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VOL. I. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2008 with funding from 

IVIicrosoft Corporation 







In Two Volumes 

Volume One 


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{All Rights Reserved) 








I PREFIX these few words to the Memoir of Mrs. 
Trollope, not with any idea of trying to bespeak 
the reader's interest in my subject, or to beg his 
indulgence for my treatment of it. To the best 
of my judgment, such attempts are seldom jus- 
tifiable, and still more seldom successful. 

That I desire to create such interest, and that I 
need such indulgence, is very true. But I do not 
think I shall obtain them by begging for them. 

I wish merely, in the first place, to point out that, 
although Thomas Adolphus and Anthony Trollope 
have, in the course of their respective biographies, 
written of their mother, yet she appears — neces- 
sarily appears — only incidentally in their pages, 
and is seen only by a side-light. I have thought 
that her personality, and her literary career, 
merited being described more fully. 

I know not if there be another example in 
literature, of an author so voluminous and suc- 
cessful who had reached fifty years of age before 



the publication of his first work. Her sons believed 
the case to be unique. But surprise at the energy 
and industry which enabled her to accomplish so 
much, beginning at a period of life when most 
people are inclined to consider their work in the 
world as drawing to a close, is increased a hundred- 
fold when one is informed of the circumstances 
under which some of her best books were written. 

Those circumstances I have narrated as accu- 
rately as it was in my power to give them. As 
to the truth of my facts — a different thing, of 
course, from truth of drawing : since a figure of 
which each separate detail is correct may be 
utterly unlifelike, — as to the faithfulness with 
which I have copied the sources of my informa- 
tion, I may venture to speak confidently. 

In the second place, I desire to make my 
acknowledgments to all who have kindly supplied 
me with information, or lent me letters. To my 
dear friend and sister-in-law, Mrs. Anthony Trol- 
lope, to Miss Anna Drury, Mrs. Wayne, Mrs. 
Gifford, of Arlington House, Oxford, Mrs. G. 
Wharton-Robinson, Sir John Tilley, K.C.B., and 
Mr. H. M. Trollopc, I offer my best thanks. 





"I always come back to my old point: if the artist has a 
genuine subject given to him, he can do honest work." — Goethe, 
Italieiiische Reise. 

Forty years ago, any list of Englishwomen of 
Letters would have been held to be strangely in- 
complete without the name of Frances Trollope. 
Fashions change ; reputations fade ; books are 
forgotten. Nevertheless, an adequate acquaint- 
ance with the lighter literature of this century, 
must still include her works, or at least the names 
of the principal ones. It cannot be doubted that 
many greater writers than she are known to 
the majority of readers by means of the book- 
binder rather than the printer : i.e. by the lettering 

VOL. I. I 


on the backs of the volumes ! But the ".Domestic 
Manners of the Americans," and the "Vicar of 
X Wrexhill," arc still read by those who are curious 
about the manners and tone of thought of sixty or 
seventy years ago. 

Probably few persons at the present day are 
aware how high Mrs. Trollope's reputation stood 
\ in the third and fourth decades of this century ; — 
how much she was talked of, written about, praised, 
and, above all, abused. This latter was not the 
least of the testimonies to the power with which 
her pen was wielded. I remember reading, many 
years ago, in a forgotten journal of belles lettres, 
that a certain review (one of the mightiest and 
awfullest of the critical Areopagus) had called a 
certain female writer of repute " a poor worm ; " 
whereupon the journalist shrewdly observes that 
the awful reviewer must have been very angry, 
and that it took something considerably less in- 
significant than " a poor worm " to make him so ! 

Measured by this rule, Frances Trollope was 
assuredly not a poor worm, for she made some of 
her reviewers very angry indeed. In those days, 
political feeling entered very largely into the esti- 
mate of an author's works. If he were known to 
be a Liberal, the Tories assailed him ; if a Tory, 


the Radicals abused him. All literature of any 
pith and popularity was judged very much ,on / 
party lines. The advocates for an equal treat- 
ment of the sexes in Art — those who demand for 
women's work a fair field and no favour — could 
certainly not have complained that Mrs. Trollope 
was treated with any contemptuous indulgence by 
reason of her sex. The critics, big and little, who _^ / 
disliked her writings, belaboured them as heartily 
as though she had been a man — perhaps even a 
little more heartily ! She was " chastised with the 
valour of" their goosequills to a flattering point of 
■ruthlessness. Nevertheless, she was one of the 
most successful writers of her day. 

In the Neio Monthly Magadne for 1839 there 
appeared, together with a portrait of her, a brief 
memoir of Mrs. Trollope, from which I extract the 
following passages : — 

"In the following year (1832) she published the 
'Domestic Manners of the Americans;' and from that 
time to the present, a rapid succession of popular and 
successful works has confirmed and extended the repu- 
tation . which her first book achieved, and has won for 
her an undisputed place among the principal favourites 
of the public. . . . We would make a few remarks 
on one peculiarity in the reception which her works 
have met with. That Mrs. Trollope has, from the first 



commencement of her career up to the present time, been 
uniformly and eminently successful as an author, no one 
can gainsay or doubt. But, on the other hand, it is 
equally clear that scarcely any of her works have escaped 
the vehement and angry censure of some portion or 
other of the public press. Certainly no other author of 
the present day has been at once so much read, so 
p much admired, and so much abused." 

The writer of the memoir proceeds to account 
for these facts, by the intrinsic talent of her works 
on the one hand, and the uncompromising honesty 
of her character on the other. 

"There may," he continues, "be many persons more 
competent to form an opinion on many subjects than 
Mrs. TroUope. Her views may be distorted by preju- 
dice (as whose are not?), or she may form a judgment 
too hastily. But we confess that we set a very high 
value on Mrs. Trollope's opinion, for this reason : We 
are sure that, be the subject what it may, and displeasing 
to whom it may, that opinion will be freely, honestly, 
and boldly expressed. This is, it is true, a course which 
must and will make enemies (or opponents, rather); 
but we would hold up the example of Mrs. TroUope to 
all writers, as a proof that in authorship, as in other 
crafts, ' honesty is the best policy.' " 

v/ Whether politic or not, honesty was the onl)' 
course possible to Frances Trollopc. Truthful- 
ness in word and deed continued to be one of her 
most marked characteristics to the end of her life. 


Again and again her correspondents are found 
alluding to her "straightforwardness," "frankness," 
and " sincerity." Those who best knew her, could 
not doubt that when she narrated an incident or 
a conversation, she had actually witnessed what 
she described. Whether her inferences from the 
facts were always correct, is another question. Her 
feelings were ardent, her apprehension was lively, 
and she may sometimes, as her critic in the New 
Monthly observes, have formed a judgment too 
hastily. But it will scarcely be contended that 
the drawing of erroneous conclusions is monopo- 
lized by impulsive and warm-hearted persons ; or 
that it is impossible to be wrong after the coolest 
deliberation ! 

I am not, however, concerned to vindicate 
Frances Trollope's character for veracity as a 
writer. Time has done that on many points 
whereon some of her contemporaries impugned it. , 

My aim is to give as faithful a portrait as lies ""^ 
in my power, of a very remarkable Englishwoman, 
and of the circumstances and environment of her 
life. These are far enough removed — at all events 
as regards the earlier years of it — from the present 
period to have a certain quaint interest. And 
those readers who would wish their 


" clays to be 

Bound each to eacli by natural piety," 

must ever conteinplatc with tenderness, as well as. 
curiosity, any true picture of the generations that 
have preceded our own. There is pathos in. the 
sense of our human fellowship with those figures 
whose outward garb — as well of the mind as the 
body — was so different from that which we wear ; 
and in the recognition that the warm blood pulsed 
beneath high-waisted gowns, and voluminous 
muslin cravats, even as it pulses to-day under 
attire so superior in the all-embracing merit of — 

Perhaps, too, there may be some value for us 
in the increased respect for our vanished proge- 
nitors, which must assuredly ensue from the perusal 
of such domestic records as these. To say that 
there were virtue and intellect, as well as cakes 
and ale, in England when George the Third was 
King, would be, no doubt, to utter a mere platitude. 
But it has often occurred to me that the task of 
calling attention to the particulars involved in that 
general proposition, is not wholly superfluous. 
London, of course, has always been a centre of 
intellectual friction ; but in reading the papers 
from which the following pages have been com- 


piled, I have been much struck by the evidences 
of culture, refinement, and mental activity among 
very quiet families living in provincial towns and 
rural parsonages seventy or eighty years ago. 
And I have thought that what interested me so 
much, might have an interest for others. 

The records which I purpose laying before the 
reader, have at least the incontestable merit of 
truth. They consist chiefly of letters and diaries, 
not written with a view to meet the public eye. 
Such as they are, they are authentic and genuine. 
The earliest of them were written eighty-seven 
years ago, and they comprise glimpses of many 
memorable men and women. Of stirring outward 
adventure there is scarcely any. But there is 
enacted, during many years, an interior drama, 
which would be moving enough could I present 
it to the reader half as vividly as I realize it 





"... love will go by contrast, as by likes." 

/ Tennyso.x, The Sisters. 

Frances Milton, afterwards known in the lite- 
rary world as Frances Trollope, was born at 
Stapleton, near Bristol, on the loth of March, 
^1780. Her father was the Reverend William Milton, 
who held at that time a living at Stapleton, but was 
subsequently, and for many years, Vicar of Hcck- 
field, a New College Living just over the border 
of Berkshire, in Hampshire. Her mother was a 
Miss Gresley. That their descent on this side of 
the house was by no means ignored by her chil- 
dren, is proved by more than one jesting allusion 
to " the illustrious Norman blood that flows in 
our veins," and so on, in letters from her brother 
to Frances Milton. 

Mrs. Milton, nee Gresley, bore three children : 
Mary, Henry, and Frances. Of the early years 
of the Reverend William Milton's married life, 1 
have no record. His wife died while her children 


were still very young, and Mr, Milton subsequently 
married a Miss Partington, by whom he had no 
family. He was a man of some attainments as 
a mathematician ; and he had also a remarkable 
love for mechanics, and no inconsiderable abilities 
in that line. His tastes led him to spend a great \J 
deal of time and money on mechanical contriv- 
ances, from some of which he expected to reap 
large profits — an expectation which, it is perhaps 
needless to say, was never fulfilled. Mr. Milton's 
"patent coach," and the great fortune it was to 
earn, were the subject of some good-humoured y 
joking among his own family. But his mechanical /^ 
researches were not characterized by mere dilettante 
futility. A project of his for improving the port 
of Bristol, was deemed worthy of the thanks of 
the Corporation of that city, duly conveyed to 
him on an official parchment, which I have seen. 
And possibly some of his ideas may not have 
been unfruitful, but may, in a more or less modi- 
fied form, have contributed to the changes and 
ameliorations brought about by the great works 
subsequently undertaken in the docks and sea- 
approaches of Bristol. 

In the first chapter of T. Adolphus Trollope's 
^'What I Remember," affectionate mention is 



made of his grandfather Milton ; and mention, too, 
of the great coach-house at Heckfield Vicarage, 
" always full of the strangest collection of models 
of coaches." 

There never was the least quarrel — no shade of 
ill-will — between the young Miltons and their step- 
mother ; but when Henry Milton was appointed to 
a clerkship at the War Office, his two sisters left 
Heckfield, and accompanied him to London to 
keep house for him there. And very soon these 
young people attracted around them a pleasant 
circle of friends not at all of the commonplace 
order. It would be, perhaps, more accurate to 
attribute the special attraction to the wit and 
brightness of Henry Milton and his sister Fanny. 
Mary was a kind, excellent creature, sufficiently 
sensible, but not of shining parts. She married 
Captain, afterwards Admiral, Clyde, of the Royal 
Navy, and lived to be a very old woman, sur- 
viving her sister Fanny by a few years. Of Henry 
Milton I have heard from those who remembered 
him, that he was a peculiarly delightful companion 
in society, and quick to appreciate all that was 
best and brightest in the conversation of others. 
At the time when they first made the acquaintance 
of Mr. TroUope, the brother and sisters were living 


at No. 27, Keppel Street — the same street though 
not the same house as that in which the first 
years of Mr. and Mrs. Trollope's married life 
were passed. 

Anthony TroUope, in his autobiography, speaks 
with tender appreciation of certain letters that 
passed between his father and mother during their 
courtship, and in the early days of their marriage. 
And in his brother's " What I Remember " one 
or two of these letters are quoted. It would not 
have been " germane to the matter " in either of 
the above-named books, to fill many pages with 
this correspondence. It had but a collateral bear- 
ing on the main subject. But in the present case 
it forms part, and no unimportant part, of the 
subject itself No words of mine could so faith- 
fully and vividly present certain traits of character 
as they are shown in these old letters. 

The whole collection, consisting of thir.ty-seven 
letters, now lies before me, written on paper some- 
what yellowed by time, but with ink that has 
faded very little, in clear, neat characters. Mr. 
Trollope's is indeed a specially beautiful hand- 
writing in these earlier specimens of it. And he 
is always careful about dates ; which the lady is 
not. To pronounce on the subtle significance of 


certain habits, and to draw conclusions as to what 
our fcllow-crcaturcs must naturally have been 
likely to do, after we know them to have done 
it, is an ex post facto kind of wisdom of tempting 
facility. To me, who know his subsequent history, 
some of the peculiarities in Mr. Trollope's letters 
appear easy to account for. But I think that 
otherwise I should have been puzzled to reconcile 
them with other traits. For example, despite his 
scrupulous accuracy of mind, there are more errors, 
more slips of the pen, in his letters than in those 
of Miss Milton. Words are misplaced ; sometimes, 
but more rarely, omitted, and frequently made into 
orthographical monsters by tacking the tail of one 
to the head of another, in hurrying on towards 
what is to come next. It is as if the stream of 
his mind, though clear in itself, were constantly 
fretted by little rocks and boulders in its course. 
Hers flows on more smoothly, with a cheerful ease, 
like a brimming river between meadows. 

The first letter of the scries is dated Lincoln's 
Inn, July 19, 1809, and is anterior to any explicit 
love-making, although there were probably more 
or less vague suspicions in the Milton family that 
a barrister, very strenuously industrious in his 
profession, must have had a special motive for 


writing such long notes, and copying out so many 
verses, beyond the desire to make mankind better 
acquainted with the English poems of Crowe, or 
the Latin odes of the Rev. William Jones, of 

I premise that all the extracts from these letters 
are printed in scrupulous accordance with the 
originals. I have preserved spelling, punctuation, 
and underlining as I found them. 

*•' To Miss F. Milton. 
" My dear ]\Iadam, 

" Although I have been so long in performing 
my promise of sending you a copy of Crowe's verses, I 
trust you have given me credit for not having permitted 
it to escape my memory. . . . The few stanzas addressed 
' To an Ass,' I have taken the liberty of adding, not as 
in anywise equal to the Installation Ode, for indeed the 
subject does not admit it, but as a production of the 
same master, and as a contrast to the many paltry things 
upon the same or a similar subject, from the Neio School. 
The two little odes in Latin which you will also find 
enclosed, I shall be very much obliged to you to give to 
your brother. I flatter myself he will be very much 
pleased with them, and they will probably be new to 

* Crowe was a Fellow and Tutor of New College, and afterwards 
Public Orator of the University of Oxford. In support of Mr. 
TroUope's taste, it may be mentioned that Crowe's poems were 
highly praised by Rogers and Tom IMoore. The former studied 
him for versification, and declared his poem of " Lewesdon Hill " 
to be "full of noble passages." 


him. The first was written by the Rev. Wm. Jones, of 
Nayland (a name that will be long known and highly 
respected by every lover of elegant and biblical learning), 
in a moment, apparently, of despondency ; and at the 
extremity of public danger that existed in the portentous 
summer of 1792. . . . I have been so much pleased 
with these little odes that I would gladly see something 
like a translation of them in our own language. Perhaps 
your brother, at your request, might be induced to employ 
a leisure hour in giving them an English dress ; and 
that I might lessen the impertinence of my joining you 
in your entreaties, I have ventured at an attempt myself, 
and have sent, together with the originals, a few stanzas 
expressing what I conceive to be the sentiments of the 
first of them. The singular elegance and terseness of 
this ode I have not evert dared to imitate ; not only from 
a fear of my own powers proving deficient to such a task, 
but from thinking it incapable of being expressed in our 

" I beg my best respects to your brother, and trusting 
that you will both pardon the liberty which I cannot but 
acknowledge myself guilty of having taken, I have to 
assure you, 

" My dear Madam, that I am, 

" With the highest esteem, 
"Your most devoted humble servant, 

**Tho.s. Anth. Trollope." 

The "portentous summer of 1792" must have 
been well within the writer's recollection. He 
was then eighteen years old. The allusion to the 


" New School " was probably directed against the 
imitators of Wordsworth and Coleridge. The 
Lyrical Ballads, with the " Ancient Mariner," had 
been published in 1798. There was, doubtless, 
a great deal of literary as well as other rubbish 
extant in the year 1808; but for our benefit the 
good work has exemplified the doctrine of the 
survival of the fittest — a soothing reflection in 
these days of much printing, to those altruistic 
persons who are concerned for the happiness and 
improvement of posterity. 

The next letter from Mr. Trollope is concerning 
a certain umbrella, which he wishes Mr. Henry 
Milton to keep ; but its real purpose is evidently 
to give the writer an opportunity of addressing 
Fanny Milton. It is not worth quoting at any 
length, but there is one touch of nature in it that 
makes the whole (umbelliferous) world kin. Mr. 
Trollope writes — 

" I really hope you will indulge me in the request that 
it may henceforth be safely deposited in your house, since 
experience has shown that they are very apt to ramble 
from mine." 

This racial peculiarity of wandering away from 
its rightful owner is manifested as strongly as ever \ 
in theT?;^ de siecle umbrella ! ^ 


Miss Milton scribbled a hasty reply on the 
blank sheet of this letter, which had been sent 
out by hand, transmitting an invitation from her 
brother to Mr. Trollopc to dine with them "on 

There is an unimportant note from him a few 
days later, thanking her for the loan of a book by 
Miss Edgeworth ; and then comes the letter that 
decided the fate of both their lives. It is undated 
— a circumstance proving the strong preoccupation 
of the writer's mind — but I find from other evi- 
dence that it was written on the ist of November, 

" To Miss Fanny Milton. 
" My dear Madam, 

" In the course of last spring, I was no little 
delighted with the subject a certain debating Society had 
chosen for their weekly discussion, which, to the best of my 
recollection, was in the words, or to the effect following : 
' Is it most expedient for a man to make an avowal of 
his attachment to a lady viva voce, anglic^ tctc-a-tctc, or by 
epistolary correspondence?' What the determination 
was that these learned orators came to upon a question 
that must have been so interesting to all unmarried men, 
did not reach me ; neither is it of consequence to me 
upon the present occasion. But my reason for adverting 
to this proposed debate, is because I well remember, 
and probably, my dear Madam, you may also, that there 
was one, altho' not of this honourable Society, who 


expressed a most decided opinion upon the subject ; and 
to that opinion I now think myself bound to submit. 
To me, I must confess that the question appeared to be 
calculated to afford an ample field for declamation, and 
to be attended with considerable difficulty, but I believe 
that the only observation I made at the time, was that 
which Sir Roger de Coverley found so convenient and 
apposite upon almost all occasions : ' Much was to be 
said on both sides of the question.' And indeed, having 
discovered your sentiments, and having no occasion to 
waste any further thoughts upon the subject, my mind, 
I confess, continues much in the same state of dubiety. 
In submitting, therefore, to your opinion, I am making 
no sacrifice of my own, altho' had the sacrifice been 
necessary, your ideas, as they ought, would have been 
the sole guide of my choice. 

" I little thought, my dear ]\Iadam, that this preface 
would have run to so considerable a length ; since, how- 
ever, it explains the motive of my now addressing you, 
it will save me the necessity of a more explicit avowal, 
and sufficiently declare to you that my future happiness 
on earth is at your disposal. 

"It is impossible but that I must feel every anxiety 
till I am favoured with your reply to this note, yet I 
shall say nothing under the hopes of accelerating it If, 
indeed, as I trust is the case, you are not entirely unaware 
that my chief delight has long since had its source in 
your society and conversation ; and if, permit my vanity 
to indulge the hope, there has been the slightest degree 
of mutuality in this delight, then perhaps — I confess 
I scarcely know what I was going to say, but perhaps 
you would not require three weeks for passing a sentence 

VOL. I. 2 


on which I must so anxiously depend. Many circum- 
stances, however, I know must, and indeed ought to be 
taken into consideration before this serious, this final 
step can be resolved upon. There is no one perhai)s 
that has a greater contempt for those who are induced 
to contract alliances upon motives of a pecuniary nature, 
than I have ; but at the same time I have had experience 
enough to teach me that happiness is not to be expected 
where the parties are no longer capable of enjoying 
those necessaries and comforts of life to which they have 
been accustomed, and which are commonly incident to 
the rank and situation they hold in society. 

"With these sentiments, and believing them to be 
your own, as indeed they must be those of every sensible 
and considerate person of either sex, I deem it an in- 
dispensable duty in addressing myself to you on this 
subject in which all my dearest interests are involved, 
to make an open declaration of what grounds I have to 
hope for the enjoyment of those comforts above alluded 
to. But in doing this I have much to fear that you will 
think me by far too sanguine; and indeed I too well 
know myself that at any rate my hopes of happiness 
must be postponed to a distant day. 

" My present income, tho' somewhat uncertain since 
])art of it arises from my profession, is about ^900 per 
annum, but as near ^^200 of this proceeds from my 
Fellowship at Oxford, this last emolument would drop 
should I be no longer deemed a fit member of that 
Society. I should also add that this income, trifling as 
it is, is subject to certain incumbrances, but as it is 
much beyond my expenditure as a single man, they are 
gradually wearing away. 


"I trust, my dear jNIadam, you will not think me 
presumptuous, nor imagine that I have been premature 
in stating these particulars ; for surely if they are worthy 
of our consideration at any time, it must be more candid 
to enter into them at the first instance (altho' perhaps 
the vulgar prejudice of an unthinking mind might lead 
to a different conclusion) than to be obliged to have 
recourse to them at a subsequent period. Indeed I 
feel no apprehension that my motives will be liable to 
have an unfavourable construction put upon them by 
one whose — but let me avoid compliments, which were 
always my detestation — fit tools only for knaves, and to 
be employed against fools. 

" I must now draw this long letter to a conclusion ; 
a letter perhaps chiefly to be remarked by its singu- 
larity, and particularly in its manner and style being so 
little adapted to its subject. — If I have erred in this, I 
must admit that it has been in a great measure with 
design, as my sole object has been to make a declaration 
which I could no longer conceal, and at the same time 
to state those circumstances a knowledge of which, in 
•case you should think the subject of my writing 
worthy your consideration, would be necessary for that 
purpose. — In doing this in the most simple manner, and 
in rejecting the flippant nonsense which I believe to be 
•commonly used on occasions of this nature, I doubt not 
I have acted as well in conformity with your sentiments, 
as those of 

" My dear IVIadam, 

" Your sincere admirer and most devoted servant, 
" Thos. Anth. Trollope." 



There, young ladies and gentlemen, is an 
authentic offer of marriage made in the days of 
your great-grandfathers ! 

But that it is an unusual specimen of such an 
offer, even in those days, the writer himself, as 
he says, is aware. It is curious to watch the 
subterranean fire spurt out from beneath the iron- 
bound crust with which the wooer has chosen to 
cover it. The unfinished sentence, for example, 
where he confesses that he hardly knows what 
he was about to say — the sudden curvet from the 
straight track sternly laid down for his pen, being 
plainly due to the ecstatic vision he has allowed 
himself to glance at, of charming Fanny Milton's 
having some delight in his society ! And then, 
again, the rigid way in which he pulls up his 
Pegasus — throwing it, as it were, on its haunches 
— when he finds himself rushing into the language 
of compliment ! A cold man does not write in 
that way. A cold man is under no apprehension 
lest his feelings should run away with him. The 
exaggerated repression of all verbal tenderness 
in the letter may be a fault, or an error rather ; 
but it does not spring from coldness of tempera- 

And now here is the lady's answer, undated 


by her, but endorsed by its recipient : " F. M., 
received 2nd November, 1S08," 

" It does not require three weeks' consideration, Mr. 
Trollope, to enable me to tell you that the letter you left 
with me last night was most flattering and gratifying to 
me. I value your good opinion too highly not to feel 
that the generous proof you have given me of it must 
for ever, and in any event, be remembered by me with 
pride and gratitude. But I fear you are not sufficiently 
aware that your choice, so flattering to me, is for your- 
self a very imprudent one. You have every right in an 
alliance of this kind, to expect a fortune greatly superior 
to any I shall ever possess. And I agree too perfectly 
with you in your ideas on this point not to think that 
you ought to be informed of the truth in this particular 
iefore you decide on so important a subject. All I 
have independent of my father is ;^i3oo, and we each 
recieve from him at present an annual allowance of 
^50. What he would give either of us were we to 
marry, I really do not know. 

" In an affair of this kind, I do not think it any dis- 
advantage to either party that some time should elapse 
between the first contemplation and final decision of it ; 
it gives each an opportunity of becoming acquainted 
with the other's opinion on many important points which 
<:ould not be canvassed before it was thought of, and 
which it would be useless to discuss after it was settled. — 
I have to thank you for chosing that manner of address- 
ing me which I once so vaguely said I thought the 
best, but I have more than once since I began writing 
this, wished I had not said so. — I have not, nor can I 


express myself quite as I wish. There is something of 
cold formality in what I have written, which is very 
foreign to what I fed, — but I know not how to mend it. 

"Fann'v Milton." 

A novelist would scarcely venture to let his 
heroine write a similar letter under similar cir- 
cumstances, nowadays. It might possibly fail 
to enlist the reader's sympathies. And yet the 
formality of it docs not strike one as being 
repellant. It is the result of unaffected, mgdest 
dignity. Since Jlc has chosen to keep his expres- 
sions within such rigid bounds, it is not for Jicr 
to be more expansive. In a word, the manner 
may be somewhat obsolete, but the sentiment 
is not. Already, in these early written records 
of her mind, we sec the same open candour which 
always distinguished it. She goes straight to 
the point in speaking of her pecuniary position, 
without any ambages. 

The lover answers instantly, beginning this 
time "My dearest Madam," and, signing himself 
" Yours most truly and devoutly," says : " I am 
made most happy by the answer you have done 
me the honour of giving to my letter of last 
night ; " and begs for a personal interview without 


After this the correspondence ceases until the 
first days of December, when Miss Milton had 
returned to her father's house at Heckfield, whence 
she writes to announce her safe arrival. The 
letter is dated December 2, 1808. 

She begins by saying that "spite of being 
qiiized^^ {sic) she would* have written as he 
desired, yesterday, had it been possible to do 
so. But the postman had left the Vicarage an 
hour before she reached it. Her father was not 
able to meet her in Reading at the end of the 
coach journey, being obliged to dine out, "but 
his servant did, and I had a fine, clear, cold, 
moonlight evening for my eight-miles jumble in 
his patent cai-t." She has not been able to see 
her father before writing — 

"But Mrs. ]\Iilton, who I told you settled all these 
things has been telling me what it is their intention to 
give me. . . . She says my father cannot now give me 
more than ;£i2oo stock, and another ;£ioo for clothes; 
that at his death I am to have the third of the little 
estate I mentioned to you ; and at hers, the third of 
^2000. I am afraid, nay I know, this is less than you 
must have expected, and this vexes me much. . . . 
Ought not this to make a difference as to the itme at 
which you mean to burden yourself with a poor wife ? 
Indeed I think it ought. ... I am certainly sinning 


against ctiqitctfc in writing to you first, but if you do not 
mean that I should understand you are shocked at my 
doing so, you will let me have a line from you Tuesday. 
My father seemed much pleased by your letter ; he bids 
me tell you he will answer it in person. Loth he and 
]Mrs. M. send their best regards to you, and I am — 
" Yours very truly, 

" Frances Milton." 

"Fanny" had been written first, but the pen 
had been drawn through it. There was probably 
some jest between them on this subject, for in the 
first letter in which INIr. Trollopc uses her Chris- 
tian name, he calls her " Fanny," and underlines 
the word twice. Although her books, and almost 
all her business communications bore the name 
of Frances, Fanny was her home name all her life. 

Mr. Milton went to town and had an interview 
with his intended son-in-law, which appears to 
have been satisfactory. The correspondence 
between Frances Milton and her betrothed con- 
tinues, with a few interruptions occasioned by her 
visiting London, or his visiting Heckfield, until 
the date of their marriage, which took place in 
the following May. These jaunts appear to have 
been frequent. Nothing, indeed, strikes one more 
in reading of the domestic records of those days, 
than the perpetual movement and change of place 


which went on among the Miltons, the TroUopes, 
and all the widespread ramifications of their kin- 
dred and friends. Some of us are accustomed to 
think of those pre-steam - locomotive times as 
being necessarily stay-at-home times, when a 
journey once a year was a stirring event that fell 
to the lot of comparatively few families. But that 
is not the impression given by the documents 
before me. Indeed, I suppose that we English 
folk have always had a travelling strain in the 
blood of us ; and it is certain that we have never, 
speaking nationally, been apt to renounce an aim 
we were inclined to, because its attainment was 
not perfectly easy. 

It would be tedious and unnecessary to give all 
the letters during courtship in extenso ; but I ex- 
tract such passages as appear to me to have 
any interest for the reader of to-day, and also 
one or two that throw a strong light on the 
character of the writers, or carry on the story of 
their lives. 

Mr. Trollope, writing on the 5th of December, 
1S08, mentions having received a visit from Dr. 
Nott, who came to get his assistance as a solicitor, 
and "appeared surprised," says the writer, with a 
touch of hauteur, " that I did not practise in that 



character." The Reverend Doctor's visit (he was a 
prebcndar)- of Winchester) was occasioned by some 
difficulty that had arisen between himself and the 
parishioners of a living to which he had lately been 
appointed, on the subject of tithes. " The Jisual 
subject of tithes," as Mr. Trollope says. And he 
adds, " There ndver was a man, I believe, so little 
c6nversant with the common circumstances of life." 
This Dr. Nott is described by T. Adolphus Trollope 
in " What I Remember," as a refined-looking old 
clergyman who was an elegant Italian scholar. 
But he evidently knew less about tithes. He con- 
tinued to be a valued friend of the Trollope family 
as long as he lived. 

Discussions are carried on between Lincoln's 
Inn and Heckfield Vicarage, as to the choice of a 
house for Mr. Trollope and his bride. The house 
No. 16, Keppel Street, where they ultimately re- 
sided, was Mr. TroUope's own property. He 
mentions in one letter that he has had an offer of 
two thousand guineas for it. It is considered 
larger than the newly married couple will require ; 
while, on the other hand, No. 27, where' the younger 
Miltons lived, was pronounced too small. This 
must have been solely on the score of dignity ; 
since a house that had sufficed to accommodate 


the brother and two sisters, would, of course, have 
held Mr. Trollope and his wife. 

It is noticeable how large a part books play 
throughout the correspondence. Scarcely a letter 
passes without some literary allusion. Henry 
Milton scribbles a word on the outside flap of the 
great square letter about to be despatched by Mr. 
Trollope, thanking his sister for a foreign grammar ; 
there is a question of lending an Italian dictionary ; 
and the current reviews are constantly quoted and 
referred to. Fanny Milton sends an Italian sonnet 
to \\Qr Jiancc, feeling sure that he will be able to 
make out its meaning, as her father can read 
Italian chiefly by means of his knowledge of 
Latin (!) The enamoured gentleman makes the 
required attempt, but honourably confesses that 
he has failed ; and remarks that he cannot believe 
any one would be capable of tasting the beauties 
of an Italian poem, with no more preparation than 
a classical education. Mr. Milton must, therefore, 
he opines, have had some acquaintance with Italian 
grammar — which proves to have been the case. 

It is rather startling to find a lady who was still 
living in the twenty-fifth year of our Queen's reign, 
writing with some warmth on the disputed question 
of the authenticity of Rowley's poems, and finding 



it difficult to believe they were written by " an un- 
educated boy of seventeen." Chattcrton had been 
dead thirty-nine years in 1809, but a volume then 
recently published by a Dr. Sherwin had, to some 
ephemeral degree, revived the old controversy. 
" The subject," says Miss Milton, " is very interest- 
ing to us all at the Vicarage." 

Some portion of "this interest may perhaps be 
ascribed to the Miltons' connection with Bristol. 
A family named Hellicar, who were Fanny ]\Iilton's 
cousins through a Gresley alliance, is often alluded 
to throughout these letters, and in the correspond- 
ence of many subsequent years. They were, 
apparently, Bristol merchants of considerable 
wealth. In view of the approaching marriage, 
Mrs. Hellicar sends a cordial invitation to the 
betrothed couple to visit her on their bridal journey. 
"Either," writes Fanny Milton, in transmitting the 
invitation to Mr. Trollope, " at the Hellicars' 
beautiful villa at Leigh, about six miles from 
Bristol, or in their mansion in Bristol." I suppose 
the great Bristol merchants have all migrated to 
Clifton in these days. 

Mr. Trollope's family have all received the 
announcement of his engagement very satisfac- 
torily. Miss Milton has had " a very affectionate 


letter from your sister Die " (she had married her 
first cousin, Rev. Henry TroUope, brother of the 
fifth and sixth baronets), and is to meet "your 
uncle and Mrs. Meetkerke " when she comes to 
town. Sir John and Lady Trollope hope to make 
her acquaintance, and the former inquires privately 
of his cousin, Thomas Anthony, what sort of 
wedding present would be most acceptable. No 
course of true love could have run more smoothly 
than theirs in these days of courtship. 

The gentleman's letters become not merely 
more voluminous, but much easier and warmer in 
their tone. There is a good deal of playfulness 
in many of them, which contrasts strangely with 
the ascetic, joyless temper ascribed to him by both 
his sons in later years. Apropos of Miss Milton's 
saying that she had sinned against etiquette in 
writing to him first, he rejoins — 

" Now the ice has been broken — since a letter has 
been written both by yourself and me since your depar- 
ture from London, I presume no etiquette can possibly 
be violated in suffering me to hear from you again. But 
if it should be thought so, do Avrite and tell me of it, — 
and when writing, you know, you certainly may tell me 
anything else ! " 

Several times he indulges in what, according 
to the norma loqnendi of to-day, is styled " chaff " 


(he would probably have termed it raillery), on the 
subject of her share in the profits of the patent 
coach. Her father, it seems, has formally made 
over to her one-third of these — whenever they 
happen to accrue ! And Mr. Trollope charges 
her with having concealed the fact with a view of 
keeping back a thousand a year or so, for her own 
private pin-money. 

Again, in urging her to make a visit to town 
(she has taken up her abode at Heckfield, where 
the marriage preparations are going on in a leisurely 
fashion), he writes — 

" I called on Mrs. Young who hoped you would return 
to town before the 13th of next month, as they have 
issued a few packs of cards for that evening, with ' a 
violin ' at the bottom. The dance, I can assure you, is 
intended to be a very gay one, and the old dowagers are 
all invited for the loth, that they may not be in the way 
of tlie younger party on the 13th." 

This division of the guests smacks, to our 
notions, rather of a modern transatlantic fashion, 
than of anything pertaining to English manners 
in the reign of King George the Third ! But 
there is nothing new under the sun. 

One new thing, by the way, is mentioned in a 
letter of Mr. Trollope's, written in the first days 
of 1 809 : 


" Have you learnt that the public is threatened with 
an opposition Edinbord Review, under the name of The 
Quarterly, and under the auspices of Walter Scott ? 
A quarrel between some of the editors of the famous 
work, is said to have given rise to this new undertaking, 
and that the indignation of W. Scott has no little served 
to inflame it. I shall be sorry to see the talents divided, 
and to give \os. for what we have given only 5^., for 
this must be the consequence, I presume. Another new 
review has already made its appearance conducted by 
the veteran Cumberland, and bearing his name. The 
chief peculiarity in it, is the signatures by the parties 
reviewing. I have not yet seen it, but the account I 
hear of it is by no means favourable. Indeed I should 
not augur well of it." 

I can find no mention elsewhere of this review 
conducted by Richard Cumberland. It probably 
did not survive above one or two numbers. Cum- 
berland died Ln 181 1. The reader will have 
remarked that Mr. Trollope purposes, as a matter 
of course, buying both the Edinburgh and the 
Quarterly, although he is sorry to give ten shillings 
instead of five for his feast of reason. 

In the same letter he enters into an elaborate 
examination of the principal articles in the current 
number of the Edinburgh Reviezv ; especially one 
on the poet Burns — who at this time had been 
dead about twelve years, — showing a familiar 


acquaintance with, and love for his poems. Mr, 
Trollope writes — 

" There is a critique upon Burns, brought in Head and 
shoulders as you will perceive. In quoting some stanzas 
from the Cottager's {sic) Saturday Night, it is surprising 
they should stop short just before the most enchanting 
verses that perhaps Burns ever wrote, and particularly 
since they have mentioned them as an instance of great 
force of tenderness and truth. You cannot forget the 
two stanzas beginning ' O happy love.' " 

On another occasion Fanny Milton, writing to 
him of a lady who seems to have incurred a little 
ridicule by her manner, says very happily, " She 
has a most innocent and friendly heart, and that, 
as you quoted from your Burns, is ' what makes us 
right or wrong.' " On her part she says that her 
days are divided between walking, sewing, and 
" Dante or some of his brethren." So that these 
folks in the quiet Heckfield Vicarage live habitually 
in very exalted company. 

It is noteworthy that French phrases occur rather 
frequently, not only in her letters, but his. He 
writes: "Adieu! Aime-moi bicn. Aimc-moi 
toujours." And once, with a rare breaking away 
from his habitual shy sobriety of expression, he 
ends with these words: "Adieu! Mon ame est 
toute pleine dc toi ! " In answer to his prayer, 


" Aime-moi toujours ! " she writes : " Love you 
always ? I believe I must, for I cannot help it, 
even though you do scold me when I don't deserve 
it" And in relation to some small misunderstand- 
ing between them, she says — 

" Would Easter were come, and then we could quarrel 
comfortably at our leisure. But at this distance I do not 
love it so well. One written word that looks like anger, 
may be read a great many times before the forgiving one 
comes to efface it." 

Many topics of the day are touched on in the 
course of the correspondence. An elopement in 
high life, which created a great public scandal at 
the time, is made the text for some grave moraliz- 
ing on Mr. Trollope's part. 

" The increase of the most marked depravity in the 
highest circles, the great effrontery with which this is 
accompanied, and the very little discountenance it has 
to struggle with, is truly deplorable. It is a real national 
misfortune, the effects of which I think are easily to be 
foreseen, and much to be dreaded." 

Another time Miss Milton writes in great distress 
about the trial of two gentlemen whom her family 
have known intimately, and who, she hears, have 
been condemned for wilful imcrder on the occasion 
of the duel in which Lord Falkland was killed. 

VOL. I. 3 


But Mr, Trollope's legal knowledge enables him 
to assure her that the verdict was returned against 
some person or persons unknown, and that Mr, 
Powel — in whom the Miltons are especially in- 
terested, and of whom she says, " From my know- 
ledge of his character, I believe him to be as little 
to blame as any one can be who fights a duel " — is 
in no danger. 

The burning of Drury Lane Theatre furnishes 
one or two paragraphs to one of Mr. Trollope's 
letters. On the 28th of February, 1809, he writes — 

*' Of the burning of Drury Lane Theatre, of course I 
can give you no further account than what you have 
heard from the newspapers. The loss must be great 
indeed, extending to a very large number of people. 
The spectacle, the whole of which I beheld from the 
roof of my chambers [in Lincoln's Inn] was most awful 
and magnificent. There never has been remembered a 
fire that displayed so tremendous, and at the same time 
so truly beautiful a sight. Every part of that large and 
superb structure was enveloped in flames at the same 
moment, and in about two hours was laid in ruins ; a 
small fragment of those lofty walls' only remaining to 
mark in a more powerful manner the havoc and devasta- 
tion this mighty element had spread around. Many 
rumours have been circulated of this dreadful conflagra- 
tion having been occasioned by design ; but I am happy 
to say there appears to be no foundation for them. They 
seem indeed only to have arisen from the remarkable 


coincidence of the two great theatres of the metropolis 
being consumed by fire in the short space of about five 

And now comes a letter, of which I will transcribe 
a'great portion, because I think it a most curious 
piece of self-revelation ; and because it shows the 
spring and fountain-head of much of that deplor- V 
able gloom and unamiability of manner which . 
became in after-years so heavy a trial to his family, ^ 
and so dark a cloud over his own daily life. Of 
course it did not bring all this enlightenment to 
Fanny Milton as she read the closely crossed pages 
of her lover's regular and beautiful handwriting. 
But the ex post facto wisdom is again instructive 
to us. 

The letter is dated May 4, 1809, three weeks 
before their marriage. After repudiating a charge 
— made, seemingly, only half in earnest — that he 
did not find Heckfield supremely interesting, he 
thus proceeds — 

" But perhaps I ought rather to accuse myself as the 
author of them. [The doubts she had expressed.] 
Perhaps they have arisen from the cold and flegmatic 
manner of telling you how anxious I always am of know- 
ing you are well, and particularly of receiving that 
intelligence from yourself. But, my dearest love, are 
you still to learn my character and sentiments? Are 


you yet to be informed in what detestation I hold all 
ardent professions, and in what admiration actions that 
want not the aid of declamation, but boldly speak for 
themselves? When I see a man vehement in his ex- 
pressions without any apparent or sufficient cause, I am 
always inclined to suspect him. If he states to me a 
plain fact and takes unnecessary pains to inforce the 
truth of it, I immediately conclude it to be false. — From 
these ideas, which perhaps you will say are not very 
liberal ones, though I think they are founded upon 
reason, and confirmed by observation, it may not be 
improbable that I often seem to be too cautious of 
maki'ng use of what might be considered a natural and 
becoming warmth in my declarations ; but I confess, 
whether it is from entertaining such sentiments as these 
myself, or from any other cause, / always fed afraid of 
raising doubts to the prejudice of my own sincerity * by 
professing too much, or declaring myself in too vehement 
a manner. Besides, if our professions are only consistent 
with our actions, where is the necessity for them ? If 
they go beyond them, they are evidently not to be 

There seems to me to be something very 
pathetic in the honest wrong-headedness of this 
thoroughly candid statement. I think that in all 
the circumstances of his after-life, where he put 
himself into antagonism with his family, and 
chilled the affection of his children it was Mr. 

* The italics in this sentence are mine. — F. E. T. 


Tollope's head, and not his heart, that was re- 
sponsible for the evil. In latter years ill-health, 
and the extraordinarily incautious use of powerful 
drugs, no doubt increased his nervous irritability 
until he lost power to control it. But here in his 
own avowed theory of life, we see the germ of the 
deepest mischief. Because we may fairly mistrust 
statements made in an exaggerated or too em- 
phatic tone, therefore, forsooth, an honest man is 
not to speak warmly out of the fulness of his 
heart ! 

Yes, it is the head that is wrong, in spite of his 
clear mental vision and power of tracking a logical 
fallacy, let it shift and double as it may. No man 
can live reasonably with his fellow men by dint of 
reason alone. We need sympathy also — sympathy 
that is "as broad and general as the casing air," 
and for which no. space is too vast, no cranny too 
insignificant. Logic is, of course, merely a tool of 
the mind. It can shape our thoughts, but cannot 
create them. It is impossible to pack the whole 
of human life into syllogisms, because we are 
unable to formulate premises comprehensive 
enough ; and the least little chink in the premise 
may let in a great flood of error. Mr. Trollope 
had strong feeling, but he mistrusted and starved 


it. " If our professions," he says, " arc only con- 
sistent with our actions, where is the necessity for 
them ? " The necessity for them lies deep in 
human nature. He does not see that, in a vast 
number of cases, kind words are kind actions. 

And the same habit of mind led him, I believe, 
into some of his gravest errors in matters of 
business. It was reasonable, he would argue, that 
such and such things should happen; ergo he must 
and would take such and such a course. But he 
made no allowance for the unreasonableness — or at 
any rate for our inability to trace the reason — of 
the complex circumstances furnished by human 
passions and prejudices, nay, even by the weather 
and the crops. And conscious of the unim- 
peachable nature of his logic, he clung to projects 
as fantastical as Alnaschar's, with sundry disastrous 
consequences to himself and others. 

But those days are still distant, and for the 
present all is sunny with the betrothed couple. 
I know nothing more sweet and touching than the 
following passages from Fanny Milton's reply to 
the foregoing letter : — 

"What you say of professions is very just. Nay I 
think it is great and noble. • But yet one cannot help 
being pleased (at least women, I believe, cannot) with 


expressions as well as proofs of tenderness from those 
they love. Vehement professions I think I detest as 
much as you can. Indeed vehemence^ ihd it may express 
passio?i, can never express tenderness. But I own my 
heart welcomes a look or a word of fondness from those 
who are dear to me, as cordially as it does more un- 
equivocal proofs of attachment." 

On the 23rd of May, 1809, Francis Milton was 
married to Thomas Anthony Trollope at Heckfield. 
The yellow old bundle of letters contains only two 
or three written after the marriage, with a couple 
of extracts from which I will bring this chapter to 
a close. 

