acquaintance of his
fellow-students, and his conversation being sprightly and
inoffensive, grew into very great request; in a word, he and the
young Count formed a remarkable contrast, which, in the eye of the
world, redounded to his advantage.
They were certainly, in all respects, the reverse of each other.
Renaldo, under a total defect of exterior cultivation, possessed a
most excellent understanding, with every virtue that dignifies the
human heart; while the other, beneath a most agreeable outside,
with an inaptitude and aversion to letters, concealed an amazing
fund of villany and ingratitude. Hitherto his observation had been
confined to a narrow sphere, and his reflections, though
surprisingly just and acute, had not attained to that maturity
which age and experience give; but now, his perceptions began to be
more distinct, and extended to a thousand objects which had never
before come under his cognisance.
He had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded, that the
sons of men preyed upon one another, and such was the end and
condition of their being. Among the principal figures of life, he
observed few or no characters that did not bear a strong analogy to
the savage tyrants of the wood. One resembled a tiger in fury and
rapaciousness; a second prowled about like an hungry wolf, seeking
whom he might devour; a third acted the part of a jackal, in
beating the bush for game to his voracious employer; and the fourth
imitated the wily fox, in practising a thousand crafty ambuscades
for the destruction of the ignorant and unwary. This last was the
department of life for which he found himself best qualified by
nature and inclination; and he accordingly resolved that his talent
should not rust in his possession. He was already pretty well
versed in all the sciences of play; but he had every day occasion
to see these arts carried to such a surprising pitch of finesse and
dexterity, as discouraged him from building his schemes on that
foundation.
He therefore determined to fascinate the judgment, rather than
the eyes of his fellow-creatures, by a continual exercise of that
gift of deceiving, with which he knew himself endued to an
unrivalled degree; and to acquire unbounded influence with those
who might be subservient to his interest, by an assiduous
application to their prevailing passions. Not that play was
altogether left out in the projection of his economy.— Though
he engaged himself very little in the executive part of gaming, he
had not been long in Vienna, when he entered into league with a
genius of that kind, whom he distinguished among the pupils of the
academy, and who indeed had taken up his habitation in that place
with a view to pillage the provincials on their first arrival in
town, before they could be armed with proper circumspection to
preserve their money, or have time to dispose of it in any other
shape.
Similar characters naturally attract each other, and people of
our hero’s principles are, of all others, the most apt to
distinguish their own likeness wheresoever it occurs; because they
always keep the faculty of discerning in full exertion. It was in
consequence of this mutual alertness, that Ferdinand and the
stranger, who was a native of Tyrol, perceived themselves reflected
in the dispositions of each other, and immediately entered into an
offensive and defensive alliance; our adventurer undertaking for
the articles of intelligence, countenance, and counsel, and his
associate charging himself with the risk of execution.
Thus connected, they began to hunt in couples; and Fathom, in
order to profit by the alliance with a good grace, contrived a
small scheme that succeeded to his wish. Renaldo being one night
intoxicated in the course of a merry-making with his fellow-pupils,
from which Fathom had purposely absented himself, was by the
Tyrolese so artfully provoked to play, that he could not resist the
temptation, but engaged at passdice with that fell adversary, who,
in less than an hour, stripped him of a pretty round sum. Next day,
when the young gentleman recovered the use of his reflection, he
was sensibly chagrined at the folly and precipitation of his own
conduct, an account of which he communicated in confidence to our
hero, with demonstrations of infinite shame and concern.
Ferdinand, having moralised upon the subject with great
sagacity, and sharply inveighed against the Tyrolese, for the
unfair advantage he had taken, retired to his closet, and wrote the
following billet, which was immediately sent to his
ally:—
“The obligations I owe, and the attachments I feel, to the
Count de Melvil, will not suffer me to be an idle spectator of the
wrongs offered to his son, in the dishonourable use, I understand,
you made last night of his unguarded hours. I therefore insist upon
your making immediate restitution of the booty which you so
unjustly got; otherwise I expect you will meet me upon the
ramparts, near the bastion de la Port Neuve, to-morrow morning at
daybreak, in order to justify, with your sword, the finesse you
have practised upon the friend of FERDINAND DE FATHOM.”
The gamester no sooner received this intimation, than, according
to the plan which had been preconcerted betwixt the author and him,
he went to the apartment of Renaldo, and presenting the sum of
money which he had defrauded him of the preceding night, told him,
with a stern countenance, that, though it was a just acquisition,
he scorned to avail himself of his good fortune against any person
who entertained the smallest doubt of his honour.
The young Count, surprised at this address, rejected his offer
with disdain, and desired to know the meaning of such an unexpected
declaration. Upon which, the other produced Ferdinand’s
billet, and threatened, in very high terms, to meet the stripling
according to his invitation, and chastise him severely for his
presumption. The consequence of this explanation is obvious.
Renaldo, imputing the officiousness of Fathom to the zeal of his
friendship, interposed in the quarrel, which was amicably
compromised, not a little to the honour of our adventurer, who thus
obtained an opportunity of displaying his courage and integrity,
without the least hazard to his person; while, at the same time,
his confederate recommended himself to the esteem of the young
Count, by his spirited behaviour on this occasion; so that Renaldo
being less shy of his company for the future, the Tyrolese had the
fairer opportunities to prosecute his designs upon the young
gentleman’s purse.
It would be almost superfluous to say, that these were not
neglected. The son of Count Melvil was not deficient in point of
penetration; but his whole study was at that time engrossed by the
care of his education, and he had sometimes recourse to play as an
amusement by which he sought to unbend the severity of his
attention. No wonder then that he fell a prey to an artful
gamester, who had been regularly trained to the profession, and
made it the sole study of his life; especially as the Hungarian was
remarkable for a warmth of temper, which a knight of the post
always knows how to manage for his own advantage.
In the course of these operations, Fathom was a very useful
correspondent. He instructed the Tyrolese in the peculiarities of
Renaldo’s disposition, and made him acquainted with the
proper seasons for profiting by his dexterity. Ferdinand, for
example, who, by the authority derived to him from the injunctions
of the old Count, sometimes took upon himself the office of an
adviser, cunningly chose to counsel the son at those conjunctures
when he knew him least able to bear such expostulation. Advice
improperly administered generally acts in diametrical opposition to
the purpose for which it is supposed to be given; at least this was
the case with the young gentleman, who, inflamed by the reproof of
such a tutor, used to obey the dictates of his resentment in an
immediate repetition of that conduct which our adventurer had taken
the liberty to disapprove; and the gamester was always at hand to
minister unto his indignation. By these means he was disencumbered
of divers considerable remittances, with which his father
cheerfully supplied him, on the supposition that they were spent
with taste and liberality, under the direction of our
adventurer.
But Ferdinand’s views were not confined to the narrow
field of this alliance. He attempted divers enterprises in the
world of gallantry, conscious of his own personal qualifications,
and never doubting that he could insinuate himself into the good
graces of some married lady about court, or lay an opulent dowager
under contribution. But he met with an obstacle in his endeavours
of this kind, which all his art was unable to surmount. This was no
other than the obscurity of his birth, and the want of a title,
without which no person in that country lays claim to the
privileges of a gentleman. Had he foreseen this inconvenience he
might have made shift to obviate the consequences, by obtaining
permission to appear in the character of the Count’s kinsman;
though, in all probability, such an expedient would not have been
extremely agreeable to the old gentleman, who was very tenacious of
the honour of his family; nevertheless, his generosity might have
been prevailed upon to indulge Fathom with such a pretext, in
consideration of the youth’s supposed attachment, and the
obligations for which he deemed himself indebted to his deceased
mother.
True it is, Ferdinand, upon his first arrival at Vienna, had
been admitted into fashionable company, on the footing of
Renaldo’s companion, because nobody suspected the defect of
his pedigree; and even after a report had been circulated to the
prejudice of his extraction, by the industry of a lacquey who
attended the young Count, there were not wanting many young people
of distinction who still favoured him with their countenance and
correspondence; but he was no longer invited to private families,
in which only he could expect to profit by his address among the
ladies, and had the mortification of finding himself frequently
excepted from parties which were expressly calculated for the
entertainment of the young Count. Luckily, his spirit was so pliant
as to sustain these slights without being much dejected; instead of
repining at the loss of that respect which had been paid to him at
first, he endeavoured, with all his might, to preserve the little
that still remained, and resolved to translate into a humbler
sphere that gallantry which he had no longer opportunities of
displaying in the world of rank and fashion.
In consequence of this determination, he to the uttermost
exerted his good-humour among the few friends of consequence his
fortune had left, and even carried his complaisance so far as to
become the humble servant of their pleasures, while he attempted to
extend his acquaintance in an inferior path of life, where he
thought his talents would shine more conspicuous than at the
assemblies of the great, and conduce more effectually to the
interest of all his designs. Nor did he find himself disappointed
in that expectation, sanguine as it was. He soon found means to be
introduced to the house of a wealthy bourgeois, where every
individual was charmed with his easy air and extraordinary
qualifications. He accommodated himself surprisingly to the humours
of the whole family; smoked tobacco, swallowed wine, and discoursed
of stones with the husband, who was a rich jeweller; sacrificed
himself to the pride and loquacity of the wife; and played upon the
violin, and sung alternately, for the amusement of his only
daughter, a buxom lass, nearly of his own age, the fruit of a
former marriage.
It was not long before Ferdinand had reason to congratulate
himself on the footing he had gained in this society. He had
expected to find, and in a little time actually discovered, that
mutual jealousy and rancour which almost always subsist between a
daughter and her step-dame, inflamed with all the virulence of
female emulation; for the disparity in their ages served only to
render them the more inveterate rivals in the desire of captivating
the other sex. Our adventurer having deliberated upon the means of
converting this animosity to his own advantage, saw no method for
this purpose so feasible as that of making his approaches to the
hearts of both, by ministering to each in private, food for their
reciprocal envy and malevolence; because he well knew that no road
lies so direct and open to a woman’s heart as that of
gratifying her passions of vanity and resentment.
When he had an opportunity of being particular with the mother,
he expressed his concern for having unwittingly incurred the
displeasure of Mademoiselle, which, he observed, was obvious in
every circumstance of her behaviour towards him; protesting he was
utterly innocent of all intention of offending her; and that he
could not account for his disgrace any other way, than by supposing
she took umbrage at the direction of his chief regards towards her
mother-in-law, which, he owned, was altogether involuntary, being
wholly influenced by that lady’s superior charms and
politeness.
Such a declaration was perfectly well calculated for the
meridian of a dame like her, who with all the intoxications of
unenlightened pride, and an increased appetite for pleasure, had
begun to find herself neglected, and even to believe that her
attractions were actually on the wane. She very graciously consoled
our gallant for the mishap of which he complained, representing
Wilhelmina (that was the daughter’s name) as a pert,
illiterate, envious baggage, of whose disgust he ought to make no
consideration; then she recounted many instances of her own
generosity to that young lady, with the returns of malice and
ingratitude she had made; and, lastly, enumerated all the
imperfections of her person, education, and behaviour; that he
might see with what justice the gypsy pretended to vie with those
who had been distinguished by the approbation and even gallantry of
the best people in Vienna.
Having thus established himself her confidant and gossip, he
knew his next step of promotion would necessarily be to the degree
of her lover; and in that belief resolved to play the same game
with Mademoiselle Wilhelmina, whose complexion was very much akin
to that of her stepmother; indeed they resembled each other too
much to live upon any terms of friendship or even decorum. Fathom,
in order to enjoy a private conversation with the young lady, never
failed to repeat his visit every afternoon, till at length he had
the pleasure of finding her disengaged, the jeweller being occupied
among his workmen, and his wife gone to assist at a lying-in.
Our adventurer and the daughter had already exchanged their
vows, by the expressive language of the eyes; he had even declared
himself in some tender ejaculations which had been softly whispered
in her ear, when he could snatch an opportunity of venting them
unperceived; nay, he had upon divers occasions gently squeezed her
fair hand, on pretence of tuning her harpsichord, and been favoured
with returns of the same cordial pressure; so that, instead of
accosting her with the fearful hesitation and reserve of a timid
swain, he told her, after the exercise of the doux-yeux, that he
was come to confer with her upon a subject that nearly concerned
her peace; and asked if she had not observed of late an evident
abatement of friendship in her mother’s behaviour to him,
whom she had formerly treated with such marks of favour and
respect. Mademoiselle would not pay so ill a compliment to her own
discernment as to say she had not perceived the alteration; which,
on the contrary, she owned was extremely palpable; nor was it
difficult to divine the cause of such estranged looks. This remark
was accompanied with an irresistible glance; she smiled enchanting,
the colour deepened on her cheeks, her breast began to heave, and
her whole frame underwent a most agreeable confusion.
Ferdinand was not a man to let such a favourable conjuncture
pass unregarded. “Yes, charming Wilhelmina!” exclaimed
the politician in an affected rapture, “the cause is as
conspicuous as your attractions. She hath, in spite of all my
circumspection, perceived that passion which it is not in my power
to conceal, and in consequence of which I now declare myself your
devoted adorer; or, conscious of your superior excellence, her
jealousy hath taken the alarm, and, though stung with conjecture
only, repines at the triumph of your perfections. How far this
spirit of malignity may be inflamed to my prejudice, I know not.
Perhaps, as this is the first, it may be also the last opportunity
I shall have of avowing the dearest sentiments of my heart to the
fair object that inspired them; in a word, I may be for ever
excluded from your presence. Excuse me, then, divine creature! from
the practice of those unnecessary forms, which I should take pride
in observing, were I indulged with the ordinary privileges of an
honourable lover; and, once for all, accept the homage of an heart
overflowing with love and admiration. Yes, adorable Wilhelmina! I
am dazzled with your supernatural beauty; your other
accomplishments strike me with wonder and awe. I am enchanted by
the graces of your deportment, ravished with the charms of your
conversation; and there is a certain tenderness of benevolence in
that endearing aspect, which, I trust, will not fail to melt with
sympathy at the emotions of a faithful slave like me.”
So saying, he threw himself upon his knees, and, seizing her
plump hand, pressed it to his lips with all the violence of real
transport. The nymph, whose passions nature had filled to the brim,
could not hear such a rhapsody unmoved. Being an utter stranger to
addresses of this kind, she understood every word of it in the
literal acceptation; she believed implicitly in the truth of the
encomiums he had bestowed, and thought it reasonable he should be
rewarded for the justice he had done to her qualifications, which
had hitherto been almost altogether overlooked. In short, her heart
began to thaw, and her face to hang out the flag of capitulation;
which was no sooner perceived by our hero, than he renewed his
attack with redoubled fervour, pronouncing in a most vehement tone,
“Light of my eyes, and empress of my soul! behold me
prostrate at your feet, waiting with the most pious resignation,
for that sentence from your lips, on which my future happiness or
misery must altogether depend. Not with more reverence does the
unhappy bashaw kiss the sultan’s letter that contains his
doom, than I will submit to your fatal determination. Speak then,
angelic sweetness! for never, ah! never will I rise from this
suppliant posture, until I am encouraged to live and hope. No! if
you refuse to smile upon my passion, here shall I breathe the last
sighs of a despairing lover; here shall this faithful sword do the
last office to its unfortunate master, and shed the blood of the
truest heart that ever felt the cruel pangs of disappointed
love.”
The young lady, well-nigh overcome by this effusion, which
brought the tears into her eyes, “Enough, enough,”
cried she, interrupting him, “sure you men were created for
the ruin of our sex.”—“Ruin!” re-echoed
Fathom, “talk not of ruin and Wilhelmina! let these terms be
for ever parted, far as the east and west asunder! let ever smiling
peace attend her steps, and love and joy still wanton in her train!
Ruin, indeed, shall wait upon her enemies, if such there be, and
those love-lorn wretches who pine with anguish under her disdain.
Grant me, kind Heaven, a more propitious boon; direct her genial
regards to one whose love is without example, and whose constancy
is unparalleled. Bear witness to my constancy and faith, ye verdant
hills, ye fertile plains, ye shady groves, ye purling streams; and
if I prove untrue, ah! let me never find a solitary willow or a
bubbling brook, by help of which I may be enabled to put a period
to my wretched life.”
Here this excellent actor began to sob most piteously, and the
tender-hearted Wilhelmina, unable longer to withstand his moving
tale, with a repetition of the interjection, ah! gently dropped
into his arms. This was the beginning of a correspondence that soon
rose to a very interesting pitch; and they forthwith concerted
measures for carrying it on without the knowledge or suspicion of
her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, the young lady, vanquished as she
was, and unskilled in the ways of men, would not all at once yield
at discretion; but insisted upon those terms, without which no
woman’s reputation can be secured. Our lover, far from
seeking to evade the proposal, assented to it in terms of uncommon
satisfaction, and promised to use his whole industry in finding a
priest upon whose discretion they could rely; nay, he certainly
resolved to comply with her request in good earnest, rather than
forfeit the advantages which he foresaw in their union. His good
fortune, however, exempted him from the necessity of taking such a
step, which at best must have been disagreeable; for so many
difficulties occurred in the inquiry which was set on foot, and so
artfully did Fathom in the meantime manage the influence he had
already gained over her heart, that, before her passion could
obtain a legal gratification, she surrendered to his wish, without
any other assurance, than his solemn profession of sincerity and
truth, on which she reposed herself with the most implicit
confidence and faith.
He was rejoiced to find her so easily satisfied in such a
momentous concern, for the principal aim of the intrigue was to
make her necessary to his interested views, and even, if possible,
an associate in the fraudulent plans he had projected upon her
father; consequently he considered this relaxation in her virtue as
an happy omen of his future success. All the obstacles to their
mutual enjoyment being thus removed, our adventurer was by his
mistress indulged with an assignation in her own chamber, which,
though contiguous to that of her stepmother, was provided with a
door that opened into a common staircase, to which he had access at
all hours of the night.
He did not neglect the rendezvous, but, presenting himself at
the appointed time, which was midnight, made the signal they had
agreed upon, and was immediately admitted by Wilhelmina, who waited
for hire with a lover’s impatience. Fathom was not deficient
in those expressions of rapture that are current on those
occasions; but, on the contrary, became so loud in the transports
of self-congratulation, that his voice reached the ears of the
vigilant stepmother, who wakening the jeweller from his first nap,
gave him to understand that some person was certainly in close
conversation with his daughter; and exhorted him to rise forthwith,
and vindicate the honour of his family.
The German, who was naturally of a phlegmatic habit, and never
went to bed without a full dose of the creature, which added to his
constitutional drowsiness, gave no ear to his wife’s
intimation, until she had repeated it thrice, and used other means
to rouse him from the arms of slumber. Meanwhile Fathom and his
inamorata overheard her information, and our hero would have made
his retreat immediately, through the port by which he entered, had
not his intention been overruled by the remonstrances of the young
lady, who observed that the door was already fast bolted, and could
not possibly be opened without creating a noise that would confirm
the suspicion of her parents; and that over and above this
objection he would, in sallying from that door, run the risk of
being met by her father, who in all probability would present
himself before it, in order to hinder our hero’s escape. She
therefore conveyed him softly into her closet, where she assured
him he might remain with great tranquillity, in full confidence
that she would take such measures as would effectually screen him
from detection.
He was fain to depend upon her assurance, and accordingly
ensconced himself behind her dressing-table; but he could not help
sweating with apprehension, and praying fervently to God for his
deliverance, when he heard the jeweller thundering at the door, and
calling to his daughter for admittance. Wilhelmina, who was already
undressed, and had purposely extinguished the light, pretended to
be suddenly waked from her sleep, and starting up, exclaimed in a
tone of surprise and affright, “Jesu, Maria! what is the
matter?”—“Hussy!” replied the German in a
terrible accent, “open the door this instant; there is a man
in your bedchamber, and, by the lightning and thunder! I will wash
away the stain he has cast upon my honour with the schellum’s
heart’s-blood.”
Not at all intimidated by this boisterous threat, she admitted
him without hesitation, and, with a shrillness of voice peculiar to
herself, began to hold forth upon her own innocence and his unjust
suspicion, mingling in her harangue sundry oblique hints against
her mother-in-law, importing, that some people were so viciously
inclined by their own natures, that she did not wonder at their
doubting the virtue of other people; but that these people despised
the insinuations of such people, who ought to be more circumspect
in their own conduct, lest they themselves should suffer reprisals
from those people whom they had so maliciously slandered.
Having uttered these flowers of rhetoric, which were calculated
for the hearing of her step-dame, who stood with a light at her
husband’s back, the young lady assumed an ironical air, and
admonished her father to search every corner of her apartment. She
even affected to assist his inquiry; with her own hands pulled out
a parcel of small drawers, in which her trinkets were contained;
desired him to look into her needlecase and thimble, and, seeing
his examination fruitless, earnestly intreated him to rummage her
closet also, saying, with a sneer, that, in all probability, the
dishonourer would be found in that lurking-place. The manner in
which she pretended to ridicule his apprehensions made an
impression upon the jeweller, who was very well disposed to retreat
into his own nest, when his wife, with a certain slyness in her
countenance, besought him to comply with his daughter’s
request, and look into that same closet, by which means
Wilhelmina’s virtue would obtain a complete triumph.
Our adventurer, who overheard the conversation, was immediately
seized with a palsy of fear. He trembled at every joint, the sweat
trickled down his forehead, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to
stand on end; and he, in his heart, bitterly cursed the
daughter’s petulance, the mother’s malice, together
with his own precipitation, by which he was involved in an
adventure so pregnant with danger and disgrace. Indeed, the reader
may easily conceive his disorder, when he heard the key turning in
the lock, and the German swearing that he would make him food for
the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.
Fathom had come unprepared with weapons of defence, was
naturally an economist of his person, and saw himself on the brink
of forfeiting not only the promised harvest of his double intrigue,
but also the reputation of a man of honour, upon which all his
future hopes depended. His agony was therefore unspeakable, when
the door flew open; and it was not till after a considerable pause
of recollection, that he perceived the candle extinguished by the
motion of the air produced from the German’s sudden
irruption. This accident, which disconcerted him so much as to put
a full stop to his charge, was very favourable to our hero, who,
summoning all his presence of mind, crept up into the chimney,
while the jeweller stood at the door, waiting for his wife’s
return with another light; so that, when the closet was examined,
there was nothing found to justify the report which the stepmother
had made; and the father, after having made a slight apology to
Wilhelmina for his intrusion, retired with his yoke-fellow into
their own chamber.
The young lady, who little thought that her papa would have
taken her at her word, was overwhelmed with confusion and dismay,
when she saw him enter the closet; and, had her lover been
discovered, would, in all probability, have been the loudest in his
reproach, and, perhaps, have accused him of an intention to rob the
house; but she was altogether astonished when she found he had made
shift to elude the inquiry of her parents, because she could not
conceive the possibility of his escaping by the window, which was
in the third storey, at a prodigious distance from the ground; and
how he should conceal himself in the apartment, was a mystery which
she could by no means unfold. Before her father and mother retired,
she lighted her lamp, on pretence of being afraid to be in the
dark, after the perturbation of spirits she had undergone; and her
room was no sooner evacuated of such troublesome visitants, than
she secured the doors, and went in quest of her lover.
Accordingly, every corner of the closet underwent a new search,
and she called upon his name with a soft voice, which she thought
no other person would overhear. But Ferdinand did not think proper
to gratify her impatience, because he could not judge of the
predicament in which he stood by the evidence of all his senses,
and would not relinquish his post, until he should be better
certified that the coast was clear. Meanwhile, his Dulcinea, having
performed her inquiry to no purpose, imagined there was something
preternatural in the circumstance of his vanishing so
unaccountably, and began to cross herself with great devotion. She
returned to her chamber, fixed the lamp in the fireplace, and,
throwing herself upon the bed, gave way to the suggestions of her
superstition, which were reinforced by the silence that prevailed,
and the gloomy glimmering of the light. She reflected upon the
trespass she had already committed in her heart, and, in the
conjectures of her fear, believed that her lover was no other than
the devil himself, who had assumed the appearance of Fathom, in
order to tempt and seduce her virtue.
While her imagination teemed with those horrible ideas, our
adventurer, concluding, from the general stillness, that the
jeweller and his wife were at last happily asleep, ventured to come
forth from his hiding-place, and stood before his mistress all
begrimed with soot. Wilhelmina, lifting up her eyes, and seeing
this sable apparition, which she mistook for Satan in propria
persona, instantly screamed, and began to repeat her pater-noster
with an audible voice. Upon which Ferdinand, foreseeing that her
parents would be again alarmed, would not stay to undeceive her and
explain himself, but, unlocking the door with great expedition, ran
downstairs, and luckily accomplished his escape. This was
undoubtedly the wisest measure he could have taken; for he had not
performed one half of his descent toward the street, when the
German was at his daughter’s bedside, demanding to know the
cause of her exclamation. She then gave him an account of what she
had seen, with all the exaggerations of her own fancy, and, after
having weighed the circumstances of her story, he interpreted the
apparition into a thief, who had found means to open the door that
communicated with the stair; but, having been scared by
Wilhelmina’s shriek, had been obliged to retreat before he
could execute his purpose.
Our hero’s spirits were so wofully disturbed by this
adventure, that, for a whole week, he felt no inclination to visit
his inamorata, and was not without apprehension that the affair had
terminated in an explanation very little to his advantage. He was,
however, delivered from this disagreeable suspense, by an
accidental meeting with the jeweller himself, who kindly chid him
for his long absence, and entertained him in the street with an
account of the alarm which his family had sustained, by a thief who
broke into Wilhelmina’s apartment. Glad to find his
apprehension mistaken, he renewed his correspondence with the
family, and, in a little time, found reason to console himself for
the jeopardy and panic he had undergone.
Nor was his whole care and attention engrossed by the execution
of this scheme upon the daughter. While he managed his concerns in
that quarter with incredible ardour and application, he was not the
less indefatigable in the prosecution of his design upon the
mother-in-law, which he forwarded with all his art during those
opportunities he enjoyed in the absence of Wilhelmina, who was
frequently called away by the domestic duties of the house. The
passions of the jeweller’s wife were in such a state of
exaltation, as exempted our hero from the repulses and fatigue
attending a long siege.
We have already observed how cunningly he catered for the
gratification of her ruling appetite, and have exhibited pregnant
proofs of his ability in gaining upon the human heart; the reader
will not therefore be surprised at the rapidity of his conquest
over the affections of a lady whose complexion was perfectly
amorous, and whose vanity laid her open to all the attempts of
adulation. In a word, matters were quickly brought to such a mutual
understanding, that, one evening, while they amused themselves at
lansquenet, Fathom conjured her to give him the rendezvous next day
at the house of any third person of her own sex, in whose
discretion she could confide; and, after a few affected scruples on
her side, which he well knew how to surmount, she complied with his
request, and the circumstances of the appointment were settled
accordingly. After this treaty, their satisfaction rose to such a
warmth, and the conversation became so reciprocally endearing, that
our gallant expressed his impatience of waiting so long for the
accomplishment of his wishes, and, with the most eager transport,
begged she would, if possible, curtail the term of his expectation,
that his brain might not suffer by his standing so many tedious
hours on the giddy verge of rapture.
The dame, who was naturally compassionate, sympathised with his
condition, and, unable to resist his pathetic supplications, gave
him to understand that his desire could not be granted, without
subjecting them both to some hazard, but that she was disposed to
run any risk in behalf of his happiness and peace. After this
affectionate preamble, she told him that her husband was then
engaged in a quarterly meeting of the jewellers, from whence he
never failed to return quite overwhelmed with wine, tobacco, and
the phlegm of his own constitution; so that he would fall fast
asleep as soon as his head should touch the pillow, and she be at
liberty to entertain the lover without interruption, provided he
could find means to deceive the jealous vigilance of Wilhelmina,
and conceal himself in some corner of the house, unsuspected and
unperceived.
Our lover, remembering his adventure with the daughter, would
have willingly dispensed with this expedient, and began to repent
of the eagerness with which he had preferred his solicitation; but,
seeing there was now no opportunity of retracting with honour, he
affected to enter heartily into the conversation, and, after much
canvassing, it was determined, that, while Wilhelmina was employed
in the kitchen, the mother should conduct our adventurer to the
outer door, where he should pay the compliment of parting, so as to
be overheard by the young lady; but, in the meantime, glide softly
into the jeweller’s bedchamber, which was a place they
imagined least liable to the effects of a daughter’s prying
disposition, and conceal himself in a large press or wardrobe, that
stood in one corner of the apartment. The scene was immediately
acted with great success, and our hero cooped up in his cage, where
he waited so long, that his desires began to subside, and his
imagination to aggravate the danger of his situation.
“Suppose,” said he to himself, “this brutal
German, instead of being stupefied with wine, should come home
inflamed with brandy, to the use of which he is sometimes addicted,
far from feeling any inclination to sleep, he will labour under the
most fretful anxiety of watching; every irascible particle in his
disposition will be exasperated; he will be offended with every
object that may present itself to his view; and, if there is the
least ingredient of jealousy in his temper, it will manifest itself
in riot and rage. What if his frenzy should prompt him to search
his wife’s chamber for gallants? this would certainly be the
first place to which he would direct his inquiry; or, granting this
supposition chimerical, I may be seized with an irresistible
inclination to cough, before he is oppressed with sleep; he may be
waked by the noise I shall make in disengaging myself from this
embarrassed situation; and, finally, I may find it impracticable to
retire unseen or unheard, after everything else shall have
succeeded to my wish.”
These suggestions did not at all contribute to the quiet of our
adventurer, who, having waited three whole hours in the most
uncomfortable suspense, heard the jeweller brought into the room in
that very condition which his fears had prognosticated. He had, it
seems, quarrelled over his cups with another tradesman, and
received a salutation on the forehead with a candlestick, which not
only left an ignominious and painful mark upon his countenance, but
even disordered his brain to a very dangerous degree of delirium;
so that, instead of allowing himself quietly to be undressed and
put to bed by his wife, he answered all her gentle admonitions and
caresses with the most opprobrious invectives and obstreperous
behaviour; and, though he did not tax her with infidelity to his
bed, he virulently accused her of extravagance and want of economy;
observed, her expensive way of living would bring him to a morsel
of bread; and unfortunately recollecting the attempt of the
supposed thief, started up from his chair, swearing by
G—‘s mother that he would forthwith arm himself with a
brace of pistols, and search every apartment in the house.
“That press,” said he, with great vociferation,
“may, for aught I know, be the receptacle of some
ruffian.”
So saying, he approached the ark in which Fathom was embarked,
and exclaiming, “Come forth, Satan,” applied his foot
to the door of it, with such violence as threw him from the centre
of gravity, and laid him sprawling on his back. This address made
such an impression upon our adventurer, that he had well-nigh
obeyed the summons, and burst from his concealment, in a desperate
effort to escape, without being recognised by the intoxicated
German; and indeed, had the application been repeated, he in all
likelihood would have tried the experiment, for by this time his
terrors had waxed too strong to be much longer suppressed. From
this hazardous enterprise he was, however, exempted by a lucky
accident that happened to his disturber, whose head chancing to
pitch upon the corner of a chair in his fall, he was immediately
lulled into a trance, during which the considerate lady, guessing
the disorder of her gallant, and dreading further interruption,
very prudently released him from his confinement, after she had put
out the light, and in the dark conveyed him to the door, where he
was comforted with the promise that she would punctually remember
the rendezvous of next day.
She then invoked the assistance of the servants, who, being
waked for the purpose, lifted up their master, and tumbled him into
bed, while Ferdinand hied him home in an universal sweat, blessing
himself from any future achievement of that sort in a house where
he had been twice in such imminent danger of life and reputation.
Nevertheless, he did not fail to honour the assignation, and avail
himself of the disposition his mistress manifested to make him all
the recompense in her power for the disappointment and chagrin
which he had undergone.
Having thus gained a complete victory over the affections of
these two ladies, he began to convert his good fortune to the
purposes of that principle, from which his view was never, no, not
for a moment, detached. In other words, he used them as ministers
and purveyors to his avarice and fraud. As for the mother-in-law,
she was of herself so liberal as to anticipate the wishes of any
moderate adventurer, and presented him with sundry valuable jewels,
as memorials of her esteem; nor was the daughter backward in such
expressions of regard; she already considered his interest as her
own, and took frequent opportunities of secreting for his benefit
certain stray trinkets that she happened to pick up in her
excursions within doors.
All these gratifications he received with demonstrations of
infinite constraint and reluctance, and, in the midst of his
rapacious extortion, acted so cunningly as to impose himself upon
both for a miracle of disinterested integrity. Yet, not contented
with what he thus could earn, and despairing of being able to steer
the bark of his fortune for any length of time between two such
dangerous quicksands, he resolved to profit by the occasion while
it lasted, and strike some considerable stroke at once. A plan was
formed in consequence of this determination, and, at an appointment
with the mother in the house of their female friend, our adventurer
appeared with an air of dejection, which he veiled with a thin
cover of forced pleasantry, that his mistress might suppose he
endeavoured to conceal some mortal chagrin that preyed upon his
heart.
The stratagem succeeded to his wish. She observed his
countenance between whiles overcast, took notice of the involuntary
sighs he heaved; and, with the most tender expressions of sympathy,
conjured him to make her acquainted with the cause of his
affliction. Instead of gratifying her request immediately, he
evaded her questions with a respectful reserve, implying, that his
love would not suffer him to make her a partner in his sorrow; and
this delicacy on his part whetted her impatience and concern to
such a degree, that, rather than keep her in such an agony of doubt
and apprehension, he was prevailed upon to tell her, that he had
been, the preceding night, engaged with a company of his
fellow-students, where he had made too free with the champagne, so
that his caution forsook him, and he had been decoyed into play by
a Tyrolese gamester, who stripped him of all his ready money, and
obtained from him an obligation for two hundred florins, which he
could not possibly pay without having recourse to his relation the
Count de Melvil, who would have just cause to be incensed at his
extravagance.
This information he concluded, by declaring that, cost what it
would, he was resolved to make a candid confession of the truth,
and throw himself entirely upon the generosity of his patron, who
could inflict no other punishment than that of discarding him from
his favour and protection,—a misfortune which, how grievous
soever it might be, he should be able to sustain with fortitude,
could he fall upon some method of satisfying the Tyrolese, who was
very importunate and savage in his demand. His kind mistress no
sooner found out the source of his inquietude, than she promised to
dry it up, assuring him that next day, at the same hour, she would
enable him to discharge the debt; so that he might set his heart at
ease, and recollect that gaiety which was the soul of her
enjoyment.
He expressed the utmost astonishment at this generous proffer,
which, however, he declined, with an affected earnestness of
refusal, protesting, that he should be extremely mortified, if he
thought she looked upon him as one of those mercenary gallants who
could make such a sordid use of a lady’s affection.
“No, madam,” cried our politician in a pathetic strain,
“whatever happens, I shall never part with that internal
consolation, that conscious honour never fails to yield in the
deepest scenes of solitary distress. The attachment I have the
honour to profess for your amiable person, is not founded on such
inglorious motives, but is the genuine result of that generous
passion which none but the noble-minded feel, and the only
circumstance of this misfortune that I dread to encounter, is the
necessity of withdrawing myself for ever from the presence of her
whose genial smiles could animate my soul against all the
persecution of adverse fortune.”
This declamation, accompanied with a profound sigh, served only
to inflame her desire of extricating him from the difficulty in
which he was involved. She exhausted all her eloquence in
attempting to persuade him that his refusal was an outrage against
her affection. He pretended to refute her arguments, and remained
unshaken by all the power of her solicitations, until she had
recourse to the most passionate remonstrances of love, and fell at
his feet in the posture of a forlorn shepherdess. What he refused
to her reason, he granted to her tears, because his heart was
melted by her affliction, and next day condescended to accept of
her money, out of pure regard to her happiness and peace.
Encouraged by the success of this achievement, he resolved to
practise the same experiment upon Wilhelmina, in hope of extracting
an equal share of profit from her simplicity and attachment, and,
at their very next nocturnal rendezvous in her chamber, reacted the
farce already rehearsed, with a small variation, which he thought
necessary to stimulate the young lady in his behalf. He rightly
concluded, that she was by no means mistress of such a considerable
sum as he had already extorted from her mother, and therefore
thought proper to represent himself in the most urgent predicament,
that her apprehension, on his account, might be so alarmed as to
engage her in some enterprise for his advantage, which otherwise
she would never have dreamed of undertaking. With this view, after
having described his own calamitous situation, in consequence of
her pressing entreaties, which he affected to evade, he gave her to
understand, that there was no person upon earth to whom he would
have recourse in this emergency; for which reason he was determined
to rid himself of all his cares at once, upon the friendly point of
his own faithful sword.
Such a dreadful resolution could not fail to operate upon the
tender passions of his Dulcinea; she was instantly seized with an
agony of fear and distraction. Her grief manifested itself in a
flood of tears, while she hung round his neck, conjuring him in the
most melting terms, by their mutual love, in which they had been so
happy, to lay aside that fatal determination, which would
infallibly involve her in the same fate; for, she took Heaven to
witness, that she would not one moment survive the knowledge of his
death.
He was not deficient in expressions of reciprocal regard. He
extolled her love and tenderness with a most extravagant eulogium,
and seemed wrung with mortal anguish at the prospect of parting for
ever from his lovely Wilhelmina; but his honour was a stern and
rigid creditor, that could not be appeased, except with his blood;
and all the boon she could obtain, by dint of the most woful
supplication, was a promise to defer the execution of his baleful
purpose for the space of four-and-twenty hours, during which she
hoped Heaven would compassionate her sufferings, and inspire her
with some contrivance for their mutual relief. Thus he yielded to
her fervent request, rather with a view to calm the present
transports of her sorrow, than with any expectation of seeing
himself redeemed from his fate by her interposition; such at least
were his professions when he took his leave, assuring her, that he
would not quit his being before he should have devoted a few hours
to another interview with the dear object of his love.
Having thus kindled the train, he did not doubt that the mine of
his craft would take effect, and repaired to his own lodging, in
full persuasion of seeing his aim accomplished, before the time
fixed for their last assignation. His prognostic was next morning
verified by the arrival of a messenger, who brought to him a small
parcel, to which was cemented, with sealing wax, the following
epistle:—
“JEWEL OF MY SOUL!—
Scarce had you, last night,
quitted my disconsolate arms, when I happily recollected that there
was in my possession a gold chain, of value more than sufficient to
answer the exigence of your present occasions. It was pledged to my
grandfather for two hundred crowns by a knight of Malta, who soon
after perished in a sea engagement with the enemies of our faith,
so that it became the property of our house, and was bequeathed to
me by the old gentleman, as a memorial of his particular affection.
Upon whom can I more properly bestow it, than him who is already
master of my heart! Receive it, therefore, from the bearer of this
billet, and convert it, without scruple, to that use which shall be
most conducive to your ease and satisfaction; nor seek, from a true
romantic notion of honour, which I know you entertain, to excuse
yourself from accepting this testimony of my affection. For I have
already sworn before an image of our blessed Lady, that I will no
longer own you as the sovereign of my heart, nor even indulge you
with another interview, if you reject this mark of tenderness and
concern from your ever faithful
WILHELMINA.”
The heart of our adventurer began to bound with joy when he
surveyed the contents of this letter; and his eyes sparkled with
transport at sight of the chain, which he immediately perceived to
be worth twice the sum she had mentioned. Nevertheless, he would
not avail himself, without further question, of her generosity;
but, that same night, repairing to her apartment at the usual hour
of meeting, he prostrated himself before her, and counterfeiting
extreme agitation of spirit, begged, in the most urgent terms, not
even unaccompanied with tears, that she would take back the
present, which he tendered for her acceptance, and spare him the
most insufferable mortification of thinking himself exposed to the
imputation of being mercenary in his love. Such, he said, was the
delicacy of his passion, that he could not possibly exist under the
apprehension of incurring a censure so unworthy of his sentiments;
and he would a thousand times sooner undergo the persecution of his
rancorous creditor, than bear the thought of being in the smallest
consideration lessened in her esteem; nay, so far did he carry his
pretensions to punctilio, as to protest, that, should she refuse to
quiet the scruples of his honour on this score, her unyielding
beneficence would serve only to hasten the execution of his
determined purpose, to withdraw himself at once from a life of
vanity and misfortune.
The more pathetically he pleaded for her compliance, the more
strenuously did she resist his remonstrances. She advanced all the
arguments her reason, love, and terror could suggest, reminded him
of her oath, from which he could not suppose she would recede,
whatever the consequence might be; and in conclusion vowed to
Heaven, with great solemnity and devotion, that she would not
survive the news of his death. Thus the alternative she offered was
either to retain the chain and be happy in her affection, or
forfeit all title to her love, and die in the conviction of having
brought his innocent mistress to an untimely grave.
His fortitude was not proof against this last consideration.
“My savage honour,” said he, “would enable me to
endure the pangs of eternal separation in the confidence of being
endowed with the power of ending these tortures by the energy of my
own hand; but the prospect of Wilhelmina’s death, and that
too occasioned by my inflexibility, disarms my soul of all her
resolution, swallows up the dictates of my jealous pride, and fills
my bosom with such a gush of tenderness and sorrow, as overwhelms
the whole economy of my purpose! Yes, enchanting creature! I
sacrifice my glory to that irresistible reflection; and, rather
than know myself the cruel instrument of robbing the world of such
perfection, consent to retain the fatal testimony of your
love.”
So saying, he pocketed the chain, with an air of ineffable
mortification, and was rewarded for his compliance with the most
endearing caresses of his Dulcinea, who, amidst the tumults of her
joy, ejaculated a thousand acknowledgments to Heaven for having
blessed her with the affection of such a man, whose honour was
unrivalled by anything but his love.
In this manner did the crafty Fathom turn to account those
ingratiating qualifications he inherited from nature, and maintain,
with incredible assiduity and circumspection, an amorous
correspondence with two domestic rivals, who watched the conduct of
each other with the most indefatigable virulence of envious
suspicion, until an accident happened, which had well-nigh
overturned the bark of his policy, and induced him to alter the
course, that he might not be shipwrecked on the rocks that began to
multiply in the prosecution of his present voyage.
The jeweller, who, as a German, wanted neither pride nor
ostentation, never failed to celebrate the anniversary of his birth
by an annual feast granted to his neighbours and friends; and on
these occasions was accustomed to wear that chain which, though
bequeathed to his daughter, he considered as an ornament
appertaining to the family, whereof he himself was head.
Accordingly, when the time of this festival revolved, he, as usual,
ordered Wilhelmina to surrender it for the day. This injunction,
the reader will perceive, our young lady was in no condition to
obey; she had, however, foreseen the demand, and contrived a scheme
of behaviour for the occasion, which she forthwith put in
execution.
With an air of uncommon cheerfulness, purposely assumed, she
retired to her closet, on pretence of complying with his desire,
and, having employed a few minutes in rummaging her drawers and
disordering her moveables, uttered a loud shriek, that brought her
father instantly into the apartment, where he found his daughter
tossing about her clothes and trinkets with violent demonstrations
of disorder and affright, and heard her, in a lamentable strain,
declare that she was robbed of her chain, and for ever undone. This
was so far from being an agreeable intimation to the jeweller, that
he was struck dumb with astonishment and vexation, and it was not
till after a long pause that he pronounced the word Sacrament! with
an emphasis denoting the most mortifying surprise.
Soon as that exclamation escaped from his lips, he flew to the
escritoire as if instinctively, and, joining Wilhelmina in her
occupation, tumbled its whole contents upon the floor in a
trice.
While he was thus employed, in the most expressive silence, the
wife of his bosom chanced to pass that way, and seeing them both
occupied with such violence and trepidation, believed at first that
they were certainly actuated by the spirit of frenzy; but, when she
interposed, by asking, with great earnestness, the cause of such
transports and distracted behaviour, and heard her husband reply,
with an accent of despair, “The chain! the chain of my
forefathers is no more!” she immediately justified his
emotion, by undergoing the same alarm, and, without further
hesitation, engaged herself in the search, beginning with a song,
which might be compared to the hymn of battle among the Greeks, or
rather more aptly to that which the Spartan females sung round the
altar of Diana, surnamed Orthian; for it was attended with strange
gesticulations, and, in the course of utterance, became so loud and
shrill, that the guests, who were by this time partly assembled,
being confounded at the clamour, rushed towards the place from
whence it seemed to proceed, and found their landlord, with his
wife and daughter, in the attitudes of distraction and despair.
When they understood the nature of the case, they condoled the
family on their misfortune, and would have retired, on the
supposition that it would defeat the mirthful intent of their
meeting; but the jeweller, mustering up his whole temper and
hospitality, entreated them to excuse his disorder, and favour him
with their company, which, he observed, was now more than ever
wanted, to dispel the melancholy ideas inspired by his loss.
Notwithstanding this apology, and the efforts he made in the sequel
to entertain his friends with jollity and good-humour, his heart
was so linked to the chain, that he could not detach himself from
the thoughts of it, which invaded him at short intervals in such
qualms as effectually spoiled his appetite, and hindered his
digestion.
He revolved within himself the circumstances of his disaster,
and, in canvassing all the probable means by which the chain would
be stolen, concluded that the deed must have been done by some
person in the family, who, in consequence of having access to his
daughter’s chamber, had either found the drawer left open by
her carelessness and neglect, or found means to obtain a false key,
by some waxen impression; for the locks of the escritoire were safe
and uninjured. His suspicion being thus confined within his own
house, sometimes pitched upon his workmen, and sometimes upon his
wife, who, he thought, was the more likely to practise such
finesse, as she considered Wilhelmina in the light of a
daughter-in-law, whose interest interfered with her own, and who
had often harangued to him in private on the folly of leaving this
very chain in the young lady’s possession.
The more he considered this subject, he thought he saw the more
reason to attribute the damage he had sustained to the machinations
of his spouse, who, he did not doubt, was disposed to feather her
own nest, at the expense of him and his heirs, and who, with the
same honest intention, had already secreted, for her private use,
those inconsiderable jewels which of late had at different times
been missing. Aroused by these sentiments, he resolved to retaliate
her own schemes, by contriving means to visit her cabinet in
secret, and, if possible, to rob the robber of the spoils she had
gathered to his prejudice, without coming to any explanation, which
might end in domestic turmoils and eternal disquiet.
While the husband exercised his reflection in this manner, his
innocent mate did not allow the powers of her imagination to rest
in idleness and sloth. Her observations touching the loss of the
chain were such as a suspicious woman, biassed by hatred and envy,
would naturally make. To her it seemed highly improbable, that a
thing of such value, so carefully deposited, should vanish without
the connivance of its keeper, and without much expense of
conjecture, divined the true manner in which it was conveyed. The
sole difficulty that occurred in the researches of her sagacity,
was to know the gallant who had been favoured with such a pledge of
Wilhelmina’s affection; for, as the reader will easily
imagine, she never dreamed of viewing Ferdinand in that odious
perspective. In order to satisfy her curiosity, discover this happy
favourite, and be revenged on her petulant rival, she prevailed
upon the jeweller to employ a scout, who should watch all night
upon the stair, without the knowledge of any other person in the
family, alleging, that in all likelihood, the housemaid gave
private admittance to some lover who was the author of all the
losses they had lately suffered, and that they might possibly
detect him in his nocturnal adventures; and observing that it would
be imprudent to intimate their design to Wilhelmina, lest, through
the heedlessness and indiscretion of youth, she might chance to
divulge the secret, so as to frustrate their aim.
A Swiss, in whose honesty the German could confide, being hired
for this purpose, was posted in a dark corner of the staircase,
within a few paces of the door, which he was directed to watch, and
actually stood sentinel three nights, without perceiving the least
object of suspicion; but, on the fourth, the evil stars of our
adventurer conducted him to the spot, on his voyage to the
apartment of his Dulcinea, with whom he had preconcerted the
assignation. Having made the signal, which consisted of two gentle
taps on her door, he was immediately admitted; and the Swiss no
sooner saw him fairly housed, than he crept softly to the other
door, that was left open for the purpose, and gave immediate
intimation of what he had perceived. This intelligence, however, he
could not convey so secretly, but the lovers, who were always
vigilant upon these occasions, overheard a sort of commotion in the
jeweller’s chamber, the cause of which their apprehension was
ingenious enough to comprehend.
We have formerly observed that our adventurer could not make his
retreat by the door, without running a very great risk of being
detected, and the expedient of the chimney he had no inclination to
repeat; so that he found himself in a very uncomfortable dilemma,
and was utterly abandoned by all his invention and address, when
his mistress, in a whisper, desired him to begin a dialogue, aloud,
in an apology, importing, that he had mistaken the door, and that
his intention was to visit her father, touching a ring belonging to
the young Count Melvil, which she knew Fathom had put into his
hands, in order to be altered.
Ferdinand, seizing the hint, availed himself of it without
delay, and, unbolting the door, pronounced in an audible voice,
“Upon my honour, Mademoiselle, you wrong my intention, if you
imagine I came hither with any disrespectful or dishonourable
motive. I have business with your father, which cannot be delayed
till to-morrow, without manifest prejudice to my friend and myself;
therefore I took the liberty of visiting him at these untimely
hours, and it has been my misfortune to mistake the door in the
dark. I beg pardon for my involuntary intrusion, and again assure
you, that nothing was farther from my thoughts than any design to
violate that respect which I have always entertained for you and
your father’s family.”
To this remonstrance, which was distinctly heard by the German
and his wife, who by this time stood listening at the door, the
young lady replied, in a shrill accent of displeasure, “Sir,
I am bound to believe that all your actions are conducted by
honour; but you must give me leave to tell you, that your mistake
is a little extraordinary, and your visit, even to my father, at
this time of the night, altogether unseasonable, if not mysterious.
As for the interruption I have suffered in my repose, I impute it
to my own forgetfulness, in leaving my door unlocked, and blame
myself so severely for the omission, that I shall, to-morrow, put
it out of my own power to be guilty of the like for the future, by
ordering the passage to be nailed up; meanwhile, if you would
persuade me of your well-meaning, you will instantly withdraw, lest
my reputation should suffer by your continuance in my
apartment.”
“Madam,” answered our hero, “I will not give
you an opportunity to repeat the command, which I shall forthwith
obey, after having entreated you once more to forgive the
disturbance I have given.” So saying, he gently opened the
door, and, at sight of the German and his wife, who, he well knew,
waited for his exit, started back, and gave tokens of confusion,
which was partly real and partly affected. The jeweller, fully
satisfied with Fathom’s declaration to his daughter, received
him with a complaisant look, and, in order to alleviate his
concern, gave him to understand, that he already knew the reason of
his being in that apartment, and desired to be informed of what had
procured him the honour to see him at such a juncture.
“My dear friend,” said our adventurer, pretending to
recollect himself with difficulty, “I am utterly ashamed and
confounded to be discovered in this situation; but, as you have
overheard what passed between Mademoiselle and me, I know you will
do justice to my intention, and forgive my mistake. After begging
pardon for having intruded upon your family at these hours, I must
now tell you that my cousin, Count Melvil, was some time ago so
much misrepresented to his mother by certain malicious informers,
who delight in sowing discord in private families, that she
actually believed her son an extravagant spendthrift, who had not
only consumed his remittances in the most riotous scenes of
disorder, but also indulged a pernicious appetite for gaming, to
such a degree, that he had lost all his clothes and jewels at play.
In consequence of such false information, she expostulated with him
in a severe letter, and desired he would transmit to her that ring
which is in your custody, it being a family stone, for which she
expressed an inestimable value. The young gentleman, in his answer
to her reproof, endeavoured to vindicate himself from the
aspersions which had been cast upon his character, and, with regard
to the ring, told her it was at present in the hands of a jeweller,
in order to be new set according to her own directions, and that,
whenever it should be altered, he would send it home to her by some
safe conveyance. This account the good lady took for an evasion,
and upon that supposition has again written to him, in such a
provoking style, that, although the letter arrived but half an hour
ago, he is determined to despatch a courier before morning with the
mischievous ring, for which, in compliance with the impetuosity of
his temper, I have taken the freedom to disturb you at this
unseasonable hour.”
The German paid implicit faith to every circumstance of his
story, which indeed could not well be supposed to be invented
extempore; the ring was immediately restored, and our adventurer
took his leave, congratulating himself upon his signal deliverance
from the snare in which he had fallen.
Though the husband swallowed the bait without further inquiry,
the penetration of the wife was not so easily deceived. That same
dialogue in Wilhelmina’s apartment, far from allaying, rather
inflamed her suspicion; because, in the like emergency, she herself
had once profited by the same, or nearly the same contrivance.
Without communicating her doubts to the father, she resolved to
double her attention to the daughter’s future conduct, and
keep such a strict eye over the behaviour of our gallant, that he
should find it very difficult, if not impossible, to elude her
observation. For this purpose she took into her pay an old maiden,
of the right sour disposition, who lived in a house opposite to her
own, and directed her to follow the young lady in all her
outgoings, whenever she should receive from the window a certain
signal, which the mother-in-law agreed to make for the occasion. It
was not long before this scheme succeeded to her wish. The door of
communication betwixt Wilhelmina’s apartment and the
staircase being nailed up by the jeweller’s express order,
our adventurer was altogether deprived of those opportunities he
had hitherto enjoyed, and was not at all mortified to find himself
so restricted in a correspondence which began to be tiresome and
disagreeable. But the case was far otherwise with his Dulcinea,
whose passion, the more it was thwarted, raged with greater
violence, like a fire, that, from the attempts that are made to
extinguish it, gathers greater force, and flames with double
fury.
Upon the second day of her misfortune, she had written a very
tender billet, lamenting her unhappiness in being deprived of those
meetings which constituted the chief joy of her life, and
entreating him to contrive some means of renewing the delicious
commerce in an unsuspected place. This intimation she proposed to
convey privately into the hand of her lover, during his next visit
to the family; but both were so narrowly eyed by the mother, that
she found the execution of her design impracticable; and next
forenoon, on pretence of going to church, repaired to the house of
a companion, who, being also her confidant, undertook to deliver
the billet with her own hand.
The she-dragon employed by her mother, in obedience to the sign
which was displayed from the window immediately put on her veil,
and followed Wilhelmina at a distance, until she saw her fairly
housed. She would not even then return from her excursion, but
hovered about in sight of the door, with a view of making further
observations. In less than five minutes after the young lady
disappeared, the scout perceived her coming out, accompanied by her
comrade, from whom she instantly parted, and bent her way towards
the church in good earnest, while the other steered her course in
another direction. The duenna, after a moment’s suspense and
consideration, divined the true cause of this short visit, and
resolved to watch the motions of the confidant, whom she traced to
the academy in which our hero lodged, and from which she saw her
return, after the supposed message was delivered.
Fraught with this intelligence, the rancorous understrapper hied
her home to the jeweller’s wife, and made a faithful recital
of what she had seen, communicating at the same time her own
conjectures on that subject. Her employer was equally astonished
and incensed at this information. She was seized with all that
frenzy which takes possession of a slighted woman, when she finds
herself supplanted by a detested rival; and, in the first
transports of her indignation, devoted them as sacrifices to her
vengeance. Nor was her surprise so much the effect of his
dissimulation, as of his want of taste and discernment. She
inveighed against him, not as the most treacherous lover, but as
the most abject wretch, in courting the smiles of such an awkward
dowdy, while he enjoyed the favours of a woman who had numbered
princes in the train of her admirers. For the brilliancy of her
attractions, such as they at present shone, she appealed to the
decision of her minister, who consulted her own satisfaction and
interest, by flattering the other’s vanity and resentment;
and so unaccountable did the depravity of our hero’s judgment
appear to this conceited dame, that she began to believe there was
some mistake in the person, and to hope that Wilhelmina’s
gallant was not in reality her professed admirer, Mr. Fathom, but
rather one of his fellow-lodgers, whose passion he favoured with
his mediation and assistance.
On this notion, which nothing but mere vanity could have
inspired, in opposition to so many more weighty presumptions, she
took the resolution of bringing the affair to a fuller explanation,
before she would concert any measures to the prejudice of our
adventurer, and forthwith despatched her spy back to his lodgings,
to solicit, on the part of Wilhelmina, an immediate answer to the
letter he had received. This was an expedition with which the old
maiden would have willingly dispensed, because it was founded upon
an uncertainty, which might be attended with troublesome
consequences; but, rather than be the means of retarding a
negotiation so productive of that sort of mischief which is
particularly agreeable to all of her tribe, she undertook to manage
and effect the discovery, in full confidence of her own talents and
experience.
With such a fund of self-sufficiency and instigation, she
repaired to the academy on the instant, and inquiring for Mr.
Fathom, was introduced to his apartment, where she found him in the
very act of writing a billet to the jeweller’s daughter. The
artful agent having asked, with the mysterious air of an expert
go-between, if he had not lately received a message from a certain
young lady, and, being answered in the affirmative, gave him to
understand, that she herself was a person favoured with the
friendship and confidence of Wilhelmina, whom she had known from
her cradle, and often dandled on her knee; then, in the genuine
style of a prattling dry nurse, she launched out in encomiums on
his Dulcinea’s beauty and sweetness of temper, recounting
many simple occurrences of her infancy and childhood; and, finally,
desiring a more circumstantial answer to that which she had sent to
him by her friend Catherina. In the course of her loquacity she had
also, according to her instructions, hinted at the misfortune of
the door; and, on the whole, performed her cue with such dexterity
and discretion that our politician was actually overreached, and,
having finished his epistle, committed it to her care, with many
verbal expressions of eternal love and fidelity to his charming
Wilhelmina.
The messenger, doubly rejoiced at her achievement, which not
only recommended her ministry, but also gratified her malice,
returned to her principal with great exultation, and, delivering
the letter, the reader will easily conceive the transports of that
lady when she read the contents of it in these words:—
“ANGELIC WILHELMINA!—
To forget those ecstatic scenes
we have enjoyed together, or even live without the continuation of
that mutual bliss, were to quit all title to perception, and resign
every hope of future happiness. No! my charmer, while my head
retains the least spark of invention, and my heart glows with the
resolution of a man, our correspondence shall not be cut off by the
machinations of an envious stepmother, who never had attractions to
inspire a generous passion; and, now that age and wrinkles have
destroyed what little share of beauty she once possessed,
endeavours, like the fiend in paradise, to blast those joys in
others, from which she is herself eternally excluded. Doubt not,
dear sovereign of my soul! that I will study, with all the
eagerness of desiring love, how to frustrate her malicious
intention, and renew those transporting moments, the remembrance of
which now warms the breast of your ever constant
FATHOM.”
Had our hero murdered her father, or left her a disconsolate
widow, by effecting the death of her dear husband, there might have
been a possibility of her exerting the Christian virtues of
resignation and forgiveness; but such a personal outrage as that
contained in this epistle precluded all hope of pardon, and
rendered penitence of no signification. His atrocious crime being
now fully ascertained, this virago gave a loose to her resentment,
which became so loud and tempestuous, that her informer shuddered
at the storm she had raised, and began to repent of having
communicated the intelligence which seemed to have such a violent
effect upon hex brain.
She endeavoured, however, to allay the agitation, by flattering
her fancy with the prospect of revenge, and gradually soothed her
into a state of deliberate ire; during which she determined to take
ample vengeance on the delinquent. In the zenith of her rage, she
would have had immediate recourse to poison or steel, had she not
been diverted from her mortal purpose by her counsellor, who
represented the danger of engaging in such violent measures, and
proposed a more secure scheme, in the execution of which she would
see the perfidious wretch sufficiently punished, without any hazard
to her own person or reputation. She advised her to inform the
jeweller of Fathom’s efforts to seduce her conjugal fidelity,
and impart to him a plan, by which he would have it in his power to
detect our adventurer in the very act of practising upon her
virtue.
The lady relished her proposal, and actually resolved to make an
assignation with Ferdinand, as usual, and give notice of the
appointment to her husband, that he might personally discover the
treachery of his pretended friend, and inflict upon him such
chastisement as the German’s brutal disposition should
suggest, when inflamed by that species of provocation. Had this
project been brought to bear, Ferdinand, in all likelihood, would
have been disqualified from engaging in any future intrigue; but
fate ordained that the design should be defeated, in order to
reserve him for more important occasions.
Before the circumstances of the plan could be adjusted, it was
his good fortune to meet his Dulcinea in the street, and, in the
midst of their mutual condolence on the interruption they had
suffered in their correspondence, he assured her, that he would
never give his invention respite, until he should have verified the
protestations contained in the letter he had delivered to her
discreet agent. This allusion to a billet she had never received,
did not fail to alarm her fears, and introduce a very mortifying
explanation, in which he so accurately described the person of the
messenger, that she forthwith comprehended the plot, and
communicated to our hero her sentiments on that subject.
Though he expressed infinite anxiety and chagrin at this
misfortune, which could not fail to raise new obstacles to their
love, his heart was a stranger to the uneasiness he affected; and
rather pleased with the occasion, which would furnish him with
pretences to withdraw himself gradually from an intercourse by this
time become equally cloying and unprofitable. Being well acquainted
with the mother’s temperament, he guessed the present
situation of her thoughts, and concluding she would make the
jeweller a party in her revenge, he resolved from that moment to
discontinue his visits, and cautiously guard against any future
interview with the lady whom he had rendered so implacable.
It was well for our adventurer that his good fortune so
seasonably interposed; for that same day, in the afternoon, he was
favoured with a billet from the jeweller’s wife, couched in
the same tender style she had formerly used, and importing an
earnest desire of seeing him next day at the wonted rendezvous.
Although his penetration was sufficient to perceive the drift of
this message, or at least to discern the risk he should run in
complying with her request, yet he was willing to be more fully
certified of the truth of his suspicion, and wrote an answer to the
billet, in which he assured her, that he would repair to the place
of appointment with all the punctuality of an impatient lover.
Nevertheless, instead of performing this promise, he, in the
morning, took post in a public-house opposite to the place of
assignation, in order to reconnoitre the ground, and about noon had
the pleasure of seeing the German, wrapped in a cloak, enter the
door of his wife’s she-friend, though the appointment was
fixed at five in the evening. Fathom blessed his good angel for
having conducted him clear of this conspiracy, and kept his station
with great tranquillity till the hour of meeting, when he beheld
his enraged Thalestris take the same route, and enjoyed her
disappointment with ineffable satisfaction.
Thus favoured with a pretext, he took his leave of her, in a
letter, giving her to understand, that he was no stranger to the
barbarous snare she had laid for him; and upbraiding her with
having made such an ungrateful return for all his tenderness and
attachment. She was not backward in conveying a reply to this
expostulation, which seemed to have been dictated in all the
distraction of a proud woman who sees her vengeance baffled, as
well as her love disdained. Her letter was nothing but a succession
of reproaches, menaces, and incoherent execrations. She taxed him
with knavery, insensibility, and dissimulation; imprecated a
thousand curses upon his head, and threatened not only to persecute
his life with all the arts that hell and malice could inspire, but
also to wound him in the person of her daughter-in-law, who should
be enclosed for life in a convent, where she should have leisure to
repent of those loose and disorderly practices which he had taught
her to commit, and of which she could not pretend innocence, as
they had it in their power to confront her with the evidence of her
lover’s own confession. Yet all this denunciation was
qualified with an alternative, by which he was given to understand,
that the gates of mercy were still open, and that penitence was
capable of washing out the deepest stain of guilt.
Ferdinand read the whole remonstrance with great composure and
moderation, and was content to incur the hazard of her hate, rather
than put her to the trouble of making such an effort of generosity,
as would induce her to forgive the heinous offence he had
committed; nor did his apprehension for Wilhelmina in the least
influence his behaviour on this occasion. So zealous was he for her
spiritual concerns, that he would have been glad to hear she had
actually taken the veil; but he knew such a step was not at all
agreeable to her disposition, and that no violence would be offered
to her inclinations on that score, unless her stepmother should
communicate to the father that letter of Fathom’s which she
had intercepted, and by which the German would be convinced of his
daughter’s backsliding; but this measure, he rightly
supposed, the wife would not venture to take, lest the husband,
instead of taking her advice touching the young lady, should seek
to compromise the affair, by offering her in marriage to her
debaucher, a proffer which, if accepted, would overwhelm the mother
with vexation and despair. He therefore chose to trust to the
effects of lenient time, which he hoped would gradually weaken the
resentment of this Penthesilea, and dissolve his connexion with the
other parts of the family, from which he longed to be totally
detached.
How well soever he might have succeeded in his attempts to shake
off the yoke of the mother, who by her situation in life was
restrained from prosecuting those measures her resentment had
planned against his fortitude and indifference, he would have found
greater difficulty than he had foreseen, in disengaging himself
from the daughter, whose affections he had won under the most
solemn professions of honour and fidelity, and who, now she was
debarred of his company and conversation, and in danger of losing
him for ever, had actually taken the resolution of disclosing the
amour to her father, that he might interpose in behalf of her peace
and reputation, and secure her happiness by the sanction of the
church.
Luckily for our adventurer, before she adhered to this
determination, the young Count de Melvil was summoned to Presburg
by his father, who desired to see him, before he should take the
field, in consequence of a rupture between the Emperor and the
French King; and Fathom of course quitted Vienna, in order to
attend his patron, after he and Renaldo had resided two whole years
in that capital, where the former had made himself perfect in all
the polite exercises, become master of the French tongue, and
learned to speak the Italian with great facility; over and above
those other accomplishments in which we have represented him as an
inimitable original.
As for the young Count, his exteriors were so much improved by
the company to which he had access, since his departure from his
father’s house, that his parents were equally surprised and
overjoyed at the alteration. All that awkwardness and rusticity,
which hung upon his deportment, was, like the rough coat of a
diamond, polished away; the connexion and disposition of his limbs
seemed to have been adjusted anew; his carriage was become easy,
his air perfectly genteel, and his conversation gay and
unrestrained. The merit of this reformation was in a great measure
ascribed to the care and example of Mr. Fathom, who was received by
the old Count and his lady with marks of singular friendship and
esteem; nor was he overlooked by Mademoiselle, who still remained
in a state of celibacy, and seemed to have resigned all hope of
altering her condition; she expressed uncommon satisfaction at the
return of her old favourite, and readmitted him into the same
degree of familiarity with which he had been honoured before his
departure.
The joy of Teresa was so excessive at his arrival, that she
could scarce suppress her raptures, so as to conceal them from the
notice of the family; and our hero, upon this occasion, performed
the part of an exquisite actor, in dissembling those transports
which his bosom never knew. So well had this pupil retained the
lessons of her instructor, that, in the midst of those fraudulent
appropriations, which she still continued to make, she had found
means to support her interest and character with Mademoiselle, and
even to acquire such influence in the family, that no other
servant, male or female, could pretend to live under the same roof,
without paying incessant homage to this artful waiting-woman, and
yielding the most abject submission to her will.
The young gentlemen having tarried at Presburg about six weeks,
during which a small field equipage was prepared for Renaldo, they
repaired to the camp at Heilbron, under the auspices of Count
Melvil, in whose regiment they carried arms as volunteers, with a
view to merit promotion in the service by their own personal
behaviour. Our adventurer would have willingly dispensed with this
occasion of signalising himself, his talents being much better
adapted to another sphere of life; nevertheless, he affected
uncommon alacrity at the prospect of gathering laurels in the
field, and subscribed to his fortune with a good grace; foreseeing,
that even in a campaign, a man of his art and ingenuity might find
means to consult his corporal safety, without any danger to his
reputation. Accordingly, before he had lived full three weeks in
camp, the damp situation, and sudden change in his way of life, had
such a violent effect upon his constitution, that he was deprived
of the use of all his limbs, and mourned, without ceasing, his hard
fate, by which he found himself precluded from all opportunity of
exerting his diligence, courage, and activity, in the character of
a soldier, to which he now aspired.
Renaldo, who was actually enamoured of a martial life, and
missed no occasion of distinguishing himself, consoled his
companion with great cordiality, encouraged him with the hope of
seeing his constitution familiarised to the inconveniences of a
camp, and accommodated him with everything which he thought would
alleviate the pain of his body, as well as the anxiety of his mind.
The old Count, who sincerely sympathised with his affliction, would
have persuaded him to retire into quarters, where he could be
carefully nursed, and provided with everything necessary to a
person in his condition; but such was his desire of glory, that he
resisted his patron’s importunities with great constancy,
till at length, seeing the old gentleman obstinately determined to
consult his health by removing him from the field, he gradually
suffered himself to recover the use of his hands, made shift to sit
up in his bed, and amuse himself with cards or backgammon, and,
notwithstanding the feeble condition of his legs, ventured to ride
out on horseback to visit the lines, though the Count and his son
would never yield to his solicitations so far, as to let him
accompany Renaldo in those excursions and reconnoitring parties, by
which a volunteer inures himself to toil and peril, and acquires
that knowledge in the operations of war, which qualifies him for a
command in the service.
Notwithstanding this exemption from all duty, our adventurer
managed matters so as to pass for a youth of infinite mettle, and
even rendered his backwardness and timidity subservient to the
support of that character, by expressing an impatience of lying
inactive, and a desire of signalising his prowess, which even the
disabled condition of his body could scarce restrain. He must be a
man of very weak nerves and excessive irresolution, who can live in
the midst of actual service, without imbibing some portion of
military fortitude: danger becomes habitual, and loses a great part
of its terror; and as fear is often caught by contagion, so is
courage communicated among the individuals of an army. The hope of
fame, desire of honours and preferment, envy, emulation, and the
dread of disgrace, are motives which co-operate in suppressing that
aversion to death or mutilation, which nature hath implanted in the
human mind; and therefore it is not to be wondered at, if Fathom,
who was naturally chicken-hearted, gained some advantages over his
disposition before the end of the campaign, which happened to be
neither perilous nor severe.
During the winter, while both armies remained in quarters, our
adventurer attended his patron to Presburg, and, before the troops
were in motion, Renaldo obtained a commission, in consequence of
which he went into garrison at Philipsburg, whither he was followed
by our hero, while the old Count’s duty called him to the
field in a different place. Ferdinand for some time had no reason
to be dissatisfied with this disposition, by which he was at once
delivered from the fatigues of a campaign, and the inspection of a
severe censor, in the person of Count Melvil; and his satisfaction
was still increased by an accidental meeting with the Tyrolese who
had been his confederate at Vienna, and now chanced to serve in
garrison on the same footing with himself. These two knights-errant
renewed their former correspondence, and, as all soldiers are
addicted to gaming, levied contributions upon all those officers
who had money to lose, and temerity to play.
However, they had not long pursued this branch of traffic, when
their success was interrupted by a very serious occurrence, that
for the present entirely detached the gentlemen in the garrison
from such amusements. The French troops invested Fort Kehl,
situated on the Rhine, opposite to Strasburg; and the Imperialists,
dreading that the next storm would fall upon Philipsburg, employed
themselves with great diligence to put that important fortress in a
proper posture of defence. If the suspension of play was
displeasing to our hero, the expectation of being besieged was by
no means more agreeable. He knew the excellence of the French
engineers, the power of their artillery, and the perseverance of
their general. He felt, by anticipation, the toils of hard duty
upon the works, the horrors of night-alarms, cannonading,
bombardment, sallies, and mines blown up; and deliberated with
himself whether or not he should privately withdraw, and take
refuge among the besiegers; but, when he reflected that such a
step, besides the infamy that must attend it, would be like that of
running upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis, as he would be
exposed to more danger and inconvenience in the trenches than he
could possibly undergo in the town, and after all run the risk of
being taken and treated as a deserter; upon these considerations he
resolved to submit himself to his destiny, and endeavoured to
mitigate the rigour of his fate by those arts he had formerly
practised with success. He accordingly found means to enjoy a very
bad state of health during the whole siege, which lasted about six
weeks after the trenches were opened; and then the garrison marched
out by capitulation, with all the honours of war.
Nothing else of moment was transacted during that campaign; and
in the winter our adventurer, with the young Count, and his friend
the Tyrolese, were disposed in quarters of cantonment, where
Ferdinand made himself amends for the chagrin he had undergone, by
the exercise of those talents in which he excelled. Not that he was
satisfied with the sphere of life in which he acted; though he knew
himself consummate in the art of play, he was not at all ambitious
of a gamester’s name; nor did he find himself disposed to
hazard those discoveries and explanations to which heroes of that
class are sometimes necessarily exposed. His aim was to dwell among
the tents of civil life, undisturbed by quarrels and the din of
war, and render mankind subservient to his interest, not by
stratagems which irritate, but by that suppleness of insinuation,
which could not fail to soothe the temper of those on whom he meant
to prey.
He saw that all his expectations of Count Melvil’s future
favour were connected with his choice of a military life; and that
his promotion in the service would, in a great measure, depend upon
his personal behaviour in such emergencies as he did not at all
wish to encounter. On the other hand, he confided so much in his
own dexterity and address, that he never doubted of being able to
rear a splendid fortune for himself, provided he could once obtain
a fixed and firm foundation. He had in fancy often enjoyed a
prospect of England, not only as his native country, to which, like
a true citizen, he longed to be united; but also as the land of
promise, flowing with milk and honey, and abounding with subjects
on which he knew his talents would be properly exercised.
These reflections never occurred, without leaving a strong
impression upon the mind of our adventurer, which influenced his
deliberations in such a manner, as at length amounted to a perfect
resolution of withdrawing himself privately from a service that
teemed with disagreeable events, and of transporting himself into
the country of his ancestors, which he considered as the Canaan of
all able adventurers. But, previous to his appearance on that
stage, he was desirous of visiting the metropolis of France, in
which he hoped to improve himself in the knowledge of men and
things, and acquire such intelligence as would qualify him to act a
more important part upon the British scene. After having for some
time indulged these prospects in secret, he determined to
accommodate himself with the company and experience of the
Tyrolese, whom, under the specious title of an associate, he knew
he could convert into a very serviceable tool, in forwarding the
execution of his own projects.
Accordingly, the inclination of this confederate was sounded by
distant hints, and being found apt, our hero made him privy to his
design of decamping without beat of drum; though, at the same time,
he begged his advice touching the method of their departure, that
he might retire with as much delicacy as the nature of such a step
would permit. Divers consultations were held upon this subject,
before they adhered to the resolution of making their escape from
the army, after it should have taken the field in the spring;
because, in that case, they would have frequent opportunities of
going abroad on foraging parties, and, during one of these
excursions, might retire in such a manner as to persuade their
companions that they had fallen into the enemy’s hands.
Agreeable to this determination, the camp was no sooner formed
in Alsace than our associates began to make preparations for their
march, and had already taken all the previous measures for their
departure, when an accident happened, which our hero did not fail
to convert to his own advantage. This was no other than the
desertion of Renaldo’s valet, who, in consequence of a gentle
chastisement, which he had richly merited, thought proper to
disappear, after having plundered his master’s portmanteau,
which he had forced open for the purpose. Ferdinand, who was the
first person that discovered the theft, immediately comprehended
the whole adventure, and, taking it for granted that the delinquent
would never return, resolved to finish what the fugitive had
imperfectly performed.
Being favoured with the unreserved confidence of the young
Count, he instantly had recourse to his bureau, the locks of which
he found means to burst open, and, examining a private drawer,
contrived with great art to conceal Renaldo’s jewels and
cash, made himself master of the contents without hesitation; then
cutting open his cloak-bag, and strewing the tent with his linen
and clothes, began to raise his voice, and produce such a clamour
as alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and brought a great many
officers into the tent.
He on this, as on all other occasions, performed his cue to a
miracle, expressing confusion and concern so naturally in his
gestures and exclamation, that no man could possibly suspect his
sincerity; nay, to such a degree of finesse did his cunning amount,
that when his friend and patron entered, in consequence of an
intimation he soon received of his loss, our adventurer exhibited
undoubted signs of distraction and delirium, and, springing upon
Renaldo with all the frantic fury of a bedlamite,
“Villain,” cried he, “restore the effects you
have stole from your master, or you shall be immediately committed
to the care of the prevot.” However mortified M. de Melvil
might be at his own misfortune, the condition of his friend seemed
to touch him more nearly; he undervalued his own loss as a trifle
that could be easily repaired; said everything which he thought
would tend to soothe and compose the agitation of Ferdinand; and
finally prevailed upon him to retire to rest. The calamity was
wholly attributed to the deserter; and Renaldo, far from suspecting
the true author, took occasion, from his behaviour on this
emergency, to admire him as a mirror of integrity and attachment;
in such an exquisite manner did he plan all his designs, that
almost every instance of his fraud furnished matter of triumph to
his reputation.
Having thus profitably exercised his genius, this subtle
politician thought it high time to relinquish his military
expectations, and securing all his valuable acquisitions about his
own person, rode out with his understrapper, in the midst of fifty
dragoons, who went in quest of forage. While the troopers were
employed in making up their trusses, the two adventurers advanced
towards the skirt of a wood, on pretence of reconnoitring, and the
Tyrolese, who undertook to be our hero’s guide, directing him
to a path which leads towards Strasburg, they suddenly vanished
from the eyes of their companions, who in a few minutes hearing the
report of several pistols, which the confederates purposely fired,
conjectured that they had fallen in with a party of French, by whom
they were made prisoners of war.
The Tyrolese had overrated his own knowledge when he took upon
himself the charge of conducting our hero; for upon their arrival
at a certain place, where two roads crossed each other, he chanced
to follow that which not only frustrated their intention, but even
led them directly to the French camp; so that, in the twilight,
they fell in upon one of the outguards before they were aware of
their mistake.
Whatever confusion and perplexity they might undergo, when they
heard themselves questioned by the sentinel on the advanced post,
certain it is, they betrayed no symptoms of fear or disorder; but
while Ferdinand endeavoured to recollect himself, his
fellow-traveller, with the appearance of admirable intrepidity and
presence of mind, told the soldier that he and his companion were
two gentlemen of family, who had quitted the Austrian army, on
account of having sustained some ill-usage, which they had no
opportunity of resenting in any other way, and that they were come
to offer their services to the French general, to whose quarters
they desired to be immediately conveyed.
The sentinel, to whom such an instance of desertion was neither
rare, nor indeed uncommon, directed them without scruple to the
next post, where they found a serjeant’s party, from which,
at their request, they were transmitted to the officer of the grand
guard, and by him next morning introduced to Count Coigny, who very
politely received them as volunteers in the army of France. Though
this translation was not at all to our hero’s liking, he was
forced to acquiesce in his fate, glad to find himself, on these
terms, in possession of his effects, of which he would otherwise
have been infallibly rifled.
This campaign, however, was the most disagreeable period of his
whole life; because the manner in which he had entered into the
service subjected him to the particular observation and notice of
the French officers; so that he was obliged to be very alert in his
duty, and summon all his fortitude to maintain the character he had
assumed. What rendered his situation still more unpalatable, was
the activity of both armies in the course of this season, during
which, over and above sundry fatiguing marches and countermarches,
he was personally engaged in the affair of Halleh, which was very
obstinate; where, being in the skirts of the detachment, he was
actually wounded in the face by the sword of an hussar; but this
was, luckily for him, the last time he found himself under the
necessity of exerting his military prowess, for a cessation of arms
was proclaimed before he was cured of his wound, and peace
concluded about the end of the campaign.
During his sojourn in the French camp, he assumed the character
of a man of family, who being disgusted at some supercilious
treatment he had met with in the German service, and at the same
time ambitious of carrying arms under the banners of France, took
the opportunity of retreating by stealth from his friends,
accompanied only by one with whom he could intrust his intention.
In this capacity he had managed his matters to such advantage, that
many French officers of rank were very well disposed to contribute
their interest in his behalf, had his inclination verged towards
promotion in the army; but he thought proper to conceal his real
design, under the specious pretext of longing to see the metropolis
of France, that centre of pleasure and politeness, in which he
proposed to spend some time for the improvement of his address and
understanding. These were motives too laudable to be opposed by his
new patrons, some of whom furnished him with letters of
recommendation to certain noblemen of the first rank at the court
of Versailles, for which place he and his companion set out from
the banks of the Rhine, very well satisfied with the honourable
dismission they had obtained from a life of inconvenience, danger,
and alarm.
In the course of this journey, Ferdinand, who was never
deficient in his political capacity, held a secret conclave with
his own thoughts, not only touching the plan of his own future
conduct, but also concerning his associate, of whose fidelity and
adherence he began to entertain such doubts as discouraged him from
the prosecution of that design in which the Tyrolese had been at
first included; for he had lately observed him practise the arts of
his occupation among the French officers, with such rapacity and
want of caution, as indicated a dangerous temerity of temper, as
well as a furious rage of acquiring, which might be some time or
other satiated upon his own friends. In other words, our adventurer
was afraid that his accomplice would profit by his knowledge of the
road and countries through which they travelled, and, after having
made free with his most valuable effects, in consequence of the
familiarity subsisting between them, leave him some morning without
the ceremony of a formal adieu.
Aroused by this suspicion, he resolved to anticipate the
supposed intention of the Tyrolese, by taking his own departure in
the same abrupt manner; and this scheme he actually put in
execution, upon their arrival in Bar-le-duc, where it was agreed
they should spend a day to repose and refresh themselves from the
fatigue of hard riding. Ferdinand, therefore, taking the advantage
of his companion’s absence—for the Tyrolese had walked
abroad to view the town—found means to hire a peasant, who
undertook to conduct him through a by-road as far as Chalons, and
with his guide he accordingly set out on horseback, after having
discharged the bill, left a blank paper sealed up in form of a
letter, directed to his friend, and secured behind his own saddle a
pair of leathern bags, in which his jewels and cash were usually
contained. So eager was our hero to leave the Tyrolese at a
considerable distance behind, that he rode all night at a round
pace without halting, and next morning found himself at a village
distant thirteen good leagues from any part of the route which he
and his companion had at first resolved to pursue.
Here, thinking himself safely delivered from the cause of all
his apprehension, he determined to lie incognito for a few days, so
as that he might run no risk of an accidental meeting upon the road
with the person whose company he had forsaken; and accordingly took
possession of an apartment, in which he went to rest, desiring his
guide to wake him when dinner should be ready. Having enjoyed a
very comfortable refreshment of sleep, with his bags under his
pillow, he was summoned, according to his direction, and ate a very
hearty meal, with great tranquillity and internal satisfaction. In
the afternoon he amused himself with happy presages and ideal
prospects of his future fortune, and, in the midst of these
imaginary banquets, was seized with an inclination of realising his
bliss, and regaling his eyesight with the fruits of that success
which had hitherto attended his endeavours. Thus inflamed, he
opened the repository, and, O reader! what were his reflections,
when, in lieu of Mademoiselle Melvil’s ear-rings and
necklace, the German’s golden chain, divers jewels of
considerable value, the spoils of sundry dupes, and about two
hundred ducats in ready money, he found neither more nor less than
a parcel of rusty nails, disposed in such a manner as to resemble
in weight and bulk the moveables he had lost.
