Victorians! discussion

Summary

At the hunting party at Overliegh, another attempt on John's life is made. The heroic action of Diana saves him. John recovers from his injury. This accident convinces Lord Hemsworth who devotedly loves Diana that she loves John.

John’s recovery disappoints Archie much to his shame. It's not that Archie wants John dead, but he cannot stop fancying how it would be if John dies and the vast wealth passed to them. On the other hand, Colonel Tempest is relieved. Colonel Tempest has returned home after his travels on the continent. For the five months that he was away, nothing happened to distress him. No attempt was made on John's life, so he thought everything was fine. But the recent attempt on John's life unsettles him. Colonel Tempest feels that he is still unsafe. Anytime his horrendous crime could be exposed.

Colonel Tempest falls into a delirium. He is suffering constant agonies being repentant for his action and being afraid of exposure. He attempts to commit suicide but is unsuccessful. It seems that even in severe distress, Colonel Tempest loves life enough not to renounce it.

John learns the truth of his birth. Lord Frederick Fane is his true father and not Jack Tempest. After a fierce inner struggle, John decides to renounce his name, title, and estate in favour of Colonel Tempest. With it, his hopes, ambitions, and his wishes for a marriage with Diana die. While his love for Diana will always hold true, a union with her now is impossible.

Meanwhile, Diana confesses to her grandmother, Mrs. Courteney, her love for John.

Love, as well as birth and inheritance, dominate this segment.

I guessed that Lord Frederick Fane was the true father of John. The kind of interest he took in John, the description of the similarity of appearance between them left no room for doubt. Any of you were of the same opinion? Or did it come as a surprise?

What did you all think of John's decision to renounce the title in favour of Colonel Tempest? Was it the right thing to do?

Re: "I guessed that Lord Frederick Fane was the true father of John. " - It has been made quite explicit in chapter 7 already, in this dialogue between two guests:

"Of course he is like his mother's family; it's an open secret. Look at him now; he is speaking to Lord Frederick Fane, his mother's—first cousin. There's a family resemblance for you! I wonder they stand together."

His companion drew in his breath. The likeness between the elder man and the young one was unmistakable.

"Does he know, do you think?" he asked after a moment.

"Of course he must know that there is a 'but' about himself. People don't grow up in ignorance of such things; but I should think he does not know that it is more than a suspicion, that it is a moral certainty, and that Lord Frederick——..."

The dialogue also gives us the - correct - impression that John does not know.

My interpretation of the said chapter was that it was only a revelation that John was an issue of his mother's adultery since he looked completely like a Fane and had no resemblance to a Tempest. I didn't take it as conclusive evidence that Lord Fane was his father but thought it aroused only suspicion. Perhaps, I missed the point there. I didn't think that Cholmondeley would spill the beans so early. :)

Piyangie wrote: "Perhaps, I missed the point there."

for me, it was very clear. the "point", if you will, is the hyphen before the "first cousin"; it is a very significant pause, such as people use when they replace the word that should go there with one that is acceptable, more neutral, etc. We only have to imagine that certain change of tone to understand what is meant.

And an adultery per se need not lead to John looking so very much like a Fane, would it? He could look like anyone.

That's exactly what I said. I may have missed it though you very well understood it. I didn't say adultery itself makes John looks like a Fane, but author has used the fact that John looks like a Fane to show adultery was the cause of his birth. It was how I interpreted.

And as to your explanation, well, it can be a suspicion only on the part of the talkers and not a proved certainty. As I see, the point is possible of different interpretations. It depends on how you view it.

yes, I can see the different interpretations.

Wow! What an exciting, intriguing and revealing section of chapters this was.

John shot……
John not……(a Tempest) - well not really a revelation to us but it was to him.
The colonel shot by the yachts………….

And Diana’s deliriously happy decision to throw in her lot with someone else, thwarted by John’s own conscience.

Hesitation and/or procrastination can have a life-changing effect on events. Time to take a breath and think that so much of that may have been avoided if only John had proposed to Diana when she was wiring the lilies. No trip to the far corner of the lake would have taken place and John would never have found that key.

Lord Hemsworth’s own self-revelation (via the bloodstained fur coat) that Di loved John shook him to his core. Nevertheless, his stiff upper lip carried him through with honour when tasked with all the organising he had to do around that terrible event.

