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Title: The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete

Author: T. Smollett

Release date: September 9, 2004 [eBook #6761]
Most recently updated: April 25, 2025

Language: English

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Credits: Tapio Riikonen and David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM — COMPLETE
***

The Adventures of
Ferdinand Count Fathom

by Tobias Smollett

COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
With the Author’s Preface, and an Introduction by G. H.
Maynadier, Ph.D. Department of English, Harvard University.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

PART I.
TO DOCTOR
CHAPTER ONE. Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our
important History
CHAPTER TWO. A superficial View of our Hero’s Infancy
CHAPTER THREE. He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good
Fortune to acquire a generous Patron
CHAPTER FOUR. His Mother’s Prowess and Death; together with some
Instances of his own Sagacity
CHAPTER FIVE. A brief Detail of his Education
CHAPTER SIX. He meditates Schemes of Importance
CHAPTER SEVEN. Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in
order to put his Talents in Action
CHAPTER EIGHT. Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some
Readers may think impertinent
CHAPTER NINE. The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a
remarkable Adventure
CHAPTER TEN. They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success,
until our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he enters
into League with another Adventurer
CHAPTER ELEVEN. Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of
Gallantry
CHAPTER TWELVE. He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich
Jeweller

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the
Course of his Intrigue with the Daughter
CHAPTER FOURTEEN. He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in
consequence of an Assignation with the Wife
CHAPTER FIFTEEN. But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
CHAPTER SIXTEEN. His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is
once again well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea’s Apartment
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. The Step-dame’s Suspicions being awakened,
she lays a Snare for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the
Interposition of his Good Genius
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the
Domain of Venus for the rough Field of Mars
CHAPTER NINETEEN. He puts himself under the Guidance of his
Associate, and stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his
Military Career
CHAPTER TWENTY. He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself
countermined—Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible
Tempest
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid
Charybdis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his
Reception
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. Acquits himself with Address in a
Nocturnal Riot
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. He overlooks the Advances of his Friends,
and smarts severely for his Neglect
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and
contracts acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. The History of the Noble Castilian
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN. A flagrant Instance of Fathom’s Virtue, in
the Manner of his Retreat to England
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. Another providential Deliverance from the
Effects of the Smuggler’s ingenious Conjecture

CHAPTER THIRTY. The singular Manner of Fathom’s Attack and
Triumph over the Virtue of the fair Elenor
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE. He by accident encounters his old Friend, with
whom he holds a Conference, and renews a Treaty
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO. He appears in the great World with universal
Applause and Admiration
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE. He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the
minor Knights of his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR. He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the
minor Knights of his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns
paramount during the whole Season
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns
paramount during the whole Season
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN. He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns
paramount during the whole Season
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT. The Biter is Bit

PART II.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE. Our Adventurer is made acquainted with a
new Scene of Life
CHAPTER FORTY. He contemplates Majesty and its Satellites in Eclipse
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE. One Quarrel is compromised, and another
decided by unusual Arms
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO. An unexpected Rencontre, and a happy
Revolution in the Affairs of our Adventurer
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in
the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR. Fathom justifies the Proverb, “What’s bred in
the Bone will never come out of the Flesh”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE. Renaldo’s Distress deepens, and Fathom’s Plot
thickens
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX. Our Adventurer becomes absolute in his Power
over the Passions of his Friend, and effects one half of his Aim

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN. The Art of Borrowing further explained, and
an Account of a Strange Phenomenon
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT. Count Fathom unmasks his Battery; is
repulsed; and varies his Operations without effect
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE. Monimia’s Honour is protected by the
Interposition of Heaven
CHAPTER FIFTY. Fathom shifts the Scene, and appears in a new
Character
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE. Triumphs over a Medical Rival
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO. Repairs to the Metropolis, and enrols himself
among the Sons of Paean
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE. Acquires Employment in consequence of a
lucky Miscarriage
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR. His Eclipse, and gradual Declination
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE. After divers unsuccessful Efforts, he has
recourse to the Matrimonial Noose
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX. In which his Fortune is effectually strangled
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN. Fathom being safely housed, the Reader is
entertained with a Retrospect
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT. Renaldo abridges the Proceedings at Law, and
approves himself the Son of his Father
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE. He is the Messenger of Happiness to his Sister,
who removes the film which had long obstructed his Penetration, with
regard to Count Fathom
CHAPTER SIXTY. He recompenses the Attachment of his Friend; and
receives a Letter that reduces him to the Verge of Death and Distraction
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE. Renaldo meets with a living Monument of
Justice, and encounters a Personage of some Note in these Memoirs
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO. His Return to England, and Midnight
Pilgrimage to Monimia’s Tomb
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE. He renews the Rites of Sorrow, and is
entranced
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR. The Mystery unfolded—Another Recognition,
which, it is to be hoped, the Reader could not foresee

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE. A retrospective Link, necessary for the
Concatenation of these Memoirs
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX. The History draws near a Period
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN. The Longest and the Last

ILLUSTRATIONS

Titlepage of Part One
Frontispiece of Part One
He Opened the Repository
Titlepage of Part Two
Frontispiece of Part Two
You Are the Count de Melvil

INTRODUCTION

The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett’s third novel, was
given to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her
daughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],
remarked that “my friend Smollett . . . has certainly a talent for invention,
though I think it flags a little in his last work.” Lady Mary was both right
and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly think of as Smollett’s
was the ability to work over his own experience into realistic fiction. Of
this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows comparatively little. It shows
relatively little, too, of Smollett’s vigorous personality, which in his earlier
works was present to give life and interest to almost every chapter, were it
to describe a street brawl, a ludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or
with venomous prejudice to gibbet some enemy. This individuality—the
peculiar spirit of the author which can be felt rather than described—is
present in the dedication of Fathom to Doctor ———, who is no other than
Smollett himself, and a candid revelation of his character, by the way, this
dedication contains. It is present, too, in the opening chapters, which show,
likewise, in the picture of Fathom’s mother, something of the author’s
peculiar “talent for invention.” Subsequently, however, there is no denying
that the Smollett invention and the Smollett spirit both flag. And yet, in a
way, Fathom displays more invention than any of the author’s novels; it is
based far less than any other on personal experience. Unfortunately such
thorough-going invention was not suited to Smollett’s genius. The result is,
that while uninteresting as a novel of contemporary manners, Fathom has
an interest of its own in that it reveals a new side of its author. We think of
Smollett, generally, as a rambling storyteller, a rational, unromantic man of
the world, who fills his pages with his own oddly-metamorphosed
acquaintances and experiences. The Smollett of Count Fathom, on the
contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school, who has created a
tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own brain. Though this is

notably less readable than the author’s earlier works, still the wonder is that
when the man is so far “off his beat,” he should yet know so well how to
meet the strange conditions which confront him. To one whose idea of
Smollett’s genius is formed entirely by Random and Pickle and Humphry
Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will offer many surprises.
The first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book. True, here
again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied by that
rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so interesting to
contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes so far towards
making his fiction seem real. Nor are the characters, for the most part, life-
like enough to be interesting. There is an apparent exception, to be sure, in
the hero’s mother, already mentioned, the hardened camp-follower, whom
we confidently expect to become vitalised after the savage fashion of
Smollett’s characters. But, alas! we have no chance to learn the lady’s style
of conversation, for the few words that come from her lips are but partially
characteristic; we have only too little chance to learn her manners and
customs. In the fourth chapter, while she is making sure with her dagger
that all those on the field of battle whom she wishes to rifle are really dead,
an officer of the hussars, who has been watching her lucrative progress,
unfeelingly puts a brace of bullets into the lady’s brain, just as she raises her
hand to smite him to the heart. Perhaps it is as well that she is thus removed
before our disappointment at the non-fulfilment of her promise becomes
poignant. So far as we may judge from the other personages of Count
Fathom, even this interesting Amazon would sooner or later have turned
into a wooden figure, with a label giving the necessary information as to her
character.
Such certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book. Because he is
placarded, “Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity,” we are fain to accept
him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is he a
convincingly real villain. His friend and foil, the noble young Count de
Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are Joshua, the high-
minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don Diego. Neither is the
heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in her case, want of vitality is
not surprising; the presence of it would amaze us. If she were a woman
throbbing with life, she would be different from Smollett’s other heroines.
The “second lady” of the melodrama, Mademoiselle de Melvil, though by
no means vivified, is yet more real than her sister-in-law.

The fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only surprise
given us by the personages of Count Fathom. It is a surprise to find few of
them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them in some cases far
more distinctly conceived than any of the people in Roderick Random or
Peregrine Pickle. In the second of these, we saw Smollett beginning to
understand the use of incident to indicate consistent development of
character. In Count Fathom, he seems fully to understand this principle of
art, though he has not learned to apply it successfully. And so, in spite of an
excellent conception, Fathom, as I have said, is unreal. After all his
villainies, which he perpetrates without any apparent qualms of conscience,
it is incredible that he should honestly repent of his crimes. We are much
inclined to doubt when we read that “his vice and ambition was now quite
mortified within him,” the subsequent testimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq.,
in Humphry Clinker, to the contrary, notwithstanding. Yet Fathom up to this
point is consistently drawn, and drawn for a purpose:—to show that cold-
blooded roguery, though successful for a while, will come to grief in the
end. To heighten the effect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops parallel with
him the virtuous Count de Melvil. The author’s scheme of thus using one
character as the foil of another, though not conspicuous for its originality,
shows a decided advance in the theory of constructive technique. Only, as I
have said, Smollett’s execution is now defective.
“But,” one will naturally ask, “if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not
infrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett’s former novels; if its
characters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic and
never thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?” The surprise
will be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a large extent, the
plot makes Fathom interesting. Yes, Smollett, hitherto indifferent to
structure, has here written a story in which the plot itself, often clumsy
though it may be, engages a reader’s attention. One actually wants to know
whether the young Count is ever going to receive consolation for his
sorrows and inflict justice on his basely ungrateful pensioner. And when,
finally, all turns out as it should, one is amazed to find how many of the
people in the book have helped towards the designed conclusion. Not all of
them, indeed, nor all of the adventures, are indispensable, but it is manifest
at the end that much, which, for the time, most readers think irrelevant—
such as Don Diego’s history—is, after all, essential.

It has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some
extent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest to the
book. That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise. Any one versed
in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations which he has put
before us in his earlier works. These do not indicate, however, that Smollett
possessed the imagination which could excite romantic interest; for in
Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the wonderful situations serve
chiefly to amuse. In Fathom, however, there are some designed to excite
horror; and one, at least, is eminently successful. The hero’s night in the
wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons was no doubt more blood-curdling
to our eighteenth-century ancestors than it is to us, who have become
acquainted with scores of similar situations in the small number of exciting
romances which belong to literature, and in the greater number which do
not. Still, even to-day, a reader, with his taste jaded by trashy novels, will be
conscious of Smollett’s power, and of several thrills, likewise, as he reads
about Fathom’s experience in the loft in which the beldame locks him to
pass the night.
This situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is used
technically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century literature.
There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely romantic in the
latter sense. Such is the imprisonment of the Countess in the castle-tower,
whence she waves her handkerchief to the young Count, her son and would-
be rescuer. And especially so is the scene in the church, when Renaldo (the
very name is romantic) visits at midnight the supposed grave of his lady-
love. While he was waiting for the sexton to open the door, his “soul . . .
was wound up to the highest pitch of enthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon
darkness, . . . the solemn silence, and lonely situation of the place,
conspired with the occasion of his coming, and the dismal images of his
fancy, to produce a real rapture of gloomy expectation, which the whole
world could not have persuaded him to disappoint. The clock struck twelve,
the owl screeched from the ruined battlement, the door was opened by the
sexton, who, by the light of a glimmering taper, conducted the despairing
lover to a dreary aisle, and stamped upon the ground with his foot, saying,
‘Here the young lady lies interred.’”
We have here such an amount of the usual romantic machinery of the
“grave-yard” school of poets—that school of which Professor W. L. Phelps
calls Young, in his Night Thoughts, the most “conspicuous exemplar”—that

one is at first inclined to think Smollett poking fun at it. The context,
however, seems to prove that he was perfectly serious. It is interesting, then,
as well as surprising, to find traces of the romantic spirit in his fiction over
ten years before Walpole’s Castle of Otranto. It is also interesting to find so
much melodramatic feeling in him, because it makes stronger the
connection between him and his nineteenth-century disciple, Dickens.
From all that I have said, it must not be thought that the usual Smollett is
always, or almost always, absent from Count Fathom. I have spoken of the
dedication and of the opening chapters as what we might expect from his
pen. There are, besides, true Smollett strokes in the scenes in the prison
from which Melvil rescues Fathom, and there is a good deal of the satirical
Smollett fun in the description of Fathom’s ups and downs, first as the
petted beau, and then as the fashionable doctor. In chronicling the latter
meteoric career, Smollett had already observed the peculiarity of his
countrymen which Thackeray was fond of harping on in the next century
—“the maxim which universally prevails among the English people . . . to
overlook, . . . on their return to the metropolis, all the connexions they may
have chanced to acquire during their residence at any of the medical wells.
And this social disposition is so scrupulously maintained, that two persons
who live in the most intimate correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall, in
four-and-twenty hours . . . meet in St. James’s Park, without betraying the
least token of recognition.” And good, too, is the way in which, as Dr.
Fathom goes rapidly down the social hill, he makes excuses for his
declining splendour. His chariot was overturned “with a hideous crash” at
such danger to himself, “that he did not believe he should ever hazard
himself again in any sort of wheel carriage.” He turned off his men for
maids, because “men servants are generally impudent, lazy, debauched, or
dishonest.” To avoid the din of the street, he shifted his lodgings into a
quiet, obscure court. And so forth and so on, in the true Smollett vein.
But, after all, such of the old sparks are struck only occasionally. Apart
from its plot, which not a few nineteenth-century writers of detective-stories
might have improved, The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom is less
interesting for itself than any other piece of fiction from Smollett’s pen. For
a student of Smollett, however, it is highly interesting as showing the
author’s romantic, melodramatic tendencies, and the growth of his
constructive technique.

G. H. MAYNADIER

THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT
FATHOM

TO DOCTOR ———

You and I, my good friend, have often deliberated on the difficulty of
writing such a dedication as might gratify the self-complacency of a patron,
without exposing the author to the ridicule or censure of the public; and I
think we generally agreed that the task was altogether impracticable.—
Indeed, this was one of the few subjects on which we have always thought
in the same manner. For, notwithstanding that deference and regard which
we mutually pay to each other, certain it is, we have often differed,
according to the predominancy of those different passions, which frequently
warp the opinion, and perplex the understanding of the most judicious.
In dedication, as in poetry, there is no medium; for, if any one of the
human virtues be omitted in the enumeration of the patron’s good qualities,
the whole address is construed into an affront, and the writer has the
mortification to find his praise prostituted to very little purpose.
On the other hand, should he yield to the transports of gratitude or
affection, which is always apt to exaggerate, and produce no more than the
genuine effusions of his heart, the world will make no allowance for the
warmth of his passion, but ascribe the praise he bestows to interested views
and sordid adulation.
Sometimes too, dazzled by the tinsel of a character which he has no
opportunity to investigate, he pours forth the homage of his admiration
upon some false Maecenas, whose future conduct gives the lie to his
eulogium, and involves him in shame and confusion of face. Such was the
fate of a late ingenious author [the Author of the “Seasons”], who was so
often put to the blush for the undeserved incense he had offered in the heat
of an enthusiastic disposition, misled by popular applause, that he had
resolved to retract, in his last will, all the encomiums which he had thus
prematurely bestowed, and stigmatise the unworthy by name—a laudable
scheme of poetical justice, the execution of which was fatally prevented by
untimely death.

Whatever may have been the fate of other dedicators, I, for my own part,
sit down to write this address, without any apprehension of disgrace or
disappointment; because I know you are too well convinced of my affection
and sincerity to repine at what I shall say touching your character and
conduct. And you will do me the justice to believe, that this public
distinction is a testimony of my particular friendship and esteem.
Not that I am either insensible of your infirmities, or disposed to conceal
them from the notice of mankind. There are certain foibles which can only
be cured by shame and mortification; and whether or not yours be of that
species, I shall have the comfort to think my best endeavours were used for
your reformation.
Know then, I can despise your pride, while I honour your integrity, and
applaud your taste, while I am shocked at your ostentation.—I have known
you trifling, superficial, and obstinate in dispute; meanly jealous and
awkwardly reserved; rash and haughty in your resentments; and coarse and
lowly in your connexions. I have blushed at the weakness of your
conversation, and trembled at the errors of your conduct—yet, as I own you
possess certain good qualities, which overbalance these defects, and
distinguish you on this occasion as a person for whom I have the most
perfect attachment and esteem, you have no cause to complain of the
indelicacy with which your faults are reprehended. And as they are chiefly
the excesses of a sanguine disposition and looseness of thought, impatient
of caution or control, you may, thus stimulated, watch over your own
intemperance and infirmity with redoubled vigilance and consideration, and
for the future profit by the severity of my reproof.
These, however, are not the only motives that induce me to trouble you
with this public application. I must not only perform my duty to my friends,
but also discharge the debt I owe to my own interest. We live in a
censorious age; and an author cannot take too much precaution to anticipate
the prejudice, misapprehension, and temerity of malice, ignorance, and
presumption.
I therefore think it incumbent upon me to give some previous intimation
of the plan which I have executed in the subsequent performance, that I
may not be condemned upon partial evidence; and to whom can I with more
propriety appeal in my explanation than to you, who are so well acquainted
with all the sentiments and emotions of my breast?

A novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the characters of life,
disposed in different groups, and exhibited in various attitudes, for the
purposes of an uniform plan, and general occurrence, to which every
individual figure is subservient. But this plan cannot be executed with
propriety, probability, or success, without a principal personage to attract
the attention, unite the incidents, unwind the clue of the labyrinth, and at
last close the scene, by virtue of his own importance.
Almost all the heroes of this kind, who have hitherto succeeded on the
English stage, are characters of transcendent worth, conducted through the
vicissitudes of fortune, to that goal of happiness, which ever ought to be the
repose of extraordinary desert.—Yet the same principle by which we rejoice
at the remuneration of merit, will teach us to relish the disgrace and
discomfiture of vice, which is always an example of extensive use and
influence, because it leaves a deep impression of terror upon the minds of
those who were not confirmed in the pursuit of morality and virtue, and,
while the balance wavers, enables the right scale to preponderate.
In the drama, which is a more limited field of invention, the chief
personage is often the object of our detestation and abhorrence; and we are
as well pleased to see the wicked schemes of a Richard blasted, and the
perfidy of a Maskwell exposed, as to behold a Bevil happy, and an Edward
victorious.
The impulses of fear, which is the most violent and interesting of all the
passions, remain longer than any other upon the memory; and for one that is
allured to virtue, by the contemplation of that peace and happiness which it
bestows, a hundred are deterred from the practice of vice, by that infamy
and punishment to which it is liable, from the laws and regulations of
mankind.
Let me not, therefore, be condemned for having chosen my principal
character from the purlieus of treachery and fraud, when I declare my
purpose is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit of the unexperienced
and unwary, who, from the perusal of these memoirs, may learn to avoid the
manifold snares with which they are continually surrounded in the paths of
life; while those who hesitate on the brink of iniquity may be terrified from
plunging into that irremediable gulf, by surveying the deplorable fate of
Ferdinand Count Fathom.

That the mind might not be fatigued, nor the imagination disgusted, by a
succession of vicious objects, I have endeavoured to refresh the attention
with occasional incidents of a different nature; and raised up a virtuous
character, in opposition to the adventurer, with a view to amuse the fancy,
engage the affection, and form a striking contrast which might heighten the
expression, and give a relief to the moral of the whole.
If I have not succeeded in my endeavours to unfold the mysteries of
fraud, to instruct the ignorant, and entertain the vacant; if I have failed in
my attempts to subject folly to ridicule, and vice to indignation; to rouse the
spirit of mirth, wake the soul of compassion, and touch the secret springs
that move the heart; I have, at least, adorned virtue with honour and
applause, branded iniquity with reproach and shame, and carefully avoided
every hint or expression which could give umbrage to the most delicate
reader—circumstances which (whatever may be my fate with the public)
will with you always operate in favour of,
Dear sir, your very affectionate friend and servant,
THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER ONE

SOME SAGE OBSERVATIONS THAT NATURALLY
INTRODUCE OUR IMPORTANT HISTORY.

Cardinal de Retz very judiciously observes, that all historians must of
necessity be subject to mistakes, in explaining the motives of those actions
they record, unless they derive their intelligence from the candid confession
of the person whose character they represent; and that, of consequence,
every man of importance ought to write his own memoirs, provided he has
honesty enough to tell the truth, without suppressing any circumstance that
may tend to the information of the reader. This, however, is a requisite that,
I am afraid, would be very rarely found among the number of those who
exhibit their own portraits to the public. Indeed, I will venture to say, that,
how upright soever a man’s intentions may be, he will, in the performance
of such a task, be sometimes misled by his own phantasy, and represent
objects, as they appeared to him, through the mists of prejudice and passion.
An unconcerned reader, when he peruses the history of two competitors,
who lived two thousand years ago, or who perhaps never had existence,
except in the imagination of the author, cannot help interesting himself in
the dispute, and espousing one side of the contest, with all the zeal of a
warm adherent. What wonder, then, that we should be heated in our own
concerns, review our actions with the same self-approbation that they had
formerly acquired, and recommend them to the world with all the
enthusiasm of paternal affection?
Supposing this to be the case, it was lucky for the cause of historical
truth, that so many pens have been drawn by writers, who could not be
suspected of such partiality; and that many great personages, among the
ancients as well as moderns, either would not or could not entertain the
public with their own memoirs. From this want of inclination or capacity to

write, in our hero himself, the undertaking is now left to me, of transmitting
to posterity the remarkable adventures of FERDINAND COUNT
FATHOM; and by the time the reader shall have glanced over the
subsequent sheets, I doubt not but he will bless God that the adventurer was
not his own historian.
This mirror of modern chivalry was none of those who owe their dignity
to the circumstances of their birth, and are consecrated from the cradle for
the purposes of greatness, merely because they are the accidental children
of wealth. He was heir to no visible patrimony, unless we reckon a robust
constitution, a tolerable appearance, and an uncommon capacity, as the
advantages of inheritance. If the comparison obtains in this point of
consideration, he was as much as any man indebted to his parent; and pity it
was, that, in the sequel of his fortune, he never had an opportunity of
manifesting his filial gratitude and regard. From this agreeable act of duty
to his sire, and all those tendernesses that are reciprocally enjoyed betwixt
the father and the son, he was unhappily excluded by a small circumstance;
at which, however, he was never heard to repine. In short, had he been
brought forth in the fabulous ages of the world, the nature of his origin
might have turned to his account; he might, like other heroes of antiquity,
have laid claim to divine extraction, without running the risk of being
claimed by an earthly father. Not that his parents had any reason to disown
or renounce their offspring, or that there was anything preternatural in the
circumstances of his generation and birth; on the contrary, he was, from the
beginning, a child of promising parts, and in due course of nature ushered
into the world amidst a whole cloud of witnesses. But, that he was
acknowledged by no mortal sire, solely proceeded from the uncertainty of
his mother, whose affections were so dissipated among a number of
admirers, that she could never pitch upon the person from whose loins our
hero sprung.
Over and above this important doubt under which he was begotten, other
particularities attended his birth, and seemed to mark him out as something
uncommon among the sons of men. He was brought forth in a waggon, and
might be said to be literally a native of two different countries; for, though
he first saw the light in Holland, he was not born till after the carriage
arrived in Flanders; so that, all these extraordinary circumstances
considered, the task of determining to what government he naturally owed

allegiance, would be at least as difficult as that of ascertaining the so much
contested birthplace of Homer.
Certain it is, the Count’s mother was an Englishwoman, who, after
having been five times a widow in one campaign, was, in the last year of
the renowned Marlborough’s command, numbered among the baggage of
the allied army, which she still accompanied, through pure benevolence of
spirit, supplying the ranks with the refreshing streams of choice Geneva,
and accommodating individuals with clean linen, as the emergency of their
occasions required. Nor was her philanthropy altogether confined to such
ministration; she abounded with “the milk of human kindness,” which
flowed plentifully among her fellow-creatures; and to every son of Mars
who cultivated her favour, she liberally dispensed her smiles, in order to
sweeten the toils and dangers of the field.
And here it will not be amiss to anticipate the remarks of the reader, who,
in the chastity and excellency of his conception, may possibly exclaim,
“Good Heaven! will these authors never reform their imaginations, and lift
their ideas from the obscene objects of low life? Must the public be again
disgusted with the grovelling adventures of a waggon? Will no writer of
genius draw his pen in the vindication of taste, and entertain us with the
agreeable characters, the dignified conversation, the poignant repartee, in
short, the genteel comedy of the polite world?”
Have a little patience, gentle, delicate, sublime critic; you, I doubt not,
are one of those consummate connoisseurs, who, in their purifications, let
humour evaporate, while they endeavour to preserve decorum, and polish
wit, until the edge of it is quite worn off. Or, perhaps, of that class, who, in
the sapience of taste, are disgusted with those very flavours in the
productions of their own country which have yielded infinite delectation to
their faculties, when imported from another clime; and d—n an author in
despite of all precedent and prescription;—who extol the writings of
Petronius Arbiter, read with rapture the amorous sallies of Ovid’s pen, and
chuckle over the story of Lucian’s ass; yet, if a modern author presumes to
relate the progress of a simple intrigue, are shocked at the indecency and
immorality of the scene;—who delight in following Guzman d’Alfarache,
through all the mazes of squalid beggary; who with pleasure accompany
Don Quixote and his squire, in the lowest paths of fortune; who are diverted
with the adventures of Scarron’s ragged troop of strollers, and highly

entertained with the servile situations of Gil Blas; yet, when a character in
humble life occasionally occurs in a performance of our own growth,
exclaim, with an air of disgust, “Was ever anything so mean! sure, this
writer must have been very conversant with the lowest scenes of life;”—
who, when Swift or Pope represents a coxcomb in the act of swearing,
scruple not to laugh at the ridiculous execrations; but, in a less reputed
author, condemn the use of such profane expletives;—who eagerly explore
the jakes of Rabelais, for amusement, and even extract humour from the
dean’s description of a lady’s dressing-room; yet in a production of these
days, unstamped with such venerable names, will stop their noses, with all
the signs of loathing and abhorrence, at a bare mention of the china
chamber-pot;—who applauded Catullus, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucan, for
their spirit in lashing the greatest names of antiquity; yet, when a British
satirist, of this generation, has courage enough to call in question the talents
of a pseudo-patron in power, accuse him of insolence, rancour, and
scurrility.
If such you be, courteous reader, I say again, have a little patience; for
your entertainment we are about to write. Our hero shall, with all
convenient despatch, be gradually sublimed into those splendid connexions
of which you are enamoured; and God forbid, that, in the meantime, the
nature of his extraction should turn to his prejudice in a land of freedom
like this, where individuals are every day ennobled in consequence of their
own qualifications, without the least retrospective regard to the rank or
merit of their ancestors. Yes, refined reader, we are hastening to that goal of
perfection, where satire dares not show her face; where nature is castigated,
almost even to still life; where humour turns changeling, and slavers in an
insipid grin; where wit is volatilised into a mere vapour; where decency,
divested of all substance, hovers about like a fantastic shadow; where the
salt of genius, escaping, leaves nothing but pure and simple phlegm; and the
inoffensive pen for ever drops the mild manna of soul-sweetening praise.

CHAPTER TWO

A SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF OUR HERO’S INFANCY.

Having thus bespoken the indulgence of our guests, let us now produce
the particulars of our entertainment, and speedily conduct our adventurer
through the stage of infancy, which seldom teems with interesting incidents.
As the occupations of his mother would not conveniently permit her to
suckle this her firstborn at her own breast, and those happy ages were now
no more, in which the charge of nursing a child might be left to the next
goat or she-wolf, she resolved to improve upon the ordinances of nature,
and foster him with a juice much more energetic than the milk of goat, wolf,
or woman; this was no other than that delicious nectar, which, as we have
already hinted, she so cordially distributed from a small cask that hung
before her, depending from her shoulders by a leathern zone. Thus
determined, ere he was yet twelve days old, she enclosed him in a canvas
knapsack, which being adjusted to her neck, fell down upon her back, and
balanced the cargo that rested on her bosom.
There are not wanting those who affirm, that, while her double charge
was carried about in this situation, her keg was furnished with a long and
slender flexible tube, which, when the child began to be clamorous, she
conveyed into his mouth, and straight he stilled himself with sucking; but
this we consider as an extravagant assertion of those who mix the
marvellous in all their narrations, because we cannot conceive how the
tender organs of an infant could digest such a fiery beverage, which never
fails to discompose the constitutions of the most hardy and robust. We
therefore conclude that the use of this potation was more restrained, and
that it was with simple element diluted into a composition adapted to his
taste and years. Be this as it will, he certainly was indulged in the use of it
to such a degree as would have effectually obstructed his future fortune, had

not he been happily cloyed with the repetition of the same fare, for which
he conceived the utmost detestation and abhorrence, rejecting it with
loathing and disgust, like those choice spirits, who, having been crammed
with religion in their childhood, renounce it in their youth, among other
absurd prejudices of education.
While he was thus dangled in a state of suspension, a German trooper
was transiently smit with the charms of his mother, who listened to his
honourable addresses, and once more received the silken bonds of
matrimony; the ceremony having been performed as usual at the drum-
head. The lady had no sooner taken possession of her new name, than she
bestowed it upon her son, who was thenceforward distinguished by the
appellation of Ferdinand de Fadom; nor was the husband offended at this
presumption in his wife, which he not only considered as a proof of her
affection and esteem, but also as a compliment, by which he might in time
acquire the credit of being the real father of such a hopeful child.
Notwithstanding this new engagement with a foreigner, our hero’s
mother still exercised the virtues of her calling among the English troops, so
much was she biassed by that laudable partiality, which, as Horace
observes, the natale solum generally inspires. Indeed this inclination was
enforced by another reason, that did not fail to influence her conduct in this
particular; all her knowledge of the High Dutch language consisted in some
words of traffic absolutely necessary for the practice of her vocation,
together with sundry oaths and terms of reproach, that kept her customers in
awe; so that, except among her own countrymen, she could not indulge that
propensity to conversation, for which she had been remarkable from her
earliest years. Nor did this instance of her affection fail of turning to her
account in the sequel. She was promoted to the office of cook to a
regimental mess of officers; and, before the peace of Utrecht, was actually
in possession of a suttling-tent, pitched for the accommodation of the
gentlemen in the army.
Meanwhile, Ferdinand improved apace in the accomplishments of
infancy; his beauty was conspicuous, and his vigour so uncommon, that he
was with justice likened unto Hercules in the cradle. The friends of his
father-in-law dandled him on their knees, while he played with their
whiskers, and, before he was thirteen months old, taught him to suck brandy
impregnated with gunpowder, through the touch-hole of a pistol. At the

same time, he was caressed by divers serjeants of the British army, who
severally and in secret contemplated his qualifications with a father’s pride,
excited by the artful declaration with which the mother had flattered each
apart.
Soon as the war was (for her unhappily) concluded, she, as in duty
bound, followed her husband into Bohemia; and his regiment being sent
into garrison at Prague, she opened a cabaret in that city, which was
frequented by a good many guests of the Scotch and Irish nations, who
were devoted to the exercise of arms in the service of the Emperor. It was
by this communication that the English tongue became vernacular to young
Ferdinand, who, without such opportunity, would have been a stranger to
the language of his forefathers, in spite of all his mother’s loquacity and
elocution; though it must be owned, for the credit of her maternal care, that
she let slip no occasion of making it familiar to his ear and conception; for,
even at those intervals in which she could find no person to carry on the
altercation, she used to hold forth in earnest soliloquies upon the subject of
her own situation, giving vent to many opprobrious invectives against her
husband’s country, between which and Old England she drew many odious
comparisons; and prayed, without ceasing, that Europe might speedily be
involved in a general war, so as that she might have some chance of re-
enjoying the pleasures and emoluments of a Flanders campaign.

CHAPTER THREE

HE IS INITIATED IN A MILITARY LIFE, AND HAS THE
GOOD FORTUNE TO ACQUIRE A GENEROUS PATRON.

While she wearied Heaven with these petitions, the flame of war broke
out betwixt the houses of Ottoman and Austria, and the Emperor sent forth
an army into Hungary, under the auspices of the renowned Prince Eugene.
On account of this expedition, the mother of our hero gave up
housekeeping, and cheerfully followed her customers and husband into the
field; having first provided herself with store of those commodities in which
she had formerly merchandised. Although the hope of profit might in some
measure affect her determination, one of the chief motives for her visiting
the frontiers of Turkey, was the desire of initiating her son in the rudiments
of his education, which she now thought high time to inculcate, he being, at
this period, in the sixth year of his age; he was accordingly conducted to the
camp, which she considered as the most consummate school of life, and
proposed for the scene of his instruction; and in this academy he had not
continued many weeks, when he was an eye-witness of that famous victory,
which, with sixty thousand men, the Imperial general obtained over an army
of one hundred and fifty thousand Turks.
His father-in-law was engaged, and his mother would not be idle on this
occasion. She was a perfect mistress of all the camp qualifications, and
thought it a duty incumbent on her to contribute all that lay in her power
towards distressing the enemy. With these sentiments she hovered about the
skirts of the army, and the troops were no sooner employed in the pursuit,
than she began to traverse the field of battle with a poignard and a bag, in
order to consult her own interest, annoy the foe, and exercise her humanity
at the same time. In short, she had, with amazing prowess, delivered some
fifty or threescore disabled Mussulmen of the pain under which they

groaned, and made a comfortable booty of the spoils of the slain, when her
eyes were attracted by the rich attire of an Imperial officer, who lay
bleeding on the plain, to all appearance in the agonies of death.
She could not in her heart refuse that favour to a friend and Christian she
had so compassionately bestowed upon so many enemies and infidels, and
therefore drew near with the sovereign remedy, which she had already
administered with such success. As she approached this deplorable object of
pity, her ears were surprised with an ejaculation in the English tongue,
which he fervently pronounced, though with a weak and languid voice,
recommending his soul to God, and his family to the protection of Heaven.
Our Amazon’s purpose was staggered by this providential incident; the
sound of her native language, so unexpectedly heard, and so pathetically
delivered, had a surprising effect upon her imagination; and the faculty of
reflection did not forsake her in such emergency. Though she could not
recollect the features of this unhappy officer, she concluded, from his
appearance, that he was some person of distinction in the service, and
foresaw greater advantage to herself in attempting to preserve his life, than
she could possibly reap from the execution of her first resolve. “If,” said she
to herself, “I can find means of conveying him to his tent alive, he cannot
but in conscience acknowledge my humanity with some considerable
recompense; and, should he chance to survive his wounds, I have
everything to expect from his gratitude and power.”
Fraught with these prudential suggestions, she drew near the unfortunate
stranger, and, in a softened accent of pity and condolence, questioned him
concerning his name, condition, and the nature of his mischance, at the
same time making a gentle tender of her service. Agreeably surprised to
hear himself accosted in such a manner, by a person whose equipage
seemed to promise far other designs, he thanked her in the most grateful
terms for her humanity, with the appellation of kind countrywoman; gave
her to understand that he was colonel of a regiment of horse; that he had
fallen in consequence of a shot he received in his breast at the beginning of
the action; and, finally, entreated her to procure some carriage on which he
might be removed to his tent. Perceiving him faint and exhausted with loss
of blood, she raised up his head, and treated him with that cordial which
was her constant companion. At that instant, espying a small body of
hussars returning to the camp with the plunder they had taken, she invoked
their assistance, and they forthwith carried the officer to his own quarters,

where his wound was dressed, and his preserver carefully tended him until
his recovery was completed.
In return for these good offices, this gentleman, who was originally of
Scotland, rewarded her for the present with great liberality, assured her of
his influence in promoting her husband, and took upon himself the charge
of young Ferdinand’s education; the boy was immediately taken into his
protection, and entered as a trooper in his own regiment; but his good
intentions towards his father-in-law were frustrated by the death of the
German, who, in a few days after this disposition, was shot in the trenches
before Temiswaer.
This event, over and above the conjugal affliction with which it invaded
the lady’s quiet, would have involved her in infinite difficulty and distress,
with regard to her temporal concerns, by leaving her unprotected in the
midst of strangers, had not she been thus providentially supplied with an
effectual patron in the colonel, who was known by the appellation of Count
Melvil. He no sooner saw her, by the death of her husband, detached from
all personal connexions with a military life, than he proposed that she
should quit her occupation in the camp, and retire to his habitation in the
city of Presburg, where she would be entertained in ease and plenty during
the remaining part of her natural life. With all due acknowledgments of his
generosity, she begged to be excused from embracing his proposal, alleging
she was so much accustomed to her present way of life, and so much
devoted to the service of the soldiery, that she should never be happy in
retirement, while the troops of any prince in Christendom kept the field.
The Count, finding her determined to prosecute her scheme, repeated his
promise of befriending her upon all occasions; and in the meantime
admitted Ferdinand into the number of his domestics, resolving that he
should be brought up in attendance upon his own son, who was a boy of the
same age. He kept him, however, in his tent, until he should have an
opportunity of revisiting his family in person; and, before that occasion
offered, two whole years elapsed, during which the illustrious Prince
Eugene gained the celebrated battle of Belgrade, and afterwards made
himself master of that important frontier.

CHAPTER FOUR

HIS MOTHER’S PROWESS AND DEATH; TOGETHER WITH
SOME INSTANCES OF HIS OWN SAGACITY.

It would have been impossible for the mother of our adventurer, such as
she hath been described, to sit quietly in her tent, while such an heroic
scene was acting. She was no sooner apprised of the general’s intention to
attack the enemy, than she, as usual, packed up her moveables in a waggon,
which she committed to the care of a peasant in the neighbourhood, and put
herself in motion with the troops; big with the expectation of re-acting that
part in which she had formerly acquitted herself so much to her advantage.
—Nay, she by this time looked upon her own presence as a certain omen of
success to the cause which she espoused; and, in their march to battle,
actually encouraged the ranks with repeated declarations, importing, that
she had been eye-witness of ten decisive engagements, in all of which her
friends had been victorious, and imputing such uncommon good fortune to
some supernatural quality inherent in her person.
Whether or not this confidence contributed to the fortune of the day, by
inspiring the soldiers to an uncommon pitch of courage and resolution, I
shall not pretend to determine. But, certain it is, the victory began from that
quarter in which she had posted herself; and no corps in the army behaved
with such intrepidity as that which was manifested by those who were
favoured with her admonitions and example; for she not only exposed her
person to the enemy’s fire, with the indifference and deliberation of a
veteran, but she is said to have achieved a very conspicuous exploit by the
prowess of her single arm. The extremity of the line to which she had
attached herself, being assaulted in flank by a body of the spahis, wheeled
about, in order to sustain the charge, and received them with such a
seasonable fire, as brought a great number of turbans to the ground; among

those who fell, was one of the chiefs or agas, who had advanced before the
rest, with a view to signalise his valour.
Our English Penthesilea no sooner saw this Turkish leader drop, than,
struck with the magnificence of his own and horse’s trappings, she sprung
forward to seize them as her prize, and found the aga not dead, though in a
good measure disabled by his misfortune, which was entirely owing to the
weight of his horse, that, having been killed by a musket-ball, lay upon his
leg, so that he could not disengage himself. Nevertheless, perceiving the
virago approach with fell intent, he brandished his symitar, and tried to
intimidate his assailant with a most horrible exclamation; but it was not the
dismal yell of a dismounted cavalier, though enforced with a hideous
ferocity of countenance, and the menacing gestures with which he waited
her approach, that could intimidate such an undaunted she-campaigner; she
saw him writhing in the agonies of a situation from which he could not
move; and, running towards him with the nimbleness and intrepidity of a
Camilla, described a semicircle in the progress of her assault, and attacking
him on one side, plunged her well-tried dagger in his throat. The shades of
death encompassed him, his life-blood issued at the wound, he fell prone
upon the earth, he bit the dust, and having thrice invoked the name of Allah!
straight expired.
While his destiny was thus fulfilled, his followers began to reel; they
seemed dismayed at the fate of their chief, beheld their companions drop
like the leaves in autumn, and suddenly halted in the midst of their career.
The Imperialists, observing the confusion of the enemy, redoubled their
fire; and, raising a dreadful shout, advanced in order to improve the
advantage they had gained. The spahis durst not wait the shock of such an
encounter; they wheeled to the right-about, and clapping spurs to their
horses, fled in the utmost disorder. This was actually the circumstance that
turned the scale of battle. The Austrians pursued their good fortune with
uncommon impetuosity, and in a few minutes left the field clear for the
mother of our hero, who was such an adept in the art of stripping, that in the
twinkling of an eye the bodies of the aga and his Arabian lay naked to the
skin. It would have been happy for her, had she been contented with these
first-fruits, reaped from the fortune of the day, and retired with her spoils,
which were not inconsiderable; but, intoxicated with the glory she had won,
enticed by the glittering caparisons that lay scattered on the plain, and
without doubt prompted by the secret instinct of her fate, she resolved to

seize opportunity by the forelock, and once for all indemnify herself for the
many fatigues, hazards, and sorrows she had undergone.
Thus determined, she reconnoitred the field, and practised her address so
successfully, that in less than half an hour she was loaded with ermine and
embroidery, and disposed to retreat with her burden, when her regards were
solicited by a splendid bundle, which she descried at some distance lying on
the ground. This was no other than an unhappy officer of hussars; who,
after having the good fortune to take a Turkish standard, was desperately
wounded in the thigh, and obliged to quit his horse; finding himself in such
a helpless condition, he had wrapped his acquisition round his body, that
whatever might happen, he and his glory should not be parted; and thus
shrouded, among the dying and the dead, he had observed the progress of
our heroine, who stalked about the field, like another Atropos, finishing,
wherever she came, the work of death. He did not at all doubt, that he
himself would be visited in the course of her peregrinations, and therefore
provided for her reception, with a pistol ready cocked in his hand, while he
lay perdue beneath his covert, in all appearance bereft of life. He was not
deceived in his prognostic; she no sooner eyed the golden crescent than,
inflamed with curiosity or cupidity, she directed thitherward her steps, and
discerning the carcase of a man, from which, she thought, there would be a
necessity for disengaging it, she lifted up her weapon, in order to make sure
of her purchase; and in the very instant of discharging her blow, received a
brace of bullets in her brain.
Thus ended the mortal pilgrimage of this modern Amazon; who, in point
of courage, was not inferior to Semiramis, Tomyris, Zenobia, Thalestris, or
any boasted heroine of ancient times. It cannot be supposed that this
catastrophe made a very deep impression upon the mind of young
Ferdinand, who had just then attained the ninth year of his age, and been for
a considerable time weaned from her maternal caresses; especially as he felt
no wants nor grievances in the family of the Count, who favoured him with
a particular share of indulgence, because he perceived in him a spirit of
docility, insinuation, and sagacity, far above his years. He did not, however,
fail to lament the untimely fate of his mother, with such filial expressions of
sorrow, as still more intimately recommended him to his patron; who, being
himself a man of extraordinary benevolence, looked upon the boy as a
prodigy of natural affection, and foresaw in his future services a fund of

gratitude and attachment, that could not fail to render him a valuable
acquisition to his family.
In his own country, he had often seen connexions of that sort, which
having been planted in the infancy of the adherent, had grown up to a
surprising pitch of fidelity and friendship, that no temptation could bias, and
no danger dissolve. He therefore rejoiced in the hope of seeing his own son
accommodated with such a faithful attendant, in the person of young
Fathom, on whom he resolved to bestow the same education he had planned
for the other, though conveyed in such a manner as should be suitable to the
sphere in which he was ordained to move. In consequence of these
determinations, our young adventurer led a very easy life, in quality of page
to the Count, in whose tent he lay upon a pallet, close to his field-bed, and
often diverted him with his childish prattle in the English tongue, which the
more seldom his master had occasion to speak, he the more delighted to
hear. In the exercise of his function, the boy was incredibly assiduous and
alert; far from neglecting the little particulars of his duty, and embarking in
the mischievous amusements of the children belonging to the camp, he was
always diligent, sedate, agreeably officious and anticipating; and in the
whole of his behaviour seemed to express the most vigilant sense of his
patron’s goodness and generosity; nay, to such a degree had these
sentiments, in all appearance, operated upon his reflection, that one
morning, while he supposed the Count asleep, he crept softly to his bedside,
and gently kissing his hand, which happened to be uncovered, pronounced,
in a low voice, a most fervent prayer in his behalf, beseeching Heaven to
shower down blessings upon him, as the widow’s friend and the orphan’s
father. This benediction was not lost upon the Count, who chanced to be
awake, and heard it with admiration; but what riveted Ferdinand in his good
graces, was a discovery that our youth made, while his master was upon
duty in the trenches before Belgrade.
Two foot soldiers, standing sentry near the door of the tent, were
captivated with the sight of some valuable moveables belonging to it; and
supposing, in their great wisdom, that the city of Belgrade was too well
fortified to be taken during that campaign, they came to a resolution of
withdrawing themselves from the severe service of the trenches, by
deserting to the enemy, after they should have rifled Count Melvil’s tent of
the furniture by which they were so powerfully allured. The particulars of
this plan were concerted in the French language, which, they imagined,

would screen them from all risk of being detected, in case they should be
overheard, though, as there was no living creature in sight, they had no
reason to believe that any person was privy to their conversation.
Nevertheless, they were mistaken in both these conjectures. The conference
reached the ears of Fathom, who was at the other end of the tent, and had
perceived the eager looks with which they considered some parts of the
furniture. He had penetration enough to suspect their desire, and, alarmed
by that suspicion, listened attentively to their discourse; which, from a
slender knowledge in the French tongue, he had the good fortune partly to
understand.
This important piece of intelligence he communicated to the Count at his
return, and measures were immediately taken to defeat the design, and
make an example of the authors, who being permitted to load themselves
with the booty, were apprehended in their retreat, and punished with death
according to their demerits.

CHAPTER FIVE

A BRIEF DETAIL OF HIS EDUCATION.

Nothing could have more seasonably happened to confirm the good
opinion which the colonel entertained of Ferdinand’s principles. His
intentions towards the boy grew every day more and more warm; and,
immediately after the peace of Passarowitz, he retired to his own house at
Presburg, and presented young Fathom to his lady, not only as the son of a
person to whom he owed his life, but also as a lad who merited his peculiar
protection and regard by his own personal virtue. The Countess, who was
an Hungarian, received him with great kindness and affability, and her son
was ravished with the prospect of enjoying such a companion. In short,
fortune seemed to have provided for him an asylum, in which he might be
safely trained up, and suitably prepared for more important scenes of life
than any of his ancestors had ever known.
He was not, in all respects, entertained on the footing of his young
master; yet he shared in all his education and amusements, as one whom the
old gentleman was fully determined to qualify for the station of an officer in
the service; and, if he did not eat with the Count, he was every day regaled
with choice bits from his table; holding, as it were, a middle place between
the rank of a relation and favourite domestic. Although his patron
maintained a tutor in the house, to superintend the conduct of his heir, he
committed the charge of his learning to the instructions of a public school;
where he imagined the boy would imbibe a laudable spirit of emulation
among his fellows, which could not fail of turning out to the advantage of
his education. Ferdinand was entered in the same academy; and the two lads
proceeded equally in the paths of erudition; a mutual friendship and
intimacy soon ensued, and, notwithstanding the levity and caprice
commonly discernible in the behaviour of such boys, very few or rather no
quarrels happened in the course of their communication. Yet their

dispositions were altogether different, and their talents unlike. Nay, this
dissimilarity was the very bond of their union; because it prevented that
jealousy and rivalship which often interrupts the harmony of two warm
contemporaries.
The young Count made extraordinary progress in the exercises of the
school, though he seemed to take very little pains in the cultivation of his
studies; and became a perfect hero in all the athletic diversions of his
fellow-scholars; but, at the same time, exhibited such a bashful appearance
and uncouth address, that his mother despaired of ever seeing him improved
into any degree of polite behaviour. On the other hand, Fathom, who was in
point of learning a mere dunce, became, even in his childhood, remarkable
among the ladies for his genteel deportment and vivacity; they admired the
proficiency he made under the directions of his dancing-master, the air with
which he performed his obeisance at his entrance and exit; and were
charmed with the agreeable assurance and lively sallies of his conversation;
while they expressed the utmost concern and disgust at the boorish
demeanour of his companion, whose extorted bows resembled the pawings
of a mule, who hung his head in silence like a detected sheep-stealer, who
sat in company under the most awkward expressions of constraint, and
whose discourse never exceeded the simple monosyllables of negation and
assent.
In vain did all the females of the family propose to him young Fathom, as
a pattern and reproach. He remained unaltered by all their efforts and
expostulations, and allowed our adventurer to enjoy the triumph of his
praise, while he himself was conscious of his own superiority in those
qualifications which seemed of more real importance than the mere
exteriors and forms of life. His present ambition was not to make a figure at
his father’s table, but to eclipse his rivals at school, and to acquire an
influence and authority among these confederates. Nevertheless, Fathom
might possibly have fallen under his displeasure or contempt, had not that
pliant genius found means to retain his friendship by seasonable
compliances and submission; for the sole study, or at least the chief aim of
Ferdinand, was to make himself necessary and agreeable to those on whom
his dependence was placed. His talent was in this particular suited to his
inclination; he seemed to have inherited it from his mother’s womb; and,
without all doubt, would have raised upon it a most admirable
superstructure of fortune and applause, had not it been inseparably yoked

with a most insidious principle of self-love, that grew up with him from the
cradle, and left no room in his heart for the least particle of social virtue.
This last, however, he knew so well how to counterfeit, by means of a large
share of ductility and dissimulation, that, surely, he was calculated by
nature to dupe even the most cautious, and gratify his appetites, by levying
contributions on all mankind.
So little are the common instructors of youth qualified to judge the
capacities of those who are under their tutelage and care, that Fathom, by
dint of his insinuating arts, made shift to pass upon the schoolmaster as a
lad of quick parts, in despite of a natural inaptitude to retain his lessons,
which all his industry could never overcome. In order to remedy, or rather
to cloak this defect in his understanding, he had always recourse to the
friendship of the young Count, who freely permitted him to transcribe his
exercises, until a small accident happened, which had well-nigh put a stop
to these instances of his generosity.—The adventure, inconsiderable as it is,
we shall record, as the first overt act of Ferdinand’s true character, as well
as an illustration of the opinion we have advanced touching the blind and
injudicious decisions of a right pedagogue.
Among other tasks imposed by the pedant upon the form to which our
two companions belonged, they were one evening ordered to translate a
chapter of Caesar’s Commentaries. Accordingly the young Count went to
work, and performed the undertaking with great elegance and despatch.
Fathom, having spent the night in more effeminate amusements, was next
morning so much hurried for want of time, that in his transcription he
neglected to insert a few variations from the text, these being the terms on
which he was allowed to use it; so that it was verbatim a copy of the
original. As those exercises were always delivered in a heap, subscribed
with the several names of the boys to whom they belonged, the
schoolmaster chanced to peruse the version of Ferdinand, before he looked
into any of the rest, and could not help bestowing upon it particular marks
of approbation. The next that fell under his examination was that of the
young Count, when he immediately perceived the sameness, and, far from
imputing it to the true cause, upbraided him with having copied the exercise
of our adventurer, and insisted upon chastising him upon the spot for his
want of application.

