The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
discharge of that same rheum of which he had already complained.
Melvil recollected all that had happened as a dream, which had no
foundation in truth, and was all day long in a sort of delirium,
produced by the alternate gusts of hope and fear that still agitated
his bosom; for he was not yet without apprehension of being again
disappointed by some unlucky occurrence.
He did not, however, fail to be punctual to the hour of his
appointment, when the Jew told him, there would be no occasion for
visiting the ambassador, because Renaldo had been, the preceding day,
recognised by one of the clerks who had been employed as a purveyor in
the Imperial army; and who, knowing his family, confirmed everything he
had alleged. “After breakfast,” continued this benevolent Israelite, “I
will give you an order upon my banker for five hundred pounds, that you
may be enabled to appear at Vienna as the son and representative of
Count Melvil; and you shall also be furnished with a letter of
recommendation to a person of some influence at that court, whose
friendship and countenance may be of some service to your suit; for I
am now heartily engaged in your interest, in consequence of the fair
and unblemished character which I find you have hitherto maintained.”
The reader must appeal to his own heart, to acquire a just idea of
Renaldo’s feelings, when every tittle of these promises was fulfilled,
and the merchant refused to take one farthing by way of premium,
contenting himself with the slender security of a personal bond. He
was, in truth, overwhelmed with the obligation, and certainly disposed
to believe that his benefactor was something more than human. As for
Fathom, his sentiments took a different turn; and he scrupled not to
impute all this kindness to some deep-laid interested scheme, the scope
of which he could not at present comprehend.
After the tumults of the young gentleman’s joy had subsided, and he
found himself eased of that burdensome poverty under which he had
groaned so long, his thoughts, which before were dissipated upon the
various circumstances of distress, began to collect themselves in a
body, and to resume their deliberations upon a subject which they had
been long accustomed to consider; this was no other than the forlorn
Monimia, whose idea now emerged in his bosom, being disencumbered of
one part of the load by which it had been depressed. He mentioned her
name to Fathom with marks of the most melting compassion, deplored her
apostasy, and, while he protested that he had divorced her for ever
from his heart, expressed an inclination to see her once more before
his departure, that he might in person exhort her to penitence and
reformation.
Our adventurer, who dreaded such an interview as the infallible means
of his own ruin, resisted the proposal with the whole power of his
elocution. He affirmed, that Renaldo’s desire was a manifest proof that
he still retained part of the fatal poison which that enchantress had
spread within his veins; and that the sight of her, softened by his
reproaches into tears and affected contrition, would dispel his
resentment, disable his manhood, and blow the embers of his former
passion to such a rage, as would hurry him on to a reconciliation,
which would debase his honour, and ruin his future peace. In a word,
Ferdinand described the danger that would attend the meeting in such
emphatic terms, that the Hungarian started with horror at the picture
which he drew, and in this particular conformed with the admonition of
his friend.
One hundred pounds of the Jew’s money was immediately appropriated for
the payment of his most urgent debts; the like sum he presented to his
friend Fathom, with a solemn promise of sharing with him whatever good
fortune might await him in Germany. And though Monimia had forfeited
all title to his regard, so ill could he bear the prospect of her
distress, that he entrusted his dear companion with the half of what
remained, to be expended for her use, fully resolving to screen her
from the shocks and temptations of want, as the circumstances of his
future fate would allow.
Fathom, far from opposing, applauded his generosity with marks of
extreme wonder and admiration, assuring him, that she should be put in
possession of his bounty immediately after his departure, he being
unwilling to make her acquainted with her good fortune before that
period, lest, finding his affairs in a fair way of being retrieved, she
should be base enough to worship his returning prosperity, and, by
false professions, and artful blandishments, seek to ensnare his heart
anew.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
COUNT FATHOM UNMASKS HIS BATTERY; IS REPULSED; AND VARIES HIS
OPERATIONS WITHOUT EFFECT.
Every necessary preparation being made, Renaldo, accompanied by our
adventurer, took the road to Dover, where he embarked in a packet-boat
for Calais, after having settled a correspondence with his dear
Ferdinand, from whom he did not part without tears. He had before
solicited him to be his fellow-traveller, that he might personally
enjoy the benefit of his conversation and superior sagacity; but these
entreaties he strenuously opposed, on pretence of his being determined
to push his fortune in England, which he considered as his native
country, and as the land in which, of all others, a man of merit has
the best encouragement. Such were the reasons he alleged for refusing
to attend his benefactor, who was himself eagerly desirous of attaining
a settlement in the island of Great Britain. But our hero’s real
motives for staying were of a very different complexion.—The reader is
already informed of his aim upon the fair orphan, which, at present,
was the chief spring of his conduct. He may also recollect such
passages of his life, as were sufficient to deter him from reappearing
at Presburg or Vienna. But, besides these reflections, he was detained
by a full persuasion that Renaldo would sink under the power and
influence of his antagonist, consequently be rendered incapable to
provide for his friends; and that he himself, fraught with wiles and
experience as he was, could not fail to make himself amends for what he
had suffered among a people equally rich and unthinking.
