The Eustace Diamonds: A Palliser Novel

By Anthony Trollope and Joanna Trollope

This is the third of Trollope's Pallister novels and one of his most compelling works. The plot centres on the fabulous necklace owned by the Eustace family, which the beautiful but ruthless opportunist Lizzie, claims as her own after she marries Sir Florian Eustace for his money and becomes his widow after only a few months. Lizzie plots to keep the necklace, while at the same time she spreads her net over several prospective new suitors, in order to entrap another husband to keep her in the manner to which she has so rapidly become accustomed.

This novel is both a gripping detective story and a fascinating study of moral duplicity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wordsworth Editions
• Release date: Jul 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781848705784

Anthony Trollope

Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) was the third son of a barrister, who ruined his family by giving up the law for farming, and an industrious mother. After attending Winchester and Harrow, Trollope scraped into the General Post Office, London, in 1834, where he worked for seven years. In 1841 he was transferred to Ireland as a surveyor's clerk, and in 1844 married and settled at Clonmel. His first two novels were devoted to Irish life; his third, La Vendée, was historical. All were failures. After a distinguished career in the GPO, for which he invented the pillar box and travelled extensively abroad, Trollope resigned in 1867, earning his living from writing instead. He led an extensive social life, from which he drew material for his many social and political novels. The idea for The Warden (1855), the first of the six Barsetshire novels, came from a visit to Salisbury Close; with it came the characters whose fortunes were explored through the succeeding volumes, of which Doctor Thorne is the third.

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Contents

Chapter 1: Lizzie Greystock

Chapter 2: Lady Eustace

Chapter 3: Lucy Morris

Chapter 4: Frank Greystock

Chapter 5: The Eustace necklace

Chapter 6: Lady Linlithgow’s mission

Chapter 7: Mr Burke’s speeches

Chapter 8: The conquering hero comes

Chapter 9: Showing what the Miss Fawns said, and what Mrs Hittaway thought

Chapter 10: Lizzie and her lover

Chapter 11: Lord Fawn at his office

Chapter 12: ‘I only thought of it’

Chapter 13: Showing what Frank Greystock did

Chapter 14: ‘Doan’t thou marry for munny’

Chapter 15: ‘I’ll give you a hundred guinea brooch’

Chapter 16: Certainly an heirloom

Chapter 17: The diamonds are seen in public

Chapter 18: ‘And I have nothing to give’

Chapter 19: ‘As my brother’

Chapter 20: The diamonds become troublesome

Chapter 21: ‘Ianthe’s soul’

Chapter 22: Lady Eustace procures a pony for the use of her cousin

Chapter 23: Frank Greystock’s first visit to Portray

Chapter 24: Showing what Frank Greystock thought about marriage

Chapter 25: Mr Dove’s opinion

Chapter 26: Mr Gowran is very funny

Chapter 27: Lucy Morris misbehaves

Chapter 28: Mr Dove in his chambers

Chapter 29: ‘I had better go away’

Chapter 30: Mr Greystock’s troubles

Chapter 31: Frank Greystock’s second visit to Portray

Chapter 32: Mr and Mrs Hittaway in Scotland

Chapter 33: ‘It won’t be true’

Chapter 34: Lady Linlithgow at home

Chapter 35: Too bad for sympathy

Chapter 36: Lizzie’s guests

Chapter 37: Lizzie’s first day

Chapter 38: Nappie’s grey horse

Chapter 39: Sir Griffin takes an unfair advantage

Chapter 40: ‘You are not angry?’

Chapter 41: ‘Likewise the bears in couples agree’

Chapter 42: Sunday morning

Chapter 43: Life at Portray

Chapter 44: A midnight adventure

Chapter 45: The journey to London

Chapter 46: Lucy Morris in Brook Street

Chapter 47: Matching Priory

Chapter 48: Lizzie’s condition

Chapter 49: Bunfit and Gager

Chapter 50: In Hertford Street

Chapter 51: Confidence

Chapter 52: Mrs Carbuncle goes to the theatre

Chapter 53: Lizzie’s sick-room

Chapter 54: ‘I suppose I may say a word’

Chapter 55: Quints or semitenths

Chapter 56: Job’s comforters

Chapter 57: Humpty Dumpty

Chapter 58: ‘The fiddle with one string’

Chapter 59: Mr Gowran up in London

Chapter 60: ‘Let it be as though it had never been’

Chapter 61: Lizzie’s great friend

Chapter 62: ‘You know where my heart is’

Chapter 63: The corsair is afraid

Chapter 64: Lizzie’s last scheme

Chapter 65: Tribute

Chapter 66: The aspirations of Mr Emilius

Chapter 67: The eye of the public

Chapter 68: The Major

Chapter 69: ‘I cannot do it’

Chapter 70: Alas!

Chapter 71: Lizzie is threatened with the treadmill

Chapter 72: Lizzie triumphs

Chapter 73: Lizzie’s last lover

Chapter 74: Lizzie at the police-court

Chapter 75: Lord George gives his reasons

Chapter 76: Lizzie returns to Scotland

Chapter 77: The story of Lucy Morris is concluded

Chapter 78: The trial

Chapter 79: Once more at Portray

Chapter 80: What was said about it all at Matching

Introduction to the Palliser Novels

Between 1847 and his death in 1882, Anthony Trollope wrote forty-seven novels – or, to put it another way, for thirty-five years he wrote a novel and a third every year. In addition to this, he wrote short stories and travel books while, at the same time, occupying a senior post as a Civil Servant at the Post Office, editing a literary magazine, and attempting to stand for Parliament.

It is, by modern standards, prodigious stuff. It is also, in its vigour and application, intensely Victorian. So it is gratifyingly appropriate, perhaps, that although there are many individual gems among those forty-seven novels, Anthony Trollope is chiefly remembered for his two great portraits of those twin pillars of the Victorian establishment, Church and Parliament.

The portraits come as a series, two sets of six books each. The first, the great Barchester Chronicles, took a long, hard, ironic look at the Victorian Church between the publication of The Warden in 1855, and that of The Last Chronicle of Barset eleven years later. The political novels were more spread out. They began with Can You Forgive Her? in 1864, and continued, interspersed with all manner of other kinds of novel, until only two years before Trollope’s death, with the publication of The Duke’s Children in 1880. In between those two markers had come, steadily and written as if his mind had ben preoccupied by nothing else, Phineas Finn (1869), The Eustace Diamonds (1873), Phineas Redux (1874) and The Prime Minister (1876).

They represent an extraordinary and often literally weighty achievement. With the exception, perhaps, of Trollope’s own The Way We Live Now, there doesn’t exist, in Victorian literature, such a detailed and clear-eyed portrait of the affluent, influential, power-broking classes of nineteenth century England. We may well find better portraits of provincial life in George Eliot, of metropolitan low life in Charles Dickens, but nowhere else will we find a more living and recognisable picture of Victorian politicians, of their mores and their morals, their social and family lives, nor of that place where they spent such countless hours, wheeling and dealing and prosing and yawning – the Commons Chamber of the Houses of Parliament.

The six political novels have come to be known as The Palliser Novels, from the surname of the wealthy, aristocratic family who form the central thread of three of the novels, and peripheral ones in the others. The head of the family is the old Duke of Omnium, idle, selfish and ineffably aristocratic, susceptible to pretty women, to the buying of jewels and, above all, to his own patrician uniqueness. Then there is his nephew, plain Mr Plantagenet Palliser, one of those upright, ascetic, conscientious men who are born middle-aged; utterly just, entirely honourable but at the same time wholly devoid of either fun or sensuality.

His wife, Lady Glencora MacLuskie, has, on the other hand, plenty of both. She is an orphan heiress, married off ruthlessly to Mr Palliser by alarmed relations when she shows signs of succumbing fatally to a passion for the beautiful, feckless, penniless Burgo Fitzgerald. The marriage starts, inevitably, as one of cold convenience, but as the novels progress, it turns into something both warmer and subtler, a profoundly credible and workable relationship which produces three children; an heir, a spare, and a daughter. And it is the daughter, Mary, who in the final novel of the series, achieves in matters of her own heart’s desire what had been denied her mother, five books and a generation later.

Yet this family, fascinating though they are, are almost dwarfed by the landscape against which they are set – the high political life of mid-Victorian England. Trollope was, by his own confession, in love with the idea of politics.

‘I have always thought,’ he wrote in his Autobiography, ‘that to sit in the British Parliament should be the highest object of ambition to every educated Englishman…that to serve one’s country without pay is the grandest work that a man can do… and that of all lives, public political lives are capable of the highest efforts.’

