Theodore Wieland, the prisoner at the bar, was now called upon for his
defense. He looked around him for some time in silence, and with a mild
countenance. At length he spoke:--
It is strange: I am known to my judges and my auditors. Who is there
present a stranger to the character of Wieland? Who knows him not as a
husband, as a father, as a friend? Yet here am I arraigned as a
criminal. I am charged with diabolical malice; I am accused of the
murder of my wife and my children!
It is true, they were slain by me; they all perished by my hand. The
task of vindication is ignoble. What is it that I am called to
vindicate? and before whom?
You know that they are dead, and that they were killed by me. What more
would you have? Would you extort from me a statement of my motives? Have
you failed to discover them already? You charge me with malice: but your
eyes are not shut; your reason is still vigorous; your memory has not
forsaken you. You know whom it is that you thus charge. The habits of
his life are known to you; his treatment of his wife and his offspring
is known to you; the soundness of his integrity and the unchangeableness
of his principles are familiar to your apprehension: yet you persist in
this charge! You lead me hither manacled as a felon; you deem me worthy
of a vile and tormenting death!
Who are they whom I have devoted to death? My wife--the little ones that
drew their being from me--that creature who, as she surpassed them in
excellence, claimed a larger affection than those whom natural
affinities bound to my heart. Think ye that malice could have urged me
to this deed? Hide your audacious fronts from the scrutiny of heaven.
Take refuge in some cavern unvisited by human eyes. Ye may deplore your
wickedness or folly, but ye cannot expiate it.
Think not that I speak for your sakes. Hug to your hearts this
detestable infatuation. Deem me still a murderer, and drag me to
untimely death. I make not an effort to dispel your illusion; I utter
not a word to cure you of your sanguinary folly: but there are probably
some in this assembly who have come from far; for their sakes, whose
distance has disabled them from knowing me, I will tell what I have
done, and why.
It is needless to say that God is the object of my supreme passion. I
have cherished in his presence a single and upright heart. I have
thirsted for the knowledge of his will. I have burnt with ardor to
approve my faith and my obedience. My days have been spent in searching
for the revelation of that will; but my days have been mournful, because
my search failed. I solicited direction; I turned on every side where
glimmerings of light could be discovered. I have not been wholly
uninformed; but my knowledge has always stopped short of certainty.
Dissatisfaction has insinuated itself into all my thoughts. My purposes
have been pure, my wishes indefatigable; but not till lately were these
purposes thoroughly accomplished and these wishes fully gratified.
I thank Thee, my Father, for Thy bounty; that Thou didst not ask a less
sacrifice than this; that Thou placedst me in a condition to testify my
submission to Thy will! What have I withheld which it was Thy pleasure
to exact? Now may I, with dauntless and erect eye, claim my reward,
since I have given Thee the treasure of my soul.
I was at my own house; it was late in the evening; my sister had gone to
the city, but proposed to return. It was in expectation of her return
that my wife and I delayed going to bed beyond the usual hour; the rest
of the family, however, were retired. My mind was contemplative and
calm--not wholly devoid of apprehension on account of my sister's
safety. Recent events, not easily explained, had suggested the existence
of some danger; but this danger was without a distinct form in our
imagination, and scarcely ruffled our tranquillity.
Time passed, and my sister did not arrive. Her house is at some distance
from mine, and though her arrangements had been made with a view of
residing with us, it was possible that through forgetfulness, or the
occurrence of unforeseen emergencies, she had returned to her
own dwelling.
Hence it was conceived proper that I should ascertain the truth by going
thither. I went. On my way my mind was full of those ideas which related
to my intellectual condition. In the torrent of fervid conceptions I
lost sight of my purpose. Sometimes I stood still; sometimes I wandered
from my path, and experienced some difficulty, on recovering from my fit
of musing, to regain it.
