Trifling as are the foregoing pages, and little as they may seem obnoxious to any very grave criticism, I am quite aware that they expose me to the reproach of having permitted myself to be wrought upon by the “wind of doctrine.” I will not deny the charge; but I will say in defence of this “shadow of turning,” (for it is in truth no more,) that I return with the same steadfast belief which I carried forth, in the necessity of a government for every country which should possess power and courage to resist at all times the voice of a wavering populace, while its cares were steadily directed to the promotion of the general welfare.
As well might every voice on board a seventy-four be lifted to advise the captain how to manage her, as the judgment of all the working classes in a state be offered on questions concerning her government.
A self-regulating populace is a chimera, and a dire one. The French have discovered this already; the Americans are beginning, as I hear, to feel some glimmerings of this important truth breaking in upon them; and for our England, spite of all the trash upon this point that she has been pleased to speak and to hear, she is not a country likely to submit, if the struggle should come, to be torn to pieces by her own mob.
Admirably, however, as this jury-mast of “the doctrine” appears to answer in France, where the whirlwind and the storm had nearly made the brave vessel a wreck, it would be a heavy day for England were she to find herself compelled to have recourse to the same experiment for safety — for the need of it can never arise without being accompanied by a necessity for such increased severity of discipline as would be very distasteful to her. It is true, indeed, that her spars do creak and crack rather ominously just at present: nevertheless, it will require a tougher gale than any she has yet had to encounter, before she will be tempted to throw overboard such a noble piece of heart of oak as her constitution, which does in truth tower above every other, and, “like the tall mast of some proud admiral,” looks down upon those around, whether old or new, well-seasoned and durable, or only skilfully erected for the nonce, with a feeling of conscious superiority that she would be very sorry to give up.
But whatever the actual position of England may be, it must be advantageous to her, as well as to every other country in Europe, that France should assume the attitude she has now taken. The cause of social order is a common cause throughout the civilised world, and whatever tends to promote it is a common blessing. Obvious as is this truth, its importance is not yet fully understood; but the time must come when it will be, — and then all the nations of the earth will be heard to proclaim in chorus, that
“Le pire des états, c’est l’état populaire.”
THE END
The Biographies
Frances Trollope’s final home was ‘Villino Trollope’ in Florence, where she lived with her son and daughter-in-law
Frances Trollope by Auguste Hervieu, c. 1832
FRANCES TROLLOPE by Richard Garnett
FRANCES TROLLOPE (1780–1863), novelist, born at Stapleton, near Bristol, on 10 March 1780, was the daughter of William Milton, afterwards vicar of Heckfield, Hampshire. Her mother, whose maiden name was (Frances) Gresley, died early; her father married again, and, although in no respect at variance with her stepmother, Frances after a while removed to London to keep house for her brother Henry, who had obtained an appointment in the war office. On 23 May 1809 she married.
Her husband, Thomas Anthony Trollope (1774–1835), was the son of Anthony Trollope (d. 1806), rector of Cottered St. Mary in Hertfordshire, by his wife, Penelope, sister of a Dutch immigrant, Adolphus Meetkerke; from the latter the Trollope family had pecuniary expectations, which were not destined to be realised. (The Rev. Anthony Trollope was a younger son of Sir Thomas Trollope of Casewick, the great-uncle of Admiral Sir Henry Trollope [q. v.]). Thomas Anthony, a Winchester scholar of 1785, was called to the bar from the Middle Temple in 1804, having graduated B.C.L. from New College, Oxford, in 1801; but his irritable temper frightened away the attorneys, nor was he more successful as a farmer in Harrow Weald. After remaining there ten years and building a house for himself, he determined to employ the remains of his fortune in another speculation, still less promising, that of establishing a bazaar for the sale of fancy goods in Cincinnati. The scheme was not improbably suggested by the enthusiastic Frances Wright [see Darusmont], whose acquaintance the Trollopes made through common friends who went out to America in the same ship. The Cincinnati scheme failed as completely as the Harrow farm, and Trollope returned to England; but his investments in house property in London were even more disastrous, and his unsuccessful efforts at money-making seem to have swallowed up a considerable portion of his wife’s literary earnings. ‘Failure seemed to follow him with almost demoniac malice’ until his death from premature decay, partly induced by an injudicious course of medicine, at the Château d’Hondt, near Bruges, on 23 Oct. 1835. He was buried in the cemetery outside the gate of St. Catherine at Bruges. He was a most industrious man, and to the last he was labouring with ridiculously insufficient materials upon ‘An Encyclopædia Ecclesiastica, or a complete History of the Church,’ of which one quarto volume (Abaddon–Funeral Rites) appeared in 1834. His likeness appeared ten years earlier as one of the lawyers in Hayter’s well-known picture of the ‘Trial of William, Lord Russell.’ A somewhat gloomy portrait is given of him by his sons, Thomas Adolphus and Anthony, in their reminiscences. Thomas Anthony and Frances Trollope had five children: Thomas Adolphus [q. v.]; Henry, who died at Bruges in December 1834; Arthur, who died young; Anthony [q. v.], the well-known novelist; Cecilia (d. 1849), who married (Sir) John Tilley, assistant secretary of the general post office, and published in 1846 ‘Chollerton: a Tale of our own Times;’ and Emily, who also died young.
