Autobiography of Anthony Trollope by Anthony Trollope

A >> Anthony Trollope >> Autobiography of Anthony Trollope

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

To my own initiation at the Post Office I will return in the next
chapter. Just before Christmas my brother died, and was buried at
Bruges. In the following February my father died, and was buried
alongside of him,--and with him died that tedious task of his,
which I can only hope may have solaced many of his latter hours. I
sometimes look back, meditating for hours together, on his adverse
fate. He was a man, finely educated, of great parts, with immense
capacity for work, physically strong very much beyond the average
of men, addicted to no vices, carried off by no pleasures, affectionate
by nature, most anxious for the welfare of his children, born to
fair fortunes,--who, when he started in the world, may be said to
have had everything at his feet. But everything went wrong with
him. The touch of his hand seemed to create failure. He embarked
in one hopeless enterprise after another, spending on each all the
money he could at the time command. But the worse curse to him of
all was a temper so irritable that even those whom he loved the
best could not endure it. We were all estranged from him, and yet
I believe that he would have given his heart's blood for any of
us. His life as I knew it was one long tragedy.

After his death my mother moved to England, and took and furnished
a small house at Hadley, near Barnet. I was then a clerk in the
London Post Office, and I remember well how gay she made the place
with little dinners, little dances, and little picnics, while
she herself was at work every morning long before others had left
their beds. But she did not stay at Hadley much above a year. She
went up to London, where she again took and furnished a house,
from which my remaining sister was married and carried away into
Cumberland. My mother soon followed her, and on this occasion did
more than take a house. She bought a bit of land,--a field of three
acres near the town,--and built a residence for herself. This, I
think, was in 1841, and she had thus established and re-established
herself six times in ten years. But in Cumberland she found the
climate too severe, and in 1844 she moved herself to Florence,
where she remained till her death in 1863. She continued writing
up to 1856, when she was seventy-six years old,--and had at that
time produced 114 volumes, of which the first was not written till
she was fifty. Her career offers great encouragement to those who
have not begun early in life, but are still ambitious to do something
before they depart hence.

She was an unselfish, affectionate, and most industrious woman,
with great capacity for enjoyment and high physical gifts. She was
endowed too, with much creative power, with considerable humour,
and a genuine feeling for romance. But she was neither clear-sighted
nor accurate; and in her attempts to describe morals, manners, and
even facts, was unable to avoid the pitfalls of exaggeration.

CHAPTER III

THE GENERAL POST OFFICE

1834-1841

While I was still learning my duty as an usher at Mr. Drury's
school at Brussels, I was summoned to my clerkship in the London
Post Office, and on my way passed through Bruges. I then saw my
father and my brother Henry for the last time. A sadder household
never was held together. They were all dying; except my mother, who
would sit up night after night nursing the dying ones and writing
novels the while,--so that there might be a decent roof for them
to die under. Had she failed to write the novels, I do not know
where the roof would have been found. It is now more that forty
years ago, and looking back over so long a lapse of time I can tell
the story, though it be the story of my own father and mother, of
my own brother and sister, almost as coldly as I have often done
some scene of intended pathos in fiction; but that scene was indeed
full of pathos. I was then becoming alive to the blighted ambition
of my father's life, and becoming alive also to the violence of the
strain which my mother was enduring. But I could do nothing but go
and leave them. There was something that comforted me in the idea
that I need no longer be a burden,--a fallacious idea, as it soon
proved. My salary was to be œ90 a year, and on that I was to live
in œondon, keep up my character as a gentleman, and be happy.
That I should have thought this possible at the age of nineteen,
and should have been delighted at being able to make the attempt,
does not surprise me now; but that others should have thought it
possible, friends who knew something of the world, does astonish
me. A lad might have done so, no doubt, or might do so even in
these days, who was properly looked after and kept under control,--on
whose behalf some law of life had been laid down. Let him pay so
much a week for his board and lodging, so much for his clothes, so
much for his washing, and then let him understand that he has--shall
we say?--sixpence a day left for pocket-money and omnibuses. Any
one making the calculation will find the sixpence far too much. No
such calculation was made for me or by me. It was supposed that a
sufficient income had been secured to me, and that I should live
upon it as other clerks lived.

