Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

C >> Charles Brockden Brown >> Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale




"You come to restore me once more to happiness; to convince
me that you have torn her mask from vice, and feel nothing but
abhorrence for the part you have hitherto acted."

At these words my equanimity forsook me. For a moment I
forgot the evidence from which Pleyel's opinions were derived,
the benevolence of his remonstrances, and the grief which his
accents bespoke; I was filled with indignation and horror at
charges so black; I shrunk back and darted at him a look of
disdain and anger. My passion supplied me with words.

"What detestable infatuation was it that led me hither! Why
do I patiently endure these horrible insults! My offences exist
only in your own distempered imagination: you are leagued with
the traitor who assailed my life: you have vowed the
destruction of my peace and honor. I deserve infamy for
listening to calumnies so base!"

These words were heard by Pleyel without visible resentment.
His countenance relapsed into its former gloom; but he did not
even look at me. The ideas which had given place to my angry
emotions returned, and once more melted me into tears. "O!" I
exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs, "what a task is mine!
Compelled to hearken to charges which I feel to be false, but
which I know to be believed by him that utters them; believed
too not without evidence, which, though fallacious, is not
unplausible.

"I came hither not to confess, but to vindicate. I know the
source of your opinions. Wieland has informed me on what your
suspicions are built. These suspicions are fostered by you as
certainties; the tenor of my life, of all my conversations and
letters, affords me no security; every sentiment that my tongue
and my pen have uttered, bear testimony to the rectitude of my
mind; but this testimony is rejected. I am condemned as
brutally profligate: I am classed with the stupidly and
sordidly wicked.

"And where are the proofs that must justify so foul and so
improbable an accusation? You have overheard a midnight
conference. Voices have saluted your ear, in which you imagine
yourself to have recognized mine, and that of a detected
villain. The sentiments expressed were not allowed to outweigh
the casual or concerted resemblance of voice. Sentiments the
reverse of all those whose influence my former life had
attested, denoting a mind polluted by grovelling vices, and
entering into compact with that of a thief and a murderer. The
nature of these sentiments did not enable you to detect the
cheat, did not suggest to you the possibility that my voice had
been counterfeited by another.

"You were precipitate and prone to condemn. Instead of
rushing on the impostors, and comparing the evidence of sight
with that of hearing, you stood aloof, or you fled. My
innocence would not now have stood in need of vindication, if
this conduct had been pursued. That you did not pursue it, your
present thoughts incontestibly prove. Yet this conduct might
surely have been expected from Pleyel. That he would not
hastily impute the blackest of crimes, that he would not couple
my name with infamy, and cover me with ruin for inadequate or
slight reasons, might reasonably have been expected." The sobs
which convulsed my bosom would not suffer me to proceed.

Pleyel was for a moment affected. He looked at me with some
expression of doubt; but this quickly gave place to a mournful
solemnity. He fixed his eyes on the floor as in reverie, and
spoke:

"Two hours hence I am gone. Shall I carry away with me the
sorrow that is now my guest? or shall that sorrow be
accumulated tenfold? What is she that is now before me? Shall
every hour supply me with new proofs of a wickedness beyond
example? Already I deem her the most abandoned and detestable
of human creatures. Her coming and her tears imparted a gleam
of hope, but that gleam has vanished."

He now fixed his eyes upon me, and every muscle in his face
trembled. His tone was hollow and terrible--"Thou knowest that
I was a witness of your interview, yet thou comest hither to
upbraid me for injustice! Thou canst look me in the face and
say that I am deceived!--An inscrutable providence has fashioned
thee for some end. Thou wilt live, no doubt, to fulfil the
purposes of thy maker, if he repent not of his workmanship, and
send not his vengeance to exterminate thee, ere the measure of
thy days be full. Surely nothing in the shape of man can vie
with thee!

"But I thought I had stifled this fury. I am not constituted
thy judge. My office is to pity and amend, and not to punish
and revile. I deemed myself exempt from all tempestuous
passions. I had almost persuaded myself to weep over thy fall;
but I am frail as dust, and mutable as water; I am calm, I am
compassionate only in thy absence.--Make this house, this room,
thy abode as long as thou wilt, but forgive me if I prefer
solitude for the short time during which I shall stay." Saying
this, he motioned as if to leave the apartment.

