The Eye of the Public
It took Lord Fawn a long time to write his letter, but at last
he wrote it. The delay must not be taken as throwing any slur on
his character as a correspondent or a man of business, for many
irritating causes sprang up sufficient to justify him in pleading
that it arose from circumstances beyond his own control. It is,
moreover, felt by us all that the time which may fairly be taken in
the performance of any task depends, not on the amount of work, but
on the performance of it when done. A man is not expected to write a
cheque for a couple of thousand pounds as readily as he would one for
five,--unless he be a man to whom a couple of thousand pounds is a
mere nothing. To Lord Fawn the writing of this letter was everything.
He had told Lizzie, with much exactness, what he would put into it.
He would again offer his hand,--acknowledging himself bound to do
so by his former offer,--but would give reasons why she should not
accept it. If anything should occur in the meantime which would, in
his opinion, justify him in again repudiating her, he would of course
take advantage of such circumstance. If asked himself what was his
prevailing motive in all that he did or intended to do, he would have
declared that it was above all things necessary that he should "put
himself right in the eye of the British public."
But he was not able to do this without interference from the judgment
of others. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hittaway interfered; and he could not
prevent himself from listening to them and believing them, though he
would contradict all they said, and snub all their theories. Frank
Greystock also continued to interfere, and Lady Glencora Palliser.
Even John Eustace had been worked upon to write to Lord Fawn, stating
his opinion, as trustee for his late brother's property, that the
Eustace family did not think that there was ground of complaint
against Lady Eustace in reference to the diamonds which had been
stolen. This was a terrible blow to Lord Fawn, and had come, no
doubt, from a general agreement among the Eustace faction,--including
the bishop, John Eustace, and even Mr. Camperdown,--that it would be
a good thing to get the widow married and placed under some decent
control.
Lady Glencora absolutely had the effrontery to ask him whether the
marriage was not going to take place, and when a day would be fixed.
He gathered up his courage to give her ladyship a rebuke. "My private
affairs do seem to be uncommonly interesting," he said.
"Why, yes, Lord Fawn," said Lady Glencora, whom nothing could
abash;--"most interesting. You see, dear Lady Eustace is so very
popular, that we all want to know what is to be her fate."
"I regret to say that I cannot answer your ladyship's question with
any precision," said Lord Fawn.
But the Hittaway persecution was by far the worst. "You have seen
her, Frederic?" said his sister.
"Yes,--I have."
"You have made her no promise?"
"My dear Clara, this is a matter in which I must use my own
judgment."
"But the family, Frederic?"
"I do not think that any member of our family has a just right to
complain of my conduct since I have had the honour of being its head.
I have endeavoured so to live that my actions should encounter no
private or public censure. If I fail to meet with your approbation,
I shall grieve; but I cannot on that account act otherwise than in
accordance with my own judgment."
Mrs. Hittaway knew her brother well, and was not afraid of him.
"That's all very well; and I am sure you know, Frederic, how
proud we all are of you. But this woman is a nasty, low, scheming,
ill-conducted, dishonest little wretch; and if you make her your wife
you'll be miserable all your life. Nothing would make me and Orlando
so unhappy as to quarrel with you. But we know that it is so, and to
the last minute I shall say so. Why don't you ask her to her face
about that man down in Scotland?"
"My dear Clara, perhaps I know what to ask her and what not to ask
her better than you can tell me."
And his brother-in-law was quite as bad. "Fawn," he said, "in this
matter of Lady Eustace, don't you think you ought to put your conduct
into the hands of some friend?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I think it is an affair in which a man would have so much comfort in
being able to say that he was guided by advice. Of course, her people
want you to marry her. Now, if you could just tell them that the
whole thing was in the hands of,--say me,--or any other friend, you
would be relieved, you know, of so much responsibility. They might
hammer away at me ever so long, and I shouldn't care twopence."
"If there is to be any hammering, it cannot be borne vicariously,"
said Lord Fawn,--and as he said it, he was quite pleased by his own
sharpness and wit.
He had, indeed, put himself beyond protection by vicarious endurance
of hammering when he promised to write to Lady Eustace, explaining
his own conduct and giving reasons. Had anything turned up in
Scotland Yard which would have justified him in saying,--or even in
thinking,--that Lizzie had stolen her own diamonds, he would have
sent word to her that he must abstain from any communication till
that matter had been cleared up; but since the appearance of that
mysterious paragraph in the newspapers, nothing had been heard of
the robbery, and public opinion certainly seemed to be in favour
of Lizzie's innocence. He did think that the Eustace faction was
betraying him, as he could not but remember how eager Mr. Camperdown
had been in asserting that the widow was keeping an enormous amount
of property and claiming it as her own, whereas, in truth, she
had not the slightest title to it. It was, in a great measure, in
consequence of the assertions of the Eustace faction, almost in
obedience to their advice, that he had resolved to break off the
match; and now they turned upon him, and John Eustace absolutely went
out of his way to write him a letter which was clearly meant to imply
that he, Lord Fawn, was bound to marry the woman to whom he had once
engaged himself! Lord Fawn felt that he was ill-used, and that a man
might have to undergo a great deal of bad treatment who should strive
to put himself right in the eye of the public.