On the loth of August, 18 10, Mrs. Trollope is at 
her father's house with her first-born child, Thomas 
Adolphus, then an infant between three and four 
months old. Her husband is at Bedford on circuit, 
and writes thus : — 

" My dearest Fanny, 

" I have this moment received your letter, and 
have been made as happy as I can be at so great a 
distance from one whom I will not name to you, at the 
tidings it contains. — That ' all's well and Tom and his 
mamma are enjoying themselves in the country ' is the 
source of the greatest pleasure to me. — Yet I should not 
say the greatest, since I look forward to the happiness 
of seeing and partaking of this enjoyment with them. — 


I trust it is not a sin, or at least a venial one, to 

wish 3 weeks and one day were expired. Then, my 

Fanny, let time roll on as tardily as he will. ... I find 

we are now called upon to attend the Judges in court. I 

have only, therefore, to say God bless you, my dearest 

Fanny, and our darling child. Give him a kiss for me every 

morning and tell him his papa sends it to him. I shall 

certainly expect to hear from you at Cambridge on 

Tuesday — once again God bless you both, and believe 


" For ever yours, 

"T. A. Trollope." 

Here is the greater part of her reply ; and if 
there be extant in fact or fiction a fresher, more 
genuine, and charming picture of a young mother's 
love and joy and pride, I know not where to look 
for it. 

"Heckfield, 1 2th August, 1810. 
"Your letter, my beloved husband, was a cordial 
to me of the most exhilarating kind, and accident made 
it if possible more welcome to me. I heard Hannah 
knock at the book-room door, which is opposite to mine, 
and say here is a letter for you, sir. — I was on the 
tip-toe of expectation, thinking my turn would come 
next, but Hannah quitted the passage and left me no 
letter. — ^.I felt my heart swell grievously and 'unkind 
TroUope ' rose to my wicked lips, but before I had time 
to complain to our Tom of you, which had you been 
guilty I certainly should have done, she returned, and 


I almost doubt whether the sight of you could have 
given me greater pleasure. 

" I complied with your hard command, and delivered 
your kiss to the boy, and then told him to kiss your /\ 
letter in return, and the dear creature held it to his ruby 
lips as if he understood me. I do not seriously mean 
to say he was quite equal to this, but it is really wonder- 
ful how quietly his intelligence increases from day to 
day. My father is perfectly delighted with him, and 
every day after dinner plays some new trick to try his 
sagacity. Yesterday he put two glasses, the one empty, 
and the other full, before him, — the former the young 
tippler eyed with perfect indifference, the latter he tryed 
all his little powers to get possession of, and at last drew 
it to his mouth. The experiment was frequently re- 
peated. — Were I not too wise to be vain, I should 
certainly become so here. Everybody exclaims that my 
darling is the loveliest creature they ever beheld, and V' 
most, add (now pray endeavour to be as wise as I) that 
he is very like his father. I screw my features into 
all possible forms, that I may not look as delighted as 
I feel. . . . Adieu my very dear husband. (I was 
going to write deaj-est but recollected that your co?-rect- 
ness would laugh at me.) Adieu. — I will not dictate the 
moment for your writing, but I shall wish, and wish, 
and wish, till another comes. \ 

'' Yours wholly and for ever,' 

" F. Trollope." 




" Tell me what company you keep, and I will tell you who you 
are." — Common Proverb. 


The first seven years of Mr. and Mrs. Trollope's 
married life were passed at No. i6, Keppcl Street, 
where five children were born to them : Thomas 
Adolphus, Henry, Arthur William, Emily, and 
Anthony. Emily, born on the 7th of December, 
1 813, was privately baptized and died on the same 
day. There is no mention of the birth of this 
infant in the autobiography of either of Mrs. 
Trollope's sons ; but the entry is written by Mr. 
Trollope's hand in an old family Bible in my 
possession. Two other daughters, Cecilia Frances 
and a second Emily, were born in 1816 and 1818 
respectively, at Harrow-on-the-Hill. Of all these 
children, only three survived to middle life ; and 
V only two — Thomas Adolphus and Anthony — lived 
to reach old age. Henry died at twenty years 
old, Arthur at twelve, and Emily in her eighteenth 


During their residence in Keppel Street the 
TroUopes received, among other guests, several 
Italian refugees. Of these General Guglielmo Pepe 
was probably the best known. His acquaintance 
was made through Lady Dyer (widow of General 
Sir Thomas Dyer, who served with Moore at 
Corunna and with Abercromby in Egypt), an 
intimate friend of Mrs. Trollope's. Her name 
will be met with several times in the course of 
the following pages. Pepe was a man of un- 
blemished honour and great kindness and sim- 
plicity of nature. As I shall probably not have 
occasion to recur to him, I will here insert, although 
out of its due chronological order, the greater 
portion of a letter from him to Mrs. Trollope. 
The original is in French, by no means irreproach- 
ably correct. 

"41, Margaret Street, Cavendish Square, 

" 9th January, 1S25. 

*' Madam, 

*'' I am very much obliged to you for the 
letter which you had the kindness to write me, and 
which I only received on Friday last by the hands of 
our excellent friend Mr. Campbell. You are constant 
in friendship, and I hold constancy to be a great virtue 
in a lady. ... I beg you to let me know when you 
come to London, that I may do myself the pleasure of 
coming to see you. 


" In the month of September when I was in Worthing 
I received a letter from our estimable General Lafayette. 
He charges me to give many messages from him to you 
and Mr. TroUope. The letter was written in the first 
days after his arrival in America. 

"I know that you lost one of your children a short 
time ago." [This was Arthur, who had died in the 
previous July.] " Last summer I lost my mother and 
father; and one of my brothers, although very rich, has 
taken possession of all the money they left, and every- 
thing else. For in Italy, and especially in Calabria, rich 
people have a passion for accumulating money, and 
keeping it well hidden in their houses. My other 
brother Florestan behaves in the most noble manner 
towards me, and one worthy of a man of sentiment and 
character. He is administering the wreck of our fortune, 
and is endeavouring to secure it from the despotism 
under which my country groans. 

" If all your family is in good health, and if you are 
free from troubles, I wish you many more New Years like 
this one. 

" Your very devoted friend and servant, 

"G. Pepe." 

The passion for accumulating money, even on 
the part of rich people, is not so distinctively- 
Italian as the good General appears to suppose ! 
But the trait of hiding it in their houses, is more 
so. Calabria remains to this day, in its remoter 
parts, under social conditions that have changed 
but little since the Middle Aefcs. 


]\Ir. Trollope built a handsome and commodious 
house near Harrow, on a farm held on lease from 
Lord Northwick ; and thither he removed himself 
and his family in the year 18 17. 

It has been set forth in "What I Remember" 
how disastrous was Mr. Trollope's farming specula- 
tion. Indeed it ultimately resulted in financial 
ruin, so far as Mr. Trollope's personal fortunes 
were concerned. He had no practical knowledge 
of farming ; and the earth, like the sea, has a 
way of disregarding the most admirable a priori 
theories, and can be subjugated only by hard 
and painful experience. 

But neither did he prosper in his own profession. 
Mr. Trollope was allowed, by competent judges, 
to be a remarkably sound and able Chancery 
barrister ; yet his practice dwindled to the 
vanishing point. Some of the good, as well as 
the weak, points in his character contributed to 
this result. He was unsparing in exposing a 
fallacy, and would do so in no mitigated phrase ; 
but the mere habit of scourging with the tongue 
has not in other cases proved an obstacle to legal 
or forensic success ! But Mr. Trollope was never 
politic in his scourgings. He would demonstrate 
the folly and iricoherence of a rich client, as 




eagerly as he would scold a poor one. Verbal 
nonsense was to him as a rat to a terrier, and he 
set upon it and worried it whenever and wherever 
it showed itself. 

Unfortunately there is a great deal of unspoken 
nonsense enacted in this world, as there is a vast 
amount of sound sense manifested in an inarticu- 
late fashion. And to the former category belonged 
Mr. Trollope's speculation on the farm at Harrow. 
Moreover his prospects were further blighted by 
the loss of the inheritance he had been led to 
expect from an old uncle, his mother's brother, 
Adolphus Mcetkerke, Esquire, of Julians, in Hert- 
fordshire. This gentleman, who was left a child- 
less widower at the age of sixty, married a second 
wife, by whom he had a numerous family. Mr. 
Trollope's expectation of his uncle's fortune had 
not been rash or over-sanguine. It had been 
acknowledged by Mr. Meetkerke, and Mr. 
Trollope's eldest son was taken down to Julians 
when a very young child, and presented to the 
tenants as the heir. The disappointment was 

V thus severe, but it was borne both by Mr, Trollope 
and his wife with great dignity and fortitude. 
The decline in the family fortunes was gradual ; 

^ and several years of peace and happiness intervened 


between the removal from Keppel Street, and the 
catastrophe which compelled the withdrawal from 
the farm. 

Frances Trollope's nature was one that welcomed 
every ray of sunshine, and diffused it again 
liberally around her. To her children, no holiday 
treat was preferable to a tete-d-tete with her. Her 
rare talents, combined with this cordial cheerful- 
ness of disposition, made her popular with her 
neighbours. It is not too much to say that the 
most distinguished for character and intellect 
among those who lived near her, valued and 
sought her society. In three instances — that of 
the Drurys of Harrow School, of the Merivales, 
and of the family of Colonel Grant— the friend- 
ships then formed have become hereditary, and 
have descended through more than one generation 
to the present day. Old Lady Milman, widow of 
Sir Francis, who had been physician to Queen 
Charlotte, and her sons, Sir William and the 
Reverend Henry Milman the poet, with his lovely 
wife, were frequent visitors. Lady Milman resided 
at Pinner, and the family correspondence is full of 
records of days and nights spent at her house. I 
possess an old diary wherein T. A. Trollope, then 
a Winchester schoolboy, records his opinion that 


jMrs. Henry Milman was quite the most beautiful 
woman he had ever seen : the next most beautiful 
being Mary Fauche, daughter of Mr. Tomkison, 
the pianoforte-maker. Mrs. Milman appears to 
have had, in addition to her personal loveliness, 
great charm of character. 

Besides these neighbours the Trollopes received 
frequent visitors from town. Mr. Trollope was 
sociably inclined during these early years. He 
shared, to a considerable extent, in his wife's taste 
for dramatic entertainments, and is frequently 
found taking a part in the private theatricals they 
got up in their house at Harrow. Among the 
Trollopes' friends and visitors were the Garnctts, 
Skerretts, Herman Merivale, Dr. Pertz (the famous 
German savant, whose great collection " Monu- 
menta Germanise Historica" is a monument of 
learning and industry), George Hayter the painter, 
Mary Russell Mitford, and many others. The 
Misses Garnett were lifelong 'friends of Frances 
Trollope. One of them, Julia Garnett, became 
subsequently the first wife of Dr. Pertz. His 
second wife, Miss Horner, also belonged to a 
family, several of whose members were among the 
Trollopes' valued friends. She was a sister of the 
Misses Joanna and Susan Horner, authoresses of 


"Walks in Florence." Dr. Pertz and his intended 
bride were frequently staying in the Trollopes' 
house together. 

There is in the schoolboy diary previously 
quoted, the note of one conversation between 
young Tom Trollope and the learned German, 
which is not without interest : — 

" He made a great many enquiries about William of 
Wykeham's colleges at Winton and Oxford ; about Eng- 
lish mutton and wool, and about English timber. He 
told me that in Germany the oaks grew much larger 
than any elms, and that they were more common than 
elms there. He said that next to our stage coaches the 
Prussian were the fastest. He told me he thought 
English would be the prevailing language at some 
future time, and that French was not in so much request 
on the Continent as it used to be. ... I found him a 
very pleasant man, and his conversation very instruc- 
tive," adds the young Wykhamist, sagely. 

Pertz's opinion as to the future prevalence of 
the English language is noteworthy as having been 
uttered nearly seventy years ago. 

The Misses Skerrett, like the Misses Garnett, 
were friends of Frances Milton's maiden days. 
They were the nieces of Mathias, author of the 
" Pursuits of Literature," who once enjoyed a high 
reputation as an Italian scholar. Mr. W. P. 

VOL. I. 4 


Courtney, in his notice of Mathias in the "Dic- 
tionary of National Biography," asserts that " he 
ranks as the best EngHsh scholar in the Italian 
language since Milton." His nieces were women 
of high accomplishments and intellect. One of 
them, Miss Mary Anne Skcrrett, filled for many 
years a confidential post in the Queen's household. 
Another very intimate friend was Captain Kater, 
known by the sobriquet of " Pendulum Kater," 
from his discoveries in connection with the 
pendulum, a man of the highest scientific reputa- 
tion. Cecilia and Emily Trollopc frequently 
stayed as visitors with Captain and Mrs. Kater, 
in their London residence, York House, Regent's 
Park. In truth, if the Trollopes be judged, 
according to the proverb, by the company they 
keep, they must be accorded a large measure of 

A series of letters from Mrs. Trollope to her 
eldest son, and carefully preserved by him, begins 
/in the year 1823, and extends over a period of 
thirty years. Tiicy furnish an outline of the family 
^-history during that time ; and in many instances 
the outline is amply filled in, and vividly coloured. 
Both parents were unremitting in their corre- 
spondence with their boys at school, and it 


would be impossible to surpass the minute and 
anxious interest they display for their children's 

The very first letter of the collection, written 
by Mr. and Mrs. Trollope jointly, to their son 
Tom at Winchester, contains characteristic traits 
of both. It is dated October 25, 1823. 

The mother begins by expressing her pleasure 
at the good report of Tom's progress at school ; 
and promises him "another cake, which Farmer" 
[their old nurse] "seems determined shall be made 
according to your directions." The father, while 
commending Tom, bids him tell his brother Henry 
(then also at Winchester, aged twelve years), that 
no cake shall be sent until he can hear a better 
account of Henry's industry. "You, my dear 
Tom, must also partake in this loss, but I shall 
know how to make amends." 

Already Mr. Trollope has begun to manifest 
that impatience of any cessation of study on the 
part of his boys, and that habit of making exorbi- 
tant demands on their industry, which increased 
later to a degree that embittered their lives. There 
is a passage in a letter from the Rev. William 
Milton to his two elder grandsons at Winchester, 
which, playfully as it is worded, marks this point 


very unmistakably. I am tempted to lay nearly 
the whole letter before the reader as a delightful 
specimen of a grandfatherly epistle, and as afford- 
ing a vivid glimpse of the personality of Frances 
Milton's father. 

I carefully preserve the abbreviations, the use of 
capital letters in beginning every noun substantive, 
and all the minutiae that can be produced in print. 
I wish it were possible to give the exquisitely clear 
and beautiful handwriting, wherein each letter is 
perfectly formed. It is curious to remark through- 
out this family correspondence the steady deteri- 
oration of the handwriting in each successive 
generation ! In this connection Horace's well- 
thumbed lines, " yEtas parentiim, pejor avis" etc., 
might be quoted more patly, perhaps, than usual ; 
for it is certain that in the art of calligraphy 
we are inferior to our grandfathers, they to our 
great-grandfathers, and the next generation will 
probably take to type-writing and relinquish the 
pen altogether. 

The Arthur spoken of in this letter is Mrs. 
Trollope's third son, who was then staying with 
his grandparents, and, indeed, passed the greater 
part of his short life in their home. 


" iSth November, 1823. 
"Tom and Henry, 

" My Dear Boys, 
" Feeble as I am, Arthur will not let me rest, 
unless I take up my Pen to give you a Line or two in 
y^ Basket. He would hardly have y" Face to persevere 
in this, if he knew (as y^ case is) that I have nothing 
more principal to mention, than how incessant he is in 
his pleasant Attentions towards me. He never lets me 
take my short fine-weather Walks, without placing him- 
self at my Side {claudit Latus). I term him my 110877701' 
TepovTos. I have, as you both know, been a long time 
in a very weak and poor State of Health : I wish I 
could tell you I was growing better, but I cannot. 
Arthur has been with me some Weeks : in which time 
I have again taken him through Euclid; and I think 
there is hardly to be found one, of his Age, more at 
home in y'' Ma,tter; no one, I am sure, who more 
relishes it and its cognate Subjects. Whatever be his 
Path through Life, he will, I have no doubt, sometimes 
find y" said Euclid his Staff, sometimes his Lamp. Can 
you, Boys, suspend your Labours on y^ Tongues of 
Athens and of Rome, to sit in Criticism on that which 
your silly Grandmother has now embasketted to you ? " 
[The tongue in question formed part of a hamperful of 
good things forwarded to Winchester. The young gentle- 
men doubtless tore themselves away, now and then, 
from their classical studies to discuss these dainties.] 
" I give you both, Tom and Henry, I give you both 
Caution (I know not which of you will thank me most) 
not to think of going Home at y^ approaching Christ- 
mas Holidays ; for in ten Days time, I shall send there 


a strange Folio Greek Grammar printed in 1580, which 
I think will, now and -then, furnish to your industrious 
Father, half an Hour's Examination of its Plan and 
Contents : in which you may, possibly, be invited to 
partake, if it shall appear to promise other Information 
than your present shorter Grammars give. I have heard 
with Pleasure of y'' Credit Tom has done himself with 
his Task verses. I wish him to take home with him, a 
Specimen, which his Mother will contrive to send me. 
" With hearty best Wishes to both, 

" believe me, your affectionate 
" Grand Father, 

"W. Milton." 

Within the sheet of paper whereon the above 
is written, there has been preserved a scrap ad- 
dressed apparently to Mr. Trollope. It contains 
these words : — 

" Proper Notice has been sent to Winchester that this 
formidable Greek Grammar in Folio would be sent to 
Harrow; and a Caution given to y" two Lads there, 
not to think of going to Harrow for their next Holidays 
in any Expectation of Pastime ; as their sedulous Father 
would hold them close to this old Book, if it was found 
to contain anything worth his Attention. . . . Many 
thanks for TibuUus, not forgetting y'' Pheasant." 

The following passage, in a letter of Mrs. Trol- 
lope's to her son (written also in 1823), will appear 
very strange in the eyes of readers of the present 
day : — 


"I wish you had been with me yesterday on your 
pony. I rode Jack to a very dehghtful hunt in Wembley 
Park, We had a dehghtful gallop, but did not kill the 
hare, which, to say truth I was not sorry for, as that 
part of the sport is but savage work. But the gentle- 
men, I believe, were of a different opinion. The little 
girls amused me exceedingly. They had been talking 
and wondering a good deal about Mama's going hunt- 
ing ; and when they saw me equipped and ready to 
mount, Cecilia said, 'But Mama, you have not got a 
gun ! You must have a gun ! ' I laughed heartily at 
this, and told her I was not going shooting but cours- 
ing ; upon which, with a great air of contempt, and 
to show off her superior knowledge, Emily said ' No ; 
Mama ought not to take a gun, but she ought to take 
Neptune.' " 

Neptune was their great Newfoundland dog ! 
That " abstract and brief chronicle of the time " 
which is furnished by our street advertisements, 
informs me that various sports and pastimes are 
carried on in Wembley Park ; but I do not imagine 
that coursing the hare is among them ! 

I must give one more extract from the letters of 
this year. It was written on the occasion of some 
school honours won by her eldest son : — 

" November, 1823. 
" Though SO many letters have lately passed, my 
dearest Tom, you must submit to receive one more, 
that I may thank you for all the pleasure you have given 


me. Gratified pride is always a very agreeable sensa- 
tion, but it is so often accompanied by some unamiable 
feeling of superiority to others, that one is almost afraid 
to indulge it. Now, however, I may be as proud as I 
like without danger of being unamiable. The talents 
and industry of a son may inspire a pride perfectly 
innocent, and therefore I have indulged myself in telling 
my friends how happy you have made me." 

In the course of the following year (1824) Mr. 
Trollopc was induced by George Hayter to sit for 
one of the lawyers in the picture of Lord Russell's 
trial, which the artist was then painting for the 
Duke of Bedford. The engraving from the picture 
is well known. Mrs. Trollope writes that the work- 
is full of historical interest, and — so far as can 
be judged in its present state — admirably painted. 
" I shall like," she adds, " to see your father's head 

During the autumn they made an excursion to 
the Isle of Wight, and, on their return, Mr. Trol- 
lope finds his table at his chambers in Lincoln's 
Inn, quite covered with law papers, many of which 
demand his immediate attention ; so that his 
professional business had not yet left him. 

It is worthy of remark that Mrs. Trollopc at this 
time writes a great part of her letters to her sons 
in French and Italian — a great part, but not the 


whole, — for Tom petitions for *^ some English" in 
every letter. She mentions, too, that her husband 
is working hard to learn la dolce lingua, and that 
she is really astonished at his progress. He is 
reading Tiraboschi — " atitore iion pimto facile"- she 
observes, — and she tells* Tom that on his return 
home for the holidays, he and she must read Italian 
together assiduously, "lest Papa should outstrip 
us." The two boys, being at Winchester, call on 
Dr. Nott, who held a prebendal stall there ; and 
Dr. Nott writes to their mother a very agreeable 
account of their visit, and is much pleased by the 
elder boy's speaking to him of Dante. 

Certainly whatever idea of, or interest in, Dante 
the young Wykehamist possessed, must have been 
derived solely from his mother. We have seen 
Frances Milton a diligent student of " The mourn- 
ful Tuscan's haunted rhynie," before her marriage. 
And neither the cares of a family, nor the increas- 
ing troubles and difficulties of her life, had blunted 
her zest for Poetry and Art. Indeed, her enthu- 
siasm in these directions was probably a powerful 
antidote against sordid anxieties. The ability to 
delight in great thoughts and beautiful images is, 
to a mind like hers, as the wings of a dove, whereon 
it can flee away and be at rest. 



The genial sympathy of her character is shown 
by the desire she constantly evinces, that others 
!_- should share with her these intellectual enjoy- 
ments. Her letters to her son are full of such 
anticipations as the following : — 

"When you are next at home I shall insist upon your 
going with me to the National Gallery. It begins to be 
well worth seeing (1825), and /begin to be anxious to 
find out whether you are likely to enjoy the pleasure 
which a good picture is capable of bestowing. To me 
the love of pictures has been through life a source of 
very great pleasure, and I heartily wish it may become 
so to you." 

There are many allusions, also, to the progress 
her daughter Cecilia is making in algebra with 
their friend Captain Kater, at whose house the 
little girl and her sister are staying. And the 
father writes that they have all been celebrating 
little Emily's seventh birthday at York House 
with the Katers, and that he (Mr. Trollope) had 
" taken her through a very good sum in vulgar 
fractions " — a part of the birthday celebration 
which, it is to be hoped, little Emily did not find 
too oppressive ! 

Mrs. Trollope herself had a great inclination 
towards mathematical studies. She never had 
time or opportunity to pursue them seriously ; but at 


this period of her life she was frequently working 
out problems and sending them to Tom at school. 
The taste is not one with which she was likely to 
be generally credited ; indeed, to most of those 
who knew her in after-years, it would probably 
have seemed quite foreign to her temperament and 
tone of mind. Nevertheless she had it. In all , 
likelihood she inherited it from her father. It was '\ 
not the fashion in her day to talk much about 
"heredity;" but it may safely be assumed that 
children frequently resembled their progenitors a 
century ago, and that the fact of their doing so had 
not escaped the common observation of mankind. 




"There is no general doctrine which is not capable of eating 
out our morality, if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct 
fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men." — Geokge Eliot, 

It must have been previous to the year 1824 that 
Mr. and Mrs. Trollope paid an interesting visit to 
General Lafayette at his country house, La Grange 
— a visit of which she preserved a minute journal, 
now before me. But I cannot fix the precise 
period of it, for, alas ! although the days of the 
month are carefully recorded, the date of the year 
is not. And, by a provoking chance, a letter 
addressed to Mrs. Trollope at La Grange also 
lacks any indication of the year in which it is 
written. I will, at any rate, record some extracts 
from it in this place. 

The means of introducing the Trollopes to so 
intimate an acquaintance with General Lafayette, 
was, doubtless, Miss Fanny Wright, Lafayette's 
ward. The link which brought her into such close 


intercourse with Frances Trollope was the Garnett 
family, of whom mention has been made. 

The journey from London to Paris occupied 
three days, the travellers sleeping one night en 
route at Calais. They left Harrow in Mr. Trol- 
lope's gig at half-past three o'clock in the morning 
of the 31st of August, and drove to London by the 
light of a bright moon. An excellent breakfast was 
ready for them at the house of their friend, George 
Hayter ; and they had partaken of it in time to 
reach the Tower Stairs by seven o'clock. Here 
they found " the steamship " just ready to start. 
They had delightful weather and an excellent 
passage, and "the steamship" landed them in 
Calais a little before eight o'clock in the evening. 
"By immediately declaring for the Hotel Bour- 
bon " [I know not if there be still a Hotel Bourbon 
in Calais at this time, but its title dates itself as 
being subsequent to the Battle of Waterloo] " we 
were immediately taken under the care of a young 
man, who passed us and our night-bags through 
the Custom House, without examination." 

They mounted the Paris diligence at nine the 
next morning (finding it " full of English, within 
and without"); and so, in the usual lumbering 
fashion, stopping to feed at Boulogne, Abbeville, 


and Bcauvais, they finally jolted into Paris at 
eight o'clock on the evening of the 2nd of 

Their friends, the Garnetts, then residing in 
Paris, had taken an apartment for them in the 
Rue de Grcnclle, and thither they drove at once, 
after calling at their friends' house to learn the 
address. " Being very tired by dust and sun, we 
resisted all the Garnetts' entreaties to join the 
party in their saloon, of whom Mr. Washington 
Irvine {sic) made one." They subsequently met, 
and made acquaintance with this delightful writer 
during this same vrsit to Paris. Among other 
personages whom they met, I may mention 
Mr. Curran, " son and biographer of the Irish 
barrister;" Mr. Wilkes, an American gentleman, 
who was afterwards very friendly to Mrs. Trollopc 
in the United States ; Denon, the famous traveller, 
whose collections they visited several times ; a 
young Italian named Cobianchi, " a ci-devant aide- 
de-camp of General Pepe's, a pleasing, animated 
young man who spoke in raptures of his General ; " 
and last, not least, General Lafayette, for whom 
to the end of her life Mrs. Trollope entertained 
the warmest affection and the deepest veneration. 

And here, since my subject is P^rances Trollope, 



I need make no apology for saying a few words 
about her political opinions. 

It has been sometimes supposed that these were 
originally strongly Liberal, but that the extraordi- 
narily gracious reception accorded to her in Vienna 
by persons of the highest rank, including the Impe- 
rial family, had changed her views, and turned her, 
in fact, into a high Tory. This is very far from 
being the case, as is proved by her letters written 
before her marriage, and long before she dreamed 
that the world would ever interest itself in the 
smallest degree in the question. Her husband ,^ 
was, indeed, a Liberal (the reader will bear in mind A 
how greatly the political significance of that word 
has been modified since his day), and thereby ran 
counter, I believe, to the traditions of his family. 
Early in their correspondence, Frances Milton 
playfully tells him that, greatly as she admires the 
ability displayed in certain writings which he has 
praised, yet she and Mrs. Milton " are shocked at 
the seditious tone of them." And there are other 
passages in her letters to the like effect. She did 
not, therefore, in latei life desert her original 

It certainly can be no matter for reproach to 
change one's political opinions ; at any rate we 


have illustrious warranty for not deeming it so ; 
and, moreover, readers of to-day may reasonably 
' say that the political opinions of Frances Trollope 
i.are in themselves cjuitc unimportant. True; but 
\^ her motives for forming and modifying them are 
not unimportant, if we would gain a true know- 
ledge of her character, and do justice to one who 
can plead no longer for herself Her opinions, 
political and other, were, I presume, no more 
impervious to the influence of those around her 
than is the case with most of her fellow-creatures. 
But, to speak frankly, it was republican America, 
and not aristocratic Austria, that was responsible 
' for Mrs. Trollope's marked conservatism through- 
out her literary life. The blandishments of 
Austrian Archduchesses could not, at all events, 
have converted her before she had experienced 
them ! Besides, the preface to the first edition of 
her first book is conclusive as to this point. Nor 
is the case by any means unexampled. The 
pessimistic Italian proverb, "Roma vedtita, fede 
perdutal' is capable, alas ! of a pretty wide appli- 
cation in this world where the lamb of theory and 
the lion of fact have not yet arrived at a millennial 
good understanding. 

At any rate, she was able to admire and 


appreciate Lafayette, even although she might have 
disputed many of his political doctrines. But 
there are persons who seem to assume that one is 
bound hand and foot to his theory, like Mazeppa 
on his horse ; and is galloped away with, utterly 
powerless to direct the course or modify the 
pace ! 

Such is the logical method familiar to certain 
ardent teetotallers who, if you claim for yourself 
the liberty to drink a glass of wine, at once infer 
that you are a supporter of drunkenness and a 
patron oi delirium tremens ; and to those perfervid 
Apostles of Peace, who construe your objection 
to abolish the Army and Navy into a ferocious 
enjoyment of slaughter. 

The ten days passed in Paris before proceeding 
to La Grange, were spent by our travellers in 
sight-seeing. Of course all the public galleries 
were visited, besides the collections of Sommariva 
and M. Denon. Of the latter, she says, " It is con- 
sidered the finest in the world for Egyptian and 
Japan specimens." On another occasion they go 
with Count Denon and a large party, chiefly 
English, to see the collection of Spanish paintings 
at Marshal Soult's. " The house of the Marechal 
is splendid, and the collection a very fine one — 

VOL. I. 5 


chiefly Murillo's," says Mrs. Trollope. Then there 
are visits to Pere la Chaise, to Versailles — where 
she is not too bigoted a monarchist to observe 
that " it proves Louis le Grand to have been the 
vainest, most lavish, and most selfish of men " — 
to St. Cloud, and other well-known lions. Several 
evenings are passed at the Theatre Frangais, where 
Talma and Mdlle. Mars are playing. Mrs. Trollope 
is especially enchanted with Mdlle, Mars, whom 
she saw one evening act "Elmire" in Tartuffe, and 
a blind girl in an afterpiece, to a house crowded 
in every part. Nor did they omit to do " a great 
deal of shopping in the Palais Royal." 

At length, on the 13th of September, Mr. and 
Mrs. Trollope set off, accompanied by General 
Lafayette, to drive to the country house of the 
latter. The name of the estate is La Grange, and 
it is situated about forty miles from Paris, in the 
department of Seine-et-Marne, near Rosay. 

Here the General resided in patriarchal fashion, 
surrounded by many members of his family. It 
was difficult at first for the strangers to find their 
way, so to speak, amid this numerous circle, but 
Mrs. Trollope soon learned the name and position 
of each individual. The party included M. and 
Madame de Scgur, two married daughters of the 


General with six of their children, three unmarried 

daup-hters, various other relatives and connections, 

a lady who was there to teach music, and the 

young boy's tutor. Miss Fanny Wright and her 

sister Camilla had been expected to join the party, 

but, from some misunderstanding as to the date, 

did not appear. They sat down to dinner almost 

immediately on the arrival of the travellers, a 

party of twenty-one. The style of living at the 

Chateau was very handsome and stately ; in fact 

it is probable that many a German princeling of 

that day was neither so well lodged, nor so well 

served, as the Republican General. 

" Six of the General's men-servants waited at table. 
These did not include two who had attended us from 
Paris. The dinner was excellent, and served in a very 
agreeable style, though not a I'Anglaise. The second 
course consisted of vegetables and sweet dishes, all served 
in silver. Then followed an excellent dessert and some 
very fine wine, one glass of which was handed to each 
person by the butler. . . . Our apartment is charming. 
It consists of two rooms and two closets. In the largest 
room is a very handsome bed in a recess, with rich 
crimson satin curtains, and a quilt of the same, covering 
the bed by day. In the smaller room is a small bed for 
Monsieur, if it were preferred. One closet is completely 
fitted up as a cabinet de toilette, the other to contain the 
valises, etc. . . . We passed the evening in two very 
handsome saloons. The inner one is round, being in 



one of the large turrets of the chateau. It is a noble 

The inhabitants of this luxurious abode were 
persons of culture and refinement. Music, con- 
versation, or reading aloud — the reader being 
generally M. de Sdgur, of whom Mrs. Trollope 
says that he reads admirably — occupy as much of 
the evenings as is not spent in rambling about the 
lovely lawns and woods by the light of a brilliant 
moon. But the great charm and attraction of the 
whole visit, to Mrs. Trollope, is the opportunity of 
enjoying the society of her host. I will here throw 
together all the notes of his conversation which I 
find in the journal. 

Mr. and Mrs. Trollope first met General 
Lafayette at dinner in the house of Miss Wright, 
on the third day after their arrival in Paris. 

" Nothing," writes Mrs. Trollope, " could be more 
interesting than the conversation of this illustrious man ; — 
quiet and simple in his manners, open and unconstrained 
in giving his opinion, gentle and unassuming in listening 
to the opinions of others. He talked with ease and 
frankness of the most interesting events of his life, and 
described to us the entrance of Lewis the i6th into Paris, 
when he came to assume the national colours. He 
lamented the death of the King, not only on the score of 
humanity, but as a most grievous want of policy in the 


republicans. Had they, said he, instead of falsely ac- 
cusing him as one of the worst of men, proclaimed him 
as he really was, one of the best of Kings, they might 
have shewn to demonstration that even such were 
dangerous to the liberty and happiness of the people, 
and without injustice, and without crime, he might have 
been removed in safety and honour from a country no 
longer in a condition to submit to the yoke." 

It is not a little astonishing to find Lafayette 
discussing, as a possible alternative to what really 
happened, that the men who enacted the French 
Revolution, either would, or could, have " pro- 
claimed Louis XVL one of the best of Kings ; " and 
assuming that it would have been practicable for 
the Republicans to prove their case, by quietly 
" removing the monarch in safety and honour," etc. 
They were much more concerned to show to 
demonstration that the people can be dangerous 
to the liberty and happiness of Kings ! But Lafa- 
yette's good faith in thus speaking cannot be 

" Among other anecdotes, he told us that during his 
five years' imprisonment in Austria, he and his four 
aides-de-camp were removed from one prison to another 
just at the time the King's trial was going on. The in- 
habitants of a town they passed through, requested 
permission of their guards ' to look at the wild beasts 
they were conducting.' This was granted, and their 


curious visitors began to talk to them of the King. 
Lafayette spoke of the position in which he (the King) 
stood, with all the sorrow he felt. His auditors ex- 
claimed with surprise, ''Monsieur, vous ties le premier 
Republicain qui a jamais parle avec deccnce du malheureux 
roi' Nothing could be kinder or more flattering than 
his manner to us. He spoke in the kindest way of our 
visiting him at La Grange, and altogether I should 
think my journey to France well repaid, were this after- 
noon passed in his society the sole result of it." 

At La Grange the General and several of the 
ladies of his family took long walks with their 
guests through the delightful woods in the neigh- 
bourhood. On one occasion, 

"as soon as dinner was over, a large open carriage, 
which the General called his Russian carriage, came to 
the door to take some of us to a Fete dc village. The 
rest of the party walked. Nothing could exceed the 
beauty of the evening, and the scene in front of a pretty 
little rustic church was enchanting. It was delightful to 
watch the good man looking like the father of the hamlet, 
dispensing his smiles around. All the young people 
from the chateau joined in the dance. Trollope danced 
with them. The young rustics performed their quadrilles 
in a style that might have been envied by a London 
drawing-room, — particularly by the gentlemen of it." 

The following day she records that — 

" The General, Madame de Maubourg, Trollope, and 
1, took a very beautiful walk to two pretty fountains, 


surrounded by woods, chiefly of Acacia, which grows 
here to a great size, and in vast profusion. Occasionally 
we sate down on the benches which his taste had placed 
in the loveliest spots. To hear him talk of the events of 
his past life, his sentiments, his opinions, was a treat 
well worth visiting France to enjoy. Wisdom and 
goodness mark every word he utters, and his sweet, 
gentle, unassuming manner makes it delicious to listen 
to him. . . . After tea, which was made and served a 
I'Anglaise in the great saloon, I sate between M. de 
Segur and M. de Lafayette, and enjoyed a couple of 
hours of very delightful conversation. The General 
told us that when the Allies were in Paris, he met the 
Emperor of Russia at Madame de Stael's. He had 
much conversation with him. He [the Emperor] took 
him aside and spoke very freely of the Bourbons. The 
General said he hoped adversity might have improved 
them. ' No,' said the Emperor, ' they are unimproved 
and unimprovable. Mark what I say, Lafayette j they 
are unimproved, and unimprovable.' On another occa- 
sion the Emperor was speaking with great reprobation 
of the African slave trade. He looked at the General, 
who happened also to be looking at him. ' I know,' 
said the Emperor, ' what Lafayette is thinking.' ' May 
I enquire ? ' said the General. ' You think that I, who 
am the Emperor of Serfs, have no right to reprobate 
slavery.' The General told me that the Emperor of 
Russia often thought justly and liberally, but that he 
was become a bigot, and had devoted himself to the 
Holy Alliance. 

" M. de Segur told many amusing anecdotes of the 
Court of Russia when he was Ambassador there ; among 


others, tliat Paul had said, when in flimiliar conversation, 
' All the sovereigns of Europe are fools, — all without one 
exception.' He then enumerated them, challenging the 
possibility of contradiction. ' And as for myself,' he 
added, 'I may be something better. But wait a little, 
and I shall be as bad as the rest of them.' " 

Among some gentlemen who came one day to 
dine at La Grange, Mrs. Trollope mentions 

^^ Monsiejir dc Shomier (?) one of the Judges; a man 
of great talent and of the highest character. The 
General told me a fine anecdote of the manner in which 
he, being o^ze alone among twenty, made his brethren 
reverse an iniquitous decree which they had voted, by 
declaring that he would publicly tear his gown from his 
shoulders, if they issued it." 

On two evenings there was dancing at the 
chateau among the house party — quadrilles and 
waltzes. There were more readings of tragedies 
by M. de Segur, singing by Nathalie Lafayette — 
who had a beautiful voice — and her sisters, and 
some pianoforte playing by "a wonderful little 
girl of fourteen, who had recently received the 
first prize from the French Academy." And then 
the visit came to an end. 

The night before their departure, they danced 
nearly all the evening, and then, as they were to 
start very early, took leave of all the party 


" excepting the beloved General, who has promised 
to dine with us in Paris on Thursday." 

The beloved General got up between five and 
six o'clock in the morning of the 22nd of September, 
to see his guests off. They had evidently made an 
excellent impression at La Grange ; and the 
flattering attentions bestowed on Frances Trollope 
by such a man as Lafayette, and by his circle, are 
certainly a tribute to her personal qualities of 
head and heart. She was not rich, she was not 
then, as she afterwards became, a lion of the 
literary world, even assuming for a moment that 
such considerations would have weighed with 
them ; she was simply an English gentlewoman, 
whose outward circumstances in no way dis- 
tinguished her from thousands of others. But 
she was herself, and her personality was not a 
common one. 

Lafayette kept his promise of dining with Mr. 
and Mrs. Trollope in Paris, and on the last evening 
of their stay there, he was present at a farewell 
party, given in their honour by Miss Fanny 
Wright. Mrs. Trollope writes in her journal : — 

" The adieu from him was very painful to me. Never 
did I meet with a being so every way perfect. I may 
not hope to see him again, but the recollection of him 



will remain with me as long as 1 have life, nor would I 
lose this recollection for the world." 

The page on which these words are written has 
probably remained unseen by any eye, save her 
eldest son's, for between seventy and eighty years. 
The words are a genuine expression of feeling, 
and serve to prove that Frances Trollope's warm 
enthusiasm was, as Emerson says of man, " a noble 
endogenous plant that grows from within, outward," 
and was independent of the applause and excite- 
ment of la galerie. 

She did, however, meet Lafayette again ; and 
that he continued to remember her with cordiality, 
is shown by his message to her through General 
Pepe, and by a letter from himself written to her 
in the United States, which will be quoted in its 
proper place. 



" To be resigned when ills betide, 
Patient when favours are denied, 

And pleased with favours given, — 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part ; 
This is that incense of the heart 
Whose perfume smells to Heaven." 

Cotton, The Fireside. 

In the course of the year 1825, some clouds begin 
to obscure the fortunes of the family at Julians, 
as Mr. Trollope had called his house. 

In the first place, Henry, who was with his 
brother at Winchester, was causing his parents 
great anxiety by his idleness. It must be remem- 
bered that it was not merely his school career 
that was in question. The boy's whole future — 
so they thought — was at stake. On his diligence 
and his progress at Winchester, depended his going 
to New College, and all that hung thereby. But ^ 
Henry was idle. He bewailed his wasted oppor- ^ 
tunities later, very bitterly. And perhaps his lack 
of sustained energy was in a great measure due 
to physical causes. Although of a powerful, 


muscular frame, like all his brothers, he had in 
his constitution the germs of that disease which 
carried off Arthur and Emily in their early youth, 
and struck down Cecilia in her prime. Henry had 
a bright intelligence and a warm heart ; but he 
was of a haughty, exacting, and irritable temper. 
The bent of his mind appears to have been towards 
natural science. He had made considerable pro- 
gress, before his death, in geological studies, and 
was a Fellow of the Geological Society. At 
Winchester, however, he failed to do well — to the 
anger of his father, and the deep sorrow and 
mortification of both parents. 

Mr. Trollope's letters to his sons at this time 
are extraordinary from their minute and reiterated 
questions about every detail of their progress at 
Winchester, their status in their "part," the 
prospects of each individual in the school at the 
next election for New College, and a hundred 
more points. The mere reading of these old 
letters seems to arouse a kind of irritable antago- 
nism. Nothing is taken for granted. Everything 
is discussed and inquired into, with the most 
wearisome insistance. In short he worries the 
L boys unsparingly and unceasingly, unconscious 
'' that he risks creating a revulsion of feeling that 


may frustrate the very object he has at heart. 
His aim is solely their benefit. No father could 
display more single-minded devotion to the welfare 
of his family than did Thomas Anthony Trollope. 
But he never put himself for a moment in the 
boys' place. He could not — at all events he did 
not — pause to imagine sympathetically how his 
letters would affect them. What he had to say, 
he reasoned, was right and just ; it was proper 
that he should be kept informed of their progress ; 
it was his duty to urge them onward. Therefore 
no repetition, and no insistance to attain this end, 
could be excessive. It is a painfully interesting 
study of character. 

Then, besides this anxiety, there appear the 
beginnings of difficulty about money. Mrs. y,^ 
Trollope and her faithful nurse Farmer are making 
various garments — cricketing flannels, and so forth 
— at home, for the young Wykehamists, from 
motives of economy. She " flatters herself that 
they will turn out something worthy of a very 
good tailor." They have been working hard. 
The father frequently suggests, in answer to the 
boys' appeals, that old shoes and trousers should 
be mended, rather than new ones bought. And 
then there is the relinquishment of a projected 


holiday tour for the whole family in the Isle of 
Wifrht, from want of funds. They cannot go 
unless they should be able to let their house. 
They liave had " a nibble ; " but it has come to 
nothin^^. In a letter to her eldest son, dated May, 
1825, Mrs. Trollope states the case plainly : — 

" I enclose half a crown from Papa, — a proof at once 
of poverty and kindness. Without the former it would 
be more, without the latter it would be nothing. All the 
world are poor as Job, — and, rather poorer, for Job put 
none of his sons to public schools, and had no clients who 
did not pay him. Next year I fear we shall be poorer 
still, for assuredly there will be no hay. We are positively 
burnt up as if it were a hot mid-summer." 

And then, having made her plaint — no very bitter 
one — she goes on to discuss Walter Scott's novel 
of " Woodstock," which she thinks Tom will like 

"It is not equal," she opines, "to ' Ivanhoe ' and 
some of the very first ; but it is greatly superior to ' The 
Monastery ' and some of the very last." 

Circumstances must have mended somewhat, a 
few months later — perhaps some of the defaulting 
clients paid their debts ; the hay was beyond 
amendment ! — for in the autumn of this year, Mr. 
and Mrs. Trollope paid a round of visits in Lincoln- 


shire, and subsequently made a short excursion 
to France. They visited Mr. Trollope's brother 
Henry, Sir John and Lady Trollope at Casewick, 
Mr, Linton at his place near Buckden, and Mr. 

Mrs. Trollope writes — 

" I wished for you very much last week, for we have 
paid a visit where we were surrounded by the most 
interesting antiquities. We have been passing a couple 
of days at Scrivelsby, the residence of the Champion of 
England (not the boxing champion !). Mr. Dymoke is 
the descendant of the Marmions. Perhaps you will 
remember the lines in Sir Walter Scott's poem, ' They 
hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, of Lutterwood and 
Scrivelsby, of Tamworth tower and town.' The first- 
named place is in Normandy, and I have promised the 
Champion to poke about the ruins and look for his arms." 

It was probably during this visit to France that 
the idea first arose of removing Henry from 
Winchester and placing him in a counting-house 
in Paris, in order to learn the language and gain 
some knowledge of business. The project was 
carried out the following year, but without any 
good result. 

The mother continues to write assiduously to 
both her boys, and her letters must have been 
precious to them. We have seen that they were 


treasured by her eldest son for seventy years. 
Between Tom and his mother there was naturally 
more equal communion of minds than was 
possible, at this time, with the younger children. 
She constantly asks him to tell her what he 
thinks of such and such a book, or on some 
question of the day. At one time it is a novel 
of Walter Scott's ; at another it is Lord Byron's 
" Cain " that is under discussion ; at another, 
Ariosto. When her son's holidays are approaching, 
she writes : " I hope you and I shall have some 
good talks together." Poetry and ethics are among 
the topics she looks forward to discussing. But, 
although those words may sound rather grandilo- 
quent, there was no pedantry, no assumption of 
profundity in her mind. To her poetry and 
ethics were genuinely interesting ; and, fortunately 
for the majority of us, it is possible to be genuinely 
interested in great and lofty themes, without the 
possession of deep learning or extraordinary 
\i Frances Trollope never made the smallest pre- 
tension to be considered what her contemporaries 
called a blue-stocking. Certainly such a pretension 
would, in her case, have been absurd ; but that 
fact has not always sufficed to deter mortals 


from pretending. She was, moreover, singularly- 
free from self-conceit. When the days of her 
great success came, when the public eagerly read 
and the publishers eagerly bought her books, 
and when London society voted her the literary 
lion of the season, and besieged her with flattering 
invitations, there is no trace to be found, in her 
most private and familiar letters, of bumptious- 
ness ; no undue puffed-np-ness, if I may venture 
to use such a word. Gratification there is, ot 
course ; pleasure in the praise she received, and 
far more pleasure in the prospect that her work 
would be valuable to those whom she loved, and 
for whom she strove and laboured so valiantly. 
There was a steady ballast which saved her from 
being blown about by every wind of popularity — 
the ballast of strong sense and sterling honesty. 

