Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 Read online

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  ARTHUR MERVYN;

  OR,

  MEMOIRS OF THE YEAR 1793.

  BY

  CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN.

  "Fielding, Richardson, and Scott occupied pedestals. In a niche wasdeposited the bust of our countryman, the author of 'Arthur Mervyn.'"

  NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

  PHILADELPHIA: DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER,

  23 SOUTH NINTH STREET. 1889.

  PREFACE.

  The evils of pestilence by which this city has lately been afflictedwill probably form an era in its history. The schemes of reformation andimprovement to which they will give birth, or, if no efforts of humanwisdom can avail to avert the periodical visitations of this calamity,the change in manners and population which they will produce, will be,in the highest degree, memorable. They have already supplied new andcopious materials for reflection to the physician and the politicaleconomist. They have not been less fertile of instruction to the moralobserver, to whom they have furnished new displays of the influence ofhuman passions and motives.

  Amidst the medical and political discussions which are now afloat in thecommunity relative to this topic, the author of these remarks hasventured to methodize his own reflections, and to weave into an humblenarrative such incidents as appeared to him most instructive andremarkable among those which came within the sphere of his ownobservation. It is every one's duty to profit by all opportunities ofinculcating on mankind the lessons of justice and humanity. Theinfluences of hope and fear, the trials of fortitude and constancy,which took place in this city in the autumn of 1793, have, perhaps,never been exceeded in any age. It is but just to snatch some of thesefrom oblivion, and to deliver to posterity a brief but faithful sketchof the condition of this metropolis during that calamitous period. Menonly require to be made acquainted with distress for their compassionand their charity to be awakened. He that depicts, in lively colours,the evils of disease and poverty, performs an eminent service to thesufferers, by calling forth benevolence in those who are able to affordrelief; and he who portrays examples of disinterestedness andintrepidity confers on virtue the notoriety and homage that are due toit, and rouses in the spectators the spirit of salutary emulation.

  In the following tale a particular series of adventures is brought to aclose; but these are necessarily connected with the events whichhappened subsequent to the period here described. These events are notless memorable than those which form the subject of the present volume,and may hereafter be published, either separately or in addition tothis.

  C.B.B.

  ARTHUR MERVYN.

  CHAPTER I.

  I was resident in this city during the year 1793. Many motivescontributed to detain me, though departure was easy and commodious, andmy friends were generally solicitous for me to go. It is not my purposeto enumerate these motives, or to dwell on my present concerns andtransactions, but merely to compose a narrative of some incidents withwhich my situation made me acquainted.

  Returning one evening, somewhat later than usual, to my own house, myattention was attracted, just as I entered the porch, by the figure of aman reclining against the wall at a few paces distant. My sight wasimperfectly assisted by a far-off lamp; but the posture in which he sat,the hour, and the place, immediately suggested the idea of one disabledby sickness. It was obvious to conclude that his disease waspestilential. This did not deter me from approaching and examining himmore closely.

  He leaned his head against the wall; his eyes were shut, his handsclasped in each other, and his body seemed to be sustained in an uprightposition merely by the cellar-door against which he rested his leftshoulder. The lethargy into which he was sunk seemed scarcelyinterrupted by my feeling his hand and his forehead. His throbbingtemples and burning skin indicated a fever, and his form, alreadyemaciated, seemed to prove that it had not been of short duration.

  There was only one circumstance that hindered me from forming animmediate determination in what manner this person should be treated.My family consisted of my wife and a young child. Our servant-maid hadbeen seized, three days before, by the reigning malady, and, at her ownrequest, had been conveyed to the hospital. We ourselves enjoyed goodhealth, and were hopeful of escaping with our lives. Our measures forthis end had been cautiously taken and carefully adhered to. They didnot consist in avoiding the receptacles of infection, for my officerequired me to go daily into the midst of them; nor in filling the housewith the exhalations of gunpowder, vinegar, or tar. They consisted incleanliness, reasonable exercise, and wholesome diet. Custom hadlikewise blunted the edge of our apprehensions. To take this person intomy house, and bestow upon him the requisite attendance, was the schemethat first occurred to me. In this, however, the advice of my wife wasto govern me.

  I mentioned the incident to her. I pointed out the danger which was tobe dreaded from such an inmate. I desired her to decide with caution,and mentioned my resolution to conform myself implicitly to herdecision. Should we refuse to harbour him, we must not forget that therewas a hospital to which he would, perhaps, consent to be carried, andwhere he would be accommodated in the best manner the times would admit.

