the name Griselda is already in use in reference to Miss Mackenzie.
("'But you must positively bring Grieselda,' said Lady Glencora
Palliser.") Readers of Trollope's day were more aware than those
of today that Griselda figured in several folk tales, including
Boccaccio's _Decameron_ and Chaucer's "The Clerk's Tale" in_ The
Canterbury Tales_, as the personification of patience and obedience.
In the former version, a Marquis marries Griselda and tells her that
their first two children must be put to death, and then he tells her
that he has received papal dispensation to divorce her. She is put
away for years, brought back only to witness the wedding of the
divorced Marquis. In this ceremony she is told that it is all a joke,
and she is restored to her place as wife and mother of the children,
who were never killed after all. Some joke; one wonders if her sense
of humor is up to it.
Earlier in the book Margaret is referred to as Mariana in the moated
grange, who waits vainly for her lover in Tennyson's poem "Mariana":
_She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'_
Another image comes to mind in reading _Miss Mackenzie_: that of
Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp who revolutionized
nursing with her service to the English troops in the Crimea. This
revolution was probably still a work in progress when Trollope wrote
_Miss Mackenzie_, describing her resolution to be a hospital nurse as
a fall-back option if none of her matrimonial plans worked out. She
cared for one brother for fifteen years, and when her brother Tom was
on his deathbed, she assumed the role again.
There are women who seem to have an absolute pleasure in fixing
themselves for business by the bedside of a sick man. They
generally commence their operations by laying aside all fictitious
feminine charms, and by arraying themselves with a rigid,
unconventional unenticing propriety. Though they are still
gentle--perhaps more gentle than ever in their movements--there is
a decision in all they do very unlike their usual mode of action.
_Miss Mackenzie_ is an excellent novel. The story moves well in the
framework of a Victorian inheritance situation; Miss Mackenzie and
John Ball appear as less than perfect but likeable and even admirable
figures; those in the supporting cast play their roles well, and
through it all the author maintains his deft ironic touch. And for
better or worse, the enduring image is that of Rev. Maguire's squint.
"[S]he could not help looking into the horrors of his eye, and
thinking that innocent was not the word for him."
THE SCHOOL OF SELF-ASSERTIVENESS
THE BELTON ESTATE
Young people can't be trusted to sort things out for themselves.
Sometimes marriages must be arranged. Sometimes they must be
rearranged. In _The Belton Estate_, Clara Amedroz finds herself stuck
on high center, engaged for the second time to an immature young man,
Captain Frederic Aylmer, who is quite willing to marry her, but who
doesn't seem to have his heart in it. Although her cousin Will Belton
certainly does have his heart in his unrewarded love for Clara, the
stubborn child conceives it to be her duty to marry Captain Aylmer,
mainly because she has promised to do so for the second time. Enter
the Captain's mother, Lady Aylmer, whose view is that her feckless
son must marry money--of which Clara has none. And so Clara is
dislodged from high center.
Upon her father's death, Clara has limited options for a place to
reside. She has already defied her mother-in-law-elect by refusing to
renounce the friendship of a certain Mrs. Askerton, a woman with a
checkered past who is considered to be eminently unfit for polite
society. Frederic's plea that Clara be given a "second chance" with
an invitation to their home is initially refused.
But after "close debate" through Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, Lady
Aylmer recalculates her position, decides not to risk alienating her
only son, and assesses her chances: "Not so utterly had victory in
such contests deserted her hands, that she need fear to break a lance
with Miss Amedroz beneath her own roof, when the occasion was so
pressing."
Lady Aylmer's confidence in her own powers is not misplaced. Clara
arrives at Aylmer Hall naively expecting to see Lady Aylmer in the
hall, not having given sufficient thought to certain "weights and
measures":
But Lady Aylmer was too accurately acquainted with the weights and
measures of society for any such movement as that. Had her son
brought Lady Emily to the house as his future bride, Lady Aylmer
would probably have been in the hall when the arrival took place;
and had Clara possessed ten thousand pounds of her own, she would
probably have been met at the drawing-room door; but as she had
neither money nor title--as she in fact brought with her no
advantages of any sort--Lady Aylmer was found stitching a bit of
worsted, as though she had expected no one to come to her.
