Book: Wieland; or The Transformation, An American Tale

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




"And wilt thou not stay behind?--But shame upon my weakness.
I know not what I would say.--I have done what I purposed. To
stay longer, to expostulate, to beseech, to enumerate the
consequences of thy act--what end can it serve but to blazon thy
infamy and embitter our woes? And yet, O think, think ere it be
too late, on the distresses which thy flight will entail upon
us; on the base, grovelling, and atrocious character of the
wretch to whom thou hast sold thy honor. But what is this? Is
not thy effrontery impenetrable, and thy heart thoroughly
cankered? O most specious, and most profligate of women!"

Saying this, he rushed out of the house. I saw him in a few
moments hurrying along the path which led to my brother's. I
had no power to prevent his going, or to recall, or to follow
him. The accents I had heard were calculated to confound and
bewilder. I looked around me to assure myself that the scene
was real. I moved that I might banish the doubt that I was
awake. Such enormous imputations from the mouth of Pleyel! To
be stigmatized with the names of wanton and profligate! To be
charged with the sacrifice of honor! with midnight meetings with
a wretch known to be a murderer and thief! with an intention to
fly in his company!

What I had heard was surely the dictate of phrenzy, or it was
built upon some fatal, some incomprehensible mistake. After the
horrors of the night; after undergoing perils so imminent from
this man, to be summoned to an interview like this; to find
Pleyel fraught with a belief that, instead of having chosen
death as a refuge from the violence of this man, I had hugged
his baseness to my heart, had sacrificed for him my purity, my
spotless name, my friendships, and my fortune! that even madness
could engender accusations like these was not to be believed.

What evidence could possibly suggest conceptions so wild?
After the unlooked-for interview with Carwin in my chamber, he
retired. Could Pleyel have observed his exit? It was not long
after that Pleyel himself entered. Did he build on this
incident, his odious conclusions? Could the long series of my
actions and sentiments grant me no exemption from suspicions so
foul? Was it not more rational to infer that Carwin's designs
had been illicit; that my life had been endangered by the fury
of one whom, by some means, he had discovered to be an assassin
and robber; that my honor had been assailed, not by
blandishments, but by violence?

He has judged me without hearing. He has drawn from dubious
appearances, conclusions the most improbable and unjust. He has
loaded me with all outrageous epithets. He has ranked me with
prostitutes and thieves. I cannot pardon thee, Pleyel, for this
injustice. Thy understanding must be hurt. If it be not, if
thy conduct was sober and deliberate, I can never forgive an
outrage so unmanly, and so gross.

These thoughts gradually gave place to others. Pleyel was
possessed by some momentary phrenzy: appearances had led him
into palpable errors. Whence could his sagacity have contracted
this blindness? Was it not love? Previously assured of my
affection for Carwin, distracted with grief and jealousy, and
impelled hither at that late hour by some unknown instigation,
his imagination transformed shadows into monsters, and plunged
him into these deplorable errors.

This idea was not unattended with consolation. My soul was
divided between indignation at his injustice, and delight on
account of the source from which I conceived it to spring. For
a long time they would allow admission to no other thoughts.
Surprize is an emotion that enfeebles, not invigorates. All my
meditations were accompanied with wonder. I rambled with
vagueness, or clung to one image with an obstinacy which
sufficiently testified the maddening influence of late
transactions.

Gradually I proceeded to reflect upon the consequences of
Pleyel's mistake, and on the measures I should take to guard
myself against future injury from Carwin. Should I suffer this
mistake to be detected by time? When his passion should
subside, would he not perceive the flagrancy of his injustice,
and hasten to atone for it? Did it not become my character to
testify resentment for language and treatment so opprobrious?
Wrapt up in the consciousness of innocence, and confiding in the
influence of time and reflection to confute so groundless a
charge, it was my province to be passive and silent.

As to the violences meditated by Carwin, and the means of
eluding them, the path to be taken by me was obvious. I
resolved to tell the tale to my brother, and regulate myself by
his advice. For this end, when the morning was somewhat
advanced, I took the way to his house. My sister was engaged in
her customary occupations. As soon as I appeared, she remarked
a change in my looks. I was not willing to alarm her by the
information which I had to communicate. Her health was in that
condition which rendered a disastrous tale particularly
unsuitable. I forbore a direct answer to her inquiries, and
inquired, in my turn, for Wieland.

