Becoming America - An Exploration of American Literature from Precolonial to Post-Revolution, 2018a

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
was the only topic worthy of rational curiosity. Since I had gained no information
upon this point; since I had nothing to disclose but vain and fantastic surmises; I
might as well be ignorant of every thing. Thus, from secretly condemning Ludlow’s
imprudence, I gradually passed to admiration of his policy. This discovery had no
other eect than to stimulate my curiosity; to keep up my zeal to prosecute the
journey I had commenced under his auspices.
I had hitherto formed a resolution to stop where I was in Ludlow’s condence:
to wait till the success should be ascertained of my projects with respect to Mrs.
Benington, before I made any new advance in the perilous and mysterious road
into which he had led my steps. But, before this tedious fortnight had elapsed, I was
grown extremely impatient for an interview, and had nearly resolved to undertake
whatever obligation he should lay upon me.
This obligation was indeed a heavy one, since it included the confession of my
vocal powers. In itself the confession was little. To possess this faculty was neither
laudable nor culpable, nor had it been exercised in a way which I should be very
much ashamed to acknowledge. It had led me into many insincerities and artices,
which, though not justiable by any creed, was entitled to some excuse, on the score
of youthful ardour and temerity. The true diculty in the way of these confessions
was the not having made them already. Ludlow had long been entitled to this
condence, and, though the existence of this power was venial or wholly innocent,
the obstinate concealment of it was a dierent matter, and would certainly expose
me to suspicion and rebuke. But what was the alternative? To conceal it. To incur
those dreadful punishments awarded against treason in this particular. Ludlow’s
menaces still rung in my ears, and appalled my heart. How should I be able to shun
them? By concealing from every one what I concealed from him? How was my
concealment of such a faculty to be suspected or proved? Unless I betrayed myself,
who could betray me?
In this state of mind, I resolved to confess myself to Ludlow in the way that he
required, reserving only the secret of this faculty. Awful, indeed, said I, is the crisis
of my fate. If Ludlow’s declarations are true, a horrid catastrophe awaits me: but as
fast as my resolutions were shaken, they were conrmed anew by the recollection—
Who can betray me but myself? If I deny, who is there can prove? Suspicion can
never light upon the truth. If it does, it can never be converted into certainty. Even
my own lips cannot conrm it, since who will believe my testimony?
By such illusions was I fortied in my desperate resolution. Ludlow returned
at the time appointed. He informed me that Mrs. Benington expected me next
morning. She was ready to depart for her country residence, where she proposed
to spend the ensuing summer, and would carry me along with her. In consequence
of this arrangement, he said, many months would elapse before he should see me
again. You will indeed, continued he, be pretty much shut up from all society. Your
books and your new friend will be your chief, if not only companions. Her life is
not a social one, because she has formed extravagant notions of the importance of
lonely worship and devout solitude. Much of her time will be spent in meditation
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