"It Is Impossible"
Down at Matching Lady Mary's life was very dull after Mrs. Finn had
left her. She had a horse to ride, but had no one to ride with her.
She had a carriage in which to be driven, but no one to be driven
with her, and no special places whither to go. Her father would walk
daily for two hours, and she would accompany him when he encouraged
her to do so; but she had an idea that he preferred taking his walks
alone, and when they were together there was no feeling of confidence
between them. There could be none on her part, as she knew that she
was keeping back information which he was entitled to possess. On
this matter she received two letters from Mrs. Finn, in the first of
which she was told that Mr. Tregear intended to present himself at
Matching within a few days, and was advised in the same letter not to
endeavour to see her lover on that occasion; and then, in the second
she was informed that this interview with her father was to be sought
not at Matching but in London. From this latter letter there was of
course some disappointment, though some feeling of relief. Had he
come there she might possibly have seen him after the interview.
But she would have been subjected to the immediate sternness of her
father's anger. That she would now escape. She would not be called
on to meet him just when the first blow had fallen upon him. She was
quite sure that he would disapprove of the thing. She was quite sure
that he would be very angry. She knew that he was a peculiarly just
man, and yet she thought that in this he would be unjust. Had she
been called upon to sing the praises of her father she would have
insisted above all things on the absolute integrity of his mind, and
yet, knowing as she did that he would be opposed to her marriage with
Mr. Tregear, she assured herself every day and every hour that he
had no right to make any such objection. The man she loved was a
gentleman, and an honest man, by no means a fool, and subject to no
vices. Her father had no right to demand that she should give her
heart to a rich man, or to one of high rank. Rank! As for rank, she
told herself that she had the most supreme contempt for it. She
thought that she had seen it near enough already to be sure that it
ought to have no special allurements. What was it doing for her?
Simply restraining her choice among comparatively a few who seemed to
her by no means the best endowed of God's creatures.
Of one thing she was very sure, that under no pressure whatsoever
would she abandon her engagement with Mr. Tregear. That to her had
become a bond almost as holy as matrimony itself could be. She had
told the man that she loved him, and after that there could be no
retreat. He had kissed her, and she had returned his caress. He had
told her that she was his, as his arm was round her; and she had
acknowledged that it was so, that she belonged to him, and could not
be taken away from him. All this was to her a compact so sacred that
nothing could break it but a desire on his part to have it annulled.
No other man had ever whispered a word of love to her, of no other
man had an idea entered her mind that it could be pleasant to join
her lot in life with his. With her it had been all new and all
sacred. Love with her had that religion which nothing but freshness
can give it. That freshness, that bloom, may last through a long
life. But every change impairs it, and after many changes it has
perished for ever. There was no question with her but that she
must bear her father's anger, should he be angry; put up with his
continued opposition, should he resolutely oppose her; bear all that
the countesses of the world might say to her;--for it was thus that
she thought of Lady Cantrip now. Any retrogression was beyond her
power.
She was walking with her father when she first heard of his intended
visit to London. At that time she had received Mrs. Finn's first
letter, but not the second. "I suppose you'll see Silverbridge," she
said. She knew then that Frank Tregear was living with her brother.
"I am going up on purpose to see him. He is causing me much
annoyance."
"Is he extravagant?"
"It is not that--at present." He winced even as he said this, for he
had in truth suffered somewhat from demands made upon him for money,
which had hurt him not so much by their amount as by their nature.
Lord Silverbridge had taken upon himself to "own a horse or two,"
very much to his father's chagrin, and was at this moment part
proprietor of an animal supposed to stand well for the Derby. The
fact was not announced in the papers with his lordship's name, but
his father was aware of it, and did not like it the better because
his son held the horse in partnership with a certain Major Tifto, who
was well known in the sporting world.
"What is it, papa?"
"Of course he ought to go into Parliament."
"I think he wishes it himself."
"Yes, but how? By a piece of extreme good fortune, West Barsetshire
is open to him. The two seats are vacant together. There is hardly
another agricultural county in England that will return a Liberal,
and I fear I am not asserting too much in saying that no other
Liberal could carry the seat but one of our family."
"You used to sit for Silverbridge, papa."
"Yes, I did. In those days the county returned four Conservatives.
