Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: Henry J. Coke
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Christian Name) Who Hailed From Norfolk. I See Her Now: Her
Jolly, Round, Shining Face, Her Extensive Mouth, Her Ample
Person. I Recall, With More Pleasure Than I Then Endured,
The Cordial Hugs She Surreptitiously Bestowed Upon Me When We
Met By Accident In The Passages. Kind, Affectionate
'Carrots'! Thy Heart Was As Bounteous As Thy Bosom. May The
Tenderness Of Both Have Met With Their Earthly Deserts; And
Mayest Thou Have Shared To The Full The Pleasures Thou Wast
Ever Ready To Impart!
There Were No Railways In Those Times. It Amuses Me To See
People Nowadays Travelling By Coach, For Pleasure. How Many
Lives Must Have Been Shortened By Long Winter Journeys In
Those Horrible Coaches. The Inside Passengers Were Hardly
Better Off Than The Outside. The Corpulent And Heavy
Occupied The Scanty Space Allotted To The Weak And Small -
Crushed Them, Slept On Them, Snored Over Them, And
Chapter 2 Pg 11Monopolised The Straw Which Was Supposed To Keep Their Feet
Warm.
A Pachydermatous Old Lady Would Insist Upon An Open Window.
A Wheezy Consumptive Invalid Would Insist On A Closed One.
Everybody's Legs Were In Their Own, And In Every Other
Body's, Way. So That When The Distance Was Great And Time
Precious, People Avoided Coaching, And Remained Where They
Were.
For This Reason, If A Short Holiday Was Given - Less Than A
Week Say - Norfolk Was Too Far Off; And I Was Not Permitted
To Spend It At Holkham. I Generally Went To Charles Fox's At
Addison Road, Or To Holland House. Lord Holland Was A Great
Friend Of My Father's; But, If Creevey Is To Be Trusted -
Which, As A Rule, My Recollection Of Him Would Permit Me To
Doubt, Though Perhaps Not In This Instance - Lord Holland Did
Not Go To Holkham Because Of My Father's Dislike To Lady
Holland.
I Speak Here Of My Introduction To Holland House, For
Although Lady Holland Was Then In The Zenith Of Her
Ascendency, (It Was She Who Was The Cabinet Minister, Not Her
Too Amiable Husband,) Although Holland House Was Then The
Resort Of All The Potentates Of Whig Statecraft, And Whig
Literature, And Whig Wit, In The Persons Of Lord Grey,
Brougham, Jeffrey, Macaulay, Sydney Smith, And Others, It Was
Not Till Eight Or Ten Years Later That I Knew, When I Met
Them There, Who And What Her Ladyship's Brilliant Satellites
Were. I Shall Not Return To Lady Holland, So I Will Say A
Parting Word Of Her Forthwith.
The Woman Who Corresponded With Buonaparte, And Consoled The
Prisoner Of St. Helena With Black Currant Jam, Was No
Ordinary Personage. Most People, I Fancy, Were Afraid Of
Her. Her Stature, Her Voice, Her Beard, Were Obtrusive Marks
Of Her Masculine Attributes. It Is Questionable Whether Her
Amity Or Her Enmity Was Most To Be Dreaded. She Liked Those
Best Whom She Could Most Easily Tyrannise Over. Those In The
Other Category Might Possibly Keep Aloof. For My Part I
Feared Her Patronage. I Remember When I Was About Seventeen
- A Self-Conscious Hobbledehoy - Mr. Ellice Took Me To One Of
Her Large Receptions. She Received Her Guests From A Sort Of
Elevated Dais. When I Came Up - Very Shy - To Make My
Salute, She Asked Me How Old I Was. 'Seventeen,' Was The
Answer. 'That Means Next Birthday,' She Grunted. 'Come And
Give Me A Kiss, My Dear.' I, A Man! - A Man Whose Voice Was
(Sometimes) As Gruff As Hers! - A Man Who Was Beginning To
Shave For A Moustache! Oh! The Indignity Of It!
But It Was Not Lady Holland, Or Her Court, That Concerned Me
In My School Days, It Was Holland Park, Or The Extensive
Grounds About Charles Fox's House (There Were No Other Houses
At Addison Road Then), That I Loved To Roam In. It Was The
Chapter 2 Pg 12Birds'-Nesting; It Was The Golden Carp I Used To Fish For On
The Sly With A Pin; The Shying At The Swans, The Hunt For
Cockchafers, The Freedom Of Mischief Generally, And The
Excellent Food - Which I Was So Much In Need Of - That Made
The Holiday Delightful.
Some Years Later, When Dining At Holland House, I Happened To
Sit Near The Hostess. It Was A Large Dinner Party. Lord
Holland, In His Bath-Chair (He Nearly Always Had The Gout),
Sat At The Far End Of The Table A Long Way Off. But My Lady
Kept An Eye On Him, For She Had Caught Him Drinking
Champagne. She Beckoned To The Groom Of The Chambers, Who
Stood Behind Her; And In A Gruff And Angry Voice Shouted:
'Go To My Lord. Take Away His Wine, And Tell Him If He
Drinks Any More You Have My Orders To Wheel Him Into The Next
Room.' If This Was A Joke It Was Certainly A Practical One.
And Yet Affection Was Behind It. There's A Tender Place In
Every Heart.
