Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope: not many dragons

Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope

 

published as a magazine serial 1860 and in book form in 1861

 

[excerpt] Griselda displayed no lack of a becoming interest. She went to work steadily, slowly, and almost with solemnity, as though the business in hand were one which it would be wicked to treat with impatience. She even struck her mother with awe by the grandeur of her ideas and the depth of her theories. Nor let it be supposed that she rushed away at once to the consideration of the great fabric which was to be the ultimate sign and mark of her status, the quintessence of her briding, the outer veil, as it were, of the tabernacle—namely, her wedding-dress. As a great poet works himself up by degrees to that inspiration which is necessary for the grand turning-point of his epic, so did she slowly approach the hallowed ground on which she would sit, with her ministers around her, when about to discuss the nature, the extent, the design, the colouring, the structure, and the ornamentation of that momentous piece of apparel.

…As far as silks and satins went—in the matter of French bonnets, muslims, velvets, hats, riding-habits, artificial flowers, head-gilding, curious nettings, enamelled buckles, golden tagged bobbins, and mechanical petticoats—as regarded shoes, and gloves, and corsets, and stockings, and linen, and flannel, and calico … Griselda Grantly went to work with a solemn industry and a steady perseverance that was beyond all praise.

 

 

comments: I am happily reading my way through Trollope as and when they come to me, in the confident assurance that I am not going to run out soon. Blogfriend Marty always has a recommendation, along with ideas for my next Mrs Oliphant book – but in this case it was the author Jo Walton who sent me off to read this one, and for a most unlikely reason.

In 2004, she wrote a marvellous novel about dragons: called Tooth and Claw – read my blogpost here – and she explained that she wanted to write a Victorian novel with a different, dragon-based, set of rules, and picked Framley Parsonage. Well that was as good a reason as any to embark on this one, and indeed it is clear that Walton has used the original plot as a basis for her book, while going off in her own directions and inventing a wonderful dragon world.

[ADDED LATER: and Jo Walton came in to comment on this post and her use of Trollope, see below]

Framley Parsonage, meanwhile, is very much in Trollope-world. The vicar, Mark Robarts, lives there, on the estate of his childhood friend Lord Lufton. He is married with children, and is trying to balance spiritual and worldly interests – he wants to go hunting, and does so rather too much for a cleric. (I wrote in this post about how Trollope was over-keen on hunting, and so rather forgiving of this.)

Robarts gets pulled into all kinds of troubled matters, in particular standing as guarantor for someone he scarcely knows – you don’t have to have read many books to see how that is going to end up.

Meanwhile his sister Lucy comes to stay – she is single, so maybe will find a husband?

Lord Lufton’s mother wants her eligible son to marry the beautiful but cold Griselda. Lord Lufton is looking elsewhere.

The details of clergy income and money are dealt with carefully as ever, and there is a sad subplot concerning the curate:

Mr. Crawley had married almost as soon as he was ordained, and children had been born to him in that chill, comfortless Cornish cottage. He had married a lady well educated and softly nurtured, but not dowered with worldly wealth. They two had gone forth determined to fight bravely together; to disregard the world and the world's ways, looking only to God and to each other for their comfort. They would give up ideas of gentle living, of soft raiment, and delicate feeding.

It does not go well for them – his determination not to do anything to improve their lives reminded me of the 20^th century Welsh clergyman and poet RS Thomas, who features in this blogpost.

We are glad that Crawley gets at least one good meal.

Lady Lufton insisted that he should go with her to luncheon. He hummed and ha'd and would fain have refused, but on this subject she was peremptory. It might be that she was unfit to advise a clergyman as to his duties, but in a matter of hospitality she did know what she was about. Mr. Crawley should not leave the house without refreshment. As to this, she carried her point.

The greedy Lord Dumbello has a quite different view of food:

"A man who can really give a good dinner has learned a great deal," said Lord Dumbello, with unusual animation.

"An immense deal. It is quite an art in itself: and one which I, at any rate, by no means despise. But we cannot always be eating—can we?"

"No," said Lord Dumbello, "not always." And he looked as though he lamented that his powers should be so circumscribed.

We looked at the possibilities for 19^th century women (in novels and in real life) in this entry on The Small House at Allingham – there is a marvellous discussion on the marriage plot in fiction among readers in the comments – and it is always an issue in Trollope. He is sympathetic to women, though not always sympathetic enough. These are the thoughts of Mrs Grantly, Griselda’s mother:

Griselda's chance of a first- rate establishment would be better if she were a little more impulsive. A man does not wish to marry a statue, let the statue be ever so statuesque. She could not teach her daughter to be impulsive, any more than she could teach her to be six feet high; but might it not be possible to teach her to seem so? The task was a very delicate one, even for a mother's hand…

[Griselda and one of her young men like dancing together] Some point of interest more serious in its nature than that of a waltz might have been found on which to connect her daughter's sympathies with those of her future husband. But any point of interest was better than none; and it is so difficult to find points of interest in persons who by their nature are not impulsive.

Poor Griselda.

There are two ‘dragons’ in the Trollope: several mentions of an inn called The Dragon of Wantly—(‘meet me there at two to-morrow’). And a young man thinking about his mother’s hopes for his marriage: “She'd like me to bring a dragon home, I suppose. It would serve her right if I did—some creature that would make the house intolerable to her."

Piano music, 1861, Library of Congress

Bride and groom in church from NYPL, 1859.

In a room, also NYPL