ORMON D
This page intentionally left blank 
ORMOND ;
OR , THE SECRET WITNES S
Charles Brockden Brown
edited by Mary Chapman
^
broadview literary texts
© 1999 Mary Chapman
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without prior written consent of the
publisher - or in the case of photocopying, a licence from CANCOPY (Canadian
Copyright Licensing Agency) OneYonge Street, Suite 201, Toronto, ON M5E 05 —
is an infringement of the copyright law.
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810
Ormond
(Broadview literary texts)
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 1-55111-091-1 (softcover) 1-55111-309-0 (hardcover)
I. Chapman, Mary Megan, 1962- . II.Title. III. Series.
PSH34.O7 1999 813'.2 €99-930715-0
Broadview Press Ltd., is an independent, international publishing house, incorpo-
rated in 1985.
North America:
P.O. Box 1243, Peterborough, Ontario, Canada K9J 711 5
3576 California Road, Orchard Park, NY 14127
TEL: (705) 743-8990; FAX: (705) 743-8353;
E-MAIL: 75322.44@compuserve.com
United Kingdom:
Turpin Distribution Services Ltd.,
Blackhorse Rd., Letchworth, Hertfordshire sc6 IHN
TEL: (1462) 672555; FAX (1462) 480947; E-MAIL: turpin@rsc.org
Australia:
St. Clair Press, P.O. Box 287, Rozelle, NSW 2039
TEL: (02) 818-1942; FAX: (02) 418-1923
www.broadviewpress.com
Broadview Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Book
Publishing Industry Development Program, Ministry of Canadian Heritage,
Government of Canada.
Broadview Press is grateful to Professor Eugene Benson for advice on
editorial matters for the Broadview Literary Texts series.
Text design and composition by George Kirkpatrick
PRINTED IN CANADA
Second printing October 2002
Contents
Acknowledgements 6
Introduction 9
A Note on the Text 32
Charles Brockden Brown: A Brief Chronology 3 3
Ormond; or, The Secret Witness 35
Notes on the Appendices 277
Appendix A: Judith Sargent Murray's "On the Equality of the Sexes"
(1790) 279
Appendix B: Selections from John Robison's Proofs of a Conspiracy
Against All the Religions and Governments of Europe, Carried on
in the Secret Meetings of Free Masons, Illuminati, and Reading
Societies (1798) 289
Appendix C: Selections from Jedidiah Morse s "A Sermon Exhibiting
the Present Dangers, and Consequent Duties of the Citizens
of the United States" (1799) 295
Works Cited and Recommended Reading 296
Acknowledgements
I have contracted many debts of gratitude during the completion of
this book. The University of Alberta supported the project with
release time, the intellectual stimulation of the classroom, and the ser-
vice of several helpful librarians in Inter-Library Loans. The Social
Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada generously
awarded me a Faculty Research Grant to work on this and related
projects.
Thanks go also to the many graduate students who worked as my
research assistants —Judy Dunlop, Robert W Gray, Heidi Janz,Victo-
ria Lamont, Karen Overbye, and Jean Richardson — and to Astrid
Blodgett for her expert secretarial work.
Judith Sargent Murray's "On the Equality of the Sexes" is repro-
duced from the Massachusetts Magazine (March and April 1790) 132-
35 and 223-26.
Selections from John Robison's Proofs of a Conspiracy Against All the
Religions and Governments of Europe, Carried on in the Secret Meetings of
Free Masons, Illuminati, and Reading Societies are reproduced from the
Third edition, published in Philadelphia by T. Dobson in 1798 (80-
184).
The selection from Jedidiah Morse's "A Sermon Exhibiting the
Present Dangers, and Consequent Duties of the Citizens of the Unit-
ed States of America. Delivered at Charlestown, April 25, 1799" is
reproduced from the edition printed at Worcester, Massachusetts,
Daniel Greenleaf (July 10,1799) 88.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT S 6
Charles Brockden Brown as a young man, in pastel and charcoal, over
graphite on discoloured blue wove paper by James Sharpies. (Repro-
duced with the permission of the Worcester Art Museum, Worcester,
Massachusetts.)
This page intentionally left blank 
Introduction
We rejoice to see these reprints of Browns novels [Ormond and
Wieland], as we have long been ashamed that one who ought to
be the pride of our country, and who is, in the higher qualities
of mind, so far in advance of our other novelists, should have
become almost inaccessible to the public.
Margaret Fuller, Papers on Literature and Art (1846)*
The provocative miniature that graces the cover of this volume is
significant in many ways: depicting a late eighteenth-century Euro-
pean woman cross-dressed in military uniform, the miniature most
immediately recalls the charismatic feminist Martinette de Beauvais
depicted in Charles Brockden Brown's Ormond, who dons a soldier's
dress in order to fight alongside her husband in democratic revolu-
tions on two continents. In form it also recalls the token of affection
exchanged between the novel's narrator and its heroine, the value of
which is obscured by the process by which it is torn out of the pri-
vate sphere of the sentiments and sold into the public world of com-
modities.
Small enough to be treasured in a pocket close to the heart, but
ornate enough to be displayed and circulated, the miniature fore-
grounds many of the questions at the centre of Brown's complex
novel: in a frame which exaggerates its interiority, the miniature
asserts a certain immunity from the risks and contagions of public
life. Paradoxically, however, it asserts the fixity of the self at the same
time that it announces its inevitable imbrication in the life of another,
most notably the friend or lover in whose possession the miniature
rests. In this way, the miniature complicates the structural opposition
between the private and public spheres that is at the heart of Brown's
meditation on the place of the individual in the national body in the
first two decades of the early Republic.
It also draws attention to the debates about identity, gender, and
sexuality that permeate every page of this disturbing text. While it
may seem puzzling to feature the portrait of a woman on the cover of
i Bernard Rosenthal, ed. Critical Essays on Charles Brockden Brown (Boston: G.K. Hall
& Co., 1981) 62.
ORMON D 9
a novel named after its male protagonist, Ormond itself is a cross-
dressed text written by a male author in the persona of a female nar-
rator writing, among other topics, about the benefits and risks of
private women's attempts to participate in public life, to the mysteri-
ous I.E. Rosenberg, whose gender is unknown. This radical approach
to gender is one of the qualities that made Ormond so powerful when
it was first published in America in 1799, and what makes it so fasci-
nating to contemporary readers interested in the intersections
between gender and nation.
Brown and the American Literary Canon
Although Charles Brockden Brown is often celebrated as "America's
first professional man of letters," "the invent[or] of American Gothic,"
and a "pioneer voice" in American literature, Brown's relation to the
American literary canon has always been problematic.
1
 While he has
been considered the best American novelist of his generation, when
his wild, improbable fictions were first published in late-eighteenth-
century America, reviewers were sometimes "patronizing and
lukewarm, occasionally hostile, in their response."
2
 More than a
century later, a critical emphasis on aesthetic unity led New Critics
to read Brown's baroque plots, imbedded narratives, over-determined
symbolism, and lack of closure as evidence of hastily written
blunders of questionable literary value. As a result, at the same time
that Brown has been honoured for his prodigious literary output
— four Gothic novels, two sentimental-domestic novels, a fictional
dialogue, two unpublished novels, one lost novel, assorted short
fiction, poetry and essays, all written in a ten-year span in which he
also edited three influential early American periodicals — his works
have often been dismissed as the hackneyed products of a "Gothic
bungler."
3
1 See EO. Matthiessen, The American Renaissance (New York: Oxford UP, 1941 [1968])
202; "Charles Brockden Brown and the Invention of American Gothic" in Leslie
Fiedler, Love and Death in the American Novel (New York: Anchor Books, [1966],
1992) 126; David Lee Clark, Charles Brockden Brown: Pioneer Voice of America
(Durham: Duke UP, 1952).
2 Alan Axelrod, Charles Brockden Brown: An American Tale (Austin: University of Texas
Press, 1983) xvii.
3 For a rehearsal of critical reservations about Brown's work, see Alexander Cowie,
The Rise of the American Novel (New York: American Book Company, 1951) 69.
INTRODUCTIO N 10
Brown's marginalization has been caused in part by a critical dis-
missal of the forms in which he worked, the early American novel,
and more specifically the Gothic novel, both of which have been
much maligned for what have been perceived to be their artistic
flaws: their aesthetic fragmentation, generic impurity, two-dimen-
sional characterization, and formulaic plots. Recently, however, new
developments in literary study have allowed scholars to reevaluate
these long denigrated forms and, as a consequence, Brown's literary
stock has never been higher. Most significant to the project of
reassessing Brown's work has been the recognition that the aesthetic
fragmentation of the early American novel and, in particular, the early
American Gothic novel, does not signal their "systematic failure,"
1
 but
rather serves as evidence that both forms incorporated and revised
other literary genres. As Cathy N. Davidson notes, the early American
novel "fed upon and devoured more familiar literary forms such as
travel, captivity, and military narratives; political and religious tracts;
advice books, chapbooks, penny histories, and almanacs. It appropri-
ated drama ... and nonliterary forms such as letters ..., diaries as well as
traditionally oral forms of culture such as local gossip, rumor, hearsay,
folktales."
2
 Maggie Kilgour has noted the same tendency in the
Gothic novel which "feeds upon and mixes the wide range of literary
sources out of which it emerges and from which it never fully disen-
tangles itself.... The form is thus ... assembled out of bits and pieces of
the past."
3
 At their worst, then, the early novel and the Gothic novel
can be bungled, episodic trash; at their best, they can be highly self-
conscious rebellions against the constraints of neoclassical aesthetic
ideals of unity in order to explore the ways in which culture has
relied on forms to organize itself.
Replying to the New Criticism's emphasis on aesthetic unity,
recent scholarship on the early American novel and the Gothic novel
has begun to explore how, in challenging aesthetics, the two hybrid
forms also challenge the organizing hierarchies of class, gender, sexu-
ality, race, ethnicity, and nation that culture has naturalized. Louis S.
Gross and other scholars of the Gothic, for example, have observed
1 Elizabeth R. Napier, The Failure of the Gothic: Problems of Disjunction in an Eighteenth-
Century Form (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987) 7.
2 Cathy N. Davidson, Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America (New
York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986) 12-13.
3 Maggie Kilgour, The Rise of the Gothic Novel (London: Roudedge, 1995) 4.
ORMON D 11
that the Gothic novel, the product primarily of women writers,
homosexual writers, and colonial writers, often explores marginalized
relations to dominant structures and questions the binaries that privi-
lege white patriarchal power.
1
Inspired byJaneTompkinss Sensational Designs: The Cultural Work of
American Fiction 1810-186$ (1985), which values popular American
novels for the "cultural 'work' they were designed to do" and David-
son's Revolution and the Word (1986), which argues that early American
fiction served as a political and cultural forum to articulate the fears
and fantasies of the emerging nation, contemporary critics have start-
ed to read early American texts as political works, whether as rich
repositories of information about the early Republic's struggles to
control and contain racial and sexual difference, or as dramatizations
of efforts to define personal and national identity in a time of crisis,
and to read recurring tropes of incest, rape, seduction, murder, suicide,
pestilence, and other threats to the physical body as a metaphorization
of the more political threats to the national body.
2
 In Romances of the
Republic: Women, the Family and Violence in the Literature of the Early
American Nation (1996), for example, Shirley Samuels argues that in
early American literature, political and familial discourses intersect so
that anxieties about political and national identity map onto represen-
tations of threats to the female body. Elizabeth Barnes's States of Sym-
pathy (1997) extends and complicates Samuels's thesis: rather than
reading representations of seduction in early American sentimental
and Gothic fiction as allegorically signalling only threats to the
national body, Barnes argues that seduction can also signify "the senti-
mental operations by which patriarchal politics gains access to the
national body."
3
1 Louis S. Gross, Redefining American Gothic: From Wieland to Day of the Dead (Ann
Arbor and London: UMI Research Press, 1989) 2; see also Kate Ferguson Ellis, The
Contested Castle: Gothic Novels and the Subversion of Domestic Ideology (Chicago: Uni-
versity of Illinois Press, 1989).
2 Jane Tompkins, Sensational Designs: The Cultural Work of American Fiction 1810-1865
(New York and London: Oxford University Press, 1985) xv; Cathy N. Davidson,
Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America (Oxford and New York:
Oxford University Press, 1986) passim.
3 Shirley Samuels, Romances of the Republic: Women, the Family and Violence in the Litera-
ture of the Early American Nation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) passim;
Elizabeth Barnes, States of Sympathy: Seduction and Democracy in the American Novel
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1997) 43.
INTRODUCTIO N 12
Coinciding with these and other reappraisals of the early Ameri-
can novel and the Gothic mode has been a renewed interest in the
significance of Brown's contributions to these genres and a recogni-
tion of the importance of his work to our understanding of the early
national period. Beginning in the late 19708 and early 19805 with the
publication of scholarly editions of all of Browns works by Kent State
University Press and the appearance of a collection of critical essays
on Brown, and culminating in 1998, the bicentennial of the publica-
tion of Brown's first book Alcuin, with the Library of America's pub-
lication of a volume of Brown's three most popular Gothic novels and
a "Revising Charles Brockden Brown" conference, Brown scholar-
ship has recently experienced a renaissance.
1
 In part, this renaissance
has been driven by developments in literary theory — most signifi-
cantly, new approaches attentive to representations of gender, sexuali-
ty, race, class, and nation — which have made available a critical
vocabulary with which readers can make sense of Brown's haunting
fiction.
Feminist scholars have taken up the gender issues in Brown's writ-
ing: for example, his dramatized debates about women's education,
gender equality, and marriage; his depictions of female cross-dressing;
his representations of Republican womanhood; and the perceived
foreclosure of his earlier works' feminism in his later sentimental
domestic novels. Contemporary queer work on Brown explores ele-
ments of Brown's biography, such as his passionate letters to William
Wood Wilkins, and his devotion to Elihu Hubbard Smith, or depic-
tions of romantic friendships and homosociality in his works. Julia
Stern, for example, has read the female homosociality represented in
i Kent State University's Bicentennial Edition of the Novels and Related Works of
Charles Brockden Brown, under the general editorship of Sydney J. Krause, with S. W.
Reid as textual editor, was published in 1977-87; Bernard Rosenthal edited Critical
Essays On Charles Brockden Brown in 1981. Library of America published Charles
Brockden Brown: Three Gothic Novels (New York: Literary Classics of the United
States, 1998).The "Revising Charles Brockden Brown" conference, organized by
Christopher Looby, was held at the University of Pennsylvania, October 23-24,
1998. Many other projects on Brown are in preparation: Revising Charles Brockden
Brown, a volume of new essays on Brown, edited by Stephen Shapiro, Philip
Barnard, and Mark Kamrath; a critical edition of Brown's letters, edited by John R.
Holmes and Edwin Saeger; and a CD-Rom edition of the uncollected writings of
Charles Brockden Brown, edited by Fritz Fleischmann, Wolfgang Schafer, Dietmar
Schloss, and Alfred Weber.
13 ORMON D
Ormond as a viable alternative to the patriarchally authored and frater-
nally fractured polity of the early Republic. In addition to feminist
and queer work on Brown, recent criticism attentive to class in Amer-
ican literature has initiated discussions of Brown's works as explo-
rations of a culture of domestic republican virtue on the cusp of a
new era dominated by market-driven capitalism.
1
Like all early American prose, Brown's works are intellectually
challenging to contemporary readers because of his intense engage-
ment with late eighteenth-century currents of debate. Inspired by
novels of purpose written in the 17908 by European Jacobin writers
like William Godwin, all of Brown's works are complex considera-
tions of the issues of his day: the location of authority in a democratic
state; the construction of American national character and identity;
post-enlightenment views of gender and sexuality; the balance
between individual freedom and communal responsibilities; and the
shifting values of the era in which America moved from an agrarian
community valuing civic responsibility to a capitalist economy valu-
ing trade. However, because Brown is most interested in dramatizing
the limit cases - where, for example, the rhetoric of self-making pro-
motes a monstrous confidence man; where gender equality produces
a bayonet-wielding "lady who sheds no tears"
2
; and where the
rhetoric of individualism licenses an ideologue to stop at nothing to
achieve his personal desires — his politics have puzzled his comment-
ators.
Feminist critics, for example, either claim Brown as America's
1 For recent feminist discussions of Brown's work, see Heather Smyth, "Imperfect
Dis(clothes)ures: Cross-dressing and Containment in Charles Brockden Brown's
Ormond" in Sex and Sexuality in Early America, ed. Merril D. Smith (New York: New
York University Press, 1998); and Paul Lewis, "Charles Brockden Brown and the
Gendered Canon of Early American Fiction" in Early American Literature 31: 167-
88. For queer readings of Brown, see Julia Stern, The Plight of Feeling: Sympathy and
Dissent in the Early American Novel (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997)
153-238; and Stephen Watt, The Romance of Real Life: Charles Brockden Brown and the
Origins of American Culture (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press,
J
994) 33~34- F°
r
 discussions of Brown's relations to emerging market discourse, see
Emory Elliot, Revolutionary Writers: Literature and Authority in the New Republic, 1725-
1810 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982); Elizabeth Jane Wall Hinds, Private
Property: Charles Brockden Brown's Gendered Economy of Virtue (Newark: University of
Delaware Press, 1997); and Stephen Watt, The Romance of Real Life (1994).
2 The phrase, adapted from a passage in Ormond which describes Martinette's failure
to cry while burying Roselli (57), is Julia Stern's. See The Plight of Feeling 153.
INTRODUCTIO N 14
earliest feminist or reject him for being patriarchal and condescend-
ing. Some have called Brown's earliest major published work, Akuin:
A Dialogue on the Rights of Women Part One (1798), the first extended
argument for the rights of women to appear in the United States
because it features a bluestocking widow, Mrs. Carter, who attempts
to convince a priggish schoolmaster Alcuin to sympathize with
proto-feminist demands for more lenient divorce laws, as well as
women's rights to own property, pursue professions, and educate
themselves. However, the second part of Alcuin (not published until
after Brown's death), which depicts Alcuin suddenly extending Mrs.
Carter's arguments to advocate free love and the dissolution of mar-
riage as an institution, has suggested to other scholars that Brown is
actually ridiculing the radical feminist platform of Mary Woll-
stonecraft and tainting all eighteenth-century feminist positions by
association.
1
Similarly, scholars interested in Brown's relationship to competing
visions of liberal democracy current in the infant republic have found
his fiction ambiguous. Do his works support Jeffersonian idealism,
characterized by a belief in humanity's innate integrity and per-
fectibility, an agrarian vision of America, a desire for minimal govern-
mental interference, and support for French revolutionary principles?
Or do they advocate Federalist restraint, characterized by pessimism
about human nature, a belief in the need for governmental regulation
to preserve law and order, and a fear of French democracy's extremes
and the dissolution of organized religion? Because Brown sent a gift
copy of his first novel Wieland to Thomas Jefferson, then leader of the
Democrat-Republican Party, Jane Tompkins has read its representa-
tion of a pastoral idyll destroyed by a menacing outsider as simple
i The question of Brown's commitment to feminism in still hotly debated. For a sur-
vey of the debate, see Paul Lewis, "Charles Brockden Brown and the Gendered
Canon of Early American Fiction," Early American Literature 31:167-88. Leland Per-
son argues in "My Good Mama," Studies in American Fiction 9:1 (1981): 33-46, that
Alcuin registers "some uneasiness about roles for women. Indeed, despite his thor-
oughgoing opposition to many arbitrary customs of marriage, the attitudes of
Brown's major male characters toward marriage and women are extremely prob-
lematical" (33); in "The Matter and Manner of Charles Brockden Brown's Alcuin"
Davidson contextualizes the publication of Akuin within debates about marriage
and free love which followed the publication of Mary Wollstonecraft's biography
(Rosenthal 71-86). For a discussion of the equality of the sexes by Judith Sargent
Murray, one of Brown's contemporaries, see Appendix A.
ORMON D 15
Federalist political propaganda, supporting the Alien and Sedition Acts
which sought to control the influx of "dangerous" democratic senti-
ments from Revolutionary Europe by limiting freedom of expression
in America; Tompkins calls Wieland a "plea for the restoration of civic
authority" and a warning of the "dangers of mob rule." However,
because the idyll is also savaged from within, by the threat of incest
and patriarchal family violence, one can read Wieland, as Shirley
Samuels has, as a critique of Federalist assumptions that the early
Republic was weakened exclusively by foreign contagions - the
excesses of the French revolution, uncontrolled immigration, unpro-
tected trade - rather than by dangers both foreign and closer to
home.
1
Brown's apparent ambiguity on these and other matters has been
interpreted by some scholars as a deliberate anti-authoritarian strate-
gy. Cathy N. Davidson, for example, has claimed that "Brown
employed the dialogue form to explore ideas, not to advance or to
substantiate them." According to Davidson, Brown's use of dialogue,
debate, and letters in his major fiction — formal elements that led
New Critics to accuse Brown of stylistic inferiority — functioned as
"an early American version of Bakhtin's 'dialogical' text, a carniva-
lesque performance in which the author resolutely refuses to delimit
his intentions while also allowing his characters their own ambiguities
and even a spirit of'revolt' against any constraining proprieties the
text might threaten to impose."
2
 Others prefer to follow cultural
biographer Stephen Watt's view that Brown "followed a convulsive
ideological evolution from youthful Utopian to stodgy middle-age
conservative." His four major novels are politically ambiguous,
according to this argument, because they dramatize Brown's inner
turmoil before he solidified his political beliefs and abandoned the
writing of novels. Whether one agrees with Watt's claim that Brown's
politics changed "on or about April i8oo"
3
 or with Davidson's asser-
tion that he debated rather than advanced the arguments his fictions
1 See Appendices for 17908 American reactions to European political organizations
such as the Bavarian Illuminati. Jane Tompkins, Sensational Designs, 58; Shirley
Samuels, Romances of the Republic, 44-56.
2 Cathy N. Davidson, "The Matter and Manner of Charles Brockden Brown's
Alcuin" in Bernard Rosenthal, ed. Critical Essays on Charles Brockden Brown, 82.
3 Stephen Watt, The Romance of Real Life, 131.
INTRODUCTIO N 16
present, one can recognize a marked change in the material realities
of Brown's biography, when he traded his single life as a New York
novelist in the late 17908 for the married life of a Philadelphia editor
and businessman in the first decade of the nineteenth century.
Brown's Biography
Charles Brockden Brown was born in 1771, five years before the start
of the American Revolution, in Philadelphia, the thirteen colonies'
intellectual and political centre and the city that later became the
infant nation's capital. His childhood therefore coincided with some
of the most traumatic years in the history of America. His father was a
liberal merchant who, like other colonists, opposed the Stamp Act and
supported the goals of the Revolution. However, because Brown's
father was a Quaker pacifist, he would not bear arms and refused to
take the patriotic oath; as a consequence, he was interned for eight
months and the family business was pillaged by patriots during the
Revolution.
One could argue that because of his family's experience as pacifist
supporters of a revolution that was, by definition, violent, Charles
Brockden Brown, from an early age, occupied a contrarian relation-
ship to his culture. At the Philadelphia Friends Latin School, which
he attended from age eleven, Brown was taught by Tory sympathizer
Robert Proud, who stimulated and challenged Brown's convictions in
the Quaker tradition of intellectual dialogue. When he was fifteen, he
founded the Belles Lettres club with eight male friends including
William Wood Wilkins and Joseph Bringhurst, who met regularly,
sometimes at the home of statesman Benjamin Franklin, to debate
issues such as the morality of suicide, the imperfections of govern-
ment, the limits of liberty, and possible rationalizations for lying.
When Brown completed his schooling in 1787, the same year the
Federal Convention met in Philadelphia to draft the Constitution, he
began apprenticing at the law offices of Alexander Wilcocks at the
urging of his parents and older brothers.
1
While apprenticing for the law, Brown also pursued literary inter-
ests, noting in his journals ideas for epic poems on the discovery of
i On Brown's legal career, see Robert A. Ferguson, Law and Letters in American Culture
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984) 129-49.
17 ORMON D
America or the conquests of Mexico and Peru, and composing imita-
tions of the Book of Psalms, the Book of Job, and the Ossian poems.
1
On the eve of the French Revolution, when Brown was eighteen, he
published his first literary works: the "Rhapsodist" sketches, which
appeared anonymously in the Columbian Magazine, a distinguished lit-
erary journal, and a poem entitled "An Inscription for General Wash-
ington s Tomb Stone," published in the State Gazette of North Carolina.
In these and other early writings, Brown debated the merits of orga-
nized religion, gender equality, political Utopias, and self-interest, all
issues of central concern to the early republic.
Love of debate may have prompted Brown's initial interest in the
law, but the young intellectual soon became disillusioned. "[I] was
perpetually encumbered with the rubbish of the law," he wrote to a
friend, "and waded with laborious steps through its endless tautolo-
gies, its impertinent circuities, its lying assertions and hateful artifi-
ces."
2
 As representations of the law in his later fiction indicate, Brown
viewed the law as a "tissue of shreds and remnants of a barbarous
antiquity patched by the stupidity of modern workmen into new
deformity" (Ormond 51). He was especially critical of the ways in
which, even after the Revolution had attempted to dismantle the
American class system, the Constitution had through its restricted
franchise continued to limit women's, non-whites', and the poor's
access to power and wealth. In 1793, the same year the French monar-
chy was abolished and political stability replaced by the Reign of
Terror, Brown abandoned the law to attempt a life of letters.
Between 1793 and 1798, Brown wrote prodigiously but published
little. Robert Ferguson has described his output during this period as
a "series of vague, incoherent projects easily abandoned or interrupted
by long periods of malaise."
3
 However, this time was crucial for
Brown's development as a writer, primarily because of the friendships
he made with intellectual men who encouraged him, particularly
Elihu Hubbard Smith, whom he met in Philadelphia in 1790. Trained
1 Emory Elliott, Revolutionary Writers: Literature and Authority in the New Republic 1725-
1810 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982) 214.
2 Quoted in Harry R. Warfel, Charles Brockden Brown: American Gothic Novelist
(Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1949) 29.
3 Robert A. Ferguson, "Yellow Fever and Charles Brockden Brown: The Context of
the Emerging Novelist," Early American Literature 14 (1980): 295.
INTRODUCTIO N 18
as a medical doctor by noted Philadelphia!! physician Dr. Benjamin
Rush, Smith was also a man of letters, an opera librettist, author of a
biography of the Connecticut Wits, and editor of an anthology of
American poetry. Although he was a staunch Federalist and Brown
was more persuaded at this time by continental writers, philosophers
whose writings had inspired the French Revolution, and by the
radical positions of English Jacobin writers such as William Godwin,
Smith became Brown's closest friend and patron. It was Smith who
gave Brown the confidence he needed to evade the pleas of his family
to abandon his literary projects and join the family business. When
Smith established a medical practice in New York City upon his grad-
uation, Brown left Philadelphia frequently for extended visits with
him. There he became involved in the Friendly Club, a society of
letters founded by Smith which included a number of Federalist
intellectuals such as James Kent (later Chancellor of New York),
William Dunlap (playwright and later Brown's first biographer),
lawyer William Johnson, and Timothy Dwight (later a conservative
minister and Yale College president), who also encouraged Brown to
take his writing seriously. Like the Belles Lettres club to which
Brown had belonged as a teenager, the Friendly Club met regularly
to discuss recent philosophical writings and literature. During 1796
and 1797, the Club's members also listened to Brown read aloud from
his works in progress. Early in 1798, Brown began to publish a num-
ber of works in quick succession: "The Man At Home," a story pub-
lished serially in the Weekly Magazine beginning in February 1798;
Alcuin, a dialogue on women's rights published in book form in
March 1798 and in revised form, as "The Rights of Women," in the
Weekly Magazine in March and April 1798. He also published a brief
excerpt from a novel Skywalk, now lost, in the Weekly Magazine
in March 1798. In April 1799, when the Friendly Club founded
the Monthly Magazine and American Review, whose aim was to "extract
the quintessence of European wisdom; to review and estimate the
labours of all writers, domestic and foreign,"
1
 Brown became the
editor and a frequent contributor of essays, criticism, and short works
of fiction.
2
1 Introduction, Charles Brockden Brown, Edgar Huntly (New York, 1928) x.
2 For information on Brown's short fiction, see Alfred Weber, ed. Somnambulism and
Other Stones (Frankfurt am Main:Verlag Peter Lang, 1987).
19 ORMON D
After travelling back and forth between Philadelphia and New
York for several years, Brown officially moved to New York City in
July 1798 to share an apartment with Smith and Johnson, just when a
yellow fever epidemic was breaking out there. While tending patients,
Smith contracted the disease and died suddenly in September 1798;
Brown also fell dangerously ill. Biographers speculate that this was
probably the turning point in Brown's career: motivated by the loss of
the man who had been his close friend, peer and patron, and struck
by the parallel vulnerability of the infant nation during its second
experience of yellow fever outbreak, Brown began a frantic period of
writing novels, each of which is haunted by violent threats to the per-
sonal and political body. Robert A. Ferguson estimates that Brown
was at work on all four of the major novels between September
(when Smith died) and November I798.1 Wieland (1798), Ormond
(1799), Arthur Mervyn (Part One, 1799; Part Two, 1800), and Edgar
Huntly (1799) were all written within an eighteen-month period in
1798 and 1799, during which time Brown reflected on the young
Republic's anxious response to the aftermath of the French Revolu-
tion - the Reign of Terror in France and the violent slave rebellion on
the Caribbean island of St. Domingue (now Haiti). This quartet of
novels can be read as revisiting the drama of the American revolution
from a vantage point twenty years later.
Late in 1800, after publishing Part Two of Arthur Mervyn, Brown
returned to Philadelphia to work for the family business, ceased
publication of the Monthly Magazine, and decided abruptly not to
write any more novels. In one issue of a periodical he edited later, he
confessed: "I should enjoy a larger share of my own respect at the
present moment if nothing had ever flowed from my pen, the produc-
tion of which could be traced to me."
2
 Although he did continue to
write novels for a few more months - he published two sentimental
novels, Clara Howard and Jane Talbot, in 1801 - and although he
continued to publish fiction and essays anonymously in The Portfolio
and the magazines he continued to edit, this period, beginning when
he returned to Philadelphia to work for the family business and
1 Ferguson, "Yellow Fever," 302.
2 Quoted in Alan Axelrod, Charles Brockden Brown: An American Tale (Austin: Universi-
ty ofTexas Press, 1983) 126.
INTRODUCTIO N 20
culminating in his happy marriage to Elizabeth Linn, sister of
Presbyterian minister John Linn, in 1803, marks a shift in his career
from novelist to editor and journalist. It also marks a change in
his philosophical outlook from religious questioner to orthodox
Christian. After a turbulent adolescence in which he questioned and
appeared to disavow his religious upbringing (reflected in works such
as Wieland], in 1803, Brown began to edit The Literary Magazine and
American Register, a semi-annual of book reviews, fiction, government
reports, and essays which he vowed would embrace the cause of
religion.
Where as a young man Brown had probably been pro-Jeffersonian
in his leanings and had served as a sort of devil's advocate within the
Federalist-identified Friendly Club, during the final decade of his
career, after Jefferson had been elected President in 1800, Brown
wrote four unsigned or pseudonymously published political pam-
phlets critical of Jefferson's administration: "An Address to the Gov-
ernment of the United States, on the Cession of Louisiana to the
French" (1803), a work whose author claims to have found evidence
of a French plan to expand in North America, thereby promoting
American paranoia of French duplicity; "Monroe's Embassy, or, The
Conduct of the Government in Relation to Our Claims to the Nav-
igation of the Mississippi" (1803), a dialogic piece, part of which is
presented as authored by Jefferson, the other by a merchant impatient
with what he perceives to be Jefferson's conciliatory diplomacy vis a
vis French belligerence; "The British Treaty of Commerce and Navi-
gation" (1807), which continues to criticize Jefferson's government's
attempt to avoid war with Britain through trade restrictions and
negotiations; and "An Address to the Congress of the United States
on the Utility and Justice of Restrictions upon Foreign Commerce"
(1809), which questions the effectiveness of Jefferson's controversial
Embargo policy.
During this time Brown also translated and annotated a geograph-
ical study of the United States by French author Comte de Volney.
When The Literary Magazine and American Register ceased publication
in 1807, and Brown's family business also dissolved, Brown continued
his own small retail business and started a new magazine called The
American Register, or General Repository of History, Politics, and Science,
21 ORMON D
which published only five issues before his health began to decline.
When he died of tuberculosis on February 22, 1810, he was at work
on A Complete System of Geography.
1
Ormond
Coinciding with the recent renewal of critical interest in Brown's
work has been a desire to explore some of his lesser known writings,
for example, his journalistic and editorial contributions to early
American periodicals, his letters, his domestic sentimental fiction Jane
Talbot (1801) and Clara Howard (1801), and the least discussed of his
four major novels, Ormond; or, the Secret Witness (1799). Although
Brown's second novel has the distinction of having been the first
American novel to be reprinted in England, and was praised by
Romantic writers such as Percy Shelley,
2
 it was not as popular among
Brown's American contemporaries as two of his other major novels,
Edgar Huntly and Wieland, and in twentieth-century scholarship it has
suffered from critical neglect.
3
Set primarily in post-Revolutionary Philadelphia, then the early
republic's capital, Ormond tells the story of the young chaste Constan-
tia Dudley's attempts to support herself and her family and to preserve
her republican virtue, in a community threatened by a yellow fever
epidemic, rising tides of immigrant refugees from political crises
around the world, and confidence games associated with emergent
market capitalism.
1 For a detailed discussion of the continuities between Brown's interest in geography,
particularly in statistics about American demographics in the 17908, and his ency-
clopedic attention to the heterogeneity of American identity in his fiction, see
Martin Bruckner, "Literacy, Geography and Domestic Politics in the Writings of
Charles Brockden Brown," an unpublished paper delivered at the "Revising
Charles Brockden Brown" conference.
2 Kenneth Dauber, The Idea of Authorship in America: Democratic Poetics from Franklin to
Melville (Madison: University ofWisconsin Press, 1990) 55.
3 Book-length studies of early American literature — such as Jane Tompkins s Sensa-
tional Designs, Shirley Samuels s Romances of the Republic, Elizabeth Barnes's States of
Feeling, Christopher Looby's Voicing America — if they discuss Brown's works at all,
tend to focus on the other three of his four major novels. Other than chapters in
Julia Stern's The Plight of Feeling, and Robert Levine's Conspiracy and Romance: Stud-
ies in Brockden Brown, Cooper, Hawthorne and Melville (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1989), the only detailed treatments of Ormond appear in essays
published in periodicals. See Works Cited and Recommended Reading.
INTRODUCTIO N 22
Like the geographer he became near the end of his life, Charles
Brockden Brown the novelist was obsessed with the risks and benefits
of boundaries and borders. In his lifetime, the literal borders of the
United States were established by Revolutionary War in 1776 and
then redrawn to reflect the acquisition of the Louisiana territory in
1803; during the same period America's diplomatic borders also fluc-
tuated according to the early republic's shifting allegiances to England
and France, its major trading partners and ideological parents. Speak-
ing more metaphorically, one could say that the boundaries of late-
eighteenth-century American society were also being remapped,
when the hierarchies implicit in relationships between imperial
nations and colonies, states and subjects, parents and children, hus-
bands and wives, were being challenged by radical new philosophies.
As a novelist writing during this volatile period, Brown was interested
in documenting the shifting geographies — social, political, familial,
sexual - of the early republic.
Featuring gender, racial, and class masquerade, Ormond meditates
on the blurring of many conventional boundaries - between male
and female, foreign and domestic, working-class tenant and property
owner, self and other - in the decade following the drafting of the
American constitution. The most critical boundary for Brown is that
which distinguishes the public from the private. Both concepts are
over-determined in Ormond: Brown aligns the private with spaces
which are bounded, for example, the (feminine) body contained by
the limits of personal identity, the home determined by its walls, and
the nation defined by its borders; the private, according to Brown, is
the site that defines and safeguards virtue, independence, and self-
reliance. Conversely he constructs the public as that which exists out-
side of boundaries, i.e., the streets, the wilderness, the world of free
market capitalism. For Brown, the public is initially defined in terms
of the threats to the boundaries of the private - to personal identity,
female chastity, and homely liberty - it occasions.
In Ormond, the critical relation between the public and the private
in fin-de-siede America is often represented spatially, by recurring
images of literal thresholds, doorways, and keyholes - sites that at
once buttress the divisions between the private household and the
public sphere at the same time that they acknowledge their perme-
ability. Although Brown's Gothic novel features no Gothic monster,
23 ORMON D
per se, the social landscape Brown depicts in Ormond is rendered mon-
strous in moments where the distinctions between private and public
suddenly collapse and the vulnerability of the private space — the
body, the household, the nation — is exposed. In Skin Shows: Gothic
Horror and the Technology of Monsters Judith Halberstam has noted that
the "monsters of the nineteenth century metaphorized modern sub-
jectivity as a balancing act between inside/outside, female/male,
body/mind, native/foreign, proletarian/aristocrat."
1
 Subtitled "The
Secret Witness," Brown's baroque tale features many individuals or
forces that, undetected, cross thresholds into the private: radical immi-
grants who challenge the early republic's commitment to democracy;
impostors like Craig, who enters the Dudley home and joins the fam-
ily business, only to defraud it; voyeurs, like Baxter, who spies on the
private activities of his neighbours; morally questionable men like
Ormond, who penetrates locked chambers, eavesdrops on private
conversations, reads minds, and threatens to rape women; and conta-
gions like the yellow fever, a disease that no number of locked doors
and windows can keep out of the private home.
2
 This furtive move-
ment from the public sphere inward to the private is mirrored by the
movement that violently pulls elements of the private - the private
woman or private possessions such as Dudley's lute or Constantia's
miniature — out into the public, into the marketplace, where they lose
their singular meanings and become commodities. Even the family
home, traditionally aligned with the private, through the new market
culture, has become a piece of real estate exchanged between buyers
and sellers, executors and heirs.
3
Initially Brown depicts the permeability of the boundaries
between these spheres as the source of Ormond's Gothic horror, where
the body is threatened by rape, seduction, or contagion; the house-
1 Judith Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Chapel
Hill: Duke University Press, 1995) i.
2 Ormond's masquerade as a chimney sweep is worth noting here in the sense that
this disguise permits him to enter the Dudley home through its chimney, a figural
violation that anticipates his later attempted rape of Constantia. Significantly,
Ormond's masquerades deny others' access to his private sphere while he gains
access to theirs. Brown notes: "No one was more impenetrable than Ormond,
though no one's real character seemed more easily discerned" (131).
3 The Dudleys' summer home at Perth Amboy, for example, "modelled by the
owner's particular direction" (254) and "painted by Mr. Dudley's own hand," (253)
INTRODUCTIO N 24
hold is wracked by deceptive strangers, counterfeit cheques, mas-
querading visitors; and the nation is straining to incorporate the tens
of thousands of new immigrants who come from post-Revolutionary
France, incendiary St. Domingue, and elsewhere. But ultimately,
Brown's novel questions the naivete of a binary opposition that
understands the private realm as a guaranteed site of protection from
public threats to the body, household, and nation. Beginning with
Dudley's own acknowledgement that "the serpent which had stung
him [had been] nurtured in his own bosom" (49), Ormond exposes
the ways in which the private sphere veils its own unspeakable dan-
gers, in particular, the threat of paternal incest that Brown
euphemistically describes as Dudley's "dreadful infatuation[s] and
"low debaucheries] "(57).
Instead of privileging the private over the public, Ormond finally
acknowledges the impossibility of keeping the public and the private
separate; indeed the necessity of relaxing the boundaries between the
public and the private if the Republic is to function as a democracy.
In many ways, this erasure of boundaries could be said to enact pre-
cisely what is implicit in democratic rhetoric, by interpellating private
individuals by drawing them out of the domestic and into the res pub-
lica, and by allowing individuals to circulate more freely, particularly
in terms of gender, class, and nationality.
1
 For example, the collapse of
a structural opposition between public and private also deconstructs
the gendering of those spaces that contain women within the private,
domestic sphere. Too great a permeability, however, and individual
identity and liberty will be violated, submerged, in the public sphere;
too little permeability and the individual will remain isolated and
uninterpellated.
Ormond, then, is preoccupied with imagining an ideal relationship
symbolizes a sentimental rather than commercial relation to things. When financial
ruin forces the Dudleys to sell the home, however, it immediately becomes a com-
modity to which the owner feels no emotional attachment: the first buyer almost
immediately resells the property to Ormond, who then appropriates it to Helena
Cleve, who later wills it to Constantia.
i According to Elizabeth Jane Hinds, "a purely 'private' domain — the home and its
domestic activity — could no longer remain separate from a 'public' world of eco-
nomic activity by the end of the eighteenth century... The private world of private
property depends on and, finally, is the model of the public world of commerce."
Private Property: Charles Brockden Brown's Gendered Economics of Virtue (Newark: Uni-
versity of Delaware Press, 1997) 13,45-
25 ORMON D
between the private sphere and the public sphere on three registers:
the national, represented by the state; the civic and commercial, repre-
sented by the household; and the personal, represented by the body.
Composed when the Federalists were drafting the controversial Alien
and Sedition Acts, which attempted to restrict the influx of extremist
views from France and other sites of democratic revolution, the novel
poses questions about the feasibility of achieving absolute indepen-
dence from other individuals, communities, and nations: How can the
United States play a role in international diplomacy while remaining
an independent nation? How can one's home economy interact with
others while retaining independence? How can one preserve one's
personal liberty while simultaneously extending what one Brown
scholar has termed "fellow feeling"?
1
If Brown's central figure for the dangerous collapse of boundaries
between the public and the private is the threat of penetration - the
nation being overrun by threatening immigrants from France and St.
Domingue; the household being penetrated by thieves and murderers;
and the body being violated by rape and contagion - then the model
antidote for this collapse appears to be romantic union, most conserv-
atively interpreted within the bounds of marriage, an arrangement at
once intensely private and significantly political, whereby someone
from outside the domestic circle joins the private household. Tradi-
tionally the marriage of equals represents the ideal move of the indi-
vidual from the private domestic but ultimately isolated realm to the
public realm. Significantly, it is also the sole means by which the pri-
vate woman can be made public, if only in the limited sense of being
made known sexually to her husband and socially to his kin.
By introducing Ormond as a "biographical sketch" (3) of Constan-
tia Dudley, most likely addressed to a prospective husband, Brown
frames his novel with a meditation on the intersections between
political and sexual virtue. The story begins as a sentimental romance
following the young heroine as she moves from youthful reliance on
her father's protection and support to independent maturity, when
she becomes a young woman capable of choosing her own appropri-
ate marital partner. Ormond maps the young republic's attempts to
achieve a balance between privacy and publicity onto Constantia's
i Julia Stern, The Plight of Feeling, 6.
INTRODUCTIO N 26
efforts to retain her "homely liberty" — defined variously as her priva-
cy, her virtue, her self-sufficiency, her independence, her intellectual
freedom - while establishing relationships with friends, neighbours,
employers, figures of authority, and most significantly, potential hus-
bands. As an unmarried woman, Constantia's participation in the
public sphere is most fraught. The Republican woman by definition is
expected both to participate in the res publica and to retain her virtue,
the sexual chastity which served as an index of the privacy achieved
by the woman's family. In Ormond, Brown particularizes the risks to
the private self on the public stage in the case of the woman whose
private virtue goes under siege in public.
After her father's business is ruined by Craig, a young man adopted
into the family as Dudley's business partner (and possibly his future
son-in-law), the Dudleys lose their family home — the seat of privacy,
financial self-sufficiency, and family intimacy - and Constantia's blind,
depressed father abdicates his role as head of the household. At this
point in the novel, the father and daughter exchange their gendered
spheres: because Dudley "hate[s] to be seen or known" (121), and
makes vain attempts to preserve his privacy by changing the family
name, staying indoors, and avoiding "visitants" (61), he becomes the
"man at home," to use Brown's phrase, while his chaste teenaged
daughter Constantia, who is originally aligned with the domestic and
the private, is forced out into the public sphere, to negotiate relations
with employers, landlords, and tradespeople as she struggles to pre-
serve the independence of her household.
After rejecting several suitors whom she considers too young or
her intellectual inferior, and avoiding the unwanted sexual advances
of common men she encounters in the thoroughfares, Constantia
meets two individuals who inspire her admiration and love: Ormond,
a wealthy intellectual involved in secret international political
schemes, and Martinette de Beauvais, a freedom fighter who has
cross-dressed to fight for liberty in both Europe and America. In con-
trast to the transparent Constantia, who is aligned with the home and
efforts to maintain the household in the midst of poverty, disease, and
fraud, both Martinette and Ormond are allied with masquerade and
the public sphere, with contemporary wars, world politics, and mas-
culine military exploits. Born in Europe, employed by various armies
across the continent, and temporarily residing in the United States,
27 ORMON D
they are affiliated with no home country, no family nor domestic res-
idence, but rather exist on the international stages they inhabit as
public figures.
Although Constantia is intellectually seduced by Ormond and
considers marrying him, her romantic passion is also piqued by Mar-
tinette, a woman she decides "would prove worthy of her love" (93).
This passion prepares the reader for Constantia's similar ardour for her
long-lost childhood companion Sophia, who is ultimately identified
as the narrator when the friends are reunited late in the novel. With
the introduction of these three competing passions, Brown represents
both heterosexual marriage and queer romantic union as possible
means by which Constantia might preserve her "homely liberty"
while participating in the public sphere of the early republic.
However, the climax of the novel seems a cynical surrender to the
impossibility of achieving this Utopian desire. The heterosexual mar-
riage plot dissolves when the jealous Ormond murders Constantia's
father and corners Constantia in a deserted farmhouse at Perth
Amboy and threatens her with rape. Similarly, the homosocial sorority
that Constantia has enjoyed, first with Martinette, and later with her
soulmate Sophia, also seems unsustainable. Sophia's arrival at the
house at Perth Amboy recalls her first reunion with Constantia when
one woman hears the other's voice through a closed door (241).
Brown's image of this second reunion, two women on either side of a
locked door neither of them can open, is particularly bleak. The
threshold permeated by all of the novel's villains, whether yellow
fever, confidence men, or seducers, cannot be spanned by Sophia
without the use of violence. Significantly, although Constantia has
succeeded in preventing Ormond from raping her by killing him,
Brown describes Constantia at this climax to the novel in language
associated with the victims of seduction, "hands ... clasped on her
breast ..., eyes wildly fixed upon the ceiling, and streaming with tears,
and hair unbound and falling confusedly over her bosom and neck"
(272) as if to suggest that women's attempts to participate in the pub-
lic sphere necessitate their violation. And despite her rapturous
reunion with her long-lost soulmate, the final scenes of the novel
depict Constantia's absolute isolation: with Sophia attending to her
new husband, Martinette vanished, her father murdered, and her ex-
lover dead by her own hand, Constantia is lost in interiority, in the
INTRODUCTIO N 28
"erroneous accusations of her conscience" (274).
Brown's ultimate despair regarding the possibility of finding a
means of balancing the private and public demands on the self is also
reflected in the novel's form. Beginning purportedly as a biographical
sketch of the virtuous Republican heroine Constantia Dudley, the
novel quickly widens its focus to incorporate digressions, embedded
narratives, and biographical sketches of the family, friends, and neigh-
bours through whom Constantia's identity is constituted, as if to sug-
gest that the independent self artificially constructed by biography is
ultimately a fiction: that the individual subject is always already part
of a larger heterogeneous whole; that the private home is always
already penetrated by the public; that the nation must always engage
in diplomatic relations with other nations; and that, in order to
become part of the res publica, women must imagine some sort of par-
ticipation in the public sphere. It also widens to incorporate the
potential suitors who may bring Constantia virtuously into the public
sphere through romantic union.
The novel's conclusion, however, reverses this gesture by drawing
Constantia into progressively narrower worlds and more private
spaces. Whereas the early movement of the novel is epistemologically
toward experimentation — new homes, new livelihoods, new foods,
new friendships, new suitors - and spatially toward the potential
opportunities for fellowship, commerce, and exercise of civic duty in
the public sphere, the later scenes of the novel return to known quan-
tities and the private sphere. In the final chapters of the novel, Con-
stantia rejects her third suitor and flees the nation's capital, retreating
first to a rural family summer home, later to England, and finally to
what Amy Kaplan has termed "the privileged space of the domestic
novel - the inferiority of the female subject."
1
 One could argue that
Constantia's flight to the house at Perth Amboy, a site of pastoral
immunity from the urban world and its adjacent capitalist market cul-
ture, also represents somewhat of a chronological retreat, a nostalgic
desire to return to a pre-market, perhaps even pre-Revolutionary
Jeffersonian idyll associated with Constantia's (and the nation's)
"infantile days" (253), her "innocent and careless youth" (254).The
return to England and away from the Republican experiment
i Amy Kaplan, "Manifest Domesticity," American Literature 70:3 (1998): 600.
29 ORMON D
altogether compounds this nostalgic desire for the known values of
the pre-Revolutionary world. Given Brown's tendency to spatialize
his abstract thoughts, Constantia's final psychological retreat to repeat-
ed reviews of the traumatic events preceding her rescue appears to
signal her inability or refusal to permit the public to permeate her
private world.
Like the form of the Gothic novel, which Maggie Kilgour has
compared to Frankenstein's monster, pieced together not altogether
seamlessly out of its constituent parts, Ormond is concerned with what
one could call "crises of relation." Gothic novels often document
characters' attempts to negotiate original relationships to larger units
so as to exercise individual newfound liberty without forsaking affec-
tional bonds. If Ormond depicts a crisis of relation, in the sense that all
possible means of interpellating the private individual into the public
sphere are foreclosed by the collapse of potential relationships at the
novel's end, Brown's vision of the possibilities of intersections
between the private world of the individual and the public world of
the nation is pessimistic. That said, however, one could find some
optimism in Brown's depictions of acts of storytelling. Like the "mar-
riage of speaking and hearing" that Faulkner describes in Absalom,
Absalom! one hundred and thirty years later, Ormond seems to offer
storytelling as an alternative union to the marriages and other inti-
mate relationships that ultimately fail in the novel by bringing the iso-
lated individual into the republic of letters through personal
narration. Julia Stern has noted that storytelling functions as "a medi-
um of countercontagion in Ormond, through which women face loss
and attempt to reweave the social fabric their republican brothers
have critically weakened."
1
 Where confidence men like Craig use
their invented autobiographies for self-aggrandizement or refuse to
offer tales (Ormond significantly resists all invitations to provide
details about his life), women like Martinette, Sophia and Constantia
consistently use stories to establish bonds between the private indi-
vidual and the stranger who listens to her tale. In a novel which ratio-
nally debates the value of marriage but offers no models of healthy
marriage, storytelling appears to be the most sensual exchange
between intimates. Brown scholars, for example, have speculated that
i Stern, The Plight of Feeling, 156.
INTRODUCTIO N 30
the narrative Sophia tells the mysterious I.E. Rosenberg may function
as Sophia's efforts to woo Rosenberg as a husband for her isolated
friend. Martinette's sharing of her autobiography with Constantia,
beginning in Chapter 19, resembles nothing more than Othello's
seduction of Desdemona through a recitation of military exploits;
similarly Sophia's and Constantia's joyful exchange of stories at their
reunion is described in language far more erotic than any other rela-
tionship in the novel: "The appetite for sleep and for food were con-
founded and lost amidst the impetuosities of a master passion. To look
and to talk to each other afforded enchanting occupation for every
moment. I would not part from her side, but eat and slept ... with her
breath fanning my cheek....The story of each other's wanderings was
told with endless amplification and minuteness.... Henceforth, the
stream of our existence was to mix; we were to act and to think in
common" (241, 242). Sophia's vision of two independent individuals
suddenly acting and thinking in common because of the stories they
have shared underlines for the reader the value Brown sees in begin-
ning to write the national narratives that will incorporate the individ-
ual American subject into a national imagined community.
If Brown ultimately despairs over the possibility of the public and
private spheres safely intersecting through marriage or homosocial
union, his own storytelling example in Ormond successfully maps the
private experiences of his heroine onto the larger political world of
America in the first decades after the Revolution. With Edgar Huntly,
Arthur Mervyn, and Wieland, the other novels Brown wrote within the
same eighteen-month period, Ormond forms a quartet meditating on
the historical and social development of the infant nation in a crucial
decade of American history.
31 ORMON D
A Note on the Text
This edition of Ormond is based on the 1887 edition published in
Philadelphia by David McKay, which, according to Eleanor Tilton, has
almost all the emendations accepted by or introduced in the Bicen-
tennial critical edition. Spelling of proper names has been corrected;
some spelling and punctuation have been modernized. The goal of
this edition is to make available to students an affordable edition of a
novel that is currently only available in an expensive scholarly edition.
Brief annotations accompany the text to clarify unfamiliar terms. The
appendices —Judith Sargent Murray's "On the Equality of the Sexes";
excerpts from John Robison's anti-Illuminati essay, Proofs of a Conspir-
acy Against All the Religions and Governments of Europe, Carried on in the
Secret Meetings of Free Masons, Illuminati, and Reading Societies; and
excerpts from Reverend Jedidiah Morse's "A Sermon Exhibiting the
Present Dangers, and Consequent Duties of the Citizens of the Unit-
ed States" - are intended to provide the reader with historical context
for topics raised by the novel.
A NOTE ON THE TEXT 32
Charles Brockden Brown: A Brief Chronology
Born January 17 in Philadelphia to merchant Quaker par-
ents.
Began study at the Philadelphia Friends Latin School.
Completed schooling and began studying law at the office
of Alexander Wilcocks. Founded the Belles Lettres Club
with eight friends.
Contributed the "Rliapsodist" essays to the Columbian Mag-
azine.
Met Elihu Hubbard Smith, a medical student and intellectu-
al.
Abandoned the law.
Yellow fever epidemic in Philadelphia.
Wrote poem entitled "Devotion: An Epistle."
Began writing his Philadelphia novel (probably Arthur
Mervyn}.
Moved to New York. Joined the Friendly Club, a group of
intellectuals which included Smith, playwright William
Dunlap (later his biographer) and others.
Returned to Philadelphia. Completed novel entitled Sky-
Walk which was never published. Wrote AlcuiniA Dialogue, a
fictional debate on women's rights.
Published essays and short fiction in the Philadelphia Weekly
Magazine. Alcuin published. Moved to New York in July,
where yellow fever epidemic raged. Smith died of yellow
fever in September. Brown was seriously infected by yellow
fever. His gothic novel Wieland published. Drafted "Carwin
the Biloquist."
Ormond, Part One of Arthur Mervyn, and Edgar Huntly pub-
lished. Began to publish and edit The Monthly Magazine, and
American Review.
Part Two of Arthur Mervyn published. The Monthly Magazine
ceased publication in December. Returned to Philadelphia
to work with brothers for family mercantile business.
Sentimental novels Clara Howard and Jane Talbot published.
Began to edit and publish The Literary Magazine and Ameri-
1771
1781
1787
1789
1790
1792
i?93
i?94
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1803
33 ORMON E
can Register.Wrote and published political pamphlets: "An
Address to the Government of the United States on the
Cessation of Louisiana to the French" and "Monroe's
Embassy; or, The Conduct of the Government in Relation
to Our Claims to the Navigation of the Mississippi."
Married Elizabeth Linn, sister of poet John Blair Linn. Three
sons and one daughter. Translation of Volney's Tableau du cli-
mat et du sol des Etats-Unis published.
Published "Sketch of the Life and Character of John Blair
Linn," to accompany Linn's poem, "Valerian."
Family business dissolved. The publication of The Register
ceased.
Political pamphlet "The British Treaty of Commerce and
Navigation" published. Began to publish The American Regis-
ter, or General Repository of History, Politics, and Science. Aban-
doned The Literary Magazine.
Political pamphlet "An Address to the Congress of the
United States on the Utility and Justice of Restrictions upon
Foreign Commerce" published.
Died of tuberculosis in Philadelphia.
1804
1805
1806
1807
1809
1810
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN: A BRIEF CHRONOLOG Y 34
ORMOND;
OR, THE SECRET WITNESS
This page intentionally left blank 
TO I.E. ROSENBERG
You are anxious to obtain some knowledge of the history of Con-
stantia Dudley. I am well acquainted with your motives, and allow
that they justify your curiosity. I am willing, to the utmost of my
power, to comply with your request, and will now dedicate what
leisure I have to the composition of her story.
My narrative will have little of that merit which flows from unity
of design. You are desirous of hearing an authentic, and not a ficti-
tious, tale. It will, therefore, be my duty to relate events in no artificial
or elaborate order, and without that harmonious congruity and lumi-
nous amplification which might justly be displayed in a tale flowing
merely from invention. It will be little more than a biographical
sketch, in which the facts are distributed and amplified, not as a poet-
ical taste would prescribe, but as the materials afforded me, sometimes
abundant and sometimes scanty, would permit.
Constantia, like all the beings made known to us, not by fancy, but
experience, has numerous defects.You will readily perceive that her
tale is told by her friend; but I hope you will not discover many or
glaring proofs of a disposition to extenuate her errors or falsify her
character.
Ormond will, perhaps, appear to you a contradictory or unintelli-
gible being. I pretend not to the infallibility of inspiration. He is not a
creature of fancy. It was not prudent to unfold all the means by which
I gained a knowledge of his actions; but these means, though singu-
larly fortunate and accurate, could not be unerring and complete. I
have shown him to you as he appeared, on different occasions and at
successive periods, to me. This is all that you will demand from a
faithful biographer.
If you were not deeply interested in the fate of my friend, yet my
undertaking will not be useless, inasmuch as it will introduce you to
scenes to which you have been hitherto a stranger. The modes of life,
the influence of public events upon the character and happiness of
37 ORMON D
individuals, in America, are new to you. The distinctions of birth, the
artificial degrees of esteem or contempt which connect themselves
with different professions and ranks in your native country,
1
 are but
little known among us. Society and manners constitute your favourite
study; and I am willing to believe that my relation will supply you
with knowledge, on these heads, not to be otherwise obtained. If
these details be, in that respect, unsatisfactory, all that I can add is my
counsel to go and examine for yourself.
S.C.
Germany. i
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 38
STEPHEN DUDLEY was a native of New York. He was educated to the
profession of a painter. His father's trade was that of an apothecary.
But, his son manifesting an attachment to the pencil, he was resolved
that it should be gratified. For this end Stephen was sent at an early
age to Europe, and not only enjoyed the instructions of Fuseli and
Bartolozzi,
1
 but spent a considerable period in Italy in studying the
Augustan and Medicean monuments. It was intended that he should
practise his art in his native city; but the young man, though recon-
ciled to this scheme by deference to paternal authority, and by a sense
of its propriety, was willing as long as possible to postpone it. The lib-
erality of his father relieved him from all pecuniary cares. His whole
time was devoted to the improvement of his skill in his favourite art,
and the enriching of his mind with every valuable accomplishment.
He was endowed with a comprehensive genius and indefatigable
industry. His progress was proportionably rapid, and he passed his
time without much regard to futurity, being too well satisfied with
the present to anticipate a change. A change, however, was unavoid-
able, and he was obliged at length to pay a reluctant obedience to his
father's repeated summons. The death of his wife had rendered his
society still more necessary to the old gentleman.
He married before his return. The woman whom he had selected
was an unportioned orphan, and was recommended merely by her
moral qualities. These, however, were eminent, and secured to her, till
the end of her life, the affection of her husband. Though painting was
capable of fully gratifying his taste as matter of amusement, he quick-
ly found that in his new situation it would not answer the ends of a
profession. His father supported himself by the profits of his shop, but
with all his industry he could do no more than procure a subsistence
for himself and his son.
Till his father's death young Dudley attached himself to painting.
i Fuseli and Bartolozzi: Influential in the English romantic movement, Henry Fuseli
(1741-1825) was a Swiss-born painter known for his melodramatic historical and
Gothic paintings. Francesco Bartolozzi (1727-1815) was an engraver who, after
studying painting and engraving in Florence and Venice, began his career in Rome.
In 1764 Bartolozzi was invited to make engravings for his English patron, King
George III.
CHAPTER I
39 ORMON D
His gains were slender; but he loved the art, and his father's profession
rendered his own exertions in a great degree superfluous. The death
of the elder Dudley introduced an important change in his situation.
It thenceforth became necessary to strike into some new path, to
deny himself the indulgence of his inclinations and regulate his future
exertions by a view to nothing but gain. There was little room for
choice. His habits had disqualified him for mechanical employments.
He could not stoop to the imaginary indignity which attended them,
nor spare the time necessary to obtain the requisite degree of skill. His
father died in possession of some stock, and a sufficient portion of
credit to supply its annual decays. He lived at what they call a good
stand, and enjoyed a certain quantity of permanent custom. The
knowledge that was required was as easily obtained as the elements of
any other profession, and was not wholly unallied to the pursuits in
which he had sometimes engaged. Hence he could not hesitate long
in forming his resolution, but assumed the management of his father's
concerns with a cheerful and determined spirit.
The knowledge of his business was acquired in no long time. He
was stimulated to the acquisition by a sense of duty, he was inured to
habits of industry, and there were few things capable to resist a strenu-
ous exertion of his faculties. Knowledge of whatever kind afforded a
compensation to labour; but, the task being finished, that which
remained, which in ordinary apprehensions would have been
esteemed an easy and smooth path, was to him insupportably disgust-
ful. The drudgery of a shop, where all the faculties were at a stand and
one day was an unvaried repetition of the foregoing, was too incon-
genial to his disposition not to be a source of discontent. This was an
evil which it was the tendency of time to increase rather than dimin-
ish. The longer he endured it the less tolerable it became. He could
not forbear comparing his present situation with his former, and
deriving from the contrast perpetual food for melancholy.
The indulgence of his father had contributed to instil into him
prejudices, in consequence of which a certain species of disgrace was
annexed to every employment of which the only purpose was gain.
His present situation not only precluded all those pursuits which exalt
and harmonize the feelings, but was detested by him as something
humiliating and ignominious. His wife was of a pliant temper, and her
condition less influenced by this change than that of her husband. She
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 40
was qualified to be his comforter; but, instead of dispelling his gloom
by judicious arguments or a seasonable example of vivacity, she
caught the infection that preyed upon his mind, and augmented his
anxieties by partaking in them.
By enlarging in some degree the foundation on which his father
had built, he had provided the means of a future secession, and might
console himself with the prospect of enjoying his darling ease at some
period of his life. This period was necessarily too remote for his wish-
es; and, had not certain occurrences taken place, by which he was flat-
tered with the immediate possession of ease, it is far from being
certain that he would not have fallen a victim to his growing disqui-
etudes.
He was one morning engaged behind his counter as usual, when a
youth came into his shop, and, in terms that bespoke the union of
fearlessness and frankness, inquired whether he could be engaged as
an apprentice. A proposal of this kind could not be suddenly rejected
or adopted. He stood in need of assistance: the youth was manly and
blooming, and exhibited a modest and ingenuous aspect. It was possi-
ble that he was, in every respect, qualified for the post for which he
applied, but it was previously necessary to ascertain these qualifica-
tions. For this end he requested the youth to call at his house in the
evening, when he should be at leisure to converse with him, and fur-
nished him with suitable directions.
The youth came according to appointment. On being questioned
as to his birthplace and origin, he stated that he was a native of
Wakefield, in Yorkshire; that his family were honest, and his education
not mean; that he was the eldest of many children, and, having
attained an age at which he conceived it his duty to provide for him-
self, he had, with the concurrence of his friends, come to America, in
search of the means of independent subsistence; that he had just
arrived in a ship which he named, and, his scanty stock of money
being likely to be speedily consumed, this had been the first effort he
had made to procure employment.
His tale was circumstantial and consistent, and his veracity
appeared liable to no doubt. He was master of his book and his pen,
and had acquired more than the rudiments of Latin. Mr. Dudley did
not require much time to deliberate. In a few days the youth was
established as a member of his family and as a coadjutor in his shop,
41 ORMON D
nothing but food, clothing, and lodging being stipulated as the reward
of his services.
The young man improved daily in the good opinion of his master.
His apprehension was quick, his sobriety invariable, and his applica-
tion incessant. Though by no means presumptuous or arrogant, he
was not wanting in a suitable degree of self-confidence. All his
propensities appeared to concentre in his occupation and the promo-
tion of his master's interest, from which he was drawn aside by no
allurements of sensual or intellectual pleasure. In a short time he was
able to relieve his master of most of the toils of his profession; and Mr.
Dudley a thousand times congratulated himself on possessing a ser-
vant equally qualified by his talents and his probity. He gradually
remitted his attention to his own concerns, and placed more absolute
reliance on the fidelity of his dependant.
Young Craig (that was the name of the youth) maintained a punc-
tual correspondence with family, and confided to his patron not only
copies of all the letters which he himself wrote, but those which, from
time to time, he received. He had several correspondents, but the
chief of those were his mother and his eldest sister. The sentiments
contained in their letters breathed the most appropriate simplicity and
tenderness, and flowed, with the nicest propriety, from the different
relationships of mother and sister. The style and even the penmanship
were distinct and characteristical.
One of the first of these epistles was written by the mother to Mr.
Dudley, on being informed by her son of his present engagement. It
was dictated by that concern for the welfare of her child befitting the
maternal character. Gratitude for the ready acceptance of the youth's
services, and for the benignity of his deportment towards him, a just
representation of which had been received by her from the boy him-
self, was expressed with no inconsiderable elegance; as well as her
earnest wishes that Mr. Dudley should extend to him not only the
indulgence, but the moral superintendence, of a parent.
To this Mr. Dudley conceived it incumbent upon him to return a
consenting answer, and letters were in this manner occasionally inter-
changed between them.
Things remained in this situation for three years, during which
period every day enhanced the reputation of Craig for stability and
integrity. A sort of provisional engagement had been made between
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 42
the parents, unattended, however, by any legal or formal act, that
things should remain on their present footing for three years. When
this period terminated, it seemed as if a new engagement had become
necessary. Craig expressed the utmost willingness to renew the for-
mer contract, but his master began to think that the services of his
pupil merited a higher recompense. He ascribed the prosperity that
had hitherto attended him to the disinterested exertions of his
apprentice. His social and literary gratifications had been increased by
the increase of his leisure. These were capable of being still more
enlarged. He had not yet acquired what he deemed a sufficiency, and
could not therefore wholly relieve himself from the turmoils and
humiliation of a professional life. He concluded that he should at
once consult his own interest and perform no more than an act of
justice to a faithful servant, by making Craig his partner, and allowing
him a share of the profits, on condition of his discharging all the
duties of the trade.
When this scheme was proposed to Craig, he professed unbound-
ed gratitude, considered all that he had done as amply rewarded by
the pleasure of performance, and as being nothing more than was
prescribed by his duty. He promised that this change in his situation
should have no other effect than to furnish new incitements to dili-
gence and fidelity in the promotion of an interest which would then
become, in a still higher degree than formerly, a common one. Mr.
Dudley communicated his intention to Craig's mother, who, in addi-
tion to many grateful acknowledgments, stated that a kinsman of her
son had enabled him, in case of entering into partnership, to add a
small sum to the common stock, and that for this sum Craig was
authorized to draw upon a London banker.
The proposed arrangement was speedily effected. Craig was
charged with the management of all affairs, and Mr. Dudley retired to
the enjoyment of still greater leisure. Two years elapsed, and nothing
occurred to interrupt the harmony that subsisted between the part-
ners. Mr. Dudley's condition might be esteemed prosperous. His
wealth was constantly accumulating. He had nearly attained all that
he wished, and his wishes still aimed at nothing less than splendid
opulence. He had annually increased the permanent sources of his
revenue. His daughter was the only survivor of many children, who
perished in their infancy, before habit and maturity had rendered the
43 ORMON D
parental tie difficult to break. This daughter had already exhibited
proofs of a mind susceptible of high improvement, and the loveliness
of her person promised to keep pace with her mental acquisitions. He
charged himself with the care of her education, and found no weari-
ness or satiety in this task that might not be amply relieved by the
recreations of science and literature. He flattered himself that his
career, which had hitherto been exempt from any considerable
impediment, would terminate in tranquillity. Few men might, with
more propriety, have discarded all apprehensions respecting futurity.
Craig had several sisters and one brother, younger than himself.
Mr. Dudley, desirous of promoting the happiness of this family, pro-
posed to send for this brother and have him educated to his own pro-
fession, insinuating to his partner that, at the time when the boy
should have gained sufficient stability and knowledge, he himself
might be disposed to relinquish the profession altogether, on terms
particularly advantageous to the two brothers, who might thenceforth
conduct their business jointly. Craig had been eloquent in praise of
this lad, and his testimony had, from time to time, been confirmed by
that of his mother and sister. He had often expressed his wishes for
the prosperity of the lad, and, when his mother had expressed her
doubts as to the best method of disposing of him, modestly requested
Mr. Dudley's advice on this head. The proposal, therefore, might be
supposed to be particularly acceptable; and yet Craig expressed reluc-
tance to concur with it. This reluctance was accompanied with certain
tokens which sufficiently showed whence it arose. Craig appeared
unwilling to increase those obligations under which he already
laboured. His sense of gratitude was too acute to allow him to height-
en it by the reception of new benefits.
It might be imagined that this objection would be easily removed;
but the obstinacy of Craig's opposition was invincible. Mr. Dudley
could not relinquish a scheme to which no stronger objection could
be made. And, since his partner could not be prevailed upon to make
this proposal to the friends of the lad, he was determined to do it
himself. He maintained an intercourse by letters with several of those
friends which he formed in his youth. One of them usually resided in
London. From him he received, about this time, a letter, in which,
among other information, the writer mentioned his intention of set-
ting out on a tour through Yorkshire and the Scottish Highlands. Mr.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 44
Dudley thought this a suitable opportunity for executing his design in
favour of young Craig. He entertained no doubts about the worth
and condition of this family, but was still desirous of obtaining some
information on this head from one who would pass through the town
where they resided, who would examine with his own eyes, and on
whose discernment and integrity he could place an implicit reliance.
He concealed this intention from his partner, and intrusted his letter
to a friend who was just embarking for Europe. In due season he
received an answer, confirming, in all respects, Craig's representations,
but informing him that the lad had been lately disposed of in a way
not equally advantageous with that which Mr. Dudley had proposed,
but such as would not admit of change.
If doubts could possibly be entertained respecting the character
and views of Craig, this evidence would have dispelled them. But
plans, however skilfully contrived, if founded on imposture, cannot
fail of being sometimes detected. Craig had occasion to be absent
from the city for some weeks. Meanwhile, a letter had been left at his
lodgings by one who merely inquired if that were the dwelling of Mr.
