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Title: The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete

Author: T. Smollett

Release date: September 9, 2004 [eBook #6761]
                Most recently updated: October 30, 2022

Language: English

Credits: Tapio Riikonen and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM — COMPLETE ***




The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom

by Tobias Smollett


Titlepage

Frontispiece of Part One

COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS

With the Author’s Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.




CONTENTS

 INTRODUCTION

 PART I.
 TO DOCTOR
 CHAPTER ONE. Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important History
 CHAPTER TWO. A superficial View of our Hero’s Infancy
 CHAPTER THREE. He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune to acquire a generous Patron
 CHAPTER FOUR. His Mother’s Prowess and Death; together with some Instances of his own Sagacity
 CHAPTER FIVE. A brief Detail of his Education
 CHAPTER SIX. He meditates Schemes of Importance
 CHAPTER SEVEN. Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to put his Talents in Action
 CHAPTER EIGHT. Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers may think impertinent
 CHAPTER NINE. The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable Adventure
 CHAPTER TEN. 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
 CHAPTER ELEVEN. Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry
 CHAPTER TWELVE. He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN. He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his Intrigue with the Daughter
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN. He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an Assignation with the Wife
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN. But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN. His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea’s Apartment
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 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
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus for the rough Field of Mars
 CHAPTER NINETEEN. He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his Military Career
 CHAPTER TWENTY. He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined—Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible Tempest
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely for his Neglect
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. The History of the Noble Castilian
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN. A flagrant Instance of Fathom’s Virtue, in the Manner of his Retreat to England
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the Smuggler’s ingenious Conjecture
 CHAPTER THIRTY. The singular Manner of Fathom’s Attack and Triumph over the Virtue of the fair Elenor
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE. He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds a Conference, and renews a Treaty
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO. He appears in the great World with universal Applause and Admiration
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE. He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR. He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during the whole Season
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during the whole Season
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during the whole Season
 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT. The Biter is Bit

 PART II.
 CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE. Our Adventurer is made acquainted with a new Scene of Life
 CHAPTER FORTY. He contemplates Majesty and its Satellites in Eclipse
 CHAPTER FORTY-ONE. One Quarrel is compromised, and another decided by unusual Arms
 CHAPTER FORTY-TWO. An unexpected Rencontre, and a happy Revolution in the Affairs of our Adventurer
 CHAPTER FORTY-THREE. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”
 CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”
 CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE. Renaldo’s Distress deepens, and Fathom’s Plot thickens
 CHAPTER FORTY-SIX. Our Adventurer becomes absolute in his Power over the Passions of his Friend, and effects one half of his Aim
 CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN. The Art of Borrowing further explained, and an Account of a Strange Phenomenon
 CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT. Count Fathom unmasks his Battery; is repulsed; and varies his Operations without effect
 CHAPTER FORTY-NINE. Monimia’s Honour is protected by the Interposition of Heaven
 CHAPTER FIFTY. Fathom shifts the Scene, and appears in a new Character
 CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE. Triumphs over a Medical Rival
 CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO. Repairs to the Metropolis, and enrols himself among the Sons of Paean
 CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE. Acquires Employment in consequence of a lucky Miscarriage
 CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR. His Eclipse, and gradual Declination
 CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE. After divers unsuccessful Efforts, he has recourse to the Matrimonial Noose
 CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX. In which his Fortune is effectually strangled
 CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN. Fathom being safely housed, the Reader is entertained with a Retrospect
 CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT. Renaldo abridges the Proceedings at Law, and approves himself the Son of his Father
 CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE. He is the Messenger of Happiness to his Sister, who removes the film which had long obstructed his Penetration, with regard to Count Fathom
 CHAPTER SIXTY. He recompenses the Attachment of his Friend; and receives a Letter that reduces him to the Verge of Death and Distraction
 CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE. Renaldo meets with a living Monument of Justice, and encounters a Personage of some Note in these Memoirs
 CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO. His Return to England, and Midnight Pilgrimage to Monimia’s Tomb
 CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE. He renews the Rites of Sorrow, and is entranced
 CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR. The Mystery unfolded—Another Recognition, which, it is to be hoped, the Reader could not foresee
 CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE. A retrospective Link, necessary for the Concatenation of these Memoirs
 CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX. The History draws near a Period
 CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN. The Longest and the Last




ILLUSTRATIONS



 Titlepage of Part One
 Frontispiece of Part One
 He Opened the Repository
 Titlepage of Part Two
 Frontispiece of Part Two
 You Are the Count de Melvil




