

E-text prepared by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo,
Tiffany Vergon, John R. Bilderback,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.



THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS

by

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

First published in serial form in the _Fortnightly Review_ from July,
1871, to February, 1873, and in book form in 1872







CONTENTS

         I. Lizzie Greystock
        II. Lady Eustace
       III. Lucy Morris
        IV. Frank Greystock
         V. The Eustace Necklace
        VI. Lady Linlithgow's Mission
       VII. Mr. Burke's Speeches
      VIII. The Conquering Hero Comes
        IX. Showing What the Miss Fawns Said, and What Mrs. Hittaway
            Thought
         X. Lizzie and Her Lover
        XI. Lord Fawn at His Office
       XII. "I Only Thought of It"
      XIII. Showing What Frank Greystock Did
       XIV. "Doan't Thou Marry for Munny"
        XV. "I'll Give You a Hundred Guinea Brooch"
       XVI. Certainly an Heirloom
      XVII. The Diamonds Are Seen in Public
     XVIII. "And I Have Nothing to Give"
       XIX. "As My Brother"
        XX. The Diamonds Become Troublesome
       XXI. "Ianthe's Soul"
      XXII. Lady Eustace Procures a Pony for the Use of Her Cousin
     XXIII. Frank Greystock's First Visit to Portray
      XXIV. Showing What Frank Greystock Thought About Marriage
       XXV. Mr. Dove's Opinion
      XXVI. Mr. Gowran Is Very Funny
     XXVII. Lucy Morris Misbehaves
    XXVIII. Mr. Dove in His Chambers
      XXIX. "I Had Better Go Away"
       XXX. Mr. Greystock's Troubles
      XXXI. Frank Greystock's Second Visit to Portray
     XXXII. Mr. and Mrs. Hittaway in Scotland
    XXXIII. "It Won't Be True"
     XXXIV. Lady Linlithgow at Home
      XXXV. Too Bad for Sympathy
     XXXVI. Lizzie's Guests
    XXXVII. Lizzie's First Day
   XXXVIII. Nappie's Grey Horse
     XXXIX. Sir Griffin Takes an Unfair Advantage
        XL. "You Are Not Angry?"
       XLI. "Likewise the Bears in Couples Agree"
      XLII. Sunday Morning
     XLIII. Life at Portray
      XLIV. A Midnight Adventure
       XLV. The Journey to London
      XLVI. Lucy Morris in Brook Street
     XLVII. Matching Priory
    XLVIII. Lizzie's Condition
      XLIX. Bunfit and Gager
         L. In Hertford Street
        LI. Confidence
       LII. Mrs. Carbuncle Goes to the Theatre
      LIII. Lizzie's Sick-Room
       LIV. "I Suppose I May Say a Word"
        LV. Quints or Semitenths
       LVI. Job's Comforters
      LVII. Humpty Dumpty
     LVIII. "The Fiddle with One String"
       LIX. Mr. Gowran Up in London
        LX. "Let It Be As Though It Had Never Been"
       LXI. Lizzie's Great Friend
      LXII. "You Know Where My Heart Is"
     LXIII. The Corsair Is Afraid
      LXIV. Lizzie's Last Scheme
       LXV. Tribute
      LXVI. The Aspirations of Mr. Emilius
     LXVII. The Eye of the Public
    LXVIII. The Major
      LXIX. "I Cannot Do It"
       LXX. Alas!
      LXXI. Lizzie Is Threatened with the Treadmill
     LXXII. Lizzie Triumphs
    LXXIII. Lizzie's Last Lover
     LXXIV. Lizzie at the Police-Court
      LXXV. Lord George Gives His Reasons
     LXXVI. Lizzie Returns to Scotland
    LXXVII. The Story of Lucy Morris Is Concluded
   LXXVIII. The Trial
     LXXIX. Once More at Portray
      LXXX. What Was Said About It All at Matching




VOLUME I

CHAPTER I

Lizzie Greystock


It was admitted by all her friends, and also by her enemies,--who
were in truth the more numerous and active body of the two,--that
Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself. We will tell the
story of Lizzie Greystock from the beginning, but we will not dwell
over it at great length, as we might do if we loved her. She was the
only child of old Admiral Greystock, who in the latter years of his
life was much perplexed by the possession of a daughter. The admiral
was a man who liked whist, wine,--and wickedness in general we may
perhaps say, and whose ambition it was to live every day of his life
up to the end of it. People say that he succeeded, and that the
whist, wine, and wickedness were there, at the side even of his dying
bed. He had no particular fortune, and yet his daughter, when she was
little more than a child, went about everywhere with jewels on her
fingers, and red gems hanging round her neck, and yellow gems pendent
from her ears, and white gems shining in her black hair. She was
hardly nineteen when her father died and she was taken home by that
dreadful old termagant, her aunt, Lady Linlithgow. Lizzie would have
sooner gone to any other friend or relative, had there been any other
friend or relative to take her possessed of a house in town. Her
uncle, Dean Greystock, of Bobsborough, would have had her, and a more
good-natured old soul than the dean's wife did not exist,--and there
were three pleasant, good-tempered girls in the deanery, who had
made various little efforts at friendship with their cousin Lizzie;
but Lizzie had higher ideas for herself than life in the deanery at
Bobsborough. She hated Lady Linlithgow. During her father's lifetime,
when she hoped to be able to settle herself before his death, she was
not in the habit of concealing her hatred for Lady Linlithgow. Lady
Linlithgow was not indeed amiable or easily managed. But when the
admiral died, Lizzie did not hesitate for a moment in going to the
old "vulturess," as she was in the habit of calling the countess in
her occasional correspondence with the girls at Bobsborough.

