Here ended the narrative of Mervyn. Surely its incidents were of no
common kind. During this season of pestilence, my opportunities of
observation had been numerous, and I had not suffered them to pass
unimproved. The occurrences which fell within my own experience bore a
general resemblance to those which had just been related, but they did
not hinder the latter from striking on my mind with all the force of
novelty. They served no end, but as vouchers for the truth of the tale.
Surely the youth had displayed inimitable and heroic qualities. His
courage was the growth of benevolence and reason, and not the child of
insensibility and the nursling of habit. He had been qualified for the
encounter of gigantic dangers by no laborious education. He stepped
forth upon the stage, unfurnished, by anticipation or experience, with
the means of security against fraud; and yet, by the aid of pure
intentions, had frustrated the wiles of an accomplished and veteran
deceiver.
I blessed the chance which placed the youth under my protection. When I
reflected on that tissue of nice contingencies which led him to my door,
and enabled me to save from death a being of such rare endowments, my
heart overflowed with joy, not unmingled with regrets and trepidation.
How many have been cut off by this disease, in their career of virtue
and their blossom-time of genius! How many deeds of heroism and
self-devotion are ravished from existence, and consigned to hopeless
oblivion!
I had saved the life of this youth. This was not the limit of my duty or
my power. Could I not render that life profitable to himself and to
mankind? The gains of my profession were slender; but these gains were
sufficient for his maintenance as well as my own. By residing with me,
partaking my instructions, and reading my books, he would, in a few
years, be fitted for the practice of physic. A science whose truths are
so conducive to the welfare of mankind, and which comprehends the whole
system of nature, could not but gratify a mind so beneficent and
strenuous as his.
This scheme occurred to me as soon as the conclusion of his tale allowed
me to think. I did not immediately mention it, since the approbation of
my wife, of whose concurrence, however, I entertained no doubt, was
previously to be obtained. Dismissing it, for the present, from my
thoughts, I reverted to the incidents of his tale.
The lady whom Welbeck had betrayed and deserted was not unknown to me. I
was but too well acquainted with her fate. If she had been single in
calamity, her tale would have been listened to with insupportable
sympathy; but the frequency of the spectacle of distress seems to lessen
the compassion with which it is reviewed. Now that those scenes are only
remembered, my anguish is greater than when they were witnessed. Then
every new day was only a repetition of the disasters of the foregoing.
My sensibility, if not extinguished, was blunted; and I gazed upon the
complicated ills of poverty and sickness with a degree of unconcern on
which I should once have reflected with astonishment.
The fate of Clemenza Lodi was not, perhaps, more signal than many which
have occurred. It threw detestable light upon the character of Welbeck,
and showed him to be more inhuman than the tale of Mervyn had evinced
him to be. That man, indeed, was hitherto imperfectly seen. The time had
not come which should fully unfold the enormity of his transgressions
and the complexity of his frauds.
There lived in a remote quarter of the city a woman, by name Villars,
who passed for the widow of an English officer. Her manners and mode of
living were specious. She had three daughters, well trained in the
school of fashion, and elegant in person, manners, and dress. They had
lately arrived from Europe, and, for a time, received from their
neighbours that respect to which their education and fortune appeared to
lay claim.
The fallacy of their pretensions slowly appeared. It began to be
suspected that their subsistence was derived not from pension or
patrimony, but from the wages of pollution. Their habitation was
clandestinely frequented by men who were unfaithful to their secret; one
of these was allied to me by ties which authorized me in watching his
steps and detecting his errors, with a view to his reformation. From him
I obtained a knowledge of the genuine character of these women.
A man like Welbeck, who was the slave of depraved appetites, could not
fail of being quickly satiated with innocence and beauty. Some accident
introduced him to the knowledge of this family, and the youngest
daughter found him a proper subject on which to exercise her artifices.
It was to the frequent demands made upon his purse, by this woman, that
part of the embarrassments in which Mervyn found him involved are to be
ascribed.
