As soon as evening arrived, I performed my visit. Carwin made one of the
company, into which I was ushered. Appearances were the same as when I
before beheld him. His garb was equally negligent and rustic. I gazed
upon his countenance with new curiosity. My situation was such as to
enable me to bestow upon it a deliberate examination. Viewed at more
leisure, it lost none of its wonderful properties. I could not deny my
homage to the intelligence expressed in it, but was wholly uncertain,
whether he were an object to be dreaded or adored, and whether his
powers had been exerted to evil or to good.
He was sparing in discourse; but whatever he said was pregnant with
meaning, and uttered with rectitude of articulation, and force of
emphasis, of which I had entertained no conception previously to my
knowledge of him. Notwithstanding the uncouthness of his garb, his
manners were not unpolished. All topics were handled by him with skill,
and without pedantry or affectation. He uttered no sentiment calculated
to produce a disadvantageous impression: on the contrary, his
observations denoted a mind alive to every generous and heroic feeling.
They were introduced without parade, and accompanied with that degree of
earnestness which indicates sincerity.
He parted from us not till late, refusing an invitation to spend the
night here, but readily consented to repeat his visit. His visits
were frequently repeated. Each day introduced us to a more intimate
acquaintance with his sentiments, but left us wholly in the dark,
concerning that about which we were most inquisitive. He studiously
avoided all mention of his past or present situation. Even the place of
his abode in the city he concealed from us.
Our sphere, in this respect, being somewhat limited, and the
intellectual endowments of this man being indisputably great, his
deportment was more diligently marked, and copiously commented on by
us, than you, perhaps, will think the circumstances warranted. Not a
gesture, or glance, or accent, that was not, in our private assemblies,
discussed, and inferences deduced from it. It may well be thought that
he modelled his behaviour by an uncommon standard, when, with all our
opportunities and accuracy of observation, we were able, for a long
time, to gather no satisfactory information. He afforded us no ground on
which to build even a plausible conjecture.
There is a degree of familiarity which takes place between constant
associates, that justifies the negligence of many rules of which, in
an earlier period of their intercourse, politeness requires the exact
observance. Inquiries into our condition are allowable when they are
prompted by a disinterested concern for our welfare; and this solicitude
is not only pardonable, but may justly be demanded from those who chuse
us for their companions. This state of things was more slow to arrive
on this occasion than on most others, on account of the gravity and
loftiness of this man's behaviour.
Pleyel, however, began, at length, to employ regular means for this end.
He occasionally alluded to the circumstances in which they had formerly
met, and remarked the incongruousness between the religion and habits
of a Spaniard, with those of a native of Britain. He expressed
his astonishment at meeting our guest in this corner of the globe,
especially as, when they parted in Spain, he was taught to believe that
Carwin should never leave that country. He insinuated, that a change
so great must have been prompted by motives of a singular and momentous
kind.
No answer, or an answer wide of the purpose, was generally made to these
insinuations. Britons and Spaniards, he said, are votaries of the same
Deity, and square their faith by the same precepts; their ideas are
drawn from the same fountains of literature, and they speak dialects of
the same tongue; their government and laws have more resemblances than
differences; they were formerly provinces of the same civil, and till
lately, of the same religious, Empire.
As to the motives which induce men to change the place of their abode,
these must unavoidably be fleeting and mutable. If not bound to one spot
by conjugal or parental ties, or by the nature of that employment to
which we are indebted for subsistence, the inducements to change are far
more numerous and powerful, than opposite inducements.
He spoke as if desirous of shewing that he was not aware of the tendency
of Pleyel's remarks; yet, certain tokens were apparent, that proved him
by no means wanting in penetration. These tokens were to be read in his
countenance, and not in his words. When any thing was said, indicating
curiosity in us, the gloom of his countenance was deepened, his eyes
sunk to the ground, and his wonted air was not resumed without visible
struggle. Hence, it was obvious to infer, that some incidents of
his life were reflected on by him with regret; and that, since these
incidents were carefully concealed, and even that regret which flowed
from them laboriously stifled, they had not been merely disastrous. The
secrecy that was observed appeared not designed to provoke or baffle the
inquisitive, but was prompted by the shame, or by the prudence of guilt.
These ideas, which were adopted by Pleyel and my brother, as well as
myself, hindered us from employing more direct means for accomplishing
our wishes. Questions might have been put in such terms, that no room
should be left for the pretence of misapprehension, and if modesty
merely had been the obstacle, such questions would not have been
wanting; but we considered, that, if the disclosure were productive of
pain or disgrace, it was inhuman to extort it.
Amidst the various topics that were discussed in his presence, allusions
were, of course, made to the inexplicable events that had lately
happened. At those times, the words and looks of this man were objects
of my particular attention. The subject was extraordinary; and any
one whose experience or reflections could throw any light upon it, was
entitled to my gratitude. As this man was enlightened by reading and
travel, I listened with eagerness to the remarks which he should make.
At first, I entertained a kind of apprehension, that the tale would be
heard by him with incredulity and secret ridicule. I had formerly heard
stories that resembled this in some of their mysterious circumstances,
but they were, commonly, heard by me with contempt. I was doubtful,
whether the same impression would not now be made on the mind of our
guest; but I was mistaken in my fears.
He heard them with seriousness, and without any marks either of
surprize or incredulity. He pursued, with visible pleasure, that kind
of disquisition which was naturally suggested by them. His fancy was
eminently vigorous and prolific, and if he did not persuade us, that
human beings are, sometimes, admitted to a sensible intercourse with the
author of nature, he, at least, won over our inclination to the cause.