Had not the young gentleman thought his honour was concerned, he
would have submitted to the punishment without murmuring; but he
inherited, from his parents, the pride of two fierce nations, and, being
overwhelmed with reproaches for that which he imagined ought to have
redounded to his glory, he could not brook the indignity, and boldly
affirmed, that he himself was the original, to whom Ferdinand was
beholden for his performance. The schoolmaster, nettled to find himself
mistaken in his judgment, resolved that the Count should have no cause to
exult in the discovery he had made, and, like a true flogger, actually
whipped him for having allowed Fathom to copy his exercise. Nay, in the
hope of vindicating his own penetration, he took an opportunity of
questioning Ferdinand in private concerning the circumstances of the
translation, and our hero, perceiving his drift, gave him such artful and
ambiguous answers, as persuaded him that the young Count had acted the
part of a plagiary, and that the other had been restrained from doing himself
justice, by the consideration of his own dependence.
This profound director did not fail, in honour of his own discernment, to
whisper about the misrepresentation, as an instance of the young Count’s
insolence, and Fathom’s humility and good sense. The story was circulated
among the servants, especially the maids belonging to the family, whose
favour our hero had acquired by his engaging behaviour; and at length it
reached the ears of his patron, who, incensed at his son’s presumption and
inhospitality, called him to a severe account, when the young gentleman
absolutely denied the truth of the allegation, and appealed to the evidence of
Fathom himself. Our adventurer was accordingly summoned by the father,
and encouraged to declare the truth, with an assurance of his constant
protection; upon which Ferdinand very wisely fell upon his knees, and,
while the tears gushed from his eyes, acquitted the young Count of the
imputation, and expressed his apprehension, that the report had been spread
by some of his enemies, who wanted to prejudice him in the opinion of his
patron.
The old gentleman was not satisfied of his son’s integrity by this
declaration; being naturally of a generous disposition, highly prepossessed
in favour of the poor orphan, and chagrined at the unpromising appearance
of his heir, he suspected that Fathom was overawed by the fear of giving
offence, and that, notwithstanding what he had said, the case really stood as
it had been represented. In this persuasion, he earnestly exhorted his son to

resist and combat with any impulse he might feel within himself, tending to
selfishness, fraud, or imposition; to encourage every sentiment of candour
and benevolence, and to behave with moderation and affability to all his
fellow-creatures. He laid upon him strong injunctions, not without a
mixture of threats, to consider Fathom as the object of his peculiar regard;
to respect him as the son of the Count’s preserver, as a Briton, a stranger,
and, above all, an helpless orphan, to whom the rights of hospitality were
doubly due.
Such admonitions were not lost upon the youth, who, under the rough
husk of his personal exhibition, possessed a large share of generous
sensibility. Without any formal professions to his father, he resolved to
govern himself according to his remonstrances; and, far from conceiving
the least spark of animosity against Fathom, he looked upon the poor boy as
the innocent cause of his disgrace, and redoubled his kindness towards him,
that his honour might never again be called in question, upon the same
subject. Nothing is more liable to misconstruction than an act of uncommon
generosity; one half of the world mistake the motive, from want of ideas to
conceive an instance of beneficence that soars so high above the level of
their own sentiments; and the rest suspect it of something sinister or selfish,
from the suggestions of their own sordid and vicious inclinations. The
young Count subjected himself to such misinterpretation, among those who
observed the increased warmth of civility and complaisance in his
behaviour to Ferdinand. They ascribed it to his desire of still profiting by
our adventurer’s superior talents, by which alone they supposed him
enabled to maintain any degree of reputation at school; or to the fear of
being convicted by him of some misdemeanour of which he knew himself
guilty. These suspicions were not effaced by the conduct of Ferdinand, who,
when examined on the subject, managed his answers in such a manner, as
confirmed their conjectures, while he pretended to refute them, and at the
same time acquired to himself credit for his extraordinary discretion and
self-denial.
If he exhibited such a proof of sagacity in the twelfth year of his age,
what might not be expected from his finesse in the maturity of his faculties
and experience? Thus secured in the good graces of the whole family, he
saw the days of his puerility glide along in the most agreeable elapse of
caresses and amusement. He never fairly plunged into the stream of school-
education, but, by floating on the surface, imbibed a small tincture of those

different sciences which his master pretended to teach. In short, he
resembled those vagrant swallows that skim along the level of some pool or
river, without venturing to wet one feather in their wings, except in the
accidental pursuit of an inconsiderable fly. Yet, though his capacity or
inclination was unsuited for studies of this kind, he did not fail to manifest a
perfect genius in the acquisition of other more profitable arts. Over and
above the accomplishments of address, for which he hath been already
celebrated, he excelled all his fellows in his dexterity at fives and billiards;
was altogether unrivalled in his skill at draughts and backgammon; began,
even at these years, to understand the moves and schemes of chess; and
made himself a mere adept in the mystery of cards, which he learned in the
course of his assiduities and attention to the females of the house.

CHAPTER SIX

HE MEDITATES SCHEMES OF IMPORTANCE.

It was in these parties that he attracted the notice and friendship of his
patron’s daughter, a girl by two years older than himself, who was not
insensible to his qualifications, and looked upon him with the most
favourable eyes of prepossession. Whether or not he at this period of his life
began to project plans for availing himself of her susceptibility, is uncertain;
but, without all doubt, he cultivated her esteem with as obsequious and
submissive attention as if he had already formed the design, which, in his
advanced age, he attempted to put in execution.
Divers circumstances conspired to promote him in the favour of this
young lady; the greenness of his years secured him from any appearance of
fallacious aim; so that he was indulged in frequent opportunities of
conversing with his young mistress, whose parents encouraged this
communication, by which they hoped she would improve in speaking the
language of her father. Such connexions naturally produce intimacy and
friendship. Fathom’s person was agreeable, his talents calculated for the
meridian of those parties, and his manners so engaging, that there would
have been no just subject for wonder, had he made an impression upon the
tender unexperienced heart of Mademoiselle de Melvil, whose beauty was
not so attractive as to extinguish his hope, in raising up a number of
formidable rivals; though her expectations of fortune were such as
commonly lend additional lustre to personal merit.
All these considerations were so many steps towards the success of
Ferdinand’s pretensions; and though he cannot be supposed to have
perceived them at first, he in the sequel seemed perfectly well apprised of
his advantages, and used them to the full extent of his faculties. Observing
that she delighted in music, he betook himself to the study of that art, and,

by dint of application and a tolerable ear, learned of himself to accompany
her with a German flute, while she sung and played upon the harpsichord.
The Count, seeing his inclination, and the progress he had made, resolved
that his capacity should not be lost for want of cultivation; and accordingly
provided him with a master, by whom he was instructed in the principles of
the art, and soon became a proficient in playing upon the violin.
In the practice of these improvements and avocations, and in attendance
upon his young master, whom he took care never to disoblige or neglect, he
attained to the age of sixteen, without feeling the least abatement in the
friendship and generosity of those upon whom he depended; but, on the
contrary, receiving every day fresh marks of their bounty and regard. He
had before this time been smit with the ambition of making a conquest of
the young lady’s heart, and foresaw manifold advantages to himself in
becoming son-in-law to Count Melvil, who, he never doubted, would soon
be reconciled to the match, if once it could be effectuated without his
knowledge. Although he thought he had great reason to believe that
Mademoiselle looked upon him with an eye of peculiar favour, his
disposition was happily tempered with an ingredient of caution, that
hindered him from acting with precipitation; and he had discerned in the
young lady’s deportment certain indications of loftiness and pride, which
kept him in the utmost vigilance and circumspection; for he knew, that, by a
premature declaration, he should run the risk of forfeiting all the advantages
he had gained, and blasting those expectations that now blossomed so gaily
in his heart.
Restricted by these reflections, he acted at a wary distance, and
determined to proceed by the method of sap, and, summoning all his artifice
and attractions to his aid, employed them under the insidious cover of
profound respect, in order to undermine those bulwarks of haughtiness or
discretion, which otherwise might have rendered his approaches to her
impracticable. With a view to enhance the value of his company, and sound
her sentiments at the same time, he became more reserved than usual, and
seldomer engaged in her parties of music and cards; yet, in the midst of his
reserve, he never failed in those demonstrations of reverence and regard,
which he knew perfectly well how to express, but devised such excuses for
his absence, as she could not help admitting. In consequence of this affected
shyness, she more than once gently chid him for his neglect and
indifference, observing, with an ironical air, that he was now too much of a

man to be entertained with such effeminate diversions; but her reproofs
were pronounced with too much ease and good-humour to be agreeable to
our hero, who desired to see her ruffled and chagrined at his absence, and to
hear himself rebuked with an angry affectation of disdain. This effort,
therefore, he reinforced with the most captivating carriage he could assume,
in those hours which he now so sparingly bestowed upon his mistress. He
regaled her with all the entertaining stories he could learn or invent,
particularly such as he thought would justify and recommend the levelling
power of love, that knows no distinctions of fortune. He sung nothing but
tender airs and passionate complaints, composed by desponding or
despairing swains; and, to render his performances of this kind the more
pathetic, interlarded them with some seasonable sighs, while the tears,
which he had ever at command, stood collected in either eye.
It was impossible for her to overlook such studied emotions; she in a
jocose manner taxed him with having lost his heart, rallied the excess of his
passion, and in a merry strain undertook to be an advocate for his love. Her
behaviour was still wide of his wish and expectation. He thought she would,
in consequence of her discovery, have betrayed some interested symptom;
that her face would have undergone some favourable suffusion; that her
tongue would have faltered, her breast heaved, and her whole deportment
betokened internal agitation and disorder, in which case, he meant to profit
by the happy impression, and declare himself, before she could possibly
recollect the dictates of her pride.—Baffled however in his endeavours, by
the serenity of the young lady, which he still deemed equivocal, he had
recourse to another experiment, by which he believed he should make a
discovery of her sentiments beyond all possibility of doubt. One day, while
he accompanied Mademoiselle in her exercise of music, he pretended all of
a sudden to be taken ill, and counterfeited a swoon in her apartment.
Surprised at this accident, she screamed aloud, but far from running to his
assistance, with the transports and distraction of a lover, she ordered her
maid, who was present, to support his head, and went in person to call for
more help. He was accordingly removed to his own chamber, where,
willing to be still more certified of her inclinations, he prolonged the farce,
and lay groaning under the pretence of a severe fever.
The whole family was alarmed upon this occasion; for, as we have
already observed, he was an universal favourite. He was immediately
visited by the old Count and his lady, who expressed the utmost concern at

his distemper, ordered him to be carefully attended, and sent for a physician
without loss of time. The young gentleman would scarce stir from his
bedside, where he ministered unto him with all the demonstrations of
brotherly affection; and Miss exhorted him to keep up his spirits, with many
expressions of unreserved sympathy and regard. Nevertheless, he saw
nothing in her behaviour but what might be naturally expected from
common friendship, and a compassionate disposition, and was very much
mortified at his disappointment.
Whether the miscarriage actually affected his constitution, or the doctor
happened to be mistaken in his diagnostics, we shall not pretend to
determine; but the patient was certainly treated secundum artem, and all his
complaints in a little time realised; for the physician, like a true graduate,
had an eye to the apothecary in his prescriptions; and such was the concern
and scrupulous care with which our hero was attended, that the orders of the
faculty were performed with the utmost punctuality. He was blooded,
vomited, purged, and blistered, in the usual forms (for the physicians of
Hungary are generally as well skilled in the arts of their occupation as any
other leeches under the sun), and swallowed a whole dispensary of
bolusses, draughts, and apozems, by which means he became fairly
delirious in three days, and so untractable, that he could be no longer
managed according to rule; otherwise, in all likelihood, the world would
never have enjoyed the benefit of these adventures. In short, his
constitution, though unable to cope with two such formidable antagonists as
the doctor and the disease he had conjured up, was no sooner rid of the one,
than it easily got the better of the other; and though Ferdinand, after all,
found his grand aim unaccomplished, his malady was productive of a
consequence, which, though he had not foreseen it, he did not fail to
convert to his own use and advantage.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ENGAGES IN PARTNERSHIP WITH A FEMALE ASSOCIATE,
IN ORDER TO PUT HIS TALENTS IN ACTION.

While he displayed his qualifications in order to entrap the heart of his
young mistress, he had unwittingly enslaved the affections of her maid.
This attendant was also a favourite of the young lady, and, though her
senior by two or three good years at least, unquestionably her superior in
point of personal beauty; she moreover possessed a good stock of cunning
and discernment, and was furnished by nature with a very amorous
complexion. These circumstances being premised, the reader will not be
surprised to find her smitten by those uncommon qualifications which we
have celebrated in young Fathom. She had in good sooth long sighed in
secret, under the powerful influence of his charms, and practised upon him
all those little arts, by which a woman strives to attract the admiration, and
ensnare the heart of a man she loves; but all his faculties were employed
upon the plan which he had already projected; that was the goal of his
whole attention, to which all his measures tended; and whether or not he
perceived the impression he had made upon Teresa, he never gave her the
least reason to believe he was conscious of his victory, until he found
himself baffled in his design upon the heart of her mistress.—She therefore
persevered in her distant attempts to allure him, with the usual coquetries of
dress and address, and, in the sweet hope of profiting by his susceptibility,
made shift to suppress her feelings, and keep her passion within bounds,
until his supposed danger alarmed her fears, and raised such a tumult within
her breast, that she could no longer conceal her love, but gave a loose to her
sorrow in the most immoderate expressions of anguish and affliction, and,
while his delirium lasted, behaved with all the agitation of a despairing
shepherdess.

Ferdinand was, or pretended to be, the last person in the family who
understood the situation of her thoughts; when he perceived her passion, he
entered into deliberation with himself, and tasked his reflection and
foresight, in order to discover how best he might convert this conquest to
his own advantage. Here, then, that we may neglect no opportunity of doing
justice to our hero, it will be proper to observe, that, howsoever unapt his
understanding might be to receive and retain the usual culture of the
schools, he was naturally a genius self-taught, in point of sagacity and
invention.—He dived into the characters of mankind, with a penetration
peculiar to himself, and, had he been admitted as a pupil in any political
academy, would have certainly become one of the ablest statesmen in
Europe.
Having revolved all the probable consequences of such a connexion, he
determined to prosecute an amour with the lady whose affection he had
subdued; because he hoped to interest her as an auxiliary in his grand
scheme upon Mademoiselle, which he did not as yet think proper to lay
aside; for he was not more ambitious in the plan, than indefatigable in the
prosecution of it. He knew it would be impossible to execute his aims upon
the Count’s daughter under the eye of Teresa, whose natural discernment
would be whetted with jealousy, and who would watch his conduct, and
thwart his progress with all the vigilance and spite of a slighted maiden. On
the other hand, he did not doubt of being able to bring her over to his
interest, by the influence he had already gained, or might afterwards acquire
over her passions; in which case, she would effectually espouse his cause,
and employ her good offices with her mistress in his behalf; besides, he was
induced by another motive, which, though secondary, did not fail in this
case to have an effect upon his determination. He looked upon Teresa with
the eyes of appetite, which he longed to gratify; for he was not at all dead to
the instigations of the flesh, though he had philosophy enough to resist
them, when he thought they interfered with his interest. Here the case was
quite different. His desire happened to be upon the side of his advantage,
and therefore, resolving to indulge it, he no sooner found himself in a
condition to manage such an adventure, than he began to make gradual
advances in point of warmth and particular complacency to the love-sick
maid.
He first of all thanked her, in the most grateful terms, for the concern she
had manifested at his distemper, and the kind services he had received from

her during the course of it; he treated her upon all occasions with unusual
affability and regard, assiduously courted her acquaintance and
conversation, and contracted an intimacy that in a little time produced a
declaration of love. Although her heart was too much intendered to hold out
against all the forms of assault, far from yielding at discretion, she stood
upon honourable terms, with great obstinacy of punctilio, and, while she
owned he was master of her inclinations, gave him to understand, with a
peremptory and resolute air, that he should never make a conquest of her
virtue; observing, that, if the passion he professed was genuine, he would
not scruple to give such a proof of it as would at once convince her of his
sincerity; and that he could have no just cause to refuse her that satisfaction,
she being his equal in point of birth and situation; for, if he was the
companion and favourite of the young Count, she was the friend and
confidant of Mademoiselle.
He acknowledged the strength of her argument, and that her
condescension was greater than his deserts, but objected against the
proposal, as infinitely prejudicial to the fortunes of them both. He
represented the state of dependence in which they mutually stood; their
utter incapacity to support one another under the consequences of a
precipitate match, clandestinely made, without the consent and concurrence
of their patrons. He displayed, with great eloquence, all those gay
expectations they had reason to entertain, from that eminent degree of
favour which they had already secured in the family; and set forth, in the
most alluring colours, those enchanting scenes of pleasure they might enjoy
in each other, without that disagreeable consciousness of a nuptial chain,
provided she would be his associate in the execution of a plan which he had
projected for their reciprocal convenience.
Having thus inflamed her love of pleasure and curiosity, he, with great
caution, hinted his design upon the young lady’s fortune, and, perceiving
her listening with the most greedy attention, and perfectly ripe for the
conspiracy, he disclosed his intention at full length, assuring her, with the
most solemn protestations of love and attachment, that, could he once make
himself legal possessor of an estate which Mademoiselle inherited by the
will of a deceased aunt, his dear Teresa should reap the happy fruits of his
affluence, and wholly engross his time and attention.

Such a base declaration our hero would not have ventured to make, had
he not implicitly believed the damsel was as great a latitudinarian as
himself, in point of morals and principle; and been well assured, that,
though he should be mistaken in her way of thinking, so far as to be
threatened with a detection of his purpose, he would always have it in his
power to refute her accusation as mere calumny, by the character he had
hitherto maintained, and the circumspection of his future conduct.
He seldom or never erred in his observations on the human heart. Teresa,
instead of disapproving, relished the plan in general, with demonstrations of
singular satisfaction. She at once conceived all the advantageous
consequences of such a scheme, and perceived in it only one flaw, which,
however, she did not think incurable. This defect was no other than a
sufficient bond of union, by which they might be effectually tied down to
their mutual interest. She foresaw, that, in case Ferdinand should obtain
possession of the prize, he might, with great ease, deny their contract, and
disavow her claim of participation. She therefore demanded security, and
proposed, as a preliminary of the agreement, that he should privately take
her to wife, with a view to dispel all her apprehensions of his inconstancy or
deceit, as such a previous engagement would be a check upon his
behaviour, and keep him strictly to the letter of their contract.
He could not help subscribing to the righteousness of this proposal,
which, nevertheless, he would have willingly waived, on the supposition
that they could not possibly be joined in the bands of wedlock with such
secrecy as the nature of the case absolutely required. This would have been
a difficulty soon removed, had the scene of the transaction been laid in the
metropolis of England, where passengers are plied in the streets by
clergymen, who prostitute their characters and consciences for hire, in
defiance of all decency and law; but in the kingdom of Hungary,
ecclesiastics are more scrupulous in the exercise of their function, and the
objection was, or supposed to be, altogether insurmountable; so that they
were fain to have recourse to an expedient, with which, after some
hesitation, our she-adventurer was satisfied. They joined hands in the sight
of Heaven, which they called to witness, and to judge the sincerity of their
vows, and engaged, in a voluntary oath, to confirm their union by the
sanction of the church, whenever a convenient opportunity for so doing
should occur.

The scruples of Teresa being thus removed, she admitted Ferdinand to the
privileges of a husband, which he enjoyed in stolen interviews, and readily
undertook to exert her whole power in promoting his suit with her young
mistress, because she now considered his interest as inseparably connected
with her own. Surely nothing could be more absurd or preposterous than the
articles of this covenant, which she insisted upon with such inflexibility.
How could she suppose that her pretended lover would be restrained by an
oath, when the very occasion of incurring it was an intention to act in
violation of all laws human and divine? and yet such ridiculous conjuration
is commonly the cement of every conspiracy, how dark, how treacherous,
how impious soever it may be: a certain sign that there are some remains of
religion left in the human mind, even after every moral sentiment hath
abandoned it; and that the most execrable ruffian finds means to quiet the
suggestions of his conscience, by some reversionary hope of Heaven’s
forgiveness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEIR FIRST ATTEMPT; WITH A DIGRESSION WHICH
SOME READERS MAY THINK IMPERTINENT.

Be this as it will, our lovers, though real voluptuaries, amidst the first
transports of their enjoyment did not neglect the great political aim of their
conjunction. Teresa’s bedchamber, to which our hero constantly repaired at
midnight, was the scene of their deliberations, and there it was determined
that the damsel, in order to avoid suspicion, should feign herself irritated at
the indifference of Ferdinand, her passion for whom was by this time no
secret in the family; and that, with a view to countenance this affectation, he
should upon all occasions treat her with an air of loftiness and disdain.
So screened from all imputation of fraud, she was furnished by him with
artful instructions how to sound the inclinations of her young mistress, how
to recommend his person and qualifications by the sure methods of
contradiction, comparisons, revilings, and reproach; how to watch the
paroxysms of her disposition, inflame her passions, and improve, for his
advantage, those moments of frailty from which no woman is exempted. In
short, this consummate politician taught his agent to poison the young
lady’s mind with insidious conversation, tending to inspire her with the love
of guilty pleasure, to debauch her sentiments, and confound her ideas of
dignity and virtue. After all, the task is not difficult to lead the unpractised
heart astray, by dint of those opportunities her seducer possessed. The seeds
of insinuation seasonably sown upon the warm luxuriant soil of youth,
could hardly fail of shooting up into such intemperate desires as he wanted
to produce, especially when cultured and cherished in her unguarded hours,
by that stimulating discourse which familiarity admits, and the looser
passions, ingrafted in every breast, are apt to relish and excuse.

Fathom had previously reconnoitred the ground, and discovered some
marks of inflammability in Mademoiselle’s constitution; her beauty was not
such as to engage her in those gaieties of amusement which could flatter her
vanity and dissipate her ideas; and she was of an age when the little loves
and young desires take possession of the fancy; he therefore concluded, that
she had the more leisure to indulge these enticing images of pleasure that
youth never fails to create, particularly in those who, like her, were addicted
to solitude and study.
Teresa, full fraught with the wily injunctions of her confederate, took the
field, and opened the campaign with such remarkable sourness in her aspect
when Ferdinand appeared, that her young lady could not help taking notice
of her affected chagrin, and asked the reason of such apparent alteration in
her way of thinking. Prepared for this question, the other replied, in a
manner calculated for giving Mademoiselle to understand, that, whatever
impressions Ferdinand might have formerly made on her heart, they were
now altogether effaced by the pride and insolence with which he had
received her advances; and that her breast now glowed with all the revenge
of a slighted lover.
To evince the sincerity of this declaration, she bitterly inveighed against
him, and even affected to depreciate those talents, in which she knew his
chief merit to consist; hoping, by these means, to interest Mademoiselle’s
candour in his defence. So far the train succeeded. That young lady’s love
for truth was offended at the calumnies that were vented against Ferdinand
in his absence. She chid her woman for the rancour of her remarks, and
undertook to refute the articles of his dispraise. Teresa supported her own
assertions with great obstinacy, and a dispute ensued, in which her mistress
was heated into some extravagant commendations of our adventurer.
His supposed enemy did not fail to make a report of her success, and to
magnify every advantage they had gained; believing, in good earnest, that
her lady’s warmth was the effect of a real passion for the fortunate Mr.
Fathom. But he himself viewed the adventure in a different light, and
rightly imputed the violence of Mademoiselle’s behaviour to the
contradiction she had sustained from her maid, or to the fire of her natural
generosity glowing in behalf of innocence traduced. Nevertheless, he was
perfectly well pleased with the nature of the contest; because, in the course
of such debates, he foresaw that he should become habitually her hero, and

that, in time, she would actually believe those exaggerations of his merit,
which she herself had feigned, for the honour of her own arguments.
This presage, founded upon that principle of self-respect, without which
no individual exists, may certainly be justified by manifold occurrences in
life. We ourselves have known a very pregnant example, which we shall
relate, for the emolument of the reader. A certain needy author having found
means to present a manuscript to one of those sons of fortune who are
dignified with the appellation of patrons, instead of reaping that applause
and advantage with which he had regaled his fancy, had the mortification to
find his performance treated with infinite irreverence and contempt, and, in
high dudgeon and disappointment, appealed to the judgment of another
critic, who, he knew, had no veneration for the first.
This common consolation, to which all baffled authors have recourse,
was productive of very happy consequences to our bard; for, though the
opinions of both judges concerning the piece were altogether the same, the
latter, either out of compassion to the appellant, or desire of rendering his
rival ridiculous in the eye of taste, undertook to repair the misfortune, and
in this manner executed the plan. In a meeting of literati, to which both
these wits belonged, he who had espoused the poet’s cause, having
previously desired another member to bring his composition on the carpet,
no sooner heard it mentioned, than he began to censure it with flagrant
marks of scorn, and, with an ironical air, looking at its first condemner,
observed, that he must be furiously infected with the rage of patronising,
who could take such a deplorable performance into his protection. The
sarcasm took effect.
The person against whom it was levelled, taking umbrage at his
presumption, assumed an aspect of disdain, and replied with great
animosity, that nothing was more easily supported than the character of a
Zoilus, because no production was altogether free from blemishes; and any
man might pronounce against any piece by the lump, without interesting his
own discernment; but to perceive the beauties of a work, it was requisite to
have learning, judgment, and taste; and therefore he did not wonder that the
gentleman had overlooked a great many in the composition which he so
contemptuously decried. A rejoinder succeeded this reply, and produced a
long train of altercation, in which the gentleman, who had formerly treated

the book with such disrespect, now professed himself its passionate
admirer, and held forth in praise of it with great warmth and elocution.
Not contented with having exhibited this instance of regard, he next
morning sent a message to the owner, importing, that he had but
superficially glanced over the manuscript, and desiring the favour of
perusing it a second time. Being indulged in this request, he recommended
it in terms of rapture to all his friends and dependants, and, by dint of
unwearied solicitation, procured a very ample subscription for the author.
But, to resume the thread of our story. Teresa’s practices were not
confined to simple defamation. Her reproaches were contrived so as to
imply some intelligence in favour of the person she reviled. In exemplifying
his pertness and arrogance, she repeated his witty repartee; on pretence of
blaming his ferocity, she recounted proofs of his spirit and prowess; and, in
explaining the source of his vanity, gave her mistress to understand, that a
certain young lady of fashion was said to be enamoured of his person. Nor
did this well-instructed understrapper omit those other parts of her cue
which the principal judged necessary for the furtherance of his scheme. Her
conversation became less guarded, and took a freer turn than usual; she
seized all opportunities of introducing little amorous stories, the greatest
part of which were invented for the purposes of warming her passions, and
lowering the price of chastity in her esteem; for she represented all the
young lady’s contemporaries in point of age and situation, as so many
sensualists, who, without scruple, indulged themselves in the stolen
pleasures of youth.
Meanwhile, Ferdinand seconded these endeavours with his whole
industry and address. He redoubled, if possible, his deference and respect,
whetting his assiduity to the keenest edge of attention; and, in short,
regulated his dress, conversation, and deportment, according to the fancy,
turn, and prevailing humour of his young mistress. He, moreover, attempted
to profit by her curiosity, which he knew to be truly feminine; and having
culled from the library of his patron certain dangerous books, calculated to
debauch the minds of young people, left them occasionally upon the table in
his apartment, after having directed Teresa to pick them up, as if by
accident, in his absence, and carry them off for the entertainment of
Mademoiselle; nay, this crafty projector found means to furnish his
associate with some mischievous preparations, which were mingled in her

chocolate, tea, or coffee, as provocations to warm her constitution; yet all
these machinations, ingenious as they were, failed, not only in fulfilling
their aim, but even in shaking the foundations of her virtue or pride, which
stood their assaults unmoved, like a strong tower built upon a rock,
impregnable to all the tempestuous blasts of heaven.
Not but that the conspirators were more than once mistaken in the effects
of their artifices, and disposed to applaud themselves on the progress they
had made. When at any time she expressed a desire to examine those
performances which were laid before her as snares to entrap her chastity,
they attributed that, which was no other than curiosity, to a looseness of
sentiment; and when she discovered no aversion to hear those anecdotes
concerning the frailty of her neighbours, they imputed to abatement of
chastity that satisfaction which was the result of self-congratulation on her
own superior virtue.
So far did the treacherous accomplice of Fathom presume upon these
misconstructions, that she at length divested her tongue of all restraint, and
behaved in such a manner, that the young lady, confounded and incensed at
her indecency and impudence, rebuked her with great severity, and
commanded her to reform her discourse, on pain of being dismissed with
disgrace from her service.

CHAPTER NINE

THE CONFEDERATES CHANGE THEIR BATTERY, AND
ACHIEVE A REMARKABLE ADVENTURE.

Thunderstruck at this disappointment, the confederates held a council, in
order to deliberate upon the next measures that should be taken; and
Ferdinand, for the present, despairing of accomplishing his grand aim,
resolved to profit in another manner, by the conveniency of his situation. He
represented to his helpmate, that it would be prudent for them to make hay
while the sun shone, as their connexion might be sooner or later discovered,
and an end put to all those opportunities which they now so happily
enjoyed. All principles of morality had been already excluded from their
former plan; consequently he found it an easy task to interest Teresa in any
other scheme tending to their mutual advantage, howsoever wicked and
perfidious it might be. He therefore persuaded her to be his auxiliary in
defrauding Mademoiselle at play, and gave her suitable directions for that
purpose; and even tutored her how to abuse the trust reposed in her, by
embezzling the young lady’s effects, without incurring the suspicion of
dishonesty.
On the supposition that every servant in the house was not able to resist
such temptation, the purse of her mistress, to which the maid had always
access, was dropped in a passage which the domestics had occasion to
frequent; and Fathom posted himself in a convenient place, in order to
observe the effect of his stratagem. Here he was not disappointed in his
conjecture. The first person who chanced to pass that way, was one of the
chambermaids, with whom Teresa had lived for some time in a state of
inveterate enmity, because the wench had failed in that homage and respect
which was paid to her by the rest of the servants.

Ferdinand had, in his heart, espoused the quarrel of his associate, and
longed for an occasion to deliver her from the malicious observance of such
an antagonist. When he, therefore, saw her approach, his heart throbbed
with joyful expectations; but, when she snatched up the purse, and thrust it
in her bosom, with all the eagerness and confusion of one determined to
appropriate the windfall to her own use, his transports were altogether
unspeakable. He traced her to her own apartment, whither she immediately
retreated with great trepidation, and then communicated the discovery to
Teresa, together with instructions how to behave in the sequel.
In conformity with these lessons, she took the first opportunity of going
to Mademoiselle, and demanding money for some necessary expense, that
the loss might be known before the finder could have leisure to make any
fresh conveyance of the prize; and, in the meantime, Ferdinand kept a strict
eye upon the motions of the chambermaid. The young lady, having
rummaged her pockets in vain, expressed some surprise at the loss of her
purse; upon which her attendant gave indications of extreme amazement
and concern. She said, it could not possibly be lost; entreated her to search
her escritoir, while she herself ran about the room, prying into every corner,
with all the symptoms of fear and distraction. Having made this
unsuccessful inquiry, she pretended to shed a flood of tears, bewailing her
own fate, in being near the person of any lady who met with such a
misfortune, by which, she observed, her character might be called in
question. She produced her own keys, and begged upon her knees, that her
chamber and boxes might be searched without delay.
In a word, she demeaned herself so artfully upon this occasion, that her
mistress, who never entertained the least doubt of her integrity, now looked
upon her as a miracle of fidelity and attachment, and was at infinite pains to
console her for the accident which had happened; protesting that, for her
own part, the loss of the money should never affect her with a moment’s
uneasiness, if she could retrieve a certain medal which she had long kept in
her purse, as a remembrance of her deceased aunt, from whom she received
it in a present.
Fathom entered accidentally into the midst of this well-acted scene, and,
perceiving the agitation of the maid, and the concern of the mistress,
desired, in a respectful manner, to know the cause of their disorder. Before
the young lady had time to make him acquainted with the circumstances of

the case, his accomplice exclaimed, in an affected passion, “Mr. Fathom,
my lady has lost her purse; and, as no persons in the family are so much
about her as you and I, you must give me leave, in my own justification, to
insist upon Mademoiselle’s ordering the apartments of us both to be
searched without loss of time. Here are my pockets and my keys, and you
cannot scruple to give her the same satisfaction; for innocence has nothing
to fear.”
Miss Melvil reprimanded her sharply for her unmannerly zeal; and
Ferdinand eyeing her with a look of disdain, “Madam,” said he, “I approve
of your proposal; but, before I undergo such mortification, I would advise
Mademoiselle to subject the two chambermaids to such inquiry; as they also
have access to the apartments, and are, I apprehend, as likely as you or I to
behave in such a scandalous manner.”
The young lady declared that she was too well satisfied of Teresa’s
honesty and Ferdinand’s honour, to harbour the least suspicion of either,
and that she would sooner die than disgrace them so far as to comply with
the proposal the former had made; but as she saw no reason for exempting
the inferior servants from that examination which Fathom advised, she
would forthwith put it in execution. The chambermaids being accordingly
summoned, she calmly asked if either of them had accidentally found the
purse she had dropped? and both replying in the negative, she assumed an
air of severity and determination, and demanding their keys, threatened to
examine their trunks on the instant.
The guilty Abigail, who, though an Hungarian, was not inferior, in point
of effrontery, to any one of the sisterhood in England, no sooner heard this
menace, than she affected an air of affronted innocence, thanked God she
had lived in many reputable families, and been trusted with untold gold, but
was never before suspected of theft; that the other maid might do as she
should think proper, and be mean-spirited enough to let her things be
tumbled topsy-turvy and exposed; but, for her own part, if she should be
used in that inhuman and disgraceful manner, she would not stay another
hour in the house; and in conclusion said, that Mademoiselle had more
reason to look sharp after those who enjoyed the greatest share of her
favour, than believe their malicious insinuations against innocent people
whom they were well known to hate and defame.

This declaration, implying an hint to the prejudice of Teresa, far from
diverting Miss Melvil from her purpose, served only to enhance the
character of the accused in her opinion, and to confirm her suspicion of the
accuser, of whom she again demanded her keys, protesting that, should she
prove refractory, the Count himself should take cognisance of the affair,
whereas, if she would deal ingenuously, she should have no cause to repent
of her confession. So saying, she desired our adventurer to take the trouble
of calling up some of the men-servants; upon which the conscious criminal
began to tremble, and, falling upon her knees, acknowledged her guilt, and
implored the forgiveness of her young mistress.
Teresa, seizing this occasion to signalise her generosity, joined in the
request, and the offender was pardoned, after having restored the purse, and
promised in the sight of Heaven, that the devil should never again entice her
to the commission of such a crime. This adventure fully answered all the
purposes of our politician; it established the opinion of his fellow-labourer’s
virtue, beyond the power of accident or information to shake, and set up a
false beacon to mislead the sentiments of Mademoiselle, in case she should
for the future meet with the like misfortune.

CHAPTER TEN

THEY PROCEED TO LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS WITH GREAT
SUCCESS, UNTIL OUR HERO SETS OUT WITH THE YOUNG
COUNT FOR VIENNA, WHERE HE ENTERS INTO LEAGUE
WITH ANOTHER ADVENTURER.

Under this secure cover, Teresa levied contributions upon her mistress
with great success. Some trinket was missing every day; the young lady’s
patience began to fail; the faithful attendant was overwhelmed with
consternation, and, with the appearance of extreme chagrin, demanded her
dismission, affirming that these things were certainly effected by some
person in the family, with a view of murdering her precious reputation.
Miss Melvil, not without difficulty, quieted her vexation with assurances of
inviolable confidence and esteem, until a pair of diamond earrings
vanished, when Teresa could no longer keep her affliction within bounds.
Indeed, this was an event of more consequence than all the rest which had
happened, for the jewels were valued at five hundred florins.
Mademoiselle was accordingly alarmed to such a degree, that she made
her mother acquainted with her loss, and that good lady, who was an
excellent economist, did not fail to give indications of extraordinary
concern. She asked, if her daughter had reason to suspect any individual in
the family, and if she was perfectly confident of her own woman’s
integrity? Upon which Mademoiselle, with many encomiums on the fidelity
and attachment of Teresa, recounted the adventure of the chambermaid,
who immediately underwent a strict inquiry, and was even committed to
prison, on the strength of her former misdemeanour. Our adventurer’s mate
insisted upon undergoing the same trial with the rest of the domestics, and,
as usual, comprehended Fathom in her insinuations; while he seconded the

proposal, and privately counselled the old lady to introduce Teresa to the
magistrate of the place. By these preconcerted recriminations, they escaped
all suspicion of collusion. After a fruitless inquiry, the prisoner was
discharged from her confinement, and turned out of the service of the
Count, in whose private opinion the character of no person suffered so
much, as that of his own son, whom he suspected of having embezzled the
jewels, for the use of a certain inamorata, who, at that time, was said to
have captivated his affections.
The old gentleman felt upon this occasion all that internal anguish which
a man of honour may be supposed to suffer, on account of a son’s
degeneracy; and, without divulging his sentiments, or even hinting his
suspicions to the youth himself, determined to detach him at once from such
dangerous connexions, by sending him forthwith to Vienna, on pretence of
finishing his exercises at the academy, and ushering him into acquaintance
with the great world. Though he would not be thought by the young
gentleman himself to harbour the least doubt of his morals, he did not
scruple to unbosom himself on that subject to Ferdinand, whose sagacity
and virtue he held in great veneration. This indulgent patron expressed
himself in the most pathetic terms, on the untoward disposition of his son;
he told Fathom, that he should accompany Renaldo (that was the youth’s
name) not only as a companion, but a preceptor and pattern; conjured him
to assist his tutor in superintending his conduct, and to reinforce the
governor’s precepts by his own example; to inculcate upon him the most
delicate punctilios of honour, and decoy him into extravagance, rather than
leave the least illiberal sentiment in his heart.
Our crafty adventurer, with demonstrations of the utmost sensibility,
acknowledged the great goodness of the Count in reposing such confidence
in his integrity; which, as he observed, none but the worst of villains could
abuse; and fervently wished that he might no longer exist, than he should
continue to remember and resent the obligations he owed to his kind
benefactor. While preparations were making for their departure, our hero
held a council with his associate, whom he enriched with many sage
instructions touching her future operations; he at the same time disburdened
her of all or the greatest part of the spoils she had won, and after having
received divers marks of bounty from the Count and his lady, together with
a purse from his young mistress, he set out for Vienna, in the eighteenth
year of his age, with Renaldo and his governor, who were provided with

letters of recommendation to some of the Count’s friends belonging to the
Imperial court.
Such a favourable introduction could not fail of being advantageous to a
youth of Ferdinand’s specious accomplishments; for he was considered as
the young Count’s companion, admitted into his parties, and included in all
the entertainments to which Renaldo was invited. He soon distinguished
himself by his activity and address, in the course of those exercises that
were taught at the academy of which he was pupil; his manners were so
engaging as to attract the acquaintance of his fellow-students, and his
conversation being sprightly and inoffensive, grew into very great request;
in a word, he and the young Count formed a remarkable contrast, which, in
the eye of the world, redounded to his advantage.
They were certainly, in all respects, the reverse of each other. Renaldo,
under a total defect of exterior cultivation, possessed a most excellent
understanding, with every virtue that dignifies the human heart; while the
other, beneath a most agreeable outside, with an inaptitude and aversion to
letters, concealed an amazing fund of villany and ingratitude. Hitherto his
observation had been confined to a narrow sphere, and his reflections,
though surprisingly just and acute, had not attained to that maturity which
age and experience give; but now, his perceptions began to be more distinct,
and extended to a thousand objects which had never before come under his
cognisance.
He had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded, that the sons of
men preyed upon one another, and such was the end and condition of their
being. Among the principal figures of life, he observed few or no characters
that did not bear a strong analogy to the savage tyrants of the wood. One
resembled a tiger in fury and rapaciousness; a second prowled about like an
hungry wolf, seeking whom he might devour; a third acted the part of a
jackal, in beating the bush for game to his voracious employer; and the
fourth imitated the wily fox, in practising a thousand crafty ambuscades for
the destruction of the ignorant and unwary. This last was the department of
life for which he found himself best qualified by nature and inclination; and
he accordingly resolved that his talent should not rust in his possession. He
was already pretty well versed in all the sciences of play; but he had every
day occasion to see these arts carried to such a surprising pitch of finesse

and dexterity, as discouraged him from building his schemes on that
foundation.
He therefore determined to fascinate the judgment, rather than the eyes of
his fellow-creatures, by a continual exercise of that gift of deceiving, with
which he knew himself endued to an unrivalled degree; and to acquire
unbounded influence with those who might be subservient to his interest, by
an assiduous application to their prevailing passions. Not that play was
altogether left out in the projection of his economy.— Though he engaged
himself very little in the executive part of gaming, he had not been long in
Vienna, when he entered into league with a genius of that kind, whom he
distinguished among the pupils of the academy, and who indeed had taken
up his habitation in that place with a view to pillage the provincials on their
first arrival in town, before they could be armed with proper circumspection
to preserve their money, or have time to dispose of it in any other shape.
Similar characters naturally attract each other, and people of our hero’s
principles are, of all others, the most apt to distinguish their own likeness
wheresoever it occurs; because they always keep the faculty of discerning
in full exertion. It was in consequence of this mutual alertness, that
Ferdinand and the stranger, who was a native of Tyrol, perceived
themselves reflected in the dispositions of each other, and immediately
entered into an offensive and defensive alliance; our adventurer undertaking
for the articles of intelligence, countenance, and counsel, and his associate
charging himself with the risk of execution.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FATHOM MAKES VARIOUS EFFORTS IN THE WORLD OF
GALLANTRY.

Thus connected, they began to hunt in couples; and Fathom, in order to
profit by the alliance with a good grace, contrived a small scheme that
succeeded to his wish. Renaldo being one night intoxicated in the course of
a merry-making with his fellow-pupils, from which Fathom had purposely
absented himself, was by the Tyrolese so artfully provoked to play, that he
could not resist the temptation, but engaged at passdice with that fell
adversary, who, in less than an hour, stripped him of a pretty round sum.
Next day, when the young gentleman recovered the use of his reflection, he
was sensibly chagrined at the folly and precipitation of his own conduct, an
account of which he communicated in confidence to our hero, with
demonstrations of infinite shame and concern.
Ferdinand, having moralised upon the subject with great sagacity, and
sharply inveighed against the Tyrolese, for the unfair advantage he had
taken, retired to his closet, and wrote the following billet, which was
immediately sent to his ally:—
“The obligations I owe, and the attachments I feel, to the Count de
Melvil, will not suffer me to be an idle spectator of the wrongs offered to
his son, in the dishonourable use, I understand, you made last night of his
unguarded hours. I therefore insist upon your making immediate restitution
of the booty which you so unjustly got; otherwise I expect you will meet me
upon the ramparts, near the bastion de la Port Neuve, to-morrow morning at
daybreak, in order to justify, with your sword, the finesse you have
practised upon the friend of FERDINAND DE FATHOM.”
The gamester no sooner received this intimation, than, according to the
plan which had been preconcerted betwixt the author and him, he went to

the apartment of Renaldo, and presenting the sum of money which he had
defrauded him of the preceding night, told him, with a stern countenance,
that, though it was a just acquisition, he scorned to avail himself of his good
fortune against any person who entertained the smallest doubt of his
honour.
The young Count, surprised at this address, rejected his offer with
disdain, and desired to know the meaning of such an unexpected
declaration. Upon which, the other produced Ferdinand’s billet, and
threatened, in very high terms, to meet the stripling according to his
invitation, and chastise him severely for his presumption. The consequence
of this explanation is obvious. Renaldo, imputing the officiousness of
Fathom to the zeal of his friendship, interposed in the quarrel, which was
amicably compromised, not a little to the honour of our adventurer, who
thus obtained an opportunity of displaying his courage and integrity,
without the least hazard to his person; while, at the same time, his
confederate recommended himself to the esteem of the young Count, by his
spirited behaviour on this occasion; so that Renaldo being less shy of his
company for the future, the Tyrolese had the fairer opportunities to
prosecute his designs upon the young gentleman’s purse.
It would be almost superfluous to say, that these were not neglected. The
son of Count Melvil was not deficient in point of penetration; but his whole
study was at that time engrossed by the care of his education, and he had
sometimes recourse to play as an amusement by which he sought to unbend
the severity of his attention. No wonder then that he fell a prey to an artful
gamester, who had been regularly trained to the profession, and made it the
sole study of his life; especially as the Hungarian was remarkable for a
warmth of temper, which a knight of the post always knows how to manage
for his own advantage.
In the course of these operations, Fathom was a very useful
correspondent. He instructed the Tyrolese in the peculiarities of Renaldo’s
disposition, and made him acquainted with the proper seasons for profiting
by his dexterity. Ferdinand, for example, who, by the authority derived to
him from the injunctions of the old Count, sometimes took upon himself the
office of an adviser, cunningly chose to counsel the son at those
conjunctures when he knew him least able to bear such expostulation.
Advice improperly administered generally acts in diametrical opposition to

the purpose for which it is supposed to be given; at least this was the case
with the young gentleman, who, inflamed by the reproof of such a tutor,
used to obey the dictates of his resentment in an immediate repetition of
that conduct which our adventurer had taken the liberty to disapprove; and
the gamester was always at hand to minister unto his indignation. By these
means he was disencumbered of divers considerable remittances, with
which his father cheerfully supplied him, on the supposition that they were
spent with taste and liberality, under the direction of our adventurer.
But Ferdinand’s views were not confined to the narrow field of this
alliance. He attempted divers enterprises in the world of gallantry,
conscious of his own personal qualifications, and never doubting that he
could insinuate himself into the good graces of some married lady about
court, or lay an opulent dowager under contribution. But he met with an
obstacle in his endeavours of this kind, which all his art was unable to
surmount. This was no other than the obscurity of his birth, and the want of
a title, without which no person in that country lays claim to the privileges
of a gentleman. Had he foreseen this inconvenience he might have made
shift to obviate the consequences, by obtaining permission to appear in the
character of the Count’s kinsman; though, in all probability, such an
expedient would not have been extremely agreeable to the old gentleman,
who was very tenacious of the honour of his family; nevertheless, his
generosity might have been prevailed upon to indulge Fathom with such a
pretext, in consideration of the youth’s supposed attachment, and the
obligations for which he deemed himself indebted to his deceased mother.
True it is, Ferdinand, upon his first arrival at Vienna, had been admitted
into fashionable company, on the footing of Renaldo’s companion, because
nobody suspected the defect of his pedigree; and even after a report had
been circulated to the prejudice of his extraction, by the industry of a
lacquey who attended the young Count, there were not wanting many
young people of distinction who still favoured him with their countenance
and correspondence; but he was no longer invited to private families, in
which only he could expect to profit by his address among the ladies, and
had the mortification of finding himself frequently excepted from parties
which were expressly calculated for the entertainment of the young Count.
Luckily, his spirit was so pliant as to sustain these slights without being
much dejected; instead of repining at the loss of that respect which had been
paid to him at first, he endeavoured, with all his might, to preserve the little

that still remained, and resolved to translate into a humbler sphere that
gallantry which he had no longer opportunities of displaying in the world of
rank and fashion.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HE EFFECTS A LODGMENT IN THE HOUSE OF A RICH
JEWELLER.

In consequence of this determination, he to the uttermost exerted his
good-humour among the few friends of consequence his fortune had left,
and even carried his complaisance so far as to become the humble servant
of their pleasures, while he attempted to extend his acquaintance in an
inferior path of life, where he thought his talents would shine more
conspicuous than at the assemblies of the great, and conduce more
effectually to the interest of all his designs. Nor did he find himself
disappointed in that expectation, sanguine as it was. He soon found means
to be introduced to the house of a wealthy bourgeois, where every
individual was charmed with his easy air and extraordinary qualifications.
He accommodated himself surprisingly to the humours of the whole family;
smoked tobacco, swallowed wine, and discoursed of stones with the
husband, who was a rich jeweller; sacrificed himself to the pride and
loquacity of the wife; and played upon the violin, and sung alternately, for
the amusement of his only daughter, a buxom lass, nearly of his own age,
the fruit of a former marriage.
It was not long before Ferdinand had reason to congratulate himself on
the footing he had gained in this society. He had expected to find, and in a
little time actually discovered, that mutual jealousy and rancour which
almost always subsist between a daughter and her step-dame, inflamed with
all the virulence of female emulation; for the disparity in their ages served
only to render them the more inveterate rivals in the desire of captivating
the other sex. Our adventurer having deliberated upon the means of
converting this animosity to his own advantage, saw no method for this
purpose so feasible as that of making his approaches to the hearts of both,

by ministering to each in private, food for their reciprocal envy and
malevolence; because he well knew that no road lies so direct and open to a
woman’s heart as that of gratifying her passions of vanity and resentment.
When he had an opportunity of being particular with the mother, he
expressed his concern for having unwittingly incurred the displeasure of
Mademoiselle, which, he observed, was obvious in every circumstance of
her behaviour towards him; protesting he was utterly innocent of all
intention of offending her; and that he could not account for his disgrace
any other way, than by supposing she took umbrage at the direction of his
chief regards towards her mother-in-law, which, he owned, was altogether
involuntary, being wholly influenced by that lady’s superior charms and
politeness.
Such a declaration was perfectly well calculated for the meridian of a
dame like her, who with all the intoxications of unenlightened pride, and an
increased appetite for pleasure, had begun to find herself neglected, and
even to believe that her attractions were actually on the wane. She very
graciously consoled our gallant for the mishap of which he complained,
representing Wilhelmina (that was the daughter’s name) as a pert, illiterate,
envious baggage, of whose disgust he ought to make no consideration; then
she recounted many instances of her own generosity to that young lady,
with the returns of malice and ingratitude she had made; and, lastly,
enumerated all the imperfections of her person, education, and behaviour;
that he might see with what justice the gypsy pretended to vie with those
who had been distinguished by the approbation and even gallantry of the
best people in Vienna.
Having thus established himself her confidant and gossip, he knew his
next step of promotion would necessarily be to the degree of her lover; and
in that belief resolved to play the same game with Mademoiselle
Wilhelmina, whose complexion was very much akin to that of her
stepmother; indeed they resembled each other too much to live upon any
terms of friendship or even decorum. Fathom, in order to enjoy a private
conversation with the young lady, never failed to repeat his visit every
afternoon, till at length he had the pleasure of finding her disengaged, the
jeweller being occupied among his workmen, and his wife gone to assist at
a lying-in.

