Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

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"The descriptions of his person and address were minute. His
stature, hair, complexion, the extraordinary position and
arrangement of his features, his aukward and disproportionate
form, his gesture and gait, corresponded perfectly with those of
our mysterious visitant. He had been found guilty in two
indictments. One for the murder of the Lady Jane Conway, and
the other for a robbery committed on the person of the honorable
Mr. Ludloe.

"I repeatedly perused this passage. The ideas which flowed
in upon my mind, affected me like an instant transition from
death to life. The purpose dearest to my heart was thus
effected, at a time and by means the least of all others within
the scope of my foresight. But what purpose? Carwin was
detected. Acts of the blackest and most sordid guilt had been
committed by him. Here was evidence which imparted to my
understanding the most luminous certainty. The name, visage,
and deportment, were the same. Between the time of his escape,
and his appearance among us, there was a sufficient agreement.
Such was the man with whom I suspected you to maintain a
clandestine correspondence. Should I not haste to snatch you
from the talons of this vulture? Should I see you rushing to
the verge of a dizzy precipice, and not stretch forth a hand to
pull you back? I had no need to deliberate. I thrust the paper
in my pocket, and resolved to obtain an immediate conference
with you. For a time, no other image made its way to my
understanding. At length, it occurred to me, that though the
information I possessed was, in one sense, sufficient, yet if
more could be obtained, more was desirable. This passage was
copied from a British paper; part of it only, perhaps, was
transcribed. The printer was in possession of the original.

"Towards his house I immediately turned my horse's head. He
produced the paper, but I found nothing more than had already
been seen. While busy in perusing it, the printer stood by my
side. He noticed the object of which I was in search. "Aye,"
said he, "that is a strange affair. I should never have met
with it, had not Mr. Hallet sent to me the paper, with a
particular request to republish that advertisement."

"Mr. Hallet! What reasons could he have for making this
request? Had the paper sent to him been accompanied by any
information respecting the convict? Had he personal or
extraordinary reasons for desiring its republication? This was
to be known only in one way. I speeded to his house. In answer
to my interrogations, he told me that Ludloe had formerly been
in America, and that during his residence in this city,
considerable intercourse had taken place between them. Hence a
confidence arose, which has since been kept alive by occasional
letters. He had lately received a letter from him, enclosing
the newspaper from which this extract had been made. He put it
into my hands, and pointed out the passages which related to
Carwin.

"Ludloe confirms the facts of his conviction and escape; and
adds, that he had reason to believe him to have embarked for
America. He describes him in general terms, as the most
incomprehensible and formidable among men; as engaged in
schemes, reasonably suspected to be, in the highest degree,
criminal, but such as no human intelligence is able to unravel:
that his ends are pursued by means which leave it in doubt
whether he be not in league with some infernal spirit: that his
crimes have hitherto been perpetrated with the aid of some
unknown but desperate accomplices: that he wages a perpetual
war against the happiness of mankind, and sets his engines of
destruction at work against every object that presents itself.

"This is the substance of the letter. Hallet expressed some
surprize at the curiosity which was manifested by me on this
occasion. I was too much absorbed by the ideas suggested by
this letter, to pay attention to his remarks. I shuddered with
the apprehension of the evil to which our indiscreet familiarity
with this man had probably exposed us. I burnt with impatience
to see you, and to do what in me lay to avert the calamity which
threatened us. It was already five o'clock. Night was
hastening, and there was no time to be lost. On leaving Mr.
Hallet's house, who should meet me in the street, but Bertrand,
the servant whom I left in Germany. His appearance and
accoutrements bespoke him to have just alighted from a toilsome
and long journey. I was not wholly without expectation of
seeing him about this time, but no one was then more distant
from my thoughts. You know what reasons I have for anxiety
respecting scenes with which this man was conversant. Carwin
was for a moment forgotten. In answer to my vehement inquiries,
Bertrand produced a copious packet. I shall not at present
mention its contents, nor the measures which they obliged me to
adopt. I bestowed a brief perusal on these papers, and having
given some directions to Bertrand, resumed my purpose with
regard to you. My horse I was obliged to resign to my servant,
he being charged with a commission that required speed. The
clock had struck ten, and Mettingen was five miles distant. I
was to Journey thither on foot. These circumstances only added
to my expedition.

