A STRANGE EDUCATION.
It was late on the following morning ere Lord Mowbray's valet ventured
to enter his lordship's chamber. The daylight fell upon the red and
swollen eyelids of the sleeper, who opened his eyes and uttered an oath.
It was evident that the young nobleman was not in his best humor.
"Is that you, Oliver?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Who is in the antechamber?"
"Your lordship's tailor, who has come to try on the plum-colored coat
with the jonquil trimmings; the little glove-woman from Piccadilly, who
insists upon a word with your lordship; and Capt. Hackman, who has
already called twice to inquire for your lordship."
"Let the tailor wait. Tell the Captain that I shall require his services
later, and let him see to it that he brings two fellows of the
determined sort along with him. As for the glove-woman, send her away.
Because one shows these creatures some little attention of an evening
when one is drunk, they think they have rights. Nothing could be more
ridiculous, Oliver."
"Assuredly not, my lord."
"Is Lebeau there?"
"Mons. Lebeau has this instant come in."
"Ask him to come to me."
A moment later the former tutor and present factotum of Lord Mowbray
smilingly entered the chamber like a man who expects to receive his
quietus with a bare bodkin and is disposed to make the best of it.
His lordship addressed him in French.
"_Eh bien_, Lebeau?"
"_Eh bien_, my lord? Did you not receive my message by the little page
from Brooks's?"
"Of course I did, and I was furious at such a mischance. Here had fate
cast her into my very arms, and your cursed bungling let her escape!"
"Say, rather, the accident of fate, my lord. I was just in the act of
putting the little one into a coach, when a band of ruffians, hotly
pursued by the soldiers, fell upon us and knocked me down. When I
regained my feet, Miss Woodville had vanished, and I was a prisoner in
the hands of the guards. In vain I assured them that I was attached to
your lordship's service. All that I was able to inform you was that I
had failed."
Lord Mowbray looked his confidant full in the eyes.
"You are decidedly growing old," he said.
"That may be."
"Yes, you are growing old, and worse than that. Your compatriots have it
that when the devil is old he turns hermit. Are you doing likewise? As
God is my judge, Lebeau, I believe you are becoming virtuous."
Lebeau affected an offended air.
"My lord," he retorted, "I believe myself above such a suspicion. My
past record answers for me."
"You are joking, but I am serious. Do you know the thought that has
suggested itself to me, more especially since yesterday?"
"I cannot fancy, my lord."
"Well, that you are playing me false!"
With folded arms, Lebeau calmly regarded the speaker.
"Playing you false?" he echoed steadily. "For what reason?"
"That is what I wish to know."
[Illustration]
"That would be folly on my part. Have you ever known me to commit
deliberate treason? Does not my livelihood depend upon you? Are not my
pleasures the remnants of yours? Have I not reared you as my own child?
If I love anything in this world, it should assuredly be you."
"Then why do you oppose my course with Esther, when she loves me and is
ready to yield? I have even feigned to believe you a bungler in order
not to believe you a traitor and unfaithful to me. You, who have
arranged all my intrigues--why do you oppose this one?"
"I have told you that the affair is full of peril."
"On account of the cousin Reuben?"
"Precisely."
"A psalm-singing hypocrite!"
"You do not know him. The man has a will of iron, and he loves Esther.
In a different epoch he would have been capable of subverting a
monarchy, and he would set London on fire if his passion, which he
regards as sent from on high, should command him to do it. Young as he
is, there are hundreds of fanatics who follow and obey him, and I advise
Capt. Hackman and his men not to try issues with that legion of fools!"
"You quite fire me to carry the adventure to the issue at all events."
"Then may the devil protect your lordship! As for myself, I have
sermonized quite enough for a man of my stamp. In any case, my lord, the
receipts of last night's game must have recompensed you for the
miscalculations of love. In that regard we have another proverb in our
language. When I left the club Fortune seemed to be smiling upon you."
"Yes, and I continued to win until daybreak. Poor Charles Fox hadn't a
guinea to his name. Moreover, he was hopelessly intoxicated, and, to cap
the climax, had an important speech to deliver to-day. We bound up his
head in cold cloths and left him in a chair as well as could be
expected. I scrupled about ruining him, for it is said that his
furniture will be seized next week; but he does not seem to mind. I won
twenty thousand pounds and remained alone with Lord Stavondale. It was
raining, and we watched the day dawn across the wet windows. I assure
you it is a very ugly sight to see. Stavondale pointed out two drops of
water of about equal density slowly coursing over the pane. 'I will
wager,' he said, 'that _that_ one will touch the sash first.' 'I'll take
you,' said I. 'How much?' said he. 'My night's winnings,' said I. Just
at that moment a devilish drop, which some inequality in the glass
turned from its course, joined Stavondale's drop, which came in with a
rush, and I lost my twenty thousand pounds. What consoled me for my loss
was the novelty of the invention. This racing drops across a window pane
is every whit as amusing as pitting horses against each other at
Newmarket."
Here chocolate was brought in at the same time with his lordship's
journals.
