The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — CompleteSmollett, T. (Tobias)
General
The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
Smollett, T. (Tobias)
Adventure stories; Gothic fiction
Our adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this
contrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper, conveyed
through the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon for such an
unseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of the strange
music which he then heard. In spite of her notions of decency, she was
glad of his intrusion, and, being in no condition to observe
punctilios, slipped on a wrapper, opened the door, and, with a
faltering voice, owned herself frightened almost to distraction. He
pretended to console her with reflections, importing, that she was in
the hands of a benevolent Being, who would not impose upon his
creatures any task which they could not bear; he insisted upon her
returning to bed, and assured her he would not stir from her chamber
till day. Thus comforted, she betook herself again to rest, while he
sat down in an elbow-chair at some distance from the bedside, and, in a
soft voice, began the conversation with her on the subject of those
visitations from above, which, though undertaken on pretence of
dissipating her fear and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated for the
purpose of augmenting both.
“That sweet air,” said he, “seems designed for soothing the bodily
anguish of some saint in his last moments. Hark! how it rises into a
more sprightly and elevated strain, as if it were an inspiriting
invitation to the realms of bliss! Sure, he is now absolved from all
the misery of this life! That full and glorious concert of voices and
celestial harps betoken his reception among the heavenly choir, who now
waft his soul to paradisian joys! This is altogether great, solemn, and
amazing! The clock strikes one, the symphony hath ceased!”
This was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove the
instrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too
familiar, and excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who
might frustrate his scheme by discovering the apparatus. As for poor
Celinda, her fancy was, by his music and discourse, worked up to the
highest pitch of enthusiastic terrors; the whole bed shook with her
trepidation, the awful silence that succeeded the supernatural music
threw an additional damp upon her spirits, and the artful Fathom
affecting to snore at the same time, she could no longer contain her
horror, but called upon his name with a fearful accent, and, having
owned her present situation insupportable, entreated him to draw near
her bedside, that he might be within touch on any emergency.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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