It is not to be supposed our adventurer made this discovery
without emotion. If the eternal salvation of mankind could have
been purchased for the tenth part of his treasure, he would have
left the whole species in a state of reprobation, rather than
redeem them at that price, unless he had seen in the bargain some
evident advantage to his own concerns. One may, therefore, easily
conceive with what milkiness of resignation he bore the loss of the
whole, and saw himself reduced from such affluence to the necessity
of depending upon about twenty ducats, and some loose silver, which
he carried in his pocket, for his expense upon the road. However
bitter this pill might be in swallowing, he so far mastered his
mortification, as to digest it with a good grace. His own
penetration at once pointed out the canal through which this
misfortune had flowed upon him; he forthwith placed the calamity to
the account of the Tyrolese, and never doubting that he had retired
with the booty across the Rhine, into some place to which he knew
Fathom would not follow his footsteps, he formed the melancholy
resolution of pursuing with all despatch his journey to Paris, that
he might, with all convenient expedition, indemnify himself for the
discomfiture he had sustained.
With regard to his confederate, his conjecture was perfectly
right; that adventurer, though infinitely inferior to our hero in
point of genius and invention, had manifestly the advantage of him
in the articles of age and experience; he was no stranger to
Fathom’s qualifications, the happy exertion of which he had
often seen. He knew him to be an economist of the most frugal
order, consequently concluded his finances were worthy of
examination; and, upon the true principles of a sharper, eased him
of the encumbrance, taking it for granted, that, in so doing, he
only precluded Ferdinand from the power of acting the same tragedy
upon him, should ever opportunity concur with his inclination. He
had therefore concerted his measures with the dexterity of an
experienced conveyancer, and, snatching the occasion, while our
hero, travel-tainted, lay sunk in the arms of profound repose, he
ripped up the seams of the leather depository, withdrew the
contents, introduced the parcel of nails, which he had made up for
the purpose, and then repaired the breach with great
deliberation.
Had Fathom’s good genius prompted him to examine his
effects next morning, the Tyrolese, in all probability, would have
maintained his acquisition by force of arms; for his personal
courage was rather more determined than that of our adventurer, and
he was conscious of his own ascendency in this particular; but his
good fortune prevented such explanation. Immediately after dinner,
he availed himself of his knowledge, and, betaking himself to a
remote part of the town, set out in a post-chaise for Luneville,
while our hero was meditating his own escape.
Fathom’s conception was sufficient to comprehend the whole
of this adventure, as soon as his chagrin would give his sagacity
fair play; nor would he allow his resolution to sink under the
trial; on the contrary, he departed from the village that same
afternoon, under the auspices of his conductor, and found himself
benighted in the midst of a forest, far from the habitations of
men. The darkness of the night, the silence and solitude of the
place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared on every
side, “stretching their extravagant arms athwart the
gloom,” conspired, with the dejection of spirits occasioned
by his loss, to disturb his fancy, and raise strange phantoms in
his imagination. Although he was not naturally superstitious, his
mind began to be invaded with an awful horror, that gradually
prevailed over all the consolations of reason and philosophy; nor
was his heart free from the terrors of assassination. In order to
dissipate these disagreeable reveries, he had recourse to the
conversation of his guide, by whom he was entertained with the
history of divers travellers who had been robbed and murdered by
ruffians, whose retreat was in the recesses of that very wood.
In the midst of this communication, which did not at all tend to
the elevation of our hero’s spirits, the conductor made an
excuse for dropping behind, while our traveller jogged on in
expectation of being joined again by him in a few minutes. He was,
however, disappointed in that hope; the sound of the other
horse’s feet by degrees grew more and more faint, and at last
altogether died away. Alarmed at this circumstance, Fathom halted
in the middle of the road, and listened with the most fearful
attention; but his sense of hearing was saluted with nought but the
dismal sighings of the trees, that seemed to foretell an
approaching storm. Accordingly, the heavens contracted a more
dreary aspect, the lightning began to gleam, and the thunder to
roll, and the tempest, raising its voice to a tremendous roar,
descended in a torrent of rain.
In this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost quite
overcome. So many concurring circumstances of danger and distress
might have appalled the most undaunted breast; what impression then
must they have made upon the mind of Ferdinand, who was by no means
a man to set fear at defiance! Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the
use of his reflection, and was actually invaded to the skin, before
he could recollect himself so far as to quit the road, and seek for
shelter among the thickets that surrounded him. Having rode some
furlongs into the forest, he took his station under a tuft of tall
trees, that screened him from the storm, and in that situation
called a council within himself, to deliberate upon his next
excursion. He persuaded himself that his guide had deserted him for
the present, in order to give intelligence of a traveller to some
gang of robbers with whom he was connected; and that he must of
necessity fall a prey to those banditti, unless he should have the
good fortune to elude their search, and disentangle himself from
the mazes of the wood.
Harrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to commit himself
to the mercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the least, and
penetrate straightforwards through some devious opening, until he
should be delivered from the forest. For this purpose he turned his
horse’s head in a line quite contrary to the direction of the
high road which he had left, on the supposition that the robbers
would pursue that track in quest of him, and that they would never
dream of his deserting the highway, to traverse an unknown forest,
amidst the darkness of such a boisterous night. After he had
continued in this progress through a succession of groves, and
bogs, and thorns, and brakes, by which not only his clothes, but
also his skin suffered in a grievous manner, while every nerve
quivered with eagerness and dismay, he at length reached an open
plain, and pursuing his course, in full hope of arriving at some
village, where his life would be safe, he descried a rush-light at
a distance, which he looked upon as the star of his good fortune,
and riding towards it at full speed, arrived at the door of a lone
cottage, into which he was admitted by an old woman, who,
understanding he was a bewildered traveller, received him with
great hospitality.
When he learned from his hostess, that there was not another
house within three leagues; that she could accommodate him with a
tolerable bed, and his horse with lodging and oats, he thanked
Heaven for his good fortune, in stumbling upon this homely
habitation, and determined to pass the night under the protection
of the old cottager, who gave him to understand, that her husband,
who was a faggot-maker, had gone to the next town to dispose of his
merchandise; and that, in all probability, he would not return till
next morning, on account of the tempestuous night. Ferdinand
sounded the beldame with a thousand artful interrogations, and she
answered with such appearance of truth and simplicity, that he
concluded his person was quite secure; and, after having been
regaled with a dish of eggs and bacon, desired she would conduct
him into the chamber where she proposed he should take his repose.
He was accordingly ushered up by a sort of ladder into an apartment
furnished with a standing-bed, and almost half filled with trusses
of straw. He seemed extremely well pleased with his lodging, which
in reality exceeded his expectation; and his kind landlady,
cautioning him against letting the candle approach the
combustibles, took her leave, and locked the door on the
outside.
Fathom, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, and
ever upon his guard against the treachery of his fellow-creatures,
could have dispensed with this instance of her care, in confining
her guest to her chamber, and began to be seized with strange
fancies, when he observed that there was no bolt on the inside of
the door, by which he might secure himself from intrusion. In
consequence of these suggestions, he proposed to take an accurate
survey of every object in the apartment, and, in the course of his
inquiry, had the mortification to find the dead body of a man,
still warm, who had been lately stabbed, and concealed beneath
several bundles of straw.
Such a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our hero
with unspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself would
undergo the same fate before morning, without the interposition of
a miracle in his favour. In the first transports of his dread, he
ran to the window, with a view to escape by that outlet, and found
his flight effectually obstructed by divers strong bars of iron.
Then his heart began to palpitate, his hair to bristle up, and his
knees to totter; his thoughts teemed with presages of death and
destruction; his conscience rose up in judgment against him, and he
underwent a severe paroxysm of dismay and distraction. His spirits
were agitated into a state of fermentation that produced a species
of resolution akin to that which is inspired by brandy or other
strong liquors, and, by an impulse that seemed supernatural, he was
immediately hurried into measures for his own preservation.
What upon a less interesting occasion his imagination durst not
propose, he now executed without scruple or remorse. He undressed
the corpse that lay bleeding among the straw, and, conveying it to
the bed in his arms, deposited it in the attitude of a person who
sleeps at his ease; then he extinguished the light, took possession
of the place from whence the body had been removed, and, holding a
pistol ready cocked in each hand, waited for the sequel with that
determined purpose which is often the immediate production of
despair. About midnight he heard the sound of feet ascending the
ladder; the door was softly opened; he saw the shadow of two men
stalking towards the bed, a dark lanthorn being unshrouded,
directed their aim to the supposed sleeper, and he that held it
thrust a poniard to his heart; the force of the blow made a
compression on the chest, and a sort of groan issued from the
windpipe of the defunct; the stroke was repeated, without producing
a repetition of the note, so that the assassins concluded the work
was effectually done, and retired for the present with a design to
return and rifle the deceased at their leisure.
Never had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he felt
during this operation; the whole surface of his body was covered
with a cold sweat, and his nerves were relaxed with an universal
palsy. In short, he remained in a trance that, in all probability,
contributed to his safety; for, had he retained the use of his
senses, he might have been discovered by the transports of his
fear. The first use he made of his retrieved recollection, was to
perceive that the assassins had left the door open in their
retreat; and he would have instantly availed himself of this their
neglect, by sallying out upon them, at the hazard of his life, had
he not been restrained by a conversation he overheard in the room
below, importing, that the ruffians were going to set out upon
another expedition, in hopes of finding more prey. They accordingly
departed, after having laid strong injunctions upon the old woman
to keep the door fast locked during their absence; and Ferdinand
took his resolution without farther delay. So soon as, by his
conjecture, the robbers were at a sufficient distance from the
house, he rose from his lurking-place, moved softly towards the
bed, and, rummaging the pockets of the deceased, found a purse well
stored with ducats, of which, together with a silver watch and a
diamond ring, he immediately possessed himself without scruple;
then, descending with great care and circumspection into the lower
apartment, stood before the old beldame, before she had the least
intimation of his approach.
Accustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary hag did
not behold this apparition without giving signs of infinite terror
and astonishment, believing it was no other than the spirit of her
second guest, who had been murdered; she fell upon her knees and
began to recommend herself to the protection of the saints,
crossing herself with as much devotion as if she had been entitled
to the particular care and attention of Heaven. Nor did her anxiety
abate, when she was undeceived in this her supposition, and
understood it was no phantom, but the real substance of the
stranger, who, without staying to upbraid her with the enormity of
her crimes, commanded her, on pain of immediate death, to produce
his horse, to which being conducted, he set her upon the saddle
without delay, and, mounting behind, invested her with the
management of the reins, swearing, in a most peremptory tone, that
the only chance she had for her life, was in directing him safely
to the next town; and that, so soon as she should give him the
least cause to doubt her fidelity in the performance of that task,
he would on the instant act the part of her executioner.
This declaration had its effect upon the withered Hecate, who,
with many supplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised to
guide him in safety to a certain village at the distance of two
leagues, where he might lodge in security, and be provided with a
fresh horse, or other convenience, for pursuing his intended route.
On these conditions he told her she might deserve his clemency; and
they accordingly took their departure together, she being placed
astride upon the saddle, holding the bridle in one hand and a
switch in the other; and our adventurer sitting on the crupper,
superintending her conduct, and keeping the muzzle of a pistol
close at her ear. In this equipage they travelled across part of
the same wood in which his guide had forsaken him; and it is not to
be supposed that he passed his time in the most agreeable reverie,
while he found himself involved in the labyrinth of those shades,
which he considered as the haunts of robbery and assassination.
Common fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt in this
excursion. The first steps he had taken for his preservation were
the effects of mere instinct, while his faculties were extinguished
or suppressed by despair; but now, as his reflection began to
recur, he was haunted by the most intolerable apprehensions. Every
whisper of the wind through the thickets was swelled into the
hoarse menaces of murder, the shaking of the boughs was construed
into the brandishing of poniards, and every shadow of a tree became
the apparition of a ruffian eager for blood. In short, at each of
these occurrences he felt what was infinitely more tormenting than
the stab of a real dagger; and at every fresh fillip of his fear,
he acted as a remembrancer to his conductress, in a new volley of
imprecations, importing, that her life was absolutely connected
with his opinion of his own safety.
Human nature could not longer subsist under such complicated
terror. At last he found himself clear of the forest, and was
blessed with the distant view of an inhabited place. He then began
to exercise his thoughts upon a new subject. He debated with
himself, whether he should make a parade of his intrepidity and
public spirit, by disclosing his achievement, and surrendering his
guide to the penalty of the law; or leave the old hag and her
accomplices to the remorse of their own consciences, and proceed
quietly on his journey to Paris in undisturbed possession of the
prize he had already obtained. This last step he determined to
take, upon recollecting, that, in the course of his information,
the story of the murdered stranger would infallibly attract the
attention of justice, and, in that case, the effects he had
borrowed from the defunct must be refunded for the benefit of those
who had a right to the succession. This was an argument which our
adventurer could not resist; he foresaw that he should be stripped
of his acquisition, which he looked upon as the fair fruits of his
valour and sagacity; and, moreover, be detained as an evidence
against the robbers, to the manifest detriment of his affairs.
Perhaps too he had motives of conscience, that dissuaded him from
bearing witness against a set of people whose principles did not
much differ from his own.
Influenced by such considerations, he yielded to the first
importunity of the beldame, whom he dismissed at a very small
distance from the village, after he had earnestly exhorted her to
quit such an atrocious course of life, and atone for her past
crimes, by sacrificing her associates to the demands of justice.
She did not fail to vow a perfect reformation, and to prostrate
herself before him for the favour she had found; then she betook
herself to her habitation, with full purpose of advising her
fellow-murderers to repair with all despatch to the village, and
impeach our hero, who, wisely distrusting her professions, stayed
no longer in the place than to hire a guide for the next stage,
which brought him to the city of Chalons-sur-Marne.
He was not so smitten with the delightful situation of this
ancient town, but that he abandoned it as soon as he could procure
a post-chaise, in which he arrived at Paris, without having been
exposed to any other troublesome adventure upon the road. He took
lodgings at a certain hotel in the Fauxbourg de St. Germain, which
is the general rendezvous of all the strangers that resort to this
capital; and now sincerely congratulated himself upon his happy
escape from his Hungarian connexions, and from the snares of the
banditti, as well as upon the spoils of the dead body, and his
arrival at Paris, from whence there was such a short conveyance to
England, whither he was attracted, by far other motives than that
of filial veneration for his native soil.
He suppressed all his letters of recommendation, which he justly
concluded would subject him to a tedious course of attendance upon
the great, and lay him under the necessity of soliciting preferment
in the army, than which nothing was farther from his inclination;
and resolved to make his appearance in the character of a private
gentleman, which would supply him with opportunities of examining
the different scenes of life in such a gay metropolis, so as that
he should be able to choose that sphere in which he could move the
most effectually to his own advantage. He accordingly hired an
occasional domestic, and under the denomination of Count Fathom,
which he had retained since his elopement from Renaldo, repaired to
dinner at an ordinary, to which he was directed as a reputable
place, frequented by fashionable strangers of all nations.
He found this piece of information perfectly just; for he no
sooner entered the apartment, than his ears were saluted with a
strange confusion of sounds, among which he at once distinguished
the High and Low Dutch, barbarous French, Italian, and English
languages. He was rejoiced at this occasion of displaying his own
qualifications, took his place at one of the three long tables,
betwixt a Westphalian count and a Bolognian marquis, insinuated
himself into the conversation with his usual address, and in less
than half an hour, found means to accost a native of each different
country in his own mother-tongue.
Such extensive knowledge did not pass unobserved. A French abbe,
in a provincial dialect, complimented him upon his retaining that
purity in pronunciation, which is not to be found in the speech of
a Parisian. The Bolognian, mistaking him for a Tuscan,
“Sir,” said he, “I presume you are from Florence.
I hope the illustrious house of Lorrain leaves you gentlemen of
that famous city no room to regret the loss of your own
princes.” The castle of Versailles becoming the subject of
conversation, Monsieur le Compte appealed to him, as to a native
German, whether it was not inferior in point of magnificence to the
chateau of Grubenhagen. The Dutch officer, addressing himself to
Fathom, drank to the prosperity of Faderland, and asked if he had
not once served in garrison at Shenkenschans; and an English knight
swore, with great assurance, that he had frequently rambled with
him at midnight among the hundreds of Drury.
To each person he replied in a polite, though mysterious manner,
which did not fail to enhance their opinion of his good breeding
and importance; and, long before the dessert appeared, he was by
all the company supposed to be a personage of great consequence,
who for some substantial reasons, found it convenient to keep
himself incognito. This being the case, it is not to be doubted
that particular civilities were poured upon him from all quarters.
He perceived their sentiments, and encouraged them, by behaving
with that sort of complaisance which seems to be the result of
engaging condescension in a character of superior dignity and
station. His affability was general but his chief attention limited
to those gentlemen already mentioned, who chanced to sit nearest
him at table; and he no sooner gave them to understand that he was
an utter stranger in Paris, than they unanimously begged to have
the honour of making him acquainted with the different curiosities
peculiar to that metropolis.
He accepted of their hospitality, accompanied them to a
coffee-house in the afternoon, from whence they repaired to the
opera, and afterwards adjourned to a noted hotel, in order to spend
the remaining part of the evening. It was here that our hero
secured himself effectually in the footing he had gained in their
good graces. He in a moment saw through all the characters of the
party, and adapted himself to the humour of each individual,
without descending from that elevation of behaviour which he
perceived would operate among them in his behalf. With the Italian
he discoursed on music, in the style of a connoisseur; and indeed
had a better claim to that title than the generality of those upon
whom it is usually conferred; for he understood the art in theory
as well as in practice, and would have made no contemptible figure
among the best performers of the age.
He harangued upon taste and genius to the abbe, who was a wit
and critic, ex officio, or rather ex vestitu for a young pert
Frenchman, the very moment he puts on the petit collet, or little
band, looks upon himself as an inspired son of Apollo; and every
one of the fraternity thinks it incumbent upon him to assert the
divinity of his mission. In a word, the abbes are a set of people
that bear a strong analogy to the templars in London. Fools of each
fabric, sharpers of all sorts, and dunces of every degree, profess
themselves of both orders. The templar is, generally speaking, a
prig, so is the abbe: both are distinguished by an air of petulance
and self-conceit, which holds a middle rank betwixt the insolence
of a first-rate buck and the learned pride of a supercilious
pedant. The abbe is supposed to be a younger brother in quest of
preferment in the church—the Temple is considered as a
receptacle or seminary for younger sons intended for the bar; but a
great number of each profession turn aside into other paths of
life, long before they reach these proposed goals. An abbe is often
metamorphosed into a foot soldier; a templar sometimes sinks into
an attorney’s clerk. The galleys of France abound with abbes;
and many templars may be found in our American plantations; not to
mention those who have made a public exit nearer home. Yet I would
not have it thought that my description includes every individual
of those societies. Some of the greatest scholars, politicians, and
wits, that ever Europe produced, have worn the habit of an abbe;
and many of our most noble families in England derive their honours
from those who have studied law in the Temple. The worthy sons of
every community shall always be sacred from my censure and
ridicule; and, while I laugh at the folly of particular members, I
can still honour and revere the institution.
But let us return from this comparison, which some readers may
think impertinent and unseasonable, and observe, that the
Westphalian count, Dutch officer, and English knight, were not
excepted from the particular regard and attention of our
adventurer. He pledged the German in every bumper; flattered the
Hollander with compliments upon the industry, wealth, and policy of
the Seven United Provinces; but he reserved his chief battery for
his own countryman, on the supposition that he was, in all
respects, the best adapted for the purposes of a needy gamester.
Him, therefore, he cultivated with extraordinary care and singular
observance; for he soon perceived him to be a humourist, and, from
that circumstance, derived an happy presage of his own success. The
baronet’s disposition seemed to be cast in the true English
mould. He was sour, silent, and contemptuous; his very looks
indicated a consciousness of superior wealth; and he never opened
his mouth, except to make some dry, sarcastic, national reflection.
Nor was his behaviour free from that air of suspicion which a man
puts on when he believes himself in a crowd of pick-pockets, whom
his caution and vigilance set at defiance. In a word, though his
tongue was silent on the subject, his whole demeanour was
continually saying, “You are all a pack of poor lousy
rascals, who have a design upon my purse. ’Tis true, I could
buy your whole generation, but I won’t be bubbled, d’ye
see; I am aware of your flattery, and upon my guard against all
your knavish pranks; and I come into your company for my own
amusement only.”
Fathom having reconnoitred this peculiarity of temper, instead
of treating him with that assiduous complaisance, which he received
from the other gentlemen of the party, kept aloof from him in the
conversation, with a remarkable shyness of distant civility, and
seldom took notice of what he said, except with a view to
contradict him, or retort some of his satirical observations. This
he conceived to be the best method of acquiring his good opinion;
because the Englishman would naturally conclude he was a person who
could have no sinister views upon his fortune, else he would have
chosen quite a different manner of deportment. Accordingly, the
knight seemed to bite at the hook. He listened to Ferdinand with
uncommon regard; he was even heard to commend his remarks, and at
length drank to their better acquaintance.
The Italian and the abbe were the first who began to grow
whimsical under the influence of the burgundy; and, in the heat of
their elevation, proposed that the company should amuse themselves
during the remaining part of the night, at the house of an obliging
dame, who maintained a troop of fair nymphs for the accommodation
of the other sex. The proposal was approved by all, except the
Hollander, whose economy the wine had not as yet invaded; and,
while he retreated soberly to his own lodgings, the rest of the
society adjourned in two coaches to the temple of love, where they
were received by the venerable priestess, a personage turned of
seventy, who seemed to exercise the functions of her calling, in
despite of the most cruel ravages of time; for age had bent her
into the form of a Turkish bow. Her head was agitated by the palsy,
like the leaf of the poplar tree; her hair fell down in scanty
parcels, as white as the driven snow; her face was not simply
wrinkled, but ploughed into innumerable furrows; her jaws could not
boast of one remaining tooth; one eye distilled a large quantity of
rheum, by virtue of the fiery edge that surrounded it; the other
was altogether extinguished, and she had lost her nose in the
course of her ministration. The Delphic sibyl was but a type of
this hoary matron, who, by her figure, might have been mistaken for
the consort of Chaos, or mother of Time. Yet there was something
meritorious in her appearance, as it denoted her an indefatigable
minister to the pleasure of mankind, and as it formed an agreeable
contrast with the beauty and youth of the fair damsels that
wantoned in her train. It resembled those discords in music, which,
properly disposed, contribute to the harmony of the whole piece; or
those horrible giants, who, in the world of romance, used to guard
the gates of the castle in which the enchanted damsel was
confined.
This Urganda seemed to be aware of her own importance, and
perfectly well acquainted with the human appetite; for she
compelled the whole company to undergo her embrace. Then a lacquey,
in magnificent livery, ushered them into a superb apartment, where
they waited some minutes, without being favoured with the
appearance of the ladies, to the manifest dissatisfaction of the
abbe, who, sending for the gouvernante, reprimanded her severely
for her want of politesse. The old lady, who was by no means a
pattern of patience and submission, retorted his reproaches with
great emphasis and vivacity. Her eloquence flowed altogether in the
Covent Garden strain; and I question whether the celebrated Mother
Douglas herself could have made such a figure in an extemporaneous
altercation.
After having bestowed upon the abbe the epithets of saucy
insignificant pimp, she put him in mind of the good offices which
he had received at her hands; how she had supplied him with bed,
board, and bedfellow, in his greatest necessity; sent him abroad
with money in his pockets—and, in a word, cherished him in
her bosom, when his own mother had abandoned him to distress. She
then reviled him for presuming to affront her before strangers, and
gave the company to understand, that the young ladies would wait
upon them as soon as they could be confessed and receive absolution
from a worthy cordelier, who was now employed in performing that
charitable office. The gentlemen were satisfied with this
remonstrance, which argued the old lady’s pious concern for
the souls that were under her care, and our adventurer proposed an
accommodation betwixt her and the abbe, who was prevailed upon to
ask her pardon, and received her blessing upon his knees.
This affair had not been long adjusted, when five damsels were
introduced in a very gay dishabille, and our hero was complimented
with the privilege of choosing his Amanda from the whole bevy. When
he was provided, the others began to pair themselves, and,
unhappily, the German count chanced to pitch upon the same nymph
who had captivated the desires of the British knight. A dispute
immediately ensued; for the Englishman made his addresses to the
lady, without paying the least regard to the priority of the
other’s claim; and she, being pleased with his attachment,
did not scruple to renounce his rival, who swore by the thunder,
lightning, and sacrament, that he would not quit his pretensions
for any prince in Christendom, much less for a little English
cavalier, whom he had already honoured too much in condescending to
be his companion.
The knight, provoked at this stately declaration, which was the
immediate effect of anger and ebriety, eyed his antagonist with a
most contemptuous aspect, and advised him to avoid such comparisons
for the future. “We all know,” said he, “the
importance of a German count; I suppose your revenue amounts to
three hundred rix-dollars; and you have a chateau that looks like
the ruins of an English gaol. I will bind myself to lend you a
thousand pounds upon a mortgage of your estate, (and a bad bargain
I am sure I shall have,) if I do not, in less than two months, find
a yeoman of Kent, who spends more in strong ale than the sum-total
of your yearly income; and, were the truth known, I believe that
lace upon your coat is no better than tinsel, and those fringed
ruffles, with fine Holland sleeves, tacked to a shirt of brown
canvas, so that, were you to undress yourself before the lady, you
would only expose your own poverty and pride.”
The count was so much enraged at these sarcastic observations,
that his faculty of speech was overwhelmed by his resentment;
though, in order to acquit himself of the Englishman’s
imputation, he forthwith pulled off his clothes with such fury,
that his brocade waistcoat was tore from top to bottom. The knight,
mistaking his meaning, considered this demeanour as a fair
challenge, to try which was the better man in the exercise of
boxing; and, on that supposition, began to strip in his turn, when
he was undeceived by Fathom, who put the right interpretation upon
the count’s behaviour, and begged that the affair might be
compromised. By this time the Westphalian recovered the use of his
tongue, and with many threats and imprecations, desired they would
take notice how falsely he had been aspersed, and do him justice in
espousing his claim to the damsel in question.
Before the company had time or inclination to interest
themselves in the quarrel, his opponent observed that no person who
was not a mere German, would ever dream of forcing the inclinations
of a pretty girl, whom the accidents of fortune had subjected to
his power; that such compulsion was equivalent to the most cruel
rape that could be committed; and that the lady’s aversion
was not at all surprising; for, to speak his own sentiments, were
he a woman of pleasure, he would as soon grant favours to a
Westphalian hog, as to the person of his antagonist. The German,
enraged at this comparison, was quite abandoned by his patience and
discretion. He called the knight an English clown, and, swearing he
was the most untoward beast of a whole nation of mules, snatched up
one of the candlesticks, which he launched at him with such force
and violence, that it sung through the air, and, winging its flight
into the ante-chamber, encountered the skull of his own valet, who
with immediate prostration received the message of his master.
The knight, that he might not be behindhand with the Westphalian
in point of courtesy, returned the compliment with the remaining
chandelier, which also missed its mark, and, smiting a large mirror
that was fixed behind them, emitted such a crash as one might
expect to hear if a mine were sprung beneath a manufacture of
glass. Both lights being thus extinguished, a furious combat ensued
in the dark; the Italian scampered off with infinite agility, and,
as he went downstairs, desired that nobody would interpose, because
it was an affair of honour, which could not be made up. The ladies
consulted their safety in flight; Count Fathom slyly retired to one
corner of the room; while the abbe, having upon him the terrors of
the commissaire, endeavoured to appease and part the combatants,
and, in the attempt, sustained a random blow upon his nose, which
sent him howling into the other chamber, where, finding his band
besmeared with his own blood, he began to caper about the
apartment, in a transport of rage and vexation.
Meanwhile, the old gentlewoman being alarmed with the noise of
the battle, and apprehensive that it would end in murder, to the
danger and discredit of herself and family, immediately mustered up
her myrmidons, of whom she always retained a formidable band, and,
putting herself at their head, lighted them to the scene of uproar.
Ferdinand, who had hitherto observed a strict neutrality, no sooner
perceived them approach, than he leaped in between the disputants,
that he might be found acting in the character of a peacemaker;
and, indeed, by this time, victory had declared for the baronet,
who had treated his antagonist with a cross-buttock, which laid him
almost breathless on the floor. The victor was prevailed upon, by
the entreaties of Fathom, to quit the field of battle, and adjourn
into another room, where, in less than half an hour, he received a
billet from the count, defying him to single combat on the
frontiers of Flanders, at an appointed time and place. The
challenge was immediately accepted by the knight, who, being
flushed with conquest, treated his adversary with great
contempt.
But, next day, when the fumes of the burgundy were quite
exhaled, and the adventure recurred to his remembrance and sober
reflection, he waited upon our adventurer at his lodgings, and
solicited his advice in such a manner, as gave him to understand
that he looked upon what had happened as a drunken brawl, which
ought to have no serious consequences. Fathom foreseeing that the
affair might be managed for his own interest, professed himself of
the baronet’s opinion; and, without hesitation, undertook the
office of a mediator, assuring his principal, that his honour
should suffer no stain in the course of his negotiation.
Having received the Englishman’s acknowledgments for this
instance of friendship, he forthwith set out for the place of the
German’s habitation, and understanding he was still asleep,
insisted upon his being immediately waked, and told, that a
gentleman from the chevalier desired to see him, upon business of
importance which could not be delayed. Accordingly, his
valet-de-chambre, pressed by Fathom’s importunities and
remonstrances, ventured to go in and shake the count by the
shoulder; when this furious Teutonian, still agitated by the fever
of the preceding night, leaped out of bed in a frenzy, and seizing
his sword that lay upon a table, would have severely punished the
presumption of his servant, had not he been restrained by the
entrance of Ferdinand, who, with a peremptory countenance, gave him
to understand that the valet had acted at his immediate
instigation; and that he was come, as the Englishman’s
friend, to concert with him proper measures for keeping the
appointment they had made at their last meeting.
This message effectually calmed the German, who was not a little
mortified to find himself so disagreeably disturbed. He could not
help cursing the impatience of his antagonist, and even hinting
that he would have acted more like a gentleman and good Christian,
in expressing a desire of seeing the affair accommodated, as he
knew himself to be the aggressor, consequently the first offender
against the laws of politeness and good-fellowship. Fathom, finding
him in a fit temper of mind, took the opportunity of assenting to
the reasonableness of his observation. He ventured to condemn the
impetuosity of the baronet, who, he perceived, was extremely nice
and scrupulous in the punctilios of honour; and said it was a pity
that two gentlemen should forfeit each other’s friendship,
much less expose their lives, for such a frivolous cause. “My
dear count,” cried the Westphalian, “I am charmed to
find your sentiments so conformable to my own. In an honourable
cause, I despise all danger; my courage, thank Heaven! has been
manifested in many public engagements as well as in private
rencounters; but, to break with my friend, whose eminent virtues I
admire, and even to seek his life, on such a scandalous occasion,
for a little insignificant w—-e, who, I suppose, took the
advantage of our intoxication, to foment the quarrel: by Heaven! my
conscience cannot digest it.”
Having expressed himself to this purpose, he waited impatiently
for the reply of Ferdinand, who, after a pause of deliberation,
offered his services in the way of mediation; though, he observed,
it was a matter of great delicacy, and the event altogether
uncertain. “Nevertheless,” added our adventurer,
“I will strive to appease the knight, who, I hope, will be
induced by my remonstrances to forget the unlucky accident, which
hath so disagreeably interrupted your mutual friendship.” The
German thanked him for this proof of his regard, which yielded him
more satisfaction on account of the chevalier than of himself.
“For, by the tombs of my fathers,” cried he, “I
have so little concern for my personal safety, that, if my honour
were interested, I durst oppose myself singly to the whole ban of
the empire; and I am now ready, if the chevalier requires it, to
give him the rendezvous in the forest of Senlis, either on
horseback or on foot, where this contest may be terminated with the
life of one or both of us.”
Count Fathom, with a view to chastise the Westphalian for this
rhodomontade, told him, with a mortifying air of indifference, that
if they were both bent upon taking the field, he would save himself
the trouble of interposing farther in the affair; and desired to
know the hour at which it would suit him to take the air with the
baronet. The other, not a little embarrassed by this question,
said, with a faltering tongue, he should be proud to obey the
chevalier’s orders; but, at the same time, owned he should be
much better pleased if our hero would execute the pacific proposal
he had made. Fathom accordingly promised to exert himself for that
purpose, and returned to the knight, with whom he assumed the merit
of having tranquillised the rage of an incensed barbarian, who was
now disposed to a reconciliation upon equal terms. The baronet
overwhelmed him with caresses and compliments upon his friendship
and address; the parties met that same forenoon, as if by accident,
in Fathom’s apartment, where they embraced each other
cordially, exchanged apologies, and renewed their former
correspondence.
Our adventurer thought he had good reason to congratulate
himself upon the part he had acted in this pacification. He was
treated by both with signal marks of particular affection and
esteem. The count pressed him to accept, as a token of his
attachment, a sword of very curious workmanship, which he had
received in a present from a certain prince of the empire. The
knight forced upon his finger a very splendid diamond ring, as a
testimony of his gratitude and esteem. But there was still another
person to be appeased, before the peace of the whole company could
be established. This was no other than the abbe, from whom each of
the reconciled friends received at dinner a billet couched in these
words:—
“I have the honour to lament the infinite chagrin and
mortification that compels me to address myself in this manner to a
person of your rank and eminence, whom I should do myself the
pleasure of waiting upon in person, were I not prevented by the
misfortune of my nose, which was last night most cruelly
disarranged, by a violent contusion I had the honour to receive, in
attempting to compose that unhappy fracas, at the house of Madame
la Maquerelle; and what puts the finishing stroke to my mishap, is
my being rendered incapable of keeping three or four assignations
with ladies of fashion, by whom I have the honour to be
particularly esteemed. The disfiguration of my nose, the pain I
have undergone, with the discomposure of brain which it produced, I
could bear as a philosopher; but the disappointment of the ladies,
my glory will not permit me to overlook. And as you know the injury
was sustained in your service, I have the pleasure to hope you will
not refuse to grant such reparation as will be acceptable to a
gentleman, who has the honour to be with inviolable
attachment,—
Sir, your most devoted slave,
PEPIN CLOTHAIRE CHARLE HENRI LOOUIS BARNABE DE FUMIER.”
This epistle was so equivocal, that the persons to whom it was
addressed did not know whether or not they ought to interpret the
contents into a challenge; when our hero observed, that the
ambiguity of his expressions plainly proved there was a door left
open for accommodation; and proposed that they should forthwith
visit the writer at his own apartment. They accordingly followed
his advice, and found the abbe in his morning gown and slippers,
with three huge nightcaps on his head, and a crape hat-band tied
over the middle of his face, by way of bandage to his nose. He
received his visitors with the most ridiculous solemnity, being
still a stranger to the purport of their errand; but soon as the
Westphalian declared they were come in consequence of his billet,
in order to ask pardon for the undesigned offence they had given,
his features retrieved their natural vivacity, and he professed
himself perfectly satisfied with their polite acknowledgment. Then
they condoled him upon the evil plight of his nose, and seeing some
marks upon his shirt, asked with seeming concern, if he had lost
any blood in the fray? To this interrogation he replied, that he
had still a sufficient quantity left for the occasions of his
friends; and that he should deem it his greatest glory to expend
the last drop of it in their service.
Matters being thus amicably adjusted, they prevailed upon him to
unease his nose, which retained no signs of the outrage he had
suffered; and the amusements of the day were concerted. It was in
consequence of this plan, that, after the comedy, they were
entertained at the count’s lodgings, where quadrille was
proposed by the abbe, as the most innocent pastime, and the
proposal was immediately embraced by all present, and by none with
more alacrity than by our adventurer, who, without putting forth a
moiety of his skill, went home with twenty louis clear gain.
Though, far from believing himself greatly superior to the rest of
the party, in the artifices of play, he justly suspected that they
had concealed their skill, with a view of stripping him on some
other occasion; for he could not suppose that persons of their
figure and character should be, in reality, such novices as they
affected to appear.
Steeled with this cautious maxim, he guarded himself from their
united endeavours, in sundry subsequent attacks, by which his first
conjecture was confirmed, and still came off conqueror, by virtue
of his unparalleled finesse and discretion; till at length they
seemed to despair of making him their prey, and the count began to
drop some hints, importing a desire of seeing him more closely
united to the views and interest of their triumvirate. But
Ferdinand, who was altogether selfish, and quite solitary in his
prospects, discouraged all those advances, being resolved to trade
upon his own bottom only, and to avoid all such connexions with any
person or society whatever; much more, with a set of raw
adventurers whose talents he despised. With these sentiments, he
still maintained the dignity and reserve of his first appearance
among them, and rather enhanced than diminished that idea of
importance which he had inspired at the beginning; because, besides
his other qualifications, they gave him credit for the address with
which he kept himself superior to their united designs.
While he thus enjoyed his pre-eminence, together with the fruits
of his success at play, which he managed so discreetly as never to
incur the reputation of an adventurer, he one day chanced to be at
the ordinary, when the company was surprised by the entrance of
such a figure as had never appeared before in that place. This was
no other than a person habited in the exact uniform of an English
jockey. His leathern cap, cut bob, fustian frock, flannel
waistcoat, buff breeches, hunting-boots and whip, were sufficient
of themselves to furnish out a phenomenon for the admiration of all
Paris. But these peculiarities were rendered still more conspicuous
by the behaviour of the man who owned them. When he crossed the
threshold of the outward door, he produced such a sound from the
smack of his whip, as equalled the explosion of an ordinary cohorn;
and then broke forth into the halloo of a foxhunter, which he
uttered with all its variations, in a strain of vociferation that
seemed to astonish and confound the whole assembly, to whom he
introduced himself and his spaniel, by exclaiming, in a tone
something less melodious than the cry of mackerel or live cod,
“By your leave, gentlevolks, I hope there’s no offence,
in an honest plain Englishman’s coming with money in his
pocket, to taste a bit of your Vrench frigasee and
ragooze.”
This declaration was made in such a wild, fantastical manner,
that the greatest part of the company mistook him for some savage
monster or maniac, and consulted their safety by starting up from
table, and drawing their swords. The Englishman, seeing such a
martial apparatus produced against him, recoiled two or three
steps, saying, “Waunds! a believe the people are all
bewitched. What, do they take me for a beast of prey? is there
nobody here that knows Sir Stentor Stile, or can speak to me in my
own lingo?” He had no sooner pronounced these words, than the
baronet, with marks of infinite surprise, ran towards him, crying,
“Good Heaven! Sir Stentor, who expected to meet with you in
Paris?” Upon which, the other eyeing him very earnestly,
“Odds heartlikins!” cried he, “my neighbour, Sir
Giles Squirrel, as I am a living soul!” With these words he
flew upon him like a tiger, kissed him from ear to ear, demolished
his periwig, and disordered the whole economy of his dress, to the
no small entertainment of the company.
Having well-nigh stifled his countryman with embraces, and
besmeared himself with pulville from head to foot, he proceeded in
this manner, “Mercy upon thee, knight, thou art so
transmographied, and bedaubed, and bedizened, that thou mought rob
thy own mother without fear of information. Look ye here now, I
will be trussed, if the very bitch that was brought up in thy own
bosom knows thee again. Hey, Sweetlips, here hussy, d—n the
tuoad, dos’t n’t know thy old measter? Ey, ey, thou
may’st smell till Christmas, I’ll be bound to be
hanged, knight, if the creature’s nose an’t foundered
by the d——d stinking perfumes you have got among
you.”
These compliments being passed, the two knights sat down by one
another, and Sir Stentor being asked by his neighbour, upon what
errand he had crossed the sea, gave him to understand, that he had
come to France, in consequence of a wager with Squire Snaffle, who
had laid a thousand pounds, that he, Sir Stentor, would not travel
to Paris by himself, and for a whole month appear every day at a
certain hour in the public walks, without wearing any other dress
than that in which he saw him. “The fellor has got no more
stuff in his pate,” continued this polite stranger,
“than a jackass, to think I could not find my way hither thof
I could not jabber your French lingo. Ecod! the people of this
country are sharp enough to find out your meaning, when you want to
spend anything among them; and, as for the matter of dress,
bodikins! for a thousand pound, I would engage to live in the midst
of them, and show myself without any clothes at all. Odds heart! a
true-born Englishman needs not be ashamed to show his face, nor his
backside neither, with the best Frenchman that ever trod the
ground. Thof we Englishmen don’t beplaister our doublets with
gold and silver, I believe as how we have our pockets better lined
than most of our neighbours; and for all my bit of a fustian frock,
that cost me in all but forty shillings, I believe, between you and
me, knight, I have more dust in my fob, than all those powdered
sparks put together. But the worst of the matter is this; here is
no solid belly-timber in this country. One can’t have a slice
of delicate sirloin, or nice buttock of beef, for love nor money. A
pize upon them! I could get no eatables upon the ruoad, but what
they called bully, which looks like the flesh of Pharaoh’s
lean kine stewed into rags and tatters; and then their peajohn,
peajohn, rabbet them! One would think every old woman of this
kingdom hatched pigeons from her own body.”
It is not to be supposed that such an original sat unobserved.
The French and other foreigners, who had never been in England,
were struck dumb with amazement at the knight’s appearance
and deportment; while the English guests were overwhelmed with
shame and confusion, and kept a most wary silence, for fear of
being recognised by their countryman. As for our adventurer, he was
inwardly transported with joy at sight of this curiosity. He
considered him as a genuine, rich country booby, of the right
English growth, fresh as imported; and his heart throbbed with
rapture, when he heard Sir Stentor value himself upon the lining of
his pockets. He foresaw, indeed, that the other knight would
endeavour to reserve him for his own game; but he was too conscious
of his own accomplishments to think he should find great difficulty
in superseding the influence of Sir Giles.
Meanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some
ragout, which pleased his palate so well, that he declared he
should now make a hearty meal, for the first time since he had
crossed the water; and, while his good-humour prevailed, he drank
to every individual around the table. Ferdinand seized this
opportunity of insinuating himself into his favour, by saying in
English, he was glad to find there was anything in France that was
agreeable to Sir Stentor. To this compliment the knight replied
with an air of surprise: “Waunds! I find here’s another
countryman of mine in this here company. Sir, I am proud to see you
with all my heart.” So speaking, he thrust out his right hand
across the table, and shook our hero by the fist, with such
violence of civility, as proved very grievous to a French marquis,
who, in helping himself to soup, was jostled in such a manner, as
to overturn the dividing-spoon in his own bosom. The Englishman,
seeing the mischief he had produced, cried, “No offence, I
hope,” in a tone of vociferation, which the marquis in all
probability misconstrued; for he began to model his features into a
very sublime and peremptory look, when Fathom interpreted the
apology, and at the same time informed Sir Stentor, that although
he himself had not the honour of being an Englishman, he had always
entertained a most particular veneration for the country, and
learned the language in consequence of that esteem.
“Blood!” answered the knight, “I think myself
the more obliged to you for your kind opinion, than if you was my
countryman in good earnest. For there be abundance of we
English—no offence, Sir Giles—that seem to be ashamed
of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend their
fortunes abroad, among a parcel of—you understand me,
sir—a word to the wise, as the saying is.”—Here
he was interrupted by an article of the second course, that seemed
to give him great disturbance. This was a roasted leveret, very
strong of the fumet, which happened to be placed directly under his
nose. His sense of smelling was no sooner encountered by the
effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up from table,
exclaiming, “Odd’s my liver! here’s a piece of
carrion, that I would not offer to e’er a hound in my kennel;
’tis enough to make any Christian vomit both gut and
gall”; and indeed by the wry faces he made while he ran to
the door, his stomach seemed ready to justify this last
assertion.
The abbe, who concluded, from these symptoms of disgust, that
the leveret was not sufficiently stale, began to exhibit marks of
discontent, and desired that it might be brought to the other end
of the table for his examination. He accordingly hung over it with
the most greedy appetite, feasting his nostrils with the steams of
animal putrefaction; and at length declared that the morceau was
passable, though he owned it would have been highly perfect, had it
been kept another week. Nevertheless, mouths were not wanting to
discuss it, insipid as it was; for in three minutes there was not a
vestige to be seen of that which had offended the organs of Sir
Stentor, who now resumed his place, and did justice to the dessert.
But what he seemed to relish better than any other part of the
entertainment, was the conversation of our adventurer, whom, after
dinner, he begged to have the honour of treating with a dish of
coffee, to the seeming mortification of his brother knight, over
which Fathom exulted in his own heart.
In short, our hero, by his affability and engaging deportment,
immediately gained possession of Sir Stentor’s good graces,
insomuch, that he desired to crack a bottle with him in the
evening, and they repaired to an auberge, whither his fellow-knight
accompanied him, not without manifest signs of reluctance. There
the stranger gave a loose to jollity; though at first he
d—-ed the burgundy as a poor thin liquor, that ran through
him in a twinkling, and, instead of warming, cooled his heart and
bowels. However, it insensibly seemed to give the lie to his
imputation; for his spirits rose to a more elevated pitch of mirth
and good-fellowship; he sung, or rather roared, the Early Horn, so
as to alarm the whole neighbourhood, and began to slabber his
companions with a most bear-like affection. Yet whatever haste he
made to the goal of ebriety, he was distanced by his brother
baronet, who from the beginning of the party had made little other
use of his mouth than to receive the glass, and now sunk down upon
the floor, in a state of temporary annihilation.
He was immediately carried to bed by the direction of Ferdinand,
who now saw himself in a manner possessor of that mine to which he
had made such eager and artful advances. That he might, therefore,
carry on the approaches in the same cautious manner, he gradually
shook off the trammels of sobriety, gave a loose to that spirit of
freedom which good liquor commonly inspires, and, in the
familiarity of drunkenness, owned himself head of a noble family of
Poland, from which he had been obliged to absent himself on account
of an affair of honour, not yet compromised.
Having made this confession, and laid strong injunctions of
secrecy upon Sir Stentor, his countenance seemed to acquire from
every succeeding glass a new symptom of intoxication. They renewed
their embraces, swore eternal friendship from that day, and
swallowed fresh bumpers, till both being in all appearance quite
overpowered, they began to yawn in concert, and even nod in their
chairs. The knight seemed to resent the attacks of slumber, as so
many impertinent attempts to interrupt their entertainment; he
cursed his own propensity to sleep, imputing it to the d—-ed
French climate, and proposed to engage in some pastime that would
keep them awake. “Odd’s flesh!” cried the Briton,
“when I’m at home, I defy all the devils in hell to
fasten my eyelids together, if so be as I’m otherwise
inclined. For there’s mother and sister Nan, and brother
Numps and I, continue to divert ourselves at all-fours, brag,
cribbage, tetotum, husslecap, and chuck-varthing, and, thof I say
it, that should n’t say it, I won’t turn my back to
e’er a he in England, at any of these pastimes. And so,
Count, if you are so disposed, I am your man, that is, in the way
of friendship, at which of these you shall please to pitch
upon.”
To this proposal Fathom replied, he was quite ignorant of all
the games he had mentioned; but, in order to amuse Sir Stentor, he
would play with him at lansquenet, for a trifle, as he had laid it
down for a maxim, to risk nothing considerable at play.
“Waunds!” answered the knight, “I hope you
don’t think I come here in quest of money. Thank God! I have
a good landed estate worth five thousand a year, and owe no man a
halfpenny; and I question whether there be many counts in your
nation—no offence, I hope—that can say a bolder word.
As for your lambskin net, I know nothing of the matter; but I will
toss up with you for a guinea, cross or pile, as the saying is; or,
if there’s such a thing in this country as a box and dice, I
love to hear the bones rattle sometimes.”
Fathom found some difficulty in concealing his joy at the
mention of this last amusement, which had been one of his chief
studies, and in which he had made such progress, that he could
calculate all the chances with the utmost exactness and certainty.
However, he made shift to contain himself within due bounds, and,
with seeming indifference, consented to pass away an hour at
hazard, provided the implements could be procured. Accordingly, the
landlord was consulted, and their desire gratified; the dice were
produced, and the table resounded with the effects of their mutual
eagerness. Fortune, at first, declared for the Englishman, who was
permitted by our adventurer to win twenty broad pieces; and he was
so elated with his success, as to accompany every lucky throw with
a loud burst of laughter, and other savage and simple
manifestations of excessive joy, exclaiming, in a tone something
less sweet than the bellowing of a bull, “Now for the main,
Count,—odd! here they come—here are the seven black
stars, i’faith. Come along, my yellow boys—odd’s
heart! I never liked the face of Lewis before.”
Fathom drew happy presages from these boyish raptures, and,
after having indulged them for some time, began to avail himself of
his arithmetic, in consequence of which the knight was obliged to
refund the greatest part of his winning. Then he altered his note,
and became as intemperate in his chagrin, as he had been before
immoderate in his mirth. He cursed himself and his whole
generation, d—-ed his bad luck, stamped with his feet upon
the floor, and challenged Ferdinand to double stakes. This was a
very welcome proposal to our hero, who found Sir Stentor just such
a subject as he had long desired to encounter with; the more the
Englishman laid, the more he lost, and Fathom took care to inflame
his passions, by certain well-timed sarcasms upon his want of
judgment, till at length he became quite outrageous, swore the dice
were false, and threw them out at the window; pulled off his
periwig, and committed it to the flames, spoke with the most
rancorous contempt of his adversary’s skill, insisted upon
his having stripped many a better man, for all he was a Count, and
threatening that, before they parted, he should not only look like
a Pole, but also smell like a pole-cat.
This was a spirit which our adventurer industriously kept up,
observing that the English were dupes to all the world; and that,
in point of genius and address, they were no more than noisy
braggadocios. In short, another pair of dice was procured, the
stakes were again raised, and, after several vicissitudes, fortune
declared so much in favour of the knight, that Fathom lost all the
money in his pocket, amounting to a pretty considerable sum. By
this time he was warmed into uncommon eagerness and impatience;
being equally piqued at the success and provoking exultations of
his antagonist, whom he now invited to his lodgings, in order to
decide the contest. Sir Stentor complied with this request; the
dispute was renewed with various success, till, towards daylight,
Ferdinand saw this noisy, raw, inexperienced simpleton, carry off
all his ready cash, together with his jewels, and almost everything
that was valuable about his person; and, to crown the whole, the
victor at parting told him with a most intolerable sneer, that as
soon as the Count should receive another remittance from Poland, he
would give him his revenge.
This was a proper subject for our hero to moralise upon; and
accordingly it did not pass without his remarks; he found himself
fairly foiled at his own weapons, reduced to indigence in a foreign
land, and, what he chiefly regretted, robbed of all those gay
expectations he had indulged from his own supposed excellence in
the wiles of fraud; for, upon a little recollection, he plainly
perceived he had fallen a sacrifice to the confederacy he had
refused to join; and did not at all doubt that the dice were loaded
for his destruction. But, instead of beating his head against the
wall, tearing his hair, imprecating vain curses upon himself, or
betraying other frantic symptoms of despair, he resolved to
accommodate himself to his fate, and profit by the lesson he had so
dearly bought.
With this intention, he immediately dismissed his valet, quitted
his lodgings, retired to an obscure street on the other side of the
river, and, covering one eye with a large patch of black silk,
presented himself in quality of a musician to the director of the
opera, who, upon hearing a trial of his skill, received him into
the band without further question. While he continued in this
situation, he not only improved his taste and execution in music,
but likewise found frequent opportunities to extend his knowledge
of mankind; for, besides the employment he exercised in public, he
was often concerned in private concerts that were given in the
hotels of noblemen; by which means he became more and more
acquainted with the persons, manners, and characters of high life,
which he contemplated with the most industrious attention, as a
spectator, who, being altogether unconcerned in the performance, is
at more liberty to observe and enjoy the particulars of the
entertainment.
It was in one of those assemblies he had the pleasure of seeing
his friend Sir Stentor, dressed in the most fashionable manner, and
behaving with all the overstrained politesse of a native Frenchman.
He was accompanied by his brother knight and the abbe; and this
triumvirate, even in Fathom’s hearing, gave a most ludicrous
detail of the finesse they had practised upon the Polish Count, to
their entertainer, who was ambassador from a certain court, and
made himself extremely merry with the particulars of the relation.
Indeed, they made shift to describe some of the circumstances in
such a ridiculous light, that our adventurer himself, smarting as
he was with the disgrace, could not help laughing in secret at the
account. He afterwards made it his business to inquire into the
characters of the two British knights, and understood they were
notorious sharpers, who had come abroad for the good of their
country, and now hunted in couple among a French pack, that
dispersed themselves through the public ordinaries, walks, and
spectacles, in order to make a prey of incautious strangers.
The pride of Ferdinand was piqued at this information; and he
was even animated with the desire of making reprisals upon this
fraternity, from which he ardently longed to retrieve his honour
and effects. But the issue of his last adventure had reinforced his
caution; and, for the present, he found means to suppress the
dictates of his avarice and ambition; resolving to employ his whole
penetration in reconnoitring the ground, before he should venture
to take the field again. He therefore continued to act the part of
a one-eyed fiddler, under the name of Fadini, and lived with
incredible frugality, that he might save a purse for his future
operations. In this manner had he proceeded for the space of ten
months, during which he acquired a competent knowledge of the city
of Paris, when his curiosity was attracted by certain peculiarities
in the appearance of a man who lived in one of the upper apartments
belonging to the house in which he himself had fixed his
habitation.
This was a tall, thin, meagre figure, with a long black beard,
an aquiline nose, a brown complexion, and a most piercing vivacity
in his eyes. He seemed to be about the age of fifty, wore the
Persian habit, and there was a remarkable severity in his aspect
and demeanour. He and our adventurer had been fellow-lodgers for
some time, and, according to the laudable custom in these days, had
hitherto remained as much estranged to one another, as if they had
lived on opposite sides of the globe; but of late the Persian
seemed to regard our hero with particular attention; when they
chanced to meet on the staircase, or elsewhere, he bowed to
Ferdinand with great solemnity, and complimented him with the pas.
He even proceeded, in the course of this communication, to open his
mouth, and salute him with a good-morrow, and sometimes made the
common remarks upon the weather. Fathom, who was naturally
complaisant, did not discourage these advances. On the contrary, he
behaved to him with marks of particular respect, and one day
desired the favour of his company to breakfast.
This invitation the stranger declined with due acknowledgment,
on pretence of being out of order; and, in the meantime, our
adventurer bethought himself of questioning the landlord concerning
his outlandish guest. His curiosity was rather inflamed than
satisfied with the information he could obtain from this quarter;
for all he learned was, that the Persian went by the name of Ali
Beker, and that he had lived in the house for the space of four
months, in a most solitary and parsimonious manner, without being
visited by one living soul; that, for some time after his arrival,
he had been often heard to groan dismally in the night, and even to
exclaim in an unknown language, as if he had laboured under some
grievous affliction; and though the first transports of his grief
had subsided, it was easy to perceive he still indulged a
deep-rooted melancholy; for the tears were frequently observed to
trickle down his beard. The commissaire of the quarter had at first
ordered this Oriental to be watched in his outgoings, according to
the maxims of the French police; but his life was found so regular
and inoffensive, that this precaution was soon set aside.
Any man of humane sentiments, from the knowledge of these
particulars, would have been prompted to offer his services to the
forlorn stranger; but as our hero was devoid of all these
infirmities of human nature, it was necessary that other motives
should produce the same effect. His curiosity, therefore, joined
with the hopes of converting the confidence of Ali to his own
emolument, effectually impelled him towards his acquaintance; and,
in a little time, they began to relish the conversation of each
other. For, as the reader may have already observed, Fathom
possessed all the arts of insinuation, and had discernment enough
to perceive an air of dignity in the Persian, which the humility of
his circumstances could not conceal. He was, moreover, a man of
good understanding, not without a tincture of letters, perfectly
well bred, though in a ceremonious style, extremely moral in his
discourse, and scrupulously nice in his notions of honour.
Our hero conformed himself in all respects to the other’s
opinions, and managed his discretion so as to pass upon him for a
gentleman reduced by misfortunes to the exercise of an employment
which was altogether unsuitable to his birth and quality. He made
earnest and repeated tenders of his good offices to the stranger,
and pressed him to make use of his purse with such cordial
perseverance, that, at length, Ali’s reserve was overcome,
and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum, which in all
probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the utmost
extremity of want before he would accept of this assistance.
Fathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to
take notice of many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments
of their intercourse, and seemed to denote an heart fraught with
woe; and, on pretence of administering consolation and counsel,
begged leave to know the cause of his distress, observing, that his
mind would be disburdened by such communication, and, perhaps, his
grief alleviated by some means which they might jointly concert and
execute in his behalf.
Ali, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of
extreme sorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from
his eyes, declared that his distress was beyond the power of any
remedy but death, and that, by making our hero his confidant, he
should only extend his unhappiness to a friend, without feeling the
least remission of his own torture. Notwithstanding these repeated
declarations, Ferdinand, who was well enough acquainted with the
mind of man to know that such importunity is seldom or never
disagreeable, redoubled his instances, together with his
expressions of sympathy and esteem, until the stranger was
prevailed upon to gratify his curiosity and benevolence. Having,
therefore, secured the chamber door one night, while all the rest
of the family were asleep, the unfortunate Ali disclosed himself in
these words.
I should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist
the desire you express to know the particulars of that destiny
which hath driven me to this miserable disguise, and rendered me in
all considerations the most wretched of men. I have felt your
friendship, am confident of your honour, and though my misfortunes
are such as can never be repaired, because I am utterly cut off
from hope, which is the wretch’s last comfort, yet I may, by
your means, be enabled to bear them with some degree of fortitude
and resignation.
Know then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian
extraction. I had once the honour to own myself a Castilian, and
was, under the appellation of Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the
head of one of the most ancient families of that kingdom. Judge,
then, how severe that distress must be, which compels a Spaniard to
renounce his country, his honours, and his name. My youth was not
spent in inglorious ease, neither did it waste unheeded in the
rolls of fame. Before I had attained the age of nineteen, I was
twice wounded in battle. I once fortunately recovered the standard
of the regiment to which I belonged, after it had been seized by
the enemy; and, at another occasion, made shift to save the life of
my colonel, when he lay at the mercy of an enraged barbarian.
He that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of
ostentation, does wrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in
having performed these little acts of gallantry, thinks he has done
nothing, but simply approved himself worthy of being called a
Castilian. I mean only to do justice to my own character, and to
make you acquainted with one of the most remarkable incidents of my
life. It was my fate, during my third campaign, to command a troop
of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales Orgullo, between whom and
my father a family feud had long been maintained with great enmity;
and that gentleman did not leave me without reason to believe he
rejoiced at the opportunity of exercising his resentment upon his
adversary’s son; for he withheld from me that countenance
which my fellow-officers enjoyed, and found means to subject me to
divers mortifications, of which I was not at liberty to complain.
These I bore in silence for some time, as part of my probation in
the character of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to employ my
interest at court for a removal into another corps, and to take
some future opportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don Gonzales
upon the injustice of his behaviour.
While I animated myself with these sentiments against the
discouragements I underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily
exposed, it was our fate to be concerned in the battle of
Saragossa, where our regiment was so severely handled by the
English infantry, that it was forced to give ground with the loss
of one half of its officers and men. Don Gonzales, who acted as
brigadier in another wing, being informed of our fate, and dreading
the disgrace of his corps, which had never turned back to the
enemy, put spurs to his horse, and, riding across the field at full
speed, rallied our broken squadrons, and led us back to the charge
with such intrepidity of behaviour, as did not fail to inspire us
all with uncommon courage and alacrity. For my own part, I thought
myself doubly interested to distinguish my valour, not only on
account of my own glory, but likewise on the supposition, that, as
I was acting under the eye of Gonzales, my conduct would be
narrowly observed.
I therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began
the attack with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side
during the rest of the engagement. I even acquired his applause in
the very heat of battle. When his hat was struck off, and his horse
fell under him, I accommodated and remounted him upon my own, and,
having seized for my own use another that belonged to a common
trooper, attended this stern commander as before, and seconded him
in all his repeated efforts; but it was impossible to withstand the
numbers and impetuosity of the foe, and Don Gonzales having had the
mortification to see his regiment cut in pieces, and the greatest
part of the army routed, was fain to yield to the fortune of the
day; yet he retired as became a man of honour and a Castilian; that
is, he marched off with great deliberation in the rear of the
Spanish troops, and frequently faced about to check the pursuit of
the enemy. Indeed, this exercise of his courage had well-nigh cost
him his life; for, in one of those wheelings, he was left almost
alone, and a small party of the Portuguese horse had actually cut
off our communication with the retreating forces of Spain.
In this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and
liberty, than that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was
what Gonzales instantly resolved to attempt. We accordingly
recommended our souls to God, and, charging the line abreast of one
another, bore down all opposition, and were in a fair way of
accomplishing our retreat without further danger; but the gallant
Orgullo, in crossing a ditch, had the misfortune to be thrown from
his horse, and was almost the same instant overtaken by one of the
Portuguese dragoons, whose sword was already suspended over his
head, as he lay half stunned with his fall; when I rode up,
discharged a pistol in the ruffian’s brain, and, seating my
colonel on his horse, had the good fortune to conduct him to a
place of safety.
Here he was provided with such accommodation as his case
required; for he had been wounded in the battle, and dangerously
bruised by his fall, and, when all the necessary steps were taken
towards his recovery, I desired to know if he had any further
commands for his service, being resolved to join the army without
delay. I thought proper to communicate this question by message,
because he had not spoke one word to me during our retreat,
notwithstanding the good office he had received at my hands; a
reserve which I attributed to his pride, and resented accordingly.
He no sooner understood my intention, than he desired to see me in
his apartment, and, as near as I can remember, spoke to this
effect:—
“Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in
consequence of your behaviour, banish every suggestion of
resentment, and solicit his friendship with great sincerity. Yes,
Don Diego, your virtue hath triumphed over that enmity I bore your
house, and I upbraid myself with the ungenerous treatment you have
suffered under my command. But it is not enough for me to withdraw
that rigour which it was unjust to exercise, and would be wicked to
maintain. I must likewise atone for the injuries you have
sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment for that life
which I have twice to-day owed to your valour and generosity.
Whatever interest I have at court shall be employed in your behalf;
and I have other designs in your favour, which shall be disclosed
in due season. Meanwhile, I desire you will still add one
obligation to the debt which I have already incurred, and carry
this billet in person to my Estifania, who, from the news of this
fatal overthrow must be in despair upon my account.”
So saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I
received in a transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the
occasion, and immediately set out for his country house, which
happened to be about thirty leagues from the spot. This expedition
was equally glorious and interesting; for my thoughts upon the road
were engrossed by the hope of seeing Don Orgullo’s daughter
and heiress Antonia, who was reported to be a young lady of great
beauty, and the most amiable accomplishments. However ridiculous it
may seem for a man to conceive a passion for an object which he
hath never beheld, certain it is, my sentiments were so much
prepossessed by the fame of her qualifications, that I must have
fallen a victim to her charms, had they been much less powerful
than they were. Notwithstanding the fatigues I had undergone in the
field, I closed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of Gonzales,
being determined to precede the report of the battle, that Madame
d’Orgullo might not be alarmed for the life of her
husband.
I declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I
had not waited above three minutes, when my colonel’s lady
appeared, and in great confusion received the letter, exclaiming,
“Heaven grant that Don Gonzales be well!” In reading
the contents, she underwent a variety of agitations; but, when she
had perused the whole, her countenance regained its serenity, and,
regarding me with an air of ineffable complacency, “Don
Diego,” said she, “while I lament the national
calamity, in the defeat of our army, I at the same time feel the
most sincere pleasure on seeing you upon this occasion, and,
according to the directions of my dear lord, bid you heartily
welcome to this house, as his preserver and friend. I was not
unacquainted with your character before this last triumph of your
virtue, and have often prayed to Heaven for some lucky
determination of that fatal quarrel which raged so long between the
family of Gonzales and your father’s house. My prayers have
been heard, the long-wished-for reconciliation is now effected, and
I hope nothing will ever intervene to disturb this happy
union.”
To this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply
as became a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and
benevolence, and desired to know how soon her answer to my
commander would be ready, that I might gratify his impatience with
all possible despatch. After having thanked me for this fresh proof
of my attachment, she begged I would retire into a chamber, and
repose myself from the uncommon fatigues I must have undergone;
but, finding I persisted in the resolution of returning to Don
Gonzales, without allowing myself the least benefit of sleep, she
left me engaged in conversation with an uncle of Don Gonzales, who
lodged in the house, and gave orders that a collation should be
prepared in another apartment, while she retired to her closet, and
wrote a letter to her husband.
In less than an hour from my first arrival, I was introduced
into a most elegant dining-room, where a magnificent entertainment
was served up, and where we were joined by Donna Estifania, and her
beautiful daughter the fair Antonia, who, advancing with the most
amiable sweetness, thanked me in very warm expressions of
acknowledgment, for the generosity of my conduct towards her
father. I had been ravished with her first appearance, which far
exceeded my imagination, and my faculties were so disordered by
this address, that I answered her compliment with the most awkward
confusion. But this disorder did not turn to my prejudice in the
opinion of that lovely creature, who has often told me in the
sequel, that she gave herself credit for that perplexity in my
behaviour, and that I never appeared more worthy of her regard and
affection than at that juncture, when my dress was discomposed, and
my whole person disfigured by the toils and duty of the preceding
day; for this very dishabille presented itself to her reflection as
the immediate effect of that very merit by which I was entitled to
her esteem.
Wretch that I am! to survive the loss of such an excellent
woman, endeared to my remembrance by the most tender offices of
wedlock, happily exercised for the space of five-and-twenty years!
Forgive these tears; they are not the drops of weakness, but
remorse. Not to trouble you with idle particulars, suffice it is to
say, I was favoured with such marks of distinction by Madame
d’Orgullo, that she thought it incumbent upon her to let me
know she had not overacted her hospitality, and, while we sat at
table, accosted me in these words: “You will not be
surprised, Don Diego, at my expressions of regard, which I own are
unusual from a Spanish lady to a young cavalier like you, when I
communicate the contents of this letter from Don Gonzales.”
So saying, she put the billet into my hand, and I read these words,
or words to this effect:—
“AMIABLE ESTIFANIA,—
You will understand that I am as
well as a person can possibly be who hath this day lived to see the
army of his king defeated. If you would know the particulars of
this unfortunate action, your curiosity will be gratified by the
bearer, Don Diego de Zelos, to whose virtue and bravery I am twice
indebted for my life. I therefore desire you will receive him with
that respect and gratitude which you shall think due for such an
obligation; and, in entertaining him, dismiss that reserve which
often disgraces the Spanish hospitality. In a word, let your own
virtue and beneficence conduct you upon this occasion, and let my
Antonia’s endeavours be joined with your own in doing honour
to the preserver of her father! Adieu.”
Such a testimonial could not fail of being very agreeable to a
young soldier, who by this time had begun to indulge the
transporting hope of being happy in the arms of the adorable
Antonia. I professed myself extremely happy in having met with an
opportunity of acquiring such a degree of my colonel’s
esteem, entertained them with a detail of his personal prowess in
the battle, and answered all their questions with that moderation
which every man ought to preserve in speaking of his own behaviour.
Our repast being ended, I took my leave of the ladies, and at
parting received a letter from Donna Estifania to her husband,
together with a ring of great value, which she begged I would
accept, as a token of her esteem. Thus loaded with honour and
caresses, I set out on my return for the quarters of Don Gonzales,
who could scarce credit his own eyes when I delivered his
lady’s billet; for he thought it impossible to perform such a
journey in so short a time.
When he had glanced over the paper, “Don Diego,”
said he, “by your short stay one would imagine you had met
with indifferent reception at my house. I hope Estifania has not
been deficient in her duty?” I answered this question, by
assuring him my entertainment had been so agreeable in all
respects, that nothing but my duty to him could have induced me to
give it up so soon. He then turned the conversation upon Antonia,
and hinted his intention of giving her in marriage to a young
cavalier, for whom he had a particular friendship. I was so much
affected by this insinuation, which seemed at once to blast all my
hopes of love and happiness, that the blood forsook my face; I was
seized with an universal trepidation, and even obliged to retire,
on pretence of being suddenly taken ill.
Though Gonzales seemed to impute this disorder to fatigue and
want of rest, he in his heart ascribed it to the true cause; and,
after having sounded my sentiments to his own satisfaction, blessed
me with a declaration, importing, that I was the person upon whom
he had pitched for a son-in-law. I will not trouble you with a
repetition of what passed on this interesting occasion, but proceed
to observe, that his intention in my favour was far from being
disagreeable to his lady; and that, in a little time, I had the
good fortune to espouse the charming Antonia, who submitted to the
will of her father without reluctance.
Soon after this happy event, I was, by the influence of Don
Gonzales, joined to my own interest, promoted to the command of a
regiment, and served with honour during the remaining part of the
war. After the treaty of Utrecht, I was employed in reducing the
Catalans to their allegiance; and, in an action with those
obstinate rebels had the misfortune to lose my father-in-law, who
by that time was preferred to the rank of a major-general. The
virtuous Estifania did not long survive this melancholy accident;
and the loss of these indulgent parents made such a deep impression
upon the tender heart of my Antonia, that I took the first
opportunity of removing her from a place in which every object
served to cherish her grief, to a pleasant villa near the city of
Seville, which I purchased on account of its agreeable situation.
That I might the more perfectly enjoy the possession of my amiable
partner, who could no longer brook the thoughts of another
separation, peace was no sooner re-established than I obtained
leave to resign my commission, and I wholly devoted myself to the
joys of a domestic life.
Heaven seemed to smile upon our union, by blessing us with a
son, whom, however, it was pleased to recall in his infancy, to our
unspeakable grief and mortification; but our mutual chagrin was
afterwards alleviated by the birth of a daughter, who seemed born
with every accomplishment to excite the love and admiration of
mankind. Why did nature debase such a masterpiece with the mixture
of an alloy, which hath involved herself and her whole family in
perdition? But the ways of Providence are unsearchable. She hath
paid the debt of her degeneracy; peace be with her soul! The honour
of my family is vindicated; though by a sacrifice which hath robbed
me of everything else that is valuable in life, and ruined my peace
past all redemption. Yes, my friend, all the tortures that human
tyranny can inflict would be ease, tranquillity, and delight, to
the unspeakable pangs and horrors I have felt.
But, to return from this digression.—Serafina, which was
the name of that little darling, as she grew up, not only disclosed
all the natural graces of external beauty, but likewise manifested
the most engaging sweetness of disposition, and a capacity for
acquiring with ease all the accomplishments of her sex. It is
impossible to convey any adequate idea of a parent’s raptures
in the contemplation of such a fair blossom. She was the only
pledge of our love, she was presumptive heiress to a large fortune,
and likely to be the sole representative of two noble Castilian
families. She was the delight of all who saw her, and a theme of
praise for every tongue. You are not to suppose that the education
of such a child was neglected. Indeed, it wholly engrossed the
attention of me and my Antonia, and her proficiency rewarded our
care. Before she had attained the age of fifteen, she was mistress
of every elegant qualification, natural and acquired. Her person
was, by that time, the confessed pattern of beauty. Her voice was
enchantingly sweet, and she touched the lute with the most
ravishing dexterity. Heaven and earth! how did my breast dilate
with joy at the thoughts of having given birth to such perfection!
how did my heart gush with paternal fondness, whenever I beheld
this ornament of my name! and what scenes of endearing transport
have I enjoyed with my Antonia, in mutual congratulation upon our
parental happiness!
Serafina, accomplished as she was, could not fail to make
conquests among the Spanish cavaliers, who are famous for
sensibility in love. Indeed, she never appeared without a numerous
train of admirers; and though we had bred her up in that freedom of
conversation and intercourse which holds a middle space between the
French licence and Spanish restraint, she was now so much exposed
to the addresses of promiscuous gallantry, that we found it
necessary to retrench the liberty of our house, and behave to our
male visitants with great reserve and circumspection, that our
honour and peace might run no risk from the youth and inexperience
of our daughter.
This caution produced overtures from a great many young
gentlemen of rank and distinction, who courted my alliance, by
demanding Serafina in marriage; and from the number I had actually
selected one person, who was in all respects worthy the possession
of such an inestimable prize. His name was Don Manuel de Mendoza.
His birth was noble, and his character dignified with repeated acts
of generosity and virtue. Yet, before I would signify to him my
approbation of his suit, I resolved to inform myself whether or not
the heart of Serafina was totally unengaged, and indifferent to any
other object, that I might not lay a tyrannical restraint upon her
inclinations. The result of my inquiry was a full conviction of her
having hitherto been deaf to the voice of love; and this piece of
information, together with my own sentiments in his favour, I
communicated to Don Manuel, who heard these tidings with transports
of gratitude and joy. He was immediately favoured with
opportunities of acquiring the affection of my daughter, and his
endeavours were at first received with such respectful civility, as
might have been easily warmed into a mutual passion, had not the
evil genius of our family interposed.
O my friend! how shall I describe the depravity of that unhappy
virgin’s sentiments! how recount the particulars of my own
dishonour! I that am descended from a long line of illustrious
Castilians, who never received an injury they did not revenge, but
washed away every blemish in their fame with the blood of those who
attempted to stain it! In that circumstance I have imitated the
example of my glorious progenitors, and that consideration alone
hath supported me against all the assaults of despair.
As I grudged no pains and expense in perfecting the education of
Serafina, my doors were open to every person who made an
extraordinary figure in the profession of those amusing sciences in
which she delighted. The house of Don Diego de Zelos was a little
academy for painting, poetry, and music; and Heaven decreed that it
should fall a sacrifice to its regard for these fatal and delusive
arts. Among other preceptors, it was her fate to be under the
instruction of a cursed German, who, though his profession was
drawing, understood the elements and theory of music, possessed a
large fund of learning and taste, and was a person remarkable for
his agreeable conversation. This traitor, who like you had lost one
eye, I not only admitted into my house for the improvement of my
daughter, but even distinguished with particular marks of
confidence and favour, little thinking he had either inclination or
capacity to debauch the sentiments of my child. I was rejoiced
beyond measure to see with what alacrity she received his lessons,
with what avidity she listened to his discourse, which was always
equally moral, instructing, and entertaining.
Antonia seemed to vie with me in expressions of regard for this
accomplished stranger, whom she could not help supposing to be a
person of rank and family, reduced to his present situation by some
unfortunate vicissitude of fate. I was disposed to concur with this
opinion, and actually conjured him to make me his confidant, with
such protestations as left him no room to doubt my honour and
beneficence; but he still persisted in declaring himself the son of
an obscure mechanic in Bohemia; an origin to which surely no man
would pretend who had the least claim to nobility of birth. While I
was thus undeceived in my conjecture touching his birth and
quality, I was confirmed in an opinion of his integrity and
moderation, and looked upon him as a man of honour, in despite of
the lowness of his pedigree. Nevertheless, he was at bottom a most
perfidious wretch, and all this modesty and self-denial were the
effects of the most villanous dissimulation, a cloak under which
he, unsuspected, robbed me of my honour and my peace.
Not to trouble you with particulars, the recital of which would
tear my heart-strings with indignation and remorse, I shall only
observe, that, by the power of his infernal insinuation, he
fascinated the heart of Serafina, brought over Antonia herself to
the interests of his passion, and at once detached them both from
their duty and religion. Heaven and earth! how dangerous, how
irresistible is the power of infatuation! While I remained in the
midst of this blind security, waiting for the nuptials of my
daughter, and indulging myself with the vain prospect of her
approaching felicity, Antonia found means to protract the
negotiations of the marriage, by representing that it would be a
pity to deprive Serafina of the opportunity she then had of
profiting by the German’s instructions; and, upon that
account, I prevailed upon Don Manuel to bridle the impatience of
his love.
During this interval, as I one evening enjoyed the cool air in
my own garden, I was accosted by an old duenna, who had been my
nurse and lived in the family since the time of my
childhood.—“My duty,” said she, “will no
longer permit me to wink in silence at the wrongs I see you daily
suffer. Dismiss that German from your house without delay, if you
respect the glory of your name, and the rights of our holy
religion; the stranger is an abominable heretic; and, grant Heaven!
he may not have already poisoned the minds of those you hold most
dear.” I had been extremely alarmed at the beginning of this
address; but, finding the imputation limited to the article of
religion, in which, thank God, I am no bigot, I recovered my
serenity of disposition, thanked the old woman for her zeal,
commended her piety, and encouraged her to persevere in making
observations on such subjects as should concern my honour and my
quiet.
We live in such a world of wickedness and fraud, that a man
cannot be too vigilant in his own defence: had I employed such
spies from the beginning, I should in all probability have been at
this day in possession of every comfort that renders life
agreeable. The duenna, thus authorised, employed her sagacity with
such success, that I had reason to suspect the German of a design
upon the heart of Serafina; but, as the presumptions did not amount
to conviction, I contented myself with exiling him from my house,
under the pretext of having discovered that he was an enemy to the
Catholic church; and forthwith appointed a day for the celebration
of my daughter’s marriage with Don Manuel de Mendoza. I could
easily perceive a cloud of melancholy overspread the faces of
Serafina and her mother, when I declared these my resolutions; but,
as they made no objection to what I proposed, I did not at that
time enter into an explanation of the true motives that influenced
my conduct. Both parties were probably afraid of such
expostulation.
Meanwhile, preparations were made for the espousals of Serafina;
and, notwithstanding the anxiety I had undergone, on account of her
connexion with the German, I began to think that her duty, her
glory, had triumphed over all such low-born considerations, if ever
they had been entertained; because she, and even Antonia, seemed to
expect the ceremony with resignation, though the features of both
still retained evident marks of concern, which I willingly imputed
to the mutual prospect of their separation. This, however, was but
a faithless calm, that soon, ah! too soon, brought forth a tempest
which hath wrecked my hopes.
Two days before the appointed union of Don Manuel and Serafina,
I was informed by the duenna, that, while she accompanied
Antonia’s waiting-maid at church, she had seen her receive a
billet from an old woman, who, kneeling at her side, had conveyed
it in such a mysterious manner, as awakened the duenna’s
apprehensions about her young lady; she had therefore hastened home
to communicate this piece of intelligence, that I might have an
opportunity of examining the messenger before she could have time
to deposit her trust. I could not help shivering with fearful
presages upon this occasion, and even abhorring the person to whose
duty and zeal I was beholden for the intelligence, even while I
endeavoured to persuade myself that the inquiry would end in the
detection of some paltry intrigue between the maid and her own
gallant. I intercepted her in returning from church, and,
commanding her to follow me to a convenient place, extorted from
her, by dint of threats, the fatal letter, which I read to this
effect:—
“The whole business of my life, O divine Serafina! will be
to repay that affection I have been so happy as to engage. With
what transport then shall I obey your summons, in performing that
enterprise, which will rescue you from the bed of a detested rival,
and put myself in full possession of a jewel which I value
infinitely more than life! Yes, adorable creature! I have provided
everything for our escape, and at midnight will attend you in your
own apartment, from whence you shall be conveyed into a land of
liberty and peace, where you will, unmolested, enjoy the purity of
that religion you have espoused, and in full security bless the
arms of your ever faithful,
ORLANDO.”
Were you a fond parent, a tender husband, and a noble Castilian,
I should not need to mention the unutterable horrors that took
possession of my bosom, when I perused this accursed letter, by
which I learned the apostasy, disobedience, and degeneracy of my
idolised Serafina, who had overthrown and destroyed the whole plan
of felicity which I had erected, and blasted all the glories of my
name; and when the wretched messenger, terrified by my menaces and
agitation, confessed that Antonia herself was privy to the guilt of
her daughter, whom she had solemnly betrothed to that vile German,
in the sight of Heaven, and that by her connivance this plebeian
intended, that very night, to bereave me of my child, I was for
some moments stupefied with grief and amazement, that gave way to
an ecstasy of rage, which had well-nigh terminated in despair and
distraction.
I now tremble, and my head grows giddy with the remembrance of
that dreadful occasion. Behold how the drops trickle down my
forehead; this agony is a fierce and familiar visitant; I shall
banish it anon. I summoned my pride, my resentment, to my
assistance; these are the cordials that support me against all
other reflections; those were the auxiliaries that enabled me, in
the day of trial, to perform that sacrifice which my honour
demanded, in a strain so loud as to drown the cries of nature,
love, and compassion. Yes, they espoused that glory which humanity
would have betrayed, and my revenge was noble, though
unnatural.
My scheme was soon laid, my resolution soon taken; I privately
confined the wretch who had been the industrious slave of this
infamous conspiracy, that she might take no step to frustrate or
interrupt the execution of my design. Then repairing to the house
of an apothecary who was devoted to my service, communicated my
intention, which he durst not condemn, and could not reveal,
without breaking the oath of secrecy I had imposed; and he
furnished me with two vials of poison for the dismal catastrophe I
had planned. Thus provided, I, on pretence of sudden business at
Seville, carefully avoided the dear, the wretched pair, whom I had
devoted to death, that my heart might not relent, by means of those
tender ideas which the sight of them would have infallibly
inspired; and, when daylight vanished, took my station near that
part of the house through which the villain must have entered on
his hellish purpose. There I stood, in a state of horrid
expectation, my soul ravaged with the different passions that
assailed it, until the fatal moment arrived; when I perceived the
traitor approach the window of a lower apartment, which led into
that of Serafina, and gently lifting the casement, which was
purposely left unsecured, insinuated half of his body into the
house. Then rushing upon him, in a transport of fury, I plunged my
sword into his heart, crying, “Villain! receive the reward of
thy treachery and presumption.”
The steel was so well aimed as to render a repetition of the
stroke unnecessary; he uttered one groan, and fell breathless at my
feet. Exulting with this first success of my revenge, I penetrated
into the chamber where the robber of my peace was expected by the
unhappy Serafina and her mother, who, seeing me enter with a most
savage aspect, and a sword reeking with the vengeance I had taken,
seemed almost petrified with fear. “Behold,” said I,
“the blood of that base plebeian, who made an attempt upon
the honour of my house; your conspiracy against the unfortunate Don
Diego de Zelos is now discovered; that presumptuous slave, the
favoured Orlando, is now no more.”
Scarce had I pronounced these words, when a loud scream was
uttered by both the unhappy victims. “If Orlando is
slain,” cried the infatuated Serafina, “what have I to
do with life? O my dear lord! my husband, and my lover! how are our
promised joys at once cut off! here, strike, my father! complete
your barbarous sacrifice! the spirit of the murdered Orlando still
hovers for his wife.” These frantic exclamations, in which
she was joined by Antonia, kept up the fury of my resentment, which
by meekness and submission might have been weakened and rendered
ineffectual. “Yes, hapless wretches,” I replied,
“ye shall enjoy your wish: the honour of my name requires
that both shall die; yet I will not mangle the breast of Antonia,
on which I have so often reposed; I will not shed the blood of
Zelos, nor disfigure the beauteous form of Serafina, on which I
have so often gazed with wonder and unspeakable delight. Here is an
elixir, to which I trust the consummation of my revenge.”
