Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

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"I looked away from her, and again exerting my force, drew
her towards the door--'You must go with me--indeed you must.'

"In her fright she half-resisted my efforts, and again
exclaimed, 'Good heaven! what is it you mean? Where go? What
has happened? Have you found Clara?"

"Follow me, and you will see," I answered, still urging her
reluctant steps forward.

"What phrenzy has seized you? Something must needs have
happened. Is she sick? Have you found her?"

"Come and see. Follow me, and know for yourself."

"Still she expostulated and besought me to explain this
mysterious behaviour. I could not trust myself to answer her;
to look at her; but grasping her arm, I drew her after me. She
hesitated, rather through confusion of mind than from
unwillingness to accompany me. This confusion gradually abated,
and she moved forward, but with irresolute footsteps, and
continual exclamations of wonder and terror. Her interrogations
Of "what was the matter?" and "whither was I going?" were
ceaseless and vehement.

"It was the scope of my efforts not to think; to keep up a
conflict and uproar in my mind in which all order and
distinctness should be lost; to escape from the sensations
produced by her voice. I was, therefore, silent. I strove to
abridge this interval by my haste, and to waste all my attention
in furious gesticulations.

"In this state of mind we reached my sister's door. She
looked at the windows and saw that all was desolate--"Why come
we here? There is no body here. I will not go in."

"Still I was dumb; but opening the door, I drew her into the
entry. This was the allotted scene: here she was to fall. I
let go her hand, and pressing my palms against my forehead, made
one mighty effort to work up my soul to the deed.

"In vain; it would not be; my courage was appalled; my arms
nerveless: I muttered prayers that my strength might be aided
from above. They availed nothing.

"Horror diffused itself over me. This conviction of my
cowardice, my rebellion, fastened upon me, and I stood rigid and
cold as marble. From this state I was somewhat relieved by my
wife's voice, who renewed her supplications to be told why we
came hither, and what was the fate of my sister.

"What could I answer? My words were broken and inarticulate.
Her fears naturally acquired force from the observation of these
symptoms; but these fears were misplaced. The only inference
she deduced from my conduct was, that some terrible mishap had
befallen Clara.

"She wrung her hands, and exclaimed in an agony, "O tell me,
where is she? What has become of her? Is she sick? Dead? Is
she in her chamber? O let me go thither and know the worst!"

"This proposal set my thoughts once more in motion. Perhaps
what my rebellious heart refused to perform here, I might obtain
strength enough to execute elsewhere.

"Come then," said I, "let us go."

"I will, but not in the dark. We must first procure a
light."

"Fly then and procure it; but I charge you, linger not. I
will await for your return.

"While she was gone, I strode along the entry. The fellness
of a gloomy hurricane but faintly resembled the discord that
reigned in my mind. To omit this sacrifice must not be; yet my
sinews had refused to perform it. No alternative was offered.
To rebel against the mandate was impossible; but obedience would
render me the executioner of my wife. My will was strong, but
my limbs refused their office.

"She returned with a light; I led the way to the chamber; she
looked round her; she lifted the curtain of the bed; she saw
nothing.

"At length, she fixed inquiring eyes upon me. The light now
enabled her to discover in my visage what darkness had hitherto
concealed. Her cares were now transferred from my sister to
myself, and she said in a tremulous voice, "Wieland! you are not
well: What ails you? Can I do nothing for you?"

"That accents and looks so winning should disarm me of my
resolution, was to be expected. My thoughts were thrown anew
into anarchy. I spread my hand before my eyes that I might not
see her, and answered only by groans. She took my other hand
between her's, and pressing it to her heart, spoke with that
voice which had ever swayed my will, and wafted away sorrow.

"My friend! my soul's friend! tell me thy cause of grief. Do
I not merit to partake with thee in thy cares? Am I not thy
wife?"

"This was too much. I broke from her embrace, and retired to
a corner of the room. In this pause, courage was once more
infused into me. I resolved to execute my duty. She followed
me, and renewed her passionate entreaties to know the cause of
my distress.

"I raised my head and regarded her with stedfast looks. I
muttered something about death, and the injunctions of my duty.
At these words she shrunk back, and looked at me with a new
expression of anguish. After a pause, she clasped her hands,
and exclaimed--

"O Wieland! Wieland! God grant that I am mistaken; but surely
something is wrong. I see it: it is too plain: thou art
undone--lost to me and to thyself." At the same time she gazed
on my features with intensest anxiety, in hope that different
symptoms would take place. I replied to her with vehemence--

"Undone! No; my duty is known, and I thank my God that my
cowardice is now vanquished, and I have power to fulfil it.
Catharine! I pity the weakness of thy nature: I pity thee, but
must not spare. Thy life is claimed from my hands: thou must
die!"

