HE RENEWS THE RITES OF SORROW, AND IS ENTRANCED.

While they amused themselves with this sort of conversation, the

physician returned with the coach, and accompanied them back to their

inn, where he left them to their repose, after having promised to call

again at noon, and conduct Renaldo to the house of Madam Clement, the

benefactress of Monimia, to whom he eagerly desired to be introduced.

The appointment was observed with all imaginable punctuality on both

sides. Melvil had arrayed himself in a suit of deep mourning, and he

found the good lady in the like habit, assumed upon the same occasion.

The goodness of her heart was manifest in her countenance; the

sensibility of the youth discovered itself in a flood of tears, which

he shed at her appearance. His sensations were too full for utterance;

nor was she, for some time, able to give him welcome. While she led him

by the hand to a seat, the drops of sympathy rushed into either eye;

and at length she broke silence, saying, “Count, we must acquiesce in

the dispensations of Providence; and quiet the transports of our grief,

with a full assurance that Monimia is happy.”

This name was the key that unlocked the faculty of his speech. “I must

strive,” said he, “to ease the anguish of my heart with that

consolation. But say, humane, benevolent lady, to whose compassion and

generosity that hapless orphan was indebted for the last peaceful

moment she enjoyed upon earth; say, in all your acquaintance with human

nature, in all your intercourse with the daughters of men, in all the

exercise of your charity and beneficence, did you ever observe such

sweetness, purity, and truth; such beauty, sense, and perfection, as

that which was the inheritance of her whose fate I shall for ever

deplore?”—“She was, indeed,” replied the lady, “the best and fairest of

our sex.”

This was the beginning of a conversation touching that lovely victim,

in the course of which he explained those wicked arts which Fathom

practised to alienate his affections from the adorable Monimia; and she

described the cunning hints and false insinuations by which that

traitor had aspersed the unsuspecting lover, and soiled his character

in the opinion of the virtuous orphan. The intelligence he obtained on

this occasion added indignation to his grief. The whole mystery of

Monimia’s behaviour, which he could not before explain, now stood

disclosed before him. He saw the gradual progress of that infernal plan

which had been laid for their mutual ruin; and his soul was inflamed

with such desire of vengeance, that he would have taken his leave

abruptly, in order to set on foot an immediate inquiry about the

perfidious author of his wrongs, that he might exterminate such a

monster of iniquity from the face of the earth. But he was restrained

by Madam Clement, who gave him to understand, that Fathom was already

overtaken by the vengeance of Heaven; for she had traced him in all the

course of his fortune, from his first appearance in the medical sphere

to his total eclipse. She represented the villain as a wretch

altogether unworthy of his attention. She said, he was so covered with

infamy, that no person could enter the lists against him, without

bearing away some stain of dishonour; that he was, at present,

peculiarly protected by the law, and sheltered from the resentment of

Renaldo, in the cavern of his disgrace.

Melvil, glowing with rage, replied, that he was a venomous serpent,

which it was incumbent on every foot to crush; that it was the duty of

every man to contribute his whole power in freeing society from such a

pernicious hypocrite; and that, if such instances of perfidy and

ingratitude were suffered to pass with impunity, virtue and

plain-dealing would soon be expelled from the habitations of men. “Over

and above these motives,” said he, “I own myself so vitiated with the

alloy of human passion and infirmity, that I desire—I eagerly pant for

an occasion of meeting him hand to hand, where I may upbraid him with

his treachery, and shower down vengeance and destruction on his

perfidious head.”

Then he recounted the anecdotes of our adventurer which he had learned

in Germany and Flanders, and concluded with declaring his unalterable

resolution of releasing him from jail, that he might have an

opportunity of sacrificing him, with his own hand, to the manes of

Monimia. The discreet lady, perceiving the perturbation of his mind,

would not further combat the impetuosity of his passion; contenting

herself with exacting a promise, that he would not execute his purpose,

until he should have deliberated three days upon the consequences by

which a step of that kind might be attended. Before the expiration of

that term, she thought measures might be taken to prevent the young

gentleman from exposing his life or reputation to unnecessary hazard.

Having complied with her request in this particular, he took his leave,

after he had, by repeated entreaties, prevailed upon her to accept a

jewel, in token of his veneration for the kind benefactress of the

deceased Monimia; nor could his generous heart be satisfied, until he

had forced a considerable present on the humane physician who had

attended her in her last moments, and now discovered a particular

sympathy and concern for her desponding lover. This gentleman attended

him to the house of the benevolent Joshua, where they dined, and where

Don Diego was recommended, in the most fervid terms of friendship, to

the good offices of their host. Not that this duty was performed in

presence of the stranger—Renaldo’s delicacy would not expose his friend

to such a situation. While the physician, before dinner, entertained

that stranger in one apartment, Melvil withdrew into another, with the

Jew, to whom he disclosed the affair of the Castilian, with certain

circumstances, which shall, in due time, be revealed.

Joshua’s curiosity being whetted by this information, he could not help

eyeing the Spaniard at table with such a particular stare, that Don

Diego perceived his attention, and took umbrage at the freedom of his

regard. Being unable to conceal his displeasure, he addressed himself

to the Hebrew, with great solemnity, in the Spanish tongue, saving,

“Signior, is there any singularity in my appearance? or, do you

recollect the features of Don Diego de Zelos?”

“Signior Don Diego,” replied the other in pure Castilian, “I crave your

pardon for the rudeness of my curiosity, which prompted me to survey a

nobleman, whose character I revere, and to whose misfortunes I am no

stranger. Indeed, were curiosity alone concerned, I should be without

excuse; but as I am heartily inclined to serve you, as far as my weak

abilities extend, I hope your generosity will not impute any little

involuntary trespass of punctilio to my want of cordiality or esteem.”

The Spaniard was not only appeased by this apology, but also affected

with the compliment, and the language in which it was conveyed. He

thanked the Jew for his kind declaration, entreated him to bear, with

the peevishness of a disposition sore with the galling hand of

affliction; and, turning up his eyes to Heaven, “Were it possible,”

cried he, “for fate to reconcile contradictions, and recall the

irremediable current of events, I would now believe that there was

happiness still in reserve for the forlorn Zelos, now that I tread the

land of freedom and humanity, now that I find myself befriended by the

most generous of men. Alas! I ask not happiness! If, by the kind

endeavours of the gallant Count de Melvil, to whom I am already

indebted for my life, and by the efforts of his friends, the honour of

my name shall be purified and cleared from the poisonous stains of

malice by which it is at present spotted, I shall then enjoy all that

satisfaction which destiny can bestow upon a wretch whose woes are

incurable.”

Renaldo comforted him with the assurance of his being on the eve of

triumphing over his adversaries; and Joshua confirmed the consolation,

by giving him to understand, that he had correspondents in Spain of

some influence in the state; that he had already written to them on the

subject of Don Diego, in consequence of a letter which he had received

from Melvil while he tarried at Mons, and that he, every post, expected

a favourable answer on that subject.

After dinner, the physician took his leave, though not before he had

promised to meet Renaldo at night, and accompany him in the repetition

of his midnight visit to Monimia’s tomb; for this pilgrimage the

unfortunate youth resolved nightly to perform during the whole time of

his residence in England. It was, indeed, a sort of pleasure, the

prospect of which enabled him to bear the toil of living through the

day, though his patience was almost quite exhausted before the hour of

assignation arrived.

When the doctor appeared with the coach, he leaped into it with great

eagerness, after he had, with much difficulty, prevailed with Don Diego

to stay at home, on account of his health, which was not yet perfectly

established. The Castilian, however, would not comply with his request,

until he had obtained the Count’s promise, that he should be permitted

to accompany him next night, and take that duty alternately with the

physician.

About midnight, they reached the place, where they found the sexton in

waiting, according to the orders he had received. The door was opened,

the mourner conducted to the tomb, and left, as before, to the gloom of

his own meditations. Again he laid himself on the cold ground; again he

renewed his lamentable strain; his imagination began to be heated into

an ecstasy of enthusiasm, during which he again fervently invoked the

spirit of his deceased Monimia.

In the midst of these invocations, his ear was suddenly invaded with

the sound of some few solemn notes issuing from the organ, which seemed

to feel the impulse of an invisible hand.

At this awful salutation, Melvil was roused to the keenest sense of

surprise and attention. Reason shrunk before the thronging ideas of his

fancy, which represented this music as the prelude to something strange

and supernatural; and, while he waited for the sequel, the place was

suddenly illuminated, and each surrounding object brought under the

cognisance of his eye.

What passed within his mind on this occasion is not easy to be

described. All his faculties were swallowed up by those of seeing and

hearing. He had mechanically raised himself upon one knee, with his

body advancing forwards; and in this attitude he gazed with a look

through which his soul seemed eager to escape. To his view, thus

strained upon vacant space, in a few minutes appeared the figure of a

woman arrayed in white, with a veil that covered her face, and flowed

down upon her back and shoulders. The phantom approached him with an

easy step, and, lifting up her veil, discovered (believe it, O reader!)

the individual countenance of Monimia.

At sight of these well-known features, seemingly improved with new

celestial graces, the youth became a statue, expressing amazement,

love, and awful adoration. He saw the apparition smile with meek

benevolence, divine compassion, warm and intendered by that fond pure

flame which death could not extinguish. He heard the voice of his

Monimia call Renaldo! Thrice he essayed to answer; as oft his tongue

denied its office. His hair stood upright, and a cold vapour seemed to

thrill through every nerve. This was not fear, but the infirmity of

human nature, oppressed by the presence of a superior being.

At length his agony was overcome. He recollected all his resolution,

and, in a strain of awestruck rapture, thus addressed the heavenly

visitant: “Hast thou then heard, pure spirit! the wailings of my grief?

hast thou descended from the realms of bliss, in pity to my woe? and

art thou come to speak the words of peace to my desponding soul? To bid

the wretched smile, to lift the load of misery and care from the

afflicted breast; to fill thy lover’s heart with joy and pleasing hope,

was still the darling task of my Monimia, ere yet refined to that

perfection which mortality can never attain. No wonder then, blessed

shade, that now, when reunited to thy native heaven, thou art still

kind, propitious, and beneficent to us, who groan in this inhospitable

vale of sorrow thou hast left. Tell me, ah! tell me, dost thou still

remember those fond hours we passed together? Doth that enlightened

bosom feel a pang of soft regret, when thou recallest our fatal

separation? Sure that meekened glance bespeaks thy sympathy! Ah! how

that tender look o’erpowers me! Sacred Heaven! the pearly drops of pity

trickle down thy cheeks! Such are the tears that angels shed o’er man’s

distress!—Turn not away—Thou beckonest me to follow. Yes, I will follow

thee, ethereal spirit, as far as these weak limbs, encumbered with

mortality, will bear my weight; and, would to Heaven! I could, with

ease, put off these vile corporeal shackles, and attend thy flight.”

So saying, he started from the ground, and, in a transport of eager

expectation, at awful distance, traced the footsteps of the apparition,

which, entering a detached apartment, sunk down upon a chair, and with

a sigh exclaimed, “Indeed, this is too much!” What was the disorder of

Renaldo’s mind, when he perceived this phenomenon! Before reflection

could perform its office, moved by a sudden impulse, he sprung

forwards, crying, “If it be death to touch thee, let me die!” and

caught in his arms, not the shadow, but the warm substance of the

all-accomplished Monimia. “Mysterious powers of Providence! this is no

phantom! this is no shade! this is the life! the panting bosom of her

whom I have so long, so bitterly deplored! I fold her in my arms! I

press her glowing breast to mine! I see her blush with virtuous

pleasure and ingenuous love! She smiles upon me with enchanting

tenderness! O let me gaze on that transcendent beauty, which, the more

I view it, ravishes the more! These charms are too intense; I sicken

while I gaze! Merciful Heaven! is not this a mere illusion of the

brain? Was she not fled for ever? Had not the cold hand of death

divorced her from my hope? This must be some flattering vision of my

distempered fancy! perhaps some soothing dream— If such it be, grant, O

ye heavenly powers! that I may never wake.”

“O gentle youth!” replied the beauteous orphan, still clasped in his

embrace, “what joy now fills the bosom of Monimia, at this triumph of

thy virtue and thy love? When I see these transports of thy affection,

when I find thee restored to that place in my esteem and admiration,

which thou hadst lost by the arts of calumny and malice—this is a

meeting which my most sanguine hopes durst not presage!”

