The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Chapters 7 – 12

“We take presents from those we love, not from those we despise.“
-Isabel Brodrick

These are harsh words, and they tell a lot about Isabel Brodrick, who utters them to her cousin Henry when the latter assures her that he will pay her the 4,000 £ her uncle meant her to have. First of all, these words show that Isabel’s main character fault is pride because those 4,000 £ are her due and it is not an act of kindliness on her cousin’s part to let her have them. She, however, has such an inveterate aversion to Henry that she cannot get herself to accept the money, which is paid through him, but actually not from him – but this fine difference is something she cannot see. So stubborn and narrow-minded is she in her determination not to take any money from her cousin that she would be willing to forego the opportunity of marrying the man she actually loves, Mr. Owen. Even though she has now become a burden on her father and his family – they are quite ungracious in making her feel like a burden, by the way –, she will not touch the money and makes it clear beyond any doubt. Her way out of this problem is to decline Mr. Owen’s renewed offer of marriage and to seriously consider working as a governess or even a maid-servant.

Is that not an example of perverted self-love and blind pride?

On the other hand, Isabel is convinced that her cousin is playing false and that he has had a hand in the disappearance of a later will. Her evidence for putting this past Henry is the fact that during the meeting with Mr. Apjohn, the lawyer, there were beads of sweat on her cousin’s brow and his face grew alternately pale and blushed. We, of course, know that Henry is not innocent but how can Isabel be so sure? Are her uncle’s words, the statements of the witnesses and her cousin’s behaviour proof enough for her to adopt such a hostile towards Henry, whom, by the way, she did not treat very cordially before?

This week’s chapters also gave us a lot of insight into Henry’s inner conflict: He knows that there is another will conferring the property on Isabel, and in a way he hid it by putting the book into which their moribund uncle placed it back into the shelf. Now he cannot make up his mind to go the ultimate step and destroy the will, and in this he is mainly motivated by the fear of committing a crime which might get him sent into prison. It is not at all a feeling of justice or duty that keeps him from destroying the will but craven fears and irresolution. On the other hand, you may not really feel too indisposed towards him for not revealing the will, even though he actually should: After all, his uncle had called him from London and told him that he was to come into the property after his death, and once there, he has been treated abominably by the old man, his niece and even the tenants and the servants. He is regarded as unmanly, cringing and servile, but on coming into a house where you are made to feel utterly unwelcome, how can you act with self-confidence unless you are very sure of yourself?

Now, Henry is tied to that fateful volume with the will inside, hardly ever leaving the library and even reflecting on taking the book with him when he leaves it, for fear of someone finding the will. It’s like sitting on a keg of powder, and one cannot doubt that Henry’s peace of mind is irrevocably wrecked from now on. It is quite brilliant how Trollope allows us to partake in that young man’s qualms, fears and hauntings – even though we may not like him at all.

Where do your sympathies lie? Or haven’t you got any? And what might Cousin Henry’s next step be?

"Do not suppose Mr. Apjohn that I desire another will.". And with that I close the book on Isabel. That's the kind of spite that cuts off your own nose, and if sticking your nose into the higher altitudes is your greatest desire, then I wish you great happiness in watching it fall off onto the ground.

She should be angry with her uncle. He's the one playing with everyone's lives. No one else. But she can't do that because he raised her, and there is something to be said for her loyalty. However, she is completely wrong in treating Henry like he's the one causing all the trouble. And frankly so is everyone else wrong in the way they treat him.

Having said that, Henry is lying to himself pretending he has done nothing wrong by not telling anyone else of the newest will's existence and whereabouts. He's probably right that if uncle had lasted only a little longer he would have changed his mind again. But that didn't happen. (Uncle is the instigator. No one else.)

I would also feel more comfortable if i actually knew what the new will said. I know uncle told Henry what he did, but did Henry actually read the new will? Has anyone?

Edit: I still have three chapters to read.

Chapter 10

I'm beginning to wonder if Henry doesn't find personal slights where there are none given? He's very sensitive about people not paying him the right amount of respect. People like that tend to see injury where none is intended. It's difficult to tell though because he has been treated badly.

The letter Henry writes to Isabel emphasizes his innocence, but he isn't as innocent as he claims. Withholding important information from others that just happen to improve your own circumstances isn't innocence; it's lying by omission. The Prime Directive demands more of you. :-)

I think when this is over, uncle will have succeeded in ruining both nephew and niece, and the property will be in tatters.

