Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

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





*Mania Mutabilis. See Darwin's Zoonomia, vol. ii. Class
III. 1.2. where similar cases are stated.



Chapter XXI


Such, for some time, was the course of my meditations. My
weakness, and my aversion to be pointed at as an object of
surprize or compassion, prevented me from going into public. I
studiously avoided the visits of those who came to express their
sympathy, or gratify their curiosity. My uncle was my principal
companion. Nothing more powerfully tended to console me than
his conversation.

With regard to Pleyel, my feelings seemed to have undergone
a total revolution. It often happens that one passion supplants
another. Late disasters had rent my heart, and now that the
wound was in some degree closed, the love which I had cherished
for this man seemed likewise to have vanished.

Hitherto, indeed, I had had no cause for despair. I was
innocent of that offence which had estranged him from my
presence. I might reasonably expect that my innocence would at
some time be irresistably demonstrated, and his affection for me
be revived with his esteem. Now my aversion to be thought
culpable by him continued, but was unattended with the same
impatience. I desired the removal of his suspicions, not for
the sake of regaining his love, but because I delighted in the
veneration of so excellent a man, and because he himself would
derive pleasure from conviction of my integrity.

My uncle had early informed me that Pleyel and he had seen
each other, since the return of the latter from Europe. Amidst
the topics of their conversation, I discovered that Pleyel had
carefully omitted the mention of those events which had drawn
upon me so much abhorrence. I could not account for his silence
on this subject. Perhaps time or some new discovery had altered
or shaken his opinion. Perhaps he was unwilling, though I were
guilty, to injure me in the opinion of my venerable kinsman. I
understood that he had frequently visited me during my disease,
had watched many successive nights by my bedside, and manifested
the utmost anxiety on my account.

The journey which he was preparing to take, at the
termination of our last interview, the catastrophe of the
ensuing night induced him to delay. The motives of this journey
I had, till now, totally mistaken. They were explained to me by
my uncle, whose tale excited my astonishment without awakening
my regret. In a different state of mind, it would have added
unspeakably to my distress, but now it was more a source of
pleasure than pain. This, perhaps, is not the least
extraordinary of the facts contained in this narrative. It will
excite less wonder when I add, that my indifference was
temporary, and that the lapse of a few days shewed me that my
feelings were deadened for a time, rather than finally
extinguished.

Theresa de Stolberg was alive. She had conceived the
resolution of seeking her lover in America. To conceal her
flight, she had caused the report of her death to be propagated.
She put herself under the conduct of Bertrand, the faithful
servant of Pleyel. The pacquet which the latter received from
the hands of his servant, contained the tidings of her safe
arrival at Boston, and to meet her there was the purpose of his
journey.

This discovery had set this man's character in a new light.
I had mistaken the heroism of friendship for the phrenzy of
love. He who had gained my affections, may be supposed to have
previously entitled himself to my reverence; but the levity
which had formerly characterized the behaviour of this man,
tended to obscure the greatness of his sentiments. I did not
fail to remark, that since this lady was still alive, the voice
in the temple which asserted her death, must either have been
intended to deceive, or have been itself deceived. The latter
supposition was inconsistent with the notion of a spiritual, and
the former with that of a benevolent being.

When my disease abated, Pleyel had forborne his visits, and
had lately set out upon this journey. This amounted to a proof
that my guilt was still believed by him. I was grieved for his
errors, but trusted that my vindication would, sooner or later,
be made.

Meanwhile, tumultuous thoughts were again set afloat by a
proposal made to me by my uncle. He imagined that new airs
would restore my languishing constitution, and a varied
succession of objects tend to repair the shock which my mind had
received. For this end, he proposed to me to take up my abode
with him in France or Italy.

At a more prosperous period, this scheme would have pleased
for its own sake. Now my heart sickened at the prospect of
nature. The world of man was shrowded in misery and blood, and
constituted a loathsome spectacle. I willingly closed my eyes
in sleep, and regretted that the respite it afforded me was so
short. I marked with satisfaction the progress of decay in my
frame, and consented to live, merely in the hope that the course
of nature would speedily relieve me from the burthen.
Nevertheless, as he persisted in his scheme, I concurred in it
merely because he was entitled to my gratitude, and because my
refusal gave him pain.

