_Showing that a man should never marry a woman before he sees her
face--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 the
destiny of millions! Within that brief span--the millionth fraction of a
single sand in Time's great hour-glass--thousands have begun their
existence, to pursue through life a career of honor, of profit, of
ambition, 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 the
season of summer--that delicious season, fraught with more voluptuous
pleasures than virgin spring, gloomy autumn or hoary winter. It was in
rather an obscure street of Boston--in a modest two-story wooden
house--and in an apartment plainly, even humbly furnished, that two
ladies were seated, engaged in an earnest conversation.
One of these ladies was probably near forty years of age, and had
evidently once been extremely handsome; her countenance still retained
traces of great beauty--but time, and care, and perhaps poverty, were
beginning to mar it. Her figure was good, though perhaps rather too full
for grace; and her dress was very plain yet neat, and not without some
claims to taste.
Her companion was probably much younger, and was attired with
considerable elegance; yet a strange peculiarity in her costume would
have instantly excited the surprise of an observer--for although the day
was excessively warm, she wore a thick veil, which reached to her waist,
and effectually concealed her face. She conversed in a voice of
extraordinary melody; and the refined language of both ladies evinced
that they had been accustomed to move in a higher sphere of society than
that in which we now find them.
'At what time do you expect him here?' asked the oldest lady, in
continuation of the discourse in which they had previously been engaged.
'At eight o'clock this evening,' replied the other. 'He is completely
fascinated with me; and notwithstanding I have assured him, over and
over again, that my countenance is horribly disfigured, and that I am
entirely blind, he persists in believing that I am beautiful, and that I
have 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 the
two ladies; this was the mother and her once beautiful, but now hideous
and blind daughter. They were reduced to the most abject poverty, and
had been forced to leave their handsome residence in Washington street,
and take up their abode in an humble and cheap tenement. Entirely
destitute of means, they were obliged to struggle hard to keep
themselves above absolute want. Josephine, being a superb singer, had
obtained an engagement to sing in one of the fashionable churches; but
as she always appeared closely veiled, the fact of her being so terribly
disfigured was unsuspected. The beauty of her voice and the graceful
symmetry of her figure had attracted the attention and won the
admiration of a wealthy member of the church, who was also attached to
the choir; and as she was always carefully conducted in and out of the
church 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 her
face--he was charmed with her brilliant conversation, and resolved to
win her, if possible. The very mystery of her conduct added to the
intensity 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 one
occasion to inquire why she kept herself so constantly veiled; whereupon
she informed him that her face had been disfigured by being scalded
during her infancy, which accident had also deprived her of sight. But
when he requested her to raise her veil, and allow him to look at her
face, she refused with so much good-humored animation, that he began to
suspect the young lady of having playfully deceived him.
'This interesting creature,' thought he, 'is trying to play me a
trick.--She hides her face and pretends to be a fright, while the
coquetry of her manners and the perfect ease of her conversation
convince me that she cannot be otherwise than beautiful.--What, the
owner of that superb voice and that elegant form, _ugly_? Impossible!
Now I can easily guess her object in trying to play off this little
piece of deception upon me; I have read somewhere of a lady who kept her
face constantly veiled, and proclaimed herself to be hideously ugly,
which was universally believed, notwithstanding which she secured an
admirer, 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 behold
her face until after the performance of the ceremony--adding, that if he
saw how ugly she was, he would certainly never marry her. 'I love you
for your mind, and care not for the absence of beauty,' cried the lover.
They were married; they retired to their chamber. 'Now prepare yourself
for an awful sight,'--said the bride, slowly raising her veil. The
husband could not repress a shudder--he gazed for the first time upon
the face of his wife--when lo and behold! instead of an ugly and
disfigured face, he saw before him a countenance radiant with celestial
beauty! 'Dear husband,' said the lovely wife, casting her arms around
her astonished and happy lord, 'you loved me truly, although you thought
me ugly; such devotion and such disinterested love well merit the prize
of beauty.'
'Now, I feel assured,' said Mr. Thurston to himself, pursuing the
current of his thoughts--'that this young lady, Miss Franklin, is trying
to deceive me in a similar manner, in order to test the sincerity of my
affection; and should I marry her, I would find her to be a paragon of
beauty. Egad, she is so accomplished and bewitching, that I've more than
half a mind to propose, and make her Mrs. T.'
The worthy deacon (for such he was,) being a middle-aged man of very
good looks, and moreover very rich, Josephine was determined to 'catch
him' if she could; she therefore took advantage of his disbelief in her
deformity, and, while she persisted in her assurances that she was
hideously ugly, she made those assurances in a manner so light and
playful, 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 him
into matrimony; and once his wife, she knew that in case he refused to
live with her on discovering her awful deformity, he would liberally
provide for her support, and thus her mother and herself would be
enabled again to live in luxury. As for Sophia, she no longer lived with
them--the fair, innocent girl had gone to occupy a position to be stated
hereafter.
