The Elephant Keeper Page 11

  Finch led the way round the mansion to the stable-yard, which was at least four times as big as the yard at Harrington Hall, and here I dismounted. While the horses, stabled along three sides of the yard, whinnied uneasily at Jenny’s presence, the grooms brought her hay and water, for which she was very grateful. Soon there appeared other servants in livery—maids, gardeners, pages, all consumed with curiosity, none having seen an Elephant before. However, they fell back at the entrance of an elderly gentleman, wearing a dark green coat, green britches, and a club-wig, and carrying a thin stick with a silver handle; this was Lord Bidborough, who turned out to be as kind and courteous as Finch had described. He shook me by the hand, asked after my journey, and said how pleased he was to welcome an Elephant to Easton. “She is a most remarkable creature, and I look forward to making her acquaintance more fully,” he said in a voice full of warmth. He was accompanied by his daughter, Miss Anne Singleton, and by his favourite dog, a brown and white setter who stood by his legs and watched his every move. Later that day, or the next, I was given a suit of livery and I remember that when I had put it on I felt very proud to count myself his Lordship’s servant.

  The stables along the fourth side of the yard had been turned into one, in order to provide accommodation for the Elephant; however, her presence disturbed and unsettled the horses to such a degree that, after two days, we moved to a coach-house. Although this was very pleasant, Jenny drooped, and lost her appetite, much as she did after Timothy’s departure for Lincolnshire. Once or twice she stamped with a fore-foot; another time she trumpeted loudly, and seemed to spread her ears for a reply. At the time, I thought that she was weary from the journey; however, since then, it has occurred to me, remembering the urgency with which she strode toward Easton, that she may have been suffering from disappointment, having hoped that she was travelling to meet her brother. During this melancholy period his Lordship several times came to see the Elephant, and asked me many questions about her health and behaviour, which I did my best to answer accurately. With him he always had his dog, and I remember that he introduced the dog to Jenny much as if he were introducing two human beings: “Argos, pay attention, if you will, I should very much like you to meet the Easton Elephant”—at which Argos, a very amiable and sober animal, turned his mournful eyes from Lord Bidborough to Jenny, and then back to his Lordship. The devotion of Argos to his master is such that he is said to sleep in a box at the foot of his Lordship’s bed.

  When Jenny’s spirits shewed no improvement after a week, I resolved to bleed her, which she allowed me to do without the least objection. Having taken three pints of blood, I gave her a drink of egg yolks mixed with Aniseed, half a dram of powdered Turma-rick, and a penny worth of Treacle; after which she recovered her appetite and began to take a keen interest in her surroundings.

  Both she and I were eager to explore the park, which we soon discovered to be very fine and spacious; the distance round it being more than ten miles in all. Within its bounds live more than a hundred head of deer, of a kind which I had not seen before; they are smaller than roe deer but very pretty, with spotted coats, and are not hunted, but kept solely for their beauty. The lime avenue begins below the mansion and runs past the lake to the Obelisk, which stands on a grassy knoll with a prospect over a wide expanse of Sussex. Near at hand are deep, secluded valleys, wooded with hazel, ash, and oak, and brimming with the songs of birds; beyond, fields, pastures, villages, and hamlets, and beyond all else the thin line of the sea.

  These wooded valleys were a great delight to Jenny in her first summer at Easton. Arriving at dawn, when they were still held in blue shadow, she would plunge into their midst, and root and tear and feast and forage with such pleasure that it made my heart lift. The birds would begin to sing, and the rising sun to penetrate the wood, dispersing the moisture and whitening the dust between the branches. Sometimes she would glance round to assure herself that I was still there; and sometimes I would play a game, hiding behind a trunk, whereupon she would give a short, questioning squeal, are you there, Tom? and I would step into view, I am here, I am here. I often used to ask myself what she would do if, as an experiment, I had slipped away. Would she have made her way back to the coach-house, like a faithful dog? Or would she have continued to browse through the woods, following the valleys until she reached the sea?