The novel aspects of colonial society, which she witnessed during her visit to America between 1827 and 1830, stimulated in Mrs. Trollope remarkable powers of observation. The hope of redeeming the disastrous pecuniary failure involved by the expedition, inspired her with the idea of writing a book of travels.
‘Domestic Manners of the Americans,’ written before her return in the summer of 1831, was published in the spring of 1832, and brought her immediate profit and celebrity (it was favourably noticed by Lockhart in the ‘Quarterly,’ and it was subsequently translated into French and Spanish; the ‘American Criticisms’ on the work were published in pamphlet form in 1833). The authoress’s opportunities for producing a valuable book were considerable. She had spent four years in the country, travelled in nearly every part of it, associated with all classes, and unremittingly exercised a keen faculty for observation. If it notwithstanding fails to offer a completely authentic view of American manners, the reason is no want of candour or any invincible prejudice, but the tendency, equally visible in her novels, to dwell upon the more broadly humorous, and consequently the more vulgar, aspects of things. Mrs. Trollope was personally entirely exempt from vulgarity, but she knew her forte to lie in depicting it. Americans might therefore justly complain that her view of their country conveyed a misleading impression as a whole, while there is no ground for questioning the fidelity of individual traits, or for assuming the authoress’s pen to have been guided by dislike of democratic institutions. Much of the ill will excited by the book was occasioned by the freedom of her strictures on slavery, which Americans outside New England were then nearly as unanimous in upholding as they are now in denouncing.
But for this success Mrs. Trollope’s prospects would indeed have been dismal. Apart from her literary gains, the financial ruin of the family was complete. The house they had retained at Harrow (the ‘Orley Farm’ of Anthony Trollope’s novel) had to be given up. Her second son, Henry, long a consumptive, had died in December 1834, and her husband in October 1835. Mrs. Trollope evinced an extraordinary power of resistance in bearing up against these trials. She wrote to travel, and travelled to write, going systematically abroad, and producing books on Belgium (1834) and Paris (1835) — good reading for the day, but of little permanent value
. A chapter on George Sand, however, is remarkable. ‘Vienna and the Austrians’ was added in 1837. Mrs. Trollope was nevertheless well advised in devoting herself principally to fiction. ‘Tremordyn Cliff’ appeared in 1835; in 1836 she used her experiences of American slavery in the powerful story of ‘Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw.’ In 1837 and 1838 appeared her best known novels, ‘The Vicar of Wrexhill’ and ‘Widow Barnaby.’ Both exemplify her power in broad comedy, and confirm the criticism that the further from ideal refinement her characters are, the better she succeeds with them. This is especially the case with ‘The Widow Barnaby,’ a powerful picture of a thoroughly coarse and offensive woman, but so droll that the offence is forgotten in the amusement. A French version appeared in 1877. It is difficult to believe that Wrexhill (Rakeshill) and its vicar are not Harrow-on-the-Hill and the Rev. J. W. Cunningham; but the circumstance, taken for granted during the authoress’s life, has been denied since her death. However this may be, the book is a vigorous and humorous onslaught upon the evangelical party in the church, untrue to fact, but not to the conviction of the assailant.
