University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Some time had elapsed when there happened
another occurrence, still more remarkable. Pleyel,
on his return from Europe, brought information of
considerable importance to my brother. My ancestors
were noble Saxons, and possessed large domains
in Lusatia. The Prussian wars had destroyed
those persons whose right to these estates precluded
my brother's. Pleyel had been exact in his
inquiries, and had discovered that, by the law
of male-primogeniture, my brother's claims were
superior to those of any other person now living.
Nothing was wanting but his presence in that
country, and a legal application to establish this
claim.

Pleyel strenuously recommended this measure.
The advantages he thought attending it were numerous,
and it would argue the utmost folly to
neglect them. Contrary to his expectation he
found my brother averse to the scheme. Slight efforts,
he, at first, thought would subdue his reluctance;
but he found this aversion by no means
slight. The interest that he took in the happiness
of his friend and his sister, and his own partiality
to the Saxon soil, from which he had likewise
sprung, and where he had spen; several years of
his youth, made him redouble his exertions to win
Wieland's consent. For this end he employed every
argument that his invention could suggest. He painted,
in attractive colours, the state of manners and
government in that country, the security of civil
rights, and the freedom of religious sentiments. He

dwelt on the privileges of wealth and rank, and
drew from the servile condition of one class, an
argument in favor of his scheme, since the revenue
and power annexed to a German principality afford
so large a field for benevolence. The evil
flowing from this power, in malignant hands, was
proportioned to the good that would arise from the
virtuous use of it. Hence, Wieland, in forbearing
to claim his own, withheld all the positive felicity
that would accrue to his vassals from his success,
and hazarded all the misery that would redound
from a less enlightened proprietor.

It was easy for my brother to repel these arguments,
and to shew that no spot on the globe enjoyed
equal security and liberty to that which he
at present inhabited. That if the Saxons had nothing
to fear from mis-government, the external
causes of havoc and alarm were numerous and
manifest. The recent devastations committed by
the Prussians furnished a specimen of these. The
horrors of war would always impend over them,
till Germany were seized and divided by Austrian
and Prussian tyrants; an event which he strongly
suspected was at no great distance. But setting
these considerations aside, was it laudable to grasp
at wealth and power even when they were within
our reach? Were not these the two great sources
of depravity? What security had he, that in this
change of place and condition, he should not degenerate
into a tyrant and voluptuary? Power
and riches were chiefly to be dreaded on account of
their tendency to deprave the possessor. He held
them in abhorrence, not only as instruments of
misery to others, but to him on whom they were
conserred. Besides, riches were comparative, and
was he not rich already? He lived at present in the

bosom of security and luxury. All the instruments
of pleasure, on which his reason or imagination
set any value, were within his reach. But these
he must forego, for the sake of advantages which,
whatever were their value, were as yet uncertain.
In pursuit of an imaginary addition to his wealth,
he must reduce himself to poverty, he must exchange
present certainties for what was distant and contingent;
for who knows not that the law is a system
of expence, delay and uncertainty? If he should
embrace this scheme, it would lay him under the
necessity of making a voyage to Europe, and remaining
for a certain period, separate from his
family. He must undergo the perils and discomforts
of the ocean; he must divest himself of all
domestic pleasures; he must deprive his wise of her
companion, and his children of a father and instructor,
and all for what? For the ambiguous advantages
which overgrown wealth and flagitious tyranny
have to bestow? For a precarious possession in a land
of turbulence and war? Advantages, which will
not certainly be gained, and of which the acquistion,
if it were sure, is necessarily distant.

Pleyel was enamoured of his scheme on account
of its intrinsic benefits, but, likewise, for other reasons.
His abode at Leipsig made that country
appear to him like home. He was connected with
this place by many social ties. While there he had
not escaped the amorous contagion. But the lady,
though her heart was impressed in his favor, was
compelled to bestow her hand upon another. Death
had removed this impediment, and he was now invited
by the lady herself to return. This he was
of course determined to do, but was anxious to obtain
the company of Wieland; he could not bear
to think of an eternal separation from his present

associates. Their interest, he thought, would be no
less promoted by the change than his own. Hence
he was importunate and indesatigable in his arguments
and solicitations.

