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 soul,

I shall do it in a friendly manner.”

So saying, he threw aside the blanket, and displayed scars and seams

innumerable upon his body, which appeared like an old patched leathern

doublet. “I remember,” proceeded this champion, “when I was a slave at

Algiers, Murphy Macmorris and I happened to have some difference in the

bagnio, upon which he bade me turn out. ‘Arra, for what?’ said I; ‘here

are no weapons that a gentleman can use, and you would not be such a

negro as to box like an English carman.’ After he had puzzled himself

for some time, he proposed that we should retire into a corner, and

funk one another with brimstone, till one of us should give out.

Accordingly we crammed half a dozen tobacco pipes with sulphur, and,

setting foot to foot, began to smoke, and kept a constant fire, until

Macmorris dropped down; then I threw away my pipe, and taking poor

Murphy in my arms, ‘What, are you dead?’ said I; ‘if you are dead,

speak.’ ‘No, by Jesus!’ cried he, ‘I an’t dead, but I’m speechless.’ So

he owned I had obtained the victory, and we were as good friends as

ever. Now, if Mr. Minikin thinks proper to put the affair upon the same

issue, I will smoke a pipe of brimstone with him to-morrow morning, and

if I cry out first, I will be after asking pardon for this supposed

affront.”

Fathom could not help laughing at the proposal, to which, however, he

objected on account of Minikin’s delicate constitution, which might

suffer more detriment from breathing in an atmosphere of sulphur than

from the discharge of a pistol, or the thrust of a small sword. He

therefore suggested another expedient in lieu of the sulphur, namely,

the gum called assafatida, which, though abundantly nauseous, could

have no effect upon the infirm texture of the lieutenant’s lungs. This

hint being relished by the major, our adventurer returned to his

principal, and having repeated the other’s arguments against the use of

mortal instruments, described the succedaneum which he had concerted

with Macleaver. The captain at first believed the scheme was calculated

for subjecting him to the ridicule of his fellow-prisoners, and began

to storm with great violence; but, by the assurances and address of

Fathom, he was at length reconciled to the plan, and preparations were

made on each side for this duel, which was actually smoked next day,

about noon, in a small closet, detached from the challenger’s

apartment, and within hearing of his majesty, and all his court,

assembled as witnesses and umpires of the contest.

The combatants, being locked up together, began to ply their engines

with great fury, and it was not long before Captain Minikin perceived

he had a manifest advantage over his antagonist. For his organs were

familiarised to the effluvia of this drug, which he had frequently used

in the course of an hypochondriac disorder; whereas Macleaver, who was

a stranger to all sorts of medicine, by his wry faces and attempts to

puke, expressed the utmost abhorrence of the smell that invaded his

nostrils. Nevertheless, resolved to hold out to the last extremity, he

continued in action until the closet was filled with such an

intolerable vapour as discomposed the whole economy of his entrails,

and compelled him to disgorge his breakfast in the face of his

opponent, whose nerves were so disconcerted by this disagreeable and

unforeseen discharge, that he fell back into his chair in a swoon, and

the major bellowed aloud for assistance. The door being opened, he ran

directly to the window, to inhale the fresh air, while the captain,

recovering from his fit, complained of Macleaver’s unfair proceeding,

and demanded justice of the arbitrators, who decided in his favour; and

the major being prevailed upon to ask pardon for having introduced Mrs.

Minikin to women of rotten reputation, the parties were reconciled to

each other, and peace and concord re-established in the mess.

Fathom acquired universal applause for his discreet and humane conduct

upon this occasion; and that same afternoon had an opportunity of

seeing the lady in whose cause he had exerted himself. He was presented

to her as the husband’s particular friend, and when she understood how

much she was indebted to his care and concern for the captain’s safety,

she treated him with uncommon marks of distinction; and he found her a

genteel, well-bred woman, not without a good deal of personal charms,

and a well-cultivated understanding.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

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

ADVENTURER.

As she did not lodge within the precincts of this garrison, she was one

day, after tea, conducted to the gate by the captain and the Count, and

just as they approached the turnkey’s lodge, our hero’s eyes were

struck with the apparition of his old companion Renaldo, son of his

benefactor and patron, the Count de Melvil. What were the emotions of

his soul, when he saw that young gentleman enter the prison, and

advance towards him, after having spoke to the jailor! He never doubted

that, being informed of his confinement, he was come to upbraid him

with his villany and ingratitude, and he in vain endeavoured to

recollect himself from that terror and guilty confusion which his

appearance had inspired; when the stranger, lifting up his eyes,

started back with signs of extreme amazement, and, after a considerable

pause, exclaimed, “Heaven and earth! Sure my eyes do not deceive me! is

not your name Fathom? It is, it must be my old friend and companion,

the loss of whom I have so long regretted!” With these words he ran

towards our adventurer, and, while he clasped him in his arms with all

the eagerness of affection, protested that this was one of the happiest

days he had ever seen.

Ferdinand, who, from this salutation, concluded himself still in

possession of Renaldo’s good opinion, was not deficient in expressions

of tenderness and joy; he returned his embraces with equal ardour, the

tears trickled down his cheeks, and that perturbation which proceeded

from conscious perfidy and fear, was mistaken by the unsuspecting

Hungarian for the sheer effects of love, gratitude, and surprise. These

first transports having subsided, they adjourned to the lodgings of

Fathom, who soon recollected his spirits and invention so well as to

amuse the other with a feigned tale of his having been taken by the

French, sent prisoner into Champagne, from whence he had written many

letters to Count Melvil and his son, of whom he could hear no tidings;

of his having contracted an intimacy with a young nobleman of France,

who died in the flower of his age, after having, in token of his

friendship, bequeathed to him a considerable legacy; by this he had

been enabled to visit the land of his forefathers in the character of a

gentleman, which he had supported with some figure, until he was

betrayed into a misfortune that exhausted his funds, and drove him to

the spot where he was now found. And he solemnly declared, that, far

from forgetting the obligation he owed to Count Melvil, or renouncing

the friendship of Renaldo, he had actually resolved to set out for

Germany on his return to the house of his patron in the beginning of

the week posterior to that in which he had been arrested.

Young Melvil, whose own heart had never known the instigations of

fraud, implicitly believed the story and protestations of Fathom; and

though he would not justify that part of his conduct by which the term

of his good fortune was abridged, he could not help excusing an

indiscretion into which he had been hurried by the precipitancy of

youth, and the allurements of an artful woman. Nay, with the utmost

warmth of friendship, he undertook to wait upon Trapwell, and endeavour

to soften him into some reasonable terms of composition.

Fathom seemed to be quite overwhelmed with a deep sense of all this

goodness, and affected the most eager impatience to know the

particulars of Renaldo’s fate, since their unhappy separation, more

especially his errand to this uncomfortable place, which he should

henceforth revere as the providential scene of their reunion. Nor did

he forget to inquire, in the most affectionate and dutiful manner,

about the situation of his noble parents and amiable sister.

At mention of these names, Renaldo, fetching a deep sigh, “Alas! my

friend,” said he, “the Count is no more; and, what aggravates my

affliction for the loss of such a father, it was my misfortune to be

under his displeasure at the time of his death. Had I been present on

that melancholy occasion, so well I knew his generosity and paternal

tenderness, that, sure I am, he would in his last moments have forgiven

an only son, whose life had been a continual effort to render himself

worthy of such a parent, and whose crime was no other than an

honourable passion for the most meritorious of her sex. But I was

removed at a fatal distance from him, and doubtless my conduct must

have been invidiously misrepresented. Be that as it will, my mother has

again given her hand in wedlock to Count Trebasi; by whom I have the

mortification to be informed that I am totally excluded from my

father’s succession; and I learn from other quarters, that my sister is

barbarously treated by this inhuman father-in-law. Grant, Heaven, I may

soon have an opportunity of expostulating with the tyrant upon that

subject.”

So saying, his cheeks glowed, and his eyes lightened with resentment.

Then he thus proceeded: “My coming hither to-day was with a view to

visit a poor female relation, from whom I yesterday received a letter,

describing her most deplorable situation, and soliciting my assistance;

but the turnkey affirms that there is no such person in the jail, and I

was on my way to consult the keeper, when I was agreeably surprised

with the sight of my dear Fathom.”