No sooner was he informed of my consent, than he told me I
must make immediate preparation to embark, as the ship in which
he had engaged a passage would be ready to depart in three days.
This expedition was unexpected. There was an impatience in his
manner when he urged the necessity of dispatch that excited my
surprize. When I questioned him as to the cause of this haste,
he generally stated reasons which, at that time, I could not
deny to be plausible; but which, on the review, appeared
insufficient. I suspected that the true motives were concealed,
and believed that these motives had some connection with my
brother's destiny.

I now recollected that the information respecting Wieland
which had, from time to time, been imparted to me, was always
accompanied with airs of reserve and mysteriousness. What had
appeared sufficiently explicit at the time it was uttered, I now
remembered to have been faltering and ambiguous. I was resolved
to remove my doubts, by visiting the unfortunate man in his
dungeon.

Heretofore the idea of this visit had occurred to me; but the
horrors of his dwelling-place, his wild yet placid physiognomy,
his neglected locks, the fetters which constrained his limbs,
terrible as they were in description, how could I endure to
behold!

Now, however, that I was preparing to take an everlasting
farewell of my country, now that an ocean was henceforth to
separate me from him, how could I part without an interview? I
would examine his situation with my own eyes. I would know
whether the representations which had been made to me were true.
Perhaps the sight of the sister whom he was wont to love with a
passion more than fraternal, might have an auspicious influence
on his malady.

Having formed this resolution, I waited to communicate it to
Mr. Cambridge. I was aware that, without his concurrence, I
could not hope to carry it into execution, and could discover no
objection to which it was liable. If I had not been deceived as
to his condition, no inconvenience could arise from this
proceeding. His consent, therefore, would be the test of his
sincerity.

I seized this opportunity to state my wishes on this head.
My suspicions were confirmed by the manner in which my request
affected him. After some pause, in which his countenance
betrayed every mark of perplexity, he said to me, "Why would you
pay this visit? What useful purpose can it serve?"

"We are preparing," said I, "to leave the country forever:
What kind of being should I be to leave behind me a brother in
calamity without even a parting interview? Indulge me for three
minutes in the sight of him. My heart will be much easier after
I have looked at him, and shed a few tears in his presence."

"I believe otherwise. The sight of him would only augment
your distress, without contributing, in any degree, to his
benefit."

"I know not that," returned I. "Surely the sympathy of his
sister, proofs that her tenderness is as lively as ever, must be
a source of satisfaction to him. At present he must regard all
mankind as his enemies and calumniators. His sister he,
probably, conceives to partake in the general infatuation, and
to join in the cry of abhorrence that is raised against him. To
be undeceived in this respect, to be assured that, however I may
impute his conduct to delusion, I still retain all my former
affection for his person, and veneration for the purity of his
motives, cannot but afford him pleasure. When he hears that I
have left the country, without even the ceremonious attention of
a visit, what will he think of me? His magnanimity may hinder
him from repining, but he will surely consider my behaviour as
savage and unfeeling. Indeed, dear Sir, I must pay this visit.
To embark with you without paying it, will be impossible. It
may be of no service to him, but will enable me to acquit myself
of what I cannot but esteem a duty. Besides," continued I, "if
it be a mere fit of insanity that has seized him, may not my
presence chance to have a salutary influence? The mere sight of
me, it is not impossible, may rectify his perceptions."

"Ay," said my uncle, with some eagerness; "it is by no means
impossible that your interview may have that effect; and for
that reason, beyond all others, would I dissuade you from it."

I expressed my surprize at this declaration. "Is it not to
be desired that an error so fatal as this should be rectified?"

"I wonder at your question. Reflect on the consequences of
this error. Has he not destroyed the wife whom he loved, the
children whom he idolized? What is it that enables him to bear
the remembrance, but the belief that he acted as his duty
enjoined? Would you rashly bereave him of this belief? Would
you restore him to himself, and convince him that he was
instigated to this dreadful outrage by a perversion of his
organs, or a delusion from hell?

