Frank Greystock
Frank Greystock the barrister was the only son of the Dean of
Bobsborough. Now the dean had a family of daughters,--not quite so
numerous indeed as that of Lady Fawn, for there were only three of
them,--and was by no means a rich man. Unless a dean have a private
fortune, or has chanced to draw the happy lot of Durham in the
lottery of deans, he can hardly be wealthy. At Bobsborough the dean
was endowed with a large, rambling, picturesque, uncomfortable house,
and with £1,500 a year. In regard to personal property it may be
asserted of all the Greystocks that they never had any. They were a
family of which the males would surely come to be deans and admirals,
and the females would certainly find husbands. And they lived on the
good things of the world, and mixed with wealthy people. But they
never had any money. The Eustaces always had money, and the Bishop of
Bobsborough was wealthy. The dean was a man very different from his
brother the admiral, who had never paid anybody anything. The dean
did pay; but he was a little slow in his payments, and money with
him was never very plentiful. In these circumstances it became very
expedient that Frank Greystock should earn his bread early in life.
Nevertheless, he had chosen a profession which is not often lucrative
at first. He had been called to the Bar, and had gone,--and was still
going,--the circuit in which lies the cathedral city of Bobsborough.
Bobsborough is not much of a town, and was honoured with the judges'
visits only every other circuit. Frank began pretty well, getting
some little work in London, and perhaps nearly enough to pay the cost
of his circuit out of the county in which the cathedral was situated.
But he began life after that impecunious fashion for which the
Greystocks have been noted. Tailors, robemakers, and booksellers
gave him trust, and did believe that they would get their money. And
any persistent tradesman did get it. He did not actually hoist the
black flag of impecuniosity, and proclaim his intention of preying
generally upon the retail dealers, as his uncle the admiral had done.
But he became known as a young man with whom money was "tight." All
this had been going on for three or four years before he had met Lucy
Morris at the deanery. He was then eight-and-twenty, and had been
four years called. He was thirty when old Lady Fawn hinted to him
that he had better not pay any more visits at Fawn Court.
But things had much altered with him of late. At the time of that
visit to the deanery he had made a sudden start in his profession.
The Corporation of the City of London had brought an action against
the Bank of England with reference to certain alleged encroachments,
of which action, considerable as it was in all its interests, no
further notice need be taken here than is given by the statement
that a great deal of money in this cause had found its way among the
lawyers. Some of it penetrated into the pocket of Frank Greystock;
but he earned more than money, better than money, out of that
affair. It was attributed to him by the attorneys that the Bank
of England was saved from the necessity of reconstructing all its
bullion-cellars, and he had made his character for industry. In the
year after that the Bobsborough people were rather driven into a
corner in search of a clever young Conservative candidate for the
borough, and Frank Greystock was invited to stand. It was not thought
that there was much chance of success, and the dean was against it.
But Frank liked the honour and glory of the contest, and so did
Frank's mother. Frank Greystock stood, and at the time in which he
was warned away from Fawn Court had been nearly a year in Parliament.
"Of course it does interfere with one's business," he had said to his
father, "but then it brings one business also. A man with a seat in
Parliament who shows that he means work will always get nearly as
much work as he can do." Such was Frank's exposition to his father.
It may perhaps not be found to hold water in all cases. Mrs. Dean was
of course delighted with her son's success, and so were the girls.
Women like to feel that the young men belonging to them are doing
something in the world, so that a reflected glory may be theirs. It
was pleasant to talk of Frank as member for the city. Brothers do not
always care much for a brother's success, but a sister is generally
sympathetic. If Frank would only marry money, there was nothing he
might not achieve. That he would live to sit on the woolsack was
now almost a certainty to the dear old lady. But in order that he
might sit there comfortably it was necessary that he should at least
abstain from marrying a poor wife. For there was fear at the deanery
also in regard to Lucy Morris.
"That notion of marrying money as you call it," Frank said to his
second sister Margaret, "is the most disgusting idea in the world."
"It is as easy to love a girl who has something as one who has
nothing," said Margaret.
"No,--it is not; because the girls with money are scarce, and those
without it are plentiful,--an argument of which I don't suppose you
see the force." Then Margaret for the moment was snubbed and retired.
"Indeed, Frank, I think Lady Fawn was right," said the mother.
"And I think she was quite wrong. If there be anything in it, it
won't be expelled by Lady Fawn's interference. Do you think I should
allow Lady Fawn to tell me not to choose such or such a woman for my
wife?"
"It's the habit of seeing her, my dear. Nobody loves Lucy Morris
better than I do. We all like her. But, dear Frank, would it do for
you to make her your wife?"
Frank Greystock was silent for a moment, and then he answered his
mother's question. "I am not quite sure whether it would or would
not. But I do think this--that if I were bold enough to marry now,
and to trust all to the future, and could get Lucy to be my wife, I
should be doing a great thing. I doubt, however, whether I have the
courage." All of which made the dean's wife uneasy.
