LIFE;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF WILLIAM RAMBLE, ESQ.
By the Author of MODERN TIMES; OR THE ADVENTURES OF GABRIEL OUTCAST.
IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III.
LONDON: Printed for Dr. TRUSLER, and sold at the LITERARY PRESS. No. 62, WARDOUR-STREET, SOHO.
1793.
THE ADVENTURES OF WILL. RAMBLE, ESQ.
CHAP. XXX.
RAMBLE having never seen Bridget but once or twice accidentally at Lady Dashit's, her face was not well-known to him; she was sensible of this, and being discarded from her place as an accomplice with Tom, was driven to her shifts. Knowing she could not get another without a character, and that she was not likely to obtain, being rather a pretty young woman, and not more than twenty years of age; a scheme came into her head, which, if she could effect, she thought might turn out as well if not better, than being a party concerned in marrying her mistress to Tom, Mr. Dangle's valet. This was, to dress herself up smart, and make an application to Ramble for protection, under the pretence of being a young woman, the daughter of a ruined tradesman, turned out of doors, not having a place to fly to; and that possibly Ramble, who was a man of gallantry and fortune, and without attachment, might be taken with her appearance, and grant her that protection she wanted, which was to live with him as his mistress.
The absurdity of the scheme must be evident to every person of common sense. She might be discovered, and if not at first, most likely would in the end, through Flint, the Colonel's servant. This thought struck her, but those who are set upon a scheme, seldom are deterred from it by little difficulties: she said to herself, the Colonel is certainly not on such familiar terms with his servant, as to let him into the secret of his amours, and should he be tempted to catch at the bait, she flattered herself she was mistress of those charms, that, if the matter
was
afterwards discovered, she should be able to disarm his anger, and keep him notwithstanding. He cannot be so ignorant, thought she, as to expect
that
in a mistress, which he would look for in a wife. And where such an object is thrown in his way, many little circumstances are overlooked, that would be thought unsurmountable crimes, if that object was studied and sought for.
Besides, he who is acquainted with the world, must know, that those who lay schemes to take in the unwary, seldom plan the business so well as to put it out of the reach of detection. There is something unthought of and unguarded against, that interferes and defeats it. Bridget must have had but a poor insight into things, if she could any way suppose she should have been able to have carried her point with Lady Dashit; but, as she
did
suppose it, we must consider the transaction in the light we have now viewed it; that it was a desperate attack, and as desperately managed, and ended as those schemes generally do, in the overthrow and ruin of the schemer.
Her design on Colonel Ramble was not less absurd or impracticable. However, said she, nothing venture, nothing have. She followed the Colonel's method of introducing himself to Miss Trevor, by a note, and wrote him the following:
An unfortunate young woman, under twenty, without a friend or a home, the daughter of a respectable tradesman thrown into prison for debt, wishes for an interview with Colonel Ramble. She trusts her appearance will plead in her favour, and procure her that protection under his roof, which she is ambitious to merit. The Colonel need only name the hour of his being alone, and she will wait on him.—The bearer waits his answers.
Ramble sent for the bearer of the letter up, and asked him some questions; but he being only a common porter, could give no other kind of information, than, that he was ordered to deliver the letter and bring an answer. The Colonel wrote one in the following line:
Colonel Ramble will be alone to-morrow morning at eleven.
Ramble's general good opinion of mankind led him to put the best constructions on this note, and, therefore, waited her coming with impatience, determining to relieve her, if relief was in his power. Bridget dressed herself up smartly and gayly, very much unbecoming the suitor Ramble expected to meet with, but in that kind of wanton attire, that bespoke her own wishes, and would leave, as she thought, very little to explain. When she first entered the room, he received her with tenderness. She burst into affected tears, and thus addressed him.—
You see, Sir, before you, an innocent, helpless maid, deprived of her parents by the cruelty of creditors, her bed sold from under her, turned into the wide world without a friend to assist, induced from necessity to seek the protection of a stranger. Your humanity is too well known, to make any feeble apologies of mine necessary. You are, I understand, a single man, without attachment, and I am yet unsullied and uncorrupted; and if you can meet that society in me, which gentlemen generally look for in women less innocent that myself, you will find me attentive, assduous, and dutiful.
Such an address Ramble little expected; however, he desired her to be seated, made some enquiries respecting her family and connexions; and finding when she was off her guard, and interrogated on points she was not prepared for, that she hesitated, prevaricated, and was confused; he began to call his recollection to his aid; looked her full in the face, examined her countenance, and thought he discovered in her a resemblance of Bridget, Lady Dashit's woman.—He was not, however, certain of this, and, being very unwilling to tax her with it, if it should not be so, and thus wound the feelings of one, apparently too much already wounded; began with asking her, if she did not know Lady Dashit? Bridget's conscience immediately struck her, and her countenance betrayed her guilt. Ramble now rose from his seat, and said,
I see but too plain,
who
you are, and
what
you are; you are, or were Lady Dashit's woman; and I am sorry the detection in one iniquitous piece of business, has not deterred you from attempting another. Your design upon me I am at a loss to unravel, and happy it is for you, that I have not got to the bottom of it. Be assured, as humane as I am, I can set my face against an impostor, and go great lengths to punish one. Many a person has been hanged for less offences than you have committed, and, possibly, it may be an ill-judged lenity to suffer you to escape.
Bridget, now a good deal frightened, burst into real tears; threw herself on her knees before him, wrung her hands, and implored his mercy.
Mercy, (cried he, astonished) would, I fear, be ill-applied to one of your cast.— However, you are, as it were, selfconvicted, and I hope, If I am silent in this matter, my silence will not be abused. Rise, and leave me, and let this lenity of mine be a caution to you, how you behave in future. You are young enough to reform, and for your own sake I hope you will.
Upon this he rung the bell, and Flint entered the room with his hand to his cap, saluting.
Flint, (said Ramble) I presume you know this lady, take her under your escort, and conduct her down.
—
Fait, a I do, your honour, (returned Flint) and little Flint will take as much care of her as your honour would your own dear self.
Flint then took her by the arm, put it under his, and the left the room together.
Ramble's reflections on this business, were those natural to every benevolent mind; that Bridget might not be desperately wicked, that she might still possess some good principles; but, that being a woman of intrigue, those principles are often lost in the back ground; that an enterprising spirit often outstrips our reason, leads us into wild acts, that, at a quiet moment we cannot but condemn; and, that whilst such a disposition is endeavouring to improve its situation, it often misses its mark, and undoes itself, like a man who too eager in striking, often misses his blow, loses his equilibrium, and otherthrows himself by his impetuousity.
CHAP. XXXI.
RAMBLE now received a letter from Miss Raspe, saying, that they should leave London for Paris the next morning, but wished him not to follow them for a day or two, lest they should be detained at Dover, waiting for a fair wind; and, if it so happened, they should there meet; she said, the only person that was to go with them, was Brutus, the black. On receiving this intelligence, he prepared also for his journey; and the fourth day after he had received Miss Raspe's letter, with his valent and Flint, he took his way to Dover. On coming there, he enquired what passengers had lately passed for Calais, and found Raspe had sailed two days before. All apprehensions of falling in his way being over, he took the first packet that sailed, and, as Raspe travelled not very fast, was in Paris almost as soon as him. His resolution at that time was not so firmly settled at at present, and Paris was in commotion; but, as their stay there would be but short, it was of no great moment.
Raspe, no sooner arrived in Paris, than he placed his daughter in a convent; for, though his intent was to stay there only a few days, he thought a convent the safest place; this she was unacquainted with till she arrived at Paris, and of course could not give Ramble intelligence of it; nor had she an opportunity of sending a line to the coffee-house as proposed, as at the convent paper and pens were forbidden her.
To avoid insult, Raspe had put a National cockade into his hat as soon as he set his foot on French ground; and, on his arrival at Mr. English's; this gentleman took notice of the cockade, and said,
I see you are already a volunteer in our service.
—
No volunteer, (replied he) but necessity has no law; my motive was to avoid danger. I dont' wish to be knocked of the head.
—
Indeed, (replied Mr, English,) there is no medium in the people here;—they're either all one thing or all t'other. A few months since they were all slaves; now they are all free.
—
Wish to to be thought so, (said Raspe) not so in reality. From being slaves to others they are now slaves to themselves. Where's you daughter; enquired Mr. English, I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing her. There's too much liberty, in this country for her (returned Raspe) We've a little of it in England, but that little was too much for her.— Liberty may do very well for our sex—it ill agrees with her's.
"Where is Miss Raspe," (said Mr. English).
That's a secret; (returned Raspe) I scarce know myself. I am afraid of losing her in this wild country—the people are all wild here. I have placed her in a convent—liberty's a good thing, but abused liberty, a bad one.
Mr. English having been called out, returned, and said,
he was sorry to be the messenger of ill news, but several of the mob without doors have been enquiring, whether he had not a person in his house, who had enriched himself at the expence of the freedom and liberty of men: alluding, he presumed, to the traffic Mr. Raspe carried on.
—Raspe, expressing signs of fear, Mr. English went on.
I would not have you be alarmed; only be cautious, and whilst you continue at Paris, be seen as little abroad as possible, or I would not answer for the consequences.
Raspe now more alarmed than ever, said,
he dreaded the fury of a mob; yet could not be shut up; he said his very fears would betray him, and wished he had a disguise.
—
Why, (replied Mr. English) as your person has been described, a disguise would not be amiss.
If the floor had been burning under him, Raspe could not be more restless. He could not stay one instant in a place, but jumped about as if he had been on burning coals. Mr. English told him he had put the populace off their scent, by saying, that he left Paris yesterday; but still recommended some kind of disguise; said there was a
Perukier
in the next street, famous for making wigs that would give any character you like, make an old man of a young one, or a young man of an old one. Raspe, rejoiced at this, and determined to go to him immediately, and asked if the coast was clear; and being told it was, begged Mr. English would let his servant shew him the way. He accordingly put on his great coat, slipped out of the back door, and set off.
On Ramble's arrival, he put up at at a hotel. He and his valet had ridden in a post-chaise; Flint rode on horseback; and as they travelled very fast, and Flint was unused to their paved roads, he found himself uncommonly fatigued.
I don't know how, (said he to his fellow-servant) the French roads may agree with an Englishman, but, arrah by my shoul, they shake an Irishman all to shivers. I havn't a sound bone in my skin, and these damn'd little galloways, are so used to say their prayers at every cross they passed, that it was as much as he could do to keep them on their legs.
—
You're an old soldier, (said the valet), and should not mind a little difficulty. There's good eating and drinking here, and this merry country will soon bring you round again.
—
I have been taught from a child, (said Flint) to consider the French as an enemy; and as a soldier, even learnt it with my exercise: but such is the heart of Flint, that as a change in their sentiments made England their friend, he now calls them brothers, and wants but and opportunity of doing them a brotherly act.
—
Well, (said the valet) I must go see for my master; do you take care of the baggage.
Flint set down upon it, and a girl passing the room,
Come here, my sweet honey, (said Flint) and rub my back.
—What ails your back, (said the girl.
What ails my back, my dear?
returned Flint.
It has got the infection of your country;—fits and convulsions.
—
Stiff, I suppose, (said she) with your journey?
