Chapter fifty-two of the Duke's children—this is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Nicholas Clifford. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter fifty-two, Miss Boncassen tells the truth. On the twentieth of the month all the guests came rattling in at matching, one after another. The Boncassans were the first, but Lady Mabel with Miss Cassowary followed them quickly. Then came the Finns and with them Barrington Earl. Lord Silverbridge was the last. He arrived by a train which reached the station at seven p.m. and only entered the house as his father was taking Mrs. Boncassen into the dining room. He dressed himself in ten minutes and joined the party as they had finished their fish. I am awfully sorry, he said, rushing up to his father, but I thought I should just hit it. There is no occasion for awe, said the Duke, as a sufficiency of dinner is left. But how you should have hit it, as you say, seeing that the train is not due at Bridgestock till seven o' five, I do not know. I've often done it, sir, said Silverbridge, taking the seat left vacant for him next to Lady Mabel. We've had a political caucus of the party, all the members who could be got together in London, at Sir Timothy's, and I was bound to attend. We've all heard of that, said Finneas Finn. And we pretty well know all the points of Sir Timothy's eloquence, said Barrington Earl. I am not going to tell any of the secrets. I have no doubt that there were portists present and that you will see the whole of it in the papers tomorrow. Then Silverbridge turned to his neighbor. Well, Lady Mabel, and how are you this long time? But how are you? Think of what you have gone through since we were at Killen Codlam. Don't talk of it. I suppose it is not to be talked of. Though upon the whole it has happened very luckily, I have got rid of the accursed horses and my governor has shown what a brick he can be. I don't think there is another man in England who would have done as he did. There are not many who could. There are fewer who would. When they came into my bedroom that morning and told me that the horse could not run, I thought I should have broken my heart. Seventy thousand pounds gone. Seventy thousand pounds? And the honor and glory of winning the race? And then the feeling that one has been so awfully swindled. Of course I had to look as though I did not care a straw about it and to go and see the race with the jaunty air and the cigar in my mouth. That is what I call hard work. But you did it. I tried. I wish I could explain to you my state of mind that day. In the first place the money had to be got, though it was to go into the hands of swindlers still it had to be got. I don't know how your father and person will get on together, but I feel very like the prodigal son. It is very different with papa. I suppose so. I felt very like hanging myself when I was alone that evening. And now everything is right again. I am glad that everything is right, she said, with a strong emphasis on the everything. I have done with racing at any rate. The feeling of being in the power of a lot of low blaggers is so terrible. I did love the poor brute so dearly. And now what have you been doing? Just nothing, and I've seen nobody. I went back to Grex after leaving Killen-Codlam and shut myself up in my misery. Why misery? Why misery? What a question for you to ask. Though I love Grex, I am not altogether fond of living alone. And though Grex has its charms, they are of a melancholy kind. And when I think of the state of our family affairs, that is not reassuring. Your father has just paid £70,000 for you. My father has been good enough to take something less than a quarter of that sum from me. But still it was all that I was ever to have. Girls don't want money, don't they? When I look forward it seems to me that a time will come when I shall want it very much. You will marry, he said. She turned round for a moment and looked at him full in the face, after such a fashion that he did not dare to promise her further comfort in that direction. Things always do come right somehow. Let us hope so, only nothing has ever come right with me yet. What is Frank doing? I haven't seen him since he left crummy toddy. And your sister, she whispered, I know nothing about it at all. And you, I have told you everything about myself. As for me, I think of nothing but politics now. I have told you about my racing experiences, just at present shooting is up. Before Christmas I shall go into children's country for a little hunting. You can hunt here? I shan't stay long enough to make it worthwhile to have my horses down. If Tragear will go with me to the break, I can mount him for a day or two. But I dare say you know more of his plans than I do. He went to see you at Grex. And you did not? I was not asked, nor was he. Then all I can say is, replied Silverbridge, speaking in a low voice but with considerable energy, that he can use a freedom with Lady Mabel Grex upon which I cannot venture. I believe you begrudge me his friendship. If you had no one else belonging to you with whom you could have any sympathy, would you not find comfort in a relation who could be almost as near to you as a brother? I do not grudge him to you. Yes you do. And what business have you to interfere? None at all. Certainly I will never do it again. Don't say that, Lord Silverbridge. You ought to have more mercy on me. You ought to put up with anything from me, knowing how much I suffer. I will put up with anything, said he. Do, do. And now I will try to talk to Mr. Earl. Miss Boncassen was sitting on the other side of the table between Mr. Monk and Phineas Finn, and throughout dinner talked mock politics with the greatest liveliness. Silverbridge, when he entered the room, had gone round the table and had shaken hands with every one. But there had been no other greeting between him and Isabel, nor had any sign passed from one to the other. No such greeting or sign had been possible. Nothing had been left undone which she had expected or hoped, but though she was lively, nevertheless she kept her eye upon her lover and Lady Mabel. Lady Mary had said that she thought her brother was in love with Lady Mabel. Could it be possible? In her own land she had heard absurd stories, stories which seemed her to be absurd, of the treachery of lords and countesses, of the baseness of aristocrats, of the iniquities of high life in London. But her father had told her that go where she might, she would find people in the main to be very like each other. It had seemed to her that nothing could be more ingenuous than this young man had been in the declaration of his love. No simplest Republican could have spoken more plainly. But now, at this moment, she could not doubt but that her lover was very intimate with this other girl. Of course he was free. When she had refused to say a word to him of her own love or want of love, she had necessarily left him his liberty. When she had put him off for three months, of course he was to be his own master. But what must she think of him if it were so? And how could he have the courage to face her in his father's house if he intended to treat her in such a fashion? But of all this she showed nothing, nor was there a tone in her voice which betrayed her. She said her last word to Mr. Monk with so sweet a smile that that old bachelor wished he were younger for her sake. In the evening after dinner there was music. It was discovered that Miss Boncassen sang divinely, and both Lady Mabel and Lady Mary accompanied her. Mr. Earl and Mr. Warburton and Mr. Monk, all of whom were unmarried, stood by and raptured. But Lord Silverbridge kept himself apart and interested himself in a description which Mrs. Boncassen gave him of their young men and their young ladies in the States. He had hardly spoken to Miss Boncassen till he offered her sherry or soda water before she retired for the night. She refused his courtesy with her usual smile but showed no more emotion than though they too had now met for the first time in their lives. He had quite made up his mind as to what he would do. When the opportunity should come in his way he would simply remind her that the three months were passed. But he was shy of talking to her in the presence of Lady Mabel and his father. He was quite determined that the thing should be done at once, but he certainly wished that Lady Mabel had not been there. In what she had said to him at the dinner table she had made him understand that she would be a trouble to him. He remembered her look when he told her that she would marry. It was as though she had declared to him that it was he who ought to be her husband. It referred back to that proffer of love which he had once made to her. Of course all this was disagreeable. Of course it made things difficult for him, but not the less was it a thing quite assured that he would press his suit to Miss Boncassen. When he was talking to Mrs. Boncassen he was thinking of nothing else. When he was offering Isabel the glass of sherry he was telling himself that he would find his opportunity on the morrow, though now at that moment it was impossible that he should make a sign. She, as she went to bed, asked herself whether it were possible that he would be such treachery, whether it were possible that he should pass it all by as though he had never said a word to her. During the whole of the next day, which was Sunday, he was equally silent. Immediately after breakfast on the Monday shooting commenced and he could not find a moment in which to speak it seemed to him that she purposely kept out of his way. With Mabel he did find himself for a few minutes alone and was then interrupted by his sister and Isabel. I hope you have killed a lot of things, said Miss Boncassen. Pretty well among us all. What an odd amusement it seems going out to commit wholesale slaughter. However, it is the proper thing, no doubt. Quite the proper thing, said Lord Silverbridge, and that was all. On the next morning he dressed himself for shooting then sent out the party without him. He had heard, he said, of a young horse for sale in the neighborhood and had sent a desire that it might be brought to him. And now he found his occasion. Come and play a game of billiards, he said to Isabel, as to the three girls with the other ladies were together in the drawing room. She got up very slowly from her seat and very slowly crept away to the door. Then she looked round as though expecting the others to follow her. None of them did follow her. Mary felt that she ought to do so, but knowing all that she knew did not dare. And what good could she have done by one such interruption? Lady Mabel would feign have gone too, but neither did she quite dare. Had there been no special reason why she should or should not have gone with them, the thing would have been easy enough. When two people go to play billiards, a third may surely accompany them. But now Lady Mabel found that she could not stir. Mrs. Finn, Mrs. Boncassen, and Miss Cassowary were all in the room, but none of them moved. Silver Ridge led the way quickly across the hall and Isabel Boncassen followed him very slowly. When she entered the room, she found her standing with a cue in his hand.  Well, he said, what does well mean? The three months are over. Certainly they are over. And I have been a model of patience. Perhaps your patience is more remarkable than your constancy. Is not Lady Mabel grex in the ascendancy just now? What do you mean by that? What do you ask that? You told me to wait for three months. I have waited, and here I am. How very, very downright you are. Is not that the proper thing? I thought I was downright, but you beat me hollow. Yes, the three months are over. And now what have you got to say? He put down his cue and stretched out his arms as though he were going to take her and hold her to his heart. No, no, not that, she said, laughing. But if you will speak, I will hear you. You know what I said before. Will you love me, Isabel? And you know what I said before. Do they know that you love me? Does your father know it and your sister? Why did they ask me to come here? Nobody knows it, but say that you love me and everyone shall know it at once. Yes, one person knows it. Why did you mention Lady Mabel's name? She knows it. Did you tell her?  