ANTHONY TROLLOPE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4869, 7 December 1883, Page 3

ANTHONY TROLLOPE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

London, Oot. 22. The most interesting event of the past fortnight has unquestionably been the appearanoe of "Anthony Trollope's Autobiography." Thia may aeem a aurprieing statement to make, but it happens to be strictly veraoious. We have had no ghastly murders, no appalling suicides, no great fires, no astounding burglaries j in faot, no "first .lass sensations" of any description. The exoitement oaused by the Franoo*Spanish imbroglio soon died out, and but for the opportune publication of these entertaining volumes " sooiety " would liberally have had nothing new to gossip about. In Australia an 1 New Zealand the Trollope Autobiography ought to be speoially well reoeived. To many antipodeans tho deoeased novelist was personally known. He had a faculty for picking up acquaintances, and during his tour of the Colonies in 1871 he was introduced to almost everybody worth knowing in your part of the world. Bven those who had not the pleasure of meeting Trollope are sure to have read and enjoyed some of bis novels, and I therefore feel no hesitation in giving prominenoe to port ions of the strange story of his life. The autobiography oame out on Oot. 14, and was at onoe reviewed at great length in all the daily papers. I shall make use of some of these notioes presently, but the majority of the extracts will be taken from the volumes themselves, whioh are issued by the Messrs Blackwood, bound in maroon cloth. Prioe one guinea for the two volumes. Trollope wrote the story of his life in 1876, but it was not seen by any living soul till after his death last Deoember, when the MB, with a letter of instructions regarding publication, fell into his eldest son's hand. This letter, dated April 30, 1876, oontained the following passage:—"l wish you to acoeptaa a gift from me, given you now, the accompanying pages, which oontain a memoir of my life. My intention is that they ahall be published after my death, and edited by you. Bnt I leave it altogether to your discretion whether to publish or suppress the work, and also to your discretion whether any part, or what part, shall be omitted. The publication, if made at all, should be made aa soon ac possible after my death." _____ YOUTH AND SCHOOLDAYS. The ohild of an aoute, learned, unsuccessful, and bad-tempered Ohanoery barrister and of a lady whose novels were once almost as fashionable as her son's, Anthony Trollope passed in his youth through tho.e dreadful troubles whioh are bo infinitely diatreaaing beoause they oome before tbe means of consolation are discovered. It is painful to read the story of his sohool days, whioh he tells with suoh unflinching candour. Yet it is right that these things ahould be known. Silly writers represent boyhood aa the golden age, and talk of a lad's sohooldays aa the " happiest time of. life." There is no cruelty like the oruelty of boys. Trollope openly declares he was'miserable, and gives the reaaon. His oiroumstanoes were no doubt exceptional, for he was sent to Harrow as a day boy, and came to sohool in dirty boots after a long oountry walk. He was poor and awkward and anoouth, and of course be waa greatly bullied. The poor little boy suffered terribly. A OIiBBE IN THE POST OFF 108. At last Anthony Trollope, aged nineteen, wbb emancipated from school. Simultaneously the long-threatened catastrophe overtook bis father. One day in the March of 1834 an exeoution was put in at the farmhouse in Harrow, whioh—-scarcely to his credit, as it seems to va—the elder Trollope had deserted before the blow, of whose approaoh he waa aware, fell. The disconsolate family, with Mrs Trollope and her pen for its only support, followed the father to Belgium. They established themselves at Bruges, and here, for the seoond time, Mrs Trollope furnished '

