Anthony Trollope - Autobiography of Anthony Trollope
word of my own writing aloud,--even to her. With one exception,--which
shall be mentioned as I come to it,--I have never consulted a friend
as to a plot, or spoken to any one of the work I have been doing.
My first manuscript I gave up to my mother, agreeing with her that
it would be as well that she should not look at it before she gave
it to a publisher. I knew that she did not give me credit for the
sort of cleverness necessary for such work. I could see in the
faces and hear in the voices of those of my friends who were around
me at the house in Cumberland,--my mother, my sister, my brother-in-law,
and, I think, my brother,--that they had not expected me to come
out as one of the family authors. There were three or four in the
field before me, and it seemed to be almost absurd that another
should wish to add himself to the number. My father had written
much,--those long ecclesiastical descriptions,--quite unsuccessfully.
My mother had become one of the popular authors of the day. My
brother had commenced, and had been fairly well paid for his work.
My sister, Mrs. Tilley, had also written a novel, which was at the
time in manuscript--which was published afterwards without her name,
and was called Chollerton. I could perceive that this attempt of
mine was felt to be an unfortunate aggravation of the disease.
My mother, however, did the best she could for me, and soon reported
that Mr. Newby, of Mortimer Street, was to publish the book. It
was to be printed at his expense, and he was to give me half the
profits. Half the profits! Many a young author expects much from such
an undertaking. I can, with truth, declare that I expected nothing.
And I got nothing. Nor did I expect fame, or even acknowledgment.
I was sure that the book would fail, and it did fail most absolutely.
I never heard of a person reading it in those days. If there was
any notice taken of it by any critic of the day, I did not see it.
I never asked any questions about it, or wrote a single letter on
the subject to the publisher. I have Mr. Newby's agreement with me,
in duplicate, and one or two preliminary notes; but beyond that I
did not have a word from Mr. Newby. I am sure that he did not wrong
me in that he paid me nothing. It is probable that he did not sell
fifty copies of the work;--but of what he did sell he gave me no
account.
I do not remember that I felt in any way disappointed or hurt. I
am quite sure that no word of complaint passed my lips. I think I
may say that after the publication I never said a word about the
book, even to my wife. The fact that I had written and published
it, and that I was writing another, did not in the least interfere
with my life, or with my determination to make the best I could of
the Post Office. In Ireland, I think that no one knew that I had
written a novel. But I went on writing. The Macdermots was published
in 1847, and The Kellys and the O'Kellys followed in 1848. I
changed my publisher, but did not change my fortune. This second
Irish story was sent into the world by Mr. Colburn, who had
long been my mother's publisher, who reigned in Great Marlborough
Street, and I believe created the business which is now carried on
by Messrs. Hurst & Blackett. He had previously been in partnership
with Mr. Bentley in New Burlington Street. I made the same agreement
as before as to half profits, and with precisely the same results.
The book was not only not read, but was never heard of,--at any
rate, in Ireland. And yet it is a good Irish story, much inferior
to The Macdermots as to plot, but superior in the mode of telling.
Again I held my tongue, and not only said nothing but felt nothing.
Any success would, I think, have carried me off my legs, but I was
altogether prepared for failure. Though I thoroughly enjoyed the
writing of these books, I did not imagine, when the time came for
publishing them, that any one would condescend to read them.
But in reference to The O'Kellys there arose a circumstance which
set my mind to work on a subject which has exercised it much ever
since. I made my first acquaintance with criticism. A dear friend
of mine to whom the book had been sent,--as have all my books,--wrote
me word to Ireland that he had been dining at some club with a man
high in authority among the gods of the Times newspaper, and that
this special god had almost promised that The O'Kellys should be
noticed in that most influential of "organs." The information moved
me very much; but it set me thinking whether the notice, should it
ever appear, would not have been more valuable, at any rate, more
honest, if it had been produced by other means;--if, for instance,
the writer of the notice had been instigated by the merits or demerits
of the book instead of by the friendship of a friend. And I made
up my mind then that, should I continue this trade of authorship,
I would have no dealings with any critic on my own behalf. I would
neither ask for nor deplore criticism, nor would I ever thank a
critic for praise, or quarrel with him, even in my own heart, for
censure. To this rule I have adhered with absolute strictness, and
this rule I would recommend to all young authors. What can be got
by touting among the critics is never worth the ignominy. The same
may, of course, be said of all things acquired by ignominious means.
