Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Consisted Of Two Wooden Chairs And A Spavined Horsehair Sofa. 

The Ceiling Was Low And Lamp-Blacked; The Stained Paper Fell

In Strips From The Sweating Walls; Fortunately There Was No

Carpet; But If Anything Could Have Added To The Occupier's

Depression It Was The Sight Of His Own Distorted Features In

A Shattered Glass,  Which Seemed To Watch Him Like A Detective

And Take Notes Of His Movements - A Real Russian Mirror.

But The Resources Of One-And-Twenty Are Not Easily Daunted, 

Even By The Presence Of The Cimex Lectularius Or The Pulex

Irritans.  I Inquired For A Laquais De Place,  - Some Human

Being To Consort With Was The Most Pressing Of Immediate

Wants.  As Luck Would Have It,  The Very Article Was In The

Dreary Courtyard,  Lurking Spider-Like For The Innocent

Traveller Just Arrived.  Elective Affinity Brought Us At Once

To Friendly Intercourse.  He Was Of The Hebrew Race,  As The

Larger Half Of The Warsaw Population Still Are.  He Was A

Typical Jew (All Jews Are Typical),  Though All Are Not So

Thin As Was Beninsky.  His Eyes Were Sunk In Sockets Deepened

By The Sharpness Of His Bird-Of-Prey Beak; A Single Corkscrew

Ringlet Dropped Tearfully Down Each Cheek; And His One Front

Tooth Seemed Sometimes In His Upper,  Sometimes In His Lower

Jaw.  His Skull-Cap And His Gabardine Might Have Been

Heirlooms From The Patriarch Jacob; And His Poor Hands Seemed

Made For Clawing.  But There Was A Humble And Contrite Spirit

In His Sad Eyes.  The History Of His Race Was Written In

Them; But It Was Modern History That One Read In Their

Hopeless And Appealing Look.

His Cringing Manner And His Soft Voice (We Conversed In

German) Touched My Heart.  I Have Always Had A Liking For The

Jews.  Who Shall Reckon How Much Some Of Us Owe Them!  They

Have Always Interested Me As A Peculiar People - Admitting

Sometimes,  As In Poor Beninsky's Case,  Of Purifying,  No

Doubt; Yet,  If Occasionally Zealous (And Who Is Not?) Of

Interested Works - Cent. Per Cent. Works,  Often - Yes,  More

Often Than We Christians - Zealous Of Good Works,  Of Open-

Handed,  Large-Hearted Munificence,  Of Charity In Its

Democratic And Noblest Sense.  Shame Upon The Nations Which

Despise And Persecute Them For Faults Which They,  The

Persecutors,  Have Begotten!  Shame On Those Who Have Extorted

Both Their Money And Their Teeth!  I Think If I Were A Jew I

Should Chuckle To See My Shekels Furnish All The Wars In

Which Christians Cut One Another's Christian Weasands.

And Who Has Not A Tenderness For The 'Beautiful And Well-

Favoured' Rachels,  And The 'Tender-Eyed' Leahs,  And The

Tricksy Little Zilpahs,  And The Rebekahs,  From The Wife Of

Isaac Of Gerar To The Daughter Of Isaac Of York?  Who Would

Not Love To Sit With Jessica Where Moonlight Sleeps,  And

Watch The Patines Of Bright Gold Reflected In Her Heavenly

Orbs?  I Once Knew A Jessica,  A Polish Jessica,  Who - But

That Was In Vienna,  More Than Half A Century Ago.

Beninsky's Orbs Brightened Visibly When I Bade Him Break His

Fast At My High Tea.  I Ordered Everything They Had In The

House I Think,  - A Cold Pomeranian Gansebrust,  A Garlicky

Wurst,  And Geraucherte Lachs.  I Had A Packet Of My Own

Fortnum And Mason's Souchong; And When The Stove Gave Out Its

Glow,  And The Samovar Its Music,  Beninsky's Gratitude And His

Hunger Passed The Limits Of Restraint.  Late Into The Night

We Smoked Our Meerschaums.

When I Spoke Of The Russians,  He Got Up Nervously To See The

Door Was Shut,  And Whispered With Bated Breath.  What A

Relief It Was To Him To Meet A Man To Whom He Could Pour Out

His Griefs,  His Double Griefs,  As Pole And Israelite.  Before

We Parted I Made Him Put The Remains Of The Sausage (!) And

The Goose-Breast Under His Petticoats.  I Bade Him Come To Me

In The Morning And Show Me All That Was Worth Seeing In

Warsaw.  When He Left,  With Tears In His Eyes,  I Was Consoled

To Think That For One Night At Any Rate He And His Gansebrust

And Sausage Would Rest Peacefully In Abraham's Bosom.  What

Abraham Would Say To The Sausage I Did Not Ask; Nor Perhaps

Did My Poor Beninsky.

The Remainder Of The Year '49 Has Left Me Nothing To Tell. 

For Me,  It Was The Inane Life Of That Draff Of Society - The

Young Man-About-Town:  The Tailor's,  The Haberdasher's,  The

Bootmaker's,  And Trinket-Maker's,  Young Man; The Dancing And

'Hell'-Frequenting Young Man; The Young Man Of The 'Cider

Cellars' And Piccadilly Saloons; The Valiant Dove-Slayer,  The

Park-Lounger,  The Young Lady's Young Man - Who Puts His Hat

Into Mourning,  And Turns Up His Trousers Because - Because

The Other Young Man Does Ditto,  Ditto.

