WIELAND; OR THE TRANSFORMATION
An American Tale
by Charles Brockden Brown
From Virtue's blissful paths away The double-tongued are sure to stray; Good is a forth-right journey still, And mazy paths but lead to ill.
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The following Work is delivered to the world as the first of a seriesof performances, which the favorable reception of this will induce theWriter to publish. His purpose is neither selfish nor temporary,but aims at the illustration of some important branches of the moralconstitution of man. Whether this tale will be classed with the ordinaryor frivolous sources of amusement, or be ranked with the few productionswhose usefulness secures to them a lasting reputation, the reader mustbe permitted to decide.
The incidents related are extraordinary and rare. Some of them, perhaps,approach as nearly to the nature of miracles as can be done by thatwhich is not truly miraculous. It is hoped that intelligent readers willnot disapprove of the manner in which appearances are solved, but thatthe solution will be found to correspond with the known principles ofhuman nature. The power which the principal person is said to possesscan scarcely be denied to be real. It must be acknowledged to beextremely rare; but no fact, equally uncommon, is supported by the samestrength of historical evidence.
Some readers may think the conduct of the younger Wieland impossible. Insupport of its possibility the Writer must appeal to Physicians and tomen conversant with the latent springs and occasional perversions ofthe human mind. It will not be objected that the instances of similardelusion are rare, because it is the business of moral painters toexhibit their subject in its most instructive and memorable forms. Ifhistory furnishes one parallel fact, it is a sufficient vindication ofthe Writer; but most readers will probably recollect an authentic case,remarkably similar to that of Wieland.
It will be necessary to add, that this narrative is addressed, in anepistolary form, by the Lady whose story it contains, to a smallnumber of friends, whose curiosity, with regard to it, had been greatlyawakened. It may likewise be mentioned, that these events tookplace between the conclusion of the French and the beginning of therevolutionary war. The memoirs of Carwin, alluded to at the conclusionof the work, will be published or suppressed according to the receptionwhich is given to the present attempt.
C. B. B. September 3, 1798.
Chapter I
I feel little reluctance in complying with your request. You know notfully the cause of my sorrows. You are a stranger to the depth of mydistresses. Hence your efforts at consolation must necessarily fail. Yetthe tale that I am going to tell is not intended as a claim upon yoursympathy. In the midst of my despair, I do not disdain to contributewhat little I can to the benefit of mankind. I acknowledge your right tobe informed of the events that have lately happened in my family. Makewhat use of the tale you shall think proper. If it be communicatedto the world, it will inculcate the duty of avoiding deceit. It willexemplify the force of early impressions, and show the immeasurableevils that flow from an erroneous or imperfect discipline.
My state is not destitute of tranquillity. The sentiment that dictatesmy feelings is not hope. Futurity has no power over my thoughts. To allthat is to come I am perfectly indifferent. With regard to myself, Ihave nothing more to fear. Fate has done its worst. Henceforth, I amcallous to misfortune.
I address no supplication to the Deity. The power that governs thecourse of human affairs has chosen his path. The decree that ascertainedthe condition of my life, admits of no recal. No doubt it squares withthe maxims of eternal equity. That is neither to be questioned nordenied by me. It suffices that the past is exempt from mutation. Thestorm that tore up our happiness, and changed into dreariness and desertthe blooming scene of our existence, is lulled into grim repose; butnot until the victim was transfixed and mangled; till every obstacle wasdissipated by its rage; till every remnant of good was wrested from ourgrasp and exterminated.
How will your wonder, and that of your companions, be excited by mystory! Every sentiment will yield to your amazement. If my testimonywere without corroborations, you would reject it as incredible. Theexperience of no human being can furnish a parallel: That I, beyond therest of mankind, should be reserved for a destiny without alleviation,and without example! Listen to my narrative, and then say what it isthat has made me deserve to be placed on this dreadful eminence, if,indeed, every faculty be not suspended in wonder that I am still alive,and am able to relate it. My father's ancestry was noble on the paternalside; but his mother was the daughter of a merchant. My grand-father wasa younger brother, and a native of Saxony. He was placed, when he hadreached the suitable age, at a German college. During the vacations,he employed himself in traversing the neighbouring territory. On oneoccasion it was his fortune to visit Hamburg. He formed an acquaintancewith Leonard Weise, a merchant of that city, and was a frequent guestat his house. The merchant had an only daughter, for whom his guestspeedily contracted an affection; and, in spite of parental menaces andprohibitions, he, in due season, became her husband.
