Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “I have heard nothing of him of late years; but of course you know that he married his cousin, Miss Temple, very soon after we left Silverton.”

  “Very soon?” said Mrs. O’Donagough, with a sigh.

  “Yes, my dear sister,” replied Willoughby, with a melancholy smile; “it is not often that hearts, lost in country quarters, fail to return to the losers as they march out of the town. Happily both for the boys and girls concerned, but few such adventures end as mine did.”

  “Happily, indeed, for me!” replied the bride, with a toss of her head: “for aught I know, Tate may be alive now ... and the happy wife of O’Donagough may well rejoice that no such thraldom was the consequence of Captain Tate’s presumptuous attachment!”

  Though Mr. Peters was really very civil, and though Mr. James joined for several minutes in the conversation, it is probable that the reverend missionary did not enjoy it so much as his lady did listening to Mr. Willoughby; for at an early hour he told her it was time to take leave. She instantly obeyed, and began making her circular farewell — a ceremony of rather an embarrassing nature to many of the party, for out of the fifteen persons she left in the room, she kissed eight; Lady Elizabeth, Sir Edward and Lady Stephenson, Colonel Hubert, and Frederick, being permitted to escape without even an attempt at joining them in this valedictory greeting, and Miss Compton, rising at her approach, making her by far the lowest courtesy her knees ever performed, in a manner which effectually averted it from herself.

  Mrs. O’Donagough’s departure from England was a great blessing to all the connexions she left behind, for, had she continued within reach of them, it is hardly possible but some annoyance would have been the consequence. As it was, however, sorrow seemed to depart with her; for seldom does so large a portion of happiness as fell to the lot of those she had formerly tormented, attend the career of any.

  Colonel Hubert, although he actually did very soon become a general, never again felt any alarm on the score of his age, but had the happiness of knowing that he was beloved with all the devoted tenderness that his heart desired, and his noble character deserved. Agnes never ceased to glory in her choice, and loved nothing better than to make Aunt Betsy confess that her great nephew, notwithstanding his being a general, was more like a hero than any other man she had ever seen. Miss Compton lived to see an extremely fine lad, called Compton Hubert Compton, becoming so fond of the fields and the pheasants of Compton Basett, as to leave her no rest till she had persuaded the trustees of the settlement she had made to expend the money in their hands upon the purchase of some neighbouring lands, — including the manor in which they were situated, and the converting of the old roomy farm-house into a residence which she confessed to be worthy of the representative of the ancient Compton race. This alteration, indeed, took place several years before the old lady died, and it was at Compton Basett, thus metamorphosed, that she had the pleasure of observing to Mrs. Wilmot, that the conversation they had held on that spot together, had not been altogether without effect.

  Mr. Willoughby and his elegant sisters become perfectly reconciled, a circumstance extremely agreeable to Lady Elizabeth Norris, as it gave her repeated opportunities of convincing herself that the nose of her niece, Mrs. General Hubert, was decidedly an improvement upon that of the honourable Miss Nivett, though the family resemblance was sufficiently remarkable. Frederick and Nora were as gay and happy a couple as ever enjoyed ten thousand a year together. Occasionally, of course, they were in debt, as all people of ten thousand a year must be; but, on the whole, they contrived to bring matters round wonderfully well, and as their property was fortunately settled, and Sir Edward happened to die without children, their family of six sons and six daughters were left at last very tolerably provided for.

  Mrs. O’Donagough’s voyage to New England was quite as agreeable as such a voyage generally is; and on arriving, she was greatly consoled for any little inequalities in her young husband’s temper by the great success of his preaching. For at least six months after their arrival, he was more in the fashion than any gentleman of any profession had ever been before; but at the end of that time, the reverend preacher unfortunately was present at a horse-race, upon which the recondite wisdom of the fable, which treats of a cat turned into a woman, must have become manifest to every reflecting mind acquainted with the circumstances of Mr. O’Donagough’s early life; for no sooner did the race begin, than almost unconsciously he offered a bet to one of his congregation who stood near him; and before the end of the day, he was seen mounted in a blue and yellow jacket, riding for a jockey who had broken his leg in a hurdle race.

  It was then that Mrs. O’Donagough became sensible of the blessing of having a settlement; and thankful was she to the noble father of her spouse for all the care bestowed to prevent his bringing himself again to penury, when he was brought home dead to her one fine afternoon, having lost his seat and his life together in a leap upon which he had betted considerably more than he possessed.

  She mourned for him as he deserved; but not being upon this occasion very nice upon whom she could devolve the task of wearing black, she announced to all her Sidney friends that it was not the fashion in the old world for ladies of distinction to wear that dismal colour for more than a month for any husband who died by accident; and it was, therefore, once more, in all the splendour of her favourite rainbow colouring that she met a few months afterwards her old friend Major Allen.