So entirely were the faculties of Renaldo engrossed in the

contemplation of his restored Monimia, that he saw not the rest of the

company, who wept with transport over this affecting scene. He was

therefore amazed at the interposition of Madam Clement, who, while the

shower of sympathetic pleasure bedewed her cheeks, congratulated the

lovers upon this happy event, crying, “These are the joys which virtue

calls her own.” They also received the compliments of a reverend

clergyman, who told Monimia, she had reaped, at last, the fruits of

that pious resignation to the will of Heaven, which she had so devoutly

practised during the term of her affliction. And, lastly, they were

accosted by the physician, who was not quite so hackneyed in the ways

of death, or so callous to the finer sensations of the soul, but that

he blubbered plentifully, wile he petitioned Heaven in behalf of such

an accomplished and deserving pair.

Monimia taking Madam Clement by the hand, “Whatever joy,” said she,

“Renaldo derives from this occasion, is owing to the bounty, the

compassion, and maternal care of this incomparable lady, together with

the kind admonitions and humanity of those two worthy gentlemen.”

Melvil, whose passions were still in agitation, and whose mind could

not yet digest the incidents that occurred, embraced them all by turns;

but, like the faithful needle, which, though shaken for an instant from

its poise, immediately regains its true direction, and points

invariably to the pole, he soon returned to his Monimia; again he held

her in his arms, again he drank enchantment from her eyes, and thus

poured forth the effusions of his soul:—“Can I then trust the evidence

of sense? And art thou really to my wish restored? Never, O never did

thy beauty shine with such bewitching grace, as that which now

confounds and captivates my view! Sure there is something more than

mortal in thy looks!—Where hast thou lived?—where borrowed this

perfection?—whence art thou now descended?—Oh! I am all amazement, joy,

and fear!—Thou wilt not leave me!—No! we must not part again. By this

warm kiss! a thousand times more sweet than all the fragrance of the

East! we nevermore will part. O! this is rapture, ecstasy, and what no

language can explain!”

In the midst of these ejaculations, he ravished a banquet from her

glowing lips, that kindled in his heart a flame which rushed through

every vein, and glided to his marrow. This was a privilege he had never

claimed before, and now permitted as a recompense for all the penance

he had suffered. Nevertheless, the cheeks of Monimia, who was

altogether unaccustomed to such familiarities, underwent a total

suffusion; and Madam Clement discreetly relieved her from the anxiety

of her situation, by interfering in the discourse, and rallying the

Count upon his endeavours to monopolise such a branch of happiness.

“O my dear lady!” replied Renaldo, who by this time had, in some

measure, recovered his recollection, “forgive the wild transports of a

fond lover, who hath so unexpectedly retrieved the jewel of his soul!

Yet, far from wishing to hoard up his treasure, he means to communicate

and diffuse his happiness to all his friends. O my Monimia! how will

the pleasure of this hour be propagated! As yet thou knowest not all

the bliss that is reserved for thy enjoyment!—Meanwhile, I long to

learn by what contrivance this happy interview hath been effected.

Still am I ignorant how I was transported into this apartment, from the

lonely vault in which I mourned over my supposed misfortune!”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

THE MYSTERY UNFOLDED—ANOTHER RECOGNITION, WHICH, IT IS TO BE HOPED, THE

READER COULD NOT FORESEE.

The French lady then explained the whole mystery of Monimia’s death, as

a stratagem she had concerted with the clergyman and doctor, in order

to defeat the pernicious designs of Fathom, who seemed determined to

support his false pretensions by dint of perjury and fraud, which they

would have found it very difficult to elude. She observed, that the

physician had actually despaired of Monimia’s life, and it was not till

after she herself was made acquainted with the prognostic, that she

wrote the letter to Renaldo, which she committed to the care of Madam

Clement, with an earnest entreaty, that it should not be sent till

after her decease. But that lady, believing the Count had been

certainly abused by his treacherous confidant, despatched the billet

without the knowledge of Monimia, whose health was restored by the

indefatigable care of the physician, and the sage exhortations of the

clergyman, by which she was reconciled to life. In a word, the villany

of Fathom had inspired her with some faint hope that Renaldo might

still be innocent; and that notion contributed not a little to her

cure.

The letter having so effectually answered their warmest hopes, in

bringing back Renaldo such a pattern of constancy and love, the

confederates, in consequence of his enthusiastic sorrow, had planned

this meeting, as the most interesting way of restoring two virtuous

lovers to the arms of each other; for which purpose the good clergyman

had pitched upon his own church, and indulged them with the use of the

vestry, in which they now were presented with a small but elegant

collation.

Melvil heard this succinct detail with equal joy and admiration. He

poured forth the dictates of his gratitude to the preservers of his

happiness.—“This church,” said he, “shall henceforth possess a double

share of my veneration; this holy man will, I hope, finish the

charitable work he has begun, by tying those bands of our happiness,

which nought but death shall have power to unbind.” Then turning to

that object which was the star of his regard, “Do I not overrate,” said

he, “my interest with the fair Monimia?” She made no verbal reply; but

answered by an emphatic glance, more eloquent than all the power of

rhetoric and speech. This language, which is universal in the world of

love, he perfectly well understood, and, in token of that faculty,

sealed the assent which she had smiled, with a kiss imprinted on her

polished forehead.

In order to dissipate these interesting ideas, which, by being too long

indulged, might have endangered his reason, Madam Clement entreated him

to entertain the company with a detail of what had happened to him in

his last journey to the empire, and Monimia expressed a desire of

knowing, in particular, the issue of his contest with Count Trebasi,

who, she knew, had usurped the succession of his father.

Thus solicited, he could not refuse to gratify their curiosity and

concern. He explained his obligations to the benevolent Jew; related

the steps he had taken at Vienna for the recovery of his inheritance;

informed them of his happy rencontre with his father-in-law; of his

sister’s deliverance, and marriage; of the danger into which his life

had been precipitated by the news of Monimia’s death; and, lastly, of

his adventure with the banditti, in favour of a gentleman, who, he

afterwards understood, had been robbed in the most base and barbarous

manner by Fathom. He likewise, to the astonishment of all present, and

of his mistress in particular, communicated some circumstances, which

shall appear in due season.

Monimia’s tender frame being quite fatigued with the scene she had

acted, and her mind overwhelmed with the prosperous tidings she had

heard, after having joined the congratulations of the company, on the

good fortune of her Renaldo, begged leave to retire, that she might by

repose recruit her exhausted spirits; and the night being pretty far

spent, she was conducted by her lover to Madam Clement’s coach, that

stood in waiting, in which also the rest of the company made shift to

embark, and were carried to the house of that good lady, where, after

they were invited to dine, and Melvil entreated to bring Don Diego and

the Jew along with them, they took leave of one another, and retired to

their respective lodgings in a transport of joy and satisfaction.

As for Renaldo, his rapture was still mixed with apprehension, that all

he had seen and heard was no more than an unsubstantial vision, raised

by some gay delirium of a disordered imagination. While his breast

underwent those violent, though blissful emotions of joy and

admiration, his friend the Castilian spent the night in ruminating over

his own calamities, and in a serious and severe review of his own

conduct. He compared his own behaviour with that of the young

Hungarian, and found himself so light in the scale, that he smote his

breast with violence, exclaiming in an agony of remorse:

“Count Melvil has reason to grieve; Don Diego to despair. His

misfortunes flow from the villany of mankind; mine are the fruit of my

own madness. He laments the loss of a mistress, who fell a sacrifice to

the perfidious arts of a crafty traitor. She was beautiful, virtuous,

accomplished, and affectionate; he was fraught with sensibility and

love. Doubtless his heart must have deeply suffered; his behaviour

denotes the keenness of his woe; his eyes are everflowing fountains of

tears; his bosom the habitation of sighs; five hundred leagues hath he

measured in a pilgrimage to her tomb; nightly he visits the dreary

vault where she now lies at rest; her solitary grave is his couch; he

converses with darkness and the dead, until each lonely aisle re-echoes

his distress. What would be his penance, had he my cause! were he

conscious of having murdered a beloved wife and darling daughter! Ah

wretch!—ah cruel homicide!—what had those dear victims done to merit

such a fate? Were they not ever gentle and obedient, ever aiming to

give thee satisfaction and delight? Say, that Serafina was enamoured of

a peasant; say, that she had degenerated from the honour of her race.

The inclinations are involuntary; perhaps that stranger was her equal

in pedigree and worth. Had they been fairly questioned, they might have

justified, at least excused, that conduct which appeared so criminal;

or had they owned the offence, and supplicated pardon—O barbarous

monster that I am! was all the husband—was all the father extinguished

in my heart? How shall my own errors be forgiven, if I refused to

pardon the frailties of my own blood—of those who are most dear to my

affection? Yet nature pleaded strongly in their behalf!—My heart was

bursting while I dismissed them to the shades of death. I was maddened

with revenge! I was guided by that savage principle which falsely we

call honour.

“Accursed phantom! that assumes the specious title, and misleads our

wretched nation! Is it then honourable to skulk like an assassin, and

plunge the secret dagger in the heart of some unhappy man, who hath

incurred my groundless jealousy or suspicion, without indulging him

with that opportunity which the worst criminal enjoys? Or is it

honourable to poison two defenceless women, a tender wife, an amiable

daughter, whom even a frown would almost have destroyed?—O! this is

cowardice, brutality, hell-born fury and revenge! Heaven hath not mercy

to forgive such execrable guilt. Who gave thee power, abandoned

ruffian! over the lives of those whom God hath stationed as thy fellows

of probation;—over those whom he had sent to comfort and assist thee;

to sweeten all thy cares, and smooth the rough uneven paths of life? O!

I am doomed to never-ceasing horror and remorse! If misery can atone

for such enormous guilt, I have felt it in the extreme. Like an undying

vulture it preys upon my heart;—to sorrow I am wedded; I hug that

teeming consort to my soul;—never, ah! never shall we part; for soon as

my fame shall shine unclouded by the charge of treason that now hangs

over it, I will devote myself to penitence and woe. A cold, damp

pavement shall be my bed; my raiment shall be sackcloth; the fields

shall furnish herbage for my food; the stream shall quench my thirst;

the minutes shall be numbered by my groans; the night be privy to my

strains of sorrow, till Heaven, in pity to my sufferings, release me

from the penance I endure. Perhaps the saints whom I have murdered will

intercede for my remission.”

Such was the exercise of grief, in which the hapless Castilian consumed

the night; he had not yet consigned himself to rest, when Renaldo

entering his chamber, displayed such a gleam of wildness and rapture on

his countenance, as overwhelmed him with amazement; for, till that

moment, he had never seen his visage unobscured with woe. “Pardon this

abrupt intrusion, my friend,” cried Melvil, “I could no longer withhold

from your participation, the great, the unexpected turn, which hath

this night dispelled all my sorrows, and restored me to the fruition of

ineffable joy. Monimia lives!—the fair, the tender, the virtuous

Monimia lives, and smiles upon my vows! This night I retrieved her from

the grave. I held her in these arms; I pressed her warm delicious lips

to mine! Oh, I am giddy with intolerable pleasure!”

Don Diego was confounded at this declaration, which he considered as

the effects of a disordered brain. He never doubted that Renaldo’s

grief had at length overpowered his reason, and that his words were the

effects of mere frenzy. While he mused on this melancholy subject, the

Count composed his features, and, in a succinct and well-connected

detail, explained the whole mystery of his happiness, to the

inexpressible astonishment of the Spaniard, who shed tears of

satisfaction, and straining the Hungarian to his breast, “O my son,”

said he, “you see what recompense Heaven hath in store for those who

pursue the paths of real virtue; those paths from which I myself have

been fatally misled by a faithless vapour, which hath seduced my steps,

and left me darkling in the abyss of wretchedness. Such as you describe

this happy fair, was once my Serafina, rich in every grace of mind and

body which nature could bestow. Had it pleased Heaven to bless her with

a lover like Renaldo! but no more, the irrevocable shaft is fled. I

will not taint your enjoyment with my unavailing sighs!”

Melvil assured this disconsolate father, that no pleasure, no avocation

should ever so entirely engross his mind, but that he should still find

an hour for sympathy and friendship. He communicated the invitation of

Madam Clement, and insisted upon his compliance, that he might have an

opportunity of seeing and approving the object of his passion. “I can

refuse nothing to the request of Count de Melvil,” replied the

Spaniard, “and it were ungrateful in me to decline the honour you

propose. I own myself inflamed with a desire of beholding a young lady,

whose perfections I have seen reflected in your sorrow; my curiosity

is, moreover, interested on account of that humane gentlewoman, whose

uncommon generosity sheltered such virtue in distress; but my

disposition is infectious, and will, I am afraid, hang like a damp upon

the general festivity of your friends.”