  "Nay," said she, "talk not of hospitals. At least, let him have hischoice. I have no fear about me, for my part, in a case where theinjunctions of duty are so obvious. Let us take the poor, unfortunatewretch into our protection and care, and leave the consequences toHeaven."

  I expected and was pleased with this proposal. I returned to the sickman, and, on rousing him from his stupor, found him still in possessionof his reason. With a candle near, I had an opportunity of viewing himmore accurately.

  His garb was plain, careless, and denoted rusticity. His aspect wassimple and ingenuous, and his decayed visage still retained traces ofuncommon but manlike beauty. He had all the appearances of mere youth,unspoiled by luxury and uninured to misfortune. I scarcely ever beheldan object which laid so powerful and sudden a claim to my affection andsuccour.

  "You are sick," said I, in as cheerful a tone as I could assume. "Coldbricks and night-airs are comfortless attendants for one in yourcondition. Rise, I pray you, and come into the house. We will try tosupply you with accommodations a little more suitable."

  At this address he fixed his languid eyes upon me. "What would youhave?" said he. "I am very well as I am. While I breathe, which will notbe long, I shall breathe with more freedom here than elsewhere. Let mealone--I am very well as I am."

  "Nay," said I, "this situation is unsuitable to a sick man. I only askyou to come into my house, and receive all the kindness that it is inour power to bestow. Pluck up courage, and I will answer for yourrecovery, provided you submit to directions, and do as we would haveyou. Rise, and come along with me. We will find you a physician and anurse, and all we ask in return is good spirits and compliance."

  "Do you not know," he replied, "what my disease is? Why should you riskyour safety for the sake of one whom your kindness cannot benefit, andwho has nothing to give in return?"

  There was something in the style of this remark, that heightened myprepossession in his favour, and made me pursue my purpose with morezeal. "Let us try what we can do for you," I answered. "If we save yourlife, we shall have done you some service, and, as for recompense, wewill look to that."

  It was with considerable difficulty that he was persuaded to accept ourinvitation. He was conducted to a chamber, and, the criticalness of hiscase requiring unusual attention, I spent the night at his bedside.

  My wife was encumbered with the care both of her infant and her family.The charming babe was in perfect health, but her m
other's constitutionwas frail and delicate. We simplified the household duties as much aspossible, but still these duties were considerably burdensome to one notused to the performance, and luxuriously educated. The addition of asick man was likely to be productive of much fatigue. My engagementswould not allow me to be always at home, and the state of my patient,and the remedies necessary to be prescribed, were attended with manynoxious and disgustful circumstances. My fortune would not allow me tohire assistance. My wife, with a feeble frame and a mind shrinking, onordinary occasions, from such offices, with fastidious scrupulousness,was to be his only or principal nurse.

  My neighbours were fervent in their well-meant zeal, and loud in theirremonstrances on the imprudence and rashness of my conduct. They calledme presumptuous and cruel in exposing my wife and child, as well asmyself, to such imminent hazard, for the sake of one, too, who mostprobably was worthless, and whose disease had doubtless been, bynegligence or mistreatment, rendered incurable.

  I did not turn a deaf ear to these censurers. I was aware of all theinconveniences and perils to which I thus spontaneously exposed myself.No one knew better the value of that woman whom I called mine, or set ahigher price upon her life, her health, and her ease. The virulence andactivity of this contagion, the dangerous condition of my patient, andthe dubiousness of his character, were not forgotten by me; but still myconduct in this affair received my own entire approbation. Allobjections on the score of my friends were removed by her ownwillingness and even solicitude to undertake the province. I had moreconfidence than others in the vincibility of this disease, and in thesuccess of those measures which we had used for our defence against it.But, whatever were the evils to accrue to us, we were sure of one thing:namely, that the consciousness of having neglected this unfortunateperson would be a source of more unhappiness than could possibly redoundfrom the attendance and care that he would claim.

  The more we saw of him, indeed, the more did we congratulate ourselveson our proceeding. His torments were acute and tedious; but, in themidst even of delirium, his heart seemed to overflow with gratitude, andto be actuated by no wish but to alleviate our toil and our danger. Hemade prodigious exertions to perform necessary offices for himself. Hesuppressed his feelings and struggled to maintain a cheerful tone andcountenance, that he might prevent that anxiety which the sight of hissufferings produced in us. He was perpetually furnishing reasons why hisnurse should leave him alone, and betrayed dissatisfaction whenever sheentered his apartment.

