is; his daughter thinks so. And he even suspects it himself. Mr.
Crawley is an articulate victim of the inequalities within the
Church. He knows many of the Odes of Pindar and Horace by heart, in
Greek, and teaches them to his daughters. His friend from school
days, Dean Arabin, dean of the Close, had not done so well in class
as he had. But Mr. Arabin is Dean, wealthy enough to be traveling
to Jerusalem at the time of the story, and Mr. Crawley's family can
barely find enough food for the table with his meager stipend in
Hogglestock. We have previously seen Mr. Crawley descending as
the Voice of God on the worldly Mr. Robarts, vicar of Framley, in
_Framley Parsonage_. And now we see him as the long-suffering servant
of the brick makers of Hogglestock. He resigns his curacy (and his
minuscule income) after being accused of theft, as a matter of
principle. Several of his esteemed colleagues attempt to reason with
him, but none can contend with him in his determination.
Trollope claimed to have avoided theological issues and to have
limited himself to the personal lives of the people of the church
in the Barsetshire series. Perhaps so. Few sermons are quoted.
But political issues of the church rear their head at every turn:
Archdeacon Grantly is twice denied the bishopric. Mr. Arabin becomes
a dean. The bishop's authority is challenged. High Church contends
with Low Church. Bishop Proudie and his wife come into Barsetshire
opposed to its high church tendencies, and Mrs. Proudie preaches
the importance of keeping the Sabbath Day holy according to her
standards. No railway trips on Sunday. No games. Services twice on
Sunday. The old ways of the Church are battered. Even the saintly Mr.
Harding had been known to chant in Evensong, but no more.
Yet Mr. Crawley cares not for either faction. He resents the bishop's
wife's interference in his right and obligation to his parish, but
he cites the importance of obedience to the bishop within the limits
of legality. He stands down the bishop when challenged, but he is
also an uncomfortable member of the family of the bishop's chief
antagonist, Archdeacon Grantly. Mr. Crawley is not comfortable with
the riches of the world and conducts himself as if convinced of the
literal truth of the difficulty of a rich man's entering the kingdom
of heaven.
Archdeacon Grantly is not the protagonist in any of the Barsetshire
novels, but he makes his appearance in the first of the series,
_The Warden_, and appears so prominently in the others as to become
one of the most memorable of Trollope's men of the cloth. Rector of
Plumstead Episcopi, Archdeacon of Barsetshire, son of the Bishop, and
son-in-law of Mr. Harding (the Warden), the Archdeacon is a wealthy
and worldly churchman who defends the church energetically throughout
the series. A wealthy clergyman? Surely a contraindication in terms.
After all, this was only a little over a hundred years ago. But so it
was. He inherited his wealth from his saintly father the Bishop, who
possessed his wealth in connection with his position in the church.
Those blessed by the material riches of the church alluded to their
position with the same euphemisms employed by the nobility--those
whom God has endowed, and so forth.
But not all clergymen were so endowed, as we are continually reminded
by Mr. Crawley. We are not accustomed to thinking of Trollope
as a social crusader, and he probably was not, certainly not in
the tradition that Charles Dickens established. Trollope had his
psychological baggage resulting from his impoverished childhood and
a certain amount of rough treatment as a town boy among the more
privileged classmates in school. But although he had no connection
and little experience with the church, there is no reason to think
that he didn't tell it like it was.
In _The Last Chronicle_ Trollope was careful to conclude several of
the lives. Even Mrs. Proudie meets a somewhat untimely death. If
we are to believe Trollope's own account in his autobiography, he
overheard some men in his club saying how tired of her they had
become, and he announced to them that he was going home right
away to kill her off. Her demise of a sudden cardiac death is
epidemiologically correct, in that 250,000 Americans die in this way
every year now. Few, however, have such a dramatic end as does Mrs.
Proudie, found standing up, leaning against her bedpost. Mrs. Proudie
was a great comic creation, personifying the conflict between low
church and high church--yet another of the women in Victorian society
who were forced to achieve their goals through the agency of their
lord and master. Several others come to mind--Alice Vavasor, Glencora
Palliser, Lady Laura Standish.
