Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope (good books to read for young adults TXT) 📕
Description
Framley Parsonage is the fourth novel in Trollope’s Chronicles of Barsetshire series. Originally a serial, it was first published as a book in 1861, and it has since been praised for its unsentimental depiction of the lives of middle-class people in the mid-Victorian era.
As with the other books in the series, Framley Parsonage is set in the fictious English county of Barsetshire, and deals with the doings of a variety of families and characters who live in the region, several of whom have appeared in the previous books; but it primarily concerns the young Reverend Mark Robarts.
Robarts has been appointed as vicar of the parish of Framley through the patronage of Lady Lufton of Framley Court, the mother of his long-time friend Ludovic, now Lord Lufton. After he and his wife Fanny take up residence in Framley Parsonage, Robarts is led into the society of some loose-living aristocrats through his friendship with Ludovic. Robarts eventually finds himself weakly consenting to his name being included on a bill for a loan to one of his new connections, Sowerby. By so doing, he becomes liable for debts he cannot possibly satisfy.
An important secondary thread involves Mark Robarts’ sister Lucy, who after their father’s death comes to live with her brother’s family at the parsonage. Through them, she becomes acquainted with Lady Lufton and her son Ludovic, and romantic complications ensue.
Framley Parsonage was originally published anonymously in serial form in Cornhill Magazine, and such was its popularity that during its publication a hysterical young woman apparently tried to gain notoriety in her country town by claiming to be its author. “The real writer,” we are told, “dealt very gently with the pretender.”
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- Author: Anthony Trollope
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On the next morning, however, she did as she was bid, and signified to the dowager that all objection to Sarah Thompson would be withdrawn.
“Ah! I was sure he would agree with me,” said her ladyship, “when he learned what sort of person she is. I know I had only to explain;”—and then she plumed her feathers, and was very gracious; for, to tell the truth, Lady Lufton did not like to be opposed in things which concerned the parish nearly.
“And, Fanny,” said Lady Lufton, in her kindest manner, “you are not going anywhere on Saturday, are you?”
“No, I think not.”
“Then you must come to us. Justinia is to be here, you know”—Lady Meredith was named Justinia—“and you and Mr. Robarts had better stay with us till Monday. He can have the little book-room all to himself on Sunday. The Merediths go on Monday; and Justinia won’t be happy if you are not with her.”
It would be unjust to say that Lady Lufton had determined not to invite the Robartses if she were not allowed to have her own way about Sarah Thompson. But such would have been the result. As it was, however, she was all kindness; and when Mrs. Robarts made some little excuse, saying that she was afraid she must return home in the evening, because of the children, Lady Lufton declared that there was room enough at Framley Court for baby and nurse, and so settled the matter in her own way, with a couple of nods and three taps of her umbrella.
This was on a Tuesday morning, and on the same evening, before dinner, the vicar again seated himself in the same chair before the drawing-room fire, as soon as he had seen his horse led into the stable.
“Mark,” said his wife, “the Merediths are to be at Framley on Saturday and Sunday; and I have promised that we will go up and stay over till Monday.”
“You don’t mean it! Goodness gracious, how provoking!”
“Why? I thought you wouldn’t mind it. And Justinia would think it unkind if I were not there.”
“You can go, my dear, and of course will go. But as for me, it is impossible.”
“But why, love?”
“Why? Just now, at the schoolhouse, I answered a letter that was brought to me from Chaldicotes. Sowerby insists on my going over there for a week or so; and I have said that I would.”
“Go to Chaldicotes for a week, Mark?”
“I believe I have even consented to ten days.”
“And be away two Sundays?”
“No, Fanny, only one. Don’t be so censorious.”
“Don’t call me censorious, Mark; you know I am not so. But I am so sorry. It is just what Lady Lufton won’t like. Besides, you were away in Scotland two Sundays last month.”
“In September, Fanny. And that is being censorious.”
“Oh, but, Mark, dear Mark; don’t say so. You know I don’t mean it. But Lady Lufton does not like those Chaldicotes people. You know Lord Lufton was with you the last time you were there; and how annoyed she was!”
“Lord Lufton won’t be with me now, for he is still in Scotland. And the reason why I am going is this: Harold Smith and his wife will be there, and I am very anxious to know more of them. I have no doubt that Harold Smith will be in the government some day, and I cannot afford to neglect such a man’s acquaintance.”
“But, Mark, what do you want of any government?”
“Well, Fanny, of course I am bound to say that I want nothing; neither in one sense do I; but nevertheless, I shall go and meet the Harold Smiths.”
“Could you not be back before Sunday?”
“I have promised to preach at Chaldicotes. Harold Smith is going to lecture at Barchester, about the Australasian archipelago, and I am to preach a charity sermon on the same subject. They want to send out more missionaries.”
“A charity sermon at Chaldicotes!”
“And why not? The house will be quite full, you know; and I dare say the Arabins will be there.”
“I think not; Mrs. Arabin may get on with Mrs. Harold Smith, though I doubt that; but I’m sure she’s not fond of Mrs. Smith’s brother. I don’t think she would stay at Chaldicotes.”
“And the bishop will probably be there for a day or two.”
“That is much more likely, Mark. If the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Proudie is taking you to Chaldicotes, I have not a word more to say.”
“I am not a bit more fond of Mrs. Proudie than you are, Fanny,” said the vicar, with something like vexation in the tone of his voice, for he thought that his wife was hard upon him. “But it is generally thought that a parish clergyman does well to meet his bishop now and then. And as I was invited there, especially to preach while all these people are staying at the place, I could not well refuse.” And then he got up, and taking his candlestick, escaped to his dressing-room.
“But what am I to say to Lady Lufton?” his wife said to him, in the course of the evening.
“Just write her a note, and tell her that you find I had promised to preach at Chaldicotes next Sunday. You’ll go, of course?”
“Yes: but I know she’ll be annoyed. You were away the last time she had people there.”
“It can’t be helped. She must put it down against Sarah Thompson. She ought not to expect to win always.”
“I should not have minded it, if she had lost, as you call it, about Sarah Thompson. That was a case in which you ought to have had your own way.”
“And this other is a case in which I shall have it. It’s a pity that there should be such a difference; isn’t it?”
Then the wife perceived that, vexed as she was, it would be better that she should say nothing further; and before she went to bed, she wrote the note to
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