As is well known, Dr. John H. Watson called upon his friend Sherlock Holmes the second morning after Christmas to wish him the compliments of the season, and ended up sharing the events ultimately recorded as "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle". The two had only known each other for something between six and nine years. (I leave it to the reader to sort out the differences among the Chronologists' dating for when the two first met, and for this event). They were not yet at the halfway point of their long association together.

Perhaps it should come as no surprise, then, that the detective chose to conceal some of his knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the Carbuncle from his friend...and certainly to keep them from that most honest commissionaire, Peterson. One result of this reticence is that the ending Watson has written for the adventure leaves much for us to discuss...and discuss it we do! How could Holmes let James Ryder go? What happened to John Horner? Who ended up with the reward? And so on ad infinitum.

We need not enter into outlandish speculations and fantastic solutions for some things, however. Watson faithfully recorded several clues Holmes provided. . .sufficient clues that we can form some deductions, and perhaps shed light on his decisions and actions, if we but rightly understand the Countess of Morcar, and the nature of the knowledge Holmes held in his hands. Let's construct a mosaic from just a few of the statements and events of this chronicle.

We know at the outset that Holmes has been following the case rather closely. Watson, upon his entry, records his observation of Holmes thus: "He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand." A bit later, when Peterson bursts into the room with Carbuncle in hand, Holmes says "I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement. . .every day lately." (Emphases in the previous are mine, to be spoken upon as we progress.)

Then Watson writes "He rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out. . ." upon which Holmes read them the description of the theft, which had taken place on the 22nd of December. We know he had not left the couch since Watson had first entered the room, as up to this point he has only "twisted himself round upon the sofa" to look at Peterson when he came in, and "sat up with a whistle" upon seeing the stone. We know the paper he selected to read from, then, was one of those already "near at hand." Since Horner was arrested "the same evening" of the robbery, the paper Holmes read from was certainly that of the morning of December 23rd, which would have contained the first and most complete report of the incident.

There is no doubt, therefore, that Holmes has three or four days of morning papers at hand, since Watson is visiting him on the 27th. (Three, if the year of the case is 1889, four if it is 1887 or 1890, the three most common years cited. There was no paper on Christmas day, and we will assume Watson has not come so early in the morning on the 27th that he's ahead of its paper.) Holmes would only be keeping them handy if they happened to be presenting him some feature of interest. (Review other chronicles Watson has provided us, to see Holmes' reaction to papers that offer him nothing.) And they were all "evidently newly studied," suggesting that not only had he been reading the advertisement every day, but he had just been reviewing the reports again as well. We can also assume he was fairly certain he would soon be involved in the case (although not necessarily getting to it in the way that he did) because it was his habit to have his references ready at those times. (In The Adventure of Thor Bridge, we read "Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. 'I had no idea that the case was coming my way, or I should have had my extracts ready.'")

The stone is also no mystery to Sherlock. "It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured," he reports. This may not imply a personal involvement with the stone, as even Watson is familiar with it. (When Holmes first identifies it only as the precious stone, Watson immediately responds "Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!") Whether Holmes has made a special study of the great stones as with so many other things related to his profession, or whether this is direct personal knowledge, is as yet unclear. But the ease and familiarity with which he speaks of this gem is curious nonetheless, and worth noting.

What are the other clues Holmes has left us then? And how do they bear on the rather untidy ending Watson has penned for the tale? Most telling are the contents of a single statement Holmes makes after Peterson's comment upon the amount of the reward being offered: "A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" Holmes responds "That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the Countess to part with half of her fortune if she could but recover the gem." The emphases are mine, and I will explore this statement below. It is very carefully crafted. . .and it is critical.

