Trollope He Knew He Was Right (Unabridged)

Marital jealousy and Othello echoes in Victorian England, from the Mandarin Islands to London society
1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-80-268-3439-7
Verlag: e-artnow
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 864 Seiten

This carefully crafted ebook: 'He Knew He Was Right (Unabridged)' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. He Knew He Was Right is a novel written by Anthony Trollope which describes the failure of a marriage caused by the unreasonable jealousy of a husband exacerbated by the stubbornness of a wilful wife. As is common with Trollope's works, there are also several substantial subplots. Trollope makes constant allusions to Shakespeare's Othello throughout the novel. A wealthy young English gentleman, Louis Trevelyan, visits the fictional Mandarin Islands, a distant British possession, and becomes smitten with Emily Rowley, the eldest daughter of the governor, Sir Marmaduke Rowley. The Rowleys accompany Trevelyan to London, where he marries Emily. When the rest of the family goes home, Emily's sister Nora remains behind, under Trevelyan's protection... Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) was one of the most successful, prolific and respected English novelists of the Victorian era. Some of his best-loved works, collectively known as the Chronicles of Barsetshire, revolve around the imaginary county of Barsetshire. He also wrote perceptive novels on political, social, and gender issues, and on other topical matters. Trollope's literary reputation dipped somewhat during the last years of his life, but he regained the esteem of critics by the mid-twentieth century.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Trollope, Anthony

Leseproben

Chapter VI.
Shewing How Reconciliation Was Made

Table of Contents

“Look at that,” said Mrs. Trevelyan, when her sister came into her room about an hour before dinnertime. Nora read the letter, and then asked her sister what she meant to do. “I have written to Mrs. Peacock. I don’t know what else I can do. It is very hard upon you,—that you should have been kept at home. But I don’t suppose Mr. Glascock would have been at Mrs. Peacock’s.”

“And what else will you do, Emily?”

“Nothing;—simply live deserted and forlorn till he shall choose to find his wits again. There is nothing else that a woman can do. If he chooses to dine at his club every day, I can’t help it. We must put off all the engagements, and that will be hard upon you.”

“Don’t talk about me. It is too terrible to think that there should be such a quarrel.”

“What can I do? Have I been wrong?”

“Simply do what he tells you, whether it is wrong or right. If it’s right, it ought to be done, and if it’s wrong, it will not be your fault.”

“That’s very easily said, and it sounds logical; but you must know it’s unreasonable.”

“I don’t care about reason. He is your husband, and if he wishes it you should do it. And what will be the harm? You don’t mean to see Colonel Osborne any more. You have already said that he’s not to be admitted.”

“I have said that nobody is to be admitted. Louis has driven me to that. How can I look the servant in the face and tell him that any special gentleman is not to be admitted to see me? Oh dear! oh dear! have I done anything to deserve it? Was ever so monstrous an accusation made against any woman! If it were not for my boy, I would defy him to do his worst.”

On the day following, Nora again became a messenger between the husband and wife, and before dinnertime a reconciliation had been effected. Of course the wife gave way at last; and of course she gave way so cunningly that the husband received none of the gratification which he had expected in her surrender. “Tell him to come,” Nora had urged. “Of course he can come if he pleases,” Emily had replied. Then Nora had told Louis to come, and Louis had demanded whether, if he did so, the promise which he had exacted would be given. It is to be feared that Nora perverted the truth a little; but if ever such perversion may be forgiven, forgiveness was due to her. If they could only be brought together, she was sure that there would be a reconciliation. They were brought together, and there was a reconciliation.

“Dearest Emily, I am so glad to come to you,” said the husband, walking up to his wife in their bedroom, and taking her in his arms.

“I have been very unhappy, Louis, for the last two days,” said she, very gravely,—returning his kiss, but returning it somewhat coldly.

“We have both been unhappy, I am sure,” said he. Then he paused that the promise might be made to him. He had certainly understood that it was to be made without reserve,—as an act on her part which she had fully consented to perform. But she stood silent, with one hand on the dressing-table, looking away from him, very beautiful, and dignified too, in her manner; but not, as far as he could judge, either repentant or submissive. “Nora said that you would make me the promise which I ask from you.”

“I cannot think, Louis, how you can want such a promise from me.”

“I think it right to ask it; I do indeed.”

“Can you imagine that I shall ever willingly see this gentleman again after what has occurred? It will be for you to tell the servant. I do not know how I can do that. But, as a matter of course, I will encourage no person to come to your house of whom you disapprove. It would be exactly the same of any man or of any woman.”

