University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

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.