  In a few days, there were reasons to conclude him out of danger; and, ina fortnight, nothing but exercise and nourishment were wanting tocomplete his restoration. Meanwhile nothing was obtained from him butgeneral information, that his place of abode was Chester county, andthat some momentous engagement induced him to hazard his safety bycoming to the city in the height of the epidemic.

  He was far from being talkative. His silence seemed to be the jointresult of modesty and unpleasing remembrances. His features werecharacterized by pathetic seriousness, and his deportment by a gravityvery unusual at his age. According to his own representation, he was nomore than eighteen years old, but the depth of his remarks indicated amuch greater advance. His name was Arthur Mervyn. He described himselfas having passed his life at the plough-tail and the threshing-floor; asbeing destitute of all scholastic instruction; and as being long sincebereft of the affectionate regards of parents and kinsmen.

  When questioned as to the course of life which he meant to pursue uponhis recovery, he professed himself without any precise object. He waswilling to be guided by the advice of others, and by the lights whichexperience should furnish. The country was open to him, and he supposedthat there was no part of it in which food could not be purchased by hislabour. He was unqualified, by his education, for any liberalprofession. His poverty was likewise an insuperable impediment. He couldafford to spend no time in the acquisition of a trade. He must labour,not for future emolument, but for immediate subsistence. The onlypursuit which his present circumstances would allow him to adopt wasthat which, he was inclined to believe, was likewise the most eligible.Without doubt his experience was slender, and it seemed absurd topronounce concerning that of which he had no direct knowledge; but so itwas, he could not outroot from his mind the persuasion that to plough,to sow, and to reap, were employments most befitting a reasonablecreature, and from which the truest pleasure and the least pollutionwould flow. He contemplated no other scheme than to return, as soon ashis health should permit, into the country, seek employment where it wasto be had, and acquit himself in his engagements with fidelity anddiligence.

  I pointed out to him various ways in which the city might furnishemployment to one with his qualifications. He had said that he wassomewhat accustomed to the pen. There were stations in which thepossession of a legible hand was all that was requisite. He might add tothis a knowledge of accounts, and thereby procure himself a post in somemercantile or public office.

  To this he objected, that experience had shown him unfit for the life ofa penman. This had been his chief occupation for a little while, and hefound it wholly incompatible with his health. He must not sacrifice theend for the means. Starving was a disease preferable to consumption.Besides, he laboured merely for the sake of living, and he lived merelyfor the sake of pleasure. If his tasks should enable him to live, but,at the same time, bereave him of all satisfaction, they inflictedinjury, and were to be shunned as worse evils than death.

  I asked to what species of pleasure he alluded, with which the businessof a clerk was inconsistent.

  He answered that he scarcely knew how to describe it. He read books whenthey came in his way. He had lighted upon few, and, perhaps, thepleasure they afforded him was owing to their fewness; yet he confessedthat a mode of life which entirely forbade him to read was by no meansto his taste. But this was trivial. He knew how to value the thoughts ofother people, but he could not part with the privilege of observing andthinking for himself. He wanted business which would suffer at leastnine-tenths of his attention to go free. If it afforded agreeableemployment to that part of his attention which it applied to its ownuse, so much the better; but, if it did not, he should not repine. Heshould be content with a life whose pleasures were to its pains as nineare to one. He had tried the trade of a copyist, and in circumstancesmore favourable than it was likely he should ever again have anopportunity of trying it, and he had found that it did not fulfil therequisite conditions. Whereas the trade of ploughman was friendly tohealth, liberty, and pleasure.

  The pestilence, if it may so be called, was now declining. The health ofmy young friend allowed him to breathe the fresh air and to walk. Afriend of mine, by name Wortley, who had spent two months from the city,and to whom, in the course of a familiar correspondence, I had mentionedthe foregoing particulars, returned from his rural excursion. He wasposting, on the evening of the day of his arrival, with a friendlyexpedition, to my house, when he overtook Mervyn going in the samedirection. He was surprised to find him go before him into my dwelling,and to discover, which he speedily did, that this was the youth whom Ihad so frequently mentioned to him. I was present at their meeting.

  There was a strange mixture in the countenance of Wortley when they werepresented to each other. His satisfaction was mingled with surprise, andhis surprise with anger. Mervyn, in his turn, betrayed considerableembarrassment. Wortley's thoughts were too earnest on some topic toallow him to converse. He shortly made some excuse for taking leave,and, rising, addressed himself to the youth with a request that he wouldwalk home with him. This invitation, delivered in a tone which left itdoubtful whether a compliment or menace were meant, augmented Mervyn'sconfusion. He complied without speaking, and they went out together;--mywife and I were left to comment upon the scene.