Mrs. Trollope’s position as a novelist was now assured, and for twenty years she poured forth a continual stream of fiction, without producing any book which, like ‘The Vicar of Wrexhill’ or ‘The Widow Barnaby,’ achieved the reputation of a standard novel. If, as some of her friends thought, she possessed invention and depth of feeling, these endowments remain unused, and her works are generally successful in proportion as they reproduce her own experiences. ‘The Robertses on their Travels’ (1846), ‘The Lottery of Marriage’ (1849), ‘Uncle Walter’ (1852), ‘The Life and Adventures of a Clever Woman’ (1854), are perhaps the most remarkable of these later writings. But these also included in the department of fiction alone: ‘One Fault’ (1839); ‘Michael Armstrong’ (1840); ‘The Widow Married,’ a sequel to ‘The Widow Barnaby’ (1840); ‘The Young Countess’ (1840); ‘The Blue Belles of England’ (1841); ‘Ward of Thorpe Combe’ (1842); ‘The Barnabys in America’ (1843); ‘Hargrave, or the Adventures of a Man of Fashion’ (1843); ‘Jessie Phillips’ (1844); ‘The Lauringtons, or Superior People’ (1844); ‘Young Love’ (1844); ‘Attractive Man’ (1846); ‘Father Eustace, a Tale of the Jesuits’ (1846); ‘Three Cousins’ (1847); ‘Town and Country’ (1847); ‘Lottery of Marriage’ (1849); ‘Petticoat Government’ (1850); ‘Mrs. Matthews, or Family Mysteries’ (1851); ‘Second Love, or Beauty and Intellect’ (1851); ‘Uncle Walter’ (1852); ‘Young Heiress’ (1853); ‘Gertrude, or Family Pride’ (1855). Nearly all of these passed through several editions.
Mrs. Trollope’s later years were uneventful. Her circumstances were now easy, her novels producing on an average upwards of 600l. each, and some of her own property having apparently been recovered from the wreck of her husband’s affairs. She passed much time on the continent, and in 1843 settled at Florence with her eldest son, Thomas Adolphus [q. v.] She died there on 6 Oct. 1863, being buried in the protestant cemetery. The ‘Villino Trollope’ (as her son’s house was called) in the Piazza dell’ Indipendenza is marked by a tablet to her memory, erected by the municipality.
Mrs. Trollope’s success in a particular department of her art has been injurious to her general reputation. She lives by the vigour of her portraits of vulgar persons, and her readers cannot help associating her with the characters she makes so entirely her own. There is nothing in her letters to confirm this impression. She writes not only like a woman of sense, but like a woman of feeling. Though shrewd and observant, she could hardly be termed intellectual, nor was she warmly sympathetic with what is highest in literature, art, and life. But she was richly provided with solid and useful virtues— ‘honest, courageous, industrious, generous, and affectionate,’ as her character is summed up by her daughter-in-law. As a writer, the most remarkable circumstance in her career is perhaps the late period at which she began to write. It can but seldom have happened that an author destined to prolonged productiveness and some celebrity should have published nothing until fifty-two.
A portrait painted by Auguste Hervieu is reproduced in the ‘Life’ of 1895, together with another portrait from a drawing. A portrait sketch in watercolours by Miss Lucy Adams was acquired by the British Museum in 1861; it has been engraved by W. Holl.
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANTHONY TROLLOPE by Anthony Trollope
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I. MY EDUCATION. 1815-1834.
CHAPTER II. MY MOTHER.
CHAPTER III. THE GENERAL POST OFFICE. 1834-1841.
CHAPTER IV. IRELAND — MY FIRST TWO NOVELS. 1841-1848.
CHAPTER V. MY FIRST SUCCESS. 1849-1855.
CHAPTER VI. BARCHESTER TOWERS AND THE THREE CLERKS. 1855-1858.
CHAPTER VII. DOCTOR THORNE — THE BERTRAMS — THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN.
CHAPTER VIII. THE CORNHILL MAGAZINE AND FRAMLEY PARSONAGE.
CHAPTER IX. CASTLE RICHMOND — BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON — NORTH AMERICA — ORLEY FARM.