Our adventurer having wiped from his eyes the tears which were produced

by the news of his worthy patron’s death, desired to know the name of

that afflicted prisoner, in whose behalf he interested himself so much,

and Renaldo produced the letter, subscribed, “Your unfortunate cousin,

Helen Melvil.” This pretended relation, after having explained the

degree of consanguinity which she and the Count stood in to each other,

and occasionally mentioned some anecdotes of the family in Scotland,

gave him to understand that she had married a merchant of London, who,

by repeated losses in trade, had been reduced to indigence, and

afterwards confined to prison, where he then lay a breathless corpse,

having left her in the utmost extremity of wretchedness and want, with

two young children in the smallpox, and an incurable cancer in one of

her own breasts. Indeed, the picture she drew was so moving, and her

expressions so sensibly pathetic, that no person, whose heart was not

altogether callous, could peruse it without emotion. Renaldo had sent

two guineas by the messenger, whom she had represented as a trusty

servant, whose fidelity had been proof against all the distress of her

mistress; and he was now arrived in order to reinforce his bounty.

Fathom, in the consciousness of his own practices, immediately

comprehended the scheme of this letter, and confidently assured him

that no such person resided in the prison or in any other place. And

when his friend applied for information to the keeper, these assurances

were confirmed; and that stern janitor told him he had been imposed

upon by a stale trick, which was often practised upon strangers by a

set of sharpers, who make it their business to pick up hints of

intelligence relating to private families, upon which they build such

superstructures of fraud and imposition.

However piqued the young Hungarian might be to find himself duped in

this manner, he rejoiced at the occasion which had thrown Fathom in his

way; and, after having made him a tender of his purse, took his leave,

on purpose to wait upon Trapwell, who was not quite so untractable as

an enraged cuckold commonly is; for, by this time, he had accomplished

the best part of his aim, which was to be divorced from his wife, and

was fully convinced that the defendant was no more than a needy

adventurer, who, in all probability, would be released by an act of

parliament for the benefit of insolvent debtors; in which case, he, the

plaintiff, would reap no solid advantage from his imprisonment.

He, therefore, listened to the remonstrances of the mediator, and,

after much canvassing, agreed to discharge the defendant, in

consideration of two hundred pounds, which were immediately paid by

Count Melvil, who, by this deduction, was reduced to somewhat less than

thirty.

Nevertheless, he cheerfully beggared himself in behalf of his friend,

for whose release he forthwith obtained an order; and, next day, our

adventurer, having bid a formal adieu to his fellows in distress, and,

in particular, to his majesty, for whose restoration his prayers were

preferred, he quitted the jail, and accompanied his deliverer, with all

the outward marks of unutterable gratitude and esteem.

Surely, if his heart had been made of penetrable stuff, it would have

been touched by the circumstances of this redemption; but had not his

soul been invincible to all such attacks, these memoirs would possibly

never have seen the light.

When they arrived at Renaldo’s lodgings, that young gentleman honoured

him with other proofs of confidence and friendship, by giving him a

circumstantial detail of all the adventures in which he had been

engaged after Fathom’s desertion from the imperial camp. He told him,

that, immediately after the war was finished, his father had pressed

him to a very advantageous match, with which he would have complied,

though his heart was not at all concerned, had not he been inflamed

with the desire of seeing the world before he could take any step

towards a settlement for life. That he had signified his sentiments on

this head to the Count, who opposed them with unusual obstinacy, as

productive of a delay which might be fatal to his proposal; for which

reason he had retired incognito from his family, and travelled through

sundry states and countries, in a disguise by which he eluded the

inquiries of his parents.

That, in the course of these peregrinations, he was captivated by the

irresistible charms of a young lady, on whose heart he had the good

fortune to make a tender impression. That their mutual love had

subjected both to many dangers and difficulties, during which they

suffered a cruel separation; after the torments of which, he had

happily found her in England, where she now lived entirely cut off from

her native country and connexions, and destitute of every other

resource but his honour, love, and protection. And, finally, that he

was determined to combat his own desires, how violent soever they might

be, until he should have made some suitable provision for the

consequences of a stricter union with the mistress of his soul, that he

might not, by a precipitate marriage, ruin the person whom he adored.

This end he proposed to attain, by an application to the court of

Vienna, which he did not doubt would have some regard to his own

service, and that of his father; and thither he resolved to repair,

with the first opportunity, now that he had found a friend with whom he

could intrust the inestimable jewel of his heart.

He likewise gave our hero to understand, that he had been eight months

in England, during which he had lived in a frugal manner, that he might

not unnecessarily exhaust the money he had been able to raise upon his

own credit; that, hitherto, he had been obliged to defer his departure

for Germany on account of his attendance upon the mother of his

mistress, who was lately dead of sorrow and chagrin; and that, since he

resided in London, he had often heard of the celebrated Count Fathom,

though he never imagined that his friend Ferdinand could be

distinguished by that appellation.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

FATHOM JUSTIFIES THE PROVERB, “WHAT’S BRED IN THE BONE WILL NEVER COME

OUT OF THE FLESH.”

Some circumstances of this conversation made a deep impression upon the

mind of our adventurer, who nevertheless concealed his emotions from

the knowledge of his friend, and was next day introduced to that hidden

treasure of which Renaldo had spoken with such rapture and adoration.

It was not without reason he had expatiated upon the personal

attractions of this young lady, whom, for the present, we shall call

Monimia, a name that implies her orphan situation. When she entered the

room, even Fathom, whose eyes had been sated with beauty, was struck

dumb with admiration, and could scarce recollect himself so far as to

perform the ceremony of his introduction.

She seemed to be about the age of eighteen. Her stature was tall; her

motion graceful. A knot of artificial flowers restrained the luxuriancy

of her fine black hair, that flowed in shining ringlets adown her snowy

neck. The contour of her face was oval; her forehead remarkably high;

her complexion clean and delicate, though not florid; and her eyes were

so piercing, as to strike the soul of every beholder. Yet, upon this

occasion, one half of their vivacity was eclipsed by a languishing air

of melancholy concern; which, while it in a manner sheathed the edge of

her beauty, added a most engaging sweetness to her looks. In short,

every feature was elegantly perfect; and the harmony of the whole

ravishing and delightful.

It was easy to perceive the mutual sentiments of the two lovers at

meeting, by the pleasure that sensibly diffused itself in the

countenances of both. Fathom was received by her as the intimate friend

of her admirer, whom she had often heard of in terms of the most

sincere affection; and the conversation was carried on in the Italian

language, because she was a foreigner who had not as yet made great

proficiency in the knowledge of the English tongue. Her understanding

was such as, instead of diminishing, reinforced the prepossession which

was inspired by her appearance; and if the sum-total of her charms

could not melt the heart, it at least excited the appetite of Fathom to

such a degree, that he gazed upon her with such violence of desire, as

had never transported him before; and he instantly began to harbour

thoughts, not only destructive to the peace of his generous patron, but

also to the prudential maxims he had adopted on his first entrance into

life.

We have already recorded divers instances of his conduct to prove that

there was an intemperance in his blood, which often interfered with his

caution; and although he had found means to render this heat sometimes

subservient to his interest, yet, in all probability, Heaven mingled

the ingredient in his constitution, on purpose to counteract his

consummate craft, defeat the villany of his intention, and at least

expose him to the justice of the law, and the contempt of his

fellow-creatures.

Stimulated as he was by the beauty of the incomparable Monimia, he

foresaw that the conquest of her heart would cost him a thousand times

more labour and address than all the victories he had ever achieved;

for, besides her superior understanding, her sentiments of honour,

virtue, gratitude, religion, and pride of birth, her heart was already

engaged by the tenderest ties of love and obligation, to a man whose

person and acquired accomplishments at least equalled his own; and

whose connexion with him was of such a nature as raised an almost

insurmountable bar to his design; because, with what face could he

commence rival to the person whose family had raised him from want and

servility, and whose own generosity had rescued him from the miseries

of a dreary gaol?

Notwithstanding these reflections, he would not lay aside an idea which

so agreeably flattered his imagination. He, like every other projector

in the same circumstances, was so partial to his own qualifications, as

to think the lady would soon perceive a difference between him and

Renaldo that could not fail to turn to his advantage in her opinion. He

depended a good deal on the levity and inconstancy of the sex; and did

not doubt that, in the course of their acquaintance, he should profit

by that languor which often creeps upon and flattens the intercourse of

lovers cloyed with the sight and conversation of each other.

This way of arguing was very natural to a man who had never known other

motives than those of sensuality and convenience; and perhaps, upon

these maxims, he might have succeeded with nine-tenths of the fair sex.

