Autobiography of Anthony Trollope

by Anthony Trollope

  there is no difference.

  I got into my place without any examining. Looking back now, I think

  I can see with accuracy what was then the condition of my own mind

  and intelligence. Of things to be learned by lessons I knew almost

  less than could be supposed possible after the amount of schooling

  I had received. I could read neither French, Latin, nor Greek.

  I could speak no foreign language,--and I may as well say here as

  elsewhere that I never acquired the power of really talking French.

  I have been able to order my dinner and take a railway ticket, but

  never got much beyond that. Of the merest rudiments of the sciences

  I was completely ignorant. My handwriting was in truth wretched. My

  spelling was imperfect. There was no subject as to which examination

  would have been possible on which I could have gone through an

  examination otherwise than disgracefully. And yet I think I knew

  more than the average young men of the same rank who began life at

  nineteen. I could have given a fuller list of the names of the poets

  of all countries, with their subjects and periods,--and probably

  of historians,--than many others; and had, perhaps, a more accurate

  idea of the manner in which my own country was governed. I knew the

  names of all the Bishops, all the Judges, all the Heads of Colleges,

  and all the Cabinet Ministers,--not a very useful knowledge indeed,

  but one that had not been acquired without other matter which was

  more useful. I had read Shakespeare and Byron and Scott, and could

  talk about them. The music of the Miltonic line was familiar to

  me. I had already made up my mind that Pride and Prejudice was the

  best novel in the English language,--a palm which I only partially

  withdrew after a second reading of Ivanhoe, and did not completely

  bestow elsewhere till Esmond was written. And though I would

  occasionally break down in my spelling, I could write a letter. If

  I had a thing to say, I could so say it in written words that the

  readers should know what I meant,--a power which is by no means

  at the command of all those who come out from these competitive

  examinations with triumph. Early in life, at the age of fifteen,

  I had commenced the dangerous habit of keeping a journal, and this

  I maintained for ten years. The volumes remained in my possession

  unregarded--never looked at--till 1870, when I examined them, and,

  with many blushes, destroyed them. They convicted me of folly,

  ignorance, indiscretion, idleness, extravagance, and conceit. But

  they had habituated me to the rapid use of pen and ink, and taught

  me how to express myself with faculty.

  I will mention here another habit which had grown upon me from

  still earlier years,--which I myself often regarded with dismay

  when I thought of the hours devoted to it, but which, I suppose,

  must have tended to make me what I have been. As a boy, even as a

  child, I was thrown much upon myself. I have explained, when speaking

  of my school-days, how it came to pass that other boys would not

  play with me. I was therefore alone, and had to form my plays

  within myself. Play of some kind was necessary to me then, as it

  always has been. Study was not my bent, and I could not please

  myself by being all idle. Thus it came to pass that I was always

  going about with some castle in the air firmly build within my

  mind. Nor were these efforts in architecture spasmodic, or subject

  to constant change from day to day. For weeks, for months, if

  I remember rightly, from year to year, I would carry on the same

  tale, binding myself down to certain laws, to certain proportions,

  and proprieties, and unities. Nothing impossible was ever

  introduced,--nor even anything which, from outward circumstances,

  would seem to be violently improbable. I myself was of course my own

  hero. Such is a necessity of castle-building. But I never became a

  king, or a duke,--much less when my height and personal appearance

  were fixed could I be an Antinous, or six feet high. I never was

  a learned man, nor even a philosopher. But I was a very clever

  person, and beautiful young women used to be fond of me. And I

  strove to be kind of heart, and open of hand, and noble in thought,

  despising mean things; and altogether I was a very much better

  fellow than I have ever succeeded in being since. This had been

  the occupation of my life for six or seven years before I went to

  the Post Office, and was by no means abandoned when I commenced

  my work. There can, I imagine, hardly be a more dangerous mental

  practice; but I have often doubted whether, had it not been my

  practice, I should ever have written a novel. I learned in this way

  to maintain an interest in a fictitious story, to dwell on a work

  created by my own imagination, and to live in a world altogether

  outside the world of my own material life. In after years I have

  done the same,--with this difference, that I have discarded the

  hero of my early dreams, and have been able to lay my own identity

  aside.

