Amercian Senator

Anthony Trollope

Description

'Fish out of water' novels offer skilled satirists an unparalleled opportunity to skewer the more ridiculous aspects of a particular society or historical period. In the hands of renowned humorist Anthony Trollope, this tale of an American senator who pays an extended visit to the English countryside is a treasure trove of keen insight and hilarious satire.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775450719
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE AMERCIAN SENATOR
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
 
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The Amercian Senator First published in 1877 ISBN 978-1-775450-71-9 © 2011 The Floating Press While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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VOLUME I Chapter I - Dillsborough Chapter II - The Morton Family Chapter III - The Masters Family Chapter IV - The Dillsborough Club Chapter V - Reginald Morton Chapter VI - Not in Love Chapter VII - The Walk Home Chapter VIII - The Paragon's Party at Bragton Chapter IX - The Old Kennels Chapter X - Goarly's Revenge Chapter XI - From Impington Gorse Chapter XII - Arabella Trefoil Chapter XIII - At Bragton Chapter XIV - The Dillsborough Feud Chapter XV - A Fit Companion,—For Me and My Sisters Chapter XVI - Mr. Gotobed's Philanthropy Chapter XVII - Lord Rufford's Invitation Chapter XVIII - The Attorney's Family is Disturbed Chapter XIX - "Who Valued the Geese?" Chapter XX - There Are Convenances Chapter XXI - The First Evening at Rufford Hall Chapter XXII - Jemima Chapter XXIII - Poor Caneback Chapter XXIV - The Ball Chapter XXV - The Last Morning at Rufford Hall Chapter XXVI - Give Me Six Months Chapter XXVII - "Wonderful Bird!" VOLUME II Chapter I - Mounser Green Chapter II - The Senator's Letter Chapter III - At Cheltenham Chapter IV - The Rufford Correspondence Chapter V - "It is a Long Way" Chapter VI - The Beginning of Persecution Chapter VII - Mary's Letter Chapter VIII - Chowton Farm for Sale Chapter IX - Mistletoe Chapter X - How Things Were Arranged Chapter XI - "You Are so Severe" Chapter XII - The Day at Peltry Chapter XIII - Lord Rufford Wants to See a Horse Chapter XIV - The Senator is Badly Treated Chapter XV - Mr. Mainwaring's Little Dinner Chapter XVI - Persecution Chapter XVII - "Particularly Proud of You" Chapter XVIII - Lord Rufford Makes Up His Mind Chapter XIX - It Cannot Be Arranged Chapter XX - "But there is Some One" Chapter XXI - The Dinner at the Bush Chapter XXII - Miss Trefoil's Decision Chapter XXIII - "In These Days One Can't Make a Man Marry" Chapter XXIV - The Senator's Second Letter Chapter XXV - Providence Interferes Chapter XXVI - Lady Ushant at Bragton Chapter XXVII - Arabella Again at Bragton VOLUME III Chapter I - "I Have Told Him Everything" Chapter II - "Now What Have You Got to Say?" Chapter III - Mrs. Morton Returns Chapter IV - The Two Old Ladies Chapter V - The Last Effort Chapter VI - Again at Mistletoe Chapter VII - The Success of Lady Augustus Chapter VIII - "We Shall Kill Each Other" Chapter IX - Changes at Bragton Chapter X - The Will Chapter XI - The New Minister Chapter XII - "I Must Go" Chapter XIII - In the Park Chapter XIV - Lord Rufford's Model Farm Chapter XV - Scrobby's Trial Chapter XVI - At Last Chapter XVII - "My Own, Own Husband" Chapter XVIII - "Bid Him Be a Man" Chapter XIX - "Is it Tanti?" Chapter XX - Benedict Chapter XXI - Arabella's Success Chapter XXII - The Wedding Chapter XXIII - The Senator's Lecture—No. I Chapter XXIV - The Senator's Lecture—No. II Chapter XXV - The Last Days of Mary Masters Chapter XXVI - Conclusion
VOLUME I
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Chapter I - Dillsborough
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I never could understand why anybody should ever have begun to liveat Dillsborough, or why the population there should have been atany time recruited by new comers. That a man with a family shouldcling to a house in which he has once established himself isintelligible. The butcher who supplied Dillsborough, or the baker,or the ironmonger, though he might not drive what is called aroaring trade, nevertheless found himself probably able to live,and might well hesitate before he would encounter the dangers of amore energetic locality. But how it came to pass that he first gothimself to Dillsborough, or his father, or his grandfather beforehim, has always been a mystery to me. The town has no attractions,and never had any. It does not stand on a bed of coal and has noconnection with iron. It has no water peculiarly adapted for beer,or for dyeing, or for the cure of maladies. It is not surrounded bybeauty of scenery strong enough to bring tourists and holidaytravellers. There is no cathedral there to form, with its bishops,prebendaries, and minor canons, the nucleus of a clerical circle.It manufactures nothing specially. It has no great horse fair, orcattle fair, or even pig market of special notoriety. EverySaturday farmers and graziers and buyers of corn and sheep