Edna Ferber - "One Basket [31 Stories]"

Rudyard Kipling - "The Story of the Gadsby"

Alexander Maclaren - "Expositions of Holy Scripture"

Unkown - "Catalan's Constant"

Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist

C >> Charles Brockden Brown >> Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist




On retiring to my pillow, and reviewing all the circumstances
of this interview, my mind was filled with apprehension and
disquiet. I seemed to recollect a thousand things, which showed
that Ludloe was not fully satisfied with my part in this interview.
A strange and nameless mixture of wrath and of pity appeared, on
recollection, in the glances which, from time to time, he cast upon
me. Some emotion played upon his features, in which, as my fears
conceived, there was a tincture of resentment and ferocity. In
vain I called my usual sophistries to my aid. In vain I pondered
on the inscrutable nature of my peculiar faculty. In vain I
endeavoured to persuade myself, that, by telling the truth, instead
of entitling myself to Ludloe's approbation, I should only excite
his anger, by what he could not but deem an attempt to impose upon
his belief an incredible tale of impossible events. I had never
heard or read of any instance of this faculty. I supposed the case
to be absolutely singular, and I should be no more entitled to
credit in proclaiming it, than if I should maintain that a certain
billet of wood possessed the faculty of articulate speech. It was
now, however, too late to retract. I had been guilty of a solemn
and deliberate concealment. I was now in the path in which there
was no turning back, and I must go forward.

The return of day's encouraging beams in some degree quieted
my nocturnal terrors, and I went, at the appointed hour, to
Ludloe's presence. I found him with a much more cheerful aspect
than I expected, and began to chide myself, in secret, for the
folly of my late apprehensions.

After a little pause, he reminded me, that he was only one
among many, engaged in a great and arduous design. As each of us,
continued he, is mortal, each of us must, in time, yield his post
to another.--Each of us is ambitious to provide himself a
successor, to have his place filled by one selected and instructed
by himself. All our personal feelings and affections are by no
means intended to be swallowed up by a passion for the general
interest; when they can be kept alive and be brought into play, in
subordination and subservience to the ~~great end~~, they are
cherished as useful, and revered as laudable; and whatever
austerity and rigour you may impute to my character, there are few
more susceptible of personal regards than I am.

You cannot know, till ~~you~~ are what ~~I~~ am, what deep,
what all-absorbing interest I have in the success of my tutorship
on this occasion. Most joyfully would I embrace a thousand deaths,
rather than that you should prove a recreant. The consequences of
any failure in your integrity will, it is true, be fatal to
yourself: but there are some minds, of a generous texture, who are
more impatient under ills they have inflicted upon others, than of
those they have brought upon themselves; who had rather perish,
themselves, in infamy, than bring infamy or death upon a
benefactor.

Perhaps of such noble materials is your mind composed. If I
had not thought so, you would never have been an object of my
regard, and therefore, in the motives that shall impel you to
fidelity, sincerity, and perseverance, some regard to my happiness
and welfare will, no doubt, have place.

And yet I exact nothing from you on this score. If your own
safety be insufficient to controul you, you are not fit for us.
There is, indeed, abundant need of all possible inducements to make
you faithful. The task of concealing nothing from me must be easy.
That of concealing every thing from others must be the only arduous
one. The ~~first~~ you can hardly fail of performing, when the
exigence requires it, for what motive can you possibly have to
practice evasion or disguise with me? You have surely committed no
crime; you have neither robbed, nor murdered, nor betrayed. If you
have, there is no room for the fear of punishment or the terror of
disgrace to step in, and make you hide your guilt from me. You
cannot dread any further disclosure, because I can have no interest
in your ruin or your shame: and what evil could ensue the
confession of the foulest murder, even before a bench of
magistrates, more dreadful than that which will inevitably follow
the practice of the least concealment to me, or the least undue
disclosure to others?

You cannot easily conceive the emphatical solemnity with which
this was spoken. Had he fixed piercing eyes on me while he spoke;
had I perceived him watching my looks, and labouring to penetrate
my secret thoughts, I should doubtless have been ruined: but he
fixed his eyes upon the floor, and no gesture or look indicated the
smallest suspicion of my conduct. After some pause, he continued,
in a more pathetic tone, while his whole frame seemed to partake of
his mental agitation.

I am greatly at a loss by what means to impress you with a
full conviction of the truth of what I have just said. Endless are
the sophistries by which we seduce ourselves into perilous and
doubtful paths. What we do not see, we disbelieve, or we heed not.
The sword may descend upon our infatuated head from above, but we
who are, meanwhile, busily inspecting the ground at our feet, or
gazing at the scene around us, are not aware or apprehensive of its
irresistible coming. In this case, it must not be seen before it
is felt, or before that time comes when the danger of incurring it
is over. I cannot withdraw the veil, and disclose to your view the
exterminating angel. All must be vacant and blank, and the danger
that stands armed with death at your elbow must continue to be
totally invisible, till that moment when its vengeance is provoked
or unprovokable. I will do my part to encourage you in good, or
intimidate you from evil. I am anxious to set before you all the
motives which are fitted to influence your conduct; but how shall
I work on your convictions?