How ironic that John’s mother’s lover was Lord Frederick, the man whose deplorable advice had always gone in one ear and out the other. Both his parents seem to be pathetic figures, so unlike John that it is almost unjust that he was not a Tempest.

It seems almost inevitable that the attempts on John’s life would continue whilst Colonel Tempest was still able to pay out his side of the bet. The colonel’s attempt at suicide was selfish to (almost) the end with his choice of location. Such a peaceful, innocent, perfectly idyllic scene at the yachting pool grotesquely disfigured by the sympathy seeking colonel. The fact that he still couldn’t do it properly is almost infuriating considering John’s dire predicament.

And poor Diana had decided to marry John, but it wasn’t the marriage that was important to her, it was the giving.

’ Our love if we withhold it, our freedom if we retain it,—what are they later on in life but dead seed in our hands? Our best is ours only to give. Our part is to give it to some one who is worthy of it.’

I am now on tenterhooks wondering about the final outcome!

Kensington Gardens have loomed large in this section, both for Diana’s solitary walks and the place at the round pond where the wretched colonel attempted suicide. It’s a wonder that Di and the colonel didn’t bump into each other, they seemed to be there so often.

Here is a history of model yachting at the round pond in Kensington Gardens.

https://www.lmyc.org.uk/history



Here is more detail about Kensington Gardens including a map, although much will have changed since the time of Di and the colonel.

https://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/k...

I loved the description of the winter party so much, the beauty of the description, the way it all seemed to be leading to a tender moment between John and Di...and then, the murder attempt! Wonderful stuff.

before I come back here with my declarations of love ;-) for this novel, just another little "fact check", from chapter 33.

He is going to contest —— at the general election, in opposition to the present Radical member.

Radical?? What?? - What I found is: There had been no "Radical Party" in England for decades. At the time the novel is set, the opposition to the Conservatives were the Liberals.

There were still some "radical thinkers" within the Liberal Party, maybe Cholmondeley means one of these? But why then written with a capital letter?

The nickname "Radical" probably just stuck around for a few generations, like "hippie" now.

This article explains how the Whigs and Radicals became the right and left factions of the Liberal Party, causing disruption within the party even up to the time when Mary Cholmondeley was writing.

http://www.liberalhistory.org.uk/wp-c...

Trev wrote: "This article explains how the Whigs and Radicals became the right and left factions of the Liberal Party, causing disruption within the party even up to the time when Mary Cholmondeley was writing...."

Thank you Trev! That's a gem of an article. Are you a historian? (my Victorian-loving self wants to write "an historian")

Thank you very much, Trev, for sharing all these related information. It makes the discussion more insightful.

Trev wrote: "Wow! What an exciting, intriguing and revealing section of chapters this was.

John shot……
John not……(a Tempest) - well not really a revelation to us but it was to him.
The colonel shot by the yach..."

I agree. It was an exciting segment. And so much was revealed. I like your observation on John's true parents. They are two weak figures. John is more of a Tempest with his formidable character. Could it have come from the Tempest upbringing?

Jane wrote: "I loved the description of the winter party so much, the beauty of the description, the way it all seemed to be leading to a tender moment between John and Di...and then, the murder attempt! Wonder..."

Me too, Jane. It was so bautifully done that I felt myself to be one of the party. :) I was truly transported to the scene.

Piyangie wrote: "John is more of a Tempest with his formidable character. Could it have come from the Tempest upbringing?"

That's such a good question. Nature or nurture? In this case it has to be nurture as John is a cuckoo in the nest, and I think Cholmondeley has done a careful job of showing us how John received his hardness from his "father", his sense of honor etc. from his school, and the capacity for love from Mitty. Diana's frank and noble nature comes from her aunt, while Archie is ruined by his father's example. Cholmondeley is showing us her belief that a properly nurtured child can triumph over its origin.

Trev wrote: "This article explains how the Whigs and Radicals became the right and left factions of the Liberal Party, causing disruption within the party even up to the time when Mary Cholmondeley was writing.

Are you a historian?..."

No I am not a(n) historian but I love learning about Victorian and Georgian/Regency history through reading novels from those periods. I am also interested in searching for that background info that explains something I am not sure of when it crops up in a novel.