I think there was some discussion in the last thread about whether the narrator could be unreliable regarding the two cousins, and to me this is answered by the way the narrator keeps speaking in Henry's head about how Henry had done no wrong--HE thinks--by which the narrator is clearly flagging this as an opinion which is wrong. The narrator doesn't get to be wrong. All the wrong thoughts are Henry's and yes, at this point I would say Isabel's.

Isabel is off her rocker, but I will say I'm very relieved at least she tells the man she loves him, so that he understands the nature of the beast he has taken on and we are spared if not the excruciation of pride at least the excruciation of completely needless misunderstanding.

I found myself surprisingly in sympathy with Isabel's stepmother. Given the lead-up about her vulgarity and ungenerosity, I did not expect this. But Isabel is so very provoking.

Like everyone else I am puzzled about what exactly Henry has done wrong?--apart from the lying and will-hiding that nobody else knows about. And when I say "like everyone else" I would have to include the characters in the book, especially I-have-no-idea-why-I-dislike-him Isabel. It's very strange. But the book strongly implies it's also at this point Henry's fault because the tenants would be happy to warm up to him, now that he's in charge, if he gave it a real shot.

I think Isabel's apology is very funny. 'Everything about you is horrible but you're right I shouldn't have said so, sorry about that.'

Okay, I also found this about Isabel thinking she can't marry Mr. Owen extremely funny. But I can't decide if it's intentionally so. What do you think?

Nor did she think of herself that she was well qualified to be the wife of a poor gentleman. She believed that she could starve if it were required of her, and support her sufferings with fortitude. She believed that she could work,—work from morning till night, from week to week, from month to month, without complaining; but she did not think that she could make herself sweet as a wife should be sweet to a husband with a threadbare coat, or that she could be tender as a mother should be tender while dividing limited bread among her children. To go and die and have done with it, if that might be possible, was the panacea of her present troubles most commonly present to her mind.

Isabel is so arrogant. I can not like her -- even if she gets the property in the end and manages to find the last will. Her arrogance is extreme and unwarranted. I will finish reading the book but I can not get to a point of liking her. I think she will probably get the property in the end. I have not read this book before -- just my thoughts. peace, janz

Peacejanz wrote: "Isabel is so arrogant. I can not like her -- even if she gets the property in the end and manages to find the last will. Her arrogance is extreme and unwarranted. I will finish reading the book but..."

She's very arrogant and I think even the narrator has had it with her to some extent. But when I look at her dislike for Henry, as bizarrely inexplicable as it seems, I remember a very wise person who told me we tend to dislike in others the things that remind us of what we don't like in ourselves. Notice Isabel at her father's is as generally disliked for reasons mostly not her own fault as Henry is at his uncle's. And notice both Henry and Isabel keeping secrets and going out of their way to not look interested during the will search.

Okay, so they have different motivations for keeping secrets: Henry does so for his own material benefit and Isabel works against hers. But it's not ultimately that big a surprise to me that they're cousins.

Anyway I find I still like her even though I also find her ridiculous. I like it that she's imperfect.

"Pride goeth before a fall." I think this may be true for Isabel. But at the end of this section I really enjoyed Chapter 12. I do love Mr. Owen and I do see now how much Isabel loves him. I thought that she would surely change her mind at the end of this chapter and I think she will in the end.
As for Henry, who knows? I believe he really is having a battle with his conscience and I really do not believe he will win. If he had no conscience he would just burn that will, but I do not believe he will. So the story continues.

Bobbie wrote: "I believe he really is having a battle with his conscience and I really do not believe he will win. If he had no conscience he would just burn that will, but I do not believe he will. So the story continues."

I'm afraid Victorian novels are more convinced of the power of the conscience to torment than I am.

Julie wrote: "I'm afraid Victorian novels are more convinced of the power of the conscience to torment than I am...."

Public shame was so much more prevalent then. As a society, it seems we have no shame these days. And with religion playing less a part in many people's lives, we don't have those pesky commandments weighing on us as much as the Victorians did.

