Group read: Dr Thorne by Anthony Trollope (Chapters 33 - 47)

Dr Thorne by Anthony Trollope (1858)

Hello, all!

This thread is for discussion of Chapters 33 - 47.

The characters of Dr Thorne:

Dr Thomas Thorne - who lives and practises in the village of Greshamsbury, in East Barsetshire; second cousin to the Thornes of Ullathorne
Mary Thorne - his niece who lives with him
Henry Thorne - the younger brother of Dr Thorne, Mary's father

Francis Newbold Gresham Sr - Squire of the property of Greshamsbury
Lady Arabella Gresham - his wife, the sister of the Earl de Courcy
Francis Newbold Gresham Jr (Frank) - their son and heir
Augusta Gresham
Beatrice Gresham
Sophia Gresham (and her unnamed twin sister)
Nina Gresham

The Earl de Courcy - a leading nobleman of West Barshetshire; a Whig
The Countess (Rosina) de Courcy
Lord Porlock - their eldest son and heir
The Honourable George de Courcy
The Honourable John de Courcy
Lady Amelia de Courcy
Lady Rosina de Courcy
Lady Margaretta de Courcy
Lady Alexandrina de Courcy

The Reverend Caleb Oriel - the rector of Greshamsbury
Patience Oriel - his sister

Roger Scatcherd - a stone-mason of Barchester, Mary Thorne's uncle; later Sir Roger Scatcherd, railway contractor
Lady Scatcherd - his wife
Louis Philippe Scatcherd - their son
Mary Scatcherd - Roger's sister, Mary Thorne's mother

Mr Moffat - Augusta Gresham's fiance; the Whig member for Barchester, backed by the de courcys and the Duke of Omnium

Dr Fillgrave - a doctor of Barchester; a rival and enemy of Dr Thorne
Mr Yates Umbleby - an attorney, and Squire Gresham's agent
Mr Winterbones - Sir Roger's confidential clerk

Mrs Umbleby - wife of Mr Yates Umbleby
Miss Gushing - a lady of Greshamsbury

I'm here too :-)

I'm nearly finished now.

In Chapter 44 there was a reference that I did not recognise, when the squire is being invited to go to London to meet with lawyers.

It was an invitation exactly of a sort which a good many years ago was given to a certain duck.
"Will you, will you - will you, will you - come and be killed?"
Although Mr Gazebee urged the matter with such eloquence, the squire remained steady to his objection, and swam obstinately around his Greshambury pond in any direction save that which seemed to lead towards London.

Is this referring to a particular tale or poem about a duck being lured into a trap. Mentioning 'a certain duck' suggests so (funny though it sounds), and the 'Will you, will you..." bit reminded me of the Mock Turtle's song in Alice: "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance" - but that is a parody of a poem about a spider and a fly, not a duck, as I recall.

Does Liz or anyone know what is being referred to here?

I read that part last night and wondered about that too.

I think it's from a nonsense song of the time. I'm pretty sure I've seen references to it like that in other works but I haven't been able to find a transcript.

Hahahaha! Amelia you rat.

:D

That's where I am too, Jean! Grrrr.

She was very rat-like indeed!

Poor Augusta...

Augusta needs to make up her mind whether she's a Gresham or a de Courcy.

I have now finished too, and I really don't have anything much to say about this one.

I've just barreled into this thread, having read thru Ch 40 his weekend. The end is in sight and loose ends seem to be winding themselves together. I'm traveling today so not likely to get much more reading in.

Chapter 33

In which Beatrice Gresham shows her de Courcy colours.

    "Money—money; and he is to sell himself for money? Oh, Trichy! do not you talk about money. It is horrible. But, Trichy, I will grant it—I cannot marry him; but still, I love him. He has a name, a place in the world, and fortune, family, high blood, position, everything. He has all this, and I have nothing. Of course I cannot marry him. But yet I do love him."
    "Are you engaged to him, Mary?"
    "He is not engaged to me; but I am to him."
    "Oh, Mary, that is impossible!"
    "It is not impossible: it is the case—I am pledged to him; but he is not pledged to me."
    "But, Mary, don't look at me in that way. I do not quite understand you. What is the good of your being engaged if you cannot marry him?"
    "Good! there is no good. But can I help it, if I love him? Can I make myself not love him by just wishing it? Oh, I would do it if I could. But now you will understand why I shake my head when you talk of my coming to your house. Your ways and my ways must be different."
    Beatrice was startled, and, for a time, silenced. What Mary said of the difference of their ways was quite true. Beatrice had dearly loved her friend, and had thought of her with affection through all this long period in which they had been separated; but she had given her love and her thoughts on the understanding, as it were, that they were in unison as to the impropriety of Frank's conduct.
    She had always spoken, with a grave face, of Frank and his love as of a great misfortune, even to Mary herself; and her pity for Mary had been founded on the conviction of her innocence. Now all those ideas had to be altered. Mary owned her fault, confessed herself to be guilty of all that Lady Arabella so frequently laid to her charge, and confessed herself anxious to commit every crime as to which Beatrice had been ever so ready to defend her.

