University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

I now come to the mention of a person with
whose name the most turbulent sensations are connected.
It is with a shuddering reluctance that I
enter on the province of describing him. Now it
is that I begin to perceive the difficulty of the task
which I have undertaken; but it would be weakness
to shrink from it. My blood is congealed: and
my fingers are palsied when I call up his image.
Shame upon my cowardly and infirm heart! Hitherto
I have proceeded with some degree of composure,
but now I must pause. I mean not that
dire remembrance shall subdue my courage or baffle
my design, but this weakness cannot be immediately
conquered. I must desist for a little while.

I have taken a few turns in my chamber, and
have gathered strength enough to proceed. Yet
have I not projected a task beyond my power to
execute? If thus, on the very threshold of the
scene, my knees faulter and I sink, how shall I support
myself, when I rush into the midst of horrors
such as no heart has hitherto conceived, nor tongue
related? I sicken and recoil at the prospect, and yet
my irresolution is momentary. I have not formed
this design upon slight grounds, and though I may at
times pause and hesitate, I will not be finally
diverted from it.

And thou, O most fatal and potent of mankind,
in what terms shall I describe thee? What words
are adequate to the just delineation of thy character?
How shall I detail the means which rendered

the secrecy of thy purposes unfathomable? But
I will not anticipate. Let me recover if possible,
a sober strain. Let me keep down the flood of
passion that would render me precipitate or powerless.
Let me stifle the agonies that are awakened
by thy name. Let me, for a time, regard thee as a
being of no terrible attributes. Let me tear myself
from contemplation of the evils of which it is but
too certain that thou wast the author, and limit my
view to those harmless appearances which attended
thy entrance on the stage.

One sunny afternoon, I was standing in the door
of my house, when I marked a person passing close
to the edge of the bank that was in front. His
pace was a careless and lingering one, and had
none of that gracefulness and ease which distinguish
a person with certain advantages of education
from a clown. His gait was rustic and
aukward. His form was ungainly and disproportioned.
Shoulders broad and square, breast sunken,
his head drooping, his body of uniform breadth,
supported by long and lank legs, were the ingredients
of his frame. His garb was not ill adapted
to such a figure. A slouched hat, tarnished by the
weather, a coat of thick grey cloth, cut and
wrought, as it seemed, by a country tailor, blue
worsted stockings, and shoes fastened by thongs,
and deeply discoloured by dust, which brush had
never disturbed, constituted his dress.

There was nothing remarkable in these appearances;
they were frequently to be met with on the
road, and in the harvest field. I cannot tell why
I gazed upon them, on this occasion, with more
than ordinary attention, unless it were that such
figures were seldom steen by me, except on the road
or field. This lawn was only traversed by men

whose views were directed to the pleasures of the
walk, or the grandeur of the scenery.

He passed slowly along, frequently pausing, as
if to examine the prospect more deliberately, but
never turning his eye towards the house, so as to
allow me a view of his countenance. Presently,
he entered a copse at a small distance, and disappeared.
My eye followed him while he remained
in sight. If his image remained for any duration
in my fancy after his departure, it was because no
other object occurred sufficient to expel it.

I continued in the same spot for half an hour,
vaguely, and by fits, contemplating the image of this
wanderer, and drawing, from outward appearances,
those inferences with respect to the intellectual
history of this person, which experience affords us.
I reflected on the alliance which commonly subsists
between ignorance and the practice of agriculture,
and indulged myself in airy speculations as to the
influence of progressive knowledge in dissolving
this alliance, and embodying the dreams of the
poets. I asked why the plough and the hoe might
not become the trade of every human being, and
how this trade might be made conducive to, or, at
least, consistent with the acquisition of wisdom
and eloquence.