Fait and you may say that, (replied he,) very stiff, indeed; and pulling her upon his knee, I wish you would rub it, and supple it.
Lord, fellow, (cried the girl,) let me alone, or I'll slap your face.
Any thing, my dear wench, (returned he,) to divert the pain from my back. Your cursed French pavements have almost shaken me to pieces. Shew me to your bed, I want to lie down.
Struggling, however, she got from "him, and left him to his reflections.
CHAP. XXXII.
RASPE having found his way to the peruquier's, was shewn into a room, where there was a variety of wigs, hanging on blocks, resembling different characters. Bag, bods, ties, majors, and brigadiers. Raspe told the peruquier that he wanted to be disguised, and asked him whether he could furnish him with a wig that would totally change his appearance?
Certainly, (said the peruquier) I have made it my study for many years; have of late, converted abbés, into generals, and generals into abbés, and made gentlemen of shopkeepers; turned coquets into prudes, and widows into virgins; nay, Sir, I have done more. I have outstripped Time. To serve a purpose, I have made boys to look like men in years, and old men of seventy to resemble boys of twenty.
Change of character (observed Raspe) is no new thing here. Ashamed, I presume, to wear their own faces?
Not ashamed, sir, replied the peruquier we, are ashamed of nothing; Paris has long give law to fashion. Our modes change as often as the moon. We are now shifting characters. An aristocrate takes that of a patriot; a fish woman that of a soldier; a priest that of a statesman; and so on. Our profession has hitherto been what you Englishmen call a
Tory:
we bear the king's arms. In future we'll be
Whigs,
the application suits a peruquier best. Once King—now country.
Raspe desire he'd shew hima variety; the peruquier now called a boy, and bade him bring the gentleman a handlooking-glass and a spunge, and take down the
Spanish Admiral.
You will be surprised, sir, said he to Raspe, at the effect produced by a wig and a piece of charcoal.
The boy gave the glass to Raspe, and the spunge to his master. Raspe looking about, said he hoped he should not be seen; and on being told all was private, a large black Ramilee was put upon him, and the tail suffered to hang over his shoulder; and with the charcoal the peruquier painted on his lip a pair of mustachios. Raspe looked in the glass and seeing that he cut too fierce a figure, took off the wig and said it would not do, for he hated fighting. Spunge and water being given, the mustachios were taken off. "Must be a priest then," (said the peruquier).—A
bishop's
full-bottomed grey was handed down, and put on Raspe as before, who on examining himself again, said
That would not do, for he was apt to swear.
Bring then the
Judge
(said the peruquier to the boy.)" This was tried, and Raspe said
It was equally bad, he not being grave enough for a judge.
Reach down
Independence
then—
(said the peruquier,) the wig was brought; this was a bag-wig, curls
l'ailes de pigeon,
and cocked up behind fantastically. The boy brought with him also a black puritanical head of hair.
These are, (said the peruquier,) my specimen-wigs, if either of them please, I can make you one in twelve hours.
—Now sir, (continued he, taking the bag-wig)
if any thing will suit you, it will be this. I call it an independent bag. It is independence here that makes a man respectable. I don't mean independence from money, but independence from determination; a resolution to throw off all subordination and controul. It is this which has made all our great men
(naming most of the leading men in the revolution.)
By fortune and character, they were insignificant, poor as rats, trifling as harlequin, but having flown from all authority, and ourstretched the law, they became great men; and this is the wig they wear.
(Puts the wig on Raspe as before, who, frightened at his own figure, cries
Lord! lord! this independence is the devil;
and tore off the wig.—"Perhaps this, (said the peruquier, taking from the boy the black head of hair)
Perhaps this will please you better; these are the locks worn by those who deplore the depravity of the times, execrate the present licentiousness of the people, and wish to hide themselves from the world.
This being tried like the rest, gave equal disatisfaction, Raspe said
he liked none of them; loved his own scratch best; would run every risk; would not venture on an assumed character, but would get out of Paris as soon as possible.
Well sir, (said the peruquier), if none of my disguise's please you, and you wish to leave Paris, turn your coat. They are all turn-coats here—do this, and you may pass among the croud unnoticed.
Raspe was sorry for having given him so much trouble, and observed, that assumed characters were the worst of characters; that a man had better meet the ridicule of the world, than deceive mankind and incur their anger.
CHAP. XXXIII.
RAMBLE going into an English coffee-house at Paris, was not a little pleased with a kind of alternate dialogue that struck his ear, in a manner very different from what was desinged by it, but conveying a very satirical meaning. He had no friend with him, and not mixing with other parties then in conversation, had little to do, but to listen to what came from them, and such words as he heard at one table added to those which came from another, so corresponded, as to form a dialogue of themselves, something in the manner of the cross-reading of a newspaper, where the line of one column read on in the line of the adjoining, frequently produces a sense different from what the writer meant. It is difficult to explain this to the eye, but I will attempt in, that the reader, if possible, may be as well entertained as he was. Conceive then three different tables in a public room, two Italians in conversation at one, two Englishmen reading the English newspapers at tanother, and two Dutchmen smoking at the third; and suppose the following dialogue to take place between them, interrupted only occasionally by the waiter, answering to their call and bringing them what they called for.
Ist.
Ital.
"The English quarrelled with America, blocked up her ports and sent an army into the country, to cut the throats of their fellow-subjects.
2d.
Ital.
"They did—but the offence given was of that nature, that called for all their spirit and resentment. Perhaps you are ignorant of the cause, it was no less than....
here he whispered as if unwilling to mention it publickly, and an Englishman called out to the waiter.
1st
Eng.
...
"Some tea!"
1st
Ital. goes on.
They have not only exhausted their treasury, and run themselves 250 millions in debt, but have sacrificed a million of lives, and for what?
2nd.
Ital.
I'll tell you—England could do no less—her honour was at stake. I will admit that in the contest the lost America, but what did she get?
2nd.
Englishman calling out to the "waiter....
"A dish of coffee!"
1st
Eng.
I see by our newspapers, that opposition intends at the next meeting of parliament, to bring forward the ruinous state of the nation, and, between you and me, for I would not haveour enemies hear—the waste of ....
whispering.
1st.
Dutch. calling out,
...
Bread and butter!
2nd.
Englishman going on
The opposition
certainly grows very powerful, and the whole party combined, may now be said to be worth ....
whispering.
1st
Italian asking his friend for
—
A pinch of snuff.
Here, as is the custom in French coffee-houses, the conversation was interrupted by some Savoyards that made their apperance in a gallery or kind of orchestra above, who played to entertain the company; and a girl with a pleasing voice, and a good deal of pathos, sung the following air. It being, pretty and new, and having procured the music; though an episode in the work; I trust my fair readers will find it acceptable.
I.
It may be Love, I
cannot tell;
So simple is my mind;
But much I fear some magic spell,
Some wreath by Fairies twin'd,
Which those who wear, are doom'd, by Fate,
To feel their senses fly,
To smile upon the treach'rous bait,
Then weep—they know not why.
II.
Ah me! It may be but a dream,
That with the morning rose:
Returning sleep may chase the gleam,
And lull me to repose.
Forgive me, if I wander far,
And steal me to the shade,
Where smiling shines yon blushing star,
That glitters through the glade.
III.
For there at eve a lover brings
His pipe of tender wail,
And pity there in friendship sings
To notes that suit his tale.
It must be love!—I've seen the youth,
And fear no magic spell,
He kiss'd me once. Ah! spare the truth,
'Till now I
could not tell.
The song ended; the conversation went on as before.
Ist
Dutchman.
No ship has so broad a bottom as....
He was going on, but was interrupted by his friend asking for his tobacco-box.
2nd
Englishman reading the newspaper.
Lady Bridget—is going to be married I see, to Lord....
but could not make out to whom, the printing being smeared.
2nd
Italian calling out....
Macaroni,
Waiter answering
"Yes sir,"
Ist
Englishman.
What in the name of patience could induce her ladyship to such an alliance? She has a stretching conscience, and let me tell you, her expectations will not be answered only....
whispering to his firend.
2nd
Dutchman being asked by a man in a very low voice,
"how often the mail arrived from the West Indies—
Answered aloud,..
.. once a month.
Ist
Dutchman.
"Was you at the Champ de Mars?
2nd
Dutchman.
Yes; and I think I never saw such a collection of officers, abbés, fidlers, hair-dressers, ci-devant noblesse, and lacquies...
A French postillion enters the room, all splashed and dirty, and sets rudely down by the Italian gentlemen, who were well dressed, and looking at himself, exclaims, "
Morblue.
Dere be a great deal of dirt! Where there is mosh dirt, a great deal vil stick.— Garçon, bring me a glass of noyau!
1st
Englishm.
"Observe!"
pointing to the postillion.
2nd
Englishm.
Such is the blessed effect of French equality!
The reader will, by a little thought, see the effect of this medley of conversation, where the words of one party, corresponded with those of the other, and seemed to a bye-stander, to form one general dialogue. A mountebank ridiculously dressed, now entered with a box of medicines for sale.
Remedies, gentlemen, (cries he) for all complaints. This is my liberty-pill: it is gilt, because golden pills are readier swallowed. It will purge away the bile of aristocracy, and cleanse the
prima via
of foul humours, and national prejudices.
Offering his medicines to the gentlemen, who were exceedingly diverted at the fellow's humour; he went on,
This is the powder of Bastile, calcined from the very stone where the first breach was made: it has a wonderful efficacy in purifying the brain, eradicating despotism, making a man see with his own eyes, and bringing him to reason. This is my plaister for every sore; it is such an emollient, that by an application to the breast, it softens the most tyrannic heart, and by applying it to wounds of the head, it will recover a deranged one, and will heal even a love-sick mind: it is also a a styptic, that will stop the bleedings of the state.
As the company only laughed, the woman at the bar, cried out,
Away with your nostrums, your pills, and your powders; we are all patriots here. My coffee-room wants neither purging nor purifying.
This fellow was no sooner gone, than the conversation went on as before.
1st
Englishm.
it was certainly wise of the Spaniards to accede to our terms.
2nd
Englishm.
I don't see that, had there been a war, she might have possessed herself of Gibraltar, Jamaica, and
....
(looking round, as if he wished not to be overheard, whispered the rest).
1st
Ital. calling,
.... A little rum and sugar!
2nd
Englishm.
What is the faith of nations worth?—It is no longer preserved, than whilst it suits their convenience.
1st
Englishm.
Faith is one thing; Conventions are another. This Convention we compelled the Spaniards to sign, is a jewel in the cap of the English worth..... I can't tell you what.
1st
Dutchman calling,
.... A pipe of tobacco!
2nd
Ital.
There must be a certain something about opera-singers more than their voices, that makes them so much courted in England. I should like to know what it is.
1st
English.
The ladies are the best judges—why should men interfere with the fashions.
At this instant a great noise was heard without, and a man came running in, out of breath, crying,
Insurrection! Murder! Insurrection!— For God's sake, Gentlemen, arm yourselves. All Paris is in an uproar; the aristocrates are risen; Count D'Artois, is at the gates with forty thousand men; the King's off; I have been round to all the public houses. (Drums being now heard) The drum beats to arms; every man, who loves his country, will surely stand forth on this occasion. Haste, haste!
