 | CHAPTER I. Arthur Mervyn, or, Memoirs of the year 1793 |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
Here ended the narrative of Mervyn. Surely its incidents
were of no common kind. During this season
of pestilence, my opportunities of observation had been
numerous, and I had not suffered them to pass unimproved.
The occurrences which fell within my own
experience bore a general resemblance to those which
had just been related, but they did not hinder the latter
from striking on my mind with all the force of novelty.
They served no end, but as vouchers for the truth of
the tale.
Surely the youth had displayed inimitable and heroic
qualities. His courage was the growth of benevolence
and reason, and not the child of insensibility and the
nursling of habit. He had been qualified for the encounter
of gigantic dangers by no laborious education.
He stept forth upon the stage, unfurnished, by anticipation
or experience, with the means of security against
fraud; and yet, by the aid of pure intentions, had
frustrated the wiles of an accomplished and veteran
deceiver.
I blessed the chance which placed the youth under
my protection. When I reflected on that tissue of
nice contingences which led him to my door, and enabled
me to save from death a being of such rare endowments,
my heart overflowed with joy, not unmingled
cut off by this disease, in their career of virtue and their
blossom-time of genius! How many deeds of heroism
and self-devotion are ravished from existence, and consigned
to hopeless oblivion!
I had saved the life of this youth. This was not the
limit of my duty or my power. Could I not render
that life profitable to himself and to mankind? The
gains of my profession were slender; but these gains
were sufficient for his maintainance as well as my own.
By residing withme, partaking my instructions, and reading
my books, he would, in a few years, be fitted for
the practice of physic. A science, whose truths are so
conducive to the welfare of mankind, and which comprehends
the whole system of nature, could not but
gratify a mind so beneficent and strenuous as his.
This scheme occurred to me as soon as the conclusion
of his tale allowed me to think. I did not immediately
mention it; since the approbation of my wife,
of whose concurrence, however, I entertained no
doubt, was previously to be obtained. Dismissing it,
for the present, from my thoughts, I reverted to the
incidents of his tale.
The lady whom Welbeck had betrayed and deserted,
was not unknown to me. I was but too well acquainted
with her fate. If she had been single in calamity,
her tale would have been listened to with insupportable
sympathy; but the frequency of the spectacle of distress,
seems to lessen the compassion with which it is
reviewed. Now that those scenes are only remembered,
my anguish is greater than when they were witnessed.
Then every new day was only a repetition of the disasters
of the foregoing. My sensibility, if not extinguished,
was blunted; and I gazed upon the complicated
ills of poverty and sickness with a degree of unconcern,
on which I should once have reflected with
astonishment.
The fate of Clemenza Lodi was not, perhaps, more
signal than many which have occurred. It threw detestable
light upon the character of Welbeck, and showed
had evinced him to be. That man, indeed, was hitherto
imperfectly seen. The time had not come which
should fully unfold the enormity of his transgressions and
the complexity of his frands.
There lived in a remote quarter of the city a woman, by
name Villars, who passed for the widow of an English
officer. Her manners and mode of living were specious.
She had three daughters, well trained in the school of
fashion, and elegant in person, manners and dress.
They had lately arrived from Europe, and for a time,
received from their neighbors that respect to which
their education and fortune appeared to lay claim.
The fallacy of their pretensions slowly appeared. It
began to be suspected that their subsistence was derived
not from pension or patrimony, but from the wages
of pollution. Their habitation was clandestinely frequented
by men who were unfaithful to their secret;
one of these was allied to me by ties, which authorized
me in watching his steps and detecting his errors, with
a view to his reformation. From him I obtained a
knowledge of the genuine character of these women.
A man like Welbeck, who was the slave of depraved
appetities, could not fail of being quickly satiated with
innocence and beauty. Some accident introduced him
to the knowledge of this family, and the youngest
daughter found him a proper subject on which to exercise
her artifices. It was to the frequent demands
made upon his purse, by this woman, that part of the
embarrassments in which Mervyn found him involved,
are to be ascribed.
