The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Chapters 13-18

“If only he dared to do it! If only he could do it! He did during a moment, make up his mind; but had no sooner done so than there rose clearly before his mind’s eye the judge and the jury, the paraphernalia of the court, and all the long horrors of a prison life.” (Chp. 15)

This week we again spend a lot of time in Henry Jones’s mind, which is a rather narrow and dim place, if you ask me. Actually, this young man reminds me a bit of two Shakespearean characters, namely of Hamlet and Macbeth. Macbeth would not mind being in King Duncan’s place but what he does mind is swinging the dagger and doing the deed, which he leaves to his wife – just as Henry would like being the new master of Llanfeare – in Chapter 15 the narrator tells us that the idea of pockets full of money certainly does entice Henry – but at the same time he does not have pluck enough to destroy the will and thus burn his bridges and get through with the criminal plan it would take to realize his wish. Does he have qualms of conscience, though? Hardly so; instead his hesitation is due to his fears of being found out and of stepping from moral shadiness – he still falsely tells himself that he did not hide the will but just left it to others to find him in the course of a proper and thorough search – into downright moral darkness. If he did the latter and were found out, he would surely be thrown into prison, but as yet, that’s what he is telling himself, no court could sentence him. But is he really right in thinking so? After all, he may not have put the will into that book of sermons, but he took the book and placed it back into the shelf, doubtless knowing that if they had found the book on the uncle’s bedside table, they would have flicked through it in their search of the will. This is definitely more than just guilt by omission, isn’t it?

Cousin Henry also has another motive for withholding the will – and this motive I can even understand, though not condone: ”The only approach to manliness left in his bosom was a true hatred of his cousin.” (Chp. 15) This is another example of someone cutting his nose to spite his face in this novel: Just as Isabel dithers about the question of whether to accept Mr. Owen or not, so Henry stays in his predicament mainly because as long as the will is hidden, Isabel is kept out of the property. He even contemplates suicide because the entire situation is getting so heavy upon him, wallowing in his self-pity to the extent of telling himself that God would probably forgive him for throwing himself down the cliff because of all the trouble the world is giving him – when actually he himself is the one who gives himself trouble.

And then there is that duplicitous Mr. Apjohn browbeating Cousin Henry into the lawsuit against the newspaper whose editor is libelling Henry with the intention of getting him into a cross-examination to clear or condemn himself in the witness box. Is the editor really that fair-minded, or does he not also see that his constant libels against a person who has to pass for innocent as long as no concrete evidence can be brought up against him are pandering to the public spirit, which is strongly against Jones, and thus ensure a rise in newspaper sales? Be that as it may, there still remains the question whether a newspaper has got the right to use libel as a means of badgering a person so much that they have to justify themselves in public, which actually boils down to shifting the burden of proof.

What do you think of Mr. Apjohn, who clearly advises his “client” – Henry never mandated him in the first place – to take a course of action that is likely to prove detrimental to him? In his conversation with Mr. Evans, the editor, he says that he hopes that Cousin Henry will get through Mr. Cheekey’s cross-examination unscathed if he is innocent. But what if Henry were innocent – Mr. Apjohn has no way of ruling this out positively – and were still unable to withstand the bullying, browbeating and ambages of Mr. Cheekey, who is notorious for this style of leading an examination?

Trollope’s style of writing may not be half as vivid and creative as Dickens’s but he definitely manages to throw his readers in at the deep end of many a moral dilemma.

As to saintly Isabel, I have only this one quotation for her this week:

”She had sworn to herself a thousand times that she would not covet the house and property. When her uncle had first declared to her his purpose of disinheriting her, she had been quite sure of herself that her love for him should not be affected by the change. It had been her pride to think that she could soar above any consideration of money and be sure of her own nobility, even though she should be stricken with absolute poverty. But now she was tempted to long that the newspaper might be found to be right. Was there any man so fitted to be exalted in the world, so sure to fill a high place with honour, as her lover? Though she might not want Llanfeare for herself, was she not bound to want it for his sake?” (Chp. 16)

In German we have a proverb that would translate into “Wash me but don’t wet me”, and I hope you’ll get its meaning because it seems to apply to Isabel a lot.

Tristram wrote: "In German we have a proverb that would translate into “Wash me but don’t wet me”, and I hope you’ll get its meaning because it seems to apply to Isabel a lot. .."

Is that something like throwing the baby out with the bath water?