"Fear was now added to her grief. 'What mean you? Why talk
you of death? Bethink yourself, Wieland: bethink yourself, and
this fit will pass. O why came I hither! Why did you drag me
hither?'

"I brought thee hither to fulfil a divine command. I am
appointed thy destroyer, and destroy thee I must." Saying this
I seized her wrists. She shrieked aloud, and endeavoured to
free herself from my grasp; but her efforts were vain.

"Surely, surely Wieland, thou dost not mean it. Am I not thy
wife? and wouldst thou kill me? Thou wilt not; and yet--I
see--thou art Wieland no longer! A fury resistless and horrible
possesses thee--Spare me--spare--help--help--"

"Till her breath was stopped she shrieked for help--for
mercy. When she could speak no longer, her gestures, her looks
appealed to my compassion. My accursed hand was irresolute and
tremulous. I meant thy death to be sudden, thy struggles to be
brief. Alas! my heart was infirm; my resolves mutable. Thrice
I slackened my grasp, and life kept its hold, though in the
midst of pangs. Her eye-balls started from their sockets.
Grimness and distortion took place of all that used to bewitch
me into transport, and subdue me into reverence.

"I was commissioned to kill thee, but not to torment thee
with the foresight of thy death; not to multiply thy fears, and
prolong thy agonies. Haggard, and pale, and lifeless, at length
thou ceasedst to contend with thy destiny.

"This was a moment of triumph. Thus had I successfully
subdued the stubbornness of human passions: the victim which
had been demanded was given: the deed was done past recal.

"I lifted the corpse in my arms and laid it on the bed. I
gazed upon it with delight. Such was the elation of my
thoughts, that I even broke into laughter. I clapped my hands
and exclaimed, 'It is done! My sacred duty is fulfilled! To
that I have sacrificed, O my God! thy last and best gift, my
wife!'

"For a while I thus soared above frailty. I imagined I had
set myself forever beyond the reach of selfishness; but my
imaginations were false. This rapture quickly subsided. I
looked again at my wife. My joyous ebullitions vanished, and I
asked myself who it was whom I saw? Methought it could not be
Catharine. It could not be the woman who had lodged for years
in my heart; who had slept, nightly, in my bosom; who had borne
in her womb, who had fostered at her breast, the beings who
called me father; whom I had watched with delight, and cherished
with a fondness ever new and perpetually growing: it could not
be the same.

"Where was her bloom! These deadly and blood-suffused orbs
but ill resemble the azure and exstatic tenderness of her eyes.
The lucid stream that meandered over that bosom, the glow of
love that was wont to sit upon that cheek, are much unlike these
livid stains and this hideous deformity. Alas! these were the
traces of agony; the gripe of the assassin had been here!

"I will not dwell upon my lapse into desperate and outrageous
sorrow. The breath of heaven that sustained me was withdrawn
and I sunk into MERE MAN. I leaped from the floor: I
dashed my head against the wall: I uttered screams of horror:
I panted after torment and pain. Eternal fire, and the
bickerings of hell, compared with what I felt, were music and a
bed of roses.

"I thank my God that this degeneracy was transient, that he
deigned once more to raise me aloft. I thought upon what I had
done as a sacrifice to duty, and WAS CALM. My wife was
dead; but I reflected, that though this source of human
consolation was closed, yet others were still open. If the
transports of an husband were no more, the feelings of a father
had still scope for exercise. When remembrance of their mother
should excite too keen a pang, I would look upon them, and BE
COMFORTED.

"While I revolved these ideas, new warmth flowed in upon my
heart--I was wrong. These feelings were the growth of
selfishness. Of this I was not aware, and to dispel the mist
that obscured my perceptions, a new effulgence and a new mandate
were necessary.

