The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
generosity that hapless orphan was indebted for the last peaceful
moment she enjoyed upon earth; say, in all your acquaintance with human
nature, in all your intercourse with the daughters of men, in all the
exercise of your charity and beneficence, did you ever observe such
sweetness, purity, and truth; such beauty, sense, and perfection, as
that which was the inheritance of her whose fate I shall for ever
deplore?”—“She was, indeed,” replied the lady, “the best and fairest of
our sex.”
This was the beginning of a conversation touching that lovely victim,
in the course of which he explained those wicked arts which Fathom
practised to alienate his affections from the adorable Monimia; and she
described the cunning hints and false insinuations by which that
traitor had aspersed the unsuspecting lover, and soiled his character
in the opinion of the virtuous orphan. The intelligence he obtained on
this occasion added indignation to his grief. The whole mystery of
Monimia’s behaviour, which he could not before explain, now stood
disclosed before him. He saw the gradual progress of that infernal plan
which had been laid for their mutual ruin; and his soul was inflamed
with such desire of vengeance, that he would have taken his leave
abruptly, in order to set on foot an immediate inquiry about the
perfidious author of his wrongs, that he might exterminate such a
monster of iniquity from the face of the earth. But he was restrained
by Madam Clement, who gave him to understand, that Fathom was already
overtaken by the vengeance of Heaven; for she had traced him in all the
course of his fortune, from his first appearance in the medical sphere
to his total eclipse. She represented the villain as a wretch
altogether unworthy of his attention. She said, he was so covered with
infamy, that no person could enter the lists against him, without
bearing away some stain of dishonour; that he was, at present,
peculiarly protected by the law, and sheltered from the resentment of
Renaldo, in the cavern of his disgrace.
Melvil, glowing with rage, replied, that he was a venomous serpent,
which it was incumbent on every foot to crush; that it was the duty of
every man to contribute his whole power in freeing society from such a
pernicious hypocrite; and that, if such instances of perfidy and
ingratitude were suffered to pass with impunity, virtue and
plain-dealing would soon be expelled from the habitations of men. “Over
and above these motives,” said he, “I own myself so vitiated with the
alloy of human passion and infirmity, that I desire—I eagerly pant for
an occasion of meeting him hand to hand, where I may upbraid him with
his treachery, and shower down vengeance and destruction on his
perfidious head.”
Then he recounted the anecdotes of our adventurer which he had learned
in Germany and Flanders, and concluded with declaring his unalterable
resolution of releasing him from jail, that he might have an
opportunity of sacrificing him, with his own hand, to the manes of
Monimia. The discreet lady, perceiving the perturbation of his mind,
would not further combat the impetuosity of his passion; contenting
herself with exacting a promise, that he would not execute his purpose,
until he should have deliberated three days upon the consequences by
which a step of that kind might be attended. Before the expiration of
that term, she thought measures might be taken to prevent the young
gentleman from exposing his life or reputation to unnecessary hazard.
Having complied with her request in this particular, he took his leave,
after he had, by repeated entreaties, prevailed upon her to accept a
jewel, in token of his veneration for the kind benefactress of the
deceased Monimia; nor could his generous heart be satisfied, until he
had forced a considerable present on the humane physician who had
attended her in her last moments, and now discovered a particular
sympathy and concern for her desponding lover. This gentleman attended
him to the house of the benevolent Joshua, where they dined, and where
Don Diego was recommended, in the most fervid terms of friendship, to
the good offices of their host. Not that this duty was performed in
presence of the stranger—Renaldo’s delicacy would not expose his friend
to such a situation. While the physician, before dinner, entertained
that stranger in one apartment, Melvil withdrew into another, with the
Jew, to whom he disclosed the affair of the Castilian, with certain
circumstances, which shall, in due time, be revealed.
Joshua’s curiosity being whetted by this information, he could not help
eyeing the Spaniard at table with such a particular stare, that Don
Diego perceived his attention, and took umbrage at the freedom of his
regard. Being unable to conceal his displeasure, he addressed himself
to the Hebrew, with great solemnity, in the Spanish tongue, saving,
“Signior, is there any singularity in my appearance? or, do you
recollect the features of Don Diego de Zelos?”
“Signior Don Diego,” replied the other in pure Castilian, “I crave your
pardon for the rudeness of my curiosity, which prompted me to survey a
nobleman, whose character I revere, and to whose misfortunes I am no
stranger. Indeed, were curiosity alone concerned, I should be without
excuse; but as I am heartily inclined to serve you, as far as my weak
abilities extend, I hope your generosity will not impute any little
involuntary trespass of punctilio to my want of cordiality or esteem.”
