Anthony Trollope's 'An Autobiography' 1883

 

The Trollope Society edition - 1999

I am back with a Trollope - this time the Great Man on himself. Although written in 1878, he told his son Henry that it was not to be published until after his death - which occurred on 6th December 1882. Henry made no alterations to his father's text, but suppressed a few passages but not more than would amount to two printed pages has been omitted. He also added a list of the books his father had published subsequent to the Autobiography being written This included one of my favourites, Doctor Wortle's School. The list totalled a further thirteen works.

William Blackwood first edition - 1883

Trollope has been criticised for the almost mercenary feel that he gives to his career as a Man of Letters. Certainly, the pages abound with references to how much he made from his books and his financial dealings with publishers, but he is very honest about it. In his Conclusion, Trollope lists not only the title and publication date of each work, but the total sum accrued. I found it interesting that the novel he received most money for was Can You  Forgive Her? (1864), for which he gained £3,525; it is not a book I have read. The only other books to net him £3,000 or more were Phineas Finn (1869) and He Knew He Was Right (1869) - both at £3,200; Orly Farm (1862) at £3,135; and, for £3,000, Small House at Allington (1864), The Last Chronicle of Barset (1867) and The Way We Live Now (1875). Trollope totalled up his earnings by 1879 to £68,939 17s 5d. (which included £7,800 for Sundries!).

What also came across was the author's decided opinions on the merits, or demerits, of his books. He argues that Barchester Towers would hardly be so well known as it is had there been no Framley Parsonage and no Last Chronicle of Barset...The Three Clerks was a good novel... Doctor Thorne has, I believe been the most popular book that I have written - if I may take the sale as proof of comparative popularity...I have been surprised by the success of Doctor Thorne... I do not think that I have ever done better work on Orly Farm and Can You Forgive Her?...Outside Lily Dale and the chief interest in the novel, The Small House at Allington is, I think, good...Taking it as a whole I regard [The Last Chronicle of Barset] as the best novel I have written...The Way We Live Now was, as a satire, powerful and good... 

On the other hand, the story of The Bartrams is more than ordinarily bad, and as the book was redeemed by no special character it failed...Most of my friends say that [Orly Farm] is the best I have written. In this opinion I do not coincide...The Belton Estate is similar in its attributes to Rachel Ray and to Miss Mackenzie. It is readable and contains scenes which are true to life, but it has no peculiar merits and will add nothing to my reputation as a novelist... He Knew He Was Right - I do not know that in any literary effort I ever fell more completely short of my own intention than in this story...I look upon the story as being nearly altogether bad...Ralph the Heir have always thought it to be one of the worse novels I have written.  

It was good to read again about the embryo of The Warden: I visited Salisbury and whilst wandering there on a midsummer evening round the purlieus of the cathedral I conceived the story of The Warden - from whence came that series of novels of which Barchester with its bishops, deans, and archdeacon was the central site. What a wonderful and productive wander!

As for his place in the Pantheon of English Literature, he wrote: I do not think it probable that my name will remain among those who in the next century will be known as the writers of English prose fiction; but if it does, that permanence of success will probably rest on the characters of Plantagenet Palliser, Lady Glencora and the Revd Mr Crawley. Well, not having read about the first two, I couldn't possibly comment; but, surely, one has to add Septimus Harding, the Warden; Archdeacon Grantley; Mrs Proudie; and even Mr Slope to that list.

I did empathise with his comment about his own Library and its cataloguing: As all who use libraries know, a catalogue is nothing unless it shows the spot on which every book is to be found - information which every volume also ought to give of itself. Only those who have done it know how great is the labour of moving and arranging a few thousand volumes. At the present moment I own about 5,000 volumes, and they are dearer to me even than the horses which are going, or than the wine in the cellar which is very apt to go and upon which I also pride myself. Well, I own no horse nor do I possess a cellar, but my books (I have over 3,000 more than Trollope) are very dear to me.  Nearly all the hardbacks are catalogued - what would I do without Libib? - many of them listed and illustrated in my privately produced author bibliographies; and I can go straight to any book on a shelf that an enquirer wishes to peruse. It is a harmless, relatively inexpensive passion, but book-collecting is a disease, pleasant though it might feel.