town of Greshamsbury for over twenty years. He is described as a
proud man with a sharp tongue, but his outlook was so similar to that
of the author that Trollope has been said to have poured into the
character of Dr. Thorne those characteristics that he himself most
admired, which comprised the ideal of the conservative English
country gentleman. His integrity obliged him to be open about his
fees; he had a fixed schedule of how much was to be charged for
each visit, with allowance for the distance he had to travel. His
colleagues considered this to be unprofessional. "A physician should
take his fee without letting his left hand know what his right hand
was doing; it should be taken without a thought, without a look,
without a move of the facial muscles; the true physician should
hardly be aware that the last friendly grasp of the hand had been
made more precious by the touch of gold."
In one of our few glimpses of Dr. Thorne at work, he visits his
childhood friend who has become Sir Roger Scatcherd, the wealthiest
man in the county. Sir Roger refuses to accept a recommendation of
abstinence from alcohol and rest from work, and he threatens to call
another of the town doctors, Dr. Fillgrave. Dr. Thorne calls his
bluff and dares him to call Dr. Fillgrave, requesting only that he
let Lady Scatcherd remove the brandy bottle.
Of course a consultation with a childhood friend can hardly be
considered a representative sample of Dr. Thorne's bedside manner.
But it can be assumed that he made himself sufficiently acceptable to
make a living in his country practice. We are told that he was
occasionally summoned to neighboring towns to consult with colleagues
on difficult cases.
The great crisis in Dr. Thorne's practice had to do with Lady
Arabella Gresham. After he refused to forbid his daughter to see her
son, she angrily transferred her case to the infamous Dr. Fillgrave.
She still did not thrive, however, and as she became worse, the
family in desperation sent to London for the great Sir Omicron Pie,
who came and assessed her condition. "'You should have Thorne back
here, Mr. Gresham,' said Sir Omicron, almost in a whisper, when they
were quite alone. 'Dr. Fillgrave is a very good man, and so is Dr.
Century; very good, I am sure. But Thorne has known her ladyship so
long.'" And so Dr. Thorne was recalled to the care of Lady Arabella.
The story of Dr. Thorne himself is almost a subplot in the novel that
bears his name. It is enough to say here that the author is careful
to take good care of Dr. Thorne in the end. And the major plot moves
along its fairy tale course. We stay with the story not so much
because of the plot as because of the characters who propel it. Sir
Roger's story is a rather unlikely one of a stone mason who rises to
become an immensely wealthy builder and contractor, but an alcoholic
(more plausible) who cannot survive long to enjoy the fruits of his
labors. His son Louis succumbs a bit early to the ravages of alcohol,
but this is a necessary plot device.
Frank Gresham, ordered by his mother Lady Arabella to marry money,
makes a rather half-hearted effort to do so, but he is put right by
Miss Dunstable, who rebukes his suit but remains a constant friend
and encourages him to remain true to his love for Mary despite
the prohibitions by his family. We are barely introduced to Miss
Dunstable before she demonstrates her social skills by trouncing Mrs.
Proudie, the ardent anti-Papist wife of the bishop, who makes a cameo
appearance at Courcy Castle. Discounting Mrs. Proudie's concern that
the Sabbath is hardly observed at all in Rome, Miss Dunstable agrees
but says that Rome is a "delicious place" and asks the bishop's
wife if she has ever been there. Of course not. It's a dangerous
place--not because of malaria, as Miss Dunstable appears to assume,
but because of the danger to the soul in a city with no Sabbath
observations.
With that Miss Dunstable turns away abruptly and asks Mr. Gresham
if he has been in Rome.
Familiar figures from the two previous Barsetshire novels, _The
Warden_ and _Barchester Towers_, make infrequent and brief
appearances, but they make good use of them. And we meet a personage
who is to be prominent in the Palliser series when Frank is invited
to a dinner at Omnium Castle by the Duke of Omnium and Gatherum.
Frank feels himself insulted that the Duke not only doesn't welcome
him to the castle but only makes a token appearance at the dinner,
sitting alone at the head of the table and making an early exit.