At this he runs out, and all the company proceed to arm themselves. Some with one thing, some with another; spits, frying-pans, pokers, &c. and sallied forth into the street. Ramble who had more sense and coolness than fell to many men's share, left the room with great composure, convinced, as it afterwards happened to be, that it was only a false alarm.
CHAP. XXXIV.
RAMBLE not finding a letter at the English Coffee-house as he expected, did not know what to make of it. He was well convinced of Miss Raspe's attachment to him, and her inclination to acquaint him with the steps they took; of course conceived such letter, if sent, had miscarried: or that she was, some way or other, prevented from sending one.
He enquired at the post-office, and at all the trading coffee-houses in the city, where there was a likelihood of his hearing of Mr. Raspe: had sent to all the auberges, and hotels, and enquired of every Valet de Place that he could hear of, but without effect.
Whilst he was in this perplexity, running about from one room of his hotel to another, he was accosted by an impertinent fellow, an Englishman, who lived at Paris upon his wits, and who intruded himself upon him with
I apprehend, Sir, you are in some difficulty; I shall be happy to relieve you.
Being dressed like a coxcomb, Ramble looked down on him with a degree of contempt, but recollecting that he might possibly have some knowledge of the arrivals, he replied,
I am, 'tis true, Sir, a little embarrassed, and if I thought you could furnish me with what I want, I would accept your kind offer.—I presume, by your appearance, you are in a happy state of affluence and enjoyment, and possess that which many of our countrymen search for far and wide.
Damn it, I am in a hobble here,
said Lackit aside, for that was the stranger's name, who by the by, possessed spirits, effrontery,
sang froid,
impudence,—every thing but money; then addressing himself to Ramble—
You mean, I presume, Happiness.—Why, Sir, I am pretty well as to that; I have a good estate, but that's neither here nor there;—and I have a long purse,—but there's nothing in that, you know. It is not land or money that constitutes happiness—I have it and I have it not—hah? Friend, you understand me?—I know every body here, and every body knows me;—and as I am informed you are but just arrived, I should be gland (
strutting about
) to know something of
you.
At this he turned upon his heel and observed to himself, that what he said, was a good turn-off. Ramble told him, he neither wanted his purse nor his land; he wanted merely a little information, and as, by his own account, he was acquainted with every one, possibly he might be able to tell him of the late arrivals at Paris. He was in search of a party, whom he knew not where to find.—"Male or female?" retorts Lackit. "Both," returns Ramble.
Egad, that's an hermaphrodite! Here are plenty of hermaphrodites in this country, women with the martial spirit of men, and men with all the effeminacy of women. Times are however a good deal altered,
petit-maitres
have dropped their insignificance, and coquets thrown off their airs, and both sexes seem now to be animated with one enthusiastic soul! You have nothing to dread here, believe me, but from our own countrymen. If you value your quiet and your purse, don't mix with them. I speak this
entre nous,
as a friend, I love my country, and I adore and Englishman, but I hate a shark of any nation. Here are a number of these, who follow a slave-ship for blood, and run as to a fire, to enjoy the distress and confusion, and profit by any thing that may fall in their way. Before you make any acquaintance, ask
me.
I know but every one. If you are disposed for an intrigue, I can assist you, married or single, demireps, reps, or no reps. I have a universal knowledge of the women.
You see'm to confound all states, Sir, (observed Ramble) and make little or no distinction. The married ladies surely pay a little more regard to character, and don't subject themselve's to the tongue of the calumniator.
Sir
(retorts Lackit, staring in Ramble's face, with a vacant countenance)
you seem little acquainted with the world; married women are sooner to be had now then single ones. The men have changed their system, feel themselves safer in a connexion with married women, and conceive the enjoyment to be greater. Stolen pleasures, they fay, are sweet, and cuckoldom now is become the zest of the gay world; the women court it, the men wink at it, and consider it as a relief from a tiresome drudgery. Many a family has pined for an her; barren soils have been made prolific by new dressing; the state is benefited by an increase of population; of course the man of gallantry becomes a useful member of society, and cuckoldom is growing into credit. It is particularly so here, and I understand they are a getting into it in England.
Ramble could not but allow the character to be just, tho' he held the remarker in contempt. It was a subject he did not relish, therefore turned the converfation, by saying,
as you profess to know every one, posbly you may be able to inform me of a late arrival here.
Certainly I can, (returned he) there is not an arrival of any note, but I am made acquainted with it, within an hour of their entering Paris.
Have you heard then of such a person as Mr. Raspe, (says Ramble) and English merchant lately arrived here with his daughter?
Is he in the slavetrade?
asks Lackit. "He is," replies Ramble. "
Heard
of him?" returns Lackit,
yes, almost all Paris has heard of him ere this.—Had it not been for
me,
he would have made his
exit à la lanterne.
Report says, he was at an English merchant's in this city, and it being soon buzz'd about that he was an enemy to Liberty and the Rights of Man, the
Sans Culottes
soon gathered round the house, and would have torn him from it; but I being well with all ranks, pushed into the crowd and saved him, absolutely by dint of lying.
I don't think I could lie (says Ramble) to save any man.
Oh, Sir, mistake me not, a gentleman never lies; he may amuse to deceive, and deceive to amuse; he may practise the
ars dissimulandi,
but he never
lies.
With all my faults, I am bold to say, I never told a direct lie but in a good cause; and it is an established maxim with me that a beneficial falsity is preferable to a destructive truth. Besides, your friend is an Englishman, and Englishmen will not be very punctilious where a countryman's life is to be saved. Sir, as I have told you before, I love my country and all that belongs to it;
Vive la Nation!
whether France or England. I got between the foremost of the mob and the door, swore till I was black in the face, that he had left that house the evening before; that I saw him get into a post-chaise and order the postillions to make the best of their way to the first stage in the road to Lyons.
And
did
you?
says Ramble.
Did
I? (retorts Lackit) No; certainly I did
not.
—It was all a humbug. The French are easily humbugged.— Brunswick has humbugged 'em,
Monsieur
has done the same; Louis has humbugged them, and
I
have humbugged them.
Then tossing himself about, roared out the burden of the old English song,
"Sing tantarara humbug!"
I only told them so (continued he), to pacify them; it answered the purpose. I threw my purse among them, and away they went.
Ramble's philanthropy was awakened at this recital. Those who are freest from guile, are most easily beguiled. He told Lackit that the gentleman whose life he had saved (for he believed him implictly) was a particular friend of his, and in whose welfare, he was more than commonly interested, and begged to know what were the contents of his purse. The very thought of getting some money from Ramble, raised Lackit's spirits and his art of address; he cried
Oh!—nothing, nothing,— Some 40 or 50
Louis d'ors;
but that you know, my dear Sir, is nothing, a mere trisle in competition with the life of a countryman. Had it contained ten times the sum, they would have had it—they would indeed.— Money is no object to
me,
when I have it my power to do a good office. I could tell you of many such gifts— but what I give away, is nothing to any one.
Ramble's generous heart was now roused; he drew his pursed from his pocked, said, he believed it might contain something about the sum Lackit had given to the populace, and begged he might re-imburse him. Lackit eyed the purse with as much eagerness, as would a pickpocket watching an opportunity to steal it; but at the same time refused to accept any return, with a "Positively
not,
" and on Ramble's urging him to take it, saying it was a sum Mr. Raspe, in fact, owed him, and would repay him with thanks, if he knew the circumstance—therefore insisting on it, that he might discharge that debt for him.
Sir, (said Lackit) if you knew my heart and my liberal spirit, you would not offer me such and affront. Of what value is money, but for such purposes?
I beg your pardon, (cries Ramble) I would not affront any man; much less one who has done my friend so kind an office,
and was in the act of returning the purse to his pocket. This Lackit did not mean he should do, and finding he had voershot his marks, told him, it would certainly be an affront at any other time, than a time of commotion, when nothing was to be had without drawing one's pursestrings; and as it might enable him to perform some such good office at another time, he would accept it; saying however that he would take it on no other conditions, than that he would ask his friend Raspe for it again, in whose service it was expended, and whom he was given to understand, was a wealthy man; and that he would also do him the honour to take part of a bottle of Burgundy with him. These conditions being assented to, Lackit, who had not been possessed of so much cash for a great length of time, threw the purse up from his hand, and catching it, put it into his pocket, with a
May you be as well laid out as the last!
Ramble asked Lackit to tell him where this English merchant lived, who had received Mr. Raspe. Lackit said he would conduct him there in the evening; at present he must claim his promise to drink a glass with him. He had a few English friends in the house who would be happy to join them, and if he was disposed to trifle away the morning with a little hazard, he would find the party a pleasant one.
Lackit being now in cash, was in hopes to take Ramble in for another fifty at the hazard-table; but Ramble, whose thoughts were wholly on Miss Raspe, begged to be excused joining his party that day and took his leave, saying to himself, when alone,
He has probably humbugged
me;
yet consoled himself with observing, that too often with the over-cautious has a fear of being over-reached or deceived, prevented their doing many a good and generous action.
CHAP. XXXV.
RAMBLE sent for Flint, and asked him if he knew any thing of Lackit that was in the house.
Does your honour maen (said Flint) a fellow in a tinselled coat, whose tongue runs like a jack-daw?
I fancy we mean the same person (replied Ramble), he is an Englishman, and I am sorry to say that of a countryman, but it strikes me, that he has robbed me of 50l.
—
Blood and tunder! (cries Flint, raising his stick) I'll find him out and give him a sound bating.
That (returns Ramble) will not restore me my money; besides, 'tis not here, Flint, as it is in Ireland, where a man may drub a rascal unnoticed.
Pardon me, your honour, (says Flint,) they take pleasure here in drubbing any thing that wears the appearance of a jontleman. The poorer a man is in this country, I' my faith, the richer he is, at least the more he is thought of, and the more power he has; the whole city is governed by men who have no breeches to their backsides
The Sans Culottes.
and whose greatest badge of distinction, is not having a coat to their back.—
Do,
your honour, let little Flint give this rogue a bit of a bating; it will cool his courage, and do him a great deal of good.
No, no, (returns Ramble) it is better, I believe to leave him to the scourge of his own reflection.
Fait, and you may that too (replies Flint), the word of command is in his own breast; it is there given distinctly, and he must be a bad soldier who has been well drilled, that does not attend to it; his own court-martial will try him, and if found guilty, that stout little drummer, Conscience, will not spare his lashes, but lay them on heavy.
Flint (returned Ramble) you are as good a philosopher as a soldier; but go, I would have you make some enquiries about him, find him out, tell him you belong to me, and beg him to make you ac quainted with the place where Mr. Raspe first lodged, when he came to Paris.
He then told Flint the manner he had introduced himself and the story he had told of the mob; the narrow escape Raspe had, and his throwing his purse among the populace. Flint's anger was roused; he told his master, that, if report spoke truth, he was one of those who got his livelihood by sucking the brains of others, and was sorry to find his honour had at all contributed to feed him.
By St. Patrick! (roars he out) he's an arrant teef— The deel burn me—if he
did
trow his purse to the mob, but there was not a tirteener in it. By the great G-d, (continued he) I'll ferret him out— If I find it a lie, and if I don't get the purse again, I'll make him repent of what he has done—he shall remember little Flint as long as he lives.