Our adventurer and the daughter had already exchanged their vows, by
the expressive language of the eyes; he had even declared himself in some
tender ejaculations which had been softly whispered in her ear, when he
could snatch an opportunity of venting them unperceived; nay, he had upon
divers occasions gently squeezed her fair hand, on pretence of tuning her
harpsichord, and been favoured with returns of the same cordial pressure;
so that, instead of accosting her with the fearful hesitation and reserve of a
timid swain, he told her, after the exercise of the doux-yeux, that he was
come to confer with her upon a subject that nearly concerned her peace; and
asked if she had not observed of late an evident abatement of friendship in
her mother’s behaviour to him, whom she had formerly treated with such
marks of favour and respect. Mademoiselle would not pay so ill a
compliment to her own discernment as to say she had not perceived the
alteration; which, on the contrary, she owned was extremely palpable; nor
was it difficult to divine the cause of such estranged looks. This remark was
accompanied with an irresistible glance; she smiled enchanting, the colour
deepened on her cheeks, her breast began to heave, and her whole frame
underwent a most agreeable confusion.
Ferdinand was not a man to let such a favourable conjuncture pass
unregarded. “Yes, charming Wilhelmina!” exclaimed the politician in an
affected rapture, “the cause is as conspicuous as your attractions. She hath,
in spite of all my circumspection, perceived that passion which it is not in
my power to conceal, and in consequence of which I now declare myself
your devoted adorer; or, conscious of your superior excellence, her jealousy
hath taken the alarm, and, though stung with conjecture only, repines at the
triumph of your perfections. How far this spirit of malignity may be
inflamed to my prejudice, I know not. Perhaps, as this is the first, it may be
also the last opportunity I shall have of avowing the dearest sentiments of
my heart to the fair object that inspired them; in a word, I may be for ever
excluded from your presence. Excuse me, then, divine creature! from the
practice of those unnecessary forms, which I should take pride in observing,
were I indulged with the ordinary privileges of an honourable lover; and,
once for all, accept the homage of an heart overflowing with love and
admiration. Yes, adorable Wilhelmina! I am dazzled with your supernatural
beauty; your other accomplishments strike me with wonder and awe. I am
enchanted by the graces of your deportment, ravished with the charms of
your conversation; and there is a certain tenderness of benevolence in that

endearing aspect, which, I trust, will not fail to melt with sympathy at the
emotions of a faithful slave like me.”
So saying, he threw himself upon his knees, and, seizing her plump hand,
pressed it to his lips with all the violence of real transport. The nymph,
whose passions nature had filled to the brim, could not hear such a
rhapsody unmoved. Being an utter stranger to addresses of this kind, she
understood every word of it in the literal acceptation; she believed
implicitly in the truth of the encomiums he had bestowed, and thought it
reasonable he should be rewarded for the justice he had done to her
qualifications, which had hitherto been almost altogether overlooked. In
short, her heart began to thaw, and her face to hang out the flag of
capitulation; which was no sooner perceived by our hero, than he renewed
his attack with redoubled fervour, pronouncing in a most vehement tone,
“Light of my eyes, and empress of my soul! behold me prostrate at your
feet, waiting with the most pious resignation, for that sentence from your
lips, on which my future happiness or misery must altogether depend. Not
with more reverence does the unhappy bashaw kiss the sultan’s letter that
contains his doom, than I will submit to your fatal determination. Speak
then, angelic sweetness! for never, ah! never will I rise from this suppliant
posture, until I am encouraged to live and hope. No! if you refuse to smile
upon my passion, here shall I breathe the last sighs of a despairing lover;
here shall this faithful sword do the last office to its unfortunate master, and
shed the blood of the truest heart that ever felt the cruel pangs of
disappointed love.”
The young lady, well-nigh overcome by this effusion, which brought the
tears into her eyes, “Enough, enough,” cried she, interrupting him, “sure
you men were created for the ruin of our sex.”—“Ruin!” re-echoed Fathom,
“talk not of ruin and Wilhelmina! let these terms be for ever parted, far as
the east and west asunder! let ever smiling peace attend her steps, and love
and joy still wanton in her train! Ruin, indeed, shall wait upon her enemies,
if such there be, and those love-lorn wretches who pine with anguish under
her disdain. Grant me, kind Heaven, a more propitious boon; direct her
genial regards to one whose love is without example, and whose constancy
is unparalleled. Bear witness to my constancy and faith, ye verdant hills, ye
fertile plains, ye shady groves, ye purling streams; and if I prove untrue, ah!
let me never find a solitary willow or a bubbling brook, by help of which I
may be enabled to put a period to my wretched life.”

Here this excellent actor began to sob most piteously, and the tender-
hearted Wilhelmina, unable longer to withstand his moving tale, with a
repetition of the interjection, ah! gently dropped into his arms. This was the
beginning of a correspondence that soon rose to a very interesting pitch;
and they forthwith concerted measures for carrying it on without the
knowledge or suspicion of her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, the young lady,
vanquished as she was, and unskilled in the ways of men, would not all at
once yield at discretion; but insisted upon those terms, without which no
woman’s reputation can be secured. Our lover, far from seeking to evade
the proposal, assented to it in terms of uncommon satisfaction, and
promised to use his whole industry in finding a priest upon whose
discretion they could rely; nay, he certainly resolved to comply with her
request in good earnest, rather than forfeit the advantages which he foresaw
in their union. His good fortune, however, exempted him from the necessity
of taking such a step, which at best must have been disagreeable; for so
many difficulties occurred in the inquiry which was set on foot, and so
artfully did Fathom in the meantime manage the influence he had already
gained over her heart, that, before her passion could obtain a legal
gratification, she surrendered to his wish, without any other assurance, than
his solemn profession of sincerity and truth, on which she reposed herself
with the most implicit confidence and faith.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HE IS EXPOSED TO A MOST PERILOUS INCIDENT IN THE
COURSE OF HIS INTRIGUE WITH THE DAUGHTER.

He was rejoiced to find her so easily satisfied in such a momentous
concern, for the principal aim of the intrigue was to make her necessary to
his interested views, and even, if possible, an associate in the fraudulent
plans he had projected upon her father; consequently he considered this
relaxation in her virtue as an happy omen of his future success. All the
obstacles to their mutual enjoyment being thus removed, our adventurer
was by his mistress indulged with an assignation in her own chamber,
which, though contiguous to that of her stepmother, was provided with a
door that opened into a common staircase, to which he had access at all
hours of the night.
He did not neglect the rendezvous, but, presenting himself at the
appointed time, which was midnight, made the signal they had agreed upon,
and was immediately admitted by Wilhelmina, who waited for hire with a
lover’s impatience. Fathom was not deficient in those expressions of rapture
that are current on those occasions; but, on the contrary, became so loud in
the transports of self-congratulation, that his voice reached the ears of the
vigilant stepmother, who wakening the jeweller from his first nap, gave him
to understand that some person was certainly in close conversation with his
daughter; and exhorted him to rise forthwith, and vindicate the honour of
his family.
The German, who was naturally of a phlegmatic habit, and never went to
bed without a full dose of the creature, which added to his constitutional
drowsiness, gave no ear to his wife’s intimation, until she had repeated it
thrice, and used other means to rouse him from the arms of slumber.
Meanwhile Fathom and his inamorata overheard her information, and our

hero would have made his retreat immediately, through the port by which
he entered, had not his intention been overruled by the remonstrances of the
young lady, who observed that the door was already fast bolted, and could
not possibly be opened without creating a noise that would confirm the
suspicion of her parents; and that over and above this objection he would, in
sallying from that door, run the risk of being met by her father, who in all
probability would present himself before it, in order to hinder our hero’s
escape. She therefore conveyed him softly into her closet, where she
assured him he might remain with great tranquillity, in full confidence that
she would take such measures as would effectually screen him from
detection.
He was fain to depend upon her assurance, and accordingly ensconced
himself behind her dressing-table; but he could not help sweating with
apprehension, and praying fervently to God for his deliverance, when he
heard the jeweller thundering at the door, and calling to his daughter for
admittance. Wilhelmina, who was already undressed, and had purposely
extinguished the light, pretended to be suddenly waked from her sleep, and
starting up, exclaimed in a tone of surprise and affright, “Jesu, Maria! what
is the matter?”—“Hussy!” replied the German in a terrible accent, “open
the door this instant; there is a man in your bedchamber, and, by the
lightning and thunder! I will wash away the stain he has cast upon my
honour with the schellum’s heart’s-blood.”
Not at all intimidated by this boisterous threat, she admitted him without
hesitation, and, with a shrillness of voice peculiar to herself, began to hold
forth upon her own innocence and his unjust suspicion, mingling in her
harangue sundry oblique hints against her mother-in-law, importing, that
some people were so viciously inclined by their own natures, that she did
not wonder at their doubting the virtue of other people; but that these people
despised the insinuations of such people, who ought to be more circumspect
in their own conduct, lest they themselves should suffer reprisals from those
people whom they had so maliciously slandered.
Having uttered these flowers of rhetoric, which were calculated for the
hearing of her step-dame, who stood with a light at her husband’s back, the
young lady assumed an ironical air, and admonished her father to search
every corner of her apartment. She even affected to assist his inquiry; with
her own hands pulled out a parcel of small drawers, in which her trinkets

were contained; desired him to look into her needlecase and thimble, and,
seeing his examination fruitless, earnestly intreated him to rummage her
closet also, saying, with a sneer, that, in all probability, the dishonourer
would be found in that lurking-place. The manner in which she pretended to
ridicule his apprehensions made an impression upon the jeweller, who was
very well disposed to retreat into his own nest, when his wife, with a certain
slyness in her countenance, besought him to comply with his daughter’s
request, and look into that same closet, by which means Wilhelmina’s virtue
would obtain a complete triumph.
Our adventurer, who overheard the conversation, was immediately seized
with a palsy of fear. He trembled at every joint, the sweat trickled down his
forehead, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to stand on end; and he, in his
heart, bitterly cursed the daughter’s petulance, the mother’s malice, together
with his own precipitation, by which he was involved in an adventure so
pregnant with danger and disgrace. Indeed, the reader may easily conceive
his disorder, when he heard the key turning in the lock, and the German
swearing that he would make him food for the beasts of the field and the
fowls of the air.
Fathom had come unprepared with weapons of defence, was naturally an
economist of his person, and saw himself on the brink of forfeiting not only
the promised harvest of his double intrigue, but also the reputation of a man
of honour, upon which all his future hopes depended. His agony was
therefore unspeakable, when the door flew open; and it was not till after a
considerable pause of recollection, that he perceived the candle
extinguished by the motion of the air produced from the German’s sudden
irruption. This accident, which disconcerted him so much as to put a full
stop to his charge, was very favourable to our hero, who, summoning all his
presence of mind, crept up into the chimney, while the jeweller stood at the
door, waiting for his wife’s return with another light; so that, when the
closet was examined, there was nothing found to justify the report which
the stepmother had made; and the father, after having made a slight apology
to Wilhelmina for his intrusion, retired with his yoke-fellow into their own
chamber.
The young lady, who little thought that her papa would have taken her at
her word, was overwhelmed with confusion and dismay, when she saw him
enter the closet; and, had her lover been discovered, would, in all

probability, have been the loudest in his reproach, and, perhaps, have
accused him of an intention to rob the house; but she was altogether
astonished when she found he had made shift to elude the inquiry of her
parents, because she could not conceive the possibility of his escaping by
the window, which was in the third storey, at a prodigious distance from the
ground; and how he should conceal himself in the apartment, was a mystery
which she could by no means unfold. Before her father and mother retired,
she lighted her lamp, on pretence of being afraid to be in the dark, after the
perturbation of spirits she had undergone; and her room was no sooner
evacuated of such troublesome visitants, than she secured the doors, and
went in quest of her lover.
Accordingly, every corner of the closet underwent a new search, and she
called upon his name with a soft voice, which she thought no other person
would overhear. But Ferdinand did not think proper to gratify her
impatience, because he could not judge of the predicament in which he
stood by the evidence of all his senses, and would not relinquish his post,
until he should be better certified that the coast was clear. Meanwhile, his
Dulcinea, having performed her inquiry to no purpose, imagined there was
something preternatural in the circumstance of his vanishing so
unaccountably, and began to cross herself with great devotion. She returned
to her chamber, fixed the lamp in the fireplace, and, throwing herself upon
the bed, gave way to the suggestions of her superstition, which were
reinforced by the silence that prevailed, and the gloomy glimmering of the
light. She reflected upon the trespass she had already committed in her
heart, and, in the conjectures of her fear, believed that her lover was no
other than the devil himself, who had assumed the appearance of Fathom, in
order to tempt and seduce her virtue.
While her imagination teemed with those horrible ideas, our adventurer,
concluding, from the general stillness, that the jeweller and his wife were at
last happily asleep, ventured to come forth from his hiding-place, and stood
before his mistress all begrimed with soot. Wilhelmina, lifting up her eyes,
and seeing this sable apparition, which she mistook for Satan in propria
persona, instantly screamed, and began to repeat her pater-noster with an
audible voice. Upon which Ferdinand, foreseeing that her parents would be
again alarmed, would not stay to undeceive her and explain himself, but,
unlocking the door with great expedition, ran downstairs, and luckily
accomplished his escape. This was undoubtedly the wisest measure he

could have taken; for he had not performed one half of his descent toward
the street, when the German was at his daughter’s bedside, demanding to
know the cause of her exclamation. She then gave him an account of what
she had seen, with all the exaggerations of her own fancy, and, after having
weighed the circumstances of her story, he interpreted the apparition into a
thief, who had found means to open the door that communicated with the
stair; but, having been scared by Wilhelmina’s shriek, had been obliged to
retreat before he could execute his purpose.
Our hero’s spirits were so wofully disturbed by this adventure, that, for a
whole week, he felt no inclination to visit his inamorata, and was not
without apprehension that the affair had terminated in an explanation very
little to his advantage. He was, however, delivered from this disagreeable
suspense, by an accidental meeting with the jeweller himself, who kindly
chid him for his long absence, and entertained him in the street with an
account of the alarm which his family had sustained, by a thief who broke
into Wilhelmina’s apartment. Glad to find his apprehension mistaken, he
renewed his correspondence with the family, and, in a little time, found
reason to console himself for the jeopardy and panic he had undergone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE IS REDUCED TO A DREADFUL DILEMMA, IN
CONSEQUENCE OF AN ASSIGNATION WITH THE WIFE.

Nor was his whole care and attention engrossed by the execution of this
scheme upon the daughter. While he managed his concerns in that quarter
with incredible ardour and application, he was not the less indefatigable in
the prosecution of his design upon the mother-in-law, which he forwarded
with all his art during those opportunities he enjoyed in the absence of
Wilhelmina, who was frequently called away by the domestic duties of the
house. The passions of the jeweller’s wife were in such a state of exaltation,
as exempted our hero from the repulses and fatigue attending a long siege.
We have already observed how cunningly he catered for the gratification
of her ruling appetite, and have exhibited pregnant proofs of his ability in
gaining upon the human heart; the reader will not therefore be surprised at
the rapidity of his conquest over the affections of a lady whose complexion
was perfectly amorous, and whose vanity laid her open to all the attempts of
adulation. In a word, matters were quickly brought to such a mutual
understanding, that, one evening, while they amused themselves at
lansquenet, Fathom conjured her to give him the rendezvous next day at the
house of any third person of her own sex, in whose discretion she could
confide; and, after a few affected scruples on her side, which he well knew
how to surmount, she complied with his request, and the circumstances of
the appointment were settled accordingly. After this treaty, their satisfaction
rose to such a warmth, and the conversation became so reciprocally
endearing, that our gallant expressed his impatience of waiting so long for
the accomplishment of his wishes, and, with the most eager transport,
begged she would, if possible, curtail the term of his expectation, that his

brain might not suffer by his standing so many tedious hours on the giddy
verge of rapture.
The dame, who was naturally compassionate, sympathised with his
condition, and, unable to resist his pathetic supplications, gave him to
understand that his desire could not be granted, without subjecting them
both to some hazard, but that she was disposed to run any risk in behalf of
his happiness and peace. After this affectionate preamble, she told him that
her husband was then engaged in a quarterly meeting of the jewellers, from
whence he never failed to return quite overwhelmed with wine, tobacco,
and the phlegm of his own constitution; so that he would fall fast asleep as
soon as his head should touch the pillow, and she be at liberty to entertain
the lover without interruption, provided he could find means to deceive the
jealous vigilance of Wilhelmina, and conceal himself in some corner of the
house, unsuspected and unperceived.
Our lover, remembering his adventure with the daughter, would have
willingly dispensed with this expedient, and began to repent of the
eagerness with which he had preferred his solicitation; but, seeing there was
now no opportunity of retracting with honour, he affected to enter heartily
into the conversation, and, after much canvassing, it was determined, that,
while Wilhelmina was employed in the kitchen, the mother should conduct
our adventurer to the outer door, where he should pay the compliment of
parting, so as to be overheard by the young lady; but, in the meantime, glide
softly into the jeweller’s bedchamber, which was a place they imagined
least liable to the effects of a daughter’s prying disposition, and conceal
himself in a large press or wardrobe, that stood in one corner of the
apartment. The scene was immediately acted with great success, and our
hero cooped up in his cage, where he waited so long, that his desires began
to subside, and his imagination to aggravate the danger of his situation.
“Suppose,” said he to himself, “this brutal German, instead of being
stupefied with wine, should come home inflamed with brandy, to the use of
which he is sometimes addicted, far from feeling any inclination to sleep,
he will labour under the most fretful anxiety of watching; every irascible
particle in his disposition will be exasperated; he will be offended with
every object that may present itself to his view; and, if there is the least
ingredient of jealousy in his temper, it will manifest itself in riot and rage.
What if his frenzy should prompt him to search his wife’s chamber for

gallants? this would certainly be the first place to which he would direct his
inquiry; or, granting this supposition chimerical, I may be seized with an
irresistible inclination to cough, before he is oppressed with sleep; he may
be waked by the noise I shall make in disengaging myself from this
embarrassed situation; and, finally, I may find it impracticable to retire
unseen or unheard, after everything else shall have succeeded to my wish.”
These suggestions did not at all contribute to the quiet of our adventurer,
who, having waited three whole hours in the most uncomfortable suspense,
heard the jeweller brought into the room in that very condition which his
fears had prognosticated. He had, it seems, quarrelled over his cups with
another tradesman, and received a salutation on the forehead with a
candlestick, which not only left an ignominious and painful mark upon his
countenance, but even disordered his brain to a very dangerous degree of
delirium; so that, instead of allowing himself quietly to be undressed and
put to bed by his wife, he answered all her gentle admonitions and caresses
with the most opprobrious invectives and obstreperous behaviour; and,
though he did not tax her with infidelity to his bed, he virulently accused
her of extravagance and want of economy; observed, her expensive way of
living would bring him to a morsel of bread; and unfortunately recollecting
the attempt of the supposed thief, started up from his chair, swearing by G
—’s mother that he would forthwith arm himself with a brace of pistols, and
search every apartment in the house. “That press,” said he, with great
vociferation, “may, for aught I know, be the receptacle of some ruffian.”
So saying, he approached the ark in which Fathom was embarked, and
exclaiming, “Come forth, Satan,” applied his foot to the door of it, with
such violence as threw him from the centre of gravity, and laid him
sprawling on his back. This address made such an impression upon our
adventurer, that he had well-nigh obeyed the summons, and burst from his
concealment, in a desperate effort to escape, without being recognised by
the intoxicated German; and indeed, had the application been repeated, he
in all likelihood would have tried the experiment, for by this time his terrors
had waxed too strong to be much longer suppressed. From this hazardous
enterprise he was, however, exempted by a lucky accident that happened to
his disturber, whose head chancing to pitch upon the corner of a chair in his
fall, he was immediately lulled into a trance, during which the considerate
lady, guessing the disorder of her gallant, and dreading further interruption,
very prudently released him from his confinement, after she had put out the

light, and in the dark conveyed him to the door, where he was comforted
with the promise that she would punctually remember the rendezvous of
next day.
She then invoked the assistance of the servants, who, being waked for the
purpose, lifted up their master, and tumbled him into bed, while Ferdinand
hied him home in an universal sweat, blessing himself from any future
achievement of that sort in a house where he had been twice in such
imminent danger of life and reputation. Nevertheless, he did not fail to
honour the assignation, and avail himself of the disposition his mistress
manifested to make him all the recompense in her power for the
disappointment and chagrin which he had undergone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BUT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS IN HIS ATTEMPT UPON BOTH.

Having thus gained a complete victory over the affections of these two
ladies, he began to convert his good fortune to the purposes of that
principle, from which his view was never, no, not for a moment, detached.
In other words, he used them as ministers and purveyors to his avarice and
fraud. As for the mother-in-law, she was of herself so liberal as to anticipate
the wishes of any moderate adventurer, and presented him with sundry
valuable jewels, as memorials of her esteem; nor was the daughter
backward in such expressions of regard; she already considered his interest
as her own, and took frequent opportunities of secreting for his benefit
certain stray trinkets that she happened to pick up in her excursions within
doors.
All these gratifications he received with demonstrations of infinite
constraint and reluctance, and, in the midst of his rapacious extortion, acted
so cunningly as to impose himself upon both for a miracle of disinterested
integrity. Yet, not contented with what he thus could earn, and despairing of
being able to steer the bark of his fortune for any length of time between
two such dangerous quicksands, he resolved to profit by the occasion while
it lasted, and strike some considerable stroke at once. A plan was formed in
consequence of this determination, and, at an appointment with the mother
in the house of their female friend, our adventurer appeared with an air of
dejection, which he veiled with a thin cover of forced pleasantry, that his
mistress might suppose he endeavoured to conceal some mortal chagrin that
preyed upon his heart.
The stratagem succeeded to his wish. She observed his countenance
between whiles overcast, took notice of the involuntary sighs he heaved;
and, with the most tender expressions of sympathy, conjured him to make

her acquainted with the cause of his affliction. Instead of gratifying her
request immediately, he evaded her questions with a respectful reserve,
implying, that his love would not suffer him to make her a partner in his
sorrow; and this delicacy on his part whetted her impatience and concern to
such a degree, that, rather than keep her in such an agony of doubt and
apprehension, he was prevailed upon to tell her, that he had been, the
preceding night, engaged with a company of his fellow-students, where he
had made too free with the champagne, so that his caution forsook him, and
he had been decoyed into play by a Tyrolese gamester, who stripped him of
all his ready money, and obtained from him an obligation for two hundred
florins, which he could not possibly pay without having recourse to his
relation the Count de Melvil, who would have just cause to be incensed at
his extravagance.
This information he concluded, by declaring that, cost what it would, he
was resolved to make a candid confession of the truth, and throw himself
entirely upon the generosity of his patron, who could inflict no other
punishment than that of discarding him from his favour and protection,—a
misfortune which, how grievous soever it might be, he should be able to
sustain with fortitude, could he fall upon some method of satisfying the
Tyrolese, who was very importunate and savage in his demand. His kind
mistress no sooner found out the source of his inquietude, than she
promised to dry it up, assuring him that next day, at the same hour, she
would enable him to discharge the debt; so that he might set his heart at
ease, and recollect that gaiety which was the soul of her enjoyment.
He expressed the utmost astonishment at this generous proffer, which,
however, he declined, with an affected earnestness of refusal, protesting,
that he should be extremely mortified, if he thought she looked upon him as
one of those mercenary gallants who could make such a sordid use of a
lady’s affection. “No, madam,” cried our politician in a pathetic strain,
“whatever happens, I shall never part with that internal consolation, that
conscious honour never fails to yield in the deepest scenes of solitary
distress. The attachment I have the honour to profess for your amiable
person, is not founded on such inglorious motives, but is the genuine result
of that generous passion which none but the noble-minded feel, and the
only circumstance of this misfortune that I dread to encounter, is the
necessity of withdrawing myself for ever from the presence of her whose

genial smiles could animate my soul against all the persecution of adverse
fortune.”
This declamation, accompanied with a profound sigh, served only to
inflame her desire of extricating him from the difficulty in which he was
involved. She exhausted all her eloquence in attempting to persuade him
that his refusal was an outrage against her affection. He pretended to refute
her arguments, and remained unshaken by all the power of her solicitations,
until she had recourse to the most passionate remonstrances of love, and fell
at his feet in the posture of a forlorn shepherdess. What he refused to her
reason, he granted to her tears, because his heart was melted by her
affliction, and next day condescended to accept of her money, out of pure
regard to her happiness and peace.
Encouraged by the success of this achievement, he resolved to practise
the same experiment upon Wilhelmina, in hope of extracting an equal share
of profit from her simplicity and attachment, and, at their very next
nocturnal rendezvous in her chamber, reacted the farce already rehearsed,
with a small variation, which he thought necessary to stimulate the young
lady in his behalf. He rightly concluded, that she was by no means mistress
of such a considerable sum as he had already extorted from her mother, and
therefore thought proper to represent himself in the most urgent
predicament, that her apprehension, on his account, might be so alarmed as
to engage her in some enterprise for his advantage, which otherwise she
would never have dreamed of undertaking. With this view, after having
described his own calamitous situation, in consequence of her pressing
entreaties, which he affected to evade, he gave her to understand, that there
was no person upon earth to whom he would have recourse in this
emergency; for which reason he was determined to rid himself of all his
cares at once, upon the friendly point of his own faithful sword.
Such a dreadful resolution could not fail to operate upon the tender
passions of his Dulcinea; she was instantly seized with an agony of fear and
distraction. Her grief manifested itself in a flood of tears, while she hung
round his neck, conjuring him in the most melting terms, by their mutual
love, in which they had been so happy, to lay aside that fatal determination,
which would infallibly involve her in the same fate; for, she took Heaven to
witness, that she would not one moment survive the knowledge of his
death.

He was not deficient in expressions of reciprocal regard. He extolled her
love and tenderness with a most extravagant eulogium, and seemed wrung
with mortal anguish at the prospect of parting for ever from his lovely
Wilhelmina; but his honour was a stern and rigid creditor, that could not be
appeased, except with his blood; and all the boon she could obtain, by dint
of the most woful supplication, was a promise to defer the execution of his
baleful purpose for the space of four-and-twenty hours, during which she
hoped Heaven would compassionate her sufferings, and inspire her with
some contrivance for their mutual relief. Thus he yielded to her fervent
request, rather with a view to calm the present transports of her sorrow, than
with any expectation of seeing himself redeemed from his fate by her
interposition; such at least were his professions when he took his leave,
assuring her, that he would not quit his being before he should have devoted
a few hours to another interview with the dear object of his love.
Having thus kindled the train, he did not doubt that the mine of his craft
would take effect, and repaired to his own lodging, in full persuasion of
seeing his aim accomplished, before the time fixed for their last assignation.
His prognostic was next morning verified by the arrival of a messenger,
who brought to him a small parcel, to which was cemented, with sealing
wax, the following epistle:—
“JEWEL OF MY SOUL!—Scarce had you, last night, quitted my
disconsolate arms, when I happily recollected that there was in my
possession a gold chain, of value more than sufficient to answer the
exigence of your present occasions. It was pledged to my grandfather for
two hundred crowns by a knight of Malta, who soon after perished in a sea
engagement with the enemies of our faith, so that it became the property of
our house, and was bequeathed to me by the old gentleman, as a memorial
of his particular affection. Upon whom can I more properly bestow it, than
him who is already master of my heart! Receive it, therefore, from the
bearer of this billet, and convert it, without scruple, to that use which shall
be most conducive to your ease and satisfaction; nor seek, from a true
romantic notion of honour, which I know you entertain, to excuse yourself
from accepting this testimony of my affection. For I have already sworn
before an image of our blessed Lady, that I will no longer own you as the
sovereign of my heart, nor even indulge you with another interview, if you
reject this mark of tenderness and concern from your ever faithful
WILHELMINA.”

The heart of our adventurer began to bound with joy when he surveyed
the contents of this letter; and his eyes sparkled with transport at sight of the
chain, which he immediately perceived to be worth twice the sum she had
mentioned. Nevertheless, he would not avail himself, without further
question, of her generosity; but, that same night, repairing to her apartment
at the usual hour of meeting, he prostrated himself before her, and
counterfeiting extreme agitation of spirit, begged, in the most urgent terms,
not even unaccompanied with tears, that she would take back the present,
which he tendered for her acceptance, and spare him the most insufferable
mortification of thinking himself exposed to the imputation of being
mercenary in his love. Such, he said, was the delicacy of his passion, that he
could not possibly exist under the apprehension of incurring a censure so
unworthy of his sentiments; and he would a thousand times sooner undergo
the persecution of his rancorous creditor, than bear the thought of being in
the smallest consideration lessened in her esteem; nay, so far did he carry
his pretensions to punctilio, as to protest, that, should she refuse to quiet the
scruples of his honour on this score, her unyielding beneficence would
serve only to hasten the execution of his determined purpose, to withdraw
himself at once from a life of vanity and misfortune.
The more pathetically he pleaded for her compliance, the more
strenuously did she resist his remonstrances. She advanced all the
arguments her reason, love, and terror could suggest, reminded him of her
oath, from which he could not suppose she would recede, whatever the
consequence might be; and in conclusion vowed to Heaven, with great
solemnity and devotion, that she would not survive the news of his death.
Thus the alternative she offered was either to retain the chain and be happy
in her affection, or forfeit all title to her love, and die in the conviction of
having brought his innocent mistress to an untimely grave.
His fortitude was not proof against this last consideration. “My savage
honour,” said he, “would enable me to endure the pangs of eternal
separation in the confidence of being endowed with the power of ending
these tortures by the energy of my own hand; but the prospect of
Wilhelmina’s death, and that too occasioned by my inflexibility, disarms my
soul of all her resolution, swallows up the dictates of my jealous pride, and
fills my bosom with such a gush of tenderness and sorrow, as overwhelms
the whole economy of my purpose! Yes, enchanting creature! I sacrifice my
glory to that irresistible reflection; and, rather than know myself the cruel

instrument of robbing the world of such perfection, consent to retain the
fatal testimony of your love.”
So saying, he pocketed the chain, with an air of ineffable mortification,
and was rewarded for his compliance with the most endearing caresses of
his Dulcinea, who, amidst the tumults of her joy, ejaculated a thousand
acknowledgments to Heaven for having blessed her with the affection of
such a man, whose honour was unrivalled by anything but his love.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HIS SUCCESS BEGETS A BLIND SECURITY, BY WHICH HE
IS ONCE AGAIN WELL-NIGH ENTRAPPED IN HIS
DULCINEA’S APARTMENT.

In this manner did the crafty Fathom turn to account those ingratiating
qualifications he inherited from nature, and maintain, with incredible
assiduity and circumspection, an amorous correspondence with two
domestic rivals, who watched the conduct of each other with the most
indefatigable virulence of envious suspicion, until an accident happened,
which had well-nigh overturned the bark of his policy, and induced him to
alter the course, that he might not be shipwrecked on the rocks that began to
multiply in the prosecution of his present voyage.
The jeweller, who, as a German, wanted neither pride nor ostentation,
never failed to celebrate the anniversary of his birth by an annual feast
granted to his neighbours and friends; and on these occasions was
accustomed to wear that chain which, though bequeathed to his daughter, he
considered as an ornament appertaining to the family, whereof he himself
was head. Accordingly, when the time of this festival revolved, he, as usual,
ordered Wilhelmina to surrender it for the day. This injunction, the reader
will perceive, our young lady was in no condition to obey; she had,
however, foreseen the demand, and contrived a scheme of behaviour for the
occasion, which she forthwith put in execution.
With an air of uncommon cheerfulness, purposely assumed, she retired to
her closet, on pretence of complying with his desire, and, having employed
a few minutes in rummaging her drawers and disordering her moveables,
uttered a loud shriek, that brought her father instantly into the apartment,
where he found his daughter tossing about her clothes and trinkets with

violent demonstrations of disorder and affright, and heard her, in a
lamentable strain, declare that she was robbed of her chain, and for ever
undone. This was so far from being an agreeable intimation to the jeweller,
that he was struck dumb with astonishment and vexation, and it was not till
after a long pause that he pronounced the word Sacrament! with an
emphasis denoting the most mortifying surprise.
Soon as that exclamation escaped from his lips, he flew to the escritoire
as if instinctively, and, joining Wilhelmina in her occupation, tumbled its
whole contents upon the floor in a trice.
While he was thus employed, in the most expressive silence, the wife of
his bosom chanced to pass that way, and seeing them both occupied with
such violence and trepidation, believed at first that they were certainly
actuated by the spirit of frenzy; but, when she interposed, by asking, with
great earnestness, the cause of such transports and distracted behaviour, and
heard her husband reply, with an accent of despair, “The chain! the chain of
my forefathers is no more!” she immediately justified his emotion, by
undergoing the same alarm, and, without further hesitation, engaged herself
in the search, beginning with a song, which might be compared to the hymn
of battle among the Greeks, or rather more aptly to that which the Spartan
females sung round the altar of Diana, surnamed Orthian; for it was
attended with strange gesticulations, and, in the course of utterance, became
so loud and shrill, that the guests, who were by this time partly assembled,
being confounded at the clamour, rushed towards the place from whence it
seemed to proceed, and found their landlord, with his wife and daughter, in
the attitudes of distraction and despair.
When they understood the nature of the case, they condoled the family on
their misfortune, and would have retired, on the supposition that it would
defeat the mirthful intent of their meeting; but the jeweller, mustering up his
whole temper and hospitality, entreated them to excuse his disorder, and
favour him with their company, which, he observed, was now more than
ever wanted, to dispel the melancholy ideas inspired by his loss.
Notwithstanding this apology, and the efforts he made in the sequel to
entertain his friends with jollity and good-humour, his heart was so linked
to the chain, that he could not detach himself from the thoughts of it, which
invaded him at short intervals in such qualms as effectually spoiled his
appetite, and hindered his digestion.

He revolved within himself the circumstances of his disaster, and, in
canvassing all the probable means by which the chain would be stolen,
concluded that the deed must have been done by some person in the family,
who, in consequence of having access to his daughter’s chamber, had either
found the drawer left open by her carelessness and neglect, or found means
to obtain a false key, by some waxen impression; for the locks of the
escritoire were safe and uninjured. His suspicion being thus confined within
his own house, sometimes pitched upon his workmen, and sometimes upon
his wife, who, he thought, was the more likely to practise such finesse, as
she considered Wilhelmina in the light of a daughter-in-law, whose interest
interfered with her own, and who had often harangued to him in private on
the folly of leaving this very chain in the young lady’s possession.
The more he considered this subject, he thought he saw the more reason
to attribute the damage he had sustained to the machinations of his spouse,
who, he did not doubt, was disposed to feather her own nest, at the expense
of him and his heirs, and who, with the same honest intention, had already
secreted, for her private use, those inconsiderable jewels which of late had
at different times been missing. Aroused by these sentiments, he resolved to
retaliate her own schemes, by contriving means to visit her cabinet in
secret, and, if possible, to rob the robber of the spoils she had gathered to
his prejudice, without coming to any explanation, which might end in
domestic turmoils and eternal disquiet.
While the husband exercised his reflection in this manner, his innocent
mate did not allow the powers of her imagination to rest in idleness and
sloth. Her observations touching the loss of the chain were such as a
suspicious woman, biassed by hatred and envy, would naturally make. To
her it seemed highly improbable, that a thing of such value, so carefully
deposited, should vanish without the connivance of its keeper, and without
much expense of conjecture, divined the true manner in which it was
conveyed. The sole difficulty that occurred in the researches of her sagacity,
was to know the gallant who had been favoured with such a pledge of
Wilhelmina’s affection; for, as the reader will easily imagine, she never
dreamed of viewing Ferdinand in that odious perspective. In order to satisfy
her curiosity, discover this happy favourite, and be revenged on her petulant
rival, she prevailed upon the jeweller to employ a scout, who should watch
all night upon the stair, without the knowledge of any other person in the
family, alleging, that in all likelihood, the housemaid gave private

admittance to some lover who was the author of all the losses they had
lately suffered, and that they might possibly detect him in his nocturnal
adventures; and observing that it would be imprudent to intimate their
design to Wilhelmina, lest, through the heedlessness and indiscretion of
youth, she might chance to divulge the secret, so as to frustrate their aim.
A Swiss, in whose honesty the German could confide, being hired for this
purpose, was posted in a dark corner of the staircase, within a few paces of
the door, which he was directed to watch, and actually stood sentinel three
nights, without perceiving the least object of suspicion; but, on the fourth,
the evil stars of our adventurer conducted him to the spot, on his voyage to
the apartment of his Dulcinea, with whom he had preconcerted the
assignation. Having made the signal, which consisted of two gentle taps on
her door, he was immediately admitted; and the Swiss no sooner saw him
fairly housed, than he crept softly to the other door, that was left open for
the purpose, and gave immediate intimation of what he had perceived. This
intelligence, however, he could not convey so secretly, but the lovers, who
were always vigilant upon these occasions, overheard a sort of commotion
in the jeweller’s chamber, the cause of which their apprehension was
ingenious enough to comprehend.
We have formerly observed that our adventurer could not make his
retreat by the door, without running a very great risk of being detected, and
the expedient of the chimney he had no inclination to repeat; so that he
found himself in a very uncomfortable dilemma, and was utterly abandoned
by all his invention and address, when his mistress, in a whisper, desired
him to begin a dialogue, aloud, in an apology, importing, that he had
mistaken the door, and that his intention was to visit her father, touching a
ring belonging to the young Count Melvil, which she knew Fathom had put
into his hands, in order to be altered.
Ferdinand, seizing the hint, availed himself of it without delay, and,
unbolting the door, pronounced in an audible voice, “Upon my honour,
Mademoiselle, you wrong my intention, if you imagine I came hither with
any disrespectful or dishonourable motive. I have business with your father,
which cannot be delayed till to-morrow, without manifest prejudice to my
friend and myself; therefore I took the liberty of visiting him at these
untimely hours, and it has been my misfortune to mistake the door in the
dark. I beg pardon for my involuntary intrusion, and again assure you, that

nothing was farther from my thoughts than any design to violate that
respect which I have always entertained for you and your father’s family.”
To this remonstrance, which was distinctly heard by the German and his
wife, who by this time stood listening at the door, the young lady replied, in
a shrill accent of displeasure, “Sir, I am bound to believe that all your
actions are conducted by honour; but you must give me leave to tell you,
that your mistake is a little extraordinary, and your visit, even to my father,
at this time of the night, altogether unseasonable, if not mysterious. As for
the interruption I have suffered in my repose, I impute it to my own
forgetfulness, in leaving my door unlocked, and blame myself so severely
for the omission, that I shall, to-morrow, put it out of my own power to be
guilty of the like for the future, by ordering the passage to be nailed up;
meanwhile, if you would persuade me of your well-meaning, you will
instantly withdraw, lest my reputation should suffer by your continuance in
my apartment.”
“Madam,” answered our hero, “I will not give you an opportunity to
repeat the command, which I shall forthwith obey, after having entreated
you once more to forgive the disturbance I have given.” So saying, he
gently opened the door, and, at sight of the German and his wife, who, he
well knew, waited for his exit, started back, and gave tokens of confusion,
which was partly real and partly affected. The jeweller, fully satisfied with
Fathom’s declaration to his daughter, received him with a complaisant look,
and, in order to alleviate his concern, gave him to understand, that he
already knew the reason of his being in that apartment, and desired to be
informed of what had procured him the honour to see him at such a
juncture.
“My dear friend,” said our adventurer, pretending to recollect himself
with difficulty, “I am utterly ashamed and confounded to be discovered in
this situation; but, as you have overheard what passed between
Mademoiselle and me, I know you will do justice to my intention, and
forgive my mistake. After begging pardon for having intruded upon your
family at these hours, I must now tell you that my cousin, Count Melvil,
was some time ago so much misrepresented to his mother by certain
malicious informers, who delight in sowing discord in private families, that
she actually believed her son an extravagant spendthrift, who had not only
consumed his remittances in the most riotous scenes of disorder, but also

indulged a pernicious appetite for gaming, to such a degree, that he had lost
all his clothes and jewels at play. In consequence of such false information,
she expostulated with him in a severe letter, and desired he would transmit
to her that ring which is in your custody, it being a family stone, for which
she expressed an inestimable value. The young gentleman, in his answer to
her reproof, endeavoured to vindicate himself from the aspersions which
had been cast upon his character, and, with regard to the ring, told her it was
at present in the hands of a jeweller, in order to be new set according to her
own directions, and that, whenever it should be altered, he would send it
home to her by some safe conveyance. This account the good lady took for
an evasion, and upon that supposition has again written to him, in such a
provoking style, that, although the letter arrived but half an hour ago, he is
determined to despatch a courier before morning with the mischievous ring,
for which, in compliance with the impetuosity of his temper, I have taken
the freedom to disturb you at this unseasonable hour.”
The German paid implicit faith to every circumstance of his story, which
indeed could not well be supposed to be invented extempore; the ring was
immediately restored, and our adventurer took his leave, congratulating
himself upon his signal deliverance from the snare in which he had fallen.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE STEP-DAME’S SUSPICIONS BEING AWAKENED, SHE
LAYS A SNARE FOR OUR ADVENTURER, FROM WHICH HE
IS DELIVERED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF HIS GOOD
GENIUS.

Though the husband swallowed the bait without further inquiry, the
penetration of the wife was not so easily deceived. That same dialogue in
Wilhelmina’s apartment, far from allaying, rather inflamed her suspicion;
because, in the like emergency, she herself had once profited by the same,
or nearly the same contrivance. Without communicating her doubts to the
father, she resolved to double her attention to the daughter’s future conduct,
and keep such a strict eye over the behaviour of our gallant, that he should
find it very difficult, if not impossible, to elude her observation. For this
purpose she took into her pay an old maiden, of the right sour disposition,
who lived in a house opposite to her own, and directed her to follow the
young lady in all her outgoings, whenever she should receive from the
window a certain signal, which the mother-in-law agreed to make for the
occasion. It was not long before this scheme succeeded to her wish. The
door of communication betwixt Wilhelmina’s apartment and the staircase
being nailed up by the jeweller’s express order, our adventurer was
altogether deprived of those opportunities he had hitherto enjoyed, and was
not at all mortified to find himself so restricted in a correspondence which
began to be tiresome and disagreeable. But the case was far otherwise with
his Dulcinea, whose passion, the more it was thwarted, raged with greater
violence, like a fire, that, from the attempts that are made to extinguish it,
gathers greater force, and flames with double fury.

Upon the second day of her misfortune, she had written a very tender
billet, lamenting her unhappiness in being deprived of those meetings which
constituted the chief joy of her life, and entreating him to contrive some
means of renewing the delicious commerce in an unsuspected place. This
intimation she proposed to convey privately into the hand of her lover,
during his next visit to the family; but both were so narrowly eyed by the
mother, that she found the execution of her design impracticable; and next
forenoon, on pretence of going to church, repaired to the house of a
companion, who, being also her confidant, undertook to deliver the billet
with her own hand.
The she-dragon employed by her mother, in obedience to the sign which
was displayed from the window immediately put on her veil, and followed
Wilhelmina at a distance, until she saw her fairly housed. She would not
even then return from her excursion, but hovered about in sight of the door,
with a view of making further observations. In less than five minutes after
the young lady disappeared, the scout perceived her coming out,
accompanied by her comrade, from whom she instantly parted, and bent her
way towards the church in good earnest, while the other steered her course
in another direction. The duenna, after a moment’s suspense and
consideration, divined the true cause of this short visit, and resolved to
watch the motions of the confidant, whom she traced to the academy in
which our hero lodged, and from which she saw her return, after the
supposed message was delivered.
Fraught with this intelligence, the rancorous understrapper hied her home
to the jeweller’s wife, and made a faithful recital of what she had seen,
communicating at the same time her own conjectures on that subject. Her
employer was equally astonished and incensed at this information. She was
seized with all that frenzy which takes possession of a slighted woman,
when she finds herself supplanted by a detested rival; and, in the first
transports of her indignation, devoted them as sacrifices to her vengeance.
Nor was her surprise so much the effect of his dissimulation, as of his want
of taste and discernment. She inveighed against him, not as the most
treacherous lover, but as the most abject wretch, in courting the smiles of
such an awkward dowdy, while he enjoyed the favours of a woman who
had numbered princes in the train of her admirers. For the brilliancy of her
attractions, such as they at present shone, she appealed to the decision of
her minister, who consulted her own satisfaction and interest, by flattering

the other’s vanity and resentment; and so unaccountable did the depravity
of our hero’s judgment appear to this conceited dame, that she began to
believe there was some mistake in the person, and to hope that
Wilhelmina’s gallant was not in reality her professed admirer, Mr. Fathom,
but rather one of his fellow-lodgers, whose passion he favoured with his
mediation and assistance.
On this notion, which nothing but mere vanity could have inspired, in
opposition to so many more weighty presumptions, she took the resolution
of bringing the affair to a fuller explanation, before she would concert any
measures to the prejudice of our adventurer, and forthwith despatched her
spy back to his lodgings, to solicit, on the part of Wilhelmina, an immediate
answer to the letter he had received. This was an expedition with which the
old maiden would have willingly dispensed, because it was founded upon
an uncertainty, which might be attended with troublesome consequences;
but, rather than be the means of retarding a negotiation so productive of that
sort of mischief which is particularly agreeable to all of her tribe, she
undertook to manage and effect the discovery, in full confidence of her own
talents and experience.
With such a fund of self-sufficiency and instigation, she repaired to the
academy on the instant, and inquiring for Mr. Fathom, was introduced to his
apartment, where she found him in the very act of writing a billet to the
jeweller’s daughter. The artful agent having asked, with the mysterious air
of an expert go-between, if he had not lately received a message from a
certain young lady, and, being answered in the affirmative, gave him to
understand, that she herself was a person favoured with the friendship and
confidence of Wilhelmina, whom she had known from her cradle, and often
dandled on her knee; then, in the genuine style of a prattling dry nurse, she
launched out in encomiums on his Dulcinea’s beauty and sweetness of
temper, recounting many simple occurrences of her infancy and childhood;
and, finally, desiring a more circumstantial answer to that which she had
sent to him by her friend Catherina. In the course of her loquacity she had
also, according to her instructions, hinted at the misfortune of the door; and,
on the whole, performed her cue with such dexterity and discretion that our
politician was actually overreached, and, having finished his epistle,
committed it to her care, with many verbal expressions of eternal love and
fidelity to his charming Wilhelmina.

