The Days of his Vanity. A passage in the life of a young man

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THE DAYS OF HIS VANITY. 31 passage in the |Cifc of a Timing Jftsn. BY SYDNEY GRUNDY. "The days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow."— Ecclesiastes IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. goitJon : SAMUEL TINSLEY, 10, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 1876. (AU Rights Reserved.) CONTENTS OF VOL. III. BOOK THE THIRD— continued. CHAPTER l'AGE V. CHANGE - - - - - 1 VI. MISS BRABANT - - - - 24 VII. THE REWARD OF VIRTUE - - - 54 VIII. A SURPRISE - - - - - 73 IX. A FIRST NIGHT - - - - 99 X. A GOOD MAN'S SIN - - - - 125 XI. THE OLD STORY - - - 139 BOOK THE FOURTH. 1. DESPAIR ----- 165 II. FORGIVENESS ----- 178 III. AT LAST ----- 200 IV. THE WORLD GOES ON - - - - 220 V. RETRIBUTION ----- 234 VI. MARRIAGE BELLS ... - 265 VII. THE LAST ----- THE DAYS OF HIS VANITY. BOOK THE THIRD— continued.

CHAPTER V. CHANGE.

" And I find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands." — Ecclesiastes. It is always an anxious moment when, after an absence, we are about to meet again somebody we love. Of all the many ter rible things in this most terrible life, there is nothing so terrible as change. That awful change, which is silently, deadlily working 1 vol. in. in us and about us every hour we live — that terrible velocity of time, which sweeps us onward through fresh thoughts and sympathies. We are none of us the same men noAv we were last month, last week. We are none of us the same women now we were a day, an hour ago. The things we could do yesterday we cannot do to-day. The love of to-day is the estrangement of to-morrow. We change our being every moment that we live.

Chapter I. Despair

"Man cannot utter it." — Ecclesiastes. The sun is shining on the river, and the river is streaming on. A week has passed, and Ernest is beginning to recover from the shock of Rosamond's confession. Its first effect upon him was to paralyze him. He could not grasp it. It conveyed no definite idea to his mind, but simply seemed to numb his facidties. Then, by degrees, his brain began to work, and to take in the horrible idea, and horrible it was to Ernest. By slow degrees he seemed to have got used to it, and to have thought it out in all its shapes and hideous suggestions and associations ; but every now aud then, at oddest moments, with a startling sudden ness, and Ci-propos of nothing, the horror of it would rush back into his brain quite fresh and neAv, and seem almost to rend him : so powerful is old association and the AA7orld's opinion.

With Ernest's moral vieAvs — which still remained unchanged, although they had been rudely shaken — it made him feel for Rosamond contempt, and earth contains no greater torment than contempt for some body Ave love. " It may help you to for get me," Rosamond had said. It is what women always say. Some women, even, will deliberately seek it, that they may lessen, as they think, the sorrow of a part- BESPA1R. 167 ing ; but alas, it is equivalent to pouring poison in the wound. What woe is like it ? And it helps nothing. It helps no one to forget, but turns remembrance into frenzy and despair. For it does not kill love. Some people say all true love must be founded on respect, and hold what they are pleased to consider their affections under such control, that they are able to divert them in a moment if the object of them loses their respect.

But notwith standing these philosophers, there are no two things which have less to do with one another than love and respect. And it is very well for the young ladies that it is so. Ay, very well for everybody, for it is a question whether, in the deepest sense of the word, there is under the sun a being who is worthy of respect. No, it does not kill love, but it makes love a torture. To despise a woman and yet lo\7e her, is to have a vulture plucking at one's heart for ever. It is bad enough to feel no great respect for her, but to despise her means to have no peace by night or day ; no comfort in the past, no prospect in the future. It not only takes away the happiness which was to come, but it destroys the happiness which has already been, and turns remembrance into dread. Yet the love abides, and cannot be burst through, but binds you to the object of your horror, like a chain which binds you to a corpse.

You cannot eat or drink, but you can taste it ; you cannot sleep or Avake, but you can smell it ; you cannot go into the street, but you must drag your corpse along Avith you. But why did Ernest despise Rosamond ? If we analyze them, Ave shall find that DESPAIR. 169 most of our despairs, and hatreds, and contempts, and even griefs, are in some measure figments of the brain. There is a strong dramatic instinct in humanity ; and even in our most profound and genuine emotions we are apt to act a little, and to place ourselves before our own minds in exaggerated and theatrical positions. When an emotion — even agony — has reached a certain pitch, Ave cherish it, resent the very notion of there being any possible mistake, and scout the impious suggestion that the truth is not so bad as we are making it.