Saying this he saluted, wheeled about, and left his master, brandishing his cudgel as he went out.
Ramble went to the English coffe-house to make some enquiries into this affair himself, and learned part of Lackit's story to be just, but that Raspe's escape was owing to him was as false as the rest was true. The loss of his money; did not much trouble him; could he have got the intelligence he wished, he would have given twice the sum. He observed that though Lackit might not tell a direct lie, that fashionable
ars dissimulandi
in which he was well versed, went very near it. Entering the coffe-house to return to his hotel, after it was dark, Chance, as in London, befriended him.
Rafpe's petulance of temper had brought him into a squabble in the street. Brutus, the black, who always followed his master, hearing some Savoyards playing and singing the following song in the next street, was running to listen to them.
Song.
(With the Music.)
Unroll the banners—Strike the tents!
Clouds of dust announce the foe.
Advance the mortars—Load the guns.
Keep the phalanx as you go.
What should alarm us! See they form.
Conquest eludes th' impending storm.
Rush, lads, boldly; charge with spirit,
Warrious martial souls inherit.
See, see, they fly us.—Keep the line!
Shouts of joy the foe dismays,
Sound, sound the trumpets; blow the fifes;
Beat the drums and snatch the bays.
Where's now the danger? Where's the dread?
Th' aristocratic soe is fled.
Freedom triumphs! France rejoices!
Huzza sing, with endless voices!
See, see, they fly us.—Keep the line.
Shouts of joy the foe dismays;
Sound, sound the trumpets; blow the fifes;
Beat the drums and snatch the bays.
Raspe, incensed at his fellow, called him back with anger, and struck him on the head with his cane; the poor black roared out, and a gentleman who stood at the door of a coffee-house and saw it, went up to him, and said
You seem, Sir, to forget where you are.— No man dare strike his servant here— a levelling principle has taken place among us, and for every blow a man gives, he stands a chance of receiving three.
Peace, fellow! (replies Raspe with warmth) or I'll level
you.
The gentleman told him, that being an old man, was the only excuse for his petulance. "Here are some ladies, continued he; had they seen you, you would have repented of your rashness." These ladies were four fish-women, who though in petticoats were armed as musqueteers, patrolling the streets, and fifth beating a drum before them.
Here (cried this gentleman, laughing,) are the National Guard.
Curse the National Guard!
replied Raspe angrily. The women hearing this, seized him and cried, Take him to the guard-house. Raspe contending with them, bellowed out,
Off, you harridans, or I'll be the death of you!
and called Brutus to assist him. A mob was now collected, and the people laughed at the incident. The women having released him, Raspe asked them who they were; they answered, The king's body guard.
What pretence (continued he) have you to take
me?
Pretence, hah! (cried one of the women) That's pleasant tryly—we took the Bastille without pretence—we took the king without pretence—of course, can want no pretence for taking
you.
Ramble coming up at this time with an acquaintance said,
Sure I must know that man!—It is he whom I have been seeking; ask him where he lodges.
The gentleman did so; but Raspe would not tell him; Ramble who was then in his uniform, stepped forward, and said to the women,
I must take this gentleman's part; (then addressing himself to Raspe) I am sorry to see you, Sir, in such an embarrassment.
Raspe, looking full in his face, said with sternness
I think I know
you
—it won't do—you have lost your aim. I have lodged her in a convent.
Even this was a piece of happy intelligence to Ramble; he offered to get Raspe released, but he, Raspe, said,
I won't be released by you—I'd rather be in custody a month.
Ramble the addressing himself to the women, said it was only a little fracas, the effect of anger; that he was well acquainted with the gentleman, and continued.
I am an English officer— you have done your duty, and may release him.
Raspe thinking a little money might induce them to do it, took out of his pocket a tobacco-box, in which was a little bit of dirty paper, folded up in two or three case equally dirty, and unfolding them with great care, one after the other, till he came to the inner piece, said,
here is some of your current coin, your assignats—which an Englishman would'nt deign to stoop for.
The women not liking the money, which they said would not pass, cried,
away with them!
and attempted to drag them forward; resistance being made, the drum was beat, and they called out "Guards! guards!" Two soldiers within hearing, with bayonets fixed, ran to their assistance, and the colonel finding the matter grew rather serious, said to one of the soldiers,
Money has been offered to release them; if you won't take money, take my word—I am a brother soldier, and a gentleman, and will undertake they shall appear at the guard-house to-morrow morning.
Soldier! (said the fellow) what of that?—You are not one of us, and though you may be a gentleman, I shan't believe you the sooner—we are all gentlemen here—we know no distinction.
On which one of the soldier laid hold of Raspe, and the women, of the black. Raspe, struggling, asked their authority, and on being told, the National Assembly, damn'd their National Assembly. This was enough— it was
leze-nation,
high treason, in the eyes of these women, and they cried out, one and all,
à la lanterne!
—hang him—
à la lanterne!
The soldiers and women then dragged them off, but the colonel assured Raspe he would be at the guardroom as soon as him. The mob seemed to enjoy this piece of business, and Brutus, though a prisoner, no less so; for he was heard to say in going off, hugging himself,
Massa no better as poor negro now!
I cannot help making an observation here, on the hale constitution of the French women. It is a fact, that a body of the fish-women, that is those who sell fish in Paris, and who are of a stamp with our Billingsgate-ladies, did take up arms against their king; we know the lower class of women also are employed in very laborious offices, such as carrying of loads, ploughing of the land, &c. Though they are not apparently stronger than the common women of other countries, they undoubtedly are; and though they are effeminate in their persons, they are masculine in their ideas. This remark, it is said, holds good only with the lower order of women; but we find the same strength of constitution in all orders. A lying-in woman of distinction in France will be up the third day after delivery, and sleep with her husband the ninth day, whereas an Englishwoman requires a month to recover her. What this arises from, I will not take upon me to say. It does not appear to be climate or mode of living; for if an Englishwoman lives twenty years in France, she is never fit to go abroad after lying-in till nearly the expiration of a month; but a Frenchwoman, though a long time resident in England, is generally able to get about in nine days. It must be owing to constitution and to stamina. We find this also in their men. An apothecary of my acquaintance formerly assured me (he told it as fact, and he is a man of too much veracity to be doubted) that he had a patient in London, a Frenchman, at the advanced age of 96, who was regularly three or four times a-year, injured in his health by a connexion with women of the town: That on being once sent for to cure him of the same complaint, he found an old man with him, and, of course, entered not into the subject till that person was gone. When alone, his patient observed, he was glad nothing was said before that old gentleman, for it was his son. On talking over the matter, the apothecary noticing a fine healthy young woman waiting on him as a servant, said he wondered he was not more cautious, when he had suffered so much, and advised him, smiling, to make his addresses to that healthy wench that attended him.
Oh, (returns his patient, tossing his head)
elle est mon pain quotidien.
It was certainly an awkward time for all parties to be at Paris during the commotions that there took place; otherwise this change of things would have rendered it more agreeable. There was ever a kind of settled enmity between the French and English, which this revolution has done away; but still they cannot forget their ancient prejudices; as a proof of it, the following laughable story is told. A French gentleman, lately in company with an Englishman, was boasting of the advantages arising from the local situation of his country over England, by its having a variety of ports in
Le Manche,
meaning the English channel, which a Frenchmen will never call by that name,
by which means, (said he) in time of war, we have an opportunity of watching and checking the motions of your fleet there. For example,
Nous avons Brest, un port de mer, vis-à-vis Plymouth; nous aurions tantôt Cherburg, au autre port de mer, vis-à-vis Portsmouth; et aurions aussi Dunquerque, un port de mer, vis-à-vis la Thames.
Yes, Sir, (replied the Englishman) and the more ports you have in our channel the better; for, when we want a man of war or two, we have not far to fetch them.
CHAP. XXXVI.
RAMBLE went to his lodgings, put on his sword, and walked away to the guard-room, where he was introduced to the officer on guard.
I waited on you (said Ramble) in behalf of a countryman of mine, who from an accidental dispute in the street, has been brought here by the night-guard.
I am glad (said the officer) to find it was only a dispute. It has been happily adjusted; he and his servant are released, and are gone home.
Ramble could not help observing, that a police was too strict that enjoined the taking gentlemen into custody for offences so slight.
The times (replied the officer) make it necessary.
This (returned Ramble) is one of the baneful effects of your revolution, an unbounded licentiousness of the people, followed up by as despotic measures as the revolution was designed to overthrow.
The officer did not like this, and requested him to be a little more guarded in his expression.
I am a French soldier, (said he) and I see by your dress, you are an officer in the service of the English.
I am, (returned Ramble) and as we both serve a free country, I should hope we are both of the same way of thinking—of course it is a little out of character to call upon me to guard my tongue, when it is the privilege of a freeman to speak his mind—I say again, your National Assembly is far more tyrannical than ever the monarch was.
On the officer's saying he did not see in what; Ramble went on,
I could mention a thousand instances. France was once a free country, and if time and wicked measures had contrived to enslave her, it would have been better to have reformed the old constitution than to have overthrown it, and raised a worse upon its ruins." Worse (retorts the officer) do you call it? Are we not now free?
Far from it, (returns Ramble) you are greater slaves now than ever. Your clergy are slaves, your nobility are slaves, your king is a slave, and your army, which should be the support of the constitution, are the greater slaves of all.
Ramble was not a man apt to give offence, he was rather the reverse, but having always disliked the French revolution, and being drawn into this subject rather unexpectedly, he could not but give way to his spirit, and therefore spoke as he thought. The officer on guard, partaking rather of his national warmth, cried out with indignation,
This is not to be borne—army, slaves!—Consider, Sir, where you are, and who you are talking to.
Ramble having now gone too far to retract, and his profession not suffering him to eat his words, replied,
I mean not to be personal, Sir, but I repeat, that your army are the greatest slaves of the whole. There was a time when the French army was commanded by gentlemen, men of family and fortune; your officers now are shopkeepers, and manufacturers, men who from birth and education, can have no ideas of true honour; of course the whole army is now dwindled into mercenary hirelings, who have betrayed their king, and broke their oaths for a little extra-pay, and who are slaves to a wrong-headed set of men, void of patriotism, who, whilst they were tumbling their monarch from his throne, have sacrificed only their shoe-buckles to their country; an army that waits only the rash order of such an assembly to lay their country in blood.
The French officer, who was one of the Paris militia and a tradesman, was now stung to the quick.
Having a command in that army, I must (retorts he with anger) give the lie to that assertion; and if you say one word more, I'll call the guard.
Ramble taking him by the button of his coat, and with an eye that spoke the highest resentment, replied,
Giving me the lie, Sir, is the strongest proof of my assertion. It is a proof of your low breeding ang the dunghill you sprung from.
Saying this, he shook him, as it were, from him. The officer called out "Guard!" but Ramble stopped his mouth, and cried
Peace, reptile! —Call the guard at your peril. You wear the French uniform—if you have the spirit of a soldier, draw your sword in defence of your character. If you call the guard (continues he, drawing his own sword) I'll cut your throat.