Melvil would take no denial, and having obtained his consent, repaired

to the house of Joshua, whose countenance seemed to unbend gradually

into a total expression of joy and surprise, as he learned the

circumstances of this amazing event. He faithfully promised to attend

the Count at the appointed hour, and, in the meantime, earnestly

exhorted him to take some repose, in order to quiet the agitation of

his spirits, which must have been violently hurried on this occasion.

The advice was salutary, and Renaldo resolved to follow it.

He returned to his lodgings, and laid himself down; but,

notwithstanding the fatigue he had undergone, sleep refused to visit

his eyelids, all his faculties being kept in motion by the ideas that

crowded so fast upon his imagination. Nevertheless, though his mind

continued in agitation, his body was refreshed, and he arose in the

forenoon with more serenity and vigour than he had enjoyed for many

months. Every moment his heart throbbed with new rapture, when he found

himself on the brink of possessing all that his soul held dear and

amiable; he put on his gayest looks and apparel; insisted upon the

Castilian’s doing the same honour to the occasion; and the alteration

of dress produced such an advantageous change in the appearance of Don

Diego, that when Joshua arrived at the appointed hour, he could scarce

recognise his features, and complimented him very politely on the

improvement of his looks.

True it is, the Spaniard was a personage of a very prepossessing mien

and noble deportment; and had not grief, by increasing his native

gravity, in some measure discomposed the symmetry of his countenance,

he would have passed for a man of a very amiable and engaging

physiognomy. They set out in the Jew’s coach for the house of Madam

Clement, and were ushered into an apartment, where they found the

clergyman and physician with that lady, to whom Don Diego and the

Hebrew were by Melvil introduced.

Before they had seated themselves, Renaldo inquired about the health of

Monimia, and was directed to the next room by Madam Clement, who

permitted him to go thither, and conduct her to the company. He was not

slow of availing himself of this permission. He disappeared in an

instant, and, during his short absence, Don Diego was strangely

disturbed The blood flushed and forsook his cheeks by turns; a cold

vapour seemed to shiver through his nerves; and at his breast he felt

uncommon palpitation. Madam Clement observed his discomposure, and

kindly inquired into the cause; when he replied, “I have such an

interest in what concerns the Count de Melvil, and my imagination is so

much prepossessed with the perfections of Monimia, that I am, as it

were, agonised with expectation; yet never did my curiosity before

raise such tumults as those that now agitate my bosom.”

He had scarce pronounced these words, when the door, reopening, Renaldo

led in this mirror of elegance and beauty, at sight of whom the

Israelite’s countenance was distorted into a stare of admiration. But

if such was the astonishment of Joshua, what were the emotions of the

Castilian, when, in the beauteous orphan, he beheld the individual

features of his long-lost Serafina!

His feelings are not to be described. The fond parent, whose affection

shoots even to a sense of pain, feels not half such transport, when he

unexpectedly retrieves a darling child from the engulfing billows or

devouring flame. The hope of Zelos had been totally extinguished. His

heart had been incessantly torn with anguish and remorse, upbraiding

him as the murderer of Serafina. His, therefore, were the additional

transports of a father disburdened of the guilt of such enormous

homicide. His nerves were too much overpowered by this sudden

recognition, to manifest the sensation of his soul by external signs.

He started not, nor did he lift an hand in token of surprise; he moved

not from the spot on which he stood; but, riveting his eyes to those of

the lovely phantom, remained without motion, until she, approaching

with her lover, fell at his feet, and clasping his knees, exclaimed,

“May I yet call you father?”

This powerful shock aroused his faculties; a cold sweat bedewed his

forehead; his knees began to totter; he dropped upon the floor, and

throwing his arms around her, cried, “O nature! O Serafina! Merciful

Providence! thy ways are past finding out.” So saying, he fell upon her

neck, and wept aloud. The tears of sympathetic joy trickled down her

snowy bosom, that heaved with rapture inexpressible. Renaldo’s eyes

poured forth the briny stream. The cheeks of Madam Clement were not dry

in this conjuncture; she kneeled by Serafina, kissed her with all the

eagerness of maternal affection, and with uplifted hands adored the

Power that preordained this blessed event. The clergyman and doctor

intimately shared the general transport; and as for Joshua, the drops

of true benevolence flowed from his eyes, like the oil on Aaron’s

beard, while he skipped about the room in an awkward ecstasy, and in a

voice resembling the hoarse notes of the long-eared tribe, cried, “O

father Abraham! such a moving scene hath not been acted since Joseph

disclosed himself unto his brethren in Egypt.”

Don Diego having found utterance to his passion, proceeded in this

strain: “O my dear child! to find thee thus again, after our last

unhappy parting, is wonderful! miraculous! Blessed be the all-good, my

conscience. I am not then the dire assassin, who sacrificed his wife

and daughter to an infernal motive, falsely titled honour? though I am

more and more involved in a mystery, which I long to hear explained.”

“That shall be my task,” cried Renaldo, “but first permit me to implore

your sanction to my passion for the incomparable Serafina. You already

know our mutual sentiments; and though I own the possession of such

inestimable worth and beauty would be a recompense that infinitely

transcends the merit I can plead, yet, as it hath been my good fortune

to inspire her with a mutual flame, I hope to reap from your indulgence

here, what I could not expect from my own desert; and we present

ourselves, in hope of your paternal assent and benediction.”

“Were she more fair and good and gentle than she is,” answered the

Castilian, “and to my partial observation nought e’er appeared on earth

more beauteous and engaging, I would approve your title to her heart,

and recommend you to her smiles, with all a father’s influence and

power. Yes, my daughter! my joy on this occasion is infinitely

augmented by the knowledge of those tender ties of love that bind thee

to this amiable youth; a youth to whose uncommon courage and generosity

I owe my life and my subsistence, together with the inexpressible

delight that now revels in my bosom. Enjoy, my children, the happy

fruits of your reciprocal attachment. May Heaven, which hath graciously

conducted you through a labyrinth of perplexity and woe, to this

transporting view of blissful days, indulge you with that uninterrupted

stream of pure felicity, which is the hope, and ought to be the boon of

virtue, such as yours!”

So saying, he joined their hands, and embraced them with the most

cordial love and satisfaction, which diffused itself to every

individual of the company, who fervently invoked the Almighty Power, in

behalf of this enraptured pair. The tumult of these emotions having a

little subsided, and the Castilian being seated betwixt Renaldo and his

beauteous bride, he politely bespoke the indulgence of Madam Clement,

begging she would permit him to demand the performance of the Count’s

promise, that he might be forthwith made acquainted with those

circumstances of his own fate which he was so impatient to learn.

The lady having assured him, that she and all the company would take

pleasure in hearing the recapitulation, the Spaniard, addressing

himself to Melvil, “In the name of Heaven!” said he, “how could you

supplant that rival, who fell a sacrifice to my resentment, after he

had bewitched the heart of Serafina? for, sure, the affection he had

kindled in her breast must have long survived his death,” “That rival,”

replied the Count, “who incurred your displeasure, was no other than

Renaldo.” With these words, he applied to one eye a patch of black silk

provided for the purpose, and turning his face towards Don Diego, that

gentleman started with astonishment, crying, “Good Heaven! the very

countenance of Orlando, whom I slew! this is still more amazing!”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

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

“Indulge me with a patient hearing,” proceeded the Hungarian, “and all

these riddles soon will be explained. Inflamed with the desire of

seeing foreign countries, I disobeyed the will of an indulgent father,

from whose house, withdrawing privately, I set out for Italy, in

disguise, by the way of Tyrol, visited Venice, Rome, Florence, and,

embarking at Naples, in an English ship, arrived at St. Lucar, from

whence I repaired to Seville; there, in a few days, was my curiosity

engaged by the fame of the fair Serafina, who was justly deemed the

most accomplished beauty in that part of Spain. Nay, blush not, gentle

creature! for by my hopes of heaven! thy charms were even injured by

the cold applause of that report. Nevertheless, I was warmly interested

by the uncommon character, and eagerly longed to see this pattern of

perfection. As Don Diego did not train her up in that restraint to

which the Spanish ladies are subjected, I soon found an opportunity of

seeing her at church; and no person here present will, I presume, doubt

but that I was instantly captivated by her beauty and deportment. Had I

thought that Don Diego’s favour was unengaged, perhaps I should have

followed the dictates of vanity and inexperience, and presented myself

in my own character, among the crowd of her professed admirers. I knew

her father had been an officer of distinguished rank and reputation,

and did not doubt that he would have regarded a young soldier of

unexceptionable pedigree, and, I will even add, of untainted fame. Nor

did I suppose my own father could have objected against such an

advantageous match; but, by dint of industrious inquiry, I learned,

that the divine Serafina was already betrothed to Don Manuel de

Mendoza, and this information overwhelmed me with despair.

“After having revolved a thousand projects for retarding and preventing

that detested union, I resolved to avail myself of my talent for

drawing, and professed myself a master of that science, in hope of

being employed by the father of Serafina, who, I knew, let slip no

opportunity of improving his daughter’s education. Accordingly I had

the good fortune to attract his notice, was invited to his house,

honoured with his approbation, and furnished with unrestricted

opportunities of conversing with the dear object of my love. The

passion which her beauty had kindled was by the perfections of her mind

inflamed to such a degree of transport, as could not be concealed from

her penetration. She chanced to relish my conversation; I gradually

acquired her friendship; pity was the next passion that she entertained

in my favour. I then ventured to disclose myself, and the dear charmer

did not disapprove of my presumption. She and her mother had been

perplexed with some religious scruples, concerning which they appealed

to my opinion; and I was happy enough to set their minds at ease.

“This sort of intercourse naturally created a mutual confidence among

us; and, in a word, I was blessed with the daughter’s love and mother’s

approbation. Don Diego will pardon these clandestine measures, which we

took, from a full persuasion that it was impossible to render him

propitious to the views in which our hearts and hands were so deeply

interested. I did not then know how little he was addicted to

superstition.

“Without entering into a detail of the schemes we projected to delay

the happiness of Mendoza, I shall only observe, that, knowing the fatal

day was at length unalterably fixed, we determined to elude the purpose

of Don Diego by flight; and everything was actually prepared for our

escape. When the hour of appointment arrived, I repaired to the place

at which I had proposed to enter the house, and stumbled, in the dark,

over the body of a man still warm, and bleeding. Alarmed at this

occurrence, I darted myself through the window, and rushing to the

apartment of the ladies, (immortal powers!) beheld the peerless

Serafina, and her virtuous mother, stretched on a couch, and, in all

appearance, deprived of life.

“The company will easily conceive what agonies I felt at such a

spectacle! I ran towards the spot in a transport of horror! I clasped

my lovely mistress in my arms, and, finding her still breathing,

endeavoured, but in vain, to wake her from the trance Antonia was

overwhelmed with the same lethargic power. My fancy was immediately

struck with the apprehension of their being poisoned. Regardless of my

own situation, I alarmed the family, called for assistance, and

requested the servants to summon Don Diego to the dismal scene. I was

informed that their master had rode forth in manifest confusion; and

while I pondered on this surprising excursion, an apothecary in the

neighbourhood entered the chamber, and having examined the pulses of

the ladies, declared that their lives were in no danger, and advised

that they should be undressed, and conveyed to bed. While their women

were busied in this employment, I went into the court-yard, attended by

some of the servants with lights, in order to view the body of the man

which I had found at my arrival. His apparel was mean, his countenance

ferocious; a long spado was buckled to his thigh, and, in his belt,

were stuck a brace of loaded pistols; so that we concluded he was some

thief, who had waited for an opportunity, and seeing the casement open,

intended to rob the house, but was prevented, and slain by Don Diego

himself, whose retreat, however, did not a little confound our

conjecture. For my own part, I remained all night in the house,

tortured with fear, vexation, and suspense.

“My hope was altogether disappointed by this unhappy accident; and I

shuddered at the prospect of losing Serafina for ever, either by this

mysterious malady, or by her marriage with Mendoza, which I now

despaired of being able to defeat. The major-domo having waited several

hours for his lord’s return, without seeing him appear, thought proper

to despatch a messenger to Don Manuel, with an account of what had

happened; and that nobleman arriving in the morning, took possession of

the house. About four o’clock in the afternoon, Serafina began to stir,

and, at five, she and her mother were perfectly awake.

