The inhabitants of the HUT received me with a mixture of joy and
surprize. Their homely welcome, and their artless sympathy, were
grateful to my feelings. In the midst of their inquiries, as to my
health, they avoided all allusions to the source of my malady. They were
honest creatures, and I loved them well. I participated in the tears
which they shed when I mentioned to them my speedy departure for Europe,
and promised to acquaint them with my welfare during my long absence.
They expressed great surprize when I informed them of my intention to
visit my cottage. Alarm and foreboding overspread their features, and
they attempted to dissuade me from visiting an house which they firmly
believed to be haunted by a thousand ghastly apparitions.
These apprehensions, however, had no power over my conduct. I took an
irregular path which led me to my own house. All was vacant and forlorn.
A small enclosure, near which the path led, was the burying-ground
belonging to the family. This I was obliged to pass. Once I had intended
to enter it, and ponder on the emblems and inscriptions which my uncle
had caused to be made on the tombs of Catharine and her children; but
now my heart faltered as I approached, and I hastened forward, that
distance might conceal it from my view.
When I approached the recess, my heart again sunk. I averted my eyes,
and left it behind me as quickly as possible. Silence reigned through
my habitation, and a darkness which closed doors and shutters produced.
Every object was connected with mine or my brother's history. I passed
the entry, mounted the stair, and unlocked the door of my chamber.
It was with difficulty that I curbed my fancy and smothered my fears.
Slight movements and casual sounds were transformed into beckoning
shadows and calling shapes.
I proceeded to the closet. I opened and looked round it with
fearfulness. All things were in their accustomed order. I sought and
found the manuscript where I was used to deposit it. This being secured,
there was nothing to detain me; yet I stood and contemplated awhile the
furniture and walls of my chamber. I remembered how long this apartment
had been a sweet and tranquil asylum; I compared its former state with
its present dreariness, and reflected that I now beheld it for the last
time.
Here it was that the incomprehensible behaviour of Carwin was witnessed:
this the stage on which that enemy of man shewed himself for a moment
unmasked. Here the menaces of murder were wafted to my ear; and here
these menaces were executed.
These thoughts had a tendency to take from me my self-command. My feeble
limbs refused to support me, and I sunk upon a chair. Incoherent and
half-articulate exclamations escaped my lips. The name of Carwin was
uttered, and eternal woes, woes like that which his malice had entailed
upon us, were heaped upon him. I invoked all-seeing heaven to drag to
light and to punish this betrayer, and accused its providence for having
thus long delayed the retribution that was due to so enormous a guilt.
I have said that the window shutters were closed. A feeble light,
however, found entrance through the crevices. A small window illuminated
the closet, and the door being closed, a dim ray streamed through
the key-hole. A kind of twilight was thus created, sufficient for the
purposes of vision; but, at the same time, involving all minuter objects
in obscurity.
This darkness suited the colour of my thoughts. I sickened at the
remembrance of the past. The prospect of the future excited my loathing.
I muttered in a low voice, Why should I live longer? Why should I drag a
miserable being? All, for whom I ought to live, have perished. Am I not
myself hunted to death?
At that moment, my despair suddenly became vigorous. My nerves were no
longer unstrung. My powers, that had long been deadened, were revived.
My bosom swelled with a sudden energy, and the conviction darted through
my mind, that to end my torments was, at once, practicable and wise.
I knew how to find way to the recesses of life. I could use a lancet
with some skill, and could distinguish between vein and artery. By
piercing deep into the latter, I should shun the evils which the future
had in store for me, and take refuge from my woes in quiet death.
I started on my feet, for my feebleness was gone, and hasted to the
closet. A lancet and other small instruments were preserved in a
case which I had deposited here. Inattentive as I was to foreign
considerations, my ears were still open to any sound of mysterious
import that should occur. I thought I heard a step in the entry. My
purpose was suspended, and I cast an eager glance at my chamber door,
which was open. No one appeared, unless the shadow which I discerned
upon the floor, was the outline of a man. If it were, I was authorized
to suspect that some one was posted close to the entrance, who possibly
had overheard my exclamations.
My teeth chattered, and a wild confusion took place of my momentary
calm. Thus it was when a terrific visage had disclosed itself on a
former night. Thus it was when the evil destiny of Wieland assumed the
lineaments of something human. What horrid apparition was preparing to
blast my sight?