I cannot explain it all to you, but it is his duty to contest the
county on the Liberal side."
"But if he is a Conservative himself, papa?" asked Lady Mary, who had
had some political ideas suggested to her own mind by her lover.
"It is all rubbish. It has come from that young man Tregear, with
whom he has been associating."
"But, papa," said Lady Mary, who felt that even in this matter she
was bound to be firm on what was now her side of the question, "I
suppose it is as--as--as respectable to be a Conservative as a
Liberal."
"I don't know that at all," said the Duke angrily.
"I thought that--the two sides were--"
She was going to express an opinion that the two parties might be
supposed to stand as equal in the respect of the country, when he
interrupted her. "The Pallisers have always been Liberal. It will be
a blow to me, indeed, if Silverbridge deserts his colours. I know
that as yet he himself has had no deep thoughts on the subject, that
unfortunately he does not give himself much to thinking, and that in
this matter he is being talked over by a young man whose position in
life has hardly justified the great intimacy which has existed."
This was very far from being comfortable to her, but of course she
said nothing in defence of Tregear's politics. Nor at present was she
disposed to say anything as to his position in life, though at some
future time she might not be so silent. A few days later they were
again walking together, when he spoke to her about herself. "I cannot
bear that you should be left here alone while I am away," he said.
"You will not be long gone, I suppose?"
"Only for three or four days now."
"I shall not mind that, papa."
"But very probably I may have to go into Barsetshire. Would you not
be happier if you would let me write to Lady Cantrip, and tell her
that you will go to her?"
"No, papa, I think not. There are times when one feels that one ought
to be almost alone. Don't you feel that?"
"I do not wish you to feel it, nor would you do so long if you had
other people around you. With me it is different. I am an old man,
and cannot look for new pleasures in society. It has been the fault
of my life to be too much alone. I do not want to see my children
follow me in that."
"It is so very short a time as yet," said she, thinking of her
mother's death.
"But I think that you should be with somebody,--with some woman who
would be kind to you. I like to see you with books, but books alone
should not be sufficient at your age." How little, she thought, did
he know of the state either of her heart or mind! "Do you dislike
Lady Cantrip?"
"I do not know her. I can't say that I dislike a person whom I don't
think I ever spoke to, and never saw above once or twice. But how can
I say that I like her?" She did, however, know that Lady Cantrip was
a countess all over, and would be shocked at the idea of a daughter
of a Duke of Omnium marrying the younger son of a country squire.
Nothing further was then said on the matter, and when the Duke went
to town Lady Mary was left quite alone, with an understanding that if
he went into Barsetshire he should come back and take her with him.
He arrived at his own house in Carlton Terrace about five o'clock
in the afternoon, and immediately went to his study, intending to
dine and spend the evening there alone. His son had already pleaded
an engagement for that afternoon, but had consented to devote the
following morning to his father's wishes. Of the other sojourner in
his house the Duke had thought nothing; but the other sojourner had
thought very much of the Duke. Frank Tregear was fully possessed of
that courage which induces a man who knows that he must be thrown
over a precipice, to choose the first possible moment for his fall.
He had sounded Silverbridge about this change in his politics, and
had found his friend quite determined not to go back to the family
doctrine. Such being the case, the Duke's ill-will and hardness and
general severity would probably be enhanced by his interview with
his son. Tregear, therefore, thinking that nothing could be got by
delay, sent his name in to the Duke before he had been an hour in the
house, and asked for an interview. The servant brought back word that
his Grace was fatigued, but would see Mr. Tregear if the matter in
question was one of importance. Frank's heart quailed for a moment,
but only for a moment. He took up a pen and wrote a note.
MY DEAR DUKE OF OMNIUM,
If your Grace can spare a moment, I think you will find
that what I have to say will justify the intrusion.
Your very faithful servant,
F. O. TREGEAR.
Of course the Duke admitted him. There was but one idea in his head
as to what was coming. His son had taken this way of making some
communication to him respecting his political creed. Some overture or
some demand was to be preferred through Tregear. If so, it was proof
of a certain anxiety as to the matter on his son's part which was not
displeasing to him. But he was not left long in this mistake after
Tregear had entered the room. "Sir," he said, speaking quite at once,
as soon as the door was closed behind him, but still speaking very
slowly, looking beautiful as Apollo as he stood upright before his
wished-for father-in-law--"Sir, I have come to you to ask you to give
me the hand of your daughter." The few words had been all arranged
beforehand, and were now spoken without any appearance of fear
or shame. No one hearing them would have imagined that an almost
penniless young gentleman was asking in marriage the daughter of the
richest and greatest nobleman in England.