So saying, I emptied the vials into separate cups, and,
presenting one in each hand, the miserable, the fair offenders
instantly received the destined draughts, which they drank without
hesitation; then praying to heaven for the wretched Don Diego, sunk
upon the same couch, and expired without a groan. O well-contrived
beverage! O happy composition, by which all the miseries of life
are so easily cured!
Such was the fate of Antonia and Serafina; these hands were the
instruments that deprived them of life, these eyes beheld them the
richest prize that death had ever won. Powers supreme! does Don
Diego live to make this recapitulation? I have done my duty; but
ah! I am haunted by the furies of remorse; I am tortured with the
incessant stings of remembrance and regret; even now the images of
my wife and daughter present themselves to my imagination. All the
scenes of happiness I have enjoyed as a lover, husband, and parent,
all the endearing hopes I have cherished, now pass in review before
me, embittering the circumstances of my inexpressible woe; and I
consider myself as a solitary outcast from all the comforts of
society. But, enough of these unmanly complaints; the yearnings of
nature are too importunate.
Having completed my vengeance, I retired into my closet, and,
furnishing myself with some ready money and jewels of considerable
value, went into the stable, saddled my favourite steed, which I
instantly mounted, and, before the tumults of my breast subsided,
found myself at the town of St. Lucar. There I learned from
inquiry, that there was a Dutch bark in the harbour ready to sail;
upon which I addressed myself to the master, who, for a suitable
gratification, was prevailed upon to weigh anchor that same night;
so that, embarking without delay, I soon bid eternal adieu to my
native country. It was not from reason and reflection that I took
these measures for my personal safety; but, in consequence of an
involuntary instinct, that seems to operate in the animal machine,
while the faculty of thinking is suspended.
To what a dreadful reckoning was I called, when reason resumed
her function! You may believe me, my friend, when I assure you,
that I should not have outlived those tragedies I acted, had I not
been restrained from doing violence upon myself by certain
considerations, which no man of honour ought to set aside. I could
not bear the thought of falling ingloriously by the hand of an
executioner, and entailing disgrace upon a family that knew no
stain; and I was deterred from putting an end to my own misery, by
the apprehension of posthumous censure, which would have
represented me as a desponding wretch, utterly destitute of that
patience, fortitude, and resignation, which are the characteristics
of a true Castilian. I was also influenced by religious motives
that suggested to me the necessity of living to atone, by my
sufferings and sorrow, for the guilt I had incurred in complying
with a savage punctilio, which is, I fear, displeasing in the sight
of Heaven.
These were the reasons that opposed my entrance into that
peaceful harbour which death presented to my view; and they were
soon reinforced by another principle that sanctioned my
determination to continue at the servile oar of life. In
consequence of unfavourable winds, our vessel for some days made
small progress in her voyage to Holland, and near the coast of
Gallicia we were joined by an English ship from Vigo, the master of
which gave us to understand, that before he set sail, a courier had
arrived from Madrid at that place, with orders for the corregidore
to prevent the escape of any native Spaniard by sea from any port
within his district; and to use his utmost endeavours to apprehend
the person of Don Diego de Zelos, who was suspected of treasonable
practices against the state. Such an order, with a minute
description of my person, was at the same time despatched to all
the seaports and frontier places in Spain.
You may easily suppose how I, who was already overwhelmed with
distress, could bear this aggravation of misfortune and disgrace:
I, who had always maintained the reputation of loyalty, which was
acquired at the hazard of my life, and the expense of my blood. To
deal candidly, I must own, that this intelligence roused me from a
lethargy of grief which had begun to overpower my faculties. I
immediately imputed this dishonourable charge to the evil offices
of some villain, who had basely taken the advantage of my
deplorable situation, and I was inflamed, inspirited with the
desire of vindicating my fame, and revenging the injury. Thus
animated, I resolved to disguise myself effectually from the
observation of those spies which every nation finds its account in
employing in foreign countries; I purchased this habit from the
Dutch navigator, in whose house I kept myself concealed, after our
arrival at Amsterdam, until my beard was grown to a sufficient
length to favour my design, and then appeared as a Persian dealer
in jewels. As I could gain no satisfactory information touching
myself in this country, had no purpose to pursue, and was extremely
miserable among a people, who, being mercenary and unsocial, were
very ill adapted to alleviate the horrors of my condition, I
gratified my landlord for his important services, with the best
part of my effects; and having, by his means, procured a
certificate from the magistracy, repaired to Rotterdam, from whence
I set out in a travelling carriage for Antwerp, on my way to this
capital; hoping, with a succession of different objects, to
mitigate the anguish of my mind, and by the most industrious
inquiry, to learn such particulars of that false impeachment, as
would enable me to take measures for my own justification, as well
as for projecting a plan of revenge against the vile perfidious
author.
This, I imagined, would be no difficult task, considering the
friendship and intercourse subsisting between the Spanish and
French nations, and the communicative disposition for which the
Parisians are renowned; but I have found myself egregiously
deceived in my expectation. The officers of police in this city are
so inquisitive and vigilant that the most minute action of a
stranger is scrutinised with great severity; and, although the
inhabitants are very frank in discoursing on indifferent subjects,
they are at the same time extremely cautious in avoiding all
conversation that turns upon state occurrences and maxims of
government. In a word, the peculiarity of my appearance subjects me
so much to particular observation, that I have hitherto thought
proper to devour my griefs in silence, and even to bear the want of
almost every convenience, rather than hazard a premature discovery,
by offering my jewels to sale.
In this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become
acquainted with you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and
humanity. Indeed, I was at first sight prepossessed in your favour,
for, notwithstanding the mistakes which men daily commit in judging
from appearances, there is something in the physiognomy of a
stranger from which one cannot help forming an opinion of his
character and disposition. For once, my penetration hath not failed
me; your behaviour justifies my decision; you have treated me with
that sympathy and respect which none but the generous will pay to
the unfortunate. I have trusted you accordingly. I have put my
life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to depend upon
your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which alone I
seek to live. Your employment engages you in the gay world; you
daily mingle with the societies of men; the domestics of the
Spanish ambassador will not shun your acquaintance; you may
frequent the coffee-houses to which they resort; and, in the course
of these occasions, unsuspected inform yourself of that mysterious
charge which lies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don Diego. I
must likewise implore your assistance in converting my jewels into
money, that I may breathe independent of man, until Heaven shall
permit me to finish this weary pilgrimage of life.
Fathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of
this disastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an
aspect of generous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with
tears, he condoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos,
deplored the untimely death of the gentle Antonia and the fair
Serafina, and undertook the interest of the wretched Castilian with
such warmth of sympathising zeal, as drew a flood from his eyes,
while he wrung his benefactor’s hand in a transport of
gratitude. Those were literally tears of joy, or at least of
satisfaction, on both sides; as our hero wept with affection and
attachment to the jewels that were to be committed to his care;
but, far from discovering the true source of his tenderness, he
affected to dissuade the Spaniard from parting with the diamonds,
which he counselled him to reserve for a more pressing occasion;
and, in the meantime, earnestly entreated him to depend upon his
friendship for present relief.
This generous proffer served only to confirm Don Diego’s
resolution, which he forthwith executed, by putting into the hands
of Ferdinand jewels to the value of a thousand crowns, and desiring
him to detain for his own use any part of the sum they would raise.
Our adventurer thanked him for the good opinion he entertained of
his integrity, an opinion fully manifested in honouring him with
such important confidence, and assured him he would transact his
affairs with the utmost diligence, caution, and despatch. The
evening being by this time almost consumed, these new allies
retired separately to rest; though each passed the night without
repose, in very different reflections, the Castilian being, as
usual, agitated with the unceasing pangs of his unalterable misery,
interspersed with gleaming hopes of revenge; and Fathom being kept
awake with revolving plans for turning his fellow-lodger’s
credulity to his own advantage. From the nature of the
Spaniard’s situation, he might have appropriated the jewels
to himself, and remained in Paris without fear of a prosecution,
because the injured party had, by the above narrative, left his
life and liberty at discretion.—But he did not think himself
secure from the personal resentment of an enraged desperate
Castilian; and therefore determined to withdraw himself privately
into that country where he had all along proposed to fix the
standard of his finesse, which fortune had now empowered him to
exercise according to his wish.
Bent upon this retreat, he went abroad in the morning, on
pretence of acting in the concerns of his friend Don Diego, and
having hired a post-chaise to be ready at the dawning of next day,
returned to his lodgings, where he cajoled the Spaniard with a
feigned report of his negotiation; then, securing his most valuable
effects about his person, arose with the cock, repaired to the
place at which he had appointed to meet the postillion with the
carriage, and set out for England without further delay, leaving
the unhappy Zelos to the horrors of indigence, and the additional
agony of this fresh disappointment. Yet he was not the only person
affected by the abrupt departure of Fathom, which was hastened by
the importunities, threats, and reproaches of his landlord’s
daughter, whom he had debauched under promise of marriage, and now
left in the fourth month of her pregnancy.
Notwithstanding the dangerous adventure in which he had been
formerly involved by travelling in the night, he did not think
proper to make the usual halts on this journey, for sleep or
refreshment, nor did he once quit the chaise till his arrival at
Boulogne, which he reached in twenty hours after his departure from
Paris. Here he thought he might safely indulge himself with a
comfortable meal; accordingly he bespoke a poulard for dinner, and
while that was preparing, went forth to view the city and harbour.
When he beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his heart throbbed with
all the joy of a beloved son, who, after a tedious and fatiguing
voyage, reviews the chimneys of his father’s house. He
surveyed the neighbouring coast of England with fond and longing
eyes, like another Moses, reconnoitring the land of Canaan from the
top of Mount Pisgah; and to such a degree of impatience was he
inflamed by the sight, that, instead of proceeding to Calais, he
resolved to take his passage directly from Boulogne, even if he
should hire a vessel for the purpose. With these sentiments, he
inquired if there was any ship bound for England, and was so
fortunate as to find the master of a small bark, who intended to
weigh anchor for Deal that same evening at high water.
Transported with this information, he immediately agreed for his
passage, sold the post-chaise to his landlord for thirty guineas,
as a piece of furniture for which he could have no further use,
purchased a portmanteau, together with some linen and wearing
apparel, and, at the recommendation of his host, took into his
service an extra postillion or helper, who had formerly worn the
livery of a travelling marquis. This new domestic, whose name was
Maurice, underwent, with great applause, the examination of our
hero, who perceived in him a fund of sagacity and presence of mind,
by which he was excellently qualified for being the valet of an
adventurer. He was therefore accommodated with a second-hand suit
and another shirt, and at once listed under the banners of Count
Fathom, who spent the whole afternoon in giving him proper
instructions for the regulation of his conduct.
Having settled these preliminaries to his own satisfaction, he
and his baggage were embarked about six o’clock in the month
of September, and it was not without emotion that he found himself
benighted upon the great deep, of which, before the preceding day,
he had never enjoyed even the most distant prospect. However, he
was not a man to be afraid, where there was really no appearance of
danger; and the agreeable presages of future fortune supported his
spirits, amidst the disagreeable nausea which commonly attends
landsmen at sea, until he was set ashore upon the beach at Deal,
which he entered in good health about seven o’clock in the
morning.
Like Caesar, however, he found some difficulty in landing, on
account of the swelling surf, that tumbled about with such violence
as had almost overset the cutter that carried him on shore; and, in
his eagerness to jump upon the strand, his foot slipped from the
side of the boat, so that he was thrown forwards in an horizontal
direction, and his hands were the first parts of him that touched
English ground. Upon this occasion, he, in imitation of
Scipio’s behaviour on the coast of Africa, hailed the omen,
and, grasping a handful of the sand, was heard to exclaim, in the
Italian language: “Ah, ah, Old England, I have thee
fast.”
As he walked up to the inn, followed by Maurice loaded with his
portmanteau, he congratulated himself upon his happy voyage, and
the peaceable possession of his spoil, and could not help snuffing
up the British air with marks of infinite relish and satisfaction.
His first care was to recompense himself for the want of sleep he
had undergone, and, after he had sufficiently recruited himself
with several hours of uninterrupted repose, he set out in a
post-chaise for Canterbury, where he took a place in the London
stage, which he was told would depart next morning, the coach being
already full. On this very first day of his arrival, he perceived
between the English and the people among whom he had hitherto
lived, such essential difference in customs, appearance, and way of
living, as inspired him with high notions of that British freedom,
opulence, and convenience, on which he had often heard his mother
expatiate. On the road, he feasted his eyesight with the verdant
hills covered with flocks of sheep, the fruitful vales parcelled
out into cultivated enclosures; the very cattle seemed to profit by
the wealth of their masters, being large, sturdy, and sleek, and
every peasant breathed the insolence of liberty and independence.
In a word, he viewed the wide-extended plains of Kent with a
lover’s eye, and, his ambition becoming romantic, could not
help fancying himself another conqueror of the isle.
He was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which
soon vanished before other reflections of more importance and
solidity. His imagination, it must be owned, was at all times too
chaste to admit those overweening hopes, which often mislead the
mind of the projector. He had studied mankind with incredible
diligence, and knew perfectly well how far he could depend on the
passions and foibles of human nature. That he might now act
consistent with his former sagacity, he resolved to pass himself
upon his fellow-travellers for a French gentleman, equally a
stranger to the language and country of England, in order to glean
from their discourse such intelligence as might avail him in his
future operations; and his lacquey was tutored accordingly.
Those who had taken places for the coach, understanding the
sixth seat was engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his
ignorance; and, with that politeness which is peculiar to this
happy island, fixed themselves in the vehicle, in such a manner,
before he had the least intimation of their design, that he found
it barely practicable to insinuate himself sidelong between a
corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping landlady, in which attitude he
stuck fast, like a thin quarto between two voluminous dictionaries
on a bookseller’s shelf. And, as if the pain and
inconvenience of such compression was not sufficient matter of
chagrin, the greatest part of the company entertained themselves
with laughing at his ludicrous station.
The jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud
exclamation of mirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted
with a buttock of English beef; and said, by that time they should
arrive at their dining-place, he might be spitted without larding.
“Yes, verily,” replied Obadiah, who was a wag in his
way, “but the swine’s fat will be all on one
side.”—“So much the better for you,” cried
mine hostess, “for that side is all your own.” The
quaker was not so much disconcerted by the quickness of this
repartee, but that he answered with great deliberation, “I
thank thee for thy love, but will not profit by thy loss,
especially as I like not the savour of these outlandish fowls; they
are profane birds of passage, relished only by the children of
vanity, like thee.”
The plump gentlewoman took umbrage at this last expression,
which she considered as a double reproach, and repeated the words,
“Children of vanity!” with an emphasis of resentment.
“I believe, if the truth were known,” said she,
“there’s more vanity than midriff in that great belly
of yours, for all your pretending to humility and religion. Sirrah!
my corporation is made up of good, wholesome, English fat; but you
are puffed up with the wind of vanity and delusion; and when it
begins to gripe your entrails, you pretend to have a motion, and
then get up and preach nonsense. Yet you’ll take it upon you
to call your betters children. Marry come up, Mr. Goosecap, I have
got children that are as good men as you, or any hypocritical
trembler in England.”
A person who sat opposite to the quaker, hearing this
remonstrance, which seemed pregnant with contention, interposed in
the conversation with a conscious leer, and begged there might be
no rupture between the spirit and the flesh. By this remonstrance
he relieved Obadiah from the satire of this female orator, and
brought the whole vengeance of her elocution upon his own head.
“Flesh!” cried she, with all the ferocity of an enraged
Thalestris; “none of your names, Mr. Yellowchaps. What! I
warrant you have an antipathy to flesh, because you yourself are
nothing but skin and bone. I suppose you are some poor starved
journeyman tailor come from France, where you have been learning to
cabbage, and have not seen a good meal of victuals these seven
years. You have been living upon rye-bread and soup-maigre, and now
you come over like a walking atomy with a rat’s tail at your
wig, and a tinsey jacket. And so, forsooth, you set up for a
gentleman, and pretend to find fault with a sirloin of roast
beef.”
The gentleman heard this address with admirable patience, and
when she had rung out her alarm, very coolly replied,
“Anything but your stinking fish madam. Since when, I pray,
have you travelled in stage-coaches, and left off your old
profession of crying oysters in winter, and rotten mackerel in
June? You was then known by the name of Kate Brawn, and in good
repute among the ale-houses in Thames Street, till that unlucky
amour with the master of a corn-vessel, in which he was
unfortunately detected by his own spouse; but you seem to have
risen by that fall; and I wish you joy of your present plight.
Though, considering your education on Bear Quay, you can give but a
sorry account of yourself.”
The Amazon, though neither exhausted nor dismayed, was really
confounded at the temper and assurance of this antagonist, who had
gathered all these anecdotes from the fertility of his own
invention; after a short pause, however, she poured forth a torrent
of obloquy sufficient to overwhelm any person who had not been used
to take up arms against such seas of trouble; and a dispute ensued,
which would have not only disgraced the best orators on the Thames,
but even have made a figure in the celebration of the Eleusinian
mysteries, during which the Athenian matrons rallied one another
from different waggons, with that freedom of altercation so happily
preserved in this our age and country.
Such a redundancy of epithets, and variety of metaphors, tropes,
and figures were uttered between these well-matched opponents, that
an epic bard would have found his account in listening to the
contest; which, in all probability, would not have been confined to
words, had it not been interrupted for the sake of a young woman of
an agreeable countenance and modest carriage; who, being shocked at
some of their flowers of speech, and terrified by the menacing
looks and gestures of the fiery-featured dame, began to scream
aloud, and beg leave to quit the coach. Her perturbation put an end
to the high debate. The sixth passenger, who had not opened his
mouth, endeavoured to comfort her with assurances of protection;
the quaker proposed a cessation of arms; the male disputant
acquiesced in the proposal, assuring the company he had entered the
lists for their entertainment only, without acquiring the least
grudge or ill-will to the fat gentlewoman, whom he protested he had
never seen before that day, and who, for aught he knew, was a
person of credit and reputation. He then held forth his hand in
token of amity, and asked pardon of the offended party, who was
appeased by his submission; and, in testimony of her benevolence,
presented to the other female, whom she had discomposed, an
Hungary-water bottle filled with cherry-brandy, recommending it as
a much more powerful remedy than the sal-volatile which the other
held to her nose.
Peace being thus re-established, in a treaty comprehending
Obadiah and all present, it will not be improper to give the reader
some further information, touching the several characters assembled
in this vehicle. The quaker was a London merchant, who had been at
Deal superintending the repairs of a ship which had suffered by a
storm in the Downs. The Wapping landlady was on her return from the
same place, where she had attended the payment of a man-of-war,
with sundry powers of attorney, granted by the sailors, who had
lived upon credit at her house. Her competitor in fame was a dealer
in wine, a smuggler of French lace, and a petty gamester just
arrived from Paris, in the company of an English barber, who sat on
his right hand, and the young woman was daughter of a country
curate, in her way to London, where she was bound apprentice to a
milliner.
Hitherto Fathom had sat in silent astonishment at the manners of
his fellow-travellers, which far exceeded the notions he had
preconceived of English plainness and rusticity. He found himself a
monument of that disregard and contempt which a stranger never
fails to meet with from the inhabitants of this island; and saw,
with surprise, an agreeable young creature sit as solitary and
unheeded as himself.
He was, indeed, allured by the roses of her complexion, and the
innocence of her aspect, and began to repent of having pretended
ignorance of the language, by which he was restrained from
exercising his eloquence upon her heart; he resolved, however, to
ingratiate himself, if possible, by the courtesy and politeness of
dumb show, and for that purpose put his eyes in motion without
farther delay.
During these deliberations, the wine merchant, with a view to
make a parade of his superior parts and breeding, as well as to
pave the way for a match at backgammon, made a tender of his
snuff-box to our adventurer, and asked, in bad French, how he
travelled from Paris. This question produced a series of
interrogations concerning the place of Ferdinand’s abode in
that city, and his business in England, so that he was fain to
practise the science of defence, and answered with such ambiguity,
as aroused the suspicion of the smuggler, who began to believe our
hero had some very cogent reason for evading his curiosity; he
immediately set his reflection at work, and, after various
conjectures, fixed upon Fathom’s being the Young Pretender.
Big with this supposition, he eyed him with the most earnest
attention, comparing his features with those of the
Chevalier’s portrait which he had seen in France, and though
the faces were as unlike as any two human faces could be, found the
resemblance so striking as to dispel all his doubts, and persuade
him to introduce the stranger to some justice on the road; a step
by which he would not only manifest his zeal for the Protestant
succession, but also acquire the splendid reward proposed by
parliament to any person who should apprehend that famous
adventurer.
These ideas intoxicated the brain of this man to such a pitch of
enthusiasm, that he actually believed himself in possession of the
thirty thousand pounds, and amused his fancy with a variety of
magnificent projects to be executed by means of that acquisition,
until his reverie was interrupted by the halting of the coach at
the inn where the passengers used to eat their breakfasts. Waked as
he was from the dream of happiness, it had made such impression
upon his mind, that, seeing Fathom rise up with an intention to
alight, he took it for granted his design was to escape, and
seizing him by the collar, called aloud for assistance in the
King’s name.
Our hero, whose sagacity and presence of mind very often
supplied the place of courage, instead of being terrified at this
assault, which might have disturbed the tranquillity of an ordinary
villain, was so perfectly master of every circumstance of his own
situation, as to know at once that the aggressor could not possibly
have the least cause of complaint against him; and therefore,
imputing this violence either to madness or mistake, very
deliberately suffered himself to be made prisoner by the people of
the house, who ran to the coach door in obedience to the summons of
the wine merchant. The rest of the company were struck dumb with
surprise and consternation at this sudden adventure; and the
quaker, dreading some fell resistance on the side of the outlandish
man, unpinned the other coach door in the twinkling of an eye, and
trundled himself into the mud for safety. The others, seeing the
temper and resignation of the prisoner, soon recovered their
recollection, and began to inquire into the cause of his arrest,
upon which, the captor, whose teeth chattered with terror and
impatience, gave them to understand that he was a state criminal,
and demanded their help in conveying him to justice.
Luckily for both parties, there happened to be at the inn a
company of squires just returned from the death of a leash of
hares, which they had ordered to be dressed for dinner, and among
these gentlemen was one of the quorum, to whom the accuser had
immediate recourse, marching before the captive, who walked very
peaceably between the landlord and one of his waiters, and followed
by a crowd of spectators, some of whom had secured the faithful
Maurice, who in his behaviour closely imitated the deliberation of
his master. In this order did the procession advance to the
apartment in which the magistrate, with his fellows of the chase,
sat smoking his morning pipe over a tankard of strong ale, and the
smuggler being directed to the right person, “May it please
your worship,” said he, “I have brought this foreigner
before you, on a violent suspicion of his being a proclaimed
outlaw; and I desire, before these witnesses, that my title may be
made good to the reward that shall become due upon his
conviction.”
“Friend,” replied the justice, “I know nothing
of you or your titles; but this I know, if you have any information
to give in, you must come to my house when I am at home, and
proceed in a lawful way, that is, d’ye mind me, if you swear
as how this here person is an outlaw; then if so be as he has
nothing to say to the contrary, my clerk shall make out a mittimus,
and so to jail with him till next ‘size.” “But,
sir,” answered the impeacher, “this is a case that
admits of no delay; the person I have apprehended is a prisoner of
consequence to the state.” “How, fellor!” cried
the magistrate, interrupting him, “is there any person of
more consequence than one of his Majesty’s justices of the
peace, who is besides a considerable member of the landed interest!
D’ye know, sirrah, who you are talking to? If you don’t
go about your business, I believe I shall lay you by the
heels.”
The smuggler, fearing his prize would escape through the
ignorance, pride, and obstinacy of this country justice, approached
his worship, and in a whisper which was overheard by all the
company, assured him he had indubitable reason to believe the
foreigner was no other than the Pretender’s eldest son. At
mention of this formidable name, every individual of the audience
started, with signs of terror and amazement. The justice dropped
his pipe, recoiled upon his chair, and, looking most ridiculously
aghast, exclaimed, “Seize him, in the name of God and his
Majesty King George! Has he got no secret arms about
him!”
Fathom being thus informed of the suspicion under which he
stood, could not help smiling at the eagerness with which the
spectators flew upon him, and suffered himself to be searched with
great composure, well knowing they would find no moveables about
his person, but such as upon examination would turn to his account;
he therefore very calmly presented to the magistrate his purse, and
a small box that contained his jewels, and in the French language
desired they might be preserved from the hands of the mob. This
request was interpreted by the accuser, who, at the same time, laid
claim to the booty. The justice took charge of the deposit, and one
of his neighbours having undertaken the office of clerk, he
proceeded to the examination of the culprit, whose papers were by
this time laid on the table before him. “Stranger,”
said he, “you stand charged with being son of the Pretender
to these realms; what have you to say in your own defence?”
Our hero assured him, in the French language, that he was falsely
impeached, and demanded justice on the accuser, who, without the
least reason, had made such a malicious attack upon the life and
honour of an innocent gentleman.
The smuggler, instead of acting the part of a faithful
interpreter, told his worship, that the prisoner’s answer was
no more than a simple denial, which every felon would make who had
nothing else to plead in his own behalf, and that this alone was a
strong presumption of his guilt, because, if he was not really the
person they suspected him to be, the thing would speak for itself,
for, if he was not the Young Pretender, who then was he? This
argument had great weight with the justice, who, assuming a very
important aspect, observed, “Very true, friend, if you are
not the Pretender, in the name of God, who are you? One may see
with half an eye that he is no better than a promiscuous
fellow.”
Ferdinand now began to repent of having pretended ignorance of
the English language, as he found himself at the mercy of a rascal,
who put a false gloss upon all his words, and addressed himself to
the audience successively in French, High Dutch, Italian, and
Hungarian Latin, desiring to know if any person present understood
any of these tongues, that his answers might be honestly explained
to the bench. But he might have accosted them in Chinese with the
same success: there was not one person present tolerably versed in
his mother-tongue, much less acquainted with any foreign language,
except the wine merchant, who, incensed at this appeal, which he
considered as an affront to his integrity, gave the judge to
understand, that the delinquent, instead of speaking to the
purpose, contumaciously insulted his authority in sundry foreign
lingos, which he apprehended was an additional proof of his being
the Chevalier’s son, inasmuch as no person would take the
pains to learn such a variety of gibberish, except with some
sinister intent.
This annotation was not lost upon the squire, who was too
jealous of the honour of his office to overlook such a flagrant
instance of contempt. His eyes glistened, his cheeks were inflated
with rage. “The case is plain,” said he; “having
nothing of signification to offer in his own favour, he grows
refractory, and abuses the court in his base Roman Catholic jargon;
but I’ll let you know, for all you pretend to be a prince,
you are no better than an outlawed vagrant, and I’ll show you
what a thing you are when you come in composition with an English
justice, like me, who have more than once extinguished myself in
the service of my country. As nothing else accrues, your purse,
black box, and papers shall be sealed up before witnesses, and sent
by express to one of his Majesty’s secretaries of state; and,
as for yourself, I will apply to the military at Canterbury, for a
guard to conduct you to London.”
This was a very unwelcome declaration to our adventurer, who was
on the point of haranguing the justice and spectators in their own
language, when he was relieved from the necessity of taking that
step by the interposition of a young nobleman just arrived at the
inn, who, being informed of this strange examination, entered the
court, and, at first sight of the prisoner, assured the justice he
was imposed upon; for that he himself had often seen the Young
Pretender in Paris, and that there was no kind of resemblance
between that adventurer and the person now before him. The accuser
was not a little mortified at his lordship’s affirmation,
which met with all due regard from the bench, though the magistrate
took notice, that, granting the prisoner was not the Young
Chevalier himself, it was highly probable he was an emissary of
that house, as he could give no satisfactory account of himself,
and was possessed of things of such value as no honest man could
expose to the accidents of the road.
Fathom, having thus found an interpreter, who signified to him,
in the French tongue, the doubts of the justice, told his lordship,
that he was a gentleman of a noble house in Germany, who, for
certain reasons, had come abroad incognito, with a view to see the
world; and that, although the letters they had seized would prove
the truth of that assertion, he should be loth to expose his
private concerns to the knowledge of strangers, if he could
possibly be released without that mortification. The young nobleman
explained his desire to the court; but, his own curiosity being
interested, observed, at the same time, that the justice could not
be said to have discharged the duties of his station, until he
should have examined every circumstance relating to the prisoner.
Upon which remonstrance, he was requested by the bench to peruse
the papers, and accordingly communicated the substance of one
letter to this effect:—
“MY DEAR SON,—
Though I am far from approving the
rash step you have taken in withdrawing yourself from your
father’s house, in order to avoid an engagement which would
have been equally honourable and advantageous to your family, I
cannot so far suppress my affection, as to bear the thought of your
undergoing those hardships which, for your disobedience, you
deserve to suffer. I have therefore, without the knowledge of your
father, sent the bearer to attend you in your peregrinations; his
fidelity you know hath been tried in a long course of service, and
I have entrusted to his care, for your use, a purse of two hundred
ducats, and a box of jewels to the value of twice that sum, which,
though not sufficient to support an equipage suitable to your
birth, will, at least for some time, preserve you from the
importunities of want. When you are dutiful enough to explain your
designs and situation, you may expect further indulgence from your
tender and disconsolate mother,—
COUNTESS OF FATHOM.”
This letter, which, as well as the others, our hero had forged
for the purpose, effectually answered his intent, in throwing dust
in the eyes and understanding of the spectators, who now regarded
the prisoner with looks of respectful remorse, as a man of quality
who had been falsely accused. His lordship, to make a parade of his
own politeness and importance, assured the bench, he was no
stranger to the family of the Fathoms, and, with a compliment, gave
Ferdinand to understand he had formerly seen him at Versailles.
There being no longer room for suspicion, the justice ordered our
adventurer to be set at liberty, and even invited him to be seated,
with an apology for the rude manner in which he had been treated,
owing to the misinformation of the accuser, who was threatened with
the stocks, for his malice and presumption.
But this was not the only triumph our hero obtained over the
wine merchant. Maurice was no sooner unfettered, than, advancing
into the middle of the room, “My lord,” said he,
addressing himself in French to his master’s deliverer,
“since you have been so generous as to protect a noble
stranger from the danger of such a false accusation, I hope you
will still lay an additional obligation upon the Count, by
retorting the vengeance of the law upon his perfidious accuser,
whom I know to be a trader in those articles of merchandise which
are prohibited by the ordinances of this nation. I have seen him
lately at Boulogne, and am perfectly well acquainted with some
persons who have supplied him with French lace and embroidery; and,
as a proof of what I allege, I desire you will order him and this
barber, who is his understrapper, to be examined on the
spot.”
This charge, which was immediately explained to the bench,
yielded extraordinary satisfaction to the spectators, one of whom,
being an officer of the customs, forthwith began to exercise his
function upon the unlucky perruquier, who, being stripped of his
upper garments, and even of his shirt, appeared like the mummy of
an Egyptian king, most curiously rolled up in bandages of rich
figured gold shalloon, that covered the skirts of four embroidered
waistcoats. The merchant, seeing his expectation so unhappily
reversed, made an effort to retire with a most rueful aspect, but
was prevented by the officer, who demanded the interposition of the
civil power, that he might undergo the same examination to which
the other had been subjected. He was accordingly rifled without
loss of time, and the inquiry proved well worth the care of him who
made it; for a considerable booty of the same sort of merchandise
was found in his boots, breeches, hat, and between the buckram and
lining of his surtout. Yet, not contented with this prize, the
experienced spoiler proceeded to search his baggage, and,
perceiving a false bottom in his portmanteau, detected beneath it a
valuable accession to the plunder he had already obtained.
Proper cognisance being thus taken of these contraband effects,
and the informer furnished with a certificate, by which he was
entitled to a share of the seizure, the coachman summoned his
passengers to the carriage; the purse and jewels were restored to
Count Fathom, who thanked the justice, and his lordship in
particular, for the candour and hospitality with which he had been
treated, and resumed his place in the vehicle, amidst the
congratulations of all his fellow-travellers, except the two
forlorn smugglers, who, instead of re-embarking in the coach,
thought proper to remain at the inn, with view to mitigate, if
possible, the severity of their misfortune.
Among those who felicitated Fathom upon the issue of this
adventure, the young maiden seemed to express the most sensible
pleasure at that event. The artful language of his eyes had raised
in her breast certain fluttering emotions, before she knew the
value of her conquest; but now that his rank and condition were
discovered, these transports were increased by the ideas of vanity
and ambition, which are mingled with the first seeds of every
female constitution. The belief of having captivated the heart of a
man who could raise her to the rank and dignity of a countess,
produced such agreeable sensations in her fancy, that her eyes
shone with unusual lustre, and a continual smile played in dimples
on her rosy cheeks; so that her attractions, though not powerful
enough to engage the affection, were yet sufficient to inflame the
desire of our adventurer, who very honestly marked her chastity for
prey to his voluptuous passion. Had she been well seasoned with
knowledge and experience, and completely armed with caution against
the artifice and villany of man, her virtue might not have been
able to withstand the engines of such an assailant, considering the
dangerous opportunities to which she was necessarily exposed. How
easy then must his victory have been over an innocent, unsuspecting
country damsel, flushed with the warmth of youth, and an utter
stranger to the ways of life!
While Obadiah, therefore, and his plump companion, were engaged
in conversation, on the strange incidents which had passed, Fathom
acted a very expressive pantomime with this fair buxom nymph, who
comprehended his meaning with surprising facility, and was at so
little pains to conceal the pleasure she took in this kind of
intercourse, that several warm squeezes were interchanged between
her and her lover, before they arrived at Rochester, where they
proposed to dine. It was during this period, he learned from the
answers she made to the inquisitive quaker, that her sole
dependence was upon a relation, to whom she had a letter, and that
she was a perfect stranger in the great city; circumstances on
which he soon formed the project of her ruin.
Upon their arrival at the Black Bull, he for the first time
found himself alone with his Amanda, whose name was Elenor, their
fellow-travellers being elsewhere employed about their own
concerns; and, unwilling to lose the precious opportunity, he began
to act the part of a very importunate lover, which he conceived to
be a proper sequel to the prelude which had been performed in the
coach. The freedoms which she, out of pure simplicity and
good-humour, permitted him to take with her hand, and even her rosy
lips, encouraged him to practise other familiarities upon her fair
bosom, which scandalised her virtue so much, that, in spite of the
passion she had begun to indulge in his behalf, she rejected his
advances with all the marks of anger and disdain; and he found it
necessary to appease the storm he had raised, by the most
respectful and submissive demeanour; resolving to change his
operations, and carry on his attacks, so as to make her yield at
discretion, without alarming her religion or pride. Accordingly,
when the bill was called after dinner, he took particular notice of
her behaviour, and, perceiving her pull out a large leathern purse
that contained her money, reconnoitred the pocket in which it was
deposited, and, while they sat close to each other in the carriage,
conveyed it with admirable dexterity into an hole in the cushion.
Whether the corpulent couple, who sat opposite to these lovers, had
entered into an amorous engagement at the inn, or were severally
induced by other motives, is uncertain; but sure it is, both left
the coach on that part of the road which lies nearest to Gravesend,
and bade adieu to the other pair, on pretence of having urgent
business at that place.
Ferdinand, not a little pleased at their departure, renewed his
most pathetic expressions of love, and sung several French songs on
that tender subject, which seemed to thrill to the soul of his
beauteous Helen. While the driver halted at Dartford to water his
horses, she was smit with the appearance of some cheesecakes, which
were presented by the landlady of the house, and having bargained
for two or three, put her hand in her pocket, in order to pay for
her purchase; but what was her astonishment, when, after having
rummaged her equipage, she understood her whole fortune was lost!
This mishap was, by a loud shriek, announced to our hero, who
affected infinite amazement and concern; and no sooner learned the
cause of her affliction, than he presented her with his own purse,
from which he, in emphatic dumb show, begged she would indemnify
herself for the damage she had sustained. Although this kind
proffer was some alleviation of her misfortunes, she did not fail
to pour forth a most piteous lamentation, importing that she had
not only lost all her money, amounting to five pounds, but also her
letter of recommendation, upon which she had altogether relied for
present employment.
The vehicle was minutely searched from top to bottom, by herself
and our adventurer, assisted by Maurice and the coachman, who,
finding their inquiry ineffectual, did not scruple to declare his
suspicion of the two fat turtles who had deserted the coach in such
an abrupt manner. In a word, he rendered this conjecture so
plausible, by wresting the circumstances of their behaviour and
retreat, that poor Elenor implicitly believed they were the thieves
by whom she had suffered; and was prevailed upon to accept the
proffered assistance of the generous Count, who, seeing her very
much disordered by this mischance, insisted upon her drinking a
large glass of canary, to quiet the perturbation of her spirits.
This is a season, which of all others is most propitious to the
attempts of an artful lover; and justifies the metaphorical maxim
of fishing in troubled waters. There is an affinity and short
transition betwixt all the violent passions that agitate the human
mind. They are all false perspectives, which, though they magnify,
yet perplex and render indistinct every object which they
represent. And flattery is never so successfully administered, as
to those who know they stand in need of friendship, assent, and
approbation.
The cordial she swallowed, far from calming, increased the
disturbance of her thoughts, and produced an intoxication; during
which, she talked in an incoherent strain, laughed and wept by
turns, and acted other extravagances, which are known to be
symptoms of the hysterical affection. Fathom, though an utter
stranger to the sentiments of honour, pity, and remorse, would not
perpetrate his vicious purpose, though favoured by the delirium his
villany had entailed upon this unfortunate young maiden; because
his appetite demanded a more perfect sacrifice than that which she
could yield in her present deplorable situation, when her will must
have been altogether unconcerned in his success. Determined,
therefore, to make a conquest of her virtue, before he would take
possession of her person, he mimicked that compassion and
benevolence which his heart had never felt, and, when the coach
arrived at London, not only discharged what she owed for her place,
but likewise procured for her an apartment in the house to which he
himself had been directed for lodgings, and even hired a nurse to
attend her during a severe fever, which was the consequence of her
disappointment and despondence. Indeed, she was supplied with all
necessaries by the generosity of this noble Count, who, for the
interest of his passion, and the honour of his name, was resolved
to extend his charity to the last farthing of her own money, which
he had been wise enough to secure for this purpose.
Her youth soon got the better of her distemper, and when she
understood her obligations to the Count, who did not fail to attend
her in person with great tenderness, her heart, which had been
before prepossessed in his favour, now glowed with all the warmth
of gratitude, esteem, and affection. She knew herself in a strange
place, destitute of all resource but in his generosity. She loved
his person, she was dazzled by his rank; and he knew so well how to
improve the opportunities and advantages he derived from her
unhappy situation, that he gradually proceeded in sapping from one
degree of intimacy to another, until all the bulwarks of her
chastity were undermined, and she submitted to his desire; not with
the reluctance of a vanquished people, but with all the transports
of a joyful city, that opens its gates to receive a darling prince
returned from conquest. For by this time he had artfully concentred
and kindled up all the inflammable ingredients of her constitution;
and she now looked back upon the virtuous principles of her
education, as upon a disagreeable and tedious dream, from which she
had waked to the fruition of never-fading joy.
Our hero, having thus provided himself with a proper subject for
his hours of dalliance, thought it was now high time to study the
ground which he had pitched upon for the scene of his exploits, and
with that view made several excursions to different parts of the
town, where there was aught of entertainment or instruction to be
found. Yet he always, on these occasions, appeared in an obscure
ordinary dress, in order to avoid singularity, and never went twice
to the same coffee-house, that his person might not be afterwards
known, in case he should shine forth to the public in a superior
sphere. On his return from one of those expeditions, while he was
passing through Ludgate, his eyes were suddenly encountered by the
apparition of his old friend the Tyrolese, who, perceiving himself
fairly caught in the toil, made a virtue of necessity, and, running
up to our adventurer with an aspect of eagerness and joy, clasped
him in his arms, as some dear friend, whom he had casually found
after a most tedious and disagreeable separation.
Fathom, whose genius never failed him in such emergencies, far
from receiving these advances with the threats and reproaches which
the other had deserved at his hands, returned the salute with equal
warmth, and was really overjoyed at meeting with a person who might
one way or other make amends for the perfidy of his former conduct.
The Tyrolese, whose name was Ratchcali, pleased with his reception,
proposed they should adjourn to the next tavern, in which they had
no sooner taken possession of an apartment, than he addressed
himself to his old companion in these words:—
“Mr. Fathom, by your frank and obliging manner of treating
a man who hath done you wrong, I am more and more confirmed in my
opinion of your sagacity, which I have often considered with
admiration; I will not therefore attempt to make an apology for my
conduct at our last parting; but only assure you that this meeting
may turn out to our mutual advantage, if we now re-enter into an
unreserved union, the ties of which we will soon find it our
interest and inclination to preserve. For my own part, as my
judgment is ripened by experience, so are my sentiments changed
since our last association. I have seen many a rich harvest lost,
for want of a fellow-labourer in the vineyard; and I have more than
once fallen a sacrifice to a combination, which I could have
resisted with the help of one able auxiliary. Indeed, I might prove
what I allege by mathematical demonstration; and I believe nobody
will pretend to deny, that two heads are better than one, in all
cases that require discernment and deliberation.”
Ferdinand could not help owning the sanity of his observations,
and forthwith acquiesced in his proposal of the new alliance;
desiring to know the character in which he acted on the English
stage, and the scheme he would offer for their mutual emolument. At
the same time he resolved within himself to keep such a strict eye
over his future actions, as would frustrate any design he might
hereafter harbour, of repeating the prank he had so successfully
played upon him, in their journey from the banks of the Rhine.
“Having quitted you at Bar-le-duc,” resumed the
Tyrolese, “I travelled without ceasing, until I arrived at
Frankfort upon the Maine, where I assumed the character of a French
chevalier, and struck some masterly strokes, which you yourself
would not have deemed unworthy of your invention; and my success
was the more agreeable, as my operations were chiefly carried on
against the enemies of our religion. But my prosperity was not of
long duration. Seeing they could not foil me at my own weapons,
they formed a damned conspiracy, by which I not only lost all the
fruits of my industry, but likewise ran the most imminent hazard of
my life. I had ordered some of those jewels which I had borrowed of
my good friend Fathom to be new set in a fashionable taste, and
soon after had an opportunity to sell one of these, at a great
advantage, to one of the fraternity, who offered an extraordinary
price for the stone, on purpose to effect my ruin. In less than
four-and-twenty hours after this bargain, I was arrested by the
officers of justice upon the oath of the purchaser, who undertook
to prove me guilty of a fraud, in selling a Saxon pebble for a real
diamond; and this accusation was actually true; for the change had
been artfully put upon me by the jeweller, who was himself engaged
in the conspiracy.
“Had my conscience been clear of any other impeachment,
perhaps I should have rested my cause upon the equity and
protection of the law; but I foresaw that the trial would introduce
an inquiry, to which I was not at all ambitious of submitting, and
therefore was fain to compromise the affair, at the price of almost
my whole fortune. Yet this accommodation was not made so secretly,
but that my character was blasted, and my credit overthrown; so
that I was fain to relinquish my occasional equipage, and hire
myself as journeyman to a lapidary, an employment which I had
exercised in my youth. In this obscure station, I laboured with
great assiduity, until I made myself perfect in the knowledge of
stones, as well as in the different methods of setting them off to
the best advantage; and having, by dint of industry and address,
got possession of a small parcel, set out for this kingdom, in
which I happily arrived about four months ago; and surely England
is the paradise of artists of our profession.
“One would imagine that nature had created the inhabitants
for the support and enjoyment of adventurers like you and me. Not
that these islanders open the arms of hospitality to all foreigners
without distinction. On the contrary, they inherit from their
fathers an unreasonable prejudice against all nations under the
sun; and when an Englishman happens to quarrel with a stranger, the
first term of reproach he uses is the name of his
antagonist’s country, characterised by some opprobrious
epithet, such as a chattering Frenchman, an Italian ape, a German
hog, and a beastly Dutchman; nay, their national prepossession is
maintained even against those people with whom they are united
under the same laws and government; for nothing is more common than
to hear them exclaim against their fellow-subjects, in the
expressions of a beggarly Scot, and an impudent Irish bog-trotter.
Yet this very prejudice will never fail to turn to the account of
every stranger possessed of ordinary talents; for he will always
find opportunities of conversing with them in coffee-houses and
places of public resort, in spite of their professed reserve,
which, by the bye, is so extraordinary, that I know some people who
have lived twenty years in the same house without exchanging one
word with their next-door neighbours; yet, provided he can talk
sensibly, and preserve the deportment of a sober gentleman, in
those occasional conversations, his behaviour will be the more
remarkably pleasing, as it will agreeably disappoint the
expectation of the person who had entertained notions to his
prejudice. When a foreigner has once crossed this bar, which
perpetually occurs, he sails without further difficulty into the
harbour of an Englishman’s goodwill; for the pique is neither
personal nor rancorous, but rather contemptuous and national; so
that, while he despises a people in the lump, an individual of that
very community may be one of his chief favourites.
“The English are in general upright and honest, therefore
unsuspecting and credulous. They are too much engrossed with their
own business to pry into the conduct of their neighbours, and too
indifferent, in point of disposition, to interest themselves in
what they conceive to be foreign to their own concerns. They are
wealthy and mercantile, of consequence liberal and adventurous, and
so well disposed to take a man’s own word for his importance,
that they suffer themselves to be preyed upon by such a bungling
set of impostors, as would starve for lack of address in any other
country under the sun. This being a true sketch of the British
character, so far as I have been able to observe and learn, you
will easily comprehend the profits that may be extracted from it,
by virtue of those arts by which you so eminently excel;—the
great, the unbounded prospect lies before me! Indeed, I look upon
this opulent kingdom as a wide and fertile common, on which we
adventurers may range for prey, without let or molestation. For so
jealous are the natives of their liberties, that they will not bear
the restraint of necessary police, and an able artist may enrich
himself with their spoils, without running any risk of attracting
the magistrate, or incurring the least penalty of the law.
“In a word, this metropolis is a vast masquerade, in which
a man of stratagem may wear a thousand different disguises, without
danger of detection. There is a variety of shapes in which we the
knights of industry make our appearance in London. One glides into
a nobleman’s house in the capacity of a valet-de-chambre, and
in a few months leads the whole family by the nose. Another
exhibits himself to the public, as an empiric or operator for the
teeth; and by dint of assurance and affidavits, bearing testimony
to wonderful cures that never were performed, whirls himself into
his chariot, and lays the town under contribution. A third
professes the composition of music, as well as the performance, and
by means of a few capriciosos on the violin, properly introduced,
wriggles himself into the management of private and public
concerts. And a fourth breaks forth at once in all the splendour of
a gay equipage, under the title and denomination of a foreign
count. Not to mention those inferior projectors, who assume the
characters of dancers, fencing-masters, and French ushers, or, by
renouncing their religion, seek to obtain a provision for life.
“Either of these parts will turn to the account of an able
actor; and, as you are equally qualified for all, you may choose
that which is most suitable to your own inclination. Though, in my
opinion, you was designed by nature to shine in the great world,
which, after all, is the most ample field for men of genius;
because the game is deeper, and people of fashion being, for the
most part, more ignorant, indolent, vain, and capricious, than
their inferiors, are of consequence more easily deceived; besides,
their morals sit generally so loose about them, that, when a
gentleman of our fraternity is discovered in the exercise of his
profession, their contempt of his skill is the only disgrace he
incurs.”
Our hero was so well pleased with this picture, that he longed
to peruse the original, and, before these two friends parted, they
settled all the operations of the campaign. Ratchcali, that same
evening, hired magnificent lodgings for Count Fathom, in the court
end of the town, and furnished his wardrobe and liveries from the
spoils of Monmouth Street; he likewise enlisted another footman and
valet-de-chambre into his service, and sent to the apartments
divers large trunks, supposed to be filled with the baggage of this
foreign nobleman, though, in reality, they contained little else
than common lumber.
Next day, our adventurer took possession of his new habitation,
after having left to his friend and associate the task of
dismissing the unfortunate Elenor, who was so shocked at the
unexpected message, that she fainted away; and when she recovered
the use of her senses so well as to reflect upon her forlorn
condition, she was seized with the most violent transports of grief
and dismay, by which her brain was disordered to such a degree,
that she grew furious and distracted, and was, by the advice and
assistance of the Tyrolese, conveyed into the hospital of Bethlem;
where we shall leave her for the present, happily bereft of her
reason.
Meanwhile, Fathom and his engine were busied in completing his
equipage, so that in a few days he had procured a very gay chariot,
adorned with painting, gilding, and a coat of arms, according to
his own fancy and direction. The first use he made of this vehicle
was that of visiting the young nobleman from whom he had received
such important civilities on the road, in consequence of an
invitation at parting, by which he learned his title and the place
of his abode in London.
His lordship was not only pleased, but proud to see such a
stranger at his gate, and entertained him with excess of
complaisance and hospitality; insomuch that, by his means, our hero
soon became acquainted with the whole circle of polite company, by
whom he was caressed for his insinuating manners and agreeable
conversation. He had thought proper to tell the nobleman, at their
first interview in town, that his reasons for concealing his
knowledge of the English tongue were now removed, and that he would
no longer deny himself the pleasure of speaking a language which
had been always music to his ear. He had also thanked his lordship
for his generous interposition at the inn, which was an instance of
that generosity and true politeness which are engrossed by the
English people, who leave nought to other nations but the mere
shadow of these virtues.
A testimony like this, from the mouth of such a noble stranger,
won the heart of the peer, who professed a friendship for him on
the spot, and undertook to see justice done to his lacquey, who in
a short time was gratified with a share of the seizure which had
been made upon his information, amounting to fifty or sixty
pounds.
Ferdinand put not forth the whole strength of his
accomplishments at once, but contrived to spring a new mine of
qualification every day, to the surprise and admiration of all his
acquaintance. He was gifted with a sort of elocution, much more
specious than solid, and spoke on every subject that occurred in
conversation with that familiarity and ease, which, one would
think, could only be acquired by long study and application. This
plausibility and confidence are faculties really inherited from
nature, and effectually serve the possessor, in lieu of that
learning which is not to be obtained without infinite toil and
perseverance. The most superficial tincture of the arts and
sciences in such a juggler, is sufficient to dazzle the
understanding of half mankind; and, if managed with circumspection,
will enable him even to spend his life among the literati, without
once forfeiting the character of a connoisseur.
Our hero was perfectly master of this legerdemain, which he
carried to such a pitch of assurance, as to declare, in the midst
of a mathematical assembly, that he intended to gratify the public
with a full confutation of Sir Isaac Newton’s philosophy, to
the nature of which he was as much a stranger as the most savage
Hottentot in Africa. His pretensions to profound and universal
knowledge were supported not only by this kind of presumption, but
also by the facility with which he spoke so many different
languages, and the shrewd remarks he had made in the course of his
travels and observation.
Among politicians, he settled the balance of power upon a
certain footing, by dint of ingenious schemes, which he had
contrived for the welfare of Europe. With officers, he reformed the
art of war, with improvements which had occurred to his reflection
while he was engaged in a military life. He sometimes held forth
upon painting, like a member of the Dilettanti club. The theory of
music was a theme upon which he seemed to expatiate with particular
pleasure. In the provinces of love and gallantry, he was a perfect
Oroondates. He possessed a most agreeable manner of telling
entertaining stories, of which he had a large collection; he sung
with great melody and taste, and played upon the violin with
surprising execution. To these qualifications let us add his
affability and pliant disposition, and then the reader will not
wonder that he was looked upon as the pattern of human perfection,
and his acquaintance courted accordingly.
While he thus captivated the favour and affection of the English
nobility, he did not neglect to take other measures in behalf of
the partnership to which he had subscribed. The adventure with the
two squires at Paris had weakened his appetite for play, which was
not at all restored by the observations he had made in London,
where the art of gaming is reduced into a regular system, and its
professors so laudably devoted to the discharge of their functions,
as to observe the most temperate regimen, lest their invention
should be impaired by the fatigue of watching or exercise, and
their ideas disturbed by the fumes of indigestion. No Indian
Brachman could live more abstemious than two of the pack, who
hunted in couple, and kennelled in the upper apartments of the
hotel in which our adventurer lived. They abstained from animal
food with the abhorrence of Pythagoreans, their drink was a pure
simple element, they were vomited once a week, took physic or a
glyster every third day, spent the forenoon in algebraical
calculations, and slept from four o’clock till midnight, that
they might then take the field with that cool serenity which is the
effect of refreshment and repose.
These were terms upon which our hero would not risk his fortune;
he was too much addicted to pleasure to forego every other
enjoyment but that of amassing; and did not so much depend upon his
dexterity in play as upon his talent of insinuation, which, by this
time, had succeeded so far beyond his expectation, that he began to
indulge the hope of enslaving the heart of some rich heiress, whose
fortune would at once raise him above all dependence. Indeed, no
man ever set out with a fairer prospect on such an expedition; for
he had found means to render himself so agreeable to the fair sex,
that, like the boxes of the playhouse, during the representation of
a new performance, his company was often bespoke for a series of
weeks; and no lady, whether widow, wife, or maiden, ever mentioned
his name, without some epithet of esteem or affection; such as the
dear Count! the charming Man! the Nonpareil, or the Angel!
While he thus shone in the zenith of admiration, it is not to be
doubted, that he could have melted some wealthy dowager or opulent
ward; but, being an enemy to all precipitate engagements, he
resolved to act with great care and deliberation in an affair of
such importance, especially as he did not find himself hurried by
the importunities of want; for, since his arrival in England, he
had rather increased than exhausted his finances, by methods
equally certain and secure. In a word, he, with the assistance of
Ratchcali, carried on a traffic, which yielded great profits,
without subjecting the trader to the least loss or inconvenience.
Fathom, for example, wore upon his finger a large brilliant, which
he played to such advantage one night, at a certain
nobleman’s house, where he was prevailed upon to entertain
the company with a solo on the violin, that everybody present took
notice of its uncommon lustre, and it was handed about for the
perusal of every individual. The water and the workmanship were
universally admired; and one among the rest having expressed a
desire of knowing the value of such a jewel, the Count seized that
opportunity of entertaining them with a learned disquisition into
the nature of stones; this introduced the history of the diamond in
question, which he said had been purchased of an Indian trader of
Fort St. George, at an under price; so that the present proprietor
could afford to sell it at a very reasonable rate; and concluded
with telling the company, that, for his own part, he had been
importuned to wear it by the jeweller, who imagined it would have a
better chance for attracting a purchaser on his finger, than while
it remained in his own custody.
This declaration was no sooner made, than a certain lady of
quality bespoke the refuse of the jewel, and desired Ferdinand to
send the owner next day to her house, where he accordingly waited
upon her ladyship with the ring, for which he received one hundred
and fifty guineas, two-thirds of the sum being clear gain, and
equally divided betwixt the associates. Nor was this bargain such
as reflected dishonour upon the lady’s taste, or could be
productive of ill consequences to the merchant; for the method of
estimating diamonds is altogether arbitrary; and Ratchcali, who was
an exquisite lapidary, had set it in such a manner as would have
imposed upon any ordinary jeweller. By these means of introduction,
the Tyrolese soon monopolised the custom of a great many noble
families, upon which he levied large contributions, without
incurring the least suspicion of deceit. He every day, out of pure
esteem and gratitude for the honour of their commands, entertained
them with the sight of some new trinket, which he was never
permitted to carry home unsold; and from the profits of each job, a
tax was raised for the benefit of our adventurer.
Yet his indultos were not confined to the article of jewels,
which constituted only one part of his revenue. By the industry of
his understrapper, he procured a number of old crazy fiddles, which
were thrown aside as lumber; upon which he counterfeited the
Cremona mark, and otherwise cooked them up with great dexterity; so
that, when he had occasion to regale the lovers of music, he would
send for one of these vamped instruments, and extract from it such
tones as quite ravished the hearers; among whom there was always
some conceited pretender, who spoke in raptures of the violin, and
gave our hero an opportunity of launching out in its praise, and
declaring it was the best Cremona he had ever touched. This
encomium never failed to inflame the desires of the audience, to
some one of whom he was generous enough to part with it at prime
cost—that is, for twenty or thirty guineas clear profit; for
he was often able to oblige his friends in this manner, because,
being an eminent connoisseur, his countenance was solicited by all
the musicians, who wanted to dispose of such moveables.
Nor did he neglect the other resources of a skilful virtuoso.
Every auction afforded some picture, in which, though it had been
overlooked by the ignorance of the times, he recognised the style
of a great master, and made a merit of recommending it to some
noble friend. This commerce he likewise extended to medals,
bronzes, busts, intaglios, and old china, and kept divers
artificers continually employed in making antiques for the English
nobility. Thus he went on with such rapidity of success in all his
endeavours, that he himself was astonished at the infatuation he
had produced. Nothing was so wretched among the productions of art,
that he could not impose upon the world as a capital performance;
and so fascinated were the eyes of his admirers, he could easily
have persuaded them that a barber’s bason was an Etrurian
patera, and the cover of a copper pot no other than the shield of
Ancus Martius. In short, it was become so fashionable to consult
the Count in everything relating to taste and politeness, that not
a plan was drawn, not even a house furnished, without his advice
and approbation; nay, to such a degree did his reputation in these
matters excel, that a particular pattern of paper-hangings was
known by the name of Fathom; and his hall was every morning crowded
with upholsterers, and other tradesmen, who came, by order of their
employers, to learn his choice, and take his directions.
The character and influence he thus acquired, he took care to
maintain with the utmost assiduity and circumspection. He never
failed to appear the chief personage at all public diversions and
private assemblies, not only in conversation and dress, but also in
the article of dancing, in which he outstripped all his fellows, as
far as in every other genteel accomplishment.
Such a pre-eminence could not be enjoyed without exciting the
malevolence of envy and detraction, in the propagation of which
none were so industrious as the brethren of his own order, who had,
like him, made a descent upon this island, and could not, without
repining, see the whole harvest in the hands of one man, who, with
equal art and discretion, avoided all intercourse with their
society. In vain they strove to discover his pedigree, and detect
the particular circumstances of his life and conversation; all
their inquiries were baffled by the obscurity of his origin, and
that solitary scheme which he had adopted in the beginning of his
career. The whole fruit of their investigation amounted to no more
than a certainty that there was no family of any consideration in
Europe known by the denomination of Fathom; and this discovery they
did not fail to divulge for the benefit of our adventurer, who had
by this time taken such firm root in the favour of the great, as to
set all those little arts at defiance; and when the report reached
his ear, actually made his friends merry with the conjectures which
had been circulated at his expense.
His adversaries, finding themselves disappointed in this effort,
held a consultation to devise other measures against him, and came
to a resolution of ending him by the sword, or rather of expelling
him from the kingdom by the fear of death, which they hoped he had
not courage enough to resist, because his deportment had always
been remarkably mild and pacific. It was upon this supposition that
they left to the determination of the dice the choice of the person
who should execute their plan; and the lot falling upon a Swiss,
who, from the station of a foot soldier in the Dutch service, out
of which he had been drummed for theft, had erected himself into
the rank of a self-created chevalier, this hero fortified himself
with a double dose of brandy, and betook himself to a certain noted
coffee-house, with an intent to affront Count Fathom in public.
He was lucky enough to find our adventurer sitting at a table in
conversation with some persons of the first rank; upon which he
seated himself in the next box, and after having intruded himself
into their discourse, which happened to turn upon the politics of
some German courts, “Count,” said he to Ferdinand, in a
very abrupt and disagreeable manner of address, “I was last
night in company with some gentlemen, among whom a dispute happened
about the place of your nativity; pray, what country are you
of?” “Sir,” answered the other, with great
politeness, “I at present have the honour to be of
England.” “Oho!” replied the chevalier, “I
ask your pardon, that is to say, you are incog; some people may
find it convenient to keep themselves in that situation.”
“True,” said the Count, “but some people are too
well known to enjoy that privilege.” The Swiss being a little
disconcerted at this repartee, which extracted a smile from the
audience, after some pause, observed, that persons of a certain
class had good reason to drop the remembrance of what they have
been; but a good citizen will not forget his country, or former
condition. “And a bad citizen,” said Fathom,
“cannot, if he would, provided he has met with his deserts; a
sharper may as well forget the shape of a die, or a discarded
soldier the sound of a drum.”
As the chevalier’s character and story were not unknown,
this application raised an universal laugh at his expense, which
provoked him to such a degree, that, starting up, he swore Fathom
could not have mentioned any object in nature that he himself
resembled so much as a drum, which was exactly typified by his
emptiness and sound, with this difference, however, that a drum was
never noisy till beaten, whereas the Count would never be quiet,
until he should have undergone the same discipline. So saying, he
laid his hand upon his sword with a menacing look, and walked out
as if in expectation of being followed by our adventurer, who
suffered himself to be detained by the company, and very calmly
took notice, that his antagonist would not be ill pleased at their
interposition. Perhaps he would not have comported himself with
such ease and deliberation, had not he made such remarks upon the
disposition of the chevalier, as convinced him of his own safety.
He had perceived a perplexity and perturbation in the countenance
of the Swiss, when he first entered the coffee-room; his blunt and
precipitate way of accosting him seemed to denote confusion and
compulsion; and, in the midst of his ferocity, this accurate
observer discerned the trepidation of fear. By the help of these
signs, his sagacity soon comprehended the nature of his schemes,
and prepared accordingly for a formal defiance.
His conjecture was verified next morning by a visit from the
chevalier, who, taking it for granted that Fathom would not face an
adversary in the field, because he had not followed him from the
coffee-house, went to his lodgings with great confidence, and
demanded to see the Count upon an affair that would admit of no
delay. Maurice, according to his instructions, told him that his
master was gone out, but desired he would have the goodness to
repose himself in the parlour, till the Count’s return, which
he expected every moment. Ferdinand, who had taken post in a proper
place for observation, seeing his antagonist fairly admitted, took
the same road, and appearing before him, wrapped up in a long
Spanish cloak, desired to know what had procured him the honour of
such an early visit. The Swiss, raising his voice to conceal his
agitation, explained his errand, in demanding reparation for the
injury his honour had sustained the preceding day, in that odious
allusion to a scandalous report which had been raised by the malice
of his enemies; and insisted, in a very imperious style, upon his
attending him forthwith to the nursery in Hyde Park. “Have a
little patience,” said our adventurer with great composure,
“and I will do myself the pleasure to wait upon you in a few
moments.”
With these words, he rang the bell, and, calling for a bason of
water, laid aside his cloak, and displayed himself in his shirt,
with a sword in his right hand, which was all over besmeared with
recent blood, as if he had just come from the slaughter of a foe.
This phenomenon made such an impression upon the astonished
chevalier, already discomposed by the resolute behaviour of the
Count, that he became jaundiced with terror and dismay, and, while
his teeth chattered in his head, told our hero he had hoped, from
his known politeness, to have found him ready to acknowledge an
injury which might have been the effect of anger or
misapprehension, in which case the affair might have been
compromised to their mutual satisfaction, without proceeding to
those extremities which, among men of honour, are always accounted
the last resource. To this representation Ferdinand answered, that
the affair had been of the chevalier’s own seeking, inasmuch
as he had intruded himself into his company, and treated him with
the most insolent and unprovoked abuse, which plainly flowed from a
premeditated design against his honour and reputation; he,
therefore, far from being disposed to own himself in the wrong,
would not even accept of a public acknowledgment from him, the
aggressor, whom he looked upon as an infamous sharper, and was
resolved to chastise accordingly.
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a person
who was brought to the door in a chair, and conducted into another
apartment, from which a message was brought to the Count,
importing, that the stranger desired to speak with him upon
business of the last importance. Fathom having chid the servant for
admitting people without his order, desired the Swiss to excuse him
for a minute longer, and went in to the next room, from whence the
following dialogue was overheard by this
challenger:—“Count,” said the stranger,
“you are not ignorant of my pretensions to the heart of that
young lady, at whose house I met you yesterday; therefore you
cannot be surprised when I declare myself displeased with your
visits and behaviour to my mistress, and demand that you will
instantly promise to drop the correspondence.” “Else
what follows?” answered Ferdinand, with a cool and temperate
voice. “My resentment and immediate defiance,” replied
the other; “for the only alternative I propose is, to forego
your design upon that lady, or to decide our pretension by the
sword.”
Our hero, having expressed a regard for this visitant as the son
of a gentleman whom he honoured, was at the pains to represent the
unreasonableness of his demand, and the folly of his presumption;
and earnestly exhorted him to put the issue of his cause upon a
more safe and equitable footing. But this admonition, instead of
appeasing the wrath, seemed to inflame the resentment of the
opponent, who swore he would not leave him until he should have
accomplished the purport of his errand. In vain our adventurer
requested half an hour for the despatch of some urgent business, in
which he was engaged with a gentleman in the other parlour. This
impetuous rival rejected all the terms he could propose, and even
challenged him to decide the controversy upon the spot; an
expedient to which the other having assented with reluctance, the
door was secured, the swords unsheathed, and a hot engagement
ensued, to the inexpressible pleasure of the Swiss, who did not
doubt that he himself would be screened from all danger by the
event of this rencontre. Nevertheless, his hope was disappointed in
the defeat of the stranger, who was quickly disarmed, in
consequence of a wound through the sword-arm; upon which occasion
Fathom was heard to say, that, in consideration of his youth and
family, he had spared his life; but he would not act with the same
tenderness towards any other antagonist. He then bound up the limb
he had disabled, conducted the vanquished party to his chair,
rejoined the chevalier with a serene countenance, and, asking
pardon for having detained him so long, proposed they should
instantly set out in a hackney-coach for the place of
appointment.
The stratagem thus conducted, had all the success the inventor
could desire. The fear of the Swiss had risen almost to an ecstasy
before the Count quitted the room; but after this sham battle,
which had been preconcerted betwixt our adventurer and his friend
Ratchcali, the chevalier’s terrors were unspeakable. He
considered Fathom as a devil incarnate, and went into the coach as
a malefactor bound for Tyburn. He would have gladly compounded for
the loss of a leg or arm, and entertained some transient gleams of
hope, that he should escape for half a dozen flesh-wounds, which he
would have willingly received as the price of his presumption; but
these hopes were banished by the remembrance of that dreadful
declaration which he had heard the Count make, after having
overcome his last adversary; and he continued under the power of
the most unsupportable panic, until the carriage halted at Hyde
Park Corner, where he crawled forth in a most piteous and
lamentable condition; so that, when they reached the spot, he was
scarce able to stand.
Here he made an effort to speak, and propose an accommodation
upon a new plan, by which he promised to leave his cause to the
arbitrement of those gentlemen who were present at the rupture, and
to ask pardon of the Count, provided he should be found guilty of a
trespass upon good manners; but this proposal would not satisfy the
implacable Ferdinand, who, perceiving the agony of the Swiss,
resolved to make the most of the adventure, and giving him to
understand he was not a man to be trifled with, desired him to draw
without further preamble. Thus compelled, the unfortunate gamester
pulled off his coat, and, putting himself in a posture, to use the
words of Nym, “winked, and held out his cold iron.”
Our adventurer, far from making a gentle use of the advantages
he possessed, fiercely attacked him, while he was incapable of
making resistance, and, aiming at a fleshy part, ran him through
the arm and outside of the shoulder at the very first pass. The
chevalier, already stupefied with the horror of expectation, no
sooner felt his adversary’s point in his body than he fell to
the ground, and, concluding he was no longer a man for this world,
began to cross himself with great devotion; while Fathom walked
home deliberately, and in his way sent a couple of chairmen to the
assistance of the wounded knight.
This achievement, which could not be concealed from the
knowledge of the public, not only furnished the character of Fathom
with fresh wreaths of admiration and applause, but likewise
effectually secured him from any future attempts of his enemies, to
whom the Swiss, for his own sake, had communicated such terrible
ideas of his valour, as overawed the whole community.
It was not long after this celebrated victory, that he was
invited to spend part of the summer at the house of a country
gentleman, who lived about one hundred miles from London, possessed
of a very opulent fortune, the greatest part of which was expended
in acts of old English hospitality. He had met with our hero by
accident at the table of a certain great man, and was so struck
with his manner and conversation, as to desire his acquaintance,
and cultivate his friendship; and he thought himself extremely
happy in having prevailed upon him to pass a few weeks in his
family.
Fathom, among his other observations, perceived that there was a
domestic uneasiness, occasioned by a very beautiful young creature
about the age of fifteen, who resided in the house under the title
of the gentleman’s niece, though she was in reality his
natural daughter, born before his marriage. This circumstance was
not unknown to his lady, by whose express approbation he had
bestowed particular attention upon the education of the child, whom
we shall distinguish by the name of Celinda. Their liberality in
this particular had not been misapplied; for she not only gave
marks of uncommon capacity, but, as she grew up, became more and
more amiable in her person, and was now returned from the boarding
school, possessed of every accomplishment that could be acquired by
one of her age and opportunities. These qualifications, which
endeared her to every other person, excited the jealousy and
displeasure of her supposed aunt, who could not bear to see her own
children eclipsed by this illegitimate daughter, whom she therefore
discountenanced upon all occasions, and exposed to such
mortifications as would in all appearance drive her from her
father’s house. This persecuting spirit was very disagreeable
to the husband, who loved Celinda with a truly paternal affection,
and produced abundance of family disquiet; but being a man of a
peaceable and yielding disposition, he could not long maintain the
resolution he had taken in her favour, and therefore he ceased
opposing the malevolence of his wife.
In this unfortunate predicament stood the fair bastard, at the
arrival of our adventurer, who, being allured by her charms,
apprised of her situation at the same time, took the generous
resolution to undermine her innocence, that he might banquet his
vicious appetite with the spoils of her beauty. Perhaps such a
brutal design might not have entered his imagination, if he had not
observed, in the disposition of this hapless maiden, certain
peculiarities from which he derived the most confident presages of
success. Besides a total want of experience, that left her open and
unguarded against the attacks of the other sex, she discovered a
remarkable spirit of credulity and superstitious fear, which had
been cherished by the conversation of her school-fellows. She was
particularly fond of music, in which she had made some progress;
but so delicate was the texture of her nerves, that one day, while
Fathom entertained the company with a favourite air, she actually
swooned with pleasure.
Such sensibility, our projector well knew, must be diffused
through all the passions of her heart; he congratulated himself
upon the sure ascendency he had gained over her in this particular;
and forthwith began to execute the plan he had erected for her
destruction. That he might the more effectually deceive the
vigilance of her father’s wife, he threw such a dash of
affectation in his complaisance towards Celinda, as could not
escape the notice of that prying matron, though it was not palpable
enough to disoblige the young lady herself, who could not so well
distinguish between overstrained courtesy and real good breeding.
This behaviour screened him from the suspicion of the family, who
considered it as an effort of politeness, to cover his indifference
and disgust for the daughter of his friend, who had by this time
given some reason to believe she looked upon him with the eyes of
affection; so that the opportunities he enjoyed of conversing with
her in private, were less liable to intrusion or inquiry. Indeed,
from what I have already observed, touching the sentiments of her
stepdame, that lady, far from taking measures for thwarting our
hero’s design, would have rejoiced at the execution of it,
and, had she been informed of his intent, might have fallen upon
some method to facilitate the enterprise; but, as he solely
depended upon his own talents, he never dreamed of soliciting such
an auxiliary.
Under cover of instructing and accomplishing her in the exercise
of music, he could not want occasions for promoting his aim; when,
after having soothed her sense of hearing, even to a degree of
ravishment, so as to extort from her an exclamation, importing,
that he was surely something supernatural! he never failed to
whisper some insidious compliment or tale of love, exquisitely
suited to the emotions of her soul. Thus was her heart insensibly
subdued; though more than half his work was still undone; for, at
all times, she disclosed such purity of sentiment, such inviolable
attachment to religion and virtue, and seemed so averse to all
sorts of inflammatory discourse, that he durst not presume upon the
footing he had gained in her affection, to explain the baseness of
his desire; he therefore applied to another of her passions, that
proved the bane of her virtue. This was her timidity, which at
first being constitutional, was afterwards increased by the
circumstances of her education, and now aggravated by the artful
conversation of Fathom, which he chequered with dismal stories of
omens, portents, prophecies, and apparitions, delivered upon such
unquestionable testimony, and with such marks of conviction, as
captivated the belief of the devoted Celinda, and filled her
imagination with unceasing terrors.
In vain she strove to dispel those frightful ideas, and avoid
such topics of discourse for the future. The more she endeavoured
to banish them, the more troublesome they became; and such was her
infatuation, that as her terrors increased, her thirst after that
sort of knowledge was augmented. Many sleepless nights did she pass
amidst those horrors of fancy, starting at every noise, and
sweating with dreary apprehension, yet ashamed to own her fears, or
solicit the comfort of a bedfellow, lest she should incur the
ridicule and censure of her father’s wife; and what rendered
this disposition the more irksome, was the solitary situation of
her chamber, that stood at the end of a long gallery scarce within
hearing of any other inhabited part of the house.
All these circumstances had been duly weighed by our projector,
who, having prepared Celinda for his purpose, stole at midnight
from his apartment, which was in another storey, and approaching
her door, there uttered a piteous groan; then softly retired to his
bed, in full confidence of seeing next day the effect of this
operation. Nor did his arrow miss the mark. Poor Celinda’s
countenance gave such indications of melancholy and dismay, that he
could not omit asking the cause of her disquiet, and she, at his
earnest request, was prevailed upon to communicate the dreadful
salutation of the preceding night, which she considered as an omen
of death to some person of the family, in all probability to
herself, as the groan seemed to issue from one corner of her own
apartment. Our adventurer argued against this supposition, as
contradictory to the common observation of those supernatural
warnings which are not usually imparted to the person who is doomed
to die, but to some faithful friend, or trusty servant,
particularly interested in the event. He therefore supposed, that
the groans foreboded the death of my lady, who seemed to be in a
drooping state of health, and were, by her genius, conveyed to the
organs of Celinda, who was the chief sufferer by her jealous and
barbarous disposition; he likewise expressed an earnest desire to
be an ear-witness of such solemn communication, and, alleging that
it was highly improper for a young lady of her delicate feelings to
expose herself alone to such another dismal visitation, begged he
might be allowed to watch all night in her chamber, in order to
defend her from the shocking impressions of fear.
Though no person ever stood more in need of a companion or
guard, and her heart throbbed with transports of dismay at the
prospect of night, she rejected his proposal with due
acknowledgment, and resolved to trust solely to the protection of
Heaven. Not that she thought her innocence or reputation could
suffer by her compliance with his request; for, hitherto, her heart
was a stranger to those young desires which haunt the fancy, and
warm the breast of youth; so that, being ignorant of her danger,
she saw not the necessity of avoiding temptation; but she refused
to admit a man into her bedchamber, merely because it was a step
altogether opposite to the forms and decorum of life. Nevertheless,
far from being discouraged by this repulse, he knew her fears would
multiply and reduce that reluctance, which, in order to weaken, he
had recourse to another piece of machinery, that operated
powerfully in behalf of his design.
Some years ago, a twelve-stringed instrument was contrived by a
very ingenious musician, by whom it was aptly entitled the
“Harp of Aeolus,” because, being properly applied to a
stream of air, it produces a wild irregular variety of harmonious
sounds, that seem to be the effect of enchantment, and wonderfully
dispose the mind for the most romantic situations. Fathom, who was
really a virtuoso in music, had brought one of those new-fashioned
guitars into the country, and as the effect of it was still unknown
in the family, he that night converted it to the purposes of his
amour, by fixing it in the casement of a window belonging to the
gallery, exposed to the west wind, which then blew in a gentle
breeze. The strings no sooner felt the impression of the balmy
zephyr, than they began to pour forth a stream of melody more
ravishingly delightful than the song of Philomel, the warbling
brook, and all the concert of the wood. The soft and tender notes
of peace and love were swelled up with the most delicate and
insensible transition into a loud hymn of triumph and exultation,
joined by the deep-toned organ, and a full choir of voices, which
gradually decayed upon the ear, until it died away in distant
sound, as if a flight of angels had raised the song in their ascent
to heaven. Yet the chords hardly ceased to vibrate after the
expiration of this overture, which ushered in a composition in the
same pathetic style; and this again was succeeded by a third,
almost without pause or intermission, as if the artist’s hand
had been indefatigable, and the theme never to be exhausted.
His heart must be quite callous, and his ear lost to all
distinction, who could hear such harmony without emotion; how
deeply, then, must it have affected the delicate Celinda, whose
sensations, naturally acute, were whetted to a most painful
keenness by her apprehension; who could have no previous idea of
such entertainment, and was credulous enough to believe the most
improbable tale of superstition! She was overwhelmed with awful
terror, and, never doubting that the sounds were more than mortal,
recommended herself to the care of Providence in a succession of
pious ejaculations.
Our adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this
contrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper,
conveyed through the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon
for such an unseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of
the strange music which he then heard. In spite of her notions of
decency, she was glad of his intrusion, and, being in no condition
to observe punctilios, slipped on a wrapper, opened the door, and,
with a faltering voice, owned herself frightened almost to
distraction. He pretended to console her with reflections,
importing, that she was in the hands of a benevolent Being, who
would not impose upon his creatures any task which they could not
bear; he insisted upon her returning to bed, and assured her he
would not stir from her chamber till day. Thus comforted, she
betook herself again to rest, while he sat down in an elbow-chair
at some distance from the bedside, and, in a soft voice, began the
conversation with her on the subject of those visitations from
above, which, though undertaken on pretence of dissipating her fear
and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated for the purpose of
augmenting both.
“That sweet air,” said he, “seems designed for
soothing the bodily anguish of some saint in his last moments.
Hark! how it rises into a more sprightly and elevated strain, as if
it were an inspiriting invitation to the realms of bliss! Sure, he
is now absolved from all the misery of this life! That full and
glorious concert of voices and celestial harps betoken his
reception among the heavenly choir, who now waft his soul to
paradisian joys! This is altogether great, solemn, and amazing! The
clock strikes one, the symphony hath ceased!”
This was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove
the instrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too
familiar, and excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who
might frustrate his scheme by discovering the apparatus. As for
poor Celinda, her fancy was, by his music and discourse, worked up
to the highest pitch of enthusiastic terrors; the whole bed shook
with her trepidation, the awful silence that succeeded the
supernatural music threw an additional damp upon her spirits, and
the artful Fathom affecting to snore at the same time, she could no
longer contain her horror, but called upon his name with a fearful
accent, and, having owned her present situation insupportable,
entreated him to draw near her bedside, that he might be within
touch on any emergency.
This was a welcome request to our adventurer, who, asking pardon
for his drowsiness, and taking his station on the side of her bed,
exhorted her to compose herself; then locking her hand fast in his
own, was again seized with such an inclination to sleep, that he
gradually sunk down by her side, and seemed to enjoy his repose in
that attitude. Meanwhile, his tender-hearted mistress, that he
might not suffer in his health by his humanity and complaisance,
covered him with the counterpane as he slept, and suffered him to
take his rest without interruption, till he thought proper to start
up suddenly with an exclamation of, “Heaven watch over
us!” and then asked, with symptoms of astonishment, if she
had heard nothing. Such an abrupt address upon such an occasion,
did not fail to amaze and affright the gentle Celinda, who, unable
to speak, sprung towards her treacherous protector; and he,
catching her in his arms, bade her fear nothing, for he would, at
the expense of his life, defend her from all danger.
Having thus, by tampering with her weakness, conquered the first
and chief obstacles to his design, he, with great art and
perseverance, improved the intercourse to such a degree of
intimacy, as could not but be productive of all the consequences
which he had foreseen. The groans and music were occasionally
repeated, so as to alarm the whole family, and inspire a thousand
various conjectures. He failed not to continue his nocturnal visits
and ghastly discourse, until his attendance became so necessary to
this unhappy maiden, that she durst not stay in her own chamber
without his company, nor even sleep, except in contact with her
betrayer.
Such a commerce between two such persons of a different sex
could not possibly be long carried on, without degenerating from
the Platonic system of sentimental love. In her paroxysms of
dismay, he did not forget to breathe the soft inspirations of his
passion, to which she listened with more pleasure, as they diverted
the gloomy ideas of her fear; and by this time his extraordinary
accomplishments had made a conquest of her heart. What therefore
could be a more interesting transition than that from the most
uneasy to the most agreeable sensation of the human breast?
This being the case, the reader will not wonder that a
consummate traitor, like Fathom, should triumph over the virtue of
an artless, innocent young creature, whose passions he had entirely
under his command. The gradations towards vice are almost
imperceptible, and an experienced seducer can strew them with such
enticing and agreeable flowers, as will lead the young sinner on
insensibly, even to the most profligate stages of guilt. All
therefore that can be done by virtue, unassisted with experience,
is to avoid every trial with such a formidable foe, by declining
and discouraging the first advances towards a particular
correspondence with perfidious man, howsoever agreeable it may seem
to be. For here is no security but in conscious weakness.
Fathom, though possessed of the spoils of poor Celinda’s
honour, did not enjoy his success with tranquillity. Reflection and
remorse often invaded her in the midst of their guilty pleasures,
and embittered all those moments they had dedicated to mutual
bliss. For the seeds of virtue are seldom destroyed at once. Even
amidst the rank productions of vice, they regerminate to a sort of
imperfect vegetation, like some scattered hyacinths shooting up
among the weeds of a ruined garden, that testify the former culture
and amenity of the soil. She sighed at the sad remembrance of that
virgin dignity which she had lost; she wept at the prospect of that
disgrace, mortification, and misery she should undergo, when
abandoned by this transient lover, and severely reproached him for
the arts he had used to shipwreck her innocence and peace.
Such expostulations are extremely unseasonable, when addressed
to a man well-nigh sated with the effects of his conquest. They act
like strong blasts of wind applied to embers almost extinguished,
which, instead of reviving the flame, scatter and destroy every
remaining particle of fire. Our adventurer, in the midst of his
peculiarities, had inconstancy in common with the rest of his sex.
More than half cloyed with the possession of Celinda, he could not
fail to be disgusted with her upbraidings; and had she not been the
daughter of a gentleman whose friendship he did not think it his
interest to forfeit, he would have dropped this correspondence,
without reluctance or hesitation. But, as he had measures to keep
with a family of such consequence, he constrained his inclinations,
so far as to counterfeit those raptures he no longer felt, and
found means to appease those intervening tumults of her grief.
