"Yes," continued my mother; "we were married within heaven dedicated
walls by a man of God, and the blessing of the holy, blessed, and
glorious Trinity was pronounced upon our union. Remember this, my dearly
beloved child, remember that in the bosom of the church, surrounded by
all the solemnities of religion, with the golden ring, the uttered vow,
and on bended knee, I was wedded to Henry Gabriel St. James.
"My step-mother refused to be present. She had sufficient regard to the
world's opinion to plead indisposition as an excuse; but it was a false
one. She never forgave me for winning the love of the man whom she had
herself resolved to charm, and from the hour of our introduction to the
day of my marriage, my life was clouded by the gloom of her ill temper.
"We immediately departed for New York, where St. James resided, and our
bridal home was adorned with all the elegancies which classic taste
could select, and prodigal love lavish upon its idol. I was happy then,
beyond the dream of imagination. St. James was the fondest, the kindest,
the tenderest--O my God! must I add--the falsest of human beings? I did
not love him then--I worshipped, I adored him. I have told you that my
childish imagination was fed by wild, impassioned romances, and I had
made to myself an ideal image, round which, like the maid of France, I
hung the garlands of fancy, and knelt before its shrine.
"Whatever has been my after fate, I have known the felicity of loving in
all its length and breadth and strength. And he, too, loved me
passionately, devotedly. Strong indeed must have been the love that
triumphed over principle, honor, and truth, that broke the most sacred
of human ties, and dared the vengeance of retributive Heaven.
"St. James was an artist. He was not dependent entirely on his genius
for his subsistence, though his fortune was not large enough to enable
him to live in splendid indolence. He had been in Europe for the last
few years, wandering amid the ruins of Italy, studying the grand old
masters, summering in the valleys of Switzerland, beneath the shadow of
its mountain heights, and polishing his bold, masterly sketches among
the elegant artists of Paris.
"With what rapture I listened to his glowing descriptions of foreign
lands, and what beautiful castles we built where we were to dwell
together in the golden clime of Italy or the sunny bowers of France!
"At length, my Gabriella, you were given to my arms, and the deep, pure
fountain of a mother's love welled in my youthful bosom. But my life was
wellnigh a sacrifice to yours. For weeks it hung trembling on a thread
slender and weak as the gossamer's web. St. James watched over me, as
none but guardian angels could watch, and I had another faithful and
devoted nurse, our good and matchless Peggy. To her unsleeping
vigilance, her strong heart and untiring arm, I owe in a great measure
the restoration of my health, or rather the preservation of my life; my
health was never entirely renovated.
"When you were about five or six months old, St. James came to me with a
troubled countenance. He was summoned away, very unexpectedly. He would
probably be obliged to go as far as Texas before his return; he might be
absent a month. Business of a perplexing nature, which it was impossible
to explain then, called him from me, but he would shorten as much as
possible the days of absence which would be dreary and joyless to him. I
was overwhelmed with grief at the thought of his leaving me; my nerves
were still weak, and I wept in all the abandonment of sorrow. I feared
for him the dangers that beset the path of the traveller--sickness,
death; but I feared not for his honor or truth. I relied upon his
integrity, as I did upon the promises of the Holy Scriptures. I did hot
urge him to explain the motives of his departure, satisfied that they
were just and honorable.
"Oh! little did I think,--when he clasped me in a parting embrace when
he committed us both so tenderly and solemnly to the guardianship of our
Heavenly Father,--little did I think I should so soon seek to rend him
from my heart as a vile, accursed monster; that I should shrink from the
memory of his embraces as from the coils of the serpent, the fangs of
the wolf. God in his mercy veils the future, or who could bear the
burden of coming woe!
"A few days after his departure, as I was seated in the nursery,
watching your innocent witcheries as you lay cradled in the lap of
Peggy, I was told a lady wished to see me. It was too early an hour for
fashionable calls, and I went into the parlor expecting to meet one of
those ministering spirits, who go about on errands of mercy, seeking the
aid of the rich for the wants of the poor.
"A lady was standing with her back to the door, seemingly occupied in
gazing at a picture over the mantel-piece, an exquisite painting of St.
James. Her figure was slight and graceful, and she struck me at once as
having a foreign air. She turned round at my entrance, exhibiting a pale
and agitated countenance; a countenance which though not beautiful, was
painfully interesting. She had a soft olive complexion, and a full
melancholy black eye, surcharged with tears.
"I motioned her to a seat, for I could not speak. Her agitation was
contagious, and I waited in silent trepidation to learn the mystery of
her emotion.
"'Forgave me this intrusion,' said she, in hesitating accents; 'you look
so young, so innocent, so lovely, my heart misgives me. I cannot, I dare
not.'
