Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖

Minute

Or Two Later.

 

When We Got Back To Argamasilla The Medico Was Already

Awaiting Us.  He Conducted Us To The House Of The Quijanas, 

Where An Old Woman-Servant,  Lamp In Hand,  Showed The Way Down

A Flight Of Steps Into The Dungeon.  It Was A Low Vaulted

Chamber,  Eight Feet High,  Ten Broad,  And Twenty-Four Long,  

Chapter 34 Pg 184

Dimly Lighted By A Lancet Window Six Feet From The Ground. 

She Confidently Informed Us That Cervantes Was In The Habit

Of Writing At The Farthest End,  And That He Was Allowed A

Lamp For The Purpose.  We Accepted The Information With

Implicit Faith; Silently Picturing On Our Mental Retinas The

Image Of Him Whose Genius Had Brightened The Dark Hours Of

Millions For Over Three Hundred Years.  One Could See The

Spare Form Of The Man Of Action Pacing Up And Down His Cell, 

Unconscious Of Prison Walls,  Roaming In Spirit Through The

Boundless Realms Of Fancy,  His Piercing Eyes Intent Upon The

Conjured Visions Of His Brain.  One Noted His Vast Expanse Of

Brow,  His Short,  Crisp,  Curly Hair,  His High Cheek-Bones And

Singularly High-Bridged Nose,  His Refined Mouth,  Small

Projecting Chin And Pointed Beard.  One Noticed,  Too,  As He

Turned,  The Stump Of The Left Wrist Clasped By The Remaining

Hand.  Who Could Stand In Such A Presence And Fail To Bow

With Veneration Before This Insulted Greatness!  Potentates

Pass Like Ozymandias,  But Not The Men Who,  Through The Ages, 

Help To Save Us From This Tread-Mill World,  And From

Ourselves.

 

We Visited Cuenca,  Segovia,  And Many An Out-Of-The-Way Spot. 

If It Be True,  As Don Quixote Declares,  That 'No Hay Libro

Tan Malo Que No Tenga Alguna Cosa Buena' ('There Is No Book

So Worthless That Has Not Some Good In It'),  Still More True

Is This Of A Country Like Spain.  And The Pleasantest Places

Are Just Those Which Only By-Roads Lead To.  In And Near The

Towns Every Other Man,  If Not By Profession Still By

Practice,  Is A Beggar.  From The Seedy-Looking Rascal In The

Street,  Of Whom You Incautiously Ask The Way,  And Who

Piteously Whines 'Para Zapatos' - For The Wear And Tear Of

Shoe Leather,  To The Highest Official,  One And All Hold Out

Their Hands For The Copper Cuarto Or The Eleemosynary

Sinecure.  As It Was Then,  So Is It Now; The Government Wants

Support,  And It Is Always To Be Had,  At A Price; Deputies

Always Want 'Places.'  For Every Duty The Functionary

Performs,  Or Ought To Perform,  He Receives His Bribe.  The

Government Is Too Poor To Keep Him Honest,  But His Pour-

Boires Are Not Measured By His Scruples.  All Is Winked At, 

If The Ministry Secures A Vote.

 

Away In The Pretty Rural Districts,  In The Little Villages

Amid The Woods And The Mountains,  With Their Score Or So Of

Houses And Their Little Chapel With Its Tinkling Old Bell And

Its Poverty-Stricken Curate,  The Hard-Working,  Simple-Minded

Men Are Too Proud And Too Honest To Ask For More Than A Pinch

Of Tobacco For The Cigarillo.  The Maidens Are Comely,  And As

Chaste As - Can Reasonably Be Expected.

 

Madrid Is Worth Visiting - Not For Its Bull-Fights,  Which Are

Disgusting Proofs Of Man's Natural Brutality,  But For Its

Picture Gallery.  No One Knows What Velasquez Could Do,  Or

Has Done,  Till He Has Seen Madrid; And Charles V. Was

Practically Master Of Europe When The Collection Was In His 

Chapter 34 Pg 185

Hands.  The Escurial's Chief Interests Are In Its

Associations With Charles V. And Philip Ii.  In The Dark And

Gloomy Little Bedroom Of The Latter Is A Small Window Opening

Into The Church,  So That The King Could Attend The Services

In Bed If Necessary.

 

It Cannot Be Said Of Philip That He Was Nothing If Not

Religious,  For Nero Even Was Not A More Indefatigable

Murderer,  Nor A More Diabolical Specimen Of Cruelty And

Superstition.  The Very Thought Of The Wretch Tempts One To

Revolt At Human Piety,  At Any Rate Where Priestcraft And Its

Fabrications Are At The Bottom Of It.

 

When At Madrid We Met Mr. Arthur Birch.  He Had Been With

Cayley At Eton,  As Captain Of The School.  While We Were

Together,  He Received And Accepted The Offer Of An Eton

Mastership.  We Were Going By Diligence To Toledo,  And Birch

Agreed To Go With Us.  I Mention The Fact Because The Place

Reminds Me Of A Clever Play Upon Its Name By The Eton

Scholar.  Cayley Bought A Toledo Sword-Blade,  And Asked Birch

For A Motto To Engrave Upon It.  In A Minute Or Two He Hit

Off This:  Timetoletum,  Which Reads Time Toletum=Honour

Toledo,  Or Timeto Letum=Fear Death.  Cayley's Attempts, 

Though Not So Neat,  Were Not Bad.  Here Are A Couple Of

Them:-

 

 

 

 

 

Though Slight I Am,  No Slight I Stand,

Saying My Master's Sleight Of Hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Or:-

 

 

 

 

 

Come To The Point; Unless You Do,

The Point Will Shortly Come To You.