Foreseeing, however, that it would not be always in his power to
console her on these terms, he resolved, if possible, to divide her
affection, which now glowed upon him too intensely; and, with that
view, whenever she complained of the vapours or dejection, he
prescribed, and even insisted upon her swallowing certain cordials
of the most palatable composition, without which he never
travelled; and these produced such agreeable reveries and flow of
spirits, that she gradually became enamoured of intoxication; while
he encouraged the pernicious passion, by expressing the most
extravagant applause and admiration at the wild irregular sallies
it produced. Without having first made this diversion, he would
have found it impracticable to leave the house with tranquillity;
but, when this bewitching philtre grew into an habit, her
attachment to Ferdinand was insensibly dissolved; she began to bear
his neglect with indifference, and, sequestering herself from the
rest of the family, used to solicit this new ally for
consolation.
Having thus put the finishing stroke to the daughter’s
ruin, he took leave of the father, with many acknowledgments and
expressions of gratitude for his hospitality and friendship, and,
riding across the country to Bristol, took up his habitation near
the hot well, where he stayed during the remaining part of the
season. As for the miserable Celinda, she became more and more
addicted to the vices in which she had been initiated by his
superlative perfidy and craft, until she was quite abandoned by
decency and caution. Her father’s heart was torn with
anguish, while his wife rejoiced in her fall; at length her ideas
were quite debased by her infirmity; she grew every day more and
more sensual and degenerate, and contracted an intimacy with one of
the footmen, who was kind enough to take her to wife, in hope of
obtaining a good settlement from his master; but, being
disappointed in his aim, he conducted her to London, where he made
shift to insinuate himself into another service, leaving her to the
use, and partly the advantage, of her own person, which was still
uncommonly attractive.
We shall therefore leave her in this comfortable situation, and
return to our adventurer, whose appearance at Bristol was
considered as a happy omen by the proprietor of the hot well, and
all the people who live by the resort of company to that celebrated
spring. Nor were they deceived in their prognostic. Fathom, as
usual, formed the nucleus or kernel of the beau monde; and the
season soon became so crowded, that many people of fashion were
obliged to quit the place for want of lodging. Ferdinand was the
soul that animated the whole society. He not only invented parties
of pleasure, but also, by his personal talents, rendered them more
agreeable. In a word, he regulated their diversions, and the master
of the ceremonies never would allow the ball to be begun till the
Count was seated.
Having thus made himself the object of admiration and esteem,
his advice was an oracle, to which they had recourse in all
doubtful cases of punctilio or dispute, or even of medicine; for
among his other accomplishments, his discourse on that subject was
so plausible, and well adapted to the understanding of his hearers,
that any person who had not actually studied the medical art would
have believed he was inspired by the spirit of Aesculapius. What
contributed to the aggrandisement of his character in this branch
of knowledge, was a victory he obtained over an old physician, who
plied at the well, and had one day unfortunately begun to harangue
in the pump-room upon the nature of the Bristol water. In the
course of this lecture he undertook to account for the warmth of
the fluid; and his ideas being perplexed with a great deal of
reading, which he had not been able to digest, his disquisition was
so indistinct, and his expression so obscure and unentertaining,
that our hero seized the opportunity of displaying his own
erudition, by venturing to contradict some circumstances of the
doctor’s hypothesis, and substituting a theory of his own,
which, as he had invented it for the purpose, was equally amusing
and chimerical.
He alleged, that fire was the sole vivifying principle that
pervaded all nature; that, as the heat of the sun concocted the
juice of vegetables, and ripened those fruits that grow upon the
surface of this globe, there was likewise an immense store of
central fire reserved within the bowels of the earth, not only for
the generation of gems, fossils, and all the purposes of the
mineral world, but likewise for cherishing and keeping alive those
plants which would otherwise perish by the winter’s cold. The
existence of such a fire he proved from the nature of all those
volcanoes, which in almost every corner of the earth are
continually vomiting up either flames or smoke.
“These,” said he, “are the great vents appointed
by nature for the discharge of that rarefied air and combustible
matter, which, if confined, would burst the globe asunder; but,
besides the larger outlets, there are some small chimneys through
which part of the heat transpires; a vapour of that sort, I
conceive, must pass through the bed or channel of this spring, the
waters of which, accordingly retain a moderate warmth.”
This account, which totally overthrew the other’s
doctrine, was so extremely agreeable to the audience, that the
testy doctor lost his temper, and gave them to understand, without
preamble, that he must be a person wholly ignorant of natural
philosophy, who could invent such a ridiculous system, and they
involved in worse than an Egyptian fog, that could not at once
discern its weakness and absurdity. This declaration introduced a
dispute, which was unanimously determined in favour of our
adventurer. On all such occasions the stream of prejudice runs
against the physician, even though his antagonist has nothing to
recommend himself to the favour of the spectators; and this
decision depends upon divers considerations. In the first place,
there is a continual war carried on against the learned
professions, by all those who, conscious of their own ignorance,
seek to level the reputation of their superiors with their own.
Secondly, in all disputes upon physic that happen betwixt a person
who really understands the art, and an illiterate pretender, the
arguments of the first will seem obscure and unintelligible to
those who are unacquainted with the previous systems on which they
are built; while the other’s theory, derived from common
notions, and superficial observation, will be more agreeable,
because better adapted to the comprehension of the hearers.
Thirdly, the judgment of the multitude is apt to be biassed by that
surprise which is the effect of seeing an artist foiled at his own
weapons, by one who engages him only for amusement.
Fathom, besides these advantages, was blessed with a flow of
language, an elegant address, a polite and self-denying style of
argumentation, together with a temper not to be ruffled; so that
the victory could not long waver between him and the physician, to
whom he was infinitely superior in every acquisition but that of
solid learning, of which the judges had no idea. This contest was
not only glorious but profitable to our adventurer, who grew into
such request in his medical capacity, that the poor doctor was
utterly deserted by his patients, and Fathom’s advice
solicited by every valetudinarian in the place; nor did he forfeit
the character he thus acquired by any miscarriages in his practice.
Being but little conversant with the materia medica, the circle of
his prescriptions was very small; his chief study was to avoid all
drugs of rough operation and uncertain effect, and to administer
such only as should be agreeable to the palate, without doing
violence to the constitution. Such a physician could not but be
agreeable to people of all dispositions; and, as most of the
patients were in some shape hypochondriac, the power of
imagination, co-operating with his remedies, often effected a
cure.
On the whole, it became the fashion to consult the Count in all
distempers, and his reputation would have had its run, though the
death of every patient had given the lie to his pretensions. But
empty fame was not the sole fruit of his success. Though no person
would presume to affront this noble graduate with a fee, they did
not fail to manifest their gratitude by some more valuable present.
Every day some superb piece of china, curious snuffbox, or jewel,
was pressed upon him; so that, at the end of the season, he could
almost have furnished a toyshop with the acknowledgments he had
received. Not only his avarice, but his pleasure, was gratified in
the course of his medical administration. He enjoyed free access,
egress, and regress with all the females at the well, and no matron
scrupled to put her daughter under his care and direction. These
opportunities could not be lost upon a man of his intriguing
genius; though he conducted his amours with such discretion, that,
during the whole season, no lady’s character suffered on his
account, yet he was highly fortunate in his addresses, and we may
venture to affirm, that the reproach of barrenness was more than
once removed by the vigour of his endeavours.
Among those who were distinguished by his gallantry was the
young wife of an old citizen of London, who had granted her
permission to reside at the hot well for the benefit of her health,
under the eye and inspection of his own sister, who was a maiden of
fifty years. The pupil, whose name was Mrs. Trapwell, though low in
stature, was finely shaped, her countenance engaging, though her
complexion was brown, her hair in colour rivalled the raven’s
back, and her eyes emulated the lustre of the diamond. Fathom had
been struck with her first appearance; but found it impracticable
to elude the vigilance of her duenna, so as to make a declaration
of his flame; until she herself, guessing the situation of his
thoughts, and not displeased with the discovery, thought proper to
furnish him with the opportunity he wanted, by counterfeiting an
indisposition, for the cure of which she knew his advice would be
implored. This was the beginning of an acquaintance, which was soon
improved to his wish; and so well did she manage her attractions,
as in some measure to fix the inconstancy of his disposition; for,
at the end of the season, his passion was not sated; and they
concerted the means of continuing their commerce, even after their
return to London.
This intercourse effectually answered the purpose of the
husband, who had been decoyed into matrimony by the cunning of his
spouse, whom he had privately kept as a concubine before marriage.
Conscious of her own precarious situation, she had resolved to
impose upon the infirmities of Trapwell, and, feigning herself
pregnant, gave him to understand she could no longer conceal her
condition from the knowledge of her brother, who was an officer in
the army, and of such violent passions, that, should he once
discover her backsliding, he would undoubtedly wipe away the stains
of his family dishonour with her own blood, as well as that of her
keeper. The citizen, to prevent such a catastrophe, took her to
wife; but soon after perceiving the trick which had been played
upon him, set his invention at work, and at length contrived a
scheme which he thought would enable him, not only to retrieve his
liberty, but also indemnify himself for the mortification he had
undergone.
Far from creating any domestic disturbance, by upbraiding her
with her finesse, he seemed perfectly well pleased with his
acquisition; and, as he knew her void of any principle, and
extremely addicted to pleasure, he chose proper occasions to
insinuate, that she might gratify her own inclination, and at the
same time turn her beauty to good account. She joyfully listened to
these remonstrances, and, in consequence of their mutual agreement,
she repaired to Bristol Spring, on pretence of an ill state of
health, accompanied by her sister-in-law, whom they did not think
proper to intrust with the real motive of her journey.
Fathom’s person was agreeable, and his finances supposed to
be in flourishing order; therefore, she selected him from the herd
of gallants, as a proper sacrifice to the powers which she adored;
and, on her arrival in London, made her husband acquainted with the
importance of her conquest.
Trapwell overwhelmed her with caresses and praise for her
discreet and dutiful conduct, and faithfully promised that she
should pocket in her own privy purse one-half of the spoils that
should be gathered from her gallant, whom she therefore undertook
to betray, after he had swore, in the most solemn manner, that his
intention was not to bring the affair to a public trial, which
would redound to his own disgrace, but to extort a round sum of
money from the Count, by way of composition. Confiding in this
protestation, she in a few days gave him intelligence of an
assignation she had made with our adventurer, at a certain bagnio
near Covent Garden; upon which he secured the assistance of a
particular friend and his own journeyman, with whom, and a
constable, he repaired to the place of rendezvous, where he waited
in an adjoining room, according to the directions of his virtuous
spouse, until she made the preconcerted signal of hemming three
times aloud, when he and his associates rushed into the chamber and
surprised our hero in bed with his inamorata.
The lady on this occasion acted her part to a miracle; she
screamed at their approach; and, after an exclamation of
“Ruined and undone!” fainted away in the arms of her
spouse, who had by this time seized her by the shoulders, and begun
to upbraid her with her infidelity and guilt. As for Fathom, his
affliction was unutterable, when he found himself discovered in
that situation, and made prisoner by the two assistants, who had
pinioned him in such a manner, that he could not stir, much less
accomplish an escape. All his ingenuity and presence of mind seemed
to forsake him in this emergency. The horrors of an English jury
overspread his imagination; for he at once perceived that the toil
into which he had fallen was laid for the purpose; consequently he
took it for granted that there would be no deficiency in point of
evidence. Soon as he recollected himself, he begged that no
violence might be offered to his person, and entreated the husband
to favour him with a conference, in which the affair might be
compromised, without prejudice to the reputation of either.
At first Trapwell breathed nothing but implacable revenge, but,
by the persuasion of his friends, after he had sent home his wife
in a chair, he was prevailed upon to hear the proposals of the
delinquent, who having assured him, by way of apology, that he had
always believed the lady was a widow, made him an offer of five
hundred pounds, as an atonement for the injury he had sustained.
This being a sum no ways adequate to the expectation of the
citizen, who looked upon the Count as possessor of an immense
estate, he rejected the terms with disdain, and made instant
application to a judge, from whom he obtained a warrant for
securing his person till the day of trial. Indeed, in this case,
money was but a secondary consideration with Trapwell, whose chief
aim was to be legally divorced from a woman he detested. Therefore
there was no remedy for the unhappy Count, who in vain offered to
double the sum. He found himself reduced to the bitter alternative
of procuring immediate bail, or going directly to Newgate.
In this dilemma he sent a messenger to his friend Ratchcali,
whose countenance fell when he understood the Count’s
condition; nor would he open his mouth in the style of consolation,
until he had consulted a certain solicitor of his acquaintance, who
assured him the law abounded with such resources as would
infallibly screen the defendant, had the fact been still more
palpable than it was. He said there was great presumption to
believe the Count had fallen a sacrifice to a conspiracy, which by
some means or other would be detected; and, in that case, the
plaintiff might obtain one shilling in lieu of damages. If that
dependence should fail, he hinted that, in all probability, the
witnesses were not incorruptible; or, should they prove to be so,
one man’s oath was as good as another’s; and, thank
Heaven, there was no dearth of evidence, provided money could be
found to answer the necessary occasions.
Ratchcali, comforted by these insinuations, and dreading the
resentment of our adventurer, who, in his despair, might punish him
severely for his want of friendship, by some precipitate
explanation of the commerce they had carried on; moved, I say, by
these considerations, and moreover tempted with the prospect of
continuing to reap the advantages resulting from their conjunction,
he and another person of credit with whom he largely dealt in
jewels, condescended to become sureties for the appearance of
Fathom, who was accordingly admitted to bail. Not but that the
Tyrolese knew Ferdinand too well to confide in his parole. He
depended chiefly upon his ideas of self-interest, which, he
thought, would persuade him to risk the uncertain issue of a trial,
rather than quit the field before the harvest was half over; and he
was resolved to make his own retreat without ceremony, should our
hero be unwise enough to abandon his bail.
Such an adventure could not long lie concealed from the notice
of the public, even if both parties had been at pains to suppress
the circumstances. But the plaintiff, far from seeking to cover,
affected to complain loudly of his misfortune, that he might
interest his neighbours in his behalf, and raise a spirit of
rancour and animosity, to influence the jury against this insolent
foreigner, who had come over into England to debauch our wives and
deflower our daughters; while he employed a formidable band of
lawyers to support the indictment, which he laid at ten thousand
pounds damages.
Meanwhile, Fathom and his associate did not fail to take all
proper measures for his defence; they retained a powerful bar of
counsel, and the solicitor was supplied with one hundred pounds
after another, to answer the expense of secret service; still
assuring his clients that everything was in an excellent train, and
that his adversary would gain nothing but shame and confusion of
face. Nevertheless, there was a necessity for postponing the trial,
on account of a material evidence, who, though he wavered, was not
yet quite brought over; and the attorney found means to put off the
decision from term to term, until there was no quibble left for
further delay. While this suit was depending, our hero continued to
move in his usual sphere; nor did the report of his situation at
all operate to his disadvantage in the polite world; on the
contrary, it added a fresh plume to his character, in the eyes of
all those who were not before acquainted with the triumphs of his
gallantry. Notwithstanding this countenance of his friends, he
himself considered the affair in a very serious light; and
perceiving that, at any rate, he must be a considerable loser, he
resolved to double his assiduity in trade, that he might be the
more able to afford the extraordinary expense to which he was
subjected.
The reader may have observed, that Fathom, with all his
circumspection, had a weak side, which exposed him to sundry
mischances; this was his covetousness, which on some occasions
became too hard for his discretion. At this period of time it was,
by the circumstances of his situation, inflamed to a degree of
rapacity. He was now prevailed upon to take a hand at whist or
piquet, and even to wield the hazard-box; though he had hitherto
declared himself an irreconcilable enemy to all sorts of play; and
so uncommon was his success and dexterity at these exercises, as to
surprise his acquaintance, and arouse the suspicion of some people,
who repined at his prosperity.
But in nothing was his conduct more inexcusable than in giving
way to the dangerous temerity of Ratchcali, which he had been
always at pains to restrain, and permitting him to practise the
same fraud upon an English nobleman, which had been executed upon
himself at Frankfort. In other words, the Tyrolese, by the canal of
Ferdinand’s finger and recommendation, sold a pebble for a
real brilliant, and in a few days the cheat was discovered, to the
infinite confusion of our adventurer, who nevertheless assumed the
guise of innocence with so much art, and expressed such indignation
against the villain who had imposed upon his judgment and
unsuspecting generosity, that his lordship acquitted him of any
share in the deceit, and contented himself with the restitution,
which he insisted upon making out of his own pocket, until he
should be able to apprehend the rogue, who had thought proper to
abscond for his own safety. In spite of all this exculpation, his
character did not fail to retain a sort of stigma, which indeed the
plainest proofs of innocence are hardly able to efface; and his
connexion with such a palpable knave as the Tyrolese appeared to
be, had an effect to his prejudice in the minds of all those who
were privy to the occurrence.
When a man’s reputation is once brought in question, every
trifle is, by the malevolence of mankind, magnified into a strong
presumption against the culprit. A few whispers communicated by the
envious mouth of slander, which he can have no opportunity to
answer and refute, shall, in the opinion of the world, convict him
of the most horrid crimes; and for one hypocrite who is decked with
the honours of virtue, there are twenty good men who suffer the
ignominy of vice; so well disposed are individuals to trample upon
the fame of their fellow-creatures. If the most unblemished merit
is not protected from this injustice, it will not be wondered at
that no quarter was given to the character of an adventurer like
Fathom, who, among other unlucky occurrences, had the misfortune to
be recognised about this time by his two Parisian friends, Sir
Stentor Stile and Sir Giles Squirrel.
These worthy knights-errant had returned to their own country,
after having made a very prosperous campaign in France, at the end
of which, however, they very narrowly escaped the galleys; and
seeing the Polish Count seated at the head of taste and politeness,
they immediately circulated the story of his defeat at Paris, with
many ludicrous circumstances of their own invention, and did not
scruple to affirm that he was a rank impostor. When the laugh is
raised upon a great man, he never fails to dwindle into contempt.
Ferdinand began to perceive a change in the countenance of his
friends. His company was no longer solicited with that eagerness
which they had formerly expressed in his behalf. Even his
entertainments were neglected; when he appeared at any private or
public assembly, the ladies, instead of glowing with pleasure, as
formerly, now tittered or regarded him with looks of disdain; and a
certain pert, little, forward coquette, with a view to put him out
of countenance, by raising the laugh at his expense, asked him one
night, at a drum, when he had heard from his relations in Poland?
She succeeded in her design upon the mirth of the audience, but was
disappointed in the other part of her aim; for our hero replied,
without the least mark of discomposure, “They are all in good
health at your service, madam; I wish I knew in what part of the
world your relations reside, that I might return the
compliment.” By this answer, which was the more severe, as
the young lady was of very doubtful extraction, he retorted the
laugh upon the aggressor, though he likewise failed in his attempt
upon her temper; for she was perhaps the only person present who
equalled himself in stability of countenance.
Notwithstanding this appearance of unconcern, he was deeply
touched with these marks of alienation in the behaviour of his
friends, and, foreseeing in his own disgrace the total shipwreck of
his fortune, he entered into a melancholy deliberation with himself
about the means of retrieving his importance in the beau monde, or
of turning his address into some other channel, where he could
stand upon a less slippery foundation. In this exercise of his
thoughts, no scheme occurred more feasible than that of securing
the booty he had made, and retiring with his associate, who was
also blown, into some other country, where their names and
characters being unknown, they might pursue their old plan of
commerce without molestation. He imparted this suggestion to the
Tyrolese, who approved the proposal of decamping, though he
combated with all his might our hero’s inclination to
withdraw himself before the trial, by repeating the assurances of
the solicitor, who told him he might depend upon being reimbursed
by the sentence of the court for great part of the sums he had
expended in the course of the prosecution.
Fathom suffered himself to be persuaded by these arguments,
supported with the desire of making an honourable retreat, and,
waiting patiently for the day of trouble, discharged his sureties,
by a personal appearance in court. Yet this was not the only score
he discharged that morning; the solicitor presented his own bill
before they set out for Westminster Hall, and gave the Count to
understand that it was the custom, from time immemorial, for the
client to clear with his attorney before trial. Ferdinand had
nothing to object against this established rule, though he looked
upon it as a bad omen, in spite of all the solicitor’s
confidence and protestations; and he was not a little confounded,
when, looking into the contents, he found himself charged with 350
attendances. He knew it was not his interest to disoblige his
lawyer at such a juncture; nevertheless, he could not help
expostulating with him on this article, which seemed to be so
falsely stated with regard to the number; when his questions drew
on an explanation, by which he found he had incurred the penalty of
three shillings and fourpence for every time he chanced to meet the
conscientious attorney, either in the park, the coffee-house, or
the street, provided they had exchanged the common salutation; and
he had good reason to believe the solicitor had often thrown
himself in his way, with a view to swell this item of his
account.
With this extortion our adventurer was fain to comply, because
he lay at the mercy of the caitiff; accordingly, he with a good
grace paid the demand, which, including his former disbursements,
amounted to three hundred and sixty-five pounds eleven shillings
and threepence three farthings, and then presenting himself before
the judge, quietly submitted to the laws of the realm. His counsel
behaved like men of consummate abilities in their profession; they
exerted themselves with equal industry, eloquence, and erudition,
in their endeavours to perplex the truth, browbeat the evidence,
puzzle the judge, and mislead the jury; but the defendant found
himself wofully disappointed in the deposition of Trapwell’s
journeyman, whom the solicitor pretended to have converted to his
interest. This witness, as the attorney afterwards declared, played
booty, and the facts came out so clear, that Ferdinand Count Fathom
was convicted of criminal conversation with the plaintiff’s
wife, and cast in fifteen hundred pounds, under the denomination of
damages.
He was not so much surprised as afflicted at this decision,
because he saw it gradually approaching from the examination of the
first evidence. His thoughts were now employed in casting about for
some method of deliverance from the snare in which he found himself
entangled. To escape, he foresaw it would be impracticable, as
Trapwell would undoubtedly be prepared for arresting him before he
could quit Westminster Hall; he was too well acquainted with
Ratchcali’s principles, to expect any assistance from that
quarter in money matters; and he was utterly averse to the payment
of the sum awarded against him, which would have exhausted his
whole fortune. He therefore resolved to try the friendship of some
persons of fashion, with whom he had maintained an intimacy of
correspondence. Should they fail him in the day of his necessity,
he proposed to have recourse to his former sureties, one of whom he
meant to bilk, while the other might accompany him in his retreat;
or, should both these expedients miscarry, he determined, rather
than part with his effects, to undergo the most disagreeable
confinement, in hope of obtaining the jailor’s connivance at
his escape.
These resolutions being taken, he met his fate with great
fortitude and equanimity, and calmly suffered himself to be
conveyed to the house of a sheriff’s officer, who, as he made
his exit from the hall, according to his own expectation, executed
a writ against him, at the suit of Trapwell, for a debt of two
thousand pounds. To this place he was followed by his solicitor,
who was allured by the prospect of another job, and who, with great
demonstrations of satisfaction, congratulated him upon the happy
issue of the trial; arrogating to himself the merit of having saved
him eight thousand pounds in the article of damages, by the
previous steps he had taken, and the noble defence that he and his
friends the counsel had made for their client; he even hinted an
expectation of receiving a gratuity for his extraordinary care and
discretion.
Fathom, galled as he was with his misfortune, and enraged at the
effrontery of this pettifogger, maintained a serenity of
countenance, and sent the attorney with a message to the plaintiff,
importing, that, as he was a foreigner, and could not be supposed
to have so much cash about him, as to spare fifteen hundred pounds
from the funds of his ordinary expense, he would grant him a bond
payable in two months, during which period he should be able to
procure a proper remittance from his own estate. While the
solicitor was employed in this negotiation, he despatched his
valet-de-chambre to one nobleman, and Maurice to another, with
billets, signifying the nature of the verdict which his adversary
had obtained, and desiring that each would lend him a thousand
pounds upon his parole, until he could negotiate bills upon the
Continent.
His three messengers returned almost at the same instant of
time, and these were the answers they brought back.
Trapwell absolutely rejected his personal security; and
threatened him with all the horrors of a jail, unless he would
immediately discharge the debt, or procure sufficient bondsmen; and
one of his quality friends favoured him with this reply to his
request:—
“MY DEAR COUNT!—
I am mortally chagrined at the
triumph you have furnished to that rascally citizen. By the lard!
the judge must have been in the terrors of cuckoldom, to influence
the decision; and the jury a mere herd of horned beasts, to bring
in such a barbarous verdict. Egad! at this rate, no gentleman will
be able to lie with another man’s wife, but at the risk of a
cursed prosecution. But to waive this disagreeable circumstance,
which you must strive to forget; I declare my mortification is
still the greater, because I cannot at present supply you with the
trifle your present exigency requires; for, to tell you a secret,
my own finances are in damnable confusion. But a man of Count
Fathom’s figure and address can never be puzzled for the want
of such a paltry sum. Adieu, my dear Count! we shall, I suppose,
have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at White’s:
meanwhile, I have the honour to be, with the most perfect
attachment, yours,
GRIZZLEGRIN.”
The other noble peer, to whom he addressed himself on this
occasion, cherished the same sentiments of virtue, friendship, and
generosity; but his expression was so different, that we shall, for
the edification of the reader, transcribe his letter in his own
words:—
“SIR,—
I was never more astonished than at the
receipt of your very extraordinary billet, wherein you solicit the
loan of a thousand pounds, which you desire may be sent with the
bearer on the faith of your parole. Sir, I have no money to send
you or lend you; and cannot help repeating my expressions of
surprise at your confidence in making such a strange and
unwarranted demand. ’Tis true, I may have made professions of
friendship, while I looked upon you as a person of honour and good
morals; but now that you are convicted of such a flagrant violation
of the laws of that kingdom where you have been treated with such
hospitality and respect, I think myself fully absolved from any
such conditional promise, which indeed is never interpreted into
any other than a bare compliment. I am sorry you have involved your
character and fortune in such a disagreeable affair, and am, Sir,
yours, etc.
TROMPINGTON.”
Ferdinand was not such a novice in the world as to be
disappointed at these repulses; especially as he had laid very
little stress upon the application, which was made by way of an
experiment upon the gratitude or caprice of those two noblemen,
whom he had actually more than once obliged with the same sort of
assistance which he now solicited, though not to such a
considerable amount.
Having nothing further to expect from the fashionable world, he
sent the Tyrolese to the person who had been bail for his
appearance, with full instructions to explain his present occasion
in the most favourable light, and desire he would reinforce the
credit of the Count with his security; but that gentleman, though
he placed the most perfect confidence on the honour of our hero,
and would have willingly entered into bonds again for his personal
appearance, was not quite so well satisfied of his circumstances,
as to become liable for the payment of two thousand pounds, an
expense which, in his opinion, the finances of no foreign Count
were able to defray. He therefore lent a deaf ear to the most
pressing remonstrances of the ambassador, who had recourse to
several other merchants, with the same bad success; so that the
prisoner, despairing of bail, endeavoured to persuade Ratchcali,
that it would be his interest to contribute a thousand pounds
towards his discharge, that he might be enabled to quit England
with a good grace, and execute his part of the plan they had
projected.
So powerful was his eloquence on the occasion, and such strength
of argument did he use, that even the Tyrolese seemed convinced,
though reluctantly, and agreed to advance the necessary sum upon
the bond and judgment of our adventurer, who, being disabled from
transacting his own affairs in person, was obliged to intrust
Ratchcali with his keys, papers, and power of attorney, under the
check and inspection of his faithful Maurice and the solicitor,
whose fidelity he bespoke with the promise of an ample
recompense.
Yet, he had no sooner committed his effects to the care of this
triumvirate, than his fancy was visited with direful warnings,
which produced cold sweats and palpitations, and threw him into
such agonies of apprehension as he had never known before. He
remembered the former desertion of the Tyrolese, the recent villany
of the solicitor, and recollected the remarks he had made upon the
disposition and character of his valet, which evinced him a fit
companion for the other two.
Alarmed at these reflections, he entreated the bailiff to
indulge him with a visit to his own lodgings, and even offered one
hundred guineas as a gratification for his compliance. But the
officer, who had formerly lost a considerable sum by the escape of
a prisoner, would not run any risk in an affair of such
consequence, and our hero was obliged to submit to the tortures of
his own presaging fears. After he had waited five hours in the most
racking impatience, he saw the attorney enter with all the marks of
hurry, fatigue, and consternation, and heard him exclaim,
“Good God, have you seen the gentleman?”
Fathom found his fears realised in this interrogation, to which
he answered in a tone of horror and dismay, “What gentleman?
I suppose I am robbed. Speak, and keep me no longer in
suspense.” “Robbed!” cried the attorney,
“the Lord forbid! I hope you can depend upon the person you
empowered to receive your jewels and cash? I must own his
proceedings are a little extraordinary; for after he had rummaged
your scrutoire, from which, in presence of me and your servant, he
took one hundred and fifty guineas, a parcel of diamond rings and
buckles, according to this here inventory, which I wrote with my
own hand, and East India bonds to the tune of five hundred more, we
adjourned to Garraway’s, where he left me alone, under
pretence of going to a broker of his acquaintance who lived in the
neighbourhood, while the valet, as I imagined, waited for us in the
alley. Well, sir, he stayed so long, that I began to be uneasy, and
at length resolved to send the servant in quest of him, but when I
went out for that purpose, deuce a servant was to be found; though
I in person inquired for him at every alehouse within half a mile
of the place. I then despatched no less than five ticket porters
upon the scent after them, and I myself, by a direction from the
bar-keeper, went to Signior Ratchcali’s lodgings, where, as
they told me, he had not been seen since nine o’clock in the
morning. Upon this intimation, I came directly hither, to give you
timely notice, that you may without delay take measures for your
own security. The best thing you can do, is to take out writs for
apprehending him, in the counties of Middlesex, Surrey, Kent, and
Essex, and I shall put them in the hands of trusty and diligent
officers, who will soon ferret him out of his lurking-place,
provided he skulks within ten miles of the bills of mortality. To
be sure, the job will be expensive; and all these runners must be
paid beforehand. But what then? the defendant is worth powder, and
if we can once secure him, I’ll warrant the prosecution will
quit cost.”
Fathom was almost choked with concern and resentment at the news
of this mischance, so that he could not utter one word until this
narrative was finished. Nor was his suspicion confined to the
Tyrolese and his own lacquey; he considered the solicitor as their
accomplice and director, and was so much provoked at the latter
part of his harangue, that his discretion seemed to vanish, and,
collaring the attorney, “Villain!” said he, “you
yourself have been a principal actor in this robbery.” Then
turning to the bystanders, “and I desire in the King’s
name that he may be secured, until I can make oath before a
magistrate in support of the charge. If you refuse your assistance
in detaining him, I will make immediate application to one of the
secretaries of state, who is my particular friend, and he will see
justice done to all parties.”
At mention of this formidable name, the bailiff and his whole
family were in commotion, to obstruct the retreat of the lawyer,
who stood aghast and trembled under the grasp of our adventurer.
But, soon as he found himself delivered from this embrace, by the
interposition of the spectators, and collected his spirits, which
had been suddenly dissipated by Fathom’s unexpected assault,
he began to display one art of his occupation, which he always
reserved for extraordinary occasions. This was the talent of abuse,
which he poured forth with such fluency of opprobrious language,
that our hero, smarting as he was, and almost desperate with his
loss, deviated from that temperance of behaviour which he had
hitherto preserved, and snatching up the poker, with one stroke
opened a deep trench upon the attorney’s skull, that extended
from the hind head almost to the upper part of the nose, upon each
side of which it discharged a sanguine stream. Notwithstanding the
pain of this application, the solicitor was transported with joy at
the sense of the smart, and inwardly congratulated himself upon the
appearance of his own blood, which he no sooner perceived, than he
exclaimed, “I’m a dead man,” and fell upon the
floor at full length.
Immediate recourse was had to a surgeon in the neighbourhood,
who, having examined the wound, declared there was a dangerous
depression of the first table of the skull, and that, if he could
save the patient’s life without the application of the
trepan, it would be one of the greatest cures that ever were
performed. By this time, Fathom’s first transport being
overblown, he summoned up his whole resolution, and reflected upon
his own ruin with that fortitude which had never failed him in the
emergencies of his fate. Little disturbed at the prognostic of the
surgeon, which he considered in the right point of view;
“Sir,” said he, “I am not so unacquainted with
the resistance of an attorney’s skull, as to believe the
chastisement I have bestowed on him will at all endanger his life,
which is in much greater jeopardy from the hands of the common
executioner. For, notwithstanding this accident, I am determined to
prosecute the rascal for robbery with the utmost severity of the
law; and, that I may have a sufficient fund left for that
prosecution, I shall not at present throw away one farthing in
unnecessary expense, but insist upon being conveyed to prison
without farther delay.”
This declaration was equally unwelcome to the bailiff, surgeon,
and solicitor, who, upon the supposition that the Count was a
person of fortune, and would rather part with an immense sum than
incur the ignominy of a jail, or involve himself in another
disgraceful lawsuit, had resolved to fleece him to the utmost of
their power. But, now the attorney finding him determined to set
his fate at defiance, and to retort upon him a prosecution, which
he had no design to undergo, began to repent heartily of the
provocation he had given, and to think seriously on some method to
overcome the obstinacy of the incensed foreigner. With this view,
while the bailiff conducted him to bed in another apartment, he
desired the catchpole to act the part of mediator between him and
the Count, and furnished him with proper instructions for that
purpose. Accordingly the landlord, on his return, told Fathom that
he was sure the solicitor was not a man for this world; for that he
had left him deprived of his senses, and praying to God with great
devotion for mercy to his murderer. He then exhorted him, with many
protestations of friendship, to compromise the unhappy affair by
exchanging releases with the attorney before his delirium should be
known, otherwise he would bring himself into a most dangerous
premunire, whether the plaintiff should die of his wound, or live
to prosecute him for assault. “And with regard to your charge
of robbery against him,” said he, “as it is no more
than a base suspicion, unsupported by the least shadow of evidence,
the bill would be thrown out, and then he might sue you for
damages. I therefore, out of pure friendship and good-nature,
advise you to compromise the affair, and, if you think proper, will
endeavour to bring about a mutual release.”
Our hero, whose passion was by this time pretty well cooled, saw
reason for assenting to the proposal; upon which the deed was
immediately executed, the mediator’s bill was discharged, and
Ferdinand conveyed in an hackney-coach to prison, after he had
empowered his own landlord to discharge his servants, and convert
his effects into ready money. Thus, he saw himself, in the course
of a few hours, deprived of his reputation, rank, liberty, and
friends; and his fortune reduced from two thousand pounds to
something less than two hundred, fifty of which he had carried to
jail in his pocket.
Just as he entered these mansions of misery, his ears were
invaded with a hoarse and dreadful voice, exclaiming, “You,
Bess Beetle, score a couple of fresh eggs, a pennyworth of butter,
and half a pint of mountain to the king; and stop credit till the
bill is paid:—He is now debtor for fifteen shillings and
sixpence, and d—n me if I trust him one farthing more, if he
was the best king in Christendom. And, d’ye hear, send
Ragged-head with five pounds of potatoes for Major
Macleaver’s supper, and let him have what drink he wants; the
fat widow gentlewoman from Pimlico has promised to quit his score.
Sir Mungo Barebones may have some hasty pudding and small beer,
though I don’t expect to see his coin, no more than to
receive the eighteen pence I laid out for a pair of breeches to his
backside—what then? he’s a quiet sort of a body, and a
great scholar, and it was a scandal to the place to see him going
about in that naked condition. As for the mad Frenchman with the
beard, if you give him so much as a cheese-paring, you b—ch,
I’ll send you back to the hole, among your old companions; an
impudent dog! I’ll teach him to draw his sword upon the
governor of an English county jail. What! I suppose he thought he
had to do with a French hang-tang-dang, rabbit him! he shall eat
his white feather, before I give him credit for a morsel of
bread.”
Although our adventurer was very little disposed, at this
juncture, to make observations foreign to his own affairs, he could
not help taking notice of these extraordinary injunctions;
especially those concerning the person who was entitled king, whom,
however, he supposed to be some prisoner elected as the magistrate
by the joint suffrage of his fellows. Having taken possession of
his chamber, which he rented at five shillings a week, and being
ill at ease in his own thoughts, he forthwith secured his door,
undressed, and went to bed, in which, though it was none of the
most elegant or inviting couches, he enjoyed profound repose after
the accumulated fatigues and mortifications of the day. Next
morning, after breakfast, the keeper entered his apartment, and
gave him to understand, that the gentlemen under his care, having
heard of the Count’s arrival, had deputed one of their number
to wait upon him with the compliments of condolence suitable to the
occasion, and invite him to become a member of their society. Our
hero could not politely dispense with this instance of civility,
and their ambassador being instantly introduced by the name of
Captain Minikin, saluted him with great solemnity.
This was a person equally remarkable for his extraordinary
figure and address; his age seemed to border upon forty, his
stature amounted to five feet, his visage was long, meagre, and
weather-beaten, and his aspect, though not quite rueful, exhibited
a certain formality, which was the result of care and conscious
importance. He was very little encumbered with flesh and blood; yet
what body he had was well proportioned, his limbs were elegantly
turned, and by his carriage he was well entitled to that compliment
which we pay to any person when we say he has very much the air of
a gentleman. There was also an evident singularity in his dress,
which, though intended as an improvement, appeared to be an
extravagant exaggeration of the mode, and at once evinced him an
original to the discerning eyes of our adventurer, who received him
with his usual complaisance, and made a very eloquent
acknowledgment of the honour and satisfaction he received from the
visit of the representative, and the hospitality of his
constituents. The captain’s peculiarities were not confined
to his external appearance; for his voice resembled the sound of a
bassoon, or the aggregate hum of a whole bee-hive, and his
discourse was almost nothing else than a series of quotations from
the English poets, interlarded with French phrases, which he
retained for their significance, on the recommendation of his
friends, being himself unacquainted with that or any other
outlandish tongue.
Fathom, finding this gentleman of a very communicative
disposition, thought he could not have a fairer opportunity of
learning the history of his fellow-prisoners; and, turning the
conversation on that subject, was not disappointed in his
expectation. “I don’t doubt, sir,” said he, with
the utmost solemnity of declamation, “but you look with
horror upon every object that surrounds you in this uncomfortable
place; but, nevertheless, here are some, who, as my friend
Shakespeare has it, have seen better days, and have with holy bell
been knolled to church; and sat at good men’s feasts, and
wiped their eyes of drops that sacred pity hath engendered. You
must know, sir, that, exclusive of the canaille, or the profanum
vulgus, as they are styled by Horace, there are several small
communities in the jail, consisting of people who are attracted by
the manners and dispositions of each other; for this place, sir, is
quite a microcosm, and as the great world, so is this, a stage, and
all the men and women merely players. For my own part, sir, I have
always made it a maxim to associate with the best of company I can
find. Not that I pretend to boast of my family or extraction;
because, you know, as the poet says, Vix ea nostra voco. My father,
’tis true, was a man that piqued himself upon his pedigree,
as well as upon his politesse and personal merit; for he had been a
very old officer in the army, and I myself may say I was born with
a spontoon in my hand. Sir, I have had the honour to serve his
Majesty these twenty years, and have been bandied about in the
course of duty through all the British plantations, and you see the
recompense of all my service. But this is a disagreeable subject,
and therefore I shall waive it; however, as Butler observes:
My only comfort is, that now<
My dubbolt fortune is so low,
That either it must quickly end,<
Or turn about again and mend.
“And now, to return from this digression, you will perhaps
be surprised to hear that the head or chairman of our club is
really a sovereign prince; no less, I’ll assure you, than the
celebrated Theodore king of Corsica, who lies in prison for a debt
of a few hundred pounds.
Heu! quantum mutatus ab illo. It is not my
business to censure the conduct of my superiors; but I always speak
my mind in a cavalier manner, and as, according to the Spectator,
talking to a friend is no more than thinking aloud, entre nous, his
Corsican majesty has been scurvily treated by a certain
administration. Be that as it will, he is a personage of a very
portly appearance, and is quite master of the bienseance. Besides,
they will find it their interest to have recourse again to his
alliance; and in that case some of us may expect to profit by his
restoration. But few words are best.
“He that maintains the second rank in our assembly is one
Major Macleaver, an Irish gentleman, who has served abroad; a
soldier of fortune, sir, a man of unquestionable honour and
courage, but a little overbearing, in consequence of his knowledge
and experience. He is a person of good address,—to be sure,
and quite free of the mauvaise honte, and he may have seen a good
deal of service. But what then? other people may be as good as he,
though they have not had such opportunities; if he speaks five or
six languages, he does not pretend to any taste in the liberal
arts, which are the criterion of an accomplished gentleman.
“The next is Sir Mungo Barebones, the representative of a
very ancient family in the north; his affairs are very much
deranged, but he is a gentleman of great probity and learning, and
at present engaged in a very grand scheme, which, if he can bring
it to bear, will render him famous to all posterity; no less than
the conversion of the Jews and the Gentiles. The project, I own,
looks chimerical to one who has not conversed with the author; but,
in my opinion, he has clearly demonstrated, from an anagrammatical
analysis of a certain Hebrew word, that his present Majesty, whom
God preserve, is the person pointed at in Scripture as the temporal
Messiah of the Jews; and, if he could once raise by subscription
such a trifling sum as twelve hundred thousand pounds, I make no
doubt but he would accomplish his aim, vast and romantic as it
seems to be.
“Besides these, we have another messmate, who is a French
chevalier, an odd sort of a man, a kind of Lazarillo de Tormes, a
caricatura; he wears a long beard, pretends to be a great poet, and
makes a d—-ed fracas with his verses. The king has been
obliged to exert his authority over him more than once, by ordering
him into close confinement, for which he was so rash as to send his
majesty a challenge; but he afterwards made his submission, and was
again taken into favour. The truth is, I believe his brain is a
little disordered, and, he being a stranger, we overlook his
extravagancies.
“Sir, we shall think ourselves happy in your accession to
our society. You will be under no sort of restraint; for, though we
dine at one table, every individual calls and pays for his own
mess. Our conversation, such as it is, will not, I hope, be
disagreeable; and though we have not opportunities of breathing the
pure Arcadian air, and cannot, ‘under the shade of melancholy
boughs, lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,’ we may
enjoy ourselves over a glass of punch or a dish of tea. Nor are we
destitute of friends, who visit us in these shades of distress. The
major has a numerous acquaintance of both sexes; among others, a
first cousin of good fortune, who, with her daughters, often cheer
our solitude; she is a very sensible ladylike gentlewoman, and the
young ladies have a certain degagee air, that plainly shows they
have seen the best company. Besides, I will venture to recommend
Mrs. Minikin as a woman of tolerable breeding and capacity, who, I
hope, will not be found altogether deficient in the accomplishments
of the sex. So that we find means to make little parties, in which
the time glides away insensibly. Then I have a small collection of
books which are at your service. You may amuse yourself with
Shakespeare, or Milton, or Don Quixote, or any of our modern
authors that are worth reading, such as the Adventures of Loveill,
Lady Frail, George Edwards, Joe Thompson, Bampfylde Moore Carew,
Young Scarron, and Miss Betsy Thoughtless; and if you have a taste
for drawing, I can entertain you with a parcel of prints by the
best masters.”
A man of our hero’s politeness could not help expressing
himself in the warmest terms of gratitude for this courteous
declaration. He thanked the captain in particular for his obliging
offers, and begged he would be so good as to present his respects
to the society, of which he longed to be a member. It was
determined, therefore, that Minikin should return in an hour, when
the Count would be dressed, in order to conduct him into the
presence of his majesty; and he had already taken his leave for the
present, when all of a sudden he came back, and taking hold of a
waistcoat that lay upon a chair, “Sir,” said he,
“give me leave to look at that fringe; I think it is the most
elegant knitting I ever saw. But pray, sir, are not these quite out
of fashion? I thought plain silk, such as this that I wear, had
been the mode, with the pockets very low.” Before Fathom had
time to make any sort of reply, he took notice of his hat and
pumps; the first of which, he said, was too narrow in the brims,
and the last an inch too low in the heels. Indeed, they formed a
remarkable contrast with his own; for, exclusive of the fashion of
the cock, which resembled the form of a Roman galley, the brim of
his hat, if properly spread, would have projected a shade
sufficient to shelter a whole file of musketeers from the heat of a
summer’s sun; and the heels of his shoes were so high as to
raise his feet three inches at least from the surface of the
earth.
Having made these observations, for the credit of his taste, he
retired, and returning at the time appointed, accompanied Ferdinand
to the apartment of the king, at the doors of which their ears were
invaded with a strange sound, being that of a human voice imitating
the noise of a drum. The captain, hearing this alarm, made a full
stop, and, giving the Count to understand that his majesty was
busy, begged he would not take it amiss, if the introduction should
be delayed for a few moments. Fathom, curious to know the meaning
of what he had heard, applied to his guide for information, and
learned that the king and the major, whom he had nominated to the
post of his general-in-chief, were employed in landing troops upon
the Genoese territory; that is, that they were settling beforehand
the manner of their disembarkation.
He then, by the direction of his conductor, reconnoitred them
through the keyhole, and perceived the sovereign and his minister
sitting on opposite sides of a deal board table, covered with a
large chart or map, upon which he saw a great number of mussel and
oyster shells ranged in a certain order, and, at a little distance,
several regular squares and columns made of cards cut in small
pieces. The prince himself, whose eyes were reinforced by
spectacles, surveyed this armament with great attention, while the
general put the whole in action, and conducted their motions by
beat of drum. The mussel-shells, according to Minikin’s
explanation, represented the transports, the oyster-shells were
considered as the men-of-war that covered the troops in landing,
and the pieces of card exhibited the different bodies into which
the army was formed upon its disembarkation.
As an affair of such consequence could not be transacted without
opposition, they had provided divers ambuscades, consisting of the
enemy, whom they represented by grey peas; and accordingly General
Macleaver, perceiving the said grey peas marching along shore to
attack his forces before they could be drawn up in battalia, thus
addressed himself to the oyster-shells, in an audible
voice:—“You men-of-war, don’t you see the front
of the enemy advancing, and the rest of the detachment following
out of sight? Arrah! the devil burn you, why don’t you come
ashore and open your batteries?” So saying, he pushed the
shells towards the breach, performed the cannonading with his
voice, the grey peas were soon put in confusion, the general was
beat, the cards marched forwards in order of battle, and the enemy
having retreated with great precipitation, they took possession of
their ground without farther difficulty.
This expedition being happily finished, General Macleaver put
the whole army, navy, transports, and scene of action into a canvas
bag, the prince unsaddled his nose, and Captain Minikin being
admitted, our hero was introduced in form. Very gracious was the
reception he met with from his majesty, who, with a most princely
demeanour, welcomed him to court, and even seated him on his right
hand, in token of particular regard. True it is, this
presence-chamber was not so superb, nor the appearance of the king
so magnificent, as to render such an honour intoxicating to any
person of our hero’s coolness and discretion. In lieu of
tapestry, the apartment was hung with halfpenny ballads, a
truckle-bed without curtains supplied the place of a canopy, and
instead of a crown his majesty wore a woollen night-cap. Yet, in
spite of these disadvantages, there was an air of dignity in his
deportment, and a nice physiognomist would have perceived something
majestic in the features of his countenance.
He was certainly a personage of very prepossessing mien; his
manners were engaging, his conversation agreeable, and any man
whose heart was subject to the meltings of humanity would have
deplored his distress, and looked upon him as a most pathetic
instance of that miserable reverse to which all human grandeur is
exposed. His fall was even greater than that of Belisarius, who,
after having obtained many glorious victories over the enemies of
his country, is said to have been reduced to such extremity of
indigence, that, in his old age, when he was deprived of his
eyesight, he sat upon the highway like a common mendicant,
imploring the charity of passengers in the piteous exclamation of
Date obolum Belisario; that is, “Spare a farthing to your
poor old soldier Belisarius.” I say, this general’s
disgrace was not so remarkable as that of Theodore, because he was
the servant of Justinian, consequently his fortune depended upon
the nod of that emperor; whereas the other actually possessed the
throne of sovereignty by the best of all titles, namely, the
unanimous election of the people over whom he reigned; and
attracted the eyes of all Europe, by the efforts he made in
breaking the bands of oppression, and vindicating that liberty
which is the birthright of man.
The English of former days, alike renowned for generosity and
valour, treated those hostile princes, whose fate it was to wear
their chains, with such delicacy of benevolence, as even dispelled
the horrors of captivity; but their posterity of this refined age
feel no compunction at seeing an unfortunate monarch, their former
friend, ally, and partisan, languish amidst the miseries of a
loathsome jail, for a paltry debt contracted in their own service.
But, moralising apart, our hero had not long conversed with this
extraordinary debtor, who in his present condition assumed no other
title than that of Baron, than he perceived in him a spirit of
Quixotism, which all his experience, together with the vicissitudes
of his fortune, had not been able to overcome. Not that his ideas
soared to such a pitch of extravagant hope as that which took
possession of his messmates, who frequently quarrelled one with
another about the degrees of favour to which they should be
entitled after the king’s restoration; but he firmly believed
that affairs would speedily take such a turn in Italy, as would
point out to the English court the expediency of employing him
again; and his persuasion seemed to support him against every
species of poverty and mortification.
While they were busy in trimming the balance of power on the
other side of the Alps, their deliberations were interrupted by the
arrival of a scullion, who came to receive their orders touching
the bill of fare for dinner, and his majesty found much more
difficulty in settling this important concern, than in compromising
all the differences between the Emperor and the Queen of Spain. At
length, however, General Macleaver undertook the office of purveyor
for his prince; Captain Minikin insisted upon treating the Count;
and in a little time the table was covered with a cloth, which, for
the sake of my delicate readers, I will not attempt to
describe.
At this period they were joined by Sir Mungo Barebones, who,
having found means to purchase a couple of mutton chops, had cooked
a mess of broth, which he now brought in a saucepan to the general
rendezvous. This was the most remarkable object which had hitherto
presented itself to the eyes of Fathom. Being naturally of a meagre
habit, he was, by indigence and hard study, wore almost to the
bone, and so bended towards the earth, that in walking his body
described at least 150 degrees of a circle. The want of stockings
and shoes he supplied with a jockey straight boot and an half jack.
His thighs and middle were cased in a monstrous pair of brown trunk
breeches, which the keeper bought for his use from the executor of
a Dutch seaman who had lately died in the jail. His shirt retained
no signs of its original colour, his body was shrouded in an old
greasy tattered plaid nightgown; a blue and white handkerchief
surrounded his head, and his looks betokened that immense load of
care which he had voluntarily incurred for the eternal salvation of
sinners. Yet this figure, uncouth as it was, made his compliments
to our adventurer in terms of the most elegant address, and, in the
course of conversation, disclosed a great fund of valuable
knowledge. He had appeared in the great world, and borne divers
offices of dignity and trust with universal applause. His courage
was undoubted, his morals were unimpeached, and his person held in
great veneration and esteem; when his evil genius engaged him in
the study of Hebrew, and the mysteries of the Jewish religion,
which fairly disordered his brain, and rendered him incapable of
managing his temporal affairs. When he ought to have been employed
in the functions of his post, he was always wrapt in visionary
conferences with Moses on the Mount; rather than regulate the
economy of his household, he chose to exert his endeavours in
settling the precise meaning of the word Elohim; and having
discovered that now the period was come, when the Jews and Gentiles
would be converted, he postponed every other consideration, in
order to facilitate that great and glorious event.
By this time Ferdinand had seen every member of the club, except
the French chevalier, who seemed to be quite neglected by the
society; for his name was not once mentioned during this
communication, and they sat down to dinner, without asking whether
he was dead or alive. The king regaled himself with a plate of
ox-cheek; the major, who complained that his appetite had forsaken
him, amused himself with some forty hard eggs, malaxed with salt
butter; the knight indulged upon his soup and bouilli, and the
captain entertained our adventurer with a neck of veal roasted with
potatoes; but before Fathom could make use of his knife and fork,
he was summoned to the door, where he found the chevalier in great
agitation, his eyes sparkling like coals of fire.
Our hero was not a little surprised at this apparition, who,
having asked pardon for the freedom he had used, observed, that,
understanding the Count was a foreigner, he could not dispense with
appealing to him concerning an outrage he had suffered from the
keeper, who, without any regard to his rank or misfortunes, had
been base enough to refuse him credit for a few necessaries, until
he could have a remittance from his steward in France; he therefore
conjured Count Fathom, as a stranger and nobleman like himself, to
be the messenger of defiance, which he resolved to send to that
brutal jailor, that, for the future, he might learn to make proper
distinctions in the exercise of his function.
Fathom, who had no inclination to offend this choleric
Frenchman, assured him that he might depend upon his friendship;
and, in the meantime, prevailed upon him to accept of a small
supply, in consequence of which he procured a pound of sausages,
and joined the rest of the company without delay; making a very
suitable addition to such an assemblage of rarities. Though his age
did not exceed thirty years, his beard, which was of a brindled
hue, flowed down, like Aaron’s, to his middle. Upon his legs
he wore red stockings rolled up over the joint of the knee, his
breeches were of blue drab, with vellum button-holes, and garters
of gold lace, his waistcoat of scarlet, his coat of rusty black
cloth, his hair, twisted into a ramilie, hung down to his rump, of
the colour of jet, and his hat was adorned with a white
feather.
This original had formed many ingenious schemes to increase the
glory and grandeur of France, but was discouraged by Cardinal
Fleury, who, in all appearance, jealous of his great talents, not
only rejected his projects, but even sent him to prison, on
pretence of being offended at his impertinence. Perceiving that,
like the prophet, he had no honour in his own country, he no sooner
obtained his release, than he retired to England, where he was
prompted by his philanthropy to propose an expedient to our
ministry, which would have saved a vast effusion of blood and
treasure; this was an agreement between the Queen of Hungary and
the late Emperor, to decide their pretensions by a single combat;
in which case he offered himself as the Bavarian champion; but in
this endeavour he also proved unsuccessful. Then turning his
attention to the delights of poetry, he became so enamoured of the
muse, that he neglected every other consideration, and she as usual
gradually conducted him to the author’s never-failing
goal—a place of rest appointed for all those sinners whom the
profane love of poesy hath led astray.
Among other topics of conversation that were discussed at this
genial meeting, Sir Mungo’s scheme was brought upon the
carpet by his majesty, who was graciously pleased to ask how his
subscription filled? To this interrogation the knight answered,
that he met with great opposition from a spirit of levity and
self-conceit, which seemed to prevail in this generation, but that
no difficulties should discourage him from persevering in his duty;
and he trusted in God, that, in a very little time, he should be
able to confute and overthrow the false philosophy of the moderns,
and to restore the writings of Moses to that pre-eminence and
veneration which is due to an inspired author. He spoke of the
immortal Newton with infinite contempt, and undertook to extract
from the Pentateuch a system of chronology which would ascertain
the progress of time since the fourth day of the creation to the
present hour, with such exactness, that not one vibration of a
pendulum should be lost; nay, he affirmed that the perfection of
all arts and sciences might be attained by studying these secret
memoirs, and that he himself did not despair of learning from them
the art of transmuting baser metals into gold.
The chevalier, though he did not pretend to contradict these
assertions, was too much attached to his own religion to acquiesce
in the knight’s project of converting the Jews and the
Gentiles to the Protestant heresy, which, he said, God Almighty
would never suffer to triumph over the interests of his own Holy
Catholic Church. This objection produced abundance of altercation
between two very unequal disputants; and the Frenchman, finding
himself puzzled by the learning of his antagonist, had recourse to
the argumentum ad hominem, by laying his hand upon his sword, and
declaring that he was ready to lose the last drop of his blood in
opposition to such a damnable scheme.
Sir Mungo, though in all appearance reduced to the last stage of
animal existence, no sooner heard this epithet applied to his plan,
than his eyes gleamed like lightning, he sprung from his seat with
the agility of a grasshopper, and, darting himself out at the door
like an arrow from a bow, reappeared in a moment with a long rusty
weapon, which might have been shown among a collection of rarities
as the sword of Guy Earl of Warwick. This implement he brandished
over the chevalier’s head with the dexterity of an old
prize-fighter, exclaiming, in the French language, “Thou art
a profane wretch marked out for the vengeance of Heaven, whose
unworthy minister I am, and here thou shalt fall by the sword of
the Lord and of Gideon.”
The chevalier, unterrified by this dreadful salutation, desired
he would accompany him to a more convenient place; and the world
might have been deprived of one or both these knights-errant, had
not General Macleaver, at the desire of his majesty, interposed,
and found means to bring matters to an accommodation.
In the afternoon the society was visited by the major’s
cousin and her daughters, who no sooner appeared than they were
recognised by our adventurer, and his acquaintance with them
renewed in such a manner as alarmed the delicacy of Captain
Minikin, who in the evening repaired to the Count’s
apartment, and with a formal physiognomy, accosted him in these
words: “Sir, I beg pardon for this intrusion, but I come to
consult you about an affair in which my honour is concerned; and a
soldier without honour, you know, is no better than a body without
a soul. I have always admired that speech of Hotspur in the first
part of Henry the Fourth:
By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac’d moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks—
“There is a boldness and ease in the expression, and the
images are very picturesque. But, without any further preamble,
pray, sir, give me leave to ask how long you have been acquainted
with those ladies who drank tea with us this afternoon.
You’ll forgive the question, sir, when I tell you that Major
Macleaver introduced Mrs. Minikin to them as to ladies of
character, and, I don’t know how, sir, I have a sort of
presentiment that my wife has been imposed upon. Perhaps I may be
mistaken, and God grant I may. But there was a je ne sais quoi in
their behaviour to-day, which begins to alarm my suspicion. Sir, I
have nothing but my reputation to depend upon, and I hope you will
excuse me, when I earnestly beg to know what rank they maintain in
life.”
Fathom, without minding the consequence, told him, with a
simper, that he knew them to be very good-natured ladies, who
devoted themselves to the happiness of mankind. This explanation
had no sooner escaped from his lips, than the captain’s face
began to glow with indignation, his eyes seemed bursting from their
spheres, he swelled to twice his natural dimensions, and, raising
himself on his tiptoes, pronounced, in a strain that emulated
thunder, “Blood! sir, you seem to make very light of the
matter, but it is no joke to me, I’ll assure you, and
Macleaver shall see that I am not to be affronted with impunity.
Sir, I shall take it as a singular favour if you will be the bearer
of a billet to him, which I shall write in three words; nay, sir,
you must give me leave to insist upon it, as you are the only
gentleman of our mess whom I can intrust with an affair of this
nature.”
Fathom, rather than run the risk of disobliging such a
punctilious warrior, after having in vain attempted to dissuade him
from his purpose, undertook to carry the challenge, which was
immediately penned in these words:
“SIR,—You have violated my honour in imposing upon
Mrs. Minikin your pretended cousins as ladies of virtue and
reputation. I therefore demand such satisfaction as a soldier ought
to receive, and expect you will adjust with my friend Count Fathom
the terms upon which you shall be met by the much injured GOLIAH
MINIKIN.”
This morceau being sealed and directed, was forthwith carried by
our adventurer to the lodgings of the major, who had by this time
retired to rest, but hearing the Count’s voice, he got up and
opened the door in cuerpo, to the astonishment of Ferdinand, who
had never before seen such an Herculean figure. He made an apology
for receiving the Count in his birthday suit, to which he said he
was reduced by the heat of his constitution, though he might have
assigned a more adequate cause, by owning that his shirt was in the
hands of his washerwoman; then shrouding himself in a blanket,
desired to know what had procured him the honour of such an
extraordinary visit. He read the letter with great composure, like
a man accustomed to such intercourse; then addressing himself to
the bearer, “I will be after diverting the gentleman,”
said he, “in any manner he shall think proper; but, by Jesus,
this is no place for such amusements, because, as you well know, my
dear Count, if both should be killed by the chance of war, neither
of us will be able to escape, and after the breath is out of his
body, he will make but a sorry excuse to his family and friends.
But that is no concern of mine, and therefore I am ready to please
him in his own way.”
Fathom approved of his remarks, which he reinforced with sundry
considerations, to the same purpose, and begged the assistance of
the major’s advice, in finding some expedient to terminate
the affair without bloodshed, that no troublesome consequences
might ensue either to him or to his antagonist, who, in spite of
this overstraining formality, seemed to be a person of worth and
good-nature. “With all my heart,” said the generous
Hibernian, “I have a great regard for the little man, and my
own character is not to seek at this time of day. I have served a
long apprenticeship to fighting, as this same carcase can testify,
and if he compels me to run him through the body, by my shoul, I
shall do it in a friendly manner.”
So saying, he threw aside the blanket, and displayed scars and
seams innumerable upon his body, which appeared like an old patched
leathern doublet. “I remember,” proceeded this
champion, “when I was a slave at Algiers, Murphy Macmorris
and I happened to have some difference in the bagnio, upon which he
bade me turn out. ‘Arra, for what?’ said I; ‘here
are no weapons that a gentleman can use, and you would not be such
a negro as to box like an English carman.’ After he had
puzzled himself for some time, he proposed that we should retire
into a corner, and funk one another with brimstone, till one of us
should give out. Accordingly we crammed half a dozen tobacco pipes
with sulphur, and, setting foot to foot, began to smoke, and kept a
constant fire, until Macmorris dropped down; then I threw away my
pipe, and taking poor Murphy in my arms, ‘What, are you
dead?’ said I; ‘if you are dead, speak.’
‘No, by Jesus!’ cried he, ‘I an’t dead, but
I’m speechless.’ So he owned I had obtained the
victory, and we were as good friends as ever. Now, if Mr. Minikin
thinks proper to put the affair upon the same issue, I will smoke a
pipe of brimstone with him to-morrow morning, and if I cry out
first, I will be after asking pardon for this supposed
affront.”
Fathom could not help laughing at the proposal, to which,
however, he objected on account of Minikin’s delicate
constitution, which might suffer more detriment from breathing in
an atmosphere of sulphur than from the discharge of a pistol, or
the thrust of a small sword. He therefore suggested another
expedient in lieu of the sulphur, namely, the gum called
assafatida, which, though abundantly nauseous, could have no effect
upon the infirm texture of the lieutenant’s lungs. This hint
being relished by the major, our adventurer returned to his
principal, and having repeated the other’s arguments against
the use of mortal instruments, described the succedaneum which he
had concerted with Macleaver. The captain at first believed the
scheme was calculated for subjecting him to the ridicule of his
fellow-prisoners, and began to storm with great violence; but, by
the assurances and address of Fathom, he was at length reconciled
to the plan, and preparations were made on each side for this duel,
which was actually smoked next day, about noon, in a small closet,
detached from the challenger’s apartment, and within hearing
of his majesty, and all his court, assembled as witnesses and
umpires of the contest.
The combatants, being locked up together, began to ply their
engines with great fury, and it was not long before Captain Minikin
perceived he had a manifest advantage over his antagonist. For his
organs were familiarised to the effluvia of this drug, which he had
frequently used in the course of an hypochondriac disorder; whereas
Macleaver, who was a stranger to all sorts of medicine, by his wry
faces and attempts to puke, expressed the utmost abhorrence of the
smell that invaded his nostrils. Nevertheless, resolved to hold out
to the last extremity, he continued in action until the closet was
filled with such an intolerable vapour as discomposed the whole
economy of his entrails, and compelled him to disgorge his
breakfast in the face of his opponent, whose nerves were so
disconcerted by this disagreeable and unforeseen discharge, that he
fell back into his chair in a swoon, and the major bellowed aloud
for assistance. The door being opened, he ran directly to the
window, to inhale the fresh air, while the captain, recovering from
his fit, complained of Macleaver’s unfair proceeding, and
demanded justice of the arbitrators, who decided in his favour; and
the major being prevailed upon to ask pardon for having introduced
Mrs. Minikin to women of rotten reputation, the parties were
reconciled to each other, and peace and concord re-established in
the mess.
Fathom acquired universal applause for his discreet and humane
conduct upon this occasion; and that same afternoon had an
opportunity of seeing the lady in whose cause he had exerted
himself. He was presented to her as the husband’s particular
friend, and when she understood how much she was indebted to his
care and concern for the captain’s safety, she treated him
with uncommon marks of distinction; and he found her a genteel,
well-bred woman, not without a good deal of personal charms, and a
well-cultivated understanding.
As she did not lodge within the precincts of this garrison, she
was one day, after tea, conducted to the gate by the captain and
the Count, and just as they approached the turnkey’s lodge,
our hero’s eyes were struck with the apparition of his old
companion Renaldo, son of his benefactor and patron, the Count de
Melvil. What were the emotions of his soul, when he saw that young
gentleman enter the prison, and advance towards him, after having
spoke to the jailor! He never doubted that, being informed of his
confinement, he was come to upbraid him with his villany and
ingratitude, and he in vain endeavoured to recollect himself from
that terror and guilty confusion which his appearance had inspired;
when the stranger, lifting up his eyes, started back with signs of
extreme amazement, and, after a considerable pause, exclaimed,
“Heaven and earth! Sure my eyes do not deceive me! is not
your name Fathom? It is, it must be my old friend and companion,
the loss of whom I have so long regretted!” With these words
he ran towards our adventurer, and, while he clasped him in his
arms with all the eagerness of affection, protested that this was
one of the happiest days he had ever seen.
Ferdinand, who, from this salutation, concluded himself still in
possession of Renaldo’s good opinion, was not deficient in
expressions of tenderness and joy; he returned his embraces with
equal ardour, the tears trickled down his cheeks, and that
perturbation which proceeded from conscious perfidy and fear, was
mistaken by the unsuspecting Hungarian for the sheer effects of
love, gratitude, and surprise. These first transports having
subsided, they adjourned to the lodgings of Fathom, who soon
recollected his spirits and invention so well as to amuse the other
with a feigned tale of his having been taken by the French, sent
prisoner into Champagne, from whence he had written many letters to
Count Melvil and his son, of whom he could hear no tidings; of his
having contracted an intimacy with a young nobleman of France, who
died in the flower of his age, after having, in token of his
friendship, bequeathed to him a considerable legacy; by this he had
been enabled to visit the land of his forefathers in the character
of a gentleman, which he had supported with some figure, until he
was betrayed into a misfortune that exhausted his funds, and drove
him to the spot where he was now found. And he solemnly declared,
that, far from forgetting the obligation he owed to Count Melvil,
or renouncing the friendship of Renaldo, he had actually resolved
to set out for Germany on his return to the house of his patron in
the beginning of the week posterior to that in which he had been
arrested.
Young Melvil, whose own heart had never known the instigations
of fraud, implicitly believed the story and protestations of
Fathom; and though he would not justify that part of his conduct by
which the term of his good fortune was abridged, he could not help
excusing an indiscretion into which he had been hurried by the
precipitancy of youth, and the allurements of an artful woman. Nay,
with the utmost warmth of friendship, he undertook to wait upon
Trapwell, and endeavour to soften him into some reasonable terms of
composition.
Fathom seemed to be quite overwhelmed with a deep sense of all
this goodness, and affected the most eager impatience to know the
particulars of Renaldo’s fate, since their unhappy
separation, more especially his errand to this uncomfortable place,
which he should henceforth revere as the providential scene of
their reunion. Nor did he forget to inquire, in the most
affectionate and dutiful manner, about the situation of his noble
parents and amiable sister.
At mention of these names, Renaldo, fetching a deep sigh,
“Alas! my friend,” said he, “the Count is no
more; and, what aggravates my affliction for the loss of such a
father, it was my misfortune to be under his displeasure at the
time of his death. Had I been present on that melancholy occasion,
so well I knew his generosity and paternal tenderness, that, sure I
am, he would in his last moments have forgiven an only son, whose
life had been a continual effort to render himself worthy of such a
parent, and whose crime was no other than an honourable passion for
the most meritorious of her sex. But I was removed at a fatal
distance from him, and doubtless my conduct must have been
invidiously misrepresented. Be that as it will, my mother has again
given her hand in wedlock to Count Trebasi; by whom I have the
mortification to be informed that I am totally excluded from my
father’s succession; and I learn from other quarters, that my
sister is barbarously treated by this inhuman father-in-law. Grant,
Heaven, I may soon have an opportunity of expostulating with the
tyrant upon that subject.”
So saying, his cheeks glowed, and his eyes lightened with
resentment. Then he thus proceeded: “My coming hither to-day
was with a view to visit a poor female relation, from whom I
yesterday received a letter, describing her most deplorable
situation, and soliciting my assistance; but the turnkey affirms
that there is no such person in the jail, and I was on my way to
consult the keeper, when I was agreeably surprised with the sight
of my dear Fathom.”
Our adventurer having wiped from his eyes the tears which were
produced by the news of his worthy patron’s death, desired to
know the name of that afflicted prisoner, in whose behalf he
interested himself so much, and Renaldo produced the letter,
subscribed, “Your unfortunate cousin, Helen Melvil.”
This pretended relation, after having explained the degree of
consanguinity which she and the Count stood in to each other, and
occasionally mentioned some anecdotes of the family in Scotland,
gave him to understand that she had married a merchant of London,
who, by repeated losses in trade, had been reduced to indigence,
and afterwards confined to prison, where he then lay a breathless
corpse, having left her in the utmost extremity of wretchedness and
want, with two young children in the smallpox, and an incurable
cancer in one of her own breasts. Indeed, the picture she drew was
so moving, and her expressions so sensibly pathetic, that no
person, whose heart was not altogether callous, could peruse it
without emotion. Renaldo had sent two guineas by the messenger,
whom she had represented as a trusty servant, whose fidelity had
been proof against all the distress of her mistress; and he was now
arrived in order to reinforce his bounty.
Fathom, in the consciousness of his own practices, immediately
comprehended the scheme of this letter, and confidently assured him
that no such person resided in the prison or in any other place.
And when his friend applied for information to the keeper, these
assurances were confirmed; and that stern janitor told him he had
been imposed upon by a stale trick, which was often practised upon
strangers by a set of sharpers, who make it their business to pick
up hints of intelligence relating to private families, upon which
they build such superstructures of fraud and imposition.
However piqued the young Hungarian might be to find himself
duped in this manner, he rejoiced at the occasion which had thrown
Fathom in his way; and, after having made him a tender of his
purse, took his leave, on purpose to wait upon Trapwell, who was
not quite so untractable as an enraged cuckold commonly is; for, by
this time, he had accomplished the best part of his aim, which was
to be divorced from his wife, and was fully convinced that the
defendant was no more than a needy adventurer, who, in all
probability, would be released by an act of parliament for the
benefit of insolvent debtors; in which case, he, the plaintiff,
would reap no solid advantage from his imprisonment.
He, therefore, listened to the remonstrances of the mediator,
and, after much canvassing, agreed to discharge the defendant, in
consideration of two hundred pounds, which were immediately paid by
Count Melvil, who, by this deduction, was reduced to somewhat less
than thirty.
Nevertheless, he cheerfully beggared himself in behalf of his
friend, for whose release he forthwith obtained an order; and, next
day, our adventurer, having bid a formal adieu to his fellows in
distress, and, in particular, to his majesty, for whose restoration
his prayers were preferred, he quitted the jail, and accompanied
his deliverer, with all the outward marks of unutterable gratitude
and esteem.
Surely, if his heart had been made of penetrable stuff, it would
have been touched by the circumstances of this redemption; but had
not his soul been invincible to all such attacks, these memoirs
would possibly never have seen the light.
When they arrived at Renaldo’s lodgings, that young
gentleman honoured him with other proofs of confidence and
friendship, by giving him a circumstantial detail of all the
adventures in which he had been engaged after Fathom’s
desertion from the imperial camp. He told him, that, immediately
after the war was finished, his father had pressed him to a very
advantageous match, with which he would have complied, though his
heart was not at all concerned, had not he been inflamed with the
desire of seeing the world before he could take any step towards a
settlement for life. That he had signified his sentiments on this
head to the Count, who opposed them with unusual obstinacy, as
productive of a delay which might be fatal to his proposal; for
which reason he had retired incognito from his family, and
travelled through sundry states and countries, in a disguise by
which he eluded the inquiries of his parents.
That, in the course of these peregrinations, he was captivated
by the irresistible charms of a young lady, on whose heart he had
the good fortune to make a tender impression. That their mutual
love had subjected both to many dangers and difficulties, during
which they suffered a cruel separation; after the torments of
which, he had happily found her in England, where she now lived
entirely cut off from her native country and connexions, and
destitute of every other resource but his honour, love, and
protection. And, finally, that he was determined to combat his own
desires, how violent soever they might be, until he should have
made some suitable provision for the consequences of a stricter
union with the mistress of his soul, that he might not, by a
precipitate marriage, ruin the person whom he adored.
This end he proposed to attain, by an application to the court
of Vienna, which he did not doubt would have some regard to his own
service, and that of his father; and thither he resolved to repair,
with the first opportunity, now that he had found a friend with
whom he could intrust the inestimable jewel of his heart.
He likewise gave our hero to understand, that he had been eight
months in England, during which he had lived in a frugal manner,
that he might not unnecessarily exhaust the money he had been able
to raise upon his own credit; that, hitherto, he had been obliged
to defer his departure for Germany on account of his attendance
upon the mother of his mistress, who was lately dead of sorrow and
chagrin; and that, since he resided in London, he had often heard
of the celebrated Count Fathom, though he never imagined that his
friend Ferdinand could be distinguished by that appellation.
Some circumstances of this conversation made a deep impression
upon the mind of our adventurer, who nevertheless concealed his
emotions from the knowledge of his friend, and was next day
introduced to that hidden treasure of which Renaldo had spoken with
such rapture and adoration. It was not without reason he had
expatiated upon the personal attractions of this young lady, whom,
for the present, we shall call Monimia, a name that implies her
orphan situation. When she entered the room, even Fathom, whose
eyes had been sated with beauty, was struck dumb with admiration,
and could scarce recollect himself so far as to perform the
ceremony of his introduction.
She seemed to be about the age of eighteen. Her stature was
tall; her motion graceful. A knot of artificial flowers restrained
the luxuriancy of her fine black hair, that flowed in shining
ringlets adown her snowy neck. The contour of her face was oval;
her forehead remarkably high; her complexion clean and delicate,
though not florid; and her eyes were so piercing, as to strike the
soul of every beholder. Yet, upon this occasion, one half of their
vivacity was eclipsed by a languishing air of melancholy concern;
which, while it in a manner sheathed the edge of her beauty, added
a most engaging sweetness to her looks. In short, every feature was
elegantly perfect; and the harmony of the whole ravishing and
delightful.
It was easy to perceive the mutual sentiments of the two lovers
at meeting, by the pleasure that sensibly diffused itself in the
countenances of both. Fathom was received by her as the intimate
friend of her admirer, whom she had often heard of in terms of the
most sincere affection; and the conversation was carried on in the
Italian language, because she was a foreigner who had not as yet
made great proficiency in the knowledge of the English tongue. Her
understanding was such as, instead of diminishing, reinforced the
prepossession which was inspired by her appearance; and if the
sum-total of her charms could not melt the heart, it at least
excited the appetite of Fathom to such a degree, that he gazed upon
her with such violence of desire, as had never transported him
before; and he instantly began to harbour thoughts, not only
destructive to the peace of his generous patron, but also to the
prudential maxims he had adopted on his first entrance into
life.
We have already recorded divers instances of his conduct to
prove that there was an intemperance in his blood, which often
interfered with his caution; and although he had found means to
render this heat sometimes subservient to his interest, yet, in all
probability, Heaven mingled the ingredient in his constitution, on
purpose to counteract his consummate craft, defeat the villany of
his intention, and at least expose him to the justice of the law,
and the contempt of his fellow-creatures.
Stimulated as he was by the beauty of the incomparable Monimia,
he foresaw that the conquest of her heart would cost him a thousand
times more labour and address than all the victories he had ever
achieved; for, besides her superior understanding, her sentiments
of honour, virtue, gratitude, religion, and pride of birth, her
heart was already engaged by the tenderest ties of love and
obligation, to a man whose person and acquired accomplishments at
least equalled his own; and whose connexion with him was of such a
nature as raised an almost insurmountable bar to his design;
because, with what face could he commence rival to the person whose
family had raised him from want and servility, and whose own
generosity had rescued him from the miseries of a dreary gaol?
Notwithstanding these reflections, he would not lay aside an
idea which so agreeably flattered his imagination. He, like every
other projector in the same circumstances, was so partial to his
own qualifications, as to think the lady would soon perceive a
difference between him and Renaldo that could not fail to turn to
his advantage in her opinion. He depended a good deal on the levity
and inconstancy of the sex; and did not doubt that, in the course
of their acquaintance, he should profit by that languor which often
creeps upon and flattens the intercourse of lovers cloyed with the
sight and conversation of each other.
This way of arguing was very natural to a man who had never
known other motives than those of sensuality and convenience; and
perhaps, upon these maxims, he might have succeeded with
nine-tenths of the fair sex. But, for once, he erred in his
calculation; Monimia’s soul was perfect, her virtue
impregnable. His first approaches were, as usual, performed by the
method of insinuation, which succeeded so well, that in a few days
he actually acquired a very distinguished share of her favour and
esteem. To this he had been recommended, in the warmest strain of
exaggerating friendship, by her dear Renaldo; so that, placing the
most unreserved confidence in his honour and integrity, and being
almost quite destitute of acquaintance, she made no scruple of
owning herself pleased with his company and conversation; and
therefore he was never abridged in point of opportunity. She had
too much discernment to overlook his uncommon talents and agreeable
address, and too much susceptibility to observe them with
indifference. She not only regarded him as the confidant of her
lover, but admired him as a person whose attachment did honour to
Count Melvil’s choice. She found his discourse remarkably
entertaining, his politeness dignified with an air of uncommon
sincerity, and she was ravished with his skill in music, an art of
which she was deeply enamoured.
While he thus ingratiated himself with the fair Monimia, Renaldo
rejoiced at their intimacy, being extremely happy in the thought of
having found a friend who could amuse and protect the dear creature
in his absence. That she might be the better prepared for the
temporary separation which he meditated, he began to be less
frequent in his visits, or rather to interrupt, by gradual
intermissions, the constant attendance he had bestowed upon her
since her mother’s death. This alteration she was enabled to
bear by the assiduities of Fathom, when she understood that her
lover was indispensably employed in negotiating a sum of money for
the purposes of his intended voyage. This was really the case; for,
as the reader hath been already informed, the provision he had made
for that emergency was expended in behalf of our adventurer; and
the persons of whom he had borrowed it, far from approving of the
use to which it was put, and accommodating him with a fresh supply,
reproached him with his benevolence as an act of dishonesty to
them; and, instead of favouring this second application, threatened
to distress him for what he had already received. While he
endeavoured to surmount these difficulties, his small reversion was
quite exhausted, and he saw himself on the brink of wanting the
common necessaries of life.
There was no difficulty which he could not have encountered with
fortitude, had he alone been concerned. But his affection and
regard for Monimia were of such a delicate nature, that, far from
being able to bear the prospect of her wanting the least
convenience, he could not endure that she should suspect her
situation cost him a moment’s perplexity; because he foresaw
it would wring her gentle heart with unspeakable anguish and
vexation. This, therefore, he endeavoured to anticipate by
expressions of confidence in the Emperor’s equity, and
frequent declarations touching the goodness and security of that
credit from which he derived his present subsistence.
His affairs being thus circumstanced, it is not to be supposed
that he passed his time in tranquillity. Every day ushered in new
demands and fresh anxiety; for though his economy was frugal, it
could not be supported without money; and now not only his funds
were drained, but also his private friends tired of relieving his
domestic necessities; nay, they began to relinquish his company,
which formerly they had coveted; and those who still favoured him
with their company embittered that favour with disagreeable advice,
mingled with impertinent reproof. They loudly exclaimed against the
last instance of his friendship for Fathom, as a piece of
wrong-headed extravagance, which neither his fortune could afford
nor his conscience excuse; and alleged that such specimens of
generosity are vicious in any man, let his finances be never so
opulent, if he has any relations of his own who need his
assistance; but altogether scandalous, not to say unjust, in a
person who depends for his own support on the favour of his
friends.
These expostulations did not even respect the beauteous, the
accomplished, the gentle-hearted, the orphan Monimia. Although they
owned her perfections, and did not deny that it would be highly
meritorious in any man of fortune to make her happy, they
disapproved of Renaldo’s attachment to the fair beggar, made
light of that intimate union of hearts which subsisted between the
two lovers, and which no human consideration could dissolve; and
some among them, in the consummation of their prudence, ventured to
hint a proposal of providing for her in the service of some lady of
fashion.
Any reader of sensibility will easily conceive how these
admonitions were relished by a young gentleman whose pride was
indomitable, whose notions of honour were scrupulously rigid and
romantic, whose temper was warm, and whose love was intense. Every
such suggestion was as a dagger to his soul; and what rendered the
torture more exquisite, he lay under obligations to those very
persons whose selfish and sordid sentiments he disdained; so that
he was restricted by gratitude from giving vent to his indignation,
and his forlorn circumstances would not permit him to renounce
their acquaintance. While he struggled with these mortifications,
his wants grew more and more importunate, and his creditors became
clamorous.
Fathom, to whom all his grievances were disclosed, lamented his
hard hap with all the demonstrations of sympathy which he could
expect to find in such a zealous adherent. He upbraided himself
incessantly as the cause of his patron’s distress; took God
to witness that he would rather have perished in gaol than have
enjoyed his liberty, had he known it would have cost his dearest
friend and benefactor one-tenth part of the anguish he now saw him
suffer; and, in conclusion, the fervency of his affection glowed to
such a degree, that he offered to beg, steal, or plunder on the
highway, for Renaldo’s assistance.
Certain it is, he might have recollected a less disagreeable
expedient than any of these to alleviate the pangs of this unhappy
lover; for, at that very period he was possessed of money and
moveables to the amount of a much greater sum than that which was
necessary to remove the severest pangs of the Count’s
misfortune. But, whether he did not reflect upon this resource, or
was willing to let Melvil be better acquainted with adversity,
which is the great school of life, I shall leave the reader to
determine. Yet, so far was he from supplying the wants of the young
Hungarian, that he did not scruple to receive a share of the
miserable pittance which that gentleman made shift to extort from
the complaisance of a few companions, whose countenance he still
enjoyed.
Renaldo’s life was now become a sacrifice to the most
poignant distress. Almost his whole time was engrossed by a double
scheme, comprehending his efforts to render his departure
practicable, and his expedients for raising the means of daily
bread. With regard to the first, he exerted himself among a set of
merchants, some of whom knew his family and expectations; and, for
the last, he was fain to depend upon the assistance of a few
intimates, who were not in a condition to furnish him with sums of
consequence. These, however, gradually dropped off, on pretence of
friendly resentment for his indiscreet conduct; so that he found
himself naked and deserted by all his former companions, except one
gentleman, with whom he had lived in the most unreserved
correspondence, as with a person of the warmest friendship, and the
most unbounded benevolence; nay, he had actually experienced
repeated proofs of his generosity; and such were the Count’s
sentiments of the gratitude, love, and esteem, which were due to
the author of these obligations, that he would have willingly laid
down his own life for his interest or advantage. He had already
been at different times accommodated by this benefactor with
occasional supplies, amounting in the whole to about forty or fifty
pounds; and so fearful was he of taking any step by which he might
forfeit the goodwill of this gentleman, that he struggled with
unparelleled difficulty and vexation, before he could prevail upon
himself to put his liberality to another proof.