Of course, it's all very well for Beatrice:

And then Beatrice fully enjoyed the delicious talk which she had promised herself. Mary let her have her way, and for two hours all the delights and all the duties, all the comforts and all the responsibilities of a parson's wife were discussed with almost equal ardour on both sides. The duties and responsibilities were not exactly those which too often fall to the lot of the mistress of an English vicarage. Beatrice was not doomed to make her husband comfortable, to educate her children, dress herself like a lady, and exercise open-handed charity on an income of two hundred pounds a year. Her duties and responsibilities would have to spread themselves over seven or eight times that amount of worldly burden. Living also close to Greshamsbury, and not far from Courcy Castle, she would have the full advantages and all the privileges of county society.

Chapter 34

In which we discover that Dr Thorne would have been a textbook choice for Madeline's TIOLI #1:

And up in the dicky behind was a servant, more arrogant, if possible, than his master—the baronet's own man, who was the object of Dr Thorne's special detestation and disgust. He was a little fellow, chosen originally on account of his light weight on horseback; but if that may be considered a merit, it was the only one he had. His out-door show dress was a little tight frock-coat, round which a polished strap was always buckled tightly, a stiff white choker, leather breeches, top-boots, and a hat, with a cockade, stuck on one side of his head. His name was Jonah, which his master and his master's friends shortened into Joe; none, however, but those who were very intimate with his master were allowed to do so with impunity.

:D

Chapter 35

In which the Greshams entertain Sir Louis Scatcherd, and vice-versa.

    Here Mr Gazebee got up, and followed Mr Oriel out of the room. He was not, of course, on such intimate terms in the house as was Mr Oriel; but he hoped to be forgiven by the ladies in consequence of the severity of the miseries to which he was subjected. He and Mr Oriel were soon to be seen through the dining-room window, walking about the grounds with the two eldest Miss Greshams. And Patience Oriel, who had also been of the party, was also to be seen with the twins. Frank looked at his father with almost a malicious smile, and began to think that he too might be better employed out among the walks. Did he think then of a former summer evening, when he had half broken Mary's heart by walking there too lovingly with Patience Oriel?
    Sir Louis, if he continued his brilliant career of success, would soon be left the cock of the walk. The squire, to be sure, could not bolt, nor could the doctor very well; but they might be equally vanquished, remaining there in their chairs. Dr Thorne, during all this time, was sitting with tingling ears. Indeed, it may be said that his whole body tingled. He was in a manner responsible for this horrid scene; but what could he do to stop it? He could not take Sir Louis up bodily and carry him away. One idea did occur to him. The fly had been ordered for ten o'clock. He could rush out and send for it instantly.
    "You're not going to leave me?" said the squire, in a voice of horror, as he saw the doctor rising from his chair.
    "Oh, no, no, no," said the doctor; and then he whispered the purpose of his mission. "I will be back in two minutes." The doctor would have given twenty pounds to have closed the scene at once; but he was not the man to desert his friend in such a strait as that.

hahahaha!

Chapter 36

In which Mary crosses the Rubicon.

And how could she have done any other than so pledge herself, invoked to it as she had been? How could she do less for him than he was so anxious to do for her? They would talk to her of maiden delicacy, and tell her that she had put a stain on that snow-white coat of proof, in confessing her love for one whose friends were unwilling to receive her. Let them so talk. Honour, honesty, and truth, out-spoken truth, self-denying truth, and fealty from man to man, are worth more than maiden delicacy; more, at any rate, than the talk of it. It was not for herself that this pledge had been made. She knew her position, and the difficulties of it; she knew also the value of it. He had much to offer, much to give; she had nothing but herself. He had name, and old repute, family, honour, and what eventually would at least be wealth to her. She was nameless, fameless, portionless. He had come there with all his ardour, with the impulse of his character, and asked for her love. It was already his own. He had then demanded her troth, and she acknowledged that he had a right to demand it. She would be his if ever it should be in his power to take her.

