In Which I Commit Trollope Fanfic
Merry Happy, everyone! As threatened, I made a little present for my Trollope-loving friends - Lily Dale fanfic. I offer it this morning as a small gift for your winter holiday of choice. I wish you a merry Christmas if that's your celebration today, and a happy near-Solstice day in any case.
Here goes:
Lily Dale is never bored.
First, of course, she’s a lady, and a lady’s first lesson is to be quiet. It’s not one that came easily to her, but she learned it well. Like every lady, Lily knows that a still body doesn’t bespeak a quiet mind.
But it’s rare these days that she must sit and do nothing, in the way that was such a torment to her as a young child. She almost always has some kind of handwork with her; that’s one of the privileges of old maid hood. And when handwork would be absolutely inappropriate, there’s usually some other distraction. In church, whether or not she likes the sermon, she always finds something in it to mull over. And when she goes to dinner at the Great House, there’s always conversation of some sort. Lily’s not one of those who disdains small talk; in fact, she rather revels in it, so that’s all right.
And, believe it or not, her life is very full. Growing up with Bell as her only confidante, Lily never could have guessed that she’d someday make friends who’d become like sisters. There’s dear Emily, of course, whom Lily sees almost every day. And then there’s Grace Crawley - now Grace Grantly - with whom Lily keeps up the liveliest correspondence, although they see each other only rarely.
And the children! Her own nieces and nephews - the children of Bell and Dr. Crofts - as well as Emily and Bernard’s children, who are really her cousins but have always called her Aunt Lily, have brought unimaginable joy to her life. When they were sad or worried or naughty, Aunt Lily was always there with a kiss, a joke, a story, a sweet - or, once in a great while, a bit of good advice. Lily hates to be serious with children, and often thinks what a blessing it is that she’s been able to be an aunt instead of a mother. A mother has to be serious much more often than an aunt does.
And always, always, Lily has her own mother. The closest sisters could not be in more perfect sympathy with each other than are she and Lily. They’ve become each others’ boon companions, each offering the other comfort, friendship, and love, while always respecting the other’s privacy - the privacy of the spirit, Lily believes, being far more important than the privacy of the body.
In earlier years, she used sometimes to imagine what her life might have been like had she taken a different road. She wouldn’t be human if she hadn’t thought about that, and Lily Dale is all too human. If Mr. Crosbie had not proved false to her - well, she finally had to admit that he had never been worthy of her love, but her love for him had been none the less real. If he hadn’t fallen to a temptation so petty she’ll never understand it, perhaps her love would have been enough for both of them - perhaps they could have been happy together. Perhaps not.
And what of Johnny Eames? Lily always smiles when she thinks of him, but when she used to try to imagine herself married to him, she always wound up in laughter. Johnny, the best, the bravest, the dearest of men - her husband? The very idea was somehow silly. Maybe, maybe, if nearly everyone she knew hadn’t tried quite so hard to marry her off to Johnny, as if she were an apple to be plucked or a prize to be won - but probably not.
In any case, that vein of fantasy dried up years ago. Lily has other things to think about. Her uncle is gone, and the children are all grown, or nearly grown, so Bernard and Emily have the Great House to themselves. And her dear mother is, alas, prone to comment that she’s completed her three score years and ten, and that Lily should prepare herself to face the world alone.
Lily just laughs at that. Her mother is perfectly well; and anyway, what has Lily been doing all these years but preparing herself? Lily keeps busy enough; but some winter nights, when her mother goes to bed early - or, worse, on the long summer evenings, when the sun won’t go down and her mother can’t stay awake and Lily can’t go to sleep - she has to find something to do with herself. On those nights, she can’t settle down to her handwork; she’s too restless to read; it’s too late to go out walking. Even an eccentric old maid has to accept some limits.
That’s when Lily travels. She’s been all over Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall. She’s strolled through the cathedrals of Paris and Rome, the souks of Morocco. She’s visited snowy northern mountains and torrid tropical isles. She’s traveled all over the Americas, by riverboat and railroad and wagon. And she’s sailed around both Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope.
Sometimes she thinks of writing down the stories she tells herself. But then she laughs at herself; who would want to read the imaginary travels of an old maid? It would be a waste of good ink and paper. Besides, if anyone knew where her mind goes on those long evenings, they’d think her even more eccentric than they already do. Lily doesn’t mind being thought eccentric, but she doesn’t want anyone to worry about her.
No, Lily thinks, there’s nothing about her life that she regrets - not a single thing. For a girl whose life was supposed to have been blighted at its very flowering, she’s done pretty well. And if ever the thought that something could have been different crosses her mind, she banishes it immediately. What, after all, would she choose to change in her life? What could she give up? Nothing.
And that’s why Lily Dale is never bored.
NOTE: Lily Dale appears in Anthony Trollope’s “The Small House at Allington” and “The Last Chronicle of Barset.” In “Small House,” Lily becomes engaged to Adolphus Crosbie, but he throws her over for a woman with a title (and not much else). Johnny Eames, Lily’s friend since childhood, idolizes her and tries hard to win her love, but never quite succeeds. Bell is Lily’s sister; Bernard is Lily’s cousin and Emily is his wife.