But in this matter it is so easy to fall into the dirt. Facilis
descensus Averni. There seems to be but little fault in suggesting
to a friend that a few words in this or that journal would be of
service. But any praise so obtained must be an injustice to the
public, for whose instruction, and not for the sustentation of the
author, such notices are intended. And from such mild suggestion
the descent to crawling at the critic's feet, to the sending of
presents, and at last to a mutual understanding between critics
and criticised, is only too easy. Other evils follow, for the
denouncing of which this is hardly the place;--though I trust I
may find such place before my work is finished. I took no notice
of my friend's letter, but I was not the less careful in watching
The Times. At last the review came,--a real review in The Times. I
learned it by heart, and can now give, if not the words, the exact
purport. "Of The Kellys and the O'Kellys we may say what the master
said to his footman, when the man complained of the constant supply
of legs of mutton on the kitchen table. Well, John, legs of mutton
are good, substantial food;' and we may say also what John replied:
'Substantial, sir,--yes, they are substantial, but a little coarse.'"
That was the review, and even that did not sell the book!
From Mr. Colburn I did receive an account, showing that 375 copies
of the book had been printed, that 140 had been sold,--to those,
I presume, who liked substantial food though it was coarse,--and
that he had incurred a loss of (pounds)63 19S. 1 1/2d. The truth of the
account I never for a moment doubted; nor did I doubt the wisdom
of the advice given to me in the following letter, though I never
thought of obeying it--
"GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET,
November 11, 1848.
"MY DEAR SIR,--I am sorry to say that absence from town and other
circumstances have prevented me from earlier inquiring into the
results of the sale of The Kellys and the O'Kellys, with which the
greatest efforts have been used, but in vain. The sale has been,
I regret to say, so small that the loss upon the publication is
very considerable; and it appears clear to me that, although in
consequence of the great number of novels that are published, the
sale of each, with some few exceptions, must be small, yet it is
evident that readers do not like novels on Irish subjects as well
as on others. Thus, you will perceive, it is impossible for me to
give any encouragement to you to proceed in novel-writing.
"As, however, I understand you have nearly finished the novel La Vendee,
perhaps you will favour me with a sight of it when convenient.--I
remain, etc., etc.,
"H. COLBURN."
This, though not strictly logical, was a rational letter, telling
a plain truth plainly. I did not like the assurance that "the
greatest efforts had been used," thinking that any efforts which
might be made for the popularity of a book ought to have come from
the author;--but I took in good part Mr. Colburn's assurance that
he could not encourage me in the career I had commenced. I would
have bet twenty to one against my own success. But by continuing
I could lose only pen and paper; and if the one chance in twenty
did turn up in my favour, then how much might I win!
CHAPTER V My first success 1849-1855
I had at once gone to work on a third novel, and had nearly
completed it, when I was informed of the absolute failure of the
former. I find, however, that the agreement for its publication was
not made till 1850, by which time I imagine that Mr. Colburn must
have forgotten the disastrous result of The O'Kellys, as he thereby
agrees to give me (pounds)20 down for my "new historical novel, to be
called La Vendee." He agreed also to pay me (pounds)30 more when he had
sold 350 copies, and (pounds)50 more should he sell 450 within six months. I
got my (pounds)20, and then heard no more of (pounds)a Vendee, not even receiving
any account. Perhaps the historical title had appeared more alluring
to him than an Irish subject; though it was not long afterwards that
I received a warning from the very same house of business against
historical novels,--as I will tell at length when the proper time
comes.
I have no doubt that the result of the sale of this story was
no better than that of the two that had gone before. I asked no
questions, however, and to this day have received no information.
The story is certainly inferior to those which had gone before;--chiefly
because I knew accurately the life of the people in Ireland, and
knew, in truth, nothing of life in the La Vendee country, and also
because the facts of the present time came more within the limits
of my powers of story-telling than those of past years. But I read
the book the other day, and am not ashamed of it. The conception
as to the feeling of the people is, I think, true; the characters
are distinct, and the tale is not dull. As far as I can remember,
this morsel of criticism is the only one that was ever written on