Nor should her happy perception of the 
humourous side of things be omitted from the 
ballast. It is a good gift, and a great preserver 
of sanity. 

Early in the spring of 1826, Tom was made 
candle-keeper ; * and his mother writes him a 

* Candle-keepers are "the seven college inferiors who have 
been longest in college. They are invested with certain privileges. 
The office which gave rise to the title has been long extinct." — 
" Notions : a Winchester Word-book," by R. G. K. Wrench. 

VOL. I. 6 


joking letter of congratulation, but with some 
earnest feeling under the jokes. 

" Hail ! All hail ! As Volumnia bowed low before 
her Coriolanus, so do I bow low before my — Tom. Oh 
dreadful bathos ! No ; before my great Adolphus, that 
lion of the West ! And as Volumnia knelt to her son 
for mercy on the Romans, so do I kneel to thee for 
mercy on thy fags. . . . Let me not say: ' . . . But 
Tom, proud Tom, drest in a little brief authority, like an 
angry ape plays such fantastic tricks in candle-keeping 
pride, as make procpostors laugh ' ! " 

In the summer Mr. and Mrs. Trollope again 
visited Paris, taking Henry with them ; and once 
more we find them in the midst of interesting 
and distinguished people. Among those whom 
she met and conversed with, she enumerates 
Sismondi the historian, Benjamin Constant, and 
the American novelist Fennimore Cooper. Of 
Sismondi she writes : " He is, indeed, an admirable 
man in every way, and is, moreover, what all 
clever people are not — extremely agreeable." She 
also thought Benjamin Constant amiable and 
agreeable in manner. " And so, by the way, is 
his wife, who was a German princess." Of Mr. 
Cooper she says that he has obtained the appella- 
tion of the Walter Scott of America, and that 
he has written some very clever novels. But she 


was not pleasantly impressed by him personally. 
She again saw her revered and beloved friend, 
Lafayette. The General must have invited them 
all to his country house ; for she writes, after her 
return to England, to her eldest son : — 

"Henry particularly wished for you and talked of you, 
when he was swallowing grapes by wholesale in General 
Lafayette's vineyard, and breathed many tender wishes 
for your presence." 

Henry enjoyed his visit to the General extremely, 
and liked the novelty of Paris ; but he was natu- 
rally downcast on parting with his parents, and 
remaining alone in a foreign city. His mother 
thought him neither well nor cheerful when she 
left him. This was the first keen sorrow in the 
long chain of sorrows, anxieties, and separation 
from those she loved, which hung heavily on 
Frances TroUope during many ensuing years. 
There had been the greatest difficulty in finding 
a home for the boy in Paris. At last they suc- 
ceeded in placing him in the family of M. Monod, 
" a Protestant Swiss clergyman, who seems to be 
a very pleasing sensible man." But the expense 
was greater than they had calculated on. 

What was the precise object that Mr. Trollope 
had in his mind in placing his son in a Parisian 



house of business, and what was the precise nature 
of the business, I cannot tell. No doubt he con- 
ceived it to be the means of enabling Henry to 
earn his livelihood ; but all the details seem to 
have been vague. The scheme — like almost all 
Mr. Trollope's schemes — proved a failure. And 
it seems to have been entered upon with singular 
precipitation. Neither by temperament nor edu- 
cation was Henry adapted for the position in 
which he found himself — a boy barely fifteen, in 
a foreign city, and amidst surroundings the like" 
of which he had never had any previous knowledge 
of To take a Winchester schoolboy (and a 
Winchester schoolboy of seventy years ago !) and 
plunge him all at once into a Parisian counting- 
house in order that he might become familiar with 
mercantile affairs, would have been an unhopeful 
experiment in most cases. In Henry's case it was 
utterly futile. 

At first, however, the boy seems to have made 
the best of it. He wrote cheerful letters home, 
and his parents had good accounts of him from 
other sources. A French friend of theirs, Colonel 
Marbot, returning to England from Paris, goes 
down to Harrow to see them, and, writes Mrs. 
Trollope — 


"gives a most excellent account of Henry. He says 
he is industrious in his office, and speaks French to the 
admiration of his hearers. He affirms, indeed, that he 
can speak French as well as he, Colonel Marbot, can 
English ; who, you know, has been some years in this 

Henry, however, with characteristic honesty, de- 
clares to his brother — who, it appears, reported 
this flattering speech — that it is absurd to suppose 
a person who has been but four months in Paris 
can talk French properly ; that he can read 
fluently and write fairly, but does not consider 
that he can talk at all ! 

I glean a few extracts from the boy's letters to 
his brother at this time, which are amusing. 

One remark which he gravely makes is that 
French cookery is not so oily as he expected ! 
He does not find "things " so cheap as he expected 
either ; although the one item that he gives, 
namely, that "grapes cost four sous or twopence 
a pound," certainly appears to be cheap enough. 
He adds, "You buy water here at exactly the 
same price as in the Isle of Wight "(!) The 
young gentleman is highly contemptuous of the 
conveyance which carried him and his parents 
from Calais to Paris, 


" Oh, if you could but see the diligence or coach ! 
Picture to yourself a long vehicle fixed on four high cart- 
wheels, about the length of two English stage coaches, 
and scarcely painted at all. It has 3 bodies, and carries 
15 inside and 6 outside passengers. And then, what 
curious kinds of harness ! And the traces, — some of 
rope, some chain." 

But he is greatly impressed by some of the public 
buildings in Paris. During the two days spent 
there before proceeding to La Grange, he visited 
the Louvre and Tuileries, several churches, the 
Champs Elysees (which he pronounces to be "just 
nothing "), climbed to the top of the column in 
the Place Vendome, and went twice to the theatre. 
On the journey from Paris to Rosay, en route 
to La Grange, he remarks the abundance of wild 
apple and pear-trees: "Not here and there, but 
like elms or blackberry bushes in England." Of 
La Grange he says : 

"It is an old house, not at all ruinous, but irh 
historiquc. The mote {sic) is about fifty yards across. 
There is no drawbridge. There are shewn in the wall, 
the marks of cannon shot fired when the place was 
invested by the celebrated Marshal Turennc." 

He saw cider being made, and a great abundance 
of apples lying in heaps in the orchard, of which 


he ate " as many as were convenient" — a delightful 
phrase ! 

In Paris he is employed at the office in trans- 
lating French letters into English, and English 
letters into French, until about four o'clock in the 
afternoon. After that hour he seems to be at 
liberty to go where he pleases. All his parents' 
friends receive him kindly. He enumerates among 
the houses to which he goes most frequently, those 
of the Garnetts, General Lafayette (when the 
latter is in Paris), and Miss Clarke, afterwards 
Madame Mohl. In one letter there is a description 
of the Fete dit roi, as to which he tells his brother 
that he has never seen, and never will see, anything 
like it in England. 

" In the evening the whole of Paris was illuminated, 
and the theatres were open the whole day, morning, and 
evening, and middle of the day. Anybody might go 
in free. The King paid all the playhouses to keep on 
acting the whole day. Nobody went in but the rabble. 
In the Champs Elysees there were four theatres erected, 
and raised so high that everybody in the Champs 
Elysees could see them. There were also about eight 
high stages erected for the music, and it played con- 
tinually during the whole day. There were 3 soaped 
poles to climb for sacks (?) and other things. Also 
there were 8 great square places hollow inside, four 


full of bread and meat, and four of wine. And a soldier 
inside each threw out bread and meat ; and the wine all 
ran about like a fountain, not only for the people to 
drink, but to carry away by pailfuls. And to crown all, 
a great balloon, and in the evening at dark, some 
admirable fireworks. A thousand rockets were let ofl' 
at once." 

On the day of the Fete he saw the Duke of 
Bordeaux, the heir presumptive, driving in the 
Champs Elysees. 

" He was in a carriage drawn by six horses, and 
there were soldiers riding on either side, and another 
empty carriage behind, in case the one he is in should 
break down or overset. The Duke of Bordeaux is 
seven years old, and wears a sword, and he was looking 
out of his carriage windoii' and making faccsT 

There, at least, is an authentic bit of history ! 
And here is another. 

" When I am walking, it is not uncommon to hear the 
boys holloa out ' Voici le petit goddam ! Nous battrons 
les Anglais avec dcs jnanchcs a balai I ' " 

To be sure, that was twelve whole years after 

Meanwhile, at Harrow, despite some troubles at 
hand, and more ahead, there was a good deal of 
sociability and enjoyment. 

Some private theatricals were given at the 


TroUopes' house, and Mr. TroUope, who was 
pressed into the corps dramatique, displays a great 
interest in the affair, talks of the many rehearsals 
that were necessary, and says, " Stevens is a good 
prompter, and thunders capitally ; we have not 
tried our lightening yet." 

In October, 1826, Mrs. Trollope writes to her 
eldest son at Winchester : — 

" I wish you had been with us on the night of our 
grand representation. We flatter ourselves that we were 
extremely successful. I may truly say that we had a 
full house, and the applause was most flattering. It 
was very fortunate for us that we had to perform it 
first more privately before your aunt and uncle. This 
we did twice, and it led us to perceive many errors, and 
to make many important alterations." 

She then describes their ingenious contrivances 
for the mise en scene. Their first piece was 
Moliere's Feinmes Savantes, acted in the original 
French ; their second, some burlesque or extrava- 
ganza of the day. 

" In the Femmes Savantes" she writes, " we fitted up 
the stage with every kind of thing you can imagine fit 
to fill the drawing-room of a blue lady, — books, maps, 
plans of the moon, telescopes, rolls of paper, MSS., 
etc. Upon the white curtain opposite the windows, 
were fixed engravings, and two little tables loaded with 



quartos were placed under them. All this, well shewn 
by the light of the lamps, had a very good effect, and 
we left the audience several minutes to admire it after 
the curtain drew up, before we made our entree. The 
clapping was prodigious ! I must not attempt to describe 
the glories of the magnificent tragedy that followed. 
I hope you will live to see it. After supper seven 
young Drurys were deputed to request a repetition of 
the performances. They all came to the top of the 
table aud knelt down to implore this favour of viy 
niajesty. You never saw a prettier group." 

A month or two later, she gives an account of a 
little encounter she had with the Vicar of Harrow, 
the Rev. Mr. Cunningham. 

There was considerable antagonism at that 
time in Harrow, between the party self-styled 
Evangelical, and those who, holding simply by 
the doctrine and customs of the Established 
Church, were apt to suspect a savour of hypocrisy 
and self-righteousness, in the Evangelicals. Mr. 
Cunningham's preaching and teaching were very 
popular with a large number of persons, but they 
did not find favour with many of his leading 
parishioners. Between those very important 
Harrovians, the Drurys, and their Vicar, there 
raged, indeed, open warfare {vide " What I Re- 
member," ch. iv.). Mrs. Trollopc was always 
specially averse from the forms of speech and 


methods of teaching associated with Low Church- -\^ 
ism, nor was this aversion in any degree due to 
indifference on the subject of rehgion. Her son 
has remarked in his Reminiscences that he cannot 
remember having received any religious teaching 
from her, in any set form. But this was the 
recollection of a Wykehamist, who left his home 
at ten years old, and passed from the nursery and 
nursery teaching at an unusually early age. 
Curiously enough, the very first guest who came 
to stay in the English home he made in Devon- 
shire, on leaving Italy after a sojourn there of 
some forty years, was a lady who was almost his 
contemporary, who had been the playfellow and 
intimate friend of his sisters, and who cherished a 
warm affection for his mother's memory. This 
loyal old friend took him to task pretty sharply 
for what struck her as being a little reflection on 
his mother's principles and practice in the matter 
of religious instruction. "Why, Tom," said she, 
"what could you be thinking of? I spent weeks 
in the house at Harrow when I was a child, and a 
young girl, and I remember that your mother 
made a point of hearing us — your sisters Cecilia 
and Emily, and myself — read a portion of Scrip- 
ture and the Church Catechism every morning." 


T. A. Trollopc was hurt by the thought that 
as this lady had taken his words, so might they be 
taken by others. And he expressed a wish that 
it were possible to do his mother justice in this 
particular. That wish I have now fulfilled. 

To return to the Vicar of Harrow. Frances Trol- 
lope writes — 

"We dined at Mr. B.'s last Tuesday, and alas ! I was 
the only lady of the party not 'pious.' I was quite 
thrown out, when they began to talk of selling ;!^2oo 
worth of pincushions for various Christian purposes. 
Mr. Cunningham was there, and told me that he had 
heard that I had been amusing myself at his expense, 
by repeating what he had said about the virtuous manner 
in which certain young ladies played the piano-forte. I 
told him that I had; upon which he turned the other 
cheek and asked me 'why?' Whereupon I answered 
with my usual sincerity, ' because you deserved it, sir.' 
However, this sharp encounter of our wits by no means 
disturbed the harmony of the. evening, for it was carried 
on at the corner of a sopha, and we parted the tenderest 
of friends." 

In one of the very numerous letters written at 
this time by Mr. Trollope to his eldest son, occurs 
this passage : — 

"Mr. Sewell, from the Isle of Wight, the father of 
your brother Collegiate, called upon me yesterday. He 
seems to be a very sensible man." 


The brother collegiate was the present Warden of 
New College, the Rev. James Edward Sewell, D.D. 
And here I cannot refrain from giving an example 
of the way in which English public-school life 
forges a chain of comradeship that truly binds 
men's days each to each throughout many years. 

In the spring of 1 891, T. Adolphus Trollope 
was the guest of Mrs. Jeune (widow of the Bishop 
of Peterborough, formerly Head of Pembroke) at 
her house in Oxford ; and there, at a dinner-party, 
among other interesting and distinguished persons, 
he met his old schoolfellow James Edward Sewell, 
for the first time since sixty odd years. Mrs. 
Jeune, with her unfailing gracious tact and con- 
sideration, had altered the usual disposition of the 
guests at her table, to allow these two to sit next 
to each other, in order that T. A. Trollope, who 
was deaf, might be able to enjoy the Warden's 

It was very touching to see these two men, both 
enjoying a green old age, taking up the thread of 
the long past years, and talking of vanished days 
and vanished people with a fresh and living .in- 
terest. But the manner of their first meeting was 
the characteristic point. Those of Mrs. Jeune's 
guests who were staying in the house were all 


assembled in the drawing-room, when the Warden 
of New College was announced. After saluting 
his hostess, the Warden walked straight across the 
room to his fcllow-Wykchamist. A grip of the 
hand was exchanged. " How are you, Trollope } " 
— " How are you, Sewell ? " And they began to 
chat as easily and tranquilly as though the sixty 
years which divided their last parting from their 
present meeting had been but sixty minutes ! 

But it is time to return to the period when the 
venerable Warden of New College, and the his- 
torian of the Commonwealth of Florence, were 
schoolboys, with the long road of life still stretch- 
ing before them into the unknown future. 

Early in the year 1827, Mr. and Mrs. Trollope's 
letters constantly express alternate hopefulness 
and anxiety about getting their son Anthony into 
Winchester — the father entering, as usual, into 
minute calculations of the chances of a vacancy, 
and urging his eldest son to give him every detail 
as to the boys who may possibly resign before the 
next election, and so forth. In fact, Anthony was 
admitted to college in the April of this year. 

There is before me an affecting letter from Mrs. 
Trollope to her son Tom, dated April 11, 1827, 
pointing out with great earnestness how essential 


it is that he should do all in his power to keep his 
brother up to the mark. 

" Your father," she writes, " must certainly consider 
himself as very fortunate in getting three boys into Col- 
lege, and yet it will not do us much good, unless we get 
some dispers * of the New College loaves and fishes. 
As far as Anthony is concerned this must very much 
depend on you. I dare say you will often find him idle 
and plaguing enough. But remember, dear Tom, that, 
in a family like ours, everythiug gained by one is felt 
personally and individually by all. He is a good- 
hearted fellow, and chngs so to the idea of being Tom's 
pupil, and sleeping in Tom's chamber, that I think you 
will find advice and remonstrance better taken by him 
than by poor Henry. Greatly comforted am I to know 
that Tony has a praefect brother. I well remember 
what I used to suffer at the idea of what my ' little 
Tom ' was enduring." 

Tom had gone to Winchester at the unusually- 
early age of ten. Both his brothers, Henry and 
Anthony, were twelve years old when they entered 

In the course of this year, I find the first men- 
tion in the family correspondence of a person who 
afterwards played an important part during Mrs. 
Trollope s stay in the United States, and became 

* It may be worth while to state, for the information of non- 
Wykehamical readers, that " disper " is the Winchester word for a 
portion of food. 


known as tlic illustrator of many of her books — 
V 'W Monsieur Aucjustc Ilcrvicu, the artist. How the 
family first became acquainted with him I do not 
know. Probably it was, directly or indirectly, 
y / through Miss Wright and the Lafayettcs. At any 
rate, in 1827 he had become a familiar visitor, 
and frequently an inmate, in the house at Harrow. 
To one of Mr. Trollope's letters at this time, 
concerning the despatch of sundry classics for his 
son's use at Winchester, M. Hervieu appends the 
following postscript, which I give verbatim et 
literatim : — 

" My dear Thom, 

" if this Anacreon can please you, I do offert 

"AuGUSTE Hervieu." 

One more summer vacation was spent by the 
family at Julians, when they were all united. It 
was decided that Henry should return from Paris, 
to his boundless joy. Mrs. Trollope writes to her 
eldest son, about a month before the holidays : — 

" I enclose you Henry's last letter. I hope you will *J 
share the delight he anticipates from the family reunion. 
I expect to enjoy it myself, not a little. I have already 
been planning sundry * drolleries ' to amuse us all. As 
I am to stay at home all the long vacation, I hope to be 


very happy there. We must have our French play 
again, and * Chrononhotonthologos ' into the bargain. 
I flatter myself that you will this year find some fruit 
left for you ; — at least the gooseberries, currants, peaches, 
nectarines, and apricots, all promise largely." 

It is a cheerful picture of a sunny season and 
a sunny mind. But it is the last of its kind for 
some time. The pleasant home was to be broken 
up, its inmates scattered, and the bright, brave 
spirit to whom they all turned for comfort in 
trouble and sympathy in joy, was to be sorely 
tried by exile, disaster, and disappointment, before J 
any good days came again. 

VOL. I. 



" La conipagnie est belle et bonne, — mais c'est avec une grande 
joie qu'on se st'pare." — Madame de SkvignK, Litter 84. 

1/ The circumstances which led to Mrs. Trollope's 
^V visiting the United States, and the speculation 
which her husband entered into there, with the 
hope of retrieving his shattered fortunes, have been 
set forth in the autobiographies of their sons 
Thomas Adolphus and Anthony. But many par- 
ticulars of her life in America have been omitted, 
both in their books and her own. It could not, 
indeed, have been otherwise. An attentive perusal 
and careful collation of many letters and docu- 
ments, written and printed, have been necessary in 
order to present these particulars with any degree 
of clearness and without repetition of what has 
already appeared. The lapse of time has made it 
now possible to tell much that could not so well 
have been said fifty or sixty years ago. Distance 
of time, as well of space, not only softens, but 
reveals many objects. 


A few words will suffice to say that the farming 
•operations at Julians tended steadily towards 
failure ; that Mr. Trollope let the excellent house 
he had built, and removed to a farm-house at 
Harrow Weald (the same which Anthony Trollope 
has described in his novel of " Orley Farm ") ; 
and that he resolved to invest the last remnant of 
his capital in a speculation at Cincinnati, in the 
United States of America. The speculation con- 
sisted in building a kind of bazaar or emporium, 
where a variety of fancy articles, chiefly imported 
from Europe, were to be sold. There was also a 
hope and expectation of finding employment for 
Henry in the United States. 

It was arranged that Mrs. Trollope, with her 
two young daughters and her son Henry, should 
go first to America and settle sundry preliminaries, 
and that Mr. Trollope should join them there later, 
but not with any idea of eventually settling in the 
United States. 

Mrs. Trollope, with her three children, Henry, 
Cecilia, and Emily, sailed from London for New 
Orleans on the 4th of November, 1827, and arrived 
at the mouth of the Mississippi on the Christmas 
Day following, the voyage having thus occupied 
a little over seven weeks. It was a peculiarly 




prosperous one as regarded its weather, and a 

smooth voyage, like a smooth hfc, offers but little 

material to the narrator. Ikit, notwithstanding the 

general serenity of sea and sky, they did meet with 

one exciting incident, which Mrs. Trollope has 

omitted in her book on the United States. She 

has recorded it in some private notes now before 

/ me. The incident was nothing less than their being 

y/ chased by a pirate ! I give it in her own words : — 

"We were sitting on deck, watching, as usual, the 
setting sun, when, as darkness approached, one among 
us descried in the west, a light that appeared like that of 
a beacon. We called to the captain to tell us what it 
was. He looked very grave, and said, ' it is a signal to 
us, to lie to.' 'Shall you do so?' we asked. He 
appeared not to hear us ; but we immediately heard him 
giving orders which were followed by hoisting as much 
additional canvas as we could safely carry. He evidently 
kept out of our way to avoid questions, and we saw there 
was something wrong though we knew not what. 

"The next morning when I got on deck, I saw every 
glass on board pointed to a speck on the horizon. * Is 
she gaining on us ? ' was pronounced in accents of so 
much anxiety by the standers-by, that I became con- 
vinced something terrible was approaching. When the 
good captain found that he could no longer conceal the 
fact, he confessed that there was every reason to believe 
we were chased by a pirate. 

" For some hours our situation was painful enough. 
The common sailors, having less discretion than the 


captain, scrupled not to assure us that they should all 
be barbarously murdered, and that we should be robbed 
and chained down to our berths at least ; if not thrown, 
one upon the other, into the sea ! The stranger sail 
evidently gained upon us, and terror was as evidently 
doing the same, when another vessel, and a right gallant 
one, was discovered chasing our chaser. The latter 
tacked, and shifted, and at length veered about, scudding 
away as fast as possible before the wind, with the English 
man-of-war (as she was soon discovered to be) after her. 
" I doubt if the females on board felt more relieved at 
their escape than did the crew. It is true they knew 
better what the danger was, than we did ; and various, 
and most ghastly, were the stories with which they enter- 
tained us for many days afterwards, of the ' water-rats ' 
that frequent the entrance to the Mexican Gulf." 

It has not been found possible to "police" the 
mighty Atlantic into uniform good behaviour ; but 
the Cunard passenger ploughing with swift keel 
through its waters, may at least congratulate him- 
self on being free from any danger of pirates — 
which was a very real one eight and sixty years 

Miss Frances Wright was Mrs. Trollope's travel- 
ling companion on this voyage ; and it is probable 
— although I can furnish no proof of it — that the 
whole scheme of the American speculation was 
originally suggested by her to the Trollope family. 
The more so, as I find that she was staying in 


their house at Harrow only two months before the 
voyage was undertaken. 

In a description of this remarkable woman in 
" What I Remember," T. A. Trollope writes — 

" There exists — still findable, I suppose, in some 
London T^z/^/j- dc magasin — a large lithographed portrait 
of her. She is represented standing with her hand on 
the neck of a grey horse (the same old gig horse that had 
drawn my parents and myself over so many miles of 
Devonshire, Somersetshire, and Monmouthshire roads 
and cross-roads), and, if I remember rightly, in Turkish 

He did remember rightly ; for I have discovered, 
not in a London fomis dc magasin, but in an old 
folio scrap-book belonging to the family, the very 
lithographed portrait in question. There stands 
Frances Wright, leaning on the old grey horse, as 
T. A. Trollope describes her. It cannot be said 
that the drawing of the quadruped is felicitous. 
But the artist, M. Hervicu, has succeeded better 
with his human model. The portrait represents a 
tall, handsome woman, with regular features, richly 
curling hair cut short all over the head, and an 
earnest expression of countenance. And she is 
dressed absolutely and positively in the Bloomer 
costume ! Any one turning to the illustrations 
of Puncf:, published at the period when I\Irs. 


Bloomer was making her crusade in favour of this 
costume, may see the counterpart of that worn b}- 
Frances Wright in the early part of the present 
century. There it is — short tunic, wide sash round 
the waist, full trousers gathered in at the ankle — 
even to the broad-brimmed straw hat which she 
holds in her hand. Nothing new under the sun? 
No, not even " rational dress " ! 

Miss Wright had already spent two years in 
the United States, previous to a prolonged sojourn 
in Paris, where, as we have seen, she was on terms 
of affectionate friendship with General Lafayette 
and his family. She was also a friend of the 
well-known Robert Owen of Lanark, socialist and 

Mr. Owen had, in 1825, established a colony, on 
communistic principles, in the state of Indiana. 
The estate comprised twenty thousand acres of 
land near the Wabash river. Here, in a vallej- 
named New Harmony, life was to be carried on v_x 
in accordance with Mr. Owen's social views. 
Industry, Peace, and Plenty, were to bless the 
settlement ; and those disasters of the Old World, 
which were, in his opinion, due to long-rooted 
error, were to be rectified in the New. Miss A 
Frances Wright was as fervid and single-minded 



an enthusiast as ]\Ir. Robert Owen, and was, like 
him, ready to give irrefragable proof of her 
sincerity by sacrificing the considerable fortune 
she possessed to the good of the cause. 

The cause which she particularly had at heart 
in the year 1827, was the abolition of negro 
slavery. Later on, she lectured vehemently 
against revealed religion, and had a scheme for 
erecting a Temple of Science, where education was 
to be carried on upon her own principles. 

Miss Wright had purchased an estate in the 
midst of a partially cleared forest in Tennessee, 
called Nashoba. It was to be cultivated by free 
negroes. One of her pet schemes was to prove 
the intellectual equality of the black and white 
races, which, she was persuaded, could be effected 
to demonstration by giving an absolutely identical 
education to white and negro children in "mixed 

Mrs. Trollope had proposed passing some months 
at Nashoba with Miss Wright and her sister ; but 
I do not find any hint of plans for a more pro- 
longed residence there, nor of any sort of partner- 
ship in the educational schemes. It is possible 
that there may have been some idea of finding 
employment for Henry at Nashoba. If so, this 


hope went down in the general flood of disappoint- 
ment which overwhelmed the English family when 
they saw the settlement. 

Mrs. Trollope has described in print her arrival 
at Nashoba, and the desolate savagery of the 
spot. But, far from exaggerating the wretched 
conditions of the life there, she has, in a measure, 
extenuated them, by giving a mere general state- 
ment, which is never so effective in such a case 
as particular instances. Ideas as to what con- 
stitutes severe discomfort, vary greatly in different 
individuals. Dirt, for example, is not fatal to 
the cheerfulness of some persons. I will, there- 
fore, give one or two details from Mrs. Trollope's 
private notes, and leave the reader to form his own 
judgment on the facts. 

" The Frances Wright of Nashoba, in dress, look, and 
manner, bore no more resemblance to the Miss Wright 
I had known and admired in London and Paris, than 
did her log-cabin to the Tuileries, or Buckingham Palace. 
But, to do her justice, I believe her imagination was so 
exclusively occupied on the scheme she had in view, 
that all her other faculties were, in a manner, suspended ! 
When we arrived at Nashoba, they were without milk, 
without beverage of any kind, except iahi water ; the 
river Wolf being too distant to send to, constantly. 
Wheaten bread they used but very sparingly, and, to us, 
the Indian corn bread was uneatable. They had no 


vegetables but rice and a few i)Otatocs we brouglit witb. 
us ; no meat but pork ; no butter ; no cheese. I shared 
her bedroom. It had no ceiUng, and the floor consisted 
of planks laid loosely upon piles that raised it some feet 
from the earth. The rain had access through the wooden 
roof, and the chimney, which was of logs slightly plastered 
with mud, caught fire at least a dozen times in a day. 
And yet I verily believe that Miss Wright was un- 
affectedly surprised at perceiving that I did not find 
their manner of life everything that reasonable beings 
could wish for. She herself made her meals on a bit of 
Indian corn bread, and a cup of very indifferent cold water, 
and while doing so, smiled with the sort of complacency 
that we may conceive Peter the Hermit felt when eating 
his acorns in the wilderness. ... I found her amiable 
sister, Mrs. ^Vhilby, in very bad health, which she con- 
fessed she attributed to the climate ! This so much 
alarmed me for my children, that I decided ui)on leaving 
the place with as little delay as possible, and did so, at 
the end of ten days." 

But there was one person of the party, whose 
disappointment was far more acute than Mrs. 
Trollope's, and whose manifestation of it she de- 
scribes in a letter addressed on the 14th of March, 
1828, from Cincinnati, to her" beloved boys" at 
Winchester. This person was M. Augustc Hcrvieu, 
who had accompanied Miss Wright to Nashoba. 

Nashoba could scarcely have been looked upon, 
even by the most sanguine enthusiast, as a hopeful 


field for the art of a portrait-painter. But it was 
as a teacher that M. Hervieu's talents were to be 
utilized. He was to be professor of drawing — 
presumably to the " mixed classes." Mrs. Trollope 
writes — 

" I must now tell you of ]\I. Hervieu's adventures. 
You know that Miss Wright induced him to accompany 
her to her settlement, for the purpose of teaching draw- 
ing in her schools there. As soon as he arrived, he 
asked, ' Where is the school ? ' and was answered, ' It 
is not yet formed.' I think I never saw a man in such 
a rage. He wept with passion and grief mixed, I believe. 
He immediately determined upon going to the little 
town of INIemphis, fifteen miles from Miss W.'s settle- 
ment, and trying to get some employment there. He 
succeeded beyond his expectations, and made more than 
enough to pay all his expenses. But the place is so 
small, that he had soon done all there was to do, and he 
was quite ready to accompany us to Cincinnati." 

It turned out that Monsieur Hervieu's presence 
in Cincinnati was of the greatest comfort and 
assistance to Mrs. Trollope and her family. Her 
letters report many traits of the most generous 
kindness on his part, acknowledged with the most 
generous warmth on hers. In after years, Hervieu's 
relations with the family became less pleasant. 
His eccentricities and somewhat over-weening 
temper were irksome to all, especially to the 


younger members of the family. But in any 
honest biography of Frances Trollopc, justice 
must be done to the warmhearted Frenchman 
who stood so staunchly by her and her children 
when they sorely needed a friend. 

The Nashoba scheme, it is almost superfluous 
to say, failed uttcrl)-. Within a few months of 
Mrs. Trollope's departure from the place, Miss 
Wright and her sister had also left it, and the little 
blacks who were to have figured in the " mixed 
classes " were, together with all the other slaves 
(between twenty and thirty), shipped off to Hayti. 
Mrs. Trollope says that I\Iiss Wright herself 
accompanied them thither, and left them under 
the care of the President. This measure, at all 
events, was not only a kind, but a wise one. It 
was, perhaps, the only way of securing the safety 
and freedom of her negroes. And probably they 
did not deeply lament that the experiment which 
was to have proved their intellectual equality with 
the white race, had been thus nipped in the bud. 

Another deception befell Mrs. Trollopc in con- 
nection with New Harmony, whither her son 
Henry was sent, on the faith of what proved to 
be absolutely false pretences. 

Wc must have the courage to tell the truth, even 


about the failure of the best intentions. That the 
intentions of Mr. Robert Owen and Miss Frances 
Wright — like those of many another fanatical 
enthusiast — were good, cannot be doubted. As 
little can it be doubted that a grain or two of 
humility would have furnished a leaven of price- 
less value to the mass of their theories. A grain 
or two of humility might have given them pause 
before embracing a root-and-branch system of 
cutting down and digging up everything, in order 
to begin all over again. A grain or two of 
humility might have suggested that they possibly 
did not possess the superhuman wisdom necessary 
for carrying on such an enterprise beyond the pre- 
liminary stage of destruction. But the grain or two 
of humility were lacking ; and the root-and-branch 
system is so seductive to vanity and the thirst for 
personal predominance ! A witty French writer 
has said, in one of his novels, " Le bien ue se fait 
qiCen detail!' At any rate, it would be well if 
those who desire the good of their fellow-creatures, 
would condescend to begifi with doing the duty, 
however humble, which lies nearest to them. 

Mrs. Trollope gives a lively account of the fate 
of New Harmony and its society in an early chapter 
of her "Domestic Manners of the Americans." 


Her private notes, as usual, more than corroborate 
her printed statements. i\Ir. Owen finally broke 
off all connection with the place in 1828. But 
I\Ir. Maclure, a Scotchman of some property, had 
founded a school in New Harmony, to which he 
liberally contributed a fine collection of books, 
scientific instruments, etc, The expense of keep- 
ing it up was to be defrayed by the profits derived 
from the labours of the pupils, who were to alter- 
nate, at certain fixed hours, manual toil with 
intellectual study. Thither was Henry Trollope 
sent, on the faith of sundry rose-coloured repre- 
sentations. He found on his arrival that Mr, 
jMaclure had left New Harmony ; that the direction 
of the place was in the hands of his " partner," a 
French woman ; that this practical-minded person 
had entirely dropped the intellectual part of the 
programme, but had adhered tenaciously to the 
plan of making all the young people on the settle- 
ment work hard with their hands ; and that the 
result was great prosperity — for the lady. Many 
of the youths sent there, in the hope of receiving 
an excellent education, belonged to poor families 
living at a great distance, and had no money to 
enable them to return to their homes. 

In a letter from Henry to his brothers, he says 


a brief, but sufficiently graphic word about his 
existence at this settlement founded with such 
high pretensions. Henry had not only to earn his 
bread, but to make it, and bake it, and to labour 
, in the fields all day. Such is, such doubtless has 
been for ages, the lot of millions of men. But it 
was scarcely necessary to cross the Atlantic, in order 
to discover that the New World has not, in this 
respect, improved on the conditions of the Old. 

It was not possible to remove Henry from New 
Harmony as soon as the hopeless state of things 
there became manifest, for Mrs. Trollope was 
literally without money. By some unexplained 
accident, no letters reached her for half a year 
after leaving England. In one of her letters to her 
son Tom, written on the 4th of May, 1828 — ^just six 
months after her departure — she mentions that she 
is despatching by the same mail, her ninth letter 
to Mr. Trollope, and that she has not yet received 
one line in return ! 

There is no department of life in which the 
advantages enjoyed by us in the present day, over 
our forefathers, are more striking and incontestable 
than the post-office. Mrs. Trollope's letters from 
various countries, and during many years, give 
details as to the delay, uncertainty, and expense 


connected with postal communications, which 
appear ahiiost incredible to us now. In one letter 
from Cincinnati, she instructs her son to inquire 
about a certain coffee-house, called the North and 
South America Coffee-house, whence, she has been 
told, a letter can be despatched to the United 
States at a cheaper rate than they have been pay- 
ing ! She is sure that she could often get her 
letters more quickly if they were despatched 
directly from London, instead of being sent first 
to Liverpool. But this, she says, 

"cannot be done by putting them into the London 
post office, but by learning, either at Lloyd's, or at the 
above-named coffee-house, what vessels are going from 
the port of London, and zv/iciiP 

All this would seem rather extraordinary to the 

present authorities at St. Martin's-le-Grand. 

Mr. Trollope, on his part, was suffering anxiety 

at the non-arrival of letters from his wife. But in 

her case the distress was increased by the pressure 

of absolute want. 

" I cannot express to you," she writes to her sons, 
" the dreadful anxiety to which this silence gives birth. 
Is your father ill ? Is he dead ? Have his affairs fallen 
into such confusion that he has not been able to procure 
the money necessary to send us a remittance? Wher- 
ever you may be, my dearest Tom, when you receive 


this, I entreat you to write to me immediately. Our 
situation here would be dreadful, were it not for M. 
Hervieu's grateful, and generous kindness. It is more 
than a month that we have not had a mouthful of food 
that he has not paid for. How are you both, my darling 
boys ? Oh, what could I do — alas, I have nothing to 
give, but what would I not give, to have you both for 
half an hour ! Dear Tom, dear Anthony, do not forget 
us ! " 

The situation was truly dreadful. She was in y 
a strange country, separated by thousands of miles \ 
from husband, home, and friends, and with three ^ 
helpless young creatures depending on her pru- 
dence and energy. One side of this letter is 
covered by the effusions of Cecilia (then a child of 
eleven) and Henry. Both are dejected enough. 
The poor little girl winds up hers with these 
words : " Cincinnati is a very pretty little town, 
but I heartily hope papa will come and take us 
away from it ! " She was not the only one of the 
party who hoped so. The mother squeezes in at 
the end a highly characteristic postscript : " I 
think the young people have tried to make us 
appear more wretched than we are. Do not be 
unhappy about us, dear ones* Adieu." 

By the 30th of the following June, however, 

* The italics are mine. — F. E. T. 
VOL. I. 8 


things have mended. INIr. Trollopc is expected 
to go out to them immediately (as a matter of 
fact he did not sail for America until September), 
and they arc all eagerly looking forward to his 
arrival. Although they have nearly reached the 
hottest season, they have not as yet suffered from 
the heat. Henry has been very ill, but his malady 
began before the hot weather. (Its immediate 
y cause was, probably, the mental misery and bodily 
hardship endured at New Harmony.) His mother 
writes — 

" You would hardly know Henry and nic, we are both 
grown so tliin. This climate is a very strange one. 
The heat, though the thermometer is sometimes as high 
as 104, is not very terrible, but the vicissitudes of the 
weather are most extraordinary, and the climate of Eng- 
land is, in comparison with this, very little subject to 

The sudden alternations of temperature are 
often commented on in the family correspondence ; 
and Henry tells his brothers that an American 
man of science declared to him that in Cincinnati 
he had observed a variation of forty degrees in the 
course of a single day ! 

It is in this letter of the 30th of June, 1S2S, that 
we find the first hint of the possibility of Mrs. 
Trollope's writing a book about America. 



" I amuse myself," she says, " by making notes, and , 
hope some day to manufacture them into a volume. 
This is a remote corner of the world, and but seldom 
visited " [you will remember, good reader, that she is 
speaking of the Cincinnati of seventy years ago], " and 
I think that if Hervieu could find time to furnish 
sketches of scenery, and groups, a very taking little 
volume might be produced." 

The one volume grew into two, and the work 
•certainly proved to be " taking ; " but equally 
certainly it owed a very small part, if any, of its 
attraction to M. Hervieu's pencil. But Frances 
Trollope's previsions about her own success were 
always very modest, even after she had gained a 
high place in public favour. The motive which 
instigated her to attempt authorship, was, un- 
doubtedly, the desire to add to the slender re- 
sources of the family. Without giving unqualified 
acceptance to Dr. Johnson's strong assertion that 
"no man but a fool ever wrote books except for 
money," one may go so far as to say that a vast 
number of good books have been written for 
money ! 



"Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita 
Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura. 
* » * * 

Ahi ! ciuanto a dir cos'era c cosa dura, 
Questa selva selvaggia, ed aspra, e forte ! " 

Dante, Divine Comedy, Canto i. 

Mr. Trollope, accompanied by his eldest son, 
paid a brief visit to America in the autumn of 
Vyi828, and the final arrangements were then made 
for building and opening the bazaar. The place- 
was intended to serve various purposes besides 
that of an emporium for the sale of fancy goods. 
Among other projects, there was to be exhibited a 
[)anorama of London, which Ilervieu was to paint. 
There is no doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Trollope 
received a great deal of local encouragement for 
their scheme. On that point there is plenty of 
testimony. Some of the encouragement may have 
been sriven from interested and dishonest motives ; 
but much of it was, doubtless, genuine enough, 
although surprisingly rash. lUit enthusiasm is 


everywhere apt to prevail over prudence, in the 
disposal of other people's money. 

It is due to Mr. Trollope to state that in this 
disastrous speculation, he was not (as had been 
the case in some other matters) running counter 
to the advice and wishes of his wife. I do not 
think that Mrs. Trollope would ever have originated 
the idea of going to the United States, but, being 
there, she certainly founded great hopes on the 
scheme of the bazaar ; and she entered into the 
preparations with all her native energy and vivacity. 

Her husband and son returned to Europe, 
leaving her with the two little girls and poor 
Henry — for whom it seemed terribly difficult to 
find a niche in the world — to start the new under- 

It would be worse than useless to attempt any 
detailed account of the disappointment of all their 
hopes. It may be stated in a few words that the 
bazaar was a total failure, and that the capital 
embarked in it might as well — for all the benefit 
the Trollope family ever derived from it — have 
been thrown into the Atlantic Ocean. 

And yet, indirectly, the project opened a 
prosperous career to Frances Trollope. It is no 
exaggeration to say that she achieved a brilliant 


literary position, and a comfortable competence, 
and that the first step to both was the publication 
gf the "Domestic Manners of the Americans." 
The book has been enormously read, and it would 
be superfluous to recapitulate any of its contents. 
But some more extracts from her private letters 
and notes may be found interesting and amusing. 

After the departure of her husband she received 
a kind letter from General Lafayette, and writes 
to England : — 

" The same post which brought me the General's letter, 

brought one also from him to ]\Ir. N " [a resident 

in Cincinnati] " requesting him to do all he can to make 
our residence here agreeable. Such an introduction is 
worth something in this country. I am very much 
pleased by these letters of Lafayette. They contain, 
ill fact, the first certain assurance that we are not a set 
of very accomplished swindlers ! " 

I copy here Lafayette's letter as it lies before 
me, in its almost faultless English. One fault, 
indeed, there is — the persistent mis-spelling of 
her name as Troloppe. But this orthography of 
the family patronymic I have found so frequent, 
among all sorts and conditions of men, at home 
and abroad, as to suggest the idea that there 
must be some mysterious reason in the eternal 
fitness of things why it ought to be so written ! 


"Lagrange, November llth, 182S. 
"Dear IMadam, 

" I do not know when this letter may reach you, 
having been told, under a later date than your Cincin- 
nati confidential communication, that it was your inten- 
tion to move with your family to New York. I am 
afraid my letters to my friends, the N. family, will not 
have arrived in time ; but hope your acquaintance will 
have been formed on the ground of common remem- 
brance and feelings in behalf of your old absent friend. 

" While our dear Fanny was giving us the general, and 
minute, features of the New Harmony system, and, not- 
withstanding her enthusiasm, of the uncomfortableness 
of Nashoba life, I wondered at the determination of a 
London lady to make herself a Forest pioneer ! The 
more so after the letter I had received from you, dear 
madam, before I came to Paris. I admired the effect 
of her" [Aliss Wright's] "eloquence, the warmth of your 
friendship. But not knowing your other motives to go 
to the U.S., and thinking it would be very hard on my 
part to remonstrate against so affectionate a determina- 
tion on behalf of the beloved girls, I had only to pour 
my tender blessings upon you, as upon them. I have 
already expressed how much I grieved to hear you had 
left Nashoba after a visit of eight days. Not that I ever 
thought that sort of forest life could suit you, or can 
object to the sense of other duties which called you at 
a distance from your enterprising friends, but because so 
abrupt a separation might be prejudiciable (sic) to them. 
No explanation was obtained from Fanny, who only, 
in a kind word, mentioned your departure. Your Cin- 
cinnati letter with all its details, for which I am much 


obliged to you, has been the sole account I had given 
to me on those, so very, very interesting subjects. I 
have not for a long while heard from Fanny and Camilla. 
I suppress the feelings which several particulars of your 
letter could not fail to excite, but request you, dear 
madam, to write as frecjuently and as minutely as you 
can to me. Should you be still in Ohio, my corre- 
spondence with N. must, at a long distance of time I 
fear, have answered your purpose. In New York you 
are surrounded with friends. I hope the next packet 
will bring me letters from Fanny, and let me know where 
you now are. In the meanwhile I send these lines to 
Mr. Wilkes, and requesting my best regards to Mr. 
Troloppe, to your son, and all the family, I am very 

" Your friend, 


The General's kind solicitude on behalf of Fanny 
Wright and her sister, must have subjected him 
to considerable anxiety and many disappoint- 
ments ; for it was not possible to induce the 
former to write fully on any other topic than 
that which engrossed her imagination for the 
time being. 