By this act he mortally offended his relations. Thenceforward he wasentirely disowned and rejected by them. They refused to contribute anything to his support. All intercourse ceased, and he received from themmerely that treatment to which an absolute stranger, or detested enemy,would be entitled.
He found an asylum in the house of his new father, whose temper waskind, and whose pride was flattered by this alliance. The nobility ofhis birth was put in the balance against his poverty. Weise conceivedhimself, on the whole, to have acted with the highest discretion, inthus disposing of his child. My grand-father found it incumbent on himto search out some mode of independent subsistence. His youth hadbeen eagerly devoted to literature and music. These had hitherto beencultivated merely as sources of amusement. They were now converted intothe means of gain. At this period there were few works of taste inthe Saxon dialect. My ancestor may be considered as the founder of theGerman Theatre. The modern poet of the same name is sprung from the samefamily, and, perhaps, surpasses but little, in the fruitfulness of hisinvention, or the soundness of his taste, the elder Wieland. His lifewas spent in the composition of sonatas and dramatic pieces. They werenot unpopular, but merely afforded him a scanty subsistence. He diedin the bloom of his life, and was quickly followed to the grave by hiswife. Their only child was taken under the protection of the merchant.At an early age he was apprenticed to a London trader, and passed sevenyears of mercantile servitude.
My father was not fortunate in the character of him under whose carehe was now placed. He was treated with rigor, and full employment wasprovided for every hour of his time. His duties were laborious andmechanical. He had been educated with a view to this profession, and,therefore, was not tormented with unsatisfied desires. He did not holdhis present occupations in abhorrence, because they withheld him frompaths more flowery and more smooth, but he found in unintermittedlabour, and in the sternness of his master, sufficient occasions fordiscontent. No opportunities of recreation were allowed him. He spentall his time pent up in a gloomy apartment, or traversing narrow andcrowded streets. His food was coarse, and his lodging humble. His heartgradually contracted a habit of morose and gloomy reflection. He couldnot accurately define what was wanting to his happiness. He was nottortured by comparisons drawn between his own situation and thatof others. His state was such as suited his age and his views as tofortune. He did not imagine himself treated with extraordinary orunjustifiable rigor. In this respect he supposed the condition ofothers, bound like himself to mercantile service, to resemble his own;yet every engagement was irksome, a
nd every hour tedious in its lapse.
In this state of mind he chanced to light upon a book written by one ofthe teachers of the Albigenses, or French Protestants. He entertained norelish for books, and was wholly unconscious of any power they possessedto delight or instruct. This volume had lain for years in a corner ofhis garret, half buried in dust and rubbish. He had marked it as it lay;had thrown it, as his occasions required, from one spot to another; buthad felt no inclination to examine its contents, or even to inquire whatwas the subject of which it treated.
One Sunday afternoon, being induced to retire for a few minutes to hisgarret, his eye was attracted by a page of this book, which, by someaccident, had been opened and placed full in his view. He was seated onthe edge of his bed, and was employed in repairing a rent in some partof his clothes. His eyes were not confined to his work, but occasionallywandering, lighted at length upon the page. The words "Seek and yeshall find," were those that first offered themselves to his notice.His curiosity was roused by these so far as to prompt him to proceed.As soon as he finished his work, he took up the book and turned tothe first page. The further he read, the more inducement he found tocontinue, and he regretted the decline of the light which obliged himfor the present to close it.