 

 

 

 

 

Birch Got The Latin Poem Medal At Cambridge The Same Year

That Cayley Got The English One.

 

Before We Set Forth Again Upon Our Gipsy Tramp,  I Received A

L

Chapter 34 Pg 186

Letter From Mr. Ellice Bidding Me Hasten Home To Contest The

Borough Of Cricklade In The General Election Of 1852.  Under

These Circumstances We Loitered But Little On The Northern

Roads.  At The End Of May We Reached Yrun.  Here We Sold Our

Ponies - Now Quite Worn Out - For Twenty-Three Dollars -

About Five Guineas.  So That A Thousand Miles Of Locomotion

Had Cost Us A Little Over Five Guineas Apiece.  Not Counting

Hotels At Madrid And Such Smart Places,  Our Daily Cost For

Selves And Ponies Rarely Exceeded Six Pesetas,  Or Three

Shillings Each All Told.  The Best Of It Was,  The Trip

Restored The Health Of My Friend.

 

Chapter 35 Pg 187

 

In February Of This Year,  1852,  Lord Palmerston,  Aided By An

Incongruous Force Of Peelites And Protectionists,  Turned Lord

John Russell Out Of Office On His Militia Bill.  Lord Derby, 

With Disraeli As Chancellor Of The Exchequer And Leader Of

The House Of Commons,  Came Into Power On A Cry For

Protection.

 

Not Long After My Return To England,  I Was Packed Off To

Canvas The Borough Of Cricklade.  It Was Then A Very

Extensive Borough,  Including A Large Agricultural District, 

As Well As Swindon,  The Headquarters Of The Great Western

Railway.  For Many Years It Had Returned Two Conservative

Members,  Messrs. Nield And Goddard.  It Was Looked Upon As An

Impregnable Tory Stronghold,  And The Fight Was Little Better

Than A Forlorn Hope.

 

My Headquarters Were At Coleshill,  Lord Radnor's.  The Old

Lord Had,  In His Parliamentary Days,  Been A Radical; Hence, 

My Advanced Opinions Found Great Favour In His Eyes.  My

Programme Was - Free Trade,  Vote By Ballot,  And

Disestablishment.  Two Of These Have Become Common-Places

(One Perhaps Effete),  And The Third Is Nearer To

Accomplishment Than It Was Then.

 

My First Acquaintance With A Constituency,  Amongst Whom I

Worked Enthusiastically For Six Weeks,  Was Comic Enough.  My

Instructions Were To Go To Swindon; There An Agent,  Whom I

Had Never Seen,  Would Join Me.  A Meeting Of My Supporters

Had Been Arranged By Him,  And I Was To Make My Maiden Speech

In The Market-Place.

Chapter 35 Pg 188

 

My Address,  It Should Be Stated - Ultra-Radical,  Of Course -

Was Mainly Concocted For Me By Mr. Cayley,  An Almost Rabid

Tory,  And Then Member For The North Riding Of Yorkshire,  But

An Old Parliamentary Hand; And,  In Consequence Of My

Attachment To His Son,  At That Time And Until His Death,  Like

A Father To Me.

 

When The Train Stopped At Swindon,  There Was A Crowd Of

Passengers,  But Not A Face That I Knew; And It Was Not Till

All But One Or Two Had Left,  That A Business-Looking Man Came

Up And Asked If I Were The Candidate For Cricklade.  He Told

Me That A Carriage Was In Attendance To Take Us Up To The

Town; And That A Procession,  Headed By A Band,  Was Ready To

Accompany Us Thither.  The Procession Was Formed Mainly Of

The Great Western Boiler-Makers And Artisans.  Their

Enthusiasm Seemed Slightly Disproportioned To The Occasion;

And The Vigour Of The Brass,  And Especially Of The Big Drum, 

So Filled My Head With Visions Of Mr. Pickwick And His Friend

The Honourable Samuel Slumkey,  That By The Time I Reached The

Market-Place,  I Had Forgotten Every Syllable Of The Speech

Which I Had Carefully Learnt By Heart.  Nor Was It The Band

Alone That Upset Me; Going Up The Hill The Carriage Was All

But Capsized By The Frightened Horses And The Breaking Of The

Pole.  The Gallant Boiler-Makers,  However,  At Once Removed

The Horses,  And Dragged The Carriage With Cheers Of Defiance

Into The Crowd Awaiting Us.

 

My Agent Had Settled That I Was To Speak From A Window Of The

Hotel.  The Only Available One Was An Upper Window,  The Lower

Sash Of Which Could Not Be Persuaded To Keep Up Without Being

Held.  The Consequence Was,  Just As I Was Getting Over The

Embarrassment Of Extemporary Oration,  Down Came The Sash And

Guillotined Me.  This