Trollope considered himself to be ‘an advanced conservative Liberal’. It was certainly as a Liberal candidate that he stood – unsuccessfully – for Beverley, in Yorkshire, in 1868, and it was as a Liberal that he viewed the huge political issues of 1867 and 1868 – the Reform Bill, and the disestablishment of the Church in Ireland – that form, with a good deal of fictional licence, the background of Phineas Finn. Yet modern professional politicians – among them J. Enoch Powell – are of the opinion that Trollope was not a true political animal, that he did not understand the real passion and complexity of politics. Where his gift lay was in observing politicians as individuals, and in chronicling how they reacted to the pressures and demands of political life. We are not so much presented with deep political principle in these novels as with dilemmas of human behaviour in the political arena. Will Phineas Finn be true to Mr Monk? Will Mr Palliser ever see that his belief in decimal coinage is merely a detail? Will George Vavasor really accept all his cousin Alice’s money to further his political ambition? How, we want to know, are these people actually going to react; what, in the end, is going to govern their behaviour? It is this that keeps us turning the pages, and not our need to know which party will next be at the helm. As for that, I suspect that most readers of the Palliser novels will feel about the politicians, the Daubneys and Mildmays and Ratlers and Bonteens, those endless Victorian ‘men in suits’, as Lady Glencora does when she describes them dismissively as hurrying back and forth to Windsor for audiences with the Queen ‘like buckets in a well’.

Yet, even if the actual political content of these six novels sometimes lacks narrative compulsion, the human element – always uppermost – never does. These novels may not have the immediate accessibility of the Barchester Chronicles, and we may at first long for someone of the startling individuality of Archdeacon Grantly or Mrs Proudie, but they have extraordinary riches of their own, notably, as is ever the way with Trollope, among the women.

The Palliser Novels contain the liveliest, most characterful and courageous women that Trollope ever invented. From the impetuous charms of Lady Glencora, through serious, eternally confused Alice Vavasor, to grubby, greedy little Lizzie Eustace, there is a roll call of women of infinite variety and infinite credibility. There can be few portraits of remorse as passionate and ruthlessly realistic as that of Lady Laura Kennedy in Phineas Finn and Phineas Redux, nor of the workings of an ingenious, cunning and avaricious mind so vivid as Lizzie’s in The Eustace Diamonds. We see the very real struggle for independence even in women with money (Violet Effingham, Madame Max Goesler) and the bitter intensification of that struggle for women without it (Lady Laura again, Lady Mabel Grex, Kate Vavasor). And amid the broken hearts and broken dreams, we see above all the unmistakable frustration of clever women balked of any kind of a place in public life.

Because public life is the true hero of these novels, public life is the place in the sun. Even though Trollope allows, in his humorous, sceptical way, the scales to fall from the eyes of his one truly chosen and marked political hero, Phineas Finn, he never quite allows the glory of public office to fade. The temple of Parliament, that great gilded citadel where Phineas is, literally, too awed to speak the first time he gets upon his legs, may lose some of its extraordinary radiance with familiarity, but it never loses it all. There is nowhere like it, Trollope says plainly, nowhere to match it for significance and power. When Parliament is sitting, the social lives of the people in these books revolve around its bizarre hours and customs; its debates and decisions are discussed endlessly over late-night brandy and water in clubs, over tea and toast at breakfast tables, in boudoirs and during drives in the park. When Parliament is not sitting, its devotees gather at houseparties in Yorkshire and Scotland and plot what they will do at the next session. It is not just a way of life but a breath of it, too. We are taken racing and hunting, we are taken into lawyers’ chambers and newspaper offices, we are taken for lovely walks by waterfalls and dangerous walks in dark London streets, we are introduced to castles and to lodging houses, to sweet innocent girls and seedy commercial men, we are fed a steady diet of mutton chops with a very occasional dish of strawberries, we go to gaol and to Dresden, to the Highlands and to Ireland, we sit solitary in lonely rooms or are crushed half to death at great social gatherings – but wherever we are, whatever we are doing, we know what sustains it all, drives it, provides its purpose: that idea of Trollope’s, no more and no less, that ‘a man in Parliament has reached a higher position than a man out’, that Parliament, like it or not, is the cynosure of all eyes.

We may agree with him. We may not. But whatever our opinion of this view, we cannot but acknowledge that his feelings for the significance of Parliament lend these novels significance too, as well as scale and, unquestionably glamour. And, as ever, we like Trollope’s honesty. As Lady Glencora says of Lizzie Eustace, when she brazenly wears the disputed diamonds to an evening party, ‘Well, I like her for wearing them’.

Joanna Trollope

Anthony Trollope, one of the most celebrated and important novelists of the nineteenth century, was born on 24th April 1815 in Keppel Street, Russell Square, London. His father had been a fellow of New College, Oxford prior to his marriage to Anthony’s mother, Frances. He subsequently had two unsuccessful careers both as a barrister and as a farmer. These failures led to the family being poorly off and made the young Anthony very miserable at school (he attended both Harrow and Winchester). However, the worst effects of poverty were shielded from the family by the prodigious efforts of Frances as an author. Beginning writing after the age of fifty, she rose early in the day and worked hard, successfully producing 114 books in all: perhaps the most famous being Domestic Manners of the Americans (1832). Anthony Trollope began his career as a junior clerk in the General Post Office in London in 1834. He was transferred to Ireland in 1841 after which time his career prospered and he undertook extensive travels including visits to Egypt, the West Indies and the United States. His most memorable act in his time at the Post Office was the introduction to the British Isles of the pillar-box for letters. He left the Post Office in 1867 and stood unsuccessfully for Parliament, as a Liberal, the following year. He married in 1844 and he and his wife, Rose, subsequently had two sons. His literary output was enormous comprising no fewer than 47 novels, travel books, biographies, collections of short stories, and his famous Autobiography published posthumously in 1883. Trollope died on 6th December 1882 at number 34 Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London.

Further reading

E. Bowen: Trollope: A new Judgement

A. O. J. Cockshut: Anthony Trollope: A Critical Study

W. G. & J. T. Gerould: Guide to Trollope

V. Glendinning: Trollope 1992

N. J. Hall (ed.): Letters (2 Volumes) 1983

M. Sadleir: Life of Trollope

D. Smalley (ed.): The Critical Heritage 1969

The Eustace Diamonds

Chapter 1

Lizzie Greystock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Florian was not, indeed, a clever man; but he believed himself to be a fool. And believing himself to be a fool, he desired, nay painfully longed, for some of those results of cleverness which might, he thought, come to him, from contact with a clever woman. Lizzie read poetry well, and she read verses to him, – sitting very near to him almost in the dark, with a shaded lamp throwing its light on her book. He was astonished to find how sweet a thing was poetry. By himself he could never read a line, but as it came from her lips it seemed to charm him. It was a new pleasure, and one which, though he had ridiculed it, he had so often coveted! And then she told him of such wondrous thoughts, – such wondrous joys in the world which would come from thinking! He was proud, I have said, and haughty; but he was essentially modest and humble in his self-estimation. How divine was this creature, whose voice to him was as that of a goddess!

Then he spoke out to her, with his face a little turned from her. Would she be his wife? But, before she answered him, let her listen to him. They had told him that an early death must probably be his fate. He did not himself feel that it must be so. Sometimes he was ill, – very ill; but often he was well. If she would run the risk with him he would endeavour to make her such recompense as might come from his wealth. The speech he made was somewhat long, and as he made it he hardly looked into her face.

But it was necessary to him that he should be made to know by some signal from her how it was going with her feelings. As he spoke of his danger, there came a gurgling little trill of wailing from her throat, a soft, almost musical, sound of woe, which seemed to add an unaccustomed eloquence to his words. When he spoke of his own hope the sound was somewhat changed, but it was still continued. When he alluded to the disposition of his fortune, she was at his feet. ‘Not that,’ she said; ‘not that!’ He lifted her, and with his arm round her waist he tried to tell her what it would be his duty to do for her. She escaped from his arm and would not listen to him. But, – but – ! When he began to talk of love again, she stood with her forehead bowed against his bosom. Of course the engagement was then a thing accomplished.

But still the cup might slip from her lips. Her father was now dead but ten months, and what answer could she make, when the common pressing petition for an early marriage was poured into her ear? This was in July, and it would never do that he should be left, unmarried, to the rigour of another winter. She looked into his face and knew that she had cause for fear. Oh, heavens! if all these golden hopes should fall to the ground, and she should come to be known only as the girl who had been engaged to the late Sir Florian! But he himself pressed the marriage on the same ground. ‘They tell me,’ he said, ‘that I had better get a little south by the beginning of October. I won’t go alone. You know what I mean; – eh, Lizzie?’ Of course she married him in September.

