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

'Well,' Thought I,  'The Right Woman Is In The Right Place

There,  At All Events.'

Another Little Incident At The Performance Itself Also

Recalled The Days And Manners Of The Court Of Louis Xv. 

Between Each Tableau,  Which Was Lighted Solely From The

Raised Stage,  The Lights Were Put Out,  And The Whole Room

Left In Complete Darkness.  Whenever This Happened,  The

Sounds Of Immoderate Kissing Broke Out In All Directions, 

Accompanied By Little Cries Of Resistance And Protestation. 

Until Then,  I Had Always Been Under The Impression That

Humour Of This Kind Was Confined To The Servants' Hall.  One

Could Not Help Thinking Of Another Court,  Where Things Were

Managed Differently.

But The Truth Is,  These Trivial Episodes Were Symptomatic Of

A Pervading Tone.  A No Inconsiderable Portion Of The Ladies

Seemed To An Outsider To Have Been Invited For The Sake Of

Their Personal Charms.  After What Has Just Been Related,  One

Could Not Help Fancying That There Were Some Amongst Them Who

Had Availed Themselves Of The Privilege Which,  According To

Tacitus,  Was Claimed By Vistilia Before The Aediles.  So Far, 

However,  From Any Of These Noble Ladies Being Banished To The

Isle Of Seriphos,  They Seemed As Much Attached To The Court

As The Court To Them; And Whatever The Roman Emperor Might

Have Done,  The Emperor Of The French Was All That Was Most

Indulgent.

There Were Two Days' Shooting,  One Day's Stag Hunting,  An

Expedition To Pierrefonds,  And A Couple Of Days Spent In

Riding And Skating.  The Shooting Was Very Much After The

Fashion Of That Already Described At Prince Esterhazy's, 

Though Of A Much More Imperial Character.  As In Hungary,  The

Game Had Been Driven Into Coverts Cut Down To The Height Of

The Waist,  With Paths Thirty To Forty Yards Apart,  For The

Guns.

The Weather Was Cold,  With Snow On The Ground,  But It Was A

Beautifully Sunny Day.  This Was The Party:  The Two

Ambassadors,  The Prince De La Moskowa,  Persigny,  Walewski -

Bonaparte's Natural Son,  And The Image Of His Father - The

Marquis De Toulongeon,  Master Of The Horse,  And We Three

Englishmen.  We Met Punctually At Eleven In The Grand Saloon. 

Here The Emperor Joined Us,  With His Cigarette In His Mouth, 

Shook Hands With Each,  And Bade Us Take Our Places In The

Char-A-Bancs.  Four Splendid Normandy Greys,  With Postilions

In The Picturesque Old Costume,  Glazed Hats And Huge Jack-

Boots,  Took Us Through The Forest At Full Gallop,  And In Half

An Hour We Were At The Covert Side.  The Emperor Was Very

Cheery All The Way.  He Cautioned Me Not To Shoot Back For 

The Beaters' Sakes,  And Asked Me How Many Guns I Had Brought.

'Two Only? That's Not Enough,  I Will Lend You Some Of Mine.'

Arrived At Our Beat - 'Tire De Royallieu,' We Found A

Squadron Of Dismounted Cavalry Drawn Up In Line,  Ready To

Commence Operations.  They Were In Stable Dress,  With Canvas

Trousers And Spurs To Their Boots.  Several Officers Were

Galloping About Giving Orders,  The Whole Being Under The

Command Of A Mounted Chief In Green Uniform And Cocked Hat! 

The Place Of Each Shooter Had Been Settled By M. De

Toulongeon.  I,  Being The Only Nobody Of The Lot,  Was Put On

The Extreme Outside.  The Emperor Was In The Middle; And

Although,  As I Noticed,  He Made Some Beautiful Shots At

Rocketers,  He Was Engaged Much Of The Time In Talking To

Ministers Who Walked Behind,  Or Beside,  Him.

