An Autobiography of Anthony TrollopeTrollope, Anthony
General
An Autobiography of Anthony Trollope
Trollope, Anthony
Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Biography; Trollope, Anthony, 1815-1882
We ourselves, however, on entering Milan had been in quite as much
distress as any that he suffered. We had not written for beds, and
on driving up to a hotel at ten in the evening found it full. Thence
we went from one hotel to another, finding them all full. The misery
is one well known to travellers, but I never heard of another case
in which a man and his wife were told at midnight to get out of the
conveyance into the middle of the street because the horse could not
be made to go any further. Such was our condition. I induced the
driver, however, to go again to the hotel which was nearest to him,
and which was kept by a German. Then I bribed the porter to get the
master to come down to me; and, though my French is ordinarily very
defective, I spoke with such eloquence to that German innkeeper that
he, throwing his arms round my neck in a transport of compassion,
swore that he would never leave me nor my wife till he had put us to
bed. And he did so; but, ah! there were so many in those beds! It
is such an experience as this which teaches a travelling foreigner
how different on the Continent is the accommodation provided for him,
from that which is supplied for the inhabitants of the country.
It was on a previous visit to Milan, when the telegraph-wires were
only just opened to the public by the Austrian authorities, that we
had decided one day at dinner that we would go to Verona that night.
There was a train at six, reaching Verona at midnight, and we asked
some servant of the hotel to telegraph for us, ordering supper and
beds. The demand seemed to create some surprise; but we persisted,
and were only mildly grieved when we found ourselves charged twenty
zwanzigers for the message. Telegraphy was new at Milan, and the
prices were intended to be almost prohibitory. We paid our twenty
zwanzigers and went on, consoling ourselves with the thought of our
ready supper and our assured beds. When we reached Verona, there
arose a great cry along the platform for Signor Trollope. I put
out my head and declared my identity, when I was waited upon by a
glorious personage dressed like a beau for a ball, with half-a-dozen
others almost as glorious behind him, who informed me, with his hat
in his hand, that he was the landlord of the "Due Torre." It was
a heating moment, but it became more hot when he asked me after
my people,--"mes gens." I could only turn round, and point to my
wife and brother-in-law. I had no other "people." There were three
carriages provided for us, each with a pair of grey horses. When we
reached the house it was all lit up. We were not allowed to move
without an attendant with a lighted candle. It was only gradually
that the mistake came to be understood. On us there was still the
horror of the bill, the extent of which could not be known till the
hour of departure had come. The landlord, however, had acknowledged
to himself that his inductions had been ill-founded, and he treated
us with clemency.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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