  It could not fail to excite uneasiness. They were evidently no strangersto each other. The indignation that flashed from the eyes of Wortley,and the trembling consciousness of Mervyn, were unwelcome tokens. Theformer was my dearest friend, and vene
rable for his discernment andintegrity. The latter appeared to have drawn upon himself the anger anddisdain of this man. We already anticipated the shock which thediscovery of his unworthiness would produce.

  In a half-hour Mervyn returned. His embarrassment had given place todejection. He was always serious, but his features were now overcast bythe deepest gloom. The anxiety which I felt would not allow me tohesitate long.

  "Arthur," said I, "something is the matter with you. Will you notdisclose it to us? Perhaps you have brought yourself into some dilemmaout of which we may help you to escape. Has any thing of an unpleasantnature passed between you and Wortley?"

  The youth did not readily answer. He seemed at a loss for a suitablereply. At length he said that something disagreeable had indeed passedbetween him and Wortley. He had had the misfortune to be connected witha man by whom Wortley conceived himself to be injured. He had borne nopart in inflicting this injury, but had nevertheless been threatenedwith ill treatment if he did not make disclosures which, indeed, it wasin his power to make, but which he was bound, by every sanction, towithhold. This disclosure would be of no benefit to Wortley. It wouldrather operate injuriously than otherwise; yet it was endeavoured to bewrested from him by the heaviest menaces. There he paused.

  We were naturally inquisitive as to the scope of these menaces; butMervyn entreated us to forbear any further discussion of this topic. Heforesaw the difficulties to which his silence would subject him. One ofits most fearful consequences would be the loss of our good opinion. Heknew not what he had to dread from the enmity of Wortley. Mr. Wortley'sviolence was not without excuse. It was his mishap to be exposed tosuspicions which could only be obviated by breaking his faith. But,indeed, he knew not whether any degree of explicitness would confute thecharges that were made against him; whether, by trampling on his sacredpromise, he should not multiply his perils instead of lessening theirnumber. A difficult part had been assigned to him; by much toodifficult for one young, improvident, and inexperienced as he was.

  Sincerity, perhaps, was the best course. Perhaps, after having had anopportunity for deliberation, he should conclude to adopt it; meanwhilehe entreated permission to retire to his chamber. He was unable toexclude from his mind ideas which yet could, with no propriety, at leastat present, be made the theme of conversation.

  These words were accompanied with simplicity and pathos, and with tokensof unaffected distress.

  "Arthur," said I, "you are master of your actions and time in thishouse. Retire when you please; but you will naturally suppose us anxiousto dispel this mystery. Whatever shall tend to obscure or malign yourcharacter will of course excite our solicitude. Wortley is notshort-sighted or hasty to condemn. So great is my confidence in hisintegrity that I will not promise my esteem to one who has irrecoverablylost that of Wortley. I am not acquainted with your motives toconcealment, or what it is you conceal; but take the word of one whopossesses that experience which you complain of wanting, that sincerityis always safest."

  As soon as he had retired, my curiosity prompted me to pay an immediatevisit to Wortley. I found him at home. He was no less desirous of aninterview, and answered my inquiries with as much eagerness as they weremade.

  "You know," said he, "my disastrous connection with Thomas Welbeck. Yourecollect his sudden disappearance last July, by which I was reduced tothe brink of ruin. Nay, I am, even now, far from certain that I shallsurvive that event. I spoke to you about the youth who lived with him,and by what means that youth was discovered to have crossed the river inhis company on the night of his departure. This is that very youth.

  "This will account for my emotion at meeting him at your house; Ibrought him out with me. His confusion sufficiently indicated hisknowledge of transactions between Welbeck and me. I questioned him as tothe fate of that man. To own the truth, I expected some well-digestedlie; but he merely said that he had promised secrecy on that subject,and must therefore be excused from giving me any information. I askedhim if he knew that his master, or accomplice, or whatever was hisrelation to him, absconded in my debt? He answered that he knew it well;but still pleaded a promise of inviolable secrecy as to hishiding-place. This conduct justly exasperated me, and I treated him withthe severity which he deserved. I am half ashamed to confess theexcesses of my passion; I even went so far as to strike him. He bore myinsults with the utmost patience. No doubt the young villain is wellinstructed in his lesson. He knows that he may safely defy my power.From threats I descended to entreaties. I even endeavoured to wind thetruth from him by artifice. I promised him a part of the debt if hewould enable me to recover the whole. I offered him a considerablereward if he would merely afford me a clue by which I might trace him tohis retreat; but all was insufficient. He merely put on an air ofperplexity and shook his head in token of non-compliance."