  He entered into no very tedious or particular details respecting the reasons for, or the manner of, his voyage out, but testified much cordial satisfaction at the meeting; while, on the other hand, Mrs. O’Donagough was as remarkably communicative as he was the reverse, dilating largely on my Lord — — ‘s careful attention to her interest on her marriage with his son, who had insisted upon coming out in a fit of religious enthusiasm, which, as she sensibly observed, was not at all likely to last.

  It was not very long after this meeting that Mrs. O’Donagough became aware of the truth of the song, which says,

  “Mais on retourne toujours A ses premières amours.”

  For it was evident that the sentiment which circumstances had so rudely shaken at Clifton a year or two before, was again putting forth its leaves and flowers, and that it depended upon herself alone whether she should not yet become the wife of the accomplished Major Allen.

  For a few weeks she struggled with her remaining affection, but at the end of that time it overpowered all her doubts and fears, and only stipulating that, as before, all she had should be firmly settled upon herself, she once more entered the holy state of matrimony. In justice to the peerage, it ought to be stated, that on this her third wedding-day she wore around her neck a very handsome necklace of shell, carefully sent out to her by the confidential agent of my Lord Mucklebury.

  THE END

  MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, THE FACTORY BOY

  The Life and Adventures of Michael Armstrong, The Factory Boy was first published in twelve instalments in 1839 by Henry Colburn. Trollope received the considerable sum of eight hundred pounds in return for her work, which indicates the popularity of her writing during the 1830’s. The author had a keen interest in certain areas of social reform, one of which was the issue of child labour in factories. In 1833 the Althorp’s Act was passed in parliament; it was intended to offer some protection for factory workers in the textiles industry; in particular it sought to limit the working hours for children and legislate against anyone under nine being employed in the mills. However, the Act enraged mill-owners and was poorly enforced, failing to satisfy those fighting for children’s or workers’ rights. The campaign for a shorter working day continued and in the late 1830’s it began to gain more traction. Trollope determined to write a novel on factory life and the conditions of children working in the textile industry. She hoped to raise awareness about the issue, and decided that she needed to visit the mills to properly research her work. She travelled with her son, Thomas, to Manchester and Yorkshire to observe the factory
system and gather accurate information about the lives of child labourers. Another vital source for her novel was A Memoir of Robert Blincoe, which was first released in weekly instalments in 1828.

  Blincoe was born in the late eighteenth century and as a young orphaned boy he had been placed in a London workhouse. He was soon sold as an ‘apprentice’ to work in a mill in the Midlands, where he and the other children experienced horrific, violent and sadistic treatment. He spent the rest of his childhood working in mills, before beginning his own cotton business as an adult. Trollope’s novel is greatly indebted to Blincoe and she borrowed from his memoir when writing about several of Michael’s experiences as a child labourer. Perhaps the most vivid episode, which was accompanied by a graphic illustration by Auguste Hervieu, was that of the child workers being so starved and under-nourished that they were reduced to eating from the pigs’ trough.

  Michael Armstrong is predominantly centred on the young heiress, Mary Brotherton, who over the course of the novel comes to realise the horror, brutality and injustice of the factory system. However, despite Mary being the primary focus, the most evocative passages of the book are those which relate Michael’s experiences as a child labourer. The novel stirred hostility from many critics that were deeply concerned that it might incite an uprising. One reviewer was so incensed that he suggested Trollope should be imprisoned for eighteen months for daring to write such a book. The author did not possess radically left wing views and when she learned that Chartists were among the greatest admirers of her novel she was greatly displeased. However, despite Trollope often being viewed a conservative writer, the text was not only an indictment of mill owners or managers but of those that colluded in the system or profited from it in any respect. It argues that philanthropy is not an adequate solution to the cruel and unjust exploitation of children, and that state intervention and strictly enforced legislation are necessary to mitigate the worst abuses of a profoundly immoral system.

  One of the most controversial elements of the novel was the cross class marriage between Mary and the disabled Edward. The union between the two was considered such a transgression that Trollope only writes of them entering into marriage in the most vague and ‘obscure’ (p386) terms. It was not only the class divide, but the inversion of gender roles, which was deemed inappropriate. Mary was wealthier, older, and physically and mentally stronger than her husband. This dynamic disturbed traditional gender relations and challenged the dominant social paradigm.

  The first edition in serial parts

  The first edition in book format

  The first edition’s title page

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XI.

  CHAPTER XII.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  CHAPTER XV.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  CHAPTER XX.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  The famous Auguste Hervieu illustration from the novel

  The first edition’s frontispiece

  PREFACE.