I confess, I'm a little worried about Frank's beard.

As you may be aware, a clean-shaven young man going off on his travels and coming home with a beard is usually 19th century novel-speak for "unseemly sexual adventures once out of sight of his family".

On the other hand, Frank's been travelling in the Holy Land. Perhaps that's Trollope's way of saying, "Don't worry, the beard doesn't mean what you think it means."

Well that went right over my head! Thanks for the insight to Frank's beard.

Trollope is certainly keen to emphasise how much growing up Frank does from his first impulsive offer to Mary. I didn't pick up the possible nuance of 'unseemly sexual adventures' being suggested by the beard, but it did suggest to me him both gaining in experience generally and choosing to display in his appearance his own sense of the man he had become (while remaining stubbornly fixed on that early affection despite everyone's hopes and expectations). It read to me like a kind of sign of his defiance. Though something about his behaviour while abroad must have given rise to those rumours which so worried Mary about his having a new object of his affections - perhaps he continued to be as thoughtlessly flirtatious as he was with Patience Oriel?

>23 gennyt:: Though something about his behaviour while abroad must have given rise to those rumours which so worried Mary about his having a new object of his affections

Or was it just that it happened often with other young men, and the gossip-mongers painted our dear Frank with the same brush?

No, he was flirting with someone in London:

And it was true that a certain belle of the season, of that season and some others, had been captivated—for the tenth time—by the silken sheen of his long beard. Frank had probably been more demonstrative, perhaps even more susceptible, than he should have been; and hence the rumour, which had all too willingly been forwarded to Greshamsbury...

But his good angel is also there, so it's okay:

But young Gresham had also met another lady in London, namely Miss Dunstable. Mary would indeed have been grateful to Miss Dunstable, could she have known all that lady did for her...

I actually don't think that Frank's beard implies here what a beard usually does imply - but note the tying of the beard to the young lady's captivation - though it certainly is an exterior sign of his interior growing up, as Genny says.

Chapter 37

In which Dr Thorne's conscience gives him no peace.

    was certainly hard upon Dr Thorne that he should be obliged to entertain such a guest in the house;—to entertain him, and foster him, and care for him, almost as though he were a son. But he had no alternative; he had accepted the charge from Sir Roger, and he must go through with it. His conscience, moreover, allowed him no rest in this matter: it harassed him day and night, driving him on sometimes to great wretchedness. He could not love this incubus that was on his shoulders; he could not do other than be very far from loving him. Of what use or value was he to any one? What could the world make of him that would be good, or he of the world? Was not an early death his certain fate? The earlier it might be, would it not be the better?
    Were he to linger on yet for two years longer—and such a space of life was possible for him—how great would be the mischief that he might do; nay, certainly would do! Farewell then to all hopes for Greshamsbury, as far as Mary was concerned. Farewell then to that dear scheme which lay deep in the doctor's heart, that hope that he might, in his niece's name, give back to the son the lost property of the father. And might not one year—six months be as fatal. Frank, they all said, must marry money; and even he—he the doctor himself, much as he despised the idea for money's sake—even he could not but confess that Frank, as the heir to an old, but grievously embarrassed property, had no right to marry, at his early age, a girl without a shilling. Mary, his niece, his own child, would probably be the heiress of this immense wealth; but he could not tell this to Frank; no, nor to Frank's father while Sir Louis was yet alive. What, if by so doing he should achieve this marriage for his niece, and that then Sir Louis should live to dispose of his own? How then would he face the anger of Lady Arabella?
    "I will never hanker after a dead man's shoes, neither for myself nor for another," he had said to himself a hundred times; and as often did he accuse himself of doing so. One path, however, was plainly open before him. He would keep his peace as to the will; and would use such efforts as he might use for a son of his own loins to preserve the life that was so valueless. His wishes, his hopes, his thoughts, he could not control; but his conduct was at his own disposal.

Chapter 38

In which Anthony Trollope shows off a rare skill.

There is a mode of novel-writing which used to be much in vogue, but which has now gone out of fashion. It is, nevertheless, one which is very expressive when in good hands, and which enables the author to tell his story, or some portion of his story, with more natural trust than any other, I mean that of familiar letters. I trust I shall be excused if I attempt it as regards this one chapter; though, it may be, that I shall break down and fall into the commonplace narrative, even before the one chapter be completed. The correspondents are the Lady Amelia de Courcy and Miss Gresham. I, of course, give precedence to the higher rank, but the first epistle originated with the latter-named young lady. Let me hope that they will explain themselves.