The series of my thoughts is easily traced. At first every vein beat
with raptures known only to the man whose parental and conjugal love is
without limits, and the cup of whose desires, immense as it is,
overflows with gratification. I know not why emotions that were
perpetual visitants should now have recurred with unusual energy. The
transition was not new from sensations of joy to a consciousness of
gratitude. The Author of my being was likewise the dispenser of every
gift with which that being was embellished. The service to which a
benefactor like this was entitled could not be circumscribed. My social
sentiments were indebted to their alliance with devotion for all their
value. All passions are base, all joys feeble, all energies malignant,
which are not drawn from this source.
For a time my contemplations soared above earth and its inhabitants. I
stretched forth my hands; I lifted my eyes, and exclaimed, "Oh, that I
might be admitted to thy presence! that mine were the supreme delight of
knowing Thy will and of performing it!--the blissful privilege of direct
communication with Thee, and of listening to the audible enunciation of
Thy pleasure!
"What task would I not undertake, what privation would I not cheerfully
endure, to testify my love of Thee? Alas! Thou hidest Thyself from my
view; glimpses only of Thy excellence and beauty are afforded me. Would
that a momentary emanation from Thy glory would visit me! that some
unambiguous token of Thy presence would salute my senses!"
In this mood I entered the house of my sister. It was vacant. Scarcely
had I regained recollection of the purpose that brought me hither.
Thoughts of a different tendency had such an absolute possession of my
mind, that the relations of time and space were almost obliterated from
my understanding. These wanderings, however, were restrained, and I
ascended to her chamber. I had no light, and might have known by
external observation that the house was without any inhabitant. With
this, however, I was not satisfied. I entered the room, and the object
of my search not appearing, I prepared to return. The darkness required
some caution in descending the stair. I stretched out my hand to seize
the balustrade, by which I might regulate my steps. How shall I describe
the lustre which at that moment burst upon my vision?
I was dazzled. My organs were bereaved of their activity. My eyelids
were half closed, and my hands withdrawn from the balustrade. A nameless
fear chilled my veins, and I stood motionless. This irradiation did not
retire or lessen. It seemed as if some powerful effulgence covered me
like a mantle. I opened my eyes and found all about me luminous and
glowing. It was the element of heaven that flowed around. Nothing but a
fiery stream was at first visible; but anon a shrill voice from behind
called upon me to attend.
I turned. It is forbidden to describe what I saw: words, indeed, would
be wanting to the task. The lineaments of that Being whose veil was now
lifted and whose visage beamed upon my sight, no hues of pencil or of
language can portray. As it spoke, the accents thrilled to my
heart:--"Thy prayers are heard. In proof of thy faith, render me thy
wife. This is the victim I choose. Call her hither, and here let her
fall." The sound and visage and light vanished at once.
What demand was this? The blood of Catharine was to be shed! My wife was
to perish by my hand! I sought opportunity to attest my virtue. Little
did I expect that a proof like this would have been demanded.
"My wife!" I exclaimed: "O God! substitute some other victim. Make me
not the butcher of my wife. My own blood is cheap. This will I pour out
before Thee with a willing heart; but spare, I beseech Thee, this
precious life, or commission some other than her husband to perform the
bloody deed."
In vain. The conditions were prescribed; the decree had gone forth, and
nothing remained but to execute it. I rushed out of the house and across
the intermediate fields, and stopped not till I entered my own parlor.
My wife had remained here during my absence, in anxious expectation of
my return with some tidings of her sister. I had none to communicate.
For a time I was breathless with my speed. This, and the tremors that
shook my frame, and the wildness of my looks, alarmed her. She
immediately suspected some disaster to have happened to her friend, and
her own speech was as much overpowered by emotion as mine. She was
silent, but her looks manifested her impatience to hear what I had to
communicate. I spoke, but with so much precipitation as scarcely to be
understood; catching her at the same time by the arm, and forcibly
pulling her from her seat.
"Come along with me; fly; waste not a moment; time will be lost, and the
deed will be omitted. Tarry not, question not, but fly with me."
This deportment added afresh to her alarms. Her eyes pursued mine, and
she said, "What is the matter? For God's sake, what is the matter? Where
would you have me go?"