He knew that he could not hope for mine or his
sister's ready concurrence in this scheme. Should
the subject be mentioned to us, we should league
our efforts against him, and strengthen that reluctance
in Wieland which already was sufficiently
difficult to conquer. He, therefore, anxiously concealed
from us his purpose. If Wieland were
previously enlisted in his cause, he would find it a
less difficult task to overcome our aversion. My
brother was silent on this subject, because he believed
himself in no danger of changing his opinion,
and he was willing to save us from any uneasiness.
The mere mention of such a scheme, and the possibility
of his embracing it, he knew, would considerably
impair our tranquillity.

One day, about three weeks subsequent to the
mysterious call, it was agreed that the family should
be my guests. Seldom had a day been passed by
us, of more serene enjoyment. Pleyel had promised
us his company, but we did not see him till the
sun had nearly declined. He brought with him a
countenance that betokened disappointment and
vexation. He did not wait for our inquiries, but
immediately explained the cause. Two days before
a packet had arrived from Hamburgh, by which
he had slattered himself with the expectation of
receiving letters, but no letters had arrived. I never
saw him so much subdued by an untoward event.
His thoughts were employed in accounting for the
silence of his friends. He was seized with the torments
of jealousy, and suspected nothing less than
the insidelity of her to whom he had devoted his

heart. The silence must have been concerted.
Her sickness, or absence, or death, would have increased
the certainty of some one's having written.
No supposition could be formed but that his mistress
had grown indifferent, or that she had transferred
her affections to another. The miscarriage
of a letter was hardly within the reach of possibility.
From Leipsig to Hamburgh, and from Hamburgh
hither, the conveyance was exposed to no hazard.

He had been so long detained in America chiefly
in consequence of Wieland's aversion to the scheme
which he proposed. He now became more impatient
than ever to return to Europe. When he
reflected that, by his delays, he had probably forfeited
the affections of his mistress, his sensations
amounted to agony. It only remained, by his
speedy departure, to repair, if possible, or prevent
so intolerable an evil. Already he had half resolved
to embark in this very ship which, he was informed,
would set out in a few weeks on her return.

Meanwhile he determined to make a new attempt
to shake the resolution of Wieland. The
evening was somewhat advanced when he invited
the latter to walk abroad with him. The invitation
was accepted, and they left Catharine, Louisa and
me, to amuse ourselves by the best means in our
power. During this walk, Pleyel renewed the
subject that was nearest his heart. He re-urged all
his former arguments, and placed them in more
forcible lights.

They promised to return shortly; but hour after
hour passed, and they made not their appearance.
Engaged in sprightly conversation, it was not till
the clock struck twelve that we were reminded of
the lapse of time. The absence of our friends excited
some uneasy apprehensions. We were expressing

our fears, and comparing our conjectures
as to what might be the cause, when they entered
together. There were indications in their countenances
that struck me mute. These were unnoticed
by Catharine, who was eager to express her
surprize and curiosity at the length of their
walk. As they listened to her, I remarked that
their surprize was not less than ours. They
gazed in silence on each other, and on her. I
watched their looks, but could not understand the
emotions that were written in them.

These appearances diverted Catharine's inquiries
into a new channel. What did they mean, she
asked, by their silence, and by their thus gazing
wildly at each other, and at her? Pleyel profited by
this hint, and assuming an air of indifference, framed
some trifling excuse, at the same time darting significant
glances at Wieland, as if to caution him
against disclosing the truth. My brother said nothing,
but delivered himself up to meditation. I
likewise was silent, but burned with impatience to
fathom this mystery. Presently my brother and
his wife, and Louisa, returned home. Pleyel proposed,
of his own accord, to be my guest for the
night. This circumstance, in addition to those
which preceded, gave new edge to my wonder.