Now it so happened that the faithful Will Belton conceived a rather
interesting way to express his love for Clara. The heir to the Belton
Estate, he had decided that since Clara was the daughter and only
remaining child of the late Squire Belton, and since the estate was
entailed to him as the eldest male of the family, though only a
cousin, he would relinquish the estate to Clara. He already had
a farm of his own and had a strong personal interest in Clara's
welfare. Clara had absolutely refused, but Frederic had told his
mother something of the offer, and this modified somewhat Lady
Aylmer's view of Clara--until Clara assured her that she would have
nothing to do with the property and would bring no property to her
marriage, at which time her Cinderella treatment resumed.
Two interviews take place between Lady Aylmer and Clara. The first
is preceded by some softening of Lady Aylmer's manner toward Clara.
Unexpectedly, Lady Aylmer selects for Clara a choice piece of hashed
fowl at lunch. And though she does not address Clara by her Christian
name, she does call her "my dear." And that afternoon Clara finds
herself alone with Lady Aylmer for their carriage ride. Frederic's
sister Belinda is unaccountably absent--"a little busy, my dear."
Lady Aylmer begins her maneuvers with a description of her son's
impecunious position, indicating that during her lifetime Frederic
will not have enough money to marry. Clara reiterates that she has
nothing of her own, but Lady Aylmer hints that there may be some
doubt about this.
Clara assures her that she will not accept the Belton estate. Lady
Aylmer advises her to put the matter into the hands of Mr. Green, who
was her late father's lawyer, but Clara assures her that no lawyer
is necessary. Silence. Finally Lady Aylmer ventures that a marriage
between Clara and her son cannot be considered--at least for many
years. When told by Clara that she will talk to Captain Aylmer about
it, Lady Aylmer concedes that he is his own master, but he is also
her son.
No more "tit-bits of hashed chicken specially picked out for her by
Lady Aylmer's own fork." No more "my dear." Cinderella again.
Captain Aylmer declines Clara's suggestion that he break the
engagement. But when asked to set a date, he is "almost aghast," and
he returns to London, thus indicating to the reader that he will be
no fit helpmate for plucky Clara.
With the matter in this state, and in Frederic's absence, Lady Aylmer
decides to bring out the weapon that she has been holding in reserve
for so long: Clara's refusal to accede to her command to renounce
Mrs. Askerton of the checkered past. The scene of battle is the
drawing-room, in the presence of Belinda, Frederic's sister.
This time the silence lasts for a half hour (How many New York
minutes are there in a Victorian half hour?) Finally Lady Aylmer
mentions the name of the notorious Mrs. Askerton.
Clara draws herself up for battle. "Belinda gave a little spring in
her chair, looked intently at her work, and went on stitching faster
than before." Clara parries each thrust, saying that what she knows
of Mrs. Askerton's past life is in confidence, so that she cannot
speak of it. Lady Aylmer says that they must speak of it. "Belinda
was stitching very hard, and would not even raise her eyes."
When pressed, Clara states that she was very foolish to come to
a house in which she is subjected to such questioning. And when
required to promise that the acquaintance not be renewed, she refers
to it as an "affectionate friendship" and vows that it will be
maintained with all her heart.
Then Clara gives her opponent an opening by observing that they may
differ on many subjects, and Lady Aylmer presses to the decisive
point, alluding to Clara's hold upon her "unfortunate son." Hereupon
Clara declares herself insulted, rises from her chair, and announces
that she will inform Captain Aylmer that their engagement is at
an end unless she can be reassured that she will never again be
subjected to such "unwarrantable insolence" from his mother. Exit
Clara.
And with this the course of events is determined; Captain Aylmer and
Will Belton play out their roles in the expected fashion. The rest of
the book is rather humdrum compared to the prolonged battle between
Lady Aylmer and Clara, which is one of the more entertaining of these
Trollope set pieces.
A prototype of such contests is the interview between Elizabeth
Bennett and Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Jane Austen's _Pride and
Prejudice_. In this classic encounter, Elizabeth defends herself with
the understated irony of an Austen heroine when Lady Catherine tells
her that the alliance between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy will be a
disgrace and that her name will never even be mentioned by any of the
de Bourgh family.
"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the wife
of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness
necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the
whole, have no cause to repine."