Here goes:
Lily Dale is never bored.
First, of course, she’s a lady, and a lady’s first lesson is to be quiet. It’s not one that came easily to her, but she learned it well. Like every lady, Lily knows that a still body doesn’t bespeak a quiet mind.
But it’s rare these days that she must sit and do nothing, in the way that was such a torment to her as a young child. She almost always has some kind of handwork with her; that’s one of the privileges of old maid hood. And when handwork would be absolutely inappropriate, there’s usually some other distraction. In church, whether or not she likes the sermon, she always finds something in it to mull over. And when she goes to dinner at the Great House, there’s always conversation of some sort. Lily’s not one of those who disdains small talk; in fact, she rather revels in it, so that’s all right.
And, believe it or not, her life is very full. Growing up with Bell as her only confidante, Lily never could have guessed that she’d someday make friends who’d become like sisters. There’s dear Emily, of course, whom Lily sees almost every day. And then there’s Grace Crawley - now Grace Grantly - with whom Lily keeps up the liveliest correspondence, although they see each other only rarely.
And the children! Her own nieces and nephews - the children of Bell and Dr. Crofts - as well as Emily and Bernard’s children, who are really her cousins but have always called her Aunt Lily, have brought unimaginable joy to her life. When they were sad or worried or naughty, Aunt Lily was always there with a kiss, a joke, a story, a sweet - or, once in a great while, a bit of good advice. Lily hates to be serious with children, and often thinks what a blessing it is that she’s been able to be an aunt instead of a mother. A mother has to be serious much more often than an aunt does.
And always, always, Lily has her own mother. The closest sisters could not be in more perfect sympathy with each other than are she and Lily. They’ve become each others’ boon companions, each offering the other comfort, friendship, and love, while always respecting the other’s privacy - the privacy of the spirit, Lily believes, being far more important than the privacy of the body.
In earlier years, she used sometimes to imagine what her life might have been like had she taken a different road. She wouldn’t be human if she hadn’t thought about that, and Lily Dale is all too human. If Mr. Crosbie had not proved false to her - well, she finally had to admit that he had never been worthy of her love, but her love for him had been none the less real. If he hadn’t fallen to a temptation so petty she’ll never understand it, perhaps her love would have been enough for both of them - perhaps they could have been happy together. Perhaps not.
And what of Johnny Eames? Lily always smiles when she thinks of him, but when she used to try to imagine herself married to him, she always wound up in laughter. Johnny, the best, the bravest, the dearest of men - her husband? The very idea was somehow silly. Maybe, maybe, if nearly everyone she knew hadn’t tried quite so hard to marry her off to Johnny, as if she were an apple to be plucked or a prize to be won - but probably not.
In any case, that vein of fantasy dried up years ago. Lily has other things to think about. Her uncle is gone, and the children are all grown, or nearly grown, so Bernard and Emily have the Great House to themselves. And her dear mother is, alas, prone to comment that she’s completed her three score years and ten, and that Lily should prepare herself to face the world alone.
Lily just laughs at that. Her mother is perfectly well; and anyway, what has Lily been doing all these years but preparing herself? Lily keeps busy enough; but some winter nights, when her mother goes to bed early - or, worse, on the long summer evenings, when the sun won’t go down and her mother can’t stay awake and Lily can’t go to sleep - she has to find something to do with herself. On those nights, she can’t settle down to her handwork; she’s too restless to read; it’s too late to go out walking. Even an eccentric old maid has to accept some limits.
That’s when Lily travels. She’s been all over Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall. She’s strolled through the cathedrals of Paris and Rome, the souks of Morocco. She’s visited snowy northern mountains and torrid tropical isles. She’s traveled all over the Americas, by riverboat and railroad and wagon. And she’s sailed around both Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope.
Sometimes she thinks of writing down the stories she tells herself. But then she laughs at herself; who would want to read the imaginary travels of an old maid? It would be a waste of good ink and paper. Besides, if anyone knew where her mind goes on those long evenings, they’d think her even more eccentric than they already do. Lily doesn’t mind being thought eccentric, but she doesn’t want anyone to worry about her.
No, Lily thinks, there’s nothing about her life that she regrets - not a single thing. For a girl whose life was supposed to have been blighted at its very flowering, she’s done pretty well. And if ever the thought that something could have been different crosses her mind, she banishes it immediately. What, after all, would she choose to change in her life? What could she give up? Nothing.
And that’s why Lily Dale is never bored.
NOTE: Lily Dale appears in Anthony Trollope’s “The Small House at Allington” and “The Last Chronicle of Barset.” In “Small House,” Lily becomes engaged to Adolphus Crosbie, but he throws her over for a woman with a title (and not much else). Johnny Eames, Lily’s friend since childhood, idolizes her and tries hard to win her love, but never quite succeeds. Bell is Lily’s sister; Bernard is Lily’s cousin and Emily is his wife.