The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
your wounds to the quick; but those pangs will be soothed by the gentle
and salutary wing of time, and that probing will rouse you to a due
sense of your own dignity and importance, which will enable you to
convert your attention to objects far more worthy of your
contemplation. All the hopes of happiness you had cherished in the
possession of Monimia are now irrecoverably blasted; her heart is now
debased beneath your consideration; her love is, without all doubt,
extinguished, and her honour irretrievably lost; insomuch, that, were
she to profess sorrow for her indiscretion, and implore your
forgiveness, with the most solemn promises of regarding you for the
future with unalterable fidelity and affection, you ought not to
restore her to that place in your heart which she hath so meanly
forfeited, because you could not at the same time reinstate her in the
possession of that delicate esteem without which there is no harmony,
no rapture, no true enjoyment in love.
“No, my dear Renaldo, expel the unworthy tenant from your bosom; allow
her to fill up the measure of her ingratitude, by deserting her lover,
friend, and benefactor. Your glory demands her dismission; the world
will applaud your generosity, and your own heart approve of your
conduct. So disencumbered, let us exert ourselves once more in
promoting your departure from this island, that you may revisit your
father’s house, do justice to yourself and amiable sister, and take
vengeance on the author of your wrongs; then dedicate yourself to
glory, in imitation of your renowned ancestors, and flourish in the
favour of your imperial patron.”
These remonstrances had such an effect upon the Hungarian, that his
face was lighted up with a transient gleam of satisfaction. He embraced
Ferdinand with great ardour, calling him his pride, his Mentor, his
good genius, and entreated him to gratify the inclination of that
fickle creature so far as to convey her to another lodging, without
loss of time, while he would, by absenting himself, favour their
retreat.
Our hero having obtained this permission, went immediately to the
skirts of the town, where he had previously bespoke a small, though
neat apartment, at the house of an old woman, widow of a French
refugee. He had already reconnoitred the ground, by sounding his
landlady, from whose poverty and complaisance he found reason to expect
all sorts of freedom and opportunity for the accomplishment of his aim
upon Monimia’s person. The room being prepared for her reception, he
returned to that disconsolate beauty, to whom he presented ten guineas,
which he pretended to have raised by pledging the picture, though he
himself acted as the pawnbroker on this occasion, for a very plain and
obvious reason.
The fair orphan was overjoyed to find her wish so speedily
accomplished. She forthwith packed up her necessaries in a trunk; and a
hackney-coach was called in the dusk of the evening, in which she
embarked with her baggage and conductor.
Yet she did not leave the habitation of Renaldo without regret. In the
instant of parting, the idea of that unfortunate youth was associated
with every well-known object that presented itself to her eyes; not as
an inconstant, ungenerous, and perjured swain, but as the accomplished,
the virtuous, the melting lover, who had captivated her virgin heart.
As Fathom led her to the door, she was met by Renaldo’s dog, which had
long been her favourite; and the poor animal fawning upon her as she
passed, her heart was overwhelmed with such a gush of tenderness, that
a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks, and she had well-nigh sunk
upon the floor.
Ferdinand, considering this emotion as the last tribute she would pay
to Renaldo, hurried her into the coach, where she soon recovered her
composure; and in a little time he ushered her into the house of Madam
la Mer, by whom she was received with great cordiality, and conducted
to her apartment, with which she found no other fault than that of its
being too good for one in her forlorn situation. Here, while the tear
of gratitude started in either eye, she thanked our adventurer for his
benevolence and kind concern, assuring him, that she would not fail
duly to beseech the Most High to shower down blessings upon him, as the
orphan’s friend and protector.
Fathom was not deficient in those expressions that were best adapted to
her present turn of mind. He observed, that what he had done was in
obedience to the dictates of common humanity, which would have prompted
him to assist any fellow-creature in distress; but that her peculiar
virtue and qualifications were such as challenged the utmost exertion
of his faculties in her service. He said, that surely Heaven had not
created such perfection in vain; that she was destined to receive as
well as to communicate happiness; and that the Providence, which she so
piously adored, would not fail, in due season, to raise her from
distress and affliction, to that honour and felicity for which she was
certainly ordained. In the meantime, he entreated her to depend upon
his service and fidelity, and the article of her board being settled,
he left her to the company and consolation of her discreet hostess, who
soon insinuated herself into the good opinion of her beauteous lodger.
