PART II.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE. Our Adventurer is made acquainted with a new Scene of Life

CHAPTER FORTY. He contemplates Majesty and its Satellites in Eclipse

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE. One Quarrel is compromised, and another decided by unusual Arms

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO. An unexpected Rencontre, and a happy Revolution in the Affairs of our Adventurer

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE. Renaldo’s Distress deepens, and Fathom’s Plot thickens

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX. Our Adventurer becomes absolute in his Power over the Passions of his Friend, and effects one half of his Aim

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN. The Art of Borrowing further explained, and an Account of a Strange Phenomenon

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT. Count Fathom unmasks his Battery; is repulsed; and varies his Operations without effect

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE. Monimia’s Honour is protected by the Interposition of Heaven

CHAPTER FIFTY. Fathom shifts the Scene, and appears in a new Character

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE. Triumphs over a Medical Rival

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO. Repairs to the Metropolis, and enrols himself among the Sons of Paean

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE. Acquires Employment in consequence of a lucky Miscarriage

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR. His Eclipse, and gradual Declination

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE. After divers unsuccessful Efforts, he has recourse to the Matrimonial Noose

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX. In which his Fortune is effectually strangled

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN. Fathom being safely housed, the Reader is entertained with a Retrospect

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT. Renaldo abridges the Proceedings at Law, and approves himself the Son of his Father

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE. He is the Messenger of Happiness to his Sister, who removes the film which had long obstructed his Penetration, with regard to Count Fathom

CHAPTER SIXTY. He recompenses the Attachment of his Friend; and receives a Letter that reduces him to the Verge of Death and Distraction

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE. Renaldo meets with a living Monument of Justice, and encounters a Personage of some Note in these Memoirs

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO. His Return to England, and Midnight Pilgrimage to Monimia’s Tomb

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE. He renews the Rites of Sorrow, and is entranced

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR. The Mystery unfolded—Another Recognition, which, it is to be hoped, the Reader could not foresee

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE. A retrospective Link, necessary for the Concatenation of these Memoirs

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX. The History draws near a Period

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN. The Longest and the Last

ILLUSTRATIONS

Titlepage of Part One

Frontispiece of Part One

He Opened the Repository

Titlepage of Part Two

Frontispiece of Part Two

You Are the Count de Melvil

INTRODUCTION

The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett’s third novel, was

given to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her

daughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],

remarked that “my friend Smollett . . . has certainly a talent for

invention, though I think it flags a little in his last work.” Lady

Mary was both right and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly

think of as Smollett’s was the ability to work over his own experience

into realistic fiction. Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows

comparatively little. It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett’s

vigorous personality, which in his earlier works was present to give

life and interest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street

brawl, a ludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or with venomous

prejudice to gibbet some enemy. This individuality—the peculiar spirit

of the author which can be felt rather than described—is present in the

dedication of Fathom to Doctor ———, who is no other than Smollett

himself, and a candid revelation of his character, by the way, this

dedication contains. It is present, too, in the opening chapters, which

show, likewise, in the picture of Fathom’s mother, something of the

author’s peculiar “talent for invention.” Subsequently, however, there

is no denying that the Smollett invention and the Smollett spirit both

flag. And yet, in a way, Fathom displays more invention than any of the

author’s novels; it is based far less than any other on personal

experience. Unfortunately such thorough-going invention was not suited

to Smollett’s genius. The result is, that while uninteresting as a

novel of contemporary manners, Fathom has an interest of its own in

that it reveals a new side of its author. We think of Smollett,

generally, as a rambling storyteller, a rational, unromantic man of the

world, who fills his pages with his own oddly-metamorphosed

acquaintances and experiences. The Smollett of Count Fathom, on the

contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school, who has

created a tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own brain.

Though this is notably less readable than the author’s earlier works,

still the wonder is that when the man is so far “off his beat,” he

should yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which

confront him. To one whose idea of Smollett’s genius is formed entirely

by Random and Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will

offer many surprises.

The first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book. True,

here again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied

by that rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so

interesting to contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes

so far towards making his fiction seem real. Nor are the characters,

for the most part, life-like enough to be interesting. There is an

apparent exception, to be sure, in the hero’s mother, already

mentioned, the hardened camp-follower, whom we confidently expect to

become vitalised after the savage fashion of Smollett’s characters.

But, alas! we have no chance to learn the lady’s style of conversation,

for the few words that come from her lips are but partially

characteristic; we have only too little chance to learn her manners and

customs. In the fourth chapter, while she is making sure with her

dagger that all those on the field of battle whom she wishes to rifle

are really dead, an officer of the hussars, who has been watching her

lucrative progress, unfeelingly puts a brace of bullets into the lady’s

brain, just as she raises her hand to smite him to the heart. Perhaps

it is as well that she is thus removed before our disappointment at the

non-fulfilment of her promise becomes poignant. So far as we may judge

from the other personages of Count Fathom, even this interesting Amazon

would sooner or later have turned into a wooden figure, with a label

giving the necessary information as to her character.

Such certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book. Because he is

placarded, “Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity,” we are fain to

accept him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is

he a convincingly real villain. His friend and foil, the noble young

Count de Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are

Joshua, the high-minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don

Diego. Neither is the heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in

her case, want of vitality is not surprising; the presence of it would

amaze us. If she were a woman throbbing with life, she would be

different from Smollett’s other heroines. The “second lady” of the

melodrama, Mademoiselle de Melvil, though by no means vivified, is yet

more real than her sister-in-law.

The fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only

surprise given us by the personages of Count Fathom. It is a surprise

to find few of them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them

in some cases far more distinctly conceived than any of the people in

Roderick Random or Peregrine Pickle. In the second of these, we saw

Smollett beginning to understand the use of incident to indicate

consistent development of character. In Count Fathom, he seems fully to

understand this principle of art, though he has not learned to apply it

successfully. And so, in spite of an excellent conception, Fathom, as I

have said, is unreal. After all his villainies, which he perpetrates

without any apparent qualms of conscience, it is incredible that he

should honestly repent of his crimes. We are much inclined to doubt

when we read that “his vice and ambition was now quite mortified within

him,” the subsequent testimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq., in Humphry

Clinker, to the contrary, notwithstanding. Yet Fathom up to this point

is consistently drawn, and drawn for a purpose:—to show that

cold-blooded roguery, though successful for a while, will come to grief

in the end. To heighten the effect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops

parallel with him the virtuous Count de Melvil. The author’s scheme of

thus using one character as the foil of another, though not conspicuous

for its originality, shows a decided advance in the theory of

constructive technique. Only, as I have said, Smollett’s execution is

now defective.

“But,” one will naturally ask, “if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not

infrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett’s former novels; if

its characters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic

and never thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?” The

surprise will be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a

large extent, the plot makes Fathom interesting. Yes, Smollett,

hitherto indifferent to structure, has here written a story in which

the plot itself, often clumsy though it may be, engages a reader’s

attention. One actually wants to know whether the young Count is ever

going to receive consolation for his sorrows and inflict justice on his

basely ungrateful pensioner. And when, finally, all turns out as it

should, one is amazed to find how many of the people in the book have

helped towards the designed conclusion. Not all of them, indeed, nor

all of the adventures, are indispensable, but it is manifest at the end

that much, which, for the time, most readers think irrelevant—such as

Don Diego’s history—is, after all, essential.

It has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some

extent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest

to the book. That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise. Any

one versed in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations

which he has put before us in his earlier works. These do not indicate,

however, that Smollett possessed the imagination which could excite

romantic interest; for in Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the

wonderful situations serve chiefly to amuse. In Fathom, however, there

are some designed to excite horror; and one, at least, is eminently

successful. The hero’s night in the wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons

was no doubt more blood-curdling to our eighteenth-century ancestors

than it is to us, who have become acquainted with scores of similar

situations in the small number of exciting romances which belong to

literature, and in the greater number which do not. Still, even to-day,

a reader, with his taste jaded by trashy novels, will be conscious of

Smollett’s power, and of several thrills, likewise, as he reads about

Fathom’s experience in the loft in which the beldame locks him to pass

the night.

This situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is

used technically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century

literature. There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely

romantic in the latter sense. Such is the imprisonment of the Countess

in the castle-tower, whence she waves her handkerchief to the young

Count, her son and would-be rescuer. And especially so is the scene in

the church, when Renaldo (the very name is romantic) visits at midnight

the supposed grave of his lady-love. While he was waiting for the

sexton to open the door, his “soul . . . was wound up to the highest

pitch of enthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon darkness, . . . the solemn

silence, and lonely situation of the place, conspired with the occasion

of his coming, and the dismal images of his fancy, to produce a real

rapture of gloomy expectation, which the whole world could not have

persuaded him to disappoint. The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched

from the ruined battlement, the door was opened by the sexton, who, by

the light of a glimmering taper, conducted the despairing lover to a

dreary aisle, and stamped upon the ground with his foot, saying, ‘Here

the young lady lies interred.’”

We have here such an amount of the usual romantic machinery of the

“grave-yard” school of poets—that school of which Professor W. L.

Phelps calls Young, in his Night Thoughts, the most “conspicuous

exemplar”—that one is at first inclined to think Smollett poking fun at

it. The context, however, seems to prove that he was perfectly serious.

It is interesting, then, as well as surprising, to find traces of the

romantic spirit in his fiction over ten years before Walpole’s Castle

of Otranto. It is also interesting to find so much melodramatic feeling

in him, because it makes stronger the connection between him and his

nineteenth-century disciple, Dickens.

From all that I have said, it must not be thought that the usual

Smollett is always, or almost always, absent from Count Fathom. I have

spoken of the dedication and of the opening chapters as what we might

expect from his pen. There are, besides, true Smollett strokes in the

scenes in the prison from which Melvil rescues Fathom, and there is a

good deal of the satirical Smollett fun in the description of Fathom’s

ups and downs, first as the petted beau, and then as the fashionable

doctor. In chronicling the latter meteoric career, Smollett had already

observed the peculiarity of his countrymen which Thackeray was fond of

harping on in the next century—“the maxim which universally prevails

among the English people . . . to overlook, . . . on their return to

the metropolis, all the connexions they may have chanced to acquire

during their residence at any of the medical wells. And this social

disposition is so scrupulously maintained, that two persons who live in

the most intimate correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall, in

four-and-twenty hours . . . meet in St. James’s Park, without betraying

the least token of recognition.” And good, too, is the way in which, as

Dr. Fathom goes rapidly down the social hill, he makes excuses for his

declining splendour. His chariot was overturned “with a hideous crash”

at such danger to himself, “that he did not believe he should ever

hazard himself again in any sort of wheel carriage.” He turned off his

men for maids, because “men servants are generally impudent, lazy,

debauched, or dishonest.” To avoid the din of the street, he shifted

his lodgings into a quiet, obscure court. And so forth and so on, in

the true Smollett vein.

But, after all, such of the old sparks are struck only occasionally.

Apart from its plot, which not a few nineteenth-century writers of

detective-stories might have improved, The Adventures of Ferdinand

Count Fathom is less interesting for itself than any other piece of

fiction from Smollett’s pen. For a student of Smollett, however, it is

highly interesting as showing the author’s romantic, melodramatic

tendencies, and the growth of his constructive technique.

G. H. MAYNADIER

THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM

TO DOCTOR ———

You and I, my good friend, have often deliberated on the difficulty of

writing such a dedication as might gratify the self-complacency of a

patron, without exposing the author to the ridicule or censure of the

public; and I think we generally agreed that the task was altogether

impracticable.—Indeed, this was one of the few subjects on which we

have always thought in the same manner. For, notwithstanding that

deference and regard which we mutually pay to each other, certain it

is, we have often differed, according to the predominancy of those

different passions, which frequently warp the opinion, and perplex the

understanding of the most judicious.

In dedication, as in poetry, there is no medium; for, if any one of the

human virtues be omitted in the enumeration of the patron’s good

qualities, the whole address is construed into an affront, and the

writer has the mortification to find his praise prostituted to very

little purpose.

On the other hand, should he yield to the transports of gratitude or

affection, which is always apt to exaggerate, and produce no more than

the genuine effusions of his heart, the world will make no allowance

for the warmth of his passion, but ascribe the praise he bestows to

interested views and sordid adulation.

Sometimes too, dazzled by the tinsel of a character which he has no

opportunity to investigate, he pours forth the homage of his admiration

upon some false Maecenas, whose future conduct gives the lie to his

eulogium, and involves him in shame and confusion of face. Such was the

fate of a late ingenious author [the Author of the “Seasons”], who was

so often put to the blush for the undeserved incense he had offered in

the heat of an enthusiastic disposition, misled by popular applause,

that he had resolved to retract, in his last will, all the encomiums

which he had thus prematurely bestowed, and stigmatise the unworthy by

name—a laudable scheme of poetical justice, the execution of which was

fatally prevented by untimely death.

Whatever may have been the fate of other dedicators, I, for my own

part, sit down to write this address, without any apprehension of

disgrace or disappointment; because I know you are too well convinced

of my affection and sincerity to repine at what I shall say touching

your character and conduct. And you will do me the justice to believe,

that this public distinction is a testimony of my particular friendship

and esteem.

Not that I am either insensible of your infirmities, or disposed to

conceal them from the notice of mankind. There are certain foibles

which can only be cured by shame and mortification; and whether or not

yours be of that species, I shall have the comfort to think my best

endeavours were used for your reformation.

Know then, I can despise your pride, while I honour your integrity, and

applaud your taste, while I am shocked at your ostentation.—I have

known you trifling, superficial, and obstinate in dispute; meanly

jealous and awkwardly reserved; rash and haughty in your resentments;

and coarse and lowly in your connexions. I have blushed at the weakness

of your conversation, and trembled at the errors of your conduct—yet,

as I own you possess certain good qualities, which overbalance these

defects, and distinguish you on this occasion as a person for whom I

have the most perfect attachment and esteem, you have no cause to

complain of the indelicacy with which your faults are reprehended. And

as they are chiefly the excesses of a sanguine disposition and

looseness of thought, impatient of caution or control, you may, thus

stimulated, watch over your own intemperance and infirmity with

redoubled vigilance and consideration, and for the future profit by the

severity of my reproof.

These, however, are not the only motives that induce me to trouble you

with this public application. I must not only perform my duty to my

friends, but also discharge the debt I owe to my own interest. We live

in a censorious age; and an author cannot take too much precaution to

anticipate the prejudice, misapprehension, and temerity of malice,

ignorance, and presumption.

I therefore think it incumbent upon me to give some previous intimation

of the plan which I have executed in the subsequent performance, that I

may not be condemned upon partial evidence; and to whom can I with more

propriety appeal in my explanation than to you, who are so well

acquainted with all the sentiments and emotions of my breast?

A novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the characters of

life, disposed in different groups, and exhibited in various attitudes,

for the purposes of an uniform plan, and general occurrence, to which

every individual figure is subservient. But this plan cannot be

executed with propriety, probability, or success, without a principal

personage to attract the attention, unite the incidents, unwind the

clue of the labyrinth, and at last close the scene, by virtue of his

own importance.

Almost all the heroes of this kind, who have hitherto succeeded on the

English stage, are characters of transcendent worth, conducted through

the vicissitudes of fortune, to that goal of happiness, which ever

ought to be the repose of extraordinary desert.—Yet the same principle

by which we rejoice at the remuneration of merit, will teach us to

relish the disgrace and discomfiture of vice, which is always an

example of extensive use and influence, because it leaves a deep

impression of terror upon the minds of those who were not confirmed in

the pursuit of morality and virtue, and, while the balance wavers,

enables the right scale to preponderate.

In the drama, which is a more limited field of invention, the chief

personage is often the object of our detestation and abhorrence; and we

are as well pleased to see the wicked schemes of a Richard blasted, and

the perfidy of a Maskwell exposed, as to behold a Bevil happy, and an

Edward victorious.

The impulses of fear, which is the most violent and interesting of all

the passions, remain longer than any other upon the memory; and for one

that is allured to virtue, by the contemplation of that peace and

happiness which it bestows, a hundred are deterred from the practice of

vice, by that infamy and punishment to which it is liable, from the

laws and regulations of mankind.

Let me not, therefore, be condemned for having chosen my principal

character from the purlieus of treachery and fraud, when I declare my

purpose is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit of the

unexperienced and unwary, who, from the perusal of these memoirs, may

learn to avoid the manifold snares with which they are continually

surrounded in the paths of life; while those who hesitate on the brink

of iniquity may be terrified from plunging into that irremediable gulf,

by surveying the deplorable fate of Ferdinand Count Fathom.

That the mind might not be fatigued, nor the imagination disgusted, by

a succession of vicious objects, I have endeavoured to refresh the

attention with occasional incidents of a different nature; and raised

up a virtuous character, in opposition to the adventurer, with a view

to amuse the fancy, engage the affection, and form a striking contrast

which might heighten the expression, and give a relief to the moral of

the whole.

If I have not succeeded in my endeavours to unfold the mysteries of

fraud, to instruct the ignorant, and entertain the vacant; if I have

failed in my attempts to subject folly to ridicule, and vice to

indignation; to rouse the spirit of mirth, wake the soul of compassion,

and touch the secret springs that move the heart; I have, at least,

adorned virtue with honour and applause, branded iniquity with reproach

and shame, and carefully avoided every hint or expression which could

give umbrage to the most delicate reader—circumstances which (whatever

may be my fate with the public) will with you always operate in favour

of,

Dear sir, your very affectionate friend and servant,

THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER ONE

SOME SAGE OBSERVATIONS THAT NATURALLY INTRODUCE OUR IMPORTANT HISTORY.

Cardinal de Retz very judiciously observes, that all historians must of

necessity be subject to mistakes, in explaining the motives of those

actions they record, unless they derive their intelligence from the

candid confession of the person whose character they represent; and

that, of consequence, every man of importance ought to write his own

memoirs, provided he has honesty enough to tell the truth, without

suppressing any circumstance that may tend to the information of the

reader. This, however, is a requisite that, I am afraid, would be very

rarely found among the number of those who exhibit their own portraits

to the public. Indeed, I will venture to say, that, how upright soever

a man’s intentions may be, he will, in the performance of such a task,

be sometimes misled by his own phantasy, and represent objects, as they

appeared to him, through the mists of prejudice and passion.

An unconcerned reader, when he peruses the history of two competitors,

who lived two thousand years ago, or who perhaps never had existence,

except in the imagination of the author, cannot help interesting

himself in the dispute, and espousing one side of the contest, with all

the zeal of a warm adherent. What wonder, then, that we should be

heated in our own concerns, review our actions with the same

self-approbation that they had formerly acquired, and recommend them to

the world with all the enthusiasm of paternal affection?

Supposing this to be the case, it was lucky for the cause of historical

truth, that so many pens have been drawn by writers, who could not be

suspected of such partiality; and that many great personages, among the

ancients as well as moderns, either would not or could not entertain

the public with their own memoirs. From this want of inclination or

capacity to write, in our hero himself, the undertaking is now left to

me, of transmitting to posterity the remarkable adventures of FERDINAND

COUNT FATHOM; and by the time the reader shall have glanced over the

subsequent sheets, I doubt not but he will bless God that the

adventurer was not his own historian.

This mirror of modern chivalry was none of those who owe their dignity

to the circumstances of their birth, and are consecrated from the

cradle for the purposes of greatness, merely because they are the

accidental children of wealth. He was heir to no visible patrimony,

unless we reckon a robust constitution, a tolerable appearance, and an

uncommon capacity, as the advantages of inheritance. If the comparison

obtains in this point of consideration, he was as much as any man

indebted to his parent; and pity it was, that, in the sequel of his

fortune, he never had an opportunity of manifesting his filial

gratitude and regard. From this agreeable act of duty to his sire, and

all those tendernesses that are reciprocally enjoyed betwixt the father

and the son, he was unhappily excluded by a small circumstance; at

which, however, he was never heard to repine. In short, had he been

brought forth in the fabulous ages of the world, the nature of his

origin might have turned to his account; he might, like other heroes of

antiquity, have laid claim to divine extraction, without running the

risk of being claimed by an earthly father. Not that his parents had

any reason to disown or renounce their offspring, or that there was

anything preternatural in the circumstances of his generation and

birth; on the contrary, he was, from the beginning, a child of

promising parts, and in due course of nature ushered into the world

amidst a whole cloud of witnesses. But, that he was acknowledged by no

mortal sire, solely proceeded from the uncertainty of his mother, whose

affections were so dissipated among a number of admirers, that she

could never pitch upon the person from whose loins our hero sprung.

Over and above this important doubt under which he was begotten, other

particularities attended his birth, and seemed to mark him out as

something uncommon among the sons of men. He was brought forth in a

waggon, and might be said to be literally a native of two different

countries; for, though he first saw the light in Holland, he was not

born till after the carriage arrived in Flanders; so that, all these

extraordinary circumstances considered, the task of determining to what

government he naturally owed allegiance, would be at least as difficult

as that of ascertaining the so much contested birthplace of Homer.

Certain it is, the Count’s mother was an Englishwoman, who, after

having been five times a widow in one campaign, was, in the last year

of the renowned Marlborough’s command, numbered among the baggage of

the allied army, which she still accompanied, through pure benevolence

of spirit, supplying the ranks with the refreshing streams of choice

Geneva, and accommodating individuals with clean linen, as the

emergency of their occasions required. Nor was her philanthropy

altogether confined to such ministration; she abounded with “the milk

of human kindness,” which flowed plentifully among her

fellow-creatures; and to every son of Mars who cultivated her favour,

she liberally dispensed her smiles, in order to sweeten the toils and

dangers of the field.

And here it will not be amiss to anticipate the remarks of the reader,

who, in the chastity and excellency of his conception, may possibly

exclaim, “Good Heaven! will these authors never reform their

imaginations, and lift their ideas from the obscene objects of low

life? Must the public be again disgusted with the grovelling adventures

of a waggon? Will no writer of genius draw his pen in the vindication

of taste, and entertain us with the agreeable characters, the dignified

conversation, the poignant repartee, in short, the genteel comedy of

the polite world?”

Have a little patience, gentle, delicate, sublime critic; you, I doubt

not, are one of those consummate connoisseurs, who, in their

purifications, let humour evaporate, while they endeavour to preserve

decorum, and polish wit, until the edge of it is quite worn off. Or,

perhaps, of that class, who, in the sapience of taste, are disgusted

with those very flavours in the productions of their own country which

have yielded infinite delectation to their faculties, when imported

from another clime; and d—n an author in despite of all precedent and

prescription;—who extol the writings of Petronius Arbiter, read with

rapture the amorous sallies of Ovid’s pen, and chuckle over the story

of Lucian’s ass; yet, if a modern author presumes to relate the

progress of a simple intrigue, are shocked at the indecency and

immorality of the scene;—who delight in following Guzman d’Alfarache,

through all the mazes of squalid beggary; who with pleasure accompany

Don Quixote and his squire, in the lowest paths of fortune; who are

diverted with the adventures of Scarron’s ragged troop of strollers,

and highly entertained with the servile situations of Gil Blas; yet,

when a character in humble life occasionally occurs in a performance of

our own growth, exclaim, with an air of disgust, “Was ever anything so

mean! sure, this writer must have been very conversant with the lowest

scenes of life;”—who, when Swift or Pope represents a coxcomb in the

act of swearing, scruple not to laugh at the ridiculous execrations;

but, in a less reputed author, condemn the use of such profane

expletives;—who eagerly explore the jakes of Rabelais, for amusement,

and even extract humour from the dean’s description of a lady’s

dressing-room; yet in a production of these days, unstamped with such

venerable names, will stop their noses, with all the signs of loathing

and abhorrence, at a bare mention of the china chamber-pot;—who

applauded Catullus, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucan, for their spirit in

lashing the greatest names of antiquity; yet, when a British satirist,

of this generation, has courage enough to call in question the talents

of a pseudo-patron in power, accuse him of insolence, rancour, and

scurrility.

If such you be, courteous reader, I say again, have a little patience;

for your entertainment we are about to write. Our hero shall, with all

convenient despatch, be gradually sublimed into those splendid

connexions of which you are enamoured; and God forbid, that, in the

meantime, the nature of his extraction should turn to his prejudice in

a land of freedom like this, where individuals are every day ennobled

in consequence of their own qualifications, without the least

retrospective regard to the rank or merit of their ancestors. Yes,

refined reader, we are hastening to that goal of perfection, where

satire dares not show her face; where nature is castigated, almost even

to still life; where humour turns changeling, and slavers in an insipid

grin; where wit is volatilised into a mere vapour; where decency,

divested of all substance, hovers about like a fantastic shadow; where

the salt of genius, escaping, leaves nothing but pure and simple

phlegm; and the inoffensive pen for ever drops the mild manna of

soul-sweetening praise.

CHAPTER TWO

A SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF OUR HERO’S INFANCY.

Having thus bespoken the indulgence of our guests, let us now produce

the particulars of our entertainment, and speedily conduct our

adventurer through the stage of infancy, which seldom teems with

interesting incidents.

As the occupations of his mother would not conveniently permit her to

suckle this her firstborn at her own breast, and those happy ages were

now no more, in which the charge of nursing a child might be left to

the next goat or she-wolf, she resolved to improve upon the ordinances

of nature, and foster him with a juice much more energetic than the

milk of goat, wolf, or woman; this was no other than that delicious

nectar, which, as we have already hinted, she so cordially distributed

from a small cask that hung before her, depending from her shoulders by

a leathern zone. Thus determined, ere he was yet twelve days old, she

enclosed him in a canvas knapsack, which being adjusted to her neck,

fell down upon her back, and balanced the cargo that rested on her

bosom.

There are not wanting those who affirm, that, while her double charge

was carried about in this situation, her keg was furnished with a long

and slender flexible tube, which, when the child began to be clamorous,

she conveyed into his mouth, and straight he stilled himself with

sucking; but this we consider as an extravagant assertion of those who

mix the marvellous in all their narrations, because we cannot conceive

how the tender organs of an infant could digest such a fiery beverage,

which never fails to discompose the constitutions of the most hardy and

robust. We therefore conclude that the use of this potation was more

restrained, and that it was with simple element diluted into a

composition adapted to his taste and years. Be this as it will, he

certainly was indulged in the use of it to such a degree as would have

effectually obstructed his future fortune, had not he been happily

cloyed with the repetition of the same fare, for which he conceived the

utmost detestation and abhorrence, rejecting it with loathing and

disgust, like those choice spirits, who, having been crammed with

religion in their childhood, renounce it in their youth, among other

absurd prejudices of education.

While he was thus dangled in a state of suspension, a German trooper

was transiently smit with the charms of his mother, who listened to his

honourable addresses, and once more received the silken bonds of

matrimony; the ceremony having been performed as usual at the

drum-head. The lady had no sooner taken possession of her new name,

than she bestowed it upon her son, who was thenceforward distinguished

by the appellation of Ferdinand de Fadom; nor was the husband offended

at this presumption in his wife, which he not only considered as a

proof of her affection and esteem, but also as a compliment, by which

he might in time acquire the credit of being the real father of such a

hopeful child.

Notwithstanding this new engagement with a foreigner, our hero’s mother

still exercised the virtues of her calling among the English troops, so

much was she biassed by that laudable partiality, which, as Horace

observes, the natale solum generally inspires. Indeed this inclination

was enforced by another reason, that did not fail to influence her

conduct in this particular; all her knowledge of the High Dutch

language consisted in some words of traffic absolutely necessary for

the practice of her vocation, together with sundry oaths and terms of

reproach, that kept her customers in awe; so that, except among her own

countrymen, she could not indulge that propensity to conversation, for

which she had been remarkable from her earliest years. Nor did this

instance of her affection fail of turning to her account in the sequel.

She was promoted to the office of cook to a regimental mess of

officers; and, before the peace of Utrecht, was actually in possession

of a suttling-tent, pitched for the accommodation of the gentlemen in

the army.

Meanwhile, Ferdinand improved apace in the accomplishments of infancy;

his beauty was conspicuous, and his vigour so uncommon, that he was

with justice likened unto Hercules in the cradle. The friends of his

father-in-law dandled him on their knees, while he played with their

whiskers, and, before he was thirteen months old, taught him to suck

brandy impregnated with gunpowder, through the touch-hole of a pistol.

At the same time, he was caressed by divers serjeants of the British

army, who severally and in secret contemplated his qualifications with

a father’s pride, excited by the artful declaration with which the

mother had flattered each apart.

Soon as the war was (for her unhappily) concluded, she, as in duty

bound, followed her husband into Bohemia; and his regiment being sent

into garrison at Prague, she opened a cabaret in that city, which was

frequented by a good many guests of the Scotch and Irish nations, who

were devoted to the exercise of arms in the service of the Emperor. It

was by this communication that the English tongue became vernacular to

young Ferdinand, who, without such opportunity, would have been a

stranger to the language of his forefathers, in spite of all his

mother’s loquacity and elocution; though it must be owned, for the

credit of her maternal care, that she let slip no occasion of making it

familiar to his ear and conception; for, even at those intervals in

which she could find no person to carry on the altercation, she used to

hold forth in earnest soliloquies upon the subject of her own

situation, giving vent to many opprobrious invectives against her

husband’s country, between which and Old England she drew many odious

comparisons; and prayed, without ceasing, that Europe might speedily be

involved in a general war, so as that she might have some chance of

re-enjoying the pleasures and emoluments of a Flanders campaign.

CHAPTER THREE

HE IS INITIATED IN A MILITARY LIFE, AND HAS THE GOOD FORTUNE TO ACQUIRE

A GENEROUS PATRON.

While she wearied Heaven with these petitions, the flame of war broke

out betwixt the houses of Ottoman and Austria, and the Emperor sent

forth an army into Hungary, under the auspices of the renowned Prince

Eugene. On account of this expedition, the mother of our hero gave up

housekeeping, and cheerfully followed her customers and husband into

the field; having first provided herself with store of those

commodities in which she had formerly merchandised. Although the hope

of profit might in some measure affect her determination, one of the

chief motives for her visiting the frontiers of Turkey, was the desire

of initiating her son in the rudiments of his education, which she now

thought high time to inculcate, he being, at this period, in the sixth

year of his age; he was accordingly conducted to the camp, which she

considered as the most consummate school of life, and proposed for the

scene of his instruction; and in this academy he had not continued many

weeks, when he was an eye-witness of that famous victory, which, with

sixty thousand men, the Imperial general obtained over an army of one

hundred and fifty thousand Turks.

His father-in-law was engaged, and his mother would not be idle on this

occasion. She was a perfect mistress of all the camp qualifications,

and thought it a duty incumbent on her to contribute all that lay in

her power towards distressing the enemy. With these sentiments she

hovered about the skirts of the army, and the troops were no sooner

employed in the pursuit, than she began to traverse the field of battle

with a poignard and a bag, in order to consult her own interest, annoy

the foe, and exercise her humanity at the same time. In short, she had,

with amazing prowess, delivered some fifty or threescore disabled

Mussulmen of the pain under which they groaned, and made a comfortable

booty of the spoils of the slain, when her eyes were attracted by the

rich attire of an Imperial officer, who lay bleeding on the plain, to

all appearance in the agonies of death.

She could not in her heart refuse that favour to a friend and Christian

she had so compassionately bestowed upon so many enemies and infidels,

and therefore drew near with the sovereign remedy, which she had

already administered with such success. As she approached this

deplorable object of pity, her ears were surprised with an ejaculation

in the English tongue, which he fervently pronounced, though with a

weak and languid voice, recommending his soul to God, and his family to

the protection of Heaven. Our Amazon’s purpose was staggered by this

providential incident; the sound of her native language, so

unexpectedly heard, and so pathetically delivered, had a surprising

effect upon her imagination; and the faculty of reflection did not

forsake her in such emergency. Though she could not recollect the

features of this unhappy officer, she concluded, from his appearance,

that he was some person of distinction in the service, and foresaw

greater advantage to herself in attempting to preserve his life, than

she could possibly reap from the execution of her first resolve. “If,”

said she to herself, “I can find means of conveying him to his tent

alive, he cannot but in conscience acknowledge my humanity with some

considerable recompense; and, should he chance to survive his wounds, I

have everything to expect from his gratitude and power.”

Fraught with these prudential suggestions, she drew near the

unfortunate stranger, and, in a softened accent of pity and condolence,

questioned him concerning his name, condition, and the nature of his

mischance, at the same time making a gentle tender of her service.

Agreeably surprised to hear himself accosted in such a manner, by a

person whose equipage seemed to promise far other designs, he thanked

her in the most grateful terms for her humanity, with the appellation

of kind countrywoman; gave her to understand that he was colonel of a

regiment of horse; that he had fallen in consequence of a shot he

received in his breast at the beginning of the action; and, finally,

entreated her to procure some carriage on which he might be removed to

his tent. Perceiving him faint and exhausted with loss of blood, she

raised up his head, and treated him with that cordial which was her

constant companion. At that instant, espying a small body of hussars

returning to the camp with the plunder they had taken, she invoked

their assistance, and they forthwith carried the officer to his own

quarters, where his wound was dressed, and his preserver carefully

tended him until his recovery was completed.

In return for these good offices, this gentleman, who was originally of

Scotland, rewarded her for the present with great liberality, assured

her of his influence in promoting her husband, and took upon himself

the charge of young Ferdinand’s education; the boy was immediately

taken into his protection, and entered as a trooper in his own

regiment; but his good intentions towards his father-in-law were

frustrated by the death of the German, who, in a few days after this

disposition, was shot in the trenches before Temiswaer.

This event, over and above the conjugal affliction with which it

invaded the lady’s quiet, would have involved her in infinite

difficulty and distress, with regard to her temporal concerns, by

leaving her unprotected in the midst of strangers, had not she been

thus providentially supplied with an effectual patron in the colonel,

who was known by the appellation of Count Melvil. He no sooner saw her,

by the death of her husband, detached from all personal connexions with

a military life, than he proposed that she should quit her occupation

in the camp, and retire to his habitation in the city of Presburg,

where she would be entertained in ease and plenty during the remaining

part of her natural life. With all due acknowledgments of his

generosity, she begged to be excused from embracing his proposal,

alleging she was so much accustomed to her present way of life, and so

much devoted to the service of the soldiery, that she should never be

happy in retirement, while the troops of any prince in Christendom kept

the field.

The Count, finding her determined to prosecute her scheme, repeated his

promise of befriending her upon all occasions; and in the meantime

admitted Ferdinand into the number of his domestics, resolving that he

should be brought up in attendance upon his own son, who was a boy of

the same age. He kept him, however, in his tent, until he should have

an opportunity of revisiting his family in person; and, before that

occasion offered, two whole years elapsed, during which the illustrious

Prince Eugene gained the celebrated battle of Belgrade, and afterwards

made himself master of that important frontier.

CHAPTER FOUR

HIS MOTHER’S PROWESS AND DEATH; TOGETHER WITH SOME INSTANCES OF HIS OWN

SAGACITY.

It would have been impossible for the mother of our adventurer, such as

she hath been described, to sit quietly in her tent, while such an

heroic scene was acting. She was no sooner apprised of the general’s

intention to attack the enemy, than she, as usual, packed up her

moveables in a waggon, which she committed to the care of a peasant in

the neighbourhood, and put herself in motion with the troops; big with

the expectation of re-acting that part in which she had formerly

acquitted herself so much to her advantage.—Nay, she by this time

looked upon her own presence as a certain omen of success to the cause

which she espoused; and, in their march to battle, actually encouraged

the ranks with repeated declarations, importing, that she had been

eye-witness of ten decisive engagements, in all of which her friends

had been victorious, and imputing such uncommon good fortune to some

supernatural quality inherent in her person.

Whether or not this confidence contributed to the fortune of the day,

by inspiring the soldiers to an uncommon pitch of courage and

resolution, I shall not pretend to determine. But, certain it is, the

victory began from that quarter in which she had posted herself; and no

corps in the army behaved with such intrepidity as that which was

manifested by those who were favoured with her admonitions and example;

for she not only exposed her person to the enemy’s fire, with the

indifference and deliberation of a veteran, but she is said to have

achieved a very conspicuous exploit by the prowess of her single arm.

The extremity of the line to which she had attached herself, being

assaulted in flank by a body of the spahis, wheeled about, in order to

sustain the charge, and received them with such a seasonable fire, as

brought a great number of turbans to the ground; among those who fell,

was one of the chiefs or agas, who had advanced before the rest, with a

view to signalise his valour.

Our English Penthesilea no sooner saw this Turkish leader drop, than,

struck with the magnificence of his own and horse’s trappings, she

sprung forward to seize them as her prize, and found the aga not dead,

though in a good measure disabled by his misfortune, which was entirely

owing to the weight of his horse, that, having been killed by a

musket-ball, lay upon his leg, so that he could not disengage himself.

Nevertheless, perceiving the virago approach with fell intent, he

brandished his symitar, and tried to intimidate his assailant with a

most horrible exclamation; but it was not the dismal yell of a

dismounted cavalier, though enforced with a hideous ferocity of

countenance, and the menacing gestures with which he waited her

approach, that could intimidate such an undaunted she-campaigner; she

saw him writhing in the agonies of a situation from which he could not

move; and, running towards him with the nimbleness and intrepidity of a

Camilla, described a semicircle in the progress of her assault, and

attacking him on one side, plunged her well-tried dagger in his throat.

The shades of death encompassed him, his life-blood issued at the

wound, he fell prone upon the earth, he bit the dust, and having thrice

invoked the name of Allah! straight expired.

While his destiny was thus fulfilled, his followers began to reel; they

seemed dismayed at the fate of their chief, beheld their companions

drop like the leaves in autumn, and suddenly halted in the midst of

their career. The Imperialists, observing the confusion of the enemy,

redoubled their fire; and, raising a dreadful shout, advanced in order

to improve the advantage they had gained. The spahis durst not wait the

shock of such an encounter; they wheeled to the right-about, and

clapping spurs to their horses, fled in the utmost disorder. This was

actually the circumstance that turned the scale of battle. The

Austrians pursued their good fortune with uncommon impetuosity, and in

a few minutes left the field clear for the mother of our hero, who was

such an adept in the art of stripping, that in the twinkling of an eye

the bodies of the aga and his Arabian lay naked to the skin. It would

have been happy for her, had she been contented with these

first-fruits, reaped from the fortune of the day, and retired with her

spoils, which were not inconsiderable; but, intoxicated with the glory

she had won, enticed by the glittering caparisons that lay scattered on

the plain, and without doubt prompted by the secret instinct of her

fate, she resolved to seize opportunity by the forelock, and once for

all indemnify herself for the many fatigues, hazards, and sorrows she

had undergone.

Thus determined, she reconnoitred the field, and practised her address

so successfully, that in less than half an hour she was loaded with

ermine and embroidery, and disposed to retreat with her burden, when

her regards were solicited by a splendid bundle, which she descried at

some distance lying on the ground. This was no other than an unhappy

officer of hussars; who, after having the good fortune to take a

Turkish standard, was desperately wounded in the thigh, and obliged to

quit his horse; finding himself in such a helpless condition, he had

wrapped his acquisition round his body, that whatever might happen, he

and his glory should not be parted; and thus shrouded, among the dying

and the dead, he had observed the progress of our heroine, who stalked

about the field, like another Atropos, finishing, wherever she came,

the work of death. He did not at all doubt, that he himself would be

visited in the course of her peregrinations, and therefore provided for

her reception, with a pistol ready cocked in his hand, while he lay

perdue beneath his covert, in all appearance bereft of life. He was not

deceived in his prognostic; she no sooner eyed the golden crescent

than, inflamed with curiosity or cupidity, she directed thitherward her

steps, and discerning the carcase of a man, from which, she thought,

there would be a necessity for disengaging it, she lifted up her

weapon, in order to make sure of her purchase; and in the very instant

of discharging her blow, received a brace of bullets in her brain.

Thus ended the mortal pilgrimage of this modern Amazon; who, in point

of courage, was not inferior to Semiramis, Tomyris, Zenobia,

Thalestris, or any boasted heroine of ancient times. It cannot be

supposed that this catastrophe made a very deep impression upon the

mind of young Ferdinand, who had just then attained the ninth year of

his age, and been for a considerable time weaned from her maternal

caresses; especially as he felt no wants nor grievances in the family

of the Count, who favoured him with a particular share of indulgence,

because he perceived in him a spirit of docility, insinuation, and

sagacity, far above his years. He did not, however, fail to lament the

untimely fate of his mother, with such filial expressions of sorrow, as

still more intimately recommended him to his patron; who, being himself

a man of extraordinary benevolence, looked upon the boy as a prodigy of

natural affection, and foresaw in his future services a fund of

gratitude and attachment, that could not fail to render him a valuable

acquisition to his family.

In his own country, he had often seen connexions of that sort, which

having been planted in the infancy of the adherent, had grown up to a

surprising pitch of fidelity and friendship, that no temptation could

bias, and no danger dissolve. He therefore rejoiced in the hope of

seeing his own son accommodated with such a faithful attendant, in the

person of young Fathom, on whom he resolved to bestow the same

education he had planned for the other, though conveyed in such a

manner as should be suitable to the sphere in which he was ordained to

move. In consequence of these determinations, our young adventurer led

a very easy life, in quality of page to the Count, in whose tent he lay

upon a pallet, close to his field-bed, and often diverted him with his

childish prattle in the English tongue, which the more seldom his

master had occasion to speak, he the more delighted to hear. In the

exercise of his function, the boy was incredibly assiduous and alert;

far from neglecting the little particulars of his duty, and embarking

in the mischievous amusements of the children belonging to the camp, he

was always diligent, sedate, agreeably officious and anticipating; and

in the whole of his behaviour seemed to express the most vigilant sense

of his patron’s goodness and generosity; nay, to such a degree had

these sentiments, in all appearance, operated upon his reflection, that

one morning, while he supposed the Count asleep, he crept softly to his

bedside, and gently kissing his hand, which happened to be uncovered,

pronounced, in a low voice, a most fervent prayer in his behalf,

beseeching Heaven to shower down blessings upon him, as the widow’s

friend and the orphan’s father. This benediction was not lost upon the

Count, who chanced to be awake, and heard it with admiration; but what

riveted Ferdinand in his good graces, was a discovery that our youth

made, while his master was upon duty in the trenches before Belgrade.

Two foot soldiers, standing sentry near the door of the tent, were

captivated with the sight of some valuable moveables belonging to it;

and supposing, in their great wisdom, that the city of Belgrade was too

well fortified to be taken during that campaign, they came to a

resolution of withdrawing themselves from the severe service of the

trenches, by deserting to the enemy, after they should have rifled

Count Melvil’s tent of the furniture by which they were so powerfully

allured. The particulars of this plan were concerted in the French

language, which, they imagined, would screen them from all risk of

being detected, in case they should be overheard, though, as there was

no living creature in sight, they had no reason to believe that any

person was privy to their conversation. Nevertheless, they were

mistaken in both these conjectures. The conference reached the ears of

Fathom, who was at the other end of the tent, and had perceived the

eager looks with which they considered some parts of the furniture. He

had penetration enough to suspect their desire, and, alarmed by that

suspicion, listened attentively to their discourse; which, from a

slender knowledge in the French tongue, he had the good fortune partly

to understand.

This important piece of intelligence he communicated to the Count at

his return, and measures were immediately taken to defeat the design,

and make an example of the authors, who being permitted to load

themselves with the booty, were apprehended in their retreat, and

punished with death according to their demerits.

CHAPTER FIVE

A BRIEF DETAIL OF HIS EDUCATION.

Nothing could have more seasonably happened to confirm the good opinion

which the colonel entertained of Ferdinand’s principles. His intentions

towards the boy grew every day more and more warm; and, immediately

after the peace of Passarowitz, he retired to his own house at

Presburg, and presented young Fathom to his lady, not only as the son

of a person to whom he owed his life, but also as a lad who merited his

peculiar protection and regard by his own personal virtue. The

Countess, who was an Hungarian, received him with great kindness and

affability, and her son was ravished with the prospect of enjoying such

a companion. In short, fortune seemed to have provided for him an

asylum, in which he might be safely trained up, and suitably prepared

for more important scenes of life than any of his ancestors had ever

known.

He was not, in all respects, entertained on the footing of his young

master; yet he shared in all his education and amusements, as one whom

the old gentleman was fully determined to qualify for the station of an

officer in the service; and, if he did not eat with the Count, he was

every day regaled with choice bits from his table; holding, as it were,

a middle place between the rank of a relation and favourite domestic.

Although his patron maintained a tutor in the house, to superintend the

conduct of his heir, he committed the charge of his learning to the

instructions of a public school; where he imagined the boy would imbibe

a laudable spirit of emulation among his fellows, which could not fail

of turning out to the advantage of his education. Ferdinand was entered

in the same academy; and the two lads proceeded equally in the paths of

erudition; a mutual friendship and intimacy soon ensued, and,

notwithstanding the levity and caprice commonly discernible in the

behaviour of such boys, very few or rather no quarrels happened in the

course of their communication. Yet their dispositions were altogether

different, and their talents unlike. Nay, this dissimilarity was the

very bond of their union; because it prevented that jealousy and

rivalship which often interrupts the harmony of two warm

contemporaries.

The young Count made extraordinary progress in the exercises of the

school, though he seemed to take very little pains in the cultivation

of his studies; and became a perfect hero in all the athletic

diversions of his fellow-scholars; but, at the same time, exhibited

such a bashful appearance and uncouth address, that his mother

despaired of ever seeing him improved into any degree of polite

behaviour. On the other hand, Fathom, who was in point of learning a

mere dunce, became, even in his childhood, remarkable among the ladies

for his genteel deportment and vivacity; they admired the proficiency

he made under the directions of his dancing-master, the air with which

he performed his obeisance at his entrance and exit; and were charmed

with the agreeable assurance and lively sallies of his conversation;

while they expressed the utmost concern and disgust at the boorish

demeanour of his companion, whose extorted bows resembled the pawings

of a mule, who hung his head in silence like a detected sheep-stealer,

who sat in company under the most awkward expressions of constraint,

and whose discourse never exceeded the simple monosyllables of negation

and assent.

In vain did all the females of the family propose to him young Fathom,

as a pattern and reproach. He remained unaltered by all their efforts

and expostulations, and allowed our adventurer to enjoy the triumph of

his praise, while he himself was conscious of his own superiority in

those qualifications which seemed of more real importance than the mere

exteriors and forms of life. His present ambition was not to make a

figure at his father’s table, but to eclipse his rivals at school, and

to acquire an influence and authority among these confederates.