'I have reason to know.' What a statement. Now Mr. Thomas Galbo in his excellent article (ref. 1), has expounded well on the implications of this part of Holmes' comment. I can but wrap my own thinking together with his, and summarize. In short, Holmes is making a declarative statement. Holmes KNOWS. He does not deduce. He does not speculate. He KNOWS. And he knows, because he has been involved with the stone before! Consider its history. "This stone is not yet twenty years old," he says. "There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight." How does Holmes know this level of detail? From a study of all the good stones, since they are all a "nucleus and focus of crime"? He refers to it with a familiarly and ease that belies mere study, and undoubtedly this level of criminal excitement could hardly have passed without peaking his interest and involving his skills. He has also certainly had dealings with the Countess of Morcar before, evidenced by his very cavalier manner toward her; offhand, even for our Sherlock whom we know lacks a certain 'appropriate' sense of awe and deference toward 'nobles' and 'titles.'

Here, with some added explanation and speculation, Mr. Galbo ends. (I encourage readers to review his article in full.) But I believe we can press farther into Holmes' revealing statement than Mr. Galbo has gone.

Consider next, what it is that Holmes knows. There are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce her to part with half her fortune just to recover the gem. This is very close knowledge of the Countess and her situation indeed, not something that can be deduced from an Agony column!

Let us not err significantly from the start, by thinking of "sentiment" as only the softer, intimate or romantic feelings. Its definition is simply: "Passion or feeling; a state of mind in view of some subject; feeling toward or respecting some person or thing; disposition prompting to action or expression" (ref. 2). Sentiment, then, incorporates the full range of emotion and feeling, not just the soft ones. Harsh bitterness, anger, lust, resentment, and the like are sentiments as well.

Too, Holmes says "sentimental considerations," not reasons or feelings. A very distinct point, as we shall see. Most importantly, he does not say the considerations are on the part of the Countess. The considerations could just as well be those of someone else, or even his own. He also proffers the considerations as the subject. He does not say "the Countess holds certain sentiments that would induce. . ." making the Countess the focal point, nor does he say "there are sentiments that would cause. . ." which would put the sentiments center stage. No, he places the considerations as the primary piece to be planted into our finished mosaic. That they happen to be of a sentimental nature is instructive - even helpful.

Now then. . .note that these sentimental considerations are in the background. Hidden, not visible and readily seen. Things that are seen and known hold very little power. From the perspective of the sentiments, the softer sentiments are most frequently well known by others, quite visible, and generally sensible. Hidden sentiments are most certainly the harsher. . .malice, greed, envy, jealousy, rage, avarice, bitterness. . .the types of sentiments that foster insensibility, irrationality, and may drive a person to some act of vengeance, or even murder, upon which keeping all in the background becomes a requirement for self-preservation. But here, it's the considerations that are hidden, and they are strong enough to induce the Countess to do something. "Induce" is a powerful word; to lead on; to influence; to prevail on; to incite; to move by persuasion or influence; to impel (ref. 2). It implies external source, or compelling force, or both. In other words, the considerations will force her in directions not necessarily entirely of her own will! I shall return to this point shortly.

And what do these considerations (of a sentimental nature) induce her to do? She will part with half her fortune. Now this is extreme. . .irrational. The softer sentiments, even love, would not be of sufficient power to cause someone with the Countess' sort of wealth to toss half of it away just to recover a lost gem. It's very much more likely that the sentiments involved here are among the harsher ones. . .spite, jealousy, revenge. . .the sort that can culminate in violence, murder, vitriol throwing, and motivate suicide. These are the sentiments that would take control of a person. . .that could still hold power sufficient to cause them to lose sight of reason, and give up half their fortune.

And for what? For nothing more than recovery of the gem! Not even to insure a prosecution of the thief. . .but simply to get the gem back! To retain the status the gem confers to oneself. . .to insure that someone else can not have it. . .to silence further inquiry into the matter.