Still I listened and gazed. Not long, for the shadow moved; a foot,
unshapely and huge, was thrust forward; a form advanced from its
concealment, and stalked into the room. It was Carwin! While I had
breath I shrieked. While I had power over my muscles, I motioned with
my hand that he should vanish. My exertions could not last long; I sunk
into a fit.
O that this grateful oblivion had lasted for ever! Too quickly I
recovered my senses. The power of distinct vision was no sooner restored
to me, than this hateful form again presented itself, and I once more
relapsed.
A second time, untoward nature recalled me from the sleep of death.
I found myself stretched upon the bed. When I had power to look up, I
remembered only that I had cause to fear. My distempered fancy fashioned
to itself no distinguishable image. I threw a languid glance round me;
once more my eyes lighted upon Carwin.
He was seated on the floor, his back rested against the wall, his knees
were drawn up, and his face was buried in his hands. That his station
was at some distance, that his attitude was not menacing, that his
ominous visage was concealed, may account for my now escaping a shock,
violent as those which were past. I withdrew my eyes, but was not again
deserted by my senses.
On perceiving that I had recovered my sensibility, he lifted his head.
This motion attracted my attention. His countenance was mild, but sorrow
and astonishment sat upon his features. I averted my eyes and feebly
exclaimed--"O! fly--fly far and for ever!--I cannot behold you and
live!"
He did not rise upon his feet, but clasped his hands, and said in a
tone of deprecation--"I will fly. I am become a fiend, the sight of whom
destroys. Yet tell me my offence! You have linked curses with my name;
you ascribe to me a malice monstrous and infernal. I look around; all
is loneliness and desert! This house and your brother's are solitary and
dismantled! You die away at the sight of me! My fear whispers that some
deed of horror has been perpetrated; that I am the undesigning cause."
What language was this? Had he not avowed himself a ravisher? Had not
this chamber witnessed his atrocious purposes? I besought him with new
vehemence to go.
He lifted his eyes--"Great heaven! what have I done? I think I know
the extent of my offences. I have acted, but my actions have possibly
effected more than I designed. This fear has brought me back from my
retreat. I come to repair the evil of which my rashness was the cause,
and to prevent more evil. I come to confess my errors."
"Wretch!" I cried when my suffocating emotions would permit me to speak,
"the ghosts of my sister and her children, do they not rise to accuse
thee? Who was it that blasted the intellects of Wieland? Who was it
that urged him to fury, and guided him to murder? Who, but thou and the
devil, with whom thou art confederated?"
At these words a new spirit pervaded his countenance. His eyes once more
appealed to heaven. "If I have memory, if I have being, I am innocent. I
intended no ill; but my folly, indirectly and remotely, may have caused
it; but what words are these! Your brother lunatic! His children dead!"
What should I infer from this deportment? Was the ignorance which these
words implied real or pretended?--Yet how could I imagine a mere human
agency in these events? But if the influence was preternatural or
maniacal in my brother's case, they must be equally so in my own. Then
I remembered that the voice exerted, was to save me from Carwin's
attempts. These ideas tended to abate my abhorrence of this man, and to
detect the absurdity of my accusations.
"Alas!" said I, "I have no one to accuse. Leave me to my fate. Fly from
a scene stained with cruelty; devoted to despair."
Carwin stood for a time musing and mournful. At length he said, "What
has happened? I came to expiate my crimes: let me know them in their
full extent. I have horrible forebodings! What has happened?"
I was silent; but recollecting the intimation given by this man when he
was detected in my closet, which implied some knowledge of that power
which interfered in my favor, I eagerly inquired, "What was that voice
which called upon me to hold when I attempted to open the closet? What
face was that which I saw at the bottom of the stairs? Answer me truly."
"I came to confess the truth. Your allusions are horrible and strange.
Perhaps I have but faint conceptions of the evils which my infatuation
has produced; but what remains I will perform. It was _my voice_ that
you heard! It was _my face_ that you saw!"
For a moment I doubted whether my remembrance of events were not
confused. How could he be at once stationed at my shoulder and shut up
in my closet? How could he stand near me and yet be invisible? But if
Carwin's were the thrilling voice and the fiery visage which I had heard
and seen, then was he the prompter of my brother, and the author of
these dismal outrages.
