How propitious, how incredible, was this event! I could scarcely confide
in the testimony of my senses. Was it true that Clarice was before me,
that she was prepared to countenance my presumption, that she had
slighted obstacles which I had deemed insurmountable, that I was fondly
beloved by her, and should shortly be admitted to the possession of so
inestimable a good? I will not repeat the terms in which I poured forth,
at her feet, the raptures of my gratitude. My impetuosity soon extorted
from Clarice a confirmation of her mother's declaration. An unrestrained
intercourse was thenceforth established between us. Dejection and
languor gave place, in my bosom, to the irradiations of joy and hope. My
flowing fortunes seemed to have attained their utmost and immutable
height.
Alas! They were destined to ebb with unspeakably-greater rapidity, and
to leave me, in a moment, stranded and wrecked.
Our nuptials would have been solemnized without delay, had not a
melancholy duty interfered. Clarice had a friend in a distant part of
the kingdom. Her health had long been the prey of a consumption. She was
now evidently tending to dissolution. In this extremity she entreated
her friend to afford her the consolation of her presence. The only wish
that remained was to die in her arms.
This request could not but be willingly complied with. It became me
patiently to endure the delay that would thence arise to the completion
of my wishes. Considering the urgency and mournfulness of the occasion,
it was impossible for me to murmur, and the affectionate Clarice would
suffer nothing to interfere with the duty which she owed to her dying
friend. I accompanied her on this journey, remained with her a few days,
and then parted from her to return to the metropolis. It was not
imagined that it would be necessary to prolong her absence beyond a
month. When I bade her farewell, and informed her on what day I proposed
to return for her, I felt no decay of my satisfaction. My thoughts were
bright and full of exultation. Why was not some intimation afforded me
of the snares that lay in my path? In the train laid for my destruction,
the agent had so skilfully contrived that my security was not molested
by the faintest omen.
I hasten to the crisis of my tale. I am almost dubious of my strength.
The nearer I approach to it, the stronger is my aversion. My courage,
instead of gathering force as I proceed, decays. I am willing to dwell
still longer on preliminary circumstances. There are other incidents
without which my story would be lame. I retail them because they afford
me a kind of respite from horrors at the thought of which every joint in
my frame trembles. They must be endured, but that infirmity may be
forgiven which makes me inclined to procrastinate my suffering.
I mentioned the lover whom my patroness was compelled, by the
machinations of her brother, to discard. More than twenty years had
passed since their separation. His birth was mean and he was without
fortune. His profession was that of a surgeon. My lady not only
prevailed upon him to abandon his country, but enabled him to do this by
supplying his necessities from her own purse. His excellent
understanding was, for a time, obscured by passion; but it was not
difficult for my lady ultimately to obtain his concurrence to all her
schemes. He saw and adored the rectitude of her motives, did not disdain
to accept her gifts, and projected means for maintaining an epistolary
intercourse during their separation.
Her interest procured him a post in the service of the East India
Company. She was, from time to time, informed of his motions. A war
broke out between the Company and some of the native powers. He was
present at a great battle in which the English were defeated. She could
trace him by his letters and by other circumstances thus far, but here
the thread was discontinued, and no means which she employed could
procure any tidings of him. Whether he was captive, or dead, continued,
for several years, to be merely matter of conjecture.
On my return to Dublin, I found my patroness engaged in conversation
with a stranger. She introduced us to each other in a manner that
indicated the respect which she entertained for us both. I surveyed and
listened to him with considerable attention. His aspect was noble and
ingenuous, but his sunburnt and rugged features bespoke a various and
boisterous pilgrimage. The furrows of his brow were the products of
vicissitude and hardship, rather than of age. His accents were fiery and
energetic, and the impassioned boldness of his address, as well as the
tenor of his discourse, full of allusions to the past, and regrets that
the course of events had not been different, made me suspect something
extraordinary in his character.