But, for once, he erred in his calculation; Monimia’s soul was perfect,

her virtue impregnable. His first approaches were, as usual, performed

by the method of insinuation, which succeeded so well, that in a few

days he actually acquired a very distinguished share of her favour and

esteem. To this he had been recommended, in the warmest strain of

exaggerating friendship, by her dear Renaldo; so that, placing the most

unreserved confidence in his honour and integrity, and being almost

quite destitute of acquaintance, she made no scruple of owning herself

pleased with his company and conversation; and therefore he was never

abridged in point of opportunity. She had too much discernment to

overlook his uncommon talents and agreeable address, and too much

susceptibility to observe them with indifference. She not only regarded

him as the confidant of her lover, but admired him as a person whose

attachment did honour to Count Melvil’s choice. She found his discourse

remarkably entertaining, his politeness dignified with an air of

uncommon sincerity, and she was ravished with his skill in music, an

art of which she was deeply enamoured.

While he thus ingratiated himself with the fair Monimia, Renaldo

rejoiced at their intimacy, being extremely happy in the thought of

having found a friend who could amuse and protect the dear creature in

his absence. That she might be the better prepared for the temporary

separation which he meditated, he began to be less frequent in his

visits, or rather to interrupt, by gradual intermissions, the constant

attendance he had bestowed upon her since her mother’s death. This

alteration she was enabled to bear by the assiduities of Fathom, when

she understood that her lover was indispensably employed in negotiating

a sum of money for the purposes of his intended voyage. This was really

the case; for, as the reader hath been already informed, the provision

he had made for that emergency was expended in behalf of our

adventurer; and the persons of whom he had borrowed it, far from

approving of the use to which it was put, and accommodating him with a

fresh supply, reproached him with his benevolence as an act of

dishonesty to them; and, instead of favouring this second application,

threatened to distress him for what he had already received. While he

endeavoured to surmount these difficulties, his small reversion was

quite exhausted, and he saw himself on the brink of wanting the common

necessaries of life.

There was no difficulty which he could not have encountered with

fortitude, had he alone been concerned. But his affection and regard

for Monimia were of such a delicate nature, that, far from being able

to bear the prospect of her wanting the least convenience, he could not

endure that she should suspect her situation cost him a moment’s

perplexity; because he foresaw it would wring her gentle heart with

unspeakable anguish and vexation. This, therefore, he endeavoured to

anticipate by expressions of confidence in the Emperor’s equity, and

frequent declarations touching the goodness and security of that credit

from which he derived his present subsistence.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

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

MAY CONCERN.

His affairs being thus circumstanced, it is not to be supposed that he

passed his time in tranquillity. Every day ushered in new demands and

fresh anxiety; for though his economy was frugal, it could not be

supported without money; and now not only his funds were drained, but

also his private friends tired of relieving his domestic necessities;

nay, they began to relinquish his company, which formerly they had

coveted; and those who still favoured him with their company embittered

that favour with disagreeable advice, mingled with impertinent reproof.

They loudly exclaimed against the last instance of his friendship for

Fathom, as a piece of wrong-headed extravagance, which neither his

fortune could afford nor his conscience excuse; and alleged that such

specimens of generosity are vicious in any man, let his finances be

never so opulent, if he has any relations of his own who need his

assistance; but altogether scandalous, not to say unjust, in a person

who depends for his own support on the favour of his friends.

These expostulations did not even respect the beauteous, the

accomplished, the gentle-hearted, the orphan Monimia. Although they

owned her perfections, and did not deny that it would be highly

meritorious in any man of fortune to make her happy, they disapproved

of Renaldo’s attachment to the fair beggar, made light of that intimate

union of hearts which subsisted between the two lovers, and which no

human consideration could dissolve; and some among them, in the

consummation of their prudence, ventured to hint a proposal of

providing for her in the service of some lady of fashion.

Any reader of sensibility will easily conceive how these admonitions

were relished by a young gentleman whose pride was indomitable, whose

notions of honour were scrupulously rigid and romantic, whose temper

was warm, and whose love was intense. Every such suggestion was as a

dagger to his soul; and what rendered the torture more exquisite, he

lay under obligations to those very persons whose selfish and sordid

sentiments he disdained; so that he was restricted by gratitude from

giving vent to his indignation, and his forlorn circumstances would not

permit him to renounce their acquaintance. While he struggled with

these mortifications, his wants grew more and more importunate, and his

creditors became clamorous.

Fathom, to whom all his grievances were disclosed, lamented his hard

hap with all the demonstrations of sympathy which he could expect to

find in such a zealous adherent. He upbraided himself incessantly as

the cause of his patron’s distress; took God to witness that he would

rather have perished in gaol than have enjoyed his liberty, had he

known it would have cost his dearest friend and benefactor one-tenth

part of the anguish he now saw him suffer; and, in conclusion, the

fervency of his affection glowed to such a degree, that he offered to

beg, steal, or plunder on the highway, for Renaldo’s assistance.

Certain it is, he might have recollected a less disagreeable expedient

than any of these to alleviate the pangs of this unhappy lover; for, at

that very period he was possessed of money and moveables to the amount

of a much greater sum than that which was necessary to remove the

severest pangs of the Count’s misfortune. But, whether he did not

reflect upon this resource, or was willing to let Melvil be better

acquainted with adversity, which is the great school of life, I shall

leave the reader to determine. Yet, so far was he from supplying the

wants of the young Hungarian, that he did not scruple to receive a

share of the miserable pittance which that gentleman made shift to

extort from the complaisance of a few companions, whose countenance he

still enjoyed.

Renaldo’s life was now become a sacrifice to the most poignant

distress. Almost his whole time was engrossed by a double scheme,

comprehending his efforts to render his departure practicable, and his

expedients for raising the means of daily bread. With regard to the

first, he exerted himself among a set of merchants, some of whom knew

his family and expectations; and, for the last, he was fain to depend

upon the assistance of a few intimates, who were not in a condition to

furnish him with sums of consequence. These, however, gradually dropped

off, on pretence of friendly resentment for his indiscreet conduct; so

that he found himself naked and deserted by all his former companions,

except one gentleman, with whom he had lived in the most unreserved

correspondence, as with a person of the warmest friendship, and the

most unbounded benevolence; nay, he had actually experienced repeated

proofs of his generosity; and such were the Count’s sentiments of the

gratitude, love, and esteem, which were due to the author of these

obligations, that he would have willingly laid down his own life for

his interest or advantage. He had already been at different times

accommodated by this benefactor with occasional supplies, amounting in

the whole to about forty or fifty pounds; and so fearful was he of

taking any step by which he might forfeit the goodwill of this

gentleman, that he struggled with unparelleled difficulty and vexation,

before he could prevail upon himself to put his liberality to another

proof.

What maxims of delicacy will not the dire calls of necessity infringe!

Reduced to the alternative of applying once more to that beneficence

which had never failed him, or of seeing Monimia starve, he chose the

first, as of two evils the least, and intrusted Fathom with a letter

explaining the bitterness of his case. It was not without trepidation

that he received in the evening from his messenger an answer to this

billet; but what were his pangs when he learned the contents! The

gentleman, after having professed himself Melvil’s sincere well-wisher,

gave him to understand, that he was resolved for the future to detach

himself from every correspondence which would be inconvenient for him

to maintain; that he considered his intimacy with the Count in that

light; yet, nevertheless, if his distress was really as great as he had

described it, he would still contribute something towards his relief;

and accordingly had sent by the bearer five guineas for that purpose;

but desired him to take notice, that, in so doing, he laid himself

under some difficulty.

Renaldo’s grief and mortification at this disappointment were

unspeakable. He now saw demolished the last screen betwixt him and the

extremity of indigence and woe; he beheld the mistress of his soul

abandoned to the bleakest scenes of poverty and want; and he deeply

resented the lofty strain of the letter, by which he conceived himself

treated as a worthless spendthrift and importunate beggar. Though his

purse was exhausted to the last shilling; though he was surrounded with

necessities and demands, and knew not how to provide another meal for

his fair dependent, he, in opposition to all the suggestions and

eloquence of Fathom, despatched him with the money and another billet,

intimating, in the most respectful terms, that he approved of his

friend’s new-adopted maxim, which, for the future, he should always

take care to remember; and that he had sent back the last instance of

his bounty, as a proof how little he was disposed to incommode his

benefactor.

This letter, though sincerely meant, and written in a very serious

mood, the gentleman considered as an ungrateful piece of irony, and in

that opinion complained to several persons of the Count’s acquaintance,

who unanimously exclaimed against him as a sordid, unthankful, and

profligate knave, that abused and reviled those very people who had

generously befriended him, whenever they found it inconvenient to

nourish his extravagance with further supplies. Notwithstanding these

accumulated oppressions, he still persevered with fortitude in his

endeavours to disentangle himself from this maze of misery. To these he

was encouraged by a letter which about this time he received from his

sister, importing, that she had good reason to believe the real will of

her father had been suppressed for certain sinister views; and desiring

him to hasten his departure for Hungary, where he would still find some

friends who were both able and willing to support his cause. He had

some trinkets left; the pawnbroker’s shop was still open; and hitherto

he made shift to conceal from Monimia the extent of his affliction.

