CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN (1771-1810) He first professional man of letters in America and, moreover, the pioneer novelist of our American literature, was Charles Brockden Brown of Philadelphia. Ponderously educated by the learned Dr. Proud, the historian of Pennsylvania, he was a classical scholar and a writer of epic poems while in his early teens. He tried the law, but finding it distasteful, never prac tised it. He lived for a time in New York City where he became a friend of Dunlap and other literary men of the time. He wrote a dialogue on the rights of women, Alcuin, 1797, and then brought out in rapid succession between 1798 and 1801 his six novels. In the meantime he managed to support himself by editing magazines, the Monthly Magazine and American Review, the Literary Magazine, and the American Register, and by doing literary hack work of every variety. He was of frail physique and of melancholy temperament, and his latter years were a depressing struggle with infirmities. The novels of Brown belong to the school of Gothic romance that flourished in England at the close of the eighteenth century and they were influenced chiefly by Godwin's Caleb Williams. Judged by the art of Poe and Hawthorne, they are crude and sensational, but compared with the fiction of their time they have considerable power. He was a pioneer in a bare and desolate literary region, and he deserves great praise. His work even to-day holds the reader. He has movement and intensity and, within the limits of short episode, real narrative skill. Moreover he chose American scenes for his backgrounds, and depicted, often with realism, American life. More one may not say. The fatal defects of his art, when it is judged by modern standards, we need not dwell upon. A DEATH BY MYSTERIOUS Early in the morning of a sultry day in August my father left Metingen to go to the city. He had seldom passed a day from home since his return from the shores of the Ohio. Some ardent engagements at this time existed, which would not admit of further delay. He returned to in the evening, but appeared to be greatly oppressed with fatigue. His silence and dejection were likewise in more than ordinary degree conspicuous. My mother's brother, whose profession was that of a 15 surgeon, chanced to spend this night at our house. It was from him that I have frequently received an exact account of the mournful catastrophe that followed. As the evening advanced, my father's 20 inquietudes increased. He sat with his family as usual, but took no part in their conversation. He appeared fully engrossed by his own reflections. Occasionally his countenance exhibited tokens 25 of alarm; he gazed steadfastly and wildly at the ceiling; and the exertions of his companions were scarcely sufficient to interrupt his reverie. On recovering from these fits he expressed no surprise, but, pressing his hand to his head, complained, in a tremulous and terrified tone, that his brain was scorched to cinders. He would 5 then betray marks of insupportable anxiety. My uncle perceived by his pulse that he was indisposed, but in no alarming degree. and ascribed appearances chiefly to the workings of his mind. He exhorted him to recollection and composure, but in vain. At the hour of repose he readily retired to his chamber. At the persuasion of my mother he was undressed and went to bed. Nothing could abate his restlessness. He checked her tender expostulations with some sternness. Be silent,' said he, for that which I feel there is but one cure, and that will shortly come. You can help me nothing. Look to your own conditions, and pray to God to strengthen you under the calamities that await you.' 'What am I to fear? she answered. What terrible disaster is it that you think of?' 'Peace! - as yet I know it not myself, but come it will, and shortly. She repeated her inquiries and doubts; but he suddenly put an end to the discourse by stern command to be silent She had never before known him in this mood. Hitherto all was benign in his deportment. Her heart was pierced with sorrow at the the contemplation of his change. She was utterly unable to account for it, or to figure to herself the species of disaster that was menaced. Contrary to custom, the lamp, instead of being placed on the hearth, was left upon the table. Over it, against the wall, there hung a small clock, so contrived as to strike a very hard stroke at the end of every sixth hour. That which was now approaching was the signal for retiring. to the fane at which he addressed his 15 devotions. Long habit had occasioned him to be always awake at this hour and the toll was instantly obeyed. ness on her fancy, but was undistinguishable by the eye from the rocky mass on which it was erected. The second could be imperfectly seen; but her husband had 5 already passed, or had taken a different direction. What was it she feared? Some disaster impended over her husband or herself. He had predicted evils, but professed o himself ignorant of what nature they were. When were they to come? Was this night, or this hour, to witness the accomplishment? She was tortured with impatience and uncertainty. All her fears were at present linked to his person and she gazed at the clock, with nearly as much eagerness as my father had done, in expectation of the next hour. Now frequent and anxious glances were cast at the clock. Not a