The messenger, doubly rejoiced at her achievement, which not only
recommended her ministry, but also gratified her malice, returned to her
principal with great exultation, and, delivering the letter, the reader will
easily conceive the transports of that lady when she read the contents of it
in these words:—
“ANGELIC WILHELMINA!—To forget those ecstatic scenes we have
enjoyed together, or even live without the continuation of that mutual bliss,
were to quit all title to perception, and resign every hope of future
happiness. No! my charmer, while my head retains the least spark of
invention, and my heart glows with the resolution of a man, our
correspondence shall not be cut off by the machinations of an envious
stepmother, who never had attractions to inspire a generous passion; and,
now that age and wrinkles have destroyed what little share of beauty she
once possessed, endeavours, like the fiend in paradise, to blast those joys in
others, from which she is herself eternally excluded. Doubt not, dear
sovereign of my soul! that I will study, with all the eagerness of desiring
love, how to frustrate her malicious intention, and renew those transporting
moments, the remembrance of which now warms the breast of your ever
constant FATHOM.”
Had our hero murdered her father, or left her a disconsolate widow, by
effecting the death of her dear husband, there might have been a possibility
of her exerting the Christian virtues of resignation and forgiveness; but such
a personal outrage as that contained in this epistle precluded all hope of
pardon, and rendered penitence of no signification. His atrocious crime
being now fully ascertained, this virago gave a loose to her resentment,
which became so loud and tempestuous, that her informer shuddered at the
storm she had raised, and began to repent of having communicated the
intelligence which seemed to have such a violent effect upon her brain.
She endeavoured, however, to allay the agitation, by flattering her fancy
with the prospect of revenge, and gradually soothed her into a state of
deliberate ire; during which she determined to take ample vengeance on the
delinquent. In the zenith of her rage, she would have had immediate
recourse to poison or steel, had she not been diverted from her mortal
purpose by her counsellor, who represented the danger of engaging in such
violent measures, and proposed a more secure scheme, in the execution of
which she would see the perfidious wretch sufficiently punished, without

any hazard to her own person or reputation. She advised her to inform the
jeweller of Fathom’s efforts to seduce her conjugal fidelity, and impart to
him a plan, by which he would have it in his power to detect our adventurer
in the very act of practising upon her virtue.
The lady relished her proposal, and actually resolved to make an
assignation with Ferdinand, as usual, and give notice of the appointment to
her husband, that he might personally discover the treachery of his
pretended friend, and inflict upon him such chastisement as the German’s
brutal disposition should suggest, when inflamed by that species of
provocation. Had this project been brought to bear, Ferdinand, in all
likelihood, would have been disqualified from engaging in any future
intrigue; but fate ordained that the design should be defeated, in order to
reserve him for more important occasions.
Before the circumstances of the plan could be adjusted, it was his good
fortune to meet his Dulcinea in the street, and, in the midst of their mutual
condolence on the interruption they had suffered in their correspondence, he
assured her, that he would never give his invention respite, until he should
have verified the protestations contained in the letter he had delivered to her
discreet agent. This allusion to a billet she had never received, did not fail to
alarm her fears, and introduce a very mortifying explanation, in which he so
accurately described the person of the messenger, that she forthwith
comprehended the plot, and communicated to our hero her sentiments on
that subject.
Though he expressed infinite anxiety and chagrin at this misfortune,
which could not fail to raise new obstacles to their love, his heart was a
stranger to the uneasiness he affected; and rather pleased with the occasion,
which would furnish him with pretences to withdraw himself gradually
from an intercourse by this time become equally cloying and unprofitable.
Being well acquainted with the mother’s temperament, he guessed the
present situation of her thoughts, and concluding she would make the
jeweller a party in her revenge, he resolved from that moment to
discontinue his visits, and cautiously guard against any future interview
with the lady whom he had rendered so implacable.
It was well for our adventurer that his good fortune so seasonably
interposed; for that same day, in the afternoon, he was favoured with a billet
from the jeweller’s wife, couched in the same tender style she had formerly

used, and importing an earnest desire of seeing him next day at the wonted
rendezvous. Although his penetration was sufficient to perceive the drift of
this message, or at least to discern the risk he should run in complying with
her request, yet he was willing to be more fully certified of the truth of his
suspicion, and wrote an answer to the billet, in which he assured her, that he
would repair to the place of appointment with all the punctuality of an
impatient lover. Nevertheless, instead of performing this promise, he, in the
morning, took post in a public-house opposite to the place of assignation, in
order to reconnoitre the ground, and about noon had the pleasure of seeing
the German, wrapped in a cloak, enter the door of his wife’s she-friend,
though the appointment was fixed at five in the evening. Fathom blessed his
good angel for having conducted him clear of this conspiracy, and kept his
station with great tranquillity till the hour of meeting, when he beheld his
enraged Thalestris take the same route, and enjoyed her disappointment
with ineffable satisfaction.
Thus favoured with a pretext, he took his leave of her, in a letter, giving
her to understand, that he was no stranger to the barbarous snare she had
laid for him; and upbraiding her with having made such an ungrateful return
for all his tenderness and attachment. She was not backward in conveying a
reply to this expostulation, which seemed to have been dictated in all the
distraction of a proud woman who sees her vengeance baffled, as well as
her love disdained. Her letter was nothing but a succession of reproaches,
menaces, and incoherent execrations. She taxed him with knavery,
insensibility, and dissimulation; imprecated a thousand curses upon his
head, and threatened not only to persecute his life with all the arts that hell
and malice could inspire, but also to wound him in the person of her
daughter-in-law, who should be enclosed for life in a convent, where she
should have leisure to repent of those loose and disorderly practices which
he had taught her to commit, and of which she could not pretend innocence,
as they had it in their power to confront her with the evidence of her lover’s
own confession. Yet all this denunciation was qualified with an alternative,
by which he was given to understand, that the gates of mercy were still
open, and that penitence was capable of washing out the deepest stain of
guilt.
Ferdinand read the whole remonstrance with great composure and
moderation, and was content to incur the hazard of her hate, rather than put
her to the trouble of making such an effort of generosity, as would induce

her to forgive the heinous offence he had committed; nor did his
apprehension for Wilhelmina in the least influence his behaviour on this
occasion. So zealous was he for her spiritual concerns, that he would have
been glad to hear she had actually taken the veil; but he knew such a step
was not at all agreeable to her disposition, and that no violence would be
offered to her inclinations on that score, unless her stepmother should
communicate to the father that letter of Fathom’s which she had intercepted,
and by which the German would be convinced of his daughter’s
backsliding; but this measure, he rightly supposed, the wife would not
venture to take, lest the husband, instead of taking her advice touching the
young lady, should seek to compromise the affair, by offering her in
marriage to her debaucher, a proffer which, if accepted, would overwhelm
the mother with vexation and despair. He therefore chose to trust to the
effects of lenient time, which he hoped would gradually weaken the
resentment of this Penthesilea, and dissolve his connexion with the other
parts of the family, from which he longed to be totally detached.
How well soever he might have succeeded in his attempts to shake off
the yoke of the mother, who by her situation in life was restrained from
prosecuting those measures her resentment had planned against his fortitude
and indifference, he would have found greater difficulty than he had
foreseen, in disengaging himself from the daughter, whose affections he had
won under the most solemn professions of honour and fidelity, and who,
now she was debarred of his company and conversation, and in danger of
losing him for ever, had actually taken the resolution of disclosing the
amour to her father, that he might interpose in behalf of her peace and
reputation, and secure her happiness by the sanction of the church.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

OUR HERO DEPARTS FROM VIENNA, AND QUITS THE
DOMAIN OF VENUS FOR THE ROUGH FIELD OF MARS.

Luckily for our adventurer, before she adhered to this determination, the
young Count de Melvil was summoned to Presburg by his father, who
desired to see him, before he should take the field, in consequence of a
rupture between the Emperor and the French King; and Fathom of course
quitted Vienna, in order to attend his patron, after he and Renaldo had
resided two whole years in that capital, where the former had made himself
perfect in all the polite exercises, become master of the French tongue, and
learned to speak the Italian with great facility; over and above those other
accomplishments in which we have represented him as an inimitable
original.
As for the young Count, his exteriors were so much improved by the
company to which he had access, since his departure from his father’s
house, that his parents were equally surprised and overjoyed at the
alteration. All that awkwardness and rusticity, which hung upon his
deportment, was, like the rough coat of a diamond, polished away; the
connexion and disposition of his limbs seemed to have been adjusted anew;
his carriage was become easy, his air perfectly genteel, and his conversation
gay and unrestrained. The merit of this reformation was in a great measure
ascribed to the care and example of Mr. Fathom, who was received by the
old Count and his lady with marks of singular friendship and esteem; nor
was he overlooked by Mademoiselle, who still remained in a state of
celibacy, and seemed to have resigned all hope of altering her condition; she
expressed uncommon satisfaction at the return of her old favourite, and
readmitted him into the same degree of familiarity with which he had been
honoured before his departure.

The joy of Teresa was so excessive at his arrival, that she could scarce
suppress her raptures, so as to conceal them from the notice of the family;
and our hero, upon this occasion, performed the part of an exquisite actor,
in dissembling those transports which his bosom never knew. So well had
this pupil retained the lessons of her instructor, that, in the midst of those
fraudulent appropriations, which she still continued to make, she had found
means to support her interest and character with Mademoiselle, and even to
acquire such influence in the family, that no other servant, male or female,
could pretend to live under the same roof, without paying incessant homage
to this artful waiting-woman, and yielding the most abject submission to her
will.
The young gentlemen having tarried at Presburg about six weeks, during
which a small field equipage was prepared for Renaldo, they repaired to the
camp at Heilbron, under the auspices of Count Melvil, in whose regiment
they carried arms as volunteers, with a view to merit promotion in the
service by their own personal behaviour. Our adventurer would have
willingly dispensed with this occasion of signalising himself, his talents
being much better adapted to another sphere of life; nevertheless, he
affected uncommon alacrity at the prospect of gathering laurels in the field,
and subscribed to his fortune with a good grace; foreseeing, that even in a
campaign, a man of his art and ingenuity might find means to consult his
corporal safety, without any danger to his reputation. Accordingly, before he
had lived full three weeks in camp, the damp situation, and sudden change
in his way of life, had such a violent effect upon his constitution, that he
was deprived of the use of all his limbs, and mourned, without ceasing, his
hard fate, by which he found himself precluded from all opportunity of
exerting his diligence, courage, and activity, in the character of a soldier, to
which he now aspired.
Renaldo, who was actually enamoured of a martial life, and missed no
occasion of distinguishing himself, consoled his companion with great
cordiality, encouraged him with the hope of seeing his constitution
familiarised to the inconveniences of a camp, and accommodated him with
everything which he thought would alleviate the pain of his body, as well as
the anxiety of his mind. The old Count, who sincerely sympathised with his
affliction, would have persuaded him to retire into quarters, where he could
be carefully nursed, and provided with everything necessary to a person in
his condition; but such was his desire of glory, that he resisted his patron’s

importunities with great constancy, till at length, seeing the old gentleman
obstinately determined to consult his health by removing him from the
field, he gradually suffered himself to recover the use of his hands, made
shift to sit up in his bed, and amuse himself with cards or backgammon,
and, notwithstanding the feeble condition of his legs, ventured to ride out
on horseback to visit the lines, though the Count and his son would never
yield to his solicitations so far, as to let him accompany Renaldo in those
excursions and reconnoitring parties, by which a volunteer inures himself to
toil and peril, and acquires that knowledge in the operations of war, which
qualifies him for a command in the service.
Notwithstanding this exemption from all duty, our adventurer managed
matters so as to pass for a youth of infinite mettle, and even rendered his
backwardness and timidity subservient to the support of that character, by
expressing an impatience of lying inactive, and a desire of signalising his
prowess, which even the disabled condition of his body could scarce
restrain. He must be a man of very weak nerves and excessive irresolution,
who can live in the midst of actual service, without imbibing some portion
of military fortitude: danger becomes habitual, and loses a great part of its
terror; and as fear is often caught by contagion, so is courage communicated
among the individuals of an army. The hope of fame, desire of honours and
preferment, envy, emulation, and the dread of disgrace, are motives which
co-operate in suppressing that aversion to death or mutilation, which nature
hath implanted in the human mind; and therefore it is not to be wondered at,
if Fathom, who was naturally chicken-hearted, gained some advantages
over his disposition before the end of the campaign, which happened to be
neither perilous nor severe.
During the winter, while both armies remained in quarters, our
adventurer attended his patron to Presburg, and, before the troops were in
motion, Renaldo obtained a commission, in consequence of which he went
into garrison at Philipsburg, whither he was followed by our hero, while the
old Count’s duty called him to the field in a different place. Ferdinand for
some time had no reason to be dissatisfied with this disposition, by which
he was at once delivered from the fatigues of a campaign, and the
inspection of a severe censor, in the person of Count Melvil; and his
satisfaction was still increased by an accidental meeting with the Tyrolese
who had been his confederate at Vienna, and now chanced to serve in
garrison on the same footing with himself. These two knights-errant

renewed their former correspondence, and, as all soldiers are addicted to
gaming, levied contributions upon all those officers who had money to lose,
and temerity to play.
However, they had not long pursued this branch of traffic, when their
success was interrupted by a very serious occurrence, that for the present
entirely detached the gentlemen in the garrison from such amusements. The
French troops invested Fort Kehl, situated on the Rhine, opposite to
Strasburg; and the Imperialists, dreading that the next storm would fall upon
Philipsburg, employed themselves with great diligence to put that important
fortress in a proper posture of defence. If the suspension of play was
displeasing to our hero, the expectation of being besieged was by no means
more agreeable. He knew the excellence of the French engineers, the power
of their artillery, and the perseverance of their general. He felt, by
anticipation, the toils of hard duty upon the works, the horrors of night-
alarms, cannonading, bombardment, sallies, and mines blown up; and
deliberated with himself whether or not he should privately withdraw, and
take refuge among the besiegers; but, when he reflected that such a step,
besides the infamy that must attend it, would be like that of running upon
Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis, as he would be exposed to more danger
and inconvenience in the trenches than he could possibly undergo in the
town, and after all run the risk of being taken and treated as a deserter; upon
these considerations he resolved to submit himself to his destiny, and
endeavoured to mitigate the rigour of his fate by those arts he had formerly
practised with success. He accordingly found means to enjoy a very bad
state of health during the whole siege, which lasted about six weeks after
the trenches were opened; and then the garrison marched out by
capitulation, with all the honours of war.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HE PUTS HIMSELF UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF HIS
ASSOCIATE, AND STUMBLES UPON THE FRENCH CAMP,
WHERE HE FINISHES HIS MILITARY CAREER.

Nothing else of moment was transacted during that campaign; and in the
winter our adventurer, with the young Count, and his friend the Tyrolese,
were disposed in quarters of cantonment, where Ferdinand made himself
amends for the chagrin he had undergone, by the exercise of those talents in
which he excelled. Not that he was satisfied with the sphere of life in which
he acted; though he knew himself consummate in the art of play, he was not
at all ambitious of a gamester’s name; nor did he find himself disposed to
hazard those discoveries and explanations to which heroes of that class are
sometimes necessarily exposed. His aim was to dwell among the tents of
civil life, undisturbed by quarrels and the din of war, and render mankind
subservient to his interest, not by stratagems which irritate, but by that
suppleness of insinuation, which could not fail to soothe the temper of those
on whom he meant to prey.
He saw that all his expectations of Count Melvil’s future favour were
connected with his choice of a military life; and that his promotion in the
service would, in a great measure, depend upon his personal behaviour in
such emergencies as he did not at all wish to encounter. On the other hand,
he confided so much in his own dexterity and address, that he never
doubted of being able to rear a splendid fortune for himself, provided he
could once obtain a fixed and firm foundation. He had in fancy often
enjoyed a prospect of England, not only as his native country, to which, like
a true citizen, he longed to be united; but also as the land of promise,
flowing with milk and honey, and abounding with subjects on which he
knew his talents would be properly exercised.

These reflections never occurred, without leaving a strong impression
upon the mind of our adventurer, which influenced his deliberations in such
a manner, as at length amounted to a perfect resolution of withdrawing
himself privately from a service that teemed with disagreeable events, and
of transporting himself into the country of his ancestors, which he
considered as the Canaan of all able adventurers. But, previous to his
appearance on that stage, he was desirous of visiting the metropolis of
France, in which he hoped to improve himself in the knowledge of men and
things, and acquire such intelligence as would qualify him to act a more
important part upon the British scene. After having for some time indulged
these prospects in secret, he determined to accommodate himself with the
company and experience of the Tyrolese, whom, under the specious title of
an associate, he knew he could convert into a very serviceable tool, in
forwarding the execution of his own projects.
Accordingly, the inclination of this confederate was sounded by distant
hints, and being found apt, our hero made him privy to his design of
decamping without beat of drum; though, at the same time, he begged his
advice touching the method of their departure, that he might retire with as
much delicacy as the nature of such a step would permit. Divers
consultations were held upon this subject, before they adhered to the
resolution of making their escape from the army, after it should have taken
the field in the spring; because, in that case, they would have frequent
opportunities of going abroad on foraging parties, and, during one of these
excursions, might retire in such a manner as to persuade their companions
that they had fallen into the enemy’s hands.
Agreeable to this determination, the camp was no sooner formed in
Alsace than our associates began to make preparations for their march, and
had already taken all the previous measures for their departure, when an
accident happened, which our hero did not fail to convert to his own
advantage. This was no other than the desertion of Renaldo’s valet, who, in
consequence of a gentle chastisement, which he had richly merited, thought
proper to disappear, after having plundered his master’s portmanteau, which
he had forced open for the purpose. Ferdinand, who was the first person that
discovered the theft, immediately comprehended the whole adventure, and,
taking it for granted that the delinquent would never return, resolved to
finish what the fugitive had imperfectly performed.

Being favoured with the unreserved confidence of the young Count, he
instantly had recourse to his bureau, the locks of which he found means to
burst open, and, examining a private drawer, contrived with great art to
conceal Renaldo’s jewels and cash, made himself master of the contents
without hesitation; then cutting open his cloak-bag, and strewing the tent
with his linen and clothes, began to raise his voice, and produce such a
clamour as alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and brought a great many
officers into the tent.
He on this, as on all other occasions, performed his cue to a miracle,
expressing confusion and concern so naturally in his gestures and
exclamation, that no man could possibly suspect his sincerity; nay, to such a
degree of finesse did his cunning amount, that when his friend and patron
entered, in consequence of an intimation he soon received of his loss, our
adventurer exhibited undoubted signs of distraction and delirium, and,
springing upon Renaldo with all the frantic fury of a bedlamite, “Villain,”
cried he, “restore the effects you have stole from your master, or you shall
be immediately committed to the care of the prevot.” However mortified M.
de Melvil might be at his own misfortune, the condition of his friend
seemed to touch him more nearly; he undervalued his own loss as a trifle
that could be easily repaired; said everything which he thought would tend
to soothe and compose the agitation of Ferdinand; and finally prevailed
upon him to retire to rest. The calamity was wholly attributed to the
deserter; and Renaldo, far from suspecting the true author, took occasion,
from his behaviour on this emergency, to admire him as a mirror of integrity
and attachment; in such an exquisite manner did he plan all his designs, that
almost every instance of his fraud furnished matter of triumph to his
reputation.
Having thus profitably exercised his genius, this subtle politician thought
it high time to relinquish his military expectations, and securing all his
valuable acquisitions about his own person, rode out with his understrapper,
in the midst of fifty dragoons, who went in quest of forage. While the
troopers were employed in making up their trusses, the two adventurers
advanced towards the skirt of a wood, on pretence of reconnoitring, and the
Tyrolese, who undertook to be our hero’s guide, directing him to a path
which leads towards Strasburg, they suddenly vanished from the eyes of
their companions, who in a few minutes hearing the report of several

pistols, which the confederates purposely fired, conjectured that they had
fallen in with a party of French, by whom they were made prisoners of war.
The Tyrolese had overrated his own knowledge when he took upon
himself the charge of conducting our hero; for upon their arrival at a certain
place, where two roads crossed each other, he chanced to follow that which
not only frustrated their intention, but even led them directly to the French
camp; so that, in the twilight, they fell in upon one of the outguards before
they were aware of their mistake.
Whatever confusion and perplexity they might undergo, when they heard
themselves questioned by the sentinel on the advanced post, certain it is,
they betrayed no symptoms of fear or disorder; but while Ferdinand
endeavoured to recollect himself, his fellow-traveller, with the appearance
of admirable intrepidity and presence of mind, told the soldier that he and
his companion were two gentlemen of family, who had quitted the Austrian
army, on account of having sustained some ill-usage, which they had no
opportunity of resenting in any other way, and that they were come to offer
their services to the French general, to whose quarters they desired to be
immediately conveyed.
The sentinel, to whom such an instance of desertion was neither rare, nor
indeed uncommon, directed them without scruple to the next post, where
they found a serjeant’s party, from which, at their request, they were
transmitted to the officer of the grand guard, and by him next morning
introduced to Count Coigny, who very politely received them as volunteers
in the army of France. Though this translation was not at all to our hero’s
liking, he was forced to acquiesce in his fate, glad to find himself, on these
terms, in possession of his effects, of which he would otherwise have been
infallibly rifled.
This campaign, however, was the most disagreeable period of his whole
life; because the manner in which he had entered into the service subjected
him to the particular observation and notice of the French officers; so that
he was obliged to be very alert in his duty, and summon all his fortitude to
maintain the character he had assumed. What rendered his situation still
more unpalatable, was the activity of both armies in the course of this
season, during which, over and above sundry fatiguing marches and
countermarches, he was personally engaged in the affair of Halleh, which
was very obstinate; where, being in the skirts of the detachment, he was

actually wounded in the face by the sword of an hussar; but this was,
luckily for him, the last time he found himself under the necessity of
exerting his military prowess, for a cessation of arms was proclaimed
before he was cured of his wound, and peace concluded about the end of the
campaign.
During his sojourn in the French camp, he assumed the character of a
man of family, who being disgusted at some supercilious treatment he had
met with in the German service, and at the same time ambitious of carrying
arms under the banners of France, took the opportunity of retreating by
stealth from his friends, accompanied only by one with whom he could
intrust his intention. In this capacity he had managed his matters to such
advantage, that many French officers of rank were very well disposed to
contribute their interest in his behalf, had his inclination verged towards
promotion in the army; but he thought proper to conceal his real design,
under the specious pretext of longing to see the metropolis of France, that
centre of pleasure and politeness, in which he proposed to spend some time
for the improvement of his address and understanding. These were motives
too laudable to be opposed by his new patrons, some of whom furnished
him with letters of recommendation to certain noblemen of the first rank at
the court of Versailles, for which place he and his companion set out from
the banks of the Rhine, very well satisfied with the honourable dismission
they had obtained from a life of inconvenience, danger, and alarm.

CHAPTER TWENTY

HE PREPARES A STRATAGEM BUT FINDS HIMSELF
COUNTERMINED—PROCEEDS ON HIS JOURNEY, AND IS
OVERTAKEN BY A TERRIBLE TEMPEST.

In the course of this journey, Ferdinand, who was never deficient in his
political capacity, held a secret conclave with his own thoughts, not only
touching the plan of his own future conduct, but also concerning his
associate, of whose fidelity and adherence he began to entertain such doubts
as discouraged him from the prosecution of that design in which the
Tyrolese had been at first included; for he had lately observed him practise
the arts of his occupation among the French officers, with such rapacity and
want of caution, as indicated a dangerous temerity of temper, as well as a
furious rage of acquiring, which might be some time or other satiated upon
his own friends. In other words, our adventurer was afraid that his
accomplice would profit by his knowledge of the road and countries
through which they travelled, and, after having made free with his most
valuable effects, in consequence of the familiarity subsisting between them,
leave him some morning without the ceremony of a formal adieu.
Aroused by this suspicion, he resolved to anticipate the supposed
intention of the Tyrolese, by taking his own departure in the same abrupt
manner; and this scheme he actually put in execution, upon their arrival in
Bar-le-duc, where it was agreed they should spend a day to repose and
refresh themselves from the fatigue of hard riding. Ferdinand, therefore,
taking the advantage of his companion’s absence—for the Tyrolese had
walked abroad to view the town—found means to hire a peasant, who
undertook to conduct him through a by-road as far as Chalons, and with his
guide he accordingly set out on horseback, after having discharged the bill,
left a blank paper sealed up in form of a letter, directed to his friend, and

secured behind his own saddle a pair of leathern bags, in which his jewels
and cash were usually contained. So eager was our hero to leave the
Tyrolese at a considerable distance behind, that he rode all night at a round
pace without halting, and next morning found himself at a village distant
thirteen good leagues from any part of the route which he and his
companion had at first resolved to pursue.
Here, thinking himself safely delivered from the cause of all his
apprehension, he determined to lie incognito for a few days, so as that he
might run no risk of an accidental meeting upon the road with the person
whose company he had forsaken; and accordingly took possession of an
apartment, in which he went to rest, desiring his guide to wake him when
dinner should be ready. Having enjoyed a very comfortable refreshment of
sleep, with his bags under his pillow, he was summoned, according to his
direction, and ate a very hearty meal, with great tranquillity and internal
satisfaction. In the afternoon he amused himself with happy presages and
ideal prospects of his future fortune, and, in the midst of these imaginary
banquets, was seized with an inclination of realising his bliss, and regaling
his eyesight with the fruits of that success which had hitherto attended his
endeavours. Thus inflamed, he opened the repository, and, O reader! what
were his reflections, when, in lieu of Mademoiselle Melvil’s ear-rings and
necklace, the German’s golden chain, divers jewels of considerable value,
the spoils of sundry dupes, and about two hundred ducats in ready money,
he found neither more nor less than a parcel of rusty nails, disposed in such
a manner as to resemble in weight and bulk the moveables he had lost.

It is not to be supposed our adventurer made this discovery without
emotion. If the eternal salvation of mankind could have been purchased for
the tenth part of his treasure, he would have left the whole species in a state
of reprobation, rather than redeem them at that price, unless he had seen in
the bargain some evident advantage to his own concerns. One may,
therefore, easily conceive with what milkiness of resignation he bore the
loss of the whole, and saw himself reduced from such affluence to the
necessity of depending upon about twenty ducats, and some loose silver,
which he carried in his pocket, for his expense upon the road. However
bitter this pill might be in swallowing, he so far mastered his mortification,
as to digest it with a good grace. His own penetration at once pointed out
the canal through which this misfortune had flowed upon him; he forthwith
placed the calamity to the account of the Tyrolese, and never doubting that

he had retired with the booty across the Rhine, into some place to which he
knew Fathom would not follow his footsteps, he formed the melancholy
resolution of pursuing with all despatch his journey to Paris, that he might,
with all convenient expedition, indemnify himself for the discomfiture he
had sustained.
With regard to his confederate, his conjecture was perfectly right; that
adventurer, though infinitely inferior to our hero in point of genius and
invention, had manifestly the advantage of him in the articles of age and
experience; he was no stranger to Fathom’s qualifications, the happy
exertion of which he had often seen. He knew him to be an economist of the
most frugal order, consequently concluded his finances were worthy of
examination; and, upon the true principles of a sharper, eased him of the
encumbrance, taking it for granted, that, in so doing, he only precluded
Ferdinand from the power of acting the same tragedy upon him, should ever
opportunity concur with his inclination. He had therefore concerted his
measures with the dexterity of an experienced conveyancer, and, snatching
the occasion, while our hero, travel-tainted, lay sunk in the arms of
profound repose, he ripped up the seams of the leather depository, withdrew
the contents, introduced the parcel of nails, which he had made up for the
purpose, and then repaired the breach with great deliberation.
Had Fathom’s good genius prompted him to examine his effects next
morning, the Tyrolese, in all probability, would have maintained his
acquisition by force of arms; for his personal courage was rather more
determined than that of our adventurer, and he was conscious of his own
ascendency in this particular; but his good fortune prevented such
explanation. Immediately after dinner, he availed himself of his knowledge,
and, betaking himself to a remote part of the town, set out in a post-chaise
for Luneville, while our hero was meditating his own escape.
Fathom’s conception was sufficient to comprehend the whole of this
adventure, as soon as his chagrin would give his sagacity fair play; nor
would he allow his resolution to sink under the trial; on the contrary, he
departed from the village that same afternoon, under the auspices of his
conductor, and found himself benighted in the midst of a forest, far from the
habitations of men. The darkness of the night, the silence and solitude of the
place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared on every side,
“stretching their extravagant arms athwart the gloom,” conspired, with the

dejection of spirits occasioned by his loss, to disturb his fancy, and raise
strange phantoms in his imagination. Although he was not naturally
superstitious, his mind began to be invaded with an awful horror, that
gradually prevailed over all the consolations of reason and philosophy; nor
was his heart free from the terrors of assassination. In order to dissipate
these disagreeable reveries, he had recourse to the conversation of his
guide, by whom he was entertained with the history of divers travellers who
had been robbed and murdered by ruffians, whose retreat was in the
recesses of that very wood.
In the midst of this communication, which did not at all tend to the
elevation of our hero’s spirits, the conductor made an excuse for dropping
behind, while our traveller jogged on in expectation of being joined again
by him in a few minutes. He was, however, disappointed in that hope; the
sound of the other horse’s feet by degrees grew more and more faint, and at
last altogether died away. Alarmed at this circumstance, Fathom halted in
the middle of the road, and listened with the most fearful attention; but his
sense of hearing was saluted with nought but the dismal sighings of the
trees, that seemed to foretell an approaching storm. Accordingly, the
heavens contracted a more dreary aspect, the lightning began to gleam, and
the thunder to roll, and the tempest, raising its voice to a tremendous roar,
descended in a torrent of rain.
In this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost quite overcome.
So many concurring circumstances of danger and distress might have
appalled the most undaunted breast; what impression then must they have
made upon the mind of Ferdinand, who was by no means a man to set fear
at defiance! Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the use of his reflection, and was
actually invaded to the skin, before he could recollect himself so far as to
quit the road, and seek for shelter among the thickets that surrounded him.
Having rode some furlongs into the forest, he took his station under a tuft of
tall trees, that screened him from the storm, and in that situation called a
council within himself, to deliberate upon his next excursion. He persuaded
himself that his guide had deserted him for the present, in order to give
intelligence of a traveller to some gang of robbers with whom he was
connected; and that he must of necessity fall a prey to those banditti, unless
he should have the good fortune to elude their search, and disentangle
himself from the mazes of the wood.

Harrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to commit himself to the
mercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the least, and penetrate
straightforwards through some devious opening, until he should be
delivered from the forest. For this purpose he turned his horse’s head in a
line quite contrary to the direction of the high road which he had left, on the
supposition that the robbers would pursue that track in quest of him, and
that they would never dream of his deserting the highway, to traverse an
unknown forest, amidst the darkness of such a boisterous night. After he
had continued in this progress through a succession of groves, and bogs,
and thorns, and brakes, by which not only his clothes, but also his skin
suffered in a grievous manner, while every nerve quivered with eagerness
and dismay, he at length reached an open plain, and pursuing his course, in
full hope of arriving at some village, where his life would be safe, he
descried a rush-light at a distance, which he looked upon as the star of his
good fortune, and riding towards it at full speed, arrived at the door of a
lone cottage, into which he was admitted by an old woman, who,
understanding he was a bewildered traveller, received him with great
hospitality.
When he learned from his hostess, that there was not another house
within three leagues; that she could accommodate him with a tolerable bed,
and his horse with lodging and oats, he thanked Heaven for his good
fortune, in stumbling upon this homely habitation, and determined to pass
the night under the protection of the old cottager, who gave him to
understand, that her husband, who was a faggot-maker, had gone to the next
town to dispose of his merchandise; and that, in all probability, he would
not return till next morning, on account of the tempestuous night. Ferdinand
sounded the beldame with a thousand artful interrogations, and she
answered with such appearance of truth and simplicity, that he concluded
his person was quite secure; and, after having been regaled with a dish of
eggs and bacon, desired she would conduct him into the chamber where she
proposed he should take his repose. He was accordingly ushered up by a
sort of ladder into an apartment furnished with a standing-bed, and almost
half filled with trusses of straw. He seemed extremely well pleased with his
lodging, which in reality exceeded his expectation; and his kind landlady,
cautioning him against letting the candle approach the combustibles, took
her leave, and locked the door on the outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HE FALLS UPON SCYLLA, SEEKING TO AVOID
CHARYBDIS.

Fathom, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, and ever
upon his guard against the treachery of his fellow-creatures, could have
dispensed with this instance of her care, in confining her guest to her
chamber, and began to be seized with strange fancies, when he observed
that there was no bolt on the inside of the door, by which he might secure
himself from intrusion. In consequence of these suggestions, he proposed to
take an accurate survey of every object in the apartment, and, in the course
of his inquiry, had the mortification to find the dead body of a man, still
warm, who had been lately stabbed, and concealed beneath several bundles
of straw.
Such a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our hero with
unspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself would undergo the
same fate before morning, without the interposition of a miracle in his
favour. In the first transports of his dread, he ran to the window, with a view
to escape by that outlet, and found his flight effectually obstructed by divers
strong bars of iron. Then his heart began to palpitate, his hair to bristle up,
and his knees to totter; his thoughts teemed with presages of death and
destruction; his conscience rose up in judgment against him, and he
underwent a severe paroxysm of dismay and distraction. His spirits were
agitated into a state of fermentation that produced a species of resolution
akin to that which is inspired by brandy or other strong liquors, and, by an
impulse that seemed supernatural, he was immediately hurried into
measures for his own preservation.
What upon a less interesting occasion his imagination durst not propose,
he now executed without scruple or remorse. He undressed the corpse that

lay bleeding among the straw, and, conveying it to the bed in his arms,
deposited it in the attitude of a person who sleeps at his ease; then he
extinguished the light, took possession of the place from whence the body
had been removed, and, holding a pistol ready cocked in each hand, waited
for the sequel with that determined purpose which is often the immediate
production of despair. About midnight he heard the sound of feet ascending
the ladder; the door was softly opened; he saw the shadow of two men
stalking towards the bed, a dark lanthorn being unshrouded, directed their
aim to the supposed sleeper, and he that held it thrust a poniard to his heart;
the force of the blow made a compression on the chest, and a sort of groan
issued from the windpipe of the defunct; the stroke was repeated, without
producing a repetition of the note, so that the assassins concluded the work
was effectually done, and retired for the present with a design to return and
rifle the deceased at their leisure.
Never had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he felt during this
operation; the whole surface of his body was covered with a cold sweat, and
his nerves were relaxed with an universal palsy. In short, he remained in a
trance that, in all probability, contributed to his safety; for, had he retained
the use of his senses, he might have been discovered by the transports of his
fear. The first use he made of his retrieved recollection, was to perceive that
the assassins had left the door open in their retreat; and he would have
instantly availed himself of this their neglect, by sallying out upon them, at
the hazard of his life, had he not been restrained by a conversation he
overheard in the room below, importing, that the ruffians were going to set
out upon another expedition, in hopes of finding more prey. They
accordingly departed, after having laid strong injunctions upon the old
woman to keep the door fast locked during their absence; and Ferdinand
took his resolution without farther delay. So soon as, by his conjecture, the
robbers were at a sufficient distance from the house, he rose from his
lurking-place, moved softly towards the bed, and, rummaging the pockets
of the deceased, found a purse well stored with ducats, of which, together
with a silver watch and a diamond ring, he immediately possessed himself
without scruple; then, descending with great care and circumspection into
the lower apartment, stood before the old beldame, before she had the least
intimation of his approach.
Accustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary hag did not
behold this apparition without giving signs of infinite terror and

astonishment, believing it was no other than the spirit of her second guest,
who had been murdered; she fell upon her knees and began to recommend
herself to the protection of the saints, crossing herself with as much
devotion as if she had been entitled to the particular care and attention of
Heaven. Nor did her anxiety abate, when she was undeceived in this her
supposition, and understood it was no phantom, but the real substance of
the stranger, who, without staying to upbraid her with the enormity of her
crimes, commanded her, on pain of immediate death, to produce his horse,
to which being conducted, he set her upon the saddle without delay, and,
mounting behind, invested her with the management of the reins, swearing,
in a most peremptory tone, that the only chance she had for her life, was in
directing him safely to the next town; and that, so soon as she should give
him the least cause to doubt her fidelity in the performance of that task, he
would on the instant act the part of her executioner.
This declaration had its effect upon the withered Hecate, who, with many
supplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised to guide him in safety to
a certain village at the distance of two leagues, where he might lodge in
security, and be provided with a fresh horse, or other convenience, for
pursuing his intended route. On these conditions he told her she might
deserve his clemency; and they accordingly took their departure together,
she being placed astride upon the saddle, holding the bridle in one hand and
a switch in the other; and our adventurer sitting on the crupper,
superintending her conduct, and keeping the muzzle of a pistol close at her
ear. In this equipage they travelled across part of the same wood in which
his guide had forsaken him; and it is not to be supposed that he passed his
time in the most agreeable reverie, while he found himself involved in the
labyrinth of those shades, which he considered as the haunts of robbery and
assassination.
Common fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt in this
excursion. The first steps he had taken for his preservation were the effects
of mere instinct, while his faculties were extinguished or suppressed by
despair; but now, as his reflection began to recur, he was haunted by the
most intolerable apprehensions. Every whisper of the wind through the
thickets was swelled into the hoarse menaces of murder, the shaking of the
boughs was construed into the brandishing of poniards, and every shadow
of a tree became the apparition of a ruffian eager for blood. In short, at each
of these occurrences he felt what was infinitely more tormenting than the

stab of a real dagger; and at every fresh fillip of his fear, he acted as a
remembrancer to his conductress, in a new volley of imprecations,
importing, that her life was absolutely connected with his opinion of his
own safety.
Human nature could not longer subsist under such complicated terror. At
last he found himself clear of the forest, and was blessed with the distant
view of an inhabited place. He then began to exercise his thoughts upon a
new subject. He debated with himself, whether he should make a parade of
his intrepidity and public spirit, by disclosing his achievement, and
surrendering his guide to the penalty of the law; or leave the old hag and her
accomplices to the remorse of their own consciences, and proceed quietly
on his journey to Paris in undisturbed possession of the prize he had already
obtained. This last step he determined to take, upon recollecting, that, in the
course of his information, the story of the murdered stranger would
infallibly attract the attention of justice, and, in that case, the effects he had
borrowed from the defunct must be refunded for the benefit of those who
had a right to the succession. This was an argument which our adventurer
could not resist; he foresaw that he should be stripped of his acquisition,
which he looked upon as the fair fruits of his valour and sagacity; and,
moreover, be detained as an evidence against the robbers, to the manifest
detriment of his affairs. Perhaps too he had motives of conscience, that
dissuaded him from bearing witness against a set of people whose
principles did not much differ from his own.
Influenced by such considerations, he yielded to the first importunity of
the beldame, whom he dismissed at a very small distance from the village,
after he had earnestly exhorted her to quit such an atrocious course of life,
and atone for her past crimes, by sacrificing her associates to the demands
of justice. She did not fail to vow a perfect reformation, and to prostrate
herself before him for the favour she had found; then she betook herself to
her habitation, with full purpose of advising her fellow-murderers to repair
with all despatch to the village, and impeach our hero, who, wisely
distrusting her professions, stayed no longer in the place than to hire a guide
for the next stage, which brought him to the city of Chalons-sur-Marne.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HE ARRIVES AT PARIS, AND IS PLEASED WITH HIS
RECEPTION.

He was not so smitten with the delightful situation of this ancient town,
but that he abandoned it as soon as he could procure a post-chaise, in which
he arrived at Paris, without having been exposed to any other troublesome
adventure upon the road. He took lodgings at a certain hotel in the
Fauxbourg de St. Germain, which is the general rendezvous of all the
strangers that resort to this capital; and now sincerely congratulated himself
upon his happy escape from his Hungarian connexions, and from the snares
of the banditti, as well as upon the spoils of the dead body, and his arrival at
Paris, from whence there was such a short conveyance to England, whither
he was attracted, by far other motives than that of filial veneration for his
native soil.
He suppressed all his letters of recommendation, which he justly
concluded would subject him to a tedious course of attendance upon the
great, and lay him under the necessity of soliciting preferment in the army,
than which nothing was farther from his inclination; and resolved to make
his appearance in the character of a private gentleman, which would supply
him with opportunities of examining the different scenes of life in such a
gay metropolis, so as that he should be able to choose that sphere in which
he could move the most effectually to his own advantage. He accordingly
hired an occasional domestic, and under the denomination of Count
Fathom, which he had retained since his elopement from Renaldo, repaired
to dinner at an ordinary, to which he was directed as a reputable place,
frequented by fashionable strangers of all nations.
He found this piece of information perfectly just; for he no sooner
entered the apartment, than his ears were saluted with a strange confusion

of sounds, among which he at once distinguished the High and Low Dutch,
barbarous French, Italian, and English languages. He was rejoiced at this
occasion of displaying his own qualifications, took his place at one of the
three long tables, betwixt a Westphalian count and a Bolognian marquis,
insinuated himself into the conversation with his usual address, and in less
than half an hour, found means to accost a native of each different country
in his own mother-tongue.
Such extensive knowledge did not pass unobserved. A French abbe, in a
provincial dialect, complimented him upon his retaining that purity in
pronunciation, which is not to be found in the speech of a Parisian. The
Bolognian, mistaking him for a Tuscan, “Sir,” said he, “I presume you are
from Florence. I hope the illustrious house of Lorrain leaves you gentlemen
of that famous city no room to regret the loss of your own princes.” The
castle of Versailles becoming the subject of conversation, Monsieur le
Compte appealed to him, as to a native German, whether it was not inferior
in point of magnificence to the chateau of Grubenhagen. The Dutch officer,
addressing himself to Fathom, drank to the prosperity of Faderland, and
asked if he had not once served in garrison at Shenkenschans; and an
English knight swore, with great assurance, that he had frequently rambled
with him at midnight among the hundreds of Drury.
To each person he replied in a polite, though mysterious manner, which
did not fail to enhance their opinion of his good breeding and importance;
and, long before the dessert appeared, he was by all the company supposed
to be a personage of great consequence, who for some substantial reasons,
found it convenient to keep himself incognito. This being the case, it is not
to be doubted that particular civilities were poured upon him from all
quarters. He perceived their sentiments, and encouraged them, by behaving
with that sort of complaisance which seems to be the result of engaging
condescension in a character of superior dignity and station. His affability
was general but his chief attention limited to those gentlemen already
mentioned, who chanced to sit nearest him at table; and he no sooner gave
them to understand that he was an utter stranger in Paris, than they
unanimously begged to have the honour of making him acquainted with the
different curiosities peculiar to that metropolis.
He accepted of their hospitality, accompanied them to a coffee-house in
the afternoon, from whence they repaired to the opera, and afterwards

adjourned to a noted hotel, in order to spend the remaining part of the
evening. It was here that our hero secured himself effectually in the footing
he had gained in their good graces. He in a moment saw through all the
characters of the party, and adapted himself to the humour of each
individual, without descending from that elevation of behaviour which he
perceived would operate among them in his behalf. With the Italian he
discoursed on music, in the style of a connoisseur; and indeed had a better
claim to that title than the generality of those upon whom it is usually
conferred; for he understood the art in theory as well as in practice, and
would have made no contemptible figure among the best performers of the
age.
He harangued upon taste and genius to the abbe, who was a wit and
critic, ex officio, or rather ex vestitu for a young pert Frenchman, the very
moment he puts on the petit collet, or little band, looks upon himself as an
inspired son of Apollo; and every one of the fraternity thinks it incumbent
upon him to assert the divinity of his mission. In a word, the abbes are a set
of people that bear a strong analogy to the templars in London. Fools of
each fabric, sharpers of all sorts, and dunces of every degree, profess
themselves of both orders. The templar is, generally speaking, a prig, so is
the abbe: both are distinguished by an air of petulance and self-conceit,
which holds a middle rank betwixt the insolence of a first-rate buck and the
learned pride of a supercilious pedant. The abbe is supposed to be a younger
brother in quest of preferment in the church—the Temple is considered as a
receptacle or seminary for younger sons intended for the bar; but a great
number of each profession turn aside into other paths of life, long before
they reach these proposed goals. An abbe is often metamorphosed into a
foot soldier; a templar sometimes sinks into an attorney’s clerk. The galleys
of France abound with abbes; and many templars may be found in our
American plantations; not to mention those who have made a public exit
nearer home. Yet I would not have it thought that my description includes
every individual of those societies. Some of the greatest scholars,
politicians, and wits, that ever Europe produced, have worn the habit of an
abbe; and many of our most noble families in England derive their honours
from those who have studied law in the Temple. The worthy sons of every
community shall always be sacred from my censure and ridicule; and, while
I laugh at the folly of particular members, I can still honour and revere the
institution.

But let us return from this comparison, which some readers may think
impertinent and unseasonable, and observe, that the Westphalian count,
Dutch officer, and English knight, were not excepted from the particular
regard and attention of our adventurer. He pledged the German in every
bumper; flattered the Hollander with compliments upon the industry,
wealth, and policy of the Seven United Provinces; but he reserved his chief
battery for his own countryman, on the supposition that he was, in all
respects, the best adapted for the purposes of a needy gamester. Him,
therefore, he cultivated with extraordinary care and singular observance; for
he soon perceived him to be a humourist, and, from that circumstance,
derived an happy presage of his own success. The baronet’s disposition
seemed to be cast in the true English mould. He was sour, silent, and
contemptuous; his very looks indicated a consciousness of superior wealth;
and he never opened his mouth, except to make some dry, sarcastic,
national reflection. Nor was his behaviour free from that air of suspicion
which a man puts on when he believes himself in a crowd of pick-pockets,
whom his caution and vigilance set at defiance. In a word, though his
tongue was silent on the subject, his whole demeanour was continually
saying, “You are all a pack of poor lousy rascals, who have a design upon
my purse. ’Tis true, I could buy your whole generation, but I won’t be
bubbled, d’ye see; I am aware of your flattery, and upon my guard against
all your knavish pranks; and I come into your company for my own
amusement only.”
Fathom having reconnoitred this peculiarity of temper, instead of treating
him with that assiduous complaisance, which he received from the other
gentlemen of the party, kept aloof from him in the conversation, with a
remarkable shyness of distant civility, and seldom took notice of what he
said, except with a view to contradict him, or retort some of his satirical
observations. This he conceived to be the best method of acquiring his good
opinion; because the Englishman would naturally conclude he was a person
who could have no sinister views upon his fortune, else he would have
chosen quite a different manner of deportment. Accordingly, the knight
seemed to bite at the hook. He listened to Ferdinand with uncommon
regard; he was even heard to commend his remarks, and at length drank to
their better acquaintance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ACQUITS HIMSELF WITH ADDRESS IN A NOCTURNAL
RIOT.