The money-broker whom he employed, after having amused him with a

variety of schemes, which served no other purpose than that of

protracting his own job, at length undertook to make him acquainted

with a set of monied men who had been very venturous in lending sums

upon personal security; he was therefore introduced to their club in

the most favourable manner, after the broker had endeavoured to

prepossess them separately, with magnificent ideas of his family and

fortune.—By means of this anticipation he was received with a manifest

relaxation of that severity which people of this class mingle in their

aspects to the world in general; and they even vied with each other in

their demonstrations of hospitality and respect; for every one in

particular looked upon him as a young heir, who would bleed freely, and

mortgage at cent. per cent.

Renaldo, buoyed up with these exterior civilities, began to flatter

himself with hopes of success, which, however, were soon checked by the

nature of the conversation; during which the chairman upbraided one of

the members in open club for having once lent forty pounds upon slight

security. The person accused alleged, in his own defence, that the

borrower was his own kinsman, whose funds he knew to be sufficient;

that he had granted his bond, and been at the expense of insuring his

life for the money; and, in conclusion, had discharged it to the day

with great punctuality. These allegations were not deemed exculpatory

by the rest of the assembly, who with one voice pronounced him guilty

of unwarrantable rashness and indiscretion, which, in time coming, must

undoubtedly operate to the prejudice of his character and credit.

This was a bitter declaration to the young Count, who nevertheless

endeavoured to improve the footing he had gained among them, by

courting their company, conforming to their manners, and attentively

listening to their discourse. When he had cultivated them with great

assiduity for the space of some weeks, dined at their houses upon

pressing invitations, and received repeated offers of service and

friendship, believing that things were now ripe for the purpose, he,

one day, at a tavern to which he had invited him to dinner, ventured to

disclose his situation to him whose countenance was the least

unpromising; and as he introduced the business with a proposal of

borrowing money, he perceived his eyes sparkle with a visible alacrity,

from which he drew a happy presage. But, alas! this was no more than a

transient gleam of sunshine, which was suddenly obumbrated by the

sequel of his explanation; insomuch, that, when the merchant understood

the nature of the security, his visage was involved in a most

disagreeable gloom, and his eyes distorted into a most hideous

obliquity of vision; indeed, he squinted so horribly, that Renaldo was

amazed and almost affrighted at his looks, until he perceived that this

distortion proceeded from concern for a silver tobacco box which he had

laid down by him on the table, after having filled his pipe. As the

youth proceeded to unfold his necessities, the other became gradually

alarmed for this utensil, to which he darted his eyes askance in this

preternatural direction, until he had slyly secured it in his pocket.

Having made this successful conveyance, he shifted his eyes alternately

from the young gentleman to the broker for a considerable pause, during

which he in silence reproached the last for introducing such a beggarly

varlet to his acquaintance; then taking the pipe from his mouth, “Sir,”

said he, addressing himself to the Count, “if I had all the inclination

in the world to comply with your proposal, it is really not in my

power. My correspondents abroad have remitted such a number of bad

bills of late, that all my running cash hath been exhausted in

supporting their credit. Mr. Ferret, sure I am, you was not ignorant of

my situation; and I’m not a little surprised that you should bring the

gentleman to me on business of this kind; but, as the wise man

observes, Bray a fool in a mortar, and he’ll never be wise.” So saying,

with a most emphatic glance directed to the broker, he rung the bell,

and called for the reckoning; when, finding that he was to be the guest

of Renaldo, he thanked him drily for his good cheer, and in an abrupt

manner took himself away.

Though baffled in this quarter, the young gentleman would not despair;

but forthwith employed Mr. Ferret in an application to another of the

society; who, after having heard the terms of his commission, desired

him to tell his principal, that he could do nothing without the

concurrence of his partner, who happened to be at that time in one of

our American plantations. A third being solicited, excused himself on

account of an oath which he had lately taken on the back of a

considerable loss. A fourth being tried, made answer, that it was not

in his way. And a fifth candidly owned, that he never lent money

without proper security.

Thus the forlorn Renaldo tried every experiment without success, and

now saw the last ray of hope extinguished. Well-nigh destitute of

present support, and encompassed with unrelenting duns, he was obliged

to keep within doors, and seek some comfort in the conversation of his

charming mistress, and his faithful friend; yet, even there, he

experienced the extremest rigour of adverse fate. Every rap at the door

alarmed him with the expectation of some noisy tradesman demanding

payment. When he endeavoured to amuse himself with drawing, some

unlucky feature of the occasional portrait recalled the image of an

obdurate creditor, and made him tremble at the work of his own hands.

When he fled for shelter to the flattering creation of fancy, some

abhorred idea always started up amidst the gay vision, and dissolved

the pleasing enchantment.—Even the seraphic voice of Monimia had no

longer power to compose the anxious tumults of his mind. Every song she

warbled, every tune she played, recalled to his remembrance some scene

of love and happiness elapsed; and overwhelmed his soul with the woful

comparison of past and present fate. He saw all that was amiable and

perfect in woman, all that he held most dear and sacred upon earth,

tottering on the brink of misery, without knowing the danger of her

situation, and found himself unable to prevent her fall, or even to

forewarn her of the peril; for as we have already observed, his soul

could not brook the thought of communicating the tidings of distress to

the tender-hearted Monimia.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

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

Such aggravated misfortune could not fail to affect his temper and

deportment. The continual efforts he made to conceal his vexation

produced a manifest distraction in his behaviour and discourse. He

began to be seized with horror at the sight of poor Monimia, whom he

therefore shunned as much as the circumstances of their correspondence

would allow; and every evening he went forth alone to some solitary

place, where he could, unperceived, give a loose to the transports of

his sorrow, and in silence meditate some means to lighten the burden of

his woe. His heart was sometimes so savaged with despair, which

represented mankind as his inveterate enemies, that he entertained

thoughts of denouncing war against the whole community, and supplying

his own wants with the spoils he should win. At other times he was

tempted with the desire of putting an end to his miseries and life

together. Yet these were but the transitory suggestions of temporary

madness, that soon yielded to the dictates of reason. From the

execution of the first he was restrained by his own notions of honour

and morality; and, from using the other expedient, he was deterred by

his love for Monimia, together with the motives of philosophy and

religion.

While in this manner he secretly nursed the worm of grief that preyed

upon his vitals, the alteration in his countenance and conduct did not

escape the eyes of that discerning young lady. She was alarmed at the

change, yet afraid to inquire into the source of it; for, being

ignorant of his distress, she could impute it to no cause in which her

happiness was not deeply interested. She had observed his strained

complaisance and extraordinary emotion. She had detected him in

repeated attempts to avoid her company, and taken notice of his regular

excursions in the dark. These were alarming symptoms to a lover of her

delicacy and pride. She strove in vain to put the most favourable

construction on what she saw; and, finally, imputed the effects of his

despondence to the alienation of his heart. Made miserable beyond

expression by these suspicions, she imparted them to Fathom, who, by

this time, was in full possession of her confidence and esteem, and

implored his advice touching her conduct in such a nice conjuncture.

This artful politician, who rejoiced at the effect of her penetration,

no sooner heard himself questioned on the subject, than he gave tokens

of surprise and confusion, signifying his concern to find she had

discovered what, for the honour of his friend, he wished had never come

to light. His behaviour on this occasion confirmed her fatal

conjecture; and she conjured him, in the most pathetic manner, to tell

her if he thought Renaldo’s heart had contracted any new engagement. At

this question, he started with signs of extreme agitation, and stifling

an artificial sigh, “Sure, madam,” said he, “you cannot doubt the

Count’s constancy—I am confident—he is certainly—I protest, madam, I am

so shocked.”

Here he made a full pause, as if the conflict between his integrity and

his friendship would not allow him to proceed, and summoned the

moisture into either eye—“Then are my doubts removed,” cried the

afflicted Monimia; “I see your candour in the midst of your attachment

to Renaldo; and will no longer torment you with impertinent

interrogations and vain complaints.” With these words, a flood of tears

gushed from her enchanting eyes, and she instantly withdrew into her

own apartment, where she indulged her sorrow to excess. Nor was her

grief unanimated with resentment. She was by birth, nature, and

education inspired with that dignity of pride which ennobles the human

heart; and this, by the circumstance of her present dependence, was

rendered extremely jealous and susceptible; insomuch that she could not

brook the least shadow of indifference, much less an injury of such a

nature, from the man whom she had honoured with her affections, and for

whom she had disobliged and deserted her family and friends.

