Anthony Trollope - Autobiography of Anthony Trollope

word is offensive, and presents to the imagination of men ideas of

communism, of ruin, and insane democracy,--but a tendency towards

equality. In following that, however, he knows that he must be

hemmed in by safeguards, lest he be tempted to travel too quickly;

and, therefore, he is glad to be accompanied on his way by the

repressive action of a Conservative opponent. Holding such views,

I think I am guilty of no absurdity in calling myself an advanced

Conservative-Liberal. A man who entertains in his mind any

political doctrine, except as a means of improving the condition

of his fellows, I regard as a political intriguer, a charlatan,

and a conjurer--as one who thinks that, by a certain amount of wary

wire-pulling, he may raise himself in the estimation of the world.

I am aware that this theory of politics will seem to many to be stilted,

overstrained, and, as the Americans would say, high-faluten. Many

will declare that the majority even of those who call themselves

politicians,--perhaps even of those who take an active

part in politics,--are stirred by no such feelings as these, and

acknowledge no such motives. Men become Tories or Whigs, Liberals

or Conservatives, partly by education,--following their fathers,--partly

by chance, partly as openings come, partly in accordance with the

bent of their minds, but still without any far-fetched reasonings

as to distances and the diminution of distances. No doubt it is

so; and in the battle of politics, as it goes, men are led further

and further away from first causes, till at last a measure is opposed

by one simply because it is advocated by another, and Members of

Parliament swarm into lobbies, following the dictation of their

leaders, and not their own individual judgments. But the principle

is at work throughout. To many, though hardly acknowledged, it is

still apparent. On almost all it has its effect; though there are

the intriguers, the clever conjurers, to whom politics is simply

such a game as is billiards or rackets, only played with greater

results. To the minds that create and lead and sway political

opinion, some such theory is, I think, ever present.

The truth of all this I had long since taken home to myself. I had

now been thinking of it for thirty years, and had never doubted.

But I had always been aware of a certain visionary weakness about

myself in regard to politics. A man, to be useful in Parliament,

must be able to confine himself and conform himself, to be satisfied

with doing a little bit of a little thing at a time. He must

patiently get up everything connected with the duty on mushrooms,

and then be satisfied with himself when at last he has induced

a Chancellor of the Exchequer to say that he will consider the

impost at the first opportunity. He must be content to be beaten

six times in order that, on a seventh, his work may be found to

be of assistance to some one else. He must remember that he is one

out of 650, and be content with 1-650th part of the attention of

the nation. If he have grand ideas, he must keep them to himself,

unless by chance, he can work his way up to the top of the tree.

In short, he must be a practical man. Now I knew that in politics

I could never become a practical man. I should never be satisfied

with a soft word from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, but would

always be flinging my overtaxed ketchup in his face.

Nor did it seem to me to be possible that I should ever become a

good speaker. I had no special gifts that way, and had not studied

the art early enough in life to overcome natural difficulties. I

had found that, with infinite labour, I could learn a few sentences

by heart, and deliver them, monotonously indeed, but clearly. Or,

again, if there were something special to be said, I could say it

in a commonplace fashion--but always as though I were in a hurry,

and with the fear before me of being thought to be prolix. But I

had no power of combining, as a public speaker should always do,

that which I had studied with that which occurred to me at the

moment. It must be all lesson,--which I found to be best; or else

all impromptu,--which was very bad, indeed, unless I had something

special on my mind. I was thus aware that I could do no good by

going into Parliament--that the time for it, if there could have

been a time, had gone by. But still I had an almost insane desire

to sit there, and be able to assure myself that my uncle's scorn

had not been deserved.

In 1867 it had been suggested to me that, in the event of a dissolution,

I should stand for one division of the County of Essex; and I had

promised that I would do so, though the promise at that time was

as rash a one as a man could make. I was instigated to this by the

late Charles Buxton, a man whom I greatly loved, and who was very

anxious that the county for which his brother had sat, and with

which the family were connected, should be relieved from what he

regarded as the thraldom of Toryism. But there was no dissolution

then. Mr. Disraeli passed his Reform Bill, by the help of the

Liberal member for Newark, and the summoning of a new Parliament

was postponed till the next year. By this new Reform Bill Essex

was portioned out into three instead of two electoral divisions,

one of which,--that adjacent to London,--would, it was thought,

be altogether Liberal. After the promise which I had given,

the performance of which would have cost me a large sum of money

absolutely in vain, it was felt by some that I should be selected

as one of the candidates for the new division--and as such I was

proposed by Mr. Charles Buxton. But another gentleman, who would

have been bound by previous pledges to support me, was put forward

by what I believe to have been the defeating interest, and I had

to give way. At the election this gentleman, with another Liberal,

who had often stood for the county, was returned without a contest.

Alas! alas! They were both unseated at the next election, when the

great Conservative reaction took place.

In the spring of 1868 I was sent to the United States on a postal

mission, of which I will speak presently. While I was absent the

dissolution took place. On my return I was somewhat too late to

look out for a seat, but I had friends who knew the weakness of my

ambition; and it was not likely, therefore, that I should escape

the peril of being put forward for some impossible borough as to

which the Liberal party would not choose that it should go to the

Conservatives without a struggle. At last, after one or two others,

Beverley was proposed to me, and to Beverley I went.

I must, however, exculpate the gentleman who acted as my agent, from

undue persuasion exercised towards me. He was a man who thoroughly

understood Parliament, having sat there himself--and he sits there

now at this moment. He understood Yorkshire,--or, at least, the

East Riding of Yorkshire, in which Beverley is situated,--certainly

better than any one alive. He understood all the mysteries of

canvassing, and he knew well the traditions, the condition, and the

prospect of the Liberal party. I will not give his name, but they

who knew Yorkshire in 1868 will not be at a loss to find it. "So,"

said he, "you are going to stand for Beverley?" I replied gravely

that I was thinking of doing so. "You don't expect to get in?" he

said. Again I was grave. I would not, I said, be sanguine, but,