A CITY WEDDING.
There was not much of the happy bridegroom to be seen in Joseph's face
when he arose the next morning. To Philip's eyes he appeared to have
suddenly grown several years older; his features had lost their boyish
softness and sweetness, which would thenceforth never wholly come back
again. He spoke but little, and went about his preparation with an
abstracted, mechanical air, which told how much his mind was
preoccupied. Philip quietly assisted, and when all was complete, led him
before the mirror.
"There!" he said; "now study the general effect; I think nothing more is
wanting."
"It hardly looks like myself," Joseph remarked, after a careless
inspection.
"In all the weddings I have seen," said Philip, "the bridegrooms were
pale and grave, the brides flushed and trembling. You will not make an
exception to the rule; but it is a solemn thing, and I—don't
misunderstand me, Joseph—I almost wish you were not to be married
to-day."
"Philip!" Joseph exclaimed, "let me think, now, at least,—now, at the
last moment,—that it is best for me! If you knew how cramped,
restricted, fettered, my life has been, and how much emancipation has
already come with this—this love! Perhaps my marriage is a venture, but
it is one which must be made; and no consequence of it shall ever come
between us!"
"No; and I ought not to have spoken a word that might imply a doubt. It
may be that your emancipation, as you rightly term it, can only come in
this way. My life has been so different, that I am unconsciously putting
myself in your place, instead of trying to look with your eyes. When I
next go to Coventry Forge, I shall drive over and dine with you, and I
hope your Julia will be as ready to receive me as a friend as I am to
find one in her. There is the carriage at the door, and you had better
arrive a little before the appointed hour. Take only my good wishes, my
prayers for your happiness, along with you,—and now, God bless you,
Joseph!"
The carriage rolled away. Joseph, in full wedding costume, was painfully
conscious of the curious glances which fell upon him, and presently
pulled down the curtains. Then, with an impatient self-reprimand, he
pulled them up again, lowered the window, and let the air blow upon his
hot cheeks. The house was speedily reached, and he was admitted by a
festive waiter (hired for the occasion) before he had been exposed for
more than five seconds to the gaze of curious eyes in all the windows
around.
Mrs. Blessing, resplendent in purple, and so bedight that she seemed
almost as young as her portrait, swept into the drawing-room. She
inspected him rapidly, and approved, while advancing; otherwise he would
scarcely have received the thin, dry kiss with which she favored him.
"It lacks half an hour," she said; "but you have the usual impatience of
a bridegroom. I am accustomed to it. Mr. Blessing is still in his room;
he has only just commenced arranging his cambric cravat, which is a work
of time. He cannot forget that he was distinguished for an elegant tie
in his youth. Clementina,"—as that young lady entered the room,—"is the
bride completely attired?"
"All but her gloves," replied Clementina, offering three-fourths of her
hand to Joseph. "And she don't know what ear-rings to wear."
"I think we might venture," Mrs. Blessing remarked, "as there seems to
be no rule applicable to the case, to allow Mr. Asten a sight of his
bride. Perhaps his taste might assist her in the choice."
Thereupon she conducted Joseph up stairs, and, after some preliminary
whispering, he was admitted to the room. He and Julia were equally
surprised at the change in each other's appearance: he older, paler,
with a grave and serious bearing; she younger, brighter, rounder,
fresher, and with the loveliest pink flush on her cheeks. The gloss of
her hair rivalled that of the white satin which draped her form and gave
grace to its outlines; her neck and shoulders were slight, but no one
could have justly called them lean; and even the thinness of her lips
was forgotten in the vivid coral of their color, and the nervous life
which hovered about their edges. At that moment she was certainly
beautiful, and a stranger would have supposed her to be young.
She looked into Joseph's face with a smile in which some appearance of
maiden shyness yet lingered. A shrewder bridegroom would have understood
its meaning, and would have said, "How lovely you are!" Joseph, it is
true, experienced a sense of relief, but he knew not why, and could not
for his life have put it into words. His eyes dwelt upon and followed
her, and she seemed to be satisfied with that form of recognition. Mrs.
Blessing inspected the dress with a severe critical eye, pulling out a
fold here and smoothing a bit of lace there, until nothing further could
be detected. Then, the adornment of the victim being completed, she sat
down and wept moderately.
"O ma, try to bear up!" Julia exclaimed, with the very slightest touch
of impatience in her voice; "it is all to come yet."
There was a ring at the door.
"It must be your aunt," said Mrs. Blessing, drying her eyes. "My
sister," she added, turning to Joseph,—Mrs. Woollish, with Mr. Woollish
and their two sons and one daughter. He's in the—the leather trade, so
to speak, which has thrown her into a very different circle; but, as we
have no nearer relations in the city, they will be present at the
ceremony. He is said to be wealthy. I have no means of knowing; but one
would scarcely think so, to judge from his wedding-gift to Julia."
"Ma, why should you mention it?"