  WHEN the author of “Michael Armstrong” first determined on attempting to draw the attention of her countrymen to the fearful evils inherent in the Factory System, as carried out in our manufacturing towns, she intended to divide her work into two portions, which should present the same subject under two different phases. It was her intention in the first of these to drag into the light of day, and place before the eyes of Englishmen, the hideous mass of injustice and suffering to which thousands of infant labourers are subjected, who toil in our monster spinning-mills. In the second, she proposed that the hero of her tale, having lived through his toil-worn boyhood, should have been seen embarked in those perfectly constitutional struggles for the amelioration of the sufferings of his class, in which many of the more enlightened operatives have been for some years engaged.

  The first division of the subject has been some time in the reader’s hands. The true but most painful picture has been drawn faithfully and conscientiously. Of course voices have been raised to deny loudly the truth of all the author’s statements, and to assert the whole to be a mere tissue of invention and falsehood. The same charges have been made against her upon another occasion, and she has lived to see the truth of her statements, so impugned, universally admitted. She awaits with perfect confidence the time when similar justice shall be rendered to these pages.

  But with respect to that division of the subject which it was intended to bring forward in the latter part of her work, the author’s views have undergone very considerable change. Knowing the immense amount of evil to be remedied, and the urgent necessity, for many reasons, that this remedy should not be delayed, it is grievous to see misguided and unfortunate men pursuing a course which must necessarily neutralize the efforts of their true friends. When those in whose behalf she hoped to move the sympathy of their country are found busy in scenes of outrage and lawless violence, and uniting themselves with individuals whose doctrines are subversive of every species of social order, the author feels that it would be alike acting in violation of her own principles, and doing injury to the cause she wishes to serve, were she to persist in an attempt to hold up as objects of public sympathy, men who have stained their righteous cause with deeds of violence and blood. The author is well aware that many, as well operatives as their superiors, who were engaged in a virtuous struggle against the lawless power which oppresses them, deplore the madness of these ill-advised men as much as herself. But the cause has been too much sullied, and the sufferers too closely associated in the public eye with those who have been guilty of all she most deprecates, to permit her continuing the work as she intended.

  Under these circumstances she has determined that the existence of her hero as an operative shall close with his childhood. No misconstruction of principles, no misconception of motives can exist with regard to an attempt to ameliorate the lot of infant labourers. That her pages may assist in promoting this object is her humble and most ardent hope. “The Life and Adventures of Michael Armstrong” are, therefore, concluded in the twelfth number.

  CHAPTER I.

  DESCRIPTION OF DOWLING LODGE AND ITS APPURTENANCES — OF ITS MASTER — OF ITS MISTRESS — AND ALL THE MASTERS AND MISSES DOWLING — A LARGE DINNER-PARTY — A HOT DRAWING ROOM, AND THE WAY TO ESCAPE FROM IT.

  No traveller can ride or drive within sight of Dowling Lodge, without being tempted to inquire, “Whose house is that?”

  It forms, indeed, a very striking object on the right of the London road, as the hill rises gradually, and overlooks the town of Ashleigh, one of the busiest in Lancashire, to the left; for although the trees about the mansion are not yet of sufficient growth to make it picturesque, its lofty portico, well-proportioned wings, and commanding site, render it an ornament to the neighbourhood for miles round.

  Those who are admitted to a nearer view of the house (and, for the convenience of the public, every Wednesday is set apart for its being shown), will find still more to admire, than such as see it only from a distance. It has its park and its pinery; conservatories, which cause the mercury in the thermometer, when paraded through them, to run up to the cocoa-ripening heat of the tropics, and icehouses that would bring it down again to the temperature of Bhering’s Straits. It has three drawing-rooms, two
dining-rooms, a great library, all full of new books; as many bedrooms, dressing-rooms, and boudoirs, as a great man’s house ought to have, and a study besides — Sir Matthew Dowling’s own private study. This delightful little apartment is small, not more than twelve feet square; but nothing can be more agreeable and convenient. It opens by one door from the great hall of entrance, and by another communicates through a long stone-passage with the offices of the mansion; enabling the knight to receive, without interruption, not only his overlookers (Sir Matthew being the proprietor of many cotton-mills), but his coachman, gardener, bailiff, and whomever else he might wish to transact business with.

  Of the fitting up of this princely mansion, it is only necessary to say, that it is done in a spirit of emulative imitation, which renders it fully equal, in this respect, to the most finished private dwellings in Europe. The furniture is uniformly rich throughout: the picture-frames in the best style of art; Saxony carpets in the drawing-rooms, Turkey ditto in the dining-rooms, Brussels in the bedrooms, and indeed not a single inch of Kidderminster any where, except in the garrets.

  I will not attempt to state the amount of Sir Matthew Dowling’s wealth; Cocker himself would have found it a laborious task to make the calculation; and it is sufficient for the gratification of all reasonable curiosity to say, that throughout the whole line of that Golconda country, which, being the busiest of the manufacturing districts, is probably the richest in the world, there was not any one who could vie in wealth with him. In a word, he shone amidst his rich neighbours like a golden sun, surrounded by silver moons.