But why her? Come, Lord Silverbridge, you are straightforward with me and I will be the same with you. You have told Lady Mabel. I have told Lady Mary. My sister? Yes, your sister, but I am sure she disapproves it. She did not say so, but I am sure it is so. And then she told me something. What did she tell you? Has there never been reason to think that you intended to offer your hand to Lady Mabel Grex? Did she tell you so? You should answer my question, Lord Silverbridge. It is surely one which I have a right to ask. Then she stood, waiting for his reply, keeping herself at some little distance from him as though she were afraid that he would fly upon her. And indeed there seemed to be cause for such fear from the frequent gestures of his hands. Why do you not answer me? Has there been reason for such expectations? Yes, there has. There has. I thought of it, not knowing myself, before I had seen you. You shall know it all if you will only say that you love me. I should like to know it all first. You do know it all, almost. I have told you that she knows what I said to you at Kellan Codlam. Is that not enough? And she approves? What has that got to do with it? Lady Mabel is my friend, but not my guardian. Has she a right to expect that she should be your wife? No, certainly not. Why should you ask all this? Do you love me? Come, Isabel, say that you love me. Will you call me vain if I say that I almost think you do? You cannot doubt about my love, not now. No, not now. You needn't.  And is that all? You ask me the question, but do you love me? By George, I thought you would be more honest and straightforward. Then she dropped her badinage and answered him seriously. I thought I had been honest and straightforward when I found out that you were in earnest at Kellan Codlam. Why did you ever doubt me? When I felt that you were in earnest, then I had to be in earnest too, and I thought so much about it that I lay awake nearly all that night. Shall I tell you what I thought? Tell me something that I should like to hear. I will tell you the truth. Is it possible, I said to myself, that such a man as that can want me to be his wife, he an Englishman of the highest rank and the greatest wealth, and one that any girl in the world would love? Shaw, he exclaimed. That is what I said to myself. Then she paused, and looking into her face, he saw that there was a glimmer of a tear in each eye, one that any girl must love when asked for her love, because he is so sweet, so good and so pleasant. I know that you are chaffing. Then I went on asking myself questions. And is it possible that I, who by all his friends will be regarded as a nobody, who am an American, with merely human workaday blood in my veins, that such a one as I should become his wife? Then I told myself that it was not possible. It was not in accordance with the fitness of things. All the dukes in England would rise up against it, and especially that duke whose good will would be imperative. Why should he rise up against it? You know he will. But I will go on with my story of myself. When I had settled that in my mind, I just cried myself to sleep. It had been a dream. I had come across one who in his own self seemed to combine all that I had ever thought of as being lovable in a man. Isabel. And in his outward circumstances soared as much above my thoughts as the heaven is above the earth. And he had whispered to me soft, loving, heavenly words. No, no, you shall not touch me. But you shall listen to me. In my sleep I could be happy again and not see the barriers. But when I woke, I made up my mind.  I did not tell you quite all that.  I said more than that. I bade you ask your father. Now you have come again. You cannot understand a girl's fears and doubts. How should you? I thought perhaps you would not come when I saw you whispering to that highly-born, well-bred beauty and remembered what I was myself. I thought that you would not come. Then you must love me. Love you? Oh, my darling. No, no, no, she said. As she retreated from him round the corner of the billiard table and stood guarding herself from him with her little hands. You ask if I love you. You are entitled to know the truth. From the sole of your foot to the crown of your head I love you as I think a man would wish to be loved by the girl he loves. You have come across my life and have swallowed me up and made me all your own. But I will not marry you to be rejected by your people. No, nor shall there be a kiss between us till I know that it will not be so. May I speak to your father? For what good? I have not spoken to father or mother because I have known that it must depend upon your father. Lord Silverbridge, if he will tell me that I shall be his daughter, I will become your wife. Oh, with such perfect joy, with such perfect truth, if it can never be so then let us be torn apart with whatever struggle still at once. In that case I will get myself back to my own country as best I may and will pray to God that all this may be forgotten. Then she made her way round to the door, leaving him fixed to the spot in which she had been standing. But as she went she made a little prayer to him, Do not delay my fate, it is all in all to me. And so he was left alone in the billiard room. End of chapter 52 Chapter 53 of The Duke's Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 53 Then I am as proud as a queen. During the next day or two I went on without much interruption from love-making. The love-making was not prosperous all round. Poor Lady Mary had nothing to comfort her. Could she have been allowed to see the letter which her lover had written to her father, the comfort would have been, if not ample, still very great. Mary told herself again and again that she was quite sure of Tragear. But it was hard upon her that she could not be made certain that her certainty was well grounded. Had she known that Tragear had written, though she had not seen a word of his letter, it would have comforted her. But she had heard nothing of the letter. In June last she had seen him by chance for a few minutes in Lady Mabel's drawing-room. Since that she had not heard from him or of him. That was now more than five months since. How could her love serve her? How could her very life serve her if things were to go on like that? How was she to bear it? Thinking of this, she resolved, she almost resolved, that she would go boldly to her father and desire that she might be given up to her lover. Her brother, though more triumphant, for how could he fail to triumph after such words as Isabel had spoken to him, still felt his difficulties very seriously. She had imbued him with a strong sense of her own firmness and she had declared that she would go away and leave him altogether if the Duke should be unwilling to receive her. He knew that the Duke would be unwilling. The Duke, who certainly was not handy in those duties of matchmaking which seemed to have fallen upon him at the death of his wife, showed by a hundred little signs his anxiety that his son and heir should arrange his affairs with Lady Mabel. These signs were manifest to Mary, were disagreeably manifest to Silverbridge, were unfortunately manifest to Lady Mabel herself, they were manifest to Mrs. Finn who was clever enough to perceive that the inclinations of the young heir were turned in another direction, and gradually they became manifest to Isabel Boncassen. The host himself, as host, was courteous to all his guests. They had been of his own selection and he did his best to make himself pleasant to them all. But he selected two for his peculiar notice and those two were Miss Boncassen and Lady Mabel. While he would himself walk and talk and argue after his own peculiar fashion with the American beauty, explaining to her matters political and social till he persuaded her to promise to read his pamphlet upon decimal coinage, he was always making awkward efforts to throw Silverbridge and Lady Mabel together. The two girls saw it all and knew well how the matter was, knew that they were rivals and knew each the ground on which she herself and on which the other stood. But neither was satisfied with her advantage or nearly satisfied. Isabel would not take the prize without the Duke's consent and Mabel could not have it without that other consent. If you want to marry an English Duke, she once said to Mabel that anger which she was unable to restrain, there is the Duke himself. I never saw a man more absolutely in love. But I do not want to marry an English Duke, said Isabel, and I pity any girl who has any idea of marriage except that which comes from a wish to give back love for love. Through it all the father never suspected the real state of his son's mind. He was too simple to think it possible that the purpose which Silverbridge had declared to him as they walked together from the Bear Garden had already been thrown to the winds. He did not like to ask why the thing was not settled. Young men, he thought, were sometimes shy and young ladies not always ready to give immediate encouragement. But when he saw them together, he concluded that matters were going in the right direction. It was, however, an opinion which he had all to himself. During the three or four days which followed the scene in the billiard room, Isabel kept herself out of her lover's way. She had explained to him that which she wished him to do and she left him to do it. By and by she watched the circumstances of the life around her and knew that it had not been done. She was sure that it could not have been done while the Duke was explaining to her the beauty of Quince and expatiating on the horrors of the ladies and twelve inches and twelve ounces variegated in some matters by sixteen and fourteen. He could not know that she was ambitious of becoming his daughter-in-law while he was opening out to her the mysteries of the House of Lords and explaining how it came to pass that while he was a member of one House of Parliament his son should be sitting as a member of another. How it was that a nobleman could be a commoner and how a peer of one part of the empire could sit as the representative of a borough in another part? She was an apt scholar. Had there been a question of any other young man marrying her he would probably have thought that no other young man could have done better. Silverbridge was discontented with himself. The greatest misfortune was that Lady Mabel should be there. While she was present to his father's eyes he did not know how to declare his altered wishes. Every now and then she would say to him some little word indicating her feelings of the absurdity of his passion. I declare I don't know whether it is you or your father that Miss Boncasse in most effects. She said, but to this and to other similar speeches he would make no answer. She had extracted his secret from him at Kilincodlam and might use it against him if she pleased. In his present frame of mind he was not disposed to joke with her upon the subject. On that second Sunday the Boncassans were to return to London on the following Tuesday he found himself alone with Isabelle's father. The American had been brought out at his own request to see the stables and had been accompanied round the premises by Silverbridge and by Mr. Warburton, by Isabelle and by Lady Mary. As they got out into the park the party were divided and Silverbridge found himself with Mr. Boncassan. Then it occurred to him that the proper thing for a young man in love was to go not to his own father but to the lady's father. Why should he not do as others always did? Isabelle no doubt had suggested a different course but that which Isabelle had suggested was at the present moment impossible to him. Now at this instant without a moment's forethought he determined to tell his story to Isabelle's father as any other lover might tell it to any