I wasn’t going to mention it but I learned a lot about Radical ideology by reading Felix Holt: The Radical although George Eliot’s novel is set about fifty years before ‘Diana Tempest.’

Trev wrote: "This article explains how the Whigs and Radicals became the right and left factions of the Liberal Party, causing disruption within the party even up to the time when Mary Cholmondeley was writing...."

Oh thank you, a great article!

Funny what one can learn from puzzling over a single word ...

What is also interesting to me is that the "House of Commons" had few real "commoners", and mostly just more aristocrats - like the (untitled, but old, land-owning) Tempest family.

and thank you, Trev, for the hint to "Felix Holt" - I think I will make this my next Eliot reading. I, too, love learning about history through novels. ... English and French history, ironically - less my own country's, maybe due to a lack of novels ;-))

Yes, since English courtesy titles "shut out" after a generation (so the daughter of an earl is Lady Mary Poshie but her son will be plain Mr. Poshie) a whole lot of pretty aristocratic offspring could sit in the Commons and vote for the landed interest anyway. Also, if somebody is, say, the son of an Earl, but has no other title (many peers had secondary titles that they bestowed on their eldest son) he can sit in the Commons until Daddy dies, and vote for the landed interest.

The current Labour leader, Kier Starmer, says if they get in at the next election they'll abolish the House of Lords altogether. The automatic right of hereditary peers to sit in the Lords went years ago, but the Tories give out peerages like candy in return for political favors and/or donations which comes down to the same thing.

Jane wrote: "The current Labour leader, Kier Starmer, says if they get in at the next election they'll abolish the House of Lords altogether."

Thank you, Jane, for the insider comment. ... it has to be said in defence of your House of Lords, though, that they have blocked some outrageous laws of your current Tory government, haven't they?

Drama, emotion, inner conflict, … we get lots of everything in these chapters. Cholmondeley builds suspense to the breaking point - two of the chapters stand out for me in that regard (I recommend a re-read - on my first reading, I was too eager to know what would happen to enjoy the deliberate delaying of action, like in a horror movie where the very ‘innocence’ of a scene gives you a premonition of doom):

one is ch. 31 (3.4): the scene in Kensington Gardens, the ships, the children, … described in loving detail, as Col. Tempest would perceive them while he winds himself up to his half-hearted suicide attempt.

the other is ch. 32 (3.5): John’s bored, idle roaming the house and rummaging in his mother’s things, the detailed description of the little things he finds, slowly leading up to … the letters.

The discrepancy between the perception of details and the dramatic consequences chimes in with what we read in an early chapter - how important decisions are taken unawares, and the turning points in life are only perceived as such in hindsight:

The crises of life come, like the Kingdom of Heaven, without observation.

ch. 34 (3.7) is very much about faith. Cholmondeley has condemned basically all forms of institutional religion, and religiosity so far. Here now comes her “credo” - the faith of the “self-reliant man”.

Perhaps that faith was more than anything else a stern allegiance to the Giver of that law within the heart which independent natures ever recognize as the only true authority; which John had early elected to obey, which he had obeyed with ease, till now. He had been condemned by many as a freethinker; for to be obedient to the divine prompting has ever been stigmatized as lawlessness by those who are obedient to a written code. John had no code.

Interestingly, she chooses the male protagonist as the “carrier” for her philosophy - was it in this group that someone said that Victorian female writers often did so? - Did they think that readers would not take “deep thoughts” seriously if held by a woman?

There is one more quote which spoke to me directly, right now after the - expectedly disappointing - COP27, where parents from around the globe tried to remind their governments of their responsibility toward the coming generations with regard to the climate crisis:

We could almost conceive a right to do as we will, if we could keep the penalty to ourselves, and pay to the uttermost farthing. But not from us is the inevitable payment required. The young, the innocent, the unborn, smart for us, are made bankrupt for us; from them is exacted the deficit which we have left behind.

❤️

Jane wrote: "Piyangie wrote: "John is more of a Tempest with his formidable character. Could it have come from the Tempest upbringing?"

That's such a good question. Nature or nurture? In this case it has to be..."

