Will you wonder that I read no farther? Will you not rather be
astonished that I read thus far? What power supported me through such a
task I know not. Perhaps the doubt from which I could not disengage
my mind, that the scene here depicted was a dream, contributed to my
perseverance. In vain the solemn introduction of my uncle, his appeals
to my fortitude, and allusions to something monstrous in the events
he was about to disclose; in vain the distressful perplexity, the
mysterious silence and ambiguous answers of my attendants, especially
when the condition of my brother was the theme of my inquiries, were
remembered. I recalled the interview with Wieland in my chamber, his
preternatural tranquillity succeeded by bursts of passion and menacing
actions. All these coincided with the tenor of this paper.
Catharine and her children, and Louisa were dead. The act that destroyed
them was, in the highest degree, inhuman. It was worthy of savages
trained to murder, and exulting in agonies.
Who was the performer of the deed? Wieland! My brother! The husband
and the father! That man of gentle virtues and invincible benignity!
placable and mild--an idolator of peace! Surely, said I, it is a dream.
For many days have I been vexed with frenzy. Its dominion is still felt;
but new forms are called up to diversify and augment my torments.
The paper dropped from my hand, and my eyes followed it. I shrunk back,
as if to avoid some petrifying influence that approached me. My tongue
was mute; all the functions of nature were at a stand, and I sunk upon
the floor lifeless. The noise of my fall, as I afterwards heard, alarmed
my uncle, who was in a lower apartment, and whose apprehensions had
detained him. He hastened to my chamber, and administered the assistance
which my condition required. When I opened my eyes I beheld him before
me. His skill as a reasoner as well as a physician, was exerted to
obviate the injurious effects of this disclosure; but he had wrongly
estimated the strength of my body or of my mind. This new shock brought
me once more to the brink of the grave, and my malady was much more
difficult to subdue than at first.
I will not dwell upon the long train of dreary sensations, and the
hideous confusion of my understanding. Time slowly restored its
customary firmness to my frame, and order to my thoughts. The images
impressed upon my mind by this fatal paper were somewhat effaced by my
malady. They were obscure and disjointed like the parts of a dream. I
was desirous of freeing my imagination from this chaos. For this end I
questioned my uncle, who was my constant companion. He was intimidated
by the issue of his first experiment, and took pains to elude or
discourage my inquiry. My impetuosity some times compelled him to have
resort to misrepresentations and untruths.
Time effected that end, perhaps, in a more beneficial manner. In the
course of my meditations the recollections of the past gradually became
more distinct. I revolved them, however, in silence, and being no longer
accompanied with surprize, they did not exercise a death-dealing
power. I had discontinued the perusal of the paper in the midst of
the narrative; but what I read, combined with information elsewhere
obtained, threw, perhaps, a sufficient light upon these detestable
transactions; yet my curiosity was not inactive. I desired to peruse the
remainder.
My eagerness to know the particulars of this tale was mingled and abated
by my antipathy to the scene which would be disclosed. Hence I employed
no means to effect my purpose. I desired knowledge, and, at the same
time, shrunk back from receiving the boon.
One morning, being left alone, I rose from my bed, and went to a drawer
where my finer clothing used to be kept. I opened it, and this fatal
paper saluted my sight. I snatched it involuntarily, and withdrew to a
chair. I debated, for a few minutes, whether I should open and read. Now
that my fortitude was put to trial, it failed. I felt myself incapable
of deliberately surveying a scene of so much horror. I was prompted to
return it to its place, but this resolution gave way, and I determined
to peruse some part of it. I turned over the leaves till I came near the
conclusion. The narrative of the criminal was finished. The verdict of
_guilty_ reluctantly pronounced by the jury, and the accused
interrogated why sentence of death should not pass. The answer was
brief, solemn, and emphatical.
"No. I have nothing to say. My tale has been told. My motives have
been truly stated. If my judges are unable to discern the purity of my
intentions, or to credit the statement of them, which I have just made;
if they see not that my deed was enjoined by heaven; that obedience was
the test of perfect virtue, and the extinction of selfishness and error,
they must pronounce me a murderer.
"They refuse to credit my tale; they impute my acts to the influence of
daemons; they account me an example of the highest wickedness of which
human nature is capable; they doom me to death and infamy. Have I power
to escape this evil? If I have, be sure I will exert it. I will not
accept evil at their hand, when I am entitled to good; I will suffer
only when I cannot elude suffering.