  Such was my friend's account of this interview. His suspicions wereunquestionably plausible; but I was disposed to put a more favourableconstruction on Mervyn's behaviour. I recollected the desolate andpenniless condition in which I found him, and the uniform complacencyand rectitude of his deportment for the period during which we hadwitnessed it. These ideas had considerable influence on my judgment, andindisposed me to follow the advice of my friend, which was to turn himforth from my doors that very night.

  My wife's prepossessions were still more powerful advocates of thisyouth. She would vouch, she said, before any tribunal, for hisinnocence; but she willingly concurred with me in allowing him thecontinuance of our friendship on no other condition than that of adisclosure of the truth. To entitle ourselves to this confidence we werewilling to engage, in our turn, for the observance of secrecy, so farthat no detriment should accrue from this disclosure to himself or hisfriend.

  Next morning, at breakfast, our guest appeared with a countenance lessexpressive of embarrassment than on the last evening. His attention waschiefly engaged by his own thoughts, and little was said till thebreakfast was removed. I then reminded him of the incidents of theformer day, and mentioned that the uneasiness which thence arose to ushad rather been increased than diminished by time.

  "It is in your power, my young friend," continued I, "to add still moreto this uneasiness, or to take it entirely away. I had no personalacquaintance with Thomas Welbeck. I have been informed by others thathis character, for a certain period, was respectable, but that, atlength, he contracted large debts, and, instead of paying them,absconded. You, it seems, lived with him. On the night of his departureyou are known to have accompanied him across the river, and this, itseems, is the first of your reappearance on the stage. Welbeck's conductwas dishonest. He ought doubtless to be pursued to his asylum and becompelled to refund his winnings. You confess yourself to know his placeof refuge, but urge a promise of secrecy. Know you not that to assist orconnive at the escape of this man was wrong? To have promised to favourhis concealment and impunity by silence was only an aggravation of thiswrong. That, however, is past. Your youth, and circumstances, hithertounexplained, may apologize for that misconduct; but it is certainly yourduty to repair it to the utmost of your power. Think whether, bydisclosing what you know, you will not repair it."

  "I have spent most of last night," said the youth, "in reflecting onthis subject. I had come to a resolution, before you spoke, of confidingto you my simple tale. I perceive in what circumstances I am placed, andthat I can keep my hold of your good opinion only by a candiddeportment. I have indeed given a promise which it was wrong, or ratherabsurd, in another to exact, and in me to give; yet none butconsiderations of the highest importance would persuade me to break mypromise. No injury will accrue from my disclosure to Welbeck. If thereshould, dishonest as he was, that would be a sufficient reason for mysilence. Wortley will not, in any degree, be benefited by anycommunication that I can make. Whether I grant or withhold information,my conduct will have influence only on my own happiness, and thatinfluence will justify me in granting it.

  "I received your protection when I was friendless and forlorn. You havea right to
know whom it is that you protected. My own fate is connectedwith the fate of Welbeck, and that connection, together with theinterest you are pleased to take in my concerns, because they are mine,will render a tale worthy of attention which will not be recommended byvariety of facts or skill in the display of them.

  "Wortley, though passionate, and, with regard to me, unjust, may yet bea good man; but I have no desire to make him one of my auditors. You,sir, may, if you think proper, relate to him afterwards what particularsconcerning Welbeck it may be of importance for him to know; but atpresent it will be well if your indulgence shall support me to the endof a tedious but humble tale."

  The eyes of my Eliza sparkled with delight at this proposal. Sheregarded this youth with a sisterly affection, and considered hiscandour, in this respect, as an unerring test of his rectitude. She wasprepared to hear and to forgive the errors of inexperience andprecipitation. I did not fully participate in her satisfaction, but wasnevertheless most zealously disposed to listen to his narrative.

  My engagements obliged me to postpone this rehearsal till late in theevening. Collected then round a cheerful hearth, exempt from alllikelihood of interruption from without, and our babe's unpractisedsenses shut up in the sweetest and profoundest sleep, Mervyn, after apause of recollection, began.