Part 10

Margaret enters Littlebath society slowly and timidly. We are shown that Littlebath is home to saints and sinners. The sinners go the assembly rooms; the saints go to church--not the high Church of England, but the Low Church. Margaret finds herself too timid to attempt to be a sinner at the assembly rooms; it is easier to go along with the women to tea at the home of a preacher to whom she has been given a letter of introduction. Here she finds a company of benighted souls in thrall to Mrs. Stumfold, wife of the great preacher. Like Mrs. Proudie of the Barsetshire series, Mrs. Stumfold brooks no disorder in the ranks, and we see Margaret stand up for herself when Mrs. Stumfold calls on her to inquire as to her intentions in regard to Mr. Maguire, of the squinting eye, who has been seen paying conspicuous attention to Miss Mackenzie. Short on self-esteem at this point, Margaret is shown to rank high in self-assertiveness. When Mrs. Stumfold tells her that another lady has a prior claim on Mr. Maguire (Mrs. Stumfold has been indulging in a bit of match-making), she insults Miss Mackenzie, informing her that another lady has been before her. "What would you think if you were interfered with, though, perhaps, as you had not your fortune in early life, you may never have known what that was?"

At this, Margaret terminates the interview, sending her to any friend of hers who is behaving badly for the purpose of telling him so, and then telling Mrs. Stumfold that she will hear nothing more about it.

Margaret shakes off three suitors, unworthy souls who merit rejection, though she is so lacking in self-confidence that she gives serious consideration to two of them. Mr. Maguire--the clergyman with the wandering squinting eye--catches her by surprise with his proposal, and she asks for two weeks to think it over. A big mistake--it raises false hopes in Mr. Maguire. She is called away because of her brother's illness before giving the ambitious curate an answer, and she enters the orbit of her cousin John Ball, a widower who had bored her by talking about nothing but money.

The author never refers to John Ball as the hero of the story, and indeed he is not unblemished. But he turns out to be Miss Mackenzie's hero, barely making the cut. He has a house full of children of his own, and though a barrister by profession, he hardly practices law. He is the Victorian equivalent of a day trader, going to town every day to follow the market prices and manage his investments, which seem to yield him barely enough to feed his family. He discusses his investments with his mother every night. When he proposes to Margaret, neither she nor the reader is sure whether it is for love or for money, but whatever, she accepts.

And then Trollope pulls a rabbit out of the hat. In doing research on disposition of the will that had seemed to leave Margaret her fortune, the lawyer determines that the bequest had already been deeded to the Ball family and was therefore not available to be left to Margaret. So now John Ball has it all and Margaret has nothing. And when Mr. Maguire appears and claims that Margaret is his fiancée, John fails the test. He says nothing when it is time for him to reassure Margaret that he believes her, and she immediately returns to the miserable lodgings on the Thames in London. And during the long deliberations about confirming whose money it really is, he says nothing to her. She considers herself bound to him even though he may no longer want her, having the money and not having to bother about the girl. She is still pretty low on the self-esteem scale.

All this makes for an entertaining story. The family history and the mystery of the will are complex enough to keep the reader on the hook. A high-born cousin steps in late in the game to help Miss Mackenzie think a bit more of herself. Mrs. Mackenzie, wife to another cousin who lives far away in Scotland, comes to London for a while and tells Margaret how the cow ate the cabbage. She tells her she is sure that Miss Mackenzie will become Lady Margaret by marrying John Ball, morose though he may be. Her instrument is a muslin flecked with black to replace the mourning that Margaret had been wearing in memory of her brother and then her uncle. A "make-belief mourning bonnet" is tossed in, and these are to be worn to the Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar, at which John Ball sees her in something other than all-black mourning, and both of them get the hint that all need not be dark. This is a little set-piece in which two old favorites appear to play cameo roles: Lady Glencora Palliser, who steps out of the Palliser series, and Lady Hartletop, known to readers of the Barsetshire series as Griselda Grantly.

Lady Hartletop is not referred to by her Christian name, because 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!"