"Why," said she, "I suspect something mysterious and
unpleasant has happened this morning. Scarcely had we risen
when Pleyel dropped among us. What could have prompted him to
make us so early and so unseasonable a visit I cannot tell. To
judge from the disorder of his dress, and his countenance,
something of an extraordinary nature has occurred. He permitted
me merely to know that he had slept none, nor even undressed,
during the past night. He took your brother to walk with him.
Some topic must have deeply engaged them, for Wieland did not
return till the breakfast hour was passed, and returned alone.
His disturbance was excessive; but he would not listen to my
importunities, or tell me what had happened. I gathered from
hints which he let fall, that your situation was, in some way,
the cause: yet he assured me that you were at your own house,
alive, in good health, and in perfect safety. He scarcely ate
a morsel, and immediately after breakfast went out again. He
would not inform me whither he was going, but mentioned that he
probably might not return before night."

I was equally astonished and alarmed by this information.
Pleyel had told his tale to my brother, and had, by a plausible
and exaggerated picture, instilled into him unfavorable thoughts
of me. Yet would not the more correct judgment of Wieland
perceive and expose the fallacy of his conclusions? Perhaps his
uneasiness might arise from some insight into the character of
Carwin, and from apprehensions for my safety. The appearances
by which Pleyel had been misled, might induce him likewise to
believe that I entertained an indiscreet, though not
dishonorable affection for Carwin. Such were the conjectures
rapidly formed. I was inexpressibly anxious to change them into
certainty. For this end an interview with my brother was
desirable. He was gone, no one knew whither, and was not
expected speedily to return. I had no clue by which to trace
his footsteps.

My anxieties could not be concealed from my sister. They
heightened her solicitude to be acquainted with the cause.
There were many reasons persuading me to silence: at least,
till I had seen my brother, it would be an act of inexcusable
temerity to unfold what had lately passed. No other expedient
for eluding her importunities occurred to me, but that of
returning to my own house. I recollected my determination to
become a tenant of this roof. I mentioned it to her. She
joyfully acceded to this proposal, and suffered me, with less
reluctance, to depart, when I told her that it was with a view
to collect and send to my new dwelling what articles would be
immediately useful to me.

Once more I returned to the house which had been the scene of
so much turbulence and danger. I was at no great distance from
it when I observed my brother coming out. On seeing me he
stopped, and after ascertaining, as it seemed, which way I was
going, he returned into the house before me. I sincerely
rejoiced at this event, and I hastened to set things, if
possible, on their right footing.

His brow was by no means expressive of those vehement
emotions with which Pleyel had been agitated. I drew a
favorable omen from this circumstance. Without delay I began
the conversation.

"I have been to look for you," said I, "but was told by
Catharine that Pleyel had engaged you on some important and
disagreeable affair. Before his interview with you he spent a
few minutes with me. These minutes he employed in upbraiding me
for crimes and intentions with which I am by no means
chargeable. I believe him to have taken up his opinions on very
insufficient grounds. His behaviour was in the highest degree
precipitate and unjust, and, until I receive some atonement, I
shall treat him, in my turn, with that contempt which he justly
merits: meanwhile I am fearful that he has prejudiced my
brother against me. That is an evil which I most anxiously
deprecate, and which I shall indeed exert myself to remove. Has
he made me the subject of this morning's conversation?"

My brother's countenance testified no surprize at my address.
The benignity of his looks were no wise diminished.

"It is true," said he, "your conduct was the subject of our
discourse. I am your friend, as well as your brother. There is
no human being whom I love with more tenderness, and whose
welfare is nearer my heart. Judge then with what emotions I
listened to Pleyel's story. I expect and desire you to
vindicate yourself from aspersions so foul, if vindication be
possible."

The tone with which he uttered the last words affected me
deeply. "If vindication be possible!" repeated I. "From what
you know, do you deem a formal vindication necessary? Can you
harbour for a moment the belief of my guilt?"

He shook his head with an air of acute anguish. "I have
struggled," said he, "to dismiss that belief. You speak before
a judge who will profit by any pretence to acquit you: who is
ready to question his own senses when they plead against you."