“They no sooner recovered the use of reflection, than they gave signs

of equal sorrow and amazement, and earnestly called for Isabella, who

was privy to our design, and who, after a very minute inquiry, was

found in a lone and solitary chamber, where she had been confined. Such

was the confusion of the house, that no person ever dreamed of asking

how I entered, each domestic, in all probability, supposing I had been

introduced by his fellow; so that I tarried unquestioned, on pretence

of concern for the distress of a family in which I had been so

generously entertained, and, by Isabella, sent my respects and duty to

her ladies. She was, therefore, not a little surprised, when, after

every other servant had withdrawn, she heard the lovely Serafina

exclaim, with all the violence of grief, ‘Ah! Isabella, Orlando is no

more!’ But their astonishment was still greater, when she assured them

of my being alive, and in the house. They recounted to her the

adventure of last night, which she explained, by informing them of the

letters which Don Diego had intercepted. And they immediately

concluded, that he had, in the precipitation of his wrath, killed, by

mistake, the person who was found dead in the court-yard. This

conjecture alarmed them on my account; they, by the medium of Isabella,

conjured me to leave the house, lest Don Diego should return, and

accomplish his resentment; and I was persuaded to withdraw, after I had

settled the channel of a correspondence with the confidant.

“Being now obliged to alter our measures, because our former intention

was discovered by Don Diego, I secured a retreat for Serafina and her

mother, at the house of the English consul in Seville, who was my

particular friend; and, next day, understanding from Isabella that her

lord had not yet reappeared, and that Don Manuel was very urgent in his

addresses, we concerted an assignation in the garden, and that same

evening I was fortunate enough to convey my prize to the asylum I had

prepared for their reception. Inexpressible was the rage of Mendoza,

when he heard of their elopement. He raved like one deprived of

reason—swore he would put all the servants of the family to the

rack—and, in consequence of the intelligence he obtained by threats and

promises, set on foot a very strict inquiry, in order to apprehend the

fugitives and Orlando, who had by some means or other incurred his

suspicion.

“We eluded his search by the vigilance and caution of our kind host;

and, while we remained in concealment, were extremely astonished to

hear that the unfortunate Don Diego was proclaimed a traitor, and a

price set upon his head. This information overwhelmed us all with the

utmost affliction. Antonia lamented, without ceasing, the disgrace of

her beloved lord, from whom she never would have withdrawn herself, but

with the lively hope of a reconciliation, after the first transports of

his ire should have subsided, and the real character of Orlando should

have appeared. It was not long before we had reason to believe that

Mendoza was the accuser of Don Diego—

“Nay, start not, Signior; Manuel was actually that traitor! This was

the turn of his revenge! when he found himself disappointed in the hope

of possessing the incomparable Serafina, he took a base advantage of

your absence and retreat. He posted to Madrid, impeached you to the

secretary of state of having maintained a criminal correspondence with

the enemies of Spain, included me in his accusation, as a spy for the

house of Austria, and framed such a plausible tale, from the

circumstances of your distress, that Don Diego was outlawed, and

Mendoza gratified with a grant of his estate.

“These melancholy incidents made a deep impression upon the mind of the

virtuous Antonia, who waiving every other consideration, would have

personally appeared for the vindication of her husband’s honour, had

not we dissuaded her from such a rash undertaking, by demonstrating her

inability to contend with such a powerful antagonist; and representing

that her appearance would be infallibly attended with the ruin of

Serafina, who would certainly fall into the hands of the villain to

whom she had been contracted. We exhorted her to wait patiently for

some happy revolution of fortune, and encouraged her with the hope of

Don Diego’s exerting himself effectually in his own defence.

“Meanwhile our worthy landlord was suddenly cut off by death; and his

widow being resolved to retire into her own country, we secretly

embarked in the same ship, and arrived in England about eighteen months

ago. Antonia still continued to pine over the ruin of her house; as she

could hear no tidings of Don Diego, she concluded he was dead, and

mourned with unabating sorrow. In vain I assured her, that, soon as my

own affairs should be adjusted, I would exert my whole endeavours to

find and succour him. She could not imagine that a man of his spirit

and disposition would live so long in obscurity. And her affliction

derived new force from the death of the consul’s widow, with whom she

had lived in the most unbounded intimacy and friendship. From that day,

her health evidently declined. She foresaw her dissolution, and

comforted herself with the hope of seeing her husband and her friend in

a place where no treachery is felt, and no sorrow is known; confident

of my integrity, and the purity of my love, she, in the most pathetic

terms, recommended Serafina to my care.

“Ha! weepest thou, fair excellence, at the remembrance of that tender

scene, when the good Antonia, on the bed of death, joined thy soft hand

to mine, and said, ‘Renaldo, I bequeath this orphan to your love; it is

a sacred pledge, which, if you cherish with due honour and regard,

internal peace and happiness will ever smile within your bosom; but if

you treat it with indifference, dishonour, or neglect, just Heaven will

punish your breach of trust with everlasting disappointments and

disquiet.’

“Signior Don Diego, I see you are moved, and therefore will not dwell

on such distressful circumstances. The excellent Antonia exchanged this

life for a more happy state; and so exquisite was the sorrow of the

tender-hearted Serafina, as to torture me with the apprehension that

she would not long survive her pious mother. How I obeyed the

injunctions of that departing saint, Monimia (for that name she now

assumed) can testify, until that artful serpent Fathom glided into our

mutual confidence, abused our ears, poisoned our unsuspected faith, and

effected that fatal breach, productive of all the misery and vexation

which we have suffered, and which is now so happily expelled.”

“Heaven,” said the Castilian, “hath visited me for the sins and errors

of my youth; yet, such mercy hath been mingled with its chastisements,

I dare not murmur or repine. The tears of penitence and sorrow shall

water my Antonia’s grave; as for Mendoza, I rejoice at his treachery,

by which the obligation of my promise is cancelled, and my honour fully

acquitted. He shall not triumph in his guilt. My services, my

character, and innocence shall soon confront his perfidy, and, I hope,

defeat his interest. The King is just and gracious, nor is my family

and name unknown.”

Here the Jew interposing, presented to him a letter from a person of

consequence at Madrid, whom Joshua had interested in the cause of Don

Diego; that nobleman had already found means to represent the case of

Zelos to his Majesty, who had actually ordered Don Manuel to be

confined, until the injured person should appear to justify himself,

and prosecute his accuser according to the terms of law. At the same

time Don Diego was summoned to present himself before the King within a

limited time, to answer to the charge which Mendoza had brought against

him.

The Spaniard’s heart overflowed with gratitude and joy, when he read

this intimation; he embraced the Jew, who, before Zelos could give

utterance to his thoughts, told him that the Spanish Ambassador at

London, having been prepossessed in his favour, craved the honour of

seeing Don Diego; and that he, Joshua, was ready to conduct him to the

house.

“Then is my heart at rest!” cried the Castilian; “the house of Zelos

once more shall lift up its head. I shall again revisit my native

country with honour, and abase the villain who hath soiled my fame! O

my children! this day is replete with such joy and satisfaction, as I

did not think had been in the power of Heaven to grant, without the

interposition of a miracle! To you, Renaldo, to you illustrious lady,

and to these worthy gentlemen, am I indebted for the restoration of

that for which alone I wish to live; and when my heart ceases to retain

the obligation, may I forfeit the name of a Castilian, and scorn and

dishonour be my portion.”

Perhaps all Europe could not produce another company so happy as that

which now sat down to dinner in the house of Madam Clement, whose own

benevolent heart was peculiarly adapted for such enjoyment. The lovers

feasted their eyes more than their appetite, by a tender intercourse of

glances, which needed not the slow interpretation of speech; while the

Spaniard regarded them alternately with looks of wonder and paternal

joy, and every individual surveyed the all-deserving pair with

admiration and esteem.

Serafina taking the advantage of this general satisfaction, when the

heart, softened into complacency, deposits every violent thought: “I

must now,” said she, “try my interest with Renaldo. The good company

shall bear witness to my triumph or repulse. I do not ask you to

forgive, but to withhold your vengeance from the wretched Fathom. His

fraud, ingratitude, and villany are, I believe, unrivalled; yet his

base designs have been defeated; and Heaven perhaps hath made him the

involuntary instrument for bringing our constancy and virtue to the

test; besides, his perfidy is already punished with the last degree of

human misery and disgrace. The doctor, who has traced him in all his

conduct and vicissitudes of fortune, will draw a picture of his present

wretchedness, which, I doubt not, will move your compassion, as it hath

already excited mine.”

The generous hostess was ready to enforce this charitable proposal with

all her eloquence, when Melvil, with a look that well expressed his

magnanimity of love, replied, “Such a boon becomes the gentle Serafina!

O! every moment furnishes me with fresh matter to admire the virtues of

thy soul. If thou, whose tender heart hath been so rent with misery and

anguish, canst intercede for thy tormentor, who now suffers in his

turn, shall I refuse to pardon the miserable wretch! No, let me glory

in imitating the great example, and solicit Don Diego in behalf of the

same miscreant whose perfidious barbarity cost him such intolerable

woe.” “Enough,” cried the Castilian, “I have disclaimed the vindictive

principles of a Spaniard; and leave the miserable object to the sting

of his own conscience, which, soon or late, will not fail to avenge the

wrongs we have sustained from his deceit.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

THE HISTORY DRAWS NEAR A PERIOD.

Universal was the applause which they acquired by this noble sacrifice

of their resentment. The afternoon was spent in the utmost harmony and

good-humour; and at the earnest solicitation of Renaldo, whose fancy

still harboured the apprehensions of another separation, Don Diego

consented that the indissoluble knot should be tied between that young

gentleman and Serafina in two days, and the place appointed for the

ceremony was the very church where they had been restored to the arms

of each other.

The lovely bride, with a silent blush that set her lover’s heart on

fire, submitted to this determination, in consequence of which the

company was bespoke for that auspicious hour, and the evening being

pretty far advanced, they took leave of the ladies, and retired to

their respective homes; Don Diego and his future son-in-law being

reconducted to their lodgings, in the coach of the Jew, who, taking an

opportunity of being alone with Melvil, observed that it would be

necessary on this occasion to supply the Castilian with a sum of money,

in order to support his dignity and independence, in furnishing

Serafina with everything suitable to her rank and merit; and that he

would willingly accommodate him, provided he knew how to propose it so

as to give no offence to his punctilious disposition.

Renaldo, thanking him for this generous anticipation, advised him to

solicit the Spaniard’s correspondence in the way of business, and to

put the whole on the footing of his own interest; by which means Don

Diego’s delicacy could sustain no affront. Fraught with this

instruction, the Israelite desired a private audience of the Castilian,

in which, after an apology for the freedom of his demand, “Signior Don

Diego,” said he, “as your fortune hath been so long embezzled by your

adversary in Spain, and your correspondence with that country entirely

cut off, it is not to be supposed that your finances are at present in

such a condition as to maintain the splendour of your family. Count de

Melvil’s whole fortune is at your command; and had not he been afraid

of giving umbrage to the peculiar delicacy of your sentiments, he would

have pressed you to use it for your convenience. For my own part, over

and above the inclination I have to serve Don Diego, I consult my own

private advantage in desiring you to accept my service on this

occasion. Money is the chief commodity in which I deal, and, if you

honour me with your commands, I shall be a gainer by my obedience.”

Don Diego replied, with a smile that denoted how well he understood the

meaning of this address, “Surely, Signior, I am bound by the strongest

ties to exert my utmost endeavours for your advantage; and I pray God

this your proposal may have that issue. I am well acquainted with the

Count’s generosity and refined notions of honour; and too much obliged

by him already, to hesitate with punctilious reserve in accepting his

future assistance. Nevertheless, since you have contrived a scheme for

removing all scruples of that sort, I shall execute it with pleasure;

and, in the form of business, you shall have all the security I can

give for what shall be necessary to answer my present occasions.”

The preliminaries being thus settled, Joshua advanced for his use a

thousand pounds, for which he would take neither bond, note, nor

receipt, desiring only that the Castilian would mark it in his own

pocket-book, that the debt might appear, in case any accident should

befall the borrower. Although the Spaniard had been accustomed to the

uncommon generosity of Melvil, he could not help wondering at this

nobleness of behaviour, so little to be expected from any merchant,

much less from a Jewish broker.

While this affair was on the anvil, Renaldo, who could no longer

withhold the communication of his happiness from his sister and

relations in Germany, took up the pen, and, in a letter to his

brother-in-law, recounted all the circumstances of the surprising turn

of fate which he had experienced since his arrival in England. He

likewise related the story of Don Diego, informed them of the day

appointed for his nuptials, and entreated the Major to make a journey

to London with his wife; or, if that should be impracticable, to come

as far as Brussels, where they should be met by him and his Serafina.