The officer drew his sword, and they exchanged a few thrusts; but the Frenchman soon declared, by his manner, that he was little acquainted with the use of it. Ramble seeing this scorned to take advantage of him, and cried out,
Hold, Sir,—you had better put up your sword than lose your life—I see you are not master of it. What do you mean by that, coward?
said the officer, in a great rage.
Coward! (retorts Ramble)— Advance then.
Now they fought with some earnestness, but Ramble soon disarmed him, and the Frenchman finding himself at Ramble's mercy, was silent; when Ramble spoke to him thus, and left him:
The language you have held, would justify me in delivering you over to the fishwomen.—However, keep your council, be your own friend, and remember—you met with an English soldier, who had more consideration for the helpless, than all your National Assembly put together.
CHAP. XXXVII.
THEY say that happiness consists in the imagination only, and that if we think ourselves wise and rich, it is as well as being so. How can I want wealth, says a fellow at Paris who lived by fetching water from the river,—how can I want wealth, when all the water in the Seine is mine, and I can sell it for two sous a turn?—So say philosophers, that nothing exists but in imagination.
Should your the poker want, and take it,
When 'tis as hot as fire can make it,
And with it burn yourself or coat;
They'd quickly prove it was not hot.
The fire, they'd say, has in't, 'tis true,
A power of raising heat in you;
But no more heat's i'the fire that heats you,
Than pain is in the stick that beats you.
The gentleman my friend Ramble met with at Paris, and who was with him when they met with Mr. Raspe in the street, is a living test of this ideal existence. He is of noble extraction, and may have had a crown'd head in the line of his pedigree; but whether or not, he believes it firmly; he tells you he is lineally descended from an ancient king of Ulster; never loses sight of his genealogy, and though he has dissipated his fortune, and reduced his income to less than three hundred per year, he still conceives himself of the blood-royal, and but one step below a throne, talks in the plural number, and receives his friends with, Cousin, we greet you well,—giving them his hand to kiss. He has often pleased himself with ambitious reveries, and has often been distressed by the force of imagination. Some persons have called this vapouring a madness, others
distrait,
but those who so reason, don't know him. He is at times a very pleasant fellow; and as rational as any man in the world, but at others, is not to be dispossessed of his opinion. Having worked up his ideas to a certain pitch, he sees things which no one else sees, and realizes all the vapours of his fancy. His reverie can only be snapped, like the fiddle-string over-wound; and I have known him, (said Ramble) break from his company with great abruptness, tell them he had business of the utmost importance—fly to the other end of the town, as if his well-being depended on being there to a quarter of an hour, and nothing could undeceive him, but tumbling over a lamplighter's ladder that stood in his way. This, and this only, could convince him he had nothing to do. Not long since he courted a widow, insisted upon shewing her his country-house, hired a post-chaise for the purpose, and when he had got forty miles from town, was so taken up with his lady, that he had nearly lost his way. It was with difficulty he could direct the driver up one lane down another; now to the right, then to the left. The horses nearly knocked up, and the lad's patience exhausted, he had almost lost himself.
The de'el's in't, (cried he) if we don't see he house presently.
And, on the lad's saying to himself, with a degree of vexation, (though loud enough to be heard)
I don't believe you have a house to see;
it brought him to himself, with a
upon my conscience, my lad, I believe you are right—turn about, and go back to the first inn.
CHAP. XXXVIII.
ON Ramble's return to his hotel, Flint flew into his room, with the very purse he had given to Lackit.
There it is, and please your honour, (said Flint, throwing it down upon the table); but how much money it contains, I know not, not having taken the liberty to open it: 'tis pretty heavy and pretty full, and I hope your honour will find yourself repaid with interest.
Ramble astonished, exclaimed, "How is this!"
Fait, and you say that too, (returns Flint) how is this! I tell your honour how it was. There is a room in this house, called the Gambling-room, where gentlemen and no gentlemen, but persons of all descriptions are welcome to go in and lose their money. Having enquired this Maister Lackit's character, and finding him only to be a sharper, I thought myself a better man than him, and was determined to be one of the company. There were many in the room shaking their elbows, and throwing out some little bits of bones out of a box, making a damned noise with their tongues; so, your honour, d'ye see, some had their purses in their hands, some on the table, and that teef, that robbed your honour, trew his purse down on the table with as much contempt, as if it contained only counters, and cried out, The best of tree trows for all it holds. I snatched up the purse, your honour, clapt it in my pocket, and told the jontleman, with this leave, that as he seemed to set no value on it, I would restore it to its right owner. It occasioned a great hubbub, and had I not stood on my guard, in this manner, your honour, (brandishing his cudgel about) the enemy would have closed in, and I should have been overpowered. I bawled out, however, so as to be heard: Jontlemen, I am a soldier, and not to be intimidated. The purse I have taken, belongs to my maister, and was taken from him under false colours; and if I don't make this appear to your satisfaction, you may tear the cockade from my hat, and treat me as you please. Upon this, your honour, I told them the story, and it turning out a lie that Mr. Raspe's escape was owing to Maister Lackit, they were one and all against him, and I made the best of my way off with flying colours.
Ramble smiled at the story, and observed, that as he had won the prize, he might keep it, but recommended it to him to count the contents, and if Lackit had been lucky and added to the fifty guineas, to return him all that was over. This Flint promised to do, saying,
Money ill got would never trive.
Ramble now proceeded in search of Miss Raspe. He had enquired at all the nunneries in Paris except two, and the Ursulines was one of these. On knocking at the gate of the convent, the portress asked his will; he told her that he was in search of a young lady, whose father had said, he had placed her at a convent; but not having mentioned which, he had enquired at most of them. He said she was but just brought there and from London, and that her name was Raspe. The portress told him, there was no young lady of that name, but that there was one, that in some respect answered to the description, but her name was Simpson.
Please to enquire (said Ramble) whether her father is not from Liverpool; if she says yes, tell her there is a gentleman at the gate that wishes to speak with her.
She went, made the enquiry, and returned; said the young lady was from Liverpool, and begged him to come in. He was now admitted into the parlour, and Miss Raspe soon waited on him, attended by two sisters of the fraternity. He told the ladies he had a message to this young lady from her relations in England, and asked if he might be indulged with leave to communicate it in private. He was told, that if ten minutes would be sufficient, he might command it. On this the nuns retired, and Ramble acquainted her with the trouble he had met with in finding her out; that he believed he should never have done it, had not he met with her father accidentally, who told him with an angry triumph, that he put her out of his reach by lodging her in a convent. Miss Raspe replied, that nothing but her being there placed, unknown to her as soon as she arrived at Paris, and the strict orders the ladies of that house had received never to trust her with a pen and ink, prevented her from writing to him. She wished he could contrive to get her from that place; but in case he should not be able, he must follow her to Florence which would be the end of their journey for some time.
Can you (said he) any way get without the walls?
Impossible, (returned she) my father has given a strict charge that I should see no one nor be left alone. It was wonderful that you gained admittance, and more so, that we are left together; but the ladies are too much used to such interdictions to pay much regard to them.
Ramble then asked, whether a good bribe to the portress, would not bring that woman into their measures; she was sure, she said, to the contrary. At this time, she heard the noise of thunder.
Bless me (said she) how it thunders! You must wait till the storm is over. If it continues, I shall be called to chapel; for they always go to prayers when it thunders much. Should I not be able to see you again whilst at Paris, where shall I write to you? We shall not be long here.
At the English coffeehouse. (replied the colonel.) I have found out your father's lodgings, and shall have intelligence when you quit Paris.
The storm seemed to gather, for great peals of thunder were heard, and the chapel-bell rung
That's our summons (said Miss Raspe) to chapel. I shall presently be called.
Ramble then gave her a letter, and she gave him her hand to kiss. The two nuns now returned to take her to chapel, and told Ramble there was a violent storm, and hoped he would not venture out till it was over; said it was customary for them to attend prayers on such occasions, and hoped he would excuse them. Instead of abating, the storm seemed to increase, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and having struck one corner of the tower, part of it fell. This so frightened the ladies, who imagined the whole building was coming down, that the gates, were opened, and they all ran into the street, screaming as for life. It was a lucky opportunity for Ramble and Miss Raspe. She flew to the parlour, where he was, and the gates being open, fled with him from the convent. Ramble took her to his lodgings, collected his baggage, and set off with her that evening for Versailles, and the next day sent for a priest and was married to her. The knot being now tied, their alarm in a great measure ceased. He continued at this place till he had equipped her with necessaries. He had sent his valet and Flint on to Lyons, in their way to Italy, in order also to elude any search; nay, indeed, he said she should not be disappointed in seeing that part of the world; for before he returned to England, he would take her to Naples, and shew her every thing in their way that was worth seeing.
The report in Paris that the tower of the Ursulines had been struck with lightning, that the building had fallen, and that the nuns had taken refuge in the town, soon reached Raspe: he flew to the place with the anxiety of a parent, but was much more alarmed when his daughter could not be found: his fears first led him to think she must have been buried in the ruins, but the portress assuring him, that she saw her afterwards in the parlour, a little quieted him. He roared and stamped like a madman, and being told a gentleman with a cockade in his hat had been to pay her a visit that morning, and had not lest the convent when the accident happened, he was convinced this was Ramble, and that he had in the general confusion carried her off. His business now was, if possible, to find out where they were, and to trace them. This he knew not how to do. However his friend Mr. English advised him to send to the city gates, and ask the guard, what post-carriages had passed out of the city that evening. Intelligence was the next morning brought him, that a person, described to be Flint by his dress, was sufficiently remarkable to be noticed, had gone the Lyons' road in a post-chaise, with some other persons. This induced him to pursue that road; and being more confirmed at every posthouse they came to, he followed them quite to Lyons; where he overtook them, but was more unhappy at the disappointment in not meeting with his daughter, than perhaps he would have been, had he found her in the arms of her lover. He tried every means to bring over Flint and his fellow-servant to his interest, but without effect. Large sums of money were offered them, but they were not to be corrupted. He did not, however, lose sight of them, but appointed a person to watch their motions, and follow them where-ever they went. Flint, will all his cunning, was not up to this, and it was by this means Raspe at last discovered his daughter; for waiting at Lyons for orders from their master which way to proceed, their route was traced from city to city all through Italy, and Raspe with his slave Brutus joined them where they met; but this was not till they reached Naples, Ramble and his lady having taken another route.
CHAP. XXXIX.
WHEN they reached Naples, Ramble was astonished to hear from Flint, that Raspe was in that city. He almost doubted his veracity; but on Flint's assuring him, that he met and conversed with Brutus, he could not but believe it. Flint was among the multitude standing to hear one of those street orators, who harangue the people in the streets, in order to get money from them, something in the way of our mountebanks in England: In England they sell medicines; in Naples, crucifixes.