"I trust I shall be excused if I attempt it", indeed! We've encountered Anthony Trollope's amazing talent for revealing his characters through their letters before, in Barchester Towers, but this is the point where it becomes a regular and delicious part of his novels. As far as 19th century novelists go, I think only Jane Austen could challenge Trollope in this respect.

And, ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, Augusta... {*shakes head more in sorrow than in anger*}

    I don't wish at all to speak of my own feelings; but if he were not an attorney, he is, I think, the sort of man I should like. He is very nice in every way, and if you were not told, I don't think you'd know he was an attorney. But, dear Amelia, I will be guided by you altogether. He is certainly much nicer than Mr Moffat, and has a great deal more to say for himself. Of course, Mr Moffat having been in Parliament, and having been taken up by uncle de Courcy, was in a different sphere; but I really felt almost relieved when he behaved in that way. With Mortimer Gazebee, I think it would be different.
    I shall wait so impatiently for your answer, so do pray write at once. I hear some people say that these sort of things are not so much thought of now as they were once, and that all manner of marriages are considered to be comme il faut. I do not want, you know, to make myself foolish by being too particular. Perhaps all these changes are bad, and I rather think they are; but if the world changes, one must change too; one can't go against the world.

I'm finished! I'm finished! Huzzah!!!

I was glad to see Mary follow in her uncle's footsteps, and open the can of whoop-ass on Lady Arabella in one of the later chapters.

I have to say I was ready to be done with this book, not that I didn't enjoy it because I most certainly did. But it took over my reading for an unusually long period of time and I'm ready for something new now.

Whoo hoo! Well done, Laura!

I'll have caught you in another day or two, I swear. :)

Chapter 39

In which Frank puts his foot down.

    "Do you remember about her birth, Frank?" he said, at last.
    "Yes, sir; everything. She told me all she knew; and Dr Thorne finished the story."
    "And what do you think of it?"
    "It is a pity, and a misfortune. It might, perhaps, have been a reason why you or my mother should not have had Mary in the house many years ago; but it cannot make any difference now."
    Frank had not meant to lean so heavily on his father; but he did do so. The story had never been told to Lady Arabella; was not even known to her now, positively, and on good authority. But Mr Gresham had always known it. If Mary's birth was so great a stain upon her, why had he brought her into his house among his children?
    "It is a misfortune, Frank; a very great misfortune. It will not do for you and me to ignore birth; too much of the value of one's position depends upon it."
    "But what was Mr Moffat's birth?" said Frank, almost with scorn; "or what Miss Dunstable's?" he would have added, had it not been that his father had not been concerned in that sin of wedding him to the oil of Lebanon.
    "True, Frank. But yet, what you would mean to say is not true. We must take the world as we find it. Were you to marry a rich heiress, were her birth even as low as that of poor Mary—"
    "Don't call her poor Mary, father; she is not poor. My wife will have a right to take rank in the world, however she was born."
    "Well,—poor in that way. But were she an heiress, the world would forgive her birth on account of her wealth."
    "The world is very complaisant, sir."

Ahem:

Frank, jumping up from his chair, threw his arms round his father's neck. "Hate you, sir? How can you speak so cruelly? You know well that I love you. And, father, do not trouble yourself about the estate for my sake. I do not care for it; I can be just as happy without it. Let the girls have what is left, and I will make my own way in the world, somehow. I will go to Australia; yes, sir, that will be best. I and Mary will both go. Nobody will care about her birth there."

And rightly so. :)

#21 As you may be aware, a clean-shaven young man going off on his travels and coming home with a beard is usually 19th century novel-speak for "unseemly sexual adventures once out of sight of his family". If I did know that I'd forgotten it so thanks for the reminder!

#27 The chapters of letters filled an 18th century/Clarissa shaped hole in my reading :-)

#30 I was cheering Frank on in that chapter too!

Though Trollope never got to write an epistolary novel, we can rest assured there will always be more letters on the horizon... :)

Chapter 40

In which Lady Arabella identifies another marital prospect for Frank, and tries to speak candidly with Dr Thorne.