other father. I am very glad to find ourselves alone, Mr. Boncassan, he said. Mr. Boncassan bowed and showed himself prepared to listen though so many at matching had seen the whole play Mr. Boncassan had seen nothing of it. I don't know whether you are aware of what I have got to say. I cannot quite say that I am, my lord, but whatever it is I am sure I shall be delighted to hear it. I want to marry your daughter," said Silverbridge. Isabelle had told him that he was downright and in such a matter he had hardly as yet learned how to express himself with those paraphrases in which the world delights. Mr. Boncassan stood stock still and in the excitement of the moment pulled off his hat. The proper thing is to ask your permission to go on with it. You want to marry my daughter? Yes, that is what I have got to say. Is she aware of your intention? Quite aware, I believe I may say that if other things go straight she will consent. And your father, the Duke? He knows nothing about it as yet. Really this takes me quite by surprise. I have not given enough thought to the matter. I have been thinking about it for the last three months," said Lord Silverbridge. Marriage is a very serious thing. Of course it is. And men generally like to marry their equals. I don't know about that. I don't think that counts for much. People don't always know who are their equals. That is quite true. If I were speaking to you or to your father theoretically I should perhaps be unwilling to admit superiority on your side because of your rank and wealth. I could make an argument in favor of any equality with the best Britain that ever lived, as would become a true-born Republican. That is just what I mean. But when the question becomes one of practicing a question for our lives, for our happiness, for our own conduct, then knowing what must be the feelings of an aristocracy in such a country as this I am prepared to admit that your father would be as well justified in objecting to a marriage between a child of his and a child of mine as I should be in objecting to one between my child and the son of some mechanic in our native city. He wouldn't be a gentleman," said Silverbridge. That is a word of which I don't quite know the meaning. I do," said Silverbridge confidently. But you could not define it. If a man be well educated and can keep a good house over his head, perhaps you may call him a gentleman, but there are many such with whom your father would not wish to be so closely connected as you propose. But I may have your sanction. Mr. Boncassen again took off his hat and walked along thoughtfully. I hope you don't object to me personally. My dear young lord, your father has gone out of his way to be civil to me. Am I to return his courtesy by bringing a great trouble upon him? He seems to be very fond of Mr. Boncassen. Will he continue to be fond of her when he has heard this? What does Isabelle say? She says the same as you, of course. Why, of course? Except that it is evident to you as it is to me that she could not with propriety say anything else. I think she would—would like it, you know. She would like to be your wife. Well, yes, if it were all serene, I think she would consent. I daresay she would consent if it were all serene. Why should she not? Do not try her too hard, Lord Silverbridge. You say you love her? I do indeed. Then think of the position in which you are placing her. You are struggling to win her heart. Silverbridge, as he heard this, assured himself that there was no need for any further struggling in that direction. Perhaps you have won it, yet she may feel that she cannot become your wife. She may well say to herself that this which is offered to her is so great that she does not know how to refuse it, but have to say at the same time that she cannot accept it without disgrace. You would not put one that you love into such a position? As for disgrace, that is nonsense. I beg your pardon, Mr. Bunkassen. Would it be no disgrace that she should be known here in England to be your wife and that none of those of your rank, of what would then be her own rank, should welcome her into her new world? That would be out of the question. If your own father refused to welcome her, would not others follow suit? You don't know my father. You seem to know him well enough to fear that he would object. Yes, that is true. What more do I want to know? If she were once my wife, he would not reject her. Of all human beings, he is in truth the kindest and most affectionate. And therefore you would try him after this fashion? No, my lord, I cannot see my way through these difficulties. You can say what you please to him as to your own wishes, but you must not tell him that you have any sanction from me. That evening the story was told to Mrs. Bunkassen, and the matter was discussed among the family. Isabelle, in talking to them, made no scruple of declaring her own feelings, and though in speaking to Lord Silverbridge she had spoken very much what her father had done afterwards, yet in this family conclave she took her lover's part. That is all very well, father, she said. I told him the same thing myself, but if he is man enough to be firm, I shall not throw him over, not for all the dukes in Europe. I shall not stay here to be pointed at, I will go back home. If he follows me, then I shall choose to forget all about his rank. If he loves me well enough to show that he is an earnest, I shall not disappoint him for the sake of pleasing his father. To this neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bunkassen was able to make any efficient answer. Mrs. Bunkassen, dear good woman, could see no reason why two young people who loved each other should not be married at once. Dukes and Duchesses were nothing to her. If they couldn't be happy in England, then let them come and live in New York. She didn't understand that anybody could be too good for her daughter. Was there not an idea that Mr. Bunkassen would be the next President? And was not the President of the United States as good as the Queen of England? Lord Silverbridge, when he left Mr. Bunkassen, wandered about the park by himself. King Cafetwa married the beggar's daughter. He was sure of that. King Cafetwa probably had not a father. And the beggar probably was not high-minded. But the discrepancy in that case was much greater. He intended to persevere, trusting much to a belief that when once he was married, his father would come round. His father always did come round. But the more he thought of it, the more impossible it seemed to him that he should ask his father's consent at the present moment. Lady Mabel's presence in the house was an insuperable obstacle. He thought that he could do it if he and his father were alone together or comparatively alone. He must be prepared for an opposition at any rate of some days, which opposition would make his father quite unable to entertain his guests while it lasted. But as he could not declare his wishes to his father, and was thus disobeying Isabelle's behests, he must explain the difficulty to her. He felt already that she would despise him for his cowardice, that she would not perceive the difficulties in his way, or understand that he might injure his cause by precipitation. Then he considered whether he might not possibly make some bargain with his father. How would it be if he should consent to go back to the Liberal Party on being allowed to marry the girl he loved? As far as his political feelings were concerned, he did not think that he would much object to make the change. There was only one thing certain, that he must explain his condition to Miss Buncassan before she went. He found no difficulty now in getting the opportunity. She was equally anxious and as well disposed to acknowledge her anxiety. After what had passed between them, she was not desirous of pretending that the matter was one of small moment to herself. She had told him that it was all the world to her, and had begged him to let her know her fate as quickly as possible. On that last Monday morning they were in the grounds together, and Lady Mabel, who was walking with Mrs. Finn, saw them pass through a little gate which led from the garden into the priory ruins. It all means nothing, Mabel said, with a little laugh to her companion. If so, I am sorry for the young lady, said Mrs. Finn. Don't you think that one always has to be sorry for the young ladies? Young ladies generally have a bad time of it. Did you ever hear of a gentleman who had always to roll a stone to the top of a hill, but it would always come back upon him? That gentleman, I believe, never succeeded, said Mrs. Finn, the young ladies I suppose do sometimes. In the meantime Isabel and Silverbridge were among the ruins together. This is where the old palisers used to be buried, he said. Oh, indeed, and married, I suppose. I dare say they had a priest of their own, no doubt, which must have been convenient. This block of a fellow without any legs left is supposed to represent Sir Guy. He ran away with half a dozen heiresses, they say. I wish things were as easily done now. Nobody should have run away with me. I have no idea of going on such a journey except on terms of equality. Just step and step alike. Then she took hold of his arm and put out one foot. Are you ready? I am very willing. But are you ready for a straightforward walk off to church before all the world? None of your private chaplains such as Sir Guy had at his command. Just the registrar if there is nothing better, so that it be public before all the world. I wish we could start this instant. But we can't, can we? No, dear, so many things have to be settled. And what have you settled on since you last spoke to me? I have told your father everything. Yes, I know that. What good does that do? Father is not a Duke of Omnium. No one supposed that he would object. But he did, said Silverbridge. Yes, as I do, for the same reason, because he would not have his daughter creep in at a whole. But to your own father you have not ventured to speak. Then he told his story as best he knew how. It was not that he feared his father, but that he felt that the present moment was not fit. He wishes you to marry that Lady Mabel Grex, she said. He nodded his head. And will you marry her? Never! I might have done so had I not seen you. I should have done so if she had been willing. But now I never can. Never, never! Her hand had dropped from his arm, but now she put it up again for a moment, so that he might feel the pressure of her fingers. Say you believe me? I think I do. I know I love you. I think you do. I am sure I hope you do. If you don't, then I am a miserable wretch. With all my heart I do. Then I am as proud as a Queen. Will you tell him soon? As soon as you are gone, as soon as we are alone together I will. And then I will follow you to London. Now shall we not say good-bye? Good-bye, my own, she whispered. Will you let me have one kiss? Her hand was in his, and she looked about as though to see that no eyes were watching them. But then, as the thoughts came rushing to her mind, she changed her purpose. No, she said, What is it but a trifle? It is nothing in itself. But I have bound myself to myself by certain promises, and you must not ask me to break them.  