INTRODUCTION


The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett’s third novel, was
given to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her
daughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],
remarked that “my friend Smollett . . . has certainly a talent for
invention, though I think it flags a little in his last work.” Lady
Mary was both right and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly
think of as Smollett’s was the ability to work over his own experience
into realistic fiction. Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows
comparatively little. It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett’s
vigorous personality, which in his earlier works was present to give
life and interest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street
brawl, a ludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or with venomous
prejudice to gibbet some enemy. This individuality—the peculiar spirit
of the author which can be felt rather than described—is present in the
dedication of Fathom to Doctor ———, who is no other than Smollett
himself, and a candid revelation of his character, by the way, this
dedication contains. It is present, too, in the opening chapters, which
show, likewise, in the picture of Fathom’s mother, something of the
author’s peculiar “talent for invention.” Subsequently, however, there
is no denying that the Smollett invention and the Smollett spirit both
flag. And yet, in a way, Fathom displays more invention than any of the
author’s novels; it is based far less than any other on personal
experience. Unfortunately such thorough-going invention was not suited
to Smollett’s genius. The result is, that while uninteresting as a
novel of contemporary manners, Fathom has an interest of its own in
that it reveals a new side of its author. We think of Smollett,
generally, as a rambling storyteller, a rational, unromantic man of the
world, who fills his pages with his own oddly-metamorphosed
acquaintances and experiences. The Smollett of Count Fathom, on the
contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school, who has
created a tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own brain.
Though this is notably less readable than the author’s earlier works,
still the wonder is that when the man is so far “off his beat,” he
should yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which
confront him. To one whose idea of Smollett’s genius is formed entirely
by Random and Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will
offer many surprises.

The first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book. True,
here again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied
by that rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so
interesting to contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes
so far towards making his fiction seem real. Nor are the characters,
for the most part, life-like enough to be interesting. There is an
apparent exception, to be sure, in the hero’s mother, already
mentioned, the hardened camp-follower, whom we confidently expect to
become vitalised after the savage fashion of Smollett’s characters.
But, alas! we have no chance to learn the lady’s style of conversation,
for the few words that come from her lips are but partially
characteristic; we have only too little chance to learn her manners and
customs. In the fourth chapter, while she is making sure with her
dagger that all those on the field of battle whom she wishes to rifle
are really dead, an officer of the hussars, who has been watching her
lucrative progress, unfeelingly puts a brace of bullets into the lady’s
brain, just as she raises her hand to smite him to the heart. Perhaps
it is as well that she is thus removed before our disappointment at the
non-fulfilment of her promise becomes poignant. So far as we may judge
from the other personages of Count Fathom, even this interesting Amazon
would sooner or later have turned into a wooden figure, with a label
giving the necessary information as to her character.

Such certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book. Because he is
placarded, “Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity,” we are fain to
accept him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is
he a convincingly real villain. His friend and foil, the noble young
Count de Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are
Joshua, the high-minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don
Diego. Neither is the heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in
her case, want of vitality is not surprising; the presence of it would
amaze us. If she were a woman throbbing with life, she would be
different from Smollett’s other heroines. The “second lady” of the
melodrama, Mademoiselle de Melvil, though by no means vivified, is yet
more real than her sister-in-law.

The fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only
surprise given us by the personages of Count Fathom. It is a surprise
to find few of them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them
in some cases far more distinctly conceived than any of the people in
Roderick Random or Peregrine Pickle. In the second of these, we saw
Smollett beginning to understand the use of incident to indicate
consistent development of character. In Count Fathom, he seems fully to
understand this principle of art, though he has not learned to apply it
successfully. And so, in spite of an excellent conception, Fathom, as I
have said, is unreal. After all his villainies, which he perpetrates
without any apparent qualms of conscience, it is incredible that he
should honestly repent of his crimes. We are much inclined to doubt
when we read that “his vice and ambition was now quite mortified within
him,” the subsequent testimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq., in Humphry
Clinker, to the contrary, notwithstanding. Yet Fathom up to this point
is consistently drawn, and drawn for a purpose:—to show that
cold-blooded roguery, though successful for a while, will come to grief
in the end. To heighten the effect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops
parallel with him the virtuous Count de Melvil. The author’s scheme of
thus using one character as the foil of another, though not conspicuous
for its originality, shows a decided advance in the theory of
constructive technique. Only, as I have said, Smollett’s execution is
now defective.