They spent a honeymoon of six weeks at a place he had in Scotland, and the first blow came upon him as they passed through London, back from Scotland, on their way to Italy. Messrs. Harter and Benjamin sent in their little bill which amounted to something over £400, and other little bills were sent in. Sir Florian was a man by whom such bills would certainly be paid, but by whom they would not be paid without his understanding much and conceiving more as to their cause and nature. How much he really did understand she was never quite aware; – but she did know that he detected her in a positive falsehood. She might certainly have managed the matter better than she did; and had she admitted everything there might probably have been but few words about it. She did not, however, understand the nature of the note she had signed, and thought that simply new bills would be presented by the jewellers to her husband. She gave a false account of the transaction, and the lie was detected. I do not know that she cared very much. As she was utterly devoid of true tenderness, so also was she devoid of conscience. They went abroad, however; and by the time the winter was half over in Naples, he knew what his wife was; – and before the end of the spring he was dead.

She had so far played her game well, and had won her stakes. What regrets, what remorse she suffered when she knew that he was going from her, – and then knew that he was gone, who can say? As man is never strong enough to take unmixed delight in good, so may we presume also that he cannot be quite so weak as to find perfect satisfaction in evil. There must have been qualms as she looked at his dying face, soured with the disappointment she had brought upon him and listened to the harsh querulous voice that was no longer eager in the expressions of love. There must have been some pang when she reflected that the cruel wrong which she had inflicted on him had probably hurried him to his grave. As a widow, in the first solemnity of her widowhood she was wretched and would see no one. Then she returned to England and shut herself up in a small house at Brighton. Lady Linlithgow offered to go to her, but she begged that she might be left to herself. For a few short months the awe arising from the rapidity with which it had all occurred did afflict her. Twelve months since she had hardly known the man who was to be her husband. Now she was a widow, – a widow very richly endowed, – and she bore beneath her bosom the fruit of her husband’s love.

But, even in these early days friends and enemies did not hesitate to say that Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself for it was known by all concerned that in the settlements made she had been treated with unwonted generosity.

Chapter 2

Lady Eustace

There were circumstances in her position which made it impossible that Lizzie Greystock, – or Lady Eustace, as we must now call her, – should be left altogether to herself in the modest widow’s retreat which she had found at Brighton. It was then April, and it was known that if all things went well with her, she would be a mother before the summer was over. On what the Fates might ordain in this matter immense interests were dependent. If a son should be born he would inherit everything, subject, of course, to his mother’s settlement. If a daughter, to her would belong the great personal wealth which Sir Florian had owned at the time of his death. Should there be no son, John Eustace, the brother, would inherit the estates in Yorkshire which had been the backbone of the Eustace wealth. Should no child be born, John Eustace would inherit everything that had not been settled upon or left to the widow. Sir Florian had made a settlement immediately before his marriage, and a will immediately afterwards. Of what he had done then, nothing had been altered in those sad Italian days. The settlement had been very generous. The whole property in Scotland was to belong to Lizzie for her life, – and after her death was to go to a second son, if such second son there should be. By the will money was left to her, more than would be needed for any possible temporary emergency. When she knew how it was all arranged, – as far as she did know it, – she was aware that she was a rich woman. For so clever a woman she was infinitely ignorant as to the possession and value of money and land and income, – though, perhaps, not more ignorant than are most young girls under twenty-one. As for the Scotch property, – she thought that it was her own, for ever, because there could not now be a second son, – and yet was not quite sure whether it would be her own at all if she had no son. Concerning that sum of money left to her, she did not know whether it was to come out of the Scotch property or be given to her separately, – and whether it was to come annually or to come only once. She had received, while still in Naples, a letter from the family lawyer, giving her such details of the will as it was necessary that she should know, and now she longed to ask questions, to have her belongings made plain to her, and to realise her wealth. She had brilliant prospects; and yet, through it all, there was a sense of loneliness that nearly killed her. Would it not have been much better if her husband had lived, and still worshipped her, and still allowed her to read poetry to him? But she had read no poetry to him after that affair of Messrs. Harter and Benjamin.

The reader has, or will have, but little to do with these days, and may be hurried on through the twelve, or even twenty-four months which followed the death of poor Sir Florian. The question of the heirship, however, was very grave, and early in the month of May Lady Eustace was visited by her husband’s uncle, Bishop Eustace, of Bobsborough. The bishop had been the younger brother of Sir Florian’s father, – was at this time a man about fifty, very active and very popular, – and was one who stood high in the world, even among bishops. He suggested to his niece-in-law that it was very expedient that, during her coming hour of trial, she should not absent herself from her husband’s family, and at last persuaded her to take up her residence at the palace at Bobsborough till such time as the event should be over. Lady Eustace was taken to the palace, and in due time a son was born. John, who was now the uncle of the heir, came down, and, with the frankest good-humour, declared that he would devote himself to the little head of the family. He had been left as guardian, and the management of the great family estates was to be in his hands. Lizzie had read no poetry to him, and he had never liked her, and the bishop did not like her, and the ladies of the bishop’s family disliked her very much, and it was thought by them that the dean’s people, – the Dean of Bobsborough was Lizzie’s uncle, – were not very fond of Lizzie since Lizzie had so raised herself in the world as to want no assistance from them. But still they were bound to do their duty by her as the widow of the late and the mother of the present baronet. And they did not find much cause of complaining as to Lizzie’s conduct in these days. In that matter of the great family diamond necklace, – which certainly should not have been taken to Naples at all, and as to which the jeweller had told the lawyer and the lawyer had told John Eustace that it certainly should not now be detained among the widow’s own private property, – the bishop strongly recommended that nothing should be said at present. The mistake, if there was a mistake, could be remedied at any time. And nothing in those very early days was said about the great Eustace necklace, which afterwards became so famous.

Why Lizzie should have been so generally disliked by the Eustaces, it might be hard to explain. While she remained at the palace she was very discreet, – and perhaps demure. It may be said they disliked her expressed determination to cut her aunt, Lady Linlithgow, – for they knew that Lady Linlithgow had been, at any rate, a friend to Lizzie Greystock. There are people who can be wise within a certain margin, but beyond that commit great imprudences. Lady Eustace submitted herself to the palace people for that period of her prostration, but she could not hold her tongue as to her future intentions. She would, too, now and then ask of Mrs Eustace, and even of her daughter, an eager, anxious question about her own property. ‘She is dying to handle her money,’ said Mrs Eustace to the bishop. ‘She is only like the rest of the world in that,’ said the bishop. ‘If she would be really open, I wouldn’t mind it,’ said Mrs Eustace. None of them liked her, – and she did not like them.

She remained at the palace for six months, and at the end of that time she went to her own place in Scotland. Mrs Eustace had strongly advised her to ask her aunt, Lady Linlithgow, to accompany her, but in refusing to do this, Lizzie was quite firm. She had endured Lady Linlithgow for that year between her father’s death and her marriage, she was now beginning to dare to hope for the enjoyment of the good things which she had won, and the presence of the dowager-countess, – ‘the vulturess’, – was certainly not one of these good things. In what her enjoyment was to consist, she had not as yet quite formed a definite conclusion. She liked jewels. She liked admiration. She liked the power of being arrogant to those around her. And she liked good things to eat. But there were other matters that were also dear to her. She did like music, – though it may be doubted whether she would ever play it or even listen to it alone. She did like reading, and especially the reading of poetry, – though even in this she was false and pretentious, skipping, pretending to have read, lying about books, and making up her market of literature for outside admiration at the easiest possible cost of trouble. And she had some dream of being in love, and would take delight even in building castles in the air, which she would people with friends and lovers whom she would make happy with the most open-hearted benevolence. She had theoretical ideas of life which were not bad, – but in practice, she had gained her objects, and she was in a hurry to have liberty to enjoy them.

There was considerable anxiety in the palace in reference to the future mode of life of Lady Eustace. Had it not been for that baby-heir, of course there would have been no cause for interference; but the rights of that baby were so serious and important that it was almost impossible not to interfere. The mother, however, gave some little signs that she did not intend to submit to much interference, and there was no real reason why she should not be as free as air. But did she really intend to go down to Portray Castle all alone, – that is, with her baby and nurses? This was ended by an arrangement, in accordance with which she was accompanied by her eldest cousin, Ellinor Greystock, a lady who was just ten years her senior. There could hardly be a better woman than Ellinor Greystock, – or a more good-humoured, kindly being. After many debates in the deanery and in the palace, – for there was much friendship between the two ecclesiastical establishments – the offer was made and the advice given. Ellinor had accepted the martyrdom on the understanding that if the advice were accepted she was to remain at Portray Castle for three months. After a long discussion between Lady Eustace and the bishop’s wife the offer was accepted, and the two ladies went to Scotland together.