Our feelings generally have some grounds in facts, but the ecstasies and paroxysms into which we are so apt to work them, are as a rule mere froth upon the top of them. But further. There is under the sun a vast amount of Arery great and genuine grief, which is not in the least imagined, but which all the time there is no real occasion for. Such grief was Ernest's now. He felt contempt for Rosamond ; and it was genuine contempt, and genuine sorrow was its consequence ; but Rosamond was not deserving of contempt. He thought that she was odious and impure, but she was lovable and chaste. She loved the man who was unAvorthy of her love and did not love her in return, devotedly, and with a love as holy and as pure as that of any wife for any husband, and a thousand times more holy than the love of the majo rity of wives.

He thought she was un chaste, whilst all the time she was as chaste — and twice as virtuous — as any virgin of old Rome who spent her life beside the vestal fire and broke the laws of God. BESPAIR. 171 He did not come to see this all at once, but by degrees his brain brought con solation to him : for he had brains, and brains are now and then a comfort, though they are oftener a torment. And in his Aveek of agony he grew a century in wisdom ; ay, how many centuries ? for how many hundred years will it take men to learn what Ernest learnt in that one week of suffering ? He thought of Miss Brabant. He felt that he was ' drawn to Miss Brabant more strongly than to far less sinful women; and he knew7, deep down within his heart, that she was really a better human being than a hundred virtuous people he could think of.

And in the middle of one silent night, when old St. Clement's had just finished chiming " oranges and lemons," and struck two, and he Avas lying still in bed, the truth came stealing in his mind that chastity, all pure and precious as it is, is not a woman's crown. It is a lustrous gem to glitter on her breast, but it is not her crown. Her crown is charity. Don't let us shrink from this old truth, which lies entombed beneath the ignorance of ages — Avhich only Christ has ever dis interred — which Christians have smothered up again. Though it confound our educa tion, though it alter our opinions, though it stultify our literature and render half our poetry a folly, still " it is good that we should take hold of this." There is nothing dreadful in it. On the contrary, it is a happy truth, full of hope and conso lation.

And then he thought of Mrs. Vane and Rosamond. He knew them both to be good women. One of them had stood to BESPAIR. 173 bim as the very model of truth, steadfast ness, and kindness. And as he thought of what they really were, and what the world would call them, and then thought of all the brazen women who have sold themselves for rank, and diamonds, and esta blishments, and who are living out their shame beneath the world's smile and the church's blessing, there came into his mind a new idea of purity, and some conception of a moral code which is less vulgar than the world's. And if the wreck and ruin of those moral creeds which he had held so firmly caused him consternation at the first, he was re warded afterwards by the bright light which he could now see shining upon many of the problems which had hitherto per plexed him, revealing many things he had not seen before, explaining many things the Avorld gives up as mysteries, and satis fying him that though they may be diffi culties yet for many generations, they will not be difficulties till the end of time.

And it was with a huge relief he felt him self emancipated from contempt for many a man Avhom he admired and liked, but had not hitherto been able to respect. The doubt, and fear, and frenzy, and despair of ruined happiness and shattered creeds are not lost when they lead a man to truth, although it be such truth as places him beyond men's sympathies, and leaves him friendless in a Avorld of fools. With his new ideas, all his sympathies returned to Rosamond. His love had never left her. He had not been again to s'ee her because he thought she did not want him, and he had not had the heart to go. He would have been to see her long BESPAIR. 175 ago if he had known how desperate was her position. He could talk about her now; and though he did not feel himself at liberty to disclose tbe confidence she had reposed in him, he told the surgeon — when at last he called : his visits were not half so frequent now as in the olden time — enough to make him feel uneasy.

George's heart smote him that he had neglected her ; and it was time it did. Oh, business, business — Avhich is but the means of living — how it absorbs and swal lows up the very life itself! How many friends seem cold, neglectful, and unkind, when they are simply busy ! And it comes upon a man so suddenly, and swamps him so effectually ; and it must be done. " We must do something for her," said the surgeon. " Have you time to come and see her now ?" asked Ernest. " No, I haven't," replied George, with the eternal watch in hand, as if he was just feeling Ernest's pulse. " But I must make it." " Come along then." And they took a cab and drove to Rosa mond's address. The servant did not keep them waiting longer than a servant usually does ; and Ernest was the spokesman. " Is Miss O'Neill in, please ?"

