The Warden Barchester Towers Dr. Thorne Framley Parsonage The Small House at Allington The Last Chronicle of Barset
The Eustace Diamonds Can You Forgive Her? Phineas Finn Phineas Redux The Prime Minister The Duke's Children
Orley Farm The Vicar of Bullhampton Is He Popenjoy? John Caldigate The Belton Estate
Good stories all of them; and the enthusiastic Trollopian may wish also to read "The Three Clerks," in which Chaffanbrass is introduced for the first time; "The Bertrams," of which Trollope says, "I do not remember ever to have heard even a friend speak well of it"; "Castle Richmond," which is hard going: "Miss MacKenzie," in which there is a description of a dinner-party _à la Russe_, not unworthy of the author of Mrs. Proudie's reception in "Barchester Towers."
The list is by no means complete, but by this time we may have enough and not wish to make Lotta Schmidt's acquaintance, or give a hoot "Why Frau Frohman Raised Her Prices." I once knew but have forgotten.
Personally, Trollope was the typical Englishman: look at his portrait. He was dogmatic, self-assertive, rather irritable and hard to control, as his superiors in the Post-Office, in which he spent the greater part of his life, well knew; not altogether an amiable character, one would say. His education was by no means first-class, and his English is the English we talk rather than the English we write; but he was able to use it in a way sufficient for his purpose.
Listen to the conclusion of his Autobiography:--
It will not, I trust, be supposed by any reader that I have intended in this so-called autobiography to give a record of my inner life. No man ever did so truly--and no man ever will. Rousseau probably attempted it, but who doubts but that Rousseau has confessed in much the thoughts and convictions, rather than the facts, of his life? If the rustle of a woman's petticoat has ever stirred my blood; if a cup of wine has been a joy to me; if I have thought tobacco at midnight in pleasant company to be one of the elements of an earthly paradise; if, now and again, I have somewhat recklessly fluttered a five-pound note over a card-table--of what matter is that to any reader? I have betrayed no woman. Wine has brought me no sorrow. It has been the companionship of smoking that I have loved, rather than the habit. I have never desired to win money, and I have lost none. To enjoy the excitement of pleasure, but to be free from its vices and ill effects--to have the sweet, and leave the bitter untasted--that has been my study. The preachers tell us that this is impossible. It seems to me that hitherto I have succeeded fairly well. I will not say that I have never scorched a finger--but I carry no ugly wounds.