"See if there is anything in the papers," he commanded.
Lebeau glanced through the _Morning Chronicle_ and the _Gentleman's
Magazine_, and several other gazettes of the same description, which
included magazines both matrimonial and sentimental.
"Let us see," said he; "'In a certain house in the neighborhood of the
Thames--' Your lordship knows that this has reference to the House of
Commons."
"Pass over politics."
"Here is a book announced from the pen of Mr. Bryant, the antiquarian,
who is so well informed concerning events from the origin of the world
to the Deluge. Fancy considering nothing of importance _after_ the
Deluge! His work is disposed of in three words,--'Heavy, tiresome,
pedantic.' Cumberland's romance is also treated in three
words,--'Refined, sensible, and tender.'"
"Pass over literature."
"The condemned of the week: 'Sarah Hoggs, to be hanged for stealing a
piece of cloth that was spread out to dry; Laurence Williamson, to the
same penalty for having cut down sundry young trees; item, Annie Smith,
to one year's imprisonment for having taken forty shillings in the
presence of witnesses; item, Florence Dunk, to be hanged for having
taken five shillings privately; item, William Morton, to transportation
for having assassinated his father.'"
"Pass over all that. What society news is there?"
"'Major T---- has again been detected in cheating at cards; he has been
requested not to appear at Almack's again.'"
"That's Topham, the editor of the _World_!" exclaimed his lordship.
"Bah! in a week's time he will be back again and everybody will be
shaking hands with him."
"'Lady B---- has eloped with her husband's groom; his lordship will be
consoled by the society of Mlle. Annette, the little French dancer.'"
"Is there nothing else?"
"Nothing but two duels, three abductions, five or six bankruptcies,
several fires, and a charade in verse.--Ah!"
"Well, what is it?"
"George Barrington, the gentleman-sharper, has been arrested at
Edinburgh!"
"Barrington! a charming fellow! I recollect one evening at Ranelagh,
when he showed me how he purloined a snuff-box, and as payment for the
lesson he took my watch. And here he is under lock and key! Poor boy!"
"You need not pity him. He will plead his cause so eloquently that he
will be acquitted, as he has been many a time."
"In truth, he is a very Cicero among thieves. And the advertisements?"
"The alchemist Woulfe announces for sale an elixir which is a panacea
for every malady. Samuel Wollmer will loan money to sons-of-family in
embarrassment. As he is actuated by pure love of humanity, his terms
will be very moderate. Mrs. Cresswell offers false hair, masks, and red
pomade for the lips. Oh, oh! here's a gentleman of middle age who
desires to meet a young lady of good appearance and amiable disposition,
but discreet and lively. He'll find her," added Lebeau gravely. "I am
convinced that his advertisement will be answered."
During this time Oliver had dressed and prepared his master, and had
tried on the plum-colored coat with the jonquil trimmings. Every trace
of the night's fatigue had disappeared; the fresh hue of early youth
bloomed again upon Lord Mowbray's cheek. As he was about to go out he
gave his final orders to Oliver.
"You will buy for me 'The Tests of Character'; also, you will ask for
the fashionable romance, 'The Cadenas.' You will inquire about the new
wax which has just been invented by the Prince of Wales; they say it is
marvellous. Now let us go and have a game of bowls, after which we will
take a turn in the fencing-school."
Lord Mowbray slipped his arm into that of Lebeau, and in this attitude
they went out together, which seemed to announce the return of
confidence and friendly feeling. Mons. Lebeau was an adept in the art of
pleasing, and in order to make good his return to grace he employed all
the resources of his wit, which was by no means of mediocre quality. A
curious fellow was this same Lebeau, who had almost ceased to be a
Frenchman without wholly becoming an Englishman. He had distinguished
himself among the tutors who were furnished to lordlings and who were
termed "bear-keepers." He was clever, knew the world, was "up" in
literature, could recite from the poets, and in case of need was able to
turn a verse as easily as one twirled a snuff-box. He had had a tragedy
produced and hissed off the stage somewhere, for he had tasted the cup
of a man of letters, living by dedications to the great and by writing
homilies for churchmen, rich in skekels but poor in intellect. He would
frequently say, "Had I delivered all the sermons which I have written, I
should be a cardinal." In turn, doctor upon a vessel of the East India
Company, actor, professor of mathematics, courier to an ambassador,
Parisian correspondent to a German prince who boasted thirty-three
subjects, what callings had he not fulfilled? By what sallies had he not
attempted fortune? His life resembled one of those old-fashioned
romances, filled, as it was, with adventures which we should consider
impossible. An event upon which he never cared to enlarge--some sort of
an irregular duel with a personage of dignity--had obliged him to leave
his native land. In a London brothel he had made the acquaintance of the
late Lord Mowbray, who had taken him into his service on condition that
he would procure him something new in the way of emotion. "I am bored
to death," explained his lordship; "amuse me. I have used up every
resource and am used up myself; invent some plan to revive me. Bear in
mind your ability as an author and make my life a poem of delights, an
unedited romance. Instead of committing your fancies to paper, realize
them with my guineas and for my benefit. To begin with, there is my
villa, my 'Folly,' which is being built at Chelsea. Give your orders:
the mason, the painter, the upholsterer will obey you." Lebeau accepted
the engagement and acquitted himself to the perfect satisfaction of his
new patron.