Think again about the gem's bloody and violent history, remembering that it's less than twenty years old. For these later times in Victorian life, "class," or social position, prominence and prestige, may have been beginning to wane, but it was still very much the order of the day. Society was broken into gradations from top to bottom, and participation in its rituals was almost inescapable for those with high social standing. The aristocracy's town houses and mansions had by this time become the command centers of the London season. Wealth and ownership, ostentation and flamboyance, were yet the defining characteristics of people's lives. (Refer to the works in the "Bibliography" at end.)

And now, enter a new, absolutely unique, gem into the picture. . .and the battle among the elite ensues for its possession, with our Countess coming out on top. Yet as the wife of an Earl, or holding the title of Countess in her own right, she's not necessarily among the wealthiest of the peerage, but sits in the middle. A little speculation might even suggest that one of the murders or the suicide along the way was her own husband, whether by her own hand or not. Vitriol throwings, murders, suicides: certainly a picture of deep intrigues along with the criminal actions is suggested. Holmes says the crimes were done for the sake of the stone. Not to obtain possession of it. . .or to insure it's safety. . .but simply "for its sake". The phraseology is most curious, and worth at least a pipe or two of thought.

I contend, then, that the sentiments in view are of the baser sort, the Countess desiring return of the gem at any price, for the sole purpose of retaining ownership and insuring no one else (or perhaps some one else in particular?) can possess it, as well as assuring her own self-preservation by eliminating inquiry concerning it. Its bloody history is entirely wrapped around her obsession with the stone. Nothing else can account for being able to compel her to part with so much, for so small a thing.

And yes, as you see, I also contend that the "considerations" are not the Countess', nor any other third party's, but are those of Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself, who has already had dealings with both she and this gem, and knows full well the details and events of its volatile history. It is his considerations, held in the background where even she cannot see, that will induce her to part with so much if needed, lest he should reveal what he knows, to her destruction. (It is fortunate that he is not a blackmailer, though I know there are some that will argue this point. . .and certainly use of the knowledge even in this way constitutes blackmail of a sort!)

Holmes is also well aware the Countess' obsession has not abated. He knows he can secure Horner's release without James Ryder's involvement. Note that just halfway through Ryder's narrative of events, when he goes to his knees saying "I will fly Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir." Holmes replies "Hum! We will talk about that." He is already pondering letting Ryder go. With no discussion with the Countess whatever, he is already planning a course that secures all necessary ends, providing what she ultimately wants as well; simply, the stone returned and all kept quiet. Possibly, he sees this event as a means to a much larger end, with his ultimate target being to finally snare the Countess herself.

It was because of these previous dealings, and the recent theft of the gem once again, that he began to craft that careful, well-manufactured statement upon first reading the account on December 23rd. He'd be ready, when the case eventually came his way. . .ready with a statement that is true, but implies one meaning on its surface, while revealing so much more upon observation. As ever, he's the Master.

And now, to the final point...the real villain of this particular case. Holmes reveals it himself, though only fleetingly, yet it does not seem to be brought forward much among those who read Watson's account. It appears as a mere background piece in our mosaic, and there we let it lay, rushing too quickly and conveniently to the colorful tiles in the foreground: to James Ryder, as we fuss that he should be in the dock (which he certainly deserves): to the reward, and whether Holmes gave Peterson his due. But note the text:

"It was Catherine Cusak who told me of it," said (Ryder), in a crackling voice.

"I see. Her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you. . .What did you do then? You made some small job in my lady's room - you and your confederate Cusack. . ."

Here is the real villain in this particular affair. Here is the one who schemed, watched, and waited for a chance to remove from the Countess the one thing she knew would hurt her the most. Here is the one who took the FIRST step in the crime, revealing the gem to Ryder, merely a pawn in the game. True, very little is made about her by Holmes himself (quite intentionally) except as a passing reference. But she not only tempted Ryder to crime; she aided in design of the scheme, and provided corroboration of his story to the police, as she conspired to damage her employer and send the innocent Horner to ruin. We can speculate that if Ryder had managed to turn the stone into money, she may have been given some part. . .but that's not really entirely clear. What did she really want to achieve? Why did she do it? And to what extent might this maid have been involved in the past violences in the gem's history? Who knows? We never will. . .but just perhaps. . .Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

