An Autobiography of Anthony TrollopeTrollope, Anthony
General
An Autobiography of Anthony Trollope
Trollope, Anthony
Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Biography; Trollope, Anthony, 1815-1882
The gardener who had been with us in former days stopped me as I
drove up the road, and with gestures, signs, and whispered words,
gave me to understand that the whole affair--horse, gig, and
harness--would be made prize of if I went but a few yards farther.
Why they should not have been made prize of I do not know. The little
piece of dishonest business which I at once took in hand and carried
through successfully was of no special service to any of us. I
drove the gig into the village, and sold the entire equipage to the
ironmonger for £17, the exact sum which he claimed as being due to
himself. I was much complimented by the gardener, who seemed to think
that so much had been rescued out of the fire. I fancy that the
ironmonger was the only gainer by my smartness.
When I got back to the house a scene of devastation was in progress,
which still was not without its amusement. My mother, through
her various troubles, had contrived to keep a certain number of
pretty-pretties which were dear to her heart. They were not much, for
in those days the ornamentation of houses was not lavish as it is
now; but there was some china, and a little glass, a few books, and
a very moderate supply of household silver. These things, and things
like them, were being carried down surreptitiously, through a gap
between the two gardens, on to the premises of our friend Colonel
Grant. My two sisters, then sixteen and seventeen, and the Grant
girls, who were just younger, were the chief marauders. To such
forces I was happy to add myself for any enterprise, and between us
we cheated the creditors to the extent of our powers, amidst the
anathemas, but good-humoured abstinence from personal violence, of
the men in charge of the property. I still own a few books that were
thus purloined.
For a few days the whole family bivouacked under the Colonel's
hospitable roof, cared for and comforted by that dearest of all
women, his wife. Then we followed my father to Belgium, and
established ourselves in a large house just outside the walls of
Bruges. At this time, and till my father's death, everything was
done with money earned by my mother. She now again furnished the
house,--this being the third that she had put in order since she
came back from America two years and a half ago.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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