Dudley, and, being answered by the servant in the affirmative, left the
letter without further parley. It was superscribed with a name
unknown to any of the family, and in a hand which its badness ren-
dered almost illegible. The servant placed it in a situation to be seen
by his master.
Mr. Dudley allowed it to remain unopened for a considerable
time. At length, deeming it excusable to discover, by any means, the
person to whom it was addressed, he ventured to unseal it. It was
dated at Portsmouth in New Hampshire. The signature was Mary
Mansfield. It was addressed to her son, and was a curious specimen of
illiterateness. Mary herself was unable to write, as she reminds her
son, and had therefore procured the assistance of Mrs. Dewitt, for
whose family she washed. The amanuensis was but little superior in
the arts of penmanship to her principal. The contents of the epistle
were made out with some difficulty. This was the substance of it: -
Mary reproaches her son for deserting her and letting five years
pass away without allowing her to hear from him. She informed him
of her distresses as they flowed from sickness and poverty, and were
aggravated by the loss of her son, who was so handsome and promis-
ing a lad. She related her marriage with Zekel Hackney, who first
45 ORMON D
brought her tidings of her boy. He was master, it seems, of a fishing-
smack,
1
 and voyaged sometimes to New York. In one of his visits to
this city, he met a mighty spry young man, in whom he thought he
recognized his wife's son. He had traced him to the house of Mr.
Dudley, and, on inquiry, discovered that the lad resided here. On his
return he communicated the tidings to his spouse, who had now
written to reproach him for his neglect of his poor old mother, and to
entreat his assistance to relieve her from the necessity of drudging for
her livelihood.
This letter was capable of an obvious construction. It was, no
doubt, founded in mistake, though it was to be acknowledged that the
mistake was singular. Such was the conclusion immediately formed by
Mr. Dudley. He quietly replaced the letter on the mantel-piece, where
it had before stood, and dismissed the affair from his thoughts.
Next day Craig returned from his journey. Mr. Dudley was
employed in examining some papers in a desk that stood behind the
door in the apartment in which the letter was placed. There was no
other person in the room when Craig entered it. He did not perceive
Mr. Dudley, who was screened from observation by his silence and by
an open door. As soon as he entered, Mr. Dudley looked at him, and
made no haste to speak. The letter, whose superscription was turned
towards him, immediately attracted Craig's attention. He seized it
with some degree of eagerness, and, observing the broken seal, thrust
it hastily into his pocket, muttering at the same time, in a tone beto-
kening a mixture of consternation and anger, "Damn it!" He immedi-
ately left the room, still uninformed of the presence of Mr. Dudley,
who began to muse, with some earnestness, on what he had seen.
Soon after he left this room and went into another, in which the fam-
ily usually sat. In about twenty minutes Craig made his appearance
with his usual freedom and plausibility. Complimentary and custom-
ary topics were discussed. Mrs. Dudley and her daughter were like-
wise present. The uneasiness which the incident just mentioned had
occasioned in the mind of Mr. Dudley was at first dispelled by the
disembarrassed behaviour of his partner; but new matter of suspicion
was speedily afforded him. He observed that his partner spoke of his
present entrance as of the first since his arrival, and that when the lady
i fishing-smack: single-masted boat.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 46
mentioned that he had been the subject of a curious mistake, a letter
being directed to him by a strange name and left there during his
absence, he pretended total ignorance of the circumstance. The young
lady was immediately directed by her mother to bring the letter,
which lay, she said, on the mantel-tree in the next room.
During this scene Mr. Dudley was silent. He anticipated the disap-
pointment of the messenger, believing the letter to have been
removed. What then was his surprise when the messenger returned
bearing the letter in her hand! Craig examined and read it, and com-
mented, with great mirth, on the contents, acting all the while as if he
had never seen it before. These appearances were not qualified to
quiet suspicion. The more Dudley brooded over them, the more dis-
satisfied he became. He, however, concealed his thoughts as well from
Craig himself as his family, impatiently waiting for some new occur-
rence to arise by which he might square his future proceedings.
During Craig's absence, Mrs. Dudley had thought this a proper
occasion for cleaning his apartment. The furniture, and, among the
rest, a large chest strongly fastened, was removed into an adjoining
room, which was otherwise unoccupied and which was usually kept
locked. When the cleansing was finished, the furniture was replaced,
except this trunk, which its bulk, the indolence of the servant, and
her opinion of its uselessness, occasioned her to leave in the closet.
About a week after this, on a Saturday evening, Craig invited to
sup with him a friend who was to embark, on the ensuing Monday,
for Jamaica. During supper, at which the family were present, the dis-
course turned on the voyage on which the guest was about to enter.
In the course of talk, the stranger expressed how much he stood in
need of a strong and commodious chest, in which he might safely
deposit his clothes and papers. Not being apprized of the early depar-
ture of the vessel, he had deferred, till it was too late, applying to an
artisan.
Craig desired him to set himself at rest on that head, for that he
had in his possession just such a trunk as he described. It was of no
use to him, being long filled with nothing better than refuse and lum-
ber, and that, if he would, he might send for it the next morning. He
turned to Mrs. Dudley, and observed that the trunk to which he
alluded was in her possession, and he would thank her to direct its
removal into his own apartment, that he might empty it of its present
47 ORMON D
contents and prepare it for the service of his friend. To this she readily
assented.
There was nothing mysterious in this affair, but the mind of Mr.
Dudley was pained with doubts. He was now as prone to suspect as
he was formerly disposed to confidence. This evening he put the key
of the closet in his own pocket. When inquired for the next day, it was
of course missing. It could not be found on the most diligent search.
The occasion was not of such moment as to justify breaking the door.
Mr. Dudley imagined that he saw, in Craig, more uneasiness at this
disappointment than he was willing to express. There was no remedy.
The chest remained where it was, and next morning the ship depart-
ed on her voyage.
Craig accompanied his friend on board, was prevailed upon to go
to sea with him, designing to return with the pilot-boat; but, when
the pilot was preparing to leave the vessel, such was this man's com-
plaisance to the wishes of his friend, that he concluded to perform the
remainder of the voyage in his company. The consequences are easily
seen. Craig had gone with a resolution of never returning. The
unhappy Dudley was left to deplore the total ruin of his fortune
which had fallen a prey to the arts of a subtle impostor.
The chest was opened, and the part which Craig had been playing
for some years with so much success was perfectly explained. It
appeared that the sum which Craig had contributed to the common
stock, when first admitted into partnership, had been previously pur-
loined from the daily receipts of his shop, of which an exact register
was kept. Craig had been so indiscreet as to preserve this accusing
record, and it was discovered in this depository. He was the son of
Mary Mansfield, and a native of Portsmouth. The history of the
Wakefield family, specious and complicated as it was, was entirely
fictitious. The letters had been forged, and the correspondence sup-
ported by his own dexterity. Here was found the letter which Mr.
Dudley had written to his friend requesting him to make certain
inquiries at Wakefield, and which he imagined that he had delivered
with his own hands to a trusty bearer. Here was the original draught
of the answer he received. The manner in which this stratagem had
been accomplished came gradually to light. The letter which was
written to the Yorkshire traveller had been purloined, and another,
with a similar superscription, in which the hand of Dudley was exact-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 48
ly imitated, and containing only brief and general remarks, had been
placed in its stead. Craig must have suspected its contents, and by this
suspicion have been incited to the theft. The answer which the Eng-
lishman had really written, and which sufficiently corresponded with
the forged letter, had been intercepted by Craig, and furnished him a
model from which he might construct an answer adapted to his own
purposes.
This imposture had not been sustained for a trivial purpose. He
had embezzled a large share of the stock, and had employed the cred-
it of the house to procure extensive remittances to be made to an
agent at a distance, by whom the property was effectually secured.
Craig had gone to participate these spoils, while the whole estate of
Mr. Dudley was insufficient to pay the demands that were conse-
quently made upon him.
It was his lot to fall into the grasp of men who squared their
actions by no other standard than law, and who esteemed every claim
to be incontestably just that could plead that sanction. They did not
indeed throw him into prison. When they had despoiled him of every
remnant of his property, they deemed themselves entitled to his grati-
tude for leaving his person unmolested.
THUS in a moment was this man thrown from the summit of
affluence to the lowest indigence. He had been habituated to inde-
pendence and ease. This reverse, therefore, was the harder to bear. His
present situation was much worse than at his father's death. Then he
was sanguine with youth and glowing with health. He possessed a
fund on which he could commence his operations. Materials were at
hand, and nothing was wanted but skill to use them. Now he had
advanced in life. His frame was not exempt from infirmity. He had so
long reposed on the bosom of opulence and enjoyed the respect
attendant on wealth, that he felt himself totally incapacitated for a
new station. His misfortune had not been foreseen. It was embittered
by the consciousness of his own imprudence, and by recollecting that
the serpent which had stung him was nurtured in his own bosom.
It was not merely frugal fare and an humble dwelling to which he
CHAPTER II.
49 ORMON D
was condemned. The evils to be dreaded were beggary and contempt.
Luxury and leisure were not merely denied him. He must bend all his
efforts to procure clothing and food, to preserve his family from
nakedness and famine. His spirit would not brook dependence. To live
upon charity, or to take advantage of the compassion of his friends,
was a destiny far worse than any other.To this, therefore, he would not
consent. However irksome and painful it might prove, he determined
to procure his bread by the labour of his hands.
But to what scene or kind of employment should he betake him-
self? He could not endure to exhibit this reverse of fortune on the
same theatre which had witnessed his prosperity. One of his first mea-
sures was to remove from New York to Philadelphia. How should he
employ himself in his new abode? Painting, the art in which he was
expert, would not afford him the means of subsistence. Though no
despicable musician, he did not esteem himself qualified to be a
teacher of this art. This profession, besides, was treated by his new
neighbours with general though unmerited contempt. There were
few things on which he prided himself more than on the facilities and
elegancies of his penmanship. He was, besides, weD acquainted with
arithmetic and accounting. He concluded, therefore, to offer his ser-
vices as a writer in a public office. This employment demanded little
bodily exertion. He had spent much of his time at the book and the
desk: his new occupation, therefore, was farther recommended by its
resemblance to his ancient modes of life.
The first situation of this kind for which he applied he obtained.
The duties were constant, but not otherwise toilsome or arduous. The
emoluments were slender; but by contracting, within limits as narrow
as possible, his expenses, they could be made subservient to the mere
purposes of subsistence. He hired a small house in the suburbs of the
city. It consisted of a room above and below, and a kitchen. His wife,
daughter, and one girl, composed its inhabitants.
As long as his mind was occupied in projecting and executing
these arrangements, it was diverted from uneasy contemplations.
When his life became uniform, and day followed day in monotonous
succession, and the novelty of his employment had disappeared, his
cheerfulness began likewise to fade, and was succeeded by uncon-
querable melancholy. His present condition was in every respect the
contrast of his former. His servitude was intolerable. He was associat-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 50
ed with sordid hirelings, gross and uneducated, who treated his age
with rude familiarity, and insulted his ears with ribaldry and scurril
jests. He was subject to command, and had his portion of daily
drudgery allotted to him, to be performed for a pittance no more
than would buy the bread which he daily consumed. The task
assigned him was technical and formal. He was perpetually encum-
bered with the rubbish of law, and waded with laborious steps
through its endless tautologies, its impertinent circuities, its lying
assertions and hateful artifices. Nothing occurred to relieve or diversi-
fy the scene. It was one tedious round of scrawling and jargon; a tissue
made up of the shreds and remnants of barbarous antiquity, polluted
with the rust of ages, and patched, by the stupidity of modern work-
men, into new deformity
When the day's task was finished, jaded spirits, and a body enfee-
bled by reluctant application, were but little adapted to domestic
enjoyments. These indeed were incompatible with a temper like his,
to whom the privation of the comforts that attended his former con-
dition was equivalent to the loss of life. These privations were still
more painful to his wife, and her death added one more calamity to
those under which he already groaned. He had always loved her with
the tenderest affection, and he justly regarded this evil as surpassing all
his former woes.
But his destiny seemed never weary of persecuting him. It was not
enough that he should fall a victim to the most atrocious arts, that he
should wear out his days in solitude and drudgery, that he should feel
not only the personal restraints and hardships attendant upon indi-
gence, but the keener pangs that result from negligence and contu-
mely. He was imperfectly recovered from the shock occasioned by the
death of his wife, when his sight was invaded by a cataract. Its progress
was rapid, and terminated in total blindness.
He was now disabled from pursuing his usual occupation. He was
shut out from the light of heaven, and debarred of every human com-
fort. Condemned to eternal dark and worse than the helplessness of
infancy, he was dependent for the meanest offices on the kindness of
others, and he who had formerly abounded in the gifts of fortune
thought only of ending his days in a jail or an almshouse.
His situation, however, was alleviated by one circumstance. He had
a daughter, whom I have formerly mentioned as the only survivor of
ORMOaN D 51
many children. She was sixteen years of age when the storm of adver-
sity fell upon her father's house. It may be thought that one educated
as she had been, in the gratification of all her wishes, and at an age of
timidity and inexperience, would have been less fitted than her father
for encountering misfortune; and yet, when the task of comforter fell
upon her, her strength was not found wanting. Her fortitude was
immediately put to the test. This reverse did not only affect her
obliquely and through the medium of her family, but directly, and in
one way usually very distressful to female feelings.
Her fortune and character had attracted many admirers. One of
them had some reason to flatter himself with success. Miss Dudley's
notions had little in common with those around her. She had learned
to square her conduct, in a considerable degree, not by the hasty
impulses of inclination, but by the dictates of truth. She yielded noth-
ing to caprice or passion. Not that she was perfectly exempt from
intervals of weakness or from the necessity of painful struggles, but
these intervals were transient, and these struggles always successful.
She was no stranger to the pleadings of love, from the lips of others
and in her own bosom; but its tumults were brief, and speedily gave
place to quiet thoughts and steadfast purposes.
She had listened to the solicitations of one not unworthy in him-
self, and amply recommended by the circumstances of family and for-
tune. He was young, and therefore impetuous. Of the good that he
sought, he was not willing to delay the acquisition for a moment. She
had been taught a very different lesson. Marriage included vows of
irrevocable affection and obedience. It was a contract to endure for
life. To form this connection in extreme youth, before time had
unfolded and modelled the characters of the parties, was, in her opin-
ion, a proof of pernicious and opprobrious temerity. Not to perceive
the propriety of delay in this case, or to be regardless of the motives
that would enjoin upon us a deliberate procedure, furnished an unan-
swerable objection to any man's pretensions. She was sensible, howev-
er, that this, like other mistakes, was curable. If her arguments failed to
remove it, time, it was likely, would effect the purpose. If she rejected
a matrimonial proposal for the present, it was for reasons that might
not preclude her future acceptance of it.
Her scruples, in the present case, did not relate to the temper, or
person, or understanding of her lover, but to his age, to the imperfec-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 52
tions of their acquaintance, and to the want of that permanence of
character which can flow only from the progress of time and knowl-
edge. These objections, which so rarely exist, were conclusive with
her. There was no danger of her relinquishing them in compliance
with the remonstrances of parents and the solicitations of her lover,
though the one and the other were urged with all the force of
authority and insinuation. The prescriptions of duty were too clear to
allow her to hesitate and waver, but the consciousness of rectitude
could not secure her from temporary vexations.
Her parents were blemished with some of the frailties of that char-
acter. They held themselves entitled to prescribe in this article, but
they forbore to exert their power. They condescended to persuade;
but it was manifest that they regarded their own conduct as a relax-
ation of right; and, had not the lover's importunities suddenly ceased,
it is not possible to tell how far the happiness of Miss Dudley might
have been endangered. The misfortunes of her father were no sooner
publicly known, than the youth forbore his visits, and embarked on a
voyage which he had long projected, but which had been hitherto
delayed by a superior regard to the interests of his passion.
It must be allowed that the lady had not foreseen this event. She
had exercised her judgment upon his character, and had not been
deceived. Before this desertion, had it been clearly stated to her
apprehension, she would have readily admitted it to be probable. She
knew the fascination of wealth, and the delusiveness of self-con-
fidence. She was superior to the folly of supposing him exempt from
sinister influences, and deaf to the whispers of ambition; and yet the
manner in which she was affected by this event convinced her that
her heart had a larger share than her reason in dictating her expecta-
tions.
Yet it must not be supposed that she suffered any very acute dis-
tress on this account. She was grieved less for her own sake than his.
She had no design of entering into marriage in less than seven years
from this period. Not a single hope, relative to her own condition,
had been frustrated. She had only been mistaken in her favourable
conceptions of another. He had exhibited less constancy and virtue
than her heart had taught her to expect.
With those opinions, she could devote herself, with a single heart,
to the alleviation of her parents' sorrows. This change in her condi-
ORMON D 53
tion she treated lightly, and retained her cheerfulness unimpaired. This
happened because, in a rational estimate, and so far as it affected her-
self, the misfortune was slight, and because her dejection would only
tend to augment the disconsolateness of her parents, while, on the
other hand, her serenity was calculated to infuse the same confidence
into them. She indulged herself in no fits of exclamation or moodi-
ness. She listened in silence to their invectives and laments, and seized
every opportunity that offered to inspire them with courage, to set
before them the good, as well as ill, to which they were reserved, to
suggest expedients for improving their condition, and to soften the
asperities of his new mode of life, to her father, by every species of
blandishment and tenderness.
She refused no personal exertion to the common benefit. She
incited her father to diligence, as well by her example as by her
exhortations; suggested plans, and superintended or assisted in the
execution of them. The infirmities of sex and age vanished before the
motives to courage and activity flowing from her new situation.
When settled in his new abode and profession, she began to deliberate
what conduct was incumbent on herself, how she might participate
with her father the burden of the common maintenance, and blunt
the edge of this calamity by the resources of a powerful and cultivated
mind.
In the first place, she disposed of every superfluous garb and trin-
ket. She reduced her wardrobe to the plainest and cheapest establish-
ment. By this means alone, she supplied her father's necessities with a
considerable sum. Her music and even her books were not spared, —
not from the slight esteem in which these were held by her, but
because she was thenceforth to become an economist of time as well
as of money, because musical instruments are not necessary to the
practice of this art in its highest perfection, and because books, when
she should procure leisure to read or money to purchase them, might
be obtained in a cheaper and more commodious form than those
costly and splendid volumes with which her father's munificence had
formerly supplied her.
To make her expenses as limited as possible was her next care. For
this end she assumed the province of cook, the washing of house and
clothes, and the cleansing of furniture. Their house was small, the fam-
ily consisted of no more than four persons, and all formality and
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 54
expensiveness were studiously discarded; but her strength was unequal
to unavoidable tasks. A vigorous constitution could not supply the
place of laborious habits, and this part of her plan must have been
changed for one less frugal. The aid of a servant must have been hired,
if it had not been furnished by gratitude.
Some years before this misfortune, her mother had taken under
her protection a girl, the daughter of a poor woman, who subsisted
by labour, and who, dying, left this child without friend or protector.
This girl possessed no very improvable capacity, and therefore could
not benefit by the benevolent exertions of her young mistress
as much as the latter desired; but her temper was artless and affection-
ate, and she attached herself to Constantia with the most entire
devotion. In this change of fortune she would not consent to be
separated; and Miss Dudley, influenced by her affection to her Lucy,
and reflecting that on the whole it was most to her advantage to share
with her at once her kindness and her poverty, retained her as her
companion. With this girl she shared the domestic duties, scrupling
not to divide with her the meanest and most rugged as well as the
lightest offices.
This was not all. She, in the next place, considered whether her
ability extended no further than to save. Could she not by the
employment of her hands increase the income as well as diminish the
expense? Why should she be precluded from all lucrative occupation?
She soon came to a resolution. She was mistress of her needle, and
this skill she conceived herself bound to employ for her own subsis-
tence.
Clothing is one of the necessaries of human existence. The art of
the tailor is scarcely of less use than that of the tiller of the ground.
There are few the gains of which are better merited, and less injuri-
ous to the principles of human society. She resolved therefore to
become a workwoman, and to employ in this way the leisure she pos-
sessed from household avocations. To this scheme she was obliged to
reconcile not only herself but her parents. The conquest of their prej-
udices was no easy task, but her patience and skill finally succeeded,
and she procured needlework in sufficient quantity to enable her to
enhance in no trivial degree the common fund.
It is one thing barely to comply with the urgencies of the case, and
to do that which in necessitous circumstances is best. But to conform
ORMON D 55
with grace and cheerfulness, to yield no place to fruitless recrimina-
tions and repinings, to contract the evils into as small a compass as
possible, and extract from our condition all possible good, is a task of a
different kind.
Mr. Dudley's situation required from him frugality and diligence.
He was regular and unintermitted in his application to his pen. He
was frugal. His slender income was administered agreeably to the
maxims of his daughter; but he was unhappy. He experienced in its
full extent the bitterness of disappointment.
He gave himself up for the most part to a listless melancholy.
Sometimes his impatience would produce effects less excusable, and
conjure up an accusing and irascible spirit. His wife and even his
daughter he would make the objects of peevish and absurd reproach-
es. These were moments when her heart drooped indeed, and her
tears could not be restrained from flowing. These fits were transitory
and rare, and, when they had passed, the father seldom failed to min-
gle tokens of contrition and repentance with the tears of his daughter.
Her arguments and soothings were seldom disappointed of success.
Her mother's disposition was soft and pliant, but she could not
accommodate herself to the necessity of her husband's affairs. She was
obliged to endure the want of some indulgences, but she reserved to
herself the liberty of complaining, and to subdue this spirit in her was
found utterly impracticable. She died a victim to discontent.
This event deepened the gloom that shrouded the soul of her
father, and rendered the task of consolation still more difficult. She did
not despair. Her sweetness and patience was invincible by any thing
that had already happened, but her fortitude did not exceed the stan-
dard of human nature. Evils now began to menace her, to which it is
likely she would have yielded, had not their approach been intercept-
ed by an evil of a different kind.
The pressure of grief is sometimes such as to prompt us to seek a
refuge in voluntary death. We must lay aside the burden which we
cannot sustain. If thought degenerate into a vehicle of pain, what
remains but to destroy that vehicle? For this end death is the obvious,
but not the only, or, morally speaking, the worst, means. There is one
method of obtaining the bliss of forgetfulness, in comparison with
which suicide is innocent.
The strongest mind is swayed by circumstances. There is no firm-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROW N 56
ness of integrity, perhaps, able to repel every species of temptation
which is produced by the present constitution of human affairs; and
yet temptation is successful chiefly by virtue of its gradual and invisi-
ble approaches. We rush into danger, because we are not aware of its
existence, and have not therefore provided the means of safety, and
the demon that seizes us is hourly reinforced by habit. Our opposi-
tion grows fainter in proportion as our adversary acquires new
strength, and the man becomes enslaved by the most sordid vices,
whose fall would, at a former period, have been deemed impossible,
or who would have been imagined liable to any species of depravity
more than to this.
Mr. Dudley's education had entailed upon him many errors; yet
who would have supposed it possible for him to be enslaved by a
depraved appetite, to be enamoured of low debauchery, and to grasp
at the happiness that intoxication had to bestow? This was a mournful
period in Constantia's history. My feelings will not suffer me to dwell
upon it. I cannot describe the manner in which she was affected by
the first symptoms of this depravity, the struggles which she made to
counteract this dreadful infatuation, and the grief which she experi-
enced from the repeated miscarriage of her efforts. I will not detail
her various expedients for this end, the appeals which she made to his
understanding, to his sense of honour and dread of infamy, to the
gratitude to which she was entitled, and to the injunctions of parental
duty. I will not detail his fits of remorse, his fruitless penitence and
continual relapses, nor depict the heart-breaking scenes of uproar
and violence and foul disgrace that accompanied his paroxysms of
drunkenness.
The only intellectual amusement which this lady allowed herself
was writing. She enjoyed one distant friend, with whom she main-
tained an uninterrupted correspondence, and to whom she confided
a circumstantial and copious relation of all these particulars. That
friend is the writer of these memoirs. It is not impossible but that
these letters may be communicated to the world at some future peri-
od. The picture which they exhibit is hourly exemplified and realized,
though, in the many-coloured scenes of human life, none surpasses it
in disastrousness and horror. My eyes almost wept themselves dry over
this part of her tale.
In this state of things Mr. Dudley's blindness might justly be
ORMON D 57
accounted, even in its immediate effects, a fortunate event. It dissolved
the spell by which he was bound, and which, it is probable, would
never have been otherwise broken. It restored him to himself, and
showed him, with a distinctness which made him shudder, the gulf to
which he was hastening. But nothing can compensate to the sufferer
the evils of blindness. It was the business of Constantia's life to allevi-
ate those sufferings, to cherish and console her father, and to rescue
him, by the labour of her hands, from dependence on public charity.
For this end, her industry and solicitude were never at rest. She was
able, by that industry, to provide him and herself with necessaries.
Their portion was scanty, and, if it sometimes exceeded the standard
of their wants, not less frequently fell short of it. For all her toils and
disquietudes she esteemed herself fully compensated by the smiles of
her father. He indeed could seldom be prompted to smile, or to sup-
press the dictates of that despair which flowed from his sense of this
new calamity, and the aggravations of hardship which his recent inso-
brieties had occasioned to his daughter.
She purchased what books her scanty stock would allow, and bor-
rowed others. These she read to him when her engagements would
permit. At other times she was accustomed to solace herself with her
own music. The lute which her father had purchased in Italy, and
which had been disposed of, among the rest of his effects, at public
sale, had been gratuitously restored to him by the purchaser, on con-
dition of his retaining it in his possession. His blindness and inoccupa-
tion now broke the long silence to which this instrument had been
condemned, and afforded an accompaniment to the young lady's
voice.
Her chief employment was conversation. She resorted to this as
the best means of breaking the monotony of the scene; but this pur-
pose was not only accomplished, but other benefits of the highest
value accrued from it. The habits of a painter eminently tended to
vivify and make exact her father's conceptions and delineations of vis-
ible objects. The sphere of his youthful observation comprised more
ingredients of the picturesque than any other sphere. The most
precious materials of the moral history of mankind are derived from
the revolutions of Italy. Italian features and landscape constitute the
chosen field of the artist. No one had more carefully explored this
field than Mr. Dudley. His time, when abroad, had been divided
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 58
between residence at Rome, and excursions to Calabria and Tuscany.
Few impressions were effaced from his capacious register, and these
were now rendered, by his eloquence, nearly as conspicuous to his
companion as to himself.
She was imbued with an ardent thirst of knowledge, and, by the
acuteness of her remarks and the judiciousness of her inquiries, refl-
ected back upon his understanding as much improvement as she
received. These efforts to render his calamity tolerable, and inure him
to the profiting by his own resources, were aided by time; and, when
reconciled by habit to unrespited gloom, he was sometimes visited by
gleams of cheerfulness, and drew advantageous comparisons between
his present and former situation. A stillness not unakin to happiness
frequently diffused itself over their winter evenings. Constantia
enjoyed, in their full extent, the felicities of health and self-approba-
tion. The genius and eloquence of her father, nourished by perpetual
exercise, and undiverted from its purpose by the intrusion of visible
objects, frequently afforded her a delight in comparison with which
all other pleasures were mean.
THIS period of tranquillity was short. Poverty hovered at their thresh-
old, and, in a state precarious as theirs, trials could not be long
excluded. The lady was more accustomed to anticipate good than
evil, but she was not unconscious that the winter, which was hasten-
ing, would bring with it numerous inconveniences. Wants during that
season are multiplied, while the means of supplying them either fail
or are diminished. Fuel is, alone, a cause of expense equal to all other
articles of subsistence. Her dwelling was old, crazy, and full of avenues
to air. It was evident that neither fire nor clothing would, in a habita-
tion like that, attemper the chilling blasts. Her scanty gains were equal
to their needs during summer, but would probably fall short during
the prevalence of cold.
These reflections could not fail sometimes to intrude. She
indulged them as long as they served merely to suggest expedients
and provisions for the future, but laboured to call away her attention
when they merely produced anxiety. This she more easily effected, as
ORMON D
CHAPTER III.
59
some months of summer were still to come, and her knowledge of the
vicissitudes to which human life is subject taught her to rely upon the
occurrence of some fortunate though unforeseen event.
Accident suggested an expedient of this kind. Passing through an
alley in the upper part of the town, her eye was caught by a label on
the door of a small house signifying that it was to be let. It was small-
er than that she at present occupied, but it had an aspect of much
greater comfort and neatness. Its situation near the centre of the city,
in a quiet, cleanly, and well-paved alley, was far preferable to that of
her present habitation, in the suburbs, scarcely accessible in winter, for
pools and gullies, and in a neighbourhood abounding with indigence
and profligacy. She likewise considered that the rent of this might be
less, and that the proprietor of this might have more forbearance and
benignity than she had hitherto met with.
Unconversant as she was with the world, imbued with the timidity
of her sex and her youth, many enterprises were arduous to her
which would, to age and experience, have been easy. Her reluctances,
however, when required by necessity, were overcome, and all the mea-
sures which her situation prescribed executed with address and dis-
patch. One marking her deportment would have perceived nothing
but dignity and courage. He would have regarded these as the fruits of
habitual independence and exertion, whereas they were merely the
results of clear perceptions and inflexible resolves.
The proprietor of this mansion was immediately sought out, and a
bargain, favourable as she could reasonably desire, concluded. Posses-
sion was to be taken in a week. For this end carters and draymen were
to be engaged, household implements to be prepared for removal, and
negligence and knavery prevented by scrupulous attention. The duties
of superintendence and execution devolved upon her. Her father's
blindness rendered him powerless. His personal ease required no small
portion of care. Household and professional functions were not to be
omitted. She stood alone in the world. There was none whose services
or counsel she could claim. Tortured by multiplicity of cares, shrink-
ing from exposure to rude eyes and from contention with refractory
and insolent spirits, and overpowered with fatigue and disgust, she was
yet compelled to retain a cheerful tone in her father's presence, and to
struggle with his regrets and his peevishness.
Oh, my friend, methinks I now see thee, encountering the sneers
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 60
and obstinacy of the meanest of mankind, subjecting that frame of
thine, so exquisitely delicate, and therefore so feeble, to the vilest
drudgery. I see thee, leading thy unhappy father to his new dwelling,
and stifling the sighs produced by his fruitless repinings and unseason-
able scruples. Why was I not partaker of thy cares and labours? Why
was I severed from thee by the ocean, and kept in ignorance of thy
state? I was not without motives to anxiety, for I was friendless as
thou; but how unlike to thine was my condition! I reposed upon
down and tissue, never moved but with obsequious attendance and
pompous equipage; painting and music were consolations ever at
hand, and my cabinet was stored with poetry and science. These,
indeed, were insufficient to exclude care, and, with regard to the past,
I have no wish but that I had shared with my friend her toilsome and
humiliating lot. However an erroneous world might judge, thy life
was full of dignity, and thy moments of happiness not few, since hap-
piness is only attendant on the performance of our duty.
A toilsome and sultry week was terminated by a Sabbath of
repose. Her new dwelling possessed indisputable advantages over her
old. Not the least of these benefits consisted in the vicinity of people
peaceable and honest, though poor. She was no longer shocked by the
clamours of debauchery, and exposed by her situation to the danger
of being mistaken by the profligate of either sex for one of their own
class. It was reasonable to consider this change of abode as fortunate;
and yet circumstances quickly occurred which suggested a very diff-
erent conclusion.
She had no intercourse, which necessity did not prescribe, with
the rest of the world. She screened herself as much as possible from
intercourse with prying and loquacious neighbours. Her father's
inclination in this respect coincided with her own, though their love
of seclusion was prompted by different motives. Visitants were hated
by the father, because his dignity was hurt by communication with
the vulgar. The daughter set too much value upon time willingly to
waste it upon trifles and triflers. She had no pride to subdue, and
therefore never escaped from well-meant importunity at the expense
of politeness and good-humour. In her moments of leisure, she
betook herself to the poet and the moralist for relief.
She could not at all times suppress the consciousness of the evils
which surrounded and threatened her. She could not but rightly esti-
ORMON D 61
mate the absorbing and brutifying nature of that toil to which she was
condemned. Literature had hitherto been regarded as her solace. She
knew that meditation and converse, as well as books and the pen, are
instruments of knowledge; but her musing thoughts were too often
fixed upon her own condition. Her father s soaring moods and lumi-
nous intervals grew less frequent. Conversation was too rarely
abstracted from personal considerations, and strayed less often than
before into the wilds of fancy or the mazes of analysis.
These circumstances led her to reflect whether subsistence might
not be obtained by occupations purely intellectual. Instruction was
needed by the young of both sexes. Females frequently performed the
office of teachers. Was there no branch of her present knowledge
which she might claim wages for imparting to others? Was there no
art within her reach to acquire, convertible into means of gain?
Women are generally limited to what is sensual and ornamental.
Music and painting, and the Italian and French languages, are bounds
which they seldom pass. In these pursuits it is not possible - nor is it
expected - that they should arrive at the skill of adepts. The education
of Constantia had been regulated by the peculiar views of her father,
who sought to make her, not alluring and voluptuous, but eloquent
and wise. He therefore limited her studies to Latin and English.
Instead of familiarizing her with the amorous effusions of Petrarch
and Racine, he made her thoroughly conversant with Tacitus and
Milton. Instead of making her a practical musician or pencilist, he
conducted her to the school of Newton and Hartley, unveiled to her
the mathematical properties of light and sound, taught her, as a meta-
physician and anatomist, the structure and power of the senses, and
discussed with her the principles and progress of human society.
1
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
i Constantia's father is eager to provide her with an education that avoids the sensu-
ality and ornamental qualities of most women's educations at this time. Petrarch
(1304-74) was an Italian poet and humanist best known for his courtly love sonnets.
Racine (1639-99) was a neoclassical French tragic dramatist whose characters often
acted in ways criticized as excessively passionate. In contrast to their excess, Dudley
esteems the works of Tacitus (£.55-117?), a Roman historian known for his history
of the Roman empire, and John Milton (1608-1674), poet, writer, and political
pamphleteer. Brown might be referring to Milton's Of Education (1644) which
stresses classical learning as a means of acquiring moral understanding, to Milton's
writing on social and political issues, i.e. his defence of civil and religious liberty,
or to Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained whose emphasis on moral behaviour might
62
These accomplishments tended to render her superior to the rest
of women, but in no degree qualified her for the post of a female
instructor. She saw and lamented her deficiencies, and gradually
formed the resolution of supplying them. Her knowledge of the Latin
tongue and of grammatical principles rendered easy the acquisition of
Italian and French, these being merely scions from the Roman stock.
Having had occasion, previous to her change of dwelling, to pur-
chase paper at a bookseller's, the man had offered her, at a very low
price, a second-hand copy ofVeroni's grammar. The offer had been
declined, her views at that time being otherwise directed. Now, how-
ever, this incident was remembered, and a resolution instantly formed
to purchase the book. As soon as the light declined and her daily task
at the needle had drawn to a close, she set out to execute this pur-
pose. Arriving at the house of the bookseller, she perceived that the
doors and windows were closed. Night having not yet arrived, the
conjecture easily occurred that some one had died in the house. She
had always dealt with this man for books and paper, and had always
been treated with civility. Her heart readily admitted some sympathy
with his distress, and, to remove her doubts, she turned to a person
who stood at the entrance of the next house, and who held a cloth
steeped in vinegar to his nostrils. In reply to her question, the stranger
said, in a tone of the deepest consternation, "Mr. Watson do you
mean? He is dead; he died last night of the yellow fever!'
The name of this disease was not absolutely new to her ears.
1
 She
had been apprized of its rapid and destructive progress in one quarter
of the city, but, hitherto, it had existed, with regard to her, chiefly in
ORMON D
give Constantia an antidote to the "amorous effusions" her father fears. Sir
Isaac Newton (1643-1727) was an English mathematician and physicist who estab-
lished modern laws of physical dynamics. David Hartley (1705-1757) was an associ-
ationist psychologist who believed that distinctly human qualities, such as
imagination, ambition, sympathy, religious affection and morality, are learned rather
than innate.
i In 1793, an epidemic of yellow fever killed over 4,000 citizens of Philadelphia. It
was the worst health disaster ever to befall an American city. Believed to have been
brought to the young nation's capital aboard a ship from the West Indies, the fever
killed one in six citizens who did not flee the city. Despite homemade preventives
such as cloth masks soaked in garlic juice, vinegar, or camphor, the city ground to a
halt as victims exhibited symptoms ranging from headache, backache and fever to
jaundice and vomiting blood. Some, like Brown himself, gained immunity for life
from one non-fatal attack.
63
the form of rumour. She had not realized the nature or probable
extent of the evil. She lived at no great distance from the seat of the
malady, but her neighbourhood had been hitherto exempt. So wholly
unused was she to contemplate pestilence, except at a distance, that its
actual existence in the bosom of this city was incredible.
Contagious diseases, she well knew, periodically visited and laid
waste the Greek and Egyptian cities. It constituted no small part of
that mass of evil, political and physical, by which that portion of the
world had been so long afflicted. That a pest equally malignant had
assailed the metropolis of her own country - a town famous for the
salubrity of its airs and the perfection of its police — had something in
it so wild and uncouth, that she could not reconcile herself to the
possibility of such an event.
The death of Watson, however, filled her mind with awful reflec-
tions. The purpose of her walk was forgotten amidst more momen-
tous considerations. She bent her steps pensively homeward. She had
now leisure to remark the symptoms of terror with which all ranks
appeared to have been seized. The streets were as much frequented as
ever, but there were few passengers whose countenances did not
betray alarm, and who did not employ the imaginary antidote to
infection, — vinegar.
Having reached home, she quickly discovered in her father an
unusual solemnity and thoughtfulness. He had no power to conceal
his emotions from his daughter, when her efforts to discover them
were earnestly exerted. She learned that during her absence he had
been visited by his next neighbour, — a thrifty, sober, and well-
meaning, but ignorant and meddling, person, by name Whiston. This
person, being equally inquisitive into other men's affairs and com-
municative of his own, was always an unwelcome visitant. On this
occasion, he had come to disburden on Mr. Dudley his fears of disease
and death. His tale of the origin and progress of the epidemic, of the
number and suddenness of recent deaths, was delivered with endless
prolixity. With this account he mingled prognostics of the future,
counselled Mr. Dudley to fly from the scene of danger, and stated his
own schemes and resolutions. After having thoroughly affrighted and
wearied his companion, he took his leave.
Constantia endeavoured to remove the impression which had been
thus needlessly made. She urged her doubts as to the truth of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 64
Whiston's representations, and endeavoured, in various ways, to
extenuate the danger.
"Nay, my child," said her father, "thou needest not reason on the
subject. I am not afraid. At least, on my own account, I fear nothing.
What is life to me, that I should dread to lose it? If on any account I
should tremble, it is on thine, my angelic girl. Thou dost not deserve
thus early to perish; and yet, if my love for thee were rational, perhaps
I ought to wish it. An evil destiny will pursue thee to the close of thy
life, be it never so long.
"I know that ignorance and folly breed the phantoms by which
themselves are perplexed and terrified, and that Whiston is a fool; but
here the truth is too plain to be disguised. This malady is pestilential.
Havoc and despair will accompany its progress, and its progress will
be rapid. The tragedies of Marseilles and Messina
1
 will be reacted on
this stage.
"For a time, we in this quarter will be exempt; but it will surely
reach us at last, and then, whither shall we fly? For the rich, the whole
world is a safe asylum; but for us, indigent and wretched, what fate is
reserved but to stay and perish? If the disease spare us, we must perish
by neglect and famine. Alarm will be far and wide diffused. Fear will
hinder those who supply the market from entering the city. The price
of food will become exorbitant. Our present source of subsistence,
ignominious and scanty as it is, will be cut off. Traffic and labour of
every kind will be at an end. We shall die, but not until we have
witnessed and endured horrors that surpass thy powers of conception.
"I know full well the enormity of this evil. I have been at Messina,
and talked with many who witnessed the state of that city in 1743.
I will not freeze thy blood with the recital. Anticipation has a tend-
ency to lessen or prevent some evils, but pestilence is not of that
number. Strange untowardness of destiny! That thou and I should be
cast upon a scene like this!"
Mr. Dudley joined with uncommon powers of discernment a
species of perverseness not easily accounted for. He acted as if the
inevitable evils of her lot were not sufficient for the trial of his daugh-
ORMON D
i tragedies of Marseilles and Messina: Marseilles, a city in Southeast France, and
Messina, an Italian Mediterranean port, were both the sites of black death outbreaks
in the early part of the eighteenth century, which killed almost half their popula-
tions.
65
ter s patience. Instead of comforter and counsellor, he fostered impa-
tience in himself, and endeavoured, with the utmost diligence, to
undermine her fortitude and disconcert her schemes. The task was
assigned to her, not only of subduing her own fears, but of maintain-
ing the contest with his disastrous eloquence. In most cases she had
not failed of success. Hitherto their causes of anxiety her own obser-
vation had, in some degree, enabled her to estimate at their just value.
The rueful pictures which his imagination was wont to portray affect-
ed her for a moment; but deliberate scrutiny commonly enabled her
to detect and demonstrate their fallacy. Now, however, the theme was
new. Panic and foreboding found their way to her heart in defiance of
her struggles. She had no experience by which to counteract this
impulse. All that remained was to beguile her own and her father's
cares by counterfeiting cheerfulness and introducing new topics.
This panic, stifled for a time, renewed its sway when she retired to
her chamber. Never did futurity wear, to her fancy, so dark a hue.
Never did her condition appear to her in a light so dreary and
forlorn. To fly from the danger was impossible. How should accom-
modation at a distance be procured? The means of subsistence were
indissolubly connected with her present residence, but the progress of
this disease would cut off these means, and leave her to be beset not
only with pestilence but famine. What provision could she make
against an evil like this?
THE terms on which she had been admitted into this house included
the advance of one quarter s rent and the monthly payment of subse-
quent dues. The requisite sum had been with difficulty collected, the
landlord had twice called to remind her of her stipulation, and this
day had been fixed for the discharge of this debt. He had omitted,
contrary to her expectations and her wishes, to come. It was probable,
however, that they should meet on the ensuing day. If he should fail in
this respect, it appeared to be her duty to carry the money to his
house; and this it had been her resolution to perform.
Now, however, new views were suggested to her thoughts. By the
payment of this debt she should leave herself nearly destitute. The
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
CHAPTER IV.
66
flight and terror of the citizens would deprive her of employment.
Want of food was an immediate and inevitable evil which the
payment of this sum would produce. Was it just to incur this evil?
To retain the means of luxurious gratification would be wrong, but to
bereave herself and her father of bare subsistence was surely no dictate
of duty.
It is true the penalty of nonpayment was always in the landlord's
hands. He was empowered by the law to sell their movables and expel
them from his house. It was now no time for a penalty like this to be
incurred. But from this treatment it was reasonable to hope that his
lenity would save them. Was it not right to wait till the alternative of
expulsion or payment was imposed? Meanwhile, however, she was
subjected to the torments of suspense and to the guilt of a broken
promise. These consequences were to be eluded only in one way. By
visiting her landlord and stating her true condition, it was possible
that his compassion would remit claims which were in themselves
unreasonable and uncommon. The tender of the money, accompanied
by representations sufficiently earnest and pathetic, might possibly be
declined.
These reflections were, next morning, submitted to her father. Her
decision in this case 'was of less importance in his eyes than in those of
his daughter. Should the money be retained, it was, in his opinion, a
pittance too small to afford them effectual support. Supposing provi-
sions to be had at any price, which was itself improbable, that price
would be exorbitant. The general confusion would probably last for
months, and thirty dollars would be devoured in a few weeks even in
a time of safety. To give or to keep was indifferent for another reason.
It was absurd for those to consult about means of subsistence for the
next month, when it was fixed that they should die to-morrow. The
true proceeding was obvious. The landlord's character was well
known to him by means of the plaints and invectives of their neigh-
bours, most of whom were tenants of the same man. If the money
were offered, his avarice would receive it, in spite of all the pleas that
she should urge. If it were detained without leave, an officer of justice
would quickly be despatched to claim it.
This statement was sufficient to take away from Constantia the
hope that she had fostered. "What then," said she, after a pause, "is my
father's advice? Shall I go forthwith and deliver the money?"
ORMON D 67
"No," said he; "stay till he sends for it. Have you forgotten that
Mathews resides in the very midst of this disease? There is no need to
thrust yourself within its fangs. They will reach us time enough. It is
likely his messenger will be an agent of the law. No matter. The debt
will be merely increased by a few charges. In a state like ours, the mis-
erable remnant is not worth caring for."
This reasoning did not impart conviction to the lady. The danger
flowing from a tainted atmosphere was not small; but to incur that
danger was wiser than to exasperate their landlord, to augment the
debt, and to encounter the disgrace accruing from a constable s visits.
The conversation was dropped, and, presently after, she set out on a
visit to Mathews.
She fully estimated the importance to her happiness of the sum
which she was going to pay. The general panic had already, in some
degree, produced the effect she chiefly dreaded — the failure of
employment for her needle. Her father had, with his usual diligence at
self-torment, supplied her with sufficient proofs of the covetous and
obdurate temper of her creditor. Insupportable, however, as the evil of
payment was, it was better to incur it spontaneously than by means of
legal process. The desperateness of this proceeding, therefore, did not
prevent her from adopting it, but it filled her heart with the bitterest
sensations. Absorbed, as she passed along, by these, she was nearly
insensible to the vacancy which now prevailed in a quarter which
formerly resounded with the din of voices and carriages.
As she approached the house to which she was going, her reluc-
tance to proceed increased. Frequently she paused to recollect the
motives that had prescribed this task, and to reinforce her purposes. At
length she arrived at the house. Now, for the first time, her attention
was excited by the silence and desolation that surrounded her. This
evidence of fear and of danger struck upon her heart. All appeared to
have fled from the presence of this unseen and terrible foe. The
temerity of adventuring thus into the jaws of the pest now appeared
to her in glaring colours.
Appearances suggested a reflection which had not previously
occurred, and which tended to console her. Was it not probable that
Mathews had likewise flown? His habits were calculated to endear to
him his life; he would scarcely be among the last to shun perils like
these; the omission of his promised visit on the preceding day might
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 68
be owing to his absence from the city, and thus, without subjection to
any painful alternative, she might be suffered to retain the money.
To give certainty to this hope, she cast her eye towards the house
opposite to which she now stood. Her heart drooped on perceiving
proofs that the dwelling was still inhabited. The door was open, and
the windows in the second and third storey were raised. Near the
entrance, in the street, stood a cart. The horse attached to it, in his
form and furniture and attitude, was an emblem of torpor and decay.
His gaunt sides, motionless limbs, his gummy and dead eyes, and his
head hanging to the ground, were in unison with the craziness of the
vehicle to which he belonged, and the paltry and bedusted harness
which covered him. No attendant nor any human face was visible.
The stillness, though at an hour customarily busy, was uninterrupted
except by the sound of wheels moving at an almost indistinguishable
distance.
She paused for a moment to contemplate this unwonted spectacle.
Her trepidations were mingled with emotions not unakin to sub-
limity, but the consciousness of danger speedily prevailed, and she
hastened to acquit herself of her engagement. She approached the
door for this purpose, but before she could draw the bell her motions
were attested by sounds from within. The staircase was opposite the
door. Two persons were now discovered descending the stair. They
lifted between them a heavy mass, which was presently discerned to
be a coffin. Shocked by this discovery, and trembling, she withdrew
from the entrance.
At this moment a door on the opposite side of the street opened
and a female came out. Constantia approached her involuntarily, and,
her appearance not being unattractive, adventured, more by gestures
than by words, to inquire whose obsequies were thus unceremoni-
ously conducted. The woman informed her that the dead was
Mathews, who, two days before, was walking about, indifferent to and
braving danger. She cut short the narrative, which her companion
seemed willing to prolong and to embellish with all its circumstances,
and hastened home with her utmost expedition.
The mind of Constantia was a stranger to pusillanimity. Death, as
the common lot of all, was regarded by her without perturbation. The
value of life, though not annihilated, was certainly diminished, by
adversity. With whatever solemnity contemplated, it excited on her
ORMON D 69
own account no aversion or inquietude. For her father's sake only,
death was an evil to be ardently deprecated. The nature of the preva-
lent disease, the limits and modes of its influence, the risk that is
incurred by approaching the sick or the dead, or by breathing the sur-
rounding element, were subjects foreign to her education. She judged
like the mass of mankind from the most obvious appearances, and was
subject, like them, to impulses which disdained the control of her
reason. With all her complacency for death and speculative resignation
to the fate that governs the world, disquiet and alarm pervaded her
bosom on this occasion.
The deplorable state to which her father would be reduced by her
death was seen and lamented; but her tremulous sensations flowed not
from this source. They were, in some sort, inexplicable and mechani-
cal. In spite of recollection and reflection, they bewildered and
harassed her, and subsided only of their own accord.
The death of Mathews was productive of one desirable conse-
quence. Till the present tumult were passed, and his representatives
had leisure to inspect his affairs, his debtors would probably remain
unmolested. He, likewise, who should succeed to the inheritance,
might possess very different qualities, and be as much distinguished
for equity as Mathews had been for extortion. These reflections light-
ened her footsteps as she hied homeward. The knowledge she had
gained, she hoped, would counterpoise, in her father's apprehension,
the perils which accompanied the acquisition of it.
She had scarcely passed her own threshold, when she was followed
by Whiston.This man pursued the occupation of a cooper. He per-
formed journeywork in a shop, which, unfortunately for him, was
situated near the water, and at a small distance from the scene of orig-
inal infection. This day his employer had dismissed his workmen, and
Whiston was at liberty to retire from the city, — a scheme which had
been the theme of deliberation and discussion during the preceding
fortnight.
Hitherto his apprehensions seemed to have molested others more
than himself. The rumours and conjectures industriously collected
during the day were, in the evening, copiously detailed to his neigh-
bours, and his own mind appeared to be disburdened of its cares in
proportion as he filled others with terror and inquietude. The predic-
tions of physicians, the measures of precaution prescribed by the
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 70
government, the progress of the malady, and the history of the victims
who were hourly destroyed by it, were communicated with torment-
ing prolixity and terrifying minuteness.
On these accounts as well as on others, no one's visits were more
unwelcome than his. As his deportment was sober and honest, and his
intentions harmless, he was always treated, by Constantia, with polite-
ness, though his entrance always produced a momentary depression of
her spirits. On this evening she was less fitted than ever to repel those
anxieties which his conversation was qualified to produce. His
entrance, therefore, was observed with sincere regret.
Contrary, however, to her expectation, Whiston brought with him
new manners and a new expression of countenance. He was silent
and abstracted; his eye was full of inquietude, and wandered with per-
petual restlessness. On these tokens being remarked, he expressed, in
faltering accents, his belief that he had contracted this disease, and that
now it was too late for him to leave the city.
Mr. Dudley's education was somewhat medical. He was so far
interested in his guest as to inquire into his sensations.They were such
as were commonly the preludes to fever. Mr. Dudley, while he
endeavoured, by cheerful tones, to banish his dejection, exhorted him
to go home, and to take some hot and wholesome draught, in conse-
quence of which he might rise to-morrow with his usual health. This
advice was gratefully received, and Whiston put a period to his visit
much sooner than was customary.
Mr. Dudley entertained no doubts that Whiston was seized with
the reigning disease, and extinguished the faint hope which his
daughter had cherished, that their district would escape. Whiston's
habitation was nearly opposite their own; but, as they made no use of
their front-room, they had seldom an opportunity of observing the
transactions of their neighbours. This distance and seclusion were
congenial with her feelings, and she derived pleasure from her father s
confession that they contributed to personal security.
Constantia was accustomed to rise with the dawn, and traverse, for
an hour, the State-House Mall. As she took her walk the next morn-
ing, she pondered with astonishment the present situation of the city.
The air was bright and pure, and apparently salubrious. Security and
silence seemed to hover over the scene. She was only reminded of the
true state of things by the occasional appearance of carriages loaded
ORMON D 71
with household utensils tending toward the country, and by the odour
of vinegar by which every passenger was accompanied. The public
walk was cool and fragrant as formerly, skirted by verdure as bright
and shaded by foliage as luxuriant, but it was no longer frequented by
lively steps and cheerful countenances. Its solitude was uninterrupted
by any but herself.
This day passed without furnishing any occasion to leave the
house. She was less sedulously employed than usual, as the clothes on
which she was engaged belonged to a family who had precipitately
left the city. She had leisure, therefore, to ruminate. She could not but
feel some concern in the fate of Whiston. He was a young man who
subsisted on the fruits of his labour, and divided his gains with an only
sister who lived with him, and who performed every household
office.
This girl was humble and innocent, and of a temper affectionate
and mild. Casual intercourse only had taken place between her and
Constantia. They were too dissimilar for any pleasure to arise from
communication; but the latter was sufficiently disposed to extend to
her harmless neighbour the sympathy and succour which she needed.
Whiston had come from a distant part of the country, and his sister
was the only person in the city with whom he was connected by ties
of kindred. In case of his sickness, therefore, their condition would be
helpless and deplorable.
Evening arrived, and Whiston failed to pay his customary visit. She
mentioned this omission to her father, and expressed her apprehen-
sion as to the cause of it. He did not discountenance the inference
which she drew from this circumstance, and assented to the justice of
the picture which she drew of the calamitous state to which Whiston
and his sister would be reduced by the indisposition of either. She
then ventured to suggest the propriety of visiting the house, and of
thus ascertaining the truth.
To this proposal Mr. Dudley urged the most vehement objections.
What purpose could be served by entering their dwelling? What
benefit would flow but the gratification of a dangerous curiosity?
Constantia was disabled from furnishing pecuniary aid. She could not
act the part of physician or nurse. Her father stood in need of a thou-
sand personal services, and the drudgery of cleansing and cooking
already exceeded the bounds of her strength. The hazard of contract-
ing the disease by conversing with the sick was imminent. What ser-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 72
vices was she able to render equivalent to the consequences of her
own sickness and death?
These representations had temporary influence. They recalled her,
for a moment, from her purpose; but this purpose was speedily re-
embraced. She reflected that the evil to herself, formidable as it was,
was barely problematical. That converse with the sick would impart
this disease was by no means certain. Whiston might at least be visit-
ed. Perhaps she should find him well. If sick, his disease might be
unepidemical, or curable by seasonable assistance. He might stand in
need of a physician, and she was more able than his sister to summon
this aid.
Her father listened calmly to her reasonings. After a pause, he gave
his consent. In doing this, he was influenced not by the conviction
that his daughter s safety would be exposed to no hazard, but from a
belief that, though she might shun infection for the present, it would
inevitably seize her during some period of the progress of this pest.
IT WAS now dusk, and she hastened to perform this duty.Whiston's
dwelling was wooden and of small dimensions. She lifted the latch
softly and entered. The lower room was unoccupied. She advanced to
the foot of a narrow staircase, and knocked and listened, but no
answer was returned to the summons. Hence there was reason to
infer that no one was within; but this, from other considerations, was
extremely improbable. The truth could be ascertained only be
ascending the stair. Some feminine scruples were to be subdued
before this proceeding could be adopted.
After some hesitation, she determined to ascend. The staircase was
terminated by a door at which she again knocked for admission, but
in vain. She listened, and presently heard the motion as of some one
in bed. This was succeeded by tokens of vehement exertions to vomit.
These signs convincing her that the house was not without a tenant,
she could not hesitate to enter the room.
Lying in a tattered bed, she now discovered Mary Whiston. Her
face was flushed and swelled, her eyes closed, and some power
appeared to have laid a leaden hand upon her faculties. The floor was
moistened and stained by the effusion from her stomach. Constantia
CHAPTER V.
ORMON D 73
touched her hand, and endeavoured to rouse her. It was with difficul-
ty that her attention was excited. Her languid eyes were scarcely
opened before they again closed and she sunk into forgetfulness.
Repeated efforts, however, at length recalled her to herself, and
extorted from her some account of her condition. On the day before,
at noon, her stomach became diseased, her head dizzy, and her limbs
unable to support her. Her brother was absent, and her drowsiness,
interrupted only by paroxysms of vomiting, continued till his return
late in the evening. He had then shown himself for a few minutes at
her bedside, had made some inquiries and precipitately retired, since
when he had not reappeared.
It was natural to imagine that Whiston had gone to procure med-
ical assistance. That he had not returned, during a day and a half, was
matter of surprise. His own indisposition was recollected, and his
absence could only be accounted for by supposing that sickness had
disabled him from regaining his own house. What was his real destiny,
it was impossible to conjecture. It was not till some months after this
period that satisfactory intelligence was gained upon this head.
It appeared that Whiston had allowed his terrors to overpower the
sense of what was due to his sister and to humanity. On discovering
the condition of the unhappy girl, he left the house, and, instead of
seeking a physician, he turned his steps towards the country. After
travelling some hours, being exhausted by want of food, by fatigue,
and by mental as well as bodily anguish, he laid himself down under
the shelter of a hayrick, in a vacant field. Here he was discovered in
the morning by the inhabitants of a neighbouring farm-house. These
people had too much regard for their own safety to accommodate
him under their roof, or even to approach within fifty paces of his
person.
A passenger, whose attention and compassion had been excited by
this incident, was endowed with more courage. He lifted the stranger
in his arms, and carried him from this unwholesome spot to a barn.
This was the only service which the passenger was able to perform.
Whiston, deserted by every human creature, burning with fever, tor-
mented into madness by thirst, spent three miserable days in agony.
When dead, no one would cover his body with earth, but he was
suffered to decay by piecemeal.
The dwelling, being at no great distance from the barn, could not
be wholly screened from the malignant vapour which a corpse thus
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 74
neglected could not fail to produce. The inhabitants were preparing,
on this account, to change their abode, but, on the eve of their depar-
ture, the master of the family became sick. He was, in a short time,
followed to the grave by his mother, his wife, and four children.
They probably imbibed their disease from the tainted atmosphere
around them. The life of Whiston and their own lives might have
been saved by affording the wanderer an asylum and suitable treat-
ment, or, at least, their own deaths might have been avoided by inter-
ring his remains.
Meanwhile, Constantia was occupied with reflecting on the scene
before her. Not only a physician, but a nurse, was wanting. The last
province it was more easy for her to supply than the former. She was
acquainted with the abode of but one physician. He lived at no small
distance from this spot. To him she immediately hastened; but he was
absent, and his numerous engagements left it wholly uncertain when
he would return and whether he would consent to increase the num-
ber of his patients. Direction was obtained to the residence of anoth-
er, who was happily disengaged, and who promised to attend
immediately. Satisfied with this assurance, she neglected to request
directions, by which she might regulate herself on his failing to come.
During her return her thoughts were painfully employed in
considering the mode proper for her to pursue in her present per-
plexing situation. She was for the most part unacquainted with the
character of those who composed her neighbourhood. That any
would be willing to undertake the tendance of this girl was by no
means probable. As wives and mothers, it would perhaps be unjust to
require or permit it. As to herself, there were labours and duties of her
own sufficient to engross her faculties; yet, by whatever foreign cares
or tasks she was oppressed, she felt that to desert this being was
impossible.
In the absence of her friend, Mary's state exhibited no change.
Constantia, on regaining the house, lighted the remnant of a candle,
and resumed her place by the bedside of the sick girl. She impatiently
waited for the arrival of the physician, but hour succeeded hour and
he came not. All hope of his coming being extinguished, she
bethought herself that her father might be able to inform her of the
best manner of proceeding. It was likewise her duty to relieve him
from the suspense in which her absence would unavoidably plunge
him.
ORMON D 75
On entering her own apartment, she found a stranger in company
with Mr. Dudley. The latter, perceiving that she had returned, speedily
acquainted her with the views of their guest. His name was M'Crea;
he was the nephew of their landlord and was now become, by rever-
sion, the proprietor of the house which they occupied. Mathews had
been buried the preceding day, and M'Crea, being well acquainted
with the engagements which subsisted between the deceased and Mr.
Dudley, had come, thus unseasonably, to demand the rent. He was not
unconscious of the inhumanity and sordidness of this proceeding, and
therefore endeavoured to disguise it by the usual pretences. All his
funds were exhausted. He came not only in his own name, but in that
of Mrs. Mathews, his aunt, who was destitute of money to procure
daily and indispensable provision, and who was striving to collect a
sufficient sum to enable her and the remains of her family to fly from
a spot where their lives were in perpetual danger.
These excuses were abundantly fallacious, but Mr. Dudley was too
proud to solicit the forbearance of a man like this. He recollected that
the engagement on his part was voluntary and explicit, and he dis-
dained to urge his present exigencies as reasons for retracting it. He
expressed the utmost readiness to comply with the demand, and
merely desired him to wait till Miss Dudley returned. From the inqui-
etudes with which the unusual duration of her absence had filled
him, he was now relieved by her entrance.
With an indignant and desponding heart, she complied with her
father's directions, and the money being reluctantly delivered, M'Crea
took a hasty leave. She was too deeply interested in the fate of Mary
Whiston to allow her thoughts to be diverted for the present into a
new channel. She described the desolate condition of the girl to her
father, and besought him to think of something suitable to her relief.
Mr. Dudley's humanity would not suffer him to disapprove of his
daughter's proceeding. He imagined that the symptoms of the patient
portended a fatal issue. There were certain complicated remedies
which might possibly be beneficial, but these were too costly, and the
application would demand more strength than his daughter could
bestow. He was unwilling, however, to leave anything within his
power untried. Pharmacy had been his trade, and he had reserved, for
domestic use, some of the most powerful evacuants. Constantia was
supplied with some of these, and he consented that she should spend
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 76
the night with her patient and watch their operation.
The unhappy Mary received whatever was offered, but her stom-
ach refused to retain it. The night was passed by Constantia without
closing her eyes. As soon as the day dawned, she prepared once more
to summon the physician, who had failed to comply with his
promise. She had scarcely left the house, however, before she met
him. He pleaded his numerous engagements in excuse for his last
night's negligence, and desired her to make haste to conduct him to
the patient.
Having scrutinized her symptoms, he expressed his hopelessness of
her recovery. Being informed of the mode in which she had been
treated, he declared his approbation of it, but intimated that, these
being unsuccessful, all that remained was to furnish her with any liq-
uid she might choose to demand, and wait patiently for the event.
During this interview, the physician surveyed the person and dress of
Constantia with an inquisitive eye. His countenance betrayed marks
of curiosity and compassion, and had he made any approaches to
confidence and friendliness, Constantia would not have repelled
them. His air was benevolent and candid, and she estimated highly
the usefulness of a counsellor and friend in her present circumstances.
Some motive, however, hindered him from tendering his service, and
in a few moments he withdrew.
Mary's condition hourly grew worse. A corroded and gangrenous
stomach was quickly testified by the dark hue and poisonous maligni-
ty of the matter which was frequently ejected from it. Her stupor
gave place to some degree of peevishness and restlessness. She drank
the water that was held to her lips with unspeakable avidity, and
derived from this source a momentary alleviation of her pangs. Fortu-
nately for her attendant, her agonies were not of long duration. Con-
stantia was absent from her bedside as rarely and for periods as short
as possible. On the succeeding night, the sufferings of the patient ter-
minated in death.
This event took place at two o'clock in the morning, - an hour
whose customary stillness was, if possible, increased tenfold by the
desolation of the city. The poverty of Mary and of her nurse had
deprived the former of the benefits resulting from the change of bed
and clothes. Every thing about her was in a condition noisome and
detestable. Her yellowish and haggard visage, conspicuous by a feeble
ORMON D 77
light, an atmosphere freighted with malignant vapours, and reminding
Constantia at every instant of the perils which encompassed her, the
consciousness of solitude and sensations of deadly sickness in her own
frame, were sufficient to intimidate a soul of firmer texture than hers.
She was sinking fast into helplessness, when a new train of reflec-
tions showed her the necessity of the perseverance. All that remained
was to consign the corpse to the grave. She knew that vehicles for this
end were provided at the public expense; that, notice being given of
the occasion there was for their attendance, a receptacle and carriage
for the dead would be instantly provided. Application at this hour, she
imagined, would be unseasonable. It must be deferred till the morn-
ing, which was yet at some distance.
Meanwhile, to remain at her present post was equally useless and
dangerous. She endeavoured to stifle the conviction that some mortal
sickness had seized upon her own frame. Her anxieties of head and
stomach she was willing to impute to extraordinary fatigue and
watchfulness, and hoped that they would be dissipated by an hour's
unmolested repose. She formed the resolution of seeking her own
chamber.
At this moment, however, the universal silence underwent a slight
interruption. The sound was familiar to her ears. It was a signal fre-
quently repeated at the midnight hour during this season of calamity.
It was the slow movement of a hearse, apparently passing along the
street in which the alley where Mr. Dudley resided terminated. At
first this sound had no other effect than to aggravate the dreariness of
all around her. Presently it occurred to her that this vehicle might be
disengaged. She conceived herself bound to see the last offices per-
formed for the deceased Mary. The sooner so irksome a duty was dis-
charged, the better. Every hour might augment her incapacity for
exertion. Should she be unable, when the morning arrived, to go as
far as the City-Hall and give the necessary information, the most
shocking consequences would ensue. Whiston's house and her own
were opposite each other and not connected with any on the same
side. A narrow space divided them, and her own chamber was within
the sphere of the contagion which would flow, in consequence of
such neglect, from that of her neighbour.
Influenced by these considerations, she passed into the street, and
gained the corner of the alley, just as the carriage, whose movements
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 78
she had heard, arrived at the same spot. It was accompanied by
two men, negroes, who listened to her tale with respect. Having
already a burden of this kind, they could not immediately comply
with this request. They promised that, having disposed of their present
charge, they would return forthwith and be ready to execute her
orders.
Happily, one of these persons was known to her. At other seasons
his occupation was that of wood-carter, and as such he had performed
some services for Mr. Dudley. His temper was gentle and obliging.
The character of Constantia had been viewed by him with reverence,
and his kindness had relieved her from many painful offices. His old
occupation being laid aside for a time, he had betaken himself, like
many others of his colour and rank, to the conveyance and burial of
the dead.
At Constantia's request, he accompanied her to Whiston's house,
and promised to bring with him such assistance as would render her
further exertions and attendance unnecessary. Glad to be absolved
from any new task, she now retired to her own chamber. In spite of
her distempered frame, she presently sunk into sweet sleep. She awoke
not till the day had made considerable progress, and found herself
invigorated and refreshed. On re-entering Whiston's house, she dis-
covered that her humble friend had faithfully performed his promise,
the dead body having disappeared. She deemed it unsafe, as well as
unnecessary, to examine the clothes and other property remaining;
but, leaving every thing in the condition in which it had been found,
she fastened the windows and doors, and thenceforth kept as distant
from the house as possible.
CONSTANTIA had now leisure to ruminate upon her own condition.
Every day added to the devastation and confusion of the city. The
most populous streets were deserted and silent. The greater number of
inhabitants had fled, and those who remained were occupied with no
cares but those which related to their own safety. The labours of the
artisan and the speculations of the merchant were suspended. All
shops but those of the apothecaries were shut. No carriage but the
ORMON D
CHAPTER VI.
79
hearse was seen, and this was employed, night and day, in the removal
of the dead. The customary sources of subsistence were cut off. Those
whose fortunes enabled them to leave the city, but who had deferred
till now their retreat, were denied an asylum by the terror which per-
vaded the adjacent country, and by the cruel prohibitions which the
neighbouring towns and cities thought it necessary to adopt. Those
who lived by the fruits of their daily labour were subjected, in this
total inactivity, to the alternative of starving or of subsisting upon
public charity.
The meditations of Constantia suggested no alternative but this.
The exactions of JVTCrea had reduced her whole fortune to five
dollars. This would rapidly decay, and her utmost ingenuity could dis-
cover no means of procuring a new supply. All the habits of their life
had combined to fill both her father and herself with aversion to the
acceptance of charity. Yet this avenue, opprobrious and disgustful as it
was, afforded the only means of escaping from the worst extremes of
famine.
In this state of mind, it was obvious to consider in what way the
sum remaining might be most usefully expended. Every species of
provision was not equally nutritious or equally cheap. Her mind,
active in the pursuit of knowledge and fertile of resources, had lately
been engaged in discussing with her father the best means of retaining
health in a time of pestilence. On occasions when the malignity of
contagious diseases has been most signal, some individuals have
escaped. For their safety, they were doubtless indebted to some pecu-
liarities in their constitution or habits. Their diet, their dress, their
kind and degree of exercise, must somewhat have contributed to their
exemption from the common destiny. These, perhaps, could be ascer-
tained, and when known it was surely proper to conform to them.
In discussing these ideas, Mr. Dudley introduced the mention of a
Benedictine of Messina, who, during the prevalence of the plague in
that city, was incessantly engaged in administering assistance to those
who needed. Notwithstanding his perpetual hazards, he retained per-
fect health, and was living thirty years after this event. During this
period, he fostered a tranquil, fearless, and benevolent spirit, and
restricted his diet to water and polenta.
1
 Spices, and meats, and
I polenta: an inexpensive, nutritious dish made from ground corn; also known in
America as "hasty pudding."
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 80
liquors, and all complexities of cookery, were utterly discarded.
These facts now occurred to Constantia's reflections with new
vividness, and led to interesting consequences. Polenta, and hasty-
pudding or samp, are preparations of the same substance,— a substance
which she needed not the experience of others to convince her was
no less grateful than nutritive. Indian meal was procurable at ninety
cents per bushel. By recollecting former experiments, she knew that
this quantity, with no accompaniment but salt, would supply whole-
some and plentiful food for four months to one person.
1
 The infer-
ence was palpable. Three persons were now to be supplied with food,
and this supply could be furnished, during four months, at the trivial
expense of three dollars. This expedient was at once so uncommon
and so desirable, as to be regarded with temporary disbelief. She was
inclined to suspect some latent error in her calculation. That a sum
thus applied should suffice for the subsistence of a year, which, in
ordinary cases, is expended in a few days, was scarcely credible. The
more closely, however, the subject was examined, the more incon-
testably did this inference flow. The mode of preparation was simple
and easy, and productive of the fewest toils and inconveniences. The
attention of her Lucy was sufficient to this end, and the drudgery of
marketing was wholly precluded.
She easily obtained the concurrence of her father, and the scheme
was found as practicable and beneficial as her fondest expectations
had predicted. Infallible security was thus provided against hunger.