These words incited a new set of thoughts in my mind. I
began to suspect that Pleyel had built his accusations on some
foundation unknown to me. "I may be a stranger to the grounds
of your belief. Pleyel loaded me with indecent and virulent
invectives, but he withheld from me the facts that generated his
suspicions. Events took place last night of which some of the
circumstances were of an ambiguous nature. I conceived that
these might possibly have fallen under his cognizance, and that,
viewed through the mists of prejudice and passion, they supplied
a pretence for his conduct, but believed that your more
unbiassed judgment would estimate them at their just value.
Perhaps his tale has been different from what I suspect it to
be. Listen then to my narrative. If there be any thing in his
story inconsistent with mine, his story is false."

I then proceeded to a circumstantial relation of the
incidents of the last night. Wieland listened with deep
attention. Having finished, "This," continued I, "is the truth;
you see in what circumstances an interview took place between
Carwin and me. He remained for hours in my closet, and for some
minutes in my chamber. He departed without haste or
interruption. If Pleyel marked him as he left the house, and it
is not impossible that he did, inferences injurious to my
character might suggest themselves to him. In admitting them,
he gave proofs of less discernment and less candor than I once
ascribed to him."

"His proofs," said Wieland, after a considerable pause, "are
different. That he should be deceived, is not possible. That
he himself is not the deceiver, could not be believed, if his
testimony were not inconsistent with yours; but the doubts which
I entertained are now removed. Your tale, some parts of it, is
marvellous; the voice which exclaimed against your rashness in
approaching the closet, your persisting notwithstanding that
prohibition, your belief that I was the ruffian, and your
subsequent conduct, are believed by me, because I have known you
from childhood, because a thousand instances have attested your
veracity, and because nothing less than my own hearing and
vision would convince me, in opposition to her own assertions,
that my sister had fallen into wickedness like this."

I threw my arms around him, and bathed his cheek with my
tears. "That," said I, "is spoken like my brother. But what
are the proofs?"

He replied--"Pleyel informed me that, in going to your house,
his attention was attracted by two voices. The persons speaking
sat beneath the bank out of sight. These persons, judging by
their voices, were Carwin and you. I will not repeat the
dialogue. If my sister was the female, Pleyel was justified in
concluding you to be, indeed, one of the most profligate of
women. Hence, his accusations of you, and his efforts to obtain
my concurrence to a plan by which an eternal separation should
be brought about between my sister and this man."

I made Wieland repeat this recital. Here, indeed, was a tale
to fill me with terrible foreboding. I had vainly thought that
my safety could be sufficiently secured by doors and bars, but
this is a foe from whose grasp no power of divinity can save me!
His artifices will ever lay my fame and happiness at his mercy.
How shall I counterwork his plots, or detect his coadjutor? He
has taught some vile and abandoned female to mimic my voice.
Pleyel's ears were the witnesses of my dishonor. This is the
midnight assignation to which he alluded. Thus is the silence
he maintained when attempting to open the door of my chamber,
accounted for. He supposed me absent, and meant, perhaps, had
my apartment been accessible, to leave in it some accusing
memorial.

Pleyel was no longer equally culpable. The sincerity of his
anguish, the depth of his despair, I remembered with some
tendencies to gratitude. Yet was he not precipitate? Was the
conjecture that my part was played by some mimic so utterly
untenable? Instances of this faculty are common. The
wickedness of Carwin must, in his opinion, have been adequate to
such contrivances, and yet the supposition of my guilt was
adopted in preference to that.

But how was this error to be unveiled? What but my own
assertion had I to throw in the balance against it? Would this
be permitted to outweigh the testimony of his senses? I had no
witnesses to prove my existence in another place. The real
events of that night are marvellous. Few, to whom they should
be related, would scruple to discredit them. Pleyel is
sceptical in a transcendant degree. I cannot summon Carwin to
my bar, and make him the attestor of my innocence, and the
accuser of himself.

