Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

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




I placed it at all distances, and in all lights; my eyes were
rivetted upon it. Half the night passed away in wakefulness and
in contemplation of this picture. So flexible, and yet so
stubborn, is the human mind. So obedient to impulses the most
transient and brief, and yet so unalterably observant of the
direction which is given to it! How little did I then foresee
the termination of that chain, of which this may be regarded as
the first link?

Next day arose in darkness and storm. Torrents of rain fell
during the whole day, attended with incessant thunder, which
reverberated in stunning echoes from the opposite declivity.
The inclemency of the air would not allow me to walk-out. I
had, indeed, no inclination to leave my apartment. I betook
myself to the contemplation of this portrait, whose attractions
time had rather enhanced than diminished. I laid aside my usual
occupations, and seating myself at a window, consumed the day in
alternately looking out upon the storm, and gazing at the
picture which lay upon a table before me. You will, perhaps,
deem this conduct somewhat singular, and ascribe it to certain
peculiarities of temper. I am not aware of any such
peculiarities. I can account for my devotion to this image no
otherwise, than by supposing that its properties were rare and
prodigious. Perhaps you will suspect that such were the first
inroads of a passion incident to every female heart, and which
frequently gains a footing by means even more slight, and more
improbable than these. I shall not controvert the
reasonableness of the suspicion, but leave you at liberty to
draw, from my narrative, what conclusions you please.

Night at length returned, and the storm ceased. The air was
once more clear and calm, and bore an affecting contrast to that
uproar of the elements by which it had been preceded. I spent
the darksome hours, as I spent the day, contemplative and seated
at the window. Why was my mind absorbed in thoughts ominous and
dreary? Why did my bosom heave with sighs, and my eyes overflow
with tears? Was the tempest that had just past a signal of the
ruin which impended over me? My soul fondly dwelt upon the
images of my brother and his children, yet they only increased
the mournfulness of my contemplations. The smiles of the
charming babes were as bland as formerly. The same dignity sat
on the brow of their father, and yet I thought of them with
anguish. Something whispered that the happiness we at present
enjoyed was set on mutable foundations. Death must happen to
all. Whether our felicity was to be subverted by it to-morrow,
or whether it was ordained that we should lay down our heads
full of years and of honor, was a question that no human being
could solve. At other times, these ideas seldom intruded. I
either forbore to reflect upon the destiny that is reserved for
all men, or the reflection was mixed up with images that
disrobed it of terror; but now the uncertainty of life occurred
to me without any of its usual and alleviating accompaniments.
I said to myself, we must die. Sooner or later, we must
disappear for ever from the face of the earth. Whatever be the
links that hold us to life, they must be broken. This scene of
existence is, in all its parts, calamitous. The greater number
is oppressed with immediate evils, and those, the tide of whose
fortunes is full, how small is their portion of enjoyment, since
they know that it will terminate.

For some time I indulged myself, without reluctance, in these
gloomy thoughts; but at length, the dejection which they
produced became insupportably painful. I endeavoured to
dissipate it with music. I had all my grand-father's melody as
well as poetry by rote. I now lighted by chance on a ballad,
which commemorated the fate of a German Cavalier, who fell at
the siege of Nice under Godfrey of Bouillon. My choice was
unfortunate, for the scenes of violence and carnage which were
here wildly but forcibly pourtrayed, only suggested to my
thoughts a new topic in the horrors of war.

I sought refuge, but ineffectually, in sleep. My mind was
thronged by vivid, but confused images, and no effort that I
made was sufficient to drive them away. In this situation I
heard the clock, which hung in the room, give the signal for
twelve. It was the same instrument which formerly hung in my
father's chamber, and which, on account of its being his
workmanship, was regarded, by every one of our family, with
veneration. It had fallen to me, in the division of his
property, and was placed in this asylum. The sound awakened a
series of reflections, respecting his death. I was not allowed
to pursue them; for scarcely had the vibrations ceased, when my
attention was attracted by a whisper, which, at first, appeared
to proceed from lips that were laid close to my ear.