To this circumstance must likewise be imputed his anxiety to transfer to
some other the possession of the unhappy stranger. Why he concealed from
Mervyn his connection with Lucy Villars may be easily imagined. His
silence with regard to Clemenza's asylum will not create surprise, when
it was told that she was placed with Mrs. Villars. On what conditions
she was received under this roof, cannot be so readily conjectured. It
is obvious, however, to suppose that advantage was to be taken of her
ignorance and weakness, and that they hoped, in time, to make her an
associate in their profligate schemes.
The appearance of pestilence, meanwhile, threw them into panic, and they
hastened to remove from danger. Mrs. Villars appears to have been a
woman of no ordinary views. She stooped to the vilest means of amassing
money; but this money was employed to secure to herself and her
daughters the benefits of independence. She purchased the house which
she occupied in the city, and a mansion in the environs, well built and
splendidly furnished. To the latter, she and her family, of which the
Italian girl was now a member, retired at the close of July.
I have mentioned that the source of my intelligence was a kinsman, who
had been drawn from the paths of sobriety and rectitude by the
impetuosity of youthful passions. He had power to confess and deplore,
but none to repair, his errors. One of these women held him by a spell
which he struggled in vain to dissolve, and by which, in spite of
resolutions and remorses, he was drawn to her feet, and made to
sacrifice to her pleasure his reputation and his fortune.
My house was his customary abode during those intervals in which he was
persuaded to pursue his profession. Some time before the infection began
its progress, he had disappeared. No tidings were received of him, till
a messenger arrived, entreating my assistance. I was conducted to the
house of Mrs. Villars, in which I found no one but my kinsman. Here, it
seems, he had immured himself from my inquiries, and, on being seized by
the reigning malady, had been deserted by the family, who, ere they
departed, informed me by a messenger of his condition.
Despondency combined with his disease to destroy him. Before he died, he
informed me fully of the character of his betrayers. The late arrival,
name, and personal condition of Clemenza Lodi were related. Welbeck was
not named, but was described in terms which, combined with the narrative
of Mervyn, enabled me to recognise the paramour of Lucy Villars in the
man whose crimes had been the principal theme of our discourse.
Mervyn's curiosity was greatly roused when I intimated my acquaintance
with the fate of Clemenza. In answer to his eager interrogations, I
related what I knew. The tale plunged him into reverie. Recovering, at
length, from his thoughtfulness, he spoke:--
"Her condition is perilous. The poverty of Welbeck will drive him far
from her abode. Her profligate protectors will entice her or abandon her
to ruin. Cannot she be saved?"
"I know not," answered I, "by what means."
"The means are obvious. Let her remove to some other dwelling. Let her
be apprized of the vices of those who surround her. Let her be entreated
to fly. The will need only be inspired, the danger need only be shown,
and she is safe, for she will remove beyond its reach."
"Thou art an adventurous youth. Who wilt thou find to undertake the
office? Who will be persuaded to enter the house of a stranger, seek
without an introduction the presence of this girl, tell her that the
house she inhabits is a house of prostitution, prevail on her to believe
the tale, and persuade her to accompany him? Who will open his house to
the fugitive? Whom will you convince that her illicit intercourse with
Welbeck, of which the opprobrious tokens cannot be concealed, has not
fitted her for the company of prostitutes, and made her unworthy of
protection? Who will adopt into their family a stranger whose conduct
has incurred infamy, and whose present associates have, no doubt, made
her worthy of the curse?"
"True. These are difficulties which I did not foresee. Must she then
perish? Shall not something be done to rescue her from infamy and
guilt?"
"It is neither in your power nor in mine to do any thing."
The lateness of the hour put an end to our conversation and summoned us
to repose. I seized the first opportunity of imparting to my wife the
scheme which had occurred, relative to our guest; with which, as I
expected, she readily concurred. In the morning, I mentioned it to
Mervyn. I dwelt upon the benefits that adhered to the medical
profession, the power which it confers of lightening the distresses of
our neighbours, the dignity which popular opinion annexes to it, the
avenue which it opens to the acquisition of competence, the freedom from
servile cares which attends it, and the means of intellectual
gratification with which it supplies us.