The stormy passions of this man affected me by sympathy. I
ceased to weep. I was motionless and speechless with agony. I
sat with my hands clasped, mutely gazing after him as he
withdrew. I desired to detain him, but was unable to make any
effort for that purpose, till he had passed out of the room. I
then uttered an involuntary and piercing cry--"Pleyel! Art thou
gone? Gone forever?"

At this summons he hastily returned. He beheld me wild,
pale, gasping for breath, and my head already sinking on my
bosom. A painful dizziness seized me, and I fainted away.

When I recovered, I found myself stretched on a bed in the
outer apartment, and Pleyel, with two female servants standing
beside it. All the fury and scorn which the countenance of the
former lately expressed, had now disappeared, and was succeeded
by the most tender anxiety. As soon as he perceived that my
senses were returned to me, he clasped his hands, and exclaimed,
"God be thanked! you are once more alive. I had almost
despaired of your recovery. I fear I have been precipitate and
unjust. My senses must have been the victims of some
inexplicable and momentary phrenzy. Forgive me, I beseech you,
forgive my reproaches. I would purchase conviction of your
purity, at the price of my existence here and hereafter."

He once more, in a tone of the most fervent tenderness,
besought me to be composed, and then left me to the care of the
women.



Chapter XIII


Here was wrought a surprizing change in my friend. What was
it that had shaken conviction so firm? Had any thing occurred
during my fit, adequate to produce so total an alteration? My
attendants informed me that he had not left my apartment; that
the unusual duration of my fit, and the failure, for a time, of
all the means used for my recovery, had filled him with grief
and dismay. Did he regard the effect which his reproaches had
produced as a proof of my sincerity?

In this state of mind, I little regarded my languors of body.
I rose and requested an interview with him before my departure,
on which I was resolved, notwithstanding his earnest
solicitation to spend the night at his house. He complied with
my request. The tenderness which he had lately betrayed, had
now disappeared, and he once more relapsed into a chilling
solemnity.

I told him that I was preparing to return to my brother's;
that I had come hither to vindicate my innocence from the foul
aspersions which he had cast upon it. My pride had not taken
refuge in silence or distance. I had not relied upon time, or
the suggestion of his cooler thoughts, to confute his charges.
Conscious as I was that I was perfectly guiltless, and
entertaining some value for his good opinion, I could not
prevail upon myself to believe that my efforts to make my
innocence manifest, would be fruitless. Adverse appearances
might be numerous and specious, but they were unquestionably
false. I was willing to believe him sincere, that he made no
charges which he himself did not believe; but these charges were
destitute of truth. The grounds of his opinion were fallacious;
and I desired an opportunity of detecting their fallacy. I
entreated him to be explicit, and to give me a detail of what he
had heard, and what he had seen.

At these words, my companion's countenance grew darker. He
appeared to be struggling with his rage. He opened his lips to
speak, but his accents died away ere they were formed. This
conflict lasted for some minutes, but his fortitude was finally
successful. He spoke as follows:

"I would fain put an end to this hateful scene: what I shall
say, will be breath idly and unprofitably consumed. The
clearest narrative will add nothing to your present knowledge.
You are acquainted with the grounds of my opinion, and yet you
avow yourself innocent: Why then should I rehearse these
grounds? You are apprized of the character of Carwin: Why then
should I enumerate the discoveries which I have made respecting
him? Yet, since it is your request; since, considering the
limitedness of human faculties, some error may possibly lurk in
those appearances which I have witnessed, I will briefly relate
what I know.

"Need I dwell upon the impressions which your conversation
and deportment originally made upon me? We parted in childhood;
but our intercourse, by letter, was copious and uninterrupted.
How fondly did I anticipate a meeting with one whom her letters
had previously taught me to consider as the first of women, and
how fully realized were the expectations that I had formed!