Weary with these reflections, I returned to the
kitchen to perform some household office. I had
usually but one servant, and she was a girl about
my own age. I was busy near the chimney, and
she was employed near the door of the apartment,
when some one knocked. The door was opened
by her, and she was immediately addressed with
“Pry'thee, good girl, canst thou supply a thirsty
man with a glass of buttermilk?” She answered
that there was none in the house. “Aye, but

there is some in the dairy yonder. Thou knowest
as well as I, though Hermes never taught thee, that
though every dairy be an house, every house is not
a dairy.” To this speech, though she understood
only a part of it, she replied by repeating her assurances,
that she had none to give. “Well then,”
rejoined the stranger, “for charity's sweet sake, hand
me forth a cup of cold water.” The girl said she
would go to the spring and fetch it. “Nay, give
me the cup, and suffer me to help myself. Neither
manacled nor lame, I should merit burial in the
maw of carrion crows, if I laid this task upon
thee.” She gave him the cup, and he turned to
go to the spring.

I listened to this dialogue in silence. The words
uttered by the person without, affected me as somewhat
singular, but what chiefly rendered them remarkable,
was the tone that accompanied them. It
was wholly new. My brother's voice and Pleyel's
were musical and energetic. I had fondly imagined,
that, in this respect, they were surpassed by
none. Now my mistake was detected. I cannot
pretend to communicate the impression that was
made upon me by these accents, or to depict the
degree in which force and sweetness were blended
in them. They were articulated with a distinctness
that was unexampled in my experience. But
this was not all. The voice was not only mellifluent
and clear, but the emphasis was so just, and
the modulation so impassioned, that it seemed as if
an heart of stone could not fail of being moved by
it. It imparted to me an emotion altogether involuntary
and incontroulable. When he uttered
the words “for charity's sweet sake,” I dropped the
cloth that I held in my hand, my heart overflowed
with sympathy, and my eyes with unbidden tears.

This description will appear to you trifling or
incredible. The importance of these circumstances
will be manisested in the scquel. The manner in
which I was affected on this occasion, was, to
my own apprehension, a subject of astonishment.
The tones were indeed such as I never heard before;
but that they should, in an inftant, as it
were, dissolve me in tears, will not easily believed
by others, and can scarcely be comprehended
by myself.

It will be readily supposed that I was somewhat
inquisitive as to the person and demeanour of our
visitant. After a moment's pause, I stepped to the
door and looked after him. Judge my surprize,
when I beheld the self-same figure that had appeared
an half hour before upon the bank. My fancy
had conjured up a very different image. A form,
and attitude, and garb, were instantly created worthy
to accompany such elocution; but this person
was, in all visible respects, the reverse of this phantom.
Strange as it may seem, I could not speedily
reconcile myself to this disappointment. Instead
of returning to my employment, I threw myself in
a chair that was placed opposite the door, and sunk
into a fit of musing.

My attention was, in a few minutes, recalled
by the stranger, who returned with the empty cup
in his hand. I had not thought of the circumstance,
or should certainly have chosen a different
seat. He no sooner shewed himself, than a confused
sense of impropriety, added to the suddenness
of the interview, for which, not having foreseen it,
I had made no preparation, threw me into a state
of the most painful embarrassment. He brought
with him a placid brow; but no sooner had he cast
his eyes upon me, than his face was as glowingly

suffused as my own. He placed the cup upon the
bench, stammered out thanks, and retired.

It was some time before I could recover my wonted
composure. I had snatched a view of the stranger's
countenance. The impression that it made was
vivid and indelible. His cheeks were pallid and
lank, his eyes funken, his forehead overshadowed
by coarse straggling hairs, his teeth large and irregular,
though found and brilliantly white, and his
chin discoloured by a tetter. His skin was of
coarse grain, and sallow hue. Every feature was
wide of beauty, and the outline of his face reminded
you of an inverted cone.

And yet his forehead, so far as shaggy locks.
would allow it to be seen, his eyes lustroufly black,
and possessing, in the midst of haggardness, a radiance
inexpressibly serene and potent, and something
in the rest of his features, which it would be in
vain to describe, but which served to betoken a
mind of the highest order, were essential ingredients
in the portrait. This, in the effects which immediately
flowed from it, I count among the most extraordinary
incidents of my life. This face, seen
for a moment, continued for hours to occupy my
fancy, to the exclusion of almost every other image.
I had purposed to spend the evening with my brother,
but I could not resist the inclination of forming
a sketch upon paper of this memorable visage.
Whether my hand was aided by any peculiar inspiration,
or I was deceived by my own fond conceptions,
this portrait, though hastily executed, appeared
unexceptionable to my own taste.