The following relation is from a gentleman who travelled in that part of the world, and who, assured me, was present at the harangue. A large cluster of men, women, and children, were entertained to the highest degree, and made exceedingly happy, by a poor fellow that was masked and played on the guitar; he assembled the crowd by his songs and his music, and by a thousand merry stories he told them, with infinite drollery. The old women sat listening with their distaffs, spinning coarse flax, and wetting their thread with their spittle; their grand-children sprawling at their feet, and amused with the twisting of the spindle. The men and their wives, they youth and their mistresses sat in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the musician, who kept them laughing for a great part of the evening, with his stories, which he enlivened occasionally, with tunes on the guitar. At last, when the company were most numerous and at the highest pitch of good humour, he suddenly pulled off his mask, laid down his guitar, and opened a little box that stood before him, and addressed his audience thus:
Ladies and gentlemen, there is a time for all things; we have had jesting enough, innocent mirth is excellent for the body, but other things are requisite for the health of the soul. I will now, with your permission, my honourable masters and mistresses, entertain you with something serious, of infinitely greater importance than fiddling and singing; something for which all of you will have reason to bless me as long as you live.
He shook out of a bag a great number of leaden crucifixes. "I am just come," continued he,
my fellow citizens, from the holy house of Loretto, on purpose to furnish you with these jewels, more precious than all the gold of Peru, and all the pearls of the ocean. Now, my beloved brethren and sisters, you are afraid, I see, that I shall demand a price for these sacred crosses, far above your abilities, and something correspondent with their value, by way of indemnification for the fatigue and expence of the long journey I have made, on your account, all the way from the habitation of the blessed virgin, to this thrice renowned city of Naples, the riches and liberality of whose inhabitants are celebrated all over the globe. No, my generous Neapolitans, I
do
not wish to take the advantage of your pious and liberal dispositions. I will not ask for these invaluable crucifixes, (all of which, let me inform you, have touched the foot of the holy image of the blessed virgin, which was formed by the hands of St. Luke, and moreover each of them has been taken in the
santissimo scodella,
the sacred porringer, in which the virgin made the pap for the infant Jesus). I will not, I say, demand an ounce of gold, nor ask a crown of silver; my regard for you is such, that I shall let you have them for a penny a piece.
This morsel of eloquence, no doubt, was a great pennyworth; and when we recollect the sums some men are paid for their oratory in England, though it seldom produces so pathetic a specimen, we must conclude, then, eloquence is a much scarcer and dearer commodity in England than in Italy.
It was at such a street harangue, as I have observed, that Flint met with Brutus. Ramble finding Raspe therefore at Naples, endeavoured to make the best of it, and said he would now take some pains to bring about a reconciliation. He wrote to Mr. Raspe, said as things had turned out, he was not unhappy at finding him at Naples, that he had loved his daughter from the moment he saw her, that he loved her for her personal qualities, and not for any appendage of fortune, that might follow her; that she was now his wife; that he was a gentleman both by birth and education, and not a beggar; that he was the object of his daughter's choice, waved any claim upon her supposed fortune; was convinced he could maintain her well upon his own; and would pledge himself to make her happy. Mrs. Ramble wrote also to her father, said every thing in her power to obtain his pardon, exculpate her husband for any unbecoming or unhandsome conduct, took the blame if there was any; upon herself; said no woman on earth could be happier than she should, with her father's forgiveness; and with his leave they would throw themselves at his feet. Raspe was of too irrascible a disposition to listen to any terms. Revenged he would be of the seducer; as he called it, of his child; and hearing there was a certain description of men in most Italian cities, who, for a premium, would lye wait for, and dispatch any one we wished to be rid of, was determined to find out one of these men, and try to effect it. He made his Black acquainted with this resolution, who though according to a received opinion, that negroes have not that fellow-feeling which we naturally feel, shuddered at the idea. Raspe, however, worked him up to be faithful in this business, by fair promises and future rewards, and he according to his master's orders looked out for a man of this stamp. Such men are in Italy not difficult to be met with, and Brutus having found one, introduced him to his master, and left them together. He was a man with a downcast look, with murder written in his countenance.
"What is your name, friend?" said Raspe. "I have no name," answered the fellow.
What are you called then?
returned Raspe. "Bravo," replied he. "And what is your profession?" says Raspe. "A murderer," retorts he, and with a sternness that made even the unfeeling old man tremble.
Raspe, however, collected himself, and smiling replied,
A very honourable profession!
You need not sneer; (said Bravo) as times go, it is a profession equally
honourable,
with many truly called so. There's your
accoucheurs,
I believe they are called in your country, men-midwives. How many murders do they commit, hired for it as we are, destroying infants in the birth; and yet (continued he with a sneer) accoucheurs are men of
honourable
profession! There are your medical practitioners, that learn experience at the expence of other men's lives.—What are they but murderers? And yet physic (sneering) is an
honourable
profession! Then, again, there are your lawyers, the greatest murderers of all. These murder a man's fortune, good name, and peace of mind. The pain we give is but a flee-bite to it—It lasts but a instant;—whereas their stabs smart for years, and yet the law (sneering) is an
honourable
profession! So again, your slave-trade merchants, that deal in human flesh....
He was going on, but Raspe feeling the force of his reasoning, cried,
No more of your remarks.—Are you not afraid of detection?
Not much for that, (replied the Bravo) every profession has its risks, and we are well paid for ours. Those who employ us are equally criminal, of course are always hush, lest they should betray themselves. Besides, our business is generally done in the dark, and a dead man tells no tales. The laws also of this country favour us; for if a man is under prosecution, there are so many courts to go through, and so many loop-holes in each part of the process; that it must be a very extraordinary case indeed, if we cannot slip through some of them.—But what is your business with me?
Raspe asked him in confidence, whether he might rely on him. Bravo looking sternly and stedfastly in his face, and slapping his breast, cried,
"Honour!"
"I want a man's throat cut," said Raspe. "I'll do it," returns the fellow smartly, slapping his breast again. His price was asked, and being told 50 pistoles, half in hand, Raspe gave him the money. "You have a black," said the fellow.
I have (returned Raspe) What then?
These are men (replied he) of no conscience. You must order him to shew me the man, and assist me.
Raspe told him he would, and bid him be with him again an hour hence; but before he left him, said, he hoped he should not be deceived; that what he undertook would be effectually done; and that no qualms of conscience or human feelings would prevent it.
None, (said the fellow, warmly). If we had either one or the other, we could not live by our profession. I'll give you an instance (continued he); a gentleman hired me the other day to cut a man's throat—I did it—and had 50 pistoles. His father offered me the next day one hundred, to cut my employer's throat, and generously paid me before hand. I did it."—Did it! (says Raspe) as how?"— When I returned to my first employer (replied he) to receive my money, he was so pleased with my expedition, that he gave me twenty more. I thanked him—he was going to leave me,—but I stopped him—told him, I had received a hundred for cutting his throat—he started—said he would give me the like sum for honestly acquainting him with it, and was going to give me the money; but I told him, as I ever acted upon honour, and had received my reward, I must perform the deed; so without further ceremony, I whipped out my knife, seized him by the throat, as I may do you, (seizing Raspe by the collar) and was through his heart in a twinkling.
Then quitting his hold added,
We give very little pain, Sir, we do our business
secundum artem.
Raspe was out of breath at this grasp of the fellow, and scarce knew whether he was alive or dead; but recovering himself a little said,
Well—return to me in an hour.
CHAP. XL.
RAMBLE was invited by Prince Caraccioli to a musical piece he had got up for the entertainment of his friends at his own private theatre; and it was found out that Ramble and his lady meant to be present. This was the evening in which it was settled that the horrid deed was to be done. Raspe had brought over Brutus to his purpose, and the plan was accordingly laid. Brutus and Bravo met for this purpose, some days prior to the time fixed. Bravo asked him, if he had received his master's orders to assist him? Brutus said, he was to shew him the colonel, as he went to the opera. "Aye," (replied the Bravo, taking the black by the hand and looking sternly in his face)
and murder him!
Me no murder colonel, (said Brutus), colonel is good man.
And is not your master a bad one (asked the fellow) to think of such a thing?
Massa bad man indeed!
replied Brutus.
You cannot love your master?
said the assassin.
Me no lose Massa, (returned the other) Massa beat poor negro— use poor negro ill.
Is there any harm in killing a man (asks the Bravo) who wishes to kill another?
Brutus replied,
Colonel no killee Massa— Massa killee colonel.
Now suppose (continued the Bravo) instead of killing the colonel, for which your master would give me fifty pieces, suppose we were to kill your master? He deserves death for meditating the death of another.
It was not the principle of retaliation that induced this fellow to this determination, but the sight of a great box of money in Raspe's possession, when he was with him.
Though Massa be bad man and beat poor negro, (said Brutus, trembling) Me no kille Massa—poor negro no bad man.
Did you see (said the fellow) what a quantity of money he has?
Brutus hugged himself at this thought, and answered "Yeas."
Let me into his room at night (said the Bravo) I'll kill him—you shan't be concerned in it, and yet you shall have half that great bag of money. What I do with money?
asked Brutus.
Carry you to your own country,
said the Bravo. This won over the black at once. The idea of going back to his own country overset him. He agreed to the measure, and it was settled, that on that very evening at twelve o'clock at night, when he was to way-lay the colonel on his return from the theatre, that Brutus should admit him to his master's chamber, when he was asleep; for Raspe always went to bed early, scarce was up later than ten o'clock.
All the difference (said the Bravo) well be, that he will fall by the dagger that he would plunge into the breast of his son-in-law.
Brutus promised to admit him, but said
Mind, I no hand in it.
Not the least (returned the Bravo). It will only be the old one outwitted.
Brutus was pleased with this, and replied
Then Massa be outwitted indeed!—No beat poor negro again.
This dreadful piece of business would certainly have taken place, but Providence interposed to prevent it. Predestination is a doctrine exploded by sensible men; but too many instances occur in these volumes, not to shew that what
must
be,
will
be. The timely discovery of the plan laid for lady Dashit; the colonel's meeting with Raspe at the attorney's; his meeting him again also at Paris; the escape of Miss Raspe from the convent of the Ursulines; the overthrow of the scheme laid for the colonel's life, and that also meditating the death of Raspe: One would be led to think that these events were studied, and not the effects of chance. Chance, did I say? What is chance but an interposition of Providence, tending to a purpose short-sighted man is unacquainted with? What is luck in a lottery or at gaming? He must be an obstinate reasoner, that will not allow it must be more than mere accident, that shall beggar one man and enrich another. If this be attributed to luck, and luck be no other than good fortune, brought about by chance, the same may be said of all the fortuitous events of life. Philosophers, however, will allow the interposition of Providence in
great
events, denying it only in
small
ones; but these must be the philosophers of a Pagan age; they cannot be Christians, when the Deity has declared, that not a sparrow falls to the ground without his knowledge, and that all the hairs of our head are numbered.
Flint met Brutus a day or two after his conference with Bravo. The people had flocked into the street after dark, to see the effect of an irruption of Vesuvius, then pouring forth its liquid torrents of fire. Brutus and Flint were among the rest, and the negro's mind, disturbed with the project he had engaged in, was almost panic struck at the blazing of the mountain, which put him in mind of the punishment awaiting upon wickedness.
Hah! honey (said Flint to Brutus, in meeting with him) look at that fire, and tremble.
Brutus in fact
did
tremble, and that not a little, and told Flint that he was sorry he had left Paris "Why?" said Flint.
Noting, (replied Brutus, sighing,) Oh poor Massa!
and on saying this, he looked about him as one deranged in mind. "Is your maister dead?" said Flint.
Not dead yet, (cried Brutus) going to be dead, (and here he shed tears) Massa would killee me. Me no killee Massa.