Now take me back. End of chapter 53 The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop Chapter 54 I don't think she is a snake. On the following day, Tuesday, the Boncassans went, and then there were none of the guests left with Mrs. Finn and Lady Mabel Grex, with, of course, Miss Cassowary. The Duke had especially asked both Mrs. Finn and Lady Mabel to remain, the former, through his anxiety to show his repentance for the injustice he had formally done her, and the latter in the hope that something might be settled as soon as the crowd of visitors should have gone. He had never spoken quite distinctly to Mabel. He had felt that the manner in which he had learned his son's purpose, that which had once been his son's purpose, forbade him to do so. But he had so spoken as to make Lady Mabel quite aware of his wish. He would not have told her how sure he was that Silverbridge would keep no more racehorses, how he trusted that Silverbridge had done with betting, how he believed that the young member would take a real interest in the House of Commons, had he not intended that she should take a special interest in the young man. And then he had spoken about the House in London. It was to be made over to Silverbridge as soon as Silverbridge would marry, and there was Gatherham Castle. Gatherham was rather a trouble than otherwise. He had ever felt it to be so, but had nevertheless always kept it open perhaps for a month and a year. His uncle had always resided there for a fortnight at Christmas. When Silverbridge was married, it would become the young man's duty to do something of the same kind. Gatherham was the white elephant of the family, and Silverbridge must enter in upon his share of the trouble. He did not know that in saying all this he was offering his son as a husband to Lady Mabel, but she understood it as thoroughly as though he had spoken the words. But she knew the son's mind also. He had indeed himself told her all his mind. Of course I love her best of all, he had said. When he told her of it she had been so overcome that she had wept in her despair, had wept in his presence. She had declared to him her secret that it had been her intention to become his wife, and then he had rejected her. It had all been shame and sorrow and disappointment to her, and she could not but remember that there had been a moment when she might have secured him by a word. A look would have done it, a touch of her finger on that morning. She had known then that he had intended to be an earnest, that he only waited for encouragement. She had not given it because she had not wished to grasp too eagerly at the prize, and now the prize was gone. She had said that she had spared him, but then she could offer to joke, thinking that he would surely come back to her. She had begun her world with so fatal a mistake. When she was quite young, when she was little more than a child, but still not a child, she had given all her love to a man whom she soon found that it would be quite impossible she should ever marry. He had offered to face the world with her, promising to do the best to smooth the rough places and to soften the stones for her feet. But she, young as she was, had felt that both he and she belonged to a class which could hardly endure poverty with contentment. The grinding need for money, the absolute necessity of luxurious living had been pressed upon her from her childhood. She had seen it and acknowledged it, and had told him with precocious wisdom that that which she offered to do for her sake would be a folly for them both. She had not stinted the assurance of her love, but had told him that they must both turn aside and learn to love elsewhere. He had done so with too complete a readiness. She had dreamed of a second love which should obliterate the first, which might still leave to her the memory of the romance of her early passion. Then this boy had come in her way. With him all her ambition might have been satisfied. She desired high rank and great wealth. With him she might have had it all. And then too, though there would always be the memory of that early passion, yet she could in another fashion love this youth. He was pleasant to her and gracious. And she had told herself that if it should be so that this great fortune might be hers, she would atone to him fully for that past romance by the wife-like devotion of her life. The cup had come within reach of her fingers, but she had not grasped it. Her happiness, her triumphs, her great success had been there, present to her, and she had dallied with her fortune. There had been a day on which he had been all but at her feet, and on the next he had been prostrated at the feet of another. He had even dared to tell her so, saying of that American that, of course, he loved her the best. Over and over again since that she had asked herself whether there was no chance. Though he had loved that other one best, she would take him if it were possible. When the invitation came from the Duke she would not lose a chance. She had told him that it was impossible that he, the heir to the Duke of Omnium, should marry an American. All his family, all his friends, all his world would be against him. And then he was so young, and as she thought so easily led, he was lovable and prone to love, but surely his love could not be very strong or he would not have changed so easily. She did not hesitate to own to herself that this American was very lovely. She, too, herself was beautiful. She, too, had a reputation for grace, loveliness, and feminine highbread charm. She knew all that, but she knew also that her attractions were not as bright as those of her rival. She could not smile or laugh and throw sparks of brilliance around her as did the American girl. Miss Boncaston could be graceful as a nymph in doing the awkwardest thing when she had pretended to walk stiffly along to some imaginary marriage ceremony with her foot stuck out before her, with her chin in the air and one arm akimbo. Silverbridge had been all afire with admiration. Lady Mabel understood it all. The American girl must be taken away from out of the reach of the young man's senses, and then the struggle must be made. Lady Mabel had not been long at matching before she learned that she had much in her favor. She perceived that the Duke himself had no suspicion of what was going on and that he was strongly disposed in her favor. She unraveled it all in her own mind. There must have been some agreement between the father and the son when the son had all but made his offer to her. More than once she was half-minded to speak openly to the Duke to tell him all that Silverbridge had said to her and all that he had not said and to ask the father's help in scheming against that rival. But she could not find the words with which to begin. And then might he not despise her and despising her reject her where she did declare her desire to marry a man who had given his heart to another woman? And so when the Duke asked her to remain after the departure of the other guests she decided that it would be best to bide her time. The Duke, as she assented, kissed her hand and she knew that this sign of grace was given to his intended daughter-in-law. In all this she have confided her thoughts and her prospects to her old friend Miss Cassowary. That girl has gone at last, she said to Miss Cass. I fear she has left her spells behind her, my dear. Of course she has. The venom out of the snake's tooth will poison all the blood, but still the poor, bitten wretch does not always die. I don't think she is a snake. Don't be moral, Cass. She is a snake in my sense. She has got her weapons, and of course it is natural enough that she should use them. If I want to be Duchess of Omnium, why shouldn't she? I hate to hear you talk of yourself in that way. Because you have enough of the old school about you to like conventional falsehood. This young man did, in fact, ask me to be his wife. Of course I meant to accept him, but I didn't. Then comes this convict's granddaughter. Daughter, convicts. You know what I mean. Had he been a convict, it would have been all the same. I take upon myself to say that had the world been informed that an alliance had been arranged between the eldest son of the Duke of Omnium and the daughter of Earl Grex, the world would have been satisfied. Every unmarried daughter of every peer in England would have envied me, but it would have been comile faux. Certainly, my dear. But what would be the feeling as to the convict's granddaughter? You don't suppose that I would approve it, but it seems to me that in these days young men do just what they please. He shall do what he pleases, but he must be made to be pleased with me. So much, he said to Miss Cassowary, but she did not divulge any plan. The Boncassence had just gone off to the station, and the Silver Bridge was out shooting. If anything could be done here at matching, it must be done quickly, as Silver Bridge would soon take his departure. She did not know it, but in truth he was remaining in order that he might, as he said, have all this out with the Governor. She tried to realize for herself some plan, but when evening came nothing was fixed. For a quarter of an hour, just as the sun was setting, the Duke joined her in the gardens and spoke to her more plainly than he had ever spoken before. A Silver Bridge come home, he asked. I have not seen him. I hope you and Mary get on well together. I think so, Duke. I am sure we should if we saw more of each other. I sincerely hope you may. There is nothing I wish for Mary so much as that she should have a sister, and there is no one whom I would be so glad to hear her call by that name as yourself. How could he have spoken plainer? The ladies were all together in the drawing-room when Silver Bridge came bursting in rather late. Where's the Governor, he asked, turning to his sister? Dressing, I should think, but what is the matter? I want to see him. I must be off to Cornwall tomorrow morning. To Cornwall, said Miss Cassowary. Why to Cornwall, asked Lady Mabel. But Mary, connecting Cornwall with Frank Tragear, held her peace. I can't explain it all now, but I must start very early tomorrow. Then he went off to his father's study, and finding the Duke still there explained the cause of his intended journey. The member for Paul Penneau had died, and Frank Tragear had been invited to stand for the borough. He had written to his friend to ask him to come and assist in the struggle. Years ago there always used to be a Tragear in for Paul Penneau, said Silver Bridge. But he is a younger son. I don't know anything about it, said Silver Bridge, but as he has asked me to go, I think I ought to do it. The Duke, who was by no means the man to make light of the political obligations of friendship, raised no objection. I wish, said he, that something could have been arranged between you and Mabel before you went. The young man stood in the gloom of the dark room aghast. This was certainly not the moment for explaining everything to his father. I have set my heart very much upon it, and you ought to be gratified by knowing that I quite approve your choice. All that had been years ago, in last June, before Mrs. Motikute Jones' garden party, before that day in the rain at Maidenhead, before the brightness of Killen Codlam, the glories of Miss Boncassen had been revealed to him. There is no time for that kind of thing now, he said, weekly. I thought that when you were here together, I must stress now, sir, but I will tell you all about it when I get back from Cornwall. I will come back direct to matching and will explain everything. So he escaped. It was clear to Lady Mabel that there was no opportunity now for any scheme. Whatever might be possible must be postponed till after this Cornish business had been completed. Perhaps it might be better so. She had thought that she would appeal to himself, that she would tell him of his father's wishes, of her love for him, of the authority which he had once given her for loving him, and of the absolute impossibility of his marriage with the American. She thought that she could do it, if not efficiently, at any rate, effectively, but it could not be done on the very day on which the American had gone. It came out in the course of the evening that he was going to assist Frank Tragear in his canvas. The matter was not spoken of openly, as Tragear's name could hardly be mentioned. But everybody knew it, and it gave occasion to Mabel for a few words apart with Silverbridge. I am so glad you are going to him, she said, in a little whisper. Of course I go when he wishes me. I don't know that I can do him any good. The greatest good in the world, your name will go so far. It will be everything to him to be in Parliament. And when are we to meet again? She said. I shall turn up somewhere, he replied, as he gave her his hand to wish her good-bye. On the following morning did you propose to Lady Mabel that she should stay at matching for yet another fortnight, if it might be possible. Lady Mabel, whose father was still abroad, was not sorry to accept the invitation. End of chapter 54. Chapter 55 of The Duke's Children. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Nicholas Clifford. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 55. Paul Penno. Paul Wenning, the seat of Mr. Tragear, Frank's father, was close to the borough of Paul Penno, so close that the gates of the grounds opened into the town. A silver bridge had told his father many of the Tragear family had sat for the borough. Then there had come changes and strangers had made themselves welcome by their money. When the vacancy now occurred, a deputation waited upon Squire Tragear and asked him to stand. The deputation would guarantee that the expense should not exceed a certain limited sum. Mr. Tragear for himself had no such ambition. His eldest son was abroad and was not at all such a man as one would choose to make into a Member of Parliament. After much consideration in the family, Frank was invited to present himself to the constituency. Frank's aspirations in regard to Lady Mary Palliser were known at Paul Wenning, and it was thought that they would have a better chance of success if he could write the letters MP after his name. Frank exceeded, and as he was starting, wrote to ask the assistance of his friend Lord Silverbridge. At that time there were only nine days more before the election, and Mr. Carbottle, the Liberal candidate, was already living in great style at the Camborn Arms. Mr. and Mrs. Tragear and an elder sister of Frank's might acknowledge herself to be an old maid, were very glad to welcome Frank's friend. On the first morning, of course, they discussed the candidate's prospects. My best chance of success, said Frank, arises from the fact that Mr. Carbottle is fatter than people here seem to approve. If his purse be fat, said old Mr. Tragear, that will carry off any personal defect. Lord Silverbridge asked whether the candidate was not too fat to make speeches. Mr. Tragear declared that he had made three speeches daily for the last week, and that Mr. Williams, the rector, who had heard him, declared him to be a godless dissenter. Mrs. Tragear thought it would be much better that the place should be disfranchised altogether than that such a horrid man should be brought into the neighborhood. A godless dissenter, she said, holding up her hands in dismay. Frank thought that they had better abstained from allusion to own its religion. Then Mr. Tragear made a little speech. We used, he said, to endeavor to get someone to represent us in Parliament who would agree with us on vital subjects such as the Church of England and the necessity of religion. Now it seems to be considered ill-mannered to make any allusion to such subjects, from which it may be seen that this old Tragear was very conservative indeed. When the old people were gone to bed, the two young men discussed the matter. I hope you'll get in, said Sylva Bridge, and if I can do anything for you, of course I will. It is always good to have a real member along with one, said Tragear. But I begin to think that I am a very shaky conservative myself. I am sorry for that. Sir Timothy is such a beast, said Sylva Bridge. Is that your notion of a political opinion? Would it be this or that in accordance with your own liking or disliking for some particular man? One is supposed to have opinions of one's own. Your father would be down on a man because he is the dissenter. Of course, my father is old-fashioned. It does seem so hard to me, said Sylva Bridge, to find any difference between the two sets. You who are a true conservative are much more like to my father, alone, who is on the same side as yourself. It may be so, and still I may be a good conservative. It seems to me and the house to me nothing more than choosing one set of companions or choosing another. There are some awful cadds who sit along with Mr. Monk, fellows that make you sick to hear them and whom I couldn't be civil to. But I don't think there is anybody I hate so much as old beeswax. He has a contemptuous way that makes me long to pull it. And you mean to go over in order that you may be justified in doing so? I think I soar a little higher, said Tragear.  A man may soar higher than that without being very clever. If the party that calls itself liberal were to have all its own way, who is there that doesn't believe that the church would go at once in all distinction between boroughs, the house of lords immediately afterwards, and after that, the crown? Those are not my governor's ideas. Your governor couldn't help himself. A liberal party with plenipotentiary power must go on right away to the logical conclusion of its arguments. It is only the conservative feeling of the country which saves such men as your father from being carried headlong to ruin by their own machinery. You have read Carlisle's French Revolution. Yes, I have read that. Wasn't it so there? There were a lot of honest men who thought they could do a great deal of good by making everybody equal. A good many were made equal by having their heads cut off. That's why I mean to be member for Paul Peno and to send Mr. Carbottle back to London.  I dare say he's as conservative as anybody. But he wants to be a member of parliament and as he hasn't thought much about anything he is quite willing to lend a hand to communism, radicalism, socialism, chopping people's heads off or anything else. That's all very well since Silverbridge but where should we have been if there had been no liberals? Robespierre and his pals cut off a lot of heads but Louis XIV and Louis XV locked up more in prison. He had the last word in the argument. The whole of the next morning was spent in canvassing and the whole of the afternoon. In the evening there was a great meeting at the Paul Wenning assembly room which at the present moment was in the hands of the conservative party. Here Frank Triguer made an oration in which he declared his political convictions. The whole speech was said at the time to be very good but the portion of it which was apparently esteemed the most had direct reference to Mr. Carbottle. Who was Mr. Carbottle? Why had he come to Palpeno? Who had sent for him? Why Mr. Carbottle rather than anybody else? Did not the people of Palpeno think that it might be as well to send Mr. Carbottle back to the place from whence he had come? These questions which seemed to Silverbridge to be as easy as they were attractive almost made him desirous of making his speech himself. Then Mr. Williams, the rector, followed a gentleman who had many staunch friends and many bitter enemies in the town. He addressed himself chiefly to that bane of the whole country as he conceived them the godless dissenters and was felt by Triguer to be injuring the cause by every word he spoke. It was necessary that Mr. Williams should liberate his own mind and therefore he persevered with the godless dissenters at great length. Not explaining however who thought enough about his religion to be a dissenter could be godless or how a godless man should care enough about religion to be a dissenter. Mr. Williams was heard with impatience and then there was a clamour for the young lord. He was the son of an ex-prime minister and therefore of course he could speak. He was himself a member of parliament and therefore could speak. He had boldly severed himself from the faulty political tenets and therefore on such an occasion as this was peculiarly entitled to speak. When a man goes electioneering he must speak. At the dinner table to refuse as possible or in any assembly convened for a semi-private purpose a gentleman may declare that he is not prepared for the occasion. But in such an emergency as this a man and a member of parliament cannot plead that he is not prepared. A son of a former prime minister who had already taken so strong a part in politics as to have severed himself from his father not prepared to address the voters of a borough whom he had come to canvas. The plea was so absurd that he was thrust on his feet before he knew what he was about. It was in truth his first public speech. At Silverbridge he had attempted to repeat a few words and in his failure had been covered by the spurgens and the sprouts. But now he was on his legs in a great room in an unknown town with all the aristocracy of the place before him. His eyes at first swam a little and there was a moment in which he thought he would run away. But on that morning as he was dressing there had come to his mind the idea of the possibility of such a moment as this and a few words had occurred to him. My friend Frank Tragear he began rushing it once at his subject very good fellow and I hope you'll elect him. Then he paused not remembering what was to come next but the sentiment which he had uttered appeared to his auditors to be so good in itself and so well delivered that they filled up a long pause with continual clappings and exclamations. Yes continued the young member of Parliament encouraged by the kindness of the crowd. I have known Frank Tragear ever so long and I don't think you could find him anywhere. There were many ladies present and they thought that the Duke's son was just the person who ought to come electioneering among them. His voice was much pleasanter to their ears than that of old Mr. Williams. The women waved their handkerchiefs and the men stamped their feet. Here was an orator come among them. You all know all about it just as well as I do continued the orator and I am sure you feel that he ought to know. There could be no doubt about that as far as the opinion of the audience went. There can't be a better fellow than Frank Tragear and I ask you all to give three cheers for the new member. Ten times three cheers were given and the car bottle lights outside the door who had come to report what was going on at the Tragear meeting were quite of the opinion that this eldest son of the former prime minister was a tower of strength. I don't know anything about Mr. Carbottle, continued Silverbridge, who was almost growing to like the sound of his own voice. Perhaps he's a good fellow too. No, no, no, a very bad fellow indeed was heard from different parts of the room. I don't know anything about him. I wasn't at school with Carbottle. This was taken as a stroke of the keenest wit and was received with infinite cheering. Silverbridge was in the pride of his youth and Carbottle was sixty at the least. Nothing could have been funnier. He seems to be a stout old party but I don't think he's the man from Paul Peno. I think you'll return Frank Tragear. I was at school with him and I tell you that you can't find a better fellow anywhere than Frank Tragear. Then he sat down and I am afraid he felt that he had made the speech of the evening. We are so much obliged, you Lord Silverbridge, Mr. Tragear said, as they were walking home together, that's just the sort of thing the people like, so reassuring, you know. What Mr. Williams says about the dissenters is, of course, true but it isn't reassuring. I hope I didn't make a fool of myself tonight, Silverbridge said when he was alone with Tragear, probably with some little pride in his heart. I ought to say that you did seeing that you praised me so violently but whatever it was it was well taken.  