Nevertheless, Fathom might possibly have fallen under his displeasure

or contempt, had not that pliant genius found means to retain his

friendship by seasonable compliances and submission; for the sole

study, or at least the chief aim of Ferdinand, was to make himself

necessary and agreeable to those on whom his dependence was placed. His

talent was in this particular suited to his inclination; he seemed to

have inherited it from his mother’s womb; and, without all doubt, would

have raised upon it a most admirable superstructure of fortune and

applause, had not it been inseparably yoked with a most insidious

principle of self-love, that grew up with him from the cradle, and left

no room in his heart for the least particle of social virtue. This

last, however, he knew so well how to counterfeit, by means of a large

share of ductility and dissimulation, that, surely, he was calculated

by nature to dupe even the most cautious, and gratify his appetites, by

levying contributions on all mankind.

So little are the common instructors of youth qualified to judge the

capacities of those who are under their tutelage and care, that Fathom,

by dint of his insinuating arts, made shift to pass upon the

schoolmaster as a lad of quick parts, in despite of a natural

inaptitude to retain his lessons, which all his industry could never

overcome. In order to remedy, or rather to cloak this defect in his

understanding, he had always recourse to the friendship of the young

Count, who freely permitted him to transcribe his exercises, until a

small accident happened, which had well-nigh put a stop to these

instances of his generosity.—The adventure, inconsiderable as it is, we

shall record, as the first overt act of Ferdinand’s true character, as

well as an illustration of the opinion we have advanced touching the

blind and injudicious decisions of a right pedagogue.

Among other tasks imposed by the pedant upon the form to which our two

companions belonged, they were one evening ordered to translate a

chapter of Caesar’s Commentaries. Accordingly the young Count went to

work, and performed the undertaking with great elegance and despatch.

Fathom, having spent the night in more effeminate amusements, was next

morning so much hurried for want of time, that in his transcription he

neglected to insert a few variations from the text, these being the

terms on which he was allowed to use it; so that it was verbatim a copy

of the original. As those exercises were always delivered in a heap,

subscribed with the several names of the boys to whom they belonged,

the schoolmaster chanced to peruse the version of Ferdinand, before he

looked into any of the rest, and could not help bestowing upon it

particular marks of approbation. The next that fell under his

examination was that of the young Count, when he immediately perceived

the sameness, and, far from imputing it to the true cause, upbraided

him with having copied the exercise of our adventurer, and insisted

upon chastising him upon the spot for his want of application.

Had not the young gentleman thought his honour was concerned, he would

have submitted to the punishment without murmuring; but he inherited,

from his parents, the pride of two fierce nations, and, being

overwhelmed with reproaches for that which he imagined ought to have

redounded to his glory, he could not brook the indignity, and boldly

affirmed, that he himself was the original, to whom Ferdinand was

beholden for his performance. The schoolmaster, nettled to find himself

mistaken in his judgment, resolved that the Count should have no cause

to exult in the discovery he had made, and, like a true flogger,

actually whipped him for having allowed Fathom to copy his exercise.

Nay, in the hope of vindicating his own penetration, he took an

opportunity of questioning Ferdinand in private concerning the

circumstances of the translation, and our hero, perceiving his drift,

gave him such artful and ambiguous answers, as persuaded him that the

young Count had acted the part of a plagiary, and that the other had

been restrained from doing himself justice, by the consideration of his

own dependence.

This profound director did not fail, in honour of his own discernment,

to whisper about the misrepresentation, as an instance of the young

Count’s insolence, and Fathom’s humility and good sense. The story was

circulated among the servants, especially the maids belonging to the

family, whose favour our hero had acquired by his engaging behaviour;

and at length it reached the ears of his patron, who, incensed at his

son’s presumption and inhospitality, called him to a severe account,

when the young gentleman absolutely denied the truth of the allegation,

and appealed to the evidence of Fathom himself. Our adventurer was

accordingly summoned by the father, and encouraged to declare the

truth, with an assurance of his constant protection; upon which

Ferdinand very wisely fell upon his knees, and, while the tears gushed

from his eyes, acquitted the young Count of the imputation, and

expressed his apprehension, that the report had been spread by some of

his enemies, who wanted to prejudice him in the opinion of his patron.

The old gentleman was not satisfied of his son’s integrity by this

declaration; being naturally of a generous disposition, highly

prepossessed in favour of the poor orphan, and chagrined at the

unpromising appearance of his heir, he suspected that Fathom was

overawed by the fear of giving offence, and that, notwithstanding what

he had said, the case really stood as it had been represented. In this

persuasion, he earnestly exhorted his son to resist and combat with any

impulse he might feel within himself, tending to selfishness, fraud, or

imposition; to encourage every sentiment of candour and benevolence,

and to behave with moderation and affability to all his

fellow-creatures. He laid upon him strong injunctions, not without a

mixture of threats, to consider Fathom as the object of his peculiar

regard; to respect him as the son of the Count’s preserver, as a

Briton, a stranger, and, above all, an helpless orphan, to whom the

rights of hospitality were doubly due.

Such admonitions were not lost upon the youth, who, under the rough

husk of his personal exhibition, possessed a large share of generous

sensibility. Without any formal professions to his father, he resolved

to govern himself according to his remonstrances; and, far from

conceiving the least spark of animosity against Fathom, he looked upon

the poor boy as the innocent cause of his disgrace, and redoubled his

kindness towards him, that his honour might never again be called in

question, upon the same subject. Nothing is more liable to

misconstruction than an act of uncommon generosity; one half of the

world mistake the motive, from want of ideas to conceive an instance of

beneficence that soars so high above the level of their own sentiments;

and the rest suspect it of something sinister or selfish, from the

suggestions of their own sordid and vicious inclinations. The young

Count subjected himself to such misinterpretation, among those who

observed the increased warmth of civility and complaisance in his

behaviour to Ferdinand. They ascribed it to his desire of still

profiting by our adventurer’s superior talents, by which alone they

supposed him enabled to maintain any degree of reputation at school; or

to the fear of being convicted by him of some misdemeanour of which he

knew himself guilty. These suspicions were not effaced by the conduct

of Ferdinand, who, when examined on the subject, managed his answers in

such a manner, as confirmed their conjectures, while he pretended to

refute them, and at the same time acquired to himself credit for his

extraordinary discretion and self-denial.

If he exhibited such a proof of sagacity in the twelfth year of his

age, what might not be expected from his finesse in the maturity of his

faculties and experience? Thus secured in the good graces of the whole

family, he saw the days of his puerility glide along in the most

agreeable elapse of caresses and amusement. He never fairly plunged

into the stream of school-education, but, by floating on the surface,

imbibed a small tincture of those different sciences which his master

pretended to teach. In short, he resembled those vagrant swallows that

skim along the level of some pool or river, without venturing to wet

one feather in their wings, except in the accidental pursuit of an

inconsiderable fly. Yet, though his capacity or inclination was

unsuited for studies of this kind, he did not fail to manifest a

perfect genius in the acquisition of other more profitable arts. Over

and above the accomplishments of address, for which he hath been

already celebrated, he excelled all his fellows in his dexterity at

fives and billiards; was altogether unrivalled in his skill at draughts

and backgammon; began, even at these years, to understand the moves and

schemes of chess; and made himself a mere adept in the mystery of

cards, which he learned in the course of his assiduities and attention

to the females of the house.

CHAPTER SIX

HE MEDITATES SCHEMES OF IMPORTANCE.

It was in these parties that he attracted the notice and friendship of

his patron’s daughter, a girl by two years older than himself, who was

not insensible to his qualifications, and looked upon him with the most

favourable eyes of prepossession. Whether or not he at this period of

his life began to project plans for availing himself of her

susceptibility, is uncertain; but, without all doubt, he cultivated her

esteem with as obsequious and submissive attention as if he had already

formed the design, which, in his advanced age, he attempted to put in

execution.

Divers circumstances conspired to promote him in the favour of this

young lady; the greenness of his years secured him from any appearance

of fallacious aim; so that he was indulged in frequent opportunities of

conversing with his young mistress, whose parents encouraged this

communication, by which they hoped she would improve in speaking the

language of her father. Such connexions naturally produce intimacy and

friendship. Fathom’s person was agreeable, his talents calculated for

the meridian of those parties, and his manners so engaging, that there

would have been no just subject for wonder, had he made an impression

upon the tender unexperienced heart of Mademoiselle de Melvil, whose

beauty was not so attractive as to extinguish his hope, in raising up a

number of formidable rivals; though her expectations of fortune were

such as commonly lend additional lustre to personal merit.

All these considerations were so many steps towards the success of

Ferdinand’s pretensions; and though he cannot be supposed to have

perceived them at first, he in the sequel seemed perfectly well

apprised of his advantages, and used them to the full extent of his

faculties. Observing that she delighted in music, he betook himself to

the study of that art, and, by dint of application and a tolerable ear,

learned of himself to accompany her with a German flute, while she sung

and played upon the harpsichord. The Count, seeing his inclination, and

the progress he had made, resolved that his capacity should not be lost

for want of cultivation; and accordingly provided him with a master, by

whom he was instructed in the principles of the art, and soon became a

proficient in playing upon the violin.

In the practice of these improvements and avocations, and in attendance

upon his young master, whom he took care never to disoblige or neglect,

he attained to the age of sixteen, without feeling the least abatement

in the friendship and generosity of those upon whom he depended; but,

on the contrary, receiving every day fresh marks of their bounty and

regard. He had before this time been smit with the ambition of making a

conquest of the young lady’s heart, and foresaw manifold advantages to

himself in becoming son-in-law to Count Melvil, who, he never doubted,

would soon be reconciled to the match, if once it could be effectuated

without his knowledge. Although he thought he had great reason to

believe that Mademoiselle looked upon him with an eye of peculiar

favour, his disposition was happily tempered with an ingredient of

caution, that hindered him from acting with precipitation; and he had

discerned in the young lady’s deportment certain indications of

loftiness and pride, which kept him in the utmost vigilance and

circumspection; for he knew, that, by a premature declaration, he

should run the risk of forfeiting all the advantages he had gained, and

blasting those expectations that now blossomed so gaily in his heart.

Restricted by these reflections, he acted at a wary distance, and

determined to proceed by the method of sap, and, summoning all his

artifice and attractions to his aid, employed them under the insidious

cover of profound respect, in order to undermine those bulwarks of

haughtiness or discretion, which otherwise might have rendered his

approaches to her impracticable. With a view to enhance the value of

his company, and sound her sentiments at the same time, he became more

reserved than usual, and seldomer engaged in her parties of music and

cards; yet, in the midst of his reserve, he never failed in those

demonstrations of reverence and regard, which he knew perfectly well

how to express, but devised such excuses for his absence, as she could

not help admitting. In consequence of this affected shyness, she more

than once gently chid him for his neglect and indifference, observing,

with an ironical air, that he was now too much of a man to be

entertained with such effeminate diversions; but her reproofs were

pronounced with too much ease and good-humour to be agreeable to our

hero, who desired to see her ruffled and chagrined at his absence, and

to hear himself rebuked with an angry affectation of disdain. This

effort, therefore, he reinforced with the most captivating carriage he

could assume, in those hours which he now so sparingly bestowed upon

his mistress. He regaled her with all the entertaining stories he could

learn or invent, particularly such as he thought would justify and

recommend the levelling power of love, that knows no distinctions of

fortune. He sung nothing but tender airs and passionate complaints,

composed by desponding or despairing swains; and, to render his

performances of this kind the more pathetic, interlarded them with some

seasonable sighs, while the tears, which he had ever at command, stood

collected in either eye.

It was impossible for her to overlook such studied emotions; she in a

jocose manner taxed him with having lost his heart, rallied the excess

of his passion, and in a merry strain undertook to be an advocate for

his love. Her behaviour was still wide of his wish and expectation. He

thought she would, in consequence of her discovery, have betrayed some

interested symptom; that her face would have undergone some favourable

suffusion; that her tongue would have faltered, her breast heaved, and

her whole deportment betokened internal agitation and disorder, in

which case, he meant to profit by the happy impression, and declare

himself, before she could possibly recollect the dictates of her

pride.—Baffled however in his endeavours, by the serenity of the young

lady, which he still deemed equivocal, he had recourse to another

experiment, by which he believed he should make a discovery of her

sentiments beyond all possibility of doubt. One day, while he

accompanied Mademoiselle in her exercise of music, he pretended all of

a sudden to be taken ill, and counterfeited a swoon in her apartment.

Surprised at this accident, she screamed aloud, but far from running to

his assistance, with the transports and distraction of a lover, she

ordered her maid, who was present, to support his head, and went in

person to call for more help. He was accordingly removed to his own

chamber, where, willing to be still more certified of her inclinations,

he prolonged the farce, and lay groaning under the pretence of a severe

fever.

The whole family was alarmed upon this occasion; for, as we have

already observed, he was an universal favourite. He was immediately

visited by the old Count and his lady, who expressed the utmost concern

at his distemper, ordered him to be carefully attended, and sent for a

physician without loss of time. The young gentleman would scarce stir

from his bedside, where he ministered unto him with all the

demonstrations of brotherly affection; and Miss exhorted him to keep up

his spirits, with many expressions of unreserved sympathy and regard.

Nevertheless, he saw nothing in her behaviour but what might be

naturally expected from common friendship, and a compassionate

disposition, and was very much mortified at his disappointment.

Whether the miscarriage actually affected his constitution, or the

doctor happened to be mistaken in his diagnostics, we shall not pretend

to determine; but the patient was certainly treated secundum artem, and

all his complaints in a little time realised; for the physician, like a

true graduate, had an eye to the apothecary in his prescriptions; and

such was the concern and scrupulous care with which our hero was

attended, that the orders of the faculty were performed with the utmost

punctuality. He was blooded, vomited, purged, and blistered, in the

usual forms (for the physicians of Hungary are generally as well

skilled in the arts of their occupation as any other leeches under the

sun), and swallowed a whole dispensary of bolusses, draughts, and

apozems, by which means he became fairly delirious in three days, and

so untractable, that he could be no longer managed according to rule;

otherwise, in all likelihood, the world would never have enjoyed the

benefit of these adventures. In short, his constitution, though unable

to cope with two such formidable antagonists as the doctor and the

disease he had conjured up, was no sooner rid of the one, than it

easily got the better of the other; and though Ferdinand, after all,

found his grand aim unaccomplished, his malady was productive of a

consequence, which, though he had not foreseen it, he did not fail to

convert to his own use and advantage.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ENGAGES IN PARTNERSHIP WITH A FEMALE ASSOCIATE, IN ORDER TO PUT HIS

TALENTS IN ACTION.

While he displayed his qualifications in order to entrap the heart of

his young mistress, he had unwittingly enslaved the affections of her

maid. This attendant was also a favourite of the young lady, and,

though her senior by two or three good years at least, unquestionably

her superior in point of personal beauty; she moreover possessed a good

stock of cunning and discernment, and was furnished by nature with a

very amorous complexion. These circumstances being premised, the reader

will not be surprised to find her smitten by those uncommon

qualifications which we have celebrated in young Fathom. She had in

good sooth long sighed in secret, under the powerful influence of his

charms, and practised upon him all those little arts, by which a woman

strives to attract the admiration, and ensnare the heart of a man she

loves; but all his faculties were employed upon the plan which he had

already projected; that was the goal of his whole attention, to which

all his measures tended; and whether or not he perceived the impression

he had made upon Teresa, he never gave her the least reason to believe

he was conscious of his victory, until he found himself baffled in his

design upon the heart of her mistress.—She therefore persevered in her

distant attempts to allure him, with the usual coquetries of dress and

address, and, in the sweet hope of profiting by his susceptibility,

made shift to suppress her feelings, and keep her passion within

bounds, until his supposed danger alarmed her fears, and raised such a

tumult within her breast, that she could no longer conceal her love,

but gave a loose to her sorrow in the most immoderate expressions of

anguish and affliction, and, while his delirium lasted, behaved with

all the agitation of a despairing shepherdess.

Ferdinand was, or pretended to be, the last person in the family who

understood the situation of her thoughts; when he perceived her

passion, he entered into deliberation with himself, and tasked his

reflection and foresight, in order to discover how best he might

convert this conquest to his own advantage. Here, then, that we may

neglect no opportunity of doing justice to our hero, it will be proper

to observe, that, howsoever unapt his understanding might be to receive

and retain the usual culture of the schools, he was naturally a genius

self-taught, in point of sagacity and invention.—He dived into the

characters of mankind, with a penetration peculiar to himself, and, had

he been admitted as a pupil in any political academy, would have

certainly become one of the ablest statesmen in Europe.

Having revolved all the probable consequences of such a connexion, he

determined to prosecute an amour with the lady whose affection he had

subdued; because he hoped to interest her as an auxiliary in his grand

scheme upon Mademoiselle, which he did not as yet think proper to lay

aside; for he was not more ambitious in the plan, than indefatigable in

the prosecution of it. He knew it would be impossible to execute his

aims upon the Count’s daughter under the eye of Teresa, whose natural

discernment would be whetted with jealousy, and who would watch his

conduct, and thwart his progress with all the vigilance and spite of a

slighted maiden. On the other hand, he did not doubt of being able to

bring her over to his interest, by the influence he had already gained,

or might afterwards acquire over her passions; in which case, she would

effectually espouse his cause, and employ her good offices with her

mistress in his behalf; besides, he was induced by another motive,

which, though secondary, did not fail in this case to have an effect

upon his determination. He looked upon Teresa with the eyes of

appetite, which he longed to gratify; for he was not at all dead to the

instigations of the flesh, though he had philosophy enough to resist

them, when he thought they interfered with his interest. Here the case

was quite different. His desire happened to be upon the side of his

advantage, and therefore, resolving to indulge it, he no sooner found

himself in a condition to manage such an adventure, than he began to

make gradual advances in point of warmth and particular complacency to

the love-sick maid.

He first of all thanked her, in the most grateful terms, for the

concern she had manifested at his distemper, and the kind services he

had received from her during the course of it; he treated her upon all

occasions with unusual affability and regard, assiduously courted her

acquaintance and conversation, and contracted an intimacy that in a

little time produced a declaration of love. Although her heart was too

much intendered to hold out against all the forms of assault, far from

yielding at discretion, she stood upon honourable terms, with great

obstinacy of punctilio, and, while she owned he was master of her

inclinations, gave him to understand, with a peremptory and resolute

air, that he should never make a conquest of her virtue; observing,

that, if the passion he professed was genuine, he would not scruple to

give such a proof of it as would at once convince her of his sincerity;

and that he could have no just cause to refuse her that satisfaction,

she being his equal in point of birth and situation; for, if he was the

companion and favourite of the young Count, she was the friend and

confidant of Mademoiselle.

He acknowledged the strength of her argument, and that her

condescension was greater than his deserts, but objected against the

proposal, as infinitely prejudicial to the fortunes of them both. He

represented the state of dependence in which they mutually stood; their

utter incapacity to support one another under the consequences of a

precipitate match, clandestinely made, without the consent and

concurrence of their patrons. He displayed, with great eloquence, all

those gay expectations they had reason to entertain, from that eminent

degree of favour which they had already secured in the family; and set

forth, in the most alluring colours, those enchanting scenes of

pleasure they might enjoy in each other, without that disagreeable

consciousness of a nuptial chain, provided she would be his associate

in the execution of a plan which he had projected for their reciprocal

convenience.

Having thus inflamed her love of pleasure and curiosity, he, with great

caution, hinted his design upon the young lady’s fortune, and,

perceiving her listening with the most greedy attention, and perfectly

ripe for the conspiracy, he disclosed his intention at full length,

assuring her, with the most solemn protestations of love and

attachment, that, could he once make himself legal possessor of an

estate which Mademoiselle inherited by the will of a deceased aunt, his

dear Teresa should reap the happy fruits of his affluence, and wholly

engross his time and attention.

Such a base declaration our hero would not have ventured to make, had

he not implicitly believed the damsel was as great a latitudinarian as

himself, in point of morals and principle; and been well assured, that,

though he should be mistaken in her way of thinking, so far as to be

threatened with a detection of his purpose, he would always have it in

his power to refute her accusation as mere calumny, by the character he

had hitherto maintained, and the circumspection of his future conduct.

He seldom or never erred in his observations on the human heart.

Teresa, instead of disapproving, relished the plan in general, with

demonstrations of singular satisfaction. She at once conceived all the

advantageous consequences of such a scheme, and perceived in it only

one flaw, which, however, she did not think incurable. This defect was

no other than a sufficient bond of union, by which they might be

effectually tied down to their mutual interest. She foresaw, that, in

case Ferdinand should obtain possession of the prize, he might, with

great ease, deny their contract, and disavow her claim of

participation. She therefore demanded security, and proposed, as a

preliminary of the agreement, that he should privately take her to

wife, with a view to dispel all her apprehensions of his inconstancy or

deceit, as such a previous engagement would be a check upon his

behaviour, and keep him strictly to the letter of their contract.

He could not help subscribing to the righteousness of this proposal,

which, nevertheless, he would have willingly waived, on the supposition

that they could not possibly be joined in the bands of wedlock with

such secrecy as the nature of the case absolutely required. This would

have been a difficulty soon removed, had the scene of the transaction

been laid in the metropolis of England, where passengers are plied in

the streets by clergymen, who prostitute their characters and

consciences for hire, in defiance of all decency and law; but in the

kingdom of Hungary, ecclesiastics are more scrupulous in the exercise

of their function, and the objection was, or supposed to be, altogether

insurmountable; so that they were fain to have recourse to an

expedient, with which, after some hesitation, our she-adventurer was

satisfied. They joined hands in the sight of Heaven, which they called

to witness, and to judge the sincerity of their vows, and engaged, in a

voluntary oath, to confirm their union by the sanction of the church,

whenever a convenient opportunity for so doing should occur.

The scruples of Teresa being thus removed, she admitted Ferdinand to

the privileges of a husband, which he enjoyed in stolen interviews, and

readily undertook to exert her whole power in promoting his suit with

her young mistress, because she now considered his interest as

inseparably connected with her own. Surely nothing could be more absurd

or preposterous than the articles of this covenant, which she insisted

upon with such inflexibility. How could she suppose that her pretended

lover would be restrained by an oath, when the very occasion of

incurring it was an intention to act in violation of all laws human and

divine? and yet such ridiculous conjuration is commonly the cement of

every conspiracy, how dark, how treacherous, how impious soever it may

be: a certain sign that there are some remains of religion left in the

human mind, even after every moral sentiment hath abandoned it; and

that the most execrable ruffian finds means to quiet the suggestions of

his conscience, by some reversionary hope of Heaven’s forgiveness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEIR FIRST ATTEMPT; WITH A DIGRESSION WHICH SOME READERS MAY THINK

IMPERTINENT.

Be this as it will, our lovers, though real voluptuaries, amidst the

first transports of their enjoyment did not neglect the great political

aim of their conjunction. Teresa’s bedchamber, to which our hero

constantly repaired at midnight, was the scene of their deliberations,

and there it was determined that the damsel, in order to avoid

suspicion, should feign herself irritated at the indifference of

Ferdinand, her passion for whom was by this time no secret in the

family; and that, with a view to countenance this affectation, he

should upon all occasions treat her with an air of loftiness and

disdain.

So screened from all imputation of fraud, she was furnished by him with

artful instructions how to sound the inclinations of her young

mistress, how to recommend his person and qualifications by the sure

methods of contradiction, comparisons, revilings, and reproach; how to

watch the paroxysms of her disposition, inflame her passions, and

improve, for his advantage, those moments of frailty from which no

woman is exempted. In short, this consummate politician taught his

agent to poison the young lady’s mind with insidious conversation,

tending to inspire her with the love of guilty pleasure, to debauch her

sentiments, and confound her ideas of dignity and virtue. After all,

the task is not difficult to lead the unpractised heart astray, by dint

of those opportunities her seducer possessed. The seeds of insinuation

seasonably sown upon the warm luxuriant soil of youth, could hardly

fail of shooting up into such intemperate desires as he wanted to

produce, especially when cultured and cherished in her unguarded hours,

by that stimulating discourse which familiarity admits, and the looser

passions, ingrafted in every breast, are apt to relish and excuse.

Fathom had previously reconnoitred the ground, and discovered some

marks of inflammability in Mademoiselle’s constitution; her beauty was

not such as to engage her in those gaieties of amusement which could

flatter her vanity and dissipate her ideas; and she was of an age when

the little loves and young desires take possession of the fancy; he

therefore concluded, that she had the more leisure to indulge these

enticing images of pleasure that youth never fails to create,

particularly in those who, like her, were addicted to solitude and

study.

Teresa, full fraught with the wily injunctions of her confederate, took

the field, and opened the campaign with such remarkable sourness in her

aspect when Ferdinand appeared, that her young lady could not help

taking notice of her affected chagrin, and asked the reason of such

apparent alteration in her way of thinking. Prepared for this question,

the other replied, in a manner calculated for giving Mademoiselle to

understand, that, whatever impressions Ferdinand might have formerly

made on her heart, they were now altogether effaced by the pride and

insolence with which he had received her advances; and that her breast

now glowed with all the revenge of a slighted lover.

To evince the sincerity of this declaration, she bitterly inveighed

against him, and even affected to depreciate those talents, in which

she knew his chief merit to consist; hoping, by these means, to

interest Mademoiselle’s candour in his defence. So far the train

succeeded. That young lady’s love for truth was offended at the

calumnies that were vented against Ferdinand in his absence. She chid

her woman for the rancour of her remarks, and undertook to refute the

articles of his dispraise. Teresa supported her own assertions with

great obstinacy, and a dispute ensued, in which her mistress was heated

into some extravagant commendations of our adventurer.

His supposed enemy did not fail to make a report of her success, and to

magnify every advantage they had gained; believing, in good earnest,

that her lady’s warmth was the effect of a real passion for the

fortunate Mr. Fathom. But he himself viewed the adventure in a

different light, and rightly imputed the violence of Mademoiselle’s

behaviour to the contradiction she had sustained from her maid, or to

the fire of her natural generosity glowing in behalf of innocence

traduced. Nevertheless, he was perfectly well pleased with the nature

of the contest; because, in the course of such debates, he foresaw that

he should become habitually her hero, and that, in time, she would

actually believe those exaggerations of his merit, which she herself

had feigned, for the honour of her own arguments.

This presage, founded upon that principle of self-respect, without

which no individual exists, may certainly be justified by manifold

occurrences in life. We ourselves have known a very pregnant example,

which we shall relate, for the emolument of the reader. A certain needy

author having found means to present a manuscript to one of those sons

of fortune who are dignified with the appellation of patrons, instead

of reaping that applause and advantage with which he had regaled his

fancy, had the mortification to find his performance treated with

infinite irreverence and contempt, and, in high dudgeon and

disappointment, appealed to the judgment of another critic, who, he

knew, had no veneration for the first.

This common consolation, to which all baffled authors have recourse,

was productive of very happy consequences to our bard; for, though the

opinions of both judges concerning the piece were altogether the same,

the latter, either out of compassion to the appellant, or desire of

rendering his rival ridiculous in the eye of taste, undertook to repair

the misfortune, and in this manner executed the plan. In a meeting of

literati, to which both these wits belonged, he who had espoused the

poet’s cause, having previously desired another member to bring his

composition on the carpet, no sooner heard it mentioned, than he began

to censure it with flagrant marks of scorn, and, with an ironical air,

looking at its first condemner, observed, that he must be furiously

infected with the rage of patronising, who could take such a deplorable

performance into his protection. The sarcasm took effect.

The person against whom it was levelled, taking umbrage at his

presumption, assumed an aspect of disdain, and replied with great

animosity, that nothing was more easily supported than the character of

a Zoilus, because no production was altogether free from blemishes; and

any man might pronounce against any piece by the lump, without

interesting his own discernment; but to perceive the beauties of a

work, it was requisite to have learning, judgment, and taste; and

therefore he did not wonder that the gentleman had overlooked a great

many in the composition which he so contemptuously decried. A rejoinder

succeeded this reply, and produced a long train of altercation, in

which the gentleman, who had formerly treated the book with such

disrespect, now professed himself its passionate admirer, and held

forth in praise of it with great warmth and elocution.

Not contented with having exhibited this instance of regard, he next

morning sent a message to the owner, importing, that he had but

superficially glanced over the manuscript, and desiring the favour of

perusing it a second time. Being indulged in this request, he

recommended it in terms of rapture to all his friends and dependants,

and, by dint of unwearied solicitation, procured a very ample

subscription for the author.

But, to resume the thread of our story. Teresa’s practices were not

confined to simple defamation. Her reproaches were contrived so as to

imply some intelligence in favour of the person she reviled. In

exemplifying his pertness and arrogance, she repeated his witty

repartee; on pretence of blaming his ferocity, she recounted proofs of

his spirit and prowess; and, in explaining the source of his vanity,

gave her mistress to understand, that a certain young lady of fashion

was said to be enamoured of his person. Nor did this well-instructed

understrapper omit those other parts of her cue which the principal

judged necessary for the furtherance of his scheme. Her conversation

became less guarded, and took a freer turn than usual; she seized all

opportunities of introducing little amorous stories, the greatest part

of which were invented for the purposes of warming her passions, and

lowering the price of chastity in her esteem; for she represented all

the young lady’s contemporaries in point of age and situation, as so

many sensualists, who, without scruple, indulged themselves in the

stolen pleasures of youth.

Meanwhile, Ferdinand seconded these endeavours with his whole industry

and address. He redoubled, if possible, his deference and respect,

whetting his assiduity to the keenest edge of attention; and, in short,

regulated his dress, conversation, and deportment, according to the

fancy, turn, and prevailing humour of his young mistress. He, moreover,

attempted to profit by her curiosity, which he knew to be truly

feminine; and having culled from the library of his patron certain

dangerous books, calculated to debauch the minds of young people, left

them occasionally upon the table in his apartment, after having

directed Teresa to pick them up, as if by accident, in his absence, and

carry them off for the entertainment of Mademoiselle; nay, this crafty

projector found means to furnish his associate with some mischievous

preparations, which were mingled in her chocolate, tea, or coffee, as

provocations to warm her constitution; yet all these machinations,

ingenious as they were, failed, not only in fulfilling their aim, but

even in shaking the foundations of her virtue or pride, which stood

their assaults unmoved, like a strong tower built upon a rock,

impregnable to all the tempestuous blasts of heaven.

Not but that the conspirators were more than once mistaken in the

effects of their artifices, and disposed to applaud themselves on the

progress they had made. When at any time she expressed a desire to

examine those performances which were laid before her as snares to

entrap her chastity, they attributed that, which was no other than

curiosity, to a looseness of sentiment; and when she discovered no

aversion to hear those anecdotes concerning the frailty of her

neighbours, they imputed to abatement of chastity that satisfaction

which was the result of self-congratulation on her own superior virtue.

So far did the treacherous accomplice of Fathom presume upon these

misconstructions, that she at length divested her tongue of all

restraint, and behaved in such a manner, that the young lady,

confounded and incensed at her indecency and impudence, rebuked her

with great severity, and commanded her to reform her discourse, on pain

of being dismissed with disgrace from her service.

CHAPTER NINE

THE CONFEDERATES CHANGE THEIR BATTERY, AND ACHIEVE A REMARKABLE

ADVENTURE.

Thunderstruck at this disappointment, the confederates held a council,

in order to deliberate upon the next measures that should be taken; and

Ferdinand, for the present, despairing of accomplishing his grand aim,

resolved to profit in another manner, by the conveniency of his

situation. He represented to his helpmate, that it would be prudent for

them to make hay while the sun shone, as their connexion might be

sooner or later discovered, and an end put to all those opportunities

which they now so happily enjoyed. All principles of morality had been

already excluded from their former plan; consequently he found it an

easy task to interest Teresa in any other scheme tending to their

mutual advantage, howsoever wicked and perfidious it might be. He

therefore persuaded her to be his auxiliary in defrauding Mademoiselle

at play, and gave her suitable directions for that purpose; and even

tutored her how to abuse the trust reposed in her, by embezzling the

young lady’s effects, without incurring the suspicion of dishonesty.

On the supposition that every servant in the house was not able to

resist such temptation, the purse of her mistress, to which the maid

had always access, was dropped in a passage which the domestics had

occasion to frequent; and Fathom posted himself in a convenient place,

in order to observe the effect of his stratagem. Here he was not

disappointed in his conjecture. The first person who chanced to pass

that way, was one of the chambermaids, with whom Teresa had lived for

some time in a state of inveterate enmity, because the wench had failed

in that homage and respect which was paid to her by the rest of the

servants.

Ferdinand had, in his heart, espoused the quarrel of his associate, and

longed for an occasion to deliver her from the malicious observance of

such an antagonist. When he, therefore, saw her approach, his heart

throbbed with joyful expectations; but, when she snatched up the purse,

and thrust it in her bosom, with all the eagerness and confusion of one

determined to appropriate the windfall to her own use, his transports

were altogether unspeakable. He traced her to her own apartment,

whither she immediately retreated with great trepidation, and then

communicated the discovery to Teresa, together with instructions how to

behave in the sequel.

In conformity with these lessons, she took the first opportunity of

going to Mademoiselle, and demanding money for some necessary expense,

that the loss might be known before the finder could have leisure to

make any fresh conveyance of the prize; and, in the meantime, Ferdinand

kept a strict eye upon the motions of the chambermaid. The young lady,

having rummaged her pockets in vain, expressed some surprise at the

loss of her purse; upon which her attendant gave indications of extreme

amazement and concern. She said, it could not possibly be lost;

entreated her to search her escritoir, while she herself ran about the

room, prying into every corner, with all the symptoms of fear and

distraction. Having made this unsuccessful inquiry, she pretended to

shed a flood of tears, bewailing her own fate, in being near the person

of any lady who met with such a misfortune, by which, she observed, her

character might be called in question. She produced her own keys, and

begged upon her knees, that her chamber and boxes might be searched

without delay.

In a word, she demeaned herself so artfully upon this occasion, that

her mistress, who never entertained the least doubt of her integrity,

now looked upon her as a miracle of fidelity and attachment, and was at

infinite pains to console her for the accident which had happened;

protesting that, for her own part, the loss of the money should never

affect her with a moment’s uneasiness, if she could retrieve a certain

medal which she had long kept in her purse, as a remembrance of her

deceased aunt, from whom she received it in a present.

Fathom entered accidentally into the midst of this well-acted scene,

and, perceiving the agitation of the maid, and the concern of the

mistress, desired, in a respectful manner, to know the cause of their

disorder. Before the young lady had time to make him acquainted with

the circumstances of the case, his accomplice exclaimed, in an affected

passion, “Mr. Fathom, my lady has lost her purse; and, as no persons in

the family are so much about her as you and I, you must give me leave,

in my own justification, to insist upon Mademoiselle’s ordering the

apartments of us both to be searched without loss of time. Here are my

pockets and my keys, and you cannot scruple to give her the same

satisfaction; for innocence has nothing to fear.”

Miss Melvil reprimanded her sharply for her unmannerly zeal; and

Ferdinand eyeing her with a look of disdain, “Madam,” said he, “I

approve of your proposal; but, before I undergo such mortification, I

would advise Mademoiselle to subject the two chambermaids to such

inquiry; as they also have access to the apartments, and are, I

apprehend, as likely as you or I to behave in such a scandalous

manner.”

The young lady declared that she was too well satisfied of Teresa’s

honesty and Ferdinand’s honour, to harbour the least suspicion of

either, and that she would sooner die than disgrace them so far as to

comply with the proposal the former had made; but as she saw no reason

for exempting the inferior servants from that examination which Fathom

advised, she would forthwith put it in execution. The chambermaids

being accordingly summoned, she calmly asked if either of them had

accidentally found the purse she had dropped? and both replying in the

negative, she assumed an air of severity and determination, and

demanding their keys, threatened to examine their trunks on the

instant.

The guilty Abigail, who, though an Hungarian, was not inferior, in

point of effrontery, to any one of the sisterhood in England, no sooner

heard this menace, than she affected an air of affronted innocence,

thanked God she had lived in many reputable families, and been trusted

with untold gold, but was never before suspected of theft; that the

other maid might do as she should think proper, and be mean-spirited

enough to let her things be tumbled topsy-turvy and exposed; but, for

her own part, if she should be used in that inhuman and disgraceful

manner, she would not stay another hour in the house; and in conclusion

said, that Mademoiselle had more reason to look sharp after those who

enjoyed the greatest share of her favour, than believe their malicious

insinuations against innocent people whom they were well known to hate

and defame.

This declaration, implying an hint to the prejudice of Teresa, far from

diverting Miss Melvil from her purpose, served only to enhance the

character of the accused in her opinion, and to confirm her suspicion

of the accuser, of whom she again demanded her keys, protesting that,

should she prove refractory, the Count himself should take cognisance

of the affair, whereas, if she would deal ingenuously, she should have

no cause to repent of her confession. So saying, she desired our

adventurer to take the trouble of calling up some of the men-servants;

upon which the conscious criminal began to tremble, and, falling upon

her knees, acknowledged her guilt, and implored the forgiveness of her

young mistress.

Teresa, seizing this occasion to signalise her generosity, joined in

the request, and the offender was pardoned, after having restored the

purse, and promised in the sight of Heaven, that the devil should never

again entice her to the commission of such a crime. This adventure

fully answered all the purposes of our politician; it established the

opinion of his fellow-labourer’s virtue, beyond the power of accident

or information to shake, and set up a false beacon to mislead the

sentiments of Mademoiselle, in case she should for the future meet with

the like misfortune.

CHAPTER TEN

THEY PROCEED TO LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS WITH GREAT SUCCESS, UNTIL OUR HERO

SETS OUT WITH THE YOUNG COUNT FOR VIENNA, WHERE HE ENTERS INTO LEAGUE

WITH ANOTHER ADVENTURER.

Under this secure cover, Teresa levied contributions upon her mistress

with great success. Some trinket was missing every day; the young

lady’s patience began to fail; the faithful attendant was overwhelmed

with consternation, and, with the appearance of extreme chagrin,

demanded her dismission, affirming that these things were certainly

effected by some person in the family, with a view of murdering her

precious reputation. Miss Melvil, not without difficulty, quieted her

vexation with assurances of inviolable confidence and esteem, until a

pair of diamond earrings vanished, when Teresa could no longer keep her

affliction within bounds. Indeed, this was an event of more consequence

than all the rest which had happened, for the jewels were valued at

five hundred florins.

Mademoiselle was accordingly alarmed to such a degree, that she made

her mother acquainted with her loss, and that good lady, who was an

excellent economist, did not fail to give indications of extraordinary

concern. She asked, if her daughter had reason to suspect any

individual in the family, and if she was perfectly confident of her own

woman’s integrity? Upon which Mademoiselle, with many encomiums on the

fidelity and attachment of Teresa, recounted the adventure of the

chambermaid, who immediately underwent a strict inquiry, and was even

committed to prison, on the strength of her former misdemeanour. Our

adventurer’s mate insisted upon undergoing the same trial with the rest

of the domestics, and, as usual, comprehended Fathom in her

insinuations; while he seconded the proposal, and privately counselled

the old lady to introduce Teresa to the magistrate of the place. By

these preconcerted recriminations, they escaped all suspicion of

collusion. After a fruitless inquiry, the prisoner was discharged from

her confinement, and turned out of the service of the Count, in whose

private opinion the character of no person suffered so much, as that of

his own son, whom he suspected of having embezzled the jewels, for the

use of a certain inamorata, who, at that time, was said to have

captivated his affections.

The old gentleman felt upon this occasion all that internal anguish

which a man of honour may be supposed to suffer, on account of a son’s

degeneracy; and, without divulging his sentiments, or even hinting his

suspicions to the youth himself, determined to detach him at once from

such dangerous connexions, by sending him forthwith to Vienna, on

pretence of finishing his exercises at the academy, and ushering him

into acquaintance with the great world. Though he would not be thought

by the young gentleman himself to harbour the least doubt of his

morals, he did not scruple to unbosom himself on that subject to

Ferdinand, whose sagacity and virtue he held in great veneration. This

indulgent patron expressed himself in the most pathetic terms, on the

untoward disposition of his son; he told Fathom, that he should

accompany Renaldo (that was the youth’s name) not only as a companion,

but a preceptor and pattern; conjured him to assist his tutor in

superintending his conduct, and to reinforce the governor’s precepts by

his own example; to inculcate upon him the most delicate punctilios of

honour, and decoy him into extravagance, rather than leave the least

illiberal sentiment in his heart.

Our crafty adventurer, with demonstrations of the utmost sensibility,

acknowledged the great goodness of the Count in reposing such

confidence in his integrity; which, as he observed, none but the worst

of villains could abuse; and fervently wished that he might no longer

exist, than he should continue to remember and resent the obligations

he owed to his kind benefactor. While preparations were making for

their departure, our hero held a council with his associate, whom he

enriched with many sage instructions touching her future operations; he

at the same time disburdened her of all or the greatest part of the

spoils she had won, and after having received divers marks of bounty

from the Count and his lady, together with a purse from his young

mistress, he set out for Vienna, in the eighteenth year of his age,

with Renaldo and his governor, who were provided with letters of

recommendation to some of the Count’s friends belonging to the Imperial

court.

Such a favourable introduction could not fail of being advantageous to

a youth of Ferdinand’s specious accomplishments; for he was considered

as the young Count’s companion, admitted into his parties, and included

in all the entertainments to which Renaldo was invited. He soon

distinguished himself by his activity and address, in the course of

those exercises that were taught at the academy of which he was pupil;

his manners were so engaging as to attract the acquaintance of his

fellow-students, and his conversation being sprightly and inoffensive,

grew into very great request; in a word, he and the young Count formed

a remarkable contrast, which, in the eye of the world, redounded to his

advantage.

They were certainly, in all respects, the reverse of each other.

Renaldo, under a total defect of exterior cultivation, possessed a most

excellent understanding, with every virtue that dignifies the human

heart; while the other, beneath a most agreeable outside, with an

inaptitude and aversion to letters, concealed an amazing fund of

villany and ingratitude. Hitherto his observation had been confined to

a narrow sphere, and his reflections, though surprisingly just and

acute, had not attained to that maturity which age and experience give;

but now, his perceptions began to be more distinct, and extended to a

thousand objects which had never before come under his cognisance.

He had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded, that the sons of

men preyed upon one another, and such was the end and condition of

their being. Among the principal figures of life, he observed few or no

characters that did not bear a strong analogy to the savage tyrants of

the wood. One resembled a tiger in fury and rapaciousness; a second

prowled about like an hungry wolf, seeking whom he might devour; a

third acted the part of a jackal, in beating the bush for game to his

voracious employer; and the fourth imitated the wily fox, in practising

a thousand crafty ambuscades for the destruction of the ignorant and

unwary. This last was the department of life for which he found himself

best qualified by nature and inclination; and he accordingly resolved

that his talent should not rust in his possession. He was already

pretty well versed in all the sciences of play; but he had every day

occasion to see these arts carried to such a surprising pitch of

finesse and dexterity, as discouraged him from building his schemes on

that foundation.

He therefore determined to fascinate the judgment, rather than the eyes

of his fellow-creatures, by a continual exercise of that gift of

deceiving, with which he knew himself endued to an unrivalled degree;

and to acquire unbounded influence with those who might be subservient

to his interest, by an assiduous application to their prevailing

passions. Not that play was altogether left out in the projection of

his economy.— Though he engaged himself very little in the executive

part of gaming, he had not been long in Vienna, when he entered into

league with a genius of that kind, whom he distinguished among the

pupils of the academy, and who indeed had taken up his habitation in

that place with a view to pillage the provincials on their first

arrival in town, before they could be armed with proper circumspection

to preserve their money, or have time to dispose of it in any other

shape.

Similar characters naturally attract each other, and people of our

hero’s principles are, of all others, the most apt to distinguish their

own likeness wheresoever it occurs; because they always keep the

faculty of discerning in full exertion. It was in consequence of this

mutual alertness, that Ferdinand and the stranger, who was a native of

Tyrol, perceived themselves reflected in the dispositions of each

other, and immediately entered into an offensive and defensive

alliance; our adventurer undertaking for the articles of intelligence,

countenance, and counsel, and his associate charging himself with the

risk of execution.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FATHOM MAKES VARIOUS EFFORTS IN THE WORLD OF GALLANTRY.

Thus connected, they began to hunt in couples; and Fathom, in order to

profit by the alliance with a good grace, contrived a small scheme that

succeeded to his wish. Renaldo being one night intoxicated in the

course of a merry-making with his fellow-pupils, from which Fathom had

purposely absented himself, was by the Tyrolese so artfully provoked to

play, that he could not resist the temptation, but engaged at passdice

with that fell adversary, who, in less than an hour, stripped him of a

pretty round sum. Next day, when the young gentleman recovered the use

of his reflection, he was sensibly chagrined at the folly and

precipitation of his own conduct, an account of which he communicated

in confidence to our hero, with demonstrations of infinite shame and

concern.

Ferdinand, having moralised upon the subject with great sagacity, and

sharply inveighed against the Tyrolese, for the unfair advantage he had

taken, retired to his closet, and wrote the following billet, which was

immediately sent to his ally:—

“The obligations I owe, and the attachments I feel, to the Count de

Melvil, will not suffer me to be an idle spectator of the wrongs

offered to his son, in the dishonourable use, I understand, you made

last night of his unguarded hours. I therefore insist upon your making

immediate restitution of the booty which you so unjustly got; otherwise

I expect you will meet me upon the ramparts, near the bastion de la

Port Neuve, to-morrow morning at daybreak, in order to justify, with

your sword, the finesse you have practised upon the friend of FERDINAND

DE FATHOM.”

The gamester no sooner received this intimation, than, according to the

plan which had been preconcerted betwixt the author and him, he went to

the apartment of Renaldo, and presenting the sum of money which he had

defrauded him of the preceding night, told him, with a stern

countenance, that, though it was a just acquisition, he scorned to

avail himself of his good fortune against any person who entertained

the smallest doubt of his honour.

The young Count, surprised at this address, rejected his offer with

disdain, and desired to know the meaning of such an unexpected

declaration. Upon which, the other produced Ferdinand’s billet, and

threatened, in very high terms, to meet the stripling according to his

invitation, and chastise him severely for his presumption. The

consequence of this explanation is obvious. Renaldo, imputing the

officiousness of Fathom to the zeal of his friendship, interposed in

the quarrel, which was amicably compromised, not a little to the honour

of our adventurer, who thus obtained an opportunity of displaying his

courage and integrity, without the least hazard to his person; while,

at the same time, his confederate recommended himself to the esteem of

the young Count, by his spirited behaviour on this occasion; so that

Renaldo being less shy of his company for the future, the Tyrolese had

the fairer opportunities to prosecute his designs upon the young

gentleman’s purse.

It would be almost superfluous to say, that these were not neglected.