"As I passed swiftly along, I reviewed all the incidents
accompanying the appearance and deportment of that man among us.
Late events have been inexplicable and mysterious beyond any of
which I have either read or heard. These events were coeval
with Carwin's introduction. I am unable to explain their origin
and mutual dependance; but I do not, on that account, believe
them to have a supernatural origin. Is not this man the agent?
Some of them seem to be propitious; but what should I think of
those threats of assassination with which you were lately
alarmed? Bloodshed is the trade, and horror is the element of
this man. The process by which the sympathies of nature are
extinguished in our hearts, by which evil is made our good, and
by which we are made susceptible of no activity but in the
infliction, and no joy but in the spectacle of woes, is an
obvious process. As to an alliance with evil geniuses, the
power and the malice of daemons have been a thousand times
exemplified in human beings. There are no devils but those
which are begotten upon selfishness, and reared by cunning.

"Now, indeed, the scene was changed. It was not his secret
poniard that I dreaded. It was only the success of his efforts
to make you a confederate in your own destruction, to make your
will the instrument by which he might bereave you of liberty and
honor.

"I took, as usual, the path through your brother's ground.
I ranged with celerity and silence along the bank. I approached
the fence, which divides Wieland's estate from yours. The
recess in the bank being near this line, it being necessary for
me to pass near it, my mind being tainted with inveterate
suspicions concerning you; suspicions which were indebted for
their strength to incidents connected with this spot; what
wonder that it seized upon my thoughts!
"I leaped on the fence; but before I descended on the
opposite side, I paused to survey the scene. Leaves dropping
with dew, and glistening in the moon's rays, with no moving
object to molest the deep repose, filled me with security and
hope. I left the station at length, and tended forward. You
were probably at rest. How should I communicate without
alarming you, the intelligence of my arrival? An immediate
interview was to be procured. I could not bear to think that a
minute should be lost by remissness or hesitation. Should I
knock at the door? or should I stand under your chamber
windows, which I perceived to be open, and awaken you by my
calls?

"These reflections employed me, as I passed opposite to the
summer-house. I had scarcely gone by, when my ear caught a
sound unusual at this time and place. It was almost too faint
and too transient to allow me a distinct perception of it. I
stopped to listen; presently it was heard again, and now it was
somewhat in a louder key. It was laughter; and unquestionably
produced by a female voice. That voice was familiar to my
senses. It was yours.

"Whence it came, I was at first at a loss to conjecture; but
this uncertainty vanished when it was heard the third time. I
threw back my eyes towards the recess. Every other organ and
limb was useless to me. I did not reason on the subject. I did
not, in a direct manner, draw my conclusions from the hour, the
place, the hilarity which this sound betokened, and the
circumstance of having a companion, which it no less
incontestably proved. In an instant, as it were, my heart was
invaded with cold, and the pulses of life at a stand.

"Why should I go further? Why should I return? Should I not
hurry to a distance from a sound, which, though formerly so
sweet and delectable, was now more hideous than the shrieks of
owls?

"I had no time to yield to this impulse. The thought of
approaching and listening occurred to me. I had no doubt of
which I was conscious. Yet my certainty was capable of
increase. I was likewise stimulated by a sentiment that partook
of rage. I was governed by an half-formed and tempestuous
resolution to break in upon your interview, and strike you dead
with my upbraiding.

"I approached with the utmost caution. When I reached the
edge of the bank immediately above the summer-house, I thought
I heard voices from below, as busy in conversation. The steps
in the rock are clear of bushy impediments. They allowed me to
descend into a cavity beside the building without being
detected. Thus to lie in wait could only be justified by the
momentousness of the occasion."

Here Pleyel paused in his narrative, and fixed his eyes upon
me. Situated as I was, my horror and astonishment at this tale
gave way to compassion for the anguish which the countenance of
my friend betrayed. I reflected on his force of understanding.
I reflected on the powers of my enemy. I could easily divine
the substance of the conversation that was overheard. Carwin
had constructed his plot in a manner suited to the characters of
those whom he had selected for his victims. I saw that the
convictions of Pleyel were immutable. I forbore to struggle
against the storm, because I saw that all struggles would be
fruitless. I was calm; but my calmness was the torpor of
despair, and not the tranquillity of fortitude. It was calmness
invincible by any thing that his grief and his fury could
suggest to Pleyel. He resumed--

"Woman! wilt thou hear me further? Shall I go on to repeat
the conversation? Is it shame that makes thee tongue-tied?
Shall I go on? or art thou satisfied with what has been already
said?"