Silverbridge was hardly satisfied with this. He wished to have been told that he had spoken well. He did not, however, resent his friend's coldness. Perhaps after all I did make a fool of myself, he said to himself as he went to bed. On the next day after breakfast it was found to be raining heavily. Canvassing was, of course, and canvassing is a business which cannot be done indoors. It was soon decided that the rain should go for nothing. Could an agreement have been come to with the car-bottle lights? It might have been decided that both parties should abstain but as that was impossible the Tragear party could not afford to lose the day. As Mr. Carbottle, by reason of his fatness and natural slowness would perhaps be especially averse to walking about in the slush and mud it might be that they would gain something. So after breakfast they started with umbrellas. Tragear, Silverbridge, Mr. Newcomb the curate, Mr. Pinebot, the conservative attorney with four or five followers who were armed with books and pencils and who ticked off on the list of voters the names of the friendly, the doubtful and the inimical. Parliamentary canvassing is not a pleasant occupation. Perhaps nothing more disagreeable, more squalid, more revolting to the senses, more opposed to personal dignity can be conceived. The same words have to be repeated over and over again in the cottages, hovels and lodgings of poor men and women who only understand that the time has come round in which they are to be flattered instead of being the flatterers. I think I am right in supposing that your husband's principles are conservative, Mrs. Bubbs. I don't know anything about it. You better call again and see Bubbs himself. Certainly I will do so. I shouldn't at all like to leave the borough without seeing Mr. Bubbs. I hope we shall have your influence, Mrs. Bubbs. I don't know nothing about it. My folk at home always votes buff, and I think Bubbs ought to go buff, too. Only mind this. Bubbs don't never come home to his dinner. You must come after six, and I hope he's to have summit for his trouble. He won't have my word to vote unless he wants to summit. Such is the conversation in which the candidate takes apart, while his courtage at the door is criticizing his very imperfect mode of securing Mrs. Bubbs' good wishes. Then he goes on to the next house, and the same thing with some variation is endured again, some guide, philosopher, and friend who accompanies him, and who is the chief of the courtage has calculated on his behalf an hour, and to call on two hundred constituents in the course of the day.  It is a nuisance to which no man should subject himself in any weather, but when it rains there is super added a squalor and an ill humor to all the party, which makes it almost impossible for them not to quarrel before the day is over. To talk politics to Mrs. Bubbs under any circumstances is bad, but to do so with the conviction that the moisture is penetrating from your great coat through your shirt to your bones, and that while so employed you are breathing the steam from those seven other wet men at the door is abominable. To have to go through this is enough to take away all the pride which you take from becoming a Member of Parliament, but to go through it and then not to become a Member is base indeed. To go through it and to feel that you are probably paying at the rate of a hundred pounds a day for the privilege is most disheartening. Silverbridge, as he backed up Tragear in the uncomfortable work, congratulated himself on the comfort of having a Mr. Spurgeon and a Mr. Sprout who could manage his borough for him without a contest. They worked on that day all the morning till one when they took luncheon, all reeking with wet at the king's head so that a little money might be legitimately spent in the cause. Then at two they sallied out again vainly endeavoring to make their twenty calls within the hour. About four when it was beginning to be dusk they were very tired and Silverbridge had ventured to suggest that as they were all wet through and as there was to being in the assembly room that night and as nobody in that part of town seemed to be at home they might perhaps be allowed to adjourn for the present. He was thinking how nice it would be to have a glass of hot brandy and water and then lounge till dinner time. But the philosophers received the proposition with stern disdain. Was his lordship aware that Mr. Carbottle had been out all day from eight in the morning and was still at work that the Carbottleites had already returned for lanterns and were determined to go on till eight o'clock among the artisans who would then have returned from their work. When a man has put his hand to the plow the philosophers thought that that man should complete the furrow. The philosophers' view had just carried the day the discussion having been held under seven or eight wet umbrellas at the corner of a dirty little lane leading into the high street when suddenly on the other side of the way Mr. Carbottle's courtage made its appearance. The philosophers had once informed them that on such occasions it was customary that the rival candidate should be introduced. It will take ten minutes, said the philosophers, but then it will take them ten minutes too. Upon this tragear, as being the younger of the two, crossed over the road and the introduction was made there was something comfortable in it to the tragear party as no imagination could conceive anything more wretched than the appearance of Mr. Carbottle. He was a very stout man of sixty and seemed to be almost carried along by his companions. He had pulled his coat collar up and his hat down till very little of his face was visible, and in attempting to look at tragear and silver bridge he had to lift up his chin till the rain ran off his hat onto his nose. He had an umbrella in one hand and a stick in the other and was wet through to his very skin. What were his own feelings cannot be told, but his philosophers, guides, and friends would allow him no rest. Very hard work, Mr. Tragear, he said, shaking his head. Very hard indeed, Mr. Carbottle. Then the two parties went on each their own way without another word. End of Chapter 55 There were nine days of this work, during which Lord Silverbridge became very popular and made many speeches. Tragear did not win half so many hearts, or recommend himself so thoroughly to the political predilections of the people of the world. Mr. Carbottle, who was a very good friend of Mr. Carbottle, would not be afraid to attribute this success chiefly to the young Lord's eloquence. It certainly was not due to the strong religious feelings of the rector. It is to be feared that even the thoughtful political convictions of the candidate did not altogether produce the result. It was that chief man among the candidates, guides, and friends. Tragear did not belong to the candidates, guides, and friends. That leading philosopher, who would not allow anybody to go home from the rain, and who kept his eyes so sharply open to the pecuniary doings of the Carbottleites, that Mr. Carbottle's guides and friends had hardly dared to spend a shilling. It was he who had in truth been efficacious. In every attempt they had made to spend their money they had been looked into and circumvented. Mr. Carbottle had been brought down to Paul Peno on purpose that he might spend money, as he had nothing but his money to recommend him, and as he had not spent it, the free and independent electors of the borough had not seen their way to vote for him. Therefore the conservatives were very elate with their triumph. There was a great conservative reaction. But the electioneering guide, the humble retirement of his own home, he was a tailor in the town whose assistance at such periods had long been in requisition. He knew very well how the seat had been secured. Ten shillings ahead would have sent three hundred true liberals to the ballot boxes. The mode of distributing the money had been arranged, but the conservative tailor had been too acute, and not half a sovereign could be passed. The tailor got twenty-five pounds for his work, and that was smuggled in among the bills for printing. Mr. Williams, however, was sure that he had so opened out the iniquities of the dissenters as to have convinced the borough. Yes, every Salem, and Zion, and Ebenezer in his large parish would be closed. It is a great thing for the country, said Mr. Williams. I hope you'll never forget, said Mr. Williams, that he owes his seat to the Protestant and Church of England principles which have sunk so deeply into the minds of the thoughtful portions of the inhabitants of this borough. Whom should they elect but a triguere? said the mother, feeling that her rector took too much of the praise to himself. I think you have done more for us than anyone else, whispered Mr. Gear to the young Lord, what you said was so reassuring. The father, before he went to bed, expressed to his son with some trepidation, a hope that all this would lead to no great permanent increase of expenditure. That evening, before he went to bed, Lord Silverbridge wrote to his father an account of what had taken place at Paul Peno. My dear father, among us all we have managed to return Triguere. I am afraid you will not be quite pleased because it will be a vote lost to your party, but I really think that he is just the fellow to be in Parliament. If he were on your side I'm sure he's the kind of man you'd like to bring into office. He is always thinking about those sort of things. He says that if there were no conservatives such liberals as you and Mr. Monk would be destroyed by the Jacobins, there is something in that whether a man is a conservative or not himself I suppose there ought to be conservatives. The Duke, as he read this, made a memorandum in his own mind that he would explain to his son that every carriage should have a drag to its wheels, but that an ambitious soul would choose to be the coachman rather than the drag. It was beastly work. The Duke made another memorandum to instruct his son that no gentleman above the age of a schoolboy should allow himself to use such a word in such a sense. We had to go about in the rain up to our knees in mud for eight or nine days, always saying the same thing, and of course all that we said was bosh. Another memorandum, or rather two, one is to the slang and another is to the expediency of teaching something to the poor voters on such occasions. Our only comfort was that the car-bottle people were quite as badly off as us. Another memorandum as to the grammar, the absence of Christian charity did not at the moment affect the Duke. I made ever so many speeches till at last it seemed to be quite easy. Here there was a very grave memorandum. Speeches easy to young speakers are generally very difficult to old listeners. But of course it was all bosh. This required no separate memorandum. I have promised to go up to town with Tragear for a day or two. After that I will stick to my purpose of going to matching again. I will be there about the twenty second and will then stay over Christmas. After that I am going into the break country for some hunting. It is such a shame to have a lot of horses or to ride them. Your most affectionate son Silverbridge. The last sentence gave rise in the Duke's mind to the necessity of a very elaborate memorandum on the subject of amusements generally. By the same post another letter went from Paul Pino to matching which also gave rise to some mental memoranda. It was as follows. My dear Mabel of the British House of Commons I have sometimes regarded myself as being one of the most peculiarly unfortunate men in the world and yet now I have achieved that which all commoners in England think to be the greatest honour within their reach and have done so at an age at which very few achieve it but the sons of the wealthy and the powerful. I now come to my misfortunes. I know that as a poor man I ought not to be a member of Parliament. I ought to be earning my bread as a lawyer or a doctor. I have no business to be what I am and when I am forty I shall find that I have eaten up all my good things instead of having them to eat. I have one chance before me. You know very well what that is. Teller that my pride in being a member of Parliament is much more on her behalf than on my own. I never ought at any rate to be something in the world. If it might be, if ever it may be, I should wish to be something for her sake. I am sure you will be glad of my success yourself for my own sake. Your affectionate friend and cousin, Francis Triguer. The first mental memorandum in regard to this came from the writer's assertion that he, at forty, would have eaten up his bread. He, being a man, might make his way to good