In a letter from ]\Irs. Trollopc to her son, dated 
Cincinnati, May i, 1829, we get an amusing 
glimpse of Fanny Wright. She was now devot- 
ing all her zeal ami enthusiasm to preaching 
Vatheism, combined with such simple and practical 


moral precepts as that " Affection shall form the 
only marriage ; kind feeling and kind action, the 
only religion ; respect for the feelings and liberties 
of others, the only restraint ; and union of interest, 
the only bond of peace and security ! " 
Mrs. Trollope writes — 

" I have mentioned in a former letter that Miss Wright 
has bought a church at New York for the delivery of 
her own lectures, — and all others, as I imagine, on the 
same side of the question. Whether the speculation is 
likely to ansv/er to her as a matter of profit, I have not 
heard. If it does not, I think she will speedily be 
distressed for funds. I am greatly mistaken if her 
gazette" [a socialistic journal published at New Har- 
mony] "long continues to pay its own expenses. It is 
so inexpressibly fatiguing to read the same thing ex- 
pressed in five thousand different ways, even though it 
be the amusing assurance that the world was made by 
•chance. I remember General Lafayette once reading 
me a letter of F. W.'s in reply to one of his which had 
conveyed to her some (as he thought) /w/^v/d-;// European 
news. She assured him that she felt her mind so elevated 
above all the petty concerns of life, that she could no 
longer give attention to such subjects. The remaining 
pages of a long letter were occupied by a minute narra- 
tive of domestic proceedings at Nashoba; and told how 
black Peggy stole a pair of shoes, and how black Jenny 
quarrelled with black Joe, etc. The same, or a similar, 
state of mind is, I think, visible in every page of her 
twaddling gazette. Everj'thing that she can catcli which 


has a bearing upon lier own particular dogmas, and her 
own particular whims, finds place there in wearisome 
succession; but all subjects of general import, interesting 
to man as he is, not to man as she dreams he might be, 
are excluded. And I doubt if any preacher that ever 
lived, from Bossuet to Cunningham inclusive, has been 
able to produce more yawns from a given number of 
pages, than Frances Wright." 

One more mention of this singular woman may 
be given before taking leave of her in these pages, 
because it is an original and contemporary record 
of a very characteristic little scene. The passages 
I transcribe arc from a diary kept by T. A. Trol- 
lopc during his short visit to the United States. 
He had taken leave of his mother, and was waiting 
with his father in New York to sail for Europe : — 

" Tluiisday, Febiuary ihc fifth, lii29. 
" \Vent to call on Miss Wright. I found her sitting at 
a table opposite to William Owen to whom she intro- 
duced me. The table was covered with sheets of paper, 
— some written all over, some partially covered, and 
some as innocent as spotless whiteness could make them.. 
Some printed sheets were mingled with the confused 
heap, and a huge pewter inkstand stood in the middle of 
the table, equidistant from tlie two composers. She 
received me very graciously, asked about my adventures 
in the West, etc., and what were my prospects and inten- 
tions in England. The conversation then turned to 
General Jackson " [then recently elected President, after 


a tough contest, in which his competitor was Quinc}- 
Adams], "whom she said she knew perfectly well ; and 
from him to the tariff. She said that although she ap- 
proved of the general principles of free trade, she 
thought that political economists had taken erroneous 
views of the matter." 

This sweeping utterance irresistibly recalls the 
delightful man servant in George Eliot's essay, who 
being asked, " What is the cause of the tides, 
Pummel ? " replies : " Well, sir, nobody rightly 
knows. Many gives their opinion. But if I was 
to give mine, it 'ud be different." 

"She was about to explain her ideas to me on this 
subject, when we were interrupted by a woman who was 
ushered in, and requested an interview with Miss Wright. 
After a somewhat lengthy and periphrastic preamble, 
the good lady intimated that perhaps it might be more 
agreeble to Miss Wright, to speak her opinion in private. 
Miss Wright said there was no subject on which she was 
not ready to give her sentiments before the gentlemen 
then with her, — ]Mr. Owen and myself. The woman then 
abruptly began : ' IMiss, they tell me that you say the 
Devil has more friends than God. Do you say so?' 
' No, indeed ; 1 say very little about God or devil.' ' I 
thought you preached no such thing ! ' ' Oh no ; I never 
preach at all.' " \_LectHrc, the wise it call]. " The 
woman then went on to state her particular case. It 
was that her brother was a sectarian preacher, but that 
when he was not engaged in his spiritual trade he 


followed the more wordly, and possibly more profiiable, 
one of making 'gambling instruments' — by which 1 
presume the woman meant cards or dice. Now she 
argued that her brother ought to abandon one of these 
callings, and not serve both God and Mammon. On 
this point she requested Miss Wright's opinion. Miss 
Wright was all smiles and condescension, and gave her a 
long sentence of advice, the substance of which was to 
attend her (F. W.'s) lectures. The woman then departed, 
saying as she went, ' They told mc as I should be afraid 
of you. But I knowed wc 7oas too much alike for that ! ' 
I said I feared Miss Wright did not make so good a 
thing of her consultations, as the lawyers and physicians 
did of theirs. She said, ' Oh no ; I am dreadfully 
plagued by these sort of interviews.' " 

Ay, as a ball-room beauty is " dreadfully 
plagued " by the admiring attentions of those 
tiresome men ! And yet, apart from the delusions 
of vanity, Fanny Wright honestly wished well to 
her fcllow-crcaturcs, and desired to do them good. 
If she was a quack, she was one who believed in 
her own nostrums. 

In the autumn of this same year a storm of 
misfortune burst upon the family in America, 
l^esides the complete ruin of the bazaar speculation, 
]\Irs. Trollopc was prostrated by a most serious 
v^ illness, llcr life was at one time quite despaired 
of by the doctors, and her recovery appears to have 


astonished every one. It was a severe trial of the 
magnificent constitution which enabled her to do 
and to endure so much, and " to live after it to be 
eighty-three ! " as her son says. 

The following extracts from her letters v/ill best 
tell the story of the latter part of her stay in 
America. I will string them together, merely 
interpolating an explanatory sentence when neces- 
sary, and premising that they were written from 
the immediate neighbourhood of the city of 

" April, 1830. 
" Nothing, my dearest Tom, but the state of mind I was 
in when Henry left me, could excuse my not writing to 
you by him, I will not now dwell on all that has hap- 
pened. You will doubtless learn it soon enough from 
Henry. I trust the return to his native air will restore 
his health, which was dreadfully shaken in the climate 
of Cincinnati." 

Henry had returned to Europe in the spring. 
The manner of his arrival at home after such an 
absence, and such a voyage, is too singular and 
characteristic to be omitted, I again copy from 
the diary of his elder brother, then at Harrow : — 

" Monday, April 19th, 1830. 
" At half-past twelve last night I was awakened by a 
knocking at the door, and having got up and gone down. 


I found Henry at the (.loor, who had just arrived by the 
coach from Liverpool, and walked down here. I gave 
him my l)ed, and passed the rest of the night in a large 
chair. He came across in a British trader, the Dalhousie 
Castle. All to-day has, of course, been consumed in 
talking to him." 

In all probability the payment of the coach fare 
from Liverpool to London had exhausted Henry's 
purse. Innumerable instances could be given of 
the boys being left absolutely penniless. Their 
father seems never to have considered it possible 
that they could want ready money. They all 
appear to have accepted quite naturally his 
Spartan views as to personal comfort. But for 
a delicate lad of cightceen, having suffered hard- 
ships and sickness in a foreign land, and just 
arrived after a tedious voyage across the Atlantic 
Ocean in a sailing-ship, — for such a one to perform 
the last portion of his journey on foot arriving 
after midnight, seems a somewhat severe ex- 
perience. Yet I find no further remark on it 
in the family correspondence. To return to 
Mrs. Trollope's letters : — 

" The pleasantest feeling that I have experienced for 
a very long time, was that produced by reading the 
certificates you took with you to College. Dear, dear 
Tom, let me ever hear you spoken of thus, and I think 


I cannot be quite unhappy, let what will arrive. For 
your own sake, as well as for mine, cherish and nourish 
your intellectual faculties to the utmost. Let me hear 
of you ! I am sure you have the stuff in you to become 
something. The anxiety you expressed during my long 
and melancholy illness touched me deeply. I never 
thought I should address you again, my beloved son. 

" I am now with the oldest friend I have in the 
world." [This was ]\Irs. Stone, eldest sister of the Julia 
Garnett, who married Dr. Pertz.] " She is a most agre- 
able woman, and seems as well pleased to resume our 
old friendship as I am. With her I hope to remain 
until something can be arranged for our future plans. 
I fear that our means, crippled as they have been by 
the loss at Cincinnati, will not allow us to live decently 
in England until some return from the property there 
can help us to do so. But let me not fill my letter, 
which I can so seldom afford to send, or you to receive, 
with our troubles." 

She then goes on to speak of the city of 
Washington, the capitol, the Chamber of Repre- • / 
sentatives, etc., in terms of warm admiration. 
Many of the passages in her letters are to be M 
found verbatim in her book on America. And, 
surely, there could be no more complete proof 
of her truthfulness and sincerity : for the letters 
were written first ; they are communications of the 
most confidential kind from a mother to her son ; 
and were certainly written without foreseeing 


that they would be hoarded by him for sixty 
years as a precious possession, and finally pre- 
sented to the world through the medium of 
printer's ink ! Later in the summer she writes — 

*' I imagine that when this reaches you, you will be 
at home for the long vacation. Oh how I long to see 
you all ! — to know how you, my dear Tom, now almost 
of age, are going on, — what your present hopes are, and 
what their foundation. Alas, since last we conversed 
together my life has been almost one continued scene 
of suffering. Often have I rejoiced that you were where 
you could not see it. Yet often would I have given 
much to have your affection to support me. Everything 
from the time you left us, went wrong, spite of exertions 
— nay hard labour, on our part that would pain you to 
hear of. I suspect that poor Henry, in suffering as he 
did in every way at Cincinnati, thought he had suffered 
enough, and that he has allo^^cther avoided giving the 
painful details to your father; for by his letters it appears 
that he is still ignorant of nearly all the events that 
preceded our departure. For instance, he says that he 
' cannot imagine why it was necessary for Henry to set 
off immediately,' when the fact was that ivery bed had 
been seized, and that we — your sisters and myself — were 
sleeping together in one small bed at Major L.'s " [a 
Cincinnati neighbour] "and boarding there, as well as 
Henry and Hervieu who both lay on the floor in the 
kitchen, /i7r the value of vij parlour carpet. And yet your 
flither wonders why Henry did not stay the winter ! 

" In one letter, in answer to one of mine in which I 
staled our situation, your father writes, ' How is it 


possible that you are dependent on Hervieu for your 
living, when I have sent out goods to the amount of 

;^2000? ' 

" Is it not strange, Tom, that he does not yet know 
that these goods never brought one penny into my hands? 
The proceeds of those we sold, went to the workmen 
and servants, and the rest were seized. I trust my letters 
have reached him, and that he now knows this fact, but 
I would have you recal it to his memory. 

" I\Iy only hope in quitting Cincinatti was that my 
old friend Mrs. Stone would be able to receive my girls 
and me until our return home and the manner of it, 
could be settled. I then hoped that some of the brilliant 
prophecies which poor Hervieu heard for his picture, 
would be realized. But here again disappointment has 
followed us." 

The picture was a large oil-painting repre- 
senting the landing of General Lafayette in 
America. It was exhibited at Philadelphia and 
at Washington, and greatly praised. But the 
exhibition did not pay its expenses. 

" The only thing that has not disappointed me, is the 
friendship of Mrs. Stone. Nothing can exceed her kind- 
ness, and with her we have found a home the tranquillity 
of which has done much towards the recovery of my 
health both of mind and body. But you must expect, 
my dear Tom, if Heaven indeed permits my safe return, 
to see a very old lady ! My eyes have greatly failed me 
since my illness. I can do nothing without spectacles, 
and I can no longer walk as I did. But I am infinitely 

VOL. I. 9 


better than when I came here " \i.c. to Stonington, her 
friend's house], "and still young enough to enjoy a long, 
long talk with you as in days of yore. 

" Give our most affectionate love to your father. We 
have lately sent him through Mr. Vaughan " [then British 
Minister to the United States] " a packet containing 
letters from your sisters. This disappointment respect- 
ing the picture, will, I fear, prevent my seeing Niagara. 
I regret this the more, as I fear my book will seem very 
imperfect without it. But I can hardly hope that 
what Hervieu can make this winter, will admit of this 
additional expense. He has several good pupils, and 
he has just had a fifty-dollar portrait ordered. He pays 
for our board here. Were my dear friend Mrs. Stone 
as rich as she deserves to be, this expense would be 
spared. But she has a very large family, and has had 
most serious losses. I wish with all my soul that you 
could see and hear poor Hervieu ! He seems only to 
live in the hope of helping us. He has set his heart 
on getting us home without drawing on your father's 
diminished purse. God send us safe home, and he will, 
I know, be repaid, not only in money, but by the grati- 
tude and affection of my husband and children. But 
sometimes my heart sinks when I think of our present 

" Poor Cecilia is literally without shoes, and I mean 
to sell one or two small articles to-morrow to procure 
some for her, and for Emily. I sit still and write, write, 
write, — so old shoes last me a long time. As to other 
articles of dress, we should any of us as soon think of 
buying diamonds ! Your dear sisters have had a pretty 
sharp lesson in economy. They mend, — and mend, — 


and mend. They are, indeed, treasures to me, and their 
devoted affection outweighs all my misfortunes. I often 
comfort myself with thinking that they would not have 
loved me so tenderly, had they not seen me suffer. 

"You will think, my dear boy, that I am trying to 
increase J^'w<:r affection for me by the same means ! But 
I wish not that you should be ignorant of our life since 
we parted. It is not one sheet, however, nor a dozen, 
that could do justice to it. Be not unhappy about us 
nevertheless, dearest. We are really very comfortable 
here ; you know enough of composition to be aware that 
nothing more completely and agreeably occupies the 
mind ; and Hope — that quits us the last, perhaps, of all 
our friends — tells me that it is possible my book may 
succeed. It will have great advantages from Hervieu's 
drawings. If it should succeed, a second book would 
bring money. If I can but get home next spring, I feel 
as if I should still find the means of being happy and 

" My poor dear Anthony will have outgrown our 
recollection ! Tell him not to outgrow his affection for 
us. No day passes, — hardly an hour — without our talk- 
ing of you all. I hope a letter from your father is on 
the way. Tell Henry that my wrist has lately recovered 
greatly, and that I trust his ankle will do the same. 
The dear girls would fill a volume with phrases of love. 
Say all that is affectionate from all to all. God bless 
you, my dearest Tom. 

" Ever your affectionate mother, 

"F. Trollope." 

Truly these are not sentimental grievances nor 
imaginary woes ! 



The eagerly longed-for return to home did not 
take place quite so soon as had been hoped. It 
was not in the spring, but in the full summer of 

^1831 that j\Irs. Trollope with her two daughters 
and M. Hervieu quitted the United States. They 
sailed from the port of New York, and landed at 
Woolwich on the 5th of August, proceeding direct 
from Woolwich to Harrow. T. a\. Trollope had 

\/6n that day gone up to London to see if he could 
gather any tidings of them, and on his return 
home found them arrived. 

His diary for the two following days records 
that nearly all their waking hours were occupied 
in hearing and telling all that had befallen both 
divisions of the family since their last parting. 
Tom found his mother looking much better than, 
from her letters, he had expected. And in the 
joy and excitement of the reunion, he says, "we 
talked, talked, talked all day long." 



" Ii, therefore, the profession you have chosen has some un- 
expected inconveniences, console yourself by reflecting that no 
profession is without them ; and that all the importunities and 
perplexities of business are softness and luxury compared with the 
incessant cravings of vacancy and the unsatisfactory expedients of 
idleness." — ^Johnson, BoszuelPs Life. 

From the day of her return to England, there 
began a period of literary activity for Frances 
Trollope, which lasted over twenty-five years. The 
more one investigates the records of her life, the 
more astonishing appears her conscientious and 
unflagging industry. No doubt she had a certain 
enjoyment in her work. No good work can be 
done quite unenjoyingly ; but the industry which 
induced her to stick to it until it was accomplished, 
whether she were willing or unwilling, sick or 
sorry, is none the less admirable. 

The two volumes which she had brought with 
her from the United States were offered to the 
firm of Whittaker and Treacher of Ave Maria 
Lane, and originally published by them in the 

.' r 


spring of 1832; but the copyright was eventually 
sold to Messrs. Bcntley and Son, who were the 
publishers also of her works on " Paris and the 
Parisians," "Vienna and the Austrians," as well 
as of the most successful of her novels, including 
"Tremordyn Cliff," " Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw," 
" The Widow Barnaby," and " The Vicar of 

I have no intention of entering into bygone 

quarrels, but it must be broadly stated that 

JMrs. Trollope's relations with Mr. Whittaker had 

become considerably strained before she finally 

broke off all dealings with the firm. 

Sir Walter Scott, speaking of publishers, says : 
" It is a wrathful trade ; and the irritabile genus 
comprehends the book-selling as well as the book- 
writing species." 

If this be so — and Sir Walter's authority and 
experience carry weight — it must arise from the 
circumstance that the appreciation of a work of 
art, unlike that of other saleable articles, depends 
on individual temperament, sagacity, education, 
and so forth, and cannot be reduced to a certain 
standard, as can the quality of cotton stuffs and 
hardware. There is a market price for the latter 
commodities ; but every book has to be valued 


by private judgment before it is submitted to the 
public. A conflict of opinions is apt to be even 
more bitter than a conflict of interests ; and when 
both are in the field at once, considerable " wrath- 
fulness " may be expected. 

It is pleasant, however, to be able to add that 
in the case of Mrs. Trollope's dealings with Messrs. 
Bentley and Son, there was no quarrel. Some 
differences, no doubt, arose in the course of them. 
It was inevitable that they should do so. But 
they were conducted, on both sides, with fairness 
and courtesy. I have in my possession several 
letters from Mrs. Trollope, expressing her obliga- 
tions to Mr. Richard Bentley for acts of kindness 
and consideration in the manner of his payments, 
at a time when she was hard pressed for money 
to supply the needs of a whole family dependent 
on her exertions. 

A few days after "The Domestic Manners of 
the Americans " had been consigned in Ave Maria 
Lane, T. A. Trollope calling, at his mother's 
request, on Mr. Whittaker to inquire as to its 
fate, was told that " Basil Hall was reading the 

I am not aware whether there had been any 
previous acquaintance between their families — I 


am inclined to think not, — but from the time of 
Mrs. Trollopc's first negotiations with a publisher, 
she found in Captain Basil Hall, to the end of his 
life, a judicious, zealous, and loyal friend. His 
opinion of the book on America was highly 
favourable. He wrote of it to the authoress with 
warm praise, and gave her, moreover, most valua- 
ble business advice as to the terms of publication, 
and so forth. 

Meanwhile the manuscript had been privately 
submitted to Henry Milman. I glean the follow- 
ing extracts from Mrs. Trollope's letters to her 
son during the autumn of 183 1, when the question 
— so all-important to her — of the publication of 
her book was being decided. The first is dated 
on the 1 2th of October, from "The Sacred Den, 
Harrow ; " the family having so nicknamed the 
little room she used to write in. 

" Yesterday the whole Milman family mounted the 
stairs to my room, clamorously calling for ' More book ! 
More book ! ' Imagine me, if you please, looking ex- 
tremely modest, but l)eing vastly delighted. I certainly 
did not intend that they should all read the M.S. 
beforehand, but wished to take his [Henry Milman'.s] 
opinion on the religious passages, and I am very glad 
I did so. He does not think me at all too strong, and 
his observations on other passages are excellent. I 


know his taste may be trusted, and I shall not fail to 
profit by it. The old Lady Ivlilman told me that if I 
had been hid behind the door the evening before, I might 
have been well contented with what I heard, which was 
what could rarely happen to authors so placed ! All 
this is very encouraging. ... So the Bill is gone ! " 
[alluding to the throwing out of the first Reform Bill by 
the peers]. "Everything has been tranquil as yet. A 
mob collected round the House of Lords Monday night, 
but we have as yet heard of no violence. That happy 
personage, your poetry professor" [Henry Milman was 
elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford in 182 1] "is to dine 
to-day at Lockhart's, to meet Walter Scott and Tom 
Moore. He says that if the mob visits them he shall 
take ' litde Tom ' by the arm, and feel quite safe." 

She alludes with great contempt to a well- 
known vagary of Lord Brougham, who, in his 
great speech as Lord Chancellor, on the second 
reading of the Reform Bill, ended by a prayer, and 
fell on his knees on the woolsack, and asks — 

*' Had the venerable Eldon played such monkey tricks 
when he had a point to gain, what would have been 
said of him ? Henry Milman told me that the Lord 
Advocate sate down one evening in the House beside 
Croker ; on which Croker addressed him very courteously, 
saying that as men of Letters they ought not to permit 
political difference of opinion to keep them asunder, 
and that he should be happy to make his acquaintance. 
Jeffrey received the overture with equal courtesy, and 
some days after, again placed himself near Croker. He 


then began addressing him in a very confidential tone, 
and told him that he was perfectly disgusted with 
r.rougham, who had treated him in the most insolent 
manner imaginable ! " 

Later on she writes that she has requested her 
cousin, Charlotte Hellicar, to send her some par- 
ticulars of the Bristol riots, which had then recently 
taken place, and with which all England was 
ringing. The Hellicars' town house was quite 
near the scene of the greatest disorders. 

" Imagine their terror ! " Mrs. Trollope writes. " The 
H. Milmans have been staying with Sir William in 
London for a {q.\{ days, and dined at Judge Alderson's. 
It seems that the talk was all of massacres and riots. 
If the upper classes fall into a panic, it is over with us. 
]jut if they sustain the shock manfully, I believe there 
is nothing to fear." 

An amusing scrap from M. Hervieu, inserted in 
this letter, displays less stoutheartedness ! I give 
his English as I find it. 

" Cartes I could not choose a worse lime to write to 
you. I have been for nearly three weeks vexed beyond 
the power of any mild temjjcr. First this cursed 
Reforme Bill, then my illustrations to Billy Taylor, with 
all their ge?iuific merit, cannot bring me a single penny, 
then the lithographic stone from France is not yet here, 
your poor Mamma has been floating about from incerti- 
tude to incertitude, cholera morbus and revolution spread 


their wings over everything we meet, — yes, we must all 
go to the devil at last ! That is my firm opinion." 

Luckily it was not Frances TroUope's. For such 
pessimistic previsions are rather apt to bring about 
their own fulfilment ! 

The incertitude in which poor Hervieu describes 
Mrs. TroUope as "floating," regarded, of coursQ, 
the final agreement about her book. As to the 
cholera morbus, it was a very real terror. Captain 
Kater was so scared by the reports of it, that he 
fled with his family to France, although, as Mrs. 
Trollope remarks, he was not likely to be at all 
safer there than at home. Hervieu himself, about 
this time, had an attack which perilously resembled 
this dreaded disease. Mrs. Trollope nursed him 
indefatigably, and says : " I am quite proud of my 
patient, who, I really think, without a good doctor 
and nurse, might have been in very considerable 

She is never either so busy, or so anxious, as to 
be indifferent to her friends. Nearly every letter / / 
contains proof of the hearty interest she took in 
their joys and their sorrows. In one, she urges 
Tom to endeavour to sell certain books at Oxford, 
for the benefit of a family fallen into distress ; in 
another she tells him — 


" I was much pleased the other day, by a visit from 

^ my old friend Herman Merivale. He was always a 

"-Tavourite of mine, and I still think him very particularly 

agreeable. He had a halo of pretty Drury cousins 

round him, but I almost forgot they were there, so well 

pleased was I to listen to him." 

Mrs. Trollope certainly showed her discrimina- 
tion in admiring this brilliant young man, who had 
already made a high reputation for himself, 
although only five and twenty years of age, and 
whose after-career was full of honours. 

Then a large part of her letters is occupied by 
the strange story of an old friend of her husband's. 
This gentleman, a Mr. Smith, contrived to convey 
a letter from a private madhouse in Salisbury, 
where he had been improperly placed, and was 
then imprisoned, to Mr. Trollope, beseeching him, 
in the most touching terms, to come to his assist- 
ance. Mr. Trollope at once set off on w'hat would 
have seemed to many persons a Quixotic errand, 
and was certainly one involving much that was 
difficult and disagreeable. At Salisbury he received 
great kindness and hospitality in the house of a 
local clergyman, who seems to have taken great 
interest in the case. I\Ir. Trollope evidently dis- 
played both ability and energy on behalf of his 
ill-used friend. He had to overcome many 


obstacles, and his wife says that she conceives the 
keeper of the madhouse to be a sufficiently accom- 
plished villain to serve Mr. Bulwer for a hero, 
adding, " I am not sure that I will not take him 
myself, one of these days ! " 

It is good to know that these humane efforts were 
successful. Mr. Trollope brought his friend away 
from Salisbury in triumph, and Mr. Smith re- 
mained for some days at Harrow, where his 
amiable manners and cultivated mind made the 
most favourable impression on all the family. He 
ended his days peacefully in the house of his sisters, 
who were much attached to him. 

Mrs. Trollope writes of this story with as intense 
and lively an interest, as though she had no 
anxieties in her own family circle, and were quite 
at leisure to attend to the troubles of those out- 
side it. 

Nay ! I have written an idle word. Absence 
of personal sorrow has not been found a guarantee 
for sympathy with the sorrows of others. Imagi- 
nation enough to comprehend, and benevolence 
enough to feel for them, are what is needed. And 
a charitably compassionate spirit is a fountain that 
flows the more abundantly the more it is drawn 


The negotiation with ^Ir. Whittaker dragged 
its slow length along, in a somewhat harassing 
manner. She writes — 

" I have another letter from Captain Hall, long, and 
very friendly. He tells me not to sign and seal the agree- 
ment with \V. until I have communicated with him. . , . 
He is now at Portsmouth, in attendance on Sir Walter 
Scott, who is to pass the winter at Naples for his health. 
My dear Lady Dyer urges my going to stay with her, 
but I may not do it consistently with my present plans. 
I have done nothing to my new book, nor shall I till 
the other is gone to press. I always feel that I have 
still something more to do to it. I took an early dinner 
on Wednesday with the young Lady Milman. She is a 
charming woman, and I must find time to pass another 
day with her, for I like her better than most things I meet 
in this working-day world. I have, however, made a 
point of refusing invitations. Did I not, I plainly see 
that I should have time for nothing but botching up a 
cheap, smart wardrobe, and eating dinners and suppers 
which I could not return. . . . Mr. Cunningham brought 
Dr. Longley here the other morning to introduce him 
to me. He seems a pleasant, conversable man." 

Dr. Longley, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, had been ap[)ointcd to the Head Mastership 
of Harrow School in 1829, during Mrs. Trollope's 
absence from Europe. It is a significant indica- 
tion of the esteem with which she was held, that 
the Vicar — despite her deplorable views as to the 


Evangelical party — should have thought it worth 
his while to be the means of presenting to her so 
great a potentate as the Head Master of Harrow 
School is — at any rate in Harrow. 

At length she is able to tell her son that (thanks 
chiefly, it would appear, to Captain Basil Hall's 
indefatigable kindness) the agreement for her book 
is signed, and the manuscript in the publishers' 

" I quake a little, but if I can get even a little money, 
I will not mind abuse, — nor labour. Lady Milman, with 
whom I have been passing two days, told me she hoped 
I should be ready with something else. Now, as I have 
never mentioned this intention there, I was well pleased 
to find it had occurred to them as the natural and proper 
result of the encouragement I have received. . . . 
While my head is at work upon story-telling and money- 
making, I often encourage my energy, and solace my 
fatigue by thinking that if I should succeed in getting 
up one step of the literary ladder, it would incontestibly 
heV^ you immediately to the second." 

Again, in speaking of certain hopes she enter- 
tained, she breaks off suddenly — 

" What a Jew I grow ! My whole thoughts run, 
morning, noon, and night, on the possibility of getting 
something by this, that, or the other. I have, however^, 
human feeling enough left, to delight in the idea of 


seeing you in the Christmas vacation. Adieu, beloved 
son ! " 

A significant commentary on the foregoing, is 
furnished by a few lines from Mr. Trollope, written 
by way of postscript, wherein he says, that he sends 
his son a draft for fifteen pounds, but considers 
that eleven ought to be amply sufiicicnt for the 
dead quarter, and hopes that Tom will bring four 
pounds home with him, for they will be much 
wanted there ! 

And all this time Mrs. Trollope was sorely tried 
by what certainly seems to have been the strangely 
harsh treatment of Henry by his father, and by 
the results of it. 

Tom was at Oxford, having gone thither with 
an exhibition from Winchester. Henry, after his 
return from America, had been entered at Caius 
College, Cambridge, but withdrawn after a short 
time, deficiente crumend, as his brother writes in 
his diary. He was now to read law with a Mr. 
Lovat, at his chambers in London. But at this 
point there arose endless discussions respecting the 
allowance which could be deemed sufficient to 
supply Henry with the bare necessaries of life — 
nobody seems to have thought of expecting more ! 
— while he was in London. Mr. Trollope was by 


no means a miserly man. He loved to dispense 
hospitality as long as he had means to do so, and 
could be generous to his friends. But he seems 
to have been absolutely a prey to a sort of mono- 
mania on the subject of allowing his sons any 
money. He never appeared to think that they 
could, or ought to need it ! And the Spartan 
regime to which he thought it quite natural they 
should submit, was of incredible rigour. Henry 
on his part deeply resented what he thought to be 
injustice, and the result was scenes of the most 
painful kind between father and son ; scenes 
where the mother was called in by Henry to 
mediate between them, and became herself so 
shaken and agitated as to be obliged sometimes 
to have recourse to a dose of laudanum to procure 
a night's rest ! 

It would have been impossible to present any 
adequate picture of the conditions under which 
Frances Trollope performed some of the best of 
her literary work, without revealing this "rift 
within the lute " at home. But I am persuaded — 
and I think any candid reader, who has perused 
the autobiographies of his two sons, must be per- 
suaded — that the explanation given by T. A. 
Trollope of his father's state of mind during his 

VOL. I. 10 


latter years, is the true one. I must be allowed 
to quote here one or two brief passages from 
"What I Remember." The writer states the case 
better than I can do it, and speaks with an 
authority on the subject to which I cannot 

" The terrible irritability of his temper, which some- 
times in his latter years reached a pitch that made one 
fear his reason was, or would become, unhinged, was 
undoubtedly due to the shattering of his nervous system 
caused by the habitual use of calomel. ... I am more 
convinced that bodily ailment was the causa causans of 
most, if not of all this unhappy idiosyncracy, that I have 
before me abundant evidence that as a young man he 
was beloved and esteemed by his contemporaries and 
associates. . . . What so grievously changed him? I 
do not believe that he was soured by pecuniary misfor- 
tunes, though he had more than enough. His first great 
misfortune — the marriage of his old widower uncle whose 
heir he was to have been — was, I have the means of 
knowing, borne by him well, bravely, and with dignity. 
I believe that he was destroyed, mind and body, by 
calomel habitually used during long years." 

Add to the baneful effects of the drug so reck- 
lessly taken, a temperament naturally prone to 
hypochondria, and his tendency, early manifested, 
to check any display of tenderness as being liable 
to the suspicion of insincerity, and it is not difficult 


to imagine that he became truly a terror and an 
oppression to those whom he best loved. Such a 
state of mind calls forth sincere pity for its victim ; 
and certainly not less pity for those who were 
constantly exposed to the ebullitions of a most 
violent and, apparently, incalculable irritability. 

But in the autumn of this year Mr. Trollope 
began a literary attempt of his own ; and it acted, 
in a great degree, as a safety-valve for the morbid 
energies of his mind. His wife writes : — 

" I cannot express my delight at his having found an 
occupation. He really seems quite another being ; — and 
so am I too, in consequence." 

This work was an " Encyclopaedia Ecclesiastica," 
of which one volume only ever appeared. I possess 
it — a goodly quarto, published in 1834 by John 
Murray, Albemarle Street, and printed in very 
clear and beautiful type. Since it cannot be sup- 
posed that many copies of this solitary, unmated 
volume are extant in the world, I here give the 
full title-page for the information of the curious in 
such matters : — 

" An Encyclopaedia Ecclesiastica ; or, a complete his- 
tory of the Church, containing a full and compendious 
explanation of all ecclesiastical rites and ceremonies ; a 
distinct and accurate account of all denominations of 


Christians, from the earliest ages of Christianity to the 
present time ; together with a definition of terms usually 
occurring in ecclesiastical writers. By Thomas Anthony 
Trollope, LL.B., late Fellow of New College, Oxford, 

It is illustrated by some very good lithographs 
(drawn by Hervieu), representing monks and nuns 
in the habits of their various Orders. 

One wonders that he should have thought it 
possible to complete such an undertaking unas- 
sisted. And yet his industry was so portentous, 
and his learning so respectable, that he might, 
perhaps, have achieved it had his life been pro- 
longed. But he died within a year after the issue 
of the first volume ; and his eldest son has recorded 
how, and under what difficulties, he laboured at it 
to the end. His wife mentions, while the work 
was still in progress, that he has had 

" a most kind, flattering, and liberal answer to his pro- 
spectus, from the Bishop of Hereford, enclosing ^^^lo 
for the whole work, which he says he is too old to see 

This was Dr. George Isaac Huntingford, Bishop 
of Hereford, and Warden of Winchester College, 
then an old man of eighty-four. He died only 
a few months after writing the above-mentioned 
letter. He had been Warden of Winchester during 


Mr. Trollope's time there, and still held that office 
when Tom and Anthony were in college. He 
had, therefore, known the family for so long a 
period as to make this testimony of his friendship 
and good opinion unusually valuable. 

There arose, also, a gleam of hope in another 
direction : Mr. Trollope applied for a London 
magistracy then vacant. It is a position he would 
have filled admirably. His honour and imparti- 
ality were above suspicion ; his knowledge of law 
was solid and extensive ; and his clear-headedness 
beyond the power of sophistry to bamboozle. His 
uncle, Mr. Adolphus Meetkerke, who had, it seems, 
some influence with the Whig party, called on 
Lord Melbourne (then Home Secretary in Lord 
Grey's administration) to solicit the place for his 

"Lord Melbourne," writes Mrs. Trollope, "received 
him very civilly, and desired him to request Mr. Trol- 
lope to write to him on the business. Your father did 
so. Lord \l. immediately replied by a note from him- 
self. The answer did not appear to me to be favourable. 
Your father, however, says that he has no doubt that 
Lord M. intended to intimate that he should have the 
office. . . . Think no more of this, my dearest Tom. 
/ shall not be disappointed. And I trust your father 
will not feel it very deeply." 


She understands that her book is to be reviewed 
in the Quarterly. And Miss Milman has just 
received a letter from her brother Henry in Lon- 
don, from which Mrs. Trollope transcribes the 
following passage for her son to see : — 

"I must not forget to say that Lockhart has read the 
first volume of Mrs. Trollope's book, with which he is 
very much amused. He said it was the cleverest woman's 
book he had read for a long time." 

It was not yet published, but copies had been 
sent to the reviews, and it was being talked of. 

"The young Lady Milman says she has heard it 
spoken of in several places quite distinct from each 
other. Dr. Longley told the Milmans that he under- 
stood it was very entertaining, — in short, to tell you the 
truth, I am afraid it is being over-puffed beforehand, 
and thai it will fall sadly flat afterwards" * 

Truly, her mind was not much subject to the 
gaseous inflation of vanity. 

The following letter contains passages too 
characteristic to be omitted : — 

'• Harrow Weald, Midnight, Feb. 17th, 1832. 
*' The bubble has burst, my dearest Tom ; and the 
magistracy can be dreamt of no more by any of us. . . . 
So much for bad news. On the other hand, your 

* Tlie italics arc mine. — F. E. T. 


father's MS. has been perused by one of Murray's 
readers, and much approved. This he learnt yesterday 
in an interview with Murray himself. Before they parted, 
the following conversation took place : 

" Murray. ' I think, Mr. Trollope, that your adver- 
tisement should appear in the next Quarterly.^ 

" Trollope. ' When will the next number come out, 
Mr. Murray?' 

" Murray. ' In a day or two, sir.' 

" Trollope. ' Indeed ! I thought it would not appear 
till next month.' 

" Murray. ' We have some important political articles 
that we want to put forward.' 

" Trollope. ' I am somewhat interested in the next 

" Murray. ' Aye? By the bye ! — Trollope — who the 
devil is Mrs. Trollope ? Her book is the cleverest thing 
I ever read. I have read it through. So spirited ! ' 

" Trollope. ' The lady is my wife.' 

" Murray. * Why did she not bring it to me ? It 
■will sell like wildfire ! She ought to have brought it to 
me. But I will help it all I can. You must introduce 
me to her.' 

" There, my son, what do you think of that ? May I 
not say like Lord Byron, ' I awoke one morning and 
found myself famous ' ? ' The American Exile ' [a novel, 
afterwards published under the title of ' The Refugee in 
America '], does not sleep, — although I sometimes fear he 
may make others do so ! I have finished my first volume, 
and two long chapters of my second. If the printer's 
devil, Lockhart, Hall, INIilman, and Murray, are right, 
then — let it be as bad as it will, — I shall get something for 


it. It is strange to observe how circumstances can 
change one's character. I remember the time when a 
glowing review in the Quarterly, and the being read 
before pubhcation, and approved, by the set above 
mentioned, would have made mc as proud as a peacock. 
But now — I only count the possible pence. 

" Apropos of which I may tell you that on Lockhart's 
report I bought a quarter of a pound of green tea, and 
on Murray's, half a pound of fresh butter, and at this 
moment — past eleven p.m. — I am sipping my favourite 
nectar with all appurtenances, in solitary comfort by the 
light of a wax candle. I am already reaping the fruit 
of my literary honours; for Hervieu, astounded at the 
wit I have put forth, and expecting more to come, has 
insisted on my having his room to write in at night, and 
declares himself to be extremely comfortable in a smaller 

A few days later the personal introduction to 
Mr. Murray took place. Mrs. Trollope had been 
to town to visit her old and greatly beloved friend 
Lady Dyer — now married a second time to a 
German nobleman Baron von Zandt, — and she took 
the opportunity of calling on Mr. Murray. She 
writes — 

" Mr. Murray received me in a very flattering manner. 
. . . Murray's drawing-room — or, rather, library — is 
magnificent. Such books ! He showed me many MSS. 
of Lord Byron's : some queer and curious enough. 
Your father was talking to him all the time about his 


work, or I should have got more conversation with him. 
He seemed very well inclined that way. I have been 
working very hard at the novel, and have sent it to 
Captain and Mrs. Hall for judgment. I tremble^ as you 
may well imagine. I will write the moment I hear their 
verdict. If it be favourable, I think I have a good chance 
of leaving behind me when we start for the Continent " 
[she was contemplating a tour in Germany, to be 
described in a book of travels], " wherewithal to support 
us for some time in comfort, on our return." 

Then, on the 19th of March, 1832, her first and 
most famous book was presented to the public. 



" Some minds are tempered happily, and mixed 
With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
Of what is excellent in Man." 

CowrER, The Task. 

" The Domestic Manners of the Americans " made, 
as all the world knows, a great success. Mrs. 
Trollope did not, at first, realize Jioiv great a suc- 
cess. But even when she obtained a clearer know- 
ledge on that subject by the most convincing proofs 
— namely, that the first edition was speedily 
exhausted, and was followed by a second, a third, 
and a fourth — her good sense and genuine modesty 
prevented her from rashly concluding that her 
fortune was made. On the contrary, she shows 
even more diffidence about her second book than 
her first ; and is eager to avail herself of all her 
friend Captain Basil Hall's suggestions and emen- 

Meanwhile, her reputation was spreading. The 
public talked of her book ; the periodical press 


wrote about it ; and the fashionable world voted 
her a lion, and desired to have her in their saloons. 
She writes — 

" Mr. Trollope told Murray yesterday, that I had a 
novel nearly ready. ' Yes,' said Murray, ' I know that ; 
and a very clever one too.' * Where can you have heard 
that ? ' said Mr. Trollope. ' From Lockhart,' rephed 
Murray. This I trace to my kind friend Lady Milman, 
junior. She is very intimate with the Lockharts. Baron 
von Zandt told me the other day, that he was going on 
the Continent, and intended himself to present 'my 
admirable volumes ' to the King of Bavaria. He believes 
they will be translated into German. Everything that 
adds to fame, helps to bring money. You see I think of 
nothing but base lucre ! Mrs. Hall tells me that Theodore 
Hook says the book is too clever to have been written 
by a woman. Saucy, that ! " 

Saucy, no doubt. But, of course, flattering. 
And Theodore Hook's joke is very much fairer 
than the Jove-like condescension, the " pretty- 
well-considering " tone, adopted by some critics of 
women's books — in the year 1832. 

Early in April Mrs. Trollope was again in 
London, whence she sent a long letter to her son 
Tom, then spending the Easter vacation, together 
with his young sister Emily, in the house of their 
cousin Miss Fanny Bent, at Exeter. It begins : 


" I promised to send you the first news of my 
receipts, my dear Tom, Emily, and Co. ! " 

The "Co." included her well-beloved cousin, 
Fanny Bent. This letter strikingly illustrates the 
singular frankness of the writer's character. Few 
persons would have been inclined to give so un- 
reserved an account of their money transactions. 
And it may be admitted that prudence would have 
dictated more reserve. But I am not trying to 
paint Frances Trollope as she might have been, 
but as she was. Infallibility is not claimed for her. 
But it is claimed for her that none of the revelations 
made by her openness of character are calculated 
to make us love her the less. 

She enters minutely into the disposition of the 
money she has hitherto earned. It is nearly all 
parcelled out for others. Hervieu is to have half 
the proceeds of the second edition of the " Domestic 
Manners." This, I think, will be generally held 
to be a very excessive proportion for his share of 
the work, judged on its merits. But that had been 
the bargain, and of course it was adhered to. Nor 
do I find any trace of discontent with it on her part. 

There are some curious items in the budget which 
she so frankly communicates to her correspondents. 
Among other things she pays for all the coal and 


candles used in her own room during the winter. 
But unless her husband can find means to con- 
tribute, she will be totally unable to pay ;^i8o 
needed for Henry, until she shall have sold an 
edition of the novel. The list winds up with " A 
few indispensable necessaries for myself, and money 
enough to take us to Julia Pertz." 

She had a scheme for taking her daughter Cecilia 
to stay for a year with Dr. and Madame Pertz 
in Hanover, where the former was then Royal 
Librarian and Archivist, and had achieved a dis- 
tinguished reputation — by no means limited to his 
native land — by the publication of the first volume 
of the " Monumenta Germanise Historica." This 
project was to be combined with a book of German 
travels, for which Mrs. Trollope hoped to receive a 
commission from Murray ; and Tom was to be of 
the party in the long vacation. His mother looked 
forward most eagerly to travelling on the Continent 
with him. This wish is expressed over and over 
again in her letters, from the time when he was a 
schoolboy of fifteen. 

After the above financial statement in her letter, 
she proceeds — 

" I think I told you that I was going to dine with Mr. 
Murray. I did so on Monday last, and a most splendid 


entertainment it was. Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart, Mr. 
Croker, Captain Hall, Mr. Landor, and half a dozen 
more, all lions, were there. I was abundantly com- 
plimented. Tuesday I breakfasted with Captain Hall, 
and on Wednesday went with him and his wife to a 
morning assembly at Mrs. S.'s, Then I was introduced 
to half the poets, painters, wits, and wonders that were 
in town. And there again I was beflattered most out- 
rageously. ... I am quite weary of being in London, 
and hope to get away to-morrow evening. I have done 
nothing very gay, except seeing Madame Vestris and 
Liston. If the cholera is very bad on the Continent, my 
dear Tom, we must postpone our going." 

She did leave London, but found it necessary 
— or, at least, very desirable — to return to it shortly. 
And she seems to have remained there during the 
greater part of the season. She took a lodging 
for Cecilia and herself in Thayer Street, Manchester 
Square. On April 25th she writes — 

" You would laugh did you know to what an extent 
I am lionized. Two invitations arrived yesterday from 
Mrs. S. ! " 

This was a lady of fashion whom Henry, in 
writing to his brother, irreverently describes as 
"the lion-huntress." The phrase reminds one of 
the delightful Mrs. Leo Hunter of Eatanswill. 
That fascinating woman had not yet appeared to 
enchant mankind ; but her prototypes, of higher 


or lower gentility, were extant in life if not in 
literature. Mrs. S.'s son had been a fellow- 
Wykehamist with Tom Trollope, and sends many 
compliments and regards to him through Miss 
Cecilia, who has accompanied her mother to one or 
two large assemblies. I know not whether it were 
because Mrs. S. had not written a successful book 
of travels, but Tom responds in a rather lukewarm 
fashion to these civilities, and seems to have but a 
hazy recollection of his dear friend ! 

Praise of another kind, and one that could not 
fail to be gratifying, comes from a different quarter. 

"To-day I got a letter from Captain Hamilton" [author 
of ' Cyril Thornton '] " in which he tells me that his two 
neighbours on the Lakes, Southey and Wordsworth, are 
both delighted. Captain Kater writes a volume of pane- 
gyric, and in short I am bepraised so violently that " — 
observe the conclusion she draws ! — " I am afraid my 
poor little novel will disappoint everybody." 

Among others who write congratulatory letters 
are the Gabells and Miss Mitford. Mrs. Trollope 
says that Captain Basil Hall continues to be " a 
most kind and efficient friend and admirable critic." 
I have before me several letters from Captain Hall 
to her, from one of which I shall have to quote at 
some length later on. In London he and his wife 


showed her kindness of the truest and most prac- 
tically friendly sort. There is something very 
frank, pleasant, and unaffected about his commu- 
nications. Here is one little note : — 

" Dear Mrs. Trollope, 

" I met the Miss Berrys to-day, who ate 
exceedingly anxious to see you, and they have begged 
to have the honour of your company on Sunday evening 
next, at No. 8, Curzon Street Of course you must 
have heard of them often. Miss Berry is herself an 
author, and one of the pleasantest persons in the world. 
They are enchanted with your book, and say that every 
word and thought in it bears internal evidence of truth, 
and carries authority with it accordingly. So I hope, if 
you can, you will come. But, of course, don't bother 
yourself. Only, in \\Titing to me, make your answer 
such as I can send on. If you can contrive to come, 
you had best come to us first — say at 8 — and we can 
attack the party together. Do as you like, however, 
and leave it to me to fight your battles. 

