The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

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

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.