_The Disguised Husband--the False Wife--the Murder--the Disclosure, and
Suicide._
Reader, let thy fancy again wing its flight from New York to our own
city of Boston.
It was a strange coincidence that Frank Sydney and his wife Julia should
tarry again beneath the same roof; yet they were not destined to meet
under that roof--for the next day after Frank made the discovery, Mr.
Hedge and the young lady removed from the Hotel to a splendid house
which had been fitted up for them in the most aristocratic quarter of
the city.
'I must see Julia once again,' said Frank to himself, when informed of
her departure;--'I must see and converse with her again, for I am
anxious to see if she has really reformed, since her marriage with this
Mr. Hedge, whom I have heard spoken of as a very respectable old man. Of
course, he can know nothing of her former character; and if I find her
disposed to be faithful to her present husband, Heaven forbid that I
should ruin her by exposure! But I must so disguise myself that she
shall not recognise me; this I can easily do, for I am well acquainted
with the art of disguise. I shall have no difficulty in meeting her on
some of the fashionable promenades of the city, then my ingenuity will
aid me in forming her acquaintance. My plan shall be put into immediate
execution.'
Our hero felt considerable uneasiness in the knowledge that the Dead Man
was then in the city; and when he reflected that the Doctor had joined
that arch miscreant, he knew not what infernal plot might be concocted
against his liberty or life. He puzzled his brain in vain to account for
the Doctor's singular conduct in deserting him for the friendship of a
villain; and he was forced to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion, that
the Doctor was a man whose natural depravity led him to prefer the
companionship of crime to the society of honesty and honor.
Sydney never ventured abroad without being thoroughly armed; and he was
determined, if attacked by his enemies, to sell his life as dearly as
possible.
He had called once upon Miss Sophia Franklin, since the night he had
rescued her from the designs of the libertine Radcliff; Josephine and
her mother plainly evinced by their looks that they did not relish his
visit; but the fair Sophia received him with every demonstration of
gratitude and pleasure. She could not deny to herself that she felt a
deep and growing interest in the handsome young stranger, who had so
gallantly defended her honor: while on his part, he sympathized with her
unfortunate situation, on account of her unprincipled relatives, and
admired her for her beauty and goodness. He sighed as he thought that
his abandoned wife was a barrier to any hopes which he might entertain
in reference to Sophia; for he felt that he could joyfully make the
young lady his bride, and thus preserve her from her mother and sister,
were there no obstacle in the way. When he contrasted her purity and
virtue with the vices of Julia, he cursed his destiny that had placed so
great a prize beyond his grasp.
Sophia, as yet, knew nothing of Frank's history, and was of course
ignorant that he had a wife. Sweet hopes swelled the maiden's bosom,
when the thought arose in her pure heart that she might be beloved by
one whom she knew was worthy of her tenderest regard.
It was with a high degree of satisfaction that Julia now found
herself, by the liberality of Mr. Hedge, mistress of a splendid
establishment.--Her dresses, her jewelry, her furniture were of
the most magnificent kind; her husband placed no restraint upon
her whatever, he slept in a separate chamber, and never annoyed
her with his impotent embraces; each morning he was accustomed
to meet her in the breakfast parlor, and partake with her the
only meal they took together during the day; after the repast,
he would usually present her with money sufficient to do her
fashionable 'shopping;' then he would kiss her rosy cheek, bid
her adieu, and leave her to pass the day as her fancy or caprice
might dictate.
Enjoying such a life of luxurious ease, Julia was almost perfectly
happy. Yet her cup was not quite full; there was one thing wanting to
complete the list of her pleasures--and this deficiency occupied her
thoughts by day, and her dreams by night. Not to keep the reader in
suspense, she longed for a handsome and agreeable lover--yet none could
she find suited to her taste or wishes. True, she might have selected
one from among the many gentlemen of leisure 'about town,' who are
always ready to dangle at the heels of any woman who will clothe and
feed them for their 'services.'--But she preferred a lover of a more
exalted grade; one whose personal beauty was set off by mental graces,
and superior manners. And he must be poor; for then he would be more
dependent upon her, and consequently, more devoted and more constant.
Time passed, and still Julia had no lover.--Mr. Hedge mentally gave her
credit for the most virtuous fidelity; yet the amorous fair one was
constantly on the _qui vive_ to catch in her silken meshes some
desirable man with whom she might in secret pass the hours of her
voluptuous leisure.