There was now but one day between him and the accomplishment of his

dearest wish, and that was spent in procuring a licence, and adjusting

the preparations for the grand festival. Don Diego in the forenoon

visited Madam Clement, to whom he repeated his warm acknowledgments of

her bounty and maternal affection to his daughter, and presented to

Serafina bank notes to the amount of five hundred pounds, to defray the

necessary expense for her wedding ornaments.

All the previous steps being taken for the solemnisation of this

interesting event, and the hour of appointment arrived, the bridegroom,

accompanied by his father-in-law, hastened to the place of rendezvous,

which was the vestry-room of the church we have already described;

where they were received by the good clergyman in his canonicals; and

here they had not waited many minutes, when they were joined by Madam

Clement and the amiable bride, escorted by the friendly physician, who

had all along borne such a share in their concerns. Serafina was

dressed in a sack of white satin, and the ornaments of her head were

adjusted in the Spanish fashion, which gave a peculiar air to her

appearance, and an additional spirit to those attractions which engaged

the heart of each beholder. There was nothing remarkable in the habit

of Renaldo, who had copied the plainness and elegance of his mistress;

but, when she entered the place, his features were animated with a

double proportion of vivacity, and their eyes meeting, seemed to kindle

a blaze which diffused warmth and joy through the countenances of all

present.

After a short pause, her father led her to the altar, and gave her away

to the transported Renaldo, before the priest who performed the

ceremony, and bestowed the nuptial benediction on this enraptured pair.

The sanction of the church being thus obtained, they withdrew into the

vestry, where Melvil sealed his title on her rosy lips, and presented

his wife to the company, who embraced her in their turns, with fervent

wishes for their mutual happiness.

Though the scene of this transaction was remote from any inhabited

neighbourhood, the church was surrounded by a crowd of people, who,

with uncommon demonstration of surprise and admiration, petitioned

Heaven to bless so fair a couple. Such indeed was their eagerness to

see them, that some lives were endangered by the pressure of the crowd,

which attended them with loud acclamations to the coach, after the

bridegroom had deposited in the hands of the minister one hundred

pounds for the benefit of the poor of that parish, and thrown several

handfuls of money among the multitude. Serafina re-embarked in Madam

Clement’s convenience, with that good lady and Don Diego, while

Renaldo, with the clergyman and doctor, followed in Joshua’s coach, to

a pleasant country-house upon the Thames, at a distance of a few miles

from London. This the Jew had borrowed from the owner for a few days,

and there they were received by that honest Hebrew, who had provided a

very elegant entertainment for the occasion. He had also bespoke a

small but excellent band of music, which regaled their ears while they

sat at dinner; and the afternoon being calm and serene, he prevailed on

them to take the air on the river, in a barge which he had prepared for

the purpose.

But, notwithstanding this diversity of amusement, Renaldo would have

found it the longest day he had ever passed, had not his imagination

been diverted by an incident which employed his attention during the

remaining part of the evening. They had drunk tea, and engaged in a

party at whist, when they were surprised with a noise of contention

from a public-house, that fronted the windows of the apartment in which

they sat. Alarmed at this uproar, they forsook their cards, and,

throwing up the casement, beheld a hearse surrounded by four men on

horseback, who had stopped the carriage, and violently pulled the

driver from his seat. This uncommon arrest had engaged the curiosity of

the publican’s family, who stood at the door to observe the

consequence, when all of a sudden appeared a person in canonicals, well

mounted, who, riding up to those who maltreated the driver, bestowed

upon one of them such a blow with the butt-end of his whip, as laid him

sprawling on the ground; and, springing from his saddle upon the box,

took the reins into his own hand, swearing with great vehemence, that

he would murder every man who should attempt to obstruct the hearse.

The good priest who had married Renaldo was not a little scandalised at

this ferocious behaviour in a clergyman, and could not help saying

aloud, he was a disgrace to the cloth when the horseman looking up to

the window, replied, “Sir, may I be d—n’d, if any man in England has a

greater respect for the cloth than I have; but at present I am quite

distracted.” So saying, he whipped up the horses, and had actually

disentangled the hearse from those who surrounded it, when he was

opposed by another troop, one of whom alighted with great expedition,

and cut the harness so as that he could not possibly proceed. Finding

himself thus driven to bay, he leaped upon the ground, and exercised

his weapon with such amazing strength and agility, that several of his

antagonists were left motionless on the field, before he was

overpowered and disarmed by dint of numbers, who assailed him on all

sides.

The mad parson being thus taken prisoner, an elderly person, of a very

prepossessing appearance, went up to the hearse, and, unbolting the

door, a young lady sprung out, and shrieking, ran directly to the

public-house, to the infinite astonishment and affright of the whole

family, who believed it was the spirit of the deceased person, whose

body lay in the carriage. Renaldo, who was with difficulty restrained

from interposing in behalf of the clergyman against such odds, no

sooner perceived this apparition, than, supposing her to be some

distressed damsel, his Quixotism awoke, he descended in an instant, and

rushed into the house, among those that pursued the fair phantom. Don

Diego and the physician took the same road, while the real clergyman

and Joshua tarried with the ladies, who were, by this time, very much

interested in the event.

Melvil found the young lady in the hands of the old gentleman, who had

released her from the hearse, and who now bitterly upbraided her for

her folly and disobedience; while she protested with great vivacity,

that whatever she might suffer from his severity, she would never

submit to the hateful match he had proposed, nor break the promise she

had already made to the gentleman who now attempted to rescue her from

the tyranny of a cruel father. This declaration was followed by a

plentiful shower of tears, which the father could not behold with

unmoistened eyes, although he reviled her with marks of uncommon

displeasure; and turning to the Count, “I appeal to you, sir,” said he,

“whether I have not reason to curse the undutiful obstinacy of that

pert baggage, and renounce her for ever as an alien to my blood. She

has, for some months, been solicited in marriage by an honest citizen,

a thirty thousand pound man; and instead of listening to such an

advantageous proposal, she hath bestowed her heart upon a young fellow

not worth a groat. Ah! you degenerate hussy, this comes of your plays

and romances. If thy mother were not a woman of an unexceptionable life

and conversation, I should verily believe thou art no child of mine.

Run away with a beggar! for shame!”

“I suppose,” replied Renaldo, “the person to whom your daughter’s

affection inclines, is that clergyman who exerted himself so manfully

at the door?” “Clergyman!” cried the other, “adad! he has more of the

devil than the church about him. A ruffian! he has, for aught I know,

murdered the worthy gentleman whom I intended for my son-in-law; and

the rogue, if I had not kept out of his way, would, I suppose, have

served me with the same sauce. Me! who have been his master for many

years, and had resolved to make a man of him. Sir, he was my own clerk,

and this is the return I have met with from the serpent which I

cherished in my bosom.”

Here he was interrupted by the arrival of the citizen for whom he had

expressed such concern; that gentleman had received a contusion upon

one eye, by which the sight was altogether obstructed, so that he

concluded he should never retrieve the use of that organ, and with

great clamour took all the spectators to witness the injury he had

sustained; he entered the room with manifest perturbation, demanded

satisfaction of the father, and peremptorily declared it should not be

a lost eye to him if there was law in England. This unseasonable

demand, and the boisterous manner in which it was made, did not at all

suit the present humour of the old gentleman, who told him peevishly he

owed him no eye, and bade him go and ask reparation of the person who

had done him wrong.

The young lady snatching this favourable occasion, earnestly entreated

Melvil and his company to intercede with her father in behalf of her

lover, who, she assured them, was a young gentleman of a good family,

and uncommon merit; and in compliance with her request they invited him

and his daughter to the house in which they lodged, where they would be

disencumbered of the crowd which this dispute had gathered together,

and more at leisure to consult about the measures necessary to be

taken. The old gentleman thanked them for their courtesy, which he did

not think proper to refuse, and while he led, or rather hauled

Mademoiselle over the way, under the auspices of the Castilian, Renaldo

set the lover at liberty, made him a tender of his good offices, and

advised him to wait at the public-house for an happy issue of their

negotiation.

The pseudo-parson was very much affected by this generous proffer, for

which he made suitable acknowledgments, and protested before God he

would die a thousand deaths rather than part with his dear Charlotte.

Her father no sooner entered the apartment, than he was known by Joshua

to be a considerable trader in the city of London, and the merchant was

glad to find himself among his acquaintance. He was so full of the

story which had brought him thither, that he had scarce sat down when

he began to complain of his hard fate, in having an only child who was

so mean, stubborn, and contumacious; and every sentence was concluded

with an apostrophe of reproaches to the delinquent.

The Jew having allowed him to ring out his alarm, condoled his

misfortune, and gravely counselled the young lady to wean her

affections from such an unworthy object, for he supposed her favourite

was a man of no principle, or liberal endowments, otherwise her father

would not exclaim so bitterly against her conduct. Charlotte, who

wanted neither beauty nor understanding, assured him that her lover’s

character was, in all respects, unblemished, for the truth of which

assertion she appealed to her papa, who owned, with reluctance, that

the young man was a gentleman by birth, that he had served him with

remarkable diligence and integrity, and that his accomplishments were

far superior to his station in life. “But then,” said he, “the fellow

has not a shilling of his own, and would you have me give away my

daughter to a beggar?”

“God forbid!” cried the Jew, “I always understood you possessed an

ample fortune, and am sorry to find it otherwise.” “Otherwise!” cried

the citizen, with some acrimony, “take care what you say, sir; a

merchant’s credit is not to be tampered with.” “I beg your pardon,”

answered the Hebrew, “I concluded that your circumstances were bad,

because you objected to the poverty of the young man after you had

owned he was possessed of every other qualification to make your

daughter happy; for it is not to be imagined that you would thwart her

inclinations, or seek to render an only child miserable on account of

an obstacle which you yourself could easily remove. Let us suppose you

can afford to give with your daughter ten thousand pounds, which would

enable this young man to live with credit and reputation, and engage

advantageously in trade, for which you say he is well qualified, the

alternative then will be, whether you would rather see her in the arms

of a deserving youth whom she loves, enjoying all the comforts of life

with a moderate fortune, which it will always be in your own power to

improve, or tied for life to a monied man whom she detests, cursing her

hard fate, and despising that superfluity of wealth, in spite of which

she finds herself so truly wretched.”

The old gentleman seemed to be startled at this observation, which was

reinforced by Renaldo’s saying, that he would, moreover, enjoy the

unutterable pleasure of giving happiness to a worthy man, whose

gratitude would co-operate with his love, in approving himself a

dutiful son, as well as an affectionate husband. He then represented

the family disquiets and dismal tragedies produced from such mercenary

and compulsive matches, and, in conclusion related the story of Don

Diego and his daughter, which when the merchant heard, he started up

with marks of terror in his countenance, and, throwing up the casement,

called upon Valentine with great vociferation. This was the name of his

daughter’s admirer, who no sooner heard the summons than he flew to the

spot from whence it came, and the merchant, without any further

preamble, seizing his hand, joined it with that of Charlotte, saying,

with great trepidation, “Here, take her, in the name of God, and thank

this honourable company for your good fortune.”

The lovers were transported with exquisite joy at this sudden

determination in their favour. Valentine, having kissed the hand of his

mistress with all the eagerness of rapture, and acknowledged the

merchant’s generosity, paid his respects to the ladies with a very

polite address, and with demonstrations of uncommon gratitude and

sensibility, thanked the gentlemen, and the Count in particular, for

their good offices, to which he attributed the happiness he now

enjoyed. While Serafina and Madam Clement caressed the amiable

Charlotte, the rest of the company congratulated her admirer upon his

choice and success, though the clergyman could not help reprehending

him for profaning the sacerdotal habit.

Valentine heartily asked pardon for having given such cause of offence,

and hoped he should be forgiven, as it was a disguise which he thought

absolutely necessary for the execution of a scheme upon which his

happiness depended. He then, at the request of Renaldo, unfolded the

mystery of the hearse, by giving them to understand that Charlotte’s

father having got inkling of their mutual passion, had dismissed his

clerk, and conveyed his daughter to a country-house in the

neighbourhood of London, in order to cut off their correspondence;

notwithstanding these precautions they had found means to communicate

with each other by letters, which were managed by a third person; and

his rival being very importunate in his solicitations, they had

concerted the expedient of the hearse, which he provided and conducted

through a road contiguous to the end of the merchant’s garden, where

Charlotte, being apprised of the design, waited for its approach, and

embarked in it without hesitation. Valentine thought himself

sufficiently screened from discovery by his disguise, but he was

unfortunately met by a servant of the family, who recollected his

features, and immediately gave the alarm, upon which the father and his

friends took horse, and pursued them by two different roads, until they

were overtaken at this place.