Mr. Septimus Harding meets a more orthodox end, dying quietly in his
old age. Mr. Harding was a gentler saint than Mr. Crawley; he had
also faced the humiliation of displacement from his post of service,
in _The Warden_, accepting his fate with quietness and resignation.
There are few more sympathetic portraits of the loneliness of the
aged than that of Mr. Harding finishing his days wandering about the
rooms of his daughter's house, "ashamed when the servants found him
ever on the move."
While Mr. Crawley is facing the judgment of his community for a crime
he suspects he may have actually committed, his daughter Grace finds
herself in love with Major Henry Grantly, son of the Archdeacon, who
violently opposes a proposed union of his son with an impoverished
woman, however worthy she may be. We follow every opportunity the
father and son miss in their stubborn refusal to concede any of their
pride and independence in their relationship with each other. Here
Trollope's persistence in showing every nuance of each character's
thoughts is effective in presenting each of the men as understandable
and even likeable, even though we follow each mistaken turn that
each of them takes. Thank goodness they had a little help. Conflict
resolution occurs only when the women in their lives lead the two men
into agreement without suffering the embarrassment of losing face.
The subplot in which John Eames becomes involved in a flirtation with
Madalina Desmolines through his friendship with the painter Conway
Dalrymple tries the reader's patience at times; here, however, the
author spins out the story of how Dalrymple mocks the impassive Clara
Van Siever by offering to paint her portrait as Jael driving a peg
through the head of Sisera, a story from Judges often portrayed
by painters who devoutly chose Biblical themes but selected the
bloodiest. This subplot concludes with a farcical scene that could be
played on the stage with few alterations, in which John is entrapped
by Madalina's mother. Threatened with a shotgun wedding, he only
manages his escape after opening the window and calling to a
policeman on the street.
And although one may have supposed that the story of Lily Dale
and Johnny Eames was concluded in _The Small House at Allington_,
both reappear to provide yet another identical conclusion to his
courtship. And as another part of the epilogue to _The Small
House_, we see Adolphus Crosbie suffering still more punishment in
consequence of courting and jilting Lily. Dr. Thorne briefly appears
as a magistrate considering the case of Mr. Crawley, and his wife the
former Miss Dunstable also reappears to give counsel to Lily Dale.
Mark Robarts of _Framley Parsonage_ also sits with the magistrates.
Few bases remain untouched. Mr. Toogood, a London attorney and a
relation of Mrs. Crawley, appears as a sleuth to dig out a few
details of Mr. Crawley's mystery. Johnny Eames makes a heroic trip
to Europe to help solve it. But when Mrs. Arabin (Mr. Harding's
daughter) is finally notified of the problem, she sorts it out, as
she would have done without any assistance.
And so the Barsetshire series is concluded. _The Last Chronicle_
rewards the faithful reader of the previous five novels in the series
with reunions with familiar friends. But it stands on its own as an
outstanding novel of the nineteenth century, following the dogged Mr.
Crawley as he gives his own witness to the less rigid world around
him.
CAN YOU FORGIVE A FEW ADDITIONS TO THE TEXT?
CAN YOU FORGIVE HER?
I met Glencora and Plantagenet Palliser when we were in England in
1974. They lived in their own television series, _The Pallisers_,
Simon Raven's BBC television serial based on six Anthony Trollope
novels. The Times published a supplement describing the Palliser
series as "the finest sequence of fiction ever to be based on British
Parliamentary life." Susan Hampshire played Glencora, and not only
she, but the entire cast now represent those characters in my mind.
And so, although I can be appropriately dispassionate and critical
about Anthony Trollope and his novels, loyalty makes it difficult in
regard to Plantagenet and Glencora. They are old friends.
Episodes 1-6 of The Pallisers are based on the first novel in the
series, _Can You Forgive Her?_ First, the reader and the viewer
must understand that the woman we are asked to forgive is not Lady
Glencora M'Cluskie, the true heroine, but Alice Vavasor, a distant
cousin of Glencora's. Alice's story is indeed the main plot of the
book, but Simon Raven apparently realized that Glencora's story
would be more appealing to the television audience, and he focused
the first episodes on her, starting with events that Trollope had
described in a novel of the Barsetshire series, _The Small House at
Allington_. The spectacular set piece in the television presentation
is the first scene, a garden party given by the Duke of Omnium and
Gatherum. (Trollope was shameless in the selection of names for his
characters and places; other favorites include the Marquis of Auld
Reekie in Scotland, the law firm of Slow and Bideawhile, and Dr.