Trollope demonstrates his skill in presenting the female point of
view in his variations on the Cophetua theme, in which the king
marries a beggar maid whom he spies from the window of his castle.
Lady Lufton, in _Framley Parsonage_, is not the proud and unbending
opponent portrayed in Austen's Lady Catherine de Bourgh or in Lady
Aylmer of _The Belton Estate_.
Lucy Robarts and Clara Amedroz prove themselves to be worthy
heroines in the tradition of Elizabeth Bennett as they stand up for
themselves. Clara Amedroz's second move in her match with Lady Aylmer
is to parry a question with a question:
"I believe it to be an undoubted fact that Mrs. Askerton
is--is--is--not at all what she ought to be."
"Which of us is what we ought to be?" said Clara.
Such scenes cry out for television portrayal. _Pride and Prejudice_
is, of course, abundantly portrayed, with Lady Catherine de Bourgh
sitting in splendor in her carriage. Wait till BBC asks me for a few
suggestions for new shows. The screenwriter would have a bit of work
to do with streamlining the plot, but the scenes between Clara and
Lady Aylmer are there for the taking.
LOVE CONQUERS ALL, IN THE NINTH INNING
NINA BALATKA
The Story of a Maiden of Prague
How could this short novel fail to delight? A familiar author; his
only book about Prague, a city of complexity and charm; and a short
novel of only 186 pages, a fourth or a fifth of the usual Trollope
novel. So why did I find myself having to force myself to pick it
up? It is well written. The heroine is a well rounded Trollope girl,
though she is given overmuch to proclaiming that she will stick to
her lover no matter what, as many of Trollope's girls do. Perhaps
therein lies the seed of dread with which the reader turns its pages.
The situation is all foretold in the first sentence of the book:
"Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents, and
herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her story."
Here we go again: the Montagus and the Capulets; star-crossed lovers;
nothing good can come of this. This sense of foreboding is built up
progressively, with references to the statue of St. John Nepomucene,
one of the thirty saints standing watch over the Charles Bridge. As
early as the second chapter we are told that this martyr was thrown
into the river because he would not betray the secrets of a queen's
confession, and that he now keeps the faithful safe from drowning
in the river. More and more insistent references to the fear and
attraction of the black water appear. Nobody wants Nina to marry
Anton; a devious plot is laid to trick Anton into thinking that she
has deceived him about a deed that belongs to Anton but is in the
possession of Nina's uncle. Even her faithful servant Souchey is
part of the plot, bewitched by Lotta Luxa, the uncle's serving girl.
Souchey thinks it's his Christian duty to prevent a marriage that
would imperil the soul of his mistress.
Up to the last moment the reader is convinced that this is a tragedy
working itself out, and that the dose will be short but bitter.
In suspense, the reader reads quickly to the conclusion. Without
spelling out the last pages, it can be said that reading the book
is liking watching a ball game in which the home team is hopelessly
behind for the whole game but mounts a last-gasp effort at the end.
It's a dark book. The motif of the dark waters of the Moldau
dominates all others. Nina herself is the brightest spot, forthright
and assertive in her love for Anton. Like many Trollope heroines, she
is not the most beautiful girl in her story; her rival Rebecca Loth
is admitted even by Nina's cousin and suitor, Ziska Zamenoy, to be
more striking and beautiful. Yet Nina continues to attract Ziska and
Anton even in poverty that is almost starvation. Her circumstances
allow little opportunity for humor; and the story pursues its course
with no comic relief.
Her lover Anton is a serious and humorless sort, successful as a
businessman and ultimately faithful in his love for Nina, though his
experience in the business world keeps him from believing fully that
Nina, a Christian, is not betraying him. And like so many Victorian
men, he insists on the obedience of his intended as a litmus test for
her worthiness.
Prague, with its segregated Jewish Quarter, affords an opportunity
for exploring the relationship between Jews and Christians. Ziska's
foray into the Jewish Quarter is the central dramatization of the
distance between them, as he unwittingly arrives there on a Jewish
holiday, when the women are dressed for a festival and the men are
at worship. Seeking Anton, he is conducted into the synagogue:
The door was very low and narrow, and seemed to be choked by men
with short white surplices, but nevertheless he found himself
inside, jammed among a crowd of Jews; and a sound of many voices,
going together in a singsong wail or dirge, met his ears. His
first impulse was to take off his hat, but that was immediately
replaced upon his head, he knew not by whom; and then he observed
that all within the building were covered. His guide did not
follow him, but whispered to someone what it was that the stranger
required.