During those three months the widow still bided her time. Of her future ideas of life she said not a word to her companion. Of her infant she said very little. She would talk of books, – choosing such books as her cousin did not read and she would interlard her conversation with much Italian, because her cousin did not know the language. There was a carriage kept by the widow, and they had themselves driven out together. Of real companionship there was none. Lizzie was biding her time, and at the end of the three months Miss Greystock thankfully, and, indeed, of necessity, returned to Bobsborough. ‘I’ve done no good,’ she said to her mother, ‘and have been very uncomfortable.’ ‘My dear,’ said her mother, ‘we have disposed of three months out of a two years’ period of danger. In two years from Sir Florian’s death she will be married again.’

When this was said Lizzie had been a widow nearly a year, and had bided her time upon the whole discreetly. Some foolish letters she had written, – chiefly to the lawyer about her money and property, and some foolish things she had said, – as when she told Ellinor Greystock that the Portray property was her own for ever, to do what she liked with it. The sum of money left to her by her husband had by that time been paid into her own hands, and she had opened a banker’s account. The revenues from the Scotch estate, – some £4,000 a year – were clearly her own for life. The family diamond-necklace was still in her possession, and no answer had been given by her to a postscript to a lawyer’s letter in which a little advice had been given respecting it. At the end of another year, when she had just reached the age of twenty-two, and had completed her second year of widowhood, she was still Lady Eustace, thus contradicting the prophecy made by the dean’s wife. It was then spring, and she had a house of her own in London. She had broken openly with Lady Linlithgow. She had opposed, though not absolutely refused, all overtures of brotherly care from John Eustace. She had declined a further invitation, both for herself and for her child, to the palace. And she had positively asserted her intention of keeping the diamonds. Her late husband, she said, had given the diamonds to her. As they were supposed to be worth £10,000, and were really family diamonds, the matter was felt by all concerned to be one of much importance. And she was oppressed by a heavy load of ignorance, which became serious from the isolation of her position. She had learned to draw cheques, but she had no other correct notion as to business. She knew nothing as to spending money, saving it, or investing it. Though she was clever, sharp, and greedy, she had no idea what her money would do, and what it would not, and there was no one whom she would trust to tell her. She had a young cousin, a barrister, – a son of the dean’s, whom she perhaps liked better than any other of her relations, – but she declined advice even from her friend the barrister. She would have no dealings on her own behalf with the old family solicitor of the Eustaces, – the gentleman who had now applied very formally for the restitution of the diamonds; but had appointed other solicitors to act for her. Messrs. Mowbray and Mopus were of opinion that as the diamonds had been given into her hands by her husband without any terms as to their surrender, no one could claim them. Of the manner in which the diamonds had been placed in her hands, no one knew more than she chose to tell.

But when she started with her house in town, – a modest little house in Mount Street, near the park, – just two years after her husband’s death, she had a large circle of acquaintances. The Eustace people, and the Greystock people, and even the Linlithgow people, did not entirely turn their backs on her. The countess, indeed, was very venomous, as she well might be, but then the countess was known for her venom. The dean and his family were still anxious that she should be encouraged to discreet living, and, though they feared many things, thought that they had no ground for open complaint. The Eustace people were forbearing, and hoped the best. ‘D— the necklace!’ John Eustace had said, and the bishop unfortunately had heard him say it! ‘John,’ said the prelate, ‘whatever is to become of the bauble, you might express your opinion in more sensible language.’

‘I beg your lordship’s pardon,’ said John, ‘I only mean to say that I think we shouldn’t trouble ourselves about a few stones.’ But the family lawyer, Mr Camperdown, would by no means take this view of the matter. It was, however, generally thought that the young widow opened her campaign more prudently than had been expected.

And now as so much has been said of the character and fortune and special circumstances of Lizzie Greystock, who became Lady Eustace as a bride, and Lady Eustace as a widow and a mother, all within the space of twelve months, it may be as well to give some description of her person and habits, such as they were at the period in which our story is supposed to have its commencement. It must be understood in the first place that she was very lovely, – much more so, indeed, now than when she had fascinated Sir Florian. She was small, but taller than she looked to be, – for her form was perfectly symmetrical. Her feet and hands might have been taken as models by a sculptor. Her figure was lithe, and soft, and slim, and slender. If it had a fault it was this, – that it had in it too much of movement. There were some who said that she was almost snake-like in her rapid bendings and the almost too easy gestures of her body; for she was much given to action, and to the expression of her thought bv the motion of her limbs. She might certainly have made her way as an actress, had fortune called upon her to earn her bread in that fashion. And her voice would have suited the stage. It was powerful when she called upon it for power, but, at the same time, flexible and capable of much pretence at feeling. She could bring it to a whisper that would almost melt your heart with tenderness, – as she had melted Sir Florian’s, when she sat near to him reading poetry, and then she could raise it to a pitch of indignant wrath befitting a Lady Macbeth when her husband ventured to rebuke her. And her ear was quite correct in modulating these tones. She knew, – and it must have been by instinct, for her culture in such matters was small, – how to use her voice so that neither its tenderness nor its wrath should be misapplied. There were pieces in verse that she could read, – things not wondrously good in themselves, – so that she would ravish you; and she would so look at you as she did it that you would hardly dare either to avert your eyes or to return her gaze. Sir Florian had not known whether to do the one thing or the other, and had therefore seized her in his arms. Her face was oval, – somewhat longer than an oval, – with little in it, perhaps nothing in it, of that brilliancy of colour which we call complexion. And yet the shades of her countenance were ever changing between the softest and most transparent white, and the richest, mellowest shades of brown. It was only when she simulated anger – she was almost incapable of real anger, – that she would succeed in calling the thinnest streak of pink from her heart, to show that there was blood running in her veins. Her hair, which was nearly black, – but in truth with more of softness and of lustre than ever belong to hair that is really black, – she wore bound tight round her perfect forehead, with one long love-lock hanging over her shoulder. The form of her head was so good that she could dare to carry it without a chignon, or any adventitious adjuncts from an artiste’s shop. Very bitter was she in consequence when speaking of the headgear of other women. Her chin was perfect in its round, not over long, – as is the case with so many such faces, utterly spoiling the symmetry of the countenance. But it lacked a dimple, and therefore lacked feminine tenderness. Her mouth was perhaps faulty in being too small, or, at least, her lips were too thin. There was wanting from the mouth that expression of eager-speaking truthfulness which full lips will often convey. Her teeth were without flaw or blemish, even, small, white, and delicate; but perhaps they were shown too often. Her nose was small, but struck many as the prettiest feature of her face, so exquisite was the moulding of it, and so eloquent and so graceful the slight inflations of the transparent nostrils. Her eyes, in which she herself thought that the lustre of her beauty lay, were blue and clear, bright as cerulean waters. They were long large eyes, – but very dangerous. To those who knew how to read a face, there was danger plainly written in them. Poor Sir Florian had not known. But, in truth, the charm of her face did not lie in her eyes. This was felt by many even who could not read the book fluently. They were too expressive, too loud in their demands for attention, and they lacked tenderness. How few there are among women, few perhaps also among men, who know that the sweetest, softest, tenderest, truest eyes which a woman can carry in her head are green in colour! Lizzie’s eyes were not tender, – neither were they true. But they were surmounted by the most wonderfully pencilled eyebrows that ever nature unassisted planted on a woman’s face.

We have said that she was clever. We must add that she had in truth studied much. She spoke French, understood Italian, and read German. She played well on the harp, and moderately well on the piano. She sang, at least in good taste and in tune. Of things to be learned by reading she knew much, having really taken diligent trouble with herself. She had learned much poetry by heart, and could apply it. She forgot nothing, listened to everything, understood quickly, and was desirous to show not only as a beauty but as a wit. There were men at this time who declared that she was simply the cleverest and the handsomest woman in England. As an independent young woman she was perhaps one of the richest.