Here another pause ensued, which I had not courage enough to
interrupt. He presently resumed.

Perhaps you recollect a visit which you paid, on Christmas
day, in the year ----, to the cathedral church at Toledo. Do you
remember?

A moment's reflection recalled to my mind all the incidents of
that day. I had good reason to remember them. I felt no small
trepidation when Ludloe referred me to that day, for, at the
moment, I was doubtful whether there had not been some bivocal
agency exerted On that occasion. Luckily, however, it was almost
the only similar occasion in which it had been wholly silent.

I answered in the affirmative. I remember them perfectly.

And yet, said Ludloe, with a smile that seemed intended to
disarm this declaration of some of its terrors, I suspect your
recollection is not as exact as mine, nor, indeed, your knowledge
as extensive. You met there, for the first time, a female, whose
nominal uncle, but real father, a dean of that ancient church,
resided in a blue stone house, the third from the west angle of the
square of St. Jago.

All this was exactly true.

This female, continued he, fell in love with you. Her passion
made her deaf to all the dictates of modesty and duty, and she gave
you sufficient intimations, in subsequent interviews at the same
place, of this passion; which, she being fair and enticing, you
were not slow in comprehending and returning. As not only the
safety of your intercourse, but even of both your lives, depended
on being shielded even from suspicion, the utmost wariness and
caution was observed in all your proceedings. Tell me whether you
succeeded in your efforts to this end.

I replied, that, at the time, I had no doubt but I had.

And yet, said he, drawing something from his pocket, and
putting it into my hand, there is the slip of paper, with the
preconcerted emblem inscribed upon it, which the infatuated girl
dropped in your sight, one evening, in the left aisle of that
church. That paper you imagined you afterwards burnt in your
chamber lamp. In pursuance of this token, you deferred your
intended visit, and next day the lady was accidentally drowned, in
passing a river. Here ended your connexion with her, and with her
was buried, as you thought, all memory of this transaction.

I leave you to draw your own inference from this disclosure.
Meditate upon it when alone. Recal all the incidents of that
drama, and labour to conceive the means by which my sagacity has
been able to reach events that took place so far off, and under so
deep a covering. If you cannot penetrate these means, learn to
reverence my assertions, that I cannot be deceived; and let
sincerity be henceforth the rule of your conduct towards me, not
merely because it is right, but because concealment is impossible.

We will stop here. There is no haste required of us.
Yesterday's discourse will suffice for to-day, and for many days to
come. Let what has already taken place be the subject of profound
and mature reflection. Review, once more, the incidents of your
early life, previous to your introduction to me, and, at our next
conference, prepare to supply all those deficiencies occasioned by
negligence, forgetfulness, or design on our first. There must be
some. There must be many. The whole truth can only be disclosed
after numerous and repeated conversations. These must take place
at considerable intervals, and when ~~all~~ is told, then shall you
be ready to encounter the final ordeal, and load yourself with
heavy and terrific sanctions.

I shall be the proper judge of the completeness of your
confession.--Knowing previously, and by unerring means, your whole
history, I shall be able to detect all that is deficient, as well
as all that is redundant. Your confessions have hitherto adhered
to the truth, but deficient they are, and they must be, for who, at
a single trial, can detail the secrets of his life? whose
recollection can fully serve him at an instant's notice? who can
free himself, by a single effort, from the dominion of fear and
shame? We expect no miracles of fortitude and purity from our
disciples. It is our discipline, our wariness, our laborious
preparation that creates the excellence we have among us. We find
it not ready made.

I counsel you to join Mrs. Benington without delay. You may
see me when and as often as you please. When it is proper to renew
the present topic, it shall be renewed. Till then we will be
silent.--Here Ludloe left me alone, but not to indifference or
vacuity. Indeed I was overwhelmed with the reflections that arose
from this conversation. So, said I, I am still saved, if I have
wisdom enough to use the opportunity, from the consequences of past
concealments. By a distinction which I had wholly overlooked, but
which could not be missed by the sagacity and equity of Ludloe, I
have praise for telling the truth, and an excuse for withholding
some of the truth. It was, indeed, a praise to which I was
entitled, for I have made no ~~additions~~ to the tale of my early
adventures. I had no motive to exaggerate or dress out in false
colours. What I sought to conceal, I was careful to exclude
entirely, that a lame or defective narrative might awaken no
suspicions.

The allusion to incidents at Toledo confounded and bewildered
all my thoughts. I still held the paper he had given me. So far
as memory could be trusted, it was the same which, an hour after I
had received it, I burnt, as I conceived, with my own hands. How
Ludloe came into possession of this paper; how he was apprised of
incidents, to which only the female mentioned and myself were
privy; which she had too good reason to hide from all the world,
and which I had taken infinite pains to bury in oblivion, I vainly
endeavoured to conjecture.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.