University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

I had no inclination nor power to move from
this spot. For more than an hour, my faculties
and limbs seemed to be deprived of all activity.
The door below creaked on its hinges, and steps
ascended the stairs. My wandering and confused
thoughts were instantly recalled by these sounds,
and dropping the curtain of the bed, I moved to a
part of the room where any one who entered
should be visible; such are the vibrations of sentiment,
that notwithstanding the seeming fulfilment
of my fears, and increase of my danger, I
was conscious, on this occasion, to no turbulence
but that of curiosity.

At length he entered the apartment, and I recognized
my brother. It was the same Wieland
whom I had ever seen. Yet his features were
pervaded by a new expression. I supposed him
unacquainted with the fate of his wife, and his appearance
confirmed this persuasion. A brow expanding
into exultation I had hitherto never seen
in him, yet such a brow did he now wear. Not
only was he unapprized of the disaster that had happened,
but some joyous occurrence had betided.
What a reverse was preparing to annihilate his transitory
bliss! No husband ever doated more fondly,
for no wife ever claimed so boundless a devotion. I
was not uncertain as to the effects to flow from the
discovery of her fate. I confided not at all in the
efforts of his reason or his piety. There were few

evils which his modes of thinking would not disarm
of their sting; but here, all opiates to grief, and all
compellers of patience were vain. This spectacle
would be unavoidably followed by the outrages of
desperation, and a rushing to death.

For the present, I neglected to ask myself what
motive brought him hither. I was only fearful of
the effects to flow from the sight of the dead. Yet
could it be long concealed from him? Some time
and speedily he would obtain this knowledge. No
stratagems could considerably or usefully prolong
his ignorance. All that could be sought was to
take away the abruptness of the change, and shut
out the confusion of'despair, and the inroads of
madness: but I knew my brother, and knew that
all exertions to console him would be fruitless.

What could I say? I was mute, and poured
forth those tears on his account, which my own
unhappiness had been unable to extort. In the
midst of my tears, I was not unobservant of his
motions. These were of a nature to rouse some
other sentiment than grief, or, at least, to mix with
it a portion of astonishment.

His countenance suddenly became troubled. His
hands were clasped with a force that left the print
of his nails in his flesh. His eyes were fixed on
my feet. His brain seemed to swell beyond its continent.
He did not cease to breathe, but his breath
was stifled into groans. I had never witnessed the
hurricane of human passions. My element had,
till lately, been all sunshine and calm. I was unconversant
with the altitudes and energies of sentiment,
and was transfixed with inexplicable horror
by the symptoms which I now beheld.

After a silence and a conflict which I could not
interpret, be lifted his eyes to heaven, and in broken

accents exclaimed, “This is too much! Any victim
but this, and thy will be done. Have I not sufficiently
attested my faith and my obedience? She
that is gone, they that have perished, were linked
with my soul by ties which only thy command
would have broken; but here is sanctity and excellence
surpaffing human. This workmanship
is thine, and it cannot be thy will to heap it into
ruins.”

Here suddenly unclasping his hands, he struck
one of them against his forehead, and continued—
“Wretch! who made thee quick sighted in the
councils of thy Maker? Deliverance from mortal
setters is awarded to this being, and thou art the
minister of this decree.”

So saying, Wieland advanced towards me. His
words and his motions were without meaning, except
on one supposition. The death of Catharine
was already known to him, and that knowledge, as
might have been suspected, had destroyed his reason.
I had feared nothing less; but now that I beheld
the extinction of a mind the most luminous and
penetrating that ever dignified the human form, my
sensations were fraught with new and insupportable
anguish.

I had not time to reflect in what way my own
safety would be effected by this revolution, or what
I had to dread from the wild conceptions of a madman.
He advanced towards me. Some hollow
noises were wasted by the breeze. Confused clamours
were succeeded by many feet traversing the
grass, and then crowding into the piazza.

These sounds suspended my brother's purpose,
and he stood to listen. The signals multiplied and
grew louder; perceiving this, he turned from me,
and hurried out of my sight. All about me was

pregnant with motives to astonishment. My sister's
corpse, Wieland's frantic demeanour, and, at
length, this crowd of visitants so little accorded with
my foresight, that my mental progress was stopped.
The impulse had ceased which was accustomed to
give motion and order to my thoughts.

Footsteps thronged upon the stairs, and presently
many faces shewed themselves within the door of
my apartment. These looks were full of alarm
and watchfulness. They pryed into corners as if
in search of some fugitive; next their gaze was
fixed upon me, and betokened all the vehemence of
terror and pity. For a time I questioned whether
these were not shapes and faces like that which I
had seen at the bottom of the stairs, creatures of my
fancy or airy existences.

My eye wandered from one to another, till at
length it fell on a countenance which I well knew.
It was that of Mr. Hallet. This man was a distant
kinsman of my mother, venerable for his age,
his uprightness, and sagacity. He had long discharged
the functions of a magistrate and good citizen.
If any terrors remained, his presence was
sussicient to dispel them.

He approached, took my hand with a compassionate
air, and said in a low voice. “Where, my dear
Clara, are your brother and sister?” I made no
answer, but pointed to the bed. His attendants drew
aside the curtain, and while their eyes glared with
horror at the spectacle which they beheld, those of
Mr. Hallet overflowed with tears.

After considerable pause, he once more turned
to me. “My dear girl, this sight is not for you.
Can you confide in my care, and that of Mrs.
Baynton's? We will see performed all that circumstances
require.”