But as yet the œ90 a year was not secured to me. On reaching London
I went to my friend Clayton Freeling, who was then secretary at
the Stamp Office, and was taken by him to the scene of my future
labours in St. Martin's le Grand. Sir Francis Freeling was the
secretary, but he was greatly too high an official to be seen at
first by a new junior clerk. I was taken, therefore, to his eldest
son Henry Freeling, who was the assistant secretary, and by him
I was examined as to my fitness. The story of that examination is
given accurately in one of the opening chapters of a novel written
by me, called The Three Clerks. If any reader of this memoir would
refer to that chapter and see how Charley Tudor was supposed to have
been admitted into the Internal Navigation Office, that reader
will learn how Anthony Trollope was actually admitted into the
Secretary's office of the General Post Office in 1834. I was asked
to copy some lines from the Times newspaper with an old quill pen,
and at once made a series of blots and false spellings. "That
won't do, you know," said Henry Freeling to his brother Clayton.
Clayton, who was my friend, urged that I was nervous, and asked
that I might be allowed to do a bit of writing at home and bring
it as a sample on the next day. I was then asked whether I was
a proficient in arithmetic. What could I say? I had never learned
the multiplication table, and had no more idea of the rule of three
than of conic sections. "I know a little of it," I said humbly,
whereupon I was sternly assured that on the morrow, should I succeed
in showing that my handwriting was all that it ought to be, I should
be examined as to that little of arithmetic. If that little should
not be found to comprise a thorough knowledge of all the ordinary
rules, together with practised and quick skill, my career in life
could not be made at the Post Office. Going down the main stairs
of the building,--stairs which have I believe been now pulled down
to make room for sorters and stampers,--Clayton Freeling told me
not to be too down-hearted. I was myself inclined to think that I
had better go back to the school in Brussels. But nevertheless I
went to work, and under the surveillance of my elder brother made
a beautiful transcript of four or five pages of Gibbon. With a
faltering heart I took these on the next day to the office. With
my caligraphy I was contented, but was certain that I should come
to the ground among the figures. But when I got to "The Grand,"
as we used to call our office in those days, from its site in
St. Martin's le Grand, I was seated at a desk without any further
reference to my competency. No one condescended even to look at my
beautiful penmanship.

That was the way in which candidates for the Civil Service were
examined in my young days. It was at any rate the way in which I
was examined. Since that time there has been a very great change
indeed;--and in some respects a great improvement. But in regard
to the absolute fitness of the young men selected for the public
service, I doubt whether more harm has not been done than good. And
I think that good might have been done without the harm. The rule
of the present day is, that every place shall be open to public
competition, and that it shall be given to the best among the
comers. I object to this, that at present there exists no known
mode of learning who is best, and that the method employed has no
tendency to elicit the best. That method pretends only to decide
who among a certain number of lads will best answer a string of
questions, for the answering of which they are prepared by tutors,
who have sprung up for the purpose since this fashion of election
has been adopted. When it is decided in a family that a boy shall
"try the Civil Service," he is made to undergo a certain amount of
cramming. But such treatment has, I maintain, no connection whatever
with education. The lad is no better fitted after it than he was
before for the future work of his life. But his very success fills
him with false ideas of his own educational standing, and so far
unfits him. And, by the plan now in vogue, it has come to pass that
no one is in truth responsible either for the conduct, the manners,
or even for the character of the youth. The responsibility was
perhaps slight before; but existed, and was on the increase.

There might have been,--in some future time of still increased
wisdom, there yet may be,--a department established to test the
fitness of acolytes without recourse to the dangerous optimism of
competitive choice. I will not say but that there should have been
some one to reject me,--though I will have the hardihood to say
that, had I been so rejected, the Civil Service would have lost
a valuable public servant. This is a statement that will not, I
think, be denied by those who, after I am gone, may remember anything
of my work. Lads, no doubt, should not be admitted who have none of
the small acquirements that are wanted. Our offices should not be
schools in which writing and early lessons in geography, arithmetic,
or French should be learned. But all that could be ascertained
without the perils of competitive examination.