    "Don't go yet for a moment," she said. "I have one word to say to you."
    He declared that he was not the least in a hurry. He desired nothing better, he said, than to sit there and talk to her. "And I owe you a most sincere apology, Lady Arabella."
    "A sincere apology!" said she, becoming a little red. Was he going to say anything about Mary? Was he going to own that he, and Mary, and Frank had all been wrong?
    "Yes, indeed. I ought not to have brought Sir Louis Scatcherd here: I ought to have known that he would have disgraced himself."
    "Oh! it does not signify," said her ladyship in a tone almost of disappointment. "I had forgotten it. Mr Gresham and you had more inconvenience than we had."
    "He is an unfortunate, wretched man—most unfortunate; with an immense fortune which he can never live to possess."
    "And who will the money go to, doctor?"
    This was a question for which Dr Thorne was hardly prepared. "Go to?" he repeated. "Oh, some member of the family, I believe. There are plenty of nephews and nieces."
    "Yes; but will it be divided, or all go to one?"
    "Probably to one, I think. Sir Roger had a strong idea of leaving it all in one hand." If it should happen to be a girl, thought Lady Arabella, what an excellent opportunity would that be for Frank to marry money!

...

    "Yes, doctor; about your niece, you know: you must have views of some sort; that's of course. It occurs to me, that perhaps we are all in the dark together. If so, a little candid speaking between you and me may set it all right."
    Lady Arabella's career had not hitherto been conspicuous for candour, as far as Dr Thorne had been able to judge of it; but that was no reason why he should not respond to so very becoming an invitation on her part. He had no objection to a little candid speaking; at least, so he declared. As to his views with regard to Mary, they were merely these: that he would make her as happy and comfortable as he could while she remained with him; and that he would give her his blessing—for he had nothing else to give her—when she left him;—if ever she should do so.
    Now, it will be said that the doctor was not very candid in this; not more so, perhaps, than was Lady Arabella herself. But when one is specially invited to be candid, one is naturally set upon one's guard. Those who by disposition are most open, are apt to become crafty when so admonished. When a man says to you, "Let us be candid with each other," you feel instinctively that he desires to squeeze you without giving a drop of water himself.
    "Yes; but about Frank," said Lady Arabella.
    "About Frank!" said the doctor, with an innocent look, which her ladyship could hardly interpret.
    "What I mean is this: can you give me your word that these young people do not intend to do anything rash? One word like that from you will set my mind quite at rest. And then we could be so happy together again."
    "Ah! who is to answer for what rash things a young man will do?" said the doctor, smiling.

Chaper 41

In which the squire and Lady Arabella find themselves in agreement, for once.

    Such, and so humble being the present temper of the lady of Greshamsbury, it will not be thought surprising that she and Mr Gresham should at last come together in their efforts to reclaim their son.
    At first Lady Arabella urged upon the squire the duty of being very peremptory and very angry. "Do as other fathers do in such cases. Make him understand that he will have no allowance to live on." "He understands that well enough," said Mr Gresham.
    "Threaten to cut him off with a shilling," said her ladyship, with spirit. "I haven't a shilling to cut him off with," answered the squire, bitterly.
    But Lady Arabella herself soon perceived, that this line would not do. As Mr Gresham himself confessed, his own sins against his son had been too great to allow of his taking a high hand with him. Besides, Mr Gresham was not a man who could ever be severe with a son whose individual conduct had been so good as Frank's. This marriage was, in his view, a misfortune to be averted if possible,—to be averted by any possible means; but, as far as Frank was concerned, it was to be regarded rather as a monomania than a crime.
    "I did feel so certain that he would have succeeded with Miss Dunstable," said the mother, almost crying.
    "I thought it impossible but that at his age a twelvemonth's knocking about the world would cure him," said the father.
    "I never heard of a boy being so obstinate about a girl," said the mother. "I'm sure he didn't get it from the de Courcys..."

...

    As he looked at her he could not but acknowledge that it was natural that Frank should love her. He had never before seen that she was attractive;—had never had an opinion about it. She had grown up as a child under his eye; and as she had not had the name of being especially a pretty child, he had never thought on the subject. Now he saw before him a woman whose every feature was full of spirit and animation; whose eye sparkled with more than mere brilliancy; whose face was full of intelligence; whose very smile was eloquent. Was it to be wondered at that Frank should have learned to love her?
    Miss Thorne wanted but one attribute which many consider essential to feminine beauty. She had no brilliancy of complexion, no pearly whiteness, no vivid carnation; nor, indeed, did she possess the dark brilliance of a brunette. But there was a speaking earnestness in her face; an expression of mental faculty which the squire now for the first time perceived to be charming.
    And then he knew how good she was. He knew well what was her nature; how generous, how open, how affectionate, and yet how proud! Her pride was her fault; but even that was not a fault in his eyes. Out of his own family there was no one whom he had loved, and could love, as he loved her. He felt, and acknowledged that no man could have a better wife. And yet he was there with the express object of rescuing his son from such a marriage!