The book contained an exposition of the doctrine of the sect ofCamissards, and an historical account of its origin. His mind was in astate peculiarly fitted for the reception of devotional sentiments. Thecraving which had haunted him was now supplied with an object. His mindwas at no loss for a theme of meditation. On days of business, he roseat the dawn, and retired to his chamber not till late at night. He nowsupplied himself with candles, and employed his nocturnal and Sundayhours in studying this book. It, of course, abounded with allusions tothe Bible. All its conclusions were deduced from the sacred text. Thiswas the fountain, beyond which it was unnecessary to trace the stream ofreligious truth; but it was his duty to trace it thus far.
A Bible was easily procured, and he ardently entered on the study of it.His understanding had received a particular direction. All his reverieswere fashioned in the same mould. His progress towards the formation ofhis creed was rapid. Every fact and sentiment in this book were viewedthrough a medium which the writings of the Camissard apostle hadsuggested. His constructions of the text were hasty, and formed on anarrow scale. Every thing was viewed in a disconnected position. Oneaction and one precept were not employed to illustrate and restrictthe meaning of another. Hence arose a thousand scruples to which he hadhitherto been a stranger. He was alternately agitated by fear and byecstacy. He imagined himself beset by the snares of a spiritual foe, andthat his security lay in ceaseless watchfulness and prayer.
His morals, which had never been loose, were now modelled by a stricterstandard. The empire of religious duty extended itself to his looks,gestures, and phrases. All levities of speech, and negligences ofbehaviour, were proscribed. His air was mournful and contemplative.He laboured to keep alive a sentiment of fear, and a belief ofthe awe-creating presence of the Deity. Ideas foreign to this weresedulously excluded. To suffer their intrusion was a crime against theDivine Majesty inexpiable but by days and weeks of the keenest agonies.
No material variation had occurred in the lapse of two years. Every dayconfirmed him in his present modes of thinking and acting. It was tobe expected that the tide of his emotions would sometimes recede, thatintervals of despondency and doubt would occur; but these gradually weremore rare, and of shorter duration; and he, at last, arrived at a stateconsiderably uniform in this respect.
His apprenticeship was now almost expired. On his arrival of age hebecame entitled, by the will of my grand-father, to a small sum. Thissum would hardly suffice to set him afloat as a trader in his presentsituation, and he had nothing to expect from the generosity of hismaster. Residence in England had, besides, become almost impossible,on account of his religious tenets. In addition to these motives forseeking a new habitation, there was another of the most imperious andirresistable necessity. He had imbibed an opinion that it was his dutyto disseminate the truths of the gospel among the unbelieving nations.He was terrified at first by the perils and hardships to which the lifeof a missionary is exposed. This cowardice made him diligent in theinvention of objections and excuses; but he found it impossible whollyto shake off the belief that such was the injunction of his duty.The belief, after every new conflict with his passions, acquired newstrength; and, at length, he formed a resolution of complying with whathe deemed the will of heaven.
The North-American Indians naturally presented themselves as the firstobjects for this species of benevolence. As soon as his servitudeexpired, he converted his little fortune into money, and embarked forPhiladelphia. Here his fears were revived, and a nearer survey of savagemanners once more shook his resolution. For a while he relinquished hispurpose, and purchasing a farm on Schuylkill, within a few miles of thecity, set himself down to the cultivation of it. The cheapness of land,and the service of African slaves, which were then in general use,gave him who was poor in Europe all the advantages of wealth. He passedfourteen years in a thrifty and laborious manner. In this time newobjects, new employments, and new associates appeared to have nearlyobliterated the devout impressions of his youth. He now becameacquainted with a woman of a meek and quiet disposition, and of slenderacquirements like himself. He proffered his hand and was accepted.
His previous industry had now enabled him to dispense with personallabour, and direct attention to his own concerns. He enjoyed leisure,and was visited afresh by devotional contemplation. The reading of thescriptures, and other religious books, became once more his favoriteemployment. His ancient belief relative to the conversion of the savagetribes, was revived with uncommon energy. To the former obstacles werenow added the pleadings of parental and conjugal love. The strugglewas long and vehement; but his sense of duty would not be stifled orenfeebled, and finally triumphed over every impediment.