As soon as we were left alone, Pleyel's countenance
assumed an air of seriousness, and even consternation,
which I had never before beheld in him.
The steps with which he measured the floor betokened
the trouble of his thoughts. My inquiries were
suspended by the hope that he would give me the
information that I wanted without the importunity
of questions. I waited some time, but the confusion
of his thoughts appeared in no degree to abate.
At length I mentioned the apprehensions which

their unusual absence had occasioned, and which
were increased by their behaviour since their return,
and solicited an explanation. He stopped when I
began to speak, and looked stedfastly at me. When
I had done, he said, to me, in a tone which faultered
through the vehemence of his emotions, “How
were you employed during our absence?” “In
curning over the Della Crusca dictionary, and talking
on different subjects; but just before your entrance,
we were tormenting ourselves with omens
and prognosticks relative to your absence.” “Catharine
was with you the whole time?” “Yes,”
“But are you fure?” “Most sure. She was not
absent a moment.” He stood, for a time, as if to
assure himself of my sincerity. Then, clenching
his hands, and wildly lifting them above his head,
“Lo,” cried he, “I have news to tell you. The
Baroness de Stolberg is dead?”

This was her whom he loved. I was not surprised
at the agitations which he betrayed. “But
how was the information procured? How was
the truth of this news connected with the circumstance
of Catharine's remaining in our company?”
He was for some time inattentive to my questions.
When he spoke, it seemed merely a continuation of
the reverie into which he had been plunged.

“And yet it might be a mere deception. But
could both of us in that case have been deceived?
A rare and prodigious coincidence! Barely not
impossible. And yet, if the accent be oracular—
Theresa is dead. No, no,” continued he, covering
his face with his hands, and in a tone half
broken into sobs, “I cannot believe it. She has
not written, but if she were dead, the faithful Bertrand
would have given me the earliest information.
And yet if he knew his master, he must have easily

gueffed at the effect of such tidings. In pity to me
he was silent.”

“Clara, forgive me; to you, this behaviour is
mysterious. I will explain as well as I am able.
But say not a word to Catharine. Her strength of
mind is inferior to your's. She will, besides, have
more reason to be startled. She is Wieland's angel.”

Pleyel proceeded to inform me, for the first time,
of the scheme which he had pressed, with so much
earnestness, on my brother. He enumerated the
objections which had been made, and the industry
with which he had endeavoured to confuse them.
He mentioned the effect upon his resolutions produced
by the failure of a letter. “During our late
walk,” continued he, “I introduced the subject
that was nearest my heart. I re-urged all my former
arguments, and placed them in more forcible lights.
Wieland was still refractory. He expatiated on
the perils of wealth and power, on the sacredness
of conjugal and parental duties, and the happiness
of mediocrity.

“No wonder that the time passed, unperceived,
away. Our whole souls were engaged in this
cause. Several times we came to the foot of the
rock; as soon as we perceived it, we changed
our course, but never failed to terminate our
circuitous and devious ramble at this spot. At
length your brother observed, “We seem to be
led hither by a kind of fatality. Since we are so
near, let us ascend and rest ourselves a while. If
you are not weary of this argument we will resume
it there.”

“I tacitly consented. We mounted the stairs,
and drawing the sofa in front of the river, we
seated ourselves upon it. I took up the thread of

our discourse where we had dropped it. I ridiculed
his dread of the sea, and his attachment to home.
I kept on in this strain, so congenial with my disposition,
for some time, uninterrupted by him. At
length, he said to me, “Suppose now that I, whom
argument has not convinced, should yield to ridicule,
and should agree that your scheme is eligible;
what will you have gained? Nothing. You
have other enemies beside myself to encounter.
When you have vanquished me, your toil has
scarcely begun. There are my sister and wife,
with whom it will remain for you to maintain the
contest. And trust me, they are adversaries whom
all your force and stratagem will never subdue.”
I insinuated that they would model themselves by
his will: that Catharine would think obedience
her duty. He answered, with some quickness,
“You mistake. Their concurrence is indispensable.
It is not my custom to exact sacrifices of
this kind. I live to be their protector and friend,
and not their tyrant and foe. If my wife shall
deem her happiness, and that of her children, most
consulted by remaining where she is, here she shall
remain.” “But,” said I, “when she knows your
pleasure, will she not conform to it?” Before
my friend had time to answer this question, a negative
was clearly and distinctly uttered from another
quarter. It did not come from one side or the
other, from before us or behind. Whence then
did it come? By whose organs was it fashioned?

