INFORMED WHO IS THE GREATEST MAN OF THE AGE.
“Ah! General,” exclaimed Leicester, as he rose leisurely from the
arm-chair in which he had been reclining, “I hope they have not
disturbed you on our account. I was criticising one of Annie’s sketches
_pour passer le temps_--really she draws very nicely. Let me introduce
Mr. Arundel, Mr. Frere’s friend, about whom I wrote to you yesterday.”
A stiff bow, acknowledged on Lewis’s part by an equally haughty
inclination of the head, was the result of this introduction, when
General Grant observed--
“Mr. Frere is a man of whom I have a very high opinion, both on
account of his unusual intellectual attainments, and his manly, upright
character. Have you been long acquainted with him, sir, may I ask?”
“He was my guide and protector when I first went to Westminster,”
replied Lewis, “and we have been close friends ever since.”
“A most fortunate circumstance,” remarked the General sententiously.
“The mind of youth is easily impressible for good or evil, and unless
such establishments are greatly altered for the better since my time,
Satan has no lack of emissaries at a public school. Will you allow me a
few minutes’ private conversation with you, Mr. Arundel? The library is
in this direction.” So saying, General Grant opened the door with
frigid courtesy, and signing to Lewis to precede him, followed with a
stateliness of demeanour admirable to behold.
Scarcely had they left the room, when Annie, clapping her hands
joyfully, exclaimed, “What a creature! why, he’s as stiff and dignified
as papa himself. Now then, Charley, tell me who he is, and all about
him: we shall have Aunt Martha or somebody coming, and then I shall
never know, and be obliged to die of curiosity. You are asleep, I
believe.”
“There you go--that’s always the way with women,” returned Leicester,
speaking very slowly and with an exaggeration of his usual mode of
pronunciation, which was something between a lisp and a drawl; “asking
half-a-dozen questions in a breath, and resolved to get up a suicidal
amount of curiosity if they are not as speedily answered. Why, my
dear child, I would not speak as quickly as you do for any amount of
money--at least any amount of money I should be at all likely to get for
doing so.”
“Now, Charley, don’t be tiresome. Who is the man?” rejoined Annie,
half pettishly. Then, seeing that her imperious manner only induced
her cousin still further to tease her, she added, in an imploring tone,
which no heart of any material softer than granite could resist, “You
will tell me--won’t you? I want to know so much, and I have had nothing
to amuse me all day.”
“There, do you hear that?” soliloquised Leicester, appealing to society
in general. “Trust a woman to get her own way. If she can’t scold you
into giving it to her, she’ll coax you. Well, you little torment, I
suppose you must know all about it. The man, as you please to call him,
is seeking the honourable post of bear-leader to the cub your father has
the felicity of being guardian unto.”
“What, a tutor for poor Walter!” rejoined Annie meditatively. “But
surely he’s a gentleman, is he not?”
“Very particularly and decidedly so, as far as I am a judge,” returned
Leicester, hooking a footstool towards him with his cane, and depositing
his feet thereupon. “At least I dined and spent last evening in his
company, and never wish to meet a better fellow.”
“But,” continued Annie, pursuing her train of reasoning, “if he is a
gentleman, why does he want to go out as a tutor?”
“Because, unfortunately, there is a vulgar prejudice extant in this
feeble-minded country that the necessaries of life, such as bread
and cheese, cigars, kid gloves, and the like, must be paid for--this
requires money, whereof Arundel has little or none. Moreover, Richard
Frere hinted at a mother and sister in the case, who likewise have to be
supported.”
As he spoke a shade of deeper thought flitted across Annie’s expressive
features, and after a moment’s pause she resumed.
“Now I understand his strange manner: he was mentally contrasting
himself (he is evidently a proud man) and his position; it must indeed
have been a struggle--and he does this for the sake of his mother and
sister. Charley, do you know, I rather admire him.”
“Yes, I dare say you do; he’s a decidedly good-looking fellow for the
style of man; there’s a thoroughbred air about him, and he carries
himself well.”
“Psha! I am not talking of his appearance: except that he is tall and
dark, I scarcely know what he is like,” returned Annie quickly. “No! I
mean that there is something fine in the idea of a proud mind submitting
to degradations and indignities for the sake of those it loves; bearing
with a martyr-spirit the thousand hourly annoyances-----” Checking
herself suddenly, as she perceived upon her cousin’s face something
nearly akin to a contemptuous smile, Annie continued, “Charles, how
stupid you are! I hate you!”