"The hand of my daughter!" said the Duke, rising from his chair.
"I know how very great is the prize," said Frank, "and how unworthy I
am of it. But--as she thinks me worthy--"
"She! What she?"
"Lady Mary."
"She think you worthy!"
"Yes, your Grace."
"I do not believe it." On hearing this, Frank simply bowed his head.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tregear. I do not mean to say that I do not
believe you. I never yet gave the lie to a gentleman, and I hope
I never may be driven to do so. But there must be some mistake in
this."
"I am complying with Lady Mary's wishes in asking your permission to
enter your house as her suitor." The Duke stood for a moment biting
his lips in silence. "I cannot believe it," he said at last. "I
cannot bring myself to believe it. There must be some mistake. My
daughter! Lady Mary Palliser!" Again the young man bowed his head.
"What are your pretensions?"
"Simply her regard."
"Of course it is impossible. You are not so ignorant but that you
must have known as much when you came to me."
There was so much scorn in his words, and in the tone in which they
were uttered, that Tregear in his turn was becoming angry. He had
prepared himself to bow humbly before the great man, before the Duke,
before the Croesus, before the late Prime Minister, before the man
who was to be regarded as certainly one of the most exalted of the
earth; but he had not prepared himself to be looked at as the Duke
looked at him. "The truth, my Lord Duke, is this," he said, "that
your daughter loves me, and that we are engaged to each other,--as
far as that engagement can be made without your sanction as her
father."
"It cannot have been made at all," said the Duke.
"I can only hope,--we can both of us only hope that a little time may
soften--"
"It is out of the question. There must be an end of this altogether.
You must neither see her, nor hear from her, nor in any way
communicate with her. It is altogether impossible. I believe, sir,
that you have no means?"
"Very little at present, Duke."
"How did you think you were to live? But it is altogether unnecessary
to speak of such a matter as that. There are so many reasons to make
this impossible, that it would be useless to discuss one as being
more important than others. Has any other one of my family known of
this?" This he added, wishing to ascertain whether Lord Silverbridge
had disgraced himself by lending his hand to such a disposition of
his sister.
"Oh yes," said Tregear.
"Who has known it?"
"The Duchess, sir. We had all her sympathy and approval."
"I do not believe a word of it," said the Duke, becoming extremely
red in the face. He was forced to do now that which he had just
declared that he had never done in his life,--driven by the desire of
his heart to acquit the wife he had lost of the terrible imprudence,
worse than imprudence, of which she was now accused.
"That is the second time, my Lord, that you have found it necessary
to tell me that you have not believed direct assertions which I made
you. But, luckily for me, the two assertions are capable of the
earliest and most direct proof. You will believe Lady Mary, and she
will confirm me in the one and the other."
The Duke was almost beside himself with emotion and grief. He did
know,--though now at this moment he was most loath to own to himself
that it was so,--that his dear wife had been the most imprudent of
women. And he recognised in her encouragement of this most pernicious
courtship,--if she had encouraged it,--a repetition of that romantic
folly by which she had so nearly brought herself to shipwreck in
her own early life. If it had been so,--even whether it had been so
or not,--he had been wrong to tell the man that he did not believe
him. And the man had rebuked him with dignity. "At any rate it is
impossible," he repeated.
"I cannot allow that it is impossible."
"That is for me to judge, sir."
"I trust that you will excuse me when I say that I also must hold
myself to be in some degree a judge in the matter. If you were in my
place, you would feel--"
"I could not possibly be in your place."
"If your Grace were in my place you would feel that as long as you
were assured by the young lady that your affection was valued by her
you would not be deterred by the opposition of her father. That you
should yield to me, of course I do not expect; that Lady Mary should
be persistent in her present feelings, when she knows your mind,
perhaps I have no right to hope; but should she be so persistent as
to make you feel that her happiness depends, as mine does, on our
marriage, then I shall believe that you will yield at last."
"Never!" said the Duke. "Never! I shall never believe that my
daughter's happiness can be assured by a step which I should regard
as disgraceful to her."