The desire to insure the efficiency of the young men selected, has
not been the only object--perhaps not the chief object--of those
who have yielded in this matter to the arguments of the reformers.
There had arisen in England a system of patronage, under which it
had become gradually necessary for politicians to use their influence
for the purchase of political support. A member of the House of
Commons, holding office, who might chance to have five clerkships
to give away in a year, found himself compelled to distribute them
among those who sent him to the House. In this there was nothing
pleasant to the distributer of patronage. Do away with the system
altogether, and he would have as much chance of support as another.
He bartered his patronage only because another did so also. The
beggings, the refusings, the jealousies, the correspondence, were
simply troublesome. Gentlemen in office were not therefore indisposed
to rid themselves of the care of patronage. I have no doubt their
hands are the cleaner and their hearts are the lighter; but I do
doubt whether the offices are on the whole better manned.

As what I now write will certainly never be read till I am dead, I
may dare to say what no one now does dare to say in print,--though
some of us whisper it occasionally into our friends' ears. There
are places in life which can hardly be well filled except by
"Gentlemen." The word is one the use of which almost subjects one
to ignominy. If I say that a judge should be a gentleman, or a
bishop, I am met with a scornful allusion to "Nature's Gentlemen."
Were I to make such an assertion with reference to the House of
Commons, nothing that I ever said again would receive the slightest
attention. A man in public life could not do himself a greater
injury than by saying in public that the commissions in the army or
navy, or berths in the Civil Service, should be given exclusively
to gentlemen. He would be defied to define the term,--and would
fail should he attempt to do so. But he would know what he meant,
and so very probably would they who defied him. It may be that the
son of a butcher of the village shall become as well fitted for
employments requiring gentle culture as the son of the parson.
Such is often the case. When such is the case, no one has been more
prone to give the butcher's son all the welcome he has merited than
I myself; but the chances are greatly in favour of the parson's son.
The gates of the one class should be open to the other; but neither
to the one class nor to the other can good be done by declaring
that there are no gates, no barrier, no difference. The system of
competitive examination is, I think, based on a supposition that
there is no difference.

I got into my place without any examining. Looking back now, I think
I can see with accuracy what was then the condition of my own mind
and intelligence. Of things to be learned by lessons I knew almost
less than could be supposed possible after the amount of schooling
I had received. I could read neither French, Latin, nor Greek.
I could speak no foreign language,--and I may as well say here as
elsewhere that I never acquired the power of really talking French.
I have been able to order my dinner and take a railway ticket, but
never got much beyond that. Of the merest rudiments of the sciences
I was completely ignorant. My handwriting was in truth wretched. My
spelling was imperfect. There was no subject as to which examination
would have been possible on which I could have gone through an
examination otherwise than disgracefully. And yet I think I knew
more than the average young men of the same rank who began life at
nineteen. I could have given a fuller list of the names of the poets
of all countries, with their subjects and periods,--and probably
of historians,--than many others; and had, perhaps, a more accurate
idea of the manner in which my own country was governed. I knew the
names of all the Bishops, all the Judges, all the Heads of Colleges,
and all the Cabinet Ministers,--not a very useful knowledge indeed,
but one that had not been acquired without other matter which was
more useful. I had read Shakespeare and Byron and Scott, and could
talk about them. The music of the Miltonic line was familiar to
me. I had already made up my mind that Pride and Prejudice was the
best novel in the English language,--a palm which I only partially
withdrew after a second reading of Ivanhoe, and did not completely
bestow elsewhere till Esmond was written. And though I would
occasionally break down in my spelling, I could write a letter. If
I had a thing to say, I could so say it in written words that the
readers should know what I meant,--a power which is by no means
at the command of all those who come out from these competitive
examinations with triumph. Early in life, at the age of fifteen,
I had commenced the dangerous habit of keeping a journal, and this
I maintained for ten years. The volumes remained in my possession
unregarded--never looked at--till 1870, when I examined them, and,
with many blushes, destroyed them. They convicted me of folly,
ignorance, indiscretion, idleness, extravagance, and conceit. But
they had habituated me to the rapid use of pen and ink, and taught
me how to express myself with faculty.