I was appalled - to the point that I responded audibly to Trollope/Apjohn - when Apjohn blackmailed Henry. I don't have the book in front of me to quote, but basically him saying that if Henry didn't use Apjohn's services to sue the paper, Apjohn would tell everyone in town that he'd offered his services and Henry refused, so he must be guilty. Foul! Did they have a Bar Association in the UK back then? If so, Henry should have reported him and brought him up on charges. I liked Apjohn up to that point, but that really ticked me off. So unethical. At least by today's standards.

I also audibly gasped when Apjohn chided Henry for crying "like a woman". Well! My copy had that quote at the end of the page, so I was taken aback, perhaps, a bit more because I didn't immediately see the remainder of his statement. Not that that made it much better.

I'm enjoying the book, but I wonder if I wouldn't enjoy it more if it had been written without us knowing of Henry's guilt. For the most part I have a lot of sympathy for Henry, but knowing he's guilty tampers (or tempers? or maybe both?) my sympathy for him. As an introvert, I can identify with someone who'd prefer to sit in a cozy library all day, rather than be out and about socializing with people. And it sounds like being cross-examined by Cheekey would turn a strong person to mush. Subjecting a naturally anxious person, as Henry seems to be, to that kind of scrutiny would be a nightmare, even if innocent.

I'm really looking forward to seeing how this is resolved. I hope that a 3rd - and final! - will will be found, leaving everything to charity. At this point, no one in contention is worthy.

Mary Lou, I agree that neither Henry or Isabel are worthy. I am sure that Henry has no chance and really he has no real interest in the property, just the money he would gain. I almost feel sorry for him and the way everyone has treated him, especially Isabel. But, he is just rationalizing that he didn't steal the will, just found it (and hid it).
He seems such an immature young man, I wonder how old he is. I don't think it says at all. I also wonder how old Isabel is, does it say? I am surprised that I am enjoying this book as much as I am even with both characters being so disagreeable.

I still like Isabel, less in spite of than because she is ridiculous. Tristram's quote is pretty good but I also like this one:

But how sweet would be her triumph if she could turn to him and tell him that now the hour had come in which she would be proud to become his wife! "I love you well enough to rejoice in giving you something, but too well to have been a burden on you when I could give you nothing." That would be sweet to her! Then there should be kisses!

Poor Isabel just wants to be a superior person--it's not even subtle. But I can't blame her. She has so little.

Mary Lou wrote: "I liked Apjohn up to that point, but that really ticked me off. So unethical. At least by today's standards."

I will like Apjohn if he can pull off putting an end to Henry's dithering. This is not a long book but in this section I felt it to be a little too long, particularly in Chapter 15 when Henry reverses himself about 42 times on whether or not he is going to turn over that document. He is really an extraordinarily passive man. He can't do anything.

Anyway, the end is not far off, and although it seems to me Henry is more likely to finish matters off by dying from spontaneous combustion than actually following through on a decision, I am enjoying the tension here and looking forward to the final installment!

Tristram wrote: "Trollope’s style of writing may not be half as vivid and creative as Dickens’s but he definitely manages to throw his readers in at the deep end of many a moral dilemma."

Yes! Now he has my attention. The constant back and forth of Henry's resolve, which until now has continually grated on me, has finally shifted to a palpable tension. Henry's wasted countless opportunities for revelation due to his pathetic need to seek sympathy. He has lost the faith of even the most empathetic and forgiving characters, lacking even the courage to commit suicide.

He was quite sure now that the price at which he held the property was infinitely above its value.

The man has no dignity. Convinced of his guilt, even 'his' tenants are showing their disrespect, so assured are they of his impotence to retaliate.

I remain frustrated with Isabel. I'm not sure she has a right to be so proud and then return to her parents' home. She's quick to assent to her father's wishes in regard to her not working, but she won't listen to his advice about taking the money. What about her pride in not being a burden? And she's already buying new boots, too!

In answer to this she could only say that she cared but little for her own misery, and did not believe in his.

Here, Isabel doesn't only dismiss Mr. Owen's feelings, as she has previously, in the belief that she knows better, but doesn't believe in them at all. This brings the self absorption of her 'martyrdom' to a whole new level.

Jane, you expressed perfectly the evolution of my feelings about Henry's dithering, as Julie so aptly put it (great word, by the way!). From grating to a palpable tension. Yes!

At this point I certainly feel for her stepmother too, because she's the one having to tell her own children 'no boots for you this year, Isabel got them from dad instead of using her own money'. Her bedside manners might not be great, and I dislike her for seeing Isabel as a burden already when she was just a child, but at this point Isabel is not a child anymore, and she's all talk but no deeds when it comes to not taking any handouts.

