A few words more and I lay aside the pen forever. Yet why should I
not relinquish it now? All that I have said is preparatory to this
scene, and my fingers, tremulous and cold as my heart, refuse any
further exertion. This must not be. Let my last energies support
me in the finishing of this task. Then will I lay down my head in
the lap of death. Hushed will be all my murmurs in the sleep of
the grave.
Every sentiment has perished in my bosom. Even friendship is
extinct. Your love for me has prompted me to this task; but I
would not have complied if it had not been a luxury thus to feast
upon my woes. I have justly calculated upon my remnant of
strength. When I lay down the pen the taper of life will expire;
my existence will terminate with my tale.
Now that I was left alone with Wieland, the perils of my situation
presented themselves to my mind. That this paroxysm should
terminate in havoc and rage it was reasonable to predict. The
first suggestion of my fears had been disproved by my experience.
Carwin had acknowledged his offenses, and yet had escaped. The
vengeance which I had harbored had not been admitted by Wieland;
and yet the evils which I had endured, compared with those
inflicted on my brother, were as nothing. I thirsted for his
blood, and was tormented with an insatiable appetite for his
destruction; but my brother was unmoved, and had dismissed him in
safety. Surely thou wast more than man, while I am sunk below the
beasts.
Did I place a right construction on the conduct of Wieland? Was
the error that misled him so easily rectified? Were views so vivid
and faith so strenuous thus liable to fading and to change? Was
there not reason to doubt the accuracy of my perceptions? With
images like these was my mind thronged, till the deportment of my
brother called away my attention.
I saw his lips move and his eyes cast up to heaven. Then would he
listen and look back, as if in expectation of some one’s
appearance. Thrice he repeated these gesticulations and this
inaudible prayer. Each time the mist of confusion and doubt seemed
to grow darker and to settle on his understanding. I guessed at
the meaning of these tokens. The words of Carwin had shaken his
belief, and he was employed in summoning the messenger who had
formerly communed with him, to attest the value of those new
doubts. In vain the summons was repeated, for his eye met nothing
but vacancy, and not a sound saluted his ear.
He walked to the bed, gazed with eagerness at the pillow which had
sustained the head of the breathless Catharine, and then returned
to the place where I sat. I had no power to lift my eyes to his
face: I was dubious of his purpose; this purpose might aim at my
life.
Alas! nothing but subjection to danger and exposure to temptation
can show us what we are. By this test was I now tried, and found
to be cowardly and rash. Men can deliberately untie the thread of
life, and of this I had deemed myself capable. It was now that I
stood upon the brink of fate, that the knife of the sacrificer was
aimed at my heart, I shuddered, and betook myself to any means of
escape, however monstrous.
Can I bear to think—can I endure to relate the outrage which my
heart meditated? Where were my means of safety? Resistance was
vain. Not even the energy of despair could set me on a level with
that strength which his terrific prompter had bestowed upon
Wieland. Terror enables us to perform incredible feats; but terror
was not then the state of my mind: where then were my hopes of
rescue?
Methinks it is too much. I stand aside, as it were, from myself; I
estimate my own deservings; a hatred, immortal and inexorable, is
my due. I listen to my own pleas, and find them empty and false:
yes, I acknowledge that my guilt surpasses that of mankind; I
confess that the curses of a world and the frowns of a Deity are
inadequate to my demerits. Is there a thing in the world worthy of
infinite abhorrence? It is I.
What shall I say? I was menaced, as I thought, with death, and, to
elude this evil, my hand was ready to inflict death upon the
menacer. In visiting my house, I had made provision against the
machinations of Carwin. In a fold of my dress an open penknife was
concealed. This I now seized and drew forth. It lurked out of
view; but I now see that my state of mind would have rendered the
deed inevitable if my brother had lifted his hand. This instrument
of my preservation would have been plunged into his heart.
O insupportable remembrance! hide thee from my view for a time;
hide it from me that my heart was black enough to meditate the
stabbing of a brother! a brother thus supreme in misery; thus
towering in virtue!
He was probably unconscious of my design, but presently drew back.
This interval was sufficient to restore me to myself. The madness,
the iniquity, of that act which I had purposed rushed upon my
apprehension. For a moment I was breathless with agony. At the
next moment I recovered my strength, and threw the knife with
violence on the floor.
The sound awoke my brother from his reverie. He gazed alternately
at me and at the weapon. With a movement equally solemn he stooped
and took it up. He placed the blade in different positions,
scrutinizing it accurately, and maintaining, at the same time, a
profound silence.