To this circumstance must likewise be imputed his
anxiety to transfer to some other the possession of the
unhappy stranger. Why he concealed from Mervyn
his connection with Lucy Villars, may be easily imagined.
His silence, with regard to Clemenza's asylum,
will not create surprise, when it it is told that she was
placed with Mrs. Villars. On what conditions she was
received under this roof, cannot be so readily conjectured.
It is obylons, however, to suppose, that advantage
they hoped, in time, to make her an associate in their
profligate schemes.
The appearance of pestilence, mean wihle, threw them
into panick, and they hastened to remove from danger.
Mrs. Villars appears to have been a woman of no ordinary
views. She stooped to the vilest means of amassing
money; but this money was employed to secure to
herself and her daughters the benefits of independence.
She purchased the house which she occupied in the city,
and a mansion in the environs, well built and splendidly
furnished. To the latter, she and her family, of
which the Italian girl was now a member, retired at
the close of July.
I have mentioned that the source of my intelligence
was a kinsman, who had been drawn from the paths of
sobriety and rectitude, by the impetuosity of youthful
passions. He had power to confess and deplore, but
none to repair his errors. One of these women held
him by a spell which he struggled in vain to dissolve,
and by which, in spite of resolutions and remorses, he
was drawn to her feet, and made to sacrifice to her pleasure,
his reputation and his fortune.
My house was his customary abode during those intervals
in which he was persuaded to pursue his profession.
Some time before the infection began its progress,
he had disappeared. No tidings was received of
him, till a messenger arrived intreating my assistance.
I was conducted to the house of Mrs. Villars, in which
I found no one but my kinsman. Here it seems he had
immured himself from my enquiries, and on being seized
by the reigning malady, had been deserted by the family,
who, ere they departed, informed me by a messenger of
his condition.
Despondency combined with his disease to destroy
him. Before he died, he informed me fully of the
character of his betrayers. The late arrival, name
and personal condition of Clemenza Lodi were related.
Welbeck was not named, but was described in terms,
which, combined with the narrative of Mervyn, enabled
man whose crimes had been the principal theme of our
discourse.
Mervyn's curiosity was greatly roused when I intimated
my acquaintance with the fate of Clemenza. In
answer to his eager interrogations, I related what I
knew. The tale plunged him into reverie. Recovering,
at length, from his thoughtfulness, he spoke.
Her condition is perilous. The poverty of Welbeck
will drive him far from her abode. Her profligate protectors
will entice her or abandon her to ruin. Cannot she
be saved?
I know not, answered I, by what means.
The means are obvious. Let her remove to some
other dwelling. Let her be apprized of the vices of
those who surround her. Let her be intreated to fly.
The will need only be inspired, the danger need only
be shown, and she is safe, for she will remove beyond
its reach.
Thou art an adventurous youth. Who wilt thou
find to undertake the office? Who will be persuaded to
enter the house of a stranger, seck without an introduction
the presence of this girl, tell her that the house
she inhabits is an house of prostitution, prevail on her
to believe the tale, and persuade her to accompany him?
Who will open his house to the fugitive? Whom will
you convince that her illicit intercourse with Welbeck,
of which the opprobrious tokens cannot be concealed,
has not fitted her for the company of prostitutes, and
made her unworthy of protection? Who will adopt
into their family, a stranger, whose conduct has incurred
infamy, and whose present associates have, no
doubt, made her worthy of the curse?
True. These are difficulties which I did not foresee.
Must she then perish! Shall not something be done to
rescue her from infamy and guilt?
It is neither in your power nor in mine to do any
thing.
The lateness of the hour put an end to our conversation
and summoned us to repose, I seized the first
had occurred, relative to our guest; with which, as I
expected, she readily concurred. In the morning, I
mentioned it to Mervyn. I dwelt upon the benefits
that adhered to the medical profession, the power which
it confers of lightening the distresses of our neighbors,
the dignity which popular opinion annexes to it, the
avenue which it opens to the acquisition of competence,
the freedom from servile cares which attends it, and
the means of intellectual gratification with which it
supplies us.