At last he wrote his letter,--on a Wednesday, which with him had
something of the comfort of a half-holiday, as on that day he was not
required to attend Parliament.
India Office, 28th March, 18--.
MY DEAR LADY EUSTACE,
In accordance with the promise which I made to you when
I did myself the honour of waiting upon you in Hertford
Street, I take up my pen with the view of communicating
to you the result of my deliberations respecting the
engagement of marriage which, no doubt, did exist between
us last summer.
Since that time I have no doubt taken upon myself to say
that that engagement was over; and I am free to admit that
I did so without any assent or agreement on your part to
that effect. Such conduct no doubt requires a valid and
strong defence. My defence is as follows:--
I learned that you were in possession of a large amount
of property, vested in diamonds, which was claimed by the
executors under your late husband's will as belonging to
his estate; and as to which they declared, in the most
positive manner, that you had no right or title to it
whatever. I consulted friends and I consulted lawyers, and
I was led to the conviction that this property certainly
did not belong to you. Had I married you in these
circumstances, I could not but have become a participator
in the lawsuit which I was assured would be commenced. I
could not be a participator with you, because I believed
you to be in the wrong. And I certainly could not
participate with those who would in such case be attacking
my own wife.
In this condition of things I requested you,--as you
must, I think, yourself own, with all deference and
good feeling,--to give up the actual possession of
the property, and to place the diamonds in neutral
hands,--[Lord Fawn was often called upon to be neutral
in reference to the condition of outlying Indian
principalities]--till the law should have decided as to
their ownership. As regards myself, I neither coveted nor
rejected the possession of that wealth for my future wife.
I desired simply to be free from an embarrassment which
would have overwhelmed me. You declined my request,--not
only positively, but perhaps I may add peremptorily;
and then I was bound to adhere to the decision I had
communicated to you.
Since that time the property has been stolen and, as I
believe, dissipated. The lawsuit against you has been
withdrawn; and the bone of contention, so to say, is no
longer existing. I am no longer justified in declining
to keep my engagement because of the prejudice to which
I should have been subjected by your possession of the
diamonds;--and, therefore, as far as that goes, I withdraw
my withdrawal. [This Lord Fawn thought was rather a happy
phrase, and he read it aloud to himself more than once.]
But now there arises the question whether, in both our
interests, this marriage should go on, or whether it may
not be more conducive to your happiness and to mine that
it should be annulled for causes altogether irrespective
of the diamonds. In a matter so serious as marriage, the
happiness of the two parties is that which requires graver
thought than any other consideration.
There has no doubt sprung up between us a feeling of
mutual distrust, which has led to recrimination, and which
is hardly compatible with that perfect confidence which
should exist between a man and his wife. This first arose,
no doubt, from the different views which we took as to
that property of which I have spoken,--and as to which
your judgment may possibly have been better than mine. On
that head I will add nothing to what I have already said;
but the feeling has arisen; and I fear it cannot be so
perfectly allayed as to admit of that reciprocal trust
without which we could not live happily together. I
confess that for my own part I do not now desire a union
which was once the great object of my ambition,--and that
I could not go to the altar with you without fear and
trembling. As to your own feelings, you best know what
they are. I bring no charge against you;--but if you have
ceased to love me, I think you should cease to wish to be
my wife, and that you should not insist upon a marriage
simply because by doing so you would triumph over a former
objection.
Before he finished this paragraph, he thought much of Andy Gowran and
of the scene among the rocks of which he had heard. But he could not
speak of it. He had found himself unable to examine the witness who
had been brought to him, and had honestly told himself that he could
not take that charge as proved. Andy Gowran might have lied. In his
heart he believed that Andy Gowran had lied. The matter was
distasteful to him, and he would not touch it. And yet he knew that
the woman did not love him, and he longed to tell her so.
As to what we might each gain or each lose in a worldly
point of view, either by marrying or not marrying, I will
not say a word. You have rank and wealth, and therefore I
can comfort myself by thinking that if I dissuade you from
this marriage I shall rob you of neither. I acknowledge
that I wish to dissuade you, as I believe that we should
not make each other happy. As, however, I do consider that
I am bound to keep my engagement to you if you demand
that I shall do so, I leave the matter in your hands for
decision.
I am, and shall remain,
Your sincere friend,
FAWN.
He read the letter and copied it, and gave himself great credit for
the composition. He thought that it was impossible that any woman
after reading it should express a wish to become the wife of the man
who wrote it; and yet,--so he believed,--no man or woman could find
fault with him for writing it. There certainly was one view of the
case which was very distressing. How would it be with him if, after
all, she should say that she would marry him? After having given
her her choice,--having put it all in writing,--he could not again
go back from it. He would be in her power, and of what use would
his life be to him? Would Parliament, or the India Office, or the
eye of the public be able to comfort him then in the midst of his
many miseries? What could he do with a wife whom he married with a
declaration that he disliked her? With such feelings as were his, how
could he stand before a clergyman and take an oath that he would love
her and cherish her? Would she not ever be as an adder to him,--as
an adder whom it would be impossible that he should admit into his
bosom? Could he live in the same house with her; and if so, could he
ask his mother and sisters to visit her? He remembered well what Mrs.