One day, while promenading Tremont street, her eyes rested upon a
gentleman whose appearance sent a thrill of admiration and desire
through every fibre of her frame. His figure, of medium height, was
erect and well-built; his gait was dignified and graceful; his dress, in
exact accordance with the _mode_, was singularly elegant and rich--but a
superb waistcoat, a gorgeous cravat in which glittered a diamond pin,
and salmon-colored gloves, were the least attractive points in his
appearance; for his countenance was eminently handsome and striking. His
hair fell in rich masses over a fine, thoughtful brow; his eyes were
dark, piercing, and full of expression and fire; and the lower part of
his face was almost completely hidden by a luxuriant growth of whiskers,
imperial and moustache. Whatever of foppishness there might be in his
dress, was qualified by the dignified grace of his manner.
'He is a charming creature, and I must catch him,' thought Julia. So, on
the next day when she met him again, and at the moment when his eyes
were fixed admiringly upon her countenance, she smiled, then blushed in
the most engaging manner, and passed on in sweet confusion. The gallant
gentleman, encouraged by the smile and blush, turned and followed her.
She walked on as far as the Common, entered, and regardless of her satin
dress, seated herself upon one of the sheet-iron covered benches. The
gentleman (bold fellow!) seated himself upon the same bench, though at a
respectful distance. Julia blushed again, and cast down her beautiful
eyes.
You know very well, reader, how two persons, who are not acquainted,
always begin a conversation. The weather is the topic first touched
upon;--and that hackneyed subject merges easily and naturally into more
agreeable discourse. So it was with Julia and her gallant; in less than
half an hour after seating themselves on that bench, they were sociably
and unrestrainedly conversing on the theatres, the opera, the last
novel, and other matters and things pertaining to the world of fashion
and amusement. The lady judged her companion, by a slight peculiarity in
his accent, to be a foreigner--a circumstance that raised him still more
in her estimation, for our amorous American ladies adore foreigners. He
was also a man of wit, education and talent; and Julia became completely
fascinated with him. He proposed an exchange of cards; she assented, and
found her new friend to be the 'Signor Montoni'; and he subsequently
informed her that he was an Italian teacher of languages--a piece of
information that gave her pleasure, as his following a profession was a
pretty certain indication that he was poor.
When Julia returned home, the Italian accompanied her to the door. The
next day they met again, and the next; and the intimacy between them
increased so rapidly, that within a week after their confidential chat
on the Common, Montoni called on Julia at her residence. But the lady
noticed that he had suddenly grown reserved and bashful; and he made
this and their other interviews provokingly short. She had hoped to have
found in him an impetuous and impassioned lover--one who needed but the
opportunity to pluck the ripe fruit so temptingly held out to him; but
she found him, instead, an apparently cold and passionless man, taking
no advantage of his intimacy with her, and treating her with a distant
respect that precluded all hope in her bosom of a successful amour.
In vain did the beautiful wanton assail him with inviting glances and
seductive smiles; in vain did she, while in his presence, recline upon
the sofa in attitudes of the most voluptuous abandonment; in vain did
she, as if unconsciously, display to his gaze charms which might have
moved an anchorite--a neck and shoulders of exquisite proportions, and a
bosom glowing and swelling with a thousand suppressed fires. He
withstood all these attacks, and remained calm and unmoved. When she
gave him her hand to kiss at parting, he would merely raise it to his
lips, and leave her with a cold 'adieu.'
'He is cold--senseless--unworthy of my regard; I will see him no more,'
said Julia to herself. Yet when the image of the handsome Italian arose
before her, so calmly noble, so proudly composed, her resolution forsook
her, and she felt that he held her, heart and soul, under some strange
and magical fascination.
'Yes, I love him,' she cried, bursting into a passionate flood of
tears--'devotedly, madly love him. Oh, why am I the suppliant slave of
this cold stranger? why cannot I entice him to my arms? Distraction: my
most consummate art fails to kindle in his icy breast a single spark of
the raging fire that is consuming me!'
It may be proper to mention that Mr. Hedge knew nothing of the Italian's
visits to his wife; for Julia received him in a private parlor of her
own, and there was no danger of interruption. The old gentleman passed
most of his evenings in his library; and having implicit faith in the
integrity of his wife, he allowed her to spend her evenings as she
chose.
One evening Signor Montoni visited Julia rather earlier than usual; and
she resolved that evening to make a desperate effort to conquer him,
even if obliged to make known her wishes in words.
During the evening she exerted herself, as usual, to captivate him, and
bring him to her feet. She sang--she played--she liberally displayed the
graces of her person, and the charms of her accomplished mind, but still
in vain.--There he sat, with folded arms, in deep abstraction, gazing at
the elaborate figures on the gorgeous carpet.