"You say that I am guilty. Impious and rash! thus to usurp the
prerogatives of your Maker! to set up your bounded views and halting
reason, as the measure of truth!
"Thou, Omnipotent and Holy! Thou knowest that my actions were
conformable to thy will. I know not what is crime; what actions are
evil in their ultimate and comprehensive tendency or what are good. Thy
knowledge, as thy power, is unlimited. I have taken thee for my guide,
and cannot err. To the arms of thy protection, I entrust my safety. In
the awards of thy justice, I confide for my recompense.
"Come death when it will, I am safe. Let calumny and abhorrence pursue
me among men; I shall not be defrauded of my dues. The peace of virtue,
and the glory of obedience, will be my portion hereafter."
Here ended the speaker. I withdrew my eyes from the page; but before I
had time to reflect on what I had read, Mr. Cambridge entered the
room. He quickly perceived how I had been employed, and betrayed some
solicitude respecting the condition of my mind.
His fears, however, were superfluous. What I had read, threw me into a
state not easily described. Anguish and fury, however, had no part in
it. My faculties were chained up in wonder and awe. Just then, I was
unable to speak. I looked at my friend with an air of inquisitiveness,
and pointed at the roll. He comprehended my inquiry, and answered me
with looks of gloomy acquiescence. After some time, my thoughts found
their way to my lips.
Such then were the acts of my brother. Such were his words. For this
he was condemned to die: To die upon the gallows! A fate, cruel and
unmerited! And is it so? continued I, struggling for utterance, which
this new idea made difficult; is he--dead!
"No. He is alive. There could be no doubt as to the cause of these
excesses. They originated in sudden madness; but that madness continues,
and he is condemned to perpetual imprisonment."
"Madness, say you? Are you sure? Were not these sights, and these
sounds, really seen and heard?"
My uncle was surprized at my question. He looked at me with apparent
inquietude. "Can you doubt," said he, "that these were illusions? Does
heaven, think you, interfere for such ends?"
"O no; I think it not. Heaven cannot stimulate to such unheard-of
outrage. The agent was not good, but evil."
"Nay, my dear girl," said my friend, "lay aside these fancies. Neither
angel nor devil had any part in this affair."
"You misunderstand me," I answered; "I believe the agency to be external
and real, but not supernatural."
"Indeed!" said he, in an accent of surprize. "Whom do you then suppose
to be the agent?"
"I know not. All is wildering conjecture. I cannot forget Carwin. I
cannot banish the suspicion that he was the setter of these snares. But
how can we suppose it to be madness? Did insanity ever before assume
this form?"
"Frequently. The illusion, in this case, was more dreadful in its
consequences, than any that has come to my knowledge; but, I repeat that
similar illusions are not rare. Did you never hear of an instance which
occurred in your mother's family?"
"No. I beseech you relate it. My grandfather's death I have understood
to have been extraordinary, but I know not in what respect. A brother,
to whom he was much attached, died in his youth, and this, as I have
heard, influenced, in some remarkable way, the fate of my grandfather;
but I am unacquainted with particulars."
"On the death of that brother," resumed my friend, "my father was seized
with dejection, which was found to flow from two sources. He not only
grieved for the loss of a friend, but entertained the belief that his
own death would be inevitably consequent on that of his brother. He
waited from day to day in expectation of the stroke which he predicted
was speedily to fall upon him. Gradually, however, he recovered his
cheerfulness and confidence. He married, and performed his part in
the world with spirit and activity. At the end of twenty-one years it
happened that he spent the summer with his family at an house which he
possessed on the sea coast in Cornwall. It was at no great distance
from a cliff which overhung the ocean, and rose into the air to a great
height. The summit was level and secure, and easily ascended on the land
side. The company frequently repaired hither in clear weather, invited
by its pure airs and extensive prospects. One evening in June my father,
with his wife and some friends, chanced to be on this spot. Every one
was happy, and my father's imagination seemed particularly alive to the
grandeur of the scenery.
"Suddenly, however, his limbs trembled and his features betrayed alarm.
He threw himself into the attitude of one listening. He gazed earnestly
in a direction in which nothing was visible to his friends. This lasted
for a minute; then turning to his companions, he told them that his
brother had just delivered to him a summons, which must be instantly
obeyed. He then took an hasty and solemn leave of each person, and,
before their surprize would allow them to understand the scene, he
rushed to the edge of the cliff, threw himself headlong, and was seen no
more.