My brother saw and comprehended my distress. He was
unacquainted, however, with the full extent of it. He knew not
by how many motives I was incited to retrieve the good opinion
of Pleyel. He endeavored to console me. Some new event, he
said, would occur to disentangle the maze. He did not question
the influence of my eloquence, if I thought proper to exert it.
Why not seek an interview with Pleyel, and exact from him a
minute relation, in which something may be met with serving to
destroy the probability of the whole?

I caught, with eagerness, at this hope; but my alacrity was
damped by new reflections. Should I, perfect in this respect,
and unblemished as I was, thrust myself, uncalled, into his
presence, and make my felicity depend upon his arbitrary
verdict?

"If you chuse to seek an interview," continued Wieland, "you
must make haste, for Pleyel informed me of his intention to set
out this evening or to-morrow on a long journey."

No intelligence was less expected or less welcome than this.
I had thrown myself in a window seat; but now, starting on my
feet, I exclaimed, "Good heavens! what is it you say? a
journey? whither? when?"

"I cannot say whither. It is a sudden resolution I believe.
I did not hear of it till this morning. He promises to write to
me as soon as he is settled."

I needed no further information as to the cause and issue of
this journey. The scheme of happiness to which he had devoted
his thoughts was blasted by the discovery of last night. My
preference of another, and my unworthiness to be any longer the
object of his adoration, were evinced by the same act and in the
same moment. The thought of utter desertion, a desertion
originating in such a cause, was the prelude to distraction.
That Pleyel should abandon me forever, because I was blind to
his excellence, because I coveted pollution, and wedded infamy,
when, on the contrary, my heart was the shrine of all purity,
and beat only for his sake, was a destiny which, as long as my
life was in my own hands, I would by no means consent to endure.

I remembered that this evil was still preventable; that this
fatal journey it was still in my power to procrastinate, or,
perhaps, to occasion it to be laid aside. There were no
impediments to a visit: I only dreaded lest the interview
should be too long delayed. My brother befriended my
impatience, and readily consented to furnish me with a chaise
and servant to attend me. My purpose was to go immediately to
Pleyel's farm, where his engagements usually detained him during
the day.



Chapter XII


My way lay through the city. I had scarcely entered it when
I was seized with a general sensation of sickness. Every object
grew dim and swam before my sight. It was with difficulty I
prevented myself from sinking to the bottom of the carriage. I
ordered myself to be carried to Mrs. Baynton's, in hope that an
interval of repose would invigorate and refresh me. My
distracted thoughts would allow me but little rest. Growing
somewhat better in the afternoon, I resumed my journey.

My contemplations were limited to a few objects. I regarded
my success, in the purpose which I had in view, as considerably
doubtful. I depended, in some degree, on the suggestions of the
moment, and on the materials which Pleyel himself should furnish
me. When I reflected on the nature of the accusation, I burned
with disdain. Would not truth, and the consciousness of
innocence, render me triumphant? Should I not cast from me,
with irresistible force, such atrocious imputations?

What an entire and mournful change has been effected in a few
hours! The gulf that separates man from insects is not wider
than that which severs the polluted from the chaste among women.
Yesterday and to-day I am the same. There is a degree of
depravity to which it is impossible for me to sink; yet, in the
apprehension of another, my ancient and intimate associate, the
perpetual witness of my actions, and partaker of my thoughts, I
had ceased to be the same. My integrity was tarnished and
withered in his eyes. I was the colleague of a murderer, and
the paramour of a thief!

His opinion was not destitute of evidence: yet what proofs
could reasonably avail to establish an opinion like this? If
the sentiments corresponded not with the voice that was heard,
the evidence was deficient; but this want of correspondence
would have been supposed by me if I had been the auditor and
Pleyel the criminal. But mimicry might still more plausibly
have been employed to explain the scene. Alas! it is the fate
of Clara Wieland to fall into the hands of a precipitate and
inexorable judge.

But what, O man of mischief! is the tendency of thy thoughts?
Frustrated in thy first design, thou wilt not forego the
immolation of thy victim. To exterminate my reputation was all
that remained to thee, and this my guardian has permitted. To
dispossess Pleyel of this prejudice may be impossible; but if
that be effected, it cannot be supposed that thy wiles are
exhausted; thy cunning will discover innumerable avenues to the
accomplishment of thy malignant purpose.