No wonder that a circumstance like this startled me. In the
first impulse of my terror, I uttered a slight scream, and
shrunk to the opposite side of the bed. In a moment, however,
I recovered from my trepidation. I was habitually indifferent
to all the causes of fear, by which the majority are afflicted.
I entertained no apprehension of either ghosts or robbers. Our
security had never been molested by either, and I made use of no
means to prevent or counterwork their machinations. My
tranquillity, on this occasion, was quickly retrieved. The
whisper evidently proceeded from one who was posted at my
bed-side. The first idea that suggested itself was, that it was
uttered by the girl who lived with me as a servant. Perhaps,
somewhat had alarmed her, or she was sick, and had come to
request my assistance. By whispering in my ear, she intended to
rouse without alarming me.

Full of this persuasion, I called; "Judith," said I, "is it
you? What do you want? Is there any thing the matter with
you?" No answer was returned. I repeated my inquiry, but
equally in vain. Cloudy as was the atmosphere, and curtained as
my bed was, nothing was visible. I withdrew the curtain, and
leaning my head on my elbow, I listened with the deepest
attention to catch some new sound. Meanwhile, I ran over in my
thoughts, every circumstance that could assist my conjectures.

My habitation was a wooden edifice, consisting of two
stories. In each story were two rooms, separated by an entry,
or middle passage, with which they communicated by opposite
doors. The passage, on the lower story, had doors at the two
ends, and a stair-case. Windows answered to the doors on the
upper story. Annexed to this, on the eastern side, were wings,
divided, in like manner, into an upper and lower room; one of
them comprized a kitchen, and chamber above it for the servant,
and communicated, on both stories, with the parlour adjoining it
below, and the chamber adjoining it above. The opposite wing is
of smaller dimensions, the rooms not being above eight feet
square. The lower of these was used as a depository of
household implements, the upper was a closet in which I
deposited my books and papers. They had but one inlet, which
was from the room adjoining. There was no window in the lower
one, and in the upper, a small aperture which communicated light
and air, but would scarcely admit the body. The door which led
into this, was close to my bed-head, and was always locked, but
when I myself was within. The avenues below were accustomed to
be closed and bolted at nights.

The maid was my only companion, and she could not reach my
chamber without previously passing through the opposite chamber,
and the middle passage, of which, however, the doors were
usually unfastened. If she had occasioned this noise, she would
have answered my repeated calls. No other conclusion,
therefore, was left me, but that I had mistaken the sounds, and
that my imagination had transformed some casual noise into the
voice of a human creature. Satisfied with this solution, I was
preparing to relinquish my listening attitude, when my ear was
again saluted with a new and yet louder whispering. It
appeared, as before, to issue from lips that touched my pillow.
A second effort of attention, however, clearly shewed me, that
the sounds issued from within the closet, the door of which was
not more than eight inches from my pillow.

This second interruption occasioned a shock less vehement
than the former. I started, but gave no audible token of alarm.
I was so much mistress of my feelings, as to continue listening
to what should be said. The whisper was distinct, hoarse, and
uttered so as to shew that the speaker was desirous of being
heard by some one near, but, at the same time, studious to avoid
being overheard by any other.

"Stop, stop, I say; madman as you are! there are better means
than that. Curse upon your rashness! There is no need to
shoot."

Such were the words uttered in a tone of eagerness and anger,
within so small a distance of my pillow. What construction
could I put upon them? My heart began to palpitate with dread
of some unknown danger. Presently, another voice, but equally
near me, was heard whispering in answer. "Why not? I will draw
a trigger in this business, but perdition be my lot if I do
more." To this, the first voice returned, in a tone which rage
had heightened in a small degree above a whisper, "Coward! stand
aside, and see me do it. I will grasp her throat; I will do her
business in an instant; she shall not have time so much as to
groan." What wonder that I was petrified by sounds so dreadful!
Murderers lurked in my closet. They were planning the means of
my destruction. One resolved to shoot, and the other menaced
suffocation. Their means being chosen, they would forthwith
break the door. Flight instantly suggested itself as most
eligible in circumstances so perilous. I deliberated not a
moment; but, fear adding wings to my speed, I leaped out of bed,
and scantily robed as I was, rushed out of the chamber, down
stairs, and into the open air. I can hardly recollect the
process of turning keys, and withdrawing bolts. My terrors
urged me forward with almost a mechanical impulse. I stopped
not till I reached my brother's door. I had not gained the
threshold, when, exhausted by the violence of my emotions, and
by my speed, I sunk down in a fit.