"From these thoughts I was recalled by a ray that was shot
into the room. A voice spake like that which I had before
heard--'Thou hast done well; but all is not done--the sacrifice
is incomplete--thy children must be offered--they must perish
with their mother!--'



Chapter XX


Will you wonder that I read no farther? Will you not rather
be astonished that I read thus far? What power supported me
through such a task I know not. Perhaps the doubt from which I
could not disengage my mind, that the scene here depicted was a
dream, contributed to my perseverance. In vain the solemn
introduction of my uncle, his appeals to my fortitude, and
allusions to something monstrous in the events he was about to
disclose; in vain the distressful perplexity, the mysterious
silence and ambiguous answers of my attendants, especially when
the condition of my brother was the theme of my inquiries, were
remembered. I recalled the interview with Wieland in my
chamber, his preternatural tranquillity succeeded by bursts of
passion and menacing actions. All these coincided with the
tenor of this paper.

Catharine and her children, and Louisa were dead. The act
that destroyed them was, in the highest degree, inhuman. It was
worthy of savages trained to murder, and exulting in agonies.

Who was the performer of the deed? Wieland! My brother!
The husband and the father! That man of gentle virtues and
invincible benignity! placable and mild--an idolator of peace!
Surely, said I, it is a dream. For many days have I been vexed
with frenzy. Its dominion is still felt; but new forms are
called up to diversify and augment my torments.

The paper dropped from my hand, and my eyes followed it. I
shrunk back, as if to avoid some petrifying influence that
approached me. My tongue was mute; all the functions of nature
were at a stand, and I sunk upon the floor lifeless.
The noise of my fall, as I afterwards heard, alarmed my
uncle, who was in a lower apartment, and whose apprehensions had
detained him. He hastened to my chamber, and administered the
assistance which my condition required. When I opened my eyes
I beheld him before me. His skill as a reasoner as well as a
physician, was exerted to obviate the injurious effects of this
disclosure; but he had wrongly estimated the strength of my body
or of my mind. This new shock brought me once more to the brink
of the grave, and my malady was much more difficult to subdue
than at first.

I will not dwell upon the long train of dreary sensations,
and the hideous confusion of my understanding. Time slowly
restored its customary firmness to my frame, and order to my
thoughts. The images impressed upon my mind by this fatal paper
were somewhat effaced by my malady. They were obscure and
disjointed like the parts of a dream. I was desirous of freeing
my imagination from this chaos. For this end I questioned my
uncle, who was my constant companion. He was intimidated by the
issue of his first experiment, and took pains to elude or
discourage my inquiry. My impetuosity some times compelled him
to have resort to misrepresentations and untruths.

Time effected that end, perhaps, in a more beneficial manner.
In the course of my meditations the recollections of the past
gradually became more distinct. I revolved them, however, in
silence, and being no longer accompanied with surprize, they did
not exercise a death-dealing power. I had discontinued the
perusal of the paper in the midst of the narrative; but what I
read, combined with information elsewhere obtained, threw,
perhaps, a sufficient light upon these detestable transactions;
yet my curiosity was not inactive. I desired to peruse the
remainder.

My eagerness to know the particulars of this tale was mingled
and abated by my antipathy to the scene which would be
disclosed. Hence I employed no means to effect my purpose. I
desired knowledge, and, at the same time, shrunk back from
receiving the boon.

One morning, being left alone, I rose from my bed, and went
to a drawer where my finer clothing used to be kept. I opened
it, and this fatal paper saluted my sight. I snatched it
involuntarily, and withdrew to a chair. I debated, for a few
minutes, whether I should open and read. Now that my fortitude
was put to trial, it failed. I felt myself incapable of
deliberately surveying a scene of so much horror. I was
prompted to return it to its place, but this resolution gave
way, and I determined to peruse some part of it. I turned over
the leaves till I came near the conclusion. The narrative of
the criminal was finished. The verdict of GUILTY reluctantly
pronounced by the jury, and the accused interrogated why
sentence of death should not pass. The answer was brief,
solemn, and emphatical.

"No. I have nothing to say. My tale has been told. My
motives have been truly stated. If my judges are unable to
discern the purity of my intentions, or to credit the statement
of them, which I have just made; if they see not that my deed
was enjoined by heaven; that obedience was the test of perfect
virtue, and the extinction of selfishness and error, they must
pronounce me a murderer.

"They refuse to credit my tale; they impute my acts to the
influence of daemons; they account me an example of the highest
wickedness of which human nature is capable; they doom me to
death and infamy. Have I power to escape this evil? If I have,
be sure I will exert it. I will not accept evil at their hand,
when I am entitled to good; I will suffer only when I cannot
elude suffering.