Hittaway had called her;--a nasty, low, scheming, ill-conducted,
dishonest little wretch! And he believed that she was so! Yet he was
once again offering to marry her, should she choose to accept him.
Nevertheless, the letter was sent. There was, in truth, no
alternative. He had promised that he would write such a letter, and
all that had remained to him was the power of cramming into it every
available argument against the marriage. This he had done, and, as he
thought, had done well. It was impossible that she should desire to
marry him after reading such a letter as that!
Lizzie received it in her bedroom, where she breakfasted, and told
of its arrival to her friend Mrs. Carbuncle as soon as they met each
other. "My lord has come down from his high horse at last," she said,
with the letter in her hand.
"What,--Lord Fawn?"
"Yes; Lord Fawn. What other lord? There is no other lord for me. He
is my lord, my peer of Parliament, my Cabinet minister, my right
honourable, my member of the Government,--my young man, too, as the
maid-servants call them."
"What does he say?"
"Say;--what should he say?--just that he has behaved very badly, and
that he hopes I shall forgive him."
"Not quite that; does he?"
"That's what it all means. Of course, there is ever so much of
it,--pages of it. It wouldn't be Lord Fawn if he didn't spin it all
out like an Act of Parliament, with 'whereas' and 'wherein,' and
'whereof.' It is full of all that; but the meaning of it is that he's
at my feet again, and that I may pick him up if I choose to take him.
I'd show you the letter, only perhaps it wouldn't be fair to the poor
man."
"What excuse does he make?"
"Oh,--as to that he's rational enough. He calls the necklace
the--bone of contention. That's rather good for Lord Fawn; isn't it?
The bone of contention, he says, has been removed; and, therefore,
there is no reason why we shouldn't marry if we like it. He shall
hear enough about the bone of contention if we do 'marry.'"
"And what shall you do now?"
"Ah, yes; that's easily asked; is it not? The man's a good sort of
man in his way, you know. He doesn't drink or gamble; and I don't
think there is a bit of the King David about him,--that I don't."
"Virtue personified, I should say."
"And he isn't extravagant."
"Then why not have him and have done with it?" asked Mrs. Carbuncle.
"He is such a lumpy man," said Lizzie;--"such an ass; such a load of
Government waste-paper."
"Come, my dear;--you've had troubles."
"I have, indeed," said Lizzie.
"And there's no quite knowing yet how far they're over."
"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Carbuncle?"
"Nothing very much;--but still, you see, they may come again. As to
Lord George, we all know that he has not got a penny-piece in the
world that he can call his own."
"If he had as many pennies as Judas, Lord George would be nothing to
me," said Lizzie.
"And your cousin really doesn't seem to mean anything."
"I know very well what my cousin means. He and I understand each
other thoroughly; but cousins can love one another very well without
marrying."
"Of course you know your own business, but if I were you I would take
Lord Fawn. I speak in true kindness,--as one woman to another. After
all, what does love signify? How much real love do we ever see among
married people? Does Lady Glencora Palliser really love her husband,
who thinks of nothing in the world but putting taxes on and off?"
"Do you love your husband, Mrs. Carbuncle?"
"No;--but that is a different kind of thing. Circumstances have
caused me to live apart from him. The man is a good man, and there
is no reason why you should not respect him, and treat him well. He
will give you a fixed position,--which really you want badly, Lady
Eustace."
"Tooriloo, tooriloo, tooriloo, looriloo," said Lizzie, in
contemptuous disdain of her friend's caution.
"And then all this trouble about the diamonds and the robberies
will be over," continued Mrs. Carbuncle. Lizzie looked at her very
intently. What should make Mrs. Carbuncle suppose that there need be,
or, indeed, could be, any further trouble about the diamonds?
"So;--that's your advice," said Lizzie. "I'm half inclined to take
it, and perhaps I shall. However, I have brought him round, and
that's something, my dear. And either one way or the other, I shall
let him know that I like my triumph. I was determined to have it, and
I've got it."
Then she read the letter again very seriously. Could she possibly
marry a man who in so many words told her that he didn't want her?
Well;--she thought she could. Was not everybody treating everybody
else much in the same way? Had she not loved her Corsair truly,--and
how had he treated her? Had she not been true, disinterested, and
most affectionate to Frank Greystock; and what had she got from
him? To manage her business wisely, and put herself upon firm
ground;--that was her duty at present. Mrs. Carbuncle was right
there. The very name of Lady Fawn would be a rock to her,--and she
wanted a rock. She thought upon the whole that she could marry
him;--unless Patience Crabstick and the police should again interfere
with her prosperity.