Why should I enter the lists against thee? Would to heaven
I could disarm thy vengeance by my deprecations! When I think
of all the resources with which nature and education have
supplied thee; that thy form is a combination of steely fibres
and organs of exquisite ductility and boundless compass,
actuated by an intelligence gifted with infinite endowments, and
comprehending all knowledge, I perceive that my doom is fixed.
What obstacle will be able to divert thy zeal or repel thy
efforts? That being who has hitherto protected me has borne
testimony to the formidableness of thy attempts, since nothing
less than supernatural interference could check thy career.

Musing on these thoughts, I arrived, towards the close of the
day, at Pleyel's house. A month before, I had traversed the
same path; but how different were my sensations! Now I was
seeking the presence of one who regarded me as the most
degenerate of human kind. I was to plead the cause of my
innocence, against witnesses the most explicit and unerring, of
those which support the fabric of human knowledge. The nearer
I approached the crisis, the more did my confidence decay. When
the chaise stopped at the door, my strength refused to support
me, and I threw myself into the arms of an ancient female
domestic. I had not courage to inquire whether her master was
at home. I was tormented with fears that the projected journey
was already undertaken. These fears were removed, by her asking
me whether she should call her young master, who had just gone
into his own room. I was somewhat revived by this intelligence,
and resolved immediately to seek him there.

In my confusion of mind, I neglected to knock at the door,
but entered his apartment without previous notice. This
abruptness was altogether involuntary. Absorbed in reflections
of such unspeakable moment, I had no leisure to heed the
niceties of punctilio. I discovered him standing with his back
towards the entrance. A small trunk, with its lid raised, was
before him in which it seemed as if he had been busy in packing
his clothes. The moment of my entrance, he was employed in
gazing at something which he held in his hand.

I imagined that I fully comprehended this scene. The image
which he held before him, and by which his attention was so
deeply engaged, I doubted not to be my own. These preparations
for his journey, the cause to which it was to be imputed, the
hopelessness of success in the undertaking on which I had
entered, rushed at once upon my feelings, and dissolved me into
a flood of tears.

Startled by this sound, he dropped the lid of the trunk and
turned. The solemn sadness that previously overspread his
countenance, gave sudden way to an attitude and look of the most
vehement astonishment. Perceiving me unable to uphold myself,
he stepped towards me without speaking, and supported me by his
arm. The kindness of this action called forth a new effusion
from my eyes. Weeping was a solace to which, at that time, I
had not grown familiar, and which, therefore, was peculiarly
delicious. Indignation was no longer to be read in the features
of my friend. They were pregnant with a mixture of wonder and
pity. Their expression was easily interpreted. This visit, and
these tears, were tokens of my penitence. The wretch whom he
had stigmatized as incurably and obdurately wicked, now shewed
herself susceptible of remorse, and had come to confess her
guilt.

This persuasion had no tendency to comfort me. It only
shewed me, with new evidence, the difficulty of the task which
I had assigned myself. We were mutually silent. I had less
power and less inclination than ever to speak. I extricated
myself from his hold, and threw myself on a sofa. He placed
himself by my side, and appeared to wait with impatience and
anxiety for some beginning of the conversation. What could I
say? If my mind had suggested any thing suitable to the
occasion, my utterance was suffocated by tears.

Frequently he attempted to speak, but seemed deterred by some
degree of uncertainty as to the true nature of the scene. At
length, in faltering accents he spoke:

"My friend! would to heaven I were still permitted to call
you by that name. The image that I once adored existed only in
my fancy; but though I cannot hope to see it realized, you may
not be totally insensible to the horrors of that gulf into which
you are about to plunge. What heart is forever exempt from the
goadings of compunction and the influx of laudable propensities?

"I thought you accomplished and wise beyond the rest of
women. Not a sentiment you uttered, not a look you assumed,
that were not, in my apprehension, fraught with the sublimities
of rectitude and the illuminations of genius. Deceit has some
bounds. Your education could not be without influence. A
vigorous understanding cannot be utterly devoid of virtue; but
you could not counterfeit the powers of invention and reasoning.
I was rash in my invectives. I will not, but with life,
relinquish all hopes of you. I will shut out every proof that
would tell me that your heart is incurably diseased.

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