" Ever truly yours, 

"Basil Hall." 

Mrs. Trollope did accompany the Halls to Miss 
l^erry's, and met, of course, a very brilliant society. 
Although it would be absurd to suppose that her 
reception there was not gratifying to her, yet she 
keeps her head, and writes, indeed, half quizzing 
herself for the fuss that is made about her. 


" I went last night," she writes to her son, " with 
Captain and Mrs. Hall to a party at Miss Berry's in 
Curzon Street. They are ladies famous for their con- 
versation parties; and a very 'good' set were assembled 
there. I dare not, even to you, repeat all the things 
that were said to me. A. few, however, you shall have ! 

"The Countess of Morley told me she was certain 
that if I drove through London proclaiming who I was, 
I should have the horses taken off and be drawn in 
triumph from one end of town to the other ! The 
Honourable Mr. Somebody declared that my thunder- 
storm was the finest thing in prose or verse. Lady 
Charlotte Lindsay implored me to go on writing — never 
was anything so delightful. Lady Louisa Stewart told 
me that I had quite put English out of fashion, and that 
every one was talking Yankee talk. In short I was 
overpowered ! But all this must help the sale of the next 
book whatever may happen after. 

" Next Wednesday Cecilia is going with me to Lady 
Alderson's — a splendid party I am told. How strange 
all this seems ! " 

During the early part of this season, Mrs. Trol- 
lope sat for her portrait to Hervieu — a process 
which she describes as " a dreadful consumer of 
time." But she submits to it for his sake, as several 
of his friends have urged him strongly to do it — 
doubtless by way of an advertisement for himself. 

This v/as the oil-painting of which an engraving 
— truth compels me to say a very bad one ! — 



appeared in the popular one-volume edition of the 
"Domestic Manners of the Americans," in 1839. 
Very many of tlie long series of visitors who 
passed through T. A. Trollope's house at Florence, 
and subsequently at Rome, will remember the 
original picture, which always hung in the study 
where he wrote. It was one of the best executed 
of Hervieu's portraits, and an excellent likeness, 
although the engraving vulgarises it out of all 

The subsequent fate of this portrait is wrapped 
in mystery. When T. A. Trollope finally left 
Italy to establish himself in England, his mother's 
portrait — not a miniature in a casket, which might 
easily be lost or mislaid, but a life-size three- 
quarters figure — was despatched to London with 
other cases, to the care of a relative. The cases 
remained there until it was time to send them to 
the house which T. A. Trollope had taken in 
Devonshire. But ameng them was not the por- 
trait of Frances Trollope, nor has it been traced 
from that time to this ! A not improbable ex- 
planation is that it never left Italy, although the 
authorization necessary for exporting all works of 
art was duly obtained. It is quite within the 
range of possibility that the picture has come, by 


a circuitous route, into the hands of some dealer 
in bric-a-brac ; and that it may be sold as the 
authentic ^'i^gy of" a Roman Principessa, or dis- 
posed of as a family portrait .to some prosperous 
parvenu willing to give a good price for the luxury 
of a few ancestors. 

The London season of 1832 went on with really 
a stronger family resemblance to the London 
season of 1895 than perhaps the present genera- 
tion could readily believe ! And Mrs. Trollope 
was in the full rush of society. She writes — 

" I Jiope the whirl of engagements in which I live, will '^ 
be advantageous to me — to us, rather. But I almost 
doubt if I shall not lose more than I can ever gain. It 
is true that everybody tells me they are longing for the v 
novel, but the novel has yet half a volume to be finished, 
and I can scarcely find an hour in each day to give 
to it." 

This must have been "The Refugee," which 
appeared in the course of the year. 

" The life I lead makes it impossible for me to write 
much. I trust it will help me on, but, though flattering 
and agreeable, it is fatiguing to excess. You would 
stare to see the mass of cards round my chimney-glass. 
I hope it will not blow quite over before you can share it* 
Thursday I am to dine with the Countess of St. Germans. 

* The italics are mine. — F. E. T. 


'Evenings' and 'Mornings' are incessant. God bless 
you, and preserve the brain of your venerable mother 
through this whirl ! " 

Henry Trollope was made a fellow of the Geo- 
graphical Society, in the May of this year. He 
occasionally accompanied his mother to some of 
the assemblies to which she was invited. But his 
brain seems to have been in as little danger as 
hers, of becoming intoxicated with fashion and 
finery. Here is an extract from one of his letters 
to his brother at Oxford : — 

" At the Miss Berrys' I had the honour and glory 
and so forth, of being introduced to the famous Coun- 
tess of Morley. She is still very handsome. Captain 
Hall was very kind, and introduced me to a great many 
people — Mr. Stanley among others, who had a friend 
residing at New Harmony, and who was well-known to 
me. It seemed so strange, on this side of the Atlantic, 
to be talked to about a queer enthusiast in that Ultima 
Thule of society. I promise myself great pleasure in 
going to Mr. Murchison's to-night. I suppose you 
know he is President of the Geological Society." [Mr., 
afterwards Sir Roderick, Murchison had been elected to 
this post in 1831.J " I would rather be acquainted with 
him than with anybody in London." 

Famous countesses who were " still very hand- 
some" might have found that statement difficult 
to believe. 


In several letters of this period, there are allusions 
to the disturbed state of the public mind. There 
is, I think, considerable comfort for the lovers of 

" land of settled government, 

A land of just and old renown, 
Where Freedom broadens slowly down 
From precedent to precedent : " 

in the perusal of such contemporary glimpses of 
the flying day, as it flew sixty years ago. It was 
eminently practical wisdom that put into the 
mouth of a leader of men the encouraging '' passi 

Henry writes to his brother on the 12th of May — 

" I have seen a good many people very violent about 
the Bill, and the Whig Ministry. The King is abused 
by all. Radical meetings are held at every pot-house 
almost, and the most seditious placards are circulated. 
The names I have heard for the next cabinet are, for 
Premier, Grey again, Wellington, Peel ; for Chancellor, 
Sugden, Lyndhurst, — all which, I suppose, is tugs * to 

On the 14th Mrs. Trollope writes — 

" I will not say we are alarmed, because, in fact, I am 
not. But many expect riots in London to-day, in con- 
sequence of placards posted in all parts of the city, calling 
upon the citizens to assemble in the Regent's Park. We 

* Tugs is Wykehamical for stale news. 


are here on the high road to it, but everything is quiet. 
... I have been living among high Tories, and have 
had the honour of meeting sundry peers, but their apathy 
and despair provoke me beyond expression. If we are 
to be lost, it will be the fault of this party, who, as I told 
Lord E." [name undecipherable] " the other day, appear 
to me to do nothing but lie on their sophasj and groan." 

She goes on to say that her own affairs stand 
still, the book trade participating in the depression 
of things in general. 

" Whittaker seems in utter despair at tlie state of 
affairs. I am told that every one is collecting gold to be 
ready to start ! . . . Had I not heard so much of certain 
ruin, I should have enjoyed my season of popularity 

A little over a year previous, Oxford had been 
disturbed by anticipations of a visit from the 
" Swing " rioters. And the Bristol outrages were 
still fresh in the public mind. 

A letter addressed by Mrs. Trollope to her eldest 
son at Oxford on the last day of May, contains 
some words of sound advice. I know not whether 
the advice respecting the desirability of taking a 
good degree, be obsolete. I am inclined to believe 
not. But what she writes of books of travel, must 
certainly be applicable to all periods. Her son 


was planning a tour in the rural parts of Germany, 
and a book describing it. She writes— 

" I have long looked forward to your entering on the 
career of authorship, with (I think) a well founded hope 
of your success. As to your first start, I should wish it 
to be exactly in the path which tempts your fancy most ; 
and the sort of work you mention would give ample scope 
for talent in various ways. The objections are,— first, 
your not speaking the language, which would rob you of 
that sort of racy originality which the remarks, and even 
the phrases, of the people among whom you travel, can 
alojie give to such a work. Secondly, how can you 
prepare for your degree if you are thus occupied? I 
have not time, my dearest Tom, to express fully all I 
could say on the vital importance of this prehminary step 
being well taken. Remember the sort of effect which 
this must produce in after-life. Whether you apply for 
a Fellov/ship, a pupil, a living, a London lectureship, an 
article in the Quarterly, or an engagement with a book- 
seller, a good degree will aid you at first setting out, 
beyond anything else whatever. Be firm to this object. 
... I have much, too much, to interrupt me, but I trust 
I shall have finished soon, and moreover that the time I 
have given to engagements is not lost, speaking pro- 

Three weeks later she says — 

" I write expressly to announce to you that / have 
finished my book, and right glad am I to say so. I shall 
not, however, be able to send it to Capt. Hall until 


Monday, as Cecilia will not have finished the manuscript 

Cecilia was now installed as her mother's aman- 
uensis and transcriber for the press. 

" Heaven grant it may pay me ! I really have worked 
very hard at it. . . . To-morrow I set to work on that 
part of my MS. which has been already submitted to 
Capt. Hall, and mean to go through it carefully, pro- 
fitting by his remarks. I have written over thirty pages 
to-day, so excuse blank paper." 

The trip to Germany, including a visit to 
Hanover, and to her friends the Pertz's, which Mrs. 
Trollope had been eagerly anticipating, had to be 
abandoned in consequence of the disturbed state 
of the Continent, and of the cholera which was 
raging in many parts of Germany. Mrs. Trollope 
says that she should feel herself to be absolutely 
criminal, were she to expose her daughters to such 
danger as she hears talked of. In addition to the 
dreadful epidemic, people were predicting that 
within a short time Germany would become the 
seat of war! The relinquishment of her project 
mortified and vexed her greatly. But she takes it 
all in her usual brave, unselfish .spirit, and seems 
chiefly anxious to console the others for their dis- 


" For me," she writes, " I must endure the present as 
well as I can, work hard, and look to better luck in 
future for the enjoyment of what I may gain by my 

During the month of July, negotiations were 
proceeding with Mr. Whittaker for the publication 
of her novel "The Refugee." Captain Basil Hall 
was again her active and disinterested adviser as to 
the business part of the bargain. She finally 
agreed to sell one edition of the work, consisting 
of twelve hundred copies, to Messrs. Whittaker 
and Treacher, for four hundred pounds. Her 
friends considered this a very high price for one 
edition, and several of them warned her not to be 
too sanguine for the future. Captain Hall writes 
to wish her joy, but adds that she must not expect 
a book of this kind to succeed like the former one 
— nor anything like it. 

" So," she writes to her son, " I carefully restrain my 
hopes. . . . Should my little fame expire directly, and 
no further returns reward my labours, I shall burn my 
pen, and immediately seek a situation where I may earn 
something. In families of distinction women of my age 
are often highly paid for superintending masters, and 
directing a course of study. I trust it will not come to 
this ; but the word of my Maecenas, one from Miss 
Gabell in the same warning tone, and Miss Milman's 
laughing words, ' You must not expect to make a thousand 


pounds niery year ! ' have set me thinking a little upon 
the uncertain nature of literary success. And I have 
therefore made up my mind to do without it." 

In my judgment there is something very ad- 
mirable — nay, astonishing, in the absolute clear- 
headedness, candour, and modesty, of all this. Be 
it remembered that not only had she just been 
overwhelmed by the praise and petting of society, 
but that her publisher had given proof, beyond the 
suspicion of flattery, of his faith in her powers. 
And yet she neither becomes presumptuous in 
anticipation of success, nor embittered by the 
thought of failure. 

The money earned by her first book was, she 
says, "oozing fast." The rents from some house 
property of her husband's in London did not come 
in ; the annual sum paid to Lord Northwick for 
the farm steadily swallowed up all profits ; and 
other money affairs of Mr. Trollope's turned out 
disastrously. Failure seemed to follow him with 
almost demoniac malice. Moreover, his suffering 
from headache was constant. It is extraordinary 
in how large a number of the family letters the 
statement occurs, " Papa is in bed with headache." 
Or, "Your father wished to add a few lines but is 
too unwell, being prostrate with headache." 


It is difficult to imagine what would have be- 
come of the family had Frances Trollope not been 
able to earn some money ; for the items she sets 
down of her expenditure, apart from her hus- )•./ 

band's, include " half a year's rent and taxes paid 
in advance ; a good bed, pillows, bolsters, sopha, 
and a chest of drawers bought at a sale ; and five 
guineas at Hookham's." Moreover, she stands 
engaged to purchase a cow, malt for brewing, and 
to pay between seventy and eighty pounds for 
fixtures before Michaelmas ! 

The fixtures were in the house which they called 
Julians Hill — the same mentioned before as the 
original of " Orley Farm " — whither the family re- 
moved in September. All these charges were a 
heavy weight on her shoulders. But she says she 
so longs to have a home in some degree deserving 
the name, that she will willingly give up all other 
indulgences to obtain it. 

It seems strange that such ordinary articles of 
household furniture as some of those enumerated, 
should have then to be provided. But during 
her absence in America, the material part of the 
household seems to have gone to ruin. In a pre- 
ceding letter there is a touching passage about the 
anguish it had caused her to see Tom (who, in his 



youth, was, like his father, subject to severe head- 
aches) " lying in a comfortless garret, without a 
pillow under his poor aching head." In a letter 
to her husband enumerating the necessaries lack- 
ing in their house, she says, " You know that not 
one of our five children has a pillow for his head." 

This degree of privation is beyond what their 
straitened circumstances could wholly account for. 
Mr. Trollope, as has been pointed out elsewhere, 
had developed a singular, ascetic disregard for 
physical comforts — or rather, perhaps, a Spartan 
resolve to disdain them : enduring hardships — 
some of which might easily have been mitigated 
— with a stubborn unflinchingness, sustained pos- 
sibly by a half-unconscious persuasion that he was 
thereby taking his share in the heat and burthen 
of the day. 

And thus, amid many and increasing domestic 
cares, lightened, however, by a brilliant, literary 
success and the warm and faithful attachment of 
many friends, the year 1832, which had been so 
momentous for her, and for all belonging to her, 
came to an end. 



" On me dit que pourvu que je ne parle ni de I'autorite, ni du 
culte, ni de la politique, ni de la morale, ni des gens en place, ni de 
I'opera, ni des autres spectacles, ni de personne qui tienne a quelque 
chose, je puis tout imprimer librement." — Beaumarchais, Mariage 
de Figaro. 

(Motto chosen by Mrs. Trollope for her book on America.) 

"The Refugee" made a decided success, but it 
was attacked with great virulence from an un- 
expected quarter. It was the subject of a hostile 
article in the Quarterly Revieiv, the chief reason 
for alluding to which now is that it elicited a very 
characteristic letter from Captain Basil Hall. The 
original now lies before me, and shall speak for 

" 71, Harley Street, Monday Morning, 

*' 2ist January, 1833. 

" My dear Mrs. Trollope, 

" I not only did not write the article in the 
Quarterly Review on your novel, but I was quite as much 
vexed at it as you could be, perhaps as much, or more, 
surprised. I shall of course take all the pains I can to 


do away wilh any such impression as that you allude to. 
And although I do not think it possible that the Bishop 
of London can have stated what you have been told " 
[presumably that Captain Hall was the author of the 
article], " I shall nevertheless write his Lordship a line 
to put the matter right in that quarter. And I shall ask 
Mr. Lockhart not to say who is the author (for that I 
have no wish to know), but to oblige me by stating, if 
asked, that I certainly am not. I shall beg him to add 
that I entirely disapprove of the criticism, which I con- 
sider not only most unfair, but in every sense of the 
word uncalled-for. 

*' You must be aware that, having written such a book 
as your travels, you necessarily raised an immense host 
of vindictive, vulgar, active enemies, and this is but one 
of thousands of envenomed shafts which you must 
expect to have shot at you. But I feel particularly 
obliged to you to have given me an opportunity of turn- 
ing off the point of this particular blow. How little can 
any one know of either you or me, who could for an 
instant credit such a preposterous inconsistency as this 
report implies ! Never mind ! Your book and mine 
have both done some good we must trust. But you 
must recollect that in this world there is nothing gained 
above the common line, without risk, and no risk without 
boldness. Now you have had the boldness to publish 
your opinions on America, and having thereby incurred 
the risk of censure and ridicule, you must not shrink 
from the endurance, /have already had my share, and 
have taken it all in good humour. Even this black bit 
of calumny — which it is, if ever there was a morsel came 
out of hell — has only amused me, as proving the success 


with which I have driven home my point. So pray 
borrow a Httle of my philosophy, and accept all such 
things as compliments to your talents, and testimonies 
to your truth. 

"We shall be most glad to see you here when you 
chance to be in town. 

" Ever yours with the truest respect, 

confidence, and regard, 

" Basil Hall." 

There is a frank, honest, sailor-like tone in this, 
as in all Captain Hall's letters I have seen, that 
has the wholesome freshness of a sea-breeze. And 
his words are not only spirited, but sensible. 

"The brave man venerates, the base man fears." 

And, however much authors may venerate their 
critics collectively, it is neither valiant nor politic 
to be too much afraid of them individually. 

That Mrs. Trollope was far from being hyper- 
sensitive to criticism, was abundantly proved under '. 
many circumstances. But the personal attacks 
to which she was subject — to a degree inconceivable 
by those who have not read the contemporary 
journals that occupied themselves with her works 
— could not fail sometimes to give pain. These 
attacks were, of course, in one sense a compliment 
to her talents, as Captain Hall says. To have 


" half a brick heaved " at one, may, under certain 
circumstances, be a testimony to the respectability 
of one's appearance, but that reflection will 
scarcely console one for a black eye ! 

A few days after the above letter from Captain 
Hall, Mrs. Trollope received one from Mr. George 
Bartley, the actor, from which I give one or two 
extracts. Mr. and Mrs. Bartley were among her 
friends. There is frequent mention of both of 
them in the family correspondence. 

" 19, Charlotte Street, rortland Place, 

29th January, 1833. 

" My dear Mrs. Trollope, 

" It is very seldom that I can command time 
to attack three volumes, but I have contrived to find 
enough to read your ' Refugee,' and am desirous of ex- 
pressing the great pleasure I felt during the perusal. 
<y The whole of the scenes at Rochester are capital. And 
* I calculate if I live from July to Eternity, I shall never 
obliviate that go ! ' The interest of the story is ex- 
tremely well kept up, and I reflect on the book altogether 
with unmixed satisfaction. You must not blame me, 
however, for owning that your scenes from real life 
(which I am sure very many of them are) awakened in 
me the most interest, and yielded me the most entertain- 
ment. ... In brief, my dear Madam, pray accept my 
sincere acknowledgements for the pleasure you have given 
to a poor fellow whose time is generally so much occu- 
pied, that he dare not venture much out of his daily 


track, — and when he does, he seldom meets with such a 
reward ! 

"With best regards to Mr, Trollope and your family, 
I am, 
" My dear Madam, 
" faithfully your obliged servant, 

" Geo. Bartley." 

A letter from Cecilia Trollope to her brother 
at Oxford in the early part of this year, gives an 
account of a visit to Covent Garden on the occasion 
of Mrs. Bartley's final retirement from the stage. 

" The Grants and ourselves, a party of eleven, went 
to see Macbeth on Monday, and were more delighted 
than I can express. Macready played ' ISIacbeth ' very 
finely. I liked him about sixty thousand times better 
than I did Young in the same part, and liked Mrs. 
Bartley in about the same proportion better than I did 
Fanny Kemble. Mrs. Bartley looked quite beautiful. 
There was a great row in the pit during her last scene. 
And they made such a noise during the little address in 
which she took leave, that scarcely a word could be 

There was a constellation of dramatic celebrities 
assembled to do honour to Mrs. Bartley. Madame 
Vestris played " Kate O'Brien " in the afterpiece 
of Perfection, and Taglioni, Albert, and other stars 
of the ballet danced in a divertissement. Apropos 
of Madame Vestris, here is an instance of the fate 

VOL. I. 12 


that attends all artists — especially, perhaps, female 
artists — who have been long before the public : 
having their age exaggerated. Cecilia remarks 
with astonishment that " Madame Vestris, though 
past fifty, looked quite young." INIadame Vestris 
was then just thirty-six years old. 

In the same letter the writer describes a visit to 
the exhibition of pictures at Somerset House, and 
says — repeating, of course, what she hears — that 
" the best picture is a portrait of Sir Walter Scott 
as a shepherd, by Landseer." This picture has 
become widely known by engravings. 

The portrait of Mrs. Trollope, the mysterious 
fate of which has been mentioned, was in the same 
exhibition, and attracted a great deal of attention. 
A silly little sneer about it, dragged in by the 
head and shoulders, appeared in a contemporary 
literary journal. The writer (whose business was 
to judge the painter, but who in this instance 
appears to have limited himself to carping at the 
sitter !) says — 

" This is the portrait of the sarcastic Mrs. Trollope. 
The painter has not flattered her good looks. He has 
had vinegar in his brush, too." 

(The " too'' is delightful.) Here there is evidently 
some reproach, or reproof, implied in the epithet 


"sarcastic" Sarcasm, like other things, may be 
good and useful, or bad and mischievous, accord- 
ing as it is applied. Tartiiffe and the Femmes 
Savantes would no doubt have objected to it under 
any circumstances. The critic reveals a somewhat 
limited and ignorant conception of the nature of 
sarcasm, when he describes it as being manifested 
by a vinegar-y expression of countenance ! But 
the word "vinegar" applied to their mother, was 
received by all the family with the greatest 
hilarity. Cecilia writes to her brother in high 
amusement : " Mamma now goes by the name, at 
home, of old Madam Vinegar ! " 

The influenza was raging in England during the 
summer of this year. Various friends of the 
family, in London and elsewhere, were stricken 
with it ; and at Harrow all the Drurys, all the 
Longleys, and all the Trollopes had it — a pretty 
large contingent ! The epidemic seems to have 
manifested itself under as many various symptoms 
as in its more recent visitations. Mr. H., the 
family medical attendant (apothecary, as he was 
then often called), adopted what we should now 
consider appallingly "heroic" methods of dealing 
with it. Henry had fourteen leeches applied to 
him ; Anthony was bled until he fainted ; Cecilia 


became hysterical from weakness ; and M. Hervieu, 
after having swallowed sundry powerful draughts 
and pills, was found wandering in the fields, a rush 
of blood to the head having produced delirium ! 
Mrs. Cox, the lady's maid, and Emily, were the 
longest in recovering. In Mrs. Trollope's case the 
influenza was accompanied by a considerable 
amount of fever, and it was some time before she 
threw off the effects of it. Indeed, according to 
the account of the quantity of doses they were 
made to swallow, they must all have had to recover 
from the remedies as well as the disease. 

Mrs. Trollope was at this time finishing her 
novel of " The Abbess," and writes — 

" I have never, at any period of my work, felt so 
pressed — I may add, so oppressed — as at present. I 
think I have fever still hanging about me." 

But still she worked on ! 

In October, 1832, the family had started The 
Magpie, and it is a frequent topic in Cecilia's 
letters. The Magpie is described on its title-page 
as " a weekly Magazine of Literature, Politics, 
Science, and Art," bearing the motto: ^^ Pagina 
judicium subitiira inovetur." The whole is in 
manuscript ; each contribution being written on 
one side of the paper, and pasted into its place 


on the blank page of a great folio scrap-book now 
before me. 

It was, of course, mainly a joke ; or, rather, a 
half-joking, half-serious playing at literature. I 
believe there are one or two persons still living 
who can remember The Magpie and the important 
evenings when the contributors assembled to hear 
it read allowed. This was usually done in the 
Trollopes' house, but sometimes in that of their 
neighbour, Colonel Grant. Among the contri- 
butors were Mrs. Grant, and a member of the 
Drury family. The " Magpies " were somewhat 
exclusive. They had no desire to shine before 
the general public. Occasionally an outsider 
would petition for leave to be present at a reading, 
and this was generally granted. But the privilege 
was rather jealously guarded. Possibly for this 
very reason — the desire of human nature to open a 
locked door being ineradicable — the number of 
such applicants increased greatly ; and Cecilia 
writes with grave indignation to her brother at 
Oxford, that she should not be surprised if all 
Harrow became " Magpies " before his return I 

Henry was the editor, and appears to have held 
most professionally Draconian views as to the 
treatment of his contributors. The whole thing 


is more or less childlike, and can have no interest 
for the general reader, beyond what may be found 
in any true fragment of the real life, the ways 
and words, of a past generation ; nor is it for a 
moment pretended that TJie Magpie is a monu- 
ment of family genius, or the production of 
intellectual prodigies. But there is considerable 
talent and a quaint sense of humour in many of 
the little articles. And they are all strikingly 
individual. Apart from the testimony of the 
handwriting, no one at all acquainted with the 
various members of the family could fail to 
recognize the author of each contribution. Mrs. 
Trollope's hard-worked pen sometimes finds the 
necessary minutes to indite a few lines. A letter 
signed "Your intending admirer and constant 
reader, Scrutator," in the first number, offers 
occasional contributions, in several long-winded 
and involved sentences so carefully guarded from 
possible misconstruction, as to be almost un- 
intelligible on a first reading! It is, of course, 
Mr. Trollope's. The mother, having evidently 
been implored and petitioned to write something, 
dashes off a few lines with the signature of " Grub 
Street," solemnly warning the editor never on any 
account to employ weary and hackneyed writers, 


who, if, by any unlikely chance, they should get 
hold of an idea, are certain to use it for the manu- 
facture of three volumes post octavo, instead of 
presenting it in three lines to The Magpie ! But 
this ingenious device does not save her from 
further demands : for in more than one letter of 
Cecilia's I find such notices as " A very good 
Magpie last week. Mamma wrote two things for 
us ! " The editor, in his opening address in the 
first number, appeals, he says, with no undue 
diffidence to his distinguished public, "holding it 
altogether unnecessary to apologize to authors for 
any defects in their own compositions ! " But 
enough of The Magpie. 

Two works were published by Mrs. Trollope in 
1833: one a three-volume novel called "The 
Abbess," published by Whittaker, and the last of 
her works issued by him, and the other entitled ^ / 
"The Mother's Manual." This latter is the only 
book of hers which I do not possess. It was 
favourably reviewed in the AtJiencsiini ; but, in 
truth, it has not much merit. It is a humorous 
poem on the well-worn topic of match-making 
mothers and husband-hunting daughters. It is 
a slender octavo volume, remarkably well printed, 
with handsome margins, and illustrated by twenty 



plates designed by Hcrvieu. These, by the way, 
are decidedly the best of his illustrations to Mrs. 
Trollope's books. The Athenceum also gives high 
praise to " The Abbess." This is perhaps the least 
known of her early novels, and is written in a 
rather high-flown, ultra-romantic vein, quite out of 
her usual manner. But it will compare favourably 
with many popular novels of its time and class. 

No sooner is one piece of work finished than 
'sne prepares to begin another. She had made up 
her mind to undertake a foreign tour, with the 
purpose of describing it in a book of travels, and 
we have seen how her first scheme was frustrated 
by the cholera and by rumours of war. She now 
resolved to visit Belgium as well as part of Western 
Germany. Her eldest son was still at the uni- 
versity, preparing for his degree ; and she was 
accompanied on this journey by her second son 
Henry and Monsieur Hervieu. The latter was 
to have furnished illustrations to her book ; but a 
few lines appended to the table of contents, sets 
forth that— 

'* The sketches by Mr. Hervieu so frequently alluded 
to in the following pages, were intended to accompany 
this publication ; but the expense of engraving them in 
the style they deserved was found so great, that the idea 
was abandoned." 


The degree to which she evidently believed M. 
Hervieu's drawings would be likely to help the 
success of her books, appears very strange, after 
having examined his illustrations to "The 
Domestic Manners," "Paris and the Parisians," 
and other works. And yet she was by no means 
alone in thinking well of them. Over and over 
again distinguished persons are quoted in her 
letters as having expressed the highest approba- 
tion of them. And the majority of the press 
writers of the day certainly did not fall foul of 
them. One or two original sepia and water- 
colour drawings by M. Hervieu, are certainly better 
than the published lithographs and etchings. But, 
indeed, this is saying but little. These drawings 
furnish in some degree a scale whereby to measure 
the wonderful improvement of public taste and 
knowledge in this direction during the last half 
century. Illustrative woodcuts are scattered broad- 
cast throughout scores of periodicals nowadays 
(not to speak of the especially artistic journals), 
which for correctness of drawing, expression, and 
truth, M. Hervieu could no more have rivalled 
than he could have painted Titian's " Assumption." 
A certain humorous appreciation of his author's 
meaning when humour was in question, and a 


certain quick eye for the grotesque and ridiculous, 
he had. But his conceptions were often coarsely, 
and sometimes feebly, rendered. 

Mrs. Trollope, with Henry and Hervieu, left 
England for Belgium on the ist of June, 1833. 
Their first halt was at Ostend, in the house of Mr. 
VFauche, the British Consul, whose wife was an old 
acquaintance of theirs. This lady, a daughter of 
Mr. Tomkison, the well-known pianoforte maker, 
was remarkable for her personal beauty, and for 
the possession of a very fine voice. Brought up in 
the midst of the best musical world of that day, 
her talent had been highly cultivated ; and her 
singing rivalled that of more than one first-rate 
professional artist. 

Mrs. Fauche had arranged some amateur 
theatricals, and engaged Henry Trollope before- 
hand to take part in them. He was to perform 
" Tony Lumpkin " in Goldsmith's She Stoops to 
Conquer ; and M. Hervieu was cast for "Diggory" 
in the same comedy. This latter performance, at 
any rate, must have been highly comic. It is 
difficult to imagine Diggory's utterances about 
" grouse in the gun-room," delivered with a strong 
French accent ! The afterpiece was the extrava- 
ganza of Bombastes Furioso, which had very nearly 


brought the evening's entertainment to a tragic 
conclusion : for in it Henry Trollope, fighting a 
burlesque duel, received a wound in the thigh from 
his adversary's sword, which confined him to his 
bed for ten days. 

Fortunately, there were no further ill conse- 
quences from the accident. The occurrence is 
recorded in Mrs. Trollope's book, but there she 
naturally passes it over as lightly as possible. In 
private letters home, however, it is plain that it 
caused her at first considerable anxiety. The 
wound was very deep, and inflammation was 
feared. As usual she had to be chief nurse, her 
son desiring her almost constant presence at his 
bedside. At the same time she was making notes 
for her book, and endeavouring to see as much as 
possible of the neighbourhood in which she found 
herself As soon as Henry was able to walk a 
short distance with the help of a pair of crutches, 
they pursued their journey to Bruges. The mode 
of conveyance from Ostend thither was a barge on 
the canal, the smooth, gliding movement of which 
was very favourable to the invalid. 

Within a week after his wife's departure from 
England, Mr, Trollope was taken seriously ill. He 
appears to have had a seizure of an apoplectic 


nature, and was for some hours in great danger. 
After being subjected to the usual treatment of 
bleeding and cupping, he recovered, although re- 
maining, of course, much weakened. His daughter 
Cecilia was assured by Mr. H., the local practitioner 
at Harrow, that there was no danger of a re- 
currence of the attack— the nature of which he 
avoided specifying to her by any name. Never- 
theless, a second attack took place about three 
weeks after the first. It seems, however, to have 
been less severe, and the recovery more rapid. 

By one of those postal miscarriages so frequently 
chronicled in the family correspondence of this 
and an earlier period, Cecilia's letter containing the 
news of her father's illness did not reach Mrs. 
Trollope until long after date ; and in the interim 
other reassuring letters had been received. Mrs. 
Trollope, writing from Liege, says that had the 
first letter reached her in due course, she would at 
once have relinquished all engagements and re- 
turned to England. So that the delay might after 
all be considered a fortunate circumstance for her. 
In fact, when her father began to recover, Cecilia 
was much perturbed by the idea that her mother 
would hasten back, and lose the expense and 
labour of the journey already made. 


The two volumes of travels entitled, " Belgium V 
and Western Germany in 1833," were published 
by Mr. Murray, and appeared early in 1834. The 
ground Mrs. Trollope here travels over, was a 
beaten track even sixty years ago. But there are, 
nevertheless, many pages of her book still worth 
reading, both for the sake of what is changed and 
of what remains unchanged. A few words in the 
preface seem to me to be so well said, and are of 
so much wider applicability than merely to this 
unpretending work, that I will venture to quote 

" My little volumes on America have been much read. 
Many have said that this was owing to their being written 
with strong party feeling : but I — who am in the secret 
— know that such was not the case. The cause of their 
success, therefore, must be sought elsewhere ; and I 
attribute it solely to that intuitive power of discerning 
what is written with truth, which is possessed, often 
unconsciously, by every reader. Be he pleased, or dis- 
pleased by the pictures brought before him, he feels that 
the images portrayed are real ; and this will interest, 
even if it vex him. 

" I have an inveterate ha.bit of suffering all I see to 
make a deep impression on my memory ; and the result 
of this is a sort of mosaic, by no means very grand in 
outline or skilful in drawing ; but each morsel of colour 
has the reality of truth — in which there is ever some 
value. And it is on this, and this alone, that I rest my 


hope that the following pages may be acceptable to the 

I think that Mrs. Trollopc's perception, mani- 
fested in this work, of the intrinsic greatness of 
Germany — its massive force, and its moral and 
intellectual worth — is not a little remarkable, when 
we consider the time, and the circumstances, in 
which she wrote. To begin with, her acquaintance 
with the language was very superficial, and scarcely 
more than enabled her to make herself understood 
by the population of waiters, chambermaids, coach- 
men, and valets de place with whom the passing 
tourist comes into contact ; so that she had no 
first-hand acquaintance with German literature to 
help her to a sound judgment of the people. And 
as for the elements of political greatness in 
Germany, it is not difficult to recognize them in 
1895, but they lay considerably less on the surface 
in 1833. All that was true, solid, and genuine in 
the nation, appealed to her true, solid, and genuine 
character. As the German proverb has it, "What 
comes from the heart, goes to the heart." And 
this organ is an indispensable assistant to the head, 
in comprehending human beings. Many pro- 
foundly sagacious persons have fallen into sad 
blunders from the lack of it. 


She confesses in the course of her book that she 
despairs of ever acquiring " that last finish of an 
accompHshed traveller, so general in these latter 
days — tJie nil adinirariy There is, if we consider 
it honestly, something stupid, as well as repulsive, 
in this nil admirari tone of mind, whether real or 
affected. But, as Mr. Carlyle somewhere says, a 
canary-bird can only hold his own quantity of 
wonder ! 

An interesting visit was paid by Mrs. Trollope 
during this tour to the Landgravine of Hesse- 
Homburg, Princess Elizabeth of England, the 
third daughter of George the Third and Queen 
Charlotte. The Princess received her with great 
kindness, and walked with her through a suite of 
rooms in her palace near Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
from the windows of which a beautiful view was 
enjoyed. The library contained a large and 
excellent collection of books. The Princess said, 
" I brought these volumes with me from England," 
adding, with a smile, " I am proud of my library." 
Speaking of the beauty of the scenery, she said, 
" I can never forget Windsor and Richmond, but 
Germany is a glorious country." In one of the 
rooms hung a portrait of George the Third, before 
which Mrs. Trollope stopped, struck by the powerful 


likeness. " You know that portrait," said the 
Princess. "It is my father. It is quite perfect." 
It will be remembered that Mr. Thackeray alludes 
to this same portrait in his " Four Georges." He, 
too, saw it in the apartment of the Landgravine, 
" amidst books and Windsor furniture and a 
hundred fond reminiscences of her English home." 

Before the end of the tour, Mrs. Trollope had 
the satisfaction of paying the previously deferred 
visit to her friends Dr. and Mrs. Pertz. She 
stayed in their house in Hanover, and under 
Dr. Pertz's auspices had the best possible oppor- 
tunity of examining the fine library, and all other 
objects of interest in the town and neighbourhood. 

Mr. Trollope joined the travelling party at 
Hamburg, and they all returned to England 



" In Bruges town is many a street 
Whence busy life hath fled, 
Where, without hurry, noiseless feet 
The grass-grown pavement tread." 


Immediately on her arrival at home, Mrs. Trol- 
lope was busily engaged in arranging the notes 
she had made during her travels. 

Besides this work, her mind was occupied in a 
more painful way, for she found herself, on her 
return to England, plunged into the midst of ever- 
growing money difficulties. 

Quite at the beginning of 1834, when the family 
was assembled at Harrow — as it proved, for the 
last time — the scheme of leaving England for a 
continental residence was canvassed among them. 
Mrs. Trollope, although by no means then antici- 
pating such a crash as really happened, already 
foresaw that it must, sooner or later, become 
impossible to continue their life at Harrow. She 
was therefore anxious to ascertain what provision 

VOL. I, 13 


remained out of the wreck of their property, on 
the regular payment of which she might rely. 

In her strenuous efforts to do this, her brother 
Henry Milton assisted her ; and in the course of 
their investigations some circumstances came to 
Hght which would appear incredible, did not our 
daily experience bear witness to the truth of the 
homely proverb that " the shoemaker's wife is ever 
the worst shod." Mr. Trollope's legal knowledge 
and acumen would have been vigilantly exercised 
on behalf of his clients, but in the case of his own 
family affairs they seemed to have slept as though 
under some malignant spell. It appeared that 
not only had Mrs. Trollope's marriage settlement 
not been registered, but two gentlemen who, with 
Henry Milton, were her trustees, had never signed 
it ! Moreover, title deeds of property in Keppci 
Street and elsewhere were found to have been 
lodged as security in the hands of various persons, 
without due acknowledgment being received for 

Mrs. Trollopc was, of course, terribly agitated 
by these discoveries. Her husband seems to have 
done his best to remedy the mischief, and to have 
co-operated with Henry Milton to that end. But 
some losses were already irreparable. 


The place Mrs. Trollope had fixed her mind on 
as their foreign residence was Bruges. It united 
two great advantages — cheapness of living and 
easiness of access from London. Her friend Mrs. 
Fauche assisted her in seeking a dwelling. But 
before it was finally decided on, she wished her 
family to see and approve of the house ; and it 
was therefore agreed that they should all proceed 
in the summer to Belgium, and board with the 
Fauches (who occupied a much larger house than 
they needed for their own use) until their future 
home was chosen. 

In the midst of all these anxieties, occupations, 
and interruptions, her attention to her own work 
never relaxed. She had despatched a portion of 
her manuscript to Mr. Murray in February ; and 
subsequently paid him one or two personal visits 
in Albemarle Street, to carry on the negotiation 
for publishing it. During one of her trips to 
London for this purpose, she called on her old 
friend, the Rev. Dr. Nott, who was then lodging 
in St. James's Place. Her eldest son accompanied 
her, and has preserved a record of the visit in his 
diary. One point in it may have an interest for 
some readers, namely, that Dr. Nott had just been 
engaged on a translation of our liturgy into Italian, 


for the use of a congregation at ^lalta. lie com- 
plained that "some of the Bishops" (he did not 
say which of them) opposed its adoption on 
grounds which he considered frivolous and igno- 
rant. For instance, one bishop knew nothing of 
the existence of the Latin authorized version of 
the Liturgy made by Pearson and others, and 
dedicated to King Charles the Second. Another 
objected to part of Dr. Nott's version, which on 
turning to it proved to be adopted word for word 
from Diodati's translation, long acknowledged by 
the Church. Dr. Nott was greatly scandalized by 
the Episcopal lack of knowledge on these points. 
Ikit, my own ignorance of the matter being quite 
as profound as the Bishops', I must leave it to the 
better-instructed reader to determine how far Dr. 
Nott was justified. 

After leaving St. James's Place, T. A. Trollope 
witnessed a procession which is scarcely likely to 
meet the eye of any passer-by in London nowa- 
days. It was the funeral cortege of some nobleman, 
passing down Regent Street. There were ten 
mourning-coaches, and a large number of led 
saddle-horses, one of which carried the deceased 
peer's coronet on a cushion ! 

The mother and son had a satisfactory interview 


with Mr. Murray the same day. Tom writes in 
his diary — 

"As soon as Mr, Murray came into the room, my 
mother went straight to her point, and asked him if he 
thought of pubhshing her book. His reply was, ' Indeed, 
I do think of it.' " 

He appeared to have formed a very favourable 
opinion of the part of the manuscript which he 
had seen, and asked for more. He was told that 
he should have the remainder as soon as Mrs. 
Trollope could complete the passages required to 
bind her notes together. "For," said she, "the 
book really consists of notes taken at the time ; 
and I have now merely to thread them into a 
consecutive form." Mr. Murray said he was very 
glad to hear it, as that was the real way to 
write a book of travels, giving the genuine first 

Before returning to Oxford for the Easter term, 
T, A, Trollope went down to Lincolnshire to fetch 
his sister Cecilia, who had been visiting her uncle, 
Henry Trollope, and spending Christmas at Scri- 
velsby with the Dymokes. His aunt and uncle 
received him most kindly, and " tipped " him very 
generously : his uncle making him a present of 
ten pounds, and his aunt of five, " to prevent his 



being out-of-pocket by the journey." Mr. Trol- 
lopc's brother Henry was a consistently kind friend 
to his sister-in-law and her children. When they 
first removed to Belgium he lent Mrs. Trollope a 
hundred pounds, which sum, it was agreed, should 
be repaid out of her caniiiigs. It was so repaid. 
And, indeed, unless from that source, it is difficult 
to conjecture how it could ever have been repaid 
at all ! 

It is worth noting that, in all their money 
troubles, the family never lost the support and 
' kindness of their friends. Those who were their 
nearest neighbours, and consequently most inti- 
mate with them, stuck to them staunchly ; and 
friends and relatives at a distance were equally 
kind and helpful. The Milmans' house at Tin- 
ner was always open to Mrs. Trollope and her 
daughters. And the Katers, the Basil Halls, the 
Gabclls, tlie hVeelings, the Skerrets, and many 
more, were untiring in offers of help and hospi- 
tality. As to the family of Colonel Grant, their 
warm and loyal affection was beyond description. 
Nor was Frances Trollope the woman to forget 
it, or to return it with lukewarm gratitude and 
grudging acknowledgments. 

Mr. Henry Milton had, by the help of his 


solicitor, succeeded in regaining possession of the 
title-deeds of some property which formed part of 
his sister's marriage-settlement, and was arranging 
to have a certain small annual sum assigned to 
Mrs. Trollope's sole use for the maintenance of 
herself and her daughters, before she ventured to 
go abroad. Some of the deeds had been in the 
hands of a person who showed a considerable 
disposition to detain them ; and their recovery 
had required a great deal of trouble and some 
diplomacy. But Mr. Milton's solicitor, for all 
fee, " politely begged a copy of the Domestic 
Manners," as Mrs. Trollope wrote to her son. 

The latter had been ill after his return to the 
university, and was, besides, nervous and anxious 
about the result of the impending examination for 
his degree. His mother writes — 

" Keep up your spirits, dearest Tom, and do not 
anticipate disappointment. We are, in truth, arrived at 
the corner I have so often talked about, and if we can 
but turn it, things must be better with us than we have 
seen them for years. ^250 in a cheap country, with 
my own management, and the hope of gaining more by 
my own means, yours, and Henry's, cannot be called a 
dreary prospect. Courage ! and you will do well. You 
cannot suppose that the generality of those who have 
taken degrees are your superiors. I am sure they are 
not. Courage ! and we will make a tour together yet." 


The cliccry hint as to the possibility of Henry's 
adding to the family earnings, arose from his 
having found a pupil to read with for a few weeks 
at this time. The pupil lived at Fulham, and 
Henry was installed in a little lodging close to 
his Uncle Milton's house there, with his sister 
Cecilia near at hand to take care of him. She 
was the guest of her aunt and uncle. A letter 
from her to her brother at Oxford is franked by 
a personage whom the young lady with youthful 
emphasis and extravagance characterises as " one 
of the greatest rascals unhung ! " This was Mr. 
Daniel Whittle Harvey, M.P. for Colchester. Pro- 
bably Cecilia's knowledge of him was almost 
confined to the facts that his application to be 
called to the bar had been refused by the Benchers 
of the Inner Temple on the ground of malprac- 
tices as an attorney, and that he was a Radical 
politician and a Dissenter. His frank is before 
me, written in a legible hand. Whether it were 
contrary to his political principles to recognize 
such social distinctions, I cannot say, but the 
address to " T. A. Trollope, Magdalen Hall, 
Oxford," is without the customary addition of 
" Esquire." As few of my readers are likely to 
have much information about Mr. Daniel Whittle 


Harvey, it is fair to add that, although the judges. 
in their quahty of visitors of the Inn, confirmed 
the decision of the Benchers not to admit him, 
yet a Select Committee of the House of Commons, 
Daniel O'Connell in the chair, exonerated Mr. 
Harvey from the charges of fraud made against 
him. He founded the Simday Times newspaper, 
and was appointed Commissioner of the City Police 
force under Lord Melbourne's Government, which 
post he filled for twenty-three years. 