things, though he was not born to them. He surely would win his good things for himself. But what good things were in store for her? What chance of success was there for her? But the reflection, which was the most bitter to her of all, came from her assurance that his love for that other girl was most of the old romance. Some hint of a recollection of past feelings, some half-concealed reference to the former passion, might have been allowed to him. She, as a woman, as a woman all whose fortune must depend on marriage, could indulge in no such illusions. But surely he need not have been so hard. But still there was another memorandum. She was anxious that he should marry Lady Mary Palliser, though so anxious also that something of his love should remain with herself. She was quite willing to convey that message, if it might be done without offence to the Duke. She was there with the object of ingratiating herself with the Duke. She must not impede her favour with the Duke by making herself marry and her lover. But how should she serve Traguire without risk of offending the Duke? She read the letter again and again, and thinking it to be a good letter she determined to show it to the Duke. Mr. Traguire has got in at Polpino, she said on the day on which she and the Duke had received their letters. So I hear from Silverbridge. It will be a good thing to see the Duke coldly. He is my cousin, and I have always been interested in his welfare. That is natural. And a seat in Parliament will give him something to do. Certainly it odd, said the Duke. I do not think that he is an idle man. To this the Duke made no answer. He did not wish to be made to talk about Traguire. May I tell you why I say all this? She asked softly, gently. To this the Duke assented, but still coldly. Because I want to know what I ought to do. Would you mind reading that letter? Of course you will remember that Frank and I have been brought up almost as brother and sister. The Duke took the letter in his hand and did read it very slowly. What he says about young men without means going into Parliament is true enough. He was very encouraging, but as the Duke went on reading Mabel did not take it necessary to argue the matter. He had to read the last paragraph twice before he understood it. He did read it twice and then folding the letter very slowly gave it back to his companion. What ought I to do? Ask Lady Mabel. As you and I, my dear our friends, I think that any caring of a message to confidence. I think that you should not speak to Mary about Mr. Tragear. Then he changed the subject. Lady Mabel, of course, understood that after that she could not say a word to Mary about the election at Pulpino. End of Chapter 56 Chapter 57 of the Duke's Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more LibriVox.org Recording by Nicholas Clifford The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop Chapter 57 The Meeting at the Bob-Tailed Fox It was now the middle of December and matters were not comfortable in the run-and-meet country. The major, with much pluck, had carried on his operations in opposition to the wishes of the resident members of the hunt. The owners of coverts had protested that he should not ride over their lands. There had even been some talk among the younger men of thrashing him if he persevered. But he did persevere and had managed to have one or two good runs. Now it was the fortune of the run-and-meet hunt that many of those who rode with the hounds were strangers to the country. Men who came down by train from London gentlemen of perhaps no great distinction who could ride hard but as to whom it was thought they did not provide the land to ride over or the fences to be destroyed or the covers for the foxes or the greater part of the subscription they ought not to oppose those by whom all these things were supplied. But the major, knowing where his strength lay had managed to get a party to support him. The contract to hunt the country had been made with him in last March and was good for one year. Having the kennels and the hounds under his command he did hunt the country but he did so amidst a storm of contumely and ill-will. At last it was decided that a general meeting of the members of the hunt should be called together with the express object of getting rid of the major. The gentleman of the neighbourhood felt that the major was not to be born and the farmers were very much stronger against him than the gentleman. It had now become a settled belief among sporting men in England who had with his own hands driven the nail into the horse's foot. Was it to be endured that the runny-meed farmers should ride the hounds under a master who had been guilty of such an iniquity as that? The Staines and Egham Gazette which had always supported the runny-meed hunt declared in very plain terms that all who rode with the major were enjoying their sport out of the plunder which had been extracted from Lord Silverbridge. Then a meeting was called for Saturday, the 18th December to be held at that well-known sporting little inn, the Bob-Tailed Fox. The members of the hunt were earnestly called upon to attend. It was, so said the printed document which was issued, the only means by which the hunt could be preserved. If gentlemen who were interested did not put their shoulders to the wheel the runny-meed hunt must be regarded as a thing of the past. One of the documents was sent to the major with an intimation that if he wished to attend no objection would be made to his presence. The chair would be taken at half-past twelve punctually by that popular and well-known old sportsman, Mr. Mahogany Tops. Was ever the master of a hunt treated in such a way? His presence was not objected to as the rule the master of a hunt does not attend hunt meetings because the matter to be discussed is generally that of the money to be subscribed for him as to which it is as well known he should not hear the pros and cons. But it is presumed that he is to be the hero of the hour and that he is to be treated to his face and spoken of behind his back with love, admiration and respect. But now this master was told his presence would be allowed. And then this fox-hunting meeting was summoned for half-past twelve on a hunting day when, as all the world knew, the hounds were to meet at eleven, twelve miles off. Was ever anything so base? said the major to himself. But he resolved that he would be equal to the occasion. He immediately issued cards to all the members stating that on that day the meat had been changed from cropping and bushes which was ever so much on the other side of bag-shot to the bob-tailed fox for the benefit of the hunted large, said the card, and that the hounds would be there at half-past one. Whatever might happen he must show a spirit. In all this there were one or two of the London Brigade who stood fast to him. Cock your tail, Tifto, said one hard-riding supporter, and show him you aren't afraid of nothing. So Tifto cocked his tail and went to the meeting in his best new scarlet coat with his whitest britches, his pinkest boots, and his neatest little bows at his knees.  He had taken two glasses of cherry brandy, and as long as the stimulant lasted would no doubt be able to support himself with audacity. Old Mr. Tops and rising from his chair did not say very much. He had been hunting in the Runnymede country for nearly fifty years and had never seen anything so sad as this before. It made him, he knew, very unhappy. As for foxes, there were always plenty of foxes in his cupboards. His friend, Mr. Jawstock, on the right, would explain what all this was about. All he wanted was to see the Runnymede hunt properly kept up. Then he sat down and Mr. Jawstock rose to his legs. Mr. Jawstock was a gentleman well known in the Runnymede country who had himself been instrumental in bringing Major Tifto into these parts. There is often someone in a hunting country who never becomes a master of hounds himself, but who has almost as much to say about the business as the master himself. Sometimes at hunt meetings he is rather unpopular as he is always inclined to talk. But there are occasions that are not as valuable as were Mr. Jawstock's at present. He was about forty-five years of age, was not much given to riding, owned no cupboards himself and was not a man of wealth, but he understood the nature of hunting, knew all its laws and was a judge of horses, of hounds, and of men and could say a thing when he had to say it. Mr. Jawstock sat on the right hand of Mr. Tops opposite. The task to be performed was neither easy nor pleasant. It was necessary that the orator should accuse the gentleman opposite to him, a man with whom he himself had been very intimate, of iniquity so gross and so mean that nothing worse can be conceived.  That was what Mr. Jawstock had to say. And he said it, looking round the room, occasionally appealing to Mr. Tops who on these occasions would lift up his hands in horror but never letting his eye fall for a moment on the major, Mr. Jawstock told his story. I did not see it done, said he. I know nothing about it. I never was a doncaster in my life, but you have evidence of what the Jockey Club thinks. The master of our hunt has been banished from race courses. Here there was considerable opposition and a few short but excited little dialogues were maintained throughout all which Tifto restrained himself like a Spartan. At any rate he has been thoroughly disgraced, continued Mr. Jawstock, as a sporting man. He has been driven out of the Bear Garden Club. He resigned and disgusted their treatment, said a friend of the Major's. Then let him resign and disgusted ours, said Mr. Jawstock, for we won't have him here. Caesar wouldn't keep a wife who was suspected of infidelity, nor will the one he made country endure a master of hounds who was supposed to have driven a nail into a horse's foot. Two or three other gentlemen had something to say before the Major was allowed to speak. The upshot of the discourse was to go. Then the Major got up and certainly as far as the tension went he had full justice done him. However clamorous they might intend to be afterwards, that amount of fair play they were all determined to afford him. The Major was not excellent at speaking, but he did perhaps better than might have been expected. This is a very disagreeable position, he said, very disagreeable indeed. As for the nail in the horse's foot I know no more about it than the babe unborn. But I've got two things to say and I'll say what aren't the most consequence first. These hounds belong to me. Here he paused and a loud contradiction came from many parts of the room. Mr. Jawstock, however, proposed that the Major should be heard to the end. I say they belong to me, repeated the Major. If anybody tries his hand at anything else the law will soon set that to rights. But that aren't of much consequence. What I've got to say is this. Let the matter be referred. If that horse had a nail run into his foot and I don't say he hadn't, who was the man most injured? Why, Lord Silverbridge, everybody knows that. I suppose he dropped well on to eighty thousand pounds. I propose to leave it to him. Let him say. He ought to know more about it than anyone. He and I were partners in the horse. His lordship aren't very sweet upon me just at present. Nobody need fear that he'll do me a good turn. I say leave it to him. In this matter the Major had certainly been well advised. Aruma had become prevalent among sporting circles that Silverbridge had refused to condemn the Major. It was known that he had paid his bets without delay and that he had to some extent declined to take advice from leaders of the jockey club. The Major's friends were informed that the young Lord had refused to vote against him at the club. Was it not more than probable that if this matter were referred to him he would refuse to give a verdict against his late partner? The Major sat down, put on his cap, and folded his arms akimbo with his horn sticking out from his left hand. For a time there was general silence broken, however, by murmurs in different parts of the room. Then Mr. Jawstock whispered something into the ear of the chairman and Mr. Tops, rising from his seat, suggested to Tifto that he should retire. I think so, said Mr. Jawstock, the proposition you have made can be discussed only in your absence. Then the Major held a consultation with one of his friends and after that he did retire. When he was gone the real hubbub of the meeting commenced. There were some there who understood the nature of Lord Silverbridge's feelings in the matter. He would be the last man in England to declare him guilty, said Mr. Jawstock. Whatever my Lord says he shan't right across my land, said a farmer in the background. I don't think any gentleman ever made a fairer proposition since anything was anything, said a friend of the Major's, a gentleman who kept delivery stables in Longacre.  