CHAPTER XXX
_Showing that a man should never marry a woman before he sees herface--The Disappointed Bridegroom--Final Catastrophe._
Two months passed away. Two months!--how short a space of time, and yet,perchance, how pregnant with events affecting the happiness and thedestiny of millions! Within that brief span--the millionth fraction of asingle sand in Time's great hour-glass--thousands have begun theirexistence, to pursue through life a career of honor, of profit, ofambition, or of crime!--and thousands, too, have ceased their existence,and their places are filled by others in the great race of human life.
But a truce to moralizing.--Two months passed away, and it was now theseason of summer--that delicious season, fraught with more voluptuouspleasures than virgin spring, gloomy autumn or hoary winter. It was inrather an obscure street of Boston--in a modest two-story woodenhouse--and in an apartment plainly, even humbly furnished, that twoladies were seated, engaged in an earnest conversation.
One of these ladies was probably near forty years of age, and hadevidently once been extremely handsome; her countenance still retainedtraces of great beauty--but time, and care, and perhaps poverty, werebeginning to mar it. Her figure was good, though perhaps rather too fullfor grace; and her dress was very plain yet neat, and not without someclaims to taste.
Her companion was probably much younger, and was attired withconsiderable elegance; yet a strange peculiarity in her costume wouldhave instantly excited the surprise of an observer--for although the daywas excessively warm, she wore a thick veil, which reached to her waist,and effectually concealed her face. She conversed in a voice ofextraordinary melody; and the refined language of both ladies evincedthat they had been accustomed to move in a higher sphere of society thanthat in which we now find them.
'At what time do you expect him here?' asked the oldest lady, incontinuation of the discourse in which they had previously been engaged.
'At eight o'clock this evening,' replied the other. 'He is completelyfascinated with me; and notwithstanding I have assured him, over andover again, that my countenance is horribly disfigured, and that I amentirely blind, he persists in believing that I am beautiful, and that Ihave perfect eye-sight, attributing my concealment of face to a whim.'
'Which opinion you have artfully encouraged, Josephine,' said Mrs.Franklin.--The reader has probably already guessed the identity of thetwo ladies; this was the mother and her once beautiful, but now hideousand blind daughter. They were reduced to the most abject poverty, andhad been forced to leave their handsome residence in Washington street,and take up their abode in an humble and cheap tenement. Entirelydestitute of means, they were obliged to struggle hard to keepthemselves above absolute want. Josephine, being a superb singer, hadobtained an engagement to sing in one of the fashionable churches; butas she always appeared closely veiled, the fact of her being so terriblydisfigured was unsuspected. The beauty of her voice and the gracefulsymmetry of her figure had attracted the attention and won theadmiration of a wealthy member of the church, who was also attached tothe choir; and as she was always carefully conducted in and out of thechurch by her mother this gentleman never suspected that she was blind.He had framed an excuse to call upon her at her residence; and, tho'astonished to find her veiled, at home--and tho' he had never seen herface--he was charmed with her brilliant conversation, and resolved towin her, if possible. The very mystery of her conduct added to theintensity of his passion.
Mr. Thurston, (the church member), continued his visits to Josephine,but never saw her face. When he grew more familiar, he ventured upon oneoccasion to inquire why she kept herself so constantly veiled; whereuponshe informed him that her face had been disfigured by being scaldedduring her infancy, which accident had also deprived her of sight. Butwhen he requested her to raise her veil, and allow him to look at herface, she refused with so much good-humored animation, that he began tosuspect the young lady of having playfully deceived him.
'This interesting creature,' thought he, 'is trying to play me atrick.--She hides her face and pretends to be a fright, while thecoquetry of her manners and the perfect ease of her conversationconvince me that she cannot be otherwise than beautiful.--What, theowner of that superb voice and that elegant form, _ugly_? Impossible!Now I can easily guess her object in trying to play off this littlepiece of deception upon me; I have read somewhere of a lady who kept herface constantly veiled, and proclaimed herself to be hideously ugly,which was universally believed, notwithstanding which she secured anadmirer, who loved her for her graces of mind; he offered her his hand,and she agreed to marry him, provided that he would not seek to beholdher face until after the performance of the ceremony--adding, that if hesaw how ugly she was, he would certainly never marry her. 'I love youfor your mind, and care not for the absence of beauty,' cried the lover.They were married; they retired to their chamber. 'Now prepare yourselffor an awful sight,'--said the bride, slowly raising her veil. Thehusband could not repress a shudder--he gazed for the first time uponthe face of his wife--when lo and behold! instead of an ugly anddisfigured face, he saw before him a countenance radiant with celestialbeauty! 'Dear husband,' said the lovely wife, casting her arms aroundher astonished and happy lord, 'you loved me truly, although you thoughtme ugly; such devotion and such disinterested love well merit the prizeof beauty.'
