The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
the loss of whom I have so long regretted!” With these words he ran
towards our adventurer, and, while he clasped him in his arms with all
the eagerness of affection, protested that this was one of the happiest
days he had ever seen.
Ferdinand, who, from this salutation, concluded himself still in
possession of Renaldo’s good opinion, was not deficient in expressions
of tenderness and joy; he returned his embraces with equal ardour, the
tears trickled down his cheeks, and that perturbation which proceeded
from conscious perfidy and fear, was mistaken by the unsuspecting
Hungarian for the sheer effects of love, gratitude, and surprise. These
first transports having subsided, they adjourned to the lodgings of
Fathom, who soon recollected his spirits and invention so well as to
amuse the other with a feigned tale of his having been taken by the
French, sent prisoner into Champagne, from whence he had written many
letters to Count Melvil and his son, of whom he could hear no tidings;
of his having contracted an intimacy with a young nobleman of France,
who died in the flower of his age, after having, in token of his
friendship, bequeathed to him a considerable legacy; by this he had
been enabled to visit the land of his forefathers in the character of a
gentleman, which he had supported with some figure, until he was
betrayed into a misfortune that exhausted his funds, and drove him to
the spot where he was now found. And he solemnly declared, that, far
from forgetting the obligation he owed to Count Melvil, or renouncing
the friendship of Renaldo, he had actually resolved to set out for
Germany on his return to the house of his patron in the beginning of
the week posterior to that in which he had been arrested.
Young Melvil, whose own heart had never known the instigations of
fraud, implicitly believed the story and protestations of Fathom; and
though he would not justify that part of his conduct by which the term
of his good fortune was abridged, he could not help excusing an
indiscretion into which he had been hurried by the precipitancy of
youth, and the allurements of an artful woman. Nay, with the utmost
warmth of friendship, he undertook to wait upon Trapwell, and endeavour
to soften him into some reasonable terms of composition.
Fathom seemed to be quite overwhelmed with a deep sense of all this
goodness, and affected the most eager impatience to know the
particulars of Renaldo’s fate, since their unhappy separation, more
especially his errand to this uncomfortable place, which he should
henceforth revere as the providential scene of their reunion. Nor did
he forget to inquire, in the most affectionate and dutiful manner,
about the situation of his noble parents and amiable sister.
At mention of these names, Renaldo, fetching a deep sigh, “Alas! my
friend,” said he, “the Count is no more; and, what aggravates my
affliction for the loss of such a father, it was my misfortune to be
under his displeasure at the time of his death. Had I been present on
that melancholy occasion, so well I knew his generosity and paternal
tenderness, that, sure I am, he would in his last moments have forgiven
an only son, whose life had been a continual effort to render himself
worthy of such a parent, and whose crime was no other than an
honourable passion for the most meritorious of her sex. But I was
removed at a fatal distance from him, and doubtless my conduct must
have been invidiously misrepresented. Be that as it will, my mother has
again given her hand in wedlock to Count Trebasi; by whom I have the
mortification to be informed that I am totally excluded from my
father’s succession; and I learn from other quarters, that my sister is
barbarously treated by this inhuman father-in-law. Grant, Heaven, I may
soon have an opportunity of expostulating with the tyrant upon that
subject.”
So saying, his cheeks glowed, and his eyes lightened with resentment.
Then he thus proceeded: “My coming hither to-day was with a view to
visit a poor female relation, from whom I yesterday received a letter,
describing her most deplorable situation, and soliciting my assistance;
but the turnkey affirms that there is no such person in the jail, and I
was on my way to consult the keeper, when I was agreeably surprised
with the sight of my dear Fathom.”
Our adventurer having wiped from his eyes the tears which were produced
by the news of his worthy patron’s death, desired to know the name of
that afflicted prisoner, in whose behalf he interested himself so much,
and Renaldo produced the letter, subscribed, “Your unfortunate cousin,
Helen Melvil.” This pretended relation, after having explained the
degree of consanguinity which she and the Count stood in to each other,
and occasionally mentioned some anecdotes of the family in Scotland,
gave him to understand that she had married a merchant of London, who,
by repeated losses in trade, had been reduced to indigence, and
afterwards confined to prison, where he then lay a breathless corpse,
having left her in the utmost extremity of wretchedness and want, with
two young children in the smallpox, and an incurable cancer in one of
her own breasts. Indeed, the picture she drew was so moving, and her
expressions so sensibly pathetic, that no person, whose heart was not
altogether callous, could peruse it without emotion. Renaldo had sent
two guineas by the messenger, whom she had represented as a trusty
servant, whose fidelity had been proof against all the distress of her
mistress; and he was now arrived in order to reinforce his bounty.