" Oh, no, sir ! She left here a fortnight since," replied the servant. An uneasy feeling fell upon them both. " Would you oblige me with her neAv address ?" " I don't know what it is, sir." He had felt it coming. DESPAIR. 177 " But where are you to send her letters ?" " She left no directions, sir." " And no address ?" The servant shook her head. " But isn't she coming back again ?" " She's left here altogether." The two stared blankly in each other's faces, as the truth dawned on them, for the second time, that Rosamond bad fled. 12 vol. in.

Chapter II. Forgiveness

" There is no remembrance of former things." Ecclesiastes. A story-teller has this difficulty to con tend with. If he pictures ordinary people as they really are, and puts down faithfully exactly what they do, he alienates the reader's sympathy, and is accused of drawing monsters. The people whom one meets Avith every day, with whom one dines, and smokes, and talks, and amongst whom one lives, do things so mean occasionally, and are animated by such sordid motives, that FORGIVENESS. 179 Avhen faithfully described we shrink from them, and say, " What wretches all the people in this book are !" And occasionally men are animated by such high and generous impulses, that, when they are set down in print, the reader cries, " This man is drawing paragons, not human beings !" The world, which is more cynical than Swift, or Rochefoucault, or any other author it denounces, systematically declines to be lieve in noble motives.

You will never persuade tbe world that an action which has the appearance of being base, was really done with a good motive ; and it must be mournfully confessed the world shows its common sense in its scepticism, although of course it is sometimes mistaken. But on the other hand, the world refuses to believe that average men and women do mean things ; and when they are described 12—2 looks coldly on the character who does them. It is impossible to write down men and women as they really are. No story-teller yet has had the hardihood to do it. Per haps the one who has come nearest to the truth is jolly, genial old Thackeray, whom the perversity of fools has dubbed a cynic. But that valiant pen was governed by a Avise old head, which did not let it dip too deep into the frailty of humanity ; and no one else has dared to go so far.

The essayist, the epigrammatist, the moralist, and the philosopher can do it, but not the story-teller who desires his characters to keep the reader's sympathy. I hope that nothing Harry Bonamy has done has led my reader to suppose that he was wanting in good feeling. No human being ever had a better heart than Harry FORGIVENESS. 181 Bonamy ; and he will grow up into just as generous and jolly an old felloAv as his father. But some of the wickedest things in life are done by generous, good-hearted people. It must not be supposed that he deserted Rosamond unfeelingly. But he had never really loved her. It was she who had loved him. And Avhen he went away to London he was wishful, for her own sake, that their parting should be final. But when a woman loves a man he has no chance Avith her. She flings herself into his arms, and will be taken.

A woman can resist a man ; but no man can resist a woman. Such a man as Ernest might have made a struggle for it, though he would inevitably have been conquered in the end ; but such a man as Hariy could not even make a show. It was not his fault he had met her at the station. He had gone away, intending to have nothing more to do with her — not from satiety or heartlessness, but for the girl's own sake. But his kind heart was smitten by the pain which his determina tion gave her, and he met her at the station, and the thing Avent on. But now he was between two women. He must abandon one ; and it Avas Edith he preferred. Nay, even if it had been Rosamond he Avanted, he was not the sort of man who has the strength and nerve to break his father's heart and do the right. That letter which he got from Mr. Bonamy, took Harry flying past those posts and wires which Mr. Bonamy had passed the day before ; and it Avas from Cornfield he wrote to Rosamond.

He Avrote the kindest letter he knew how, and made such slight provision for her as his means allowed. FORGIVENESS. 183 Of course he knew his father had discovered all ; but not a word was said be tween them on the subject. And from that day to this — it makes me burn with shame for poor humanity, to write the words — the fate of that unhappy girl has never troubled good, kind-hearted Mr. Bonamy. Women, with all their grace, their good ness, and their genius, are only nature's " seconds " after all. Physically, mentally, and morally, they are inferior to men. Their bodies are less strong, their minds are nar rower, their souls are smaller. Tbe only use of women in the world is as they are subservient to men. And no one feels this truth so thoroughly as women do them selves ; and they are never really happy if they are not in subordinate positions.

But for this radical inferiority — Avhich is their terrible misfortune, not their fault — their sex has dearly paid. They have been weaker, and we have oppressed them ; they have been within our power, and we have cruelly abused it ; they have been at our mercy, and w-e have had no pity. It is no use saying, God help them ! for God will not help them. Mr. Bonamy received his son with open arms. The old man's transient anger — for it is no use my pretending he was greatly shocked — was wholly conquered by the prompt submission of the son he loved. The moment Harry saw him be knew be was forgiven. The past was blotted out, and there Avas no remembrance of it. It was just the same with Mr. Grey. He had given Bonamy his word, and he would keep it royally. Of course he knew that Harry had done something wrong ; but he thrust down the knoAvledge, and the vague FORGIVENESS. 185 misgivings which the knoAvledge brought ; and not a trace of consciousness was visible upon his beaming face when he held out his hand to Harry as his son.