As I spoke, his eyes sparkled with joy. Yes, said
he with vehemence, I willingly embrace your offer. I
accept this benefit, because I know that if my pride
should refuse it, I should prove myself less worthy
than you think, and give you pain, instead of that
pleasure which I am bound to confer. I would enter
on the duties and studies of my new profession immediately,
but somewhat is due to Mr. Hadwin and his
daughters. I cannot vanquish my inquietudes respecting
them, but by returning to Malverton and ascertaining
their state with my own eyes. You know in
what circumstances I parted with Wallace and Mr.
Hadwin. I am not sure, that either of them ever
reached home, or that they did not carry the infection
along with them. I now find myself sufficiently strong
to perform the journey, and proposed to have acquainted
you, at this interview, with my intentions. An hour's
delay is superfluous, and I hope you will consent to my
setting our immediately. Rural exercise and air, for
a week or fortnight, will greatly contribute to my
health.
No objection could be made to this scheme. Hisnarrative
had excited no common affection in our bosoms
for the Hadwins. His visit could not only inform
us of their true state, but would dispel that anxiety
which they could not but entertain respecting our
guest. It was a topic of some surprize that neither
Wallace nor Hadwin had returned to the city, with a
view to obtain some tidings of their friend. It was
some misfortune, than by insensibility or indolence.
In a few minutes Mervyn bade us adieu, and set out
upon his journey, promising to acquaint us with the
state of affairs, as soon as possible after his arrival.
We parted from him with reluctance, and found no
consolation but in the prospect of his speedy return.
During his absence, conversation naturally turned
upon those topics which were suggested by the narrative
and deportment of this youth. Different conclusions
were formed by his two auditors. They had both
contracted a deep interest in his welfare, and an ardent
curiosity as to those particulars which his unfinished
story had left in obscurity. The true character and
actual condition of Welbeck, were themes of much speculation.
Whether he were dead or alive, near or distant
from his ancient abode, was a point on which neither
Mervyn, nor any of those with whom I had means of
intercourse, afforded any information. Whether he had
shared the common fate, and had been carried by the
collectors of the dead from the highway or the hovel to
the pits opened alike for the rich and the poor, the known
and the unknown; whether he had escaped to a foreign
shore, or were destined to re-appear upon this stage, were
questions involved in uncertainty.
The disappearance of Watson would, at a different
time, have excited much enquiry and suspicion; but as
this had taken place on the eve of the epidemic, his kindred
and friends would acquiesce, without scruple, in
the belief that he had been involved in the general calamity,
and was to be numbered among the earliest victims.
Those of his profession usually resided in the
street where the infection began, and where its ravages
had been most destructive; and this circumstance would
corroborate the conclusions of his friends.
I did not perceive any immediate advantage to flow
from imparting the knowledge I had lately gained to
others. Shortly after Mervyn's departure to Malverton,
I was visited by Wortley. Enquiring for my guest,
I told him that, having recovered his health, he had left
of Welbeck, his suspicions of Mervyn, and his
wishes for another interview with the youth. Why
had I suffered him to depart, and whither had he gone?
He has gone for a short time into the country. I expect
him to return in less than a week, when you will
meet with him here as often as you please, for I expect
him to take up his abode in this house.
Much astonishment and disapprobation were expressed
by my friend. I hinted that the lad had made disclosures
to me, which justified my confidence in his integrity.
These proofs of his honestry were not of a nature
to be indiscriminately unfolded. Mervyn had authorized
me to communicate so much of his story to Wortley,
as would serve to vindicate him from the charge of being
Welbeck's copartner in fraud; but this end would only
be counteracted by an imperfect tale, and the full recital,
though it might exculpate Mervyn, might produce
inconveniences by which this advantage would be outweighed.
Wortley, as might be naturally expected, was by no
means satisfied with this statement. He suspected that
Mervyn was a wily imposter; that he had been trained
in the arts of fraud, under an accomplished teacher; that
the tale which he had told to me, was a tissue of ingenious
and plausible lies; that the mere assertions, however
plausible and solemn, of one like him, whose conduct
had incurred such strong suspicions, were unworthy of
the least credit.