Chapter 3

Lucy Morris

Although the first two chapters of this new history have been devoted to the fortunes and personal attributes of Lady Eustace, the historian begs his readers not to believe that that opulent and aristocratic Becky Sharp is to assume the dignity of heroine in the forthcoming pages. That there shall be any heroine the historian will not take upon himself to assert, but if there be a heroine, that heroine shall not be Lady Eustace. Poor Lizzie Greystock! – as men double her own age, and who had known her as a forward, capricious, spoilt child in her father’s lifetime, would still call her. She did so many things, made so many efforts, caused so much suffering to others, and suffered so much herself throughout the scenes with which we are about to deal, that the story can hardly be told without giving her that prominence of place which has been assigned to her in the last two chapters.

Nor does the chronicler dare to put forward Lucy Morris as a heroine. The real heroine, if it be found possible to arrange her drapery for her becomingly, and to put that part which she enacted into properly heroic words, shall stalk in among us at some considerably later period of the narrative, when the writer shall have accustomed himself to the flow of words, and have worked himself up to a state of mind fit for the reception of noble acting and noble speaking. In the meantime, let it be understood that poor little Lucy Morris was a governess in the house of old Lady Fawn, when our beautiful young widow established herself in Mount Street.

Lady Eustace and Lucy Morris had known each other for many years, – had indeed been children together, – there having been some old family friendship between the Greystocks and the Morrises. When the admiral’s wife was living, Lucy had, as a little girl of eight or nine, been her guest. She had often been a guest at the deanery. When Lady Eustace had gone down to the bishop’s palace at Bobsborough, in order that an heir to the Eustaces might be born under an auspicious roof, Lucy Morris was with the Greystocks. Lucy, who was a year younger than Lizzie, had at that time been an orphan for the last four years. She too had been left penniless, but no such brilliant future awaited her as that which Lizzie had earned for herself. There was no countess-aunt to take her into her London house. The dean and the dean’s wife and the dean’s daughter had been her best friends, but they were not friends on whom she could be dependent. They were in no way connected with her by blood. Therefore, at the age of eighteen, she had gone out to be a child’s governess. Then old Lady Fawn had heard of her virtues, – Lady Fawn, who had seven unmarried daughters running down from seven-and-twenty to thirteen and Lucy Morris had been hired to teach English, French, German, and something of music to the two youngest Miss Fawns.

During that visit at the deanery, when the heir of the Eustaces was being born, Lucy was undergoing a sort of probation for the Fawn establishment. The proposed engagement with Lady Fawn was thought to be a great thing for her. Lady Fawn was known as a miracle of Virtue, Benevolence, and Persistency. Every good quality that she possessed was so marked as to be worthy of being expressed with a capital. But her virtues were of that extraordinarily high character that there was no weakness in them, – no getting over them, no perverting them with follies or even exaggerations. When

Reviews for The Eustace Diamonds

[charlie68_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very enjoyable novel well-read by Simon Vance.

[kaitanya64 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book had an entertaining plot, but it seemed to bog down in so many side plots that it nearly lost my interest at several points. Clearly, the side plots are meant to enrich and emphasize the main themes of the book, but I like a plot that moves a little more quickly. And some of the characters, particularly the "good" girl, Lucy Morris, seemed flat.

[lauralkeet · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In The Eustace Diamonds, Anthony Trollope explores the dark side of marriage in the Victorian era. Our heroine, Lizzie Eustace, is a very unlikeable young widow who, thanks to her husband's fortune, has a roof over her head and a steady income until her son comes of age and inherits everything. She is also in possession of a diamond necklace, which she insists was a gift from her husband but by law is not rightfully hers. A lawsuit is brought against her concerning the necklace, and Lizzie pouts and stamps her feet and refuses to deal with it. Her fiance, Lord Fawn, begins to regret his proposal. Meanwhile, Lizzie's cousin Frank Greystock has fallen in love with Lucy Morris, who works as a governess in the Fawn family and is Lizzie's complete opposite: kind, honest, and poor. Frank is a lawyer and Member of Parliament, but in the eyes of his family "needs" to marry money. In that respect, Lizzie would be a much better match and while Frank finds her attractive, he knows Lucy is the better person. When Lizzie's necklace is stolen, the pace picks up and Lizzie becomes further entrenched in selfish deceit.I liked this book less than the earlier Palliser and Barchester novels. It was darker and lacked the satire Trollope is known for. The characters were unlikeable or boring, and familiar faces from previous books were not sufficiently present to compensate. There was also a strong anti-semitic thread involving jewelers, money-lenders, and a clergyman and while I understand the views expressed were typical of that time period, it made for unpleasant reading. But at least now I can say I'm halfway through the Palliser novels, and look forward to the next one.

[urthona-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I first listen to Anthony West's sublime narration while climbing the Alps on a StarTech elliptical, then return home suffused to read what I just heard -- though Lizzy Eustace is but second-hand Becky Sharp, my weakness for liars has no parameters...

[jonri-4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I reread The Eustace Diamonds for the first time in about a dozen years last week. I can't give it five stars because of the casual anti-Semitism in it, which is just plain disgusting to the modern reader. That said, otherwise it is a really fun read.While the book is part of Trollope's Palliser series of novels, the central characters in the series play only minor roles in this book, so it can easily be read as a standalone novel. The main character is Lizzie Greylock Eustace, and what a character she is! Lizzie is fair of face and black of heart. Lizzie is a liar--and she's one of those liars who tells her lies so well that she begins to believe them herself. She's beautiful and she uses her beauty to manipulate other people--usually successfully. Even people who know that Lizzie's stories can't be true fall under her spell. Lizzie marries a very wealthy man. He dies shortly after they wed. After his death, Lizzie has in her possession a beautiful diamond necklace, which she claims her deceased husband gave her. The Eustace family lawyer is convinced that the necklace is an heirloom, i.e., family property which must be handed down from generation to generation and which therefore can never become Lizzie's personal property. He therefore attempts to regain custody of the diamonds. Lizzie refuses to surrender them and insists that her husband gave them to her as a giftAfraid that the lawyer will have the necklace seized if she leaves it at home, Lizzie carries it with her in a special strong box. The box is stolen. Was it really stolen? Or did Lizzie arrange the theft so she can keep the necklace?

[paakre-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The characters in this book are not nearly as much pleasure to read about as those in Phineas Finn. And it isn't because Trollope is misogynist. He gives the main character her due as a complicated, worthy anti-hero. But this book really frustrated me because it felt like something that was written in order to be paid by the word. There were many many redundancies and repetitions. The plot moved forward by tiny fractions of the inch. Finally at the end, when the pacing picked up, it was quite marvelous. But getting there was a plod.

[bohemima · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

My, this old classic turned out to be far more controversial than I would have anticipated. Like most of Trollope's work, this is a long book. I think reading it pays off, though, if one has any interest in Victorian life in the 1860's era. Most of the characters are less than admirable and keep their eyes directly on the main chance (in this case, money; social and political position runs second to financial concerns). Lizzie, our main character, is a selfish and quite stupid woman who will lie, and lie badly, when the truth would serve her better. The plot revolves around some diamonds that Lizzie insists are hers, although others think they belong to the estate of her late husband. It's a bit complicated to explain, but the situation is quite clear within the novel. Lizzie is advised by her cousin Frank and several others, but she makes her own decisions, all of them bad. Sounds dreadful, doesn't it?And yet I found the book to have an undercurrent of almost bitter irony, inviting the reader to laugh at the machinations of the characters, most of which come to naught. This novel is quite a change from the Barsetshire stories, but is refreshing in its complete lack of sentimentality.y, this old classic turned out to be far more controversial than I would have anticipated. Like most of Trollope's work, this is a long book. I think reading it pays off, though, if one has any interest in Victorian life in the 1860's era. Most of the characters are less than admirable and keep their eyes directly on the main chance (in this case, money; social and political position runs second to financial concerns). Lizzie, our main character, is a selfish and quite stupid woman who will lie, and lie badly, when the truth would serve her better. The plot revolves around some diamonds that Lizzie insists are hers, although others think they belong to the estate of her late husband. It's a bit complicated to explain, but the situation is quite clear within the novel. Lizzie is advised by her cousin Frank and several others, but she makes her own decisions, all of them bad. Sounds dreadful, doesn't it?And yet I found the book to have an undercurrent of almost bitter irony, inviting the reader to laugh at the machinations of the characters, most of which come to naught. This novel is quite a change from the Barsetshire stories, but is refreshing in its complete lack of sentimentality.