  One sunny morning, as we rode back to the coach-house, I saw the grooms riding a string of horses toward us. In order to avoid them, I took the Elephant down the terrace which runs along the side of the mansion, and a window opened above our heads and Lord Bidborough looked out in his night-cap. “Good morning, Tom; good morning, Madam,” he said. (“Madam” is often how his Lordship addresses the Elephant, just as he addresses Argos as “Sir” indeed, I think he must be among the most courteous of noblemen to have ever lived.) He asked where we had been, and how the Elephant fared, and I thanked him and said that she was in very good spirits. I ordered Jenny to stretch her trunk toward him, which she did, and taking his Lordship’s hand she shook it gently. His Lordship seemed so pleased that ever since then I have made a point of riding that way, and his Lordship will often look out of his bed-chamber and give us good morning.

  Here I should describe the mansion, which was built in the year 1749 and has upwards of fifty rooms, or so I am told by the foot-men, though there is a disagreement as to the exact figure. Fifty-five? Fifty-eight? Fifty-nine? It is said that no one knows the answer, even Mrs. Eakins, the house-keeper; the rooms are impossible to count exactly, every attempt produces a different number. Among them is the long room which runs by the terrace; it has a marble floor and is decorated with looking glasses and pale statues of gods and goddesses from Ancient Greece and Rome. Another room is the Library, which contains so many thousands of books that the walls are altogether hidden. Most of the rooms I have never seen, but once, soon after I came to Easton, when his Lordship and Ladyship were away, I was very bold and, pretending to take a wrong turn out of the servants’ quarters, walked down a corridor into a circular hall, which rose to a domed ceiling. An open door brought me past an armour-clad knight, and into a huge saloon full of chairs and settees; the ceiling was painted with angels and arch-angels, and on the walls were various portraits of ladies and gentlemen in gold frames. One I think was a portrait of his Lordship as a young man, when he still had a full head of dark hair; there was a spaniel at his feet, and he looked very noble and handsome. Another portrait shewed her Ladyship, or it may have been one of his Lordship’s previous wives, in a long silk dress. This room was so wonderful that I could have lingered for hours but was afraid of being discovered, and left quickly.

  As we rode round the park, Jenny used to gaze toward the lake, and made several attempts to persuade me to ride her in that direction. Knowing her love of bathing, something which, I believe, all Elephants share, I sought his Lordship’s permission to allow her into the lake, and he not only raised no objection, but also said that he would like to witness such a singular event. Lady Bidborough too decided to watch. One afternoon, therefore, I led Jenny down to the lake. It had been flooded only a few weeks earlier, and the water was still very turbid and confused. I motioned her forward, whereupon she waded in, deeper and deeper: to her knees, her shoulders, her back. At this point, I was sure that she would stop, but to my consternation she continued until she was entirely submerged, save for her trunk, which she held above the surface of the water and used as a breathing tube. By watching this waving snake of a trunk, I was able to follow her progress as she swam round the lake. She remained underwater for more than two minutes, and when she surfaced did so on the far side of the lake, which puzzled her greatly. She swung round, saw me standing by his Lordship and her Ladyship, and swam toward us, again submerging herself and using her trunk as a breathing tube. Whether Elephants generally swim in this fashion, or whether it is some peculiar habit which she has discovered for herself, I cannot say, but both his Lordship and her Ladyship pronounced themselves delighted.
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  It was not long after this first bathe that his Lordship asked me whether the Elephant might be willing to carry passengers on her back. I replied that she would be honoured, and that same day I got me some ash-wood and a saw, and began to build a proper Hindoo howdar, very like the one I had seen in Mr. Coad’s sketch. I made the howdar large enough for eight people, four seats facing in the direction of the Elephant’s head and four in the direction of her tail. This howdar is secured with a tight girth and crupper, while a ladder is strapped to the Elephant’s side, enabling passengers to mount and dismount with ease, though his Lordship prefers to be hoisted into his seat by the Elephant herself.