The admiral died greatly in debt;--so much so that it was a marvel
how tradesmen had trusted him. There was literally nothing left
for anybody,--and Messrs. Harter and Benjamin of Old Bond Street
condescended to call at Lady Linlithgow's house in Brook Street, and
to beg that the jewels supplied during the last twelve months might
be returned. Lizzie protested that there were no jewels,--nothing
to signify, nothing worth restoring. Lady Linlithgow had seen the
diamonds, and demanded an explanation. They had been "parted with,"
by the admiral's orders,--so said Lizzie,--for the payment of other
debts. Of this Lady Linlithgow did not believe a word, but she could
not get at any exact truth. At that moment the jewels were in very
truth pawned for money which had been necessary for Lizzie's needs.
Certain things must be paid for,--one's own maid for instance; and
one must have some money in one's pocket for railway-trains and
little knick-knacks which cannot be had on credit. Lizzie when she
was nineteen knew how to do without money as well as most girls; but
there were calls which she could not withstand, debts which even she
must pay.

She did not, however, drop her acquaintance with Messrs. Harter and
Benjamin. Before her father had been dead eight months, she was
closeted with Mr. Benjamin, transacting a little business with him.
She had come to him, she told him, the moment she was of age, and
was willing to make herself responsible for the debt, signing any
bill, note, or document which the firm might demand from her, to that
effect. Of course she had nothing of her own, and never would have
anything. That Mr. Benjamin knew. As for payment of the debt by Lady
Linlithgow, who for a countess was as poor as Job, Mr. Benjamin,
she was quite sure, did not expect anything of the kind. But-- Then
Lizzie paused, and Mr. Benjamin, with the sweetest and wittiest
of smiles, suggested that perhaps Miss Greystock was going to be
married. Lizzie, with a pretty maiden blush, admitted that such a
catastrophe was probable. She had been asked in marriage by Sir
Florian Eustace. Now Mr. Benjamin knew, as all the world knew, that
Sir Florian Eustace was a very rich man indeed; a man in no degree
embarrassed, and who could pay any amount of jewellers' bills for
which claim might be made upon him. Well; what did Miss Greystock
want? Mr. Benjamin did not suppose that Miss Greystock was actuated
simply by a desire to have her old bills paid by her future husband.
Miss Greystock wanted a loan sufficient to take the jewels out of
pawn. She would then make herself responsible for the full amount
due. Mr. Benjamin said that he would make a few inquiries. "But you
won't betray me," said Lizzie, "for the match might be off." Mr.
Benjamin promised to be more than cautious.

There was not so much of falsehood as might have been expected in the
statement which Lizzie Greystock made to the jeweller. It was not
true that she was of age, and therefore no future husband would be
legally liable for any debt which she might then contract. And it was
not true that Sir Florian Eustace had asked her in marriage. Those
two little blemishes in her statement must be admitted. But it was
true that Sir Florian was at her feet, and that by a proper use of
her various charms,--the pawned jewels included,--she might bring
him to an offer. Mr. Benjamin made his inquiries, and acceded to the
proposal. He did not tell Miss Greystock that she had lied to him in
that matter of her age, though he had discovered the lie. Sir Florian
would no doubt pay the bill for his wife without any arguments as
to the legality of the claim. From such information as Mr. Benjamin
could acquire he thought that there would be a marriage, and that
the speculation was on the whole in his favour. Lizzie recovered
her jewels and Mr. Benjamin was in possession of a promissory note
purporting to have been executed by a person who was no longer a
minor. The jeweller was ultimately successful in his views,--and so
was the lady.