What maxims of delicacy will not the dire calls of necessity
infringe! Reduced to the alternative of applying once more to that
beneficence which had never failed him, or of seeing Monimia
starve, he chose the first, as of two evils the least, and
intrusted Fathom with a letter explaining the bitterness of his
case. It was not without trepidation that he received in the
evening from his messenger an answer to this billet; but what were
his pangs when he learned the contents! The gentleman, after having
professed himself Melvil’s sincere well-wisher, gave him to
understand, that he was resolved for the future to detach himself
from every correspondence which would be inconvenient for him to
maintain; that he considered his intimacy with the Count in that
light; yet, nevertheless, if his distress was really as great as he
had described it, he would still contribute something towards his
relief; and accordingly had sent by the bearer five guineas for
that purpose; but desired him to take notice, that, in so doing, he
laid himself under some difficulty.
Renaldo’s grief and mortification at this disappointment
were unspeakable. He now saw demolished the last screen betwixt him
and the extremity of indigence and woe; he beheld the mistress of
his soul abandoned to the bleakest scenes of poverty and want; and
he deeply resented the lofty strain of the letter, by which he
conceived himself treated as a worthless spendthrift and
importunate beggar. Though his purse was exhausted to the last
shilling; though he was surrounded with necessities and demands,
and knew not how to provide another meal for his fair dependent,
he, in opposition to all the suggestions and eloquence of Fathom,
despatched him with the money and another billet, intimating, in
the most respectful terms, that he approved of his friend’s
new-adopted maxim, which, for the future, he should always take
care to remember; and that he had sent back the last instance of
his bounty, as a proof how little he was disposed to incommode his
benefactor.
This letter, though sincerely meant, and written in a very
serious mood, the gentleman considered as an ungrateful piece of
irony, and in that opinion complained to several persons of the
Count’s acquaintance, who unanimously exclaimed against him
as a sordid, unthankful, and profligate knave, that abused and
reviled those very people who had generously befriended him,
whenever they found it inconvenient to nourish his extravagance
with further supplies. Notwithstanding these accumulated
oppressions, he still persevered with fortitude in his endeavours
to disentangle himself from this maze of misery. To these he was
encouraged by a letter which about this time he received from his
sister, importing, that she had good reason to believe the real
will of her father had been suppressed for certain sinister views;
and desiring him to hasten his departure for Hungary, where he
would still find some friends who were both able and willing to
support his cause. He had some trinkets left; the
pawnbroker’s shop was still open; and hitherto he made shift
to conceal from Monimia the extent of his affliction.
The money-broker whom he employed, after having amused him with
a variety of schemes, which served no other purpose than that of
protracting his own job, at length undertook to make him acquainted
with a set of monied men who had been very venturous in lending
sums upon personal security; he was therefore introduced to their
club in the most favourable manner, after the broker had
endeavoured to prepossess them separately, with magnificent ideas
of his family and fortune.—By means of this anticipation he
was received with a manifest relaxation of that severity which
people of this class mingle in their aspects to the world in
general; and they even vied with each other in their demonstrations
of hospitality and respect; for every one in particular looked upon
him as a young heir, who would bleed freely, and mortgage at cent.
per cent.
Renaldo, buoyed up with these exterior civilities, began to
flatter himself with hopes of success, which, however, were soon
checked by the nature of the conversation; during which the
chairman upbraided one of the members in open club for having once
lent forty pounds upon slight security. The person accused alleged,
in his own defence, that the borrower was his own kinsman, whose
funds he knew to be sufficient; that he had granted his bond, and
been at the expense of insuring his life for the money; and, in
conclusion, had discharged it to the day with great punctuality.
These allegations were not deemed exculpatory by the rest of the
assembly, who with one voice pronounced him guilty of unwarrantable
rashness and indiscretion, which, in time coming, must undoubtedly
operate to the prejudice of his character and credit.
This was a bitter declaration to the young Count, who
nevertheless endeavoured to improve the footing he had gained among
them, by courting their company, conforming to their manners, and
attentively listening to their discourse. When he had cultivated
them with great assiduity for the space of some weeks, dined at
their houses upon pressing invitations, and received repeated
offers of service and friendship, believing that things were now
ripe for the purpose, he, one day, at a tavern to which he had
invited him to dinner, ventured to disclose his situation to him
whose countenance was the least unpromising; and as he introduced
the business with a proposal of borrowing money, he perceived his
eyes sparkle with a visible alacrity, from which he drew a happy
presage. But, alas! this was no more than a transient gleam of
sunshine, which was suddenly obumbrated by the sequel of his
explanation; insomuch, that, when the merchant understood the
nature of the security, his visage was involved in a most
disagreeable gloom, and his eyes distorted into a most hideous
obliquity of vision; indeed, he squinted so horribly, that Renaldo
was amazed and almost affrighted at his looks, until he perceived
that this distortion proceeded from concern for a silver tobacco
box which he had laid down by him on the table, after having filled
his pipe. As the youth proceeded to unfold his necessities, the
other became gradually alarmed for this utensil, to which he darted
his eyes askance in this preternatural direction, until he had
slyly secured it in his pocket.
Having made this successful conveyance, he shifted his eyes
alternately from the young gentleman to the broker for a
considerable pause, during which he in silence reproached the last
for introducing such a beggarly varlet to his acquaintance; then
taking the pipe from his mouth, “Sir,” said he,
addressing himself to the Count, “if I had all the
inclination in the world to comply with your proposal, it is really
not in my power. My correspondents abroad have remitted such a
number of bad bills of late, that all my running cash hath been
exhausted in supporting their credit. Mr. Ferret, sure I am, you
was not ignorant of my situation; and I’m not a little
surprised that you should bring the gentleman to me on business of
this kind; but, as the wise man observes, Bray a fool in a mortar,
and he’ll never be wise.” So saying, with a most
emphatic glance directed to the broker, he rung the bell, and
called for the reckoning; when, finding that he was to be the guest
of Renaldo, he thanked him drily for his good cheer, and in an
abrupt manner took himself away.
Though baffled in this quarter, the young gentleman would not
despair; but forthwith employed Mr. Ferret in an application to
another of the society; who, after having heard the terms of his
commission, desired him to tell his principal, that he could do
nothing without the concurrence of his partner, who happened to be
at that time in one of our American plantations. A third being
solicited, excused himself on account of an oath which he had
lately taken on the back of a considerable loss. A fourth being
tried, made answer, that it was not in his way. And a fifth
candidly owned, that he never lent money without proper
security.
Thus the forlorn Renaldo tried every experiment without success,
and now saw the last ray of hope extinguished. Well-nigh destitute
of present support, and encompassed with unrelenting duns, he was
obliged to keep within doors, and seek some comfort in the
conversation of his charming mistress, and his faithful friend;
yet, even there, he experienced the extremest rigour of adverse
fate. Every rap at the door alarmed him with the expectation of
some noisy tradesman demanding payment. When he endeavoured to
amuse himself with drawing, some unlucky feature of the occasional
portrait recalled the image of an obdurate creditor, and made him
tremble at the work of his own hands. When he fled for shelter to
the flattering creation of fancy, some abhorred idea always started
up amidst the gay vision, and dissolved the pleasing
enchantment.—Even the seraphic voice of Monimia had no longer
power to compose the anxious tumults of his mind. Every song she
warbled, every tune she played, recalled to his remembrance some
scene of love and happiness elapsed; and overwhelmed his soul with
the woful comparison of past and present fate. He saw all that was
amiable and perfect in woman, all that he held most dear and sacred
upon earth, tottering on the brink of misery, without knowing the
danger of her situation, and found himself unable to prevent her
fall, or even to forewarn her of the peril; for as we have already
observed, his soul could not brook the thought of communicating the
tidings of distress to the tender-hearted Monimia.
Such aggravated misfortune could not fail to affect his temper
and deportment. The continual efforts he made to conceal his
vexation produced a manifest distraction in his behaviour and
discourse. He began to be seized with horror at the sight of poor
Monimia, whom he therefore shunned as much as the circumstances of
their correspondence would allow; and every evening he went forth
alone to some solitary place, where he could, unperceived, give a
loose to the transports of his sorrow, and in silence meditate some
means to lighten the burden of his woe. His heart was sometimes so
savaged with despair, which represented mankind as his inveterate
enemies, that he entertained thoughts of denouncing war against the
whole community, and supplying his own wants with the spoils he
should win. At other times he was tempted with the desire of
putting an end to his miseries and life together. Yet these were
but the transitory suggestions of temporary madness, that soon
yielded to the dictates of reason. From the execution of the first
he was restrained by his own notions of honour and morality; and,
from using the other expedient, he was deterred by his love for
Monimia, together with the motives of philosophy and religion.
While in this manner he secretly nursed the worm of grief that
preyed upon his vitals, the alteration in his countenance and
conduct did not escape the eyes of that discerning young lady. She
was alarmed at the change, yet afraid to inquire into the source of
it; for, being ignorant of his distress, she could impute it to no
cause in which her happiness was not deeply interested. She had
observed his strained complaisance and extraordinary emotion. She
had detected him in repeated attempts to avoid her company, and
taken notice of his regular excursions in the dark. These were
alarming symptoms to a lover of her delicacy and pride. She strove
in vain to put the most favourable construction on what she saw;
and, finally, imputed the effects of his despondence to the
alienation of his heart. Made miserable beyond expression by these
suspicions, she imparted them to Fathom, who, by this time, was in
full possession of her confidence and esteem, and implored his
advice touching her conduct in such a nice conjuncture.
This artful politician, who rejoiced at the effect of her
penetration, no sooner heard himself questioned on the subject,
than he gave tokens of surprise and confusion, signifying his
concern to find she had discovered what, for the honour of his
friend, he wished had never come to light. His behaviour on this
occasion confirmed her fatal conjecture; and she conjured him, in
the most pathetic manner, to tell her if he thought Renaldo’s
heart had contracted any new engagement. At this question, he
started with signs of extreme agitation, and stifling an artificial
sigh, “Sure, madam,” said he, “you cannot doubt
the Count’s constancy—I am confident—he is
certainly—I protest, madam, I am so shocked.”
Here he made a full pause, as if the conflict between his
integrity and his friendship would not allow him to proceed, and
summoned the moisture into either eye—“Then are my
doubts removed,” cried the afflicted Monimia; “I see
your candour in the midst of your attachment to Renaldo; and will
no longer torment you with impertinent interrogations and vain
complaints.” With these words, a flood of tears gushed from
her enchanting eyes, and she instantly withdrew into her own
apartment, where she indulged her sorrow to excess. Nor was her
grief unanimated with resentment. She was by birth, nature, and
education inspired with that dignity of pride which ennobles the
human heart; and this, by the circumstance of her present
dependence, was rendered extremely jealous and susceptible;
insomuch that she could not brook the least shadow of indifference,
much less an injury of such a nature, from the man whom she had
honoured with her affections, and for whom she had disobliged and
deserted her family and friends.
Though her love was so unalterably fixed on this unhappy youth,
that, without the continuation of reciprocal regard, her life would
have become an unsupportable burden, even amidst all the splendour
of affluence and pomp; and although she foresaw, that, when his
protection should cease, she must be left a wretched orphan in a
foreign land, exposed to all the miseries of want; yet, such was
the loftiness of her displeasure, that she disdained to complain,
or even demand an explanation from the supposed author of her
wrongs.
While she continued undetermined in her purpose, and fluctuating
on this sea of torture, Fathom, believing that now was the season
for working upon her passions, while they were all in commotion,
became, if possible, more assiduous than ever about the fair
mourner, modelled his features into a melancholy cast, pretended to
share her distress with the most emphatic sympathy, and endeavoured
to keep her resentment glowing by cunning insinuations, which,
though apparently designed to apologise for his friend, served only
to aggravate the guilt of his perfidy and dishonour. This pretext
of friendly concern is the most effectual vehicle for the
conveyance of malice and slander; and a man’s reputation is
never so mortally stabbed, as when the assassin begins with the
preamble of, “For my own part, I can safely say that no man
upon earth has a greater regard for him than I have; and it is with
the utmost anguish and concern that I see him misbehave in such a
manner.” Then he proceeds to mangle his character, and the
good-natured hearers, concluding he is even blacker than he is
represented, on the supposition that the most atrocious
circumstances are softened or suppressed by the tenderness or
friendship of the accuser, exclaim, “Good lack! what a wretch
he must be, when his best friends will no longer attempt to defend
him!” Nay, sometimes these well-wishers undertake his
defence, and treacherously betray the cause they have espoused, by
omitting the reasons that may be urged in his vindication.
Both these methods were practised by the wily Ferdinand,
according to the predominant passion of Monimia. When her
indignation prevailed, he expatiated upon his love and sincere
regard for Renaldo, which, he said, had grown up from the cradle,
to such a degree of fervour, that he would willingly part with life
for his advantage. He shed tears for his apostasy; but every drop
made an indelible stain upon his character; and, in the bitterness
of his grief, swore, notwithstanding his fondness for Renaldo,
which had become a part of his constitution, that the young
Hungarian deserved the most infamous destiny for having injured
such perfection. At other times, when he found her melted into
silent sorrow, he affected to excuse the conduct of his friend. He
informed her, that the young gentleman’s temper had been
uneven from his infancy; that frailty was natural to man; that he
might in time be reclaimed by self-conviction; he even hinted, that
she might have probably ascribed to inconstancy, what was really
the effect of some chagrin which he industriously concealed from
his participation. But, when he found her disposed to listen to
this last suggestion, he destroyed the force of it, by recollecting
the circumstances of his nocturnal rambles, which, he owned, would
admit of no favourable construction.
By these means he blew the coals of her jealousy, and enhanced
the value of his own character at the same time; for she looked
upon him as a mirror of faith and integrity, and the mind being
overcharged with woe, naturally seeks some confidant, upon whose
sympathy it can repose itself. Indeed, his great aim was to make
himself necessary to her affliction, and settle a gossiping
correspondence, in the familiarity of which he hoped his purpose
would certainly be answered.
Yet the exertion of these talents was not limited to her alone.
While he laid these trains for the hapless young lady, he was
preparing snares of another kind for her unsuspecting lover, who,
for the completion of his misery, about this time began to perceive
marks of disquiet and displeasure in the countenance and deportment
of his adored Monimia. For that young lady, in the midst of her
grief, remembered her origin, and over her vexation affected to
throw a veil of tranquillity, which served only to give an air of
disgust to her internal disturbance.
Renaldo, whose patience and philosophy were barely sufficient to
bear the load of his other evils, would have been quite overwhelmed
with the additional burden of Monimia’s woe, if it had not
assumed this appearance of disesteem, which, as he knew he had not
deserved it, brought his resentment to his assistance. Yet this was
but a wretched cordial to support him against the baleful
reflections that assaulted him from every quarter; it operated like
those desperate remedies, which, while they stimulate exhausted
nature, help to destroy the very fundamentals of the constitution.
He reviewed his own conduct with the utmost severity, and could not
recollect one circumstance which could justly offend the idol of
his soul. The more blameless he appeared to himself in this
examination, the less excusable did her behaviour appear. He tasked
his penetration to discover the cause of this alteration; he burned
with impatience to know it; his discernment failed him, and he was
afraid, though he knew not why, to demand an explanation. His
thoughts were so circumstanced, that he durst not even unbosom
himself to Fathom, though his own virtue and friendship resisted
those sentiments that began to intrude upon his mind, with
suggestions to the prejudice of our adventurer’s
fidelity.
Nevertheless, unable to endure the torments of such interesting
suspense, he at length made an effort to expostulate with the fair
orphan; and in an abrupt address, the effect of his fear and
confusion, begged to know if he had inadvertently done anything to
incur her displeasure. Monimia, hearing herself bluntly accosted in
this unusual strain, after repeated instances of his reserve and
supposed inconstancy, considered the question as a fresh insult,
and, summoning her whole pride to her assistance, replied, with
affected tranquillity, or rather with an air of scorn, that she had
no title to judge, neither did she pretend to condemn his conduct.
This answer, so wide of that tenderness and concern which had
hitherto manifested itself in the disposition of his amiable
mistress, deprived him of all power to carry on the conversation,
and he retired with a low bow, fully convinced of his having
irretrievably lost the place he had possessed in her affection;
for, to his imagination, warped and blinded by his misfortunes, her
demeanour seemed fraught, not with a transient gleam of anger,
which a respectful lover would soon have appeased, but with that
contempt and indifference which denote a total absence of affection
and esteem. She, on the other hand, misconstrued his sudden
retreat; and now they beheld the actions of each other through the
false medium of prejudice and resentment. To such fatal
misunderstandings the peace and happiness of whole families often
fall a sacrifice.
Influenced by this dire mistake, the breast of those unhappy
lovers began to be invaded with the horrors of jealousy. The
tender-hearted Monimia endeavoured to devour her griefs in silence;
she in secret bemoaned her forlorn fate without ceasing; her tears
flowed without intermission from night to morn, and from morn to
night. She sought not to know the object for which she was
forsaken; she meant not to upbraid her undoer; her aim was to find
a sequestered corner, in which she could indulge her sorrow; where
she could brood over the melancholy remembrance of her former
felicity; where she could recollect those happy scenes she had
enjoyed under the wings of her indulgent parents, when her whole
life was a revolution of pleasures, and she was surrounded with
affluence, pomp, and admiration; where she could, unmolested, dwell
upon the wretched comparison between her past and present
condition, and paint every circumstance of her misery in the most
aggravating colours, that they might make the deeper impression
upon her mind, and the more speedily contribute to that dissolution
for which she ardently wished, as a total release from woe.
Amidst these pinings, she began to loathe all sustenance; her
cheeks grew wan, her bright eyes lost their splendour, the roses
vanished from her lips, and her delicate limbs could hardly support
their burden; in a word, her sole consolation was limited to the
prospect of depositing her sorrows in the grave; and her only wish
was to procure a retreat in which she might wait with resignation
for that happy period. Yet this melancholy comfort she could not
obtain without the advice and mediation of Fathom, whom she
therefore still continued to see and consult. While these
consultations were held, Renaldo’s bosom was ravaged with
tempests of rage and distraction. He believed himself superseded in
the affection of his mistress, by some favoured rival, whose
success rankled at his soul; and though he scarce durst communicate
the suspicion to his own heart, his observation continually
whispered to him that he was supplanted by his friend Fathom; for
Monimia was totally detached from the conversation of every other
man, and he had of late noted their intercourse with distempered
eyes.
These considerations sometimes transported him to such a degree
of frenzy, that he was tempted to sacrifice them both as traitors
to gratitude, friendship, and love; but such deliriums soon
vanished before his honour and humanity. He would not allow himself
to think amiss of Ferdinand, until some undoubted mark of his guilt
should appear; and this was so far from being the case, that
hitherto there was scarce a presumption. “On the
contrary,” said he to himself, “I am hourly receiving
proofs of his sympathy and attachment. Not but that he may be the
innocent cause of my mishap. His superior qualifications may have
attracted the eye, and engaged the heart of that inconstant fair,
without his being sensible of the victory he has won; or, perhaps,
shocked at the conquest he hath unwillingly made, he discourages
her advances, tries to reason down her unjustifiable passion, and
in the meantime conceals from me the particulars, out of regard to
my happiness and quiet.”
Under cover of these favourable conjectures, our adventurer
securely prosecuted his scheme upon the unfortunate Monimia. He
dedicated himself wholly to her service and conversation, except at
those times when his company was requested by Renaldo, who now very
seldom exacted his attendance. In his ministry about the person of
the beauteous orphan, this cunning incendiary mingled such awful
regard, such melting compassion, as effectually screened him from
the suspicion of treachery, while he widened the fatal breach
between her and her lover by the most diabolical insinuations. He
represented his friend as a voluptuary, who gratified his own
appetite without the least regard to honour or conscience; and,
with a show of infinite reluctance, imparted some anecdotes of his
sensuality, which he had feigned for the purpose; then he would
exclaim in an affected transport, “Gracious Heaven! is it
possible for any man who has the least title to perception or
humanity to injure such innocence and perfection! for my own part,
had I been so undeservedly happy—Heaven and earth! forgive my
transports, madam, I cannot help seeing and admiring such divine
attractions. I cannot help resenting your wrongs; it is the cause
of virtue I espouse; it ought to be the cause of every honest
man.”
He had often repeated such apostrophes as these, which she
ascribed to nothing else than sheer benevolence and virtuous
indignation, and actually began to think he had made some
impression upon her heart, not that he now entertained the hope of
an immediate triumph over her chastity. The more he contemplated
her character, the more difficult the conquest seemed to be: he
therefore altered his plan, and resolved to carry on his operations
under the shelter of honourable proposals, foreseeing that a wife
of her qualifications, if properly managed, would turn greatly to
the account of the husband, or, if her virtue should prove
refractory, that he could at any time rid himself of the
encumbrance, by decamping without beat of drum, after he should be
cloyed with possession.
Elevated by these expectations, he one day, in the midst of a
preconcerted rhapsody, importing that he could no longer conceal
the fire that preyed upon his heart, threw himself on his knees
before the lovely mourner, and imprinted a kiss on her fair hand.
Though he did not presume to take this liberty till after such
preparation as he thought had altogether extinguished her regard
for Melvil, and paved the way for his own reception in room of that
discarded lover, he had so far overshot his mark, that Monimia,
instead of favouring his declaration, started up, and retired in
silence, her cheeks glowing with shame, and her eyes gleaming with
indignation.
Ferdinand no sooner recovered from the confusion produced by
this unexpected repulse, than he saw the necessity of coming to a
speedy determination, lest the offended fair one should appeal to
Renaldo, in which case they might be mutually undeceived, to his
utter shame and confusion; he therefore resolved to deprecate her
anger by humble supplications, and by protesting, that, whatever
tortures he might suffer by suppressing his sentiments, she should
never again be offended with a declaration of his passion.
Having thus appeased the gentle Monimia, and discovered that, in
spite of her resentment, his friend still kept possession of her
heart, he determined to work an effectual separation, so as that
the young lady, being utterly deserted by Melvil, should be left
altogether in his power. With this Christian intention, he began to
sadden his visage with a double shade of pensive melancholy, in the
presence of Renaldo, to stifle a succession of involuntary sighs,
to answer from the purpose, to be incoherent in his discourse, and,
in a word, to act the part of a person wrapt up in sorrowful
cogitation.
Count Melvil, soon as he perceived these symptoms, very kindly
inquired into the cause of them, and was not a little alarmed to
hear the artful and evasive answers of Ferdinand, who, without
disclosing the source of his disquiet, earnestly begged leave to
retire into some other corner of the world. Roused by this
entreaty, the Hungarian’s jealousy awoke, and with violent
agitation, he exclaimed, “Then are my fears too true, my dear
Fathom: I comprehend the meaning of your request. I have for some
time perceived an host of horrors approaching from that quarter. I
know your worth and honour. I depend upon your friendship, and
conjure you, by all the ties of it, to free me at once from the
most miserable suspense, by owning you have involuntarily
captivated the heart of that unhappy maiden.”
To this solemn interrogation he made no reply, but shedding a
flood of tears, of which he had always a magazine at command, he
repeated his desire of withdrawing, and took God to witness, that
what he proposed was solely for the quiet of his honoured patron
and beloved friend. “Enough,” cried the unfortunate
Renaldo, “the measure of my woes is now filled up.” So
saying, he fell backwards in a swoon, from which he was with
difficulty recovered to the sensation of the most exquisite
torments. During this paroxysm, our adventurer nursed him with
infinite care and tenderness, he exhorted him to summon all his
fortitude to his assistance, to remember his forefathers, and exert
himself in the imitation of their virtues, to fly from those
bewitching charms which had enslaved his better part, to retrieve
his peace of mind by reflecting on the inconstancy and ingratitude
of woman, and amuse his imagination in the pursuit of honour and
glory.
After these admonitions he abused his ears with a forged detail
of the gradual advances made to him by Monimia, and the steps he
had taken to discourage her addresses, and re-establish her virtue,
poisoning the mind of that credulous youth to such a degree, that,
in all probability, he would have put a fatal period to his own
existence, had not Fathom found means to allay the rage of his
ecstasy, by the cunning arrangement of opposite considerations. He
set his pride against his love, he opposed his resentment to his
sorrow, and his ambition to his despair. Notwithstanding the
balance of power so settled among these antagonists, so violent
were the shocks of their successive conflicts, that his bosom fared
like a wretched province, harassed, depopulated, and laid waste, by
two fierce contending armies. From this moment his life was nothing
but an alternation of starts and reveries; he wept and raved by
turns, according to the prevailing gust of passion; food became a
stranger to his lips, and sleep to his eyelids; he could not
support the presence of Monimia, her absence increased the torture
of his pangs; and, when he met her by accident, he started back
with horror, like a traveller who chances to tread upon a
snake.
The poor afflicted orphan, worn to a shadow with self-consuming
anguish, eager to find some lowly retreat, where she could breath
out her soul in peace, and terrified at the frantic behaviour of
Renaldo, communicated to Fathom her desire of removing, and begged
that he would take a small picture of her father, decorated with
diamonds, and convert them into money, for the expense of her
subsistence. This was the last pledge of her family, which she had
received from her mother, who had preserved it in the midst of
numberless distresses, and no other species of misery but that
which she groaned under could have prevailed upon the daughter to
part with it; but, exclusive of other motives, the very image
itself, by recalling to her mind the honours of her name, upbraided
her with living in dependence upon a man who had treated her with
such indignity and ingratitude; besides, she flattered herself with
the hope that she should not long survive the loss of this
testimonial.
Our adventurer, with many professions of sorrow and
mortification at his own want of capacity to prevent such an
alienation, undertook to dispose of it to the best advantage, and
to provide her with a cheap and retired apartment, to which he
would conduct her in safety, though at the hazard of his life. In
the meantime, however, he repaired to his friend Renaldo, and,
after having admonished him to arm his soul with patience and
philosophy, declared that Monimia’s guilty passion for
himself could no longer be kept within bounds, that she had
conjured him, in the most pressing manner, to assist her in
escaping from an house which she considered as the worst of
dungeons, because she was in it daily exposed to the sight and
company of a man whom she detested, and that she had bribed him to
compliance with her request, not only with repeated promises of
eternal love and submission, but also with the picture of her
father set with diamonds, which she had hitherto reserved as the
last and greatest testimony of her affection and esteem.
With these words he presented the fatal pledge to the eyes of
the astonished youth, upon whom it operated like the poisonous
sight of the basilisk, for in an instant, the whole passions of his
soul were in the most violent agitation. “What!” cried
he, in an ecstasy of rage, “is she so abandoned to perfidy,
so lost to shame, so damned to constancy, to gratitude, and
virtuous love, as to meditate the means of leaving me without
decency, without remorse! to forsake me in my adversity, when my
hapless fortune can no longer flatter the pride and vanity of her
expectation! O woman! woman! woman! what simile shall I find to
illustrate the character of the sex? But I will not have recourse
to vain complaints and feeble exclamations. By Heaven! she shall
not ‘scape, she shall not triumph in her levity, she shall
not exult in my distress; no! I will rather sacrifice her to my
just resentment, to the injured powers of love and friendship. I
will act the avenging minister of Heaven! I will mangle that fair
bosom, which contains so false a heart! I will tear her to pieces,
and scatter those beauteous limbs as a prey to the beasts of the
field, and the fowls of the air!”
Fathom, who expected this storm, far from attempting to oppose
its progress, waited with patience until its first violence was
overblown; then, assuming an air of condolence, animated with that
resolution which a friend ought to maintain on such occasions,
“My dear Count,” said he, “I am not at all
surprised at your emotion, because I know what an heart,
susceptible as yours, must feel from the apostasy of one who has
reigned so long the object of your love, admiration, and esteem.
Your endeavours to drive her from your thoughts must create an
agony much more severe than that which divorces the soul from the
body. Nevertheless, I am so confident of your virtue and your
manhood, as to foresee, that you will allow the fair Monimia to
execute that resolution which she hath so unwisely taken, to
withdraw herself from your love and protection. Believe me, my best
friend and benefactor, this is a step, in consequence of which you
will infallibly retrieve your peace of mind. It may cost you many
bitter pangs, it may probe your wounds to the quick; but those
pangs will be soothed by the gentle and salutary wing of time, and
that probing will rouse you to a due sense of your own dignity and
importance, which will enable you to convert your attention to
objects far more worthy of your contemplation. All the hopes of
happiness you had cherished in the possession of Monimia are now
irrecoverably blasted; her heart is now debased beneath your
consideration; her love is, without all doubt, extinguished, and
her honour irretrievably lost; insomuch, that, were she to profess
sorrow for her indiscretion, and implore your forgiveness, with the
most solemn promises of regarding you for the future with
unalterable fidelity and affection, you ought not to restore her to
that place in your heart which she hath so meanly forfeited,
because you could not at the same time reinstate her in the
possession of that delicate esteem without which there is no
harmony, no rapture, no true enjoyment in love.
“No, my dear Renaldo, expel the unworthy tenant from your
bosom; allow her to fill up the measure of her ingratitude, by
deserting her lover, friend, and benefactor. Your glory demands her
dismission; the world will applaud your generosity, and your own
heart approve of your conduct. So disencumbered, let us exert
ourselves once more in promoting your departure from this island,
that you may revisit your father’s house, do justice to
yourself and amiable sister, and take vengeance on the author of
your wrongs; then dedicate yourself to glory, in imitation of your
renowned ancestors, and flourish in the favour of your imperial
patron.”
These remonstrances had such an effect upon the Hungarian, that
his face was lighted up with a transient gleam of satisfaction. He
embraced Ferdinand with great ardour, calling him his pride, his
Mentor, his good genius, and entreated him to gratify the
inclination of that fickle creature so far as to convey her to
another lodging, without loss of time, while he would, by absenting
himself, favour their retreat.
Our hero having obtained this permission, went immediately to
the skirts of the town, where he had previously bespoke a small,
though neat apartment, at the house of an old woman, widow of a
French refugee. He had already reconnoitred the ground, by sounding
his landlady, from whose poverty and complaisance he found reason
to expect all sorts of freedom and opportunity for the
accomplishment of his aim upon Monimia’s person. The room
being prepared for her reception, he returned to that disconsolate
beauty, to whom he presented ten guineas, which he pretended to
have raised by pledging the picture, though he himself acted as the
pawnbroker on this occasion, for a very plain and obvious
reason.
The fair orphan was overjoyed to find her wish so speedily
accomplished. She forthwith packed up her necessaries in a trunk;
and a hackney-coach was called in the dusk of the evening, in which
she embarked with her baggage and conductor.
Yet she did not leave the habitation of Renaldo without regret.
In the instant of parting, the idea of that unfortunate youth was
associated with every well-known object that presented itself to
her eyes; not as an inconstant, ungenerous, and perjured swain, but
as the accomplished, the virtuous, the melting lover, who had
captivated her virgin heart. As Fathom led her to the door, she was
met by Renaldo’s dog, which had long been her favourite; and
the poor animal fawning upon her as she passed, her heart was
overwhelmed with such a gush of tenderness, that a flood of tears
streamed down her cheeks, and she had well-nigh sunk upon the
floor.
Ferdinand, considering this emotion as the last tribute she
would pay to Renaldo, hurried her into the coach, where she soon
recovered her composure; and in a little time he ushered her into
the house of Madam la Mer, by whom she was received with great
cordiality, and conducted to her apartment, with which she found no
other fault than that of its being too good for one in her forlorn
situation. Here, while the tear of gratitude started in either eye,
she thanked our adventurer for his benevolence and kind concern,
assuring him, that she would not fail duly to beseech the Most High
to shower down blessings upon him, as the orphan’s friend and
protector.
Fathom was not deficient in those expressions that were best
adapted to her present turn of mind. He observed, that what he had
done was in obedience to the dictates of common humanity, which
would have prompted him to assist any fellow-creature in distress;
but that her peculiar virtue and qualifications were such as
challenged the utmost exertion of his faculties in her service. He
said, that surely Heaven had not created such perfection in vain;
that she was destined to receive as well as to communicate
happiness; and that the Providence, which she so piously adored,
would not fail, in due season, to raise her from distress and
affliction, to that honour and felicity for which she was certainly
ordained. In the meantime, he entreated her to depend upon his
service and fidelity, and the article of her board being settled,
he left her to the company and consolation of her discreet hostess,
who soon insinuated herself into the good opinion of her beauteous
lodger.
While our hero was employed in this transaction, Renaldo sallied
forth in a sort of intoxication, which Fathom’s admonitions
had inspired; and, repairing to a certain noted coffee-house,
engaged at chess with an old French refugee, that his attention, by
being otherwise employed, might not stray towards that fatal object
which he ardently wished to forget. But, unluckily for him, he had
scarce performed three moves of the game, when his ears were
exposed to a dialogue between two young gentlemen, one of whom
asked the other if he would go and see the “Orphan”
acted at one of the theatres; observing, as a farther inducement,
that the part of Monimia would be performed by a young gentlewoman
who had never appeared on the stage. At mention of that name,
Renaldo started; for though it did not properly belong to his
orphan, it was the appellation by which she had been distinguished
ever since her separation from her father’s house, and
therefore it recalled her to his imagination in the most
interesting point of view. Though he endeavoured to expel the
image, by a closer application to his play, every now and then it
intruded upon his fancy, and at each return made a stronger
impression; so that he found himself in the situation of an
unfortunate bark stranded upon some hidden rock, which, when the
wind begins to blow, feels every succeeding wave more boisterous
than the former, until, with irresistible fury, they surmount her
deck, sweep everything before them, and dash her all to pieces.
The refugee had observed his first emotion, which he attributed
to an unforeseen advantage he himself had gained over the
Hungarian; but seeing him, in the sequel, bite his lip, roll his
eyes, groan, writhe his body, ejaculate incoherent curses, and
neglect his game, the Huguenot concluded that he was mad, and being
seized with terror and dismay, got up and scampered off, without
ceremony or hesitation.
Melvil, thus left to the horrors of his own thought, which
tortured him with the apprehension of losing Monimia for ever,
could no longer combat that suggestion, but ran homewards with all
the speed he could exert, in order to prevent her retreat. When he
crossed the threshold, he was struck with such a damp of presaging
fear, that he durst not in person approach her apartment, nor even,
by questioning the servant, inform himself of the particulars he
wanted to know. Yet his suspense becoming more insupportable than
his fear, he rushed from room to room in quest of that which was
not to be found; and, seeing Monimia’s chamber door open,
entered the deserted temple in a state of distraction, calling
aloud upon her name. All was silent, solitary, and woful.
“She is gone,” he cried, shedding a flood of tears,
“she is for ever lost; and all my hopes of happiness are
fled!”
So saying, he sunk upon that couch on which Monimia had oft
reposed, and abandoned himself to all the excess of grief and
despondence. In this deplorable condition he was found by our
adventurer, who gently chid him for his want of resolution, and
again repelled his sorrow, by arousing his resentment against the
innocent cause of his disquiet, having beforehand forged the
particulars of provocation.
“Is it possible,” said he, “that Renaldo can
still retain the least sentiment of regard for a fickle woman, by
whom he has been so ungratefully forsaken and so unjustly scorned?
Is it possible he can be so disturbed by the loss of a creature who
is herself lost to all virtue and decorum?—Time and
reflection, my worthy friend, will cure you of that inglorious
malady. And the future misconduct of that imprudent damsel will,
doubtless, contribute to the recovery of your peace. Her behaviour,
at leaving the house where she had received so many marks of the
most delicate affection, was in all respects so opposite to honour
and decency, that I could scarce refrain from telling her I was
shocked at her deportment, even while she loaded me with
protestations of love. When a woman’s heart is once depraved,
she bids adieu to all restraint;— she preserves no measures.
It was not simply contempt which she expressed for Renaldo; she
seems to resent his being able to live under her disdain; and that
resentment stoops to objects unworthy of indignation. Even your dog
was not exempted from the effects of her displeasure. For, in her
passage to the door, she kicked the poor animal as one of your
dependents; and, in our way to the apartment I had provided for
her, she entertained me with a ludicrous comment upon the manner in
which you first made her acquainted with your passion. All that
modesty of carriage, all that chastity of conversation, all that
dignity of grief, which she knew so well how to affect, is now
entirely laid aside, and, when I quitted her, she seemed the most
gay, giddy, and impertinent of her sex.”
“Gracious powers!” exclaimed Renaldo, starting from
the couch, “am I under the delusion of a dream; or are these
things really so, as my friend has represented them? Such a total
and sudden degeneracy is amazing! is monstrous and
unnatural!”
“Such, my dear Count,” replied our hero, “is
the caprice of a female heart, fickle as the wind, uncertain as a
calm at sea, fixed to no principle, but swayed by every fantastic
gust of passion, or of whim. Congratulate yourself, therefore, my
friend, upon your happy deliverance from such a domestic
plague—upon the voluntary exile of a traitor from your
bosom.—Recollect the dictates of your duty, your discretion,
and your glory, and think upon the honours and elevated enjoyment
for which you are certainly ordained. To-night let us over a
cheerful bottle anticipate your success; and to-morrow I will
accompany you to the house of an usurer, who, I am informed, fears
no risk, provided twenty per cent be given, and the
borrower’s life insured.”
In this manner did the artful incendiary work upon the passions
of the credulous unsuspecting Hungarian, who pressed him to his
breast with the most cordial expressions of friendship, calling him
his guardian, his saviour, his second father, and gave himself up
wholly to his advice.
Next morning, according to the plan they had laid overnight,
they repaired to a tavern in the neighbourhood of the person to
whom our adventurer had been directed, and were fortunate enough to
find him in the house, transacting a money affair with a young
gentleman who treated him with his morning’s whet.
That affair being negotiated, he adjourned into another room
with Renaldo and his companion, who were not a little surprised to
see this minister of Plutus in the shape of a young sprightly beau,
trimmed up in all the foppery of the fashion; for they had hitherto
always associated with the idea of an usurer old age and rusty
apparel. After divers modish congees, he begged to know to what he
should attribute the honour of their message; when Ferdinand, who
acted the orator, told him, that his friend Count Melvil, having
occasion for a sum of money, had been directed to a gentleman of
his name, “and, I suppose,” added he, “you are
the son of the person with whom the affair is to be
negotiated.”
“Sir,” said this petit-maitre, with a smile,
“I perceive you are surprised to see one of my profession in
the appearance of a gentleman; and perhaps your wonder will not
cease, when I tell you, that my education was liberal, and that I
once had the honour to bear a commission in the British army. I was
indeed a first lieutenant of marines, and will venture to say, that
no officer in the service was more delicate than myself in
observing all the punctilios of honour. I entertained the utmost
contempt for all the trading part of the nation, and suffered
myself to be run through the body in a duel, rather than roll with
a brother-lieutenant, who was a broker’s son. But, thank
Heaven! I have long ago conquered all those ridiculous prejudices.
I soon observed, that without money there was no respect, honour,
or convenience to be acquired in life; that wealth amply supplied
the want of wit, merit, and pedigree, having influence and pleasure
ever at command; and that the world never failed to worship the
flood of affluence, without examining the dirty channels through
which it commonly flowed.
“At the end of the war, finding my appointments reduced to
two shillings and fourpence per day, and being addicted to
pleasures which I could not possibly purchase from such a fund, I
sold my half-pay for two hundred pounds, which I lent upon bond to
a young officer of the same regiment, on condition that he should
insure his life, and restore one-fourth part of the sum by way of
premium. I happened to be lucky in this first essay; for the
borrower, having in six weeks expended the money, made an excursion
on the highway, was apprehended, tried, convicted of felony, and
cut his own throat, to prevent the shame of a public execution; so
that his bond was discharged by the insurers.
“In short, gentlemen, when I engaged in this business, I
determined to carry it on with such spirit, as would either make my
fortune, or entirely ruin me in a little time; and hitherto my
endeavours have been tolerably successful. Nor do I think my
proceedings a whit more criminal or unjust than those of other
merchants, who strive to turn their money to the best account. The
commodity I deal in is cash; and it is my business to sell it to
the best advantage. A London factor sends a cargo of goods to
market, and if he gets two hundred per cent upon the sale, he is
commended for industry and address. If I sell money for one-fourth
part of that profit, certain persons will be so unjust as to cry,
Shame upon me, for taking such advantage of my neighbour’s
distress; not considering, that the trader took four times the same
advantage of those people who bought his cargo, though his risk was
not half so great as mine, and although the money I sold perhaps
retrieved the borrower from the very jaws of destruction. For
example, it was but yesterday I saved a worthy man from being
arrested for a sum of money, for which he had bailed a friend who
treacherously left him in the lurch. As he did not foresee what
would happen, he had made no provision for the demand, and his
sphere of life secluding him from all sorts of monied intercourse,
he could not raise the cash by his credit in the usual way of
borrowing; so that, without my assistance, he must have gone to
jail; a disgrace which would have proved fatal to the peace of his
family, and utterly ruined his reputation.—Nay, that very
young gentleman, from whom I am just now parted, will, in all
probability, be indebted to me for a very genteel livelihood. He
had obtained the absolute promise of being provided for by a great
man, who sits at the helm of affairs in a neighbouring kingdom;
but, being destitute of all other resources, he could not have
equipped himself for the voyage, in order to profit by his
lordship’s intention, unless I had enabled him to pursue his
good fortune.”
Renaldo was not a little pleased to hear this harangue, to which
Fathom replied with many florid encomiums upon the usurer’s
good sense and humane disposition; then he explained the errand of
his friend, which was to borrow three hundred pounds, in order to
retrieve his inheritance, of which he had been defrauded in his
absence.
“Sir,” said the lender, addressing himself to Count
Melvil, “I pretend to have acquired by experience some skill
in physiognomy; and though there are some faces so deeply disguised
as to baffle all the penetration of our art, there are others, in
which the heart appears with such nakedness of integrity, as at
once to recommend it to our goodwill. I own your countenance
prepossesses me in your favour; and you shall be accommodated, upon
those terms from which I never deviate, provided you can find
proper security, that you shall not quit the British dominions; for
that, with me, is a condition sine qua non.”
This was a very disagreeable declaration to Renaldo, who
candidly owned, that, as his concerns lay upon the Continent, his
purpose was to leave England without delay. The usurer professed
himself sorry that it was not in his power to oblige him; and, in
order to prevent any further importunity, assured them, he had laid
it down as a maxim, from which he would never swerve, to avoid all
dealings with people whom, if need should be, he could not sue by
the laws of this realm.
Thus the intervention of one unlucky and unforeseen circumstance
blasted in an instant the budding hopes of Melvil, who, while his
visage exhibited the most sorrowful disappointment, begged to know,
if there was any person of his acquaintance who might be less
scrupulous in that particular.
The young gentleman directed them to another member of his
profession, and wishing them success, took his leave with great
form and complaisance. This instance of politeness was, however, no
more than a shift to disengage himself the more easily from their
entreaties; for, when the case was opened to the second usurer, he
blessed himself from such customers, and dismissed them with the
most mortifying and boorish refusal. Notwithstanding these
repulses, Renaldo resolved to make one desperate push; and, without
allowing himself the least respite, solicited, one by one, not
fewer than fifteen persons who dealt in this kind of traffic, and
his proposals were rejected by each. At last, fatigued by the toil,
and exasperated at the ill success of his expedition, and half mad
with the recollection of his finances, which were now drained to
half-a-crown, “Since we have nothing to expect,” cried
he, “from the favour of Christians, let us have recourse to
the descendants of Judah. Though they lie under the general
reproach of nations, as a people dead to virtue and benevolence,
and wholly devoted to avarice, fraud, and extortion, the most
savage of their tribe cannot treat me with more barbarity of
indifference, than I have experienced among those who are the
authors of their reproach.”
Although Fathom looked upon this proposal as an extravagant
symptom of despair, he affected to approve of the scheme, and
encouraged Renaldo with the hope of succeeding in another quarter,
even if this expedition should fail; for, by this time, our
adventurer was half resolved to export him at his own charge,
rather than he should be much longer restricted in his designs upon
Monimia.
Meanwhile, being resolved to try the experiment upon the
children of Israel, they betook themselves to the house of a rich
Jew, whose wealth they considered as a proof of his rapaciousness;
and, being admitted into his counting-house, they found him in the
midst of half a dozen clerks, when Renaldo, in his imagination,
likened him unto a minister of darkness surrounded by his
familiars, and planning schemes of misery to be executed upon the
hapless sons of men. In spite of these suggestions, which were not
at all mitigated by the forbidding aspect of the Hebrew, he
demanded a private audience; and, being ushered into another
apartment, he explained his business with manifest marks of
disorder and affliction. Indeed, his confusion was in some measure
owing to the looks of the Jew, who, in the midst of this exordium,
pulled down his eyebrows, which were surprisingly black and bushy,
so as, in appearance, totally to extinguish his visage, though he
was all the time observing our youth from behind those almost
impenetrable thickets.
Melvil, having signified his request, “Young
gentleman,” said the Israelite, with a most discordant voice,
“what in the name of goodness could induce you to come to me
upon such an errand? Did you ever hear that I lent money to
strangers without security?” “No,” replied
Renaldo, “nor did I believe I should profit by my
application; but my affairs are desperate; and my proposals having
been rejected by every Christian to whom they were offered, I was
resolved to try my fate among the Jews, who are reckoned another
species of men.”
Fathom, alarmed at this abrupt reply, which he supposed could
not fail to disgust the merchant, interposed in the conversation,
by making an apology for the plain dealing of his friend, who, he
said, was soured and ruffled by his misfortunes; then exerting that
power of eloquence which he had at command, he expostulated upon
Renaldo’s claim and expectations, described the wrongs he had
suffered, extolled his virtue, and drew a most pathetic picture of
his distress.
The Jew listened attentively for some time; then his eyebrows
began to rise and fall alternately; he coughed, sneezed, and
winking hard, “I’m plagued,” said he, “with
a salt rheum that trickles from my eyes without
intermission.” So saying, he wiped the moisture from his
face, and proceeded in these words: “Sir, your story is
plausible; and your friend is a good advocate; but before I give an
answer to your demand, I must beg leave to ask if you can produce
undeniable evidence of your being the identical person you really
assume? If you are really the Count de Melvil, you will excuse my
caution. We cannot be too much on our guard against fraud; though I
must own you have not the air of an impostor.”
Renaldo’s eyes began to sparkle at this preliminary
question; to which he replied, that he could procure the testimony
of the Emperor’s minister, to whom he had occasionally paid
his respects since his first arrival in England.
“If that be the case,” said the Jew, “take the
trouble to call here to-morrow morning, at eight o’clock, and
I will carry you in my own coach to the house of his excellency,
with whom I have the honour to be acquainted; and, if he has
nothing to object against your character or pretensions, I will
contribute my assistance towards your obtaining justice at the
Imperial court.”
The Hungarian was so much confounded at this unexpected
reception, that he had not power to thank the merchant for his
promised favour, but stood motionless and silent, while the streams
of emotion of the heart was of more weight with the Jew, than the
eloquent acknowledgment which Ferdinand took the opportunity of
making for his friend; and he was fain to dismiss them a little
abruptly, in order to prevent a second discharge of that same rheum
of which he had already complained.
Melvil recollected all that had happened as a dream, which had
no foundation in truth, and was all day long in a sort of delirium,
produced by the alternate gusts of hope and fear that still
agitated his bosom; for he was not yet without apprehension of
being again disappointed by some unlucky occurrence.
He did not, however, fail to be punctual to the hour of his
appointment, when the Jew told him, there would be no occasion for
visiting the ambassador, because Renaldo had been, the preceding
day, recognised by one of the clerks who had been employed as a
purveyor in the Imperial army; and who, knowing his family,
confirmed everything he had alleged. “After breakfast,”
continued this benevolent Israelite, “I will give you an
order upon my banker for five hundred pounds, that you may be
enabled to appear at Vienna as the son and representative of Count
Melvil; and you shall also be furnished with a letter of
recommendation to a person of some influence at that court, whose
friendship and countenance may be of some service to your suit; for
I am now heartily engaged in your interest, in consequence of the
fair and unblemished character which I find you have hitherto
maintained.”
The reader must appeal to his own heart, to acquire a just idea
of Renaldo’s feelings, when every tittle of these promises
was fulfilled, and the merchant refused to take one farthing by way
of premium, contenting himself with the slender security of a
personal bond. He was, in truth, overwhelmed with the obligation,
and certainly disposed to believe that his benefactor was something
more than human. As for Fathom, his sentiments took a different
turn; and he scrupled not to impute all this kindness to some
deep-laid interested scheme, the scope of which he could not at
present comprehend.
After the tumults of the young gentleman’s joy had
subsided, and he found himself eased of that burdensome poverty
under which he had groaned so long, his thoughts, which before were
dissipated upon the various circumstances of distress, began to
collect themselves in a body, and to resume their deliberations
upon a subject which they had been long accustomed to consider;
this was no other than the forlorn Monimia, whose idea now emerged
in his bosom, being disencumbered of one part of the load by which
it had been depressed. He mentioned her name to Fathom with marks
of the most melting compassion, deplored her apostasy, and, while
he protested that he had divorced her for ever from his heart,
expressed an inclination to see her once more before his departure,
that he might in person exhort her to penitence and
reformation.
Our adventurer, who dreaded such an interview as the infallible
means of his own ruin, resisted the proposal with the whole power
of his elocution. He affirmed, that Renaldo’s desire was a
manifest proof that he still retained part of the fatal poison
which that enchantress had spread within his veins; and that the
sight of her, softened by his reproaches into tears and affected
contrition, would dispel his resentment, disable his manhood, and
blow the embers of his former passion to such a rage, as would
hurry him on to a reconciliation, which would debase his honour,
and ruin his future peace. In a word, Ferdinand described the
danger that would attend the meeting in such emphatic terms, that
the Hungarian started with horror at the picture which he drew, and
in this particular conformed with the admonition of his friend.
One hundred pounds of the Jew’s money was immediately
appropriated for the payment of his most urgent debts; the like sum
he presented to his friend Fathom, with a solemn promise of sharing
with him whatever good fortune might await him in Germany. And
though Monimia had forfeited all title to his regard, so ill could
he bear the prospect of her distress, that he entrusted his dear
companion with the half of what remained, to be expended for her
use, fully resolving to screen her from the shocks and temptations
of want, as the circumstances of his future fate would allow.
Fathom, far from opposing, applauded his generosity with marks
of extreme wonder and admiration, assuring him, that she should be
put in possession of his bounty immediately after his departure, he
being unwilling to make her acquainted with her good fortune before
that period, lest, finding his affairs in a fair way of being
retrieved, she should be base enough to worship his returning
prosperity, and, by false professions, and artful blandishments,
seek to ensnare his heart anew.
Every necessary preparation being made, Renaldo, accompanied by
our adventurer, took the road to Dover, where he embarked in a
packet-boat for Calais, after having settled a correspondence with
his dear Ferdinand, from whom he did not part without tears. He had
before solicited him to be his fellow-traveller, that he might
personally enjoy the benefit of his conversation and superior
sagacity; but these entreaties he strenuously opposed, on pretence
of his being determined to push his fortune in England, which he
considered as his native country, and as the land in which, of all
others, a man of merit has the best encouragement. Such were the
reasons he alleged for refusing to attend his benefactor, who was
himself eagerly desirous of attaining a settlement in the island of
Great Britain. But our hero’s real motives for staying were
of a very different complexion.—The reader is already
informed of his aim upon the fair orphan, which, at present, was
the chief spring of his conduct. He may also recollect such
passages of his life, as were sufficient to deter him from
reappearing at Presburg or Vienna. But, besides these reflections,
he was detained by a full persuasion that Renaldo would sink under
the power and influence of his antagonist, consequently be rendered
incapable to provide for his friends; and that he himself, fraught
with wiles and experience as he was, could not fail to make himself
amends for what he had suffered among a people equally rich and
unthinking.
Melvil, having embraced our adventurer, and with a deep sigh bid
him take care of the unfortunate Monimia, committed himself to the
sea, and, by the assistance of a favourable gale, was in four hours
safely landed on the French shore; while Fathom took post-horses
for London, where he arrived that same night, and next day, in the
forenoon, went to visit the beauteous mourner, who had as yet
received no intimation of Renaldo’s departure or design. He
found her in the attitude of writing a letter to her inconstant
lover, the contents of which the reader will be acquainted with in
due time. Her countenance, notwithstanding the veil of melancholy
by which it was overcast, seemed altogether serene and composed;
she was the picture of pious resignation, and sat like PATIENCE on
a monument, smiling at grief. After having paid the compliment of
the morning, Fathom begged pardon for having omitted to visit her
during three days, in which, he said, his time had been wholly
engrossed in procuring a proper equipage for Count Melvil, who had
at last bid an eternal adieu to the island of Great Britain.
At this information the hapless Monimia fell back in her chair,
and continued some minutes in a swoon; from which being recovered,
“Excuse me, Mr. Fathom,” cried she with a deep sigh;
“this, I hope, is the last agony I shall feel from my unhappy
passion.”—Then wiping the tears from her lovely eyes,
she retrieved her tranquillity, and desired to know by what means
Renaldo had been enabled to undertake his journey into the empire.
Our hero, upon this occasion, assumed the whole merit of having
promoted the interest of his friend, by giving her to understand,
that he, in consequence of an unforeseen windfall, had defrayed the
expense of the Count’s equipment; though he observed, that it
was not without reluctance he saw Renaldo make a wrong use of his
friendship.
“Although I was happy,” proceeded this artful
traitor, “in being able to discharge my obligations to the
house of Melvil, I could not help feeling the most sensible
chagrin, when I saw my assistance rendered subservient to the
triumphs of the youth’s baseness and infidelity; for he
chose, as the companion of his travels, the abandoned woman for
whom he had forsaken the all-perfect Monimia, whose virtue and
accomplishments did not preserve her sacred from his ungrateful
sarcasms and unmannerly ridicule. Believe me, madam, I was so
shocked at his conversation on that subject, and so much incensed
at his want of delicacy, that my temper was scarce sufficient for
the ceremony of parting. And, now that my debt to his family is
over-paid, I have solemnly renounced his correspondence.”
When she heard that, instead of betraying the least symptom of
regret or compassion for her unhappy fate, the perfidious youth had
exulted over her fall, and even made her a subject for his mirth,
the blood revisited her faded cheeks, and resentment restored to
her eyes that poignancy which sorrow had before overcome. Yet she
scorned to give speech to her indignation; but, forcing a smile,
“Why should I repine,” said she, “at the
mortifications of a life which I despise, and from which, I hope,
Heaven speedily will set me free!”
Fathom, fired by her emotion, which had recalled all the graces
of her beauty, exclaimed in a rapture, “Talk not so
contemptuously of this life, which hath still a fund of happiness
in store for the amiable, the divine Monimia. Though one admirer
hath proved an apostate to his vows, your candour will not suffer
you to condemn the whole sex. Some there are, whose bosoms glow
with passion equally pure, unalterable, and intense. For my own
part, I have sacrificed to a rigid punctilio of honour the dearest
ideas of my heart. I beheld your unrivalled charms, and deeply felt
their power. Yet, while a possibility of Melvil’s reformation
remained, and while I was restrained by my niggard fortune from
making a tender worthy of your acceptance, I combated with my
inclinations, and bore without repining the pangs of hopeless love.
But, now that my honour is disengaged, and my fortune rendered
independent, by the last will of a worthy nobleman, whose
friendship I was favoured with in France, I presume to lay myself
at the feet of the adorable Monimia, as the most faithful of
admirers, whose happiness or misery wholly depends upon her nod.
Believe me, madam, these are not the professions of idle
gallantry—I speak the genuine, though imperfect, language of
my heart. Words, even the most pathetic, cannot do justice to my
love. I gaze upon your beauty with ravishment; but I contemplate
the graces of your soul with such awful veneration, that I tremble
while I approach you, as if my vows were addressed to some superior
being.”
During this declaration, which was pronounced in the most
emphatic manner, Monimia was successively agitated with shame,
anger, and grief; nevertheless, she summoned her whole philosophy
to her aid, and, with a tranquil, though determined air, begged he
would not diminish the obligations he had already conferred, by
disturbing with such unseasonable addresses a poor unhappy maid,
who had detached all her thoughts from earthly objects, and waited
impatiently for that dissolution which alone could put a period to
her misfortunes.
Fathom, imagining that these were no other than the suggestions
of a temporary disappointment and despondence, which it was his
business to oppose with all his eloquence and art, renewed his
theme with redoubled ardour, and, at last, became so importunate in
his desires, that Monimia, provoked beyond the power of concealing
her resentment, said, she was heartily sorry to find herself under
the necessity of telling him, that, in the midst of her
misfortunes, she could not help remembering what she had been.
Then, rising from her seat, with all the dignity of displeasure,
“Perhaps,” added she, “you have forgot who was
the father of the once happy Monimia.”
With these words she retired into another chamber, leaving our
adventurer confounded by the repulse he had sustained. Not that he
was discouraged from prosecuting his aim—on the contrary,
this rebuff seemed to add fresh vigour to his operations. He now
thought it high time to bring over Madam la Mer to his interest;
and, to facilitate her conversion, took an opportunity of bribing
her with some inconsiderable presents, after having amused her with
a plausible tale of his passion for Monimia, with whom she
undertook the office of his mediatrix, on the supposition that his
intentions were honourable, and highly advantageous to her
lodger.
She was, first of all, invested with the office of obtaining
pardon for the offence he had given; and, in this negotiation she
succeeded so well, as to become an advocate for his suit;
accordingly, she took all occasions of magnifying his praise. His
agreeable person was often the subject of her discourse to the fair
mourner. Her admiration dwelt upon his politeness, good sense, and
winning deportment; and she every day retailed little stories of
his benevolence and greatness of soul. The defect in his birth she
represented as a circumstance altogether foreign from the
consideration of his merit; especially in a nation where such
distinctions are as little respected as they will be in a future
state. She mentioned several persons of note, who basked in the
sunshine of power and fortune, without having enjoyed the least
hereditary assistance from their forefathers. One, she said, sprung
from the loins of an obscure attorney; another was the grandson of
a valet-de-chambre; a third was the issue of an accountant; and a
fourth the offspring of a woollen draper. All these were the
children of their own good works, and had raised themselves upon
their personal virtues and address; a foundation certainly more
solid and honourable than a vague inheritance derived from
ancestors, in whose deserts they could not be supposed to have
borne the least share.
Monimia listened to all these arguments with great patience and
affability, though she at once dived into the source from which all
such insinuations flowed. She joined in the commendations of
Fathom, and owned herself a particular instance of that benevolence
which the old lady had so justly extolled; but, once for all, to
prevent the supplication which Madam la Mer was about to make, she
solemnly protested that her heart was altogether shut against any
other earthly engagement, and that her thoughts were altogether
employed upon her eternal salvation.
The assiduous landlady, perceiving the steadiness of her
disposition, thought proper to alter her method of proceeding, and,
for the present, suspended that theme by which she found her fair
lodger disobliged. Resolved to reconcile Monimia to life, before
she would again recommend Ferdinand to her love, she endeavoured to
amuse her imagination, by recounting the occasional incidents of
the day, hoping gradually to decoy her attention to those sublunary
objects from which it had been industriously weaned. She seasoned
her conversation with agreeable sallies; enlarged upon the
different scenes of pleasure and diversion appertaining to this
great metropolis; practised upon her palate with the delicacies of
eating; endeavoured to shake her temperance with repeated proffers
and recommendations of certain cordials and restoratives, which she
alleged were necessary for the recovery of her health; and pressed
her to make little excursions into the fields that skirt the town,
for the benefit of air and exercise.
While this auxiliary plied the disconsolate Monimia on one hand,
Fathom was not remiss on the other. He now seemed to have
sacrificed his passion to her quiet; his discourse turned upon more
indifferent subjects. He endeavoured to dispel her melancholy with
arguments drawn from philosophy and religion. On some occasions, he
displayed all his fund of good humour, with a view to beguile her
sorrow; he importuned her to give him the pleasure of squiring her
to some place of innocent entertainment; and, finally, insisted
upon her accepting a pecuniary reinforcement to her finances, which
he knew to be in a most consumptive condition.
With that complacency and fortitude which were peculiar to
herself, this hapless stranger resisted all those artful
temptations. Her sustenance was barely such as exempted her from
the guilt of being accessory to her own death; her drink was the
simple element. She encouraged no discourse but that which turned
upon the concerns of her immortal part. She never went abroad,
except in visits to a French chapel in the neighbourhood; she
refused the proffered assistance of our adventurer with equal
obstinacy and politeness, and with pleasure saw herself wasting
towards that period of mortality which was the consummation of her
wish. Yet her charms, far from melting away with her constitution,
seemed to triumph over the decays of nature. Her shape and features
still retained that harmony for which they had always been
distinguished. A mixture of majesty and sweetness diffused itself
in her looks, and her feebleness added to that soft and feminine
grace which attracts the sympathy, and engages the protection of
every humane beholder. The associates thus baffled in their
attempts to excite her ideas of pleasure, again shifted their plan,
and resolved to attack this forlorn beauty on the side of fear and
mortification.
Our adventurer became less frequent in his visits, and more
indifferent in his language and deportment; while Madam la Mer
gradually relaxed in that complacency and respect with which she
had hitherto behaved towards her fair lodger. She even began to
drop hints of disapprobation and reproach against this pattern of
innocence and beauty, and at length grew bold enough to tell her,
that her misfortunes could be attributed to nothing but her own
obstinacy and pride; that she had been at great pains to disoblige
the only person who was able and willing to raise her above
dependence; and that, if his protection should be withdrawn, she
must be exposed to the utmost extremity of distress.
These insinuations, instead of producing the desired effect,
inflamed the indignation of Monimia, who, in a most dignified style
of rebuke, chid her for her indelicacy and presumption, observing,
that she could have no title to take such freedoms with lodgers,
whose punctuality and regular deportment left her no room to
complain. Notwithstanding this animated reply, she underwent the
most deplorable anguish, when she reflected upon the insolence of
this woman, from whose barbarity she had no resource; and, seeing
no other possibility of redress than that of appealing to the good
offices of Fathom, she conquered her reluctance so far, as to
complain to him of Madam la Mer’s incivility.
Pleased with this application, he gave her to understand, with
very little ceremony or preamble, that it wholly depended upon
herself whether she should continue to be wretched, or be delivered
at once from all her cares and perplexity; that, notwithstanding
the disdain with which she had treated his addresses, he was still
ready to lay himself and his fortune at her feet; and that, if she
should again reject the disinterested proposal, the whole world and
her own conscience would charge upon herself whatever calamities
she might be subjected to in the sequel. Interpreting into a
favourable hesitation her silence, which was the result of wrath
and amazement, he proceeded to throw himself at her feet, and utter
a romantic rhapsody, in the course of which, laying aside all that
restraint which he had hitherto preserved, he seized her delicate
hand, and pressed it to his lips; nay, so far did he forget himself
on this occasion, that he caught the fair creature in his arms, and
rudely ravished a kiss from those lips which he had before
contemplated with the most distant reverence of desire.
Having thus broken down the fences of decorum, and being heated
with transport, he, in all probability, would have acted the part
of young Tarquin, and violated by force that sacred shrine of
honour, beauty, and unblemished truth, had not the wrath kindled by
such an unexpected outrage inspired her with strength and spirits
sufficient to protect her virtue, and intimidate the ruffian who
could offer violence to such perfection. She broke from his
detested embrace with surprising agility, and called aloud to her
landlady for assistance; but that discreet matron was resolved to
hear nothing, and Fathom’s appetite being whetted to a most
brutal degree of eagerness, “Madam,” said he,
“all opposition is vain. What you have refused to my
entreaties, you shall yield to my power; and I am determined to
force you to your own advantage.”
So saying, he sprung towards her, with the most savage and
impious intent, when this amiable heroine snatching up his sword,
which lay upon a by-table, and unsheathing it instantaneously,
presented the point to his breast, and, while her eyes glanced with
intolerable keenness, “Villain!” cried she, “the
spirit of my father animates my bosom, and the vengeance of Heaven
shall not be frustrated.” He was not so much affected by his
bodily danger, as awestruck at the manner of her address, and the
appearance of her aspect, which seemed to shine with something
supernatural, and actually disordered his whole faculties, insomuch
that he retreated without attempting to make the least reply; and
she, having secured the door after his departure, sat down to
ponder upon this shocking event.
Words are wanting to describe the accumulated horrors that took
possession of her mind, when she thus beheld all her presaging
fears realised, and found herself at the mercy of two wretches, who
had now pulled off the mask, after having lost all sentiments of
humanity. Common affliction was an agreeable reverie to what she
suffered, deprived of her parents, exiled from her friends and
country, reduced to the brink of wanting the most indispensable
necessaries of life, in a foreign land, where she knew not one
person to whose protection she could have recourse, from the
inexpressible woes that environed her. She complained to Heaven
that her life was protracted, for the augmentation of that misery
which was already too severe to be endured; for she shuddered at
the prospect of being utterly abandoned in the last stage of
mortality, without one friend to close her eyes, or do the last
offices of humanity to her breathless corse. These were dreadful
reflections to a young lady who had been born to affluence and
splendour, trained up in all the elegance of education, by nature
fraught with that sensibility which refines the sentiment and
taste, and so tenderly cherished by her indulgent parents, that
they suffered not the winds of Heaven to visit her face too
roughly.
Having passed the night in such agony, she rose at daybreak,
and, hearing the chapel bell toll for morning prayers, resolved to
go to this place of worship, in order to implore the assistance of
Heaven. She no sooner opened her chamber door, with this intent,
than she was met by Madam la Mer, who, after having professed her
concern for what had happened overnight, and imputed Mr.
Fathom’s rudeness to the spirit of intoxication, by which she
had never before seen him possessed, she endeavoured to dissuade
Monimia from her purpose, by observing, that her health would be
prejudiced by the cold morning air; but finding her determined, she
insisted upon accompanying her to chapel, on pretence of respect,
though, in reality, with a view to prevent the escape of her
beauteous lodger. Thus attended, the hapless mourner entered the
place, and, according to the laudable hospitality of England, which
is the only country in Christendom where a stranger is not made
welcome to the house of God, this amiable creature, emaciated and
enfeebled as she was, must have stood in a common passage during
the whole service, had not she been perceived by a humane
gentlewoman, who, struck with her beauty and dignified air, and
melted with sympathy at the ineffable sorrow which was visible in
her countenance, opened the pew in which she sat, and accommodated
Monimia and her attendant. If she was captivated by her first
appearance, she was not less affected by the deportment of her fair
guest, which was the pattern of genuine devotion.
In a word, this good lady, who was a merchant’s widow in
opulent circumstances, was inflamed with a longing desire to know
and befriend the amiable stranger, who, after service, turning
about to thank her for her civility, Madam Clement, with that
frankness which is the result of true benevolence, told her, she
was too much prepossessed in her favour to let slip this
opportunity of craving her acquaintance, and of expressing her
inclination to alleviate, if possible, that affliction which was
manifest in her looks.
Monimia, overwhelmed with gratitude and surprise at this
unexpected address, gazed upon the lady in silence, and when she
repeated her tenders of service, could make no other reply to her
goodness, than by bursting into a flood of tears. This was a
species of eloquence which did not pass unregarded by Madam
Clement, who, while her own eyes were bedewed with the drops of
sympathy and compassion, took the lovely orphan by the hand, and
led her, without further ceremony, to her own coach, that stood
waiting at the door, whither they were followed by Mrs. la Mer, who
was so much confounded at the adventure, that she made no
objections to the proposal of the lady, who handed her lodger into
the carriage; but retired, with all possible despatch, to make
Fathom acquainted with this unforeseen event.
Meanwhile the agitation of Monimia, at this providential
deliverance, was such as had well-nigh destroyed her tender frame.
The blood flushed and forsook her cheeks by turns; she trembled
from head to foot, notwithstanding the consolatory assurances of
Madam Clement, and, without being able to utter one word, was
conducted to the house of that kind benefactress, where the
violence of her transports overpowered her constitution, and she
sunk down upon a couch in a swoon, from which she was not easily
recovered. This affecting circumstance augmented the pity, and
interested the curiosity of Madam Clement, who concluded there was
something very extraordinary in the case of the stranger, to
produce these agonies; and grew impatient to hear the particulars
of her story.
Monimia no sooner retrieved the use of her faculties, than
looking around, and observing with what humane concern her new
hostess was employed in effecting her recovery, “Is
this,” said she, “a flattering illusion of the brain?
or am I really under the protection of some beneficent being, whom
Heaven hath inspired with generosity to rescue an hapless stranger
from the most forlorn state of misery and woe?” Her voice was
at all times ravishingly sweet; and this exclamation was pronounced
with such pathetic fervour, that Madam Clement clasped her in her
arms, and kissing her with all the eagerness of maternal affection,
“Yes,” cried she, “fair creature, Heaven hath
bestowed upon me an heart to compassionate, and power, I hope, to
lighten the burden of your sorrows.”
She then prevailed upon her to take some nourishment, and
afterwards to recount the particulars of her fate; a task she
performed with such accuracy and candour, that Madam Clement, far
from suspecting her sincerity, saw truth and conviction in every
circumstance of her tale; and, having condoled her misfortunes,
entreated her to forget them, or at least look upon herself as one
sheltered under the care and tuition of a person whose study it
would be to supply her want of natural parents. This would have
been an happy vicissitude of fortune, had it not arrived too late;
but such a sudden and unlooked-for transition not only disordered
the faculties of poor Monimia’s mind, but also overpowered
the organs of her body, already fatigued and enfeebled by the
distresses she had undergone; so that she was taken ill of a fever
that same night, and became delirious before morning, when a
physician was called to her assistance.
While this gentleman was in the house, Madam Clement was visited
by Fathom, who, after having complained, in the most insinuating
manner that she had encouraged his wife to abandon her duty, told
her a plausible story of his first acquaintance with Monimia, and
his marriage at the Fleet, which, he said, he was ready to prove by
the evidence of the clergyman who joined them, and that of Mrs. la
Mer, who was present at the ceremony. The good lady, although a
little staggered at the genteel appearance and engaging address of
this stranger, could not prevail upon herself to believe that she
had been imposed upon by her fair lodger, who by this time had
given too convincing a proof of her sincerity; nevertheless, in
order to prevent any dispute that might be prejudicial to the
health or recovery of Monimia, she gave him to understand, that she
would not at present enter upon the merits of the cause, but only
assure him, that the young lady was actually bereft of her senses,
and in imminent danger of her life; for the truth of which
assertions she would appeal to his own observation, and the opinion
of the physician, who was then employed in writing a prescription
for the cure of her disease.
So saying, she conducted him into the chamber, where he beheld
the hapless virgin stretched upon a sick-bed, panting under the
violence of a distemper too mighty for her weakly frame, her hair
dishevelled, and discomposure in her looks; all the roses of her
youth were faded, yet all the graces of her beauty were not fled.
She retained that sweetness and symmetry, which death itself could
not destroy; and though her discourse was incoherent, her voice was
still musical, resembling those feathered songsters who warble
their native wood-notes wild.
Fathom, as upon all other occasions, so on this, did behave like
an inimitable actor; he ran to the bedside, with all the
trepidation of a distracted lover; he fell upon his knees, and,
while the tears rolled down his cheeks, imprinted a thousand kisses
on the soft hand of Monimia, who regarding him with a lack-lustre
and undistinguishing eye, “Alas! Renaldo,” said she,
“we were born to be unhappy.” “Would to
Heaven,” cried Ferdinand, in a transport of grief, “the
wretch Renaldo had never been born! that is the villain who seduced
the affection of this unfortunate woman. I admitted the traitor
into my friendship and confidence, relieved him in his necessities;
and, like the ungrateful viper, he hath stung the very bosom that
cherished him in his distress.” Then he proceeded to inform
Madam Clement how he had delivered that same Renaldo from prison,
maintained him afterwards at a great expense, and at length
furnished him with a sum of money and proper credentials to support
his interest at the Court of Vienna.
Having finished this detail, he asked the physician’s
sentiments of his wife’s distemper, and being told that her
life was in extreme jeopardy, begged he would use his utmost
endeavours in her behalf, and even made him a tender of an
extraordinary fee, which was refused. He also thanked Madam Clement
for her charity and benevolence towards a stranger, and took his
leave with many polite professions of gratitude and esteem. He had
no sooner quitted the house, than the physician, who was a humane
man, and a foreigner, began to caution the lady against his
insinuations, observing, that some circumstances of the story
concerning Renaldo were, to his particular knowledge, contrary to
truth; for that he himself had been applied to for letters of
recommendation in behalf of Count Melvil, by a Jew merchant of his
acquaintance, who had supplied the young gentleman with money
sufficient for his occasions, in consequence of a minute inquiry he
had made into the character of Renaldo, who was, by all reports, a
youth of strict honour and untainted morals.
Madam Clement, thus cautioned, entered into deliberation with
her own thoughts, and, comparing the particulars of this account
with those of Monimia’s own story, she concluded that Fathom
was the very traitor he himself had described; and that he had, by
abusing the confidence of both, effected a fatal breach between two
innocent and deserving lovers. She accordingly looked upon him with
horror and detestation; but nevertheless resolved to treat him with
civility in the meantime, that the poor young lady might not be
disturbed in her last moments; for she had now lost all hopes of
her recovery. Yet the fever abated, and in two days she retrieved
the use of her reason; though the distemper had affected her lungs,
and she was in all appearance doomed to linger a few weeks longer
in a consumption.
Fathom was punctual in his visitation, though never admitted
into her presence after the delirium vanished; and he had the
opportunity of seeing her conveyed in a chariot to Kensington
Gravel Pits, a place which may be termed the last stage of many a
mortal peregrination. He now implicitly believed that death would
in a few days baffle all his designs upon the unfortunate Monimia;
and foreseeing that, as he had owned himself her husband, he might
be obliged to defray the expenses incurred by her sickness and
burial, he very prudently intermitted in his visits, and had
recourse to the intelligence of his auxiliary.
As for Monimia, she approached the goal of life, not simply with
resignation, but with rapture. She enjoyed in tranquillity the
conversation of her kind benefactress, who never stirred from her
apartment; she was blessed with the spiritual consolation of a
worthy clergyman, who removed all her religious scruples; and she
congratulated herself on the near prospect of that land of peace
where sorrow is not known.
At length Mrs. la Mer gave notice to our adventurer of this
amiable young lady’s decease, and the time fixed for the
interment. Upon which these two virtuous associates took possession
of a place from whence they could, unperceived, behold the funeral.
He must have a hard heart, who, without an emotion of pity, can see
the last offices performed to a young creature cut off in the
flower of youth and beauty, even though he knows not her name, and
is an utter stranger to her virtues. How callous then must the soul
of that wretch have been, who, without a symptom of remorse or
concern, saw the sable hearse adorned with white plumes, as emblems
of Monimia’s purity, pass before him, while her incomparable
merit stood full in his remembrance, and he knew himself the wicked
cause of her untimely fate!
Perfidious wretch! thy crimes turn out so atrocious, that I half
repent me of having undertaken to record thy memoirs; yet such
monsters ought to be exhibited to public view, that mankind may be
upon their guard against imposture; that the world may see how
fraud is apt to overshoot itself; and that, as virtue, though it
may suffer for a while, will triumph in the end; so iniquity,
though it may prosper for a season, will at last be overtaken by
that punishment and disgrace which are its due.
Fathom’s expectations with respect to the fair orphan
having thus proved abortive, he lost no time in bewailing his
miscarriage, but had immediate recourse to other means of improving
his small fortune, which, at this period, amounted to near two
hundred pounds. Whatever inclination he had to resume the character
he had formerly borne in the polite world, he durst not venture to
launch out again into the expense necessary to maintain that
station, because his former resources were now stopped, and all the
people of fashion by this time convinced of his being a needy
adventurer. Nevertheless, he resolved to sound the sentiments of
his old friends at a distance, and judge, from the reception he
should meet with, how far he might presume upon their countenance
and favour. For he rightly supposed, that if he could in any shape
contribute to their interest or amusement, they would easily
forgive his former pretensions to quality, arrogant as they were,
and still entertain him on the footing of a necessary
acquaintance.
With this view, he one day presented himself at court in a very
gay suit of clothes, and bowed, at a distance, to many of his old
fashionable friends of both sexes, not one of whom favoured him
with any other notice, than that of a quarter curtsey, or slight
inclination of the head. For, by this time, the few that remembered
him knew from what retirement he now emerged, and avoided him
accordingly as the jail infection. But the greater part of those
who had cultivated him in the zenith of his fortune were now utter
strangers to his person, which they had actually forgot, amidst the
succession of novelties that surrounded them; or, if they did
recollect his name, it was remembered as an old fashion which had
been many months out of date.
Notwithstanding these mortifying discouragements, our hero, that
same evening, effected a lodgment in a certain gaming-house not far
from St. James’s; and, as he played pretty high, and made a
parade of his ready money, he was soon recognised by divers persons
of consequence, who cordially welcomed him to England, on pretence
of believing he had been abroad, and with great complacency
repeated their former professions of friendship. Though this was a
certain way of retaining the favour of those worthies, while his
finances continued to flourish, and his payments were prompt, he
knew the weakness of his funds too well, to think they could bear
the vicissitudes of play; and the remembrance of the two British
knights who had spoiled him at Paris, hung over his imagination
with the most frightful presages. Besides, he perceived that gaming
was now managed in such a manner, as rendered skill and dexterity
of no advantage. For the spirit of play having overspread the land,
like a pestilence, raged to such a degree of madness and
desperation, that the unhappy people who were infected, laid aside
all thoughts of amusement, economy, or caution, and risked their
fortunes upon issues equally extravagant, childish, and absurd.
The whole mystery of the art was reduced to the simple exercise
of tossing up a guinea, and the lust of laying wagers, which they
indulged to a surprising pitch of ridiculous intemperance. In one
corner of the room might be heard a pair of lordlings running their
grandmothers against each other, that is, betting sums on the
longest liver; in another the success of the wager depended upon
the sex of the landlady’s next child; and one of the waiters
happening to drop down in an apoplectic fit, a certain noble peer
exclaimed, “Dead for a thousand pounds.” The challenge
was immediately accepted; and when the master of the house sent for
a surgeon to attempt the cure, the nobleman, who set the price upon
the patient’s head, insisted upon his being left to the
efforts of nature alone, otherwise the wager should be void. Nay,
when the landlord harped upon the loss he should sustain by the
death of a trusty servant, his lordship obviated the objection, by
desiring that the fellow might be charged in the bill.
In short, the rage of gaming seemed to have devoured all their
other faculties, and to have equalled the rash enthusiasm of the
inhabitants of Malacca in the East Indies, who are so possessed
with that pernicious spirit, that they sacrifice to it not only
their fortunes, but also their wives and children; and then letting
their hair down upon their shoulders, in imitation of the ancient
Lacedaemonians when they devoted themselves to death, those
wretches unsheathe their daggers, and murder every living creature
in their way. In this, however, they differ from the gamesters of
our country, who never find their senses, until they have lost
their fortunes, and beggared their families; whereas the Malays
never run amuck, but in consequence of misery and despair.
Such are the amusements, or rather such is the continual
employment of those hopeful youths who are destined by birth to be
the judges of our property, and pillars of our constitution. Such
are the heirs and representatives of those patriots who planned,
and those heroes who maintained, the laws and freedom of their
country; who were the patrons of merit, the fathers of the poor,
the terror of vice and immorality, and at once the ornaments and
support of a happy nation.
Our adventurer considered all these circumstances with his
wonted sagacity, and, seeing upon what precarious footing he must
stand, should he rank himself with such society, he wisely came to
the resolution of descending one step in the degrees of life, and
of taking upon him the title of physician, under which he did not
despair of insinuating himself into the pockets of his patients,
and into the secrets of private families, so as to acquire a
comfortable share of practice, or captivate the heart of some
heiress or rich widow, whose fortune would at once render him
independent and happy.
After this determination, his next care was to concert measures
for his first appearance in this new character; well knowing, that
the success of a physician, in a great measure, depends upon the
external equipage in which he first declares himself an adept in
the healing art. He first of all procured a few books on the
subject of medicine, which he studied with great attention during
the remaining part of the winter and spring, and repaired to
Tunbridge with the first of the season, where he appeared in the
uniform of Aesculapius, namely, a plain suit, full trimmed, with a
voluminous tie-periwig; believing that in this place he might
glide, as it were, imperceptibly into the functions of his new
employment, and gradually accustom himself to the method and form
of prescription.
A man so well known in the gay world could not be supposed to
effect such a transformation without being observed; and therefore,
in order to anticipate the censure and ridicule of those who might
be tempted to make themselves merry at his expense, he, on his
arrival at the wells, repaired to the shop of an apothecary, and
calling for pen, ink, and paper, wrote a prescription, which he
desired might be immediately made up. While this was doing by the
servant, he was invited into a parlour by the master, with whom he
entered into conversation touching the properties of the Tunbridge
water, which seemed to have been his particular study; and indeed
he had perused Rouzee’s treatise on that subject with
indefatigable assiduity. From this theme, he made digressions into
other parts of medicine, upon which he spoke with such plausible
elocution, that the apothecary, whose knowledge in that art was not
very profound, looked upon him as a physician of great learning and
experience, and hinted a desire of knowing his name and
situation.
Fathom accordingly gave him to understand, that he had studied
physic, and taken his degrees at Padua, rather for his amusement,
than with any view of exercising medicine, as he then could not
possibly foresee the misfortunes which had since happened to his
family, and by which he was now compelled to have recourse to a
profession that was very much beneath the expectations of his
birth. Yet he bore his disappointments with resignation, and even
good-humour, and blessed his stars for having inclined him to the
study of any branch of knowledge by which he might be enabled to
laugh at the vicissitudes of fortune. He then observed, that he had
practised with some applause at the hot well near Bristol, before
he thought he should be ever reduced to the necessity of taking a
fee, and that, in all probability, his metamorphosis, when known,
would furnish matter of surprise and merriment to some of his old
acquaintance.
The apothecary was equally struck with his polite address, and
pleased with his agreeable discourse. He consoled him for the
misfortunes of his family, by assuring him, that in England nothing
could be more honourable, or indeed profitable, than the character
of a physician, provided he could once wriggle himself into
practice; and insinuated, that, although he was restricted by
certain engagements with other persons of the faculty, he should be
glad of an opportunity to show his regard for Doctor Fathom. This
was a very effectual method which our hero took to intimate his new
character to the public. By the industry and communicative
disposition of the apothecary, it was circulated in half a day
through every family in the place; and, next morning, when
Ferdinand appeared, the company forthwith assembled in separate
groups, and from each knot he heard his name reverberated in a
whisper.