While our hero was employed in this transaction, Renaldo sallied forth
in a sort of intoxication, which Fathom’s admonitions had inspired;
and, repairing to a certain noted coffee-house, engaged at chess with
an old French refugee, that his attention, by being otherwise employed,
might not stray towards that fatal object which he ardently wished to
forget. But, unluckily for him, he had scarce performed three moves of
the game, when his ears were exposed to a dialogue between two young
gentlemen, one of whom asked the other if he would go and see the
“Orphan” acted at one of the theatres; observing, as a farther
inducement, that the part of Monimia would be performed by a young
gentlewoman who had never appeared on the stage. At mention of that
name, Renaldo started; for though it did not properly belong to his
orphan, it was the appellation by which she had been distinguished ever
since her separation from her father’s house, and therefore it recalled
her to his imagination in the most interesting point of view. Though he
endeavoured to expel the image, by a closer application to his play,
every now and then it intruded upon his fancy, and at each return made
a stronger impression; so that he found himself in the situation of an
unfortunate bark stranded upon some hidden rock, which, when the wind
begins to blow, feels every succeeding wave more boisterous than the
former, until, with irresistible fury, they surmount her deck, sweep
everything before them, and dash her all to pieces.
The refugee had observed his first emotion, which he attributed to an
unforeseen advantage he himself had gained over the Hungarian; but
seeing him, in the sequel, bite his lip, roll his eyes, groan, writhe
his body, ejaculate incoherent curses, and neglect his game, the
Huguenot concluded that he was mad, and being seized with terror and
dismay, got up and scampered off, without ceremony or hesitation.
Melvil, thus left to the horrors of his own thought, which tortured him
with the apprehension of losing Monimia for ever, could no longer
combat that suggestion, but ran homewards with all the speed he could
exert, in order to prevent her retreat. When he crossed the threshold,
he was struck with such a damp of presaging fear, that he durst not in
person approach her apartment, nor even, by questioning the servant,
inform himself of the particulars he wanted to know. Yet his suspense
becoming more insupportable than his fear, he rushed from room to room
in quest of that which was not to be found; and, seeing Monimia’s
chamber door open, entered the deserted temple in a state of
distraction, calling aloud upon her name. All was silent, solitary, and
woful. “She is gone,” he cried, shedding a flood of tears, “she is for
ever lost; and all my hopes of happiness are fled!”
So saying, he sunk upon that couch on which Monimia had oft reposed,
and abandoned himself to all the excess of grief and despondence. In
this deplorable condition he was found by our adventurer, who gently
chid him for his want of resolution, and again repelled his sorrow, by
arousing his resentment against the innocent cause of his disquiet,
having beforehand forged the particulars of provocation.
“Is it possible,” said he, “that Renaldo can still retain the least
sentiment of regard for a fickle woman, by whom he has been so
ungratefully forsaken and so unjustly scorned? Is it possible he can be
so disturbed by the loss of a creature who is herself lost to all
virtue and decorum?—Time and reflection, my worthy friend, will cure
you of that inglorious malady. And the future misconduct of that
imprudent damsel will, doubtless, contribute to the recovery of your
peace. Her behaviour, at leaving the house where she had received so
many marks of the most delicate affection, was in all respects so
opposite to honour and decency, that I could scarce refrain from
telling her I was shocked at her deportment, even while she loaded me
with protestations of love. When a woman’s heart is once depraved, she
bids adieu to all restraint;—she preserves no measures. It was not
simply contempt which she expressed for Renaldo; she seems to resent
his being able to live under her disdain; and that resentment stoops to
objects unworthy of indignation. Even your dog was not exempted from
the effects of her displeasure. For, in her passage to the door, she
kicked the poor animal as one of your dependents; and, in our way to
the apartment I had provided for her, she entertained me with a
ludicrous comment upon the manner in which you first made her
acquainted with your passion. All that modesty of carriage, all that
chastity of conversation, all that dignity of grief, which she knew so
well how to affect, is now entirely laid aside, and, when I quitted
her, she seemed the most gay, giddy, and impertinent of her sex.”
“Gracious powers!” exclaimed Renaldo, starting from the couch, “am I
under the delusion of a dream; or are these things really so, as my
friend has represented them? Such a total and sudden degeneracy is
amazing! is monstrous and unnatural!”
“Such, my dear Count,” replied our hero, “is the caprice of a female
heart, fickle as the wind, uncertain as a calm at sea, fixed to no
principle, but swayed by every fantastic gust of passion, or of whim.
Congratulate yourself, therefore, my friend, upon your happy
deliverance from such a domestic plague—upon the voluntary exile of a
traitor from your bosom.—Recollect the dictates of your duty, your
discretion, and your glory, and think upon the honours and elevated
enjoyment for which you are certainly ordained. To-night let us over a
cheerful bottle anticipate your success; and to-morrow I will accompany
you to the house of an usurer, who, I am informed, fears no risk,
provided twenty per cent be given, and the borrower’s life insured.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
THE ART OF BORROWING FURTHER EXPLAINED, AND AN ACCOUNT OF A STRANGE
PHENOMENON.
In this manner did the artful incendiary work upon the passions of the
credulous unsuspecting Hungarian, who pressed him to his breast with
the most cordial expressions of friendship, calling him his guardian,
his saviour, his second father, and gave himself up wholly to his
advice.
Next morning, according to the plan they had laid overnight, they
repaired to a tavern in the neighbourhood of the person to whom our
adventurer had been directed, and were fortunate enough to find him in
the house, transacting a money affair with a young gentleman who