single movement 20 of the index appeared to escape his notice. As the hour verged toward twelve, his anxiety visibly augmented. The trepidations of my mother kept pace with those of her husband; but she was intimidated 25 into silence. All that was left to her was to watch every change of his features and give vent to her sympathy in tears. At length the hour was spent, and the clock tolled. The sound appeared to com- 30 municate a shock to every part of my father's frame. He rose immediately, and threw over himself a loose gown. Even this office was performed with difficulty, for his joints trembled and his teeth chat- 35 tered with dismay. At this hour his duty called him to the rock, and my mother naturally concluded that it was thither he intended to repair. Yet these incidents were so uncommon as to fill her with as- 40 tonishment and foreboding. She saw him leave the room, and heard his steps as they hastily descended the stairs. She half resolved to rise and pursue him, but the wildness of the scheme suggested it- 45 self. He was going to a place whither no power on earth could induce him to suffer an attendant. 50 The window of her chamber looked toward the rock. The atmosphere was clear and calm, but the edifice could not be discovered at that distance through the dusk. My mother's anxiety would not allow her to remain where she was. She rose, and seated herself at the window. She 55 strained her sight to get a view of the dome, and of the path that led to it. The first painted itself with sufficient distinct A half hour passed away in this state of suspense. Her eyes were fixed upon the rock; suddenly it was illuminated. A light proceeding from the edifice made. every part of the scene visible. A gleam diffused itself over the intermediate space, and instantly a loud report, like the explosion of a mine, followed. She uttered an involuntary shriek, but the new sounds that greeted her ear quickly conquered her surprise. They were piercing shrieks, and uttered with intermission. The gleams which had diffused themselves far and wide, were in a moment withdrawn; but the interior of the edifice was filled with rays. The first suggestion was that a pistol was discharged, and that the structure was on fire. She did not allow herself time to meditate a second thought, but rushed into the entry and knocked loudly at the door of her brother's chamber. My uncle had been previously roused by the noise, and instantly flew to the window. He also imagined what he saw to be fire. The loud and vehement shrieks which succeeded the first explosion seemed to be an invocation of succor. The incident was inexplicable; but he could not fail to perceive the propriety of hastening to the spot. He was unbolting the door when his sister's voice was heard on the outside conjuring him to come forth. He obeyed the summons with all the speed in his power. He stopped not to question her, but hurried down-stairs and across the meadow which lay between the house and the rock. The shrieks were no longer to be heard; but a blazing light was clearly discernible between the col umns of the temple. Irregular steps, hewn in the stone, led to the summit. On three sides this edifice touched the very verge of the cliff. On the fourth side, which might be regarded as the front, there was an area of small extent, to which the rude staircase conducted you. My uncle speedily gained this spot. His strength was for a moment exhausted by his haste. He paused to rest himself. 10 Meanwhile he bent the most vigilant attention toward the object before him. No part Within the columns he beheld what he could no better describe than by saying that it resembled a cloud impregnated 15 with light. It had the brightness of flame, but was without its upward motion. It did not occupy the whole area, and rose but a few feet above the floor. of the building was on fire. This appear- 20 ance was astonishing. He approached the temple. As he went forward the light retired, and, when he put his feet within the apartment, utterly vanished. The suddenness of this transition increased 25 the darkness that succeeded in a tenfold degree. Fear and wonder rendered him powerless. An occurrence like this, in a place assigned to devotion, was adapted to intimidate the stoutest heart. operation. He scarcely opened his eyes, and was with difficulty prevailed upon to answer the questions that were put to him. By his imperfect account it appeared, that 5 while engaged in silent orisons, with thoughts full of confusion and anxiety, a faint gleam suddenly shot athwart the apartment. His fancy immediately pictured to itself a person bearing a lamp. It seemed to come from behind. He was in the act of turning to examine the visitant, when his right arm received a blow from a heavy club. At the same instant, a very bright spark was seen to light upon his clothes. In a moment, the whole was reduced to ashes. This was the sum of the information which he chose to give. There was somewhat in his manner that indicated an imperfect tale. My uncle was inclined to believe that half the truth had been suppressed. Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated betrayed more terrible symptoms. Fever and delirium terminated in lethargic slumber, which, in the course of two hours, gave place to death; yet not till insupportable exhalations and crawling putrefaction had driven from his chamber and the house every one whom their duty 30 did not detain. His wandering thoughts were recalled by the groans of one near him. His sight gradually recovered its power and he was able to discern my father stretched on the floor. At that moment my mother and 35 servants arrived with a lantern and enabled my uncle to examine more closely this scene. My father, when he left the house, besides a loose upper vest and slippers, wore a shirt and drawers. Now he 40 was naked; his skin throughout the greater part of his body was scorched and bruised. His right arm exhibited marks of having been struck by some heavy body. His clothes had been removed, and 45 it was not immediately perceived that they were reduced to ashes. His slippers and his hair were untouched. He was removed to his chamber, and the requisite attention paid to his wounds, 50 which gradually became more painful. A mortification speedily showed itself in the arm which had been most hurt. Soon after the other wounded parts exhibited the like appearance. Immediately subsequent to this disaster, my father seemed nearly in a state of insensibility. He was passive under every 55 Such was the end of my father. None, surely, was ever more mysterious. When we recollect his gloomy anticipations and unconquerable anxiety, the security from human malice which his character, the place, and the condition of the times might be supposed to confer, the purity and cloudlessness of the atmosphere, which rendered it impossible that lightning was the cause, what are the conclusions that we must form? The prelusive gleam, the blow upon his arm, the fatal spark, the explosion heard so far, the fiery cloud that environed him, without detriment to the structure, though composed of combustible materials, the sudden vanishing of this cloud at my uncle's approach:- what is the inference to be drawn from these facts? Their truth cannot be doubted. My uncle's testimony is peculiarly worthy of credit, because no man's temper is more skeptical, and his belief is unalterably attached to natural causes. I was at this time a child of six years of age. The impressions that were then made upon me can never be effaced. I was ill qualified to judge respecting what was then passing, but as I advanced in age and became more fully acquainted 0 with these facts, they oftener became the subject of my thoughts. Their resemblance to recent events revived them with new force in my memory, and made me more anxious to explain them. Was this the penalty of disobedience? - The stroke of a vindictive and invisible hand? Is it a fresh proof that the Divine Ruler in- 10 terferes in human affairs, meditates an end, selects and commissions His agents, T and enforces, by unequivocal sanctions, frequently took place, to which I was suffered to listen. From every mouth the tale of sorrow was repeated with new aggravations. Pictures of their own dis5 tress, or of that of their neighbors, were exhibited in all the hues which imagination can annex to pestilence and poverty. My preconceptions of the evil now appeared to have fallen short of the truth. The dangers into which I was rushing seemed more numerous and imminent than I had previously imagined. I wavered not in my purpose. A panic crept to my heart, which more vehement exertions were necessary to subdue or control; but I harbored not a momentary doubt that the course which I had taken was prescribed by duty. There was no difficulty or reluctance in proceeding. All for 20 which my efforts were demanded was to walk in this path without tumult or alarm. submission to His will? Or was it merely the irregular expansion of the fluid that 15 imparts warmth to our heart and our blood, caused by the fatigue of the preceding day, or flowing, by established laws, from the condition of his thoughts. From Wieland, 1798. THE PESTILENCE OF 1798 In proportion as I drew near the 25 city, the tokens of its calamitous condi tion became more apparent. Every farmhouse was filled with supernumerary tenants, fugitives from home, and haunting the skirts of the road, eager to detain 30 every passenger with inquiries after news. The passengers were numerous; for the tide of emigration was by no means exhausted. Some were on foot, bearing in their countenances the tokens of their re- 35 cent terror, and filled with mournful reflections on the forlornness of their state. Few had secured to themselves an asylum; some were without the means of paying for victuals or lodging for the coming 40 night; others, who were not thus destitute, yet knew not whither to apply for entertainment, every house being already Overstocked with inhabitants, or barring its inhospitable doors at their approach. Various circumstances had hindered me from setting out upon this journey as early as was proper. My frequent pauses to listen to the narratives of travellers contributed likewise to procrastination. The sun had nearly set before I reached the precincts of the city. I pursued the track which I had formerly taken, and entered High Street after nightfall. Instead of equipages and a throng of passengers, the voice of levity and glee, which I had formerly observed, and which the mildness of the season would at other times have produced, I found nothing but a dreary solitude. The market-place, and each side of this magnificent avenue, were illuminated, as before, by lamps; but between the verge of Schuylkill and the heart