This was the only care that was urgent and immediate. While they
had food and were exempt from disease, they could live, and were
not without their portion of comfort. Her hands were unemployed,
but her mind was kept in continual activity. To seclude herself as
much as possible from others was the best means of avoiding infec-
tion. Spectacles of misery which she was unable to relieve would
merely tend to harass her with useless disquietudes and make
her frame more accessible to disease. Her father's instructions were
sufficient to give her a competent acquaintance with the Italian and
i See this useful fact explained and demonstrated in Count Rumford's Essays.
[C.B.B.] Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford (1753-1814), an Anglo-American
scientist, was made Count of the Holy Roman Empire in 1791. His many accom-
plishments included introducing sociological reforms in Ireland and England, reor-
ganizing the army in Bavaria, and inventing new techniques of cooking, heating,
and lighting influenced by his theory of heat.
ORMON D 81
French languages. His dreary hours were beguiled by this employ-
ment, and her mind was furnished with a species of knowledge which
she hoped, in future, to make subservient to a more respectable and
plentiful subsistence than she had hitherto enjoyed.
Meanwhile, the season advanced, and the havoc which this fatal
malady produced increased with portentous rapidity. In alleys and
narrow streets, in which the houses were smaller, the inhabitants more
numerous and indigent, and the air pent up with unwholesome lim-
its, it raged with greatest violence. Few of Constantia's neighbours
possessed the means of removing from the danger. The inhabitants of
this alley consisted of three hundred persons. Of these, eight or ten
experienced no interruption of their health. Of the rest, two hundred
were destroyed in the course of three weeks. Among so many victims,
it may be supposed that this disease assumed every terrific and ago-
nizing shape.
It was impossible for Constantia to shut out every token of a
calamity thus enormous and thus near. Night was the season usually
selected for the removal of the dead. The sound of wheels thus
employed was incessant. This, and the images with which it was sure
to be accompanied, bereaved her of repose. The shrieks and laments of
survivors, who could not be prevented from attending the remains of
a husband or child to the place of interment, frequently struck her
senses. Sometimes, urged by a furious delirium, the sick would break
from their attendants, rush into the streets, and expire on the pave-
ment, amidst frantic outcries and gestures. By these she was often
roused from imperfect sleep, and called to reflect upon the fate which
impended over her father and herself.
To preserve health in an atmosphere thus infected, and to ward off
terror and dismay in a scene of horrors thus hourly accumulating, was
impossible. Constantia found it vain to contend against the inroads of
sadness. Amidst so dreadful a mortality, it was irrational to cherish the
hope that she or her father would escape. Her sensations, in no long
time, seemed to justify her apprehensions. Her appetite forsook her,
her strength failed, the thirst and lassitude of fever invaded her, and
the grave seemed to open for her reception.
Lucy was assailed by the same symptoms at the same time. House-
hold offices were unavoidably neglected. Mr. Dudley retained his
health, but he was able only to prepare his scanty food, and supply the
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 82
cravings of his child with water from the well. His imagination
marked him out for the next victim. He could not be blind to the
consequences of his own indisposition at a period so critical. Disabled
from contributing to each other's assistance, destitute of medicine and
food, and even of water to quench their tormenting thirst, unvisited,
unknown, and perishing in frightful solitude! These images had a ten-
dency to prostrate the mind, and generate or ripen the seeds of this
fatal malady, which, no doubt, at this period of its progress, every one
had imbibed.
Contrary to all his fears, he awoke each morning free from pain,
though not without an increase of debility. Abstinence from food, and
the liberal use of cold water, seemed to have a medicinal operation on
the sick. Their pulse gradually resumed its healthful tenor, their
strength and their appetite slowly returned, and in ten days they 'were
able to congratulate each other on their restoration.
I will not recount that series of disastrous thoughts which occu-
pied the mind of Constantia during this period. Her lingering and
sleepless hours were regarded by her as preludes to death. Though at
so immature an age, she had gained large experience of the evils
which are allotted to man. Death, which, in her prosperous state, was
peculiarly abhorrent to her feelings, was now disrobed of terror. As an
entrance into scenes of lightsome and imperishable being, it was the
goal of all her wishes. As a passage to oblivion it was still desirable,
since forgetfulness was better than the life which she had hitherto led,
and which, should her existence be prolonged, it was likely that she
could continue to lead.
These gloomy meditations were deprived from the languors of her
frame. When these disappeared, her cheerfulness and fortitude
revived. She regarded with astonishment and delight the continuance
of her father's health and her own restoration. That trial seemed to
have been safely undergone to which the life of every one was sub-
ject. The air, which till now had been arid and sultry, was changed
into cool and moist. The pestilence had reached its utmost height, and
now symptoms of remission and decline began to appear. Its declen-
sion was more rapid than its progress, and every day added vigour to
hope.
When her strength was somewhat retrieved, Constantia called to
mind a good woman who lived in her former neighbourhood, and
ORMON D 83
from whom she had received many proofs of artless affection. This
woman's name was Sarah Baxter. She lived within a small distance of
Constantia s former dwelling. The trade of her husband was that of
porter, and she pursued, in addition to the care of a numerous family,
the business of a laundress. The superior knowledge and address of
Constantia had enabled her to be serviceable to this woman in certain
painful and perplexing circumstances.
This service was repaid with the utmost gratitude. Sarah regarded
her benefactress with a species of devotion. She could not endure to
behold one whom every accent and gesture proved to have once
enjoyed affluence and dignity, performing any servile office. In spite
of her own multiplied engagements, she compelled Constantia to
accept her assistance on many occasions, and could scarcely be pre-
vailed upon to receive any compensation for her labour. Washing
clothes was her trade, and from this task she insisted on relieving her
lovely patroness.
Constantia s change of dwelling produced much regret in the kind
Sarah. She did not allow it to make any change in their previous
arrangements, but punctually visited the Dudleys once a week, and
carried home with her whatever stood in need of ablution. When the
prevalence of disease disabled Constantia from paying her the usual
wages, she would by no means consent to be absolved from this task.
Her earnestness on this head was not to be eluded; and Constantia, in
consenting that her work should, for the present, be performed gratu-
itously, solaced herself with the prospect of being able, by some future
change of fortune, amply to reward her.
Sarah's abode was distant from danger, and her fears were turbu-
lent. She was, nevertheless, punctual in her visits to the Dudleys, and
anxious for their safety. In case of their sickness, she had declared her
resolution to be their attendant and nurse. Suddenly, however, her vis-
its ceased. The day on which her usual visit was paid was the same
with that on which Constantia sickened, but her coming was expect-
ed in vain. Her absence was, on some accounts, regarded with plea-
sure, as it probably secured her from the danger connected with the
office of a nurse; but it added to Constantia's cares, inasmuch as her
own sickness, or that of some of her family, was the only cause of her
detention.
To remove her doubts, the first use which Constantia made of her
recovered strength was to visit her laundress. Sarah's house was a
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROW N 84
theatre of suffering. Her husband was the first of his family assailed by
the reigning disease. Two daughters, nearly grown to womanhood,
well-disposed and modest girls, the pride and support of their moth-
er, and who lived at service, returned home, sick, at the same time,
and died in a few days. Her husband had struggled for eleven days
with his disease, and was seized, jus t before Constantia's arrival, with
the pangs of death.
Baxter was endowed with great robustness and activity. This
disease did not vanquish him but with tedious and painful struggles.
His muscular force now exhausted itself in ghastly contortions, and
the house resounded with his ravings. Sarah's courage had yielded to
so rapid a succession of evils. Cons tan tia found her shut up in a
chamber distant from that of her dying husband, in a paroxysm of
grief, and surrounded by her younger children.
Constantia's entrance was like that of an angelic comforter. Sarah
was unqualified for any office but that of complaint. With great diffi-
culty she was made to communicate the knowledge of her situation.
Her visitant then passed into Baxter's apartment. She forced herself to
endure this tremendous scene long enough to discover that it was
hastening to close. She left the house, and, hastening to the proper
office, engaged the immediate attendance of a hearse. Before the lapse
of an hour Baxter's lifeless remains were thrust into a coffin and con-
veyed away.
Constantia now exerted herself to comfort and encourage the sur-
vivors. Her remonstrances incited Sarah to perform with alacrity the
measures which prudence dictates on these occasions. The house was
purified by the admission of air and the sprinkling of vinegar. Con-
stantia applied her own hand to these tasks, and set her humble friend
an example of forethought and activity. Sarah would not consent to
part with her till a late hour in the evening.
These exertions had like to have been fatally injurious to Constan-
tia. Her health was not sufficiently confirmed to sustain offices so
arduous. In the course of the night her fatigue terminated in fever. In
the present more salubrious state of the atmosphere, it assumed no
malignant symptoms, and shortly disappeared. During her indisposi-
tion she was attended by Sarah, in whose honest bosom no sentiment
was more lively than gratitude. Constantia, having promised to renew
her visit the next day, had been impatiently expected, and Sarah had
come to her dwelling in the evening, full of foreboding and anxiety,
ORMON D 85
to ascertain the cause of her delay. Having gained the bedside of her
patroness, no consideration could induce her to retire from it.
Constantia's curiosity was naturally excited as to the cause of Bax-
ter's disease. The simple-hearted Sarah was prolix and minute in the
history of her own affairs. No theme was more congenial to her tem-
per than that which was now proposed. In spite of redundance and
obscurity in the style of the narrative, Constantia found it in powerful
excitements of her sympathy. The tale, on its own account, as well as
from the connection of some of its incidents with a subsequent part
of these memoirs, is worthy to be here inserted. However foreign the
destiny of Monrose may at present appear to the story of the Dudleys,
there will hereafter be discovered an intimate connection between
them.
ADJACENT to the house occupied by Baxter was an antique brick
tenement. It was one of the first erections made by the followers of
William Penn.
1
 It had the honour to be used as the temporary resi-
dence of that venerable person. Its moss-grown penthouse, crumbling
walls, and ruinous porch, made it an interesting and picturesque object.
Notwithstanding its age, it was still tenable.
This house was occupied, during the preceding months, by a
Frenchman. His dress and demeanour were respectable. His mode of
life was frugal almost to penuriousness, and his only companion was a
daughter. The lady seemed not much less than thirty years of age, but
was of a small and delicate frame. It was she that performed every
household office. She brought water from the pump and provisions
from the market. Their house had no visitants, and was almost always
closed. Duly, as the morning returned, a venerable figure was seen
issuing from his door, dressed in the same style of tarnished splendour
and old-fashioned preciseness. At the dinner-hour he as regularly
returned. For the rest of the day he was invisible.
i William Penn (1644-1718): English Quaker who founded the colony of Pennsylva-
nia in 1681 and served as its first governor. Anywhere he had resided would have
been especially honoured.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
CHAPTER VII.
86
The habitations in this quarter are few and scattered. The pesti-
lence soon showed itself here, and the flight of most of the inhabitants
augmented its desolateness and dreariness. For some time, Monrose
(that was his name) made his usual appearance in the morning. At
length the neighbours remarked that he no longer came forth as
usual. Baxter had a notion that Frenchmen were exempt from this
disease. He was, besides, deeply and rancorously prejudiced against
that nation. There will be no difficulty in accounting for this, when it
is known that he had been an English grenadier at Dettingen and
Minden.
1
 It must likewise be added, that he was considerably timid,
and had sickness in his own family. Hence it was that the disappear-
ance of Monrose excited in him no inquisitiveness as to the cause. He
did not even mention this circumstance to others.
The lady was occasionally seen as usual in the street. There were
always remarkable peculiarities in her behaviour. In the midst of grave
and disconsolate looks, she never laid aside an air of solemn dignity.
She seemed to shrink from the observation of others, and her eyes
were always fixed upon the ground. One evening Baxter was passing
the pump while she was drawing water. The sadness which her looks
betokened, and a suspicion that her father might be sick, had a
momentary effect upon his feelings. He stopped and asked how her
father was. She paid a polite attention to his question, and said some-
thing in French. This, and the embarrassment of her air, convinced
him that his words were not understood. He said no more, (what,
indeed, could he say?) but passed on.
Two or three days after this, on returning in the evening to his
family, his wife expressed her surprise in not having seen Miss
Monrose in the street that day. She had not been at the pump, nor had
gone, as usual, to market. This information gave him some disquiet;
yet he could form no resolution. As to entering the house and offer-
ing his aid, if aid were needed, he had too much regard for his own
safety, and too little for that of a frog-eating Frenchman, to think
i Dettingen and Minden: Dettingen is a village in northwest Bavaria, where, in
1743, English, Dutch and German allies of Austria fighting under George II of
England defeated the French in the War of Austrian Succession. Minden, a town in
North Rhine-West Phalia, Germany, was the scene of an English Hanoverian vic-
tory over the French, Austrian and Russian forces in 1759, during the Seven Years
War.
ORMON D 87
seriously of that expedient. His attention was speedily diverted by
other objects, and Monrose was, for the present, forgotten.
Baxter's profession was that of a porter. He was thrown out of
employment by the present state of things. The solicitude of the
guardians of the city was exerted on this occasion, not only in oppos-
ing the progress of disease and furnishing provisions to the destitute,
but in the preservation of property. For this end the number of night-
ly watchmen was increased. Baxter entered himself in this service.
From nine till twelve o'clock at night it was his province to occupy a
certain post.
On this night he attended his post as usual. Twelve o'clock arrived,
and he bent his steps homeward. It was necessary to pass by Monrose's
door. On approaching this house, the circumstance mentioned by his
wife recurred to him. Something like compassion was conjured up in
his heart by the figure of the lady, as he recollected to have lately seen
it. It was obvious to conclude that sickness was the cause of her seclu-
sion. The same, it might be, had confined her father. If this were true,
how deplorable might be their present condition! Without food,
without physician or friends, ignorant of the language of the country,
and thence unable to communicate their wants or solicit succour,
fugitives from their native land, neglected, solitary and poor.
His heart was softened by these images. He stopped involuntarily
when opposite their door. He looked up at the house. The shutters
were closed, so that light, if it were within, was invisible. He stepped
into the porch, and put his eye to the keyhole. All was darksome and
waste. He listened, and imagined that he heard the aspirations of grief.
The sound was scarcely articulate, but had an electrical effect upon his
feelings. He retired to his home full of mournful reflections.
He was willing to do something for the relief of the sufferers, but
nothing could be done that night. Yet succour, if delayed till the
morning, might be ineffectual. But how, when the morning came,
should he proceed to effectuate his kind intentions? The guardians of
the public welfare, at this crisis, were distributed into those who
counselled and those who executed. A set of men, self-appointed to
the generous office, employed themselves in seeking out the destitute
or sick, and imparting relief. With this arrangement Baxter was
acquainted. He was resolved to carry tidings of what he had heard and
seen to one of those persons early the next day.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 88
Baxter, after taking some refreshment, retired to rest. In no long
time, however, he was awakened by his wife, who desired him to
notice a certain glimmering on the ceiling. It seemed the feeble and
flitting ray of a distant and moving light, coming through the win-
dow. It did not proceed from the street, for the chamber was lighted
from the side and not from the front of the house. A lamp borne by a
passenger, or the attendants of a hearse, could not be discovered in
this situation. Besides, in the latter case it would be accompanied by
the sound of the vehicle, and, probably, by weeping and exclamations
of despair. His employment, as the guardian of property, naturally sug-
gested to him the idea of robbery. He started from his bed, and went
to the window.
His house stood at the distance of about fifty paces from that of
Monrose. There was annexed to the latter a small garden or yard,
bounded by a high wooden fence. Baxter's window overlooked this
space. Before he reached the window, the relative situation of the two
habitations occurred to him. A conjecture was instantly formed that
the glimmering proceeded from this quarter. His eye, therefore, was
immediately fixed upon Monrose's back-door. It caught a glimpse of
a human figure passing into the house through this door. The person
had a candle in his hand. This appeared by the light which streamed
after him, and which was perceived, though faintly, through a small
window of the dwelling, after the back-door was closed.
The person disappeared too quickly to allow him to say whether it
was male or female. This scrutiny confirmed rather than weakened
the apprehensions that first occurred. He reflected on the desolate
and helpless condition of this family. The father might be sick; and
what opposition could be made by the daughter to the stratagems or
violence of midnight plunderers? This was an evil which it was his
duty, in an extraordinary sense, to obviate. It is true, the hour of
watching was past, and this was not the district assigned to him; but
Baxter was, on the whole, of a generous and intrepid spirit. In the
present case, therefore, he did not hesitate long in forming his resolu-
tion. He seized a hanger that hung at his bedside, and which had
hewn many a Hungarian and French hussar to pieces. With this he
descended to the street. He cautiously approached Monrose's house.
He listened at the door, but heard nothing. The lower apartment, as
he discovered through the keyhole, was deserted and dark. These
ORMON D 89
appearances could not be accounted for. He was, as yet, unwilling to
call or knock. He was solicitous to obtain some information by silent
means, and without alarming the persons within, who, if they were
robbers, might thus be put upon their guard and enabled to escape. If
none but the family were there, they would not understand his sig-
nals, and might impute the disturbance to the cause which he was
desirous to obviate. What could he do? Must he patiently wait till
some incident should happen to regulate his motions?
In this uncertainty, he bethought himself of going round to the
back part of the dwelling and watching the door which had been
closed. An open space, filled with rubbish and weeds, adjoined the
house and garden on one side. Hither he repaired, and, raising his
head above the fence, at a point directly opposite the door, waited
with considerable impatience for some token or signal by which he
might be directed in his choice of measures.
Human life abounds with mysterious appearances. A man perched
on a fence at midnight, mute and motionless, and gazing at a dark and
dreary dwelling, was an object calculated to rouse curiosity. When the
muscular form and rugged visage, scarred and furrowed into some-
thing like ferocity, were added, — when the nature of the calamity by
which the city was dispeopled was considered, - the motives to plun-
der, and the insecurity of property, arising from the pressure of new
wants on the poor and the flight or disease of the rich, were attended
to, - an observer would be apt to admit fearful conjectures.
We know not how long Baxter continued at this post. He
remained here, because he could not, as he conceived, change it for a
better. Before his patience was exhausted, his attention was called by a
noise within the house. It proceeded from the lower room. The sound
was that of steps, but this was accompanied with other inexplicable
tokens. The kitchen-door at length opened. The figure of Miss Mon-
rose, pale, emaciated, and haggard, presented itself. Within the door
stood a candle. It was placed on a chair within sight, and its rays
streamed directly against the face of Baxter as it was reared above the
top of the fence. This illumination, faint as it was, bestowed a certain
air of wildness on features which nature, and the sanguinary habits of
a soldier, had previously rendered, in an eminent degree, harsh and
stern. He was not aware of the danger of discovery in consequence of
this position of the candle. His attention was, for a few seconds,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 90
engrossed by the object before him. At length he chanced to notice
another object.
At a few yards' distance from the fence, and within it, some one
appeared to have been digging. An opening was made in the ground,
but it was shallow and irregular. The implement which seemed to
have been used was nothing more than a fire-shovel, for one of these
he observed lying near the spot. The lady had withdrawn from the
door, though without closing it. He had leisure, therefore, to attend to
this new circumstance, and to reflect upon the purpose for which this
opening might have been designed.
Death is familiar to the apprehensions of a soldier. Baxter had
assisted at the hasty interment of thousands, the victims of the sword
or of pestilence. Whether it was because this theatre of human cala-
mity was new to him, and death, in order to be viewed with his
ancient unconcern, must be accompanied in the ancient manner,
with halberds and tents, certain it is that Baxter was irresolute and
timid in every thing that respected the yellow fever. The circum-
stances of the time suggested that this was a grave, to which some vic-
tim of this disease was to be consigned. His teeth chattered when he
reflected how near he might now be to the source of infection; yet his
curiosity retained him at his post.
He fixed his eyes once more upon the door. In a short time the
lady again appeared at it. She was in a stooping posture, and appeared
to be dragging something along the floor. His blood ran cold at this
spectacle. His fear instantly figured to itself a corpse, livid and conta-
gious. Still he had no power to move. The lady's strength, enfeebled as
it was by grief, and perhaps by the absence of nourishment, seemed
scarcely adequate to the task which she had assigned herself.
Her burden, whatever it was, was closely wrapped in a sheet. She
drew it forward a few paces, then desisted, and seated herself on the
ground, apparently to recruit her strength and give vent to the agony
of her thoughts in sighs. Her tears were either exhausted or refused to
flow, for none were shed by her. Presently she resumed her under-
taking. Baxter's horror increased in proportion as she drew nearer to
the spot where he stood; and yet it seemed as if some fascination had
forbidden him to recede.
At length the burden was drawn to the side of the opening in the
earth. Here it seemed as if the mournful task was finished. She threw
ORMON D 91
herself once more upon the earth. Her senses seemed for a time to
have forsaken her. She sat buried in reverie, her eyes scarcely open,
and fixed upon the ground, and every feature set to the genuine
expression of sorrow. Some disorder, occasioned by the circumstance
of dragging, now took place in the vestment of what he had rightly
predicted to be a dead body. The veil by accident was drawn aside, and
exhibited to the startled eye of Baxter the pale and ghastly visage of
the unhappy Monrose.
This incident determined him. Every joint in his frame trembled,
and he hastily withdrew from the fence. His first motion in doing this
produced a noise by which the lady was alarmed; she suddenly threw
her eyes upward, and gained a full view of Baxter's extraordinary
countenance, just before it disappeared. She manifested her terror by a
piercing shriek. Baxter did not stay to mark her subsequent conduct,
to confirm or to dissipate her fears, but retired, in confusion, to his
own house.
Hitherto his caution had availed him. He had carefully avoided all
employments and places from which he imagined imminent danger
was to be dreaded. Now, through his own inadvertency, he had
rushed, as he believed, into the jaws of the pest. His senses had not
been assailed by any noisome effluvia. This was no unplausible ground
for imagining that this death had some other cause than the yellow
fever. This circumstance did not occur to Baxter. He had been told
that Frenchmen were not susceptible of this contagion. He had hith-
erto believed this assertion, but now regarded it as having been fully
confuted. He forgot that Frenchmen were undoubtedly mortal, and
that there was no impossibility in Monrose s dying, even at this time,
of a malady different from that which prevailed.
Before morning he began to feel very unpleasant symptoms. He
related his late adventure to his wife. She endeavoured, by what argu-
ments her slender ingenuity suggested, to quiet his apprehensions, but
in vain. He hourly grew worse, and, as soon as it was light, despatched
his wife for a physician. On interrogating this messenger, the physi-
cian obtained information of last nights occurrences; and, this being
communicated to one of the dispensers of the public charity, they
proceeded, early in the morning, to Monrose s house. It was closed, as
usual. They knocked and called, but no one answered. They examined
every avenue to the dwelling, but none of them were accessible. They
passed into the garden, and observed, on a spot marked out by Baxter,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 92
a heap of earth. A very slight exertion was sufficient to remove it and
discover the body of the unfortunate exile beneath.
After unsuccessfully trying various expedients for entering the
house, they deemed themselves authorized to break the door. They
entered, ascended the staircase, and searched every apartment in the
house, but no human being was discoverable. The furniture was
wretched and scanty, but there was no proof that Monrose had fallen
a victim to the reigning disease. It was certain that the lady had disap-
peared. It was inconceivable whither she had gone.
Baxter suffered a long period of sickness. The prevailing malady
appeared upon him in its severest form. His strength of constitution,
and the careful attendance of his wife, were insufficient to rescue him
from the grave. His case may be quoted as an example of the force of
imagination. He had probably already received, through the medium
of the air, or by contact of which he was not conscious, the seeds of
this disease. They might perhaps have lain dormant, had not this panic
occurred to endow them with activity.
SUCH were the facts circumstantially communicated by Sarah. They
afforded to Constantia a theme of ardent meditation. The similitude
between her own destiny and that of this unhappy exile could not fail
to be observed. Immersed in poverty, friendless, burdened with the
maintenance and nurture of her father, their circumstances were
nearly parallel. The catastrophe of her tale was the subject of endless
but unsatisfactory conjecture.
She had disappeared between the flight of Baxter and the dawn of
the day. What path had she taken? Was she now alive? Was she still an
inhabitant of this city? Perhaps there was a coincidence of taste as well
as fortunes between them. The only friend that Constantia ever
enjoyed, congenial with her in principles, sex, and age, was at a dis-
tance that forbade communication. She imagined that Ursula Mon-
rose would prove worthy of her love, and felt unspeakable regret at
the improbability of their ever meeting.
Meanwhile, the dominion of cold began to be felt, and the conta-
gious fever entirely disappeared. The return of health was hailed with
rapture by all ranks of people. The streets were once more busy and
CHAPTER VIII .
ORMON D 93
frequented. The sensation of present security seemed to shut out from
all hearts the memory of recent disasters. Public entertainments were
thronged with auditors. A new theatre had lately been constructed,
and a company of English comedians had arrived during the pre-
valence of the malady. They now began their exhibitions, and their
audiences were overflowing.
Such is the motley and ambiguous condition of human society,
such is the complexity of all effects, from what cause soever they
spring, that none can tell whether this destructive pestilence was, on
the whole, productive of most pain or most pleasure. Those who had
been sick and had recovered found, in this circumstance, a source of
exultation. Others made haste, by new marriages, to supply the place
of wives, husbands, and children whom the scarcely-extinguished
pestilence had swept away.
Constantia, however, was permitted to take no share in the general
festivity. Such was the colour of her fate, that the yellow fever, by
affording her a respite from toil, supplying leisure for the acquisition
of a useful branch of knowledge, and leading her to the discovery of a
cheaper, more simple, and more wholesome method of subsistence,
had been friendly, instead of adverse, to her happiness. Its disappear-
ance, instead of relieving her from suffering, was the signal for the
approach of new cares.
Of her ancient customers, some were dead, and others were slow
in resuming their ancient habitations and their ordinary habits. Mean-
while, two wants were now created and were urgent. The season
demanded a supply of fuel, and her rent had accumulated beyond her
power to discharge. M'Crea no sooner returned from the country
than he applied to her for payment. Some proprietors, guided by
humanity, had remitted their dues, but M'Crea was not one of these.
According to his own representation, no man was poorer than him-
self; and the punctual payment of all that was owing to him was no
more than sufficient to afford him a scanty subsistence.
He was aware of the indigence of the Dudleys, and was therefore
extremely importunate for payment, and could scarcely be prevailed
upon to allow them the interval of a day for the discovery of expedi-
ents. This day was passed by Constantia in fruitless anxieties. The
ensuing evening had been fixed for a repetition of his visit. The hour
arrived, but her invention was exhausted in vain. M'Crea was
punctual to the minute. Constantia was allowed no option. She
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 94
merely declared that the money demanded she had not to give, nor
could she foresee any period at which her inability would be less than
it then was.
These declarations were heard by her visitant with unspeakable
vexation. He did not fail to expatiate on the equity of his demands,
the moderation and forbearance he had hitherto shown, notwith-
standing the extreme urgency of his own wants, and the inflexible
rigour with which he had been treated by his creditors. This rhetoric
was merely the prelude to an intimation that he must avail himself of
any lawful means by which he might gain possession of his own.
This insinuation was fully comprehended by Constantia, but it was
heard without any new emotions. Her knowledge of her landlord's
character taught her to expect but one consequence. He paused to
observe what effect would be produced by this indirect menace. She
answered, without any change of tone, that the loss of habitation and
furniture, however inconvenient at this season, must be patiently
endured. If it were to be prevented only by the payment of money, its
prevention was impossible.
M'Crea renewed his regrets that there should be no other alterna-
tive. The law sanctioned his claims, and justice to his family, which
was already large, and likely to increase, required that they should not
be relinquished; yet such was the mildness of his temper and his aver-
sion to proceed to this extremity, that he was willing to dispense with
immediate payment on two conditions. First, that they should leave
his house within a week; and secondly, that they should put into his
hands some trinket or movable, equal in value to the sum demanded,
which should be kept by him as a pledge.
This last hint suggested an expedient for obviating the present dis-
tress. The lute with which Mr. Dudley was accustomed to solace in
his solitude was, if possible, more essential to his happiness than
shelter or food. To his daughter it possessed little direct power to
please. It was inestimable merely for her father's sake. Its intrinsic
value was at least equal to the sum due, but to part with it was to
bereave him of a good which nothing else could supply. Besides, not
being a popular and salable instrument, it would probably be con-
temptuously rejected by the ignorance and avarice of M'Crea.
There was another article in her possession, of some value in
traffic, and of a kind which M'Crea was far more likely to accept. It
was the miniature portrait of her friend, executed by a German artist,
ORMON D 95
and set in gold. This image was a precious though imperfect substitute
for sympathy and intercourse with the original. Habit had made this
picture a source of a species of idolatry. Its power over her sensations
was similar to that possessed by a beautiful Madonna over the heart of
a juvenile enthusiast. It was the mother of the only devotion which
her education had taught her to consider as beneficial or true.
She perceived the necessity of parting with it, on this occasion,
with the utmost clearness, but this necessity was thought upon with
indescribable repugnance. It seemed as if she had not thoroughly con-
ceived the extent of her calamity till now. It seemed as if she could
have endured the loss of eyes with less reluctance than the loss of this
inestimable relic. Bitter were the tears which she shed over it as she
took it from her bosom and consigned it to those rapacious hands
that were stretched out to receive it. She derived some little consola-
tion from the promise of this man that he would keep it safely till she
was able to redeem it.
The other condition - that of immediate removal from the house
- seemed at first sight impracticable. Some reflection, however,
showed her that the change might not only be possible but useful.
Among other expedients for diminishing expense, that of limiting her
furniture and dwelling to the cheapest standard had often occurred.
She now remembered that the house occupied by Monrose was ten-
antless; that its antiquity, its remote and unpleasant situation, and its
small dimensions, might induce M'Crea, to whom it belonged, to let
it at a much lower price than that which he now exacted. M'Crea
would have been better pleased if her choice had fallen on a different
house; but he had powerful though sordid reasons for desiring the
possession of this tenement. He assented, therefore, to her proposal,
provided her removal took place without delay.
In the present state of her funds this removal was impossible. Mere
shelter would not suffice during this inclement season. Without fuel,
neither cold could be excluded nor hunger relieved. There was noth-
ing convertible into money but her lute. No sacrifice was more
painful, but an irresistible necessity demanded it.
Her interview with M'Crea took place while her father was absent
from the room. On his return she related what had happened, and
urged the necessity of parting with his favourite instrument. He lis-
tened to her tale with a sigh. "Yes," said he, "do what thou wilt, my
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 96
child. It is unlikely that any one will purchase it. It is certain that no
one will give for it what I gave; but thou mayest try.
"It has been to me a faithful friend. I know not how I should have
lived without it. Its notes have cheered me with the sweet remem-
brances of old times. It was, in some degree, a substitute for the eyes
which I have lost; but now let it go, and perform for me perhaps the
dearest of its services. It may help us to sustain the severities of this
season."
There was no room for delay. She immediately set out in search of
a purchaser. Such a one was most likely to be found in the keeper of a
musical repository, who had lately arrived from Europe. She enter-
tained but slight hopes that an instrument scarcely known among her
neighbours would be bought at any price, however inconsiderable.
She found the keeper of the shop engaged in conversation with
a lady, whose person and face instantly arrested the attention of
Constantia. A less sagacious observer would have eyed the stranger
with indifference. But Constantia was ever busy in interpreting the
language of features and looks.
1
 Her sphere of observation had been
narrow, but her habits of examining, comparing, and deducing, had
thoroughly exhausted that sphere. These habits were eminently strong
with relation to the class of objects. She delighted to investigate the
human countenance, and treasured up numberless conclusions as to
the coincidence between mental and external qualities.
She had often been forcibly struck by forms that were accidentally
seen, and which abounded with this species of mute expression. They
conveyed at a single glance what could not be imparted by volumes.
The features and shape sunk, as it were, into perfect harmony with
sentiments and passions. Every atom of the frame was pregnant with
significance. In some, nothing was remarkable but this power of the
outward figure to exhibit the internal sentiments. In others, the intel-
ligence thus unveiled was remarkable for its heterogeneous or ener-
getic qualities; for its tendency to fill her heart with veneration or
abhorrence, or to involve her in endless perplexities.
The accuracy and vividness with which pictures of this kind pre-
sented themselves to her imagination resembled the operations of a
i Here Constantia practises physiognomy, the art of judging human character from
facial features.
ORMON D 97
sixth sense. It cannot be doubted, however, that much was owing to
the enthusiastic tenor of her own conceptions, and that her convic-
tion of the truth of the picture principally flowed from the distinct-
ness and strength of its hues.
The figure which she now examined was small, but of exquisite
proportions. Her complexion testified the influence of a torrid sun;
but the darkness veiled, without obscuring, the glowing tints of her
cheek. The shade was remarkably deep; but a deeper still was required
to become incompatible with beauty. Her features were irregular; but
defects of symmetry were amply supplied by eyes that anticipated
speech, and positions which conveyed that to which language was
inadequate.
It was not the chief tendency of her appearance to seduce or to
melt. Hers were the polished cheek and the mutability of muscle
which belong to woman, but the genius conspicuous in her aspect
was heroic and contemplative. The female was absorbed, so to speak,
in the rational creature, and the emotions most apt to be excited in
the gazer partook less of love than of reverence.
Such is the portrait of this stranger, delineated by Constantia. I
copy it with greater willingness, because, if we substitute a nobler
stature, and a complexion less uniform and delicate, it is suited, with
the utmost accuracy, to herself. She was probably unconscious of this
resemblance; but this circumstance may be supposed to influence her
in discovering such attractive properties in a form thus vaguely seen.
These impressions, permanent and cogent as they were, were gained
at a single glance. The purpose which led her thither was too momen-
tous to be long excluded.
"Why," said the master of the shop, "this is lucky. Here is a lady
who has just been inquiring for an instrument of this kind. Perhaps
the one you have will suit her. If you will bring it to me, I will exam-
ine it, and, if it is complete, will make a bargain with you." He then
turned to the lady who had first entered, and a short dialogue in
French ensued between them. The man repeated his assurances to
Constantia, who, promising to hasten back with the instrument, took
her leave. The lute, in its structure and ornaments, has rarely been sur-
passed. When scrutinized by this artist, it proved to be complete, and
the price demanded for it was readily given.
By this means the Dudleys were enabled to change their habitation
and to supply themselves with fuel. To obviate future exigencies,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 98
Constantia betook herself once more to the needle. They persisted
in the use of their simple fare, and endeavoured to contract their
wants and methodize their occupations by a standard as rigid as poss-
ible. She had not relinquished her design of adopting a new and more
liberal profession, but though, when indistinctly and generally consid-
ered, it seemed easily effected, yet the first steps which it would be
proper to take did not clearly or readily suggest themselves. For the
present she was contented to pursue the beaten track, but was pre-
pared to benefit by any occasion that time might furnish, suitable to
the execution of her plan.
IT may be asked if a woman of this character did not attract the
notice of the world. Her station, no less than her modes of thinking,
excluded her from the concourse of the opulent and the gay. She kept
herself in privacy; her engagements confined her to her own fireside;
and her neighbours enjoyed no means of penetrating through that
obscurity in which she wrapped herself. There were, no doubt, per-
sons of her own sex capable of estimating her worth, and who could
have hastened to raise so much merit from the indigence to which it
was condemned. She might, at least, have found associates and friends
justly entitled to her affection. But whether she were peculiarly
unfortunate in this respect, or whether it arose from a jealous and
unbending spirit that would remit none of its claims to respect, and
was backward in its overtures to kindness and intimacy, it so hap-
pened that her hours were, for a long period, enlivened by no com-
panion but her father and her faithful Lucy. The humbleness of her
dwelling, her plain garb, and the meanness of her occupation, were no
passports to the favour of the rich and vain. These, added to her youth
and beauty, frequently exposed her to insults, from which, though
productive for a time of mortification and distress, she, for the most
part, extricated herself by her spirited carriage and presence of mind.
One incident of this kind it will be necessary to mention. One
evening her engagements carried her abroad. She had proposed to
return immediately, finding by experience the danger that was to be
dreaded by a woman young and unprotected. Somewhat occurred
that unavoidably lengthened her stay, and she set out on her return at
ORMON D 99
CHAPTER IX.
a late hour. One of the other sex offered her his guardianship; but this
she declined, and proceeded homeward alone.
Her way lay through streets but little inhabited, and whose few
inhabitants were of the profligate class. She was conscious of the
inconveniences to which she was exposed, and therefore tripped
along with all possible haste. She had not gone far before she per-
ceived, through the dusk, two men standing near a porch before her.
She had gone too far to recede or change her course without exciting
observation, and she flattered herself that the persons would behave
with decency. Encouraged by these reflections, and somewhat hasten-
ing her pace, she went on. As soon as she came opposite the place
where they stood, one of them threw himself round, and caught her
arm, exclaiming, in a broad tone, "Whither so fast, my love, at this
time of night?"The other, at the same time, threw his arms round her
waist, crying out, "A pretty prize, by G ;just in the nick of time."
They were huge and brawny fellows, in whose grasp her feeble
strength was annihilated. Their motions were so sudden that she had
not time to escape by flight. Her struggles merely furnished them
with a subject of laughter. He that held her waist proceeded to pollute
her cheeks with his kisses, and drew her into the porch. He tore her
from the grasp of him who first seized her, who seemed to think his
property invaded, and said, in a surly tone, "What now, Jemmy? Damn
your heart, d'y^ think I'll be fobbed? Have done with your slabber-
ing, Jemmy. First come, first served," and seemed disposed to assert his
claims by force.
To this brutality Constantia had nothing to oppose but fruitless
struggles and shrieks for help. Succour was, fortunately, at hand. Her
exclamations were heard by a person across the street, who instantly
ran, and with some difficulty disengaged her from the grasp of the
ruffians. He accompanied her the rest of the way, bestowed on her
every polite attention, and, though pressed to enter the house,
declined the invitation. She had no opportunity of examining the
appearance of her new friend. This the darkness of the night, and her
own panic, prevented.
Next day a person called upon her whom she instantly recognized
to be her late protector. He came with some message from his sister.
His manners were simple and unostentatious, and breathed the gen-
uine spirit of civility. Having performed his commission, and once
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 100
more received the thanks which she poured forth with peculiar
warmth for his last night's interposition, he took his leave.
The name of this man was Balfour. He was middle-aged, of a
figure neither elegant nor ungainly, and an aspect that was mild and
placid, but betrayed few marks of intelligence. He was an adventurer
from Scotland, whom a strict adherence to the maxims of trade had
rendered opulent. He was governed by the principles of mercantile
integrity in all his dealings, and was affable and kind, without being
generous, in his treatment of inferiors. He was a stranger to violent
emotions of any kind, and his intellectual acquisitions were limited to
his own profession.
His demeanour was tranquil and uniform. He was sparing of
words, and these were uttered in the softest manner. In all his transac-
tions he was sedate and considerate. In his dress and mode of living
there were no appearances of parsimony, but there were, likewise, as
few traces of profusion.
His sister had shared in his prosperity. As soon as his affairs would
permit, he sent for her to Scotland, where she had lived in a state little
removed from penury, and had for some years been vested with the
superintendence of his household. There was a considerable resem-
blance between them in person and character. Her profession, or
those arts in which her situation had compelled her to acquire skill,
had not an equal tendency to enlarge the mind as those of her broth-
er, but the views of each were limited to one set of objects. His super-
iority was owing, not to any inherent difference, but to accident.
Balfour's life had been a model of chasteness and regularity, -
though this was owing more to constitutional coldness and a frugal
spirit, than to virtuous forbearance; but, in his schemes for the future,
he did not exclude the circumstance of marriage. Having attained a
situation secure, as the nature of human affairs will admit, from the
chances of poverty, the way was sufficiently prepared for matrimony.
His thoughts had been for some time employed in the selection of a
suitable companion, when this rencounter happened with Miss
Dudley.
Balfour was not destitute of those feelings which are called into
play by the sight of youth and beauty in distress. This incident was not
speedily forgotten. The emotions produced by it were new to him.
He reviewed them oftener, and with more complacency, than any
ORMON D 101
which he had before experienced. They afforded him so much satis-
faction, that, in order to preserve them undiminished, he resolved to
repeat his visit. Constantia treated him as one from whom she had
received a considerable benefit. Her sweetness and gentleness were
uniform, and Balfour found that her humble roof promised him more
happiness than his own fireside, or the society of his professional
brethren.
He could not overlook, in the course of such reflections as these,
the question relative to marriage, and speedily determined to solicit
the honour of her hand. He had not decided without his usual fore-
sight and deliberation; nor had he been wanting in the accuracy of his
observations and inquiries. Those qualifications, indeed, which were
of chief value in his eyes, lay upon the surface. He was no judge of her
intellectual character, or of the loftiness of her morality. Not even the
graces of person, or features, or manners, attracted much of his atten-
tion. He remarked her admirable economy of time and money and
labour, the simplicity of her dress, her evenness of temper, and her
love of seclusion. These were essential requisites of a wife, in his
apprehension. The insignificance of his own birth, the lowness of his
original fortune, and the efficacy of industry and temperance to con-
fer and maintain wealth, had taught him indifference as to birth or
fortune in his spouse. His moderate desires in this respect were grati-
fied, and he was anxious only for a partner that would aid him in pre-
serving rather than in enlarging his property. He esteemed himself
eminently fortunate in meeting with one in whom every matrimoni-
al qualification concentred.
He was not deficient in modesty, but he fancied that, on this occa-
sion, there was no possibility of miscarriage. He held her capacity in
deep veneration, but this circumstance rendered him more secure of
success. He conceived this union to be even more eligible with regard
to her than to himself, and confided in the rectitude of her under-
standing for a decision favourable to his wishes.
Before any express declaration was made, Constantia easily pre-
dicted the event from the frequency of his visits and the attentiveness
of his manners. It was no difficult task to ascertain this man's charac-
ter. Her modes of thinking were, in few respects, similar to those of
her lover. She was eager to investigate, in the first place, the attributes
of his mind. His professional and household maxims were not of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 102
inconsiderate importance, but they were subordinate considerations.
In the poverty of his discourse and ideas, she quickly found reasons
for determining her conduct.
Marriage she had but little considered, as it is in itself. What are the
genuine principles of that relation, and what conduct with respect to
it is prescribed to rational beings by their duty, she had not hitherto
investigated. But she was not backward to inquire what were the pre-
cepts of duty in her own particular case. She knew herself to be
young; she was sensible of the daily enlargement of her knowledge:
every day contributed to rectify some error or confirm some truth.
These benefits she owed to her situation, which, whatever were its
evils, gave her as much freedom from restraint as is consistent with the
state of human affairs. Her poverty fettered her exertions and circum-
scribed her pleasures. Poverty, therefore, was an evil, and the reverse of
poverty to be desired. But riches were not barren of constraint, and its
advantages might be purchased at too dear a rate.
Allowing that the wife is enriched by marriage, how humiliating
were the conditions annexed to it in the present case! The company
of one with whom we have no sympathy, nor sentiments in common,
is, of all species of solitude, the most loathsome and dreary. The nup-
tial life is attended with peculiar aggravations, since the tie is infrangi-
ble, and the choice of a more suitable companion, if such a one
should offer, is forever precluded. The hardships of wealth are not
incompensated by some benefits; but these benefits, false and hollow
as they are, cannot be obtained by marriage. Her acceptance of Bal-
four would merely aggravate her indigence.
Now she was at least mistress of the product of her own labour.
Her tasks were toilsome, but the profits, though slender, were sure,
and she administered her little property in what manner she pleased.
Marriage would annihilate this power. Henceforth she would be
bereft even of personal freedom. So far from possessing property, she
herself would become the property of another.
She was not unaware of the consequences flowing from differ-
ences of capacity, and that power, to whomsoever legally granted, will
be exercised by the most addressful; but she derived no encourage-
ment from these considerations. She would not stoop to gain her end
by the hateful arts of the sycophant, and was too wise to place an
unbounded reliance on the influence of truth. The character, likewise,
103 ORMON D
of this man sufficiently exempted him from either of those influences.
She did not forget the nature of the altar-vows. To abdicate the use
of her own understanding was scarcely justifiable in any case; but to
vow an affection that was not felt and could not be compelled, and to
promise obedience to one whose judgement was glaringly defective,
were acts atrociously criminal. Education, besides, had created in her
an insurmountable abhorrence of admitting to conjugal privileges the
man who had no claim upon her love. It could not be denied that a
state of abundant accommodation was better than the contrary; but
this consideration, though, in the most rational estimate, of some
weight, she was not so depraved and effeminate as to allow to over-
weigh the opposite evils. Homely liberty was better than splendid
servitude.
Her resolution was easily formed, but there were certain impedi-
ments in the way of its execution. These chiefly arose from deference
to the opinion and compassion for the infirmities of her father. He
assumed no control over her actions. His reflections in the present
case were rather understood than expressed. When uttered, it was
with the mildness of equality and the modesty of persuasion. It was
this circumstance that conferred upon them all their force. His deci-
sion, on so delicate a topic, was not wanting in sagacity and modera-
tion; but, as a man, he had his portion of defects, and his frame was
enfeebled by disease and care; yet he set no higher value on the ease
and independence of his former condition than any man of like expe-
rience. He could not endure to exist on the fruits of his daughter's
labour. He ascribed her decision to a spirit of excessive refinement,
and was, of course, disposed to give little quarter to maiden scruples.
They were phantoms, he believed, which experience would dispel.
His morality, besides, was of a much more flexible kind; and the mar-
riage vows were, in his opinion, formal and unmeaning, and neither
in themselves, nor in the apprehension of the world, accompanied
with any rigorous obligation. He drew more favourable omens from
the known capacity of his daughter and the flexibility of her lover.
She demanded his opinion and advice. She listened to his reason-
ings, and revolved them with candour and impartiality. She stated her
objections with simplicity, but the difference of age and sex was suffi-
cient to preclude agreement. Arguments were of no use but to pro-
long the debate; but, happily, the magnanimity of Mr. Dudley would
104 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROW N
admit of no sacrifice. Her opinions, it is true, were erroneous; but he
was willing that she should regulate her conduct by her own con-
ceptions of right, and not by those of another. To refuse Balfour's
offers was an evil, but an evil inexpressibly exceeded by that of
accepting them contrary to her own sense of propriety.
Difficulties, likewise, arose from the consideration of what was due
to the man who had already benefited her, and who, in this act,
intended to confer upon her further benefit. These, though the source
of some embarrassments, were not sufficient to shake her resolution.
Balfour could not understand her principal objections. They were of a
size altogether disproportioned to his capacity. Her moral speculations
were quite beyond the sphere of his reflections. She could not expati-
ate, without a breach of civility, on the disparity of their minds; and
yet this was the only or principal ground on which she had erected
her scruples.
Her father loved her too well not to be desirous of relieving her
from a painful task, though undertaken without necessity, and con-
trary to his opinion. "Refer him to me," said he; "I will make the best
of the matter, and render your refusal as palatable as possible. But do
you authorize me to make it absolute, and without appeal."
"My dear father, how good you are! but that shall be my province.
If I err, let the consequences of my mistake be confined to myself.
It would be cruel indeed to make you the instrument in a transaction
which your judgment disapproves. My reluctance was a weak
and foolish thing. Strange, indeed, if the purity of my motives will
not bear me out on this, as it has done on many more arduous
occasions!"
"Well, be it so; that is best, I believe. Ten to one but I, with my
want of eyes, would blunder, while yours will be of no small use in a
contest with a lover. They will serve you to watch the transitions in
his placid physiognomy, and overpower his discontents."
She was aware of the inconveniences to which this resolution
would subject her; but since they were unavoidable, she armed herself
with the requisite patience. Her apprehensions were not without
reason. More than one conference was necessary to convince him of
her meaning, and in order to effect her purpose she was obliged to
behave with so much explicitness as to hazard giving him offence.
This affair was productive of no small vexation. He had put too much
105 ORMON D
faith in the validity of his pretensions, and the benefits of persever-
ance, to be easily shaken off.
This decision was not borne by him with as much patience as she
wished. He deemed himself unjustly treated, and his resentment
exceeded those bounds of moderation which he prescribed to himself
on all other occasions. From his anger, however, there was not much
to be dreaded; but, unfortunately, his sister partook of his indignation,
and indulged her petulance, which was enforced by every gossiping
and tattling propensity, to the irreparable disadvantage of Constantia.
She owed her support to her needle. She was dependent, therefore,
on the caprice of customers. This caprice was swayable by every
breath, and paid a merely subordinate regard, in the choice of work-
women, to the circumstances of skill, cheapness, and diligence. In
consequence of this, her usual sources of subsistence began to fail.
Indigence, as well as wealth, is comparative. He indeed must be
wretched, whose food, clothing, and shelter are limited, both in kind
and quantity, by the standard of mere necessity; who in the choice of
food, for example, is governed by no consideration but its cheapness,
and its capacity to sustain nature. Yet to this degree of wretchedness
was Miss Dudley reduced.
As her means of subsistence began to decay, she reflected on the
change of employment that might become necessary. She was mistress
of no lucrative art but that which now threatened to be useless. There
was but one avenue through which she could hope to escape from
the pressure of absolute want. This she regarded with an aversion that
nothing but extreme necessity, and the failure of every other expedi-
ent, would be able to subdue. This was the hiring of herself as a ser-
vant. Even that could not answer all her purposes. If a subsistence
were provided by it for herself, whither should her father and her
Lucy betake themselves for support?
Hitherto her labour had been sufficient to shut out famine and the
cold. It is true she had been cut off from all the direct means of per-
sonal or mental gratification; but her constitution had exempted her
from the insalutary effects of sedentary application. She could not tell
how long she could enjoy this exemption, but it was absurd to antici-
pate those evils which might never arrive. Meanwhile, her situation
was not destitute of comfort. The indirect means of intellectual
improvement in conversation and reflection, the inexpensive amuse-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 106
ment of singing, and, above all, the consciousness of performing her
duty and maintaining her independence inviolate, were still in her
possession. Her lodging was humble and her fare frugal; but these,
temperance and a due regard to the use of money, would require from
the most opulent.
Now, retrenchments must be made even from this penurious pro-
vision. Her exertions might somewhat defer, but could not prevent,
the ruin of her unhappy family. Their landlord was a severe exactor of
his dues. The day of quarterly payment was past, and he had not failed
in his usual punctuality. She was unable to satisfy his demands, and
Mr. Dudley was officially informed that, unless payment was made
before a day fixed, resort would be had to the law in that case made
and provided.
This seemed to be the completion of their misfortunes. It was not
enough to soften the implacability of their landlord. A respite might
possibly be obtained from this harsh sentence. Entreaties might prevail
upon him to allow of their remaining under this roof for some time
longer; but shelter at this inclement season was not enough. Without
fire they must perish with the cold; and fuel could be procured only
for money, of which the last shilling was expended. Food was no less
indispensable; and, their credit being gone, not a loaf could be extort-
ed from the avarice of the bakers in the neighbourhood.
The sensations produced by this accumulation of distress may be
more easily conceived than described. Mr. Dudley sunk into despair
when Lucy informed him that the billet of wood she was putting on
the fire was the last. "Well," said he, "the game is up. Where is my
daughter?"The answer was that she was up-stairs.
"Why, there she has been this hour. Tell her to come down and
warm herself. She must needs be cold; and here is a cheerful blaze. I
feel it myself. Like the lightning that precedes death, it beams thus
brightly, though in a few moments it will be extinguished forever. Let
my darling come and partake of its comforts before they expire."
Constantia had retired in order to review her situation and devise
some expedients that might alleviate it. It was a sore extremity to
which she was reduced. Things had come to a desperate pass, and the
remedy required must be no less desperate. It was impossible to see
her father perish. She herself would have died before she would have
condescended to beg. It was not worth prolonging a life which must
107 ORMON D
subsist upon alms. She would have wandered into the fields at dusk,
have seated herself upon an unfrequented bank, and serenely waited
the approach of that death which the rigours of the seasons would
have rendered sure. But, as it was, it became her to act in a very differ-
ent manner.
During her father's prosperity, some mercantile intercourse had
taken place between him and a merchant of this city. The latter, on
some occasion, had spent a few nights at her father's house. She was
greatly charmed with the humanity that shone forth in his conver-
sation and behaviour. From that time to this, all intercourse had
ceased. She was acquainted with the place of his abode, and knew him
to be affluent. To him she determined to apply as a suppliant in behalf
of her father. She did not inform Mr. Dudley of this intention, con-
ceiving it best to wait till the event had been ascertained, for fear of
exciting fallacious expectations. She was further deterred by the
apprehension of awakening his pride and bringing on herself an
absolute prohibition.
She arrived at the door of Mr. Melbourne's house, and, inquiring
for the master of it, was informed that he had gone out of town, and
was not expected to return within a week.
Her scheme, which was by no means unplausible, was thus com-
pletely frustrated. There was but one other resource, on which she had
already deliberated, and to which she had determined to apply if that
should fail. That was to claim assistance from the superintendents of
the poor. She was employed in considering to which of them, and in
what manner, she should make her application, when she turned the
corner of Lombard and Second Streets. That had scarcely been done,
when, casting her eyes mournfully round her, she caught a glimpse of
a person whom she instantly recognised, passing into the market-
place. She followed him with quick steps, and, on a second examina-
tion, found that she had not been mistaken. This was no other than
Thomas Craig, to whose malignity and cunning all her misfortunes
were imputable.
She was at first uncertain what use to make of this discovery. She
followed him almost instinctively, and saw him at length enter the
Indian Queen Tavern. Here she stopped. She entertained a confused
conception that some beneficial consequences might be extracted
from this event. In the present hurry of her thoughts she could form
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 108
no satisfactory conclusion; but it instantly occurred to her that it
would at least be proper to ascertain the place of his abode. She
stepped into the inn and made the suitable inquiries. She was
informed that the gentleman had come from Baltimore a month
before, and had since resided at that house. How soon he meant to
leave the city her informant was unable to tell.
Having gained this intelligence, she returned home, and once
more shut herself in her chamber to meditate on this new posture of
affairs.
CHAPTER X.
CRAIG was indebted to her father. He had defrauded him by the most
atrocious and illicit arts. On either account he was liable to prosecu-
tion; but her heart rejected the thought of being the author of injury
to any man. The dread of punishment, however, might induce him to
refund, uncoercively, the whole or some part of the stolen property.
Money was at this moment necessary to existence, and she conceived
herself justly entitled to that of which her father had been perfidious-
ly despoiled.
But the law was formal and circuitous. Money itself was necessary
to purchase its assistance. Besides, it could not act with unseen virtue
and instantaneous celerity. The co-operation of advocates and officers
was required. They must be visited, and harangued, and importuned.
Was she adequate to the task? Would the energy of her mind supply
the place of experience, and, with a sort of miraculous efficacy, afford
her the knowledge of official processes and dues? As little, on this
occasion, could be expected from her father as from her. He was
infirm and blind. The spirit that animated his former days was flown.
His heart's blood was chilled by the rigours of his fortune. He had
discarded his indignation and his enmities, and, together with them,
hope itself had perished in his bosom. He waited, in tranquil despair,
for that stroke which would deliver him from life and all the woes
that it inherits.
But these considerations were superfluous. It was enough that jus-
tice must be bought, and that she had not the equivalent. Legal pro-
ceedings are encumbered with delay, and her necessities were urgent.
109 ORMON D
Succour, if withheld till the morrow, would be useless. Hunger and
cold would not be trifled with. What resource was there left in this
her uttermost distress? Must she yield, in imitation of her father, to
the cowardly suggestions of despair?
Craig might be rich. His coffers might be stuffed with thousands.
All that he had, according to the principles of social equity, was hers;
yet he, to whom nothing belonged, rioted in superfluity, while she,
the rightful claimant, was driven to the point of utmost need. The
proper instrument of her restoration was law; but its arm was power-
less, for she had not the means of bribing it into activity. But was law
the only instrument?
Craig, perhaps, was accessible. Might she not, with propriety,
demand an interview, and lay before him the consequences of his
baseness? He was not divested of the last remains of humanity. It was
impossible that he should not relent at the picture of those distresses
of which he was the author. Menaces of legal prosecution she meant
not to use, because she was unalterably resolved against that remedy.
She confided in the efficacy of her pleadings to awaken his justice.
This interview she was determined immediately to seek. She was
aware that by some accident her purpose might be frustrated. Access
to his person might, for the present, be impossible, or might be
denied. It was proper, therefore, to write him a letter, which might be
substituted in place of an interview. It behooved her to be expedi-
tious, for the light was failing, and her strength was nearly exhausted
by the hurry of her spirits. Her fingers, likewise, were benumbed with
the cold. She performed her task, under these disadvantages, with
much difficulty. This was the purport of her letter: —
"THOMAS CRAIG: -
"An hour ago I was in Second Street, and saw you. I followed you
till you entered the Indian Queen Tavern. Knowing where you are, I
am now preparing to demand an interview. I may be disappointed in
this hope, and therefore write you this.
"I do not come to upbraid you, to call you to a legal or any other
account for your actions. I presume not to weigh your merits. The
God of equity be your judge. May he be as merciful, in the hour of
retribution, as I am disposed to be!
"It is only to inform you that my father is on the point of perish-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 110
ing with want.You know who it was that reduced him to this condi-
tion. I persuade myself I shall not appeal to your justice in vain. Learn
of this justice to afford him instant succour.
"You know who it was that took you in, a houseless wanderer,
protected and fostered your youth, and shared with you his con-
fidence and his fortune. It is he who now, blind and indigent, is
threatened, by an inexorable landlord, to be thrust into the street, and
who is, at this moment, without fire and without bread.
"He once did you some little service; now he looks to be com-
pensated. All the retribution he asks is to be saved from perishing.
Surely you will not spurn at his claims. Thomas Craig has done noth-
ing that shows him deaf to the cries of distress. He would relieve a
dog from such suffering.
"Forget that you have known my father in any character but that
of a suppliant for bread. I promise you that, on this condition, I also
will forget it. If you are so far just, you have nothing to fear. Your
property and reputation shall both be safe. My father knows not of
your being in this city. His enmities are extinct, and, if you comply
with this request, he shall know you only as a benefactor.
C. DUDLEY."
Having finished and folded this epistle, she once more returned to
the tavern. A waiter informed her that Craig had lately been in, and
was now gone out to spend the evening. "Whither had he gone?" she
asked.
"How was he to know where gentlemen eat their suppers? Did
she take him for a witch? What, in God's name, did she want with
him at that hour? Could she not wait, at least, till he had done his
supper? He warranted her pretty face would bring him home time
enough."
Constantia was not disconcerted at this address. She knew that
females are subjected, through their own ignorance and cowardice, to
a thousand mortifications. She set its true value on base and low-
minded treatment. She disdained to notice this ribaldry, but turned
away from the servant to meditate on this disappointment.
A few moments after, a young fellow, smartly dressed, entered the
apartment. He was immediately addressed by the other, who said to
111 ORMON D
him, "Well, Tom, where's your master? There's a lady wants him,"
(pointing to Constantia, and laying a grinning emphasis on the word
"lady") She turned to the newcomer: - "Friend, are you Mr. Craig's
servant?"
The fellow seemed somewhat irritated at the bluntness of her
interrogatory. The appellation of servant sat uneasily, perhaps, on his
pride, especially as coming from a person of her appearance. He put
on an air of familiar ridicule, and surveyed her in silence. She resumed
in an authoritative tone: - "Where does Mr. Craig spend this evening?
I have business with him of the highest importance, and that will not
bear delay. I must see him this night." He seemed preparing to make
some impertinent answer, but she anticipated it: - "You had better
answer me with decency. If you do not, your master shall hear of it."
This menace was not ineffectual. He began to perceive himself in
the wrong, and surlily muttered, "Why, if you must know, he is gone
to Mr. Ormond's."And where lived Mr. Ormond? In Arch Street; he
mentioned the number on her questioning him to that effect.
Being furnished with this information, she left him. Her project
was not to be thwarted by slight impediments, and she forthwith pro-
ceeded to Ormond s dwelling. "Who was this Ormond?" she inquired
of herself as she went along; "whence originated and of what nature is
the connection between him and Craig? Are they united by union of
designs and sympathy of character, or is this stranger a new subject on
whom Craig is practicing his arts? The last supposition is not impossi-
ble. Is it not my duty to disconcert his machinations and save a new
victim from his treachery? But I ought to be sure before I act. He may
now be honest, or tending to honesty, and my interference may cast
him backward, or impede his progress."
The house to which she had been directed was spacious and mag-
nificent. She was answered by a servant, whose uniform was extreme-
ly singular and fanciful, and whose features and accents bespoke him
to be English, with a politeness to which she knew that the simplicity
of her garb gave her no title. Craig, he told her, was in the drawing-
room above-stairs. He offered to carry him any message, and ushered
her, meanwhile, into a parlour. She was surprised at the splendour of
the room. The ceiling was painted with a gay design, the walls stuc-
coed in relief, and the floor covered with a Persian carpet, with suit-
able accompaniments of mirrors, tables, and sofas.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 112
Craig had been seated at the window above. His suspicions were
ever on the watch. He suddenly espied a figure and face on the oppo-
site side of the street, which an alteration of garb and the improve-
ments of time could not conceal from his knowledge. He was startled
at this incident, without knowing the extent of its consequences. He
saw her cross the way opposite this house, and immediately after
heard the bell ring. Still, he was not aware that he himself was the
object of this visit, and waited, with some degree of impatience, for
the issue of this adventure.
Presently he was summoned to a person below, who wished to see
him. The servant shut the door, as soon as he had delivered the mes-
sage, and retired.
Craig was thrown into considerable perplexity. It was seldom that
he was wanting in presence of mind and dexterity, but the unexpect-
edness of this incident made him pause. He had not forgotten the
awful charms of his summoner. He shrunk at the imagination of her
rebukes. What purpose could be answered by admitting her? It was,
undoubtedly, safest to keep at a distance; but what excuse should be
given for refusing this interview? He was roused from his reverie by a
second and more urgent summons. The person could not conve-
niently wait; her business was of the utmost moment, and would
detain him but a few minutes.
The anxiety which was thus expressed to see him only augmented
his solicitude to remain invisible. He had papers before him which he
had been employed in examining. This suggested an excuse: — "Tell
her that I am engaged just now, and cannot possibly attend to her. Let
her leave her business. If she has any message, you may bring it to
me."
It was plain to Constantia that Craig suspected the purpose of her
visit. This might have come to his knowledge by means impossible for
her to divine. She now perceived the wisdom of the precaution she
had taken. She gave her letter to the servant with this message: - "Tell
him I shall wait here for an answer, and continue to wait till I receive
one."
Her mind was powerfully affected by the criticalness of her situa-
tion. She had gone thus far, and saw the necessity of persisting to the
end. The goal was within view, and she formed a sort of desperate
determination not to relinquish the pursuit. She could not overlook
113 ORMON D
the possibility that he might return no answer, or return an unsatisfac-
tory one. In either case, she was resolved to remain in the house till
driven from it by violence. What other resolution could she form? To
return to her desolate home penniless was an idea not to be endured.
The letter was received and perused. His conscience was touched,
but compunction was a guest whose importunities he had acquired a
peculiar facility of eluding. Here was a liberal offer. A price was set
upon his impunity. A small sum, perhaps, would secure him from all
future molestation. - "She spoke, to-be-sure, in a damned high tone.
'Twas a pity that the old man should be hungry before supper-time.
Blind, too! Harder still, when he cannot find his way to his mouth.
Rent unpaid, and a flinty-hearted landlord. A pretty pickle, to-be-
sure. Instant payment, she says. Won't part without it. Must come
down with the stuff. I know this girl. When her heart is once set upon
a thing, all the devils will not turn her out of her way. She promises
silence. I can't pretend to bargain with her. I'd as lief be ducked as
meet her face to face. I know she'll do what she promises. That was
always her grand failing. How the little witch talks! Just the dreamer
she ever was! Justice! Compassion! Stupid fool! One would think
she'd learned something of the world by this time."
He took out his pocket-book. Among the notes it contained, the
lowest was fifty dollars. This was too much: yet there was no alterna-
tive; something must be given. She had detected his abode, and he
knew it was in the power of the Dudleys to ruin his reputation and
obstruct his present schemes. It was probable that, if they should exert
themselves, their cause would find advocates and patrons. Still, the
gratuitous gift of fifty dollars sat uneasily upon his avarice. One idea
occurred to reconcile him to the gift. There was a method he con-
ceived of procuring the repayment of it with interest. He enclosed the
note in a blank piece of paper and sent it to her.
She received the paper, and opened it with trembling fingers.
When she saw what were its contents, her feelings amounted to rap-
ture. A sum like this was affluence to her in her present condition. At
least it would purchase present comfort and security. Her heard
glowed with exultation, and she seemed to tread with the lightness of
air as she hied homeward. The languor of a long fast, the numbness of
the cold, were forgotten. It is worthy of remark how much of human
accommodation was comprised within this small compass; and how
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 114
sudden was this transition from the verge of destruction to the sum-
mit of security.
Her first business was to call upon her landlord and pay him his
demand. On her return she discharged the little debts she had been
obliged to contract, and purchased what was immediately necessary.
Wood she could borrow from her next neighbour, and this she was
willing to do, now that she had the prospect of repaying it.
CHAPTER XI.
ON LEAVING Mr. Ormond's house, Constantia was met by that gen-
tleman. He saw her as she came out, and was charmed with the sim-
plicity of her appearance. On entering, he interrogated the servant as
to the business that brought her thither.
"So," said he, as he entered the drawing-room where Craig was
seated, "you have had a visitant. She came, it seems, on a pressing
occasion, and would be put off with nothing but a letter."
Craig had not expected this address, but it only precipitated the
execution of a design that he had formed. Being aware of this or sim-
ilar accidents, he had constructed and related, on a previous occasion,
to Ormond, a story suitable to his purpose.
"Ay," said he, in a tone of affected compassion, "it is a sad affair
enough. I am sorry it is not in my power to help the poor girl. She is
wrong in imputing her father's misfortunes to me, but I know the
source of her mistake. Would to Heaven it was in my power to repair
the wrongs they have suffered, not from me, but from one whose
relationship is a disgrace to me."
"Perhaps," replied the other, "you are willing to explain this affair."
"Yes, I wish to explain it. I was afraid of some such accident as this.
An explanation is due to my character. I have already told you my
story. I mentioned to you a brother of mine. There is scarcely thirteen
months' difference in our ages.There is a strong resemblance between
him and me in our exterior, though I hope there is none at all in our
minds. This brother was the partner of a gentleman, the father of this
girl, at New York. He was a long time nothing better than an appren-
tice to Mr. Dudley, but he advanced so much in the good graces of his
master that he finally took him into partnership. I did not know, till I
115 ORMON D
arrived on the continent, the whole of his misconduct. It appears that
he embezzled the property of the house and fled away with it, and the
consequence was that his quondam master was ruined. I am often
mistaken for my brother, to my no small inconvenience; but all this I
told you formerly. See what a letter I just now received from this girl."
Craig was one of the most plausible of men. His character was a
standing proof of the vanity of physiognomy. There were few men
who could refuse their confidence to his open and ingenuous aspect.
To this circumstance, perhaps, he owed his ruin. His temptations to
deceive were stronger than what are incident to most other men.
Deception was so easy a task, that the difficulty lay, not in infusing
false opinions respecting him, but in preventing them from being
spontaneously imbibed. He contracted habits of imposture impercep-
tibly. In proportion as he deviated from the practice of truth, he dis-
cerned the necessity of extending and systematizing his efforts, and of
augmenting the original benignity and attractiveness of his looks by
studied additions. The further he proceeded, the more difficult it was
to return. Experience and habit added daily to his speciousness, till at
length the world perhaps might have been searched in vain for his
competitor.
He had been introduced to Ormond under the most favourable
auspices. He had provided against a danger which he knew to be
imminent, by relating his own story as if it were his brothers. He had,
however, made various additions to it, serving to aggravate the
heinousness of his guilt. This arose partly from policy, and partly from
the habit of lying, which was prompted by a fertile invention and ren-
dered inveterate by incessant exercise. He interwove in his tale an
intrigue between Miss Dudley and his brother. The former was
seduced, and this man had employed his skill in chirographical imita-
tion in composing letters from Miss Dudley to his brother, which
sufficiently attested her dishonour. He and his brother he related to
have met in Jamaica, where the latter died, by which means his per-
sonal property and papers came into his possession.
Ormond read the letter which his companion presented to him on
this occasion. The papers which Craig had formerly permitted him to
inspect had made him familiar with her handwriting. The pen-
manship was, indeed, similar, yet this was written in a spirit not quite
congenial with that which had dictated her letters to her lover. But he
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 116
reflected that the emergency was extraordinary, and that the new
scenes through which she had passed had, perhaps, enabled her to
retrieve her virtue and enforce it. The picture which she drew of her
father's distresses affected him and his companion very differently. He
pondered on it for some time in silence; he then looked up, and, with
his usual abruptness, said, "I suppose you gave her something?"
"No. I was extremely sorry that it was not in my power. I have
nothing but a little trifling silver about me. I have no more at home
than will barely suffice to pay my board here, and my expenses to
Baltimore. Till I reach there I cannot expect a supply. I was less
uneasy, I confess, on this account, because I knew you to be equally
willing and much more able to afford the relief she asks."
This, Mr. Ormond had predetermined to do. He paused only to
deliberate in what manner it could, with most propriety, be done. He
was always willing, when he conferred benefits, to conceal the author.
He was not displeased when gratitude was misplaced, and readily
allowed his instruments to act as if they were principals. He ques-
tioned not the veracity of Craig, and was, therefore, desirous to free
him from the molestation that was threatened in the way which had
been prescribed. He put a note of one hundred dollars into his hand,
and enjoined him to send it to the Dudleys that evening, or early the
next morning."! am pleased," he added, "with the style of this letter:
it can be of no service to you; leave it in my possession."
Craig would much rather have thrown it into the fire; but he
knew the character of his companion, and was afraid to make any
objection to his request. He promised to send or carry the note the
next morning, before he set out on his intended journey.
This journey was to Baltimore, and was undertaken so soon mere-
ly to oblige his friend, who was desirous of remitting to Baltimore a
considerable sum in English guineas, and who had been for some
time in search of one who might execute this commission with
fidelity. The offer of Craig had been joyfully accepted, and the next
morning had been the time fixed for his departure, - a period the
most opportune for Craig's designs that could be imagined. To return
to Miss Dudley.
The sum that remained to her after the discharge of her debts
would quickly be expended. It was no argument of wisdom to lose
sight of the future in the oblivion of present care. The time would
117 ORMON D
inevitably come when new resources would be necessary. Every hour
brought nearer the period without facilitating the discovery of new
expedients. She related the recent adventure to her father. He acqui-
esced in the propriety of her measures, but the succour that she had
thus obtained consoled him but little. He saw how speedily it would
again be required, and was hopeless of a like fortunate occurrence.