If some of the conventions of Victorian life appear incongruous to us
in the twenty-first century, we find that Trollope, the contemporary
observer of the scene, found them grist for his mill. Some of the
subtleties of rank and duty were spelled out in correspondence
between Miss Augusta Gresham, the once-jilted eldest daughter of the
proud Lady Arabella, and Augusta's mentor in such matters, her cousin
Lady Amelia de Courcy of Courcy Castle. Augusta has received a
proposal of marriage from an attorney who has been assisting with
family business affairs, and she would like to accept him; but even
more she would like to have the blessing of such a union from Courcy
Castle.
She pleads that her younger sister is to marry a clergyman, and she
pleads further that some attorneys are better than others. But Lady
Amelia reminds Augusta that since "it has been God's pleasure that
we should be born with high blood in our veins," duty must take
precedence over inclination.
Thus instructed and vanquished, Augusta refuses Mr. Gazebee. But the
author cannot forbear disclosing in an immediate epilogue that some
four years after this exchange of correspondence, the proud Lady
Amelia succeeded so well in overcoming her scruples that she could
accept her own proposal of marriage from Mr. Gazebee.
Thus we see that in
theory the attorney, the physician, the wealthy businessman, and to a
large extent the clergyman, are viewed with disdain from the heights
of nobility, whose inherited wealth seems to come from the land. But
does that mean the lord of the manor is a farmer? Frank Gresham
receives a lesson in this from his father when he suggests that since
his proposed marriage to a penniless woman would destroy his chance
for a large estate, perhaps he could settle for a relatively small
farm. Preoccupied with the ruin to the family that will result from
this injudicious marriage, his father--also preoccupied with the
reflection that it was his own squandering of the family fortune that
has led his son to the consideration of working for a living--can
hardly bring himself to think of it. He barely hears his son say that
it would take so much time to become an attorney or a doctor.
"Yes: I dare say you could have a farm."
How quaint these conventions seem to our twenty-first century
American sensitivities, liberated from hereditary nobility! Or are
they? In Boston, "where the Lowells speak only to the Cabots, and
the Cabots speak only to God?" In New Orleans, where Rex is a deity?
In any city, where the names of prominent families may outlast the
family fortunes and retain a meaning for those who know? What is the
basis for our subliminal awareness of class snobbishness, if not from
a place and time so well described for us in the novels of Trollope?
And how would this Victorian romance play out in today's world? Dr.
Thorne would probably not be making house calls today. Perhaps he
would be the senior partner in the family practice section of a large
multi-specialty clinic. Lady Arabella would be Mrs. Gresham, but she
would still find a way to run through her husband's money. Her son
Frank would still marry a charming though penniless young woman; and
they would succeed in some ways by virtue of their own gifts, though
the measure of success would be a bit different. And with luck, some
wry observer of the human comedy would tell us about it. If the
observer should be blessed with a certain genius, the story would be
as entertaining as _Dr. Thorne_.
AN ALL-STAR CAST
FRAMLEY PARSONAGE
_Framley Parsonage_ is altogether a charming piece in the Barsetshire
collection. The major figures in the story are new ones, but familiar
friends from previous volumes reappear in subplot roles, lending
continuity for the benefit of faithful readers. Indeed, _Framley
Parsonage_ is almost an all-star game, or Old Timers' Day at the
Ball Park, with brief appearances by stars of previous and future
novels--the Duke of Omnium and Gatherum, Rev. Josiah Crawley, Mrs.
Proudie, Miss Dunstable, and Griselda Grantly. Mark Robarts appears
as a favored young parson at Framley, and one gets the impression
early on that this is the story of a Pinocchio, a naive and untested
cleric who falls into bad company and does a few foolish things.
Specifically, he becomes one of a large company of Trollope's young
men who sign their names to bills of accommodation, basically
cosigning a note, with no means of paying the sum involved. Perhaps
this was a frequent route of descent for the foolish in Victorian
society.
Following the course of Mark's stupidity becomes a bit tedious. There
are, of course, other threads of action. Mark's sister Lucy Robarts
falls in love with the young lord of the manor--Lord Lufton. The
familiar problem of working out a match between a deserving but poor
young girl and a highly-placed lover was just addressed in _Dr.
Thorne_, and here again we have the conflict between the young swain
and his mother who feels obliged to place her son's interests above
every other consideration. Lady Lufton is presented as a basically
kind woman who attempts to ward off little Lucy, sister of the
clergyman of the parish that was "a part of her own establishment."