I bowed my head. "Go on," said I. "I make not this request
in the hope of undeceiving you. I shall no longer contend with
my own weakness. The storm is let loose, and I shall peaceably
submit to be driven by its fury. But go on. This conference
will end only with affording me a clearer foresight of my
destiny; but that will be some satisfaction, and I will not part
without it."

Why, on hearing these words, did Pleyel hesitate? Did some
unlooked-for doubt insinuate itself into his mind? Was his
belief suddenly shaken by my looks, or my words, or by some
newly recollected circumstance? Whencesoever it arose, it could
not endure the test of deliberation. In a few minutes the flame
of resentment was again lighted up in his bosom. He proceeded
with his accustomed vehemence--

"I hate myself for this folly. I can find no apology for
this tale. Yet I am irresistibly impelled to relate it. She
that hears me is apprized of every particular. I have only to
repeat to her her own words. She will listen with a tranquil
air, and the spectacle of her obduracy will drive me to some
desperate act. Why then should I persist! yet persist I must."

Again he paused. "No," said he, "it is impossible to repeat
your avowals of love, your appeals to former confessions of your
tenderness, to former deeds of dishonor, to the circumstances of
the first interview that took place between you. It was on that
night when I traced you to this recess. Thither had he enticed
you, and there had you ratified an unhallowed compact by
admitting him--

"Great God! Thou witnessedst the agonies that tore my bosom
at that moment! Thou witnessedst my efforts to repel the
testimony of my ears! It was in vain that you dwelt upon the
confusion which my unlooked-for summons excited in you; the
tardiness with which a suitable excuse occurred to you; your
resentment that my impertinent intrusion had put an end to that
charming interview: A disappointment for which you endeavoured
to compensate yourself, by the frequency and duration of
subsequent meetings.

"In vain you dwelt upon incidents of which you only could be
conscious; incidents that occurred on occasions on which none
beside your own family were witnesses. In vain was your
discourse characterized by peculiarities inimitable of sentiment
and language. My conviction was effected only by an
accumulation of the same tokens. I yielded not but to evidence
which took away the power to withhold my faith.

"My sight was of no use to me. Beneath so thick an umbrage,
the darkness was intense. Hearing was the only avenue to
information, which the circumstances allowed to be open. I was
couched within three feet of you. Why should I approach nearer?
I could not contend with your betrayer. What could be the
purpose of a contest? You stood in no need of a protector.
What could I do, but retire from the spot overwhelmed with
confusion and dismay? I sought my chamber, and endeavoured to
regain my composure. The door of the house, which I found open,
your subsequent entrance, closing, and fastening it, and going
into your chamber, which had been thus long deserted, were only
confirmations of the truth.

"Why should I paint the tempestuous fluctuation of my
thoughts between grief and revenge, between rage and despair?
Why should I repeat my vows of eternal implacability and
persecution, and the speedy recantation of these vows?

"I have said enough. You have dismissed me from a place in
your esteem. What I think, and what I feel, is of no importance
in your eyes. May the duty which I owe myself enable me to
forget your existence. In a few minutes I go hence. Be the
maker of your fortune, and may adversity instruct you in that
wisdom, which education was unable to impart to you."

Those were the last words which Pleyel uttered. He left the
room, and my new emotions enabled me to witness his departure
without any apparent loss of composure. As I sat alone, I
ruminated on these incidents. Nothing was more evident than
that I had taken an eternal leave of happiness. Life was a
worthless thing, separate from that good which had now been
wrested from me; yet the sentiment that now possessed me had no
tendency to palsy my exertions, and overbear my strength. I
noticed that the light was declining, and perceived the
propriety of leaving this house. I placed myself again in the
chaise, and returned slowly towards the city.