My eyes were fixed upon her countenance while she spoke. I thought upon
her virtues; I viewed her as the mother of my babes; as my wife. I
recalled the purpose for which I thus urged her attendance. My heart
faltered, and I saw that I must rouse to this work all my faculties. The
danger of the least delay was imminent.
I looked away from her, and, again exerting my force, drew her toward
the door. "You must go with me; indeed you must."
In her fright she half resisted my efforts, and again exclaimed, "Good
heaven! what is it you mean? Where go? What has happened? Have you
found Clara?"
"Follow me and you will see," I answered, still urging her reluctant
steps forward.
"What frenzy has seized you? Something must needs have happened. Is she
sick? Have you found her?"
"Come and see. Follow me and know for yourself."
Still she expostulated and besought me to explain this mysterious
behavior. I could not trust myself to answer her, to look at her; but
grasping her arm, I drew her after me. She hesitated, rather through
confusion of mind than from unwillingness to accompany me. This
confusion gradually abated, and she moved forward, but with irresolute
footsteps and continual exclamations of wonder and terror. Her
interrogations of "What was the matter?" and "Whither was I going?" were
ceaseless and vehement.
It was the scope of my efforts not to think; to keep up a conflict and
uproar in my mind in which all order and distinctness should be lost; to
escape from the sensations produced by her voice. I was therefore
silent. I strove to abridge this interval by haste, and to waste all my
attention in furious gesticulations.
In this state of mind we reached my sister's door. She looked at the
windows and saw that all was desolate. "Why come we here? There is
nobody here. I will not go in."
Still I was dumb; but, opening the door, I drew her into the entry. This
was the allotted scene; here she was to fall. I let go her hand, and
pressing my palms against my forehead, made one mighty effort to work up
my soul to the deed.
In vain; it would not be; my courage was appalled, my arms nerveless. I
muttered prayers that my strength might be aided from above. They
availed nothing.
Horror diffused itself over me. This conviction of my cowardice, my
rebellion, fastened upon me, and I stood rigid and cold as marble. From
this state I was somewhat relieved by my wife's voice, who renewed her
supplications to be told why we come hither and what was the fate of my
sister....
The fellness of a gloomy hurricane but faintly resembled the discord
that reigned in my mind. To omit this sacrifice must not be; yet my
sinews had refused to perform it. No alternative was offered. To rebel
against the mandate was impossible; but obedience would render me the
executioner of my wife. My will was strong, but my limbs refused
their office.
That accents and looks so winning should disarm me of my resolution was
to be expected. My thoughts were thrown anew into anarchy. I spread my
hand before my eyes that I might not see her, and answered only by
groans. She took my other hand between hers, and pressing it to her
heart, spoke with that voice which had ever swayed my will and wafted
away sorrow:--
"My friend! my soul's friend! tell me thy cause of grief. Do I not merit
to partake with thee in thy cares? Am I not thy wife?"
This was too much. I broke from her embrace and retired to a corner of
the room. In this pause, courage was once more infused into me. I
resolved to execute my duty. She followed me, and renewed her passionate
entreaties to know the cause of my distress. I raised my head and
regarded her with steadfast looks. I muttered something about death, and
the injunctions of my duty. At these words she shrunk back, and looked
at me with a new expression of anguish. After a pause, she clasped her
hands, and exclaimed:---
"O Wieland! Wieland! God grant that I am mistaken! but something surely
is wrong. I see it; it is too plain; thou art undone--lost to me and to
thyself." At the same time she gazed on my features with intensest
anxiety, in hope that different symptoms would take place. I replied to
her with vehemence:--
"Undone! No; my duty is known, and I thank my God that my cowardice is
now vanquished and I have power to fulfill it. Catharine, I pity the
weakness of thy nature; I pity thee, but must not spare. Thy life is
claimed from my hands; thou must die!"
Fear was now added to her grief. "What mean you? Why talk you of death?
Bethink yourself, Wieland; bethink yourself, and this fit will pass. Oh,
why came I hither? Why did you drag me hither?"
"I brought thee hither to fulfill a divine command. I am appointed thy
destroyer, and destroy thee I must." Saying this, I seized her wrists.