Though her love was so unalterably fixed on this unhappy youth, that,

without the continuation of reciprocal regard, her life would have

become an unsupportable burden, even amidst all the splendour of

affluence and pomp; and although she foresaw, that, when his protection

should cease, she must be left a wretched orphan in a foreign land,

exposed to all the miseries of want; yet, such was the loftiness of her

displeasure, that she disdained to complain, or even demand an

explanation from the supposed author of her wrongs.

While she continued undetermined in her purpose, and fluctuating on

this sea of torture, Fathom, believing that now was the season for

working upon her passions, while they were all in commotion, became, if

possible, more assiduous than ever about the fair mourner, modelled his

features into a melancholy cast, pretended to share her distress with

the most emphatic sympathy, and endeavoured to keep her resentment

glowing by cunning insinuations, which, though apparently designed to

apologise for his friend, served only to aggravate the guilt of his

perfidy and dishonour. This pretext of friendly concern is the most

effectual vehicle for the conveyance of malice and slander; and a man’s

reputation is never so mortally stabbed, as when the assassin begins

with the preamble of, “For my own part, I can safely say that no man

upon earth has a greater regard for him than I have; and it is with the

utmost anguish and concern that I see him misbehave in such a manner.”

Then he proceeds to mangle his character, and the good-natured hearers,

concluding he is even blacker than he is represented, on the

supposition that the most atrocious circumstances are softened or

suppressed by the tenderness or friendship of the accuser, exclaim,

“Good lack! what a wretch he must be, when his best friends will no

longer attempt to defend him!” Nay, sometimes these well-wishers

undertake his defence, and treacherously betray the cause they have

espoused, by omitting the reasons that may be urged in his vindication.

Both these methods were practised by the wily Ferdinand, according to

the predominant passion of Monimia. When her indignation prevailed, he

expatiated upon his love and sincere regard for Renaldo, which, he

said, had grown up from the cradle, to such a degree of fervour, that

he would willingly part with life for his advantage. He shed tears for

his apostasy; but every drop made an indelible stain upon his

character; and, in the bitterness of his grief, swore, notwithstanding

his fondness for Renaldo, which had become a part of his constitution,

that the young Hungarian deserved the most infamous destiny for having

injured such perfection. At other times, when he found her melted into

silent sorrow, he affected to excuse the conduct of his friend. He

informed her, that the young gentleman’s temper had been uneven from

his infancy; that frailty was natural to man; that he might in time be

reclaimed by self-conviction; he even hinted, that she might have

probably ascribed to inconstancy, what was really the effect of some

chagrin which he industriously concealed from his participation. But,

when he found her disposed to listen to this last suggestion, he

destroyed the force of it, by recollecting the circumstances of his

nocturnal rambles, which, he owned, would admit of no favourable

construction.

By these means he blew the coals of her jealousy, and enhanced the

value of his own character at the same time; for she looked upon him as

a mirror of faith and integrity, and the mind being overcharged with

woe, naturally seeks some confidant, upon whose sympathy it can repose

itself. Indeed, his great aim was to make himself necessary to her

affliction, and settle a gossiping correspondence, in the familiarity

of which he hoped his purpose would certainly be answered.

Yet the exertion of these talents was not limited to her alone. While

he laid these trains for the hapless young lady, he was preparing

snares of another kind for her unsuspecting lover, who, for the

completion of his misery, about this time began to perceive marks of

disquiet and displeasure in the countenance and deportment of his

adored Monimia. For that young lady, in the midst of her grief,

remembered her origin, and over her vexation affected to throw a veil

of tranquillity, which served only to give an air of disgust to her

internal disturbance.

Renaldo, whose patience and philosophy were barely sufficient to bear

the load of his other evils, would have been quite overwhelmed with the

additional burden of Monimia’s woe, if it had not assumed this

appearance of disesteem, which, as he knew he had not deserved it,

brought his resentment to his assistance. Yet this was but a wretched

cordial to support him against the baleful reflections that assaulted

him from every quarter; it operated like those desperate remedies,

which, while they stimulate exhausted nature, help to destroy the very

fundamentals of the constitution. He reviewed his own conduct with the

utmost severity, and could not recollect one circumstance which could

justly offend the idol of his soul. The more blameless he appeared to

himself in this examination, the less excusable did her behaviour

appear. He tasked his penetration to discover the cause of this

alteration; he burned with impatience to know it; his discernment

failed him, and he was afraid, though he knew not why, to demand an

explanation. His thoughts were so circumstanced, that he durst not even

unbosom himself to Fathom, though his own virtue and friendship

resisted those sentiments that began to intrude upon his mind, with

suggestions to the prejudice of our adventurer’s fidelity.

Nevertheless, unable to endure the torments of such interesting

suspense, he at length made an effort to expostulate with the fair

orphan; and in an abrupt address, the effect of his fear and confusion,

begged to know if he had inadvertently done anything to incur her

displeasure. Monimia, hearing herself bluntly accosted in this unusual

strain, after repeated instances of his reserve and supposed

inconstancy, considered the question as a fresh insult, and, summoning

her whole pride to her assistance, replied, with affected tranquillity,

or rather with an air of scorn, that she had no title to judge, neither

did she pretend to condemn his conduct. This answer, so wide of that

tenderness and concern which had hitherto manifested itself in the

disposition of his amiable mistress, deprived him of all power to carry

on the conversation, and he retired with a low bow, fully convinced of

his having irretrievably lost the place he had possessed in her

affection; for, to his imagination, warped and blinded by his

misfortunes, her demeanour seemed fraught, not with a transient gleam

of anger, which a respectful lover would soon have appeased, but with

that contempt and indifference which denote a total absence of

affection and esteem. She, on the other hand, misconstrued his sudden

retreat; and now they beheld the actions of each other through the

false medium of prejudice and resentment. To such fatal

misunderstandings the peace and happiness of whole families often fall

a sacrifice.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

OUR ADVENTURER BECOMES ABSOLUTE IN HIS POWER OVER THE PASSIONS OF HIS

FRIEND, AND EFFECTS ONE HALF OF HIS AIM.

Influenced by this dire mistake, the breast of those unhappy lovers

began to be invaded with the horrors of jealousy. The tender-hearted

Monimia endeavoured to devour her griefs in silence; she in secret

bemoaned her forlorn fate without ceasing; her tears flowed without

intermission from night to morn, and from morn to night. She sought not

to know the object for which she was forsaken; she meant not to upbraid

her undoer; her aim was to find a sequestered corner, in which she

could indulge her sorrow; where she could brood over the melancholy

remembrance of her former felicity; where she could recollect those

happy scenes she had enjoyed under the wings of her indulgent parents,

when her whole life was a revolution of pleasures, and she was

surrounded with affluence, pomp, and admiration; where she could,

unmolested, dwell upon the wretched comparison between her past and

present condition, and paint every circumstance of her misery in the

most aggravating colours, that they might make the deeper impression

upon her mind, and the more speedily contribute to that dissolution for

which she ardently wished, as a total release from woe.

Amidst these pinings, she began to loathe all sustenance; her cheeks

grew wan, her bright eyes lost their splendour, the roses vanished from

her lips, and her delicate limbs could hardly support their burden; in

a word, her sole consolation was limited to the prospect of depositing

her sorrows in the grave; and her only wish was to procure a retreat in

which she might wait with resignation for that happy period. Yet this

melancholy comfort she could not obtain without the advice and

mediation of Fathom, whom she therefore still continued to see and

consult. While these consultations were held, Renaldo’s bosom was

ravaged with tempests of rage and distraction. He believed himself

superseded in the affection of his mistress, by some favoured rival,

whose success rankled at his soul; and though he scarce durst

communicate the suspicion to his own heart, his observation continually

whispered to him that he was supplanted by his friend Fathom; for

Monimia was totally detached from the conversation of every other man,

and he had of late noted their intercourse with distempered eyes.