“If any uncertainty had existed with regard to
these particulars, it would have been removed by a
deliberate and equally distinct repetition of the same
monosyllable, “No.” The voice was my sister's.
It appeared to come from the roof. I started from
my seat. Catharine, exclaimed I, where are you?

No answer was returned. I searched the room,
and the area before it, but in vain. Your brother
was motionless in his seat. I returned to him,
and placed myself again by his side. My astonishment
was not less than his.”

“Well,” said he, at length, “What think you
of this? This is the self-same voice which I formerly
heard; you are now convinced that my ears
were well informed.”

“Yes,” said I, “this, it is plain, is no fiction
of the fancy.” We again sunk into mutual and
thoughtful silence. A recollection of the hour,
and of the length of our absence, made me at last
propose to return. We rose up for this purpose.
In doing this, my mind reverted to the contemplation
of my own condition. “Yes,” said I aloud,
but without particularly addressing myself to Wieland,
“my resolution is taken. I cannot hope to
prevail with my friends to accompany me. They
may doze away their days on the banks of Schuylkill,
but as to me, I go in the next vessel; I will
fly to her presence, and demand the reason of this
extraordinary silence.”

“I had scarcely finished the sentence, when the
same mysterious voice exclaimed, “You shall not
go. The seal of death is on her lips. Her silence
is the silence of the tomb.” Think of the effects
which accents like these must have had upon me.
I shuddered as I liftened. As soon as I recovered
from my first amazement, “Who is it that speaks?”
said I, “whence did you procure these dismal tidings?”
I did not wait long for an answer. “From
a source that cannot fail. Be satisfied. She is dead.”
You may justly be surprised, that, in the circumstances
in which I heard the tidings, and notwithstanding
the mystery which environed him by

whom they were imparted, I could give an undivided
attention to the facts, which were the subject
of our dialogue. I eagerly inquired, when and
where did she die? What was the cause of her
death? Was her death absolutely certain? An
answer was returned only to the last of these questions.
“Yes,” was pronounced by the same voice;
but it now sounded from a greater distance, and
the deepest silence was all the return made to my
subsequent interrogatories.

“It was my sister's voice; but it could not be
uttered by her; and yet, if not by her, by whom
was it uttered? When we returned hither, and
discovered you together, the doubt that had previously
existed was removed. It was manifest that
the intimation came not from her. Yet if not
from her, from whom could it come? Are the
circumstances attending the imparting of this news
proof that the tidings are true? God forbid that
they should be true.”

Here Pleyel sunk into anxious silence, and gave
me leisure to ruminate on this inexplicable event.
I am at a loss to describe the sensations that affected
me. I am not fearful of shadows. The tales of
apparitions and enchantments did not possess that
power over my belief which could even render
them interesting. I saw nothing in them but ignorance
and folly, and was a stranger even to that
terror which is pleasing. But this incident was
different from any that I had ever before known.
Here were proofs of a sensible and intelligent
existence, which could not be denied. Here was
information obtained and imparted by means unquestionably
super-human.

That there are confcious beings, beside ourselves,
in existence, whose modes of activity and information

surpass our own, can scarcely be denied.
Is there a glimpse afforded us into a world of these
superior beings? My heart was scarcely large
enough to give admittance to so swelling a thought.
An awe, the sweetest and most solemn that imagination
can conceive, pervaded my whole frame.
It forsook me not when I parted from Pleyel and
retired to my chamber. An impulse was given to
my spirits utterly incompatible with sleep. I passed
the night wakeful and full of meditation. I was
impressed with the belief of mysterious, but not of
malignant agency. Hitherto nothing had occurred
to persuade me that this airy minister was busy to
evil rather than to good purposes. On the contrary,
the idea of superior virtue had always been
associated in my mind with that of superior power.
The warnings that had thus been heard appeared
to have been prompted by beneficent intentions.
My brother had been hindered by this voice from
ascending the hill. He was told that danger lurked
in his path, and his obedience to the intimation had
perhaps saved him from a destiny similar to that
of my father.

Pleyel had been rescued from tormenting uncertainty,
and from the hazards and fatigues of a
fruitless voyage, by the same interposition. It had
assured him of the death of his Theresa.