'Now, I feel assured,' said Mr. Thurston to himself, pursuing thecurrent of his thoughts--'that this young lady, Miss Franklin, is tryingto deceive me in a similar manner, in order to test the sincerity of myaffection; and should I marry her, I would find her to be a paragon ofbeauty. Egad, she is so accomplished and bewitching, that I've more thanhalf a mind to propose, and make her Mrs. T.'
The worthy deacon (for such he was,) being a middle-aged man of verygood looks, and moreover very rich, Josephine was determined to 'catchhim' if she could; she therefore took advantage of his disbelief in herdeformity, and, while she persisted in her assurances that she washideously ugly, she made those assurances in a manner so light andplayful, that Mr. T. would have taken his oath that she was beautiful,and he became more and more smitten with the mysterious veiled lady,whose face he had never seen.
Josephine, with consummate art, was resolved, if possible, to entice himinto matrimony; and once his wife, she knew that in case he refused tolive with her on discovering her awful deformity, he would liberallyprovide for her support, and thus her mother and herself would beenabled again to live in luxury. As for Sophia, she no longer lived withthem--the fair, innocent girl had gone to occupy a position to be statedhereafter.
We now resume the conversation between Mrs. Franklin and her daughter,which we interrupted by the above necessary explanation.--'Which opinionyou have artfully encouraged, Josephine,' said Mrs. Franklin--'and youwill of course suffer him to enjoy that opinion, until after yourmarriage with him, which event is, I think, certain; then you can revealyour true condition to him, and if he casts you off, he will be obligedto afford you a sufficient income, which we both so much need; for hecannot charge you with having deceived him, as you represent to him yourreal condition, and if he chooses to disbelieve you, that is his ownaffair, not yours.'
'True, mother; and the marriage must be speedily accomplished, for weare sadly in need of funds, and all my best dresses are at thepawnbroker's. Alas, that my beauty should be destroyed--that beautywhich would have captured the hearts and purses of so many richadmirers! I am almost inclined to rejoice that my eyesight is gone, forI cannot see my deformity. Am I very hideous, mother?'
'My poor, afflicted child,' said Mrs. Franklin, shedding tears--'do notquestion me on that subject. Oh, Josephine, had I, your mother, set youan example of purity and virtue, and trained you up in the path ofrectitude, we never should have experienced our past and present misery,and you, my once beautiful child, would not now be deformed and blind.Alas, I have much to reproach myself for.'
'Tut, mother; you have grown puritanical of late. Let us try to forgetthe past, and cherish hope for the future.--How very wa
rm it is!'
She retired from the window to avoid the observation of the passers-by,and removed her veil. Good God!--Can she be the once lovely Josephine!Ah, terrible punishment of sin!
Her once radiant countenance was of a ghastly yellow hue, save wheredeep purple streaks gave it the appearance of a putrefying corpse. Heronce splendid eyes, that had so oft flashed with indignant scorn, glowedwith the pride of her imperial beauty, or sparkled with the fires ofamorous passion, had been literally burned out of her head! That oncelofty and peerless brow was disfigured by hideous scars, and a wigsupplied the place of her once clustering and luxuriant hair.--She wasas loathsome to look upon as had been her destroyer, the Dead Man. Oh,it was a pitiful sight to see that talented and accomplished young ladythus stricken with the curses of deformity and blindness, through herown wickedness--to see that temple which God had made so beautiful andfair to look upon, thus shattered and defiled by the ravages of sin!
Evening came, and with it brought Mr. Thurston. Josephine, seated on asofa and impenetrably veiled, received him with a courteouswelcome;--and comported herself so admirably and artfully, that the mostcritical observer would not have imagined her to be blind, but wouldhave supposed her to be wearing a veil merely out of caprice, or fromsome trifling cause.--When she spoke to her lover, or was addressed byhim, she invariably turned her face towards him, as if unconsciously;and the gentleman chuckled inwardly, as he thought he saw in that simpleact an evidence of her being possessed of the faculty of sight.
But one incident occurred which doubly confirmed him in his belief; itwas an artful contrivance of Josephine and her mother. Previous to Mr.Thurston's arrival, a rose had been placed upon the carpet, close toJosephine's feet; and during a pause in the conversation, whileapparently in an abstracted mood, she leaned forward, took it up by thestem, and began slowly to pick it to pieces, scattering the leaves allabout her.
'By Jupiter, I have her now!' said the lover to himself,triumphantly--and then he abruptly said--
'How now, Josephine! If you are blind, how saw you that rose upon thecarpet?'