Chapter XV


Before I reached the city it was dusk. It was my purpose to
spend the night at Mettingen. I was not solicitous, as long as
I was attended by a faithful servant, to be there at an early
hour. My exhausted strength required me to take some
refreshment. With this view, and in order to pay respect to one
whose affection for me was truly maternal, I stopped at Mrs.
Baynton's. She was absent from home; but I had scarcely entered
the house when one of her domestics presented me a letter. I
opened and read as follows:


"To Clara Wieland,

"What shall I say to extenuate the misconduct of last night?
It is my duty to repair it to the utmost of my power, but the
only way in which it can be repaired, you will not, I fear, be
prevailed on to adopt. It is by granting me an interview, at
your own house, at eleven o'clock this night. I have no means
of removing any fears that you may entertain of my designs, but
my simple and solemn declarations. These, after what has passed
between us, you may deem unworthy of confidence. I cannot help
it. My folly and rashness has left me no other resource. I
will be at your door by that hour. If you chuse to admit me to
a conference, provided that conference has no witnesses, I will
disclose to you particulars, the knowledge of which is of the
utmost importance to your happiness. Farewell.

CARWIN."


What a letter was this! A man known to be an assassin and
robber; one capable of plotting against my life and my fame;
detected lurking in my chamber, and avowing designs the most
flagitious and dreadful, now solicits me to grant him a midnight
interview! To admit him alone into my presence! Could he make
this request with the expectation of my compliance? What had he
seen in me, that could justify him in admitting so wild a
belief? Yet this request is preferred with the utmost gravity.
It is not accompanied by an appearance of uncommon earnestness.
Had the misconduct to which he alludes been a slight incivility,
and the interview requested to take place in the midst of my
friends, there would have been no extravagance in the tenor of
this letter; but, as it was, the writer had surely been bereft
of his reason.

I perused this epistle frequently. The request it contained
might be called audacious or stupid, if it had been made by a
different person; but from Carwin, who could not be unaware of
the effect which it must naturally produce, and of the manner in
which it would unavoidably be treated, it was perfectly
inexplicable. He must have counted on the success of some plot,
in order to extort my assent. None of those motives by which I
am usually governed would ever have persuaded me to meet any one
of his sex, at the time and place which he had prescribed. Much
less would I consent to a meeting with a man, tainted with the
most detestable crimes, and by whose arts my own safety had been
so imminently endangered, and my happiness irretrievably
destroyed. I shuddered at the idea that such a meeting was
possible. I felt some reluctance to approach a spot which he
still visited and haunted.

Such were the ideas which first suggested themselves on the
perusal of the letter. Meanwhile, I resumed my journey. My
thoughts still dwelt upon the same topic. Gradually from
ruminating on this epistle, I reverted to my interview with
Pleyel. I recalled the particulars of the dialogue to which he
had been an auditor. My heart sunk anew on viewing the
inextricable complexity of this deception, and the inauspicious
concurrence of events, which tended to confirm him in his error.
When he approached my chamber door, my terror kept me mute. He
put his ear, perhaps, to the crevice, but it caught the sound of
nothing human. Had I called, or made any token that denoted
some one to be within, words would have ensued; and as
omnipresence was impossible, this discovery, and the artless
narrative of what had just passed, would have saved me from his
murderous invectives. He went into his chamber, and after some
interval, I stole across the entry and down the stairs, with
inaudible steps. Having secured the outer doors, I returned
with less circumspection. He heard me not when I descended; but
my returning steps were easily distinguished. Now he thought
was the guilty interview at an end. In what other way was it
possible for him to construe these signals?

How fallacious and precipitate was my decision! Carwin's
plot owed its success to a coincidence of events scarcely
credible. The balance was swayed from its equipoise by a hair.
Had I even begun the conversation with an account of what befel
me in my chamber, my previous interview with Wieland would have
taught him to suspect me of imposture; yet, if I were
discoursing with this ruffian, when Pleyel touched the lock of
my chamber door, and when he shut his own door with so much
violence, how, he might ask, should I be able to relate these
incidents? Perhaps he had withheld the knowledge of these
circumstances from my brother, from whom, therefore, I could not
obtain it, so that my innocence would have thus been
irresistibly demonstrated.