Our Servants Were Already In The Places Allotted To Their

Masters,  And Each Of Us Had Two Keepers To Carry Spare Guns

(The Emperor Had Not Forgotten To Send Me Two Of His,  Which I

Could Not Shoot With,  And Never Used),  And A Sergeant With A

Large Card To Prick Off Each Head Of Game,  Not As It Fell To

The Gun,  But Only After It Was Picked Up.  This Conscientious

Scoring Amused Me Greatly; For,  As It Chanced,  My Bag Was A

Heavy One,  And The Emperor's Marker Sent Constant Messages To

Mine To Compare Notes,  And So Arrange,  As It Transpired,  To

Keep His Majesty At The Top Of The Score.

About Half-Past One We Reached A Clearing Where Dejeuner Was

Awaiting Us.  The Scene Presented Was Striking.  Around A

Tent In Which Every Delicacy Was Spread Out Were Numbers Of

Little Charcoal Fires,  Where A Still Greater Number Of Cooks

In White Caps And Jackets Were Preparing Dainty Dishes; While

The Imperial Footmen Bustling About Brightened The Picture

With Colour.  After Coffee All The Cards Were Brought To His

Majesty.  When He Had Scanned Them,  He Said To Me Across The

Table:

'I Congratulate You,  Mr. Coke,  Upon Having Killed The Most.'

My Answer Was,  'After You,  Sir.'

'Yes,' Said He,  Giving His Moustache An Upward Twist,  But

With Perfect Gravity,  'I Always Kill The Most.'

Just Then The Empress And The Whole Court Drove Up. 

Presently She Came Into The Tent And,  Addressing Her Husband, 

Exclaimed:

'Avez-Vous Bientot Fini,  Vous Autres?  Ah! Que Vous Etes Des

Gourmands!'

Till The Finish,  She And The Rest Walked With The Shooters. 

By Four It Was Over.  The Total Score Was 1,387 Head.  Mine 

Was 182,  Which Included Thirty-Six Partridges,  Two Woodcocks, 

And Four Roedeer.  This,  In Three And A Half Hours' Shooting, 

With Two Muzzle-Loaders (Breech-Loaders Were Not Then In

Use),  Was An Unusually Good Bag.

Fashion Is Capricious.  When Lunch Was Over I Went To One Of

The Charcoal Fires,  Quite In The Background,  To Light A

Cigarette.  An Aide-De-Camp Immediately Pounced Upon Me,  With

The Information That This Was Not Permitted In Company With

The Empress.  It Reminded One At Once Of The Ejaculation At

Oliver Twist's Bedside,  'Ladies Is Present,  Mr. Giles.' 

After The Shooting,  I Was Told To Go To Tea With The Empress

- A Terrible Ordeal,  For One Had To Face The Entire Feminine

Force Of The Palace,  Nearly Every One Of Whom,  From The

Highest To The Lowest,  Was Provided With Her Own Cavaliere

Servente.

The Following Night,  When We Assembled For Dinner,  I Received

Orders To Sit Next To The Empress.  This Was Still More

Embarrassing.  It Is True,  One Does Not Speak To A Sovereign

Unless One Is Spoken To; But Still One Is Permitted To Make

The Initiative Easy.  I Found That I Was Expected To Take My

Share Of The Task; And By A Happy Inspiration,  Introduced The

Subject Of The Prince Imperial,  Then A Child Of Eight Years

Old.  The Mondaine Empress Was At Once Merged In The Adoring

Mother; Her Whole Soul Was Wrapped Up In The Boy.  It Was

Easy Enough Then To Speculate On His Career,  At Least So Far

As The Building Of Castles In The Air For Fantasies To Roam

In.  What A Future He Had Before Him! - To Consolidate The

Empire! To Perfect The Great Achievement Of His Father,  And

Render Permanent The Foundation Of The Napoleonic Dynasty! To

Build A Superstructure As Transcendent For The Glories Of

Peace,  As Those Of His Immortal Ancestor Had Been For War!