“Not possible,” was the cool reply. “Moreover, you have really no cause
to do so. I assure you I was not exactly laughing at your sudden plunge
into the sentimental; it was merely a notion which crossed my mind, that
out of the thousand hourly annoyances by which poor Arundel is to be
martyrised, some nine hundred and fifty would originate in the caprices
of a certain young lady who shall be nameless. In the monotony of life
amid the leafy shades of Broadhurst, even teasing a tutor may be deemed
a new and interesting variety, as the botanists have it. Seriously,
though, you can coax the General to let him teach you German.”
“And embellish my water-colour sketches by the insertion of occasional
cows, with impossible tails made to order--eh, cousin Charley?” returned
Annie with an arch smile. “Give me my drawing, sir, and let me look at
the creature. How well he has done it! I know a cow at Broadhurst with
just such a face!”
“There’s a world of speculation in the eye,” rejoined Leicester
carelessly, though he was slightly surprised at the extent of her
information respecting the “tail” debate; “the animal appears to be
ruminating on the advisability of petitioning Parliament against the
veal trade, or some other question of equal interest to the ‘milky
mothers of the herd.’”
While Annie and her cousin thus gaily conversed, a very different scene
was enacting in the library. During a short delay, occasioned by General
Grant’s being obliged to answer a note, Lewis had time to recollect
himself, and to school the rebellious feelings which his conversation
with Leicester and the other events of the morning had called into
action. He thought of Rose and his mother, and of his determination
that they at least should be spared all knowledge of the real evils of
poverty; and this reflection was for the time sufficient to efface
every selfish consideration. Bringing his strength of will into play, he
regained the most complete self-control, and even experienced a sort of
morbid pleasure in the idea of voluntarily humiliating himself before
the proud old man, whose clear, cold eye was occasionally raised from
the note he was employed in writing to fix its scrutinising glance on
Lewis’s features.
Having sealed the missive and given it to a servant, he slowly
approached the spot where Lewis was standing, and after a word or two of
apology for having kept him waiting, began--
“I presume my nephew, Mr. Leicester, has made you in some degree
acquainted with the nature of the circumstances in which I am at present
placed, and of the necessity which renders me anxious to secure the
services of some gentleman as tutor to my ward, Sir Walter Desborough?”
“Mr. Leicester informed me that the young gentleman’s education had been
neglected, and that his mind was singularly undeveloped,” replied
Lewis, choosing the least offensive terms in which he might express his
conviction that the youth in question was rather a fool than otherwise.
“Yes, sir, though it is even worse than you describe,” returned the
General. “In fact it depends upon the degree of success which may attend
the efforts which must now be made whether Sir Walter Desborough can
ever be considered capable of managing his own affairs, or able to take
that place in society to which his rank and fortune would naturally
entitle him. You perceive, therefore, that the post of tutor will be one
of much trust and importance, and the duties attending it most onerous.
Mr. Frere has written so high a character of your various attainments
that I cannot but feel perfectly satisfied of your competency; but you
are very young, and as I should, in the event of your undertaking the
charge, expect a strict performance of your duties, it is only fair to
inform you that I conceive they may be irksome in the extreme. What is
your feeling on the subject?”
Lewis paused for a moment in thought, and then replied--
“I will be frank with you, sir. Were I free to act as I chose, such an
office as you describe would be one of the last I should select; but the
welfare of others depends upon my exertions, and I have determined to
refuse no occupation not unworthy a gentleman which will enable me
to render the necessary assistance to my family. If, therefore, you
consider me fitted to undertake the charge of your ward, I am willing
to do so, and to fulfil the duties of such a situation to the best of my
ability, on one condition.”
“What is that?” inquired General Grant quickly.
“That I may be allowed to pursue whatever system I may deem best fitted
to attain the desired end, without the interference of any one, and may
be accountable for my conduct to you alone.”
“Rather a singular request, young gentleman,” returned the General,
knitting his brows.
“My reason for making it is easily explained, sir,” replied Lewis,
firmly but respectfully. “Unless such permission is accorded me, I feel
certain all my efforts would prove unavailing: I must have full power
to do what I think right, or I could not act at all, and should have
undertaken a duty which I should be incompetent to perform.”
“Well, sir, there is truth in what you say,” replied General Grant,
after a moment’s consideration. “I like you none the worse for speaking
in a manly, straightforward manner. It is my intention to go down to
Broadhurst in a day or two: you shall accompany me; and if, after seeing
my ward, you are still willing to undertake the task of conducting
his education, I shall be happy to entrust him to your care, upon the
conditions you have proposed. Your salary will be £300 a year. This, you
are aware, is unusually high, but the case is a peculiar one, and money,
fortunately, a very secondary consideration. An entire suite of rooms
will be devoted to the use of yourself and your pupil, and a horse kept
for you, that you may accompany him in his rides. Do these arrangements
meet your wishes?”