  Later, I made a much smaller howdar, a kind of padded chair, for his Lordship’s personal use. His Lordship suffers badly from Gout, indeed his Gout is now much worse than it was, and he often uses the Elephant to inspect the Improvements in the park. He maintains that travelling by Elephant in this small, padded howdar, which he calls his throne, is altogether more comfortable than riding on a horse. The Elephant takes great pleasure in being able to serve his Lordship in this way.

  When I arrived at Easton, as I have already mentioned, the lake was surrounded by wet mud, but by the succeeding summer a green carpet of grass made it hard to remember how dull and brown the scene had been before, and indeed the lake, which is shaped with a series of graceful curves, looked as natural as if it had existed in the days of Adam. This beautiful lake is fed at one end by a small river, and there is something wonderful in the fact that such a river, even smaller than the river in which the Elephants used to bathe in Somersetshire, should be able to create such a large body of water. The same river issues from the other end and flows for a short distance before plunging over a rocky precipice into a deep pool. Behind this Cascade is a pine-wood, which contains a rude wooden house known as the Hermitage, and here a man known as the Hermit lives and contemplates Life. Nearby is the Grotto, which is presently being built out of rocks and boulders brought from some quarry in Derbyshire. Its walls and ceilings are to be decorated with glass and shells, while its floor will be a mosaick of pebbles.

  It was in our second summer at Easton that his Lordship gave orders for an Elephant House to be erected to the west of the mansion. An airy, tall building, with high windows which give good light and excellent ventilation, it contains a hay-loft and a small room in which I sleep. It has its own walled yard, with a large stone mounting block in one corner. An arch-way leads toward the lake and the temple; in the head of this arch-way is set a tablet bearing the date 1772. In the spring of that year Jenny and I moved into this fine building, and have lived here ever since in a state of great contentment, for which I would like to express my gratitude to my noble master, Lord Bidborough.

  Part II

  Sussex, 1773

  May 30th

  Last night I thought that I had finished writing the History of the Elephant, and as I put down the pen my imagination carried me straightway to London, where I seemed to see Dr. Goldsmith and several other men of science and letters lost in admiration of the book. With this fond idea I retired to bed; and now am I again at my desk; for, having read over the History, I find that it is far from finished, and that the writing is rough and clumsy and full of faults. There is surely much more to be said about the Elephant’s life here at Easton, while the account of her time in Somersetshire is altogether wrong. How is it that Lizzy Tindall bulks in it so large, when I scarcely intended to give her a single mention? Either she has sailed into the History against my will, or my thoughts and my pen have run away with each other on a private adventure.

  Indeed, the more that I have read, the more certain I am that I shall have to re-write what I have written, and that therefore I shall need to apply to Mr. Bridge for fresh supplies of ink and paper. I have already visited Mr. Bridge once, for this purpose. I went to his room on the ground floor of the mansion; he was sat at his desk, with the door wide open. I knocked, he looked up, saw me, looked down again and pretended to study some papers. I waited for a full minute and again rapped my knuckles on the door; whereupon, after giving me a sour look which extended from my head to my boots (no doubt in case they were covered in Elephant dung), he consented to hear my request. After which: “What is the purpose of this?”—“I am writing a History of the Elephant.” A grunt of disdain. “Does his Lordship know of this History?”—“He does; it was he who asked me to write it.” Another grunt. “How many sheets do you require?”—“Twenty, if you please. And three quills.” Reaching into a drawer, he gave me ten sheets of paper and a single quill. “That should be sufficient.”