At nine o'clock, Montoni arose, and took the lady's hand to bid her
adieu. She gently detained him, and drew him towards her upon the sofa.
'Listen to me, Montoni;' said she, gazing into his eyes with an
expression of deep fondness--'listen to me, and I will speak calmly if I
can, though my heart is beating in wild tumult. Call me unwomanly, bold,
wanton if you will, for making this declaration--_but I love you!_--God
only knows how ardently, how passionately. The first moment I saw you,
your image impressed itself indelibly upon my heart; in person, you were
my _beau ideal_ of manhood--and in mind I found you all that I could
wish. I have sought to make you my lover--for my husband is old and
impotent, and my passions are strong. Look at me, Montoni; am I ugly or
repulsive? Nay, the world calls me beautiful, yet I seek to be beautiful
only in your eyes, my beloved. Why, then, have you despised my advances,
disregarded my mute invitations, and left me to pine with disappointment
and with hope deferred? Why will you not take me in your arms, cover me
with kisses, and breathe into my ear the melody of your whispered love?'
The lady paused, and the Italian gazed at her with admiration. Ah, how
beautiful she looked! and yet how like a fiend in the shape of a lovely
woman, tempting a man to ruin!
'Lady,' said Montoni, as a shade of sadness passed over his fine
features--'you have mentioned your husband, and the recollection that
you _have_ a husband forbids that I should take advantage of your
preference for me. God forbid that I should be the cause of a wife's
infidelity! Pardon me, lady--you are very beautiful; the Almighty never
created so fair a sanctuary to become the dwelling place of sin; be
advised, therefore, to suppress this guilty passion, and remain faithful
to your husband, who, old though he be, has claims upon your constancy.'
'I long for the declarations of a lover, not the reasonings of a
philosopher,' cried Julia passionately.--'Thou man of ice, nothing can
melt you?'
'Remember your duty to your husband,' said Montoni, gravely, as he arose
to depart. 'I will see you to-morrow evening--adieu.'
He left her to her reflections.--Wild, tumultuous thoughts arose in her
mind; and from the chaos of her bewildered brain, came a Hideous
Whisper, prompting her to a bloody crime.
She thought of her husband as an obstacle to her happiness with Montoni;
and she began to hate the old man with the malignity of a fiend.
'Curses on the old dotard!' she cried, in a paroxysm of rage--'were it
not for _him_, I might revel in the arms of my handsome Italian, whose
unaccountable scruples will not permit him to enjoy the bliss of love
with me, while I have a husband.--Were that husband DEAD--'
Then, like a Mighty Shadow, came that dark thought over her soul.
Myriads of beautiful demons, all bearing the semblance of Montoni,
seemed to gather around her, and urge her to perpetrate a deed
of--_murder_!
But then a fair vision spread itself before her wandering fancy. There
was her girlhood's home--far, far away in a green, flowery spot, where
she had dwelt ere her life had been cast amid the follies and vices of
cities. Then she thought of her mother--that gentle mother, whose heart
she had broken, and who was sleeping in the old church-yard of her
native village.--A tear dim'd her brilliant eye as these better feelings
of her nature gained a temporary ascendancy: but she dashed her tear
away, and suppressed the emotions of her heart, when the image of the
fascinating Italian arose before her.
'He must be mine! I swear it by everything in heaven, earth or hell--he
must be mine! Yes, though I stain my soul with the blackest
crime--though remorse and misery be my lot on earth--though eternal
torment be my portion in the world to come--he must and shall be mine!
Aid me, ye powers of hell, in this my scheme--make my heart bold, my
hand firm, my brain calm; for the deed is full of horror, and the
thought of it chills my blood; I shudder and turn sick and dizzy--yet,
for thy sake, Montoni, I WILL DO IT!'
That night the wretched woman slept not; but in the solitude of her
chamber employed her mind in endeavoring to form some plan by which to
accomplish her fell purpose with secrecy and safety. Ere morning dawned,
she had arranged the _programme_ of the awful drama in which she was to
play the part of a murderess.
When Mr. Hedge met her at breakfast, he noticed that she appeared
feverish and unwell; and with almost parental solicitude, he gently
chided her for neglecting to take proper care of her health.
'My dear Julia,' said he--'you must not pour out the golden sands of
youth too fast. If you will suffer me to offer you advice, you will go
less abroad, and endeavor to seek recreation at home. You know my ardent
affection for you alone prompts me to make this suggestion.'