  I must certainly acknowledge that the first seven years of my

  official life were neither creditable to myself nor useful to the

  public service. These seven years were passed in London, and during

  this period of my life it was my duty to be present every morning

  at the office punctually at 10 A.M. I think I commenced my quarrels

  with the authorities there by having in my possession a watch

  which was always ten minutes late. I know that I very soon achieved

  a character for irregularity, and came to be regarded as a black

  sheep by men around me who were not themselves, I think, very

  good public servants. From time to time rumours reached me that if

  I did not take care I should be dismissed; especially one rumour

  in my early days, through my dearly beloved friend Mrs. Clayton

  Freeling,--who, as I write this, is still living, and who, with

  tears in her eyes, besought me to think of my mother. That was during

  the life of Sir Francis Freeling, who died,--still in harness,--a

  little more than twelve months after I joined the office. And yet

  the old man showed me signs of almost affectionate kindness, writing

  to me with his own hand more than once from his death-bed.

  Sir Francis Freeling was followed at the Post Office by Colonel

  Maberly, who certainly was not my friend. I do not know that I

  deserved to find a friend in my new master, but I think that a man

  with better judgment would not have formed so low an opinion of

  me as he did. Years have gone by, and I can write now, and almost

  feel, without anger; but I can remember well the keenness of my

  anguish when I was treated as though I were unfit for any useful

  work. I did struggle--not to do the work, for there was nothing

  which was not easy without any struggling--but to show that I

  was willing to do it. My bad character nevertheless stuck to me,

  and was not to be got rid of by any efforts within my power. I do

  admit that I was irregular. It was not considered to be much in

  my favour that I could write letters--which was mainly the work of


  our office--rapidly, correctly, and to the purpose. The man who

  came at ten, and who was always still at his desk at half-past four,

  was preferred before me, though when at his desk he might be less

  efficient. Such preference was no doubt proper; but, with a little

  encouragement, I also would have been punctual. I got credit for

  nothing and was reckless.

  As it was, the conduct of some of us was very bad. There was a

  comfortable sitting-room up-stairs, devoted to the use of some one

  of our number who in turn was required to remain in the place all

  night. Hither one or two of us would adjourn after lunch, and

  play ecarte for an hour or two. I do not know whether such ways

  are possible now in our public offices. And here we used to have

  suppers and card-parties at night--great symposiums, with much

  smoking of tobacco; for in our part of the building there lived a

  whole bevy of clerks. These were gentlemen whose duty it then was

  to make up and receive the foreign mails. I do not remember that

  they worked later or earlier than the other sorting-clerks; but

  there was supposed to be something special in foreign letters,

  which required that the men who handled them should have minds

  undistracted by the outer world. Their salaries, too, were higher

  than those of their more homely brethren; and they paid nothing

  for their lodgings. Consequently there was a somewhat fast set in

  those apartments, given to cards and to tobacco, who drank spirits

  and water in preference to tea. I was not one of them, but was a

  good deal with them.

  I do not know that I should interest my readers by saying much of

  my Post Office experiences in those days. I was always on the eve

  of being dismissed, and yet was always striving to show how good a

  public servant I could become, if only a chance were given me. But

  the chance went the wrong way. On one occasion, in the performance

  of my duty, I had to put a private letter containing bank-notes on

  the secretary's table,--which letter I had duly opened, as it was

  not marked private. The letter was seen by the Colonel, but had

  not been moved by him when he left the room. On his return it was

  gone. In the meantime I had returned to the room, again in the

  performance of some duty. When the letter was missed I was sent

  for, and there I found the Colonel much moved about his letter, and

  a certain chief clerk, who, with a long face, was making suggestions

  as to the probable fate of the money. "The letter has been taken,"

  said the Colonel, turning to me angrily, "and, by G----! there has

  been nobody in the room but you and I." As he spoke, he thundered

  his fist down upon the table. "Then," said I, "by G----! you have

  taken it." And I also thundered my fist down;--but, accidentally,

  not upon the table. There was there a standing movable desk, at

  which, I presume, it was the Colonel's habit to write, and on this

  movable desk was a large bottle full of ink. My fist unfortunately

  came on the desk, and the ink at once flew up, covering the Colonel's

  face and shirt-front. Then it was a sight to see that senior clerk,

  as he seized a quite of blotting-paper, and rushed to the aid of his

  superior officer, striving to mop up the ink; and a sight also to

  see the Colonel, in his agony, hit right out through the blotting-paper

  at that senior clerk's unoffending stomach. At that moment there

  came in the Colonel's private secretary, with the letter and the

  money, and I was desired to go back to my own room. This was an

  incident not much in my favour, though I do not know that it did

  me special harm.

  I was always in trouble. A young woman down in the country had

  taken it into her head that she would like to marry me,--and a very

  foolish young woman she must have been to entertain such a wish.