The reader, who has read so far, will perhaps think that Frank
Greystock was in love with Lucy as Lucy was in love with him. But
such was not exactly the case. To be in love, as an absolute,
well-marked, acknowledged fact, is the condition of a woman more
frequently and more readily than of a man. Such is not the common
theory on the matter, as it is the man's business to speak, and the
woman's business to be reticent. And the woman is presumed to have
kept her heart free from any load of love, till she may accept the
burthen with an assurance that it shall become a joy and a comfort to
her. But such presumptions, though they may be very useful for the
regulation of conduct, may not be always true. It comes more within
the scope of a woman's mind, than that of a man's, to think closely
and decide sharply on such a matter. With a man it is often chance
that settles the question for him. He resolves to propose to a woman,
or proposes without resolving, because she is close to him. Frank
Greystock ridiculed the idea of Lady Fawn's interference in so high
a matter as his love,--or abstinence from love. Nevertheless, had
he been made a welcome guest at Fawn Court, he would undoubtedly
have told his love to Lucy Morris. He was not a welcome guest, but
had been banished; and, as a consequence of that banishment, he had
formed no resolution in regard to Lucy, and did not absolutely know
whether she was necessary to him or not. But Lucy Morris knew all
about it.
Moreover, it frequently happens with men that they fail to analyse
these things, and do not make out for themselves any clear definition
of what their feelings are or what they mean. We hear that a man has
behaved badly to a girl, when the behaviour of which he has been
guilty has resulted simply from want of thought. He has found a
certain companionship to be agreeable to him, and he has accepted
the pleasure without inquiry. Some vague idea has floated across
his brain that the world is wrong in supposing that such friendship
cannot exist without marriage, or question of marriage. It is simply
friendship. And yet were his friend to tell him that she intended to
give herself in marriage elsewhere, he would suffer all the pangs
of jealousy, and would imagine himself to be horribly ill-treated!
To have such a friend,--a friend whom he cannot or will not make
his wife,--is no injury to him. To him it is simply a delight, an
excitement in life, a thing to be known to himself only and not
talked of to others, a source of pride and inward exultation. It is
a joy to think of when he wakes, and a consolation in his little
troubles. It dispels the weariness of life, and makes a green spot of
holiday within his daily work. It is, indeed, death to her;--but he
does not know it. Frank Greystock did think that he could not marry
Lucy Morris without making an imprudent plunge into deep water, and
yet he felt that Lady Fawn was an ill-natured old woman for hinting
to him that he had better not, for the present, continue his visits
to Fawn Court. "Of course you understand me, Mr. Greystock," she had
said, meaning to be civil. "When Miss Morris has left us,--should she
ever leave us,--I should be most happy to see you." "What on earth
would take me to Fawn Court, if Lucy were not there!" he said to
himself,--not choosing to appreciate Lady Fawn's civility.
Frank Greystock was at this time nearly thirty years old. He was a
good-looking, but not strikingly handsome man; thin, of moderate
height, with sharp grey eyes, a face clean shorn with the exception
of a small whisker, with wiry, strong dark hair, which was already
beginning to show a tinge of grey;--the very opposite in appearance
to his late friend Sir Florian Eustace. He was quick, ready-witted,
self-reliant, and not over scrupulous in the outward things of the
world. He was desirous of doing his duty to others, but he was
specially desirous that others should do their duty to him. He
intended to get on in the world, and believed that happiness was to
be achieved by success. He was certainly made for the profession
which he had adopted. His father, looking to certain morsels of
Church patronage which occasionally came in his way, and to the fact
that he and the bishop were on most friendly terms, had wished his
son to take orders. But Frank had known himself and his own qualities
too well to follow his father's advice. He had chosen to be a
barrister, and now, at thirty, he was in Parliament.
He had been asked to stand for Bobsborough in the Conservative
interest, and as a Conservative he had been returned. Those who
invited him knew probably but little of his own political beliefs or
feelings,--did not, probably, know whether he had any. His father was
a fine old Tory of the ancient school, who thought that things were
going from bad to worse, but was able to live happily in spite of his
anticipations. The dean was one of those old-world politicians,--we
meet them every day, and they are generally pleasant people,--who
enjoy the politics of the side to which they belong without any
special belief in them. If pressed hard they will almost own that
their so-called convictions are prejudices. But not for worlds would
they be rid of them. When two or three of them meet together, they
are as freemasons, who are bound by a pleasant bond which separates
them from the outer world. They feel among themselves that everything
that is being done is bad,--even though that everything is done by
their own party. It was bad to interfere with Charles, bad to endure
Cromwell, bad to banish James, bad to put up with William. The House
of Hanover was bad. All interference with prerogative has been bad.