Lady Lufton is almost persuaded to abandon her objection by Lucy's
forthright presentation.
Lucy alludes to King Cophetua, a legend about a king who saw a beggar
maid from his window and went out and told her that she was to be his
wife. No mention is made of King Cophetua's having had a mother or
an aunt to try to dissuade him from such an unequal liaison, but the
efforts of such mothers and aunts have provided a useful writer's
device.
Lucy's wit emerges as she tells her brother that Lady Lufton had been
civil: "You would hardly believe it, but she actually asked me to
dine. She always does, you know, when she wants to show her good
humour. If you'd broken your leg, and she wished to commiserate you,
she'd ask you to dinner."
The story rumbles along slowly but is redeemed by the great scene
in which Lucy accompanies her brother to Hogglestock Parsonage and
kidnaps Mr. Crawley's four children and sends them to Framley for
proper care while she stays at Hogglestock to risk her life by
nursing Mrs. Crawley, who has typhus, all despite the objections of
Mr. Crawley, the poor but proud parson. Humble little Lucy takes
action while the men at the scene, Dean Arabin and her brother Mark,
just stand around.
The patient reader is rewarded for wading through familiar
machinations by a number of rollicking scenes. Mr. Harold Smith
delivers a lecture on the South Sea islands to the humble citizens of
Barchester in which he extols the virtues of Civilization--"'And to
Christianity,' shouted Mrs. Proudie, to the great amazement of the
assembled people and to the thorough wakening of the bishop."
Framley Parsonage gives us our first look into the character of a
singular personage who will later be the protagonist in _The Last
Chronicle of Barset_: the Reverend Josiah Crawley. Mr. Crawley is the
impoverished parson of the parish of Hogglestock, where he serves the
Lord and the parish and attempts to feed his wife and four children
on ninety pounds a year. His religion and his pride are unbending
and immune to compromise. He is chosen by Lady Lufton to counsel her
wayward parson Mark Robarts, and the scene in which he visits Mark
in his study is one in which young Mark is chastened by a prophet
of old. One does not envy Mark his position under the gaze of Mr.
Crawley, whose "sunken gray eyes" make his victim quail under a
repetition of the question: "I now make bold to ask you, Mr. Robarts,
whether you are doing your best to lead such a life as may become a
parish clergyman among his parishioners?"
Besides the Serious Interview, such as the one above, Trollope revels
in the Victorian party scene, two of which are presented as the
_conversazione_ of Mrs. Proudie and the subsequent _conversazione_
of Miss Dunstable. On each occasion familiar characters are summoned
to play cameo roles. Lord Dumbello is introduced as a suitor for the
hand of the statuesque but silent beauty Griselda Grantly, and we
are given full disclosure of the extent of the courtship. Griselda
observes that it is "rather cold." Lord Dumbello replies with two
words: "Deuced cold." That's it. They were subsequently married, and
the reader may wonder whether their conversations ever became more
substantial.
Mrs. Proudie has a little tilt with Mrs. Grantly, and Miss Dunstable
reappears as the good-natured fairy godmother from the previous
novel, _Dr. Thorne_. But the meeting of meetings is that between Lady
Lufton and the personification in her eyes of all that is evil and
opposed to her interests in the county, the Duke of Omnium. Aware
that the crowding in the room had led the Duke to being pressed close
against her, she turns quickly but with maintenance of her dignity
and removes her dress from the contact. Thus face to face, the Duke
begs her pardon--the only words ever to pass between them in their
lives. Retreating, she makes a low and slow curtsey.
[B]ut the curtsey, though it was eloquent, did not say half so
much--did not reprobate the habitual iniquities of the duke with a
voice nearly as potent as that which was expressed in the gradual
fall of her eyes and the gradual pressure of her lips. When she
commenced her curtsey she was looking full in her foe's face. By
the time that she had completed it her eyes were turned upon the
ground, but there was an ineffable amount of scorn expressed in
the lines of her mouth.
Lady Lufton had conquered. If one is looking for a passage
that illustrates Trollope's mastery of the subtleties of human
interaction, this is it. What is not said, what is not done, and what
little may be said or done when the world assumes that much must have
been said or done, rarely escapes Trollope's notice. Griselda Grantly
and Lord Hartletop hardly speak to each other; Lady Lufton says
nothing to the Duke of Omnium; and nothing much is said at Gatherum
Castle when the world assumes that the political powers assembled
there must be constantly discussing matters of state.
