Source of book: I own this.
I’ve
mentioned before that Anthony Trollope is my favorite Victorian Era
novelist. I do not mean to take anything away from Dickens or Collins,
both of whom I enjoy. It’s just that Trollope is much more a master of
nuance. Dickens created a host of memorable characters, but they are
just that - characters - or perhaps even caricatures in many cases. In
particular, his female characters are either humorous stereotypes or
impossibly good yet flat angels. Collins wrote exciting plots and great
suspense, and I love reading his books, but they tend to be a fun
escape. It is much harder to imagine oneself in such situations or
experience such twists of circumstance and coincidence. Again, I do not
wish to take anything away from these authors. I highly encourage
everyone to read their books.
What
Trollope brings to the table is a depth of characterization that is
truly rare. There are no simple portrayals. Everyone has flaws and
warts, but very, very few are wholly sinister either. (Not even the
lugubrious Obadiah Slope - the best of his villains.)
I
have been attempting to read one Trollope novel each year for the past
decade or so, although I only started reviewing them in 2011. Here are
my past reviews:
Framley Parsonage is the fourth (of six) in the Barchester series. The first two, The Warden and Barchester Towers are essentially a set, and should be read together. Doctor Thorne
can be read as a separate novel, as it contains entirely new
characters, and knowledge of the previous happenings in Barchester and
its surroundings is not necessary to understand the plot.
In contrast, it is thoroughly necessary to read all three earlier books in order to understand the dynamics in Framley Parsonage.
The Grantleys and the Proudies from the first two books feature
prominently, and their long standing feud affects the events of this
book. To a lesser extent, it is helpful to be familiar with Doctor
Thorne and the Greshams, and particularly Miss Dunstable, as they will
all play parts in this book. These familiar characters add to the
delights of this book; Trollope does a great job of integrating the new
characters into the world of Barchester.
The
central plot - but by no means the only one - is the misadventures of
Mark Robarts, the young vicar, who wishes to mix with higher society.
Unfortunately, these characters are from the opposite political faction
from his patron, Lady Lufton. Also, in the case of his friend Mr.
Sowerby, they do not happen to have the best of scruples. In a moment of
weakness, he co-signs for a loan for Sowerby, and this leads to a near
financial and personal disaster.
Further
complicating the relationship between Lady Lufton and Mr. Robarts is
that Lord Lufton, Mark’s childhood friend, and Lady Lufton’s only son,
falls in love with Mark’s young sister Lucy. Lady Lufton considers Lucy
an undesirable potential daughter-in-law primarily because she is of
lower birth, but also because she is short and not particularly
beautiful. (Obviously, I sympathize with Lucy for those very reasons.)
She has won the heart of Lord Lufton not through beauty, but through her
ready wit. Lucy’s conduct and strength of character is impressive
throughout, but she remains human, frailties and all.
Other
subplots involve politics (Trollope draws the events loosely from
recent history), a battle for hunting lands, and of course a few
marriages. As is the case with the other Barchester books, the endings
are happy for most of the characters - even the ones that probably don’t
deserve their good fortune. However, Trollope doesn’t really do
“happily ever after.” In this series, we are able to observe the future
happiness (or unhappiness) of the characters as time goes on, and the
relationships among the characters becomes ever deeper and complex with
the passage of time.
One
of the fun things about reading literature from this era is immersing
oneself in a truly foreign culture. The Barchester books are all about
the Church of England in the Nineteenth Century. We modern Americans
lack any concept of a State-supported church with its government paid
posts and suspicion of “dissenting churches,” like the Baptists and
Methodists. (There is a name-check of Charles Spurgeon - not in a
particularly favorable way.) However, the moral dilemmas are in some
ways easier to analyze in an unfamiliar context. (This is why fantasy
and science fiction can be powerful tools of ethical analysis when done
well.) It also makes one appreciate the benefits of our own free market
approach to religion.
One
also comes to appreciate that despite its flaws, our political system
is much more representative than that of Nineteenth Century England,
when votes were mere proxies for the whims of the hereditary nobility,
particularly out in the villages.
Some things never change, however. Lady Lufton is the quintessential conservative.
She
liked cheerful, quiet, well-to-do people, who loved their Church, their
country, and their Queen, and who were not too anxious to make a noise
in the world. She desired that all the farmers round her should be able
to pay their rents without trouble, that all the old women should have
warm flannel petticoats, that the working men should be saved from
rheumatism by healthy food and dry houses, that they should all be
obedient to their pastors and masters–temporal as well as spiritual.