The son of Count Melvil was not deficient in point of penetration; but

his whole study was at that time engrossed by the care of his

education, and he had sometimes recourse to play as an amusement by

which he sought to unbend the severity of his attention. No wonder then

that he fell a prey to an artful gamester, who had been regularly

trained to the profession, and made it the sole study of his life;

especially as the Hungarian was remarkable for a warmth of temper,

which a knight of the post always knows how to manage for his own

advantage.

In the course of these operations, Fathom was a very useful

correspondent. He instructed the Tyrolese in the peculiarities of

Renaldo’s disposition, and made him acquainted with the proper seasons

for profiting by his dexterity. Ferdinand, for example, who, by the

authority derived to him from the injunctions of the old Count,

sometimes took upon himself the office of an adviser, cunningly chose

to counsel the son at those conjunctures when he knew him least able to

bear such expostulation. Advice improperly administered generally acts

in diametrical opposition to the purpose for which it is supposed to be

given; at least this was the case with the young gentleman, who,

inflamed by the reproof of such a tutor, used to obey the dictates of

his resentment in an immediate repetition of that conduct which our

adventurer had taken the liberty to disapprove; and the gamester was

always at hand to minister unto his indignation. By these means he was

disencumbered of divers considerable remittances, with which his father

cheerfully supplied him, on the supposition that they were spent with

taste and liberality, under the direction of our adventurer.

But Ferdinand’s views were not confined to the narrow field of this

alliance. He attempted divers enterprises in the world of gallantry,

conscious of his own personal qualifications, and never doubting that

he could insinuate himself into the good graces of some married lady

about court, or lay an opulent dowager under contribution. But he met

with an obstacle in his endeavours of this kind, which all his art was

unable to surmount. This was no other than the obscurity of his birth,

and the want of a title, without which no person in that country lays

claim to the privileges of a gentleman. Had he foreseen this

inconvenience he might have made shift to obviate the consequences, by

obtaining permission to appear in the character of the Count’s kinsman;

though, in all probability, such an expedient would not have been

extremely agreeable to the old gentleman, who was very tenacious of the

honour of his family; nevertheless, his generosity might have been

prevailed upon to indulge Fathom with such a pretext, in consideration

of the youth’s supposed attachment, and the obligations for which he

deemed himself indebted to his deceased mother.

True it is, Ferdinand, upon his first arrival at Vienna, had been

admitted into fashionable company, on the footing of Renaldo’s

companion, because nobody suspected the defect of his pedigree; and

even after a report had been circulated to the prejudice of his

extraction, by the industry of a lacquey who attended the young Count,

there were not wanting many young people of distinction who still

favoured him with their countenance and correspondence; but he was no

longer invited to private families, in which only he could expect to

profit by his address among the ladies, and had the mortification of

finding himself frequently excepted from parties which were expressly

calculated for the entertainment of the young Count. Luckily, his

spirit was so pliant as to sustain these slights without being much

dejected; instead of repining at the loss of that respect which had

been paid to him at first, he endeavoured, with all his might, to

preserve the little that still remained, and resolved to translate into

a humbler sphere that gallantry which he had no longer opportunities of

displaying in the world of rank and fashion.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HE EFFECTS A LODGMENT IN THE HOUSE OF A RICH JEWELLER.

In consequence of this determination, he to the uttermost exerted his

good-humour among the few friends of consequence his fortune had left,

and even carried his complaisance so far as to become the humble

servant of their pleasures, while he attempted to extend his

acquaintance in an inferior path of life, where he thought his talents

would shine more conspicuous than at the assemblies of the great, and

conduce more effectually to the interest of all his designs. Nor did he

find himself disappointed in that expectation, sanguine as it was. He

soon found means to be introduced to the house of a wealthy bourgeois,

where every individual was charmed with his easy air and extraordinary

qualifications. He accommodated himself surprisingly to the humours of

the whole family; smoked tobacco, swallowed wine, and discoursed of

stones with the husband, who was a rich jeweller; sacrificed himself to

the pride and loquacity of the wife; and played upon the violin, and

sung alternately, for the amusement of his only daughter, a buxom lass,

nearly of his own age, the fruit of a former marriage.

It was not long before Ferdinand had reason to congratulate himself on

the footing he had gained in this society. He had expected to find, and

in a little time actually discovered, that mutual jealousy and rancour

which almost always subsist between a daughter and her step-dame,

inflamed with all the virulence of female emulation; for the disparity

in their ages served only to render them the more inveterate rivals in

the desire of captivating the other sex. Our adventurer having

deliberated upon the means of converting this animosity to his own

advantage, saw no method for this purpose so feasible as that of making

his approaches to the hearts of both, by ministering to each in

private, food for their reciprocal envy and malevolence; because he

well knew that no road lies so direct and open to a woman’s heart as

that of gratifying her passions of vanity and resentment.

When he had an opportunity of being particular with the mother, he

expressed his concern for having unwittingly incurred the displeasure

of Mademoiselle, which, he observed, was obvious in every circumstance

of her behaviour towards him; protesting he was utterly innocent of all

intention of offending her; and that he could not account for his

disgrace any other way, than by supposing she took umbrage at the

direction of his chief regards towards her mother-in-law, which, he

owned, was altogether involuntary, being wholly influenced by that

lady’s superior charms and politeness.

Such a declaration was perfectly well calculated for the meridian of a

dame like her, who with all the intoxications of unenlightened pride,

and an increased appetite for pleasure, had begun to find herself

neglected, and even to believe that her attractions were actually on

the wane. She very graciously consoled our gallant for the mishap of

which he complained, representing Wilhelmina (that was the daughter’s

name) as a pert, illiterate, envious baggage, of whose disgust he ought

to make no consideration; then she recounted many instances of her own

generosity to that young lady, with the returns of malice and

ingratitude she had made; and, lastly, enumerated all the imperfections

of her person, education, and behaviour; that he might see with what

justice the gypsy pretended to vie with those who had been

distinguished by the approbation and even gallantry of the best people

in Vienna.

Having thus established himself her confidant and gossip, he knew his

next step of promotion would necessarily be to the degree of her lover;

and in that belief resolved to play the same game with Mademoiselle

Wilhelmina, whose complexion was very much akin to that of her

stepmother; indeed they resembled each other too much to live upon any

terms of friendship or even decorum. Fathom, in order to enjoy a

private conversation with the young lady, never failed to repeat his

visit every afternoon, till at length he had the pleasure of finding

her disengaged, the jeweller being occupied among his workmen, and his

wife gone to assist at a lying-in.

Our adventurer and the daughter had already exchanged their vows, by

the expressive language of the eyes; he had even declared himself in

some tender ejaculations which had been softly whispered in her ear,

when he could snatch an opportunity of venting them unperceived; nay,

he had upon divers occasions gently squeezed her fair hand, on pretence

of tuning her harpsichord, and been favoured with returns of the same

cordial pressure; so that, instead of accosting her with the fearful

hesitation and reserve of a timid swain, he told her, after the

exercise of the doux-yeux, that he was come to confer with her upon a

subject that nearly concerned her peace; and asked if she had not

observed of late an evident abatement of friendship in her mother’s

behaviour to him, whom she had formerly treated with such marks of

favour and respect. Mademoiselle would not pay so ill a compliment to

her own discernment as to say she had not perceived the alteration;

which, on the contrary, she owned was extremely palpable; nor was it

difficult to divine the cause of such estranged looks. This remark was

accompanied with an irresistible glance; she smiled enchanting, the

colour deepened on her cheeks, her breast began to heave, and her whole

frame underwent a most agreeable confusion.

Ferdinand was not a man to let such a favourable conjuncture pass

unregarded. “Yes, charming Wilhelmina!” exclaimed the politician in an

affected rapture, “the cause is as conspicuous as your attractions. She

hath, in spite of all my circumspection, perceived that passion which

it is not in my power to conceal, and in consequence of which I now

declare myself your devoted adorer; or, conscious of your superior

excellence, her jealousy hath taken the alarm, and, though stung with

conjecture only, repines at the triumph of your perfections. How far

this spirit of malignity may be inflamed to my prejudice, I know not.

Perhaps, as this is the first, it may be also the last opportunity I

shall have of avowing the dearest sentiments of my heart to the fair

object that inspired them; in a word, I may be for ever excluded from

your presence. Excuse me, then, divine creature! from the practice of

those unnecessary forms, which I should take pride in observing, were I

indulged with the ordinary privileges of an honourable lover; and, once

for all, accept the homage of an heart overflowing with love and

admiration. Yes, adorable Wilhelmina! I am dazzled with your

supernatural beauty; your other accomplishments strike me with wonder

and awe. I am enchanted by the graces of your deportment, ravished with

the charms of your conversation; and there is a certain tenderness of

benevolence in that endearing aspect, which, I trust, will not fail to

melt with sympathy at the emotions of a faithful slave like me.”

So saying, he threw himself upon his knees, and, seizing her plump

hand, pressed it to his lips with all the violence of real transport.

The nymph, whose passions nature had filled to the brim, could not hear

such a rhapsody unmoved. Being an utter stranger to addresses of this

kind, she understood every word of it in the literal acceptation; she

believed implicitly in the truth of the encomiums he had bestowed, and

thought it reasonable he should be rewarded for the justice he had done

to her qualifications, which had hitherto been almost altogether

overlooked. In short, her heart began to thaw, and her face to hang out

the flag of capitulation; which was no sooner perceived by our hero,

than he renewed his attack with redoubled fervour, pronouncing in a

most vehement tone, “Light of my eyes, and empress of my soul! behold

me prostrate at your feet, waiting with the most pious resignation, for

that sentence from your lips, on which my future happiness or misery

must altogether depend. Not with more reverence does the unhappy bashaw

kiss the sultan’s letter that contains his doom, than I will submit to

your fatal determination. Speak then, angelic sweetness! for never, ah!

never will I rise from this suppliant posture, until I am encouraged to

live and hope. No! if you refuse to smile upon my passion, here shall I

breathe the last sighs of a despairing lover; here shall this faithful

sword do the last office to its unfortunate master, and shed the blood

of the truest heart that ever felt the cruel pangs of disappointed

love.”

The young lady, well-nigh overcome by this effusion, which brought the

tears into her eyes, “Enough, enough,” cried she, interrupting him,

“sure you men were created for the ruin of our sex.”—“Ruin!” re-echoed

Fathom, “talk not of ruin and Wilhelmina! let these terms be for ever

parted, far as the east and west asunder! let ever smiling peace attend

her steps, and love and joy still wanton in her train! Ruin, indeed,

shall wait upon her enemies, if such there be, and those love-lorn

wretches who pine with anguish under her disdain. Grant me, kind

Heaven, a more propitious boon; direct her genial regards to one whose

love is without example, and whose constancy is unparalleled. Bear

witness to my constancy and faith, ye verdant hills, ye fertile plains,

ye shady groves, ye purling streams; and if I prove untrue, ah! let me

never find a solitary willow or a bubbling brook, by help of which I

may be enabled to put a period to my wretched life.”

Here this excellent actor began to sob most piteously, and the

tender-hearted Wilhelmina, unable longer to withstand his moving tale,

with a repetition of the interjection, ah! gently dropped into his

arms. This was the beginning of a correspondence that soon rose to a

very interesting pitch; and they forthwith concerted measures for

carrying it on without the knowledge or suspicion of her mother-in-law.

Nevertheless, the young lady, vanquished as she was, and unskilled in

the ways of men, would not all at once yield at discretion; but

insisted upon those terms, without which no woman’s reputation can be

secured. Our lover, far from seeking to evade the proposal, assented to

it in terms of uncommon satisfaction, and promised to use his whole

industry in finding a priest upon whose discretion they could rely;

nay, he certainly resolved to comply with her request in good earnest,

rather than forfeit the advantages which he foresaw in their union. His

good fortune, however, exempted him from the necessity of taking such a

step, which at best must have been disagreeable; for so many

difficulties occurred in the inquiry which was set on foot, and so

artfully did Fathom in the meantime manage the influence he had already

gained over her heart, that, before her passion could obtain a legal

gratification, she surrendered to his wish, without any other

assurance, than his solemn profession of sincerity and truth, on which

she reposed herself with the most implicit confidence and faith.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HE IS EXPOSED TO A MOST PERILOUS INCIDENT IN THE COURSE OF HIS INTRIGUE

WITH THE DAUGHTER.

He was rejoiced to find her so easily satisfied in such a momentous

concern, for the principal aim of the intrigue was to make her

necessary to his interested views, and even, if possible, an associate

in the fraudulent plans he had projected upon her father; consequently

he considered this relaxation in her virtue as an happy omen of his

future success. All the obstacles to their mutual enjoyment being thus

removed, our adventurer was by his mistress indulged with an

assignation in her own chamber, which, though contiguous to that of her

stepmother, was provided with a door that opened into a common

staircase, to which he had access at all hours of the night.

He did not neglect the rendezvous, but, presenting himself at the

appointed time, which was midnight, made the signal they had agreed

upon, and was immediately admitted by Wilhelmina, who waited for hire

with a lover’s impatience. Fathom was not deficient in those

expressions of rapture that are current on those occasions; but, on the

contrary, became so loud in the transports of self-congratulation, that

his voice reached the ears of the vigilant stepmother, who wakening the

jeweller from his first nap, gave him to understand that some person

was certainly in close conversation with his daughter; and exhorted him

to rise forthwith, and vindicate the honour of his family.

The German, who was naturally of a phlegmatic habit, and never went to

bed without a full dose of the creature, which added to his

constitutional drowsiness, gave no ear to his wife’s intimation, until

she had repeated it thrice, and used other means to rouse him from the

arms of slumber. Meanwhile Fathom and his inamorata overheard her

information, and our hero would have made his retreat immediately,

through the port by which he entered, had not his intention been

overruled by the remonstrances of the young lady, who observed that the

door was already fast bolted, and could not possibly be opened without

creating a noise that would confirm the suspicion of her parents; and

that over and above this objection he would, in sallying from that

door, run the risk of being met by her father, who in all probability

would present himself before it, in order to hinder our hero’s escape.

She therefore conveyed him softly into her closet, where she assured

him he might remain with great tranquillity, in full confidence that

she would take such measures as would effectually screen him from

detection.

He was fain to depend upon her assurance, and accordingly ensconced

himself behind her dressing-table; but he could not help sweating with

apprehension, and praying fervently to God for his deliverance, when he

heard the jeweller thundering at the door, and calling to his daughter

for admittance. Wilhelmina, who was already undressed, and had

purposely extinguished the light, pretended to be suddenly waked from

her sleep, and starting up, exclaimed in a tone of surprise and

affright, “Jesu, Maria! what is the matter?”—“Hussy!” replied the

German in a terrible accent, “open the door this instant; there is a

man in your bedchamber, and, by the lightning and thunder! I will wash

away the stain he has cast upon my honour with the schellum’s

heart’s-blood.”

Not at all intimidated by this boisterous threat, she admitted him

without hesitation, and, with a shrillness of voice peculiar to

herself, began to hold forth upon her own innocence and his unjust

suspicion, mingling in her harangue sundry oblique hints against her

mother-in-law, importing, that some people were so viciously inclined

by their own natures, that she did not wonder at their doubting the

virtue of other people; but that these people despised the insinuations

of such people, who ought to be more circumspect in their own conduct,

lest they themselves should suffer reprisals from those people whom

they had so maliciously slandered.

Having uttered these flowers of rhetoric, which were calculated for the

hearing of her step-dame, who stood with a light at her husband’s back,

the young lady assumed an ironical air, and admonished her father to

search every corner of her apartment. She even affected to assist his

inquiry; with her own hands pulled out a parcel of small drawers, in

which her trinkets were contained; desired him to look into her

needlecase and thimble, and, seeing his examination fruitless,

earnestly intreated him to rummage her closet also, saying, with a

sneer, that, in all probability, the dishonourer would be found in that

lurking-place. The manner in which she pretended to ridicule his

apprehensions made an impression upon the jeweller, who was very well

disposed to retreat into his own nest, when his wife, with a certain

slyness in her countenance, besought him to comply with his daughter’s

request, and look into that same closet, by which means Wilhelmina’s

virtue would obtain a complete triumph.

Our adventurer, who overheard the conversation, was immediately seized

with a palsy of fear. He trembled at every joint, the sweat trickled

down his forehead, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to stand on

end; and he, in his heart, bitterly cursed the daughter’s petulance,

the mother’s malice, together with his own precipitation, by which he

was involved in an adventure so pregnant with danger and disgrace.

Indeed, the reader may easily conceive his disorder, when he heard the

key turning in the lock, and the German swearing that he would make him

food for the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.

Fathom had come unprepared with weapons of defence, was naturally an

economist of his person, and saw himself on the brink of forfeiting not

only the promised harvest of his double intrigue, but also the

reputation of a man of honour, upon which all his future hopes

depended. His agony was therefore unspeakable, when the door flew open;

and it was not till after a considerable pause of recollection, that he

perceived the candle extinguished by the motion of the air produced

from the German’s sudden irruption. This accident, which disconcerted

him so much as to put a full stop to his charge, was very favourable to

our hero, who, summoning all his presence of mind, crept up into the

chimney, while the jeweller stood at the door, waiting for his wife’s

return with another light; so that, when the closet was examined, there

was nothing found to justify the report which the stepmother had made;

and the father, after having made a slight apology to Wilhelmina for

his intrusion, retired with his yoke-fellow into their own chamber.

The young lady, who little thought that her papa would have taken her

at her word, was overwhelmed with confusion and dismay, when she saw

him enter the closet; and, had her lover been discovered, would, in all

probability, have been the loudest in his reproach, and, perhaps, have

accused him of an intention to rob the house; but she was altogether

astonished when she found he had made shift to elude the inquiry of her

parents, because she could not conceive the possibility of his escaping

by the window, which was in the third storey, at a prodigious distance

from the ground; and how he should conceal himself in the apartment,

was a mystery which she could by no means unfold. Before her father and

mother retired, she lighted her lamp, on pretence of being afraid to be

in the dark, after the perturbation of spirits she had undergone; and

her room was no sooner evacuated of such troublesome visitants, than

she secured the doors, and went in quest of her lover.

Accordingly, every corner of the closet underwent a new search, and she

called upon his name with a soft voice, which she thought no other

person would overhear. But Ferdinand did not think proper to gratify

her impatience, because he could not judge of the predicament in which

he stood by the evidence of all his senses, and would not relinquish

his post, until he should be better certified that the coast was clear.

Meanwhile, his Dulcinea, having performed her inquiry to no purpose,

imagined there was something preternatural in the circumstance of his

vanishing so unaccountably, and began to cross herself with great

devotion. She returned to her chamber, fixed the lamp in the fireplace,

and, throwing herself upon the bed, gave way to the suggestions of her

superstition, which were reinforced by the silence that prevailed, and

the gloomy glimmering of the light. She reflected upon the trespass she

had already committed in her heart, and, in the conjectures of her

fear, believed that her lover was no other than the devil himself, who

had assumed the appearance of Fathom, in order to tempt and seduce her

virtue.

While her imagination teemed with those horrible ideas, our adventurer,

concluding, from the general stillness, that the jeweller and his wife

were at last happily asleep, ventured to come forth from his

hiding-place, and stood before his mistress all begrimed with soot.

Wilhelmina, lifting up her eyes, and seeing this sable apparition,

which she mistook for Satan in propria persona, instantly screamed, and

began to repeat her pater-noster with an audible voice. Upon which

Ferdinand, foreseeing that her parents would be again alarmed, would

not stay to undeceive her and explain himself, but, unlocking the door

with great expedition, ran downstairs, and luckily accomplished his

escape. This was undoubtedly the wisest measure he could have taken;

for he had not performed one half of his descent toward the street,

when the German was at his daughter’s bedside, demanding to know the

cause of her exclamation. She then gave him an account of what she had

seen, with all the exaggerations of her own fancy, and, after having

weighed the circumstances of her story, he interpreted the apparition

into a thief, who had found means to open the door that communicated

with the stair; but, having been scared by Wilhelmina’s shriek, had

been obliged to retreat before he could execute his purpose.

Our hero’s spirits were so wofully disturbed by this adventure, that,

for a whole week, he felt no inclination to visit his inamorata, and

was not without apprehension that the affair had terminated in an

explanation very little to his advantage. He was, however, delivered

from this disagreeable suspense, by an accidental meeting with the

jeweller himself, who kindly chid him for his long absence, and

entertained him in the street with an account of the alarm which his

family had sustained, by a thief who broke into Wilhelmina’s apartment.

Glad to find his apprehension mistaken, he renewed his correspondence

with the family, and, in a little time, found reason to console himself

for the jeopardy and panic he had undergone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE IS REDUCED TO A DREADFUL DILEMMA, IN CONSEQUENCE OF AN ASSIGNATION

WITH THE WIFE.

Nor was his whole care and attention engrossed by the execution of this

scheme upon the daughter. While he managed his concerns in that quarter

with incredible ardour and application, he was not the less

indefatigable in the prosecution of his design upon the mother-in-law,

which he forwarded with all his art during those opportunities he

enjoyed in the absence of Wilhelmina, who was frequently called away by

the domestic duties of the house. The passions of the jeweller’s wife

were in such a state of exaltation, as exempted our hero from the

repulses and fatigue attending a long siege.

We have already observed how cunningly he catered for the gratification

of her ruling appetite, and have exhibited pregnant proofs of his

ability in gaining upon the human heart; the reader will not therefore

be surprised at the rapidity of his conquest over the affections of a

lady whose complexion was perfectly amorous, and whose vanity laid her

open to all the attempts of adulation. In a word, matters were quickly

brought to such a mutual understanding, that, one evening, while they

amused themselves at lansquenet, Fathom conjured her to give him the

rendezvous next day at the house of any third person of her own sex, in

whose discretion she could confide; and, after a few affected scruples

on her side, which he well knew how to surmount, she complied with his

request, and the circumstances of the appointment were settled

accordingly. After this treaty, their satisfaction rose to such a

warmth, and the conversation became so reciprocally endearing, that our

gallant expressed his impatience of waiting so long for the

accomplishment of his wishes, and, with the most eager transport,

begged she would, if possible, curtail the term of his expectation,

that his brain might not suffer by his standing so many tedious hours

on the giddy verge of rapture.

The dame, who was naturally compassionate, sympathised with his

condition, and, unable to resist his pathetic supplications, gave him

to understand that his desire could not be granted, without subjecting

them both to some hazard, but that she was disposed to run any risk in

behalf of his happiness and peace. After this affectionate preamble,

she told him that her husband was then engaged in a quarterly meeting

of the jewellers, from whence he never failed to return quite

overwhelmed with wine, tobacco, and the phlegm of his own constitution;

so that he would fall fast asleep as soon as his head should touch the

pillow, and she be at liberty to entertain the lover without

interruption, provided he could find means to deceive the jealous

vigilance of Wilhelmina, and conceal himself in some corner of the

house, unsuspected and unperceived.

Our lover, remembering his adventure with the daughter, would have

willingly dispensed with this expedient, and began to repent of the

eagerness with which he had preferred his solicitation; but, seeing

there was now no opportunity of retracting with honour, he affected to

enter heartily into the conversation, and, after much canvassing, it

was determined, that, while Wilhelmina was employed in the kitchen, the

mother should conduct our adventurer to the outer door, where he should

pay the compliment of parting, so as to be overheard by the young lady;

but, in the meantime, glide softly into the jeweller’s bedchamber,

which was a place they imagined least liable to the effects of a

daughter’s prying disposition, and conceal himself in a large press or

wardrobe, that stood in one corner of the apartment. The scene was

immediately acted with great success, and our hero cooped up in his

cage, where he waited so long, that his desires began to subside, and

his imagination to aggravate the danger of his situation.

“Suppose,” said he to himself, “this brutal German, instead of being

stupefied with wine, should come home inflamed with brandy, to the use

of which he is sometimes addicted, far from feeling any inclination to

sleep, he will labour under the most fretful anxiety of watching; every

irascible particle in his disposition will be exasperated; he will be

offended with every object that may present itself to his view; and, if

there is the least ingredient of jealousy in his temper, it will

manifest itself in riot and rage. What if his frenzy should prompt him

to search his wife’s chamber for gallants? this would certainly be the

first place to which he would direct his inquiry; or, granting this

supposition chimerical, I may be seized with an irresistible

inclination to cough, before he is oppressed with sleep; he may be

waked by the noise I shall make in disengaging myself from this

embarrassed situation; and, finally, I may find it impracticable to

retire unseen or unheard, after everything else shall have succeeded to

my wish.”

These suggestions did not at all contribute to the quiet of our

adventurer, who, having waited three whole hours in the most

uncomfortable suspense, heard the jeweller brought into the room in

that very condition which his fears had prognosticated. He had, it

seems, quarrelled over his cups with another tradesman, and received a

salutation on the forehead with a candlestick, which not only left an

ignominious and painful mark upon his countenance, but even disordered

his brain to a very dangerous degree of delirium; so that, instead of

allowing himself quietly to be undressed and put to bed by his wife, he

answered all her gentle admonitions and caresses with the most

opprobrious invectives and obstreperous behaviour; and, though he did

not tax her with infidelity to his bed, he virulently accused her of

extravagance and want of economy; observed, her expensive way of living

would bring him to a morsel of bread; and unfortunately recollecting

the attempt of the supposed thief, started up from his chair, swearing

by G—’s mother that he would forthwith arm himself with a brace of

pistols, and search every apartment in the house. “That press,” said

he, with great vociferation, “may, for aught I know, be the receptacle

of some ruffian.”

So saying, he approached the ark in which Fathom was embarked, and

exclaiming, “Come forth, Satan,” applied his foot to the door of it,

with such violence as threw him from the centre of gravity, and laid

him sprawling on his back. This address made such an impression upon

our adventurer, that he had well-nigh obeyed the summons, and burst

from his concealment, in a desperate effort to escape, without being

recognised by the intoxicated German; and indeed, had the application

been repeated, he in all likelihood would have tried the experiment,

for by this time his terrors had waxed too strong to be much longer

suppressed. From this hazardous enterprise he was, however, exempted by

a lucky accident that happened to his disturber, whose head chancing to

pitch upon the corner of a chair in his fall, he was immediately lulled

into a trance, during which the considerate lady, guessing the disorder

of her gallant, and dreading further interruption, very prudently

released him from his confinement, after she had put out the light, and

in the dark conveyed him to the door, where he was comforted with the

promise that she would punctually remember the rendezvous of next day.

She then invoked the assistance of the servants, who, being waked for

the purpose, lifted up their master, and tumbled him into bed, while

Ferdinand hied him home in an universal sweat, blessing himself from

any future achievement of that sort in a house where he had been twice

in such imminent danger of life and reputation. Nevertheless, he did

not fail to honour the assignation, and avail himself of the

disposition his mistress manifested to make him all the recompense in

her power for the disappointment and chagrin which he had undergone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BUT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS IN HIS ATTEMPT UPON BOTH.

Having thus gained a complete victory over the affections of these two

ladies, he began to convert his good fortune to the purposes of that

principle, from which his view was never, no, not for a moment,

detached. In other words, he used them as ministers and purveyors to

his avarice and fraud. As for the mother-in-law, she was of herself so

liberal as to anticipate the wishes of any moderate adventurer, and

presented him with sundry valuable jewels, as memorials of her esteem;

nor was the daughter backward in such expressions of regard; she

already considered his interest as her own, and took frequent

opportunities of secreting for his benefit certain stray trinkets that

she happened to pick up in her excursions within doors.

All these gratifications he received with demonstrations of infinite

constraint and reluctance, and, in the midst of his rapacious

extortion, acted so cunningly as to impose himself upon both for a

miracle of disinterested integrity. Yet, not contented with what he

thus could earn, and despairing of being able to steer the bark of his

fortune for any length of time between two such dangerous quicksands,

he resolved to profit by the occasion while it lasted, and strike some

considerable stroke at once. A plan was formed in consequence of this

determination, and, at an appointment with the mother in the house of

their female friend, our adventurer appeared with an air of dejection,

which he veiled with a thin cover of forced pleasantry, that his

mistress might suppose he endeavoured to conceal some mortal chagrin

that preyed upon his heart.

The stratagem succeeded to his wish. She observed his countenance

between whiles overcast, took notice of the involuntary sighs he

heaved; and, with the most tender expressions of sympathy, conjured him

to make her acquainted with the cause of his affliction. Instead of

gratifying her request immediately, he evaded her questions with a

respectful reserve, implying, that his love would not suffer him to

make her a partner in his sorrow; and this delicacy on his part whetted

her impatience and concern to such a degree, that, rather than keep her

in such an agony of doubt and apprehension, he was prevailed upon to

tell her, that he had been, the preceding night, engaged with a company

of his fellow-students, where he had made too free with the champagne,

so that his caution forsook him, and he had been decoyed into play by a

Tyrolese gamester, who stripped him of all his ready money, and

obtained from him an obligation for two hundred florins, which he could

not possibly pay without having recourse to his relation the Count de

Melvil, who would have just cause to be incensed at his extravagance.

This information he concluded, by declaring that, cost what it would,

he was resolved to make a candid confession of the truth, and throw

himself entirely upon the generosity of his patron, who could inflict

no other punishment than that of discarding him from his favour and

protection,—a misfortune which, how grievous soever it might be, he

should be able to sustain with fortitude, could he fall upon some

method of satisfying the Tyrolese, who was very importunate and savage

in his demand. His kind mistress no sooner found out the source of his

inquietude, than she promised to dry it up, assuring him that next day,

at the same hour, she would enable him to discharge the debt; so that

he might set his heart at ease, and recollect that gaiety which was the

soul of her enjoyment.

He expressed the utmost astonishment at this generous proffer, which,

however, he declined, with an affected earnestness of refusal,

protesting, that he should be extremely mortified, if he thought she

looked upon him as one of those mercenary gallants who could make such

a sordid use of a lady’s affection. “No, madam,” cried our politician

in a pathetic strain, “whatever happens, I shall never part with that

internal consolation, that conscious honour never fails to yield in the

deepest scenes of solitary distress. The attachment I have the honour

to profess for your amiable person, is not founded on such inglorious

motives, but is the genuine result of that generous passion which none

but the noble-minded feel, and the only circumstance of this misfortune

that I dread to encounter, is the necessity of withdrawing myself for

ever from the presence of her whose genial smiles could animate my soul

against all the persecution of adverse fortune.”

This declamation, accompanied with a profound sigh, served only to

inflame her desire of extricating him from the difficulty in which he

was involved. She exhausted all her eloquence in attempting to persuade

him that his refusal was an outrage against her affection. He pretended

to refute her arguments, and remained unshaken by all the power of her

solicitations, until she had recourse to the most passionate

remonstrances of love, and fell at his feet in the posture of a forlorn

shepherdess. What he refused to her reason, he granted to her tears,

because his heart was melted by her affliction, and next day

condescended to accept of her money, out of pure regard to her

happiness and peace.

Encouraged by the success of this achievement, he resolved to practise

the same experiment upon Wilhelmina, in hope of extracting an equal

share of profit from her simplicity and attachment, and, at their very

next nocturnal rendezvous in her chamber, reacted the farce already

rehearsed, with a small variation, which he thought necessary to

stimulate the young lady in his behalf. He rightly concluded, that she

was by no means mistress of such a considerable sum as he had already

extorted from her mother, and therefore thought proper to represent

himself in the most urgent predicament, that her apprehension, on his

account, might be so alarmed as to engage her in some enterprise for

his advantage, which otherwise she would never have dreamed of

undertaking. With this view, after having described his own calamitous

situation, in consequence of her pressing entreaties, which he affected

to evade, he gave her to understand, that there was no person upon

earth to whom he would have recourse in this emergency; for which

reason he was determined to rid himself of all his cares at once, upon

the friendly point of his own faithful sword.

Such a dreadful resolution could not fail to operate upon the tender

passions of his Dulcinea; she was instantly seized with an agony of

fear and distraction. Her grief manifested itself in a flood of tears,

while she hung round his neck, conjuring him in the most melting terms,

by their mutual love, in which they had been so happy, to lay aside

that fatal determination, which would infallibly involve her in the

same fate; for, she took Heaven to witness, that she would not one

moment survive the knowledge of his death.

He was not deficient in expressions of reciprocal regard. He extolled

her love and tenderness with a most extravagant eulogium, and seemed

wrung with mortal anguish at the prospect of parting for ever from his

lovely Wilhelmina; but his honour was a stern and rigid creditor, that

could not be appeased, except with his blood; and all the boon she

could obtain, by dint of the most woful supplication, was a promise to

defer the execution of his baleful purpose for the space of

four-and-twenty hours, during which she hoped Heaven would

compassionate her sufferings, and inspire her with some contrivance for

their mutual relief. Thus he yielded to her fervent request, rather

with a view to calm the present transports of her sorrow, than with any

expectation of seeing himself redeemed from his fate by her

interposition; such at least were his professions when he took his

leave, assuring her, that he would not quit his being before he should

have devoted a few hours to another interview with the dear object of

his love.

Having thus kindled the train, he did not doubt that the mine of his

craft would take effect, and repaired to his own lodging, in full

persuasion of seeing his aim accomplished, before the time fixed for

their last assignation. His prognostic was next morning verified by the

arrival of a messenger, who brought to him a small parcel, to which was

cemented, with sealing wax, the following epistle:—

“JEWEL OF MY SOUL!—Scarce had you, last night, quitted my disconsolate

arms, when I happily recollected that there was in my possession a gold

chain, of value more than sufficient to answer the exigence of your

present occasions. It was pledged to my grandfather for two hundred

crowns by a knight of Malta, who soon after perished in a sea

engagement with the enemies of our faith, so that it became the

property of our house, and was bequeathed to me by the old gentleman,

as a memorial of his particular affection. Upon whom can I more

properly bestow it, than him who is already master of my heart! Receive

it, therefore, from the bearer of this billet, and convert it, without

scruple, to that use which shall be most conducive to your ease and

satisfaction; nor seek, from a true romantic notion of honour, which I

know you entertain, to excuse yourself from accepting this testimony of

my affection. For I have already sworn before an image of our blessed

Lady, that I will no longer own you as the sovereign of my heart, nor

even indulge you with another interview, if you reject this mark of

tenderness and concern from your ever faithful WILHELMINA.”

The heart of our adventurer began to bound with joy when he surveyed

the contents of this letter; and his eyes sparkled with transport at

sight of the chain, which he immediately perceived to be worth twice

the sum she had mentioned. Nevertheless, he would not avail himself,

without further question, of her generosity; but, that same night,

repairing to her apartment at the usual hour of meeting, he prostrated

himself before her, and counterfeiting extreme agitation of spirit,

begged, in the most urgent terms, not even unaccompanied with tears,

that she would take back the present, which he tendered for her

acceptance, and spare him the most insufferable mortification of

thinking himself exposed to the imputation of being mercenary in his

love. Such, he said, was the delicacy of his passion, that he could not

possibly exist under the apprehension of incurring a censure so

unworthy of his sentiments; and he would a thousand times sooner

undergo the persecution of his rancorous creditor, than bear the

thought of being in the smallest consideration lessened in her esteem;

nay, so far did he carry his pretensions to punctilio, as to protest,

that, should she refuse to quiet the scruples of his honour on this

score, her unyielding beneficence would serve only to hasten the

execution of his determined purpose, to withdraw himself at once from a

life of vanity and misfortune.

The more pathetically he pleaded for her compliance, the more

strenuously did she resist his remonstrances. She advanced all the

arguments her reason, love, and terror could suggest, reminded him of

her oath, from which he could not suppose she would recede, whatever

the consequence might be; and in conclusion vowed to Heaven, with great

solemnity and devotion, that she would not survive the news of his

death. Thus the alternative she offered was either to retain the chain

and be happy in her affection, or forfeit all title to her love, and

die in the conviction of having brought his innocent mistress to an

untimely grave.

His fortitude was not proof against this last consideration. “My savage

honour,” said he, “would enable me to endure the pangs of eternal

separation in the confidence of being endowed with the power of ending

these tortures by the energy of my own hand; but the prospect of

Wilhelmina’s death, and that too occasioned by my inflexibility,

disarms my soul of all her resolution, swallows up the dictates of my

jealous pride, and fills my bosom with such a gush of tenderness and

sorrow, as overwhelms the whole economy of my purpose! Yes, enchanting

creature! I sacrifice my glory to that irresistible reflection; and,

rather than know myself the cruel instrument of robbing the world of

such perfection, consent to retain the fatal testimony of your love.”

So saying, he pocketed the chain, with an air of ineffable

mortification, and was rewarded for his compliance with the most

endearing caresses of his Dulcinea, who, amidst the tumults of her joy,

ejaculated a thousand acknowledgments to Heaven for having blessed her

with the affection of such a man, whose honour was unrivalled by

anything but his love.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HIS SUCCESS BEGETS A BLIND SECURITY, BY WHICH HE IS ONCE AGAIN

WELL-NIGH ENTRAPPED IN HIS DULCINEA’S APARTMENT.

In this manner did the crafty Fathom turn to account those ingratiating

qualifications he inherited from nature, and maintain, with incredible

assiduity and circumspection, an amorous correspondence with two

domestic rivals, who watched the conduct of each other with the most

indefatigable virulence of envious suspicion, until an accident

happened, which had well-nigh overturned the bark of his policy, and

induced him to alter the course, that he might not be shipwrecked on

the rocks that began to multiply in the prosecution of his present

voyage.

The jeweller, who, as a German, wanted neither pride nor ostentation,

never failed to celebrate the anniversary of his birth by an annual

feast granted to his neighbours and friends; and on these occasions was

accustomed to wear that chain which, though bequeathed to his daughter,

he considered as an ornament appertaining to the family, whereof he

himself was head. Accordingly, when the time of this festival revolved,

he, as usual, ordered Wilhelmina to surrender it for the day. This

injunction, the reader will perceive, our young lady was in no

condition to obey; she had, however, foreseen the demand, and contrived

a scheme of behaviour for the occasion, which she forthwith put in

execution.

With an air of uncommon cheerfulness, purposely assumed, she retired to

her closet, on pretence of complying with his desire, and, having

employed a few minutes in rummaging her drawers and disordering her

moveables, uttered a loud shriek, that brought her father instantly

into the apartment, where he found his daughter tossing about her

clothes and trinkets with violent demonstrations of disorder and

affright, and heard her, in a lamentable strain, declare that she was

robbed of her chain, and for ever undone. This was so far from being an

agreeable intimation to the jeweller, that he was struck dumb with

astonishment and vexation, and it was not till after a long pause that

he pronounced the word Sacrament! with an emphasis denoting the most

mortifying surprise.

Soon as that exclamation escaped from his lips, he flew to the

escritoire as if instinctively, and, joining Wilhelmina in her

occupation, tumbled its whole contents upon the floor in a trice.

While he was thus employed, in the most expressive silence, the wife of

his bosom chanced to pass that way, and seeing them both occupied with

such violence and trepidation, believed at first that they were

certainly actuated by the spirit of frenzy; but, when she interposed,

by asking, with great earnestness, the cause of such transports and

distracted behaviour, and heard her husband reply, with an accent of

despair, “The chain! the chain of my forefathers is no more!” she

immediately justified his emotion, by undergoing the same alarm, and,

without further hesitation, engaged herself in the search, beginning

with a song, which might be compared to the hymn of battle among the

Greeks, or rather more aptly to that which the Spartan females sung

round the altar of Diana, surnamed Orthian; for it was attended with

strange gesticulations, and, in the course of utterance, became so loud

and shrill, that the guests, who were by this time partly assembled,

being confounded at the clamour, rushed towards the place from whence

it seemed to proceed, and found their landlord, with his wife and

daughter, in the attitudes of distraction and despair.

When they understood the nature of the case, they condoled the family

on their misfortune, and would have retired, on the supposition that it

would defeat the mirthful intent of their meeting; but the jeweller,

mustering up his whole temper and hospitality, entreated them to excuse

his disorder, and favour him with their company, which, he observed,

was now more than ever wanted, to dispel the melancholy ideas inspired

by his loss. Notwithstanding this apology, and the efforts he made in

the sequel to entertain his friends with jollity and good-humour, his

heart was so linked to the chain, that he could not detach himself from

the thoughts of it, which invaded him at short intervals in such qualms

as effectually spoiled his appetite, and hindered his digestion.

He revolved within himself the circumstances of his disaster, and, in

canvassing all the probable means by which the chain would be stolen,

concluded that the deed must have been done by some person in the

family, who, in consequence of having access to his daughter’s chamber,

had either found the drawer left open by her carelessness and neglect,

or found means to obtain a false key, by some waxen impression; for the

locks of the escritoire were safe and uninjured. His suspicion being

thus confined within his own house, sometimes pitched upon his workmen,

and sometimes upon his wife, who, he thought, was the more likely to

practise such finesse, as she considered Wilhelmina in the light of a

daughter-in-law, whose interest interfered with her own, and who had

often harangued to him in private on the folly of leaving this very

chain in the young lady’s possession.

The more he considered this subject, he thought he saw the more reason

to attribute the damage he had sustained to the machinations of his

spouse, who, he did not doubt, was disposed to feather her own nest, at

the expense of him and his heirs, and who, with the same honest

intention, had already secreted, for her private use, those

inconsiderable jewels which of late had at different times been

missing. Aroused by these sentiments, he resolved to retaliate her own

schemes, by contriving means to visit her cabinet in secret, and, if

possible, to rob the robber of the spoils she had gathered to his

prejudice, without coming to any explanation, which might end in

domestic turmoils and eternal disquiet.

While the husband exercised his reflection in this manner, his innocent

mate did not allow the powers of her imagination to rest in idleness

and sloth. Her observations touching the loss of the chain were such as

a suspicious woman, biassed by hatred and envy, would naturally make.

To her it seemed highly improbable, that a thing of such value, so

carefully deposited, should vanish without the connivance of its

keeper, and without much expense of conjecture, divined the true manner

in which it was conveyed. The sole difficulty that occurred in the

researches of her sagacity, was to know the gallant who had been

favoured with such a pledge of Wilhelmina’s affection; for, as the

reader will easily imagine, she never dreamed of viewing Ferdinand in

that odious perspective. In order to satisfy her curiosity, discover

this happy favourite, and be revenged on her petulant rival, she

prevailed upon the jeweller to employ a scout, who should watch all

night upon the stair, without the knowledge of any other person in the

family, alleging, that in all likelihood, the housemaid gave private

admittance to some lover who was the author of all the losses they had

lately suffered, and that they might possibly detect him in his

nocturnal adventures; and observing that it would be imprudent to

intimate their design to Wilhelmina, lest, through the heedlessness and

indiscretion of youth, she might chance to divulge the secret, so as to

frustrate their aim.

A Swiss, in whose honesty the German could confide, being hired for

this purpose, was posted in a dark corner of the staircase, within a

few paces of the door, which he was directed to watch, and actually

stood sentinel three nights, without perceiving the least object of

suspicion; but, on the fourth, the evil stars of our adventurer

conducted him to the spot, on his voyage to the apartment of his

Dulcinea, with whom he had preconcerted the assignation. Having made

the signal, which consisted of two gentle taps on her door, he was

immediately admitted; and the Swiss no sooner saw him fairly housed,

than he crept softly to the other door, that was left open for the

purpose, and gave immediate intimation of what he had perceived. This

intelligence, however, he could not convey so secretly, but the lovers,

who were always vigilant upon these occasions, overheard a sort of

commotion in the jeweller’s chamber, the cause of which their

apprehension was ingenious enough to comprehend.

We have formerly observed that our adventurer could not make his

retreat by the door, without running a very great risk of being

detected, and the expedient of the chimney he had no inclination to

repeat; so that he found himself in a very uncomfortable dilemma, and

was utterly abandoned by all his invention and address, when his

mistress, in a whisper, desired him to begin a dialogue, aloud, in an

apology, importing, that he had mistaken the door, and that his

intention was to visit her father, touching a ring belonging to the

young Count Melvil, which she knew Fathom had put into his hands, in

order to be altered.

Ferdinand, seizing the hint, availed himself of it without delay, and,

unbolting the door, pronounced in an audible voice, “Upon my honour,

Mademoiselle, you wrong my intention, if you imagine I came hither with

any disrespectful or dishonourable motive. I have business with your

father, which cannot be delayed till to-morrow, without manifest

prejudice to my friend and myself; therefore I took the liberty of

visiting him at these untimely hours, and it has been my misfortune to

mistake the door in the dark. I beg pardon for my involuntary

intrusion, and again assure you, that nothing was farther from my

thoughts than any design to violate that respect which I have always

entertained for you and your father’s family.”

To this remonstrance, which was distinctly heard by the German and his

wife, who by this time stood listening at the door, the young lady

replied, in a shrill accent of displeasure, “Sir, I am bound to believe

that all your actions are conducted by honour; but you must give me

leave to tell you, that your mistake is a little extraordinary, and

your visit, even to my father, at this time of the night, altogether

unseasonable, if not mysterious. As for the interruption I have

suffered in my repose, I impute it to my own forgetfulness, in leaving

my door unlocked, and blame myself so severely for the omission, that I

shall, to-morrow, put it out of my own power to be guilty of the like

for the future, by ordering the passage to be nailed up; meanwhile, if

you would persuade me of your well-meaning, you will instantly

withdraw, lest my reputation should suffer by your continuance in my

apartment.”

“Madam,” answered our hero, “I will not give you an opportunity to

repeat the command, which I shall forthwith obey, after having

entreated you once more to forgive the disturbance I have given.” So

saying, he gently opened the door, and, at sight of the German and his

wife, who, he well knew, waited for his exit, started back, and gave

tokens of confusion, which was partly real and partly affected. The

jeweller, fully satisfied with Fathom’s declaration to his daughter,

received him with a complaisant look, and, in order to alleviate his

concern, gave him to understand, that he already knew the reason of his

being in that apartment, and desired to be informed of what had

procured him the honour to see him at such a juncture.

“My dear friend,” said our adventurer, pretending to recollect himself

with difficulty, “I am utterly ashamed and confounded to be discovered

in this situation; but, as you have overheard what passed between

Mademoiselle and me, I know you will do justice to my intention, and

forgive my mistake. After begging pardon for having intruded upon your

family at these hours, I must now tell you that my cousin, Count

Melvil, was some time ago so much misrepresented to his mother by

certain malicious informers, who delight in sowing discord in private

families, that she actually believed her son an extravagant

spendthrift, who had not only consumed his remittances in the most

riotous scenes of disorder, but also indulged a pernicious appetite for

gaming, to such a degree, that he had lost all his clothes and jewels

at play. In consequence of such false information, she expostulated

with him in a severe letter, and desired he would transmit to her that

ring which is in your custody, it being a family stone, for which she

expressed an inestimable value. The young gentleman, in his answer to

her reproof, endeavoured to vindicate himself from the aspersions which

had been cast upon his character, and, with regard to the ring, told

her it was at present in the hands of a jeweller, in order to be new

set according to her own directions, and that, whenever it should be

altered, he would send it home to her by some safe conveyance. This

account the good lady took for an evasion, and upon that supposition

has again written to him, in such a provoking style, that, although the

letter arrived but half an hour ago, he is determined to despatch a

courier before morning with the mischievous ring, for which, in

compliance with the impetuosity of his temper, I have taken the freedom

to disturb you at this unseasonable hour.”