of the city, I met not more than a dozen figures, and these were ghost-like, wrapped in cloaks, from behind which they cast upon me glances of wonder and suspicion, and, as I ap45 proached, changed their course, to avoid touching me. Their clothes were sprinkled with vinegar, and their nostrils deferded from contagion by some powerful perfume. Families of weeping mothers and dismayed children, attended with a few pieces of indispensable furniture, were carried in vehicles of every form. The parent or husband had perished: and the 50 price of some movable, or the pittance handed forth by public charity, had been expended to purchase the means of retiring from this theatre of disasters, though uncertain and hopeless of accommodation 55 in the neighboring districts. Between these and the fugitives whom curiosity had led to the road, dialogues I cast a look upon the houses, which I recollected to have formerly been at this hour brilliant with lights, resounding with lively voices, and thronged with busy faces. Now they were closed, above and below, dark, and without tokens of being inhabited. From the upper windows of some, a gleam sometimes fell upon the pavement I was traversing, and showed H that their tenants were not fled, but were secluded or disabled. The evening had now advanced, and it behooved me to procure accommodation at some of the inns. These were easily 5 distinguished by their signs; but many were without inhabitants. At length lighted upon one, the hall of which was open and the windows lifted. After knocking for some time, a young girl ap- 10 peared, with many marks of distress. În answer to my question, she answered that both her parents were sick, and that they could receive no one. I inquired in vain for any other tavern at which strangers might be accommodated. She knew of none such; and left me, on some one's calling to her from above, in the midst of my embarrassment. After a moment's pause, I returned, discomfited and per- 20 plexed, to the street. rushing upon me, and could be eluded AN ENCOUNTER WITH A As soon as I had effected my dangerous passage, I screened myself behind a cliff, and gave myself up to reflection. While occupied with these reflections, my eyes were fixed upon the opposite steeps. The tops of the trees, waving to and fro in the 15 wildest commotion, and their trunks occasionally bending to the blast, which, in these lofty regions, blew with a violence unknown in the tracts below, exhibited an awful spectacle. At length my attention was attracted by the trunk which lay across the gulf, and which I had converted into a bridge. I perceived that it had already swerved somewhat from its original position; that every blast broke or loosened some of the fibres by which its roots were connected with the opposite bank; and that, if the storm did not speedily abate, there was imminent danger of its being torn from the rock and precipitated into the chasm. Thus my retreat would be cut off, and the evils from which I was endeavoring to rescue another would be experienced by myself. I proceeded, in a considerable degree, at random. At length I reached a spacious building in Fourth Street, which the signpost showed me to be an inn. I knocked 25 loudly and often at the door. At length a female opened the window of the second story, and, in a tone of peevishness, demanded what I wanted. I told her that I wanted lodging. 'Go, hunt for it somewhere else,' said she, you'll find none here.' I began to expostulate; but she shut the window with quickness, and left me to my own reflections. 30 I believed my destiny to hang upon the 35 expedition with which I should recross this gulf. The moments that were spent in these deliberations were critical, and I shuddered to observe that the trunk was held in its place by one or two fibres, which were already stretched alnost to breaking. I began now to feel some regret at the journey I had taken. Never, in the depth of caverns or forests, was I equally conscious of loneliness. I was surrounded by the habitations of men; but I was des- 40 titute of associate or friend. I had money; but a horse-shelter or a morsel of food could not be purchased. I came for the purpose of relieving others, but stood in the utmost need myself. Even in health my condition was helpless and forlorn; but what would become of me should this fatal malady be contracted? To hone that an asylum would be afforded to a sick man which was denied to one in 50 pocket of my coat. health was unreasonable. The first impulse which flowed from these reflections was to hasten back to Malverton; which, with sufficient dili 45 To pass along the trunk, rendere, slippery by the wet and unsteadfast y the wind, was eminently dangerous To maintain my hold in passing, in defia ice of the whirlwind, required the most gorous exertions. For this end, it was necloak essary to discommode myself of my and of the volume which I carried i1 the Just as I had disposed of these entumbrances, and had risen from my seas my attention was again called to the opposite steep by the most unwelcome object that gence, I might hope to regain before the 55 at this time could possibly occur. sime morning light. I could not, methought, return upon my steps with too much speed. I was prompted to run as if the pest was thing was perceived moving among the bushes and rocks, which, for a tim I hoped was nothing more than a racon |