The first impulse which flowed from these ideas was to return
upon my steps, and demand once more an interview; but he was
gone: his parting declarations were remembered.

Pleyel, I exclaimed, thou art gone for ever! Are thy
mistakes beyond the reach of detection? Am I helpless in the
midst of this snare? The plotter is at hand. He even speaks in
the style of penitence. He solicits an interview which he
promises shall end in the disclosure of something momentous to
my happiness. What can he say which will avail to turn aside
this evil? But why should his remorse be feigned? I have done
him no injury. His wickedness is fertile only of despair; and
the billows of remorse will some time overbear him. Why may not
this event have already taken place? Why should I refuse to see
him?

This idea was present, as it were, for a moment. I suddenly
recoiled from it, confounded at that frenzy which could give
even momentary harbour to such a scheme; yet presently it
returned. At length I even conceived it to deserve
deliberation. I questioned whether it was not proper to admit,
at a lonely spot, in a sacred hour, this man of tremendous and
inscrutable attributes, this performer of horrid deeds, and
whose presence was predicted to call down unheard-of and
unutterable horrors.

What was it that swayed me? I felt myself divested of the
power to will contrary to the motives that determined me to seek
his presence. My mind seemed to be split into separate parts,
and these parts to have entered into furious and implacable
contention. These tumults gradually subsided. The reasons why
I should confide in that interposition which had hitherto
defended me; in those tokens of compunction which this letter
contained; in the efficacy of this interview to restore its
spotlessness to my character, and banish all illusions from the
mind of my friend, continually acquired new evidence and new
strength.

What should I fear in his presence? This was unlike an
artifice intended to betray me into his hands. If it were an
artifice, what purpose would it serve? The freedom of my mind
was untouched, and that freedom would defy the assaults of
blandishments or magic. Force was I not able to repel. On the
former occasion my courage, it is true, had failed at the
imminent approach of danger; but then I had not enjoyed
opportunities of deliberation; I had foreseen nothing; I was
sunk into imbecility by my previous thoughts; I had been the
victim of recent disappointments and anticipated ills: Witness
my infatuation in opening the closet in opposition to divine
injunctions.

Now, perhaps, my courage was the offspring of a no less
erring principle. Pleyel was for ever lost to me. I strove in
vain to assume his person, and suppress my resentment; I strove
in vain to believe in the assuaging influence of time, to look
forward to the birth-day of new hopes, and the re-exaltation of
that luminary, of whose effulgencies I had so long and so
liberally partaken.

What had I to suffer worse than was already inflicted?

Was not Carwin my foe? I owed my untimely fate to his
treason. Instead of flying from his presence, ought I not to
devote all my faculties to the gaining of an interview, and
compel him to repair the ills of which he has been the author?
Why should I suppose him impregnable to argument? Have I not
reason on my side, and the power of imparting conviction?
Cannot he be made to see the justice of unravelling the maze in
which Pleyel is bewildered?

He may, at least, be accessible to fear. Has he nothing to
fear from the rage of an injured woman? But suppose him
inaccessible to such inducements; suppose him to persist in all
his flagitious purposes; are not the means of defence and
resistance in my power?

In the progress of such thoughts, was the resolution at last
formed. I hoped that the interview was sought by him for a
laudable end; but, be that as it would, I trusted that, by
energy of reasoning or of action, I should render it auspicious,
or, at least, harmless.

Such a determination must unavoidably fluctuate. The poet's
chaos was no unapt emblem of the state of my mind. A torment
was awakened in my bosom, which I foresaw would end only when
this interview was past, and its consequences fully experienced.
Hence my impatience for the arrival of the hour which had been
prescribed by Carwin.

Meanwhile, my meditations were tumultuously active. New
impediments to the execution of the scheme were speedily
suggested. I had apprized Catharine of my intention to spend
this and many future nights with her. Her husband was informed
of this arrangement, and had zealously approved it. Eleven
o'clock exceeded their hour of retiring. What excuse should I
form for changing my plan? Should I shew this letter to
Wieland, and submit myself to his direction? But I knew in what
way he would decide. He would fervently dissuade me from going.
Nay, would he not do more? He was apprized of the offences of
Carwin, and of the reward offered for his apprehension. Would
he not seize this opportunity of executing justice on a
criminal?

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