Having thus announced himself to all whom it might concern, and
allowed the ladies two days to discuss the merit of his
transfiguration, together with the novelty of the case, he ventured
to salute, at a distance, a lady and her daughter, who had been his
patients at the hot well; and, although they honoured his bow with
the return of a slight curtsey, they gave him not the least
encouragement to make a nearer approach. Notwithstanding this
rebuff, he concluded, that, should the health of either come in
question, they would renew their application to his skill, and what
was refused by their pride would be granted by their apprehension.
Here, however, he happened to be mistaken in his conjecture.
The young lady being seized with a violent headache and
palpitation, her mother desired the apothecary to recommend a
physician; and the person with whom he was contracted being at that
time absent, he proposed Doctor Fathom as a man of great ability
and discretion. But the good lady rejected the proposal with
disdain, because she had formerly known him in the character of a
Count—though that very character was the chief reason that
had then induced her to crave his advice.
Such is the caprice of the world in general, that whatever bears
the face of novelty captivates, or rather bewitches, the
imagination, and confounds the ideas of reason and common sense.
If, for example, a scullion, from the clinking of pewter, shall
conceive a taste for the clinking of rhyme, and make shift to bring
together twenty syllables, so as that the tenth and last shall have
the like ending, the composition is immediately extolled as a
miracle; and what appeals to the admiration is not the wit, the
elegance, or poetry of the work, but the uncultivated talent and
humble station of the author. A reader does not exclaim,
“What a delicate sentiment! what a beautiful simile! what
easy and musical versification!”—but cries in rapture,
“Heavens! what a prodigy a poet from the scullery! a muse in
livery! or, Apollo with a trowel!”—The public is
astonished into liberality—the scullion eats from those
trenchers he scoured before—the footman is admitted into the
coach behind which he was wont to stand—and the bricklayer,
instead of plastering walls, bedaubs his illustrious partner with
the mortar of his praise. Thus, lifted into a higher sphere, their
talents receive cultivation; they become professed bards, and
though their subsequent works bear evident marks of improvement,
they are neglected among the rest of their brethren, because that
novelty, which recommended them in the beginning, no longer
remains.
So it fared with our adventurer in his new occupation. There was
something so extraordinary in a nobleman’s understanding
medicine, and so uncommon in a physician’s prescribing
gratis, that the curiosity and admiration of the company at Bristol
were engaged, and they followed his advice, as the direction of
some supernatural intelligence. But, now that he professed himself
one of the faculty, and might be supposed to have refreshed his
memory, and reinforced his knowledge for the occasion, he was as
much overlooked as any other physician unsupported by interest or
cabal; or, at least, the notice he attracted was not at all to the
advantage of his character, because it wholly regarded the decline
of his fortune, which is a never-failing fund of disgrace.
These mortifications did not overcome the patience and
perseverance of Fathom, who foresaw, that the soothing hand of time
would cast a veil of oblivion over those scenes which were
remembered to his prejudice; and that, in the meantime, though he
was excluded from the private parties of the fair sex, in which his
main hope of success was placed, he should be able to insinuate
himself into some degree of favour and practice among the male
patients; and some lucky cure, properly displayed, might be the
means of propagating his fame, and banishing that reserve which at
present interfered with his purpose. Accordingly, it was not long
before he found means to break that spell of universal prejudice
that hedged him in. At the ordinary which he frequented, his polite
carriage, facetious remarks, and agreeable stories soon conciliated
the regard of his fellow-guests, among whom he sometimes rallied
his own transformation with singular good-humour and success. He
was even witty upon his want of employment, and used to observe,
that a physician without practice had one comfort to which his
brethren were strangers, namely, that the seldomer he had occasion
to prescribe, the less he had upon his conscience on account of
being accessory to the death of his fellow-creatures.
Nothing so effectually blunts the shafts of ridicule, and
defeats the aims of slander, as this method of anticipation. In
spite of the arrows that were levelled against his reputation from
every tea-table at Tunbridge, he made his party good among almost
all the gay young gentlemen that frequented the place. Far from
avoiding his company, they began to court his conversation, and he
was commonly seen in the walks surrounded with a group of
admirers.
Having thus paved the way for a total removal of the invidious
prepossession that obstructed his views, he, one night, while every
person was lulled in the arms of repose, and universal silence
prevailed, tuned his violin, and began to play some masterly airs,
in a tone so uncommonly expressive, and with such ravishing
dexterity of execution, that a certain lady, who lodged in the same
house, being waked by the music, and ignorant of the source from
which it flowed, listened with rapture, as to the harp of an angel,
and, wrapping herself in a loose gown, rose and opened her chamber
door, in order to discover in what apartment the musician resided.
She no sooner entered the passage, than she found her
fellow-lodgers already assembled on the same occasion; and there
they remained during the best part of the night, transported by the
harmony which our hero produced.
Doctor Fathom was immediately known to be the author of this
entertainment; and thus retrieved the benefit of that admiration
which he had forfeited by appearing in the shape of a physician.
For, as people had formerly wondered to see a count skilled in
medicine, they were now amazed to find a physician such a master in
music.
The good effects of this stratagem were almost instantaneous.
His performance became the topic of discourse among all the
fashionable company. His male friends complimented him from the
information of the other sex; and that lady whom he had regaled,
instead of that shyness and disdain with which she used to receive
his salutation, at their very next meeting in the thoroughfare,
returned his bow with marks of profound respect. Nay, at midnight,
she, with the rest, took post in the same place where they had been
stationed before; and, by frequent tittering, and repeated
whispers, gave intimation to Fathom, that they would be glad of a
second serenade. But he was too well acquainted with the human
passions to indulge this their desire. It was his interest to
inflame their impatience, rather than to gratify their expectation;
and therefore he tantalised them for some hours, by tuning his
violin, and playing some flourishes, which, however, produced
nothing to fulfil their wishes.
At the ordinary, he was accosted by a gentleman, a lodger in the
same house, who assured him, that the ladies would take it as a
great favour if he would let them know when he intended to amuse
himself again with his instrument, that they might not, by falling
asleep beforehand, deprive themselves of the pleasure of hearing
his music. To this message he replied, with an air of consequence
and reserve, that, though music was not the art he professed, he
should be always complaisant enough to entertain the ladies to the
utmost of his power, when their commands were signified to him in a
manner suited to his character; but that he would never put himself
on the footing of an itinerate harper, whose music is tolerated
through the medium of a board partition. The gentleman having
reported this answer to his constituents, they empowered him to
invite Doctor Fathom to breakfast, and he was next morning
introduced with the usual ceremony, and treated with uncommon
regard by all the females of the house, assembled for his
reception.
Having thus broken the ice of their aversion in one part, so as
that the beams of his personal accomplishments had room to operate,
he soon effected a general thaw in his favour, and found himself
growing once more into request amongst the most amiable part of the
creation. His company was coveted, and his taste consulted in their
balls, concerts, and private assemblies; and he recompensed the
regard they paid to him with an incessant exertion of his agreeable
talents, politeness, and good-humour.
Yet, in the midst of all this attention, his medical capacity
seemed to be quite forgot. They respected his good breeding, were
charmed with his voice, and admired the fine touches of his hand
upon the violin; but in cultivating the fiddler, they utterly
neglected the physician; and in vain did he attempt to divide their
regard, by taking all opportunities to turn the conversation into a
more interesting channel. It was to little purpose he endeavoured
to arouse the wonder of his audience with frequent descriptions of
portentous maladies and amazing cures he had seen and performed in
the course of his study and practice abroad; and to no effect did
he publicly busy himself in making experiments on the mineral
water, in which he pretended to have made several new and important
discoveries. These efforts did not make a lasting impression upon
the minds of the company; because they saw nothing surprising in a
physician’s being acquainted with all the mysteries of his
art; and, as their custom was already bespoke for others of the
profession, whom it was their interest to employ, our adventurer
might have starved amidst the caresses of his acquaintance, had not
he derived considerable advantage from a lucky accident in the
course of his expectancy.
A gentlewoman’s daughter, of a weakly constitution, by
drinking the waters, had so far recovered her health and
complexion, as to allure the affection of a young squire in the
neighbourhood, who amused her for some time with his addresses,
until his heart was seduced by the charms of another young lady
lately arrived at the wells. The forsaken nymph, shocked at this
disgrace and mortification, relapsed into her former languishing
disorder; and was by her mother put under the management and
prescription of a physician, who had been an industrious enemy of
Fathom from his first appearance at Tunbridge. The patient, though
violently chagrined at the levity of her quondam admirer, was not
altogether without hope, that the very same inconstancy which had
prompted him to leave her, might in time induce him to return,
after the novelty of his new passion should be wore off; and this
hope served to support her under the sorrow and disgrace of her
disappointment. At length, however, the squire and his new mistress
disappeared; and some busybody was officious enough to communicate
this piece of news to the forlorn shepherdess, with this additional
circumstance, that they were gone to a neighbouring parish to be
joined in the bands of wedlock.
These fatal tidings were no sooner imparted to the abandoned
Phillis, than she was seized with an hysteric fit; and, what
rendered the accident more unfortunate, her physician had been
called to the country, and was not expected at Tunbridge till next
day. The apothecary was immediately summoned; and, being either
puzzled by the symptoms, or afraid of encroaching upon the province
of his superiors, advised the old lady to send for Doctor Fathom
without delay. She had no other objection to this expedient, but
the enmity which she knew subsisted between the two leeches; yet,
hearing that her own doctor would not consult with Fathom upon his
return but, perhaps renounce the patient, by which means her
daughter’s health might be endangered, she would not solicit
our hero’s assistance, until the young lady had remained
seven hours speechless and insensible; when, her fear prevailing
over every other consideration, she implored the advice of our
adventurer, who, having made the necessary interrogations, and felt
the patient’s pulse, which was regular and distinct, found
reason to conclude that the fit would not last much longer, and,
after having observed that she was in a very dangerous way,
prescribed some medicines for external application; and, to enhance
their opinion of his diligence and humanity, resolved to stay in
the room and observe their effect.
His judgment did not fail him on this occasion. In less than
half an hour after his embrocations had been applied, she recovered
the use of her tongue, opened her eyes, and having, in delirious
exclamations, upbraided her perfidious lover, became quite sensible
and composed, though she continued extremely low and dejected. To
remedy these sinkings, certain cordials were immediately
administered, according to the prescription of Doctor Fathom, upon
whom extraordinary encomiums were bestowed by all present, who
believed he had actually rescued her from the jaws of death; and as
he was by this time let into the secrets of the family, he found
himself in a fair way of being an egregious favourite of the old
gentlewoman; when, unluckily, his brother, having dismissed his
country patient with uncommon despatch, entered the apartment, and
eyed his rival with looks of inexpressible rage; then, surveying
the patient, and the phials that stood upon the table, by turns,
“What, in the name of God!” cried he, “is the
meaning of all this trash!”
“Really, doctor,” replied the mother, a little
confounded at being thus taken by surprise, “Biddy has been
taken dangerously ill, and lain seven or eight hours in a severe
fit, from which I am confident she would never have recovered
without the help of a physician; and as you were absent, we had
recourse to this gentleman, whose prescription hath had a happy and
surprising effect.” “Effect!” cried this offended
member of the faculty, “pshaw!—stuff!—who made
you judge of effects or causes?” Then advancing to the
patient, “What has been the matter, Miss Biddy, that you
could not wait till my return?”
Here Fathom interposing, “Sir,” said he, “if
you will step into the next room, I will communicate my sentiments
of the case, together with the method upon which I have proceeded,
that we may deliberate upon the next step that is to be
taken.” Instead of complying with this proposal, he seated
himself in a chair, with his back to our adventurer, and, while he
examined Miss Biddy’s pulse, gave him to understand, that he
should not consult with him about the matter.
Fathom, not in the least disconcerted at this uncivil answer,
walked round his antagonist, and, placing himself in his front,
desired to know his reason for treating him with such supercilious
contempt. “I am resolved,” said the other, “never
to consult with any physician who has not taken his degrees at
either of the English universities.” “Upon the
supposition,” replied our adventurer, “that no person
can be properly educated for the profession at any other
school.” “You are in the right,” answered Doctor
Looby; “that is one of many reasons I have to decline the
consultation.”
“How far you are in the right,” retorted Fathom,
“I leave the world to judge, after I have observed, that, in
your English universities, there is no opportunity of studying the
art; no, not so much as a lecture given on the subject. Nor is
there one physician of note in this kingdom who has not derived the
greatest part of his medical knowledge from the instructions of
foreigners.”
Looby, incensed at this asseveration, which he was not prepared
to refute, exclaimed, in a most infuriate accent, “Who are
you?—whence came you?—where was you bred? You are one
of those, I believe, who graduate themselves, and commence doctors,
the Lord knows how; an interloper, who, without licence or
authority, comes hither to take the bread out of the mouths of
gentlemen who have been trained to the business in a regular
manner, and bestowed great pains and expense to qualify themselves
for the profession. For my own part, my education cost me fifteen
hundred pounds.”
“Never was money laid out to less purpose,” said
Ferdinand; “for it does not appear that you have learned so
much as the basis of medical requirements, namely, that decorum and
urbanity which ought to distinguish the deportment of every
physician. You have even debased the noblest and most beneficial
art that ever engaged the study of mankind, which cannot be too
much cultivated, and too little restrained, in seeking to limit the
practice of it to a set of narrow-minded, illiberal wretches, who,
like the lowest handicraftsmen, claim the exclusive privileges of a
corporation. Had you doubted my ability, you ought to have
satisfied yourself in a manner consistent with decency and candour;
but your behaviour on this occasion is such a malicious outrage
upon good manners and humanity, that, were it not for my regard to
these ladies, I would chastise you for your insolence on the spot.
Meanwhile, madam,” addressing himself to the mother,
“you must give me leave to insist upon your dismissing either
that gentleman, or me, without hesitation.”
This peremptory language had an instantaneous effect upon the
hearers. Looby’s face grew pale, and his nether lip began to
tremble. The patient was dismayed, and the old gentlewoman
concerned and perplexed. She earnestly besought the gentlemen to be
reconciled to each other, and enter into a friendly consultation
upon her daughter’s distemper; but, finding both equally
averse to accommodation, and Fathom becoming more and more
importunate in his demand, she presented him with a double fee; and
giving him to understand that Doctor Looby had long attended the
family, and was intimately acquainted with her own and
Biddy’s constitution, said, she hoped he would not take it
amiss if she retained her old physician.
Though our hero was much mortified at this triumph of his rival,
he made a virtue of necessity, and retired with great complaisance,
wishing that Miss Biddy might never again be the subject of such a
disagreeable dispute. Whether the patient was frighted at this
altercation, or displeased with her mother’s decision against
an agreeable young fellow, who had, as it were, recalled her from
the grave, and made himself master of the secret that rankled at
her heart, or the disease had wound up her nerves for another
paroxysm, certain it is, she all of a sudden broke forth into a
violent peal of laughter, which was succeeded by the most doleful
cries, and other expressions of grief; then she relapsed into a
fit, attended with strong convulsions, to the unspeakable terror of
the old gentlewoman, who entreated Doctor Looby to be expeditious
in his prescription. Accordingly he seized the pen with great
confidence, and a whole magazine of antihysteric medicines were, in
different forms, externally and internally applied.
Nevertheless, either nature was disturbed in her own efforts by
these applications, or the patient was resolved to disgrace the
doctor. For the more remedies that were administered, her
convulsions became the more violent; and in spite of all his
endeavours, he could not overcome the obstinacy of the distemper.
Such a miscarriage, upon the back of his rival’s success,
could not fail to overwhelm him with confusion; especially as the
mother baited him with repeated entreaties to do something for the
recovery of her daughter. At length, after having exercised her
patience in vain for several hours, this affectionate parent could
no longer suppress the suggestions of her concern, but, in an
incoherent strain, told him that her duty would not suffer her to
be longer silent in an affair on which depended the life of her
dear child. That she had seen enough to believe he had mistaken the
case of poor Biddy, and he could not justly blame her for recalling
Doctor Fathom, whose prescription had operated in a miraculous
manner.
Looby, shocked at this proposal, protested against it with great
vehemence, as an expedient highly injurious to himself. “My
remedies,” said he, “are just beginning to take effect,
and, in all probability, the fit will not last much longer; so
that, by calling in another person at this juncture, you will
defraud me of that credit which is my due, and deck my adversary
with trophies to which he has no pretension.” She was
prevailed upon, by this remonstrance, to wait another half hour,
when perceiving, as yet, no alteration for the better, and being
distracted with her fears, which reproached her with want of
natural affection, she sent a message to Doctor Fathom, desiring to
see him with all possible despatch.
He was not slow in obeying the call, but hastening to the scene
of action, was not a little surprised to find Looby still in the
apartment. This gentleman, since better might not be, resolved to
sacrifice his pride to his interest, and, rather than lose his
patient altogether, and run the risk of forfeiting his reputation
at the same time, stayed with intention to compromise his
difference with Fathom, that he might not be wholly excluded from
the honour of the cure, in case it could be effected. But he had
reckoned without his host in his calculation of the Count’s
placability; for, when he put on his capitulating face, and, after
a slight apology for his late behaviour, proposed that all
animosity should subside in favour of the young lady, whose life
was at stake, our hero rejected his advances with infinite disdain,
and assured the mother, in a very solemn tone, that, far from
consulting with a man who had treated him so unworthily, he would
not stay another minute in the house, unless he should see him
discarded; a satisfaction barely sufficient to atone for the
affront he himself had suffered by the unjust preference she had
before given to his rival.
There was no remedy. Looby was obliged to retreat in his turn;
then our adventurer, approaching the bedside, reconnoitred the
patient, examined the medicines which had been administered, and
lifting up his eyes in expressive silence, detached the footman
with a new order to the apothecary. It was well the messenger used
expedition, otherwise Doctor Fathom would have been anticipated by
the operation of nature; for, the fit having almost run its career,
Miss Biddy was on the point of retrieving her senses, when the
frontal prescribed by Fathom was applied; to the efficacy of this,
therefore, was ascribed her recovery, when she opened her eyes, and
began to pour forth unconnected ejaculations; and in a few moments
after, she was persuaded to swallow a draught prepared for the
purpose, her perception returned, and Ferdinand gained the
reputation of having performed a second miracle.
But he was furnished with a piece of intelligence, of much more
energy than all she had taken, and so soon as he concluded she was
capable to bear the news without any dangerous emotion, he, among
other articles of chit-chat culled for her amusement, took the
opportunity of telling the company, that Squire Stub (the cause of
Miss Biddy’s disorder) had, in his way to matrimony, been
robbed of his bride, by a gentleman to whom she had been formerly
engaged. He had waited for her on purpose at an inn on the road,
where he found means to appease her displeasure, which he had, it
seems, incurred, and to supersede her new lover, whom she quitted
without ceremony; upon which the squire had returned to Tunbridge,
cursing her levity, yet blessing his good stars for having so
seasonably prevented his ruin, which would have infallibly been the
consequence of his marrying such an adventurer.
It would be superfluous to observe, that these tidings operated
like an admirable specific on the spirits of the young lady, who,
while she affected to pity the squire, was so much overjoyed at his
disappointment, that her eyes began to sparkle with uncommon
vivacity, and in less than two hours after the last of those
terrible attacks, she was restored to a better state of health than
she had enjoyed for many weeks. Fathom was not forgot amidst the
rejoicings of the family. Besides an handsome gratuity for the
effects of his extraordinary skill, the old lady favoured him with
a general invitation to her house, and the daughter not only
considered him as the restorer of her health, and angel of her good
fortune, but also began to discover an uncommon relish for his
conversation; so that he was struck with the prospect of succeeding
Squire Stub in her affection. A conquest which, if sanctioned by
the approbation of the mother, would console him for all the
disappointments he had sustained; for Miss Biddy was entitled to a
fortune of ten thousand pounds, provided she should marry with the
consent of her parent, who was the sole executrix of the
father’s will.
Animated with the hope of such an advantageous match, our
adventurer missed no opportunity of improving the lodgment he had
made, while the two ladies failed not to extol his medical capacity
among all their female acquaintances. By means of this circulation,
his advice was demanded in several other cases, which he managed
with such an imposing air of sagacity and importance, that his fame
began to spread, and before the end of the season, he had ravished
more than one half of the business from his competitor.
Notwithstanding these fortunate events, he foresaw, that he should
find great difficulty in transplanting his reputation, so as to
take root in London, which was the only soil in which he could
propose to rise to any degree of prosperity and independence; and
this reflection was grounded upon a maxim which universally
prevails among the English people, namely, to overlook and wholly
neglect, on their return to the metropolis, all the connexions they
may have chanced to acquire during their residence at any of the
medical wells. And this social disposition is so scrupulously
maintained, that two persons who lived in the most intimate
correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall in four-and-twenty hours
so totally forget their friendship, as to meet in St. James’s
Park, without betraying the least token of recognition; so that one
would imagine these mineral waters were so many streams issuing
from the river Lethe, so famed of old for washing away all traces
of memory and recollection.
Aware of this oblivious principle, Doctor Fathom collected all
his qualifications, in order to make such an impression upon the
heart of Miss Biddy, as would resist all her endeavours to shake
him from her remembrance; and his efforts succeeded so well, that
Squire Stub’s advances to a reconciliation were treated with
manifest indifference. In all probability our hero would have made
a very advantageous campaign, had not his good fortune been
retarded by an obstruction, which, as he did not perceive it, he
could not possibly surmount. In displaying his accomplishments to
captivate the daughter, he had unwittingly made an absolute
conquest of the mother, who superintended the conduct of Miss Biddy
with such jealous vigilance, that he could find no opportunity of
profiting by the progress he had made in her heart; for the careful
matron would never lose sight of her, no, not for one moment.
Had the old lady given the least intimation to our adventurer,
of the sentiments she entertained in his behalf, his complaisance
was of such a pliable texture, that he would have quitted his other
pursuit, and made her the sole object of his attention. But she
either depended upon the effect of his own good taste and
discernment, or was too proud to disclose a passion which he had
hitherto overlooked.
Before this affair could be brought to a proper explanation, the
season being almost ended, the ladies departed from Tunbridge, and
in a little time Doctor Fathom followed them to London, having
previously obtained permission to visit them in that metropolis. He
had solicited the same favour of some other families, in which he
hoped to take root, though he knew they were pre-engaged to
different physicians; and resolving to make his first medical
appearance in London with some eclat, he not only purchased an old
chariot, which was new painted for the purpose, but likewise hired
a footman, whom he clothed in laced livery, in order to distinguish
himself from the common run of his brethren.
This equipage, though much more expensive than his finances
could bear, he found absolutely necessary to give him a chance for
employment; as every shabby retainer to physic, in this capital,
had provided himself with a vehicle, which was altogether used by
way of a travelling sign-post, to draw in customers; so that a
walking physician was considered as an obscure pedlar, trudging
from street to street, with his pack of knowledge on his shoulders,
and selling his remnants of advice by retail. A chariot was not now
set up for the convenience of a man sinking under the fatigue of
extensive practice, but as a piece of furniture every way as
necessary as a large periwig with three tails; and a physician, let
his merit, in other respects, be never so conspicuous, can no more
expect to become considerable in business, without the assistance
of this implement, than he can hope to live without food, or
breathe without a windpipe.
This requisite is so well understood, that, exclusive of those
who profess themselves doctors, every raw surgeon, every idle
apothecary, who can make interest with some foolhardy coachmaker,
may be seen dancing the bays in all places of public resort, and
grinning to one another from their respective carriages. Hence
proceed many of those cruel accidents which are recorded in the
daily papers. An apothecary’s horses take fright, and run
away with his chariot, which is heard of no more. An eminent
surgeon being overturned, is so terrified at the thoughts of
mutilation, that he resolves to walk on foot all the days of his
life; and the coachman of a physician of great practice, having the
misfortune to be disabled by a fall from the box, his master can
never find another to supply his place.
None of these observations escaped the penetrating eye of
Fathom, who, before he pretended to seat himself in this machine,
had made proper inquiry into all the other methods practised, with
a view to keep the wheels in motion. In his researches, he found
that the great world was wholly engrossed by a few practitioners
who had arrived at the summit of reputation, consequently were no
longer obliged to cultivate those arts by which they rose; and that
the rest of the business was parcelled out into small enclosures,
occupied by different groups of personages, male and female, who
stood in rings, and tossed the ball from one to another, there
being in each department two sets, the individuals of which
relieved one another occasionally. Every knot was composed of a
waiting-woman, nurse, apothecary, surgeon, and physician, and
sometimes a midwife was admitted into the party; and in this manner
the farce was commonly performed.
A fine lady, fatigued with idleness, complains of the vapours,
is deprived of her rest, though not so sick as to have recourse to
medicine. Her favourite maid, tired with giving her attendance in
the night, thinks proper, for the benefit of her own repose, to
complain of a violent headache, and recommends to her mistress a
nurse of approved tenderness and discretion; at whose house, in all
likelihood, the said chambermaid hath oft given the rendezvous to a
male friend. The nurse, well skilled in the mysteries of her
occupation, persuades the patient, that her malady, far from being
slight or chimerical, may proceed to a very dangerous degree of the
hysterical affection, unless it be nipt in the bud by some very
effectual remedy. Then she recounts a surprising cure performed by
a certain apothecary, and appeals to the testimony of the
waiting-woman, who being the gossip of his wife, confirms the
evidence, and corroborates the proposal. The apothecary being
summoned, finds her ladyship in such a delicate situation, that he
declines prescribing, and advises her to send for a physician
without delay. The nomination of course falls to him, and the
doctor being called, declares the necessity of immediate
venesection, which is accordingly performed by a surgeon of the
association.
This is one way of beginning the game. Though the commencement
often varies, and sometimes the apothecary and sometimes the
physician opens the scene; but, be that as it will, they always
appear in a string, like a flight of wild geese, and each
confederacy maintains a correspondence with one particular
undertaker. Fathom, upon these considerations, set up his rest in
the first floor of an apothecary in the neighbourhood of Charing
Cross, to whom he was introduced by a letter from a friend at
Tunbridge, and who being made acquainted with his ability and
scheme, promised to let slip no opportunity of serving him; and,
indeed, seemed to espouse his interest with great alacrity. He
introduced him to some of his patients, on the strength of a gratis
visit, sounded forth his praise among all the good women of his
acquaintance; and even prevailed upon him to publish
advertisements, importing that he would every day, at a certain
time and place, give his advice to the poor for nothing; hoping
that, by means of some lucky cure, his fame might be extended, and
his practice grow into request.
In the meantime his chariot rolled along through all the most
frequented streets, during the whole forenoon, and, at the usual
hour, he never failed to make his appearance at the medical
coffee-house, with all that solemnity of feature and address, by
which the modern sons of Paean are distinguished; not but that he
was often puzzled about the decision of his diurnal route. For the
method of driving up one street and down another, without halting,
was become such a stale expedient, that the very ‘prentices
used to stand at the shop doors, and ridicule the vain parade. At
length, however, he perused the map of London with great diligence,
and, having acquired a distinct idea of its topography, used to
alight at the end of long narrow thoroughfares and paved courts,
where the chariot was ordered to wait till his return; and, walking
with great gravity through the different turnings of these alleys,
regain his carriage by another passage, and resume his seat with an
air of vast importance. With a view to protract the time of his
supposed visits, he would, at one place, turn aside to a wall; at
another, cheapen an urinal; at a third corner, read a quack
advertisement, or lounge a few minutes in some bookseller’s
shop; and, lastly, glide into some obscure coffee-house, and treat
himself with a dram of usquebaugh.
The other means used to force a trade, such as ordering himself
to be called from church, alarming the neighbourhood with knocking
at his door in the night, receiving sudden messages in places of
resort, and inserting his cures by way of news in the daily papers,
had been so injudiciously hackneyed by every desperate sculler in
physic, that they had lost their effect upon the public, and
therefore were excluded from the plan of our adventurer, whose
scheme, for the present, was to exert himself in winning the favour
of those sage Sibyls, who keep, as it were, the temple of medicine,
and admit the young priest to the service of the altar; but this he
considered as a temporary project only, until he should have
acquired interest enough to erect an hospital, lock, or infirmary,
by the voluntary subscription of his friends, a scheme which had
succeeded to a miracle with many of the profession, who had raised
themselves into notice upon the carcases of the poor.
Yet even this branch was already overstocked, insomuch that
almost every street was furnished with one of these charitable
receptacles, which, instead of diminishing the taxes for the
maintenance of the poor, encouraged the vulgar to be idle and
dissolute, by opening an asylum to them and their families, from
the diseases of poverty and intemperance. For it remains to be
proved, that the parish rates are decreased, the bills of mortality
lessened, the people more numerous, or the streets less infested
with beggars, notwithstanding the immense sums yearly granted by
individuals for the relief of the indigent.
But, waiving these reflections, Doctor Fathom hoped, that his
landlord would be a most useful implement for extending his
influence, and, for that reason, admitted him into a degree of
partnership, after being fully convinced that he was not under
articles to any other physician. Nevertheless, he was very much
mistaken in reckoning on the importance of his new ally, who was,
like himself, a needy adventurer, settled upon credit, and
altogether unemployed, except among the very refuse of the people,
whom no other person would take the trouble to attend. So that our
hero got little else than experience and trouble, excepting a few
guineas which he made shift to glean among sojourners, with whom he
became occasionally acquainted, or young people, who had been
unfortunate in their amours.
In the midst of these endeavours, he did not omit his duty to
the old gentlewoman, whose daughter he had cured at Tunbridge; and
was always received with particular complacency, which, perhaps,
he, in some measure, owed to his genteel equipage, that gave credit
to every door before which it was seen; yet, Miss Biddy was as
inaccessible as ever, while the mother became more and more warm in
her civilities, till at length, after having prepared him with some
extraordinary compliments, she gave him to understand, that Biddy
was no better than a giddy-headed girl, far from being
unexceptionable in her moral character, and particularly deficient
in duty and gratitude to her, who had been always a tender and
indulgent parent; she was therefore determined to punish the young
minx for her levity and want of natural affection, by altering her
own condition, could she find a worthy and agreeable man, on whom
she could bestow her hand and fortune without a blush.
The film was instantly removed from Fathom’s eyes by this
declaration, which she uttered with such a significancy of look, as
thrilled to his soul with joyful presage, while he replied, it
would, indeed, be a difficult task to find a man who merited such
happiness and honour; but, surely, some there were, who would task
their faculties to the uttermost, in manifesting their gratitude,
and desire of rendering themselves worthy of such distinction.
Though this answer was pronounced in such a manner as gave her to
understand he had taken the hint, she would not cheapen her
condescension so much as to explain herself further at that
juncture, and he was very well contented to woo her on her own
terms; accordingly he began to season his behaviour with a spice of
gallantry, when he had opportunities of being particular with this
new inamorata, and, in proportion to the returns she made, he
gradually detached himself from Miss Biddy, by intermitting, and,
at last, discontinuing those ardent expressions of love and
admiration, which he had made shift to convey in private looks and
stolen whispers, during the rancorous inspection of her mother.
Such alteration could not long escape the jealous eyes of the
young lady, no more than the cause of this alienation, which, in a
moment, converted all her love into irreconcilable hate, and filled
her whole soul with the most eager desire of vengeance. For she now
not only considered him as a mercenary wretch, who had slighted her
attractions for the sordid gratifications of avarice, but also as
an interloper, who wanted to intercept her fortune, in the odious
character of a father-in-law. But, before she could bring her aim
to any ripeness of contrivance, her mother, having caught cold at
church, was seized with a rheumatic fever, became delirious in less
than three days, and, notwithstanding all the prescriptions and
care of her admirer, gave up the ghost, without having retrieved
the use of her senses, or been able to manifest, by will, the
sentiments she entertained in favour of her physician, who, as the
reader will easily perceive, had more reasons than one to be
mortally chagrined at this event.
Miss Biddy being thus put in possession of the whole
inheritance, not only renounced all correspondence with Doctor
Fathom, by forbidding him the house, but likewise took all
opportunities of prejudicing his character, by hinting, that her
dear mamma had fallen a sacrifice to his ignorance and
presumption.
These ill offices, however, far from answering her purpose, had
a quite contrary effect. For, in consequence of her invectives, he
was, in a few days, called to the wife of a merchant, who piously
hoped, that his practice would not give Miss Biddy the lie. The
patient had long lingered under a complication of distempers, and
being in no immediate danger of her life, Doctor Fathom was in no
hurry to strike a decisive stroke; till the husband growing
impatient of delay, and so explicit in his hints, that it was
impossible to misapprehend his meaning, our adventurer resolved to
do something effectual for his satisfaction, and prescribed a
medicine of such rough operation, as he thought must either oblige
his employer, or produce a change in the lady’s constitution,
that would make a noise in the world, and bring a new accession to
his fame.
Proceeding upon these maxims, he could not be disappointed. The
remedy played its part with such violence, as reduced the patient
to extremity, and the merchant had actually bespoke an undertaker;
when, after a series of swoonings and convulsions, nature so far
prevailed, as to expel, at once, the prescription and the disease;
yet the good-natured husband was so much affected with the agonies
to which he saw the wife of his bosom exposed by this specific,
that, although the effect of it was her perfect recovery, he could
never bear the sight of Fathom for the future, nor even hear his
name mentioned, without giving signs of horror and indignation.
Nay, he did not scruple to affirm, that, had our adventurer been
endowed with the least tincture of humanity, he would have suffered
the poor woman to depart in peace, rather than restore her to
health, at the expense of such anxiety and torture.
On the other hand, this extraordinary cure was blazoned abroad
by the good lady and her gossips, with such exaggerations as roused
the astonishment of the public, and concurred with the report of
his last miscarriage to bring him upon the carpet, as the universal
subject of discourse. When a physician becomes the town talk, he
generally concludes his business more than half done, even though
his fame should wholly turn upon his malpractice; insomuch that
some members of the faculty have been heard to complain, that they
never had the good fortune to be publicly accused of homicide; and
it is well known, that a certain famous empiric, of our day, never
flourished to any degree of wealth and reputation till after he had
been attacked in print, and fairly convicted of having destroyed a
good number of the human species. Success raised upon such a
foundation would, by a disciple of Plato, and some modern
moralists, be ascribed to the innate virtue and generosity of the
human heart, which naturally espouses the cause that needs
protection. But I, whose notions of human excellence are not quite
so sublime, am apt to believe it is owing to that spirit of
self-conceit and contradiction, which is, at least, as universal,
if not as natural, as the moral sense so warmly contended for by
those ideal philosophers.
The most infamous wretch often finds his account in these
principles of malevolence and self-love. For wheresoever his
character falls under discussion there is generally some person
present, who, either from an affectation of singularity, or envy to
the accusers, undertakes his defence, and endeavours to invalidate
the articles of his impeachment, until he is heated by altercation,
and hurried into more effectual measures for his advantage. If such
benefits accrue to those who have no real merit to depend upon,
surely our hero could not but reap something extraordinary from the
debates to which he now gave rise; as, by the miraculous cure he
had affected, all his patient’s friends, all the enemies of
her husband, all those who envied his other adversary, were
interested in his behalf, exclusive of such admirers as surprise
and curiosity might engage in his cause.
Thus wafted upon the wings of applause, his fame soon diffused
itself into all the corners of this great capital. The newspapers
teemed with his praise; and in order to keep up the attention of
the public, his emissaries, male and female, separated into
different coffee-houses, companies, and clubs, where they did not
fail to comment upon these articles of intelligence. Such a
favourable incident is, of itself, sufficient to float the bark of
a man’s fortune. He was, in a few days, called to another
lady, labouring under the same disorder he had so successfully
dispelled, and she thought herself benefited by his advice. His
acquaintance naturally extended itself among the visitants and
allies of his patients; he was recommended from family to family;
the fees began to multiply; a variety of footmen appeared every day
at his door; he discontinued his sham circuit, and looking upon the
present conjuncture, as that tide in his affairs, which, according
to Shakespeare, when taken at the full, leads on to fortune, he
resolved that the opportunity should not be lost, and applied
himself with such assiduity to his practice, that, in all
likelihood, he would have carried the palm from all his
contemporaries, had he not split upon the same rock which had
shipwrecked his hopes before.
We have formerly descanted upon that venereal appetite which
glowed in the constitution of our adventurer, and with all his
philosophy and caution could hardly keep within bounds. The reader,
therefore, will not be much surprised to learn, that, in the
exercise of his profession, he contracted an intimacy with a
clergyman’s wife, whom he attended as a physician, and whose
conjugal virtue he subdued by a long and diligent exertion of his
delusive arts, while her mind was enervated by sickness, and her
husband abroad upon his necessary occasions. This unhappy patient,
who was a woman of an agreeable person and lively conversation,
fell a sacrifice to her own security and self-conceit; her want of
health had confined her to a sedentary life, and her imagination
being active and restless, she had spent those hours in reading
which other young women devote to company and diversion, but, as
her studies were not superintended by any person of taste, she had
indulged her own fancy without method or propriety. The Spectator
taught her to be a critic and philosopher; from plays she learned
poetry and wit, and derived her knowledge of life from books of
history and adventures. Fraught with these acquisitions, and
furnished by nature with uncommon vivacity, she despised her own
sex, and courted the society of men, among whom she thought her
talents might be more honourably displayed, fully confident of her
own virtue and sagacity, which enabled her to set all their arts at
defiance.
Thus qualified, she, in an evil hour, had recourse to the advice
of our adventurer, for some ailment under which she had long
laboured, and found such relief from his skill as very much
prepossessed her in his favour. She was no less pleased with his
obliging manners than with his physic, and found much entertainment
in his conversation, so that the acquaintance proceeded to a degree
of intimacy, during which he perceived her weak side, and being
enamoured of her person, flattered her out of all her caution. The
privilege of his character furnished him with opportunities to lay
snares for her virtue, and, taking advantage of that listlessness,
languor, and indolence of the spirits, by which all the vigilance
of the soul is relaxed, he, after a long course of attention and
perseverance, found means to make shipwreck of her peace.
Though he mastered her chastity, he could not quiet her
conscience, which incessantly upbraided her with breach of the
marriage vow; nor did her undoer escape without a share of the
reproaches suggested by her penitence and remorse. This internal
anxiety co-operating with her disease, and perhaps with the
medicines he prescribed, reduced her to the brink of the grave;
when her husband returned from a neighbouring kingdom, in
consequence of her earnest request, joined to the information of
her friends, who had written to him an account of the extremity in
which she was. The good man was afflicted beyond measure when he
saw himself upon the verge of losing a wife whom he had always
tenderly loved; but what were his emotions, when she, taking the
first opportunity of his being alone with her, accosted him to this
effect:
“I am now hastening towards that dissolution from which no
mortal is exempted, and though the prospect of futurity is
altogether clouded and uncertain, my conscience will not allow me
to plunge into eternity without unburdening my mind, and, by an
ingenuous confession, making all the atonement in my power for the
ingratitude I have been guilty of, and the wrongs I have committed
against a virtuous husband, who never gave me cause of complaint.
You stand amazed at this preamble, but alas! how will you be
shocked when I own that I have betrayed you in your absence, that I
have trespassed against God and my marriage vow, and fallen from
the pride and confidence of virtue to the most abject state of
vice; yes, I have been unfaithful to your bed, having fallen a
victim to the infernal insinuations of a villain, who took
advantage of my weak and unguarded moments. Fathom is the wretch
who hath thus injured your honour, and ruined my unsuspecting
innocence. I have nothing to plead in alleviation of my crime but
the most sincere contrition of heart, and though, at any other
juncture, I could not expect your forgiveness, yet, as I now touch
the goal of life, I trust in your humanity and benevolence for that
pardon which will lighten the sorrows of my soul, and those prayers
which I hope will entitle me to favour at the throne of
grace.”
The poor husband was so much overwhelmed with grief and
confusion at this unexpected address that he could not recollect
himself till after a pause of several minutes, when uttering a
hollow groan, “I will not,” said he, “aggravate
your sufferings, by reproaching you with my wrongs, though your
conduct hath been but an ill return for all my tenderness and
esteem. I look upon it as a trial of my Christian patience, and
bear my misfortune with resignation; meanwhile, I forgive you from
my heart, and fervently pray that your repentance may be acceptable
to the Father of Mercy.” So saying, he approached her
bedside, and embraced her in token of his sincerity. Whether this
generous condescension diffused such a composure upon her spirits
as tended to the ease and refreshment of nature, which had been
almost exhausted by disease and vexation, certain it is, that from
this day she began to struggle with her malady in surprising
efforts, and hourly gained ground, until her health was pretty well
re-established.
This recovery was so far beyond the husband’s expectation,
that he began to make very serious reflections on the event, and
even to wish he had not been quite so precipitate in pardoning the
backslidings of his wife; for, though he could not withhold his
compassion from a dying penitent, he did not at all relish the
thoughts of cohabiting, as usual, with a wife self-convicted of the
violation of the matrimonial contract; he therefore considered his
declaration as no more than a provisional pardon, to take place on
condition of her immediate death, and, in a little time, not only
communicated to her his sentiments on this subject, but also
separated himself from her company, secured the evidence of her
maid, who had been confidant in her amour with Fathom, and
immediately set on foot a prosecution against our adventurer, whose
behaviour to his wife he did not fail to promulgate, with all its
aggravating circumstances. By these means the doctor’s name
became so notorious that every man was afraid of admitting him into
his house, and every woman ashamed of soliciting his advice.
Misfortunes seldom come single; upon the back of this hue and
cry he unluckily prescribed phlebotomy to a gentleman of some rank,
who chanced to expire during the operation, and quarrelled with his
landlord the apothecary, who charged him with having forgot the
good offices he had done him in the beginning of his career, and
desired he would provide himself with another lodging.
All these mishaps, treading upon the heels of one another, had a
very mortifying effect upon his practice. At every tea-table his
name was occasionally put to the torture, with that of the vile
creature whom he had seduced, though it was generally taken for
granted by all those female casuists, that she must have made the
first advances, for it could not be supposed that any man would
take much trouble in laying schemes for the ruin of a person whose
attractions were so slender, especially considering the ill state
of her health, a circumstance that seldom adds to a woman’s
beauty or good-humour; besides, she was always a pert minx, that
affected singularity, and a masculine manner of speaking, and many
of them had foreseen that she would, some time or other, bring
herself into such a premunire. At all gossipings, where the
apothecary or his wife assisted, Fathom’s pride, ingratitude,
and malpractice were canvassed; in all clubs of married men he was
mentioned with marks of abhorrence and detestation, and every
medical coffee-house rung with his reproach. Instances of his
ignorance and presumption were quoted, and many particulars feigned
for the purpose of defamation, so that our hero was exactly in the
situation of a horseman, who, in riding at full speed for the
plate, is thrown from the saddle in the middle of the race, and
left without sense or motion upon the plain.
His progress, though rapid, had been so short, that he could not
be supposed to have laid up store against such a day of trouble,
and as he still cherished hopes of surmounting those obstacles
which had so suddenly started up in his way, he would not resign
his equipage nor retrench his expenses, but appeared as usual in
all public places with that serenity and confidence of feature
which he had never deposited, and maintained his external pomp upon
the little he had reserved in the days of his prosperity, and the
credit he had acquired by the punctuality of his former payments.
Both these funds, however, failed in a very little time, his
lawsuit was a gulf that swallowed up all his ready money, and the
gleanings of his practice were scarce sufficient to answer his
pocket expenses, which now increased in proportion to the decrease
of business, for, as he had more idle time, and was less admitted
into private families, so he thought he had more occasion to
enlarge his acquaintance among his own sex, who alone were able to
support him in his disgrace with the other. He accordingly listed
himself in several clubs, and endeavoured to monopolise the
venereal branch of trade, though this was but an indifferent
resource, for almost all his patients of this class were such as
either could not, or would not, properly recompense the
physician.
For some time he lingered in this situation, without going
upwards or downwards, floating like a wisp of straw at the turning
of the tide, until he could no longer amuse the person of whom he
had hired his coach-horses, or postpone the other demands, which
multiplied upon him every day. Then was his chariot overturned with
a hideous crash, and his face so much wounded with the shivers of
the glass, which went to pieces in the fall, that he appeared in
the coffee-house with half a dozen black patches upon his
countenance, gave a most circumstantial detail of the risk he had
run, and declared, that he did not believe he should ever hazard
himself again in any sort of wheel carriage.
Soon after this accident, he took an opportunity of telling his
friends, in the same public place, that he had turned away his
footman on account of his drunkenness, and was resolved, for the
future, to keep none but maids in his service, because the
menservants are generally impudent, lazy, debauched, or dishonest;
and after all, neither so neat, handy, or agreeable as the other
sex. In the rear of this resolution, he shifted his lodgings into a
private court, being distracted with the din of carriages, that
disturb the inhabitants who live towards the open street; and gave
his acquaintance to understand, that he had a medical work upon the
anvil, which he could not finish without being indulged in silence
and tranquillity. In effect, he gradually put on the exteriors of
an author. His watch, with an horizontal movement by Graham, which
he had often mentioned, and shown as a very curious piece of
workmanship, began, about this time, to be very much out of order,
and was committed to the care of a mender, who was in no hurry to
restore it. His tie-wig degenerated into a major; he sometimes
appeared without a sword, and was even observed in public with a
second day’s shirt. At last, his clothes became rusty; and
when he walked about the streets, his head turned round in a
surprising manner, by an involuntary motion in his neck, which he
had contracted by a habit of reconnoitring the ground, that he
might avoid all dangerous or disagreeable encounters.
Fathom, finding himself descending the hill of fortune with an
acquired gravitation, strove to catch at every twig, in order to
stop or retard his descent. He now regretted the opportunities he
had neglected, of marrying one of several women of moderate
fortune, who had made advances to him in the zenith of his
reputation; and endeavoured, by forcing himself into a lower path
of life than any he had hitherto trod, to keep himself afloat, with
the portion of some tradesman’s daughter, whom he meant to
espouse. While he exerted himself in this pursuit, he happened, in
returning from a place about thirty miles from London, to become
acquainted, in the stage-coach, with a young woman of a very homely
appearance, whom, from the driver’s information, he
understood to be the niece of a country justice, and daughter of a
soap-boiler, who had lived and died in London, and left her, in her
infancy, sole heiress of his effects, which amounted to four
thousand pounds. The uncle, who was her guardian, had kept her
sacred from the knowledge of the world, resolving to effect a match
betwixt her and his own son; and it was with much difficulty he had
consented to this journey, which she had undertaken as a visit to
her own mother, who had married a second husband in town.
Fraught with these anecdotes, Fathom began to put forth his
gallantry and good-humour, and, in a word, was admitted by the lady
to the privilege of an acquaintance, in which capacity he visited
her during the term of her residence in London; and, as there was
no time to be lost, declared his honourable intentions. He had such
a manifest advantage, in point of personal accomplishments, over
the young gentleman who was destined for her husband, that she did
not disdain his proposals; and, before she set out for the country,
he had made such progress in her heart, that the day was actually
fixed for their nuptials, on which he faithfully promised to carry
her off in a coach and six. How to raise money for this expedition
was all the difficulty that remained; for, by this time, his
finances were utterly dried up, and his credit altogether
exhausted. Upon a very pressing occasion, he had formerly applied
himself to a certain wealthy quack, who had relieved his
necessities by lending him a small sum of money, in return for
having communicated to him a secret medicine, which he affirmed to
be the most admirable specific that ever was invented. The nostrum
had been used, and, luckily for him, succeeded in the trial; so
that the empiric, in the midst of his satisfaction, began to
reflect, that this same Fathom, who pretended to be in possession
of a great many remedies, equally efficacious, would certainly
become a formidable rival to him in his business, should he ever be
able to extricate himself from his present difficulties.
In consequence of these suggestions, he resolved to keep our
adventurer’s head under water, by maintaining him in the most
abject dependence. Accordingly he had, from time to time,
accommodated him with small trifles, which barely served to support
his existence, and even for these had taken notes of hand, that he
might have a scourge over his head, in case he should prove
insolent or refractory. To this benefactor Fathom applied for a
reinforcement of twenty guineas, which he solicited with the more
confidence, as that sum would certainly enable him to repay all
other obligations. The quack would advance the money upon no other
condition, than that of knowing the scheme, which being explained,
he complied with Ferdinand’s request; but, at the same time,
privately despatched an express to the young lady’s uncle,
with a full account of the whole conspiracy; so that, when the
doctor arrived at the inn, according to appointment, he was
received by his worship in person, who gave him to understand, that
his niece had changed her mind, and gone fifty miles farther into
the country to visit a relation. This was a grievous disappointment
to Fathom, who really believed his mistress had forsaken him
through mere levity and caprice, and was not undeceived till
several months after her marriage with her cousin, when, at an
accidental meeting in London, she explained the story of the secret
intelligence, and excused her marriage, as the effect of rigorous
usage and compulsion.
Had our hero been really enamoured of her person, he might have
probably accomplished his wishes, notwithstanding the steps she had
taken. But this was not the case. His passion was of a different
nature, and the object of it effectually without his reach. With
regard to his appetite for women, as it was an infirmity of his
constitution, which he could not overcome, and as he was in no
condition to gratify it at a great expense, he had of late chosen a
housekeeper from the hundreds of Drury, and, to avoid scandal,
allowed her to assume his name. As to the intimation which had been
sent to the country justice, he immediately imputed it to the true
author, whom he marked for his vengeance accordingly; but, in the
meantime, suppressed his resentment, because he in some measure
depended upon him for subsistence. On the other hand, the quack,
dreading the forwardness and plausibility of our hero, which might,
one time or other, render him independent, put a stop to those
supplies, on pretence of finding them inconvenient; but, out of his
friendship and goodwill to Fathom, undertook to procure for him
such letters of recommendation as would infallibly make his fortune
in the West Indies, and even to set him out in a genteel manner for
the voyage. Ferdinand perceived his drift, and thanked him for his
generous offer, which he would not fail to consider with all due
deliberation; though he was determined against the proposal, but
obliged to temporise, that he might not incur the displeasure of
this man, at whose mercy he lay. Meanwhile the prosecution against
him in Doctors’ Commons drew near a period, and the lawyers
were clamorous for money, without which, he foresaw he should lose
the advantage which his cause had lately acquired by the death of
his antagonist’s chief evidence; he therefore, seeing every
other channel shut up, began to doubt, whether the risk of being
apprehended or slain in the character of a highwayman, was not
overbalanced by the prospect of being acquitted of a charge which
had ruined his reputation and fortune, and actually entertained
thoughts of taking the air on Hounslow Heath, when he was diverted
from this expedient by a very singular adventure.
Chancing to meet with one of his acquaintance at a certain
coffee-house, the discourse turned upon the characters of mankind,
when, among other oddities, his friend brought upon the carpet a
certain old gentlewoman of such a rapacious disposition, that, like
a jackdaw, she never beheld any metalline substance, without an
inclination, and even an effort to secrete it for her own use and
contemplation. Nor was this infirmity originally produced from
indigence, inasmuch as her circumstances had been always affluent,
and she was now possessed of a considerable sum of money in the
funds; notwithstanding which, the avarice of her nature tempted her
to let lodgings, though few people could live under the same roof
with such an original, who, rather than be idle, had often filched
pieces of her own plate, and charged her servants with the theft,
or hinted suspicion of her lodgers. Fathom, struck with the
description, soon perceived how this woman’s disease might be
converted to his advantage; and after having obtained sufficient
intelligence, on pretence of satisfying his curiosity, he visited
the widow, in consequence of a bill at her door, and actually hired
an apartment in her house, whither he forthwith repaired with his
inamorata.
It was not long before he perceived that his landlady’s
character had not been misrepresented. He fed her distemper with
divers inconsiderable trinkets, such as copper medals, corkscrews,
odd buckles, and a paltry seal set in silver, which were, at
different times, laid as baits for her infirmity, and always
conveyed away with remarkable eagerness, which he and his Dulcinea
took pleasure in observing from an unsuspected place. Thus
confirmed in his opinion, he, at length, took an opportunity of
exposing a metal watch that belonged to his mistress, and saw it
seized with great satisfaction, in the absence of his helpmate, who
had gone abroad on purpose. According to instruction, she soon
returned, and began to raise a terrible clamour about the loss of
her watch; upon which she was condoled by her landlady, who seemed
to doubt the integrity of the maid, and even proposed that Mrs.
Fathom should apply to some justice of the peace for a warrant to
search the servant’s trunk. The lady thanked her for the good
advice, in compliance with which she had immediate recourse to a
magistrate, who granted a search warrant, not against the maid, but
the mistress; and she, in a little time, returned with the
constable at her back.
These precautions being taken, Doctor Fathom desired a private
conference with the old gentlewoman, in which he gave her to
understand, that he had undoubted proofs of her having secreted,
not only the watch, but also several other odd things of less
consequence, which he lost since his residence in her house. He
then showed the warrant he had obtained against her, and asked if
she had anything to offer why the constable should not do his duty?
Inexpressible were the anguish and confusion of the defendant, when
she found herself thus entrapped, and reflected, that she was on
the point of being detected of felony; for she at once concluded,
that the snare was laid for her, and knew that the officer of
justice would certainly find the unlucky watch in one of the
drawers of her scrutoire.
Tortured with these suggestions, afraid of public disgrace, and
dreading the consequence of legal conviction, she fell on her knees
before the injured Fathom, and, after having imputed her crime to
the temptations of necessity, implored his compassion, promised to
restore the watch, and everything she had taken, and begged he
would dismiss the constable, that her reputation might not suffer
in the eye of the world.
Ferdinand, with a severity of countenance purposely assumed,
observed that, were she really indigent, he had charity enough to
forgive what she had done; but, as he knew her circumstances were
opulent, he looked upon this excuse as an aggravation of her guilt,
which was certainly the effect of a vicious inclination; and he was
therefore determined to prosecute her with the utmost severity of
the law, as an example and terror to others, who might be infected
with the same evil disposition. Finding him deaf to all her tears
and entreaties, she changed her note, and offered him one hundred
guineas, if he would compromise the affair, and drop the
prosecution, so as that her character should sustain no damage.
After much argumentation, he consented to accept of double the sum,
which being instantly paid in East India bonds, Doctor Fathom told
the constable, that the watch was found; and for once her
reputation was patched up. This seasonable supply enabled our hero
to stand trial with his adversary, who was nonsuited, and also to
mend his external appearance, which of late had not been extremely
magnificent.
Soon after this gleam of good fortune, a tradesman, to whom he
was considerably indebted, seeing no other probable means to
recover his money, introduced Fathom to the acquaintance of a young
widow who lodged at his house, and was said to be in possession of
a considerable fortune. Considering the steps that were taken, it
would have been almost impossible for him to miscarry in his
addresses. The lady had been bred in the country, was unacquainted
with the world, and of a very sanguine disposition, which her short
trial of matrimony had not served to cool. Our adventurer was
instructed to call at the tradesman’s house, as if by
accident, at an appointed time, when the widow was drinking tea
with her landlady. On these occasions he always behaved to
admiration. She liked his person, and praised his politeness,
good-humour, and good sense; his confederates extolled him as a
prodigy of learning, taste, and good-nature; they likewise
represented him as a person on the eve of eclipsing all his
competitors in physic. An acquaintance and intimacy soon ensued,
nor was he restricted in point of opportunity. In a word, he
succeeded in his endeavours, and, one evening, on pretence of
attending her to the play, he accompanied her to the Fleet, where
they were married, in presence of the tradesman and his wife, who
were of the party.
This grand affair being accomplished to his satisfaction, he,
next day, visited her brother, who was a counsellor of the Temple,
to make him acquainted with the step his sister had taken; and
though the lawyer was not a little mortified to find that she had
made such a clandestine match, he behaved civilly to his new
brother-in-law, and gave him to understand, that his wife’s
fortune consisted of a jointure of one hundred and fifty pounds a
year, and fifteen hundred pounds bequeathed to her during her
widowhood, by her own father, who had taken the precaution of
settling it in the hands of trustees, in such a manner as that any
husband she might afterwards espouse should be restricted from
encroaching upon the capital, which was reserved for the benefit of
her heirs. This intimation was far from being agreeable to our
hero, who had been informed, that this sum was absolutely at the
lady’s disposal, and had actually destined the greatest part
of it for the payment of his debts, for defraying the expense of
furnishing an elegant house, and setting up a new equipage.
Notwithstanding this disappointment, he resolved to carry on his
plan upon the credit of his marriage, which was published in a very
pompous article of the newspapers; a chariot was bespoke, a ready
furnished house immediately taken, and Doctor Fathom began to
reappear in all his former splendour.
His good friend the empiric, alarmed at this event, which not
only raised our adventurer into the sphere of a dangerous rival,
but also furnished him with means to revenge the ill office he had
sustained at his hands on the adventure of the former
match—for, by this time, Fathom had given him some hints,
importing, that he was not ignorant of his treacherous
behaviour—roused, I say, by these considerations, he employed
one of his emissaries, who had some knowledge of Fathom’s
brother-in-law, to prejudice him against our adventurer, whom he
represented as a needy sharper, not only overwhelmed with debt and
disgrace, but likewise previously married to a poor woman, who was
prevented by nothing but want from seeking redress at law. To
confirm these assertions, he gave him a detail of Fathom’s
encumbrances, which he had learned for the purpose, and even
brought the counsellor into company with the person who had lived
with our hero before marriage, and who was so much incensed at her
abrupt dismission, that she did not scruple to corroborate these
allegations of the informer.
The lawyer, startled at this intelligence, set on foot a minute
inquiry into the life and conversation of the doctor, which turned
out so little to the advantage of his character and circumstances,
that he resolved, if possible, to disunite him from his family;
and, as a previous step, repeated to his sister all that he had
heard to the prejudice of her husband, not forgetting to produce
the evidence of his mistress, who laid claim to him by a prior
title, which, she pretended, could be proved by the testimony of
the clergyman who joined them. Such an explanation could not fail
to inflame the resentment of the injured wife, who, at the very
first opportunity, giving a loose to the impetuosity of her temper,
upbraided our hero with the most bitter invectives for his
perfidious dealing.
Ferdinand, conscious of his own innocence, which he had not
always to plead, far from attempting to soothe her indignation,
assumed the authority and prerogative of a husband, and sharply
reprehended her for her credulity and indecent warmth. This rebuke,
instead of silencing, gave new spirit and volubility to her
reproaches, in the course of which she plainly taxed him with want
of honesty and affection, and said that, though his pretence was
love, his aim was no other than a base design upon her fortune.
Fathom, stung with these accusations, which he really did not
deserve, replied with uncommon heat, and charged her in his turn
with want of sincerity and candour, in the false account she had
given of that same fortune before marriage. He even magnified his
own condescension, in surrendering his liberty to a woman who had
so little to recommend her to the addresses of the other sex; a
reflection which provoked this mild creature to such a degree of
animosity, that, forgetting her duty and allegiance, she lent him a
box on the ear with such energy as made his eyes water; and he, for
the honour of manhood and sovereignty, having washed her face with
a dish of tea, withdrew abruptly to a coffee-house in the
neighbourhood, where he had not long remained, when his passion
subsided, and he then saw the expediency of an immediate
reconciliation, which he resolved to purchase, even at the expense
of a submission.
It was pity that such a salutary resolution had not been sooner
taken. For, when he returned to his own house, he understood, that
Mrs. Fathom had gone abroad in a hackney-coach; and, upon examining
her apartment, in lieu of her clothes and trinkets, which she had
removed with admirable dexterity and despatch, he found this billet
in one of the drawers of her bureau:—“Sir, being
convinced that you are a cheat and an impostor, I have withdrawn
myself from your cruelty and machinations, with a view to solicit
the protection of the law; and I doubt not but I shall soon be able
to prove, that you have no just title to, or demand upon, the
person or effects of the unfortunate Sarah Muddy.”
The time had been when Mr. Fathom would have allowed Mrs. Muddy
to refine at her leisure, and blessed God for his happy
deliverance; but at present the case was quite altered. Smarting as
he was from the expense of lawsuits, he dreaded a prosecution for
bigamy, which, though he had justice on his side, he knew he could
not of himself support. Besides, all his other schemes of life were
frustrated by this unlucky elopement. He therefore speedily
determined to anticipate, as much as in him lay, the malice of his
enemies, and to obtain, without delay, authentic documents of his
marriage. With this view, he hastened to the house of the
tradesman, who, with his wife, had been witness to the ceremony and
consummation; and, in order to interest them the more warmly in his
cause, made a pathetic recital of this unhappy breach, in which he
had suffered such injury and insult. But all his rhetoric would not
avail. Mrs. Muddy had been beforehand with him, and had proved the
better orator of the two; for she had assailed this honest couple
with such tropes and figures of eloquence, as were altogether
irresistible.
Nevertheless, they heard our hero to an end, with great
patience. Then the wife, who was the common mouth upon all such
occasions, contracting her features into a very formal disposition,
“I’ll assure you,” said she, “Doctor
Fathom, my husband and I have been in a very great terrification
and numplush, to hear such bad things of a person, whom, as one may
say, we thought a worthy gentleman, and were ready to serve at all
times, by day and by night, as the saying is. And besides, for all
that, you know, and God knows, as we are dustrious people, and work
hard for what we get, and we have served gentlemen to our own harm,
whereby my husband was last Tuesday served with a siserary, being
that he was bound for an officer that ran away. And I said to my
husband, Timothy, says I, ’tis a very hard thing for one to
ruin one’s self for stranger people—There’s
Doctor Fathom, says I, his account comes to nine-and-forty pounds
seven shillings and fourpence halfpenny; and you know, doctor, that
was before your last bill began. But, howsomever, little did I
think, as how a gentleman of your learning would go to deceive a
poor gentlewoman, when you had another wife alive.”
In vain did our adventurer endeavour to vindicate himself from
this aspersion; the good woman, like a great many modern
disputants, proceeded with her declamation, without seeming to hear
what was said on the other side of the question; and the husband
was altogether neutral. At length, Ferdinand, finding all his
protestations ineffectual, “Well,” said he,
“though you are resolved, I see, to discredit all that I can
say in opposition to that scandalous slander, of which I can easily
acquit myself in a court of justice, surely you will not refuse to
grant me a certificate, signifying that you were present at the
ceremony of my marriage with this unhappy woman.” “You
shall excuse us,” replied the female orator; “people
cannot be too wary in signing their names in this wicked world;
many a one has been brought to ruination by signing his name, and
my husband shall not, with my goodwill, draw himself into such a
primmineery.”
Fathom, alarmed at this refusal, earnestly argued against the
inhumanity and injustice of it, appealing to their own consciences
for the reasonableness of his proposal; but, from the evasive
answers of the wife, he had reason to believe, that, long before
the time of trial, they would take care to have forgotten the whole
transaction.
Though he was equally confounded and incensed at this instance
of their perfidy, he durst not manifest his indignation, conscious
of the advantage they had over him in divers respects; but
repaired, without loss of time, to the lodging of the clergyman who
had noosed him, resolved to consult his register, and secure his
evidence. Here too his evil genius had got the start of him; for
the worthy ecclesiastic not only could not recollect his features,
or find his name in the register, but, when importuned by his
pressing remonstrances, took umbrage at the freedom of his
behaviour, and threatened, if he would not immediately take himself
away, to raise the posse of the Fleet, for the safety of his own
person.
Rather than put the pastor to the trouble of alarming his flock,
he retreated with a heavy heart, and went in quest of his mistress,
whom he had dismissed at his marriage, in hopes of effecting a
reconciliation, and preventing her from joining in the conspiracy
against him. But, alas! he met with such a reception as he had
reason to expect from a slighted woman, who had never felt any real
attachment for his person. She did not upbraid him with his cruelty
in leaving her as a mistress, but, with a species of effrontery
never enough to be admired, reproached him with his villany, in
abandoning her, who was his true and lawful wife, to go and ruin a
poor gentlewoman, by whose fortune he had been allured.
When he attempted to expostulate with this virago, upon the
barbarity of this assertion, she very prudently declined engaging
in private conversation with such an artful and wicked man; and,
calling up the people of the house, insisted upon his being
conducted to the door.
The last resource, and that upon which he least depended, was
the advice and assistance of his old friend the empiric, with whom
he still maintained a slight correspondence; and to whose house he
steered his course, in great perplexity and tribulation. That
gentleman, instead of consoling him with assurances of friendship
and protection, faithfully recapitulated all the instances of his
indiscretion and misconduct, taxed him with want of sincerity in
the West India affair, as well as with want of honesty in this last
marriage, while his former wife was alive; and, finally, reminded
him of his notes, which he desired might be immediately taken up,
as he (the quack) had present occasion for a sum of money.
Ferdinand, seeing it would be impracticable to derive any
succour from this quarter, sneaked homewards, in order to hold a
consultation with his own thoughts; and the first object that
presented itself to his eyes when he entered his apartment, was a
letter from the tradesman, with his account inclosed, amounting to
forty-five pounds, which the writer desired might be paid without
delay. Before he had time to peruse the articles, he received a
summons, in consequence of a bill of indictment for bigamy, found
against him in Hicks’ Hall, by Sarah Muddy, widow; and, while
he was revolving measures to avert these storms, another billet
arrived from a certain attorney, giving him to understand, that he
had orders from Doctor Buffalo, the quack, to sue him for the
payment of several notes, unless he would take them up in three
days from the date of this letter.
Such a concurrence of sinister events made a deep impression
upon the mind of our adventurer. All his fortitude was insufficient
to bear him up against this torrent of misfortunes; his resources
were all dried up, his invention failed, and his reflection began
to take a new turn. “To what purpose,” said he to
himself, “have I deserted the paths of integrity and truth,
and exhausted a fruitful imagination, in contriving schemes to
betray my fellow-creatures, if, instead of acquiring a splendid
fortune, which was my aim, I have suffered such a series of
mortifications, and at last brought myself to the brink of
inevitable destruction? By a virtuous exertion of those talents I
inherit from nature and education, I might, long before this time,
have rendered myself independent, and, perhaps, conspicuous in
life. I might have grown up like a young oak, which, being firmly
rooted in its kindred soil, gradually raises up its lofty head,
expands its leafy arms, projects a noble shade, and towers the
glory of the plain. I should have paid the debt of gratitude to my
benefactors, and made their hearts sing with joy for the happy
effects of their benevolence. I should have been a bulwark to my
friends, a shelter to my neighbours in distress. I should have run
the race of honour, seen my fame diffused like a sweet-smelling
odour, and felt the ineffable pleasure of doing good. Whereas I am,
after a vicissitude of disappointments, dangers, and fatigues,
reduced to misery and shame, aggravated by a conscience loaded with
treachery and guilt. I have abused the confidence and generosity of
my patron; I have defrauded his family, under the mask of sincerity
and attachment; I have taken the most cruel and base advantages of
virtue in distress; I have seduced unsuspecting innocence to ruin
and despair; I have violated the most sacred trust reposed in me by
my friend and benefactor; I have betrayed his love, torn his noble
heart asunder, by means of the most perfidious slander and false
insinuations; and, finally, brought to an untimely grave the
fairest pattern of human beauty and perfection. Shall the author of
these crimes pass with impunity? Shall he hope to prosper in the
midst of such enormous guilt? It were an imputation upon Providence
to suppose it! Ah, no! I begin to feel myself overtaken by the
eternal justice of Heaven! I totter on the edge of wretchedness and
woe, without one friendly hand to save me from the terrible
abyss!”
These reflections, which, perhaps, the misery of his
fellow-creatures would never have inspired, had he himself remained
without the verge of misfortune, were now produced from the
sensation of his own calamities; and, for the first time, his
cheeks were bedewed with the drops of penitence and sorrow.
“Contraries,” saith Plato, “are productive of
each other.” Reformation is oftentimes generated from
unsuccessful vice; and our adventurer was, at this juncture, very
well disposed to turn over a new leaf in consequence of those
salutary suggestions; though he was far from being cured beyond the
possibility of a relapse. On the contrary, all the faculties of his
soul were so well adapted, and had been so long habituated to
deceit, that, in order to extricate himself from the evils that
environed him, he would not, in all probability, have scrupled to
practise it upon his own father, had a convenient opportunity
occurred.
Be that as it may, he certainly, after a tedious and fruitless
exercise of his invention, resolved to effect a clandestine retreat
from that confederacy of enemies which he could not withstand, and
once more join his fortune to that of Renaldo, whom he proposed to
serve, for the future, with fidelity and affection, thereby
endeavouring to atone for the treachery of his former conduct. Thus
determined, he packed up his necessaries in a portmanteau,
attempted to amuse his creditors with promises of speedy payment,
and, venturing to come forth in the dark, took a place in the
Canterbury stage-coach, after having converted his superfluities
into ready money. These steps were not taken with such privacy as
to elude the vigilance of his adversaries; for, although he had
been cautious enough to transport himself and his baggage to the
inn on Sunday evening, and never doubted that the vehicle, which
set out at four o’clock on Monday morning, would convey him
out of the reach of his creditors, before they could possibly
obtain a writ for securing his person, they had actually taken such
precautions as frustrated all his finesse; and the coach being
stopped in the borough of Southwark, Doctor Fathom was seized by
virtue of a warrant obtained on a criminal indictment, and was
forthwith conducted to the prison of the King’s Bench; yet,
not before he had, by his pathetic remonstrances, excited the
compassion, and even drawn tears from the eyes of his
fellow-passengers.
He no sooner recollected himself from the shock which must have
been occasioned by this sinister incident, than he despatched a
letter to his brother-in-law, the counsellor, requesting an
immediate conference, in which he promised to make such a proposal
as would save him all the expense of a lawsuit and trial, and, at
the same time, effectually answer all the purposes of both. He was
accordingly favoured with a visit from the lawyer, to whom, after
the most solemn protestations of his own innocence, he declared,
that, finding himself unable to wage war against such powerful
antagonists, he had resolved even to abandon his indubitable right,
and retire into another country, in order to screen himself from
persecution, and remove all cause of disquiet from the prosecutrix,
when he was, unfortunately, prevented by the warrant which had been
executed against him. He said he was still willing, for the sake of
his liberty, to sign a formal renunciation of his pretensions to
Mrs. Fathom and her fortune, provided the deeds could be executed,
and the warrant withdrawn, before he should be detained by his
other creditors; and, lastly, he conjured the barrister to spare
himself the guilt and the charge of suborning evidence for the
destruction of an unhappy man, whose misfortune was his only
fault.
The lawyer felt the force of his expostulations; and though he
would by no means suppose him innocent of the charge of bigamy,
yet, under the pretext of humanity and commiseration, he undertook
to persuade his sister to accept of a proper release, which, he
observed, would not be binding, if executed during the confinement
of Fathom; he therefore took his leave, in order to prepare the
papers, withdraw the action, and take such other measures as would
hinder the prisoner from giving him the slip. Next day, he returned
with an order to release our hero, who, being formally discharged,
was conducted by the lawyer to a tavern in the neighbourhood, where
the releases were exchanged, and everything concluded with amity
and concord. This business being happily transacted, Fathom stept
into a hackney-coach, with his baggage, and was followed by a
bailiff, who told him, with great composure, that he was again a
prisoner, at the suit of Doctor Buffalo, and desired the coachman
to reconduct him to the lodging he had so lately discharged.
Fathom, whose fortitude had been hitherto of the pagan temper,
was now fain to reinforce it with the philosophy of Christian
resignation, though he had not as yet arrived to such a pitch of
self-denial as to forgive the counsellor, to whose double dealing
he imputed this new calamity. After having received the compliments
of the jailer on his recommitment, he took pen, ink, and paper, and
composed an artful and affecting epistle to the empiric, imploring
his mercy, flattering his weakness, and demonstrating the bad
policy of cooping up an unhappy man in a jail, where he could never
have an opportunity of doing justice to his creditors; nor did he
forget to declare his intention of retiring into another country,
where he might have some chance of earning a subsistence, which he
had so long toiled for to no purpose in England. This last
declaration he made in consequence of the jealous disposition of
the quack, who he knew had long looked upon him in the odious light
of an interloping rival. However, he reaped no benefit from this
supplication, which served only to gratify the pride of Buffalo,
who produced the extravagant encomiums which Fathom had bestowed
upon him, as so many testimonials of his foe’s bearing
witness to his virtue.
But now it is high time to leave our adventurer to chew the cud
of reflection and remorse in this solitary mansion, that we may
trace Renaldo in the several steps he took to assert his right, and
do justice to his family. Never man indulged a more melancholy
train of ideas than that which accompanied him in his journey to
the Imperial court. For, notwithstanding the manifold reasons he
had to expect a happy issue to his aim, his imagination was
incessantly infected with something that chilled his nerves and
saddened his heart, recurring, with quick succession, like the
unwearied wave that beats upon the bleak, inhospitable Greenland
shore. This, the reader will easily suppose, was no other than the
remembrance of the forlorn Monimia, whose image appeared to his
fancy in different attitudes, according to the prevalence of the
passions which raged in his bosom. Sometimes he viewed her in the
light of apostasy, and then his soul was maddened with indignation
and despair. But these transitory blasts were not able to efface
the impressions she had formerly made upon his heart; impressions
which he had so often and so long contemplated with inconceivable
rapture. These pictures still remained, representing her fair as
the most perfect idea of beauty, soft and tender as an angel of
mercy and compassion, warmed with every virtue of the heart, and
adorned with every accomplishment of human nature. Yet the alarming
contrast came still in the rear of this recollection; so that his
soul was by turns agitated by the tempests of horror, and
overwhelmed by the floods of grief.
He recalled the moment on which he first beheld her, with that
pleasing regret which attends the memory of a dear deceased friend.
Then he bitterly cursed it, as the source of all his misfortunes
and affliction. He thanked Heaven for having blessed him with a
friend to detect her perfidy and ingratitude; and then ardently
wished he had still continued under the influence of her delusion.
In a word, the loneliness of his situation aggravated every horror
of his reflection; for, as he found himself without company, his
imagination was never solicited, or his attention diverted from
these subjects of woe; and he travelled to Brussels in a reverie,
fraught with such torments as must have entirely wrecked his
reason, had not Providence interposed in his behalf. He was, by his
postillion, conducted to one of the best inns of the place, where
he understood the cloth was already laid for supper; and as the
ordinary is open to strangers in all these houses of entertainment,
he introduced himself into the company, with a view to alleviate,
in some measure, his sorrow and chagrin, by the conversation of his
fellow-guests. Yet he was so ill prepared to obtain the relief
which he courted, that he entered the apartment, and sat down to
table, without distinguishing either the number or countenances of
those who were present, though he himself did not long remain so
unregarded. His mien and deportment produced a prepossession in his
favour; and the air of affliction, so remarkable in his visage, did
not fail to attract their sympathy and observation.
Among the rest, was an Irish officer in the Austrian service,
who having eyed Renaldo attentively, “Sir,” said he,
rising, “if my eyes and memory do not deceive me, you are the
Count de Melvil, with whom I had the honour to serve upon the Rhine
during the last war.” The youth, hearing his own name
mentioned, lifted up his eyes, and at once recognising the other to
be a gentleman who had been a captain in his father’s
regiment, ran forwards, and embraced him with great affection.
This was, in divers respects, a fortunate rencontre for young
Melvil; as the officer was not only perfectly well acquainted with
the situation of the Count’s family, but also resolved, in a
few days, to set out for Vienna, whither he promised to accompany
Renaldo, as soon as he understood his route lay the same way.
Before the day fixed for their departure arrived, this gentleman
found means to insinuate himself so far into the confidence of the
Count, as to learn the cause of that distress which he had observed
in his features at their first meeting; and being a gentleman of
uncommon vivacity, as well as sincerely attached to the family of
Melvil, to which he had owed his promotion, he exerted all his
good-humour and good sense in amusing the fancy, and reasoning down
the mortification of the afflicted Hungarian. He in particular
endeavoured to wean his attention from the lost Monimia, by
engaging it upon his domestic affairs, and upon the wrongs of his
mother and sister, who, he gave him to understand, were languishing
under the tyranny of his father-in-law.
This was a note that effectually roused him from the lethargy of
his sorrow; and the desire of taking vengeance on the oppressor,
who had ruined his fortune, and made his nearest relations
miserable, so entirely engrossed his thoughts, as to leave no room
for other considerations. During their journey to Austria, Major
Farrel, (that was the name of his fellow-traveller,) informed him
of many circumstances touching his father’s house, to which
himself was an utter stranger.
“The conduct of your mother,” said he, “in
marrying Count Trebasi, was not at all agreeable either to the
friends of the Count de Melvil, or to her own relations, who knew
her second husband to be a man of a violent temper, and rapacious
disposition, which the nature of his education and employment had
served rather to inflame than allay; for you well know he was a
partisan during the whole course of the late war. They were,
moreover, equally surprised and chagrined, when they found she took
no step to prevent his seizing upon that inheritance which of right
belonged to you, and which, by the laws of Hungary, is unalienable
from the heir of blood. Nevertheless, they are now fully convinced,
that she hath more than sufficiently atoned for her indiscretion,
by the barbarity of her husband, who hath not only secluded her
from all communication with her friends and acquaintance, but even
confined her to the west tower of your father’s house, where
she is said to be kept close prisoner, and subjected to all sorts
of inconvenience and mortification. This severity she is believed
to have incurred in consequence of having expostulated to him upon
his unjust behaviour to you and Mademoiselle, whom he hath actually
shut up in some convent in Vienna, which your relations have not as
yet been able to discover. But the memory of your noble father is
so dear to all those who were favoured with his friendship, and the
sufferings of the Countess and Mademoiselle have raised such a
spirit of resentment against her cruel jailor, that nothing is
wanted but your presence to begin the prosecution, and give a
sanction to the measures of your friends, which will in a little
time restore your family to the fruition of its rights and fortune.
For my own part, my dear Count, I consider myself as one wholly
indebted to your house for the rank and expectation I now enjoy;
and my finances, interest, and person, such as they are, I dedicate
to your service.”
Renaldo was not slow in making his acknowledgments to this
generous Hibernian, whom he informed of his scheme, recounting to
him his uncommon transaction with the benevolent Jew, and
communicating the letters of recommendation he had received by his
means to some of the first noblemen at the Imperial court.
Meanwhile, he burned with impatience to chastise Count Trebasi for
his perfidious conduct to the widow and the fatherless, and would
have taken the road to Presburg, without touching at Vienna, in
order to call him to a severe account, had not he been strenuously
opposed by Major Farrel, who represented the imprudence of taking
such a step before he had secured a proper protection from the
consequences with which it might be attended.
“It is not,” said he, “your own life and
fortune only which depend upon your behaviour in this emergency,
but also the quiet and happiness of those who are most dear to your
affection. Not you alone, but likewise your mother and sister,
would infallibly suffer by your temerity and precipitation. First
of all, deliver your credentials at court, and let us join our
endeavours to raise an interest strong enough to counterbalance
that of Trebasi. If we succeed, there will be no necessity for
having recourse to personal measures. He will be compelled to yield
up your inheritance which he unjustly detains, and to restore your
sister to your arms; and if he afterwards refuses to do justice to
the Countess, you will always have it in your power to evince
yourself the son of the brave Count de Melvil.”
These just and salutary representations had a due effect upon
Renaldo, who no sooner arrived at the capital of Austria, than he
waited upon a certain prince of distinction, to whose patronage he
was commended; and from whom he met with a very cordial reception,
not only on account of his credentials, but also for the sake of
his father, who was well known to his highness. He heard his
complaints with great patience and affability, assured him of his
assistance and protection, and even undertook to introduce him to
the empress-queen, who would not suffer the weakest of her subjects
to be oppressed, much less disregard the cause of an injured young
nobleman, who, by his own services, and those of his family, was
peculiarly entitled to her favour.
Nor was he the only person whose countenance and patronage
Melvil solicited upon this occasion; he visited all the friends of
his father, and all his mother’s relations, who were easily
interested in his behalf; while Major Farrel contributed all his
efforts in strengthening the association. So that a lawsuit was
immediately commenced against Count Trebasi, who on his side was
not idle, but prepared with incredible industry for the assault,
resolving to maintain with his whole power the acquisition he had
made.
The laws of Hungary, like those of some other countries I could
name, afford so many subterfuges for the purposes of perfidy and
fraud, that it is no wonder our youth began to complain of the slow
progress of his affair; especially as he glowed with the most eager
desire of redressing the grievances of his parent and sister, whose
sufferings he did not doubt were doubled since the institution of
his process against their tormentor. He imparted his sentiments on
this head to his friend; and, as his apprehensions every moment
increased, plainly told him he could no longer live without making
some effort to see those with whom he was so nearly connected in
point of blood and affection. He therefore resolved to repair
immediately to Presburg; and, according to the intelligence he
should procure, essay to see and converse with his mother, though
at the hazard of his life.
The Major, finding him determined, insisted upon attending him
in this expedition, and they set out together for Presburg, where
they privately arrived in the dark, resolving to keep themselves
concealed at the house of a friend, until they should have formed
some plan for their future operations. Here they were informed that
Count Trebasi’s castle was altogether inaccessible; that all
the servants who were supposed to have the least veneration or
compassion for the Countess were dismissed; and that, since Renaldo
was known to be in Germany, the vigilance and caution of that cruel
husband was redoubled to such a degree, that nobody knew whether
his unfortunate lady was actually alive or dead.
Farrel perceiving Melvil exceedingly affected with this
intimation, and hearing him declare that he would never quit
Presburg until he should have entered the house, and removed his
doubts on that interesting subject, not only argued with great
vehemence against such an attempt, as equally dangerous and
indiscreet, but solemnly swore he would prevent his purpose, by
discovering his design to the family, unless he would promise to
listen to a more moderate and feasible expedient. He then proposed
that he himself should appear in the equipage of one of the
travelling Savoyards who stroll about Europe, amusing ignorant
people with the effects of a magic lanthorn, and in that disguise
endeavour to obtain admittance from the servants of Trebasi, among
whom he might make such inquiries as would deliver Melvil from his
present uneasy suspense.
This proposal was embraced, though reluctantly, by Renaldo, who
was unwilling to expose his friend to the least danger or disgrace;
and the Major being next day provided with the habit and implements
of his new profession, together with a ragged attendant who
preceded him, extorting music from a paltry viol, approached the
castle gate, and proclaimed his show so naturally in a yell,
partaking of the scream of Savoy and the howl of Ireland, that one
would have imagined he had been conductor to Madam Catherina from
his cradle. So far his stratagem succeeded; he had not long stood
in waiting before he was invited into the court-yard, where the
servants formed a ring, and danced to the efforts of his
companion’s skill; then he was conducted into the buttery,
where he exhibited his figures on the wall, and his princess on the
floor; and while they regaled him in this manner with scraps and
sour wine, he took occasion to inquire about the old lady and her
daughter, before whom he said he had performed in his last
peregrination. Though this question was asked with all that air of
simplicity which is peculiar to these people, one of the domestics
took the alarm, being infected with the suspicions of his master,
and plainly taxed the Major with being a spy, threatening at the
same time that he should be stripped and searched.