Trollope spent so much time in the early chapters this week on Henry's obsession with the will and its hiding place in the book of sermons (of all places), that I wondered if this was going to be like The Yellow Wallpaper, or, to invoke Dickens again, Like Bradley Headstone or Bill Sikes. In other words, are we meant to be watching Henry's descent into madness? Frankly, I'm still not sure what the focus of our story is. That may or may not be a good thing, depending, of course, on where Trollope leads us.

Xan, I also thought of the phrase, "cutting off one's nose to spite one's face" while reading about Isabel. She embodies the phrase perfectly.

Julie, I, too, have some sympathy for Mrs. Brodrick. As readers, we haven't witnessed any cruelty towards Isabel, just practicality, common sense, and directness. Her bedside manner may be a bit lacking, but she does have other children to consider, and Isabel is just being stubborn. Her decision affects others, whether she likes to admit it or not. I notice that she's giving lip service to going off and making her own way, but she seems to be doing very little in that direction.

Of course, Henry is equivocating in trying to convince himself that putting the book back on the shelf was not the same as hiding the will, and I've lost respect for him as a result. I'd hoped he was innocent. Bummer. But we're given his reasons (being torn from his life and job in London, and then treated abominably), even if they are weak ones. And we see his internal conflict and how his conscience is weighing so heavily on him. I continue to hope he'll come to his senses and "find" the will.

But I'm still not on Team Isabel. Here's the passage that clinched it for me:

Now, in her abject poverty, -- for she was determined that it should be abject, -- she would be forced to sustain her superiority solely by her personal gifts. [emphasis mine] She determined that, should she find herself compelled to live in her father's house, she would do her duty thoroughly by her stepmother and her sisters. She would serve them as far as it might be within her power; but she could not giggle with the girls, nor could she talk little gossip with Mrs. Brodrick. While there was work to be done, she would do it, though it should be hard, menial, and revolting...

WTH? A self-made Cinderella, determined to be a victim. I have lost any respect I may have had for her. Such arrogance! I want to shake Mr. Owen by the lapels and tell him to run - RUN! - before she changes her mind and he's chained to her forever. So far, he and the staff and tenants at Llanfeare are our only sympathetic characters. I just can't wish Isabel a "happily ever after."

Mary Lou wrote: "Trollope spent so much time in the early chapters this week on Henry's obsession with the will and its hiding place in the book of sermons (of all places),"

This little detail has been prompting me for a while to make a joke like the will could not have been hidden more efficiently and safely in any other book than in a collection of sermons. But then I remembered that the times were Victorian and that many people had prayers in the family circle at least once a day back then, and so a book of sermons was more likely to be opened than it would be in a European household today. Still, it reminds me of a similar scene in The Simpsons where Homer bought a revolver and when Marge told him to hide it, he put it into the refrigerator - in the vegetable compartment, thinking that Bart would never look there.

Xan wrote: "She should be angry with her uncle. He's the one playing with everyone's lives. No one else. But she can't do that because he raised her, and there is something to be said for her loyalty. However, she is completely wrong in treating Henry like he's the one causing all the trouble. And frankly so is everyone else wrong in the way they treat him."

I fully agree on this thought, Xan: It is actually Uncle Indefer who is to be blamed for the entire situation because he wilfully plays with people's expectations and expects them to accept their entry and their exit in whatever will comes to his mind. Cousin Henry is as much a pawn on the old man's board of chess as Isabel is.

Julie wrote: "Okay, I also found this about Isabel thinking she can't marry Mr. Owen extremely funny. But I can't decide if it's intentionally so. What do you think?

Nor did she think of herself that she was w..."

This quotation goes well with what Mary Lou says about Isabel being a self-made Cinderella: She cannot picture herself fitting in with life at her father's household nor can she imagine any other kind of renunciation than an utter, martyr-like one, in which she has to work her fingers to the bone and suffer as a governess or a seamstress - because in that situation she could wallow in her own self-sacrifying misery. The life of a wife and mother might not be easy and come with a lot of sacrifices but it simply won't satisfy Isabel's need for sanctimoniousness.

I like that phrase"self-made cinderella."

So far I still don't like any of the characters in the book. And that's good. They are all flawed.
My verdict so far: I think it would be good if the newest will was found and Isabel got the place. Yes, she's way too prideful for her own and her family's good as things are now, but at least the situation has already made her admit she loves mr. Owens, so if he has independence and money there is now no one, even no Uncle Indefer anymore, to stop them marrying. And despite her pride she actually knows the people and is willing to actually go out and be a good employer/landlady, people trust her and she'd be happy running the estate.