The Italian and the abbe were the first who began to grow whimsical
under the influence of the burgundy; and, in the heat of their elevation,
proposed that the company should amuse themselves during the remaining
part of the night, at the house of an obliging dame, who maintained a troop
of fair nymphs for the accommodation of the other sex. The proposal was
approved by all, except the Hollander, whose economy the wine had not as
yet invaded; and, while he retreated soberly to his own lodgings, the rest of
the society adjourned in two coaches to the temple of love, where they were
received by the venerable priestess, a personage turned of seventy, who
seemed to exercise the functions of her calling, in despite of the most cruel
ravages of time; for age had bent her into the form of a Turkish bow. Her
head was agitated by the palsy, like the leaf of the poplar tree; her hair fell
down in scanty parcels, as white as the driven snow; her face was not
simply wrinkled, but ploughed into innumerable furrows; her jaws could
not boast of one remaining tooth; one eye distilled a large quantity of
rheum, by virtue of the fiery edge that surrounded it; the other was
altogether extinguished, and she had lost her nose in the course of her
ministration. The Delphic sibyl was but a type of this hoary matron, who,
by her figure, might have been mistaken for the consort of Chaos, or mother
of Time. Yet there was something meritorious in her appearance, as it
denoted her an indefatigable minister to the pleasure of mankind, and as it
formed an agreeable contrast with the beauty and youth of the fair damsels
that wantoned in her train. It resembled those discords in music, which,
properly disposed, contribute to the harmony of the whole piece; or those

horrible giants, who, in the world of romance, used to guard the gates of the
castle in which the enchanted damsel was confined.
This Urganda seemed to be aware of her own importance, and perfectly
well acquainted with the human appetite; for she compelled the whole
company to undergo her embrace. Then a lacquey, in magnificent livery,
ushered them into a superb apartment, where they waited some minutes,
without being favoured with the appearance of the ladies, to the manifest
dissatisfaction of the abbe, who, sending for the gouvernante, reprimanded
her severely for her want of politesse. The old lady, who was by no means a
pattern of patience and submission, retorted his reproaches with great
emphasis and vivacity. Her eloquence flowed altogether in the Covent
Garden strain; and I question whether the celebrated Mother Douglas
herself could have made such a figure in an extemporaneous altercation.
After having bestowed upon the abbe the epithets of saucy insignificant
pimp, she put him in mind of the good offices which he had received at her
hands; how she had supplied him with bed, board, and bedfellow, in his
greatest necessity; sent him abroad with money in his pockets—and, in a
word, cherished him in her bosom, when his own mother had abandoned
him to distress. She then reviled him for presuming to affront her before
strangers, and gave the company to understand, that the young ladies would
wait upon them as soon as they could be confessed and receive absolution
from a worthy cordelier, who was now employed in performing that
charitable office. The gentlemen were satisfied with this remonstrance,
which argued the old lady’s pious concern for the souls that were under her
care, and our adventurer proposed an accommodation betwixt her and the
abbe, who was prevailed upon to ask her pardon, and received her blessing
upon his knees.
This affair had not been long adjusted, when five damsels were
introduced in a very gay dishabille, and our hero was complimented with
the privilege of choosing his Amanda from the whole bevy. When he was
provided, the others began to pair themselves, and, unhappily, the German
count chanced to pitch upon the same nymph who had captivated the
desires of the British knight. A dispute immediately ensued; for the
Englishman made his addresses to the lady, without paying the least regard
to the priority of the other’s claim; and she, being pleased with his
attachment, did not scruple to renounce his rival, who swore by the thunder,

lightning, and sacrament, that he would not quit his pretensions for any
prince in Christendom, much less for a little English cavalier, whom he had
already honoured too much in condescending to be his companion.
The knight, provoked at this stately declaration, which was the
immediate effect of anger and ebriety, eyed his antagonist with a most
contemptuous aspect, and advised him to avoid such comparisons for the
future. “We all know,” said he, “the importance of a German count; I
suppose your revenue amounts to three hundred rix-dollars; and you have a
chateau that looks like the ruins of an English gaol. I will bind myself to
lend you a thousand pounds upon a mortgage of your estate, (and a bad
bargain I am sure I shall have,) if I do not, in less than two months, find a
yeoman of Kent, who spends more in strong ale than the sum-total of your
yearly income; and, were the truth known, I believe that lace upon your coat
is no better than tinsel, and those fringed ruffles, with fine Holland sleeves,
tacked to a shirt of brown canvas, so that, were you to undress yourself
before the lady, you would only expose your own poverty and pride.”
The count was so much enraged at these sarcastic observations, that his
faculty of speech was overwhelmed by his resentment; though, in order to
acquit himself of the Englishman’s imputation, he forthwith pulled off his
clothes with such fury, that his brocade waistcoat was tore from top to
bottom. The knight, mistaking his meaning, considered this demeanour as a
fair challenge, to try which was the better man in the exercise of boxing;
and, on that supposition, began to strip in his turn, when he was undeceived
by Fathom, who put the right interpretation upon the count’s behaviour, and
begged that the affair might be compromised. By this time the Westphalian
recovered the use of his tongue, and with many threats and imprecations,
desired they would take notice how falsely he had been aspersed, and do
him justice in espousing his claim to the damsel in question.
Before the company had time or inclination to interest themselves in the
quarrel, his opponent observed that no person who was not a mere German,
would ever dream of forcing the inclinations of a pretty girl, whom the
accidents of fortune had subjected to his power; that such compulsion was
equivalent to the most cruel rape that could be committed; and that the
lady’s aversion was not at all surprising; for, to speak his own sentiments,
were he a woman of pleasure, he would as soon grant favours to a
Westphalian hog, as to the person of his antagonist. The German, enraged at

this comparison, was quite abandoned by his patience and discretion. He
called the knight an English clown, and, swearing he was the most
untoward beast of a whole nation of mules, snatched up one of the
candlesticks, which he launched at him with such force and violence, that it
sung through the air, and, winging its flight into the ante-chamber,
encountered the skull of his own valet, who with immediate prostration
received the message of his master.
The knight, that he might not be behindhand with the Westphalian in
point of courtesy, returned the compliment with the remaining chandelier,
which also missed its mark, and, smiting a large mirror that was fixed
behind them, emitted such a crash as one might expect to hear if a mine
were sprung beneath a manufacture of glass. Both lights being thus
extinguished, a furious combat ensued in the dark; the Italian scampered off
with infinite agility, and, as he went downstairs, desired that nobody would
interpose, because it was an affair of honour, which could not be made up.
The ladies consulted their safety in flight; Count Fathom slyly retired to one
corner of the room; while the abbe, having upon him the terrors of the
commissaire, endeavoured to appease and part the combatants, and, in the
attempt, sustained a random blow upon his nose, which sent him howling
into the other chamber, where, finding his band besmeared with his own
blood, he began to caper about the apartment, in a transport of rage and
vexation.
Meanwhile, the old gentlewoman being alarmed with the noise of the
battle, and apprehensive that it would end in murder, to the danger and
discredit of herself and family, immediately mustered up her myrmidons, of
whom she always retained a formidable band, and, putting herself at their
head, lighted them to the scene of uproar. Ferdinand, who had hitherto
observed a strict neutrality, no sooner perceived them approach, than he
leaped in between the disputants, that he might be found acting in the
character of a peacemaker; and, indeed, by this time, victory had declared
for the baronet, who had treated his antagonist with a cross-buttock, which
laid him almost breathless on the floor. The victor was prevailed upon, by
the entreaties of Fathom, to quit the field of battle, and adjourn into another
room, where, in less than half an hour, he received a billet from the count,
defying him to single combat on the frontiers of Flanders, at an appointed
time and place. The challenge was immediately accepted by the knight,

who, being flushed with conquest, treated his adversary with great
contempt.
But, next day, when the fumes of the burgundy were quite exhaled, and
the adventure recurred to his remembrance and sober reflection, he waited
upon our adventurer at his lodgings, and solicited his advice in such a
manner, as gave him to understand that he looked upon what had happened
as a drunken brawl, which ought to have no serious consequences. Fathom
foreseeing that the affair might be managed for his own interest, professed
himself of the baronet’s opinion; and, without hesitation, undertook the
office of a mediator, assuring his principal, that his honour should suffer no
stain in the course of his negotiation.
Having received the Englishman’s acknowledgments for this instance of
friendship, he forthwith set out for the place of the German’s habitation, and
understanding he was still asleep, insisted upon his being immediately
waked, and told, that a gentleman from the chevalier desired to see him,
upon business of importance which could not be delayed. Accordingly, his
valet-de-chambre, pressed by Fathom’s importunities and remonstrances,
ventured to go in and shake the count by the shoulder; when this furious
Teutonian, still agitated by the fever of the preceding night, leaped out of
bed in a frenzy, and seizing his sword that lay upon a table, would have
severely punished the presumption of his servant, had not he been
restrained by the entrance of Ferdinand, who, with a peremptory
countenance, gave him to understand that the valet had acted at his
immediate instigation; and that he was come, as the Englishman’s friend, to
concert with him proper measures for keeping the appointment they had
made at their last meeting.
This message effectually calmed the German, who was not a little
mortified to find himself so disagreeably disturbed. He could not help
cursing the impatience of his antagonist, and even hinting that he would
have acted more like a gentleman and good Christian, in expressing a desire
of seeing the affair accommodated, as he knew himself to be the aggressor,
consequently the first offender against the laws of politeness and good-
fellowship. Fathom, finding him in a fit temper of mind, took the
opportunity of assenting to the reasonableness of his observation. He
ventured to condemn the impetuosity of the baronet, who, he perceived,
was extremely nice and scrupulous in the punctilios of honour; and said it

was a pity that two gentlemen should forfeit each other’s friendship, much
less expose their lives, for such a frivolous cause. “My dear count,” cried
the Westphalian, “I am charmed to find your sentiments so conformable to
my own. In an honourable cause, I despise all danger; my courage, thank
Heaven! has been manifested in many public engagements as well as in
private rencounters; but, to break with my friend, whose eminent virtues I
admire, and even to seek his life, on such a scandalous occasion, for a little
insignificant w—-e, who, I suppose, took the advantage of our intoxication,
to foment the quarrel: by Heaven! my conscience cannot digest it.”
Having expressed himself to this purpose, he waited impatiently for the
reply of Ferdinand, who, after a pause of deliberation, offered his services
in the way of mediation; though, he observed, it was a matter of great
delicacy, and the event altogether uncertain. “Nevertheless,” added our
adventurer, “I will strive to appease the knight, who, I hope, will be induced
by my remonstrances to forget the unlucky accident, which hath so
disagreeably interrupted your mutual friendship.” The German thanked him
for this proof of his regard, which yielded him more satisfaction on account
of the chevalier than of himself. “For, by the tombs of my fathers,” cried he,
“I have so little concern for my personal safety, that, if my honour were
interested, I durst oppose myself singly to the whole ban of the empire; and
I am now ready, if the chevalier requires it, to give him the rendezvous in
the forest of Senlis, either on horseback or on foot, where this contest may
be terminated with the life of one or both of us.”
Count Fathom, with a view to chastise the Westphalian for this
rhodomontade, told him, with a mortifying air of indifference, that if they
were both bent upon taking the field, he would save himself the trouble of
interposing farther in the affair; and desired to know the hour at which it
would suit him to take the air with the baronet. The other, not a little
embarrassed by this question, said, with a faltering tongue, he should be
proud to obey the chevalier’s orders; but, at the same time, owned he should
be much better pleased if our hero would execute the pacific proposal he
had made. Fathom accordingly promised to exert himself for that purpose,
and returned to the knight, with whom he assumed the merit of having
tranquillised the rage of an incensed barbarian, who was now disposed to a
reconciliation upon equal terms. The baronet overwhelmed him with
caresses and compliments upon his friendship and address; the parties met
that same forenoon, as if by accident, in Fathom’s apartment, where they

embraced each other cordially, exchanged apologies, and renewed their
former correspondence.
Our adventurer thought he had good reason to congratulate himself upon
the part he had acted in this pacification. He was treated by both with signal
marks of particular affection and esteem. The count pressed him to accept,
as a token of his attachment, a sword of very curious workmanship, which
he had received in a present from a certain prince of the empire. The knight
forced upon his finger a very splendid diamond ring, as a testimony of his
gratitude and esteem. But there was still another person to be appeased,
before the peace of the whole company could be established. This was no
other than the abbe, from whom each of the reconciled friends received at
dinner a billet couched in these words:—

“I have the honour to lament the infinite chagrin and
mortification that compels me to address myself in this
manner to a person of your rank and eminence, whom I
should do myself the pleasure of waiting upon in person,
were I not prevented by the misfortune of my nose, which
was last night most cruelly disarranged, by a violent
contusion I had the honour to receive, in attempting to
compose that unhappy fracas, at the house of Madame la
Maquerelle; and what puts the finishing stroke to my
mishap, is my being rendered incapable of keeping three or
four assignations with ladies of fashion, by whom I have the
honour to be particularly esteemed. The disfiguration of my
nose, the pain I have undergone, with the discomposure of
brain which it produced, I could bear as a philosopher; but
the disappointment of the ladies, my glory will not permit
me to overlook. And as you know the injury was sustained
in your service, I have the pleasure to hope you will not
refuse to grant such reparation as will be acceptable to a
gentleman, who has the honour to be with inviolable
attachment,—

Sir, your most devoted slave,
PEPIN CLOTHAIRE CHARLE HENRI LOOUIS BARNABE DE
FUMIER.”

This epistle was so equivocal, that the persons to whom it was addressed
did not know whether or not they ought to interpret the contents into a
challenge; when our hero observed, that the ambiguity of his expressions
plainly proved there was a door left open for accommodation; and proposed
that they should forthwith visit the writer at his own apartment. They
accordingly followed his advice, and found the abbe in his morning gown
and slippers, with three huge nightcaps on his head, and a crape hat-band
tied over the middle of his face, by way of bandage to his nose. He received
his visitors with the most ridiculous solemnity, being still a stranger to the
purport of their errand; but soon as the Westphalian declared they were
come in consequence of his billet, in order to ask pardon for the undesigned
offence they had given, his features retrieved their natural vivacity, and he
professed himself perfectly satisfied with their polite acknowledgment.
Then they condoled him upon the evil plight of his nose, and seeing some
marks upon his shirt, asked with seeming concern, if he had lost any blood
in the fray? To this interrogation he replied, that he had still a sufficient
quantity left for the occasions of his friends; and that he should deem it his
greatest glory to expend the last drop of it in their service.
Matters being thus amicably adjusted, they prevailed upon him to unease
his nose, which retained no signs of the outrage he had suffered; and the
amusements of the day were concerted. It was in consequence of this plan,
that, after the comedy, they were entertained at the count’s lodgings, where
quadrille was proposed by the abbe, as the most innocent pastime, and the
proposal was immediately embraced by all present, and by none with more
alacrity than by our adventurer, who, without putting forth a moiety of his
skill, went home with twenty louis clear gain. Though, far from believing
himself greatly superior to the rest of the party, in the artifices of play, he
justly suspected that they had concealed their skill, with a view of stripping
him on some other occasion; for he could not suppose that persons of their
figure and character should be, in reality, such novices as they affected to
appear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HE OVERLOOKS THE ADVANCES OF HIS FRIENDS, AND
SMARTS SEVERELY FOR HIS NEGLECT.

Steeled with this cautious maxim, he guarded himself from their united
endeavours, in sundry subsequent attacks, by which his first conjecture was
confirmed, and still came off conqueror, by virtue of his unparalleled
finesse and discretion; till at length they seemed to despair of making him
their prey, and the count began to drop some hints, importing a desire of
seeing him more closely united to the views and interest of their
triumvirate. But Ferdinand, who was altogether selfish, and quite solitary in
his prospects, discouraged all those advances, being resolved to trade upon
his own bottom only, and to avoid all such connexions with any person or
society whatever; much more, with a set of raw adventurers whose talents
he despised. With these sentiments, he still maintained the dignity and
reserve of his first appearance among them, and rather enhanced than
diminished that idea of importance which he had inspired at the beginning;
because, besides his other qualifications, they gave him credit for the
address with which he kept himself superior to their united designs.
While he thus enjoyed his pre-eminence, together with the fruits of his
success at play, which he managed so discreetly as never to incur the
reputation of an adventurer, he one day chanced to be at the ordinary, when
the company was surprised by the entrance of such a figure as had never
appeared before in that place. This was no other than a person habited in the
exact uniform of an English jockey. His leathern cap, cut bob, fustian frock,
flannel waistcoat, buff breeches, hunting-boots and whip, were sufficient of
themselves to furnish out a phenomenon for the admiration of all Paris. But
these peculiarities were rendered still more conspicuous by the behaviour of
the man who owned them. When he crossed the threshold of the outward

door, he produced such a sound from the smack of his whip, as equalled the
explosion of an ordinary cohorn; and then broke forth into the halloo of a
foxhunter, which he uttered with all its variations, in a strain of vociferation
that seemed to astonish and confound the whole assembly, to whom he
introduced himself and his spaniel, by exclaiming, in a tone something less
melodious than the cry of mackerel or live cod, “By your leave,
gentlevolks, I hope there’s no offence, in an honest plain Englishman’s
coming with money in his pocket, to taste a bit of your Vrench frigasee and
ragooze.”
This declaration was made in such a wild, fantastical manner, that the
greatest part of the company mistook him for some savage monster or
maniac, and consulted their safety by starting up from table, and drawing
their swords. The Englishman, seeing such a martial apparatus produced
against him, recoiled two or three steps, saying, “Waunds! a believe the
people are all bewitched. What, do they take me for a beast of prey? is there
nobody here that knows Sir Stentor Stile, or can speak to me in my own
lingo?” He had no sooner pronounced these words, than the baronet, with
marks of infinite surprise, ran towards him, crying, “Good Heaven! Sir
Stentor, who expected to meet with you in Paris?” Upon which, the other
eyeing him very earnestly, “Odds heartlikins!” cried he, “my neighbour, Sir
Giles Squirrel, as I am a living soul!” With these words he flew upon him
like a tiger, kissed him from ear to ear, demolished his periwig, and
disordered the whole economy of his dress, to the no small entertainment of
the company.
Having well-nigh stifled his countryman with embraces, and besmeared
himself with pulville from head to foot, he proceeded in this manner,
“Mercy upon thee, knight, thou art so transmographied, and bedaubed, and
bedizened, that thou mought rob thy own mother without fear of
information. Look ye here now, I will be trussed, if the very bitch that was
brought up in thy own bosom knows thee again. Hey, Sweetlips, here hussy,
d—n the tuoad, dos’t n’t know thy old measter? Ey, ey, thou may’st smell
till Christmas, I’ll be bound to be hanged, knight, if the creature’s nose an’t
foundered by the d——d stinking perfumes you have got among you.”
These compliments being passed, the two knights sat down by one
another, and Sir Stentor being asked by his neighbour, upon what errand he
had crossed the sea, gave him to understand, that he had come to France, in

consequence of a wager with Squire Snaffle, who had laid a thousand
pounds, that he, Sir Stentor, would not travel to Paris by himself, and for a
whole month appear every day at a certain hour in the public walks, without
wearing any other dress than that in which he saw him. “The fellor has got
no more stuff in his pate,” continued this polite stranger, “than a jackass, to
think I could not find my way hither thof I could not jabber your French
lingo. Ecod! the people of this country are sharp enough to find out your
meaning, when you want to spend anything among them; and, as for the
matter of dress, bodikins! for a thousand pound, I would engage to live in
the midst of them, and show myself without any clothes at all. Odds heart! a
true-born Englishman needs not be ashamed to show his face, nor his
backside neither, with the best Frenchman that ever trod the ground. Thof
we Englishmen don’t beplaister our doublets with gold and silver, I believe
as how we have our pockets better lined than most of our neighbours; and
for all my bit of a fustian frock, that cost me in all but forty shillings, I
believe, between you and me, knight, I have more dust in my fob, than all
those powdered sparks put together. But the worst of the matter is this; here
is no solid belly-timber in this country. One can’t have a slice of delicate
sirloin, or nice buttock of beef, for love nor money. A pize upon them! I
could get no eatables upon the ruoad, but what they called bully, which
looks like the flesh of Pharaoh’s lean kine stewed into rags and tatters; and
then their peajohn, peajohn, rabbet them! One would think every old
woman of this kingdom hatched pigeons from her own body.”
It is not to be supposed that such an original sat unobserved. The French
and other foreigners, who had never been in England, were struck dumb
with amazement at the knight’s appearance and deportment; while the
English guests were overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and kept a
most wary silence, for fear of being recognised by their countryman. As for
our adventurer, he was inwardly transported with joy at sight of this
curiosity. He considered him as a genuine, rich country booby, of the right
English growth, fresh as imported; and his heart throbbed with rapture,
when he heard Sir Stentor value himself upon the lining of his pockets. He
foresaw, indeed, that the other knight would endeavour to reserve him for
his own game; but he was too conscious of his own accomplishments to
think he should find great difficulty in superseding the influence of Sir
Giles.

Meanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some ragout,
which pleased his palate so well, that he declared he should now make a
hearty meal, for the first time since he had crossed the water; and, while his
good-humour prevailed, he drank to every individual around the table.
Ferdinand seized this opportunity of insinuating himself into his favour, by
saying in English, he was glad to find there was anything in France that was
agreeable to Sir Stentor. To this compliment the knight replied with an air of
surprise: “Waunds! I find here’s another countryman of mine in this here
company. Sir, I am proud to see you with all my heart.” So speaking, he
thrust out his right hand across the table, and shook our hero by the fist,
with such violence of civility, as proved very grievous to a French marquis,
who, in helping himself to soup, was jostled in such a manner, as to
overturn the dividing-spoon in his own bosom. The Englishman, seeing the
mischief he had produced, cried, “No offence, I hope,” in a tone of
vociferation, which the marquis in all probability misconstrued; for he
began to model his features into a very sublime and peremptory look, when
Fathom interpreted the apology, and at the same time informed Sir Stentor,
that although he himself had not the honour of being an Englishman, he had
always entertained a most particular veneration for the country, and learned
the language in consequence of that esteem.
“Blood!” answered the knight, “I think myself the more obliged to you
for your kind opinion, than if you was my countryman in good earnest. For
there be abundance of we English—no offence, Sir Giles—that seem to be
ashamed of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend their
fortunes abroad, among a parcel of—you understand me, sir—a word to the
wise, as the saying is.”—Here he was interrupted by an article of the second
course, that seemed to give him great disturbance. This was a roasted
leveret, very strong of the fumet, which happened to be placed directly
under his nose. His sense of smelling was no sooner encountered by the
effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up from table, exclaiming,
“Odd’s my liver! here’s a piece of carrion, that I would not offer to e’er a
hound in my kennel; ’tis enough to make any Christian vomit both gut and
gall;” and indeed by the wry faces he made while he ran to the door, his
stomach seemed ready to justify this last assertion.
The abbe, who concluded, from these symptoms of disgust, that the
leveret was not sufficiently stale, began to exhibit marks of discontent, and
desired that it might be brought to the other end of the table for his

examination. He accordingly hung over it with the most greedy appetite,
feasting his nostrils with the steams of animal putrefaction; and at length
declared that the morceau was passable, though he owned it would have
been highly perfect, had it been kept another week. Nevertheless, mouths
were not wanting to discuss it, insipid as it was; for in three minutes there
was not a vestige to be seen of that which had offended the organs of Sir
Stentor, who now resumed his place, and did justice to the dessert. But what
he seemed to relish better than any other part of the entertainment, was the
conversation of our adventurer, whom, after dinner, he begged to have the
honour of treating with a dish of coffee, to the seeming mortification of his
brother knight, over which Fathom exulted in his own heart.
In short, our hero, by his affability and engaging deportment,
immediately gained possession of Sir Stentor’s good graces, insomuch, that
he desired to crack a bottle with him in the evening, and they repaired to an
auberge, whither his fellow-knight accompanied him, not without manifest
signs of reluctance. There the stranger gave a loose to jollity; though at first
he d—-ed the burgundy as a poor thin liquor, that ran through him in a
twinkling, and, instead of warming, cooled his heart and bowels. However,
it insensibly seemed to give the lie to his imputation; for his spirits rose to a
more elevated pitch of mirth and good-fellowship; he sung, or rather roared,
the Early Horn, so as to alarm the whole neighbourhood, and began to
slabber his companions with a most bear-like affection. Yet whatever haste
he made to the goal of ebriety, he was distanced by his brother baronet, who
from the beginning of the party had made little other use of his mouth than
to receive the glass, and now sunk down upon the floor, in a state of
temporary annihilation.
He was immediately carried to bed by the direction of Ferdinand, who
now saw himself in a manner possessor of that mine to which he had made
such eager and artful advances. That he might, therefore, carry on the
approaches in the same cautious manner, he gradually shook off the
trammels of sobriety, gave a loose to that spirit of freedom which good
liquor commonly inspires, and, in the familiarity of drunkenness, owned
himself head of a noble family of Poland, from which he had been obliged
to absent himself on account of an affair of honour, not yet compromised.
Having made this confession, and laid strong injunctions of secrecy upon
Sir Stentor, his countenance seemed to acquire from every succeeding glass

a new symptom of intoxication. They renewed their embraces, swore
eternal friendship from that day, and swallowed fresh bumpers, till both
being in all appearance quite overpowered, they began to yawn in concert,
and even nod in their chairs. The knight seemed to resent the attacks of
slumber, as so many impertinent attempts to interrupt their entertainment;
he cursed his own propensity to sleep, imputing it to the d—-ed French
climate, and proposed to engage in some pastime that would keep them
awake. “Odd’s flesh!” cried the Briton, “when I’m at home, I defy all the
devils in hell to fasten my eyelids together, if so be as I’m otherwise
inclined. For there’s mother and sister Nan, and brother Numps and I,
continue to divert ourselves at all-fours, brag, cribbage, tetotum, husslecap,
and chuck-varthing, and, thof I say it, that should n’t say it, I won’t turn my
back to e’er a he in England, at any of these pastimes. And so, Count, if you
are so disposed, I am your man, that is, in the way of friendship, at which of
these you shall please to pitch upon.”
To this proposal Fathom replied, he was quite ignorant of all the games
he had mentioned; but, in order to amuse Sir Stentor, he would play with
him at lansquenet, for a trifle, as he had laid it down for a maxim, to risk
nothing considerable at play. “Waunds!” answered the knight, “I hope you
don’t think I come here in quest of money. Thank God! I have a good
landed estate worth five thousand a year, and owe no man a halfpenny; and
I question whether there be many counts in your nation—no offence, I hope
—that can say a bolder word. As for your lambskin net, I know nothing of
the matter; but I will toss up with you for a guinea, cross or pile, as the
saying is; or, if there’s such a thing in this country as a box and dice, I love
to hear the bones rattle sometimes.”
Fathom found some difficulty in concealing his joy at the mention of this
last amusement, which had been one of his chief studies, and in which he
had made such progress, that he could calculate all the chances with the
utmost exactness and certainty. However, he made shift to contain himself
within due bounds, and, with seeming indifference, consented to pass away
an hour at hazard, provided the implements could be procured. Accordingly,
the landlord was consulted, and their desire gratified; the dice were
produced, and the table resounded with the effects of their mutual
eagerness. Fortune, at first, declared for the Englishman, who was permitted
by our adventurer to win twenty broad pieces; and he was so elated with his
success, as to accompany every lucky throw with a loud burst of laughter,

and other savage and simple manifestations of excessive joy, exclaiming, in
a tone something less sweet than the bellowing of a bull, “Now for the
main, Count,—odd! here they come—here are the seven black stars, i’faith.
Come along, my yellow boys—odd’s heart! I never liked the face of Lewis
before.”
Fathom drew happy presages from these boyish raptures, and, after
having indulged them for some time, began to avail himself of his
arithmetic, in consequence of which the knight was obliged to refund the
greatest part of his winning. Then he altered his note, and became as
intemperate in his chagrin, as he had been before immoderate in his mirth.
He cursed himself and his whole generation, d—-ed his bad luck, stamped
with his feet upon the floor, and challenged Ferdinand to double stakes.
This was a very welcome proposal to our hero, who found Sir Stentor just
such a subject as he had long desired to encounter with; the more the
Englishman laid, the more he lost, and Fathom took care to inflame his
passions, by certain well-timed sarcasms upon his want of judgment, till at
length he became quite outrageous, swore the dice were false, and threw
them out at the window; pulled off his periwig, and committed it to the
flames, spoke with the most rancorous contempt of his adversary’s skill,
insisted upon his having stripped many a better man, for all he was a Count,
and threatening that, before they parted, he should not only look like a Pole,
but also smell like a pole-cat.
This was a spirit which our adventurer industriously kept up, observing
that the English were dupes to all the world; and that, in point of genius and
address, they were no more than noisy braggadocios. In short, another pair
of dice was procured, the stakes were again raised, and, after several
vicissitudes, fortune declared so much in favour of the knight, that Fathom
lost all the money in his pocket, amounting to a pretty considerable sum. By
this time he was warmed into uncommon eagerness and impatience; being
equally piqued at the success and provoking exultations of his antagonist,
whom he now invited to his lodgings, in order to decide the contest. Sir
Stentor complied with this request; the dispute was renewed with various
success, till, towards daylight, Ferdinand saw this noisy, raw, inexperienced
simpleton, carry off all his ready cash, together with his jewels, and almost
everything that was valuable about his person; and, to crown the whole, the
victor at parting told him with a most intolerable sneer, that as soon as the

Count should receive another remittance from Poland, he would give him
his revenge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HE BEARS HIS FATE LIKE A PHILOSOPHER; AND
CONTRACTS ACQUAINTANCE WITH A VERY
REMARKABLE PERSONAGE.

This was a proper subject for our hero to moralise upon; and accordingly
it did not pass without his remarks; he found himself fairly foiled at his own
weapons, reduced to indigence in a foreign land, and, what he chiefly
regretted, robbed of all those gay expectations he had indulged from his
own supposed excellence in the wiles of fraud; for, upon a little
recollection, he plainly perceived he had fallen a sacrifice to the
confederacy he had refused to join; and did not at all doubt that the dice
were loaded for his destruction. But, instead of beating his head against the
wall, tearing his hair, imprecating vain curses upon himself, or betraying
other frantic symptoms of despair, he resolved to accommodate himself to
his fate, and profit by the lesson he had so dearly bought.
With this intention, he immediately dismissed his valet, quitted his
lodgings, retired to an obscure street on the other side of the river, and,
covering one eye with a large patch of black silk, presented himself in
quality of a musician to the director of the opera, who, upon hearing a trial
of his skill, received him into the band without further question. While he
continued in this situation, he not only improved his taste and execution in
music, but likewise found frequent opportunities to extend his knowledge of
mankind; for, besides the employment he exercised in public, he was often
concerned in private concerts that were given in the hotels of noblemen; by
which means he became more and more acquainted with the persons,
manners, and characters of high life, which he contemplated with the most
industrious attention, as a spectator, who, being altogether unconcerned in

the performance, is at more liberty to observe and enjoy the particulars of
the entertainment.
It was in one of those assemblies he had the pleasure of seeing his friend
Sir Stentor, dressed in the most fashionable manner, and behaving with all
the overstrained politesse of a native Frenchman. He was accompanied by
his brother knight and the abbe; and this triumvirate, even in Fathom’s
hearing, gave a most ludicrous detail of the finesse they had practised upon
the Polish Count, to their entertainer, who was ambassador from a certain
court, and made himself extremely merry with the particulars of the
relation. Indeed, they made shift to describe some of the circumstances in
such a ridiculous light, that our adventurer himself, smarting as he was with
the disgrace, could not help laughing in secret at the account. He afterwards
made it his business to inquire into the characters of the two British knights,
and understood they were notorious sharpers, who had come abroad for the
good of their country, and now hunted in couple among a French pack, that
dispersed themselves through the public ordinaries, walks, and spectacles,
in order to make a prey of incautious strangers.
The pride of Ferdinand was piqued at this information; and he was even
animated with the desire of making reprisals upon this fraternity, from
which he ardently longed to retrieve his honour and effects. But the issue of
his last adventure had reinforced his caution; and, for the present, he found
means to suppress the dictates of his avarice and ambition; resolving to
employ his whole penetration in reconnoitring the ground, before he should
venture to take the field again. He therefore continued to act the part of a
one-eyed fiddler, under the name of Fadini, and lived with incredible
frugality, that he might save a purse for his future operations. In this manner
had he proceeded for the space of ten months, during which he acquired a
competent knowledge of the city of Paris, when his curiosity was attracted
by certain peculiarities in the appearance of a man who lived in one of the
upper apartments belonging to the house in which he himself had fixed his
habitation.
This was a tall, thin, meagre figure, with a long black beard, an aquiline
nose, a brown complexion, and a most piercing vivacity in his eyes. He
seemed to be about the age of fifty, wore the Persian habit, and there was a
remarkable severity in his aspect and demeanour. He and our adventurer
had been fellow-lodgers for some time, and, according to the laudable

custom in these days, had hitherto remained as much estranged to one
another, as if they had lived on opposite sides of the globe; but of late the
Persian seemed to regard our hero with particular attention; when they
chanced to meet on the staircase, or elsewhere, he bowed to Ferdinand with
great solemnity, and complimented him with the pas. He even proceeded, in
the course of this communication, to open his mouth, and salute him with a
good-morrow, and sometimes made the common remarks upon the weather.
Fathom, who was naturally complaisant, did not discourage these advances.
On the contrary, he behaved to him with marks of particular respect, and
one day desired the favour of his company to breakfast.
This invitation the stranger declined with due acknowledgment, on
pretence of being out of order; and, in the meantime, our adventurer
bethought himself of questioning the landlord concerning his outlandish
guest. His curiosity was rather inflamed than satisfied with the information
he could obtain from this quarter; for all he learned was, that the Persian
went by the name of Ali Beker, and that he had lived in the house for the
space of four months, in a most solitary and parsimonious manner, without
being visited by one living soul; that, for some time after his arrival, he had
been often heard to groan dismally in the night, and even to exclaim in an
unknown language, as if he had laboured under some grievous affliction;
and though the first transports of his grief had subsided, it was easy to
perceive he still indulged a deep-rooted melancholy; for the tears were
frequently observed to trickle down his beard. The commissaire of the
quarter had at first ordered this Oriental to be watched in his outgoings,
according to the maxims of the French police; but his life was found so
regular and inoffensive, that this precaution was soon set aside.
Any man of humane sentiments, from the knowledge of these particulars,
would have been prompted to offer his services to the forlorn stranger; but
as our hero was devoid of all these infirmities of human nature, it was
necessary that other motives should produce the same effect. His curiosity,
therefore, joined with the hopes of converting the confidence of Ali to his
own emolument, effectually impelled him towards his acquaintance; and, in
a little time, they began to relish the conversation of each other. For, as the
reader may have already observed, Fathom possessed all the arts of
insinuation, and had discernment enough to perceive an air of dignity in the
Persian, which the humility of his circumstances could not conceal. He was,
moreover, a man of good understanding, not without a tincture of letters,

perfectly well bred, though in a ceremonious style, extremely moral in his
discourse, and scrupulously nice in his notions of honour.
Our hero conformed himself in all respects to the other’s opinions, and
managed his discretion so as to pass upon him for a gentleman reduced by
misfortunes to the exercise of an employment which was altogether
unsuitable to his birth and quality. He made earnest and repeated tenders of
his good offices to the stranger, and pressed him to make use of his purse
with such cordial perseverance, that, at length, Ali’s reserve was overcome,
and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum, which in all
probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the utmost extremity of
want before he would accept of this assistance.
Fathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to take notice
of many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments of their intercourse,
and seemed to denote an heart fraught with woe; and, on pretence of
administering consolation and counsel, begged leave to know the cause of
his distress, observing, that his mind would be disburdened by such
communication, and, perhaps, his grief alleviated by some means which
they might jointly concert and execute in his behalf.
Ali, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of extreme
sorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,
declared that his distress was beyond the power of any remedy but death,
and that, by making our hero his confidant, he should only extend his
unhappiness to a friend, without feeling the least remission of his own
torture. Notwithstanding these repeated declarations, Ferdinand, who was
well enough acquainted with the mind of man to know that such
importunity is seldom or never disagreeable, redoubled his instances,
together with his expressions of sympathy and esteem, until the stranger
was prevailed upon to gratify his curiosity and benevolence. Having,
therefore, secured the chamber door one night, while all the rest of the
family were asleep, the unfortunate Ali disclosed himself in these words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.

I should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist the desire
you express to know the particulars of that destiny which hath driven me to
this miserable disguise, and rendered me in all considerations the most
wretched of men. I have felt your friendship, am confident of your honour,
and though my misfortunes are such as can never be repaired, because I am
utterly cut off from hope, which is the wretch’s last comfort, yet I may, by
your means, be enabled to bear them with some degree of fortitude and
resignation.
Know then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian extraction. I had
once the honour to own myself a Castilian, and was, under the appellation
of Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the head of one of the most ancient
families of that kingdom. Judge, then, how severe that distress must be,
which compels a Spaniard to renounce his country, his honours, and his
name. My youth was not spent in inglorious ease, neither did it waste
unheeded in the rolls of fame. Before I had attained the age of nineteen, I
was twice wounded in battle. I once fortunately recovered the standard of
the regiment to which I belonged, after it had been seized by the enemy;
and, at another occasion, made shift to save the life of my colonel, when he
lay at the mercy of an enraged barbarian.
He that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of ostentation, does
wrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in having performed these
little acts of gallantry, thinks he has done nothing, but simply approved
himself worthy of being called a Castilian. I mean only to do justice to my
own character, and to make you acquainted with one of the most remarkable
incidents of my life. It was my fate, during my third campaign, to command
a troop of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales Orgullo, between whom

and my father a family feud had long been maintained with great enmity;
and that gentleman did not leave me without reason to believe he rejoiced at
the opportunity of exercising his resentment upon his adversary’s son; for
he withheld from me that countenance which my fellow-officers enjoyed,
and found means to subject me to divers mortifications, of which I was not
at liberty to complain. These I bore in silence for some time, as part of my
probation in the character of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to employ my
interest at court for a removal into another corps, and to take some future
opportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don Gonzales upon the
injustice of his behaviour.
While I animated myself with these sentiments against the
discouragements I underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily
exposed, it was our fate to be concerned in the battle of Saragossa, where
our regiment was so severely handled by the English infantry, that it was
forced to give ground with the loss of one half of its officers and men. Don
Gonzales, who acted as brigadier in another wing, being informed of our
fate, and dreading the disgrace of his corps, which had never turned back to
the enemy, put spurs to his horse, and, riding across the field at full speed,
rallied our broken squadrons, and led us back to the charge with such
intrepidity of behaviour, as did not fail to inspire us all with uncommon
courage and alacrity. For my own part, I thought myself doubly interested
to distinguish my valour, not only on account of my own glory, but likewise
on the supposition, that, as I was acting under the eye of Gonzales, my
conduct would be narrowly observed.
I therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began the attack
with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side during the rest of the
engagement. I even acquired his applause in the very heat of battle. When
his hat was struck off, and his horse fell under him, I accommodated and
remounted him upon my own, and, having seized for my own use another
that belonged to a common trooper, attended this stern commander as
before, and seconded him in all his repeated efforts; but it was impossible to
withstand the numbers and impetuosity of the foe, and Don Gonzales
having had the mortification to see his regiment cut in pieces, and the
greatest part of the army routed, was fain to yield to the fortune of the day;
yet he retired as became a man of honour and a Castilian; that is, he
marched off with great deliberation in the rear of the Spanish troops, and
frequently faced about to check the pursuit of the enemy. Indeed, this

exercise of his courage had well-nigh cost him his life; for, in one of those
wheelings, he was left almost alone, and a small party of the Portuguese
horse had actually cut off our communication with the retreating forces of
Spain.
In this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and liberty,
than that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was what Gonzales
instantly resolved to attempt. We accordingly recommended our souls to
God, and, charging the line abreast of one another, bore down all
opposition, and were in a fair way of accomplishing our retreat without
further danger; but the gallant Orgullo, in crossing a ditch, had the
misfortune to be thrown from his horse, and was almost the same instant
overtaken by one of the Portuguese dragoons, whose sword was already
suspended over his head, as he lay half stunned with his fall; when I rode
up, discharged a pistol in the ruffian’s brain, and, seating my colonel on his
horse, had the good fortune to conduct him to a place of safety.
Here he was provided with such accommodation as his case required; for
he had been wounded in the battle, and dangerously bruised by his fall, and,
when all the necessary steps were taken towards his recovery, I desired to
know if he had any further commands for his service, being resolved to join
the army without delay. I thought proper to communicate this question by
message, because he had not spoke one word to me during our retreat,
notwithstanding the good office he had received at my hands; a reserve
which I attributed to his pride, and resented accordingly. He no sooner
understood my intention, than he desired to see me in his apartment, and, as
near as I can remember, spoke to this effect:—
“Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in consequence of
your behaviour, banish every suggestion of resentment, and solicit his
friendship with great sincerity. Yes, Don Diego, your virtue hath triumphed
over that enmity I bore your house, and I upbraid myself with the
ungenerous treatment you have suffered under my command. But it is not
enough for me to withdraw that rigour which it was unjust to exercise, and
would be wicked to maintain. I must likewise atone for the injuries you
have sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment for that life which
I have twice to-day owed to your valour and generosity. Whatever interest I
have at court shall be employed in your behalf; and I have other designs in
your favour, which shall be disclosed in due season. Meanwhile, I desire

you will still add one obligation to the debt which I have already incurred,
and carry this billet in person to my Estifania, who, from the news of this
fatal overthrow must be in despair upon my account.”
So saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I received in a
transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the occasion, and immediately
set out for his country house, which happened to be about thirty leagues
from the spot. This expedition was equally glorious and interesting; for my
thoughts upon the road were engrossed by the hope of seeing Don Orgullo’s
daughter and heiress Antonia, who was reported to be a young lady of great
beauty, and the most amiable accomplishments. However ridiculous it may
seem for a man to conceive a passion for an object which he hath never
beheld, certain it is, my sentiments were so much prepossessed by the fame
of her qualifications, that I must have fallen a victim to her charms, had
they been much less powerful than they were. Notwithstanding the fatigues
I had undergone in the field, I closed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of
Gonzales, being determined to precede the report of the battle, that Madame
d’Orgullo might not be alarmed for the life of her husband.
I declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I had not
waited above three minutes, when my colonel’s lady appeared, and in great
confusion received the letter, exclaiming, “Heaven grant that Don Gonzales
be well!” In reading the contents, she underwent a variety of agitations; but,
when she had perused the whole, her countenance regained its serenity, and,
regarding me with an air of ineffable complacency, “Don Diego,” said she,
“while I lament the national calamity, in the defeat of our army, I at the
same time feel the most sincere pleasure on seeing you upon this occasion,
and, according to the directions of my dear lord, bid you heartily welcome
to this house, as his preserver and friend. I was not unacquainted with your
character before this last triumph of your virtue, and have often prayed to
Heaven for some lucky determination of that fatal quarrel which raged so
long between the family of Gonzales and your father’s house. My prayers
have been heard, the long-wished-for reconciliation is now effected, and I
hope nothing will ever intervene to disturb this happy union.”
To this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply as became
a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and benevolence, and
desired to know how soon her answer to my commander would be ready,
that I might gratify his impatience with all possible despatch. After having

thanked me for this fresh proof of my attachment, she begged I would retire
into a chamber, and repose myself from the uncommon fatigues I must have
undergone; but, finding I persisted in the resolution of returning to Don
Gonzales, without allowing myself the least benefit of sleep, she left me
engaged in conversation with an uncle of Don Gonzales, who lodged in the
house, and gave orders that a collation should be prepared in another
apartment, while she retired to her closet, and wrote a letter to her husband.
In less than an hour from my first arrival, I was introduced into a most
elegant dining-room, where a magnificent entertainment was served up, and
where we were joined by Donna Estifania, and her beautiful daughter the
fair Antonia, who, advancing with the most amiable sweetness, thanked me
in very warm expressions of acknowledgment, for the generosity of my
conduct towards her father. I had been ravished with her first appearance,
which far exceeded my imagination, and my faculties were so disordered by
this address, that I answered her compliment with the most awkward
confusion. But this disorder did not turn to my prejudice in the opinion of
that lovely creature, who has often told me in the sequel, that she gave
herself credit for that perplexity in my behaviour, and that I never appeared
more worthy of her regard and affection than at that juncture, when my
dress was discomposed, and my whole person disfigured by the toils and
duty of the preceding day; for this very dishabille presented itself to her
reflection as the immediate effect of that very merit by which I was entitled
to her esteem.
Wretch that I am! to survive the loss of such an excellent woman,
endeared to my remembrance by the most tender offices of wedlock,
happily exercised for the space of five-and-twenty years! Forgive these
tears; they are not the drops of weakness, but remorse. Not to trouble you
with idle particulars, suffice it is to say, I was favoured with such marks of
distinction by Madame d’Orgullo, that she thought it incumbent upon her to
let me know she had not overacted her hospitality, and, while we sat at
table, accosted me in these words: “You will not be surprised, Don Diego,
at my expressions of regard, which I own are unusual from a Spanish lady
to a young cavalier like you, when I communicate the contents of this letter
from Don Gonzales.” So saying, she put the billet into my hand, and I read
these words, or words to this effect:—

“AMIABLE ESTIFANIA,—You will understand that I am as well as a
person can possibly be who hath this day lived to see the army of his king
defeated. If you would know the particulars of this unfortunate action, your
curiosity will be gratified by the bearer, Don Diego de Zelos, to whose
virtue and bravery I am twice indebted for my life. I therefore desire you
will receive him with that respect and gratitude which you shall think due
for such an obligation; and, in entertaining him, dismiss that reserve which
often disgraces the Spanish hospitality. In a word, let your own virtue and
beneficence conduct you upon this occasion, and let my Antonia’s
endeavours be joined with your own in doing honour to the preserver of her
father! Adieu.”
Such a testimonial could not fail of being very agreeable to a young
soldier, who by this time had begun to indulge the transporting hope of
being happy in the arms of the adorable Antonia. I professed myself
extremely happy in having met with an opportunity of acquiring such a
degree of my colonel’s esteem, entertained them with a detail of his
personal prowess in the battle, and answered all their questions with that
moderation which every man ought to preserve in speaking of his own
behaviour. Our repast being ended, I took my leave of the ladies, and at
parting received a letter from Donna Estifania to her husband, together with
a ring of great value, which she begged I would accept, as a token of her
esteem. Thus loaded with honour and caresses, I set out on my return for the
quarters of Don Gonzales, who could scarce credit his own eyes when I
delivered his lady’s billet; for he thought it impossible to perform such a
journey in so short a time.
When he had glanced over the paper, “Don Diego,” said he, “by your
short stay one would imagine you had met with indifferent reception at my
house. I hope Estifania has not been deficient in her duty?” I answered this
question, by assuring him my entertainment had been so agreeable in all
respects, that nothing but my duty to him could have induced me to give it
up so soon. He then turned the conversation upon Antonia, and hinted his
intention of giving her in marriage to a young cavalier, for whom he had a
particular friendship. I was so much affected by this insinuation, which
seemed at once to blast all my hopes of love and happiness, that the blood
forsook my face; I was seized with an universal trepidation, and even
obliged to retire, on pretence of being suddenly taken ill.

Though Gonzales seemed to impute this disorder to fatigue and want of
rest, he in his heart ascribed it to the true cause; and, after having sounded
my sentiments to his own satisfaction, blessed me with a declaration,
importing, that I was the person upon whom he had pitched for a son-in-
law. I will not trouble you with a repetition of what passed on this
interesting occasion, but proceed to observe, that his intention in my favour
was far from being disagreeable to his lady; and that, in a little time, I had
the good fortune to espouse the charming Antonia, who submitted to the
will of her father without reluctance.
Soon after this happy event, I was, by the influence of Don Gonzales,
joined to my own interest, promoted to the command of a regiment, and
served with honour during the remaining part of the war. After the treaty of
Utrecht, I was employed in reducing the Catalans to their allegiance; and, in
an action with those obstinate rebels had the misfortune to lose my father-
in-law, who by that time was preferred to the rank of a major-general. The
virtuous Estifania did not long survive this melancholy accident; and the
loss of these indulgent parents made such a deep impression upon the
tender heart of my Antonia, that I took the first opportunity of removing her
from a place in which every object served to cherish her grief, to a pleasant
villa near the city of Seville, which I purchased on account of its agreeable
situation. That I might the more perfectly enjoy the possession of my
amiable partner, who could no longer brook the thoughts of another
separation, peace was no sooner re-established than I obtained leave to
resign my commission, and I wholly devoted myself to the joys of a
domestic life.
Heaven seemed to smile upon our union, by blessing us with a son,
whom, however, it was pleased to recall in his infancy, to our unspeakable
grief and mortification; but our mutual chagrin was afterwards alleviated by
the birth of a daughter, who seemed born with every accomplishment to
excite the love and admiration of mankind. Why did nature debase such a
masterpiece with the mixture of an alloy, which hath involved herself and
her whole family in perdition? But the ways of Providence are
unsearchable. She hath paid the debt of her degeneracy; peace be with her
soul! The honour of my family is vindicated; though by a sacrifice which
hath robbed me of everything else that is valuable in life, and ruined my
peace past all redemption. Yes, my friend, all the tortures that human

tyranny can inflict would be ease, tranquillity, and delight, to the
unspeakable pangs and horrors I have felt.
But, to return from this digression.—Serafina, which was the name of
that little darling, as she grew up, not only disclosed all the natural graces of
external beauty, but likewise manifested the most engaging sweetness of
disposition, and a capacity for acquiring with ease all the accomplishments
of her sex. It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of a parent’s
raptures in the contemplation of such a fair blossom. She was the only
pledge of our love, she was presumptive heiress to a large fortune, and
likely to be the sole representative of two noble Castilian families. She was
the delight of all who saw her, and a theme of praise for every tongue. You
are not to suppose that the education of such a child was neglected. Indeed,
it wholly engrossed the attention of me and my Antonia, and her proficiency
rewarded our care. Before she had attained the age of fifteen, she was
mistress of every elegant qualification, natural and acquired. Her person
was, by that time, the confessed pattern of beauty. Her voice was
enchantingly sweet, and she touched the lute with the most ravishing
dexterity. Heaven and earth! how did my breast dilate with joy at the
thoughts of having given birth to such perfection! how did my heart gush
with paternal fondness, whenever I beheld this ornament of my name! and
what scenes of endearing transport have I enjoyed with my Antonia, in
mutual congratulation upon our parental happiness!
Serafina, accomplished as she was, could not fail to make conquests
among the Spanish cavaliers, who are famous for sensibility in love.
Indeed, she never appeared without a numerous train of admirers; and
though we had bred her up in that freedom of conversation and intercourse
which holds a middle space between the French licence and Spanish
restraint, she was now so much exposed to the addresses of promiscuous
gallantry, that we found it necessary to retrench the liberty of our house, and
behave to our male visitants with great reserve and circumspection, that our
honour and peace might run no risk from the youth and inexperience of our
daughter.
This caution produced overtures from a great many young gentlemen of
rank and distinction, who courted my alliance, by demanding Serafina in
marriage; and from the number I had actually selected one person, who was
in all respects worthy the possession of such an inestimable prize. His name

was Don Manuel de Mendoza. His birth was noble, and his character
dignified with repeated acts of generosity and virtue. Yet, before I would
signify to him my approbation of his suit, I resolved to inform myself
whether or not the heart of Serafina was totally unengaged, and indifferent
to any other object, that I might not lay a tyrannical restraint upon her
inclinations. The result of my inquiry was a full conviction of her having
hitherto been deaf to the voice of love; and this piece of information,
together with my own sentiments in his favour, I communicated to Don
Manuel, who heard these tidings with transports of gratitude and joy. He
was immediately favoured with opportunities of acquiring the affection of
my daughter, and his endeavours were at first received with such respectful
civility, as might have been easily warmed into a mutual passion, had not
the evil genius of our family interposed.
O my friend! how shall I describe the depravity of that unhappy virgin’s
sentiments! how recount the particulars of my own dishonour! I that am
descended from a long line of illustrious Castilians, who never received an
injury they did not revenge, but washed away every blemish in their fame
with the blood of those who attempted to stain it! In that circumstance I
have imitated the example of my glorious progenitors, and that
consideration alone hath supported me against all the assaults of despair.
As I grudged no pains and expense in perfecting the education of
Serafina, my doors were open to every person who made an extraordinary
figure in the profession of those amusing sciences in which she delighted.
The house of Don Diego de Zelos was a little academy for painting, poetry,
and music; and Heaven decreed that it should fall a sacrifice to its regard
for these fatal and delusive arts. Among other preceptors, it was her fate to
be under the instruction of a cursed German, who, though his profession
was drawing, understood the elements and theory of music, possessed a
large fund of learning and taste, and was a person remarkable for his
agreeable conversation. This traitor, who like you had lost one eye, I not
only admitted into my house for the improvement of my daughter, but even
distinguished with particular marks of confidence and favour, little thinking
he had either inclination or capacity to debauch the sentiments of my child.
I was rejoiced beyond measure to see with what alacrity she received his
lessons, with what avidity she listened to his discourse, which was always
equally moral, instructing, and entertaining.

