I
[After Carwin’s confession of his powers of ventriloquism all the
mysteries are cleared up—save one. The owner of the voice heard
in Clara’s chamber, on the first night after the wanderer appeared
at Mettingen; the threatener on the edge of the precipice; the spy
in Clara’s closet, and would-be intruder; the manipulator of the
vile plot that destroyed her lover’s confidence—all these hidden
identities have materialized in the person of this one unhappy man.
But while confessing the prying disposition which led to these
sins, in efforts to protect himself from discovery, Carwin still
denies that Wieland’s mad acts were perpetrated at his
instigation.]
“I have uttered the truth. This is the extent of my offenses. You
tell me a horrid tale of Wieland being led to the destruction of
his wife and children by some mysterious agent. You charge me with
the guilt of this agency, but I repeat that the amount of my guilt
has been truly stated. The perpetrator of Catharine’s death was
unknown to me till now; nay, it is still unknown to me.”
At that moment, the closing of a door in the kitchen was distinctly
heard by us. Carwin started and paused. “There is some one
coming. I must not be found here by my enemies, and need not,
since my purpose is answered.”
I had drunk in, with the most vehement attention, every word that
he had uttered. I had no breath to interrupt his tale by
interrogations or comments. The power that he spoke of was
hitherto unknown to me; its existence was incredible; it was
susceptible of no direct proof.
He owns that his were the voice and face which I heard and saw. He
attempts to give a human explanation of these phantasms but it is
enough that he owns himself to be the agent: his tale is a lie, and
his nature devilish. As he deceived me, he likewise deceived my
brother, and now do I behold the author of all our calamities!
Such were my thoughts when his pause allowed me to think. I should
have bade him begone if the silence had not been interrupted; but
now I feared no more for myself; and the milkiness of my nature was
curdled into hatred and rancor. Some one was near, and this enemy
of God and man might possibly be brought to justice. I reflected
not that the preternatural power which he had hitherto exerted
would avail to rescue him from any toils in which his feet might be
entangled. Meanwhile, looks, and not words, of menace and
abhorrence, were all that I could bestow.
He did not depart. He seemed dubious whether by passing out of the
house, or by remaining somewhat longer where he was, he should most
endanger his safety. His confusion increased when steps of one
barefoot were heard upon the stairs. He threw anxious glances
sometimes at the closet, sometimes at the window, and sometimes at
the chamber door; yet he was detained by some inexplicable
fascination. He stood as if rooted to the spot.
As to me, my soul was bursting with detestation and revenge. I had
no room for surmises and fears respecting him that approached. It
was doubtless a human being, and would befriend me so far as to aid
me in arresting this offender.
The stranger quickly entered the room. My eyes and the eyes of
Carwin were at the same moment darted upon him. A second glance
was not needed to inform us who he was. His locks were tangled,
and fell confusedly over his forehead and ears. His shirt was of
coarse stuff, and open at the neck and breast. His coat was once
of bright and fine texture, but now torn and tarnished with dust.
His feet, his legs, and his arms, were bare. His features were the
seat of a wild and tranquil solemnity, but his eyes bespoke
inquietude and curiosity.
He advanced with a firm step, and looking as in search of some one.
He saw me and stopped. He bent his sight on the floor, and,
clenching his hands, appeared suddenly absorbed in meditation.
Such were the figure and deportment of Wieland! Such, in his
fallen state, were the aspect and guise of my brother!
Carwin did not fail to recognize the visitant. Care for his own
safety was apparently swallowed up in the amazement which this
spectacle produced. His station was conspicuous, and he could not
have escaped the roving glances of Wieland; yet the latter seemed
totally unconscious of his presence.
Grief at this scene of ruin and blast was at first the only
sentiment of which I was conscious. A fearful stillness ensued.
At length Wieland, lifting his hands, which were locked in each
other, to his breast, exclaimed, “Father! I thank thee. This is
thy guidance. Hither thou hast led me, that I might perform thy
will. Yet let me not err; let me hear again thy messenger!”
He stood for a minute as if listening; but, recovering from his
attitude, he continued, “It is not needed. Dastardly wretch! thus
eternally questioning the behests of thy Maker! weak in resolution,
wayward in faith!”
