The attachment which had long been growing, and strengthening, between the laughter-loving Lucy and the philosophical-minded Gertrude, had become too powerful, and too important to both of them, for either to contemplate any manner of life which was to keep them asunder, without more pain than any existing. circumstances seemed to call upon them to endure; and if Gertrude did not immediately announce her intention of leaving the dreary splendours of her castle, for an abode less vast and more cheerful, it was only because she would not decide what her own movements should be, till she had been made acquainted with those proposed by her friends.
As little time as possible, however, was lost in deciding what these plans should be; and when a letter reached Gertrude from England, announcing the important and very agreeable fact, that Adolphe and his Lucy had settled themselves in an abode of ample room, and accommodation of all sorts, to enable them to receive Gertrude and her retinue, till such time as she should have selected a home of her own; a wonderful short delay was necessary before the heiress and her retinue were ready to set off on their long-contemplated journey to England.
The preparations for their departure were doubtless made with more facility because their numbers were few, for the whole of the retinue permitted to attend my high-born, wealthy heroine, consisted of Madame Odenthal and her son Rupert.
Madame Odenthal, indeed, did venture to suggest that Gertrude might find some inconvenience from not being attended by a more accomplished waiting-maid than she could herself hope to be; but Gertrude assured her, in reply, that by mutually practising this finest of the fine arts upon each other, they should both speedily become sufficiently accomplished in it to perform all its mysteries to their mutual satisfaction.
There certainly was a shade of sadness on the beautiful countenance of Gertrude, as she drove past the gothic window of the chapel in which both her parents lay interred; and for a few moments the travelling trio were very profoundly silent. But these few moments past, Gertrude’s heart and head both told her that she belonged more to the living than to the dead; and the long journey upon which they had entered was performed with so much more of pleasure than of pain, that had they been less anxious to meet what they all hoped to find at the end of it, they might have been tempted to wish it longer still.
The careful and accurate instructions which they had received from Lucy, brought them at the end of ten days to a spot which, even had it not contained the living beings which their hearts most wished to meet, would have appeared to them all to look vastly likely a second Paradise.
On a level spot, containing within its smooth expanse about fifty acres, stood a modern mansion of very goodly size, but which, when compared to the mighty Schloss Schwanberg which they had left behind them, looked like a freestone toy.
The level space on which it stood, was about half-way up one of the steepest banks of the river Wye; but, being approached from behind, the first view of the sudden declivity produced the effect of a bold precipice, and the view commanded from its finely shorn lawn was one affording as fine a specimen of English river scenery, as it was possible for the eye to look upon.
Not to give an admiring and a lingering glance at this scene was impossible; but at the door of the mansion stood a group which caused even the strong-minded Gertrude to utter something very like a scream as she caught sight of it; and as the equipage swept round the lawn to the portico, she could not resist the impulse which caused her to attempt, somewhat vehemently, to open the carriage-door, though, had she succeeded in doing so, the result would probably have been her falling headlong on the ground.
Fortunately, this desperate attempt failed, and in another moment she was very safely in the arms of Lucy, while Adolphe, catching a baby from one of the nurses stationed at the door, placed it somehow or other on the bosom of the now weeping Gertrude.
And then the whole party, propelled by a little gentle violence from Rupert, was induced to enter first a handsome hall, and then a noble drawing-room at the further end of it, and there Gertrude, still pressing the favoured baby to her bosom, sunk down upon a sofa, and “tears began to flow.”
And now it was the turn of Adolphe to exert himself, in order to render this scene more perfectly intelligible to some of the parties concerned in it.
The English nurse, however, who had been holding the babe when the travellers arrived, was not one of those whom it was his purpose to enlighten, and he, therefore, quietly told her to go to the nursery, where the baby should be brought to her presently.
On seeing this woman make her exit, closing the door after her, Gertrude cast an inquiring glance round the room, and perceiving that only Adolphe, Lucy, and the babe, which she still pressed to her own bosom, were present, in addition to the travelling trio, she rose, and approaching Madame Odenthal, placed the infant in her arms. “Take her, my second mother!” she exclaimed with deep emotion. “Love her, and cherish her! You may do so without a shadow of self-reproach! I have kept my secret from you, mother, that you might be innocent in all ways!”
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Should any scrupulously correct persons honour this tale with perusal, and feel, notwithstanding their long acquaintance with Gertrude, any disagreeable uncertainty respecting some rather mysterious passages in her history, they are respectfully referred to the first chapter of this work, which, being rightly interpreted, will solve all such painful doubts, although this “Almanack de Gotha” may be the only one in which the authentic narrative therein recorded is likely to appear at full length.
* * * * * *
But there is a revolution, dearly beloved reader, which is steadily at work among us, the progress of which is not the less sure, because its onward movement is neither vehement nor noisy.
