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THE MONIKINS
By J. Fenimore Cooper
INTRODUCTION.
It is not improbable that some of those who read this book, may feel awish to know in what manner I became possessed of the manuscript. Sucha desire is too just and natural to be thwarted, and the tale shall betold as briefly as possible.
During the summer of 1828, while travelling among those valleys ofSwitzerland which lie between the two great ranges of the Alps, and inwhich both the Rhone and the Rhine take their rise, I had passed fromthe sources of the latter to those of the former river, and had reachedthat basin in the mountains that is so celebrated for containing theglacier of the Rhone, when chance gave me one of those rare momentsof sublimity and solitude, which are the more precious in the otherhemisphere from their infrequency. On every side the view was boundedby high and ragged mountains, their peaks glittering near the sun, whiledirectly before me, and on a level with the eye, lay that miraculousfrozen sea, out of whose drippings the Rhone starts a foaming river, toglance away to the distant Mediterranean. For the first time, duringa pilgrimage of years, I felt alone with nature in Europe. Alas! theenjoyment, as all such enjoyments necessarily are amid the throngs ofthe old world, was short and treacherous. A party came round the angleof a rock, along the narrow bridle-path, in single file; two ladies onhorseback, followed by as many gentlemen on foot, and preceded by theusual guide. It was but small courtesy to rise and salute the dove-likeeyes and blooming cheeks of the former, as they passed. They wereEnglish, and the gentlemen appeared to recognize me as a countryman. Oneof the latter stopped, and politely inquired if the passage of theFurca was obstructed by snow. He was told not, and in return for theinformation said that I would find the Grimsel a little ticklish; "but,"he added, smiling, "the ladies succeeded in crossing, and you willscarcely hesitate." I thought I might get over a difficulty that hisfair companions had conquered. He then told me Sir Herbert Taylor wasmade adjutant-general, and wished me good morning.
I sat reflecting on the character, hopes, pursuits, and interests ofman, for an hour, concluding that the stranger was a soldier, who letsome of the ordinary workings of his thoughts overflow in this brief andcasual interview. To resume my solitary journey, cross the Rhone, andtoil my way up the rugged side of the Grimsel, consumed two more hours,and glad was I to come in view of the little chill-looking sheet ofwater on its summit, which is called the Lake of the Dead. The path wasfilled with snow, at a most critical point, where, indeed, a misplacedfootstep might betray the incautious to their destruction. A large partyon the other side appeared fully aware of the difficulty, for it hadhalted, and was in earnest discussion with the guide, touching thepracticability of passing. It was decided to attempt the enterprise.First came a female of one of the sweetest, serenest countenances I hadever seen. She, too, was English; and though she trembled, and blushed,and laughed at herself, she came on with spirit, and would have reachedmy side in safety, had not an unlucky stone turned beneath a foot thatwas much too pretty for those wild hills. I sprang forward, and wasso happy as to save her from destruction. She felt the extent of theobligation, and expressed her thanks modestly but with fervor. In aminute we were joined by her husband, who grasped my hand with warmfeeling, or rather with the emotion one ought to feel who had witnessedthe risk he had just run of losing an angel. The lady seemed satisfiedat leaving us together.
"You are an Englishman?" said the stranger.
"An American."
"An American! This is singular--will you pardon a question?--You havemore than saved my life--you have probably saved my reason--will youpardon a question?--Can money serve you?"
I smiled, and told him, odd as it might appear to him, that though anAmerican, I was a gentleman. He appeared embarrassed, and his fine faceworked, until I began to pity him, for it was evident he wished to showme in some way, how much he felt he was my debtor, and yet he did notknow exactly what to propose.
"We may meet again," I said, squeezing his hand.
"Will you receive my card?"
"Most willingly."
He put "Viscount Householder" into my hand, and in return I gave him myown humble appellation.
He looked from the card to me, and from me to the card, and someagreeable idea appeared to flash upon his mind.
"Shall you visit Geneva this summer?" he asked, earnestly.
"Within a month."
"Your address--"
"Hotel de l'Ecu."
"You shall hear from me. Adieu."
We parted, he, his lovely wife, and his guides descending to the Rhone,while I pursued my way to the Hospice of the Grimsel. Within the month Ireceived a large packet at l'Ecu. It contained a valuable diamond ring,with a request that I would wear it, as a memorial of Lady Householder,and a fairly written manuscript. The following short note explained thewishes of the writer:
"Providence brought us together for more purposes than were at firstapparent. I have long hesitated about publishing the accompanyingnarrative, for in England there is a disposition to cavil atextraordinary facts, but the distance of America from my place ofresidence will completely save me from ridicule. The world must have thetruth, and I see no better means than by resorting to your agency. AllI ask is, that you will have the book fairly printed, and that you willsend one copy to my address, Householder Hall, Dorsetshire, Eng., andanother to Captain Noah Poke, Stonington, Conn., in your own country. MyAnna prays for you, and is ever your friend. Do not forget us.
"Yours, most faithfully,"
"HOUSEHOLDER."
I have rigidly complied with this request, and having sent the twocopies according to direction, the rest of the edition is at thedisposal of any one who may feel an inclination to pay for it. In returnfor the copy sent to Stonington, I received the following letter:
"ON BOARD THE DERBY AND DOLLY, "STONNIN'TUN, April 1st, 1835.
"AUTHOR OF THE SPY, ESQUIRE:
"Dear Sir:--Your favor is come to hand, and found me in good health,as I hope these few lines will have the same advantage with you. I haveread the book, and must say there is some truth in it, which, I suppose,is as much as befalls any book, the Bible, the Almanac, and the StateLaws excepted. I remember Sir John well, and shall gainsay nothing hetestifies to, for the reason that friends should not contradict eachother. I was also acquainted with the four Monikins he speaks of, thoughI knew them by different names. Miss Poke says she wonders if it's alltrue, which I wunt tell her, seeing that a little unsartainty makes awoman rational. As to my navigating without geometry, thats a matterthat wasn't worth booking, for it's no curiosity in these parts, batinga look at the compass once or twice a day, and so I take my leave ofyou, with offers to do any commission for you among the Sealing Islands,for which I sail to-morrow, wind and weather permitting.
"Yours to sarve, NOAH POKE."
"To the Author of THE SPY, Esquire, ------ town, ------ county, Yorkstate.
"P. S.--I always told Sir John to steer clear of too much journalizing,but he did nothing but write, night and day, for a week; and as youbrew, so you must bake. The wind has chopped, and we shall take ouranchor this tide; so no more at present.
"N. B.--Sir John is a little out about my eating the monkey, which Idid, four years before I fell in with him, down on the Spanish Main. Itwas not bad food to the taste, but was wonderful narvous to the eye. Ir'ally thought I had got hold of Miss Poke's youngest born."
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