“But,” one will naturally ask, “if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not
infrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett’s former novels; if
its characters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic
and never thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?” The
surprise will be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a
large extent, the plot makes Fathom interesting. Yes, Smollett,
hitherto indifferent to structure, has here written a story in which
the plot itself, often clumsy though it may be, engages a reader’s
attention. One actually wants to know whether the young Count is ever
going to receive consolation for his sorrows and inflict justice on his
basely ungrateful pensioner. And when, finally, all turns out as it
should, one is amazed to find how many of the people in the book have
helped towards the designed conclusion. Not all of them, indeed, nor
all of the adventures, are indispensable, but it is manifest at the end
that much, which, for the time, most readers think irrelevant—such as
Don Diego’s history—is, after all, essential.

It has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some
extent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest
to the book. That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise. Any
one versed in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations
which he has put before us in his earlier works. These do not indicate,
however, that Smollett possessed the imagination which could excite
romantic interest; for in Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the
wonderful situations serve chiefly to amuse. In Fathom, however, there
are some designed to excite horror; and one, at least, is eminently
successful. The hero’s night in the wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons
was no doubt more blood-curdling to our eighteenth-century ancestors
than it is to us, who have become acquainted with scores of similar
situations in the small number of exciting romances which belong to
literature, and in the greater number which do not. Still, even to-day,
a reader, with his taste jaded by trashy novels, will be conscious of
Smollett’s power, and of several thrills, likewise, as he reads about
Fathom’s experience in the loft in which the beldame locks him to pass
the night.

This situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is
used technically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century
literature. There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely
romantic in the latter sense. Such is the imprisonment of the Countess
in the castle-tower, whence she waves her handkerchief to the young
Count, her son and would-be rescuer. And especially so is the scene in
the church, when Renaldo (the very name is romantic) visits at midnight
the supposed grave of his lady-love. While he was waiting for the
sexton to open the door, his “soul . . . was wound up to the highest
pitch of enthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon darkness, . . . 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 could 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.’”

We have here such an amount of the usual romantic machinery of the
“grave-yard” school of poets—that school of which Professor W. L.
Phelps calls Young, in his Night Thoughts, the most “conspicuous
exemplar”—that one is at first inclined to think Smollett poking fun at
it. The context, however, seems to prove that he was perfectly serious.
It is interesting, then, as well as surprising, to find traces of the
romantic spirit in his fiction over ten years before Walpole’s Castle
of Otranto. It is also interesting to find so much melodramatic feeling
in him, because it makes stronger the connection between him and his
nineteenth-century disciple, Dickens.

From all that I have said, it must not be thought that the usual
Smollett is always, or almost always, absent from Count Fathom. I have
spoken of the dedication and of the opening chapters as what we might
expect from his pen. There are, besides, true Smollett strokes in the
scenes in the prison from which Melvil rescues Fathom, and there is a
good deal of the satirical Smollett fun in the description of Fathom’s
ups and downs, first as the petted beau, and then as the fashionable
doctor. In chronicling the latter meteoric career, Smollett had already
observed the peculiarity of his countrymen which Thackeray was fond of
harping on in the next century—“the maxim which universally prevails
among the English people . . . to overlook, . . . 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 live in
the most intimate correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall, in
four-and-twenty hours . . . meet in St. James’s Park, without betraying
the least token of recognition.” And good, too, is the way in which, as
Dr. Fathom goes rapidly down the social hill, he makes excuses for his
declining splendour. His chariot was overturned “with a hideous crash”
at such danger to himself, “that he did not believe he should ever
hazard himself again in any sort of wheel carriage.” He turned off his
men for maids, because “men servants are generally impudent, lazy,
debauched, or dishonest.” To avoid the din of the street, he shifted
his lodgings into a quiet, obscure court. And so forth and so on, in
the true Smollett vein.

But, after all, such of the old sparks are struck only occasionally.
Apart from its plot, which not a few nineteenth-century writers of
detective-stories might have improved, The Adventures of Ferdinand
Count Fathom is less interesting for itself than any other piece of
fiction from Smollett’s pen. For a student of Smollett, however, it is
highly interesting as showing the author’s romantic, melodramatic
tendencies, and the growth of his constructive technique.

G. H. MAYNADIER




THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM




TO DOCTOR ———


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.