As I spoke, his eyes sparkled with joy. "Yes," said he, with vehemence,
"I willingly embrace your offer. I accept this benefit, because I know
that, if my pride should refuse it, I should prove myself less worthy
than you think, and give you pain, instead of that pleasure which I am
bound to confer. I would enter on the duties and studies of my new
profession immediately; but somewhat is due to Mr. Hadwin and his
daughters. I cannot vanquish my inquietudes respecting them, but by
returning to Malverton and ascertaining their state with my own eyes.
You know in what circumstances I parted with Wallace and Mr. Hadwin. I
am not sure that either of them ever reached home, or that they did not
carry the infection along with them. I now find myself sufficiently
strong to perform the journey, and purposed to have acquainted you, at
this interview, with my intentions. An hour's delay is superfluous, and
I hope you will consent to my setting out immediately. Rural exercise
and air, for a week or fortnight, will greatly contribute to my health."
No objection could be made to this scheme. His narrative had excited no
common affection in our bosoms for the Hadwins. His visit could not only
inform us of their true state, but would dispel that anxiety which they
could not but entertain respecting our guest. It was a topic of some
surprise that neither Wallace nor Hadwin had returned to the city, with
a view to obtain some tidings of their friend. It was more easy to
suppose them to have been detained by some misfortune, than by
insensibility or indolence. In a few minutes Mervyn bade us adieu, and
set out upon his journey, promising to acquaint us with the state of
affairs as soon as possible after his arrival. We parted from him with
reluctance, and found no consolation but in the prospect of his speedy
return.
During his absence, conversation naturally turned upon those topics
which were suggested by the narrative and deportment of this youth.
Different conclusions were formed by his two auditors. They had both
contracted a deep interest in his welfare, and an ardent curiosity as to
those particulars which his unfinished story had left in obscurity. The
true character and actual condition of Welbeck were themes of much
speculation. Whether he were dead or alive, near or distant from his
ancient abode, was a point on which neither Mervyn, nor any of those
with whom I had means of intercourse, afforded any information. Whether
he had shared the common fate, and had been carried by the collectors of
the dead from the highway or the hovel to the pits opened alike for the
rich and the poor, the known and the unknown; whether he had escaped to
a foreign shore, or were destined to reappear upon this stage, were
questions involved in uncertainty.
The disappearance of Watson would, at a different time, have excited
much inquiry and suspicion; but, as this had taken place on the eve of
the epidemic, his kindred and friends would acquiesce, without scruple,
in the belief that he had been involved in the general calamity, and was
to be numbered among the earliest victims. Those of his profession
usually resided in the street where the infection began, and where its
ravages had been most destructive; and this circumstance would
corroborate the conclusions of his friends.
I did not perceive any immediate advantage to flow from imparting the
knowledge I had lately gained to others. Shortly after Mervyn's
departure to Malverton, I was visited by Wortley. Inquiring for my
guest, I told him that, having recovered his health, he had left my
house. He repeated his invectives against the villany of Welbeck, his
suspicions of Mervyn, and his wishes for another interview with the
youth. Why had I suffered him to depart, and whither had he gone?
"He has gone for a short time into the country. I expect him to return
in less than a week, when you will meet with him here as often as you
please, for I expect him to take up his abode in this house."
Much astonishment and disapprobation were expressed by my friend. I
hinted that the lad had made disclosures to me, which justified my
confidence in his integrity. These proofs of his honesty were not of a
nature to be indiscriminately unfolded. Mervyn had authorized me to
communicate so much of his story to Wortley, as would serve to vindicate
him from the charge of being Welbeck's co-partner in fraud; but this end
would only be counteracted by an imperfect tale, and the full recital,
though it might exculpate Mervyn, might produce inconveniences by which
this advantage would be outweighed.
Wortley, as might be naturally expected, was by no means satisfied with
this statement. He suspected that Mervyn was a wily impostor; that he
had been trained in the arts of fraud, under an accomplished teacher;
that the tale which he had told to me was a tissue of ingenious and
plausible lies; that the mere assertions, however plausible and solemn,
of one like him, whose conduct had incurred such strong suspicions, were
unworthy of the least credit.