These considerations sometimes transported him to such a degree of

frenzy, that he was tempted to sacrifice them both as traitors to

gratitude, friendship, and love; but such deliriums soon vanished

before his honour and humanity. He would not allow himself to think

amiss of Ferdinand, until some undoubted mark of his guilt should

appear; and this was so far from being the case, that hitherto there

was scarce a presumption. “On the contrary,” said he to himself, “I am

hourly receiving proofs of his sympathy and attachment. Not but that he

may be the innocent cause of my mishap. His superior qualifications may

have attracted the eye, and engaged the heart of that inconstant fair,

without his being sensible of the victory he has won; or, perhaps,

shocked at the conquest he hath unwillingly made, he discourages her

advances, tries to reason down her unjustifiable passion, and in the

meantime conceals from me the particulars, out of regard to my

happiness and quiet.”

Under cover of these favourable conjectures, our adventurer securely

prosecuted his scheme upon the unfortunate Monimia. He dedicated

himself wholly to her service and conversation, except at those times

when his company was requested by Renaldo, who now very seldom exacted

his attendance. In his ministry about the person of the beauteous

orphan, this cunning incendiary mingled such awful regard, such melting

compassion, as effectually screened him from the suspicion of

treachery, while he widened the fatal breach between her and her lover

by the most diabolical insinuations. He represented his friend as a

voluptuary, who gratified his own appetite without the least regard to

honour or conscience; and, with a show of infinite reluctance, imparted

some anecdotes of his sensuality, which he had feigned for the purpose;

then he would exclaim in an affected transport, “Gracious Heaven! is it

possible for any man who has the least title to perception or humanity

to injure such innocence and perfection! for my own part, had I been so

undeservedly happy—Heaven and earth! forgive my transports, madam, I

cannot help seeing and admiring such divine attractions. I cannot help

resenting your wrongs; it is the cause of virtue I espouse; it ought to

be the cause of every honest man.”

He had often repeated such apostrophes as these, which she ascribed to

nothing else than sheer benevolence and virtuous indignation, and

actually began to think he had made some impression upon her heart, not

that he now entertained the hope of an immediate triumph over her

chastity. The more he contemplated her character, the more difficult

the conquest seemed to be: he therefore altered his plan, and resolved

to carry on his operations under the shelter of honourable proposals,

foreseeing that a wife of her qualifications, if properly managed,

would turn greatly to the account of the husband, or, if her virtue

should prove refractory, that he could at any time rid himself of the

encumbrance, by decamping without beat of drum, after he should be

cloyed with possession.

Elevated by these expectations, he one day, in the midst of a

preconcerted rhapsody, importing that he could no longer conceal the

fire that preyed upon his heart, threw himself on his knees before the

lovely mourner, and imprinted a kiss on her fair hand. Though he did

not presume to take this liberty till after such preparation as he

thought had altogether extinguished her regard for Melvil, and paved

the way for his own reception in room of that discarded lover, he had

so far overshot his mark, that Monimia, instead of favouring his

declaration, started up, and retired in silence, her cheeks glowing

with shame, and her eyes gleaming with indignation.

Ferdinand no sooner recovered from the confusion produced by this

unexpected repulse, than he saw the necessity of coming to a speedy

determination, lest the offended fair one should appeal to Renaldo, in

which case they might be mutually undeceived, to his utter shame and

confusion; he therefore resolved to deprecate her anger by humble

supplications, and by protesting, that, whatever tortures he might

suffer by suppressing his sentiments, she should never again be

offended with a declaration of his passion.

Having thus appeased the gentle Monimia, and discovered that, in spite

of her resentment, his friend still kept possession of her heart, he

determined to work an effectual separation, so as that the young lady,

being utterly deserted by Melvil, should be left altogether in his

power. With this Christian intention, he began to sadden his visage

with a double shade of pensive melancholy, in the presence of Renaldo,

to stifle a succession of involuntary sighs, to answer from the

purpose, to be incoherent in his discourse, and, in a word, to act the

part of a person wrapt up in sorrowful cogitation.

Count Melvil, soon as he perceived these symptoms, very kindly inquired

into the cause of them, and was not a little alarmed to hear the artful

and evasive answers of Ferdinand, who, without disclosing the source of

his disquiet, earnestly begged leave to retire into some other corner

of the world. Roused by this entreaty, the Hungarian’s jealousy awoke,

and with violent agitation, he exclaimed, “Then are my fears too true,

my dear Fathom: I comprehend the meaning of your request. I have for

some time perceived an host of horrors approaching from that quarter. I

know your worth and honour. I depend upon your friendship, and conjure

you, by all the ties of it, to free me at once from the most miserable

suspense, by owning you have involuntarily captivated the heart of that

unhappy maiden.”

To this solemn interrogation he made no reply, but shedding a flood of

tears, of which he had always a magazine at command, he repeated his

desire of withdrawing, and took God to witness, that what he proposed

was solely for the quiet of his honoured patron and beloved friend.

“Enough,” cried the unfortunate Renaldo, “the measure of my woes is now

filled up.” So saying, he fell backwards in a swoon, from which he was

with difficulty recovered to the sensation of the most exquisite

torments. During this paroxysm, our adventurer nursed him with infinite

care and tenderness, he exhorted him to summon all his fortitude to his

assistance, to remember his forefathers, and exert himself in the

imitation of their virtues, to fly from those bewitching charms which

had enslaved his better part, to retrieve his peace of mind by

reflecting on the inconstancy and ingratitude of woman, and amuse his

imagination in the pursuit of honour and glory.

After these admonitions he abused his ears with a forged detail of the

gradual advances made to him by Monimia, and the steps he had taken to

discourage her addresses, and re-establish her virtue, poisoning the

mind of that credulous youth to such a degree, that, in all

probability, he would have put a fatal period to his own existence, had

not Fathom found means to allay the rage of his ecstasy, by the cunning

arrangement of opposite considerations. He set his pride against his

love, he opposed his resentment to his sorrow, and his ambition to his

despair. Notwithstanding the balance of power so settled among these

antagonists, so violent were the shocks of their successive conflicts,

that his bosom fared like a wretched province, harassed, depopulated,

and laid waste, by two fierce contending armies. From this moment his

life was nothing but an alternation of starts and reveries; he wept and

raved by turns, according to the prevailing gust of passion; food

became a stranger to his lips, and sleep to his eyelids; he could not

support the presence of Monimia, her absence increased the torture of

his pangs; and, when he met her by accident, he started back with

horror, like a traveller who chances to tread upon a snake.

The poor afflicted orphan, worn to a shadow with self-consuming

anguish, eager to find some lowly retreat, where she could breath out

her soul in peace, and terrified at the frantic behaviour of Renaldo,

communicated to Fathom her desire of removing, and begged that he would

take a small picture of her father, decorated with diamonds, and

convert them into money, for the expense of her subsistence. This was

the last pledge of her family, which she had received from her mother,

who had preserved it in the midst of numberless distresses, and no

other species of misery but that which she groaned under could have

prevailed upon the daughter to part with it; but, exclusive of other

motives, the very image itself, by recalling to her mind the honours of

her name, upbraided her with living in dependence upon a man who had

treated her with such indignity and ingratitude; besides, she flattered

herself with the hope that she should not long survive the loss of this

testimonial.

Our adventurer, with many professions of sorrow and mortification at

his own want of capacity to prevent such an alienation, undertook to

dispose of it to the best advantage, and to provide her with a cheap

and retired apartment, to which he would conduct her in safety, though

at the hazard of his life. In the meantime, however, he repaired to his

friend Renaldo, and, after having admonished him to arm his soul with

patience and philosophy, declared that Monimia’s guilty passion for

himself could no longer be kept within bounds, that she had conjured

him, in the most pressing manner, to assist her in escaping from an

house which she considered as the worst of dungeons, because she was in

it daily exposed to the sight and company of a man whom she detested,

and that she had bribed him to compliance with her request, not only

with repeated promises of eternal love and submission, but also with

the picture of her father set with diamonds, which she had hitherto

reserved as the last and greatest testimony of her affection and

esteem.

With these words he presented the fatal pledge to the eyes of the

astonished youth, upon whom it operated like the poisonous sight of the

basilisk, for in an instant, the whole passions of his soul were in the

most violent agitation. “What!” cried he, in an ecstasy of rage, “is

she so abandoned to perfidy, so lost to shame, so damned to constancy,

to gratitude, and virtuous love, as to meditate the means of leaving me

without decency, without remorse! to forsake me in my adversity, when

my hapless fortune can no longer flatter the pride and vanity of her

expectation! O woman! woman! woman! what simile shall I find to

illustrate the character of the sex? But I will not have recourse to

vain complaints and feeble exclamations. By Heaven! she shall not

’scape, she shall not triumph in her levity, she shall not exult in my

distress; no! I will rather sacrifice her to my just resentment, to the

injured powers of love and friendship. I will act the avenging minister

of Heaven! I will mangle that fair bosom, which contains so false a

heart! I will tear her to pieces, and scatter those beauteous limbs as

a prey to the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air!”

