The Warden by Anthony Trollope

Much ado about little of interest

The Warden, published in 1855, is the third novel published by prolific British author Anthony Trollope. It is also the first novel in his Chronicles of Barsetshire series, a string of a half dozen novels that are among his most beloved works..

Centuries ago, in the fictional English county of Barsetshire, a wealthy man named Mr. Hiram left his estate to the church, with the proscription that a portion of his land would be used to establish an old folk’s home for a dozen retired laborers. A small allowance would be granted to each resident, while the rest of the income from Hiram’s lands would go to an appointed warden of the institution. In the 19th century, a minister named Mr. Harding is made warden of Hiram’s Hospital, where he enjoys a cushy job with lucrative pay. The value of Hiram’s lands has greatly increased since medieval times, and the income resulting from rents and such amounts to a salary of about 800 pounds a year for the lucky warden. Over the centuries, however, there has been no cost-of-living increase for the poor inmates, who still receive the allowance mandated in Hiram’s will, now amounting to a mere pittance. A young doctor sees this as an injustice, and files a lawsuit to get more money for the retired laborers. A prideful deacon fights the lawsuit, refusing to let Mr. Harding acquiesce in the least bit to this affront to church authority. Complicating matters is the fact that the doctor and the deacon are involved with Mr. Harding’s two daughters.

This is an ugly story, no matter how much Trollope tries to inject it with quaintness. The whole premise of the plot makes a mountain out of a molehill. At the same time, Trollope makes fun of his own characters, as if to say, “Look at these silly country people, making mountains out of molehills!” If the parties involved would have just sat down together at a table for an hour, I’m sure they could have reached a compromise. Everyone in this book is guilty of some form of stubbornness or idiocy in the matter. About halfway through, the warden’s daughter comes up with some scheme of how she’s going to solve the problem through a martyr-like self-sacrifice. Her friends don’t understand the logic behind her reasoning, and neither did I. The wealthier characters in the story quibble over their morals and their reputations and make self-righteous decisions with no regard for the poor men who are in their charge. Everyone talks as if 800 pounds is a lot of money, but then we’re supposed to believe the warden is poor. He has no savings, despite his free lodgings. How will he ever survive on a fixed income? Who really cares? There’s satire here, but it’s satire that comes across as rather tone-deaf. We’re supposed to sympathize with Harding and his moral quandary, but neither he nor Trollope seem to care at all about the poor. The latter simply sees poverty as a plot device, not as a real social issue.

Based on a handful of Trollope books I’ve read, his writing is similar to that of Balzac. Both authors created vast bodies of work consisting largely of novels of manners that capture and satirize the society of their time and nation. Both are obsessed with financial transactions, legal proceedings, and clerical bureaucracy. Of the two, Balzac is just a lot more fun. For one thing, he has a better sense of humor. Mainly, however, I think I just prefer the Frenchness of Balzac’s fiction to the Britishness of Trollope’s. Victorian British literature, much like the era in which it was written, tends to be priggish, frumpy, and stuffy. Plots must conform to a strict code of moral conventions. French literature was not hampered by such prudish restrictions, and the characters act more like real people, making it more likely that the reader will care about them. I had a hard time caring about any of the characters in The Warden, and reading about their petty squabbles felt like a waste of my time.
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