Antonia seemed to vie with me in expressions of regard for this
accomplished stranger, whom she could not help supposing to be a person
of rank and family, reduced to his present situation by some unfortunate
vicissitude of fate. I was disposed to concur with this opinion, and actually
conjured him to make me his confidant, with such protestations as left him
no room to doubt my honour and beneficence; but he still persisted in
declaring himself the son of an obscure mechanic in Bohemia; an origin to
which surely no man would pretend who had the least claim to nobility of
birth. While I was thus undeceived in my conjecture touching his birth and
quality, I was confirmed in an opinion of his integrity and moderation, and
looked upon him as a man of honour, in despite of the lowness of his
pedigree. Nevertheless, he was at bottom a most perfidious wretch, and all
this modesty and self-denial were the effects of the most villanous
dissimulation, a cloak under which he, unsuspected, robbed me of my
honour and my peace.
Not to trouble you with particulars, the recital of which would tear my
heart-strings with indignation and remorse, I shall only observe, that, by the
power of his infernal insinuation, he fascinated the heart of Serafina,
brought over Antonia herself to the interests of his passion, and at once
detached them both from their duty and religion. Heaven and earth! how
dangerous, how irresistible is the power of infatuation! While I remained in
the midst of this blind security, waiting for the nuptials of my daughter, and
indulging myself with the vain prospect of her approaching felicity, Antonia
found means to protract the negotiations of the marriage, by representing
that it would be a pity to deprive Serafina of the opportunity she then had of
profiting by the German’s instructions; and, upon that account, I prevailed
upon Don Manuel to bridle the impatience of his love.
During this interval, as I one evening enjoyed the cool air in my own
garden, I was accosted by an old duenna, who had been my nurse and lived
in the family since the time of my childhood.—“My duty,” said she, “will
no longer permit me to wink in silence at the wrongs I see you daily suffer.
Dismiss that German from your house without delay, if you respect the
glory of your name, and the rights of our holy religion; the stranger is an
abominable heretic; and, grant Heaven! he may not have already poisoned
the minds of those you hold most dear.” I had been extremely alarmed at the
beginning of this address; but, finding the imputation limited to the article
of religion, in which, thank God, I am no bigot, I recovered my serenity of

disposition, thanked the old woman for her zeal, commended her piety, and
encouraged her to persevere in making observations on such subjects as
should concern my honour and my quiet.
We live in such a world of wickedness and fraud, that a man cannot be
too vigilant in his own defence: had I employed such spies from the
beginning, I should in all probability have been at this day in possession of
every comfort that renders life agreeable. The duenna, thus authorised,
employed her sagacity with such success, that I had reason to suspect the
German of a design upon the heart of Serafina; but, as the presumptions did
not amount to conviction, I contented myself with exiling him from my
house, under the pretext of having discovered that he was an enemy to the
Catholic church; and forthwith appointed a day for the celebration of my
daughter’s marriage with Don Manuel de Mendoza. I could easily perceive
a cloud of melancholy overspread the faces of Serafina and her mother,
when I declared these my resolutions; but, as they made no objection to
what I proposed, I did not at that time enter into an explanation of the true
motives that influenced my conduct. Both parties were probably afraid of
such expostulation.
Meanwhile, preparations were made for the espousals of Serafina; and,
notwithstanding the anxiety I had undergone, on account of her connexion
with the German, I began to think that her duty, her glory, had triumphed
over all such low-born considerations, if ever they had been entertained;
because she, and even Antonia, seemed to expect the ceremony with
resignation, though the features of both still retained evident marks of
concern, which I willingly imputed to the mutual prospect of their
separation. This, however, was but a faithless calm, that soon, ah! too soon,
brought forth a tempest which hath wrecked my hopes.
Two days before the appointed union of Don Manuel and Serafina, I was
informed by the duenna, that, while she accompanied Antonia’s waiting-
maid at church, she had seen her receive a billet from an old woman, who,
kneeling at her side, had conveyed it in such a mysterious manner, as
awakened the duenna’s apprehensions about her young lady; she had
therefore hastened home to communicate this piece of intelligence, that I
might have an opportunity of examining the messenger before she could
have time to deposit her trust. I could not help shivering with fearful
presages upon this occasion, and even abhorring the person to whose duty

and zeal I was beholden for the intelligence, even while I endeavoured to
persuade myself that the inquiry would end in the detection of some paltry
intrigue between the maid and her own gallant. I intercepted her in
returning from church, and, commanding her to follow me to a convenient
place, extorted from her, by dint of threats, the fatal letter, which I read to
this effect:—
“The whole business of my life, O divine Serafina! will be to repay that
affection I have been so happy as to engage. With what transport then shall
I obey your summons, in performing that enterprise, which will rescue you
from the bed of a detested rival, and put myself in full possession of a jewel
which I value infinitely more than life! Yes, adorable creature! I have
provided everything for our escape, and at midnight will attend you in your
own apartment, from whence you shall be conveyed into a land of liberty
and peace, where you will, unmolested, enjoy the purity of that religion you
have espoused, and in full security bless the arms of your ever faithful,
ORLANDO.”
Were you a fond parent, a tender husband, and a noble Castilian, I should
not need to mention the unutterable horrors that took possession of my
bosom, when I perused this accursed letter, by which I learned the apostasy,
disobedience, and degeneracy of my idolised Serafina, who had overthrown
and destroyed the whole plan of felicity which I had erected, and blasted all
the glories of my name; and when the wretched messenger, terrified by my
menaces and agitation, confessed that Antonia herself was privy to the guilt
of her daughter, whom she had solemnly betrothed to that vile German, in
the sight of Heaven, and that by her connivance this plebeian intended, that
very night, to bereave me of my child, I was for some moments stupefied
with grief and amazement, that gave way to an ecstasy of rage, which had
well-nigh terminated in despair and distraction.
I now tremble, and my head grows giddy with the remembrance of that
dreadful occasion. Behold how the drops trickle down my forehead; this
agony is a fierce and familiar visitant; I shall banish it anon. I summoned
my pride, my resentment, to my assistance; these are the cordials that
support me against all other reflections; those were the auxiliaries that
enabled me, in the day of trial, to perform that sacrifice which my honour
demanded, in a strain so loud as to drown the cries of nature, love, and

compassion. Yes, they espoused that glory which humanity would have
betrayed, and my revenge was noble, though unnatural.
My scheme was soon laid, my resolution soon taken; I privately confined
the wretch who had been the industrious slave of this infamous conspiracy,
that she might take no step to frustrate or interrupt the execution of my
design. Then repairing to the house of an apothecary who was devoted to
my service, communicated my intention, which he durst not condemn, and
could not reveal, without breaking the oath of secrecy I had imposed; and
he furnished me with two vials of poison for the dismal catastrophe I had
planned. Thus provided, I, on pretence of sudden business at Seville,
carefully avoided the dear, the wretched pair, whom I had devoted to death,
that my heart might not relent, by means of those tender ideas which the
sight of them would have infallibly inspired; and, when daylight vanished,
took my station near that part of the house through which the villain must
have entered on his hellish purpose. There I stood, in a state of horrid
expectation, my soul ravaged with the different passions that assailed it,
until the fatal moment arrived; when I perceived the traitor approach the
window of a lower apartment, which led into that of Serafina, and gently
lifting the casement, which was purposely left unsecured, insinuated half of
his body into the house. Then rushing upon him, in a transport of fury, I
plunged my sword into his heart, crying, “Villain! receive the reward of thy
treachery and presumption.”
The steel was so well aimed as to render a repetition of the stroke
unnecessary; he uttered one groan, and fell breathless at my feet. Exulting
with this first success of my revenge, I penetrated into the chamber where
the robber of my peace was expected by the unhappy Serafina and her
mother, who, seeing me enter with a most savage aspect, and a sword
reeking with the vengeance I had taken, seemed almost petrified with fear.
“Behold,” said I, “the blood of that base plebeian, who made an attempt
upon the honour of my house; your conspiracy against the unfortunate Don
Diego de Zelos is now discovered; that presumptuous slave, the favoured
Orlando, is now no more.”
Scarce had I pronounced these words, when a loud scream was uttered by
both the unhappy victims. “If Orlando is slain,” cried the infatuated
Serafina, “what have I to do with life? O my dear lord! my husband, and my
lover! how are our promised joys at once cut off! here, strike, my father!

complete your barbarous sacrifice! the spirit of the murdered Orlando still
hovers for his wife.” These frantic exclamations, in which she was joined
by Antonia, kept up the fury of my resentment, which by meekness and
submission might have been weakened and rendered ineffectual. “Yes,
hapless wretches,” I replied, “ye shall enjoy your wish: the honour of my
name requires that both shall die; yet I will not mangle the breast of
Antonia, on which I have so often reposed; I will not shed the blood of
Zelos, nor disfigure the beauteous form of Serafina, on which I have so
often gazed with wonder and unspeakable delight. Here is an elixir, to
which I trust the consummation of my revenge.”
So saying, I emptied the vials into separate cups, and, presenting one in
each hand, the miserable, the fair offenders instantly received the destined
draughts, which they drank without hesitation; then praying to heaven for
the wretched Don Diego, sunk upon the same couch, and expired without a
groan. O well-contrived beverage! O happy composition, by which all the
miseries of life are so easily cured!
Such was the fate of Antonia and Serafina; these hands were the
instruments that deprived them of life, these eyes beheld them the richest
prize that death had ever won. Powers supreme! does Don Diego live to
make this recapitulation? I have done my duty; but ah! I am haunted by the
furies of remorse; I am tortured with the incessant stings of remembrance
and regret; even now the images of my wife and daughter present
themselves to my imagination. All the scenes of happiness I have enjoyed
as a lover, husband, and parent, all the endearing hopes I have cherished,
now pass in review before me, embittering the circumstances of my
inexpressible woe; and I consider myself as a solitary outcast from all the
comforts of society. But, enough of these unmanly complaints; the
yearnings of nature are too importunate.
Having completed my vengeance, I retired into my closet, and, furnishing
myself with some ready money and jewels of considerable value, went into
the stable, saddled my favourite steed, which I instantly mounted, and,
before the tumults of my breast subsided, found myself at the town of St.
Lucar. There I learned from inquiry, that there was a Dutch bark in the
harbour ready to sail; upon which I addressed myself to the master, who, for
a suitable gratification, was prevailed upon to weigh anchor that same
night; so that, embarking without delay, I soon bid eternal adieu to my

native country. It was not from reason and reflection that I took these
measures for my personal safety; but, in consequence of an involuntary
instinct, that seems to operate in the animal machine, while the faculty of
thinking is suspended.
To what a dreadful reckoning was I called, when reason resumed her
function! You may believe me, my friend, when I assure you, that I should
not have outlived those tragedies I acted, had I not been restrained from
doing violence upon myself by certain considerations, which no man of
honour ought to set aside. I could not bear the thought of falling
ingloriously by the hand of an executioner, and entailing disgrace upon a
family that knew no stain; and I was deterred from putting an end to my
own misery, by the apprehension of posthumous censure, which would have
represented me as a desponding wretch, utterly destitute of that patience,
fortitude, and resignation, which are the characteristics of a true Castilian. I
was also influenced by religious motives that suggested to me the necessity
of living to atone, by my sufferings and sorrow, for the guilt I had incurred
in complying with a savage punctilio, which is, I fear, displeasing in the
sight of Heaven.
These were the reasons that opposed my entrance into that peaceful
harbour which death presented to my view; and they were soon reinforced
by another principle that sanctioned my determination to continue at the
servile oar of life. In consequence of unfavourable winds, our vessel for
some days made small progress in her voyage to Holland, and near the
coast of Gallicia we were joined by an English ship from Vigo, the master
of which gave us to understand, that before he set sail, a courier had arrived
from Madrid at that place, with orders for the corregidore to prevent the
escape of any native Spaniard by sea from any port within his district; and
to use his utmost endeavours to apprehend the person of Don Diego de
Zelos, who was suspected of treasonable practices against the state. Such an
order, with a minute description of my person, was at the same time
despatched to all the seaports and frontier places in Spain.
You may easily suppose how I, who was already overwhelmed with
distress, could bear this aggravation of misfortune and disgrace: I, who had
always maintained the reputation of loyalty, which was acquired at the
hazard of my life, and the expense of my blood. To deal candidly, I must
own, that this intelligence roused me from a lethargy of grief which had

begun to overpower my faculties. I immediately imputed this dishonourable
charge to the evil offices of some villain, who had basely taken the
advantage of my deplorable situation, and I was inflamed, inspirited with
the desire of vindicating my fame, and revenging the injury. Thus animated,
I resolved to disguise myself effectually from the observation of those spies
which every nation finds its account in employing in foreign countries; I
purchased this habit from the Dutch navigator, in whose house I kept
myself concealed, after our arrival at Amsterdam, until my beard was grown
to a sufficient length to favour my design, and then appeared as a Persian
dealer in jewels. As I could gain no satisfactory information touching
myself in this country, had no purpose to pursue, and was extremely
miserable among a people, who, being mercenary and unsocial, were very
ill adapted to alleviate the horrors of my condition, I gratified my landlord
for his important services, with the best part of my effects; and having, by
his means, procured a certificate from the magistracy, repaired to
Rotterdam, from whence I set out in a travelling carriage for Antwerp, on
my way to this capital; hoping, with a succession of different objects, to
mitigate the anguish of my mind, and by the most industrious inquiry, to
learn such particulars of that false impeachment, as would enable me to take
measures for my own justification, as well as for projecting a plan of
revenge against the vile perfidious author.
This, I imagined, would be no difficult task, considering the friendship
and intercourse subsisting between the Spanish and French nations, and the
communicative disposition for which the Parisians are renowned; but I have
found myself egregiously deceived in my expectation. The officers of
police in this city are so inquisitive and vigilant that the most minute action
of a stranger is scrutinised with great severity; and, although the inhabitants
are very frank in discoursing on indifferent subjects, they are at the same
time extremely cautious in avoiding all conversation that turns upon state
occurrences and maxims of government. In a word, the peculiarity of my
appearance subjects me so much to particular observation, that I have
hitherto thought proper to devour my griefs in silence, and even to bear the
want of almost every convenience, rather than hazard a premature
discovery, by offering my jewels to sale.
In this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become acquainted
with you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and humanity. Indeed, I
was at first sight prepossessed in your favour, for, notwithstanding the

mistakes which men daily commit in judging from appearances, there is
something in the physiognomy of a stranger from which one cannot help
forming an opinion of his character and disposition. For once, my
penetration hath not failed me; your behaviour justifies my decision; you
have treated me with that sympathy and respect which none but the
generous will pay to the unfortunate. I have trusted you accordingly. I have
put my life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to depend
upon your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which alone I seek
to live. Your employment engages you in the gay world; you daily mingle
with the societies of men; the domestics of the Spanish ambassador will not
shun your acquaintance; you may frequent the coffee-houses to which they
resort; and, in the course of these occasions, unsuspected inform yourself of
that mysterious charge which lies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don
Diego. I must likewise implore your assistance in converting my jewels into
money, that I may breathe independent of man, until Heaven shall permit
me to finish this weary pilgrimage of life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM’S VIRTUE, IN THE
MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO ENGLAND.

Fathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of this
disastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an aspect of
generous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with tears, he
condoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos, deplored the untimely
death of the gentle Antonia and the fair Serafina, and undertook the interest
of the wretched Castilian with such warmth of sympathising zeal, as drew a
flood from his eyes, while he wrung his benefactor’s hand in a transport of
gratitude. Those were literally tears of joy, or at least of satisfaction, on both
sides; as our hero wept with affection and attachment to the jewels that
were to be committed to his care; but, far from discovering the true source
of his tenderness, he affected to dissuade the Spaniard from parting with the
diamonds, which he counselled him to reserve for a more pressing
occasion; and, in the meantime, earnestly entreated him to depend upon his
friendship for present relief.
This generous proffer served only to confirm Don Diego’s resolution,
which he forthwith executed, by putting into the hands of Ferdinand jewels
to the value of a thousand crowns, and desiring him to detain for his own
use any part of the sum they would raise. Our adventurer thanked him for
the good opinion he entertained of his integrity, an opinion fully manifested
in honouring him with such important confidence, and assured him he
would transact his affairs with the utmost diligence, caution, and despatch.
The evening being by this time almost consumed, these new allies retired
separately to rest; though each passed the night without repose, in very
different reflections, the Castilian being, as usual, agitated with the
unceasing pangs of his unalterable misery, interspersed with gleaming

hopes of revenge; and Fathom being kept awake with revolving plans for
turning his fellow-lodger’s credulity to his own advantage. From the nature
of the Spaniard’s situation, he might have appropriated the jewels to
himself, and remained in Paris without fear of a prosecution, because the
injured party had, by the above narrative, left his life and liberty at
discretion.—But he did not think himself secure from the personal
resentment of an enraged desperate Castilian; and therefore determined to
withdraw himself privately into that country where he had all along
proposed to fix the standard of his finesse, which fortune had now
empowered him to exercise according to his wish.
Bent upon this retreat, he went abroad in the morning, on pretence of
acting in the concerns of his friend Don Diego, and having hired a post-
chaise to be ready at the dawning of next day, returned to his lodgings,
where he cajoled the Spaniard with a feigned report of his negotiation; then,
securing his most valuable effects about his person, arose with the cock,
repaired to the place at which he had appointed to meet the postillion with
the carriage, and set out for England without further delay, leaving the
unhappy Zelos to the horrors of indigence, and the additional agony of this
fresh disappointment. Yet he was not the only person affected by the abrupt
departure of Fathom, which was hastened by the importunities, threats, and
reproaches of his landlord’s daughter, whom he had debauched under
promise of marriage, and now left in the fourth month of her pregnancy.
Notwithstanding the dangerous adventure in which he had been formerly
involved by travelling in the night, he did not think proper to make the
usual halts on this journey, for sleep or refreshment, nor did he once quit the
chaise till his arrival at Boulogne, which he reached in twenty hours after
his departure from Paris. Here he thought he might safely indulge himself
with a comfortable meal; accordingly he bespoke a poulard for dinner, and
while that was preparing, went forth to view the city and harbour. When he
beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his heart throbbed with all the joy of a
beloved son, who, after a tedious and fatiguing voyage, reviews the
chimneys of his father’s house. He surveyed the neighbouring coast of
England with fond and longing eyes, like another Moses, reconnoitring the
land of Canaan from the top of Mount Pisgah; and to such a degree of
impatience was he inflamed by the sight, that, instead of proceeding to
Calais, he resolved to take his passage directly from Boulogne, even if he
should hire a vessel for the purpose. With these sentiments, he inquired if

there was any ship bound for England, and was so fortunate as to find the
master of a small bark, who intended to weigh anchor for Deal that same
evening at high water.
Transported with this information, he immediately agreed for his
passage, sold the post-chaise to his landlord for thirty guineas, as a piece of
furniture for which he could have no further use, purchased a portmanteau,
together with some linen and wearing apparel, and, at the recommendation
of his host, took into his service an extra postillion or helper, who had
formerly worn the livery of a travelling marquis. This new domestic, whose
name was Maurice, underwent, with great applause, the examination of our
hero, who perceived in him a fund of sagacity and presence of mind, by
which he was excellently qualified for being the valet of an adventurer. He
was therefore accommodated with a second-hand suit and another shirt, and
at once listed under the banners of Count Fathom, who spent the whole
afternoon in giving him proper instructions for the regulation of his
conduct.
Having settled these preliminaries to his own satisfaction, he and his
baggage were embarked about six o’clock in the month of September, and it
was not without emotion that he found himself benighted upon the great
deep, of which, before the preceding day, he had never enjoyed even the
most distant prospect. However, he was not a man to be afraid, where there
was really no appearance of danger; and the agreeable presages of future
fortune supported his spirits, amidst the disagreeable nausea which
commonly attends landsmen at sea, until he was set ashore upon the beach
at Deal, which he entered in good health about seven o’clock in the
morning.
Like Caesar, however, he found some difficulty in landing, on account of
the swelling surf, that tumbled about with such violence as had almost
overset the cutter that carried him on shore; and, in his eagerness to jump
upon the strand, his foot slipped from the side of the boat, so that he was
thrown forwards in an horizontal direction, and his hands were the first
parts of him that touched English ground. Upon this occasion, he, in
imitation of Scipio’s behaviour on the coast of Africa, hailed the omen, and,
grasping a handful of the sand, was heard to exclaim, in the Italian
language: “Ah, ah, Old England, I have thee fast.”

As he walked up to the inn, followed by Maurice loaded with his
portmanteau, he congratulated himself upon his happy voyage, and the
peaceable possession of his spoil, and could not help snuffing up the British
air with marks of infinite relish and satisfaction. His first care was to
recompense himself for the want of sleep he had undergone, and, after he
had sufficiently recruited himself with several hours of uninterrupted
repose, he set out in a post-chaise for Canterbury, where he took a place in
the London stage, which he was told would depart next morning, the coach
being already full. On this very first day of his arrival, he perceived
between the English and the people among whom he had hitherto lived,
such essential difference in customs, appearance, and way of living, as
inspired him with high notions of that British freedom, opulence, and
convenience, on which he had often heard his mother expatiate. On the
road, he feasted his eyesight with the verdant hills covered with flocks of
sheep, the fruitful vales parcelled out into cultivated enclosures; the very
cattle seemed to profit by the wealth of their masters, being large, sturdy,
and sleek, and every peasant breathed the insolence of liberty and
independence. In a word, he viewed the wide-extended plains of Kent with
a lover’s eye, and, his ambition becoming romantic, could not help fancying
himself another conqueror of the isle.
He was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which soon
vanished before other reflections of more importance and solidity. His
imagination, it must be owned, was at all times too chaste to admit those
overweening hopes, which often mislead the mind of the projector. He had
studied mankind with incredible diligence, and knew perfectly well how far
he could depend on the passions and foibles of human nature. That he might
now act consistent with his former sagacity, he resolved to pass himself
upon his fellow-travellers for a French gentleman, equally a stranger to the
language and country of England, in order to glean from their discourse
such intelligence as might avail him in his future operations; and his
lacquey was tutored accordingly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.

Those who had taken places for the coach, understanding the sixth seat
was engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his ignorance; and,
with that politeness which is peculiar to this happy island, fixed themselves
in the vehicle, in such a manner, before he had the least intimation of their
design, that he found it barely practicable to insinuate himself sidelong
between a corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping landlady, in which attitude
he stuck fast, like a thin quarto between two voluminous dictionaries on a
bookseller’s shelf. And, as if the pain and inconvenience of such
compression was not sufficient matter of chagrin, the greatest part of the
company entertained themselves with laughing at his ludicrous station.
The jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud exclamation of
mirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted with a buttock of
English beef; and said, by that time they should arrive at their dining-place,
he might be spitted without larding. “Yes, verily,” replied Obadiah, who
was a wag in his way, “but the swine’s fat will be all on one side.”—“So
much the better for you,” cried mine hostess, “for that side is all your own.”
The quaker was not so much disconcerted by the quickness of this repartee,
but that he answered with great deliberation, “I thank thee for thy love, but
will not profit by thy loss, especially as I like not the savour of these
outlandish fowls; they are profane birds of passage, relished only by the
children of vanity, like thee.”
The plump gentlewoman took umbrage at this last expression, which she
considered as a double reproach, and repeated the words, “Children of
vanity!” with an emphasis of resentment. “I believe, if the truth were
known,” said she, “there’s more vanity than midriff in that great belly of
yours, for all your pretending to humility and religion. Sirrah! my

corporation is made up of good, wholesome, English fat; but you are puffed
up with the wind of vanity and delusion; and when it begins to gripe your
entrails, you pretend to have a motion, and then get up and preach
nonsense. Yet you’ll take it upon you to call your betters children. Marry
come up, Mr. Goosecap, I have got children that are as good men as you, or
any hypocritical trembler in England.”
A person who sat opposite to the quaker, hearing this remonstrance,
which seemed pregnant with contention, interposed in the conversation with
a conscious leer, and begged there might be no rupture between the spirit
and the flesh. By this remonstrance he relieved Obadiah from the satire of
this female orator, and brought the whole vengeance of her elocution upon
his own head. “Flesh!” cried she, with all the ferocity of an enraged
Thalestris; “none of your names, Mr. Yellowchaps. What! I warrant you
have an antipathy to flesh, because you yourself are nothing but skin and
bone. I suppose you are some poor starved journeyman tailor come from
France, where you have been learning to cabbage, and have not seen a good
meal of victuals these seven years. You have been living upon rye-bread
and soup-maigre, and now you come over like a walking atomy with a rat’s
tail at your wig, and a tinsey jacket. And so, forsooth, you set up for a
gentleman, and pretend to find fault with a sirloin of roast beef.”
The gentleman heard this address with admirable patience, and when she
had rung out her alarm, very coolly replied, “Anything but your stinking
fish madam. Since when, I pray, have you travelled in stage-coaches, and
left off your old profession of crying oysters in winter, and rotten mackerel
in June? You was then known by the name of Kate Brawn, and in good
repute among the ale-houses in Thames Street, till that unlucky amour with
the master of a corn-vessel, in which he was unfortunately detected by his
own spouse; but you seem to have risen by that fall; and I wish you joy of
your present plight. Though, considering your education on Bear Quay, you
can give but a sorry account of yourself.”
The Amazon, though neither exhausted nor dismayed, was really
confounded at the temper and assurance of this antagonist, who had
gathered all these anecdotes from the fertility of his own invention; after a
short pause, however, she poured forth a torrent of obloquy sufficient to
overwhelm any person who had not been used to take up arms against such
seas of trouble; and a dispute ensued, which would have not only disgraced

the best orators on the Thames, but even have made a figure in the
celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries, during which the Athenian matrons
rallied one another from different waggons, with that freedom of altercation
so happily preserved in this our age and country.
Such a redundancy of epithets, and variety of metaphors, tropes, and
figures were uttered between these well-matched opponents, that an epic
bard would have found his account in listening to the contest; which, in all
probability, would not have been confined to words, had it not been
interrupted for the sake of a young woman of an agreeable countenance and
modest carriage; who, being shocked at some of their flowers of speech,
and terrified by the menacing looks and gestures of the fiery-featured dame,
began to scream aloud, and beg leave to quit the coach. Her perturbation put
an end to the high debate. The sixth passenger, who had not opened his
mouth, endeavoured to comfort her with assurances of protection; the
quaker proposed a cessation of arms; the male disputant acquiesced in the
proposal, assuring the company he had entered the lists for their
entertainment only, without acquiring the least grudge or ill-will to the fat
gentlewoman, whom he protested he had never seen before that day, and
who, for aught he knew, was a person of credit and reputation. He then held
forth his hand in token of amity, and asked pardon of the offended party,
who was appeased by his submission; and, in testimony of her benevolence,
presented to the other female, whom she had discomposed, an Hungary-
water bottle filled with cherry-brandy, recommending it as a much more
powerful remedy than the sal-volatile which the other held to her nose.
Peace being thus re-established, in a treaty comprehending Obadiah and
all present, it will not be improper to give the reader some further
information, touching the several characters assembled in this vehicle. The
quaker was a London merchant, who had been at Deal superintending the
repairs of a ship which had suffered by a storm in the Downs. The Wapping
landlady was on her return from the same place, where she had attended the
payment of a man-of-war, with sundry powers of attorney, granted by the
sailors, who had lived upon credit at her house. Her competitor in fame was
a dealer in wine, a smuggler of French lace, and a petty gamester just
arrived from Paris, in the company of an English barber, who sat on his
right hand, and the young woman was daughter of a country curate, in her
way to London, where she was bound apprentice to a milliner.

Hitherto Fathom had sat in silent astonishment at the manners of his
fellow-travellers, which far exceeded the notions he had preconceived of
English plainness and rusticity. He found himself a monument of that
disregard and contempt which a stranger never fails to meet with from the
inhabitants of this island; and saw, with surprise, an agreeable young
creature sit as solitary and unheeded as himself.
He was, indeed, allured by the roses of her complexion, and the
innocence of her aspect, and began to repent of having pretended ignorance
of the language, by which he was restrained from exercising his eloquence
upon her heart; he resolved, however, to ingratiate himself, if possible, by
the courtesy and politeness of dumb show, and for that purpose put his eyes
in motion without farther delay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ANOTHER PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE FROM THE
EFFECTS OF THE SMUGGLER’S INGENIOUS CONJECTURE.

During these deliberations, the wine merchant, with a view to make a
parade of his superior parts and breeding, as well as to pave the way for a
match at backgammon, made a tender of his snuff-box to our adventurer,
and asked, in bad French, how he travelled from Paris. This question
produced a series of interrogations concerning the place of Ferdinand’s
abode in that city, and his business in England, so that he was fain to
practise the science of defence, and answered with such ambiguity, as
aroused the suspicion of the smuggler, who began to believe our hero had
some very cogent reason for evading his curiosity; he immediately set his
reflection at work, and, after various conjectures, fixed upon Fathom’s
being the Young Pretender. Big with this supposition, he eyed him with the
most earnest attention, comparing his features with those of the Chevalier’s
portrait which he had seen in France, and though the faces were as unlike as
any two human faces could be, found the resemblance so striking as to
dispel all his doubts, and persuade him to introduce the stranger to some
justice on the road; a step by which he would not only manifest his zeal for
the Protestant succession, but also acquire the splendid reward proposed by
parliament to any person who should apprehend that famous adventurer.
These ideas intoxicated the brain of this man to such a pitch of
enthusiasm, that he actually believed himself in possession of the thirty
thousand pounds, and amused his fancy with a variety of magnificent
projects to be executed by means of that acquisition, until his reverie was
interrupted by the halting of the coach at the inn where the passengers used
to eat their breakfasts. Waked as he was from the dream of happiness, it had
made such impression upon his mind, that, seeing Fathom rise up with an

intention to alight, he took it for granted his design was to escape, and
seizing him by the collar, called aloud for assistance in the King’s name.
Our hero, whose sagacity and presence of mind very often supplied the
place of courage, instead of being terrified at this assault, which might have
disturbed the tranquillity of an ordinary villain, was so perfectly master of
every circumstance of his own situation, as to know at once that the
aggressor could not possibly have the least cause of complaint against him;
and therefore, imputing this violence either to madness or mistake, very
deliberately suffered himself to be made prisoner by the people of the
house, who ran to the coach door in obedience to the summons of the wine
merchant. The rest of the company were struck dumb with surprise and
consternation at this sudden adventure; and the quaker, dreading some fell
resistance on the side of the outlandish man, unpinned the other coach door
in the twinkling of an eye, and trundled himself into the mud for safety. The
others, seeing the temper and resignation of the prisoner, soon recovered
their recollection, and began to inquire into the cause of his arrest, upon
which, the captor, whose teeth chattered with terror and impatience, gave
them to understand that he was a state criminal, and demanded their help in
conveying him to justice.
Luckily for both parties, there happened to be at the inn a company of
squires just returned from the death of a leash of hares, which they had
ordered to be dressed for dinner, and among these gentlemen was one of the
quorum, to whom the accuser had immediate recourse, marching before the
captive, who walked very peaceably between the landlord and one of his
waiters, and followed by a crowd of spectators, some of whom had secured
the faithful Maurice, who in his behaviour closely imitated the deliberation
of his master. In this order did the procession advance to the apartment in
which the magistrate, with his fellows of the chase, sat smoking his
morning pipe over a tankard of strong ale, and the smuggler being directed
to the right person, “May it please your worship,” said he, “I have brought
this foreigner before you, on a violent suspicion of his being a proclaimed
outlaw; and I desire, before these witnesses, that my title may be made good
to the reward that shall become due upon his conviction.”
“Friend,” replied the justice, “I know nothing of you or your titles; but
this I know, if you have any information to give in, you must come to my
house when I am at home, and proceed in a lawful way, that is, d’ye mind

me, if you swear as how this here person is an outlaw; then if so be as he
has nothing to say to the contrary, my clerk shall make out a mittimus, and
so to jail with him till next ’size.” “But, sir,” answered the impeacher, “this
is a case that admits of no delay; the person I have apprehended is a
prisoner of consequence to the state.” “How, fellor!” cried the magistrate,
interrupting him, “is there any person of more consequence than one of his
Majesty’s justices of the peace, who is besides a considerable member of
the landed interest! D’ye know, sirrah, who you are talking to? If you don’t
go about your business, I believe I shall lay you by the heels.”
The smuggler, fearing his prize would escape through the ignorance,
pride, and obstinacy of this country justice, approached his worship, and in
a whisper which was overheard by all the company, assured him he had
indubitable reason to believe the foreigner was no other than the Pretender’s
eldest son. At mention of this formidable name, every individual of the
audience started, with signs of terror and amazement. The justice dropped
his pipe, recoiled upon his chair, and, looking most ridiculously aghast,
exclaimed, “Seize him, in the name of God and his Majesty King George!
Has he got no secret arms about him!”
Fathom being thus informed of the suspicion under which he stood, could
not help smiling at the eagerness with which the spectators flew upon him,
and suffered himself to be searched with great composure, well knowing
they would find no moveables about his person, but such as upon
examination would turn to his account; he therefore very calmly presented
to the magistrate his purse, and a small box that contained his jewels, and in
the French language desired they might be preserved from the hands of the
mob. This request was interpreted by the accuser, who, at the same time,
laid claim to the booty. The justice took charge of the deposit, and one of
his neighbours having undertaken the office of clerk, he proceeded to the
examination of the culprit, whose papers were by this time laid on the table
before him. “Stranger,” said he, “you stand charged with being son of the
Pretender to these realms; what have you to say in your own defence?” Our
hero assured him, in the French language, that he was falsely impeached,
and demanded justice on the accuser, who, without the least reason, had
made such a malicious attack upon the life and honour of an innocent
gentleman.

The smuggler, instead of acting the part of a faithful interpreter, told his
worship, that the prisoner’s answer was no more than a simple denial,
which every felon would make who had nothing else to plead in his own
behalf, and that this alone was a strong presumption of his guilt, because, if
he was not really the person they suspected him to be, the thing would
speak for itself, for, if he was not the Young Pretender, who then was he?
This argument had great weight with the justice, who, assuming a very
important aspect, observed, “Very true, friend, if you are not the Pretender,
in the name of God, who are you? One may see with half an eye that he is
no better than a promiscuous fellow.”
Ferdinand now began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the
English language, as he found himself at the mercy of a rascal, who put a
false gloss upon all his words, and addressed himself to the audience
successively in French, High Dutch, Italian, and Hungarian Latin, desiring
to know if any person present understood any of these tongues, that his
answers might be honestly explained to the bench. But he might have
accosted them in Chinese with the same success: there was not one person
present tolerably versed in his mother-tongue, much less acquainted with
any foreign language, except the wine merchant, who, incensed at this
appeal, which he considered as an affront to his integrity, gave the judge to
understand, that the delinquent, instead of speaking to the purpose,
contumaciously insulted his authority in sundry foreign lingos, which he
apprehended was an additional proof of his being the Chevalier’s son,
inasmuch as no person would take the pains to learn such a variety of
gibberish, except with some sinister intent.
This annotation was not lost upon the squire, who was too jealous of the
honour of his office to overlook such a flagrant instance of contempt. His
eyes glistened, his cheeks were inflated with rage. “The case is plain,” said
he; “having nothing of signification to offer in his own favour, he grows
refractory, and abuses the court in his base Roman Catholic jargon; but I’ll
let you know, for all you pretend to be a prince, you are no better than an
outlawed vagrant, and I’ll show you what a thing you are when you come in
composition with an English justice, like me, who have more than once
extinguished myself in the service of my country. As nothing else accrues,
your purse, black box, and papers shall be sealed up before witnesses, and
sent by express to one of his Majesty’s secretaries of state; and, as for

yourself, I will apply to the military at Canterbury, for a guard to conduct
you to London.”
This was a very unwelcome declaration to our adventurer, who was on
the point of haranguing the justice and spectators in their own language,
when he was relieved from the necessity of taking that step by the
interposition of a young nobleman just arrived at the inn, who, being
informed of this strange examination, entered the court, and, at first sight of
the prisoner, assured the justice he was imposed upon; for that he himself
had often seen the Young Pretender in Paris, and that there was no kind of
resemblance between that adventurer and the person now before him. The
accuser was not a little mortified at his lordship’s affirmation, which met
with all due regard from the bench, though the magistrate took notice, that,
granting the prisoner was not the Young Chevalier himself, it was highly
probable he was an emissary of that house, as he could give no satisfactory
account of himself, and was possessed of things of such value as no honest
man could expose to the accidents of the road.
Fathom, having thus found an interpreter, who signified to him, in the
French tongue, the doubts of the justice, told his lordship, that he was a
gentleman of a noble house in Germany, who, for certain reasons, had come
abroad incognito, with a view to see the world; and that, although the letters
they had seized would prove the truth of that assertion, he should be loth to
expose his private concerns to the knowledge of strangers, if he could
possibly be released without that mortification. The young nobleman
explained his desire to the court; but, his own curiosity being interested,
observed, at the same time, that the justice could not be said to have
discharged the duties of his station, until he should have examined every
circumstance relating to the prisoner. Upon which remonstrance, he was
requested by the bench to peruse the papers, and accordingly communicated
the substance of one letter to this effect:—

“MY DEAR SON,
Though I am far from approving the rash step you have
taken in withdrawing yourself from your father’s house, in
order to avoid an engagement which would have been
equally honourable and advantageous to your family, I
cannot so far suppress my affection, as to bear the thought of
your undergoing those hardships which, for your

disobedience, you deserve to suffer. I have therefore,
without the knowledge of your father, sent the bearer to
attend you in your peregrinations; his fidelity you know hath
been tried in a long course of service, and I have entrusted to
his care, for your use, a purse of two hundred ducats, and a
box of jewels to the value of twice that sum, which, though
not sufficient to support an equipage suitable to your birth,
will, at least for some time, preserve you from the
importunities of want. When you are dutiful enough to
explain your designs and situation, you may expect further
indulgence from your tender and disconsolate mother,—

THE COUNTESS OF FATHOM.”

This letter, which, as well as the others, our hero had forged for the
purpose, effectually answered his intent, in throwing dust in the eyes and
understanding of the spectators, who now regarded the prisoner with looks
of respectful remorse, as a man of quality who had been falsely accused.
His lordship, to make a parade of his own politeness and importance,
assured the bench, he was no stranger to the family of the Fathoms, and,
with a compliment, gave Ferdinand to understand he had formerly seen him
at Versailles. There being no longer room for suspicion, the justice ordered
our adventurer to be set at liberty, and even invited him to be seated, with
an apology for the rude manner in which he had been treated, owing to the
misinformation of the accuser, who was threatened with the stocks, for his
malice and presumption.
But this was not the only triumph our hero obtained over the wine
merchant. Maurice was no sooner unfettered, than, advancing into the
middle of the room, “My lord,” said he, addressing himself in French to his
master’s deliverer, “since you have been so generous as to protect a noble
stranger from the danger of such a false accusation, I hope you will still lay
an additional obligation upon the Count, by retorting the vengeance of the
law upon his perfidious accuser, whom I know to be a trader in those
articles of merchandise which are prohibited by the ordinances of this
nation. I have seen him lately at Boulogne, and am perfectly well
acquainted with some persons who have supplied him with French lace and

embroidery; and, as a proof of what I allege, I desire you will order him and
this barber, who is his understrapper, to be examined on the spot.”
This charge, which was immediately explained to the bench, yielded
extraordinary satisfaction to the spectators, one of whom, being an officer
of the customs, forthwith began to exercise his function upon the unlucky
perruquier, who, being stripped of his upper garments, and even of his shirt,
appeared like the mummy of an Egyptian king, most curiously rolled up in
bandages of rich figured gold shalloon, that covered the skirts of four
embroidered waistcoats. The merchant, seeing his expectation so unhappily
reversed, made an effort to retire with a most rueful aspect, but was
prevented by the officer, who demanded the interposition of the civil power,
that he might undergo the same examination to which the other had been
subjected. He was accordingly rifled without loss of time, and the inquiry
proved well worth the care of him who made it; for a considerable booty of
the same sort of merchandise was found in his boots, breeches, hat, and
between the buckram and lining of his surtout. Yet, not contented with this
prize, the experienced spoiler proceeded to search his baggage, and,
perceiving a false bottom in his portmanteau, detected beneath it a valuable
accession to the plunder he had already obtained.

CHAPTER THIRTY

THE SINGULAR MANNER OF FATHOM’S ATTACK AND
TRIUMPH OVER THE VIRTUE OF THE FAIR ELENOR.

Proper cognisance being thus taken of these contraband effects, and the
informer furnished with a certificate, by which he was entitled to a share of
the seizure, the coachman summoned his passengers to the carriage; the
purse and jewels were restored to Count Fathom, who thanked the justice,
and his lordship in particular, for the candour and hospitality with which he
had been treated, and resumed his place in the vehicle, amidst the
congratulations of all his fellow-travellers, except the two forlorn
smugglers, who, instead of re-embarking in the coach, thought proper to
remain at the inn, with view to mitigate, if possible, the severity of their
misfortune.
Among those who felicitated Fathom upon the issue of this adventure,
the young maiden seemed to express the most sensible pleasure at that
event. The artful language of his eyes had raised in her breast certain
fluttering emotions, before she knew the value of her conquest; but now that
his rank and condition were discovered, these transports were increased by
the ideas of vanity and ambition, which are mingled with the first seeds of
every female constitution. The belief of having captivated the heart of a
man who could raise her to the rank and dignity of a countess, produced
such agreeable sensations in her fancy, that her eyes shone with unusual
lustre, and a continual smile played in dimples on her rosy cheeks; so that
her attractions, though not powerful enough to engage the affection, were
yet sufficient to inflame the desire of our adventurer, who very honestly
marked her chastity for prey to his voluptuous passion. Had she been well
seasoned with knowledge and experience, and completely armed with
caution against the artifice and villany of man, her virtue might not have

been able to withstand the engines of such an assailant, considering the
dangerous opportunities to which she was necessarily exposed. How easy
then must his victory have been over an innocent, unsuspecting country
damsel, flushed with the warmth of youth, and an utter stranger to the ways
of life!
While Obadiah, therefore, and his plump companion, were engaged in
conversation, on the strange incidents which had passed, Fathom acted a
very expressive pantomime with this fair buxom nymph, who
comprehended his meaning with surprising facility, and was at so little
pains to conceal the pleasure she took in this kind of intercourse, that
several warm squeezes were interchanged between her and her lover, before
they arrived at Rochester, where they proposed to dine. It was during this
period, he learned from the answers she made to the inquisitive quaker, that
her sole dependence was upon a relation, to whom she had a letter, and that
she was a perfect stranger in the great city; circumstances on which he soon
formed the project of her ruin.
Upon their arrival at the Black Bull, he for the first time found himself
alone with his Amanda, whose name was Elenor, their fellow-travellers
being elsewhere employed about their own concerns; and, unwilling to lose
the precious opportunity, he began to act the part of a very importunate
lover, which he conceived to be a proper sequel to the prelude which had
been performed in the coach. The freedoms which she, out of pure
simplicity and good-humour, permitted him to take with her hand, and even
her rosy lips, encouraged him to practise other familiarities upon her fair
bosom, which scandalised her virtue so much, that, in spite of the passion
she had begun to indulge in his behalf, she rejected his advances with all the
marks of anger and disdain; and he found it necessary to appease the storm
he had raised, by the most respectful and submissive demeanour; resolving
to change his operations, and carry on his attacks, so as to make her yield at
discretion, without alarming her religion or pride. Accordingly, when the
bill was called after dinner, he took particular notice of her behaviour, and,
perceiving her pull out a large leathern purse that contained her money,
reconnoitred the pocket in which it was deposited, and, while they sat close
to each other in the carriage, conveyed it with admirable dexterity into an
hole in the cushion. Whether the corpulent couple, who sat opposite to these
lovers, had entered into an amorous engagement at the inn, or were
severally induced by other motives, is uncertain; but sure it is, both left the

coach on that part of the road which lies nearest to Gravesend, and bade
adieu to the other pair, on pretence of having urgent business at that place.
Ferdinand, not a little pleased at their departure, renewed his most
pathetic expressions of love, and sung several French songs on that tender
subject, which seemed to thrill to the soul of his beauteous Helen. While the
driver halted at Dartford to water his horses, she was smit with the
appearance of some cheesecakes, which were presented by the landlady of
the house, and having bargained for two or three, put her hand in her
pocket, in order to pay for her purchase; but what was her astonishment,
when, after having rummaged her equipage, she understood her whole
fortune was lost! This mishap was, by a loud shriek, announced to our hero,
who affected infinite amazement and concern; and no sooner learned the
cause of her affliction, than he presented her with his own purse, from
which he, in emphatic dumb show, begged she would indemnify herself for
the damage she had sustained. Although this kind proffer was some
alleviation of her misfortunes, she did not fail to pour forth a most piteous
lamentation, importing that she had not only lost all her money, amounting
to five pounds, but also her letter of recommendation, upon which she had
altogether relied for present employment.
The vehicle was minutely searched from top to bottom, by herself and
our adventurer, assisted by Maurice and the coachman, who, finding their
inquiry ineffectual, did not scruple to declare his suspicion of the two fat
turtles who had deserted the coach in such an abrupt manner. In a word, he
rendered this conjecture so plausible, by wresting the circumstances of their
behaviour and retreat, that poor Elenor implicitly believed they were the
thieves by whom she had suffered; and was prevailed upon to accept the
proffered assistance of the generous Count, who, seeing her very much
disordered by this mischance, insisted upon her drinking a large glass of
canary, to quiet the perturbation of her spirits. This is a season, which of all
others is most propitious to the attempts of an artful lover; and justifies the
metaphorical maxim of fishing in troubled waters. There is an affinity and
short transition betwixt all the violent passions that agitate the human mind.
They are all false perspectives, which, though they magnify, yet perplex and
render indistinct every object which they represent. And flattery is never so
successfully administered, as to those who know they stand in need of
friendship, assent, and approbation.

The cordial she swallowed, far from calming, increased the disturbance
of her thoughts, and produced an intoxication; during which, she talked in
an incoherent strain, laughed and wept by turns, and acted other
extravagances, which are known to be symptoms of the hysterical affection.
Fathom, though an utter stranger to the sentiments of honour, pity, and
remorse, would not perpetrate his vicious purpose, though favoured by the
delirium his villany had entailed upon this unfortunate young maiden;
because his appetite demanded a more perfect sacrifice than that which she
could yield in her present deplorable situation, when her will must have
been altogether unconcerned in his success. Determined, therefore, to make
a conquest of her virtue, before he would take possession of her person, he
mimicked that compassion and benevolence which his heart had never felt,
and, when the coach arrived at London, not only discharged what she owed
for her place, but likewise procured for her an apartment in the house to
which he himself had been directed for lodgings, and even hired a nurse to
attend her during a severe fever, which was the consequence of her
disappointment and despondence. Indeed, she was supplied with all
necessaries by the generosity of this noble Count, who, for the interest of
his passion, and the honour of his name, was resolved to extend his charity
to the last farthing of her own money, which he had been wise enough to
secure for this purpose.
Her youth soon got the better of her distemper, and when she understood
her obligations to the Count, who did not fail to attend her in person with
great tenderness, her heart, which had been before prepossessed in his
favour, now glowed with all the warmth of gratitude, esteem, and affection.
She knew herself in a strange place, destitute of all resource but in his
generosity. She loved his person, she was dazzled by his rank; and he knew
so well how to improve the opportunities and advantages he derived from
her unhappy situation, that he gradually proceeded in sapping from one
degree of intimacy to another, until all the bulwarks of her chastity were
undermined, and she submitted to his desire; not with the reluctance of a
vanquished people, but with all the transports of a joyful city, that opens its
gates to receive a darling prince returned from conquest. For by this time he
had artfully concentred and kindled up all the inflammable ingredients of
her constitution; and she now looked back upon the virtuous principles of
her education, as upon a disagreeable and tedious dream, from which she
had waked to the fruition of never-fading joy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HE BY ACCIDENT ENCOUNTERS HIS OLD FRIEND, WITH
WHOM HE HOLDS A CONFERENCE, AND RENEWS A
TREATY.

Our hero, having thus provided himself with a proper subject for his
hours of dalliance, thought it was now high time to study the ground which
he had pitched upon for the scene of his exploits, and with that view made
several excursions to different parts of the town, where there was aught of
entertainment or instruction to be found. Yet he always, on these occasions,
appeared in an obscure ordinary dress, in order to avoid singularity, and
never went twice to the same coffee-house, that his person might not be
afterwards known, in case he should shine forth to the public in a superior
sphere. On his return from one of those expeditions, while he was passing
through Ludgate, his eyes were suddenly encountered by the apparition of
his old friend the Tyrolese, who, perceiving himself fairly caught in the toil,
made a virtue of necessity, and, running up to our adventurer with an aspect
of eagerness and joy, clasped him in his arms, as some dear friend, whom
he had casually found after a most tedious and disagreeable separation.
Fathom, whose genius never failed him in such emergencies, far from
receiving these advances with the threats and reproaches which the other
had deserved at his hands, returned the salute with equal warmth, and was
really overjoyed at meeting with a person who might one way or other
make amends for the perfidy of his former conduct. The Tyrolese, whose
name was Ratchcali, pleased with his reception, proposed they should
adjourn to the next tavern, in which they had no sooner taken possession of
an apartment, than he addressed himself to his old companion in these
words:—

“Mr. Fathom, by your frank and obliging manner of treating a man who
hath done you wrong, I am more and more confirmed in my opinion of your
sagacity, which I have often considered with admiration; I will not therefore
attempt to make an apology for my conduct at our last parting; but only
assure you that this meeting may turn out to our mutual advantage, if we
now re-enter into an unreserved union, the ties of which we will soon find it
our interest and inclination to preserve. For my own part, as my judgment is
ripened by experience, so are my sentiments changed since our last
association. I have seen many a rich harvest lost, for want of a fellow-
labourer in the vineyard; and I have more than once fallen a sacrifice to a
combination, which I could have resisted with the help of one able
auxiliary. Indeed, I might prove what I allege by mathematical
demonstration; and I believe nobody will pretend to deny, that two heads
are better than one, in all cases that require discernment and deliberation.”
Ferdinand could not help owning the sanity of his observations, and
forthwith acquiesced in his proposal of the new alliance; desiring to know
the character in which he acted on the English stage, and the scheme he
would offer for their mutual emolument. At the same time he resolved
within himself to keep such a strict eye over his future actions, as would
frustrate any design he might hereafter harbour, of repeating the prank he
had so successfully played upon him, in their journey from the banks of the
Rhine.
“Having quitted you at Bar-le-duc,” resumed the Tyrolese, “I travelled
without ceasing, until I arrived at Frankfort upon the Maine, where I
assumed the character of a French chevalier, and struck some masterly
strokes, which you yourself would not have deemed unworthy of your
invention; and my success was the more agreeable, as my operations were
chiefly carried on against the enemies of our religion. But my prosperity
was not of long duration. Seeing they could not foil me at my own
weapons, they formed a damned conspiracy, by which I not only lost all the
fruits of my industry, but likewise ran the most imminent hazard of my life.
I had ordered some of those jewels which I had borrowed of my good friend
Fathom to be new set in a fashionable taste, and soon after had an
opportunity to sell one of these, at a great advantage, to one of the
fraternity, who offered an extraordinary price for the stone, on purpose to
effect my ruin. In less than four-and-twenty hours after this bargain, I was
arrested by the officers of justice upon the oath of the purchaser, who

undertook to prove me guilty of a fraud, in selling a Saxon pebble for a real
diamond; and this accusation was actually true; for the change had been
artfully put upon me by the jeweller, who was himself engaged in the
conspiracy.
“Had my conscience been clear of any other impeachment, perhaps I
should have rested my cause upon the equity and protection of the law; but
I foresaw that the trial would introduce an inquiry, to which I was not at all
ambitious of submitting, and therefore was fain to compromise the affair, at
the price of almost my whole fortune. Yet this accommodation was not
made so secretly, but that my character was blasted, and my credit
overthrown; so that I was fain to relinquish my occasional equipage, and
hire myself as journeyman to a lapidary, an employment which I had
exercised in my youth. In this obscure station, I laboured with great
assiduity, until I made myself perfect in the knowledge of stones, as well as
in the different methods of setting them off to the best advantage; and
having, by dint of industry and address, got possession of a small parcel, set
out for this kingdom, in which I happily arrived about four months ago; and
surely England is the paradise of artists of our profession.
“One would imagine that nature had created the inhabitants for the
support and enjoyment of adventurers like you and me. Not that these
islanders open the arms of hospitality to all foreigners without distinction.
On the contrary, they inherit from their fathers an unreasonable prejudice
against all nations under the sun; and when an Englishman happens to
quarrel with a stranger, the first term of reproach he uses is the name of his
antagonist’s country, characterised by some opprobrious epithet, such as a
chattering Frenchman, an Italian ape, a German hog, and a beastly
Dutchman; nay, their national prepossession is maintained even against
those people with whom they are united under the same laws and
government; for nothing is more common than to hear them exclaim against
their fellow-subjects, in the expressions of a beggarly Scot, and an
impudent Irish bog-trotter. Yet this very prejudice will never fail to turn to
the account of every stranger possessed of ordinary talents; for he will
always find opportunities of conversing with them in coffee-houses and
places of public resort, in spite of their professed reserve, which, by the bye,
is so extraordinary, that I know some people who have lived twenty years in
the same house without exchanging one word with their next-door
neighbours; yet, provided he can talk sensibly, and preserve the deportment

of a sober gentleman, in those occasional conversations, his behaviour will
be the more remarkably pleasing, as it will agreeably disappoint the
expectation of the person who had entertained notions to his prejudice.
When a foreigner has once crossed this bar, which perpetually occurs, he
sails without further difficulty into the harbour of an Englishman’s
goodwill; for the pique is neither personal nor rancorous, but rather
contemptuous and national; so that, while he despises a people in the lump,
an individual of that very community may be one of his chief favourites.
“The English are in general upright and honest, therefore unsuspecting
and credulous. They are too much engrossed with their own business to pry
into the conduct of their neighbours, and too indifferent, in point of
disposition, to interest themselves in what they conceive to be foreign to
their own concerns. They are wealthy and mercantile, of consequence
liberal and adventurous, and so well disposed to take a man’s own word for
his importance, that they suffer themselves to be preyed upon by such a
bungling set of impostors, as would starve for lack of address in any other
country under the sun. This being a true sketch of the British character, so
far as I have been able to observe and learn, you will easily comprehend the
profits that may be extracted from it, by virtue of those arts by which you so
eminently excel;—the great, the unbounded prospect lies before me!
Indeed, I look upon this opulent kingdom as a wide and fertile common, on
which we adventurers may range for prey, without let or molestation. For so
jealous are the natives of their liberties, that they will not bear the restraint
of necessary police, and an able artist may enrich himself with their spoils,
without running any risk of attracting the magistrate, or incurring the least
penalty of the law.
“In a word, this metropolis is a vast masquerade, in which a man of
stratagem may wear a thousand different disguises, without danger of
detection. There is a variety of shapes in which we the knights of industry
make our appearance in London. One glides into a nobleman’s house in the
capacity of a valet-de-chambre, and in a few months leads the whole family
by the nose. Another exhibits himself to the public, as an empiric or
operator for the teeth; and by dint of assurance and affidavits, bearing
testimony to wonderful cures that never were performed, whirls himself
into his chariot, and lays the town under contribution. A third professes the
composition of music, as well as the performance, and by means of a few
capriciosos on the violin, properly introduced, wriggles himself into the

management of private and public concerts. And a fourth breaks forth at
once in all the splendour of a gay equipage, under the title and
denomination of a foreign count. Not to mention those inferior projectors,
who assume the characters of dancers, fencing-masters, and French ushers,
or, by renouncing their religion, seek to obtain a provision for life.
“Either of these parts will turn to the account of an able actor; and, as you
are equally qualified for all, you may choose that which is most suitable to
your own inclination. Though, in my opinion, you was designed by nature
to shine in the great world, which, after all, is the most ample field for men
of genius; because the game is deeper, and people of fashion being, for the
most part, more ignorant, indolent, vain, and capricious, than their inferiors,
are of consequence more easily deceived; besides, their morals sit generally
so loose about them, that, when a gentleman of our fraternity is discovered
in the exercise of his profession, their contempt of his skill is the only
disgrace he incurs.”
Our hero was so well pleased with this picture, that he longed to peruse
the original, and, before these two friends parted, they settled all the
operations of the campaign. Ratchcali, that same evening, hired magnificent
lodgings for Count Fathom, in the court end of the town, and furnished his
wardrobe and liveries from the spoils of Monmouth Street; he likewise
enlisted another footman and valet-de-chambre into his service, and sent to
the apartments divers large trunks, supposed to be filled with the baggage of
this foreign nobleman, though, in reality, they contained little else than
common lumber.
Next day, our adventurer took possession of his new habitation, after
having left to his friend and associate the task of dismissing the unfortunate
Elenor, who was so shocked at the unexpected message, that she fainted
away; and when she recovered the use of her senses so well as to reflect
upon her forlorn condition, she was seized with the most violent transports
of grief and dismay, by which her brain was disordered to such a degree,
that she grew furious and distracted, and was, by the advice and assistance
of the Tyrolese, conveyed into the hospital of Bethlem; where we shall
leave her for the present, happily bereft of her reason.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HE APPEARS IN THE GREAT WORLD WITH UNIVERSAL
APPLAUSE AND ADMIRATION.