That was her idea of loving her country.
So,
it is of perfect horror to Lady Lufton when her parson goes to a party
at the castle of the Duke of Omnium, who is of the opposite political
party. (It is also hinted that he is a bit of a rake - but Trollope is
also clear that this is based primarily on his status as a bachelor.)
And of course, then as now, opponents were best demonized.
It
was so thoroughly understood at Framley Court that the duke and all
belonging to him was noxious and damnable. He was a Whig, he was a
bachelor, he was a gambler, he was immoral in every way, he was a man of
no Church principle, a corrupter of youth, a sworn foe of young wives, a
swallower up of small men’s patrimonies; a man whom mothers feared for
their sons, and sisters for their brothers; and worse again, whom
fathers had cause to fear for their daughters, and brothers for their
sisters;–a man who, with his belongings, dwelt, and must dwell, poles
asunder from Lady Lufton and her belongings! And it must be remembered
that all these evil things were fully believed by Mrs. Robarts. Could it
really be that her husband was going to dwell in the halls of Apollyon,
to shelter himself beneath the wings of this very Lucifer?
Later,
Lady Lufton would refer to “gamblers, Whigs, atheists, men of loose
pleasure, and Proudieites” as a group. (Lady Lufton also loathes the
Proudies, and hates that Mark must associate with Bishop Proudie - even
though Proudie is technically Mark’s superior.)
There are too many great lines about politics to quote them all, but one of my all-time favorites is this one.
There are servants who think that their masters cannot do without them; and the public may occasionally have some such servant.
Such delightfully dry and understated Trollopean humor.
Other
details are lovingly yet pointedly noted. For example, the Proudies
host an early breakfast before the church services. Convenient for
everyone, Trollope notices, except for the servants, who are not
afforded the luxury of observing the sabbath - one of Mrs. Proudie’s pet
causes. (I will note that this has been the case for servants - and
slaves - throughout history. Whether it is a day of rest or the issue of
women working, the “godly” lifestyle is simply unavailable to the lower
classes.)
It
was also interesting to see the transition in medical ideas. The older
generation in this book still believed that travel during pregnancy was a
terrible risk and should be absolutely avoided; while the younger
generation was coming to accept activity as being healthy during
pregnancy.
Also
notable was the casual anti-Semitism that is a feature of European literature (and occasionally American literature as well). The Jewish
moneylender is assumed to be a greedy cheat.
Despite the fact that the main plot
revolves around Mark Robarts, the heart of this book and the true drama
lies in the relationships and personalities of the women. There are a
whole host of strong women, some delightful like Lucy, some delightfully
awful like Mrs. Proudie, and a host of interesting females that fall
somewhere in between. Lady Lufton is controlling and prejudiced, but she
has a good heart, and is able to behave with great generosity in the
end.
Fanny
Robarts, Mark’s wife, is good hearted and supportive, but more than
that is level headed and socially intelligent. She is gentle with her
husband, but Mark comes to realize that he would be much better off if
he listened to her advice more often. Fanny is also the opposite of
catty. She doesn’t play games and wears her heart on her sleeve, but she
genuinely loves her husband and her friends, and does what she can to
bring them together. Her strength in adversity is understated, but
thoroughly believable. She is a woman of fortitude.
Mark and Fanny Robarts. My edition lacks illustrations.
This is one by John Everett Millais from the first edition.
Miss Dunstable, the heiress to a snake oil fortune, is thrust into a
social position far above her birth - and she knows it. She is
intelligent and witty, however, and is able to both navigate the maze
well while making her unworthiness an ongoing joke. She never takes
herself seriously, and thus is impervious to public opinion. She would
be an excellent addition to any dinner party.
Lucy,
as I noted earlier, is also a strong (young) woman. Despite the fact
that she is called a “ministering angel,” the Victorian cliché - and has
earned the title - she is no typical Victorian heroine. She stands up
to everyone, male or female, who attempts to dismiss her, whether it is
Mr. Crawley, the over-proud impoverished parson, who tries to refuse
help; or Lady Lufton herself, who seriously underestimates Lucy’s
strength of character. The contrast between Fanny and Lucy is
interesting, because Fanny cannot but betray her emotions, despite her
general calm nature; while Lucy is more extremely emotional but has vast
reserves of self-mastery.