  I need not tell that part of the story more at length, otherwise

  than by protesting that no young man in such a position was ever

  much less to blame than I had been in this. The invitation had

  come from her, and I had lacked the pluck to give it a decided

  negative; but I had left the house within half an hour, going away

  without my dinner, and had never returned to it. Then there was a

  correspondence,--if that can be called a correspondence in which

  all the letters came from one side. At last the mother appeared at

  the Post Office. My hair almost stands on my head now as I remember

  the figure of the woman walking into the big room in which I sat

  with six or seven other clerks, having a large basket on her arm and

  an immense bonnet on her head. The messenger had vainly endeavoured

  to persuade her to remain in the ante-room. She followed the man

  in, and walking up the centre of the room, addressed me in a loud

  voice: "Anthony Trollope, when are you going to marry my daughter?"

  We have all had our worst moments, and that was one of my worst. I

  lived through it, however, and did not marry the young lady. These

  little incidents were all against me in the office.

  And then a certain other phase of my private life crept into official

  view, and did me a damage. As I shall explain just now, I rarely

  at this time had any money wherewith to pay my bills. In this state

  of things a certain tailor had taken from me an acceptance for, I

  think, (pounds)12, which found its way into the hands of a money-lender.

  With that man, who lived in a little street near Mecklenburgh Square,

  I formed a most heart-rending but a most intimate acquaintance.

  In cash I once received from him (pounds)4. For that and for the original

  amount of the tailor's bill, which grew monstrously under repeated

  renewals, I paid ultimately something over (pounds)200. That is so common

  a story as to be hardly worth the telling; but the peculiarity of

  this man was that he became so attached to me as to visit me every

  day at my office. For a long period he found it to be worth his

  while to walk up those stone steps daily, and come and stand behind

  my chair, whispering to me always the same words: "Now I wish you

  would be punctual. If you only would be punctual, I should like

  you to have anything you want." He was a little, clean, old man,

  who always wore a high starched white cravat inside of which he

  had a habit of twisting his chin as he uttered his caution. When I

  remember the constant persistency of his visits, I cannot but feel

  that he was paid very badly for his time and trouble. Those visits

  were very terrible, and can have hardly been of service to me in

  the office.

  Of one other misfortune which happened to me in those days I must

  tell the tale. A junior clerk in the secretary's office was always

  told off to sleep upon the premises, and he was supposed to be the

  presiding genius of the establishment when the other members of

  the Secretary's department had left the building. On an occasion

  when I was still little more than a lad,--perhaps one-and-twenty

  years old,--I was filling this responsible position. At about seven

  in the evening word was brought to me that the Queen of,--I think<
br />
  Saxony, but I am sure it was a Queen,--wanted to see the night

  mails sent out. At this time, when there were many mail-coaches,

  this was a show, and august visitors would sometimes come to see

  it. But preparation was generally made beforehand, and some pundit

  of the office would be at hand to do the honours. On this occasion

  we were taken by surprise, and there was no pundit. I therefore

  gave the orders, and accompanied her Majesty around the building,

  walking backwards, as I conceived to be proper, and often in great

  peril as I did so, up and down the stairs. I was, however, quite

  satisfied with my own manner of performing an unaccustomed and most

  important duty. There were two old gentlemen with her Majesty, who,

  no doubt, were German barons, and an ancient baroness also. They

  had come and, when they had seen the sights, took their departure

  in two glass coaches. As they were preparing to go, I saw the two

  barons consulting together in deep whispers, and then as the result

  of that conversation one of them handed me a half-a-crown! That

  also was a bad moment.

  I came up to town, as I said before, purporting to live a jolly

  life upon (pounds)90 per annum. I remained seven years in the General Post

  Office, and when I left it my income was (pounds)140. During the whole

  of this time I was hopelessly in debt. There were two intervals,

  amounting together to nearly two years, in which I lived with

  my mother, and therefore lived in comfort,--but even then I was

  overwhelmed with debt. She paid much for me,--paid all that I

  asked her to pay, and all that she could find out that I owed. But

  who in such a condition ever tells all and makes a clean breast of

  it? The debts, of course, were not large, but I cannot think now

  how I could have lived, and sometimes have enjoyed life, with such

  a burden of duns as I endured. Sheriff's officers with uncanny

  documents, of which I never understood anything, were common

  attendants on me. And yet I do not remember that I was ever locked

  up, though I think I was twice a prisoner. In such emergencies some

  one paid for me. And now, looking back at it, I have to ask myself

  whether my youth was very wicked. I did no good in it; but was there

  fair ground for expecting good from me? When I reached London no

  mode of life was prepared for me,--no advice even given to me. I