We are all perfectly well aware that prosperous commerce, and successful industry, will often cause so near an approach between the toe of the commoner and the heel of the noble, as to run some risk of galling a kibe; and this is a fact still more patent in our days, than it was when the keenest of all observers first made the remark.
But true as the remark was then, and more true as it is daily becoming, by the eager onward movement of this successful industry, there is another cause at work also, which, I believe, is likely to become infinitely more effective in lessening the distances by which society is divided, than any which acquired wealth can produce.
Nor is the lessening social distance its only effect. Social distance may be lessened with very little chance of producing any feeling of equality as its result. But let the Barons von Schwanberg, who make the real “Almanack de Gotha” (not my almanack) their guide-book, let all such keep a sharp look-out upon the species of free trade in intellect, which is so very obviously threatening to set at naught the prohibitions of heraldic lawgivers.
The perils arising from a too close juxtaposition between long-descended rank and newly-accumulated wealth, are as nothing when compared to the revolutionary influence of widely-diffused education.
In proportion as that highest order of education which develops the thinking powers of human beings becomes general, the effort to separate society into distinct social classes becomes more difficult.
The system of enlarged education, which is so evidently gaining ground among us, will do more towards lessening the inequalities of rank, than all the heralds will he able to withstand.
Titles were abolished in France, yet no equality of condition ensued; but let the son of a tinker, born with a powerful and healthful intellect, have that intellect fully developed by education, and the effort to keep him within the tinkering sphere will be as vain as the attempting to make a thorough-bred race-horse pass for a fitting bearer of a pack-saddle.
THE END
The Non-Fiction
Camden, London, in 1830 — Trollope lived in Camden while her children were young
Plaque commemorating her residence at Camden
DOMESTIC MANNERS OF THE AMERICANS (1832)
Dome
stic Manners of the Americans was first published in 1832 by Whittaker, Treacher & Company. It was the author’s first piece of professional writing and it proved to be highly successful. In 1827, the Trollopes were struggling financially and Thomas was becoming more volatile and unstable. Frances decided to depart to America with her youngest children, where she hoped to revive her fortunes and experience a country often described as offering equal opportunity and freedom to all. The reformer Frances Wright had written enthusiastically about the nation in her 1821 book Views of Society and Manners in America, and had founded the Nashoba Community in Tennessee. Trollope travelled to Wright’s proclaimed utopian commune, but quickly found it lacking, not least in terms of comfort and luxuries. The author settled in Cincinnati, where she attempted to establish a business selling imported European goods. However, the enterprise was far from successful and Trollope soon found herself in a dire financial situation and thoroughly disenchanted with America. She moved back to England and began the writing career that would save herself and her family from ruin.
The book was a vicious assault on American society and the author was unforgiving in her criticisms and censure of the culture. She was particularly vitriolic about American table manners, which she condemned as ‘uncouth’, before making disparaging remarks about people spitting and eating with their knives. Unsurprisingly, the work attracted attention and caused anger and indignation among many Americans. Susan S. Kissel writes In Common Cause: The ‘Conservative’ Frances Trollope and the ‘Radical’ Frances Trollope that while the author endured many personal attacks after the publication of the work, the most hurtful responses came from her former friends, Timothy Flint and General Lafayette. Flint described her as ‘incapable as an infant’ and ‘singularly unladylike’ (p18), and Lafayette accused her of ‘blatant self-interest’ (p18). While many of her criticisms were rooted in snobbery and an entrenched belief in a social hierarchy, she did make some pertinent remarks regarding gender discrimination, slavery and religion. She was highly scathing about Thomas Jefferson, who she considered an ‘unprincipled tyrant’ and ‘heartless libertine’ for treating the children he had by slaves as unfree men and women. She also lamented the absurd hypocrisy of those that would speak of the wonders of liberty while owning and beating slaves.
The first edition's title page
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
The social reformer, Frances Wright
CHAPTER 1
Entrance of the Mississippi — Balize
On the 4th of November, 1827, I sailed from London, accompanied by my son and two daughters; and after a favourable, though somewhat tedious voyage, arrived on Christmas-day at the mouth of the Mississippi.
The first indication of our approach to land was the appearance of this mighty river pouring forth its muddy mass of waters, and mingling with the deep blue of the Mexican Gulf. The shores of this river are so utterly flat, that no object upon them is perceptible at sea, and we gazed with pleasure on the muddy ocean that met us, for it told us we were arrived, and seven weeks of sailing had wearied us; yet it was not without a feeling like regret that we passed from the bright blue waves, whose varying aspect had so long furnished our chief amusement, into the murky stream which now received us.
Large flights of pelicans were seen standing upon the long masses of mud which rose above the surface of the waters, and a pilot came to guide us over the bar, long before any other indication of land was visible.
