by Mark Twain
AURELIA'S UNFORTUNATE YOUNG MAN--[Written about 1865.]
The facts in the following case came to me by letter from a young ladywho lives in the beautiful city of San Jose; she is perfectly unknown tome, and simply signs herself "Aurelia Maria," which may possibly be afictitious name. But no matter, the poor girl is almost heartbroken bythe misfortunes she has undergone, and so confused by the conflictingcounsels of misguided friends and insidious enemies that she does notknow what course to pursue in order to extricate herself from the web ofdifficulties in which she seems almost hopelessly involved. In thisdilemma she turns to me for help, and supplicates for my guidance andinstruction with a moving eloquence that would touch the heart of astatue. Hear her sad story:
She says that when she was sixteen years old she met and loved, with allthe devotion of a passionate nature, a young man from New Jersey, namedWilliamson Breckinridge Caruthers, who was some six years her senior.They were engaged, with the free consent of their friends and relatives,and for a time it seemed as if their career was destined to becharacterized by an immunity from sorrow beyond the usual lot ofhumanity. But at last the tide of fortune turned; young Caruthers becameinfected with smallpox of the most virulent type, and when he recoveredfrom his illness his face was pitted like a waffle-mold, and hiscomeliness gone forever. Aurelia thought to break off the engagement atfirst, but pity for her unfortunate lover caused her to postpone themarriage-day for a season, and give him another trial.
The very day before the wedding was to have taken place, Breckinridge,while absorbed in watching the flight of a balloon, walked into a welland fractured one of his legs, and it had to be taken off above the knee.Again Aurelia was moved to break the engagement, but again lovetriumphed, and she set the day forward and gave him another chance toreform.
And again misfortune overtook the unhappy youth. He lost one arm by thepremature discharge of a Fourth of July cannon, and within three monthshe got the other pulled out by a carding-machine. Aurelia's heart wasalmost crushed by these latter calamities. She could not but be deeplygrieved to see her lover passing from her by piecemeal, feeling, as shedid, that he could not last forever under this disastrous process ofreduction, yet knowing of no way to stop its dreadful career, and in hertearful despair she almost regretted, like brokers who hold on and lose,that she had not taken him at first, before he had suffered such analarming depreciation. Still, her brave soul bore her up, and sheresolved to bear with her friend's unnatural disposition yet a littlelonger.
Again the wedding-day approached, and again disappointment overshadowedit; Caruthers fell ill with the erysipelas, and lost the use of one ofhis eyes entirely. The friends and relatives of the bride, consideringthat she had already put up with more than could reasonably be expectedof her, now came forward and insisted that the match should be brokenoff; but after wavering awhile, Aurelia, with a generous spirit which didher credit, said she had reflected calmly upon the matter, and could notdiscover that Breckinridge was to blame.
So she extended the time once more, and he broke his other leg.
It was a sad day for the poor girl when she saw the surgeons reverentlybearing away the sack whose uses she had learned by previous experience,and her heart told her the bitter truth that some more of her lover wasgone. She felt that the field of her affections was growing more andmore circumscribed every day, but once more she frowned down herrelatives and renewed her betrothal.
Shortly before the time set for the nuptials another disaster occurred.There was but one man scalped by the Owens River Indians last year. Thatman was Williamson Breckinridge Caruthers of New Jersey. He was hurryinghome with happiness in his heart, when he lost his hair forever, and inthat hour of bitterness he almost cursed the mistaken mercy that hadspared his head.
At last Aurelia is in serious perplexity as to what she ought to do. Shestill loves her Breckinridge, she writes, with truly womanly feeling--shestill loves what is left of him--but her parents are bitterly opposed tothe match, because he has no property and is disabled from working, andshe has not sufficient means to support both comfortably. "Now, whatshould she do?" she asked with painful and anxious solicitude.
It is a delicate question; it is one which involves the lifelonghappiness of a woman, and that of nearly two-thirds of a man, and I feelthat it would be assuming too great a responsibility to do more than makea mere suggestion in the case. How would it do to build to him? IfAurelia can afford the expense, let her furnish her mutilated lover withwooden arms and wooden legs, and a glass eye and a wig, and give himanother show; give him ninety days, without grace, and if he does notbreak his neck in the mean time, marry him and take the chances. It doesnot seem to me that there is much risk, anyway, Aurelia, because if hesticks to his singular propensity for damaging himself every time he seesa good opportunity, his next experiment is bound to finish him, and thenyou are safe, married or single. If married, the wooden legs and suchother valuables as he may possess revert to the widow, and you see yousustain no actual loss save the cherished fragment of a noble but mostunfortunate husband, who honestly strove to do right, but whoseextraordinary instincts were against him. Try it, Maria. I have thoughtthe matter over carefully and well, and it is the only chance I see foryou. It would have been a happy conceit on the part of Caruthers if hehad started with his neck and broken that first; but since he has seenfit to choose a different policy and string himself out as long aspossible, I do not think we ought to upbraid him for it if he has enjoyedit. We must do the best we can under the circumstances, and try not tofeel exasperated at him.