In dreamlike fashion, Ziska is led through the crowd to Anton, who
offers to accompany him outside if the business is important. A
serious interview ensues, in which Ziska pursues his family's
treacherous plot to disrupt the engagement. Here the Jews are
presented as a people of dignity and courtesy, long-suffering and
patient. Wary of their Christian oppressors, they proceed with
caution. In much the same fashion that Shakespeare portrays the Jews
in _The Merchant of Venice_, they are presented with sympathy, even
though the usages of the time permit derogatory allusions as a matter
of course.
In circumstances such as these, what chance does love have, coming up
as a pinch-hitter in the bottom of the ninth inning? Love does have a
good at-bat, but the reader is left with the feeling that there will
have to be a lot more weddings and a lot more funerals before these
issues are resolved.
MORE THAN SOAP OPERA, MORE THAN FAIRY TALE
THE CLAVERINGS
This is straight from the noontime soaps. Harry Clavering, the
sometimes sheep-like "hero" of _The Claverings_, rises to challenge
his cousin Sir Hugh Clavering, standing toe-to-toe in a hostile
verbal encounter, and the younger man (Harry) defies his banishment
from his cousin's house. There is some talk of horsewhipping, and
Harry walks out, with a cautious look over his shoulder. No violence.
We're English (which sometimes helps). But it is soap opera. _The
Claverings_ is basically about Harry Clavering and the two women he
loves. He proposes to Julia Brabazon and is refused; she marries
a wealthy nobleman; Harry falls in love with Florence Burton, the
daughter of a hard-working civil engineer; Julia becomes a wealthy
widow and reappears. What will Harry do?
It's not so simple. Florence and her family are not to be discounted.
Her brother Theodore, committed to building railways and digging
tunnels, speaks his piece in Chapter XXVI, "The Man who dusted his
Boots with his Handkerchief." (Remember that Mr. Puddicombe, arbiter
of proper behavior to his friend Dr. Wortle in _Dr. Wortle's School_,
advised his friend, "When I am taking a walk through the fields and
get one of my feet deeper than usual into the mud, I always endeavour
to bear it as well as I may before the eyes of those who meet me
rather than make futile efforts to get rid of the dirt and look as
though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is rubbed and smudged
and scraped, is more palpably dirt than the honest mud.") One of the
great questions that arose in the Victorian world was how to identify
a gentleman, and although Trollope doesn't spell it out in so many
words, it may be taken from this description, and from the drawings
of this scene in two different editions, that dusting one's boots is
a cardinal sign that one is not a gentleman.
But, gentleman or not, Theodore Burton is one of the two in the story
who prove themselves to be men of worth. When Harry is dithering
about which woman he will marry (both Lady Ongar and Florence Burton
appear willing to accept him), Theodore Burton, who has employed
Harry in the engineering office, writes him a letter acknowledging
Harry's absence from the office and urging him to come for an
interview. After the formalities, Burton comes directly to the point:
"Come, Harry, let me tell you all at once like an honest man. I hate
subterfuges and secrets. A report has reached the old people at
home--not Florence, mind--that you are untrue to Florence, and are
passing your time with that lady who is the sister of your cousin's
wife." He goes on to urge him to return to Florence and to the Burton
family fold. "And this from the man who had dusted his boots with his
pocket handkerchief, and whom Harry had regarded as being on that
account hardly fit to be his friend!"
The other humble man who proves his worth is Mr. Samuel Saul, the
curate for Harry's father Mr. Clavering, a clergyman not given to
work of any sort. Mr. Saul is introduced as a serious, conscientious
young man who basically does all the work. (This is a mark against
any claim that Mr. Saul may have to being a gentlemen. Gentlemen
don't work.) Mrs. Clavering later reflects that her son Harry "would
never excel greatly in any drudgery that would be necessary for the
making of money."
But the humble Mr. Saul aspires to the hand of Harry's sister Fanny.