How long I remained in this situation I know not. When I
recovered, I found myself stretched on a bed, surrounded by my
sister and her female servants. I was astonished at the scene
before me, but gradually recovered the recollection of what had
happened. I answered their importunate inquiries as well as I
was able. My brother and Pleyel, whom the storm of the
preceding day chanced to detain here, informing themselves of
every particular, proceeded with lights and weapons to my
deserted habitation. They entered my chamber and my closet, and
found every thing in its proper place and customary order. The
door of the closet was locked, and appeared not to have been
opened in my absence. They went to Judith's apartment. They
found her asleep and in safety. Pleyel's caution induced him to
forbear alarming the girl; and finding her wholly ignorant of
what had passed, they directed her to return to her chamber.
They then fastened the doors, and returned.

My friends were disposed to regard this transaction as a
dream. That persons should be actually immured in this closet,
to which, in the circumstances of the time, access from without
or within was apparently impossible, they could not seriously
believe. That any human beings had intended murder, unless it
were to cover a scheme of pillage, was incredible; but that no
such design had been formed, was evident from the security in
which the furniture of the house and the closet remained.

I revolved every incident and expression that had occurred.
My senses assured me of the truth of them, and yet their
abruptness and improbability made me, in my turn, somewhat
incredulous. The adventure had made a deep impression on my
fancy, and it was not till after a week's abode at my brother's,
that I resolved to resume the possession of my own dwelling.
There was another circumstance that enhanced the
mysteriousness of this event. After my recovery it was obvious
to inquire by what means the attention of the family had been
drawn to my situation. I had fallen before I had reached the
threshold, or was able to give any signal. My brother related,
that while this was transacting in my chamber, he himself was
awake, in consequence of some slight indisposition, and lay,
according to his custom, musing on some favorite topic.
Suddenly the silence, which was remarkably profound, was broken
by a voice of most piercing shrillness, that seemed to be
uttered by one in the hall below his chamber. "Awake! arise!"
it exclaimed: "hasten to succour one that is dying at your
door."

This summons was effectual. There was no one in the house
who was not roused by it. Pleyel was the first to obey, and my
brother overtook him before he reached the hall. What was the
general astonishment when your friend was discovered stretched
upon the grass before the door, pale, ghastly, and with every
mark of death!

This was the third instance of a voice, exerted for the
benefit of this little community. The agent was no less
inscrutable in this, than in the former case. When I ruminated
upon these events, my soul was suspended in wonder and awe. Was
I really deceived in imagining that I heard the closet
conversation? I was no longer at liberty to question the
reality of those accents which had formerly recalled my brother
from the hill; which had imparted tidings of the death of the
German lady to Pleyel; and which had lately summoned them to my
assistance.

But how was I to regard this midnight conversation? Hoarse
and manlike voices conferring on the means of death, so near my
bed, and at such an hour! How had my ancient security vanished!
That dwelling, which had hitherto been an inviolate asylum, was
now beset with danger to my life. That solitude, formerly so
dear to me, could no longer be endured. Pleyel, who had
consented to reside with us during the months of spring, lodged
in the vacant chamber, in order to quiet my alarms. He treated
my fears with ridicule, and in a short time very slight traces
of them remained: but as it was wholly indifferent to him
whether his nights were passed at my house or at my brother's,
this arrangement gave general satisfaction.



Chapter VII


I will not enumerate the various inquiries and conjectures
which these incidents occasioned. After all our efforts, we
came no nearer to dispelling the mist in which they were
involved; and time, instead of facilitating a solution, only
accumulated our doubts.
In the midst of thoughts excited by these events, I was not
unmindful of my interview with the stranger. I related the
particulars, and shewed the portrait to my friends. Pleyel
recollected to have met with a figure resembling my description
in the city; but neither his face or garb made the same
impression upon him that it made upon me. It was a hint to
rally me upon my prepossessions, and to amuse us with a thousand
ludicrous anecdotes which he had collected in his travels. He
made no scruple to charge me with being in love; and threatened
to inform the swain, when he met him, of his good fortune.