Julia slightly curled her lip, but said nothing. The kindness of her
husband's manner did not in the least affect her, or alter the
abominable purpose of her heart. Mr. Hedge did not notice her
contemptuous look; he gave her a sum of money, as usual, kissed her and
bade her adieu.
When he had gone, she dressed herself in her plainest attire, and going
into an obscure part of the city, entered an apothecary's shop and
purchased some arsenic. She then retraced her steps to her residence,
and found that Mr. Hedge, contrary to his usual custom, had returned,
and would dine at home. This arrangement afforded her much satisfaction.
'The fates are propitious,' said she--'to-night Montoni shall find me
without a husband.'
Mr. Hedge and Julia dined alone; dispensing with the attendance of a
servant, they never were more sociable or more affectionate together.
The old gentleman was in high spirits. 'My dear,' said he, 'your
presence to-day inspires me with an unusual degree of happiness--and
egad, I feel younger than ever. Pledge me in a bumper of good old port.'
'I cannot endure port,' said Julia--'sparkling champagne for me. I will
ring for some.'
'By your leave, madam,' said her husband, with an air of gallantry; and
rising, he walked across the room, and rang the bell.
Quick as lightning, Julia took a small paper parcel from her bosom, and
breaking it open, poured a white powder into her husband's glass, which
was nearly full of port wine.
Mr. Hedge resumed his seat, and raising the fatal glass to his lips,
slowly drained it to the dregs. Just then the butler entered, in answer
to the summons; and in obedience to Julia's order, he brought in a
bottle of champagne, and withdrew.
'I am very unwell,' said the old gentleman--'my love, will you assist me
to my chamber?' He arose with difficulty, and with her aid reached his
chamber, and lay down upon the bed. Instantly he closed his eyes, and
seemed to fall into a deep slumber.
'He will wake in another world,' murmured the guilty woman, as she saw
the hue of death beginning to overspread his features. No repentance, no
remorse, touched her vile heart; calmly she surveyed her victim for a
few moments--then, not wishing to witness his dying agonies, she left
the chamber, having carefully locked the door.
That afternoon she went out and purchased a new and magnificent set of
jewels. If for a moment the recollection of her horrible crime obtruded
itself upon her mind, she banished it by thinking of her adored Montoni.
Hers was a kind of mental intoxication, under the influence of which she
could have perpetrated the most enormous crimes, blindly and almost
unconsciously.
Returning home she prepared her toilet with the most elaborate care. A
French 'artist,' (all barbers are _artists_, by the way,) was sent for,
who arranged her beautiful hair in the latest _mode_; and when arrayed
in her superb evening dress of white satin with her fair neck, her wrist
and her lovely brow blazing with jewels, she looked like some queen of
Oriental romance, waiting to receive the homage of her vassals.
And when, as the clock struck eight, the Signor Montoni entered, who can
wonder that he thought her divinely lovely, as he glanced at her face
radiant with smiles, her cheek suffused with the rich hues of health and
happiness, and her eyes sparking with delight at seeing him?
We said _happiness_--'twas not the deep, quiet happiness of the heart,
but the wild, delirious joy of the intoxicated brain.
'Dear Montoni,' she cried, embracing and kissing him--'your presence
never gave more pleasure. I have waited for your coming with impatience.
You are mine now, you cannot deny me--the obstacle is removed.--Oh, my
God, what happiness!'
'Lady,' replied the Italian, in his usual cold and respectful tone, as
he disengaged himself from her embrace, 'what means this agitation? You
speak of an _obstacle_ as being removed; pray explain the enigma.'
'Signor Montoni,' cried Julia, her eyes flashing almost fearfully--'when
I spoke to you of love last night, you preached to me of my husband, and
my duty to him. The recollection that I _had_ a husband, you said,
forbade that you should take advantage of my preference for you. Rejoice
with me, Montoni--come to my arms--my husband is no more!'
'How--what mean you?' demanded the Italian, in breathless astonishment.
'Follow me,' she said; and taking a lamp, she led the way to the chamber
of Mr. Hedge. She unlocked the door, they entered, and she beckoned her
companion to approach the bed.
Montoni advanced, and gazed upon the swollen, disfigured face of a
corpse!
'Your husband--dead!' cried the Italian. 'By heaven there has been foul
play here. Woman, can it be possible--'
'Yes, all things are possible to Love!' exclaimed Julia, laughing
hysterically;--''twas I did the deed, Montoni; for _your_ dear sake I
killed him!'
'Murderess!' cried Montoni, recoiling from her with horror, 'has it come
to this?--Then indeed it is time that this wretched farce should end!'