CHAPTER X. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON — CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? — RACHEL RAY — AND THE FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW.
CHAPTER XI. THE CLAVERINGS — THE PALL MALL GAZETTE — NINA BALATKA — AND LINDA TRESSEL.
CHAPTER XII. ON NOVELS AND THE ART OF WRITING THEM.
CHAPTER XIII. ON ENGLISH NOVELISTS OF THE PRESENT DAY.
CHAPTER XIV. ON CRITICISM.
CHAPTER XV. THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET — LEAVING THE POST OFFICE — ST. PAUL’S MAGAZINE.
CHAPTER XVI. BEVERLEY.
CHAPTER XVII. THE AMERICAN POSTAL TREATY — THE QUESTION OF COPYRIGHT WITH AMERICA — FOUR MORE NOVELS.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE VICAR OF BULLHAMPTON — SIR HARRY HOTSPUR — AN EDITOR’S TALES — CÆSAR.
CHAPTER XIX. RALPH THE HEIR — THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS — LADY ANNA — AUSTRALIA.
CHAPTER XX. THE WAY WE LIVE NOW AND THE PRIME MINISTER — CONCLUSION.
Portrait of Anthony Trollope, Frances Trollope’s famous son, by Napoleon Sarony
PREFACE.
It may be well that I should put a short preface to this book. In the summer of 1878 my father told me that he had written a memoir of his own life. He did not speak about it at length, but said that he had written me a letter, not to be opened until after his death, containing instructions for publication.
This letter was dated 30th April, 1876. I will give here as much of it as concerns the public: “I wish you to accept as a gift from me, given you now, the accompanying pages which contain a memoir of my life. My intention is that they shall be published after my death, and be edited by you. But I leave it altogether to your discretion whether to publish or to suppress the work; — and also to your discretion whether any part or what part shall be omitted. But I would not wish that anything should be added to the memoir. If you wish to say any word as from yourself, let it be done in the shape of a preface or introductory chapter.” At the end there is a postscript: “The publication, if made at all, should be effected as soon as possible after my death.” My father died on the 6th of December, 1882.
It will be seen, therefore, that my duty has been merely to pass the book through the press conformably to the above instructions. I have placed headings to the right-hand pages throughout the book, and I do not conceive that I was precluded from so doing. Additions of any other sort there have been none; the few footnotes are my father’s own additions or corrections. And I have made no alterations. I have suppressed some few passages, but not more than would amount to two printed pages has been omitted. My father has not given any of his own letters, nor was it his wish that any should be published.
I see from my father’s manuscript, and from his papers, that the first two chapters of this memoir were written in the latter part of 1875, that he began the third chapter early in January, 1876, and that he finished the record before the middle of April in that year. I state this, though there are indications in the book by which it might be seen at what time the memoir was being written.
So much I would sa
y by way of preface. And I think I may also give in a few words the main incidents in my father’s life after he completed his autobiography.
He has said that he had given up hunting; but he still kept two horses for such riding as may be had in or about the immediate neighbourhood of London. He continued to ride to the end of his life: he liked the exercise, and I think it would have distressed him not to have had a horse in his stable. But he never spoke willingly on hunting matters. He had at last resolved to give up his favourite amusement, and that as far as he was concerned there should be an end of it. In the spring of 1877 he went to South Africa, and returned early in the following year with a book on the colony already written. In the summer of 1878, he was one of a party of ladies and gentlemen who made an expedition to Iceland in the “Mastiff,” one of Mr. John Burns’ steam-ships. The journey lasted altogether sixteen days, and during that time Mr. and Mrs. Burns were the hospitable entertainers. When my father returned, he wrote a short account of How the “Mastiffs” went to Iceland. The book was printed, but was intended only for private circulation.
Every day, until his last illness, my father continued his work. He would not otherwise have been happy. He demanded from himself less than he had done ten years previously, but his daily task was always done. I will mention now the titles of his books that were published after the last included in the list which he himself has given at the end of the second volume: —
An Eye for an Eye,
1879
Cousin Henry,
1879
Thackeray,
1879
The Duke’s Children,
1880
Life of Cicero,
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 565