a house. " There were six of us went into tbis new banishment. My brother Henry had. left Cambridge, and wee ill ; my father was broken- hearted aa well as ill} my elder sister and I were in good health, but I was an idle, desolate hanger-on, a hobbledehoy of nineteen, without any idea of a trade, oareer, or profession." In this house there died the elder Mr Trollope, his son Henry, and one of his daughters. All this time a roof was kept above their heads by the dauntless wife and mother alone. " I do not think," says Anthony Trollope, " that writing a novel is the hardest task a man may be called upon to do ; but it is a task demanding a spirit fairly at ease. The work of doing it with a troubled spirit killed Sir Walter Scott. My mother went through it unscathed in strength, though at the age of fifty -five she performed all the work of day ard night nurse to a siok house* hold. Her power of dividing herself into two parts, and keepiag her intelleot olear from the troubles of the world, I never saw equalled." After the death of her husband, Mrs Trollope moved first to England, and then in 1844 to Florenoe, where she died in 1863. She continued writing up to 1866, when she was seventy-six, and had at that time produoed 114 volumes, of whioh the firat was not written till ahe waa fifty. In 1834 Trollope accepted a olerksbip in the General Post Office, obtained for him by his mother's friend, Mrs Freeling. Boon afterwards the father died, and Mrs Trollope returned to England. HIB JIBST HOVBL. " When I had been married a year," he says, "my first novel was finished. In July, 1845, 1 took it with me to the North of England, and entrusted the MS. to my mother, to do with it the best ahe could among the publisher? in London. No one had read it but my wife ; nor, as far as lam aware, has any other friend of mine ever read a word of my writing before it was printed. She, I think, has so read almost everything, to my very great advantage in matters of taste. I am sure I have never asked a friend to read a line; ncr have I ever read a word of my own writing aloud— even to her'" Mr Trollope . aooount of " His first book, 'The Macdermots of Bally* olaran,' was published by means of his mother's influenoe, on the system of half profits, but it brought in nothing. Irish stories were not popular in 1847*8. For his third novel, 'La Vend.c,' he got £20, but it was a failure. Then he wrote a play called •The Noble Jilt,' but George Bartley, the actor, condemned it so strongly that it was not even offered to a manager. The plot was afterwards used in ' ' Oan Ton Forgive Her ? " a novel whioh Trollope regarded with speoial affeotion, beoause it was in it tbat the reader was first introduced to Lady Glenoora. In the oourse of 1851, while engaged in estab*. lishing rural posts in the west of England, Trollope visited Salisbury and oonoeived the story of " The Warden." " I have often been asked in what period of my life I had lived ao long in a Cathedral oity as to have beoome intimate with the ways of a Olose. I never lived in any Cathedral oity — exoept London, never knew anything of any Olose, and at that time had enjoyed no peonliar intimacy with any clergyman. My arohdeaoon, who haa been said to be life-like, and for whom I confess tbat I have all a parent's fond affection, was, I think, the simple result of an effort of my moral consciousness. * * I had not then even spoken to an arohdeaoon. I have felt the oompliment to be very great." "The Warden" was begun and put down again, and was not published till 1855. Trollope's inoome from the Post-offioe w«s then £800. The profits of "Ihe Warden" would not have helped to keep off the pinch of poverty. They were about £9 the first year and £10 the seoond. He had been writing artioles from time to time, but at the end ef 1857 he had reoeived only £55 " for the hard work of ten years." The greater part of " Barehester Towers " was written in the train, and subsequently Trollope got into the habit of writing in a railway oarriage. T^Oli-OPB'S VISIT TO A-BTBAMA AHD HBW ZHA_AtfD. Trollope does not devote muoh spaoe to his Australasian experiences. "I went to Australia," he saya, "chiefly in order that I might see my son amongst his sheep. I did see him amongst his sheep, and remained with him four or five very happy weeks. He was not making money, nor has he made money sinoe. I grieve to say that several thousand pounds whioh I had squeezed out of the pookets of perhaps too liberal pub* Ushers have been loßt on the venture. But I rejoioe to say tbat thiß has been by no means due to any fault of his. I never knew a man work with more persistence at a trade than he has done." Trollope deoided to publish a book on the Australian Colonies, and for this purpose visited them each in turn, devoting fifteen months to collecting materials. He wrote moat of the work on the way to San Franoiaoo, and took considerable paina with it. The result, however, waa not wholly aatiafaotory. The volumes in the author's opinion contain a variety of valuable information, "tbe result of unflagging labour and honeat industry ." But, alaa! they proved dull, heavy, and soaroely readable. " When I go baok to them I find the pages drag with me ; and if so with me how must it be with others who have none of the love whioh a father feels, even for his ill-favoured offspring. Of all the needs a book has, the ohief need is that it be readable." Although Trollope thought the volumes on ' Australia long and dull they had a great circulation, 2000 copies being sold of the very expensive edition alone. The author reoeived £1300 for writing the book, whioh does not seem a great deal considering the amount of labour entailed.