Some days had elapsed, and Constantia had been so fortunate as to
procure some employment. She was thus engaged in the evening
when they were surprised by a visit from their landlord. This was an
occurrence that foreboded them no good. He entered with abrupt-
ness, and scarcely noticed the salutations that he received. His bosom
swelled with discontent, which seemed ready to be poured out upon
his two companions. To the inquiry as to the condition of his health
and that of his family, he surlily answered, "Never mind how I am.
None the better for my tenants, I think. Never was a man so much
plagued as I have been. What with one putting me off from time to
time, what with another quarrelling about terms and denying his
agreement, and another running away in my debt, I expect nothing
but to come to poverty - God help me! - at last. But this was the
worst of all. I was never before treated so in all my life. I don't know
what or when I shall get to the end of my troubles. To be fobbed out
of my rent and twenty-five dollars into the bargain! It is very strange
treatment, I assure you, Mr. Dudley."
"What is it you mean?" replied that gentleman. "You have received
your dues, and —"
"Received my dues, indeed! High enough, too! I have received
none of my dues! I have been imposed upon. I have been put to very
great trouble, and expect some compensation. There is no knowing
the character of one's tenants. There is nothing but knavery in the
world, one would think. I'm sure no man has suffered more by bad
tenants than I have. But this is the strangest treatment I ever met with.
Very strange, indeed; and, Dudley, I must be paid without delay. To
lose my rent and twenty-five dollars into the bargain is too hard. I
never met with the equal of it, - not I. Besides, I wouldn't be put to
all this trouble for twice the sum."
"What does all this mean, Mr. M'Crea?You seem inclined to scold;
but I cannot conceive why you came here for that purpose. This
behaviour is improper."
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 118
"No, it's very proper, and I want payment of my money. Fifty
dollars you owe me. Miss comes to me to pay me my rent, as I
thought. She brings me a fifty-dollar note; I changes it for her, for I
thought to-be-sure I was quite safe; but, behold, when I sends it to
the bank to get the money, they sends me back word that it's forged,
and calls on me, before a magistrate, to tell them where I got it from.
I'm sure I never was so flustered in my life. I would not have such a
thing for ten times the sum."
He proceeded to descant on his loss without any interruption
from his auditors, whom this intelligence had struck dumb. Mr. Dud-
ley instantly saw the origin and full extent of this misfortune. He was,
nevertheless, calm, and indulged in no invectives against Craig. "It is
all of a piece," said he: "our ruin is inevitable. Well, then, let it come."
After M'Crea had railed himself weary, he flung out of the house,
warning them the next morning he should distrain for his rent, and,
at the same time, sue them for the money that Cons tan tia had
received in exchange for her note. Miss Dudley was unable to pursue
her task. She laid down her needle, and fixed her eyes upon her
father. They had been engaged in earnest discourse when their land-
lord entered. Now there was a pause of profound silence, till the
affectionate Lucy, who sufficiently comprehended this scene, gave
vent to her affliction in sobs. Her mistress turned to her: —
"Cheer up, my Lucy. We shall do well enough, my girl. Our state is
bad enough, without doubt, but despair will make it worse."
The anxiety that occupied her mind related less to herself than to
her father. He indeed, in the present instance, was exposed to prose-
cution. It was he who was answerable for the debt, and whose person
would be thrown into durance by the suit that was menaced. The
horrors of prison had not hitherto been experienced or anticipated.
The worse evil that she had imagined was inexpressibly inferior to
this. The idea had in it something terrific and loathsome. The mere
supposition of its being possible was not to be endured. If all other
expedients should fail, she thought of nothing less than desperate
resistance. No. It was better to die than to go to prison.
For a time she was deserted of her admirable equanimity. This, no
doubt, was the result of surprise. She had not yet obtained the calm-
ness necessary to deliberation. During this gloomy interval, she would
perhaps have adopted any scheme, however dismal and atrocious,
119 ORMON D
which her father's despair might suggest. She would not refuse to ter-
minate her own and her father's unfortunate existence by poison or
the cord.
This confusion of mind could not exist long. It gradually gave
place to cheerful prospects. The evil perhaps was not without its time-
ly remedy. The person whom she had set out to visit, when her course
was diverted by Craig, she once more resolved to apply to; to lay
before him, without reserve, her father's situation, to entreat pecu-
niary succour, and to offer herself as a servant in his family, or in that
of any of his friends who stood in need of one. This resolution in a
slight degree consoled her; but her mind had been too thoroughly
disturbed to allow her any sleep during that night.
She equipped herself betimes, and proceeded with a doubting
heart to the house of Mr. Melbourne. She was informed that he had
risen, but was never to be seen at so early an hour. At nine o'clock he
would be disengaged, and she would be admitted. In the present state
of her affairs, this delay was peculiarly unwelcome. At breakfast, her
suspense and anxieties would not allow her to eat a morsel, and, when
the hour approached, she prepared herself for a new attempt.
As she went out, she met at the door a person whom she recog-
nised, and whose office she knew to be that of a constable. Constantia
had exercised, in her present narrow sphere, that beneficence which
she had formerly exerted in a larger. There was nothing, consistent
with her slender means, that she did not willingly perform for the ser-
vice of others. She had not been sparing of consolation and personal
aid in many cases of personal distress that had occurred in her neigh-
bourhood. Hence, as far as she was known she was reverenced.
The wife of their present visitant had experienced her succour and
sympathy on occasion of the death of a favourite child. The man,
notwithstanding his office, was not of a rugged or ungrateful temper.
The task that was now imposed upon him he undertook with
extreme reluctance. He was somewhat reconciled to it by the reflec-
tion that another might not perform it with that gentleness and lenity
which he found in himself a disposition to exercise on all occasions,
but particularly on the present.
She easily guessed at his business, and, having greeted him with the
utmost friendliness, returned with him into the house. She endeav-
oured to remove the embarrassment that hung about him, but in vain.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 120
Having levied what the law very properly calls a distress, he proceed-
ed, after much hesitation, to inform Dudley that he was charged with
a message from a magistrate, summoning him to come forthwith and
account for having a forged bank-note in his possession.
M'Crea had given no intimation of this. The painful surprise that
it produced soon yielded to a just view of this affair. Temporary
inconvenience and vexation was all that could be dreaded from it. Mr.
Dudley hated to be seen or known. He usually walked out in the
dusk of the evening, but limited his perambulations to a short space.
At all other times he was obstinately recluse. He was easily persuaded
by his daughter to allow her to perform this unwelcome office in his
stead. He had not received nor even seen the note. He would have
willingly spared her the mortification of a judicial examination, but
he knew that this was unavoidable. Should he comply with this sum-
mons himself, his daughter's presence would be equally necessary.
Influenced by these considerations, he was willing that his daugh-
ter should accompany the messenger, who was content that they
should consult their mutual convenience in this respect. This inter-
view was to her not without its terrors, but she cherished the hope
that it might ultimately conduce to good. She did not foresee the
means by which this would be effected, but her heart was lightened
by a secret and inexplicable faith in the propitiousness of some event
that was yet to occur. This faith was powerfully enforced when she
reached the magistrate's door, and found that he was no other than
Melbourne, whose succour she intended to solicit. She was speedily
ushered, not into his office, but into a private apartment, where he
received her alone.
He had been favourably prepossessed with regard to her character
by the report of the officer, who, on being charged with the message,
had accounted for the regret which he manifested, by dwelling on the
merits of Miss Dudley. He behaved with great civility, requested her
to be seated, and accurately scrutinized her appearance. She found
herself not deceived in her preconceptions of this gentleman's charac-
ter, and drew a favourable omen as to the event of this interview by
what had already taken place. He viewed her in silence for some time,
and then, in a conciliating tone, said, —
"It seems to me, madam, as if I had seen you before. Your face,
indeed, is of that kind which, when once seen, is not easily forgotten.
121 ORMON D
I know it is a long time since, but I cannot tell when or where. If you
will not deem me impertinent, I will venture to ask you to assist my
conjectures .You name, as I am informed, is Acworth." (I ought to have
mentioned that Mr. Dudley, on his removal from New York, among
other expedients to obliterate the memory of his former condition
and conceal his poverty from the world, had made this change in his
name.)
"That, indeed," said the lady, "is the name which my father at pre-
sent bears. His real name is Dudley. His abode was formerly in Queen
Street, New York. Your conjecture, sir, is not erroneous. This is not the
first time we have seen each other. I well recollect your having been
at my father's house in the days of his prosperity."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Melbourne, starting from his seat in
the first impulse of his astonishment. "Are you the daughter of my
friend Dudley, by whom I have so often been hospitably entertained?
I have heard of his misfortunes, but knew not that he was alive, or in
what part of the world he resided.
"You are summoned on a very disagreeable affair; but I doubt not
you will easily exculpate your father. I am told that he is blind, and
that his situation is by no means as comfortable as might be wished. I
am grieved that he did not confide in the friendship of those that
knew him. What could prompt him to conceal himself?"
"My father has a proud spirit. It is not yet broken by adversity. He
disdains to beg, but I must now assume that office for his sake. I came
hither this morning to lay before you his situation, and to entreat your
assistance to save him from a prison. He cannot pay for the poor ten-
ement he occupies, and our few goods are already under distress. He
has, likewise, contracted a debt. He is, I suppose, already sued on this
account, and must go to jail unless saved by the interposition of some
friend."
"It is true," said Melbourne, "I yesterday granted a warrant against
him at the suit of Malcolm M'Crea. Little did I think that the defen-
dant was Stephen Dudley; but you may dismiss all apprehensions on
that score. That affair shall be settled to your father's satisfaction.
Meanwhile, we will, if you please, dispatch this unpleasant business
respecting a counterfeit note received in payment from you by this
M'Crea."
Miss Dudley satisfactorily explained that affair. She stated the rela-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 122
tion in which Craig had formerly stood to her father, and the acts of
which he had been guilty. She slightly touched on the distresses
which the family had undergone during their abode in this city, and
the means by which she had been able to preserve her father from
want. She mentioned the circumstances which compelled her to seek
his charity as the last resource, and the casual encounter with Craig by
which she was for the present diverted from that design. She laid
before him a copy of the letter she had written, and explained the
result of the gift of the note which now appeared to be counterfeit.
She concluded with stating her present views, and soliciting him to
receive her into his family in quality of servant, or use his interest
with some of his friends to procure a provision of this kind. This tale
was calculated deeply to affect a man of Mr. Melbourne's humanity.
"No," said he, "I cannot listen to such a request. My inclination is
bounded by my means. These will not allow me to place you in an
independent situation; but I will do what I can. With your leave, I will
introduce you to my wife, in your true character. Her good sense will
teach her to set a just value on your friendship. There is no disgrace in
earning your subsistence by your own industry. She and her friends
will furnish you with plenty of materials; but if there ever be a defi-
ciency, look to me for a supply."
Constantia's heart overflowed at this declaration. Her silence was
more eloquent than any words could have been. She declined an
immediate introduction to his wife, and withdrew, but not till her
new friend had forced her to accept some money.
"Place it to account," said he. "It is merely paying you beforehand,
and discharging a debt at the time when it happens to be most useful
to the creditor."
To what entire and incredible reverses is the tenor of human life
subject! A short minute shall effect a transition from a state utterly
destitute of hope, to a condition where all is serene and abundant.
The path which we employ all our exertions to shun is often found,
upon trial, to be the true road to prosperity.
Constantia retired from this interview with a heart bounding with
exultation. She related to her father all that had happened. He was
pleased on her account, but the detection of his poverty by Mel-
bourne was the parent of new mortification. His only remaining
hope relative to himself was that he should die in his obscurity,
123 ORMON D
whereas it was probable that his old acquaintance would trace him to
his covert. This prognostic filled him with the deepest inquietude, and
all the reasonings of his daughter were insufficient to appease him.
Melbourne made his appearance in the afternoon. He was intro-
duced, by Constantia, to her father. Mr. Dudley's figure was emaciat-
ed, and his features corroded by his ceaseless melancholy. His
blindness produced in them a woeful and wildering expression. His
dress betokened his penury, and was in unison with the meanness of
his habitation and furniture. The visitant was struck with the melan-
choly contrast which these appearances exhibited to the joyousness
and splendour that he had formerly witnessed.
Mr. Dudley received the salutations of his guest with an air of
embarrassment and dejection. He resigned to his daughter the task of
sustaining the conversation, and excused himself from complying
with the urgent invitations of Melbourne, while, at the same time, he
studiously forbore all expressions tending to encourage any kind of
intercourse between them.
The guest came with a message from his wife, who entreated Miss
Dudley's company to tea with her that evening, adding that she
should be entirely alone. It was impossible to refuse compliance with
this request. She cheerfully assented, and in the evening was intro-
duced to Mrs. Melbourne by her husband.
Constantia found in this lady nothing that called for reverence or
admiration, though she could not deny her some portion of esteem.
The impression which her own appearance and conversation made
upon her entertainer was much more powerful and favourable. A con-
sciousness of her own worth, and disdain of the malevolence of for-
tune, perpetually shone forth in her behaviour. It was modelled by a
sort of mean between presumption on the one hand and humility on
the other. She claimed no more than what was justly due to her, but
she claimed no less. She did not soothe our vanity nor fascinate our
pity by diffident reserves and flutterings. Neither did she disgust by
arrogant negligence and uncircumspect loquacity.
At parting, she received commissions in the way of her profession,
which supplied her with abundant and profitable employment. She
abridged her visit on her father's account, and parted from her new
friend just early enough to avoid meeting with Ormond, who
entered the house a few minutes after she had left it.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 124
"What pity," said Melbourne to him, "you did not come a little
sooner! You pretend to be a judge of beauty. I should like to have
heard your opinion of a face that has just left us."
"Describe it," said the other.
"That is beyond my capacity. Complexion and hair and eyebrows
may be painted, but these are of no great value in the present case. It
is in the putting them together that nature has here shown her skill,
and not in the structure of each of the parts individually considered.
Perhaps you may at some time meet each other here. If a lofty fellow
like you, now, would mix a little common sense with his science, this
girl might hope for a husband, and her father for a natural protector."
"Are they in search of one or the other?"
"I cannot say they are. Nay, I imagine they would bear any impu-
tation with more patience than that; but certain I am they stand in
need of them. How much would it be to the honour of a man like
you, rioting in wealth, to divide it with one lovely and accomplished
as this girl is, and struggling with indigence!"
Melbourne then related the adventure of the morning. It was easy
for Ormond to perceive that this was the same person of whom he
already had some knowledge; but there were some particulars in the
narrative that excited surprise. A note had been received from Craig,
at the first visit in the evening, and this note was for no more than
fifty dollars. This did not exactly tally with the information received
from Craig. But this note was forged. Might not this girl mix a little
imposture with her truth? Who knows her temptations to hypocrisy?
It might have been a present from another quarter, and accompanied
with no very honourable conditions. Exquisite wretch! Those whom
honesty will not let live must be knaves. Such is the alternative
offered by the wisdom of society.
He listened to the tale with apparent indifference. He speedily
shifted the conversation to new topics, and put an end to his visit
sooner than ordinary.
CHAPTER XII.
I KNOW no task more arduous than a just delineation of the character
of Ormond. To scrutinize and ascertain our own principles are abun-
125 ORMON D
dandy difficult. To exhibit these principles to the world with absolute
sincerity can scarcely be expected. We are prompted to conceal and to
feign by a thousand motives; but truly to portray the motives and
relate the actions of another appears utterly impossible. The attempt,
however, if made with fidelity and diligence, is not without its use.
To comprehend the whole truth, with regard to the character and
conduct of another, may be denied to any human being; but different
observers will have, in their pictures, a greater or less portion of this
truth. No representation will be wholly false, and some, though not
perfectly, may yet be considerably, exempt from error.
Ormond was, of all mankind, the being most difficult and most
deserving to be studied. A fortunate concurrence of incidents has
unveiled his actions to me with more distinctness than to any other.
My knowledge is far from being absolute; but I am conscious of a
kind of duty, first to my friend, and secondly to mankind, to impart
the knowledge I possess.
I shall omit to mention the means by which I became acquainted
with his character, nor shall I enter, at this time, into every part of it.
His political projects are likely to possess an extensive influence on
the future condition of this Western World.
1
 I do not conceive myself
Ormond s "political projects" link him with the Bavarian Illuminati, a celebrated
secret society, founded in 1776, by law Professor Adam Weishaupt, who was in
conflict with the Jesuit administrators of the University of Ingolstadt. When they
refused to pay him and spread word that he was a dangerous freethinker, he found-
ed a society of intellectuals who taught in seclusion and turned susceptible youths
away from the teachings of the church to embrace deistic and republican principles,
in an organization akin to freemasonry; hence the term has been applied to other
thinkers regarded as atheistic or free-thinking, such as the French Encyclopaedists.
The main characteristic of the group was "the propriety of employing, for a good
purpose, the means which the wicked employed for evil purposes; and it was taught
that the preponderancy of good in the ultimate result consecrated every mean
employed; and that wisdom and virtue consisted in properly determining this bal-
ance." From John Robison's Proofs of a Conspiracy against All the Religions and govern-
ments of Europe, Carried on in the Secret Meetings of Free Masons, Illuminati and Reading
Societies (see Appendix B, p. 290). Although the society was small, starting with only
5 members, under Baron Adolf Friedrich Knigge's direction the society grew to
more than 2000 members by 1784 including professionals, students, artists and
intellectuals such as Herder and Goethe. By 1787 the Order of the Illuminati had
been demolished by Bavarian officials; however, the legend of the Order continued
to be powerful in Europe and abroad. When the French Revolution broke out in
1789, many blamed the Illuminati; in the late 17905 American preachers began to
spread rumours of connections between the Illuminati and the Reign of Terror.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 126
1
authorized to communicate a knowledge of his schemes, which I
gained in some sort surreptitiously, or, at least, by means of which he
was not apprized. I shall merely explain the maxims by which he was
accustomed to regulate his private deportment.
No one could entertain loftier conceptions of human capacity
than Ormond, but he carefully distinguished between men in the
abstract, and men as they are. The former were beings to be impelled,
by the breath of accident, in a right or a wrong road; but, whatever
direction they should receive, it was the property of their nature to
persist in it. Now, this impulse had been given. No single being could
rectify the error. It was the business of the wise man to form a just
estimate of things, but not to attempt, by individual efforts, so
chimerical an enterprise as that of promoting the happiness of
mankind. Their condition was out of the reach of a member of a cor-
rupt society to control. A mortal poison pervaded the whole system,
by means of which every thing received was converted into bane and
purulence. Efforts designed to ameliorate the condition of an individ-
ual were sure of answering a contrary purpose. The principles of the
social machine must be rectified, before men can be beneficially
active. Our motives may be neutral or beneficent, but our actions
tend merely to the production of evil.
The idea of total forbearance was not less delusive. Man could
not be otherwise than a cause of perpetual operation and efficacy.
He was part of a machine, and as such had not power to withhold
his agency. Contiguousness to other parts — that is, to other men
- was all that was necessary to render him a powerful concurrent.
What, then, was the conduct incumbent on him? Whether he went
forward or stood still, whether his motives were malignant, or kind, or
indifferent, the mass of evils was equally and necessarily augmented. It
did not follow from these preliminaries that virtue and duty were
Brown's friend Yale President and Reverend Timothy Dwight, for example,
claimed, in a sermon he preached to the 1798 graduating class at Yale College, that
this "infidel philosophy" would make the home a "brothel", wives and daughters
"bawd[s] and ... strumpets" and bury the "purity, the happiness, and the hopes, of
mankind, ... under a promiscuous and universal concubinage."Timothy Dwight,
Nature, and Danger, of Infidel Philosophy, exhibited in Two Discourses, Addressed to the
Candidates for the Baccalaureate, inYale College. (New Haven: 1798; 79).
In 1800, American novelist Sarah Sayward Barrell Keating Wood published a
novel, Julia and the Illuminated Baron, which featured a French Illuminatus who
attempts to seduce the heroine.
127 ORMON D
terms without a meaning, but they require us to promote our own,
happiness, and not the happiness of others. Not because the former
end is intrinsically preferable, not because the happiness of others
is unworthy of primary consideration, but because it is not to be
attained. Our power in the present state of things is subjected to
certain limits. A man may reasonably hope to accomplish his end,
when he proposes nothing but his own good. Any other point is
inaccessible.
He must not part with benevolent desire: this is a constituent of
happiness. He sees the value of general and particular felicity; he
sometimes paints it to his fancy; but, if this be rarely done, it is in con-
sequence of virtuous sensibility, which is afflicted on observing that
his pictures are reversed in the real state of mankind. A wise man will
relinquish the pursuit of general benefit, but not the desire of that
benefit, or the perception of that in which this benefit consists,
because these are among the ingredients of virtue and the sources of
his happiness.
Principles, in the looser sense of that term, have little influence on
practice. Ormond was, for the most part, governed, like others, by the
influences of education and present circumstances. It required a vigi-
lant discernment to distinguish whether the stream of his actions
flowed from one or the other. His income was large, and he managed
it nearly on the same principles as other men. He thought himself
entitled to all the splendour and ease which it would purchase; but his
taste was elaborate and correct. He gratified his love of the beautiful,
because the sensations it afforded were pleasing, but made no sacrifi-
ces to the love of distinction. He gave no expensive entertainments
for the sake of exciting the admiration of stupid gazers, or the flattery
or envy of those who shared them. Pompous equipage and retinue
were modes of appropriating the esteem of mankind which he held
in profound contempt. The garb of his attendants was fashioned after
the model suggested by his imagination, and not in compliance with
the dictates of custom.
He treated with systematic negligence the etiquette that regulates
the intercourse of persons of a certain class. He everywhere acted, in
this respect, as if he were alone, or among familiar associates. The very
appellations of Sir, and Madam, and Mister, were, in his apprehension,
servile and ridiculous; and, as custom or law had annexed no penalty
to the neglect of these, he conformed to his own opinions. It was eas-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 128
ier for him to reduce his notions of equality to practice than for most
others. To level himself with others was an act of condescension and
not of arrogance. It was requisite to descend rather than to rise, — a
task the most easy, if we regard the obstacles flowing from the preju-
dice of mankind, but far most difficult, if the motives of the agent be
considered.
That in which he chiefly placed his boast was his sincerity. To this
he refused no sacrifice. In consequence of this, his deportment was
disgusting to weak minds, by a certain air of ferocity and haughty
negligence. He was without the attractions of candour, because he
regarded not the happiness of others but in subservience to his sincer-
ity. Hence it was natural to suppose that the character of this man was
easily understood. He affected to conceal nothing. No one appeared
more exempt from the instigations of vanity. He set light by the good
opinions of others, had no compassion for their prejudices, and haz-
arded assertions in their presence which he knew would be, in the
highest degree, shocking to their previous notions. They might take
it, he would say, as they list. Such were his conceptions, and the last
thing he would give up was the use of his tongue. It was his way to
give utterance to the suggestions of his understanding. If they were
disadvantageous to him in the opinions of others, it was well. He did
not wish to be regarded in any light but the true one. He was con-
tented to be rated by the world at his just value. If they esteemed him
for qualities he did not possess, was he wrong in rectifying their mis-
take? but, in reality, if they valued him for that to which he had no
claim, and which he himself considered as contemptible, he must nat-
urally desire to show them their error, and forfeit that praise which, in
his own opinion, was a badge of infamy.
In listening to his discourse, no one's claim to sincerity appeared
less questionable. A somewhat different conclusion would be suggest-
ed by a survey of his actions. In early youth he discovered in himself a
remarkable facility in imitating the voice and gestures of others. His
memory was eminently retentive, and these qualities would have ren-
dered his career, in the theatrical profession, illustrious, had not his
condition raised him above it. His talents were occasionally exerted
for the entertainment of convivial parties and private circles, but he
gradually withdrew from such scenes, as he advanced in age, and
devoted his abilities to higher purposes.
His aversion to duplicity had flowed from experience of its evils.
129 ORMON D
He had frequently been made its victim: in consequence of this his
temper had become suspicious, and he was apt to impute deceit on
occasions when others, of no inconsiderable sagacity, were abundantly
disposed to confidence. One transaction had occurred in his life, in
which the consequences of being misled by false appearances were of
the utmost moment to his honour and safety. The usual mode of solv-
ing his doubts he deemed insufficient, and the eagerness of his curios-
ity tempted him, for the first time, to employ, for this end, his talents
at imitation. He therefore assumed a borrowed character and guise,
and performed his part with so much skill as fully to accomplish his
design. He whose mask would have secured him from all other
attempts was thus taken through an avenue which his caution had
overlooked, and the hypocrisy of his pretensions unquestionably
ascertained.
Perhaps, in a comprehensive view, the success of this expedient was
unfortunate. It served to recommend this method of encountering
deceit, and informed him of the extent of those powers which are so
liable to be abused. A subtlety much inferior to Ormond's would
suffice to recommend this mode of action. It was defensible on no
other principle than necessity. The treachery of mankind compelled
him to resort to it. If they should deal in a manner as upright and
explicit as himself, it would be superfluous. But since they were in the
perpetual use of stratagems and artifices, it was allowable, he thought,
to wield the same arms.
It was easy to perceive, however, that this practice was recom-
mended to him by other considerations. He was delighted with the
power it conferred. It enabled him to gain access, as if by supernatural
means, to the privacy of others, and baffle their profoundest con-
trivances to hide themselves from his view. It flattered him with the
possession of something like omniscience. It was, besides, an art in
which, as in others, every accession of skill was a source of new grati-
fication. Compared with this, the performance of the actor is the
sport of children. This profession he was accustomed to treat with
merciless ridicule, and no doubt some of his contempt arose from a
secret comparison between the theatrical species of imitation and his
own. He blended in his own person the functions of poet and actor,
and his dramas were not fictitious but real. The end that he proposed
was not the amusement of a playhouse mob. His were scenes in which
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 130
hope and fear exercised a genuine influence, and in which was main-
tained that resemblance to truth so audaciously and grossly violated
on the stage.
It is obvious how many singular conjectures must have grown out
of this propensity. A mind of uncommon energy like Ormond's,
which had occupied a wide sphere of action, and which could not fail
of confederating its efforts with those of minds like itself, must have
given birth to innumerable incidents, not unworthy to be exhibited
by the most eloquent historian. It is not my business to relate any of
these. The fate of Miss Dudley is intimately connected with his. What
influence he obtained over her destiny, in consequence of this dexter-
ity, will appear in the sequel.
It arose from these circumstances that no one was more impene-
trable than Ormond, though no one's real character seemed more
easily discerned. The projects that occupied his attention were
diffused over an ample space; and his instruments and coadjutors were
culled from a field whose bounds were those of the civilized world.
To the vulgar eye, therefore, he appeared a man of speculation and
seclusion, and was equally inscrutable in his real and assumed charac-
ters. In his real, his intents were too lofty and comprehensive, as well
as too assiduously shrouded from profane inspection, for them to
scan. In the latter, appearances were merely calculated to mislead and
not to enlighten.
In his youth he had been guilty of the usual excesses incident to
his age and character. These had disappeared and yielded place to a
more regular and circumspect system of action. In the choice of his
pleasures he still exposed himself to the censure of the world. Yet
there was more of grossness and licentiousness in the expression of his
tenets, than in the tenets themselves. So far as temperance regards the
maintenance of health, no man adhered to its precepts with more
fidelity; but he esteemed some species of connection with the other
sex as venial, which mankind in general are vehement in condemn-
ing.
In his intercourse with women he deemed himself superior to the
allurements of what is called love. His inferences were drawn from a
consideration of the physical propensities of a human being. In his
scale of enjoyments, the gratifications which belonged to these were
placed at the bottom. Yet he did not entirely disdain them, and, when
131 ORMON D
they could be purchased without the sacrifice of superior advantages,
they were sufficiently acceptable.
His mistake on this head was the result of his ignorance. He had
not hitherto met with a female worthy of his confidence. Their views
were limited and superficial, or their understandings were betrayed by
the tenderness of their hearts. He found in them no intellectual ener-
gy, no superiority to what he accounted vulgar prejudice, and no
affinity with the sentiments which he cherished with most devotion.
Their presence had been capable of exciting no emotion which he
did not quickly discover to be vague and sensual; and the uniformity
of his experience at length instilled into him a belief that the intellec-
tual constitution of females was essentially defective. He denied the
reality of that passion which claimed a similitude or sympathy of
minds as one of its ingredients.
CHAPTER XIII.
HE RESIDED in New York some time before he took up his abode in
Philadelphia. He had some pecuniary concerns with a merchant of
that place. He occasionally frequented his house, finding, in the soci-
ety which it afforded him, scope for amusing speculation, and oppor-
tunities of gaining a species of knowledge of which at that time he
stood in need. There was one daughter of the family who of course
constituted a member of the domestic circle.
Helena Cleves was endowed with every feminine and fascinating
quality. Her features were modified by the most transient sentiments,
and were the seat of a softness at all times blushful and bewitching. All
those graces of symmetry, smoothness, and lustre, which assemble in
the imagination of the painter when he calls from the bosom of her
natal deep the Paphian divinity,
1
 blended their perfections in the
shade, complexion, and hair of this lady. Her voice was naturally
thrilling and melodious, and her utterance clear and distinct. A musi-
cal education had added to all these advantages the improvements of
art, and no one could swim in the dance with such airy and transport-
ing elegance.
i Paphian divinity: Aphrodite, goddess of love.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 132
It is obvious to inquire whether her mental were, in any degree, on
a level with her exterior accomplishments. Should you listen to her
talk, you would be liable to be deceived in this respect. Her utterance
was so just, her phrases so happy, and her language so copious and
correct, that the hearer was apt to be impressed with an ardent vener-
ation of her abilities; but the truth is, she was calculated to excite
emotions more voluptuous than dignified. Her presence produced a
trance of the senses rather than an illumination of the soul. It was a
topic of wonder how she should have so carefully separated the husk
from the kernel, and be so absolute a mistress of the vehicle of knowl-
edge with so slender means of supplying it; yet it is difficult to judge
but from comparison. To say that Helena Cleves was silly or ignorant
would be hatefully unjust. Her understanding bore no disadvanta-
geous comparison with that of the majority of her sex; but, when
placed in competition with that of some eminent females or of
Ormond, it was exposed to the risk of contempt.
This lady and Ormond were exposed to mutual examination. The
latter was not unaffected by the radiance that environed this girl, but
her true character was easily discovered, and he was accustomed to
regard her merely as an object charming to the senses. His attention
to her was dictated by this principle. When she sang or talked, it was
not unworthy of the strongest mind to be captivated with her music
and her elocution; but these were the limits which he set to his grati-
fications. That sensations of a different kind never ruffled his tranquil-
lity must not be supposed, but he too accurately estimated their
consequences to permit himself to indulge them.
Unhappily, the lady did not exercise equal fortitude. During a cer-
tain interval Ormond's visits were frequent, and she insensibly con-
tracted for him somewhat more than reverence. The tenor of his
discourse was little adapted to cherish her hopes. In the declaration of
his opinions he was never withheld by scruples of decorum or a selfi-
sh regard to his own interest. His matrimonial tenets were harsh and
repulsive. A woman of keener penetration would have predicted, from
them, the disappointment of her wishes; but Helena's mind was unin-
ured to the discussion of logical points and the tracing of remote con-
sequences. His presence inspired feelings which would not permit her
to bestow an impartial attention on his arguments. It is not enough to
say that his reasonings failed to convince her: the combined influence
133 ORMON D
of passion and an unenlightened understanding hindered her from
fully comprehending them. All she gathered was a vague conception
of something magnificent and vast in his character.
Helena was destined to experience the vicissitudes of fortune. Her
father died suddenly and left her without provision. She was com-
pelled to accept the invitations of a kinswoman, and live, in some sort,
a life of dependence. She was not qualified to sustain this reverse of
fortune in a graceful manner. She could not bear the diminution of
her customary indulgences, and to these privations were added the
inquietudes of a passion which now began to look with an aspect of
hopelessness.
These events happened in the absence of Ormond. On his return
he made himself acquainted with them. He saw the extent of this
misfortune to a woman of Helena's character, but knew not in what
manner it might be effectually obviated. He esteemed it incumbent
on him to pay her a visit in her new abode. This token at least of
respect or remembrance his duty appeared to prescribe.
This visit was unexpected by the lady. Surprise is the enemy of
concealment. She was oppressed with a sense of her desolate situation.
She was sitting in her own apartment in a museful posture. Her fancy
was occupied with the image of Ormond, and her tears were flowing
at the thought of their eternal separation, when he entered softly and
unperceived by her. A tap upon the shoulder was the first signal of his
presence. So critical an interview could not fail of unveiling the true
state of the lady's heart. Ormond's suspicions were excited, and these
suspicions speedily led to an explanation.
Ormond retired to ruminate on this discovery. I have already men-
tioned his sentiments respecting love. His feelings relative to Helena
did not contradict his principles, yet the image which had formerly
been exquisite in loveliness had now suddenly gained unspeakable
attractions. This discovery had set the question in a new light. It was
of sufficient importance to make him deliberate. He reasoned some-
what in the following manner: —
"Marriage is absurd. This flows from the general and incurable
imperfection of the female character. No woman can possess that
worth which would induce me to enter into this contract, and bind
myself, without power of revoking the decree, to her society. This
opinion may possibly be erroneous; but it is undoubtedly true with
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 134
respect to Helena, and the uncertainty of the position in general will
increase the necessity of caution in the present case. That woman may
exist whom I should not fear to espouse. This is not her. Some acci-
dent may cause our meeting. Shall I then disable myself, by an irrevo-
cable obligation, from profiting by so auspicious an occurrence?"
This girl's society was to be enjoyed in one of two ways. Should he
consult his inclination, there was little room for doubt. He had never
met with one more highly qualified for that species of intercourse
which he esteemed rational. No man more abhorred the votaries of
licentiousness. Nothing was more detestable to him than a mercenary
alliance. Personal fidelity, and the existence of that passion of which
he had, in the present case, the good fortune to be the object, were
indispensable in his scheme. The union was indebted for its value on
the voluntariness with which it was formed, and the entire acquies-
cence of the judgment of both parties in its rectitude. Dissimulation
and artifice were wholly foreign to the success of his project. If the
lady thought proper to assent to his proposal it was well. She did so
because assent was more eligible than refusal.
She would, no doubt, prefer marriage. She would deem it more
conducive to happiness. This was an error. This was an opinion, his
reasons for which he was at liberty to state to her; at least it was justi-
fiable in refusing to subject himself to loathsome and impracticable
obligations. Certain inconveniences attended women who set aside,
on these occasions, the sanction of law; but these were imaginary.
They owed their force to the errors of the sufferer. To annihilate
them, it was only necessary to reason justly; but, allowing these incon-
veniences their full weight and an indestructible existence, it was but
a choice of evils. Were they worse in this lady's apprehension than an
eternal and hopeless separation? Perhaps they were. If so, she would
make her election accordingly. He did nothing but lay the conditions
before her. If his scheme should obtain the concurrence of her unbi-
assed judgment, he should rejoice. If not, her conduct should be
uninfluenced by him. Whatever way she should decide, he would
assist her in adhering to her decision, but would, meanwhile, furnish
her with the materials of a right decision.
This determination was singular. Many will regard it as incredible.
No man, it will be thought, can put this deception on himself, and
imagine that there was genuine beneficence in a scheme like this.
135 ORMON D
Would the lady more consult her happiness by adopting than by
rejecting it? There can be but one answer. It cannot be supposed that
Ormond, in stating his proposal, acted with all the impartiality that he
pretended; that he did not employ fallacious exaggerations and
ambiguous expedients; that he did not seize every opportunity of tri-
umphing over her weakness, and building his success rather on the
illusions of her heart than the convictions of her understanding. His
conclusions were specious but delusive, and were not uninfluenced by
improper biasses; but of this he himself was scarcely conscious, and it
must be at least admitted that he acted with scrupulous sincerity.
An uncommon degree of skill was required to introduce this topic
so as to avoid the imputation of an insult. This scheme was little in
unison with all her preconceived notions. No doubt, the irksomeness
of her present situation, the allurements of luxury and ease which
Ormond had to bestow, and the revival of her ancient independence
and security, had some share in dictating her assent.
Her concurrence was by no means cordial and unhesitating.
Remorse and the sense of dishonour pursued her to her retreat,
though chosen with a view of shunning their intrusions; and it was
only when the reasonings and blandishments of her lover were exhib-
ited, that she was lulled into temporary tranquillity.
She removed to Philadelphia. Here she enjoyed all the consolation
of opulence. She was mistress of a small but elegant mansion. She pos-
sessed all the means of solitary amusement, and frequently enjoyed the
company of Ormond. These, however, were insufficient to render her
happy. Certain reflections might, for a time, be repressed or divested of
their string, but they insinuated themselves at every interval, and
imparted to her mind a hue of dejection from which she could not
entirely relieve herself.
She endeavoured to acquire a relish for the pursuits of literature,
by which her lonely hours might be cheered; but of this, even in the
blithesomeness and serenity of her former days, she was incapable,
— much more so now when she was the prey of perpetual inquietude.
Ormond perceived this change, not without uneasiness. All his efforts
to reconcile her to her present situation were fruitless. They produced
a momentary effect upon her. The softness of her temper and
her attachment to him would, at his bidding, restore her to vivacity
and ease, but the illumination seldom endured longer than his
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROW1S 136
presence and the novelty of some amusement which he had furnished
her.
At his next visit, perhaps, he would find that a new task awaited
him. She indulged herself in no recriminations or invectives. She
could not complain that her lover had deceived her. She had volun-
tarily and deliberately accepted the conditions prescribed. She regard-
ed her own disposition to repine as a species of injustice. She laid no
claim to an increase of tenderness. She hinted not a wish for a change
of situation; yet she was unhappy. Tears stole into her eyes, and her
thoughts wandered into gloomy reverie, at moments when least
aware of their approach, and least willing to indulge them.
Was a change to be desired? Yes; provided that change was equally
agreeable to Ormond, and should be seriously proposed by him. Of
this she had no hope. As long as his accents rung in her ears, she even
doubted whether it were to be wished. At any rate, it was impossible
to gain his approbation to it. Her destiny was fixed. It was better than
the cessation of all intercourse, yet her heart was a stranger to all per-
manent tranquillity.
Her manners were artless and ingenuous. In company with
Ormond her heart was perfectly unveiled. He was her divinity, to
whom every sentiment was visible, and to whom she spontaneously
uttered what she thought, because the employment was pleasing,
because he listened with apparent satisfaction, and because, in fine, it
was the same thing to speak and to think in his presence. There was
no inducement to conceal from him the most evanescent and fugitive
ideas.
Ormond was not an inattentive or indifferent spectator of those
appearances. His friend was unhappy. She shrunk aghast from her
own reproaches and the contumelies of the world. This morbid sensi-
bility he had endeavoured to cure, but hitherto in vain. What was the
amount of her unhappiness? Her spirits had formerly been gay; but
her gayety was capable of yielding place to soul-ravishing and solemn
tenderness. Her sedateness was, at those times, the offspring not of
reflection but of passion. There still remained much of her former
self. He was seldom permitted to witness more than the traces of sor-
row. In answer to his inquiries, she, for the most part, described sensa-
tions that were gone, and which she flattered herself and him would
never return; but this hope was always doomed to disappointment.
137 ORMON D
Solitude infallibly conjured up the ghost which had been laid, and it
was plain that argument was no adequate remedy for this disease.
How far would time alleviate its evils? When the novelty of her
condition should disappear, would she not regard it with other eyes?
By being familiar with contempt, it will lose its sting; but is that to be
wished? Must not the character be thoroughly depraved before the
scorn of our neighbours shall become indifferent? Indifference, flow-
ing from a sense of justice, and a persuasion that our treatment is
unmerited, is characteristic of the noblest minds; but indifference to
obloquy, because we are habituated to it, is a token of peculiar base-
ness. This, therefore, was a remedy to be ardently deprecated.
He had egregiously overrated the influence of truth and his own
influence. He had hoped that his victory was permanent. In order to
the success of truth, he was apt to imagine that nothing was needful
but opportunities for a complete exhibition of it. They that inquire
and reason with sufficient deliberateness and caution must inevitably
accomplish their end. These maxims were confuted in the present
case. He had formed no advantageous conceptions of Helena's capac-
ity. His aversion to matrimony arose from those conceptions; but
experience had shown him that his conclusions, unfavourable as they
were, had fallen short of the truth. Convictions which he had con-
ceived her mind to be sufficiently strong to receive and retain were
proved to have made no other than momentary impression. Hence his
objections to ally himself to a mind inferior to his own were strength-
ened rather than diminished. But he could not endure the thought of
being instrumental to her misery.
Marriage was an efficacious remedy, but he could not as yet bring
himself to regard the aptitude of this cure as a subject of doubt. The
idea of separation sometimes occurred to him. He was not unappre-
hensive of the influence of time and absence incurring the most
vehement passion, but to this expedient the lady could not be recon-
ciled. He knew her too well to believe that she would willingly adopt
it. But the only obstacle to this scheme did not flow from the lady's
opposition. He would probably have found upon experiment as
strong an aversion to adopt it in himself as in her.
It was easy to see the motives by which he would be likely to be
swayed into a change of principles. If marriage were the only remedy,
the frequent repetition of this truth must bring him insensibly to
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 138
doubt the rectitude of his determinations against it. He deeply refl-
ected on the consequence which marriage involves. He scrutinized
with the utmost accuracy the character of his friend, and surveyed it
in all its parts. Inclination could not fail of having some influence on
his opinions. The charms of this favourite object tended to impair the
clearness of his view and extenuate or conceal her defects. He entered
on the enumeration of her errors with reluctance. Her happiness, had
it been wholly disconnected with his own, might have had less
weight in the balance; but now, every time the scales were suspended,
this consideration acquired new weight.
Most men are influenced, in the formation of this contract, by
regards purely physical. They are incapable of higher views. They
regard with indifference every tie that binds them to their contempo-
raries or to posterity. Mind has no part in the motives that guide
them. They choose a wife as they choose any household movable, and
when the irritation of the senses has subsided, the attachment that
remains is the offspring of habit.
Such were not Ormond's modes of thinking. His creed was of too
extraordinary a kind not to merit explication. The terms of this con-
tract were, in his eyes, iniquitous and absurd. He could not think with
patience of a promise which no time could annul, which pretended
to ascertain contingencies and regulate the future. To forego the liber-
ty of choosing his companion, and bind himself to associate with one
whom he despised; to raise to his own level one whom nature had
irretrievably degraded; to avow, and persist in his adherence to, a false-
hood, palpable and loathsome to his understanding; to affirm that he
was blind, when in full possession of his senses; to shut his eyes and
grope in the dark, and call upon the compassion of mankind on his
infirmity, when his organs were in no degree impaired, and the scene
around him was luminous and beautiful, — was a height of infatuation
that he could never attain. And why should he be thus self-degraded?
Why should he take a laborious circuit to reach a point which, when
attained, was trivial, and to which reason had pointed out a road short
and direct?
A wife is generally nothing more than a household superinten-
dent. This function could not be more wisely vested than it was at
present. Every thing in his domestic system was fashioned on strict
and inflexible principles. He wanted instruments and not partakers of
ORMON D 139
his authority, — one whose mind was equal and not superior to the
cogent apprehension and punctual performance of his will; one
whose character was squared, with mathematical exactness, to his situ-
ation. Helena, with all her faults, did not merit to be regarded in this
light. Her introduction would destroy the harmony of his scheme, and
be, with respect to herself, a genuine debasement. A genuine evil
would thus be substituted for one that was purely imaginary.
Helena's intellectual deficiencies could not be concealed. She was
a proficient in the elements of no science. The doctrine of lines and
surfaces was as disproportionate with her intellects as with those of
the mock-bird. She had not reasoned on the principles of human
action, nor examined the structure of society. She was ignorant of the
past or present condition of mankind. History had not informed her
of the one, nor the narratives of voyages nor the deductions of geog-
raphy of the other. The heights of eloquence and poetry were shut
out from her view. She could not commune, in their native dialect,
with the sages of Rome and Athens. To her those perennial fountains
of wisdom and refinement were sealed. The constitution of nature, the
attributes of its Author, the arrangement of the parts of the external
universe, and the substance, modes of operation, and ultimate destiny
of human intelligence, were enigmas unsolved and insoluble by her.
But this was not all. The superstructure could for the present be
spared. Nay, it was desirable that the province of rearing it should be
reserved for him. All he wanted was a suitable foundation; but this
Helena did not possess. He had not hitherto been able to create in her
the inclination or the power. She had listened to his precepts with
docility. She had diligently conned the lessons which he had pre-
scribed, but the impressions were as fleeting as if they had been made
on water. Nature seemed to have set impassable limits to her attain-
ments.
This, indeed, was an unwelcome belief. He struggled to invalidate
it. He reflected on the immaturity of her age. What but crude and
hasty views was it reasonable to expect at so early a period? If her
mind had not been awakened, it had proceeded, perhaps, from the
injudiciousness of his plans, or merely from their not having been
persisted in. What was wanting but the ornaments of mind to render
this being all that poets have feigned of angelic nature? When he
indulged himself in imaging the union of capacious understanding
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 140
with her personal loveliness, his conceptions swelled to a pitch of
enthusiasm, and it seemed as if no labour was too great to be
employed in the production of such a creature. And yet, in the midst
of his glowings, he would sink into sudden dejection at the recollec-
tion of that which passion had, for a time, excluded. To make her wise
it would be requisite to change her sex. He had forgotten that his
pupil was a female, and her capacity therefore limited by nature. This
mortifying thought was outbalanced by another. Her attainments,
indeed, were suitable to the imbecility of her sex; but did she not sur-
pass, in those attainments, the ordinary rate of women? They must not
be condemned because they are outshone by qualities that are neces-
sarily male births.
Her accomplishments formed a much more attractive theme. He
overlooked no article in the catalogue. He was confounded at one
time, and encouraged at another, on remarking the contradictions
that seemed to be included in her character. It was difficult to con-
ceive the impossibility of passing that barrier which yet she was able
to touch. She was no poet. She listened to the rehearsal without emo-
tion, or was moved, not by the substance of the passage, by the daz-
zling image or the magic sympathy, but by something adscititious;
1
yet usher her upon the stage, and no poet would wish for a more
powerful organ of his conceptions. In assuming this office, she
appeared to have drank in the very soul of the dramatist. What was
wanting in judgment was supplied by memory, in the tenaciousness
of which she has seldom been rivalled.
Her sentiments were trite and undigested, but were decorated
with all the fluences and melodies of elocution. Her musical instruc-
tor had been a Sicilian, who had formed her style after the Italian
model. This man had likewise taught her his own language. He had
supplied her chiefly with Sicilian compositions, both in poetry and
melody, and was content to be unclassical for the sake of the feminine
and voluptuous graces of his native dialect.
Ormond was an accurate judge of the proficiency of Helena, and
of the felicity with which these accomplishments were suited to her
character. When his pupil personated the victims of anger and grief,
and poured forth the fiery indignation of Calista, or the maternal
i adscititious: not inherent or essential; derived from something outside.
ORMON D 141
despair of Constance, or the self-contentions of Ipsipile,
1
 he could not
deny the homage which her talents might claim.
Her Sicilian tutor had found her no less tractable as a votary of
painting. She needed only the education of Angelica
2
 to exercise as
potent and prolific a pencil. This was incompatible with her condi-
tion, which limited her attainments to the elements of this art. It was
otherwise with music. Here there was no obstacle to skill, and here
the assiduities of many years, in addition to a prompt and ardent
genius, set her beyond the hopes of rivalship.
Ormond had often amused his fancy with calling up images of
excellence in this art. He saw no bounds to the influence of habit in
augmenting the speed and multiplying the divisions of muscular
motion. The fingers, by their form and size, were qualified to outrun
and elude the most vigilant eye. The sensibility of keys and wires had
limits; but these limits depended on the structure of the instrument,
and the perfection of its structure was proportioned to the skill of the
artist. On well-constructed keys and strings, was it possible to carry
diversities of movement and pressure too far? How far they could be
carried was mere theme of conjecture, until it was his fate to listen to
the magical performances of Helena, whose volant finger seemed to
be self-impelled. Her touches were creative of a thousand forms of
piano, and of numberless transitions from grave to quick, perceptible
only to ears like her own.
In the selection and arrangement of notes there are no limits to
luxuriance and celerity. Helena had long relinquished the drudgery of
imitation. She never played but when there were motives to fervour,
and when she was likely to ascend without impediment, and to main-
tain for a suitable period her elevation, to the element of new ideas.
The lyrics of Milton and of Metastasio
3
 she sung with accompani-
ments that never tired, because they were never repeated. Her harp
1 Calista, Constance and Ipsipile: Calista, heroine of Nicholas Rowe's "she-tragedy"
The Fair Penitent (1703), is betrothed to Altamont but discovered embracing
Lothario. Constance is the mother of Arthur in Shakespeare's The Life and Death of
King John (1591). Nursemaid in the house of Lycurgus, Ipsipile assists the Argive
army but accidentally allows her ward Opheltes to be fatally bitten by a snake.
2 Angelica Kaurfmann (1741-1807), Swiss-born artist known for her historical and
allegorical paintings and her portraits of contemporaries. In 1769, she helped found
the British Royal Academy of Arts and was its first female member.
3 Pietro Metastasio (1698-1782), Italian poet and librettist.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 142
and clavichord supplied her with endless combinations; and these, in
the opinion of Ormond, were not inferior to the happiest exertions
of Handel and Arne.
Chess was his favourite amusement. This was the only game which
he allowed himself to play. He had studied it with so much zeal and
success, that there were few with whom he deigned to contend. He
was prone to consider it as a sort of criterion of human capacity. He
who had acquired skill in this science could not be infirm in mind; and
yet he found in Helena a competitor not unworthy of all his energies.
Many hours were consumed in this employment, and here the lady
was sedate, considerate, extensive in foresight, and fertile in expedi-
ents.
Her deportment was graceful, inasmuch as it flowed from a con-
sciousness of her defects. She was devoid of arrogance and vanity, nei-
ther imagining herself better than she was, and setting light by those
qualifications which she unquestionably possessed. Such was the
mixed character of this woman.
Ormond was occupied with schemes of a rugged and arduous
nature. His intimate associates and the partakers of his confidence
were imbued with the same zeal and ardent in the same pursuits.
Helena could lay no claim to be exalted to this rank. That one desti-
tute of this claim should enjoy the privileges of his wife was still a
supposition truly monstrous. Yet the image of Helena, fondly loving
him, and a model, as he conceived, of tenderness and constancy,
devoured by secret remorse, and pursued by the scorn of mankind, - a
mark for slander to shoot at, and an outcast of society, - did not visit
his meditations in vain. The rigour of his principles began now to
relent.
He considered that various occupations are incident to every man.
He cannot be invariably employed in the promotion of one purpose.
He must occasionally unbend, if he desires that the springs of his
mind should retain their due vigour. Suppose his life were divided
between business and amusement: this was a necessary distribution,
and sufficiently congenial with his temper. It became him to select
with skill his sources of amusement. It is true that Helena was unable
to participate in his graver occupations: what then? In whom were
blended so many pleasurable attributes? In her were assembled an
exquisite and delicious variety. As it was, he was daily in her company.
143 ORMON D
He should scarcely be more so if marriage should take place. In that
case, no change in their mode of life would be necessary. There was
no need of dwelling under the same roof. His revenue was equal to
the support of many household establishments. His personal indepen-
dence would remain equally inviolable. No time, he thought, would
diminish his influence over the mind of Helena, and it was not to be
forgotten that the transition would to her be happy. It would reinstate
her in the esteem of the world, and dispel those phantoms of remorse
and shame by which she was at present persecuted.
These were plausible considerations. They tended at least to shake
his resolutions. Time would probably have completed the conquest of
his pride, had not a new incident set the question in a new light.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE narrative of Melbourne made a deeper impression on the mind
of his guest than was at first apparent. This man's conduct was directed
by the present impulse; and, however elaborate his abstract notions, he
seldom stopped to settle the agreement between his principles and
actions. The use of money was a science, like every other branch of
benevolence, not reducible to any fixed principles. No man, in the
disbursement of money, could say whether he was conferring a
benefit or injury. The visible and immediate effects might be good,
but evil was its ultimate and general tendency. To be governed by a
view to the present rather than to the future was a human infirmity
from which he did not pretend to be exempt. This, though an insuffi-
cient apology for the conduct of a rational being, was suitable to his
indolence, and he was content in all cases to employ it. It was thus
that he reconciled himself to beneficent acts and humorously held
himself up as an object of censure on occasions when most entitled to
applause.
He easily procured information as to the character and situation of
the Dudleys. Neighbours are always inquisitive, and happily, in this
case, were enabled to make no unfavourable report. He resolved,
without hesitation, to supply their wants. This he performed in a
manner truly characteristic. There was a method of gaining access to
families, and marking them in their unguarded attitudes, more easy
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 144
and effectual than any other: it required least preparation and cost
least pains; the disguise, also, was of the most impenetrable kind. He
had served a sort of occasional apprenticeship to the art, and executed
its functions with perfect ease. It was the most entire and grotesque
metamorphosis imaginable. It was stepping from the highest to the
lowest rank in society, and shifting himself into a form as remote from
his own as those recorded by Ovid.
1
 In a word, it was sometimes his
practice to exchange his complexion and habiliments for those of a
negro and a chimney-sweep, and to call at certain doors for employ-
ment. This he generally secured by importunity and the cheapness of
his services.
When the loftiness of his port and the punctiliousness of his nice-
ty were considered, we should never have believed — what yet could
be truly asserted — that he had frequently swept his own chimneys,
without the knowledge of his own servants.
2
 It was likewise true,
though equally incredible, that he had played at romps with his scul-
lion, and listened with patience to a thousand slanders on his own
character.
In this disguise he visited the house of Mr. Dudley. It was nine
o'clock in the morning. He remarked, with critical eyes, the minutest
circumstance in the appearance and demeanour of his customers, and
glanced curiously at the house and furniture. Every thing was new
and every thing pleased. The walls, though broken into roughness by
carelessness or time, were adorned with glistening white. The floor,
though loose and uneven, and with gaping seams, had received all the
improvements which cloth and brush could give. The pine tables,
rush chairs, and uncurtained bed, had been purchased at half price, at
vendue, and exhibited various tokens of decay; but care and neatness
and order were displayed in their condition and arrangement.
The lower apartment was the eating and sitting room. It was like-
wise Mr. Dudley's bedchamber. The upper room was occupied
1 Ovid (43 BC-AD 17). Roman poet known for his Metamorphoses, which concerns
transformation.
2 Similar exploits are related of Count de la Lippe andWortley Montagu. [C.B.B.]
Edward Wortley Montagu (1713-1776), author and traveller, son of Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu and Edward Wortley Montagu. For a time, this roguish adventur-
er, nicknamed the "British Don Juan," used false names and wore disguises, includ-
ing Turkish robes.
145 ORMON D
by Constantia and her Lucy. Ormond viewed every thing with the
accuracy of an artist, and carried away with him a catalogue of every
thing visible. The faded form of Mr. Dudley, that still retained its
dignity, the sedateness, graceful condescension, and personal elegance
of Constantia, were new to the apprehension of Ormond. The con-
trast between the house and its inhabitants rendered the appearance
more striking. When he had finished his task, he retired; but, returning
in a quarter of an hour, he presented a letter to the young lady. He
behaved as if by no means desirous of eluding her interrogatories, and,
when she desired him to stay, readily complied. The letter, unsigned
and unsuperscribed, was to this effect: —
"The writer of this is acquainted with the transaction between
Thomas Craig and Mr. Dudley. The former is debtor to Mr. Dudley in
a large sum. I have undertaken to pay as much of this debt, and at such
times, as suits my convenience. I have had pecuniary engagements
with Craig. I hold myself, in the sum enclosed, discharging so much
of his debt. The future payments are uncertain, but I hope they will
contribute to relieve the necessities of Mr. Dudley."
Ormond had calculated the amount of what would be necessary
for the annual subsistence of this family on the present frugal plan. He
had regulated his disbursements accordingly.
It was natural to feel curiosity as to the writer of this epistle. The
bearer displayed a prompt and talkative disposition. He had a staring
eye and a grin of vivacity forever at command. When questioned by
Constantia, he answered that the gentleman had forbidden him to
mention his name or the place where he lived. Had he ever met with
the same person before? Oh, yes. He had lived with him from a child.
His mother lived with him still, and his brothers. His master had
nothing for him to do at home, so he sent him out sweeping chim-
neys, taking from him only half the money that he earned that way.
He was a very good master.
"Then the gentleman had been a long time in the city?"
"Oh, yes. All his life, he reckoned. He used to live in Walnut Street,
but now he's moved down town." Here he checked himself, and
added, - "But I forgets. I must not tell where he lives. He told me I
mustn't."
"He has a family and children, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes. Why, don't you know Miss Hetty and Miss Betsy? There
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 146
again! I was going to tell the name, that he said I must not tell."
Constantia saw that the secret might be easily discovered, but she
forbore. She disdained to take advantage of this messenger's imagined
simplicity. She dismissed him with some small addition to his demand
and with a promise always to employ him in this way.
By this mode Ormond had effectually concealed himself. The
lady's conjectures, founded on this delusive information, necessarily
wandered widely from the truth. The observations that he had made
during this visit afforded his mind considerable employment. The
manner in which this lady had sustained so cruel a reverse of fortune,
the cheerfulness with which she appeared to forego all the gratifica-
tions of affluence, the skill with which she selected her path of hum-
ble industry, and the steadiness with which she pursued it, were proofs
of a moral constitution from which he supposed the female sex to be
debarred. The comparison was obvious between Constantia and
Helena, and the result was by no means advantageous to the latter.
Was it possible that such a one descended to the level of her father's
apprentice? that she sacrificed her honour to a wretch like that? This
reflection tended to repress the inclination he would otherwise have
felt for cultivating her society, but it did not indispose him to benefit
her in a certain way.
On his next visit to his "bella Siciliana," as he called her, he ques-
tioned her as to the need in which she might stand of the services of
a seamstress; and being informed that they were sometimes wanted,
he recommended Miss Acworth to her patronage. He said that he had
heard her spoken of in favourable terms by the gossips at Mel-
bourne's. They represented her as a good girl, slenderly provided for,
and he wished that Helena would prefer her to all others.
His recommendation was sufficient. The wishes of Ormond, as
soon as they became known, became hers. Her temper made her
always diligent in search of novelty. It was easy to make work for the
needle. In short, she resolved to send for her the next day. The inter-
view accordingly took place on the ensuing morning, not without
mutual surprise, and, on the part of the fair Sicilian, not without con-
siderable embarrassment.
This circumstance arose from their having changed their respective
names, though from motives of a very different kind. They were not
strangers to each other, though no intimacy had ever subsisted
147 ORMON E
between them. Each was merely acquainted with the name, person,
and general character of the other. No circumstance in Constantia's
situation tended to embarrass her. Her mind had attained a state of
serene composure, incapable of being ruffled by an incident of this
kind. She merely derived pleasure from the sight of her old acquain-
tance. The aspect of things around her was splendid and gay. She
seemed the mistress of the mansion, and her name was changed.
Hence it was unavoidable to conclude that she was married.
Helena was conscious that appearances were calculated to suggest
this conclusion. The idea was a painful one. She sorrowed to think
that this conclusion was fallacious. The consciousness that her true
condition was unknown to her visitant, and the ignominiousness of
that truth, gave an air of constraint to her behaviour which Constan-
tia ascribed to a principle of delicacy.
In the midst of reflections relative to herself, she admitted some
share of surprise at the discovery of Constantia in a situation so inferi-
or to that in which she had formerly known her. She had heard, in
general terms, of the misfortunes of Mr. Dudley, but was unacquaint-
ed with particulars; but this surprise, and the difficulty of adapting her
behaviour to circumstances, was only in part the source of her embar-
rassment, though by her companion it was wholly attributed to this
cause. Constantia thought it her duty to remove it by open and
unaffected manners. She therefore said, in a sedate and cheerful tone,
"You see me, madam, in a situation somewhat unlike that in which I
was formerly placed. You will probably regard the change as an
unhappy one; but, I assure you, I have found it far less so than I
expected. I am thus reduced not by my own fault. It is this reflection
that enables me to conform to it without a murmur. I shall rejoice to
know that Mrs. Eden is as happy as I am."
Helena was pleased with this address, and returned an answer full
of sweetness. She had not, in her compassion for the fallen, a particle
of pride. She thought of nothing but the contrast between the former
situation of her visitant and the present. The fame of her great quali-
ties had formerly excited veneration, and that reverence was by no
means diminished by a nearer scrutiny. The consciousness of her own
frailty, meanwhile, diffused over the behaviour of Helena a timidity
and dubiousness uncommonly fascinating. She solicited Constantia's
friendship in a manner than showed she was afraid of nothing but
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 148
denial. An assent was eagerly given, and thenceforth a cordial inter-
course was established between them.
The real situation of Helena was easily discovered. The officious
person who communicated this information at the same time cau-
tioned Constantia against associating with one of tainted reputation.
This information threw some light upon appearances. It accounted
for that melancholy which Helena was unable to conceal. It
explained that solitude in which she lived, and which Constantia had
ascribed to the death or absence of her husband. It justified the solic-
itous silence she had hitherto maintained respecting her own affairs,
and which her friend's good sense forbade her to employ any sinister
means of eluding.
No long time was necessary to make her mistress of Helenas char-
acter. She loved her with uncommon warmth, though by no means
blind to her defects. She found no expectations from the knowledge
of her character, to which this intelligence operated as a disappoint-
ment. It merely excited her pity, and made her thoughtful how she
might assist her in repairing this deplorable error.
This design was of no ordinary magnitude. She saw that it was pre-
viously necessary to obtain the confidence of Helena. This was a task
of easy performance. She knew the purity of her own motives and
the extent of her powers, and embarked in this undertaking with full
confidence of success. She had only to profit by a private interview, to
acquaint her friend with what she knew, to solicit a complete and sat-
isfactory disclosure, to explain the impressions which her intelligence
produced, and to offer her disinterested advice. No one knew better
how to couch her ideas in words suitable to the end proposed by her
in imparting them.
Helena was at first terrified; but the benevolence of her friend
quickly entitled her to confidence and gratitude that knew no limits.
She had been deterred from unveiling her heart by the fear of excit-
ing contempt or abhorrence; but when she found that all due
allowances were made, - that her conduct was treated as erroneous in
no atrocious or inexpiable degree, and as far from being insusceptible
of remedy, - that the obloquy with which she had been treated found
no vindicator or participator in her friend, - her heart was consider-
ably relieved. She had been long a stranger to the sympathy and inter-
course of her own sex. Now this good, in its most precious form, was
149 ORMON D
conferred upon her, and she experienced an increase rather than
diminution of tenderness, in consequence of her true situation being
known.
She made no secret of any part of her history. She did full justice to
the integrity of her lover, and explained the unforced conditions on
which she had consented to live with him. This relation exhibited the
character of Ormond in a very uncommon light. His asperities
wounded, and his sternness chilled. What unauthorized conceptions
of matrimonial and political equality did he entertain! He had fash-
ioned his treatment of Helena on sullen and ferocious principles. Yet
he was able, it seemed, to mould her, by means of them, nearly into
the creature that he wished. She knew too little of the man justly to
estimate his character. It remained to be ascertained whether his pur-
poses were consistent and upright, or were those of a villain and
betrayer.
Meanwhile, what was to be done by Helena? Marriage had been
refused on plausible pretences. Her unenlightened understanding
made her no match for her lover. She would never maintain her claim
to nuptial privileges in his presence, or, if she did, she would never
convince him of their validity.
Were they indeed valid? Was not the disparity between them
incurable? A marriage of minds so dissimilar could only be productive
of misery immediately to him, and, by a reflex operation, to herself.
She could not be happy in a union that was the source of regret to
her husband. Marriage, therefore, was not possible, or, if possible, was
not, perhaps, to be wished. But what was the choice that remained?
To continue in her present situation was not to be endured. Dis-
grace was a demon that would blast every hope of happiness. She was
excluded from all society but that of the depraved. Her situation was
eminently critical. It depended, perhaps, on the resolution she should
now form whether she should be enrolled among the worst of
mankind. Infamy is the worst of evils. It creates innumerable obstruc-
tions in the path of virtue. It manacles the hand and entangles the feet
that are active only to good. To the weak it is an evil of much greater
magnitude. It determines their destiny; and they hasten to merit that
reproach which at first, it may be, they did not deserve.
This connection is intrinsically flagitious. Helena is subjected by it
to the worst ills that are incident to humanity, the general contempt
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 150
of mankind, and the reproaches of her own conscience. From these
there is but one method from which she can hope to be relieved. The
intercourse must cease.
It was easier to see the propriety of separation than to project
means for accomplishing it. It was true that Helena loved; but what
quarter was due to this passion when divorced from integrity? Is it
not in every bosom a perishable sentiment? Whatever be her warmth,
absence will congeal it. Place her in new scenes and supply her with
new associates. Her accomplishments will not fail to attract votaries.
From these she may select a conjugal companion suitable to her
mediocrity of talents.
But, alas! what power on earth can prevail on her to renounce
Ormond? Others may justly entertain this prospect, but it must be
invisible to her. Besides, is it absolutely certain that either her peace of
mind or her reputation will be restored by this means? In the opinion
of the world her offences cannot, by any perseverance in penitence,
be expiated. She will never believe that separation will exterminate
her passion. Certain it is that it will avail nothing to the re-
establishment of her fame. But, if it were conducive to these ends,
how chimerical to suppose that she will ever voluntarily adopt it!
If Ormond refuse his concurrence, there is absolutely an end to
hope. And what power on earth is able to sway his determinations?
At least, what influence was it possible for her to obtain over them?
Should they separate, whither should she retire? What mode of
subsistence should she adopt? She has never been accustomed to
think beyond the day. She has eaten and drank, but another has pro-
vided the means. She scarcely comprehends the principle that governs
the world, and in consequence of which nothing can be gained but
by giving something in exchange for it. She is ignorant and helpless as
a child, on every topic that relates to the procuring of subsistence.
Her education has disabled her from standing alone.
But this was not all. She must not only be supplied by others, but
sustained in the enjoyment of a luxurious existence. Would you
bereave her of the gratifications of opulence? You had better take
away her life. Nay, it would ultimately amount to this. She can live but
in one way.
At present she is lovely, and, to a certain degree, innocent; but
expose her to the urgencies and temptations of want, let personal pol-
ORMON D 151
lution be the price set upon the voluptuous affluences of her present
condition, and it is to be feared there is nothing in the contexture of
her mind to hinder her from making the purchase. In every respect,
therefore, the prospect was a hopeless one, — so hopeless that her mind
insensibly returned to the question which she had at first dismissed
with very slight examination, - the question relative to the advantages
and probabilities of marriage. A more accurate review convinced her
that this was the most eligible alternative. It was, likewise, most easily
effected. The lady, of course, would be its fervent advocate. There did
not want reasons why Ormond should finally embrace it. In what
manner appeals to his reason or his passion might most effectually be
made, she knew not.
Helena was ill qualified to be her own advocate. Her unhappiness
could not but be visible to Ormond. He had shown himself attentive
and affectionate. Was it impossible that, in time, he should reason him-
self into a spontaneous adoption of this scheme? This, indeed, was a
slender foundation for hope, but there was no other on which she
could build.
Such were the meditations of Constantia on this topic. She was
deeply solicitous for the happiness of her friend. They spent much of
their time together. The consolations of her society were earnestly
sought by Helena; but, to enjoy them, she was for the most part oblig-
ed to visit the former at her own dwelling. For this arrangement
Constantia apologized by saying, "You will pardon my requesting you
to favour me with your visits rather than allowing you mine. Every
thing is airy and brilliant within these walls. There is, besides, an air of
seclusion and security about you that is delightful. In comparison, my
dwelling is bleak, comfortless, and unretired. But my father is entitled
to all my care. His infirmity prevents him from amusing himself, and
his heart is cheered by the mere sound of my voice, though not
addressed to him. The mere belief of my presence seems to operate as
an antidote to the dreariness of solitude; and, now you know my
motives, I am sure you will not only forgive but approve of my
request."
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 152
WHEN once the subject had been introduced, Helena was prone to
descant upon her own situation, and listened with deference to the
remarks and admonitions of her companion. Constantia did not con-
ceal from her any of her sentiments. She enabled her to view her own
condition in its true light, and set before her the indispensable advan-
tages of marriage, while she, at the same time, afforded her the best
directions as to the conduct she ought to pursue in order to effect her
purpose.
The mind of Helena was thus kept in a state of perpetual and
uneasy fluctuation. While absent from Ormond, or listening to her
friend's remonstrances, the deplorableness of her condition arose in its
most disastrous hues before her imagination. But the spectre seldom
failed to vanish at the approach of Ormond. His voice dissipated
every inquietude.
She was not insensible of this inconstancy. She perceived and
lamented her own weakness. She was destitute of all confidence in
her own exertions. She could not be in the perpetual enjoyment of
his company. Her intervals of tranquillity, therefore, were short, while
those of anxiety and dejection were insupportably tedious. She
revered, but believed herself incapable to emulate, the magnanimity of
her monitor. The consciousness of inferiority, especially in a case like
this, in which her happiness so much depended on her own exer-
tions, excited in her the most humiliating sensations.
While indulging in fruitless melancholy, the thought one day
occurred to her, "Why may not Constantia be prevailed upon to
plead my cause? Her capacity and courage are equal to any undertak-
ing. The reasonings that are so powerful in my eyes, would they be
trivial and futile in those of Ormond? I cannot have a more pathetic
and disinterested advocate."
This idea was cherished with uncommon ardour. She seized the
first opportunity that offered itself to impart it to her friend. It was a
wild and singular proposal, and was rejected at the first glance. This
scheme, romantic and impracticable as it at first seemed, appeared to
Helena in the most plausible colours. She could not bear to relinquish
her new-born hopes. She saw no valid objection to it. Every thing
was easy to her friend, provided her sense of duty and her zeal could
ORMON D
CHAPTER XV.
153
be awakened. The subject was frequently suggested to Constantia's
reflections. Perceiving the sanguineness of her friend's confidence, and
fully impressed with the value of the end to be accomplished, she
insensibly veered to the same opinion. At least the scheme was worthy
of a candid discussion before it was rejected.
Ormond was a stranger to her. His manners were repulsive and
austere. She was a mere girl. Her personal attachment to Helena was
all that she could plead in excuse for taking part in her concerns. The
subject was delicate. A blunt and irregular character like Ormond s
might throw an air of ridicule over the scene. She shrunk from the
encounter of a boisterous and man-like spirit.