[jbd1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Rather a darker installation of the Palliser books than the previous two, with nobody very pleasant except some of our friends from earlier volumes making cameo appearances. This book is pretty much a catalog of horribles, but with one of the most interesting horribles ever written populating its pages. Lizzie Eustace, to put it bluntly, is a real piece of work, a born schemer who can't seem to stop even when she knows she's just hurting herself and those around her. No matter how much you might want to, you can't look away, either. The subplots in this one aren't quite as well-developed (or as interesting) in other Trollope novels, but both, like the main storyline, are quite discomforting. Now, back to the adventures of our old buddy Phineas Finn, if the title of the next book is in any way descriptive.

[pgchuis · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lizzie Eustace marries a dying man for his money and then schemes to keep control of a diamond necklace which is rightfully a family piece, rather than her personal property. The necklace is stolen and Lizzie lies and schemes away. The third in the Palliser/political series, there is very little politics (although what little there is includes attempts to introduce decimal currency) and not much of the Pallisers either. Lizzie is a wonderful baddie and I am giving this five stars despite a) the obligatory hunting chapters, b) plenty of anti-semitism and c) the fact that I think Lucy should have told Frank where to go.

[cbl_tn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Young Lizzie Greystock has a taste for diamonds and other precious stones. Her brief marriage to Sir Florian Eustace leaves her with a title, an infant heir, and a diamond necklace valued at 10,000 pounds. The Eustace family lawyer, Mr. Camperdown, insists that the diamonds are part of the Eustace estate and must be returned. Lizzie claims that her husband gave the diamonds to her with no strings attached. She enlists her young lawyer cousin, Frank Greystock, to help her fend off Mr. Camperdown. The pretty young widow has a lifetime settlement from her late husband's estate. It's not an enormous amount of money, but it's enough to attract suitors like Lord Fawn and the somewhat disreputable Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. It may even be enough to tempt cousin Frank away from his beloved but penniless Lucy Morris. Trollope lets readers in on a secret that Lizzie's suitors only suspect. Lizzie is a shameless liar.This will never be among my favorite Trollope novels. Unlike in some of his earlier novels, there is little humor to lighten the tone. Lizzie brings out the worst in her companions. In contrast, Lucy Morris brings out the best in others. There just isn't enough of Lucy in the novel. The first half of the novel hinges primarily on inheritance law that can no longer be assumed to be common knowledge. Things become much more interesting in the second half of the novel after a theft occurs.I've always maintained that there are worse things than being single. The subplot of Lucinda Roanoke and her engagement to Sir Griffin Tewett could be Exhibit A for this argument. With money running out, Lucinda is forced to accept the first man who asks her to marry him, even though she finds him repulsive.Even the friendships in the book are based on money. Although the Fawns and Lucy genuinely like each other, Lucy is still an employee in their household. Lizzie's friendship with Mrs. Carbuncle is measured out in pounds and shillings. I'm reminded of the old saying “money can't buy happiness”. If that's the point Trollope intended to make with this novel, he succeeded.

[arubabookwoman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I continued to enjoy Trollope's Palliser novels in August with the delightfully devious Lizzie Eustace, who insists that her late husband gave her as her own property the Eustace family diamonds, so that they are not a part of his estate. Her assertion creates all sorts of problems, including the fact that her fiancé finds her assertions distasteful and dishonorable enough that he no longer feels able to honor his pledge. I mostly enjoyed this, although I found it went on rather a bit long about some things. I did specifically enjoy learning the arcane bits of English common law about what does and what does not constitute an "heirloom" (the Crown jewels--possibly yes; the Eustace diamonds--definitely no), and what a widow can claim as her "paraphernalia" after the death of her husband. On to Phineas Redux4 stars

[jmoncton_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Anthony Trollope’s books are usually pretty light hearted marriage plots where situations like class or annual income interfere with true love. But The Eustace Diamonds was different in a refreshing way. In addition to the typical conundrum of two people without any income falling in love, there is the added intrigue of politics and … gasp, a stolen diamond necklace. And not just any necklace, but a family heirloom valued at 10,000 pounds. The mystery of the stolen necklace definitely added a bit of spice to the story, making it much more of page turner than the typical Victorian novel. As part of Trollope’s Palliser series, there are some familiar characters from earlier books, such as Lady Glencora and Madame Max Goesler, but they are very minor characters in this story. Although it was more of a side plot to the overall novel, I really enjoyed the conflict in Parliament over the change from the old Shilling money system to the current use of decimal system. So interesting to see the similarities of getting a bill passed in England and the United States – lots of back room deals as well as the necessity of a small fortune to win an election. Enjoyable book – definitely one of my favorite Trollope’s! Extra bonus – beautifully narrated by the ever wonderful Simon Vance.

[lit_chick_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

2011, Blackstone Audiobooks, Read by Simon Vance Oh, Lizzie Eustace, what a piece of work you are! Described in turn by relatives and acquaintances as “cunning, obstinate, greedy, false, heartless, cruel, ignorant, ungrateful, and vile …” – you get the picture – Lizzie is the wiliest of Trollope’s female creations. Wily enough, in fact, to have attracted the attention of the enormously wealthy Sir Florian Eustace and to have induced him to marry her. Alas, Sir Florian lived only a few months into his marriage, leaving Lizzie an annual income of £4,000 and a Scotch property, Portray Castle. He left her a diamond necklace, too, valued at a staggering £10,000, which Lizzie claims was a gift. But Mr. Camperdown, the Eustace family lawyer, is adamant that “the Eustace diamonds” are a heirloom and cannot be thus gifted. Lizzie’s refusal to part with the jewels causes Mr. Camperdown to vow to pursue the “greedy blood-sucking harpie” to the full extent of the law. And it’s game on!“She knew well enough that she was endeavouring to steal the Eustace diamonds; but she did not in the least know what power there might be in the law to prevent, or to punish her for the intended theft. She knew well that the thing was not really her own; but there were, as she thought, so many points in her favour, that she felt it to be a cruelty that any one should grudge her the plunder … She would break her heart should she abandon her prey and afterwards find that Mr. Camperdown would have been wholly powerless against her had she held on to it.” (Ch 6)Finding neither widowhood nor idleness to her taste, Lizzie begins to search for a new husband. Amongst her prospective victims: Frank Greystock, a cousin and a handsome, though broke, barrister; Lord Fawn, a diplomatic undersecretary, who according to Greystock, is an “empty, stiff-necked, self-sufficient prig” (Ch 16); and finally Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, a guest of Lizze’s at Portray Castle, whom she believes might well be the “Corsair of her Byronic dreams.” But as Lizze becomes further embroiled in legal troubles, the gentlemen may well have cause to reconsider their options.The plot thickens yet further when the diamonds are stolen not once, but twice! First, on a return trip from Portray to London, Lizzie’s hotel room at Carlisle is broken into and the safe in which she keeps the diamonds is stolen. That the diamonds were not in the safe, Lizzie neglects to report to the police. Lord George is suspected of being in league with the thieves, and the gossip is rife – reaching even Lady Glencora (to my utter delight!) and the Duke of Omniem. Shortly thereafter, there is a robbery at Lizzie’s London home. But how can the jewels be reported stolen from London when they were stolen from Carlisle? Oh, the woe! “Lizzie, in defending herself to herself, felt that, though cruel magistrates and hard-hearted lawyers and pig-headed jurymen might call her little fault by the name of perjury, it could not be real, wicked perjury, because the diamonds had been her own. She had defrauded nobody,—had wished to defraud nobody,—if only the people would have left her alone. It had suited her to give—an incorrect version of facts, because people had troubled themselves about her affairs; and now all this had come upon her!” (Ch 71)The Palliser novels just keep getting better! As always, I must compliment the sublime Simon Vance for brining Trollope’s best to life. Highly recommended!

[hemlokgang · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Trollope continues, in this third installment of his Palliser series, to poke fun at the aristocracy. It is really more than poking fun, but the writing makes one laugh while also clearly identifying the vanities, hypocrisies, and various other frailties of theEnglish upper class in the mid 1800s. Lady Eustace, the melodramatic, manipulative, narcissistic widow will stop at nothing to hold onto her beloved diamond necklace, while desperately seeking a new spouse in the poetic incarnation of a corsair. In the course of pursuing her nefarious goals, she lies, cheats, double-crosses, perjures, and uses everyone in her path. I won't tell you what happens to the necklace or her love life, because that would spoil half the fun. I look forward to the next volume and what antics will occur there!