"She spoke in French, a language of which I was mistress, and I
recognized at once the land of her birth. She paused, as if unable to
proceed, while I sat, pale and cold as marble, wondering what awful
revelation she would, but dared not make. Had she come to tell me of my
husband's death,--was my first agonized thought, and I faintly
articulated,--
"'My husband!'
"'_Your_ husband! Poor, deluded young creature. Alas! alas! I can
forgive him for deserting me, but not for deceiving and destroying you.'
"I started to my feet with a galvanic spring. My veins tingled as if
fire were running through them, and my hair rose, startling with
electric horror. I grasped her arm with a force she might have felt
through covering steel, and looking her steadfastly in the face,
exclaimed,--
"'He _is_ my husband; mine in the face of God and man. He is _my_
husband, and the father of my child. I will proclaim it in the face of
earth and heaven. I will proclaim it till my dying day. How dare you
come to me with slanders so vile, false, unprincipled woman?'
"She recoiled a few steps from me, and held up her deprecating hands.
"'Have pity upon me, for I am very wretched,' she cried; 'were it not
for my child I would die in silence and despair, rather than rouse you
from your fatal dream, but I cannot see him robbed of his rights. I
cannot see another usurping the name and place he was born to fill.
Madam,' continued she, discarding her supplicating tone, and speaking
with dignity and force, 'I am no false, unprincipled woman, inventing
tales which I cannot corroborate. I am a wife, as pure in heart, as
upright in purpose as you can be,--a mother as tender. Forsaken by him
whom in spite of my wrongs I still too fondly love, I have left my
native land, crossed the ocean's breadth, come a stranger to a strange
country, that I might appeal to you for redress, and tell you that if
you still persist in calling him your own, it will be in defiance of the
laws of man and the canons of the living God.'
"As she thus went on, her passions became roused, and flashed and
darkened in her face with alternations so quick they mocked the sight.
She spoke with the rapid tongue and impressive gesticulation of her
country, and God's truth was stamped on every word. I felt it,--I knew
it. She was no base, lying impostor. She was a wronged and suffering
woman;--and he,--the idol of my soul,--the friend, lover, _husband_ of
my youth,--no, no! he could not be a villain! She was mad,--ha, ha,--she
was mad! Bursting into a wild, hysteric laugh, I sunk back on the sofa,
repeating,--
"'Poor thing, she is mad! I wonder I did not know it sooner.'
"'No, madam, I am not mad,' she cried, in calmer tones; 'I sometimes
wish I were. I am in the full possession of my reason, as I can
abundantly prove. But little more than three years since, I was married
to Gabriel Henry St. James, in Paris, my native city, and here is the
certificate which proves the truth of my assertion.'
"Taking a paper from her pocket-book, she held it towards me, so that I
could read the writing, still retaining it in her own hand. I did not
blame her,--oh, no! I should have done the same. I saw, what seemed
blazing in fire, the names of Henry Gabriel St. James and Therésa
Josephine La Fontaine united in marriage by the usual formula of the
church.
"I did not attempt to snatch it from her, or to destroy the fatal paper.
I gazed upon it till the characters swelled out like black chords, and
writhed in snaky convolutions.
"'Do you recognize this?' she asked, taking from her bosom a gold case,
and touching a spring. It flew open and revealed the handsome features
of St. James, beaming with the same expression as when I first beheld
him, an expression I remembered but too well. She turned it in the case,
and I saw written on the back in gold letters, 'For my beloved wife,
Therésa Josephine.'
"It was enough. The certificate might be a forgery, her tale a lie; but
this all but breathing picture, these indubitable words, were proofs of
blasting power. Cold, icy shiverings ran through my frame,--a cold,
benumbing weight pressed down my heart,--a black abyss opened before
me,--the earth heaved and gave way beneath me. With a shriek that seemed
to breathe out my life, I fell forward at the feet of her whom I had so
guiltlessly wronged."
* * * * *
Thus far had I read, with clenching teeth and rigid limbs, and brow on
which chill, deadly drops were slowly gathering, when my mother's shriek
seemed suddenly to ring in my ears,--the knell of a broken heart, a
ruined frame,--and I sprang up and looked wildly round me. Where was I?
Who was I?
Were the heavens turned to brass and the sun to blood, or was yon
saffron belt the gold of declining day,--yon crimson globe, the sun
rolling through a hazy, sultry atmosphere? What meant that long green
mound stretching at my side, that broken shaft, twined with the cypress
vine? I clasped both hands over my temples, as these questions drifted
through my mind, then bending my knees, I sunk lower and lower, till my
head rested on the grave. I was conscious of but one wish--to stay there
and die. The bolt of indelible disgrace quivered in my heart; why should
I wish to live?