"Here, said I, is a being, after whom sages may model their
transcendent intelligence, and painters, their ideal beauty.
Here is exemplified, that union between intellect and form,
which has hitherto existed only in the conceptions of the poet.
I have watched your eyes; my attention has hung upon your lips.
I have questioned whether the enchantments of your voice were
more conspicuous in the intricacies of melody, or the emphasis
of rhetoric. I have marked the transitions of your discourse,
the felicities of your expression, your refined argumentation,
and glowing imagery; and been forced to acknowledge, that all
delights were meagre and contemptible, compared with those
connected with the audience and sight of you. I have
contemplated your principles, and been astonished at the
solidity of their foundation, and the perfection of their
structure. I have traced you to your home. I have viewed you
in relation to your servants, to your family, to your
neighbours, and to the world. I have seen by what skilful
arrangements you facilitate the performance of the most arduous
and complicated duties; what daily accessions of strength your
judicious discipline bestowed upon your memory; what correctness
and abundance of knowledge was daily experienced by your
unwearied application to books, and to writing. If she that
possesses so much in the bloom of youth, will go on accumulating
her stores, what, said I, is the picture she will display at a
mature age?

"You know not the accuracy of my observation. I was desirous
that others should profit by an example so rare. I therefore
noted down, in writing, every particular of your conduct. I was
anxious to benefit by an opportunity so seldom afforded us. I
laboured not to omit the slightest shade, or the most petty line
in your portrait. Here there was no other task incumbent on me
but to copy; there was no need to exaggerate or overlook, in
order to produce a more unexceptionable pattern. Here was a
combination of harmonies and graces, incapable of diminution or
accession without injury to its completeness.

"I found no end and no bounds to my task. No display of a
scene like this could be chargeable with redundancy or
superfluity. Even the colour of a shoe, the knot of a ribband,
or your attitude in plucking a rose, were of moment to be
recorded. Even the arrangements of your breakfast-table and
your toilet have been amply displayed.

"I know that mankind are more easily enticed to virtue by
example than by precept. I know that the absoluteness of a
model, when supplied by invention, diminishes its salutary
influence, since it is useless, we think, to strive after that
which we know to be beyond our reach. But the picture which I
drew was not a phantom; as a model, it was devoid of
imperfection; and to aspire to that height which had been really
attained, was by no means unreasonable. I had another and more
interesting object in view. One existed who claimed all my
tenderness. Here, in all its parts, was a model worthy of
assiduous study, and indefatigable imitation. I called upon
her, as she wished to secure and enhance my esteem, to mould her
thoughts, her words, her countenance, her actions, by this
pattern.

"The task was exuberant of pleasure, and I was deeply engaged
in it, when an imp of mischief was let loose in the form of
Carwin. I admired his powers and accomplishments. I did not
wonder that they were admired by you. On the rectitude of your
judgement, however, I relied to keep this admiration within
discreet and scrupulous bounds. I assured myself, that the
strangeness of his deportment, and the obscurity of his life,
would teach you caution. Of all errors, my knowledge of your
character informed me that this was least likely to befall you.

"You were powerfully affected by his first appearance; you
were bewitched by his countenance and his tones; your
description was ardent and pathetic: I listened to you with
some emotions of surprize. The portrait you drew in his
absence, and the intensity with which you mused upon it, were
new and unexpected incidents. They bespoke a sensibility
somewhat too vivid; but from which, while subjected to the
guidance of an understanding like yours, there was nothing to
dread.

"A more direct intercourse took place between you. I need
not apologize for the solicitude which I entertained for your
safety. He that gifted me with perception of excellence,
compelled me to love it. In the midst of danger and pain, my
contemplations have ever been cheered by your image. Every
object in competition with you, was worthless and trivial. No
price was too great by which your safety could be purchased.
For that end, the sacrifice of ease, of health, and even of
life, would cheerfully have been made by me. What wonder then,
that I scrutinized the sentiments and deportment of this man
with ceaseless vigilance; that I watched your words and your
looks when he was present; and that I extracted cause for the
deepest inquietudes, from every token which you gave of having
put your happiness into this man's keeping?