"Now his visions are joyous and elate. He conceives himself
to have reached a loftier degree of virtue, than any other human
being. The merit of his sacrifice is only enhanced in the eyes
of superior beings, by the detestation that pursues him here,
and the sufferings to which he is condemned. The belief that
even his sister has deserted him, and gone over to his enemies,
adds to his sublimity of feelings, and his confidence in divine
approbation and future recompense.

"Let him be undeceived in this respect, and what floods of
despair and of horror will overwhelm him! Instead of glowing
approbation and serene hope, will he not hate and torture
himself? Self-violence, or a phrenzy far more savage and
destructive than this, may be expected to succeed. I beseech
you, therefore, to relinquish this scheme. If you calmly
reflect upon it, you will discover that your duty lies in
carefully shunning him."

Mr. Cambridge's reasonings suggested views to my
understanding, that had not hitherto occurred. I could not but
admit their validity, but they shewed, in a new light, the depth
of that misfortune in which my brother was plunged. I was
silent and irresolute.

Presently, I considered, that whether Wieland was a maniac,
a faithful servant of his God, the victim of hellish illusions,
or the dupe of human imposture, was by no means certain. In
this state of my mind it became me to be silent during the visit
that I projected. This visit should be brief: I should be
satisfied merely to snatch a look at him. Admitting that a
change in his opinions were not to be desired, there was no
danger from the conduct which I should pursue, that this change
should be wrought.

But I could not conquer my uncle's aversion to this scheme.
Yet I persisted, and he found that to make me voluntarily
relinquish it, it was necessary to be more explicit than he had
hitherto been. He took both my hands, and anxiously examining
my countenance as he spoke, "Clara," said he, "this visit must
not be paid. We must hasten with the utmost expedition from
this shore. It is folly to conceal the truth from you, and,
since it is only by disclosing the truth that you can be
prevailed upon to lay aside this project, the truth shall be
told.

"O my dear girl!" continued he with increasing energy in his
accent, "your brother's phrenzy is, indeed, stupendous and
frightful. The soul that formerly actuated his frame has
disappeared. The same form remains; but the wise and benevolent
Wieland is no more. A fury that is rapacious of blood, that
lifts his strength almost above that of mortals, that bends all
his energies to the destruction of whatever was once dear to
him, possesses him wholly.

"You must not enter his dungeon; his eyes will no sooner be
fixed upon you, than an exertion of his force will be made. He
will shake off his fetters in a moment, and rush upon you. No
interposition will then be strong or quick enough to save you.

"The phantom that has urged him to the murder of Catharine
and her children is not yet appeased. Your life, and that of
Pleyel, are exacted from him by this imaginary being. He is
eager to comply with this demand. Twice he has escaped from his
prison. The first time, he no sooner found himself at liberty,
than he hasted to Pleyel's house. It being midnight, the latter
was in bed. Wieland penetrated unobserved to his chamber, and
opened his curtain. Happily, Pleyel awoke at the critical
moment, and escaped the fury of his kinsman, by leaping from his
chamber-window into the court. Happily, he reached the ground
without injury. Alarms were given, and after diligent search,
your brother was found in a chamber of your house, whither, no
doubt, he had sought you.
"His chains, and the watchfulness of his guards, were
redoubled; but again, by some miracle, he restored himself to
liberty. He was now incautiously apprized of the place of your
abode: and had not information of his escape been instantly
given, your death would have been added to the number of his
atrocious acts.

"You now see the danger of your project. You must not only
forbear to visit him, but if you would save him from the crime
of embruing his hands in your blood, you must leave the country.
There is no hope that his malady will end but with his life, and
no precaution will ensure your safety, but that of placing the
ocean between you.

"I confess I came over with an intention to reside among you,
but these disasters have changed my views. Your own safety and
my happiness require that you should accompany me in my return,
and I entreat you to give your cheerful concurrence to this
measure."

After these representations from my uncle, it was impossible
to retain my purpose. I readily consented to seclude myself
from Wieland's presence. I likewise acquiesced in the proposal
to go to Europe; not that I ever expected to arrive there, but
because, since my principles forbad me to assail my own life,
change had some tendency to make supportable the few days which
disease should spare to me.