He had scarce finished this short relation, when his rival, bluntly

entering the apartment, with an handkerchief tied round his eye,

committed Valentine to the charge of a constable, who attended him, by

a warrant from a justice of the peace in that neighbourhood, and

threatened to prosecute the merchant on an action of damages for the

loss of an eye, which he said he had sustained in his service. The

company endeavoured to appease this citizen, by representing that his

misfortune was no other than a common inflammation, nor was it owing to

malice aforethought, but entirely to the precipitate passion of an

incensed young man, who, by the bye, acted in his own defence. At the

same time the merchant promised to make any reasonable satisfaction,

upon which the other demanded an obligation, importing that he would,

in ten days from the date, bestow upon him his daughter in marriage,

with a portion of fifteen thousand pounds, or, in case of failure, pay

him double the sum.

The merchant, exasperated at this extravagant demand, told him flatly

he had already disposed of his daughter to Valentine, who, he believed,

was a much more deserving man, and that he was ready to wait upon the

magistrate who had granted the warrant, in order to give bail for his

future son-in-law. This was a mortifying declaration to the plaintiff,

though he condoled himself with the hope of being a gainer by the loss

of his eye, and now the pain was over would have been very sorry to

find his sight retrieved. The old gentleman, Joshua, and Renaldo

accompanied the prisoner to the house of the justice, where he was

immediately admitted to bail. Upon their return Valentine shifted his

dress, and they supped together with great cordiality and mirth,

maintained at the expense of the discarded lover.

After supper Don Diego walked a minuet with Madam Clement; for whom, by

this time, he had contracted an extraordinary degree of affection.

Valentine had the honour to dance with the incomparable Serafina, whose

beauty and attractions dazzled the eyes of the new-comers, and struck

her bashful partner with awe and confusion; and Melvil presented his

hand to the agreeable Charlotte, who performed so much to the

satisfaction of her father, that he could not help expressing his joy

and pride. He praised God for throwing him in the way of our company,

and engaged the clergyman to unite the young couple, after having

appointed a day for the ceremony, and invited all present to the

wedding. The evening having been insensibly consumed in these

avocations, and the night pretty far advanced, the ladies withdrew

without ceremony; and the retreat of Serafina filled Renaldo’s breast

with tumult and emotion; his blood began to flow in impetuous tides,

his heart to beat with redoubled vigour and velocity, while his eyes

seemed to flash with more than human splendour. Now his imagination

began to anticipate with the enthusiastic rage of an inspired sibyl; he

was instantaneously transported from the conversation, and every nerve

was braced to such a degree of impatience, that human nature could not

long endure the tension.

He, therefore, having withstood the impulse about a quarter of an hour,

at length gave way to his impetuosity, and, springing from his friends,

found himself in a dark passage, at the farther end of which he

perceived Madam Clement coming out of a chamber with a light, which, at

sight of him, she set down, and vanished in a moment. This was the star

that pointed to his paradise; he hailed the signal, entered the

apartment, and, like a lion, rushing on his prey, approached the

nuptial bed, where Serafina, surrounded by all the graces of beauty,

softness, sentiment, and truth, lay trembling as a victim at the altar,

and strove to hide her blushes from his view—the door was shut, the

light extinguished—he owned his lot was more than mortal man could

claim.

Here let me draw the decent veil that ought to shade the secret

mysteries of Hymen. Away, unhallowed scoffers, who profane, with idle

pleasantry or immodest hint, these holy rites; and leave those happy

lovers to enjoy, in one another’s arms, unutterable bliss, the

well-earned palm of virtue and of constancy, which had undergone the

most severe refinement. A more deserving pair night’s curtain shrouds

not in its dark extent.

The thoughts of Renaldo’s felicity threw a damp on the spirits of

Valentine, who saw the term of his probation protracted a few days

longer, and could not help wishing in his heart that he had achieved

the adventure which would have abridged his expectation, though at the

expense of the old gentleman’s displeasure. He filled a bumper to the

health of the bride and bridegroom, and throwing up his eyes with marks

of admiration, exclaimed, “How happy is the Count! alas! five days

longer must I rein my impatience!” “It is but reasonable, you rogue,

that your betters should have the start of you,” said the merchant, who

did him justice in the glass, and counselled him to drown his

impatience with good claret. The youth followed his advice, and it was

late before the company retired to rest.

These citizens, however, resolved to seize an opportunity of rallying

the new-married couple, according to custom, and with that view arose

early in the morning, on the supposition of finding them still asleep;

but they were not a little surprised, when they entered the

breakfasting room, to see Renaldo, and his amiable bed-fellow, already

dressed, and awaiting to do the honours of the house. The old gentleman

would fain have cracked a joke upon their extraordinary despatch, but

he was so much overawed by the dignity and tamed by the sweetness of

Serafina’s carriage, that he durst not give utterance to his

conception; and Valentine stood silent and abashed, as in the presence

of a superior being. After breakfast these gentlemen and Charlotte

again expressed their sense of the obligations they owed to this happy

family, repeated their invitation, and, taking leave, returned to

London in a coach that was provided overnight.

Our friends being thus left to themselves, Don Diego turned towards

Melvil: “Now,” said he, “that I have yielded to the impatience of your

love, as well as to the eagerness of my own desire to make you happy, I

must beg leave to interrupt, for a little while, the stream of your

mutual pleasure, and propose a melancholy excursion, which, however,

will not be wholly void of enjoyment. I have too long delayed the

performance of my duty at Antonia’s grave—let us spend the forenoon in

that pious pilgrimage—I will drop a few tears to the memory of that

excellent woman, and never afterwards shall my friends be troubled with

my grief.”

The proposal being universally approved, they set out for the place,

which had oft been visited by the gentle Serafina, who conducted her

father to a black marble stone, which Renaldo had ordered to be laid

over the grave; and, as he kneeled to kiss the monument, he perceived

this plain inscription in the Spanish tongue:—Antonia de Zelos primera

en todo lo que es ser bueno, y sin segundo en todo lo que fue ser

desdichado, quedad con Dios! that is, Antonia de Zelos, unmatched in

virtue, and unequalled in misfortune, adieu! “O faithful record!” cried

the Castilian, smiting his breast, while his tears distilled upon the

marble, “thy goodness was the gift of Heaven, but thy misfortunes were

derived from the guilt of Don Diego; yet his sorrow shall expiate his

offence, and his penitence find favour in the sight of Heaven! Rest,

rest, ill-fated virtue!—eternal peace shall guard thy tomb, and angels

minister to thy unspotted shade; nor shall thine ashes lie in dark

obscurity here will I raise a monument, more suited to thy excellence

and name.” Serafina melted with filial tenderness; nor were the rest

unmoved at this affecting scene, which Don Diego did not quit without

reluctance.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

THE LONGEST AND THE LAST.

The nature of this visit had softened every heart, and saddened every

countenance; and they walked in solemn silence to the other side of the

church-yard, in order to regain their carriages; when, at the turning

of the stile, they saw a young woman, in wretched attire, running out

of a poor habitation, wringing her hands in all the agony of despair.

Notwithstanding the distraction in her countenance, and the meanness of

her apparel, she discovered a regularity of features, and a delicacy of

air, which did not at all correspond with the misery of her equipage.

These exhibitions of extreme distress soon attracted the notice and

compassion of our company, and Melvil’s beauteous help-mate, accosting

this forlorn damsel with a pity-breathing aspect, asked the cause of

her disorder.

“Alas! dear lady,” cried the other, with all the emphasis of woe, “an

unhappy gentleman now breathes his last within this inhospitable hovel,

amidst such excess of misery as would melt the most flinty bosom. What

then must I feel, who am connected with him by the strongest ties of

love and conjugal affection?” “Who is the unfortunate object?” said the

physician. “He was once well known in the gay world,” replied the young

woman; “his name is Fathom.” Every individual of the company started at

mention of that detested name. Serafina began to tremble with emotion;

and Renaldo, after a short pause, declared he would go in, not with a

view to exult over his misery, but in order to contemplate the

catastrophe of such a wicked life, that the moral might be the more

deeply engraved on his remembrance. The young Countess, whose tender

heart could not bear the shock of such a spectacle, retired to the

coach with Madam Clement and the Jew, while Renaldo, accompanied by the

rest, entered a dismal apartment, altogether void of furniture and

convenience, where they beheld the wretched hero of these memoirs

stretched almost naked upon straw, insensible, convulsed, and seemingly

in the grasp of death. He was worn to the bone either by famine or

distemper; his face was overshadowed with hair and filth; his eyes were

sunk, glazed, and distorted; his nostrils dilated; his lips covered

with a black slough; and his complexion faded into a pale clay-colour,

tending to a yellow hue. In a word, the extremity of indigence,

squalor, and distress could not be more feelingly represented.

While Melvil perused this melancholy lesson, and groaning, cried,

“Behold the fate of man!” he perceived a letter in the right hand of

the unfortunate Fathom, which lay fast clenched across his breast.

Curious to know the contents of this paper, which the young woman said

he had kept in that position for several days, he drew nearer the

wretched couch, and was not a little surprised to see it addressed to

the Right Honourable Renaldo Count de Melvil, to the care of Mr. Joshua

Manesseh, merchant in London. When he attempted to disengage this

billet from the author’s hand, the sorrowing female fell upon her

knees, entreating him to desist, and telling him, she had promised,

upon oath, to communicate the contents to no person upon earth, but to

carry the letter, upon her husband’s decease, to the gentleman to whose

care it was directed.

Renaldo assured her, upon his honour, that he was the very Renaldo

Count de Melvil, for whom it was intended; and the young creature was

so much confounded at this information, that, before she could

recollect herself, Melvil had opened the billet, and read these words:

“If this paper should fall into the hands of the noble Renaldo, he will

understand, that Fathom was the most execrable traitor that ever

imposed upon unsuspecting benevolence, or attempted to betray a

generous benefactor. His whole life was a series of fraud, perfidy, and

the most abominable ingratitude. But, of all the crimes that lay heavy

upon his soul, his being accessory to the death of the incomparable

Serafina, whose father he had also robbed, was that for which he

despaired of Heaven’s forgiveness, notwithstanding the dreadful

compunction and remorse which have long preyed upon his heart, together

with the incredible misery and deplorable death which by this time he

hath undergone. Though these sufferings and sorrows cannot atone for

his enormous guilt, perhaps they will excite the compassion of the

humane Count de Melvil; at least, this confession, which my conscience

dictates under all the terrors of death and futurity, may be a warning

for him to avoid henceforth a smiling villain, like the execrable

Fathom, upon whose miserable soul Almighty God have mercy.”

Renaldo was deeply affected with the contents of this scroll, which

denoted such horror and despair. He saw there could be no dissimulation

or sinister design in this profession of penitence. He beheld the

condition of the writer, which put all his humane passions in

commotion; so that he remembered nothing of Fathom but his present

distress. He could scarce maintain those indications which might have

been justly deemed the effect of weakness and infirmity; and having

desired the physician and clergyman to contribute their assistance for

the benefit of that wretch’s soul and body, he ran to the coach, and

communicated the letter to the ladies; at the same time drawing a

picture of the object he had seen, which brought tears into the eyes of

the gentle Serafina, who earnestly entreated her lord to use his

endeavours for the relief and recovery of the unhappy man, that he

might, if possible, live to enjoy the benefit of mature repentance, and

not die in that dreadful despair which he manifested in the letter.

Renaldo, returning to the house, found the pious clergyman reading

prayers with great fervency, while Don Diego stood with his right hand

upon his breast, looking steadfastly upon the agonising Fathom, and the

young woman kneeled, with her streaming eyes lifted up to heaven, in an

ecstasy of grief and devotion. The physician had run to an apothecary’s

shop in the neighbourhood, from whence he soon returned with an

assistant, who applied a large blister to the back of the miserable

patient, while the female, by the doctor’s direction, moistened his

mouth with a cordial which he had prescribed.

These charitable steps being taken, Count de Melvil entreated the

apothecary’s servant to procure a tent-bed for the accommodation of the

sick person with all imaginable despatch; and, in less than an hour,

one was actually pitched, and Fathom lifted into it, after he had been

shifted, and in some measure purified from the dregs of his indigence.