Again he looked at me; but all that vehemence and loftiness of
spirit which had so lately characterized his features were flown.
Fallen muscles, a forehead contracted into folds, eyes dim with
unbidden drops, and a ruefulness of aspect which no words can
describe, were now visible.
His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in me, and I
poured forth a flood of tears. This passion was quickly checked by
fear, which had now no longer my own but his safety for their
object. I watched his deportment in silence. At length he spoke:—
“Sister,” said he, in an accent mournful and mild, “I have acted
poorly my part in this world. What thinkest thou? Shall I not do
better in the next?”
I could make no answer. The mildness of his tone astonished and
encouraged me. I continued to regard him with wistful and anxious
looks.
“I think,” resumed he, “I will try. My wife and my babes have gone
before. Happy wretches! I have sent you to repose, and ought not
to linger behind.”
These words had a meaning sufficiently intelligible. I looked at
the open knife in his hand and shuddered, but knew not how to
prevent the deed which I dreaded. He quickly noticed my fears, and
comprehended them. Stretching toward me his hand, with an air of
increasing mildness, “Take it,” said he; “fear not for thy own
sake, nor for mine. The cup is gone by, and its transient
inebriation is succeeded by the soberness of truth.
“Thou angel whom I was wont to worship! fearest thou, my sister,
for thy life? Once it was the scope of my labors to destroy thee,
but I was prompted to the deed by heaven; such, at least, was my
belief. Thinkest thou that thy death was sought to gratify
malevolence? No. I am pure from all stain. I believed that my
God was my mover!
“Neither thee nor myself have I cause to injure. I have done my
duty; and surely there is merit in having sacrificed to that all
that is dear to the heart of man. If a devil has deceived me, he
came in the habit of an angel. If I erred, it was not my judgment
that deceived me, but my senses. In thy sight, Being of beings! I
am still pure. Still will I look for my reward in thy justice!”
Did my ears truly report these sounds? If I did not err, my
brother was restored to just perceptions. He knew himself to have
been betrayed to the murder of his wife and children, to have been
the victim of infernal artifice; yet he found consolation in the
rectitude of his motives. He was not devoid of sorrow, for this
was written on his countenance; but his soul was tranquil and
sublime.
Perhaps this was merely a transition of his former madness into a
new shape. Perhaps he had not yet awakened to the memory of the
horrors which he had perpetrated. Infatuated wretch that I was!
To set myself up as a model by which to judge of my heroic brother!
My reason taught me that his conclusions were right; but, conscious
of the impotence of reason over my own conduct, conscious of my
cowardly rashness and my criminal despair, I doubted whether anyone
could be steadfast and wise.
Such was my weakness, that even in the midst of these thoughts my
mind glided into abhorrence of Carwin, and I uttered, in a low
voice, “O Carwin! Carwin! what hast thou to answer for?”
My brother immediately noticed the involuntary exclamation.
“Clara!” said he, “be thyself. Equity used to be a theme for thy
eloquence. Reduce its lessons to practice, and be just to that
unfortunate man. The instrument has done its work, and I am
satisfied.
“I thank thee, my God, for this last illumination! My enemy is
thine also. I deemed him to be a man,—the man with whom I have
often communed; but now thy goodness has unveiled to me his true
nature. As the performer of thy behests, he is my friend.”
My heart began now to misgive me. His mournful aspect had
gradually yielded place to a serene brow. A new soul appeared to
actuate his frame, and his eyes to beam with preternatural luster.
These symptoms did not abate, and he continued:—
“Clara, I must not leave thee in doubt. I know not what brought
about thy interview with the being whom thou callest Carwin. For a
time I was guilty of thy error, and deduced from his incoherent
confessions that I had been made the victim of human malice. He
left us at my bidding, and I put up a prayer that my doubts should
be removed. Thy eyes were shut and thy ears sealed to the vision
that answered my prayer.
“I was indeed deceived. The form thou hast seen was the
incarnation of a demon. The visage and voice which urged me to the
sacrifice of my family were his. Now he personates a human form;
then he was environed with the luster of heaven.
“Clara,” he continued, advancing closer to me, “thy death must
come. This minister is evil, but he from whom his commission was
received is God. Submit then with all thy wonted resignation to a
decree that cannot be reversed or resisted. Mark the clock. Three
minutes are allowed to thee, in which to call up thy fortitude and
prepare thee for thy doom.” There he stopped.