I Had A Share In The Guards' Omnibus Box At Covent Garden, 

With The Privilege Attached Of Going Behind The Scenes.  Ah!

That Was A Real Pleasure.  To Listen Night After Night To

Grisi And Mario,  Alboni And Lablache,  Viardot And Ronconi, 

Persiani And Tamburini,  - And Jenny Lind Too,  Though She Was

At The Other House.  And What An Orchestra Was Costa's - With

Sainton Leader,  And Lindley And Old Dragonetti,  Who Together

But Alone,  Accompanied The Recitative With Their Harmonious

Chords On 'Cello And Double-Bass.  Is Singing A Lost Art?  Or

Is That But A Temporis Acti Question?  We Who Heard Those Now 

Silent Voices Fancy There Are None To Match Them Nowadays. 

Certainly There Are No Dancers Like Taglioni,  And Cerito,  And

Fanny Elsler,  And Carlotta Grisi.

After The Opera And The Ball,  One Finished The Night At

Vauxhall Or Ranelagh; Then As Gay,  And Exactly The Same,  As

They Were When Miss Becky Sharpe And Fat Jos Supped There

Only Five-And-Thirty Years Before.

Except At The Opera,  And The Philharmonic,  And Exeter Hall, 

One Rarely Heard Good Music.  Monsieur Jullien,  That Prince

Of Musical Mountebanks - The 'Prince Of Waterloo,' As John

Ella Called Him,  Was The First To Popularise Classical Music

At His Promenade Concerts,  By Tentatively Introducing A

Single Movement Of A Symphony Here And There In The Programme

Of His Quadrilles And Waltzes And Music-Hall Songs.

Mr. Ella,  Too,  Furthered The Movement With His Musical Union

And Quartett Parties At Willis's Rooms,  Where Sainton And

Cooper Led Alternately,  And The Incomparable Piatti And Hill

Made Up The Four.  Here Ernst,  Sivori,  Vieuxtemps,  And

Bottesini,  And Mesdames Schumann,  Dulcken,  Arabella Goddard, 

And All The Famous Virtuosi Played Their Solos.

Great Was The Stimulus Thus Given By Ella's Energy And

Enthusiasm.  As A Proof Of What He Had To Contend With,  And

What He Triumphed Over,  Halle's 'Life' May Be Quoted,  Where

It Says:  'When Mr. Ella Asked Me [This Was In 1848] What I

Wished To Play,  And Heard That It Was One Of Beethoven's

Pianoforte Sonatas,  He Exclaimed "Impossible!" And

Endeavoured To Demonstrate That They Were Not Works To Be

Played In Public.'  What Seven-League Boots The World Has

Stridden In Within The Memory Of Living Men!

John Ella Himself Led The Second Violins In Costa's Band,  And

Had Begun Life (So I Have Been Told) As A Pastry-Cook.  I

Knew Both Him And The Wonderful Little Frenchman 'At Home.' 

According To Both,  In Their Different Ways,  Beethoven And

Mozart Would Have Been Lost To Fame But For Their Heroic

Efforts To Save Them.

I Used Occasionally To Play With Ella At The House Of A Lady

Who Gave Musical Parties.  He Was Always Attuned To The

Highest Pitch,  - Most Good-Natured,  But Most Excitable Where

Music Was To The Fore.  We Were Rehearsing A Quintett,  The

Pianoforte Part Of Which Was Played By The Young Lady Of The

House - A Very Pretty Girl,  And Not A Bad Musician,  But

Nervous To The Point Of Hysteria.  Ella Himself Was In A

Hypercritical State; Nothing Would Go Smoothly; And The Piano

Was Always (According To Him) The Peccant Instrument.  Again

And Again He Made Us Restart The Movement.  There Were A Good

Many Friends Of The Family Invited To This Last Rehearsal, 

Which Made It Worse For The Poor Girl,  Who Was Obviously On

The Brink Of A Breakdown.  Presently Ella Again Jumped Off 

His Chair,  And Shouted:  'Not E Flat!  There's No E Flat

There; E Natural!  E Natural!  I Never In My Life Knew A

Young Lady So Prolific Of Flats As You.'  There Was A Pause, 

Then A Giggle,  Then An Explosion; And Then The Poor Girl, 

Bursting Into Tears,  Rushed Out Of The Room.

It Was At Ella's House That I First Heard Joachim,  Then About

Sixteen,  I Suppose.  He Had Not Yet Performed In London.  All

The Musical Celebrities Were Present To Hear The Youthful

Prodigy.  Two Quartetts Were Played,  Ernst Leading One And

Joachim The Other.  After It Was Over,  Everyone Was

Enraptured,  But No One More So Than Ernst,  Who Unhesitatingly

Predicted The Fame Which The Great Artist Has So Eminently

Achieved.

One More Amusing Little Story Belongs To My Experiences Of

These Days.  Having Two Brothers And A Brother-In-Law In The

Guards,  I Used To Dine Often At The Tower,  Or The Bank,  Or

St. James's.  At The Bank Of England There Is Always At Night

An Officer's Guard.  There Is No Mess,  As The Officer Is

Alone.  But The Bank Provides Dinner For Two,  In Case The

Officer Should Invite A Friend.  On The Occasion I Speak Of, 

My Brother-In-Law,  Sir Archibald Macdonald,  Was