docongregate in a sleepy fashion about the streets, but Dillsboroughhas no character of its own, even as a market town. Its chief gloryis its parish church, which is ancient and inconvenient, having notas yet received any of those modern improvements which have of latebecome common throughout England; but its parish church, thoughremarkable, is hardly celebrated. The town consists chiefly of onestreet which is over a mile long, with a square or market-place inthe middle, round which a few lanes with queer old names arecongregated, and a second small open space among these lanes, inwhich the church stands. As you pass along the street north-west,away from the railway station and from London, there is a steephill, beginning to rise just beyond the market-place. Up to thatpoint it is the High Street, thence it is called Bullock's Hill.Beyond that you come to Norrington Road,—Norrington being the nexttown, distant from Dillsborough about twelve miles. Dillsborough,however, stands in the county of Rufford, whereas at the top ofBullock's Hill you enter the county of Ufford, of which Norringtonis the assize town. The Dillsborough people are therefore divided,some two thousand five hundred of them belonging to Rufford, andthe remaining five hundred to the neighbouring county. Thisaccident has given rise to not a few feuds, Ufford being a largecounty, with pottery, and ribbons, and watches going on in thefarther confines; whereas Rufford is small and thoroughlyagricultural. The men at the top of Bullock's Hill are thereforedisposed to think themselves better than their fellow-townsfolks,though they are small in number and not specially thriving in theircircumstances.
At every interval of ten years, when the census is taken, thepopulation of Dillsborough is always found to have fallen off insome slight degree. For a few months after the publication of thefigures a slight tinge of melancholy comes upon the town. Thelandlord of the Bush Inn, who is really an enterprising man in hisway and who has looked about in every direction for new sources ofbusiness, becomes taciturn for a while and forgets to smile uponcomers; Mr. Ribbs, the butcher, tells his wife that it is out ofthe question that she and the children should take thatlong-talked-of journey to the sea-coast; and Mr. Gregory Masters,the well-known old-established attorney of Dillsborough, whispersto some confidential friend that he might as well take down hisplate and shut up his house. But in a month or two all that isforgotten, and new hopes spring up even in Dillsborough; Mr.Runciman at the Bush is putting up new stables for hunting-horses,that being the special trade for which he now finds that there isan opening; Mrs. Ribbs is again allowed to suggest Mare-Slocumb;and Mr. Masters goes on as he has done for the last forty years,making the best he can of a decreasing business.
Dillsborough is built chiefly of brick, and is, in its own way,solid enough. The Bush, which in the time of the present landlord'sfather was one of the best posting inns on the road, is not onlysubstantial, but almost handsome. A broad coach way, cut throughthe middle of the house, leads into a spacious, well-kept, cleanyard, and on each side of the coach way there are bay windowslooking into the street,—the one belonging to the commercialparlour, and the other to the so-called coffee-room. But thecoffee-room has in truth fallen away from its former purposes, andis now used for a farmer's ordinary on market days, and othersimilar purposes. Travellers who require the use of a publicsitting-room must all congregate in the commercial parlour at theBush. So far the interior of the house has fallen from its pastgreatness. But the exterior is maintained with much care. Thebrickwork up to the eaves is well pointed, fresh, and comfortableto look at. In front of the carriage-way swings on two massivesupports the old sign of the Bush, as to which it may be doubtedwhether even Mr. Runciman himself knows that it has swung there, orbeen displayed in some fashion, since it was the custom for thelandlord to beat up wine to freshen it before it was given to thecustomers to drink. The church, too, is of brick—though the towerand chancel are of stone. The attorney's house is of brick, whichshall not be more particularly described now as many of the sceneswhich these pages will have to describe were acted there; andalmost the entire High Street in the centre of the town was brickalso.
But the most remarkable house in Dillsborough was one standing in ashort thoroughfare called Hobbs Gate, leading down by the side ofthe Bush Inn from the market-place to Church Square, as it iscalled. As you pass down towards the church this house is on theright hand, and it occupies with its garden the whole space betweenthe market-place and Church Square. But though the house enjoys theprivilege of a large garden,—so large that the land being in themiddle of a town would be of great value were it not thatDillsborough is in its decadence,—still it stands flush up to thestreet upon which the front door opens. It has an imposing flightof sto