"You say that I am guilty. Impious and rash! thus to usurp
the prerogatives of your Maker! to set up your bounded views and
halting reason, as the measure of truth!

"Thou, Omnipotent and Holy! Thou knowest that my actions
were conformable to thy will. I know not what is crime; what
actions are evil in their ultimate and comprehensive tendency or
what are good. Thy knowledge, as thy power, is unlimited. I
have taken thee for my guide, and cannot err. To the arms of
thy protection, I entrust my safety. In the awards of thy
justice, I confide for my recompense.

"Come death when it will, I am safe. Let calumny and
abhorrence pursue me among men; I shall not be defrauded of my
dues. The peace of virtue, and the glory of obedience, will be
my portion hereafter."

Here ended the speaker. I withdrew my eyes from the page;
but before I had time to reflect on what I had read, Mr.
Cambridge entered the room. He quickly perceived how I had been
employed, and betrayed some solicitude respecting the condition
of my mind.

His fears, however, were superfluous. What I had read, threw
me into a state not easily described. Anguish and fury,
however, had no part in it. My faculties were chained up in
wonder and awe. Just then, I was unable to speak. I looked at
my friend with an air of inquisitiveness, and pointed at the
roll. He comprehended my inquiry, and answered me with looks of
gloomy acquiescence. After some time, my thoughts found their
way to my lips.

Such then were the acts of my brother. Such were his words.
For this he was condemned to die: To die upon the gallows! A
fate, cruel and unmerited! And is it so? continued I,
struggling for utterance, which this new idea made difficult; is
he--dead!

"No. He is alive. There could be no doubt as to the cause
of these excesses. They originated in sudden madness; but that
madness continues. and he is condemned to perpetual
imprisonment."

"Madness, say you? Are you sure? Were not these sights, and
these sounds, really seen and heard?"

My uncle was surprized at my question. He looked at me with
apparent inquietude. "Can you doubt," said he, "that these were
illusions? Does heaven, think you, interfere for such ends?"

"O no; I think it not. Heaven cannot stimulate to such
unheard-of outrage. The agent was not good, but evil."

"Nay, my dear girl," said my friend, "lay aside these
fancies. Neither angel nor devil had any part in this affair."

"You misunderstand me," I answered; "I believe the agency to
be external and real, but not supernatural."

"Indeed!" said he, in an accent of surprize. "Whom do you
then suppose to be the agent?"

"I know not. All is wildering conjecture. I cannot forget
Carwin. I cannot banish the suspicion that he was the setter of
these snares. But how can we suppose it to be madness? Did
insanity ever before assume this form?"

"Frequently. The illusion, in this case, was more dreadful
in its consequences, than any that has come to my knowledge;
but, I repeat that similar illusions are not rare. Did you
never hear of an instance which occurred in your mother's
family?"

"No. I beseech you relate it. My grandfather's death I have
understood to have been extraordinary, but I know not in what
respect. A brother, to whom he was much attached, died in his
youth, and this, as I have heard, influenced, in some remarkable
way, the fate of my grandfather; but I am unacquainted with
particulars."

"On the death of that brother," resumed my friend, "my father
was seized with dejection, which was found to flow from two
sources. He not only grieved for the loss of a friend, but
entertained the belief that his own death would be inevitably
consequent on that of his brother. He waited from day to day in
expectation of the stroke which he predicted was speedily to
fall upon him. Gradually, however, he recovered his
cheerfulness and confidence. He married, and performed his part
in the world with spirit and activity. At the end of twenty-one
years it happened that he spent the summer with his family at an
house which he possessed on the sea coast in Cornwall. It was
at no great distance from a cliff which overhung the ocean, and
rose into the air to a great height. The summit was level and
secure, and easily ascended on the land side. The company
frequently repaired hither in clear weather, invited by its pure
airs and extensive prospects. One evening in June my father,
with his wife and some friends, chanced to be on this spot.
Every one was happy, and my father's imagination seemed
particularly alive to the grandeur of the scenery.

"Suddenly, however, his limbs trembled and his features
betrayed alarm. He threw himself into the attitude of one
listening. He gazed earnestly in a direction in which nothing
was visible to his friends. This lasted for a minute; then
turning to his companions, he told them that his brother had
just delivered to him a summons, which must be instantly obeyed.
He then took an hasty and solemn leave of each person, and,
before their surprize would allow them to understand the scene,
he rushed to the edge of the cliff, threw himself headlong, and
was seen no more.