"I wish to enlighten Mr. Asten. Six pairs of shoes!—of course all of the
same pattern; and the fashion may change in another year!"
"In the country we have no fashions in shoes," Joseph suggested.
"Certainly!" said Julia. "_I_ find Uncle Woollish's present very
practical indeed."
Mrs. Blessing looked at her daughter, and said nothing.
Mr. Blessing, very red in the face, but with triumphant cambric about
his throat, entered the room, endeavoring to get his fat hands into a
pair of No. 9 gloves. A strong smell of turpentine or benzine entered
with him.
"Eliza," said he, "you must find me some eau de cologne. The odor left
from my—my rheumatic remedy is still perceptible. Indeed, patchouly
would be better, if it were not the scent peculiar to _parvenus_."
Clementina came to say that the clergyman's carriage had just reached
the door, and Mr. Blessing was hurried down stairs, mopping his gloves
and the collar of his coat with liquid fragrance by the way. Mrs.
Blessing and Clementina presently followed.
"Julia," said Joseph when they were quite alone, "have you thought that
this is for life?"
She looked up with a tender smile, but something in his face arrested it
on her lips.
"I have lived ignorantly until now," he continued,—"innocently and
ignorantly. From this time on I shall change more than you, and there
may be, years hence, a very different Joseph Asten from the one whose
name you will take to-day. If you love me with the love I claim from
you,—the love that grows with and through all new knowledge and
experience,—there will be no discord in our lives. We must both be
liberal and considerate towards each other; it has been but a short time
since we met, and we have still much to learn."
"O, Joseph!" she murmured, in a tone of gentle reproach, "I knew your
nature at first sight."
"I hope you did," he answered gravely, "for then you will be able to see
its needs, and help me to supply them. But, Julia, there must not the
shadow of concealment come between us: nothing must be reserved. I
understand no love that does not include perfect trust. I must draw
nearer, and be drawn nearer to you, constantly, or—"
He paused; it was no time to utter the further sentence in his mind.
Julia glided to him, clasped her arms about his waist, and laid her head
against his shoulder. Although she said nothing, the act was eloquent.
It expressed acquiescence, trust, fidelity, the surrender of her life to
his, and no man in his situation could have understood it otherwise. A
tenderness, which seemed to be the something hitherto lacking to his
love, crept softly over his heart, and the lurking unrest began to fade
from his face.
There was a rustle on the stairs; Clementina and Miss Woollish made
their appearance. "Mr. Bogue has arrived," whispered the former, "and ma
thinks you should come down soon. Are you entirely ready? I don't think
you need the salts, Julia; but you might carry the bottle in your left
hand: brides are expected to be nervous."
She gave a light laugh, like the purl and bubble of a brook; but Joseph
shrank, with an inward chill, from the sound.
"So! shall we go? Fanny and I—(I beg pardon; Mr. Asten—Miss
Woollish)—will lead the way. We will stand a little in the rear, not
beside you, as there are no groomsmen. Remember, the farther end of the
room!"
They rustled slowly downward, in advance, and the bridal pair followed.
The clergyman, Mr. Bogue, suddenly broke off in the midst of an oracular
remark about the weather, and, standing in the centre of the room,
awaited them. The other members of the two families were seated, and
very silent.
Joseph heard the introductory remarks, the ceremony, and the final
benediction, as in a dream. His lips opened mechanically, and a voice
which did not exactly seem to be his own uttered the "I will!" at the
proper time; yet, in recalling the experience afterwards, he was unable
to decide whether any definite thought or memory or hope had passed
through his mind. From his entrance into the room until his hand was
violently shaken by Mr. Blessing, there was a blank.
Of course there were tears, but the beams of congratulation shone
through them, and they saddened nobody. Miss Fanny Woollish assured the
bridal pair, in an audible whisper, that she had never seen a _sweeter_
wedding; and her mother, a stout, homely little body, confirmed the
opinion with, "Yes, you both did beautifully!" Then the marriage
certificate was produced and signed, and the company partook of wine and
refreshments to strengthen them for the reception.
Until there had been half a dozen arrivals, Mrs. Blessing moved about
restlessly, and her eyes wandered to the front window. Suddenly three or
four carriages came rattling together up the street, and Joseph heard
her whisper to her husband: "There they are! it will be a success!" It
was not long before the little room was uncomfortably crowded, and the
presentations followed so rapidly that Joseph soon became bewildered.
Julia, however, knew and welcomed every one with the most bewitching
grace, being rewarded with kisses by the gorgeous young ladies and
compliments by the young men with weak mouths and retreating chins.
In the midst of the confusion Mr. Blessing, with a wave of his hand,
presented "Mr. Collector Twining" and "Mr. Surveyor Knob" and "Mr.
Appraiser Gerrish," all of whom greeted Joseph with a bland, almost
affectionate, cordiality. The door of the dining-room was then thrown
open, and the three dignitaries accompanied the bridal pair to the
table. Two servants rapidly whisked the champagne-bottles from a
cooling-tub in the adjoining closet, and Mr. Blessing commenced stirring
and testing a huge bowl of punch. Collector Twining made a neat little
speech, proposing the health of bride and bridegroom, with a pun upon
the former's name, which was received with as much delight as if it had
never been heard before. Therefore Mr. Surveyor Knob repeated it in
giving the health of the bride's parents. The enthusiasm of the company
not having diminished, Mr. Appraiser Gerrish improved the pun in a third
form, in proposing "the Ladies." Then Mr. Blessing, although his
feelings overcame him, and he was obliged to use a handkerchief smelling
equally of benzine and eau de cologne, responded, introducing the
collector's and surveyor's names with an ingenuity which was accepted as
the inspiration of genius. His peroration was especially admired.
"On this happy occasion," he said, "the elements of national power and
prosperity are represented. My son-in-law, Mr. Asten, is a noble
specimen of the agricultural population,—the free American yeomanry; my
daughter, if I may be allowed to say it in the presence of so many
bright eyes and blooming cheeks, is a representative child of the city,
which is the embodiment of the nation's action and enterprise. The union
of the two is the movement of our life. The city gives to the country as
the ocean gives the cloud to the mountain-springs: the country gives to
the city as the streams flow back to the ocean. ["Admirable!" Mr.
Collector Twining exclaimed.] Then we have, as our highest honor, the
representatives of the political system under which city and country
flourish alike. The wings of our eagle must be extended over this
fortunate house to-day, for here are the strong Claws which seize and
guard its treasures!"
The health of the Claws was drunk enthusiastically. Mr. Blessing was
congratulated on his eloquence; the young gentlemen begged the privilege
of touching their glasses to his, and every touch required that the
contents be replenished; so that the bottom of the punch-bowl was nearly
reached before the guests departed.
When Joseph came down in his travelling-dress, he found the drawing-room
empty of the crowd; but leaves, withered flowers, crumbs of cake, and
crumpled cards scattered over the carpet, indicated what had taken
place. In the dining-room Mr. Blessing, with his cravat loosened, was
smoking a cigar at the open window.
"Come, son-in-law!" he cried, "take another glass of punch before you
start."
Joseph declined, on the plea that he was not accustomed to the beverage.
"Nothing could have gone off better!" said Mr. Blessing. "The collector
was delighted: by the by, you're to go to the St. Jerome, when you get
to New York this evening. He telegraphed to have the bridal-chamber
reserved for you. Tell Julia: she won't forget it. That girl has a
deuced sharp intellect: if you'll be guided by her in your operations—"
"Pa, what are you saying about me?" Julia, asked, hastily entering the
room.
"Only that you have a deuced sharp intellect, and to-day proves it.
Asten is one of us now, and I may tell him of his luck."
He winked and laughed stupidly, and Joseph understood and obeyed his
wife's appealing glance. He went to his mother-in-law in the
drawing-room.
Julia lightly and swiftly shut the door. "Pa," she said, in a strong,
angry whisper; "if you are not able to talk coherently, you must keep
your tongue still. What will Joseph think of _me_, to hear you?"
"What he'll think anyhow, in a little while," he doggedly replied.
"Julia, you have played a keen game, and played it well; but you don't
know much of men yet. He'll not always be the innocent, white-nosed lamb
he is now, nibbling the posies you hold out to him. Wait till he asks
for stronger feed, and see whether he'll follow you!"
She was looking on the floor, pale and stern. Suddenly one of her gloves
burst, across the back of the hand. "Pa," she then said, "it's very
cruel to say such things to me, now when I'm leaving you."
"So it is!" he exclaimed, tearfully contrite; "I am a wretch! They
flattered my speech so much,—the collector was so impressed by me,—and
said so many pleasant things, that—I don't feel quite steady. Don't
forget the St. Jerome; the bridal-chamber is ordered, and I'll see that
Mumm writes a good account for the 'Evening Mercury.' I wish you could
be here to remember my speech for me. O, I shall miss you! I shall miss
you!"
With these words, and his arm lovingly about his daughter, they joined
the family. The carriage was already at the door, and the coachman was
busy with the travelling-trunks. There were satchels, and little
packages,—an astonishing number it seemed to Joseph,—to be gathered
together, and then the farewells were said.
As they rolled through the streets towards the station, Julia laid her
head upon her husband's shoulder, drew a long, deep breath, and said,
"Now all our obligations to society are fulfilled, and we can rest
awhile. For the first time in my life I am a free woman,—and you have
liberated me!"
He answered her in glad and tender words; he was equally grateful that
the exciting day was over. But, as they sped away from the city through
the mellow October landscapes, Philip's earnest, dark gray eyes, warm
with more than brotherly love, haunted his memory, and he knew that
Philip's faithful thoughts followed him.
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