I placed it at all distances, and in all lights; my
eyes were rivetted upon it. Half the night passed
away in wakefulness and in contemplation of this
picture. So flexible, and yet so stubborn, is the

human mind. So obedient to impulses the most
transient and brief, and yet so unalterably observant
of the direction which is given to it! How little did
I then foresee the termination of that chain, of which
this may be regarded as the first link?

Next day arose in darkness and storm. Torrents
of rain fell during the whole day, attended
with incessant thunder, which reverberated in stunning
echoes from the opposite declivity. The inclemency
of the air would not allow me to walk
out. I had, indeed, no inclination to leave my
apartment. I betook myself to the contemplation
of this portrait, whose attractions time had
rather enhanced than diminished. I laid aside my
usual occupations, and seating myself at a window,
consumed the day in alternately looking out upon
the storm, and gazing at the picture which lay
upon a table before me. You will, perhaps, deem
this conduct somewhat singular, and ascribe it to
certain peculiarities of temper. I am not aware
of any such peculiarities. I can account for my
devotion to this image no otherwise, than by supposing
that its properties were rare and prodigious.
Perhaps you will suspect that such were the first inroads
of a passion incident to every female heart,
and which frequently gains a sooting by means even
more slight, and more improbable than these. I
shall not controvert the reasonableness of the suspicion,
but leave you at liberty to draw; from my
narrative, what conclusions you please.

Night at length returned, and the storm ceased.
The air was once more clear and calm, and bore
an assecting contrast to that uproar of the elements
by which it had been preceded. I spent the darksome
hours, as I spent the day, contemplative and
seated at the window. Why was my mind abforbed

in thoughts ominous and dreary? Why did
my bosom heave with fighs, and my eyes overflow
with tears? Was the tempest that had just past
a signal of the ruin which impended over me?
My soul fondly dwelt upon the images of my
brother and his children, yet they only increased
the mournfulness of my contemplations. The
smiles of the charming babes were as bland as
formerly. The same dignity sat on the brow of
their father, and yet I thought of them with anguish.
Something whispered that the happiness
we at present enjoyed was set on mutable foundations.
Death must happen to all. Whether our
felicity was to be subverted by it to-morrow, or
whether it was ordained that we should lay down
our heads full of years and of honor, was a question
that no human being could solve. At other times,
these ideas seldom intruded. I either forbore to reflect
upon the destiny that is reserved for all men,
or the reflection was mixed up with images that
disrobed it of terror; but now the uncertainty of life
occurred to me without any of its usual and alleviating
accompaniments. I said to myself, we must
die. Sooner or later, we must disappear for ever
from the face of the earth. Whatever be the links
that hold us to life, they must be broken. This
scene of existence is, in alĺ its parts, calamitous. The
greater number is oppressed with immediate evils,
and those, the tide of whose fortunes is full, how
sinall is their portion of enjoyment, since they know
that it will terminate.

For some time I indulged myself, without reluctance,
in these gloomy thoughts; but at length,
the dejection which they produced became insupportably
painful. I endeavoured to dissipate it with
music. I had all my grand-father's melody as well

as poetry by rote. I now lighted by chance on a
ballad, which commemorated the fate of a German
Cavalier, who fell at the siege of Nice under Godfrey
of Bouillon. My choice was unfortunate, for
the scenes of violence and carnage which were here
wildly but forcibly pourtrayed, only suggested to
my thoughts a new topic in the horrors of war.

I sought refuge, but ineffectually, in sleep. My
mind was thronged by vivid, but confused images,
and no effort that I made was sufficient to drive
them away. In this situation I heard the clock,
which hung in the room, give the signal for twelve.
It was the same instrument which formerly hung
in my father's chamber, and which, on account of
its being his workmanship, was regarded, by every
one of our family, with veneration. It had fallen
to me, in the division of his property, and was
placed in this asylum. The sound awakened a
series of reflections, respecting his death. I was
not allowed to pursue them; for scarcely had the
vibrations ceased, when my attention was attracted
by a whisper, which, at first, appeared to proceed
from lips that were laid close to my ear.