It Was Not Difficult To Play The Game With Such Court Cards

In One's Hand.  Nor Was It Easy To Coin These Phrases De

Sucrecandi Without Sober And Earnest Reflections On The

Import Of Their Contents.  What,  Indeed,  Might Or Might Not

Be The Consequences To Millions,  Of The Wise Or Unwise Or

Evil Development Of The Life Of That Bright And Handsome

Little Fellow,  Now Trotting Around The Dessert Table,  With

The Long Curls Tumbling Over His Velvet Jacket,  And The

Flowers In His Hand For Some Pretty Lady Who Was Privileged

To Kiss Him?  Who Could Foretell The Cruel Doom - Heedless Of

Such Favours And Such Splendid Promises - That Awaited The

Pretty Child?  Who Could Hear The Brave Young Soldier's Last

Shrieks Of Solitary Agony?  Who Could See The Forsaken Body

Slashed With Knives And Assegais?  Ah! Who Could Dream Of

That Fond Mother's Heart,  When The End Came,  Which Eclipsed

Even The Disasters Of A Nation!

One By-Day,  When My Wife And I Were Riding With The Emperor

Through The Forest Of Compiegne,  A Rough-Looking Man In A

Blouse,  With A Red Comforter Round His Neck,  Sprang Out From 

Behind A Tree; And Before He Could Be Stopped,  Seized The

Emperor's Bridle.  In An Instant The Emperor Struck His Hand

With A Heavy Hunting Stock; And Being Free,  Touched His Horse

With The Spur And Cantered On.  I Took Particular Notice Of

His Features And His Demeanour,  From The Very First Moment Of

The Surprise.  Nothing Happened But What I Have Described. 

The Man Seemed Fierce And Reckless.  The Emperor Showed Not

The Faintest Signs Of Discomposure.  All He Said Was,  Turning

To My Wife,  'Comme Il Avait L'air Sournois,  Cet Homme!' And

Resumed The Conversation At The Point Where It Was

Interrupted.

Before We Had Gone A Hundred Yards I Looked Back To See What

Had Become Of The Offender.  He Was In The Hands Of Two Gens

D'armes,  Who Had Been Invisible Till Then.

'Poor Devil,' Thought I,  'This Spells Dungeon For You.'

Now,  With Kinglake's Acrimonious Charge Of The Emperor's

Personal Cowardice Running In My Head,  I Felt That This

Exhibition Of Sang Froid,  When Taken Completely Unawares, 

Went Far To Refute The Imputation.  What Happened Later In

The Day Strongly Confirmed This Opinion.

After Dark,  About Six O'clock,  I Took A Stroll By Myself

Through The Town Of Compiegne.  Coming Home,  When Crossing

The Bridge Below The Palace,  I Met The Emperor Arm-In-Arm

With Walewski.  Not Ten Minutes Afterwards,  Whom Should I

Stumble Upon But The Ruffian Who Had Seized The Emperor's

Bridle?  The Same Red Comforter Was Round His Neck,  The Same

Wild Look Was In His Face.  I Turned After He Had Passed,  And

At The Same Moment He Turned To Look At Me.

Would This Man Have Been At Large But For The Emperor's

Orders?  Assuredly Not.  For,  Supposing He Were Crazy,  Who

Could Have Answered For His Deeds?  Most Likely He Was

Shadowed; And To A Certainty The Emperor Would Be So.  Still, 

What Could Save The Latter From A Pistol-Shot?  Yet,  Here He

Was,  Sauntering About The Badly Lighted Streets Of A Town

Where His Kenspeckle Figure Was Familiar To Every Inhabitant. 

Call This Fatalism If You Will; But These Were Not The Acts

Of A Coward.  I Told This Story To A Friend Who Was Well

'Posted' In The Club Gossip Of The Day.  He Laughed.

'Don't You Know The Meaning Of Kinglake's Spite Against The

Emperor?' Said He.  'Cherchez La Femme.  Both Of Them Were In

Love With Mrs. - '

This Is The Way We Write Our Histories.

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