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Tracks of a Rolling Stone-Part46_Henry J.Coke(1827-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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for in the Pickwick trial, thus rendering comparison

inapposite. Nevertheless one was bound to contrast them.



Thackeray's features were impassive, and his voice knew no

inflection. But his elocution in other respects was perfect,



admirably distinct and impressive from its complete

obliteration of the reader.



The selection was from the reign of George the Third; and no

part of it was more attentively listened to than his passing



allusion to himself. 'I came,' he says, 'from India as a

child, and our ship touched at an island on the way home,



where my black servant took me a long walk over rocks and

hills until we reached a garden, where we saw a man walking.



"That is he," said the black man, "that is Bonaparte! He

eats three sheep every day, and all the little children he



can lay hands on!"' One went to hear Thackeray, to see

Thackeray; and the child and the black man and the ogre were



there on the stage before one. But so well did the lecturer

perform his part, that ten minutes later one had forgotten



him, and saw only George Selwyn and his friend Horace

Walpole, and Horace's friend, Miss Berry - whom by the way I



too knew and remember. One saw the 'poor society ghastly in

its pleasures, its loves, its revelries,' and the redeeming



vision of 'her father's darling, the Princess Amelia,

pathetic for her beauty, her sweetness, her early death, and



for the extremepassionatetenderness with which her father

loved her.' The story told, as Thackeray told it, was as



delightful to listen to as to read.

Not so with Dickens. He disappointed me. He made no attempt



to represent the different characters by varied utterance;

but whenever something unusually comic was said, or about to



be said, he had a habit of turning his eyes up to the

ceiling; so that, knowing what was coming, one nervously



anticipated the upcast look, and for the moment lost the

illusion. In both entertainments, the reader was naturally



the central point of interest. But in the case of Dickens,

when curiosity was satisfied, he alone possessed one;



Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell were put out of court.

Was it not Charles Lamb, or was it Hazlitt, that could not



bear to see Shakespeare upon the stage? I agree with him. I

have never seen a Falstaff that did not make me miserable.



He is even more impossible to impersonate than Hamlet. A

player will spoil you the character of Hamlet, but he cannot



spoil his thoughts. Depend upon it, we are fortunate not to

have seen Shakespeare in his ghost of Royal Denmark.



In 1861 I married Lady Katharine Egerton, second daughter of

Lord Wilton, and we took up our abode in Warwick Square,



which, by the way, I had seen a few years before as a turnip

field. My wife was an accomplished pianiste, so we had a



great deal of music, and saw much of the artist world. I may

mention one artistic dinner amongst our early efforts at



housekeeping, which nearly ended with a catastrophe.

Millais and Dicky Doyle were of the party; music was



represented by Joachim, Piatti, and Halle. The late Lord and

Lady de Ros were also of the number. Lady de Ros, who was a



daughter of the Duke of Richmond, had danced at the ball

given by her father at Brussels the night before Waterloo.



As Lord de Ros was then Governor of the Tower, it will be

understood that he was a veteran of some standing. The great



musical trio were enchanting all ears with their faultless

performance, when the sweet and soul-stirring notes of the



Adagio were suddenly interrupted by a loud crash and a

shriek. Old Lord de Ros was listening to the music on a sofa



at the further end of the room. Over his head was a large

picture in a heavy frame. What vibrations, what careless



hanging, what mischievous Ate or Discord was at the bottom of

it, who knows? Down came the picture on the top of the poor



old General's head, and knocked him senseless on the floor.




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