The German paid implicit faith to every circumstance of his story,

which indeed could not well be supposed to be invented extempore; the

ring was immediately restored, and our adventurer took his leave,

congratulating himself upon his signal deliverance from the snare in

which he had fallen.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE STEP-DAME’S SUSPICIONS BEING AWAKENED, SHE LAYS A SNARE FOR OUR

ADVENTURER, FROM WHICH HE IS DELIVERED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF HIS GOOD

GENIUS.

Though the husband swallowed the bait without further inquiry, the

penetration of the wife was not so easily deceived. That same dialogue

in Wilhelmina’s apartment, far from allaying, rather inflamed her

suspicion; because, in the like emergency, she herself had once

profited by the same, or nearly the same contrivance. Without

communicating her doubts to the father, she resolved to double her

attention to the daughter’s future conduct, and keep such a strict eye

over the behaviour of our gallant, that he should find it very

difficult, if not impossible, to elude her observation. For this

purpose she took into her pay an old maiden, of the right sour

disposition, who lived in a house opposite to her own, and directed her

to follow the young lady in all her outgoings, whenever she should

receive from the window a certain signal, which the mother-in-law

agreed to make for the occasion. It was not long before this scheme

succeeded to her wish. The door of communication betwixt Wilhelmina’s

apartment and the staircase being nailed up by the jeweller’s express

order, our adventurer was altogether deprived of those opportunities he

had hitherto enjoyed, and was not at all mortified to find himself so

restricted in a correspondence which began to be tiresome and

disagreeable. But the case was far otherwise with his Dulcinea, whose

passion, the more it was thwarted, raged with greater violence, like a

fire, that, from the attempts that are made to extinguish it, gathers

greater force, and flames with double fury.

Upon the second day of her misfortune, she had written a very tender

billet, lamenting her unhappiness in being deprived of those meetings

which constituted the chief joy of her life, and entreating him to

contrive some means of renewing the delicious commerce in an

unsuspected place. This intimation she proposed to convey privately

into the hand of her lover, during his next visit to the family; but

both were so narrowly eyed by the mother, that she found the execution

of her design impracticable; and next forenoon, on pretence of going to

church, repaired to the house of a companion, who, being also her

confidant, undertook to deliver the billet with her own hand.

The she-dragon employed by her mother, in obedience to the sign which

was displayed from the window immediately put on her veil, and followed

Wilhelmina at a distance, until she saw her fairly housed. She would

not even then return from her excursion, but hovered about in sight of

the door, with a view of making further observations. In less than five

minutes after the young lady disappeared, the scout perceived her

coming out, accompanied by her comrade, from whom she instantly parted,

and bent her way towards the church in good earnest, while the other

steered her course in another direction. The duenna, after a moment’s

suspense and consideration, divined the true cause of this short visit,

and resolved to watch the motions of the confidant, whom she traced to

the academy in which our hero lodged, and from which she saw her

return, after the supposed message was delivered.

Fraught with this intelligence, the rancorous understrapper hied her

home to the jeweller’s wife, and made a faithful recital of what she

had seen, communicating at the same time her own conjectures on that

subject. Her employer was equally astonished and incensed at this

information. She was seized with all that frenzy which takes possession

of a slighted woman, when she finds herself supplanted by a detested

rival; and, in the first transports of her indignation, devoted them as

sacrifices to her vengeance. Nor was her surprise so much the effect of

his dissimulation, as of his want of taste and discernment. She

inveighed against him, not as the most treacherous lover, but as the

most abject wretch, in courting the smiles of such an awkward dowdy,

while he enjoyed the favours of a woman who had numbered princes in the

train of her admirers. For the brilliancy of her attractions, such as

they at present shone, she appealed to the decision of her minister,

who consulted her own satisfaction and interest, by flattering the

other’s vanity and resentment; and so unaccountable did the depravity

of our hero’s judgment appear to this conceited dame, that she began to

believe there was some mistake in the person, and to hope that

Wilhelmina’s gallant was not in reality her professed admirer, Mr.

Fathom, but rather one of his fellow-lodgers, whose passion he favoured

with his mediation and assistance.

On this notion, which nothing but mere vanity could have inspired, in

opposition to so many more weighty presumptions, she took the

resolution of bringing the affair to a fuller explanation, before she

would concert any measures to the prejudice of our adventurer, and

forthwith despatched her spy back to his lodgings, to solicit, on the

part of Wilhelmina, an immediate answer to the letter he had received.

This was an expedition with which the old maiden would have willingly

dispensed, because it was founded upon an uncertainty, which might be

attended with troublesome consequences; but, rather than be the means

of retarding a negotiation so productive of that sort of mischief which

is particularly agreeable to all of her tribe, she undertook to manage

and effect the discovery, in full confidence of her own talents and

experience.

With such a fund of self-sufficiency and instigation, she repaired to

the academy on the instant, and inquiring for Mr. Fathom, was

introduced to his apartment, where she found him in the very act of

writing a billet to the jeweller’s daughter. The artful agent having

asked, with the mysterious air of an expert go-between, if he had not

lately received a message from a certain young lady, and, being

answered in the affirmative, gave him to understand, that she herself

was a person favoured with the friendship and confidence of Wilhelmina,

whom she had known from her cradle, and often dandled on her knee;

then, in the genuine style of a prattling dry nurse, she launched out

in encomiums on his Dulcinea’s beauty and sweetness of temper,

recounting many simple occurrences of her infancy and childhood; and,

finally, desiring a more circumstantial answer to that which she had

sent to him by her friend Catherina. In the course of her loquacity she

had also, according to her instructions, hinted at the misfortune of

the door; and, on the whole, performed her cue with such dexterity and

discretion that our politician was actually overreached, and, having

finished his epistle, committed it to her care, with many verbal

expressions of eternal love and fidelity to his charming Wilhelmina.

The messenger, doubly rejoiced at her achievement, which not only

recommended her ministry, but also gratified her malice, returned to

her principal with great exultation, and, delivering the letter, the

reader will easily conceive the transports of that lady when she read

the contents of it in these words:—

“ANGELIC WILHELMINA!—To forget those ecstatic scenes we have enjoyed

together, or even live without the continuation of that mutual bliss,

were to quit all title to perception, and resign every hope of future

happiness. No! my charmer, while my head retains the least spark of

invention, and my heart glows with the resolution of a man, our

correspondence shall not be cut off by the machinations of an envious

stepmother, who never had attractions to inspire a generous passion;

and, now that age and wrinkles have destroyed what little share of

beauty she once possessed, endeavours, like the fiend in paradise, to

blast those joys in others, from which she is herself eternally

excluded. Doubt not, dear sovereign of my soul! that I will study, with

all the eagerness of desiring love, how to frustrate her malicious

intention, and renew those transporting moments, the remembrance of

which now warms the breast of your ever constant FATHOM.”

Had our hero murdered her father, or left her a disconsolate widow, by

effecting the death of her dear husband, there might have been a

possibility of her exerting the Christian virtues of resignation and

forgiveness; but such a personal outrage as that contained in this

epistle precluded all hope of pardon, and rendered penitence of no

signification. His atrocious crime being now fully ascertained, this

virago gave a loose to her resentment, which became so loud and

tempestuous, that her informer shuddered at the storm she had raised,

and began to repent of having communicated the intelligence which

seemed to have such a violent effect upon her brain.

She endeavoured, however, to allay the agitation, by flattering her

fancy with the prospect of revenge, and gradually soothed her into a

state of deliberate ire; during which she determined to take ample

vengeance on the delinquent. In the zenith of her rage, she would have

had immediate recourse to poison or steel, had she not been diverted

from her mortal purpose by her counsellor, who represented the danger

of engaging in such violent measures, and proposed a more secure

scheme, in the execution of which she would see the perfidious wretch

sufficiently punished, without any hazard to her own person or

reputation. She advised her to inform the jeweller of Fathom’s efforts

to seduce her conjugal fidelity, and impart to him a plan, by which he

would have it in his power to detect our adventurer in the very act of

practising upon her virtue.

The lady relished her proposal, and actually resolved to make an

assignation with Ferdinand, as usual, and give notice of the

appointment to her husband, that he might personally discover the

treachery of his pretended friend, and inflict upon him such

chastisement as the German’s brutal disposition should suggest, when

inflamed by that species of provocation. Had this project been brought

to bear, Ferdinand, in all likelihood, would have been disqualified

from engaging in any future intrigue; but fate ordained that the design

should be defeated, in order to reserve him for more important

occasions.

Before the circumstances of the plan could be adjusted, it was his good

fortune to meet his Dulcinea in the street, and, in the midst of their

mutual condolence on the interruption they had suffered in their

correspondence, he assured her, that he would never give his invention

respite, until he should have verified the protestations contained in

the letter he had delivered to her discreet agent. This allusion to a

billet she had never received, did not fail to alarm her fears, and

introduce a very mortifying explanation, in which he so accurately

described the person of the messenger, that she forthwith comprehended

the plot, and communicated to our hero her sentiments on that subject.

Though he expressed infinite anxiety and chagrin at this misfortune,

which could not fail to raise new obstacles to their love, his heart

was a stranger to the uneasiness he affected; and rather pleased with

the occasion, which would furnish him with pretences to withdraw

himself gradually from an intercourse by this time become equally

cloying and unprofitable. Being well acquainted with the mother’s

temperament, he guessed the present situation of her thoughts, and

concluding she would make the jeweller a party in her revenge, he

resolved from that moment to discontinue his visits, and cautiously

guard against any future interview with the lady whom he had rendered

so implacable.

It was well for our adventurer that his good fortune so seasonably

interposed; for that same day, in the afternoon, he was favoured with a

billet from the jeweller’s wife, couched in the same tender style she

had formerly used, and importing an earnest desire of seeing him next

day at the wonted rendezvous. Although his penetration was sufficient

to perceive the drift of this message, or at least to discern the risk

he should run in complying with her request, yet he was willing to be

more fully certified of the truth of his suspicion, and wrote an answer

to the billet, in which he assured her, that he would repair to the

place of appointment with all the punctuality of an impatient lover.

Nevertheless, instead of performing this promise, he, in the morning,

took post in a public-house opposite to the place of assignation, in

order to reconnoitre the ground, and about noon had the pleasure of

seeing the German, wrapped in a cloak, enter the door of his wife’s

she-friend, though the appointment was fixed at five in the evening.

Fathom blessed his good angel for having conducted him clear of this

conspiracy, and kept his station with great tranquillity till the hour

of meeting, when he beheld his enraged Thalestris take the same route,

and enjoyed her disappointment with ineffable satisfaction.

Thus favoured with a pretext, he took his leave of her, in a letter,

giving her to understand, that he was no stranger to the barbarous

snare she had laid for him; and upbraiding her with having made such an

ungrateful return for all his tenderness and attachment. She was not

backward in conveying a reply to this expostulation, which seemed to

have been dictated in all the distraction of a proud woman who sees her

vengeance baffled, as well as her love disdained. Her letter was

nothing but a succession of reproaches, menaces, and incoherent

execrations. She taxed him with knavery, insensibility, and

dissimulation; imprecated a thousand curses upon his head, and

threatened not only to persecute his life with all the arts that hell

and malice could inspire, but also to wound him in the person of her

daughter-in-law, who should be enclosed for life in a convent, where

she should have leisure to repent of those loose and disorderly

practices which he had taught her to commit, and of which she could not

pretend innocence, as they had it in their power to confront her with

the evidence of her lover’s own confession. Yet all this denunciation

was qualified with an alternative, by which he was given to understand,

that the gates of mercy were still open, and that penitence was capable

of washing out the deepest stain of guilt.

Ferdinand read the whole remonstrance with great composure and

moderation, and was content to incur the hazard of her hate, rather

than put her to the trouble of making such an effort of generosity, as

would induce her to forgive the heinous offence he had committed; nor

did his apprehension for Wilhelmina in the least influence his

behaviour on this occasion. So zealous was he for her spiritual

concerns, that he would have been glad to hear she had actually taken

the veil; but he knew such a step was not at all agreeable to her

disposition, and that no violence would be offered to her inclinations

on that score, unless her stepmother should communicate to the father

that letter of Fathom’s which she had intercepted, and by which the

German would be convinced of his daughter’s backsliding; but this

measure, he rightly supposed, the wife would not venture to take, lest

the husband, instead of taking her advice touching the young lady,

should seek to compromise the affair, by offering her in marriage to

her debaucher, a proffer which, if accepted, would overwhelm the mother

with vexation and despair. He therefore chose to trust to the effects

of lenient time, which he hoped would gradually weaken the resentment

of this Penthesilea, and dissolve his connexion with the other parts of

the family, from which he longed to be totally detached.

How well soever he might have succeeded in his attempts to shake off

the yoke of the mother, who by her situation in life was restrained

from prosecuting those measures her resentment had planned against his

fortitude and indifference, he would have found greater difficulty than

he had foreseen, in disengaging himself from the daughter, whose

affections he had won under the most solemn professions of honour and

fidelity, and who, now she was debarred of his company and

conversation, and in danger of losing him for ever, had actually taken

the resolution of disclosing the amour to her father, that he might

interpose in behalf of her peace and reputation, and secure her

happiness by the sanction of the church.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

OUR HERO DEPARTS FROM VIENNA, AND QUITS THE DOMAIN OF VENUS FOR THE

ROUGH FIELD OF MARS.

Luckily for our adventurer, before she adhered to this determination,

the young Count de Melvil was summoned to Presburg by his father, who

desired to see him, before he should take the field, in consequence of

a rupture between the Emperor and the French King; and Fathom of course

quitted Vienna, in order to attend his patron, after he and Renaldo had

resided two whole years in that capital, where the former had made

himself perfect in all the polite exercises, become master of the

French tongue, and learned to speak the Italian with great facility;

over and above those other accomplishments in which we have represented

him as an inimitable original.

As for the young Count, his exteriors were so much improved by the

company to which he had access, since his departure from his father’s

house, that his parents were equally surprised and overjoyed at the

alteration. All that awkwardness and rusticity, which hung upon his

deportment, was, like the rough coat of a diamond, polished away; the

connexion and disposition of his limbs seemed to have been adjusted

anew; his carriage was become easy, his air perfectly genteel, and his

conversation gay and unrestrained. The merit of this reformation was in

a great measure ascribed to the care and example of Mr. Fathom, who was

received by the old Count and his lady with marks of singular

friendship and esteem; nor was he overlooked by Mademoiselle, who still

remained in a state of celibacy, and seemed to have resigned all hope

of altering her condition; she expressed uncommon satisfaction at the

return of her old favourite, and readmitted him into the same degree of

familiarity with which he had been honoured before his departure.

The joy of Teresa was so excessive at his arrival, that she could

scarce suppress her raptures, so as to conceal them from the notice of

the family; and our hero, upon this occasion, performed the part of an

exquisite actor, in dissembling those transports which his bosom never

knew. So well had this pupil retained the lessons of her instructor,

that, in the midst of those fraudulent appropriations, which she still

continued to make, she had found means to support her interest and

character with Mademoiselle, and even to acquire such influence in the

family, that no other servant, male or female, could pretend to live

under the same roof, without paying incessant homage to this artful

waiting-woman, and yielding the most abject submission to her will.

The young gentlemen having tarried at Presburg about six weeks, during

which a small field equipage was prepared for Renaldo, they repaired to

the camp at Heilbron, under the auspices of Count Melvil, in whose

regiment they carried arms as volunteers, with a view to merit

promotion in the service by their own personal behaviour. Our

adventurer would have willingly dispensed with this occasion of

signalising himself, his talents being much better adapted to another

sphere of life; nevertheless, he affected uncommon alacrity at the

prospect of gathering laurels in the field, and subscribed to his

fortune with a good grace; foreseeing, that even in a campaign, a man

of his art and ingenuity might find means to consult his corporal

safety, without any danger to his reputation. Accordingly, before he

had lived full three weeks in camp, the damp situation, and sudden

change in his way of life, had such a violent effect upon his

constitution, that he was deprived of the use of all his limbs, and

mourned, without ceasing, his hard fate, by which he found himself

precluded from all opportunity of exerting his diligence, courage, and

activity, in the character of a soldier, to which he now aspired.

Renaldo, who was actually enamoured of a martial life, and missed no

occasion of distinguishing himself, consoled his companion with great

cordiality, encouraged him with the hope of seeing his constitution

familiarised to the inconveniences of a camp, and accommodated him with

everything which he thought would alleviate the pain of his body, as

well as the anxiety of his mind. The old Count, who sincerely

sympathised with his affliction, would have persuaded him to retire

into quarters, where he could be carefully nursed, and provided with

everything necessary to a person in his condition; but such was his

desire of glory, that he resisted his patron’s importunities with great

constancy, till at length, seeing the old gentleman obstinately

determined to consult his health by removing him from the field, he

gradually suffered himself to recover the use of his hands, made shift

to sit up in his bed, and amuse himself with cards or backgammon, and,

notwithstanding the feeble condition of his legs, ventured to ride out

on horseback to visit the lines, though the Count and his son would

never yield to his solicitations so far, as to let him accompany

Renaldo in those excursions and reconnoitring parties, by which a

volunteer inures himself to toil and peril, and acquires that knowledge

in the operations of war, which qualifies him for a command in the

service.

Notwithstanding this exemption from all duty, our adventurer managed

matters so as to pass for a youth of infinite mettle, and even rendered

his backwardness and timidity subservient to the support of that

character, by expressing an impatience of lying inactive, and a desire

of signalising his prowess, which even the disabled condition of his

body could scarce restrain. He must be a man of very weak nerves and

excessive irresolution, who can live in the midst of actual service,

without imbibing some portion of military fortitude: danger becomes

habitual, and loses a great part of its terror; and as fear is often

caught by contagion, so is courage communicated among the individuals

of an army. The hope of fame, desire of honours and preferment, envy,

emulation, and the dread of disgrace, are motives which co-operate in

suppressing that aversion to death or mutilation, which nature hath

implanted in the human mind; and therefore it is not to be wondered at,

if Fathom, who was naturally chicken-hearted, gained some advantages

over his disposition before the end of the campaign, which happened to

be neither perilous nor severe.

During the winter, while both armies remained in quarters, our

adventurer attended his patron to Presburg, and, before the troops were

in motion, Renaldo obtained a commission, in consequence of which he

went into garrison at Philipsburg, whither he was followed by our hero,

while the old Count’s duty called him to the field in a different

place. Ferdinand for some time had no reason to be dissatisfied with

this disposition, by which he was at once delivered from the fatigues

of a campaign, and the inspection of a severe censor, in the person of

Count Melvil; and his satisfaction was still increased by an accidental

meeting with the Tyrolese who had been his confederate at Vienna, and

now chanced to serve in garrison on the same footing with himself.

These two knights-errant renewed their former correspondence, and, as

all soldiers are addicted to gaming, levied contributions upon all

those officers who had money to lose, and temerity to play.

However, they had not long pursued this branch of traffic, when their

success was interrupted by a very serious occurrence, that for the

present entirely detached the gentlemen in the garrison from such

amusements. The French troops invested Fort Kehl, situated on the

Rhine, opposite to Strasburg; and the Imperialists, dreading that the

next storm would fall upon Philipsburg, employed themselves with great

diligence to put that important fortress in a proper posture of

defence. If the suspension of play was displeasing to our hero, the

expectation of being besieged was by no means more agreeable. He knew

the excellence of the French engineers, the power of their artillery,

and the perseverance of their general. He felt, by anticipation, the

toils of hard duty upon the works, the horrors of night-alarms,

cannonading, bombardment, sallies, and mines blown up; and deliberated

with himself whether or not he should privately withdraw, and take

refuge among the besiegers; but, when he reflected that such a step,

besides the infamy that must attend it, would be like that of running

upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis, as he would be exposed to more

danger and inconvenience in the trenches than he could possibly undergo

in the town, and after all run the risk of being taken and treated as a

deserter; upon these considerations he resolved to submit himself to

his destiny, and endeavoured to mitigate the rigour of his fate by

those arts he had formerly practised with success. He accordingly found

means to enjoy a very bad state of health during the whole siege, which

lasted about six weeks after the trenches were opened; and then the

garrison marched out by capitulation, with all the honours of war.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HE PUTS HIMSELF UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF HIS ASSOCIATE, AND STUMBLES UPON

THE FRENCH CAMP, WHERE HE FINISHES HIS MILITARY CAREER.

Nothing else of moment was transacted during that campaign; and in the

winter our adventurer, with the young Count, and his friend the

Tyrolese, were disposed in quarters of cantonment, where Ferdinand made

himself amends for the chagrin he had undergone, by the exercise of

those talents in which he excelled. Not that he was satisfied with the

sphere of life in which he acted; though he knew himself consummate in

the art of play, he was not at all ambitious of a gamester’s name; nor

did he find himself disposed to hazard those discoveries and

explanations to which heroes of that class are sometimes necessarily

exposed. His aim was to dwell among the tents of civil life,

undisturbed by quarrels and the din of war, and render mankind

subservient to his interest, not by stratagems which irritate, but by

that suppleness of insinuation, which could not fail to soothe the

temper of those on whom he meant to prey.

He saw that all his expectations of Count Melvil’s future favour were

connected with his choice of a military life; and that his promotion in

the service would, in a great measure, depend upon his personal

behaviour in such emergencies as he did not at all wish to encounter.

On the other hand, he confided so much in his own dexterity and

address, that he never doubted of being able to rear a splendid fortune

for himself, provided he could once obtain a fixed and firm foundation.

He had in fancy often enjoyed a prospect of England, not only as his

native country, to which, like a true citizen, he longed to be united;

but also as the land of promise, flowing with milk and honey, and

abounding with subjects on which he knew his talents would be properly

exercised.

These reflections never occurred, without leaving a strong impression

upon the mind of our adventurer, which influenced his deliberations in

such a manner, as at length amounted to a perfect resolution of

withdrawing himself privately from a service that teemed with

disagreeable events, and of transporting himself into the country of

his ancestors, which he considered as the Canaan of all able

adventurers. But, previous to his appearance on that stage, he was

desirous of visiting the metropolis of France, in which he hoped to

improve himself in the knowledge of men and things, and acquire such

intelligence as would qualify him to act a more important part upon the

British scene. After having for some time indulged these prospects in

secret, he determined to accommodate himself with the company and

experience of the Tyrolese, whom, under the specious title of an

associate, he knew he could convert into a very serviceable tool, in

forwarding the execution of his own projects.

Accordingly, the inclination of this confederate was sounded by distant

hints, and being found apt, our hero made him privy to his design of

decamping without beat of drum; though, at the same time, he begged his

advice touching the method of their departure, that he might retire

with as much delicacy as the nature of such a step would permit. Divers

consultations were held upon this subject, before they adhered to the

resolution of making their escape from the army, after it should have

taken the field in the spring; because, in that case, they would have

frequent opportunities of going abroad on foraging parties, and, during

one of these excursions, might retire in such a manner as to persuade

their companions that they had fallen into the enemy’s hands.

Agreeable to this determination, the camp was no sooner formed in

Alsace than our associates began to make preparations for their march,

and had already taken all the previous measures for their departure,

when an accident happened, which our hero did not fail to convert to

his own advantage. This was no other than the desertion of Renaldo’s

valet, who, in consequence of a gentle chastisement, which he had

richly merited, thought proper to disappear, after having plundered his

master’s portmanteau, which he had forced open for the purpose.

Ferdinand, who was the first person that discovered the theft,

immediately comprehended the whole adventure, and, taking it for

granted that the delinquent would never return, resolved to finish what

the fugitive had imperfectly performed.

Being favoured with the unreserved confidence of the young Count, he

instantly had recourse to his bureau, the locks of which he found means

to burst open, and, examining a private drawer, contrived with great

art to conceal Renaldo’s jewels and cash, made himself master of the

contents without hesitation; then cutting open his cloak-bag, and

strewing the tent with his linen and clothes, began to raise his voice,

and produce such a clamour as alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and

brought a great many officers into the tent.

He on this, as on all other occasions, performed his cue to a miracle,

expressing confusion and concern so naturally in his gestures and

exclamation, that no man could possibly suspect his sincerity; nay, to

such a degree of finesse did his cunning amount, that when his friend

and patron entered, in consequence of an intimation he soon received of

his loss, our adventurer exhibited undoubted signs of distraction and

delirium, and, springing upon Renaldo with all the frantic fury of a

bedlamite, “Villain,” cried he, “restore the effects you have stole

from your master, or you shall be immediately committed to the care of

the prevot.” However mortified M. de Melvil might be at his own

misfortune, the condition of his friend seemed to touch him more

nearly; he undervalued his own loss as a trifle that could be easily

repaired; said everything which he thought would tend to soothe and

compose the agitation of Ferdinand; and finally prevailed upon him to

retire to rest. The calamity was wholly attributed to the deserter; and

Renaldo, far from suspecting the true author, took occasion, from his

behaviour on this emergency, to admire him as a mirror of integrity and

attachment; in such an exquisite manner did he plan all his designs,

that almost every instance of his fraud furnished matter of triumph to

his reputation.

Having thus profitably exercised his genius, this subtle politician

thought it high time to relinquish his military expectations, and

securing all his valuable acquisitions about his own person, rode out

with his understrapper, in the midst of fifty dragoons, who went in

quest of forage. While the troopers were employed in making up their

trusses, the two adventurers advanced towards the skirt of a wood, on

pretence of reconnoitring, and the Tyrolese, who undertook to be our

hero’s guide, directing him to a path which leads towards Strasburg,

they suddenly vanished from the eyes of their companions, who in a few

minutes hearing the report of several pistols, which the confederates

purposely fired, conjectured that they had fallen in with a party of

French, by whom they were made prisoners of war.

The Tyrolese had overrated his own knowledge when he took upon himself

the charge of conducting our hero; for upon their arrival at a certain

place, where two roads crossed each other, he chanced to follow that

which not only frustrated their intention, but even led them directly

to the French camp; so that, in the twilight, they fell in upon one of

the outguards before they were aware of their mistake.

Whatever confusion and perplexity they might undergo, when they heard

themselves questioned by the sentinel on the advanced post, certain it

is, they betrayed no symptoms of fear or disorder; but while Ferdinand

endeavoured to recollect himself, his fellow-traveller, with the

appearance of admirable intrepidity and presence of mind, told the

soldier that he and his companion were two gentlemen of family, who had

quitted the Austrian army, on account of having sustained some

ill-usage, which they had no opportunity of resenting in any other way,

and that they were come to offer their services to the French general,

to whose quarters they desired to be immediately conveyed.

The sentinel, to whom such an instance of desertion was neither rare,

nor indeed uncommon, directed them without scruple to the next post,

where they found a serjeant’s party, from which, at their request, they

were transmitted to the officer of the grand guard, and by him next

morning introduced to Count Coigny, who very politely received them as

volunteers in the army of France. Though this translation was not at

all to our hero’s liking, he was forced to acquiesce in his fate, glad

to find himself, on these terms, in possession of his effects, of which

he would otherwise have been infallibly rifled.

This campaign, however, was the most disagreeable period of his whole

life; because the manner in which he had entered into the service

subjected him to the particular observation and notice of the French

officers; so that he was obliged to be very alert in his duty, and

summon all his fortitude to maintain the character he had assumed. What

rendered his situation still more unpalatable, was the activity of both

armies in the course of this season, during which, over and above

sundry fatiguing marches and countermarches, he was personally engaged

in the affair of Halleh, which was very obstinate; where, being in the

skirts of the detachment, he was actually wounded in the face by the

sword of an hussar; but this was, luckily for him, the last time he

found himself under the necessity of exerting his military prowess, for

a cessation of arms was proclaimed before he was cured of his wound,

and peace concluded about the end of the campaign.

During his sojourn in the French camp, he assumed the character of a

man of family, who being disgusted at some supercilious treatment he

had met with in the German service, and at the same time ambitious of

carrying arms under the banners of France, took the opportunity of

retreating by stealth from his friends, accompanied only by one with

whom he could intrust his intention. In this capacity he had managed

his matters to such advantage, that many French officers of rank were

very well disposed to contribute their interest in his behalf, had his

inclination verged towards promotion in the army; but he thought proper

to conceal his real design, under the specious pretext of longing to

see the metropolis of France, that centre of pleasure and politeness,

in which he proposed to spend some time for the improvement of his

address and understanding. These were motives too laudable to be

opposed by his new patrons, some of whom furnished him with letters of

recommendation to certain noblemen of the first rank at the court of

Versailles, for which place he and his companion set out from the banks

of the Rhine, very well satisfied with the honourable dismission they

had obtained from a life of inconvenience, danger, and alarm.

CHAPTER TWENTY

HE PREPARES A STRATAGEM BUT FINDS HIMSELF COUNTERMINED—PROCEEDS ON HIS

JOURNEY, AND IS OVERTAKEN BY A TERRIBLE TEMPEST.

In the course of this journey, Ferdinand, who was never deficient in

his political capacity, held a secret conclave with his own thoughts,

not only touching the plan of his own future conduct, but also

concerning his associate, of whose fidelity and adherence he began to

entertain such doubts as discouraged him from the prosecution of that

design in which the Tyrolese had been at first included; for he had

lately observed him practise the arts of his occupation among the

French officers, with such rapacity and want of caution, as indicated a

dangerous temerity of temper, as well as a furious rage of acquiring,

which might be some time or other satiated upon his own friends. In

other words, our adventurer was afraid that his accomplice would profit

by his knowledge of the road and countries through which they

travelled, and, after having made free with his most valuable effects,

in consequence of the familiarity subsisting between them, leave him

some morning without the ceremony of a formal adieu.

Aroused by this suspicion, he resolved to anticipate the supposed

intention of the Tyrolese, by taking his own departure in the same

abrupt manner; and this scheme he actually put in execution, upon their

arrival in Bar-le-duc, where it was agreed they should spend a day to

repose and refresh themselves from the fatigue of hard riding.

Ferdinand, therefore, taking the advantage of his companion’s

absence—for the Tyrolese had walked abroad to view the town—found means

to hire a peasant, who undertook to conduct him through a by-road as

far as Chalons, and with his guide he accordingly set out on horseback,

after having discharged the bill, left a blank paper sealed up in form

of a letter, directed to his friend, and secured behind his own saddle

a pair of leathern bags, in which his jewels and cash were usually

contained. So eager was our hero to leave the Tyrolese at a

considerable distance behind, that he rode all night at a round pace

without halting, and next morning found himself at a village distant

thirteen good leagues from any part of the route which he and his

companion had at first resolved to pursue.

Here, thinking himself safely delivered from the cause of all his

apprehension, he determined to lie incognito for a few days, so as that

he might run no risk of an accidental meeting upon the road with the

person whose company he had forsaken; and accordingly took possession

of an apartment, in which he went to rest, desiring his guide to wake

him when dinner should be ready. Having enjoyed a very comfortable

refreshment of sleep, with his bags under his pillow, he was summoned,

according to his direction, and ate a very hearty meal, with great

tranquillity and internal satisfaction. In the afternoon he amused

himself with happy presages and ideal prospects of his future fortune,

and, in the midst of these imaginary banquets, was seized with an

inclination of realising his bliss, and regaling his eyesight with the

fruits of that success which had hitherto attended his endeavours. Thus

inflamed, he opened the repository, and, O reader! what were his

reflections, when, in lieu of Mademoiselle Melvil’s ear-rings and

necklace, the German’s golden chain, divers jewels of considerable

value, the spoils of sundry dupes, and about two hundred ducats in

ready money, he found neither more nor less than a parcel of rusty

nails, disposed in such a manner as to resemble in weight and bulk the

moveables he had lost.

It is not to be supposed our adventurer made this discovery without

emotion. If the eternal salvation of mankind could have been purchased

for the tenth part of his treasure, he would have left the whole

species in a state of reprobation, rather than redeem them at that

price, unless he had seen in the bargain some evident advantage to his

own concerns. One may, therefore, easily conceive with what milkiness

of resignation he bore the loss of the whole, and saw himself reduced

from such affluence to the necessity of depending upon about twenty

ducats, and some loose silver, which he carried in his pocket, for his

expense upon the road. However bitter this pill might be in swallowing,

he so far mastered his mortification, as to digest it with a good

grace. His own penetration at once pointed out the canal through which

this misfortune had flowed upon him; he forthwith placed the calamity

to the account of the Tyrolese, and never doubting that he had retired

with the booty across the Rhine, into some place to which he knew

Fathom would not follow his footsteps, he formed the melancholy

resolution of pursuing with all despatch his journey to Paris, that he

might, with all convenient expedition, indemnify himself for the

discomfiture he had sustained.

With regard to his confederate, his conjecture was perfectly right;

that adventurer, though infinitely inferior to our hero in point of

genius and invention, had manifestly the advantage of him in the

articles of age and experience; he was no stranger to Fathom’s

qualifications, the happy exertion of which he had often seen. He knew

him to be an economist of the most frugal order, consequently concluded

his finances were worthy of examination; and, upon the true principles

of a sharper, eased him of the encumbrance, taking it for granted,

that, in so doing, he only precluded Ferdinand from the power of acting

the same tragedy upon him, should ever opportunity concur with his

inclination. He had therefore concerted his measures with the dexterity

of an experienced conveyancer, and, snatching the occasion, while our

hero, travel-tainted, lay sunk in the arms of profound repose, he

ripped up the seams of the leather depository, withdrew the contents,

introduced the parcel of nails, which he had made up for the purpose,

and then repaired the breach with great deliberation.

Had Fathom’s good genius prompted him to examine his effects next

morning, the Tyrolese, in all probability, would have maintained his

acquisition by force of arms; for his personal courage was rather more

determined than that of our adventurer, and he was conscious of his own

ascendency in this particular; but his good fortune prevented such

explanation. Immediately after dinner, he availed himself of his

knowledge, and, betaking himself to a remote part of the town, set out

in a post-chaise for Luneville, while our hero was meditating his own

escape.

Fathom’s conception was sufficient to comprehend the whole of this

adventure, as soon as his chagrin would give his sagacity fair play;

nor would he allow his resolution to sink under the trial; on the

contrary, he departed from the village that same afternoon, under the

auspices of his conductor, and found himself benighted in the midst of

a forest, far from the habitations of men. The darkness of the night,

the silence and solitude of the place, the indistinct images of the

trees that appeared on every side, “stretching their extravagant arms

athwart the gloom,” conspired, with the dejection of spirits occasioned

by his loss, to disturb his fancy, and raise strange phantoms in his

imagination. Although he was not naturally superstitious, his mind

began to be invaded with an awful horror, that gradually prevailed over

all the consolations of reason and philosophy; nor was his heart free

from the terrors of assassination. In order to dissipate these

disagreeable reveries, he had recourse to the conversation of his

guide, by whom he was entertained with the history of divers travellers

who had been robbed and murdered by ruffians, whose retreat was in the

recesses of that very wood.

In the midst of this communication, which did not at all tend to the

elevation of our hero’s spirits, the conductor made an excuse for

dropping behind, while our traveller jogged on in expectation of being

joined again by him in a few minutes. He was, however, disappointed in

that hope; the sound of the other horse’s feet by degrees grew more and

more faint, and at last altogether died away. Alarmed at this

circumstance, Fathom halted in the middle of the road, and listened

with the most fearful attention; but his sense of hearing was saluted

with nought but the dismal sighings of the trees, that seemed to

foretell an approaching storm. Accordingly, the heavens contracted a

more dreary aspect, the lightning began to gleam, and the thunder to

roll, and the tempest, raising its voice to a tremendous roar,

descended in a torrent of rain.

In this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost quite overcome.

So many concurring circumstances of danger and distress might have

appalled the most undaunted breast; what impression then must they have

made upon the mind of Ferdinand, who was by no means a man to set fear

at defiance! Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the use of his reflection,

and was actually invaded to the skin, before he could recollect himself

so far as to quit the road, and seek for shelter among the thickets

that surrounded him. Having rode some furlongs into the forest, he took

his station under a tuft of tall trees, that screened him from the

storm, and in that situation called a council within himself, to

deliberate upon his next excursion. He persuaded himself that his guide

had deserted him for the present, in order to give intelligence of a

traveller to some gang of robbers with whom he was connected; and that

he must of necessity fall a prey to those banditti, unless he should

have the good fortune to elude their search, and disentangle himself

from the mazes of the wood.

Harrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to commit himself to the

mercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the least, and penetrate

straightforwards through some devious opening, until he should be

delivered from the forest. For this purpose he turned his horse’s head

in a line quite contrary to the direction of the high road which he had

left, on the supposition that the robbers would pursue that track in

quest of him, and that they would never dream of his deserting the

highway, to traverse an unknown forest, amidst the darkness of such a

boisterous night. After he had continued in this progress through a

succession of groves, and bogs, and thorns, and brakes, by which not

only his clothes, but also his skin suffered in a grievous manner,

while every nerve quivered with eagerness and dismay, he at length

reached an open plain, and pursuing his course, in full hope of

arriving at some village, where his life would be safe, he descried a

rush-light at a distance, which he looked upon as the star of his good

fortune, and riding towards it at full speed, arrived at the door of a

lone cottage, into which he was admitted by an old woman, who,

understanding he was a bewildered traveller, received him with great

hospitality.

When he learned from his hostess, that there was not another house

within three leagues; that she could accommodate him with a tolerable

bed, and his horse with lodging and oats, he thanked Heaven for his

good fortune, in stumbling upon this homely habitation, and determined

to pass the night under the protection of the old cottager, who gave

him to understand, that her husband, who was a faggot-maker, had gone

to the next town to dispose of his merchandise; and that, in all

probability, he would not return till next morning, on account of the

tempestuous night. Ferdinand sounded the beldame with a thousand artful

interrogations, and she answered with such appearance of truth and

simplicity, that he concluded his person was quite secure; and, after

having been regaled with a dish of eggs and bacon, desired she would

conduct him into the chamber where she proposed he should take his

repose. He was accordingly ushered up by a sort of ladder into an

apartment furnished with a standing-bed, and almost half filled with

trusses of straw. He seemed extremely well pleased with his lodging,

which in reality exceeded his expectation; and his kind landlady,

cautioning him against letting the candle approach the combustibles,

took her leave, and locked the door on the outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HE FALLS UPON SCYLLA, SEEKING TO AVOID CHARYBDIS.

Fathom, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, and ever upon

his guard against the treachery of his fellow-creatures, could have

dispensed with this instance of her care, in confining her guest to her

chamber, and began to be seized with strange fancies, when he observed

that there was no bolt on the inside of the door, by which he might

secure himself from intrusion. In consequence of these suggestions, he

proposed to take an accurate survey of every object in the apartment,

and, in the course of his inquiry, had the mortification to find the

dead body of a man, still warm, who had been lately stabbed, and

concealed beneath several bundles of straw.

Such a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our hero with

unspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself would undergo the

same fate before morning, without the interposition of a miracle in his

favour. In the first transports of his dread, he ran to the window,

with a view to escape by that outlet, and found his flight effectually

obstructed by divers strong bars of iron. Then his heart began to

palpitate, his hair to bristle up, and his knees to totter; his

thoughts teemed with presages of death and destruction; his conscience

rose up in judgment against him, and he underwent a severe paroxysm of

dismay and distraction. His spirits were agitated into a state of

fermentation that produced a species of resolution akin to that which

is inspired by brandy or other strong liquors, and, by an impulse that

seemed supernatural, he was immediately hurried into measures for his

own preservation.

What upon a less interesting occasion his imagination durst not

propose, he now executed without scruple or remorse. He undressed the

corpse that lay bleeding among the straw, and, conveying it to the bed

in his arms, deposited it in the attitude of a person who sleeps at his

ease; then he extinguished the light, took possession of the place from

whence the body had been removed, and, holding a pistol ready cocked in

each hand, waited for the sequel with that determined purpose which is

often the immediate production of despair. About midnight he heard the

sound of feet ascending the ladder; the door was softly opened; he saw

the shadow of two men stalking towards the bed, a dark lanthorn being

unshrouded, directed their aim to the supposed sleeper, and he that

held it thrust a poniard to his heart; the force of the blow made a

compression on the chest, and a sort of groan issued from the windpipe

of the defunct; the stroke was repeated, without producing a repetition

of the note, so that the assassins concluded the work was effectually

done, and retired for the present with a design to return and rifle the

deceased at their leisure.

Never had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he felt during this

operation; the whole surface of his body was covered with a cold sweat,

and his nerves were relaxed with an universal palsy. In short, he

remained in a trance that, in all probability, contributed to his

safety; for, had he retained the use of his senses, he might have been

discovered by the transports of his fear. The first use he made of his

retrieved recollection, was to perceive that the assassins had left the

door open in their retreat; and he would have instantly availed himself

of this their neglect, by sallying out upon them, at the hazard of his

life, had he not been restrained by a conversation he overheard in the

room below, importing, that the ruffians were going to set out upon

another expedition, in hopes of finding more prey. They accordingly

departed, after having laid strong injunctions upon the old woman to

keep the door fast locked during their absence; and Ferdinand took his

resolution without farther delay. So soon as, by his conjecture, the

robbers were at a sufficient distance from the house, he rose from his

lurking-place, moved softly towards the bed, and, rummaging the pockets

of the deceased, found a purse well stored with ducats, of which,

together with a silver watch and a diamond ring, he immediately

possessed himself without scruple; then, descending with great care and

circumspection into the lower apartment, stood before the old beldame,

before she had the least intimation of his approach.

Accustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary hag did not

behold this apparition without giving signs of infinite terror and

astonishment, believing it was no other than the spirit of her second

guest, who had been murdered; she fell upon her knees and began to

recommend herself to the protection of the saints, crossing herself

with as much devotion as if she had been entitled to the particular

care and attention of Heaven. Nor did her anxiety abate, when she was

undeceived in this her supposition, and understood it was no phantom,

but the real substance of the stranger, who, without staying to upbraid

her with the enormity of her crimes, commanded her, on pain of

immediate death, to produce his horse, to which being conducted, he set

her upon the saddle without delay, and, mounting behind, invested her

with the management of the reins, swearing, in a most peremptory tone,

that the only chance she had for her life, was in directing him safely

to the next town; and that, so soon as she should give him the least

cause to doubt her fidelity in the performance of that task, he would

on the instant act the part of her executioner.

This declaration had its effect upon the withered Hecate, who, with

many supplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised to guide him in

safety to a certain village at the distance of two leagues, where he

might lodge in security, and be provided with a fresh horse, or other

convenience, for pursuing his intended route. On these conditions he

told her she might deserve his clemency; and they accordingly took

their departure together, she being placed astride upon the saddle,

holding the bridle in one hand and a switch in the other; and our

adventurer sitting on the crupper, superintending her conduct, and

keeping the muzzle of a pistol close at her ear. In this equipage they

travelled across part of the same wood in which his guide had forsaken

him; and it is not to be supposed that he passed his time in the most

agreeable reverie, while he found himself involved in the labyrinth of

those shades, which he considered as the haunts of robbery and

assassination.

Common fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt in this

excursion. The first steps he had taken for his preservation were the

effects of mere instinct, while his faculties were extinguished or

suppressed by despair; but now, as his reflection began to recur, he

was haunted by the most intolerable apprehensions. Every whisper of the

wind through the thickets was swelled into the hoarse menaces of

murder, the shaking of the boughs was construed into the brandishing of

poniards, and every shadow of a tree became the apparition of a ruffian

eager for blood. In short, at each of these occurrences he felt what

was infinitely more tormenting than the stab of a real dagger; and at

every fresh fillip of his fear, he acted as a remembrancer to his

conductress, in a new volley of imprecations, importing, that her life

was absolutely connected with his opinion of his own safety.

Human nature could not longer subsist under such complicated terror. At

last he found himself clear of the forest, and was blessed with the

distant view of an inhabited place. He then began to exercise his

thoughts upon a new subject. He debated with himself, whether he should

make a parade of his intrepidity and public spirit, by disclosing his

achievement, and surrendering his guide to the penalty of the law; or

leave the old hag and her accomplices to the remorse of their own

consciences, and proceed quietly on his journey to Paris in undisturbed

possession of the prize he had already obtained. This last step he

determined to take, upon recollecting, that, in the course of his

information, the story of the murdered stranger would infallibly

attract the attention of justice, and, in that case, the effects he had

borrowed from the defunct must be refunded for the benefit of those who

had a right to the succession. This was an argument which our

adventurer could not resist; he foresaw that he should be stripped of

his acquisition, which he looked upon as the fair fruits of his valour

and sagacity; and, moreover, be detained as an evidence against the

robbers, to the manifest detriment of his affairs. Perhaps too he had

motives of conscience, that dissuaded him from bearing witness against

a set of people whose principles did not much differ from his own.

Influenced by such considerations, he yielded to the first importunity

of the beldame, whom he dismissed at a very small distance from the

village, after he had earnestly exhorted her to quit such an atrocious

course of life, and atone for her past crimes, by sacrificing her

associates to the demands of justice. She did not fail to vow a perfect

reformation, and to prostrate herself before him for the favour she had

found; then she betook herself to her habitation, with full purpose of

advising her fellow-murderers to repair with all despatch to the

village, and impeach our hero, who, wisely distrusting her professions,

stayed no longer in the place than to hire a guide for the next stage,

which brought him to the city of Chalons-sur-Marne.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HE ARRIVES AT PARIS, AND IS PLEASED WITH HIS RECEPTION.

He was not so smitten with the delightful situation of this ancient

town, but that he abandoned it as soon as he could procure a

post-chaise, in which he arrived at Paris, without having been exposed

to any other troublesome adventure upon the road. He took lodgings at a

certain hotel in the Fauxbourg de St. Germain, which is the general

rendezvous of all the strangers that resort to this capital; and now

sincerely congratulated himself upon his happy escape from his

Hungarian connexions, and from the snares of the banditti, as well as

upon the spoils of the dead body, and his arrival at Paris, from whence

there was such a short conveyance to England, whither he was attracted,

by far other motives than that of filial veneration for his native

soil.

He suppressed all his letters of recommendation, which he justly

concluded would subject him to a tedious course of attendance upon the

great, and lay him under the necessity of soliciting preferment in the

army, than which nothing was farther from his inclination; and resolved

to make his appearance in the character of a private gentleman, which

would supply him with opportunities of examining the different scenes

of life in such a gay metropolis, so as that he should be able to

choose that sphere in which he could move the most effectually to his

own advantage. He accordingly hired an occasional domestic, and under

the denomination of Count Fathom, which he had retained since his

elopement from Renaldo, repaired to dinner at an ordinary, to which he

was directed as a reputable place, frequented by fashionable strangers

of all nations.