If I am honest I think the parts about Henry's going back and forth are a bit too long for my taste. I still find them grating, and was almost cheering loudly when Appjohn started to use that libel suit to finally drag things out of him if that's possible. There must come an end to the constant bouncing ball, and at this point I rather have it sooner than later. I now understand why everyone thought Cousin Henry to be a tiresome person, he tires me too.

Jantine wrote: "I now understand why everyone thought Cousin Henry to be a tiresome person, he tires me too."

Yes, this did cross my mind. I kind of feel Indefer and Isabel are now justified in their dislike of him. His behavior is--dare we say?--odious.

Though it's fair to ask whether this is maybe a chicken-or-egg thing. Would he be so awful if his family hadn't been against him from the start?

We've had the misfortune of following Henry's nearly schizophrenic thought processes. Those around him are barely seeing him (which is, granted, odd, but not odious). It's only when they force him into conversation that he starts exhibiting anxiety. I can see that they wouldn't be warming up to him, but, from the behavior the others are privy to, is he worthy of hatred? I think not. Which is, again, why I think this would have been a completely different book for the readers had we not had an omniscient narrator.

Mary Lou wrote: "Is that something like throwing the baby out with the bath water?"

No, it isn't. In German we have the same idiom for throwing the baby out with the bath water, which means, at least in German, doing something rash that has a more sweeping effect than the one that was aimed for.

"Wasch mir den Pelz, aber mach mich nicht naß" is more like "I want to have the cake and eat it at the same time", or "Make me an omelette, but don't break any eggs."

"Like"
;-)

It's interesting that so many of you took umbrage at the narrator's tendency to have us again and again witness Cousin Henry's futile attempts at coming to a decision in the matter of the will. This is one of the weaknesses of Trollope as a writer: He tends to repeat himself, especially in his longer novels, where he has his characters repeatedly consider things, often using the same words, so that you can't help, as a reader, wishing for a more severe editor. I think that this may be something to do with the fact that Trollope wrote a lot and that he generally did this before breakfast and his actual work in the General Post Office. In the case of Cousin Henry, however, I think that there was a method behind this repetitive style, namely that of illustrating what an undecided procrastinator Cousin Henry is.

Tristram wrote: "This is one of the weaknesses of Trollope as a writer: He tends to repeat himself, especially in his longer novels, where he has his characters repeatedly consider things, often using the same words, so that you can't help, as a reader, wishing for a more severe editor."

I felt the repetition, not just with Henry, but with Isabel, was way overdone. Just at the point where I was beginning to feel Trollope redeem himself, I'm now questioning if I'll ever read another of his novels.

Mary Lou wrote: "I can see that they wouldn't be warming up to him, but, from the behavior the others are privy to, is he worthy of hatred? I think not. Which is, again, why I think this would have been a completely different book for the readers had we not had an omniscient narrator."

It's interesting how we bring in our own perspectives. For me, Henry's anxiety under any sort of pressure is a more relatable aspect. Unfortunately, we were repeatedly hit over the head with it. The avoidance exhibited by people with anxiety can make them appear cold and suspicious. Of course, we know that Henry is suspicious. The omniscient narrator makes a huge difference here.

I will definitely read more Trollope! I'm not crazy about the repetition but I'm enjoying the characters, the tension, and the way the whole town starts to weigh in on this problem and apply pressure collectively. The town has a personality as well as the characters. Plus the women have thoughts they probably shouldn't have, even (shock!) the heroine.

I think I read Doctor Thorne and The Fixed Period decades ago, but they kind of got buried in the piles of grad school reading for me and I didn't really remember them or follow up. Now I feel I've been missing out a bit.

I've only just become invested in the story, so I'm going to reserve judgement until the end. I think if a book isn't a total dud, it's fair to give an author another chance. It's been said this isn't his best work. It bodes well for future reading if even what is considered a lesser work has merit.

I'd have more respect for Isabel and her values if she immediately sought a 'situation' for herself, regardless of what her father thought. It's rather convenient she chose to relent on this point. I don't judge her thoughts so much, but her actions. Not all those virtuous notions of hers have borne fruit, which leads me to question if they are sincere. Is she like Henry in this respect, deluding herself as to her own righteousness?

Based on what I've read so far, I wouldn't call Isabel the heroine. I just can't take her seriously. It's easy to have high ideals when you have a roof over your head, food to eat and someone to buy your boots. For all her thoughts of working and/or living in poverty, she's still in her parents' home. It's the inactivity after the fact. Why stop at finding work? Is she being deliberately perverse?