“That is all that I ask.”

“I am surprised that you should have thought it necessary to make any formal request in the matter. Your word was quite sufficient. That you should find cause of complaint in Colonel Osborne’s coming here is of course a different thing.”

“Quite a different thing,” said he.

“I cannot pretend to understand either your motives or your fears. I do not understand them. My own self-respect prevents me from supposing it to be possible that you have attributed an evil thought to me.”

“Indeed, indeed, I never have,” said the husband.

“That I can assure you I regard as a matter of course,” said the wife.

“But you know, Emily, the way in which the world talks.”

“The world! And do you regard the world, Louis?”

“Lady Milborough, I believe, spoke to yourself.”

“Lady Milborough! No, she did not speak to me. She began to do so, but I was careful to silence her at once. From you, Louis, I am bound to hear whatever you may choose to say to me; but I will not hear from any other lips a single word that may be injurious to your honour.” This she said very quietly, with much dignity, and he felt that he had better not answer her. She had given him the promise which he had demanded, and he began to fear that if he pushed the matter further she might go back even from that amount of submission. So he kissed her again, and had the boy brought into the room, and by the time that he went to dress for dinner he was able, at any rate, to seem to be well pleased.

“Richard,” he said to the servant, as soon as he was downstairs, “when Colonel Osborne calls again, say that your mistress is—not at home.” He gave the order in the most indifferent tone of voice which he could assume; but as he gave it he felt thoroughly ashamed of it. Richard, who, with the other servants, had of course known that there had been a quarrel between his master and mistress for the last two days, no doubt understood all about it.

While they were sitting at dinner on the next day, a Saturday, there came another note from Colonel Osborne. The servant brought it to his mistress, and she, when she had looked at it, put it down by her plate. Trevelyan knew immediately from whom the letter had come, and understood how impossible it was for his wife to give it up in the servant’s presence. The letter lay there till the man was out of the room, and then she handed it to Nora. “Will you give that to Louis?” she said. “It comes from the man whom he supposes to be my lover.”

“Emily!” said he, jumping from his seat, “how can you allow words so horrible and so untrue to fall from your mouth?”

“If it be not so, why am I to be placed in such a position as this? The servant knows, of course, from whom the letter comes, and sees that I have been forbidden to open it.” Then the man returned to the room, and the remainder of the dinner passed off almost in silence. It was their custom when they dined without company to leave the dining-room together, but on this evening Trevelyan remained for a few minutes that he might read Colonel Osborne’s letter. He waited, standing on the rug with his face to the fireplace, till he was quite alone, and then he opened it. It ran as follows:—

House of Commons, Saturday.

Dear Emily,—

Trevelyan, as he read this, cursed Colonel Osborne between his teeth.

Dear Emily,

I called this afternoon, but you were out. I am afraid you will be disappointed by what I have to tell you, but you should rather be glad of it. They say at the C. O. that Sir Marmaduke would not receive their letter if sent now till the middle of June, and that he could not be in London, let him do what he would, till the end of July. They hope to have the session over by that time, and therefore the committee is to be put off till next session. They mean to have Lord Bowles home from Canada, and they think that Bowles would like to be here in the winter. Sir Marmaduke will be summoned for February next, and will of course stretch his stay over the hot months. All this will, on the whole, be for the best. Lady Rowley could hardly have packed up her things and come away at a day’s notice, whatever your father might have done. I’ll call tomorrow at luncheon time.

Yours always,
F. O.

There was nothing objectionable in this letter,—excepting always the “Dear Emily,”—nothing which it was not imperative on Colonel Osborne to communicate to the person to whom it was addressed. Trevelyan must now go upstairs and tell the contents of the letter to his wife. But he felt that he had created for himself a terrible trouble. He must tell his wife what was in the letter, but the very telling of it would be a renewing of the soreness of his wound. And then what was to be done in reference to the threatened visit for the Sunday morning? Trevelyan knew very well that were his wife denied at that hour, Colonel Osborne would understand the whole matter. He had doubtless in his anger intended that Colonel Osborne should understand the whole matter; but he was calmer now than he had been then, and almost wished that the command given by him had not been so definite and imperious. He remained with his arm on the mantelpiece, thinking of it, for some ten minutes, and then went up into the drawing-room. “Emily,” he said, walking up to the table at which she was sitting, “you had better read that letter.”

“I would so much rather not,” she replied haughtily.

“Then Nora can read it. It concerns you both equally.”

Nora, with hesitating hand, took the letter and read it. “They are not to come after all,” said she, “till next February.”

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