This grief-stricken widow in full mourning dress is not the Widow Barnaby. Our widow left town so that people in her new location would not know how long she had been a widow. She remodeled her black dresses for her penniless niece — let her do the mourning for both of them.
The Widow Barnaby (1839) was probably the most popular of Frances “Fanny” Trollope’s 35 novels. Trollope — also the mother of Anthony Trollope, among other accomplishments –is best remembered today for The Domestic Manners of the Americans (1832) which reported critically on her travels in the early United States.
I learned that she was a best-selling author in her day, but “nobody reads her now.” That hardly seems fair, so I tried The Widow Barnaby and was pleasantly surprised as Trollope kept me fully engaged in the adventures of the rambunctiously vulgar widow.
Martha Compton, the daughter of a well-born but improvident family, had failed to secure a more desirable suitor by her mid-thirties, so she settled for comfortable local apothecary Barnaby. When he died, she was his childless widow and inherited a comfortable income of over 400 pounds per year. Like her contemporary, Jane Austin, Trollope tells you exactly how much money people have and what it means to them. With this income, the Widow Barnaby was confident she could aspire to great things, that is, a more prestigious second husband. Romance is important, but has its limits.
Yet Mrs. Barnaby was not altogether so short-sighted as by-standers might suppose; and though she freely permitted herself the pleasure of being made love to, she determined to be very sure of the Major’s rent-roll before she bestowed herself and her fortune upon him; for, notwithstanding her flirting propensities, the tender passion had ever been secondary in her heart to a passion for wealth and finery; and not the best-behaved and most discreet dowager that ever lived, was more firmly determined to take care of herself, and make a good bargain, “if ever she married again,” than was our flighty, flirting Widow Barnaby.
Martha Barnaby decks herself out in laces and feathers, rouges her cheeks, and lies about her age and antecedents. Into the novel Trollope also weaves the story of a very different member of the family, Miss Betsy Compton. Aunt Betsy never married, but lives contentedly, preserving her share of the estate that the Widow Barnaby’s father let slip away.
This mystery, this profound secrecy, in the silent rolling up of her wealth, was perhaps the principal source of her enjoyment from it. It amused her infinitely to observe, that while the bad management and improvidence of her brother and his wife were the theme of eternal gossipings, her own thrift seemed permitted to go quietly on, without eliciting any observation at all.
The two women clash over the care of their penniless niece. As a good Victorian novelist, Trollope is careful not carry her mocking of romance too far. Aunt Betsey lives happily without it, the Widow Barnaby seeks it if accompanied by a good income, and niece Agnes suffers the conventional pangs of sincere love.
Agnes stood up, she received his offered hand, and raised her eyes to his face, but uttered no word either of surprise or joy. Her face was colourless, and traces of very recent tears were plainly visible; she trembled from head to foot, and Colonel Hubert, frightened, as a brave man always is when he sees a woman really sinking under her sex’s weakness, replaced her on the sofa almost as incapable of speaking as herself.
The novel is an entertaining mixture of the fainting Agnes, set off by two strong women who know their own minds. Financial troubles are real, not glossed over at all. The male characters are less well-drawn than the female ones, but Trollope clearly knows the neighborhoods and local customs she depicts. No wonder people bought her books — she is fun to read.
This book can be hard to find, but you can get a free copy in the Amazon Kindle Store.
Posted by SilverSeason 