Kill your Maister, (returned Flint) certainly not.—I hope you have no such thoughts—if you have, a sure as you do it, the devils will chuck you into that fire.
Brutus still trembling, cried,
Me no killee Massa,—Bravo come and killee him.
Flint apprehending something in these words of the poor black, and finding him in such a situation as to be led almost to any thing; told him he would take him to the colonel, and the colonel should be his friend.
No go to the colonel, (cried he) colonel hang me.
Phu, nonsense!
said Flint, and took him with him.
Flint having brought him to his master, Brutus opened to him the horrid scheme, and Ramble thought he could not do a better thing than get the black to admit him privately into his master's room, and seize the villain at the moment he was going to perpetrate the deed; thinking by this he should not only apprehend the murderer, and bring him to justice, but that the fear of detection, and the gratitude he must feel for this act of the colonel in saving his life, would be the best means that could be devised to bring Raspe round; for all the concessions he could make, or any arguments he could use would not effect it. He, therefore, determined not to go to the opera that evening, but proposed to Brutus, that if he would admit him into his master's chamber a little before twelve, he would there wait till the Bravo came, and they lay hold of him, and assured the black that if he did the business properly, he would not only reward him, but purchase his freedom.
CHAP. XLI.
RAMBLE was now as happy as his heart could wish. He had reached the summit of his ambition, that of obtaining the woman he loved, and had little doubt, but a reconciliation with her father would take place, and every other difference be made up.
We are now married (said he to his wife) and he cannot take you from me, and my business now shall be to find some method of bringing about a reconciliation.
The story he had heard from Brutus, did not alarm him; he had contrived to turn it to his advantage. They had received a very polite invitation from Prince Caraccioli to continue some weeks with him, and this was the more extraordinary as the fashionable world at Naples, though they keep splendid equipages, and a large hall of servants, are by no means hospitable. They visit, keep up a great deal of etiquette, but a man may as well break his neck as his fast, in one of their houses. Their servants are generally married men, are paid by the week, and live at home with their own families, attending their master only at certain hours of the day; and at night when the family go to rest, out of an establishment of twenty servants there shall not be one man that sleeps in the house, and the master after a certain hour shall have to wait upon himself. An ingenious friend of mine, relates the following story of a lady at Paris, where the custom of visiting is much the same as at Naples; and will give the reader an insight into the nature of fashionable intercourse. We are apeing the manners of the French, and are very near them in all their points of etiquette, and a very little time will give us the following scene in London.
A young widow of quality and great fortune, whose house was the rendezvous of all the
beaux esprits
of Paris, was at her toilet one day in high consultation with a general officer and two priggish abbés, concerning a head-dress she had invented, and meant to establish as a fashion. She was one of those ladies who felt her own consequence, talked loud, said a great deal, and spoke upon all occasions very decisively. These gentlemen having passed many encomiums on her smartness, taste, and elegance, she was in the highest spirits, and swung round from her glass, exulting with
"Allons mes enfans, à la gloire."
At this moment her servant entered, and informed her that Madame la Comtesse had accepted her invitation to dinner, and would do herself the honour of waiting on her. This unexpected intelligence almost petrified her. Her spirits sunk, and she was scarce able to speak. Had notice been brought her of the death of her father, or an only child, she could not have been more damped, and with the accents of despair and staring eyes, drawled out
Est—il
po-si-ble,
qu'on puisse è-tre si bête!
She examined the servant particularly,
Are you sure she said that she'd
come?
Very sure, madam,
replied the fellow. Fresh exclamations followed. "Did you invite her for this day?" said the general.
Undoubtedly I did, (returned the lady) that mark of politeness could be no longer delayed; and what then? She is connected with some of my relations in the west, has been in town a week, and I could do no less; but I could not suppose she was vulgar enough to accept the invitation. She has, I find; and the horrid woman, with a rudeness and ignorance of life without example, sends me word she'll
come.
That she should have misunderstood your ladyship's kindness so prodigiously (said one of the abbe's) is shocking.
Shocking, (returned the lady) it is a
barbarous
return of civility, and will teach me to be more upon my guard in future. As soon as I heard she was in town, I left my name at her door, she returned my visit the next day, and having charged my Swiss never to let her in, I have not seen her.
Cela est tout simple
you know
& selon les regles,
for the woman is old enough to be my mother, and, of course, we must be intolerable to each other. Had she had any ideas of good breeding, she must have seen that my invitation was merely a matter of polite ceremony, and, of course, should as politely have refused it, as when we press a friend to take a dish of chocolate, we never expect it to be accepted. Had we thus understood each other, we might have visited for years, dined and supped together, and been on the most agreeable footing imaginable; but this instance of
grossîèreté,
must put an end to all future connexion. —Well—there is no remedy. I must submit to the horrid business.
Now the reader must be told that the countess accepted the invitation to dinner, not out of respect, or any desire to dine with that lady, but
par pure malice,
and purposely to plague
her
whom she hated. However, she made shift to shew seeming good spirits and good humour, by a continued grin the whole time she was with her, and all the next day complained that her face ached with the distortion. The dinner was as great a purgatory to the countess, as it could possibly prove to the other; and they spent together the
diable
of a
téte-à-téte.
CHAP. XLII.
THE whole country of Naples is a scene of hypocrisy, accompanied with superstition. It infects all orders of men, not only the upper class, but the lower; the gentry, the army, and the church. The military of Naples are as full of superstition as the monks are of hypocrisy.—The following laughable story happened whilst Ramble was at Naples, and Flint was a party in it. A capuchin friar, a man of infamous character, who had formerly been one of the banditti in Silicy, and who, tired of a life of danger, fled from that island, took the cowl, and became a monk of St. Francis, of one of the convents in Naples; and to make some attonement for his past life, with the hopes of getting again into credit, he put on the mask of hypocrisy, submitted to severer penance than the rest of his fraternity, wore a larger cordon, and put on the sanctified countenance of a saint. But he was an old sinner, and his flesh had not left off warring against the spirit. He therefore was on the look out for a wench in a snug corner, where he might carry on his amours unnoticed by the brotherhood. There are not wanting females of that description in every capital, much less in the capital of Naples; he soon fixed his eye on a lady, who lodged on a ground floor in an obscure part of the city, paid his addresses to her, and was admitted as an occasional lover. The monks of St. Francis carry no money; but as the females of easy virtue in Naples, are not without their superstition; by admitting this monk, she hoped to do away her offences, and by parcelling out her favours to this man among others, she was in hopes, by partaking of his sanctity, she should lessen her sins. This lady told him, that she was in keeping by a corporal of the life-guards, which was a Spanish regiment, that he was a very jealous passionate man; but that if he was not afraid of the resentment of one of six feet two inches high, with a spada of uncommon length, and who, when angered, was as furious as a tyger, she should be glad to receive him now and then in her keeper's absence; that he frequently attended the king, after the opera, to Portici, and when he was out on duty, she would let him know.
The monk, with all the impatience of a passionate lover, waited her summons. At last it came, and he hied to her lodgings. Matters were soon adjusted, and the parties were in bed. It so happened that the life-guard-man deserted from duty that night, and unexpectedly returned home; finding the door locked, he knocked hard, he thundered.
Lord! (said she to the monk), Vengioza is returned; he knocks at the door; should he find us together, he will certainly be the death of us both.
The capuchin, more alarmed for an apprehended loss of sanctity, than fear of death or drubbing, jumped out of bed, gathered up his cloaths, and crept under it. It was so near the ground, that it was with difficulty he could squeeze beneath it. He was no sooner concealed, than madam rose and let her
cara sposa
in; he made a great noise at being kept at the door so long, and bid her strike a light. Now the monk's heart fainted within him. At every stroke of the flint, his spirits sunk; but the artful minx, in searching for the tinder-box, which was under the bed, threw some of the water from the chamber-pot into it. The tinder would not kindle. She said it was wet. The monk's spirits revived, and she desired her lover to go and light the candle at the lamp in the next street. There are no public lamps in the streets of Naples, but this was a lamp burning under an image of the virgin. No—he would rather go to bed in the dark. Down went the capuchin's spirits again. He kept a brandy bottle also under the bed, and trying to reach it, very nearly caught hold of the monk's head. The lady, however, relieved the capuchin from this fright, by reaching it herself. She and Vengioza were now within the sheets, and the weight of the two so pressed down the sacking, as almost to stifle the priest below, who began to consider how he should escape. First he thought of squeezing from his confinement, seizing the spada, which his rival had laid with his cloaths on the chair, and demanding capitulation for himself and the lady. No; that might lead to a discovery. Whilst he was considering how to act, his rival snored; all his fears, of course, vanished. With some difficulty he edged himself by little and little from under the bed, dressed himself in the soldier's cloaths, lest he should be discovered in the streets so late in the night, and left his own garments on the chair in the room of those he took. He sallied thus boldly out, and madam was not unhappy he was gone.
When without the house, he began to consider how he should repay his rival for the fright he had put him into; at last the thought struck him, that he would go to the guard-room and tell the officer on guard, that if he was disposed to have some mirth at the expence of a capuchin, he could now give him an opportunity. The capuchins being generally very severe on the conduct of the military men at Naples, the officer was happy in the idea of a retaliation. The monk was not discovered in his new dress, as the soldier whose cloaths he had on, wore a wig, and that wig covered the monk's bare head. It happened that Flint, who had been shut out of his lodgings, had taken himself to the guardroom with the officers permission, to wait the return of day, and as Flint was a soldier, he was readily admitted. The monk assured the officer, that he had traced a capuchin friar into the house of a woman of ill fame, that he listened at the window, and knew they were in bed together; and that if he would go with him, he would conduct him to the place. Flint seemed to enjoy the idea; they took a lantern, and the officer, Flint, the monk, and two or three of the guard, hasted to the place of rendezvous. Flint observed, how happy he should be, if they could pop in upon them whilst the monk was upon his kness, saying his prayers. Having reached the house, they thundered at the door, and demanded admittance in the king's name. The soldier within, apprehensive it might be the guard come to seize him for running from his duty, soon occupied the place the capuchin had left, but not before he had scrambled up his cloaths, as he thought, which he took under the bed with him. Thus secure, the lady opened the door, and was told by the officer, that he demanded the body of a capuchin friar, that was in her room. Knowing the monk had escaped some time before, she assured him, no capuchin was there. "Look under the bed," said the monk, supposing him to be there concealed. He accordingly took the lantern, and discovering him.
You may always find a fox, (said he) by his smell. Fah—how he stinks, one may scent him a mile off.
By my shoul and you may say that too, (says Flint). He smells stronger than a pole-cat. Give me the lantern—I'll soon ferret him from his ambuscade.
The monk now began to pull out the cowl, and the tunic
Ecce signum,
(said he) first the rags, then the friar.
You'll have some trouble (said Flint) to dislodge him; let us lay a train and blow the enemy up, battery and all.
The monk having pulled out the cloaths and the cordon, next drew out the sinner. The lady in all this bustle was raving round the room,
Ah mio Dio, Siamo perduti, Siamo perduti
Siamo perduto
means—Oh my G-d! I am ruined, I am ruined.
.
Charmed
as you have been, (cried Flint) you must find some other priest to perform
duty
now.