Like All Despots, She Was Subject To Fits Of Cowardice -
Especially, It Was Said, With Regard To A Future State, Which
She Professed To Disbelieve In. Mr. Ellice Told Me That
Once, In Some Country House, While A Fearful Storm Was
Raging, And The Claps Of Thunder Made The Windows Rattle,
Lady Holland Was So Terrified That She Changed Dresses With
Her Maid, And Hid Herself In The Cellar. Whether The Story
Be A Calumny Or Not, It Is At Least Characteristic.
After All, It Was Mainly Due To Her That Holland House Became
The Focus Of All That Was Brilliant In Europe. In The
Memoirs Of Her Father - Sydney Smith - Mrs. Austin Writes:
'The World Has Rarely Seen, And Will Rarely, If Ever, See
Again All That Was To Be Found Within The Walls Of Holland
House. Genius And Merit, In Whatever Rank Of Life, Became A
Passport There; And All That Was Choicest And Rarest In
Europe Seemed Attracted To That Spot As Their Natural Soil.'
Did We Learn Much At Temple Grove? Let Others Answer For
Themselves. Acquaintance With The Classics Was The Staple Of
A Liberal Education In Those Times. Temple Grove Was The
Atrium To Eton, And Gerund-Grinding Was Its Raison D'etre.
Before I Was Nine Years Old I Daresay I Could Repeat -
Parrot, That Is - Several Hundreds Of Lines Of The Aeneid.
This, And Some Elementary Arithmetic, Geography, And Drawing,
Which Last I Took To Kindly, Were Dearly Paid For By Many
Tears, And By Temporarily Impaired Health. It Was Due To My
Pallid Cheeks That I Was Removed. It Was Due To The
Following Six Months - Summer Months - Of A Happy Life That
My Health Was Completely Restored.
Chapter 3 Pg 13
Mr. Edward Ellice, Who Constantly Figures In The Memoirs Of
The Last Century As 'Bear Ellice' (An Outrageous Misnomer, By
The Way), And Who Later On Married My Mother, Was The Chief
Controller Of My Youthful Destiny. His First Wife Was A
Sister Of The Lord Grey Of Reform Bill Fame, In Whose
Government He Filled The Office Of War Minister. In Many
Respects Mr. Ellice Was A Notable Man. He Possessed Shrewd
Intelligence, Much Force Of Character, And An Autocratic
Spirit - To Which He Owed His Sobriquet. His Kindness Of
Heart, His Powers Of Conversation, With Striking Personality
And Ample Wealth, Combined To Make Him Popular. His House In
Arlington Street, And His Shooting Lodge At Glen Quoich, Were
Famous For The Number Of Eminent Men Who Were His Frequent
Guests.
Mr. Ellice's Position As A Minister, And His Habitual
Residence In Paris, Had Brought Him In Touch With The Leading
Statesmen Of France. He Was Intimately Acquainted With Louis
Philippe, With Talleyrand, With Guizot, With Thiers, And Most
Of The French Men And French Women Whose Names Were Bruited
In The Early Part Of The Nineteenth Century.
When I Was Taken From Temple Grove, I Was Placed, By The
Advice And Arrangement Of Mr. Ellice, Under The Charge Of A
French Family, Which Had Fallen Into Decay - Through The
Change Of Dynasty. The Marquis De Coubrier Had Been Master
Of The Horse To Charles X. His Widow - An Old Lady Between
Seventy And Eighty - With Three Maiden Daughters, All
Advanced In Years, Lived Upon The Remnant Of Their Estates In
A Small Village Called Larue, Close To Bourg-La-Reine, Which,
It May Be Remembered, Was Occupied By The Prussians During
The Siege Of Paris. There Was A Chateau, The Former Seat Of
The Family; And, Adjoining It, In The Same Grounds, A Pretty
And Commodious Cottage. The First Was Let As A Country House
To Some Wealthy Parisians; The Cottage Was Occupied By The
Marquise And Her Three Daughters.
The Personal Appearances Of Each Of These Four Elderly
Ladies, Their Distinct Idiosyncrasies, And Their Former High
Position As Members Of A Now Moribund Nobility, Left A
Lasting Impression On My Memory. One Might Expect, Perhaps,
From Such A Prelude, To Find In The Old Marquise Traces Of
Stately Demeanour, Or A Regretted Superiority. Nothing Of
The Kind. She Herself Was A Short, Square-Built Woman, With
Large Head And Strong Features, Framed In A Mob Cap, With A
Broad Frill Which Flopped Over Her Tortoise-Shell Spectacles.
Chapter 3 Pg 14She Wore A Black Bombazine Gown, And List Slippers. When In
The Garden, Where She Was Always Busy In The Summer-Time, She
Put On Wooden Sabots Over Her Slippers.
Despite This Homely Exterior, She Herself Was A 'Lady' In
Every Sense Of The Word. Her Manner Was Dignified And
Courteous To Everyone. To Her Daughters And To Myself She
Was Gentle And Affectionate. Her Voice Was Sympathetic,
Almost Musical. I Never Saw Her Temper Ruffled. I Never
Heard Her Allude To Her Antecedents.
The Daughters Were As Unlike Their Mother As They Were To One
Another. Adele, The Eldest, Was Very Stout, With A Profusion
Of Grey Ringlets. She Spoke English Fluently. I Gathered,
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