[thorold_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fanny Price meets Becky Sharp in a straight fight, no holds barred. Plus a detective story à la Wilkie Collins, a cameo appearance by Lady Glencora Palliser, an attempt to introduce decimal currency a hundred years too soon, and a couple of racy Surteesian hunting sequences—plenty of fun for all. The story itself isn't as interesting as the detailing of the characters and dialogue (we have a pretty good idea how it's all going to turn out), but it's still good fun. Lizzie Eustace, the Becky-character, is especially nicely done: utterly amoral, a skilled liar, but just a fraction short of being clever enough to get everything she wants. The political background this time isn't much (the decimal-currency saga is a very minor distraction), but the story of the diamonds does run along on the fringe of one of the hot topics of the time, the extent to which married women could own property in their own right. Very possibly this is the only place in English literature where the reader needs to understand the legal definition of "paraphernalia".

[perednia_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Fares better when the entire series is read consecutively. Trollope is a straight-forward storyteller who treats his readers well.

[cdeuker · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lizzie Eustace is one of the great anti-heroines in literature. At the end, one character summarizes this book thus: She told a lot of lies and lost some diamonds.True, true . . . but there is so much more. I listened to Timothy West read this (audible.com) and then would read some on my own. Timothy West is an incredible reader--some parts probably are boring but his voice just smoothly pulls you through those points. So many portions of the book are fantastic. Trollope somehow makes us see through Lizzie's lying, greedy, ridiculous nature and still like her, like her in spite of the fact that she prefers lies to truth, thinks of poetry as jewelry, etc. etc. I was sad to finish this book. I recently read Trollope's THE WAY WE LIVE NOW. That was also great, but it dwindled away at the end. This one stays strong to the last page. A great Victorian novel.

[cornerhouse_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It's as if Trollope, who is normally quite kind to most or all of his characters, purposely set out to put together a set of people with little to like between them. And while it's true that Frank Graystock comes good in the end, and that Lucy Morris is always worthy (but how worthy as a plain and penniless governess in Trollope's world that prizes beauty and money?), most of the rest of the cast is bad to some degree or another. And at it's core is the utterly despicable Lizzie Eustace: liar, fortune-hunter, manipulator, bitch -- so bad herself that she quite literally makes everyone else look good in comparison. I'll be happy to move on to Phineas Redux and away from most of this particular set.

[sallyapollon · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Eustace Diamonds By Anthony Trollope Sally ApollonOverall Score: 6.5 out of 10Literary StyleFormal, literary style, in keeping with 1873—the year in which it was initially published. No tricks, but an intimate approach to the reader, the author sometimes addresses us directly, which I found a little unnecessary. I think if I take issue with the style at all it was the degree to which the author takes his time. He does not know anything of the economies of time in the modern world! But then if I were Lucy Morris, passing six months at Lady Lithlingow’s I would be very appreciative of this, likewise if I were one of the Fawn girls, at Fawn Court waiting for something, ANYTHING to happen, I would love a book like this to sink my teeth into. Truthfully, I often wanted to skip over pages or chapters, but found myself unable to because I was afraid I’d miss something. Themes HONESTY: this is central to the book and to each character. The degree to which they are honest with themselves and those around them and the effect it has upon their lives. I do think Trollope very cleverly demonstrates that lies beget lies and truthfulness ultimately is it’s own reward. Lucy and Lizzie are polar opposites to demonstrate this, with Frank being the (questionable) prize. Lady Lithlingow is miserable, but honest and Lucy ends up liking her. Lady Fawn is compassionate & honest and although she is made to look like a fool at times, she is in the end a friend that anyone would appreciate. Mrs Carbuncle is delusional and false with all those around her & reaps the rewards of that. The LAW is almost another character in the book…interesting how slippery it is at times and how in the end Lizzie evades the worst, by finding legal ways around her predicament.LOVE: Not really much in evidence with the exception of Lucy—she’s really the only one who demonstrated faithful & true passionate love and that you could imagine becoming a good spouse. Maternal love was well demonstrated by Lady Fawn. None of the men in the book seem to know the meaning of love, with the exception of Frank—and it seems it curiously sneaked up on him in the penultimate chapter—he sort of lost his mind for the ENTIRE BOOK, courtesy of Lizzie.MARRIAGE: As was so important in those days “a good marriage” was the be-all and end all of a young lady’s social forays. The various marriages that woulda-coulda-shoulda been kept you wondering. The many suitors that Lizzie went through made my head spin, especially towards the end. I found it intriguing that Frank was the one that she really liked most of all, but you could never have convinced yourself that she loved him as she tossed him too easily aside when she realized that he was “JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU”. Curious too that she accepted the Jew-Preacher, Mr Emilius, when he was described as so vile, perhaps she saw in him someone not unlike herself and could respect that. She did not resent him his scheming and chose to believe his lies. I could almost imagine them scheming together on how to scam people. I guess he was the last reasonable option open to her that she could tell.MONEY: This book principally deals with people who do not have enough for the life that they lead—hence are constantly trying to figure out how to get by, whether by creditors or sponging off others, or simply being frugal. Interesting insights. This was Lizzie’s upbringing and legacy, from her spendthrift father—you could say he scarred her into immediately seeking a financially sound marriage by DYING & leaving her young, penniless and almost friendless.Mrs. Carbuncle’s wheeling & dealing over the wedding presents was astounding in it’s audacity—really quite pitiful.Curious that the one person who truly needs money—Lucy, but sees the futility of it is the only one to adamantly refuse an unearned generous gift from the typically mean Lady Lithlingow. And she is vindicated; even a new frock would have made no difference to how Frank loved her in the end!SOCIETY: How judgmental and fickle is the society then—but can we say it is any less so now? And yet realizing how harsh an audience, the people to whom it matters bow to social pressure over & over again. Lizzie stands alone in her defiance, first secretly then openly—but resultingly she is no longer welcome in London society and knows it. In the chapter: “Lord George gives his reasons”, Trollope reviews why Lizzie is rejected. CharacterizationLIZZIE EUSTACE: She would probably be interesting company, but you would quickly realize she’s not to be trusted. It took Frank a long time to realize this. Others, not quite so long. She’s referred to as “clever” a lot, but I’m not sure it was so. Quick-witted perhaps, but self-defeating in the end. If she had failed to marry Sir Eustace she should have been on the stage, as acting was her real talent. Narcissistic. FRANK GREYSTOKE: He was often referred to as a hero, which, I suppose in the end he did turn out to be. But he was delightfully fallible and particularly susceptible to Lizzie’s wiles. Lucky for him, Lucy would still have him in the end…how could she not? With no other prospects—he was the hero she needed.LUCY MORRIS: Dull—sort of a Jane Eyre. I wish that she had a little more spunk—I would have liked her better if she’d taken a few adventurous walks out of LL’s house, but at least she spoke her truth to Lizzie and didn’t back down.LORD FAWN: Does anyone see him as anything other that a WUSS???MRS CARBUNCLE: Devious & deluded.LUCINDA: Mentally ill—probably masochist, at the very least clinically depressed. Interesting diversion though—I did wonder if she spent the rest of her life in a lunatic asylum—or if she was abused as a child.SIR GRIFFIN: Headcase—probably a sadist. Maybe even borderline. Most certainly Grandiose.LORD GEORGE DE BRUCE CARRUTHERS: Bizarre red herring. Truth teller.MR BENJAMIN: The mastermind behind the robberies! Along with Smiley & whats-is-face. Not forgetting Patience CRABSTICK (what kind of a name is that Trollope????) THE POLICE: bunch of twits—but they did plod on with it & eventually see an end to it.THE CREW AT MATCHING (PALLISERS?): extremely dull—almost skipped this altogether—remind me not to read another Pallisers novel if this is who it’s all about. SUMMARY:I did enjoy the book, honestly I did, although I became frustrated with the sheer volume of extra stuffing in it and the extent to which I felt I had to wade through to get to the point of the plot. It took me FOREVER—about 2 months or more, waaay too long for a book. Not nearly rewarding enough for the effort expended. I did enjoy Lizzie & watching her unravel—I almost thought she would be utterly triumphant and return to London on the arm of a handsome and loaded and titled Peer of the Realm, but that would not have been a judicious ending, I suppose. I particularly enjoyed the scenes of hunting in Scotland—funny how Frank gets someone else’s horse. Made me think how I’d LOVE to be galloping across the moors & hedges in Scotland. I actually had a pang of sadness for MacNulty in the end and often felt that Lizzie’s son must be a poor dejected little thing.

[mbmackay · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is the third Palliser novel, but not one of Trollope's best. It was written by published installments, and sorely needs a good edit - there are long patches that could be removed and improve the overall result. This book is more story-based than other novels, and he does a good job of keeping interest in the outcome of the anti-heroine and her diamonds. Characterisation is, as expected of Trollope,quite wonderful. Lady Eustace and her cronies are delightfully seedy and disreputable, but not overdone - they remain very believable. So, not the best book, but even a bad Trollope is a good book. Read on nook, August 2010.