The Reform bill was very bad. Encroachment on the estates of the
bishops was bad. Emancipation of Roman Catholics was the worst of
all. Abolition of corn-laws, church-rates, and oaths and tests were
all bad. The meddling with the Universities has been grievous. The
treatment of the Irish Church has been Satanic. The overhauling of
schools is most injurious to English education. Education bills and
Irish land bills were all bad. Every step taken has been bad. And yet
to them old England is of all countries in the world the best to live
in, and is not at all the less comfortable because of the changes
that have been made. These people are ready to grumble at every boon
conferred on them, and yet to enjoy every boon. They know, too, their
privileges, and, after a fashion, understand their position. It is
picturesque, and it pleases them. To have been always in the right
and yet always on the losing side; always being ruined, always under
persecution from a wild spirit of republican-demagogism,--and yet
never to lose anything, not even position or public esteem, is
pleasant enough. A huge, living, daily increasing grievance that does
one no palpable harm, is the happiest possession that a man can have.
There is a large body of such men in England, and, personally, they
are the very salt of the nation. He who said that all Conservatives
are stupid did not know them. Stupid Conservatives there may
be,--and there certainly are very stupid Radicals. The well-educated,
widely-read Conservative, who is well assured that all good things
are gradually being brought to an end by the voice of the people,
is generally the pleasantest man to be met. But he is a Buddhist,
possessing a religious creed which is altogether dark and mysterious
to the outer world. Those who watch the ways of the advanced Buddhist
hardly know whether the man does believe himself in his hidden god,
but men perceive that he is respectable, self-satisfied, and a man
of note. It is of course from the society of such that Conservative
candidates are to be sought; but, alas, it is hard to indoctrinate
young minds with the old belief, since new theories of life have
become so rife!
Nevertheless Frank Greystock, when he was invited to stand for
Bobsborough in the Conservative interest, had not for a moment
allowed any political heterodoxy on his own part to stand in the way
of his advancement. It may, perhaps, be the case that a barrister is
less likely to be influenced by personal convictions in taking his
side in politics than any other man who devotes himself to public
affairs. No slur on the profession is intended by this suggestion. A
busy, clever, useful man, who has been at work all his life, finds
that his own progress towards success demands from him that he shall
become a politician. The highest work of a lawyer can only be reached
through political struggle. As a large-minded man of the world,
peculiarly conversant with the fact that every question has two
sides, and that as much may often be said on one side as on the
other, he has probably not become violent in his feelings as a
political partisan. Thus he sees that there is an opening here or an
opening there, and the offence in either case is not great to him.
With Frank Greystock the matter was very easy. There certainly was no
apostasy. He had now and again attacked his father's ultra-Toryism,
and rebuked his mother and sisters when they spoke of Gladstone as
Apollyon, and called John Bright the Abomination of Desolation. But
it was easy to him to fancy himself a Conservative, and as such he
took his seat in the House without any feeling of discomfort.
During the first four months of his first session he had not
spoken,--but he had made himself useful. He had sat on one or two
Committees, though as a barrister he might have excused himself, and
had done his best to learn the forms of the House. But he had already
begun to find that the time which he devoted to Parliament was much
wanted for his profession. Money was very necessary to him. Then a
new idea was presented to him.
John Eustace and Greystock were very intimate,--as also had been Sir
Florian and Greystock. "I tell you what I wish you'd do, Greystock,"
Eustace said to him one day, as they were standing idly together in
the lobby of the House. For John Eustace was also in Parliament.
"Anything to oblige you, my friend."
"It's only a trifle," said Eustace. "Just to marry your cousin, my
brother's widow."
"By Jove,--I wish I had the chance!"
"I don't see why you shouldn't. She is sure to marry somebody, and
at her age so she ought. She's not twenty-three yet. We could trust
you,--with the child and all the rest of it. As it is, she is giving
us a deal of trouble."
"But, my dear fellow--"
"I know she's fond of you. You were dining there last Sunday.
"And so was Fawn. Lord Fawn is the man to marry Lizzie. You see if he
doesn't. He was uncommonly sweet on her the other night, and really
interested her about the Sawab."
"She'll never be Lady Fawn," said John Eustace. "And to tell the
truth, I shouldn't care to have to deal with Lord Fawn. He would
be infinitely troublesome; and I can hardly wash my hands of her
affairs. She's worth nearly £5,000 a year as long as she lives, and
I really don't think that she's much amiss."
"Much amiss! I don't know whether she's not the prettiest woman I
ever saw," said Greystock.
"Yes;--but I mean in conduct, and all that. She is making herself
queer; and Camperdown, our lawyer, means to jump upon her; but it's
only because she doesn't know what she ought to be at, and what she
ought not. You could tell her."
"It wouldn't suit me at all to have to quarrel with Camperdown," said
the barrister, laughing.
"You and he would settle everything in five minutes, and it would
save me a world of trouble," said Eustace.
"Fawn is your man;--take my word for it," said Greystock, as he
walked back into the House.
* * * * *
Dramatists, when they write their plays, have a delightful privilege
of prefixing a list of their personages;--and the dramatists of old
used to tell us who was in love with whom, and what were the blood
relationships of all the persons. In such a narrative as this, any
proceeding of that kind would be unusual,--and therefore the poor
narrator has been driven to expend his first four chapters in the
mere task of introducing his characters. He regrets the length of
these introductions, and will now begin at once the action of his
story.