‘My dearest brother, (My God; how I started!) I see you revolt at the first lines which I address to you, – I implore you, for both our sakes, to read them with calmness and attention. We have been both the victims of parental and priestly imposition; the former we must forgive, for our parents are the victims of it too. The Director has their consciences in his hand, and their destiny and ours at his feet. Oh, my brother, what a tale have I to disclose to you! I was brought up, by the Director’s orders, whose influence over the domestics is as unbounded as it is over their unhappy master, in complete hostility against you, as one who was depriving me of my natural rights, and degrading the family by your illegitimate intrusion. May not this palliate, in some degree, my unnatural repulsiveness when we first met? I was taught from my cradle to hate and fear you, – to hate you as an enemy, and fear you as an impostor. This was the Director’s plan. He thought the hold he had over my father and mother too slight to gratify his ambition of domestic power, or realize his hopes of professional distinction. The basis of all ecclesiastical power rests upon fear. A crime must be discovered or invented. The vague reports circulated in the family, my mother’s constant dejection, my father’s occasional agitation, offered him a clue, which he followed with incessant industry through all its windings of doubt, mystery, and disappointment, till, in a moment of penitence, my mother, terrified by his constant denunciations if she concealed any secret of her heart or life from him, disclosed the truth.
‘We were both infants then. He adopted immediately the plan he has since realized at the expence of all but himself. I am convinced he had not, from the first hour of his machinations, the least malignity against you. The aggrandizement of his interest, which ecclesiastics always individualize with that of the church, was his only object. To dictate, to tyrannize, to manage a whole family, and that of rank, by his knowledge of the frailty of one of its members, was all he looked to. Those who by their vows are excluded from the interest which natural affections give us in life, must seek for it in the artificial ones of pride and domination, and the Director found it there. All thenceforth was conducted and inspired by him. It was he who caused us to be kept asunder from our infancy, fearful that nature might frustrate his plans, – it was he who reared me in sentiments of implacable animosity against you. When my mother fluctuated he reminded her of her vow, with which she had rashly intrusted him. When my father murmured, the shame of my mother’s frailty, the bitter feuds of domestic discussion, the tremendous sounds of imposture, perjury, sacrilege, and the resentment of the church, were thundered in his ears. You may conceive there is nothing this man would shrink at, when, almost in my childhood, he disclosed to me my mother’s frailty, to insure my early and zealous participation in his views. Heaven blast the wretch who could thus contaminate the ears, and wither the heart of a child, with the tale of a parent’s shame, to secure a partizan for the church! This was not all. From the first hour I was able to hear and comprehend him, he poisoned my heart by every channel he could approach. He exaggerated my mother’s partiality for you, which he assured me often contended vainly with her conscience. He represented my father as weak and dissipated, but affectionate; and, with the natural pride of a boy-father, immoveably attached to his eldest offspring. He said, ‘My son, prepare yourself to struggle with a host of prejudices, – the interests of God, as well as of society, demand it. Assume a high tone with your parents, – you are in possession of the secret that corrodes their consciences, make your own use of it.’ Judge the effect of these words on a temper naturally violent, – words, too, uttered by one whom I was taught to regard as the agent of the Divinity.
‘All this time, as I have since been informed, he was debating in his own mind whether he would not adopt your part instead of mine, or at least vacillate between both, so as to augment his influence over our parents, by the additional feature of suspicion. Whatever influenced his determination, the effect of his lessons on me may be easily calculated. I became restless, jealous, and vindictive; – insolent to my parents, and suspicious of all around me. Before I was eleven years of age I reviled my father for his partiality to you, – I insulted my mother with her crime, – I tyrannized over the domestics, – I was the dread and the torment of the whole household; and the wretch who had made me thus a premature demon, had outraged nature, and compelled me to trample on every tie he should have taught me to hallow and cherish, consoled himself with the thought that he was obeying the calls of his function, and strengthening the hands of the church.