It has been made clear that John did not get a "Tempest upbringing" - he was ignored by his father, and brought up by the servants, esp. Mitty and Charles. I think Cholmondeley shows something else beside Nature vs. (intentional) Nurture - namely how events, experiences, accidents, even negligence, form a character, and how intended "nurture" (Goodwin's teachings) lead to the exact opposite: I think she wants to show how a truly independent (self-reliant) character comes into being. (it can't be meant as a recipe, though ;-))

With other characters, especially Di, she obviously favours Nurture over Nature: Di is very different from her father and brother, and it is made clear that her grandmother's upbringing has made her what she is.

sabagrey wrote: "Drama, emotion, inner conflict, … we get lots of everything in these chapters. Cholmondeley builds suspense to the breaking point - two of the chapters stand out for me in that regard.

‘We could almost conceive a right to do as we will, if we could keep the penalty to ourselves, and pay to the uttermost farthing. But not from us is the inevitable payment required. The young, the innocent, the unborn, smart for us, are made bankrupt for us; from them is exacted the deficit which we have left behind.’
.."

I also highlighted that quote because it is so relevant today, particularly in relation to climate change.

I really liked your observation that some scenes were ‘like in a horror movie where the very ‘innocence’ of a scene gives you a premonition of doom.’

Even though I knew that John was still a target for assassins, I must admit that I wasn’t expecting that Di would be caught up in such a gory shooting. I thought that she would be in a greater state of shock afterwards but maybe her euphoria of happiness has caused a delayed reaction.

sabagrey wrote: "It has been made clear that John did not get a "Tempest upbringing" - he was ignored by his father, and brought up by the servants, esp. Mitty and Charles."

I would argue that this WAS the Tempest upbringing. John's father was unable to show love to a child who wasn't his, even though that child called him Father and he brought him up as his heir. His family honor, and the revenge he was taking against his brother, meant more to him than the only relationship that really remained to him. How did he become that sort of person?

Goodwin started off well, and changed because he was maimed (and as I write that I see a parallel with the emotional maiming of John's father). The English aristocracy were known for being emotionally stunted due to their upbringing, left mostly to nursemaids, nannies and tutors (what's more, there was many a cuckoo in the nest because of all the "corridor creeping" during house parties!)

Cholmondeley is a deep writer. I should definitely read this one again.

I also argue in favour of Tempest upbringing. It's true John was neglected and unloved by father and was left to the nanny and servants make much of him. For this reason, John had no proper guidance (except what Mr. Goodwin provided) and had to rely on his own judgements. But his duty as a heir that was bestowed on him at a very young age made it necessary for him to become an intelligent, prudent, and an authoritative man. And so in a way, it was the Tempest upbringing that made John who he is.

I too agree that Cholmondeley is a deep writer. Since this is my first work of hers, I didn't know what to expect from her. There's much to her writing that do not meet the eye. I think one need to slowly and carefully read her work to fully appreciate the depth of her writing. I certainly will have go through it patiently again. :)

Piyangie wrote: "I also argue in favour of Tempest upbringing. It's true John was neglected and unloved by father and was left to the nanny and servants make much of him. For this reason, John had no proper guidanc..."

Nature or nurture, the character trait that sets John above most of the other characters in this novel is his devout sense of responsibility.

Both his biological parents seem to have an irresponsible nature yet John learns to recognise and accept responsibility and develop strong commitments which he steadfastly sticks to.

It seems ironic that it is just this sense of responsibility which leads him to a decision which would ruin his own personal life and possibly the rich history of the Tempest dynasty.

Trev wrote: "It seems ironic that it is just this sense of responsibility which leads him to a decision which would ruin his own personal life and possibly the rich history of the Tempest dynasty."

Yes! You have highlighted one of the many twists that makes Cholmondeley's plot so compelling. I felt very conflicted at that point--of course John had to be true to his honorable nature, but at the same time I didn't want him to lose out because he deserves Overleigh far more than his uncle or cousin.

Jane wrote: "You have highlighted one of the many twists that makes Cholmondeley's plot so compelling. I felt very conflicted at that point--of course John had to be true to his honorable nature"

Aaaahhh yes, the classic dilemma of the hero between honour and happiness, with all the drama you could wish for ... it makes me think of Cholmondeley's Red Pottage, where this conflict gets a different twist.

It’s one of my favorite tropes!