Pleyel's temper made him susceptible of no durable
impressions. His conversation was occasionally visited by
gleams of his ancient vivacity; but, though his impetuosity was
sometimes inconvenient, there was nothing to dread from his
malice. I had no fear that my character or dignity would suffer
in his hands, and was not heartily displeased when he declared
his intention of profiting by his first meeting with the
stranger to introduce him to our acquaintance.

Some weeks after this I had spent a toilsome day, and, as the
sun declined, found myself disposed to seek relief in a walk.
The river bank is, at this part of it, and for some considerable
space upward, so rugged and steep as not to be easily descended.
In a recess of this declivity, near the southern verge of my
little demesne, was placed a slight building, with seats and
lattices. From a crevice of the rock, to which this edifice was
attached, there burst forth a stream of the purest water, which,
leaping from ledge to ledge, for the space of sixty feet,
produced a freshness in the air, and a murmur, the most
delicious and soothing imaginable. These, added to the odours
of the cedars which embowered it, and of the honey-suckle which
clustered among the lattices, rendered this my favorite retreat
in summer.

On this occasion I repaired hither. My spirits drooped
through the fatigue of long attention, and I threw myself upon
a bench, in a state, both mentally and personally, of the utmost
supineness. The lulling sounds of the waterfall, the fragrance
and the dusk combined to becalm my spirits, and, in a short
time, to sink me into sleep. Either the uneasiness of my
posture, or some slight indisposition molested my repose with
dreams of no cheerful hue. After various incoherences had taken
their turn to occupy my fancy, I at length imagined myself
walking, in the evening twilight, to my brother's habitation.
A pit, methought, had been dug in the path I had taken, of which
I was not aware. As I carelessly pursued my walk, I thought I
saw my brother, standing at some distance before me, beckoning
and calling me to make haste. He stood on the opposite edge of
the gulph. I mended my pace, and one step more would have
plunged me into this abyss, had not some one from behind caught
suddenly my arm, and exclaimed, in a voice of eagerness and
terror, "Hold! hold!"

The sound broke my sleep, and I found myself, at the next
moment, standing on my feet, and surrounded by the deepest
darkness. Images so terrific and forcible disabled me, for a
time, from distinguishing between sleep and wakefulness, and
withheld from me the knowledge of my actual condition. My first
panics were succeeded by the perturbations of surprize, to find
myself alone in the open air, and immersed in so deep a gloom.
I slowly recollected the incidents of the afternoon, and how I
came hither. I could not estimate the time, but saw the
propriety of returning with speed to the house. My faculties
were still too confused, and the darkness too intense, to allow
me immediately to find my way up the steep. I sat down,
therefore, to recover myself, and to reflect upon my situation.

This was no sooner done, than a low voice was heard from
behind the lattice, on the side where I sat. Between the rock
and the lattice was a chasm not wide enough to admit a human
body; yet, in this chasm he that spoke appeared to be stationed.
"Attend! attend! but be not terrified."

I started and exclaimed, "Good heavens! what is that? Who
are you?"

"A friend; one come, not to injure, but to save you; fear
nothing."

This voice was immediately recognized to be the same with one
of those which I had heard in the closet; it was the voice of
him who had proposed to shoot, rather than to strangle, his
victim. My terror made me, at once, mute and motionless. He
continued, "I leagued to murder you. I repent. Mark my
bidding, and be safe. Avoid this spot. The snares of death
encompass it. Elsewhere danger will be distant; but this spot,
shun it as you value your life. Mark me further; profit by this
warning, but divulge it not. If a syllable of what has passed
escape you, your doom is sealed. Remember your father, and be
faithful."

Here the accents ceased, and left me overwhelmed with dismay.
I was fraught with the persuasion, that during every moment I
remained here, my life was endangered; but I could not take a
step without hazard of falling to the bottom of the precipice.
The path, leading to the summit, was short, but rugged and
intricate. Even star-light was excluded by the umbrage, and not
the faintest gleam was afforded to guide my steps. What should
I do? To depart or remain was equally and eminently perilous.

