The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
kindred soil, gradually raises up its lofty head, expands its leafy
arms, projects a noble shade, and towers the glory of the plain. I
should have paid the debt of gratitude to my benefactors, and made
their hearts sing with joy for the happy effects of their benevolence.
I should have been a bulwark to my friends, a shelter to my neighbours
in distress. I should have run the race of honour, seen my fame
diffused like a sweet-smelling odour, and felt the ineffable pleasure
of doing good. Whereas I am, after a vicissitude of disappointments,
dangers, and fatigues, reduced to misery and shame, aggravated by a
conscience loaded with treachery and guilt. I have abused the
confidence and generosity of my patron; I have defrauded his family,
under the mask of sincerity and attachment; I have taken the most cruel
and base advantages of virtue in distress; I have seduced unsuspecting
innocence to ruin and despair; I have violated the most sacred trust
reposed in me by my friend and benefactor; I have betrayed his love,
torn his noble heart asunder, by means of the most perfidious slander
and false insinuations; and, finally, brought to an untimely grave the
fairest pattern of human beauty and perfection. Shall the author of
these crimes pass with impunity? Shall he hope to prosper in the midst
of such enormous guilt? It were an imputation upon Providence to
suppose it! Ah, no! I begin to feel myself overtaken by the eternal
justice of Heaven! I totter on the edge of wretchedness and woe,
without one friendly hand to save me from the terrible abyss!”
These reflections, which, perhaps, the misery of his fellow-creatures
would never have inspired, had he himself remained without the verge of
misfortune, were now produced from the sensation of his own calamities;
and, for the first time, his cheeks were bedewed with the drops of
penitence and sorrow. “Contraries,” saith Plato, “are productive of
each other.” Reformation is oftentimes generated from unsuccessful
vice; and our adventurer was, at this juncture, very well disposed to
turn over a new leaf in consequence of those salutary suggestions;
though he was far from being cured beyond the possibility of a relapse.
On the contrary, all the faculties of his soul were so well adapted,
and had been so long habituated to deceit, that, in order to extricate
himself from the evils that environed him, he would not, in all
probability, have scrupled to practise it upon his own father, had a
convenient opportunity occurred.
Be that as it may, he certainly, after a tedious and fruitless exercise
of his invention, resolved to effect a clandestine retreat from that
confederacy of enemies which he could not withstand, and once more join
his fortune to that of Renaldo, whom he proposed to serve, for the
future, with fidelity and affection, thereby endeavouring to atone for
the treachery of his former conduct. Thus determined, he packed up his
necessaries in a portmanteau, attempted to amuse his creditors with
promises of speedy payment, and, venturing to come forth in the dark,
took a place in the Canterbury stage-coach, after having converted his
superfluities into ready money. These steps were not taken with such
privacy as to elude the vigilance of his adversaries; for, although he
had been cautious enough to transport himself and his baggage to the
inn on Sunday evening, and never doubted that the vehicle, which set
out at four o’clock on Monday morning, would convey him out of the
reach of his creditors, before they could possibly obtain a writ for
securing his person, they had actually taken such precautions as
frustrated all his finesse; and the coach being stopped in the borough
of Southwark, Doctor Fathom was seized by virtue of a warrant obtained
on a criminal indictment, and was forthwith conducted to the prison of
the King’s Bench; yet, not before he had, by his pathetic
remonstrances, excited the compassion, and even drawn tears from the
eyes of his fellow-passengers.
He no sooner recollected himself from the shock which must have been
occasioned by this sinister incident, than he despatched a letter to
his brother-in-law, the counsellor, requesting an immediate conference,
in which he promised to make such a proposal as would save him all the
expense of a lawsuit and trial, and, at the same time, effectually
answer all the purposes of both. He was accordingly favoured with a
visit from the lawyer, to whom, after the most solemn protestations of
his own innocence, he declared, that, finding himself unable to wage
war against such powerful antagonists, he had resolved even to abandon
his indubitable right, and retire into another country, in order to
screen himself from persecution, and remove all cause of disquiet from
the prosecutrix, when he was, unfortunately, prevented by the warrant
which had been executed against him. He said he was still willing, for
the sake of his liberty, to sign a formal renunciation of his
pretensions to Mrs. Fathom and her fortune, provided the deeds could be
executed, and the warrant withdrawn, before he should be detained by
his other creditors; and, lastly, he conjured the barrister to spare
himself the guilt and the charge of suborning evidence for the
destruction of an unhappy man, whose misfortune was his only fault.
The lawyer felt the force of his expostulations; and though he would by
no means suppose him innocent of the charge of bigamy, yet, under the
pretext of humanity and commiseration, he undertook to persuade his
sister to accept of a proper release, which, he observed, would not be
binding, if executed during the confinement of Fathom; he therefore
took his leave, in order to prepare the papers, withdraw the action,
and take such other measures as would hinder the prisoner from giving
him the slip. Next day, he returned with an order to release our hero,
who, being formally discharged, was conducted by the lawyer to a tavern
in the neighbourhood, where the releases were exchanged, and everything
concluded with amity and concord. This business being happily
transacted, Fathom stept into a hackney-coach, with his baggage, and
was followed by a bailiff, who told him, with great composure, that he
was again a prisoner, at the suit of Doctor Buffalo, and desired the
coachman to reconduct him to the lodging he had so lately discharged.