In the end, we know, Holmes simply lets Ryder go. He knows the Countess will not press the charges. The danger is too great! Horner will be free, and the Countess will contrive a tale to explain it away, which the police will not contest. Holmes has not even communicated with the Countess yet. . .but he knows these things. No doubt, the maid will be dealt with too, in ways only the Countess can contrive, and we can presume that she can contrive much. . .she, who came out on top of the heap in the brawl for ownership of the gem to begin with! Why did he let Ryder go? It is not Ryder he wants. His sights are set on much greater things.

A valid question might be why Holmes pursued the solution of the crime at all. Once he had the gem, he could easily have dealt with the Countess, secured Horner's release, and returned the gem, without all the fussing and rambling about. He knew he held all the cards needed! In answer, this is the one issue in the entire event he fully and honestly explains to Watson. "Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward." In this respect, at least, our Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a bit selfish. He likes having his little problems to solve!

In the end, the explanation Holmes gives for letting Ryder go is singularly feeble and unconvincing. He seems to be as much trying to justify it to himself, as he is trying to convince Watson. This is especially shown in the conflicting statements "it is just possible that I am saving a soul" and "This fellow will not go wrong again." It does not do to tie a speculative "just possible" with a declarative "will not"! (Which, when contrasted with the excellent statement I've expounded upon above, further supports that it was carefully contrived in advance of its use. He does not do nearly so well here, when "on the spot" for a statement.)

It seems strange to me that Watson did not tumble to many of the revelations and omissions Holmes so conveniently provided. But then, perhaps the good Doctor did, even questioning Holmes along the way, only his renowned discretion causing him to leave the facts unwritten. We can be charitable toward our Watson, taking our clue from this very chronicle. "It is the season of forgiveness."

So that ends these musings, and hopefully you have not been bored overmuch. It has been suggested that I write a different ending for The Blue Carbuncle. . .one that relates more tidily to my evaluation of the chronicle. Although I'm loath to set my hand to Watson's wonderful works, I should perhaps end it as follows below, for no other reason than to settle those readers' minds who seem to do a bit better with a bit less left unsaid.

We shall pick it up as Holmes dismisses Ryder:

"Get out!" said he.

"What, sir! Oh. Heaven bless you!"

"No more words. Get out!"

And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street.

"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies."

"But surely, Holmes, the man should be punished? And what of poor Horner, still in the dock?"

"Ryder will provide his own punishment, and will not go wrong again. He is too terribly frightened. If Horner were in any danger it would be another thing, Watson, but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. The Countess will not bring the charges in any case, you may be sure. She shall have her gem, and insure his release, and that will be the extent of her care in the matter. It would not be well for her to do otherwise!"

"But her maid? Surely she should know about Cusack's involvement; and should the police not be advised?"

Holmes paused, and for a moment the look of introspection which I had come to associate with moments of deep thought settled upon his face.

"Ah, Watson, there you touch upon deep, deep waters," he mumbled around his pipe-stem. "No, no. . .that would not do at all; not the police. I shall advise the Countess, naturally, and she shall have her revenge, I'm sure. She is cunning, Watson. . .a magnificent specimen of all that is worst in her sex! But her time has not yet come; and I should think that the morbid deeds of the maids of Morcar would best remain hidden from view for quite some time yet, too. Meanwhile," he said, returning from his reverie, "chance has put in our way this most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which also a bird will be the chief feature."

If this ending serves to shed a little light on some things perhaps, while opening up but more room for wonder and speculation upon others, well - I apologize. But not too profusely, you may be sure!

References:

1. Galbo, Thomas S. "The First Adventure of The Blue Carbuncle" Baker Street Journal Volume 36, Number 4, (1986)
2. 1913 Webster Unabridged Dictionary, Project Gutenberg eText (1998)