Melvil, having embraced our adventurer, and with a deep sigh bid him
take care of the unfortunate Monimia, committed himself to the sea,
and, by the assistance of a favourable gale, was in four hours safely
landed on the French shore; while Fathom took post-horses for London,
where he arrived that same night, and next day, in the forenoon, went
to visit the beauteous mourner, who had as yet received no intimation
of Renaldo’s departure or design. He found her in the attitude of
writing a letter to her inconstant lover, the contents of which the
reader will be acquainted with in due time. Her countenance,
notwithstanding the veil of melancholy by which it was overcast, seemed
altogether serene and composed; she was the picture of pious
resignation, and sat like PATIENCE on a monument, smiling at grief.
After having paid the compliment of the morning, Fathom begged pardon
for having omitted to visit her during three days, in which, he said,
his time had been wholly engrossed in procuring a proper equipage for
Count Melvil, who had at last bid an eternal adieu to the island of
Great Britain.
At this information the hapless Monimia fell back in her chair, and
continued some minutes in a swoon; from which being recovered, “Excuse
me, Mr. Fathom,” cried she with a deep sigh; “this, I hope, is the last
agony I shall feel from my unhappy passion.”—Then wiping the tears from
her lovely eyes, she retrieved her tranquillity, and desired to know by
what means Renaldo had been enabled to undertake his journey into the
empire. Our hero, upon this occasion, assumed the whole merit of having
promoted the interest of his friend, by giving her to understand, that
he, in consequence of an unforeseen windfall, had defrayed the expense
of the Count’s equipment; though he observed, that it was not without
reluctance he saw Renaldo make a wrong use of his friendship.
“Although I was happy,” proceeded this artful traitor, “in being able
to discharge my obligations to the house of Melvil, I could not help
feeling the most sensible chagrin, when I saw my assistance rendered
subservient to the triumphs of the youth’s baseness and infidelity; for
he chose, as the companion of his travels, the abandoned woman for whom
he had forsaken the all-perfect Monimia, whose virtue and
accomplishments did not preserve her sacred from his ungrateful
sarcasms and unmannerly ridicule. Believe me, madam, I was so shocked
at his conversation on that subject, and so much incensed at his want
of delicacy, that my temper was scarce sufficient for the ceremony of
parting. And, now that my debt to his family is over-paid, I have
solemnly renounced his correspondence.”
When she heard that, instead of betraying the least symptom of regret
or compassion for her unhappy fate, the perfidious youth had exulted
over her fall, and even made her a subject for his mirth, the blood
revisited her faded cheeks, and resentment restored to her eyes that
poignancy which sorrow had before overcome. Yet she scorned to give
speech to her indignation; but, forcing a smile, “Why should I repine,”
said she, “at the mortifications of a life which I despise, and from
which, I hope, Heaven speedily will set me free!”
Fathom, fired by her emotion, which had recalled all the graces of her
beauty, exclaimed in a rapture, “Talk not so contemptuously of this
life, which hath still a fund of happiness in store for the amiable,
the divine Monimia. Though one admirer hath proved an apostate to his
vows, your candour will not suffer you to condemn the whole sex. Some
there are, whose bosoms glow with passion equally pure, unalterable,
and intense. For my own part, I have sacrificed to a rigid punctilio of
honour the dearest ideas of my heart. I beheld your unrivalled charms,
and deeply felt their power. Yet, while a possibility of Melvil’s
reformation remained, and while I was restrained by my niggard fortune
from making a tender worthy of your acceptance, I combated with my
inclinations, and bore without repining the pangs of hopeless love.
But, now that my honour is disengaged, and my fortune rendered
independent, by the last will of a worthy nobleman, whose friendship I
was favoured with in France, I presume to lay myself at the feet of the
adorable Monimia, as the most faithful of admirers, whose happiness or
misery wholly depends upon her nod. Believe me, madam, these are not
the professions of idle gallantry—I speak the genuine, though
imperfect, language of my heart. Words, even the most pathetic, cannot
do justice to my love. I gaze upon your beauty with ravishment; but I
contemplate the graces of your soul with such awful veneration, that I
tremble while I approach you, as if my vows were addressed to some
superior being.”
During this declaration, which was pronounced in the most emphatic
manner, Monimia was successively agitated with shame, anger, and grief;
nevertheless, she summoned her whole philosophy to her aid, and, with a
tranquil, though determined air, begged he would not diminish the
obligations he had already conferred, by disturbing with such
unseasonable addresses a poor unhappy maid, who had detached all her
thoughts from earthly objects, and waited impatiently for that
dissolution which alone could put a period to her misfortunes.
Fathom, imagining that these were no other than the suggestions of a
temporary disappointment and despondence, which it was his business to
oppose with all his eloquence and art, renewed his theme with redoubled
ardour, and, at last, became so importunate in his desires, that