During this transaction the ladies were conducted to a tavern not far

off, where dinner was bespoke, that they might be at hand to see the

effect of their charity, which was not confined to what we have already

described, but extended so far, that, in a little time, the apartment

was comfortably furnished, and the young creature provided with change

of apparel, and money to procure the necessaries of subsistence.

Notwithstanding all their care, the wretched Fathom still remained

insensible, and the doctor pronounced a very unfavourable prognostic,

while he ordered a pair of additional vesicatories to be laid upon his

arms, and other proper medicines to be administered. After dinner, the

ladies ventured to visit the place, and when Serafina crossed the

threshold, the weeping female fell at her feet, and, kissing her robe,

exclaimed, “Sure you are an angel from heaven.”

The alteration in her dress had made a very agreeable change in her

appearance, so that the Countess could now look upon her without

shuddering at her distress. And, as Fathom was not in a condition to be

disturbed, she took this opportunity of inquiring by what steps that

unfortunate wretch was conveyed from the prison, in which she knew he

had been confined, to the place where he now lay in such extremity; and

by what occurrence he had found a wife in such an abyss of misfortune.

Here the other’s tears began to flow afresh. “I am ashamed,” said she,

“to reveal my own folly; yet I dare not refuse a satisfaction of this

kind to a person who has laid me under such signal obligations.”

She then proceeded to relate her story, by which it appeared, she was

no other than the fair and unhappy Elenor, whom the artful Fathom had

debauched upon his first arrival in town, in the manner already

described in these memoirs. “Heaven,” continued she, “was pleased to

restore the use of my reason, which I had lost when I found myself

abandoned by the Count; but, all my connexion with my own family being

entirely cut off, and every door shut against a poor creature who could

procure no recommendation, except the certificate signed by the

physician of Bedlam, which, instead of introducing me to service, was

an insurmountable objection to my character, I found myself destitute

of all means of subsisting, unless I would condescend to live the

infamous and wretched life of a courtezan, an expedient rendered

palatable by the terrors of want, cooperating with the reflection of

the irretrievable loss I had already sustained. I ask pardon for

offending your chaste ears with this impure confession of my guilt,

which, Heaven knows, I then did, and now do look upon with abhorrence

and detestation. I had already forfeited my innocence, and wanted

resolution to encounter misery and death. Nevertheless, before I could

determine to embrace the condition of a prostitute, I was one day

accosted in the Park by an elderly gentleman who sat down by me upon a

bench, and, taking notice of the despondence which was evident in my

countenance, pressed me to make him acquainted with the nature of my

misfortune. So much sympathy and good sense appeared in his deportment

and conversation, that I gratified his request, and he, in return for

my confidence, saved me from the most horrible part of my prospect, by

taking me into his protection, and reserving me for his own appetite.

In this situation I lived a whole year, until I was deprived of my

keeper by an apoplectic fit, and turned out of doors by his relations,

who did not, however, strip me of the clothes and moveables which I

owed to his bounty. Far from being as yet reconciled to a vicious life,

I resolved to renounce the paths of shame, and, converting my effects

into ready money, hired a small shop, and furnished it with

haberdashery ware, intending to earn an honest livelihood by the sale

of these commodities, together with the plain work in which I hoped to

be employed so soon as my talents should be known. But this scheme did

not answer my expectation. The goods spoiled upon my hands, and, as I

was a stranger in the neighbourhood, nobody would intrust me with any

other business. So that, notwithstanding the most parsimonious economy,

I ran in debt to my landlord, who seized my effects; and an hosier,

from whom I had received some parcels upon credit, took out a writ

against me, by virtue of which I was arrested and imprisoned in the

Marshalsea, where I found my first seducer. Good Heaven! what did I

feel at this unexpected meeting, overwhelmed as I was before with my

own distress! I with a loud scream fainted away, and, when I recovered,

found myself in the arms of Mr. Fathom, who wept over me with great

affliction. All his prospects of gaiety had now vanished, and his heart

was softened by his own misfortunes, to a feeling of another’s woe, as

well as to a due sense of his own guilt. He expressed the deepest

sorrow for having been the occasion of my ruin, endeavoured to comfort

me with a promise of assistance, and indeed, by practising medicine

among the prisoners, made shift to keep us both from starving. But

surely no sinner underwent such severe remorse as that which he

suffered during his imprisonment. From the day of our meeting, I never

once saw him smile; a melancholy cloud continually overhung his

countenance. He numbered the minutes by his groans, he used to start

with horror from his sleep, and, striking his breast, would exclaim, ‘O

Elenor! I am the worst of villains!’ Sometimes he seemed disordered in

his brain, and raved about Renaldo and Monimia. In a word, his mind was

in a dreadful situation, and all his agonies were communicated to me,

whom by this time he had married, in order to make some atonement for

my wrongs. Wretched as he then was, I remembered the accomplished youth

who had captivated my virgin heart, the old impressions still remained,

I saw his penitence, pitied his misfortune, and his wife being dead,

consented to join his fate, the ceremony having been performed by a

fellow-prisoner, who was in orders. Though his hard-hearted creditor

had no other chance of being paid, than that of setting him at liberty,

he lent a deaf ear to all our supplications; and this cruelty

conspiring with the anguish of my husband’s own reflection, affected

his health and spirits to such a degree, that he could no longer earn

the miserable pittance which had hitherto supported our lives. Then our

calamities began to multiply. Indigence and famine stared us in the

face; and it was with the utmost difficulty that we resisted their

attacks, by selling or pledging our wearing apparel, until we were left

almost quite naked, when we found ourselves discharged by an act passed

for the relief of insolvent debtors. This charitable law, which was

intended for a consolation to the wretched, proved to us the most

severe disaster; for we were turned out into the streets, utterly

destitute of food, raiment, and lodging, at a time when Mr. Fathom was

so weakened by his distemper, that he could not stand alone. I

supported him from door to door, imploring the compassion of charitable

Christians, and was at length permitted to shelter him in this

miserable place, where his disease gaining ground, he lay three days in

that deplorable condition, from which he hath now been rescued, though

I fear too late, by your humanity and benevolence.”

She shed a flood of tears at the conclusion of this mournful tale,

which did not fail to affect the whole audience, especially Serafina,

who assured her, that, whatever should happen to her husband, she might

depend upon finding favour and protection, provided her conduct should

correspond with her professions. While this grateful creature kissed

the hand of her kind benefactress, Fathom uttered a groan, began to

stir in the bed, and with a languid voice called upon Elenor, who,

instantly withdrawing the curtain, presented the whole company to his

view. He had now retrieved the use of his perception by the operation

of the blisters, which began to torture him severely; he looked around

him with amazement and affright, and distinguishing the three persons

against whom the chief arrows of his fraud and treachery had been

levelled, he concluded that he was now arrived at the land of departed

souls, and that the shades of those whom he had so grievously injured

were come to see him tormented according to his demerits.

Fraught with this notion, which was confirmed by the bodily pain which

he felt, and the appearance of the clergyman and Joshua, whom he

mistook for the ministers of vengeance, he cried in a tone replete with

horror, “Is there no mercy then for penitence? Is there no pity due to

the miseries I suffered upon earth? Save me, O bountiful Heaven! from

the terrors of everlasting woe; hide me from these dreadful

executioners, whose looks are torture. Forgive me, generous Castilian.

O Renaldo! thou hadst once a tender heart. I dare not lift my eyes to

Serafina! that pattern of human excellence, who fell a victim to my

atrocious guilt; yet her aspect is all mildness and compassion. Hah!

are not these the drops of pity? Yes, they are the tears of mercy. They

fall like refreshing showers upon my drooping soul! Ah, murdered

innocence! wilt thou not intercede for thy betrayer at the throne of

grace!”

Here he was interrupted by Melvil, who with a grave and solemn air

pronounced, “Great hath been thy guilt, unhappy Ferdinand, and great

have been thy sufferings. Yet we come not to insult, but to alleviate

thy distress. Providence hath kindly defeated thy dire intentions,

which we therefore now forgive and transmit to oblivion, whether it be

thy lot to yield up thy spirit immediately, or to survive the dangerous

malady with which thou art at present overwhelmed. Suffer not thyself

to despair; for the mercy of Heaven is infinite; and submit to the

directions of this worthy gentleman, who will employ his skill for thy

recovery, while we shall take care to furnish thee with necessary

attendance. As too much speaking may be prejudicial to thy health, I

dispense with thy reply, and exhort thee to compose thyself to rest.”

So saying, he drew the curtain, and the company retired, leaving Fathom

entranced with wonder.

The next step which Renaldo took for the benefit of this wretched

penitent, was to send for the apothecary, with whom he left a sum of

money to be expended for the convenience of Fathom and his wife; then

he laid injunctions upon the physician to repeat his visits; and that

gentleman, together with the clergyman and Joshua, taking leave of the

others till next day, the Count set out with the ladies and his

father-in-law to the house where they had lodged the preceding night.

The reader may well imagine the conversation of the evening turned

wholly upon the strange occurrence of the day, which seemed to have

been concerted by supernatural prescience, in order to satisfy the

vengeance, and afford matter of triumph to the generosity of those who

had been so grievously injured by the guilty Fathom. Though not one of

them would say that such a miscreant ought to live, yet all concurred

in approving the offices of humanity which had been performed, and even

endeavoured to find specious pretext for vindicating their compassion.

Don Diego said, it would ill become a transgressor like him to withhold

his forgiveness from a sinner who had wronged him. Madam Clement

appealed to the approbation of Heaven, which had undoubtedly directed

them that way, for the purpose they had fulfilled. Serafina observed,

that the crimes of the delinquent were obliterated by his sorrow,

misery, and repentance. Renaldo honestly owned, that, exclusive of

other reasons, he could not deny himself the luxurious enjoyment of

communicating happiness to his fellow-creatures in distress; and each

fervently prayed, that their charity might not be disappointed by the

death of the object.

While they amused themselves in these discussions, Fathom, after having

lain some hours silent, in consequence of Renaldo’s advice, could no

longer suppress the astonishment of his mind, but, addressing himself

to his wife, “O Elenor!” said he, “my delirium is now past; though I

still remember the phantasies of my distempered brain. Among other

reveries, my imagination was regaled with a vision so perfect and

distinct, as to emulate truth and reality. Methought Count de Melvil,

Don Diego de Zelos, and the divine Serafina, the very persons who are

now crying before the throne of Heaven for vengeance against the guilty

Fathom, stood by my bedside, with looks of pity and forgiveness; and

that Renaldo spoke peace to my despairing soul. I heard the words

distinctly. I retain them in my memory. I saw the tears trickle from

Serafina’s eyes. I heard her father utter a compassionate sigh; and

should actually believe that they were personally present, had not I

long ago seen with my own eyes the funeral procession of that young

lady, whose wrongs God pardon; and were I not convinced that such a

meeting could not be effected without the immediate and miraculous

interposition of Heaven. Yet everything I now see corresponds with the

words of Renaldo, which still sound in my ears. When my perception

forsook me, I lay in the most abject misery, among straw; and thou,

poor injured innocence, wast naked and forlorn. Now, I find myself

reposed in a warm, easy, comfortable bed. I see around me the marks of

human charity and care, and the favourable change in thy appearance

glads my poor dejected heart. Say, whence this happy alteration? Do I

really awake from that dream of misery in which we have continued so

long? or do I still utter the extravagant ravings of a distempered

brain?”

Elenor was afraid of imparting at once all the particulars of the happy

change he had undergone, lest they might leave a dangerous impression

upon his fancy, which was not yet duly composed. She contented herself,

therefore, with telling him, that he had been obliged to the humanity

of a gentleman and lady, who chanced to pass that way by accident, and

who, understanding his deplorable case, had furnished him with the

conveniences which he now enjoyed. She then presented to him what the

doctor had directed her to administer, and, admonishing him to commit

his head to the pillow, he was favoured with a breathing sweat, fell

fast asleep, and in a few hours waked again altogether cool and

undisturbed.

It was upon this occasion that his wife explained the circumstances of

that visit which had redeemed him from extremity of wretchedness and

the jaws of death; upon which he started up, and throwing himself upon

his knees, exclaimed, “All-gracious Power! this was the work of thy own

bounteous hand; the voice of my sorrow and repentance hath been heard.

Thou hast inspired my benefactors with more than mortal goodness in my

behalf; how shall I praise thy name! how shall I requite their

generosity! Oh, I am bankrupt to both! yet let me not perish until I

shall have convinced them of my reformation, and seen them enjoying

that felicity which ought to be reserved for such consummate virtue.”