"Disgraceful is a violent word, my Lord."
"It is the only word that will express my meaning."
"And one which I must be bold enough to say you are not justified
in using. Should she become my wife to-morrow, no one in England
would think she had disgraced herself. The Queen would receive her
on her marriage. All your friends would hold out their hands to
us,--presuming that we had your goodwill."
"But you would not have it."
"Her disgrace would not depend upon that, my Lord. Should your
daughter so dispose of herself, as to disgrace herself,--which I
think to be impossible,--your countenance could not set her right.
Nor can the withdrawal of your countenance condemn her before the
world if she does that with herself which any other lady might do and
remain a lady."
The Duke, when he heard this, even in the midst of his wrath, which
was very violent, and in the midst of his anger, which was very
acute, felt that he had to deal with a man,--with one whom he could
not put off from him into the gutter, and there leave as buried in
the mud. And there came, too, a feeling upon him, which he had no
time to analyse, but of which he was part aware, that this terrible
indiscretion on the part of his daughter and of his late wife was
less wonderful than it had at first appeared to be. But not on that
account was he the less determined to make the young man feel that
his parental opposition would be invincible.
"It is quite impossible, sir. I do not think that I need say anything
more." Then, while Tregear was meditating whether to make any reply,
the Duke asked a question which had better have been left unasked.
The asking of it diminished somewhat from that ducal, grand-ducal,
quasi-archducal, almost godlike superiority which he had assumed, and
showed the curiosity of a mere man. "Has anybody else been aware of
this?" he said, still wishing to know whether he had cause for anger
against Silverbridge in the matter.
"Mrs. Finn is aware of it," answered Tregear.
"Mrs. Finn!" exclaimed the Duke, as though he had been stung by an
adder.
This was the woman whom he had prayed to remain awhile with his
daughter after his wife had been laid in her grave, in order that
there might be someone near whom he could trust! And this very woman
whom he had so trusted,--whom, in his early associations with her,
he had disliked and distrusted, but had taught himself both to
like and to trust because his wife had loved her,--this woman was
the she-Pandarus who had managed matters between Tregear and his
daughter! His wife had been too much subject to her influence. That
he had always known. And now, in this last act of her life, she
had allowed herself to be persuaded to give up her daughter by the
baneful wiles of this most pernicious woman. Such were the workings
of the Duke's mind when the young man told him that Mrs. Finn was
acquainted with the whole affair. As the reader is aware, nothing
could have been more unjust.
"I mentioned her name," said Tregear, "because I thought she had been
a friend of the family."
"That will do, sir. I have been greatly pained as well as surprised
by what I have heard. Of the real state of the case I can form no
opinion till I see my daughter. You, of course, will hold no further
intercourse with her." He paused as though for a promise, but Tregear
did not feel himself called upon to say a word in one direction or in
the other. "It will be my care that you shall not do so.
Good-morning, sir."
Tregear, who during the interview had been standing, then bowed,
turned upon his heel, and left the room.
The Duke seated himself, and, crossing his arms upon his chest, sat
for an hour looking up at the ceiling. Why was it that, for him, such
a world of misery had been prepared? What wrong had he done, of what
imprudence had he been guilty, that, at every turn of life, something
should occur so grievous as to make him think himself the most
wretched of men? No man had ever loved his wife more dearly than he
had done; and yet now, in that very excess of tenderness which her
death had occasioned, he was driven to accuse her of a great sin
against himself, in that she had kept from him her knowledge of this
affair;--for, when he came to turn the matter over in his mind, he
did believe Tregear's statement as to her encouragement. Then, too,
he had been proud of his daughter. He was a man so reticent and
undemonstrative in his manner that he had never known how to make
confidential friends of his children. In his sons hitherto he had
not taken pride. They were gallant, well-grown, handsome boys, with
a certain dash of cleverness,--more like their mother than their
father; but they had not as yet done anything as he would have had
them do it. But the girl, in the perfection of her beauty, in the
quiescence of her manner, in the nature of her studies, and in the
general dignity of her bearing, had seemed to be all that he had
desired. And now she had engaged herself, behind his back, to the
younger son of a little county squire!
But his anger against Mrs. Finn was hotter than his anger against any
one in his own family.