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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 was
deposited 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 afflicted
will probably form an era in its history. The schemes of reformation and
improvement to which they will give birth, or, if no efforts of human
wisdom 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 and
copious materials for reflection to the physician and the political
economist. They have not been less fertile of instruction to the moral
observer, to whom they have furnished new displays of the influence of
human passions and motives. Amidst the medical and political discussions which are now afloat in the
community relative to this topic, the author of these remarks has
ventured to methodize his own reflections, and to weave into an humble
narrative such incidents as appeared to him most instructive and
remarkable among those which came within the sphere of his own
observation. It is every one's duty to profit by all opportunities of
inculcating on mankind the lessons of justice and humanity. The
influences 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 these
from oblivion, and to deliver to posterity a brief but faithful sketch
of the condition of this metropolis during that calamitous period. Men
only require to be made acquainted with distress for their compassion
and their charity to be awakened. He that depicts, in lively colours,
the evils of disease and poverty, performs an eminent service to the
sufferers, by calling forth benevolence in those who are able to afford
relief; and he who portrays examples of disinterestedness and
intrepidity confers on virtue the notoriety and homage that are due to
it, and rouses in the spectators the spirit of salutary emulation. In the following tale a particular series of adventures is brought to a
close; but these are necessarily connected with the events which
happened subsequent to the period here described. These events are not
less memorable than those which form the subject of the present volume,
and may hereafter be published, either separately or in addition to
this. C.B.B. ARTHUR MERVYN. CHAPTER I.


I was resident in this city during the year 1793. Many motives
contributed to detain me, though departure was easy and commodious, and
my friends were generally solicitous for me to go. It is not my purpose
to enumerate these motives, or to dwell on my present concerns and
transactions, but merely to compose a narrative of some incidents with
which my situation made me acquainted. Returning one evening, somewhat later than usual, to my own house, my
attention was attracted, just as I entered the porch, by the figure of a
man reclining against the wall at a few paces distant. My sight was
imperfectly assisted by a far-off lamp; but the posture in which he sat,
the hour, and the place, immediately suggested the idea of one disabled
by sickness. It was obvious to conclude that his disease was
pestilential. This did not deter me from approaching and examining him
more closely. He leaned his head against the wall; his eyes were shut, his hands
clasped in each other, and his body seemed to be sustained in an upright
position merely by the cellar-door against which he rested his left
shoulder. The lethargy into which he was sunk seemed scarcely
interrupted by my feeling his hand and his forehead. His throbbing
temples and burning skin indicated a fever, and his form, already
emaciated, seemed to prove that it had not been of short duration. There was only one circumstance that hindered me from forming an
immediate determination in what manner this person should be treated. My family consisted of my wife and a young child. Our servant-maid had
been seized, three days before, by the reigning malady, and, at her own
request, had been conveyed to the hospital. We ourselves enjoyed good
health, and were hopeful of escaping with our lives. Our measures for
this end had been cautiously taken and carefully adhered to. They did
not consist in avoiding the receptacles of infection, for my office
required me to go daily into the midst of them; nor in filling the house
with the exhalations of gunpowder, vinegar, or tar. They consisted in
cleanliness, reasonable exercise, and wholesome diet. Custom had
likewise blunted the edge of our apprehensions. To take this person into
my house, and bestow upon him the requisite attendance, was the scheme
that first occurred to me. In this, however, the advice of my wife was
to govern me. I mentioned the incident to her. I pointed out the danger which was to
be dreaded from such an inmate. I desired her to decide with caution,
and mentioned my resolution to conform myself implicitly to her
decision. Should we refuse to harbour him, we must not forget that there
was a hospital to which he would, perhaps, consent to be carried, and
where he would be accommodated in the best manner the times would admit. "Nay," said she, "talk not of hospitals. At least, let him have his
choice. I have no fear about me, for my part, in a case where the
injunctions of duty are so obvious. Let us take the poor, unfortunate
wretch into our protection and care, and leave the consequences to
Heaven." I expected and was pleased with this proposal. I returned to the sick
man, and, on rousing him from his stupor, found him still in possession
of his reason. With a candle near, I had an opportunity of viewing him
more accurately. His garb was plain, careless, and denoted rusticity. His aspect was
simple and ingenuous, and his decayed visage still retained traces of
uncommon but manlike beauty. He had all the appearances of mere youth,
unspoiled by luxury and uninured to misfortune. I scarcely ever beheld
an object which laid so powerful and sudden a claim to my affection and
succour. "You are sick," said I, in as cheerful a tone as I could assume. "Cold
bricks and night-airs are comfortless attendants for one in your
condition. Rise, I pray you, and come into the house. We will try to
supply you with accommodations a little more suitable." At this address he fixed his languid eyes upon me. "What would you
have?" said he. "I am very well as I am. While I breathe, which will not
be long, I shall breathe with more freedom here than elsewhere. Let me
alone--I am very well as I am." "Nay," said I, "this situation is unsuitable to a sick man.