The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
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