Lady Lufton does not finish the course undefeated. Her inevitable
fall comes when she attempts to dismiss the "insignificant," "brown,"
"little" Lucy Robarts as her son's intended bride. Lucy fears a
lecture when she is summoned, and she heads it off at every turn,
and when she makes her little speech acknowledging her love for her
son, she refuses to allow Lady Lufton to interrupt her: "I beg your
pardon, Lady Lufton; I shall have done directly, and then I will hear
you. . . ."
Never fear: all ends happily. Indeed, the author develops the
reader's good will with such memorable scenes and characters that
repetitious themes and plotlines are readily forgiven.
THE SWELL, THE HOBBLEDEHOY, AND THE SMALL HOUSE
THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON
The Small House at Allington may be, after all, what Anthony
Trollope's novel of this title is about. Is it really about Lily
Dale? She is a major figure and comes across as a strong, even
dominating individual. But her fate as a rejected woman, determined
to embrace a life of spinsterhood, is settled early in the book, so
that the plot is finished in Part I. What is Part II for, if not to
determine the fate of the Small House, which seems doomed to be
abandoned by Lily and her sister and mother?
Of the subplots, the most amusing is the celebrated introduction of
Plantagenet Palliser, whose scandalous affair with Lady Dumbello
is discussed all over London. The reader knows that the outward
manifestations of this affair are limited to one or two comments
about the weather when he comes to stand by her chair at large
parties. The climax of the affair occurs when Mr. Palliser dares
to address her as "Griselda," and it concludes when she promptly
responds by asking him to send for her coach. Around these modest
happenings the Duke of Omnium and Gatherum feels obliged to threaten
to cut off his nephew from his allowance and perhaps even cut off
his status as heir by marrying and begetting a son himself, at his
advanced age. With no interest in Griselda until so threatened, the
young nephew feels obliged to challenge his uncle by addressing
Griselda. However, the seeding of the wild oats is finished with the
arranged marriage of the young Member of Parliament to the wealthy
young Lady Glencora McCluskie. All these events are dramatized in the
1974 BBC television series, _The Pallisers_, and form the prequel to
Trollope's series of six novels about the Pallisers.
Such comic relief is welcome in a rather serious novel which is
destined to have no fairy tale ending. As such, it stands as a
credible account of human affairs as we humans may conduct them. I
suppose that sometimes women do indeed take voluntary private vows
of chastity after being jilted, and sometimes keep them, and perhaps
it happened more often in Victorian society over a hundred years ago
than in our seemingly more open society today, but it takes a strong
woman to do it; and the unusual occurrence of the phenomenon is
emphasized by the author in the refusal of any of Lily's family or
friends to acknowledge her statement of purpose. John Eames, faithful
in his unrequited love for Lily, seems to understand it better
than any of them, but he sympathizes with her position in his own
profession never to love anyone else.
One could make a case for the novel's being a story about the
hobbledehoy, the author's term for awkward late bloomers like John
Eames. Johnny progresses toward manhood and is considered to have
succeeded in this by the end of Part II; he "thrashes" Adolphus
Crosbie by punching him in the eye at a railway station; he is
promoted to be the private secretary to Sir Raffle Baffle in the
bureaucracy, and he never allows himself to be demeaned by fetching
Sir Raffle's boots; he earns the friendship and patronage of the
Earl de Guest by saving him from a bull in his pasture; he escapes
a foolish liaison with Amelia Roper, the designing daughter of his
landlady; and he receives encouragement from the Earl and from Lily's
mother in his suit. But he doesn't get the girl.
Lilian Dale is one of Trollope's acclaimed heroines, and for good
reason. She dominates every encounter from first to last, from
proclaiming that Adolphus Crosbie is a swell when we first meet her,
to her compulsive interruptions of her mother at the last as Mrs.
Dale endeavors to tell her daughter of the Squire's conversion from
being an old grump to being a generous old grump. She rather quickly
falls in love with the swell from London and accepts his proposal
of marriage, expressing her love without qualification and making
generous concessions to the prospect of marrying a relatively poor
London clerk. Her loving attentions to Adolphus leave the reader in
no doubt as to Mr. Crosbie's good fortune in winning her hand. No
scene in the book is better presented than that in which Mrs. Dale
tells Lily that her letter from Mr. Crosbie puts a definite end to
their engagement. Lily had expected it, and she assumes the fortitude
of a Joan of Arc as she hears it, astonishing her mother with her
presence of mind and astonishing the reader when she does not resort
to the universal ploy of Trollope's women, who routinely retire to
their room and weep on the bed after a crucial development.