He tore off the wig, the false whiskers, imperial and moustache--and
Frank Sydney stood before her! With a wild shriek she fell senseless
upon the carpet.
'God of heaven!' exclaimed Frank--'what infernal crimes blot thy fair
creation! Let me escape from this house, for the atmosphere is thick
with guilt, and will suffocate me if I remain longer!'
And without casting one look at the ghastly corpse, or the swooning
murderess upon the floor, he rushed from the house, and fled rapidly
from it, as though it were the abode of the pestilence.
Miserable Julia! She awoke to a full consciousness of her guilt and
wretchedness. The intoxication of her senses was over; her delirium was
past, and horrible remorse usurped the place of passion in her
breast.--She arose, and gazed fearfully around her; there lay the body
of her murdered victim, its stony eyes turned towards her, and seeming
to reproach her for the deed. She could not remain in that awful
chamber, in the presence of that accusing corpse, whose blood seemed to
cry out for vengeance; she ran from it, and at every step imagined that
her dead husband was pursuing her, to bring her back.
Not for worlds would she have remained that night in the house; hastily
throwing on a bonnet and shawl, she issued forth into the street. She
cared not where she went, so long as she escaped from the vicinity of
that scene of murder. In a state of mind bordering on distraction, the
wretched woman wandered about the streets until a late hour; the
disorder of her dress, the wildness of her appearance, induced many whom
she met to suppose her to be intoxicated; and several riotous young men,
returning from a theatre, believing her to be a courtezan, treated her
with the utmost rudeness, at the same time calling her by the most
opprobrious names, until a gentleman who was passing rescued her from
their brutality.
Midnight came, and still was the unhappy Julia a wanderer through the
streets. At length she found herself upon Charlestown bridge; and being
much fatigued, she paused and leaned against the railing, uncertain what
to do or where to go. That hour was the most wretched of her life; her
brain was dizzy with excitement--her heart racked with remorse--her
limbs weak with fatigue, and numbed with cold. The spirit of Mr. Hedge
seemed to emerge from the water, and invite her with outstretched arms
to make the fatal plunge; and when she thought of his unvaried kindness
to her, his unbounded generosity, and implicit faith in her honor, how
bitterly she reproached herself for her base ingratitude and abominable
crime! Oh, how gladly would she have given up her miserable life, could
she but have undone that fearful deed! And even in that wretched hour
she cursed Frank Sydney, as being the cause of her crime and its
attendant misery.
'May the lightning of heaven's wrath sere his brain and scorch his
heart!' she said--'had he not, disguised as the Italian, won my love
and driven me to desperation, I now should be happy and comparatively
guiltless. But, by his infernal means, I have become a murderess and an
outcast--perhaps doomed to swing upon the scaffold! But no, no;--sooner
than die _that_ death, I would end my misery in the dark waters of this
river, which flows so calmly beneath my feet!'
She heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and saw two men advancing
on the opposite foot-path of the bridge. She crouched down to avoid
observation; and as they passed, she distinctly heard their
conversation.
'Have you heard,' said one, 'of the case of murder in ---- street?'
'No; how was it?' demanded the other.
'Why, a rich old fellow named Hedge was found this evening in his
chamber, stone dead, having been poisoned by his wife, who they say is a
young and handsome woman. It is supposed she did it on account of a
lover, or some such thing; and since the murder, she has
disappeared--but the police are on her track, and they won't be long in
finding her. 'Twill be a bad job for her.'
The men passed on out of sight and hearing; but the words struck terror
to the heart of Julia. She started up and gazed wildly around her,
expecting every moment to see the myrmidons of the law approaching, to
drag her away to prison. Then she looked down upon the calm river, on
whose placid breast reposed the soft moonlight.
'Why should I live?' she murmured, sadly--'earth has no longer any
charms for me; the past brings remorse, the present is most wretched,
the future full of impending horror! Death is my only refuge; the only
cure for all my sorrows. Take me to thy embrace, thou peaceful river;
thou canst end my earthly woes, but thou canst not wash off the stains
of guilt from my soul! There may be a hell, but its torments cannot
exceed those of this world--'
She mounted upon the topmost rail of the bridge, clasped her hands,
muttered a brief prayer, and leaped into the river. There was a
splash--a gurgling sound--and then profound and solemn silence resumed
its reign.
* * * * *
One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
* * * * *
The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch
Of the black flowing river;
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurl'd--
Any where, any where
Out of the world!
In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran--
Over the brink of it,
Picture it--think of it, Dissolute Man!
* * * * *
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour!
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!