Thus was the noble faculty of reason disgracefully sacrificed on the polluted altar of sensuality. In a few hours, however, reflection returned, and conscience began to resume her empire, and remorse to sting his soul. He would have made the only reparation in his power by a speedy retreat; for he could not, as he declared, again look on the friend whom he had so injured, without the danger of annihilation. His own words are forcibly expressive:
“The sense of this crime,” he says, “was twisted round my heart like a serpent of hell, and the recollection still freezes my soul. The enormity of my guilt was magnified by the unexampled hospitality and friendship I experienced from them both. Their confidence was unlimited, and I repaid it with base ingratitude. For weeks afterwards an idea haunted me, that the first time the husband’s eye met mine, the wrath of God would consume me from the face of the earth. I would have fled from the fatal spot, as from a devouring pestilence; but I foolishly allowed myself to be overruled by W., who has been the murderer of every soul that had the misfortune to fall in his way. This is not the language of invective, nor do I think it uncharitable, for his crimes are of so deep a dye as to put all power of exaggeration at defiance. Most men endeavour to frame some excuse for their errors, but even this negative virtue W. never arrived at: he had no other motive for his villainy, than the malignant pleasure of seeing misery widely diffused.”
Upwards of a month had elapsed before this execrable old monster W. could give up a pursuit almost as infamous, though not quite so destructive in its effects, as that which scaled the debasement of his pupil, and the amiable family in which they had both been entertained for nearly three months. Several circumstances had occurred to render any longer stay in Paris exceedingly irksome, and he prudently suggested to his pupil the propriety of visiting Bourdeaux, whither they retired somewhat abruptly.
On their arrival in that city, they found that letters of introduction, which they expected from England, had not arrived: this they thought would occasion no great inconvenience, as W. was quite at home here, having formerly spent some years amongst the learned and the dissolute, to whom he now repaired: but, to his disappointment, some of them were dead, and many of the rest dispersed in various parts of the world. The travellers were therefore obliged to seek that accommodation at a hotel, which ill-requited hospitality had so readily afforded them in Paris.
The innkeeper had a young niece of interesting appearance, who was on the eve of being married to a man whom she tenderly loved. Returning from the house of God, where she had been attending divine worship, and where she had received the holy sacrament, the unsuspecting girl in a luckless moment fell under the basilisk glance of this veteran in iniquity, who immediately destined her for destruction. Flushed with the greatness of his project, so worthy of a philosopher, he hastened to his less hardened companion, and unfolded the grand scheme with as much self-exultation as if he had discovered a new planet. The generous mind of his pupil, once noble and pure, was not yet sufficiently corrupted to hear the diabolical disclosure without indignation. He declared that the vengeance of a guilty conscience still rankled in his heart; for, although he had used every effort to stifle or dispel the painful remembrance of his crimes in Paris, he was tormented continually. He applied the golden rule of “doing to others as he would that others should do unto him,” which for the present put an end to the discussion.
Meanwhile the expected letters from England had arrived, which procured them admission into the higher walks of life, and apparently diverted their attention from meaner objects: but this was not the case. W. was inflexibly bent on robbing the innocent girl of what could not enrich him, yet would leave her “poor indeed.” An unforeseen accident favoured his purpose. The intended husband was taken dangerously ill; and W., who had studied medicine not only as an amusement but also as an accomplishment, was induced, by motives of pure humanity of course, to give his opinion in consultation with other physicians. He used often to call at the Inn to console the weeping bride elect, and by enumerating the favourable changes in her lover’s complaint he succeeded in securing to himself her friendship and gratitude. Sleepless nights and anxiety of mind brought on an affection of the eyes, for which, in a friendly way, he gave her a prescription, and most kindly offered his further services. She got better; but her general health declined, and he recommended her removal to some convenient cottage in the outskirts of the city, where she might have the benefit of country air, and the society of her friends.
This was the master-stroke of his plot. The proud virtue of his pupil was now greatly subdued; but, to fit him for his infernal purpose with double certainty, W. engaged him in a party of pleasure, from which he took care he should not return sober, and, after inflaming his lustful passions, introduced him to the chamber of his unconscious victim. Thus was accomplished the ruin of a virtuous girl prepared for destruction by the medicinal agency of this broker in turpitude.
During the perpetration of this outrage, the unhappy sufferer was in a state of total insensibility; but when the effects of the drugs that had been given to her began to subside, and returning day exposed her situation, in the arms of a man whom she had never before seen, her heart died within her. The involuntary instrument of her undoing endeavoured to restore her; but his efforts proving ineffectual, he dispatched a messenger for W., who on his arrival administered some stimulus, and carried his pupil to a cock-fight. They both returned in the evening, for the purpose, it would appear, of repeating the scene of the former night. They found the wretched girl recovered from her swoon, it is true; but they also found that her reason had forsaken the polluted tenement: a state of the most deplorable idiocy had supervened!
Here the journal is abruptly broken off, and in no part of it is the infamous W. again mentioned, except in a note on a slip of paper written in red ink and affixed with wafers to the last leaf, which may best, perhaps, be inserted here.
“The conduct of W., from the unfortunate day I quitted England with him, was such as I could not have expected from a fiend of hell. His breath was contagious, and he never opened his mouth but to wither and consume.”