"It cannot be denied," continued my friend, "that he lived with Welbeck
at the time of his elopement; that they disappeared together; that they
entered a boat, at Pine Street wharf, at midnight; that this boat was
discovered by the owner in the possession of a fisherman at Redbank, who
affirmed that he had found it stranded near his door, the day succeeding
that on which they disappeared. Of all this I can supply you with
incontestable proof. If, after this proof, you can give credit to his
story, I shall think you made of very perverse and credulous materials."
"The proof you mention," said I, "will only enhance his credibility. All
the facts which you have stated have been admitted by him. They
constitute an essential portion of his narrative."
"What then is the inference? Are not these evidences of a compact
between them? Has he not acknowledged this compact in confessing that he
knew Welbeck was my debtor; that he was apprized of his flight, but that
(what matchless effrontery!) he had promised secrecy, and would, by no
means, betray him? You say he means to return; but of that I doubt. You
will never see his face more. He is too wise to thrust himself again
into the noose; but I do not utterly despair of lighting upon Welbeck.
Old Thetford, Jamieson, and I, have sworn to hunt him through the world.
I have strong hopes that he has not strayed far. Some intelligence has
lately been received, which has enabled us to place our hounds upon his
scent. He may double and skulk; but, if he does not fall into our toils
at last, he will have the agility and cunning, as well as the malignity,
of devils."
The vengeful disposition thus betrayed by Wortley was not without
excuse. The vigour of his days had been spent in acquiring a slender
capital; his diligence and honesty had succeeded, and he had lately
thought his situation such as to justify marriage with an excellent
woman, to whom he had for years been betrothed, but from whom his
poverty had hitherto compelled him to live separate. Scarcely had this
alliance taken place, and the full career of nuptial enjoyments begun,
when his ill fate exposed him to the frauds of Welbeck, and brought him,
in one evil hour, to the brink of insolvency.
Jamieson and Thetford, however, were rich, and I had not till now been
informed that they had reasons for pursuing Welbeck with peculiar
animosity. The latter was the uncle of him whose fate had been related
by Mervyn, and was one of those who employed money, not as the medium of
traffic, but as in itself a commodity. He had neither wines nor cloths,
to transmute into silver. He thought it a tedious process to exchange
to-day one hundred dollars for a cask or bale, and to-morrow exchange
the bale or cask for one hundred _and ten_ dollars. It was better to
give the hundred for a piece of paper, which, carried forthwith to the
money-changers, he could procure a hundred twenty-three and
three-fourths. In short, this man's coffers were supplied by the despair
of honest men and the stratagems of rogues. I did not immediately
suspect how this man's prudence and indefatigable attention to his own
interest should allow him to become the dupe of Welbeck.
"What," said I, "is old Thetford's claim upon Welbeck?"
"It is a claim," he replied, "that, if it ever be made good, will doom
Welbeck to imprisonment and wholesome labour for life."
"How? Surely it is nothing more than debt."
"Have you not heard? But that is no wonder. Happily you are a stranger
to mercantile anxieties and revolutions. Your fortune does not rest on a
basis which an untoward blast may sweep away, or four strokes of a pen
may demolish. That hoary dealer in suspicions was persuaded to put his
hand to three notes for eight hundred dollars each. The _eight_ was then
dexterously prolonged to eigh_teen_; they were duly deposited in time
and place, and the next day Welbeck was credited for fifty-three hundred
and seventy-three, which, an hour after, were _told out_ to his
messenger. Hard to say whether the old man's grief, shame, or rage, be
uppermost. He disdains all comfort but revenge, and that he will procure
at any price. Jamieson, who deals in the same _stuff_ with Thetford, was
outwitted in the same manner, to the same amount, and on the same day.
"This Welbeck must have powers above the common rate of mortals. Grown
gray in studying the follies and the stratagems of men, these veterans
were overreached. No one pities them. 'Twere well if his artifices had
been limited to such, and he had spared the honest and the poor. It is
for his injuries to men who have earned their scanty subsistence without
forfeiting their probity, that I hate him, and shall exult to see him
suffer all the rigours of the law." Here Wortley's engagements compelled
him to take his leave.