Even now, when this scene exists only in memory, when life and all
its functions have sunk into torpor, my pulse throbs, and my hairs
uprise; my brows are knit, as then, and I gaze around me in
distraction. I was unconquerably averse to death; but death,
imminent and full of agony as that which was threatened, was
nothing. This was not the only or chief inspirer of my fears.
For him, not for myself, was my soul tormented. I might die, and
no crime, surpassing the reach of mercy, would pursue me to the
presence of my Judge; but my assassin would survive to contemplate
his deed, and that assassin was Wieland!
Wings to bear me beyond his reach I had not. I could not vanish
with a thought. The door was open, but my murderer was interposed
between that and me. Of self-defense I was incapable. The frenzy
that lately prompted me to blood was gone: my state was desperate;
my rescue was impossible.
The weight of these accumulated thoughts could not be borne. My
sight became confused; my limbs were seized with convulsion; I
spoke, but my words were half formed:—
“Spare me, my brother! Look down, righteous Judge! snatch me from
this fate! take away this fury from him, or turn it elsewhere!”
Such was the agony of my thoughts that I noticed not steps entering
my apartment. Supplicating eyes were cast upward; but when my
prayer was breathed I once more wildly gazed at the door. A form
met my sight; I shuddered as if the God whom I invoked were
present. It was Carwin that again intruded, and who stood before
me, erect in attitude and steadfast in look!
The sight of him awakened new and rapid thoughts. His recent tale
was remembered; his magical transitions and mysterious energy of
voice. Whether he were infernal or miraculous or human, there was
no power and no need to decide. Whether the contriver or not of
this spell, he was able to unbind it, and to check the fury of my
brother. He had ascribed to himself intentions not malignant.
Here now was afforded a test of his truth. Let him interpose, as
from above; revoke the savage decree which the madness of Wieland
has assigned to heaven, and extinguish forever this passion for
blood!
My mind detected at a glance this avenue to safety. The
recommendations it possessed thronged as it were together, and made
but one impression on my intellect. Remoter effects and collateral
dangers I saw not. Perhaps the pause of an instant had sufficed to
call them up. The improbability that the influence which governed
Wieland was external or human; the tendency of this stratagem to
sanction so fatal an error or substitute a more destructive rage in
place of this; the insufficiency of Carwin’s mere muscular forces
to counteract the efforts and restrain the fury of Wieland, might,
at a second glance, have been discovered; but no second glance was
allowed. My first thought hurried me to action, and, fixing my
eyes upon Carwin, I exclaimed,—
“O wretch! once more hast thou come? Let it be to abjure thy
malice; to counterwork this hellish stratagem; to turn from me and
from my brother this desolating rage!
“Testify thy innocence or thy remorse; exert the powers which
pertain to thee, whatever they be, to turn aside this ruin. Thou
art the author of these horrors! What have I done to deserve thus
to die? How have I merited this unrelenting persecution? I adjure
thee, by that God whose voice thou hast dared to counterfeit, to
save my life!
“Wilt thou then go?—leave me! Succorless!”
Carwin listened to my entreaties unmoved, and turned from me. He
seemed to hesitate a moment,—then glided through the door. Rage
and despair stifled my utterance. The interval of respite was
past; the pangs reserved for me by Wieland were not to be endured;
my thoughts rushed again into anarchy. Having received the knife
from his hand, I held it loosely and without regard; but now it
seized again my attention, and I grasped it with force.
He seemed to notice not the entrance or exit of Carwin. My gesture
and the murderous weapon appeared to have escaped his notice. His
silence was unbroken; his eye, fixed upon the clock for a time, was
now withdrawn; fury kindled in every feature; all that was human in
his face gave way to an expression supernatural and tremendous. I
felt my left arm within his grasp.
Even now I hesitated to strike. I shrunk from his assault, but in
vain.
Here let me desist. Why should I rescue this event from oblivion?
Why should I paint this detestable conflict? Why not terminate at
once this series of horrors?—Hurry to the verge of the precipice,
and cast myself forever beyond remembrance and beyond hope?
Still I live; with this load upon my breast; with this phantom to
pursue my steps; with adders lodged in my bosom, and stinging me to
madness; still I consent to live!
Yes! I will rise above the sphere of mortal passions; I will spurn
at the cowardly remorse that bids me seek impunity in silence, or
comfort in forgetfulness. My nerves shall be new-strung to the
task. Have I not resolved? I will die. The gulf before me is
inevitable and near. I will die, but then only when my tale is at
an end.