Fillgrave, who was the competitor of Dr. Thorne.) At this party
Glencora flirts with Burgo Fitzgerald, a handsome rake, little
knowing that her fate is being decided from on high. Her guardian,
the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, is observing all from her chair
beside a little Greek temple above the lake. There she negotiates
with the Duke of Omnium for a marital alliance between Glencora and
the Duke's heir, Plantagenet Palliser. The Duke replies, "I find the
thing will suit me well enough."
The innocent reader goes from the television series to the text and
immediately finds himself reading about Alice Vavasor, a young woman
engaged to a young country gentleman, "John Grey, The Worthy Man."
She had been previously engaged to her first cousin "George Vavasor,
The Wild Man." We then stumble into subplot number one, in which
George's sister goes to spend three weeks with her Aunt Greenow, a
well-to-do widow who must deal with two suitors: Mr. Cheesacre, a
"fat Norfolk farmer," and the rather disreputable Captain Bellfield.
Where is Glencora? Not yet to be found. By the time we reach Chapter
Seventeen, the standard Trollope fox-hunting chapter, we find Burgo
Fitzgerald first among the riders--
Burgo Fitzgerald, whom no man had ever known to crane at a fence,
or to hug a road, or to spare his own neck or his horse's. And yet
poor Burgo seldom finished well--coming to repeated grief in this
matter of his hunting, as he did so constantly in other matters of
his life.
In the next chapter we learn that Burgo, eighteen months earlier, had
almost won the hand, as he had already won the heart, of the Lady
Glencora M'Cluskie. Finally. This is page 162. But what about the
garden party? About the garden party, the text is silent. That this
memorable scene appears nowhere in Trollope's novel is almost beside
the point. The dialogue of the BBC production is as Trollopian as
any of the rest, which adheres closely to the text. Raven has the
Duke later admonish Plantagenet, who has been rumored to be having
an affair with Lady Dumbello (another of Trollope's apt names),
that he should not pursue such an affair until after he has become
respectably married and produced an heir. "After that, you may suit
yourself. Only see to it that there's no open scandal. When I was a
boy it didn't matter much, but for some reason it does now."
And the grand wedding that we saw at Westminster Abbey? "She had
married Mr. Palliser at St. George's Square." So we, and the author,
have missed the most memorable scenes in the whole series. If we go
back to a few pages of _The Small House at Allington_, we find the
story of Plantaget Palliser's flirtation with Lady Dumbello, and we
find the interview between Plantagenet and Mr. Fothergill, the "man
of business" for the Duke of Omnium, in which Mr. Fothergill passed
the word to the rebellious young buck that he must abandon his
friendship with Lady Dumbello, who happened to be the daughter-in-law
of an old friend (and former mistress) of the Duke. We find no
description of the scene in which the Duke brings Lady Hartletop and
Lady Dumbello to Plantagenet's drawing room for Lady Dumbello to
declare to Plantagenet, in a choked voice, that their association is
at an end.
What we do find in _Can You Forgive Her?_ is a brief reference to
Glencora's having attempted unsuccessfully to persuade her distant
cousin Alice to allow her to use her house in London for a tryst with
Burgo, to arrange an elopement. Alice barely knows Glencora, and she
refuses. All things conspire against Glencora, and she finds herself
engaged, by arrangement of "sagacious heads," to Mr. Palliser.
And now, finally, Glencora and Alice have a chance to become
acquainted with each other. Alice receives an invitation from
Glencora to come to Matching Priory for a visit before Christmas.
Important conversations in Trollope sometimes occur on carriage
rides, and a chapter entitled "Dandy and Flirt" is ample warning that
Dandy and Flirt are the horses pulling the "light stylish-looking
cart" driven by Lady Glencora, who conveys Alice from the station to
Matching Priory, and demonstrates in her breathless exposition of her
situation that she is, in fact, a lonely little rich girl, way out in
the country, who needs a friend. (In the television production, she
is often shown carrying and holding a doll in her first months of
marriage.)