I don't think any gentleman ought to be condemned without a earring, said one of Tifto's admirers, and where are you going to get anyone to hunt the country like him? I don't know as anybody is prepared to say. We'll manage that, said a young gentleman from the neighborhood of Bagshot who thought he could hunt the country himself quite as well as Major Tifto. He must go from here, that's the long and short of it, said Mr. Jawstock. Put it to the vote, Mr. Jawstock, said the livery-stable keeper. Mr. Tops, who had had great experience in public meetings, hereupon expressed an opinion that they might as well go to a vote. No doubt he was right if the matter was one which must sooner or later be decided in that manner. Mr. Jawstock looked round the room trying to calculate what might be the effect of a show of hands. The majority was with him, and he was well aware that of this majority some few would be drawn away by the apparent justice of Tifto's proposition. And what was the use of voting? Let them vote as they might. It was out of the question that Tifto should remain master of the hunt. But the chairman had exceeded, and on such occasions it is difficult to go against the chairman. Then there came a show of hands, first for those who desired to refer the matter to Lord Silverbridge, and afterwards for Tifto's direct enemies, for those who were anxious to banish Tifto out of hand without reference to any one. At last the matter was settled. To the great annoyance of Mr. Jawstock and the farmers, the meeting voted that Lord Silverbridge should be invited to give his opinion as to the innocence or guilt of his late partner. The major's friends carried the discussion out to him as he sat on horseback, as though he had altogether gained the battle and was secure in his position as master of the run-and-mead hunt for the next dozen years. But at the same time there came a message from Mr. Mahogany Tops. It was now half-past two, and Mr. Tops expressed a hope that Major Tifto would not draw the country on the present occasion. The major, thinking that it might be as well to conciliate his enemies, rode solemnly and slowly home to Tally Ho Lodge in the middle of his hounds. To London, instead of going off direct to matching, it is to be feared that he was simply actuated by a desire to postpone his further visit to his father's house. He had thought that Lady Mabel would surely be gone before his task at Polpeno was completed. As soon as he should again find himself in his father's presence, he would at once declare his intention of marrying Isabelle Boncassen. But he could not see his way to doing it while Lady Mabel should be in the house. I think you will find Mabel still at matching, said Tragia, on their way up. She will wait for you, I fancy. I don't know why she should wait for me, said Silverbridge, almost angrily. I thought you and she were fast friends. I suppose we are, after a fashion. She might wait for you, perhaps. I think she would if I could go there. You are much thicker with her than I ever was. You went to see her at Grex when nobody else was there. Is Miss Cassowary nobody? Next door to it, said Silverbridge, half jealous of the favours shown to Tragia. I thought, said Tragia, that there would be a closer intimacy between you and her. I don't know why you should think so. Had you never any such idea yourself? I haven't any now, so there may be an end of it. I don't think a fellow ought to be cross-questioned on such a subject. Then I'm very sorry for Mabel, said Tragia. This was uttered solemnly, so that Silverbridge found himself debarred from making any flippant answer. He could not altogether defend himself. He had been quite justified, he thought, in changing his mind, but he did not like to own that he had changed it so quickly. I think we had better not talk any more about it, he said, after pausing for a few moments. After that nothing more was said between them on the subject. Up in town Silverbridge spent two or three days pleasantly enough, while a thunderbolt was being prepared for him, or rather, in truth, two thunderbolts. During these days he was much with Tragia, and, though he could not speak freely of his own matrimonial projects, still he was brought round to give some sort of assent to the engagement between Tragia and his sister. This new position which his friend had won for himself did in some degree operate on his judgment. It was not perhaps that he himself imagined that Tragia as a member of parliament would be worthier, but that he fancied that such would be the Duke's feelings. The Duke had declared that Tragia was nobody. That could hardly be said of a man who had a seat in the House of Commons. Certainly could not be said by so staunch a politician as the Duke, but had he known of those two thunderbolts he would not have enjoyed his time at the Bear Garden. The thunderbolts fell upon him in the shape of two letters, which reached his hands at the same time and were as follows. The Bob-Tailed Fox Eggham 18 December My Lord At a meeting held in this House today in reference to the hunting of the runny-mead country, it was proposed that the management of the hounds should be taken out of the hands of Major Tifto in consequence of certain conduct of which it is alleged that he was guilty at the last Doncaster races. Major Tifto was present and requested that your lordship's opinion should be asked as to his guilt. I do not know myself that we are warranted in troubling your lordship on the subject. I am, however, commissioned by the majority of the gentlemen who were present to ask you whether you think that Major Tifto's conduct on that occasion was of such a nature as to make him unfit to be the depository of that influence, authority and intimacy which ought to be at the command of a master of hounds. I feel myself bound to inform your lordship that the hunt generally will be inclined to place great weight upon your opinion but that it does not undertake to reinstate Major Tifto even should your opinion be in his favour. I have the honour to be my lord, your lordship's most obedient servant, Jeremiah Jorstock, Junipalodge Stains. Mr. Jorstock, when he had written this letter, was proud of his own language but still felt that the application was a very lame one. Why ask any man for an opinion and tell him at the same time that his opinion might probably not be taken and yet no other alternative had been left to him. The meeting had decided that the application should be made but Mr. Jorstock was well aware that let the young lord's answer be what it might, the major would not be endured as master Mr. Jorstock felt that the passage in which he explained that a master of hounds should be a depository of influence and intimacy was good but yet the application was lame, very lame. Lord Silverbridge, as he read it, thought that it was very unfair. It was a most disagreeable thunderbolt. Then he opened the second letter of which he well knew the handwriting. It was from the major. Tiftoe's letters were very legible but the writing was cramped showing that the operation had been performed with difficulty. Silverbridge had hoped that he might never receive another epistle from his late partner. The letter, as follows, had been drawn out for Tiftoe in rough by the livery stablekeeper in Long Acre. My dear Lord Silverbridge, I venture respectfully to appeal to your lordship for an act of justice. Nobody has more of a true-born Englishman's feeling of fair play between man and man than your lordship and as you and me have been a good deal together and your lordship ought to know me pretty well, I venture to appeal to your lordship for a good word. All that story from Doncaster has got down into the country where I am M F H. Nobody could have been more sorry than me that your lordship dropped your money. Would not I have been prouder than anything of a horse in my name win the race? Was it likely I should blame him? Anyways, I didn't and I don't think your lordship thinks it was me. Of course your lordship and me is too now, but that don't alter the facts. What I want is your lordship to send me a line just stating your lordship's opinion that I didn't do it and didn't have nothing to do with it, which I didn't. There was a meeting at the Bob Tell Fox yesterday and the gentleman was all of one mind to go by what your lordship would say. I couldn't design nothing fairer, so I hope your lordship will stand to me now and write something that will pull me through. With all respects, I beg to remain your lordship's most dutiful servant, T Tifto. There was something in this letter which the major himself did not quite approve. There was an absence of familiarity about it which annoyed him. He would have liked to call upon his late partner to declare that a more honourable man than Major Tifto had never been known on the turf, but he felt himself to be so far down in the world that it was not safe for him to hold an opinion of his own, even against the livery-stable keeper. Silverbridge was for a time in doubt whether he should answer the letters at all and if so how he should answer them. In regard to Mr. Jawstock and the meeting at large, he regarded the application as an impertinence, but as to Tifto himself, he vacillated much between pity, contempt and absolute condemnation. Everybody had assured him that the man had certainly been guilty. The fact that he had made bets against their joint horse, bets as to which he had said nothing till after the race was over, had been admitted by himself, and yet it was possible that the man might not be such a rascal as to be unfit to manage the runny-mead hounds. Having himself got rid of Tifto, he would have been glad that the poor wretch should have been left with his hunting honors, but he did not think that he could write to his late partner any letter that would preserve those honors to him. At Tragear's advice, he referred the matter to Mr. Lupton. Mr. Lupton was of opinion that both the letters should be answered, but the answer to each should be very short. There is a prejudice about the world, just at present, said Mr. Lupton, in favour of answering letters. I don't see why I am to be subjected to an annoyance because another man has taken a liberty, but it is better to submit to public opinion.


Studying Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare? Let's discuss the character of Prince Escalus in Act One, Scene One. The adjective rebellious shows he's really angry at the Montague's and Capulets once more disrupting peace and Verona. This caesura shows how this food has been so destructive to the city. The words enemies and profaners belong to the semantic field of antagonism. This rhetorical question shows how stubborn the Montague's and Capulets are.  The words steel, rage, torture and weapons belong to the semantic field of war. The assonance of A in an airy word shows how really minor issues cause huge conflicts. He threatens if ever you disturb our streets again which increases the dramatic tension. Your life's shall pay its personification. Here he threatens whoever disturbs the peace will be killed. He talks to both Capulet and Montague and these two imperative sentences show him stamping his authority in Verona.