Fathom, who expected this storm, far from attempting to oppose its

progress, waited with patience until its first violence was overblown;

then, assuming an air of condolence, animated with that resolution

which a friend ought to maintain on such occasions, “My dear Count,”

said he, “I am not at all surprised at your emotion, because I know

what an heart, susceptible as yours, must feel from the apostasy of one

who has reigned so long the object of your love, admiration, and

esteem. Your endeavours to drive her from your thoughts must create an

agony much more severe than that which divorces the soul from the body.

Nevertheless, I am so confident of your virtue and your manhood, as to

foresee, that you will allow the fair Monimia to execute that

resolution which she hath so unwisely taken, to withdraw herself from

your love and protection. Believe me, my best friend and benefactor,

this is a step, in consequence of which you will infallibly retrieve

your peace of mind. It may cost you many bitter pangs, it may probe

your wounds to the quick; but those pangs will be soothed by the gentle

and salutary wing of time, and that probing will rouse you to a due

sense of your own dignity and importance, which will enable you to

convert your attention to objects far more worthy of your

contemplation. All the hopes of happiness you had cherished in the

possession of Monimia are now irrecoverably blasted; her heart is now

debased beneath your consideration; her love is, without all doubt,

extinguished, and her honour irretrievably lost; insomuch, that, were

she to profess sorrow for her indiscretion, and implore your

forgiveness, with the most solemn promises of regarding you for the

future with unalterable fidelity and affection, you ought not to

restore her to that place in your heart which she hath so meanly

forfeited, because you could not at the same time reinstate her in the

possession of that delicate esteem without which there is no harmony,

no rapture, no true enjoyment in love.

“No, my dear Renaldo, expel the unworthy tenant from your bosom; allow

her to fill up the measure of her ingratitude, by deserting her lover,

friend, and benefactor. Your glory demands her dismission; the world

will applaud your generosity, and your own heart approve of your

conduct. So disencumbered, let us exert ourselves once more in

promoting your departure from this island, that you may revisit your

father’s house, do justice to yourself and amiable sister, and take

vengeance on the author of your wrongs; then dedicate yourself to

glory, in imitation of your renowned ancestors, and flourish in the

favour of your imperial patron.”

These remonstrances had such an effect upon the Hungarian, that his

face was lighted up with a transient gleam of satisfaction. He embraced

Ferdinand with great ardour, calling him his pride, his Mentor, his

good genius, and entreated him to gratify the inclination of that

fickle creature so far as to convey her to another lodging, without

loss of time, while he would, by absenting himself, favour their

retreat.

Our hero having obtained this permission, went immediately to the

skirts of the town, where he had previously bespoke a small, though

neat apartment, at the house of an old woman, widow of a French

refugee. He had already reconnoitred the ground, by sounding his

landlady, from whose poverty and complaisance he found reason to expect

all sorts of freedom and opportunity for the accomplishment of his aim

upon Monimia’s person. The room being prepared for her reception, he

returned to that disconsolate beauty, to whom he presented ten guineas,

which he pretended to have raised by pledging the picture, though he

himself acted as the pawnbroker on this occasion, for a very plain and

obvious reason.

The fair orphan was overjoyed to find her wish so speedily

accomplished. She forthwith packed up her necessaries in a trunk; and a

hackney-coach was called in the dusk of the evening, in which she

embarked with her baggage and conductor.

Yet she did not leave the habitation of Renaldo without regret. In the

instant of parting, the idea of that unfortunate youth was associated

with every well-known object that presented itself to her eyes; not as

an inconstant, ungenerous, and perjured swain, but as the accomplished,

the virtuous, the melting lover, who had captivated her virgin heart.

As Fathom led her to the door, she was met by Renaldo’s dog, which had

long been her favourite; and the poor animal fawning upon her as she

passed, her heart was overwhelmed with such a gush of tenderness, that

a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks, and she had well-nigh sunk

upon the floor.

Ferdinand, considering this emotion as the last tribute she would pay

to Renaldo, hurried her into the coach, where she soon recovered her

composure; and in a little time he ushered her into the house of Madam

la Mer, by whom she was received with great cordiality, and conducted

to her apartment, with which she found no other fault than that of its

being too good for one in her forlorn situation. Here, while the tear

of gratitude started in either eye, she thanked our adventurer for his

benevolence and kind concern, assuring him, that she would not fail

duly to beseech the Most High to shower down blessings upon him, as the

orphan’s friend and protector.

Fathom was not deficient in those expressions that were best adapted to

her present turn of mind. He observed, that what he had done was in

obedience to the dictates of common humanity, which would have prompted

him to assist any fellow-creature in distress; but that her peculiar

virtue and qualifications were such as challenged the utmost exertion

of his faculties in her service. He said, that surely Heaven had not

created such perfection in vain; that she was destined to receive as

well as to communicate happiness; and that the Providence, which she so

piously adored, would not fail, in due season, to raise her from

distress and affliction, to that honour and felicity for which she was

certainly ordained. In the meantime, he entreated her to depend upon

his service and fidelity, and the article of her board being settled,

he left her to the company and consolation of her discreet hostess, who

soon insinuated herself into the good opinion of her beauteous lodger.

While our hero was employed in this transaction, Renaldo sallied forth

in a sort of intoxication, which Fathom’s admonitions had inspired;

and, repairing to a certain noted coffee-house, engaged at chess with

an old French refugee, that his attention, by being otherwise employed,

might not stray towards that fatal object which he ardently wished to

forget. But, unluckily for him, he had scarce performed three moves of

the game, when his ears were exposed to a dialogue between two young

gentlemen, one of whom asked the other if he would go and see the

“Orphan” acted at one of the theatres; observing, as a farther

inducement, that the part of Monimia would be performed by a young

gentlewoman who had never appeared on the stage. At mention of that

name, Renaldo started; for though it did not properly belong to his

orphan, it was the appellation by which she had been distinguished ever

since her separation from her father’s house, and therefore it recalled

her to his imagination in the most interesting point of view. Though he

endeavoured to expel the image, by a closer application to his play,

every now and then it intruded upon his fancy, and at each return made

a stronger impression; so that he found himself in the situation of an

unfortunate bark stranded upon some hidden rock, which, when the wind

begins to blow, feels every succeeding wave more boisterous than the

former, until, with irresistible fury, they surmount her deck, sweep

everything before them, and dash her all to pieces.

The refugee had observed his first emotion, which he attributed to an

unforeseen advantage he himself had gained over the Hungarian; but

seeing him, in the sequel, bite his lip, roll his eyes, groan, writhe

his body, ejaculate incoherent curses, and neglect his game, the

Huguenot concluded that he was mad, and being seized with terror and

dismay, got up and scampered off, without ceremony or hesitation.

Melvil, thus left to the horrors of his own thought, which tortured him

with the apprehension of losing Monimia for ever, could no longer

combat that suggestion, but ran homewards with all the speed he could

exert, in order to prevent her retreat. When he crossed the threshold,

he was struck with such a damp of presaging fear, that he durst not in

person approach her apartment, nor even, by questioning the servant,

inform himself of the particulars he wanted to know. Yet his suspense

becoming more insupportable than his fear, he rushed from room to room

in quest of that which was not to be found; and, seeing Monimia’s

chamber door open, entered the deserted temple in a state of

distraction, calling aloud upon her name. All was silent, solitary, and

woful. “She is gone,” he cried, shedding a flood of tears, “she is for

ever lost; and all my hopes of happiness are fled!”

So saying, he sunk upon that couch on which Monimia had oft reposed,

and abandoned himself to all the excess of grief and despondence. In

this deplorable condition he was found by our adventurer, who gently

chid him for his want of resolution, and again repelled his sorrow, by

arousing his resentment against the innocent cause of his disquiet,

having beforehand forged the particulars of provocation.