The
other great contrast is that between the plain, short Lucy and the
tall, gorgeous Griselda Grantly. (Lady Lufton greatly prefers the
latter, at least at first.) Lucy is all personality, while Griselda
seems to lack any that is not the result of continual practice. She
eventually marries Lord Dumbello (sometimes Trollope’s names make me
laugh), the rich and titled, if not exactly brilliant, future duke.
Lord
Dumbello was made aware that he was reckoned among the wisest of his
age. He had married a wife who managed everything for him, who never
troubled him, whom no woman disliked, and whom every man admired. As for
feast of reason and for flow of soul, is it not a question whether any
such flows and feasts are necessary between a man and his wife? How many
men can truly assert that they ever enjoy connubial flows of soul; or
that connubial feasts of reason are in their nature enjoyable? But a
handsome woman at the head of your table, who knows how to dress, and
how to sit, and how to get in and out of her carriage–who will not
disgrace her lord by her ignorance, or fret him by her coquetry, or
disparage him by her talent–how beautiful a thing it is! For my own part
I think that Griselda Grantly was born to be the wife of a great
English peer.
The
contrast between the love match and the match made for other reasons is
one of Trollope’s favorite themes. Indeed, the question of how we
choose between desire and duty in all of life’s decisions is a timeless
question, and is worth revisiting regularly.
In the case of another more minor character, the decision was made in favor of money, and never really regretted.
As
for her husband, it had never occurred to her to love him. She had
married him for a position; and being a clever woman, with a good
digestion and command of her temper, had managed to get through the
world without much of that unhappiness which usually follows
ill-assorted marriages. At home she managed to keep the upper hand, but
she did so in an easy, good-humored way that made her rule bearable; and
away from home she assisted her lord’s political standing; though she
laughed more keenly than any one else at his foibles.
One of the notable things about Barchester in general is that women are pretty universally in charge, with few exceptions. Barchester Towers,
as much as anything, concerns the domineering ways of Mrs. Proudie,
which is passed on to her daughters, as the author makes clear in this
book.
They
had wills of their own which became stronger and stronger every day. Of
the three with whom Mrs. Proudie was blessed one was already in a
position to exercise that will in a legitimate way over an excellent
young clergyman in the diocese, the Rev. Optimus Grey; but the other
two, having as yet no such opening for their powers of command, were
perhaps a little too much inclined to keep themselves in practice at
home.
Despite
these sharply witty descriptions, Trollope does display compassion for
all of his characters, even the Proudies. They too are allowed their
happiness to the degree that they are capable of enjoying them.
In
the end, a series of marriages occur, despite the fun that Trollope
pokes at the very idea of ending books with marriages. (He does an even
better job of this in He Knew He Was Right.)
Even Miss Dunstable finds love of a sort - with the crusty and
antisocial Dr. Thorne. Their courtship is quite amusing. If you can even
call it a courtship. They too are flawed while remaining loveable. As
Trollope puts it, regarding the relative merits of Lord Lufton, and his
possible unworthiness for a girl like Lucy, “That will be said because
people think that heroes in books should be so much better than heroes
got up for the world’s common wear and tear. I may as well confess that
of absolute, true heroism there was only a moderate admixture in Lord
Lufton’s composition; but what would the world come to if none but
absolute true heroes were thought to be worthy of women’s love? What
would the men do? and what - oh! what would become of the women?”
Trollope’s
books have many admirable men and women, but few “absolute, true”
heroes. Every man and woman has flaws, some more minor than others. Many
will find love. Of the ones that fail or destroy their own chances at
love, we mourn for most of them. (Nobody will mind that Slope doesn’t
get the girl, of course.) Owen Fitzgerald in Castle Richmond
(one of my favorites) loses the girl despite his noble actions. Louis
Trevelyan destroys his love through pride and jealousy in He Knew He Was Right.
And perhaps most tragically of all, George Bertram and Caroline
Waddington let their own pride and stubbornness stand in the way of
their own happiness and a match that everyone agrees should happen. (The Bertrams)
But
in this way, Trollope gives hope to those of us who have perhaps a
moderate admixture of “true heroism.” We will never set the world on
fire, attain fame or fortune, or rise to the top in any way. However, we
can still be worthy of a woman’s love, and enjoy the blessings of a
quiet life.
As
I have before, I highly recommend Anthony Trollope. Everyday situations
and the nuance of human frailty can be every bit as rewarding as
adventure, when the tale is told by a master.
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