He found this piece of information perfectly just; for he no sooner

entered the apartment, than his ears were saluted with a strange

confusion of sounds, among which he at once distinguished the High and

Low Dutch, barbarous French, Italian, and English languages. He was

rejoiced at this occasion of displaying his own qualifications, took

his place at one of the three long tables, betwixt a Westphalian count

and a Bolognian marquis, insinuated himself into the conversation with

his usual address, and in less than half an hour, found means to accost

a native of each different country in his own mother-tongue.

Such extensive knowledge did not pass unobserved. A French abbe, in a

provincial dialect, complimented him upon his retaining that purity in

pronunciation, which is not to be found in the speech of a Parisian.

The Bolognian, mistaking him for a Tuscan, “Sir,” said he, “I presume

you are from Florence. I hope the illustrious house of Lorrain leaves

you gentlemen of that famous city no room to regret the loss of your

own princes.” The castle of Versailles becoming the subject of

conversation, Monsieur le Compte appealed to him, as to a native

German, whether it was not inferior in point of magnificence to the

chateau of Grubenhagen. The Dutch officer, addressing himself to

Fathom, drank to the prosperity of Faderland, and asked if he had not

once served in garrison at Shenkenschans; and an English knight swore,

with great assurance, that he had frequently rambled with him at

midnight among the hundreds of Drury.

To each person he replied in a polite, though mysterious manner, which

did not fail to enhance their opinion of his good breeding and

importance; and, long before the dessert appeared, he was by all the

company supposed to be a personage of great consequence, who for some

substantial reasons, found it convenient to keep himself incognito.

This being the case, it is not to be doubted that particular civilities

were poured upon him from all quarters. He perceived their sentiments,

and encouraged them, by behaving with that sort of complaisance which

seems to be the result of engaging condescension in a character of

superior dignity and station. His affability was general but his chief

attention limited to those gentlemen already mentioned, who chanced to

sit nearest him at table; and he no sooner gave them to understand that

he was an utter stranger in Paris, than they unanimously begged to have

the honour of making him acquainted with the different curiosities

peculiar to that metropolis.

He accepted of their hospitality, accompanied them to a coffee-house in

the afternoon, from whence they repaired to the opera, and afterwards

adjourned to a noted hotel, in order to spend the remaining part of the

evening. It was here that our hero secured himself effectually in the

footing he had gained in their good graces. He in a moment saw through

all the characters of the party, and adapted himself to the humour of

each individual, without descending from that elevation of behaviour

which he perceived would operate among them in his behalf. With the

Italian he discoursed on music, in the style of a connoisseur; and

indeed had a better claim to that title than the generality of those

upon whom it is usually conferred; for he understood the art in theory

as well as in practice, and would have made no contemptible figure

among the best performers of the age.

He harangued upon taste and genius to the abbe, who was a wit and

critic, ex officio, or rather ex vestitu for a young pert Frenchman,

the very moment he puts on the petit collet, or little band, looks upon

himself as an inspired son of Apollo; and every one of the fraternity

thinks it incumbent upon him to assert the divinity of his mission. In

a word, the abbes are a set of people that bear a strong analogy to the

templars in London. Fools of each fabric, sharpers of all sorts, and

dunces of every degree, profess themselves of both orders. The templar

is, generally speaking, a prig, so is the abbe: both are distinguished

by an air of petulance and self-conceit, which holds a middle rank

betwixt the insolence of a first-rate buck and the learned pride of a

supercilious pedant. The abbe is supposed to be a younger brother in

quest of preferment in the church—the Temple is considered as a

receptacle or seminary for younger sons intended for the bar; but a

great number of each profession turn aside into other paths of life,

long before they reach these proposed goals. An abbe is often

metamorphosed into a foot soldier; a templar sometimes sinks into an

attorney’s clerk. The galleys of France abound with abbes; and many

templars may be found in our American plantations; not to mention those

who have made a public exit nearer home. Yet I would not have it

thought that my description includes every individual of those

societies. Some of the greatest scholars, politicians, and wits, that

ever Europe produced, have worn the habit of an abbe; and many of our

most noble families in England derive their honours from those who have

studied law in the Temple. The worthy sons of every community shall

always be sacred from my censure and ridicule; and, while I laugh at

the folly of particular members, I can still honour and revere the

institution.

But let us return from this comparison, which some readers may think

impertinent and unseasonable, and observe, that the Westphalian count,

Dutch officer, and English knight, were not excepted from the

particular regard and attention of our adventurer. He pledged the

German in every bumper; flattered the Hollander with compliments upon

the industry, wealth, and policy of the Seven United Provinces; but he

reserved his chief battery for his own countryman, on the supposition

that he was, in all respects, the best adapted for the purposes of a

needy gamester. Him, therefore, he cultivated with extraordinary care

and singular observance; for he soon perceived him to be a humourist,

and, from that circumstance, derived an happy presage of his own

success. The baronet’s disposition seemed to be cast in the true

English mould. He was sour, silent, and contemptuous; his very looks

indicated a consciousness of superior wealth; and he never opened his

mouth, except to make some dry, sarcastic, national reflection. Nor was

his behaviour free from that air of suspicion which a man puts on when

he believes himself in a crowd of pick-pockets, whom his caution and

vigilance set at defiance. In a word, though his tongue was silent on

the subject, his whole demeanour was continually saying, “You are all a

pack of poor lousy rascals, who have a design upon my purse. ’Tis true,

I could buy your whole generation, but I won’t be bubbled, d’ye see; I

am aware of your flattery, and upon my guard against all your knavish

pranks; and I come into your company for my own amusement only.”

Fathom having reconnoitred this peculiarity of temper, instead of

treating him with that assiduous complaisance, which he received from

the other gentlemen of the party, kept aloof from him in the

conversation, with a remarkable shyness of distant civility, and seldom

took notice of what he said, except with a view to contradict him, or

retort some of his satirical observations. This he conceived to be the

best method of acquiring his good opinion; because the Englishman would

naturally conclude he was a person who could have no sinister views

upon his fortune, else he would have chosen quite a different manner of

deportment. Accordingly, the knight seemed to bite at the hook. He

listened to Ferdinand with uncommon regard; he was even heard to

commend his remarks, and at length drank to their better acquaintance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ACQUITS HIMSELF WITH ADDRESS IN A NOCTURNAL RIOT.

The Italian and the abbe were the first who began to grow whimsical

under the influence of the burgundy; and, in the heat of their

elevation, proposed that the company should amuse themselves during the

remaining part of the night, at the house of an obliging dame, who

maintained a troop of fair nymphs for the accommodation of the other

sex. The proposal was approved by all, except the Hollander, whose

economy the wine had not as yet invaded; and, while he retreated

soberly to his own lodgings, the rest of the society adjourned in two

coaches to the temple of love, where they were received by the

venerable priestess, a personage turned of seventy, who seemed to

exercise the functions of her calling, in despite of the most cruel

ravages of time; for age had bent her into the form of a Turkish bow.

Her head was agitated by the palsy, like the leaf of the poplar tree;

her hair fell down in scanty parcels, as white as the driven snow; her

face was not simply wrinkled, but ploughed into innumerable furrows;

her jaws could not boast of one remaining tooth; one eye distilled a

large quantity of rheum, by virtue of the fiery edge that surrounded

it; the other was altogether extinguished, and she had lost her nose in

the course of her ministration. The Delphic sibyl was but a type of

this hoary matron, who, by her figure, might have been mistaken for the

consort of Chaos, or mother of Time. Yet there was something

meritorious in her appearance, as it denoted her an indefatigable

minister to the pleasure of mankind, and as it formed an agreeable

contrast with the beauty and youth of the fair damsels that wantoned in

her train. It resembled those discords in music, which, properly

disposed, contribute to the harmony of the whole piece; or those

horrible giants, who, in the world of romance, used to guard the gates

of the castle in which the enchanted damsel was confined.

This Urganda seemed to be aware of her own importance, and perfectly

well acquainted with the human appetite; for she compelled the whole

company to undergo her embrace. Then a lacquey, in magnificent livery,

ushered them into a superb apartment, where they waited some minutes,

without being favoured with the appearance of the ladies, to the

manifest dissatisfaction of the abbe, who, sending for the gouvernante,

reprimanded her severely for her want of politesse. The old lady, who

was by no means a pattern of patience and submission, retorted his

reproaches with great emphasis and vivacity. Her eloquence flowed

altogether in the Covent Garden strain; and I question whether the

celebrated Mother Douglas herself could have made such a figure in an

extemporaneous altercation.

After having bestowed upon the abbe the epithets of saucy insignificant

pimp, she put him in mind of the good offices which he had received at

her hands; how she had supplied him with bed, board, and bedfellow, in

his greatest necessity; sent him abroad with money in his pockets—and,

in a word, cherished him in her bosom, when his own mother had

abandoned him to distress. She then reviled him for presuming to

affront her before strangers, and gave the company to understand, that

the young ladies would wait upon them as soon as they could be

confessed and receive absolution from a worthy cordelier, who was now

employed in performing that charitable office. The gentlemen were

satisfied with this remonstrance, which argued the old lady’s pious

concern for the souls that were under her care, and our adventurer

proposed an accommodation betwixt her and the abbe, who was prevailed

upon to ask her pardon, and received her blessing upon his knees.

This affair had not been long adjusted, when five damsels were

introduced in a very gay dishabille, and our hero was complimented with

the privilege of choosing his Amanda from the whole bevy. When he was

provided, the others began to pair themselves, and, unhappily, the

German count chanced to pitch upon the same nymph who had captivated

the desires of the British knight. A dispute immediately ensued; for

the Englishman made his addresses to the lady, without paying the least

regard to the priority of the other’s claim; and she, being pleased

with his attachment, did not scruple to renounce his rival, who swore

by the thunder, lightning, and sacrament, that he would not quit his

pretensions for any prince in Christendom, much less for a little

English cavalier, whom he had already honoured too much in

condescending to be his companion.

The knight, provoked at this stately declaration, which was the

immediate effect of anger and ebriety, eyed his antagonist with a most

contemptuous aspect, and advised him to avoid such comparisons for the

future. “We all know,” said he, “the importance of a German count; I

suppose your revenue amounts to three hundred rix-dollars; and you have

a chateau that looks like the ruins of an English gaol. I will bind

myself to lend you a thousand pounds upon a mortgage of your estate,

(and a bad bargain I am sure I shall have,) if I do not, in less than

two months, find a yeoman of Kent, who spends more in strong ale than

the sum-total of your yearly income; and, were the truth known, I

believe that lace upon your coat is no better than tinsel, and those

fringed ruffles, with fine Holland sleeves, tacked to a shirt of brown

canvas, so that, were you to undress yourself before the lady, you

would only expose your own poverty and pride.”

The count was so much enraged at these sarcastic observations, that his

faculty of speech was overwhelmed by his resentment; though, in order

to acquit himself of the Englishman’s imputation, he forthwith pulled

off his clothes with such fury, that his brocade waistcoat was tore

from top to bottom. The knight, mistaking his meaning, considered this

demeanour as a fair challenge, to try which was the better man in the

exercise of boxing; and, on that supposition, began to strip in his

turn, when he was undeceived by Fathom, who put the right

interpretation upon the count’s behaviour, and begged that the affair

might be compromised. By this time the Westphalian recovered the use of

his tongue, and with many threats and imprecations, desired they would

take notice how falsely he had been aspersed, and do him justice in

espousing his claim to the damsel in question.

Before the company had time or inclination to interest themselves in

the quarrel, his opponent observed that no person who was not a mere

German, would ever dream of forcing the inclinations of a pretty girl,

whom the accidents of fortune had subjected to his power; that such

compulsion was equivalent to the most cruel rape that could be

committed; and that the lady’s aversion was not at all surprising; for,

to speak his own sentiments, were he a woman of pleasure, he would as

soon grant favours to a Westphalian hog, as to the person of his

antagonist. The German, enraged at this comparison, was quite abandoned

by his patience and discretion. He called the knight an English clown,

and, swearing he was the most untoward beast of a whole nation of

mules, snatched up one of the candlesticks, which he launched at him

with such force and violence, that it sung through the air, and,

winging its flight into the ante-chamber, encountered the skull of his

own valet, who with immediate prostration received the message of his

master.

The knight, that he might not be behindhand with the Westphalian in

point of courtesy, returned the compliment with the remaining

chandelier, which also missed its mark, and, smiting a large mirror

that was fixed behind them, emitted such a crash as one might expect to

hear if a mine were sprung beneath a manufacture of glass. Both lights

being thus extinguished, a furious combat ensued in the dark; the

Italian scampered off with infinite agility, and, as he went

downstairs, desired that nobody would interpose, because it was an

affair of honour, which could not be made up. The ladies consulted

their safety in flight; Count Fathom slyly retired to one corner of the

room; while the abbe, having upon him the terrors of the commissaire,

endeavoured to appease and part the combatants, and, in the attempt,

sustained a random blow upon his nose, which sent him howling into the

other chamber, where, finding his band besmeared with his own blood, he

began to caper about the apartment, in a transport of rage and

vexation.

Meanwhile, the old gentlewoman being alarmed with the noise of the

battle, and apprehensive that it would end in murder, to the danger and

discredit of herself and family, immediately mustered up her myrmidons,

of whom she always retained a formidable band, and, putting herself at

their head, lighted them to the scene of uproar. Ferdinand, who had

hitherto observed a strict neutrality, no sooner perceived them

approach, than he leaped in between the disputants, that he might be

found acting in the character of a peacemaker; and, indeed, by this

time, victory had declared for the baronet, who had treated his

antagonist with a cross-buttock, which laid him almost breathless on

the floor. The victor was prevailed upon, by the entreaties of Fathom,

to quit the field of battle, and adjourn into another room, where, in

less than half an hour, he received a billet from the count, defying

him to single combat on the frontiers of Flanders, at an appointed time

and place. The challenge was immediately accepted by the knight, who,

being flushed with conquest, treated his adversary with great contempt.

But, next day, when the fumes of the burgundy were quite exhaled, and

the adventure recurred to his remembrance and sober reflection, he

waited upon our adventurer at his lodgings, and solicited his advice in

such a manner, as gave him to understand that he looked upon what had

happened as a drunken brawl, which ought to have no serious

consequences. Fathom foreseeing that the affair might be managed for

his own interest, professed himself of the baronet’s opinion; and,

without hesitation, undertook the office of a mediator, assuring his

principal, that his honour should suffer no stain in the course of his

negotiation.

Having received the Englishman’s acknowledgments for this instance of

friendship, he forthwith set out for the place of the German’s

habitation, and understanding he was still asleep, insisted upon his

being immediately waked, and told, that a gentleman from the chevalier

desired to see him, upon business of importance which could not be

delayed. Accordingly, his valet-de-chambre, pressed by Fathom’s

importunities and remonstrances, ventured to go in and shake the count

by the shoulder; when this furious Teutonian, still agitated by the

fever of the preceding night, leaped out of bed in a frenzy, and

seizing his sword that lay upon a table, would have severely punished

the presumption of his servant, had not he been restrained by the

entrance of Ferdinand, who, with a peremptory countenance, gave him to

understand that the valet had acted at his immediate instigation; and

that he was come, as the Englishman’s friend, to concert with him

proper measures for keeping the appointment they had made at their last

meeting.

This message effectually calmed the German, who was not a little

mortified to find himself so disagreeably disturbed. He could not help

cursing the impatience of his antagonist, and even hinting that he

would have acted more like a gentleman and good Christian, in

expressing a desire of seeing the affair accommodated, as he knew

himself to be the aggressor, consequently the first offender against

the laws of politeness and good-fellowship. Fathom, finding him in a

fit temper of mind, took the opportunity of assenting to the

reasonableness of his observation. He ventured to condemn the

impetuosity of the baronet, who, he perceived, was extremely nice and

scrupulous in the punctilios of honour; and said it was a pity that two

gentlemen should forfeit each other’s friendship, much less expose

their lives, for such a frivolous cause. “My dear count,” cried the

Westphalian, “I am charmed to find your sentiments so conformable to my

own. In an honourable cause, I despise all danger; my courage, thank

Heaven! has been manifested in many public engagements as well as in

private rencounters; but, to break with my friend, whose eminent

virtues I admire, and even to seek his life, on such a scandalous

occasion, for a little insignificant w—-e, who, I suppose, took the

advantage of our intoxication, to foment the quarrel: by Heaven! my

conscience cannot digest it.”

Having expressed himself to this purpose, he waited impatiently for the

reply of Ferdinand, who, after a pause of deliberation, offered his

services in the way of mediation; though, he observed, it was a matter

of great delicacy, and the event altogether uncertain. “Nevertheless,”

added our adventurer, “I will strive to appease the knight, who, I

hope, will be induced by my remonstrances to forget the unlucky

accident, which hath so disagreeably interrupted your mutual

friendship.” The German thanked him for this proof of his regard, which

yielded him more satisfaction on account of the chevalier than of

himself. “For, by the tombs of my fathers,” cried he, “I have so little

concern for my personal safety, that, if my honour were interested, I

durst oppose myself singly to the whole ban of the empire; and I am now

ready, if the chevalier requires it, to give him the rendezvous in the

forest of Senlis, either on horseback or on foot, where this contest

may be terminated with the life of one or both of us.”

Count Fathom, with a view to chastise the Westphalian for this

rhodomontade, told him, with a mortifying air of indifference, that if

they were both bent upon taking the field, he would save himself the

trouble of interposing farther in the affair; and desired to know the

hour at which it would suit him to take the air with the baronet. The

other, not a little embarrassed by this question, said, with a

faltering tongue, he should be proud to obey the chevalier’s orders;

but, at the same time, owned he should be much better pleased if our

hero would execute the pacific proposal he had made. Fathom accordingly

promised to exert himself for that purpose, and returned to the knight,

with whom he assumed the merit of having tranquillised the rage of an

incensed barbarian, who was now disposed to a reconciliation upon equal

terms. The baronet overwhelmed him with caresses and compliments upon

his friendship and address; the parties met that same forenoon, as if

by accident, in Fathom’s apartment, where they embraced each other

cordially, exchanged apologies, and renewed their former

correspondence.

Our adventurer thought he had good reason to congratulate himself upon

the part he had acted in this pacification. He was treated by both with

signal marks of particular affection and esteem. The count pressed him

to accept, as a token of his attachment, a sword of very curious

workmanship, which he had received in a present from a certain prince

of the empire. The knight forced upon his finger a very splendid

diamond ring, as a testimony of his gratitude and esteem. But there was

still another person to be appeased, before the peace of the whole

company could be established. This was no other than the abbe, from

whom each of the reconciled friends received at dinner a billet couched

in these words:—

“I have the honour to lament the infinite chagrin and mortification

that compels me to address myself in this manner to a person of your

rank and eminence, whom I should do myself the pleasure of waiting upon

in person, were I not prevented by the misfortune of my nose, which was

last night most cruelly disarranged, by a violent contusion I had the

honour to receive, in attempting to compose that unhappy fracas, at the

house of Madame la Maquerelle; and what puts the finishing stroke to my

mishap, is my being rendered incapable of keeping three or four

assignations with ladies of fashion, by whom I have the honour to be

particularly esteemed. The disfiguration of my nose, the pain I have

undergone, with the discomposure of brain which it produced, I could

bear as a philosopher; but the disappointment of the ladies, my glory

will not permit me to overlook. And as you know the injury was

sustained in your service, I have the pleasure to hope you will not

refuse to grant such reparation as will be acceptable to a gentleman,

who has the honour to be with inviolable attachment,—

Sir, your most devoted slave,

PEPIN CLOTHAIRE CHARLE HENRI LOOUIS BARNABE DE FUMIER.”

This epistle was so equivocal, that the persons to whom it was

addressed did not know whether or not they ought to interpret the

contents into a challenge; when our hero observed, that the ambiguity

of his expressions plainly proved there was a door left open for

accommodation; and proposed that they should forthwith visit the writer

at his own apartment. They accordingly followed his advice, and found

the abbe in his morning gown and slippers, with three huge nightcaps on

his head, and a crape hat-band tied over the middle of his face, by way

of bandage to his nose. He received his visitors with the most

ridiculous solemnity, being still a stranger to the purport of their

errand; but soon as the Westphalian declared they were come in

consequence of his billet, in order to ask pardon for the undesigned

offence they had given, his features retrieved their natural vivacity,

and he professed himself perfectly satisfied with their polite

acknowledgment. Then they condoled him upon the evil plight of his

nose, and seeing some marks upon his shirt, asked with seeming concern,

if he had lost any blood in the fray? To this interrogation he replied,

that he had still a sufficient quantity left for the occasions of his

friends; and that he should deem it his greatest glory to expend the

last drop of it in their service.

Matters being thus amicably adjusted, they prevailed upon him to unease

his nose, which retained no signs of the outrage he had suffered; and

the amusements of the day were concerted. It was in consequence of this

plan, that, after the comedy, they were entertained at the count’s

lodgings, where quadrille was proposed by the abbe, as the most

innocent pastime, and the proposal was immediately embraced by all

present, and by none with more alacrity than by our adventurer, who,

without putting forth a moiety of his skill, went home with twenty

louis clear gain. Though, far from believing himself greatly superior

to the rest of the party, in the artifices of play, he justly suspected

that they had concealed their skill, with a view of stripping him on

some other occasion; for he could not suppose that persons of their

figure and character should be, in reality, such novices as they

affected to appear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HE OVERLOOKS THE ADVANCES OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SMARTS SEVERELY FOR HIS

NEGLECT.

Steeled with this cautious maxim, he guarded himself from their united

endeavours, in sundry subsequent attacks, by which his first conjecture

was confirmed, and still came off conqueror, by virtue of his

unparalleled finesse and discretion; till at length they seemed to

despair of making him their prey, and the count began to drop some

hints, importing a desire of seeing him more closely united to the

views and interest of their triumvirate. But Ferdinand, who was

altogether selfish, and quite solitary in his prospects, discouraged

all those advances, being resolved to trade upon his own bottom only,

and to avoid all such connexions with any person or society whatever;

much more, with a set of raw adventurers whose talents he despised.

With these sentiments, he still maintained the dignity and reserve of

his first appearance among them, and rather enhanced than diminished

that idea of importance which he had inspired at the beginning;

because, besides his other qualifications, they gave him credit for the

address with which he kept himself superior to their united designs.

While he thus enjoyed his pre-eminence, together with the fruits of his

success at play, which he managed so discreetly as never to incur the

reputation of an adventurer, he one day chanced to be at the ordinary,

when the company was surprised by the entrance of such a figure as had

never appeared before in that place. This was no other than a person

habited in the exact uniform of an English jockey. His leathern cap,

cut bob, fustian frock, flannel waistcoat, buff breeches, hunting-boots

and whip, were sufficient of themselves to furnish out a phenomenon for

the admiration of all Paris. But these peculiarities were rendered

still more conspicuous by the behaviour of the man who owned them. When

he crossed the threshold of the outward door, he produced such a sound

from the smack of his whip, as equalled the explosion of an ordinary

cohorn; and then broke forth into the halloo of a foxhunter, which he

uttered with all its variations, in a strain of vociferation that

seemed to astonish and confound the whole assembly, to whom he

introduced himself and his spaniel, by exclaiming, in a tone something

less melodious than the cry of mackerel or live cod, “By your leave,

gentlevolks, I hope there’s no offence, in an honest plain Englishman’s

coming with money in his pocket, to taste a bit of your Vrench frigasee

and ragooze.”

This declaration was made in such a wild, fantastical manner, that the

greatest part of the company mistook him for some savage monster or

maniac, and consulted their safety by starting up from table, and

drawing their swords. The Englishman, seeing such a martial apparatus

produced against him, recoiled two or three steps, saying, “Waunds! a

believe the people are all bewitched. What, do they take me for a beast

of prey? is there nobody here that knows Sir Stentor Stile, or can

speak to me in my own lingo?” He had no sooner pronounced these words,

than the baronet, with marks of infinite surprise, ran towards him,

crying, “Good Heaven! Sir Stentor, who expected to meet with you in

Paris?” Upon which, the other eyeing him very earnestly, “Odds

heartlikins!” cried he, “my neighbour, Sir Giles Squirrel, as I am a

living soul!” With these words he flew upon him like a tiger, kissed

him from ear to ear, demolished his periwig, and disordered the whole

economy of his dress, to the no small entertainment of the company.

Having well-nigh stifled his countryman with embraces, and besmeared

himself with pulville from head to foot, he proceeded in this manner,

“Mercy upon thee, knight, thou art so transmographied, and bedaubed,

and bedizened, that thou mought rob thy own mother without fear of

information. Look ye here now, I will be trussed, if the very bitch

that was brought up in thy own bosom knows thee again. Hey, Sweetlips,

here hussy, d—n the tuoad, dos’t n’t know thy old measter? Ey, ey, thou

may’st smell till Christmas, I’ll be bound to be hanged, knight, if the

creature’s nose an’t foundered by the d——d stinking perfumes you have

got among you.”

These compliments being passed, the two knights sat down by one

another, and Sir Stentor being asked by his neighbour, upon what errand

he had crossed the sea, gave him to understand, that he had come to

France, in consequence of a wager with Squire Snaffle, who had laid a

thousand pounds, that he, Sir Stentor, would not travel to Paris by

himself, and for a whole month appear every day at a certain hour in

the public walks, without wearing any other dress than that in which he

saw him. “The fellor has got no more stuff in his pate,” continued this

polite stranger, “than a jackass, to think I could not find my way

hither thof I could not jabber your French lingo. Ecod! the people of

this country are sharp enough to find out your meaning, when you want

to spend anything among them; and, as for the matter of dress,

bodikins! for a thousand pound, I would engage to live in the midst of

them, and show myself without any clothes at all. Odds heart! a

true-born Englishman needs not be ashamed to show his face, nor his

backside neither, with the best Frenchman that ever trod the ground.

Thof we Englishmen don’t beplaister our doublets with gold and silver,

I believe as how we have our pockets better lined than most of our

neighbours; and for all my bit of a fustian frock, that cost me in all

but forty shillings, I believe, between you and me, knight, I have more

dust in my fob, than all those powdered sparks put together. But the

worst of the matter is this; here is no solid belly-timber in this

country. One can’t have a slice of delicate sirloin, or nice buttock of

beef, for love nor money. A pize upon them! I could get no eatables

upon the ruoad, but what they called bully, which looks like the flesh

of Pharaoh’s lean kine stewed into rags and tatters; and then their

peajohn, peajohn, rabbet them! One would think every old woman of this

kingdom hatched pigeons from her own body.”

It is not to be supposed that such an original sat unobserved. The

French and other foreigners, who had never been in England, were struck

dumb with amazement at the knight’s appearance and deportment; while

the English guests were overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and kept

a most wary silence, for fear of being recognised by their countryman.

As for our adventurer, he was inwardly transported with joy at sight of

this curiosity. He considered him as a genuine, rich country booby, of

the right English growth, fresh as imported; and his heart throbbed

with rapture, when he heard Sir Stentor value himself upon the lining

of his pockets. He foresaw, indeed, that the other knight would

endeavour to reserve him for his own game; but he was too conscious of

his own accomplishments to think he should find great difficulty in

superseding the influence of Sir Giles.

Meanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some ragout, which

pleased his palate so well, that he declared he should now make a

hearty meal, for the first time since he had crossed the water; and,

while his good-humour prevailed, he drank to every individual around

the table. Ferdinand seized this opportunity of insinuating himself

into his favour, by saying in English, he was glad to find there was

anything in France that was agreeable to Sir Stentor. To this

compliment the knight replied with an air of surprise: “Waunds! I find

here’s another countryman of mine in this here company. Sir, I am proud

to see you with all my heart.” So speaking, he thrust out his right

hand across the table, and shook our hero by the fist, with such

violence of civility, as proved very grievous to a French marquis, who,

in helping himself to soup, was jostled in such a manner, as to

overturn the dividing-spoon in his own bosom. The Englishman, seeing

the mischief he had produced, cried, “No offence, I hope,” in a tone of

vociferation, which the marquis in all probability misconstrued; for he

began to model his features into a very sublime and peremptory look,

when Fathom interpreted the apology, and at the same time informed Sir

Stentor, that although he himself had not the honour of being an

Englishman, he had always entertained a most particular veneration for

the country, and learned the language in consequence of that esteem.

“Blood!” answered the knight, “I think myself the more obliged to you

for your kind opinion, than if you was my countryman in good earnest.

For there be abundance of we English—no offence, Sir Giles—that seem to

be ashamed of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend

their fortunes abroad, among a parcel of—you understand me, sir—a word

to the wise, as the saying is.”—Here he was interrupted by an article

of the second course, that seemed to give him great disturbance. This

was a roasted leveret, very strong of the fumet, which happened to be

placed directly under his nose. His sense of smelling was no sooner

encountered by the effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up

from table, exclaiming, “Odd’s my liver! here’s a piece of carrion,

that I would not offer to e’er a hound in my kennel; ’tis enough to

make any Christian vomit both gut and gall;” and indeed by the wry

faces he made while he ran to the door, his stomach seemed ready to

justify this last assertion.

The abbe, who concluded, from these symptoms of disgust, that the

leveret was not sufficiently stale, began to exhibit marks of

discontent, and desired that it might be brought to the other end of

the table for his examination. He accordingly hung over it with the

most greedy appetite, feasting his nostrils with the steams of animal

putrefaction; and at length declared that the morceau was passable,

though he owned it would have been highly perfect, had it been kept

another week. Nevertheless, mouths were not wanting to discuss it,

insipid as it was; for in three minutes there was not a vestige to be

seen of that which had offended the organs of Sir Stentor, who now

resumed his place, and did justice to the dessert. But what he seemed

to relish better than any other part of the entertainment, was the

conversation of our adventurer, whom, after dinner, he begged to have

the honour of treating with a dish of coffee, to the seeming

mortification of his brother knight, over which Fathom exulted in his

own heart.

In short, our hero, by his affability and engaging deportment,

immediately gained possession of Sir Stentor’s good graces, insomuch,

that he desired to crack a bottle with him in the evening, and they

repaired to an auberge, whither his fellow-knight accompanied him, not

without manifest signs of reluctance. There the stranger gave a loose

to jollity; though at first he d—-ed the burgundy as a poor thin

liquor, that ran through him in a twinkling, and, instead of warming,

cooled his heart and bowels. However, it insensibly seemed to give the

lie to his imputation; for his spirits rose to a more elevated pitch of

mirth and good-fellowship; he sung, or rather roared, the Early Horn,

so as to alarm the whole neighbourhood, and began to slabber his

companions with a most bear-like affection. Yet whatever haste he made

to the goal of ebriety, he was distanced by his brother baronet, who

from the beginning of the party had made little other use of his mouth

than to receive the glass, and now sunk down upon the floor, in a state

of temporary annihilation.

He was immediately carried to bed by the direction of Ferdinand, who

now saw himself in a manner possessor of that mine to which he had made

such eager and artful advances. That he might, therefore, carry on the

approaches in the same cautious manner, he gradually shook off the

trammels of sobriety, gave a loose to that spirit of freedom which good

liquor commonly inspires, and, in the familiarity of drunkenness, owned

himself head of a noble family of Poland, from which he had been

obliged to absent himself on account of an affair of honour, not yet

compromised.

Having made this confession, and laid strong injunctions of secrecy

upon Sir Stentor, his countenance seemed to acquire from every

succeeding glass a new symptom of intoxication. They renewed their

embraces, swore eternal friendship from that day, and swallowed fresh

bumpers, till both being in all appearance quite overpowered, they

began to yawn in concert, and even nod in their chairs. The knight

seemed to resent the attacks of slumber, as so many impertinent

attempts to interrupt their entertainment; he cursed his own propensity

to sleep, imputing it to the d—-ed French climate, and proposed to

engage in some pastime that would keep them awake. “Odd’s flesh!” cried

the Briton, “when I’m at home, I defy all the devils in hell to fasten

my eyelids together, if so be as I’m otherwise inclined. For there’s

mother and sister Nan, and brother Numps and I, continue to divert

ourselves at all-fours, brag, cribbage, tetotum, husslecap, and

chuck-varthing, and, thof I say it, that should n’t say it, I won’t

turn my back to e’er a he in England, at any of these pastimes. And so,

Count, if you are so disposed, I am your man, that is, in the way of

friendship, at which of these you shall please to pitch upon.”

To this proposal Fathom replied, he was quite ignorant of all the games

he had mentioned; but, in order to amuse Sir Stentor, he would play

with him at lansquenet, for a trifle, as he had laid it down for a

maxim, to risk nothing considerable at play. “Waunds!” answered the

knight, “I hope you don’t think I come here in quest of money. Thank

God! I have a good landed estate worth five thousand a year, and owe no

man a halfpenny; and I question whether there be many counts in your

nation—no offence, I hope—that can say a bolder word. As for your

lambskin net, I know nothing of the matter; but I will toss up with you

for a guinea, cross or pile, as the saying is; or, if there’s such a

thing in this country as a box and dice, I love to hear the bones

rattle sometimes.”

Fathom found some difficulty in concealing his joy at the mention of

this last amusement, which had been one of his chief studies, and in

which he had made such progress, that he could calculate all the

chances with the utmost exactness and certainty. However, he made shift

to contain himself within due bounds, and, with seeming indifference,

consented to pass away an hour at hazard, provided the implements could

be procured. Accordingly, the landlord was consulted, and their desire

gratified; the dice were produced, and the table resounded with the

effects of their mutual eagerness. Fortune, at first, declared for the

Englishman, who was permitted by our adventurer to win twenty broad

pieces; and he was so elated with his success, as to accompany every

lucky throw with a loud burst of laughter, and other savage and simple

manifestations of excessive joy, exclaiming, in a tone something less

sweet than the bellowing of a bull, “Now for the main, Count,—odd! here

they come—here are the seven black stars, i’faith. Come along, my

yellow boys—odd’s heart! I never liked the face of Lewis before.”

Fathom drew happy presages from these boyish raptures, and, after

having indulged them for some time, began to avail himself of his

arithmetic, in consequence of which the knight was obliged to refund

the greatest part of his winning. Then he altered his note, and became

as intemperate in his chagrin, as he had been before immoderate in his

mirth. He cursed himself and his whole generation, d—-ed his bad luck,

stamped with his feet upon the floor, and challenged Ferdinand to

double stakes. This was a very welcome proposal to our hero, who found

Sir Stentor just such a subject as he had long desired to encounter

with; the more the Englishman laid, the more he lost, and Fathom took

care to inflame his passions, by certain well-timed sarcasms upon his

want of judgment, till at length he became quite outrageous, swore the

dice were false, and threw them out at the window; pulled off his

periwig, and committed it to the flames, spoke with the most rancorous

contempt of his adversary’s skill, insisted upon his having stripped

many a better man, for all he was a Count, and threatening that, before

they parted, he should not only look like a Pole, but also smell like a

pole-cat.

This was a spirit which our adventurer industriously kept up, observing

that the English were dupes to all the world; and that, in point of

genius and address, they were no more than noisy braggadocios. In

short, another pair of dice was procured, the stakes were again raised,

and, after several vicissitudes, fortune declared so much in favour of

the knight, that Fathom lost all the money in his pocket, amounting to

a pretty considerable sum. By this time he was warmed into uncommon

eagerness and impatience; being equally piqued at the success and

provoking exultations of his antagonist, whom he now invited to his

lodgings, in order to decide the contest. Sir Stentor complied with

this request; the dispute was renewed with various success, till,

towards daylight, Ferdinand saw this noisy, raw, inexperienced

simpleton, carry off all his ready cash, together with his jewels, and

almost everything that was valuable about his person; and, to crown the

whole, the victor at parting told him with a most intolerable sneer,

that as soon as the Count should receive another remittance from

Poland, he would give him his revenge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HE BEARS HIS FATE LIKE A PHILOSOPHER; AND CONTRACTS ACQUAINTANCE WITH A

VERY REMARKABLE PERSONAGE.

This was a proper subject for our hero to moralise upon; and

accordingly it did not pass without his remarks; he found himself

fairly foiled at his own weapons, reduced to indigence in a foreign

land, and, what he chiefly regretted, robbed of all those gay

expectations he had indulged from his own supposed excellence in the

wiles of fraud; for, upon a little recollection, he plainly perceived

he had fallen a sacrifice to the confederacy he had refused to join;

and did not at all doubt that the dice were loaded for his destruction.

But, instead of beating his head against the wall, tearing his hair,

imprecating vain curses upon himself, or betraying other frantic

symptoms of despair, he resolved to accommodate himself to his fate,

and profit by the lesson he had so dearly bought.

With this intention, he immediately dismissed his valet, quitted his

lodgings, retired to an obscure street on the other side of the river,

and, covering one eye with a large patch of black silk, presented

himself in quality of a musician to the director of the opera, who,

upon hearing a trial of his skill, received him into the band without

further question. While he continued in this situation, he not only

improved his taste and execution in music, but likewise found frequent

opportunities to extend his knowledge of mankind; for, besides the

employment he exercised in public, he was often concerned in private

concerts that were given in the hotels of noblemen; by which means he

became more and more acquainted with the persons, manners, and

characters of high life, which he contemplated with the most

industrious attention, as a spectator, who, being altogether

unconcerned in the performance, is at more liberty to observe and enjoy

the particulars of the entertainment.

It was in one of those assemblies he had the pleasure of seeing his

friend Sir Stentor, dressed in the most fashionable manner, and

behaving with all the overstrained politesse of a native Frenchman. He

was accompanied by his brother knight and the abbe; and this

triumvirate, even in Fathom’s hearing, gave a most ludicrous detail of

the finesse they had practised upon the Polish Count, to their

entertainer, who was ambassador from a certain court, and made himself

extremely merry with the particulars of the relation. Indeed, they made

shift to describe some of the circumstances in such a ridiculous light,

that our adventurer himself, smarting as he was with the disgrace,

could not help laughing in secret at the account. He afterwards made it

his business to inquire into the characters of the two British knights,

and understood they were notorious sharpers, who had come abroad for

the good of their country, and now hunted in couple among a French

pack, that dispersed themselves through the public ordinaries, walks,

and spectacles, in order to make a prey of incautious strangers.

The pride of Ferdinand was piqued at this information; and he was even

animated with the desire of making reprisals upon this fraternity, from

which he ardently longed to retrieve his honour and effects. But the

issue of his last adventure had reinforced his caution; and, for the

present, he found means to suppress the dictates of his avarice and

ambition; resolving to employ his whole penetration in reconnoitring

the ground, before he should venture to take the field again. He

therefore continued to act the part of a one-eyed fiddler, under the

name of Fadini, and lived with incredible frugality, that he might save

a purse for his future operations. In this manner had he proceeded for

the space of ten months, during which he acquired a competent knowledge

of the city of Paris, when his curiosity was attracted by certain

peculiarities in the appearance of a man who lived in one of the upper

apartments belonging to the house in which he himself had fixed his

habitation.

This was a tall, thin, meagre figure, with a long black beard, an

aquiline nose, a brown complexion, and a most piercing vivacity in his

eyes. He seemed to be about the age of fifty, wore the Persian habit,

and there was a remarkable severity in his aspect and demeanour. He and

our adventurer had been fellow-lodgers for some time, and, according to

the laudable custom in these days, had hitherto remained as much

estranged to one another, as if they had lived on opposite sides of the

globe; but of late the Persian seemed to regard our hero with

particular attention; when they chanced to meet on the staircase, or

elsewhere, he bowed to Ferdinand with great solemnity, and complimented

him with the pas. He even proceeded, in the course of this

communication, to open his mouth, and salute him with a good-morrow,

and sometimes made the common remarks upon the weather. Fathom, who was

naturally complaisant, did not discourage these advances. On the

contrary, he behaved to him with marks of particular respect, and one

day desired the favour of his company to breakfast.

This invitation the stranger declined with due acknowledgment, on

pretence of being out of order; and, in the meantime, our adventurer

bethought himself of questioning the landlord concerning his outlandish

guest. His curiosity was rather inflamed than satisfied with the

information he could obtain from this quarter; for all he learned was,

that the Persian went by the name of Ali Beker, and that he had lived

in the house for the space of four months, in a most solitary and

parsimonious manner, without being visited by one living soul; that,

for some time after his arrival, he had been often heard to groan

dismally in the night, and even to exclaim in an unknown language, as

if he had laboured under some grievous affliction; and though the first

transports of his grief had subsided, it was easy to perceive he still

indulged a deep-rooted melancholy; for the tears were frequently

observed to trickle down his beard. The commissaire of the quarter had

at first ordered this Oriental to be watched in his outgoings,

according to the maxims of the French police; but his life was found so

regular and inoffensive, that this precaution was soon set aside.

Any man of humane sentiments, from the knowledge of these particulars,

would have been prompted to offer his services to the forlorn stranger;

but as our hero was devoid of all these infirmities of human nature, it

was necessary that other motives should produce the same effect. His

curiosity, therefore, joined with the hopes of converting the

confidence of Ali to his own emolument, effectually impelled him

towards his acquaintance; and, in a little time, they began to relish

the conversation of each other. For, as the reader may have already

observed, Fathom possessed all the arts of insinuation, and had

discernment enough to perceive an air of dignity in the Persian, which

the humility of his circumstances could not conceal. He was, moreover,

a man of good understanding, not without a tincture of letters,

perfectly well bred, though in a ceremonious style, extremely moral in

his discourse, and scrupulously nice in his notions of honour.

Our hero conformed himself in all respects to the other’s opinions, and

managed his discretion so as to pass upon him for a gentleman reduced

by misfortunes to the exercise of an employment which was altogether

unsuitable to his birth and quality. He made earnest and repeated

tenders of his good offices to the stranger, and pressed him to make

use of his purse with such cordial perseverance, that, at length, Ali’s

reserve was overcome, and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum,

which in all probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the

utmost extremity of want before he would accept of this assistance.

Fathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to take

notice of many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments of their

intercourse, and seemed to denote an heart fraught with woe; and, on

pretence of administering consolation and counsel, begged leave to know

the cause of his distress, observing, that his mind would be

disburdened by such communication, and, perhaps, his grief alleviated

by some means which they might jointly concert and execute in his

behalf.

Ali, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of extreme

sorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,

declared that his distress was beyond the power of any remedy but

death, and that, by making our hero his confidant, he should only

extend his unhappiness to a friend, without feeling the least remission

of his own torture. Notwithstanding these repeated declarations,

Ferdinand, who was well enough acquainted with the mind of man to know

that such importunity is seldom or never disagreeable, redoubled his

instances, together with his expressions of sympathy and esteem, until

the stranger was prevailed upon to gratify his curiosity and

benevolence. Having, therefore, secured the chamber door one night,

while all the rest of the family were asleep, the unfortunate Ali

disclosed himself in these words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.

I should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist the

desire you express to know the particulars of that destiny which hath

driven me to this miserable disguise, and rendered me in all

considerations the most wretched of men. I have felt your friendship,

am confident of your honour, and though my misfortunes are such as can

never be repaired, because I am utterly cut off from hope, which is the

wretch’s last comfort, yet I may, by your means, be enabled to bear

them with some degree of fortitude and resignation.

Know then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian extraction. I

had once the honour to own myself a Castilian, and was, under the

appellation of Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the head of one of the

most ancient families of that kingdom. Judge, then, how severe that

distress must be, which compels a Spaniard to renounce his country, his

honours, and his name. My youth was not spent in inglorious ease,

neither did it waste unheeded in the rolls of fame. Before I had

attained the age of nineteen, I was twice wounded in battle. I once

fortunately recovered the standard of the regiment to which I belonged,

after it had been seized by the enemy; and, at another occasion, made

shift to save the life of my colonel, when he lay at the mercy of an

enraged barbarian.

He that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of ostentation,

does wrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in having performed

these little acts of gallantry, thinks he has done nothing, but simply

approved himself worthy of being called a Castilian. I mean only to do

justice to my own character, and to make you acquainted with one of the

most remarkable incidents of my life. It was my fate, during my third

campaign, to command a troop of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales

Orgullo, between whom and my father a family feud had long been

maintained with great enmity; and that gentleman did not leave me

without reason to believe he rejoiced at the opportunity of exercising

his resentment upon his adversary’s son; for he withheld from me that

countenance which my fellow-officers enjoyed, and found means to

subject me to divers mortifications, of which I was not at liberty to

complain. These I bore in silence for some time, as part of my

probation in the character of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to

employ my interest at court for a removal into another corps, and to

take some future opportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don

Gonzales upon the injustice of his behaviour.

While I animated myself with these sentiments against the

discouragements I underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily

exposed, it was our fate to be concerned in the battle of Saragossa,

where our regiment was so severely handled by the English infantry,

that it was forced to give ground with the loss of one half of its

officers and men. Don Gonzales, who acted as brigadier in another wing,

being informed of our fate, and dreading the disgrace of his corps,

which had never turned back to the enemy, put spurs to his horse, and,

riding across the field at full speed, rallied our broken squadrons,

and led us back to the charge with such intrepidity of behaviour, as

did not fail to inspire us all with uncommon courage and alacrity. For

my own part, I thought myself doubly interested to distinguish my

valour, not only on account of my own glory, but likewise on the

supposition, that, as I was acting under the eye of Gonzales, my

conduct would be narrowly observed.

I therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began the

attack with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side during

the rest of the engagement. I even acquired his applause in the very

heat of battle. When his hat was struck off, and his horse fell under

him, I accommodated and remounted him upon my own, and, having seized

for my own use another that belonged to a common trooper, attended this

stern commander as before, and seconded him in all his repeated

efforts; but it was impossible to withstand the numbers and impetuosity

of the foe, and Don Gonzales having had the mortification to see his

regiment cut in pieces, and the greatest part of the army routed, was

fain to yield to the fortune of the day; yet he retired as became a man

of honour and a Castilian; that is, he marched off with great

deliberation in the rear of the Spanish troops, and frequently faced

about to check the pursuit of the enemy. Indeed, this exercise of his

courage had well-nigh cost him his life; for, in one of those

wheelings, he was left almost alone, and a small party of the

Portuguese horse had actually cut off our communication with the

retreating forces of Spain.

In this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and

liberty, than that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was

what Gonzales instantly resolved to attempt. We accordingly recommended

our souls to God, and, charging the line abreast of one another, bore

down all opposition, and were in a fair way of accomplishing our

retreat without further danger; but the gallant Orgullo, in crossing a

ditch, had the misfortune to be thrown from his horse, and was almost

the same instant overtaken by one of the Portuguese dragoons, whose

sword was already suspended over his head, as he lay half stunned with

his fall; when I rode up, discharged a pistol in the ruffian’s brain,

and, seating my colonel on his horse, had the good fortune to conduct

him to a place of safety.