Fathom, in the consciousness of his own practices, immediately
comprehended the scheme of this letter, and confidently assured him
that no such person resided in the prison or in any other place. And
when his friend applied for information to the keeper, these assurances
were confirmed; and that stern janitor told him he had been imposed
upon by a stale trick, which was often practised upon strangers by a
set of sharpers, who make it their business to pick up hints of
intelligence relating to private families, upon which they build such
superstructures of fraud and imposition.
However piqued the young Hungarian might be to find himself duped in
this manner, he rejoiced at the occasion which had thrown Fathom in his
way; and, after having made him a tender of his purse, took his leave,
on purpose to wait upon Trapwell, who was not quite so untractable as
an enraged cuckold commonly is; for, by this time, he had accomplished
the best part of his aim, which was to be divorced from his wife, and
was fully convinced that the defendant was no more than a needy
adventurer, who, in all probability, would be released by an act of
parliament for the benefit of insolvent debtors; in which case, he, the
plaintiff, would reap no solid advantage from his imprisonment.
He, therefore, listened to the remonstrances of the mediator, and,
after much canvassing, agreed to discharge the defendant, in
consideration of two hundred pounds, which were immediately paid by
Count Melvil, who, by this deduction, was reduced to somewhat less than
thirty.
Nevertheless, he cheerfully beggared himself in behalf of his friend,
for whose release he forthwith obtained an order; and, next day, our
adventurer, having bid a formal adieu to his fellows in distress, and,
in particular, to his majesty, for whose restoration his prayers were
preferred, he quitted the jail, and accompanied his deliverer, with all
the outward marks of unutterable gratitude and esteem.
Surely, if his heart had been made of penetrable stuff, it would have
been touched by the circumstances of this redemption; but had not his
soul been invincible to all such attacks, these memoirs would possibly
never have seen the light.
When they arrived at Renaldo’s lodgings, that young gentleman honoured
him with other proofs of confidence and friendship, by giving him a
circumstantial detail of all the adventures in which he had been
engaged after Fathom’s desertion from the imperial camp. He told him,
that, immediately after the war was finished, his father had pressed
him to a very advantageous match, with which he would have complied,
though his heart was not at all concerned, had not he been inflamed
with the desire of seeing the world before he could take any step
towards a settlement for life. That he had signified his sentiments on
this head to the Count, who opposed them with unusual obstinacy, as
productive of a delay which might be fatal to his proposal; for which
reason he had retired incognito from his family, and travelled through
sundry states and countries, in a disguise by which he eluded the
inquiries of his parents.
That, in the course of these peregrinations, he was captivated by the
irresistible charms of a young lady, on whose heart he had the good
fortune to make a tender impression. That their mutual love had
subjected both to many dangers and difficulties, during which they
suffered a cruel separation; after the torments of which, he had
happily found her in England, where she now lived entirely cut off from
her native country and connexions, and destitute of every other
resource but his honour, love, and protection. And, finally, that he
was determined to combat his own desires, how violent soever they might
be, until he should have made some suitable provision for the
consequences of a stricter union with the mistress of his soul, that he
might not, by a precipitate marriage, ruin the person whom he adored.
This end he proposed to attain, by an application to the court of
Vienna, which he did not doubt would have some regard to his own
service, and that of his father; and thither he resolved to repair,
with the first opportunity, now that he had found a friend with whom he
could intrust the inestimable jewel of his heart.
He likewise gave our hero to understand, that he had been eight months
in England, during which he had lived in a frugal manner, that he might
not unnecessarily exhaust the money he had been able to raise upon his
own credit; that, hitherto, he had been obliged to defer his departure
for Germany on account of his attendance upon the mother of his
mistress, who was lately dead of sorrow and chagrin; and that, since he
resided in London, he had often heard of the celebrated Count Fathom,
though he never imagined that his friend Ferdinand could be
distinguished by that appellation.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
FATHOM JUSTIFIES THE PROVERB, “WHAT’S BRED IN THE BONE WILL NEVER COME
OUT OF THE FLESH.”
Some circumstances of this conversation made a deep impression upon the
mind of our adventurer, who nevertheless concealed his emotions from
the knowledge of his friend, and was next day introduced to that hidden
treasure of which Renaldo had spoken with such rapture and adoration.
It was not without reason he had expatiated upon the personal
attractions of this young lady, whom, for the present, we shall call
Monimia, a name that implies her orphan situation. When she entered the
room, even Fathom, whose eyes had been sated with beauty, was struck
dumb with admiration, and could scarce recollect himself so far as to
perform the ceremony of his introduction.
She seemed to be about the age of eighteen. Her stature was tall; her
motion graceful. A knot of artificial flowers restrained the luxuriancy
of her fine black hair, that flowed in shining ringlets adown her snowy
neck. The contour of her face was oval; her forehead remarkably high;
her complexion clean and delicate, though not florid; and her eyes were
so piercing, as to strike the soul of every beholder. Yet, upon this
occasion, one half of their vivacity was eclipsed by a languishing air
of melancholy concern; which, while it in a manner sheathed the edge of