Meanwhile, Fathom and his engine were busied in completing his
equipage, so that in a few days he had procured a very gay chariot, adorned
with painting, gilding, and a coat of arms, according to his own fancy and
direction. The first use he made of this vehicle was that of visiting the
young nobleman from whom he had received such important civilities on
the road, in consequence of an invitation at parting, by which he learned his
title and the place of his abode in London.
His lordship was not only pleased, but proud to see such a stranger at his
gate, and entertained him with excess of complaisance and hospitality;
insomuch that, by his means, our hero soon became acquainted with the
whole circle of polite company, by whom he was caressed for his
insinuating manners and agreeable conversation. He had thought proper to
tell the nobleman, at their first interview in town, that his reasons for
concealing his knowledge of the English tongue were now removed, and
that he would no longer deny himself the pleasure of speaking a language
which had been always music to his ear. He had also thanked his lordship
for his generous interposition at the inn, which was an instance of that
generosity and true politeness which are engrossed by the English people,
who leave nought to other nations but the mere shadow of these virtues.
A testimony like this, from the mouth of such a noble stranger, won the
heart of the peer, who professed a friendship for him on the spot, and
undertook to see justice done to his lacquey, who in a short time was
gratified with a share of the seizure which had been made upon his
information, amounting to fifty or sixty pounds.

Ferdinand put not forth the whole strength of his accomplishments at
once, but contrived to spring a new mine of qualification every day, to the
surprise and admiration of all his acquaintance. He was gifted with a sort of
elocution, much more specious than solid, and spoke on every subject that
occurred in conversation with that familiarity and ease, which, one would
think, could only be acquired by long study and application. This
plausibility and confidence are faculties really inherited from nature, and
effectually serve the possessor, in lieu of that learning which is not to be
obtained without infinite toil and perseverance. The most superficial
tincture of the arts and sciences in such a juggler, is sufficient to dazzle the
understanding of half mankind; and, if managed with circumspection, will
enable him even to spend his life among the literati, without once forfeiting
the character of a connoisseur.
Our hero was perfectly master of this legerdemain, which he carried to
such a pitch of assurance, as to declare, in the midst of a mathematical
assembly, that he intended to gratify the public with a full confutation of Sir
Isaac Newton’s philosophy, to the nature of which he was as much a
stranger as the most savage Hottentot in Africa. His pretensions to profound
and universal knowledge were supported not only by this kind of
presumption, but also by the facility with which he spoke so many different
languages, and the shrewd remarks he had made in the course of his travels
and observation.
Among politicians, he settled the balance of power upon a certain
footing, by dint of ingenious schemes, which he had contrived for the
welfare of Europe. With officers, he reformed the art of war, with
improvements which had occurred to his reflection while he was engaged in
a military life. He sometimes held forth upon painting, like a member of the
Dilettanti club. The theory of music was a theme upon which he seemed to
expatiate with particular pleasure. In the provinces of love and gallantry, he
was a perfect Oroondates. He possessed a most agreeable manner of telling
entertaining stories, of which he had a large collection; he sung with great
melody and taste, and played upon the violin with surprising execution. To
these qualifications let us add his affability and pliant disposition, and then
the reader will not wonder that he was looked upon as the pattern of human
perfection, and his acquaintance courted accordingly.

While he thus captivated the favour and affection of the English nobility,
he did not neglect to take other measures in behalf of the partnership to
which he had subscribed. The adventure with the two squires at Paris had
weakened his appetite for play, which was not at all restored by the
observations he had made in London, where the art of gaming is reduced
into a regular system, and its professors so laudably devoted to the
discharge of their functions, as to observe the most temperate regimen, lest
their invention should be impaired by the fatigue of watching or exercise,
and their ideas disturbed by the fumes of indigestion. No Indian Brachman
could live more abstemious than two of the pack, who hunted in couple, and
kennelled in the upper apartments of the hotel in which our adventurer
lived. They abstained from animal food with the abhorrence of
Pythagoreans, their drink was a pure simple element, they were vomited
once a week, took physic or a glyster every third day, spent the forenoon in
algebraical calculations, and slept from four o’clock till midnight, that they
might then take the field with that cool serenity which is the effect of
refreshment and repose.
These were terms upon which our hero would not risk his fortune; he was
too much addicted to pleasure to forego every other enjoyment but that of
amassing; and did not so much depend upon his dexterity in play as upon
his talent of insinuation, which, by this time, had succeeded so far beyond
his expectation, that he began to indulge the hope of enslaving the heart of
some rich heiress, whose fortune would at once raise him above all
dependence. Indeed, no man ever set out with a fairer prospect on such an
expedition; for he had found means to render himself so agreeable to the
fair sex, that, like the boxes of the playhouse, during the representation of a
new performance, his company was often bespoke for a series of weeks;
and no lady, whether widow, wife, or maiden, ever mentioned his name,
without some epithet of esteem or affection; such as the dear Count! the
charming Man! the Nonpareil, or the Angel!
While he thus shone in the zenith of admiration, it is not to be doubted,
that he could have melted some wealthy dowager or opulent ward; but,
being an enemy to all precipitate engagements, he resolved to act with great
care and deliberation in an affair of such importance, especially as he did
not find himself hurried by the importunities of want; for, since his arrival
in England, he had rather increased than exhausted his finances, by methods
equally certain and secure. In a word, he, with the assistance of Ratchcali,

carried on a traffic, which yielded great profits, without subjecting the
trader to the least loss or inconvenience. Fathom, for example, wore upon
his finger a large brilliant, which he played to such advantage one night, at a
certain nobleman’s house, where he was prevailed upon to entertain the
company with a solo on the violin, that everybody present took notice of its
uncommon lustre, and it was handed about for the perusal of every
individual. The water and the workmanship were universally admired; and
one among the rest having expressed a desire of knowing the value of such
a jewel, the Count seized that opportunity of entertaining them with a
learned disquisition into the nature of stones; this introduced the history of
the diamond in question, which he said had been purchased of an Indian
trader of Fort St. George, at an under price; so that the present proprietor
could afford to sell it at a very reasonable rate; and concluded with telling
the company, that, for his own part, he had been importuned to wear it by
the jeweller, who imagined it would have a better chance for attracting a
purchaser on his finger, than while it remained in his own custody.
This declaration was no sooner made, than a certain lady of quality
bespoke the refuse of the jewel, and desired Ferdinand to send the owner
next day to her house, where he accordingly waited upon her ladyship with
the ring, for which he received one hundred and fifty guineas, two-thirds of
the sum being clear gain, and equally divided betwixt the associates. Nor
was this bargain such as reflected dishonour upon the lady’s taste, or could
be productive of ill consequences to the merchant; for the method of
estimating diamonds is altogether arbitrary; and Ratchcali, who was an
exquisite lapidary, had set it in such a manner as would have imposed upon
any ordinary jeweller. By these means of introduction, the Tyrolese soon
monopolised the custom of a great many noble families, upon which he
levied large contributions, without incurring the least suspicion of deceit.
He every day, out of pure esteem and gratitude for the honour of their
commands, entertained them with the sight of some new trinket, which he
was never permitted to carry home unsold; and from the profits of each job,
a tax was raised for the benefit of our adventurer.
Yet his indultos were not confined to the article of jewels, which
constituted only one part of his revenue. By the industry of his
understrapper, he procured a number of old crazy fiddles, which were
thrown aside as lumber; upon which he counterfeited the Cremona mark,
and otherwise cooked them up with great dexterity; so that, when he had

occasion to regale the lovers of music, he would send for one of these
vamped instruments, and extract from it such tones as quite ravished the
hearers; among whom there was always some conceited pretender, who
spoke in raptures of the violin, and gave our hero an opportunity of
launching out in its praise, and declaring it was the best Cremona he had
ever touched. This encomium never failed to inflame the desires of the
audience, to some one of whom he was generous enough to part with it at
prime cost—that is, for twenty or thirty guineas clear profit; for he was
often able to oblige his friends in this manner, because, being an eminent
connoisseur, his countenance was solicited by all the musicians, who
wanted to dispose of such moveables.
Nor did he neglect the other resources of a skilful virtuoso. Every auction
afforded some picture, in which, though it had been overlooked by the
ignorance of the times, he recognised the style of a great master, and made a
merit of recommending it to some noble friend. This commerce he likewise
extended to medals, bronzes, busts, intaglios, and old china, and kept divers
artificers continually employed in making antiques for the English nobility.
Thus he went on with such rapidity of success in all his endeavours, that he
himself was astonished at the infatuation he had produced. Nothing was so
wretched among the productions of art, that he could not impose upon the
world as a capital performance; and so fascinated were the eyes of his
admirers, he could easily have persuaded them that a barber’s bason was an
Etrurian patera, and the cover of a copper pot no other than the shield of
Ancus Martius. In short, it was become so fashionable to consult the Count
in everything relating to taste and politeness, that not a plan was drawn, not
even a house furnished, without his advice and approbation; nay, to such a
degree did his reputation in these matters excel, that a particular pattern of
paper-hangings was known by the name of Fathom; and his hall was every
morning crowded with upholsterers, and other tradesmen, who came, by
order of their employers, to learn his choice, and take his directions.
The character and influence he thus acquired, he took care to maintain
with the utmost assiduity and circumspection. He never failed to appear the
chief personage at all public diversions and private assemblies, not only in
conversation and dress, but also in the article of dancing, in which he
outstripped all his fellows, as far as in every other genteel accomplishment.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

HE ATTRACTS THE ENVY AND ILL OFFICES OF THE
MINOR KNIGHTS OF HIS OWN ORDER, OVER WHOM HE
OBTAINS A COMPLETE VICTORY.

Such a pre-eminence could not be enjoyed without exciting the
malevolence of envy and detraction, in the propagation of which none were
so industrious as the brethren of his own order, who had, like him, made a
descent upon this island, and could not, without repining, see the whole
harvest in the hands of one man, who, with equal art and discretion, avoided
all intercourse with their society. In vain they strove to discover his
pedigree, and detect the particular circumstances of his life and
conversation; all their inquiries were baffled by the obscurity of his origin,
and that solitary scheme which he had adopted in the beginning of his
career. The whole fruit of their investigation amounted to no more than a
certainty that there was no family of any consideration in Europe known by
the denomination of Fathom; and this discovery they did not fail to divulge
for the benefit of our adventurer, who had by this time taken such firm root
in the favour of the great, as to set all those little arts at defiance; and when
the report reached his ear, actually made his friends merry with the
conjectures which had been circulated at his expense.
His adversaries, finding themselves disappointed in this effort, held a
consultation to devise other measures against him, and came to a resolution
of ending him by the sword, or rather of expelling him from the kingdom by
the fear of death, which they hoped he had not courage enough to resist,
because his deportment had always been remarkably mild and pacific. It
was upon this supposition that they left to the determination of the dice the
choice of the person who should execute their plan; and the lot falling upon
a Swiss, who, from the station of a foot soldier in the Dutch service, out of

which he had been drummed for theft, had erected himself into the rank of a
self-created chevalier, this hero fortified himself with a double dose of
brandy, and betook himself to a certain noted coffee-house, with an intent to
affront Count Fathom in public.
He was lucky enough to find our adventurer sitting at a table in
conversation with some persons of the first rank; upon which he seated
himself in the next box, and after having intruded himself into their
discourse, which happened to turn upon the politics of some German courts,
“Count,” said he to Ferdinand, in a very abrupt and disagreeable manner of
address, “I was last night in company with some gentlemen, among whom a
dispute happened about the place of your nativity; pray, what country are
you of?” “Sir,” answered the other, with great politeness, “I at present have
the honour to be of England.” “Oho!” replied the chevalier, “I ask your
pardon, that is to say, you are incog; some people may find it convenient to
keep themselves in that situation.” “True,” said the Count, “but some people
are too well known to enjoy that privilege.” The Swiss being a little
disconcerted at this repartee, which extracted a smile from the audience,
after some pause, observed, that persons of a certain class had good reason
to drop the remembrance of what they have been; but a good citizen will
not forget his country, or former condition. “And a bad citizen,” said
Fathom, “cannot, if he would, provided he has met with his deserts; a
sharper may as well forget the shape of a die, or a discarded soldier the
sound of a drum.”
As the chevalier’s character and story were not unknown, this application
raised an universal laugh at his expense, which provoked him to such a
degree, that, starting up, he swore Fathom could not have mentioned any
object in nature that he himself resembled so much as a drum, which was
exactly typified by his emptiness and sound, with this difference, however,
that a drum was never noisy till beaten, whereas the Count would never be
quiet, until he should have undergone the same discipline. So saying, he
laid his hand upon his sword with a menacing look, and walked out as if in
expectation of being followed by our adventurer, who suffered himself to be
detained by the company, and very calmly took notice, that his antagonist
would not be ill pleased at their interposition. Perhaps he would not have
comported himself with such ease and deliberation, had not he made such
remarks upon the disposition of the chevalier, as convinced him of his own
safety. He had perceived a perplexity and perturbation in the countenance of

the Swiss, when he first entered the coffee-room; his blunt and precipitate
way of accosting him seemed to denote confusion and compulsion; and, in
the midst of his ferocity, this accurate observer discerned the trepidation of
fear. By the help of these signs, his sagacity soon comprehended the nature
of his schemes, and prepared accordingly for a formal defiance.
His conjecture was verified next morning by a visit from the chevalier,
who, taking it for granted that Fathom would not face an adversary in the
field, because he had not followed him from the coffee-house, went to his
lodgings with great confidence, and demanded to see the Count upon an
affair that would admit of no delay. Maurice, according to his instructions,
told him that his master was gone out, but desired he would have the
goodness to repose himself in the parlour, till the Count’s return, which he
expected every moment. Ferdinand, who had taken post in a proper place
for observation, seeing his antagonist fairly admitted, took the same road,
and appearing before him, wrapped up in a long Spanish cloak, desired to
know what had procured him the honour of such an early visit. The Swiss,
raising his voice to conceal his agitation, explained his errand, in
demanding reparation for the injury his honour had sustained the preceding
day, in that odious allusion to a scandalous report which had been raised by
the malice of his enemies; and insisted, in a very imperious style, upon his
attending him forthwith to the nursery in Hyde Park. “Have a little
patience,” said our adventurer with great composure, “and I will do myself
the pleasure to wait upon you in a few moments.”
With these words, he rang the bell, and, calling for a bason of water, laid
aside his cloak, and displayed himself in his shirt, with a sword in his right
hand, which was all over besmeared with recent blood, as if he had just
come from the slaughter of a foe. This phenomenon made such an
impression upon the astonished chevalier, already discomposed by the
resolute behaviour of the Count, that he became jaundiced with terror and
dismay, and, while his teeth chattered in his head, told our hero he had
hoped, from his known politeness, to have found him ready to acknowledge
an injury which might have been the effect of anger or misapprehension, in
which case the affair might have been compromised to their mutual
satisfaction, without proceeding to those extremities which, among men of
honour, are always accounted the last resource. To this representation
Ferdinand answered, that the affair had been of the chevalier’s own seeking,
inasmuch as he had intruded himself into his company, and treated him with

the most insolent and unprovoked abuse, which plainly flowed from a
premeditated design against his honour and reputation; he, therefore, far
from being disposed to own himself in the wrong, would not even accept of
a public acknowledgment from him, the aggressor, whom he looked upon
as an infamous sharper, and was resolved to chastise accordingly.
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a person who was
brought to the door in a chair, and conducted into another apartment, from
which a message was brought to the Count, importing, that the stranger
desired to speak with him upon business of the last importance. Fathom
having chid the servant for admitting people without his order, desired the
Swiss to excuse him for a minute longer, and went in to the next room, from
whence the following dialogue was overheard by this challenger:
—“Count,” said the stranger, “you are not ignorant of my pretensions to the
heart of that young lady, at whose house I met you yesterday; therefore you
cannot be surprised when I declare myself displeased with your visits and
behaviour to my mistress, and demand that you will instantly promise to
drop the correspondence.” “Else what follows?” answered Ferdinand, with
a cool and temperate voice. “My resentment and immediate defiance,”
replied the other; “for the only alternative I propose is, to forego your
design upon that lady, or to decide our pretension by the sword.”
Our hero, having expressed a regard for this visitant as the son of a
gentleman whom he honoured, was at the pains to represent the
unreasonableness of his demand, and the folly of his presumption; and
earnestly exhorted him to put the issue of his cause upon a more safe and
equitable footing. But this admonition, instead of appeasing the wrath,
seemed to inflame the resentment of the opponent, who swore he would not
leave him until he should have accomplished the purport of his errand. In
vain our adventurer requested half an hour for the despatch of some urgent
business, in which he was engaged with a gentleman in the other parlour.
This impetuous rival rejected all the terms he could propose, and even
challenged him to decide the controversy upon the spot; an expedient to
which the other having assented with reluctance, the door was secured, the
swords unsheathed, and a hot engagement ensued, to the inexpressible
pleasure of the Swiss, who did not doubt that he himself would be screened
from all danger by the event of this rencontre. Nevertheless, his hope was
disappointed in the defeat of the stranger, who was quickly disarmed, in
consequence of a wound through the sword-arm; upon which occasion

Fathom was heard to say, that, in consideration of his youth and family, he
had spared his life; but he would not act with the same tenderness towards
any other antagonist. He then bound up the limb he had disabled, conducted
the vanquished party to his chair, rejoined the chevalier with a serene
countenance, and, asking pardon for having detained him so long, proposed
they should instantly set out in a hackney-coach for the place of
appointment.
The stratagem thus conducted, had all the success the inventor could
desire. The fear of the Swiss had risen almost to an ecstasy before the Count
quitted the room; but after this sham battle, which had been preconcerted
betwixt our adventurer and his friend Ratchcali, the chevalier’s terrors were
unspeakable. He considered Fathom as a devil incarnate, and went into the
coach as a malefactor bound for Tyburn. He would have gladly
compounded for the loss of a leg or arm, and entertained some transient
gleams of hope, that he should escape for half a dozen flesh-wounds, which
he would have willingly received as the price of his presumption; but these
hopes were banished by the remembrance of that dreadful declaration
which he had heard the Count make, after having overcome his last
adversary; and he continued under the power of the most unsupportable
panic, until the carriage halted at Hyde Park Corner, where he crawled forth
in a most piteous and lamentable condition; so that, when they reached the
spot, he was scarce able to stand.
Here he made an effort to speak, and propose an accommodation upon a
new plan, by which he promised to leave his cause to the arbitrement of
those gentlemen who were present at the rupture, and to ask pardon of the
Count, provided he should be found guilty of a trespass upon good
manners; but this proposal would not satisfy the implacable Ferdinand,
who, perceiving the agony of the Swiss, resolved to make the most of the
adventure, and giving him to understand he was not a man to be trifled
with, desired him to draw without further preamble. Thus compelled, the
unfortunate gamester pulled off his coat, and, putting himself in a posture,
to use the words of Nym, “winked, and held out his cold iron.”
Our adventurer, far from making a gentle use of the advantages he
possessed, fiercely attacked him, while he was incapable of making
resistance, and, aiming at a fleshy part, ran him through the arm and outside
of the shoulder at the very first pass. The chevalier, already stupefied with

the horror of expectation, no sooner felt his adversary’s point in his body
than he fell to the ground, and, concluding he was no longer a man for this
world, began to cross himself with great devotion; while Fathom walked
home deliberately, and in his way sent a couple of chairmen to the
assistance of the wounded knight.
This achievement, which could not be concealed from the knowledge of
the public, not only furnished the character of Fathom with fresh wreaths of
admiration and applause, but likewise effectually secured him from any
future attempts of his enemies, to whom the Swiss, for his own sake, had
communicated such terrible ideas of his valour, as overawed the whole
community.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HE PERFORMS ANOTHER EXPLOIT, THAT CONVEYS A
TRUE IDEA OF HIS GRATITUDE AND HONOUR.

It was not long after this celebrated victory, that he was invited to spend
part of the summer at the house of a country gentleman, who lived about
one hundred miles from London, possessed of a very opulent fortune, the
greatest part of which was expended in acts of old English hospitality. He
had met with our hero by accident at the table of a certain great man, and
was so struck with his manner and conversation, as to desire his
acquaintance, and cultivate his friendship; and he thought himself
extremely happy in having prevailed upon him to pass a few weeks in his
family.
Fathom, among his other observations, perceived that there was a
domestic uneasiness, occasioned by a very beautiful young creature about
the age of fifteen, who resided in the house under the title of the
gentleman’s niece, though she was in reality his natural daughter, born
before his marriage. This circumstance was not unknown to his lady, by
whose express approbation he had bestowed particular attention upon the
education of the child, whom we shall distinguish by the name of Celinda.
Their liberality in this particular had not been misapplied; for she not only
gave marks of uncommon capacity, but, as she grew up, became more and
more amiable in her person, and was now returned from the boarding
school, possessed of every accomplishment that could be acquired by one
of her age and opportunities. These qualifications, which endeared her to
every other person, excited the jealousy and displeasure of her supposed
aunt, who could not bear to see her own children eclipsed by this
illegitimate daughter, whom she therefore discountenanced upon all
occasions, and exposed to such mortifications as would in all appearance

drive her from her father’s house. This persecuting spirit was very
disagreeable to the husband, who loved Celinda with a truly paternal
affection, and produced abundance of family disquiet; but being a man of a
peaceable and yielding disposition, he could not long maintain the
resolution he had taken in her favour, and therefore he ceased opposing the
malevolence of his wife.
In this unfortunate predicament stood the fair bastard, at the arrival of our
adventurer, who, being allured by her charms, apprised of her situation at
the same time, took the generous resolution to undermine her innocence,
that he might banquet his vicious appetite with the spoils of her beauty.
Perhaps such a brutal design might not have entered his imagination, if he
had not observed, in the disposition of this hapless maiden, certain
peculiarities from which he derived the most confident presages of success.
Besides a total want of experience, that left her open and unguarded against
the attacks of the other sex, she discovered a remarkable spirit of credulity
and superstitious fear, which had been cherished by the conversation of her
school-fellows. She was particularly fond of music, in which she had made
some progress; but so delicate was the texture of her nerves, that one day,
while Fathom entertained the company with a favourite air, she actually
swooned with pleasure.
Such sensibility, our projector well knew, must be diffused through all
the passions of her heart; he congratulated himself upon the sure
ascendency he had gained over her in this particular; and forthwith began to
execute the plan he had erected for her destruction. That he might the more
effectually deceive the vigilance of her father’s wife, he threw such a dash
of affectation in his complaisance towards Celinda, as could not escape the
notice of that prying matron, though it was not palpable enough to disoblige
the young lady herself, who could not so well distinguish between
overstrained courtesy and real good breeding. This behaviour screened him
from the suspicion of the family, who considered it as an effort of
politeness, to cover his indifference and disgust for the daughter of his
friend, who had by this time given some reason to believe she looked upon
him with the eyes of affection; so that the opportunities he enjoyed of
conversing with her in private, were less liable to intrusion or inquiry.
Indeed, from what I have already observed, touching the sentiments of her
stepdame, that lady, far from taking measures for thwarting our hero’s
design, would have rejoiced at the execution of it, and, had she been

informed of his intent, might have fallen upon some method to facilitate the
enterprise; but, as he solely depended upon his own talents, he never
dreamed of soliciting such an auxiliary.
Under cover of instructing and accomplishing her in the exercise of
music, he could not want occasions for promoting his aim; when, after
having soothed her sense of hearing, even to a degree of ravishment, so as
to extort from her an exclamation, importing, that he was surely something
supernatural! he never failed to whisper some insidious compliment or tale
of love, exquisitely suited to the emotions of her soul. Thus was her heart
insensibly subdued; though more than half his work was still undone; for, at
all times, she disclosed such purity of sentiment, such inviolable attachment
to religion and virtue, and seemed so averse to all sorts of inflammatory
discourse, that he durst not presume upon the footing he had gained in her
affection, to explain the baseness of his desire; he therefore applied to
another of her passions, that proved the bane of her virtue. This was her
timidity, which at first being constitutional, was afterwards increased by the
circumstances of her education, and now aggravated by the artful
conversation of Fathom, which he chequered with dismal stories of omens,
portents, prophecies, and apparitions, delivered upon such unquestionable
testimony, and with such marks of conviction, as captivated the belief of the
devoted Celinda, and filled her imagination with unceasing terrors.
In vain she strove to dispel those frightful ideas, and avoid such topics of
discourse for the future. The more she endeavoured to banish them, the
more troublesome they became; and such was her infatuation, that as her
terrors increased, her thirst after that sort of knowledge was augmented.
Many sleepless nights did she pass amidst those horrors of fancy, starting at
every noise, and sweating with dreary apprehension, yet ashamed to own
her fears, or solicit the comfort of a bedfellow, lest she should incur the
ridicule and censure of her father’s wife; and what rendered this disposition
the more irksome, was the solitary situation of her chamber, that stood at
the end of a long gallery scarce within hearing of any other inhabited part of
the house.
All these circumstances had been duly weighed by our projector, who,
having prepared Celinda for his purpose, stole at midnight from his
apartment, which was in another storey, and approaching her door, there
uttered a piteous groan; then softly retired to his bed, in full confidence of

seeing next day the effect of this operation. Nor did his arrow miss the
mark. Poor Celinda’s countenance gave such indications of melancholy and
dismay, that he could not omit asking the cause of her disquiet, and she, at
his earnest request, was prevailed upon to communicate the dreadful
salutation of the preceding night, which she considered as an omen of death
to some person of the family, in all probability to herself, as the groan
seemed to issue from one corner of her own apartment. Our adventurer
argued against this supposition, as contradictory to the common observation
of those supernatural warnings which are not usually imparted to the person
who is doomed to die, but to some faithful friend, or trusty servant,
particularly interested in the event. He therefore supposed, that the groans
foreboded the death of my lady, who seemed to be in a drooping state of
health, and were, by her genius, conveyed to the organs of Celinda, who
was the chief sufferer by her jealous and barbarous disposition; he likewise
expressed an earnest desire to be an ear-witness of such solemn
communication, and, alleging that it was highly improper for a young lady
of her delicate feelings to expose herself alone to such another dismal
visitation, begged he might be allowed to watch all night in her chamber, in
order to defend her from the shocking impressions of fear.
Though no person ever stood more in need of a companion or guard, and
her heart throbbed with transports of dismay at the prospect of night, she
rejected his proposal with due acknowledgment, and resolved to trust solely
to the protection of Heaven. Not that she thought her innocence or
reputation could suffer by her compliance with his request; for, hitherto, her
heart was a stranger to those young desires which haunt the fancy, and
warm the breast of youth; so that, being ignorant of her danger, she saw not
the necessity of avoiding temptation; but she refused to admit a man into
her bedchamber, merely because it was a step altogether opposite to the
forms and decorum of life. Nevertheless, far from being discouraged by this
repulse, he knew her fears would multiply and reduce that reluctance,
which, in order to weaken, he had recourse to another piece of machinery,
that operated powerfully in behalf of his design.
Some years ago, a twelve-stringed instrument was contrived by a very
ingenious musician, by whom it was aptly entitled the “Harp of Aeolus,”
because, being properly applied to a stream of air, it produces a wild
irregular variety of harmonious sounds, that seem to be the effect of
enchantment, and wonderfully dispose the mind for the most romantic

situations. Fathom, who was really a virtuoso in music, had brought one of
those new-fashioned guitars into the country, and as the effect of it was still
unknown in the family, he that night converted it to the purposes of his
amour, by fixing it in the casement of a window belonging to the gallery,
exposed to the west wind, which then blew in a gentle breeze. The strings
no sooner felt the impression of the balmy zephyr, than they began to pour
forth a stream of melody more ravishingly delightful than the song of
Philomel, the warbling brook, and all the concert of the wood. The soft and
tender notes of peace and love were swelled up with the most delicate and
insensible transition into a loud hymn of triumph and exultation, joined by
the deep-toned organ, and a full choir of voices, which gradually decayed
upon the ear, until it died away in distant sound, as if a flight of angels had
raised the song in their ascent to heaven. Yet the chords hardly ceased to
vibrate after the expiration of this overture, which ushered in a composition
in the same pathetic style; and this again was succeeded by a third, almost
without pause or intermission, as if the artist’s hand had been indefatigable,
and the theme never to be exhausted.
His heart must be quite callous, and his ear lost to all distinction, who
could hear such harmony without emotion; how deeply, then, must it have
affected the delicate Celinda, whose sensations, naturally acute, were
whetted to a most painful keenness by her apprehension; who could have no
previous idea of such entertainment, and was credulous enough to believe
the most improbable tale of superstition! She was overwhelmed with awful
terror, and, never doubting that the sounds were more than mortal,
recommended herself to the care of Providence in a succession of pious
ejaculations.
Our adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this
contrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper, conveyed
through the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon for such an
unseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of the strange music
which he then heard. In spite of her notions of decency, she was glad of his
intrusion, and, being in no condition to observe punctilios, slipped on a
wrapper, opened the door, and, with a faltering voice, owned herself
frightened almost to distraction. He pretended to console her with
reflections, importing, that she was in the hands of a benevolent Being, who
would not impose upon his creatures any task which they could not bear; he
insisted upon her returning to bed, and assured her he would not stir from

her chamber till day. Thus comforted, she betook herself again to rest, while
he sat down in an elbow-chair at some distance from the bedside, and, in a
soft voice, began the conversation with her on the subject of those
visitations from above, which, though undertaken on pretence of dissipating
her fear and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated for the purpose of
augmenting both.
“That sweet air,” said he, “seems designed for soothing the bodily
anguish of some saint in his last moments. Hark! how it rises into a more
sprightly and elevated strain, as if it were an inspiriting invitation to the
realms of bliss! Sure, he is now absolved from all the misery of this life!
That full and glorious concert of voices and celestial harps betoken his
reception among the heavenly choir, who now waft his soul to paradisian
joys! This is altogether great, solemn, and amazing! The clock strikes one,
the symphony hath ceased!”
This was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove the
instrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too familiar, and
excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who might frustrate his
scheme by discovering the apparatus. As for poor Celinda, her fancy was,
by his music and discourse, worked up to the highest pitch of enthusiastic
terrors; the whole bed shook with her trepidation, the awful silence that
succeeded the supernatural music threw an additional damp upon her
spirits, and the artful Fathom affecting to snore at the same time, she could
no longer contain her horror, but called upon his name with a fearful accent,
and, having owned her present situation insupportable, entreated him to
draw near her bedside, that he might be within touch on any emergency.
This was a welcome request to our adventurer, who, asking pardon for
his drowsiness, and taking his station on the side of her bed, exhorted her to
compose herself; then locking her hand fast in his own, was again seized
with such an inclination to sleep, that he gradually sunk down by her side,
and seemed to enjoy his repose in that attitude. Meanwhile, his tender-
hearted mistress, that he might not suffer in his health by his humanity and
complaisance, covered him with the counterpane as he slept, and suffered
him to take his rest without interruption, till he thought proper to start up
suddenly with an exclamation of, “Heaven watch over us!” and then asked,
with symptoms of astonishment, if she had heard nothing. Such an abrupt
address upon such an occasion, did not fail to amaze and affright the gentle

Celinda, who, unable to speak, sprung towards her treacherous protector;
and he, catching her in his arms, bade her fear nothing, for he would, at the
expense of his life, defend her from all danger.
Having thus, by tampering with her weakness, conquered the first and
chief obstacles to his design, he, with great art and perseverance, improved
the intercourse to such a degree of intimacy, as could not but be productive
of all the consequences which he had foreseen. The groans and music were
occasionally repeated, so as to alarm the whole family, and inspire a
thousand various conjectures. He failed not to continue his nocturnal visits
and ghastly discourse, until his attendance became so necessary to this
unhappy maiden, that she durst not stay in her own chamber without his
company, nor even sleep, except in contact with her betrayer.
Such a commerce between two such persons of a different sex could not
possibly be long carried on, without degenerating from the Platonic system
of sentimental love. In her paroxysms of dismay, he did not forget to
breathe the soft inspirations of his passion, to which she listened with more
pleasure, as they diverted the gloomy ideas of her fear; and by this time his
extraordinary accomplishments had made a conquest of her heart. What
therefore could be a more interesting transition than that from the most
uneasy to the most agreeable sensation of the human breast?
This being the case, the reader will not wonder that a consummate traitor,
like Fathom, should triumph over the virtue of an artless, innocent young
creature, whose passions he had entirely under his command. The
gradations towards vice are almost imperceptible, and an experienced
seducer can strew them with such enticing and agreeable flowers, as will
lead the young sinner on insensibly, even to the most profligate stages of
guilt. All therefore that can be done by virtue, unassisted with experience, is
to avoid every trial with such a formidable foe, by declining and
discouraging the first advances towards a particular correspondence with
perfidious man, howsoever agreeable it may seem to be. For here is no
security but in conscious weakness.
Fathom, though possessed of the spoils of poor Celinda’s honour, did not
enjoy his success with tranquillity. Reflection and remorse often invaded
her in the midst of their guilty pleasures, and embittered all those moments
they had dedicated to mutual bliss. For the seeds of virtue are seldom
destroyed at once. Even amidst the rank productions of vice, they

regerminate to a sort of imperfect vegetation, like some scattered hyacinths
shooting up among the weeds of a ruined garden, that testify the former
culture and amenity of the soil. She sighed at the sad remembrance of that
virgin dignity which she had lost; she wept at the prospect of that disgrace,
mortification, and misery she should undergo, when abandoned by this
transient lover, and severely reproached him for the arts he had used to
shipwreck her innocence and peace.
Such expostulations are extremely unseasonable, when addressed to a
man well-nigh sated with the effects of his conquest. They act like strong
blasts of wind applied to embers almost extinguished, which, instead of
reviving the flame, scatter and destroy every remaining particle of fire. Our
adventurer, in the midst of his peculiarities, had inconstancy in common
with the rest of his sex. More than half cloyed with the possession of
Celinda, he could not fail to be disgusted with her upbraidings; and had she
not been the daughter of a gentleman whose friendship he did not think it
his interest to forfeit, he would have dropped this correspondence, without
reluctance or hesitation. But, as he had measures to keep with a family of
such consequence, he constrained his inclinations, so far as to counterfeit
those raptures he no longer felt, and found means to appease those
intervening tumults of her grief.
Foreseeing, however, that it would not be always in his power to console
her on these terms, he resolved, if possible, to divide her affection, which
now glowed upon him too intensely; and, with that view, whenever she
complained of the vapours or dejection, he prescribed, and even insisted
upon her swallowing certain cordials of the most palatable composition,
without which he never travelled; and these produced such agreeable
reveries and flow of spirits, that she gradually became enamoured of
intoxication; while he encouraged the pernicious passion, by expressing the
most extravagant applause and admiration at the wild irregular sallies it
produced. Without having first made this diversion, he would have found it
impracticable to leave the house with tranquillity; but, when this bewitching
philtre grew into an habit, her attachment to Ferdinand was insensibly
dissolved; she began to bear his neglect with indifference, and, sequestering
herself from the rest of the family, used to solicit this new ally for
consolation.

Having thus put the finishing stroke to the daughter’s ruin, he took leave
of the father, with many acknowledgments and expressions of gratitude for
his hospitality and friendship, and, riding across the country to Bristol, took
up his habitation near the hot well, where he stayed during the remaining
part of the season. As for the miserable Celinda, she became more and more
addicted to the vices in which she had been initiated by his superlative
perfidy and craft, until she was quite abandoned by decency and caution.
Her father’s heart was torn with anguish, while his wife rejoiced in her fall;
at length her ideas were quite debased by her infirmity; she grew every day
more and more sensual and degenerate, and contracted an intimacy with
one of the footmen, who was kind enough to take her to wife, in hope of
obtaining a good settlement from his master; but, being disappointed in his
aim, he conducted her to London, where he made shift to insinuate himself
into another service, leaving her to the use, and partly the advantage, of her
own person, which was still uncommonly attractive.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

HE REPAIRS TO BRISTOL SPRING, WHERE HE REIGNS
PARAMOUNT DURING THE WHOLE SEASON.

We shall therefore leave her in this comfortable situation, and return to
our adventurer, whose appearance at Bristol was considered as a happy
omen by the proprietor of the hot well, and all the people who live by the
resort of company to that celebrated spring. Nor were they deceived in their
prognostic. Fathom, as usual, formed the nucleus or kernel of the beau
monde; and the season soon became so crowded, that many people of
fashion were obliged to quit the place for want of lodging. Ferdinand was
the soul that animated the whole society. He not only invented parties of
pleasure, but also, by his personal talents, rendered them more agreeable. In
a word, he regulated their diversions, and the master of the ceremonies
never would allow the ball to be begun till the Count was seated.
Having thus made himself the object of admiration and esteem, his
advice was an oracle, to which they had recourse in all doubtful cases of
punctilio or dispute, or even of medicine; for among his other
accomplishments, his discourse on that subject was so plausible, and well
adapted to the understanding of his hearers, that any person who had not
actually studied the medical art would have believed he was inspired by the
spirit of Aesculapius. What contributed to the aggrandisement of his
character in this branch of knowledge, was a victory he obtained over an
old physician, who plied at the well, and had one day unfortunately begun
to harangue in the pump-room upon the nature of the Bristol water. In the
course of this lecture he undertook to account for the warmth of the fluid;
and his ideas being perplexed with a great deal of reading, which he had not
been able to digest, his disquisition was so indistinct, and his expression so
obscure and unentertaining, that our hero seized the opportunity of

displaying his own erudition, by venturing to contradict some
circumstances of the doctor’s hypothesis, and substituting a theory of his
own, which, as he had invented it for the purpose, was equally amusing and
chimerical.
He alleged, that fire was the sole vivifying principle that pervaded all
nature; that, as the heat of the sun concocted the juice of vegetables, and
ripened those fruits that grow upon the surface of this globe, there was
likewise an immense store of central fire reserved within the bowels of the
earth, not only for the generation of gems, fossils, and all the purposes of
the mineral world, but likewise for cherishing and keeping alive those
plants which would otherwise perish by the winter’s cold. The existence of
such a fire he proved from the nature of all those volcanoes, which in
almost every corner of the earth are continually vomiting up either flames
or smoke. “These,” said he, “are the great vents appointed by nature for the
discharge of that rarefied air and combustible matter, which, if confined,
would burst the globe asunder; but, besides the larger outlets, there are
some small chimneys through which part of the heat transpires; a vapour of
that sort, I conceive, must pass through the bed or channel of this spring, the
waters of which, accordingly retain a moderate warmth.”
This account, which totally overthrew the other’s doctrine, was so
extremely agreeable to the audience, that the testy doctor lost his temper,
and gave them to understand, without preamble, that he must be a person
wholly ignorant of natural philosophy, who could invent such a ridiculous
system, and they involved in worse than an Egyptian fog, that could not at
once discern its weakness and absurdity. This declaration introduced a
dispute, which was unanimously determined in favour of our adventurer.
On all such occasions the stream of prejudice runs against the physician,
even though his antagonist has nothing to recommend himself to the favour
of the spectators; and this decision depends upon divers considerations. In
the first place, there is a continual war carried on against the learned
professions, by all those who, conscious of their own ignorance, seek to
level the reputation of their superiors with their own. Secondly, in all
disputes upon physic that happen betwixt a person who really understands
the art, and an illiterate pretender, the arguments of the first will seem
obscure and unintelligible to those who are unacquainted with the previous
systems on which they are built; while the other’s theory, derived from
common notions, and superficial observation, will be more agreeable,

because better adapted to the comprehension of the hearers. Thirdly, the
judgment of the multitude is apt to be biassed by that surprise which is the
effect of seeing an artist foiled at his own weapons, by one who engages
him only for amusement.
Fathom, besides these advantages, was blessed with a flow of language,
an elegant address, a polite and self-denying style of argumentation,
together with a temper not to be ruffled; so that the victory could not long
waver between him and the physician, to whom he was infinitely superior
in every acquisition but that of solid learning, of which the judges had no
idea. This contest was not only glorious but profitable to our adventurer,
who grew into such request in his medical capacity, that the poor doctor
was utterly deserted by his patients, and Fathom’s advice solicited by every
valetudinarian in the place; nor did he forfeit the character he thus acquired
by any miscarriages in his practice. Being but little conversant with the
materia medica, the circle of his prescriptions was very small; his chief
study was to avoid all drugs of rough operation and uncertain effect, and to
administer such only as should be agreeable to the palate, without doing
violence to the constitution. Such a physician could not but be agreeable to
people of all dispositions; and, as most of the patients were in some shape
hypochondriac, the power of imagination, co-operating with his remedies,
often effected a cure.
On the whole, it became the fashion to consult the Count in all
distempers, and his reputation would have had its run, though the death of
every patient had given the lie to his pretensions. But empty fame was not
the sole fruit of his success. Though no person would presume to affront
this noble graduate with a fee, they did not fail to manifest their gratitude by
some more valuable present. Every day some superb piece of china, curious
snuffbox, or jewel, was pressed upon him; so that, at the end of the season,
he could almost have furnished a toyshop with the acknowledgments he had
received. Not only his avarice, but his pleasure, was gratified in the course
of his medical administration. He enjoyed free access, egress, and regress
with all the females at the well, and no matron scrupled to put her daughter
under his care and direction. These opportunities could not be lost upon a
man of his intriguing genius; though he conducted his amours with such
discretion, that, during the whole season, no lady’s character suffered on his
account, yet he was highly fortunate in his addresses, and we may venture

to affirm, that the reproach of barrenness was more than once removed by
the vigour of his endeavours.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

HE IS SMITTEN WITH THE CHARMS OF A FEMALE
ADVENTURER, WHOSE ALLUREMENTS SUBJECT HIM TO
A NEW VICISSITUDE OF FORTUNE.

Among those who were distinguished by his gallantry was the young
wife of an old citizen of London, who had granted her permission to reside
at the hot well for the benefit of her health, under the eye and inspection of
his own sister, who was a maiden of fifty years. The pupil, whose name was
Mrs. Trapwell, though low in stature, was finely shaped, her countenance
engaging, though her complexion was brown, her hair in colour rivalled the
raven’s back, and her eyes emulated the lustre of the diamond. Fathom had
been struck with her first appearance; but found it impracticable to elude
the vigilance of her duenna, so as to make a declaration of his flame; until
she herself, guessing the situation of his thoughts, and not displeased with
the discovery, thought proper to furnish him with the opportunity he
wanted, by counterfeiting an indisposition, for the cure of which she knew
his advice would be implored. This was the beginning of an acquaintance,
which was soon improved to his wish; and so well did she manage her
attractions, as in some measure to fix the inconstancy of his disposition; for,
at the end of the season, his passion was not sated; and they concerted the
means of continuing their commerce, even after their return to London.
This intercourse effectually answered the purpose of the husband, who
had been decoyed into matrimony by the cunning of his spouse, whom he
had privately kept as a concubine before marriage. Conscious of her own
precarious situation, she had resolved to impose upon the infirmities of
Trapwell, and, feigning herself pregnant, gave him to understand she could
no longer conceal her condition from the knowledge of her brother, who
was an officer in the army, and of such violent passions, that, should he

once discover her backsliding, he would undoubtedly wipe away the stains
of his family dishonour with her own blood, as well as that of her keeper.
The citizen, to prevent such a catastrophe, took her to wife; but soon after
perceiving the trick which had been played upon him, set his invention at
work, and at length contrived a scheme which he thought would enable
him, not only to retrieve his liberty, but also indemnify himself for the
mortification he had undergone.
Far from creating any domestic disturbance, by upbraiding her with her
finesse, he seemed perfectly well pleased with his acquisition; and, as he
knew her void of any principle, and extremely addicted to pleasure, he
chose proper occasions to insinuate, that she might gratify her own
inclination, and at the same time turn her beauty to good account. She
joyfully listened to these remonstrances, and, in consequence of their
mutual agreement, she repaired to Bristol Spring, on pretence of an ill state
of health, accompanied by her sister-in-law, whom they did not think proper
to intrust with the real motive of her journey. Fathom’s person was
agreeable, and his finances supposed to be in flourishing order; therefore,
she selected him from the herd of gallants, as a proper sacrifice to the
powers which she adored; and, on her arrival in London, made her husband
acquainted with the importance of her conquest.
Trapwell overwhelmed her with caresses and praise for her discreet and
dutiful conduct, and faithfully promised that she should pocket in her own
privy purse one-half of the spoils that should be gathered from her gallant,
whom she therefore undertook to betray, after he had swore, in the most
solemn manner, that his intention was not to bring the affair to a public trial,
which would redound to his own disgrace, but to extort a round sum of
money from the Count, by way of composition. Confiding in this
protestation, she in a few days gave him intelligence of an assignation she
had made with our adventurer, at a certain bagnio near Covent Garden;
upon which he secured the assistance of a particular friend and his own
journeyman, with whom, and a constable, he repaired to the place of
rendezvous, where he waited in an adjoining room, according to the
directions of his virtuous spouse, until she made the preconcerted signal of
hemming three times aloud, when he and his associates rushed into the
chamber and surprised our hero in bed with his inamorata.