No wonder that a circumstance like this startled
me. In the first impulse of my terror, I uttered a
slight scream, and shrunk to the opposite side of the
bed. In a moment, however, I recovered from my
trepidation. I was habitually indifferent to all the
causes of fear, by which the majority are afflicted.
I entertained no apprehension of either ghosts or
robbers. Our security had never been molested by
either, and I made use of no means to prevent or
counterwork their machinations. My tranquillity,
on this occasion, was quickly retrieved. The
whisper evidently proceeded from one who was
posted at my bed-side. The first idea that suggested

itself was, that it was uttered by the girl who lived
with me as a servant. Perhaps, somewhat had
alarmed her, or she was sick, and had come to request
my assistance. By whispering in my ear, she
intended to rouse without alarming me.

Full of this persuasion, I called; “Judith,” said
I, “is it you? What do you want? Is there
any thing the matter with you?” No answer was
returned. I repeated my inquiry, but equally in
vain. Cloudy as was the atmosphere, and curtained
as my bed was, nothing was visible, I
withdrew the curtain, and leaning my head on my
clbow, I liftened with the deepest attention to catch
some new sound. Meanwhile, I ran over in my
thoughts, every circumstance that could assist my
conjectures.

My habitation was a wooden edifice, consisting
of two stories. In each story were two rooms,
separated by an entry, or middle passage, with
which they communicated by opposite doors. The
passage, on the lower story, had doors at the two
ends, and a stair-case. Windows answered to the
doors on the upper story. Annexed to this, on the
eastern side, were wings, divided, in like manner,
into an upper and lower room; one of them comprized
a kitchen, and chamber above it for the servant,
and communicated, on both stories, with the
parlour adjoining it below, and the chamber adjoining
it above. The opposite wing is of smaller
dimensions, the rooms not being above eight feet
square. The lower of these was used as a depository
of household implements, the upper was a
closet in which I deposited my books and papers.
They had but one inlet, which was from the room
adjoining. There was no window in the lower
one, and in the upper, a small aperture which communicated

light and air, but would scarcely admit
the body. The door which led into this, was
close to my bed-head, and was always locked, but
when I myself was within. The avenues below
were accustomed to be closed and bolted at nights.

The maid was my only companion, and she
could not reach my chamber without previously
passing through the opposite chamber, and the middle
passage, of which, however, the doors were
usually unfastened. If she had occasioned this
noise, she would have answered my repeated calls.
No other conclusion, therefore, was left me, but
that I had mistaken the sounds, and that my imagination
had transformed some casual noise into the
voice of a human creature. Satisfied with this
solution, I was preparing to relinquish my listening
attitude, when my ear was again saluted with a
new and yet louder whispering. It appeared, as before,
to issue from lips that touched my pillow. A
second effort of attention, however, clearly shewed
me, that the founds issued from within the closet,
the door of which was not more than eight inches
from my pillow.

This second interruption occasioned a shock less
vehement than the former. I started, but gave no
audible token of alarm. I was so much mistress
of my feelings, as to continue listening to what
should be said. The whisper was distinct, hoarse,
and uttered so as to shew that the speaker was desirous
of being heard by some one near, but, at
the same time, studious to avoid being overheard
by any other.

“Stop, stop, I say; madmam as you are! there
are better means than that. Curse upon your
rashness! There is no need to shoot.”