She shrieked aloud, and endeavored to free herself from my grasp; but
her efforts were vain.
"Surely, surely, Wieland, thou dost not mean it. Am I not thy wife? and
wouldst thou kill me? Thou wilt not; and yet--I see--thou art Wieland no
longer! A fury resistless and horrible possesses thee. Spare
me--spare--help--help--"
Till her breath was stopped she shrieked for help, for mercy. When she
could speak no longer, her gestures, her looks appealed to my
compassion. My accursed hand was irresolute and tremulous. I meant thy
death to be sudden, thy struggles to be brief. Alas! my heart was
infirm, my resolves mutable. Thrice I slackened my grasp, and life kept
its hold, though in the midst of pangs. Her eyeballs started from their
sockets. Grimness and distortion took the place of all that used to
bewitch me into transport and subdue me into reverence. I was
commissioned to kill thee, but not to torment thee with the foresight of
thy death; not to multiply thy fears and prolong thy agonies. Haggard
and pale and lifeless, at length thou ceasedst to contend with
thy destiny.
This was the moment of triumph. Thus had I successfully subdued the
stubbornness of human passions: the victim which had been demanded was
given; the deed was done past recall.
I lifted the corpse in my arms and laid it on the bed. I gazed upon it
with delight. Such was the elation of my thoughts that I even broke into
laughter. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "It is done! My sacred duty
is fulfilled! To that I have sacrificed, O my God, Thy last and best
gift, my wife!"
For a while I thus soared above frailty. I imagined I had set myself
forever beyond the reach of selfishness; but my imaginations were false.
This rapture quickly subsided. I looked again at my wife. My joyous
ebullitions vanished, and I asked myself who it was whom I saw.
Methought it could not be Catharine. It could not be the woman who had
lodged for years in my heart; who had slept nightly in my bosom; who had
borne in her womb, who had fostered at her breast, the beings who called
me father; whom I have watched with delight, and cherished with a
fondness ever new and perpetually growing; it could not be the same.
Where was her bloom? These deadly and blood-suffused orbs but ill
resemble the azure and ecstatic tenderness of her eyes. The lucid stream
that meandered over that bosom, the glow of love that was wont to sit
upon that cheek, are much unlike these livid stains and this hideous
deformity. Alas! these were the traces of agony; the gripe of the
assassin had been here!
I will not dwell upon my lapse into desperate and outrageous sorrow. The
breath of heaven that sustained me was withdrawn, and I sunk into _mere
man_. I leaped from the floor; I dashed my head against the wall; I
uttered screams of horror; I panted after torment and pain. Eternal fire
and the bickerings of hell, compared with what I felt, were music and a
bed of roses.
I thank my God that this degeneracy was transient--that He deigned once
more to raise me aloft. I thought upon what I had done as a sacrifice to
duty, and _was calm_. My wife was dead; but I reflected that though this
source of human consolation was closed, yet others were still open. If
the transports of a husband were no more, the feelings of a father had
still scope for exercise. When remembrance of their mother should excite
too keen a pang, I would look upon them and _be comforted_.
While I revolved these ideas, new warmth flowed in upon my heart. I was
wrong. These feelings were the growth of selfishness. Of this I was not
aware; and to dispel the mist that obscured my perceptions, a new
effulgence and a new mandate were necessary. From these thoughts I was
recalled by a ray that was shot into the room. A voice spake like that
which I had before heard:--"Thou hast done well. But all is not
done--the sacrifice is incomplete--thy children must be offered--they
must perish with their mother!--"
* * * * *
Thou, Omnipotent and Holy! Thou knowest that my actions were conformable
to Thy will. I know not what is crime; what actions are evil in their
ultimate and comprehensive tendency, or what are good. Thy knowledge, as
Thy power, is unlimited. I have taken Thee for my guide, and cannot err.
To the arms of Thy protection I intrust my safety. In the awards of Thy
justice I confide for my recompense.
Come death when it will, I am safe. Let calumny and abhorrence pursue me
among men; I shall not be defrauded of my dues. The peace of virtue and
the glory of obedience will be my portion hereafter.