I will mention here another habit which had grown upon me from
still earlier years,--which I myself often regarded with dismay
when I thought of the hours devoted to it, but which, I suppose,
must have tended to make me what I have been. As a boy, even as a
child, I was thrown much upon myself. I have explained, when speaking
of my school-days, how it came to pass that other boys would not
play with me. I was therefore alone, and had to form my plays
within myself. Play of some kind was necessary to me then, as it
always has been. Study was not my bent, and I could not please
myself by being all idle. Thus it came to pass that I was always
going about with some castle in the air firmly build within my
mind. Nor were these efforts in architecture spasmodic, or subject
to constant change from day to day. For weeks, for months, if
I remember rightly, from year to year, I would carry on the same
tale, binding myself down to certain laws, to certain proportions,
and proprieties, and unities. Nothing impossible was ever
introduced,--nor even anything which, from outward circumstances,
would seem to be violently improbable. I myself was of course my own
hero. Such is a necessity of castle-building. But I never became a
king, or a duke,--much less when my height and personal appearance
were fixed could I be an Antinous, or six feet high. I never was
a learned man, nor even a philosopher. But I was a very clever
person, and beautiful young women used to be fond of me. And I
strove to be kind of heart, and open of hand, and noble in thought,
despising mean things; and altogether I was a very much better
fellow than I have ever succeeded in being since. This had been
the occupation of my life for six or seven years before I went to
the Post Office, and was by no means abandoned when I commenced
my work. There can, I imagine, hardly be a more dangerous mental
practice; but I have often doubted whether, had it not been my
practice, I should ever have written a novel. I learned in this way
to maintain an interest in a fictitious story, to dwell on a work
created by my own imagination, and to live in a world altogether
outside the world of my own material life. In after years I have
done the same,--with this difference, that I have discarded the
hero of my early dreams, and have been able to lay my own identity
aside.

I must certainly acknowledge that the first seven years of my
official life were neither creditable to myself nor useful to the
public service. These seven years were passed in London, and during
this period of my life it was my duty to be present every morning
at the office punctually at 10 A.M. I think I commenced my quarrels
with the authorities there by having in my possession a watch
which was always ten minutes late. I know that I very soon achieved
a character for irregularity, and came to be regarded as a black
sheep by men around me who were not themselves, I think, very
good public servants. From time to time rumours reached me that if
I did not take care I should be dismissed; especially one rumour
in my early days, through my dearly beloved friend Mrs. Clayton
Freeling,--who, as I write this, is still living, and who, with
tears in her eyes, besought me to think of my mother. That was during
the life of Sir Francis Freeling, who died,--still in harness,--a
little more than twelve months after I joined the office. And yet
the old man showed me signs of almost affectionate kindness, writing
to me with his own hand more than once from his death-bed.

Sir Francis Freeling was followed at the Post Office by Colonel
Maberly, who certainly was not my friend. I do not know that I
deserved to find a friend in my new master, but I think that a man
with better judgment would not have formed so low an opinion of
me as he did. Years have gone by, and I can write now, and almost
feel, without anger; but I can remember well the keenness of my
anguish when I was treated as though I were unfit for any useful
work. I did struggle--not to do the work, for there was nothing
which was not easy without any struggling--but to show that I
was willing to do it. My bad character nevertheless stuck to me,
and was not to be got rid of by any efforts within my power. I do
admit that I was irregular. It was not considered to be much in
my favour that I could write letters--which was mainly the work of
our office--rapidly, correctly, and to the purpose. The man who
came at ten, and who was always still at his desk at half-past four,
was preferred before me, though when at his desk he might be less
efficient. Such preference was no doubt proper; but, with a little
encouragement, I also would have been punctual. I got credit for
nothing and was reckless.

As it was, the conduct of some of us was very bad. There was a
comfortable sitting-room up-stairs, devoted to the use of some one
of our number who in turn was required to remain in the place all
night. Hither one or two of us would adjourn after lunch, and
play ecarte for an hour or two. I do not know whether such ways
are possible now in our public offices. And here we used to have
suppers and card-parties at night--great symposiums, with much
smoking of tobacco; for in our part of the building there lived a
whole bevy of clerks. These were gentlemen whose duty it then was
to make up and receive the foreign mails. I do not remember that
they worked later or earlier than the other sorting-clerks; but
there was supposed to be something special in foreign letters,
which required that the men who handled them should have minds
undistracted by the outer world. Their salaries, too, were higher
than those of their more homely brethren; and they paid nothing
for their lodgings. Consequently there was a somewhat fast set in
those apartments, given to cards and to tobacco, who drank spirits
and water in preference to tea. I was not one of them, but was a
good deal with them.