Next day, in the forenoon, he was visited by the physician, whom he now

recollected to have seen at the house of Madam Clement; and, after

having thanked that gentleman for his humanity and care, he earnestly

begged to know by what means Serafina had been preserved. When he was

satisfied in this particular, and given to understand that she was now

happy in the arms of Renaldo, “Blessed be God!” he cried, “for having

defeated the villany of him who sought to part such lovers. Dear sir,

will you add one circumstance to your charity, and bear to that happy

couple, and the noble Don Diego, the respects and the remorse of a

sincere penitent, whom their compassion hath raised to life? I have

been such a traitor to them, that my words deserve no regard. I will

not therefore use professions. I dare not hope to be admitted into

their presence. I am indeed ashamed to see the light of the sun. How

then could I bear the looks of that injured family? ah, no! let me hide

myself in some obscure retreat, where I may work out my salvation with

fear and trembling, and pray incessantly to Heaven for their

prosperity.”

The physician promised to represent his contrition to the Count and his

lady, and accordingly proceeded to their habitation, where he repeated

these expressions, and pronounced his patient out of danger. So that

their thoughts were now employed in concerting a scheme for his future

subsistence, that he might not be exposed by indigence to a relapse in

point of morals. Renaldo being still averse to any personal intercourse

with such a wretch, until he should give some undoubted proofs of

amendment, and, as yet afraid of intrusting him with any office that

required integrity, resolved, with the approbation of all present, to

settle him in a cheap county in the north of England, where he and his

wife could live comfortably on an annuity of sixty pounds, until his

behaviour should entitle him to a better provision.

This resolution was just taken, when Joshua arrived with a gentleman

whom he introduced to Don Diego as the secretary of the Spanish

ambassador. After the first compliments, the stranger told the

Castilian, that he waited upon him at the desire of his Excellency, who

would have come in person, had he not been confined by the gout. Then

he put into his hand a letter from the court of Madrid, written by a

nobleman of Diego’s acquaintance, who informed him, that Don Manuel de

Mendoza having made away with himself by poison, in order to avoid the

disgrace of a legal conviction, his Catholic Majesty was now convinced

of Don Diego’s innocence, and granted him leave to return and take

possession of his honours and estate. This information was confirmed by

the secretary, who assured him that the ambassador had orders to make

him acquainted with this favourable decision of the King. The Castilian

having first acquitted himself in the most polite terms to the

secretary and the Jew, who, he said, had always been a messenger of

glad tidings, communicated his happiness to the company; and this

evening concluded the third day of their rejoicing.

Next morning Don Diego went to visit the ambassador, accompanied by

Joshua and the secretary; while the physician, repairing to the

habitation of Fathom, signified, by Renaldo’s direction, the resolution

which had been taken in his behalf; and the patient no sooner heard his

doom, than, lifting up his hands, he cried, “I am unworthy of such

tenderness and benevolence.” While Elenor shed a flood of tears in

silence, unable to give utterance to her grateful thought; Melvil’s

bounty having so far transcended her most sanguine hope.

The Spaniard having paid his devoirs to his Excellency, returned before

dinner; and, in the afternoon, desiring a private conference with

Serafina, they retired into another apartment, and he expressed himself

to this effect: “You have contracted, my dear child, an habit of

calling Madam Clement your mother, and doubtless, by her maternal

tenderness and regard, she hath acquired a just title to the

appellation. Yet I own I would fain strengthen it by a legal claim. I

no sooner retrieved my daughter than I gave her away to the most

deserving youth that ever sighed with love.—I rejoice in the gift which

secured your happiness. But I left myself in a solitary situation,

which even the return of my good fortune cannot render easy and

supportable. When I revisit the Castle of Zelos, every well-known

object will recall the memory of my Antonia, and I shall want a

companion to fill her place, and to sympathise with me in that sorrow

which will be derived from my remembrance. Who is there so worthy to

succeed your mother in the affection of Don Diego, as she who interests

her love for Serafina, and resembles her so strongly in every virtue of

the sex? Similar attractions will produce similar effects. My heart is

already attached to that good lady; and, provided Serafina shall

approve of my choice, I will lay myself and fortune at her feet.”

The fair Countess replied, with an enchanting smile, that, before this

declaration, she had with pleasure perceived the progress which Madam

Clement had made in his heart; and that she did not believe there was a

person upon earth better qualified to repair the loss he had sustained;

though she foresaw one obstacle to his happiness, which she was afraid

would not be easily surmounted. “You mean,” answered the Castilian,

“the difference of religion, which I am resolved to remove by adopting

the Protestant faith; though I am fully satisfied that real goodness is

of no particular persuasion, and that salvation cannot depend upon

belief, over which the will has no influence. I invest you, therefore,

with the charge of declaring my passion and proposal, and empower you

to satisfy her scruples with regard to the religion which I now

profess, and which I shall not openly relinquish, until I shall have

secured, in this country, effects sufficient to screen me from the ill

consequences of my King’s displeasure.”

Serafina undertook this office with pleasure, because she had reason to

think his addresses would not be disagreeable to Madam Clement; and

that same night made the Count acquainted with the nature of her

commission. Nor was her expectation disappointed. The French lady, with

that frankness which is peculiar to virtue and good breeding, confessed

that Don Diego was not indifferent to her choice, and did not hesitate

in receiving him upon the footing of a lover.—As we have already dwelt

circumstantially on the passion of love, so as perhaps even to have

tired our readers, we shall not repeat the dialogue that passed, when

the Spaniard was indulged with an opportunity to explain his

sentiments. Suffice it to observe, that the lady’s days of coquetry

were now over, and that she was too wise to trifle with the time, which

every moment became more and more precious. It was agreed then, that

Don Diego should settle his affairs in Spain, and return to England, in

order to espouse Madam Clement, with a view to fix his residence in

this island, where Renaldo likewise proposed to enjoy the sweets of his

fortune, provided he could draw hither his interests and connexions.

Meanwhile, having for some days enjoyed his bliss with all the fulness

of rapture amidst this small but agreeable society, he shifted the

scene, and conducted his dear partner to a ready-furnished house in

town, which, together with an occasional equipage, his friend Joshua

had hired for the accommodation of him and his father-in-law, who,

during his stay in England, failed not to cultivate the mistress of his

heart with the most punctual assiduity. Hitherto Serafina had been as a

precious jewel locked up in a casket, which the owner alone had an

opportunity to contemplate. But now the Count, who was proud of such a

prize, resolved to let her shine forth to the admiration of the whole

world. With this view he bespoke such ornaments as befitted her

quality, and, while the mantua-makers were employed in her service,

made a tour among his former acquaintance, and discharged the

obligations under which he lay to some who had assisted him in his

distress. He did not, however, introduce them to his charming Serafina;

because not one of them had formerly treated her with that delicacy of

regard which he thought her due; and some of them were much mortified

at their neglect, when they saw what a dazzling figure she made in the

beau monde.

She was visited by the Spanish and Imperial ambassadors, and divers

other foreigners of distinction, to whom Melvil had letters of

recommendation. But her first public appearance was in a box at the

opera, accompanied by Madam Clement, the Count, and Don Diego. The

entertainment was already begun, so that her entrance had the greater

effect upon the audience, whose attention was soon detached from the

performance, and riveted upon this amiable apparition, which seemed to

be some bright being of another world dropped from the clouds among

them. Then did the spirit of curiosity play its part. A thousand

whispers circulated; as many glasses were exalted to reconnoitre this

box of foreigners; for such they concluded them to be from their

appearance. Every male spectator acknowledged Serafina to be the

paragon of beauty; and every female confessed, that Melvil was the

model of a fine gentleman. The charms of the young Countess did not

escape the eye and approbation of royalty itself; and when her rank was

known, from the information of the ambassadors and other people of

condition who were seen saluting her at a distance, that same evening a

thousand bumpers were swallowed in honour of the Countess de Melvil.

The fame of her beauty was immediately extended over this immense

metropolis, and different schemes were concerted for bringing her into

life. These, however, she resisted with unwearied obstinacy. Her

happiness centred in Renaldo, and the cultivation of a few friends

within the shade of domestic quiet. She did not even forget the

concerns of the wretched Fathom and his faithful Elenor, who daily

enjoyed fresh instances of her humanity and care. When his fever

forsook him, he was supplied with nourishing food for the recovery of

his health; and as soon as he found himself in a condition to travel,

he gave notice to his benefactor, who desired Joshua to settle with him

the manner in which he was to receive his allowance, and to pay the

first half-year’s salary per advance.

This affair being adjusted, and the place of his retreat signified, the

Jew told Elenor, that she might wait upon the Countess before their

departure; and she did not fail to make use of this permission. After

they had made the necessary preparations for their journey, and taken

places in the York stage-coach, Mrs. Fathom, clothing herself in decent

apparel, went to the house of Count Melvil, and was immediately

admitted to the presence of Serafina, who received her with her usual

complacency, enriched her with salutary advice, comforted her with the

hope of better things, provided her conduct and that of her husband

should henceforth be found irreproachable; and, wishing her peace and

happiness, presented her with a box of linen, and twenty guineas in a

purse. Such excessive goodness overpowered this sensible young woman to

such a degree, that she stood before her in speechless awe and

veneration; and the Countess, in order to relieve her from the

confusion under which she suffered, quitted the room, leaving her to

the care of her woman. It was not long, however, before her gratitude

broke out in loud exclamations and a violent passion of tears, which

all her efforts could not, for a while, overcome. By this time the

coach was brought up to the gate for the reception of Serafina, who

took an airing every day at the same hour; when Renaldo, leading her to

the vehicle, beheld a man plainly dressed standing within the court,

with his head and body bent towards the earth, so that his countenance

could not be perceived.

Melvil, who supposed him to be some unfortunate man come to implore his

charity, turned towards him, and asked with a humane accent, if he

wanted to speak with any person in the house? To this interrogation the

stranger replied, without lifting up his head, “Overwhelmed as I am

with Count Melvil’s generosity, together with a consciousness of my own

unworthiness, it ill becomes a wretch like me to importune him for

further favour; yet I could not bear the thought of withdrawing,

perhaps for ever, from the presence of my benefactor, without

soliciting his permission to see his face in mercy, to acknowledge my

atrocious crimes, to hear my pardon confirmed by his voice, and that of

his accomplished Countess, whom I dare not even at a distance behold;

and to express my fervent wish for their prosperity.”

Melvil, whose heart was but too tender, could not hear this address

without emotion. He recognised the companion of his infancy and youth;

he remembered the happy scenes he had enjoyed with Fathom, whose voice

had always such an effect upon his ear, as to excite the ideas of

friendship and esteem; and he was disturbed by this unexpected meeting,

which also discomposed the beauteous Serafina. Renaldo having paused a

little, “It is with pain,” said he, “I recollect anything to the

prejudice of Fathom, whose future behaviour will, I hope, erase the

memory of his offences, and justify what other steps I may take in his

favour. Meanwhile, I heartily forgive what is past; and, in token of my

sincerity, present my hand;” which our adventurer bathed with his

tears. The Countess, whose mind was in unison with her husband,

repeated her assurances of pardon and protection; at which the penitent

rejoiced in silence, while he raised his head and took a parting view

of those charms which had formerly enslaved his heart.

Having thus obeyed the dictates of his duty and inclination, he next

morning embarked in the stage-coach, with his faithful Elenor, and in

six days arrived at the place of his retreat, which he found extremely

well adapted to the circumstances of his mind and fortune. For all his

vice and ambition was now quite mortified within him, and his whole

attention engrossed in atoning for his former crimes, by a sober and

penitent life, by which alone he could deserve the uncommon generosity

of his patrons.

While he thus accommodated himself to his new system, Renaldo received

letters of congratulation from his sister, who with the Major had come

to Brussels, in order to meet her brother and Serafina, according to

his proposal. This intimation being communicated to Don Diego, he

resolved to accompany them to Flanders, on his way to Spain.

Preparations were made for their departure; the clergyman and physician

were honoured with valuable marks of friendship and esteem from the

Countess, Renaldo, and the Castilian, who were convoyed to Deal by

Madam Clement, to whom, at parting, Don Diego presented a diamond ring,

as a pledge of his inviolable love.

Here the travellers hired a vessel for Ostend, which they reached in a

few hours; in two days more they arrived at Brussels, where Mrs. Farrel

and her husband were struck with admiration at the surprising beauty

and accomplishment of their sister-in-law, whom they caressed with

equal tenderness and joy.—In a word, all parties were as happy as good

fortune could make them; and Don Diego set out for Spain, after they

had agreed to reside in the Low Countries till his return.

THE END.