I never beheld a scene so utterly desolate as this entrance of the Mississippi. Had Dante seen it, he might have drawn images of another Bolgia from its horrors. One only object rears itself above the eddying waters; this is the mast of a vessel long since wrecked in attempting to cross the bar, and it still stands, a dismal witness of the destruction that has been, and a boding prophet of that which is to come.
By degrees bulrushes of enormous growth become visible, and a few more miles of mud brought us within sight of a cluster of huts called the Balize, by far the most miserable station that I ever saw made the dwelling of man, but I was told that many families of pilots and fishermen lived there.
For several miles above its mouth, the Mississippi presents no objects more interesting than mud banks, monstrous bulrushes, and now and then a huge crocodile luxuriating in the slime. Another circumstance that gives to this dreary scene an aspect of desolation, is the incessant appearance of vast quantities of drift wood, which is ever finding its way to the different mouths of the Mississippi. Trees of enormous length, sometimes still bearing their branches, and still oftener their uptorn roots entire, the victims of the frequent hurricane, come floating down the stream. Sometimes several of these, entangled together, collect among their boughs a quantity of floating rubbish, that gives the mass the appearance of a moving island, bearing a forest, with its roots mocking the heavens; while the dishonoured branches lash the tide in idle vengeance: this, as it approaches the vessel, and glides swiftly past, looks like the fragment of a world in ruins.
As we advanced, however, we were cheered, notwithstanding the season, by the bright tints of southern vegetation. The banks continue invariably flat, but a succession of planless villas, sometimes merely a residence, and sometimes surrounded by their sugar grounds and negro huts, varied the scene. At no one point was there an inch of what painters call a second distance; and for the length of one hundred and twenty miles, from the Balize to New Orleans, and one hundred miles above the town, the land is defended from the encroachments of the river by a high embankment which is called the Levee; without which the dwellings would speedily disappear, as the river is evidently higher than the banks would be without it. When we arrived, there had been constant rains, and of long continuance, and this appearance was, therefore, unusually striking, giving to “this great natural feature” the most unnatural appearance imaginable; and making evident, not only that man had been busy there, but that even the mightiest works of nature might be made to bear his impress; it recalled, literally, Swift’s mock heroic,
“Nature must give way to art;”
yet, she was looking so mighty, and so unsubdued all the time, that I could not help fancying she would some day take the matter into her own hands again, and if so, farewell to New Orleans.
It is easy to imagine the total want of beauty in such a landscape; but yet the form and hue of the trees and plants, so new to us, added to the long privation we had endured of all sights and sounds of land, made even these swampy shores seem beautiful. We were, however, impatient to touch as well as see the land; but the navigation from the Balize to New Orleans is difficult and tedious, and the two days that it occupied appeared longer than any we had passed on board.
In truth, to those who have pleasure in contemplating the phenomena of nature, a sea voyage may endure many weeks without wearying. Perhaps some may think that the first glance of ocean and of sky shew all they have to offer; nay, even that that first glance may suggest more of dreariness than sublimity; but to me, their variety appeared endless, and their beauty unfailing. The attempt to describe scenery, even where the objects are prominent and tangible, is
very rarely successful; but where the effect is so subtile and so varying, it must be vain. The impression, nevertheless, is perhaps deeper than any other; I think it possible I may forget the sensations with which I watched the long course of the gigantic Mississippi; the Ohio and the Potomac may mingle and be confounded with other streams in my memory, I may even recall with difficulty the blue outline of the Alleghany mountains, but never, while I remember any thing, can I forget the first and last hour of light on the Atlantic.
The ocean, however, and all its indescribable charm, no longer surrounded us; we began to feel that our walk on the quarter-deck was very like the exercise of an ass in a mill; that our books had lost half their pages, and that the other half were known by rote; that our beef was very salt, and our biscuits very hard; in short, that having studied the good ship, Edward, from stem to stern till we knew the name of every sail, and the use of every pulley, we had had enough of her, and as we laid down, head to head, in our tiny beds for the last time, I exclaimed with no small pleasure,
“Tomorrow to fresh fields and pastures new.”
CHAPTER 2
New Orleans — Society — Creoles and Quadroons Voyage up the Mississippi
On first touching the soil of a new land, of a new continent, of a new world, it is impossible not to feel considerable excitement and deep interest in almost every object that meets us. New Orleans presents very little that can gratify the eye of taste, but nevertheless there is much of novelty and interest for a newly arrived European. The large proportion of blacks seen in the streets, all labour being performed by them; the grace and beauty of the elegant Quadroons, the occasional groups of wild and savage looking Indians, the unwonted aspect of the vegetation, the huge and turbid river, with its low and slimy shore, all help to afford that species of amusement which proceeds from looking at what we never saw before.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 476