The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — CompleteSmollett, T. (Tobias)
General
The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
Smollett, T. (Tobias)
Adventure stories; Gothic fiction
By this time Ferdinand had seen every member of the club, except the
French chevalier, who seemed to be quite neglected by the society; for
his name was not once mentioned during this communication, and they sat
down to dinner, without asking whether he was dead or alive. The king
regaled himself with a plate of ox-cheek; the major, who complained
that his appetite had forsaken him, amused himself with some forty hard
eggs, malaxed with salt butter; the knight indulged upon his soup and
bouilli, and the captain entertained our adventurer with a neck of veal
roasted with potatoes; but before Fathom could make use of his knife
and fork, he was summoned to the door, where he found the chevalier in
great agitation, his eyes sparkling like coals of fire.
Our hero was not a little surprised at this apparition, who, having
asked pardon for the freedom he had used, observed, that, understanding
the Count was a foreigner, he could not dispense with appealing to him
concerning an outrage he had suffered from the keeper, who, without any
regard to his rank or misfortunes, had been base enough to refuse him
credit for a few necessaries, until he could have a remittance from his
steward in France; he therefore conjured Count Fathom, as a stranger
and nobleman like himself, to be the messenger of defiance, which he
resolved to send to that brutal jailor, that, for the future, he might
learn to make proper distinctions in the exercise of his function.
Fathom, who had no inclination to offend this choleric Frenchman,
assured him that he might depend upon his friendship; and, in the
meantime, prevailed upon him to accept of a small supply, in
consequence of which he procured a pound of sausages, and joined the
rest of the company without delay; making a very suitable addition to
such an assemblage of rarities. Though his age did not exceed thirty
years, his beard, which was of a brindled hue, flowed down, like
Aaron’s, to his middle. Upon his legs he wore red stockings rolled up
over the joint of the knee, his breeches were of blue drab, with vellum
button-holes, and garters of gold lace, his waistcoat of scarlet, his
coat of rusty black cloth, his hair, twisted into a ramilie, hung down
to his rump, of the colour of jet, and his hat was adorned with a white
feather.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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