The Eustace Diamonds

The Eustace Diamonds

by Anthony Trollope


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Following the death of her husband Sir Florian, beautiful Lizzie Eustace mysteriously comes into possession of a hugely expensive diamond necklace. She maintains it was a gift from her husband, but the Eustace lawyers insist she give it up, and while her cousin Frank takes her side, her new lover Lord Fawn states that he will only marry her if the necklace is surrendered. As gossip and scandal intensify, Lizzie's truthfulness is thrown into doubt, and, in her desire to keep the jewels, she is driven to increasingly desperate acts. The third in Trollope's Palliser series, The Eustace Diamonds bears all the hallmarks of his later works, blending dark cynicism with humour and a keen perception of human nature.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9783732634767
Publisher: Outlook Verlag
Publication date: 04/07/2018
Pages: 612
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.50(d)

About the Author

Anthony Trollope (24 April 1815 - 6 December 1882) was an English novelist of the Victorian era. Among his best-known works is a series of novels collectively known as the Chronicles of Barsetshire, which revolves around the imaginary county of Barsetshire. He also wrote novels on political, social, and gender issues, and other topical matters.
Trollope's literary reputation dipped somewhat during the last years of his life, but he had regained the esteem of critics by the mid-20th century.

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The Eustace Diamonds

A Palliser Novel

By Anthony Trollope


Copyright © 2016 Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4179-9


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 knick-knacks 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 back-biting, 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.


Excerpted from The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope. Copyright © 2016 Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents

Foreword vii(4)
Introduction xi(22)
Note on the Text xxxiii(2)
Select Bibliography xxxv(2)
A Chronology of Anthony Trollope xxxvii
Explanatory Notes
Who's Who in The Eustace Diamonds

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The Eustace Diamonds 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 14 reviews.
cdeuker on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
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 ( 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.
mbmackay on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
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.
cmbohn on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
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 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
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.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
Despite the many wonderful books written by Trollope, I must confess, this is my favorite. It tells a wonderful story in which the reader will find that the characters become as familiar as best friends. Where else is the hero also the villain? A tale of greed, love, honor, loyalty, and morality, don't let the large size discourage you from reading this wonderful book!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Besides the evidently historical backdrop, it is hard to imagine that even in the past, the same sort of evil characters are everywhere. The main character, Lizzie, is a hopeless 'goldigger'; proving that the 49er's weren't the only one's back then! :) What modern novels portray today with such ease is considered much more shocking in the past, thougb present all the same. The main character is one that is much more likely to be a villain than anything else, and in its rather abrupt beginning, we learn that she is one to stop at nothing to get what she wants...Even though the plot is either rushed or dragged-out, I think Trollope's character decriptions are what make this book so worth reading.
Guest More than 1 year ago
The Eustace family claims the diamond necklace as a family heirloom. Lizzie Eustace insists that Lord Eustace, her late husband, gave the jewels to her before he died. Upper crust gossip has a grand time disparaging Lizzie because of her foibles. Borrowing a page from Wilkie Collins, the fabulous diamonds are stolen. In the midst of this scandal, three couples do the ritual courtship dance common to 19th century English novels. Lizzie and Lord Fawn are engaged, but loveless. They fear that honor and social expectations will be unduly compromised should their engagement end. Frank Greystock loves the penniless Lucy Morris. He hesitates because he needs money from a rich wife for his career in politics. Lucinda Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett use one another as scratching posts in the uncertain quest for Hymeneal bliss. Oh, yes, Lady Glencora and the Pallisers are around as minor characters. The very proper Victorians are too easily betrothed and considerations as wealth and position factor too heavily. Love, alas, is an afterthought. Hence, the unlikely pairings and abrasive relationships. Mr. Trollope has ample opportunity to poke gentle fun. One thing that strikes the modern reader is the very civil discourse between the sparring couples. Gentlemen remain gentlemen, regardless. Even in anger, ladies remain politely restrained. The novel rambles on for almost 800 pages. A leisurely pace was fine for Victorian readers not limited by the time constraints of modern life. The style is finely polished, and the atmosphere is so thoroughly Victorian that the book is a beguiling relic of a past era. Enjoy the opportunity. ;-)
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