Chapter 42

In which it appears that Mary has been taking lessons from her uncle.

    "...and because you know him to be high-minded, because you think that he, having so much to give, will not break his word to you—to you who have nothing to give in return—it is, therefore, that you say that the first step must be taken by him. Is that noble?"
    Then Mary rose from her seat, for it was no longer possible for her to speak what it was in her to say, sitting there leisurely on her sofa. Lady Arabella's worship of money had not hitherto been so brought forward in the conversation as to give her unpardonable offence; but now she felt that she could no longer restrain her indignation. "To you who have nothing to give in return!" Had she not given all that she possessed? Had she not emptied his store into his lap? that heart of hers, beating with such genuine life, capable of such perfect love, throbbing with so grand a pride; had she not given that? And was it not that, between him and her, more than twenty Greshamsburys, nobler than any pedigree? "To you who have nothing to give," indeed! This to her who was so ready to give everything!
    "Lady Arabella," she said, "I think that you do not understand me, and that it is not likely that you should. If so, our further talking will be worse than useless. I have taken no account of what will be given between your son and me in your sense of the word giving. But he has professed to—to love me"—as she spoke, she still looked on the lady's face, but her eyelashes for a moment screened her eyes, and her colour was a little heightened—"and I have acknowledged that I also love him, and so we are engaged. To me my promise is sacred. I will not be threatened into breaking it. If, however, he shall wish to change his mind, he can do so. I will not upbraid him; will not, if I can help it, think harshly of him. So much you may tell him if it suits you; but I will not listen to your calculations as to how much or how little each of us may have to give to the other."
    She was still standing when she finished speaking, and so she continued to stand. Her eyes were fixed on Lady Arabella, and her position seemed to say that sufficient words had been spoken, and that it was time that her ladyship should go...

Chapter 43

In which Mary reaches the end of her tether.

    "Oh, uncle—"
    "Come, love, speak to me; tell me why you are grieving."
    "Oh, uncle, why have you not spoken to me? Why have you not told me what to do? Why have you not advised me? Why are you always so silent?"
    "Silent about what?"
    "You know, uncle, you know; silent about him; silent about Frank."
    Why, indeed? What was he to say to this? It was true that he had never counselled her; never shown her what course she should take; had never even spoken to her about her lover. And it was equally true that he was not now prepared to do so, even in answer to such an appeal as this. He had a hope, a strong hope, more than a hope, that Mary's love would yet be happy; but he could not express or explain his hope; nor could he even acknowledge to himself a wish that would seem to be based on the death of him whose life he was bound, if possible, to preserve.
    "My love," he said, "it is a matter in which you must judge for yourself. Did I doubt your conduct, I should interfere; but I do not."
    "Conduct! Is conduct everything? One may conduct oneself excellently, and yet break one's heart."

so proud of Dr Thorne that he trusted Mary to do the right thing.

I guess we don't know what Dr Thorne would have done if he had not had such a powerful motive for staying still and silent, but the reliance he shows on Mary's judgement, even when she is under extreme pressure, is remarkable for a novel of this period.

Chaprer 44

In which we consider Lady Arabella's motives.

    Before we go on we must say one word further as to Lady Arabella's character. It will probably be said that she was a consummate hypocrite; but at the present moment she was not hypocritical. She did love her son; was anxious—very, very anxious for him; was proud of him, and almost admired the very obstinacy which so vexed her to her inmost soul. No grief would be to her so great as that of seeing him sink below what she conceived to be his position. She was as genuinely motherly, in wishing that he should marry money, as another woman might be in wishing to see her son a bishop; or as the Spartan matron, who preferred that her offspring should return on his shield, to hearing that he had come back whole in limb but tainted in honour. When Frank spoke of a profession, she instantly thought of what Lord de Courcy might do for him. If he would not marry money, he might, at any rate, be an attaché at an embassy. A profession—hard work, as a doctor, or as an engineer—would, according to her ideas, degrade him; cause him to sink below his proper position; but to dangle at a foreign court, to make small talk at the evening parties of a lady ambassadress, and occasionally, perhaps, to write demi-official notes containing demi-official tittle-tattle; this would be in proper accordance with the high honour of a Gresham of Greshamsbury.
    We may not admire the direction taken by Lady Arabella's energy on behalf of her son, but that energy was not hypocritical.

Chapter 45

In which Frank has his first experience of the law business.