Lewis bowed his head in token of acknowledgment, and said, “I have one
other request to make. I brought a Livonian wolf-hound with me from
Germany; he is much attached to me, and I should be unwilling to part
from him.”
“Bring him with you, sir,” returned the General, his lip slightly
curling with a sarcastic smile; “a dog more or less will make little
difference in such an establishment as that at Broadhurst. And now, if
you will give me the pleasure of your company at luncheon, I shall be
happy to introduce you to my relative, Miss Livingstone, who does me the
honour to preside over my household. My daughter, I believe, you have
already seen;” and as he spoke he led the way to the dining-room, where
the rest of the party were already assembled.
Miss Livingstone, who scrutinised Lewis as if she suspected him of
belonging to that ingenious fraternity yclept the swell mob, was, in
appearance, a very awful old lady indeed. The nearest approach we can
make to a description of her features is to say that they bore a marked
(with the small-pox) resemblance to those of Minerva _and_ her owl;
the sternness of that utilitarian goddess--the Miss Martineau of
Olympus--and the sapient stupidity of the so-called bird of wisdom,
finding their exact counterpart in Miss Livingstone’s time-honoured
physiognomy. This lady was appareled after a strange and imposing mode,
as behoved a spinster of such orthodox station and ferociously virtuous
propriety as the General’s female commander-in-chief. Minerva’s helmet
was modernised into a stupendous fabric, wherein starch, muslin, and
ribbon of an unnatural harshness struggled upwards in a pyramid, whence
pointing with stiffened ends innumerable, suggestive of any amount of
porcupines, they appeared ready and anxious to repel or impale society
at large. A triangle of spotless lawn supplied the place of the
breastplate beneath which Jove’s daughter was accustomed to conceal her
want of heart; and a silk gown of an uncomfortable shade of grey, made
so scanty as to render at first sight the hypothesis of a mermaid_ic_
termination conceivable, completed the costume of this immaculate old
lady.
Having apparently satisfied herself that Lewis had no immediate
design upon the spoons and forks, she condescended to afford him the
meteorological information that although the sunshine might delude the
unwary into believing it to be a fine day, she had received private
information that the weather was not to be relied upon: after
promulgating which opinion she placed herself at the head, and assumed
the direction of, the luncheon-table.
Charley Leicester appeared to be the only individual of the party
insensible to a certain freezing influence, which might be specified as
one of Miss Livingstone’s most characteristic attributes. Having exerted
himself to supply that lady with every possible adjunct she could
require, and seduced her into an amount of Cayenne pepper which
afterwards subjected her to considerable physical suffering, he began--
“I was present, a day or two ago, Miss Livingstone, when a question was
started as to what man of modern times had been the greatest benefactor
to his race. It opened a mine of very curious speculation, I can assure
you.”
“I do not doubt it, Charles,” returned Miss Livingstone; “and I am glad
to learn that the young men of the present day employ their time in such
profitable discussions. What decision did you arrive at?”
“Well, ma’am,” resumed Leicester gravely, “there was of course much
difference of opinion. James Watt had rather a strong party in his
favour, but an ex-railway director was present who had lost £10,000 on
the Do-em-and-Foot-in-it Line, and he blackballed him. Lord John
was proposed; but some of the men who took in _Punch_ laughed so
immoderately when his name was mentioned that it was immediately
withdrawn. One youth, who is known to be a little bit flighty, not quite
accountable, poor fellow! declared for Lord Brougham, but we soothed
him, and he had sense enough left to see his error almost immediately.
At length it came to my turn----”
“And whom did you mention?” inquired Miss Livingstone, with a degree of
interest most unusual in her.
“I had been pondering the matter deeply,” continued Leicester, “to try
and hit on some worthy against whom no valid objection could be raised.
At one moment I thought of Moses----”
“I fancied it was restricted to men of modern times,” interposed Miss
Livingstone.
“He to whom I referred, ma’am,” returned Leicester, “was not the
Israelitish lawgiver, but the man of the City Mart, that benevolent
individual who clothes poverty in ‘a light paletot at ten-and-six,’ and
enables the honest hearts of free-born Britons to palpitate beneath a
‘gent’s superior vest’ for the trifling remuneration of five shillings.”
This speech was algebra, or thereabouts, to the lady to whom it was
addressed, but she had a sort of instinctive apprehension that
Leicester was talking nonsense, and accordingly drew herself up stiffly,
completing her resemblance to Minerva by composing her features into
a very satisfactory likeness of the Gorgon. No way affected by this
transformation, Leicester continued--
“On mature reflection, however, I discarded Moses & Son, and was going
to give it up as hopeless, when, all of a sudden, a bright thought
flashed across me, and springing to my feet, I exclaimed in a voice of
thunder, ‘Gentlemen, I have it; the difficulty is one no longer: the
greatest modern benefactor to the human race is--_Bass!_’”
“_Who?_” exclaimed Miss Livingstone, entirely mystified and a good deal
flurried by the narrator’s unusual energy.
