The Three Clerks | Page 2

It is probable that all lovers of letters have their favourite
bed-books. Thackeray has charmingly told us of his. Of the few novels
that can really be enjoyed when the reader is settling down for slumber
almost all have been set forth by writers who--consciously or
unconsciously--have placed character before plot; Thackeray himself,
Miss Austen, Borrow, Marryat, Sterne, Dickens, Goldsmith
and--Trollope.
Books are very human in their way, as what else should they be,
children of men and women as they are? Just as with human friends so
with book friends, first impressions are often misleading; good literary
coin sometimes seems to ring untrue, but the untruth is in the ear of the
reader, not of the writer. For instance, Trollope has many odd and
irritating tricks which are apt to scare off those who lack perseverance
and who fail to understand that there must be something admirable in
that which was once much admired by the judicious. He shares with
Thackeray the sinful habit of pulling up his readers with a wrench by
reminding them that what is set before them is after all mere fiction and
that the characters in whose fates they are becoming interested are only
marionettes. With Dickens and others he shares the custom, so irritating
to us of to-day, of ticketing his personages with clumsy, descriptive
labels, such as, in The Three Clerks, Mr. Chaffanbrass, Sir Gregory
Hardlines, Sir Warwick West End, Mr. Neverbend, Mr. Whip Vigil, Mr.
Nogo and Mr. Gitemthruet. He must plead guilty, also, to some bad
ways peculiarly his own, or which he made so by the thoroughness
with which he indulged in them. He moralizes in his own person in
deplorable manner: is not this terrible:--'Poor Katie!--dear, darling,
bonnie Katie!--sweet, sweetest, dearest child! why, oh, why, has that
mother of thine, that tender-hearted loving mother, put thee unguarded
in the way of such perils as this? Has she not sworn to herself that over
thee at least she would watch as a hen over her young, so that no
unfortunate love should quench thy young spirit, or blanch thy cheek's

bloom?' Is this not sufficient to make the gentlest reader swear to
himself?
Fortunately this and some other appalling passages occur after the story
is in full swing and after the three Clerks and those with whom they
come into contact have proved themselves thoroughly interesting
companions. Despite all his old-fashioned tricks Trollope does
undoubtedly succeed in giving blood and life to most of his characters;
they are not as a rule people of any great eccentricity or of profound
emotions; but ordinary, every- day folk, such as all of us have met, and
loved or endured. Trollope fills very adequately a space between
Thackeray and Dickens, of whom the former deals for the most part
with the upper 'ten', the latter with the lower 'ten'; Trollope with the
suburban and country-town 'ten'; the three together giving us a very
complete and detailed picture of the lives led by our grandmothers and
grandfathers, whose hearts were in the same place as our own, but
whose manners of speech, of behaviour and of dress have now entered
into the vague region known as the 'days of yore'.
The Three Clerks is an excellent example of Trollope's handiwork. The
development of the plot is sufficiently skilful to maintain the reader's
interest, and the major part of the characters is lifelike, always well
observed and sometimes depicted with singular skill and insight.
Trollope himself liked the work well:--
'The plot is not so good as that of _The Macdermots_; nor are any
characters in the book equal to those of Mrs. Proudie and the Warden;
but the work has a more continued interest, and contains the first
well-described love-scene that I ever wrote. The passage in which Kate
Woodward, thinking she will die, tries to take leave of the lad she loves,
still brings tears to my eyes when I read it. I had not the heart to kill her.
I never could do that. And I do not doubt that they are living happily
together to this day.
'The lawyer Chaffanbrass made his first appearance in this novel, and I
do not think that I have cause to be ashamed of him. But this novel now
is chiefly noticeable to me from the fact that in it I introduced a
character under the name of Sir Gregory Hardlines, by which I intended

to lean very heavily on that much loathed scheme of competitive
examination, of which at that time Sir Charles Trevelyan was the great
apostle. Sir Gregory Hardlines was intended for Sir Charles
Trevelyan--as any one at the time would know who had taken an
interest in the Civil Service. 'We always call him Sir Gregory,' Lady
Trevelyan said to me afterwards