Meanwhile Henry's fault is that he is too passive. He needs to be pushed to do things that are out of his comfort zone, and he doesn't like to be pushed. I think in the end his fault is pride too. He is too proud to let someone who doesn't like him have the estate, because she was mean. But isn't he just as harsh and mean to Isabel as she was to him? He goes on in his mind about his uncle leading him on for a couple of weeks, while he never realises that uncle indefer has done the same to Isabel, but then for almost all of her life. If he thinks the couple of weeks are mean and he should be excused because of that, what about her? Meanwhile he isn't happy running the estate. It is not his thing, he doesn't like it at all, and he is already thinking of abandoning the place.

I totally agree that in the end it's all Uncle Indefer's fault. He knew before he invited Cousin Henry that he, nor Isabel, nor the servants and tenants, could stand the guy. He should have just gone through with it, or better, not have invited Henry at all and just have kept his promiss to Isabel. They'd both have been happier.

I agree with what you say, Jantine. My only concern would be that she would still want to go by Uncle Indefer's directions not to marry Mr. Owen, even if he is now dead. But, who knows what she would do under those circumstances. I do seem to think she will end up with the estate but I wonder what she would do about Mr. Owen.
Another thought I had is that the books which were to be packed and sent to Isabel may include the shelf of sermons. But this was just mentioned briefly and not mentioned since. I am anxious to hear more of this.

Bobbie wrote: "Another thought I had is that the books which were to be packed and sent to Isabel may include the shelf of sermons. But this was just mentioned briefly and not mentioned since."

That was my immediate thought as soon as the books were mentioned. I was hoping Mrs Griffith would pack them off to Isabel (as that was the plan) while Henry was away at Carmarthen.

Were he to commit a felony, from the moment of the doing of the deed the fear of eternal punishment would be heavy on his soul, only to be removed by confession and retribution⁠— and then by the trial with the judge, and the jury, and the sentence!

This shows that Henry, despite his mental gymnastics, holds firm religious beliefs. I think there is a good chance he will do the right thing in the end. I agree with Xan, the most guilty party in all of this is Uncle Indefer. He was an indecisive, old fool.

Chapter XI & XII

Isabel lies to herself. She wants the property. She believes she deserves it, even earned it. And she thinks Henry stole it from her. She is right in feeling that way, but wrong in not blaming her uncle. Her father has her uncle pegged as the villain, and I think he's right about that.

Isabel is determined to live in abject poverty, or so she says. She says it again and again. But she is not living in abject poverty. She's living with her father and the rest of her family, and although they are not rich, no one in that house is living in poverty. But they could all use her help.

She is being true to herself when she says she's incapable of being happy if her husband and children are too poor to dress or eat well. But isn't that another reason to accept money that is hers? Her step-mother calls accepting the money Isabel's duty, which automatically conjures up this idea of a woman's place, the one who sacrifices her own princilpes for the good of others.

But calling it her duty is wrong. It is not her duty to accept that money; it is her right to take that money. And that's what she has so wrong. It doesn't matter if Henry is the worst person on earth. The money is still hers. There is no begging here. Take what is yours!

But the martyr will twist whatever needs to be twisted to justify the martyrdom. No matter what might be done to remedy the situation there will be no appeasing Isabel because she's feeling the righteous victim. She finds pleasure in her own suffering, a kind of self-directed schadenfreude. She's becoming a parody of the very woman she wishes to be, doing all the wrong things for what she thinks are all the right reasons.

Trollope's narrator is playing with our heads more than he is playing with his characters' heads, and that's saying something. This is a series of unending misunderstandings and hurt feelings. The difference between what people say and what they think. And soon it will be irreparable.

Very well said, Xan.

Jane wrote: "That was my immediate thought as soon as the books were mentioned. I was hoping Mrs Griffith would pack them off to Isabel (as that was the plan) while Henry was away at Carmarthen."

Pretty sure if the books are sent to Isabel and she opens them up and finds the will, she will also find some reason to think she should keep it a secret. She's already said her uncle should not have re-made the will in a state of emotional weakness.

Conscience, invoked on page 1, appears to be a rough master.