‘Scire volunt secreta domus et inde timeri.’48
‘On the day preceding our first meetings, (which had not been intended before), the Director went to my father; he said, ‘Senhor, I think it best the brothers should meet. Perhaps God may touch their hearts, and by his merciful influence over them, enable you to reverse the decree that threatens one of them with seclusion, and both with a cruel and final separation.’ My father assented with tears of delight. Those tears did not melt the heart of the Director; he hastened to my apartment, and said, ‘My child, summon all your resolution, your artful, cruel, partial parents, are preparing a scene for you, – they are determined on introducing you to your spurious brother.’ ‘I will spurn him before their faces, if they dare to do so,’ said I, with the pride of premature tyranny. ‘No, my child, that will not do, you must appear to comply with their wishes, but you must not be their victim, – promise me that, my dear child, – promise me resolution and dissimulation.’ ‘I promise you resolution, keep the dissimulation for yourself.’ ‘Well, I will do so, since your interests require it.’ He hurried back to my father. ‘Senhor, I have employed all the eloquence of heaven and nature with your younger son. He is softened, – he melts already, – he longs to precipitate himself into the fraternal embrace, and hear your benediction poured over the united hearts and bodies of your two children, – they are both your children. You must banish all prejudices, and –’ ‘I have no prejudices!’ said my poor father; ‘let me but see my children embrace, and if Heaven summoned me at that moment, I should obey it by dying of joy.’ – The Director reproved him for the expressions which gushed from his heart, and, wholly unmoved by them, hurried back to me, full of his commission. ‘My child, I have warned you of the conspiracy formed against you by your own family. You will receive a proof of it to-morrow, – your brother is to be introduced, – you will be required to embrace him, – your consent is reckoned on, but at the moment you do so, your father is resolved to interpret this as the signal, on your part, of the resignation of all your natural rights. Comply with your hypocritical parents, embrace this brother, but give an air of repugnance to the action that will justify your conscience, while it deceives those who would deceive you. Watch the signal-word, my dear child; embrace him as you would a serpent, – his art is not less, and his poison as deadly. Remember that your resolution will decide the event of this meeting. Assume the appearance of affection, but remember you hold your deadliest enemy in your arms.’ At these words, unnatural as I was, I shuddered. I said, ‘My brother!’ ‘Never mind,’ said the Director, ‘he is the enemy of God, – an illegitimate impostor. Now, my child, are you prepared?’ and I answered, ‘I am prepared.’ That night, however, I was very restless. I required the Director to be summoned. I said in my pride, ‘But how is this poor wretch (meaning you) to be disposed of?’ ‘Let him embrace the monastic life,’ said the Director. At these words I felt an interest on your account I had never recognized before. I said decidedly, for he had taught me to assume a tone of decision, ‘He shall never be a monk.’ The Director appeared staggered, yet he trembled before the spirit he had himself raised. ‘Let him go into the army,’ I said; ‘let him inlist as a common soldier, I can supply him with the means of promotion; – let him engage in the meanest profession, I shall not blush to acknowledge him, but, father, he shall never be a monk.’ ‘But, my dear child, on what foundation does this extraordinary objection rest? It is the only means to restore peace to the family, and
procure it for the unfortunate being for whom you are so much interested.’ ‘My father, have done with this language. Promise me, as the condition of my obedience to your wishes to-morrow, that my brother shall never be compelled to be a monk.’ ‘Compelled, my dear child! there can be no compulsion in a holy vocation.’ ‘I am not certain of that; but I demand from you the promise I have mentioned.’ The Director hesitated, at last he said, ‘I promise.’ And he hastened to tell my father there was no longer any opposition to our meeting, and that I was delighted with the determination which had been announced to me of my brother eagerly embracing the monastic life. Thus was our first meeting arranged. When, at the command of my father, our arms were entwined, I swear to you, my brother, I felt them thrill with affection. But the instinct of nature was soon superseded by the force of habit, and I recoiled, collected all the forces of nature and passion in the terrible expression that I dared to direct towards ourparents, while the Director stood behind them smiling, and encouraging me by gestures. I thought I had acted my part with applause, at least I gave myself enough, and retired from the scene with as proud a step as if I had trampled on a prostrate world, – I had only trampled on nature and my own heart. A few days after I was sent to a convent. The Director was alarmed at the dogmatizing tone he himself had taught me to assume, and he urged the necessity of my education being attended to. My parents complied with every thing he required. I, for a wonder, consented; but, as the carriage conveyed me to the convent, I repeated to the Director, ‘Remember, my brother is not to be a monk.’