But were not these scruples effeminate and puerile? Had she stud-
ied so long in the school of adversity, without conviction of the duty
of a virtuous independence? Was she not a rational being, fully
imbued with the justice of her cause? Was it not ignoble to refuse the
province of a vindicator of the injured, before any tribunal, however
tremendous or unjust? And who was Ormond, that his eye should
inspire terror?
The father or brother of Helena might assume the office without
indecorum. Nay, a mother or sister might not be debarred from it.
Why then should she, who was actuated by equal zeal, and was
engaged, by ties stronger than consanguinity, in the promotion of her
friends happiness? It is true she did not view the subject in the light
in which it was commonly viewed by brothers and parents. It was not
a gust of rage that should transport her into his presence. She did not
go to awaken his slumbering conscience and abash him in the pride
of guilty triumph, but to rectify deliberate errors and change his
course by the change of his principles. It was her business to point out
to him the road of duty and happiness, from which he had strayed
with no sinister intentions. This was to be done without raving and
fury, but with amicable soberness, and in the way of calm and rational
remonstrance. Yet there were scruples that would not be shut out, and
continually whispered [to] her, "What an office is this for a girl and a
stranger to assume!"
In what manner should it be performed? Should an interview be
sought, and her ideas be explained without confusion or faltering,
undismayed by ludicrous airs or insolent frowns? But this was a point
to be examined. Was Ormond capable of such behaviour? If he were,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 154
it would be useless to attempt the reformation of his errors. Such a
man is incurable and obdurate. Such a man is not to be sought as the
husband of Helena; but this, surely, is a different being.
The medium through which she had viewed his character was an
ample one, but might not be very accurate. The treatment which
Helena had received from him, exclusive of his fundamental error,
betokened a mind to which she did not disdain to be allied. In spite
of his defects, she saw that their elements were more congenial, and
the points of contact between this person and herself more numerous
than between her and Helena, whose voluptuous sweetness of temper
and mediocrity of understanding excited in her bosom no genuine
sympathy.
Every thing is progressive in the human mind. When there is
leisure to reflect, ideas will succeed each other in a long train, before
the ultimate point be gained. The attention must shift from one side
to the other of a given question many times before it settles. Constan-
tia did not form her resolutions in haste; but, when once formed, they
were exempt from fluctuation. She reflected before she acted, and
therefore acted with consistency and vigour. She did not apprize her
friend of her intention. She was willing that she should benefit by her
interposition before she knew it was employed.
She sent her Lucy with a note to Ormond's house. It was couched
in these terms: —
"Constantia Dudley requests an interview with Mr. Ormond. Her
business being of some moment, she wishes him to name an hour
when most disengaged."
An answer was immediately returned, that at three o'clock in the
afternoon he should be glad to see her.
This message produced no small surprise in Ormond. He had not
withdrawn his notice from Constantia, and had marked, with curiosi-
ty and approbation, the progress of the connection between the two
women. The impressions which he had received from the report of
Helena were not dissimilar to those which Constantia had imbibed,
from the same quarter, respecting himself; but he gathered from them
no suspicion of the purpose of a visit. He recollected his connection
with Craig. This lady had had an opportunity of knowing that some
connection subsisted between them. He concluded that some infor-
mation or inquiry respecting Craig might occasion this event. As it
ORMON D 155
was, it gave him considerable satisfaction. It would enable him more
closely to examine one with respect to whom he entertained great
curiosity.
Ormond s conjecture was partly right. Constantia did not forget
her having traced Craig to this habitation. She designed to profit by
the occasion which this circumstance afforded her of making some
inquiry respecting Craig, in order to introduce, by suitable degrees, a
more important subject.
The appointed hour having arrived, he received her in his
drawing-room. He knew what was due to his guest. He loved to
mortify, by his negligence, the pride of his equals and superiors; but a
lower class had nothing to fear from his insolence. Constantia took
the seat that was offered to her, without speaking. She had made
suitable preparations for this interview, and her composure was invin-
cible. The manners of her host were by no means calculated to
disconcert her. His air was conciliating and attentive.
She began with naming Craig, as one known to Ormond, and
desired to be informed of his place of abode. She was proceeding to
apologize for this request, by explaining, in general terms, that her
father s infirmities prevented him from acting for himself; that Craig
was his debtor to a large amount; that he stood in need of all that
justly belonged to him, and was in pursuit of some means for tracing
Craig to his retreat. Ormond interrupted her, examining, at the same
time, with a vigilance somewhat too unsparing, the effects which his
words should produce upon her: —
"You may spare yourself the trouble of explaining. I am acquainted
with the whole affair between Craig and your family. He has con-
cealed from me nothing. I know all that has passed between you."
In saying this, Ormond intended that his looks and emphasis
should convey his full meaning. In the style of her comments he saw
none of those corroborating symptoms that he expected: -
"Indeed! He has been very liberal of his confidence, confession is a
token of penitence; but, alas! I fear he has deceived you. To be sincere
was doubtless his true interest, but he is too much in the habit of
judging superficially. If he has told you all, there is, indeed, no need of
explanation. This visit is, in that case, sufficiently accounted for. Is it in
your power, sir, to inform us whither he has gone?"
"For what end should I tell you? I promise you you will not follow
him. Take my word for it, he is totally unworthy of you. Let the past
156 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
be no precedent for the future. If you have not made that discovery
yourself, I have made it for you. I expect, at least, to be thanked for
my trouble."
This speech was unintelligible to Constantia. Her looks betokened
a perplexity unmingled with fear or shame.
"It is my way," continued he, "to say what I think. I care little for
consequences. I have said that I know all. This will excuse me for
being perfectly explicit. That I am mistaken is very possible; but I am
inclined to place that matter beyond the reach of a doubt. Listen to
me, and confirm me in the opinion I have already formed of your
good sense, by viewing, in a just light, the unreservedness with which
you are treated. I have something to tell, which, if you are wise, you
will not be offended at my telling so roundly. On the contrary, you
will thank me, and perceive that my conduct is a proof of my respect
for you. The person whom you met here is named Craig, but, as he
tells me, is not the man you look for. This man's brother - the partner
of your father, and, as he assured me, your own accepted and illicitly-
gratified lover - is dead."
These words were uttered without any extenuating hesitation or
depression of tone. On the contrary, the most offensive terms were
drawn out in the most deliberate and emphatic manner. Constantia's
cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled with indignation, but she for-
bore to interrupt. The looks with which she listened to the remainder
of the speech showed that she fully comprehended the scene, and
enabled him to comprehend it. He proceeded: -
"This man is a brother of that. Their resemblance in figure occa-
sioned your mistake. Your father's debtor died, it seems, on his arrival
at Jamaica. There he met with this brother, and bequeathed to him his
property and papers. Some of these papers are in my possession. They
are letters from Constantia Dudley, and are parts of an intrigue which,
considering the character of the man, was not much to her honour.
Such was this man's narrative, told to me some time before your
meeting with him at this house. I have a right to judge in this affair;
that is, I have a right to my opinion. If I mistake, (and I half suspect
myself,) you are able, perhaps, to rectify my error; and, in a case like
this, doubtless you will not want the inclination."
Perhaps if the countenance of this man had not been characterized
by the keenest intelligence, and a sort of careless and overflowing
good-will, this speech might have produced different effects. She was
ORMON D 157
prepared, though imperfectly, for entering into his character. He wait-
ed for an answer, which she gave without emotion: —
"You are deceived. I am sorry, for your own sake, that you are.
He must have had some end in view, in imposing these falsehoods
upon you, which perhaps they have enabled him to accomplish. As
to myself, this man can do me no injury. I willingly make you
my judge. The letters you speak of will alone suffice to my vindi-
cation. They never were received from me, and are forgeries. That
man always persisted till he made himself the dupe of his own artifi-
ces. That incident in his plot, on the introduction of which he proba-
bly the most applauded himself, will most powerfully operate to
defeat it.
"Those letters never were received from me, and are forgeries. His
skill in imitation extended no further in the present case than my
handwriting. My modes of thinking and expression were beyond the
reach of his mimicry."
When she had finished, Ormond spent a moment in ruminating.
"I perceive you are right," said he. "I suppose he has purloined from
me two hundred guineas, which I intrusted to his fidelity. And yet I
received a letter; but that may likewise be a forgery. By my soul," con-
tinued he, in a tone that had more of satisfaction than disappointment
in it, "this fellow was an adept at his trade. I do not repine. I have
bought the exhibition at a cheap rate. The pains that he took did not
merit a less recompense. I am glad that he was contented with so
little. Had he persisted, he might have raised the price far above its
value. 'Twill be lamentable if he receive more than he stipulated for, —
if, in his last purchase, the gallows should be thrown into the bargain.
May he have the wisdom to see that a halter, though not included in
his terms, is only a new instance of his good fortune! but his cunning
will hardly carry him thus far. His stupidity will, no doubt, prefer a
lingering to a sudden exit.
"But this man and his destiny are trifles. Let us leave them to
themselves. Your name is Constantia. 'Twas given you, I suppose, that
you might be known by it. Pr'ythee, Constantia, was this the only
purpose that brought you hither? If it were, it has received as ample a
discussion as it merits. You came for this end, but will remain, I hope,
for a better one. Having dismissed Craig and his plots, let us now talk
of each other."
158 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
"I confess," said the lady, with a hesitation she could not subdue,
"this was not my only purpose. One much more important has
produced this visit."
"Indeed! pray, let me know it. I am glad that so trivial an object as
Craig did not occupy the first place in your thoughts. Proceed, I
beseech you."
"It is a subject on which I cannot enter without hesitation, - a
hesitation unworthy of me."
"Stop," cried Ormond, rising and touching the bell; "nothing like
time to make a conquest of embarrassment. We will defer this confer-
ence six minutes, just while we eat our dinner."
At the same moment a servant entered, with two plates and the
usual apparatus for dinner. On seeing this she rose, in some hurry, to
depart: - "I thought, sir, you were disengaged. I will call at some other
hour."
He seized her hand, and held her from going, but with an air by
no means disrespectful. "Nay," said he; "what is it that scares you away?
Are you terrified at the mention of victuals? You must have fasted
long when it comes to that. I told you true. I am disengaged, but not
from the obligation of eating and drinking. No doubt you have dined.
No reason why / should go without my dinner. If you do not choose
to partake with me, so much the better. Your temperance ought to
dispense with two meals in an hour. Be a looker-on; or, if that will
not do, retire into my library, where in six minutes, I will be with you,
and lend you my aid in the arduous task of telling me what you came
with an intention of telling."
This singular address disconcerted and abashed her. She was con-
tented to follow the servant silently into an adjoining apartment.
Here she reflected with no small surprise on the behaviour of this
man. Though ruffled, she was not heartily displeased with it. She had
scarcely time to recollect herself, when he entered. He immediately
seated her, and himself opposite to her. He fixed his eyes without
scruple on her face. His gaze was steadfast, but not insolent or oppres-
sive. He surveyed her with the looks with which he would have eyed
a charming portrait. His attention was occupied with what he saw, as
that of an artist is occupied when viewing a Madonna of Rafaello. At
length he broke the silence: —
"At dinner I was busy thinking what it was you had to disclose. I
ORMON D 159
will not fatigue you with my guesses. They would be impertinent, as
long as the truth is going to be disclosed." He paused, and then con-
tinued: - "But I see you cannot dispense with my aid. Perhaps your
business relates to Helena. She has done wrong, and you wish me to
rebuke the girl."
Constantia profited by this opening, and said, "Yes; she has done
wrong. It is true my business relates to her. I came hither as a suppliant
in her behalf. Will you not assist her in recovering the path from
which she has deviated? She left it from confiding more in the judg-
ment of her guide than her own. There is one method of repairing
the evil. It lies with you to repair that evil."
During this address the gayety of Ormond disappeared. He fixed
his eyes on Constantia with new and even pathetic earnestness. "I
guessed as much," said he. "I have often been deceived in my judg-
ment of characters. Perhaps I do not comprehend yours. Yet it is not
little that I have heard respecting you. Something I have seen. I begin
to suspect a material error in my theory of human nature. Happy will
it be for Helena if my suspicions be groundless.
"You are Helena's friend. Be mine also, and advise me. Shall I
marry this girl, or not? You know on what terms we live. Are they
suitable to our respective characters? Shall I wed this girl, or shall
things remain as they are?
"I have an irreconcilable aversion to a sad brow and a sick-bed.
Helena is grieved, because her neighbours sneer and point at her. So
far she is a fool; but that is a folly of which she never will be cured.
Marriage, it seems, will set all right. Answer me, Constantia: shall I
marry?"
There was something in the tone, but more in the tenor, of this
address that startled her. There was nothing in this man but what
came upon her unaware. This sudden effusion of confidence was par-
ticularly unexpected and embarrassing. She scarcely knew whether to
regard it as serious or a jest. On observing her indisposed to speak, he
continued: —
"Away with these impertinent circuities and scruples! I know your
meaning. Why should I pretend ignorance, and put you to the trouble
of explanation? You came hither with no other view than to exact this
question and furnish an answer. Why should not we come at once to
the point? I have for some time been dubious on this head. There is
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 160
something wanting to determine the balance. If you have that some-
thing, throw it into the proper scale.
"You err if you think this manner of addressing you is wild or
improper. This girl is the subject of discourse. If she was not to be so,
why did you favour me with this visit? You have sought me, and
introduced yourself. I have, in like manner, overlooked ordinary
forms, — a negligence that has been systematic with me, but, in the
present case, particularly justifiable by your example. Shame on you,
presumptuous girl, to suppose yourself the only rational being among
mankind. And yet, if you thought so, why did you thus unceremoni-
ously intrude upon my retirements? This act is of a piece with the
rest. It shows you to be one whose existence I did not believe possi-
ble.
"Take care.You know not what you have done.You came hither as
Helena's friend. Perhaps time may show that in this visit you have
performed the behest of her bitterest enemy. But that is out of season.
This girl is our mutual property. You are her friend; I am her lover.
Her happiness is precious in my eyes and in yours. To the rest of
mankind she is a noisome weed, that cannot be shunned too cau-
tiously, nor trampled on too much. If we forsake her, infamy, that is
now kept at bay, will seize upon her, and, while it mangles her form,
will tear from her her innocence. She has no arms with which to
contend against that foe. Marriage will place her at once in security.
Shall it be? You have an exact knowledge of her strength and her
weakness. Of me you know little. Perhaps, before that question can be
satisfactorily answered, it is requisite to know the qualities of her hus-
band. Be my character henceforth the subject of your study. I will fur-
nish you with all the light in my power. Be not hasty in deciding; but
when your decision is formed, let me know it." He waited for an
answer, which she at length summoned resolution enough to give: -
"You have come to the chief point which I had in view in making
this visit. To say truth, I came hither to remonstrate with you on with-
holding that which Helena may justly claim from you. Her happiness
will be unquestionably restored and increased by it.Yours will not be
impaired. Matrimony will not produce any essential change in your
situation. It will produce no greater or different intercourse than now
exists. Helena is on the brink of a gulf which I shudder to look upon.
I believe that you will not injure yourself by snatching her from it. I
ORMON D 161
am sure that you will confer an inexpressible benefit upon her. Let
me, then, persuade you to do her and yourself justice."
"No persuasion," said Ormond, after recovering from a fit of
thoughtfulness, "is needful for this end: I only want to be convinced.
You have decided, but, I fear, hastily. By what inscrutable influences
are our steps guided! Come; proceed in your exhortations. Argue
with the utmost clearness and cogency. Arm yourself with all the irre-
sistibles of eloquence. Yet you are building nothing. You are only
demolishing.Your argument is one thing. Its tendency is another; and
is the reverse of all you expect and desire. My assent will be refused
with an obstinacy proportioned to the force that you exert to obtain
it, and to the just application of that force."
"I see," replied the lady, smiling, and leaving her seat, "you can talk
in riddles as well as other people. This visit has been too long. I shall
indeed be sorry if my interference, instead of serving my friend, has
injured her. I have acted an uncommon and, as it may seem, an
ambiguous part. I shall be contented with construing my motives in
my own way. I wish you a good evening."
"'Tis false!" cried he, sternly;"you do not wish it!"
"How?" exclaimed the astonished Constantia.
"I will put your sincerity to the test. Allow me to spend this
evening in your company; then it will be well spent, and I shall
believe your wishes sincere. Else," continued he, changing his affected
austerity into a smile, "Constantia is a liar."
"You are a singular man. I hardly know how to understand you."
"Well, words are made to carry meanings.You shall have them in
abundance. Your house is your citadel. I will not enter it without
leave. Permit me to visit you when I please. But that is too much. It is
more than I would allow you. When will you permit me to visit
you?"
"I cannot answer when I do not understand. You clothe your
thoughts in a garb so uncouth, that I know not in what light they are
to be viewed."
"Well, now, I thought you understood my language, and were an
Englishwoman; but I will use another. Shall I have the honour" (bow-
ing with a courtly air of supplication) "of occasionally paying my
respects to you at your own dwelling? It would be cruel to condemn
those who have the happiness of knowing Miss Dudley, to fashionable
162 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
restraints. At what hour will she be least incommoded by a visitant?"
"I am as little pleased with formalities," replied the lady, "as you
are. My friends I cannot see too often. They need to consult merely
their own convenience. Those who are not my friends I cannot see
too seldom. You have only to establish your title to that name, and
your welcome at all times is sure. Till then you must not look for it."
HERE ended this conference. She had by no means suspected the
manner in which it would be conducted. All punctilios were tram-
pled under foot by the impetuosity of Ormond. Things were at once,
and without delay, placed upon a certain footing. The point which
ordinary persons would have employed months in attaining was
reached in a moment. While these incidents were fresh in her memo-
ry, they were accompanied with a sort of trepidation, the offspring at
once of pleasure and surprise.
Ormond had not deceived her expectations; but hearsay and per-
sonal examination, however uniform their testimony may be, produce
a very different impression. In her present reflections, Helena and her
lover approached to the front of the stage and were viewed with
equal perspicuity. One consequence of this was, that their characters
were more powerfully contrasted with each other, and the ineligibili-
ty of marriage appeared not quite so incontestable as before.
Was not equality implied in this compact? Marriage is an instru-
ment of pleasure or pain in proportion as this equality is more or less.
What but the fascination of his senses is it that ties Ormond to Hele-
na? Is this a basis on which marriage may properly be built?
If things had not gone thus far, the impropriety of marriage could
not be doubted; but, at present, there is a choice of evils, and that may
now be desirable which at a former period, and in different circum-
stances, would have been clearly otherwise.
The evils of the present connection are known; those of marriage
are future and contingent: Helena cannot be the object of a genuine
and lasting passion; another may: this is not merely possible; nothing is
more likely to happen. This event, therefore, ought to be included in
ORMON D 163
CHAPTER XVI.
our calculation. There would be a material deficiency without it.
What was the amount of the misery that would, in this case, ensue?
Constantia was qualified, beyond most others, to form an adequate
conception of this misery. One of the ingredients in her character was
a mild and steadfast enthusiasm. Her sensibilities to social pleasure,
and her conceptions of the benefits to flow from the conformity and
concurrence of intentions and wishes heightening and refining the
sensual passion, were exquisite.
There, indeed, were evils, the foresight of which tended to prevent
them; but was there wisdom in creating obstacles in the way of a suit-
able alliance? Before we act, we must consider not only the misery
produced, but the happiness precluded, by our measures.
In no case, perhaps, is the decision of a human being impartial, or
totally uninfluenced by sinister and selfish motives. If Constantia sur-
passed others, it was not because her motives were pure, but because
they possessed more of purity than those of others. Sinister considera-
tions flow in upon us through imperceptible channels, and modify
our thoughts in numberless ways, without our being truly conscious
of their presence. Constantia was young, and her heart was open at a
thousand pores to the love of excellence. The image of Ormond
occupied the chief place in her fancy, and was endowed with attrac-
tive and venerable qualities. A bias was hence created that swayed her
thoughts, though she knew not that they were swayed. To this might
justly be imputed some part of that reluctance which she now felt to
give Ormond to Helena. But this was not sufficient to turn the scale.
That which had previously mounted was indeed heavier than before,
but this addition did not enable it to outweigh its opposite. Marriage
was still the best, upon the whole; but her heart was tortured to think
that, best as it was, it abounded with so many evils.
On the evening of the next day, Ormond entered, with careless
abruptness, Constantia's sitting-apartment. He was introduced to her
father. A general and unrestrained conversation immediately took
place. Ormond addressed Mr. Dudley with the familiarity of an old
acquaintance. In three minutes all embarrassment was discarded. The
lady and her visitant were accurate observers of each other. In the
remarks of the latter (and his vein was an abundant one) there was a
freedom and originality altogether new to his hearers. In his easiest
and sprightliest sallies were tokens of a mind habituated to profound
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 164
and extensive views. His associations were formed on a comprehen-
sive scale.
He pretended to nothing, and studied the concealments of ambi-
guity more in reality than in appearance. Constantia, however, discov-
ered a sufficient resemblance between their theories of virtue and
duty. The difference between them lay in the inferences arbitrarily
deduced, and in which two persons may vary without end and yet
never be repugnant. Constantia delighted her companion by the facil-
ity with which she entered into his meaning, the sagacity she dis-
played in drawing out his hints, circumscribing his conjectures, and
thwarting or qualifying his maxims. The scene was generally replete
with ardour and contention, and yet the impression left on the mind
of Ormond was full of harmony. Her discourse tended to rouse him
from his lethargy, to furnish him with powerful excitements; and the
time spent in her company seemed like a doubling of existence.
The comparison could not but suggest itself between this scene
and that exhibited by Helena. With the latter, voluptuous blandish-
ments, musical prattle, and silent but expressive homage, composed a
banquet delicious for a while, but whose sweetness now began to pall
upon his taste. It supplied him with no new ideas, and hindered him,
by the lulling sensations it inspired, from profiting by his former
acquisitions. Helena was beautiful. Apply the scale, and not a member
was found inelegantly disposed or negligently moulded, not a curve
that was blemished by an angle or ruffled by asperities. The irradia-
tions of her eyes were able to dissolve the knottiest fibres, and their
azure was serene beyond any that nature had elsewhere exhibited.
Over the rest of her form the glistening and rosy hues were diffused
with prodigal luxuriance and mingled in endless and wanton variety.
Yet this image had fewer attractions even to the senses than that of
Constantia. So great is the difference between forms animated by
different degrees of intelligence.
The interviews of Ormond and Constantia grew more frequent.
The progress which they made in the knowledge of each other was
rapid. Two positions, that were favourite ones with him, were quickly
subverted. He was suddenly changed, from being one of the calumni-
ators of the female sex, to one of its warmest eulogists. This was a
point on which Constantia had ever been a vigorous disputant; but
her arguments, in their direct tendency, would never have made a
ORMON D 165
convert of this man. Their force, intrinsically considered, was nothing.
He drew his conclusions from incidental circumstances. Her reason-
ings might be fallacious or valid, but they were so composed,
arranged, and delivered, were drawn from such sources, and accompa-
nied with such illustrations, as plainly testified a manlike energy in the
reasoner. In this indirect and circuitous way, her point was unanswer-
ably established.
"Your reasoning is bad," he would say; "every one of your conclu-
sions is false. Not a single allegation but may be easily confuted: and
yet I allow that your position is incontrovertibly proved by them.
How bewildered is that man who never thinks for himself! who
rejects a principle merely because the arguments brought in support
of it are insufficient! I must not reject the truth because another has
unjustifiably adopted it. I want to reach a certain hill-top. Another has
reached it before me, but the ladder he used is too weak to bear me.
What then? Am I to stay below on that account? No; I have only to
construct one suitable to the purpose, and of strength sufficient."
A second maxim had never been confuted till now. It inculcated
the insignificance and hollowness of love. No pleasure, he thought,
was to be despised for its own sake. Every thing was good in its place,
but amorous gratifications were to be degraded to the bottom of the
catalogue. The enjoyments of music and landscape were of a much
higher order. Epicurism itself was entitled to more respect.
1
 Love, in
itself, was, in his opinion, of little worth, and only of importance as
the source of the most terrible of intellectual maladies. Sexual sensa-
tions associating themselves, in a certain way, with our ideas, beget a
disease which has, indeed, found no place in the catalogue, but is a
case of more entire subversion and confusion of mind than any other.
The victim is callous to the sentiments of honour and shame, insensi-
ble to the most palpable distinctions of right and wrong, a systematic
opponent of testimony and obstinate perverter of truth.
Ormond was partly right. Madness like death can be averted by no
foresight or previous contrivance. This probably is one of its char-
acteristics. He that witnesses its influence on another with most
i Epicurism: system of philosophy based on teachings of Greek philosopher Epicurus
that pleasure is the best good and life's primary goal, and that intellectual pleasures
are preferable to sensual pleasures.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 166
horror, and most fervently deprecates its ravages, is not therefore more
safe. This circumstance was realized in the history of Ormond.
This infatuation, if it may so be called, was gradual in its progress.
The sensations which Helena was now able to excite were of a new
kind. Her power was not merely weakened, but her endeavours
counteracted their own end. Her fondness was rejected with disdain,
or borne with reluctance. The lady was not slow in perceiving this
change. The stroke of death would have been more acceptable. His
own reflections were too tormenting to make him willing to discuss
them in words. He was not aware of the effects produced by this
change in his demeanor, till informed of it by herself.
One evening he displayed symptoms of uncommon dissatisfaction.
Her tenderness was unable to dispel it. He complained of want of
sleep. This afforded a hint, which she drew forth into one of her
enchanting ditties. Habit had almost conferred upon her the power of
spontaneous poesy, and, while she pressed his forehead to her bosom,
she warbled forth a strain airy and exuberant in numbers, tender and
ecstatic in its imagery: -
Sleep, extend thy downy pinion;
Hasten from my cell with speed;
Spread around thy soft dominion;
Much those brows thy balmy presence need.
Wave thy wand of slumberous power,
Moistened in Lethean dews,
To charm the busy spirits of the hour,
And brighten memory's malignant hues.
Thy mantle, dark and starless, cast
Over my selected youth;
Bury in thy womb the mournful past,
And soften with thy dreams th' asperities of truth.
The changeful hues of his impassion'd sleep
My office it shall be to watch the while;
With thee, my love, when fancy prompts, to weep,
And, when thou smilst, to smile.
ORMON D 167
But, sleep! I charge thee, visit not these eyes,
Nor raise thy dark pavilion here,
Till morrow from the cave of ocean rise,
And whisper tuneful joy in nature's ear.
But mutely let me lie, and sateless gaze
At all the soul that in his visage sits,
While spirits of harmonious air —
Here her voice sunk, and the line terminated in a sigh. Her muse-
ful ardours were chilled by the looks of Ormond. Absorbed in his
own thoughts, he appeared scarcely to attend to this strain. His stern-
ness was proof against her accustomed fascinations. At length she
pathetically complained of his coldness, and insinuated her suspicions
that his affection was transferred to another object. He started from
her embrace, and, after two or three turns across the room, he stood
before her. His large eyes were steadfastly fixed upon her face.
"Ay," said he;"thou hast guessed right.The love, poor as it was, that
I had for thee, is gone. Henceforth thou art desolate indeed. Would to
God thou wert wise! Thy woes are but beginning; I fear they will ter-
minate fatally: if so, the catastrophe cannot come too quickly.
"I disdain to appeal to thy justice, Helena, to remind thee of con-
ditions solemnly and explicitly assumed. Shall thy blood be upon thy
own head? No. I will bear it myself. Though the load would crush a
mountain, I will bear it.
"I cannot help it; I make not myself; I am moulded by circum-
stances; whether I shall love thee or not is no longer in my own
choice. Marriage is, indeed, still in my power. I may give thee my
name and share with thee my fortune. Will these content thee? Thou
canst not partake of my love. Thou canst have no part in my tender-
ness. These are reserved for another more worthy than thou.
"But no. Thy state is, to the last degree, forlorn. Even marriage is
denied thee. Thou wast contented to take me without it, - to dispense
with the name of wife; but the being who has displaced thy image in
my heart is of a different class. She will be to me a wife, or nothing;
and I must be her husband, or perish.
"Do not deceive thyself, Helena. I know what it is in which thou
hast placed thy felicity. Life is worth retaining by thee but on one
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 168
condition. I know the incurableness of thy infirmity; but be not
deceived. Thy happiness is ravished from thee. The condition on
which thou consentedst to live is annulled. I love thee no longer.
"No truth was every more delicious; none was ever more
detestable. I fight against conviction, and I cling to it. That I love thee
no longer is at once a subject of joy and of mourning. I struggle to
believe thee superior to this shock; that thou wilt be happy, though
deserted by me. Whatever be thy destiny, my reason will not allow me
to be miserable on that account.Yet I would give the world - I would
forfeit every claim but that which I hope upon the heart of Constan-
tia - to be sure that thy tranquillity will survive this stroke.
"But, let come what will, look no longer to me for offices of love.
Henceforth, all intercourse of tenderness ceases, - perhaps all person-
al intercourse whatever. But, though this good be refused, thou art
sure of independence. I will guard thy ease and thy honour with a
father's scrupulousness. Would to Heaven a sister could be created by
adoption! I am willing, for thy sake, to be an impostor. I will own
thee to the world for my sister, and carry thee whither the cheat shall
never be detected. I would devote my whole life to prevarication and
falsehood for thy sake, if that would suffice to make thee happy."
To this speech Helena had nothing to answer. Her sobs and tears
choked all utterance. She hid her face with her handkerchief, and sat
powerless and overwhelmed with despair. Ormond traversed the
room uneasily, sometimes moving to and fro with quick steps, some-
times standing and eyeing her with looks of compassion. At length he
spoke: -
"It is time to leave you.This is the first night that you will spend in
dreary solitude. I know it will be sleepless and full of agony; but the
sentence cannot be recalled. Henceforth regard me as a brother. I will
prove myself one. All other claims are swallowed up in a superior
affection." In saying this, he left the house, and, almost without
intending it, found himself in a few minutes at Mr. Dudley's door.
THE POLITENESS of Melbourne had somewhat abated Mr. Dudley's
aversion to society. He allowed himself sometimes to comply with
ORMON D 169
CHAPTER XVII.
urgent invitations. On this evening he happened to be at the house of
that gentleman. Ormond entered, and found Constantia alone. An
interview of this kind was seldom enjoyed, though earnestly wished
for, by Constantia, who was eager to renew the subject of her first
conversation with Ormond. I have already explained the situation of
her mind. All her wishes were concentred in the marriage of Helena.
The eligibility of this scheme, in every view which she took of it,
appeared in a stronger light. She was not aware that any new obstacle
had arisen. She was free from the consciousness of any secret bias.
Much less did her modesty suspect that she herself would prove an
unsuperable impediment to this plan.
There was more than usual solemnity in Ormond's demeanour.
After he was seated, he continued, contrary to his custom, to be silent.
These singularities were not unobserved by Constantia. They did not,
however, divert her from her purpose.
"I am glad to see you," said she; "we so seldom enjoy the advantage
of a private interview. I have much to say to you. You authorize me to
deliberate on your actions, and, in some measure, to prescribe to you.
This is a province which I hope to discharge with integrity and dili-
gence. I am convinced that Helena's happiness and your own can be
secured in one way only. I will emulate your candour, and come at
once to the point. Why have you delayed so long the justice that is
due to this helpless and lovely girl? There are a thousand reasons why
you should think of no other alternative. You have been pleased to
repose some degree of confidence in my judgment. Hear my full and
deliberate opinion. Make Helena your wife. This is the unequivocal
prescription of your duty."
This address was heard by Ormond without surprise; but his
countenance betrayed the acuteness of his feelings. The bitterness that
overflowed his heart was perceptible in his tone when he spoke: -
"Most egregiously are you deceived. Such is the line with which
human capacity presumes to fathom futurity. With all your discern-
ment, you do not see that marriage would effectually destroy me. You
do not see that, whether beneficial or otherwise in its effects, mar-
riage is impossible.You are merely prompting me to suicide: but how
shall I inflict the wound? Where is the weapon? See you not that I am
powerless? Leap, say you, into the flames. See you not that I am fet-
tered? Will a mountain move at your bidding, sooner than I in the
path which you prescribe to me?"
170 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
This speech was inexplicable. She pressed him to speak less enig-
matically. Had he formed his resolution? If so, arguments and remon-
strances were superfluous. Without noticing her interrogatories, he
continued: —
"I am too hasty in condemning you. You judge, not against, but
without, knowledge. When sufficiently informed, your decision will
be right. Yet how can you be ignorant? Can you for a moment con-
template yourself and me, and not perceive an insuperable bar to this
union?"
"You place me," said Constantia, "in a very disagreeable predica-
ment. I have not deserved this treatment from you. This is an unjusti-
fiable deviation from plain dealing. Of what impediment do you
speak? I can safely say that I know of none."
"Well," resumed he, with augmented eagerness,"! must supply you
with knowledge. I repeat, that I perfectly rely on the rectitude of your
judgment. Summon all your sagacity and disinterestedness, and
choose for me. You know in what light Helena has been viewed by
me. I have ceased to view her in this light. She has become an object
of indifference. Nay, I am not certain that I do not hate her, - not,
indeed, for her own sake, but because I love another. Shall I marry her
whom I hate, when there exists one whom I love with unconquer-
able ardour?"
Constantia was thunderstruck with this intelligence. She looked at
him with some expression of doubt. "How is this?" said she. "Why
did you not tell me this before?"
"When I last talked with you on this subject, I knew it not myself.
It has occurred since. I have seized the first occasion that has offered
to inform you of it. Say now, since such is my condition, ought Hele-
na to be my wife?"
Constantia was silent. Her heart bled for what she foresaw would
be the sufferings and forlorn destiny of Helena. She had not courage
to inquire further into this new engagement.
"I wait for your answer, Constantia. Shall I defraud myself of all
the happiness which would accrue from a match of inclination? Shall
I put fetters on my usefulness? This is the style in which you speak.
Shall I preclude all the good to others that would flow from a suitable
alliance? Shall I abjure the woman I love, and marry her whom I
hate?"
"Hatred," replied the lady, "is a harsh word. Helena has not
171 ORMON D
deserved that you should hate her. I own this is a perplexing circum-
stance. It would be wrong to determine hastily. Suppose you give
yourself to Helena: will more than yourself be injured by it? Who is
this lady? Will she be rendered unhappy by a determination in favour
of another? This is a point of the utmost importance."
At these words, Ormond forsook his seat and advanced close up to
Constantia: - "You say true . This is a point of inexpressible impor-
tance. It would be presumption in me to decide. That is the lady's own
province. And now, say truly, are you willing to accept Ormond with
all his faults? Who but yourself could be mistress of all the springs of
my soul? I know the sternness of your probity. This discovery will
only make you more strenuously the friend of Helena. Yet why should
you not shun either extreme? Lay yourself out of view. And yet, per-
haps, the happiness of Constantia is not unconcerned in this question.
Is there no part of me in which you discover your own likeness? Am I
deceived, or is it an incontrollable destiny that unites us?"
This declaration was truly unexpected by Constantia. She gathered
from it nothing but excitements of grief. After some pause, she said,
"This appeal to me has made no change in my opinion. I still think
that justice requires you to become the husband of Helena. As to me,
do you think my happiness rests upon so slight a foundation? I cannot
love but when my understanding points out to me the propriety of
love. Ever since I have known you, I have looked upon you as right-
fully belonging to another. Love could not take place in my circum-
stances.Yet I will not conceal from you my sentiments. I am not sure
that, in different circumstances, I should not have loved. I am
acquainted with your worth. I do not look for a faultless man. I have
met with none whose blemishes were fewer.
"It matters not, however, what I should have been. I cannot inter-
fere, in this case, with the claims of my friend. I have no passion to
struggle with. I hope, in every vicissitude, to enjoy your esteem, and
nothing more. There is but one way in which mine can be secured,
and that is by espousing this unhappy girl."
"No!" exclaimed Ormond. "Require not impossibilities. Helena
can never be any thing to me. I should, with unspeakably more will-
ingness, assail my own life."
"What," said the lady, "will Helena think of this sudden and dread-
ful change? I cannot bear to think upon the feelings that this infor-
mation will excite."
172 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
"She knows it already. I have this moment left her. I explained to
her, in few words, my motives, and assured her of my unalterable res-
olution. I have vowed never to see her more but as a brother; and this
vow she has just heard."
Constantia could not suppress her astonishment and compassion at
this intelligence: — "No, surely; you could not be so cruel! And this
was done with your usual abruptness, I suppose. Precipitate and
implacable man! Cannot you foresee the effects of this madness? You
have planted a dagger in her heart.You have disappointed me. I did
not think you could act so inhumanly."
"Nay, beloved Constantia, be not so liberal of your reproaches.
Would you have me deceive her? She must shortly have known it.
Could the truth be told too soon?"
"Much too soon," replied the lady, fervently. "I have always con-
demned the maxims by which you act.Your scheme is headlong and
barbarous. Could you not regard with some little compassion that
love which sacrificed, for your unworthy sake, honest fame and the
peace of virtue? Is she not a poor outcast, goaded by compunction,
and hooted at by a malignant and misjudging world? And who was it
that reduced her to this deplorable condition? For whose sake did she
willingly consent to brave evils by which the stoutest heart is
appalled? Did this argue no greatness of mind? Who ever surpassed
her in fidelity and tenderness? But thus has she been rewarded. I
shudder to think what may be the event. Her courage cannot possibly
support her against treatment so harsh, so perversely and wantonly
cruel. Heaven grant that you are not shortly made bitterly to lament
this rashness!"
Ormond was penetrated with these rep roaches. They persuaded
him for a moment that his deed was wrong; that he had not unfolded
his intentions to Helena with a suitable degree of gentleness and cau-
tion. Little more was said on this occasion. Constantia exhorted him,
in the most earnest and pathetic manner, to return and recant, or
extenuate, his former declarations. He could not be brought to
promise compliance. When he parted from her, however, he was half
resolved to act as she advised. Solitary reflection made him change
this resolution, and he returned to his own house.
During the night he did little else than ruminate on the events of
the preceding evening. He entertained little doubt of his ultimate
success with Constantia. She gratified him in nothing, but left him
173 ORMON D
every thing to hope. She had hitherto, it seems, regarded him with
indifference; but this had been sufficiently explained. That conduct
would be pursued, and that passion be entertained, which her judg-
ment should previously approve. What then was the obstacle? It orig-
inated in the claims of Helena. But what were these claims? It was
fully ascertained that he should never be united to this girl. If so, the
end contemplated by Constantia, and for the sake of which only his
application was rejected, could never be obtained. Unless her rejec-
tion of him could procure a husband for her friend, it would, on her
own principles, be improper and superfluous.
What was to be done with Helena? It was a terrible alternative to
which he was reduced: — to marry her or see her perish. But was this
alternative quite sure? Could not she, by time or by judicious treat-
ment, be reconciled to her lot? It was to be feared that he had not
made a suitable beginning; and yet, perhaps, it was most expedient
that a hasty and abrupt sentence should be succeeded by forbearance
and lenity. He regretted his precipitation; and, though used to the
melting mood, tears were wrung from him by the idea of the misery
which he had probably occasioned. He was determined to repair his
misconduct as speedily as possible, and to pay her a conciliating visit
the next morning.
He went early to her house. He was informed by the servant that
her mistress had not yet risen. "Was it usual," he asked, "for her to lie
so late?" "No," he was answered: "she never knew it happen before,
but she supposed her mistress was not well. She was just going into
her chamber to see what was the matter."
"Why," said Ormond, "do you suppose that she is sick?"
"She was poorly last night. About nine o'clock she sent out for
some physic to make her sleep."
"To make her sleep?" exclaimed Ormond, in a faltering and
affrighted accent.
"Yes: she said she wanted it for that. So I went to the 'pothecary s.
When I come back, she was very poorly indeed. I asked her if I
mightn't set up with her. 'No/ she says; 'I do not want anybody.You
may go to bed as soon as you please, and tell Fabian to do the same. I
shall not want you again.'"
"What did you buy?"
"Some kind of water, - laud'num I think they call it. She wrote it
down, and I carried the paper to Mr. Eckhart s; and he gave it to me
174 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
in a bottle, and I gave it to my mistress."
"'Tis well. Retire. I will see how she is myself."
Ormond had conceived himself fortified against every disaster. He
looked for nothing but evil, and therefore, in ordinary cases, regarded
its approach without fear or surprise. Now, however, he found that his
tremors would not be stilled. His perturbations increased with every
step that brought him nearer to her chamber. He knocked, but no
answer was returned. He opened, advanced to the bedside, and drew
back the curtains. He shrunk from the spectacle that presented itself.
Was this the Helena that, a few hours before, was blithesome with
health and radiant with beauty? Her visage was serene, but sunken
and pale. Death was in every line of it. To his tremulous and hurried
scrutiny every limb was rigid and cold.
The habits of Ormond tended to obscure the appearances, if not
to deaden the emotions, of sorrow. He was so much accustomed to
the frustration of well-intended efforts, and confided so much in his
own integrity, that he was not easily disconcerted. He had merely to
advert, on this occasion, to the tumultuous state of his feelings, in
order to banish their confusion and restore himself to calm. "Well,"
said he, as he dropped the curtain and turned towards another part of
the room, "this, without doubt, is a rueful spectacle. Can it be helped?
Is there in man the power of recalling her? There is none such in me.
"She is gone. Well, then, she is gone. If she were fool enough to
die, I am not fool enough to follow her. I am determined to live and
be happy notwithstanding. Why not?
"Yet this is a piteous sight. What is impossible to undo might be
easily prevented. A piteous spectacle! But what else, on an ampler
scale, is the universe? Nature is a theatre of suffering. What corner is
unvisited by calamity and pain? I have chosen as became me. I would
rather precede thee to the grave than live to be thy husband.
"Thou hast done my work for me. Thou hast saved thyself and me
from a thousand evils. Thou hast acted as seemed to thee best, and I
am satisfied.
"Hast thou decided erroneously? They that know thee need not
marvel at that. Endless have been the proofs of thy frailty. In favour
of this last act something may be said. It is the last thou wilt ever
commit. Others only will experience its effects; thou hast, at least,
provided for thy own safety.
"But what is here? A letter for me? Had thy understanding been as
175 ORMON D
prompt as thy fingers, I could have borne with thee. I can easily
divine the contents of this epistle."
He opened it, and found the tenor to be as follows: —
"You did not use, my dear friend, to part with me in this manner.
You never before treated me so roughly. I am sorry, indeed I am, that I
ever offended you. Could you suppose that I intended it? And if you
knew that I meant not offence, why did you take offence?
"I am very unhappy, for I have lost you, my friend.You will never
see me more, you say. That is very hard. I have deserved it, to-be-sure,
but I do not know how it has happened. Nobody more desired to
please than I have done. Morning, noon, and night, it was my only
study: but you will love me no more; you will see me no more. For-
give me, my friend, but I must say, it is very hard.
"You said rightly; I do not wish to live without my friend. I have
spent my life happily heretofore. 'Tis true, there have been transient
uneasinesses, but your love was a reward and a cure for every thing. I
desired nothing better in this world. Did you ever hear me murmur?
No; I was not so unjust. My lot was happy, infinitely beyond my
deserving. I merited not to be loved by you. Oh that I had suitable
words to express my gratitude for your kindness! but this last meeting,
— how different from that which went before? Yet even then there was
something on your brow like discontent, which I could not warble
nor whisper away as I used to do. But, sad as this was, it was nothing
like the last.
"Could Ormond be so stern and so terrible? You knew that I
would die, but you need not have talked as if I were in the way, and as
if you had rather I should die than live. But one thing I rejoice at; I
am a poor silly girl, but Constantia is a noble and accomplished one.
Most joyfully do I resign you to her, my dear friend.You say you love
her. She need not be afraid of accepting you. There will be no danger
of your preferring another to her. It was very natural and very right
for you to prefer her to me. She and you will be happy in each other.
It is this that sweetens the cup I am going to drink. Never did I go to
sleep with more good-will than I now go to death. Fare you well, my
dear friend."
This letter was calculated to make a deeper impression on
Ormond than even the sight of Helena's corpse. It was in vain, for
176 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
some time, that he endeavoured to reconcile himself to this event. It
was seldom that he was able to forget it. He was obliged to exert all
his energies to enable him to support the remembrance.The task was,
of course, rendered easier by time.
It was immediately requisite to attend to the disposal of the
corpse. He felt himself unfit for this mournful office. He was willing
to relieve himself from it by any expedient. Helena s next neighbour
was an old lady, whose scruples made her shun all direct intercourse
with this unhappy girl; yet she had performed many acts of neigh-
bourly kindness. She readily obeyed the summons of Ormond, on
this occasion, to take charge of affairs, till another should assume it.
Ormond returned home, and sent the following note to Constantia: -
"You have predicted aright. Helena is dead. In a mind like yours
every grief will be suspended, and every regard absorbed in the atten-
tion due to the remains of this unfortunate girl. / cannot attend to
them."
Constantia was extremely shocked by this intelligence, but she was
not unmindful of her duty. She prepared herself, with mournful
alacrity, for the performance of it. Every thing that the occasion
demanded was done with diligence and care. Till this was accom-
plished, Ormond could not prevail upon himself to appear upon the
stage. He was informed of this by a note from Constantia, who
requested him to take possession of the unoccupied dwelling and its
furniture.
Among the terms of his contract with Helena, Ormond had vol-
untarily inserted the exclusive property of a house and its furniture in
this city, with funds adequate to her plentiful maintenance. These he
had purchased and transferred to her. To this he had afterwards added
a rural retreat, in the midst of spacious and well-cultivated fields, three
miles from Perth-Amboy, and seated on the right bank of the Sound.
It is proper to mention that this farm was formerly the property of
Mr. Dudley, - had been fitted up by him and used as his summer-
abode during his prosperity. In the division of his property it had fall-
en to one of his creditors, from whom it had been purchased by
Ormond. This circumstance, in conjunction with the love which she
bore to Constantia, had suggested to Helena a scheme, which her
want of foresight would, in different circumstances, have occasioned
177 ORMON D
her to overlook. It was that of making her testament, by which she
bequeathed all that she possessed to her friend. This was not done
without the knowledge and cheerful concurrence of Ormond, who,
together with Melbourne and another respectable citizen, were
named executors. Melbourne and his friend were induced, by their
respect for Constantia, to consent to this nomination.
This had taken place before Ormond and Constantia had been
introduced to each other. After this event, Ormond had sometimes
been employed in contriving means for securing to his new friend
and her father a subsistence more certain than the will of Helena
could afford. Her death he considered as an event equally remote and
undesirable. This event, however unexpectedly, had now happened,
and precluded the necessity of further consideration on this head.
Constantia could not but accept this bequest. Had it been her wish
to decline, it was not in her power; but she justly regarded the leisure
and independence thus conferred upon her as inestimable benefits. It
was a source of unbounded satisfaction on her father s account, who
was once more seated in the bosom of affluence. Perhaps, in a rational
estimate, one of the most fortunate events that could have befallen
those persons was that period of adversity through which they had
been doomed to pass. Most of the defects that adhered to the charac-
ter of Mr. Dudley had, by this means, been exterminated. He was now
cured of those prejudices which his early prosperity had instilled, and
which had flowed from luxurious indulgences. He had learned to
estimate himself at his true value, and to sympathize with sufferings
which he himself had partaken.
It was easy to perceive in what light Constantia was regarded by
her father. He never reflected on his relation to her without rapture.
Her qualities were the objects of his adoration. He resigned himself
with pleasure to her guidance. The chain of subordination and duties
was reversed. By the ascendency of her genius and wisdom, the
province of protection and the tribute of homage had devolved upon
her. This had resulted from incessant experience of the wisdom of her
measures, and the spectacle of her fortitude and skill in every emer-
gency.
It seemed as if but one evil adhered to the condition of this man.
His blindness was an impediment to knowledge and enjoyment, of
which the utmost to be hoped was, that he should regard it without
pungent regret, and that he should sometimes forget it; that his mind
178 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
should occasionally stray into foreign paths, and lose itself in sprightly
conversations or benign reveries. This evil, however, was by no means
remediless.
A surgeon of uncommon skill had lately arrived from Europe. He
was one of the numerous agents and dependants of Ormond, and had
been engaged to abdicate his native country for purposes widely
remote from his profession. The first use that was made of him was to
introduce him to Mr. Dudley. The diseased organs were critically
examined, and the patient was, with considerable difficulty, prevailed
upon to undergo the necessary operation. His success corresponded
with Constantia's wishes, and her father was once more restored to
the enjoyment of light.
These were auspicious events. Constantia held herself amply
repaid by them for all that she had suffered. These sufferings had
indeed been light, when compared with the effects usually experi-
enced by others in a similar condition. Her wisdom had extracted its
sting from adversity, and, without allowing herself to feel much of the
evils of its reign, had employed it as an instrument by which the sum
of her present happiness was increased. Few suffered less, in the midst
of poverty, than she. No one ever extracted more felicity from the
prosperous reverse.
WHEN time had somewhat mitigated the memory of the late disaster,
the intercourse between Ormond and Constantia was renewed. The
lady did not overlook her obligations to her friend. It was to him that
she was indebted for her father's restoration to sight, and to whom
both owed, essentially, though indirectly, their present affluence. In
her mind, gratitude was no perverse or ignoble principle. She viewed
this man as the author of extensive benefits, of which her situation
enabled her to judge more accurately than others. It created no bias
on her judgment, or, at least, none of which she was sensible. Her
equity was perfectly unfettered; and she decided in a way contrary to
his inclination, with as little scruple as if the benefits had been
received not by herself, but by him. She indeed intended his benefit,
though she thwarted his inclinations.
She had few visitants beside himself. Their interviews were daily
CHAPTER XVIII.
179 ORMON D
and unformal. The fate of Helena never produced any reproaches on
her part. She saw the uselessness of recrimination, not only because
she desired to produce emotions different from those which invective
is adapted to excite, but because it was more just to soothe than to
exasperate the inquietudes which haunted him.
She now enjoyed leisure. She had always been solicitous for mental
improvement. Any means subservient to this end were valuable. The
conversation of Ormond was an inexhaustible fund. By the variety of
topics and the excitements to reflection it supplied, a more plenteous
influx of knowledge was produced than could have flowed from any
other source. There was no end to the detailing of facts and the can-
vassing of theories.
I have already said that Ormond was engaged in schemes of an
arduous and elevated nature. These were the topics of epistolary dis-
cussion between him and a certain number of coadjutors in different
parts of the world. In general discourse, it was proper to maintain a
uniform silence respecting these, not only because they involved prin-
ciples and views remote from vulgar apprehension, but because their
success, in some measure, depended on their secrecy. He could not
give a stronger proof of his confidence in the sagacity and steadiness
of Constantia than he now gave, by imparting to her his schemes and
requesting her advice and assistance in the progress of them.
His disclosures, however, were imperfect. What knowledge was
imparted, instead of appeasing, only tended to inflame, her curiosity.
His answers to her inquiries were prompt, and, at first sight, sufficient-
ly explicit; but, upon reconsideration, an obscurity seemed to gather
round them, to be dispelled by new interrogatories. These, in like
manner, effected a momentary purpose, but were sure speedily to lead
into new conjectures and reimmerse her in doubts. The task was
always new, was always in the point of being finished, and always to be
recommenced.
Ormond aspired to nothing more ardently than to hold the reins
of opinion, - to exercise absolute power over the conduct of others,
not by constraining their limbs or by exacting obedience to his
authority, but in a way of which his subjects should be scarcely con-
scious. He desired that his guidance should control their steps, but
that his agency, when most effectual, should be least suspected.
If he were solicitous to govern the thoughts of Constantia, or to
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 180
regulate her condition, the mode which he pursued had hitherto
been admirably conducive to that end. To have found her friendless
and indigent accorded, with the most fortunate exactness, with his
views. That she should have descended to this depth, from a prosper-
ous height, and therefore be a stranger to the torpor which attends
hereditary poverty, and be qualified rightly to estimate and use the
competence to which, by his means, she was now restored, was all
that his providence would have prescribed.
Her thoughts were equally obsequious to his direction. The novel-
ty and grandeur of his schemes could not fail to transport a mind
ardent and capacious as that of Constantia. Here his fortune had been
no less propitious. He did not fail to discover, and was not slow to
seize, the advantages flowing thence. By explaining his plans, oppor-
tunity was furnished to lead and to confine her meditations to the
desirable track. By adding fictitious embellishments, he adapted it
with more exactness to his purpose. By piecemeal and imperfect dis-
closures her curiosity was kept alive.
I have described Ormond as having contracted a passion for Con-
stantia. This passion certainly existed in his heart, but it must not be
conceived to be immutable, or to operate independently of all those
impulses and habits which time had interwoven in his character. The
person and affections of this woman were the objects sought by him,
and which it was the dearest purpose of his existence to gain. This was
his supreme good, though the motives to which it was indebted for
its pre-eminence in his imagination were numerous and complex.
I have enumerated his opinions on the subject of wedlock. The
question will obviously occur, whether Constantia was sought by him
with upright or flagitious views. His sentiments and resolutions, on
this head, had for a time fluctuated, but were now steadfast. Marriage
was, in his eyes, hateful and absurd as ever. Constantia was to be
obtained by any means. If other terms were rejected, he was willing,
for the sake of this good, to accept her as a wife; but this was a choice
to be made only when every expedient was exhausted for reconciling
her to a compact of a different kind.
For this end, he prescribed to himself a path suited to the character
of this lady. He made no secret of his sentiments and views. He
avowed his love, and described, without scruple, the scope of his
wishes. He challenged her to confute his principles, and promised a
ORMON D 181
candid audience and profound consideration to her arguments. Her
present opinions he knew to be adverse to his own, but he hoped to
change them by subtlety and perseverance. His further hopes and
designs he concealed from her. She was unaware that, if he were
unable to effect a change in her creed, he was determined to adopt a
system of imposture, — to assume the guise of a convert to her doc-
trines, and appear as devout as herself in his notions of the sanctity of
marriage.
Perhaps it was not difficult to have foreseen the consequence of
these projects. Constantia's peril was imminent. This arose not only
from the talents and address of Ormond, but from the community of
sentiment which already existed between them. She was unguarded in
a point where, if not her whole yet doubtless her principal security
and strongest bulwark would have existed. She was unacquainted with
religion. She was unhabituated to conform herself to any standard but
that connected with the present life. Matrimonial as well as every
other human duty was disconnected in her mind with any awful or
divine sanction. She formed her estimate of good and evil on nothing
but terrestrial and visible consequences.
This defect in her character she owed to her father's system of
education. Mr. Dudley was an adherent to what he conceived to be
true religion. No man was more passionate in his eulogy of his own
form of devotion and belief, or in his invectives against atheistical
dogmas; but he reflected that religion assumed many forms, one only
of which is salutary or true, and that truth in this respect is incompat-
ible with infantile and premature instruction.
To this subject it was requisite to apply the force of a mature and
unfettered understanding. For this end he laboured to lead away the
juvenile reflections of Constantia from religious topics, to detain them
in the paths of history and eloquence, - to accustom her to the accu-
racy of geometrical deduction, and to the view of those evils that
have flowed, in all ages, from mistaken piety.
In consequence of this scheme, her habits rather than her opinions
were undevout. Religion was regarded by her, not with disbelief, but
with absolute indifference. Her good sense forbade her to decide
before inquiry, but her modes of study and reflection were foreign to,
and unfitted her for, this species of discussion. Her mind was seldom
called to meditate on this subject, and, when it occurred, her percep-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 182
tions were vague and obscure. No objects in the sphere which she
occupied were calculated to suggest to her the importance of investi-
gation and certainty.
It becomes me to confess, however reluctantly, thus much con-
cerning my friend. However abundantly endowed in other respects,
she was a stranger to the felicity and excellence flowing from religion.
In her struggles with misfortune, she was supported and cheered by
the sense of no approbation but her own. A defect of this nature will
perhaps be regarded as of less moment, when her extreme youth is
remembered. All opinions in her mind were mutable, inasmuch as the
progress of her understanding was incessant.
It was otherwise with Ormond. His disbelief was at once
unchangeable and strenuous. The universe was to him a series of
events connected by an undesigning and inscrutable necessity, and an
assemblage of forms to which no beginning or end can be conceived.
Instead of transient views and vague ideas, his meditations, on reli-
gious points, had been intense. Enthusiasm was added to disbelief, and
he not only dissented but abhorred.
He deemed it prudent, however, to disguise sentiments which, if
unfolded in their full force, would wear to her the appearance of
insanity. But he saw and was eager to improve the advantage which
his anti-nuptial creed derived from the unsettled state of her opin-
ions. He was not unaware, likewise, of the auspicious and indispens-
able co-operation of love. If this advocate were wanting in her
bosom, all his efforts would be in vain. If this pleader were engaged in
his behalf, he entertained no doubts of his ultimate success. He con-
ceived that her present situation, all whose comforts were the fruits of
his beneficence, and which afforded her no other subject of contem-
plation than himself, was as favourable as possible to the growth of
this passion.
Constantia was acquainted with his wishes. She could not fail to
see that she might speedily be called upon to determine a momen-
tous question. Her own sensations and the character of Ormond
were, therefore, scrutinized with suspicious attention. Marriage could
be justified in her eyes only by community of affections and opinions.
She might love without the sanction of her judgment; but while des-
titute of that sanction, she would never suffer it to sway her conduct.
Ormond was imperfectly known. What knowledge she had gained
ORMON D 183
flowed chiefly from his own lips, and was therefore unattended with
certainty. What portion of deceit or disguise was mixed with his con-
versation could be known only by witnessing his actions with her
own eyes and comparing his testimony with that of others. He had
embraced a multitude of opinions which appeared to her erroneous.
Till these were rectified, and their conclusions were made to corre-
spond, wedlock was improper. Some of these obscurities might be
dispelled, and some of these discords be resolved into harmony, by
time. Meanwhile, it was proper to guard the avenues to her heart and
screen herself from self-delusion.
There was no motive to conceal her reflections on this topic from
her father. Mr. Dudley discovered, without her assistance, the views of
Ormond. His daughter's happiness was blended with his own. He
lived but in the consciousness of her tranquillity. Her image was sel-
dom absent from his eyes, and never from his thoughts.The emotions
which it excited sprung but in part from the relationship of father. It
was gratitude and veneration which she claimed from him, and which
filled him with rapture.
He ruminated deeply on the character of Ormond. The political
and anti-theological tenets of this man were regarded not merely with
disapprobation, but antipathy. He was not ungrateful for the benefits
which had been conferred upon him. Ormond's peculiarities of senti-
ment excited no impatience, as long as he was regarded merely as a
visitant. It was only as one claiming to possess his daughter that his
presence excited, in Mr. Dudley, trepidation and loathing.
Ormond was unacquainted with what was passing in the mind of
Mr. Dudley. The latter conceived his own benefactor and his daugh-
ter s friend to be entitled to the most scrupulous and affable urbanity.
His objections to a nearer alliance were urged with frequent and
pathetic vehemence, only in his private interviews with Constantia.
Ormond and he seldom met; Mr. Dudley, as soon as his sight was per-
fectly retrieved, betook himself with eagerness to painting, — an
amusement which his late privations had only contributed to endear
to him.
Things remained nearly on their present footing for some months.
At the end of this period, some engagement obliged Ormond to leave
the city. He promised to return with as much speed as circumstances
would admit. Meanwhile, his letters supplied her with topics of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 184
reflection. These were frequently received, and were models of that
energy of style which results from simplicity of structure, from
picturesque epithets, and from the compression of much meaning
into few words. His arguments seldom imparted conviction, but
delight never failed to flow from their lucid order and cogent brevity.
His narratives were unequalled for rapidity and comprehensiveness.
Every sentence was a treasury to moralists and painters.
DOMESTIC and studious occupations did not wholly engross the
attention of Constantia. Social pleasures were precious to her heart,
and she was not backward to form fellowships and friendships with
those around her. Hitherto she had met with no one entitled to an
uncommon portion of regard, or worthy to supply the place of the
friend of her infancy. Her visits were rare, and, as yet, chiefly confined
to the family of Mr. Melbourne. Here she was treated with flattering
distinctions, and enjoyed opportunities of extending, as far as she
pleased, her connections with the gay and opulent. To this she felt
herself by no means inclined, and her life was still eminently distin-
guished by love of privacy and habits of seclusion.
One morning, feeling an indisposition to abstraction, she deter-
mined to drop in, for an hour, on Mrs. Melbourne. Finding Mrs. Mel-
bourne's parlor unoccupied, she proceeded unceremoniously to an
apartment on the second floor, where that lady was accustomed to sit.
She entered, but this room was likewise empty. Here she cast her eyes
on a collection of prints, copied from the Farnese collection, and
employed herself, for some minutes, in comparing the forms of
Titiano and the Caracchi.
1
Suddenly, notes of peculiar sweetness were wafted to her ear from
without. She listened with surprise, for the tones of her father s lute
ORMON D
CHAPTER XIX.
i Farnese,Titiano, the Caracchi: AUessandro Farnese, or Pope Paul III (1468-1549),
was a patron of the arts.TizianoVecellio (1477-1576), also known as Titian, was a
Venetian painter who deployed vibrant colours, dynamic scenes and golden light.
The Carracci were a family of sixteenth-century Bolognese artists — brothers
Annibale and Agostino, and cousin Ludovico — known for the Mannerist artifi-
ciality of their painting.
185
were distinctly recognised. She hied to the window, which chanced to
look into a back-court. The music was perceived to come from the
window of the next house. She recollected her interview with the
purchaser of her instrument at the music-shop, and the powerful
impression which the stranger's countenance had made upon her.
The first use she had made of her recent change of fortune was to
endeavour the recovery of this instrument. The music-dealer, when
reminded of the purchase, and interrogated as to the practicability of
regaining the lute, for which she was willing to give treble the price,
answered that he had no knowledge of the foreign lady beyond what
was gained at the interview which took place in Constantia's pres-
ence. Of her name, residence, and condition, he knew nothing, and
had endeavoured in vain to acquire knowledge.
Now, this incident seemed to have furnished her with the infor-
mation she so earnestly sought. This performer was probably the
stranger herself. Her residence, so near the Melbournes and in a house
which was the property of the magistrate, might be means of infor-
mation as to her condition, and perhaps of introduction to a personal
acquaintance.
While engaged in these reflections, Mrs. Melbourne entered the
apartment. Constantia related this incident to her friend, and stated
the motives of her present curiosity. Her friend willingly imparted
what knowledge she possessed relative to this subject.This was the
sum.
This house had been hired, previously to the appearance of yellow
fever, by an English family, who left their native soil with a view to a
permanent abode in the New World. They had scarcely taken posses-
sion of the dwelling, when they were terrified by the progress of the
epidemic. They had fled from the danger; but this circumstance, in
addition to some others, induced them to change their scheme. An
evil so unwonted as pestilence impressed them with a belief of per-
petual danger as long as they remained on this side of the ocean. They
prepared for an immediate return to England.
For this end their house was relinquished, and their splendid furni-
ture destined to be sold by auction. Before this event could take place,
application was made to Mr. Melbourne by a lady whom his wife's
description showed to be the same with her of whom Constantia was
in search. She not only rented the house, but negotiated, by means of
her landlord, the purchase of the furniture.
186 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
Her servants were blacks, and all but one, who officiated as stew-
ard, unacquainted with the English language. Some accident had
proved her name to be Beauvais. She had no visitants, very rarely
walked abroad, and then only in the evening with a female servant in
attendance. Her hours appeared to be divided between the lute and
the pen. As to her previous history or her present sources of subsis-
tence, Mrs. Melbourne's curiosity had not been idle; but no consistent
information was obtainable. Some incident had given birth to the
conjecture that she was wife, or daughter, or sister, of Beauvais, the
partisan of Brissot,
1
 whom the faction of Marat had lately consigned
to the scaffold; but this conjecture was unsupported by suitable evi-
dence.
This tale by no means diminished Constantia's desire of personal
intercourse. She saw no means of effecting her purpose. Mrs.
Melbourne was unqualified to introduce her, having been dis-
couraged in all the advances she had made towards a more friendly
intercourse. Constantia reflected that her motives to seclusion would
probably induce this lady to treat others as her friend had been
treated.
It was possible, however, to gain access to her, if not as a friend, yet
as the original proprietor of the lute. She determined to employ the
agency of Roseveldt, the music shopman, for the purpose of rebuying
this instrument. To enforce her application, she commissioned this
person, whose obliging temper entitled him to confidence, to state
her inducements for originally offering it for sale, and her motives for
desiring the repossession on any terms which the lady thought proper
to dictate.
Roseveldt fixed an hour in which it was convenient for him to
execute her commission. This hour having passed, Constantia, who
was anxious respecting his success, hastened to his house. Roseveldt
delivered the instrument, which the lady, having listened to his pleas
i Bertrand Poivier de Beauvais (1755-1827): organizer of the Armee Vendeenne, a
group of tens of thousands of peasants from the northwest of France who opposed
the Revolution, killed republicans and attempted to assist a British invasion. It is
unclear how Martinette assumes this surname (through a second marriage?) or
why, since Beauvais would have been associated with royalist restoration rather than
with democratic revolutions in which Martinette claims to have participated.
Jacques Pierre Brissot de Warville (1754-93): French revolutionary and pamphle-
teer, leader of the Girondists. Envisioned radical reforms to regender roles in family
and nation.
187 ORMON D
and offers, directed to be gratuitously restored to Constantia. At first,
she had expressed her resolution to part with it on no account and at
no price. Its music was her only recreation, and this instrument sur-
passed any she had ever before seen, in the costliness and delicacy of
its workmanship. But Roseveldt's representations produced an instant
change of resolution, and she not only eagerly consented to restore it,
but refused to receive any thing in payment.
Constantia was deeply affected by this unexpected generosity. It
was not her custom to be outstripped in this career. She now con-
demned herself for her eagerness to regain this instrument. During
her fathers blindness, it was a powerful, because the only, solace of his
melancholy. Now he had no longer the same anxieties to encounter,
and books and the pencil were means of gratification always at hand.
The lute, therefore, she imagined, could be easily dispensed with by
Mr. Dudley, whereas its power of consoling might be as useful to the
unknown lady as it had formerly been to her father. She readily per-
ceived in what manner it became her to act. Roseveldt was commis-
sioned to redeliver the lute, and to entreat the lady's acceptance of it.
The tender was received without hesitation, and Roseveldt dismissed
without any inquiry relative to Constantia.
These transactions were reflected on by Constantia with consider-
able earnestness. The conduct of the stranger, her affluent and lonely
state, her conjectural relationship to the actors in the great theatre of
Europe, were mingled together in the fancy of Constantia, and
embellished with the conceptions of her beauty derived from their
casual meeting at Roseveldt's. She forgot not their similitude in age
and sex, and delighted to prolong the dream of future confidence and
friendship to take place between them. Her heart sighed for a com-
panion fitted to partake in all her sympathies.
This strain, by being connected with the image of a being like
herself, who had grown up with her from childhood, who had
been entwined with her earliest affections, but from whom she had
been severed from the period at which her father's misfortunes
commenced, and of whose present condition she was wholly
ignorant, was productive of the deepest melancholy. It filled her
with excruciating and, for a time, irremediable sadness. It formed
a kind of paroxysm, which, like some febrile affections, approached
and retired without warning, and against the most vehement
struggles.
188 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
In this mood, her fancy was thronged with recollections of scenes
in which her friend had sustained a part. Their last interview was
commonly revived in her remembrance so forcibly as almost to
produce a lunatic conception of its reality. A ditty which they had
sung together on that occasion flowed to her lips. If ever human tones
were qualified to convey the whole soul, they were those of Cons-
tantia when she sang: -
"The breeze awakes; the bark prepares
To waft me to a distant shore;
But far beyond this world of cares,
We meet again to part no more."
These fits were accustomed to approach and to vanish by degrees.
They were transitory, but not infrequent, and were pregnant with
such agonizing tenderness, such heart-breaking sighs, and a flow of
such bitter yet delicious tears, that it were not easily decided whether
the pleasure or the pain surmounted. When symptoms of their com-
ing were felt, she hastened into solitude, that the progress of her feel-
ings might endure no restraint.
On the evening of the day on which the lute had been sent to the
foreign lady, Constantia was alone in her chamber, immersed in
desponding thoughts. From these she was recalled by Fabian, her
black servant, who announced a guest. She was loath to break off the
thread of her present meditations, and inquired, with a tone of some
impatience, who was the guest. The servant was unable to tell; it was a
young lady whom he had never before seen; she had opened for her-
self, and entered the parlour without previous notice.
Constantia paused at this relation. Her thoughts had recently been
fixed upon Sophia Westwyn. Since their parting four years before, she
had heard no tidings of this woman. Her fears imagined no more
probable cause of her friend's silence than her death. This, however,
was uncertain. The question now occurred, and brought with it sen-
sations that left her no power to move: - was this the guest?
Her doubts were quickly dispelled, for the stranger, taking a light
from the table, and not brooking the servant's delay, followed Fabian
to the chamber of his mistress. She entered with careless freedom, and
presented, to the astonished eyes of Constantia, the figure she had met
at Roseveldt's, and the purchaser of her lute.
189 ORMON D
The stranger advanced towards her with quick steps, and, mingling
tones of benignity and sprightliness, said: —
"I have come to perform a duty. I have received from you to-day a
lute, that I valued almost as my best friend. To find another in Ameri-
ca would not, perhaps, be possible; but, certainly, none equally superb
and exquisite as this can be found. To show how highly I esteem the
gift, I have come in person to thank you for it." There she stopped.
Constantia could not suddenly recover from the extreme surprise
into which the unexpectedness of this meeting had thrown her. She
could scarcely sufficiently suppress this confusion to enable her to
reply to these rapid effusions of her visitant, who resumed with aug-
mented freedom: —
"I came, as I said, to thank you; but, to say the truth, that was not
all. I came likewise to see you. Having done my errand, I suppose I
must go. I would fain stay longer and talk to you a little: will you give
me leave?"
Constantia, scarcely retrieving her composure, stammered out a
polite assent. They seated themselves, and the visitant, pressing the
hand which she had taken, proceeded in a strain so smooth, so flow-
ing, sliding from grave to gay, blending vivacity with tenderness, inter-
preting Constantia s silence with so keen sagacity, and accounting for
the singularities of her own deportment in a way so respectful to her
companion, and so worthy of a steadfast and pure mind in herself, that
every embarrassment and scruple were quickly banished from their
interview.