"In the course of my practice in the German army, many cases,
equally remarkable, have occurred. Unquestionably the illusions
were maniacal, though the vulgar thought otherwise. They are
all reducible to one class,* and are not more difficult of
explication and cure than most affections of our frame."

This opinion my uncle endeavoured, by various means, to
impress upon me. I listened to his reasonings and illustrations
with silent respect. My astonishment was great on finding
proofs of an influence of which I had supposed there were no
examples; but I was far from accounting for appearances in my
uncle's manner. Ideas thronged into my mind which I was unable
to disjoin or to regulate. I reflected that this madness, if
madness it were, had affected Pleyel and myself as well as
Wieland. Pleyel had heard a mysterious voice. I had seen and
heard. A form had showed itself to me as well as to Wieland.
The disclosure had been made in the same spot. The appearance
was equally complete and equally prodigious in both instances.
Whatever supposition I should adopt, had I not equal reason to
tremble? What was my security against influences equally
terrific and equally irresistable?

It would be vain to attempt to describe the state of mind
which this idea produced. I wondered at the change which a
moment had affected in my brother's condition. Now was I
stupified with tenfold wonder in contemplating myself. Was I
not likewise transformed from rational and human into a creature
of nameless and fearful attributes? Was I not transported to
the brink of the same abyss? Ere a new day should come, my
hands might be embrued in blood, and my remaining life be
consigned to a dungeon and chains.

With moral sensibility like mine, no wonder that this new
dread was more insupportable than the anguish I had lately
endured. Grief carries its own antidote along with it. When
thought becomes merely a vehicle of pain, its progress must be
stopped. Death is a cure which nature or ourselves must
administer: To this cure I now looked forward with gloomy
satisfaction.

My silence could not conceal from my uncle the state of my
thoughts. He made unwearied efforts to divert my attention from
views so pregnant with danger. His efforts, aided by time, were
in some measure successful. Confidence in the strength of my
resolution, and in the healthful state of my faculties, was once
more revived. I was able to devote my thoughts to my brother's
state, and the causes of this disasterous proceeding.

My opinions were the sport of eternal change. Some times I
conceived the apparition to be more than human. I had no
grounds on which to build a disbelief. I could not deny faith
to the evidence of my religion; the testimony of men was loud
and unanimous: both these concurred to persuade me that evil
spirits existed, and that their energy was frequently exerted in
the system of the world.

These ideas connected themselves with the image of Carwin.
Where is the proof, said I, that daemons may not be subjected to
the controul of men? This truth may be distorted and debased in
the minds of the ignorant. The dogmas of the vulgar, with
regard to this subject, are glaringly absurd; but though these
may justly be neglected by the wise, we are scarcely justified
in totally rejecting the possibility that men may obtain
supernatural aid.

The dreams of superstition are worthy of contempt.
Witchcraft, its instruments and miracles, the compact ratified
by a bloody signature, the apparatus of sulpherous smells and
thundering explosions, are monstrous and chimerical. These have
no part in the scene over which the genius of Carwin presides.
That conscious beings, dissimilar from human, but moral and
voluntary agents as we are, some where exist, can scarcely be
denied. That their aid may be employed to benign or malignant
purposes, cannot be disproved.

Darkness rests upon the designs of this man. The extent of
his power is unknown; but is there not evidence that it has been
now exerted?

I recurred to my own experience. Here Carwin had actually
appeared upon the stage; but this was in a human character. A
voice and a form were discovered; but one was apparently
exerted, and the other disclosed, not to befriend, but to
counteract Carwin's designs. There were tokens of hostility,
and not of alliance, between them. Carwin was the miscreant
whose projects were resisted by a minister of heaven. How can
this be reconciled to the stratagem which ruined my brother?
There the agency was at once preternatural and malignant.

The recollection of this fact led my thoughts into a new
channel. The malignity of that influence which governed my
brother had hitherto been no subject of doubt. His wife and
children were destroyed; they had expired in agony and fear; yet
was it indisputably certain that their murderer was criminal?
He was acquitted at the tribunal of his own conscience; his
behaviour at his trial and since, was faithfully reported to me;
appearances were uniform; not for a moment did he lay aside the
majesty of virtue; he repelled all invectives by appealing to
the deity, and to the tenor of his past life; surely there was
truth in this appeal: none but a command from heaven could have
swayed his will; and nothing but unerring proof of divine
approbation could sustain his mind in its present elevation.

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