Here he was provided with such accommodation as his case required; for

he had been wounded in the battle, and dangerously bruised by his fall,

and, when all the necessary steps were taken towards his recovery, I

desired to know if he had any further commands for his service, being

resolved to join the army without delay. I thought proper to

communicate this question by message, because he had not spoke one word

to me during our retreat, notwithstanding the good office he had

received at my hands; a reserve which I attributed to his pride, and

resented accordingly. He no sooner understood my intention, than he

desired to see me in his apartment, and, as near as I can remember,

spoke to this effect:—

“Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in consequence of

your behaviour, banish every suggestion of resentment, and solicit his

friendship with great sincerity. Yes, Don Diego, your virtue hath

triumphed over that enmity I bore your house, and I upbraid myself with

the ungenerous treatment you have suffered under my command. But it is

not enough for me to withdraw that rigour which it was unjust to

exercise, and would be wicked to maintain. I must likewise atone for

the injuries you have sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment

for that life which I have twice to-day owed to your valour and

generosity. Whatever interest I have at court shall be employed in your

behalf; and I have other designs in your favour, which shall be

disclosed in due season. Meanwhile, I desire you will still add one

obligation to the debt which I have already incurred, and carry this

billet in person to my Estifania, who, from the news of this fatal

overthrow must be in despair upon my account.”

So saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I

received in a transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the

occasion, and immediately set out for his country house, which happened

to be about thirty leagues from the spot. This expedition was equally

glorious and interesting; for my thoughts upon the road were engrossed

by the hope of seeing Don Orgullo’s daughter and heiress Antonia, who

was reported to be a young lady of great beauty, and the most amiable

accomplishments. However ridiculous it may seem for a man to conceive a

passion for an object which he hath never beheld, certain it is, my

sentiments were so much prepossessed by the fame of her qualifications,

that I must have fallen a victim to her charms, had they been much less

powerful than they were. Notwithstanding the fatigues I had undergone

in the field, I closed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of

Gonzales, being determined to precede the report of the battle, that

Madame d’Orgullo might not be alarmed for the life of her husband.

I declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I had not

waited above three minutes, when my colonel’s lady appeared, and in

great confusion received the letter, exclaiming, “Heaven grant that Don

Gonzales be well!” In reading the contents, she underwent a variety of

agitations; but, when she had perused the whole, her countenance

regained its serenity, and, regarding me with an air of ineffable

complacency, “Don Diego,” said she, “while I lament the national

calamity, in the defeat of our army, I at the same time feel the most

sincere pleasure on seeing you upon this occasion, and, according to

the directions of my dear lord, bid you heartily welcome to this house,

as his preserver and friend. I was not unacquainted with your character

before this last triumph of your virtue, and have often prayed to

Heaven for some lucky determination of that fatal quarrel which raged

so long between the family of Gonzales and your father’s house. My

prayers have been heard, the long-wished-for reconciliation is now

effected, and I hope nothing will ever intervene to disturb this happy

union.”

To this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply as

became a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and benevolence,

and desired to know how soon her answer to my commander would be ready,

that I might gratify his impatience with all possible despatch. After

having thanked me for this fresh proof of my attachment, she begged I

would retire into a chamber, and repose myself from the uncommon

fatigues I must have undergone; but, finding I persisted in the

resolution of returning to Don Gonzales, without allowing myself the

least benefit of sleep, she left me engaged in conversation with an

uncle of Don Gonzales, who lodged in the house, and gave orders that a

collation should be prepared in another apartment, while she retired to

her closet, and wrote a letter to her husband.

In less than an hour from my first arrival, I was introduced into a

most elegant dining-room, where a magnificent entertainment was served

up, and where we were joined by Donna Estifania, and her beautiful

daughter the fair Antonia, who, advancing with the most amiable

sweetness, thanked me in very warm expressions of acknowledgment, for

the generosity of my conduct towards her father. I had been ravished

with her first appearance, which far exceeded my imagination, and my

faculties were so disordered by this address, that I answered her

compliment with the most awkward confusion. But this disorder did not

turn to my prejudice in the opinion of that lovely creature, who has

often told me in the sequel, that she gave herself credit for that

perplexity in my behaviour, and that I never appeared more worthy of

her regard and affection than at that juncture, when my dress was

discomposed, and my whole person disfigured by the toils and duty of

the preceding day; for this very dishabille presented itself to her

reflection as the immediate effect of that very merit by which I was

entitled to her esteem.

Wretch that I am! to survive the loss of such an excellent woman,

endeared to my remembrance by the most tender offices of wedlock,

happily exercised for the space of five-and-twenty years! Forgive these

tears; they are not the drops of weakness, but remorse. Not to trouble

you with idle particulars, suffice it is to say, I was favoured with

such marks of distinction by Madame d’Orgullo, that she thought it

incumbent upon her to let me know she had not overacted her

hospitality, and, while we sat at table, accosted me in these words:

“You will not be surprised, Don Diego, at my expressions of regard,

which I own are unusual from a Spanish lady to a young cavalier like

you, when I communicate the contents of this letter from Don Gonzales.”

So saying, she put the billet into my hand, and I read these words, or

words to this effect:—

“AMIABLE ESTIFANIA,—You will understand that I am as well as a person

can possibly be who hath this day lived to see the army of his king

defeated. If you would know the particulars of this unfortunate action,

your curiosity will be gratified by the bearer, Don Diego de Zelos, to

whose virtue and bravery I am twice indebted for my life. I therefore

desire you will receive him with that respect and gratitude which you

shall think due for such an obligation; and, in entertaining him,

dismiss that reserve which often disgraces the Spanish hospitality. In

a word, let your own virtue and beneficence conduct you upon this

occasion, and let my Antonia’s endeavours be joined with your own in

doing honour to the preserver of her father! Adieu.”

Such a testimonial could not fail of being very agreeable to a young

soldier, who by this time had begun to indulge the transporting hope of

being happy in the arms of the adorable Antonia. I professed myself

extremely happy in having met with an opportunity of acquiring such a

degree of my colonel’s esteem, entertained them with a detail of his

personal prowess in the battle, and answered all their questions with

that moderation which every man ought to preserve in speaking of his

own behaviour. Our repast being ended, I took my leave of the ladies,

and at parting received a letter from Donna Estifania to her husband,

together with a ring of great value, which she begged I would accept,

as a token of her esteem. Thus loaded with honour and caresses, I set

out on my return for the quarters of Don Gonzales, who could scarce

credit his own eyes when I delivered his lady’s billet; for he thought

it impossible to perform such a journey in so short a time.

When he had glanced over the paper, “Don Diego,” said he, “by your

short stay one would imagine you had met with indifferent reception at

my house. I hope Estifania has not been deficient in her duty?” I

answered this question, by assuring him my entertainment had been so

agreeable in all respects, that nothing but my duty to him could have

induced me to give it up so soon. He then turned the conversation upon

Antonia, and hinted his intention of giving her in marriage to a young

cavalier, for whom he had a particular friendship. I was so much

affected by this insinuation, which seemed at once to blast all my

hopes of love and happiness, that the blood forsook my face; I was

seized with an universal trepidation, and even obliged to retire, on

pretence of being suddenly taken ill.

Though Gonzales seemed to impute this disorder to fatigue and want of

rest, he in his heart ascribed it to the true cause; and, after having

sounded my sentiments to his own satisfaction, blessed me with a

declaration, importing, that I was the person upon whom he had pitched

for a son-in-law. I will not trouble you with a repetition of what

passed on this interesting occasion, but proceed to observe, that his

intention in my favour was far from being disagreeable to his lady; and

that, in a little time, I had the good fortune to espouse the charming

Antonia, who submitted to the will of her father without reluctance.

Soon after this happy event, I was, by the influence of Don Gonzales,

joined to my own interest, promoted to the command of a regiment, and

served with honour during the remaining part of the war. After the

treaty of Utrecht, I was employed in reducing the Catalans to their

allegiance; and, in an action with those obstinate rebels had the

misfortune to lose my father-in-law, who by that time was preferred to

the rank of a major-general. The virtuous Estifania did not long

survive this melancholy accident; and the loss of these indulgent

parents made such a deep impression upon the tender heart of my

Antonia, that I took the first opportunity of removing her from a place

in which every object served to cherish her grief, to a pleasant villa

near the city of Seville, which I purchased on account of its agreeable

situation. That I might the more perfectly enjoy the possession of my

amiable partner, who could no longer brook the thoughts of another

separation, peace was no sooner re-established than I obtained leave to

resign my commission, and I wholly devoted myself to the joys of a

domestic life.

Heaven seemed to smile upon our union, by blessing us with a son, whom,

however, it was pleased to recall in his infancy, to our unspeakable

grief and mortification; but our mutual chagrin was afterwards

alleviated by the birth of a daughter, who seemed born with every

accomplishment to excite the love and admiration of mankind. Why did

nature debase such a masterpiece with the mixture of an alloy, which

hath involved herself and her whole family in perdition? But the ways

of Providence are unsearchable. She hath paid the debt of her

degeneracy; peace be with her soul! The honour of my family is

vindicated; though by a sacrifice which hath robbed me of everything

else that is valuable in life, and ruined my peace past all redemption.

Yes, my friend, all the tortures that human tyranny can inflict would

be ease, tranquillity, and delight, to the unspeakable pangs and

horrors I have felt.

But, to return from this digression.—Serafina, which was the name of

that little darling, as she grew up, not only disclosed all the natural

graces of external beauty, but likewise manifested the most engaging

sweetness of disposition, and a capacity for acquiring with ease all

the accomplishments of her sex. It is impossible to convey any adequate

idea of a parent’s raptures in the contemplation of such a fair

blossom. She was the only pledge of our love, she was presumptive

heiress to a large fortune, and likely to be the sole representative of

two noble Castilian families. She was the delight of all who saw her,

and a theme of praise for every tongue. You are not to suppose that the

education of such a child was neglected. Indeed, it wholly engrossed

the attention of me and my Antonia, and her proficiency rewarded our

care. Before she had attained the age of fifteen, she was mistress of

every elegant qualification, natural and acquired. Her person was, by

that time, the confessed pattern of beauty. Her voice was enchantingly

sweet, and she touched the lute with the most ravishing dexterity.

Heaven and earth! how did my breast dilate with joy at the thoughts of

having given birth to such perfection! how did my heart gush with

paternal fondness, whenever I beheld this ornament of my name! and what

scenes of endearing transport have I enjoyed with my Antonia, in mutual

congratulation upon our parental happiness!

Serafina, accomplished as she was, could not fail to make conquests

among the Spanish cavaliers, who are famous for sensibility in love.

Indeed, she never appeared without a numerous train of admirers; and

though we had bred her up in that freedom of conversation and

intercourse which holds a middle space between the French licence and

Spanish restraint, she was now so much exposed to the addresses of

promiscuous gallantry, that we found it necessary to retrench the

liberty of our house, and behave to our male visitants with great

reserve and circumspection, that our honour and peace might run no risk

from the youth and inexperience of our daughter.

This caution produced overtures from a great many young gentlemen of

rank and distinction, who courted my alliance, by demanding Serafina in

marriage; and from the number I had actually selected one person, who

was in all respects worthy the possession of such an inestimable prize.

His name was Don Manuel de Mendoza. His birth was noble, and his

character dignified with repeated acts of generosity and virtue. Yet,

before I would signify to him my approbation of his suit, I resolved to

inform myself whether or not the heart of Serafina was totally

unengaged, and indifferent to any other object, that I might not lay a

tyrannical restraint upon her inclinations. The result of my inquiry

was a full conviction of her having hitherto been deaf to the voice of

love; and this piece of information, together with my own sentiments in

his favour, I communicated to Don Manuel, who heard these tidings with

transports of gratitude and joy. He was immediately favoured with

opportunities of acquiring the affection of my daughter, and his

endeavours were at first received with such respectful civility, as

might have been easily warmed into a mutual passion, had not the evil

genius of our family interposed.

O my friend! how shall I describe the depravity of that unhappy

virgin’s sentiments! how recount the particulars of my own dishonour! I

that am descended from a long line of illustrious Castilians, who never

received an injury they did not revenge, but washed away every blemish

in their fame with the blood of those who attempted to stain it! In

that circumstance I have imitated the example of my glorious

progenitors, and that consideration alone hath supported me against all

the assaults of despair.

As I grudged no pains and expense in perfecting the education of

Serafina, my doors were open to every person who made an extraordinary

figure in the profession of those amusing sciences in which she

delighted. The house of Don Diego de Zelos was a little academy for

painting, poetry, and music; and Heaven decreed that it should fall a

sacrifice to its regard for these fatal and delusive arts. Among other

preceptors, it was her fate to be under the instruction of a cursed

German, who, though his profession was drawing, understood the elements

and theory of music, possessed a large fund of learning and taste, and

was a person remarkable for his agreeable conversation. This traitor,

who like you had lost one eye, I not only admitted into my house for

the improvement of my daughter, but even distinguished with particular

marks of confidence and favour, little thinking he had either

inclination or capacity to debauch the sentiments of my child. I was

rejoiced beyond measure to see with what alacrity she received his

lessons, with what avidity she listened to his discourse, which was

always equally moral, instructing, and entertaining.

Antonia seemed to vie with me in expressions of regard for this

accomplished stranger, whom she could not help supposing to be a person

of rank and family, reduced to his present situation by some

unfortunate vicissitude of fate. I was disposed to concur with this

opinion, and actually conjured him to make me his confidant, with such

protestations as left him no room to doubt my honour and beneficence;

but he still persisted in declaring himself the son of an obscure

mechanic in Bohemia; an origin to which surely no man would pretend who

had the least claim to nobility of birth. While I was thus undeceived

in my conjecture touching his birth and quality, I was confirmed in an

opinion of his integrity and moderation, and looked upon him as a man

of honour, in despite of the lowness of his pedigree. Nevertheless, he

was at bottom a most perfidious wretch, and all this modesty and

self-denial were the effects of the most villanous dissimulation, a

cloak under which he, unsuspected, robbed me of my honour and my peace.

Not to trouble you with particulars, the recital of which would tear my

heart-strings with indignation and remorse, I shall only observe, that,

by the power of his infernal insinuation, he fascinated the heart of

Serafina, brought over Antonia herself to the interests of his passion,

and at once detached them both from their duty and religion. Heaven and

earth! how dangerous, how irresistible is the power of infatuation!

While I remained in the midst of this blind security, waiting for the

nuptials of my daughter, and indulging myself with the vain prospect of

her approaching felicity, Antonia found means to protract the

negotiations of the marriage, by representing that it would be a pity

to deprive Serafina of the opportunity she then had of profiting by the

German’s instructions; and, upon that account, I prevailed upon Don

Manuel to bridle the impatience of his love.

During this interval, as I one evening enjoyed the cool air in my own

garden, I was accosted by an old duenna, who had been my nurse and

lived in the family since the time of my childhood.—“My duty,” said

she, “will no longer permit me to wink in silence at the wrongs I see

you daily suffer. Dismiss that German from your house without delay, if

you respect the glory of your name, and the rights of our holy

religion; the stranger is an abominable heretic; and, grant Heaven! he

may not have already poisoned the minds of those you hold most dear.” I

had been extremely alarmed at the beginning of this address; but,

finding the imputation limited to the article of religion, in which,

thank God, I am no bigot, I recovered my serenity of disposition,

thanked the old woman for her zeal, commended her piety, and encouraged

her to persevere in making observations on such subjects as should

concern my honour and my quiet.

We live in such a world of wickedness and fraud, that a man cannot be

too vigilant in his own defence: had I employed such spies from the

beginning, I should in all probability have been at this day in

possession of every comfort that renders life agreeable. The duenna,

thus authorised, employed her sagacity with such success, that I had

reason to suspect the German of a design upon the heart of Serafina;

but, as the presumptions did not amount to conviction, I contented

myself with exiling him from my house, under the pretext of having

discovered that he was an enemy to the Catholic church; and forthwith

appointed a day for the celebration of my daughter’s marriage with Don

Manuel de Mendoza. I could easily perceive a cloud of melancholy

overspread the faces of Serafina and her mother, when I declared these

my resolutions; but, as they made no objection to what I proposed, I

did not at that time enter into an explanation of the true motives that

influenced my conduct. Both parties were probably afraid of such

expostulation.

Meanwhile, preparations were made for the espousals of Serafina; and,

notwithstanding the anxiety I had undergone, on account of her

connexion with the German, I began to think that her duty, her glory,

had triumphed over all such low-born considerations, if ever they had

been entertained; because she, and even Antonia, seemed to expect the

ceremony with resignation, though the features of both still retained

evident marks of concern, which I willingly imputed to the mutual

prospect of their separation. This, however, was but a faithless calm,

that soon, ah! too soon, brought forth a tempest which hath wrecked my

hopes.

Two days before the appointed union of Don Manuel and Serafina, I was

informed by the duenna, that, while she accompanied Antonia’s

waiting-maid at church, she had seen her receive a billet from an old

woman, who, kneeling at her side, had conveyed it in such a mysterious

manner, as awakened the duenna’s apprehensions about her young lady;

she had therefore hastened home to communicate this piece of

intelligence, that I might have an opportunity of examining the

messenger before she could have time to deposit her trust. I could not

help shivering with fearful presages upon this occasion, and even

abhorring the person to whose duty and zeal I was beholden for the

intelligence, even while I endeavoured to persuade myself that the

inquiry would end in the detection of some paltry intrigue between the

maid and her own gallant. I intercepted her in returning from church,

and, commanding her to follow me to a convenient place, extorted from

her, by dint of threats, the fatal letter, which I read to this

effect:—

“The whole business of my life, O divine Serafina! will be to repay

that affection I have been so happy as to engage. With what transport

then shall I obey your summons, in performing that enterprise, which

will rescue you from the bed of a detested rival, and put myself in

full possession of a jewel which I value infinitely more than life!

Yes, adorable creature! I have provided everything for our escape, and

at midnight will attend you in your own apartment, from whence you

shall be conveyed into a land of liberty and peace, where you will,

unmolested, enjoy the purity of that religion you have espoused, and in

full security bless the arms of your ever faithful, ORLANDO.”

Were you a fond parent, a tender husband, and a noble Castilian, I

should not need to mention the unutterable horrors that took possession

of my bosom, when I perused this accursed letter, by which I learned

the apostasy, disobedience, and degeneracy of my idolised Serafina, who

had overthrown and destroyed the whole plan of felicity which I had

erected, and blasted all the glories of my name; and when the wretched

messenger, terrified by my menaces and agitation, confessed that

Antonia herself was privy to the guilt of her daughter, whom she had

solemnly betrothed to that vile German, in the sight of Heaven, and

that by her connivance this plebeian intended, that very night, to

bereave me of my child, I was for some moments stupefied with grief and

amazement, that gave way to an ecstasy of rage, which had well-nigh

terminated in despair and distraction.

I now tremble, and my head grows giddy with the remembrance of that

dreadful occasion. Behold how the drops trickle down my forehead; this

agony is a fierce and familiar visitant; I shall banish it anon. I

summoned my pride, my resentment, to my assistance; these are the

cordials that support me against all other reflections; those were the

auxiliaries that enabled me, in the day of trial, to perform that

sacrifice which my honour demanded, in a strain so loud as to drown the

cries of nature, love, and compassion. Yes, they espoused that glory

which humanity would have betrayed, and my revenge was noble, though

unnatural.

My scheme was soon laid, my resolution soon taken; I privately confined

the wretch who had been the industrious slave of this infamous

conspiracy, that she might take no step to frustrate or interrupt the

execution of my design. Then repairing to the house of an apothecary

who was devoted to my service, communicated my intention, which he

durst not condemn, and could not reveal, without breaking the oath of

secrecy I had imposed; and he furnished me with two vials of poison for

the dismal catastrophe I had planned. Thus provided, I, on pretence of

sudden business at Seville, carefully avoided the dear, the wretched

pair, whom I had devoted to death, that my heart might not relent, by

means of those tender ideas which the sight of them would have

infallibly inspired; and, when daylight vanished, took my station near

that part of the house through which the villain must have entered on

his hellish purpose. There I stood, in a state of horrid expectation,

my soul ravaged with the different passions that assailed it, until the

fatal moment arrived; when I perceived the traitor approach the window

of a lower apartment, which led into that of Serafina, and gently

lifting the casement, which was purposely left unsecured, insinuated

half of his body into the house. Then rushing upon him, in a transport

of fury, I plunged my sword into his heart, crying, “Villain! receive

the reward of thy treachery and presumption.”

The steel was so well aimed as to render a repetition of the stroke

unnecessary; he uttered one groan, and fell breathless at my feet.

Exulting with this first success of my revenge, I penetrated into the

chamber where the robber of my peace was expected by the unhappy

Serafina and her mother, who, seeing me enter with a most savage

aspect, and a sword reeking with the vengeance I had taken, seemed

almost petrified with fear. “Behold,” said I, “the blood of that base

plebeian, who made an attempt upon the honour of my house; your

conspiracy against the unfortunate Don Diego de Zelos is now

discovered; that presumptuous slave, the favoured Orlando, is now no

more.”

Scarce had I pronounced these words, when a loud scream was uttered by

both the unhappy victims. “If Orlando is slain,” cried the infatuated

Serafina, “what have I to do with life? O my dear lord! my husband, and

my lover! how are our promised joys at once cut off! here, strike, my

father! complete your barbarous sacrifice! the spirit of the murdered

Orlando still hovers for his wife.” These frantic exclamations, in

which she was joined by Antonia, kept up the fury of my resentment,

which by meekness and submission might have been weakened and rendered

ineffectual. “Yes, hapless wretches,” I replied, “ye shall enjoy your

wish: the honour of my name requires that both shall die; yet I will

not mangle the breast of Antonia, on which I have so often reposed; I

will not shed the blood of Zelos, nor disfigure the beauteous form of

Serafina, on which I have so often gazed with wonder and unspeakable

delight. Here is an elixir, to which I trust the consummation of my

revenge.”

So saying, I emptied the vials into separate cups, and, presenting one

in each hand, the miserable, the fair offenders instantly received the

destined draughts, which they drank without hesitation; then praying to

heaven for the wretched Don Diego, sunk upon the same couch, and

expired without a groan. O well-contrived beverage! O happy

composition, by which all the miseries of life are so easily cured!

Such was the fate of Antonia and Serafina; these hands were the

instruments that deprived them of life, these eyes beheld them the

richest prize that death had ever won. Powers supreme! does Don Diego

live to make this recapitulation? I have done my duty; but ah! I am

haunted by the furies of remorse; I am tortured with the incessant

stings of remembrance and regret; even now the images of my wife and

daughter present themselves to my imagination. All the scenes of

happiness I have enjoyed as a lover, husband, and parent, all the

endearing hopes I have cherished, now pass in review before me,

embittering the circumstances of my inexpressible woe; and I consider

myself as a solitary outcast from all the comforts of society. But,

enough of these unmanly complaints; the yearnings of nature are too

importunate.

Having completed my vengeance, I retired into my closet, and,

furnishing myself with some ready money and jewels of considerable

value, went into the stable, saddled my favourite steed, which I

instantly mounted, and, before the tumults of my breast subsided, found

myself at the town of St. Lucar. There I learned from inquiry, that

there was a Dutch bark in the harbour ready to sail; upon which I

addressed myself to the master, who, for a suitable gratification, was

prevailed upon to weigh anchor that same night; so that, embarking

without delay, I soon bid eternal adieu to my native country. It was

not from reason and reflection that I took these measures for my

personal safety; but, in consequence of an involuntary instinct, that

seems to operate in the animal machine, while the faculty of thinking

is suspended.

To what a dreadful reckoning was I called, when reason resumed her

function! You may believe me, my friend, when I assure you, that I

should not have outlived those tragedies I acted, had I not been

restrained from doing violence upon myself by certain considerations,

which no man of honour ought to set aside. I could not bear the thought

of falling ingloriously by the hand of an executioner, and entailing

disgrace upon a family that knew no stain; and I was deterred from

putting an end to my own misery, by the apprehension of posthumous

censure, which would have represented me as a desponding wretch,

utterly destitute of that patience, fortitude, and resignation, which

are the characteristics of a true Castilian. I was also influenced by

religious motives that suggested to me the necessity of living to

atone, by my sufferings and sorrow, for the guilt I had incurred in

complying with a savage punctilio, which is, I fear, displeasing in the

sight of Heaven.

These were the reasons that opposed my entrance into that peaceful

harbour which death presented to my view; and they were soon reinforced

by another principle that sanctioned my determination to continue at

the servile oar of life. In consequence of unfavourable winds, our

vessel for some days made small progress in her voyage to Holland, and

near the coast of Gallicia we were joined by an English ship from Vigo,

the master of which gave us to understand, that before he set sail, a

courier had arrived from Madrid at that place, with orders for the

corregidore to prevent the escape of any native Spaniard by sea from

any port within his district; and to use his utmost endeavours to

apprehend the person of Don Diego de Zelos, who was suspected of

treasonable practices against the state. Such an order, with a minute

description of my person, was at the same time despatched to all the

seaports and frontier places in Spain.

You may easily suppose how I, who was already overwhelmed with

distress, could bear this aggravation of misfortune and disgrace: I,

who had always maintained the reputation of loyalty, which was acquired

at the hazard of my life, and the expense of my blood. To deal

candidly, I must own, that this intelligence roused me from a lethargy

of grief which had begun to overpower my faculties. I immediately

imputed this dishonourable charge to the evil offices of some villain,

who had basely taken the advantage of my deplorable situation, and I

was inflamed, inspirited with the desire of vindicating my fame, and

revenging the injury. Thus animated, I resolved to disguise myself

effectually from the observation of those spies which every nation

finds its account in employing in foreign countries; I purchased this

habit from the Dutch navigator, in whose house I kept myself concealed,

after our arrival at Amsterdam, until my beard was grown to a

sufficient length to favour my design, and then appeared as a Persian

dealer in jewels. As I could gain no satisfactory information touching

myself in this country, had no purpose to pursue, and was extremely

miserable among a people, who, being mercenary and unsocial, were very

ill adapted to alleviate the horrors of my condition, I gratified my

landlord for his important services, with the best part of my effects;

and having, by his means, procured a certificate from the magistracy,

repaired to Rotterdam, from whence I set out in a travelling carriage

for Antwerp, on my way to this capital; hoping, with a succession of

different objects, to mitigate the anguish of my mind, and by the most

industrious inquiry, to learn such particulars of that false

impeachment, as would enable me to take measures for my own

justification, as well as for projecting a plan of revenge against the

vile perfidious author.

This, I imagined, would be no difficult task, considering the

friendship and intercourse subsisting between the Spanish and French

nations, and the communicative disposition for which the Parisians are

renowned; but I have found myself egregiously deceived in my

expectation. The officers of police in this city are so inquisitive and

vigilant that the most minute action of a stranger is scrutinised with

great severity; and, although the inhabitants are very frank in

discoursing on indifferent subjects, they are at the same time

extremely cautious in avoiding all conversation that turns upon state

occurrences and maxims of government. In a word, the peculiarity of my

appearance subjects me so much to particular observation, that I have

hitherto thought proper to devour my griefs in silence, and even to

bear the want of almost every convenience, rather than hazard a

premature discovery, by offering my jewels to sale.

In this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become acquainted

with you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and humanity. Indeed, I

was at first sight prepossessed in your favour, for, notwithstanding

the mistakes which men daily commit in judging from appearances, there

is something in the physiognomy of a stranger from which one cannot

help forming an opinion of his character and disposition. For once, my

penetration hath not failed me; your behaviour justifies my decision;

you have treated me with that sympathy and respect which none but the

generous will pay to the unfortunate. I have trusted you accordingly. I

have put my life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to

depend upon your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which

alone I seek to live. Your employment engages you in the gay world; you

daily mingle with the societies of men; the domestics of the Spanish

ambassador will not shun your acquaintance; you may frequent the

coffee-houses to which they resort; and, in the course of these

occasions, unsuspected inform yourself of that mysterious charge which

lies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don Diego. I must likewise

implore your assistance in converting my jewels into money, that I may

breathe independent of man, until Heaven shall permit me to finish this

weary pilgrimage of life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM’S VIRTUE, IN THE MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO

ENGLAND.

Fathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of this

disastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an aspect of

generous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with tears, he

condoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos, deplored the

untimely death of the gentle Antonia and the fair Serafina, and

undertook the interest of the wretched Castilian with such warmth of

sympathising zeal, as drew a flood from his eyes, while he wrung his

benefactor’s hand in a transport of gratitude. Those were literally

tears of joy, or at least of satisfaction, on both sides; as our hero

wept with affection and attachment to the jewels that were to be

committed to his care; but, far from discovering the true source of his

tenderness, he affected to dissuade the Spaniard from parting with the

diamonds, which he counselled him to reserve for a more pressing

occasion; and, in the meantime, earnestly entreated him to depend upon

his friendship for present relief.

This generous proffer served only to confirm Don Diego’s resolution,

which he forthwith executed, by putting into the hands of Ferdinand

jewels to the value of a thousand crowns, and desiring him to detain

for his own use any part of the sum they would raise. Our adventurer

thanked him for the good opinion he entertained of his integrity, an

opinion fully manifested in honouring him with such important

confidence, and assured him he would transact his affairs with the

utmost diligence, caution, and despatch. The evening being by this time

almost consumed, these new allies retired separately to rest; though

each passed the night without repose, in very different reflections,

the Castilian being, as usual, agitated with the unceasing pangs of his

unalterable misery, interspersed with gleaming hopes of revenge; and

Fathom being kept awake with revolving plans for turning his

fellow-lodger’s credulity to his own advantage. From the nature of the

Spaniard’s situation, he might have appropriated the jewels to himself,

and remained in Paris without fear of a prosecution, because the

injured party had, by the above narrative, left his life and liberty at

discretion.—But he did not think himself secure from the personal

resentment of an enraged desperate Castilian; and therefore determined

to withdraw himself privately into that country where he had all along

proposed to fix the standard of his finesse, which fortune had now

empowered him to exercise according to his wish.

Bent upon this retreat, he went abroad in the morning, on pretence of

acting in the concerns of his friend Don Diego, and having hired a

post-chaise to be ready at the dawning of next day, returned to his

lodgings, where he cajoled the Spaniard with a feigned report of his

negotiation; then, securing his most valuable effects about his person,

arose with the cock, repaired to the place at which he had appointed to

meet the postillion with the carriage, and set out for England without

further delay, leaving the unhappy Zelos to the horrors of indigence,

and the additional agony of this fresh disappointment. Yet he was not

the only person affected by the abrupt departure of Fathom, which was

hastened by the importunities, threats, and reproaches of his

landlord’s daughter, whom he had debauched under promise of marriage,

and now left in the fourth month of her pregnancy.

Notwithstanding the dangerous adventure in which he had been formerly

involved by travelling in the night, he did not think proper to make

the usual halts on this journey, for sleep or refreshment, nor did he

once quit the chaise till his arrival at Boulogne, which he reached in

twenty hours after his departure from Paris. Here he thought he might

safely indulge himself with a comfortable meal; accordingly he bespoke

a poulard for dinner, and while that was preparing, went forth to view

the city and harbour. When he beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his

heart throbbed with all the joy of a beloved son, who, after a tedious

and fatiguing voyage, reviews the chimneys of his father’s house. He

surveyed the neighbouring coast of England with fond and longing eyes,

like another Moses, reconnoitring the land of Canaan from the top of

Mount Pisgah; and to such a degree of impatience was he inflamed by the

sight, that, instead of proceeding to Calais, he resolved to take his

passage directly from Boulogne, even if he should hire a vessel for the

purpose. With these sentiments, he inquired if there was any ship bound

for England, and was so fortunate as to find the master of a small

bark, who intended to weigh anchor for Deal that same evening at high

water.

Transported with this information, he immediately agreed for his

passage, sold the post-chaise to his landlord for thirty guineas, as a

piece of furniture for which he could have no further use, purchased a

portmanteau, together with some linen and wearing apparel, and, at the

recommendation of his host, took into his service an extra postillion

or helper, who had formerly worn the livery of a travelling marquis.

This new domestic, whose name was Maurice, underwent, with great

applause, the examination of our hero, who perceived in him a fund of

sagacity and presence of mind, by which he was excellently qualified

for being the valet of an adventurer. He was therefore accommodated

with a second-hand suit and another shirt, and at once listed under the

banners of Count Fathom, who spent the whole afternoon in giving him

proper instructions for the regulation of his conduct.

Having settled these preliminaries to his own satisfaction, he and his

baggage were embarked about six o’clock in the month of September, and

it was not without emotion that he found himself benighted upon the

great deep, of which, before the preceding day, he had never enjoyed

even the most distant prospect. However, he was not a man to be afraid,

where there was really no appearance of danger; and the agreeable

presages of future fortune supported his spirits, amidst the

disagreeable nausea which commonly attends landsmen at sea, until he

was set ashore upon the beach at Deal, which he entered in good health

about seven o’clock in the morning.

Like Caesar, however, he found some difficulty in landing, on account

of the swelling surf, that tumbled about with such violence as had

almost overset the cutter that carried him on shore; and, in his

eagerness to jump upon the strand, his foot slipped from the side of

the boat, so that he was thrown forwards in an horizontal direction,

and his hands were the first parts of him that touched English ground.

Upon this occasion, he, in imitation of Scipio’s behaviour on the coast

of Africa, hailed the omen, and, grasping a handful of the sand, was

heard to exclaim, in the Italian language: “Ah, ah, Old England, I have

thee fast.”

As he walked up to the inn, followed by Maurice loaded with his

portmanteau, he congratulated himself upon his happy voyage, and the

peaceable possession of his spoil, and could not help snuffing up the

British air with marks of infinite relish and satisfaction. His first

care was to recompense himself for the want of sleep he had undergone,

and, after he had sufficiently recruited himself with several hours of

uninterrupted repose, he set out in a post-chaise for Canterbury, where

he took a place in the London stage, which he was told would depart

next morning, the coach being already full. On this very first day of

his arrival, he perceived between the English and the people among whom

he had hitherto lived, such essential difference in customs,

appearance, and way of living, as inspired him with high notions of

that British freedom, opulence, and convenience, on which he had often

heard his mother expatiate. On the road, he feasted his eyesight with

the verdant hills covered with flocks of sheep, the fruitful vales

parcelled out into cultivated enclosures; the very cattle seemed to

profit by the wealth of their masters, being large, sturdy, and sleek,

and every peasant breathed the insolence of liberty and independence.

In a word, he viewed the wide-extended plains of Kent with a lover’s

eye, and, his ambition becoming romantic, could not help fancying

himself another conqueror of the isle.

He was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which soon

vanished before other reflections of more importance and solidity. His

imagination, it must be owned, was at all times too chaste to admit

those overweening hopes, which often mislead the mind of the projector.

He had studied mankind with incredible diligence, and knew perfectly

well how far he could depend on the passions and foibles of human

nature. That he might now act consistent with his former sagacity, he

resolved to pass himself upon his fellow-travellers for a French

gentleman, equally a stranger to the language and country of England,

in order to glean from their discourse such intelligence as might avail

him in his future operations; and his lacquey was tutored accordingly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.

Those who had taken places for the coach, understanding the sixth seat

was engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his ignorance; and,

with that politeness which is peculiar to this happy island, fixed

themselves in the vehicle, in such a manner, before he had the least

intimation of their design, that he found it barely practicable to

insinuate himself sidelong between a corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping

landlady, in which attitude he stuck fast, like a thin quarto between

two voluminous dictionaries on a bookseller’s shelf. And, as if the

pain and inconvenience of such compression was not sufficient matter of

chagrin, the greatest part of the company entertained themselves with

laughing at his ludicrous station.

The jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud exclamation of

mirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted with a buttock of

English beef; and said, by that time they should arrive at their

dining-place, he might be spitted without larding. “Yes, verily,”

replied Obadiah, who was a wag in his way, “but the swine’s fat will be

all on one side.”—“So much the better for you,” cried mine hostess,

“for that side is all your own.” The quaker was not so much

disconcerted by the quickness of this repartee, but that he answered

with great deliberation, “I thank thee for thy love, but will not

profit by thy loss, especially as I like not the savour of these

outlandish fowls; they are profane birds of passage, relished only by

the children of vanity, like thee.”

The plump gentlewoman took umbrage at this last expression, which she

considered as a double reproach, and repeated the words, “Children of

vanity!” with an emphasis of resentment. “I believe, if the truth were

known,” said she, “there’s more vanity than midriff in that great belly

of yours, for all your pretending to humility and religion. Sirrah! my

corporation is made up of good, wholesome, English fat; but you are

puffed up with the wind of vanity and delusion; and when it begins to

gripe your entrails, you pretend to have a motion, and then get up and

preach nonsense. Yet you’ll take it upon you to call your betters

children. Marry come up, Mr. Goosecap, I have got children that are as

good men as you, or any hypocritical trembler in England.”

A person who sat opposite to the quaker, hearing this remonstrance,

which seemed pregnant with contention, interposed in the conversation

with a conscious leer, and begged there might be no rupture between the

spirit and the flesh. By this remonstrance he relieved Obadiah from the

satire of this female orator, and brought the whole vengeance of her

elocution upon his own head. “Flesh!” cried she, with all the ferocity

of an enraged Thalestris; “none of your names, Mr. Yellowchaps. What! I

warrant you have an antipathy to flesh, because you yourself are

nothing but skin and bone. I suppose you are some poor starved

journeyman tailor come from France, where you have been learning to

cabbage, and have not seen a good meal of victuals these seven years.

You have been living upon rye-bread and soup-maigre, and now you come

over like a walking atomy with a rat’s tail at your wig, and a tinsey

jacket. And so, forsooth, you set up for a gentleman, and pretend to

find fault with a sirloin of roast beef.”

The gentleman heard this address with admirable patience, and when she

had rung out her alarm, very coolly replied, “Anything but your

stinking fish madam. Since when, I pray, have you travelled in

stage-coaches, and left off your old profession of crying oysters in

winter, and rotten mackerel in June? You was then known by the name of

Kate Brawn, and in good repute among the ale-houses in Thames Street,

till that unlucky amour with the master of a corn-vessel, in which he

was unfortunately detected by his own spouse; but you seem to have

risen by that fall; and I wish you joy of your present plight. Though,

considering your education on Bear Quay, you can give but a sorry

account of yourself.”

The Amazon, though neither exhausted nor dismayed, was really

confounded at the temper and assurance of this antagonist, who had

gathered all these anecdotes from the fertility of his own invention;

after a short pause, however, she poured forth a torrent of obloquy

sufficient to overwhelm any person who had not been used to take up

arms against such seas of trouble; and a dispute ensued, which would

have not only disgraced the best orators on the Thames, but even have

made a figure in the celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries, during

which the Athenian matrons rallied one another from different waggons,

with that freedom of altercation so happily preserved in this our age

and country.

Such a redundancy of epithets, and variety of metaphors, tropes, and

figures were uttered between these well-matched opponents, that an epic

bard would have found his account in listening to the contest; which,

in all probability, would not have been confined to words, had it not

been interrupted for the sake of a young woman of an agreeable

countenance and modest carriage; who, being shocked at some of their

flowers of speech, and terrified by the menacing looks and gestures of

the fiery-featured dame, began to scream aloud, and beg leave to quit

the coach. Her perturbation put an end to the high debate. The sixth

passenger, who had not opened his mouth, endeavoured to comfort her

with assurances of protection; the quaker proposed a cessation of arms;

the male disputant acquiesced in the proposal, assuring the company he

had entered the lists for their entertainment only, without acquiring

the least grudge or ill-will to the fat gentlewoman, whom he protested

he had never seen before that day, and who, for aught he knew, was a

person of credit and reputation. He then held forth his hand in token

of amity, and asked pardon of the offended party, who was appeased by

his submission; and, in testimony of her benevolence, presented to the

other female, whom she had discomposed, an Hungary-water bottle filled

with cherry-brandy, recommending it as a much more powerful remedy than

the sal-volatile which the other held to her nose.

Peace being thus re-established, in a treaty comprehending Obadiah and

all present, it will not be improper to give the reader some further

information, touching the several characters assembled in this vehicle.

The quaker was a London merchant, who had been at Deal superintending

the repairs of a ship which had suffered by a storm in the Downs. The

Wapping landlady was on her return from the same place, where she had

attended the payment of a man-of-war, with sundry powers of attorney,

granted by the sailors, who had lived upon credit at her house. Her

competitor in fame was a dealer in wine, a smuggler of French lace, and

a petty gamester just arrived from Paris, in the company of an English

barber, who sat on his right hand, and the young woman was daughter of

a country curate, in her way to London, where she was bound apprentice

to a milliner.

Hitherto Fathom had sat in silent astonishment at the manners of his

fellow-travellers, which far exceeded the notions he had preconceived

of English plainness and rusticity. He found himself a monument of that

disregard and contempt which a stranger never fails to meet with from

the inhabitants of this island; and saw, with surprise, an agreeable

young creature sit as solitary and unheeded as himself.

He was, indeed, allured by the roses of her complexion, and the

innocence of her aspect, and began to repent of having pretended

ignorance of the language, by which he was restrained from exercising

his eloquence upon her heart; he resolved, however, to ingratiate

himself, if possible, by the courtesy and politeness of dumb show, and

for that purpose put his eyes in motion without farther delay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ANOTHER PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE SMUGGLER’S

INGENIOUS CONJECTURE.

During these deliberations, the wine merchant, with a view to make a

parade of his superior parts and breeding, as well as to pave the way

for a match at backgammon, made a tender of his snuff-box to our

adventurer, and asked, in bad French, how he travelled from Paris. This

question produced a series of interrogations concerning the place of

Ferdinand’s abode in that city, and his business in England, so that he

was fain to practise the science of defence, and answered with such

ambiguity, as aroused the suspicion of the smuggler, who began to

believe our hero had some very cogent reason for evading his curiosity;

he immediately set his reflection at work, and, after various

conjectures, fixed upon Fathom’s being the Young Pretender. Big with

this supposition, he eyed him with the most earnest attention,

comparing his features with those of the Chevalier’s portrait which he

had seen in France, and though the faces were as unlike as any two

human faces could be, found the resemblance so striking as to dispel

all his doubts, and persuade him to introduce the stranger to some

justice on the road; a step by which he would not only manifest his

zeal for the Protestant succession, but also acquire the splendid

reward proposed by parliament to any person who should apprehend that

famous adventurer.

These ideas intoxicated the brain of this man to such a pitch of

enthusiasm, that he actually believed himself in possession of the

thirty thousand pounds, and amused his fancy with a variety of

magnificent projects to be executed by means of that acquisition, until

his reverie was interrupted by the halting of the coach at the inn

where the passengers used to eat their breakfasts. Waked as he was from

the dream of happiness, it had made such impression upon his mind,

that, seeing Fathom rise up with an intention to alight, he took it for

granted his design was to escape, and seizing him by the collar, called

aloud for assistance in the King’s name.

Our hero, whose sagacity and presence of mind very often supplied the

place of courage, instead of being terrified at this assault, which

might have disturbed the tranquillity of an ordinary villain, was so

perfectly master of every circumstance of his own situation, as to know

at once that the aggressor could not possibly have the least cause of

complaint against him; and therefore, imputing this violence either to

madness or mistake, very deliberately suffered himself to be made

prisoner by the people of the house, who ran to the coach door in

obedience to the summons of the wine merchant. The rest of the company

were struck dumb with surprise and consternation at this sudden

adventure; and the quaker, dreading some fell resistance on the side of

the outlandish man, unpinned the other coach door in the twinkling of

an eye, and trundled himself into the mud for safety. The others,

seeing the temper and resignation of the prisoner, soon recovered their

recollection, and began to inquire into the cause of his arrest, upon

which, the captor, whose teeth chattered with terror and impatience,

gave them to understand that he was a state criminal, and demanded

their help in conveying him to justice.

Luckily for both parties, there happened to be at the inn a company of

squires just returned from the death of a leash of hares, which they

had ordered to be dressed for dinner, and among these gentlemen was one

of the quorum, to whom the accuser had immediate recourse, marching

before the captive, who walked very peaceably between the landlord and

one of his waiters, and followed by a crowd of spectators, some of whom

had secured the faithful Maurice, who in his behaviour closely imitated

the deliberation of his master. In this order did the procession

advance to the apartment in which the magistrate, with his fellows of

the chase, sat smoking his morning pipe over a tankard of strong ale,

and the smuggler being directed to the right person, “May it please

your worship,” said he, “I have brought this foreigner before you, on a

violent suspicion of his being a proclaimed outlaw; and I desire,

before these witnesses, that my title may be made good to the reward

that shall become due upon his conviction.”

“Friend,” replied the justice, “I know nothing of you or your titles;

but this I know, if you have any information to give in, you must come

to my house when I am at home, and proceed in a lawful way, that is,

d’ye mind me, if you swear as how this here person is an outlaw; then

if so be as he has nothing to say to the contrary, my clerk shall make

out a mittimus, and so to jail with him till next ’size.” “But, sir,”

answered the impeacher, “this is a case that admits of no delay; the

person I have apprehended is a prisoner of consequence to the state.”

“How, fellor!” cried the magistrate, interrupting him, “is there any

person of more consequence than one of his Majesty’s justices of the

peace, who is besides a considerable member of the landed interest!

D’ye know, sirrah, who you are talking to? If you don’t go about your

business, I believe I shall lay you by the heels.”

The smuggler, fearing his prize would escape through the ignorance,

pride, and obstinacy of this country justice, approached his worship,

and in a whisper which was overheard by all the company, assured him he

had indubitable reason to believe the foreigner was no other than the

Pretender’s eldest son. At mention of this formidable name, every

individual of the audience started, with signs of terror and amazement.

The justice dropped his pipe, recoiled upon his chair, and, looking

most ridiculously aghast, exclaimed, “Seize him, in the name of God and

his Majesty King George! Has he got no secret arms about him!”

Fathom being thus informed of the suspicion under which he stood, could

not help smiling at the eagerness with which the spectators flew upon

him, and suffered himself to be searched with great composure, well

knowing they would find no moveables about his person, but such as upon

examination would turn to his account; he therefore very calmly

presented to the magistrate his purse, and a small box that contained

his jewels, and in the French language desired they might be preserved

from the hands of the mob. This request was interpreted by the accuser,

who, at the same time, laid claim to the booty. The justice took charge

of the deposit, and one of his neighbours having undertaken the office

of clerk, he proceeded to the examination of the culprit, whose papers

were by this time laid on the table before him. “Stranger,” said he,

“you stand charged with being son of the Pretender to these realms;

what have you to say in your own defence?” Our hero assured him, in the

French language, that he was falsely impeached, and demanded justice on

the accuser, who, without the least reason, had made such a malicious

attack upon the life and honour of an innocent gentleman.