"In the course of my practice in the German army, many cases, equally
remarkable, have occurred. Unquestionably the illusions were maniacal,
though the vulgar thought otherwise. They are all reducible to one
class, [*] and are not more difficult of explication and cure than most
affections of our frame."
This opinion my uncle endeavoured, by various means, to impress upon me.
I listened to his reasonings and illustrations with silent respect. My
astonishment was great on finding proofs of an influence of which I
had supposed there were no examples; but I was far from accounting for
appearances in my uncle's manner. Ideas thronged into my mind which I
was unable to disjoin or to regulate. I reflected that this madness,
if madness it were, had affected Pleyel and myself as well as Wieland.
Pleyel had heard a mysterious voice. I had seen and heard. A form had
showed itself to me as well as to Wieland. The disclosure had been
made in the same spot. The appearance was equally complete and equally
prodigious in both instances. Whatever supposition I should adopt, had
I not equal reason to tremble? What was my security against influences
equally terrific and equally irresistable?
It would be vain to attempt to describe the state of mind which this
idea produced. I wondered at the change which a moment had affected
in my brother's condition. Now was I stupified with tenfold wonder in
contemplating myself. Was I not likewise transformed from rational and
human into a creature of nameless and fearful attributes? Was I not
transported to the brink of the same abyss? Ere a new day should come,
my hands might be embrued in blood, and my remaining life be consigned
to a dungeon and chains.
With moral sensibility like mine, no wonder that this new dread was more
insupportable than the anguish I had lately endured. Grief carries its
own antidote along with it. When thought becomes merely a vehicle of
pain, its progress must be stopped. Death is a cure which nature or
ourselves must administer: To this cure I now looked forward with gloomy
satisfaction.
My silence could not conceal from my uncle the state of my thoughts.
He made unwearied efforts to divert my attention from views so
pregnant with danger. His efforts, aided by time, were in some measure
successful. Confidence in the strength of my resolution, and in the
healthful state of my faculties, was once more revived. I was able
to devote my thoughts to my brother's state, and the causes of this
disasterous proceeding.
My opinions were the sport of eternal change. Some times I conceived the
apparition to be more than human. I had no grounds on which to build a
disbelief. I could not deny faith to the evidence of my religion;
the testimony of men was loud and unanimous: both these concurred
to persuade me that evil spirits existed, and that their energy was
frequently exerted in the system of the world.
These ideas connected themselves with the image of Carwin. Where is the
proof, said I, that daemons may not be subjected to the controul of men?
This truth may be distorted and debased in the minds of the ignorant.
The dogmas of the vulgar, with regard to this subject, are glaringly
absurd; but though these may justly be neglected by the wise, we are
scarcely justified in totally rejecting the possibility that men may
obtain supernatural aid.
The dreams of superstition are worthy of contempt. Witchcraft, its
instruments and miracles, the compact ratified by a bloody signature,
the apparatus of sulpherous smells and thundering explosions, are
monstrous and chimerical. These have no part in the scene over which the
genius of Carwin presides. That conscious beings, dissimilar from human,
but moral and voluntary agents as we are, some where exist, can scarcely
be denied. That their aid may be employed to benign or malignant
purposes, cannot be disproved.
Darkness rests upon the designs of this man. The extent of his power is
unknown; but is there not evidence that it has been now exerted?
I recurred to my own experience. Here Carwin had actually appeared upon
the stage; but this was in a human character. A voice and a form were
discovered; but one was apparently exerted, and the other disclosed, not
to befriend, but to counteract Carwin's designs. There were tokens of
hostility, and not of alliance, between them. Carwin was the miscreant
whose projects were resisted by a minister of heaven. How can this be
reconciled to the stratagem which ruined my brother? There the agency
was at once preternatural and malignant.
The recollection of this fact led my thoughts into a new channel. The
malignity of that influence which governed my brother had hitherto been
no subject of doubt. His wife and children were destroyed; they had
expired in agony and fear; yet was it indisputably certain that their
murderer was criminal? He was acquitted at the tribunal of his own
conscience; his behaviour at his trial and since, was faithfully
reported to me; appearances were uniform; not for a moment did he lay
aside the majesty of virtue; he repelled all invectives by appealing to
the deity, and to the tenor of his past life; surely there was truth in
this appeal: none but a command from heaven could have swayed his will;
and nothing but unerring proof of divine approbation could sustain his
mind in its present elevation.
* Mania Mutabilis. See Darwin's Zoonomia, vol. ii. Class III.
1.2. where similar cases are stated.