"I was cautious in deciding. I recalled the various
conversations in which the topics of love and marriage had been
discussed. As a woman, young, beautiful, and independent, it
behoved you to have fortified your mind with just principles on
this subject. Your principles were eminently just. Had not
their rectitude and their firmness been attested by your
treatment of that specious seducer Dashwood? These principles,
I was prone to believe, exempted you from danger in this new
state of things. I was not the last to pay my homage to the
unrivalled capacity, insinuation, and eloquence of this man. I
have disguised, but could never stifle the conviction, that his
eyes and voice had a witchcraft in them, which rendered him
truly formidable: but I reflected on the ambiguous expression
of his countenance--an ambiguity which you were the first to
remark; on the cloud which obscured his character; and on the
suspicious nature of that concealment which he studied; and
concluded you to be safe. I denied the obvious construction to
appearances. I referred your conduct to some principle which
had not been hitherto disclosed, but which was reconcileable
with those already known.

"I was not suffered to remain long in this suspence. One
evening, you may recollect, I came to your house, where it was
my purpose, as usual, to lodge, somewhat earlier than ordinary.
I spied a light in your chamber as I approached from the
outside, and on inquiring of Judith, was informed that you were
writing. As your kinsman and friend, and fellow-lodger, I
thought I had a right to be familiar. You were in your chamber,
but your employment and the time were such as to make it no
infraction of decorum to follow you thither. The spirit of
mischievous gaiety possessed me. I proceeded on tiptoe. You
did not perceive my entrance; and I advanced softly till I was
able to overlook your shoulder.

"I had gone thus far in error, and had no power to recede.
How cautiously should we guard against the first inroads of
temptation! I knew that to pry into your papers was criminal;
but I reflected that no sentiment of yours was of a nature which
made it your interest to conceal it. You wrote much more than
you permitted your friends to peruse. My curiosity was strong,
and I had only to throw a glance upon the paper, to secure its
gratification. I should never have deliberately committed an
act like this. The slightest obstacle would have repelled me;
but my eye glanced almost spontaneously upon the paper. I
caught only parts of sentences; but my eyes comprehended more at
a glance, because the characters were short-hand. I lighted on
the words SUMMER-HOUSE, MIDNIGHT, and made out a passage
which spoke of the propriety and of the effects to be expected
from ANOTHER interview. All this passed in less than a
moment. I then checked myself, and made myself known to you,
by a tap upon your shoulder.

"I could pardon and account for some trifling alarm; but your
trepidation and blushes were excessive. You hurried the paper
out of sight, and seemed too anxious to discover whether I knew
the contents to allow yourself to make any inquiries. I
wondered at these appearances of consternation, but did not
reason on them until I had retired. When alone, these incidents
suggested themselves to my reflections anew.

"To what scene, or what interview, I asked, did you allude?
Your disappearance on a former evening, my tracing you to the
recess in the bank, your silence on my first and second call,
your vague answers and invincible embarrassment, when you, at
length, ascended the hill, I recollected with new surprize.
Could this be the summerhouse alluded to? A certain timidity
and consciousness had generally attended you, when this incident
and this recess had been the subjects of conversation. Nay, I
imagined that the last time that adventure was mentioned, which
happened in the presence of Carwin, the countenance of the
latter betrayed some emotion. Could the interview have been
with him?

"This was an idea calculated to rouse every faculty to
contemplation. An interview at that hour, in this darksome
retreat, with a man of this mysterious but formidable character;
a clandestine interview, and one which you afterwards
endeavoured with so much solicitude to conceal! It was a
fearful and portentous occurrence. I could not measure his
power, or fathom his designs. Had he rifled from you the secret
of your love, and reconciled you to concealment and noctural
meetings? I scarcely ever spent a night of more inquietude.

"I knew not how to act. The ascertainment of this man's
character and views seemed to be, in the first place, necessary.
Had he openly preferred his suit to you, we should have been
impowered to make direct inquiries; but since he had chosen this
obscure path, it seemed reasonable to infer that his character
was exceptionable. It, at least, subjected us to the necessity
of resorting to other means of information. Yet the
improbability that you should commit a deed of such rashness,
made me reflect anew upon the insufficiency of those grounds on
which my suspicions had been built, and almost to condemn myself
for harbouring them.

"Though it was mere conjecture that the interview spoken of
had taken place with Carwin, yet two ideas occurred to involve
me in the most painful doubts. This man's reasonings might be
so specious, and his artifices so profound, that, aided by the
passion which you had conceived for him, he had finally
succeeded; or his situation might be such as to justify the
secrecy which you maintained. In neither case did my wildest
reveries suggest to me, that your honor had been forfeited.