This would have been a very dangerous experiment for the
Hibernian, who had actually in his pocket a letter to the Countess
from her son, which he hoped fortune might have furnished him with
an opportunity to deliver. When he therefore found himself in this
dilemma, he was not at all easy in his own mind. However, instead
of protesting his innocence in an humble and beseeching strain, in
order to acquit himself of the charge, he resolved to elude the
suspicion by provoking the wrath of his accuser, and, putting on
the air of vulgar integrity affronted, began to reproach the
servant in very insolent terms for his unfair supposition, and
undressed himself in a moment to the skin, threw his tattered
garments in the face of his adversary, telling him he would find
nothing there which he would not be very glad to part with; at the
same time raising his voice, he, in the gibberish of the clan he
represented, scolded and cursed with great fluency, so that the
whole house resounded with the noise. The valet’s jealousy,
like a smaller fire, was in a trice swallowed up in the greater
flame of his rage enkindled by this abrupt address. In consequence
of which, Farrel was kicked out at the gate, naked as he was to the
waist, after his lanthorn had been broke to pieces on his head; and
there he was joined by his domestic, who had not been able to
recover his apparel and effect a retreat, without incurring marks
of the same sort of distinction.
The Major, considering the risk he must have run in being
detected, thought himself cheaply quit for this moderate
discipline, though he was really concerned for his friend Renaldo,
who, understanding the particulars of the adventure, determined, as
the last effort, to ride round the castle in the open day, on
pretence of taking the air, when, peradventure, the Countess would
see him from the place of her confinement, and favour him with some
mark or token of her being alive.
Though his companion did not much relish this plan, which he
foresaw would expose him to the insults of Trebasi, yet, as he
could not contrive a better, he acquiesced in Renaldo’s
invention, with the proviso that he would defer the execution of it
until his father-in-law should be absent in the chase, which was a
diversion he every day enjoyed.
Accordingly they set a proper watch, and lay concealed until
they were informed of Trebasi’s having gone forth; when they
mounted their horses, and rode into the neighbourhood of the
castle. Having made a small excursion in the adjoining fields, they
drew nearer the walls, and at an easy pace had twice circled them,
when Farrel descried, at the top of a tower, a white handkerchief
waved by a woman’s hand through the iron bars that secured
the window. This signal being pointed out to Renaldo, his heart
began to throb with great violence; he made a respectful obeisance
towards the part in which it appeared, and perceiving the hand
beckoning him to approach, advanced to the very buttress of the
turret; upon which, seeing something drop, he alighted with great
expedition, and took up a picture of his father in miniature, the
features of which he no sooner distinguished, than the tears ran
down his cheeks; he pressed the little image to his lips with the
most filial fervour; then conveying it to his bosom, looked up to
the hand, which waved in such a manner as gave him to understand it
was high time to retire. Being by this time highly persuaded that
his kind monitor was no other than the Countess herself, he pointed
to his heart, in token of his filial affection, and laying his hand
on his sword, to denote his resolution of doing her justice, he
took his leave with another profound bow, and suffered himself to
be reconducted to his lodging.
Every circumstance of this transaction was observed by the
servants of Count Trebasi, who immediately despatched a messenger
to their lord, with an account of what had happened. Alarmed at
this information, from which he immediately concluded that the
stranger was young Melvil, he forthwith quitted the chase, and
returning to the castle by a private postern, ordered his horse to
be kept ready saddled, in hope that his son-in-law would repeat the
visit to his mother. This precaution would have been to no purpose,
had Renaldo followed the advice of Farrel, who represented the
danger of returning to a place where the alarm was undoubtedly
given by his first appearance; and exhorted him to return to Vienna
for the prosecution of his suit, now that he was satisfied of his
mother’s being alive. In order to strengthen this admonition,
he bade him recollect the signal for withdrawing, which was
doubtless the effect of maternal concern, inspired by the knowledge
of the Count’s vigilance and vindictive disposition.
Notwithstanding these suggestions, Melvil persisted in his
resolution of appearing once more below the tower, on the
supposition that his mother, in expectation of his return, had
prepared a billet for his acceptance, from which he might obtain
important intelligence. The Major, seeing him lend a deaf ear to
his remonstrances, was contented to attend him in his second
expedition, which he pressed him to undertake that same afternoon,
as Trebasi had taken care to circulate a report of his having gone
to dine at the seat of a nobleman in the neighbourhood. Our
knight-errant and his squire, deceived by this finesse, presented
themselves again under the prison of the Countess, who no sooner
beheld her son return, than she earnestly entreated him to be gone,
by the same sign which she had before used; and he, taking it for
granted that she was debarred the use of pen, ink, and paper, and
that she had nothing more to expect, consented to retire, and had
already moved to some distance from the house, when, in crossing a
small plantation that belonged to the castle, they were met by
Count Trebasi and another person on horseback.
At sight of this apparition, the blood mounted into
Renaldo’s cheeks, and his eyes began to lighten with
eagerness and indignation; which was not at all diminished by the
ferocious address of the Count, who advancing to Melvil, with a
menacing air. “Before you proceed,” said he, “I
must know with what view you have been twice to-day patroling round
my enclosures, and reconnoitring the different avenues of my house.
You likewise carry on a clandestine correspondence with some person
in the family, of which my honour obliges me to demand an
explanation.”
“Had your actions been always regulated by the dictates of
honour,” replied Renaldo, “I should never have been
questioned for riding round that castle, which you know is my
rightful inheritance; or excluded from the sight of a parent who
suffers under your tyranny and oppression. It is my part,
therefore, to expostulate; and, since fortune hath favoured me with
an opportunity of revenging our wrongs in person, we shall not part
until you have learned that the family of the Count de Melvil is
not to be injured with impunity. Here is no advantage on either
side, in point of arms or number; you are better mounted than I am,
and shall have the choice of the ground on which our difference
ought to be brought to a speedy determination.”
Trebasi, whose courage was not of the sentimental kind, but
purely owing to his natural insensibility of danger, instead of
concerting measures coolly for the engagement, or making any verbal
reply to this defiance, drew a pistol, without the least
hesitation, and fired it at the face of Renaldo, part of whose left
eyebrow was carried off by the ball. Melvil was not slow in
returning the compliment, which, as it was deliberate, proved the
more decisive. For the shot entering the Count’s right
breast, made its way to the backbone with such a shock, as struck
him to the ground; upon which the other alighted, in order to
improve the advantage he had gained.
During this transaction, Farrel had well-nigh lost his life by
the savage behaviour of Trebasi’s attendant, who had been a
hussar officer, and who, thinking it was his duty to imitate the
example of his patron on this occasion, discharged a pistol at the
Major, before he had the least intimation of his design. The
Hibernian’s horse being a common hireling, and unaccustomed
to stand fire, no sooner saw the flash of Trebasi’s pistol,
than, starting aside, he happened to plunge into a hole, and was
overturned at the very instant when the hussar’s piece went
off, so that no damage ensued to his rider, who, pitching on his
feet, flew with great nimbleness to his adversary, then, laying
hold on one leg, dismounted him in a twinkling, and, seizing his
throat as he lay, would have soon despatched him without the use of
firearms, had he not been prevented by his friend Renaldo, who
desired him to desist, observing that his vengeance was already
satisfied, as the Count seemed to be in the agonies of death. The
Major was loth to quit his prey, as he thought his aggressor had
acted in a treacherous manner; but recollecting that there was no
time to lose, because, in all probability, the firing had alarmed
the castle, he took his leave of the vanquished hussar, with a
couple of hearty kicks, and, mounting his horse, followed Melvil to
the house of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who was kinsman to
the Countess, and very well disposed to grant him a secure retreat,
until the troublesome consequences of this rencontre should be
overblown.
Trebasi, though to the young gentleman he seemed speechless and
insensible, had neither lost the use of his reason nor of his
tongue, but affected that extremity, in order to avoid any further
conversation with the victor. He was one of those people who never
think of death until he knocks at the door, and then earnestly
entreat him to excuse them for the present, and be so good as to
call another time. The Count had so often escaped unhurt, in the
course of his campaigns, that he looked upon himself as
invulnerable, and set all danger at defiance. Though he had
hitherto taken no care of the concerns of his soul, he had a large
fund of superstition at bottom; and, when the surgeon, who examined
his wound, declared it was mortal, all the terrors of futurity took
hold on his imagination, all the misdemeanours of his life
presented themselves in aggravated colours to his recollection.
He implored the spiritual assistance of a good priest in the
neighbourhood, who, in the discharge of his own conscience, gave
him to understand that he had little mercy to expect, unless he
would, as much as lay in his power, redress the injuries he had
done to his fellow-creatures. As nothing lay heavier upon his soul
than the cruelty and fraud he had practised upon the family of
Count Melvil, he earnestly besought this charitable clergyman to
mediate his pardon with the Countess, and at the same time desired
to see Renaldo before his death, that he might put him in
possession of his paternal estate, and solicit his forgiveness for
the offence he had given.
His lady, far from waiting for the priest’s intercession,
no sooner understood the lamentable situation of her husband, and
found herself at liberty, than she hastened to his apartment,
expressed the utmost concern for his misfortune, and tended him
with truly conjugal tenderness and fidelity. Her son gladly obeyed
the summons, and was received with great civility and satisfaction
by his father-in-law, who, in presence of the judge and divers
gentlemen assembled for that purpose, renounced all right and title
to the fortune he had so unjustly usurped; disclosed the name of
the convent to which Mademoiselle de Melvil had been conveyed,
dismissed all the agents of his iniquity, and being reconciled to
his son-in-law, began to prepare himself in tranquillity for his
latter end.
The Countess was overwhelmed with an excess of joy, while she
embraced her long-lost son, who had proved himself so worthy of his
father. Yet this joy was embittered, by reflecting that she was
made a widow by the hands of that darling son. For, though she knew
his honour demanded the sacrifice, she could not lay aside that
regard and veneration which is attached to the name of husband; and
therefore resolved to retire into a monastery, where she could
spend the remainder of her life in devotion, without being exposed
to any intercourse which might interfere with the delicacy of her
sentiments on that subject.
As the most endearing affection had always subsisted between
Renaldo and his sister, he would not one moment deny himself the
pleasure of flying to her embrace, and of being the glad messenger
of her deliverance. Soon, therefore, as he understood the place of
her retreat, and had obtained a proper order to the abbess, signed
by Count Trebasi, he set out post for Vienna, still accompanied by
his faithful Hibernian, and, arriving at the convent, found the
abbess and the whole house so engrossed in making preparations for
the ceremony of giving the veil next day to a young woman who had
fulfilled the term of her probation, that he could not possibly see
his sister with that leisure and satisfaction which he had
flattered himself with enjoying at this meeting; and therefore he
was fain to bridle his impatience for two days, and keep his
credentials until the hurry should be over, that Mademoiselle might
have no intimation of her good fortune, except from his own
mouth.
In order to fill up this tedious interval, he visited his
friends at court, who were rejoiced to hear the happy issue of his
excursion to Presburg; the prince, who was his particular patron,
desired he would make himself perfectly easy with regard to the
death of Count Trebasi, for he would take care to represent him in
such a light to the empress-queen, as would screen him from any
danger or prosecution on that account. His highness, moreover,
appointed the following day for performing the promise he had made
of presenting him to that august princess, and in the meantime
prepossessed her so much in his favour, that when he approached her
presence, and was announced by his noble introductor, she eyed him
with a look of peculiar complacency, saying, “I am glad to
see you returned to my dominions. Your father was a gallant
officer, who served our house with equal courage and fidelity; and
as I understand you tread in his footsteps, you may depend upon my
favour and protection.”
He was so much overwhelmed with this gracious reception, that,
while he bowed in silence, the drops of gratitude trickled from his
eyes; and her imperial majesty was so well pleased with this
manifestation of his heart, that she immediately gave directions
for promoting him to the command of a troop of horse. Thus fortune
seemed willing, and indeed eager to discharge the debt she owed him
for the different calamities he had undergone. And as he looked
upon the generous Hebrew to be the sole source of his success, he
did not fail to make him acquainted with the happy effects of his
recommendation and friendship, and to express, in the warmest
terms, the deep sense he had of his uncommon benevolence, which, by
the bye, was still greater, with regard to Renaldo, than the reader
as yet imagines; for he not only furnished him with money for his
present occasions, but also gave him an unlimited credit on a
banker in Vienna, to whom one of his letters was directed.
The ceremony of the nun’s admission being now performed,
and the convent restored to its former quiet, Melvil hastened
thither on the wings of brotherly affection, and presented his
letter to the abbess, who having perused the contents, by which she
learned that the family disquiets of Count Trebasi no longer
subsisted, and that the bearer was the brother of Mademoiselle, she
received him with great politeness, congratulated him on this happy
event, and, begging he would excuse her staying with him in the
parlour, on pretence of business, withdrew, saying, she would
immediately send in a young lady who would console him for her
absence. In a few minutes he was joined by his sister, who,
expecting nothing less than to see Renaldo, no sooner distinguished
his features, than she shrieked aloud with surprise, and would have
sunk upon the floor, had not he supported her in his embrace.
Such a sudden apparition of her brother at any time, or in any
place, after their long separation, would have strongly affected
this sensible young lady; but to find him so abruptly in a place
where she thought herself buried from the knowledge of all her
relations, occasioned such commotions in her spirits as had
well-nigh endangered her reason. For it was not till after a
considerable pause, that she could talk to him with connexion or
coherence. However, as those transports subsided, they entered into
a more deliberate and agreeable conversation; in the course of
which, he gradually informed her of what had passed at the castle;
and inexpressible was the pleasure she felt in learning that her
mother was released from captivity, herself restored to freedom,
and her brother to the possession of his inheritance, by the only
means to which she had always prayed these blessings might be
owing.
As she had been treated with uncommon humanity by the abbess,
she would not consent to leave the convent until he should be ready
to set out for Presburg; so that they dined together with that good
lady, and passed the afternoon in that mutual communication with
which a brother and sister may be supposed to entertain themselves
on such an occasion. She gave him a detail of the insults and
mortifications she had suffered from the brutality of her
father-in-law, and told him, that her confinement in this monastery
was owing to Trebasi having intercepted a letter to her from
Renaldo, signifying his intention to return to the empire, in order
to assert his own right, and redress his grievances. Then turning
the discourse upon the incidents of his peregrinations, she in a
particular manner inquired about that exquisite beauty who had been
the innocent source of all his distresses, and upon whose
perfections he had often, in his letters to his sister, expatiated
with indications of rapture and delight.
This inquiry in a moment blew up that scorching flame which had
been well-nigh stifled by other necessary avocations. His eyes
gleamed, his cheeks glowed and grew pale alternately, and his whole
frame underwent an immediate agitation; which being perceived by
Mademoiselle, she concluded that some new calamity was annexed to
the name of Monimia, and, dreading to rip up a wound which she saw
was so ineffectually closed, she for the present suppressed her
curiosity and concern, and industriously endeavoured to introduce
some less affecting subject of conversation. He saw her aim,
approved of her discretion, and, joining her endeavours, expressed
his surprise at her having omitted to signify the least remembrance
of her old favourite, Fathom, whom he had left in England. He had
no sooner pronounced this name, than she suffered some confusion in
her turn; from which, however, recollecting herself,
“Brother,” said she, “you must endeavour to
forget that wretch, who is altogether unworthy of retaining the
smallest share of your regard.”
Astonished, and indeed angry, at this expression, which he
considered as the effect of malicious misrepresentation, he gently
chid her for her credulity in believing the envious aspersion of
some person, who repined at the superior virtue of Fathom, whom he
affirmed to be an honour to the human species.
“Nothing is more easy,” replied the young lady,
“than to impose upon a person, who, being himself unconscious
of guile, suspects no deceit. You have been a dupe, dear brother,
not to the finesse of Fathom, but to the sincerity of your own
heart. For my own part, I assume no honour to my own penetration in
having comprehended the villany of that impostor, which was
discovered, in more than one instance, by accidents I could not
possibly foresee.
“You must know, that Teresa, who attended me from my
childhood, and in whose honesty I reposed such confidence, having
disobliged some of the inferior servants, was so narrowly watched
in all her transactions, as to be at last detected in the very act
of conveying a piece of plate, which was actually found concealed
among her clothes.
“You may guess how much I was astonished when I understood
this circumstance. I could not trust to the evidence of my own
senses, and should have still believed her innocent, in spite of
ocular demonstration, had not she, in the terrors of being tried
for felony, promised to make a very material discovery to the
Countess, provided she would take such measures as would save her
life.
“This request being complied with, she, in my hearing,
opened up such an amazing scene of iniquity, baseness, and
ingratitude, which had been acted by her and Fathom, in order to
defraud the family to which they were so much indebted, that I
could not have believed the human mind capable of such degeneracy,
or that traitor endowed with such pernicious cunning and
dissimulation, had not her tale been congruous, consistent, and
distinct, and fraught with circumstances that left no room to doubt
the least article of her confession; on consideration of which she
was permitted to go into voluntary exile.”
She then explained their combination in all the particulars, as
we have already recounted them in their proper place, and finally
observed, that the opinion she had hence conceived of
Fathom’s character, was confirmed by what she had since
learned of his perfidious conduct towards that very nun who had
lately taken the veil.
Perceiving her brother struck dumb with astonishment, and gaping
with the most eager attention, she proceeded to relate the
incidents of his double intrigue with the jeweller’s wife and
daughter, as they were communicated to her by the nun, who was no
other than the individual Wilhelmina. After those rivals had been
forsaken by their gallant, their mutual animosities and chagrin
served to whet the attention and invention of each; so that in a
little time the whole mystery stood disclosed to both. The mother
had discovered the daughter’s correspondence with Fathom, as
we have formerly observed, by means of that unfortunate letter
which he unwittingly committed to the charge of the old beldame;
and, as soon as she understood he was without the reach of all
solicitation or prosecution, imparted this billet to her husband,
whose fury was so ungovernable, that he had almost sacrificed
Wilhelmina with his own hands, especially when, terrified by his
threats and imprecations, she owned that she had bestowed the chain
on this perfidious lover. However, this dreadful purpose was
prevented, partly by the interposition of his wife, whose aim was
not the death but immurement of his daughter, and partly by the
tears and supplication of the young gentlewoman herself, who
protested, that, although the ceremony of the church had not been
performed, she was contracted to Fathom by the most solemn vows, to
witness which he invoked all the saints in heaven.
The jeweller, upon cooler consideration, was unwilling to lose
the last spark of hope that glittered among the ruins of his
despair, and resisted all the importunities of his wife, who
pressed him to consult the welfare of his daughter’s soul, in
the fond expectation of finding some expedient to lure back the
chain and its possessor. In the meantime Wilhelmina was daily and
hourly exposed to the mortifying animadversions of her mamma, who,
with all the insolence of virtue, incessantly upbraided her with
the backslidings of her vicious life, and exhorted her to
reformation and repentance. This continual triumph lasted for many
months, till at length, a quarrel happening between the mother and
the gossip at whose house she used to give the rendezvous to her
admirers, that incensed confidante, in the precipitation of her
anger, promulgated the history of those secret meetings; and, among
the rest, her interviews with Fathom were brought to light.
The first people who hear news of this sort are generally those
to whom they are most unwelcome. The German was soon apprised of
his wife’s frailty, and considered the two females of his
house as a couple of devils incarnate, sent from hell to exercise
his patience. Yet, in the midst of his displeasure, he found matter
of consolation, in being furnished with a sufficient reason for
parting with his helpmate, who had for many years kept his family
in disquiet. He therefore, without hazarding a personal conference,
sent proposals to her by a friend, which she did not think proper
to reject; and seeing himself restored to the dominion of his own
house, exerted his sway so tyrannically, that Wilhelmina became
weary of her life, and had recourse to the comforts of religion, of
which she soon became enamoured, and begged her father’s
permission to dedicate the rest of her life to the duties of
devotion. She was accordingly received in this convent, the
regulations of which were so much to her liking, that she performed
the task of probation with pleasure, and voluntarily excluded
herself from the vanities of this life. It was here she had
contracted an acquaintance with Mademoiselle de Melvil, to whom she
communicated her complaints of Fathom, on the supposition that he
was related to the Count, as he himself had often declared.
While the young lady rehearsed the particulars of this detail,
Renaldo sustained a strange vicissitude of different passions.
Surprise, sorrow, fear, hope, and indignation raised a most
tumultuous conflict in his bosom. Monimia rushed upon his
imagination in the character of innocence betrayed by the
insinuations of treachery. He with horror viewed her at the mercy
of a villain, who had broken all the ties of gratitude and
honour.
Affrighted at the prospect, he started from his seat,
exclaiming, in the most unconnected strain of distraction and
despair, “Have I then nourished a serpent in my bosom! Have I
listened to the voice of a traitor, who hath murdered my peace! who
hath torn my heart-strings asunder, and perhaps ruined the pattern
of all earthly perfection. It cannot be. Heaven would not suffer
such infernal artifice to take effect. The thunder would be
levelled against the head of the accursed projector.”
From this transport, compared with his agitation when he
mentioned Monimia, his sister judged that Fathom had been the
occasion of a breach between the two lovers; and this conjecture
being confirmed by the disjointed answers he made to her
interrogations upon the affair, she endeavoured to calm his
apprehensions, by representing that he would soon have an
opportunity of returning to England, where the misunderstanding
might be easily cleared up; and that, in the meantime, he had
nothing to fear on account of the person of his mistress, in a
country where individuals were so well protected by the laws and
constitution of the realm. At length he suffered himself to be
flattered with the fond hope of seeing Monimia’s character
triumph in the inquiry, of retrieving that lost jewel, and of
renewing that ravishing intercourse and exalted expectation which
had been so cruelly cut off. He now wished to find Fathom as black
as he had been exhibited, that Monimia’s apostasy might be
numbered among the misrepresentations of his treachery and
fraud.
His love, which was alike generous and ardent, espoused the
cause, and he no longer doubted her constancy and virtue. But when
he reflected how her tender heart must have been wrung with anguish
at his unkindness and cruelty, in leaving her destitute in a
foreign land; how her sensibility must have been tortured in
finding herself altogether dependent upon a ruffian, who certainly
harboured the most baleful designs upon her honour; how her life
must be endangered both by his barbarity and her own
despair—I say, when he reflected on these circumstances, he
shuddered with horror and dismay; and that very night despatched a
letter to his friend the Jew, entreating him, in the most pressing
manner, to employ all his intelligence in learning the situation of
the fair orphan, that she might be protected from the villany of
Fathom, until his return to England.
This step being taken, his mind in some measure retrieved its
former tranquillity. He soothed himself with the prospect of a
happy reconciliation with the divine Monimia, and his fancy was
decoyed from every disagreeable presage by the entertaining
conversation of his sister, with whom in two days he set out for
Presburg, attended by his friend the Major, who had never quitted
him since their meeting at Brussels. Here they found Count Trebasi
entirely rid of the fever which had been occasioned by his wound,
and in a fair way of doing well; a circumstance that afforded
unspeakable pleasure to Melvil, whose manner of thinking was such,
as would have made him unhappy, could he have charged himself with
the death of his mother’s husband, howsoever criminal he
might have been.
The Count’s ferocity did not return with his health. His
eyes were opened by the danger he had incurred, and his sentiments
turned in a new channel. He heartily asked pardon of Mademoiselle
for the rigorous usage she had suffered from the violence of his
temper; thanked Renaldo for the seasonable lesson he had
administered to him; and not only insisted upon being removed from
the castle to a house of his own in Presburg, but proffered to make
immediate restitution of all the rents which he had unjustly
converted to his own use.
These things being settled in the most amicable manner, to the
entire satisfaction of the parties concerned, as well as of the
neighbouring noblesse, among whom the house of Melvil was in
universal esteem, Renaldo resolved to solicit leave at the Imperial
court to return to England, in order to investigate that affair of
Monimia, which was more interesting than all the points he had
hitherto adjusted. But, before he quitted Presburg, his friend
Farrel taking him aside one day, “Count,” said he,
“will you give me leave to ask, if, by my zeal and attachment
for you, I have had the good fortune to acquire your esteem?”
“To doubt that esteem,” replied Renaldo, “were to
suspect my gratitude and honour, of which I must be utterly
destitute before I lose the sense of those obligations I owe to
your gallantry and friendship—obligations which I long for a
proper occasion to repay.”
“Well then,” resumed the Major, “I will deal
with you like a downright Swiss, and point out a method by which
you may shift the load of obligation from your own shoulders to
mine. You know my birth, rank, and expectations in the service; but
perhaps you do not know, that, as my expense has always unavoidably
exceeded my income, I find myself a little out at elbows in my
circumstances, and want to piece them up by matrimony. Of those
ladies with whom I think I have any chance of succeeding,
Mademoiselle de Melvil seems the best qualified to render my
situation happy in all respects. Her fortune is more than
sufficient to disembarrass my affairs; her good sense will be a
seasonable check upon my vivacity; her agreeable accomplishments
will engage a continuation of affection and regard. I know my own
disposition well enough to think I shall become a most dutiful and
tractable husband; and shall deem myself highly honoured in being
more closely united to my dear Count de Melvil, the son and
representative of that worthy officer under whom my youth was
formed. If you will therefore sanction my claim, I will forthwith
begin my approaches, and doubt not, under your auspices, to bring
the place to a capitulation.”
Renaldo was pleased with the frankness of this declaration,
approved of his demand, and desired him to depend upon his good
offices with his sister, whom he sounded that same evening upon the
subject, recommending the Major to her favour, as a gentleman well
worthy of her choice. Mademoiselle, who had never been exercised in
the coquetries of her sex, and was now arrived at those years when
the vanity of youth ought to yield to discretion, considered the
proposal as a philosopher, and after due deliberation candidly
owned she had no objection to the match. Farrel was accordingly
introduced in the character of a lover, after the permission of the
Countess had been obtained; and he carried on his addresses in the
usual form, so much to the satisfaction of all concerned in the
event, that a day was appointed for the celebration of his
nuptials, when he entered into peaceable possession of his
prize.
A few days after this joyful occasion, while Renaldo was at
Vienna, where he had been indulged with leave of absence for six
months, and employed in making preparations for his journey to
Britain, he was one evening presented by his servant with a package
from London, which he no sooner opened, than he found enclosed a
letter directed to him, in the handwriting of Monimia. He was so
much affected at sight of those well-known characters, that he
stood motionless as a statue, eager to know the contents, yet
afraid to peruse the billet. While he hesitated in this suspense,
he chanced to cast his eye on the inside of the cover, and
perceived the name of his Jewish friend at the bottom of a few
lines, importing, that the enclosed was delivered to him by a
physician of his acquaintance, who had recommended it in a
particular manner to his care. This intimation served only to
increase the mystery, and whet his impatience; and as he had the
explanation in his hand, he summoned all his resolution to his aid,
and, breaking the seal, began to read these words: “Renaldo
will not suppose that this address proceeds from interested
motives, when he learns, that, before it can be presented to his
view, the unfortunate Monimia will be no more.”
Here the light forsook Renaldo’s eyes, his knees knocked
together, and he fell at full length insensible on the floor. His
valet, hearing the noise, ran into the apartment, lifted him upon a
couch, and despatched a messenger for proper assistance, while he
himself endeavoured to recall his spirits by such applications as
chance afforded. But before the Count exhibited any signs of life,
his brother-in-law entered his chamber by accident, and as soon as
he recollected himself from the extreme confusion and concern
produced by this melancholy spectacle, he perceived the fatal
epistle, which Melvil, though insensible, still kept within his
grasp; justly suspecting this to be the cause of that severe
paroxysm, he drew near the couch, and with difficulty read what is
above rehearsed, and the sequel, to this effect:—
“Yes, I have taken such measures as will prevent it from
falling into your hands, until after I shall have been released
from a being embittered with inexpressible misery and anguish. It
is not my intention, once loved, and ah! still too fondly
remembered youth, to upbraid you as the source of that unceasing
woe which hath been so long the sole inhabitant of my lonely bosom.
I will not call you inconstant or unkind. I dare not think you base
or dishonourable; yet I was abruptly sacrificed to a triumphant
rival, before I had learned to bear such mortification; before I
had overcome the prejudices which I had imbibed in my
father’s house. I was all at once abandoned to despair, to
indigence, and distress, to the vile practices of a villain, who, I
fear, hath betrayed us both. What have not I suffered from the
insults and vicious designs of that wretch, whom you cherished in
your bosom! Yet to these I owe this near approach to that goal of
peace, where the canker-worm of sorrow will expire. Beware of that
artful traitor; and, oh! endeavour to overcome that levity of
disposition, which, if indulged, will not only stain your
reputation, but also debauch the good qualities of your heart. I
release you, in the sight of Heaven, from all obligations. If I
have been injured, let not my wrongs be visited on the head of
Renaldo, for whom shall be offered up the last fervent prayers of
the hapless Monimia.”
This letter was a clue to the labyrinth of Melvil’s
distress. Though the Major had never heard him mention the name of
this beauty, he had received such hints from his own wife, as
enabled him to comprehend the whole of the Count’s disaster.
By the administration of stimulating medicines, Renaldo recovered
his perception; but this was a cruel alternative, considering the
situation of his thoughts. The first word he pronounced was
Monimia, with all the emphasis of the most violent despair. He
perused the letter, and poured forth incoherent execrations against
Fathom and himself. He exclaimed, in a frantic tone, “She is
lost for ever! murdered by my unkindness! We are both undone by the
infernal arts of Fathom! execrable monster! Restore her to my arms.
If thou art not a fiend in reality, I will tear out thy false
heart.”
So saying, he sprung upon his valet, who would have fallen a
sacrifice to his undistinguishing fury, had not he been saved by
the interposition of Farrel and the family, who disengaged him from
his master’s gripe by dint of force; yet, notwithstanding
their joint endeavours, he broke from this restraint, leaped upon
the floor, and seizing his sword, attempted to plunge it in his own
breast. When he was once more overcome by numbers, he cursed
himself, and all those who withheld him; swore he would not survive
the fair victim who had perished by his credulity and indiscretion;
and the agitation of his spirits increased to such a degree, that
he was seized with strong convulsions, which nature was scarce able
to sustain. Every medical expedient was used to quiet his
perturbation, which at length yielded so far as to subside into a
continual fever and confirmed delirium, during which he ceased not
to pour forth the most pathetic complaints, touching his ruined
love, and to rave about the ill-starred Monimia. The Major, half
distracted by the calamity of his friend, would have concealed it
from the knowledge of his family, had not the physician, by
despairing of his life, laid him under the necessity of making them
acquainted with his condition.
The Countess and Mrs. Farrel were no sooner informed of his case
than they hastened to the melancholy scene, where they found
Renaldo deprived of his senses, panting under the rage of an
exasperated disease. They saw his face distorted, and his eyes
glaring with frenzy; they heard him invoke the name of Monimia with
a tenderness of accent which even the impulse of madness could not
destroy. Then, with a sudden transition of tone and gesture, he
denounced vengeance against her betrayer, and called upon the north
wind to cool the fervour of his brain. His hair hung in dishevelled
parcels, his cheeks were wan, his looks ghastly, his vigour was
fled, and all the glory of his youth faded; the physician hung his
head in silence, the attendants wrung their hands in despair, and
the countenance of his friend was bathed in tears.
Such a picture would have moved the most obdurate heart; what
impression then must it have made upon a parent and sister, melting
with all the enthusiasm of affection! The mother was struck dumb,
and stupefied with grief; the sister threw herself on the bed in a
transport of sorrow, caught her loved Renaldo in her arms, and was,
with great difficulty, torn from his embrace. Such was the dismal
reverse that overtook the late so happy family of Melvil; such was
the extremity to which the treachery of Fathom had reduced his best
benefactor!
Three days did nature struggle with surprising efforts, and then
the constitution seemed to sink under the victorious fever; yet, as
his strength diminished, his delirium abated, and on the fifth
morning he looked round, and recognised his weeping friends. Though
now exhausted to the lowest ebb of life, he retained the perfect
use of speech, and his reason being quite unclouded, spoke to each
with equal kindness and composure; he congratulated himself upon
the sight of shore after the horrors of such a tempest; called upon
the Countess and his sister, who were not permitted to see him at
such a conjuncture; and being apprised by the Major of his reason
for excluding them from his presence, he applauded his concern,
bequeathed them to his future care, and took leave of that
gentleman with a cordial embrace. Then he desired to be left in
private with a certain clergyman, who regulated the concerns of his
soul, and he being dismissed, turned his face from the light, in
expectation of his final discharge. In a few minutes all was still
and dreary, he was no longer heard to breathe, no more the stream
of life was perceived to circulate, he was supposed to be absolved
from all his cares, and an universal groan from the bystanders
announced the decease of the gallant, generous, and tender-hearted
Renaldo.
“Come hither, ye whom the pride of youth and health, of
birth and affluence inflames, who tread the flowery maze of
pleasure, trusting to the fruition of ever-circling joys; ye who
glory in your accomplishments, who indulge the views of ambition,
and lay schemes for future happiness and grandeur, contemplate here
the vanity of life! behold how low this excellent young man is
laid! mowed down even in the blossom of his youth, when fortune
seemed to open all her treasures to his worth!”
Such were the reflections of the generous Farrel, who, while he
performed the last office of friendship, in closing the eyes of the
much-lamented Melvil, perceived a warmth on the skin, which the
hand of death seldom leaves unextinguished. This uncommon sensation
he reported to the physician, who, though he could feel no
pulsation of the heart or arteries, conjectured that life still
lingered in some of its interior haunts, and immediately ordered
such applications to the extremities and surface of the body, as
might help to concentrate and reinforce the natural heat.
By these prescriptions, which for some time produced no sensible
effect, the embers were, in all probability, kept glowing, and the
vital power revived, for, after a considerable pause, respiration
was gradually renewed at long intervals, a languid motion was
perceived at the heart, a few feeble and irregular pulsations were
felt at the wrist, the clay-coloured livery of death began to
vanish from his face, the circulation acquired new force, and he
opened his eyes with a sigh, which proclaimed his return from the
shades of death.
When he recovered the faculty of swallowing, a cordial was
administered, and whether the fever abated, in consequence of the
blood’s being cooled and condensed during the recess of
action in the solids, or nature, in that agony, had prepared a
proper channel for the expulsion of the disease, certain it is, he
was from this moment rid of all bodily pain; he retrieved the
animal functions, and nothing remained of his malady but an extreme
weakness and languor, the effect of nature’s being fatigued
in the battle she had won.
Unutterable was the joy that took possession of his mother and
sister when Farrel flew into her apartment to intimate this happy
turn. Scarce could they be restrained from pouring forth their
transports in the presence of Renaldo, who was still too feeble to
endure such communication; indeed, he was extremely mortified and
dejected at this event, which had diffused such pleasure and
satisfaction among his friends, for though his distemper was
mastered, the fatal cause of it still rankled at his heart, and he
considered this respite from death as a protraction of his
misery.
When he was congratulated by the Major on the triumph of his
constitution, he replied, with a groan, “I would to heaven it
had been otherwise, for I am reserved for all the horrors of the
most poignant sorrow and remorse. O Monimia! Monimia! I hoped by
this time to have convinced thy gentle shade, that I was, at least
intentionally, innocent of that ruthless barbarity which hath
brought thee to an untimely grave. Heaven and earth! do I still
survive the consciousness of that dire catastrophe! and lives the
atrocious villain who hath blasted all our hopes!”
With these last words the fire darted from his eyes, and his
brother, snatching this occasional handle for reconciling him to
life, joined in his exclamations against the treacherous Fathom,
and observed, that he should not, in point of honour, wish to die,
until he should have sacrificed that traitor to the manes of the
beauteous Monimia. This incitement acted as a spur upon exhausted
nature, causing the blood to circulate with fresh vigour, and
encouraging him to take such sustenance as would recruit his
strength, and repair the damage which his health had sustained.
His sister assiduously attended him in his recovery, flattering
his appetite, and amusing his sorrow at the same time; the
clergyman assailed his despondence with religious weapons, as well
as with arguments drawn from philosophy; and the fury of his
passions being already expended, he became so tractable as to
listen to his remonstrances. But notwithstanding the joint
endeavours of all his friends, a deep fixed melancholy remained
after every consequence of his disease had vanished. In vain they
essayed to elude his grief by gaiety and diversions, in vain they
tried to decoy his heart into some new engagement.
These kind attempts served only to feed and nourish that
melancholy which pined within his bosom. Monimia still haunted him
in the midst of these amusements, while his reflection whispered to
him, “Pleasures like these I might have relished with her
participation.” That darling idea mingled in all the female
assemblies at which he was present, eclipsing their attractions,
and enhancing the bitterness of his loss; for absence, enthusiasm,
and even his despair had heightened the charms of the fair orphan
into something supernatural and divine.
Time, that commonly weakens the traces of remembrance, seemed to
deepen its impressions in his breast; nightly, in his dreams, did
he converse with his dear Monimia, sometimes on the verdant bank of
a delightful stream, where he breathed, in soft murmurs, the
dictates of his love and admiration; sometimes reclined within the
tufted grove, his arm encircled and sustained her snowy neck,
whilst she, with looks of love ineffable, gazed on his face,
invoking Heaven to bless her husband and her lord. Yet, even in
these illusions was his fancy oft alarmed for the ill-fated fair.
Sometimes he viewed her tottering on the brink of a steep
precipice, far distant from his helping hand; at other times she
seemed to sail along the boisterous tide, imploring his assistance,
then would he start with horror from his sleep, and feel his
sorrows more than realised; he deserted his couch, he avoided the
society of mankind, he courted sequestered shades where he could
indulge his melancholy; there his mind brooded over his calamity
until his imagination became familiar with all the ravages of
death; it contemplated the gradual decline of Monimia’s
health, her tears, her distress, her despair at his imagined
cruelty; he saw, through that perspective, every blossom of her
beauty wither, every sparkle vanish from her eyes; he beheld her
faded lips, her pale cheek, and her inanimated features, the
symmetry of which not death itself was able to destroy. His fancy
conveyed her breathless corse to the cold grave, o’er which,
perhaps, no tear humane was shed, where her delicate limbs were
consigned to dust, where she was dished out a delicious banquet to
the unsparing worm.
Over these pictures he dwelt with a sort of pleasing anguish,
until he became so enamoured of her tomb, that he could no longer
resist the desire that compelled him to make a pilgrimage to the
dear hallowed spot, where all his once gay hopes lay buried; that
he might nightly visit the silent habitation of his ruined love,
embrace the sacred earth with which she was now compounded, moisten
it with his tears, and bid the turf lie easy on her breast. Besides
the prospect of this gloomy enjoyment, he was urged to return to
England, by an eager desire of taking vengeance on the perfidious
Fathom, as well as of acquitting himself of the obligations he owed
in that kingdom, to those who had assisted him in his distress. He
therefore communicated his intention to Farrel, who would have
insisted upon attending him in the journey, had not he been
conjured to stay and manage Renaldo’s affairs in his absence.
Every previous step being taken, he took leave of the Countess and
his sister, who had, with all their interest and elocution, opposed
his design, the execution of which, they justly feared, would,
instead of dissipating, augment his chagrin; and now, seeing him
determined, they shed a flood of tears at his departure, and he set
out from Vienna in a post-chaise, accompanied by a trusty
valet-de-chambre on horseback.
As this domestic was very well qualified for making all the
proper dispositions, and adjusting every necessary article on the
road, Renaldo totally abstracted himself from earthly
considerations, and mused without ceasing on that theme which was
the constant subject of his contemplation. He was blind to the
objects that surrounded him; he scarce ever felt the importunities
of nature; and had not they been reinforced by the pressing
entreaties of his attendant, he would have proceeded without
refreshment or repose. In this absence of mind did he traverse a
great part of Germany, in his way to the Austrian Netherlands, and
arrived at the fortress of Luxemburg, where he was obliged to tarry
a whole day on account of an accident which had happened to his
chaise. Here he went to view the fortifications; and as he walked
along the ramparts, his ears were saluted with these words:
“Heaven bless the noble Count de Melvil! will not he turn the
eyes of compassion on an old fellow-soldier reduced to misfortune
and disgrace?”
Surprised at this address, which was attended with the clanking
of chains, Renaldo lifted up his eyes, and perceived the person who
spoke to be one of two malefactors shackled together, who had been
sentenced for some crime to work as labourers on the
fortifications. His face was so covered with hair, and his whole
appearance so disguised by the squalid habit which he wore, that
the Count could not recollect his features, until he gave him to
understand that his name was Ratchcali. Melvil immediately
recognised his fellow-student at Vienna, and his brother-volunteer
upon the Rhine, and expressed equal surprise and concern at seeing
him in such a deplorable situation.
Nothing renders the soul so callous and insensible as the
searing brands of infamy and disgrace. Without betraying the least
symptoms of shame or confusion, “Count,” says he,
“this is the fate of war, at least of the war in which I have
been engaged, ever since I took leave of the Imperial army, and
retreated with your old companion Fathom. Long life to that
original genius! If he is not unhappily eclipsed by some
unfortunate interposition, before his terrene parts are purified, I
foresee that he will shine a star of the first magnitude in the
world of adventure.”
At mention of this detested name, Renaldo’s heart began to
throb with indignation; yet he suppressed the emotion, and desired
to know the meaning of that splendid encomium which he had bestowed
upon his confederate. “It would be quite unnecessary,”
replied Ratchcali, “for a man in my present situation to
equivocate or disguise the truth. The nature of my disgrace is
perfectly well known. I am condemned to hard labour for life; and
unless some lucky accident, which I cannot now foresee, shall
intervene, all I can expect is some alleviation of my hard lot from
the generosity of such gentlemen as you, who compassionate the
sufferings of your fellow-creatures. In order to engage your
benevolence the more in my behalf, I shall, if you will give me the
hearing, faithfully inform you of some particulars, which it may
import you to know, concerning my old acquaintance Ferdinand Count
Fathom, whose real character hath perhaps hitherto escaped your
notice.”
Then he proceeded to give a regular detail of all the strokes of
finesse which he, in conjunction with our adventurer, had practised
upon Melvil and others, during their residence at Vienna, and the
campaigns they had made upon the Rhine. He explained the nature of
the robbery which was supposed to have been done by the
Count’s valet, together with the manner of their desertion.
He described his separation from Fathom, their meeting at London,
the traffic they carried on in copartnership; and the misfortune
that reduced Ferdinand to the condition in which he was found by
Melvil.
“After having gratified the honest lawyer,” said he,
“with a share of the unfortunate Fathom’s spoils, and
packed up all my own valuable effects, my new auxiliary Maurice and
I posted to Harwich, embarked in the packet-boat, and next day
arrived at Helvoetsluys; from thence we repaired to the Hague, in
order to mingle in the gaieties of the place, and exercise our
talents at play, which is there cultivated with universal
eagerness. But, chancing to meet with an old acquaintance, whom I
did not at all desire to see, I found it convenient to withdraw
softly to Rotterdam; from whence we set out for Antwerp; and,
having made a tour of the Austrian Netherlands, set up our rest at
Brussels, and concerted a plan for laying the Flemings under
contribution.
“From our appearance we procured admission into the most
polite assemblies, and succeeded to a wonder in all our operations;
until our career was unfortunately checked by the indiscretion of
my ally, who, being detected in the very act of conveying a card,
was immediately introduced to a magistrate. And this minister of
justice was so curious, inquisitive, and clear-sighted, that Count
Maurice, finding it impossible to elude his penetration, was fain
to stipulate for his own safety, by giving up his friend to the
cognisance of the law. I was accordingly apprehended, before I knew
the cause of my arrest; and being unhappily known by some soldiers
of the Prince’s guard, my character turned out so little to
the approbation of the inquisitors, that all my effects were
confiscated for the benefit of the state, and I was by a formal
sentence condemned to labour on the fortifications all the days of
my life; while Maurice escaped at the expense of five hundred
stripes, which he received in public from the hands of the common
executioner.
“Thus have I, without evasion or mental reservation, given
a faithful account of the steps by which I have arrived at this
barrier, which is likely to be the ne plus ultra of my
peregrinations, unless the generous Count de Melvil will deign to
interpose his interest in behalf of an old fellow-soldier, who may
yet live to justify his mediation.”
Renaldo had no reason to doubt the truth of this story, every
circumstance of which tended to corroborate the intelligence he had
already received touching the character of Fathom, whom he now
considered with a double portion of abhorrence, as the most
abandoned miscreant that nature had ever produced. Though Ratchcali
did not possess a much higher place in his opinion, he favoured him
with marks of his bounty, and exhorted him, if possible, to reform
his heart; but he would by no means promise to interpose his credit
in favour of a wretch self-convicted of such enormous villany and
fraud. He could not help moralising upon this rencontre, which
inspired him with great contempt for human nature. And next day he
proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart, ruminating on the
perfidy of mankind, and, between whiles, transported with the
prospect of revenging all his calamities upon the accursed
author.
While he was wrapped up in these reveries, his carriage rolled
along, and had already entered a wood between Mons and Tournay,
when his dream was suddenly interrupted by the explosion of several
pistols that were fired among the thickets at a little distance
from the road. Roused at this alarm, he snatched his sword that
stood by him, and springing from the chaise, ran directly towards
the spot, being close followed by his valet, who had alighted and
armed himself with a pistol in each hand. About forty yards from
the highway, they arrived in a little glade or opening, where they
saw a single man standing at bay against five banditti, after
having killed one of their companions, and lost his own horse, that
lay dead upon the ground.
Melvil seeing this odds, and immediately guessing their design,
rushed among them without hesitation, and in an instant ran his
sword through the heart of one whose hand was raised to smite the
gentleman behind, while he was engaged with the rest in front. At
the same time the valet disabled another by a shot in the shoulder;
so that the number being now equal on both sides, a furious combat
ensued, every man being paired with an antagonist, and each having
recourse to swords, as all their pieces had been discharged.
Renaldo’s adversary, finding himself pressed with equal fury
and skill, retreated gradually among the trees, until he vanished
altogether into the thickest of the wood; and his two companions
followed his example with great ease, the valet-de-chambre being
hurt in the leg, and the stranger so much exhausted by the wounds
he had received before Renaldo’s interposition, that, when
the young gentleman approached to congratulate him on the defeat of
the robbers, he, in advancing to embrace his deliverer, dropped
down motionless on the grass.
The Count, with that warmth of sympathy and benevolence which
was natural to his heart, lifted up the wounded cavalier in his
arms, and carried him to the chaise, in which he was deposited,
while the valet-de-chambre reloaded his pistols, and prepared for a
second attack, as they did not doubt that the banditti would return
with a reinforcement. However, before they reappeared,
Renaldo’s driver disengaged him from the wood, and in less
than a quarter of an hour they arrived at a village, where they
halted for assistance to the stranger, who, though still alive, had
not recovered the use of his senses.
After he was undressed, and laid in a warm bed, a surgeon
examined his body, and found a wound in his neck by a sword, and
another in his right side, occasioned by a pistol-shot; so that his
prognostic was very dubious. Meanwhile, he applied proper dressings
to both; and, in half an hour after this administration, the
gentleman gave some tokens of perception. He looked around him with
a wildness of fury in his aspect, as if he had thought himself in
the hands of the robbers by whom he had been attacked. But, when he
saw the assiduity with which the bystanders exerted themselves in
his behalf, one raising his head from the pillow, while another
exhorted him to swallow a little wine which was warmed for the
purpose; when he beheld the sympathising looks of all present, and
heard himself accosted in the most cordial terms by the person whom
he recollected as his deliverer, all the severity vanished from his
countenance; he took Renaldo’s hand, and pressed it to his
lips; and, while the tears gushed from his eyes, “Praised be
God,” said he, “that virtue and generosity are still to
be found among the sons of men.”
Everybody in the apartment was affected by this exclamation; and
Melvil, above all the rest, felt such emotions as he could scarcely
restrain. He entreated the gentleman to believe himself in the
midst of such friends as would effectually secure him from all
violence and mortification; he conjured him to compose the
perturbation of his spirits, and quiet the apprehensions of his
mind with that reflection; and protested, that he himself would not
quit the house while his attendance should be deemed necessary for
the stranger’s cure, or his conversation conducive to his
amusement.
These assurances, considered with the heroic part which the
young Hungarian had already acted in his behalf, inspired the
cavalier with such a sublime idea of Melvil, that he gazed upon him
with silent astonishment, as an angel sent from heaven for his
succour; and, in the transport of his gratitude, could not help
exclaiming, “Sure Providence hath still something in reserve
for this unfortunate wretch, in whose favour such a miracle of
courage and generosity hath interposed!”
Being accommodated with proper care and attendance, his
constitution in a little time overcame the fever; and, at the third
dressing, the surgeon declared him out of all danger from his
wounds. Then was Renaldo indulged with opportunities of conversing
with the patient, and of inquiring into the particulars of his
fortune and designs in life, with a view to manifest the
inclination he felt to serve him in his future occasions.
The more this stranger contemplated the character of the Count,
the more his amazement increased, on account of his extraordinary
benevolence in favour of a person whose merit he could not possibly
know; he even expressed his surprise on this subject to Renaldo,
who at length told him, that, although his best offices should
always be ready for the occasions of any gentleman in distress, his
particular attachment and regard to him was improved by an
additional consideration. “I am no stranger,” said he,
“to the virtues and honour of the gallant Don Diego de
Zelos.”
“Heaven and earth!” cried the stranger, starting
from his seat with extreme emotion, “do I then live to hear
myself addressed by that long-lost appellation! my heart glows at
the expression! my spirits are kindled with a flame that thrills
through every nerve! Say, young gentleman, if you are really an
inhabitant of earth, by what means are you acquainted with the
unhappy name of Zelos?”
In answer to this eager interrogation, Renaldo gave him to
understand, that in the course of his travels, he had resided a
short time at Seville, where he had frequently seen Don Diego, and
often heard his character mentioned with uncommon esteem and
veneration. “Alas!” replied the Castilian, “that
justice is no longer done to the wretched Zelos; his honours are
blasted, and his reputation canker-bitten by the venomous tooth of
slander.”
He then proceeded to unfold his misfortunes, as they have
already been explained in the former part of these memoirs; at the
recapitulation of which, the heart of Melvil, being intendered by
his own calamities, was so deeply affected, that he re-echoed the
groans of Don Diego, and wept over his sufferings with the most
filial sympathy. When he repeated the story of that cruel fraud
which was practised upon him by the faithless Fadini, Melvil, whose
mind and imagination teemed with the villanies of Fathom, was
immediately struck with the conjecture of his being the knave;
because, indeed, he could not believe that any other person was so
abandoned by principle and humanity as to take such a barbarous
advantage of a gentleman in distress.
He considered the date of that unparalleled transaction, which
agreed with his conjecture, and from the inquiries he made
concerning the person of the traitor, gathered reasons sufficient
to confirm his supposition. Thus certified, “That is the
villain,” cried the Count, “whose infernal arts have
overwhelmed me with such misery as Heaven itself hath made no
remedy to dispel! To revenge my wrongs on that perfidious
miscreant, is one of the chief reasons for which I deign to drag
about an hateful being. O Don Diego! what is life, when all its
enjoyments are so easily poisoned by the machinations of such a
worm!” So saying, he smote his breast in all the agony of
woe, and besought the Spaniard to relate the steps he took in
consequence of this disaster.
The Castilian’s cheeks reddened at this information, which
enforced his own resentment, and casting up his eyes to heaven,
“Sacred powers!” cried he, “let him not perish,
before you bring him within my reach. You ask me, noble cavalier,
what measures I took in this abyss of misery? For the first day, I
was tortured with apprehensions for the friendly Fadini, fearing
that he had been robbed and murdered for the jewels which he had,
perhaps, too unwarily exposed to sale. But this terror soon
vanished before the true presages of my fate, when, on the morrow,
I found the whole family in tears and confusion, and heard my
landlord pour forth the most bitter imprecations against the
fugitive, who had deflowered his daughter, and even robbed the
house. You will ask, which of the passions of my heart were
interested on this occasion? they were shame and indignation. All
my grief flowed in another channel; I blushed to find my judgment
deceived; I scorned to complain; but, in my heart, denounced
vengeance against my base betrayer. I silently retired to my
apartment, in order to commune with my own thoughts.
“I had borne greater calamities without being driven to
despair; I summoned all my fortitude to my assistance, and resolved
to live in spite of affliction. Thus determined, I betook myself to
the house of a general officer, whose character was fair in the
world; and having obtained admission in consequence of my Oriental
appearance, ‘To a man of honour,’ said I, ‘the
unfortunate need no introduction. My habit proclaims me a Persian;
this passport from the States of Holland will confirm that
supposition. I have been robbed of jewels to a considerable value,
by a wretch whom I favoured with my confidence; and now, reduced to
extreme indigence, I come to offer myself as a soldier in the
armies of France. I have health and strength sufficient to
discharge that duty. Nor am I unacquainted with a military life,
which was once my glory and occupation. I therefore sue for your
protection, that I may be received, though in the lowest order of
them that serve the King; and that your future favour may depend
upon my behaviour in that capacity.’
“The general, surprised at my declaration, surveyed me
with uncommon attention; he perused my certificate; asked divers
questions concerning the art of war, to which I returned such
answers as convinced him that I was not wholly ignorant in that
particular. In short, I was enlisted as a volunteer in his own
regiment, and soon after promoted to the rank of a subaltern, and
the office of equerry to his own son, who, at that time, had
attained to the degree of colonel, though his age did not exceed
eighteen years.
“This young man was naturally of a ferocious disposition,
which had been rendered quite untractable by the pride of birth and
fortune, together with the licence of his education. As he did not
know the respect due to a gentleman, so he could not possibly pay
it to those who were, unfortunately, under his command. Divers
mortifications I sustained with that fortitude which became a
Castilian who lay under obligations to the father; till, at length,
laying aside all decorum, he smote me. Sacred Heaven! he smote Don
Diego de Zelos, in presence of his whole household.
“Had my sword been endowed with sensation, it would of
itself have started from its scabbard at this indignity offered to
its master. I unsheathed it without deliberation, saying,
‘Know, insolent boy, he is a gentleman whom thou hast
outraged; and thou hast thus cancelled the ties which have hitherto
restrained my indignation.’ His servants would have
interposed, but he commanded them to retire; and, flushed with that
confidence which the impetuosity of his temper inspired, he drew,
in his turn, and attacked me with redoubled rage; but his dexterity
being very unequal to his courage, he was soon disarmed, and
overthrown; when, pointing my sword to his breast, ‘In
consideration of thy youth and ignorance,’ said I, ‘I
spare that life which thou hast forfeited by thy ungenerous
presumption.’
“With these words, I put up my weapon, retired through the
midst of his domestics, who, seeing their master safe, did not
think proper to oppose my passage, and, mounting my horse, in less
than two hours entered the Austrian dominions, resolving to proceed
as far as Holland, that I might embark in the first ship for Spain,
in order to wash away, with my own blood, or that of my enemies,
the cruel stain which hath so long defiled my reputation.
“This was the grievance that still corroded my heart, and
rendered ineffectual the inhuman sacrifice I had made to my injured
honour. This was the consideration that incessantly prompted, and
still importunes me to run every risk of life and fortune, rather
than leave my fame under such an ignominious aspersion. I purpose
to obey this internal call. I am apt to believe it is the voice of
Heaven—of that Providence which manifested its care by
sending such a generous auxiliary to my aid, when I was overpowered
by banditti, on the very first day of my expedition.”
Having in this manner gratified the curiosity of his deliverer,
he expressed a desire of knowing the quality of him to whom he was
so signally obliged; and Renaldo did not scruple to make the
Castilian acquainted with his name and family. He likewise
communicated the story of his unfortunate love, with all the
symptoms of unutterable woe, which drew tears from the
noble-hearted Spaniard, while, with a groan, that announced the
load which overwhelmed his soul, “I had a daughter,”
said he, “such as you describe the peerless Monimia; had
Heaven decreed her for the arms of such a lover, I, who am now the
most wretched, should have been the most happy parent upon
earth.”
Thus did these new friends alternately indulge their mutual
sorrow, and concert measures for their future operations. Melvil
earnestly solicited the Castilian to favour him with his company to
England, where, in all probability, both would enjoy the gloomy
satisfaction of being revenged upon their common betrayer, Fathom;
and, as a farther inducement, he assured him, that, as soon as he
should have accomplished the melancholy purposes of his voyage, he
would accompany Don Diego to Spain, and employ his whole interest
and fortune in his service. The Spaniard, thunderstruck at the
extravagant generosity of this proposal, could scarce believe the
evidence of his own senses; and, after some pause, replied,
“My duty would teach me to obey any command you should think
proper to impose; but here my inclination and interest are so
agreeably flattered, that I should be equally ungrateful and
unwise, in pretending to comply with reluctance.”
This point being settled, they moved forwards to Mons, as soon
as Don Diego was in a condition to bear the shock of such a
removal, and there remaining until his wounds were perfectly cured,
they hired a post-chaise for Ostend, embarked in a vessel at that
port, reached the opposite shore of England, after a short and easy
passage, and arrived in London without having met with any sinister
accident on the road.
As they approached this capital, Renaldo’s grief seemed to
regurgitate with redoubled violence. His memory was waked to the
most minute and painful exertion of its faculties; his imagination
teemed with the most afflicting images, and his impatience became
so ardent, that never lover panted more eagerly for the
consummation of his wishes, than Melvil, for an opportunity of
stretching himself upon the grave of the lost Monimia. The
Castilian was astonished, as well as affected, at the poignancy of
his grief, which, as a proof of his susceptibility and virtue,
endeared him still more to his affection; and though his own
misfortunes had rendered him very unfit for the office of a
comforter, he endeavoured, by soothing discourse, to moderate the
excess of his friend’s affliction.
Though it was dark when they alighted at the inn, Melvil ordered
a coach to be called; and, being attended by the Spaniard, who
would not be persuaded to quit him upon such an occasion, he
repaired to the house of the generous Jew, whose rheum distilled
very plentifully at his approach. The Count had already acquitted
himself in point of pecuniary obligations to this benevolent
Hebrew; and now, after having made such acknowledgments as might be
expected from a youth of his disposition, he begged to know by what
channel he had received that letter which he had been so kind as to
forward to Vienna.
Joshua, who was ignorant of the contents of that epistle, and
saw the young gentleman extremely moved, would have eluded his
inquiry, by pretending he had forgot the circumstance; but when he
understood the nature of the case which was not explained without
the manifestation of the utmost inquietude, he heartily condoled
the desponding lover, telling him he had in vain employed all his
intelligence about that unfortunate beauty, in consequence of
Melvil’s letter to him on that subject; and then directed him
to the house of the physician, who had brought the fatal billet
which had made him miserable.
No sooner did he receive this information than he took his leave
abruptly, with promise of returning next day, and hied him to the
lodgings of that gentleman, whom he was lucky enough to find at
home. Being favoured with a private audience, “When I tell
you,” said he, “that my name is Renaldo Count de
Melvil, you will know me to be the most unfortunate of men. By that
letter, which you committed to the charge of my worthy friend
Joshua, the fatal veil was removed from my eyes, which had been so
long darkened by the artifices of incredible deceit, and my own
incurable misery fully presented to my view. If you were acquainted
with the unhappy fair, who hath fallen a victim to my mistake, you
will have some idea of the insufferable pangs which I now feel in
recollecting her fate. If you have compassion for these pangs, you
will not refuse to conduct me to the spot where the dear remains of
Monimia are deposited; there let me enjoy a full banquet of woe;
there let me feast that worm of sorrow that preys upon my heart.
For such entertainment have I revisited this (to me) ill-omened
isle; for this satisfaction I intrude upon your condescension at
these unseasonable hours; for to such a degree of impatience is my
affliction whetted, that no slumber shall assail mine eyelids, no
peace reside within my bosom, until I shall have adored that
earthly shrine where my Monimia lies! Yet would I know the
circumstances of her fate. Did Heaven ordain no angel to minister
to her distress? were her last moments comfortless? ha! was not she
abandoned to indigence, to insults; left in the power of that
inhuman villain who betrayed us both? Sacred Heaven! why did
Providence wink at the triumph of such consummate
perfidy?”
The physician, having listened with complacency to this
effusion, replied, “It is my profession, it is my nature to
sympathise with the afflicted. I am a judge of your feelings,
because I know the value of your loss. I attended the incomparable
Monimia in her last illness, and am well enough acquainted with her
story to conclude that she fell a sacrifice to an unhappy
misunderstanding, effected and fomented by that traitor who abused
your mutual confidence.”
He then proceeded to inform him of all the particulars which we
have already recorded, touching the destiny of the beauteous
orphan, and concluded with telling him he was ready to yield him
any other satisfaction which it was in his power to grant. The
circumstances of the tale had put Renaldo’s spirits into such
commotion, that he could utter nothing but interjections and
unconnected words. When Fathom’s behaviour was described, he
trembled with fierce agitation, started from his chair,
pronouncing, “Monster! fiend! but we shall one day
meet.”
When he was made acquainted with the benevolence of the French
lady, he exclaimed, “O heaven-born charity and compassion!
sure that must be some spirit of grace sent hither to mitigate the
tortures of life! where shall I find her, to offer up my thanks and
adoration?” Having heard the conclusion of the detail, he
embraced the relater, as the kind benefactor of Monimia, shed a
flood of tears in his bosom, and pressed him to crown the
obligation, by conducting him to the solitary place where now she
rested from all her cares.
The gentleman perceiving the transports of his grief were such
as could not be opposed, complied with his request, attended him in
the vehicle, and directed the coachman to drive to a sequestered
field, at some distance from the city, where stood the church,
within whose awful aisle this scene was to be acted. The sexton
being summoned from his bed, produced the keys, in consequence of a
gratification, after the physician had communed with him apart, and
explained the intention of Renaldo’s visit.
During this pause the soul of Melvil was wound up to the highest
pitch of enthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon darkness of the night,
the solemn silence, and lonely situation of the place, conspired
with the occasion of his coming, and the dismal images of his
fancy, to produce a real rapture of gloomy expectation, which the
whole world would not have persuaded him to disappoint. The clock
struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined battlement, the
door was opened by the sexton, who, by the light of a glimmering
taper, conducted the despairing lover to a dreary aisle, and
stamped upon the ground with his foot, saying, “Here the
young lady lies interred.”
Melvil no sooner received this intimation, than falling on his
knees, and pressing his lips to the hallowed earth,
“Peace,” cried he, “to the gentle tenant of this
silent habitation.” Then turning to the bystanders, with a
bloodshot eye, said, “Leave me to the full enjoyment of this
occasion; my grief is too delicate to admit the company even of my
friends. The rites to be performed require privacy; adieu, then,
here must I pass the night alone.”
The doctor, alarmed at this declaration, which he was afraid
imported some resolution fatal to his own life, began to repent of
having been accessory to the visit, attempted to dissuade him from
his purpose, and finding him obstinately determined, called in the
assistance of the sexton and coachman, and solicited the aid of Don
Diego, to force Renaldo from the execution of his design.
The Castilian knowing his friend was then very unfit for common
altercation, interposed in the dispute, saying, “You need not
be afraid that he will obey the dictates of despair; his religion,
his honour will baffle such temptations; he hath promised to
reserve his life for the occasions of his friend; and he shall not
be disappointed in his present aim.” In order to corroborate
this peremptory address, which was delivered in the French
language, he unsheathed his sword, and the others retreating at
sight of his weapon, “Count,” said he, “enjoy
your grief in full transport; I will screen you from interruption,
though at the hazard of my life; and while you give a loose to
sorrow, within the ghastly vault, I will watch till morning in the
porch, and meditate upon the ruin of my own family and
peace.”
He accordingly prevailed upon the physician to retire, after he
had satisfied the sexton, and ordered the coachman to return by
break of day.
Renaldo, thus left alone, prostrated himself upon the grave, and
poured forth such lamentations as would have drawn tears from the
most savage hearer. He called aloud upon Monimia’s name,
“Are these the nuptial joys to which our fate hath doomed us?
Is this the fruit of those endearing hopes, that intercourse
divine, that raptured admiration, in which so many hours insensibly
elapsed? where now are those attractions to which I yielded up my
captive heart? quenched are those genial eyes that gladdened each
beholder, and shone the planets of my happiness and peace! cold!
cold and withered are those lips that swelled with love, and far
outblushed the damask rose! and ah! forever silenced is that
tongue, whose eloquence had power to lull the pangs of misery and
care! no more shall my attention be ravished with the music of that
voice, which used to thrill in soft vibrations to my soul! O
sainted spirit! O unspotted shade of her whom I adored; of her
whose memory I shall still revere with ever-bleeding sorrow and
regret; of her whose image will be the last idea that forsakes this
hapless bosom! now art thou conscious of my integrity and love; now
dost thou behold the anguish that I feel. If the pure essence of
thy nature will permit, wilt thou, ah! wilt thou indulge this
wretched youth with some kind signal of thy notice, with some token
of thy approbation? wilt thou assume a medium of embodied air, in
semblance of that lovely form which now lies mouldering in this
dreary tomb, and speak the words of peace to my distempered soul!
Return, Monimia, appear, though but for one short moment, to my
longing eyes! vouchsafe one smile! Renaldo will be satisfied;
Renaldo’s heart will be at rest; his grief no more will
overflow its banks, but glide with equal current to his latest
hour! Alas! these are the raving of my delirious sorrow! Monimia
hears not my complaints; her soul, sublimed far, far above all
sublunary cares, enjoys that felicity of which she was debarred on
earth. In vain I stretch these eyes, environed with darkness
undistinguishing and void. No object meets my view; no sound
salutes mine ear, except the noisy wind that whistles through these
vaulted caves of death.”
In this kind of exclamation did Renaldo pass the night, not
without a certain species of woful enjoyment, which the soul is
often able to conjure up from the depths of distress; insomuch
that, when the morning intruded on his privacy, he could scarce
believe it was the light of day, so fast had fleeted the minutes of
his devotion.
His heart being thus disburdened, and his impatience gratified,
he became so calm and composed, that Don Diego was equally pleased
and astonished at the air of serenity with which he came forth, and
embraced him with warm acknowledgments of his goodness and
attachment. He frankly owned, that his mind was now more at ease
than he had ever found it, since he first received the fatal
intimation of his loss; that a few such feasts would entirely
moderate the keen appetite of his sorrow, which he would afterwards
feed with less precipitation.
He also imparted to the Castilian the plan of a monument, which
he had designed for the incomparable Monimia; and Don Diego was so
much struck with the description, that he solicited his advice in
projecting another, of a different nature, to be erected to the
memory of his own ill-fated wife and daughter, should he ever be
able to re-establish himself in Spain.
While they amused themselves with this sort of conversation, the
physician returned with the coach, and accompanied them back to
their inn, where he left them to their repose, after having
promised to call again at noon, and conduct Renaldo to the house of
Madam Clement, the benefactress of Monimia, to whom he eagerly
desired to be introduced.
The appointment was observed with all imaginable punctuality on
both sides. Melvil had arrayed himself in a suit of deep mourning,
and he found the good lady in the like habit, assumed upon the same
occasion. The goodness of her heart was manifest in her
countenance; the sensibility of the youth discovered itself in a
flood of tears, which he shed at her appearance. His sensations
were too full for utterance; nor was she, for some time, able to
give him welcome. While she led him by the hand to a seat, the
drops of sympathy rushed into either eye; and at length she broke
silence, saying, “Count, we must acquiesce in the
dispensations of Providence; and quiet the transports of our grief,
with a full assurance that Monimia is happy.”
This name was the key that unlocked the faculty of his speech.
“I must strive,” said he, “to ease the anguish of
my heart with that consolation. But say, humane, benevolent lady,
to whose compassion and generosity that hapless orphan was indebted
for the last peaceful moment she enjoyed upon earth; say, in all
your acquaintance with human nature, in all your intercourse with
the daughters of men, in all the exercise of your charity and
beneficence, did you ever observe such sweetness, purity, and
truth; such beauty, sense, and perfection, as that which was the
inheritance of her whose fate I shall for ever
deplore?”—“She was, indeed,” replied the
lady, “the best and fairest of our sex.”
This was the beginning of a conversation touching that lovely
victim, in the course of which he explained those wicked arts which
Fathom practised to alienate his affections from the adorable
Monimia; and she described the cunning hints and false insinuations
by which that traitor had aspersed the unsuspecting lover, and
soiled his character in the opinion of the virtuous orphan. The
intelligence he obtained on this occasion added indignation to his
grief. The whole mystery of Monimia’s behaviour, which he
could not before explain, now stood disclosed before him. He saw
the gradual progress of that infernal plan which had been laid for
their mutual ruin; and his soul was inflamed with such desire of
vengeance, that he would have taken his leave abruptly, in order to
set on foot an immediate inquiry about the perfidious author of his
wrongs, that he might exterminate such a monster of iniquity from
the face of the earth. But he was restrained by Madam Clement, who
gave him to understand, that Fathom was already overtaken by the
vengeance of Heaven; for she had traced him in all the course of
his fortune, from his first appearance in the medical sphere to his
total eclipse. She represented the villain as a wretch altogether
unworthy of his attention. She said, he was so covered with infamy,
that no person could enter the lists against him, without bearing
away some stain of dishonour; that he was, at present, peculiarly
protected by the law, and sheltered from the resentment of Renaldo,
in the cavern of his disgrace.
Melvil, glowing with rage, replied, that he was a venomous
serpent, which it was incumbent on every foot to crush; that it was
the duty of every man to contribute his whole power in freeing
society from such a pernicious hypocrite; and that, if such
instances of perfidy and ingratitude were suffered to pass with
impunity, virtue and plain-dealing would soon be expelled from the
habitations of men. “Over and above these motives,”
said he, “I own myself so vitiated with the alloy of human
passion and infirmity, that I desire—I eagerly pant for an
occasion of meeting him hand to hand, where I may upbraid him with
his treachery, and shower down vengeance and destruction on his
perfidious head.”
Then he recounted the anecdotes of our adventurer which he had
learned in Germany and Flanders, and concluded with declaring his
unalterable resolution of releasing him from jail, that he might
have an opportunity of sacrificing him, with his own hand, to the
manes of Monimia. The discreet lady, perceiving the perturbation of
his mind, would not further combat the impetuosity of his passion;
contenting herself with exacting a promise, that he would not
execute his purpose, until he should have deliberated three days
upon the consequences by which a step of that kind might be
attended. Before the expiration of that term, she thought measures
might be taken to prevent the young gentleman from exposing his
life or reputation to unnecessary hazard.
Having complied with her request in this particular, he took his
leave, after he had, by repeated entreaties, prevailed upon her to
accept a jewel, in token of his veneration for the kind
benefactress of the deceased Monimia; nor could his generous heart
be satisfied, until he had forced a considerable present on the
humane physician who had attended her in her last moments, and now
discovered a particular sympathy and concern for her desponding
lover. This gentleman attended him to the house of the benevolent
Joshua, where they dined, and where Don Diego was recommended, in
the most fervid terms of friendship, to the good offices of their
host. Not that this duty was performed in presence of the
stranger—Renaldo’s delicacy would not expose his friend
to such a situation. While the physician, before dinner,
entertained that stranger in one apartment, Melvil withdrew into
another, with the Jew, to whom he disclosed the affair of the
Castilian, with certain circumstances, which shall, in due time, be
revealed.
Joshua’s curiosity being whetted by this information, he
could not help eyeing the Spaniard at table with such a particular
stare, that Don Diego perceived his attention, and took umbrage at
the freedom of his regard. Being unable to conceal his displeasure,
he addressed himself to the Hebrew, with great solemnity, in the
Spanish tongue, saving, “Signior, is there any singularity in
my appearance? or, do you recollect the features of Don Diego de
Zelos?”
“Signior Don Diego,” replied the other in pure
Castilian, “I crave your pardon for the rudeness of my
curiosity, which prompted me to survey a nobleman, whose character
I revere, and to whose misfortunes I am no stranger. Indeed, were
curiosity alone concerned, I should be without excuse; but as I am
heartily inclined to serve you, as far as my weak abilities extend,
I hope your generosity will not impute any little involuntary
trespass of punctilio to my want of cordiality or
esteem.”
The Spaniard was not only appeased by this apology, but also
affected with the compliment, and the language in which it was
conveyed. He thanked the Jew for his kind declaration, entreated
him to bear, with the peevishness of a disposition sore with the
galling hand of affliction; and, turning up his eyes to Heaven,
“Were it possible,” cried he, “for fate to
reconcile contradictions, and recall the irremediable current of
events, I would now believe that there was happiness still in
reserve for the forlorn Zelos, now that I tread the land of freedom
and humanity, now that I find myself befriended by the most
generous of men. Alas! I ask not happiness! If, by the kind
endeavours of the gallant Count de Melvil, to whom I am already
indebted for my life, and by the efforts of his friends, the honour
of my name shall be purified and cleared from the poisonous stains
of malice by which it is at present spotted, I shall then enjoy all
that satisfaction which destiny can bestow upon a wretch whose woes
are incurable.”
Renaldo comforted him with the assurance of his being on the eve
of triumphing over his adversaries; and Joshua confirmed the
consolation, by giving him to understand, that he had
correspondents in Spain of some influence in the state; that he had
already written to them on the subject of Don Diego, in consequence
of a letter which he had received from Melvil while he tarried at
Mons, and that he, every post, expected a favourable answer on that
subject.
After dinner, the physician took his leave, though not before he
had promised to meet Renaldo at night, and accompany him in the
repetition of his midnight visit to Monimia’s tomb; for this
pilgrimage the unfortunate youth resolved nightly to perform during
the whole time of his residence in England. It was, indeed, a sort
of pleasure, the prospect of which enabled him to bear the toil of
living through the day, though his patience was almost quite
exhausted before the hour of assignation arrived.
When the doctor appeared with the coach, he leaped into it with
great eagerness, after he had, with much difficulty, prevailed with
Don Diego to stay at home, on account of his health, which was not
yet perfectly established. The Castilian, however, would not comply
with his request, until he had obtained the Count’s promise,
that he should be permitted to accompany him next night, and take
that duty alternately with the physician.
About midnight, they reached the place, where they found the
sexton in waiting, according to the orders he had received. The
door was opened, the mourner conducted to the tomb, and left, as
before, to the gloom of his own meditations. Again he laid himself
on the cold ground; again he renewed his lamentable strain; his
imagination began to be heated into an ecstasy of enthusiasm,
during which he again fervently invoked the spirit of his deceased
Monimia.
In the midst of these invocations, his ear was suddenly invaded
with the sound of some few solemn notes issuing from the organ,
which seemed to feel the impulse of an invisible hand.
At this awful salutation, Melvil was roused to the keenest sense
of surprise and attention. Reason shrunk before the thronging ideas
of his fancy, which represented this music as the prelude to
something strange and supernatural; and, while he waited for the
sequel, the place was suddenly illuminated, and each surrounding
object brought under the cognisance of his eye.
What passed within his mind on this occasion is not easy to be
described. All his faculties were swallowed up by those of seeing
and hearing. He had mechanically raised himself upon one knee, with
his body advancing forwards; and in this attitude he gazed with a
look through which his soul seemed eager to escape. To his view,
thus strained upon vacant space, in a few minutes appeared the
figure of a woman arrayed in white, with a veil that covered her
face, and flowed down upon her back and shoulders. The phantom
approached him with an easy step, and, lifting up her veil,
discovered (believe it, O reader!) the individual countenance of
Monimia.
At sight of these well-known features, seemingly improved with
new celestial graces, the youth became a statue, expressing
amazement, love, and awful adoration. He saw the apparition smile
with meek benevolence, divine compassion, warm and intendered by
that fond pure flame which death could not extinguish. He heard the
voice of his Monimia call Renaldo! Thrice he essayed to answer; as
oft his tongue denied its office. His hair stood upright, and a
cold vapour seemed to thrill through every nerve. This was not
fear, but the infirmity of human nature, oppressed by the presence
of a superior being.
At length his agony was overcome. He recollected all his
resolution, and, in a strain of awestruck rapture, thus addressed
the heavenly visitant: “Hast thou then heard, pure spirit!
the wailings of my grief? hast thou descended from the realms of
bliss, in pity to my woe? and art thou come to speak the words of
peace to my desponding soul? To bid the wretched smile, to lift the
load of misery and care from the afflicted breast; to fill thy
lover’s heart with joy and pleasing hope, was still the
darling task of my Monimia, ere yet refined to that perfection
which mortality can never attain. No wonder then, blessed shade,
that now, when reunited to thy native heaven, thou art still kind,
propitious, and beneficent to us, who groan in this inhospitable
vale of sorrow thou hast left. Tell me, ah! tell me, dost thou
still remember those fond hours we passed together? Doth that
enlightened bosom feel a pang of soft regret, when thou recallest
our fatal separation? Sure that meekened glance bespeaks thy
sympathy! Ah! how that tender look o’erpowers me! Sacred
Heaven! the pearly drops of pity trickle down thy cheeks! Such are
the tears that angels shed o’er man’s
distress!—Turn not away—Thou beckonest me to follow.
Yes, I will follow thee, ethereal spirit, as far as these weak
limbs, encumbered with mortality, will bear my weight; and, would
to Heaven! I could, with ease, put off these vile corporeal
shackles, and attend thy flight.”
So saying, he started from the ground, and, in a transport of
eager expectation, at awful distance, traced the footsteps of the
apparition, which, entering a detached apartment, sunk down upon a
chair, and with a sigh exclaimed, “Indeed, this is too
much!” What was the disorder of Renaldo’s mind, when he
perceived this phenomenon! Before reflection could perform its
office, moved by a sudden impulse, he sprung forwards, crying,
“If it be death to touch thee, let me die!” and caught
in his arms, not the shadow, but the warm substance of the
all-accomplished Monimia. “Mysterious powers of Providence!
this is no phantom! this is no shade! this is the life! the panting
bosom of her whom I have so long, so bitterly deplored! I fold her
in my arms! I press her glowing breast to mine! I see her blush
with virtuous pleasure and ingenuous love! She smiles upon me with
enchanting tenderness! O let me gaze on that transcendent beauty,
which, the more I view it, ravishes the more! These charms are too
intense; I sicken while I gaze! Merciful Heaven! is not this a mere
illusion of the brain? Was she not fled for ever? Had not the cold
hand of death divorced her from my hope? This must be some
flattering vision of my distempered fancy! perhaps some soothing
dream— If such it be, grant, O ye heavenly powers! that I may
never wake.”
“O gentle youth!” replied the beauteous orphan,
still clasped in his embrace, “what joy now fills the bosom
of Monimia, at this triumph of thy virtue and thy love? When I see
these transports of thy affection, when I find thee restored to
that place in my esteem and admiration, which thou hadst lost by
the arts of calumny and malice—this is a meeting which my
most sanguine hopes durst not presage!”
So entirely were the faculties of Renaldo engrossed in the
contemplation of his restored Monimia, that he saw not the rest of
the company, who wept with transport over this affecting scene. He
was therefore amazed at the interposition of Madam Clement, who,
while the shower of sympathetic pleasure bedewed her cheeks,
congratulated the lovers upon this happy event, crying,
“These are the joys which virtue calls her own.” They
also received the compliments of a reverend clergyman, who told
Monimia, she had reaped, at last, the fruits of that pious
resignation to the will of Heaven, which she had so devoutly
practised during the term of her affliction. And, lastly, they were
accosted by the physician, who was not quite so hackneyed in the
ways of death, or so callous to the finer sensations of the soul,
but that he blubbered plentifully, wile he petitioned Heaven in
behalf of such an accomplished and deserving pair.
Monimia taking Madam Clement by the hand, “Whatever
joy,” said she, “Renaldo derives from this occasion, is
owing to the bounty, the compassion, and maternal care of this
incomparable lady, together with the kind admonitions and humanity
of those two worthy gentlemen.”
Melvil, whose passions were still in agitation, and whose mind
could not yet digest the incidents that occurred, embraced them all
by turns; but, like the faithful needle, which, though shaken for
an instant from its poise, immediately regains its true direction,
and points invariably to the pole, he soon returned to his Monimia;
again he held her in his arms, again he drank enchantment from her
eyes, and thus poured forth the effusions of his
soul:—“Can I then trust the evidence of sense? And art
thou really to my wish restored? Never, O never did thy beauty
shine with such bewitching grace, as that which now confounds and
captivates my view! Sure there is something more than mortal in thy
looks!—Where hast thou lived?—where borrowed this
perfection?—whence art thou now descended?—Oh! I am all
amazement, joy, and fear!—Thou wilt not leave me!—No!
we must not part again. By this warm kiss! a thousand times more
sweet than all the fragrance of the East! we nevermore will part.
O! this is rapture, ecstasy, and what no language can
explain!”
In the midst of these ejaculations, he ravished a banquet from
her glowing lips, that kindled in his heart a flame which rushed
through every vein, and glided to his marrow. This was a privilege
he had never claimed before, and now permitted as a recompense for
all the penance he had suffered. Nevertheless, the cheeks of
Monimia, who was altogether unaccustomed to such familiarities,
underwent a total suffusion; and Madam Clement discreetly relieved
her from the anxiety of her situation, by interfering in the
discourse, and rallying the Count upon his endeavours to monopolise
such a branch of happiness.
“O my dear lady!” replied Renaldo, who by this time
had, in some measure, recovered his recollection, “forgive
the wild transports of a fond lover, who hath so unexpectedly
retrieved the jewel of his soul! Yet, far from wishing to hoard up
his treasure, he means to communicate and diffuse his happiness to
all his friends. O my Monimia! how will the pleasure of this hour
be propagated! As yet thou knowest not all the bliss that is
reserved for thy enjoyment!—Meanwhile, I long to learn by
what contrivance this happy interview hath been effected. Still am
I ignorant how I was transported into this apartment, from the
lonely vault in which I mourned over my supposed
misfortune!”
The French lady then explained the whole mystery of
Monimia’s death, as a stratagem she had concerted with the
clergyman and doctor, in order to defeat the pernicious designs of
Fathom, who seemed determined to support his false pretensions by
dint of perjury and fraud, which they would have found it very
difficult to elude. She observed, that the physician had actually
despaired of Monimia’s life, and it was not till after she
herself was made acquainted with the prognostic, that she wrote the
letter to Renaldo, which she committed to the care of Madam
Clement, with an earnest entreaty, that it should not be sent till
after her decease. But that lady, believing the Count had been
certainly abused by his treacherous confidant, despatched the
billet without the knowledge of Monimia, whose health was restored
by the indefatigable care of the physician, and the sage
exhortations of the clergyman, by which she was reconciled to life.