The soldier, who conceived this to have been a judgment on him, for visiting his girl on a day of abstinence, and not bowing to the crucifix in his way to Portici, stood trembling and mute before them. At last he broke silence, with assuring them he was no capuchin. The officer observed, that he merited castigation for denying his order, and Flint took up the cordon, which as I have noticed, was a heavy one, and swearing by St. Patrick, said he would give him a dozen for belying his colours. Vengioza, in stupid amazement, took it all patiently, was dressed by them in the capuchin's garments, his hands tied behind him, and thus conducted to the guard-room, protesting all the way that he was no capuchin, and receiving stripes as he went, as the officer said by the order of St. Francis, Flint called it running the gauntlet.
The monk dreading a discovery at the guard-room, excused himself to the officer, said he was sorry that he could not accompany them, as he had to mount guard early, and recommended it to him to take good care of the priest.— Having left the company, he stole into his own convent, and having a second suit of monastic cloaths, put them on, and carried the suit of regimentals he wore and laid them down at the gate of a capuchin convent far distant from his own, with a view that when the matter came out, it might not be traced to him.
The life-guard-man, when brought to the guard-room, was known by some of his comrades, underwent their ridicule, and for absenting himself from duty without leave, was sentenced by a court-martial to be flogged. This so exasperated the whole Spanish regiment to which he belonged, that they determined to be revenged of the capuchin; and it being shortly after discovered who the author of this deep-concerted plan was, a riot ensued, several of the fraternity were stiletto'd, and had not the inquisition taken it up, brought the monk to trial, and ordered him flagellation in the public streets, an insurrection might have been the consequence. As it was, matters were brought to a conclusion by the public punishment of the friar; he was dressed by way of ridicule in a Spanish habit, stripped naked to the waist, mounted upon an ass, carried round the city in procession, amid the jeers of the populace and the whole Spanish regiment, and whipped as he went, for denying his order.
CHAP. XLIII.
THE Prince, as I have observed, proposing to entertain his friends with a musical piece, at his private theatre, ordered Squallini his chapel-master to put one up, that is, prepare some piece for the purpose. It was at a time when there were no female performers at Naples; but that his highness might not be disappointed, he applied to three gentlemen, whose wives sung very well, and requested of them to let their ladies perform the women's parts, which would be but short; and as no one would be admitted but the prince's particular friends, and his highness would consider it as a favour done to him, he hoped they would have no objection. They did not chuse to give him an immediate answer, but proposed giving him the meeting, and talking the matter further over; saying, that if they liked the piece, they should have no objection, and having asked their wives, they consented upon the same terms. The names of these gentlemen were, Bavelli, Torriano, and Napioni. On being met for the purpose, Bavelli asked Squallini the subject-matter of his piece.
What signifies the subject? (said he) your eyes and ears will soon tell you, when the piece is performed.
Napioni insisted on knowing, for he had given his consent conditionally, and it was necessary they should know what characters the women were to perform, maids, wives, or widows. Squallini told them they were all to be married ladies, and to appear with their husbands.
Then I am sure (says Napioni, who was a very jealous man) I shall not like it for one. Many improper liberties are taken with
unmarried
women on the stage; and if so, I don't know what may happen to
married
ones.
None (said Torriano, laughing) but what they are very well acquainted with.
Be assured (replied Squallini) the strictest decorum will be observed. It is a heavenly subject, and the scene lies among the Gods and Goddesses. It is that of the Celestial Deities descending upon earth to congratulate mankind on the return of Freedom. Those nations that have emerged from despotism, as England, France, Holland, and the like, are exhibited as triumphant; those who continue still enthralled as Spain, Turkey, Italy, and so on, are shewn in subjection.
A very high-flown subject indeed, (says Bavelli) and are your songs equal to the subject?
Quite so, (answered Squallini) I would give the public a specimen of a duet between an angel of light and an angel of darkness;—But I shall be obliged to leave it out, Pluto having sent the latter on an embassy to Spain to instigate them to make war with Germany, that he may be revenged of them for abolishing the inquisition.
This occasioned a broad laugh. But Napioni asked what parts their three wives were to act?
Juno, Proserpine, and Venus, (answered Squallini) as the wives of Jupiter, Pluto, and Vulcan.
These fellows, observed Napioni, are all very liquorish dogs, and he should not like to trust his wife with either of them.
What! not in heaven?
says Bavelli.
No not in heaven (answered Napioni)— I have heard of Jupiter's ravishing Io in a cloud.
Don't be alarmed, gentlemen, (said Squallini) there's no harm to be feared. Their supposed husbands are all opera-singers. Besides it will be all in public.
What of that? (retorts Napioni). The more public they say, the more private. Many an intrigue has been carried on in public. Jupiter violated Danae's honour in form of a shower of gold; Leda in the shape of a swan; and Europa in that of a bull. I may in future have a parcel of satyrs instead of children.—Horns, my good friend, have frightened many a man.
Well, Squallini, (said Torriano) you are welcome to the use of
my
wife. You shall have the command of her for one night, and according to the English proverb, as she
can
sing, if she
won't
sing, I give you full power to
make
her sing.
I have given my consent (says Bavelli) and shall not retract, nor do I suppose my friend Napioni will.
Pardon me (replies Napioni) you can only answer for yourself.
Sure (said Squallini) Napioni, you are not jealous?
Certainly not (returns Napioni)—but as you will naturally introduce an entertainment for your deities, and the nectar ambrosial will be going about, I don't know what may be the consequence. Should my wife get a sip of this nectar between her lips, her mouth may water for it for ever after. For master Pluto, I can't say much against
him;
but as to Jupiter and Vulcan, there are not wickeder rascals in all the skies.
Well, (said Bavelli) the majority is against you. Two to one always carry it; so you must submit.
Must! (returns Napioni),—If I must, I must; but take notice, Squallini, teach your gods to be well behaved; I shall be present, and if I see them proceed to the least earthly liberty, I'll put an end to the entertainment at once. I'll take her away in the midst of it.
—
You would not surely (says Torriano) interrupt the performance?
You would be the laugh and ridicule of the whole audience.
No matter for that (returns Napioni). Every man should be the guardian, not only of his wife's honour, but his own.
After this altercation, it was settled that the ladies were to perform the parts assigned them, and the piece was to be performed. Colonel Ramble and his wife, were not present at the representation. The colonel had business of greater moment on his hands, as the following chapter will shew.
CHAP. XLIV.
THE important day being now arrived, when the minds of all parties were busy in their respective cares; when Raspe was anxious for the death of Ramble, Bravo for the death of Raspe, and Ramble and Brutus for the life of Raspe. The evening being come, Ramble went to Mr. Raspe's lodgings, between eleven and twelve at night, armed with a pair of loaded pistols, and was admitted by Brutus into the apartments. His master, whose disturbed imagination made him very unhappy, went to his bed an hour sooner than usual, leaving strict orders with Brutus to sit up, and come and wake him as soon as he learned that the deed was done. Raspe had two rooms, his bedchamber was the inner one, and just at the door entering into the inner chamber was a window with a recess, before which a curtain was let down, so that a person could stand concealed very well behind this curtain; nor could any one approach the inner chamber door, but that person could lay hold of him. The colonel was let in here a few minutes before twelve, and took his stand behind the window-curtain I have described.—Raspe was then asleep.— After continuing there concealed some minutes, he looked at his watch, and found it wanted but five minutes of the time.
Brutus, who slept always on the floor by his master's bed, did not so now— he was more upon the look-out. Raspe who had laid down in a morning gown, wanted no waking; his thoughts were sufficient monitors; he tossed and flung about, and was heard to say, Dreadful slumbers!—no quiet sleep, when the mind's in agitation!—hope the business will be done effectually! The clock strikes twelve. Raspe rises from his bed, comes into the outer room, and shudders.— Hark! said he, This is the hour of business. My heart fails me, I'll to my bed again. He no sooner re-entered his room, but the assassin, led in by Brutus, and armed with a dagger, came into the other room. "Tread softly," fays Brutus. "Which is his bed-room?" asks the fellow. "Dare," answered Brutus, pointing to it. "Is he asleep?" said the assassin, [all this was in an under voice].
Yes, (replied Brutus) snoring as a hog.
Know you where the money is?
says the fellow. "Yes," answered Brutus.
Well then, (returned the assassin) we'll secure
him
first—then the bag.
The fellow now took out the dagger from his bosom, and passing the curtain to go into the chamber, Ramble started on him, seized him by the wrist that held the dagger, and presenting a pistol to his breast, said "Villain! I have thee." They struggled, the colonel threw him down, wrested the dagger from him, and stood over him with the dagger at his breast. Raspe hearing the noise, jumped from his bed, came to the door, and seeing Ramble and the fellow under him, was struck motionless. Brutus on the other hand was as much surprized; but his surprize was joy. After a pause, Raspe advancing to Brutus, cried
Satan! hast thou betrayed me?
Ramble answered for him
No, Sir—he has not betray'd you, but saved your life;
and bidding Brutus call in the guard from without, with Ramble had brought with him, added,
Consider this, Sir, as the most fortunate hour of your life, prevented in the execution of a horrid crime, and saved from the destruction that awaited you in this world, and the miseries of a future one.
Brutus now brought in two armed men; whom he ordered to bind the arms of the assassin, and take him to the inquisitor-general, saying he would soon follow them. The man being bound and taken off, Brutus frisked, rejoicing and crying.
Brutus be so glad!—no killee Massa now!
—and went after them. "Peace, varlet!" roar'd out Raspe; but Ramble checked him, with
Be not angry with your slave, to him you owe your life; had he not a heart that shudders at the thought of vice, I should have been your victim, and you would have lived a martyr to remorse. If you still thirst for my blood, take this dagger, and drink your fill—having saved the life of the father of her who is next my heart, I can resign my own—but know that in the moment you deprive me of existence, you kill him who has saved you, make your daughter a widow, bring her with sorrow to the grave, and leave her unborn babe an orphan.
It is not in the power of words to describe the situation of Raspe's mind. The terror of the act he was about to perpetrate, the uncommon generosity, of the colonel, the love he bore his daughter, with the dread of impending justice, caused such a conflict of soul within him, as would have unman'd the hardiest villain. He selt the force of Ramble's words, became sensible of his own rashness, and smitten with the sincerest compunction, held out the dagger he had taken from Ramble, blubbered like a child, and with broken accents cried,
Whatever animosity I might have had—it drops with this weapon; [and here he dropped it]. You have taught me, colonel, that anger deprives a man of reason, and leads him often to such acts, as in a moment of reflection he would tremble at—Lead me to my child—I'll beg
her
forgiveness, and implore her kind interest with you, to forget the wrong I meant to do you, and blot the remembrance of it from us all.
Raspe was now reconciled to his daughter. They returned to England in harmony together. He gave her a fortune of 20,000l. and, at his death, left her near a hundred thousand more, to her and her heirs; but in case her husband survived her, he was to have the interest only for his life, and the principal at his death to be divided among his next of kin. They lived many years happily, but had no issue. The colonel survived her, but never married again.
The reader may wish to know what became of Miss Trevor and Lady Dashit. The former married well, and the latter fearful of a second snare being laid for her, gave the idea of marriage up, and died a widow.
FINIS.
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