Josephine, affecting to be much confused, stammered out something abouther having discovered the rose to be near her by its fragrance; but Mr.Thurston laughed and said--
'It won't do, my dear Miss Franklin; it is evident that you can see aswell as I can. Come, end this farce at once, and let me see your face.'
'No, you shall not, for I have vowed that the first man who beholds myface shall be my husband.'
'Then hear me, Josephine,' cried her lover, raising her fair hand to hislips--'I know not what singular whim has prompted you in your endeavorsto make me think you ugly and blind, but this I know, you have inspiredme with ardent love. I _know_ you to be beautiful and free fromimperfection of sight--nay, do not speak--but I will not again allude tothe subject, nor press you to raise your veil, until after ourmarriage--that is, if you will accept me. Speak, Josephine.'
'Mr. Thurston, if, after my many solemn assurances to you that I amafflicted in the manner I have so often described, you ask me to becomeyour wife--here is my hand.'
'A thousand thanks, my beautiful, mysterious, veiled lady!' exclaimedthe enraptured lover--'as to your being afflicted--ha, ha!--I'll riskit, I'll risk it! Naughty Josephine, I'll punish you hereafter for yourattempt to deceive me!'
The poor man little suspected how egregiously she _was_ deceivinghim!--He was a person of no natural penetration, and could no more seethro' her designs, than through the veil which covered her face.
Midnight came, and found Josephine and her victim still seated upon thesofa in the little parlor, her head reposing upon his shoulder, and hisarm encircling her waist. He felt as happy as any man can feel, whoimagines he has won the love of a beautiful woman; but had he known theblackness of her heart, and seen the awful hideousness of her face, howhe would have cast her from him with contempt and loathing!
When about to take his leave, he lingered in the entry and begged her togrant him a kiss; she consented, on condition that it should be a 'kissin the dark.' The candle was extinguished, she raised her veil, and hepressed his lips to hers. Could he have seen her ghastly cheek, hereyeless sockets, and the livid lips which he so rapturously kissed, hissoul would have grown sick with horror. But he departed, in blissfulignorance of her deformity of body and impurity of soul.
We hasten to the final catastrophe. They were married. The eagerbridegroom conducted his veiled and trembling bride to the nuptialchamber.--Josephine was much agitated; for the grand crisis had arrived,which would either raise her to a comfortable independence, or hurl herinto the dark abyss of despair.
'Is it very light here?' she asked. 'Yes, dearest,' replied thehusband--'I have caused this our bridal chamber to be illuminated, inorder that I may the better be enabled to feast my eyes upon yourbeauty, so long concealed from my gaze.'
'Prepare yourself,' murmured Josephine, 'for a terrible disappointment.I have not deceived you.--Behold your bride!'
She threw up her veil.
LETTER FROM MRS. SOPHIA SYDNEY TO A LADY.
You cannot imagine, my dearest Alice, what a life of calm felicity I enjoy with my beloved Francis, in our new home among the majestic mountains of Vermont. Had you the faintest conception of the glorious scenery which surrounds the little rustic cottage which we inhabit, (our ark of safety--poor, wearied doves that we are!) you would willingly abandon your abode in the noisy, crowded metropolis, to join us in our beautiful and secluded retreat.
Our dwelling is situated on the margin of a clear and quiet lake, whose glassy surface mirrors each passing cloud, and at night reflects a myriad of bright stars. We have procured a small but elegant pleasure barge, in which we often gently glide over those placid waters, when Evening darkens our mountain home with the shadow of her wing, and when the moon gilds our liquid path with soft radiance. Then, while my Francis guides the little vessel, I touch my guitar and sing some simple melody; and as we approach the dark, mysterious shore, my imagination oft conjures up a troop of fairy beings with bright wings, stealing away into the dim recesses of the shadowy forest. And often, when the noon-day sun renders the air oppressive with his heat, I wander into the depths of that forest, where the giant trees, forming a vast arch overhead, exclude the glare of summer, and produce a soft, delicious twilight. My favorite resting place is upon a mossy bank, near which flows a crystal brook whose dancing waters murmur with a melody almost as sweet as the low breathings of an Aeolian harp.--Here, with a volume of philosophic Cowper or fascinating Scott, I sometimes linger until twilight begins to deepen into darkness, and then return to meet with smiles the playful chidings of my husband, for my protracted absence--an offence he can easily forgive, if I present him with a bouquet of wild flowers gathered during my ramble; although he laughingly calls the floral offering a bribe.
We have almost succeeded in banishing the remembrance of our past sorrows, and look forward to the future with trustful hope. I am happy, Alice--very, very happy; and oh! may no care or trouble ever o'ershadow our tranquil home.
City Crimes; Or, Life in New York and Boston Page 30