What a tale had thus been unfolded! I was hunted to death,
not by one whom my misconduct had exasperated, who was conscious
of illicit motives, and who sought his end by circumvention and
surprize; but by one who deemed himself commissioned for this
act by heaven; who regarded this career of horror as the last
refinement of virtue; whose implacability was proportioned to
the reverence and love which he felt for me, and who was
inaccessible to the fear of punishment and ignominy!

In vain should I endeavour to stay his hand by urging the
claims of a sister or friend: these were his only reasons for
pursuing my destruction. Had I been a stranger to his blood;
had I been the most worthless of human kind; my safety had not
been endangered.

Surely, said I, my fate is without example. The phrenzy
which is charged upon my brother, must belong to myself. My foe
is manacled and guarded; but I derive no security from these
restraints. I live not in a community of savages; yet, whether
I sit or walk, go into crouds, or hide myself in solitude, my
life is marked for a prey to inhuman violence; I am in perpetual
danger of perishing; of perishing under the grasp of a brother!

I recollected the omens of this destiny; I remembered the
gulf to which my brother's invitation had conducted me; I
remembered that, when on the brink of danger, the author of my
peril was depicted by my fears in his form: Thus realized, were
the creatures of prophetic sleep, and of wakeful terror!

These images were unavoidably connected with that of Carwin.
In this paroxysm of distress, my attention fastened on him as
the grand deceiver; the author of this black conspiracy; the
intelligence that governed in this storm.

Some relief is afforded in the midst of suffering, when its
author is discovered or imagined; and an object found on which
we may pour out our indignation and our vengeance. I ran over
the events that had taken place since the origin of our
intercourse with him, and reflected on the tenor of that
description which was received from Ludloe. Mixed up with
notions of supernatural agency, were the vehement suspicions
which I entertained, that Carwin was the enemy whose
machinations had destroyed us.

I thirsted for knowledge and for vengeance. I regarded my
hasty departure with reluctance, since it would remove me from
the means by which this knowledge might be obtained, and this
vengeance gratified. This departure was to take place in two
days. At the end of two days I was to bid an eternal adieu to
my native country. Should I not pay a parting visit to the
scene of these disasters? Should I not bedew with my tears the
graves of my sister and her children? Should I not explore
their desolate habitation, and gather from the sight of its
walls and furniture food for my eternal melancholy?

This suggestion was succeeded by a secret shuddering. Some
disastrous influence appeared to overhang the scene. How many
memorials should I meet with serving to recall the images of
those I had lost!

I was tempted to relinquish my design, when it occurred to me
that I had left among my papers a journal of transactions in
shorthand. I was employed in this manuscript on that night when
Pleyel's incautious curiosity tempted him to look over my
shoulder. I was then recording my adventure in THE RECESS, an
imperfect sight of which led him into such fatal errors.

I had regulated the disposition of all my property. This
manuscript, however, which contained the most secret
transactions of my life, I was desirous of destroying. For this
end I must return to my house, and this I immediately determined
to do.

I was not willing to expose myself to opposition from my
friends, by mentioning my design; I therefore bespoke the use of
Mr. Hallet's chaise, under pretence of enjoying an airing, as
the day was remarkably bright.

This request was gladly complied with, and I directed the
servant to conduct me to Mettingen. I dismissed him at the
gate, intending to use, in returning, a carriage belonging to my
brother.



Chapter XXII


The inhabitants of the HUT received me with a mixture of joy
and surprize. Their homely welcome, and their artless sympathy,
were grateful to my feelings. In the midst of their inquiries,
as to my health, they avoided all allusions to the source of my
malady. They were honest creatures, and I loved them well. I
participated in the tears which they shed when I mentioned to
them my speedy departure for Europe, and promised to acquaint
them with my welfare during my long absence.

They expressed great surprize when I informed them of my
intention to visit my cottage. Alarm and foreboding overspread
their features, and they attempted to dissuade me from visiting
an house which they firmly believed to be haunted by a thousand
ghastly apparitions.

These apprehensions, however, had no power over my conduct.
I took an irregular path which led me to my own house. All was
vacant and forlorn. A small enclosure, near which the path led,
was the burying-ground belonging to the family. This I was
obliged to pass. Once I had intended to enter it, and ponder on
the emblems and inscriptions which my uncle had caused to be
made on the tombs of Catharine and her children; but now my
heart faltered as I approached, and I hastened forward, that
distance might conceal it from my view.