My wife and I saw "Matching Priory," the stately home that was used
in the BBC television series, when we visited Sudely Castle one
afternoon in the course of a short stay in the Cotswolds. This
castle's greatest historical significance was having been the last
home, and the burial place, of Katherine Parr, last wife and widow
of Henry VIII. Matching Priory, though, had a somewhat different
history, as described by Lady Glencora, who shows Alice the "Matching
oak, under which Coeur de Lion or Edward the Third, I forget, was met
by Sir Guy de Palisere as he came from the war, or from hunting, or
something of that kind." Sir Guy offered the king some brandy, the
king responded with a generous bequest of real estate, and the rest
was history. "As Jeffrey Palliser says, it was a great deal of money
for a pull at his flask."
And so we have the history of England according to Lady Glencora. And
having finally arrived at subplot two, the story of the Pallisers,
we can follow the development of their marriage, which is the real
story of _Can You Forgive Her?_ Trollope summarizes the contrasting
personalities of Glencora and Plantagenet as he describes Glencora's
reaction when she realizes that Mrs. Marsham has actually come to
their house to be her duenna. Though Glencora knew little about the
British Constitution, she "was much quicker, much more clever, than
her husband." Though he had a keen intelligence, he could be easily
deceived. "And, to a certain extent, she looked down upon him for
this obtusity." This contrast in their personalities is played out in
the book's production number, Lady Monk's ball. Lady Glencora begs
her husband to be excused from attending because she knows Burgo,
Lady Monk's nephew, will be there. But Plantagenet, saying that "it
does not signify," insists that she attend. After Glencora arrives
(separately), he excuses himself and takes his leave; she dances
"recklessly" with Burgo, watched by her "nemesis" Mr. Bott (a
political disciple of her husband) and her "duenna" Mrs. Marsham,
who leaves to fetch Mr. Palliser. He arrives in the nick of time,
Glencora gives him her hand, and they depart. In their carriage
she says, "If you did not wish me to see Mr. Fitzgerald you should
not have sent me to Lady Monk's. But, Plantagenet, I hope you will
forgive me if I say that no consideration shall induce me to receive
again as a guest, in my own house, either Mrs. Marsham or Mr. Bott."
There was more to be said. The night before must be followed by the
morning after; Plantagenet invited his wife to breakfast with him
after he had "slept on it." In these interviews the woman does not
always win. But she usually does. In this case, though, it may
be said that if Glencora won the battle, Plantagenet won the war.
Glencora's wit and spirit posed a challenge to her husband. "'I am
very serious,' she replied, as she settled herself in her chair with
an air of mockery, while her eyes and mouth were bright and eloquent
with a spirit which her husband did not love to see."
Plantagenet turned the tide, after her accusation that he had planted
spies, with his admission: "If it were ever to come to that, that I
thought spies necessary, it would be all over with me."
This changes the tone; she abandons her raillery and declares that
she cannot make him happy, confesses that she loves Burgo Fitzgerald,
and that she and Plantagenet do not love each other. Here Plantagenet
does his duty, tells her he does love her, puts his arms around her,
and decides on the spur of the moment to abandon politics for a
while and take her to Europe. At this very moment the Duke of St.
Bungay is announced, and he enters to offer Plantagenet the position
of Chancellor of the Exchequer, the office that Plantagenet has
coveted. But Plantagenet declines, pleading family reasons, and the
conversation is over. No English gentleman would inquire or disclose
anything further.
This is the turning point, and the rest all works itself out in
subplot number two. As for the main plot, Alice Vavasor proves
herself to be as contrary a heroine as Glencora is attractive, as she
deals with successive engagements to George Vavasor, John Grey, back
to George Vavasor, and back to John Grey, whose sainthood is assured
by the persistence of his suit.
At this point we find Glencora's and Alice's personalities summarized
as Glencora congratulates her friend on her fourth engagement: "I
know that it is quite a misery to you that you should be made a happy
woman at last. I understand it all, my dear, and my heart bleeds for
you."
As for subplot number one: Simon Raven properly omitted it from his
television presentation. It is a third variation on the theme of a
woman torn between a dashing scoundrel and a boring steady gentleman.