He merely deduced, from his own reasonings, that such intercourse
was probable; but confessed that, though he was acquainted with many
instances somewhat similar to those which had been related by us, none
of them were perfectly exempted from the suspicion of human agency.
On being requested to relate these instances, he amused us with many
curious details. His narratives were constructed with so much skill,
and rehearsed with so much energy, that all the effects of a dramatic
exhibition were frequently produced by them. Those that were most
coherent and most minute, and, of consequence, least entitled to credit,
were yet rendered probable by the exquisite art of this rhetorician. For
every difficulty that was suggested, a ready and plausible solution
was furnished. Mysterious voices had always a share in producing
the catastrophe, but they were always to be explained on some known
principles, either as reflected into a focus, or communicated through
a tube. I could not but remark that his narratives, however complex or
marvellous, contained no instance sufficiently parallel to those that
had befallen ourselves, and in which the solution was applicable to our
own case.
My brother was a much more sanguine reasoner than our guest. Even
in some of the facts which were related by Carwin, he maintained the
probability of celestial interference, when the latter was disposed to
deny it, and had found, as he imagined, footsteps of an human agent.
Pleyel was by no means equally credulous. He scrupled not to deny faith
to any testimony but that of his senses, and allowed the facts which had
lately been supported by this testimony, not to mould his belief, but
merely to give birth to doubts.
It was soon observed that Carwin adopted, in some degree, a similar
distinction. A tale of this kind, related by others, he would believe,
provided it was explicable upon known principles; but that such notices
were actually communicated by beings of an higher order, he would
believe only when his own ears were assailed in a manner which could not
be otherwise accounted for. Civility forbad him to contradict my brother
or myself, but his understanding refused to acquiesce in our testimony.
Besides, he was disposed to question whether the voices heard in the
temple, at the foot of the hill, and in my closet, were not really
uttered by human organs. On this supposition he was desired to explain
how the effect was produced.
He answered, that the power of mimickry was very common. Catharine's
voice might easily be imitated by one at the foot of the hill, who would
find no difficulty in eluding, by flight, the search of Wieland. The
tidings of the death of the Saxon lady were uttered by one near at hand,
who overheard the conversation, who conjectured her death, and whose
conjecture happened to accord with the truth. That the voice appeared to
come from the cieling was to be considered as an illusion of the fancy.
The cry for help, heard in the hall on the night of my adventure, was to
be ascribed to an human creature, who actually stood in the hall when he
uttered it. It was of no moment, he said, that we could not explain by
what motives he that made the signal was led hither. How imperfectly
acquainted were we with the condition and designs of the beings that
surrounded us? The city was near at hand, and thousands might there
exist whose powers and purposes might easily explain whatever was
mysterious in this transaction. As to the closet dialogue, he was
obliged to adopt one of two suppositions, and affirm either that it was
fashioned in my own fancy, or that it actually took place between two
persons in the closet.
Such was Carwin's mode of explaining these appearances. It is such,
perhaps, as would commend itself as most plausible to the most sagacious
minds, but it was insufficient to impart conviction to us. As to the
treason that was meditated against me, it was doubtless just to conclude
that it was either real or imaginary; but that it was real was attested
by the mysterious warning in the summer-house, the secret of which I had
hitherto locked up in my own breast.
A month passed away in this kind of intercourse. As to Carwin, our
ignorance was in no degree enlightened respecting his genuine character
and views. Appearances were uniform. No man possessed a larger store of
knowledge, or a greater degree of skill in the communication of it to
others; Hence he was regarded as an inestimable addition to our society.
Considering the distance of my brother's house from the city, he was
frequently prevailed upon to pass the night where he spent the evening.
Two days seldom elapsed without a visit from him; hence he was regarded
as a kind of inmate of the house. He entered and departed without
ceremony. When he arrived he received an unaffected welcome, and when he
chose to retire, no importunities were used to induce him to remain.
The temple was the principal scene of our social enjoyments; yet the
felicity that we tasted when assembled in this asylum, was but the
gleam of a former sun-shine. Carwin never parted with his gravity.
The inscrutableness of his character, and the uncertainty whether his
fellowship tended to good or to evil, were seldom absent from our minds.
This circumstance powerfully contributed to sadden us.
My heart was the seat of growing disquietudes. This change in one who
had formerly been characterized by all the exuberances of soul, could
not fail to be remarked by my friends. My brother was always a pattern
of solemnity. My sister was clay, moulded by the circumstances in which
she happened to be placed. There was but one whose deportment remains
to be described as being of importance to our happiness. Had Pleyel
likewise dismissed his vivacity?
He was as whimsical and jestful as ever, but he was not happy. The
truth, in this respect, was of too much importance to me not to make me
a vigilant observer. His mirth was easily perceived to be the fruit
of exertion. When his thoughts wandered from the company, an air of
dissatisfaction and impatience stole across his features. Even the
punctuality and frequency of his visits were somewhat lessened. It may
be supposed that my own uneasiness was heightened by these tokens; but,
strange as it may seem, I found, in the present state of my mind, no
relief but in the persuasion that Pleyel was unhappy.
That unhappiness, indeed, depended, for its value in my eyes, on the
cause that produced it. It did not arise from the death of the Saxon
lady: it was not a contagious emanation from the countenances of Wieland
or Carwin. There was but one other source whence it could flow. A
nameless ecstacy thrilled through my frame when any new proof occurred
that the ambiguousness of my behaviour was the cause.