When I approached the recess, my heart again sunk. I averted
my eyes, and left it behind me as quickly as possible. Silence
reigned through my habitation, and a darkness which closed doors
and shutters produced. Every object was connected with mine or
my brother's history. I passed the entry, mounted the stair,
and unlocked the door of my chamber. It was with difficulty
that I curbed my fancy and smothered my fears. Slight movements
and casual sounds were transformed into beckoning shadows and
calling shapes.

I proceeded to the closet. I opened and looked round it with
fearfulness. All things were in their accustomed order. I
sought and found the manuscript where I was used to deposit it.
This being secured, there was nothing to detain me; yet I stood
and contemplated awhile the furniture and walls of my chamber.
I remembered how long this apartment had been a sweet and
tranquil asylum; I compared its former state with its present
dreariness, and reflected that I now beheld it for the last
time.

Here it was that the incomprehensible behaviour of Carwin was
witnessed: this the stage on which that enemy of man shewed
himself for a moment unmasked. Here the menaces of murder were
wafted to my ear; and here these menaces were executed.

These thoughts had a tendency to take from me my
self-command. My feeble limbs refused to support me, and I sunk
upon a chair. Incoherent and half-articulate exclamations
escaped my lips. The name of Carwin was uttered, and eternal
woes, woes like that which his malice had entailed upon us, were
heaped upon him. I invoked all-seeing heaven to drag to light
and to punish this betrayer, and accused its providence for
having thus long delayed the retribution that was due to so
enormous a guilt.

I have said that the window shutters were closed. A feeble
light, however, found entrance through the crevices. A small
window illuminated the closet, and the door being closed, a dim
ray streamed through the key-hole. A kind of twilight was thus
created, sufficient for the purposes of vision; but, at the same
time, involving all minuter objects in obscurity.

This darkness suited the colour of my thoughts. I sickened
at the remembrance of the past. The prospect of the future
excited my loathing. I muttered in a low voice, Why should I
live longer? Why should I drag a miserable being? All, for
whom I ought to live, have perished. Am I not myself hunted to
death?

At that moment, my despair suddenly became vigorous. My
nerves were no longer unstrung. My powers, that had long been
deadened, were revived. My bosom swelled with a sudden energy,
and the conviction darted through my mind, that to end my
torments was, at once, practicable and wise.

I knew how to find way to the recesses of life. I could use
a lancet with some skill, and could distinguish between vein and
artery. By piercing deep into the latter, I should shun the
evils which the future had in store for me, and take refuge from
my woes in quiet death.

I started on my feet, for my feebleness was gone, and hasted
to the closet. A lancet and other small instruments were
preserved in a case which I had deposited here. Inattentive as
I was to foreign considerations, my ears were still open to any
sound of mysterious import that should occur. I thought I heard
a step in the entry. My purpose was suspended, and I cast an
eager glance at my chamber door, which was open. No one
appeared, unless the shadow which I discerned upon the floor,
was the outline of a man. If it were, I was authorized to
suspect that some one was posted close to the entrance, who
possibly had overheard my exclamations.

My teeth chattered, and a wild confusion took place of my
momentary calm. Thus it was when a terrific visage had
disclosed itself on a former night. Thus it was when the evil
destiny of Wieland assumed the lineaments of something human.
What horrid apparition was preparing to blast my sight?

Still I listened and gazed. Not long, for the shadow moved;
a foot, unshapely and huge, was thrust forward; a form advanced
from its concealment, and stalked into the room. It was Carwin!
While I had breath I shrieked. While I had power over my
muscles, I motioned with my hand that he should vanish. My
exertions could not last long; I sunk into a fit.

O that this grateful oblivion had lasted for ever! Too
quickly I recovered my senses. The power of distinct vision was
no sooner restored to me, than this hateful form again presented
itself, and I once more relapsed.

A second time, untoward nature recalled me from the sleep of
death. I found myself stretched upon the bed. When I had power
to look up, I remembered only that I had cause to fear. My
distempered fancy fashioned to itself no distinguishable image.
I threw a languid glance round me; once more my eyes lighted
upon Carwin.

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