Fathom, whose fortitude had been hitherto of the pagan temper, was now
fain to reinforce it with the philosophy of Christian resignation,
though he had not as yet arrived to such a pitch of self-denial as to
forgive the counsellor, to whose double dealing he imputed this new
calamity. After having received the compliments of the jailer on his
recommitment, he took pen, ink, and paper, and composed an artful and
affecting epistle to the empiric, imploring his mercy, flattering his
weakness, and demonstrating the bad policy of cooping up an unhappy man
in a jail, where he could never have an opportunity of doing justice to
his creditors; nor did he forget to declare his intention of retiring
into another country, where he might have some chance of earning a
subsistence, which he had so long toiled for to no purpose in England.
This last declaration he made in consequence of the jealous disposition
of the quack, who he knew had long looked upon him in the odious light
of an interloping rival. However, he reaped no benefit from this
supplication, which served only to gratify the pride of Buffalo, who
produced the extravagant encomiums which Fathom had bestowed upon him,
as so many testimonials of his foe’s bearing witness to his virtue.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
FATHOM BEING SAFELY HOUSED, THE READER IS ENTERTAINED WITH A
RETROSPECT.
But now it is high time to leave our adventurer to chew the cud of
reflection and remorse in this solitary mansion, that we may trace
Renaldo in the several steps he took to assert his right, and do
justice to his family. Never man indulged a more melancholy train of
ideas than that which accompanied him in his journey to the Imperial
court. For, notwithstanding the manifold reasons he had to expect a
happy issue to his aim, his imagination was incessantly infected with
something that chilled his nerves and saddened his heart, recurring,
with quick succession, like the unwearied wave that beats upon the
bleak, inhospitable Greenland shore. This, the reader will easily
suppose, was no other than the remembrance of the forlorn Monimia,
whose image appeared to his fancy in different attitudes, according to
the prevalence of the passions which raged in his bosom. Sometimes he
viewed her in the light of apostasy, and then his soul was maddened
with indignation and despair. But these transitory blasts were not able
to efface the impressions she had formerly made upon his heart;
impressions which he had so often and so long contemplated with
inconceivable rapture. These pictures still remained, representing her
fair as the most perfect idea of beauty, soft and tender as an angel of
mercy and compassion, warmed with every virtue of the heart, and
adorned with every accomplishment of human nature. Yet the alarming
contrast came still in the rear of this recollection; so that his soul
was by turns agitated by the tempests of horror, and overwhelmed by the
floods of grief.
He recalled the moment on which he first beheld her, with that pleasing
regret which attends the memory of a dear deceased friend. Then he
bitterly cursed it, as the source of all his misfortunes and
affliction. He thanked Heaven for having blessed him with a friend to
detect her perfidy and ingratitude; and then ardently wished he had
still continued under the influence of her delusion. In a word, the
loneliness of his situation aggravated every horror of his reflection;
for, as he found himself without company, his imagination was never
solicited, or his attention diverted from these subjects of woe; and he
travelled to Brussels in a reverie, fraught with such torments as must
have entirely wrecked his reason, had not Providence interposed in his
behalf. He was, by his postillion, conducted to one of the best inns of
the place, where he understood the cloth was already laid for supper;
and as the ordinary is open to strangers in all these houses of
entertainment, he introduced himself into the company, with a view to
alleviate, in some measure, his sorrow and chagrin, by the conversation
of his fellow-guests. Yet he was so ill prepared to obtain the relief
which he courted, that he entered the apartment, and sat down to table,
without distinguishing either the number or countenances of those who
were present, though he himself did not long remain so unregarded. His
mien and deportment produced a prepossession in his favour; and the air
of affliction, so remarkable in his visage, did not fail to attract
their sympathy and observation.
Among the rest, was an Irish officer in the Austrian service, who
having eyed Renaldo attentively, “Sir,” said he, rising, “if my eyes
and memory do not deceive me, you are the Count de Melvil, with whom I
had the honour to serve upon the Rhine during the last war.” The youth,
hearing his own name mentioned, lifted up his eyes, and at once
recognising the other to be a gentleman who had been a captain in his
father’s regiment, ran forwards, and embraced him with great affection.
This was, in divers respects, a fortunate rencontre for young Melvil;
as the officer was not only perfectly well acquainted with the
situation of the Count’s family, but also resolved, in a few days, to
set out for Vienna, whither he promised to accompany Renaldo, as soon
as he understood his route lay the same way. Before the day fixed for
their departure arrived, this gentleman found means to insinuate
himself so far into the confidence of the Count, as to learn the cause