I made strenuous opposition to this request. I
insisted on remaining near her till she were interred.
His remonstrances, however, and my own feelings,
shewed me the propriety of a temporary dereliction.
Louisa stood in need of a comforter, and my brother's
children of a nurse. My unhappy brother
was himself an object of solicitude and care. At
length, I consented to relinquish the corpse, and go
to my brother's, whose house, I said, would need
mistress, and his children a parent.

During this discourse, my venerable friend struggled
with his tears, but my last intimation called
them forth with fresh violence. Meanwhile, his
attendants stood round in mournful silence, gazing
on me and at each other. I repeated my resolution,
and rose to execute it; but he took my hand
to detain me. His countenance betrayed irresolution
and reluctance. I requested him to state the
reason of his opposition to this measure. I entreated
him to be explicit. I told him that my brother
had just been there, and that I knew his condition.
This misfortune had driven him to madness, and
his offspring must not want a protector. If he
chose, I would resign Wieland to his care; but his
innocent and helpless babes stood in instant need of
nurse and mother, and these offices I would by no
means allow another to perform while I had life.

Every word that I uttered seemed to augment his
perplexity and distress. At last he said, “I think,
Clara, I have entitled myself to some regard from
you. You have prosessed your willingness to oblige
me. Now I call upon you to confer upon me
the highest obligation in your power. Permit Mrs.
Baynton to have the management of your brother's
house for two or three days; then it shall be yours
to act in it as you please. No matter what are my

motives in making this request: perhaps I think
your age, your sex, or the distress which this disaster
must occasion, incapacitates you for the office.
Surely you have no doubt of Mrs. Baynton's tenderness
or discretion.”

New ideas now rushed into my mind. I fixed
my eyes stedfastly on Mr. Hallet. “Are they
well?” said I. “Is Louisa well? Are Benjamin,
and William, and Constantine, and Little Clara,
are they safe? Tell me truly, I beseech you!”

“They are well,” he replied; “they are perfectly
safe.”

“Fear no effeminate weekness in me: I can bear
to hear the truth. Tell me truly, are they well?”

He again assured me that they were well.

“What then,” resumed I, “do you fear? Is
it possible for any calamity to disqualify me for performing
my duty to these helpless innocents? I am
willing to divide the care of them with Mrs. Baynton;
I shall be grateful for her sympathy and aid;
but what should I be to desert them at an hour like
this!”

I will cut short this distressful dialogue. I still
persisted in my purpose, and he still persisted in his
opposition. This excited my suspicions anew; but
these were removed by solemn declarations of their
safety. I could not explain this conduct in my
friend; but at length consented to go to the city,
provided I should see them for a few minutes at
present, and should return on the morrow.

Even this arrangement was objected to. At
length he told me they were removed to the city.
Why were they removed, I asked, and whither?
My importunities would not now be eluded. My
suspicions were roused, and no evasion or artifice
was sufficient to allay them. Many of the audience

began to give vent to their emotions in tears.
Mr. Hallet himself seemed as if the conflict were
too hard to be longer sustained. Something whispered
to my heart that havoc had been wider than
I now witnessed. I suspected this concealment to
arise from apprehensions of the effects which a
knowledge of the truth would produce in me. I
once more entreated him to inform me truly of
their state. To enforce my entreaties, I put on an
air of insensibility. “I can guess,” said I, “what
has happened—They are indeed beyond the reach
of injury, for they are dead! Is it not so?” My
voice faltered in spite of my courageous efforts.

“Yes,” said he, “they are dead! Dead by the
same fate, and by the same hand, with their mother!”

“Dead!” replied I; “what, all?”

“All!” replied he: “he spared not one!”

Allow me, my friends, to close my eyes upon
the after-scene. Why should I protract a tale which
I already begin to feel is too long? Over this scene
at least let me pass lightly. Here, indeed, my narrative
would be imperfect. All was tempestuous
commotion in my heart and in my brain. I have
no memory for ought but unconscious transitions
and rueful sights. I was ingenious and indefatigable
in the invention of torments. I would not dispense
with any spectacle adapted to exasperate my
grief. Each pale and mangled form I crushed to
my bosom. Louisa, whom I loved with so ineffable
a passion, was denied to me at first, but my obstinacy
conquered their reluctance.

They led the way into a darkened hall. A lamp
pendant from the ceiling was uncovered, and they
pointed to a table. The assassin had defrauded me
of my last and miserable consolation. I sought not

not in her visage, for the tinge of the morning, and
the lustre of heaven. These had vanished with
life; but I hoped for liberty to print a last kiss upon
her lips. This was denied me; for such had been
the merciless blow that destroyed her, that not a
lineament remained!

I was carried hence to the city. Mrs. Hallet was
my companion and my nurse. Why should I dwell
upon the rage of fever, and the effusions of delirium?
Carwin was the phantom that pursued my
dreams, the giant oppressor under whose arm I was
for ever on the point of being crushed. Strenuous
muscles were required to hinder my flight, and
hearts of steel to with stand the eloquence of my
fears. In vain I called upon them to look upward,
to mark his sparkling rage and scowling contempt.
All I sought was to fly from the stroke that was lifted.
Then I heaped upon my guards the most vehement
reproaches, or betook myself to wailings on
the haplessness of my condition.

This malady, at length, declined, and my weeping
friends began to look for my restoration. Slowly,
and with intermitted beams, memory revisited
me. The scenes that I had witnessed were revived,
became the theme of deliberation and deduction,
and called forth the effusions of more rational sorrow.