Such were the words uttered in a tone of eagerncss

and anger, within so small a distance of
my pillow. What construction could I put upon
them? My heart began to palpitate with dread of
some unknown danger. Presently, another voice,
but equally near me, was heard whispering in answer.
“Why not? I will draw a trigger in this
business, but perdition be my lot if I do more.”
To this, the first voice returned, in a tone which
rage had heightened in a small degree above a
whisper, “Coward! stand aside, and see me do
it. I will grasp her throat; I will do her business
in an instant; she shall not have time so much
as to groan.” What wonder that I was petrified
by sounds so dreadful! Murderers lurked in my
closet. They were planning the means of my destruction.
One resolved to shoot, and the other
menaced suffocation. Their means being chosen,
they would forthwith break the door. Flight instantly
suggested itself as most eligible in circumstances
so perilous. I deliberated not a moment;
but, fear adding wings to my speed, I leaped out
of bed, and scantily robed as I was, rushed out of
the chamber, down stairs, and into the open air.
I can hardly recollect the process of turning keys,
and withdrawing bolts. My terrors urged me
forward with almost a mechanical impulse. I
stopped not till I reached my brother's door. I
had not gained the threshold, when, exhausted by
the violence of my emotions, and by my speed, I
sunk down in a sit.

How long I remained in this situation I know
not. When I recovered, I found myself stretched
on a bed, surrounded by my sister and her female
servants. I was astonished at the scene before me,
but gradually recovered the recollection of what
had happened. I answered their importunate inquiries

as well as I was able. My brother and
Pleyel, whom the storm of the preceding day
chanced to detain here, informing themselves of
every particular, proceeded with lights and weapons
to my deserted habitation. They entered my chamber
and my closet, and found every thing in its proper
place and customary order. The door of the
closet was locked, and appeared not to have been
opened in my ahsence. They went to Judith's
apartment. They found her asleep and in safety.
Pleyel's caution induced him to forbear alarming
the girl; and finding her wholly ignorant of what
had passed, they directed her to return to her chamber.
They then fastened the doors, and returned.

My friends were disposed to regard this transaction
as a dream. That persons should be actually
immured in this closet, to which, in the circumstances
of the time, access from without or within
was apparently impossible, they could not seriously
believe. That any human beings had intended
murder, unless it were to cover a scheme of pillage,
was incredible; but that no such design had been
formed, was evident from the security in which the
furniture of the house and the closet remained.

I revolved every incident and expression that had
occurred. My senses assured me of the truth of
them, and yet their abruptness and improbability
made me, in my turn, somewhat incredulous. The
adventure had made a deep impression on my fancy,
and it was not till after a week's abode at my brother's,
that I resolved to resume the possession of
my own dwelling.

There was another circumstance that enhanced
the mysteriousness of this event. After my recovery
it was obvious to inquire by what means the attention
of the family had been drawn to my situation.

I had fallen before I had reached the threshold, or
was able to give any signal. My brother related,
that while this was transacting in my chamber, he
himself was awake, in consequence of some slight
indisposition, and lay, according to his custom,
musing on some savorite topic. Suddenly the
silence, which was remarkably profound, was broken
by a voice of most piercing shrillness, that
seemed to be uttered by one in the hall below his
chamber. “Awake! arise!” it exclaimed: “hasten
to succour one that is dying at your door.”

This summons was effectual. There was no
one in the house who was not roused by it. Pleyel
was the first to obey, and my brother overtook him
before he reached the hall. What was the general
astonishment when your friend was discovered
stretched upon the grass before the door, pale,
ghastly, and with every mark of death!

This was the third instance of a voice, exerted
for the benefit of this little community. The agent
was no less inscrutable in this, than in the former
case. When I ruminated upon these events, my
soul was suspended in wonder and awe. Was I
really deceived in imagining that I heard the closet
conversation? I was no longer at liberty to question
the reality of those accents which had formerly
recalled my brother from the hill; which had imparted
tidings of the death of the German lady to
Pleyel; and which had lately summoned them to
my assistance.

But how was I to regard this midnight conversation?
Hoarse and manlike voices conserring on
the means of death, so near my bed, and at such
an hour! How had my ancient security vanished!
That dwelling, which had hitherto been an inviolate
asylum, was now beset with danger to my life.

That solitude, formerly so dear to me, could no
longer be endured. Pleyel, who had consented to
reside with us during the months of spring, lodged
in the vacant chamber, in order to quiet my alarms.
He treated my fears with ridicule, and in a short
time very sight traces of them remained: but as it
was wholly indifferent to him whether his nights
were passed at my house or at my brother's, this
arrangement gave general satissaction.