CHAPTER ONE

SOME SAGE OBSERVATIONS THAT NATURALLY INTRODUCE OUR IMPORTANT HISTORY.


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.




CHAPTER TWO

A SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF OUR HERO’S INFANCY.


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.




CHAPTER THREE

HE IS INITIATED IN A MILITARY LIFE, AND HAS THE GOOD FORTUNE TO ACQUIRE
A GENEROUS PATRON.


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.




CHAPTER FOUR

HIS MOTHER’S PROWESS AND DEATH; TOGETHER WITH SOME INSTANCES OF HIS OWN
SAGACITY.


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.




CHAPTER FIVE

A BRIEF DETAIL OF HIS EDUCATION.


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.




CHAPTER SIX

HE MEDITATES SCHEMES OF IMPORTANCE.


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.




CHAPTER SEVEN

ENGAGES IN PARTNERSHIP WITH A FEMALE ASSOCIATE, IN ORDER TO PUT HIS
TALENTS IN ACTION.


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.




CHAPTER EIGHT

THEIR FIRST ATTEMPT; WITH A DIGRESSION WHICH SOME READERS MAY THINK
IMPERTINENT.


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.




CHAPTER NINE

THE CONFEDERATES CHANGE THEIR BATTERY, AND ACHIEVE A REMARKABLE
ADVENTURE.


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.




CHAPTER TEN

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.


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.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

FATHOM MAKES VARIOUS EFFORTS IN THE WORLD OF GALLANTRY.


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.




CHAPTER TWELVE

HE EFFECTS A LODGMENT IN THE HOUSE OF A RICH JEWELLER.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HE IS EXPOSED TO A MOST PERILOUS INCIDENT IN THE COURSE OF HIS INTRIGUE
WITH THE DAUGHTER.


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.




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE IS REDUCED TO A DREADFUL DILEMMA, IN CONSEQUENCE OF AN ASSIGNATION
WITH THE WIFE.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BUT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS IN HIS ATTEMPT UPON BOTH.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HIS SUCCESS BEGETS A BLIND SECURITY, BY WHICH HE IS ONCE AGAIN
WELL-NIGH ENTRAPPED IN HIS DULCINEA’S APARTMENT.


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.




CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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.


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.




CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

OUR HERO DEPARTS FROM VIENNA, AND QUITS THE DOMAIN OF VENUS FOR THE
ROUGH FIELD OF MARS.


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.




CHAPTER NINETEEN

HE PUTS HIMSELF UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF HIS ASSOCIATE, AND STUMBLES UPON
THE FRENCH CAMP, WHERE HE FINISHES HIS MILITARY CAREER.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY

HE PREPARES A STRATAGEM BUT FINDS HIMSELF COUNTERMINED—PROCEEDS ON HIS
JOURNEY, AND IS OVERTAKEN BY A TERRIBLE TEMPEST.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HE FALLS UPON SCYLLA, SEEKING TO AVOID CHARYBDIS.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HE ARRIVES AT PARIS, AND IS PLEASED WITH HIS RECEPTION.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ACQUITS HIMSELF WITH ADDRESS IN A NOCTURNAL RIOT.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HE OVERLOOKS THE ADVANCES OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SMARTS SEVERELY FOR HIS
NEGLECT.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HE BEARS HIS FATE LIKE A PHILOSOPHER; AND CONTRACTS ACQUAINTANCE WITH A
VERY REMARKABLE PERSONAGE.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM’S VIRTUE, IN THE MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO
ENGLAND.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.


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.




CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ANOTHER PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE SMUGGLER’S
INGENIOUS CONJECTURE.


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,—


THE 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.




CHAPTER THIRTY

THE SINGULAR MANNER OF FATHOM’S ATTACK AND TRIUMPH OVER THE VIRTUE OF
THE FAIR ELENOR.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HE BY ACCIDENT ENCOUNTERS HIS OLD FRIEND, WITH WHOM HE HOLDS A
CONFERENCE, AND RENEWS A TREATY.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HE APPEARS IN THE GREAT WORLD WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AND ADMIRATION.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

HE ATTRACTS THE ENVY AND ILL OFFICES OF THE MINOR KNIGHTS OF HIS OWN
ORDER, OVER WHOM HE OBTAINS A COMPLETE VICTORY.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HE PERFORMS ANOTHER EXPLOIT, THAT CONVEYS A TRUE IDEA OF HIS GRATITUDE
AND HONOUR.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

HE REPAIRS TO BRISTOL SPRING, WHERE HE REIGNS PARAMOUNT DURING THE
WHOLE SEASON.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

HE IS SMITTEN WITH THE CHARMS OF A FEMALE ADVENTURER, WHOSE ALLUREMENTS
SUBJECT HIM TO A NEW VICISSITUDE OF FORTUNE.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

FRESH CAUSE FOR EXERTING HIS EQUANIMITY AND FORTITUDE.