With her invariable responsiveness to every 
gleam of hope and sunshine, Mrs. Trollope wrote, 
as we have seen, cheerfully about her son Henry. 
But on his return to Harrow at the termination of 
his engagement, he was so evidently out of health 
that his mother had him examined by the local 
practitioner. This gentleman's verdict was that 
Henry's state required the most extreme care, but 
he hoped his lungs were not yet touched. Whether 
this were a pious falsehood to soothe the mother's 
anxiety, or the result of an unskilful diagnosis, 
the melancholy fact was that the poor young 
man was already marked out as a victim of 

The preparations for removing to Belgium were 
going on. It was settled that Mr. Trollope was 



to cross to Ostcnd on tlic i8th of April, and his 
wife, with Henry and lier daughters, were to follow 
on the succeeding Saturday. A letter announcing 
these arrangements to Tom, betrays no suspicion 
of what was imminent at Harrow ; but within a 
few hours of Trollopc's departure from his house, 
an execution was put into it at the suit of Lord 

This episode has been described in the auto- 
biography of Anthony Trollope ; but one or two 
circumstances not mentioned (and, indeed, doubt- 
less not known) by him, fall within my province 
to narrate. One of these circumstances is that 
Mrs. Trollope bought back, out of her own mone>', 
many indispensable articles of household furniture, 
at the appraiser's valuation. Another is highly 
characteristic of her unselfishness and courage. 
Her son Tom was, as has been stated, reading for 
his degree at Oxford, and in a somewhat despondent 
state of mind about it. She refrained from telling 
him the particulars of the distressing scenes she 
had undergone at Harrow, until he had success- 
fully passed the ordeal. She writes to him on the 
1 0th of May : — 

"That you should think you had reason to complain 
of nie is most natural. And yet wlicn you know why 1 


'have not written to you, I feel certain you will feel the 
rvalue of my silence. Your father had not left the house 
five hours before it w^as filled with bailiffs who seized on 
everything it contained, at the suit of Lord Northwick. 
We were ourselves of course obliged to quit the premises, 
and but for the affectionate friendship of the Grants, 
should have been without a shelter to cover us. At this 
moment you were in all the agony of your examination. 
Where would have been your power of mind, had I com- 
municated our dreadful situation ? It was then I wrote 
the letter which you justly call vague. Was I wrong? 

"Meanwhile I settled everything for going abroad. 
]\Iy trunks were packed and sent on board the steam- 
boat, when Mr. H. told me that he considered the 
coast of Ostend, or even its neighbourhood, would be 
fatal for Henry. I will not say a word of the agony 
this occasioned. I instantly sent off Hervieu and 
Anthony to get the things back, and wrote to Fanny 
Bent to tell her that I would bring down Henry to 
Devonshire. I did this at great expense, for he was 
obliged to sleep on the road. But I have left him better 
and safe under her most kind care in Dawlish. On 
Saturday next I go to Ostend with Emily. I must send 
Fanny Bent money to pay Henry's expenses at Dawlish. 
And whether we shall have enough to find us bread till 
the June rents come in, I am very doubtful." 

From Cecilia's letters at this time, it is evident 
that the general feeling in Harrow was strongly 
against Lord Northwick's action, and in favour of 
the Trollopes'. Not to speak of Colonel and Mrs. 


Grant, Lady Milman offered to receive cither, or 
both, the i^irls at Tinner for as long as they chose 
to stay ; other neighbouring acquaintances, who 
were much less intimate with the famil)-, came 
forward in a similar spirit ; and even the Vicar. 
Mr. Cunningham, paid a long visit to Mrs. Trollope, 
and invited her daughters to his house. 

Another gleam of comfort amid her troubles was 
that the publication by Mr. Murray of her book, 
" Belgium and Western Germany," was finally 
arranged. Henry Milton undertook to correct the 
proof-sheets for his sister, she herself having 
scarcely an hour at her own disposal before quitting 
England. She had to see Lord Northwick and 
other persons, and to attend to a mass of business 
connected with their departure from Harrow. 

In answer to some inquiries from her son at 
Oxford as to what arrangements had been made, 
especially respecting the farm, she writes — 

" Nothing, surely, of equal importance was ever left 
in such a manner (unless it were the bazaar at Cincinnati). 
I have done, and will do, all I can to set things in order. 
But I must see, and talk to you before you can have an 
idea of how everything has been left." 

Of personal complaint, there is no word bcj-ond 


" Cecilia and Anthony crossed to Ostend last week. 
I remained here with Emily to see Lord Northwick, 
Rowe the constable who has the warrant, and many 
other persons. And in truth I was not sorry after my 
fatiguing and anxious journey into Devonshire, to remain 
quietly here" [she was then in Colonel Grant's house 
at Harrow] " for a few days, before I begin the harrass 
and fatigue of preparing a new home with such little 
means of making it comfortable." 

All the family (with the exception of Tom, who, 
on leaving the university, had found an engage- 
ment to read with a pupil in London for a few 
weeks) were soon settled in a house a short distance 
outside Bruges, called the Chateau d'Hondt. Mrs. 
Trollope writes early in July to her eldest son, ask- 
ing him to bring her, when he comes, a ream of 
writing paper, and a supply of pens. 

" The day before yesterday I opened my MS. again 
for the first time since Friday iSth April, — on which 
day we turned our backs for ever upon Julian Hill, and 
I now feel sufficiently inclined to work upon it. But I 
am shocked and surprised to discover my great want of 
fools. My paper has almost entirely dwindled away for 
the letters of the family, and I find not more than half a 
dozen little pens in my box." 

The manuscript alluded to, was that of the 
novel published in the following year by Richard 
Bentley, under the title of " Tremordyn Cliff." It V V^ 


was one of her most successful novels, although 
completed under circumstances of extraordinar)- 
pain 'M\(\. difficult)'. 

Henry was thought to have greatly benefited 
by his stay at Dawlish, and, by his own desire, 
joined his family at the Chateau d'Hondt towards 
the middle of July. Among the little facts which 
help one's imagination to reconstruct the daily life 
of a past generation, I ma)- mention that one of 
the commissions which Mrs. Trollope gives her 
son, is to bring her "six pounds of ivax ends'' 
those she can buy in Bruges being wretchedly 
bad and very dear. He is on no account to buy 
spermaceti. These wax ends were, no doubt, the 
remains of candles partially consumed in wealthy 
mansions, club-houses, and so forth. A supply of 
old brown Windsor soap is also demanded, 

Tom is desired to call personally on Mr. Murray 
in Albemarle Street, and to consult him as to the 
best method of conveying a copy of her book on 
Belgium and Western Germany to the Landgravine 
of Hesse-Homburg. A copy is to be sent also to 
Dr. and Mrs. Pert/, in Hanover. "As to the rest 
of my friends," writes Mrs. Trollope, " I hope they 
will either buy or hire ! " 

It had been at first intended that Tom should 


accompany his brother Henry to Ostend — chiefly 
that the invalid might have his care and atten- 
tion on the voyage. But the pupil could not be 
neglected, and Henry therefore went over alone. 
.When his brother saw him in London on his way 
from Devonshire to the Continent, he was shocked 
at the change in his appearance, and thought him 
looking ^^desperately ill." He seems from this time 
to have entertained no hope of Henry's ultimate 
recovery, and records in his diary, his fear that 
" owing to his youth and strength, Henry's struggle 
with the dread disease may be long and painful." 

Henry, like his brothers, had a remarkably 
powerful and muscular frame. 

After his arrival at Bruges, there seems to have 
been one of those deceitful rallies so common in 
cases of consumption. The mother, hoping against 
hope, began soon afterwards to revolve in her 
mind a scheme for sending him to the West Indies. 
She thus writes of it to her eldest son : — 

" I want you to give all your attention to a plan 
wherein lies nearly all my hope for his recovery. ^Ve 
have heard the most extraordinary accounts of the 
recovery of desperate cases, by a voyage to the West 
Indies. And my heart — as well as his own, poor 
fellow, — is now fixed on his going with yoic to Jamaica. 
Bishop Lipscomb will, I am sure, receive you with all 


kindness. . . . The means for this must come from 
Murray. His letter tells me that half the impression is 
sold, and that as soon as the whole is disposed of, he 
will let me draw on him. My hopes and fears for this, 
make me sick at heart. Yet I do, and will trust that 
1 shall not be doomed to see this precious hope pass . 
away from me." 

Tom, at his mother's behest, made inquiries at 
the docks about the cost of a passage to Jamaica, 
and also to Madeira. The fare to Jamaica was 
stated to be forty-six pounds, and that to Madeira 
thirty or thirty-five pounds ; the average length of 
passage to the latter place being twenty days. He 
writes a melancholy little note in his diary to the 
effect that he fears this must be quite beyond his 
mother's means. 

The scheme was, however, abandoned on other 
grounds. On the 29th of July Mrs. Trollope 
writes — 

"After many consultations, and collecting the best 
information I can get on the subject, we are led to 
think that sailing about from port to port in the Mediter- 
ranean, and passing the winter months on its shores, 
would be better for Henry than the West Indies. And 
he himself greatly prefers the idea of it. Let me know 
what your feelings are respecting accompanying him. . . . 
I thought that you might have seen some notices in the- 
papers about the book" [Belgium and Western Germany]. 


" Now that I believe Henry's only hope of life hangs on 
the change of climate, you may guess with what anxiety 
I look for every indication that may give me a hope of 
finding the means of giving it him. . . . My mind is in 
no good state for composition, but I do my best. Henry 
is, I think, a little better. His cough is not so bad as I 
had expected ; but his weakness is very great." 

During this summer a tragedy by Miss Mitford, 
entitled CJiarks the First, was performed at the 
Victoria Theatre, with Mr. Abbott as the King. 
T. A. Trollope, having a ticket given to him, went 
to see it. Of the play he merely says that he 
" did not much like it ; " but of the acting, he 
declares it was execrable. He called on Miss 
Mitford and her father, who were then in town, 
and "talked about the tragedy." Miss Mitford 
on this occasion strongly advised him to pay a 
visit to his grandfather's widow, Mrs. Milton, at 
Reading. She probably thought that, in the family 
circumstances, the visit might be politic. Tom 
was kindly received, and pressed to return ; but 
there is no record of any substantial assistance 
being received from Mrs. Milton. 

Mrs. Trollope's life at the Chateau d'Hondt at 
this period was one of continued strain and stress. 
She says that scarcely any one would believe how 
little time she has for writing, since she cannot refuse 

VOL. I. 14 


to give the greater portion of lier day to Henry ; 
and yet she in?ist get on a h'ttle with the novel 
("Trcmordyn Cliff"), or all hopes from that source 
would have to be laid aside, at the very season 
in which such help will be wanted for her son's 
winter abroad. 

"I wait to hear from you that something near £ioo 
is due from Murray, and when I know this, I will ^vrite 
to him stating the simple fact, and asking his permission 
to draw for that sum. . . . Learn if possible how the 
sale goes on. It is dreadful to think that dear Henry's 
life may perhaps depend upon it ! " 

Later, in the middle of August, the Mediterranean 
tour was given up altogether, on the advice of a 
Belgian physician mentioned in the letters only 
by an initial. In all probability this gentleman's 
medical knowledge led him to foresee that the end 
inust come in a few months, and he therefore dis- 
suaded Mrs. Trollope from sending her boy abroad 
to die. She says — 

" I need not dwell upon the feelings produced by Dr. 
B.'s letter. Yet I feel that he is right. Henry bears the 
disappointment better than I could have expected, — but 
yet it is one." 

Poor Henry was anything but a gentle and 
patient invalid. The irritability of his temper 


became almost unendurable except by the all- 
enduring mother. She passed nearly all his waking 
hours with him : writing at her novel when he 
would let her be at peace to do so, and talking or 
reading to him when he desired it. Then when he 
slept she kept herself awake by the use of strong 
coffee (as has been chronicled by her sons T. 
Adolphus and Anthony), and wrote nearly all 
night. Another pang was added to her sufferings 
by the increasing delicacy of her youngest child 
Emily. And Mrs. Trollope had to accomplish the 
difficult task of keeping the brother and sister as 
much apart as possible, without letting either 
suspect the reason. Above all things she desired 
to conceal from Henry the extreme gravity of his 
condition. It would, as she said, do no good to 
tell him of it, and the revelation that his state was 
hopeless would have given rise to agonizing scenes. 
Hopeless, indeed, the young man's state was. 
And yet until within a month or two of the end 
his poor mother experienced fluctuations of feeling, 
during which she coitld not accept the despairing 

" There are still moments," she writes, " when I think 
impossible he may recover. But my fears predominate. 
My life is too sad, and the calls upon me too incessant, 


to let mc write much. Uut I vnist submit to this. There 
is no help for it." 

If success in her calling, and the applause of the 
world, could have made Frances Trollopc happy, 
there was no lack of either at this time. Literary 
supcess, indeed, gave her some comfort ; but only 
as ensuring due tendance, skill, and, to some 
degree, luxuries, for those she loved. 

About the end of August, John Murray, junior, 
surprised her by a visit to the Chateau d'Hondt. 
He had good-naturedly brought with him a copy 
of the Quarterly Rcviczv, containing a very favour- 
able notice of her " Belgium." Mrs. Trollope says 
that the criticism particularly pleased her because, 
being written without any political allusions, its 
praise could not, she thought, be attributed to 
party bias. 

Leopold, King of the Belgians, and his consort 
visited Ostend about this time, and informed Mr. 
Fauche, the British Consul, that they had read Mrs. 
Trollope's book " with great pleasure." The King 
further intimated that if Mrs. Trollopc came to 
Ostend he should be happy to receive her. 

To the latter gracious intimation which reached 
her through a]>clgian gentleman named Steinmctz, 
and through the Fauches, Mrs. Trollopc with, as 


it seems to me, equal dignity and prudence, replied 
that should such a flattering desire be conveyed to 
her officially, she would hasten to obey his Majesty's 
commands ; but that, otherwise, she had no present 
intention of leaving her home for Ostend. Her 
position with respect to their Belgian majesties 
was a somewhat delicate one ; for although there 
are not a great many pages on the subject of 
politics in the Belgian portion of her book, yet 
when the subject is mentioned, she, with her usual 
uncompromising honesty, allows it to be seen that 
she has no sympathy with the revolution which 
separated Holland from Belgium and placed Prince 
Leopold of Saxe-Coburg on the throne of the 
latter country. 

To the prince's personal qualities, however, she 
paid a warm tribute. 

As to the pleasure with which the King and 
Queen have read her book, she takes the statement 
with her accustomed sober sense wherever her own 
praises are concerned, and writes to her son — 

" I have reason to know that King Leopold had been 
told that my book was a violent and vituperative attack 
on him and his government ! So when he read it for 
himself, he was naturally pleased at finding it so much 
better than he had expected ! " 

214 A ^^E^roTR of Frances trollop e. 

Here, as in so many another passage of her 
h'terary hfc, one cannot but be struck by the 
intonperance of the accusations brought against her. 
Her critics seem to get into such a violent passion 
when they find fault with her views and opinions ! 
One is reminded a little of Sir Anthony Absolute 
in a foaming fury, exhorting his son to follow his 
example and " keep cool." The fact is, that Mrs, 
Trollope's printed statements are usually character- 
ized by considerable sobriety of diction. She is 
seldom rhetorical, not often enthusiastic, in her 
phraseology. To talk of " violence " and " vitu- 
peration," in connection with her book on Belgium, 
is literally absurd. King Leopold adopted a course 
which seems to have been by no means the universal 
practice of her critics, and read what she had 
written before pronouncing a judgment on it. 

This is a good plan if you wish to know what an 
author has really said ; but it is sometimes open 
to the objection of chilling the ardour of your 

Cecilia writes to her brother of the " Royal 
civilities " which seem to have impressed the society 
at Ostend and at Bruges. She also explains the 
origin of an absurd report that was current in both 
places — that " an American captain " had met 


Mrs. Trollope on the public promenade at Ostend 
and had insulted her ! The sole foundation for the 
story was, that Mr. B., a local banker, had men- 
tioned in the hearing of a person who understood 
but little English, that an American captain then 
visiting Ostend wished to see Mrs. Trollope, and 
had inquired if she were likely to appear on the 
promenade, and desired to have her pointed out to 
him. The expression of this very innocent and 
natural curiosity was distorted by the listener into 
a threat of insults dire, and the American gentle- 
man was maligned — but certainly not by Frances 

]\Irs. Trollope recurs again to the subject of 
John Murray's visit, and says " he took coffee 
with us, and gave us a delightful quantity of 
literary gossip, all fresh from the mint." He also 
spoke confidently of a second edition of her book 
on Belgium. 

At the beginning of September, Mrs. Trollope 
rather suddenly resolved on a brief visit to Lon- 
don. This was undertaken solely on Henry's 
account, and by his desire. He expressed a wish 
to consult a leading London physician. But there 
was also a restless craving for change of scene, 
which belong-s to his disease. The means to 


undertake the journey were furnished in the follow- 
ing manner. 

Mrs. Trollope's dear friend, Lady Dyer, had 
lent her, a few months previously, a sum of money 
which was now to be repaid. But on hearing that 
the sum was about to be paid in to the hands of 
her London banker, Lady Dyer wrote, earnestly 
begging that the discharge of the debt should be 
postponed until money matters were easier with 
her friend. 

The kind and generous offer was accepted. As 
soon as Henry heard of it, he was wild to have the 
money employed on a journey to London. His 
mother, writing to Tom to procure a lodging for 
her, for Henry, and for Emily, is almost apolo- 
getic as to this expenditure. And, indeed, the 
measure could not be defended on economical 
grounds. But the poor mother touchingly pleads 
that "Anything which relieved the tedium of the 
poor fellow's lingering complaint, would be a 

On the 8th of September she arrived in Lon- 
don with her son and youngest daughter, and took 
up her abode in a lodging in Northumberland 
Street, Marylcbonc. 



"Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 

* * * * * 

Short-lived possession ! But the record fair 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm." 

CowpER, Lines on his i\Iol!ier''s Pichirc. 

Among all sorts and conditions of men there are 
few homes to which the presence of a beneficent 
physician has not brought some lightening of care, 
some comfort to the mind as well as to the body. 
In our own country it would be difficult to find 
a household that has not some tale to tell of 
devotion, skill, and disinterestedness among the 
members of this noble profession. The very poor 
have reason to bless the charitable doctor ; but 
blessings — not loud, but deep — are perhaps still 
more often invoked upon him by the not very 
poor : those to whom the payment of a large fee 
is a sore strain, yet whose place in the world 
makes it imperative that the strain should be 


The physician to whom Mrs. Trollope was 
recommended to apply for an opinion on her son 
Henry's case, was a Dr. Harrison, of whom I 
know no more than that he was a doctor of repute 
in London sixty odd years ago, and a friend of 
the Misses Skerrett. This gentleman paid several 
visits, and made a long and patient examination 
of Henry. He also examined Emily ; and brought 
with him on one occasion a brother practitioner 
of high standing, in order that Mrs. Trollope 
might have the benefit of a second opinion. The 
second opinion coincided only too perfectly with 
the first ; and both shut the door on all hope as 
to Henry. They pronounced also that Emily was 
in a precarious state. Dr. Harrison, in spite of 
reiterated attempts to induce him to accept some 
payment, absolutely declined to take any fee. 

In the afternoon after his first visit, Mrs. Trol- 
lope and her eldest son took a long walk round 
the Regent's Park ; and then the poor mother 
told Tom that the verdict on his brother was 
"no hope." Dr. Harrison had wisely and kindly 
told the mother the truth. But from poor Henry 
the truth had still to be concealed ; and the task 
of concealment — which fell, of course, chiefly upon 
her — was a long agony. But with regard to 


Emily she still clung to hope ; and for all her 
children she still kept a brave, bright front, and 
made life as cheerful to them as was possible in 
her circumstances. 

During this visit to England she saw Mr. Mur- 
ray, who paid a considerable sum of money for 
the Belgian book. A second edition of it was 
published this autumn. 

Although the London season was over, and the 
London " world " mostly out of town, yet Mrs. 
Trollope saw a few of her old friends. She dined 
quietly with Sir William and Lady Milman, and 
one or two others. At this time also, T. A. 
Trollope met at dinner at his Uncle Milman's 
house in Fulham, a personage in whom all the 
family had taken some interest, but whom none 
of them had hitherto met. This was the Rev. 
Isaac Fidler, who had written a work on America. 
It concerned, I believe, chiefly the statistics of 
labour and employment. But in the course of 
it he tells the following anecdote (N.B. — I have 
not his work before me, and quote from a letter 
addressed to Mrs. Trollope) : — 

" One day, conversing with some American gentlemen 
about the ' Domestic Manners,' one of them asserted 
that it was a tissue of illiberal falsehoods. Mr. Fidler 


thereupon desired them to get the book, and said that 
if they found one statement iUiberal or false, he would 
do penance for his countrywoman, and eat her book. 
The work was procured, and — he doubted not — care- 
fully read through. But the following morning on his 
enquiring the result of their search, they desired that 
no further mention might be made of Mrs. TroUope's 
name ! " 

T. A. Trollope reports in his diar)- that he 
thought the reverend gentleman rather a heavy 
sort of man, but that he was said to be a profoimd 
scholar, and especially learned in Sanscrit. 

On the 26th of September, Mrs. Trollope, with 
Henry and Emily, returned to Belgium. Her 
eldest son accompanied them to the Tower wharf, 
and saw them on board the Ostcnd boat. At the 
end of the entry in his diary he writes : " Poor 
Henry ! Have I seen him for the last time ? " It 
proved to be indeed the last time. 

After her return to the Chateau d'Hondt, Mrs. 
Trollope suffered from an acute attack of rheuma- 
tism in the shoulders, and was very ill. She 
mentions the fact merely that her son may com- 
municate it to Mrs. Grant and other friends as an 
excuse for her having failed to answer their letters. 
" My shoulders are in such very severe pain that I 
can hardly guide my pen," she says. Nevertheless,. 


the pen was compelled, by indomitable energy, 
to do its daily allotted stage of work for the 

Mr. Milton, at this time, sent a pressing invita- 
tion to his niece Cecilia to pay a long visit to his 
house at Fulham. His motive was, to remove her 
from the neighbourhood of Henry's sick-room. 
Mrs. Trollope thankfully accepted the offer. Much 
as she knew she should miss her daughter, she 
rejoiced to place her " in safety," as she says. 

Cecilia arrived duly ; and on the i6th of October, 
her brother Tom returning from Fulham where he 
had dined, witnessed the conflagration that de- 
stroyed the Houses of Parliament. He describes 
in his diary how he perceived in the heavens the 
reflection of a large fire ; how he left the Fulham 
coach in Piccadilly, ran down to the Park, and 
learned that the Houses of Parliament were on 
fire ; how he made his way with great difficulty 
through the crowd to Westminster Bridge, and 
with still greater difficulty managed to mount to 
the top of the parapet, where, holding on by one of 
the lamp irons, he had a complete view of the 
splendid and terrible spectacle. 

He notes another circumstance, which I give, for 
the sake of a humble little historic parallel : " I 


heard many persons expressing exultation at the 

A year, or perhaps somewhat less than a year, 
ago, — at any rate in the course of Anuo Domini 
1894, — a friend of mine was going over Westminster 
Abbey, in company with many other persons. 
His attention was attracted by the conversation of 
two men in the garb of decent artisans, whose 
whole interest in the building appeared to consist 
in anticipations of its destruction. Before every 
noble historic monument, especially before the 
monuments of Kings, powers, and principalities, 
they cheered each other with previsions of how 
" all that " would be done away with, razed to the 
ground, scattered into dust, in the good time 
coming when Revolution and Socialism should have 
triumphed. No doubt they conceived themselves 
to be quite in the van of progress — among the 
pioneers of the newest and most " up-to-date " 
ideas, to use the graceful phrase in vogue. And 
yet just sixty years previous, among the mob that 
witnessed the great fire of 1834, there were many 
individuals holding precisely the same views. 

The fact is, that the number of those qui ante nos 
.nostra dixcntnt, is oppressively great in all depart- 
ments of human affairs. And the worst of it is. 


they refuse to perish ! They crop up with mortify- 
ing liveliness in unexpected places, and unhand- 
somely rob us of our claims to originality. 

From Bruges up to almost the end of the year 
the accounts are of Henry's steadily increasing 
illness, and of his mother's steadily increasing 
difficulty in working at her novel. And yet, as she 
writes, the inevitable expenses of her son's pro- 
tracted malady, and the growing certainty (arising 
from failures in the payment of London rents, cost 
of repairs, and other causes) that the bulk of what 
income they could rely on must come from her 
earnings, were a constant spur to labour. A few 
extracts from her letters will give a vivid picture 
of her life at this time. The first extract is dated 
27th of October. 

" The more I feel pressed by the want of money, the 
more I fret over the ever-recurring impediments to my 
getting on with ' Tremordyn Cliff.' But indeed I do my 
best, — not to put the impediments aside, for that would 
be impossible, or, at any rate, what I ought ?iot to do — 
but I try to get on in spite of them. I have taken to sit 
up, under the awakening influence of coffee, for about 
three hours every other night. If I can keep this up it 
will greatly help me. Henry is very uncertain in his 
hours. Sometimes he lies in bed very late, and then I 
scribble away ; but when he gets up, it is over for the 
day. . . . Emily is very little with him. She comes up 

224 ./ ^^E^roIR of fr.ixcfs trollope. 

for half an liour after he lias taken his tea, and stays 
while I read aloud two chai)ters in the Bible, This was 
his request. I place her on the side of the fire next mc, 
and at a good distance from his place . 

"He now lives entirely upstairs, in the room that was 
the girls'. I sit alone with him fro m four o'clock — his 
dinner hour — till nine. This makes a long, long evening. 
For some time I did not even go downstairs to tea ; but 
now I do, which is a great relief, though it lasts but for 
a itw minutes. . . . You will wonder to hear that he has 
taken to carpente?'ing, and has bought various tools. It 
is astonishing to see the steadiness and firmness with 
which he hammers. I think, on the whole, he has 
suffered less of late." 

It is all very pathetic ! 

But then there did come a piece of good fortune, 
which Mrs. Trollope, and indeed all the family, 
^iwelcomed with hearty satisfaction. This was An- 
'thony's appointment at the Post-Office. At first 
sight it might seem that this small clerkship was 
no such great boon to a young man born in his 
state of life, and brought up — in his earlier years, 
at all events — with much higher prospects. But 
it was a settled position, with a certain salary, and 
a reasonable prospect of promotion. And nothing 
is more noticeable, and, I will add, more honour- 
able, throughout the chronicles of the family, than 
the simple way in which all honest employment is 


accepted by each and all of them. If it be true 
that " bon sang ne peut mentir," I think we must 
admit that it is never more respectably mani- 
fested than in the disdain of small gentilities, and 
the freedom from that envious dread of subjection 
which afflicts a certain class of mind. 

None of the family could then foresee that not 
only would Anthony highly distinguish himself 
in his new calling, but that the wide experience 
of many phases and classes of English life gained 
in pursuing it, would furnish food for his literary 
faculty, and enable him to draw so many types 
of genuine native character — the Lily Dales and 
Mrs. Proudies, the Archdeacon Grantleys and 
Johnny Eameses — that have delighted the reading 

This Post- Office appointment was obtained 
through Mrs. Trollope's old friends the Freelings. 
Sir Francis Freeling was at this time Secretary 
to the Post-Office, and his daughter-in-law, Mrs. 
Clayton Freeling, was a dear friend of Mrs. Trol- 
lope's. T. A. TroUope enters in his diary on the 
28th of October:— 

" I got a letter from Mr. Freeling to-day, containing 
an ofifer to Anthony of a place in the Post Office, and 
desiring to see me upon it." 

VOL. I. 15 


The next day he went to Mr. Freeh'ng "at the 
Excise," and was informed that letters on the 
subject had been sent to Anthony (who was then 
at Brussels with the Rev. William Drury) and to 
his mother at Bruges. 

Mr. Smiles, in his interesting memoir of John 
Murray, entitled " A Publisher and his Friends," 
has fallen into a little error on this subject. He 
writes — 

" Mr. Murray was frequently invited to obtain situa- 
tions for young men in London. It was through his 
influence with Sir Francis Freeling, with whom he was 
very intimate, that Mrs. TroUope obtained for her son 
Anthony a clerkship in the Post Office. She writes from 
Bruges to Mr. Murray (20th January, 1S35) expressing 
her thanks to him and to the Freelings. . . . She 
deplored the loss of her boy, but says, ' I can never 
forget that the last weeks of his life here were rendered 
as comfortable as they could be, by your premature 
payment." (Vol. ii. p. 384.) 

Mr. Murray may very possibly have mentioned 
Anthony's name to Sir Francis PVeeling, but, as I 
have said, the Freelings were already old friends 
of his family, and I find no allusion to Mr. Mur- 
ray's intervention in any of their letters. There 
is also an apparent confusion in the passage 
quoted, between Mrs. TroUope's two sons. When 
she speaks of her boy whose last weeks were made 


comfortable by Mr. Murray's obliging premature 
payment (for her book on Belgium and Western 
Germany) she means, of course, poor Henry. 

The sad drama in Bruges was nearing its end. 
On the 2nd November she writes — 

" My life is a very sad one, but I keep up as well as 
I can. And I write too, — though I scarcely know how 
I can do it." 

Alluding to Anthony's appointment, she says : 
" I am happier in receiving this news than I 
thought anything just now could make me." 
Again later — 

"What a blessing are the dear Grants to you ! How 
I rejoice at the comfort it must be to you to go there as 
you do ! Indeed we have no cause to complain of our 
friends; for our sorrows have drawn them nearer, and 
not sent them away from us." 

Her brother Henry Milton has expressed him- 
self delighted at Anthony's appointment; mentions 
that he himself began (as a clerk in the War Office) 
with ninety pounds a year, and sends congratu- 
lations to " his brother clerk." 

Early in December Mrs. TroUope writes — 

" This is my night for writing, — not letters, but novel ; 
so do not wonder at my scrawling with more rapidity 
than precision. Tell my dear, dear friend at Harrow " 
[Mrs. Grant], "whose kindness to you binds me to her 


for ever, that I will write to her next week. But tell 
her also that in spite of everything I go on with my 
book, which makes the indulgence of scribbling even to 
her, a thing that must be taken only now and then ; — 
though, Heaven knows, I love her better than all my 
heroines. . . . Poor Henry grows daily more exigeant 
as to my time. It is so hard to refuse him in his sad 
state when he wishes to have me with him. But I do 
get on, though not so fast as I wish. And I do take 
care of myself, dear Tom ; — all the more because my 
children wish it. My working nights are far from dis- 
agreeable, and I sleep the night after, like a top. . . . 
I have great hopes that my dear kind cousin Fanny 
Bent will come to me. Think what a comfort this 
would be ! Emily is getting well fast, and if we were 
less sad in our circumstances would, I feel sure, be quite 
herself again. Henry is very bad. Poor dear, dear 
fellow ! It is heartbreaking to watch him. God bless 
you, my beloved son. Write to me often. It is such 
a comfort." 

Then on the 23rd of December comes the end. 
She writes on this date : — 

" It is over. My poor Henry breathed his last about 
nine o'clock this morning. I wish Cecilia to return to 
us immediaiely, and I would wish you to bring her over. 
After all I have suffered— and it has been very much 
— I need the comfort of your presence. Make as little 
delay as possible, — and this very much for Emily's sake. 
Nothing will do her so much good as having you both 
here. The doctor here declares her well, but delicate 


and nervous. ... If it were possible for you to go 
down to Dover on Friday night, and (if the weather 
were perfectly good) to sail for Ostend on Saturday, I 
should be very thankful. We want the comfort of seeing 
you and Cecilia, dearest Tom. We have suffered greatly. 
Give our most affectionate love to dear, dear Anthony. 
Tell him I will write to him in a day or two, but can?wt 
do it now. God bless you." 



" J'aime qu'un Russc soil Russe, 
Et qu'un Anglais soil Anglais. 
Si I'on est Prussien en Prusse, 
En France soyons Fran^ais. 
* * • * 

Mes amis, mes amis, 
Soyons de notre pays ! " 


The wonderful elasticity of spirit — the power of 
( recovering from the oppression of sorrow — which 
Mrs. Trollope possessed, has been dwelt upon by 
both her sons. But this power was incalculably 
stimulated by the thought of those who, humanly 
speaking, depended on her for the happiness and 
prosperity of their future lives. 

To her, as to many another mourner, it would 
doubtless have been soothing to give way for a 
time to grief; to brood over the memory of her 
lost son, and to ease the aching of her heart by 
unrestrained tears. But there were others to be 
thought of There was her husband, whose health 
Ty was rapidly failing ; there was Emily, delicate 


and fragile, and already showing unmistakable 
symptoms of the terrible disease which had car- 
ried off her brother ; there was her elder daughter 
Cecilia ; and there were her two dearly loved 
boys. She must be up and doing. 

The success of her travels in Belgium and 
Western Germany no doubt suggested to her the 
idea of writing " Paris and the Parisians." The 
plan must have been in her mind even before 
Henry's death. 

About the middle of February, 1835, she went 
to London, and writes thence early in the follow- 
ing March, announcing that she has agreed with 
Mr. Bentley for a work on Paris, in two volumes. 
It is to be completed and in the printer's hands by 

During Mrs. Trollope's absence in London on 
this business, her husband, with Tom and Cecilia, 
remained at the Chateau d'Hondt. I find the 
following strange circumstance recorded in her 
son's diary at this time : — 

"Saturday, February 21st. 
*' It was a very fine sunny morning, and I walked to 
the Grande Place and amused myself by strolling among 
the market folks. I saw a respectable looking man on 
horseback carrying a large tricoloured flag, attended by 
two men beating drums, selling bills to the people (of 


uhich I bought one) purporting to be a letter from 
young Napoleon " [the Duke of Reichstadt] " to Louis 
Philippe, He was declaring to the people that this 
prince had risen from the dead.* I heard afterwards 
that it has caused a good deal of speculation as to the 
probable result in the town." 

The result in the town appears to have been 
a no more important one than to make the 
market folks stare, to delight the boy popula- 
tion, to furnish subject-matter for talk to the 
wiseacres in many a cabaret, and, last not least, 
to give " the respectable looking man on horse- 
back " a plentiful harvest of sons by the sale of his 
bills. But the whole scene smacks rather of the 
fifteenth century and Perkin Warbeck, than of the 
enlightened epoch Anno Domini 1835. 

In the same diary is noted, on the 31st of 
March, " My mother returned this evening, to the 
great joy of all concerned." 

Mrs. Trollope was in the midst of preparations 
for her departure for Paris, when a letter came to 
her eldest son offering him the position of assist- 
ant master at King Edward's Grammar School in 

* This handbill is in my possession. It is printed both in Flemish 
and French. It is an appeal to Louis Philippe to allow the {sot - 
disanf) writer to give his services as a soldier to France. The poor 
boy died in 1832; and the handbill is said to be "licensed ^^^ 
distribution in I'aris" in 1834.— F. E. T. 


Birmingham. It was decided in family conclave 
that this should be accepted, and that Tom 
should start forthwith for Birmingham. With 
his usual promptitude he set off by the earliest 
possible conveyance from Bruges next day. 

The whole story of the repeated postponements 
of his election, and of his final appointment, has 
been fully told in "What I Remember." I will 
therefore merely give, as briefly as possible, one 
or two facts necessary for explaining the position 
to readers unacquainted with those memoirs. 

After numerous delays and disappointments, it 
was decided that the formal nomination of an 
assistant master should not be made until the new 
school buildings in New Street, then in course of 
erection, should be completed. And, in fact, T, A. 
Trollope was not finally appointed until the early 
part of the year 1837. 

At Birmingham, on his first visit, with which we 
are now concerned, he was very kindly received 
by the Rev. Dr. Jeune, then Head Master of 
the Grammar School, and subsequently Head of 
Pembroke College, Oxford, and Bishop of Peter- 
borough ; and to him and his charming wife, T. A. 
Trollope was indebted for constant friendliness 
during the whole period he spent in Birmingham. 


It has been already set down in these pages how, 
towards the close of his life, he had the satisfac- 
tion of once more meeting his old friend Mrs, 
Jeune, and of being her guest in Oxford, For 
years he had been accustomed to speak of her as 
one of the most delightful women he had known, 
and one of the handsomest. Youth and its 
attractions had long passed away when he met 
her in 1S91 ; but not so the charm of culture, 
intellect, and gracious dignity, which made her 
still one of the most delightful of women. 

In the April of this year, 1835, Mrs. Trollope 
lost one of her oldest and most intimate friends, 
Captain Kater. Tom, being in London on his 
way back to Belgium after the hurried rush to 
Birmingham, spent an April afternoon with Captain 
Kater and thought him then better, and in better 
spirits than he had been for some time past. (He 
had been suffering from hypochondria.) But two 
days afterwards he received a note from Miss 
Henrietta Skerrctt, telling him that Captain 
Kater had died suddenly from a stroke of 

Mr, and Mrs. Trollope, with their daughters and 
Monsieur Hervieu, who was to illustrate her book, 
had meanwhile established themselves in Paris in 


an apartment at No. 6, Rue de Provence. Their 
dear friend Mrs. Garnett was living in Paris, much 
to the Trollopes' satisfaction. 

This period, the early part of King Louis 
Philippe's reign, was undoubtedly a very interest- 
ing one in which to visit Paris. But there was 
a seething fermentation still going on throughout 
the whole social body, that made it extraordinarily 
difficult to obtain any view of the state of public 
feeling which should be at once wide and distinct ; 
or to form any trustworthy generalization from so 
many conflicting opinions. As to the former, it 
may be granted that the difficulty was not special 
to that place or that period. What is called public 
feeling is everywhere a very Protean appearance, 
capable of almost infinite variety ; and may be 
quoted, like Scripture, in support of the most 
heterogeneous doctrines. All that a passing 
traveller could do — and the task was no light 
one — was diligently to collect, and faithfully to 
record, the facts he had the opportunity of 

The skill with which Mrs, Trollope has com-^ 
bined her materials into an amusing whole, and 
the vividness with which she paints her pictures of 
Paris and Parisian life under the Citizen-King, 


arc very strikinc^. I think that in this work she 
shows herself more mistress of her craft than in 
any of licr preceding ones. I do not mean that 
she shows herself to be a cleverer woman ; but that 
all traces of the " prentice han' " have vanished, 
and that there is a steady command of her 
materials, only to be attained by diligence and 

Seven years had elapsed since Mrs. Trollope 
had last been in Paris — seven years which had had 
crowded into them many startling political changes, 
besides the inevitable changes due to growth and 
decay, common to all living bodies, material and 
social. When she had last seen the Tuileries, 
the banner that floated above it bore the fleurs de 
lis. Since then had come the flight of Charles X., 
the Revolution of '30, and the accession of Louis 
Philippe as King of the French. France had not 
yet by any means recovered tranquillity after the 
storms that had shaken her for nearly half a 
century. The gigantic convulsion of the Great 
French Revolution, the strain of the Napoleonic 
wars, the restoration of the Bourbons at the point 
of foreign bayonets, had left all men's minds 
disturbed, anxious, and uneasy, to whatc\er 
political party they might belong. 


Young France was Republican ; Old France 
was Legitimist ; Middle-aged France was — at any 
rate as to the great majority — desirous of support- 
ing the government of Louis Philippe, in so far as 
it seemed to promise the stability of law and 
order. A French gentleman who belonged, by 
birth and family traditions, to the ancien regime, 
said to Mrs. Trollope, " Let him who has seized 
the helm keep it. If he be an able steersman, he 
will bring us into smooth water, and it is no longer 
time for us to ask how he got his commission." 
The Young France party, although it had real 
enthusiasm — ay, and real genius — among its mem- 
bers, was prone to manifest its opinions in public 
by the symbolism of preposterous attire and 
ferocity of beard — whenever, that is, their " having 
in beard," as Rosalind says, chanced to be more 
than "a younger brother's revenue." But, indeed, 
more than one party was recognized by the shape 
and size of its hat ! As for the Sovereign People, 
one of the most remarkable of their newly acquired 
rights, appeared to be the privilege of presenting 
themselves dirty instead of clean, before the eyes of 
the public. In former days no one, for instance, was 
allowed to enter the Tuileries Gardens except in 
decent attire. All that was required was that they 


should be clad in neat g^armcnts, such as they were 
always in tlic habit of wcarini^ on Sundays and 
holidays. Such days were, one would suppose, the 
only times when an industrious man or woman of 
the blouse, or apron-wearing class, would be likely 
to have either leisure or inclination to stroll in a 
public garden. And, in fact, no doubt it was so. 
The gentry who claimed the proud privilege of 
appearing as dirty and ragged as they chose in the 
garden of the King's palace, were for the most part 

Mrs. Trollope had access to a great many 
Parisian salons professing a great many different 
shades of opinion, and to one or two whose glory 
it was to welcome all shades of opinion. 

Some of her conversational experiences were 
very amusing. Of one lady holding advanced 
Republican theories, she writes — 

" I really never saw or heard of any fanaticism equal 
to that with which this lady worships destruction ! 
Whatever is, is wrong, appears to be the rule by which 
her judgment is guided in all things." 

Another lady — young and rather pretty, — after 
some obliging assurances of the pleasure she felt 
in making the acquaintance of Madame Trollope, 
poured forth a flood of eloquence intended to 


convert her from her erroneous monarchical prin- 
ciples, assuring her that nothing so cramped the 
mind, and that a constant succession of political 
changes kept the faculties of a nation on the qui 
vive, and, " abstractedly considered as a mental 
operation, must be incalculably more beneficial 
than the half-dormant state which ensues after 
long continuance in one position, let it be what it 

This is a striking and, to me, novel view of the 
matter. I presume that the mental cramp arising 
from having continued to believe from generation 
to generation that two and two make four, has 
rendered most of us incapable of even trying to 
conceive them as amounting to five. 

One hostess is famous for her soirees antithe- 
tiques, where the guests are chiefly remarkable for 
being in all things opposed to one another. This 
seems, as Mrs. TroUope observes, a singular device 
for arranging a sociable party. Nevertheless, she 
adds that Madame H.'s soirees are very delightful 
soirees for all that. In another salon the lions are 
all musical celebrities, and " roar you as gently as 
any sucking " — nightingale. Yet another lady pre- 
fers to collect foreigners of the philosophical- 
revolutionary class, and so forth. 


On one occasion Mrs. Trollopc dined in company 
with a literary colleague — a Parisian gentleman 
who had just returned from visiting England, — 
and was placed next him at table. The gentleman 
had made but a flying visit to London, and had 
no colloquial knowledge of our language ; never- 
theless, he deemed himself an authority as to our 
insular habits and customs, and was accepted as 
such by many of his countrymen. 

He opened the conversation with Mrs. Trollope 
by saying, " You do not, I think, use table-napkins 
in England. Do you not find them rather embar- 
rassing } " His next remark was, " I observed 
during my stay in England that it was not the 
custom to eat soup. I hope, however, that you do 
not find it disagreeable to your palate." 

" Did you dine much in private society ? " she 

" Oh no ; I did not. My time was too con- 
stantly occupied to permit of my doing so." 

" Oh, well, we have some good hotels in 

" I did very well ; for I never permitted myself 
to venture anywhere for the purpose of dining, 
except to your celebrated Leicester Square. It is 
the most fashionable part of London, I believe, or 


at least the only fashionable restaurants are to be 
found there." 

Mrs. Trollope ventured to hint that there were 
other parts of London which enjoyed a better 
reputation in this respect than Leicester Square. 
But her observation was not well received ; and 
she heard the traveller say in a half-whisper to his 
neighbour on the other side of him, who had been 
attentively listening to their conversation, ''Pas 

How comically this reminds us of some reported 
utterances of a recent — and incomparably more 
distinguished — French visitor to our metropolis ! 
One wonders if any English man of letters could 
be found who would venture to pronounce authori- 
tatively as to French cookery and table etiquette, 
on the strength of having dined daily for a 
fortnight at a Restaurant Duval ? 

But these little absurdities and extravagances 
did not so occupy Mrs. Trollope's attention, as 
to make her inappreciative of the brilliant con- 
versation and easy gaiety which distinguished 
Parisian society in general. She entertained a 
very high admiration for Frenchwomen, whose 
domestic virtues, as well as their social graces, 
she staunchly upheld. She observes, with equal 

VOL. I. 16 


justice and shrewdness, that the universal respect 
accorded to them /// tJieir oivn htvnes, by sons, 
brothers, fathers, and husbands, must be founded 
on esteem, and could not long continue without 
it. This household deference is, of course, a very 
different thing from the mere complimentary 
homage of gallantry, which, as we all know, may 
co-exist with a very contemptuous estimate of 

I note here, because I think it a striking illus- 
tration of the character and intellect which I 
am endeavouring to portray, that Mrs. Trollope 
expresses in this work an enthusiastic admira- 
'ftion for George Sand's literary genius. It is 
striking, because nothing could be more opposed 
^ to Frances Trollope's principles and prejudices, 
Vthan the principles and prejudices of George 
Sand. Her politics, her ethics, and her religion 
were all alike abhorrent to the Englishwoman. 
Nevertheless, that does not prevent the latter 
from personally admiring and openly extolling 
the exquisite style, the wonderful power of de- 
scription, and the poetic imagination of the great 

I am tempted to transcribe a short passage 
from a chapter wholly devoted to George Sand, 


because it appears to me an admirable bit of 

appreciative criticism ; and although written by 

a foreigner, it would, I believe, be endorsed by 
all French men of letters : — 

" I will give you a io.^ lines from a little story called 
* Mattea ' just to show you how she can treat a theme 
worn threadbare before she was born. Is there, in 
truth, any picture much less new than that of a gondola 
with a guitar in it, gliding along the canals of Venice ? 
But see what she makes of it. 

