Anthony Trollope - Autobiography of Anthony Trollope

strongest staffs probably were "Jacob Omnium," whom I regard as the

most forcible newspaper writer of my days, and Fitz-James Stephen,

the most conscientious and industrious. To them the Pall Mall

Gazette owed very much of its early success,--and to the untiring

energy and general ability of its proprietor. Among its other

contributors were George Lewes, Hannay,--who, I think, came up

from Edinburgh for employment on its columns,--Lord Houghton, Lord

Strangford, Charles Merivale, Greenwood the present editor, Greg,

myself, and very many others;--so many others, that I have met

at a Pall Mall dinner a crowd of guests who would have filled the

House of Commons more respectably than I have seen it filled even

on important occasions. There are many who now remember--and no

doubt when this is published there will be left some to remember--the

great stroke of business which was done by the revelations of a

visitor to one of the casual wards in London. A person had to be

selected who would undergo the misery of a night among the usual

occupants of a casual ward in a London poorhouse, and who should at

the same time be able to record what he felt and saw. The choice

fell upon Mr. Greenwood's brother, who certainly possessed the

courage and the powers of endurance. The description, which was

very well given, was, I think, chiefly written by the brother of

the Casual himself. It had a great effect, which was increased by

secrecy as to the person who encountered all the horrors of that

night. I was more than once assured that Lard Houghton was the man.

I heard it asserted also that I myself had been the hero. At last

the unknown one could no longer endure that his honours should be

hidden, and revealed the truth,--in opposition, I fear, to promises

to the contrary, and instigated by a conviction that if known he

could turn his honours to account. In the meantime, however, that

record of a night passed in a workhouse had done more to establish

the sale of the journal than all the legal lore of Stephen, or the

polemical power of Higgins, or the critical acumen of Lewes.

My work was various. I wrote much on the subject of the American

War, on which my feelings were at the time very keen,--subscribing,

if I remember right, my name to all that I wrote. I contributed

also some sets of sketches, of which those concerning hunting found

favour with the public. They were republished afterwards, and had

a considerable sale, and may, I think, still be recommended to those

who are fond of hunting, as being accurate in their description of

the different classes of people who are to be met in the hunting-field.

There was also a set of clerical sketches, which was considered to

be of sufficient importance to bring down upon my head the critical

wrath of a great dean of that period. The most ill-natured review

that was ever written upon any work of mine appeared in the

Contemporary Review with reference to these Clerical Sketches. The

critic told me that I did not understand Greek. That charge has

been made not unfrequently by those who have felt themselves strong

in that pride-producing language. It is much to read Greek with

ease, but it is not disgraceful to be unable to do so. To pretend

to read it without being able,--that is disgraceful. The critic,

however, had been driven to wrath by my saying that Deans of the

Church of England loved to revisit the glimpses of the metropolitan

moon.

I also did some critical work for the Pall Mall,--as I did also for

The Fortnightly. It was not to my taste, but was done in conformity

with strict conscientious scruples. I read what I took in hand, and

said what I believed to be true,--always giving to the matter time

altogether incommensurate with the pecuniary result to myself. In

doing this for the Pall Mall, I fell into great sorrow. A gentleman,

whose wife was dear to me as if she were my own sister; was in

some trouble as to his conduct in the public service. He had been

blamed, as he thought unjustly, and vindicated himself in a pamphlet.

This he handed to me one day, asking me to read it, and express my

opinion about it if I found that I had an opinion. I thought the

request injudicious, and I did not read the pamphlet. He met me

again, and, handing me a second pamphlet, pressed me very hard. I

promised him that I would read it, and that if I found myself able

I would express myself;--but that I must say not what I wished

to think, but what I did think. To this of course he assented. I

then went very much out of my way to study the subject,--which was

one requiring study. I found, or thought that I found, that the

conduct of the gentleman in his office had been indiscreet; but that

charges made against himself affecting his honour were baseless.

This I said, emphasising much more strongly than was necessary the

opinion which I had formed of his indiscretion,--as will so often

be the case when a man has a pen in his hand. It is like a club

or sledge-hammer,--in using which, either for defence or attack,

a man can hardly measure the strength of the blows he gives. Of

course there was offence,--and a breaking off of intercourse between

loving friends,--and a sense of wrong received, and I must own,

too, of wrong done. It certainly was not open to me to whitewash

with honesty him whom I did not find to be white; but there was no

duty incumbent on me to declare what was his colour in my eyes,--no

duty even to ascertain. But I had been ruffled by the persistency

of the gentleman's request,--which should not have been made,--and

I punished him for his wrong-doing by doing a wrong myself. I must

add, that before he died his wife succeeded in bringing us together.

In the early days of the paper, the proprietor, who at that time

acted also as chief editor, asked me to undertake a duty,--of which

the agony would indeed at no one moment have been so sharp as that

endured in the casual ward, but might have been prolonged until

human nature sank under it. He suggested to me that I should during

an entire season attend the May meetings in Exeter Hall, and give

a graphic and, if possible, amusing description of the proceedings.

I did attend one,--which lasted three hours,--and wrote a paper which

I think was called A Zulu in Search of a Religion. But when the

meeting was over I went to that spirited proprietor, and begged him

to impose upon me some task more equal to my strength. Not even on

behalf of the Pall Mall Gazette, which was very dear to me, could

I go through a second May meeting,--much less endure a season of

such martyrdom.

I have to acknowledge that I found myself unfit for work on

a newspaper. I had not taken to it early enough in life to learn

its ways and bear its trammels. I was fidgety when any work was

altered in accordance with the judgment of the editor, who, of

course, was responsible for what appeared. I wanted to select my

own subjects,--not to have them selected for me; to write when I

pleased,--and not when it suited others. As a permanent member of

the staff I was of no use, and after two or three years I dropped

out of the work.

From the commencement of my success as a writer, which I date

from the beginning of the Cornhill Magazine, I had always felt an

injustice in literary affairs which had never afflicted me or even

suggested itself to me while I was unsuccessful. It seemed to me