I have not yet read until the end of the book and so there is no danger of spoiling anything but this remark about the books that were going to be sent to Isabel occurred in an earlier part in the book. I do wonder whether these books will eventually find their way to Hereford and whether the volumes of sermons will be among them. Or did Trollope simply forget about this telling detail in the course of his work on the novel?

I have my doubts because the novel is rather short and consequently, every little detail is bound to play a larger role.

I'm so enjoying our discussion as we all discover this new - to us - book together! Peeling back the layers and wondering what will come next.

I've been thinking about the book's title. Why is it named for Cousin Henry rather than Isabel or Uncle Indefer? (Which, by the way, is a very unusual name - I could find no references to it online, except from this book.) Or Trollope could have gone with a title that was not eponymous like, simply, "The Missing Will" or "The Bequest" for example. It will be interesting to see if our final section will inform us as to Trollope's choice.

Other title suggestions: "The Sentry in the Library", "The Wilful Sermon Book", "Reading is Rewarding" or "Pride in Aspic".

The uncle's name may be intended as a telling one, like the one of Bishop Proudie and his wife in the Barchester novels. The uncle defers a final decision about his legacy by always making a new will and he even pulls Isabel into his mental to's and fro's by repeatedly talking to her about his qualms. On the other hand, if he had not let her known about his change of mind, this would have been even meaner because then the Rise of the Cousin might have come as an utter surprise to her. Somehow, the name Indefer also reminds me of the word "indefinite", which also comes to my mind when I think of the old squire.

Mary Lou wrote: "I'm so enjoying our discussion as we all discover this new - to us - book together! Peeling back the layers and wondering what will come next.

I've been thinking about the book's title. Why is it..."

In my edition there is a foreword by Julian Thompson, who gave some information on the title of the novel. According to him, Trollope was juggling with three titles, namely Cousin Henry, Getting at a Secret and Uncle Indefer's Will. Trollope himself preferred the second option but his publisher prevailed on him to choose Cousin Henry.

I must say that Getting at a Secret seems misleading to me, and this if for two reasons: First of all, a title like that would lead me to expect a mystery story, whereas we know from the very start that Henry hid the will in that book of sermons. Secondly, I think that there is so much time and place devoted to Henry and his mental ordeal that it makes sense to put him in the title. I see this book as a kind of study of an ordinary person, with certain weaknesses of their own but without a propensity to real villainy, who gets himself into a scrape and whose lack of determination helps him to take any definite steps to extricate himself.

Looking at the titles of Trollope's books, I think he should have hired someone to come up with the titles. They are all kind of boring, don't you think?

Here in the states newspaper, magazine, and book editors take great pride in misleading titles (Headlines). It's an art form. Sometimes, and not infrequently, the title has nothing to do with the story.

And don't start me on publisher book blurbs.

Xan wrote: "Looking at the titles of Trollope's books, I think he should have hired someone to come up with the titles. They are all kind of boring, don't you think?

Here in the states newspaper, magazine, a..."

I find I do kind of want to get you started on publisher book blurbs. :)

Yes, I have seen the blurbs on the back of a paperback that really bear no resemblance to the story within.

I'm reminded of a storyline on the old English sitcom, "As Time Goes By" with Judi Dench. One of the characters on the show wrote a dull book about his time on a coffee plantation in Kenya. His publisher had him pose for a bodice ripper cover as if he was on safari shooting big game. The publisher said it didn't matter if the cover photo didn't represent the text, it just had to say, "Pick me up and buy me."

Xan wrote: "Looking at the titles of Trollope's books, I think he should have hired someone to come up with the titles. They are all kind of boring, don't you think?

Here in the states newspaper, magazine, a..."

Yes, there was a tendency in Victorian times to just name a book for the main character, or - as in the case of Barnaby Rudge - for any character that happens to be in there. Some of Trollope's titles intrigue me, though, for example:

- An Eye for an Eye (obviously)
- Ayala's Angel (it sounds so mysterious)
- Is He Popenjoy? (Well, is he? And who or what is Popenjoy?)
- Can You Forgive Her? (She must have done something pretty interesting)
- He Knew He Was Right (We want to know it, too)
- Kept in the Dark (Get some light and let's find out!)
- Golden Lion of Granpère (Sounds like something about Indiana Jones)
- Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite (Who would not like to know such a man and introduce him to their friends?)