    "Upon my word, I think they are right; that is, if they can afford time. I can't afford time. I'm here every day till five, Mr Gresham; then I go out and dine in Fleet Street, and then back to work till nine."
    "Dear me! that's very hard."
    "Well, yes it is hard work. My boys don't like it; but I manage it somehow. I get down to my little place in the country on Saturday. I shall be most happy to see you there next Saturday."
    Frank, thinking it would be outrageous on his part to take up much of the time of the gentleman who was constrained to work so unreasonably hard, began again to talk about his mortgages, and, in so doing, had to mention the name of Mr Yates Umbleby.
    "Ah, poor Umbleby!" said Mr Bideawhile; "what is he doing now? I am quite sure your father was right, or he wouldn't have done it; but I used to think that Umbleby was a decent sort of man enough. Not so grand, you know, as your Gazebees and Gumptions—eh, Mr Gresham? They do say young Gazebee is thinking of getting into Parliament. Let me see: Umbleby married—who was it he married? That was the way your father got hold of him; not your father, but your grandfather. I used to know all about it. Well, I was sorry for Umbleby. He has got something, I suppose—eh?"
    Frank said that he believed Mr Yates Umbleby had something wherewith to keep the wolf from the door.
    "So you have got Gazebee down there now? Gumption, Gazebee & Gazebee: very good people, I'm sure; only, perhaps, they have a little too much on hand to do your father justice."
    "But about Sir Louis, Mr Bideawhile."
    "Well, about Sir Louis; a very bad sort of fellow, isn't he? Drinks—eh? I knew his father a little. He was a rough diamond, too. I was once down in Northamptonshire, about some railway business; let me see; I almost forget whether I was with him, or against him. But I know he made sixty thousand pounds by one hour's work; sixty thousand pounds! And then he got so mad with drinking that we all thought—"
    And so Mr Bideawhile went on for two hours, and Frank found no opportunity of saying one word about the business which had brought him up to town. What wonder that such a man as this should be obliged to stay at his office every night till nine o'clock?

Chapter 46

In which Dr Thorne shares a piece of news.

    "Stop a moment, my dear boy," said the doctor. "As your father says, one can't have everything. My dear friend—" and he gave his hand to the squire—"do not be angry if I alluded for a moment to the estate. It has grieved me to see it melting away—the old family acres that have so long been the heritage of the Greshams."
    "We need not talk about that now, Dr Thorne," said Frank, in an almost angry tone.
    "But I must, Frank, for one moment, to justify myself. I could not have excused myself in letting Mary think that she could become your wife if I had not hoped that good might come of it."
    "Well; good will come of it," said Frank, who did not quite understand at what the doctor was driving.
    "I hope so. I have had much doubt about this, and have been sorely perplexed; but now I do hope so. Frank—Mr Gresham—" and then Dr Thorne rose from his chair; but was, for a moment, unable to go on with his tale.
    "We will hope that it is all for the best," said the squire.
    "I am sure it is," said Frank.
    "Yes; I hope it is. I do think it is; I am sure it is, Frank. Mary will not come to you empty-handed. I wish for your sake—yes, and for hers too—that her birth were equal to her fortune, as her worth is superior to both. Mr Gresham, this marriage will, at any rate, put an end to your pecuniary embarrassments—unless, indeed, Frank should prove a hard creditor. My niece is Sir Roger Scatcherd's heir."

Chapter 47

In which we get to say "Poor Mary!" one last time.

    It was the squire who brought the news up to the house. "Arabella," he said, in a low, but somewhat solemn voice, "you will be surprised at the news I bring you. Mary Thorne is the heiress to all the Scatcherd property!"
    "Oh, heavens! Mr Gresham."
    "Yes, indeed," continued the squire. "So it is; it is very, very—" But Lady Arabella had fainted. She was a woman who generally had her feelings and her emotions much under her own control; but what she now heard was too much for her. When she came to her senses, the first words that escaped her lips were, "Dear Mary!"

...

But Lady Arabella's dreams flew away at once into the seventh heaven. Sordid as they certainly were, they were not absolutely selfish. Frank would now certainly be the first commoner in Barsetshire; of course he would represent the county; of course there would be the house in town; it wouldn't be her house, but she was contented that the grandeur should be that of her child. He would have heaven knows what to spend per annum. And that it should come through Mary Thorne! What a blessing she had allowed Mary to be brought into the Greshamsbury nursery! Dear Mary!

...

