Religion and politics—the two spheres of human activity to be approached with caution, if not to be avoided, in polite conversation—are the subjects forming the basis of Anthony Trollope's two series of novels, the Barsetshire series and the Palliser series. No other writer of his stature has touched these areas on such a scale. Perhaps others have avoided them simply because they haven't been interested. Trollope was certainly interested in politics; he even ran for the House for Commons once, was defeated and was disillusioned. His interest in church affairs and church politics was less personal, though he did maintain his own personal theology.
His abiding interest in politics is evident in The Prime Minister, fifth in the series of the six Palliser novels. My recollection of the story from twenty-five years ago is mainly of Ferdinand Lopez, so that when he threw himself under a train at the Tenway Junction, I assumed that the book must be over. But no, we had the loose ends of the fate of his widow, Emily Wharton Lopez, to dispose of; and the main plot thread, that of the prime minister, the Duke of Omnium, to be concluded.
Lopez sticks in the memory as one who creates himself on a basis of audacity, charm, and freedom from any moral restraints. We meet him as a suitor for the hand of Emily Wharton, daughter of a wealthy barrister; he preys on her brother Everett and through him finds entrée to dinner at the Whartons' house. Both his social and financial careers are leveraged on slender bases that eventually collapse but support him long enough to make a sensational run. He is similar in many ways to Augustus Melmotte, who makes a larger run through the established circles of Victorian England in The Way We Live Now, Trollope's larger portrayal of contemporary mores written a year earlier in 1874.
A case might be made that the House of Commons is the major character in the novel. We are told that although the House is sometimes led and influenced by one of its members, the House during the ministry of the Duke of Omnium had no Prime Minister sitting among its members and was essentially on its own. Plantagenet Palliser had been obliged to leave the House of Commons for the House of Lords when his uncle's death made him the new Duke of Omnium, and we can hardly doubt the new Duke when he says that he would rather be a Member of the House of Commons than Duke of Omnium. It is not that the Duke was a charismatic leader of his fellows in the House. On the contrary, he was a patient workman, doing his homework and presenting lengthy accounts of the state of the Treasury. But without even that presence, the House first labored under the leadership of Sir Orlando Drought, whom the Prime Minister offended by his lack of interest in Sir Orlando's opinions. After the resignation of Sir Orlando, the Prime Minister was represented by Mr. Monk, a more congenial colleague. But the House grew restless under a Prime Minister who made no attempt to be friendly to any of its members and eventually shucked him off. All this was foreseen and observed by the Duke of St. Bungay, old and wise, whose counsel the younger Duke could not always bring himself to heed.
But although the House plays its anthropomorphic role by default in the absence of a powerful and ambitious Prime Minister, this Prime Minister is Plantagenet Palliser, Duke of Omnium. Trollope considered him one of his three greatest characters, and in this story he reaches the peak of his political career. Another of Trollope's trio of favorites, Lady Glencora, Duchess of Omnium, reaches the height of her own ambition as wife of the Prime Minister. (The third was Mr. Crawly in The Last Chronicle of Barset.) How would this portrayal fare as an isolated novel rather than as the linchpin in a series of six lengthy works? Perhaps an experiment should be conducted in which a class reads The Prime Minister with no previous exposure to the Pallisers and another class reads the series straight through. Would there be enough unpaid volunteers for such an experiment? I think that those already familiar with the Pallisers would have keener appreciation for their portrayal in power. Here we see the Duke accept the position of Prime Minister with reluctance, suffer through the slings and arrows of criticism, and then face the issue of whether he should resign. And Lady Glencora pitches in with enthusiasm to the project of entertaining those who are of any importance to her husband's success, despite his objections and refusal to participate in the effort. She encourages the villain Lopez, who becomes a thorn in their sides, and she pulls back from her adopted role as the Hostess with the Mostest.
Robert Caro has been compared to Trollope for his delineation of men and politics in a recent multivolume biography of Lyndon Johnson. This similarity is particularly apparent in Caro's description of Coke Stevenson, Lyndon Johnson's opponent in the race for the US Senate in Texas in 1948. Stevenson had served as governor of Texas and despite his disdain for politics, he had received record majorities in his gubernatiorial campaigns. He was a scrupulously honest public servant, but he was also a proud man, too proud to stoop to indulging in a personal attack on a political opponent. Johnson knew this, and he capitalized on it.
Reading this, I thought to myself: I know about proud men in politics. I know about Plantagenet Palliser. Perhaps one of the most telling portraits is that painted by his wife as she tells her friend Mrs. Finn that if he should hear treason being plotted against him, he would stop up his ears with his fingers. "He is all trust, even when he knows that he is being deceived. He is honor complete from head to foot."
This is not to say that Coke Stevenson was a latter day Plantagenet Palliser. But the similarities between the detailed portrayals of the historical Coke Stevenson and the fictional Plantagenet Palliser serve to validate the authenticity of the fictional predecessor. Both even had similar political wives.
Fay Stevenson was outgoing and friendly, but in contrast to Lady Glencora, she did not establish friendships for political purposes.
Glencora undoubtedly had her political reasons. But Susan Hampshire, in an interview about the television series in which she played Glencora, said that politicians' wives told her they considered Glencora to be the model of the political wife. Lady Glen was a woman who could flatter Sir Orlando Drought during his visit to Gatherum, even though she disliked him and knew that her husband had not been gracious to him.