In this one, as it turns out, Aunt Greenow selects the impecunious
Captain Bellfield, and we leave her beginning to get him housebroken.
Trollope's great achievement in this novel is the creation of
Glencora and Plantagenet. They have not become household words in our
time, but they had enough in them for elaboration of their stories
in another medium, and they carried a series of six political novels
in which they played sometimes major and sometimes quite minor roles.
Political figures in England have cited these novels as the best
fictional presentation of parliamentary process, and wives of great
men have cited Lady Glencora as the model of all that a political
wife should be and do.
It is Glencora's sense of fun and play that makes her an endearing
figure to her friends, and also to the reader. At Baden she takes
Alice with her to the casino to play "one little Napoleon," with
which she wins a little pile and finally loses it. Plantagenet finds
her, scolds her, and takes her away. Alice feels wrongly scowled
upon by Mr. Palliser and follows them to their room, where Glencora
affects laughter. "Here's a piece of work about a little accident."
Plantagenet fails to see the humor and admonishes her for sitting at
a common gambling table amid heaps of gold. "You wrong me," Glencora
replies. "There was only one heap, and that did not remain long. Did
it, Alice?"
Alice, with her own agenda of being wronged, takes her candle and
takes her leave. This was the set of family and friends that Simon
Raven brought us on BBC. Glencora, pert and pretty, sometimes
strayed, and she sometimes strayed further than to the tables of
Baden; but she was a lot more fun than Alice. She was more fun than
any of them.
And the inevitable question: Was the television series more fun
than the book? And the required qualifying query: What did you
do first--see it on television or read the book? In my case, the
television series came first, and yes, the portrayal on television
was more fun. But it was so much fun that the text is required
reading.
ENGLISH POLITICS 101
PHINEAS FINN
_Phineas Finn_ is a political novel. Others in Anthony Trollope's
Palliser series stray here and there from the political scene in
Victorian England, but this one is rooted in the pursuit of political
ambition. A chapter is allocated to a cabinet meeting in which the
members of the cabinet are named, described, and seated at the table.
The furnishings of the "large dingy room" in Downing Street are
enumerated, and rituals are observed. Political strategy is discussed
and determined. The author obviously puts politics right up there
with fox hunting among his passions.
Phineas Finn is the focal point of the story as he embarks on a
career in the service of the nation as a Member of Parliament.
Phineas appears as an impressionable young Irishman, whose charm and
gift for pleasant conversation bring him opportunities that push his
capacity for maintaining focus. He is several grades advanced beyond
the stage of the hobbledehoy portrayed by Trollope in Johnny Eames
of the Barsetshire series, but he is still learning the ways of the
world. And so we learn the ways of Phineas's world as he endures the
inconveniences and embarrassments of the learning process.
One could do worse than to use this novel as a textbook on the
English Constitution. We follow Phineas through election to
Parliament from two different boroughs, we observe the protocols and
courtesies in the House of Commons, we see his landlord participate
in a riot, we meet with the Cabinet, and we see governments formed,
dissolved, and replaced.
Through all this Phineas pursues his career with ambition and charm.
The men like him, and the women love him. He makes love to four of
the women, including his childhood sweetheart, with varying results.
A clandestine duel on a beach in Belgium, ending as happily as any
duel can, is the central event of the story, after which our hero
shrugs and marches on.
The first to refuse Phineas is Lady Laura Standish. One of Trollope's
strong women, she sublimates her political interests and ambitions
into a vicarious interest in Phineas's career. Though she is in love
with him, they are both poor, and she decides to accept marriage to a
wealthy Scot with a large home place in the country and a promising
career in Parliament. Unfortunately for Laura, his unbending
religious scruples destroy the marriage, affording us insights into
the institution of marriage in Victorian times. Eventually she flees
to Dresden to escape his lawful demand that she live in the same
house with him.
Violet Effingham, beautiful and witty, also refuses a later offer of
marriage. She rebels against the oppressive guardianship of her aunt,
Lady Baldock, and she is too strong-willed to go along with marriage
to Lord Chiltern at the first attempt, having the audacity to propose
to him that he pursue a gainful occupation. Violet was shortchanged
in the BBC production of _The Pallisers_, in which the strength of
her character is sacrificed to the abbreviating demands of film
making.