He advanced to me, and, after another pause, resumed:—“Poor girl!
a dismal fate has set its mark upon thee. Thy life is demanded as
a sacrifice. Prepare thee to die. Make not my office difficult by
fruitless opposition. Thy prayers might subdue stones; but none
but he who enjoined my purpose can shake it.”
These words were a sufficient explication of the scene. The nature
of his frenzy, as described by my uncle, was remembered. I, who
had sought death, was now thrilled with horror because it was near.
Death in this form, death from the hand of a brother, was thought
upon with indescribable repugnance.
In a state thus verging upon madness, my eye glanced upon Carwin.
His astonishment appeared to have struck him motionless and dumb.
My life was in danger, and my brother’s hand was about to be
imbrued in my blood. I firmly believed that Carwin’s was the
instigation. I could rescue myself from this abhorred fate; I
could dissipate this tremendous illusion; I could save my brother
from the perpetration of new horrors, by pointing out the devil who
seduced him. To hesitate a moment was to perish. These thoughts
gave strength to my limbs and energy to my accents; I started on my
feet:—
“Oh, brother! spare me! spare thyself! There is thy betrayer. He
counterfeited the voice and face of an angel, for the purpose of
destroying thee and me. He has this moment confessed it. He is
able to speak where he is not. He is leagued with hell, but will
not avow it; yet he confesses that the agency was his.”
My brother turned slowly his eyes, and fixed them upon Carwin.
Every joint in the frame of the latter trembled. His complexion
was paler than a ghost’s. His eye dared not meet that of Wieland,
but wandered with an air of distraction from one space to another.
“Man,” said my brother, in a voice totally unlike that which he had
used to me, “what art thou? The charge has been made. Answer it.
The visage—the voice—at the bottom of these stairs—at the hour
of eleven—to whom did they belong? To thee?”
Twice did Carwin attempt to speak, but his words died away upon his
lips. My brother resumed, in a tone of greater vehemence:—
“Thou falterest. Faltering is ominous. Say yes or no; one word
will suffice; but beware of falsehood. Was it a stratagem of hell
to overthrow my family? Wast thou the agent?”
I now saw that the wrath which had been prepared for me was to be
heaped upon another. The tale that I heard from him, and his
present trepidations, were abundant testimonies of his guilt. But
what if Wieland should be undeceived! What if he shall find his
act to have proceeded not from a heavenly prompter, but from human
treachery! Will not his rage mount into whirlwind? Will not he
tear limb from limb this devoted wretch?
Instinctively I recoiled from this image; but it gave place to
another. Carwin may be innocent, but the impetuosity of his judge
may misconstrue his answers into a confession of guilt. Wieland
knows not that mysterious voices and appearances were likewise
witnessed by me. Carwin may be ignorant of those which misled my
brother. Thus may his answers unwarily betray himself to ruin.
Such might be the consequences of my frantic precipitation, and
these it was necessary, if possible, to prevent. I attempted to
speak; but Wieland, turning suddenly upon me, commanded silence, in
a tone furious and terrible. My lips closed, and my tongue refused
its office.
“What art thou?” he resumed, addressing himself to Carwin. “Answer
me: whose form—whose voice,—was it thy contrivance? Answer me.”
The answer was now given, but confusedly and scarcely articulated.
“I meant nothing—I intended no ill—if I understand—if I do not
mistake you—it is too true—I did appear—in the entry—did speak.
The contrivance was mine, but—”
These words were no sooner uttered, than my brother ceased to wear
the same aspect. His eyes were downcast; he was motionless; his
respiration became hoarse, like that of a man in the agonies of
death. Carwin seemed unable to say more. He might have easily
escaped; but the thought which occupied him related to what was
horrid and unintelligible in this scene, and not to his own danger.
Presently the faculties of Wieland, which, for a time, were chained
up, were seized with restlessness and trembling. He broke silence.
The stoutest heart would have been appalled by the tone in which he
spoke. He addressed himself to Carwin:—
“Why art thou here? Who detains thee? Go and learn better. I
will meet thee, but it must be at the bar of thy Maker. There
shall I bear witness against thee.”
Perceiving that Carwin did not obey, he continued, “Dost thou wish
me to complete the catalogue by thy death? Thy life is a worthless
thing. Tempt me no more. I am but a man, and thy presence may
awaken a fury which may spurn my control. Begone!”
Carwin, irresolute, striving in vain for utterance, his complexion
pallid as death, his knees beating one against another, slowly
obeyed the mandate and withdrew.