This woman was then dead. A confirmation
of the tidings, if true, would speedily arrive. Was
this confirmation to be deprecated or desired? By
her death, the tie that attached him to Europe, was
taken away. Henceforward every motive would
combine to retain him in his native country, and
we were rescued from the deep regrets that would
accompany his hopeless absence from us, Propitious
was the spirit that imparted these tidings.

Propitious he would perhaps have been, if he had
been instrumental in producing, as well as in communicating
the ridings of her death. Propitious to
us, the friends of Pleyel, to whom has thereby been
secured the enjoyment of his society; and not unpropitious
to himself; for though this object of his love
be snatched away, is there not another who is able
and willing to console him for her loss?

Twenty days after this, another vessel arrived
from the same port. In this interval, Pleyel, for
the most part, estranged himself from his old companions.
He was become the prey of a gloomy
and unsociable grief. His walks were limited to
the bank of the Delaware. This bank is an
artificial one. Reeds and the river are on one side,
and a watery marsh on the other, in that part
which bounded his lands, and which extended from
the mouth of Hollander's creek to that of Schuylkill.
No scene can be imagined less enticing to a
lover of the picturesque than this. The shore is
deformed with mud, and incumbered with a forest
of reeds. The fields, in most seasons, are mire;
but when they afford a firm footing, the ditches
by which they are bounded and intersected, are
mantled with stagnating green, and emit the most
noxious exhalations. Health is no less a stranger
to those seats than pleasure. Spring and autumn
are sure to be accompanied with agues and bilious
remittents.

The scenes which environed our dwellings at
Mettingen constituted the reverse of this. Schuylkill
was here a pure and translucid current, broken
into wild and ceaseless music by rocky points, muranuring
on a sandy margin, and reflecting on its
surface, banks of all varieties of height and degrees
of declivity. These banks were chequered by

patches of dark verdure and shapeless masses of
white marble, and crowned by copses of cedar,
or by the regular magnificence of orchards, which,
at this season, were in blossom, and were prodigal
of odours. The ground which receded from the
river was sccoped into valleys and dales. Its beauties
were enhanced by the horticultural skill of my
brother, who bedecked this exquisite assembluge of
slopes and risings with every species of vegetable
ornament, from the giant arms of the oak to the
clustering tendrils of the honey-suckle.

To screen him from the unwholesome airs of
his own residence, it had been proposed to Pleyel
to spend the months of spring with us. He had
apparently acquiesced in this proposal; but the late
event induced him to change his purpose. He was
only to be seen by visiting him in his retirements.
His gaiety had flown, and every passion was absorbed
in eagerness to procure tidings from Saxony. I
have mentioned the arrival of another vessel from
the Elbe. He descried her early one morning as
he was passing along the skirt of the river. She
was easily recognized, being the ship in which he
had performed his first voyage to Germany. He
immediately went on board, but found no letters
directed to him. This omission was, in some degree,
compensated by meeting with an old acquaintance
among the passengers, who had till lately been
a resident in Leipsig. This person put an end to
all suspense respecting the fate of Theresa, by relating
the particulars of her death and funeral.

Thus was the truth of the former intimation
attested. No longer devoured by suspense, the
grief of Pleyel was not long in yielding to the influence
of society. He gave himself up once more
to our company. His vivacity had indeed been

damped; but even in this respect he was a more
acceptable companion than formerly, since his seriousness
was neither incommunicative nor sullen.

These incidents, for a time, occupied all our
thoughts. In me they produced a sentiment not
unallied to pleasure, and more speedily than in the
case of my friends were intermixed with other topics.
My brother was particularly affected by them.
It was easy to perceive that most of his meditations
were tinctured from this source. To this was to
be ascribed a design in which his pen was, at this
period, engaged, of collecting and investigating the
facts which relate to that mysterious personage,
the Dæmon of Socrates.

My brother's skill in Greek and Roman learning
was exceeded by that of few, and no doubt the
world would have accepted a treatise upon this
subject from his hand with avidity; but alas! this
and every other scheme of selicity and honor,
were doomed to sudden blast and hopeless extermination.