His efforts were attended with no permanent success. His exhortationshad sometimes a temporary power, but more frequently were repelled withinsult and derision. In pursuit of this object he encountered the mostimminent perils, and underwent incredible fatigues, hunger, sickness,and solitude. The licence of savage passion, and the artifices of hisdepraved countrymen, all opposed themselves to his progress. His couragedid not forsake him till there appeared no reasonable ground to hope forsuccess. He desisted not till his heart was relieved from the supposedobligation to persevere. With his constitution somewhat decayed, he atlength returned to his family. An interval of tranquillity succeeded. Hewas frugal, regular, and strict in the performance of domestic duties.He allied himself with no sect, because he perfectly agreed with none.Social worship is that by which they are all distinguished; but thisarticle found no place in his creed. He rigidly interpreted that preceptwhich enjoins us, when we worship, to retire into solitude, and shutout every species of society. According to him devotion was not only asilent office, but must be performed alone. An hour at noon, and an hourat midnight were thus appropriated.
At the distance of three hundred yards from his house, on the top of arock whose sides were steep, rugged, and encumbered with dwarf cedarsand stony asperities, he built what to a common eye would have seemed asummer-house. The eastern verge of this precipice was sixty feet abovethe river which flowed at its foot. The view before it consisted of atransparent current, fluctuating and rippling in a rocky channel, andbounded by a rising scene of cornfields and orchards. The edifice wasslight and airy. It was no more than a circular area, twelve feet indiameter, whose flooring was the rock, cleared of moss and shrubs, andexactly levelled, edged by twelve Tuscan columns, and covered by anundulating dome. My father furnished the dimensions and outlines, butallowed the artist whom he employed to complete the structure on his ownplan. It was without seat, table, or ornament of any kind.
This was the temple of his Deity. Twice in twenty-four hours he repairedhither, unaccompanied by any human being. Nothing but physical inabilityto move was allow
ed to obstruct or postpone this visit. He did not exactfrom his family compliance with his example. Few men, equally sincerein their faith, were as sparing in their censures and restrictions,with respect to the conduct of others, as my father. The character ofmy mother was no less devout; but her education had habituated her toa different mode of worship. The loneliness of their dwelling preventedher from joining any established congregation; but she was punctual inthe offices of prayer, and in the performance of hymns to her Saviour,after the manner of the disciples of Zinzendorf. My father refusedto interfere in her arrangements. His own system was embraced not,accurately speaking, because it was the best, but because it had beenexpressly prescribed to him. Other modes, if practised by other persons,might be equally acceptable.
His deportment to others was full of charity and mildness. A sadnessperpetually overspread his features, but was unmingled with sternness ordiscontent. The tones of his voice, his gestures, his steps were all intranquil unison. His conduct was characterised by a certain forbearanceand humility, which secured the esteem of those to whom his tenets weremost obnoxious. They might call him a fanatic and a dreamer, but theycould not deny their veneration to his invincible candour and invariableintegrity. His own belief of rectitude was the foundation of hishappiness. This, however, was destined to find an end.
Suddenly the sadness that constantly attended him was deepened. Sighs,and even tears, sometimes escaped him. To the expostulations of his wifehe seldom answered any thing. When he designed to be communicative, hehinted that his peace of mind was flown, in consequence of deviationfrom his duty. A command had been laid upon him, which he had delayed toperform. He felt as if a certain period of hesitation and reluctancehad been allowed him, but that this period was passed. He was nolonger permitted to obey. The duty assigned to him was transferred, inconsequence of his disobedience, to another, and all that remained wasto endure the penalty.
He did not describe this penalty. It appeared to be nothing more forsome time than a sense of wrong. This was sufficiently acute, and wasaggravated by the belief that his offence was incapable of expiation. Noone could contemplate the agonies which he seemed to suffer without thedeepest compassion. Time, instead of lightening the burthen, appeared toadd to it. At length he hinted to his wife, that his end was near. Hisimagination did not prefigure the mode or the time of his decease, butwas fraught with an incurable persuasion that his death was at hand. Hewas likewise haunted by the belief that the kind of death that awaitedhim was strange and terrible. His anticipations were thus far vague andindefinite; but they sufficed to poison every moment of his being, anddevote him to ceaseless anguish.