Once more I averted my eyes and struggled for speech. "Begone! thou man
of mischief! Remorseless and implacable miscreant! begone!"
"I will obey," said he in a disconsolate voice; "yet, wretch as I am,
am I unworthy to repair the evils that I have committed? I came as a
repentant criminal. It is you whom I have injured, and at your bar am
I willing to appear, and confess and expiate my crimes. I have deceived
you: I have sported with your terrors: I have plotted to destroy your
reputation. I come now to remove your errors; to set you beyond the
reach of similar fears; to rebuild your fame as far as I am able.
"This is the amount of my guilt, and this the fruit of my remorse. Will
you not hear me? Listen to my confession, and then denounce punishment.
All I ask is a patient audience."
"What!" I replied, "was not thine the voice that commanded my brother to
imbrue his hands in the blood of his children--to strangle that angel of
sweetness his wife? Has he not vowed my death, and the death of Pleyel,
at thy bidding? Hast thou not made him the butcher of his family;
changed him who was the glory of his species into worse than brute;
robbed him of reason, and consigned the rest of his days to fetters and
stripes?"
Carwin's eyes glared, and his limbs were petrified at this intelligence.
No words were requisite to prove him guiltless of these enormities: at
the time, however, I was nearly insensible to these exculpatory tokens.
He walked to the farther end of the room, and having recovered some
degree of composure, he spoke--
"I am not this villain; I have slain no one; I have prompted none to
slay; I have handled a tool of wonderful efficacy without malignant
intentions, but without caution; ample will be the punishment of my
temerity, if my conduct has contributed to this evil." He paused.--
I likewise was silent. I struggled to command myself so far as to listen
to the tale which he should tell. Observing this, he continued--
"You are not apprized of the existence of a power which I possess. I
know not by what name to call it. [*] It enables me to mimic exactly the
voice of another, and to modify the sound so that it shall appear to
come from what quarter, and be uttered at what distance I please.
"I know not that every one possesses this power. Perhaps, though a
casual position of my organs in my youth shewed me that I possessed
it, it is an art which may be taught to all. Would to God I had died
unknowing of the secret! It has produced nothing but degradation and
calamity.
"For a time the possession of so potent and stupendous an endowment
elated me with pride. Unfortified by principle, subjected to poverty,
stimulated by headlong passions, I made this powerful engine subservient
to the supply of my wants, and the gratification of my vanity. I shall
not mention how diligently I cultivated this gift, which seemed capable
of unlimited improvement; nor detail the various occasions on which
it was successfully exerted to lead superstition, conquer avarice, or
excite awe.
"I left America, which is my native soil, in my youth. I have been
engaged in various scenes of life, in which my peculiar talent has been
exercised with more or less success. I was finally betrayed by one who
called himself my friend, into acts which cannot be justified, though
they are susceptible of apology.
"The perfidy of this man compelled me to withdraw from Europe. I
returned to my native country, uncertain whether silence and obscurity
would save me from his malice. I resided in the purlieus of the city. I
put on the garb and assumed the manners of a clown.
"My chief recreation was walking. My principal haunts were the lawns
and gardens of Mettingen. In this delightful region the luxuriances
of nature had been chastened by judicious art, and each successive
contemplation unfolded new enchantments.
"I was studious of seclusion: I was satiated with the intercourse of
mankind, and discretion required me to shun their intercourse. For
these reasons I long avoided the observation of your family, and chiefly
visited these precincts at night.
"I was never weary of admiring the position and ornaments of _the
temple_. Many a night have I passed under its roof, revolving no pleasing
meditations. When, in my frequent rambles, I perceived this apartment
was occupied, I gave a different direction to my steps. One evening,
when a shower had just passed, judging by the silence that no one
was within, I ascended to this building. Glancing carelessly round, I
perceived an open letter on the pedestal. To read it was doubtless an
offence against politeness. Of this offence, however, I was guilty.