    "Are you going to Courcy, mamma?"
    "Oh, certainly; yes, I must see my sister-in-law now. You don't seem to realise the importance, my dear, of Frank's marriage. He will be in a great hurry about it, and, indeed, I cannot blame him. I expect that they will all come here."
    "Who, mamma? the de Courcys?"
    "Yes, of course. I shall be very much surprised if the earl does not come now. And I must consult my sister-in-law as to asking the Duke of Omnium."

...

    And soon after Christmas a visitor came to Mary, and stayed a fortnight with her: one whom neither she nor the doctor had expected, and of whom they had not much more than heard. This was the famous Miss Dunstable. "Birds of a feather flock together," said Mrs Rantaway—late Miss Gushing—when she heard of the visit. "The railway man's niece—if you can call her a niece—and the quack's daughter will do very well together, no doubt."
    "At any rate, they can count their money-bags," said Mrs Umbleby.

Ah Miss Dunstable! A wonderful character, and if I remember correctly, we have not seen the last of her in these Barchester Chronicles...

We have not... :)

Well---I seem to have managed to finish both first and last in this group read! Do we have anyone still reading?

The fact that this group has moved so smoothly through Dr Thorne suggests that people find Trollope fairly easy to engage with, except when he is being very topical, as in The Warden and Barchester Towers (and, looking forward, in some of the Palliser novels). The pace of this read is something for me to keep in mind when if when if we move onto Framley Parsonage.

Thanks for this wonderful guide, Liz. It was fun! And I'm up for Framley Parsonage.

I'm up for Framley Parsonage as well -- although the good Doctor took up so much of my March reading time that I need a break before tackling the next one!

I'd love to do a re-read of Framley, too - but I've had a double dose of Trollope this month with Doctor Thorne and also Can You Forgive Her, the first Palliser book, which I'm still less than half way through. That is a first-time read for me, and I'm wanting to allow time to continue reading that series, as well as fitting in the Barchester re-reads.

So I hope it is 'when' rather than 'if' for Framley Parsonage, but a little pause for a couple of months might not be a bad idea.

Well, that's obviously the question: how does June look for everyone? :)

I think I could manage to fit it in in June.

I would love to do Framley Parsonage in June or any other time.

Was anyone else put out, as I was, that Mary was the last to know of HER inheritance? I was steaming at that part.

Oh, yes, absolutely - but that comes back to our early discussion of what Dr Thorne told her when she asked him who she was. Obviously he told her very little of the truth at that time, since she still didn't know of her connection with the Scatcherds. He only told her the whole story in the end because the inheritance forced him to. It's bizarre to consider that, otherwise, Mary would presumably have gone her whole life without knowing who her parents were.

June? Sure, why not.

I hope we'll be going through the whole series, with short breaks between each book.

>53 CDVicarage:: Me too! I noticed the last book is VERY long (as if 500+ pages weren't long enough already) so that's one we might want to spread out over two months.

June is good for me, and yeah, keep going on a Trollope group read.

We shall pencil in June, then!

I had sort of assumed that we were reading the whole series too, and June sounds perfect for *Framley* as far as I'm concerned.
The thing that continues to get me is that money apparently destroys what I guess were strongly-held beliefs about the non-acceptableness (I'm not able to think how else to put it) of bastards. When she takes the money, Mary more or less announces to the world her bastard status, right? But everybody cheers. I don't know what I want from AT on the subject, but more than we got. Am I wrong-headed about this? Missing a point?

No, his point is that his society ran on hypocrisy ("The world is very complaisant, sir," as Frank says). Everyone talks and talks and talks about birth and breeding and family and ancestry, but it turns out these things can be bought and sold like any other commodity. People like Mr Moffat and Miss Dunstable and above all Mary herself - as the squire says, the others at least were legitimate - who would have been shunned in their own right are embraced because of their income. All this is particularly cruel with respect to Miss Dunstable and Mary, because they have so much to offer apart from their money.

It is typical of Trollope that no-one is completely free of this kind of self-contradiction. Dr Thorne prides himself on family, but Mary is his sunshine; Mary believes in birth and blood, but marries Frank anyway; Lady Arabella is obsessed with her de Courcy connection, but could not be more delighted about "Dear Mary!" Trollope was about exposing flaws and contradictions rather than reform, so he presents his ironies and lets them speak for themselves. Theory and practice. :)

June sounds good for me too!

#57 Peggy, thank you for raising that point (and thank you Liz for answering). I think I'd been having the same thought but was sruggling to put my finger on exactly what I thought.

What a great read this was. Thanks as always for your invaluable input Liz.

One more bump for easier finding.

What chapter are you on?

I’m about to start Chapter 46, so just a couple left.