In a word, the villany of Fathom had inspired her with some faint
hope that Renaldo might still be innocent; and that notion
contributed not a little to her cure.
The letter having so effectually answered their warmest hopes,
in bringing back Renaldo such a pattern of constancy and love, the
confederates, in consequence of his enthusiastic sorrow, had
planned this meeting, as the most interesting way of restoring two
virtuous lovers to the arms of each other; for which purpose the
good clergyman had pitched upon his own church, and indulged them
with the use of the vestry, in which they now were presented with a
small but elegant collation.
Melvil heard this succinct detail with equal joy and admiration.
He poured forth the dictates of his gratitude to the preservers of
his happiness.—“This church,” said he,
“shall henceforth possess a double share of my veneration;
this holy man will, I hope, finish the charitable work he has
begun, by tying those bands of our happiness, which nought but
death shall have power to unbind.” Then turning to that
object which was the star of his regard, “Do I not
overrate,” said he, “my interest with the fair
Monimia?” She made no verbal reply; but answered by an
emphatic glance, more eloquent than all the power of rhetoric and
speech. This language, which is universal in the world of love, he
perfectly well understood, and, in token of that faculty, sealed
the assent which she had smiled, with a kiss imprinted on her
polished forehead.
In order to dissipate these interesting ideas, which, by being
too long indulged, might have endangered his reason, Madam Clement
entreated him to entertain the company with a detail of what had
happened to him in his last journey to the empire, and Monimia
expressed a desire of knowing, in particular, the issue of his
contest with Count Trebasi, who, she knew, had usurped the
succession of his father.
Thus solicited, he could not refuse to gratify their curiosity
and concern. He explained his obligations to the benevolent Jew;
related the steps he had taken at Vienna for the recovery of his
inheritance; informed them of his happy rencontre with his
father-in-law; of his sister’s deliverance, and marriage; of
the danger into which his life had been precipitated by the news of
Monimia’s death; and, lastly, of his adventure with the
banditti, in favour of a gentleman, who, he afterwards understood,
had been robbed in the most base and barbarous manner by Fathom. He
likewise, to the astonishment of all present, and of his mistress
in particular, communicated some circumstances, which shall appear
in due season.
Monimia’s tender frame being quite fatigued with the scene
she had acted, and her mind overwhelmed with the prosperous tidings
she had heard, after having joined the congratulations of the
company, on the good fortune of her Renaldo, begged leave to
retire, that she might by repose recruit her exhausted spirits; and
the night being pretty far spent, she was conducted by her lover to
Madam Clement’s coach, that stood in waiting, in which also
the rest of the company made shift to embark, and were carried to
the house of that good lady, where, after they were invited to
dine, and Melvil entreated to bring Don Diego and the Jew along
with them, they took leave of one another, and retired to their
respective lodgings in a transport of joy and satisfaction.
As for Renaldo, his rapture was still mixed with apprehension,
that all he had seen and heard was no more than an unsubstantial
vision, raised by some gay delirium of a disordered imagination.
While his breast underwent those violent, though blissful emotions
of joy and admiration, his friend the Castilian spent the night in
ruminating over his own calamities, and in a serious and severe
review of his own conduct. He compared his own behaviour with that
of the young Hungarian, and found himself so light in the scale,
that he smote his breast with violence, exclaiming in an agony of
remorse:
“Count Melvil has reason to grieve; Don Diego to despair.
His misfortunes flow from the villany of mankind; mine are the
fruit of my own madness. He laments the loss of a mistress, who
fell a sacrifice to the perfidious arts of a crafty traitor. She
was beautiful, virtuous, accomplished, and affectionate; he was
fraught with sensibility and love. Doubtless his heart must have
deeply suffered; his behaviour denotes the keenness of his woe; his
eyes are everflowing fountains of tears; his bosom the habitation
of sighs; five hundred leagues hath he measured in a pilgrimage to
her tomb; nightly he visits the dreary vault where she now lies at
rest; her solitary grave is his couch; he converses with darkness
and the dead, until each lonely aisle re-echoes his distress. What
would be his penance, had he my cause! were he conscious of having
murdered a beloved wife and darling daughter! Ah wretch!—ah
cruel homicide!—what had those dear victims done to merit
such a fate? Were they not ever gentle and obedient, ever aiming to
give thee satisfaction and delight? Say, that Serafina was
enamoured of a peasant; say, that she had degenerated from the
honour of her race. The inclinations are involuntary; perhaps that
stranger was her equal in pedigree and worth. Had they been fairly
questioned, they might have justified, at least excused, that
conduct which appeared so criminal; or had they owned the offence,
and supplicated pardon—O barbarous monster that I am! was all
the husband—was all the father extinguished in my heart? How
shall my own errors be forgiven, if I refused to pardon the
frailties of my own blood—of those who are most dear to my
affection? Yet nature pleaded strongly in their behalf!—My
heart was bursting while I dismissed them to the shades of death. I
was maddened with revenge! I was guided by that savage principle
which falsely we call honour.
“Accursed phantom! that assumes the specious title, and
misleads our wretched nation! Is it then honourable to skulk like
an assassin, and plunge the secret dagger in the heart of some
unhappy man, who hath incurred my groundless jealousy or suspicion,
without indulging him with that opportunity which the worst
criminal enjoys? Or is it honourable to poison two defenceless
women, a tender wife, an amiable daughter, whom even a frown would
almost have destroyed?—O! this is cowardice, brutality,
hell-born fury and revenge! Heaven hath not mercy to forgive such
execrable guilt. Who gave thee power, abandoned ruffian! over the
lives of those whom God hath stationed as thy fellows of
probation;—over those whom he had sent to comfort and assist
thee; to sweeten all thy cares, and smooth the rough uneven paths
of life? O! I am doomed to never-ceasing horror and remorse! If
misery can atone for such enormous guilt, I have felt it in the
extreme. Like an undying vulture it preys upon my heart;—to
sorrow I am wedded; I hug that teeming consort to my
soul;—never, ah! never shall we part; for soon as my fame
shall shine unclouded by the charge of treason that now hangs over
it, I will devote myself to penitence and woe. A cold, damp
pavement shall be my bed; my raiment shall be sackcloth; the fields
shall furnish herbage for my food; the stream shall quench my
thirst; the minutes shall be numbered by my groans; the night be
privy to my strains of sorrow, till Heaven, in pity to my
sufferings, release me from the penance I endure. Perhaps the
saints whom I have murdered will intercede for my
remission.”
Such was the exercise of grief, in which the hapless Castilian
consumed the night; he had not yet consigned himself to rest, when
Renaldo entering his chamber, displayed such a gleam of wildness
and rapture on his countenance, as overwhelmed him with amazement;
for, till that moment, he had never seen his visage unobscured with
woe. “Pardon this abrupt intrusion, my friend,” cried
Melvil, “I could no longer withhold from your participation,
the great, the unexpected turn, which hath this night dispelled all
my sorrows, and restored me to the fruition of ineffable joy.
Monimia lives!—the fair, the tender, the virtuous Monimia
lives, and smiles upon my vows! This night I retrieved her from the
grave. I held her in these arms; I pressed her warm delicious lips
to mine! Oh, I am giddy with intolerable pleasure!”
Don Diego was confounded at this declaration, which he
considered as the effects of a disordered brain. He never doubted
that Renaldo’s grief had at length overpowered his reason,
and that his words were the effects of mere frenzy. While he mused
on this melancholy subject, the Count composed his features, and,
in a succinct and well-connected detail, explained the whole
mystery of his happiness, to the inexpressible astonishment of the
Spaniard, who shed tears of satisfaction, and straining the
Hungarian to his breast, “O my son,” said he,
“you see what recompense Heaven hath in store for those who
pursue the paths of real virtue; those paths from which I myself
have been fatally misled by a faithless vapour, which hath seduced
my steps, and left me darkling in the abyss of wretchedness. Such
as you describe this happy fair, was once my Serafina, rich in
every grace of mind and body which nature could bestow. Had it
pleased Heaven to bless her with a lover like Renaldo! but no more,
the irrevocable shaft is fled. I will not taint your enjoyment with
my unavailing sighs!”
Melvil assured this disconsolate father, that no pleasure, no
avocation should ever so entirely engross his mind, but that he
should still find an hour for sympathy and friendship. He
communicated the invitation of Madam Clement, and insisted upon his
compliance, that he might have an opportunity of seeing and
approving the object of his passion. “I can refuse nothing to
the request of Count de Melvil,” replied the Spaniard,
“and it were ungrateful in me to decline the honour you
propose. I own myself inflamed with a desire of beholding a young
lady, whose perfections I have seen reflected in your sorrow; my
curiosity is, moreover, interested on account of that humane
gentlewoman, whose uncommon generosity sheltered such virtue in
distress; but my disposition is infectious, and will, I am afraid,
hang like a damp upon the general festivity of your
friends.”
Melvil would take no denial, and having obtained his consent,
repaired to the house of Joshua, whose countenance seemed to unbend
gradually into a total expression of joy and surprise, as he
learned the circumstances of this amazing event. He faithfully
promised to attend the Count at the appointed hour, and, in the
meantime, earnestly exhorted him to take some repose, in order to
quiet the agitation of his spirits, which must have been violently
hurried on this occasion. The advice was salutary, and Renaldo
resolved to follow it.
He returned to his lodgings, and laid himself down; but,
notwithstanding the fatigue he had undergone, sleep refused to
visit his eyelids, all his faculties being kept in motion by the
ideas that crowded so fast upon his imagination. Nevertheless,
though his mind continued in agitation, his body was refreshed, and
he arose in the forenoon with more serenity and vigour than he had
enjoyed for many months. Every moment his heart throbbed with new
rapture, when he found himself on the brink of possessing all that
his soul held dear and amiable; he put on his gayest looks and
apparel; insisted upon the Castilian’s doing the same honour
to the occasion; and the alteration of dress produced such an
advantageous change in the appearance of Don Diego, that when
Joshua arrived at the appointed hour, he could scarce recognise his
features, and complimented him very politely on the improvement of
his looks.
True it is, the Spaniard was a personage of a very prepossessing
mien and noble deportment; and had not grief, by increasing his
native gravity, in some measure discomposed the symmetry of his
countenance, he would have passed for a man of a very amiable and
engaging physiognomy. They set out in the Jew’s coach for the
house of Madam Clement, and were ushered into an apartment, where
they found the clergyman and physician with that lady, to whom Don
Diego and the Hebrew were by Melvil introduced.
Before they had seated themselves, Renaldo inquired about the
health of Monimia, and was directed to the next room by Madam
Clement, who permitted him to go thither, and conduct her to the
company. He was not slow of availing himself of this permission. He
disappeared in an instant, and, during his short absence, Don Diego
was strangely disturbed The blood flushed and forsook his cheeks by
turns; a cold vapour seemed to shiver through his nerves; and at
his breast he felt uncommon palpitation. Madam Clement observed his
discomposure, and kindly inquired into the cause; when he replied,
“I have such an interest in what concerns the Count de
Melvil, and my imagination is so much prepossessed with the
perfections of Monimia, that I am, as it were, agonised with
expectation; yet never did my curiosity before raise such tumults
as those that now agitate my bosom.”
He had scarce pronounced these words, when the door, reopening,
Renaldo led in this mirror of elegance and beauty, at sight of whom
the Israelite’s countenance was distorted into a stare of
admiration. But if such was the astonishment of Joshua, what were
the emotions of the Castilian, when, in the beauteous orphan, he
beheld the individual features of his long-lost Serafina!
His feelings are not to be described. The fond parent, whose
affection shoots even to a sense of pain, feels not half such
transport, when he unexpectedly retrieves a darling child from the
engulfing billows or devouring flame. The hope of Zelos had been
totally extinguished. His heart had been incessantly torn with
anguish and remorse, upbraiding him as the murderer of Serafina.
His, therefore, were the additional transports of a father
disburdened of the guilt of such enormous homicide. His nerves were
too much overpowered by this sudden recognition, to manifest the
sensation of his soul by external signs. He started not, nor did he
lift an hand in token of surprise; he moved not from the spot on
which he stood; but, riveting his eyes to those of the lovely
phantom, remained without motion, until she, approaching with her
lover, fell at his feet, and clasping his knees, exclaimed,
“May I yet call you father?”
This powerful shock aroused his faculties; a cold sweat bedewed
his forehead; his knees began to totter; he dropped upon the floor,
and throwing his arms around her, cried, “O nature! O
Serafina! Merciful Providence! thy ways are past finding
out.” So saying, he fell upon her neck, and wept aloud. The
tears of sympathetic joy trickled down her snowy bosom, that heaved
with rapture inexpressible. Renaldo’s eyes poured forth the
briny stream. The cheeks of Madam Clement were not dry in this
conjuncture; she kneeled by Serafina, kissed her with all the
eagerness of maternal affection, and with uplifted hands adored the
Power that preordained this blessed event. The clergyman and doctor
intimately shared the general transport; and as for Joshua, the
drops of true benevolence flowed from his eyes, like the oil on
Aaron’s beard, while he skipped about the room in an awkward
ecstasy, and in a voice resembling the hoarse notes of the
long-eared tribe, cried, “O father Abraham! such a moving
scene hath not been acted since Joseph disclosed himself unto his
brethren in Egypt.”
Don Diego having found utterance to his passion, proceeded in
this strain: “O my dear child! to find thee thus again, after
our last unhappy parting, is wonderful! miraculous! Blessed be the
all-good, my conscience. I am not then the dire assassin, who
sacrificed his wife and daughter to an infernal motive, falsely
titled honour? though I am more and more involved in a mystery,
which I long to hear explained.”
“That shall be my task,” cried Renaldo, “but
first permit me to implore your sanction to my passion for the
incomparable Serafina. You already know our mutual sentiments; and
though I own the possession of such inestimable worth and beauty
would be a recompense that infinitely transcends the merit I can
plead, yet, as it hath been my good fortune to inspire her with a
mutual flame, I hope to reap from your indulgence here, what I
could not expect from my own desert; and we present ourselves, in
hope of your paternal assent and benediction.”
“Were she more fair and good and gentle than she
is,” answered the Castilian, “and to my partial
observation nought e’er appeared on earth more beauteous and
engaging, I would approve your title to her heart, and recommend
you to her smiles, with all a father’s influence and power.
Yes, my daughter! my joy on this occasion is infinitely augmented
by the knowledge of those tender ties of love that bind thee to
this amiable youth; a youth to whose uncommon courage and
generosity I owe my life and my subsistence, together with the
inexpressible delight that now revels in my bosom. Enjoy, my
children, the happy fruits of your reciprocal attachment. May
Heaven, which hath graciously conducted you through a labyrinth of
perplexity and woe, to this transporting view of blissful days,
indulge you with that uninterrupted stream of pure felicity, which
is the hope, and ought to be the boon of virtue, such as
yours!”
So saying, he joined their hands, and embraced them with the
most cordial love and satisfaction, which diffused itself to every
individual of the company, who fervently invoked the Almighty
Power, in behalf of this enraptured pair. The tumult of these
emotions having a little subsided, and the Castilian being seated
betwixt Renaldo and his beauteous bride, he politely bespoke the
indulgence of Madam Clement, begging she would permit him to demand
the performance of the Count’s promise, that he might be
forthwith made acquainted with those circumstances of his own fate
which he was so impatient to learn.
The lady having assured him, that she and all the company would
take pleasure in hearing the recapitulation, the Spaniard,
addressing himself to Melvil, “In the name of Heaven!”
said he, “how could you supplant that rival, who fell a
sacrifice to my resentment, after he had bewitched the heart of
Serafina? for, sure, the affection he had kindled in her breast
must have long survived his death,” “That rival,”
replied the Count, “who incurred your displeasure, was no
other than Renaldo.” With these words, he applied to one eye
a patch of black silk provided for the purpose, and turning his
face towards Don Diego, that gentleman started with astonishment,
crying, “Good Heaven! the very countenance of Orlando, whom I
slew! this is still more amazing!”
“Indulge me with a patient hearing,” proceeded the
Hungarian, “and all these riddles soon will be explained.
Inflamed with the desire of seeing foreign countries, I disobeyed
the will of an indulgent father, from whose house, withdrawing
privately, I set out for Italy, in disguise, by the way of Tyrol,
visited Venice, Rome, Florence, and, embarking at Naples, in an
English ship, arrived at St. Lucar, from whence I repaired to
Seville; there, in a few days, was my curiosity engaged by the fame
of the fair Serafina, who was justly deemed the most accomplished
beauty in that part of Spain. Nay, blush not, gentle creature! for
by my hopes of heaven! thy charms were even injured by the cold
applause of that report. Nevertheless, I was warmly interested by
the uncommon character, and eagerly longed to see this pattern of
perfection. As Don Diego did not train her up in that restraint to
which the Spanish ladies are subjected, I soon found an opportunity
of seeing her at church; and no person here present will, I
presume, doubt but that I was instantly captivated by her beauty
and deportment. Had I thought that Don Diego’s favour was
unengaged, perhaps I should have followed the dictates of vanity
and inexperience, and presented myself in my own character, among
the crowd of her professed admirers. I knew her father had been an
officer of distinguished rank and reputation, and did not doubt
that he would have regarded a young soldier of unexceptionable
pedigree, and, I will even add, of untainted fame. Nor did I
suppose my own father could have objected against such an
advantageous match; but, by dint of industrious inquiry, I learned,
that the divine Serafina was already betrothed to Don Manuel de
Mendoza, and this information overwhelmed me with despair.
“After having revolved a thousand projects for retarding
and preventing that detested union, I resolved to avail myself of
my talent for drawing, and professed myself a master of that
science, in hope of being employed by the father of Serafina, who,
I knew, let slip no opportunity of improving his daughter’s
education. Accordingly I had the good fortune to attract his
notice, was invited to his house, honoured with his approbation,
and furnished with unrestricted opportunities of conversing with
the dear object of my love. The passion which her beauty had
kindled was by the perfections of her mind inflamed to such a
degree of transport, as could not be concealed from her
penetration. She chanced to relish my conversation; I gradually
acquired her friendship; pity was the next passion that she
entertained in my favour. I then ventured to disclose myself, and
the dear charmer did not disapprove of my presumption. She and her
mother had been perplexed with some religious scruples, concerning
which they appealed to my opinion; and I was happy enough to set
their minds at ease.
“This sort of intercourse naturally created a mutual
confidence among us; and, in a word, I was blessed with the
daughter’s love and mother’s approbation. Don Diego
will pardon these clandestine measures, which we took, from a full
persuasion that it was impossible to render him propitious to the
views in which our hearts and hands were so deeply interested. I
did not then know how little he was addicted to superstition.
“Without entering into a detail of the schemes we
projected to delay the happiness of Mendoza, I shall only observe,
that, knowing the fatal day was at length unalterably fixed, we
determined to elude the purpose of Don Diego by flight; and
everything was actually prepared for our escape. When the hour of
appointment arrived, I repaired to the place at which I had
proposed to enter the house, and stumbled, in the dark, over the
body of a man still warm, and bleeding. Alarmed at this occurrence,
I darted myself through the window, and rushing to the apartment of
the ladies, (immortal powers!) beheld the peerless Serafina, and
her virtuous mother, stretched on a couch, and, in all appearance,
deprived of life.
“The company will easily conceive what agonies I felt at
such a spectacle! I ran towards the spot in a transport of horror!
I clasped my lovely mistress in my arms, and, finding her still
breathing, endeavoured, but in vain, to wake her from the trance
Antonia was overwhelmed with the same lethargic power. My fancy was
immediately struck with the apprehension of their being poisoned.
Regardless of my own situation, I alarmed the family, called for
assistance, and requested the servants to summon Don Diego to the
dismal scene. I was informed that their master had rode forth in
manifest confusion; and while I pondered on this surprising
excursion, an apothecary in the neighbourhood entered the chamber,
and having examined the pulses of the ladies, declared that their
lives were in no danger, and advised that they should be undressed,
and conveyed to bed. While their women were busied in this
employment, I went into the court-yard, attended by some of the
servants with lights, in order to view the body of the man which I
had found at my arrival. His apparel was mean, his countenance
ferocious; a long spado was buckled to his thigh, and, in his belt,
were stuck a brace of loaded pistols; so that we concluded he was
some thief, who had waited for an opportunity, and seeing the
casement open, intended to rob the house, but was prevented, and
slain by Don Diego himself, whose retreat, however, did not a
little confound our conjecture. For my own part, I remained all
night in the house, tortured with fear, vexation, and suspense.
“My hope was altogether disappointed by this unhappy
accident; and I shuddered at the prospect of losing Serafina for
ever, either by this mysterious malady, or by her marriage with
Mendoza, which I now despaired of being able to defeat. The
major-domo having waited several hours for his lord’s return,
without seeing him appear, thought proper to despatch a messenger
to Don Manuel, with an account of what had happened; and that
nobleman arriving in the morning, took possession of the house.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, Serafina began to stir,
and, at five, she and her mother were perfectly awake.
“They no sooner recovered the use of reflection, than they
gave signs of equal sorrow and amazement, and earnestly called for
Isabella, who was privy to our design, and who, after a very minute
inquiry, was found in a lone and solitary chamber, where she had
been confined. Such was the confusion of the house, that no person
ever dreamed of asking how I entered, each domestic, in all
probability, supposing I had been introduced by his fellow; so that
I tarried unquestioned, on pretence of concern for the distress of
a family in which I had been so generously entertained, and, by
Isabella, sent my respects and duty to her ladies. She was,
therefore, not a little surprised, when, after every other servant
had withdrawn, she heard the lovely Serafina exclaim, with all the
violence of grief, ‘Ah! Isabella, Orlando is no more!’
But their astonishment was still greater, when she assured them of
my being alive, and in the house. They recounted to her the
adventure of last night, which she explained, by informing them of
the letters which Don Diego had intercepted. And they immediately
concluded, that he had, in the precipitation of his wrath, killed,
by mistake, the person who was found dead in the court-yard. This
conjecture alarmed them on my account; they, by the medium of
Isabella, conjured me to leave the house, lest Don Diego should
return, and accomplish his resentment; and I was persuaded to
withdraw, after I had settled the channel of a correspondence with
the confidant.
“Being now obliged to alter our measures, because our
former intention was discovered by Don Diego, I secured a retreat
for Serafina and her mother, at the house of the English consul in
Seville, who was my particular friend; and, next day, understanding
from Isabella that her lord had not yet reappeared, and that Don
Manuel was very urgent in his addresses, we concerted an
assignation in the garden, and that same evening I was fortunate
enough to convey my prize to the asylum I had prepared for their
reception. Inexpressible was the rage of Mendoza, when he heard of
their elopement. He raved like one deprived of reason— swore
he would put all the servants of the family to the rack—and,
in consequence of the intelligence he obtained by threats and
promises, set on foot a very strict inquiry, in order to apprehend
the fugitives and Orlando, who had by some means or other incurred
his suspicion.
“We eluded his search by the vigilance and caution of our
kind host; and, while we remained in concealment, were extremely
astonished to hear that the unfortunate Don Diego was proclaimed a
traitor, and a price set upon his head. This information
overwhelmed us all with the utmost affliction. Antonia lamented,
without ceasing, the disgrace of her beloved lord, from whom she
never would have withdrawn herself, but with the lively hope of a
reconciliation, after the first transports of his ire should have
subsided, and the real character of Orlando should have appeared.
It was not long before we had reason to believe that Mendoza was
the accuser of Don Diego—
“Nay, start not, Signior; Manuel was actually that
traitor! This was the turn of his revenge! when he found himself
disappointed in the hope of possessing the incomparable Serafina,
he took a base advantage of your absence and retreat. He posted to
Madrid, impeached you to the secretary of state of having
maintained a criminal correspondence with the enemies of Spain,
included me in his accusation, as a spy for the house of Austria,
and framed such a plausible tale, from the circumstances of your
distress, that Don Diego was outlawed, and Mendoza gratified with a
grant of his estate.
“These melancholy incidents made a deep impression upon
the mind of the virtuous Antonia, who waiving every other
consideration, would have personally appeared for the vindication
of her husband’s honour, had not we dissuaded her from such a
rash undertaking, by demonstrating her inability to contend with
such a powerful antagonist; and representing that her appearance
would be infallibly attended with the ruin of Serafina, who would
certainly fall into the hands of the villain to whom she had been
contracted. We exhorted her to wait patiently for some happy
revolution of fortune, and encouraged her with the hope of Don
Diego’s exerting himself effectually in his own defence.
“Meanwhile our worthy landlord was suddenly cut off by
death; and his widow being resolved to retire into her own country,
we secretly embarked in the same ship, and arrived in England about
eighteen months ago. Antonia still continued to pine over the ruin
of her house; as she could hear no tidings of Don Diego, she
concluded he was dead, and mourned with unabating sorrow. In vain I
assured her, that, soon as my own affairs should be adjusted, I
would exert my whole endeavours to find and succour him. She could
not imagine that a man of his spirit and disposition would live so
long in obscurity. And her affliction derived new force from the
death of the consul’s widow, with whom she had lived in the
most unbounded intimacy and friendship. From that day, her health
evidently declined. She foresaw her dissolution, and comforted
herself with the hope of seeing her husband and her friend in a
place where no treachery is felt, and no sorrow is known; confident
of my integrity, and the purity of my love, she, in the most
pathetic terms, recommended Serafina to my care.
“Ha! weepest thou, fair excellence, at the remembrance of
that tender scene, when the good Antonia, on the bed of death,
joined thy soft hand to mine, and said, ‘Renaldo, I bequeath
this orphan to your love; it is a sacred pledge, which, if you
cherish with due honour and regard, internal peace and happiness
will ever smile within your bosom; but if you treat it with
indifference, dishonour, or neglect, just Heaven will punish your
breach of trust with everlasting disappointments and
disquiet.’
“Signior Don Diego, I see you are moved, and therefore
will not dwell on such distressful circumstances. The excellent
Antonia exchanged this life for a more happy state; and so
exquisite was the sorrow of the tender-hearted Serafina, as to
torture me with the apprehension that she would not long survive
her pious mother. How I obeyed the injunctions of that departing
saint, Monimia (for that name she now assumed) can testify, until
that artful serpent Fathom glided into our mutual confidence,
abused our ears, poisoned our unsuspected faith, and effected that
fatal breach, productive of all the misery and vexation which we
have suffered, and which is now so happily expelled.”
“Heaven,” said the Castilian, “hath visited me
for the sins and errors of my youth; yet, such mercy hath been
mingled with its chastisements, I dare not murmur or repine. The
tears of penitence and sorrow shall water my Antonia’s grave;
as for Mendoza, I rejoice at his treachery, by which the obligation
of my promise is cancelled, and my honour fully acquitted. He shall
not triumph in his guilt. My services, my character, and innocence
shall soon confront his perfidy, and, I hope, defeat his interest.
The King is just and gracious, nor is my family and name
unknown.”
Here the Jew interposing, presented to him a letter from a
person of consequence at Madrid, whom Joshua had interested in the
cause of Don Diego; that nobleman had already found means to
represent the case of Zelos to his Majesty, who had actually
ordered Don Manuel to be confined, until the injured person should
appear to justify himself, and prosecute his accuser according to
the terms of law. At the same time Don Diego was summoned to
present himself before the King within a limited time, to answer to
the charge which Mendoza had brought against him.
The Spaniard’s heart overflowed with gratitude and joy,
when he read this intimation; he embraced the Jew, who, before
Zelos could give utterance to his thoughts, told him that the
Spanish Ambassador at London, having been prepossessed in his
favour, craved the honour of seeing Don Diego; and that he, Joshua,
was ready to conduct him to the house.
“Then is my heart at rest!” cried the Castilian;
“the house of Zelos once more shall lift up its head. I shall
again revisit my native country with honour, and abase the villain
who hath soiled my fame! O my children! this day is replete with
such joy and satisfaction, as I did not think had been in the power
of Heaven to grant, without the interposition of a miracle! To you,
Renaldo, to you illustrious lady, and to these worthy gentlemen, am
I indebted for the restoration of that for which alone I wish to
live; and when my heart ceases to retain the obligation, may I
forfeit the name of a Castilian, and scorn and dishonour be my
portion.”
Perhaps all Europe could not produce another company so happy as
that which now sat down to dinner in the house of Madam Clement,
whose own benevolent heart was peculiarly adapted for such
enjoyment. The lovers feasted their eyes more than their appetite,
by a tender intercourse of glances, which needed not the slow
interpretation of speech; while the Spaniard regarded them
alternately with looks of wonder and paternal joy, and every
individual surveyed the all-deserving pair with admiration and
esteem.
Serafina taking the advantage of this general satisfaction, when
the heart, softened into complacency, deposits every violent
thought: “I must now,” said she, “try my interest
with Renaldo. The good company shall bear witness to my triumph or
repulse. I do not ask you to forgive, but to withhold your
vengeance from the wretched Fathom. His fraud, ingratitude, and
villany are, I believe, unrivalled; yet his base designs have been
defeated; and Heaven perhaps hath made him the involuntary
instrument for bringing our constancy and virtue to the test;
besides, his perfidy is already punished with the last degree of
human misery and disgrace. The doctor, who has traced him in all
his conduct and vicissitudes of fortune, will draw a picture of his
present wretchedness, which, I doubt not, will move your
compassion, as it hath already excited mine.”
The generous hostess was ready to enforce this charitable
proposal with all her eloquence, when Melvil, with a look that well
expressed his magnanimity of love, replied, “Such a boon
becomes the gentle Serafina! O! every moment furnishes me with
fresh matter to admire the virtues of thy soul. If thou, whose
tender heart hath been so rent with misery and anguish, canst
intercede for thy tormentor, who now suffers in his turn, shall I
refuse to pardon the miserable wretch! No, let me glory in
imitating the great example, and solicit Don Diego in behalf of the
same miscreant whose perfidious barbarity cost him such intolerable
woe.” “Enough,” cried the Castilian, “I
have disclaimed the vindictive principles of a Spaniard; and leave
the miserable object to the sting of his own conscience, which,
soon or late, will not fail to avenge the wrongs we have sustained
from his deceit.”
Universal was the applause which they acquired by this noble
sacrifice of their resentment. The afternoon was spent in the
utmost harmony and good-humour; and at the earnest solicitation of
Renaldo, whose fancy still harboured the apprehensions of another
separation, Don Diego consented that the indissoluble knot should
be tied between that young gentleman and Serafina in two days, and
the place appointed for the ceremony was the very church where they
had been restored to the arms of each other.
The lovely bride, with a silent blush that set her lover’s
heart on fire, submitted to this determination, in consequence of
which the company was bespoke for that auspicious hour, and the
evening being pretty far advanced, they took leave of the ladies,
and retired to their respective homes; Don Diego and his future
son-in-law being reconducted to their lodgings, in the coach of the
Jew, who, taking an opportunity of being alone with Melvil,
observed that it would be necessary on this occasion to supply the
Castilian with a sum of money, in order to support his dignity and
independence, in furnishing Serafina with everything suitable to
her rank and merit; and that he would willingly accommodate him,
provided he knew how to propose it so as to give no offence to his
punctilious disposition.
Renaldo, thanking him for this generous anticipation, advised
him to solicit the Spaniard’s correspondence in the way of
business, and to put the whole on the footing of his own interest;
by which means Don Diego’s delicacy could sustain no affront.
Fraught with this instruction, the Israelite desired a private
audience of the Castilian, in which, after an apology for the
freedom of his demand, “Signior Don Diego,” said he,
“as your fortune hath been so long embezzled by your
adversary in Spain, and your correspondence with that country
entirely cut off, it is not to be supposed that your finances are
at present in such a condition as to maintain the splendour of your
family. Count de Melvil’s whole fortune is at your command;
and had not he been afraid of giving umbrage to the peculiar
delicacy of your sentiments, he would have pressed you to use it
for your convenience. For my own part, over and above the
inclination I have to serve Don Diego, I consult my own private
advantage in desiring you to accept my service on this occasion.
Money is the chief commodity in which I deal, and, if you honour me
with your commands, I shall be a gainer by my obedience.”
Don Diego replied, with a smile that denoted how well he
understood the meaning of this address, “Surely, Signior, I
am bound by the strongest ties to exert my utmost endeavours for
your advantage; and I pray God this your proposal may have that
issue. I am well acquainted with the Count’s generosity and
refined notions of honour; and too much obliged by him already, to
hesitate with punctilious reserve in accepting his future
assistance. Nevertheless, since you have contrived a scheme for
removing all scruples of that sort, I shall execute it with
pleasure; and, in the form of business, you shall have all the
security I can give for what shall be necessary to answer my
present occasions.”
The preliminaries being thus settled, Joshua advanced for his
use a thousand pounds, for which he would take neither bond, note,
nor receipt, desiring only that the Castilian would mark it in his
own pocket-book, that the debt might appear, in case any accident
should befall the borrower. Although the Spaniard had been
accustomed to the uncommon generosity of Melvil, he could not help
wondering at this nobleness of behaviour, so little to be expected
from any merchant, much less from a Jewish broker.
While this affair was on the anvil, Renaldo, who could no longer
withhold the communication of his happiness from his sister and
relations in Germany, took up the pen, and, in a letter to his
brother-in-law, recounted all the circumstances of the surprising
turn of fate which he had experienced since his arrival in England.
He likewise related the story of Don Diego, informed them of the
day appointed for his nuptials, and entreated the Major to make a
journey to London with his wife; or, if that should be
impracticable, to come as far as Brussels, where they should be met
by him and his Serafina. There was now but one day between him and
the accomplishment of his dearest wish, and that was spent in
procuring a licence, and adjusting the preparations for the grand
festival. Don Diego in the forenoon visited Madam Clement, to whom
he repeated his warm acknowledgments of her bounty and maternal
affection to his daughter, and presented to Serafina bank notes to
the amount of five hundred pounds, to defray the necessary expense
for her wedding ornaments.
All the previous steps being taken for the solemnisation of this
interesting event, and the hour of appointment arrived, the
bridegroom, accompanied by his father-in-law, hastened to the place
of rendezvous, which was the vestry-room of the church we have
already described; where they were received by the good clergyman
in his canonicals; and here they had not waited many minutes, when
they were joined by Madam Clement and the amiable bride, escorted
by the friendly physician, who had all along borne such a share in
their concerns. Serafina was dressed in a sack of white satin, and
the ornaments of her head were adjusted in the Spanish fashion,
which gave a peculiar air to her appearance, and an additional
spirit to those attractions which engaged the heart of each
beholder. There was nothing remarkable in the habit of Renaldo, who
had copied the plainness and elegance of his mistress; but, when
she entered the place, his features were animated with a double
proportion of vivacity, and their eyes meeting, seemed to kindle a
blaze which diffused warmth and joy through the countenances of all
present.
After a short pause, her father led her to the altar, and gave
her away to the transported Renaldo, before the priest who
performed the ceremony, and bestowed the nuptial benediction on
this enraptured pair. The sanction of the church being thus
obtained, they withdrew into the vestry, where Melvil sealed his
title on her rosy lips, and presented his wife to the company, who
embraced her in their turns, with fervent wishes for their mutual
happiness.
Though the scene of this transaction was remote from any
inhabited neighbourhood, the church was surrounded by a crowd of
people, who, with uncommon demonstration of surprise and
admiration, petitioned Heaven to bless so fair a couple. Such
indeed was their eagerness to see them, that some lives were
endangered by the pressure of the crowd, which attended them with
loud acclamations to the coach, after the bridegroom had deposited
in the hands of the minister one hundred pounds for the benefit of
the poor of that parish, and thrown several handfuls of money among
the multitude. Serafina re-embarked in Madam Clement’s
convenience, with that good lady and Don Diego, while Renaldo, with
the clergyman and doctor, followed in Joshua’s coach, to a
pleasant country-house upon the Thames, at a distance of a few
miles from London. This the Jew had borrowed from the owner for a
few days, and there they were received by that honest Hebrew, who
had provided a very elegant entertainment for the occasion. He had
also bespoke a small but excellent band of music, which regaled
their ears while they sat at dinner; and the afternoon being calm
and serene, he prevailed on them to take the air on the river, in a
barge which he had prepared for the purpose.
But, notwithstanding this diversity of amusement, Renaldo would
have found it the longest day he had ever passed, had not his
imagination been diverted by an incident which employed his
attention during the remaining part of the evening. They had drunk
tea, and engaged in a party at whist, when they were surprised with
a noise of contention from a public-house, that fronted the windows
of the apartment in which they sat. Alarmed at this uproar, they
forsook their cards, and, throwing up the casement, beheld a hearse
surrounded by four men on horseback, who had stopped the carriage,
and violently pulled the driver from his seat. This uncommon arrest
had engaged the curiosity of the publican’s family, who stood
at the door to observe the consequence, when all of a sudden
appeared a person in canonicals, well mounted, who, riding up to
those who maltreated the driver, bestowed upon one of them such a
blow with the butt-end of his whip, as laid him sprawling on the
ground; and, springing from his saddle upon the box, took the reins
into his own hand, swearing with great vehemence, that he would
murder every man who should attempt to obstruct the hearse.
The good priest who had married Renaldo was not a little
scandalised at this ferocious behaviour in a clergyman, and could
not help saying aloud, he was a disgrace to the cloth when the
horseman looking up to the window, replied, “Sir, may I be
d—n’d, if any man in England has a greater respect for
the cloth than I have; but at present I am quite distracted.”
So saying, he whipped up the horses, and had actually disentangled
the hearse from those who surrounded it, when he was opposed by
another troop, one of whom alighted with great expedition, and cut
the harness so as that he could not possibly proceed. Finding
himself thus driven to bay, he leaped upon the ground, and
exercised his weapon with such amazing strength and agility, that
several of his antagonists were left motionless on the field,
before he was overpowered and disarmed by dint of numbers, who
assailed him on all sides.
The mad parson being thus taken prisoner, an elderly person, of
a very prepossessing appearance, went up to the hearse, and,
unbolting the door, a young lady sprung out, and shrieking, ran
directly to the public-house, to the infinite astonishment and
affright of the whole family, who believed it was the spirit of the
deceased person, whose body lay in the carriage. Renaldo, who was
with difficulty restrained from interposing in behalf of the
clergyman against such odds, no sooner perceived this apparition,
than, supposing her to be some distressed damsel, his Quixotism
awoke, he descended in an instant, and rushed into the house, among
those that pursued the fair phantom. Don Diego and the physician
took the same road, while the real clergyman and Joshua tarried
with the ladies, who were, by this time, very much interested in
the event.
Melvil found the young lady in the hands of the old gentleman,
who had released her from the hearse, and who now bitterly
upbraided her for her folly and disobedience; while she protested
with great vivacity, that whatever she might suffer from his
severity, she would never submit to the hateful match he had
proposed, nor break the promise she had already made to the
gentleman who now attempted to rescue her from the tyranny of a
cruel father. This declaration was followed by a plentiful shower
of tears, which the father could not behold with unmoistened eyes,
although he reviled her with marks of uncommon displeasure; and
turning to the Count, “I appeal to you, sir,” said he,
“whether I have not reason to curse the undutiful obstinacy
of that pert baggage, and renounce her for ever as an alien to my
blood. She has, for some months, been solicited in marriage by an
honest citizen, a thirty thousand pound man; and instead of
listening to such an advantageous proposal, she hath bestowed her
heart upon a young fellow not worth a groat. Ah! you degenerate
hussy, this comes of your plays and romances. If thy mother were
not a woman of an unexceptionable life and conversation, I should
verily believe thou art no child of mine. Run away with a beggar!
for shame!”
“I suppose,” replied Renaldo, “the person to
whom your daughter’s affection inclines, is that clergyman
who exerted himself so manfully at the door?”
“Clergyman!” cried the other, “adad! he has more
of the devil than the church about him. A ruffian! he has, for
aught I know, murdered the worthy gentleman whom I intended for my
son-in-law; and the rogue, if I had not kept out of his way, would,
I suppose, have served me with the same sauce. Me! who have been
his master for many years, and had resolved to make a man of him.
Sir, he was my own clerk, and this is the return I have met with
from the serpent which I cherished in my bosom.”
Here he was interrupted by the arrival of the citizen for whom
he had expressed such concern; that gentleman had received a
contusion upon one eye, by which the sight was altogether
obstructed, so that he concluded he should never retrieve the use
of that organ, and with great clamour took all the spectators to
witness the injury he had sustained; he entered the room with
manifest perturbation, demanded satisfaction of the father, and
peremptorily declared it should not be a lost eye to him if there
was law in England. This unseasonable demand, and the boisterous
manner in which it was made, did not at all suit the present humour
of the old gentleman, who told him peevishly he owed him no eye,
and bade him go and ask reparation of the person who had done him
wrong.
The young lady snatching this favourable occasion, earnestly
entreated Melvil and his company to intercede with her father in
behalf of her lover, who, she assured them, was a young gentleman
of a good family, and uncommon merit; and in compliance with her
request they invited him and his daughter to the house in which
they lodged, where they would be disencumbered of the crowd which
this dispute had gathered together, and more at leisure to consult
about the measures necessary to be taken. The old gentleman thanked
them for their courtesy, which he did not think proper to refuse,
and while he led, or rather hauled Mademoiselle over the way, under
the auspices of the Castilian, Renaldo set the lover at liberty,
made him a tender of his good offices, and advised him to wait at
the public-house for an happy issue of their negotiation.
The pseudo-parson was very much affected by this generous
proffer, for which he made suitable acknowledgments, and protested
before God he would die a thousand deaths rather than part with his
dear Charlotte. Her father no sooner entered the apartment, than he
was known by Joshua to be a considerable trader in the city of
London, and the merchant was glad to find himself among his
acquaintance. He was so full of the story which had brought him
thither, that he had scarce sat down when he began to complain of
his hard fate, in having an only child who was so mean, stubborn,
and contumacious; and every sentence was concluded with an
apostrophe of reproaches to the delinquent.
The Jew having allowed him to ring out his alarm, condoled his
misfortune, and gravely counselled the young lady to wean her
affections from such an unworthy object, for he supposed her
favourite was a man of no principle, or liberal endowments,
otherwise her father would not exclaim so bitterly against her
conduct. Charlotte, who wanted neither beauty nor understanding,
assured him that her lover’s character was, in all respects,
unblemished, for the truth of which assertion she appealed to her
papa, who owned, with reluctance, that the young man was a
gentleman by birth, that he had served him with remarkable
diligence and integrity, and that his accomplishments were far
superior to his station in life. “But then,” said he,
“the fellow has not a shilling of his own, and would you have
me give away my daughter to a beggar?”
“God forbid!” cried the Jew, “I always
understood you possessed an ample fortune, and am sorry to find it
otherwise.” “Otherwise!” cried the citizen, with
some acrimony, “take care what you say, sir; a
merchant’s credit is not to be tampered with.” “I
beg your pardon,” answered the Hebrew, “I concluded
that your circumstances were bad, because you objected to the
poverty of the young man after you had owned he was possessed of
every other qualification to make your daughter happy; for it is
not to be imagined that you would thwart her inclinations, or seek
to render an only child miserable on account of an obstacle which
you yourself could easily remove. Let us suppose you can afford to
give with your daughter ten thousand pounds, which would enable
this young man to live with credit and reputation, and engage
advantageously in trade, for which you say he is well qualified,
the alternative then will be, whether you would rather see her in
the arms of a deserving youth whom she loves, enjoying all the
comforts of life with a moderate fortune, which it will always be
in your own power to improve, or tied for life to a monied man whom
she detests, cursing her hard fate, and despising that superfluity
of wealth, in spite of which she finds herself so truly
wretched.”
The old gentleman seemed to be startled at this observation,
which was reinforced by Renaldo’s saying, that he would,
moreover, enjoy the unutterable pleasure of giving happiness to a
worthy man, whose gratitude would co-operate with his love, in
approving himself a dutiful son, as well as an affectionate
husband. He then represented the family disquiets and dismal
tragedies produced from such mercenary and compulsive matches, and,
in conclusion related the story of Don Diego and his daughter,
which when the merchant heard, he started up with marks of terror
in his countenance, and, throwing up the casement, called upon
Valentine with great vociferation. This was the name of his
daughter’s admirer, who no sooner heard the summons than he
flew to the spot from whence it came, and the merchant, without any
further preamble, seizing his hand, joined it with that of
Charlotte, saying, with great trepidation, “Here, take her,
in the name of God, and thank this honourable company for your good
fortune.”
The lovers were transported with exquisite joy at this sudden
determination in their favour. Valentine, having kissed the hand of
his mistress with all the eagerness of rapture, and acknowledged
the merchant’s generosity, paid his respects to the ladies
with a very polite address, and with demonstrations of uncommon
gratitude and sensibility, thanked the gentlemen, and the Count in
particular, for their good offices, to which he attributed the
happiness he now enjoyed. While Serafina and Madam Clement caressed
the amiable Charlotte, the rest of the company congratulated her
admirer upon his choice and success, though the clergyman could not
help reprehending him for profaning the sacerdotal habit.
Valentine heartily asked pardon for having given such cause of
offence, and hoped he should be forgiven, as it was a disguise
which he thought absolutely necessary for the execution of a scheme
upon which his happiness depended. He then, at the request of
Renaldo, unfolded the mystery of the hearse, by giving them to
understand that Charlotte’s father having got inkling of
their mutual passion, had dismissed his clerk, and conveyed his
daughter to a country-house in the neighbourhood of London, in
order to cut off their correspondence; notwithstanding these
precautions they had found means to communicate with each other by
letters, which were managed by a third person; and his rival being
very importunate in his solicitations, they had concerted the
expedient of the hearse, which he provided and conducted through a
road contiguous to the end of the merchant’s garden, where
Charlotte, being apprised of the design, waited for its approach,
and embarked in it without hesitation. Valentine thought himself
sufficiently screened from discovery by his disguise, but he was
unfortunately met by a servant of the family, who recollected his
features, and immediately gave the alarm, upon which the father and
his friends took horse, and pursued them by two different roads,
until they were overtaken at this place.
He had scarce finished this short relation, when his rival,
bluntly entering the apartment, with an handkerchief tied round his
eye, committed Valentine to the charge of a constable, who attended
him, by a warrant from a justice of the peace in that
neighbourhood, and threatened to prosecute the merchant on an
action of damages for the loss of an eye, which he said he had
sustained in his service. The company endeavoured to appease this
citizen, by representing that his misfortune was no other than a
common inflammation, nor was it owing to malice aforethought, but
entirely to the precipitate passion of an incensed young man, who,
by the bye, acted in his own defence. At the same time the merchant
promised to make any reasonable satisfaction, upon which the other
demanded an obligation, importing that he would, in ten days from
the date, bestow upon him his daughter in marriage, with a portion
of fifteen thousand pounds, or, in case of failure, pay him double
the sum.
The merchant, exasperated at this extravagant demand, told him
flatly he had already disposed of his daughter to Valentine, who,
he believed, was a much more deserving man, and that he was ready
to wait upon the magistrate who had granted the warrant, in order
to give bail for his future son-in-law. This was a mortifying
declaration to the plaintiff, though he condoled himself with the
hope of being a gainer by the loss of his eye, and now the pain was
over would have been very sorry to find his sight retrieved. The
old gentleman, Joshua, and Renaldo accompanied the prisoner to the
house of the justice, where he was immediately admitted to bail.
Upon their return Valentine shifted his dress, and they supped
together with great cordiality and mirth, maintained at the expense
of the discarded lover.
After supper Don Diego walked a minuet with Madam Clement; for
whom, by this time, he had contracted an extraordinary degree of
affection. Valentine had the honour to dance with the incomparable
Serafina, whose beauty and attractions dazzled the eyes of the
new-comers, and struck her bashful partner with awe and confusion;
and Melvil presented his hand to the agreeable Charlotte, who
performed so much to the satisfaction of her father, that he could
not help expressing his joy and pride. He praised God for throwing
him in the way of our company, and engaged the clergyman to unite
the young couple, after having appointed a day for the ceremony,
and invited all present to the wedding. The evening having been
insensibly consumed in these avocations, and the night pretty far
advanced, the ladies withdrew without ceremony; and the retreat of
Serafina filled Renaldo’s breast with tumult and emotion; his
blood began to flow in impetuous tides, his heart to beat with
redoubled vigour and velocity, while his eyes seemed to flash with
more than human splendour. Now his imagination began to anticipate
with the enthusiastic rage of an inspired sibyl; he was
instantaneously transported from the conversation, and every nerve
was braced to such a degree of impatience, that human nature could
not long endure the tension.
He, therefore, having withstood the impulse about a quarter of
an hour, at length gave way to his impetuosity, and, springing from
his friends, found himself in a dark passage, at the farther end of
which he perceived Madam Clement coming out of a chamber with a
light, which, at sight of him, she set down, and vanished in a
moment. This was the star that pointed to his paradise; he hailed
the signal, entered the apartment, and, like a lion, rushing on his
prey, approached the nuptial bed, where Serafina, surrounded by all
the graces of beauty, softness, sentiment, and truth, lay trembling
as a victim at the altar, and strove to hide her blushes from his
view—the door was shut, the light extinguished—he owned
his lot was more than mortal man could claim.
Here let me draw the decent veil that ought to shade the secret
mysteries of Hymen. Away, unhallowed scoffers, who profane, with
idle pleasantry or immodest hint, these holy rites; and leave those
happy lovers to enjoy, in one another’s arms, unutterable
bliss, the well-earned palm of virtue and of constancy, which had
undergone the most severe refinement. A more deserving pair
night’s curtain shrouds not in its dark extent.
The thoughts of Renaldo’s felicity threw a damp on the
spirits of Valentine, who saw the term of his probation protracted
a few days longer, and could not help wishing in his heart that he
had achieved the adventure which would have abridged his
expectation, though at the expense of the old gentleman’s
displeasure. He filled a bumper to the health of the bride and
bridegroom, and throwing up his eyes with marks of admiration,
exclaimed, “How happy is the Count! alas! five days longer
must I rein my impatience!” “It is but reasonable, you
rogue, that your betters should have the start of you,” said
the merchant, who did him justice in the glass, and counselled him
to drown his impatience with good claret. The youth followed his
advice, and it was late before the company retired to rest.
These citizens, however, resolved to seize an opportunity of
rallying the new-married couple, according to custom, and with that
view arose early in the morning, on the supposition of finding them
still asleep; but they were not a little surprised, when they
entered the breakfasting room, to see Renaldo, and his amiable
bed-fellow, already dressed, and awaiting to do the honours of the
house. The old gentleman would fain have cracked a joke upon their
extraordinary despatch, but he was so much overawed by the dignity
and tamed by the sweetness of Serafina’s carriage, that he
durst not give utterance to his conception; and Valentine stood
silent and abashed, as in the presence of a superior being. After
breakfast these gentlemen and Charlotte again expressed their sense
of the obligations they owed to this happy family, repeated their
invitation, and, taking leave, returned to London in a coach that
was provided overnight.
Our friends being thus left to themselves, Don Diego turned
towards Melvil: “Now,” said he, “that I have
yielded to the impatience of your love, as well as to the eagerness
of my own desire to make you happy, I must beg leave to interrupt,
for a little while, the stream of your mutual pleasure, and propose
a melancholy excursion, which, however, will not be wholly void of
enjoyment. I have too long delayed the performance of my duty at
Antonia’s grave—let us spend the forenoon in that pious
pilgrimage—I will drop a few tears to the memory of that
excellent woman, and never afterwards shall my friends be troubled
with my grief.”
The proposal being universally approved, they set out for the
place, which had oft been visited by the gentle Serafina, who
conducted her father to a black marble stone, which Renaldo had
ordered to be laid over the grave; and, as he kneeled to kiss the
monument, he perceived this plain inscription in the Spanish
tongue:—Antonia de Zelos primera en todo lo que es ser bueno,
y sin segundo en todo lo que fue ser desdichado, quedad con Dios!
that is, Antonia de Zelos, unmatched in virtue, and unequalled in
misfortune, adieu! “O faithful record!” cried the
Castilian, smiting his breast, while his tears distilled upon the
marble, “thy goodness was the gift of Heaven, but thy
misfortunes were derived from the guilt of Don Diego; yet his
sorrow shall expiate his offence, and his penitence find favour in
the sight of Heaven! Rest, rest, ill-fated virtue!—eternal
peace shall guard thy tomb, and angels minister to thy unspotted
shade; nor shall thine ashes lie in dark obscurity here will I
raise a monument, more suited to thy excellence and name.”
Serafina melted with filial tenderness; nor were the rest unmoved
at this affecting scene, which Don Diego did not quit without
reluctance.
The nature of this visit had softened every heart, and saddened
every countenance; and they walked in solemn silence to the other
side of the church-yard, in order to regain their carriages; when,
at the turning of the stile, they saw a young woman, in wretched
attire, running out of a poor habitation, wringing her hands in all
the agony of despair. Notwithstanding the distraction in her
countenance, and the meanness of her apparel, she discovered a
regularity of features, and a delicacy of air, which did not at all
correspond with the misery of her equipage. These exhibitions of
extreme distress soon attracted the notice and compassion of our
company, and Melvil’s beauteous help-mate, accosting this
forlorn damsel with a pity-breathing aspect, asked the cause of her
disorder.
“Alas! dear lady,” cried the other, with all the
emphasis of woe, “an unhappy gentleman now breathes his last
within this inhospitable hovel, amidst such excess of misery as
would melt the most flinty bosom. What then must I feel, who am
connected with him by the strongest ties of love and conjugal
affection?” “Who is the unfortunate object?” said
the physician. “He was once well known in the gay
world,” replied the young woman; “his name is
Fathom.” Every individual of the company started at mention
of that detested name. Serafina began to tremble with emotion; and
Renaldo, after a short pause, declared he would go in, not with a
view to exult over his misery, but in order to contemplate the
catastrophe of such a wicked life, that the moral might be the more
deeply engraved on his remembrance. The young Countess, whose
tender heart could not bear the shock of such a spectacle, retired
to the coach with Madam Clement and the Jew, while Renaldo,
accompanied by the rest, entered a dismal apartment, altogether
void of furniture and convenience, where they beheld the wretched
hero of these memoirs stretched almost naked upon straw,
insensible, convulsed, and seemingly in the grasp of death. He was
worn to the bone either by famine or distemper; his face was
overshadowed with hair and filth; his eyes were sunk, glazed, and
distorted; his nostrils dilated; his lips covered with a black
slough; and his complexion faded into a pale clay-colour, tending
to a yellow hue. In a word, the extremity of indigence, squalor,
and distress could not be more feelingly represented.
While Melvil perused this melancholy lesson, and groaning,
cried, “Behold the fate of man!” he perceived a letter
in the right hand of the unfortunate Fathom, which lay fast
clenched across his breast. Curious to know the contents of this
paper, which the young woman said he had kept in that position for
several days, he drew nearer the wretched couch, and was not a
little surprised to see it addressed to the Right Honourable
Renaldo Count de Melvil, to the care of Mr. Joshua Manesseh,
merchant in London. When he attempted to disengage this billet from
the author’s hand, the sorrowing female fell upon her knees,
entreating him to desist, and telling him, she had promised, upon
oath, to communicate the contents to no person upon earth, but to
carry the letter, upon her husband’s decease, to the
gentleman to whose care it was directed.
Renaldo assured her, upon his honour, that he was the very
Renaldo Count de Melvil, for whom it was intended; and the young
creature was so much confounded at this information, that, before
she could recollect herself, Melvil had opened the billet, and read
these words: “If this paper should fall into the hands of the
noble Renaldo, he will understand, that Fathom was the most
execrable traitor that ever imposed upon unsuspecting benevolence,
or attempted to betray a generous benefactor. His whole life was a
series of fraud, perfidy, and the most abominable ingratitude. But,
of all the crimes that lay heavy upon his soul, his being accessory
to the death of the incomparable Serafina, whose father he had also
robbed, was that for which he despaired of Heaven’s
forgiveness, notwithstanding the dreadful compunction and remorse
which have long preyed upon his heart, together with the incredible
misery and deplorable death which by this time he hath undergone.
Though these sufferings and sorrows cannot atone for his enormous
guilt, perhaps they will excite the compassion of the humane Count
de Melvil; at least, this confession, which my conscience dictates
under all the terrors of death and futurity, may be a warning for
him to avoid henceforth a smiling villain, like the execrable
Fathom, upon whose miserable soul Almighty God have
mercy.”
Renaldo was deeply affected with the contents of this scroll,
which denoted such horror and despair. He saw there could be no
dissimulation or sinister design in this profession of penitence.
He beheld the condition of the writer, which put all his humane
passions in commotion; so that he remembered nothing of Fathom but
his present distress. He could scarce maintain those indications
which might have been justly deemed the effect of weakness and
infirmity; and having desired the physician and clergyman to
contribute their assistance for the benefit of that wretch’s
soul and body, he ran to the coach, and communicated the letter to
the ladies; at the same time drawing a picture of the object he had
seen, which brought tears into the eyes of the gentle Serafina, who
earnestly entreated her lord to use his endeavours for the relief
and recovery of the unhappy man, that he might, if possible, live
to enjoy the benefit of mature repentance, and not die in that
dreadful despair which he manifested in the letter.
Renaldo, returning to the house, found the pious clergyman
reading prayers with great fervency, while Don Diego stood with his
right hand upon his breast, looking steadfastly upon the agonising
Fathom, and the young woman kneeled, with her streaming eyes lifted
up to heaven, in an ecstasy of grief and devotion. The physician
had run to an apothecary’s shop in the neighbourhood, from
whence he soon returned with an assistant, who applied a large
blister to the back of the miserable patient, while the female, by
the doctor’s direction, moistened his mouth with a cordial
which he had prescribed.
These charitable steps being taken, Count de Melvil entreated
the apothecary’s servant to procure a tent-bed for the
accommodation of the sick person with all imaginable despatch; and,
in less than an hour, one was actually pitched, and Fathom lifted
into it, after he had been shifted, and in some measure purified
from the dregs of his indigence. During this transaction the ladies
were conducted to a tavern not far off, where dinner was bespoke,
that they might be at hand to see the effect of their charity,
which was not confined to what we have already described, but
extended so far, that, in a little time, the apartment was
comfortably furnished, and the young creature provided with change
of apparel, and money to procure the necessaries of
subsistence.
Notwithstanding all their care, the wretched Fathom still
remained insensible, and the doctor pronounced a very unfavourable
prognostic, while he ordered a pair of additional vesicatories to
be laid upon his arms, and other proper medicines to be
administered. After dinner, the ladies ventured to visit the place,
and when Serafina crossed the threshold, the weeping female fell at
her feet, and, kissing her robe, exclaimed, “Sure you are an
angel from heaven.”
The alteration in her dress had made a very agreeable change in
her appearance, so that the Countess could now look upon her
without shuddering at her distress. And, as Fathom was not in a
condition to be disturbed, she took this opportunity of inquiring
by what steps that unfortunate wretch was conveyed from the prison,
in which she knew he had been confined, to the place where he now
lay in such extremity; and by what occurrence he had found a wife
in such an abyss of misfortune. Here the other’s tears began
to flow afresh. “I am ashamed,” said she, “to
reveal my own folly; yet I dare not refuse a satisfaction of this
kind to a person who has laid me under such signal
obligations.”
She then proceeded to relate her story, by which it appeared,
she was no other than the fair and unhappy Elenor, whom the artful
Fathom had debauched upon his first arrival in town, in the manner
already described in these memoirs. “Heaven,” continued
she, “was pleased to restore the use of my reason, which I
had lost when I found myself abandoned by the Count; but, all my
connexion with my own family being entirely cut off, and every door
shut against a poor creature who could procure no recommendation,
except the certificate signed by the physician of Bedlam, which,
instead of introducing me to service, was an insurmountable
objection to my character, I found myself destitute of all means of
subsisting, unless I would condescend to live the infamous and
wretched life of a courtezan, an expedient rendered palatable by
the terrors of want, cooperating with the reflection of the
irretrievable loss I had already sustained. I ask pardon for
offending your chaste ears with this impure confession of my guilt,
which, Heaven knows, I then did, and now do look upon with
abhorrence and detestation. I had already forfeited my innocence,
and wanted resolution to encounter misery and death. Nevertheless,
before I could determine to embrace the condition of a prostitute,
I was one day accosted in the Park by an elderly gentleman who sat
down by me upon a bench, and, taking notice of the despondence
which was evident in my countenance, pressed me to make him
acquainted with the nature of my misfortune. So much sympathy and
good sense appeared in his deportment and conversation, that I
gratified his request, and he, in return for my confidence, saved
me from the most horrible part of my prospect, by taking me into
his protection, and reserving me for his own appetite. In this
situation I lived a whole year, until I was deprived of my keeper
by an apoplectic fit, and turned out of doors by his relations, who
did not, however, strip me of the clothes and moveables which I
owed to his bounty. Far from being as yet reconciled to a vicious
life, I resolved to renounce the paths of shame, and, converting my
effects into ready money, hired a small shop, and furnished it with
haberdashery ware, intending to earn an honest livelihood by the
sale of these commodities, together with the plain work in which I
hoped to be employed so soon as my talents should be known. But
this scheme did not answer my expectation. The goods spoiled upon
my hands, and, as I was a stranger in the neighbourhood, nobody
would intrust me with any other business. So that, notwithstanding
the most parsimonious economy, I ran in debt to my landlord, who
seized my effects; and an hosier, from whom I had received some
parcels upon credit, took out a writ against me, by virtue of which
I was arrested and imprisoned in the Marshalsea, where I found my
first seducer. Good Heaven! what did I feel at this unexpected
meeting, overwhelmed as I was before with my own distress! I with a
loud scream fainted away, and, when I recovered, found myself in
the arms of Mr. Fathom, who wept over me with great affliction. All
his prospects of gaiety had now vanished, and his heart was
softened by his own misfortunes, to a feeling of another’s
woe, as well as to a due sense of his own guilt. He expressed the
deepest sorrow for having been the occasion of my ruin, endeavoured
to comfort me with a promise of assistance, and indeed, by
practising medicine among the prisoners, made shift to keep us both
from starving. But surely no sinner underwent such severe remorse
as that which he suffered during his imprisonment. From the day of
our meeting, I never once saw him smile; a melancholy cloud
continually overhung his countenance. He numbered the minutes by
his groans, he used to start with horror from his sleep, and,
striking his breast, would exclaim, ‘O Elenor! I am the worst
of villains!’ Sometimes he seemed disordered in his brain,
and raved about Renaldo and Monimia. In a word, his mind was in a
dreadful situation, and all his agonies were communicated to me,
whom by this time he had married, in order to make some atonement
for my wrongs. Wretched as he then was, I remembered the
accomplished youth who had captivated my virgin heart, the old
impressions still remained, I saw his penitence, pitied his
misfortune, and his wife being dead, consented to join his fate,
the ceremony having been performed by a fellow-prisoner, who was in
orders. Though his hard-hearted creditor had no other chance of
being paid, than that of setting him at liberty, he lent a deaf ear
to all our supplications; and this cruelty conspiring with the
anguish of my husband’s own reflection, affected his health
and spirits to such a degree, that he could no longer earn the
miserable pittance which had hitherto supported our lives. Then our
calamities began to multiply. Indigence and famine stared us in the
face; and it was with the utmost difficulty that we resisted their
attacks, by selling or pledging our wearing apparel, until we were
left almost quite naked, when we found ourselves discharged by an
act passed for the relief of insolvent debtors. This charitable
law, which was intended for a consolation to the wretched, proved
to us the most severe disaster; for we were turned out into the
streets, utterly destitute of food, raiment, and lodging, at a time
when Mr. Fathom was so weakened by his distemper, that he could not
stand alone. I supported him from door to door, imploring the
compassion of charitable Christians, and was at length permitted to
shelter him in this miserable place, where his disease gaining
ground, he lay three days in that deplorable condition, from which
he hath now been rescued, though I fear too late, by your humanity
and benevolence.”
She shed a flood of tears at the conclusion of this mournful
tale, which did not fail to affect the whole audience, especially
Serafina, who assured her, that, whatever should happen to her
husband, she might depend upon finding favour and protection,
provided her conduct should correspond with her professions. While
this grateful creature kissed the hand of her kind benefactress,
Fathom uttered a groan, began to stir in the bed, and with a
languid voice called upon Elenor, who, instantly withdrawing the
curtain, presented the whole company to his view. He had now
retrieved the use of his perception by the operation of the
blisters, which began to torture him severely; he looked around him
with amazement and affright, and distinguishing the three persons
against whom the chief arrows of his fraud and treachery had been
levelled, he concluded that he was now arrived at the land of
departed souls, and that the shades of those whom he had so
grievously injured were come to see him tormented according to his
demerits.
Fraught with this notion, which was confirmed by the bodily pain
which he felt, and the appearance of the clergyman and Joshua, whom
he mistook for the ministers of vengeance, he cried in a tone
replete with horror, “Is there no mercy then for penitence?
Is there no pity due to the miseries I suffered upon earth? Save
me, O bountiful Heaven! from the terrors of everlasting woe; hide
me from these dreadful executioners, whose looks are torture.
Forgive me, generous Castilian. O Renaldo! thou hadst once a tender
heart. I dare not lift my eyes to Serafina! that pattern of human
excellence, who fell a victim to my atrocious guilt; yet her aspect
is all mildness and compassion. Hah! are not these the drops of
pity? Yes, they are the tears of mercy. They fall like refreshing
showers upon my drooping soul! Ah, murdered innocence! wilt thou
not intercede for thy betrayer at the throne of grace!”
Here he was interrupted by Melvil, who with a grave and solemn
air pronounced, “Great hath been thy guilt, unhappy
Ferdinand, and great have been thy sufferings. Yet we come not to
insult, but to alleviate thy distress. Providence hath kindly
defeated thy dire intentions, which we therefore now forgive and
transmit to oblivion, whether it be thy lot to yield up thy spirit
immediately, or to survive the dangerous malady with which thou art
at present overwhelmed. Suffer not thyself to despair; for the
mercy of Heaven is infinite; and submit to the directions of this
worthy gentleman, who will employ his skill for thy recovery, while
we shall take care to furnish thee with necessary attendance. As
too much speaking may be prejudicial to thy health, I dispense with
thy reply, and exhort thee to compose thyself to rest.” So
saying, he drew the curtain, and the company retired, leaving
Fathom entranced with wonder.
The next step which Renaldo took for the benefit of this
wretched penitent, was to send for the apothecary, with whom he
left a sum of money to be expended for the convenience of Fathom
and his wife; then he laid injunctions upon the physician to repeat
his visits; and that gentleman, together with the clergyman and
Joshua, taking leave of the others till next day, the Count set out
with the ladies and his father-in-law to the house where they had
lodged the preceding night.
The reader may well imagine the conversation of the evening
turned wholly upon the strange occurrence of the day, which seemed
to have been concerted by supernatural prescience, in order to
satisfy the vengeance, and afford matter of triumph to the
generosity of those who had been so grievously injured by the
guilty Fathom. Though not one of them would say that such a
miscreant ought to live, yet all concurred in approving the offices
of humanity which had been performed, and even endeavoured to find
specious pretext for vindicating their compassion. Don Diego said,
it would ill become a transgressor like him to withhold his
forgiveness from a sinner who had wronged him. Madam Clement
appealed to the approbation of Heaven, which had undoubtedly
directed them that way, for the purpose they had fulfilled.
Serafina observed, that the crimes of the delinquent were
obliterated by his sorrow, misery, and repentance. Renaldo honestly
owned, that, exclusive of other reasons, he could not deny himself
the luxurious enjoyment of communicating happiness to his
fellow-creatures in distress; and each fervently prayed, that their
charity might not be disappointed by the death of the object.
While they amused themselves in these discussions, Fathom, after
having lain some hours silent, in consequence of Renaldo’s
advice, could no longer suppress the astonishment of his mind, but,
addressing himself to his wife, “O Elenor!” said he,
“my delirium is now past; though I still remember the
phantasies of my distempered brain. Among other reveries, my
imagination was regaled with a vision so perfect and distinct, as
to emulate truth and reality. Methought Count de Melvil, Don Diego
de Zelos, and the divine Serafina, the very persons who are now
crying before the throne of Heaven for vengeance against the guilty
Fathom, stood by my bedside, with looks of pity and forgiveness;
and that Renaldo spoke peace to my despairing soul. I heard the
words distinctly. I retain them in my memory. I saw the tears
trickle from Serafina’s eyes. I heard her father utter a
compassionate sigh; and should actually believe that they were
personally present, had not I long ago seen with my own eyes the
funeral procession of that young lady, whose wrongs God pardon; and
were I not convinced that such a meeting could not be effected
without the immediate and miraculous interposition of Heaven. Yet
everything I now see corresponds with the words of Renaldo, which
still sound in my ears. When my perception forsook me, I lay in the
most abject misery, among straw; and thou, poor injured innocence,
wast naked and forlorn. Now, I find myself reposed in a warm, easy,
comfortable bed. I see around me the marks of human charity and
care, and the favourable change in thy appearance glads my poor
dejected heart. Say, whence this happy alteration? Do I really
awake from that dream of misery in which we have continued so long?
or do I still utter the extravagant ravings of a distempered
brain?”
Elenor was afraid of imparting at once all the particulars of
the happy change he had undergone, lest they might leave a
dangerous impression upon his fancy, which was not yet duly
composed. She contented herself, therefore, with telling him, that
he had been obliged to the humanity of a gentleman and lady, who
chanced to pass that way by accident, and who, understanding his
deplorable case, had furnished him with the conveniences which he
now enjoyed. She then presented to him what the doctor had directed
her to administer, and, admonishing him to commit his head to the
pillow, he was favoured with a breathing sweat, fell fast asleep,
and in a few hours waked again altogether cool and undisturbed.
It was upon this occasion that his wife explained the
circumstances of that visit which had redeemed him from extremity
of wretchedness and the jaws of death; upon which he started up,
and throwing himself upon his knees, exclaimed, “All-gracious
Power! this was the work of thy own bounteous hand; the voice of my
sorrow and repentance hath been heard. Thou hast inspired my
benefactors with more than mortal goodness in my behalf; how shall
I praise thy name! how shall I requite their generosity! Oh, I am
bankrupt to both! yet let me not perish until I shall have
convinced them of my reformation, and seen them enjoying that
felicity which ought to be reserved for such consummate
virtue.”
Next day, in the forenoon, he was visited by the physician, whom
he now recollected to have seen at the house of Madam Clement; and,
after having thanked that gentleman for his humanity and care, he
earnestly begged to know by what means Serafina had been preserved.
When he was satisfied in this particular, and given to understand
that she was now happy in the arms of Renaldo, “Blessed be
God!” he cried, “for having defeated the villany of him
who sought to part such lovers. Dear sir, will you add one
circumstance to your charity, and bear to that happy couple, and
the noble Don Diego, the respects and the remorse of a sincere
penitent, whom their compassion hath raised to life? I have been
such a traitor to them, that my words deserve no regard. I will not
therefore use professions. I dare not hope to be admitted into
their presence. I am indeed ashamed to see the light of the sun.
How then could I bear the looks of that injured family? ah, no! let
me hide myself in some obscure retreat, where I may work out my
salvation with fear and trembling, and pray incessantly to Heaven
for their prosperity.”
The physician promised to represent his contrition to the Count
and his lady, and accordingly proceeded to their habitation, where
he repeated these expressions, and pronounced his patient out of
danger. So that their thoughts were now employed in concerting a
scheme for his future subsistence, that he might not be exposed by
indigence to a relapse in point of morals. Renaldo being still
averse to any personal intercourse with such a wretch, until he
should give some undoubted proofs of amendment, and, as yet afraid
of intrusting him with any office that required integrity,
resolved, with the approbation of all present, to settle him in a
cheap county in the north of England, where he and his wife could
live comfortably on an annuity of sixty pounds, until his behaviour
should entitle him to a better provision.
This resolution was just taken, when Joshua arrived with a
gentleman whom he introduced to Don Diego as the secretary of the
Spanish ambassador. After the first compliments, the stranger told
the Castilian, that he waited upon him at the desire of his
Excellency, who would have come in person, had he not been confined
by the gout. Then he put into his hand a letter from the court of
Madrid, written by a nobleman of Diego’s acquaintance, who
informed him, that Don Manuel de Mendoza having made away with
himself by poison, in order to avoid the disgrace of a legal
conviction, his Catholic Majesty was now convinced of Don
Diego’s innocence, and granted him leave to return and take
possession of his honours and estate. This information was
confirmed by the secretary, who assured him that the ambassador had
orders to make him acquainted with this favourable decision of the
King. The Castilian having first acquitted himself in the most
polite terms to the secretary and the Jew, who, he said, had always
been a messenger of glad tidings, communicated his happiness to the
company; and this evening concluded the third day of their
rejoicing.
Next morning Don Diego went to visit the ambassador, accompanied
by Joshua and the secretary; while the physician, repairing to the
habitation of Fathom, signified, by Renaldo’s direction, the
resolution which had been taken in his behalf; and the patient no
sooner heard his doom, than, lifting up his hands, he cried,
“I am unworthy of such tenderness and benevolence.”
While Elenor shed a flood of tears in silence, unable to give
utterance to her grateful thought; Melvil’s bounty having so
far transcended her most sanguine hope.
The Spaniard having paid his devoirs to his Excellency, returned
before dinner; and, in the afternoon, desiring a private conference
with Serafina, they retired into another apartment, and he
expressed himself to this effect: “You have contracted, my
dear child, an habit of calling Madam Clement your mother, and
doubtless, by her maternal tenderness and regard, she hath acquired
a just title to the appellation. Yet I own I would fain strengthen
it by a legal claim. I no sooner retrieved my daughter than I gave
her away to the most deserving youth that ever sighed with
love.—I rejoice in the gift which secured your happiness. But
I left myself in a solitary situation, which even the return of my
good fortune cannot render easy and supportable. When I revisit the
Castle of Zelos, every well-known object will recall the memory of
my Antonia, and I shall want a companion to fill her place, and to
sympathise with me in that sorrow which will be derived from my
remembrance. Who is there so worthy to succeed your mother in the
affection of Don Diego, as she who interests her love for Serafina,
and resembles her so strongly in every virtue of the sex? Similar
attractions will produce similar effects. My heart is already
attached to that good lady; and, provided Serafina shall approve of
my choice, I will lay myself and fortune at her feet.”
The fair Countess replied, with an enchanting smile, that,
before this declaration, she had with pleasure perceived the
progress which Madam Clement had made in his heart; and that she
did not believe there was a person upon earth better qualified to
repair the loss he had sustained; though she foresaw one obstacle
to his happiness, which she was afraid would not be easily
surmounted. “You mean,” answered the Castilian,
“the difference of religion, which I am resolved to remove by
adopting the Protestant faith; though I am fully satisfied that
real goodness is of no particular persuasion, and that salvation
cannot depend upon belief, over which the will has no influence. I
invest you, therefore, with the charge of declaring my passion and
proposal, and empower you to satisfy her scruples with regard to
the religion which I now profess, and which I shall not openly
relinquish, until I shall have secured, in this country, effects
sufficient to screen me from the ill consequences of my
King’s displeasure.”
Serafina undertook this office with pleasure, because she had
reason to think his addresses would not be disagreeable to Madam
Clement; and that same night made the Count acquainted with the
nature of her commission. Nor was her expectation disappointed. The
French lady, with that frankness which is peculiar to virtue and
good breeding, confessed that Don Diego was not indifferent to her
choice, and did not hesitate in receiving him upon the footing of a
lover.—As we have already dwelt circumstantially on the
passion of love, so as perhaps even to have tired our readers, we
shall not repeat the dialogue that passed, when the Spaniard was
indulged with an opportunity to explain his sentiments. Suffice it
to observe, that the lady’s days of coquetry were now over,
and that she was too wise to trifle with the time, which every
moment became more and more precious. It was agreed then, that Don
Diego should settle his affairs in Spain, and return to England, in
order to espouse Madam Clement, with a view to fix his residence in
this island, where Renaldo likewise proposed to enjoy the sweets of
his fortune, provided he could draw hither his interests and
connexions.
Meanwhile, having for some days enjoyed his bliss with all the
fulness of rapture amidst this small but agreeable society, he
shifted the scene, and conducted his dear partner to a
ready-furnished house in town, which, together with an occasional
equipage, his friend Joshua had hired for the accommodation of him
and his father-in-law, who, during his stay in England, failed not
to cultivate the mistress of his heart with the most punctual
assiduity. Hitherto Serafina had been as a precious jewel locked up
in a casket, which the owner alone had an opportunity to
contemplate. But now the Count, who was proud of such a prize,
resolved to let her shine forth to the admiration of the whole
world. With this view he bespoke such ornaments as befitted her
quality, and, while the mantua-makers were employed in her service,
made a tour among his former acquaintance, and discharged the
obligations under which he lay to some who had assisted him in his
distress. He did not, however, introduce them to his charming
Serafina; because not one of them had formerly treated her with
that delicacy of regard which he thought her due; and some of them
were much mortified at their neglect, when they saw what a dazzling
figure she made in the beau monde.
She was visited by the Spanish and Imperial ambassadors, and
divers other foreigners of distinction, to whom Melvil had letters
of recommendation. But her first public appearance was in a box at
the opera, accompanied by Madam Clement, the Count, and Don Diego.
The entertainment was already begun, so that her entrance had the
greater effect upon the audience, whose attention was soon detached
from the performance, and riveted upon this amiable apparition,
which seemed to be some bright being of another world dropped from
the clouds among them. Then did the spirit of curiosity play its
part. A thousand whispers circulated; as many glasses were exalted
to reconnoitre this box of foreigners; for such they concluded them
to be from their appearance. Every male spectator acknowledged
Serafina to be the paragon of beauty; and every female confessed,
that Melvil was the model of a fine gentleman. The charms of the
young Countess did not escape the eye and approbation of royalty
itself; and when her rank was known, from the information of the
ambassadors and other people of condition who were seen saluting
her at a distance, that same evening a thousand bumpers were
swallowed in honour of the Countess de Melvil. The fame of her
beauty was immediately extended over this immense metropolis, and
different schemes were concerted for bringing her into life. These,
however, she resisted with unwearied obstinacy. Her happiness
centred in Renaldo, and the cultivation of a few friends within the
shade of domestic quiet. She did not even forget the concerns of
the wretched Fathom and his faithful Elenor, who daily enjoyed
fresh instances of her humanity and care. When his fever forsook
him, he was supplied with nourishing food for the recovery of his
health; and as soon as he found himself in a condition to travel,
he gave notice to his benefactor, who desired Joshua to settle with
him the manner in which he was to receive his allowance, and to pay
the first half-year’s salary per advance.
This affair being adjusted, and the place of his retreat
signified, the Jew told Elenor, that she might wait upon the
Countess before their departure; and she did not fail to make use
of this permission. After they had made the necessary preparations
for their journey, and taken places in the York stage-coach, Mrs.
Fathom, clothing herself in decent apparel, went to the house of
Count Melvil, and was immediately admitted to the presence of
Serafina, who received her with her usual complacency, enriched her
with salutary advice, comforted her with the hope of better things,
provided her conduct and that of her husband should henceforth be
found irreproachable; and, wishing her peace and happiness,
presented her with a box of linen, and twenty guineas in a purse.
Such excessive goodness overpowered this sensible young woman to
such a degree, that she stood before her in speechless awe and
veneration; and the Countess, in order to relieve her from the
confusion under which she suffered, quitted the room, leaving her
to the care of her woman. It was not long, however, before her
gratitude broke out in loud exclamations and a violent passion of
tears, which all her efforts could not, for a while, overcome. By
this time the coach was brought up to the gate for the reception of
Serafina, who took an airing every day at the same hour; when
Renaldo, leading her to the vehicle, beheld a man plainly dressed
standing within the court, with his head and body bent towards the
earth, so that his countenance could not be perceived.
Melvil, who supposed him to be some unfortunate man come to
implore his charity, turned towards him, and asked with a humane
accent, if he wanted to speak with any person in the house? To this
interrogation the stranger replied, without lifting up his head,
“Overwhelmed as I am with Count Melvil’s generosity,
together with a consciousness of my own unworthiness, it ill
becomes a wretch like me to importune him for further favour; yet I
could not bear the thought of withdrawing, perhaps for ever, from
the presence of my benefactor, without soliciting his permission to
see his face in mercy, to acknowledge my atrocious crimes, to hear
my pardon confirmed by his voice, and that of his accomplished
Countess, whom I dare not even at a distance behold; and to express
my fervent wish for their prosperity.”
Melvil, whose heart was but too tender, could not hear this
address without emotion. He recognised the companion of his infancy
and youth; he remembered the happy scenes he had enjoyed with
Fathom, whose voice had always such an effect upon his ear, as to
excite the ideas of friendship and esteem; and he was disturbed by
this unexpected meeting, which also discomposed the beauteous
Serafina. Renaldo having paused a little, “It is with
pain,” said he, “I recollect anything to the prejudice
of Fathom, whose future behaviour will, I hope, erase the memory of
his offences, and justify what other steps I may take in his
favour. Meanwhile, I heartily forgive what is past; and, in token
of my sincerity, present my hand;” which our adventurer
bathed with his tears. The Countess, whose mind was in unison with
her husband, repeated her assurances of pardon and protection; at
which the penitent rejoiced in silence, while he raised his head
and took a parting view of those charms which had formerly enslaved
his heart.
Having thus obeyed the dictates of his duty and inclination, he
next morning embarked in the stage-coach, with his faithful Elenor,
and in six days arrived at the place of his retreat, which he found
extremely well adapted to the circumstances of his mind and
fortune. For all his vice and ambition was now quite mortified
within him, and his whole attention engrossed in atoning for his
former crimes, by a sober and penitent life, by which alone he
could deserve the uncommon generosity of his patrons.
While he thus accommodated himself to his new system, Renaldo
received letters of congratulation from his sister, who with the
Major had come to Brussels, in order to meet her brother and
Serafina, according to his proposal. This intimation being
communicated to Don Diego, he resolved to accompany them to
Flanders, on his way to Spain. Preparations were made for their
departure; the clergyman and physician were honoured with valuable
marks of friendship and esteem from the Countess, Renaldo, and the
Castilian, who were convoyed to Deal by Madam Clement, to whom, at
parting, Don Diego presented a diamond ring, as a pledge of his
inviolable love.
Here the travellers hired a vessel for Ostend, which they
reached in a few hours; in two days more they arrived at Brussels,
where Mrs. Farrel and her husband were struck with admiration at
the surprising beauty and accomplishment of their sister-in-law,
whom they caressed with equal tenderness and joy.—In a word,
all parties were as happy as good fortune could make them; and Don
Diego set out for Spain, after they had agreed to reside in the Low
Countries till his return.
END