“Bass,” resumed Leicester; “that remarkable man whose gigantic intellect
first conceived the project of regenerating society through the medium
of _pale ale!_ The idea was hailed with enthusiasm; we immediately sent
for a dozen; and ere the liquor was disposed of, there was not a man
present but would have staked hundreds on the soundness of my opinion.”
Utterly disgusted and confused by this unexpected termination to the
anecdote, Miss Livingstone rose from her chair, sailed out of the room,
and thus the visit concluded.
Lewis, after a solitary walk, during which he was revolving in his
mind the step he had just taken, and striving to discern in the dull
lead-coloured horizon of his future one ray of light which might yield
promise of brighter times to come, was ascending Frere’s staircase,
when the door of the room above opened suddenly, and a voice, which he
thought he recognised, exclaimed--
“Then I may depend upon you; you’ll be with me by eight at the latest,
and bring your friend, if possible. Ah! here he is! Mr. Arundel,
delighted to see you--none the worse for last night, I hope--wasn’t it
glorious? Grandeville has got such a face on him, he won’t be able to
show for a week to come; and Meeking of the pallid features is so seedy
this morning that I was forced to burthen my conscience by inventing
a fictitious fall from his horse, on the strength of which I sent his
mamma to nurse him. We must book that to the pious fraud account, and
let the charity absolve the lie. Rather shaky divinity, eh, Frere? Well,
_au revoir_; I’m off.”
So saying, Mr. Tom Bracy--for he it was, and none other--dashed down
the stairs, and having deeply scandalised Frere’s ancient domestic by
an anxious inquiry how it was she did not get a husband, took his
departure.
“Frere!” exclaimed Lewis, throwing himself into a chair and coldly
repulsing Faust, who never could imagine himself otherwise than welcome,
“I’ve done it!”
“So have I, man,” was the reply; “and pretty considerably brown, too,
as that nice youth who has just left me would call it. But what have you
done to make you so doleful?”
“Sold myself,” returned Lewis bitterly.
“Not to the old gentleman, I hope,” rejoined Frere, “though your black
looks would almost lead one to imagine so.”
“What weak, inconsistent fools we are!” pursued Lewis.
“Speak for yourself, young man,” observed Frere parenthetically.
“How vacillating and impotent,” continued Lewis, not heeding the
interruption, “is even the strongest will! I have done this morning the
thing I believed I most anxiously desired to do--the thing I came here
hoping to accomplish--I have secured a competence for my mother and
sister. I have done so on better terms than I had deemed possible. I have
met with consideration, if not kindness, from--from my employer.” He
pronounced the word firmly, though his temples throbbed and his lip
quivered with suppressed emotion as he did so. “All this should make
me contented, if not happy. Happy!” he repeated mockingly. “Frere,” he
continued, with a sudden burst of impetuosity, “it has not done so--I am
miserable!”
He rose from his seat and began pacing the room with impatient strides.
Faust followed him for one or two turns, wagging his tail and gazing
up into his face with loving eyes; but finding his efforts to attract
attention unavailing, he uttered a piteous whine, and, retreating to a
corner, crouched down, as perfectly aware that his master was unhappy as
if he had been a human creature and could have “told his love” in
words. Frere would have spoken, but Lewis checked him by a gesture,
and continued his rapid walk for some minutes in silence. At length he
spoke--
“You think me selfish and ungrateful, and you are right; I am so. I
have schooled myself to bear all this, and I _will_ bear it; but bitter
thoughts arise and at times overpower me. I am very young” (“True for
you,” muttered Frere, _sotto voce_), “and I am so unfit for such a life
as lies before me, a life of tame and ceaseless drudgery, in which
to indulge the high aspirations and noble daring that win men honour
becomes misplaced folly; to live with people whose equal, if not
superior, I feel myself, in a semi-menial capacity; to obey when I
would command; to forfeit all that is bright and fair in
existence--intercourse with the higher order of minds, the society
of pure and refined spirits; and, above all, to lose the only thing I
really prize on earth--my independence.
“Well,” he continued, after a pause, “the die is cast, and repining is
worse than useless. I will give this experiment a fair trial; it may
be the harness will set more easily on me than I imagine; and should it
become unbearable, I can but cast it off and start afresh: there is such
a thing as to compel one’s destiny!”