" ' La guitare est un instrument qui n'a son existence 
veritable qu'k Venise, la ville silencieuse et sonore. 
Quand une gondola rase ce fleuve d'encre phospho- 
rescente, ou chaque coup de rame enfonce un eclair, 
tandis qu'une grele de petites notes legeres, nettes, et 
folatres, bondit, et rebondit sur les cordes que parcourt 
une main invisible, on voudrait arreter et saisir cette 
melodic faible mais distincte, qui agace I'oreilie des 
passants, et qui fuit le long des grandes ombres des 
palais, comme pour appeler les belles aux fenetres, et 
passer en leur disant — Ce n'est pas pour vous la 
serenade ; et vous ne saurez ni d'ou elle vient, ni ou 
elle va ! ' 

"Could Rousseau himself have chosen apter words? 
Do they not seem an echo to the sound she describes? " 

Of George Sand's private life Mrs. Trollope 
professes to know very little ; and she justly says 
that " the private history of an author ought never 


to mix itself with a judgment of his works." But 
she concludes the above-mentioned chapter thus: — 

" Who is there but would wish that the great and 
good qualities of this gifted woman (for she must have 
both) should break forth from whatever cloud sorrow 
or misfortune may have thrown over her, and that 
the rest of her days may pass in the tranquil develop- 
ment of her extraordinary talents, and in such a display 
of them to the public, as shall leave its admiration 

Her many visits to Madame Recamier at the 
Abbaye-aux-Bois have been dwelt on at some 
length not only by Mrs. Trollope herself, but in the 
" Reminiscences " of her eldest son. Miss Clarke 
—afterwards ]\Iadame Mohl, who also lived in 
the Abbaye-aux-Bois — was also often visited, and 
the evenings at her house thoroughly enjoyed. 
The chief attraction in Madame Recamier's salon 
was Madame Recamier herself, the fascination 
of whose grace and beauty — she was still beauti- 
ful even in 1835 ! — was enhanced by unaffected 
sweetness and genuine kindliness. Her great 
" lion " was M. dc Chateaubriand. He was 
then writing his " Memoires d'Outre-Tombe," and 
the privilege of hearing a chapter of this work 
read aloud in Madame Recamier's salon was 


eagerly coveted by all literary Paris, and by a 
great part of Paris that was not literary. Mrs. 
Trollope and her daughters were among the 
favoured guests on one such occasion, when the 
reader was no less a person than M. Ampere, 
while the Vicomte de Chateaubriand sat by, 
the cynosure of all eyes ! 

The rapid spread of Paris, even within the space 
of seven years, attracted Mrs. Trollope's attention. 
She remarks on the number of handsome dwellings 
springing up in the north-western division of Paris ; 
and it is curious to find her saying that this new 
world of houses reminds her of the early days of 
Russell Square and all the region about it ! 

"The Church of the Madeleine, instead of being, as I 
formerly remember it, nearly at the extremity of Paris, 
has now a new city behind it. And if things go on at 
the same rate at which they seem to be advancing at 
present, we shall see it — or at least our children will — 
occupying as central a position as St. Martins-in-the- 

Among her most delightful reminiscences of 
Paris in former days, was the acting of Mdlle. 
Mars ; and she confesses that she felt a little 
trepidation in taking her children to see the great 
actress whom she had often praised to them enthu- 
siastically, lest the changes which seven years 


had made should disappoint their expectations. 
However, Tartiiffe was announced at the Theatre 
Fran^ais, and Mrs. Trollope seized the opportunity 
of once more seeing Mdlle. Mars as " Elmire," and 
once more finding herself before the curtain which 
she had so often seen rise on Talma, Duchenois, 
and Mars. 

The house was crowded in every part ; quite as 
crowded as she had ever seen it at the performances 
of the same actress fifteen years before, when she 
first remarked the extraordinary power of attraction 
in a woman even then long past the first bloom of 
beauty ! 

And Mars ? Mars was still Mars — unrivalled in 
grace, charm, and artistic perfection. Mrs. Trollope 
writes of this extraordinary artist : — 

" That the ear should be gratified, and the feelings 
awakened, by the skilful intonations of a voice, the 
sweetest perhaps ever bestowed on mortal, is quite 
intelligible ; but that the eye should follow with such 
unwearied delight every look and movement of a woman, 
not only old, — for that does sometimes happen at Paris, — 
but known to be so, from one end of Europe to the 
other, is certainly a singular phenomenon. . . . How 
delicious would be Molibre's pleasure could he behold 
the creature of his own fancy thus exquisitely alive before 
him, and could he mark, moreover, the thrill that 
makes itself felt along the closely packed rows of the 


parterre, when his wit, conveyed by this charming con- 
ductor, runs round the house like the touch of electricity ! 
Do you think the best smile of Louis le Grand could be 
worth this ? " 

Mrs. Trollope was convinced that Mdlle. Mars 
could read Corneille and Racine as effectively as 
Mrs. Siddons read Shakespeare. And the follow- 
ing passage may interest my readers, as showing 
that the dramatic genius of our great Sarah was 
not solely of that stilted, monotonous-majestic 
sort, that some of us moderns imagine. 

" I well remember coming home from one of Mrs. 
Siddons's readings with a passionate desire to see her 
act the part of ' Hamlet ; ' and from another, quite per- 
suaded that the witch-scenes in Alacbefh should be so 
arranged that she should speak every word of them ! " 

Mrs. TroUope's letters during this year are not 
numerous. Her son was with her during great 
part of the time ; and as to other correspondents, 
she excused herself from writing to them frequently 
from Paris, on the ground that she had little time 
for letters until the business she had come to do 
should be accomplished. 

She was indefatigable in making herself ac- 
quainted with all that could be interesting to the 
English reader, so far as this was possible. And 


besides the daily sight-seeing, she was very much 
welcomed in society. 

To conclude the subject of her book on Paris 
y and the Parisians, I may state now that it was 
attacked by a portion of the press with great 
rancour, but — the "but" may have its encourage- 
ments for the intending author — but it was highly 
successful ! The publisher was satisfied ; the 
work was widely read, sold well, and reached a 
second edition. 

Anthony Trollope, in a letter to his brother, 
written in January, 1836, says — 

" Mamma will, I feel confident, have a second 
thousand of the Paris." [This proved to be correct] 
" No work of hers was ever abused so much — or sold so 
fast — or praised in the periodicals so little, — especially 
by her own party." 

Abused, in truth, she was, to an • extravagant 
degree. One reviewer goes so far as to accuse her, 
in good set terms, of being bribed by the Govern- 
ment of Louis Philippe to praise it, contrary to 
y her real convictions ! This particular " half brick " 
is certainly a very jagged missile, notwithstanding 
the implied compliment to her powers, as a writer 
whose pen a great monarch and his ministers 
deemed it worth while to win over by bribery and 
corruption ! 


This wanton and, in fact, libellous accusation, 
stung her for a moment into hot indignation. 
And, indeed, one cannot but think that there is 
ample scope for disparagement at the command of 
the anonymous critic, without his descending to 
calumny. One's grammar, one's brains, one's 
breeding, one's lack of taste, one's incorrigible 
prejudice and invincible stupidity, are all fair 
game, and may be torn to tatters without eliciting 
a protest. He who prints a book takes his risk of 
all that, and must bear it, if it comes, without 
whining. But the attack in question was such as, 
I am persuaded, no periodical of equal standing 
would now print. 

Mrs. Trollope wrote a spirited defence of her- 
self, which was intended to be prefixed to the 
second edition of her book on Paris. The manu- 
script of it is in my possession. To the best of 
my belief, it never appeared in print. She yielded, 
no doubt, to prudent counsels on the subject. 
And yet I cannot, for my own part, profess 
myself convinced that discretion in such cases 
is always the better part of valour. It is this kind 
of prudence on which the bully confidently reckons. 
And to shake that confidence must surely con- 
tribute to decency of tone in literary discussion. 


Mrs. Trollopc states, in a letter to her son, 
that she has never received so many compliments 
'from private friends, on any of her books as 
on this. Sir Francis Freeling writes to her son 
Anthony that he considers the ability and tact 
shown in treating a very difficult subject, to be 
quite surprising. Mrs, Milton considers it her 
best book. On the other hand, she gives a list 
of powerful journals that have been, as she bluntly 
phrases it, " very abusive " (and from the specimen 
above recorded, we may believe that the phrase 
is not too strong !), and she winds up her letter 
characteristically thus : " But what is much more 
to the purpose than this, the book sells well." 



" There is a reaper whose name is Death, 
And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
And the flowers that grow between." 


On the 23rd of October, 1835, Frances Trollope's 
husband died at the Chateau d'Hondt, near 
Bruges, after a long and gradual decay of health. 

He had been, as has been stated, in Paris 
during the spring and early summer, and had 
consulted more than one physician of high repute 
there. But his constitution, originally of ex- 
ceptional strength, had been completely under- 
mined by the use of calomel. One of his Parisian 
doctors declared that he should have taken him 
of be nearly twenty years older than his real age, 
which was sixty-two. Both his sons have written 
of him with a deep sense of the sadness of his 
latter years, and of the pathos of a life marked 
by persistent failure, despite many good gifts of 
nature and fortune. 


His wife had for some time been the sole bread- 


winner of the family. As his widow she still 
had a strong stimulus to exertion, in the desire 
to improve the position and prospects of her 
sons, and to provide for her daughters. 

Thomas Anthony Trollope was laid to rest in 
the cemetery outside the gate of St. Catherine 
at Bruges, near the grave of his son Henry. A 
tombstone was erected to his memory, the in- 
scription on which was written by his eldest son. 

During the months that intervened between 
the conclusion of her stay in Paris and the 
death of her husband, Mrs. Trollope had been 
working on a novel, subsequently published by 
Mr. Richard Bentley in the spring of 1836, under 

/ the title of "Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw." Mr. 
Bentley had at first suggested a volume of 
detached sketches, to be called " Scenes on the 
Mississipi," the idea of which originated in the in- 
spection of a portfolio of Hervieu's drawings made 
in America. But he soon agreed with Mrs. Trollope 
that a continuous story would be preferable. 

The book went through more than one edition, 
and must rank among her most successful novels. 

;^ It is, however, a painful, although undoubtedly 
powerful, story. 


Its tone and aim may be at once understood 
by the dedication prefixed to it — 

*' To those States of the American Union in which 
slavery has been aboUshed, or never permitted, these 
volumes are respectfully dedicated." 

The novel is a very strongly coloured and 
dreadful picture of the evils of slavery. More 
strongly coloured and more dreadful than the 
picture drawn many years later by the American 
author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and " Dred," 
it, of course, is not. But it is doubtless less ,/ 
accurate in many of its details of negro life. Both 
books have incurred the charge of exaggeration 
and even of misrepresentation. Such charges 
were inevitable from the very nature of the 
work. Books written for the purpose of exposing 
the evils of any existing institution, deal chiefly, 
and avowedly, with those evils. There may be 
flowers and wholesome herbs growing side by 
side with the poisonous weeds, but those are 
not the author's business. The man who writes 
a medical treatise on some deadly disease, knows 
perfectly well that there are thousands of healthy 
human bodies free from it ; but his task is not 
to describe healthy bodies. Whether this method, 


however rational in treating of medical science, 
is desirable in a work of art, is another matter. 

It must, I think, have been in Mrs. Trollope's 
mind very shortly after her husband's death to 
leave Belgium and return to England, although 
no plan of the kind had been openly canvassed. 
She intended, before settling herself in a new 
home, to make a journey to Italy, and even 
possibly to spend the winter in Rome, partly 
with the hope that the southern climate might 
benefit Emily, who was drooping more and more. 
But this project was abandoned. Mrs. Trollope 
had eone to England after her husband's death to 
arrange many matters of business, and had taken 
Emily with her, Tom and Cecilia remaining at the 
Chateau d'Hondt. Dr. Harrison, after a careful 
examination of Emily, reported that her chest 
was very delicate, that she required the greatest 
care, and that it would be safer for her to remain 
in England until the spring. 

"After this opinion," writes Mrs. Trollope, "I can, 
of course, have no farther thou!::;hts of Italy for the 
present. I have therefore determined on immediately 
looking out for a house near London. I much wish I 
could come to help you in getting through all the 
business you will have to perform previous to bidding 
a final adieu to Belgium, but this is quite impossible. 


She has by no means recovered the cold and fatigue of 
her journey hither. . . . She is very weak, and eats 
hardly anything. I am miserably anxious, but struggle 
to keep up my spirits, as I must set to work again 

And a few days later — 

" My fears are all directed to one point, — the health 
of my dear Emily. If she is very ill, I much misdoubt 
my power of writing. Yet in any case I shall remember, 
dear Tom, that you have claims on me as well as my 
dear girl in her sick chamber ; and I will earnestly try to 
do my duty to both." 

She finally decided on taking a house at Hadley, 
but could not have possession of it until January. 
Meanw^hile, she lived in lodgings in London. On 
the 30th of November she writes — 

"I am very very greatly alarmed about my Emily. 
She has lost strength rapidly, she eats nothing, her cough 
is decidedly worse than it has ever been. My anxiety 
is dreadful, — and the more so because I dare not show 
it. But this is a theme I must not dwell on — for all our 

Mrs. Trollope was anxious to keep her elder 
daughter apart from the invalid, and it was a 
difficult task. The two girls were tenderly attached 
to each other, and it was of course desirable to 
conceal from Emily the risk which her sister 


would incur by being near her. An invitation 
to Cecilia to visit the elder Lady Milman at 
Pinner, was therefore at once accepted. Lady 
Milman was very fond of Cecilia, and put forth 
the plea that she felt herself to be growing very 
old and feeble, and wished to have her dear young 
friend with her once more before her death. 

Mrs. Trollopc and her maid, Mrs. Cox, were 
left therefore to nurse the sick girl. Emily's sweet 
temper and unselfishness to some extent lightened 
her mother's hard task at this time. She was 
never irritable, never exacting about engrossing 
her mother's society, as Henr)' had been. She 
fully recognized the necessity of certain hours of 
seclusion, if literary work were to be done at all. 

Besides " Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw," which, 
it had been stipulated, was to appear in April, 
Mrs. Trollope had made an agreement with Mr. 
Bentley for another novel. This she had at first 
intended to call "The Unco' Guid." But its title 
was changed to "The Vicar of Wrexhill." The 
subject had long been in her mind. Her very 
intimate friend, Henrietta Skerrett, had years 
before furnished her with many facts which Mrs. 
Trollope at once perceived could be effectively 
worked into fiction — of course on the condition 


of their being modified, as facts need to be before 
they are acceptable in any work of art. Even the 
most fanatical "realist" is compelled to select his 
facts — if not by reason of their quality, yet at any 
rate from the sheer unmanageableness of their 
quantity ! And this selection is, in itself, a process 
of modification. 

" The Vicar of Wrexhill " is, perhaps, the best 
known of all Frances Trollope's novels, and pro- 
duced a marked sensation when it first appeared 
in 1837. 

In the " Life of George Eliot," written by 
her husband, is the following extract from her 
journal : — 

"March 24th, 1S59. Mr. Herbert Spencer brought 
us word that 'Adam Bede' had been quoted by Mr. 
Charles Buxton in the House of Commons. As the 
farmer's wife says in ' Adam Bade,' ' It wants to be 
hatched over again, and hatched different.' " 

The incident is recorded with natural gratification. 
A similar sort of compliment was paid to Frances 
Trollope, and by a political opponent. She says 
in a letter to her son : " I am pleased at Sydney 
Smith's quoting the ' Vicar of Wrexhill ' in his 
letter to Lord John." And in a subsequent letter, 

VOL. 1. 17 


evidently replying to some question on the subject, 
she writes — 

'■^ Peter Plyviley quoted nic in his letter to Lord John 
Russell ; and respecting some clause in the Church Bill, 
after abusing it considerably, added, by way of climax, 
' This is a clause worthy the Vicar of \Vrexhill himself I ' " 

The book excited a good deal of animosity, 
as was natural. One absurd point was the 
persistence with which a certain clergyman of 
the Low Church party, insisted on considering 
himself to be the original of the Reverend 
William Jacob Cartwright, Vicar of Wrexhill, 
Like the politicans of whom Gay sings — 

"If you mention vice or bribe, 
'Tis so pat to all the tribe, 
Each cries ' That was levelled at nie ! ' " 

this reverend gentleman appeared quite eager 
to lay claim to all the unpleasant traits of the 
Vicar ! But the character was, of course, not 
a portrait of any one individual. That it was 
widely recognized as the t}'pe of a class, is un- 
doubted. Neither partisans nor opponents would 
have entered into hot controversy about the 
mere exaggerated picture of a creature as unreal 
as the Giant Blundcrbore. 

Mrs. Trollope entered on her occupancy of 


the house at Hadley, in January, 1836; and on 
the 1 2th of the following February, her youngest 
child Emily died there within a month of com- 
pleting her eighteenth year. She had survived 
her brother Henry little over a year, and her 
father not quite four months. 

Anthony conveyed the news to his brother, 
who was still at Bruges, in the following letter : — 

"My dear Tom, 

" It is all over ! Poor Emily breathed her last 
this morning. She died without any pain, and without 
a struggle. Her little strength had been gradually 
decHning, and her breath left her without the slightest 
convulsion, or making any change in her features or 
face. Were it not for the ashy colour, I should think 
she was sleeping. I never saw anything more beau- 
tifully placid and composed. ... It is much better that 
it is now, than that her life should have been prolonged 
only to undergo the agonies which Henry suffered. 
Cecilia was at Pinner when it happened, and she has 
not heard of it yet. I shall go for her to-morrow. You 
went to the same house to fetch her when Henry died." 

The poor mother adds a word : 

" I cannot let the news of my Emily's death reach 
you, dearest Tom, without a line from me. You know 
/;/ part how dear she was, and you will pity me, — and 
her poor soHtary sister too. God bless you ! " 

The death of Emily was a deep grief to her 



mother. She was the youngest cliikl, the pet 
of all the family, and a creature of a most bright 
and loving nature. Her eldest brother retained 
a tender memory of her to the end of his life, 
and was fond of recalling her delight in natural 
beauty, and especially in the beauty of the skies. 
When quite a little child, she would call the 
others to gaze with her at the cloud-scenery, and 
wonder why all people did not enjoy it more. 

Of Mrs. Trollope's three remaining children, 
her two sons survived her ; and thirteen years 
elapsed after Emily's death, without making 
another gap in the diminished family circle. 
Early in the summer, Cecilia, who doubtless 
needed change of air and scene, went on a visit 
to her mother's old and valued friends the 
Garnetts, at St. Germains, near Paris. 

In July, 1836, Mrs. Trollope started to make the 
journey described in her book entitled " Vienna 
a^id the Austrians." It is rightly so entitled, 
although the tour included parts of Swabia, 
Bavaria, Tyrol, and the Salz Kammergut ; for 
Vienna is her principal subject, and the majority 
of her pages are devoted to it. The part}- 
consisted of Mrs. Trollope, her son Tom, a friend 
of his who had been an undergraduate with him 


at Oxford, Monsieur Hervieu, Mrs. Cox, the lady's 
maid, and Cecilia, whom they picked up in Paris. 
They started — all but Cecilia — from Anthony's 
lodgings in London, where they had all assembled 
between six and seven o'clock on the evening 
of the 2 1st of July, and proceeded by the night 
mail-coach to Dover. They reached Dover at 
five o'clock the next morning, and crossed the 
Channel in a steamboat, the passage occupying 
somewhat less than three hours. 

Many incidents of their journey before they 
reached Vienna, recorded in private letters and 
diaries, are omitted in the printed book, because 
they were experiences then common to most 
travellers. But the lapse of close upon sixty 
years has given to some of them the interest 
pertaining to a vanished time. It seems strange, 
for instance, to read — 

"We stepped on board the vessel from the quay at 
Dover, and congratulated ourselves on escaping the 
extortionate demands of the Dover boatmen, — thereby 
shouting before we were out of the wood : for we were 
obliged to take a boat at Calais, where the rogues made 
us pay four and a half francs each, for rowing us a 
hundred yards." 

The journey by diligence from Calais to Paris, 
occupied thirty-seven hours. They had incredible 


trouble in getting their passport duly signed, 
sealed, stamped, vised, or whatever was neces- 
sary, before leaving Paris again for Germany, 
being obliged to go to four different places in 
different parts of Paris, and to each of them twice- 
over ! 

During the few days that Mrs. Trollope re- 
mained in Paris, she received the visit of her 
old friend General Pepe, and that must have been. 
I think, the last time they met. The fetes to 
commemorate the (then) last French Revolution — 
so called of The Three Days — were just about 
to take place, and among the preparations going 
on for their celebration, was the opening of the 
Arc de Triomphe at the Barriere de I'Etoilc, to 
public inspection for the first time. It had hitherto 
been surrounded by scaffolding which almost 
completely concealed it. " All Paris" was talking 
in those days of King Louis Philippe's refusal 
to attend the annual review during the fetes of 
this year. Mrs. Trollope says that the King's 
decision caused much speculation, some surprise, 
and a little disappointment ; " but the peaceable 
part of the public evidently approves the caution 
which has decided that the chief magistrate shall 
not cro forth to be shot at." 


In an early page of " Vienna and the Austrians," 
its authoress, on leaving what was then French 
territory for Germany, writes: "The Rhine is so 
noble and natural a frontier, that it is a pity it 
should ever be violated." And her son, thirty-five 
years later, marked the passage with a pencilled 
line, and the date " 1871." 

I may mention here what Mrs. Trollope has, 
naturally, omitted in her book, that not only were 
such men as Dannecker, the great sculptor, and 
Professor Schwab perfectly acquainted with her 
literary reputation, but the landlord of a modest 
hostelry at Stuttgart, where the two young men 
had installed themselves, knew her name at once, 
wanted to give the whole party his best rooms at 
the lowest price, and insisted on treating T. A. 
Trollope and his friend with some superlatively 
fine old wine from his private cellar ! Some years 
previous, Henry Trollope, on a walking tour in a 
wild part of Devonshire, being caught in a violent 
storm, was not only sheltered, but hospitably 
entertained, and pressed to remain for two or three 
days in a country house, solely on the strength of 
his mother's literary reputation. Many writers — 
to paraphrase Goldsmith — " may flourish, but must 
fade." Frances Trollope at all events did flourish ; 


and I know no instance of an author who has 
withstood the intoxication of popular success with 
more quiet strength of mind than hers. 

The visit to Dannecker in his studio at Stuttgart, 
has been described in "Vienna and the Austrians," 
as well as in " What I Remember." Monsieur 
Hervicu obtained permission from the fine old 
artist to sketch his portrait as he stood looking up 
at his own colossal bust of Schiller ; and it is one 
of the illustrations to Mrs. Trollope's book. The 
original drawing is before me. To his autograph 
written beneath it, Dannecker has added in pencil 
the words " ccrit sans lunettes." He was then 
seventy-six years old. 

The journey Vienna-wards was pursued by way 
of Tubingen, Ulm, Augsburg, etc., to the Tyrol 
and Salzburg ; thence to Munich and Ratisbon. 
At Reichcnhallc, T. A. Trollope mentions in his 
journal that he was gravely written down by an 
official at the town gate, as " Mr. Passport and 
family " ! They were in the huge travelling carriage 
of a Lohnkutscker, and the driver paused, as in duty 
bound, on passing the gate. 

"A man in uniform came out with a book under his 
arm. * Passport ? ' said I, meaning to enquire if that were 
what he wanted. Wlicrcupon he immediately booked 


me in his big register as Mr. P. ! I did not undeceive 
him. Our coachman, who perceived the mistake, laughed 
heartily, and drove on." 

Mrs. Trollope's remarkable vigour of body, as 
well as of mind, was strikingly manifested through- 
out this journey. She was then fifty-seven years 
old, yet she walked a great deal along steep and 
fatiguing paths ; wherever a view was to be gained, 
a historical building to be examined, or a bit of 
choice scenery inaccessible on wheels to be ex- 
plored, she was ready to climb and scramble with 
the youngest of the party. And she endured very 
considerable privations and discomforts on the 
voyage down the Danube from Ratisbon to Vienna. 

The vessel in which this voyage was performed 
was little better than a raft, with a narrow, sloping- 
roofed shelter in the midst of it, dignified by the 
name of cabin, the whole constructed of rough 
boards ! They were put ashore to sleep every 
night, usually at some miserable riverside village, 
where bed and board were coarse, poor, and in 
many instances dirty. They were a week in 
reaching Vienna by this means, and during several 
days of the week, had heavy rain added to their 
other discomforts. 

Yet Mrs. Trollope endured them all staunchly 


— siauucJily, not stoicall}'. She neither was nor 
affected to be serenely indifferent under this sort 
of trial. Great sorrows — as she proved — she was 
able to bear with greatness of spirit. But the 
temperament which made her so intensely appre- 
ciative of the good things of life, rendered her 
also susceptible to physical discomfort. But the 
moment the discomfort was past, she dismissed it 
from her mind. The moment the sun showed 
himself from behind a cloud, she would wring out 
her dripping cloak and begin to enjoy the land- 
scape. And even in the midst of some of the 
worst annoyances, a touch of humour could brighten 
her mood as instantaneously as the ray of sun- 
shine. This cheering element was frequently 
supplied by Mrs. Cox, who, after the fashion of 
her kind, v/as far more intolerant of the rough side 
of things than the rest of the part}', and who, 
moreover, occasionally added imaginary horrors 
to the miseries of their night's lodging. 

Once, after having retired for the night, Cox 
reappeared in the big, gloomy, fircless chamber, 
where they had all supped (and which also con- 
tained the beds of Mrs. Trollope and her daughter), 
and in a tragic voice demanded that the gentle- 
men should accompany her to inspect a loose plank 


in the flooring beneath her bed, as she had strong 
reason for believing that it was a trap-door through 
which the people of the house vyere in the habit of 
dropping the bodies of their murdered victims into 
the Danube. She had read more than one romantic 
story of German robbers, lonely inns, mysterious 
disappearance of travellers, and so forth ; and 
here was a loose plank, which she considered 
furnished strong presumptive evidence that these 
•customs of the country were thoroughly carried out 
in the house in question. It was quite vain to 
point out to her, and even to prove to demonstra- 
tion, that if it were possible for her to insinuate her 
person into the space covered by the loose plank, 
she could fall no lower than the inn kitchen, which 
was beneath her room. Cox refused to be shorn 
of her tragic dignity, and persisted, with many 
gloomy shakings of the head, that whenever " they " 
did make away with folks, "they" always dropped 
'em into the river ! 

At length the raft landed its passengers for the 
last time, at a lonely inn a mile or two from 
Kloster Neuburg, where our party got beds ; and 
the next night, the i6th of September, they slept 
in comfort at a good Viennese Hotel in the 



"However one condemns the policy of Austria ... it is im- 
possible not to be struck with her liberal provision for her own 
immediate people. The public institutions of all kinds in Vienna 
are allowed to be the finest and most liberally endowed on the 
Continent. Her hospitals, prisons, houses of industry, and schools, 
are on an imperial scale of munificence. The Emperor himself is 
a father to his subjects, and every tongue blesses him." — N. P. 
Willis, the American traveller, 1833. 

Of Mrs. Trollope's stay in Vienna she has given 
a very full, a very graphic, and a very amusing 
\ / account in her book. Minute comparison with 
contemporary journals and letters, shows that the 
account is perfectly trustworthy and accurate as to 
all matters of fact, so far as she was able to make 
herself acquainted with them. Her inferences from 
the facts, both here and elsewhere, may, of course, 
be disputed. But the honesty of her intention will 
not, I think, be disputed by any candid observer — 
particularly if he follows the plan of Leopold, King 
of the Belgians, and reads her book for himself! 

It would be out of the question to attempt here 
any recapitulation of the mass of varied inform- 


ation contained in Mrs. Trollope's two volumes. 
She was received in the most exclusive salons of 
that most aristocratic capital, and thus had 
opportunities, not only of becoming familiar with 
its society, but of witnessing several gorgeous court 
spectacles, to which access would have been im- 
possible without the intervention of powerful friends. 
Of these spectacles the installation of eleven knights 
of the order of the Golden Fleece was the most 
superb, as well as the most historically interesting. 
Among the new knights, were two Imperial Arch- 
dukes, Prince Lichtenstein, and Prince Adolphus of 
Schwarzenberg. This pageant was, for a stranger, 
perhaps the most striking of all that Vienna had 
to show ; but there were innumerable others made 
brilliant by the dazzling jewels of the women and 
the rich and varied uniforms of the men. The 
costume of the Hungarian nobles particularly 
delighted Mrs. Trollope by its extraordinarily 
picturesque effect. 

Mrs. Trollope had the advantage of being made 
welcome also in the houses of what was called la 
society boursierc — bankers and financiers, whom all 
their wealth could not enable to pass the line of 
demarcation that separated them from the blue- 
blooded nobles boasting their sixteen quarterings. 


The society in many of the houses of these finan- 
cial magnates was extremely pleasant ; and Mrs. 
Trollope expressly mentions that, as a rule, the\' 
had far better music than was to be heard in the 
aristocratic salons. With one of these families Mrs. 
Trollope, and still more her son, became intimate 
in after-years at Florence. The daughter of the 
house married the well-known Hungarian patriot, 
politician, and sava?it, Franz Pulszky, who passed 
many years of exile under the shadow of Brunel- 
leschi's dome ; and her widowed mother also came 
to reside there. 

l)ut whether the Viennese society were aristo- 
cratic, boursiere, artistic, or learned, the keynote 
of all alike was cordial kindness and hospitality. 
The opera was, strangely enough, found to be 
very disappointing. Mrs. Trollope intensely loved 
music, and had looked forward with delight to 
hearing Mozart and Haydn performed by Aus- 
trians. The singing was in general very bad, 
although the orchestra was excellent. She was 
told that the reason why defective voices and 
defective methods of using them were heard in 
Vienna, was not because superior vocal artists 
were attracted to London and Paris by higher pay, 
but because there were at that time no superior 


vocal artists, the last of the race havhig recently 
expired in the person of Malibran ! But Mrs. 
Trollope remarks that she could not forget there 
were such throats still in existence as those of 
Grisi, Lablache, Rubini, Tamburini, and Pasta ; 
nor could she forget the effect produced by the 
three first-named of these great vocalists, whom 
she had heard singing together at a private concert 
the evening before she quitted London. In the 
Court chapel, however, and in one or two other 
churches, the singing was fine ; and she immensely 
admired the unaccompanied vocal music in the 
Jewish synagogue. Her judgment on this point 
was confirmed by no less an authority than that 
of John Cramer. The veteran musician was at 
that time living in Vienna, and he and his wife went 
with Mrs. Trollope and her party to the synagogue. 
Cramer was enthusiastic in his praise of the voices, 
and of the wonderful skill with which they sustained 
themselves and executed the most complicated 
divisions without the support of any instrument. 

In his journal, T. A. Trollope more than once 
speaks of the meanness, inconvenience, and general 
shabbiness of the Vienna opera house, although it 
was constantly frequented by the Imperial family 
and the Court. He says, " The entrance and 


passages are far worse, narrower, and shabbier 
than at the Surrey or Sadler's Wells." Neither 
(lid he find the l^urg Theatre at all equal to those 
of London, but the acting; in it was delightful. 
The celebrated Madame Rettich was the leading 
female performer, and was voted by the whole 
family the most perfect actress then on the stage 
— always excepting Mdllc. Mars. It must be 
remembered that Mrs. Bartley and Fanny Kemblc 
had at that time retired from the theatre. They 
several times had the pleasure of hearing Thalbcrg 
and Vieuxtemps, both already celebrated despite 
their youth ; and the dance music of Lanner and 
Strauss (first of that dynasty) was then, as now. 
unapproachable for verve and charm when played 
by a Viennese orchestra. 

Not long before Christmas, T. A. Trollope 
received an unexpected summons to repair forth- 
with to Birmingham. The long-deferred election 
had at last taken place, and he had suddenly to 
break off his pleasant sojourn in Vienna and set 
out in the wintry weather on a journey across 
Europe. All further nnprinted records of their 
visit to Vienna are therefore only to be gleaned 
from the letters of his mother and sister. One 
more extract I may perhaps venture to make from 


his journal before closing it, although it concerns 
not Austria alone. 

Lord Alvanley, whose acquaintance Mrs. Trol- 
lope had made at the British Embassy, was a 
frequent visitor at her apartments in the HoJicn 
Markt. T. A. Trollope writes, on the 15th 
November, 1836: — 

" Lord Alvanley called here to-day, and sate talking a 
long time. I think him a well-informed, sensible, and 
amusing man, with simple and good-natured manners. 
He talked a great deal about Hungary, its increasing 
importance, and the difficult game Austria had to play 
with respect to it. . . . In the course of conversation, 
he mentioned a circumstance as having come under his 
own observation, which is worth recording. When 
Hunt * was committed to prison it was at a time of 
much distress, dearness of provisions, and want of work. 
He passed through London on his way to Ilchester jail. 
A vast number of the discontented turned out to escort 
him, and a riot was feared. Two years afterwards, when 
the country was in a much more prosperous state and 
work was plentiful, Hunt was liberated, and again 
passed through London on his way from Ilchester. A 
few idle vagabonds hooted him as he passed. On both 
occasions Lord Alvanley was, he said, a witness to the 
above facts." 

The winter season in Vienna was made particu- 
larly brilliant this year by the marriage of the 

* This was Henry Hunt, a well-known political agitator. 
VOL. I. 18 


Archduchess Theresa with the King of Naples, 
the same who afterwards earned in Italy the 
nickname of King Bomba. There were Court 
concerts, receptions, and gala festivities of all 
kinds. Among these was conspicuous a ball given 
by the Turkish Ambassador, Ahmed Ferik Pasha, 
in the palace belonging to Prince Esterhazy in the 
Mariahilf Faubourg. This entertainment delighted 
the society by its novelty ; for this, it appears, was 
the first occasion on which the ladies of Vienna 
had been received by any representative of the 
Sublime Porte. 

His Mussulman Excellency must have been a 
very good-natured personage. Cecilia Trollope 
mentions him frequently in her letters, and evi- 
dently thought him very " good fun." His French 
— in which language they conversed together — 
amused her excessively. 

" He never," she writes, " uses any verbs, but he gets 
on very well without them. He made me a very polite 
speech at his ball, to thank mamma and me for coming 
so far to honour him \ and added that he feared it was 
cold. I mentioned that there was snow on the ground, 
when he burst out '■ Ncige ! Crc noin ! Neige, mois dc 
mars ? Diahic, diahle ! Pas Joli. Diablc ! ' "Who 
could have taught the poor man to swear so .'' " 

In another letter she tells this good story of 


him, which, it would appear, she had from the 
Princess Metternich herself. 

" The Turk always admired the beautiful Melanie " 
[Princess Metternich] "extremely. But the first time 
he saw the Princess Wasa, he went up to Melanie and 
said to her very gravely, ' Tres fache . Pas ma faute. 
Princes se Wasa plus jolie. Tres fdc/ie !^" 

Towards the end of her stay in Vienna, Mrs. 
Trollope had a good deal of vexation from the 
behaviour of her maid, Cox. But, as she wrote 
to her son, it was a vexation generally accompanied 
by irrepressible bursts of laughter, for the Abigail 
had become utterly absurd. 

" Mrs. Cox has taken it into her head that she must 
return to her husband directly; although according to 
my present plan, I should bring her home some weeks 
before the year that she (and he) agreed for, expires. 
But her head is completely turned. You never saw 
anything more perfectly ludicrous than the general 
elegance of her manners since she has made the ac- 
quaintance of a set of fine English servants here. Her 
present conjugal devotion arises solely, I am quite sure, 
from the fact that some of the said servants are going 
home at the beginning of next month ; and she would 
like to join them, thinking it would be more agreeable 
to travel en dame than en soubrette. She dined with a 
party of these exquisites the other day, and told us on 
her return that she had drunk four glasses of champagne ; 
and that one lady who sate next her, declared she should 


like to drink three bottles ! The other day while waiting 
at the tea table, she informed us that one of the gcntkmcu 
at this same party, was most uncommonly clever ; and 
that they had all been telling him it was quite a shame 
he did not write his travels ! ! ! Do tell your friend 
B. this. He will enjoy it." 

/ With both Prince and Princess Mctternich, Mrs. 
\ / Trollope came to be on what may, without exag- 
geration, be called terms of intimacy. She says 
a great deal about the famous statesman in her 
book ; and her private letters are full of allusions 
to him and to his wife, written in a tone of the 
most cordial admiration and esteem. 

The incident of the man on horseback dis- 
tributing handbills in the market-place at Bruges, 
illustrates the vitality at that day of the Napoleonic 
Legend. And the following words of the Austrian 
statesman furnish a commentary on that legend, 
which is full of wisdom — wisdom of that practical 
and seeming-simple sort which appears to many 
persons a mere matter of course, after it has been 

"Immediately after the revolution of 1S30, which 
ended in placing Louis Philippe on the throne of France, 
there came to Vienna a personage well-known in the 
[)olitical world of the first French Empire, with a secret 
mission to make certain proposals to the government of 


Kaiser Franz, touching his grandson the j'oung Duke 
of Reichstadt. Prince Metternich entered into no pre- 
liminary discussion, but enquired at once * What do you 
ask, and what do you expect, from us ? ' It was answered 
that what the party demanded was merely permission to 
conduct the Duke of Reichstadt to the frontier of France, 
where his presence, and the magic name of Napoleon 
would at once overthrow the tottering government which 
was threatening to fall and cover la patric with its 
ruins, etc. 

" ' And what guarantee would the Duke of Reichstadt 
have for his future ? ' asked the Prince. 

" ' The courage and affection of the whole French 
People, who would form an invulnerable rampart around 
him,' was the reply. 

" Metternich calmly rejoined that the Kaiser would 
never for a moment think of acceding to such a pro- 
posal. And he added ' Moreover you entirely deceive 
yourselves as to the issue of such an enterprise ; or, 
rather, as to the duration of its results. To attempt 
Bonapartisvi without Bonaparte, is an absolntely falla- 
ciotis idea.' " 

It will be generally admitted that the course of 
European history has justified the Prince's dictum. 
Bonapartism zvithoiU Bonaparte has actually been 
tried, with what results the world knows. 

The more important and characteristic anecdotes 
of Prince Metternich that Mrs. Troll ope has to 
relate, are naturally found in her book. But here 
is an authentic little story which has never, I 


believe, been printed. Mrs. Trollope writes on the 
19th of December, 1836 : — 

" I find from Earon Hammer-Purgstall * that young 
John IMurray has been in Vienna since we have been 
here. He told me that the young man was passionately 
desirous of getting a peep at the Prince, and begged 
him, if possible, to manage it for him. Baron Hammer 
told him that the Minister walked every morning about 
that time on the Bastei, and that if Murray would come 
at once with him, he would ascertain if the Prince were 
gone. By a lucky chance IMetternich appeared at the 
moment; and Hammer immediately presented his young 
friend as an English gentleman who had greatly wished 
to see him. The Prince chatted with him for a few 
minutes very graciously. So well pleased was the young 
bibliopole with this good nature in Hammer, that on his 
return to England, he sent him out a set of Byron's 
works. When Hammer next saw the Prince, he told 
him that he had to thank him for a fine copy of Byron. 
And when he explained how, Metternich said ' Fill your 
library in the same way if you can, Hammer. I am 
(]uite at your service ! ' " 

On one occasion Princess Metternich, hearing 
that Mrs. Trollope was indisposed, called on her 
personally, and remained chatting with her a long 
time. This was said to be a very unusual honour, 
for Melanie Metternich had the reputation of being 
the haughtiest woman in the empire. 

* This was the famous OrieiUalist, punningly called MalUiis 
Asialtcoruin, or the Asiatic Hammer. 


Some twenty odd years ago, T. A. Trollope was 
travelling in the beautiful district near Ischl, and 
on a lake steamboat got into conversation with a 
very pleasing elderly lady, who, with her two 
daughters, was making a summer tour in those 
parts. They were Hungarians, and, like all the 
cultured members of that nation, wonderfully 
polyglot. They all three spoke English remark- 
ably well. The talk fell on old times and old 
customs in Vienna, and the lady said, " I came out 
in society the year that the celebrated Mrs, 
Trollope was in Vienna, and I remember seeing 
her at a ball at the Metternichs'." 

When the son of " the celebrated Mrs. Trollope " 
revealed his name and his relationship to the 
authoress, his new acquaintance was delighted, 
and began to chat quite confidentially, reviving, as 
T. A. Trollope said, many memories which had 
been dormant in his brain for four decades. She 
spoke much of Melanie Metternich, and declared 
that she had loved and admired her with all a 
very young girl's enthusiasm for a beautiful and 
brilliant woman older than herself. " They said 
she was proud," said her compatriot. " Well, I 
suppose she was. But she was very kind-hearted. 
I shall never forget all her goodness to me as a 


young and very timid girl just introduced into 
society. She was my social godmother, so to say ; 
for my own mother was in ill health, and could 
not accompany me to balls and soirees." 

It was at least a disinterested testimony, and 
one certainly not dictated by a lively sense of 
benefits to come. 

But not only the Princess Metternich, but her 
mother, the Countess Zichy-Ferrari — a woman 
said, by those who disliked her, to be ten degrees 
haughtier than her daughter ! — was extremely kind 
and friendly to Mrs. Trollope. The Countess 
gave her and her daughter Cecilia a very cordial 
invitation to stay with her at her chateau in 
Hungary, at no great distance from Presburg. 
Mrs. Trollope much regretted that this visit did 
not take place, as she was particularly desirous of 
seeing something of Hungary. She had, however, 
to relinquish it for the reason which she gives in a 
private letter, as follows : — 

" This is owing to the marriage of Count Zichy, our 
friend's son. He brought his young bride to Vienna 
to visit his family, and thus prevented the old Countess 
from going back to Hungary at the time she had pro- 
posed. We could not therefore have made our visit to 
her without waiting longer than we could afford, — either 
in time or money. . , . The kindness shewn us went 


on increasing to the last hour of our stay, and invitations 
to return reached us from the highest quarters. Our 
last Vienna dinner was eaten at the Metterinchs'. And 
the evening before was passed at Prince Wasa's, where 
we met the Archduke Francis (the next heir to the 
Empire) and his wife the Archduchess Sophia ; * the 
Grand Duchess Stephanie of Baden ; the Grand Duke 
of Lucca; Prince and Princess Metternich ; and only 
one or two others. The party was assembled expressly 
to meet me, — an honour never, I believe, conferred 
before on any lady who had not been presented." 

The evening is recorded in "Vienna and the 
Austrians," but without the statement that all 
these illustrious personages were assembled for 
the express purpose of meeting its authoress ! 
Such a statement would have sounded too boast- 
ful there ; but in a private letter to her son, it 
very naturally and inoffensively finds a place. 

Mrs. Trollope and her daughter left Vienna 
in May, carrying with them a grateful sense of 
the kindness that had been heaped upon them, 
and many memories of the beautiful, stately, and 
interesting scenes they had witnessed. 

The recent royal nuptials at Stowe give an 
interest to the following incident of Mrs. Trollope's 
homeward journey. She was travelling down the 

* These were the parents of the present Emperor of Austria, 
Francis Joseph. He was at that time a child of about six years old. 


Rhine to Rotterdam towards the end of May, 
and says — 

" At Mayence, where we passed an idle day before 
we commenced our river voyage, we had the good luck 
to fall in with the cortege of the fair Princess Helen, 
Duchess elect of Orleans, She dined at the hotel where 
we were ; and we had repeated opportunities of seeing 
her charming face so near, and so uninterruptedly, as 
to permit our passing judgment on it. To my taste 
she is very lovely. Her eyes are beautiful ; her person 
is tall, and very elegant ; and there is such a mingling 
of sweetness and intellect in her countenance, as must 
ensure her, I should think, an admiring welcome from 
our critical neighbours." 

How many strange and moving adventures 
have happened within the half century since 
those words were written, both to the Royal 
Family of France and their former subjects " our 
critical neis^hbours ! " 



"As in the winters left behind, 

Again our ancient games had place, 
The mimic picture's breathing grace, 
And dance and song and hoodman-blind." 

Texnysox, In Memoriam. 

By the middle of June Mrs. Trollope was fairly 
settled in her house at Hadley, and describes 
her pleasure at finding the roses in bloom, and 
in the peace and quiet of the place, after the 
season of incessant excitement and exertion which 
she had passed through at Vienna. Cecilia was, 
of course, with her mother ; Anthony was within 
easy reach of her, and came down to spend the 
night whenever his duties at the Post-Office 
permitted ; and Tom was installed as assistant 
master in the Grammar School at Birmingham, 
and able to visit Hadley during the holidays. 

But the "quiet" enjoyed at Hadley was merely 
relative, like all sublunary things. It was not 
long before the house was filled with a succes- 
sion of visitors. They were for the most part, 


however, either relatives, or friends so intimate as 
to require no ceremony in their reception. 

No sooner had Mrs. Trollope estabhshed her- 
self in her English home, than she set to work 
on a new book — a novel in three volumes, called 
" A Romance of Vienna." Her " Vicar of Wrex- 
hill " came out on the 7th of September ; " Vienna 
/and the Austrians," although completed and out 
of her hands, did not appear until the following 
spring ; nevertheless she indulged herself with 
no period of idleness. 

The mixture of oijoiicment and energy in her 
character w'as very extraordinary. So great, 
indeed, was the oijouement, that at times it 
concealed the energy. Her son Anthony has 
said in his autobiography, that her children might 
have thought more of her efforts during the 
terrible time of strain and stress before Henry's 
death, if she had not seemed to accept hard 
literary labour under the most painful conditions, 
as the most natural thing in the world for a 
woman of her age. No doubt that is true. But 
on one or two occasions she was impelled b)* 
circumstances to state with plainness that her 
work, although performed most willingly, involved 
self-sacrifice and the exercise of a determined will. 