Of course the ladies were in ecstasies of joy. The toddy was abandoned for tbe choicest of champagne — not because they liked it better, but because it cost more. The prodigal had returned and the fatted calf was killed. Thus Harry was received in honour and in glory — more as if he had distinguished than disgraced himself : and Rosamond was homeless. There was one reason for this difference— and only one. Harry was a man. Rosamond was a woman. Even Mrs. Grey made an effort, and re covered from a very bad attack of " nerves," which she professed to have been suffering from all day, and actually left the sofa and sat up. And the grey eyes of Edith lighted up the room. " Hoav dare you come back," she de manded of the prodigal, " before I sent for you ? I thought I was well rid of you." " I couldn't live Avithout you, you see," answered Harry.

Hoav he could say it I don't knoAv : no more did Mr. Bonamy : but he did say it, and he Avas believed. Did anybody ever disbelieve a lie ? We disbelieve truth every day, but there is something about lies which always takes us in. " Well, I suppose the next thing to be done's to fix the day," said Mr. Grey, who, having said he'd do it, thought he'd do it well. An exclamation of dismay broke forth from all the ladies. Why ladies are so scandalized at anybody speaking of " the FORGIVENESS. 187 day," which they have been thinking about since they were in the nursery, is one of the great mysteries of life. " The sooner the better," exclaimed Mr. Bonamy, who, if he'd had his way, would have had them married by a special license the next morning. " What do you say to the first day in March ?" suggested Mr. Grey.

But this being the suggestion of a man, of course it couldn't be thought of by the women. Tbe first of March, indeed ! how could papa be so ridiculous ? What reason was there why they should be married on the first of March ? and there Avas so much reason why they shouldn't. Now, if he'd said the second, or the twenty-eighth of February, there might have been some sense in it ; but the first of March ! it was ridiculous ! "Well, say tbe twenty-eighth of Feb ruary, then," said Mr. Grey, who was determined to be amiable. But the man having selected the twenty eighth of February, the ladies thought the second of March would be for many reasons preferable. The reasons were mysterious, and were discussed in whispers, with a little giggling. " Well, say the second of March, then," said Mr. Grey.

What a nasty man he was, to be so stupidly accommodating ! No, on second thoughts, and after more mysterious whis pering, the ladies thought the twenty eighth of February would be better. And so it was arranged. " I say, girls, won't we have a jolly Aved ding ?" said the jolly father. " Oh, you clear papa !" Embraces sol- FORGIVENESS. 189 loAved. General osculation, in which Harry joined. " We'll have Ernest down from London." Humph ! this prospect did not seem to add much to the general hilarity : but Mr. Grey was always thinking about Ernest, and would never let him be forgotten. " We'll ask all Cornfield," continued hos pitable Mr. Grey. And then remembering the bibulous capacity of all Cornfield, he added seriously, " By gad, I must lay in some more champagne !" " I'll stand the champagne," shouted Harry's father.

" Nothing of the sort," said Mr. Grey. " Well, then, I'll drink it," cried sub missive Mr. Bonamy. " James," interrupted Mrs. Grey, who hadn't thrown a damper over the proceed ings for some time, " I wish you wouldn't make such very definite arrangements till the time comes. You've no idea how ner vous it makes me to hear you talk in that way. Suppose you were to die before the day." " Oh, mamma !" exclaimed the girls. " Well, my dears, you know papa's heart is not what it might be ; and it's really tempting Providence to make such very definite arrangements." This Avas not a cheerful turn to give the conversation, but Mr. Grey Avas not to be put down. "Well," he continued, "if I were to die the wedding should come off the same." " Papa dear," exclaimed Edith, " you know very well it wouldn't." "You are going to be married on the twenty-eighth of February," persisted Mr. Grey, Avho could be dogmatic enough Avhen FORGIVENESS. 191 he chose.

" That's all settled. And whether I'm alive or dead, upon that day I wish you to be married." " Oh, papa !" protested the young ladies. " Why not ?" Mr. Grey continued. " You are only just beginning your life. I am nearly ending mine. Your life will go on for long years when I am gone. Your marriage is of more importance than my death." " Don't speak of it, papa." " I wish you to be married on the tAventy eighth of February, whether I am here or not. Bonamy, you'll see to that." He certainly was nobly carrying out his promise, and the tears came nearly into the eyes of Mr. Bonamy as he replied — "Yes, yes, Grey ; but don't talk in that I! way. Mrs. Grey, who had first introduced the subject, at this point inquired what they were all talking in that melancholy tone for ? She really wished they wouldn't : it made her feel quite ill.