My statement that Trollope sometimes tends to repeat the inner monologues of his characters was not intended as a warning against this author. On the contrary, I have read quite a lot of his books and immediately come to enjoy his knack for creating believable and often relatable characters, his realism, his sometimes avuncular narrative tone and his sense of humour. Cousin Henry unluckily does not give any examples of the latter two qualities. By the way, Julie, I think The Fixed Period is one of the weakes Trollopes I have ever read - there are lots of better works to discover, and so I can only encourage you to stick to your intention to read more Trollope.

As to Isabel, I really have it in for her because I cannot stand people who take the moral high ground, all the less so when they are not prepared to put their money where their mouth is. As Jane said, it was remarkable how quickly Mr. Brodrick succeeded in talking her out of finding herself a situation as a governess. And then I had the feeling that she thought a normal life not good enough for her: Marrying Owen and sharing a life in frugality with him was meh, but working her fingers to the bones as a governess or a sempstress and maybe having other people praise and wonder at her self-denial was better. At least in theory.

Isabel seems to have a martyr syndrome, without actually doing the work of a martyr. That could quickly become tedious for those who are subjected to it.

I'm delighted to know that Trollope's other books show a sense of humor, which is what I always loved most about Dickens. I inherited a copy of "The Eustace Diamonds" which will, undoubtedly, be my next Trollope, so I hope that one is more typical in the ways you describe.

Henry stays in the library to keep people from finding the will. He knows people stay away from him because they don't like him, so if he stays in the library, they will stay away from the library. He's doing this on purpose.

There are no heroes in this story. Everyone is ugly and quick to judge. Even Isabel's parents threw her to her uncle to raise. The only fair conclusion is fire. Burn everything. Let no one have a thing.

And I still have three chapters to go in this week's reading.

I agree with Mary Lou (I think it was Mary Lou). The will should be rumor and nothing more. Would have kept the suspense. And come to think of it, we still haven't seen the will. We only have what Henry says to go by.

What's with Isabel calling Owen her Lover?

If the new will is found, and it is found out that Isabel is the true heir to the property, will she not again reject Owen in favor of her uncle's wishes?

And when she wonders if she shouldn't take the property for Owen's sake, isn't she making the same argument her stepmother makes about the money, which Isabel forcefully rejects? And the boots and her running to her father to tell him his wife had complained about her. Isabel is a real piece of work. I'm thinking she is evil. She knows what she's doing, but justifies it all behind a curtain of smug faux sacrifice.

It's interesting in 16 to see each character's inner thoughts about the property and will.

Xan wrote: "And the boots and her running to her father to tell him his wife had complained about her. Isabel is a real piece of work."

Indeed! And that's a good point you make about Henry in the library. It can certainly be considered that way. Sneaks, the both of them!

Narrator: Ethics, meet Mr. Apjohn.
Narrator: Mr. Apjohn, meet Ethics.

Ethics: Ahem . . . We've previously met. We don't get along.
Narrator: Oh, what a shame.

Mary Lou wrote: "Isabel seems to have a martyr syndrome, without actually doing the work of a martyr. That could quickly become tedious for those who are subjected to it.

I'm delighted to know that Trollope's oth..."

These days there are lots of martyrs of the tongue instead of the deed, and I assume it has always been like that and that Isabel was sinning in good company.

The Eustace Diamonds is one of the six Palliser novels but each can be read relatively independently of chronological order. At least this is true of the Diamonds, which can be fitted anywhere. I read it years ago and was charmed with Lizzie Eustace, who is quite a shifty schemer. I am sure you will enjoy it, Mary Lou.

Xan wrote: "Narrator: Ethics, meet Mr. Apjohn.
Narrator: Mr. Apjohn, meet Ethics.

Ethics: Ahem . . . We've previously met. We don't get along.
Narrator: Oh, what a shame."

An everyday conversation between ethics and lawyers, one might think.

I fully agree on what you say about Isabel: She is a hidebound, self-complacent and holier-than-thou person, and I'd like to shout at Mr. Owen: RUN, my friend!

I tend to see Cousin Henry in a more sympathetic light, though. His sitting in the library is like a kind of self-chosen imprisonment in my eyes because he feels himself tied to that terrible book which holds a secret against him. Of course, no one must find it but as he does not dare to take the book with him for obvious reasons, he is condemned to stay where the book is. One might have thought that the will was relatively safe in a book of sermons. I could not have hidden it in any safer place.