The smuggler, instead of acting the part of a faithful interpreter,

told his worship, that the prisoner’s answer was no more than a simple

denial, which every felon would make who had nothing else to plead in

his own behalf, and that this alone was a strong presumption of his

guilt, because, if he was not really the person they suspected him to

be, the thing would speak for itself, for, if he was not the Young

Pretender, who then was he? This argument had great weight with the

justice, who, assuming a very important aspect, observed, “Very true,

friend, if you are not the Pretender, in the name of God, who are you?

One may see with half an eye that he is no better than a promiscuous

fellow.”

Ferdinand now began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the

English language, as he found himself at the mercy of a rascal, who put

a false gloss upon all his words, and addressed himself to the audience

successively in French, High Dutch, Italian, and Hungarian Latin,

desiring to know if any person present understood any of these tongues,

that his answers might be honestly explained to the bench. But he might

have accosted them in Chinese with the same success: there was not one

person present tolerably versed in his mother-tongue, much less

acquainted with any foreign language, except the wine merchant, who,

incensed at this appeal, which he considered as an affront to his

integrity, gave the judge to understand, that the delinquent, instead

of speaking to the purpose, contumaciously insulted his authority in

sundry foreign lingos, which he apprehended was an additional proof of

his being the Chevalier’s son, inasmuch as no person would take the

pains to learn such a variety of gibberish, except with some sinister

intent.

This annotation was not lost upon the squire, who was too jealous of

the honour of his office to overlook such a flagrant instance of

contempt. His eyes glistened, his cheeks were inflated with rage. “The

case is plain,” said he; “having nothing of signification to offer in

his own favour, he grows refractory, and abuses the court in his base

Roman Catholic jargon; but I’ll let you know, for all you pretend to be

a prince, you are no better than an outlawed vagrant, and I’ll show you

what a thing you are when you come in composition with an English

justice, like me, who have more than once extinguished myself in the

service of my country. As nothing else accrues, your purse, black box,

and papers shall be sealed up before witnesses, and sent by express to

one of his Majesty’s secretaries of state; and, as for yourself, I will

apply to the military at Canterbury, for a guard to conduct you to

London.”

This was a very unwelcome declaration to our adventurer, who was on the

point of haranguing the justice and spectators in their own language,

when he was relieved from the necessity of taking that step by the

interposition of a young nobleman just arrived at the inn, who, being

informed of this strange examination, entered the court, and, at first

sight of the prisoner, assured the justice he was imposed upon; for

that he himself had often seen the Young Pretender in Paris, and that

there was no kind of resemblance between that adventurer and the person

now before him. The accuser was not a little mortified at his

lordship’s affirmation, which met with all due regard from the bench,

though the magistrate took notice, that, granting the prisoner was not

the Young Chevalier himself, it was highly probable he was an emissary

of that house, as he could give no satisfactory account of himself, and

was possessed of things of such value as no honest man could expose to

the accidents of the road.

Fathom, having thus found an interpreter, who signified to him, in the

French tongue, the doubts of the justice, told his lordship, that he

was a gentleman of a noble house in Germany, who, for certain reasons,

had come abroad incognito, with a view to see the world; and that,

although the letters they had seized would prove the truth of that

assertion, he should be loth to expose his private concerns to the

knowledge of strangers, if he could possibly be released without that

mortification. The young nobleman explained his desire to the court;

but, his own curiosity being interested, observed, at the same time,

that the justice could not be said to have discharged the duties of his

station, until he should have examined every circumstance relating to

the prisoner. Upon which remonstrance, he was requested by the bench to

peruse the papers, and accordingly communicated the substance of one

letter to this effect:—

“MY DEAR SON,

Though I am far from approving the rash step you have taken in

withdrawing yourself from your father’s house, in order to avoid an

engagement which would have been equally honourable and advantageous to

your family, I cannot so far suppress my affection, as to bear the

thought of your undergoing those hardships which, for your

disobedience, you deserve to suffer. I have therefore, without the

knowledge of your father, sent the bearer to attend you in your

peregrinations; his fidelity you know hath been tried in a long course

of service, and I have entrusted to his care, for your use, a purse of

two hundred ducats, and a box of jewels to the value of twice that sum,

which, though not sufficient to support an equipage suitable to your

birth, will, at least for some time, preserve you from the

importunities of want. When you are dutiful enough to explain your

designs and situation, you may expect further indulgence from your

tender and disconsolate mother,—

THE COUNTESS OF FATHOM.”

This letter, which, as well as the others, our hero had forged for the

purpose, effectually answered his intent, in throwing dust in the eyes

and understanding of the spectators, who now regarded the prisoner with

looks of respectful remorse, as a man of quality who had been falsely

accused. His lordship, to make a parade of his own politeness and

importance, assured the bench, he was no stranger to the family of the

Fathoms, and, with a compliment, gave Ferdinand to understand he had

formerly seen him at Versailles. There being no longer room for

suspicion, the justice ordered our adventurer to be set at liberty, and

even invited him to be seated, with an apology for the rude manner in

which he had been treated, owing to the misinformation of the accuser,

who was threatened with the stocks, for his malice and presumption.

But this was not the only triumph our hero obtained over the wine

merchant. Maurice was no sooner unfettered, than, advancing into the

middle of the room, “My lord,” said he, addressing himself in French to

his master’s deliverer, “since you have been so generous as to protect

a noble stranger from the danger of such a false accusation, I hope you

will still lay an additional obligation upon the Count, by retorting

the vengeance of the law upon his perfidious accuser, whom I know to be

a trader in those articles of merchandise which are prohibited by the

ordinances of this nation. I have seen him lately at Boulogne, and am

perfectly well acquainted with some persons who have supplied him with

French lace and embroidery; and, as a proof of what I allege, I desire

you will order him and this barber, who is his understrapper, to be

examined on the spot.”

This charge, which was immediately explained to the bench, yielded

extraordinary satisfaction to the spectators, one of whom, being an

officer of the customs, forthwith began to exercise his function upon

the unlucky perruquier, who, being stripped of his upper garments, and

even of his shirt, appeared like the mummy of an Egyptian king, most

curiously rolled up in bandages of rich figured gold shalloon, that

covered the skirts of four embroidered waistcoats. The merchant, seeing

his expectation so unhappily reversed, made an effort to retire with a

most rueful aspect, but was prevented by the officer, who demanded the

interposition of the civil power, that he might undergo the same

examination to which the other had been subjected. He was accordingly

rifled without loss of time, and the inquiry proved well worth the care

of him who made it; for a considerable booty of the same sort of

merchandise was found in his boots, breeches, hat, and between the

buckram and lining of his surtout. Yet, not contented with this prize,

the experienced spoiler proceeded to search his baggage, and,

perceiving a false bottom in his portmanteau, detected beneath it a

valuable accession to the plunder he had already obtained.

CHAPTER THIRTY

THE SINGULAR MANNER OF FATHOM’S ATTACK AND TRIUMPH OVER THE VIRTUE OF

THE FAIR ELENOR.

Proper cognisance being thus taken of these contraband effects, and the

informer furnished with a certificate, by which he was entitled to a

share of the seizure, the coachman summoned his passengers to the

carriage; the purse and jewels were restored to Count Fathom, who

thanked the justice, and his lordship in particular, for the candour

and hospitality with which he had been treated, and resumed his place

in the vehicle, amidst the congratulations of all his

fellow-travellers, except the two forlorn smugglers, who, instead of

re-embarking in the coach, thought proper to remain at the inn, with

view to mitigate, if possible, the severity of their misfortune.

Among those who felicitated Fathom upon the issue of this adventure,

the young maiden seemed to express the most sensible pleasure at that

event. The artful language of his eyes had raised in her breast certain

fluttering emotions, before she knew the value of her conquest; but now

that his rank and condition were discovered, these transports were

increased by the ideas of vanity and ambition, which are mingled with

the first seeds of every female constitution. The belief of having

captivated the heart of a man who could raise her to the rank and

dignity of a countess, produced such agreeable sensations in her fancy,

that her eyes shone with unusual lustre, and a continual smile played

in dimples on her rosy cheeks; so that her attractions, though not

powerful enough to engage the affection, were yet sufficient to inflame

the desire of our adventurer, who very honestly marked her chastity for

prey to his voluptuous passion. Had she been well seasoned with

knowledge and experience, and completely armed with caution against the

artifice and villany of man, her virtue might not have been able to

withstand the engines of such an assailant, considering the dangerous

opportunities to which she was necessarily exposed. How easy then must

his victory have been over an innocent, unsuspecting country damsel,

flushed with the warmth of youth, and an utter stranger to the ways of

life!

While Obadiah, therefore, and his plump companion, were engaged in

conversation, on the strange incidents which had passed, Fathom acted a

very expressive pantomime with this fair buxom nymph, who comprehended

his meaning with surprising facility, and was at so little pains to

conceal the pleasure she took in this kind of intercourse, that several

warm squeezes were interchanged between her and her lover, before they

arrived at Rochester, where they proposed to dine. It was during this

period, he learned from the answers she made to the inquisitive quaker,

that her sole dependence was upon a relation, to whom she had a letter,

and that she was a perfect stranger in the great city; circumstances on

which he soon formed the project of her ruin.

Upon their arrival at the Black Bull, he for the first time found

himself alone with his Amanda, whose name was Elenor, their

fellow-travellers being elsewhere employed about their own concerns;

and, unwilling to lose the precious opportunity, he began to act the

part of a very importunate lover, which he conceived to be a proper

sequel to the prelude which had been performed in the coach. The

freedoms which she, out of pure simplicity and good-humour, permitted

him to take with her hand, and even her rosy lips, encouraged him to

practise other familiarities upon her fair bosom, which scandalised her

virtue so much, that, in spite of the passion she had begun to indulge

in his behalf, she rejected his advances with all the marks of anger

and disdain; and he found it necessary to appease the storm he had

raised, by the most respectful and submissive demeanour; resolving to

change his operations, and carry on his attacks, so as to make her

yield at discretion, without alarming her religion or pride.

Accordingly, when the bill was called after dinner, he took particular

notice of her behaviour, and, perceiving her pull out a large leathern

purse that contained her money, reconnoitred the pocket in which it was

deposited, and, while they sat close to each other in the carriage,

conveyed it with admirable dexterity into an hole in the cushion.

Whether the corpulent couple, who sat opposite to these lovers, had

entered into an amorous engagement at the inn, or were severally

induced by other motives, is uncertain; but sure it is, both left the

coach on that part of the road which lies nearest to Gravesend, and

bade adieu to the other pair, on pretence of having urgent business at

that place.

Ferdinand, not a little pleased at their departure, renewed his most

pathetic expressions of love, and sung several French songs on that

tender subject, which seemed to thrill to the soul of his beauteous

Helen. While the driver halted at Dartford to water his horses, she was

smit with the appearance of some cheesecakes, which were presented by

the landlady of the house, and having bargained for two or three, put

her hand in her pocket, in order to pay for her purchase; but what was

her astonishment, when, after having rummaged her equipage, she

understood her whole fortune was lost! This mishap was, by a loud

shriek, announced to our hero, who affected infinite amazement and

concern; and no sooner learned the cause of her affliction, than he

presented her with his own purse, from which he, in emphatic dumb show,

begged she would indemnify herself for the damage she had sustained.

Although this kind proffer was some alleviation of her misfortunes, she

did not fail to pour forth a most piteous lamentation, importing that

she had not only lost all her money, amounting to five pounds, but also

her letter of recommendation, upon which she had altogether relied for

present employment.

The vehicle was minutely searched from top to bottom, by herself and

our adventurer, assisted by Maurice and the coachman, who, finding

their inquiry ineffectual, did not scruple to declare his suspicion of

the two fat turtles who had deserted the coach in such an abrupt

manner. In a word, he rendered this conjecture so plausible, by

wresting the circumstances of their behaviour and retreat, that poor

Elenor implicitly believed they were the thieves by whom she had

suffered; and was prevailed upon to accept the proffered assistance of

the generous Count, who, seeing her very much disordered by this

mischance, insisted upon her drinking a large glass of canary, to quiet

the perturbation of her spirits. This is a season, which of all others

is most propitious to the attempts of an artful lover; and justifies

the metaphorical maxim of fishing in troubled waters. There is an

affinity and short transition betwixt all the violent passions that

agitate the human mind. They are all false perspectives, which, though

they magnify, yet perplex and render indistinct every object which they

represent. And flattery is never so successfully administered, as to

those who know they stand in need of friendship, assent, and

approbation.

The cordial she swallowed, far from calming, increased the disturbance

of her thoughts, and produced an intoxication; during which, she talked

in an incoherent strain, laughed and wept by turns, and acted other

extravagances, which are known to be symptoms of the hysterical

affection. Fathom, though an utter stranger to the sentiments of

honour, pity, and remorse, would not perpetrate his vicious purpose,

though favoured by the delirium his villany had entailed upon this

unfortunate young maiden; because his appetite demanded a more perfect

sacrifice than that which she could yield in her present deplorable

situation, when her will must have been altogether unconcerned in his

success. Determined, therefore, to make a conquest of her virtue,

before he would take possession of her person, he mimicked that

compassion and benevolence which his heart had never felt, and, when

the coach arrived at London, not only discharged what she owed for her

place, but likewise procured for her an apartment in the house to which

he himself had been directed for lodgings, and even hired a nurse to

attend her during a severe fever, which was the consequence of her

disappointment and despondence. Indeed, she was supplied with all

necessaries by the generosity of this noble Count, who, for the

interest of his passion, and the honour of his name, was resolved to

extend his charity to the last farthing of her own money, which he had

been wise enough to secure for this purpose.

Her youth soon got the better of her distemper, and when she understood

her obligations to the Count, who did not fail to attend her in person

with great tenderness, her heart, which had been before prepossessed in

his favour, now glowed with all the warmth of gratitude, esteem, and

affection. She knew herself in a strange place, destitute of all

resource but in his generosity. She loved his person, she was dazzled

by his rank; and he knew so well how to improve the opportunities and

advantages he derived from her unhappy situation, that he gradually

proceeded in sapping from one degree of intimacy to another, until all

the bulwarks of her chastity were undermined, and she submitted to his

desire; not with the reluctance of a vanquished people, but with all

the transports of a joyful city, that opens its gates to receive a

darling prince returned from conquest. For by this time he had artfully

concentred and kindled up all the inflammable ingredients of her

constitution; and she now looked back upon the virtuous principles of

her education, as upon a disagreeable and tedious dream, from which she

had waked to the fruition of never-fading joy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HE BY ACCIDENT ENCOUNTERS HIS OLD FRIEND, WITH WHOM HE HOLDS A

CONFERENCE, AND RENEWS A TREATY.

Our hero, having thus provided himself with a proper subject for his

hours of dalliance, thought it was now high time to study the ground

which he had pitched upon for the scene of his exploits, and with that

view made several excursions to different parts of the town, where

there was aught of entertainment or instruction to be found. Yet he

always, on these occasions, appeared in an obscure ordinary dress, in

order to avoid singularity, and never went twice to the same

coffee-house, that his person might not be afterwards known, in case he

should shine forth to the public in a superior sphere. On his return

from one of those expeditions, while he was passing through Ludgate,

his eyes were suddenly encountered by the apparition of his old friend

the Tyrolese, who, perceiving himself fairly caught in the toil, made a

virtue of necessity, and, running up to our adventurer with an aspect

of eagerness and joy, clasped him in his arms, as some dear friend,

whom he had casually found after a most tedious and disagreeable

separation.

Fathom, whose genius never failed him in such emergencies, far from

receiving these advances with the threats and reproaches which the

other had deserved at his hands, returned the salute with equal warmth,

and was really overjoyed at meeting with a person who might one way or

other make amends for the perfidy of his former conduct. The Tyrolese,

whose name was Ratchcali, pleased with his reception, proposed they

should adjourn to the next tavern, in which they had no sooner taken

possession of an apartment, than he addressed himself to his old

companion in these words:—

“Mr. Fathom, by your frank and obliging manner of treating a man who

hath done you wrong, I am more and more confirmed in my opinion of your

sagacity, which I have often considered with admiration; I will not

therefore attempt to make an apology for my conduct at our last

parting; but only assure you that this meeting may turn out to our

mutual advantage, if we now re-enter into an unreserved union, the ties

of which we will soon find it our interest and inclination to preserve.

For my own part, as my judgment is ripened by experience, so are my

sentiments changed since our last association. I have seen many a rich

harvest lost, for want of a fellow-labourer in the vineyard; and I have

more than once fallen a sacrifice to a combination, which I could have

resisted with the help of one able auxiliary. Indeed, I might prove

what I allege by mathematical demonstration; and I believe nobody will

pretend to deny, that two heads are better than one, in all cases that

require discernment and deliberation.”

Ferdinand could not help owning the sanity of his observations, and

forthwith acquiesced in his proposal of the new alliance; desiring to

know the character in which he acted on the English stage, and the

scheme he would offer for their mutual emolument. At the same time he

resolved within himself to keep such a strict eye over his future

actions, as would frustrate any design he might hereafter harbour, of

repeating the prank he had so successfully played upon him, in their

journey from the banks of the Rhine.

“Having quitted you at Bar-le-duc,” resumed the Tyrolese, “I travelled

without ceasing, until I arrived at Frankfort upon the Maine, where I

assumed the character of a French chevalier, and struck some masterly

strokes, which you yourself would not have deemed unworthy of your

invention; and my success was the more agreeable, as my operations were

chiefly carried on against the enemies of our religion. But my

prosperity was not of long duration. Seeing they could not foil me at

my own weapons, they formed a damned conspiracy, by which I not only

lost all the fruits of my industry, but likewise ran the most imminent

hazard of my life. I had ordered some of those jewels which I had

borrowed of my good friend Fathom to be new set in a fashionable taste,

and soon after had an opportunity to sell one of these, at a great

advantage, to one of the fraternity, who offered an extraordinary price

for the stone, on purpose to effect my ruin. In less than

four-and-twenty hours after this bargain, I was arrested by the

officers of justice upon the oath of the purchaser, who undertook to

prove me guilty of a fraud, in selling a Saxon pebble for a real

diamond; and this accusation was actually true; for the change had been

artfully put upon me by the jeweller, who was himself engaged in the

conspiracy.

“Had my conscience been clear of any other impeachment, perhaps I

should have rested my cause upon the equity and protection of the law;

but I foresaw that the trial would introduce an inquiry, to which I was

not at all ambitious of submitting, and therefore was fain to

compromise the affair, at the price of almost my whole fortune. Yet

this accommodation was not made so secretly, but that my character was

blasted, and my credit overthrown; so that I was fain to relinquish my

occasional equipage, and hire myself as journeyman to a lapidary, an

employment which I had exercised in my youth. In this obscure station,

I laboured with great assiduity, until I made myself perfect in the

knowledge of stones, as well as in the different methods of setting

them off to the best advantage; and having, by dint of industry and

address, got possession of a small parcel, set out for this kingdom, in

which I happily arrived about four months ago; and surely England is

the paradise of artists of our profession.

“One would imagine that nature had created the inhabitants for the

support and enjoyment of adventurers like you and me. Not that these

islanders open the arms of hospitality to all foreigners without

distinction. On the contrary, they inherit from their fathers an

unreasonable prejudice against all nations under the sun; and when an

Englishman happens to quarrel with a stranger, the first term of

reproach he uses is the name of his antagonist’s country, characterised

by some opprobrious epithet, such as a chattering Frenchman, an Italian

ape, a German hog, and a beastly Dutchman; nay, their national

prepossession is maintained even against those people with whom they

are united under the same laws and government; for nothing is more

common than to hear them exclaim against their fellow-subjects, in the

expressions of a beggarly Scot, and an impudent Irish bog-trotter. Yet

this very prejudice will never fail to turn to the account of every

stranger possessed of ordinary talents; for he will always find

opportunities of conversing with them in coffee-houses and places of

public resort, in spite of their professed reserve, which, by the bye,

is so extraordinary, that I know some people who have lived twenty

years in the same house without exchanging one word with their

next-door neighbours; yet, provided he can talk sensibly, and preserve

the deportment of a sober gentleman, in those occasional conversations,

his behaviour will be the more remarkably pleasing, as it will

agreeably disappoint the expectation of the person who had entertained

notions to his prejudice. When a foreigner has once crossed this bar,

which perpetually occurs, he sails without further difficulty into the

harbour of an Englishman’s goodwill; for the pique is neither personal

nor rancorous, but rather contemptuous and national; so that, while he

despises a people in the lump, an individual of that very community may

be one of his chief favourites.

“The English are in general upright and honest, therefore unsuspecting

and credulous. They are too much engrossed with their own business to

pry into the conduct of their neighbours, and too indifferent, in point

of disposition, to interest themselves in what they conceive to be

foreign to their own concerns. They are wealthy and mercantile, of

consequence liberal and adventurous, and so well disposed to take a

man’s own word for his importance, that they suffer themselves to be

preyed upon by such a bungling set of impostors, as would starve for

lack of address in any other country under the sun. This being a true

sketch of the British character, so far as I have been able to observe

and learn, you will easily comprehend the profits that may be extracted

from it, by virtue of those arts by which you so eminently excel;—the

great, the unbounded prospect lies before me! Indeed, I look upon this

opulent kingdom as a wide and fertile common, on which we adventurers

may range for prey, without let or molestation. For so jealous are the

natives of their liberties, that they will not bear the restraint of

necessary police, and an able artist may enrich himself with their

spoils, without running any risk of attracting the magistrate, or

incurring the least penalty of the law.

“In a word, this metropolis is a vast masquerade, in which a man of

stratagem may wear a thousand different disguises, without danger of

detection. There is a variety of shapes in which we the knights of

industry make our appearance in London. One glides into a nobleman’s

house in the capacity of a valet-de-chambre, and in a few months leads

the whole family by the nose. Another exhibits himself to the public,

as an empiric or operator for the teeth; and by dint of assurance and

affidavits, bearing testimony to wonderful cures that never were

performed, whirls himself into his chariot, and lays the town under

contribution. A third professes the composition of music, as well as

the performance, and by means of a few capriciosos on the violin,

properly introduced, wriggles himself into the management of private

and public concerts. And a fourth breaks forth at once in all the

splendour of a gay equipage, under the title and denomination of a

foreign count. Not to mention those inferior projectors, who assume the

characters of dancers, fencing-masters, and French ushers, or, by

renouncing their religion, seek to obtain a provision for life.

“Either of these parts will turn to the account of an able actor; and,

as you are equally qualified for all, you may choose that which is most

suitable to your own inclination. Though, in my opinion, you was

designed by nature to shine in the great world, which, after all, is

the most ample field for men of genius; because the game is deeper, and

people of fashion being, for the most part, more ignorant, indolent,

vain, and capricious, than their inferiors, are of consequence more

easily deceived; besides, their morals sit generally so loose about

them, that, when a gentleman of our fraternity is discovered in the

exercise of his profession, their contempt of his skill is the only

disgrace he incurs.”

Our hero was so well pleased with this picture, that he longed to

peruse the original, and, before these two friends parted, they settled

all the operations of the campaign. Ratchcali, that same evening, hired

magnificent lodgings for Count Fathom, in the court end of the town,

and furnished his wardrobe and liveries from the spoils of Monmouth

Street; he likewise enlisted another footman and valet-de-chambre into

his service, and sent to the apartments divers large trunks, supposed

to be filled with the baggage of this foreign nobleman, though, in

reality, they contained little else than common lumber.

Next day, our adventurer took possession of his new habitation, after

having left to his friend and associate the task of dismissing the

unfortunate Elenor, who was so shocked at the unexpected message, that

she fainted away; and when she recovered the use of her senses so well

as to reflect upon her forlorn condition, she was seized with the most

violent transports of grief and dismay, by which her brain was

disordered to such a degree, that she grew furious and distracted, and

was, by the advice and assistance of the Tyrolese, conveyed into the

hospital of Bethlem; where we shall leave her for the present, happily

bereft of her reason.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HE APPEARS IN THE GREAT WORLD WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AND ADMIRATION.

Meanwhile, Fathom and his engine were busied in completing his

equipage, so that in a few days he had procured a very gay chariot,

adorned with painting, gilding, and a coat of arms, according to his

own fancy and direction. The first use he made of this vehicle was that

of visiting the young nobleman from whom he had received such important

civilities on the road, in consequence of an invitation at parting, by

which he learned his title and the place of his abode in London.

His lordship was not only pleased, but proud to see such a stranger at

his gate, and entertained him with excess of complaisance and

hospitality; insomuch that, by his means, our hero soon became

acquainted with the whole circle of polite company, by whom he was

caressed for his insinuating manners and agreeable conversation. He had

thought proper to tell the nobleman, at their first interview in town,

that his reasons for concealing his knowledge of the English tongue

were now removed, and that he would no longer deny himself the pleasure

of speaking a language which had been always music to his ear. He had

also thanked his lordship for his generous interposition at the inn,

which was an instance of that generosity and true politeness which are

engrossed by the English people, who leave nought to other nations but

the mere shadow of these virtues.

A testimony like this, from the mouth of such a noble stranger, won the

heart of the peer, who professed a friendship for him on the spot, and

undertook to see justice done to his lacquey, who in a short time was

gratified with a share of the seizure which had been made upon his

information, amounting to fifty or sixty pounds.

Ferdinand put not forth the whole strength of his accomplishments at

once, but contrived to spring a new mine of qualification every day, to

the surprise and admiration of all his acquaintance. He was gifted with

a sort of elocution, much more specious than solid, and spoke on every

subject that occurred in conversation with that familiarity and ease,

which, one would think, could only be acquired by long study and

application. This plausibility and confidence are faculties really

inherited from nature, and effectually serve the possessor, in lieu of

that learning which is not to be obtained without infinite toil and

perseverance. The most superficial tincture of the arts and sciences in

such a juggler, is sufficient to dazzle the understanding of half

mankind; and, if managed with circumspection, will enable him even to

spend his life among the literati, without once forfeiting the

character of a connoisseur.

Our hero was perfectly master of this legerdemain, which he carried to

such a pitch of assurance, as to declare, in the midst of a

mathematical assembly, that he intended to gratify the public with a

full confutation of Sir Isaac Newton’s philosophy, to the nature of

which he was as much a stranger as the most savage Hottentot in Africa.

His pretensions to profound and universal knowledge were supported not

only by this kind of presumption, but also by the facility with which

he spoke so many different languages, and the shrewd remarks he had

made in the course of his travels and observation.

Among politicians, he settled the balance of power upon a certain

footing, by dint of ingenious schemes, which he had contrived for the

welfare of Europe. With officers, he reformed the art of war, with

improvements which had occurred to his reflection while he was engaged

in a military life. He sometimes held forth upon painting, like a

member of the Dilettanti club. The theory of music was a theme upon

which he seemed to expatiate with particular pleasure. In the provinces

of love and gallantry, he was a perfect Oroondates. He possessed a most

agreeable manner of telling entertaining stories, of which he had a

large collection; he sung with great melody and taste, and played upon

the violin with surprising execution. To these qualifications let us

add his affability and pliant disposition, and then the reader will not

wonder that he was looked upon as the pattern of human perfection, and

his acquaintance courted accordingly.

While he thus captivated the favour and affection of the English

nobility, he did not neglect to take other measures in behalf of the

partnership to which he had subscribed. The adventure with the two

squires at Paris had weakened his appetite for play, which was not at

all restored by the observations he had made in London, where the art

of gaming is reduced into a regular system, and its professors so

laudably devoted to the discharge of their functions, as to observe the

most temperate regimen, lest their invention should be impaired by the

fatigue of watching or exercise, and their ideas disturbed by the fumes

of indigestion. No Indian Brachman could live more abstemious than two

of the pack, who hunted in couple, and kennelled in the upper

apartments of the hotel in which our adventurer lived. They abstained

from animal food with the abhorrence of Pythagoreans, their drink was a

pure simple element, they were vomited once a week, took physic or a

glyster every third day, spent the forenoon in algebraical

calculations, and slept from four o’clock till midnight, that they

might then take the field with that cool serenity which is the effect

of refreshment and repose.

These were terms upon which our hero would not risk his fortune; he was

too much addicted to pleasure to forego every other enjoyment but that

of amassing; and did not so much depend upon his dexterity in play as

upon his talent of insinuation, which, by this time, had succeeded so

far beyond his expectation, that he began to indulge the hope of

enslaving the heart of some rich heiress, whose fortune would at once

raise him above all dependence. Indeed, no man ever set out with a

fairer prospect on such an expedition; for he had found means to render

himself so agreeable to the fair sex, that, like the boxes of the

playhouse, during the representation of a new performance, his company

was often bespoke for a series of weeks; and no lady, whether widow,

wife, or maiden, ever mentioned his name, without some epithet of

esteem or affection; such as the dear Count! the charming Man! the

Nonpareil, or the Angel!

While he thus shone in the zenith of admiration, it is not to be

doubted, that he could have melted some wealthy dowager or opulent

ward; but, being an enemy to all precipitate engagements, he resolved

to act with great care and deliberation in an affair of such

importance, especially as he did not find himself hurried by the

importunities of want; for, since his arrival in England, he had rather

increased than exhausted his finances, by methods equally certain and

secure. In a word, he, with the assistance of Ratchcali, carried on a

traffic, which yielded great profits, without subjecting the trader to

the least loss or inconvenience. Fathom, for example, wore upon his

finger a large brilliant, which he played to such advantage one night,

at a certain nobleman’s house, where he was prevailed upon to entertain

the company with a solo on the violin, that everybody present took

notice of its uncommon lustre, and it was handed about for the perusal

of every individual. The water and the workmanship were universally

admired; and one among the rest having expressed a desire of knowing

the value of such a jewel, the Count seized that opportunity of

entertaining them with a learned disquisition into the nature of

stones; this introduced the history of the diamond in question, which

he said had been purchased of an Indian trader of Fort St. George, at

an under price; so that the present proprietor could afford to sell it

at a very reasonable rate; and concluded with telling the company,

that, for his own part, he had been importuned to wear it by the

jeweller, who imagined it would have a better chance for attracting a

purchaser on his finger, than while it remained in his own custody.

This declaration was no sooner made, than a certain lady of quality

bespoke the refuse of the jewel, and desired Ferdinand to send the

owner next day to her house, where he accordingly waited upon her

ladyship with the ring, for which he received one hundred and fifty

guineas, two-thirds of the sum being clear gain, and equally divided

betwixt the associates. Nor was this bargain such as reflected

dishonour upon the lady’s taste, or could be productive of ill

consequences to the merchant; for the method of estimating diamonds is

altogether arbitrary; and Ratchcali, who was an exquisite lapidary, had

set it in such a manner as would have imposed upon any ordinary

jeweller. By these means of introduction, the Tyrolese soon monopolised

the custom of a great many noble families, upon which he levied large

contributions, without incurring the least suspicion of deceit. He

every day, out of pure esteem and gratitude for the honour of their

commands, entertained them with the sight of some new trinket, which he

was never permitted to carry home unsold; and from the profits of each

job, a tax was raised for the benefit of our adventurer.

Yet his indultos were not confined to the article of jewels, which

constituted only one part of his revenue. By the industry of his

understrapper, he procured a number of old crazy fiddles, which were

thrown aside as lumber; upon which he counterfeited the Cremona mark,

and otherwise cooked them up with great dexterity; so that, when he had

occasion to regale the lovers of music, he would send for one of these

vamped instruments, and extract from it such tones as quite ravished

the hearers; among whom there was always some conceited pretender, who

spoke in raptures of the violin, and gave our hero an opportunity of

launching out in its praise, and declaring it was the best Cremona he

had ever touched. This encomium never failed to inflame the desires of

the audience, to some one of whom he was generous enough to part with

it at prime cost—that is, for twenty or thirty guineas clear profit;

for he was often able to oblige his friends in this manner, because,

being an eminent connoisseur, his countenance was solicited by all the

musicians, who wanted to dispose of such moveables.

Nor did he neglect the other resources of a skilful virtuoso. Every

auction afforded some picture, in which, though it had been overlooked

by the ignorance of the times, he recognised the style of a great

master, and made a merit of recommending it to some noble friend. This

commerce he likewise extended to medals, bronzes, busts, intaglios, and

old china, and kept divers artificers continually employed in making

antiques for the English nobility. Thus he went on with such rapidity

of success in all his endeavours, that he himself was astonished at the

infatuation he had produced. Nothing was so wretched among the

productions of art, that he could not impose upon the world as a

capital performance; and so fascinated were the eyes of his admirers,

he could easily have persuaded them that a barber’s bason was an

Etrurian patera, and the cover of a copper pot no other than the shield

of Ancus Martius. In short, it was become so fashionable to consult the

Count in everything relating to taste and politeness, that not a plan

was drawn, not even a house furnished, without his advice and

approbation; nay, to such a degree did his reputation in these matters

excel, that a particular pattern of paper-hangings was known by the

name of Fathom; and his hall was every morning crowded with

upholsterers, and other tradesmen, who came, by order of their

employers, to learn his choice, and take his directions.

The character and influence he thus acquired, he took care to maintain

with the utmost assiduity and circumspection. He never failed to appear

the chief personage at all public diversions and private assemblies,

not only in conversation and dress, but also in the article of dancing,

in which he outstripped all his fellows, as far as in every other

genteel accomplishment.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

HE ATTRACTS THE ENVY AND ILL OFFICES OF THE MINOR KNIGHTS OF HIS OWN

ORDER, OVER WHOM HE OBTAINS A COMPLETE VICTORY.

Such a pre-eminence could not be enjoyed without exciting the

malevolence of envy and detraction, in the propagation of which none

were so industrious as the brethren of his own order, who had, like

him, made a descent upon this island, and could not, without repining,

see the whole harvest in the hands of one man, who, with equal art and

discretion, avoided all intercourse with their society. In vain they

strove to discover his pedigree, and detect the particular

circumstances of his life and conversation; all their inquiries were

baffled by the obscurity of his origin, and that solitary scheme which

he had adopted in the beginning of his career. The whole fruit of their

investigation amounted to no more than a certainty that there was no

family of any consideration in Europe known by the denomination of

Fathom; and this discovery they did not fail to divulge for the benefit

of our adventurer, who had by this time taken such firm root in the

favour of the great, as to set all those little arts at defiance; and

when the report reached his ear, actually made his friends merry with

the conjectures which had been circulated at his expense.

His adversaries, finding themselves disappointed in this effort, held a

consultation to devise other measures against him, and came to a

resolution of ending him by the sword, or rather of expelling him from

the kingdom by the fear of death, which they hoped he had not courage

enough to resist, because his deportment had always been remarkably

mild and pacific. It was upon this supposition that they left to the

determination of the dice the choice of the person who should execute

their plan; and the lot falling upon a Swiss, who, from the station of

a foot soldier in the Dutch service, out of which he had been drummed

for theft, had erected himself into the rank of a self-created

chevalier, this hero fortified himself with a double dose of brandy,

and betook himself to a certain noted coffee-house, with an intent to

affront Count Fathom in public.

He was lucky enough to find our adventurer sitting at a table in

conversation with some persons of the first rank; upon which he seated

himself in the next box, and after having intruded himself into their

discourse, which happened to turn upon the politics of some German

courts, “Count,” said he to Ferdinand, in a very abrupt and

disagreeable manner of address, “I was last night in company with some

gentlemen, among whom a dispute happened about the place of your

nativity; pray, what country are you of?” “Sir,” answered the other,

with great politeness, “I at present have the honour to be of England.”

“Oho!” replied the chevalier, “I ask your pardon, that is to say, you

are incog; some people may find it convenient to keep themselves in

that situation.” “True,” said the Count, “but some people are too well

known to enjoy that privilege.” The Swiss being a little disconcerted

at this repartee, which extracted a smile from the audience, after some

pause, observed, that persons of a certain class had good reason to

drop the remembrance of what they have been; but a good citizen will

not forget his country, or former condition. “And a bad citizen,” said

Fathom, “cannot, if he would, provided he has met with his deserts; a

sharper may as well forget the shape of a die, or a discarded soldier

the sound of a drum.”

As the chevalier’s character and story were not unknown, this

application raised an universal laugh at his expense, which provoked

him to such a degree, that, starting up, he swore Fathom could not have

mentioned any object in nature that he himself resembled so much as a

drum, which was exactly typified by his emptiness and sound, with this

difference, however, that a drum was never noisy till beaten, whereas

the Count would never be quiet, until he should have undergone the same

discipline. So saying, he laid his hand upon his sword with a menacing

look, and walked out as if in expectation of being followed by our

adventurer, who suffered himself to be detained by the company, and

very calmly took notice, that his antagonist would not be ill pleased

at their interposition. Perhaps he would not have comported himself

with such ease and deliberation, had not he made such remarks upon the

disposition of the chevalier, as convinced him of his own safety. He

had perceived a perplexity and perturbation in the countenance of the

Swiss, when he first entered the coffee-room; his blunt and precipitate

way of accosting him seemed to denote confusion and compulsion; and, in

the midst of his ferocity, this accurate observer discerned the

trepidation of fear. By the help of these signs, his sagacity soon

comprehended the nature of his schemes, and prepared accordingly for a

formal defiance.

His conjecture was verified next morning by a visit from the chevalier,

who, taking it for granted that Fathom would not face an adversary in

the field, because he had not followed him from the coffee-house, went

to his lodgings with great confidence, and demanded to see the Count

upon an affair that would admit of no delay. Maurice, according to his

instructions, told him that his master was gone out, but desired he

would have the goodness to repose himself in the parlour, till the

Count’s return, which he expected every moment. Ferdinand, who had

taken post in a proper place for observation, seeing his antagonist

fairly admitted, took the same road, and appearing before him, wrapped

up in a long Spanish cloak, desired to know what had procured him the

honour of such an early visit. The Swiss, raising his voice to conceal

his agitation, explained his errand, in demanding reparation for the

injury his honour had sustained the preceding day, in that odious

allusion to a scandalous report which had been raised by the malice of

his enemies; and insisted, in a very imperious style, upon his

attending him forthwith to the nursery in Hyde Park. “Have a little

patience,” said our adventurer with great composure, “and I will do

myself the pleasure to wait upon you in a few moments.”

With these words, he rang the bell, and, calling for a bason of water,

laid aside his cloak, and displayed himself in his shirt, with a sword

in his right hand, which was all over besmeared with recent blood, as

if he had just come from the slaughter of a foe. This phenomenon made

such an impression upon the astonished chevalier, already discomposed

by the resolute behaviour of the Count, that he became jaundiced with

terror and dismay, and, while his teeth chattered in his head, told our

hero he had hoped, from his known politeness, to have found him ready

to acknowledge an injury which might have been the effect of anger or

misapprehension, in which case the affair might have been compromised

to their mutual satisfaction, without proceeding to those extremities

which, among men of honour, are always accounted the last resource. To

this representation Ferdinand answered, that the affair had been of the

chevalier’s own seeking, inasmuch as he had intruded himself into his

company, and treated him with the most insolent and unprovoked abuse,

which plainly flowed from a premeditated design against his honour and

reputation; he, therefore, far from being disposed to own himself in

the wrong, would not even accept of a public acknowledgment from him,

the aggressor, whom he looked upon as an infamous sharper, and was

resolved to chastise accordingly.

Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a person who

was brought to the door in a chair, and conducted into another

apartment, from which a message was brought to the Count, importing,

that the stranger desired to speak with him upon business of the last

importance. Fathom having chid the servant for admitting people without

his order, desired the Swiss to excuse him for a minute longer, and

went in to the next room, from whence the following dialogue was

overheard by this challenger:—“Count,” said the stranger, “you are not

ignorant of my pretensions to the heart of that young lady, at whose

house I met you yesterday; therefore you cannot be surprised when I

declare myself displeased with your visits and behaviour to my

mistress, and demand that you will instantly promise to drop the

correspondence.” “Else what follows?” answered Ferdinand, with a cool

and temperate voice. “My resentment and immediate defiance,” replied

the other; “for the only alternative I propose is, to forego your

design upon that lady, or to decide our pretension by the sword.”

Our hero, having expressed a regard for this visitant as the son of a

gentleman whom he honoured, was at the pains to represent the

unreasonableness of his demand, and the folly of his presumption; and

earnestly exhorted him to put the issue of his cause upon a more safe

and equitable footing. But this admonition, instead of appeasing the

wrath, seemed to inflame the resentment of the opponent, who swore he

would not leave him until he should have accomplished the purport of

his errand. In vain our adventurer requested half an hour for the

despatch of some urgent business, in which he was engaged with a

gentleman in the other parlour. This impetuous rival rejected all the

terms he could propose, and even challenged him to decide the

controversy upon the spot; an expedient to which the other having

assented with reluctance, the door was secured, the swords unsheathed,

and a hot engagement ensued, to the inexpressible pleasure of the

Swiss, who did not doubt that he himself would be screened from all

danger by the event of this rencontre. Nevertheless, his hope was

disappointed in the defeat of the stranger, who was quickly disarmed,

in consequence of a wound through the sword-arm; upon which occasion

Fathom was heard to say, that, in consideration of his youth and

family, he had spared his life; but he would not act with the same

tenderness towards any other antagonist. He then bound up the limb he

had disabled, conducted the vanquished party to his chair, rejoined the

chevalier with a serene countenance, and, asking pardon for having

detained him so long, proposed they should instantly set out in a

hackney-coach for the place of appointment.

The stratagem thus conducted, had all the success the inventor could

desire. The fear of the Swiss had risen almost to an ecstasy before the

Count quitted the room; but after this sham battle, which had been

preconcerted betwixt our adventurer and his friend Ratchcali, the

chevalier’s terrors were unspeakable. He considered Fathom as a devil

incarnate, and went into the coach as a malefactor bound for Tyburn. He

would have gladly compounded for the loss of a leg or arm, and

entertained some transient gleams of hope, that he should escape for

half a dozen flesh-wounds, which he would have willingly received as

the price of his presumption; but these hopes were banished by the

remembrance of that dreadful declaration which he had heard the Count

make, after having overcome his last adversary; and he continued under

the power of the most unsupportable panic, until the carriage halted at

Hyde Park Corner, where he crawled forth in a most piteous and

lamentable condition; so that, when they reached the spot, he was

scarce able to stand.

Here he made an effort to speak, and propose an accommodation upon a

new plan, by which he promised to leave his cause to the arbitrement of

those gentlemen who were present at the rupture, and to ask pardon of

the Count, provided he should be found guilty of a trespass upon good

manners; but this proposal would not satisfy the implacable Ferdinand,

who, perceiving the agony of the Swiss, resolved to make the most of

the adventure, and giving him to understand he was not a man to be

trifled with, desired him to draw without further preamble. Thus

compelled, the unfortunate gamester pulled off his coat, and, putting

himself in a posture, to use the words of Nym, “winked, and held out

his cold iron.”

Our adventurer, far from making a gentle use of the advantages he

possessed, fiercely attacked him, while he was incapable of making

resistance, and, aiming at a fleshy part, ran him through the arm and

outside of the shoulder at the very first pass. The chevalier, already

stupefied with the horror of expectation, no sooner felt his

adversary’s point in his body than he fell to the ground, and,

concluding he was no longer a man for this world, began to cross

himself with great devotion; while Fathom walked home deliberately, and

in his way sent a couple of chairmen to the assistance of the wounded

knight.

This achievement, which could not be concealed from the knowledge of

the public, not only furnished the character of Fathom with fresh

wreaths of admiration and applause, but likewise effectually secured

him from any future attempts of his enemies, to whom the Swiss, for his

own sake, had communicated such terrible ideas of his valour, as

overawed the whole community.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HE PERFORMS ANOTHER EXPLOIT, THAT CONVEYS A TRUE IDEA OF HIS GRATITUDE

AND HONOUR.

It was not long after this celebrated victory, that he was invited to

spend part of the summer at the house of a country gentleman, who lived

about one hundred miles from London, possessed of a very opulent

fortune, the greatest part of which was expended in acts of old English

hospitality. He had met with our hero by accident at the table of a

certain great man, and was so struck with his manner and conversation,

as to desire his acquaintance, and cultivate his friendship; and he

thought himself extremely happy in having prevailed upon him to pass a

few weeks in his family.

Fathom, among his other observations, perceived that there was a

domestic uneasiness, occasioned by a very beautiful young creature

about the age of fifteen, who resided in the house under the title of

the gentleman’s niece, though she was in reality his natural daughter,

born before his marriage. This circumstance was not unknown to his

lady, by whose express approbation he had bestowed particular attention

upon the education of the child, whom we shall distinguish by the name

of Celinda. Their liberality in this particular had not been

misapplied; for she not only gave marks of uncommon capacity, but, as

she grew up, became more and more amiable in her person, and was now

returned from the boarding school, possessed of every accomplishment

that could be acquired by one of her age and opportunities. These

qualifications, which endeared her to every other person, excited the

jealousy and displeasure of her supposed aunt, who could not bear to

see her own children eclipsed by this illegitimate daughter, whom she

therefore discountenanced upon all occasions, and exposed to such

mortifications as would in all appearance drive her from her father’s

house. This persecuting spirit was very disagreeable to the husband,

who loved Celinda with a truly paternal affection, and produced

abundance of family disquiet; but being a man of a peaceable and

yielding disposition, he could not long maintain the resolution he had

taken in her favour, and therefore he ceased opposing the malevolence

of his wife.

In this unfortunate predicament stood the fair bastard, at the arrival

of our adventurer, who, being allured by her charms, apprised of her

situation at the same time, took the generous resolution to undermine

her innocence, that he might banquet his vicious appetite with the

spoils of her beauty. Perhaps such a brutal design might not have

entered his imagination, if he had not observed, in the disposition of

this hapless maiden, certain peculiarities from which he derived the

most confident presages of success. Besides a total want of experience,

that left her open and unguarded against the attacks of the other sex,

she discovered a remarkable spirit of credulity and superstitious fear,

which had been cherished by the conversation of her school-fellows. She

was particularly fond of music, in which she had made some progress;

but so delicate was the texture of her nerves, that one day, while

Fathom entertained the company with a favourite air, she actually

swooned with pleasure.

