The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
which, entering a detached apartment, sunk down upon a chair, and with
a sigh exclaimed, “Indeed, this is too much!” What was the disorder of
Renaldo’s mind, when he perceived this phenomenon! Before reflection
could perform its office, moved by a sudden impulse, he sprung
forwards, crying, “If it be death to touch thee, let me die!” and
caught in his arms, not the shadow, but the warm substance of the
all-accomplished Monimia. “Mysterious powers of Providence! this is no
phantom! this is no shade! this is the life! the panting bosom of her
whom I have so long, so bitterly deplored! I fold her in my arms! I
press her glowing breast to mine! I see her blush with virtuous
pleasure and ingenuous love! She smiles upon me with enchanting
tenderness! O let me gaze on that transcendent beauty, which, the more
I view it, ravishes the more! These charms are too intense; I sicken
while I gaze! Merciful Heaven! is not this a mere illusion of the
brain? Was she not fled for ever? Had not the cold hand of death
divorced her from my hope? This must be some flattering vision of my
distempered fancy! perhaps some soothing dream— If such it be, grant, O
ye heavenly powers! that I may never wake.”
“O gentle youth!” replied the beauteous orphan, still clasped in his
embrace, “what joy now fills the bosom of Monimia, at this triumph of
thy virtue and thy love? When I see these transports of thy affection,
when I find thee restored to that place in my esteem and admiration,
which thou hadst lost by the arts of calumny and malice—this is a
meeting which my most sanguine hopes durst not presage!”
So entirely were the faculties of Renaldo engrossed in the
contemplation of his restored Monimia, that he saw not the rest of the
company, who wept with transport over this affecting scene. He was
therefore amazed at the interposition of Madam Clement, who, while the
shower of sympathetic pleasure bedewed her cheeks, congratulated the
lovers upon this happy event, crying, “These are the joys which virtue
calls her own.” They also received the compliments of a reverend
clergyman, who told Monimia, she had reaped, at last, the fruits of
that pious resignation to the will of Heaven, which she had so devoutly
practised during the term of her affliction. And, lastly, they were
accosted by the physician, who was not quite so hackneyed in the ways
of death, or so callous to the finer sensations of the soul, but that
he blubbered plentifully, wile he petitioned Heaven in behalf of such
an accomplished and deserving pair.
Monimia taking Madam Clement by the hand, “Whatever joy,” said she,
“Renaldo derives from this occasion, is owing to the bounty, the
compassion, and maternal care of this incomparable lady, together with
the kind admonitions and humanity of those two worthy gentlemen.”
Melvil, whose passions were still in agitation, and whose mind could
not yet digest the incidents that occurred, embraced them all by turns;
but, like the faithful needle, which, though shaken for an instant from
its poise, immediately regains its true direction, and points
invariably to the pole, he soon returned to his Monimia; again he held
her in his arms, again he drank enchantment from her eyes, and thus
poured forth the effusions of his soul:—“Can I then trust the evidence
of sense? And art thou really to my wish restored? Never, O never did
thy beauty shine with such bewitching grace, as that which now
confounds and captivates my view! Sure there is something more than
mortal in thy looks!—Where hast thou lived?—where borrowed this
perfection?—whence art thou now descended?—Oh! I am all amazement, joy,
and fear!—Thou wilt not leave me!—No! we must not part again. By this
warm kiss! a thousand times more sweet than all the fragrance of the
East! we nevermore will part. O! this is rapture, ecstasy, and what no
language can explain!”
In the midst of these ejaculations, he ravished a banquet from her
glowing lips, that kindled in his heart a flame which rushed through
every vein, and glided to his marrow. This was a privilege he had never
claimed before, and now permitted as a recompense for all the penance
he had suffered. Nevertheless, the cheeks of Monimia, who was
altogether unaccustomed to such familiarities, underwent a total
suffusion; and Madam Clement discreetly relieved her from the anxiety
of her situation, by interfering in the discourse, and rallying the
Count upon his endeavours to monopolise such a branch of happiness.
“O my dear lady!” replied Renaldo, who by this time had, in some
measure, recovered his recollection, “forgive the wild transports of a
fond lover, who hath so unexpectedly retrieved the jewel of his soul!
Yet, far from wishing to hoard up his treasure, he means to communicate
and diffuse his happiness to all his friends. O my Monimia! how will
the pleasure of this hour be propagated! As yet thou knowest not all
the bliss that is reserved for thy enjoyment!—Meanwhile, I long to
learn by what contrivance this happy interview hath been effected.
Still am I ignorant how I was transported into this apartment, from the
lonely vault in which I mourned over my supposed misfortune!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
THE MYSTERY UNFOLDED—ANOTHER RECOGNITION, WHICH, IT IS TO BE HOPED, THE
READER COULD NOT FORESEE.