It cannot be denied, continued my friend, that he
lived with Welbeck at the time of his elopement; that
they disappeared together; that they entered a boat, at
Pine-street wharf, at midnight; that this boat was discovered
by the owner in the possession of a fisherman
at Red-bank, who affirmed that he had found it stranded
near his door, the day succeeding that on which they
disappeared. Of all this, I can supply you with incontestible
proof. If, after this proof, you can give credit
to his story, I shall think you made of very perverse and
credulous materials.
The proof you mention, said I, will only enhance his
credibility. All the facts which you have stated, have
been admitted by him. They constitute an essential
portion of his narrative.
What then is the inference? Are not these evidences
of a compact between them? Has he not acknowledged
this compact in confessing that he knew Welbeck was
my debtor; that he was apprized of his flight, but that,
(what matchless effrontery!) he had promised secrecy,
and would, by no means, betray him? You say he means
to return; but of that I doubt. You will never see his
face more. He is too wise to thrust himself again into
the noose: but I do not utterly despair of lighting upon
Welbeck. Old Thetford, Jamieson and I, have sworn
to hunt him through the world. I have strong hopes
that he has not strayed far. Some intelligence has lately
been received, which has enabled us to place our
hounds upon the scent. He may double and skulk; but
if he does not fall into our toils at last, he will have the
agility and cunning, as well as the malignity of devils.
The vengeful disposition thus betrayed by Wortley,
was not without excuse. The vigor of his days had been
spent in acquiring a slender capital: his diligence and
honesty had succeeded, and he had lately thought his
situation such as to justify marriage with an excellent
woman, to whom he had for years been betrothed, but
from whom his poverty had hitherto compelled him to
live separate. Scarcely had this alliance taken place,
and the full career of nuptial enjoyments begun, when
his ill fate exposed him to the frauds of Welbeck, and
brought him, in one evil hour, to the brink of insolvency.
Jamieson and Thetford, however, were rich, and I
had not till now been informed that they had reasons
for pursuing Welbeck with peculiar animosity. The
latter was the uncle of him whose fate had been related
by Mervyn, and was one of those who employed money,
not as the medium of traffic, but as in itself a commodity.
He had neither wines nor cloths, to transmute into
silver. He thought it a tedious process to exchange to
day, one hundred dollars for a cask or bale, and to-morrow
dollars. It was better to give the hundred for a piece of
paper, which, carried forthwith to the money changers,
he could procure an hundred twenty-three and three-fourths.
In short, this man's coffers were supplied by
the despair of honest men and the stratagems of
rogues. I did not immediately suspect how this man's
prudence and indefatigable attention to his own interest
should allow him to become the dupe of Welbeck.
What, said I, is old Thetford's claim upon Welbeck?
It is a claim, he replied, that, if it ever be made good,
will doom Welbeck to imprisonment and wholsome labor
for life.
How? Surely it is nothing more than debt.
Have you not heard? But that is no wonder. Happily
you are a stranger to mercantile anxieties and revolutions.
Your fortune does not rest on a basis which
an untoward blast may sweep away, or four strokes of a
pen may demolish. That hoary dealer in suspicions
was persuaded to put his hand to three notes for eight
hundred dollars each. The eight was then dextrously
prolonged to eighteen; they were duly deposited in time
and place, and the next day Welbeck was credited for
fifty-three hundred and seventy-three, which an hour
after, were told out to his messenger. Hard to say whether
the old man's grief, shame or rage be uppermost.
He disdains all comfort but revenge, and that he will
procure at any price. Jamieson, who deals in the same
stuff with Thetford, was outwitted in the same manner,
to the same amount, and on the same day.
This Welbeck must have powers above the common
rate of mortals. Grown grey in studying the follies and
the stratagems of men, these veterans were overreached.
No one pities them. 'Twere well if his artifices
had been limited to such, and he had spared the honest
and the poor. It is for his injuries to men who have
earned their scanty subsistence without forfeiting their
probity, that I hate him, and shall exult to see him sutfer
all the rigors of the law. Here Wortley's engagements
compelled him to take his leave.
| CHAPTER I. Arthur Mervyn, or, Memoirs of the year 1793 | |