Such sensibility, our projector well knew, must be diffused through all

the passions of her heart; he congratulated himself upon the sure

ascendency he had gained over her in this particular; and forthwith

began to execute the plan he had erected for her destruction. That he

might the more effectually deceive the vigilance of her father’s wife,

he threw such a dash of affectation in his complaisance towards

Celinda, as could not escape the notice of that prying matron, though

it was not palpable enough to disoblige the young lady herself, who

could not so well distinguish between overstrained courtesy and real

good breeding. This behaviour screened him from the suspicion of the

family, who considered it as an effort of politeness, to cover his

indifference and disgust for the daughter of his friend, who had by

this time given some reason to believe she looked upon him with the

eyes of affection; so that the opportunities he enjoyed of conversing

with her in private, were less liable to intrusion or inquiry. Indeed,

from what I have already observed, touching the sentiments of her

stepdame, that lady, far from taking measures for thwarting our hero’s

design, would have rejoiced at the execution of it, and, had she been

informed of his intent, might have fallen upon some method to

facilitate the enterprise; but, as he solely depended upon his own

talents, he never dreamed of soliciting such an auxiliary.

Under cover of instructing and accomplishing her in the exercise of

music, he could not want occasions for promoting his aim; when, after

having soothed her sense of hearing, even to a degree of ravishment, so

as to extort from her an exclamation, importing, that he was surely

something supernatural! he never failed to whisper some insidious

compliment or tale of love, exquisitely suited to the emotions of her

soul. Thus was her heart insensibly subdued; though more than half his

work was still undone; for, at all times, she disclosed such purity of

sentiment, such inviolable attachment to religion and virtue, and

seemed so averse to all sorts of inflammatory discourse, that he durst

not presume upon the footing he had gained in her affection, to explain

the baseness of his desire; he therefore applied to another of her

passions, that proved the bane of her virtue. This was her timidity,

which at first being constitutional, was afterwards increased by the

circumstances of her education, and now aggravated by the artful

conversation of Fathom, which he chequered with dismal stories of

omens, portents, prophecies, and apparitions, delivered upon such

unquestionable testimony, and with such marks of conviction, as

captivated the belief of the devoted Celinda, and filled her

imagination with unceasing terrors.

In vain she strove to dispel those frightful ideas, and avoid such

topics of discourse for the future. The more she endeavoured to banish

them, the more troublesome they became; and such was her infatuation,

that as her terrors increased, her thirst after that sort of knowledge

was augmented. Many sleepless nights did she pass amidst those horrors

of fancy, starting at every noise, and sweating with dreary

apprehension, yet ashamed to own her fears, or solicit the comfort of a

bedfellow, lest she should incur the ridicule and censure of her

father’s wife; and what rendered this disposition the more irksome, was

the solitary situation of her chamber, that stood at the end of a long

gallery scarce within hearing of any other inhabited part of the house.

All these circumstances had been duly weighed by our projector, who,

having prepared Celinda for his purpose, stole at midnight from his

apartment, which was in another storey, and approaching her door, there

uttered a piteous groan; then softly retired to his bed, in full

confidence of seeing next day the effect of this operation. Nor did his

arrow miss the mark. Poor Celinda’s countenance gave such indications

of melancholy and dismay, that he could not omit asking the cause of

her disquiet, and she, at his earnest request, was prevailed upon to

communicate the dreadful salutation of the preceding night, which she

considered as an omen of death to some person of the family, in all

probability to herself, as the groan seemed to issue from one corner of

her own apartment. Our adventurer argued against this supposition, as

contradictory to the common observation of those supernatural warnings

which are not usually imparted to the person who is doomed to die, but

to some faithful friend, or trusty servant, particularly interested in

the event. He therefore supposed, that the groans foreboded the death

of my lady, who seemed to be in a drooping state of health, and were,

by her genius, conveyed to the organs of Celinda, who was the chief

sufferer by her jealous and barbarous disposition; he likewise

expressed an earnest desire to be an ear-witness of such solemn

communication, and, alleging that it was highly improper for a young

lady of her delicate feelings to expose herself alone to such another

dismal visitation, begged he might be allowed to watch all night in her

chamber, in order to defend her from the shocking impressions of fear.

Though no person ever stood more in need of a companion or guard, and

her heart throbbed with transports of dismay at the prospect of night,

she rejected his proposal with due acknowledgment, and resolved to

trust solely to the protection of Heaven. Not that she thought her

innocence or reputation could suffer by her compliance with his

request; for, hitherto, her heart was a stranger to those young desires

which haunt the fancy, and warm the breast of youth; so that, being

ignorant of her danger, she saw not the necessity of avoiding

temptation; but she refused to admit a man into her bedchamber, merely

because it was a step altogether opposite to the forms and decorum of

life. Nevertheless, far from being discouraged by this repulse, he knew

her fears would multiply and reduce that reluctance, which, in order to

weaken, he had recourse to another piece of machinery, that operated

powerfully in behalf of his design.

Some years ago, a twelve-stringed instrument was contrived by a very

ingenious musician, by whom it was aptly entitled the “Harp of Aeolus,”

because, being properly applied to a stream of air, it produces a wild

irregular variety of harmonious sounds, that seem to be the effect of

enchantment, and wonderfully dispose the mind for the most romantic

situations. Fathom, who was really a virtuoso in music, had brought one

of those new-fashioned guitars into the country, and as the effect of

it was still unknown in the family, he that night converted it to the

purposes of his amour, by fixing it in the casement of a window

belonging to the gallery, exposed to the west wind, which then blew in

a gentle breeze. The strings no sooner felt the impression of the balmy

zephyr, than they began to pour forth a stream of melody more

ravishingly delightful than the song of Philomel, the warbling brook,

and all the concert of the wood. The soft and tender notes of peace and

love were swelled up with the most delicate and insensible transition

into a loud hymn of triumph and exultation, joined by the deep-toned

organ, and a full choir of voices, which gradually decayed upon the

ear, until it died away in distant sound, as if a flight of angels had

raised the song in their ascent to heaven. Yet the chords hardly ceased

to vibrate after the expiration of this overture, which ushered in a

composition in the same pathetic style; and this again was succeeded by

a third, almost without pause or intermission, as if the artist’s hand

had been indefatigable, and the theme never to be exhausted.

His heart must be quite callous, and his ear lost to all distinction,

who could hear such harmony without emotion; how deeply, then, must it

have affected the delicate Celinda, whose sensations, naturally acute,

were whetted to a most painful keenness by her apprehension; who could

have no previous idea of such entertainment, and was credulous enough

to believe the most improbable tale of superstition! She was

overwhelmed with awful terror, and, never doubting that the sounds were

more than mortal, recommended herself to the care of Providence in a

succession of pious ejaculations.

Our adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this

contrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper, conveyed

through the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon for such an

unseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of the strange

music which he then heard. In spite of her notions of decency, she was

glad of his intrusion, and, being in no condition to observe

punctilios, slipped on a wrapper, opened the door, and, with a

faltering voice, owned herself frightened almost to distraction. He

pretended to console her with reflections, importing, that she was in

the hands of a benevolent Being, who would not impose upon his

creatures any task which they could not bear; he insisted upon her

returning to bed, and assured her he would not stir from her chamber

till day. Thus comforted, she betook herself again to rest, while he

sat down in an elbow-chair at some distance from the bedside, and, in a

soft voice, began the conversation with her on the subject of those

visitations from above, which, though undertaken on pretence of

dissipating her fear and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated for the

purpose of augmenting both.

“That sweet air,” said he, “seems designed for soothing the bodily

anguish of some saint in his last moments. Hark! how it rises into a

more sprightly and elevated strain, as if it were an inspiriting

invitation to the realms of bliss! Sure, he is now absolved from all

the misery of this life! That full and glorious concert of voices and

celestial harps betoken his reception among the heavenly choir, who now

waft his soul to paradisian joys! This is altogether great, solemn, and

amazing! The clock strikes one, the symphony hath ceased!”

This was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove the

instrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too

familiar, and excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who

might frustrate his scheme by discovering the apparatus. As for poor

Celinda, her fancy was, by his music and discourse, worked up to the

highest pitch of enthusiastic terrors; the whole bed shook with her

trepidation, the awful silence that succeeded the supernatural music

threw an additional damp upon her spirits, and the artful Fathom

affecting to snore at the same time, she could no longer contain her

horror, but called upon his name with a fearful accent, and, having

owned her present situation insupportable, entreated him to draw near

her bedside, that he might be within touch on any emergency.

This was a welcome request to our adventurer, who, asking pardon for

his drowsiness, and taking his station on the side of her bed, exhorted

her to compose herself; then locking her hand fast in his own, was

again seized with such an inclination to sleep, that he gradually sunk

down by her side, and seemed to enjoy his repose in that attitude.

Meanwhile, his tender-hearted mistress, that he might not suffer in his

health by his humanity and complaisance, covered him with the

counterpane as he slept, and suffered him to take his rest without

interruption, till he thought proper to start up suddenly with an

exclamation of, “Heaven watch over us!” and then asked, with symptoms

of astonishment, if she had heard nothing. Such an abrupt address upon

such an occasion, did not fail to amaze and affright the gentle

Celinda, who, unable to speak, sprung towards her treacherous

protector; and he, catching her in his arms, bade her fear nothing, for

he would, at the expense of his life, defend her from all danger.

Having thus, by tampering with her weakness, conquered the first and

chief obstacles to his design, he, with great art and perseverance,

improved the intercourse to such a degree of intimacy, as could not but

be productive of all the consequences which he had foreseen. The groans

and music were occasionally repeated, so as to alarm the whole family,

and inspire a thousand various conjectures. He failed not to continue

his nocturnal visits and ghastly discourse, until his attendance became

so necessary to this unhappy maiden, that she durst not stay in her own

chamber without his company, nor even sleep, except in contact with her

betrayer.

Such a commerce between two such persons of a different sex could not

possibly be long carried on, without degenerating from the Platonic

system of sentimental love. In her paroxysms of dismay, he did not

forget to breathe the soft inspirations of his passion, to which she

listened with more pleasure, as they diverted the gloomy ideas of her

fear; and by this time his extraordinary accomplishments had made a

conquest of her heart. What therefore could be a more interesting

transition than that from the most uneasy to the most agreeable

sensation of the human breast?

This being the case, the reader will not wonder that a consummate

traitor, like Fathom, should triumph over the virtue of an artless,

innocent young creature, whose passions he had entirely under his

command. The gradations towards vice are almost imperceptible, and an

experienced seducer can strew them with such enticing and agreeable

flowers, as will lead the young sinner on insensibly, even to the most

profligate stages of guilt. All therefore that can be done by virtue,

unassisted with experience, is to avoid every trial with such a

formidable foe, by declining and discouraging the first advances

towards a particular correspondence with perfidious man, howsoever

agreeable it may seem to be. For here is no security but in conscious

weakness.

Fathom, though possessed of the spoils of poor Celinda’s honour, did

not enjoy his success with tranquillity. Reflection and remorse often

invaded her in the midst of their guilty pleasures, and embittered all

those moments they had dedicated to mutual bliss. For the seeds of

virtue are seldom destroyed at once. Even amidst the rank productions

of vice, they regerminate to a sort of imperfect vegetation, like some

scattered hyacinths shooting up among the weeds of a ruined garden,

that testify the former culture and amenity of the soil. She sighed at

the sad remembrance of that virgin dignity which she had lost; she wept

at the prospect of that disgrace, mortification, and misery she should

undergo, when abandoned by this transient lover, and severely

reproached him for the arts he had used to shipwreck her innocence and

peace.

Such expostulations are extremely unseasonable, when addressed to a man

well-nigh sated with the effects of his conquest. They act like strong

blasts of wind applied to embers almost extinguished, which, instead of

reviving the flame, scatter and destroy every remaining particle of

fire. Our adventurer, in the midst of his peculiarities, had

inconstancy in common with the rest of his sex. More than half cloyed

with the possession of Celinda, he could not fail to be disgusted with

her upbraidings; and had she not been the daughter of a gentleman whose

friendship he did not think it his interest to forfeit, he would have

dropped this correspondence, without reluctance or hesitation. But, as

he had measures to keep with a family of such consequence, he

constrained his inclinations, so far as to counterfeit those raptures

he no longer felt, and found means to appease those intervening tumults

of her grief.

Foreseeing, however, that it would not be always in his power to

console her on these terms, he resolved, if possible, to divide her

affection, which now glowed upon him too intensely; and, with that

view, whenever she complained of the vapours or dejection, he

prescribed, and even insisted upon her swallowing certain cordials of

the most palatable composition, without which he never travelled; and

these produced such agreeable reveries and flow of spirits, that she

gradually became enamoured of intoxication; while he encouraged the

pernicious passion, by expressing the most extravagant applause and

admiration at the wild irregular sallies it produced. Without having

first made this diversion, he would have found it impracticable to

leave the house with tranquillity; but, when this bewitching philtre

grew into an habit, her attachment to Ferdinand was insensibly

dissolved; she began to bear his neglect with indifference, and,

sequestering herself from the rest of the family, used to solicit this

new ally for consolation.

Having thus put the finishing stroke to the daughter’s ruin, he took

leave of the father, with many acknowledgments and expressions of

gratitude for his hospitality and friendship, and, riding across the

country to Bristol, took up his habitation near the hot well, where he

stayed during the remaining part of the season. As for the miserable

Celinda, she became more and more addicted to the vices in which she

had been initiated by his superlative perfidy and craft, until she was

quite abandoned by decency and caution. Her father’s heart was torn

with anguish, while his wife rejoiced in her fall; at length her ideas

were quite debased by her infirmity; she grew every day more and more

sensual and degenerate, and contracted an intimacy with one of the

footmen, who was kind enough to take her to wife, in hope of obtaining

a good settlement from his master; but, being disappointed in his aim,

he conducted her to London, where he made shift to insinuate himself

into another service, leaving her to the use, and partly the advantage,

of her own person, which was still uncommonly attractive.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

HE REPAIRS TO BRISTOL SPRING, WHERE HE REIGNS PARAMOUNT DURING THE

WHOLE SEASON.

We shall therefore leave her in this comfortable situation, and return

to our adventurer, whose appearance at Bristol was considered as a

happy omen by the proprietor of the hot well, and all the people who

live by the resort of company to that celebrated spring. Nor were they

deceived in their prognostic. Fathom, as usual, formed the nucleus or

kernel of the beau monde; and the season soon became so crowded, that

many people of fashion were obliged to quit the place for want of

lodging. Ferdinand was the soul that animated the whole society. He not

only invented parties of pleasure, but also, by his personal talents,

rendered them more agreeable. In a word, he regulated their diversions,

and the master of the ceremonies never would allow the ball to be begun

till the Count was seated.

Having thus made himself the object of admiration and esteem, his

advice was an oracle, to which they had recourse in all doubtful cases

of punctilio or dispute, or even of medicine; for among his other

accomplishments, his discourse on that subject was so plausible, and

well adapted to the understanding of his hearers, that any person who

had not actually studied the medical art would have believed he was

inspired by the spirit of Aesculapius. What contributed to the

aggrandisement of his character in this branch of knowledge, was a

victory he obtained over an old physician, who plied at the well, and

had one day unfortunately begun to harangue in the pump-room upon the

nature of the Bristol water. In the course of this lecture he undertook

to account for the warmth of the fluid; and his ideas being perplexed

with a great deal of reading, which he had not been able to digest, his

disquisition was so indistinct, and his expression so obscure and

unentertaining, that our hero seized the opportunity of displaying his

own erudition, by venturing to contradict some circumstances of the

doctor’s hypothesis, and substituting a theory of his own, which, as he

had invented it for the purpose, was equally amusing and chimerical.

He alleged, that fire was the sole vivifying principle that pervaded

all nature; that, as the heat of the sun concocted the juice of

vegetables, and ripened those fruits that grow upon the surface of this

globe, there was likewise an immense store of central fire reserved

within the bowels of the earth, not only for the generation of gems,

fossils, and all the purposes of the mineral world, but likewise for

cherishing and keeping alive those plants which would otherwise perish

by the winter’s cold. The existence of such a fire he proved from the

nature of all those volcanoes, which in almost every corner of the

earth are continually vomiting up either flames or smoke. “These,” said

he, “are the great vents appointed by nature for the discharge of that

rarefied air and combustible matter, which, if confined, would burst

the globe asunder; but, besides the larger outlets, there are some

small chimneys through which part of the heat transpires; a vapour of

that sort, I conceive, must pass through the bed or channel of this

spring, the waters of which, accordingly retain a moderate warmth.”

This account, which totally overthrew the other’s doctrine, was so

extremely agreeable to the audience, that the testy doctor lost his

temper, and gave them to understand, without preamble, that he must be

a person wholly ignorant of natural philosophy, who could invent such a

ridiculous system, and they involved in worse than an Egyptian fog,

that could not at once discern its weakness and absurdity. This

declaration introduced a dispute, which was unanimously determined in

favour of our adventurer. On all such occasions the stream of prejudice

runs against the physician, even though his antagonist has nothing to

recommend himself to the favour of the spectators; and this decision

depends upon divers considerations. In the first place, there is a

continual war carried on against the learned professions, by all those

who, conscious of their own ignorance, seek to level the reputation of

their superiors with their own. Secondly, in all disputes upon physic

that happen betwixt a person who really understands the art, and an

illiterate pretender, the arguments of the first will seem obscure and

unintelligible to those who are unacquainted with the previous systems

on which they are built; while the other’s theory, derived from common

notions, and superficial observation, will be more agreeable, because

better adapted to the comprehension of the hearers. Thirdly, the

judgment of the multitude is apt to be biassed by that surprise which

is the effect of seeing an artist foiled at his own weapons, by one who

engages him only for amusement.

Fathom, besides these advantages, was blessed with a flow of language,

an elegant address, a polite and self-denying style of argumentation,

together with a temper not to be ruffled; so that the victory could not

long waver between him and the physician, to whom he was infinitely

superior in every acquisition but that of solid learning, of which the

judges had no idea. This contest was not only glorious but profitable

to our adventurer, who grew into such request in his medical capacity,

that the poor doctor was utterly deserted by his patients, and Fathom’s

advice solicited by every valetudinarian in the place; nor did he

forfeit the character he thus acquired by any miscarriages in his

practice. Being but little conversant with the materia medica, the

circle of his prescriptions was very small; his chief study was to

avoid all drugs of rough operation and uncertain effect, and to

administer such only as should be agreeable to the palate, without

doing violence to the constitution. Such a physician could not but be

agreeable to people of all dispositions; and, as most of the patients

were in some shape hypochondriac, the power of imagination,

co-operating with his remedies, often effected a cure.

On the whole, it became the fashion to consult the Count in all

distempers, and his reputation would have had its run, though the death

of every patient had given the lie to his pretensions. But empty fame

was not the sole fruit of his success. Though no person would presume

to affront this noble graduate with a fee, they did not fail to

manifest their gratitude by some more valuable present. Every day some

superb piece of china, curious snuffbox, or jewel, was pressed upon

him; so that, at the end of the season, he could almost have furnished

a toyshop with the acknowledgments he had received. Not only his

avarice, but his pleasure, was gratified in the course of his medical

administration. He enjoyed free access, egress, and regress with all

the females at the well, and no matron scrupled to put her daughter

under his care and direction. These opportunities could not be lost

upon a man of his intriguing genius; though he conducted his amours

with such discretion, that, during the whole season, no lady’s

character suffered on his account, yet he was highly fortunate in his

addresses, and we may venture to affirm, that the reproach of

barrenness was more than once removed by the vigour of his endeavours.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

HE IS SMITTEN WITH THE CHARMS OF A FEMALE ADVENTURER, WHOSE ALLUREMENTS

SUBJECT HIM TO A NEW VICISSITUDE OF FORTUNE.

Among those who were distinguished by his gallantry was the young wife

of an old citizen of London, who had granted her permission to reside

at the hot well for the benefit of her health, under the eye and

inspection of his own sister, who was a maiden of fifty years. The

pupil, whose name was Mrs. Trapwell, though low in stature, was finely

shaped, her countenance engaging, though her complexion was brown, her

hair in colour rivalled the raven’s back, and her eyes emulated the

lustre of the diamond. Fathom had been struck with her first

appearance; but found it impracticable to elude the vigilance of her

duenna, so as to make a declaration of his flame; until she herself,

guessing the situation of his thoughts, and not displeased with the

discovery, thought proper to furnish him with the opportunity he

wanted, by counterfeiting an indisposition, for the cure of which she

knew his advice would be implored. This was the beginning of an

acquaintance, which was soon improved to his wish; and so well did she

manage her attractions, as in some measure to fix the inconstancy of

his disposition; for, at the end of the season, his passion was not

sated; and they concerted the means of continuing their commerce, even

after their return to London.

This intercourse effectually answered the purpose of the husband, who

had been decoyed into matrimony by the cunning of his spouse, whom he

had privately kept as a concubine before marriage. Conscious of her own

precarious situation, she had resolved to impose upon the infirmities

of Trapwell, and, feigning herself pregnant, gave him to understand she

could no longer conceal her condition from the knowledge of her

brother, who was an officer in the army, and of such violent passions,

that, should he once discover her backsliding, he would undoubtedly

wipe away the stains of his family dishonour with her own blood, as

well as that of her keeper. The citizen, to prevent such a catastrophe,

took her to wife; but soon after perceiving the trick which had been

played upon him, set his invention at work, and at length contrived a

scheme which he thought would enable him, not only to retrieve his

liberty, but also indemnify himself for the mortification he had

undergone.

Far from creating any domestic disturbance, by upbraiding her with her

finesse, he seemed perfectly well pleased with his acquisition; and, as

he knew her void of any principle, and extremely addicted to pleasure,

he chose proper occasions to insinuate, that she might gratify her own

inclination, and at the same time turn her beauty to good account. She

joyfully listened to these remonstrances, and, in consequence of their

mutual agreement, she repaired to Bristol Spring, on pretence of an ill

state of health, accompanied by her sister-in-law, whom they did not

think proper to intrust with the real motive of her journey. Fathom’s

person was agreeable, and his finances supposed to be in flourishing

order; therefore, she selected him from the herd of gallants, as a

proper sacrifice to the powers which she adored; and, on her arrival in

London, made her husband acquainted with the importance of her

conquest.

Trapwell overwhelmed her with caresses and praise for her discreet and

dutiful conduct, and faithfully promised that she should pocket in her

own privy purse one-half of the spoils that should be gathered from her

gallant, whom she therefore undertook to betray, after he had swore, in

the most solemn manner, that his intention was not to bring the affair

to a public trial, which would redound to his own disgrace, but to

extort a round sum of money from the Count, by way of composition.

Confiding in this protestation, she in a few days gave him intelligence

of an assignation she had made with our adventurer, at a certain bagnio

near Covent Garden; upon which he secured the assistance of a

particular friend and his own journeyman, with whom, and a constable,

he repaired to the place of rendezvous, where he waited in an adjoining

room, according to the directions of his virtuous spouse, until she

made the preconcerted signal of hemming three times aloud, when he and

his associates rushed into the chamber and surprised our hero in bed

with his inamorata.

The lady on this occasion acted her part to a miracle; she screamed at

their approach; and, after an exclamation of “Ruined and undone!”

fainted away in the arms of her spouse, who had by this time seized her

by the shoulders, and begun to upbraid her with her infidelity and

guilt. As for Fathom, his affliction was unutterable, when he found

himself discovered in that situation, and made prisoner by the two

assistants, who had pinioned him in such a manner, that he could not

stir, much less accomplish an escape. All his ingenuity and presence of

mind seemed to forsake him in this emergency. The horrors of an English

jury overspread his imagination; for he at once perceived that the toil

into which he had fallen was laid for the purpose; consequently he took

it for granted that there would be no deficiency in point of evidence.

Soon as he recollected himself, he begged that no violence might be

offered to his person, and entreated the husband to favour him with a

conference, in which the affair might be compromised, without prejudice

to the reputation of either.

At first Trapwell breathed nothing but implacable revenge, but, by the

persuasion of his friends, after he had sent home his wife in a chair,

he was prevailed upon to hear the proposals of the delinquent, who

having assured him, by way of apology, that he had always believed the

lady was a widow, made him an offer of five hundred pounds, as an

atonement for the injury he had sustained. This being a sum no ways

adequate to the expectation of the citizen, who looked upon the Count

as possessor of an immense estate, he rejected the terms with disdain,

and made instant application to a judge, from whom he obtained a

warrant for securing his person till the day of trial. Indeed, in this

case, money was but a secondary consideration with Trapwell, whose

chief aim was to be legally divorced from a woman he detested.

Therefore there was no remedy for the unhappy Count, who in vain

offered to double the sum. He found himself reduced to the bitter

alternative of procuring immediate bail, or going directly to Newgate.

In this dilemma he sent a messenger to his friend Ratchcali, whose

countenance fell when he understood the Count’s condition; nor would he

open his mouth in the style of consolation, until he had consulted a

certain solicitor of his acquaintance, who assured him the law abounded

with such resources as would infallibly screen the defendant, had the

fact been still more palpable than it was. He said there was great

presumption to believe the Count had fallen a sacrifice to a

conspiracy, which by some means or other would be detected; and, in

that case, the plaintiff might obtain one shilling in lieu of damages.

If that dependence should fail, he hinted that, in all probability, the

witnesses were not incorruptible; or, should they prove to be so, one

man’s oath was as good as another’s; and, thank Heaven, there was no

dearth of evidence, provided money could be found to answer the

necessary occasions.

Ratchcali, comforted by these insinuations, and dreading the resentment

of our adventurer, who, in his despair, might punish him severely for

his want of friendship, by some precipitate explanation of the commerce

they had carried on; moved, I say, by these considerations, and

moreover tempted with the prospect of continuing to reap the advantages

resulting from their conjunction, he and another person of credit with

whom he largely dealt in jewels, condescended to become sureties for

the appearance of Fathom, who was accordingly admitted to bail. Not but

that the Tyrolese knew Ferdinand too well to confide in his parole. He

depended chiefly upon his ideas of self-interest, which, he thought,

would persuade him to risk the uncertain issue of a trial, rather than

quit the field before the harvest was half over; and he was resolved to

make his own retreat without ceremony, should our hero be unwise enough

to abandon his bail.

Such an adventure could not long lie concealed from the notice of the

public, even if both parties had been at pains to suppress the

circumstances. But the plaintiff, far from seeking to cover, affected

to complain loudly of his misfortune, that he might interest his

neighbours in his behalf, and raise a spirit of rancour and animosity,

to influence the jury against this insolent foreigner, who had come

over into England to debauch our wives and deflower our daughters;

while he employed a formidable band of lawyers to support the

indictment, which he laid at ten thousand pounds damages.

Meanwhile, Fathom and his associate did not fail to take all proper

measures for his defence; they retained a powerful bar of counsel, and

the solicitor was supplied with one hundred pounds after another, to

answer the expense of secret service; still assuring his clients that

everything was in an excellent train, and that his adversary would gain

nothing but shame and confusion of face. Nevertheless, there was a

necessity for postponing the trial, on account of a material evidence,

who, though he wavered, was not yet quite brought over; and the

attorney found means to put off the decision from term to term, until

there was no quibble left for further delay. While this suit was

depending, our hero continued to move in his usual sphere; nor did the

report of his situation at all operate to his disadvantage in the

polite world; on the contrary, it added a fresh plume to his character,

in the eyes of all those who were not before acquainted with the

triumphs of his gallantry. Notwithstanding this countenance of his

friends, he himself considered the affair in a very serious light; and

perceiving that, at any rate, he must be a considerable loser, he

resolved to double his assiduity in trade, that he might be the more

able to afford the extraordinary expense to which he was subjected.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

FRESH CAUSE FOR EXERTING HIS EQUANIMITY AND FORTITUDE.

The reader may have observed, that Fathom, with all his circumspection,

had a weak side, which exposed him to sundry mischances; this was his

covetousness, which on some occasions became too hard for his

discretion. At this period of time it was, by the circumstances of his

situation, inflamed to a degree of rapacity. He was now prevailed upon

to take a hand at whist or piquet, and even to wield the hazard-box;

though he had hitherto declared himself an irreconcilable enemy to all

sorts of play; and so uncommon was his success and dexterity at these

exercises, as to surprise his acquaintance, and arouse the suspicion of

some people, who repined at his prosperity.

But in nothing was his conduct more inexcusable than in giving way to

the dangerous temerity of Ratchcali, which he had been always at pains

to restrain, and permitting him to practise the same fraud upon an

English nobleman, which had been executed upon himself at Frankfort. In

other words, the Tyrolese, by the canal of Ferdinand’s finger and

recommendation, sold a pebble for a real brilliant, and in a few days

the cheat was discovered, to the infinite confusion of our adventurer,

who nevertheless assumed the guise of innocence with so much art, and

expressed such indignation against the villain who had imposed upon his

judgment and unsuspecting generosity, that his lordship acquitted him

of any share in the deceit, and contented himself with the restitution,

which he insisted upon making out of his own pocket, until he should be

able to apprehend the rogue, who had thought proper to abscond for his

own safety. In spite of all this exculpation, his character did not

fail to retain a sort of stigma, which indeed the plainest proofs of

innocence are hardly able to efface; and his connexion with such a

palpable knave as the Tyrolese appeared to be, had an effect to his

prejudice in the minds of all those who were privy to the occurrence.

When a man’s reputation is once brought in question, every trifle is,

by the malevolence of mankind, magnified into a strong presumption

against the culprit. A few whispers communicated by the envious mouth

of slander, which he can have no opportunity to answer and refute,

shall, in the opinion of the world, convict him of the most horrid

crimes; and for one hypocrite who is decked with the honours of virtue,

there are twenty good men who suffer the ignominy of vice; so well

disposed are individuals to trample upon the fame of their

fellow-creatures. If the most unblemished merit is not protected from

this injustice, it will not be wondered at that no quarter was given to

the character of an adventurer like Fathom, who, among other unlucky

occurrences, had the misfortune to be recognised about this time by his

two Parisian friends, Sir Stentor Stile and Sir Giles Squirrel.

These worthy knights-errant had returned to their own country, after

having made a very prosperous campaign in France, at the end of which,

however, they very narrowly escaped the galleys; and seeing the Polish

Count seated at the head of taste and politeness, they immediately

circulated the story of his defeat at Paris, with many ludicrous

circumstances of their own invention, and did not scruple to affirm

that he was a rank impostor. When the laugh is raised upon a great man,

he never fails to dwindle into contempt. Ferdinand began to perceive a

change in the countenance of his friends. His company was no longer

solicited with that eagerness which they had formerly expressed in his

behalf. Even his entertainments were neglected; when he appeared at any

private or public assembly, the ladies, instead of glowing with

pleasure, as formerly, now tittered or regarded him with looks of

disdain; and a certain pert, little, forward coquette, with a view to

put him out of countenance, by raising the laugh at his expense, asked

him one night, at a drum, when he had heard from his relations in

Poland? She succeeded in her design upon the mirth of the audience, but

was disappointed in the other part of her aim; for our hero replied,

without the least mark of discomposure, “They are all in good health at

your service, madam; I wish I knew in what part of the world your

relations reside, that I might return the compliment.” By this answer,

which was the more severe, as the young lady was of very doubtful

extraction, he retorted the laugh upon the aggressor, though he

likewise failed in his attempt upon her temper; for she was perhaps the

only person present who equalled himself in stability of countenance.

Notwithstanding this appearance of unconcern, he was deeply touched

with these marks of alienation in the behaviour of his friends, and,

foreseeing in his own disgrace the total shipwreck of his fortune, he

entered into a melancholy deliberation with himself about the means of

retrieving his importance in the beau monde, or of turning his address

into some other channel, where he could stand upon a less slippery

foundation. In this exercise of his thoughts, no scheme occurred more

feasible than that of securing the booty he had made, and retiring with

his associate, who was also blown, into some other country, where their

names and characters being unknown, they might pursue their old plan of

commerce without molestation. He imparted this suggestion to the

Tyrolese, who approved the proposal of decamping, though he combated

with all his might our hero’s inclination to withdraw himself before

the trial, by repeating the assurances of the solicitor, who told him

he might depend upon being reimbursed by the sentence of the court for

great part of the sums he had expended in the course of the

prosecution.

Fathom suffered himself to be persuaded by these arguments, supported

with the desire of making an honourable retreat, and, waiting patiently

for the day of trouble, discharged his sureties, by a personal

appearance in court. Yet this was not the only score he discharged that

morning; the solicitor presented his own bill before they set out for

Westminster Hall, and gave the Count to understand that it was the

custom, from time immemorial, for the client to clear with his attorney

before trial. Ferdinand had nothing to object against this established

rule, though he looked upon it as a bad omen, in spite of all the

solicitor’s confidence and protestations; and he was not a little

confounded, when, looking into the contents, he found himself charged

with 350 attendances. He knew it was not his interest to disoblige his

lawyer at such a juncture; nevertheless, he could not help

expostulating with him on this article, which seemed to be so falsely

stated with regard to the number; when his questions drew on an

explanation, by which he found he had incurred the penalty of three

shillings and fourpence for every time he chanced to meet the

conscientious attorney, either in the park, the coffee-house, or the

street, provided they had exchanged the common salutation; and he had

good reason to believe the solicitor had often thrown himself in his

way, with a view to swell this item of his account.

With this extortion our adventurer was fain to comply, because he lay

at the mercy of the caitiff; accordingly, he with a good grace paid the

demand, which, including his former disbursements, amounted to three

hundred and sixty-five pounds eleven shillings and threepence three

farthings, and then presenting himself before the judge, quietly

submitted to the laws of the realm. His counsel behaved like men of

consummate abilities in their profession; they exerted themselves with

equal industry, eloquence, and erudition, in their endeavours to

perplex the truth, browbeat the evidence, puzzle the judge, and mislead

the jury; but the defendant found himself wofully disappointed in the

deposition of Trapwell’s journeyman, whom the solicitor pretended to

have converted to his interest. This witness, as the attorney

afterwards declared, played booty, and the facts came out so clear,

that Ferdinand Count Fathom was convicted of criminal conversation with

the plaintiff’s wife, and cast in fifteen hundred pounds, under the

denomination of damages.

He was not so much surprised as afflicted at this decision, because he

saw it gradually approaching from the examination of the first

evidence. His thoughts were now employed in casting about for some

method of deliverance from the snare in which he found himself

entangled. To escape, he foresaw it would be impracticable, as Trapwell

would undoubtedly be prepared for arresting him before he could quit

Westminster Hall; he was too well acquainted with Ratchcali’s

principles, to expect any assistance from that quarter in money

matters; and he was utterly averse to the payment of the sum awarded

against him, which would have exhausted his whole fortune. He therefore

resolved to try the friendship of some persons of fashion, with whom he

had maintained an intimacy of correspondence. Should they fail him in

the day of his necessity, he proposed to have recourse to his former

sureties, one of whom he meant to bilk, while the other might accompany

him in his retreat; or, should both these expedients miscarry, he

determined, rather than part with his effects, to undergo the most

disagreeable confinement, in hope of obtaining the jailor’s connivance

at his escape.

These resolutions being taken, he met his fate with great fortitude and

equanimity, and calmly suffered himself to be conveyed to the house of

a sheriff’s officer, who, as he made his exit from the hall, according

to his own expectation, executed a writ against him, at the suit of

Trapwell, for a debt of two thousand pounds. To this place he was

followed by his solicitor, who was allured by the prospect of another

job, and who, with great demonstrations of satisfaction, congratulated

him upon the happy issue of the trial; arrogating to himself the merit

of having saved him eight thousand pounds in the article of damages, by

the previous steps he had taken, and the noble defence that he and his

friends the counsel had made for their client; he even hinted an

expectation of receiving a gratuity for his extraordinary care and

discretion.

Fathom, galled as he was with his misfortune, and enraged at the

effrontery of this pettifogger, maintained a serenity of countenance,

and sent the attorney with a message to the plaintiff, importing, that,

as he was a foreigner, and could not be supposed to have so much cash

about him, as to spare fifteen hundred pounds from the funds of his

ordinary expense, he would grant him a bond payable in two months,

during which period he should be able to procure a proper remittance

from his own estate. While the solicitor was employed in this

negotiation, he despatched his valet-de-chambre to one nobleman, and

Maurice to another, with billets, signifying the nature of the verdict

which his adversary had obtained, and desiring that each would lend him

a thousand pounds upon his parole, until he could negotiate bills upon

the Continent.

His three messengers returned almost at the same instant of time, and

these were the answers they brought back.

Trapwell absolutely rejected his personal security; and threatened him

with all the horrors of a jail, unless he would immediately discharge

the debt, or procure sufficient bondsmen; and one of his quality

friends favoured him with this reply to his request:—

“MY DEAR COUNT!

I am mortally chagrined at the triumph you have furnished to that

rascally citizen. By the lard! the judge must have been in the terrors

of cuckoldom, to influence the decision; and the jury a mere herd of

horned beasts, to bring in such a barbarous verdict. Egad! at this

rate, no gentleman will be able to lie with another man’s wife, but at

the risk of a cursed prosecution. But to waive this disagreeable

circumstance, which you must strive to forget; I declare my

mortification is still the greater, because I cannot at present supply

you with the trifle your present exigency requires; for, to tell you a

secret, my own finances are in damnable confusion. But a man of Count

Fathom’s figure and address can never be puzzled for the want of such a

paltry sum. Adieu, my dear Count! we shall, I suppose, have the

pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at White’s: meanwhile, I have the

honour to be, with the most perfect attachment,

yours, GRIZZLEGRIN.”

The other noble peer, to whom he addressed himself on this occasion,

cherished the same sentiments of virtue, friendship, and generosity;

but his expression was so different, that we shall, for the edification

of the reader, transcribe his letter in his own words:—

“SIR,

I was never more astonished than at the receipt of your very

extraordinary billet, wherein you solicit the loan of a thousand

pounds, which you desire may be sent with the bearer on the faith of

your parole. Sir, I have no money to send you or lend you; and cannot

help repeating my expressions of surprise at your confidence in making

such a strange and unwarranted demand. ’Tis true, I may have made

professions of friendship, while I looked upon you as a person of

honour and good morals; but now that you are convicted of such a

flagrant violation of the laws of that kingdom where you have been

treated with such hospitality and respect, I think myself fully

absolved from any such conditional promise, which indeed is never

interpreted into any other than a bare compliment. I am sorry you have

involved your character and fortune in such a disagreeable affair, and

am,

Sir, yours, etc.

TROMPINGTON.”

Ferdinand was not such a novice in the world as to be disappointed at

these repulses; especially as he had laid very little stress upon the

application, which was made by way of an experiment upon the gratitude

or caprice of those two noblemen, whom he had actually more than once

obliged with the same sort of assistance which he now solicited, though

not to such a considerable amount.

Having nothing further to expect from the fashionable world, he sent

the Tyrolese to the person who had been bail for his appearance, with

full instructions to explain his present occasion in the most

favourable light, and desire he would reinforce the credit of the Count

with his security; but that gentleman, though he placed the most

perfect confidence on the honour of our hero, and would have willingly

entered into bonds again for his personal appearance, was not quite so

well satisfied of his circumstances, as to become liable for the

payment of two thousand pounds, an expense which, in his opinion, the

finances of no foreign Count were able to defray. He therefore lent a

deaf ear to the most pressing remonstrances of the ambassador, who had

recourse to several other merchants, with the same bad success; so that

the prisoner, despairing of bail, endeavoured to persuade Ratchcali,

that it would be his interest to contribute a thousand pounds towards

his discharge, that he might be enabled to quit England with a good

grace, and execute his part of the plan they had projected.

So powerful was his eloquence on the occasion, and such strength of

argument did he use, that even the Tyrolese seemed convinced, though

reluctantly, and agreed to advance the necessary sum upon the bond and

judgment of our adventurer, who, being disabled from transacting his

own affairs in person, was obliged to intrust Ratchcali with his keys,

papers, and power of attorney, under the check and inspection of his

faithful Maurice and the solicitor, whose fidelity he bespoke with the

promise of an ample recompense.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE BITER IS BIT.

Yet, he had no sooner committed his effects to the care of this

triumvirate, than his fancy was visited with direful warnings, which

produced cold sweats and palpitations, and threw him into such agonies

of apprehension as he had never known before. He remembered the former

desertion of the Tyrolese, the recent villany of the solicitor, and

recollected the remarks he had made upon the disposition and character

of his valet, which evinced him a fit companion for the other two.

Alarmed at these reflections, he entreated the bailiff to indulge him

with a visit to his own lodgings, and even offered one hundred guineas

as a gratification for his compliance. But the officer, who had

formerly lost a considerable sum by the escape of a prisoner, would not

run any risk in an affair of such consequence, and our hero was obliged

to submit to the tortures of his own presaging fears. After he had

waited five hours in the most racking impatience, he saw the attorney

enter with all the marks of hurry, fatigue, and consternation, and

heard him exclaim, “Good God, have you seen the gentleman?”

Fathom found his fears realised in this interrogation, to which he

answered in a tone of horror and dismay, “What gentleman? I suppose I

am robbed. Speak, and keep me no longer in suspense.” “Robbed!” cried

the attorney, “the Lord forbid! I hope you can depend upon the person

you empowered to receive your jewels and cash? I must own his

proceedings are a little extraordinary; for after he had rummaged your

scrutoire, from which, in presence of me and your servant, he took one

hundred and fifty guineas, a parcel of diamond rings and buckles,

according to this here inventory, which I wrote with my own hand, and

East India bonds to the tune of five hundred more, we adjourned to

Garraway’s, where he left me alone, under pretence of going to a broker

of his acquaintance who lived in the neighbourhood, while the valet, as

I imagined, waited for us in the alley. Well, sir, he stayed so long,

that I began to be uneasy, and at length resolved to send the servant

in quest of him, but when I went out for that purpose, deuce a servant

was to be found; though I in person inquired for him at every alehouse

within half a mile of the place. I then despatched no less than five

ticket porters upon the scent after them, and I myself, by a direction

from the bar-keeper, went to Signior Ratchcali’s lodgings, where, as

they told me, he had not been seen since nine o’clock in the morning.

Upon this intimation, I came directly hither, to give you timely

notice, that you may without delay take measures for your own security.

The best thing you can do, is to take out writs for apprehending him,

in the counties of Middlesex, Surrey, Kent, and Essex, and I shall put

them in the hands of trusty and diligent officers, who will soon ferret

him out of his lurking-place, provided he skulks within ten miles of

the bills of mortality. To be sure, the job will be expensive; and all

these runners must be paid beforehand. But what then? the defendant is

worth powder, and if we can once secure him, I’ll warrant the

prosecution will quit cost.”

Fathom was almost choked with concern and resentment at the news of

this mischance, so that he could not utter one word until this

narrative was finished. Nor was his suspicion confined to the Tyrolese

and his own lacquey; he considered the solicitor as their accomplice

and director, and was so much provoked at the latter part of his

harangue, that his discretion seemed to vanish, and, collaring the

attorney, “Villain!” said he, “you yourself have been a principal actor

in this robbery.” Then turning to the bystanders, “and I desire in the

King’s name that he may be secured, until I can make oath before a

magistrate in support of the charge. If you refuse your assistance in

detaining him, I will make immediate application to one of the

secretaries of state, who is my particular friend, and he will see

justice done to all parties.”

At mention of this formidable name, the bailiff and his whole family

were in commotion, to obstruct the retreat of the lawyer, who stood

aghast and trembled under the grasp of our adventurer. But, soon as he

found himself delivered from this embrace, by the interposition of the

spectators, and collected his spirits, which had been suddenly

dissipated by Fathom’s unexpected assault, he began to display one art

of his occupation, which he always reserved for extraordinary

occasions. This was the talent of abuse, which he poured forth with

such fluency of opprobrious language, that our hero, smarting as he

was, and almost desperate with his loss, deviated from that temperance

of behaviour which he had hitherto preserved, and snatching up the

poker, with one stroke opened a deep trench upon the attorney’s skull,

that extended from the hind head almost to the upper part of the nose,

upon each side of which it discharged a sanguine stream.

Notwithstanding the pain of this application, the solicitor was

transported with joy at the sense of the smart, and inwardly

congratulated himself upon the appearance of his own blood, which he no

sooner perceived, than he exclaimed, “I’m a dead man,” and fell upon

the floor at full length.

Immediate recourse was had to a surgeon in the neighbourhood, who,

having examined the wound, declared there was a dangerous depression of

the first table of the skull, and that, if he could save the patient’s

life without the application of the trepan, it would be one of the

greatest cures that ever were performed. By this time, Fathom’s first

transport being overblown, he summoned up his whole resolution, and

reflected upon his own ruin with that fortitude which had never failed

him in the emergencies of his fate. Little disturbed at the prognostic

of the surgeon, which he considered in the right point of view; “Sir,”

said he, “I am not so unacquainted with the resistance of an attorney’s

skull, as to believe the chastisement I have bestowed on him will at

all endanger his life, which is in much greater jeopardy from the hands

of the common executioner. For, notwithstanding this accident, I am

determined to prosecute the rascal for robbery with the utmost severity

of the law; and, that I may have a sufficient fund left for that

prosecution, I shall not at present throw away one farthing in

unnecessary expense, but insist upon being conveyed to prison without

farther delay.”

This declaration was equally unwelcome to the bailiff, surgeon, and

solicitor, who, upon the supposition that the Count was a person of

fortune, and would rather part with an immense sum than incur the

ignominy of a jail, or involve himself in another disgraceful lawsuit,

had resolved to fleece him to the utmost of their power. But, now the

attorney finding him determined to set his fate at defiance, and to

retort upon him a prosecution, which he had no design to undergo, began

to repent heartily of the provocation he had given, and to think

seriously on some method to overcome the obstinacy of the incensed

foreigner. With this view, while the bailiff conducted him to bed in

another apartment, he desired the catchpole to act the part of mediator

between him and the Count, and furnished him with proper instructions

for that purpose. Accordingly the landlord, on his return, told Fathom

that he was sure the solicitor was not a man for this world; for that

he had left him deprived of his senses, and praying to God with great

devotion for mercy to his murderer. He then exhorted him, with many

protestations of friendship, to compromise the unhappy affair by

exchanging releases with the attorney before his delirium should be

known, otherwise he would bring himself into a most dangerous

premunire, whether the plaintiff should die of his wound, or live to

prosecute him for assault. “And with regard to your charge of robbery

against him,” said he, “as it is no more than a base suspicion,

unsupported by the least shadow of evidence, the bill would be thrown

out, and then he might sue you for damages. I therefore, out of pure

friendship and good-nature, advise you to compromise the affair, and,

if you think proper, will endeavour to bring about a mutual release.”

Our hero, whose passion was by this time pretty well cooled, saw reason

for assenting to the proposal; upon which the deed was immediately

executed, the mediator’s bill was discharged, and Ferdinand conveyed in

an hackney-coach to prison, after he had empowered his own landlord to

discharge his servants, and convert his effects into ready money. Thus,

he saw himself, in the course of a few hours, deprived of his

reputation, rank, liberty, and friends; and his fortune reduced from

two thousand pounds to something less than two hundred, fifty of which

he had carried to jail in his pocket.

END OF VOL. I.

THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM

by Tobias Smollett

Titlepage

COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS