extracts from the diary of the reverend julian gray.

first extract.

. . . . “a month to-day since we were married! i have only one thing to say: i would cheerfully go through all that i have suffered to live this one month over again. i never knew what happiness was until now. and better still, i have persuaded mercy that it is all her doing. i have scattered her misgivings to the winds; she is obliged to submit to evidence, and to own that she can make the happiness of my life.

“we go back to london to-morrow. she regrets leaving the tranquil retirement of this remote sea-side place — she dreads change. i care nothing for it. it is all one to me where i go, so long as my wife is with me.”

second extract.

“the first cloud has risen. i entered the room unexpectedly just now, and found her in tears.

“with considerable difficulty i persuaded her to tell me what had happened. are there any limits to the mischief that can be done by the tongue of a foolish woman? the landlady at my lodgings is the woman, in this case. having no decided plans for the future as yet, we returned (most unfortunately, as the event has proved) to the rooms in london which i inhabited in my bachelor days. they are still mine for six weeks to come, and mercy was unwilling to let me incur the expense of taking her to a hotel. at breakfast this morning i rashly congratulated myself (in my wife’s hearing) on finding that a much smaller collection than usual of letters and cards had accumulated in my absence. breakfast over, i was obliged to go out. painfully sensitive, poor thing, to any change in my experience of the little world around me which it is possible to connect with the event of my marriage, mercy questioned the landlady, in my absence, about the diminished number of my visitors and my correspondents. the woman seized the opportunity of gossiping about me and my affairs, and my wife’s quick perception drew the right conclusion unerringly. my marriage has decided certain wise heads of families on discontinuing their social relations with me. the facts, unfortunately, speak for themselves. people who in former years habitually called upon me and invited me — or who, in the event of my absence, habitually wrote to me at this season — have abstained with a remarkable unanimity from calling, inviting, or writing now.

“it would have been sheer waste of time — to say nothing of its also implying a want of confidence in my wife — if i had attempted to set things right by disputing mercy’s conclusion. i could only satisfy her that not so much as the shadow of disappointment or mortification rested on my mind. in this way i have, to some extent, succeeded in composing my poor darling. but the wound has been inflicted, and the wound is felt. there is no disguising that result. i must face it boldly.

“trifling as this incident is in my estimation, it has decided me on one point already. in shaping my future course i am now resolved to act on my own convictions — in preference to taking the well-meant advice of such friends as are still left to me.

“all my little success in life has been gained in the pulpit. i am what is termed a popular preacher — but i have never, in my secret self, felt any exultation in my own notoriety, or any extraordinary respect for the means by which it has been won. in the first place, i have a very low idea of the importance of oratory as an intellectual accomplishment. there is no other art in which the conditions of success are so easy of attainment; there is no other art in the practice of which so much that is purely superficial passes itself off habitually for something that claims to be profound. then, again, how poor it is in the results which it achieves! take my own case. how often (for example) have i thundered with all my heart and soul against the wicked extravagance of dress among women — against their filthy false hair and their nauseous powders and paints! how often (to take another example) have i denounced the mercenary and material spirit of the age — the habitual corruptions and dishonesties of commerce, in high places and in low! what good have i done? i have delighted the very people whom it was my object to rebuke. ‘what a charming sermon!’ ‘more eloquent than ever!’ ‘i used to dread the sermon at the other church — do you know, i quite look forward to it now.’ that is the effect i produce on sunday. on monday the women are off to the milliners to spend more money than ever; the city men are off to business to make more money than ever — while my grocer, loud in my praises in his sunday coat, turns up his week-day sleeves and adulterates his favorite preacher’s sugar as cheerfully as usual!

“i have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing my career which are here indicated. they were bitterly present to my mind when i resigned my curacy, and they strongly influence me now.

“i am weary of my cheaply won success in the pulpit. i am weary of society as i find it in my time. i felt some respect for myself, and some heart and hope in my works among the miserable wretches in green anchor fields. but i can not, and must not, return among them: i have no right, now, to trifle with my health and my life. i must go back to my preaching, or i must leave england. among a primitive people, away from the cities — in the far and fertile west of the great american continent — i might live happily with my wife, and do good among my neighbors, secure of providing for our wants out of the modest little income which is almost useless to me here. in the life which i thus picture to myself i see love, peace, health, and duties and occupations that are worthy of a christian man. what prospect is before me if i take the advice of my friends and stay here? work of which i am weary, because i have long since ceased to respect it; petty malice that strikes at me through my wife, and mortifies and humiliates her, turn where she may. if i had only myself to think of, i might defy the worst that malice can do. but i have mercy to think of — mercy, whom i love better than my own life! women live, poor things, in the opinions of others. i have had one warning already of what my wife is likely to suffer at the hands of my ‘friends’— heaven forgive me for misusing the word! shall i deliberately expose her to fresh mortifications? — and this for the sake of returning to a career the rewards of which i no longer prize? no! we will both be happy — we will both be free! god is merciful, nature is kind, love is true, in the new world as well as the old. to the new world we will go!”

third extract.

“i hardly know whether i have done right or wrong. i mentioned yesterday to lady janet the cold reception of me on my return to london, and the painful sense of it felt by my wife.

“my aunt looks at the matter from her own peculiar point of view, and makes light of it accordingly. ‘you never did, and never will, understand society, julian,’ said her ladyship. ‘these poor stupid people simply don’t know what to do. they are waiting to be told by a person of distinction whether they are, or are not, to recognize your marriage. in plain english, they are waiting to be led by me. consider it done. i will lead them.’

“i thought my aunt was joking. the event of to-day has shown me that she is terribly in earnest. lady janet has issued invitations for one of her grand balls at mablethorpe house; and sh e has caused the report to be circulated everywhere that the object of the festival is ‘to celebrate the marriage of mr. and mrs. julian gray!’

“i at first refused to be present. to my amazement, however, mercy sides with my aunt. she reminds me of all that we both owe to lady janet; and she has persuaded me to alter my mind. we are to go to the ball — at my wife express request!

“the meaning of this, as i interpret it, is that my poor love is still pursued in secret by the dread that my marriage has injured me in the general estimation. she will suffer anything, risk anything, believe anything, to be freed from that one haunting doubt. lady janet predicts a social triumph; and my wife’s despair — not my wife’s conviction — accepts the prophecy. as for me, i am prepared for the result. it will end in our going to the new world, and trying society in its infancy, among the forests and the plains. i shall quietly prepare for our departure, and own what i have done at the right time — that is to say, when the ball is over.”

fourth extract.

“i have met with the man for my purpose — an old college friend of mine, now partner in a firm of ship-owners, largely concerned in emigration.

“one of their vessels sails for america, from the port of london, in a fortnight, touching at plymouth. by a fortunate coincidence, lady janet’s ball takes place in a fortnight. i see my way.

“helped by the kindness of my friend, i have arranged to have a cabin kept in reserve, on payment of a small deposit. if the ball ends (as i believe it will) in new mortifications for mercy — do what they may, i defy them to mortify me— i have only to say the word by telegraph, and we shall catch the ship at plymouth.

“i know the effect it will have when i break the news to her, but i am prepared with my remedy. the pages of my diary, written in past years, will show plainly enough that it is not she who is driving me away from england. she will see the longing in me for other work and other scenes expressing itself over and over again long before the time when we first met.”

fifth extract.

“mercy’s ball dress — a present from kind lady janet — is finished. i was allowed to see the first trial, or preliminary rehearsal, of this work of art. i don’t in the least understand the merits of silk and lace; but one thing i know — my wife will be the most beautiful woman at the ball.

“the same day i called on lady janet to thank her, and encountered a new revelation of the wayward and original character of my dear old aunt.

“she was on the point of tearing up a letter when i went into her room. seeing me, she suspended her purpose and handed me the letter. it was in mercy’s handwriting. lady janet pointed to a passage on the last page. ‘tell your wife, with my love,’ she said, ‘that i am the most obstinate woman of the two. i positively refuse to read her, as i positively refuse to listen to her, whenever she attempts to return to that one subject. now give me the letter back.’ i gave it back, and saw it torn up before my face. the ‘one subject’ prohibited to mercy as sternly as ever is still the subject of the personation of grace roseberry! nothing could have been more naturally introduced, or more delicately managed, than my wife’s brief reference to the subject. no matter. the reading of the first line was enough. lady janet shut her eyes and destroyed the letter — lady janet is determined to live and die absolutely ignorant of the true story of ‘mercy merrick.’ what unanswerable riddles we are! is it wonderful if we perpetually fail to understand one another?”

sixth extract.

“the morning after the ball.

“it is done and over. society has beaten lady janet. i have neither patience nor time to write at length of it. we leave for plymouth by the afternoon express.

“we were rather late in arriving at the ball. the magnificent rooms were filling fast. walking through them with my wife, she drew my attention to a circumstance which i had not noticed at the time. ‘julian,’ she said, ‘look round among the lades, and tell me if you see anything strange.’ as i looked round the band began playing a waltz. i observed that a few people only passed by us to the dancing-room. i noticed next that of those few fewer still were young. at last it burst upon me. with certain exceptions (so rare as to prove the rule), there were no young girls at lady janet’s ball. i took mercy at once back to the reception-room. lady janet’s face showed that she, too, was aware of what had happened. the guests were still arriving. we received the men and their wives, the men and their mothers, the men and their grandmothers — but, in place of their unmarried daughters, elaborate excuses, offered with a shameless politeness wonderful to see. yes! this was how the matrons in high life had got over the difficulty of meeting mrs. julian gray at lady janet’s house.

“let me do strict justice to every one. the ladies who were present showed the needful respect for their hostess. they did their duty — no, overdid it, is perhaps the better phrase.

“i really had no adequate idea of the coarseness and rudeness which have filtered their way through society in these later times until i saw the reception accorded to my wife. the days of prudery and prejudice are days gone by. excessive amiability and excessive liberality are the two favorite assumptions of the modern generation. to see the women expressing their liberal forgetfulness of my wifely misfortunes, and the men their amiable anxiety to encourage her husband; to hear the same set phrases repeated in every room —‘so charmed to make your acquaintance, mrs. gray; so much obliged to dear lady janet for giving us this opportunity! — julian, old man, what a beautiful creature! i envy you; upon my honor, i envy you!’— to receive this sort of welcome, emphasized by obtrusive hand-shakings, sometimes actually by downright kissings of my wife, and then to look round and see that not one in thirty of these very people had brought their unmarried daughters to the ball, was, i honestly believe, to see civilized human nature in its basest conceivable aspect. the new world may have its disappointments in store for us, but it cannot possibly show us any spectacle so abject as the spectacle which we witnessed last night at my aunt’s ball.

“lady janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by her guests by leaving them to themselves. her guests remained and supped heartily notwithstanding. they all knew by experience that there were no stale dishes and no cheap wines at mablethorpe house. they drank to the end of the bottle, and they ate to the last truffle in the dish.

“mercy and i had an interview with my aunt upstairs before we left. i felt it necessary to state plainly my resolution to leave england. the scene that followed was so painful that i cannot prevail on myself to return to it in these pages. my wife is reconciled to our departure; and lady janet accompanies us as far as plymouth — these are the results. no words can express my sense of relief, now that it is all settled. the one sorrow i shall carry away with me from the shores of england will be the sorrow of parting with dear, warm-hearted lady janet. at her age it is a parting for life.

“so closes my connection with my own country. while i have mercy by my side i face the unknown future, certain of carrying my happiness with me, go where i may. we shall find five hundred adventurers like ourselves when we join the emigrant ship, for whom their native land has no occupation and no home. gentlemen of the statistical department, add two more to the number of social failures produced by england in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and seventy-one — julian gray and mercy merrick.”