In an hour the guest took her leave. No promise of repeating her
visit, and no request that Constantia would repay it, was made. Their
parting seemed to be the last; whatever purpose having been contem-
plated, appeared to be accomplished by this transient meeting. It was
of a nature deeply to interest the mind of Constantia. This was the
lady who talked with Roseveldt and bargained with Melbourne, and
they had been induced, by appearances, to suppose her ignorant of
any language but French; but her discourse, on the present occasion,
was in English, and was distinguished by unrivalled fluency. Her
phrases and habits of pronouncing were untinctured with any foreign
mixture, and bespoke the perfect knowledge of a native of America.
On the next evening, while Constantia was reviewing this trans-
action, calling up and weighing the sentiments which the stranger had
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 190
uttered, and indulging some regret at the unlikelihood of their again
meeting, Martinette (for I shall henceforth call her by her true name),
entered the apartment as abruptly as before. She accounted for the
visit merely by the pleasure it afforded her, and proceeded in a strain
even more versatile and brilliant than before. This interview ended,
like the first, without any tokens, on the part of the guest, of resolu-
tion or desire to renew it; but a third interview took place on the
ensuing day.
Henceforth Martinette became a frequent but hasty visitant, and
Constantia became daily more enamoured of her new acquaintance.
She did not overlook peculiarities in the conversation and deport-
ment of this woman. These exhibited no tendencies to confidence, or
traces of sympathy They merely denoted large experience, vigorous
faculties, and masculine attainments. Herself was never introduced,
except as an observer; but her observations on government and man-
ners were profound and critical.
Her education seemed not widely different from that which
Constantia had received. It was classical and mathematical; but to this
was added a knowledge of political and military transactions in
Europe during the present age, which implied the possession of better
means of information than books. She depicted scenes and characters
with the accuracy of one who had partaken and witnessed them
herself.
Constantia s attention had been chiefly occupied by personal con-
cerns. Her youth had passed in contention with misfortune, or in the
quietudes of study. She could not be unapprized of contemporary
revolutions and wars, but her ideas respecting them were indefinite
and vague. Her views and her inferences on this head were general
and speculative. Her acquaintance with history was exact and circum-
stantial in proportion as she retired backward from her own age. She
knew more of the siege of Mutina than of that of Lille; more of the
machinations of Catiline and the tumults of Claudius, than of the
prostration of the Bastille and the proscriptions of Marat.
1
i Mutina: another name for Modena, a community in northern Italy, southwest of
Venice.
Lille, a city in Northern France captured by the English Duke of Marlborough in
1708 and not restored to France until the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Democrats
during the Belgian revolution fled Belgian provinces for exile in Lille. Catiline
(c.ioS BC-62 BC) was a Roman politician and conspirator barred from candidacy
for the consulship because of accusations of misconduct in office, charges that later
191 ORMON D
She listened, therefore, with unspeakable eagerness to this reciter,
who detailed to her, as the occasion suggested, the progress of action
and opinion on the theatre of France and Poland. Conceived and
rehearsed as this was, with the energy and copiousness of one who
sustained a part in the scene, the mind of Constantia was always kept
at the pitch of curiosity and wonder.
But, while this historian described the features, personal deport-
ment, and domestic character of Antoinette, Mirabeau, and Robes-
pierre,
1
 an impenetrable veil was drawn over her own condition.
There was a warmth and freedom in her details, which bespoke her
own co-agency in these events, but was unattended by transports of
indignation or sorrow, or by pauses of abstraction, such as were likely
to occur in one whose hopes and fears had been intimately blended
with public events.
Constantia could not but derive humiliation from comparing her
own slender acquirements with those of her companion. She was sen-
sible that all the differences between them arose from diversities of sit-
uation. She was eager to discover in what particulars this diversity
consisted. She was for a time withheld, by scruples not easily
explained, from disclosing her wishes. An accident, however,
occurred, to remove these impediments. One evening, this unceremo-
proved false. Catiline, feeling cheated, concocted a plot to murder the consuls. He
and his conspirators were acquitted in 65 BC. When he ran again in 63 BC, Cicero,
the incumbent, and the conservative party were keen to prevent his election at any
cost and Catiline was defeated. Claudius i (10 BC-AD54) was Roman emperor
from AD 41-54.
The Bastille, fortress and prison in Paris, was a hated symbol of absolutism during
the French Revolution because it housed political prisoners. On July 14, 1789, a
mob stormed the prison, marking the start of lower-class participation in the
French Revolution.
Jean Paul Marat (1743-93)
 wa
s a French doctor turned revolutionary/journalist
who founded the radical journal UAmi du peuple which bitterly attacked those in
power. He was elected in 1792 to the Convention.
i Marie Antoinette (1755-93) was Queen consort of Louis XVI, King of France.
Unpopular because of her extravagance and insensitivity toward the masses, she was
tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal during the French Revolution and executed.
Mirabeau, Comte de. Title of Honore Gabriel Victor Riqueti (1749-91). A French
revolutionary elected President of the National Assembly. Robespierre, Maximilien
Francois Marie Isidore de (1758-94) was a dogmatic French revolutionary, leader of
the Jacobins and the fanatic architect of the Reign of Terror, which permitted the
confiscation of property and arrest of suspected traitors (primarily Girondists),
many of whom were guillotined. His strict adherence to principle led democrats
around the world to fear the excesses of democracy.
192 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
nious visitant discovered Constantia busily surveying a chart of the
Mediterranean Sea. This circumstance led the discourse to the present
state of Syria and Cyprus. Martinette was copious in her details. Con-
stantia listened for a time; and, when a pause ensued, questioned her
companion as to the means she possessed of acquiring so much
knowledge. This question was proposed with diffidence, and prefaced
by apologies.
"Instead of being offended by your question," replied the guest,"!
only wonder that it never before occurred to you. Travellers tell us
much.Volney and Mariti
1
 would have told you nearly all that I have
told. With these I have conversed personally, as well as read their
books; but my knowledge is, in truth, a species of patrimony. I inherit
it."
"Will you be good enough," said Constantia, "to explain your-
self?"
"My mother was a Greek of Cyprus. My father was a Slavonian of
Ragusa, and I was born in a garden at Aleppo."
2
"That was a singular concurrence."
"How singular? That a nautical vagrant like my father should
sometimes anchor in the Bay of Naples; that a Cyprian merchant
should carry his property and daughter beyond the reach of a Turkish
sanjack,
3
 and seek an asylum so commodious as Napoli; that my
father should have dealings with this merchant, see, love, and marry
his daughter, and afterwards procure, from the French Government, a
consular commission at Aleppo; that the union should, in due time, be
productive of a son and daughter,- are events far from being singular.
They happen daily."
1 Volney: Constantin Francois de Chasse-boeuf, comte de (1757-1820), a French his-
torian and travel "writer, author of Les Ruines, ou Meditations sur les revolutions des
empires (1791). Volney's work on the ruins of Palmyra, inspired by Enlightenment
philosophy, attributed the rise and fall of civilizations to human greed, ignorance,
and resistance to natural law, but asserted that Nature and Reason could lead
humanity to freedom. When the American Government passed the Alien and Sedi-
tion Laws in 1798,Volney, who had been staying in Philadelphia, left the city, fear-
ing that his support of the Republicans would be interpreted by Federalists as
sedition. Giovanni Mariti (1736-1806) was an Italian and, like Volney, a travel writer.
Most notably, he wrote Travels in the Islands of Cyprus.
2 Ragusa: a city of southeast Sicily, Italy, south-southwest of Messina. Aleppo is a city
of northwest Syria near the Turkish border. Aleppo prospered under the Ottoman
Turks (from 1517).
3 sanjack: in the Turkish Empire, an administrative district.
193 ORMON D
"And may I venture to ask if this be your history?"
"The history of my parents. I hope you do not consider the place
my birth as the sole or the most important circumstance of my life."
"Nothing would please me more than to be enabled to compare it
with other incidents. I am apt to think that your life is a tissue of sur-
prising events. That the daughter of a Ragusan and Greek should have
seen and known so much; that she should talk English with equal
fluency and more correctness than a native; that I should now be con-
versing with her in a corner so remote from Cyprus and Sicily, are
events more wonderful than any which I have known."
"Wonderful! Pish! Thy ignorance, thy miscalculation of probabili-
ties, is far more so. My father talked to me in Slavonic. My mother
and her maids talked to me in Greek. My neighbours talked to me in
a medley of Arabic, Syriac, and Turkish. My father's secretary was a
scholar. He was as well versed in Lysias and Xenophon as any of their
contemporaries.
1
 He laboured for ten years to enable me to read a
language essentially the same with that I used daily to my nurse and
mother. Is it wonderful, then, that I should be skilful in Slavonic,
Greek, and the jargon of Aleppo? To have refrained from learning was
impossible. Suppose a girl, prompt, diligent, inquisitive, to spend ten
years of her life partly in Spain, partly in Tuscany, partly in France, and
partly in England. With her versatile curiosity and flexible organs,
would it be possible for her to remain ignorant of each of these
languages? Latin is the mother of them all, and presents itself, of
course, to her studious attention."
"I cannot easily conceive motives which should lead you, before
the age of twenty, through so many scenes."
"Can you not? You grew and flourished, like a frail mimosa, in the
spot where destiny had planted you. Thank my stars, I am somewhat
better than a vegetable. Necessity, it is true, and not choice, set me in
motion; but I am not sorry for the consequences."
"Is it too much," said Constantia, with some hesitation, "to request
a detail of your youthful adventures?"
"Too much to give, perhaps, at a short notice. To such as you, my
tale might abound with novelty, while to others, more acquainted
i Lysias (c. 459-380 BC): Greek orator and one of the best classical Greek prose writ-
ers. Xenophon (43O?-355? BC): Greek soldier and writer.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 194
with vicissitudes, it would be tedious and flat. I must be gone in a few
minutes. For that and for better reasons, I must not be minute. A sum-
mary, at present, will enable you to judge how far a more copious
narrative is suited to instruct or to please you.
"MY father, in proportion as he grew old and rich, became weary of
Aleppo. His natal soil, had it been the haunt of Calmucks or
Bedouins, his fancy would have transformed into Paradise. No won-
der that the equitable aristocracy and the peaceful husbandmen of
Ragusa should be endeared to his heart by comparison with Egyptian
plagues and Turkish tyranny. Besides, he lived for his children as well
as himself. Their education and future lot required him to seek a per-
manent home.
"He embarked, with his wife and offspring, at Scanderoon.
1
 No
immediate conveyance to Ragusa offering, the appearance of the
plague in Syria induced him to hasten his departure. He entered a
French vessel for Marseilles. After being three days at sea, one of the
crew was seized by the fatal disease, which had depopulated all the
towns upon the coast. The voyage was made with more than usual
despatch; but, before we reached our port, my mother and half the
crew perished. My father died in the Lazaretto,
2
 more through grief
than disease.
"My brother and I were children and helpless. My father's fortune
was on board this vessel, and was left by his death to the mercy of the
captain. This man was honest, and consigned us and our property to
the merchant with whom he dealt. Happily for us, our protector was
childless and of scrupulous integrity. We henceforth became his
adopted children. My brother's education and my own were conduct-
ed on the justest principles.
"At the end of four years, our protector found it expedient to
make a voyage to Cayenne.
3
 His brother was an extensive proprietor
1 Scanderoon: formerly Alexandretta, in southern Turkey, the chief port for Aleppo.
2 Lazaretto: a hospital treating contagious diseases.
3 Cayenne: the capital of French Guiana, on Cayenne Island at the mouth of the
Cayenne River.
195 ORMON D
CHAPTER XX.
in that colony, but his sudden death made way for the succession of
our friend. To establish his claims, his presence was necessary on the
spot. He was little qualified for arduous enterprises, and his age
demanded repose; but his own acquisitions having been small, and
being desirous of leaving us in possession of competence, he cheer-
fully embarked.
"Meanwhile, my brother was placed at a celebrated seminary in
the Pays de Vaud,
1
 and I was sent to a sister who resided at Verona.
I was at this time fourteen years old, — one year younger than my
brother, whom, since that period, I have neither heard of nor seen.
"I was now a woman, and qualified to judge and act for myself.
The character of my new friend was austere and devout, and there
were so many incongenial points between us that but little tranquilli-
ty was enjoyed under her control. The priest who discharged the
office of her confessor thought proper to entertain views with regard
to me, grossly inconsistent with the sanctity of his profession. He was
a man of profound dissimulation and masterly address. His efforts,
however, were repelled with disdain. My security against his attempts
lay in the uncouthness and deformity which nature had bestowed
upon his person and visage, rather than in the firmness of my own
principles.
"The courtship of Father Bartoli, the austerities of Madame
Roselli, the disgustful or insipid occupations to which I was con-
demned, made me impatiently wish for a change; but my father (so I
will call him) had decreed that I should remain under his sister's
guardianship till his return from Guiana. When this would happen
was uncertain. Events unforeseen might protract it for years, but it
could not arrive in less than a twelvemonth.
"I was incessantly preyed upon by discontent. My solitude was
loathsome. I panted after liberty and friendship, and the want of these
were not recompensed by luxury and quiet, and by the instructions in
useful science which I received from Bartoli, who, though detested as
a hypocrite and lover, was venerable as a scholar. He would fain have
been an Abelard, but it was not his fate to meet with an Eloisa.
2
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
1 Pays deVaud: canton in southwest Switzerland.
2 Abelard and Eloisa: famous pair of lovers. Peter Abelard (1079-1142?) was a French
philosopher, theologian and priest who fell in love with his student Eloisa.
196
"Two years passed away in this durance. My miseries were exquis-
ite. I am almost at a loss to account for the unhappiness of that time,
for, looking back upon it, I perceive that an equal period could not
have been spent with more benefit. For the sake of being near me,
Bartoli importunately offered his instructions. He had nothing to
communicate but metaphysics and geometry. These were little to my
taste, but I could not keep him at a distance. I had no other alternative
than to endure him as a lover or a teacher. His passion for science was
at least equal to that which he entertained for me, and both these pas-
sions combined to make him a sedulous instructor. He was a disciple
of the newest doctrines respecting matter and mind. He denied the
impenetrability of the first, and the immateriality of the second. These
he endeavoured to inculcate upon me, as well as to subvert my reli-
gious tenets, because he delighted, like all men, in transfusing his
opinions, and because he regarded my piety as the only obstacle to his
designs. He succeeded in dissolving the spell of ignorance, but not in
producing that kind of acquiescence he wished. He had, in this
respect, to struggle not only with my principles, but my weaknesses.
He might have overcome every obstacle but my abhorrence of defor-
mity and age. To cure me of this aversion was beyond his power. My
servitude grew daily more painful. I grew tired of chasing a comet to
its aphelion,
1
 and of untying the knot of an infinite series. A change
in my condition became indispensable to my very existence. Languor
and sadness, and unwillingness to eat or to move, were at last my per-
petual attendants.
"Madame Roselli was alarmed at my condition. The sources of my
inquietude were incomprehensible to her. The truth was, that I
scarcely understood them myself, and my endeavours to explain them
to my friend merely instilled into her an opinion that I was either
lunatic or deceitful. She complained and admonished; but my dis-
inclination to my usual employments would not be conquered, and
my health rapidly declined. A physician, who was called, confessed
that my case was beyond his power to understand, but recommended,
as a sort of desperate expedient, a change of scene. A succession and
variety of objects might possibly contribute to my cure.
"At this time there arrived, at Verona, Lady D'Arcy, — an English-
ORMON D
i aphelion: that point of a planet's or a comet's orbit farthest from the sun.
197
woman of fortune and rank, and a strenuous Catholic. Her husband
had lately died; and, in order to divert her grief, as well as to gratify
her curiosity in viewing the great seat of her religion, she had come
to Italy. Intercourse took place between her and Madame Roselli. By
this means she gained a knowledge of my person and condition, and
kindly offered to take me under her protection. She meant to traverse
every part of Italy, and was willing that I should accompany her in all
her wanderings.
"This offer was gratefully accepted, in spite of the artifices and
remonstrances of Bartoli. My companion speedily contracted for me
the affection of a mother. She was without kindred of her own reli-
gion, having acquired her faith, not by inheritance, but conversion.
She desired to abjure her native country, and to bind herself, by every
social tie, to a people who adhered to the same faith. Me she
promised to adopt as her daughter, provided her first impressions in
my favour were not belied by my future deportment.
"My principles were opposite to hers; but habit, an aversion to dis-
please my friend, my passion for knowledge, which my new condition
enabled me to gratify, all combined to make me a deceiver. But my
imposture was merely of a negative kind; I deceived her rather by for-
bearance to contradict, and by acting as she acted, than by open assent
and zealous concurrence. My new state was, on this account, not
devoid of inconvenience. The general deportment and sentiments of
Lady D'Arcy testified a vigorous and pure mind. New avenues to
knowledge, by converse with mankind and with books, and by the
survey of new scenes, were open for my use. Gratitude and veneration
attached me to my friend, and made the task of pleasing her, by a
seeming conformity of sentiments, less irksome.
"During this interval, no tidings were received by his sister, at
Verona, respecting the fate of Sebastian Roselli. The supposition of his
death was too plausible not to be adopted. What influence this disaster
possessed over my brother's destiny, I know not. The generosity of
Lady D'Arcy hindered me from experiencing any disadvantage from
this circumstance. Fortune seemed to have decreed that I should not
be reduced to the condition of an orphan.
"At an age and in a situation like mine, I could not long remain
unacquainted with love. My abode at Rome introduced me to the
knowledge of a youth from England, who had every property which I
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 198
regarded as worthy of esteem. He was a kinsman of Lady D'Arcy, and
as such admitted at her house on the most familiar footing. His patri-
mony was extremely slender, but was in his own possession. He had
no intention of increasing it by any professional pursuit, but was con-
tented with the frugal provision it afforded. He proposed no other
end of his existence than the acquisition of virtue and knowledge.
"The property of Lady D'Arcy was subject to her own disposal,
but, on the failure of a testament, this youth was, in legal succession,
the next heir. He was well acquainted with her temper and views,
but, in the midst of urbanity and gentleness, studied none of those
concealments of opinion which would have secured him her favour.
That he was not of her own faith was an insuperable, but the only,
obstacle to the admission of his claims.
"If conformity of age and opinions, and the mutual fascination of
love, be a suitable basis for marriage, Wentworth and I were destined
for each other. Mutual disclosure added sanctity to our affection; but,
the happiness of Lady D'Arcy being made to depend upon the disso-
lution of our compact, the heroism of Wentworth made him hasten
to dissolve it. As soon as she discovered our attachment, she displayed
symptoms of the deepest anguish. In addition to religious motives, her
fondness for me forbade her to exist but in my society and in the
belief of the purity of my faith. The contention, on my part, was
vehement between the regards due to her felicity and to my own.
Had Wentworth left me the power to decide, my decision would
doubtless have evinced the frailty of my fortitude and the strength of
my passion; but, having informed me fully of the reasons of his con-
duct, he precipitately retired from Rome. He left me no means of
tracing his footsteps and of assailing his weakness by expostulation
and entreaty.
"Lady D'Arcy was no less eager to abandon a spot where her hap-
piness had been so imminently endangered. Our next residence was
Palermo. I will not dwell upon the sensations produced by this disap-
pointment in me. I review them with astonishment and self-compas-
sion. If I thought it possible for me to sink again into imbecility so
ignominious, I should be disposed to kill myself.
"There was no end to vows of fondness and tokens of gratitude in
Lady D'Arcy. Her future life should be devoted to compensate me for
this sacrifice. Nothing could console her in that single state in which
ORMON D 199
she intended to live, but the consolations of my fellowship. Her con-
duct coincided for some time with these professions, and my anguish
was allayed by the contemplation of the happiness conferred upon
one whom I revered.
"My friend could not be charged with dissimulation and artifice.
Her character had been mistaken by herself as well as by me. Devout
affections seemed to have filled her heart, to the exclusion of any
object besides myself. She cherished with romantic tenderness the
memory of her husband, and imagined that a single state was indis-
pensably enjoined upon her by religious duty. This persuasion, how-
ever, was subverted by the arts of a Spanish cavalier, young, opulent,
and romantic as herself in devotion. An event like this might, indeed,
have been easily predicted, by those who reflected that the lady was
still in the bloom of life, ardent in her temper, and bewitching in her
manners.
"The fondness she had lavished upon me was now, in some
degree, transferred to a new object; but I still received the treatment
due to a beloved daughter. She was solicitous as ever to promote my
gratification, and a diminution of kindness would not have been sus-
pected by those who had not witnessed the excesses of her former
passion. Her marriage with the Spaniard removed the obstacle to
union with Wentworth. This man, however, had set himself beyond
the reach of my inquiries. Had there been the shadow of a clue
afforded me, I should certainly have sought him to the ends of the
world.
"I continued to reside with my friend, and accompanied her and
her husband to Spain. Antonio de Leyva was a man of probity. His
mind was enlightened by knowledge and his actions dictated by
humanity. Though but little older than myself, and young enough to
be the son of his spouse, his deportment to me was a model of recti-
tude and delicacy. I spent a year in Spain, partly in the mountains of
Castile and partly at Segovia. New manners and a new language
occupied my attention for a time; but these, losing their novelty, lost
their power to please. I betook myself to books, to beguile the
tediousness and diversify the tenor of my life.
"This would not have long availed; but I was relieved from new
repinings, by the appointment of Antonio de Leyva to a diplomatic
office at Vienna. Thither we accordingly repaired. A coincidence of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 200
circumstances had led me wide from the path of ambition and study
usually allotted to my sex and age. From the computation of eclipses,
I now betook myself to the study of man. My proficiency, when I
allowed it to be seen, attracted great attention. Instead of adulation
and gallantry, I was engaged in watching the conduct of states and
revolving the theories of politicians.
"Superficial observers were either incredulous with regard to my
character, or connected a stupid wonder with their belief. My attain-
ments and habits they did not see to be perfectly consonant with the
principles of human nature. They unavoidably flowed from the illicit
attachment of Bartoli, and the erring magnanimity ofWentworth.
Aversion to the priest was the grand inciter of my former studies; the
love ofWentworth, whom I hoped once more to meet, made me
labour to exclude the importunities of others, and to qualify myself
for securing his affections.
"Since our parting in Italy, Wentworth had traversed Syria and
Egypt, and arrived some months after me at Vienna. He was on the
point of leaving the city, when accident informed me of his being
there. An interview was effected, and, our former sentiments respect-
ing each other having undergone no change, we were united. Madam
de Leyva reluctantly concurred with our wishes, and, at parting,
forced upon me a considerable sum of money.
"Wentworth's was a character not frequently met with in the
world. He was a political enthusiast, who esteemed nothing more
graceful or glorious than to die for the liberties of mankind. He had
traversed Greece with an imagination full of the exploits of ancient
times, and derived, from contemplating Thermoplyae and Marathon,
an enthusiasm that bordered upon frenzy.
"It was now the third year of the Revolutionary War in America,
and, previous to our meeting at Vienna, he had formed the resolution
of repairing thither and tendering his service to the Congress as a
volunteer. Our marriage made no change in his plans. My soul was
engrossed by two passions, - a wild spirit of adventure, and a bound-
less devotion to him. I vowed to accompany him in every danger, to
vie with him in military ardour, to combat and to die by his side.
"I delighted to assume the male dress, to acquire skill at the sword,
and dexterity in every boisterous exercise. The timidity that com-
monly attends women gradually vanished. I felt as if imbued by a soul
201 ORMON D
that was a stranger to the sexual distinction. We embarked at Brest, in
a frigate destined for St. Domingo.
1
 A desperate conflict with an Eng-
lish ship in the Bay of Biscay was my first introduction to a scene of
tumult and danger of whose true nature I had formed no previous
conception. At first I was spiritless and full of dismay. Experience,
however, gradually reconciled me to the life that I had chosen.
"A fortunate shot, by dismasting the enemy, allowed us to pro-
secute our voyage unmolested. At Cap Francois
2
 we found a ship
which transported us, after various perils, to Richmond, in Virginia.
I will not carry you through the adventures of four years. You, sitting
all your life in peaceful corners, can scarcely imagine that variety of
hardship and turmoil which attends the female who lives in a camp.
"Few would sustain these hardships with better grace than I did. I
could seldom be prevailed on to remain at distance, and inactive,
when my husband was in battle, and more than once rescued him
from death by the seasonable destruction of his adversary.
"At the repulse of the Americans at Germantown,
3
 Wentworth was
wounded and taken prisoner. I obtained permission to attend his sick-
bed and supply that care without which he would assuredly have
died. Being imperfectly recovered, he was sent to England and sub-
jected to a rigorous imprisonment. Milder treatment might have per-
mitted his complete restoration to health; but, as it was, he died.
"His kindred were noble, and rich, and powerful; but it was dim-
cult to make them acquainted with Wentworth's situation. Their assis-
tance, when demanded, was readily afforded; but it came too late to
prevent his death. Me they snatched from my voluntary prison, and
employed every friendly art to efface from my mind the images of
recent calamity.
1 Brest: a port city of northwest France on an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean. The Bay of
Biscay is an arm of the Atlantic near Brittany, France.
St. Domingo: former Spanish colony discovered by Columbus in 1492. The west
side of the island was ceded to the French in 1697; the remainder in 1795. French
planters grew sugar cane there in the second half of the eighteenth century using
slave labour. Slaves, led by Toussaint L'ouverture, rebelled in 1791, inspired by
French revolutionary philosophy.
2 Cap Francois: important port and capital of St. Domingue.
3 Germantown: a residential section of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, settled in 1683. In
1777, it was the site of a Revolutionary battle in which Washington's troops unsuc-
cessfully attacked the British encampment.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 202
"Wentworth's singularities of conduct and opinion had estranged
him at an early age from his family. They felt little regret at his fate,
but every motive concurred to secure their affection and succour to
me. My character was known to many officers, returned from Amer-
ica, whose report, joined with the influence of my conversation,
rendered me an object to be gazed at by thousands. Strange vicissi-
tude! Now immersed in the infection of a military hospital, the sport
of a wayward fortune, struggling with cold and hunger, with negli-
gence and contumely. A month after, passing into scenes of gayety and
luxury, exhibited at operas and masquerades, made the theme of
inquiry and encomium at every place of resort, and caressed by the
most illustrious among the votaries of science and the advocates of
the American cause.
"Here I again met Madame de Leyva.This woman was perpetually
assuming new forms. She was a sincere convert to the Catholic reli-
gion, but she was open to every new impression. She was the dupe of
every powerful reasoner, and assumed with equal facility the most
opposite shapes. She had again reverted to the Protestant religion,
and, governed by a headlong zeal in whatever cause she engaged, she
had sacrificed her husband and child to a new conviction.
"The instrument of this change was a man who passed, at that
time, for a Frenchman. He was young, accomplished, and addressful,
but was not suspected of having been prompted by illicit views, or of
having seduced the lady from allegiance to her husband as well as to
her God. De Leyva, however, who was sincere in his religion as well
as his love, was hasty to avenge this injury, and, in a contest with the
Frenchman, was killed. His wife adopted at once her ancient religion
and country, and was once more an Englishwoman.
"At our meeting her affection for me seemed to be revived, and
the most passionate entreaties were used to detain me in England. My
previous arrangements would not surfer it. I foresaw restraints and
inconveniences from the violence and caprice of her passions, and
intended henceforth to keep my liberty inviolate by any species of
engagement, either of friendship or marriage. My habits were French,
and I proposed henceforward to take up my abode at Paris. Since his
voyage to Guiana, I had heard no tidings of Sebastian Roselli.This
man's image was cherished with filial emotions, and I conceived that
203 ORMON D
the sight of him would amply reward a longer journey than from
London to Marseilles.
"Beyond my hopes, I found him in his ancient abode. The voyage,
and a residence of three years at Cayenne, had been beneficial to his
appearance and health. He greeted me with paternal tenderness, and
admitted me to a full participation of his fortune, which the sale of his
American property had greatly enhanced. He was a stranger to the
fate of my brother. On his return home he had gone to Switzerland,
with a view of ascertaining his destiny. The youth, a few months after
his arrival at Lausanne, had eloped with a companion, and had hither-
to eluded all Roselli's searches and inquiries. My father was easily
prevailed upon to transfer his residence from Provence to Paris."
Here Martinette paused, and, marking the clock, "It is time,"
resumed she, "to begone. Are you not weary of my tale? On the day I
entered France, I entered my twenty-third year of my age, so that my
promise of detailing my youthful adventures is fulfilled. I must away.
Till we meet again, farewell."
CHAPTER XXI.
SUCH was the wild series of Martinette's adventures. Each incident
fastened on the memory of Constantia, and gave birth to numberless
reflections. Her prospect of mankind seemed to be enlarged, on a sud-
den, to double its ancient dimensions. Ormond's narratives had car-
ried her beyond the Mississippi, and into the deserts of Siberia. He
had recounted the perils of a Russian war, and painted the manners of
Mongols and Naudowessies.
1
 Her new friend had led her back to the
civilized world and portrayed the other half of the species. Men, in
their two forms of savage and refined, had been scrutinized by these
observers; and what was wanting in the delineations of the one was
liberally supplied by the other.
Eleven years in the life of Martinette was unrelated. Her conversa-
tion suggested the opinion that this interval had been spent in France.
It was obvious to suppose that a woman thus fearless and sagacious
i Nadouessioux: an Ojibwa word for themselves, rendered into French, then short-
ened to Sioux. Important tribal confederacy of the North American plains.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 204
had not been inactive at a period like the present, which called forth
talents and courage without distinction of sex, and had been particu-
larly distinguished by female enterprise and heroism. Her name easily
led to the suspicion of concurrence with the subverters of monarchy,
and of participation in their fall. Her flight from the merciless tri-
bunals of the faction that now reigned would explain present appear-
ances.
Martinette brought to their next interview an air of uncommon
exultation. On this being remarked, she communicated the tidings of
the fall of the sanguinary tyranny of Robespierre.
1
 Her eyes sparkled,
and every feature was pregnant with delight, while she unfolded, with
her accustomed energy, the particulars of this tremendous revolution.
The blood which it occasioned to flow was mentioned without any
symptoms of disgust or horror.
Constantia ventured to ask if this incident was likely to influence
her own condition.
"Yes. It will open the way for my return."
"Then you think of returning to a scene of so much danger?"
"Danger, my girl? It is my element. I am an adorer of liberty, and
liberty without peril can never exist."
"But so much bloodshed and injustice! Does not your heart shrink
from the view of a scene of massacre and tumult, such as Paris has
lately exhibited and will probably continue to exhibit?"
"Thou talkest, Constantia, in a way scarcely worthy of thy good
sense. Have I not been three years in a camp? What are bleeding
wounds and mangled corpses, when accustomed to the daily sight of
them for years? Am I not a lover of liberty? and must I not exult in
the fall of tyrants, and regret only that my hand had no share in their
destruction?"
"But a woman - how can the heart of women be inured to the
shedding of blood?"
"Have women, I beseech thee, no capacity to reason and infer? Are
they less open than men to the influence of habit? My hand never fal-
tered when liberty demanded the victim. If thou wert with me at
Paris, I could show thee a fusil of two barrels, which is precious
i Robespierre: French statesman tried and guillotined in 1794 for his role in the
Reign of Terror following the French Revolution.
205 ORMON D
beyond any other relic, merely because it enabled me to kill thirteen
officers at Jemappes.
1
 Two of these were emigrant nobles, whom I
knew and loved before the Revolution, but the cause they had since
espoused cancelled their claims to mercy."
"What!" said the startled Constantia; "have you fought in the
ranks?"
"Certainly. Hundreds of my sex have done the same. Some were
impelled by the enthusiasm of love, and some by a mere passion for
war; some by the contagion of example; and some - with whom I
myself must be ranked, - by a generous devotion to liberty. Brunswick
and Saxe-Coburg had to contend with whole regiments of women, -
regiments they would have formed, if they had been collected into
separate bodies.
2
"I will tell thee a secret. Thou wouldst never have seen Martinette
de Beauvais, if Brunswick had deferred one day longer his orders for
retreating into Germany."
"How so?"
"She would have died by her own hand."
"What could lead to such an outrage?"
"The love of liberty."
"I cannot comprehend how that love should prompt you to
suicide."
"I will tell thee. The plan was formed, and could not miscarry. A
woman was to play the part of a banished Royalist, was to repair to
the Prussian camp, and to gain admission to the general. This would
have easily been granted to a female and an ex-noble. There she was
to assassinate the enemy of her country, and to attest her magnanimi-
ty by slaughtering herself. I was weak enough to regret the ignomin-
ious retreat of the Prussians, because it precluded the necessity of such
a sacrifice."
This was related with accents and looks that sufficiently attested its
truth. Constantia shuddered, and drew back, to contemplate more
1 Jemappes: a town in West Belgium where, in 1792, the French defeated the Austri-
ans in one of the first important battles of the French Revolutionary Wars.
2 Brunswick and Saxe-Coburg: Charles William Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick
(1735-1806), a Prussian field marshal in the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic
War campaigns. Fredrick Augustus I, Saxe-Coburg (1750-1827) aided Frederick II,
King of Prussia, against Austria in 1778-79 during the War of the Bavarian Succes-
sion.
206 CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN
deliberately the features of her guest. Hitherto she had read in them
nothing that bespoke the desperate courage of a martyr and the deep
designing of an assassin. The image which her mind had reflected
from the deportment of this woman was changed. The likeness which
she had feigned to herself was no longer seen. She felt that antipathy
was preparing to displace love. These sentiments, however, she con-
cealed, and suffered the conversation to proceed.
Their discourse now turned upon the exploits of several women
who mingled in the tumults of the capital and in the armies on the
frontiers. Instances were mentioned of ferocity in some, and magna-
nimity in others, which almost surpassed belief. Constantia listened
greedily, though not with approbation, and acquired, at every sen-
tence, new desire to be acquainted with the personal history of Mar-
tinette. On mentioning this wish, her friend said that she
endeavoured to amuse her exile by composing her own memoirs, and
that, on her next visit, she would bring with her the volume, which
she would suffer Constantia to read.
A separation of a week elapsed. She felt some impatience for the
renewal of their intercourse, and for the perusal of the volume that
had been mentioned. One evening Sarah Baxter, whom Constantia
had placed in her own occasional service, entered the room with
marks of great joy and surprise, and informed her that she at length
had discovered Miss Monrose. From her abrupt and prolix account, it
appeared that Sarah had overtaken Miss Monrose in the street, and,
guided by her own curiosity, as well as by the wish to gratify her mis-
tress, she had followed the stranger. To her utter astonishment, the
lady had paused at Mr. Dudley's door, with a seeming resolution to
enter it, but presently resumed her way. Instead of pursuing her steps
further, Sarah had stopped to communicate this intelligence to Con-
stantia. Having delivered her news, she hastened away, but, returning,
in a moment, with a countenance of new surprise, she informed her
mistress that on leaving the house she had met Miss Monrose at the
door, on the point of entering. She added that the stranger had
inquired for Constantia, and was now waiting below.
Constantia took no time to reflect upon an incident so unexpect-
ed and so strange, but proceeded forthwith to the parlour. Martinette
only was there. It did not instantly occur to her that this lady and
Mademoiselle Monrose might possibly be the same. The inquiries she
made speedily removed her doubts, and it now appeared that the
ORMON D 207
woman about whose destiny she had formed so many conjectures and
fostered so much anxiety was no other than the daughter of Roselli.
Having readily answered her questions, Martinette inquired, in her
turn, into the motives of her friend s curiosity. These were explained
by a succinct account of the transactions to which the deceased
Baxter had been a witness. Constantia concluded with mentioning
her own reflections on the tale, and intimating her wish to be
informed how Martinette had extricated herself from a situation so
calamitous.
"Is there any room for wonder on that head?" replied the guest. "It
was absurd to stay longer in the house. Having finished the interment
of Roselli, (soldier-fashion,) for he was the man who suffered his
foolish regrets to destroy him, I forsook the house. Roselli was by no
means poor, but he could not consent to live at ease, or to live at all,
while his country endured such horrible oppressions, and when so
many of his friends had perished. I complied with his humour,
because it could not be changed, and I revered him too much to
desert him."
"But whither," said Constantia, "could you seek shelter at a time
like that? The city was desolate, and a wandering female could scarce-
ly be received under any roof. All inhabited houses were closed at that
hour, and the fear of infection would have shut them against you if
they had not been already so."
"Hast thou forgotten that there were at that time at least ten thou-
sand French in this city, fugitives from Marat and from St. Domingo?
That they lived in utter fearlessness of the reigning disease, - sung and
loitered in the public walks, and prattled at their doors, with all their
customary unconcern? Supposest thou that there were none among
these who would receive a countrywoman, even if her name had not
been Martinette de Beauvais? Thy fancy has depicted strange things;
but believe me that, without a farthing and without a name, I should
not have incurred the slightest inconvenience. The death of Roselli
I foresaw, because it was gradual in its approach, and was sought by
him as a good. My grief, therefore, was exhausted before it came, and
I rejoiced at his death, because it was the close of all his sorrows. The
rueful pictures of my distress and weakness which were given by
Baxter existed only in his own fancy."
Martinette pleaded an engagement, and took her leave, professing
to have come merely to leave with her the promised manuscript. This
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 208
interview, though short, was productive of many reflections on the
deceitfulness of appearances, and on the variety of maxims by which
the conduct of human beings is regulated. She was accustomed to
impart all her thoughts and relate every new incident to her father.
With this view she now hied to his apartment. This hour it was her
custom, when disengaged, always to spend with him.
She found Mr. Dudley busy in revolving a scheme which various
circumstances had suggested and gradually conducted to maturity. No
period of his life had been equally delightful with that portion of his
youth which he had spent in Italy. The climate, the language, the
manners of the people, and the sources of intellectual gratification in
painting and music, were congenial to his taste. He had reluctantly
forsaken these enchanting seats, at the summons of his father, but, on
his return to his native country, had encountered nothing but
ignominy and pain. Poverty and blindness had beset his path, and it
seemed as if it were impossible to fly too far from the scene of his dis-
asters. His misfortunes could not be concealed from others, and every
thing around him seemed to renew the memory of all that he had
suffered. All the events of his youth served to entice him to Italy,
while all the incidents of his subsequent life concurred to render dis-
gustful his present abode.
His daughters happiness was not to be forgotten.This he imagined
would be eminently promoted by the scheme. It would open to her
new avenues to knowledge. It would snatch her from the odious pur-
suit of Ormond, and, by a variety of objects and adventures, efface
from her mind any impression which his dangerous artifices might
have made upon it.
This project was now communicated to Constantia. Every argu-
ment adapted to influence her choice was employed. He justly con-
ceived that the only obstacle to her adoption of it related to Ormond.
He expatiated on the dubious character of this man, the wildness of
his schemes, and the magnitude of his errors. What could be expected
from a man, half of whose life had been spent at the head of a band of
Cossacks, spreading devastation in the regions of the Danube, and
supporting by flagitious intrigues the tyranny of Catherine,
1
 and the
i In 1773-75 the Cossacks revolted and their leaders became loyal supporters of
Catherine the Great (1729-96), who was popular with powerful groups opposed to
her eccentric husband Peter. In June 1762, conspirators headed by Grigori Orlov,
209 ORMON D
other half in traversing inhospitable countries, and extinguishing what
remained of clemency and justice by intercourse with savages?
It was admitted that his energies were great, but misdirected, and
that to restore them to the guidance of truth was not in itself impossi-
ble; but it was so with relation to any power that she possessed. Con-
formity would flow from their marriage, but this conformity was not
to be expected from him. It was not his custom to abjure any of his
doctrines or recede from any of his claims. She knew likewise the
conditions of their union. She must go with him to some corner of
the world where his boasted system was established. What was the
road to it he had carefully concealed, but it was evident that it lay
beyond the precincts of civilized existence.
Whatever were her ultimate decision, it was at least proper to delay
it. Six years were yet wanting of that period at which only she for-
merly considered marriage as proper. To all the general motives for
deferring her choice, the conduct of Ormond superadded the
weightiest. Their correspondence might continue, but her residence
in Europe and converse with mankind might enlighten her judgment
and qualify her for a more rational decision.
Constantia was not uninfluenced by these reasonings. Instead of
reluctantly admitting them, she somewhat wondered that they had
not been suggested by her own reflections. Her imagination antici-
pated her entrance on that mighty scene with emotions little less than
rapturous. Her studies had conferred a thousand ideal charms on a
theatre where Scipio and Caesar had performed their parts. Her wish-
es were no less importunate to gaze upon the Alps and Pyrenees, and
to vivify and chasten the images collected from books, by comparing
them with their real prototypes.
No social ties existed to hold her to America. Her only kinsman
and friend would be the companion of her journeys. This project was
likewise recommended by advantages of which she only was qualified
her lover, deposed Peter and proclaimed her ruler; shortly afterward Peter was mur-
dered. Catherine's rule began with projects of reform, but after the peasant uprising
and the French Revolution, she strengthened serfdom and increased the privileges
of the nobility. Her foreign policy was imperialistic: she increased Russian control
of the Baltic provinces and Ukraine; began colonization of Alaska; annexed the
Crimea; in two wars with Turkey made Russia dominant in southwestern Asia; and
secured for Russia the major share in the partitions of Poland in 1772, 1793, and
1795-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 210
to judge. Sophia Westwyn had embarked, four years previous to this
date, for England, in company with an English lady and her husband.
The arrangements that were made forbade either of the friends to
hope for a future meeting. Yet now, by virtue of this project, this
meeting seemed no longer to be hopeless.
This burst of new ideas and new hopes on the mind of Constantia
took place in the course of a single hour. No change in her external
situation had been wrought, and yet her mind had undergone the
most signal revolution. The novelty as well as greatness of the prospect
kept her in a state of elevation and awe, more ravishing than any she
had ever experienced. Anticipations of intercourse with nature in her
most august forms, with men in diversified states of society, with the
posterity of Greeks and Romans, and with the actors that were now
upon the stage, and, above all, with the being whom absence and the
want of other attachments had, in some sort, contributed to deify,
made this night pass away upon the wings of transport.
The hesitation which existed on parting with her father speedily
gave place to an ardour impatient of the least delay. She saw no
impediments to the immediate commencement of the voyage. To
delay it a month, or even a week, seemed to be unprofitable tardiness.
In this ferment of her thoughts, she was neither able nor willing to
sleep. In arranging the means of departure and anticipating the events
that would successively arise, there was abundant food for contempla-
tion.
She marked the first dawnings of the day, and rose. She felt reluc-
tant to break upon her father's morning slumbers, but considered that
her motives were extremely urgent, and that the pleasure afforded
him by her zealous approbation of his scheme would amply compen-
sate him for this unseasonable intrusion on his rest. She hastened
therefore to his chamber. She entered with blithesome steps, and soft-
ly drew aside the curtain.
CHAPTER XXII.
UNHAPPY Constantia! At the moment when thy dearest hopes had
budded afresh, when the clouds of insecurity and disquiet had retired
from thy vision, wast thou assailed by the great subverter of human
211 ORMON D
schemes. Thou sawest nothing in futurity but an eternal variation and
succession of delights. Thou wast hastening to forget dangers and sor-
rows which thou fondly imaginedst were never to return. This day
was to be the outset of a new career; existence was henceforth to be
embellished with enjoyments hitherto scarcely within the reach of
hope.
Alas! thy predictions of calamity seldom failed to be verified. Not
so thy prognostics of pleasure. These, though fortified by every calcu-
lation of contingencies, were edifices grounded upon nothing. Thy
life was a struggle with malignant destiny, — a contest for happiness in
which thou wast fated to be overcome.
She stooped to kiss the venerable cheek of her father, and, by
whispering, to break his slumber. Her eye was no sooner fixed upon
his countenance, than she started back and shrieked. She had no
power to forbear. Her outcries were piercing and vehement. They
ceased only with the cessation of breath. She sunk upon a chair in a
state partaking more of death than of life, mechanically prompted to
give vent to her agonies in shrieks, but incapable of uttering a sound.
The alarm called her servants to the spot. They beheld her dumb,
wildly gazing, and gesticulating in a way that indicated frenzy. She
made no resistance to their efforts, but permitted them to carry her
back to her own chamber. Sarah called upon her to speak, and to
explain the cause of these appearances; but the shock which she had
endured seemed to have irretrievably destroyed her powers of utter-
ance.
The terrors of the affectionate Sarah were increased. She kneeled
by the bedside of her mistress, and, with streaming eyes, besought the
unhappy lady to compose herself. Perhaps the sight of weeping in
another possessed a sympathetic influence, or nature had made provi-
sion for this salutary change. However that be, a torrent of tears now
came to her succour, and rescued her from a paroxysm of insanity
which its longer continuance might have set beyond the reach of
cure.
Meanwhile, a glance at his master's countenance made Fabian fully
acquainted with the nature of the scene. The ghastly visage of
Mr. Dudley showed that he was dead, and that he had died in some
terrific and mysterious manner. As soon as this faithful servant recov-
ered from surprise, the first expedient which his ingenuity suggested
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 212
was to fly with tidings of this event to Mr. Melbourne. That gentle-
man instantly obeyed the summons. With the power of weeping,
Constantia recovered the power of reflection. This, for a time, served
her only as a medium of anguish. Melbourne mingled his tears
with hers, and endeavoured, by suitable remonstrances, to revive her
fortitude.
The filial passion is perhaps instinctive to man; but its energy is
modified by various circumstances. Every event in the life of
Constantia contributed to heighten this passion beyond customary
bounds. In the habit of perpetual attendance on her father, of deriv-
ing from him her knowledge, and sharing with him the hourly fruits
of observation and reflection, his existence seemed blended with her
own. There was no other whose concurrence and council she could
claim, with whom a domestic and uninterrupted alliance could be
maintained. The only bond of consanguinity was loosened, the only
prop of friendship was taken away.
Others, perhaps, would have observed that her father's existence
had been merely a source of obstruction and perplexity; that she had
hitherto acted by her own wisdom, and would find, hereafter, less
difficulty in her choice of schemes, and fewer impediments to the
execution. These reflections occurred not to her. This disaster had
increased, to an insupportable degree, the vacancy and dreariness of
her existence. The face she was habituated to behold had disappeared
forever; the voice whose mild and affecting tones had so long been
familiar to her ears was hushed into eternal silence. The felicity to
which she clung was ravished away; nothing remained to hinder her
from sinking into utter despair.
The first transports of grief having subsided, a source of consola-
tion seemed to be opened in the belief that her father had only
changed one form of being for another; that he still lived to be the
guardian of her peace and honour, to enter the recesses of her
thought, to forewarn her of evil and invite her to good. She grasped
at these images with eagerness, and fostered them as the only solaces
of her calamity. They were not adapted to inspire her with cheerful-
ness, but they sublimed her sensations, and added an inexplicable fas-
cination to sorrow.
It was unavoidable sometimes to reflect upon the nature of that
death which had occurred. Tokens were sufficiently apparent that
213 ORMON D
outward violence had been the cause. Who could be the performer of
so black a deed, by what motives he was guided, were topics of fruit-
less conjecture. She mused upon this subject, not from the thirst of
vengeance, but from a mournful curiosity. Had the perpetrator stood
before her and challenged retribution, she would not have lifted a
finger to accuse or to punish. The evil already endured left her no
power to concert and execute projects for extending that evil to
others. Her mind was unnerved, and recoiled with loathing from con-
siderations of abstract justice, or political utility, when they prompted
to the prosecution of the murderer.
Melbourne was actuated by different views, but on this subject he
was painfully bewildered. Mr. Dudley's deportment to his servants and
neighbours was gentle and humane. He had no dealings with the
trafficking or labouring part of mankind. The fund which supplied his
cravings of necessity or habit was his daughter's. His recreations and
employments were harmless and lonely. The evil purpose was limited
to his death, for his chamber was exactly in the same state in which
negligent security had left it. No midnight footstep or voice, no
unbarred door or lifted window, afforded tokens of the presence or
traces of the entrance or flight of the assassin.
The meditations of Constantia, however, could not fail in some of
their circuities to encounter the image of Craig. His agency in the
impoverishment of her father, and in the scheme by which she had
like to have been loaded with the penalties of forgery, was of an
impervious and unprecedented kind. Motives were unveiled by time,
in some degree accounting for his treacherous proceeding; but there
was room to suppose an inborn propensity to mischief. Was he not
the author of this new evil? His motives and his means were equally
inscrutable, but their inscrutability might flow from her own defects
in discernment and knowledge, and time might supply her defects in
this as in former instances.
These images were casual. The causes of evil were seldom con-
templated. Her mind was rarely at liberty to wander from reflection
on her irremediable loss. Frequently, when confused by distressful rec-
ollections, she would detect herself going to her father's chamber.
Often his well-known accents would ring in her ears, and the
momentary impulse would be to answer his calls. Her reluctance to sit
down to her meals without her usual companion could scarcely be
surmounted.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 214
In this state of mind, the image of the only friend who survived, or
whose destiny, at least, was doubtful, occurred to her. She sunk into
fits of deeper abstraction and dissolved away in tears of more agoniz-
ing tenderness. A week after her fathers interment, she shut herself up
in her chamber, to torment herself with fruitless remembrances. The
name of Sophia Westwyn was pronounced, and the ditty that solem-
nized their parting was sung. Now, more than formerly, she became
sensible of the loss of that portrait which had been deposited in the
hands of M'Crea as a pledge. As soon as her change of fortune had
supplied her with the means of redeeming it, she hastened to M'Crea
for that end. To her unspeakable disappointment, he was absent from
the city; he had taken a long journey, and the exact period of his
return could not be ascertained. His clerks refused to deliver the pic-
ture, or even, by searching, to discover whether it was still in their
master's possession. This application had frequently and lately been
repeated, but without success; M'Crea had not yet returned, and his
family were equally in the dark as to the day on which his return
might be expected.
She determined, on this occasion, to renew her visit. Her incessant
disappointments had almost extinguished hope, and she made
inquiries at his door, with a faltering accent and sinking heart. These
emotions were changed into surprise and delight, when answer was
made that he had just arrived. She was instantly conducted into his
presence.
The countenance of M'Crea easily denoted that his visitant was by
no means acceptable. There was a mixture of embarrassment and sul-
lenness in his air, which was far from being diminished when the pur-
pose of this visit was explained. Constantia reminded him of the offer
and acceptance of this pledge, and of the conditions with which the
transaction was accompanied.
He acknowledged, with some hesitation, that a promise had been
given to retain the pledge until it were in her power to redeem it; but
the long delay, the urgency of his own wants, and particularly the ill
treatment which he conceived himself to have suffered in the transac-
tion respecting the forged note, had, in his own opinion, absolved
him from this promise. He had therefore sold the picture to a gold-
smith, for as much as the gold about it was worth.
This information produced, in the heart of Constantia, a contest
between indignation and sorrow, that for a time debarred her from
215 ORMON D
speech. She stifled the anger that was, at length, rising to her lips, and
calmly inquired to whom the picture had been sold.
M'Crea answered that for his part he had little dealings in gold and
silver, but every thing of that kind which fell to his share he transacted
with Mr. D . This person was one of the most eminent of his
profession. His character and place of abode were universally known.
The only expedient that remained was to apply to him, and to ascer-
tain, forthwith, the destiny of the picture. It was too probable that,
when separated from its case, the portrait was thrown away or
destroyed, as a mere encumbrance, but the truth was too momentous
to be made the sport of mere probability. She left the house of
M'Crea, and hastened to that of the goldsmith.
The circumstance was easily recalled to his remembrance. It was
true that such a picture had been offered for sale, and that he had pur-
chased it. The workmanship was curious, and he felt unwilling to
destroy it. He therefore hung it up in his shop and indulged the hope
that a purchaser would some time be attracted by the mere beauty of
the toy.
Constantia s hopes were revived by these tidings, and she earnestly
inquired if it were still in his possession.
"No. A young gentleman had entered his shop some months
before: the picture had caught his fancy, and he had given a price
which the artist owned he should not have demanded, had he not
been encouraged by the eagerness which the gentleman betrayed to
possess it."
"Who was this gentleman? Had there been any previous acquain-
tance between them? What was his name, his profession, and where
was he to be found?"
"Really," the goldsmith answered, "he was ignorant respecting
all those particulars. Previously to this purchase, the gentleman
had sometimes entered his shop; but he did not recollect to have
since seen him. He was unacquainted with his name and his resi-
dence."
"What appeared to be his motives for purchasing this picture?"
"The customer appeared highly pleased with it. Pleasure, rather
than surprise, seemed to be produced by the sight of it. If I were per-
mitted to judge," continued the artist, "I should imagine that the
young man was acquainted with the original. To say the truth, I hint-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 216
ed as much at the time, and I did not see that he discouraged the
supposition. Indeed, I cannot conceive how the picture could other-
wise have gained any value in his eyes."
This only heightened the eagerness of Constantia to trace the
footsteps of the youth. It was obvious to suppose some commun-
ication or connection between her friend and this purchaser. She
repeated her inquiries, and the goldsmith, after some consideration,
said, "Why, on second-thoughts, I seem to have some notion of
having seen a figure like that of my customer go into a lodging-house
in Front Street, some time before I met with him at my shop."
The situation of this house being satisfactorily described, and the
artist being able to afford her no further information, except as to
stature and guise, she took her leave. There were two motives
impelling her to prosecute her search after this person, — the desire
of regaining this portrait and of procuring tidings of her friend.
Involved as she was in ignorance, it was impossible to conjecture how
far this incident would be subservient to these inestimable purposes.
To procure an interview with this stranger was the first measure
which prudence suggested.
She knew not his name or his person. He was once seen entering
a lodging-house. Thither she must immediately repair; but how to
introduce herself, how to describe the person of whom she was in
search, she knew not. She was beset with embarrassments and diffi-
culties. While her attention was entangled by these, she proceeded
unconsciously on her way, and stopped not until she reached the
mansion that had been described. Here she paused to collect her
thoughts.
She found no relief in deliberation. Every moment added to her
perplexity and indecision. Irresistibly impelled by her wishes, she at
length, in a mood that partook of desperate, advanced to the door and
knocked. The summons was immediately obeyed by a woman of
decent appearance. A pause ensued, which Constantia at length ter-
minated by a request to see the mistress of the house.
The lady courteously answered that she was the person, and
immediately ushered her visitant into an apartment. Constantia being
seated, the lady waited for the disclosure of her message. To prolong
the silence was only to multiply embarrassments. She reverted to the
state of her feelings, and saw that they flowed from inconsistency and
217 ORMON D
folly. One vigorous effort was sufficient to restore her to composure
and self-command.
She began with apologizing for a visit unpreceded by an intro-
duction. The object of her inquiries was a person with whom it was
of the utmost moment that she should procure a meeting, but whom,
by an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances, she was unable to
describe by the usual incidents of name and profession. Her know-
ledge was confined to his external appearance, and to the probability
of his being an inmate of this house at the beginning of the year. She
then proceeded to describe his person and dress.
"It is true," said the lady; "such a one as you describe has boarded
in this house. His name was Martynne. I have good reason to remem-
ber him, for he lived with me three months, and then left the country
without paying for his board."
"He has gone, then?" said Constantia, greatly discouraged by these
tidings.
"Yes. He was a man of specious manners and loud pretensions. He
came from England, bringing with him forged recommendatory
letters, and, after passing from one end of the country to the other,
contracting debts which he never paid and making bargains which he
never fulfilled, he suddenly disappeared. It is likely that he has
returned to Europe."
"Had he no kindred, no friends, no companions?"
"He found none here. He made pretences to alliances in England,
which better information has, I believe, since shown to be false."
This was the sum of the information procurable from this source.
Constantia was unable to conceal her chagrin. These symptoms were
observed by the lady, whose curiosity was awakened in turn. Ques-
tions were obliquely started, inviting Constantia to a disclosure of her
thoughts. No advantage would arise from confidence, and the guest,
after a few minutes of abstraction and silence, rose to take her leave.
During this conference, some one appeared to be negligently
sporting with the keys of a harpsichord, in the next apartment. The
notes were too irregular and faint to make a forcible impression on
the ear. In the present state of her mind, Constantia was merely con-
scious of the sound, in the intervals of conversation. Having arisen
from her seat, her anxiety to obtain some information that might lead
to the point she wished made her again pause. She endeavoured to
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 218
invent some new interrogatory better suited to her purpose than
those which had already been employed. A silence on both sides
ensued.
During this interval, the unseen musician suddenly refrained from
rambling, and glided into notes of some refinement and complexity.
The cadence was aerial; but a thunderbolt, falling at her feet, would
not have communicated a more visible shock to the senses of Con-
stantia. A glance that denoted a tumult of soul bordering on distrac-
tion was now fixed upon the door that led into the room from
whence the harmony proceeded. Instantly the cadence was revived,
and some accompanying voice was heard to warble, -
"Ah! far beyond this world of woes
We meet to part, - to part no more."
Joy and grief, in their sudden onset and their violent extremes,
approached so nearly in their influence on human beings as scarce to
be distinguished. Constantia's frame was still enfeebled by her recent
distresses. The torrent of emotion was too abrupt and too vehement.
Her faculties were overwhelmed, and she sunk upon the floor
motionless and without sense, but not till she had faintly articulated, —
"My God! My God! This is a joy unmerited and too great."
CHAPTER XXIII.
I MUST be forgiven if I now introduce myself on the stage. Sophia
Westwyn is the friend of Constantia, and the writer of this narrative.
So far as my fate was connected with that of my friend, it is worthy to
be known. That connection has constituted the joy and misery of my
existence, and has prompted me to undertake this task.
I assume no merit from the desire of knowledge and superiority to
temptation. There is little of which I can boast; but that little I
derived, instrumentally, from Constantia. Poor as my attainments are,
it is to her that I am indebted for them all. Life itself was the gift of
her father, but my virtue and felicity are her gifts. That I am neither
indigent nor profligate, flows from her bounty.
I am not unaware of the divine superintendence, — of the claims
219 ORMON D
upon my gratitude and service which pertain to my God. I know that
all physical and moral agents are merely instrumental to the purpose
that he wills; but, though the great Author of being and felicity must
not be forgotten, it is neither possible nor just to overlook the claims
upon our love with which our fellow-beings are invested.
The supreme love does not absorb, but chastens and enforces, all
subordinate affections. In proportion to the rectitude of my percep-
tions and the ardour of my piety, must I clearly discern and fervently
love the excellence discovered in my fellow-beings, and industriously
promote their improvement and felicity.
From my infancy to my seventeenth year, I lived in the house of
Mr. Dudley. On the day of my birth I was deserted by my mother.
Her temper was more akin to that of tigress than woman. Yet that is
unjust; for beasts cherish their offspring. No natures but human are
capable of that depravity which makes insensible to the claims of
innocence and helplessness.
But let me not recall her to memory. Have I not enough of sor-
row? Yet to omit my causes of disquiet, the unprecedented forlornness
of my condition, and the persecutions of an unnatural parent, would
be to leave my character a problem, and the sources of my love of
Miss Dudley unexplored.Yet I must not dwell upon that complication
of iniquities, that savage ferocity and inextinguishable hatred of me,
which characterized my unhappy mother.
I was not safe under the protection of Mr. Dudley, nor happy in
the caresses of his daughter. My mother asserted the privilege of that
relation: she laboured for years to obtain the control of my person and
actions, to snatch me from a peaceful and chaste asylum, and detain
me in her own house, where, indeed, I should not have been in want
of raiment and food, but where
O my mother! Let me not dishonour thy name! Yet it is not in my
power to enhance thy infamy. Thy crimes, unequalled as they were,
were perhaps expiated by thy penitence. Thy offences are too well
known; but perhaps they who witnessed thy freaks of intoxication, thy
defiance of public shame, the enormity of thy pollutions, the infatua-
tion that made thee glory in the pursuit of a loathsome and detestable
trade, may be strangers to the remorse and the abstinence which
accompanied the close of thy ignominious life.
For ten years was my peace incessantly molested by the menaces or
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 220
machinations of my mother. The longer she meditated my destruc-
tion, the more tenacious of her purpose and indefatigable in her
efforts she became. That my mind was harassed with perpetual alarms
was not enough. The fame and tranquillity of Mr. Dudley and his
daughter were hourly assailed. My mother resigned herself to the
impulses of malignity and rage. Headlong passions, and a vigorous
though perverted understanding, were hers. Hence, her stratagems to
undermine the reputation of my protector, and to bereave him of
domestic comfort, were subtle and profound. Had she not herself
been careless of that good which she endeavoured to wrest from oth-
ers, her artifices could scarcely have been frustrated.
In proportion to the hazard which accrued to my protector and
friend, the more ardent their zeal in my defence and their affection
for my person became. They watched over me with ineffable solici-
tude. At all hours and in every occupation, I was the companion of
Constantia. All my wants were supplied in the same proportion as
hers. The tenderness of Mr. Dudley seemed equally divided between
us. I partook of his instructions, and the means of every intellectual
and personal gratification were lavished upon me.
The speed of my mother's career in infamy was at length slack-
ened. She left New York, which had long been the theatre of her
vices. Actuated by a new caprice, she determined to travel through
the Southern States. Early indulgence was the cause of her ruin, but
her parents had given her the embellishments of a fashionable educa-
tion. She delighted to assume all parts, and personate the most oppo-
site characters. She now resolved to carry a new name, and the mask
of virtue, into scenes hitherto unvisited.
She journeyed as far as Charleston. Here she met an inexperienced
youth, lately arrived from England, and in possession of an ample for-
tune. Her speciousness and artifices seduced him into a precipitate
marriage. Her true character, however, could not be long concealed
by herself, and her vices had been too conspicuous for her long to
escape recognition. Her husband was infatuated by her blandish-
ments. To abandon her, or to contemplate her depravity with uncon-
cern, were equally beyond his power. Romantic in his sentiments, his
fortitude was unequal to his disappointments, and he speedily sunk
into the grave. By a similar refinement in generosity, he bequeathed
to her his property.
221 ORMON D
With this accession of wealth, she returned to her ancient abode.
The mask lately worn seemed preparing to be thrown aside, and her
profligate habits to be resumed with more eagerness than ever; but an
unexpected and total revolution was effected, by the exhortations of a
Methodist divine. Her heart seemed, on a sudden, to be remoulded,
her vices and the abettors of them were abjured, she shut out the
intrusions of society, and prepared to expiate, by the rigours of abstin-
ence and the bitterness of tears, the offences of her past life.
In this, as in her former career, she was unacquainted with restraint
and moderation. Her remorses gained strength in proportion as she
cherished them. She brooded over the images of her guilt, till the pos-
sibility of forgiveness and remission disappeared. Her treatment of her
daughter and her husband constituted the chief source of her tor-
ment. Her awakened conscience refused her a momentary respite
from its persecutions. Her thoughts became, by rapid degrees, tempes-
tuous and gloomy, and it was at length evident that her condition was
maniacal.
In this state, she was to me an object, no longer of terror, but com-
passion. She was surrounded by hirelings, devoid of personal attach-
ment, and anxious only to convert her misfortunes to their own
advantage. This evil it was my duty to obviate. My presence, for a
time, only enhanced the vehemence of her malady; but at length it
was only by my attendance and soothing that she was diverted from
the fellest purposes. Shocking execrations and outrages, resolutions
and efforts to destroy herself and those around her, were sure to take
place in my absence. The moment I appeared before her, her fury
abated, her gesticulations were becalmed, and her voice exerted only
in incoherent and pathetic lamentations.
These scenes, though so different from those which I had formerly
been condemned to witness, were scarcely less excruciating. The
friendship of Constantia Dudley was my only consolation. She took
up her abode with me, and shared with me every disgustful and per-
ilous office which my mother s insanity prescribed.
Of this consolation, however, it was my fate to be bereaved. My
mother s state was deplorable, and no remedy hitherto employed was
effacious. A voyage to England was conceived likely to benefit, by
change of temperature and scenes, and by the opportunity it would
afford of trying the superior skill of English physicians. This scheme,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 222
after various struggles on my part, was adopted. It was detestable to
my imagination, because it severed me from that friend in whose
existence mine was involved, and without whose participation
knowledge lost its attractions and society became a torment.
The prescriptions of my duty could not be disguised or disobeyed,
and we parted. A mutual engagement was formed to record every
sentiment and relate every event that happened in the life of either,
and no opportunity of communicating information was to be omit-
ted. This engagement was punctually performed on my part. I sought
out every method of conveyance to my friend, and took infinite pains
to procure tidings from her; but all were ineffectual.
My mother's malady declined, but was succeeded by a pulmonary
disease, which threatened her speedy destruction. By the restoration
of her understanding, the purpose of her voyage was obtained, and
my impatience to return, which the inexplicable and ominous silence
of my friend daily increased, prompted me to exert all my powers of
persuasion to induce her to revisit America.
My mother's frenzy was a salutary crisis in her moral history. She
looked back upon her past conduct with unspeakable loathing, but
this retrospect only invigorated her devotion and her virtue; but the
thought of returning to the scene of her unhappiness and infamy
could not be endured. Besides, life, in her eyes, possessed considerable
attractions, and her physicians flattered her with recovery from her
present disease, if she would change the atmosphere of England for
that of Languedoc and Naples.
I followed her with murmurs and reluctance. To desert her in her
present critical state would have been inhuman. My mother's aver-
sions and attachments, habits and views, were dissonant with my own.
Conformity of sentiments and impressions of maternal tenderness did
not exist to bind us to each other. My attendance was assiduous, but it
was the sense of duty that rendered my attendance a supportable task.
Her decay was eminently gradual. No time seemed to diminish
her appetite for novelty and change. During three years we traversed
every part of France, Switzerland, and Italy. I could not but attend to
surrounding scenes, and mark the progress of the mighty revolution,
whose effects, like agitation in a fluid, gradually spread from Paris, the
centre, over the face of the neighbouring kingdoms; but there passed
not a day or an hour in which the image of Constantia was not
223 ORMON D
recalled, in which the most pungent regrets were not felt at the inex-
plicable silence which had been observed by her, and the most vehe-
ment longings indulged to return to my native country. My exertions
to ascertain her condition by indirect means, by interrogating natives
of America with whom I chanced to meet, were unwearied, but, for a
long period, ineffectual.
During this pilgrimage, Rome was thrice visited. My mother's
indisposition was hastening to a crisis, and she formed the resolution
of closing her life at the bottom of Vesuvius. We stopped, for the sake
of a few days' repose, at Rome. On the morning after our arrival, I
accompanied some friends to view the public edifices. Casting my
eyes over the vast and ruinous interior of the Coliseum, my attention
was fixed by the figure of a young man whom, after a moment's
pause, I recollected to have seen in the streets of New York. At a dis-
tance from home, mere community of country is no inconsiderable
bond of affection. The social spirit prompts us to cling even to inani-
mate objects, when they remind us of ancient fellowships and juvenile
attachments.
A servant was dispatched to summon this stranger, who recognized
a countrywoman with a pleasure equal to that which I had received.
On nearer view, this person, whose name was Courtland, did not
belie my favourable prepossessions. Our intercourse was soon estab-
lished on a footing of confidence and intimacy.
The destiny of Constantia was always uppermost in my thoughts.
This person's acquaintance was originally sought chiefly in the hope
of obtaining from him some information respecting my friend. On
inquiry, I discovered that he had left his native city seven months after
me. Having tasked his recollection and compared a number of facts,
the name of Dudley at length recurred to him. He had casually heard
the history of Craig's imposture and its consequences. These were
now related as circumstantially as a memory occupied by subsequent
incidents enabled him. The tale had been told to him, in a domestic
circle which he was accustomed to frequent, by the person who pur-
chased Mr. Dudley's lute and restored it to its previous owner on the
conditions formerly mentioned.
This tale filled me with anguish and doubt. My impatience to
search out this unfortunate girl, and share with her her sorrows or
relieve them, was anew excited by this mournful intelligence. That
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 224
Constantia Dudley was reduced to beggary was too abhorrent to my
feelings to receive credit; yet the sale of her fathers property, compris-
ing even his furniture and clothing, seemed to prove that she had fall-
en even to this depth. This enabled me in some degree to account for
her silence. Her generous spirit would induce her to conceal misfor-
tunes from her friend which no communication would alleviate. It
was possible that she had selected some new abode, and that, in con-
sequence, the letters I had written, and which amounted to volumes,
had never reached her hands.
My mothers state would not surfer me to obey the impulse of my
heart. Her frame was verging towards dissolution. Courtland's
engagements allowed him to accompany us to Naples, and here the
long series of my mother's pilgrimages closed in death. Her obsequies
were no sooner performed, than I determined to set out on my long-
projected voyage. My mother's property, which, in consequence of
her decease, devolved upon me, was not inconsiderable. There is
scarcely any good so dear to a rational being as competence. I was not
unacquainted with its benefits, but this acquisition was valuable to me
chiefly as it enabled me to reunite my fate to that of Constantia.
Courtland was my countryman and friend. He was destitute of
fortune, and had been led to Europe by the spirit of adventure, and
partly on a mercantile project. He had made sale of his property
on advantageous terms, in the ports of France, and resolved to
consume the produce in examining this scene of heroic exploits and
memorable revolutions. His slender stock, though frugally and even
parsimoniously administered, was nearly exhausted; and, at the time
of our meeting at Rome, he was making reluctant preparations to
return.
Sufficient opportunity was afforded us, in an unrestrained and
domestic intercourse of three months, which succeeded our Roman
interview, to gain a knowledge of each other. There was that con-
formity of tastes and views between us which could scarcely fail, at an
age and in a situation like ours, to give birth to tenderness. My reso-
lution to hasten to America was peculiarly unwelcome to my friend.
He had offered to be my companion, but this offer my regard to his
interest obliged me to decline; but I was willing to compensate him
for this denial, as well as to gratify my own heart, by an immediate
marriage.
225 ORMON D
So long a residence in England and Italy had given birth to friend-
ships and connections of the dearest kind. I had no view but to spend
my life with Courtland, in the midst of my maternal kindred, who
were English. A voyage to America and reunion with Constantia were
previously indispensable; but I hoped that my friend might be pre-
vailed upon, and that her disconnected situation would permit her to
return with me to Europe. If this end could not be accomplished, it
was my inflexible purpose to live and to die with her. Suitably to this
arrangement, Courtland was to repair to London, and wait patiently
till I should be able to rejoin him there, or to summon him to meet
me in America.
A week after my mother's death, I became a wife, and embarked
the next day, at Naples, in a Ragusan ship, destined for New York. The
voyage was tempestuous and tedious. The vessel was necessitated to
make a short stay at Toulon. The state of that city, however, then in
possession of the English and besieged by the revolutionary forces,
was adverse to commercial views. Happily, we resumed our voyage on
the day previous to that on which the place was evacuated by the
British. Our seasonable departure rescued us from witnessing a scene
of horrors of which the history of former wars furnishes us with few
examples.