I do not know that I should interest my readers by saying much of
my Post Office experiences in those days. I was always on the eve
of being dismissed, and yet was always striving to show how good a
public servant I could become, if only a chance were given me. But
the chance went the wrong way. On one occasion, in the performance
of my duty, I had to put a private letter containing bank-notes on
the secretary's table,--which letter I had duly opened, as it was
not marked private. The letter was seen by the Colonel, but had
not been moved by him when he left the room. On his return it was
gone. In the meantime I had returned to the room, again in the
performance of some duty. When the letter was missed I was sent
for, and there I found the Colonel much moved about his letter, and
a certain chief clerk, who, with a long face, was making suggestions
as to the probable fate of the money. "The letter has been taken,"
said the Colonel, turning to me angrily, "and, by G----! there has
been nobody in the room but you and I." As he spoke, he thundered
his fist down upon the table. "Then," said I, "by G----! you have
taken it." And I also thundered my fist down;--but, accidentally,
not upon the table. There was there a standing movable desk, at
which, I presume, it was the Colonel's habit to write, and on this
movable desk was a large bottle full of ink. My fist unfortunately
came on the desk, and the ink at once flew up, covering the Colonel's
face and shirt-front. Then it was a sight to see that senior clerk,
as he seized a quite of blotting-paper, and rushed to the aid of his
superior officer, striving to mop up the ink; and a sight also to
see the Colonel, in his agony, hit right out through the blotting-paper
at that senior clerk's unoffending stomach. At that moment there
came in the Colonel's private secretary, with the letter and the
money, and I was desired to go back to my own room. This was an
incident not much in my favour, though I do not know that it did
me special harm.

I was always in trouble. A young woman down in the country had
taken it into her head that she would like to marry me,--and a very
foolish young woman she must have been to entertain such a wish.
I need not tell that part of the story more at length, otherwise
than by protesting that no young man in such a position was ever
much less to blame than I had been in this. The invitation had
come from her, and I had lacked the pluck to give it a decided
negative; but I had left the house within half an hour, going away
without my dinner, and had never returned to it. Then there was a
correspondence,--if that can be called a correspondence in which
all the letters came from one side. At last the mother appeared at
the Post Office. My hair almost stands on my head now as I remember
the figure of the woman walking into the big room in which I sat
with six or seven other clerks, having a large basket on her arm and
an immense bonnet on her head. The messenger had vainly endeavoured
to persuade her to remain in the ante-room. She followed the man
in, and walking up the centre of the room, addressed me in a loud
voice: "Anthony Trollope, when are you going to marry my daughter?"
We have all had our worst moments, and that was one of my worst. I
lived through it, however, and did not marry the young lady. These
little incidents were all against me in the office.

And then a certain other phase of my private life crept into official
view, and did me a damage. As I shall explain just now, I rarely
at this time had any money wherewith to pay my bills. In this state
of things a certain tailor had taken from me an acceptance for, I
think, œ12, which found its way into the hands of a money-lender.
With that man, who lived in a little street near Mecklenburgh Square,
I formed a most heart-rending but a most intimate acquaintance.
In cash I once received from him œ4. For that and for the original
amount of the tailor's bill, which grew monstrously under repeated
renewals, I paid ultimately something over œ200. That is so common
a story as to be hardly worth the telling; but the peculiarity of
this man was that he became so attached to me as to visit me every
day at my office. For a long period he found it to be worth his
while to walk up those stone steps daily, and come and stand behind
my chair, whispering to me always the same words: "Now I wish you
would be punctual. If you only would be punctual, I should like
you to have anything you want." He was a little, clean, old man,
who always wore a high starched white cravat inside of which he
had a habit of twisting his chin as he uttered his caution. When I
remember the constant persistency of his visits, I cannot but feel
that he was paid very badly for his time and trouble. Those visits
were very terrible, and can have hardly been of service to me in
the office.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22