Lady Linlithgow saw the jewels come back, one by one, ring added
to ring on the little taper fingers, the rubies for the neck, and
the pendent yellow earrings. Though Lizzie was in mourning for her
father, still these things were allowed to be visible. The countess
was not the woman to see them without inquiry, and she inquired
vigorously. She threatened, stormed, and protested. She attempted
even a raid upon the young lady's jewel-box. But she was not
successful. Lizzie snapped and snarled and held her own,--for at that
time the match with Sir Florian was near its accomplishment, and
the countess understood too well the value of such a disposition of
her niece to risk it at the moment by any open rupture. The little
house in Brook Street,--for the house was very small and very
comfortless,--a house that had been squeezed in, as it were, between
two others without any fitting space for it,--did not contain a happy
family. One bedroom, and that the biggest, was appropriated to the
Earl of Linlithgow, the son of the countess, a young man who passed
perhaps five nights in town during the year. Other inmate there was
none besides the aunt and the niece and the four servants,--of whom
one was Lizzie's own maid. Why should such a countess have troubled
herself with the custody of such a niece? Simply because the
countess regarded it as a duty. Lady Linlithgow was worldly, stingy,
ill-tempered, selfish, and mean. Lady Linlithgow would cheat a
butcher out of a mutton-chop, or a cook out of a month's wages, if
she could do so with some slant of legal wind in her favour. She
would tell any number of lies to carry a point in what she believed
to be social success. It was said of her that she cheated at cards.
In back-biting, no venomous old woman between Bond Street and Park
Lane could beat her,--or, more wonderful still, no venomous old man
at the clubs. But nevertheless she recognised certain duties,--and
performed them, though she hated them. She went to church, not merely
that people might see her there,--as to which in truth she cared
nothing,--but because she thought it was right. And she took in
Lizzie Greystock, whom she hated almost as much as she did sermons,
because the admiral's wife had been her sister, and she recognised
a duty. But, having thus bound herself to Lizzie,--who was a
beauty,--of course it became the first object of her life to get rid
of Lizzie by a marriage. And, though she would have liked to think
that Lizzie would be tormented all her days, though she thoroughly
believed that Lizzie deserved to be tormented, she set her heart upon
a splendid match. She would at any rate be able to throw it daily in
her niece's teeth that the splendour was of her doing. Now a marriage
with Sir Florian Eustace would be very splendid, and therefore she
was unable to go into the matter of the jewels with that rigour which
in other circumstances she would certainly have displayed.

The match with Sir Florian Eustace,--for a match it came to
be,--was certainly very splendid. Sir Florian was a young man
about eight-and-twenty, very handsome, of immense wealth, quite
unencumbered, moving in the best circles, popular, so far prudent
that he never risked his fortune on the turf or in gambling-houses,
with the reputation of a gallant soldier, and a most devoted lover.
There were two facts concerning him which might, or might not, be
taken as objections. He was vicious, and--he was dying. When a
friend, intending to be kind, hinted the latter circumstance to Lady
Linlithgow, the countess blinked and winked and nodded, and then
swore that she had procured medical advice on the subject. Medical
advice declared that Sir Florian was not more likely to die than
another man,--if only he would get married; all of which statement on
her ladyship's part was a lie. When the same friend hinted the same
thing to Lizzie herself, Lizzie resolved that she would have her
revenge upon that friend. At any rate the courtship went on.

We have said that Sir Florian was vicious;--but he was not altogether
a bad man, nor was he vicious in the common sense of the word. He was
one who denied himself no pleasure, let the cost be what it might in
health, pocket, or morals. Of sin or wickedness he had probably no
distinct idea. In virtue, as an attribute of the world around him, he
had no belief. Of honour he thought very much, and had conceived a
somewhat noble idea that because much had been given to him much was
demanded of him. He was haughty, polite,--and very generous. There
was almost a nobility even about his vices. And he had a special
gallantry of which it is hard to say whether it is or is not to be
admired. They told him that he was like to die,--very like to die, if
he did not change his manner of living. Would he go to Algiers for a
period? Certainly not. He would do no such thing. If he died, there
was his brother John left to succeed him. And the fear of death never
cast a cloud over that grandly beautiful brow. They had all been
short-lived,--the Eustaces. Consumption had swept a hecatomb of
victims from the family. But still they were grand people, and never
were afraid of death.

And then Sir Florian fell in love. Discussing this matter with his
brother, who was perhaps his only intimate friend, he declared that
if the girl he loved would give herself to him, he would make what
atonement he could to her for his own early death by a princely
settlement. John Eustace, who was somewhat nearly concerned in
the matter, raised no objection to this proposal. There was ever
something grand about these Eustaces. Sir Florian was a grand
gentleman; but surely he must have been dull of intellect, slow of
discernment, blear-eyed in his ways about the town, when he took
Lizzie Greystock,--of all the women whom he could find in the
world,--to be the purest, the truest, and the noblest. It has been
said of Sir Florian that he did not believe in virtue. He freely
expressed disbelief in the virtue of women around him,--in the virtue
of women of all ranks. But he believed in his mother and sisters as
though they were heaven-born; and he was one who could believe in his
wife as though she were the queen of heaven. He did believe in Lizzie
Greystock, thinking that intellect, purity, truth, and beauty, each
perfect in its degree, were combined in her. The intellect and beauty
were there;--but, for the purity and truth--; how could it have been
that such