In this state of uncertainty, I perceived a ray flit across
the gloom and disappear. Another succeeded, which was stronger,
and remained for a passing moment. It glittered on the shrubs
that were scattered at the entrance, and gleam continued to
succeed gleam for a few seconds, till they, finally, gave place
to unintermitted darkness.

The first visitings of this light called up a train of
horrors in my mind; destruction impended over this spot; the
voice which I had lately heard had warned me to retire, and had
menaced me with the fate of my father if I refused. I was
desirous, but unable, to obey; these gleams were such as
preluded the stroke by which he fell; the hour, perhaps, was the
same--I shuddered as if I had beheld, suspended over me, the
exterminating sword.

Presently a new and stronger illumination burst through the
lattice on the right hand, and a voice, from the edge of the
precipice above, called out my name. It was Pleyel. Joyfully
did I recognize his accents; but such was the tumult of my
thoughts that I had not power to answer him till he had
frequently repeated his summons. I hurried, at length, from the
fatal spot, and, directed by the lanthorn which he bore,
ascended the hill.

Pale and breathless, it was with difficulty I could support
myself. He anxiously inquired into the cause of my affright,
and the motive of my unusual absence. He had returned from my
brother's at a late hour, and was informed by Judith, that I had
walked out before sun-set, and had not yet returned. This
intelligence was somewhat alarming. He waited some time; but,
my absence continuing, he had set out in search of me. He had
explored the neighbourhood with the utmost care, but, receiving
no tidings of me, he was preparing to acquaint my brother with
this circumstance, when he recollected the summer-house on the
bank, and conceived it possible that some accident had detained
me there. He again inquired into the cause of this detention,
and of that confusion and dismay which my looks testified.

I told him that I had strolled hither in the afternoon, that
sleep had overtaken me as I sat, and that I had awakened a few
minutes before his arrival. I could tell him no more. In the
present impetuosity of my thoughts, I was almost dubious,
whether the pit, into which my brother had endeavoured to entice
me, and the voice that talked through the lattice, were not
parts of the same dream. I remembered, likewise, the charge of
secrecy, and the penalty denounced, if I should rashly divulge
what I had heard. For these reasons, I was silent on that
subject, and shutting myself in my chamber, delivered myself up
to contemplation.

What I have related will, no doubt, appear to you a fable.
You will believe that calamity has subverted my reason, and that
I am amusing you with the chimeras of my brain, instead of facts
that have really happened. I shall not be surprized or
offended, if these be your suspicions. I know not, indeed, how
you can deny them admission. For, if to me, the immediate
witness, they were fertile of perplexity and doubt, how must
they affect another to whom they are recommended only by my
testimony? It was only by subsequent events, that I was fully
and incontestibly assured of the veracity of my senses.

Meanwhile what was I to think? I had been assured that a
design had been formed against my life. The ruffians had
leagued to murder me. Whom had I offended? Who was there with
whom I had ever maintained intercourse, who was capable of
harbouring such atrocious purposes?

My temper was the reverse of cruel and imperious. My heart
was touched with sympathy for the children of misfortune. But
this sympathy was not a barren sentiment. My purse, scanty as
it was, was ever open, and my hands ever active, to relieve
distress. Many were the wretches whom my personal exertions had
extricated from want and disease, and who rewarded me with their
gratitude. There was no face which lowered at my approach, and
no lips which uttered imprecations in my hearing. On the
contrary, there was none, over whose fate I had exerted any
influence, or to whom I was known by reputation, who did not
greet me with smiles, and dismiss me with proofs of veneration;
yet did not my senses assure me that a plot was laid against my
life?

I am not destitute of courage. I have shewn myself
deliberative and calm in the midst of peril. I have hazarded my
own life, for the preservation of another, but now was I
confused and panic struck. I have not lived so as to fear
death, yet to perish by an unseen and secret stroke, to be
mangled by the knife of an assassin was a thought at which I
shuddered; what had I done to deserve to be made the victim of
malignant passions?

But soft! was I not assured, that my life was safe in all
places but one? And why was the treason limited to take effect
in this spot? I was every where equally defenceless. My house
and chamber were, at all times, accessible. Danger still
impended over me; the bloody purpose was still entertained, but
the hand that was to execute it, was powerless in all places but
one!

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