[laurensx · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Eustace Diamonds is a social commentary on man, and man’s condition with and without money. It was an introspective look into the character of all humans, particularly when money becomes the root of their focus. Because I had no prior knowledge of this book, nor author, I had no expectations for reading this piece. I truly enjoyed the book and the style in which it was written. Particularly interesting was the author’s interaction with the reader throughout the text. Trollope’s interruptions and conversations about the characters and progression of the story were enjoyable and interesting. Whereas this is something I’ve often wished for while reading certain books, it was delightful to actually encounter an author who fulfilled such a personal wish.Initially, I was confused by the beginning of the book, as Trollope introduced the characters, giving such a deep perspective into each one (I admit, I abhor reading prologues, author‘s notes and introductions.) This was such an interesting approach to a text, yet it allowed the reader to immediately become immersed into the text and know the characters with greater intimacy. At times, that the saga of the diamonds became monotonous, and found myself wanting a resolution (I don’t know if this is a result of being raised within the American culture). However, after finishing the book, I can’t imagine any parts of the story being omitted, as each event was significant to the story and to further revelation of the character’s true moral makeup.It was interesting to learn that, during the 1800’s, despite a man’s intellectual strength and significant career placement, he could still be poor. This resulted in reliance upon a financial marriage, sacrificing true love, to ensure societal placement, thus completing his social framework. (Reminds me of sports figures, here in the US, who’s sudden wealth is meant to distance themselves from poverty, uplift their families and subsequent gold-digging females who surround them.) Also interesting, although I think I somewhat knew it, was the role of women during this time. With wealth, a woman was virtually a pawn and/or stepping stone for a gentleman’s societal growth. Without wealth, a woman was reduced to dependency, and sometimes mistreatment, upon those of a wealthier class. Interestingly enough, with the decline of the middle class in America, I question whether these same ideals exist today? In truth, wealth or lack thereof, put all persons on a level playing field … dependence upon others. This situation directly fed into the character development of a person. Money, in the case of Trollope’s characters, was truly the root of all evil. Trollope created a world of opposite relationships and mirror images within the text. Lucy Morris and Lady Fawn versus Mrs. Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke is an example of this craft. Lady Fawn counseled Lucy Morris on her engagement to Frank Greystock, seemingly out of motherly concern, but with social overtures. Lady Fawn had grown to love Lucy and dealt with her, as though she were one of her daughters, though to a certain point. When Lucy does become engaged to Mr. Greystock, Lady Fawn responds favorably, although reminding Lucy of the societal implications which she’d face. Mrs. Carbuncle on the other hand, forced her niece Lucinda, into a marriage for her own selfish gain. Despite Lucinda’s blatant revulsion and abuse of Sir Griffin Tewett (what a worm to never stand up for himself!), Mrs. Carbuncle crushed Lucinda’s zest for life and independence, and doggedly determined the course of her life. Lucinda, a vibrant, energetic and beautiful young woman, is finally reduced to insanity. While Lucinda gets her way and doesn’t marry Tewett, she is all but discarded by her aunt, who uses her wedding presents to fulfill her personal need for material gratification.Trollope’s femme fatal, Lizzie Eustace, was a morally corrupt woman. I hated her! Lizzie’s desire for wealth manipulated every fiber of her being, as well as every aspect of her life. (This was despite the fact Lizzie clung to the diamonds, refusing to give them up, yet repeatedly stating that she should like to throw them into the sea, whenever troubles arose.) She sought to destroy people, like Lucy Morris and her love for Frank. Lizzie was the epitome of selfishness! She believed her own lies (the diamonds were hers), lied to everyone (Frank, her cousin), stole from her in-laws (their family heirloom), and attempted to manipulate everyone around her (Lucy, Frank, Lord Bruce, etc), until she managed to saddle herself with Mrs. Carbuncle, her mirror image (the only sense of justice I found for Lizzie). It disgusted me that Lucy would consider situations, then purposefully consider how she should dress, act and place herself in her sitting room or bed, in order to give the illusion of ill-used widow! Furthermore, she completely abandoned her own child to seek a Corsair of some sort! When she was engaged to Lord Fawn, he had never even met the child! Ugh … that such a woman should be blessed with a child!Lucy Morris was one of the more redeeming characters of the story. Being the polar opposite of Lizzie Eustace (a nice tactic used by Trollope throughout the novel), Lucy balanced and refreshed the oppressive moral decay of most other characters. Lucy was the embodiment of goodness and I was happy to see her win in the end. Her moral fortitude served to enable Frank Greystock to find redemption in himself, those around her and with this reader. Lucy’s morality also revealed the truth of the scripture, “Love never fails.” Lucy, endured her year long stay with Lady Linlithgow, with graciousness, and gained a positive response from Lady Linlithgow.Frank Greystock was a man still seeking himself. While he was temporarily led astray by the temptation of Lizzie‘s beauty and the possibility of wealth, Frank finally grew into a man of true character. In hindsight, Frank’s dedication to his cousin Lizzie, was a sign of him being a man of his word (I didn’t see this as I was reading the book). He consistently gave his word to Lizzie and followed through. In the same way, he had asked Lucy to become his wife, and in the end, he did stay true to his commitment. Despite his lengthy ignoring and desertion of Lucy, Frank had experienced pure love. Sensibly enough, he allowed this pure emotion to lead him in the right direction -marrying Lucy Morris, forsaking immediate wealth and the opinions of others - and allowed him to be true to himself and find real happiness.Lord George de Bruce Carruthers surprised me! While it was questionable as to how he afforded his lifestyle and the company he chose to keep, Lord George proved to be a very observant and intuitive character. I appreciated how he withstood the allegations of aiding in the theft of the Eustace Diamonds, despite the attack upon his character (he could have easily run away). Furthermore, Lord George was able to maintain relationships with people, despite their obvious character flaws, as revealed in his final conversation with Lizzie. I’m still not sure how I feel about his lifestyle - seeming to live off the means of others.

[cmbohn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lizzie Eustace had to marry. So she went to work, captivated a wealthy man, and became Lady Eustace. Lord Eustace died, leaving Lizzie a house tenancy for life and everything to his son. He also left a diamond necklace. Was it left to Lizzie specifically, or was it left to his son, to give his bride one day? Lizzie is sure it was left to her, and she refuses to give it back.That is the central plot of this Victorian novel by Anthony Trollope. It's the third in the Palliser series, but it is not necessary to read them in order to enjoy this one. Despite its age, I had no trouble reading and enjoying this book. Yes, Trollope does moralize a bit in places and some of the paragraphs are dauntingly large and wordy. But the characters are still fresh and very entertaining. I was only a few pages into the book when I thought, "Oh, this is going to be fun!" A beautiful, selfish, spoiled heroine and a meaty plot - what more could I want? I stayed up until 1:30 in the morning to finish last night, but had to go to bed and read the last few pages this morning. Definitely it did take longer than my usual read, since it took me about 3 days to read it. But it was worth it. The setting was well done and very interesting.As always, if you want to read it and be surprised, DO NOT read the preface first. Just read the back of the book and jump in.

[jemsw_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Eustace Diamonds, one of Trollope's finest and yet cruelest works, plays between the conventions of domestic fiction and picaresque. Lizzie Eustace is an opportunistic heroine in the tradition of Becky Sharpe, using her beauty and charm to secure title and fortune for herself. Her struggle to hold on to the fabled Eustace diamonds in the face of severe opposition forms the major conflict of the book, but Trollope also turns his attention, as he has so successfully elsewhere, to the impossibilities—or at least extreme difficulties—of marriage in Victorian England. Love is no guarantee of marriage, and neither is a promise, but the novel deals sensitively with the difficulties of women as well as men in facing the rigors of the marriage market.Trollope is a great master of the subplot, and three separate plots emerge, intertwining neatly, each holding interest and enriching the novel's exploration of the depths to which love, encumbered by finance, can sink.While some find the narrator's treatment of Lizzie herself overly harsh, the even-handedness elsewhere is a pleasure as characters behave well, behave badly, and are characterized with exquisite complexity. And through it all, Lizzie emerges as one of the great Victorian heroines: beautiful, unscrupulous, and fiercely protective of herself and what she has managed to secure.Though the novel is harsh and occasionally bleak, there is hope to be found as a leaven for this searing critique.