‘(After these lines several were unintelligible to me, apparently from the agitation under which they were written; – the precipitancy and fiery ardor of my brother’s character communicated itself to his writings. After many a defaced page I could trace the following words.)49
*
‘It was singular enough that you, who were the object of my inveterate hatred before my residence in the convent, became the object of my interest from that moment. I had adopted your cause from pride, I now upheld it from experience. Compassion, instinct, whatever it was, began to assume the character of a duty. When I saw the indignity with which the lower classes were treated, I said to myself, ‘No, he shall never suffer that, – he is my brother.’ When I succeeded in my exercises, and was applauded, I said, ‘This is applause in which he never can share.’ When I was punished, and that was much more frequently, I said, ‘He shall never feel this mortification.’ My imagination expanded. I believed myself your future patron, I conceived myself redeeming the injustice of nature, aiding and aggrandizing you, forcing you to confess that you owed more to me than to your parents, and throwing myself, with a disarmed and naked heart, on your gratitude alone for affection. I heard you call me brother, – Ibid you stop, and call me benefactor. My nature, proud, generous and fiery, had not yet quite emancipated itself from the influence of the Director, but every effort it made pointed, by an indescribable impulse, towards you. Perhaps the secret of this is to be found in the elements of my character, which always struggled against dictation, and loved to teach itself all it wished to know, and inspire itself with the object of its own attachments. It is certain that I wished for your friendship, at the moment I was instructed to hate you. Your mild eyes and affectionate looks haunted me perpetually in the convent. To the professions of friendship repeatedly made me by the boarders, I answered, ‘I want a brother.’ My conduct was eccentric and violent, – no wonder, for my conscience had begun to operate against my habits. Sometimes I would apply with an eagerness that made them tremble for my health; at others, no punishment, however severe, could make me submit to the ordinary discipline of the house. The community grew weary of my obstinacy, violence and irregularities. They wrote to the Director to have me removed, but before this could be accomplished I was seized with a fever. They paid me unremitting attention, but there was something on my mind no cares of theirs could remove. When they brought me medicine with the most scrupulous punctuality, I said, ‘Let my brother fetch it, and if it be poison I will drink it from his hand; I have injured him much.’ When the bell tolled for matins and vespers, I said, ‘Are they going to make my brother a monk? The Director promised me differently, but you are all deceivers.’ At length they muffled the bell. I heard its stifled sound, and I exclaimed, ‘You are tolling for his funeral, but I, – I am his murderer!’ The community became terrified at these exclamations so often repeated, and with the meaning of which they could not accuse themselves. I was removed in a state of delirium to my father’s palace in Madrid. A figure like yours sat beside me in the carriage, alighted when we stopped, accompanied me where I remained, assisted me when I was placed again in the carriage. So vivid was the impression, that I was accustomed to say to the attendants, ‘Stop, my brother is assisting me.’ When they asked me in the morning how I had rested? I answered, ‘Very well, – Alonzo has been all night at my bed-side.’ I invited this visionary companion to continue his attentions; and when the pillows were arranged to my satisfaction, I would say, ‘How kind my brother is, – how useful, – but why will he not speak?’ At one stage I absolutely refused nourishment, because the phantom appeared to decline it. I said, ‘Do not urge me, my brother, you see, will not accept of it. Oh, I entreat his pardon, it is a day of abstinence, – that is his reason, you see how he points to his habit, – that is enough.’ It is very singular that the food at this house happened to be poisoned, and that two of my attendants died of partaking of it before they could reach Madrid. I mention these circumstances, merely to prove the rivetted hold you had taken both on my imagination and my affections. On the recovery of my intellect, my first inquiry was for you. This had been foreseen, and my father and mother, shunning the discussion, and even trembling for the event, as they knew the violence of my temper, intrusted the whole business to the Director. He undertook it, – how he executed it is yet to be seen. On our first meeting he approached me with congratulations on my convalescence, with regrets for the constraints I must have suffered in the convent, with assurances that my parents would make my home a paradise. When he had gone on for some time, I said, ‘What have you done with my brother?’ ‘He is in the bosom of God,’ said the Director, crossing himself. I understood him in a moment, – I rushed past him before he had finished. ‘Where are you going, my son?’ ‘To my parents.’ ‘Your parents, – it is impossible that you can see them now.’ ‘But it is certain that I will see them. Dictate to me no longer, – degrade yourself not by this prostituted humiliation,’ for he was putting himself in a posture of intreaty, – ‘I will see my parents. Procure for me an introduction to them this moment, or tremble for the continuance of your influence in the family.’ At these words he trembled. He did not indeed dread my influence, but he dreaded my passions. His own lessons were bitterly retaliated on him that moment. He had made me fierce and impetuous, because that suited his purpose, but he had neither calculated on, or prepared himself for, this extraordinary direction which my feelings had taken, so opposite to that which he had laboured to give them. He thought, in exciting my passions, he could ascertain their direction. Woe be to those, who, in teaching the elephant to direct his trunk against their foes, forget that by a sudden convolution of that trunk, he may rend the driver from his back, and trample him under his feet into the mire. Such was the Director’s situation and mine. I insisted on going instantly to my father’s presence. He interposed, he supplicated; at last, as a hopeless resource, he reminded me of his continual indulgence, his flattery of my passions. My answer was brief, but Oh that it might sink into the souls of such tutors and such priests! ‘And that has made me what I am. Lead the way to my father’s apartment, or I will spurn you before me to the door of it.’ At this threat, which he saw I was able to execute, (for you know my frame is athletic, and my stature twice that of his), he trembled; and I confess this indication of both physical and mental debility completed my contempt for him. He crawled before me to the apartment where my father and mother were seated, in a
balcony that overlooked the garden. They had imagined all was settled, and were astonished to see me rush in, followed by the Director, with an aspect that left them no reason to hope of an auspicious result of our conference. The Director gave them a sign which I did not observe, and which they had not time to profit by, – and as I stood before them livid from my fever, on fire with passion, and trembling with inarticulate expressions, they shuddered. Some looks of reproach were levelled by them at the Director, which he returned, as usual, by signs, I did not understand them, but I made them understand me in a moment. I said to my father, ‘Senhor, is it true you have made my brother a monk?’ My father hesitated; at last he said, ‘I thought the Director had been commissioned to speak to you on that subject.’ ‘Father, what has a Director to do in the concerns of a parent and child? That man never can be a parent, – never can have a child, how then can he be a judge in a case like this?’ ‘You forget yourself, – you forget the respect due to a minister of the church.’ ‘My father, I am but just raised from a death-bed, my mother and you trembled for my life, – that life still depends on your words. I promised submission to this wretch, on a condition which he has violated, which – ’ ‘Command yourself, Sir,’ said my father, in a tone of authority which ill suited the trembling lips it issued from, ‘or quit the apartment.’ ‘Senhor,’ interposed the Director, in a softened tone, ‘let not me be the cause of dissension in a family whose happiness and honour have been always my object, next to the interests of the church. Let him go on, the remembrance of my crucified Master will sustain me under his insults,’ and he crossed himself. ‘Wretch!’ I cried, grasping his habit, ‘you are a hypocrite, a deceiver!’ and I know not of what violence I might have been guilty, but my father interposed. My mother shrieked with terror, and a scene of a confusion followed, in which I recollect nothing but the hypocritical exclamations of the Director, appearing to struggle between my father and me, while he mediated with God for both. He repeated incessantly, ‘Senhor, do not interpose, every indignity I suffer I make a sacrifice to Heaven; it will qualify me to be an intercessor for my traducer with God;’ and, crossing himself, he called on the most sacred names, and exclaimed, ‘Let insults, calumnies, and blows, be added to that preponderance of merit which is already weighed in the scales of heaven against my offences,’ and he dared to mix the claims of the intercession of the saints, the purity of the immaculate Virgin, and even the blood and agony of Jesus Christ, with the vile submissions of his own hypocrisy. The room was by this time filled with attendants. My mother was conveyed away, still shrieking with terror. My father, who loved her, was driven by this spectacle, and by my outrageous conduct, to a pitch of fury, – he drew his sword. I burst into a laugh, that froze his blood as he approached me. I expanded my arms, and presented my breast, exclaiming, ‘Strike! – this is the consummation of monastic power, – it begun by violating nature, and ends in filicide. Strike! give a glorious triumph to the influence of the church, and add to the merits of the holy Director. You have sacrificed your Esau, your first-born, already, let Jacob be your next victim.’50 My father retreated from me, and, revolted by the disfigurement which the violence of my agitation had caused, almost to convulsion, he exclaimed, ‘Demon!’ and stood at a distance viewing, and shuddering at me. ‘And who has made me so? He who fostered my evil passions for his own purposes; and, because one generous impulse breaks out on the side of nature, would represent or drive me mad, to effectuate his purposes. My father, I see the whole power and system of nature reversed, by the arts of a corrupt ecclesiastic. By his means my brother has been imprisoned for life; – by his means our birth has been made a curse to my mother and to you. What have we had in the family since his influence was fatally established in it, but dissension and misery? Your sword was pointed against my heart this moment; was it nature or a monk that armed a parent against his child, whose crime was – interceding for his brother? Dismiss this man, whose presence eclipses our hearts, and let us confer together for a moment as father and son, and if I do not humiliate myself before you, spurn me for ever. My father, for God’s sake examine the difference between this man and me, as we stand before you. We are together at the bar of your heart, judge between us. A dry and featureless image of selfish power, consecrated by the name of the church, occupies his whole soul, – I plead to you by the interests of nature, that must be sincere, because they are contrary to my own. He only wishes to wither your soul, – I seek to touch it. Is his heart in what he says? does he shed a tear? does he employ one impassioned expression? he calls on God, – while I call only on you. The very violence which you justly condemn, is not only my vindication but my eulogy. They who prefer their cause to themselves, need no proof of their advocacy being sincere.’ ‘You aggravate your crime, by laying it on another; you have always been violent, obstinate, and rebellious.’ ‘But who has made me so? Ask himself, – ask this shameful scene, in which his duplicity has driven me to act such a part.’ ‘If you wish to show submission, give me the first proof of it, by promising never to torture me by renewing the mention of this subject. Your brother’s fate is decided, – promise not to utter his name again, and – ’ ‘Never, – never,’ I exclaimed, ‘never will I violate my conscience by such a vow; and his who could propose it must be seared beyond the power of Heaven to touch it.’ Yet, in uttering these words, I knelt to my father, but he turned from me. I turned in despair to the Director. I said, ‘If you are the minister of Heaven, prove the truth of your commission, – make peace in a distracted family, reconcile my father to both his children. You can effect this by a word, you know you can, yet you will not utter it. My unfortunate brother was not so inflexible to your appeals, and yet were they inspired by a feeling as justifiable as mine.’ I had offended the Director beyond all forgiveness. I knew this, and spoke indeed rather to expose than to persuade him. I did not expect an answer from him, and I was not disappointed, – he did not utter a word. I knelt in the middle of the floor between them. I cried, ‘Deserted by my father and by you, I yet appeal to Heaven. I call on it to witness my vow never to abandon my persecuted brother, whom I have been made a tool to betray. I know you have power, – I defy it. I know every art of circumvention, of imposture, of malignant industry, – every resource of earth and hell, will be set at work against me. I take Heaven to witness against you, and demand only its aid to insure my victory.’ My father had lost all patience; he desired the attendants to raise and remove me by force. This mention of force, so repugnant to my habits of imperious indulgence, operated fatally on intellects scarcely recovering from delirium, and too strongly tried in the late struggle. I relapsed into partial insanity. I said wildly, ‘My father, you know not how mild, generous, and forgiving is the being you thus persecute, – I owe my life to him. Ask your domestics if he did not attend me, step by step, during my journey? If he did not administer my food, my medicines, and smoothe the pillows on which I was supported?’ ‘You rave,’ cried my father, as he heard this wild speech, but he cast a look of fearful inquiry on the attendants. The trembling servants swore, one and all, as well they might, that not a human being but themselves had been suffered to approach me since I quitted the convent, till my arrival at Madrid. The small remains of reason forsook me completely at this declaration, which was however true every word of it. I gave the lie to the last speaker with the utmost fury, – I struck those who were next me. My father, astonished at my violence, suddenly exclaimed, ‘He is mad.’ The Director, who had till then been silent, instantly caught the word, and repeated, ‘He is mad.’ The servants, half in terror, half in conviction, re-echoed the cry.
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