"Scarcely had I gone half through when I was alarmed by the approach
of your brother. To scramble down the cliff on the opposite side
was impracticable. I was unprepared to meet a stranger. Besides
the aukwardness attending such an interview in these circumstances,
concealment was necessary to my safety. A thousand times had I vowed
never again to employ the dangerous talent which I possessed; but such
was the force of habit and the influence of present convenience, that I
used this method of arresting his progress and leading him back to the
house, with his errand, whatever it was, unperformed. I had often caught
parts, from my station below, of your conversation in this place, and
was well acquainted with the voice of your sister.
"Some weeks after this I was again quietly seated in this recess. The
lateness of the hour secured me, as I thought, from all interruption.
In this, however, I was mistaken, for Wieland and Pleyel, as I judged by
their voices, earnest in dispute, ascended the hill.
"I was not sensible that any inconvenience could possibly have flowed
from my former exertion; yet it was followed with compunction, because
it was a deviation from a path which I had assigned to myself. Now
my aversion to this means of escape was enforced by an unauthorized
curiosity, and by the knowledge of a bushy hollow on the edge of the
hill, where I should be safe from discovery. Into this hollow I thrust
myself.
"The propriety of removal to Europe was the question eagerly discussed.
Pleyel intimated that his anxiety to go was augmented by the silence
of Theresa de Stolberg. The temptation to interfere in this dispute was
irresistible. In vain I contended with inveterate habits. I disguised to
myself the impropriety of my conduct, by recollecting the benefits which
it might produce. Pleyel's proposal was unwise, yet it was enforced
with plausible arguments and indefatigable zeal. Your brother might be
puzzled and wearied, but could not be convinced. I conceived that
to terminate the controversy in favor of the latter was conferring a
benefit on all parties. For this end I profited by an opening in the
conversation, and assured them of Catharine's irreconcilable aversion to
the scheme, and of the death of the Saxon baroness. The latter event
was merely a conjecture, but rendered extremely probable by Pleyel's
representations. My purpose, you need not be told, was effected.
"My passion for mystery, and a species of imposture, which I deemed
harmless, was thus awakened afresh. This second lapse into error made my
recovery more difficult. I cannot convey to you an adequate idea of
the kind of gratification which I derived from these exploits; yet I
meditated nothing. My views were bounded to the passing moment, and
commonly suggested by the momentary exigence.
"I must not conceal any thing. Your principles teach you to abhor a
voluptuous temper; but, with whatever reluctance, I acknowledge this
temper to be mine. You imagine your servant Judith to be innocent as
well as beautiful; but you took her from a family where hypocrisy, as
well as licentiousness, was wrought into a system. My attention was
captivated by her charms, and her principles were easily seen to be
flexible.
"Deem me not capable of the iniquity of seduction. Your servant is not
destitute of feminine and virtuous qualities; but she was taught that
the best use of her charms consists in the sale of them. My nocturnal
visits to Mettingen were now prompted by a double view, and my
correspondence with your servant gave me, at all times, access to your
house.
"The second night after our interview, so brief and so little foreseen
by either of us, some daemon of mischief seized me. According to my
companion's report, your perfections were little less than divine. Her
uncouth but copious narratives converted you into an object of worship.
She chiefly dwelt upon your courage, because she herself was deficient
in that quality. You held apparitions and goblins in contempt. You took
no precautions against robbers. You were just as tranquil and secure in
this lonely dwelling, as if you were in the midst of a crowd. Hence a
vague project occurred to me, to put this courage to the test. A woman
capable of recollection in danger, of warding off groundless panics,
of discerning the true mode of proceeding, and profiting by her best
resources, is a prodigy. I was desirous of ascertaining whether you were
such an one.
"My expedient was obvious and simple: I was to counterfeit a murderous
dialogue; but this was to be so conducted that another, and not
yourself, should appear to be the object. I was not aware of the
possibility that you should appropriate these menaces to yourself. Had
you been still and listened, you would have heard the struggles and
prayers of the victim, who would likewise have appeared to be shut up in
the closet, and whose voice would have been Judith's. This scene would
have been an appeal to your compassion; and the proof of cowardice
or courage which I expected from you, would have been your remaining
inactive in your bed, or your entering the closet with a view to assist
the sufferer. Some instances which Judith related of your fearlessness
and promptitude made me adopt the latter supposition with some degree of
confidence.
"By the girl's direction I found a ladder, and mounted to your closet
window. This is scarcely large enough to admit the head, but it answered
my purpose too well.