A cold and boisterous navigation awaited us. My palpitations and
inquietudes augmented as we approached the American coast. I shall
not forget the sensations which I experienced at the sight of the Bea-
con at Sandy Hook. It was first seen at midnight, in a stormy and
beclouded atmosphere, emerging from the waves, whose fluctuation
allowed it, for some time, to be visible only by fits. This token of
approaching land affected me as much as if I had reached the thresh-
old of my friend's dwelling.
At length we entered the port, and I viewed, with high-raised but
inexplicable feelings, objects with which I had been from infancy
familiar. The flagstaff erected on the Battery recalled to my imagina-
tion the pleasures of the evening and morning walks which I had
taken on that spot with the lost Constantia. The dream was fondly
cherished, that the figure which I saw loitering along the terrace was
hers.
On disembarking, I gazed at every female passenger, in hope that it
was she whom I sought. An absence of three years had obliterated
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 226
from my memory none of the images which attended me on my
departure.
CHAPTER XXIV.
AFTER a night of repose rather than sleep, I began the search after my
friend. I went to the house which the Dudleys formerly inhabited,
and which had been the asylum of my infancy. It was now occupied
by strangers, by whom no account could be given of its former ten-
ants. I obtained directions to the owner of the house. He was equally
unable to satisfy my curiosity. The purchase had been made at a pub-
lic sale, and terms had been settled, not with Dudley, but with the
sheriff.
It is needless to say that the history of Craig's imposture and its
consequences were confirmed by every one who resided at that peri-
od in New York. The Dudleys were well remembered, and their dis-
appearance, immediately after their fall, had been generally noticed;
but whither they had retired was a problem which no one was able to
solve.
This evasion was strange. By what motives the Dudleys were
induced to change their ancient abode could be vaguely guessed. My
friend's grandfather was a native of the West Indies. Descendants of
the same stock still resided in Tobago. They might be affluent, and to
them it was possible that Mr. Dudley, in this change of fortune, had
betaken himself for relief. This was a mournful expedient, since it
would raise a barrier between my friend and myself scarcely to be
surmounted.
Constantia's mother was stolen by Mr. Dudley from a convent at
Amiens. There were no affinities, therefore, to draw them to France.
Her grandmother was a native of Baltimore, of a family of some note,
by name Ridgeley.This family might still exist, and have either afford-
ed an asylum to the Dudleys, or, at least, be apprized of their destiny.
It was obvious to conclude that they no longer existed within the
precincts of New York. A journey to Baltimore was the next expedi-
ent.
This journey was made in the depth of winter, and by the speedi-
est conveyance. I made no more than a day's sojourn in Philadelphia.
227 ORMON D
The epidemic by which that city had been lately ravaged, I had not
heard of till my arrival in America. Its devastations were then painted
to my fancy in the most formidable colours. A few months only had
elapsed since its extinction, and I expected to see numerous marks of
misery and depopulation.
To my no small surprise, however, no vestiges of this calamity were
to be discerned. All houses were open, all streets thronged, and all
faces thoughtless or busy. The arts and the amusements of life seemed
as sedulously cultivated as ever. Little did I then think what had been,
and what at that moment was, the condition of my friend. I stopped
for the sake of respite from fatigue, and did not, therefore, pass much
time in the streets. Perhaps, had I walked seasonably abroad, we might
have encountered each other, and thus have saved ourselves from a
thousand anxieties.
At Baltimore I made myself known, without the formality of
introduction, to the Ridgeleys.They acknowledged their relationship
to Mr. Dudley, but professed absolute ignorance of his fate. Indirect
intercourse only had been maintained, formerly, by Dudley with his
mother's kindred. They had heard of his misfortune a twelvemonth
after it happened; but what measures had been subsequently pursued,
their kinsman had not thought proper to inform them.
The failure of this expedient almost bereft me of hope. Neither my
own imagination nor the Ridgeleys could suggest any new mode by
which my purpose was likely to be accomplished. To leave America
without obtaining the end of my visit could not be thought of with-
out agony; and yet the continuance of my stay promised me no relief
from my uncertainties.
On this theme I ruminated without ceasing. I recalled every con-
versation and incident of former times, and sought in them a clue by
which my present conjectures might be guided. One night, immersed
alone in my chamber, my thoughts were thus employed. My train of
meditation was, on this occasion, new. From the review of particulars
from which no satisfaction had hitherto been gained, I passed to a
vague and comprehensive retrospect.
Mr. Dudley's early life, his profession of a painter, his zeal in this
pursuit, and his reluctance to quit it, were remembered. Would he not
revert to this profession when other means of subsistence were gone?
It is true, similar obstacles with those which had formerly occasioned
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 228
his resort to a different path existed at present, and no painter of his
name was to be found in Philadelphia, Baltimore, or New York. I?ut
would it not occur to him, that the patronage denied to his skill/ by
the frugal and unpolished habits of his countrymen might, with more
probability of success, be sought from the opulence and luxury of
London? Nay, had he not once affirmed, in my hearing, that, if he
ever were reduced to poverty, this was the method he would pursue?
This conjecture was too bewitching to be easily dismissed. Every
new reflection augmented its force. I was suddenly raised by it from
the deepest melancholy to the region of lofty and gay hopes. Happi-
ness, of which I had begun to imagine myself irretrievably bereft,
seemed once more to approach within my reach. Constantia would
not only be found, but be met in the midst of those comforts which
her father's skill could not fail to procure, and on that very stage
where I most desired to encounter her. Mr. Dudley had many friends
and associates of his youth in London. Filial duty had repelled their
importunities to fix his abode in Europe, when summoned home by
his father. On his father's death these solicitations had been renewed,
but were disregarded for reasons which he, afterwards, himself con-
fessed were fallacious. That they would a third time be preferred, and
would regulate his conduct, seemed to me incontestable.
I regarded with wonder and deep regret the infatuation that had
hitherto excluded these images from my understanding and my
memory. How many dangers and toils had I endured since my
embarkation at Naples, to the present moment! How many lingering
minutes had I told since my first interview with Courtland! All were
owing to my own stupidity. Had my present thoughts been season-
ably suggested, I might long since have been restored to the embraces
of my friend, without the necessity of an hour's separation from my
husband.
These were evils to be repaired as far as it was possible. Nothing
now remained but to procure a passage to Europe. For this end dili-
gent inquiries were immediately set on foot. A vessel was found,
which, in a few weeks, would set out upon the voyage. Having bespo-
ken a conveyance, it was incumbent on me to sustain with patience
the unwelcome delay.
Meanwhile, my mind, delivered from the dejection and per-
plexities that lately haunted it, was capable of some attention to
229 ORMON D
surrounding objects. I marked the peculiarities of manners and lan-
guage in my new abode, and studied the effects which a political and
religious system so opposite to that with which I had conversed in
Italy and Switzerland had produced. I found that the difference
between Europe and America lay chiefly in this: - that, in the former,
all things tended to extremes, whereas, in the latter, all things tended
to the same level. Genius, and virtue, and happiness, on these shores,
were distinguished by a sort of mediocrity. Conditions were less
unequal, and men were strangers to the heights of enjoyment and the
depths of misery to which the inhabitants of Europe are accustomed.
I received friendly notice and hospitable treatment from the
Ridgeleys.These people were mercantile and plodding in their habits.
I found in their social circle little exercise for the sympathies of my
heart, and willingly accepted their aid to enlarge the sphere of my
observation.
About a week before my intended embarkation, and when suitable
preparation had been made for that event, a lady arrived in town, who
was cousin to my Constantia. She had frequently been mentioned in
favourable terms in my hearing. She had passed her life in a rural
abode with her father, who cultivated his own domain, lying forty
miles from Baltimore.
On an offer being made to introduce us to each other, I consented
to know one whose chief recommendation in my eyes consisted in
her affinity to Constantia Dudley. I found an artless and attractive
female, unpolished and undepraved by much intercourse with
mankind. At first sight, I was powerfully struck by the resemblances of
her features to those of my friend, which sufficiently denoted their
connection with a common stock.
The first interview afforded mutual satisfaction. On our second
meeting, discourse insensibly led to the mention of Miss Dudley, and
of the design which had brought me to America. She was deeply
affected by the earnestness with which I expatiated on her cousin's
merits, and by the proofs which my conduct had given of unlimited
attachment.
I dwelt immediately on the measures which I had hitherto ineffec-
tually pursued to trace her footsteps, and detailed the grounds of my
present belief that we should meet in London. During this recital, my
companion sighed and wept. When I finished my tale, her tears,
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 230
instead of ceasing, flowed with new vehemence. This appearance
excited some surprise, and I ventured to ask the cause of her grief.
"Alas!" she replied, "I am personally a stranger to my cousin, but
her character has been amply displayed to me by one who knew her
well. I weep to think how much she has suffered. How much excel-
lence we have lost!"
"Nay," said I, "all her sufferings will, I hope, be compensated, and I
by no means consider her as lost. If my search in London be unsuc-
cessful, then shall I indeed despair."
"Despair, then, already," said my sobbing companion, "for your
search will be unsuccessful. How I feel for your disappointment! but
it cannot be known too soon. My cousin is dead!"
These tidings were communicated with tokens of sincerity and
sorrow that left me no room to doubt that they were believed by the
relater. My own emotions were suspended till interrogations had
obtained a knowledge of her reasons for crediting this fatal event, and
till she had explained the time and manner of her death. A friend of
Miss Ridgeley's father had witnessed the devastations of the yellow
fever in Philadelphia. He was apprized of the relationship that sub-
sisted between his friend and the Dudleys. He gave a minute and
circumstantial account of the arts of Craig. He mentioned the
removal of my friends to Philadelphia, their obscure and indigent life,
and, finally, their falling victims to the pestilence.
He related the means by which he became apprized of their fate,
and drew a picture of their death, surpassing all that imagination can
conceive of shocking and deplorable. The quarter where they lived
was nearly desolate. Their house was shut up, and, for a time, imagined
to be uninhabited. Some suspicions being awakened in those "who
superintended the burial of the dead, the house was entered, and the
father and child discovered to be dead. The former was stretched
upon his wretched pallet, while the daughter was found on the floor
of the lower room, in a state that denoted the sufferance not only of
disease, but of famine.
This tale was false. Subsequent discoveries proved this to be a
detestable artifice of Craig, who, stimulated by incurable habits, had
invented these disasters, for the purpose of enhancing the opinion of
his humanity, and of furthering his views on the fortune and daughter
of Mr. Ridgeley.
231 ORMON D
Its falsehood, however, I had as yet no means of ascertaining. I
received it as true, and at once dismissed all my claims upon futurity.
All hope of happiness, in this mutable and sublunary scene, was fled.
Nothing remained but to join my friend in a world where woes are at
an end and virtue finds its recompense. "Surely," said I, "there will
some time be a close to calamity and discord. To those whose lives
have been blameless, but harassed by inquietudes to which not their
own but the errors of others have given birth, a fortress will hereafter
be assigned unassailable by change, impregnable to sorrow.
"O my ill-fated Constantia! I will live to cherish thy remem-
brance, and to emulate thy virtue. I will endure the privation of thy
friendship and the vicissitudes that shall befall me, and draw my con-
solation and courage from the foresight of no distant close to this ter-
restrial scene, and of ultimate and everlasting union with thee."
This consideration, though it kept me from confusion and despair,
could not, but with the healing aid of time, render me tranquil or
strenuous. My strength was unequal to the struggle of my passions.
The ship in which I engaged to embark could not wait for my
restoration to health, and I was left behind.
Mary Ridgeley was artless and affectionate. She saw that her soci-
ety was dearer to me than that of any other, and was therefore seldom
willing to leave my chamber. Her presence, less on her own account
than by reason of her personal resemblance and her affinity by birth
to Constantia, was a powerful solace.
I had nothing to detain me longer in America. I was anxious to
change my present lonely state, for the communion of those friends in
England, and the performance of those duties, which were left to me.
I was informed that a British packet would shortly sail from New
York. My frame was sunk into greater weakness than I had felt at any
former period; and I conceived that to return to New York by water
was more commodious than to perform the journey by land.
This arrangement was likewise destined to be disappointed. One
morning I visited, according to my custom, Mary Ridgeley. I found
her in a temper somewhat inclined to gayety. She rallied me, with
great archness, on the care with which I had concealed from her a
tender engagement into which I had lately entered.
I supposed myself to comprehend her allusion, and therefore
answered that accident, rather than design, had made me silent on the
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 232
subject of marriage. She had hitherto known me by no appellation
but Sophia Courtland. I had thought it needless to inform her that I
was indebted for my name to my husband, Courtland being his name.
"All that," said my friend,"! know already. And so you sagely think
that my knowledge goes no farther than that? We are not bound to
love our husbands longer than their lives.There is no crime, I believe,
in preferring the living to the dead; and most heartily do I congratu-
late you on your present choice."
"What mean you? I confess, your discourse surpasses my compre-
hension."
At that moment the bell at the door rung a loud peal. Miss Ridge-
ley hastened down at this signal, saying, with much significance, —
"I am a poor hand at solving a riddle. Here comes one who, if I
mistake it not, will find no difficulty in clearing up your doubts."
Presently she came up, and said, with a smile of still greater arch-
ness, "Here is a young gentleman, a friend of mine, to whom I must
have the pleasure of introducing you. He has come for the special
purpose of solving my riddle." I attended her to the parlour without
hesitation.
She presented me, with great formality, to a youth, whose appear-
ance did not greatly prepossess me in favour of his judgment. He
approached me with an air supercilious and ceremonious; but the
moment he caught a glance at my face, he shrunk back, visibly con-
founded and embarrassed. A pause ensued, in which Miss Ridgeley
had opportunity to detect the error into which she had been led by
the vanity of this young man.
"How now, Mr. Martynne!" said my friend, in a tone of ridicule;
"is it possible you do not know the lady who is the queen of your
affections, the tender and indulgent fair one whose portrait you carry
in your bosom, and whose image you daily and nightly bedew with
your tears and kisses?"
Mr. Martynne's confusion, instead of being subdued by his strug-
gle, only grew more conspicuous; and, after a few incoherent speech-
es and apologies, during which he carefully avoided encountering my
eyes, he hastily departed.
I applied to my friend, with great earnestness, for an explanation
of this scene. It seems that, in the course of conversation with him on
the preceding day, he had suffered a portrait which hung at his breast
233 ORMON D
to catch Miss Ridgeley's eye. On her betraying a desire to inspect it
more nearly, he readily produced it. My image had been too well
copied by the artist not to be instantly recognised.
She concealed her knowledge of the original, and, by questions
well adapted to the purpose, easily drew from him confessions that
this was the portrait of his mistress. He let fall sundry innuendoes and
surmises, tending to impress her with a notion of the rank, fortune,
and intellectual accomplishments of the nymph, and particularly of
the doting fondness and measureless confidence with which she
regarded him.
Her imperfect knowledge of my situation left her in some doubts
as to the truth of these pretensions, and she was willing to ascertain
the truth by bringing about an interview. To guard against evasions
and artifice in the lover, she carefully concealed from him her knowl-
edge of the original, and merely pretended that a friend of hers was
far more beautiful than her whom this picture represented. She
added, that she expected a visit from her friend the next morning, and
was willing, by showing her to Mr. Martynne, to convince him how
much he was mistaken in supposing the perfections of his mistress
unrivalled.
CHAPTER XXV.
MARTYNNE, while he expressed his confidence that the experiment
would only confirm his triumph, readily assented to the proposal, and
the interview above described took place, accordingly, the next
morning. Had he not been taken by surprise, it is likely the address of
a man who possessed no contemptible powers would have extricated
him from some of his embarrassment.
That my portrait should be in the possession of one whom I had
never before seen, and whose character and manners entitled him to
no respect, was a source of some surprise. This mode of multiplying
faces is extremely prevalent in this age, and was eminently characteris-
tic of those with whom I had associated in different parts of Europe.
The nature of my thoughts had modified my features into an expres-
sion which my friends were pleased to consider as a model for those
who desired to personify the genius of suffering and resignation.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 234
Hence, among those whose religion permitted their devotion to a
picture of a female, the symbols of their chosen deity were added to
features and shape that resembled mine. My own caprice, as well as
that of others, always dictated a symbolical, and, in every new
instance, a different accompaniment of this kind. Hence was offered
the means of tracing the history of that picture which Martynne pos-
sessed.
It had been accurately examined by Miss Ridgeley, and her
description of the frame in which it was placed instantly informed
me that it was the same which, at our parting, I left in the possession
of Constantia. My friend and myself were desirous of employing the
skill of a Saxon painter, by name Eckstein. Each of us were drawn by
him, she with the cincture of Venus, and I with the crescent of Dian.
This symbol was still conspicuous on the brow of that image which
Miss Ridgeley had examined, and served to identify the original pro-
prietor.
This circumstance tended to confirm my fears that Constantia was
dead, since that she would part with this picture during her life was
not to be believed. It was of little moment to discover how it came
into the hands of the present possessor. Those who carried her
remains to the grave had probably torn it from her neck and after-
wards disposed of it for money.
By whatever means, honest or illicit, it had been acquired by Mar-
tynne, it was proper that it should be restored to me. It was valuable
to me, because it had been the property of one whom I loved, and it
might prove highly injurious to my fame and my happiness, as the
tool of this man's vanity and the attestor of his falsehood. I therefore
wrote him a letter, acquainting him with my reasons for desiring the
repossession of this picture, and offering a price for it at least double
its value as a mere article of traffic. Martynne accepted the terms. He
transmitted the picture, and with it a note, apologizing for the artifice
of which he had been guilty, and mentioning, in order to justify his
acceptance of the price which I had offered, that he had lately pur-
chased it for an equal sum, of a goldsmith in Philadelphia.
This information suggested a new reflection. Constantia had
engaged to preserve, for the use of her friend, copious and accurate
memorials of her life. Copies of these were, on suitable occasions, to
be transmitted to me during my residence abroad. These I had never
235 ORMON D
received, but it was highly probably that her punctuality, in the perfor-
mance of the first part of her engagement, had been equal to my own.
What, I asked, had become of these precious memorials? In the
wreck of her property were these irretrievably engulfed? It was not
probable that they had been wantonly destroyed. They had fallen, per-
haps, into hands careless or unconscious of their value, or still lay,
unknown and neglected, at the bottom of some closet or chest. Their
recovery might be effected by vehement exertions, or by some mirac-
ulous accident. Suitable inquiries, carried on among those who were
active in those scenes of calamity, might afford some clue by which
the fate of the Dudleys, and the disposition of their property, might
come into fuller light. These inquiries could be made only in
Philadelphia, and thither, for that purpose, I now resolved to repair.
There was still an interval of some weeks before the departure of the
packet in which I proposed to embark.
Having returned to the capital, I devoted all my zeal to my darling
project. My efforts, however, were without success. Those who
administered charity and succour during that memorable season, and
who survived, could remove none of my doubts, nor answer any of
my inquiries. Innumerable tales, equally disastrous with those which
Miss Ridgeley had heard, were related; but, for a considerable period,
none of their circumstances were sufficiently accordant with the his-
tory of the Dudleys.
It is worthy of remark, in how many ways, and by what complexi-
ty of motives, human curiosity is awakened and knowledge obtained.
By its connection with my darling purpose, every event in this histo-
ry of the memorable pest was earnestly sought and deeply pondered.
The powerful considerations which governed me made me slight
those punctilious impediments which, in other circumstances, would
have debarred me from intercourse with the immediate actors and
observers. I found none who were unwilling to expatiate on this
topic, or to communicate the knowledge they possessed. Their details
were copious in particulars and vivid in minuteness. They exhibited
the state of manners, the diversified effects of evil or heroic passions,
and the endless forms which sickness and poverty assume in the
obscure recesses of a commercial and populous city.
Some of these details are too precious to be lost. It is above all
things necessary that we should be thoroughly acquainted with the
condition of our fellow-beings. Justice and compassion are the fruit of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 236
knowledge. The misery that overspreads so large a part of mankind
exists chiefly because those who are able to relieve it do not know
that it exists. Forcibly to paint the evil, seldom fails to excite the
virtue of the spectator and seduce him into wishes, at least, if not into
exertions, of beneficence.
The circumstances in which I was placed were, perhaps, wholly
singular. Hence, the knowledge I obtained was more comprehensive
and authentic than was possessed by any one, even of the immediate
actors or sufferers. This knowledge will not be useless to myself or to
the world. The motives which dictated the present narrative will
hinder me from relinquishing the pen till my fund of observation and
experience be exhausted. Meanwhile, let me resume the thread of my
tale.
The period allowed me before my departure was nearly expired,
and my purpose seemed to be as far from its accomplishment as ever.
One evening I visited a lady who was the widow of a physician
whose disinterested exertions had cost him his life. She dwelt with
pathetic earnestness on the particulars of her own distress, and lis-
tened with deep attention to the inquiries and doubts which I laid
before her.
After a pause of consideration, she said that an incident like that
related by me she had previously heard from one of her friends,
whose name she mentioned. This person was one of those whose
office consisted in searching out the sufferers, and affording them
unsought and unsolicited relief. She was offering to introduce me to
this person, when he entered the apartment.
After the usual compliments, my friend led the conversation as I
wished. Between Mr.Thompson's tale and that related to Miss Ridge-
ley there was an obvious resemblance. The sufferers resided in an
obscure alley. They had shut themselves up from all intercourse with
their neighbours, and had died, neglected and unknown. Mr. Thomp-
son was vested with the superintendence of this district, and had
passed the house frequently without suspicion of its being tenanted.
He was at length informed, by one of those who conducted a
hearse, that he had seen the window in the upper story of this house
lifted and a female show herself. It was night, and the hearseman
chanced to be passing the door. He immediately supposed that the
person stood in need of his services, and stopped.
This procedure was comprehended by the person at the window,
237 ORMON D
who, leaning out, addressed him in a broken and feeble voice. She
asked him why he had not taken a different route, and upbraided him
for inhumanity in leading his noisy vehicle past her door. She wanted
repose, but the ceaseless rumbling of his wheels would not allow her
the sweet respite of a moment.
This invective was singular, and uttered in a voice which united
the utmost degree of earnestness with a feebleness that rendered it
almost inarticulate. The man was at a loss for a suitable answer. His
pause only increased the impatience of the person at the window,
who called upon him, in a still more anxious tone, to proceed, and
entreated him to avoid this alley for the future.
He answered that he must come whenever the occasion called
him; that three persons now lay dead in this alley, and that he must be
expeditious in their removal; but that he would return as seldom and
make as little noise as possible.
He was interrupted by new exclamations and upbraidings. These
terminated in a burst of tears, and assertions that God and man were
her enemies, - that they were determined to destroy her; but she
trusted that the time would come when their own experience would
avenge her wrongs, and teach them some compassion for the misery
of others. Saying this, she shut the window with violence, and retired
from it, sobbing with a vehemence that could be distinctly overheard
by him in the street.
He paused for some time, listening when this passion should cease.
The habitation was slight, and he imagined that he heard her travers-
ing the floor. While he stayed, she continued to vent her anguish in
exclamations and sighs and passionate weeping. It did not appear that
any other person was within.
Mr. Thompson, being next day informed of these incidents,
endeavoured to enter the house; but his signals, though loud and fre-
quently repeated, being unnoticed, he was obliged to gain admission
by violence. An old man, and a female lovely in the midst of emacia-
tion and decay, were discovered without signs of life. The death of the
latter appeared to have been very recent.
In examining the house, no traces of other inhabitants were to be
found. Nothing serviceable as food was discovered, but the remnants
of mouldy bread scattered on a table. No information could be gath-
ered from neighbours respecting the condition and name of these
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 238
unfortunate people. They had taken possession of this house during
the rage of this malady, and refrained from all communication with
their neighbours.
There was too much resemblance between this and the story for-
merly heard, not to produce the belief that they related to the same
persons. All that remained was to obtain directions to the proprietor
of this dwelling, and exact from him all that he knew respecting his
tenants.
I found in him a man of worth and affability. He readily related,
that a man applied to him for the use of this house, and that the appli-
cation was received. At the beginning of the pestilence, a numerous
family inhabited this tenement, but had died in rapid succession. This
new applicant was the first to apprize him of this circumstance, and
appeared extremely anxious to enter on immediate possession.
It was intimated to him that danger would arise from the pestilen-
tial condition of the house. Unless cleansed and purified, disease
would be unavoidably contracted. The inconvenience and hazard this
applicant was willing to encounter, and, at length, hinted that no
alternative was allowed him by his present landlord but to lie in the
street or to procure some other abode.
"What was the external appearance of this person?"
"He was infirm, past the middle age, of melancholy aspect and
indigent garb. A year had since elapsed, and more characteristic par-
ticulars had not been remarked, or were forgotten. The name had
been mentioned, but, in the midst of more recent and momentous
transactions, had vanished from remembrance. Dudley, or Dolby, or
Hadley, seemed to approach more nearly than any other sounds."
Permission to inspect the house was readily granted. It had
remained, since that period, unoccupied. The furniture and goods
were scanty and wretched, and he did not care to endanger his safety
by meddling with them. He believed that they had not been removed
or touched.
I was insensible of any hazard which attended my visit, and, with
the guidance of a servant, who felt as little apprehension as myself,
hastened to the spot. I found nothing but tables and chairs. Clothing
was nowhere to be seen. An earthen pot, without handle, and broken,
stood upon the kitchen-hearth. No other implement or vessel for the
preparation of food appeared.
239 ORMON D
These forlorn appearances were accounted for by the servant, by
supposing the house to have been long since rifled of every thing
worth the trouble of removal, by the villains who occupied the neigh-
bouring houses, - this alley, it seems, being noted for the profligacy of
its inhabitants.
When I reflected that a wretched hovel like this had been, proba-
bly, the last retreat of the Dudleys, when I painted their sufferings, of
which the numberless tales of distress of which I had lately been an
auditor enabled me to form an adequate conception, I felt as if to lie
down and expire on the very spot where Constantia had fallen was
the only sacrifice to friendship which time had left to me.
From this house I wandered to the field where the dead had been,
promiscuously and by hundreds, interred. I counted the long series of
graves, which were closely ranged, and, being recently levelled, exhib-
ited the appearance of a harrowed field. Methought I could have
given thousands to know in what spot the body of my friend lay, that
I might moisten the sacred earth with my tears. Boards hastily nailed
together formed the best receptacle which the exigencies of the time
could grant to the dead. Many corpses were thrown into a single
excavation, and all distinctions founded on merit and rank were oblit-
erated. The father and child had been placed in the same cart and
thrown into the same hole.
Despairing, by any longer stay in the city, to effect my purpose, and
the period of my embarkation being near, I prepared to resume my
journey. I should have set out the next day, but, a family with whom I
had made acquaintance expecting to proceed to New York within a
week, I consented to be their companion, and, for that end, to delay
my departure.
Meanwhile, I shut myself up in my apartment, and pursued avoca-
tions that were adapted to the melancholy tenor of my thoughts. The
day preceding that appointed for my journey arrived. It was necessary
to complete my arrangements with the family with whom I was to
travel, and to settle with the lady whose apartments I occupied.
On how slender threads does our destiny hang! Had not a
momentary impulse tempted me to sing my favourite ditty to the
harpsichord, to beguile the short interval during which my hostess
was conversing with her visitor in the next apartment, I should have
speeded to New York, have embarked for Europe, and been eternally
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 240
severed from my friend, whom I believed to have died in frenzy and
beggary, but who was alive and affluent, and who sought me with a
diligence scarcely inferior to my own. We imagined ourselves severed
from each other by death or by impassable seas; but, at the moment
when our hopes had sunk to the lowest ebb, a mysterious destiny
conducted our footsteps to the same spot.
I heard a murmuring exclamation; I heard my hostess call, in a
voice of terror, for help; I rushed into the room; I saw one stretched
on the floor, in the attitude of death; I sprung forward and fixed my
eyes upon her countenance; I clasped my hands and articulated,
"Constantia!"
She speedily recovered from her swoon. Her eyes opened; she
moved, she spoke. Still methought it was an illusion of the senses that
created the phantom. I could not bear to withdraw my eyes from her
countenance. If they wandered for a moment, I fell into doubt and
perplexity, and again fixed them upon her, to assure myself of her
existence.
The succeeding three days were spent in a state of dizziness and
intoxication. The ordinary functions of nature were disturbed. The
appetite for sleep and for food were confounded and lost amidst the
impetuosities of a master-passion. To look and to talk to each other
afforded enchanting occupation for every moment. I would not part
from her side, but eat and slept, walked and mused and read, with my
arm locked in hers, and with her breath fanning my cheek.
I have indeed much to learn. Sophia Courtland has never been
wise. Her affections disdain the cold dictates of discretion, and spurn
at every limit that contending duties and mixed obligations prescribe.
And yet, O precious inebriation of the heart! O pre-eminent love!
what pleasure of reason or of sense can stand in competition with
those attendant upon thee? Whether thou hiest to the fanes
1
 of a
benevolent deity, or layest all thy homage at the feet of one who most
visibly resembles the perfections of our Maker, surely thy sanction is
divine, thy boon is happiness!
i fanes: temples
241 ORMON D
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE tumults of curiosity and pleasure did not speedily subside. The
story of each other s wanderings was told with endless amplification
and minuteness. Henceforth, the stream of our existence was to mix;
we were to act and to think in common; casual witnesses and written
testimony should become superfluous. Eyes and ears were to be eter-
nally employed upon the conduct of each other; death, when it
should come, was not to be deplored, because it was an unavoidable
and brief privation to her that should survive. Being, under any
modification, is dear; but that state to which death is a passage is all-
desirable to virtue and all-compensating to grief.
Meanwhile, precedent events were made the themes of endless
conversation. Every incident and passion in the course of four years
was revived and exhibited. The name of Ormond was, of course, fre-
quently repeated by my friend. His features and deportment were
described; her meditations and resolutions, with regard to him, fully
disclosed. My counsel was asked, in what manner it became her to
act.
I could not but harbour aversion to a scheme which should tend
to sever me from Constantia, or to give me a competitor in her affec-
tions. Besides this, the properties of Ormond were of too mysterious a
nature to make him worthy of acceptance. Little more was known
concerning him than what he himself had disclosed to the Dudleys,
but this knowledge would suffice to invalidate his claims.
He had dwelt, in his conversations with Constantia, sparingly on
his own concerns.Yet he did not hide from her that he had been left
in early youth to his own guidance; that he had embraced, when
almost a child, the trade of arms; that he had found service and pro-
motion in the armies of Potemkin and Romanov;
1
 that he had exe-
cuted secret and diplomatic functions at Constantinople and Berlin;
that in the latter city he had met with schemers and reasoners who
aimed at the new-modelling of the world, and the subversion of all
that has hitherto been conceived elementary and fundamental in the
i Grigory Aleksandrovich Potemkin (1739-1791) was a Russian field marshal, states-
man, and the lover/collaborator of Catherine the Great. Pyotr Aleksandrovich,
Count Romanov, was a Russian Army officer who distinguished himself in the
Seven Years War (1756-63) and the Russo-TurkishWar (1768-74).
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 242
constitution of man and of government; that some of those reformers
had secretly united to break down the military and monarchical fab-
ric of German policy; that others, more wisely, had devoted their
secret efforts, not to overturn, but to build; that, for this end, they
embraced an exploring and colonizing project; that he had allied
himself to these, and for the promotion of their projects had spent six
years of his life in journeys by sea and land, in tracts unfrequented till
then by any European.
What were the moral or political maxims which this adventurous
and visionary sect had adopted, and what was the seat of their new-
born empire, - whether on the shore of an austral continent, or in the
heart of desert America, - he carefully concealed. These were exhibit-
ed or hidden, or shifted, according to his purpose. Not to reveal too
much, and not to tire curiosity or overtask belief, was his daily labour.
He talked of alliance with the family whose name he bore, and who
had lost their honours and estates by the Hanoverian succession to
the crown of England.
I had seen too much of innovation and imposture, in France and
Italy, not to regard a man like this with aversion and fear. The mind of
my friend was wavering and unsuspicious. She had lived at a distance
from scenes where principles are hourly put to the test of experi-
ment; where all extremes of fortitude and pusillanimity are accus-
tomed to meet; where recluse virtue and speculative heroism give
place, as if by magic, to the last excesses of debauchery and wicked-
ness; where pillage and murder are engrafted on systems of all-
embracing and self-oblivious benevolence, and the good of mankind
is professed to be pursued with bonds of association and covenants of
secrecy. Hence, my friend had decided without the sanction of expe-
rience, had allowed herself to wander into untried paths, and had
hearkened to positions pregnant with destruction and ignominy.
It was not difficult to exhibit, in their true light the enormous
errors of this man, and the danger of prolonging their intercourse.
Her assent to accompany me to England was readily obtained. Too
much despatch could not be used; but the disposal of her property
must first take place. This was necessarily productive of some delay.
I had been made, contrary to inclination, expert in the manage-
ment of all affairs relative to property. My mother's lunacy, subsequent
disease, and death, had imposed upon me obligations and cares little
243 ORMON D
suitable to my sex and age. They could not be eluded or transferred to
others; and, by degrees, experience enlarged my knowledge and
familiarized my tasks.
It was agreed that I should visit and inspect my friend's estate in
Jersey, while she remained in her present abode, to put an end to the
views and expectations of Ormond, and to make preparation for her
voyage. We were reconciled to a temporary separation by the necessi-
ty that prescribed it.
During our residence together, the mind of Constantia was kept in
perpetual ferment. The second day after my departure, the turbulence
of her feelings began to subside, and she found herself at leisure to
pursue those measures which her present situation prescribed.
The time prefixed by Ormond for the termination of his absence
had nearly arrived. Her resolutions respecting this man, lately formed,
now occurred to her. Her heart drooped as she revolved the necessity
of disuniting their fates; but that this disunion was proper could not
admit of doubt. How information of her present views might be most
satisfactorily imparted to him, was a question not instantly decided.
She reflected on the impetuosity of his character, and conceived that
her intentions might be most conveniently unfolded in a letter. This
letter she immediately sat down to write. Just then the door opened,
and Ormond entered the apartment.
She was somewhat, and for a moment, startled by this abrupt and
unlooked-for entrance. Yet she greeted him with pleasure. Her greet-
ing was received with coldness. A second glance at his countenance
informed her that his mind was somewhat discomposed.
Folding his hands on his breast, he stalked to the window and
looked up at the moon. Presently he withdrew his gaze from this
object, and fixed it upon Constantia. He spoke, but his words were
produced by a kind of effort:
"Fit emblem," he exclaimed, "of human versatility! One impedi-
ment is gone. I hoped it was the only one. But no! the removal of that
merely made room for another. Let this be removed. Well, fate will
interplace a third. All our toils will thus be frustrated, and the ruin will
finally redound upon our heads."There he stopped.
This strain could not be interpreted by Constantia. She smiled,
and, without noticing his incoherences, proceeded to inquire into his
adventures during their separation. He listened to her, but his eyes,
fixed upon hers, and his solemnity of aspect, were immovable. When
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 244
she paused, he seated himself close to her, and, grasping her hand with
a vehemence that almost pained her, said, —
"Look at me; steadfastly. Can you read my thoughts? Can your dis-
cernment reach the bounds of my knowledge and the bottom of my
purposes? Catch you not a view of the monsters that are starting into
birth here? " (and he put his left hand to his forehead.) "But you can-
not. Should I paint them to you verbally, you would call me jester or
deceiver. What pity that you have not instruments for piercing into
thoughts!"
"I presume," said Constantia, affecting cheerfulness which she did
not feel, "such instruments would be useless to me. You never scruple
to say what you think. Your designs are no sooner conceived than
they are expressed. All you know, all you wish, and all you purpose,
are known to others as soon as to yourself. No scruples of decorum,
no foresight of consequences, are obstacles in your way."
"True," replied he; "all obstacles are trampled under foot but one."
"What is the insuperable one?"
"Incredulity in him that hears. I must not say what will not be
credited. I must not relate feats and avow schemes, when my hearer
will say, 'Those feats were never performed; these schemes are not
yours.' I care not if the truth of my tenets and the practicability of my
purposes be denied. Still, I will openly maintain them; but when my
assertions will themselves be disbelieved, when it is denied that I
adopt the creed and project the plans which I affirm to be adopted
and projected by me, it is needless to affirm.
"To-morrow I mean to ascertain the height of the lunar moun-
tains by travelling to the top of them. Then I will station myself in the
track of the last comet, and wait till its circumvolution suffers me to
leap upon it; then, by walking on its surface, I will ascertain whether
it be hot enough to burn my soles. Do you believe that this can be
done?"
"No."
"Do you believe, in consequence of my assertion, that I design to
do this, and that, in my apprehension, it is easy to be done?"
"Not unless I previously believe you to be lunatic."
"Then why should I assert my purposes? Why speak, when the
hearer will infer nothing from my speech but that I am either lunatic
or liar?"
"In that predicament, silence is best."
245 ORMON D
"In that predicament I now stand. I am not going to unfold
myself. Just now, I pitied thee for want of eyes. 'Twas a foolish com-
passion. Thou art happy, because thou seest not an inch before thee or
behind." Here he was for a moment buried in thought; then breaking
from his reverie, he said, "So your father is dead?"
"True," said Constantia, endeavouring to suppress her rising emo-
tions; "he is no more. It is so recent an event that I imagined you a
stranger to it."
"False imagination! Thinkest thou I would refrain from knowing
what so nearly concerns us both? Perhaps your opinion of my igno-
rance extends beyond this. Perhaps I know not your fruitless search
for a picture. Perhaps I neither followed you nor led you to a being
called Sophia Courtland. I was not present at the meeting. I am unap-
prized of the effects of your romantic passion for each other. I did not
witness the rapturous effusions and inexorable counsels of the new-
comer. I know not the contents of the letter which you are preparing
to write."
As he spoke this, the accents of Ormond gradually augmented in
vehemence. His countenance bespoke a deepening inquietude and
growing passion. He stopped at the mention of the letter, because his
voice was overpowered by emotion. This pause afforded room for the
astonishment of Constantia. Her interviews and conversations with
me took place at seasons of general repose, when all doors were fast
and avenues shut, in the midst of silence, and in the bosom of retire-
ment. The theme of our discourse was, commonly, too sacred for any
ears but our own; disclosures were of too intimate and delicate a
nature for any but a female audience; they were too injurious to the
fame and peace of Ormond for him to be admitted to partake of
them: yet his words implied a full acquaintance with recent events,
and with purposes and deliberations shrouded, as we imagined, in
impenetrable secrecy.
As soon as Constantia recovered from the confusion of these
thoughts, she eagerly questioned him: - "What do you know? How
do you know what has happened, or what is intended?"
"Poor Constantia!" he explained, in a tone bitter and sarcastic.
"How hopeless is thy ignorance! To enlighten thee is past my power.
What do I know? Everything. Not a tittle has escaped me. Thy letter
is superfluous; I know its contents before they are written. I was to be
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 246
told that a soldier and a traveller, a man who refused his faith to
dreams, and his homage to shadows, merited only scorn and forget-
fulness. That thy affections and person were due to another; that
intercourse between us was henceforth to cease; that preparation was
making for a voyage to Britain, and that Ormond was to walk to his
grave alone!"
In spite of harsh tones and inflexible features, these words were
accompanied with somewhat that betrayed a mind full of discord and
agony. Constantia's astonishment was mingled with dejection. The
discovery of a passion deeper and less curable than she suspected - the
perception of embarrassments and difficulties in the path which she
had chosen, that had not previously occurred to her - threw her
mind into anxious suspense.
The measures she had previously concerted were still approved. To
part from Ormond was enjoined by every dictate of discretion and
duty. An explanation of her motives and views could not take place
more seasonably than at present. Every consideration of justice to
herself and humanity to Ormond made it desirable that this interview
should be the last. By inexplicable means, he had gained a knowledge
of her intentions. It was expedient, therefore, to state them with clear-
ness and force. In what words this was to be done, was the subject of
momentary deliberation.
Her thoughts were discerned, and her speech anticipated, by her
companion: — "Why droopest thou, and why thus silent, Constantia?
The secret of thy fate will never be detected. Till thy destiny be
finished, it will not be the topic of a single fear. But not for thyself,
but me, art thou concerned. Thou dreadest, yet determinest, to con-
firm my predictions of thy voyage to Europe and thy severance from
me.
"Dismiss thy inquietudes on that score. What misery thy scorn and
thy rejection are able to inflict is inflicted already. Thy decision was
known to me as soon as it was formed.Thy motives were known. Not
an argument or plea of thy counsellor, not a syllable of her invective,
not a sound of her persuasive rhetoric, escaped my hearing. I know
thy decree to be immutable. As my doubts, so my wishes have taken
their flight. Perhaps, in the depth of thy ignorance, it was supposed
that I should struggle to reverse thy purpose by menaces or supplica-
tions; that I should boast of the cruelty with which I should avenge
247 ORMON D
an imaginary wrong upon myself. No. All is very well. Go. Not a
whisper of objection or reluctance shalt thou hear from me."
"If I could think," said Constantia, with tremulous hesitation, "that
you part from me without anger; that you see the rectitude of my
proceeding - "
"Anger! Rectitude! I pr'ythee, peace. I know thou art going. I
know that all objection to thy purpose would be vain. Thinkest thou
that thy stay, undictated by love, the mere fruit of compassion, would
afford me pleasure or crown my wishes? No. I am not so dastardly a
wretch. There was something in thy power to bestow, but thy will
accords not with thy power. I merit not the boon, and thou refusest it.
I am content."
Here Ormond fixed more significant eyes upon her. "Poor Con-
stantia!" he continued. "Shall I warn thee of the danger that awaits
thee? For what end? To elude it is impossible. It will come, and thou,
perhaps, wilt be unhappy. Foresight that enables not to shun, only
precreates, the evil.
"Come it will. Though future, it knows not the empire of con-
tingency. An inexorable and immutable decree enjoins it. Perhaps it
is thy nature to meet with calmness what cannot be shunned. Per-
haps, when it is past, thy reason will perceive its irrevocable nature,
and restore thee to peace. Such is the conduct of the wise; but such,
I fear, the education of Constantia Dudley will debar her from pur-
suing.
"Fain would I regard it as the test of thy wisdom. I look upon thy
past life. All the forms of genuine adversity have beset thy youth.
Poverty, disease, servile labour, a criminal and hapless parent, have
been evils which thou hast not ungracefully sustained. An absent
friend and murdered father were added to thy list of woes, and here
thy courage was deficient. Thy soul was proof against substantial mis-
ery, but sunk into helpless cowardice at the sight of phantoms.
"One more disaster remains. To call it by its true name would be
useless or pernicious. Useless, because thou wouldst pronounce its
occurrence impossible; pernicious, because, if its possibility were
granted, the omen would distract thee with fear. How shall I describe
it? Is it loss of fame? No. The deed will be unwitnessed by a human
creature. Thy reputation will be spotless, for nothing will be done by
thee unsuitable to the tenor of thy past life. Calumny will not be
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 248
heard to whisper. All that know thee will be lavish of their eulogies as
ever. Their eulogies will be as justly merited. Of this merit thou wilt
entertain as just and as adequate conceptions as now.
"It is no repetition of the evils thou hast already endured; it is
neither drudgery, nor sickness, nor privation of friends. Strange per-
verseness of human reason! It is an evil; it will be thought upon with
agony; it will close up all the sources of pleasurable recollection; it
will exterminate hope; it will endear oblivion, and push thee into an
untimely grave.Yet to grasp it is impossible. The moment we inspect it
nearly, it vanishes. Thy claims to human approbation and divine
applause will be undiminished and unaltered by it. The testimony of
approving conscience will have lost none of its explicitness and ener-
gy. Yet thou wilt feed upon sighs; thy tears will flow without remis-
sion; thou wilt grow enamoured of death, and perhaps wilt anticipate
the stroke of disease.
"Yet perhaps my prediction is groundless as my knowledge. Per-
haps thy discernment will avail to make thee wise and happy. Perhaps
thou wilt perceive thy privilege of sympathetic and intellectual activ-
ity to be untouched. Heaven grant the non-fulfilment of my prophe-
cy, thy disenthralment from error, and the perpetuation of thy
happiness."
Saying this, Ormond withdrew. His words were always accompa-
nied with gestures and looks and tones that fastened the attention of
the hearer; but the terms of his present discourse afforded, indepen-
dently of gesticulation and utterance, sufficient motives to attention
and remembrance. He was gone, but his image was contemplated by
Constantia; his words still rung in her ears.
The letter she designed to compose was rendered, by this inter-
view, unnecessary. Meanings of which she and her friend alone were
conscious were discovered by Ormond, through some other medium
than words; yet that was impossible. A being unendowed with preter-
natural attributes could gain the information which this man pos-
sessed, only by the exertion of his senses.
All human precautions had been used to baffle the attempts of any
secret witness. She recalled to mind the circumstances in which con-
versations with her friend had taken place. All had been retirement,
secrecy, and silence. The hours usually dedicated to sleep had been
devoted to this better purpose. Much had been said, in a voice low
249 ORMON D
and scarcely louder than a whisper. To have overheard it at the
distance of a few feet was apparently impossible.
Their conversations had not been recorded by her. It could not be
believed that this had been done by Sophia Courtland. Had Ormond
and her friend met during the interval that had elapsed between her
separation from the latter and her meeting with the former? Human
events are conjoined by links imperceptible to keenest eyes. Of
Ormond s means of information she was wholly unapprized. Perhaps
accident would sometime unfold them. One thing was incontestable:
— that her schemes and her reasons for adopting them were known to
him.
What unforeseen effects had that knowledge produced! In what
ambiguous terms had he couched his prognostics of some mighty evil
that awaited her! He had given a terrible but contradictory descrip-
tion of her destiny. An event was to happen, akin to no calamity
which she had already endured, disconnected with all which the
imagination of man is accustomed to deprecate, capable of urging her
to suicide, and yet a kind which left it undecided whether she would
regard it with indifference.
What reliance should she place upon prophetic incoherencies thus
wild? What precautions should she take against a danger thus
inscrutable and imminent?
CHAPTER XXVII.
THESE incidents and reflections were speedily transmitted to me. I
had always believed the character and machinations of Ormond to be
worthy of caution and fear. His means of information I did not pre-
tend, and thought it useless, to investigate. We cannot hide our actions
and thoughts from one of powerful sagacity, whom the detection
sufficiently interests to make him use all the methods of detection in
his power. The study of concealment is, in all cases, fruitless or hurtful.
All that duty enjoins is to design and to execute nothing which may
not be approved by a divine and omniscient Observer. Human scruti-
ny is neither to be solicited nor shunned. Human approbation or cen-
sure can never be exempt from injustice, because our limited
perceptions debar us from a thorough knowledge of any actions and
motives but our own.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 250
On reviewing what had passed between Constantia and me, I rec-
ollected nothing incompatible with purity and rectitude. That
Ormond was apprized of all that had passed, I by no means inferred
from the tenor of his conversation with Constantia; nor, if this had
been incontestably proved, should I have experienced any trepidation
or anxiety on that account.
His obscure and indirect menaces of evil were of more impor-
tance. His discourse on this topic seemed susceptible only of two
constructions. Either he intended some fatal mischief, and was willing
to torment her by fears, while he concealed from her the nature of
her danger, that he might hinder her from guarding her safety by suit-
able precautions; or, being hopeless of rendering her propitious to his
wishes, his malice was satisfied with leaving her a legacy of apprehen-
sion and doubt.
Constantia's unacquaintance with the doctrines of that school in
which Ormond was probably instructed led her to regard the con-
duct of this man with more curiosity and wonder than fear. She saw
nothing but a disposition to sport with her ignorance and bewilder
her with doubts.
I do not believe myself destitute of courage. Rightly to estimate
the danger and encounter it with firmness are worthy of a rational
being; but to place our security in thoughtlessness and blindness is
only less ignoble than cowardice. I could not forget the proofs of vio-
lence which accompanied the death of Mr. Dudley. I could not over-
look, in the recent conversation with Constantia, Ormond's allusion
to her murdered father. It was possible that the nature of this death
had been accidentally imparted to him; but it was likewise possible
that his was the knowledge of one who performed the act.
The enormity of this deed appeared by no means incongruous
with the sentiments of Ormond. Human life is momentous or trivial
in our eyes, according to the course which our habits and opinions
have taken. Passion greedily accepts, and habit readily offers, the
sacrifice of another's life, and reason obeys the impulse of education
and desire.
A youth of eighteen, a volunteer in a Russian army encamped in
Bessarabia, made prey of a Tartar girl, found in the field of a recent
battle. Conducting her to his quarters, he met a friend, who, on some
pretence, claimed the victim. From angry words they betook them-
selves to swords. A combat ensued, in which the first claimant ran his
ORMON D 251
antagonist through the body. He then bore his prize unmolested away,
and having exercised brutality of one kind upon the helpless victim,
stabbed her to the heart, as an offering to the manes
1
 of Sarsefield, the
friend whom he had slain. Next morning, willing more signally to
expiate his guilt, he rushed alone upon a troop of Turkish foragers,
and brought away five heads, suspended, by their gory locks, to his
horse's mane. These he cast upon the grave of Sarsefield, and con-
ceived himself fully to have expiated yesterday's offence. In reward for
his prowess, the general gave him a commission in the Cossack troops.
This youth was Ormond; and such is a specimen of his exploits dur-
ing a military career of eight years, in a warfare the most savage and
implacable, and, at the same time, the most iniquitous and wanton,
which history records.
With passions and habits like these, the life of another was a trifling
sacrifice to vengeance or impatience. How Mr. Dudley had excited
the resentment of Ormond, by what means the assassin had accom-
plished his intention without awakening alarm or incurring suspi-
cion, it was not for me to discover. The inextricability of human
events, the imperviousness of cunning, and the obduracy of malice, I
had frequent occasions to remark.
I did not labour to vanquish the security of my friend. As to pre-
cautions, they were useless. There was no fortress, guarded by barriers
of stone and iron and watched by sentinels that never slept, to which
she might retire from his stratagems. If there were such a retreat, it
would scarcely avail her against a foe circumspect and subtle as
Ormond.
I pondered on the condition of my friend. I reviewed the incidents
of her life. I compared her lot with that of others. I could not but dis-
cover a sort of incurable malignity in her fate. I felt as if it were denied
to her to enjoy a long life or permanent tranquillity. I asked myself
what she had done, entitling her to this incessant persecution. Impa-
tience and murmuring took place of sorrow and fear in my heart.
When I reflected that all human agency was merely subservient to a
divine purpose, I fell into fits of accusation and impiety.
This injustice was transient, and soberer views convinced me that
i manes: the spirits of the dead, regarded as minor supernatural powers in ancient
Roman religion; the revered spirits of those who have died.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 252
every scheme, comprising the whole, must be productive of partial
and temporary evil. The sufferings of Constantia were limited to a
moment; they were the unavoidable appendages of terrestrial exist-
ence; they formed the only avenue to wisdom, and the only claim to
uninterrupted fruition and eternal repose in an after-scene.
The course of my reflections, and the issue to which they led, were
unforeseen by myself. Fondly as I doted upon this woman,
methought I could resign her to the grave without a murmur or a
tear. While my thoughts were calmed by resignation, and my fancy
occupied with nothing but the briefness of that space and evanes-
cence of that time which severs the living from the dead, I contem-
plated, almost with complacency, a violent or untimely close to her
existence.
This loftiness of mind could not always be accomplished or con-
stantly maintained. One effect of my fears was to hasten my departure
to Europe. There existed no impediment but the want of a suitable
conveyance. In the first packet that should leave America, it was
determined to secure a passage. Mr. Melbourne consented to take
charge of Constantia's property, and, after the sale of it, to transmit to
her the money that should thence arise.
Meanwhile, I was anxious that Constantia should leave her present
abode and join me in New York. She willingly adopted this arrange-
ment, but conceived it necessary to spend a few days at her house in
Jersey. She could reach the latter place without much deviation from
the straight road, and she was desirous of resurveying a spot where
many of her infantile days had been spent.
This house and domain I have already mentioned to have once
belonged to Mr. Dudley. It was selected with the judgment and
adorned with the taste of a disciple of the schools of Florence and
Vicenza. In his view, cultivation was subservient to the picturesque,
and a mansion was erected, eminent for nothing but chastity of orna-
ments and simplicity of structure. The massive parts were of stone; the
outer surfaces were smooth, snow-white, and diversified by apertures
and cornices, in which a cement uncommonly tenacious was
wrought into proportions the most correct and forms the most
graceful. The floors, walls, and ceilings, consisted of a still more
exquisitely-tempered substance, and were painted by Mr. Dudley's
own hand. All appendages of this building, as seats, tables, and
ORMON D 253
cabinets, were modelled by the owner's particular direction, and in a
manner scrupulously classical.
He had scarcely entered on the enjoyment of this splendid posses-
sion, when it was ravished away. No privation was endured with more
impatience that this; but, happily, it was purchased by one who left
Mr. Dudley's arrangements unmolested, and who shortly after con-
veyed it entire to Ormond. By him it was finally appropriated to the
use of Helena Cleves, and now, by a singular contexture of events, it
had reverted to those hands in which the death of the original pro-
prietor, if no other change had been made in his condition, would
have left it. The farm still remained in the tenure of a German emi-
grant, who held it partly on condition of preserving the garden and
mansion in safety and in perfect order.
This retreat was now revisited by Constantia, after an interval of
four years. Autumn had made some progress, but the aspect of nature
was, so to speak, more significant than at any other season. She was
agreeably accommodated under the tenant's roof, and found a name-
less pleasure in traversing spaces in which every object prompted an
endless train of recollections.
Her sensations were not foreseen. They led to a state of mind
inconsistent, in some degree, with the projects adopted in obedience
to the suggestions of a friend. Every thing in this scene had been cre-
ated and modelled by the genius of a father. It was a kind of fane,
sanctified by his imaginary presence.
To consign the fruits of his industry and invention to foreign and
unsparing hands seemed a kind of sacrilege, for which she almost
feared that the dead would rise to upbraid her. Those images which
bind us to our natal soil, to the abode of our innocent and careless
youth, were recalled to her fancy by the scenes which she now
beheld. These were enforced by considerations of the dangers which
attended her voyage from storms and from enemies, and from the
tendency to revolution and war which seemed to actuate all the
nations of Europe. Her native country was by no means exempt from
similar tendencies, but these evils were less imminent, and its manners
and government, in their present modifications, were unspeakably
more favourable to the dignity and improvement of the human race
than those which prevailed in any part of the ancient world.
My solicitations and my obligation to repair to England over-
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 254
weighed her objections, but her new reflections led her to form new
determinations with regard to this part of her property. She con-
cluded to retain possession, and hoped that some future event would
allow her to return to this favourite spot without forfeiture of my
society. An abode of some years in Europe would more eminently
qualify her for the enjoyment of retirement and safety in her native
country. The time that should elapse before her embarkation, she was
desirous of passing among the shades of this romantic retreat.
I was by no means reconciled to this proceeding. I loved my friend
too well to endure any needless separation without repining. In addi-
tion to this, the image of Ormond haunted my thoughts, and gave
birth to incessant but indefinable fears. I believed that her safety
would very little depend on the nature of her abode, or the number
or watchfulness of her companions. My nearness to her person would
frustrate no stratagem, nor promote any other end than my own
entanglement in the same fold. Still, that I was not apprized each
hour of her condition, that her state was lonely and sequestered, were
sources of disquiet, the obvious remedy to which was her coming to
New York. Preparations for departure were assigned to me, and these
required my continuance in the city.
Once a week, Laffert, her tenant, visited, for purposes of traffic, the
city. He was the medium of our correspondence. To him I entrusted a
letter, in which my dissatisfaction at her absence, and the causes
which gave it birth, were freely confessed.
The confidence of safety seldom deserted my friend. Since her
mysterious conversation with Ormond, he had utterly vanished.
Previously to that interview, his visits or his letters were incessant and
punctual; but since, no token was given that he existed. Two months
had elapsed. He gave her no reason to expect a cessation of
intercourse. He had parted from her with his usual abruptness and
informality. She did not conceive it incumbent on her to search him
out, but she would not have been displeased with an opportunity to
discuss with him more fully the motives of her conduct. This oppor-
tunity had been hitherto denied.
Her occupations in her present retreat were, for the most part, dic-
tated by caprice or by chance. The mildness of autumn permitted her
to ramble, during the day, from one rock and one grove to another.
There was a luxury in musing, and in the sensations which the
ORMON D 255
scenery and silence produced, which, in consequence of her long
estrangement from them, were accompanied with all the attractions
of novelty, and from which she would not consent to withdraw.
In the evening she usually retired to the mansion, and shut herself
up in that apartment which, in the original structure of the house, had
been designed for study, and no part of whose furniture had been
removed or displaced. It was a kind of closet on the second floor, illu-
minated by a spacious window, through which a landscape of uncom-
mon amplitude and beauty was presented to the view. Here the
pleasures of the day were revived, by recalling and enumerating them
in letters to her friend. She always quitted this recess with reluctance,
and seldom till the night was half spent.
One evening she retired hither when the sun had just dipped
beneath the horizon. Her implements of writing were prepared; but
before the pen was assumed, her eyes rested for a moment on the
variegated hues which were poured out upon the western sky and
upon the scene of intermingled waters, copses, and fields. The view
comprised a part of the road which led to this dwelling. It was par-
tially and distantly seen, and the passage of horses or men was be-
tokened chiefly by the dust which was raised by their footsteps.
A token of this kind now caught her attention. It fixed her eye
chiefly by the picturesque effect produced by interposing its obscuri-
ty between her and the splendours which the sun had left. Presently
she gained a faint view of a man and horse. This circumstance laid no
claim to attention, and she was withdrawing her eye, when the
traveller's stopping and dismounting at the gate made her renew her
scrutiny. This was reinforced by something in the figure and move-
ments of the horseman which reminded her of Ormond.
She started from her seat with some degree of palpitation. Whence
this arose, whether from fear or from joy, or from intermixed emo-
tions, it would not be easy to ascertain. Having entered the gate, the
visitant, remounting his horse, set the animal on full speed. Every
moment brought him nearer, and added to her first belief. He stopped
not till he reached the mansion. The person of Ormond was distinctly
recognised.
An interview at this dusky and lonely hour, in circumstances so
abrupt and unexpected, could not fail to surprise, and, in some
degree, to alarm. The substance of his last conversation was recalled.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 256
The evils which were darkly and ambiguously predicted thronged to
her memory. It seemed as if the present moment was to be, in some
way, decisive of her fate. This visit she did not hesitate to suppose
designed for her, but somewhat uncommonly momentous must have
prompted him to take so long a journey.
The rooms on the lower floor were dark, the windows and doors
being fastened. She had entered the house by the principal door, and
this was the only one at present unlocked. The room in which she sat
was over the hall, and the massive door beneath could not be opened
without noisy signals. The question that occurred to her, by what
means Ormond would gain admittance to her presence, she supposed
would be instantly decided. She listened to hear his footsteps on the
pavement, or the creaking of hinges. The silence, however, continued
profound as before.
After a minute's pause, she approached the window more nearly
and endeavoured to gain a view of the space before the house. She
saw nothing but the horse, whose bridle was thrown over his neck,
and who was left at liberty to pick up what scanty herbage the lawn
afforded to his hunger. The rider had disappeared.
It now occurred to her that this visit had a purpose different from
that which she at first conjectured. It was easily conceived that
Ormond was unacquainted with her residence at this spot. The
knowledge could only be imparted to him by indirect or illicit
means. That these means had been employed by him, she was by no
means authorized to infer from the silence and distance he had lately
maintained. But if an interview with her were not the purpose of his
coming, how should she interpret it?
WHILE occupied with these reflections, the light hastily disappeared,
and darkness, rendered, by a cloudy atmosphere, uncommonly
intense, succeeded. She had the means of lighting a lamp that hung
against the wall, but had been too much immersed in thought to
notice the deepening of the gloom. Recovering from her reverie, she
looked around her with some degree of trepidation, and prepared to
strike a spark that would enable her to light her lamp.
ORMON D
CHAPTER XXVIII.
257
She had hitherto indulged an habitual indifference to danger. Now
the presence of Ormond, the unknown purpose that led him hither,
and the defencelessness of her condition, inspired her with apprehen-
sions to which she had hitherto been a stranger. She had been accus-
tomed to pass many nocturnal hours in this closet. Till now, nothing
had occurred that made her enter it with circumspection or continue
in it with reluctance.
Her sensations were no longer tranquil. Each minute that she spent
in this recess appeared to multiply her hazards.To linger here appeared
to her the height of culpable temerity. She hastily resolved to return
to the farmer's dwelling, and, on the morrow; to repair to New York.
For this end she was desirous to produce a light. The materials were at
hand.
She lifted her hand to strike the flint, when her ear caught a sound
which betokened the opening of the door that led into the next
apartment. Her motion was suspended, and she listened as well as a
throbbing heart would permit. That Ormond's was the hand that
opened, was the first suggestion of her fears. The motives of this
unseasonable entrance could not be reconciled with her safety. He
had given no warning of his approach, and the door was opened with
tardiness and seeming caution.
Sounds continued, of which no distinct conception could be
obtained, or the cause that produced them assigned. The floors of
every apartment being composed, like the walls and ceiling, of
cement, footsteps were rendered almost undistinguishable. It was
plain, however, that some one approached her own door.
The panic and confusion that now invaded her was owing to sur-
prise, and to the singularity of her situation. The mansion was desolate
and lonely. It was night. She was immersed in darkness. She had not
the means, and was unaccustomed to the office, of repelling personal
injuries. What injuries she had reason to dread, who was the agent,
and what were his motives, were subjects of vague and incoherent
meditation.
Meanwhile, low and imperfect sounds, that had in them more of
inanimate than human, assailed her ear. Presently they ceased. An
inexplicable fear deterred her from calling. Light would have exer-
cised a friendly influence. This it was in her power to produce, but not
without motion and noise; and these, by occasioning the discovery of
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 258
her being in the closet, might possibly enhance her danger.
Conceptions like these were unworthy of the mind of Constantia.
An interval of silence succeeded, interrupted only by the whistling of
the blast without. It was sufficient for the restoration of her courage.
She blushed at the cowardice which had trembled at a sound. She
considered that Ormond might, indeed, be near, but that he was
probably unconscious of her situation. His coming was not with the
circumspection of an enemy. He might be acquainted with the place
of her retreat, and had come to obtain an interview, with no clandes-
tine or mysterious purposes. The noises she had heard had, doubtless,
proceeded from the next apartment, but might be produced by some
harmless or vagrant creature.
These considerations restored her tranquillity. They enabled her,
deliberately, to create a light, but they did not dissuade her from leav-
ing the house. Omens of evil seemed to be connected with this soli-
tary and darksome abode. Besides, Ormond had unquestionably
entered upon this scene. It could not be doubted that she was the
object of his visit. The farm-house was a place of meeting more suit-
able and safe than any other. Thither, therefore, she determined
immediately to return.
The closet had but one door, and this led into the chamber where
the sounds had arisen. Through this chamber, therefore, she was oblig-
ed to pass, in order to reach the staircase, which terminated in the hall
below.
Bearing the light in her left hand, she withdrew the bolt of the
door and opened. In spite of courageous efforts, she opened with
unwillingness, and shuddered to throw a glance forward or advance a
step into the room. This was not needed, to reveal to her the cause of
her late disturbance. Her eye instantly lighted on the body of a man,
supine, motionless, stretched on the floor, close to the door through
which she was about to pass.
A spectacle like this was qualified to startle her. She shrunk back,
and fixed a more steadfast eye upon the prostrate person. There was
no mark of blood or of wounds, but there was something in the
attitude more significant of death than of sleep. His face rested on the
floor, and his ragged locks concealed what part of his visage was not
hidden by his posture. His garb was characterized by fashionable
elegance, but was polluted with dust.
ORMON D 259
The image that first occurred to her was that of Ormond. This
instantly gave place to another, which was familiar to her apprehen-
sion. It was at first too indistinctly seen to suggest a name. She contin-
ued to gaze and to be lost in fearful astonishment. Was this the person
whose entrance had been overheard, and who had dragged himself
hither to die at her door? Yet, in that case, would not groans and
expiring efforts have testified his condition and invoked her succour?
Was he not brought hither in the arms of his assassin? She mused
upon the possible motives that induced some one thus to act, and
upon the connection that might subsist between her destiny and that
of the dead.
Her meditations, however fruitless in other respects, could not fail
to show her the propriety of hastening from this spot. To scrutinize
the form or face of the dead was a task to which her courage was
unequal. Suitably accompanied and guarded, she would not scruple to
return and ascertain, by the most sedulous examination, the cause of
this ominous event.
She stepped over the breathless corpse, and hurried to the staircase.
It became her to maintain the command of her muscles and joints,
and to proceed without faltering or hesitation. Scarcely had she
reached the entrance of the hall, when, casting anxious looks forward,
she beheld a human figure. No scrutiny was requisite to inform her
that this was Ormond.
She stopped. He approached her with looks and gestures placid but
solemn. There was nothing in his countenance rugged or malignant.
On the contrary, there were tokens of compassion.
"So," said he, "I expected to meet you. A light, gleaming from the
window, marked you out. This and Laffert's directions have guided
me."
"What," said Constantia, with discomposure in her accent, "was
your motive for seeking me?"
"Have you forgotten," said Ormond, "what passed at our last inter-
view? The evil that I then predicted is at hand. Perhaps you were
incredulous; you accounted me a madman or deceiver; now I am
come to witness the fulfilment of my words and the completion of
your destiny. To rescue you I have not come: that is not within the
compass of human powers.
"Poor Constantia," he continued, in tones that manifested genuine
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 260
sympathy, "look upon thyself as lost. The toils that beset thee are
inextricable. Summon up thy patience to endure the evil. Now will
the last and heaviest trial betide thy fortitude. I could weep for thee, if
my manly nature would permit. This is the scene of thy calamity, and
this the hour."
These words were adapted to excite curiosity mingled with terror.
Ormond's deportment was of an unexampled tenor, as well as that
evil which he had so ambiguously predicted. He offered no pro-
tection from danger, and yet gave no proof of being himself an agent
or auxiliary. After a minute's pause, Constantia, recovering a firm
tone, said, —
"Mr. Ormond, your recent deportment but ill accords with your
professions of sincerity and plain dealing. What your purpose is, or
whether you have any purpose, I am at a loss to conjecture. Whether
you most deserve censure or ridicule, is a point which you afford me
not the means of deciding, and to which, unless on your own
account, I am indifferent. If you are willing to be more explicit, or if
there be any topic on which you wish further to converse, I will not
refuse your company to Laffert's dwelling. Longer to remain here
would be indiscreet and absurd."
So saying, she motioned towards the door. Ormond was passive,
and seemed indisposed to prevent her departure, till she laid her hand
upon the lock. He then, without moving from his place, exclaimed, —
"Stay! Must this meeting, which fate ordains to be the last, be so
short? Must a time and place so suitable for what remains to be said
and done be neglected or misused? No.You charge me with duplicity,
and deem my conduct either ridiculous or criminal. I have stated my
reasons for concealment, but these have failed to convince you. Well,
here is now an end to doubt. All ambiguities are appearing to vanish."
When Ormond began to speak, Constantia paused to hearken to
him. His vehemence was not of that nature which threatened to
obstruct her passage. It was by entreaty that he apparently endeav-
oured to detain her steps, and not by violence. Hence arose her
patience to listen. He continued: -
"Constantia! thy father is dead. Art thou not desirous of detecting
the author of his fate? Will it afford thee no consolation to know that
the deed is punished? Wilt thou suffer me to drag the murderer to thy
feet? Thy justice will be gratified by this sacrifice. Somewhat will be
ORMON D 261
due to him who avenged thy wrong in the blood of the perpetrator.
What sayest thou? Grant me thy permission, and in a moment I will
drag him hither."
These words called up the image of the person whose corpse she
had lately seen. It was readily conceived that to him Ormond alluded;
but this was the assassin of her father, and his crime had been detected
and punished by Ormond! These images had no other effect than to
urge her departure: she again applied her hand to the lock, and said, -
"This scene must not be prolonged. My fathers death I desire not
to hear explained or to see revenged, but whatever information you
are willing or able to communicate must be deferred."
"Nay," interrupted Ormond, with augmented vehemence, "art
thou equally devoid of curiosity and justice? Thinkest thou that the
enmity which bereft thy father of life will not seek thy own? There
are evils which I cannot prevent thee from enduring, but there are,
likewise, ills which my counsel will enable thee and thy friend to
shun. Save me from witnessing thy death. Thy father's destiny is
sealed; all that remained was to punish his assassin; but thou and thy
Sophia still live. Why should ye perish by a like stroke?"
This intimation was sufficient to arrest the steps of Constantia. She
withdrew her hand from the door, and fixed eyes of the deepest anxi-
ety on Ormond: - "What mean you? How am I to understand —"
"Ah!" said Ormond,"! see thou wilt consent to stay.Thy detention
shall not be long. Remain where thou art during one moment, —
merely while I drag hither thy enemy and show thee a visage which
thou wilt not be slow to recognise." Saying this, he hastily ascended
the staircase, and quickly passed beyond her sight.
Deportment thus mysterious could not fail of bewildering her
thoughts. There was somewhat in the looks and accents of Ormond,
different from former appearances; tokens of a hidden purpose and a
smothered meaning were perceptible, — a mixture of the inoffensive
and the lawless, which, added to the loneliness and silence that
encompassed her, produced a faltering emotion. Her curiosity was
overpowered by her fear, and the resolution was suddenly conceived
of seizing this opportunity to escape.
A third time she put her hand to the lock and attempted to open.
The effort was ineffectual. The door that was accustomed to obey the
gentlest touch was now immovable. She had lately unlocked and
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 262
passed through it. Her eager inspection convinced her that the princi-
pal bolt was still withdrawn, but a small one was now perceived, of
whose existence she had not been apprized, and over which her key
had no power.
Now did she first harbour a fear that was intelligible in its dictates.
Now did she first perceive herself sinking in the toils of some lurking
enemy. Hope whispered that this foe was not Ormond. His conduct
had bespoken no willingness to put constraint upon her steps. He
talked not as if he were aware of this obstruction, and yet his seeming
acquiescence might have flowed from a knowledge that she had no
power to remove beyond his reach.
He warned her of danger to her life, of which he was her self-
appointed rescuer. His counsel was to arm her with sufficient caution;
the peril that awaited her was imminent; this was the time and place
of its occurrence, and here she was compelled to remain, till the
power that fastened would condescend to loose the door. There were
other avenues to the hall. These were accustomed to be locked; but
Ormond had found access, and, if all continued fast, it was incon-
testable that he was the author of this new impediment.