  Mr. Bridge is the Easton steward and is known as “the Toad,” because his right cheek is disfigured by a large hairy wart, or wen. This wart is an occasional topick for lively conversation at the servants’ dinner table, he has several times had it chopped off, but it is like an ash stool and soon grows back, stronger and more prominent than ever. Lately, there was a rumour that a second wart, a companion to the first, was sprouting on the back of his neck, but this is probably unfounded. However, Mr. Bridge is also toad-like in manner, for when dealing with Lord or Lady Bidborough he crawls and cringes in the most abject way; yet, with all the servants, save Mrs. Eakins, the house-keeper, he assumes a sharp, superior tone, just short of contempt. No one likes him. He is excessively hard upon me, since he knows that Lord Bidborough often visits the Elephant House, and talks to me directly—but, of course, he does not know the subject of our conversations, and this preys on him. “You are sure that his Lordship knows of this History?” he asked as I turned to go.—“I am sure,” I said.

  I answered confidently enough, though I have begun to fear that his Lordship may have forgotten the History. He has been away in Bath, in an attempt to find a cure for the Gout.

  June 1st

  Evening. As I sit at my desk I hear a noise, and see his Lordship hobble into the Elephant House with a flagon of port wine in one hand, and a stick in the other. His dog, Argos, follows at his heels. I hasten to welcome him. “Good evening, your Lordship.”—“Good evening, Tom, good evening, Madam. Are you well?”—“Very well, my Lord, thank you, my Lord.” At a sign from me the Elephant’s trunk slides out and, taking his right hand, which holds the stick, shakes it up and down. His Lordship beams. “Ah, it does me good to see you both. Sit, Sir, Argos, sit. Over there, if you will. Thank you.” The dog, following the direction of his hand, withdraws to the doorway. “Now Tom, as you may see, I have brought a little wine, which I am under instructions to take for my confounded Gout. Would you care for a glass?”—“Thank you, my Lord. I hope your Gout is better, my Lord.”—“Thank you, Tom. Well, I would not say that it is altogether better, but it is no worse, despite the best efforts of my doctors to make it so. Now, what of Madam? Would she like a glass?”

  I draw up a chair for his Lordship, and he pours out two glasses of wine—one for himself and one for me—and a third for the Elephant. Her trunk twirls in his direction. “Gently, Madam, gently.” To an Elephant, a glass of wine is a mere drop, and in less than a quarter of a second she has drained it into her trunk and communicated it to her mouth. This delights his Lordship. “But,” says he, “I wonder if we may not manage a small Improvement. Do you think, Tom, she may be persuaded to drink like a human being?” And with that, before I can stop him, he has given her the glass itself—hoping that she will hold it by the stem, so that he can fill it from the flagon. Instead of which, she promptly whisks it into her mouth, which closes shut. “Good G-d!” cries his Lordship, aghast, “Tom—stop her—Madam—she is swallowing it whole!” I step forward. “Open your mouth, please,” I say, and she obeys. At first, I can see nothing of the glass—then, presto! the Elephant moves her giant tongue, and juggles it into view, gleaming, deep in her mouth. Her trunk, curling past my cheek, retrieves the glass, which she presents to me—holding it by the stem—her expression, all the while, being one of vast amusement. His Lordship is also amused. “I had been sure she would swallow it! B
ut how well she understood you when you told her to open her mouth! It is remarkable, her power of comprehension—quite remarkable! I hope that you will put this in your History, Tom!”—“If you wish, my Lord.”—“By no means, Tom—it is not what I wish, but what you wish. It is your story, not mine. Well, it is her story!”

  His Lordship then asks me how the History is proceeding. At this, my heart begins to thud, and, instead of answering that I have covered nearly thirty sheets of paper, I find myself stammering that I have written only a very little.

  “Tom, a little is better than nothing. I should be most interested to read what you have written, if I may.”

  It would be the easiest thing in the world to go into my room, and take what I have written from the table, and give it to his Lordship. And yet, at the thought of him reading my miserable words, I shy away, and answer that the History is not yet in a fit condition for his Lordship’s eyes.