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.




CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE BITER IS BIT.


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.

END OF VOL. I.




 THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM

by Tobias Smollett


Titlepage

COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS




 PART II.


With the Author’s Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier,
Ph.D. Department of English, Harvard University.




THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM




CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

OUR ADVENTURER IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH A NEW SCENE OF LIFE.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY

HE CONTEMPLATES MAJESTY AND ITS SATELLITES IN ECLIPSE.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ONE QUARREL IS COMPROMISED, AND ANOTHER DECIDED BY UNUSUAL ARMS.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE, AND A HAPPY REVOLUTION IN THE AFFAIRS OF OUR
ADVENTURER.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

FATHOM JUSTIFIES THE PROVERB, “WHAT’S BRED IN THE BONE WILL NEVER COME
OUT OF THE FLESH.”


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ANECDOTES OF POVERTY, AND EXPERIMENTS FOR THE BENEFIT OF THOSE WHOM IT
MAY CONCERN.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

RENALDO’S DISTRESS DEEPENS, AND FATHOM’S PLOT THICKENS.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

OUR ADVENTURER BECOMES ABSOLUTE IN HIS POWER OVER THE PASSIONS OF HIS
FRIEND, AND EFFECTS ONE HALF OF HIS AIM.


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.”




CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

THE ART OF BORROWING FURTHER EXPLAINED, AND AN ACCOUNT OF A STRANGE
PHENOMENON.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

COUNT FATHOM UNMASKS HIS BATTERY; IS REPULSED; AND VARIES HIS
OPERATIONS WITHOUT EFFECT.


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.




CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

MONIMIA’S HONOUR IS PROTECTED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF HEAVEN.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY

FATHOM SHIFTS THE SCENE, AND APPEARS IN A NEW CHARACTER.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

TRIUMPHS OVER A MEDICAL RIVAL.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

REPAIRS TO THE METROPOLIS, AND ENROLS HIMSELF AMONG THE SONS OF PAEAN.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ACQUIRES EMPLOYMENT IN CONSEQUENCE OF A LUCKY MISCARRIAGE.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

HIS ECLIPSE, AND GRADUAL DECLINATION.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

AFTER DIVERS UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORTS, HE HAS RECOURSE TO THE MATRIMONIAL
NOOSE.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

IN WHICH HIS FORTUNE IS EFFECTUALLY STRANGLED.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

FATHOM BEING SAFELY HOUSED, THE READER IS ENTERTAINED WITH A
RETROSPECT.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

RENALDO ABRIDGES THE PROCEEDINGS AT LAW, AND APPROVES HIMSELF THE SON
OF HIS FATHER.


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.




CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

HE IS THE MESSENGER OF HAPPINESS TO HIS SISTER, WHO REMOVES THE FILM
WHICH HAD LONG OBSTRUCTED HIS PENETRATION, WITH REGARD TO COUNT FATHOM.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTY

HE RECOMPENSES THE ATTACHMENT OF HIS FRIEND; AND RECEIVES A LETTER THAT
REDUCES HIM TO THE VERGE OF DEATH AND DISTRACTION.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

RENALDO MEETS WITH A LIVING MONUMENT OF JUSTICE, AND ENCOUNTERS A
PERSONAGE OF SOME NOTE IN THESE MEMOIRS.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

HIS RETURN TO ENGLAND, AND MIDNIGHT PILGRIMAGE TO MONIMIA’S TOMB.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

HE RENEWS THE RITES OF SORROW, AND IS ENTRANCED.


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!”




CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

THE MYSTERY UNFOLDED—ANOTHER RECOGNITION, WHICH, IT IS TO BE HOPED, THE
READER COULD NOT FORESEE.


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!”




CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

A RETROSPECTIVE LINK, NECESSARY FOR THE CONCATENATION OF THESE MEMOIRS.


“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.”




CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

THE HISTORY DRAWS NEAR A PERIOD.


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.




CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

THE LONGEST AND THE LAST.


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.

THE END.






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