"I could not talk with you on this subject. If the
imputation was false, its atrociousness would have justly drawn
upon me your resentment, and I must have explained by what facts
it had been suggested. If it were true, no benefit would follow
from the mention of it. You had chosen to conceal it for some
reasons, and whether these reasons were true or false, it was
proper to discover and remove them in the first place. Finally,
I acquiesced in the least painful supposition, trammelled as it
was with perplexities, that Carwin was upright, and that, if the
reasons of your silence were known, they would be found to be
just.



Chapter XIV


"Three days have elapsed since this occurrence. I have been
haunted by perpetual inquietude. To bring myself to regard
Carwin without terror, and to acquiesce in the belief of your
safety, was impossible. Yet to put an end to my doubts, seemed
to be impracticable. If some light could be reflected on the
actual situation of this man, a direct path would present
itself. If he were, contrary to the tenor of his conversation,
cunning and malignant, to apprize you of this, would be to place
you in security. If he were merely unfortunate and innocent,
most readily would I espouse his cause; and if his intentions
were upright with regard to you, most eagerly would I sanctify
your choice by my approbation.

"It would be vain to call upon Carwin for an avowal of his
deeds. It was better to know nothing, than to be deceived by an
artful tale. What he was unwilling to communicate, and this
unwillingness had been repeatedly manifested, could never be
extorted from him. Importunity might be appeased, or imposture
effected by fallacious representations. To the rest of the
world he was unknown. I had often made him the subject of
discourse; but a glimpse of his figure in the street was the sum
of their knowledge who knew most. None had ever seen him
before, and received as new, the information which my
intercourse with him in Valencia, and my present intercourse,
enabled me to give.

"Wieland was your brother. If he had really made you the
object of his courtship, was not a brother authorized to
interfere and demand from him the confession of his views? Yet
what were the grounds on which I had reared this supposition?
Would they justify a measure like this? Surely not.

"In the course of my restless meditations, it occurred to me,
at length, that my duty required me to speak to you, to confess
the indecorum of which I had been guilty, and to state the
reflections to which it had led me. I was prompted by no mean
or selfish views. The heart within my breast was not more
precious than your safety: most cheerfully would I have
interposed my life between you and danger. Would you cherish
resentment at my conduct? When acquainted with the motive which
produced it, it would not only exempt me from censure, but
entitle me to gratitude.

"Yesterday had been selected for the rehearsal of the
newly-imported tragedy. I promised to be present. The state of
my thoughts but little qualified me for a performer or auditor
in such a scene; but I reflected that, after it was finished, I
should return home with you, and should then enjoy an
opportunity of discoursing with you fully on this topic. My
resolution was not formed without a remnant of doubt, as to its
propriety. When I left this house to perform the visit I had
promised, my mind was full of apprehension and despondency. The
dubiousness of the event of our conversation, fear that my
interference was too late to secure your peace, and the
uncertainty to which hope gave birth, whether I had not erred in
believing you devoted to this man, or, at least, in imagining
that he had obtained your consent to midnight conferences,
distracted me with contradictory opinions, and repugnant
emotions.

"I can assign no reason for calling at Mrs. Baynton's. I had
seen her in the morning, and knew her to be well. The concerted
hour had nearly arrived, and yet I turned up the street which
leads to her house, and dismounted at her door. I entered the
parlour and threw myself in a chair. I saw and inquired for no
one. My whole frame was overpowered by dreary and comfortless
sensations. One idea possessed me wholly; the inexpressible
importance of unveiling the designs and character of Carwin, and
the utter improbability that this ever would be effected. Some
instinct induced me to lay my hand upon a newspaper. I had
perused all the general intelligence it contained in the
morning, and at the same spot. The act was rather mechanical
than voluntary.

"I threw a languid glance at the first column that presented
itself. The first words which I read, began with the offer of
a reward of three hundred guineas for the apprehension of a
convict under sentence of death, who had escaped from Newgate
prison in Dublin. Good heaven! how every fibre of my frame
tingled when I proceeded to read that the name of the criminal
was Francis Carwin!

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