We now resume the conversation between Mrs. Franklin and her daughter,
which we interrupted by the above necessary explanation.--'Which opinion
you have artfully encouraged, Josephine,' said Mrs. Franklin--'and you
will of course suffer him to enjoy that opinion, until after your
marriage with him, which event is, I think, certain; then you can reveal
your true condition to him, and if he casts you off, he will be obliged
to afford you a sufficient income, which we both so much need; for he
cannot charge you with having deceived him, as you represent to him your
real condition, and if he chooses to disbelieve you, that is his own
affair, not yours.'
'True, mother; and the marriage must be speedily accomplished, for we
are sadly in need of funds, and all my best dresses are at the
pawnbroker's. Alas, that my beauty should be destroyed--that beauty
which would have captured the hearts and purses of so many rich
admirers! I am almost inclined to rejoice that my eyesight is gone, for
I cannot see my deformity. Am I very hideous, mother?'
'My poor, afflicted child,' said Mrs. Franklin, shedding tears--'do not
question me on that subject. Oh, Josephine, had I, your mother, set you
an example of purity and virtue, and trained you up in the path of
rectitude, 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 forget
the past, and cherish hope for the future.--How very warm 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 where
deep purple streaks gave it the appearance of a putrefying corpse. Her
once splendid eyes, that had so oft flashed with indignant scorn, glowed
with the pride of her imperial beauty, or sparkled with the fires of
amorous passion, had been literally burned out of her head! That once
lofty and peerless brow was disfigured by hideous scars, and a wig
supplied the place of her once clustering and luxuriant hair.--She was
as 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 lady
thus stricken with the curses of deformity and blindness, through her
own wickedness--to see that temple which God had made so beautiful and
fair to look upon, thus shattered and defiled by the ravages of sin!
Evening came, and with it brought Mr. Thurston. Josephine, seated on a
sofa and impenetrably veiled, received him with a courteous
welcome;--and comported herself so admirably and artfully, that the most
critical observer would not have imagined her to be blind, but would
have supposed her to be wearing a veil merely out of caprice, or from
some trifling cause.--When she spoke to her lover, or was addressed by
him, she invariably turned her face towards him, as if unconsciously;
and the gentleman chuckled inwardly, as he thought he saw in that simple
act an evidence of her being possessed of the faculty of sight.
But one incident occurred which doubly confirmed him in his belief; it
was an artful contrivance of Josephine and her mother. Previous to Mr.
Thurston's arrival, a rose had been placed upon the carpet, close to
Josephine's feet; and during a pause in the conversation, while
apparently in an abstracted mood, she leaned forward, took it up by the
stem, and began slowly to pick it to pieces, scattering the leaves all
about 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 the
carpet?'
Josephine, affecting to be much confused, stammered out something about
her 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 as
well 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 my
face shall be my husband.'
'Then hear me, Josephine,' cried her lover, raising her fair hand to his
lips--'I know not what singular whim has prompted you in your endeavors
to make me think you ugly and blind, but this I know, you have inspired
me with ardent love. I _know_ you to be beautiful and free from
imperfection of sight--nay, do not speak--but I will not again allude to
the subject, nor press you to raise your veil, until after our
marriage--that is, if you will accept me. Speak, Josephine.'
'Mr. Thurston, if, after my many solemn assurances to you that I am
afflicted in the manner I have so often described, you ask me to become
your wife--here is my hand.'
'A thousand thanks, my beautiful, mysterious, veiled lady!' exclaimed
the enraptured lover--'as to your being afflicted--ha, ha!--I'll risk
it, I'll risk it! Naughty Josephine, I'll punish you hereafter for your
attempt to deceive me!'
The poor man little suspected how egregiously she _was_ deceiving
him!--He was a person of no natural penetration, and could no more see
thro' her designs, than through the veil which covered her face.
Midnight came, and found Josephine and her victim still seated upon the
sofa in the little parlor, her head reposing upon his shoulder, and his
arm encircling her waist. He felt as happy as any man can feel, who
imagines he has won the love of a beautiful woman; but had he known the
blackness of her heart, and seen the awful hideousness of her face, how
he would have cast her from him with contempt and loathing!
When about to take his leave, he lingered in the entry and begged her to
grant him a kiss; she consented, on condition that it should be a 'kiss
in the dark.' The candle was extinguished, she raised her veil, and he
pressed his lips to hers. Could he have seen her ghastly cheek, her
eyeless sockets, and the livid lips which he so rapturously kissed, his
soul would have grown sick with horror. But he departed, in blissful
ignorance of her deformity of body and impurity of soul.
We hasten to the final catastrophe. They were married. The eager
bridegroom conducted his veiled and trembling bride to the nuptial
chamber.--Josephine was much agitated; for the grand crisis had arrived,
which would either raise her to a comfortable independence, or hurl her
into the dark abyss of despair.
'Is it very light here?' she asked. 'Yes, dearest,' replied the
husband--'I have caused this our bridal chamber to be illuminated, in
order that I may the better be enabled to feast my eyes upon your
beauty, 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.
CONCLUSION
'So on your patience evermore attending,
New joy wait on you--here our play has ending.'
[SHAKESPEARE]
Reader, our task is done. Thou hast kindly accompanied us through our
rambling narrative, until the end; and now it but remains for us to
dispose of the _dramatis personae_ who have figured in the various
scenes, and then bid thee farewell.
Frank Sydney and his beautiful Sophia were united in marriage, and are
now residing in one of the most romantic spots to be found in all New
England. Sophia has long since ceased all correspondence with her
wretched and abandoned mother, who has become the keeper (under an
assumed name) of a celebrated and fashionable brothel in West Cedar
street.
Josephine Franklin terminated her miserable existence by poison
(procured for her by her own mother,) on the day after her marriage with
Mr. Thurston, who, when he beheld the hideous deformity of his bride,
instead of the beauty which he expected, recoiled with horror--and after
bitterly reproaching her, drove her from his presence, bidding her never
to let him see her again, and refusing to make the smallest provision
for her support. A few days after Josephine's death, Mr. Thurston,
overcome with mortification, shot himself through the heart.
The Doctor has become one of the most respectable physicians, in Boston,
and enjoys a lucrative and extensive practice. He is married to an
amiable lady, and has named his first son after Sydney, his generous
benefactor. He has received into his office, as a student of medicine,
Clinton Romaine, the dumb boy, who bids fair to become a skilful and
useful physician.
Nero, the African, who has played no inconsiderable part in our drama,
finally came to Boston, and now follows the respectable occupation of
barber, in the vicinity of the Maine Railroad Depot.
In conclusion, if the foregoing pages have in the least degree
contributed to the reader's entertainment, or initiated him into any
mystery of CITY CRIMES heretofore unknown--and if this tale, founded on
fact, has served to illustrate the truth of the ancient proverbs that
'honesty is the best policy' and 'virtue is its own reward'--then is the
author amply repaid for his time and toil, and he tenders to the
indulgent public his most respectful parting salutations.
[THE END.]
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Alternative spellings and hyphenation have been retained as they appear
in the original book. Changes to the original have been made as follows:
"Family worship was always adhered to by them, a well as
grace before and after meals." -->
"Family worship was always adhered to by them, as well as
grace before and after meals."
"'pressing me close to him" -->
"pressing me close to him"
"all that was said." -->
"all that was said.'"
"'These words were said" -->
"These words were said"
"'See here, young feller, 'said the stranger" -->
"'See here, young feller,' said the stranger"
"What is your name?" -->
"What is your name?'"
"'Then you will please to bundle out of this house as soon as
possible," -->
"'Then you will please to bundle out of this house as soon as
possible,'"
"Kinchen" italicized
"inclined her heard toward him." -->
"inclined her head toward him."
"in another instant she was prostate" -->
"in another instant she was prostrate"
"While he was surveying herself, she gave utterance" -->
"While she was surveying herself, she gave utterance"
"to a cupboard in on corner" -->
"to a cupboard in one corner"
"'lost, lost!'" --> "'lost, lost!"
"pausing before Mr. Belmont's chamber" -->
"pausing before Mrs. Belmont's chamber"
"the pathetic Hiberian ballad" -->
"the pathetic Hibernian ballad"
"Our preferences are both strictly classical;" -->
"'Our preferences are both strictly classical;"
"'Insolent, am I?'--take that, and be d----d to you!'" -->
"'Insolent, am I?--take that, and be d----d to you!'"
"laughing heartily.'--'d'ye think" -->
"laughing heartily.--'d'ye think"
"On, how I hugged myself with joy" -->
"Oh, how I hugged myself with joy"
"and gazing eagerly about him. Pete, did you hear anything?'" -->
"and gazing eagerly about him. 'Pete, did you hear anything?'"
"Kinchen's" italicized
"The day when he commits murder will be he happiest day of
my life." -->
"The day when he commits murder will be the happiest day of
my life."
"She faintly thanked her deliver" -->
"She faintly thanked her deliverer"
"disgusting and and unnatural" -->
"disgusting and unnatural"
"until a strange feeling of fascination over him" -->
"until a strange feeling of fascination came over him"
"but, to my, horror," -->
"but, to my horror,"
"my old schoolmates are now keeping fashionable
boarding house" -->
"my old schoolmates are now keeping fashionable
boarding houses"
"escritoire" italicized
"tete-a-tete" italicized
"'_Dare?_ exclaimed the Doctor" -->
"'_Dare?_' exclaimed the Doctor"
"with is so charming a characteristic" -->
"which is so charming a characteristic"
"have been more less tainted with crime" -->
"have been more or less tainted with crime"
"Two policeman now ran up" -->
"Two policemen now ran up"
"his unvaried kindess" -->
"his unvaried kindness"
"raising her fair had" -->
"raising her fair hand"