All this time Harry sat very quiet — strangely so for him ; but buoyant and light-hearted as he was, he could not banish from his mind the spectre of a poor girl sitting in a lonely room two hundred miles away, with a fixed stony gaze, and with an open letter lying in her lap. Men don't leave women desolate without a throb of sympathy or pang of pain. If Harry had deserted Edith he would have sat by Rosamond and thought of her, as he now sat by her and thought of Rosamond. If Rosamond bad any friends, they would have said he was a wretch to leave her. If he had abandoned Edith, Edith's friends would have said just the same: and both FORGIVENESS. 193 would have been wrong. He was between two women ; what was he to do ? He ought not to have got into the diffi culty, say the moralists. But they forget tbat it was only kindness got him into it ; and being in it, their pronouncement sheds no light upon the question how he ought to have got out of it.

He did quite right in leaving Rosamond. Her pitiful condition is no argument. There is no argu ment in pity, and it is a dangerous guide ; for it was pity got him into the dilemma. It would have been mistaken kindness to have stayed with her, and he bad seen the consequences of mistaken kindness are dis aster. Few people stay to think that many of men's acts which seem most base, origi ginate far oftener in kindness than in villainy. Blank, unadulterated villainy is very rare. Men are not monsters, and VOL. III. mistaken kindness causes far more misery than all the Avickedness in all the world. No, Harry could do nothing better than he had done in forsaking her, and making for her what provision he was able. But it was a w7retched business ; and the sweat stood often on his forehead, and the blood ran cold within his veins.

Think you when Harry looked in those grey eyes of Edith's he did not see reflected in them the browm eyes of Rosamond ? Think you that when he heard that Edith's merry laugh he did not hear that Rosa mond's deep groan ? Think you that when he watched the one's delight he did not feel the other one's despair ? Then shame on your uncharity. For Harry, who was generous right through, would willingly have laid doAvn life for either. Oh, what a world this is, which makes FORGIVENESS. 195 us plunge in woe tbe very beings we would live or die for : and tbe sun still shines upon the river, and the river streams along ! It must not be supposed that Harry Avent through any train of reasoning on the sub ject. It is one of tbe absurdities of human criticisms that they judge men's conduct upon abstract principles.

If a certain act commends itself to their judgment (or more frequently their prejudice) they praise it ; and if not, condemn. But actions — whether good or bad — are hardly ever done from abstract motives. Nearly all important actions in a man's life are committed in a tempest of excitement and a whirlwind of confusion. And it is oftener trifles that determine acts than virtue, vice, or judg ment. The mere accident whether or not at a particular moment a man has any money in his pocket may prevent or prompt 13—2 an act on which depends that man's whole future life. Then what a farce — nay, some times what a tragedy it is — to judge a man by any single act. It took the conversation some short time to rally from the gloom in which it had been plunged by Mrs. Grey. But Mr. Bonamy produced a few of his selectest, oldest jokes, and in the end created a diver sion.

What effect those old jokes have ! I wonder how it is that the most brilliant sally Avhich was never said before, produces not a tithe of the effect of those old jests which we have heard a hundred times. Again the conversation flourished, the champagne popped and creamed, and the piano rattled merrily. The girls played and sang, and Mrs. Grey subsided on the sofa. Harry managed to appear in some thing like his usual spirits, and Mr. Grey FORGIVENESS. 197 and Mr. Bonamy were drinking quite as much as Avas judicious. Reader, have you ever noticed how when we are very, very jolly something always comes to make us very, very miserable ? It makes one frightened of being happy. The talk was at its briskest, and the laughter at its loudest, when there came a little ring at the front door. It Avas a very little tinkle, and it was not noticed in the revelry.

As for Mr. Grey, he didn't even bear it. But it was his knell. There came a tap against the parlour door. " Come in," cried Mr. Grey. The servant brought a card in on a tray. Tt was an ordinary, innocent little bit of pasteboard, and even at that time of night was not alarming ; for the Greys were used to visitors at all hours. Mr. Grey put up his eye-glasses to read the name. " Some stranger," he said. " Put him in the drawing-room." The servant shut the door. "Who ever is it at this time of night ?" asked Mrs. Grey. " That's more than I can tell you. I don't know the man from Adam. I suppose it's business." " You won't be long, papa ?" exclaimed the girls, as Mr. Grey got up. " No, I expect not," he replied ; " but Bonamy will keep you all alive. You'll stop here till I come back, Bonamy ?"