The Spaniard was not only appeased by this apology, but also affected
with the compliment, and the language in which it was conveyed. He
thanked the Jew for his kind declaration, entreated him to bear, with
the peevishness of a disposition sore with the galling hand of
affliction; and, turning up his eyes to Heaven, “Were it possible,”
cried he, “for fate to reconcile contradictions, and recall the
irremediable current of events, I would now believe that there was
happiness still in reserve for the forlorn Zelos, now that I tread the
land of freedom and humanity, now that I find myself befriended by the
most generous of men. Alas! I ask not happiness! If, by the kind
endeavours of the gallant Count de Melvil, to whom I am already
indebted for my life, and by the efforts of his friends, the honour of
my name shall be purified and cleared from the poisonous stains of
malice by which it is at present spotted, I shall then enjoy all that
satisfaction which destiny can bestow upon a wretch whose woes are
incurable.”
Renaldo comforted him with the assurance of his being on the eve of
triumphing over his adversaries; and Joshua confirmed the consolation,
by giving him to understand, that he had correspondents in Spain of
some influence in the state; that he had already written to them on the
subject of Don Diego, in consequence of a letter which he had received
from Melvil while he tarried at Mons, and that he, every post, expected
a favourable answer on that subject.
After dinner, the physician took his leave, though not before he had
promised to meet Renaldo at night, and accompany him in the repetition
of his midnight visit to Monimia’s tomb; for this pilgrimage the
unfortunate youth resolved nightly to perform during the whole time of
his residence in England. It was, indeed, a sort of pleasure, the
prospect of which enabled him to bear the toil of living through the
day, though his patience was almost quite exhausted before the hour of
assignation arrived.
When the doctor appeared with the coach, he leaped into it with great
eagerness, after he had, with much difficulty, prevailed with Don Diego
to stay at home, on account of his health, which was not yet perfectly
established. The Castilian, however, would not comply with his request,
until he had obtained the Count’s promise, that he should be permitted
to accompany him next night, and take that duty alternately with the
physician.
About midnight, they reached the place, where they found the sexton in
waiting, according to the orders he had received. The door was opened,
the mourner conducted to the tomb, and left, as before, to the gloom of
his own meditations. Again he laid himself on the cold ground; again he
renewed his lamentable strain; his imagination began to be heated into
an ecstasy of enthusiasm, during which he again fervently invoked the
spirit of his deceased Monimia.
In the midst of these invocations, his ear was suddenly invaded with
the sound of some few solemn notes issuing from the organ, which seemed
to feel the impulse of an invisible hand.
At this awful salutation, Melvil was roused to the keenest sense of
surprise and attention. Reason shrunk before the thronging ideas of his
fancy, which represented this music as the prelude to something strange
and supernatural; and, while he waited for the sequel, the place was
suddenly illuminated, and each surrounding object brought under the
cognisance of his eye.
What passed within his mind on this occasion is not easy to be
described. All his faculties were swallowed up by those of seeing and
hearing. He had mechanically raised himself upon one knee, with his
body advancing forwards; and in this attitude he gazed with a look
through which his soul seemed eager to escape. To his view, thus
strained upon vacant space, in a few minutes appeared the figure of a
woman arrayed in white, with a veil that covered her face, and flowed
down upon her back and shoulders. The phantom approached him with an
easy step, and, lifting up her veil, discovered (believe it, O reader!)
the individual countenance of Monimia.
At sight of these well-known features, seemingly improved with new
celestial graces, the youth became a statue, expressing amazement,
love, and awful adoration. He saw the apparition smile with meek
benevolence, divine compassion, warm and intendered by that fond pure
flame which death could not extinguish. He heard the voice of his
Monimia call Renaldo! Thrice he essayed to answer; as oft his tongue
denied its office. His hair stood upright, and a cold vapour seemed to
thrill through every nerve. This was not fear, but the infirmity of
human nature, oppressed by the presence of a superior being.
At length his agony was overcome. He recollected all his resolution,
and, in a strain of awestruck rapture, thus addressed the heavenly
visitant: “Hast thou then heard, pure spirit! the wailings of my grief?
hast thou descended from the realms of bliss, in pity to my woe? and
art thou come to speak the words of peace to my desponding soul? To bid
the wretched smile, to lift the load of misery and care from the
afflicted breast; to fill thy lover’s heart with joy and pleasing hope,
was still the darling task of my Monimia, ere yet refined to that
perfection which mortality can never attain. No wonder then, blessed
shade, that now, when reunited to thy native heaven, thou art still
kind, propitious, and beneficent to us, who groan in this inhospitable
vale of sorrow thou hast left. Tell me, ah! tell me, dost thou still
remember those fond hours we passed together? Doth that enlightened
bosom feel a pang of soft regret, when thou recallest our fatal
separation? Sure that meekened glance bespeaks thy sympathy! Ah! how
that tender look o’erpowers me! Sacred Heaven! the pearly drops of pity
trickle down thy cheeks! Such are the tears that angels shed o’er man’s
distress!—Turn not away—Thou beckonest me to follow. Yes, I will follow
thee, ethereal spirit, as far as these weak limbs, encumbered with
mortality, will bear my weight; and, would to Heaven! I could, with
ease, put off these vile corporeal shackles, and attend thy flight.”
So saying, he started from the ground, and, in a transport of eager
expectation, at awful distance, traced the footsteps of the apparition,