The French lady then explained the whole mystery of Monimia’s death, as
a stratagem she had concerted with the clergyman and doctor, in order
to defeat the pernicious designs of Fathom, who seemed determined to
support his false pretensions by dint of perjury and fraud, which they
would have found it very difficult to elude. She observed, that the
physician had actually despaired of Monimia’s life, and it was not till
after she herself was made acquainted with the prognostic, that she
wrote the letter to Renaldo, which she committed to the care of Madam
Clement, with an earnest entreaty, that it should not be sent till
after her decease. But that lady, believing the Count had been
certainly abused by his treacherous confidant, despatched the billet
without the knowledge of Monimia, whose health was restored by the
indefatigable care of the physician, and the sage exhortations of the
clergyman, by which she was reconciled to life. In a word, the villany
of Fathom had inspired her with some faint hope that Renaldo might
still be innocent; and that notion contributed not a little to her
cure.
The letter having so effectually answered their warmest hopes, in
bringing back Renaldo such a pattern of constancy and love, the
confederates, in consequence of his enthusiastic sorrow, had planned
this meeting, as the most interesting way of restoring two virtuous
lovers to the arms of each other; for which purpose the good clergyman
had pitched upon his own church, and indulged them with the use of the
vestry, in which they now were presented with a small but elegant
collation.
Melvil heard this succinct detail with equal joy and admiration. He
poured forth the dictates of his gratitude to the preservers of his
happiness.—“This church,” said he, “shall henceforth possess a double
share of my veneration; this holy man will, I hope, finish the
charitable work he has begun, by tying those bands of our happiness,
which nought but death shall have power to unbind.” Then turning to
that object which was the star of his regard, “Do I not overrate,” said
he, “my interest with the fair Monimia?” She made no verbal reply; but
answered by an emphatic glance, more eloquent than all the power of
rhetoric and speech. This language, which is universal in the world of
love, he perfectly well understood, and, in token of that faculty,
sealed the assent which she had smiled, with a kiss imprinted on her
polished forehead.
In order to dissipate these interesting ideas, which, by being too long
indulged, might have endangered his reason, Madam Clement entreated him
to entertain the company with a detail of what had happened to him in
his last journey to the empire, and Monimia expressed a desire of
knowing, in particular, the issue of his contest with Count Trebasi,
who, she knew, had usurped the succession of his father.
Thus solicited, he could not refuse to gratify their curiosity and
concern. He explained his obligations to the benevolent Jew; related
the steps he had taken at Vienna for the recovery of his inheritance;
informed them of his happy rencontre with his father-in-law; of his
sister’s deliverance, and marriage; of the danger into which his life
had been precipitated by the news of Monimia’s death; and, lastly, of
his adventure with the banditti, in favour of a gentleman, who, he
afterwards understood, had been robbed in the most base and barbarous
manner by Fathom. He likewise, to the astonishment of all present, and
of his mistress in particular, communicated some circumstances, which
shall appear in due season.
Monimia’s tender frame being quite fatigued with the scene she had
acted, and her mind overwhelmed with the prosperous tidings she had
heard, after having joined the congratulations of the company, on the
good fortune of her Renaldo, begged leave to retire, that she might by
repose recruit her exhausted spirits; and the night being pretty far
spent, she was conducted by her lover to Madam Clement’s coach, that
stood in waiting, in which also the rest of the company made shift to
embark, and were carried to the house of that good lady, where, after
they were invited to dine, and Melvil entreated to bring Don Diego and
the Jew along with them, they took leave of one another, and retired to
their respective lodgings in a transport of joy and satisfaction.
As for Renaldo, his rapture was still mixed with apprehension, that all
he had seen and heard was no more than an unsubstantial vision, raised
by some gay delirium of a disordered imagination. While his breast
underwent those violent, though blissful emotions of joy and
admiration, his friend the Castilian spent the night in ruminating over
his own calamities, and in a serious and severe review of his own
conduct. He compared his own behaviour with that of the young
Hungarian, and found himself so light in the scale, that he smote his
breast with violence, exclaiming in an agony of remorse:
“Count Melvil has reason to grieve; Don Diego to despair. His
misfortunes flow from the villany of mankind; mine are the fruit of my
own madness. He laments the loss of a mistress, who fell a sacrifice to
the perfidious arts of a crafty traitor. She was beautiful, virtuous,
accomplished, and affectionate; he was fraught with sensibility and
love. Doubtless his heart must have deeply suffered; his behaviour
denotes the keenness of his woe; his eyes are everflowing fountains of
tears; his bosom the habitation of sighs; five hundred leagues hath he
measured in a pilgrimage to her tomb; nightly he visits the dreary
vault where she now lies at rest; her solitary grave is his couch; he
converses with darkness and the dead, until each lonely aisle re-echoes
his distress. What would be his penance, had he my cause! were he
conscious of having murdered a beloved wife and darling daughter! Ah
wretch!—ah cruel homicide!—what had those dear victims done to merit
such a fate? Were they not ever gentle and obedient, ever aiming to
give thee satisfaction and delight? Say, that Serafina was enamoured of
a peasant; say, that she had degenerated from the honour of her race.
The inclinations are involuntary; perhaps that stranger was her equal
in pedigree and worth. Had they been fairly questioned, they might have
justified, at least excused, that conduct which appeared so criminal;
or had they owned the offence, and supplicated pardon—O barbarous
monster that I am! was all the husband—was all the father extinguished
in my heart? How shall my own errors be forgiven, if I refused to