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A few days after the funeral； the will was opened before proper
witnesses； and John was found to be left sole heir to his uncle's
property； which； though originally moderate； had； by his grasping
habits； and parsimonious life； become very considerable。
As the attorney who read the will concluded； he added； 〃There are
some words here； at the corner of the parchment； which do not
appear to be part of the will； as they are neither in the form of a
codicil； nor is the signature of the testator affixed to them； but；
to the best of my belief； they are in the handwriting of the
deceased。〃 As he spoke he showed the lines to Melmoth； who
immediately recognized his uncle's hand （that perpendicular and
penurious hand； that seems determined to make the most of the very
paper； thriftily abridging every word； and leaving scarce an atom
of margin）； and read； not without some emotion； the following
words： 〃I enjoin my nephew and heir； John Melmoth； to remove；
destroy； or cause to be destroyed； the portrait inscribed J。
Melmoth； 1646； hanging in my closet。 I also enjoin him to search
for a manuscript； which I think he will find in the third and
lowest left…hand drawer of the mahogany chest standing under that
portrait；it is among some papers of no value； such as manuscript
sermons； and pamphlets on the improvement of Ireland； and such
stuff； he will distinguish it by its being tied round with a black
tape； and the paper being very moldy and discolored。 He may read
it if he will；I think he had better not。 At all events； I adjure
him； if there be any power in the adjuration of a dying man； to
burn it。〃
After reading this singular memorandum； the business of the meeting
was again resumed； and as old Melmoth's will was very clear and
legally worded； all was soon settled； the party dispersed； and John
Melmoth was left alone。
。 。 。 。 。
He resolutely entered the closet； shut the door； and proceeded to
search for the manuscript。 It was soon found； for the directions
of old Melmoth were forcibly written； and strongly remembered。 The
manuscript； old； tattered； and discolored； was taken from the very
drawer in which it was mentioned to be laid。 Melmoth's hands felt
as cold as those of his dead uncle； when he drew the blotted pages
from their nook。 He sat down to read；there was a dead silence
through the house。 Melmoth looked wistfully at the candles；
snuffed them； and still thought they looked dim； （perchance he
thought they burned blue； but such thought he kept to himself）。
Certain it is； he often changed his posture； and would have changed
his chair； had there been more than one in the apartment。
He sank for a few moments into a fit of gloomy abstraction； till
the sound of the clock striking twelve made him start；it was the
only sound he had heard for some hours； and the sounds produced by
inanimate things； while all living beings around are as dead； have
at such an hour an effect indescribably awful。 John looked at his
manuscript with some reluctance； opened it； paused over the first
lines； and as the wind sighed round the desolate apartment； and the
rain pattered with a mournful sound against the dismantled window；
wishedwhat did he wish for？he wished the sound of the wind less
dismal； and the dash of the rain less monotonous。He may be
forgiven； it was past midnight； and there was not a human being
awake but himself within ten miles when he began to read。
。 。 。 。 。
The manuscript was discolored； obliterated； and mutilated beyond
any that had ever before exercised the patience of a reader。
Michaelis himself； scrutinizing into the pretended autograph of St。
Mark at Venice； never had a harder time of it。Melmoth could make
out only a sentence here and there。 The writer； it appeared； was
an Englishman of the name of Stanton； who had traveled abroad
shortly after the Restoration。 Traveling was not then attended
with the facilities which modern improvement has introduced； and
scholars and literati； the intelligent； the idle； and the curious；
wandered over the Continent for years； like Tom Corvat； though they
had the modesty； on their return； to entitle the result of their
multiplied observations and labors only 〃crudities。〃
Stanton； about the year 1676； was in Spain； he was； like most of
the travelers of that age； a man of literature； intelligence； and
curiosity； but ignorant of the language of the country； and
fighting his way at times from convent to convent； in quest of what
was called 〃Hospitality；〃 that is； obtaining board and lodging on
the condition of holding a debate in Latin； on some point
theological or metaphysical； with any monk who would become the
champion of the strife。 Now； as the theology was Catholic； and the
metaphysics Aristotelian； Stanton sometimes wished himself at the
miserable Posada from whose filth and famine he had been fighting
his escape； but though his reverend antagonists always denounced
his creed； and comforted themselves； even in defeat； with the
assurance that he must be damned； on the double score of his being
a heretic and an Englishman； they were obliged to confess that his
Latin was good； and his logic unanswerable； and he was allowed； in
most cases； to sup and sleep in peace。 This was not doomed to be
his fate on the night of the 17th August 1677； when he found
himself in the plains of Valencia； deserted by a cowardly guide；
who had been terrified by the sight of a cross erected as a
memorial of a murder； had slipped off his mule unperceived；
crossing himself every step he took on his retreat from the
heretic； and left Stanton amid the terrors of an approaching storm；
and the dangers of an unknown country。 The sublime and yet
softened beauty of the scenery around； had filled the soul of
Stanton with delight； and he enjoyed that delight as Englishmen
generally do； silently。
The magnificent remains of two dynasties that had passed away； the
ruins of Roman palaces； and of Moorish fortresses； were around and
above him；the dark and heavy thunder clouds that advanced slowly；
seemed like the shrouds of these specters of departed greatness；
they approached； but did not yet overwhelm or conceal them； as if
Nature herself was for once awed by the power of man； and far
below； the lovely valley of Valencia blushed and burned in all the
glory of sunset； like a bride receiving the last glowing kiss of
the bridegroom before the approach of night。 Stanton gazed around。
The difference between the architecture of the Roman and Moorish
ruins struck him。 Among the former are the remains of a theater；
and something like a public place； the latter present only the
remains of fortresses； embattled； castellated； and fortified from
top to bottom；not a loophole for pleasure to get in by；the
loopholes were only for arrows； all denoted military power and
despotic subjugation a l'outrance。 The contrast might have pleased
a philosopher； and he might have indulged in the reflection； that
though the ancient Greeks and Romans were savages （as Dr。 Johnson
says all people who want a press must be； and he says truly）； yet
they were wonderful savages for their time； for they alone have
left traces of their taste for pleasure in the countries they
conquered； in their superb theaters； temples （which were also
dedicated to pleasure one way or another）； and baths； while other
conquering bands of savages never left anything behind them but
traces of their rage for power。 So thought Stanton； as he still
saw strongly defined； though darkened by the darkening clouds； the
huge skeleton of a Roman amphitheater； its arched and gigantic
colonnades now admitting a gleam of light； and now commingling with
the purple thunder cloud； and now the solid and heavy mass of a
Moorish fortress； no light playing between its impermeable walls；
the image of power； dark； isolated； impenetrable。 Stanton forgot
his cowardly guide； his loneliness； his danger amid an approaching
storm and an inhospitable country； where his name and country would
shut every door against him； and every peal of thunder would be
supposed justified by the daring intrusion of a heretic in the
dwelling of an old Christian； as the Spanish Catholics absurdly
term themselves； to mark the distinction between them and the
baptized Moors。
All this was forgot in contemplating the glorious and awful scenery
before him；light struggling with darkness；and darkness menacing
a light still more terrible； and announcing its menace in the blue
and livid mass of cloud that hovered like a destroying angel in the
air； its arrows aimed； but their direction awfully indefinite。 But
he ceased to forget these local and petty dangers； as the sublimity
of romance would term them； when he saw the first flash of the
lightning； broad and red as the banners of an insulting army whose
motto is Vae victis； shatter to atoms the remains of a Roman
tower；the rifted stones rolled down the hill； and fell at the
feet of Stanton。 He stood appalled； and； awaiting his summons from
the Power in whose eye pyramids； palaces； and the worms whose toil
has form