The lady on this occasion acted her part to a miracle; she screamed at
their approach; and, after an exclamation of “Ruined and undone!” fainted
away in the arms of her spouse, who had by this time seized her by the
shoulders, and begun to upbraid her with her infidelity and guilt. As for
Fathom, his affliction was unutterable, when he found himself discovered in
that situation, and made prisoner by the two assistants, who had pinioned
him in such a manner, that he could not stir, much less accomplish an
escape. All his ingenuity and presence of mind seemed to forsake him in
this emergency. The horrors of an English jury overspread his imagination;
for he at once perceived that the toil into which he had fallen was laid for
the purpose; consequently he took it for granted that there would be no
deficiency in point of evidence. Soon as he recollected himself, he begged
that no violence might be offered to his person, and entreated the husband
to favour him with a conference, in which the affair might be compromised,
without prejudice to the reputation of either.
At first Trapwell breathed nothing but implacable revenge, but, by the
persuasion of his friends, after he had sent home his wife in a chair, he was
prevailed upon to hear the proposals of the delinquent, who having assured
him, by way of apology, that he had always believed the lady was a widow,
made him an offer of five hundred pounds, as an atonement for the injury
he had sustained. This being a sum no ways adequate to the expectation of
the citizen, who looked upon the Count as possessor of an immense estate,
he rejected the terms with disdain, and made instant application to a judge,
from whom he obtained a warrant for securing his person till the day of
trial. Indeed, in this case, money was but a secondary consideration with
Trapwell, whose chief aim was to be legally divorced from a woman he
detested. Therefore there was no remedy for the unhappy Count, who in
vain offered to double the sum. He found himself reduced to the bitter
alternative of procuring immediate bail, or going directly to Newgate.
In this dilemma he sent a messenger to his friend Ratchcali, whose
countenance fell when he understood the Count’s condition; nor would he
open his mouth in the style of consolation, until he had consulted a certain
solicitor of his acquaintance, who assured him the law abounded with such
resources as would infallibly screen the defendant, had the fact been still
more palpable than it was. He said there was great presumption to believe
the Count had fallen a sacrifice to a conspiracy, which by some means or
other would be detected; and, in that case, the plaintiff might obtain one

shilling in lieu of damages. If that dependence should fail, he hinted that, in
all probability, the witnesses were not incorruptible; or, should they prove to
be so, one man’s oath was as good as another’s; and, thank Heaven, there
was no dearth of evidence, provided money could be found to answer the
necessary occasions.
Ratchcali, comforted by these insinuations, and dreading the resentment
of our adventurer, who, in his despair, might punish him severely for his
want of friendship, by some precipitate explanation of the commerce they
had carried on; moved, I say, by these considerations, and moreover
tempted with the prospect of continuing to reap the advantages resulting
from their conjunction, he and another person of credit with whom he
largely dealt in jewels, condescended to become sureties for the appearance
of Fathom, who was accordingly admitted to bail. Not but that the Tyrolese
knew Ferdinand too well to confide in his parole. He depended chiefly upon
his ideas of self-interest, which, he thought, would persuade him to risk the
uncertain issue of a trial, rather than quit the field before the harvest was
half over; and he was resolved to make his own retreat without ceremony,
should our hero be unwise enough to abandon his bail.
Such an adventure could not long lie concealed from the notice of the
public, even if both parties had been at pains to suppress the circumstances.
But the plaintiff, far from seeking to cover, affected to complain loudly of
his misfortune, that he might interest his neighbours in his behalf, and raise
a spirit of rancour and animosity, to influence the jury against this insolent
foreigner, who had come over into England to debauch our wives and
deflower our daughters; while he employed a formidable band of lawyers to
support the indictment, which he laid at ten thousand pounds damages.
Meanwhile, Fathom and his associate did not fail to take all proper
measures for his defence; they retained a powerful bar of counsel, and the
solicitor was supplied with one hundred pounds after another, to answer the
expense of secret service; still assuring his clients that everything was in an
excellent train, and that his adversary would gain nothing but shame and
confusion of face. Nevertheless, there was a necessity for postponing the
trial, on account of a material evidence, who, though he wavered, was not
yet quite brought over; and the attorney found means to put off the decision
from term to term, until there was no quibble left for further delay. While
this suit was depending, our hero continued to move in his usual sphere; nor

did the report of his situation at all operate to his disadvantage in the polite
world; on the contrary, it added a fresh plume to his character, in the eyes of
all those who were not before acquainted with the triumphs of his gallantry.
Notwithstanding this countenance of his friends, he himself considered the
affair in a very serious light; and perceiving that, at any rate, he must be a
considerable loser, he resolved to double his assiduity in trade, that he
might be the more able to afford the extraordinary expense to which he was
subjected.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

FRESH CAUSE FOR EXERTING HIS EQUANIMITY AND
FORTITUDE.

The reader may have observed, that Fathom, with all his circumspection,
had a weak side, which exposed him to sundry mischances; this was his
covetousness, which on some occasions became too hard for his discretion.
At this period of time it was, by the circumstances of his situation, inflamed
to a degree of rapacity. He was now prevailed upon to take a hand at whist
or piquet, and even to wield the hazard-box; though he had hitherto
declared himself an irreconcilable enemy to all sorts of play; and so
uncommon was his success and dexterity at these exercises, as to surprise
his acquaintance, and arouse the suspicion of some people, who repined at
his prosperity.
But in nothing was his conduct more inexcusable than in giving way to
the dangerous temerity of Ratchcali, which he had been always at pains to
restrain, and permitting him to practise the same fraud upon an English
nobleman, which had been executed upon himself at Frankfort. In other
words, the Tyrolese, by the canal of Ferdinand’s finger and
recommendation, sold a pebble for a real brilliant, and in a few days the
cheat was discovered, to the infinite confusion of our adventurer, who
nevertheless assumed the guise of innocence with so much art, and
expressed such indignation against the villain who had imposed upon his
judgment and unsuspecting generosity, that his lordship acquitted him of
any share in the deceit, and contented himself with the restitution, which he
insisted upon making out of his own pocket, until he should be able to
apprehend the rogue, who had thought proper to abscond for his own safety.
In spite of all this exculpation, his character did not fail to retain a sort of
stigma, which indeed the plainest proofs of innocence are hardly able to

efface; and his connexion with such a palpable knave as the Tyrolese
appeared to be, had an effect to his prejudice in the minds of all those who
were privy to the occurrence.
When a man’s reputation is once brought in question, every trifle is, by
the malevolence of mankind, magnified into a strong presumption against
the culprit. A few whispers communicated by the envious mouth of slander,
which he can have no opportunity to answer and refute, shall, in the opinion
of the world, convict him of the most horrid crimes; and for one hypocrite
who is decked with the honours of virtue, there are twenty good men who
suffer the ignominy of vice; so well disposed are individuals to trample
upon the fame of their fellow-creatures. If the most unblemished merit is
not protected from this injustice, it will not be wondered at that no quarter
was given to the character of an adventurer like Fathom, who, among other
unlucky occurrences, had the misfortune to be recognised about this time by
his two Parisian friends, Sir Stentor Stile and Sir Giles Squirrel.
These worthy knights-errant had returned to their own country, after
having made a very prosperous campaign in France, at the end of which,
however, they very narrowly escaped the galleys; and seeing the Polish
Count seated at the head of taste and politeness, they immediately
circulated the story of his defeat at Paris, with many ludicrous
circumstances of their own invention, and did not scruple to affirm that he
was a rank impostor. When the laugh is raised upon a great man, he never
fails to dwindle into contempt. Ferdinand began to perceive a change in the
countenance of his friends. His company was no longer solicited with that
eagerness which they had formerly expressed in his behalf. Even his
entertainments were neglected; when he appeared at any private or public
assembly, the ladies, instead of glowing with pleasure, as formerly, now
tittered or regarded him with looks of disdain; and a certain pert, little,
forward coquette, with a view to put him out of countenance, by raising the
laugh at his expense, asked him one night, at a drum, when he had heard
from his relations in Poland? She succeeded in her design upon the mirth of
the audience, but was disappointed in the other part of her aim; for our hero
replied, without the least mark of discomposure, “They are all in good
health at your service, madam; I wish I knew in what part of the world your
relations reside, that I might return the compliment.” By this answer, which
was the more severe, as the young lady was of very doubtful extraction, he
retorted the laugh upon the aggressor, though he likewise failed in his

attempt upon her temper; for she was perhaps the only person present who
equalled himself in stability of countenance.
Notwithstanding this appearance of unconcern, he was deeply touched
with these marks of alienation in the behaviour of his friends, and,
foreseeing in his own disgrace the total shipwreck of his fortune, he entered
into a melancholy deliberation with himself about the means of retrieving
his importance in the beau monde, or of turning his address into some other
channel, where he could stand upon a less slippery foundation. In this
exercise of his thoughts, no scheme occurred more feasible than that of
securing the booty he had made, and retiring with his associate, who was
also blown, into some other country, where their names and characters
being unknown, they might pursue their old plan of commerce without
molestation. He imparted this suggestion to the Tyrolese, who approved the
proposal of decamping, though he combated with all his might our hero’s
inclination to withdraw himself before the trial, by repeating the assurances
of the solicitor, who told him he might depend upon being reimbursed by
the sentence of the court for great part of the sums he had expended in the
course of the prosecution.
Fathom suffered himself to be persuaded by these arguments, supported
with the desire of making an honourable retreat, and, waiting patiently for
the day of trouble, discharged his sureties, by a personal appearance in
court. Yet this was not the only score he discharged that morning; the
solicitor presented his own bill before they set out for Westminster Hall, and
gave the Count to understand that it was the custom, from time
immemorial, for the client to clear with his attorney before trial. Ferdinand
had nothing to object against this established rule, though he looked upon it
as a bad omen, in spite of all the solicitor’s confidence and protestations;
and he was not a little confounded, when, looking into the contents, he
found himself charged with 350 attendances. He knew it was not his interest
to disoblige his lawyer at such a juncture; nevertheless, he could not help
expostulating with him on this article, which seemed to be so falsely stated
with regard to the number; when his questions drew on an explanation, by
which he found he had incurred the penalty of three shillings and fourpence
for every time he chanced to meet the conscientious attorney, either in the
park, the coffee-house, or the street, provided they had exchanged the
common salutation; and he had good reason to believe the solicitor had

often thrown himself in his way, with a view to swell this item of his
account.
With this extortion our adventurer was fain to comply, because he lay at
the mercy of the caitiff; accordingly, he with a good grace paid the demand,
which, including his former disbursements, amounted to three hundred and
sixty-five pounds eleven shillings and threepence three farthings, and then
presenting himself before the judge, quietly submitted to the laws of the
realm. His counsel behaved like men of consummate abilities in their
profession; they exerted themselves with equal industry, eloquence, and
erudition, in their endeavours to perplex the truth, browbeat the evidence,
puzzle the judge, and mislead the jury; but the defendant found himself
wofully disappointed in the deposition of Trapwell’s journeyman, whom the
solicitor pretended to have converted to his interest. This witness, as the
attorney afterwards declared, played booty, and the facts came out so clear,
that Ferdinand Count Fathom was convicted of criminal conversation with
the plaintiff’s wife, and cast in fifteen hundred pounds, under the
denomination of damages.
He was not so much surprised as afflicted at this decision, because he
saw it gradually approaching from the examination of the first evidence.
His thoughts were now employed in casting about for some method of
deliverance from the snare in which he found himself entangled. To escape,
he foresaw it would be impracticable, as Trapwell would undoubtedly be
prepared for arresting him before he could quit Westminster Hall; he was
too well acquainted with Ratchcali’s principles, to expect any assistance
from that quarter in money matters; and he was utterly averse to the
payment of the sum awarded against him, which would have exhausted his
whole fortune. He therefore resolved to try the friendship of some persons
of fashion, with whom he had maintained an intimacy of correspondence.
Should they fail him in the day of his necessity, he proposed to have
recourse to his former sureties, one of whom he meant to bilk, while the
other might accompany him in his retreat; or, should both these expedients
miscarry, he determined, rather than part with his effects, to undergo the
most disagreeable confinement, in hope of obtaining the jailor’s connivance
at his escape.
These resolutions being taken, he met his fate with great fortitude and
equanimity, and calmly suffered himself to be conveyed to the house of a

sheriff’s officer, who, as he made his exit from the hall, according to his
own expectation, executed a writ against him, at the suit of Trapwell, for a
debt of two thousand pounds. To this place he was followed by his solicitor,
who was allured by the prospect of another job, and who, with great
demonstrations of satisfaction, congratulated him upon the happy issue of
the trial; arrogating to himself the merit of having saved him eight thousand
pounds in the article of damages, by the previous steps he had taken, and
the noble defence that he and his friends the counsel had made for their
client; he even hinted an expectation of receiving a gratuity for his
extraordinary care and discretion.
Fathom, galled as he was with his misfortune, and enraged at the
effrontery of this pettifogger, maintained a serenity of countenance, and
sent the attorney with a message to the plaintiff, importing, that, as he was a
foreigner, and could not be supposed to have so much cash about him, as to
spare fifteen hundred pounds from the funds of his ordinary expense, he
would grant him a bond payable in two months, during which period he
should be able to procure a proper remittance from his own estate. While
the solicitor was employed in this negotiation, he despatched his valet-de-
chambre to one nobleman, and Maurice to another, with billets, signifying
the nature of the verdict which his adversary had obtained, and desiring that
each would lend him a thousand pounds upon his parole, until he could
negotiate bills upon the Continent.
His three messengers returned almost at the same instant of time, and
these were the answers they brought back.
Trapwell absolutely rejected his personal security; and threatened him
with all the horrors of a jail, unless he would immediately discharge the
debt, or procure sufficient bondsmen; and one of his quality friends
favoured him with this reply to his request:—

“MY DEAR COUNT!
I am mortally chagrined at the triumph you have furnished
to that rascally citizen. By the lard! the judge must have
been in the terrors of cuckoldom, to influence the decision;
and the jury a mere herd of horned beasts, to bring in such a
barbarous verdict. Egad! at this rate, no gentleman will be
able to lie with another man’s wife, but at the risk of a
cursed prosecution. But to waive this disagreeable

circumstance, which you must strive to forget; I declare my
mortification is still the greater, because I cannot at present
supply you with the trifle your present exigency requires;
for, to tell you a secret, my own finances are in damnable
confusion. But a man of Count Fathom’s figure and address
can never be puzzled for the want of such a paltry sum.
Adieu, my dear Count! we shall, I suppose, have the
pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at White’s: meanwhile, I
have the honour to be, with the most perfect attachment,

yours, GRIZZLEGRIN.”

The other noble peer, to whom he addressed himself on this occasion,
cherished the same sentiments of virtue, friendship, and generosity; but his
expression was so different, that we shall, for the edification of the reader,
transcribe his letter in his own words:—

“SIR,
I was never more astonished than at the receipt of your very
extraordinary billet, wherein you solicit the loan of a
thousand pounds, which you desire may be sent with the
bearer on the faith of your parole. Sir, I have no money to
send you or lend you; and cannot help repeating my
expressions of surprise at your confidence in making such a
strange and unwarranted demand. ’Tis true, I may have
made professions of friendship, while I looked upon you as a
person of honour and good morals; but now that you are
convicted of such a flagrant violation of the laws of that
kingdom where you have been treated with such hospitality
and respect, I think myself fully absolved from any such
conditional promise, which indeed is never interpreted into
any other than a bare compliment. I am sorry you have
involved your character and fortune in such a disagreeable
affair, and am,

Sir, yours, etc.
TROMPINGTON.”

Ferdinand was not such a novice in the world as to be disappointed at
these repulses; especially as he had laid very little stress upon the
application, which was made by way of an experiment upon the gratitude or
caprice of those two noblemen, whom he had actually more than once
obliged with the same sort of assistance which he now solicited, though not
to such a considerable amount.
Having nothing further to expect from the fashionable world, he sent the
Tyrolese to the person who had been bail for his appearance, with full
instructions to explain his present occasion in the most favourable light, and
desire he would reinforce the credit of the Count with his security; but that
gentleman, though he placed the most perfect confidence on the honour of
our hero, and would have willingly entered into bonds again for his
personal appearance, was not quite so well satisfied of his circumstances, as
to become liable for the payment of two thousand pounds, an expense
which, in his opinion, the finances of no foreign Count were able to defray.
He therefore lent a deaf ear to the most pressing remonstrances of the
ambassador, who had recourse to several other merchants, with the same
bad success; so that the prisoner, despairing of bail, endeavoured to
persuade Ratchcali, that it would be his interest to contribute a thousand
pounds towards his discharge, that he might be enabled to quit England
with a good grace, and execute his part of the plan they had projected.
So powerful was his eloquence on the occasion, and such strength of
argument did he use, that even the Tyrolese seemed convinced, though
reluctantly, and agreed to advance the necessary sum upon the bond and
judgment of our adventurer, who, being disabled from transacting his own
affairs in person, was obliged to intrust Ratchcali with his keys, papers, and
power of attorney, under the check and inspection of his faithful Maurice
and the solicitor, whose fidelity he bespoke with the promise of an ample
recompense.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE BITER IS BIT.

Yet, he had no sooner committed his effects to the care of this
triumvirate, than his fancy was visited with direful warnings, which
produced cold sweats and palpitations, and threw him into such agonies of
apprehension as he had never known before. He remembered the former
desertion of the Tyrolese, the recent villany of the solicitor, and recollected
the remarks he had made upon the disposition and character of his valet,
which evinced him a fit companion for the other two.
Alarmed at these reflections, he entreated the bailiff to indulge him with
a visit to his own lodgings, and even offered one hundred guineas as a
gratification for his compliance. But the officer, who had formerly lost a
considerable sum by the escape of a prisoner, would not run any risk in an
affair of such consequence, and our hero was obliged to submit to the
tortures of his own presaging fears. After he had waited five hours in the
most racking impatience, he saw the attorney enter with all the marks of
hurry, fatigue, and consternation, and heard him exclaim, “Good God, have
you seen the gentleman?”
Fathom found his fears realised in this interrogation, to which he
answered in a tone of horror and dismay, “What gentleman? I suppose I am
robbed. Speak, and keep me no longer in suspense.” “Robbed!” cried the
attorney, “the Lord forbid! I hope you can depend upon the person you
empowered to receive your jewels and cash? I must own his proceedings
are a little extraordinary; for after he had rummaged your scrutoire, from
which, in presence of me and your servant, he took one hundred and fifty
guineas, a parcel of diamond rings and buckles, according to this here
inventory, which I wrote with my own hand, and East India bonds to the
tune of five hundred more, we adjourned to Garraway’s, where he left me

alone, under pretence of going to a broker of his acquaintance who lived in
the neighbourhood, while the valet, as I imagined, waited for us in the alley.
Well, sir, he stayed so long, that I began to be uneasy, and at length resolved
to send the servant in quest of him, but when I went out for that purpose,
deuce a servant was to be found; though I in person inquired for him at
every alehouse within half a mile of the place. I then despatched no less
than five ticket porters upon the scent after them, and I myself, by a
direction from the bar-keeper, went to Signior Ratchcali’s lodgings, where,
as they told me, he had not been seen since nine o’clock in the morning.
Upon this intimation, I came directly hither, to give you timely notice, that
you may without delay take measures for your own security. The best thing
you can do, is to take out writs for apprehending him, in the counties of
Middlesex, Surrey, Kent, and Essex, and I shall put them in the hands of
trusty and diligent officers, who will soon ferret him out of his lurking-
place, provided he skulks within ten miles of the bills of mortality. To be
sure, the job will be expensive; and all these runners must be paid
beforehand. But what then? the defendant is worth powder, and if we can
once secure him, I’ll warrant the prosecution will quit cost.”
Fathom was almost choked with concern and resentment at the news of
this mischance, so that he could not utter one word until this narrative was
finished. Nor was his suspicion confined to the Tyrolese and his own
lacquey; he considered the solicitor as their accomplice and director, and
was so much provoked at the latter part of his harangue, that his discretion
seemed to vanish, and, collaring the attorney, “Villain!” said he, “you
yourself have been a principal actor in this robbery.” Then turning to the
bystanders, “and I desire in the King’s name that he may be secured, until I
can make oath before a magistrate in support of the charge. If you refuse
your assistance in detaining him, I will make immediate application to one
of the secretaries of state, who is my particular friend, and he will see
justice done to all parties.”
At mention of this formidable name, the bailiff and his whole family
were in commotion, to obstruct the retreat of the lawyer, who stood aghast
and trembled under the grasp of our adventurer. But, soon as he found
himself delivered from this embrace, by the interposition of the spectators,
and collected his spirits, which had been suddenly dissipated by Fathom’s
unexpected assault, he began to display one art of his occupation, which he
always reserved for extraordinary occasions. This was the talent of abuse,

which he poured forth with such fluency of opprobrious language, that our
hero, smarting as he was, and almost desperate with his loss, deviated from
that temperance of behaviour which he had hitherto preserved, and
snatching up the poker, with one stroke opened a deep trench upon the
attorney’s skull, that extended from the hind head almost to the upper part
of the nose, upon each side of which it discharged a sanguine stream.
Notwithstanding the pain of this application, the solicitor was transported
with joy at the sense of the smart, and inwardly congratulated himself upon
the appearance of his own blood, which he no sooner perceived, than he
exclaimed, “I’m a dead man,” and fell upon the floor at full length.
Immediate recourse was had to a surgeon in the neighbourhood, who,
having examined the wound, declared there was a dangerous depression of
the first table of the skull, and that, if he could save the patient’s life without
the application of the trepan, it would be one of the greatest cures that ever
were performed. By this time, Fathom’s first transport being overblown, he
summoned up his whole resolution, and reflected upon his own ruin with
that fortitude which had never failed him in the emergencies of his fate.
Little disturbed at the prognostic of the surgeon, which he considered in the
right point of view; “Sir,” said he, “I am not so unacquainted with the
resistance of an attorney’s skull, as to believe the chastisement I have
bestowed on him will at all endanger his life, which is in much greater
jeopardy from the hands of the common executioner. For, notwithstanding
this accident, I am determined to prosecute the rascal for robbery with the
utmost severity of the law; and, that I may have a sufficient fund left for
that prosecution, I shall not at present throw away one farthing in
unnecessary expense, but insist upon being conveyed to prison without
farther delay.”
This declaration was equally unwelcome to the bailiff, surgeon, and
solicitor, who, upon the supposition that the Count was a person of fortune,
and would rather part with an immense sum than incur the ignominy of a
jail, or involve himself in another disgraceful lawsuit, had resolved to fleece
him to the utmost of their power. But, now the attorney finding him
determined to set his fate at defiance, and to retort upon him a prosecution,
which he had no design to undergo, began to repent heartily of the
provocation he had given, and to think seriously on some method to
overcome the obstinacy of the incensed foreigner. With this view, while the
bailiff conducted him to bed in another apartment, he desired the catchpole

to act the part of mediator between him and the Count, and furnished him
with proper instructions for that purpose. Accordingly the landlord, on his
return, told Fathom that he was sure the solicitor was not a man for this
world; for that he had left him deprived of his senses, and praying to God
with great devotion for mercy to his murderer. He then exhorted him, with
many protestations of friendship, to compromise the unhappy affair by
exchanging releases with the attorney before his delirium should be known,
otherwise he would bring himself into a most dangerous premunire,
whether the plaintiff should die of his wound, or live to prosecute him for
assault. “And with regard to your charge of robbery against him,” said he,
“as it is no more than a base suspicion, unsupported by the least shadow of
evidence, the bill would be thrown out, and then he might sue you for
damages. I therefore, out of pure friendship and good-nature, advise you to
compromise the affair, and, if you think proper, will endeavour to bring
about a mutual release.”
Our hero, whose passion was by this time pretty well cooled, saw reason
for assenting to the proposal; upon which the deed was immediately
executed, the mediator’s bill was discharged, and Ferdinand conveyed in an
hackney-coach to prison, after he had empowered his own landlord to
discharge his servants, and convert his effects into ready money. Thus, he
saw himself, in the course of a few hours, deprived of his reputation, rank,
liberty, and friends; and his fortune reduced from two thousand pounds to
something less than two hundred, fifty of which he had carried to jail in his
pocket.
END OF VOL. I.

THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT
FATHOM

by Tobias Smollett

COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS

PART II.

With the Author’s Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier,
Ph.D. Department of English, Harvard University.

THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT
FATHOM

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

OUR ADVENTURER IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH A NEW
SCENE OF LIFE.

Just as he entered these mansions of misery, his ears were invaded with a
hoarse and dreadful voice, exclaiming, “You, Bess Beetle, score a couple of
fresh eggs, a pennyworth of butter, and half a pint of mountain to the king;
and stop credit till the bill is paid:—He is now debtor for fifteen shillings
and sixpence, and d—n me if I trust him one farthing more, if he was the
best king in Christendom. And, d’ye hear, send Ragged-head with five
pounds of potatoes for Major Macleaver’s supper, and let him have what
drink he wants; the fat widow gentlewoman from Pimlico has promised to
quit his score. Sir Mungo Barebones may have some hasty pudding and
small beer, though I don’t expect to see his coin, no more than to receive the
eighteen pence I laid out for a pair of breeches to his backside—what then?
he’s a quiet sort of a body, and a great scholar, and it was a scandal to the
place to see him going about in that naked condition. As for the mad
Frenchman with the beard, if you give him so much as a cheese-paring, you
b—ch, I’ll send you back to the hole, among your old companions; an
impudent dog! I’ll teach him to draw his sword upon the governor of an
English county jail. What! I suppose he thought he had to do with a French
hang-tang-dang, rabbit him! he shall eat his white feather, before I give him
credit for a morsel of bread.”
Although our adventurer was very little disposed, at this juncture, to
make observations foreign to his own affairs, he could not help taking
notice of these extraordinary injunctions; especially those concerning the
person who was entitled king, whom, however, he supposed to be some
prisoner elected as the magistrate by the joint suffrage of his fellows.
Having taken possession of his chamber, which he rented at five shillings a
week, and being ill at ease in his own thoughts, he forthwith secured his

door, undressed, and went to bed, in which, though it was none of the most
elegant or inviting couches, he enjoyed profound repose after the
accumulated fatigues and mortifications of the day. Next morning, after
breakfast, the keeper entered his apartment, and gave him to understand,
that the gentlemen under his care, having heard of the Count’s arrival, had
deputed one of their number to wait upon him with the compliments of
condolence suitable to the occasion, and invite him to become a member of
their society. Our hero could not politely dispense with this instance of
civility, and their ambassador being instantly introduced by the name of
Captain Minikin, saluted him with great solemnity.
This was a person equally remarkable for his extraordinary figure and
address; his age seemed to border upon forty, his stature amounted to five
feet, his visage was long, meagre, and weather-beaten, and his aspect,
though not quite rueful, exhibited a certain formality, which was the result
of care and conscious importance. He was very little encumbered with flesh
and blood; yet what body he had was well proportioned, his limbs were
elegantly turned, and by his carriage he was well entitled to that
compliment which we pay to any person when we say he has very much the
air of a gentleman. There was also an evident singularity in his dress,
which, though intended as an improvement, appeared to be an extravagant
exaggeration of the mode, and at once evinced him an original to the
discerning eyes of our adventurer, who received him with his usual
complaisance, and made a very eloquent acknowledgment of the honour
and satisfaction he received from the visit of the representative, and the
hospitality of his constituents. The captain’s peculiarities were not confined
to his external appearance; for his voice resembled the sound of a bassoon,
or the aggregate hum of a whole bee-hive, and his discourse was almost
nothing else than a series of quotations from the English poets, interlarded
with French phrases, which he retained for their significance, on the
recommendation of his friends, being himself unacquainted with that or any
other outlandish tongue.
Fathom, finding this gentleman of a very communicative disposition,
thought he could not have a fairer opportunity of learning the history of his
fellow-prisoners; and, turning the conversation on that subject, was not
disappointed in his expectation. “I don’t doubt, sir,” said he, with the utmost
solemnity of declamation, “but you look with horror upon every object that
surrounds you in this uncomfortable place; but, nevertheless, here are some,

who, as my friend Shakespeare has it, have seen better days, and have with
holy bell been knolled to church; and sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped
their eyes of drops that sacred pity hath engendered. You must know, sir,
that, exclusive of the canaille, or the profanum vulgus, as they are styled by
Horace, there are several small communities in the jail, consisting of people
who are attracted by the manners and dispositions of each other; for this
place, sir, is quite a microcosm, and as the great world, so is this, a stage,
and all the men and women merely players. For my own part, sir, I have
always made it a maxim to associate with the best of company I can find.
Not that I pretend to boast of my family or extraction; because, you know,
as the poet says, Vix ea nostra voco. My father, ’tis true, was a man that
piqued himself upon his pedigree, as well as upon his politesse and personal
merit; for he had been a very old officer in the army, and I myself may say I
was born with a spontoon in my hand. Sir, I have had the honour to serve
his Majesty these twenty years, and have been bandied about in the course
of duty through all the British plantations, and you see the recompense of
all my service. But this is a disagreeable subject, and therefore I shall waive
it; however, as Butler observes:
My only comfort is, that now
My dubbolt fortune is so low,
That either it must quickly end,
Or turn about again and mend.

“And now, to return from this digression, you will perhaps be surprised
to hear that the head or chairman of our club is really a sovereign prince; no
less, I’ll assure you, than the celebrated Theodore king of Corsica, who lies
in prison for a debt of a few hundred pounds. Heu! quantum mutatus ab illo.
It is not my business to censure the conduct of my superiors; but I always
speak my mind in a cavalier manner, and as, according to the Spectator,
talking to a friend is no more than thinking aloud, entre nous, his Corsican
majesty has been scurvily treated by a certain administration. Be that as it
will, he is a personage of a very portly appearance, and is quite master of
the bienseance. Besides, they will find it their interest to have recourse
again to his alliance; and in that case some of us may expect to profit by his
restoration. But few words are best.
“He that maintains the second rank in our assembly is one Major
Macleaver, an Irish gentleman, who has served abroad; a soldier of fortune,
sir, a man of unquestionable honour and courage, but a little overbearing, in

consequence of his knowledge and experience. He is a person of good
address,—to be sure, and quite free of the mauvaise honte, and he may have
seen a good deal of service. But what then? other people may be as good as
he, though they have not had such opportunities; if he speaks five or six
languages, he does not pretend to any taste in the liberal arts, which are the
criterion of an accomplished gentleman.
“The next is Sir Mungo Barebones, the representative of a very ancient
family in the north; his affairs are very much deranged, but he is a
gentleman of great probity and learning, and at present engaged in a very
grand scheme, which, if he can bring it to bear, will render him famous to
all posterity; no less than the conversion of the Jews and the Gentiles. The
project, I own, looks chimerical to one who has not conversed with the
author; but, in my opinion, he has clearly demonstrated, from an
anagrammatical analysis of a certain Hebrew word, that his present Majesty,
whom God preserve, is the person pointed at in Scripture as the temporal
Messiah of the Jews; and, if he could once raise by subscription such a
trifling sum as twelve hundred thousand pounds, I make no doubt but he
would accomplish his aim, vast and romantic as it seems to be.
“Besides these, we have another messmate, who is a French chevalier, an
odd sort of a man, a kind of Lazarillo de Tormes, a caricatura; he wears a
long beard, pretends to be a great poet, and makes a d—-ed fracas with his
verses. The king has been obliged to exert his authority over him more than
once, by ordering him into close confinement, for which he was so rash as
to send his majesty a challenge; but he afterwards made his submission, and
was again taken into favour. The truth is, I believe his brain is a little
disordered, and, he being a stranger, we overlook his extravagancies.
“Sir, we shall think ourselves happy in your accession to our society. You
will be under no sort of restraint; for, though we dine at one table, every
individual calls and pays for his own mess. Our conversation, such as it is,
will not, I hope, be disagreeable; and though we have not opportunities of
breathing the pure Arcadian air, and cannot, ‘under the shade of melancholy
boughs, lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,’ we may enjoy
ourselves over a glass of punch or a dish of tea. Nor are we destitute of
friends, who visit us in these shades of distress. The major has a numerous
acquaintance of both sexes; among others, a first cousin of good fortune,
who, with her daughters, often cheer our solitude; she is a very sensible

ladylike gentlewoman, and the young ladies have a certain degagee air, that
plainly shows they have seen the best company. Besides, I will venture to
recommend Mrs. Minikin as a woman of tolerable breeding and capacity,
who, I hope, will not be found altogether deficient in the accomplishments
of the sex. So that we find means to make little parties, in which the time
glides away insensibly. Then I have a small collection of books which are at
your service. You may amuse yourself with Shakespeare, or Milton, or Don
Quixote, or any of our modern authors that are worth reading, such as the
Adventures of Loveill, Lady Frail, George Edwards, Joe Thompson,
Bampfylde Moore Carew, Young Scarron, and Miss Betsy Thoughtless; and
if you have a taste for drawing, I can entertain you with a parcel of prints by
the best masters.”
A man of our hero’s politeness could not help expressing himself in the
warmest terms of gratitude for this courteous declaration. He thanked the
captain in particular for his obliging offers, and begged he would be so
good as to present his respects to the society, of which he longed to be a
member. It was determined, therefore, that Minikin should return in an hour,
when the Count would be dressed, in order to conduct him into the presence
of his majesty; and he had already taken his leave for the present, when all
of a sudden he came back, and taking hold of a waistcoat that lay upon a
chair, “Sir,” said he, “give me leave to look at that fringe; I think it is the
most elegant knitting I ever saw. But pray, sir, are not these quite out of
fashion? I thought plain silk, such as this that I wear, had been the mode,
with the pockets very low.” Before Fathom had time to make any sort of
reply, he took notice of his hat and pumps; the first of which, he said, was
too narrow in the brims, and the last an inch too low in the heels. Indeed,
they formed a remarkable contrast with his own; for, exclusive of the
fashion of the cock, which resembled the form of a Roman galley, the brim
of his hat, if properly spread, would have projected a shade sufficient to
shelter a whole file of musketeers from the heat of a summer’s sun; and the
heels of his shoes were so high as to raise his feet three inches at least from
the surface of the earth.
Having made these observations, for the credit of his taste, he retired, and
returning at the time appointed, accompanied Ferdinand to the apartment of
the king, at the doors of which their ears were invaded with a strange sound,
being that of a human voice imitating the noise of a drum. The captain,
hearing this alarm, made a full stop, and, giving the Count to understand

that his majesty was busy, begged he would not take it amiss, if the
introduction should be delayed for a few moments. Fathom, curious to
know the meaning of what he had heard, applied to his guide for
information, and learned that the king and the major, whom he had
nominated to the post of his general-in-chief, were employed in landing
troops upon the Genoese territory; that is, that they were settling beforehand
the manner of their disembarkation.
He then, by the direction of his conductor, reconnoitred them through the
keyhole, and perceived the sovereign and his minister sitting on opposite
sides of a deal board table, covered with a large chart or map, upon which
he saw a great number of mussel and oyster shells ranged in a certain order,
and, at a little distance, several regular squares and columns made of cards
cut in small pieces. The prince himself, whose eyes were reinforced by
spectacles, surveyed this armament with great attention, while the general
put the whole in action, and conducted their motions by beat of drum. The
mussel-shells, according to Minikin’s explanation, represented the
transports, the oyster-shells were considered as the men-of-war that covered
the troops in landing, and the pieces of card exhibited the different bodies
into which the army was formed upon its disembarkation.
As an affair of such consequence could not be transacted without
opposition, they had provided divers ambuscades, consisting of the enemy,
whom they represented by grey peas; and accordingly General Macleaver,
perceiving the said grey peas marching along shore to attack his forces
before they could be drawn up in battalia, thus addressed himself to the
oyster-shells, in an audible voice:—“You men-of-war, don’t you see the
front of the enemy advancing, and the rest of the detachment following out
of sight? Arrah! the devil burn you, why don’t you come ashore and open
your batteries?” So saying, he pushed the shells towards the breach,
performed the cannonading with his voice, the grey peas were soon put in
confusion, the general was beat, the cards marched forwards in order of
battle, and the enemy having retreated with great precipitation, they took
possession of their ground without farther difficulty.

CHAPTER FORTY

HE CONTEMPLATES MAJESTY AND ITS SATELLITES IN
ECLIPSE.

This expedition being happily finished, General Macleaver put the whole
army, navy, transports, and scene of action into a canvas bag, the prince
unsaddled his nose, and Captain Minikin being admitted, our hero was
introduced in form. Very gracious was the reception he met with from his
majesty, who, with a most princely demeanour, welcomed him to court, and
even seated him on his right hand, in token of particular regard. True it is,
this presence-chamber was not so superb, nor the appearance of the king so
magnificent, as to render such an honour intoxicating to any person of our
hero’s coolness and discretion. In lieu of tapestry, the apartment was hung
with halfpenny ballads, a truckle-bed without curtains supplied the place of
a canopy, and instead of a crown his majesty wore a woollen night-cap. Yet,
in spite of these disadvantages, there was an air of dignity in his
deportment, and a nice physiognomist would have perceived something
majestic in the features of his countenance.
He was certainly a personage of very prepossessing mien; his manners
were engaging, his conversation agreeable, and any man whose heart was
subject to the meltings of humanity would have deplored his distress, and
looked upon him as a most pathetic instance of that miserable reverse to
which all human grandeur is exposed. His fall was even greater than that of
Belisarius, who, after having obtained many glorious victories over the
enemies of his country, is said to have been reduced to such extremity of
indigence, that, in his old age, when he was deprived of his eyesight, he sat
upon the highway like a common mendicant, imploring the charity of
passengers in the piteous exclamation of Date obolum Belisario; that is,
“Spare a farthing to your poor old soldier Belisarius.” I say, this general’s

disgrace was not so remarkable as that of Theodore, because he was the
servant of Justinian, consequently his fortune depended upon the nod of that
emperor; whereas the other actually possessed the throne of sovereignty by
the best of all titles, namely, the unanimous election of the people over
whom he reigned; and attracted the eyes of all Europe, by the efforts he
made in breaking the bands of oppression, and vindicating that liberty
which is the birthright of man.
The English of former days, alike renowned for generosity and valour,
treated those hostile princes, whose fate it was to wear their chains, with
such delicacy of benevolence, as even dispelled the horrors of captivity; but
their posterity of this refined age feel no compunction at seeing an
unfortunate monarch, their former friend, ally, and partisan, languish amidst
the miseries of a loathsome jail, for a paltry debt contracted in their own
service. But, moralising apart, our hero had not long conversed with this
extraordinary debtor, who in his present condition assumed no other title
than that of Baron, than he perceived in him a spirit of Quixotism, which all
his experience, together with the vicissitudes of his fortune, had not been
able to overcome. Not that his ideas soared to such a pitch of extravagant
hope as that which took possession of his messmates, who frequently
quarrelled one with another about the degrees of favour to which they
should be entitled after the king’s restoration; but he firmly believed that
affairs would speedily take such a turn in Italy, as would point out to the
English court the expediency of employing him again; and his persuasion
seemed to support him against every species of poverty and mortification.
While they were busy in trimming the balance of power on the other side
of the Alps, their deliberations were interrupted by the arrival of a scullion,
who came to receive their orders touching the bill of fare for dinner, and his
majesty found much more difficulty in settling this important concern, than
in compromising all the differences between the Emperor and the Queen of
Spain. At length, however, General Macleaver undertook the office of
purveyor for his prince; Captain Minikin insisted upon treating the Count;
and in a little time the table was covered with a cloth, which, for the sake of
my delicate readers, I will not attempt to describe.
At this period they were joined by Sir Mungo Barebones, who, having
found means to purchase a couple of mutton chops, had cooked a mess of
broth, which he now brought in a saucepan to the general rendezvous. This

was the most remarkable object which had hitherto presented itself to the
eyes of Fathom. Being naturally of a meagre habit, he was, by indigence
and hard study, wore almost to the bone, and so bended towards the earth,
that in walking his body described at least 150 degrees of a circle. The want
of stockings and shoes he supplied with a jockey straight boot and an half
jack. His thighs and middle were cased in a monstrous pair of brown trunk
breeches, which the keeper bought for his use from the executor of a Dutch
seaman who had lately died in the jail. His shirt retained no signs of its
original colour, his body was shrouded in an old greasy tattered plaid
nightgown; a blue and white handkerchief surrounded his head, and his
looks betokened that immense load of care which he had voluntarily
incurred for the eternal salvation of sinners. Yet this figure, uncouth as it
was, made his compliments to our adventurer in terms of the most elegant
address, and, in the course of conversation, disclosed a great fund of
valuable knowledge. He had appeared in the great world, and borne divers
offices of dignity and trust with universal applause. His courage was
undoubted, his morals were unimpeached, and his person held in great
veneration and esteem; when his evil genius engaged him in the study of
Hebrew, and the mysteries of the Jewish religion, which fairly disordered
his brain, and rendered him incapable of managing his temporal affairs.
When he ought to have been employed in the functions of his post, he was
always wrapt in visionary conferences with Moses on the Mount; rather
than regulate the economy of his household, he chose to exert his
endeavours in settling the precise meaning of the word Elohim; and having
discovered that now the period was come, when the Jews and Gentiles
would be converted, he postponed every other consideration, in order to
facilitate that great and glorious event.
By this time Ferdinand had seen every member of the club, except the
French chevalier, who seemed to be quite neglected by the society; for his
name was not once mentioned during this communication, and they sat
down to dinner, without asking whether he was dead or alive. The king
regaled himself with a plate of ox-cheek; the major, who complained that
his appetite had forsaken him, amused himself with some forty hard eggs,
malaxed with salt butter; the knight indulged upon his soup and bouilli, and
the captain entertained our adventurer with a neck of veal roasted with
potatoes; but before Fathom could make use of his knife and fork, he was

summoned to the door, where he found the chevalier in great agitation, his
eyes sparkling like coals of fire.
Our hero was not a little surprised at this apparition, who, having asked
pardon for the freedom he had used, observed, that, understanding the
Count was a foreigner, he could not dispense with appealing to him
concerning an outrage he had suffered from the keeper, who, without any
regard to his rank or misfortunes, had been base enough to refuse him credit
for a few necessaries, until he could have a remittance from his steward in
France; he therefore conjured Count Fathom, as a stranger and nobleman
like himself, to be the messenger of defiance, which he resolved to send to
that brutal jailor, that, for the future, he might learn to make proper
distinctions in the exercise of his function.
Fathom, who had no inclination to offend this choleric Frenchman,
assured him that he might depend upon his friendship; and, in the
meantime, prevailed upon him to accept of a small supply, in consequence
of which he procured a pound of sausages, and joined the rest of the
company without delay; making a very suitable addition to such an
assemblage of rarities. Though his age did not exceed thirty years, his
beard, which was of a brindled hue, flowed down, like Aaron’s, to his
middle. Upon his legs he wore red stockings rolled up over the joint of the
knee, his breeches were of blue drab, with vellum button-holes, and garters
of gold lace, his waistcoat of scarlet, his coat of rusty black cloth, his hair,
twisted into a ramilie, hung down to his rump, of the colour of jet, and his
hat was adorned with a white feather.
This original had formed many ingenious schemes to increase the glory
and grandeur of France, but was discouraged by Cardinal Fleury, who, in all
appearance, jealous of his great talents, not only rejected his projects, but
even sent him to prison, on pretence of being offended at his impertinence.
Perceiving that, like the prophet, he had no honour in his own country, he
no sooner obtained his release, than he retired to England, where he was
prompted by his philanthropy to propose an expedient to our ministry,
which would have saved a vast effusion of blood and treasure; this was an
agreement between the Queen of Hungary and the late Emperor, to decide
their pretensions by a single combat; in which case he offered himself as the
Bavarian champion; but in this endeavour he also proved unsuccessful.
Then turning his attention to the delights of poetry, he became so

enamoured of the muse, that he neglected every other consideration, and
she as usual gradually conducted him to the author’s never-failing goal—a
place of rest appointed for all those sinners whom the profane love of poesy
hath led astray.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ONE QUARREL IS COMPROMISED, AND ANOTHER
DECIDED BY UNUSUAL ARMS.

Among other topics of conversation that were discussed at this genial
meeting, Sir Mungo’s scheme was brought upon the carpet by his majesty,
who was graciously pleased to ask how his subscription filled? To this
interrogation the knight answered, that he met with great opposition from a
spirit of levity and self-conceit, which seemed to prevail in this generation,
but that no difficulties should discourage him from persevering in his duty;
and he trusted in God, that, in a very little time, he should be able to confute
and overthrow the false philosophy of the moderns, and to restore the
writings of Moses to that pre-eminence and veneration which is due to an
inspired author. He spoke of the immortal Newton with infinite contempt,
and undertook to extract from the Pentateuch a system of chronology which
would ascertain the progress of time since the fourth day of the creation to
the present hour, with such exactness, that not one vibration of a pendulum
should be lost; nay, he affirmed that the perfection of all arts and sciences
might be attained by studying these secret memoirs, and that he himself did
not despair of learning from them the art of transmuting baser metals into
gold.
The chevalier, though he did not pretend to contradict these assertions,
was too much attached to his own religion to acquiesce in the knight’s
project of converting the Jews and the Gentiles to the Protestant heresy,
which, he said, God Almighty would never suffer to triumph over the
interests of his own Holy Catholic Church. This objection produced
abundance of altercation between two very unequal disputants; and the
Frenchman, finding himself puzzled by the learning of his antagonist, had
recourse to the argumentum ad hominem, by laying his hand upon his

sword, and declaring that he was ready to lose the last drop of his blood in
opposition to such a damnable scheme.
Sir Mungo, though in all appearance reduced to the last stage of animal
existence, no sooner heard this epithet applied to his plan, than his eyes
gleamed like lightning, he sprung from his seat with the agility of a
grasshopper, and, darting himself out at the door like an arrow from a bow,
reappeared in a moment with a long rusty weapon, which might have been
shown among a collection of rarities as the sword of Guy Earl of Warwick.
This implement he brandished over the chevalier’s head with the dexterity
of an old prize-fighter, exclaiming, in the French language, “Thou art a
profane wretch marked out for the vengeance of Heaven, whose unworthy
minister I am, and here thou shalt fall by the sword of the Lord and of
Gideon.”
The chevalier, unterrified by this dreadful salutation, desired he would
accompany him to a more convenient place; and the world might have been
deprived of one or both these knights-errant, had not General Macleaver, at
the desire of his majesty, interposed, and found means to bring matters to an
accommodation.
In the afternoon the society was visited by the major’s cousin and her
daughters, who no sooner appeared than they were recognised by our
adventurer, and his acquaintance with them renewed in such a manner as
alarmed the delicacy of Captain Minikin, who in the evening repaired to the
Count’s apartment, and with a formal physiognomy, accosted him in these
words: “Sir, I beg pardon for this intrusion, but I come to consult you about
an affair in which my honour is concerned; and a soldier without honour,
you know, is no better than a body without a soul. I have always admired
that speech of Hotspur in the first part of Henry the Fourth:
By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac’d moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks—

“There is a boldness and ease in the expression, and the images are very
picturesque. But, without any further preamble, pray, sir, give me leave to
ask how long you have been acquainted with those ladies who drank tea
with us this afternoon. You’ll forgive the question, sir, when I tell you that

Major Macleaver introduced Mrs. Minikin to them as to ladies of character,
and, I don’t know how, sir, I have a sort of presentiment that my wife has
been imposed upon. Perhaps I may be mistaken, and God grant I may. But
there was a je ne sais quoi in their behaviour to-day, which begins to alarm
my suspicion. Sir, I have nothing but my reputation to depend upon, and I
hope you will excuse me, when I earnestly beg to know what rank they
maintain in life.”
Fathom, without minding the consequence, told him, with a simper, that
he knew them to be very good-natured ladies, who devoted themselves to
the happiness of mankind. This explanation had no sooner escaped from his
lips, than the captain’s face began to glow with indignation, his eyes
seemed bursting from their spheres, he swelled to twice his natural
dimensions, and, raising himself on his tiptoes, pronounced, in a strain that
emulated thunder, “Blood! sir, you seem to make very light of the matter,
but it is no joke to me, I’ll assure you, and Macleaver shall see that I am not
to be affronted with impunity. Sir, I shall take it as a singular favour if you
will be the bearer of a billet to him, which I shall write in three words; nay,
sir, you must give me leave to insist upon it, as you are the only gentleman
of our mess whom I can intrust with an affair of this nature.”
Fathom, rather than run the risk of disobliging such a punctilious warrior,
after having in vain attempted to dissuade him from his purpose, undertook
to carry the challenge, which was immediately penned in these words:

“SIR,
You have violated my honour in imposing upon Mrs.
Minikin your pretended cousins as ladies of virtue and
reputation. I therefore demand such satisfaction as a soldier
ought to receive, and expect you will adjust with my friend
Count Fathom the terms upon which you shall be met by the
much injured

GOLIAH MINIKIN.”

This morceau being sealed and directed, was forthwith carried by our
adventurer to the lodgings of the major, who had by this time retired to rest,
but hearing the Count’s voice, he got up and opened the door in cuerpo, to
the astonishment of Ferdinand, who had never before seen such an

Herculean figure. He made an apology for receiving the Count in his
birthday suit, to which he said he was reduced by the heat of his
constitution, though he might have assigned a more adequate cause, by
owning that his shirt was in the hands of his washerwoman; then shrouding
himself in a blanket, desired to know what had procured him the honour of
such an extraordinary visit. He read the letter with great composure, like a
man accustomed to such intercourse; then addressing himself to the bearer,
“I will be after diverting the gentleman,” said he, “in any manner he shall
think proper; but, by Jesus, this is no place for such amusements, because,
as you well know, my dear Count, if both should be killed by the chance of
war, neither of us will be able to escape, and after the breath is out of his
body, he will make but a sorry excuse to his family and friends. But that is
no concern of mine, and therefore I am ready to please him in his own
way.”
Fathom approved of his remarks, which he reinforced with sundry
considerations, to the same purpose, and begged the assistance of the
major’s advice, in finding some expedient to terminate the affair without
bloodshed, that no troublesome consequences might ensue either to him or
to his antagonist, who, in spite of this overstraining formality, seemed to be
a person of worth and good-nature. “With all my heart,” said the generous
Hibernian, “I have a great regard for the little man, and my own character is
not to seek at this time of day. I have served a long apprenticeship to
fighting, as this same carcase can testify, and if he compels me to run him
through the body, by my soul, I shall do it in a friendly manner.”
So saying, he threw aside the blanket, and displayed scars and seams
innumerable upon his body, which appeared like an old patched leathern
doublet. “I remember,” proceeded this champion, “when I was a slave at
Algiers, Murphy Macmorris and I happened to have some difference in the
bagnio, upon which he bade me turn out. ‘Arra, for what?’ said I; ‘here are
no weapons that a gentleman can use, and you would not be such a negro as
to box like an English carman.’ After he had puzzled himself for some time,
he proposed that we should retire into a corner, and funk one another with
brimstone, till one of us should give out. Accordingly we crammed half a
dozen tobacco pipes with sulphur, and, setting foot to foot, began to smoke,
and kept a constant fire, until Macmorris dropped down; then I threw away
my pipe, and taking poor Murphy in my arms, ‘What, are you dead?’ said I;
‘if you are dead, speak.’ ‘No, by Jesus!’ cried he, ‘I an’t dead, but I’m