"I cannot express my confusion and surprize at your abrupt and
precipitate flight. I hastily removed the ladder; and, after some pause,
curiosity and doubts of your safety induced me to follow you. I found
you stretched on the turf before your brother's door, without sense or
motion. I felt the deepest regret at this unlooked-for consequence of
my scheme. I knew not what to do to procure you relief. The idea of
awakening the family naturally presented itself. This emergency was
critical, and there was no time to deliberate. It was a sudden thought
that occurred. I put my lips to the key-hole, and sounded an alarm which
effectually roused the sleepers. My organs were naturally forcible, and
had been improved by long and assiduous exercise.
"Long and bitterly did I repent of my scheme. I was somewhat consoled by
reflecting that my purpose had not been evil, and renewed my fruitless
vows never to attempt such dangerous experiments. For some time I
adhered, with laudable forbearance, to this resolution.
"My life has been a life of hardship and exposure. In the summer I
prefer to make my bed of the smooth turf, or, at most, the shelter of a
summer-house suffices. In all my rambles I never found a spot in which
so many picturesque beauties and rural delights were assembled as at
Mettingen. No corner of your little domain unites fragrance and secrecy
in so perfect a degree as the recess in the bank. The odour of its
leaves, the coolness of its shade, and the music of its water-fall,
had early attracted my attention. Here my sadness was converted into
peaceful melancholy--here my slumbers were sound, and my pleasures
enhanced.
"As most free from interruption, I chose this as the scene of my
midnight interviews with Judith. One evening, as the sun declined, I was
seated here, when I was alarmed by your approach. It was with difficulty
that I effected my escape unnoticed by you.
"At the customary hour, I returned to your habitation, and was made
acquainted by Judith, with your unusual absence. I half suspected the
true cause, and felt uneasiness at the danger there was that I should be
deprived of my retreat; or, at least, interrupted in the possession
of it. The girl, likewise, informed me, that among your other
singularities, it was not uncommon for you to leave your bed, and walk
forth for the sake of night-airs and starlight contemplations.
"I desired to prevent this inconvenience. I found you easily swayed
by fear. I was influenced, in my choice of means, by the facility and
certainty of that to which I had been accustomed. All that I forsaw was,
that, in future, this spot would be cautiously shunned by you.
"I entered the recess with the utmost caution, and discovered, by your
breathings, in what condition you were. The unexpected interpretation
which you placed upon my former proceeding, suggested my conduct on
the present occasion. The mode in which heaven is said by the poet, to
interfere for the prevention of crimes, [**] was somewhat analogous to my
province, and never failed to occur to me at seasons like this. It
was requisite to break your slumbers, and for this end I uttered the
powerful monosyllable, "hold! hold!" My purpose was not prescribed by
duty, yet surely it was far from being atrocious and inexpiable. To
effect it, I uttered what was false, but it was well suited to my
purpose. Nothing less was intended than to injure you. Nay, the evil
resulting from my former act, was partly removed by assuring you that in
all places but this you were safe.
* _Biloquium_, or ventrilocution. Sound is varied according
to the variations of direction and distance. The art of the
ventriloquist consists in modifying his voice according to
all these variations, without changing his place. See the
work of the Abbe de la Chappelle, in which are accurately
recorded the performances of one of these artists, and some
ingenious, though unsatisfactory speculations are given on
the means by which the effects are produced. This power is,
perhaps, given by nature, but is doubtless improvable, if
not acquirable, by art. It may, possibly, consist in an
unusual flexibility or exertion of the bottom of the tongue
and the uvula. That speech is producible by these alone must
be granted, since anatomists mention two instances of
persons speaking without a tongue. In one case, the organ
was originally wanting, but its place was supplied by a
small tubercle, and the uvula was perfect. In the other, the
tongue was destroyed by disease, but probably a small part
of it remained.
This power is difficult to explain, but the fact is
undeniable. Experience shews that the human voice can
imitate the voice of all men and of all inferior animals.
The sound of musical instruments, and even noises from the
contact of inanimate substances, have been accurately
imitated. The mimicry of animals is notorious; and Dr.
Burney (Musical Travels) mentions one who imitated a flute
and violin, so as to deceive even his ears.
**--Peeps through the blanket of the dark, and cries Hold!
Hold!--SHAKESPEARE.