The other avenues were hastily examined. All were bolted and
locked. The first impulse led her to call for help from without; but the
mansion was distant from Laffert's habitation. This spot was wholly
unfrequented. No passenger was likely to be stationed where her call
could be heard. Besides, this forcible detention might operate for a
short time, and be attended with no mischievous consequences.
Whatever was to come, it was her duty to collect her courage and
encouiiter it.
i
The steps of Ormond above now gave tokens of his approach. Vig-
ilant observance of this man was all that her situation permitted. A
vehement effort restored her to some degree of composure. Her
stifled palpitations allowed her steadfastly to notice him as he now
descended the stairs, bearing a lifeless body in his arms. "There!" said
he, as he cast it at her feet; "whose countenance is that? Who would
imagine that features like those belonged to an assassin and impos-
tor?"
Closed eyelids and fallen muscles could not hide from her linea-
ments so often seen. She shrunk back and exclaimed, "Thomas
Craig!"
ORMON D 263
A pause succeeded, in which she alternately gazed at the counte-
nance of this unfortunate wretch and at Ormond. At length the latter
exclaimed, —
"Well, my girl, has thou examined him? Dost thou recognise a
friend or an enemy?"
"I know him well: but how came this? What purpose brought him
hither? Who was the author of his fate?"
"Have I not already told thee that Ormond was his own avenger
and thine? To thee and to me he has been a robber. To him thy father
is indebted for the loss not only of property but life. Did crimes like
these merit a less punishment? And what recompense is due to him
whose vigilance pursued him hither and made him pay for his
offences with his blood? What benefit have I received at thy hand to
authorize me, for thy sake, to take away his life?"
"No benefit received from me," said Constantia, "would justify
such an act. I should have abhorred myself for annexing to my
benefits so bloody a condition. It calls for no gratitude or recom-
pense. Its suitable attendant is remorse. That he is a thief, I know but
too well; that my father died by his hand is incredible. No motives or
means —"
"Why so?" interrupted Ormond. "Does not sleep seal up the sens-
es? Cannot closets be unlocked at midnight? Cannot adjoining hous-
es communicate by doors? Cannot these doors be hidden from
suspicion by a sheet of canvas?"
These words were of startling and abundant import. They remind-
ed her of circumstances in her father's chamber, which sufficiently
explained the means by which his life was assailed. The closet, and its
canvas-covered wall; the adjoining house untenanted and shut up -
but this house, though unoccupied, belonged to Ormond. From the
inferences which flowed hence, her attention was withdrawn by her
companion, who continued: -
"Do these means imply the interposal of a miracle? His motives?
What scruples can be expected from a man inured from infancy to
cunning and pillage? Will he abstain from murder when urged by
excruciating poverty, by menaces of persecution, by terror of expiring
on the gallows?"
Tumultuous suspicions were now awakened in the mind of
Constantia. Her faltering voice scarcely allowed her to ask, "How
3HARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 264
know you that Craig was thus guilty? — tha t these were his incite-
ments and means?"
Ormond's solemnity now gave place to a tone of sarcasm and
looks of exultation: - "Poor Constantia! Thou art still pestered with
incredulity and doubts! My veracity is still in question! My knowl-
edge, girl, is infallible. That these were his means of access I cannot be
ignorant, for I pointed them out. He was urged by these motives, for
they were stated and enforced by me. His was the deed, for I stood
beside him when it was done."
These, indeed, were terms that stood in no need of further expla-
nation. The veil that shrouded this formidable being was lifted high
enough to make him be regarded with inexplicable horror. What his
future acts should be, how his omens of ill were to be solved, were
still involved in uncertainty.
In the midst of fears for her own safety, by which Constantia was
now assailed, the image of her father was revived; keen regret and
vehement upbraiding were conjured up.
"Craig, then, was the instrument, and yours the instigation, that
destroyed my father! In what had he offended you? What cause had
he given for resentment?"
"Cause!" replied he, with impetuous accents. "Resentment! None.
My motive was benevolent; my deed conferred a benefit. I gave him
sight and took away his life, from motives equally wise. Know you not
that Ormond was fool enough to set value on the affections of a
woman? These were sought with preposterous anxiety and endless
labour. Among other facilitators of his purpose, he summoned grati-
tude to his aid. To snatch you from poverty, to restore his sight to your
father, were expected to operate as incentives to love.
"But here I was the dupe of error. A thousand prejudices stood in
my way. These, provided our intercourse were not obstructed, I hoped
to subdue. The rage of innovation seized your father: this, blended
with a mortal antipathy to me, made him labour to seduce you from
the bosom of your peaceful country; to make you enter on a boister-
ous sea; to visit lands where all is havoc and hostility; to snatch you
from the influence of my arguments.
"This new obstacle I was bound to remove. While revolving the
means, chance and his evil destiny threw Craig in my way. I soon
convinced him that his reputation and his life were in my hands. His
ORMON D 265
retention of these depended upon my will, on the performance of
conditions which I prescribed.
"My happiness and yours depended on your concurrence with my
wishes. Your father's life was an obstacle to your concurrence. For
killing him, therefore, I may claim your gratitude. His death was a due
and disinterested offering on the altar of your felicity and mine.
"My deed was not injurious to him. At his age, death, whose com-
ing at some period is inevitable, could not be distant. To make it
unforeseen and brief, and void of pain, - to preclude the torments of
a lingering malady, a slow and visible descent to the grave, - was the
dictate of beneficence. But of what value was a continuance of his
life? Either you would have gone with him to Europe or have stayed
at home with me. In the first case, his life would have been rapidly
consumed by perils and cares. In the second, separation from you, and
union with me, — a being so detestable, - would equally have poi-
soned his existence.
"Craig's cowardice and crimes made him a pliant and commodi-
ous tool. I pointed out the way. The unsuspected door which led into
the closet of your father's chamber was made, by my direction, during
the life of Helena. By this avenue I was wont to post myself where all
your conversations could be overheard. By this avenue an entrance
and retreat were afforded to the agent of my newest purpose.
"Fool that I was! I solaced myself with the belief that all impedi-
ments were now smoothed, when a new enemy appeared. My folly
lasted as long as my hope. I saw that to gain your affections, fortified
by antiquated scruples and obsequious to the guidance of this new
monitor, was impossible. It is not my way to toil after that which is
beyond my reach. If the greater good be inaccessible, I learn to be
contented with the less.
"I have served you with successless sedulity. I have set an engine in
act to obliterate an obstacle to your felicity, and lay your father at rest.
Under my guidance, this engine was productive only of good. Gov-
erned by itself or by another, it will only work you harm. I have,
therefore, hastened to destroy it. Lo! it is now before you motionless
and impotent.
"For this complexity of benefit I look for no reward. I am not tired
of well-doing. Having ceased to labour for an unattainable good, I
have come hither to possess myself of all that I now crave, and by the
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 266
same deed to afford you an illustrious opportunity to signalize your
wisdom and your fortitude."
During this speech, the mind of Constantia became more deeply
pervaded with dread of some overhanging but incomprehensible evil.
The strongest impulse was to gain a safe asylum, at a distance from
this spot and from the presence of this extraordinary being. This
impulse was followed by the recollection that her liberty was taken
away, that egress from the hall was denied her, and that this restriction
might be part of some conspiracy of Ormond against her life.
Security from danger like this would be, in the first place, sought,
by one of Constantia s sex and opinions, in flight. This had been ren-
dered, by some fatal chance or by the precautions of her foe, imprac-
ticable. Stratagem or force was all that remained to elude or disarm
her adversary. For the contrivance and execution of fraud, all the
habits of her life and all the maxims of her education had conspired
to unfit her. Her force of muscles would avail her nothing against the
superior energy of Ormond.
She remembered that to inflict death was no iniquitous exertion
of self-defence, and that the penknife which she held in her hand was
capable of this service. She had used it to remove any lurking obstruc-
tion in the wards of her key, supposing, for a time, this to be the cause
of her failing to withdraw the bolt of the door. This resource was,
indeed, scarcely less disastrous and deplorable than any fate from
which it could rescue her. Some uncertainty still involved the inten-
tions of Ormond. As soon as he paused, she spoke: -
"How am I to understand this prelude? Let me know the full
extent of my danger, — why it is that I am hindered from leaving this
house, and why this interview was sought."
"Ah, Constantia, this, indeed, is merely prelude to a scene that is to
terminate my influence over thy fate. When this is past I have sworn
to part with thee forever. Art thou still dubious of my purpose? Art
thou not a woman? And have I not entreated for thy love and been
rejected?
"Canst thou imagine that I aim at thy life? My avowals of love
were sincere; my passion was vehement and undisguised. It gave dig-
nity and value to a gift in thy power, as a woman, to bestow. This has
been denied. That gift has lost none of its value in my eyes. What thou
refusedst to bestow it is in my power to extort. I came for that end.
ORMON D 267
When this end is accomplished, I will restore thee to liberty."
These words were accompanied by looks that rendered all expla-
nation of their meaning useless. The evil reserved for her, hitherto
obscured by half-disclosed and contradictory attributes, was now
sufficiently apparent. The truth in this respect unveiled itself with the
rapidity and brightness of an electrical flash.
She was silent. She cast her eyes at the windows and doors. Escape
through them was hopeless. She looked at those lineaments of
Ormond which evinced his disdain of supplication and inexorable
passions. She felt that entreaty and argument would be vain; that all
appeals to his compassion and benevolence would counteract her
purpose, since, in the unexampled conformation of this man's mind,
these principles were made subservient to his most flagitious designs.
Considerations of justice and pity were made, by a fatal perverseness
of reasoning, champions and bulwarks of his most atrocious mistakes.
The last extremes of opposition, the most violent expedients for
defence, would be justified by being indispensable. To find safety for
her honour, even in the blood of an assailant, was the prescription of
duty. The equity of this species of defence was not, in the present con-
fusion of her mind, a subject of momentary doubt.
To forewarn him of her desperate purpose would be to furnish
him with means of counteraction. Her weapon would easily be
wrested from her feeble hand. Ineffectual opposition would only pre-
cipitate her evil destiny. A rage, contented with nothing less than her
life, might be awakened in his bosom. But was not this to be desired?
Death, untimely and violent, was better than the loss of honour.
This thought led to a new series of reflections. She involuntarily
shrunk from the act of killing: but would her efforts to destroy her
adversary be effectual? Would not his strength and dexterity easily
repel or elude them? Her power in this respect was questionable, but
her power was undeniably sufficient to a different end. The instru-
ment which could not rescue her from this injury by the destruction
of another might save her from it by her own destruction.
These thoughts rapidly occurred; but the resolution to which they
led was scarcely formed, when Ormond advanced towards her. She
recoiled a few steps, and, showing the knife which she held, said, —
"Ormond! Beware! Know that my unalterable resolution is to die
uninjured. I have the means in my power. Stop where you are; one
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 268
step more, and I plunge this knife into my heart. I know that to con-
tend with your strength or your reason would be vain. To turn this
weapon against you I should not fear, if I were sure of success; but to
that I will not trust. To save a greater good by the sacrifice of life is in
my power, and that sacrifice shall be made."
"Poor Constantia!" replied Ormond, in a tone of contempt; "so
thou preferrest thy imaginary honour to life! To escape this injury
without a name or substance, without connection with the past or
future, without contamination of thy purity or thraldom of thy will,
thou wilt kill thyself; put an end to thy activity in virtue's cause; rob
thy friend of her solace, the world of thy beneficence, thyself of being
and pleasure?
"I shall be grieved for the fatal issue of my experiment; I shall
mourn over thy martyrdom of the most opprobrious and con-
temptible of all errors: but that thou shouldst undergo the trial is
decreed. There is still an interval of hope that thy cowardice is coun-
terfeited, or that it will give place to wisdom and courage.
"Whatever thou intendest by way of prevention or cure, it
behooves thee to employ with steadfastness. Die with the guilt of sui-
cide and the brand of cowardice upon thy memory, or live with thy
claims to felicity and approbation undiminished. Choose which thou
wilt. Thy decision is of moment to thyself, but of none to me. Living
or dead, the prize that I have in view shall be mine."
IT will be requisite to withdraw your attention from this scene for a
moment, and fix it on myself. My impatience of my friend's delay, for
some days preceding this disastrous interview, became continually
more painful. As the time of our departure approached, my dread of
some misfortune or impediment increased. Ormond's disappearance
from the scene contributed but little to my consolation. To wrap his
purposes in mystery, to place himself at seeming distance, was the
usual artifice of such as he, - was necessary to the maturing of his
project and the hopeless entanglement of his victim. I saw no means
of placing the safety of my friend beyond his reach. Between different
methods of procedure, there was, however, room for choice. Her pre-
ORMON D
CHAPTER XXIX.
269
sent abode was more hazardous than an abode in the city. To be alone
argued a state more defenceless and perilous than to be attended by
me.
I wrote her an urgent admonition to return. My remonstrances
were couched in such terms as, in my own opinion, laid her under the
necessity of immediate compliance. The letter was despatched by the
usual messenger, and for some hours I solaced myself with the
prospect of a speedy meeting.
These thoughts gave place to doubt and apprehension. I began to
distrust the efficacy of my arguments, and to invent a thousand rea-
sons, inducing her, in defiance of my rhetoric, at least to protract her
absence. These reasons I had not previously conceived, and had not,
therefore, attempted, in my letter, to invalidate their force. This omis-
sion was possible to be supplied in a second epistle; but, meanwhile,
time would be lost, and my new arguments might, like the old, fail to
convince her. At least, the tongue was a much more versatile and
powerful advocate than the pen; and, by hastening to her habitation, I
might either compel her to return with me, or ward off danger by my
presence, or share it with her. I finally resolved to join her by the
speediest of conveyance.
This resolution was suggested by the meditations of a sleepless
night. I rose with the dawn, and sought out the means of transporting
myself, with most celerity, to the abode of my friend. A stage-boat,
accustomed twice a day to cross New York Bay to Staten Island, was
prevailed upon, by liberal offers, to set out upon the voyage at the
dawn of day. The sky was gloomy, and the air boisterous and unsettled.
The wind, suddenly becoming tempestuous and adverse, rendered the
voyage at once tedious and full of peril. A voyage of nine miles was
not effected in less than eight hours and without imminent and hair-
breadth danger of being drowned.
Fifteen miles of the journey remained to be performed by land. A
carriage, with the utmost difficulty, was procured, but lank horses and
a crazy vehicle were but little in unison with my impatience. We
reached not Amboy ferry till some hours after nightfall. I was rowed
across the Sound, and proceeded to accomplish the remainder of my
journey — about three miles — on foot.
I was actuated to this speed by indefinite but powerful motives.
The belief that my speedy arrival was essential to the rescue of my
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 270
friend from some inexplicable injury haunted me with ceaseless
importunity. On no account would I have consented to postpone this
precipitate expedition till the morrow.
I at length arrived at Dudley's farm-house. The inhabitants were
struck with wonder at the sight of me. My clothes were stained by
the water by which every passenger was copiously sprinkled during
our boisterous navigation, and soiled by dust; my frame was almost
overpowered by fatigue and abstinence.
To my anxious inquiries respecting my friend, they told me that
her evenings were usually spent at the mansion, where it was probable
she was now to be found. They were not apprized of any inconve-
nience or danger that betided her. It was her custom sometimes to
prolong her absence till midnight.
I could not applaud the discretion nor censure the temerity of this
proceeding. My mind was harassed by unintelligible omens and self-
confuted fears. To obviate the danger and to banish my inquietudes
was my first duty. To this end I hastened to the mansion. Having
passed the intervening hillocks and copses, I gained a view of the
front of the building. My heart suddenly sunk, on observing that no
apartment - not even that in which I knew it was her custom to sit at
these unseasonable hours - was illuminated. A gleam from the win-
dow of the study I should have regarded as an argument at once of
her presence and her safety.
I approached the house with misgiving and faltering steps. The
gate leading into a spacious court was open. A sound on one side
attracted my attention. In the present state of my thoughts, any near
or unexplained sound sufficed to startle me. Looking towards the
quarter whence my panic was excited, I espied, through the dusk, a
horse grazing, with his bridle thrown over his neck.
This appearance was a new source of perplexity and alarm. The
inference was unavoidable that a visitant was here. Who that visitant
was, and how he was now employed, was a subject of eager but fruit-
less curiosity. Within and around the mansion, all was buried in the
deepest repose. I now approached the principal door, and, looking
through the keyhole, perceived a lamp, standing on the lowest step of
the staircase. It shed a pale light over the lofty ceiling and marble
balustrades. No face or movement of a human being was perceptible.
These tokens assured me that some one was within: they also
ORMON D 271
accounted for the non-appearance of light at the window above.
I withdrew my eye from this avenue, and was preparing to knock
loudly for admission, when my attention was awakened by some one
who advanced to the door from the inside and seemed busily engaged
in unlocking. I started back and waited with impatience till the door
should open and the person issue forth.
Presently I heard a voice within exclaim, in accents of mingled
terror and grief, "Oh, what - what will become of me? Shall I never
be released from this detested prison?"
The voice was that of Constantia. It penetrated to my heart like an
icebolt. I once more darted a glance through the crevice. A figure,
with difficulty recognised to be that of my friend, now appeared in
sight. Her hands were clasped on her breast, her eyes wildly fixed
upon the ceiling and streaming with tears, and her hair unbound and
falling confusedly over her bosom and neck.
My sensations scarcely permitted me to call, "Constantia! For
Heaven's sake, what has happened to you? Open the door, I beseech
you."
"What voice is that? Sophia Courtland! O my friend! I am impris-
oned! Some demon has barred the door, beyond my power to unfas-
ten. Ah, why comest thou so late? Thy succour would have somewhat
profited if sooner given; but now, the lost Constantia —" Here her
voice sunk into convulsive sobs.
In the midst of my own despair, on perceiving the fulfilment of my
apprehensions, and what I regarded as the fatal execution of some
project of Ormond, I was not insensible to the suggestions of pru-
dence. I entreated my friend to retain her courage, while I flew to
LarTert s and returned with suitable assistance to burst open the door.
The people of the farm-house readily obeyed my summons.
Accompanied by three men of powerful sinews, sons and servants of
the farmer, I returned with the utmost expedition to the mansion.
The lamp still remained in its former place, but our loudest calls were
unanswered. The silence was uninterrupted and profound.
The door yielded to strenuous and repeated efforts, and I rushed
into the hall. The first object that met my sight was my friend,
stretched upon the floor, pale and motionless, supine, and with all the
tokens of death.
From this object my attention was speedily attracted by two
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 272
figures, breathless and supine like that of Constantia. One of them was
Ormond. A smile of disdain still sat upon his features. The wound by
which he fell was secret, and was scarcely betrayed by the effusion of a
drop of blood. The face of the third victim was familiar to my early
days. It was that of the impostor whose artifice had torn from Mr.
Dudley his peace and fortune.
An explication of this scene was hopeless. By what disastrous and
inscrutable fate a place like this became the scene of such complicated
havoc, to whom Craig was indebted for his death, what evil had been
meditated or inflicted by Ormond, and by what means his project
had arrived at this bloody consummation, were topics of wild and
fearful conjecture.
But my friend - the first impulse of my fears was to regard her as
dead. Hope and a closer observation outrooted, or, at least, suspended,
this opinion. One of the men lifted her in his arms. No trace of blood
or mark of fatal violence was discoverable, and the effusion of cold
water restored her, though slowly, to life.
To withdraw her from this spectacle of death was my first care. She
suffered herself to be led to the farm-house. She was carried to her
chamber. For a time she appeared incapable of recollection. She
grasped my hand, as I sat by her bedside, but scarcely gave any other
tokens of life.
From this state of inactivity she gradually recovered. I was actuated
by a thousand forebodings, but refrained from molesting her by inter-
rogation or condolence. I watched by her side in silence, but was
eager to collect from her own lips an account of this mysterious
transaction.
At length she opened her eyes, and appeared to recollect her pre-
sent situation, and the events which led to it. I inquired into her con-
dition, and asked if there were any thing in my power to procure or
perform for her.
"Oh, my friend," she answered, "what have I done, what have I
suffered, within the last dreadful hour! The remembrance, though
insupportable, will never leave me.You can do nothing for my relief.
All I claim is your compassion and your sympathy."
"I hope," said I, "that nothing has happened to load you with guilt
or with shame."
"Alas! I know not. My deed was scarcely the fruit of intention. It
ORMON D 273
was suggested by a momentary frenzy. I saw no other means of escap-
ing from vileness and pollution. I was menaced with an evil worse
than death. I forebore till my strength was almost subdued: the lapse
of another moment would have placed me beyond hope.
"My stroke was desperate and at random. It answered my purpose
too well. He cast at me a look of terrible upbraiding, but spoke not.
His heart was pierced, and he sunk, as if struck by lightning, at my
feet. O much erring and unhappy Ormond! That thou shouldst thus
untimely perish! That I should be thy executioner!"
These words sufficiently explained the scene that I had witnessed.
The violence of Ormond had been repulsed by equal violence. His
foul attempts had been prevented by his death. Not to deplore the
necessity which had produced this act was impossible; but, since this
necessity existed, it was surely not a deed to be thought upon with
lasting horror, or to be allowed to generate remorse.
In consequence of this catastrophe, arduous duties had devolved
upon me. The people that surrounded me were powerless with terror.
Their ignorance and cowardice left them at a loss how to act in this
emergency. They besought my direction, and willingly performed
whatever I thought proper to enjoin upon them.
No deliberation was necessary to acquaint me with my duty.
Laffert was despatched to the nearest magistrate with a letter, in
which his immediate presence was entreated and these transactions
were briefly explained. Early the next day the formalities of justice, in
the inspection of the bodies and the examination of witnesses, were
executed. It would be needless to dwell on the particulars of this cata-
strophe. A sufficient explanation has been given of the causes that led
to it. They were such as exempted my friend from legal animadver-
sion. Her act was prompted by motives which every scheme of
jurisprudence known in the world not only exculpates, but applauds.
To state these motives before a tribunal hastily formed and exercising
its functions on the spot was a task not to be avoided, though infinite-
ly painful. Remonstrances the most urgent and pathetic could scarce-
ly conquer her reluctance.
This task, however, was easy, in comparison with that which
remained. To restore health and equanimity to my friend; to repel the
erroneous accusations of her conscience; to hinder her from musing,
with eternal anguish, upon this catastrophe; to lay the spirit of secret
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 274
upbraiding by which she was incessantly tormented, which bereft her
of repose, empoisoned all her enjoyments, and menaced not only the
subversion of her peace but the speedy destruction of her life, became
my next employment.
My counsels and remonstrances were not wholly inefficacious.
They afforded me the prospect of her ultimate restoration to tran^
quillity. Meanwhile, I called to my aid the influence of time and of a
change of scene. I hastened to embark with her for Europe. Our
voyage was tempestuous and dangerous, but storms and perils at
length gave way to security and repose.
Before our voyage was commenced, I endeavoured to procure
tidings of the true condition and designs of Ormond. My informa-
tion extended no further than that he had put his American property
into the hands of Mr. Melbourne, and was preparing to embark for
France. Courtland, who had since been at Paris, and who, while there,
became confidentially acquainted with Martinette de Beauvais, has
communicated facts of an unexpected nature.
At the period of Ormond's return to Philadelphia, at which his last
interview with Constantia in that city took place, he visited
Martinette. He avowed himself to be her brother, and supported his
pretensions by relating the incidents of his early life. A separation at
the age of fifteen, and which had lasted for the same number of years,
may be supposed to have considerably changed the countenance and
figure she had formerly known. His relationship was chiefly proved
by the enumeration of incidents of which her brother only could be
apprized.
He possessed a minute acquaintance with her own adventures, but
concealed from her the means by which he had procured the knowl-
edge. He had rarely and imperfectly alluded to his own opinions and
projects, and had maintained an invariable silence on the subject of
his connection with Constantia and Helena. Being informed of her
intention to return to France, he readily complied with her request to
accompany her in this voyage. His intentions in this respect were frus-
trated by the dreadful catastrophe that has just been related. Respect-
ing this event, Martinette had collected only vague and perplexing
information. Courtland, though able to remove her doubts, thought
proper to withhold from her the knowledge he possessed.
Since her arrival in England, the life of my friend has experienced
ORMON D 275
little variation. Of her personal deportment and domestic habits you
have been a witness. These, therefore, it would be needless for me to
exhibit. It is sufficient to have related events which the recentness of
your intercourse with her hindered you from knowing but by means
of some formal narrative like the present. She and her friend only
were able to impart to you the knowledge which you have so anx-
iously sought. In consideration of your merits and of your attachment
to my friend, I have consented to devote my leisure to this task.
It is now finished; and I have only to add my wishes that the
perusal of this tale may afford you as much instruction as the contem-
plation of the sufferings and vicissitudes of Constantia Dudley has
afforded to me. Farewell.
THE END.
CHARLE S BROCKDEN BROWN 276
Notes on the Appendices
The goal of the appendices is to include documentary material con-
temporary with the publication of Ormond that will assist the reader
in imagining the socio-cultural milieu in which the novel appeared.
Appendix A, Judith Sargent Murray's "On the Equality of the
Sexes", was published as one of a series of Gleaner essays in 1790, nine
years before the publication of Ormond. In this teasing and carefully
argued essay addressed to the Gentlemen of the early republic, Judith
Sargent Murray laments the ornamental status accorded to women in
late eighteenth-century American society. Surely, she remarks, there is
more to life than preparing a pudding or sewing a seam! Modelling
the very intellectual abilities women are presumed not to have — clas-
sical and biblical knowledge, rhetoric, logic and wit — Murray argues
that women are not limited by inferior capacities of imagination, rea-
son, memory or judgment, but rather by not being given the same
opportunities as men to acquire knowledge; if women were encour-
aged to use these faculties, they would demonstrate them more often.
Like Constantia's father Mr. Dudley, Murray believes that women's
education should include such subjects as geography and natural phi-
losophy, customarily only taught to male students. Like Brown, Mur-
ray suggests that without equal education, independence will be
impossible for American women.
Appendices B and C, excerpts from Professor John Robison's
Proofs of a Conspiracy against All Religions and Governments of Europe and
Reverend Jedidiah Morse's "Thanksgiving Sermon," document the
growing paranoia in both Europe and America in the 17905 regarding
rumours that the Illuminati - "a radical company of beings who dis-
card the principles of religion and obligations of morality" according
to Morse (295) - were threatening to subvert the powers of church
and state. By the time Brown published Ormond, which associates
Ormond with secret "political projects" (126), the term "Illuminati"
had become a short form for all forms of radical thought that might
threaten the conservative Federalist stronghold in the early Republic.
Judith Sargent Murray (1751-1820) was one of America's earliest
professional writers. She contributed poems, essays and stories to local
newspapers. She also published politically liberal essays, many with
277 ORMON D
feminist sympathies, under the pseudonyms "The Gleaner" and
"Constantia" in the Massachusetts Magazine from 1789 to 1796. Her
feminism may have influenced Brown's early discussion of equal
rights for women in Alcuin; her use of the pseudonym "Constantia"
may also have given Brown the name of the heroine of Ormond.
Professor John Robison (1739-1805), General Secretary of the
Royal Society of Edinburgh and scientific writer, was a lecturer in
Chemistry at Glasgow University and, later, professor of Natural Phi-
losophy at Edinburgh University. Robison had been a member of the
Freemasons and visited several lodges in Europe. In 1797 he published
Proofs of a Conspiracy against All Religions and Governments of Europe, an
inflammatory work which aimed to prove that the Illuminati secret
society had organized to overthrow the Christian church and govern-
ments throughout the world.
Reverend Jedidiah Morse (1761-1826) was a popular Congrega-
tional clergyman and staunch Federalist who feared the spread of the
"contagion" of Republicanism in 1790$ America. Like many New
England ministers, including Brown's friend Timothy Dwight, Morse
was inspired by Robison s inflammatory Proofs of A Conspiracy against
All Religions and Governments of Europe to use the sermon form to
generate popular hysteria over the rumoured spread of Illuminati
principles in late-eighteenth-century America. Excerpted here,
Morse s "Thanksgiving sermon" urged popular support for the Feder-
alists'Alien and Sedition Laws, which attempted to stem the tide of
pro-French sentiment in New England.
NOTE S ON THE APPENDICES 278
Appendix A
On the EQUALITY of the SEXES
[Judith Sargent Murray's essay was published in the Massachusetts Mag-
azine (March 1790,132-35; April 1790,223-26)]
TO THE EDITORS OF THE MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE,
GENTLEMEN,
The following Essay is yielded to the patronage of Candour. — If it hath been
anticipated, the testimony of many respectable persons, who saw it in manu-
script as early as the year 1779, can obviate the imputation of plagiarism.
Is it upon mature consideration we adopt the idea, that nature is thus
partial in her distributions? Is it indeed a fact, that she hath yielded to
one half of the human species so unquestionable a mental superiori-
ty? I know that to both sexes elevated understandings, and the
reverse, are common. But, suffer me to ask, in what the minds of
females are so notoriously deficient, or unequal. May not the intellec-
tual powers be ranged under these four heads - imagination, reason,
memory and judgment. The province of imagination hath long since
been surrendered up to us, and we have been crowned undoubted
sovereigns of the regions of fancy. Invention is perhaps the most ardu-
ous effort of the mind; this branch of imagination hath been particu-
larly ceded to us, and we have been time out of mind invested with
that creative faculty. Observe the variety of fashions (here I bar the
contemptuous smile) which distinguish and adorn the female world;
how continually are they changing, insomuch that they almost render
the wise man's assertion problematical, and we are ready to say, there is
something new under the sun. Now what a playfulness, what an exuber-
ance of fancy, what strength of inventive imagination, doth this con-
tinual variation discover? Again, it hath been observed, that if the
turpitude of the conduct of our sex, hath been ever so enormous, so
extremely ready are we, that the very first thought presents us with an
apology, so plausible, as to produce our actions even in an amiable
279 ORMON D
light. Another instance of our creative powers is our talent for slander;
how ingenious are we at inventive scandal? what a formidable story
can we in a moment fabricate merely from the force of a prolifick [sic]
imagination? how many reputations, in the fertile brain of a female,
have been utterly despoiled? how industrious are we at improving a
hint? suspicion how easily do we convert into conviction, and convic-
tion, embellished by the power of eloquence, stalks abroad at the sur-
prise and confusion of unsuspecting innocence. Perhaps it will be
asked if I furnish these facts as instances of excellency in our sex. Cer-
tainly not; but as proofs of a creative faculty, of a lively imagination.
Assuredly great activity of mind is thereby discovered, and was this
activity properly directed, what beneficial effects would follow. Is the
needle and kitchen sufficient to employ the operations of a soul thus
organized? I should conceive not. Nay, it is a truth that those very
departments leave the intelligent principle vacant, and at liberty for
speculation. Are we deficient in reason? we can only reason from
what we know, and if an opportunity of acquiring knowledge hath
been denied us, the inferiority of our sex cannot fairly be deduced
from hence. Memory, I believe, will be allowed us in common, since
every one's experience must testify, that a loquacious old woman is as
frequently met with, as a communicative old man; their subjects are
alike drawn from the fund of other times, and the transactions of their
youth, or of maturer life, entertain, or perhaps fatigue you, in the
evening of their lives. "But our judgment is not so strong — we do not
distinguish so well. -Yet it may be questioned, from what doth this
superiority, in this determining faculty of the soul, proceed. May we
not trace its source in the difference of education, and continued
advantages? Will it be said that the judgment of a male of two years
old is more sage than that of a female's of the same age? I believe the
reverse is generally observed to be true. But from that period what
partiality! how is the one exalted, and the other depressed, by the
contrary modes of education which are adopted! the one is taught to
aspire, and the other is early confined and limitted [sic]. As their years
increase, the sister must be wholly domesticated, while the brother is
led by the hand through all the flowery paths of science. Grant that
their minds are by nature equal, yet who shall wonder at the apparent
superiority, if indeed custom becomes second nature; nay if it taketh
place of nature, and that it doth the experience of each day will
APPENDI X A 280
evince. At length arrived at womanhood, the uncultivated fair one
feels a void, which the employments allotted her are by no means
capable of filling. What can she do? to books she may not apply; or if
she doth, to those only of the novel kind, lest she merit the appellation of
a learned lady; and what ideas have been affixed to this term, the obser-
vation of many can testify. Fashion, scandal, and sometimes what is
still more reprehensible, are then called in to her relief; and who can
say to what lengths the liberties she takes may proceed. Meantime she
herself is most unhappy; she feels the want of a cultivated mind. Is she
single, she in vain seeks to fill up time from sexual employments or
amusements. Is she united to a person whose soul nature made equal
to her own, education hath set him so far above her, that in those
entertainments which are productive of such rational felicity, she is
not qualified to accompany him. She experiences a mortifying con-
sciousness of inferiority, which embitters every enjoyment. Doth the
person to whom her adverse fate hath consigned her, posses [sic] a
mind incapable of improvement, she is equally wretched, in being so
closely connected with an individual whom she cannot but despise.
Now, was she permitted the same instructors as her brother, (with an
eye however to their particular departments) for the employment of a
rational mind an ample field would be opened. In astronomy she
might catch a glimpse of the immensity of the Deity, and thence she
would form amazing conceptions of the august and supreme Intelli-
gence. In geography she would admire Jehovah in the midst of his
benevolence; thus adapting this globe to the various wants and
amusements of its inhabitants. In natural philosophy she would adore
the infinite majesty of heaven, clothed in condescension; and as she
traversed the reptile world, she would hail the goodness of a creating
God. A mind, thus filled, would have little room for the trifles with
which our sex are, with too much justice, accused of amusing them-
selves, and they would thus be rendered fit companions for those,
who should one day wear them as their crown. Fashions, in their vari-
ety, would then give place to conjectures, which might perhaps con-
duce to the improvement of the literary world; and there would be
no leisure for slander or detraction. Reputation would not then be
blasted, but serious speculations would occupy the lively imaginations
of the sex. Unnecessary visits would be precluded, and that custom
would only be indulged by way of relaxation, or to answer the
281 ORMON D
demands of consanguinity and friendship. Females would become dis-
creet, their judgments would be invigorated, and their partners for life
being circumspectly chosen, an unhappy Hymen would then be as
rare, as is now the reverse.
Will it be urged that those acquirements would supersede our
domestick [sic] duties. I answer that every requisite in female economy
is easily attained; and, with truth I can add, that when once attained,
they require no further mental attention. Nay, while we are pursuing
the needle, or the superintendency of the family, I repeat, that our
minds are at full liberty for reflection; that imagination may exert
itself in full vigor; and that if a just foundation is early laid, our ideas
will then be worthy of rational beings. If we were industrious we
might easily find time to arrange them upon paper, or should avoca-
tions press too hard for such an indulgence, the hours allotted for
conversation would at least become more refined and rational. Should
it still be vociferated,"Your domestick employments are sufficient" — I
would calmly ask, is it reasonable, that a candidate for immortality, for
the joys of heaven, an intelligent being, who is to spend an eternity in
contemplating the works of Deity, should at present be so degraded,
as to be allowed no other ideas, than those which are suggested by the
mechanism of a pudding, or the sewing the seams of a garment? Pity
that all such censurers of female improvement do not go one step fur-
ther, and deny their future existence; to be consistent they surely
ought.
Yes, ye lordly, ye haughty sex, our souls are by nature equal to
yours; the same breath of God animates, enlivens, and invigorates us;
and that we are not fallen lower than yourselves, let those witness
who have greatly towered above the various discouragements by
which they have been so heavily oppressed; and though I am unac-
quainted with the list of celebrated characters on either side, yet from
the observations I have made in the contracted circle in which I have
moved, I dare confidently believe, that from the commencement of
time to the present day, there hath been as many females, as males,
who, by the mere force of natural powers, have merited the crown of
applause; who, thus unassisted, have seized the wreath of fame. I know
there are who assert, that as the animal powers of the one sex are
superiour, of course their mental faculties also must be stronger; thus
attributing strength of mind to the transient organization of this earth
APPENDI X A 282
born tenement. But if this reasoning is just, man must be content to
yield the palm to many of the brute creation, since by not a few of his
brethren of the field, he is far surpassed in bodily strength. Moreover,
was this argument admitted, it would prove too much, for occular
demonstration evinceth, that there are many robust masculine ladies,
and effeminate gentlemen. Yet I fancy that Mr. Pope, though clogged
with an enervated body, and distinguished by a diminutive stature,
could nevertheless lay claim to greatness of soul; and perhaps there are
many other instances which might be adduced to combat so unphilo-
sophical an opinion. Do we not often see, that when the clay built
tabernacle is well nigh dissolved, when it is just ready to mingle with
the parent soil, the immortal inhabitant aspires to, and even attaineth
heights the most sublime, and which were before wholly unexplored.
Besides, were we to grant that animal strength proved any thing, tak-
ing into consideration the accustomed impartiality of nature, we
should be induced to imagine, that she had invested the female mind
with superiour strength as an equivalent for the bodily powers of
man. But waving this however palpable advantage, for equality only, we
wish to contend.
I am aware that there are many passages in the sacred oracles
which seem to give the advantage to the other sex; but I consider all
these as wholly metaphorical. Thus David was a man after God's own
heart, yet see him enervated by his licentious passions! behold him
following Uriah to the death, and shew me wherein could consist the
immaculate Being's complacency. Listen to the curses which Job
bestoweth upon the day of his nativity, and tell me where is his per-
fection, where his patience - literally it existed not. David and Job
were types of him who was to come; and the superiority of man, as
exhibited in scripture, being also emblematical, all arguments deduced
from thence, of course fall to the ground. The exquisite delicacy of
the female mind proclaimeth the exactness of its texture, while its
nice sense of honour announceth its innate, its native grandeur. And
indeed, in one respect, the preeminence seems to be tacitly allowed
us, for after an education which limits and confines, and employments
and recreations which naturally tend to enervate the body, and debil-
itate the mind; after we have from early youth been adorned with
ribbons, and other gewgaws, dressed out like the ancient victims pre-
vious to a sacrifice, being taught by the care of our parents in collect-
283 ORMON D
ing the most showy materials that the ornamenting our exteriour
ought to be the principal object of our attention; after, I say, fifteen
years thus spent, we are introduced into the world, amid the united
adulation of every beholder. Praise is sweet to the soul; we are imme-
diately intoxicated by large draughts of flattery, which being plentiful-
ly administered, is to the pride of our hearts the most acceptable
incense. It is expected that with the other sex we should commence
immediate war, and that we should triumph over the machinations of
the most artful. We must be constantly upon our guard; prudence and
discretion must be our characteristicks [sic]; and we must rise supe-
riour to, and obtain a complete victory over those who have been
long adding to the native strength of their minds, by an unremitted
study of men and books, and who have, moreover, conceived from the
loose characters which they have been portrayed in the extensive
variety of their reading, a most contemptible opinion of the sex. Thus
unequal, we are, notwithstanding, forced to the combat, and the
infamy which is consequent upon the smallest deviation in our con-
duct, proclaims the high idea which was formed of our native
strength; and thus, indirectly at least, is the preference acknowledged
to be our due. And if we are allowed an equality of acquirement, let
serious studies equally employ our minds, and we will bid our souls
arise to equal strength. We will meet upon even ground, the despot
man; we will rush with alacrity to the combat, and, crowned by suc-
cess, we shall then answer the exalted expectations which are formed.
Though sensibility, soft compassion, and gentle commiseration, are
inmates in the female bosom, yet against every deep laid art, altogeth-
er fearless of the event, we will set them in array; for assuredly the
wreath of victory will encircle the spotless brow. If we meet an equal,
a sensible friend, we will reward him with the hand of amity, and
through life we will be assiduous to promote his happiness; but from
every deep laid scheme for our ruin, retiring into ourselves, amid the
flowery paths of science, we will indulge in all the refined and senti-
mental pleasures of contemplation. And should it still be urged, that
the studies thus inlisted [sic] upon would interfere with our more
peculiar department, I must further reply, that early hours, and close
application, will do wonders; and to her who is from the first dawn of
reason taught to fill up time rationally, both the requisites will be easy.
I grant that niggard fortune is too generally unfriendly to the mind;
APPENDI X A 284
and that much of that valuable treasure, time, is necessarily expended
upon the wants of the body; but it should be remembered, that in
embarrassed circumstances our companions have as little leisure for
literary improvement, as is afforded to us; for most certainly their
provident care is at least as requisite as our exertions. Nay, we have
even more leisure for sedentary pleasures, as our avocations are more
retired, much less laborious, and, as hath been observed, by no means
require that avidity of attention which is proper to the employments
of the other sex. In high life, or, in other words, where the parties are
in possession of affluence, the objection respecting time is wholly
obviated, and of course falls to the ground; and it may also be repeat-
ed, that many of those hours which are at present swallowed up in
fashion and scandal, might be redeemed, were we habituated to useful
reflections. But in one respect, O ye arbiters of our fate! we confess
that the superiority is indubitably yours; you are by nature formed for
our protectors; we pretend not to vie with you in bodily strength;
upon this point we will never contend for victory. Shield us then, we
beseech you, from external evils, and in return we will transact your
domestick affairs. Yes, your, for are you not equally interested in those
matters with ourselves? Is not the elegancy of neatness as agreeable to
your sight as to ours; is not the well favoured viand equally delightful
to your taste; and doth not your sense of hearing suffer as much, from
the discordant sounds prevalent in an ill regulated family, produced by
the voices of children and many et ceterasl
Constantia
By way of supplement to the foregoing pages, I subjoin the following extract
from a letter, wrote to a friend in the December of 1780.
AND now assist me, O thou genius of my sex, while I undertake the
arduous task of endeavouring to combat that vulgar, that almost uni-
versal errour, which hath, it seems, enlisted even Mr. P under its
banners. The superiority of your sex hath, I grant, been time out of
mind esteemed a truth incontrovertible; in consequence of which
persuasion, every plan of education hath been calculated to establish
this favourite tenet. Not long since; weak and presuming as I was, I
amused myself with selecting some arguments from nature, reason,
and experience, against this so generally received idea. I confess that
285 ORMON D
to sacred testimonies I had not recourse. I held them to be merely
metaphorical, and thus regarding them, I could not persuade myself
that there was any propriety in bringing them to decide in this very
important debate. However, as you, sir, confine yourself entirely to the
sacred oracles, I mean to bend the whole of my artillery against those
supposed proofs, which you have from thence provided, and from
which you have formed an intrenchment apparently so invulnerable.
And first, to begin with our great progenitors; but here, suffer me to
premise, that it is for mental strength I mean to contend, for with
respect to animal powers, I yield them undisputed to that sex, which
enjoys them in common with the lion, the tyger, and many other
beasts of prey; therefore your observations respecting the rib, under the
arm, at a distance from the head, &c. &c. in no sort militate against my
view. Well, but the woman was first in the transgression. Strange how
blind self love renders you men; were you not wholly absorbed in a
partial admiration of your own abilities, you would long since have
acknowledged the force of what I am now going to urge. It is true
some ignoramuses have absurdly enough informed us, that the beau-
teous fair of paradise, was seduced from her obedience, by a malignant
demon, in the guise of a baleful serpent', but we, who are better informed,
know that the fallen spirit presented himself to her view, a shining
angel still; for thus, saith the criticks in the Hebrew tongue, ought the
word to be rendered. Let us examine her motive - Hark! the seraph
declares that she shall attain a perfection of knowledge; for is there
aught which is not comprehended under one or other of the terms
good and evil. It doth not appear that she was governed by any one
sensual appetite; but merely by a desire of adorning her mind; a laud-
able ambition fired her soul, and a thirst for knowledge impelled the
predilection so fatal in its consequences. Adam could not plead the
same deception; assuredly he was not deceived; nor ought we to
admire his superiour strength, or wonder at his sagacity, when we so
often confess that example is much more influential than precept. His
gentle partner stood before him, a melancholy instance of the direful
effects of disobedience; he saw her not possessed of that wisdom
which she had fondly hoped to obtain, but he beheld the once
blooming female, disrobed of that innocence, which had heretofore
rendered her so lovely. To him then deception became impossible, as
he had proof positive of the fallacy of the argument, which the
APPENDI X A 286
deceiver had suggested. What then could be his inducement to burst
the barriers, and to fly directly in the face of that command, which
immediately from the mouth of deity he had received, since, I say, he
could not plead that fascinating stimulous [sic], the accumulation of
knowledge, as indisputable conviction was so visibly portrayed before
him. What mighty cause impelled him to sacrifice myriads of beings
yet unborn, and by one impious act, which he saw would be produc-
tive of such fatal effects, entail undistinguished ruin upon a race of
beings, which he was yet to produce. Blush, ye vaunters of fortitude;
ye boasters of resolution; ye haughty lords of the creation; blush when
ye remember, that he was influenced by no other motive than a bare
pusillanimous attachment to a woman! by sentiments so exquisitely
soft, that all his sons have, from that period, when they have designed
to degrade them, described as highly feminine. Thus it should seem,
that all the arts of the grand deceiver (since means adequate to the
purpose are, I conceive, invariably pursued) were requisite to mislead
our general mother, while the father of mankind forfeited his own,
and relinquished the happiness of posterity, merely in compliance
with the blandishments of a female. The subsequent subjection the
apostle Paul explains as a figure; after enlarging upon the subject, he
adds,"77n'5 is a great mystery; but I speak concerning Christ and the church''
Now we know with what consummate wisdom the unerring father
of eternity hath formed his plans; all the types which he hath dis-
played, he hath permitted materially to fail, in the very virtue for
which they were famed. The reason for this is obvious, we might oth-
erwise mistake his economy, and render that honour to the creature,
which is due only to the creator. I know that Adam was a figure of
him who was to come. The grace contained in his figure is the reason
of my rejoicing, and while I am very far from prostrating before the
shadow, I yield joyfully in all things the preeminence to the second
federal head. Confiding faith is prefigured by Abraham, yet he
exhibits a contrast to the affiance, when he says of his fair companion,
she is my sister. Gentleness was the characteristick [sic] of Moses, yet
he hesitated not to reply to Jehovah himself, with unsaintlike tongue
he murmured at the waters of strife, and with rash hands he break the
tables, which were inscribed by the finger of divinity. David, dignified
with the title of the man after God's own heart, and yet how stained
was his life. Solomon was celebrated for wisdom, but folly is wrote in
287 ORMON D
legible characters upon his almost every action. Lastly, let us turn our
eyes to man in the aggregate. He is manifested as the figure of
strength, but that we may not regard him as any thing more than a
figure, his soul is formed in no sort superiour, but every way equal to
the mind of her, who is the emblem of weakness, and whom he hails
the gentle companion of his better days.
APPENDI X A 288
Appendix B
Excerpted from Proofs of a Conspiracy Against All the Religions and Gov-
ernments of Europe, Carried on in the Secret Meetings of Free Masons, Ulu-
minati, and Reading Societies. Collected from good authorities, by John
Robison, A.M. professor of natural philosophy, and secretary to the
Royal Society of Edinburgh. Nam tua res agitue paries cum proximus
ardet.The third edition.To which is added a Postscript.
Philadelphia: Printed for T. Dobson, No. 41, South Second Street, and W.
Cobbet, No. 25, North Second Street. 1798. (pp. 80-184).
... This was in 1777. [Professor Adam] Weishaupt had long been
scheming the establishment of an Association of Order, which, in
time, should govern the world. In his first fervour and high expecta-
tions, he hinted to several Ex-Jesuits the probability of their recover-
ing, under a new name, the influence which they formerly possessed,
and of being again of great service to society, by directing the educa-
tion of youth of distinction, now emancipated from all civil and reli-
gious prejudices. He prevailed on some to join him, but they all
retracted but two. After this disappointment Weishaupt became the
implacable enemy of the Jesuits, and his sanguine temper made him
frequently lay himself open to their piercing eye, and drew on him
their keenest resentment, and at last made him the victim of their
enmity....
In the beginning of 1783, four professors of the Marianen Acade-
my, founded by the widow of the late Elector, viz. Utschneider, Cos-
sandey, Renner, and Grunberger, with two others, were summoned
before the Court of Enquiry, and questioned, on their allegiance,
respecting the Order of the Illuminati. They acknowledged that they
belonged to it, and when more closely examined, they related several
circumstances of its constitution and principles. Their declarations
were immediately published, and were very unfavourable. The order
was said to abjure Christianity, and to refute admission into the high-
er degrees to all who adhered to any of the three confessions. Sensual
pleasures were restored to the rank they held in the Epicurean philos-
ophy. Self-murder was justified on Stoical principles. In the Lodges
289 ORMON D
death was declared an eternal sleep; patriotism and loyalty were called
narrow-minded prejudices, and incompatible with universal benevo-
lence; continual declamations were made on liberty and equality as
the unalienable rights of man. The baneful influence of accumulated
property was declared an insurmountable obstacle to the happiness of
any nation whose chief laws were framed for its protection and
increase. Nothing was so frequently discoursed of as the propriety of
employing, for a good purpose, the means which the wicked
employed for evil purposes; and it was taught, that the preponderancy
of good in the ultimate result consecrated every mean employed; and
that wisdom and virtue consisted in properly determining this bal-
ance. This appeared big with danger, because it seemed evident that
nothing would be scrupled at, if it could be made appear that the
Order would derive advantage from it, because the great object of the
Order was held as superior to every consideration. They concluded by
saying that the method of education made them all spies on each
other and on all around them ...
... [According to the Founder of the Illuminati],"! have contrived
an explanation which has every advantage; is inviting to Christians of
every communion; gradually frees them from all religious prejudices;
cultivates the social virtues; and animates them by a great, a feasible,
and speedy prospect of universal happiness, in a state of liberty and
moral equality, freed from the obstacles which subordination, rank,
and riches, continually throw in our way. My explanation is accurate,
and complete, my means are effectual, and irresistible. Our secret
Association works in a way that nothing can withstand, and man shall
soon be free and happy'.'
"This is the great object held out by this Association, and the
means of attaining it is Illumination, enlightening the understanding
by the sun of reason, which will dispel the clouds of superstition and
of prejudice. The proficients in this Order are therefore justly named
the Illuminated. And of all Illumination which human reason can
give, none is comparable to the discovery of what we are, our nature,
our obligations, what happiness we are capable of, and what are the
means of attaining it. In comparison with this, the most brilliant sci-
ences are but amusements for the idle and the luxurious. To fit man
by Illumination for active virtue, to engage him to it by the strongest
motives, to render the attainment of it easy and certain, by finding
employment for every talent in its proper sphere of action, so that all,
APPENDI X B 290
without feeling any extraordinary effort, and in conjunction with and
completion of ordinary business, shall urge forward, with united pow-
ers, the general task. This indeed will be an employment, suited to
noble natures, grand in its views, and delightful in its exercise."
"And what is this general object? THE HAPPINESS OF THE
HUMAN RACE. Is it not distressing to a generous mind, after con-
templating what human nature is capable of, to see how little we
enjoy? When we look at this goodly world, and see that every man
may be happy, but that the happiness of one depends on the conduct
of another; when we see the wicked so powerful and the good so
weak; and that it is in vain to strive singly and alone, against the gen-
eral current of vice and oppression: the wish naturally arises in the
mind, that it were possible to form a durable combination of the most
worthy persons, who should work together in removing the obstacles
to human happiness, become terrible to the wicked, and give their
aid to the good without distinction, and should, by the most powerful
means, first fetter, and by fettering, lessen vice; means which at the
same time should promote virtue, by rendering the inclination to rec-
titude hitherto so feeble, more powerful and engaging. Would not
such an association be a blessing to the world?"
"But where are the proper persons, the good, the generous, and
the accomplished, to be found; and how, and by what strong motives,
are they to be induced to engage in a talk so vast, so incessant, so
difficult, and so laborious? This Association must be gradual. There are
some such persons to be found in every society. Such noble minds
will be engaged by the heart-warming object. The first task of the
Association must therefore be to form the young members. As these
multiply and advance, they become the apostles of beneficence, and
the work is now on foot, and advances with a speed encreasing [sic]
every day. The slightest observation shows that nothing will so much
contribute to increase the zeal of the members as secret union. We see
with what keenness and zeal the frivolous business of Free Masonry is
conducted, by persons knit together by secrecy of their union. It is
needless to enquire into the causes of this zeal which secrecy pro-
duces. It is an universal fact, confirmed by the history of every age.
Let this circumstance of our constitution therefore be directed to this
noble purpose, and then all the objections urged against it by jealous
tyranny and affrighted superstition will vanish. The Order will thus
work silently, and securely; and though the generous benefactors of
291 ORMON D
the human race are thus deprived of the applause of the world, they
have the noble pleasure of seeing their work prosper in their hands."
Such is the aim, and such are the hopes of the Order of the Illumi-
nated. Let us now see how these were to be accomplished. We cannot
judge with perfect certainty of this, because the account given of the
constitution of the Order by its founder includes only the lowest
degree, and even this is liable to great suspicion....
...We are therefore suspicious of this Illumination, and apt to
ascribe this violent antipathy to Princes and subordination to the very
cause that makes true Illumination, and just Morality proceeding from
it, so necessary to public happiness, namely, the vice and injustice of
those who cannot innocently have the command of those offensive
elegancies [sic] of human life. Luxurious taste, keen desires, and unbri-
dled passions, would prompt to all this; and this Illumination is, as we
see, equivalent to them in effect. The aim of the Order is not to
enlighten the mind of man, but shew him his moral obligations, and
by the practice of his duties to make society peaceable, possession
secure, and coercion unnecessary, so that all may be at rest and happy,
even though all were equal; but to get rid of the coercion which must
be employed in the place of Morality, that the innocent rich may be
robbed with impunity by the idle and profligate poor. But to do this,
an unjust casuistry must be employed instead of a just Morality; and
this must be defended or suggested, by misrepresenting the true state
of man, and of his relation to the universe, and by removing the
restrictions of religion, and giving a superlative value to all those con-
stituents of human enjoyment, which true Illumination shews us to
be but very small concerns of a rational and virtuous mind. The more
closely we examine the principles and practice of the Illuminati, the
more clearly do we perceive that this is the case. Their first and imme-
diate aim is to get the possession of riches, power, and influence, with-
out industry; and to accomplish this, they want to abolish
Christianity; and then dissolute manners and universal profligacy will
procure them the adherence of all the wicked, and enable them to
overturn all the civil governments of Europe; after which they will
think of farther conquests, and extend their operations to the other
quarters of the globe, till they have reduced mankind to the state of
one undistinguishable chaotic mass.
But this is too chimerical to be thought their real aim. Their
APPENDI X B 292
Founder, I dare say, never entertained such hopes, nor troubled him-
self with the fate of distant lands. But it conies in his way when he
puts on the mask of humanity and benevolence: it must embrace all
mankind, only because it must be stronger than patriotism and loyal-
ty, which stand in his way ...
... Is it not astonishing, therefore, to hear people in this country
express any regard for this institution? Is it not most mortifying to
think that there are Lodges of Illuminated among us? I think that
nothing bids fairer for weaning our inconsiderate countrymen from
having any connection with them, than the faithful account here
given. I hope that there are few, very few of our countrymen, and
none whom we call friend, who can think that an Order which held
such doctrines, and which practiced such things, can be any thing else
than a ruinous Association, a gang of profligates. All their posessions
[sic] of the love of mankind are vain; their Illumination must be a
bewildering blaze, and totally ineffectual for its purpose, for it has had
no such influence on the leaders of the band; yet it seems quite ade-
quate to the effects it has produced; for such are the characters of
those who forget God ...
...And all good men, all lovers of peace and of justice, will abhor
and reject the thought of overturning the present constitution of
things, faulty as it may be, merely in the endeavour to establish anoth-
er, which the vices of mankind may subvert again in a twelvemonth.
They must see, that in order to gain their point, the proposers have
found it necessary to destroy the grounds of morality, by permitting
the most wicked means for accomplishing any end that our fancy,
warped by passion or interest, may represent to us as of great impor-
tance. They see, that instead of morality, vice must prevail, and that
therefore there is no security for the continuance of this Utopian
felicity; and, in the mean time, desolation and misery must lay the
world waste during the struggle, and half of those for whom we are
striving will be swept from the face of the earth. We have but to look
to France, where in eight years there have been more executions and
spoliations and distresses of every kind by the pouvoir revolutionnaire,
than can be found in the long records of that despotic monarchy.
There is nothing in the whole constitution of the Illuminati that
strikes me with more horror than the proposals ... to enlist the
women in this shocking warfare with all that "is good, and pure, and
293 ORMON D
lovely, and of good report." They could not have fallen on any expedi-
ent that will be more effectual and fatal. If any of my countrywomen
shall honour these pages with a reading, I would call on them, in the
most earnest manner, to consider this as an affair of the utmost impor-
tance to themselves. I would conjure them by the regard they have for
their own dignity, and for their rank in society, to join against these
enemies of human nature and profligate degraders of the sex; and I
would assure them that the present state of things almost puts it in
their power to be the saviours of the world. But if they are remiss, and
yield to the seduction, they will fall from that high state to which they
have arisen in Christian Europe, and again sink into that insignifican-
cy or slavery in which the sex is found in all ages and countries out of
the hearing of Christianity.
APPENDI X B 294
Appendix C
Excerpted from "A Sermon, preached at Charlestown, November 29,
1798. On the anniversary of thanksgiving in Massachusetts. With an
Appendix, designed to illustrate some parts of the discourse; exhibit-
ing proofs of the early existence, progress and deleterious effects of
French intrigue and influence in the United States." By Jedediah [sic]
Morse, D.D. pastor of the church in Charlestown.
Printed at Worcester, Massachusetts, by Daniel Greenleafjuly 10, ijgg(SS).
...The probable existence of Illuminism in this country was asserted in
my Fall Discourse of May last. The following fact, related by a very
respectable divine, while it confirms what is above asserted, shews that
my apprehensions were not without foundation.
"In the northern parts of this state (Massachusetts) as I am well
informed, there has lately appeared, and still exists under a licentious
leader, a company of beings who discard the principles of religion,
and the obligations of morality, trample on the bonds of matrimony,
and separate right of property, and the laws of civil society, spend the
sabbath in labour and diversion, as fancy dictates; and the nights in
rioteous [sic] excess and promiscuous concubinage, as lust impels.
Their number consists of about forty, some of whom are persons of
respectable abilities, and once, of decent characters. That a society of
this description, which would disgrace the natives of Caffreria, should
be formed in this land of civilization and Gospel light, is an evidence
that the devil is at this time gone forth, having great influence, as well
as great wrath."
Here is certainly the fruit if not the root, the practice if not the theory,
the substance if not the form of Illuminism ...
295 ORMON D
Works Cited And Recommended Reading
I. Works by C.B. Brown:
Brown, Charles Brockden. Alcuin;A Dialogue. New York: Printed by T. & J.
Swords, 1798.
Wieland; or, the Transformation. An American Tale. New York: Printed by T.
& J. Swords, for H. Caritat, 1798.
Ormond; or, The Secret Witness. New York: Printed by G. Forman, for H.
Caritat, 1799.
Arthur Mervyn; or, Memoirs of the Year 1793. Philadelphia: Maxwell, 1799.
Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker. Philadelphia: Maxwell, 1799.
Clara Howard; In a Series of Letters. Philadelphia: Dickins, 1801. (In Eng-
land published as Philip Stanley; or, The Enthusiasm of Love. London: Lane,
1807.)
Jane Talbot,A Novel. Philadelphia: John Conrad; Baltimore: M. & J. Con-
rad; Washington City: Rapin, 1801.
Carwin, The Biloquist, and Other American Tales and Pieces. London: Henry
Colbourn, 1822.
II. Bibliographic Checklists of Works by C.B. Brown:
Carpenter, Charles A. "Selective Bibliography of Writings about Charles
Brockden Brown." Critical Essays on Charles Brockden Brown. Ed. Bernard
Rosenthal. Boston: Hall, 1981. 224-39.
Parker, Patricia L. Charles Brockden Brown: A Reference Guide. Boston: Hall,
1980.
III. Works on C.B. Brown:
Axelrod, Alan. Charles Brockden Brown, An American Tale. Austin: U of Texas P,
1983-
Bennet, Maurice J. An American Tradition — Three Studies: Charles Brockden
Brown, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Henry James. New York: Garland, 1987.
Bradfield, Scott. Dreaming Revolution: Transgression in the Development of Ameri-
can Romance. Iowa City: U of Iowa P, 1993.
WORK S CITED AND RECOMMENDED READIN G 296
Brumm, Ursula. "Nature as Scene or Agent? Some Reflections on Its Role in
the American Novel." Vistas of a Continent: Concepts of Nature in America.
Ed. Andreas Riese. Heidelberg: Winter, 1979.101-10.
Butler, David L. Dissecting a Human Heart: A Study of Style in the Novels of
Charles Brockden Brown. Washington, DC: UP of America, 1978.
Christophersen, Bill. The Apparition in the Glass: Charles Brockden Brown's
American Gothic. Athens: U of Georgia P, 1993.
Clark, David Lee. Charles Brockden Brown: Pioneer Voice of America. Durham:
Duke UP, 1952.
Clemit, Pamela. The Godwinian Novel: The Rational Fictions of Godwin, Brockden
Brown, Mary Shelley. Oxford: Clarendon; New York: Oxford UP, 1993.
Davidson, Cathy. Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America. New
York: Oxford UP, 1986.
Day, William Patrick. In the Circles of Fear and Desire: A Study of Gothic Fantasy.
Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1985.
Dunlap, William. The Life of Charles Brockden Brown together with selections from
the rarest of his printed works, from his original letters, and from his manuscripts
before unpublished. Philadelphia:James P. Parke, 1815.
Elliott, Emory. Revolutionary Writers: Literature and Authority in the New Repub-
lic, 1725-1810. New York: Oxford UP, 1982.
Ferguson, Robert A. "Yellow Fever and Charles Brockden Brown: The Con-
text of the Emerging Novelist." Early American Literature 14 (1980): 293-
305-
Law and Letters in American Culture (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard
University Press, 1984).
Fiedler, Leslie. Love and Death in the American Novel. New York: Criterion,
1960.
Fleischmann, Fritz. "Charles Brockden Brown: Feminism in Fiction." Ameri-
can Novelists Revisited: Essays in Feminist Criticism. Ed. Fritz Fleischmann.
Boston: Hall, 1982. 6-41.
Goddu, Teresa. Gothic America: Narrative, History and Nation. New York:
Columbia UP, 1997.
Grabo, Norman S. The Coincidental Art of Charles Brockden Brown. Chapel Hill:
U of North Carolina P, 1981.
Hagenbuchle, Roland. "American Literature and the Nineteenth-Century
Crisis in Epistemology: The Example of Charles Brockden Brown". Early
American Literature 23(1988): 121-51.
297 ORMON D
Hinds, Elizabeth Jane Wall. "Charles Brockden Brown and the Frontiers of
Discourse." Frontier Gothic: Terror and Wonder at the Frontier in American Liter-
ature. Eds. David Mogen, Scott P. Sanders, and Joanne B. Karpinski.
Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 1993. 109-125.
Private Property: Charles Brockden Brown's Gendered Economics of Virtue.
Newark, DE: U of Delaware P, 1997.
Jordan, Cynthia. S. Second Stories: The Politics of Language, Form, and Gender in
Early American Fictions. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 1989.
Kimball, Arthur G. Rational Fictions: A Study of Charles Brockden Brown.
McMinnville, OR: Linfield Research Institute, 1968.
Krause, Sydney. "Ormond. How Rapidly and How Well 'composed, arranged,
and delivered.'" Early American Literature 13 (1978-9): 238-49.
"'Ormond: Seduction in a New Key" American Literature 44 (1973): 570-
84.
Lee, A. Robert. "A Darkness Visible: The Case of Charles Brockden Brown."
American Horror Fiction: From Brockden Brown to Stephen King. Ed. Brian
Docherty New York: St. Martin's, 1990. 13-32.
Levin, Harry. The Power of Blackness. New York: Knopf, 1958.
Levine, Robert. Conspiracy and Romance: Studies in Brockden Brown, Hawthorne,
and Melville. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989.
Looby, Christopher. Voicing America: Language, Literary Form and the Origins of
the United States. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996.
Masse, Michelle A. In The Name of Love: Women, Masochism and the Gothic. Itha-
ca and London: Cornell UP, 1992.
Parrington,Vernon Louis. The Romantic Revolution in America, 1800-1860. New
York: Harcourt, 1927.
Reising, Russell J. Loose Ends: Closure and Crisis in the American Social Text.
Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1997.
Ringe, Donald A. American Gothic: Imagination and Reason in Nineteenth-Centu-
ry Fiction. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 1982.
Charles Brockden Brown. New York: Twayne P, 1966.
Rodgers, Paul C., Jr. "Brown's Ormond:The Fruits of Improvisation." American
Quarterly 24 (March 1974): 4-22.
Rosenthal, Bernard, ed. Critical Essays on Charles Brockden Brown. Boston: Hall,
1981.
Samuels, Shirley "The Family, the State, and the Novel in the Early Repub-
lic." American Quarterly (Fall 1986): 381-95.
WORKS CITED AND RECOMMENDED READING 298
"Infidelity and Contagion: The Rhetoric of Revolution." Early Ameri-
can Literature 22 (1987): 183-91.
Romances of the Republic: Women, the Family and Violence in the Literature of
the Early American Nation. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996.
Slotkin, Richard. Regeneration Through Violence: The Mythology of the American
Frontier, 1600-1860. Middletown, CT:Wesleyan UP, 1973.
Smith, Allan Gardner. The Analysis of Motives: Early American Psychology and
Fiction. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1980.
Smyth, Heather. "Imperfect Dis(clothes)ures: Cross-Dressing and Contain-
ment in Charles Brockden Brown's Ormond!' Sex and Sexuality in Early
America. Ed. Merril D. Smith. New York: New York UP, 1998.
Stern, Julia A. The Plight of Feeling: Sympathy and Dissent in the Early American
Novel Chicago and London: University of Chicago P, 1997.
Tilton, Eleanor M. "In the Labyrinth of Charles Brockden Brown's Prose:
The Bicentennial Edition" Early American Literature 19 (1984): 191-208.
Verhoeven,W. M. "Displacing the Discontinuous: or, The Labyrinths of Rea-
son: Fictional Design and Eighteenth-Century Thought in Charles
Brockden Brown's Ormond." Rewriting the Dream: Reflections on the
Changing American Literary Canon. Ed. W.M. Verhoeven. Amsterdam:
Rodopi, 1992. 202-09.
."Opening the Text: The Locked Trunk Motif in Late Eighteenth-Cen-
tury British and American Gothic Fiction." Exhibited by Candlelight:
Sources and Developments in the Gothic Tradition. Amsterdam.: Rodopi, 1995.
205-19.
Vilas, Martin. S. Charles Brockden Brown: A Study of Early American Fiction.
Burlington: Free Press Association, 1904.
Warfel, Harry R. Charles Brockden Brown:American Gothic Novelist. Gainesville:
UP of Florida, 1949.
Warner, Michael. The Letters of the Republic: Publication and the Public Sphere in
Eighteenth-Century America. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1990.
Watt, Stephen. The Romance of Real Life: Charles Brockden Brown and the Ori-
gins of American Culture. Baltimore: John Hopkins UP, 1994.
IV. Secondary Sources on Backgrounds:
Allen, Richard and Absalom Jones. "A Narrative of the Yellow Fever in the
Year of Our Lord 1793." The Life Experience and Gospel Labors of the Rt.
Rev. Richard Allen. Rpt. New York: 1960.
299 ORMON D
Buel, Richard. Securing the Revolution: Ideology in American Politics, ijSg-iSi^.
Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1972.
Barruel, Abbe [Augustin]. Memoirs, illustrating the history of Jacobinism: a transla-
tion from the French. London: T. Burton, 1797.
Brown, Chandos Michael. "Mary Wollstonecraft, or, The Female Illuminati:
The Campaign Against Women and 'Modern Philosophy' in the Early
Republic." Journal of the Early Republic 15.3 (Fall 1995): 389-424.
Carey, Mathew. A Short Account of the Malignant Fever, Lately Prevalent in
Philadelphia with a statement of the proceedings that took place on the subject in
different parts of the United States. Philadelphia: 1793.
Davis, David Brion, ed. The Fear of Conspiracy: Images of Un-American Subver-
sion from the Revolution to the Present. Ithaca & New York: Cornell UP, 1971.
Dayan,Joan. Haiti, History and the Gods. Berkeley: U of California P, 1995.
Dwight, Timothy. Nature, and Danger, of Infidel Philosophy, exhibited in Two Dis-
courses, Addressed to the Candidates for the Baccalaureate, in Yale College. New
Haven: 1798.
Fliegelman, Jay Declaring Independence: Jefferson, Natural Language and the Cul-
ture of Performance. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1993.
. Prodigals and Pilgrims :The American Revolution against Patriarchal Authority,
1750-1800. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1982.
Halttunen, Karen. Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Study of Middle Class
Culture in America: 1830-1870. New Haven:Yale UP, 1982.
Johnson, Claudia L. Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender and Sentimentality in the
17gos: Wollstonecraft, Radcliffe, Burney, Austen. Chicago: U of Chicago P,
1995-
Jordan, Winthrop D. White Over Black: American Attitudes Toward the Negro 1580-
1812. Baltimore: Pelican, 1969.
Kann, Mark. On the Man Question: Gender and Civic Virtue in America. Philadel-
phia: Temple UP, 1991.
Kerber, Linda. Women of the Republic: Intellect and Ideology in Revolutionary
America. New York: Norton, 1980.
Murray, Judith Sargent. The Gleaner. Introduction by Nina Baym. Schenec-
tady, New York: Union College P, 1992.
Norton, Mary Beth. Liberty's Daughters: The Revolutionary Experience of Ameri-
can Women, 1750-1800. Boston: Little, 1980.
Smith, James Morton. Freedom's Fetters :The Alien and Sedition Laws and Ameri-
can Civil Liberties. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1956.
Stauffer,Vernon. New England and the Bavarian Illuminati. New York: Russell,
1967.
WORK S CITED AND RECOMMENDED READIN G 300
Wood, Gordon. The Radicalism of the American Revolution. New York: Knopf,
1992.
Creation of the American Republic, 1776-1787. Chapel Hill: U of North
Carolina P, 1969.
Wood, Sarah Sayward Barrell Keating. Julia and the Illuminated Baron. A novel:
founded on recent facts, which have transpired in the course of the late revolution of
moral principles in France. Portsmouth, NH: Oracle P, 1800.
Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Ed. Carol H. Pos-
ton. New York: Norton, 1975.
301 ORMON D