Here is yet another “key” quote which struck me:

The ease with which any man can marry any woman nowadays, the readiness of women to give their affection to any one, irrespective of age, character, and antecedents, has awakened in men's minds a profound and too well grounded disbelief in women's love.

Lord Hemsworth loved Di, but that was different. The fact that she, being human, might be equally attached to himself or to some other man had never struck him.

I read this as the key thesis on which Cholmondeley based the character of Di, as the anti-thesis, so to speak: a woman capable of love.

It seems a strange thesis - maybe it was even then? Certainly, the institution of marriage was different, with a predominance of marriages of convenience. But I have found in no other Victorian novel this premise of “disbelief in women's love”.

It’s a rather cynical view of women who married for a position, I think. But the alternative—being an impoverished spinster—was so horrendous (think The House of Mirth) that you can’t really blame the women, can you?

Jane wrote: "It’s a rather cynical view of women who married for a position, I think. But the alternative—being an impoverished spinster—was so horrendous (think The House of Mirth) that you can’t really blame ..."

My thoughts go into a slightly different direction: what seems strange is the conclusion from all this marrying, drawn by men as well as women, that women are incapable of love, generally, and by nature.

sabagrey wrote: "Jane wrote: "It’s a rather cynical view of women who married for a position, I think. But the alternative—being an impoverished spinster—was so horrendous (think The House of Mirth) that you can’t ..."

My view of the situation with Lord Hemsworth was that Di had never given him a chance to propose to her. She had always managed to use avoidance tactics that Hemsworth was almost oblivious to. Up until the blood-stained coat episode he seemed to take the view that any woman he asked (including Di) would marry him and it was just a matter of time before Di became his wife.

The fact that she could love someone else flabbergasted him, revealing his (and many other men in his position) selfish and uncaring attitude towards the real feelings of women.

The way he looked after her after the shooting was as if she was a child or an invalid but never as an equal. The idea that women had to be protected from the ‘viler’ things in life was perpetuated well into the twentieth century so I think the fact that Di was at the sharp end of the shooting incident would have been a bigger shock to a Victorian audience than maybe today.

I agree with the stand Trev has taken. It's the general erroneous belief of men in general in Victorian times that women are incapable of love. This probably comes from the idea that women were considered more of as things to be possessed rather than humans to be treated equally. And it may also have come from the fact that most upper-class women married for money rather than for love.

Here is yet another quote that made me think about the book:

Lindo came in, nibbled John's elbow, and scrutinized the fire. John scratched him absently on the top of his back between the tufts.
"Lindo," he said, "the world is a hard place to live in."
But Lindo, bulging with an unusual allowance of tea-cake, and winnowing the air with an appreciative hind leg, did not think so.

Remember when I wrote, early on, that I would pay attention to the dog to see whether he was Faust’s poodle-Mephisto, or what else he could signify?

… turns out he is just an ordinary dog, doing dog things. He is not even very good in terms of doggish empathy - a good dog would feel its master’s dismay and try to cheer him.

What, then, is the role of the dogs in the novel? - A counterpoint to melodrama? Little casual scenes that remind us that “life goes on” regardless, that there is a world out there oblivious of the characters’ trials and tribulations? A device to put the drama into perspective - or to heighten it by showing that “outsiders” do not care and characters are left alone with their troubles?

Perhaps Cholmondeley just liked dogs...I live in the English countryside and I swear that 98% of the people here have dogs.

Piyangie, don't you think that Di--and her aunt--are there to show that "real", honest, noble women can love? Even though they are far from rich, their values are true so Di refuses to marry for anything else.

Jane wrote: "Perhaps Cholmondeley just liked dogs...I live in the English countryside and I swear that 98% of the people here have dogs.

Piyangie, don't you think that Di--and her aunt--are there to show that ..."

I do, Jane. Women, be it noble or not, can love and Diana is a perfect example. But some or most I should say like Madeleine would think of their comfort and wealth. It's very clever of Cholmondeley to bring these two contrasting characters to her story. My point was because women like Madeleine exists, men (in this case Lord Hemsworth) think, quite mistakenly, that women in general are incapable to love. This stance I've observed in many Victorian novels, especially those authored by men.

I mean that Diana (and John) are noble in the sense that they both have fine personal qualities and high moral principles, despite their antecedents.