“Is it possible,” said he, “that Renaldo can still retain the least

sentiment of regard for a fickle woman, by whom he has been so

ungratefully forsaken and so unjustly scorned? Is it possible he can be

so disturbed by the loss of a creature who is herself lost to all

virtue and decorum?—Time and reflection, my worthy friend, will cure

you of that inglorious malady. And the future misconduct of that

imprudent damsel will, doubtless, contribute to the recovery of your

peace. Her behaviour, at leaving the house where she had received so

many marks of the most delicate affection, was in all respects so

opposite to honour and decency, that I could scarce refrain from

telling her I was shocked at her deportment, even while she loaded me

with protestations of love. When a woman’s heart is once depraved, she

bids adieu to all restraint;—she preserves no measures. It was not

simply contempt which she expressed for Renaldo; she seems to resent

his being able to live under her disdain; and that resentment stoops to

objects unworthy of indignation. Even your dog was not exempted from

the effects of her displeasure. For, in her passage to the door, she

kicked the poor animal as one of your dependents; and, in our way to

the apartment I had provided for her, she entertained me with a

ludicrous comment upon the manner in which you first made her

acquainted with your passion. All that modesty of carriage, all that

chastity of conversation, all that dignity of grief, which she knew so

well how to affect, is now entirely laid aside, and, when I quitted

her, she seemed the most gay, giddy, and impertinent of her sex.”

“Gracious powers!” exclaimed Renaldo, starting from the couch, “am I

under the delusion of a dream; or are these things really so, as my

friend has represented them? Such a total and sudden degeneracy is

amazing! is monstrous and unnatural!”

“Such, my dear Count,” replied our hero, “is the caprice of a female

heart, fickle as the wind, uncertain as a calm at sea, fixed to no

principle, but swayed by every fantastic gust of passion, or of whim.

Congratulate yourself, therefore, my friend, upon your happy

deliverance from such a domestic plague—upon the voluntary exile of a

traitor from your bosom.—Recollect the dictates of your duty, your

discretion, and your glory, and think upon the honours and elevated

enjoyment for which you are certainly ordained. To-night let us over a

cheerful bottle anticipate your success; and to-morrow I will accompany

you to the house of an usurer, who, I am informed, fears no risk,

provided twenty per cent be given, and the borrower’s life insured.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

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

PHENOMENON.

In this manner did the artful incendiary work upon the passions of the

credulous unsuspecting Hungarian, who pressed him to his breast with

the most cordial expressions of friendship, calling him his guardian,

his saviour, his second father, and gave himself up wholly to his

advice.

Next morning, according to the plan they had laid overnight, they

repaired to a tavern in the neighbourhood of the person to whom our

adventurer had been directed, and were fortunate enough to find him in

the house, transacting a money affair with a young gentleman who

treated him with his morning’s whet.

That affair being negotiated, he adjourned into another room with

Renaldo and his companion, who were not a little surprised to see this

minister of Plutus in the shape of a young sprightly beau, trimmed up

in all the foppery of the fashion; for they had hitherto always

associated with the idea of an usurer old age and rusty apparel. After

divers modish congees, he begged to know to what he should attribute

the honour of their message; when Ferdinand, who acted the orator, told

him, that his friend Count Melvil, having occasion for a sum of money,

had been directed to a gentleman of his name, “and, I suppose,” added

he, “you are the son of the person with whom the affair is to be

negotiated.”

“Sir,” said this petit-maitre, with a smile, “I perceive you are

surprised to see one of my profession in the appearance of a gentleman;

and perhaps your wonder will not cease, when I tell you, that my

education was liberal, and that I once had the honour to bear a

commission in the British army. I was indeed a first lieutenant of

marines, and will venture to say, that no officer in the service was

more delicate than myself in observing all the punctilios of honour. I

entertained the utmost contempt for all the trading part of the nation,

and suffered myself to be run through the body in a duel, rather than

roll with a brother-lieutenant, who was a broker’s son. But, thank

Heaven! I have long ago conquered all those ridiculous prejudices. I

soon observed, that without money there was no respect, honour, or

convenience to be acquired in life; that wealth amply supplied the want

of wit, merit, and pedigree, having influence and pleasure ever at

command; and that the world never failed to worship the flood of

affluence, without examining the dirty channels through which it

commonly flowed.

“At the end of the war, finding my appointments reduced to two

shillings and fourpence per day, and being addicted to pleasures which

I could not possibly purchase from such a fund, I sold my half-pay for

two hundred pounds, which I lent upon bond to a young officer of the

same regiment, on condition that he should insure his life, and restore

one-fourth part of the sum by way of premium. I happened to be lucky in

this first essay; for the borrower, having in six weeks expended the

money, made an excursion on the highway, was apprehended, tried,

convicted of felony, and cut his own throat, to prevent the shame of a

public execution; so that his bond was discharged by the insurers.

“In short, gentlemen, when I engaged in this business, I determined to

carry it on with such spirit, as would either make my fortune, or

entirely ruin me in a little time; and hitherto my endeavours have been

tolerably successful. Nor do I think my proceedings a whit more

criminal or unjust than those of other merchants, who strive to turn

their money to the best account. The commodity I deal in is cash; and

it is my business to sell it to the best advantage. A London factor

sends a cargo of goods to market, and if he gets two hundred per cent

upon the sale, he is commended for industry and address. If I sell

money for one-fourth part of that profit, certain persons will be so

unjust as to cry, Shame upon me, for taking such advantage of my

neighbour’s distress; not considering, that the trader took four times

the same advantage of those people who bought his cargo, though his

risk was not half so great as mine, and although the money I sold

perhaps retrieved the borrower from the very jaws of destruction. For

example, it was but yesterday I saved a worthy man from being arrested

for a sum of money, for which he had bailed a friend who treacherously

left him in the lurch. As he did not foresee what would happen, he had

made no provision for the demand, and his sphere of life secluding him

from all sorts of monied intercourse, he could not raise the cash by

his credit in the usual way of borrowing; so that, without my

assistance, he must have gone to jail; a disgrace which would have

proved fatal to the peace of his family, and utterly ruined his

reputation.—Nay, that very young gentleman, from whom I am just now

parted, will, in all probability, be indebted to me for a very genteel

livelihood. He had obtained the absolute promise of being provided for

by a great man, who sits at the helm of affairs in a neighbouring

kingdom; but, being destitute of all other resources, he could not have

equipped himself for the voyage, in order to profit by his lordship’s

intention, unless I had enabled him to pursue his good fortune.”

Renaldo was not a little pleased to hear this harangue, to which Fathom

replied with many florid encomiums upon the usurer’s good sense and

humane disposition; then he explained the errand of his friend, which

was to borrow three hundred pounds, in order to retrieve his

inheritance, of which he had been defrauded in his absence.

“Sir,” said the lender, addressing himself to Count Melvil, “I pretend

to have acquired by experience some skill in physiognomy; and though

there are some faces so deeply disguised as to baffle all the

penetration of our art, there are others, in which the heart appears

with such nakedness of integrity, as at once to recommend it to our

goodwill. I own your countenance prepossesses me in your favour; and

you shall be accommodated, upon those terms from which I never deviate,

provided you can find proper security, that you shall not quit the

British dominions; for that, with me, is a condition sine qua non.”

This was a very disagreeable declaration to Renaldo, who candidly

owned, that, as his concerns lay upon the Continent, his purpose was to

leave England without delay. The usurer professed himself sorry that it

was not in his power to oblige him; and, in order to prevent any

further importunity, assured them, he had laid it down as a maxim, from

which he would never swerve, to avoid all dealings with people whom, if

need should be, he could not sue by the laws of this realm.

Thus the intervention of one unlucky and unforeseen circumstance

blasted in an instant the budding hopes of Melvil, who, while his

visage exhibited the most sorrowful disappointment, begged to know, if

there was any person of his acquaintance who might be less scrupulous

in that particular.

The young gentleman directed them to another member of his profession,

and wishing them success, took his leave with great form and

complaisance. This instance of politeness was, however, no more than a

shift to disengage himself the more easily from their entreaties; for,

when the case was opened to the second usurer, he blessed himself from

such customers, and dismissed them with the most mortifying and boorish

refusal. Notwithstanding these repulses, Renaldo resolved to make one

desperate push; and, without allowing himself the least respite,

solicited, one by one, not fewer than fifteen persons who dealt in this

kind of traffic, and his proposals were rejected by each. At last,

fatigued by the toil, and exasperated at the ill success of his

expedition, and half mad with the recollection of his finances, which

were now drained to half-a-crown, “Since we have nothing to expect,”

cried he, “from the favour of Christians, let us have recourse to the

descendants of Judah. Though they lie under the general reproach of

nations, as a people dead to virtue and benevolence, and wholly devoted

to avarice, fraud, and extortion, the most savage of their tribe cannot

treat me with more barbarity of indifference, than I have experienced

among those who are the authors of their reproach.”

Although Fathom looked upon this proposal as an extravagant symptom of

despair, he affected to approve of the scheme, and encouraged Renaldo

with the hope of succeeding in another quarter, even if this expedition

should fail; for, by this time, our adventurer was half resolved to

export him at his own charge, rather than he should be much longer

restricted in his designs upon Monimia.