No one in Fanny's family--her father the rector, her mother, or her
brother Harry--could even consider such a thing; but Fanny, who
initially acknowledges the impossibility of his suit, eventually does
begin to consider it, and to consider that the only thing keeping
them from being married is that his income as a curate is woefully
inadequate. And Fanny rejects any suggestion that Mr. Saul is not a
gentleman.
His initial proposal introduces us to him. Trollope specialized in
proposals; there seem to be at least two or three in every book. And
this one, which occurs in the rain, makes the reader thankful for a
warm dry spot where he can only read about the rain. He persists with
his statement of purpose in spite of the downpour, and she splashes
herself as she forbids him to speak further. "She had her own ideas
as to what was loveable in men, and the eager curate, splashing
through the rain by her side, by no means came up to her standard of
excellence."
But Mr. Saul's powers were not to be underestimated. He later makes
another attempt, in which the author dissects Mr. Saul's victory.
Fanny does not declare that she does not love him. Mr. Saul's
gamesmanship requires a bit of leisurely explanation:
At this moment she forgot that in order to put herself on
perfectly firm ground, she should have gone back to the first
hypothesis, and assured him that she did not feel any such regard
for him. Mr. Saul, whose intellect was more acute, took advantage
of her here, and chose to believe that that matter of her
affection was now conceded to him. He knew what he was doing well,
and is open to a charge of some jesuitry. "Mr. Saul," said Fanny,
with grave prudence, "it cannot be right for people to marry when
they have nothing to live upon." When she had shown him so plainly
that she had no other piece left on the board to play than this,
the game may be said to have been won on his side.
Mr. Saul continued to play his hand bravely in his interview with
Mr. Clavering, whose strongest card was that Mr. Saul, though a
gentleman, was not in his class. And of course the nuances of class
were to be of no avail in England in coming decades. Some would
persist, but many of these nuances, which were relied upon by those
such as Mr. Clavering, who did not work, would fall to the energy of
such men as Mr. Burton and Mr. Saul, who did work. In this case, Mr.
Clavering bravely declared that Mr. Saul would have to give up his
pretensions for Fanny's hand, or leave the parish--which would have
left Mr. Clavering without the services of someone to do his work for
him. And Mr. Saul called his bluff, declaring that he would leave the
parish rather than renounce his claim for Fanny's hand.
As it turned out, all parties stood their ground, and Fanny assumed
the role of "a broken-hearted young lady." But this is fairy tale
as well as soap opera, and all tears are wiped away in a series of
events that open up the position of rector of the parish to the
steadfast Mr. Saul, thus removing the last excuse the family had for
opposing the union--somewhat to the sacrifice of "cakes and ale in
the parish," to Mr. Clavering's regret.
Other less worthy persons claim the reader's attention, two of whom,
Archie Clavering and Captain Boodle, provide a welcome bit of comic
relief when Mr. Boodle, habitué of the racecourses and "fast friend"
of Captain Archie Clavering, the ne'er do well brother of Sir Hugh
Clavering, advises Archie about how to advance his courtship of
Lady Ongar. Archie knows deep down that he has no chance. "In some
inexplicable manner he put himself into the scales and weighed
himself, and discovered his own weight with fair accuracy. And he put
her into the scales, and he found that she was much the heavier of
the two." But Boodle knows too much about horses to allow his friend
to shortchange himself in his suit, comparing courtship to riding a
trained mare: "I always choose that she shall know that I'm there."
Use the spurs if you have to.
Needless to say, Archie's sense of his own weight is a more accurate
predictor than Boodle's advice; but Archie and Captain Boodle
also attempt to invoke the assistance of Lady Ongar's friend
Sophie Gordeloupe, who routs them both. Madame Gordeloupe was a
"Franco-Pole," who "spoke English with great fluency, but every word
uttered declared her not to be English." In Trollope's English world,
she was the classic devious foreigner. Some said that she was a
Russian spy. "How could any decent English man or woman wish for the
friendship of such a creature as that?"
Archie makes the first visit to the Russian spy, who quickly strips
him of the twenty pounds he had tucked into his glove and ridicules
him for offering such a paltry sum, demanding fifty pounds as a
starter. "Yes, fifty--for another beginning. What; seven thousands of
pounds per annum, and make difficulty for fifty pounds! You have a
handy way with your glove. Will you come with fifty pounds tomorrow?"