As soon as he left us, my lady explained who he was. He was no other
than the object of her youthful attachment, who had, a few days before,
dropped among us as from the skies. He had a long and various story to
tell. He had accounted for his silence by enumerating the incidents of
his life. He had escaped from the prisons of Hyder, had wandered on
foot, and under various disguises, through the northern district of
Hindostan. He was sometimes a scholar of Benares, and sometimes a
disciple of the Mosque. According to the exigencies of the times, he was
a pilgrim to Mecca or to Juggernaut. By a long, circuitous, and perilous
route, he at length arrived at the Turkish capital. Here he resided for
several years, deriving a precarious subsistence from the profession of
a surgeon. He was obliged to desert this post, in consequence of a duel
between two Scotsmen. One of them had embraced the Greek religion, and
was betrothed to the daughter of a wealthy trader of that nation. He
perished in the conflict, and the family of the lady not only procured
the execution of his antagonist, but threatened to involve all those who
were known to be connected with him in the same ruin.
His life being thus endangered, it became necessary for him to seek a
new residence. He fled from Constantinople with such precipitation as
reduced him to the lowest poverty. He had traversed the Indian conquests
of Alexander, as a mendicant. In the same character, he now wandered
over the native country of Philip and Philopoemen. He passed safely
through multiplied perils, and finally, embarking at Salonica, he
reached Venice. He descended through the passes of the Apennines into
Tuscany. In this journey he suffered a long detention from banditti, by
whom he was waylaid. In consequence of his harmless deportment, and a
seasonable display of his chirurgical skill, they granted him his life,
though they, for a time, restrained him of his liberty, and compelled
him to endure their society. The time was not misemployed which he spent
immured in caverns and carousing with robbers. His details were
eminently singular and curious, and evinced the acuteness of his
penetration, as well as the steadfastness of his courage.
After emerging from these wilds, he found his way along the banks of the
Arno to Leghorn. Thence he procured a passage to America, whence he had
just returned, with many additions to his experience, but none to his
fortune.
This was a remarkable event. It did not at first appear how far its
consequences would extend. The lady was, at present, disengaged and
independent. Though the passion which clouded her early prosperity was
extinct, time had not diminished the worth of her friend, and they were
far from having reached that age when love becomes chimerical and
marriage folly. A confidential intercourse was immediately established
between them. The bounty of Mrs. Lorimer soon divested her friend of all
fear of poverty. "At any rate," said she, "he shall wander no farther,
but shall be comfortably situated for the rest of his life." All his
scruples were vanquished by the reasonableness of her remonstrances and
the vehemence of her solicitations.
A cordial intimacy grew between me and the newly-arrived. Our interviews
were frequent, and our communications without reserve. He detailed to me
the result of his experience, and expatiated without end on the history
of his actions and opinions. He related the adventures of his youth, and
dwelt upon all the circumstances of his attachment to my patroness. On
this subject I had heard only general details. I continually found
cause, in the course of his narrative, to revere the illustrious
qualities of my lady, and to weep at the calamities to which the
infernal malice of her brother had subjected her.
The tale of that man's misdeeds, amplified and dramatized by the
indignant eloquence of this historian, oppressed me with astonishment.
If a poet had drawn such a portrait, I should have been prone to suspect
the soundness of his judgment. Till now I had imagined that no character
was uniform and unmixed, and my theory of the passions did not enable me
to account for a propensity gratified merely by evil, and delighting in
shrieks and agony for their own sake.
It was natural to suggest to my friend, when expatiating on this theme,
an inquiry as to how far subsequent events had obliterated the
impressions that were then made, and as to the plausibility of reviving,
at this more auspicious period, his claims on the heart of his friend.
When he thought proper to notice these hints, he gave me to understand
that time had made no essential alteration in his sentiments in this
respect; that he still fostered a hope, to which every day added new
vigour; that, whatever was the ultimate event, he trusted in his
fortitude to sustain it, if adverse, and in his wisdom to extract from
it the most valuable consequences, if it should prove prosperous.
The progress of things was not unfavourable to his hopes. She treated
his insinuations and professions with levity; but her arguments seemed
to be urged with no other view than to afford an opportunity of
confutation; and, since there was no abatement of familiarity and
kindness, there was room to hope that the affair would terminate
agreeably to his wishes.