The author succeeds in showing us Adolphus Crosbie as a cad and a
scoundrel in the eyes of the world. But we also see the world through
the eyes of Mr. Crosbie; and from his own perspective he is shown
rather non-judgmentally to be stupid and lacking in a sense of
purpose that would reward him with happiness. The torments of Mr.
Crosbie as the son-in-law to the Earl de Courcy constitute the just
punishment that his sins deserve.
And what of the Small House? It succeeds where Johnny Eames had
failed: it gets the girl. We are left with the prospect of Lily
and her mother permanently in residence in the Small House, which
Mrs. Dale had announced that she would leave, at the behest of her
daughters, in rebellion against the authority and interference
of their uncle the Squire, who allowed them the use of the house
rent-free. The title of the book is indeed appropriate; the Dale
women's residence in the house indicates harmony and stability in
their little world in Allington. In the end, communication overcomes
pride, and peace returns, even though in Lily's case it is a peace of
resignation and acceptance.
One accepts certain conditions in reading Trollope, and in this
instance the conditions are a bit heavier than usual. Plot concludes
in Part I; Part II is one of the longer epilogues in literature. The
pace is leisurely; there is a bit of repetition. But the conditions,
though heavy, are not without reward. Lilly is well presented, and
the reader, like her friends and family, love and admire her but
wish she could be a bit more flexible. Lady Dumbello is shown in a
masterpiece of irony and caricature, just closely enough that one
suspects that the portrait is plausible and not far from true. The
phenomenon of the hobbledehoy is given its definitive representation
in John Eames. In Adolphus Crosbie's disillusionment with the
noble family into which he marries, we see the difference between
perception and reality in how the "quality" sometimes live. One might
wish for a bit of a story; but the reader is grateful for a kindly
but ironic and amusing guide to the gentle country life.
THE VICTORY OF THE RIGHTEOUS
THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET
Is there a more memorable scene in all Trollope's novels than the
image of the Rev. Josiah Crawley walking miles through the mud to
answer the summons of the Bishop of Barchester? Mrs. Crawley had
arranged for a local farmer to offer him a ride, but the ruse only
took him part of the way, and Mr. Crawley forgot his suspicions of
his wife as he thought of how, with his dirty boots and pants, he
would crush the sleek and clean bishop in his own study--"crush
him--crush him--crush him!" And the subsequent interview with Bishop
and Mrs. Proudie stands as one of Trollope's great set pieces. Mr.
Crawley, the underdog, the Perpetual Curate of Hogglestock, ignores
the interruptions of the bishop's wife as he argues against the
bishop's illegal request (which the reader knows originated with Mrs.
Proudie) that Mr. Crawley vacate his pulpit at Hogglestock until his
trial for theft of twenty pounds is concluded. And two more memorable
words are not uttered in the Barsetshire series than "Peace, woman,"
when he finally acknowledges her presence. After further admonishing
her that she was debasing her husband's high office by interfering,
he wishes the bishop good morning and is out the door. "Yes, he had,
he thought, in truth crushed the bishop."
One can hardly quarrel with Trollope's assertion that he considered
Plantagenet and Lady Glencora Palliser and Josiah Crawley to be his
best creations. Although _The Last Chronicle_ serves as a grand
summation of the Barsetshire series and reprise for its characters,
it is around Mr. Crawley and the mystery of how he got the twenty
pound check that everything revolves. The stubborn Perpetual Curate
whom we met in _Framley Parsonage_ continues to cling to his
principles in spite of every adversity. He doubts himself to the
extent that he concedes he may have absent-mindedly taken the check
in question, but when roused to defend whatever position he stakes
out, he does so with boldness and authority that none can withstand.
And this list includes such formidable opponents as Archdeacon
Grantly of the thundering "Good Heavens!", Mr. Crawley's loving wife
and daughters, and the heretofore undefeated Mrs. Proudie, ruler of
the episcopal palace.