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shoved back his red worsted nightcap； and stared broadly at the
lawyer。
〃You don't say so！〃 exclaimed he。
〃Faith but I do！〃 rejoined the other。 〃Why； when that great field
and that huge meadow come to be laid out in streets and cut up into
snug building lots；why； whoever owns it need not pull off his hat
to the patroon！〃
〃Say you so？〃 cried Wolfert； half thrusting one leg out of bed；
〃why； then； I think I'll not make my will yet。〃
To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually recovered。 The
vital spark； which had glimmered faintly in the socket； received
fresh fuel from the oil of gladness which the little lawyer poured
into his soul。 It once more burned up into a flame。
Give physic to the heart； ye who would revive the body of a spirit…
broken man！ In a few days Wolfert left his room； in a few days
more his table was covered with deeds； plans of streets and
building lots。 Little Rollebuck was constantly with him； his right
hand man and adviser； and instead of making his will assisted in
the more agreeable task of making his fortune。 In fact Wolfert
Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes
whose fortunes have been made； in a manner； in spite of themselves；
who have tenaciously held on to their hereditary acres； raising
turnips and cabbages about the skirts of the city； hardly able to
make both ends meet； until the corporation has cruelly driven
streets through their abodes； and they have suddenly awakened out
of their lethargy； and； to their astonishment； found themselves
rich men。
Before many months had elapsed a great； bustling street passed
through the very center of the Webber garden； just where Wolfert
had dreamed of finding a treasure。 His golden dream was
accomplished； he did； indeed； find an unlooked…for source of
wealth； for； when his paternal lands were distributed into building
lots and rented out to safe tenants； instead of producing a paltry
crop of cabbages they returned him an abundant crop of rent；
insomuch that on quarter day it was a goodly sight to see his
tenants knocking at the door from morning till night； each with a
little round…bellied bag of money； a golden produce of the soil。
The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up； but；
instead of being a little yellow…fronted Dutch house in a garden；
it now stood boldly in the midst of a street； the grand home of the
neighborhood； for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing on each side； and
a cupola or tea room on top； where he might climb up and smoke his
pipe in hot weather； and in the course of time the whole mansion
was overrun by the chubby…faced progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk
Waldron。
As Wolfert waxed old and rich and corpulent he also set up a great
gingerbread…colored carriage； drawn by a pair of black Flanders
mares with tails that swept the ground； and to commemorate the
origin of his greatness he had for his crest a full…blown cabbage
painted on the panels； with the pithy motto； ALLES KOPF； that is to
say； ALL HEAD； meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer head
work。
To fill the measure of his greatness； in the fullness of time the
renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers； and Wolfert Webber
succeeded to the leather…bottomed armchair in the inn parlor at
Corlear's Hook； where he long reigned； greatly honored and
respected； insomuch that he was never known to tell a story without
its being believed； nor to utter a joke without its being laughed
at。
Introduction to 〃Wieland's Madness；〃 from 〃Wieland； or The
Transformation。〃
From Virtue's blissful paths away
The double…tongued are sure to stray；
Good is a forth…right journey still。
And mazy paths but lead to ill。
〃WIELAND〃 is the first American novel。 It appeared in 1798； its
author was soon recognized as the earliest American novelist； and
he remained the greatest； until Fenimore Cooper brought forth his
Leather…stocking Tales； a quarter of a century later。
Although modern sophistication easily points out flaws in Charles
Brockden Brown's story…structure； and reproves him for
improbability； morbidness； and a style often too elevated； yet his
work lives。 His downright originality is worthy of Cooper himself；
and his weird imaginations and horribly sustained scenes of terror
have been surpassed by few writers save Edgar Allan Poe。
Charles Brockden Brown
FIRST PART
I
Wieland's Madness
＇As the story opens； the narratress； Clara Wieland； is entering
upon the happy realization of her love for Henry Pleyel； closest
friend of her brother 〃Wieland。〃
Their woodland home； Mettingen； on the banks of the then remote
Schuylkill； is the abode of music； letters and thorough culture。
The peace of high thinking and simple outdoor life hovers over
all。＇
One sunny afternoon I was standing in the door of my house； when I
marked a person passing close to the edge of the bank that was in
front。 His pace was a careless and lingering one； and had none of
that gracefulness and ease which distinguish a person with certain
advantages of education from a clown。 His gait was rustic and
awkward。 His form was ungainly and disproportioned。 Shoulders
broad and square； breast sunken； his head drooping； his body of
uniform breadth； supported by long and lank legs； were the
ingredients of his frame。 His garb was not ill adapted to such a
figure。 A slouched hat； tarnished by the weather； a coat of thick
gray cloth； cut and wrought； as it seemed； by a country tailor；
blue worsted stockings； and shoes fastened by thongs and deeply
discolored by dust； which brush had never disturbed； constituted
his dress。
There was nothing remarkable in these appearances： they were
frequently to be met with on the road and in the harvest…field。 I
cannot tell why I gazed upon them； on this occasion； with more than
ordinary attention； unless it were that such figures were seldom
seen by me except on the road or field。 This lawn was only
traversed by men whose views were directed to the pleasures of the
walk or the grandeur of the scenery。
He passed slowly along； frequently pausing； as if to examine the
prospect more deliberately； but never turning his eye toward the
house； so as to allow me a view of his countenance。 Presently he
entered a copse at a small distance； and disappeared。 My eye
followed him while he remained in sight。 If his image remained for
any duration in my fancy after his departure； it was because no
other object occurred sufficient to expel it。
I continued in the same spot for half an hour； vaguely； and by
fits； contemplating the image of this wanderer； and drawing from
outward appearances those inferences； with respect to the
intellectual history of this person； which experience affords us。
I reflected on the alliance which commonly subsists between
ignorance and the practice of agricul