Such an occasion arose in the autumn of 1837. 
Some gossip reached her at second-hand, through 
an old friend, to the effect that her eldest son 
purposed rashly throwing up his appointment at 
Birmingham. The report proved, on inquiry from 
himself, to be quite incorrect. But in the brief 
interval during which she believed it, she wrote 
a letter to her son containing the following 
passages : — 

" I am fifty-eight years old, my dear Tom. And 
although, when I am well and in good spirits, I talk 
of what I may yet do, I cannot conceal from you or 
from myself, that my doings are nearly over. . . . Your 
friend has left you, and you are dull. But think you 
that my work is not dull too ? Think you that at my 
age, when the strength fails and the spirits flag, I can 
go on fox^evS^writing- with pleasure? . . . You know 
what heavy, uphill wofk I have hitherto had; and may 
pretty well guess what the effect on me would be, of 
sanctioning your throwing up a certain maintenance, 
before I have cleared myself from the claims that still 
hang upon me. Believe me, I should be perfectly 
miserable did I look forward to your remaining where 
you are ; for I see, and I feel, that you cannot be happy 
there. But give me the great comfort of knowing that 
you have suflicient strength of mind and resolution, to 
stick to it for a little while, till we see our way clear 
before us. ... I have not yet been able to resume my 
daily task. I have not yet recovered my strength after 


a severe cold. But if God gives me health, I do not 
mean to spare myself, be assured." 

Her son must have hastened to reassure her as 
to the report which had so disquieted her, for her 
letter begins thus : — 


" I give you a thousand thanks, and I beg 
you to give me a thousand pardons, — for less will not 
wipe out the remorse I feel ! All you say of the authors 
of this falsehood, is most true and well-merited. I ask 
myself, 'Could I have written in this manner to any 
friend of mine ? ' I think the bare idea of doing so 
would have shocked me ; and, therefore, I have a right 
to be angry." 

The following statement is worth noting as 
having been written in the year 1837, and as show- 
ing that the difficulty of finding employment for 
educated young men is not quite so modern an 
evil as we arc apt to suppose : — 

V "I can give you no idea of the vmltitude of young 
men — gentlemen, in every sense — who are pining and 
starving for lack of employment. It seems, sometimes, 
as if the knowledge of such cases reached me on purpose 
to make me feel grateful that my two dear sons possess 
the means of existence without setting off for New 
Holland. ... I have finished my book (all but re- 
reading it), and I am ready to enjoy my holidays as 


much as you are, dear Tom ! — Though I mean to sd off 
again with small interval. But I shall only work an hour 
or two a day as long as you are here. I long to have 
you here before the snow comes, for it is a dreadful 
season for journeying, either by sea or land. We shall 
have a house-full during the early part of the holidays. 
The Grants come on the 22nd. The Colonel goes away 
on the 23rd; but the dear girls, and (I hope) Mrs. 
Grant, remain until after New Year's Day. On the 23rd 
Mr. and Mrs. Chandos Hoskins Wren (our Rhine 
friends) come and stay to the 26th. He seems very 
desirous of meeting you. I think he knows Dr. Jeune. 
Henrietta and Irene Jones * will be with us all the time, — 
so that on the whole my chambers will be pretty well 
packed ! Don't think me wickedly extravagant for this. 
I have worked so hard, that I think I may try to give my 
children a merry Christmas tvith a safe conscie?ice.\ Pray 
be in spirits for bouts rimes and the like. We shall want 
all that sort of thing to help us. And I shall want you 
to trot me out sometimes, spite of wind and weather, 
as in days of yore. I do truly believe that so many 
pages in proof of my industry would not now be burthen- 
ing bookshelves, had you not done me this good service 
at Harrow." 

It is affecting to remember that her son con- 
tinued to do her " this good service " to within a 
few days of the close of her long life. Some of 

* This is the lady mentioned in Chap. \'. as T. A. Trollope's 
first visitor in his Devonshire home. 

t The italics in this passage are mine. — F. E. T. 


those who visited him at his villa in Florence may 
recall how unfailingly T. A. Trollope held himself 
ready to j]jive his mother his arm for her daily 
promenade in the garden, or under the shelter of 
the colonnade that surrounded it, and how no 
engagement was allowed to interfere with the 
punctual performance of this duty. 

In November Mrs. Trollope went to London for 
the day, on her brother's invitation, chiefly to see 
the young Queen pass by on her way to some civic 
festivity, Mr. Henry Milton having secured ex- 
cellent windows in Pali Mall. Mrs. Trollope 
writes : " The little Queen looked very young, and 
very pretty yesterday. The Duke of Wellington 
got even a louder cheer than she did." 

Tom had been expressing discouragement and 
disappointment at the refusal of a work he had 
offered to a publisher, and his mother writes — 


" You must keep up your courage as I have 
long kept up mine amidst very hard work, and much 
anxiety. You have youth for you ; and will, I con- 
fidently hope, exchange the drudgery you hate, for an 
employment more cortgenial. But certain bread — when 
all I can do is so very ////certain — is too precious to be 
cast away hastily. For your spirits, I know no better 
receipt than telling you to cast your eyes back over my 


literary history: — A MS. sent to Colburn, declined; 
one to Murray returned at the end of six months un- 
opened ; another to a man in the Strand, sent back with 
the assurance that the trade was so bad, no one could 
publish without loss. All this I bore, and worked up 
against it all ; — with what result you know. 

" 'Lay this to your heart, and Farewell ! ' " 

The family correspondence of several years 
after Frances Trollope's literary success had been 
achieved, contains many allusions to money diffi- 
culties and the pressure of debt — not of her 
incurring. It would have been tedious and useless 
to print all such allusions, — or even a quarter of 
them. But I give the following extract from one 
of Mrs. Trollope's letters by way of throwing some 
light, once for all, on the fact that her matchless 
industry, and the very large sums she earned by 
it, did not at once place the family in easy 

After speaking of the non-payment of rent by 
some of their London tenants, of the great expense 
of repairs, of the deterioration of their property, 
and of the consequences of the long and disastrous 
tenancy of the Harrow Farm, and the crushing 
failure of the speculation in Cincinnati, she writes — 

" However, I work, and work, and work. And if 
God spares my life and health, I hope that the time will 
VOL. I. 19 


come when l may call myself out of debt, and may 
calculate on spending the money I have earned, instead 
of fretting that it does not cover all my liabilities." 

The Christmas of 1837 was spent very merrily 
at Hadley. The party assembled there was a 
very delightful one. Mrs. Trollope had the happi- 
ness of having both her sons with her, as well as 
her daughter, and she was surrounded by a bevy 
of pretty girls. But the chief inspiration of all the 
gaiety came from the unflagging spirit, the bright 
humour, and the unselfish sympathy with others' 
joy, of the mistress of the house. 

During this winter Mrs. Trollope had the 
pleasure of a visit from her Viennese acquaintance, 
the Baron Charles Hiigel. Mention is made of 
him in her book on Vienna, as one of the most 
agreeable persons she met there. He had travelled 
much through parts of India then very little 
known to Europeans — I dare say they are now 
intersected in all directions by railways, telegraph 
wires, and telephones — and, unlike Mrs. Cox's friend 
the accomplished footman, had written his travels. 
They were published in an English translation by 
Mr. Murray. Cecilia Trollope took a romantic, 
girlish interest in Baron Iliigel, by reason of the 
story current in Vienna that he had been desperately 


in love with the beautiful Melanie Metternich 
before her marriage, and that when she accepted 
the Prince he set off in despair for the uttermost 
parts of India. Perhaps the process of shedding 
ink has cured as many fevers as phlebotomy. 
Goethe naively tells us that he had recourse to it 
when his feelings were deeply affected, and wrote 
off his sorrow ! At all events, Baron Hiigel 
returned to Europe with a more tranquil mind 
and a vast quantity of manuscript for the press. 
He visited Florence in after-years, and was a 
prominent figure in the society there. 

In the early spring of 1838 there seems to have 
been a severe visitation of influenza in England. 
Mrs. Trollope, Cecilia, and Anthony were all 
attacked by it, and one of the most marked 
symptoms was an alarmingly rapid decrease of 
strength. Cecilia, after only two days' illness, 
fainted on trying to stand up ; and Anthony's 
weakness was manifested by his inability to lift 
his sister on to her bed after she had swooned — 
a task that his strong young arms would have 
made nothing of at another time. It will be 
remembered that exactly the same terrible loss 
of strength in those attacked marked the influenza 
epidemic which raged through Europe a i&w years 


ago. Mrs. Trollopc's illness culminated in an 
inflammation of the eyes, which prevented her 
from doing any literary work for some time. She 
says that it lost her a whole month, but adds, 
" Industry must atone for sickness ! " 

In this year two events occurred in the family, 
of which the first in importance, though not in 
date, -was Cecilia's engagement to Mr. — now Sir 
John — Tilley ; and the other was T, A. Trollopc's 
/ resigning his post at Birmingham and arranging 
^ "^ to live altogether with his mother. The step was 
taken not only with her full concurrence, but by 
her express desire. No doubt her severe illness, 
coupled with the prospect of loneliness occasioned 
by Cecilia's marriage, made her cling the more 
to the society of her son. And then, advancing 
years and — what does not often accompany them 

. , — increasing work made her feel the need of his 

V . 

protection and help in all business transactions. 

He discusses the arrangement in his diary, and 

comes to the conclusion that, on the whole, it will 

be good for them both. 

That it largely contributed to the happiness of 

his mother's latter years cannot be questioned. 

And as little can it be questioned by those who 

best knew him, that it enabled him to live a life 


more congenial to his tastes and character, than 
almost any other that could have been proposed 
to him. Nor did it turn him into a drone in the 
hive. It is to be noted that from the time of his 
leaving Birmingham began the real period of his 
literary activity. 

The first-fruits of this — in book form, that is to 
say, for he had dabbled previously in magazine 
articles, etc. — was a work in two volumes published 
by Colburn, and called " A Summer in Brittany." 
It was very fairly successful, and its author has 
told in his Reminiscences how the old John 
Murray of those days good-naturedly showed him 
a favourable review of it in the Times, saying, 
with a broad smile, " There ! So you have 
waked this morning to find yourself famous ! " 
The book did not appear until 1840. But it was 
the outcome of two successive journeys to Brittany, 
and a large part of the manuscript had been sub- 
mitted to his mother's judgment in 1838. I 
mention it here for the sake of quoting a quaint 
saying of hers about it in a letter to her son : — 

" Your MS., which I have re-perused with great 
attention, is in my opinion well written and interesting. 
And although I would not permit myself to be influenced 
in the advice I had given you " [the advice to leave 



Birmingham] "by any feeling of admiration for a pro- 
duction so like a grandchild, in its relation to me, yet 
I cannot but feel that the hand which wrote it may 
write more." 

Shortly afterwards she informs him that Mr. 
Bentley has agreed to take two more novels — one 
in November, and one in the following May. 
These must have been the two novels called 
respectively "The Widow Barnaby" and "The 
Widow Married." Of these the first was highly 
successful, and met with less hostile criticism than 
any of her books. Nevertheless, I do not think 
it would please a reader of the present day as 
well as some of her other novels. It has great 
spirit and entrain ; but it is painted with a brush 
somewhat too big and colours somewhat too 
glaring. The very same incidents, narrated with 
more modern treatment, might produce a novel 
that should hit the taste of many readers in the 
present year of grace. But the fine folks are a 
little over-refined, and the vulgar folks a little too 
vulgar. Very likely the picture was not over- 
charged when it was drawn. At any rate, it was 
accepted and applauded by contemporaries. We 
\J are told that " the style is the man." Certain it 
is that the style is the novel ; and the style of 


" The Widow Barnaby " is now undeniably old- 
fashioned. 1 / 

In the March of this year (1838) Mrs. TroUope y^ 
for the first time met Charles Dickens, for whose 
genius she always had a high admiration. In the 
letter mentioning this circumstance, she uses a 
phrase which shows how " Pickwick " had already 
furnished many words and sayings that had entered 
into our common parlance. 

" Cecilia, Irene, and I, passed the soiree (I don't mean 
that we passed by, or in any way neglected, a leg of 
mutton !) on Thursday with Mrs. Hartley, where we met 
£oz, who desired to be presented to me. I had a good 
deal of talk with him. He is extremely lively and in- 
telligent, has the appearance of being very young, and 
although called excessively shy, seemed not at all averse 
from conversation." 

Perhaps I may be forgiven for suggesting that 
he found her also " lively and intelligent ; " and 
that nothing so readily overcomes shyness, as the 
sense that your interlocutor is a genuine person, 
speaking sincerely the thought that is in him. 
The least suspicion of humbug, or of a sneer, 
makes shyness retire into itself and stay there. 

Two persons could scarcely have been found 
in all the world of literature, whose political 
principles and social views were at that time 


inore opposed to each other, than Frances Trollope 
and Charles Dickens, But there arose a strong 
sympathy between them, nevertheless. Mrs, Trol- 
lope's son has written in " What I Remember," of 
this great English novelist, with the friendly 
warmth that he felt. I am credibly informed (I 
have not looked at the pages myself) that, in 
a gossiping book of recollections published long 
after Dickens's death, T. A. Trollope has been 
assailed for having done so ! If this be so, it was 
a double-barrelled sort of pop-gun intended to hit 
both writers — the greater and the less. Perhaps, 
after all, that old-fashioned, rough heaving of half- 
bricks at a living author was not the worst kind 
of attack. It may, of course, be urged that if you 
wait to throw stones at a man until he is safely 
dead, you avoid hurting his feelings. But the 
reflection will obstinately recur, that you also 
avoid the risk of being hurt yourself in return. 

During the course of this same year, Mrs. 
Trollope made the acquaintance of Judge Hali- 
burton, the celebrated " Sam Slick." Mr. Bentley 
w'as the medium of the introduction, which proved 
to be a very pleasant one. How friendly their 
intercourse became, may be seen by the following 
letter which, although written five years later, 


on a subsequent visit of Judge Haliburton's to 
England, may as well be inserted here. 

" 3rd August, '43. 
" London, 6, Spring Gardens. 

" My dear Mrs. Trollope, 

"On my return to London from the country, 
I found your very kind note, and lose no time in assuring 
you of the great gratification it has given me to be 
assured that we can meet once more. My leave of 
absence was only for three months, and I am obliged 
to embark again for Nova Scotia on the 3rd of September. 
If I can get thro' my business at the Colonial Office 
in time, I will go down to Devonshire before the 17th 
inst. If not, I will arrange matters so as to be posi- 
tively in London on the 25th, and hope to be able, 
indeed, to accomplish both. — If you come to London, 
what will be your address ? Because, as it will be close 
upon the heels of my embarcation, I should like to call 
upon you as soon as you can be able to give me the 
gratification of an interview. — I am much grieved to 
hear that your health requires nursing, and that your 
plans, as well as your comfort, have been so materially 
interfered with by indisposition, I trust in God that 
the change of air which you purpose, will accomplish 
a perfect restoration. — My last three or four days are 
devoted to an excursion to the Lakes, during which I 
promise myself the pleasure of renewing my acquaint- 
ance with Mrs. Tilley. — I am sorry to say I have not 
enjoyed this visit as I did my last. My spirits are not 
the same, and when alone I suffer a good deal of depres- 
sion. But I am much benefitted, and hope to return 


with a better tone of nerves. I shall move Heaven and 
earth to leave this, if possible on the 12th or 13th. At 
all events, please God, on one or other of the days 
you have mentioned, I shall have the pleasure to shake 
you by the hand, and assure you of the attachment 
" Of yours always, 

" Thos. Haliburton." 

Among the old letters of this year, I find a few 
lines from Mrs. Trollope's cousin, Fanny Bent, 
addressed to Tom in Birmingham, and giving him 
a commission which reads amusingly now. Imagine 
anybody's thinking it necessary in these days to 
explain elaborately to any correspondent — I had 
almost added " in a7iy part of the world " — the 
structure and use of a spring mattress ! But here 
is what Miss Bent wrote fifty-seven years ago : — 

" A manufacturer in Birmingham fabricates cushions, 
mattresses, etc., of which the interior is composed of 
elastic iron springs. The maker made a bed of this 
sort for Sir William Cave of Stratton, a few years since. 
Now, I want to know what the price of such a bed as 
that would be, and — if I should like the report — how long 
before it could be made. If you could ferret out the 
name of the man, and the particulars, I should feel 

People may differ about Free Trade, and the 
value of the Reform Bill, but I believe we shall all 


agree in thinking that our half of the century is 
better off than the former half, in the matter of 

Mrs. Trollope decided on taking a house in 
London, and in the month of June fixed upon one 
in York Street, Portman Square. But she did not 
immediately take possession of it. In the early 
part of September she took lodgings in Dover 
for a few weeks, feeling the need of the sea air 
both for herself and her daughter, Tom ac- 
companied his mother and sister, and records in 
his diary long walks taken with the former over 
the cliffs before breakfast, and how he and his 
mother alternately gazed at the beautiful lights 
and shadows on the sea, and watched the process 
of tunnelling for the new railway between Dover 
and London — that great highway to the Continent 
that we all know so well ! 

The rector of St. Mary's, Dover, at this time was 
the Rev. Mr. Maule, who had married one of Mrs. 
Trollope's Bristol cousins. He and his family 
were highly cultured and very pleasant people, 
and the Trollopes spent several evenings at their 
house very agreeably. 

The close of this year must have been partly 
occupied in preparations for Cecilia's wedding. 


She was married on the nth of February, 1839, 
at St. Mary's Church, Bryanstone Square, to Mr. 
John Tilley of the Post-Office. The union was 
one of love on both sides, and was a perfectly 
happy one so far as constant affection could make 
it so. But they lost many children — one daughter 
only living to grow up out of a numerous family — 
and Cecilia herself was carried off in her prime by 
the same malady which had been fatal to Arthur, 
Henry, and Emily. 

On the day of the wedding, after the bride and 
bridegroom had departed, Mrs. Trollope, with Tom 
and Anthony, and the Misses Mary and Kate Grant, 
who had been bridesmaids, drove down to Hayes, 
where Colonel Grant was then residing. The next 
day Mrs. Trollope returned to town by the Great 
Western Railway, and her son notes in his diary 
that it was the first railway his mother had ever 
been on. Although then in her sixtieth year, she 
lived to make more railway journeys than many 
persons accomplish in the whole course of their 

Indeed, her second railway journey was made 
within ten days of the first, for on the 20th of 
February she set out by the mail train for Man- 
chester. The object of her going thither was to 


collect material for a work she had engaged to 
write, on the condition of the factory hands. 

Lord Ashley, afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury, 
was greatly interested in her projected work, and 
furnished her with many letters of introduction. 
All this has been told at some length in "What I 

The book was written, and published in serial 
form under the title of " The Life and Adventures % /\ 
of Michael Armstrong, the Factory Boy," by Mr. 
Colburn. He paid a high price for it, and did 
not complain of his bargain. We may therefore 
conclude that its sale was satisfactory, although 
Mrs. Trollope writes in a private letter a short 
time after its publication : — 

"The 'Widow' continues to be in great favour. But 
between ourselves, I don't think any one cares much for 
' Michael Armstrong ' — except the Chartists. A new ^ / 
kind of patrons for me ! " 

She spared no pains to acquaint herself with the 
real condition of the people she intended writing 
about, and, with her son, visited many scenes of 
pitiable wretchedness and revolting squalor. Her 
investigations indeed needed a stout heart and a 
healthy frame to carry them out. Not that she 
was ever in the least danger of being- molested in 




the course of them but that every sense was 
sickened, and the very heart-strings wrung by 
what she witnessed. The subject need not be 
pursued here. The world has heard all about the 
factory legislation, and the crying evils that called 
it forth. Whether Mrs. Trollope's book helped to 
attract public attention to the subject (which was 
what had been hoped when it was planned) I 
cannot tell. It is certain, at all events, that she 
did her work with all her accustomed honesty and 

To return for a moment to the subject of railway 
travelling in England in the " thirties." It may 
interest some readers to know that the mail train 
from London to Manchester was timed to run the 
distance in eleven hours, but on the occasion of 
Mrs. Trollope's journey, arrived one hour and a 
half late ; that the train was too heavy for the 
powers of the engine, and a second engine had to 
be put on at Wolverton ; that thus reinforced, it 
reached Birmingham six hours and a half after 
leaving London, and the passengers were allowed 
half an hour at Birminfiham to dine ! 



" We will compound this quarrel." 

Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrru). 

The year 1839 must have been one of exceptional 
activity even for that marvellously industrious 
worker Frances TroUope, for no fewer than three 
novels — " The Widow Married," " One Fault," and 
" Charles Chesterfield " — appeared in 1840, which 
must all have been written within the preceding 

And yet the course of her work was interrupted, 
first by illness, and later by an expedition into 
the Lake country to visit her daughter, Mrs. 
Tilley. Mrs. Trollope suffered from acute in- 
flammation of the trachea, and was attended b}- 
Dr. Elliotson, of whose medical skill she had a 
high opinion. Her eldest son was away in France, 
and she writes to him on July 6th, evidently in 
reply to his anxious inquiries : — 

" Truly, and sincerely, and on the faith of an honest 
mother, my dearest Tom, I am, save a cough, quite 


well again. I owe much to Dr. EUiotson. You com- 
plain of the weather, but I suspect that no one can 
know what a regular winter-summer is, save those who 
enjoy the article genuine in England. Those who have 
kept a diary of the weather assert that we have had 
easterly winds pretty nearly steady for six months. It 
is this which has sent me, in common with a multitude 
of others, to a sick bed. . . . Alas, dear Tom, I leel as 
if I did not deserve your kind fears respecting my being 
overworked. On the contrary I have been idle. But 
this too may be mended by a little quiet perseverance 
which will not hurt me." 

Early in July T. A. Trollope returned to Eng- 
land, and on the 26th started with his mother for 
Penrith, to visit his sister and brother-in-law. 

In " What I Remember " the chief incidents of 
this visit have been recorded, but one or two 
gleanings from letters and diaries may supplement 

Herbert Hill, Southcy's son-in-law, was then 
living at Rydal, and taking pupils ; and with him 
the Trollopes were pleased to renew their former 
acquaintance. Captain Hamilton, the author of 
"Cyril Thornton," and a well-known contributor 
to Blackwood, was at this time residing with his 
second wife, in the neighbourhood, and they 
much enjoyed his conversation, especially about 


Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, and De Quincey, 
all of whom he knew well. 

" He thought Wordsworth a man of genius, and 
Southey a man of talent only. Wordsworth, he said, 
laid open to the first comer the whole budget of his 
mind without reserve : while Southey was cautious and 
reticent. The first was the child of Nature whose most 
loved haunt was the fell side ; the latter was the polished 
man of the world whose favourite retiring spot was his 
library. Of De Quincey and Coleridge he said that 
opium-eating had had the same effect on both : — that of 
destroying the moral feeling. . . . He said the difference 
was remarkable in the conduct of Coleridge towards 
Wordsworth and Southey. The latter he never would 
admit to be a genius, — never had a high opinion of his 
abilities in any way, and treated him, when in his com- 
pany, with scant observance ; whereas of Wordsworth 
he always said that he acknowledged in him a spirit of 
a superior order." 

It may be noted that during this visit, when 
T. A. Trollope wished to rise at half-past four 
in the morning in order to begin a pedestrian 
excursion betimes, it v/as his mother, of all the 
household, on whom he relied for calling him, 
and who did call him punctually. 

She, as well as her son, was much pleased with 
the Lake scenery. There is frequent mention in 
her letters of walks and drives throughout a wide 

VOL. I. 20 


radius around Penrith, which she greatly enjoyed. 
She speaks in one place of some lodgings that 
were to be had in a cottage called " The Dove's 
Nest," formerly inhabited by Mrs. Hemans, and 
suggests that it might be a pleasant place wherein 
to spend a few months "after her return from Italy." 
For this cherished project of a journey to Italy, 
again and again postponed, was never relinquished. 
Quite at the end of this year Mrs. Trollope went 
to Paris, where her son joined her, and they re- 
mained there together until the following spring. 

Mrs. TroUope's visit to Paris in 1840 was, in 
some respects, even more pleasant than that of 
five years before. She was again in the midst 
of the most brilliant society — fashionable and 
literary ; and the only drawback to her enjoyment 
was that the incessant invitations consumed nearly 
all the time she wished to dedicate to her work, 
for, needless to say, she was again at work. 
Especially after her son's departure (he left Paris 
early in the spring for a tour in Central France) 
she was overwhelmed with invitations and social 
attentions of all sorts. 

In April, 1840, she writes — 

" I do not believe that the whole earth has any spot 
where it would be so difficult for me to write, as in Paris. 


Kindness, in consideration of my solitude, neutralizes 
all my good resolutions. Would it not sound finely 
conceited were I to say that the act of answering the 
mere billets de societe takes up time that is worth scores 
of pounds to me ? Yet such is positively the fact. But 
so many people go out of town after Passion Week, that 
parties must cease ; and as a quiet dinner does not 
involve the necessity of sitting up till three o'clock in 
the morning, I may improve a little by means of my 
alarujfi which I recovered from the maker yesterday." 

It was at this time that she made the acquaint- 
ance of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse d'Henin 
and their charming daughter, of whom T. A. 
Trollope has written in his memoirs. The cynical 
old saying, that no one ever speaks of a friend 
quite so kindly in his absence as in his presence, 
is flatly contradicted by many passages in Mrs. 
Trollope's letters. She loved her friends sincerely, 
and praised them heartily behind their backs. 

It was also during this season in Paris that she 
first met Lady Bulwer. It is not to be supposed 
that Mrs. Trollope was blind to this lady's defects. 
Her passionate temper, her unreasoning impulsive- 
ness, her thoughtless extravagance, were faults 
which would have been plain enough to a much 
less keen observer. But she thought that Lady 
Bulwer had been injured and calumniated, and 


she felt very strongly that even worse faults would 
not have justified the treatment to which Lady 
Bulwer had been subjected. 

In a letter written from Paris to her daughter 
Cecilia, and dated the 13th of February, 1840, 
Mrs. Trollope says — 

" My interesting difficulties respecting Lady Bulwer 
and her brother-in-law * increase greatly. All jesting 
apart, it is exceedingly embarrassing. He is decidedly 
one of the most agreeable, animated, conversable people 
in existence ; and she is one of the most ill-used and 
pitiable. I believe her character to be perfectly irre- 
proachable. But she is not as quiet as I would wish her 
to be, in her grief; and were it not that the enforced 
absence of her children excuses any violence of sorrow, 
I should say that she compromised her dignity by her 
lamentations. As it is, however, I do pity her heartily, 
and most certainly shall not close my doors against her 
until I have reason to change my opinion of her." 

Lady Bulwer repaid her new friend's loyalty 
with enthusiastic gratitude. In many of her letters 
she reiterates her thanks for Mrs. Trollope's 
courage, truthfulness, and sincerity in standing 
by her when she was in need of a friend. Lady 
Bulwer's novels may have but little merit — I do 
not know them — but there is considerable wit and 

* Sir Henry Bulwer, whom the Trollopes always liked, and 
who was in later years a frequent guest at the Villino in Florence. 


brightness in her letters. It is not every kind of 
talent, however, that has the necessary affinity 
with printer's ink to enable it to be advantageously 
manifested through that medium. The following 
passage occurs in a letter from Lady Bulwer to 
Mrs. Trollope, dated January 26th, 1840: — 

" I have received a note of thanks from that American 
gentleman, Mr. VV., who dined with me yesterday, for 
having procured him the pleasure of meeting you. He 
is a great admirer of yours, and says you have done his 
country a great deal of good." 

The Princess Belgiojoso's house was one that 
Mrs. Trollope frequently visited. The Princess's 
special hobby, and special gift — for she was a very 
fine pianist — was music ; and the world crowded 
to her salons to hear Handel and other classical 
masters interpreted by some of the first executants 
of the day. Princess Czartoryski is specially 
mentioned in Mrs. Trollope's letters as a very 
delightful woman, " full of intellect and very charm- 
ing manners." 

Lord Granville was at this time our Ambassador 
in Paris, and Mrs. Trollope was received at the 
Embassy with particular civility, Lady Granville 
giving her a personal invitation to visit them on 
the evenings when the society at her house was 


more intimate and less numerous tlian at the 
great receptions, lending her her box at the opera, 
and so on. T. A. Trollope records in his diary 
that his mother and himself were present at a very 
splendid entertainment in honour of the marriage 
of our Queen. Her Majesty was married on 
Monday, the lOth of February, 1840, and the 
Embassy ball took place on the following Friday, 
the 14th. The diary makes special mention of a 
large temporary room erected in the garden, which 
was " a great success." This erection and the 
whole fete are described in Lady Granville's 

In the letter to Mrs. Tilley previously quoted, 
her mother says, in reference to this fete : — 

" To-morrow is the weddivi^ fete at Lord Granville's. 
It is expected to be very brilliant. Carpenters are at 
work and a whole suite of upstairs rooms is to be opened. 
I should like to have all my three sons " [she included 
Cecilia's husband, to whom she was much attached, 
among her * sons '] "and my elegant daughter there with 
me, for I expect it will be pretty, gay, and agreable." 

After a little gossip about the royal marriage, 
which was naturally the topic of the day, Mrs. 
Trollope, in allusion to the reduction of the pro- 
posed income of Prince Albert on a motion of 


Colonel Sibthorp's, supported by the party of Sir 
Robert Peel, says — 

'^ Enire nous 1 think the Tories behaved abominably 
about the Prince in all ways. He ought to have had 
precedence, and he ought to have had the ^50,000 a 

She very early discerned the great qualities of 
the Queen's husband — an unprejudiced clear- 
sightedness not so universal in 1840 as it became 
fifty years later : for, as the Italian proverb has it, 
Delia sapienza del poi, son pieue anche le fosse, 
" There's enough wisdom after the fact, to fill all 
the ditches." 

The most important social event of Mrs. 
Trollope's visit to Paris this year, was her pre- 
sentation to Louis Philippe and the French Royal 
Family at the Tuileries, by her friend Lady 
Catherine Bernard. A brief account of the inter- 
view occurs in a letter from Mrs. Trollope to her 
son. It is inserted in the midst of other topics of 
more immediate moment, and is not dwelt on at 
any length, although she neither was, nor affected 
to be, stoically indifferent to the high compliments 
paid her. Here are her words : — 

" The greatest exploit I have to tell you of, is having 
been presented at the Tuileries by Lady Catherine 


Ikrnard. My reception was a most gracious one ; King, 
Queen, Duchesse de Nemours, Princess Clementine, 
and Madame Adelaide, all spoke in a flattering manner 
of their having long known me by my books, etc. 
Lady Catherine said it was enough to turn one's 
head. The pretty bride " [Duchess de Nemours] " spoke 
to me in very good English, and told me she re- 
membered seeing me in Vienna, — where, in fact, I 
remember meeting her at the Turkish Ambassador's 
ball She also said, ' I have read all your books, Mrs. 
Trollope, and I like them so much ! ' The Queen's 
parting words were * Je suis bien aise de vous voir ici.' 
The King asked me, with a look of something like fun, 
if I should like to go back to America. / longed to 
return the question to him ! " 

Mrs. Trollope was again a frequent visitor in 
the salons of Madame Recamicr, and of Miss 
Clarke (not yet Madame Mohl), and she had the 
pleasure of meeting her old friend General Pepe 
at the house of Mrs. Gilchrist, the lady he after- 
wards married. In a letter to her daughter, she 
says, " Pepe seems quite to have forgiven me, 
dear soul, for all my Austrian sins." Further on 
in the same letter, she describes several conversa- 
tions she had with a man whose name was then 
very well known in Europe — Count Gonfaloniere, 
for thirteen years a political prisoner in the 
Austrian fortress of Spilsberg. 


" About his tremendous imprisonment he seeks neither 
to speak, nor to avoid speaking. When I asked for 
particulars, he gave them freely. He told me that 
during the whole thirteen years, his great object had 
been not to consume his thoughts. His great terror was 
madness. They were just conscious of daylight for 
about three hours in every day ; — the rest was darkness. 

" The Count entirely acquits Metternich of all blame. 
He says that, believing him (the Count) to be dangerous, 
he would have done almost anything rather than not 
secure him; but that, once secured, the horrors, the 
fearful horrors of his imprisonment would never have 
followed had Metternich had his will. He besought the 
Emperor to let him furnish Count Gonfaloniere with 
books out of his own library ; but Francis replied that 
'the object of imprisonment was not amusement.' The 
Count seemed delighted to speak of Ferdinand, and of 
the active kindness of his nature : and told me that 
almost his first words on learning that he was Emperor 
were ' C'en est fait done, de tons ces emprisonnements. 
Je n'aime pas cela; — 9a me fait triste. Je n'en veux 
plus, — absolument je n'en veux plus.' " 

Gonfaloniere's testimony in favour of Metternich 
is above suspicion, and is interesting. 

Anthony paid a visit to his mother in Paris in 
the course of this winter, and greatly enjoyed, his 
mother says, "going to so many good parties." 
He certainly could not have had a better intro- 
duction than his mother's. Her visiting list was a 


roll-call of the most illustrious personages in Paris, 
native and foreign. 

It seems that at the beginning of the year 1840 — 
on the 6th of January, to be precise — it had been 
agreed by many serious persons that our globe was 
to be destroyed by a comet. Mrs. Trollope writes 
to her daughter : — 

" The comet that is to eat us up on the 6th has been 
seen. If the predictions prove true, this letter will be so 
scorched before it reaches Penrith, that you will be 
unable to read it. However, as you will yourself be a 
cinder, it will not so much signify ! " 

She was greatly delighted by the recent birth of 
a little grand-daughter named after herself, and 
says — 

"Let me not languish in ignorance, dearest, of the 
progress of my Fanny. Her being named Frances 
Trollope, is of all my honours and glories, the one I 
like best." 

The following July Mrs. Trollope returned to 
Cumberland to her daughter's house. The railway 
to Penrith was not yet completed ; and she had 
to travel nearly fifty miles of the journey by 

It must have been at this period that she first 
conceived the idea of making a permanent home 


in the north country. There was a house to be 
sold, the property of Mr. de Whelpdale, on which 
she had set her affections ; but a hitch about the 
production of the title-deeds prevented her from 
concluding the purchase. Finally a site was 
chosen, on which she (or rather her son for her) 
subsequently built the house called Carlton Hill. 
But a visit to Italy was still intended for the 

This, however, was once again postponed by 
reason of the disquieting accounts she heard of 
the disturbed state of the Continent, and especially 
of France. Some of her correspondents in Paris 
inform her on the loth of September, that "only 
last Monday, all diligences and omnibuses passing 
through the Ouartier St. Antoine, were seized and 
overturned to make barricades by the mob ; all 
business at the Bourse was stopped, the shops 
shut, and very general fear of a universal rising of 
the operatives throughout France, seems to exist." 
Mrs. Trollope begs her son to consult Robert 
Pauncefote as to the truth of the state of things. 
He has many friends in Paris with whom he 
probably corresponds. 

This name of Pauncefote, which occurs frequently 
in the family correspondence, is that of some highly 


valued friends of the Trollopes ; and several letters 
from Mrs. Pauncefote remain among the papers in 
my possession. The name is, of course, widely and 
honourably known now as that of Sir Julian Paunce- 
fote, our Ambassador to the United States. He 
is a son of Mrs, Trollope's old friend ; and with 
one of her daughters, the Baroness von Lachmann- 
Falkenau, T. A. Trollope had the happiness in 
after-years of renewing the friendship of his youth. 
She and her husband visited him at his villa near 
Florence, and he was subsequently her guest at 
her charming house in Dresden. The biographer 
of Frances Trollope may be excused for emphasiz- 
ing the fact that, in so many cases her friendships 
were inherited, and have descended to a second, 
and even a third generation — a testimony to 
sterling qualities on both sides. 

More than one letter to her son shows that she 
dreads the journey through France ; and she 
inquires earnestly what will be the difference in 
time and cost, of approaching Italy by way of 
Germany instead. There was evidently an out- 
break of Anglophobia raging in Paris ; and a letter 
which appeared in some Parisian periodical did not 
altogether reassure Mrs. Trollope. She writes on 
September i ith : — 


" A letter appears from one of the six thousand Re- 
publicans who dined together outside the barrier last 
week, stating that they did not intend to massacre all 
the English. Kind ! ! ! " 

The newspapers were full of alarmist articles, and 
predictions of popular tumults and bloodshed. 

As to the hatred of the English, which occasion- 
ally assumes an epidemic form on the Continent, 
we might almost accept the saying of a Roman 
friend of T, A. Trollope's, which amused him 
mightily. This gentleman was expatiating on the 
sufferings to which the Italian troops in Africa 
were exposed from the climate. It was all very 
well, he said, to be a Sicilian, or a Calabrian ; but 
Sicily was not Africa, and the sun of Massowah 
was a far fiercer luminary than that of Calabria. 
An English lady in company suggested that, since 
torrid heat was so trying to Southern Europeans, 
our soldiers must have suffered still more in the 
Soudan and in parts of India. " No, no ; not at 
all ! " exclaimed the Roman. Then, with a gentle 
shake of the head, and an air of grave conviction, 
he added, "Loro sono abituati," Yoti Etiglish are 
used to it ! 

However, despite this national and eel-like habit 
of being skinned, Mrs. Trollope's apprehensions 


prevailed, and the Italian journey was once more 
put off. 

She had other motives to determine her on 
taking this course, besides the dread of continental 
revolutions. One very strong one was her desire 
to complete two more novels which she had en- 
gaged to write, before leaving England again. 
These were, "The Ward of Thorpe Combe," 
published by Mr. Bentley, and " The Blue Belles 
of England," published by Messrs. Sanders and 
Ottley. Of the latter book, further mention will 
have to be made by-and-by. It was settled that 
Mrs. Trollope should remain for the present with 
Mr. and Mrs. Tilley, and that Tom, who was then 
in London, should join her in Cumberland later on. 

Tom had expressed an intention of making a 
trip to Paris by himself, but he put off his journey 
in deference to his mother's earnest wish. In 
December, however, he did go there, and has 
given an account of his stay in " What I Re- 
member." In his mother's letters addressed to 
him there, there are frequent and most affectionate 
messages to her dear Adele (Mdlle. d'Henin), 
and cordial inquiries about many other friends. 
She begs he will call on M. Gasparin, at whose 
house, she reminds him, he first met Guizot ; and 


hopes he has not neglected to leave a card at the 
Embassy, " as it would be both ungracious and 
ungrateful to omit it." 

" How you must enjoy," she writes, " seeing the 
d'Henins, the Cokers,* and all the dear people again ! 
Reading what you say of your pleasant evenings is 
about half as good as being there with you myself! " 

Meanwhile she had been enjoying some plea- 
sant society in Cumberland, superintending the 
beginnings of her new house and garden, and 
working hard with her pen. For the society, she 
mentions among the houses she best likes to go 
to, Edenhall, the seat of Sir George Musgrave (of 
whom, and of Lady Musgrave, she says, " I think 
they will be very pleasant neighbours. I get on 
with them "), and Lowther Castle. She writes to 
her son : — 

" I accepted an invitation from Lord Lonsdale to 
dine and sleep at Lowther Castle. I spent as agreeable 
an evening and morning as I can remember. The old 
man is delightful^ and so is his daughter Lady Frederick 

Regarding the plans of the new house, her 
letters are full of details written for Tom's advice 

* Mrs. Coker was a daughter of Major Aubrey, the great 
authority on whist. 


and approval. And as to the pen-work, she quietly 
says — 

"I get up at half-past four every morning, and get 
nearly the whole of my day's task accomplished before 

She had the pleasure of seeing her son An- 
thony this autumn. He paid a flying visit to 

Lady Bulvvcr had been greatly disappointed by 
Mrs. Trollope's not joining her this year in Italy ; 
and Mrs. Paunccfote had written from Milan and 
Florence, hoping to see her. But she consoles 
herself and her son by looking forward to meeting 
these friends, and to seeing Italy, in the spring of 
1 841, when she will have earned enough to supply 
the funds necessary for building the house at 
Carlton Hill, and defraying other necessary ex- 
penses. In these days of cheap tours, circular 
tickets, and Cook's coupons, the following seems 
a somewhat magnificent calculation ; but here is 
Mrs. Trollope's statement : — 

" You remember my friends Major and Mrs. Wil- 
liams told me repeatedly that they never could spend 
more than a hundred pounds a month (in Italy), travel- 
ling with two servants and three post-horses. We should 
only be absent seven — or at the most eight — months, 


without any servants, and being in all things economical 
for the sake of our new home. ... If we do it in 
this manner, it cannot cost us more than five hundred 

Hitherto, with the exception of some jars and 
frets inseparable from human affairs, Mrs. Trol- 
lope's relations with her publishers had been fairly 
smooth. But in the spring of 1841 a serious 
difference, which distressed her greatly, arose 
between her and Mr. Colburn. Her novel of 
"Charles Chesterfield" had been published by 
him in serial form in the Nezu Monthly Magazine, 
and another novel in three volumes, entitled " Har- 
grave," had been agreed for between them. The 
manuscript of this latter work was sent up to 
Mr. Colburn in January, 1841, by the hand of 
Mrs. Trollope's brother Henry Milton ; but Mr. 
Colburn declined to receive it, and declared that 
he intended to be off his bargain altogether, on 
the ground that Mrs. Trollope had vitiated all her 
contracts with him, by publishing another novel 
("The Blue Belles of England") with a rival 
publisher, in serial form, simultaneously with the 
publication of " Charles Chesterfield." Mr. Col- 
burn refused to pay the price stipulated for 
" Hargrave " except on legal compulsion, threat- 

voL. I. 21 



cncd to fight the case, and to publish all the 
y particulars of his business transactions with Mrs. 
Trollopc — which, he asserted, had been nearly 
uniformly to his detriment, and in nowise to his 
profit. This latter statement must surely have 
been an ebullition of that " wrathfulness " which 
Sir Walter Scott observed to be a frequent 
characteristic of the publishers' trade — for Mr. 
Colburn would scarcely have maintained in cold 
blood, that he had persisted in purchasing wares 
at a steady loss to himself, when he had nothing 
to do but decline them ! 

Mrs. Trollopc took the matter very much to 
heart, not, perhaps, making sufficient allowance 
^si for the inaccuracy of wrathfulness. She wrote 
from Penrith to her son in Paris, in great pertur- 
bation. So painful to her was the thought of a 
public squabble, that she would have been willing 
to withdraw her novel of " Hargravc," and release 
Mr. Colburn from his contract, rather than go to 
law ; but that having signed the agreement for 
the purchase of the site of Carlton Hill, and under- 
taken to pay for it in certain stated instalments, 
she could not forego the payment for " Hargrave " 
at the stipulated time, without, in her turn, repu- 
diating her liabilities. 


The idea of giving up her claim on Mr. Colburn 
without a struggle, was, of course, put aside by her 
son and brother. Mr. John Young, the Trollopes' 
kinsman, good friend, and family lawyer, was 
appealed to. His opinion, than which no sounder 
one was to be had at that day in England, was 
that Mr. Colburn had no case. Mrs. Trollope 
writes — 

" Of one thing I feel quite sure : — namely, that John 
Young will not advise a suit through which he cannot 
see his way. And therefore if he advises legal pro- 
ceedings, and you agree with him, I submit." 

The matter was, however, finally arranged without 
legal proceedings, Mr. Colburn paying six hundred 
and twenty-five pounds and publishing the novel, ' 
which, by the way, had a very good success, and . y 
reached a second edition in 1843. 

Again I must narrate an instance of Mrs. 
Trollope's straightforward candour and modesty 
about her own writings. Her brother sent her a 
sheet of criticisms upon " Hargrave," coupled with 
the somewhat cool suggestion that she should 
" lay it aside and write another " ! She writes to 
her son : — 

" My brother has told me his opinion of my poor 
book, as candidly as he has told it to you. All I have 


to say in reply is that others like it. This, and tJie 
ranembrance of some of his former criticisms, prevent 
me from thinking it advisable immediately to burn my 
book and set myself down to writing another. However 
I am very willing to go over the MS. and see if I can 
mend it. If the bore were not too great for you I should 
be very grateful if you would cast your eye over it. Do 
not scruple to change words or phrases at your will." 

j\Ir. Milton had on several previous occasions 
been in error — if public favour is to be the test — 
as to the comparative merits of his sister's books. 
But all experience shows that literary criticism, if 
a science at all, is, at any rate, a very ///exact 
science ! 

A severe judgment of her novel was not one 
of the things which had much power to afflict 
Frances Trollopc. She was singularly free from 
the sensitiveness of vanity. But sensitiveness on 
other points she had a large share of; and she 
had been terribly depressed during the weeks in 
which her quarrel with Mr. Colburn was going on. 
She confessed that she shrank from the prospect 
of being held up publicly as " a greedy, grasf)ing, 
conscienceless woman," As soon as the matter 
was settled, she writes — 

" I am almost ashamed to own the utter discourage- 
ment and depression into which I had fxllen. It has 


been totally out of my power to write regularly, since 
the blow fell upon me. But noii.^ I shall start with fresh 
vigour, and shall, I hope, be able to get through my 
work by the time you mention." 

At length the arrangements for the long-talked- 
of journey were made. Mrs. Trollope writes from 
Penrith in March : — 

" Need I tell you, dearest Tom, that I am satisfied, — 
nay thankful ? " [As to the arrangement come to with 
Mr. Colburn.] " And, trust me, I enjoy too the con- 
viction that you must be as well pleased as I. Shall 
we really go to Italy? Is it possible after so many 
impediments .? . . . Remember that I must stay three 
days in Paris, I shall let the Garnetts know as soon 
as the date is fi.xed. I can be ready to leave this place 
by the first ; but as that is All Fools' Day, let us say 
the secotid of April ! God speed us on our way, dear 
Tom ! Truly, if the journey gives us pleasure, we have 
not got it without pain." 

She' joined her son in London by the time 
fixed ; and a few days afterwards they started 
together for Italy. 








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