It was he who first invented those marvellous traps by means of which
the table disappeared after the first course and came up again laid with
a fresh service, which relieved the guests of the espionage of the
attendants. It was he, again, who devised, or revived from ancient
usage, the perfumed rain, the hail of roses; who offered to his master's
friends a _fete_ such as Cleopatra gave, a Trimalcion supper and a
Borgian night festival; who realized for enchanted senses a corner of
the Orient, a dream of the Thousand and One Nights, while the snowflakes
fell and the wintry wind outside swept over the denuded country. And
Lord Mowbray had the satisfaction of saying to those who congratulated
him, "This is a mere nothing."
His friends in their jealousy often said to him, "Lebeau is robbing
you." Whereupon he would shrug his shoulders and reply, "How can you
expect such a clever fellow not to be a little bit of a swindler?"
Let us give an example of one of his surprising devices. As Lord Mowbray
was strolling one evening along the Cheyne Walk by the water he was
suddenly seized by three or four ruffians, stripped of his clothing,
bound, gagged, and finally thrown into the river. There he gave all up
for lost, and, believing himself at death's door, fainted away. He
recovered, to find himself at the bottom of a gigantic pie, whence he
emerged, to the profound astonishment of a dozen or more of his friends
who had assembled for supper.
"What do you think of that for a new sensation, my lord?" inquired
Lebeau modestly.
"You own no equal!" exclaimed Mowbray enthusiastically. "I would not
part with you for ten thousand pounds!"
But Lebeau inspired contrary sentiments in poor Lady Mowbray, who saw in
him her husband's evil genius. When he was about she lost all hope of
reclaiming her faithless spouse. A slow fever having succeeded the birth
of her only son, she made no effort to live. Why should she? Her son
would be enticed from her, as her husband had been. The child, as by
some inconceivable hereditary repugnance, avoided her, fled her
caresses. She herself, to her deep mortification, never experienced that
mysterious and potent attachment which eternally binds the existence of
mother and child; and it was under these cruel conditions of life that
Lady Mowbray, overwhelmed with misery, weary of suffering, and longing
for rest, sank into the arms of death.
She expired unpitied, conjugal love in the higher ranks of society being
regarded as a ridiculous anomaly. However, the cynical joy of Lord
Mowbray, even in that epoch of irony and indifference, caused a shudder
among the less delicate. Henceforth he was in no way hampered. A career
of untrammelled debauchery lay open before him; but an unexpected event
arrested him with ruthless abruptness. He suddenly disappeared, and the
circumstances of his taking-off, at once ignoble and sinister, finally
became known in the social walks where he had been best known. He had
lost his life in attempting to experiment upon himself in the mysterious
sensations which, he was informed, attended the final convulsions of
those doomed to die by hanging. Whether through mismanagement or crime,
the cord had not been cut in time, and Death still guarded his secret
from the one who had essayed to violate it.
Among the deceased nobleman's papers were found sundry instructions for
the education of his son, among which one doctrine, far worse than
atheism, was drawn up in cold, dry, incisive terms, to suit the custom
of the time.
"Man," it maintained, "should live in accordance with nature. Now,
nature commands us to flee pain and seek pleasure. Certain philosophers
of antiquity have clearly perceived this truth, and that, too, at an
epoch when the human mind was not yet encumbered and obscured by vain
prejudices. But they have not ventured to demonstrate their theory even
unto the end; they have imagined a substance called the soul, the
tendencies of which are at constant variance with those of the body.
They have arrayed pleasure in the guise of virtue, and have thus opened
the way for the Christian folly. Christianity is the most formidable
opponent of happiness, and during long ages has rendered the world
well-nigh uninhabitable. From infancy we are imbued with the mawkish
doctrines; I, myself, have had the utmost difficulty in relieving myself
of the yoke and I have but imperfectly succeeded. That is why, should I
die before my son has attained his majority, I expressly desire that he
shall grow up without receiving the teachings of any religion
whatsoever. Later he will understand these aberrations when he comes to
a full appreciation of the long series of human errors. Let his mind be
developed, stocked with facts, and ornamented with agreeable
reflections; let him be schooled in all that pertains to bodily exercise
where strength and address are required. By increasing his vigor, his
passions will increase and consequently his relish for life. Let him be
instructed not to govern or struggle with himself, but to follow in all
things the only instinct which can be his certain guide,--that which
attracts man to pleasure. Monsieur Lebeau appears to me a man of the
world and the one best fitted to take charge of this education."
The will of the dead man was duly accomplished. The young man was reared
in the school of evil and became a curious, experimental subject for his
master. The late Lord Mowbray had been a reclaimed fanatic; after his
own fashion he preached as do nearly all of his compatriots. Lebeau
contented himself with observation, and consigned these observations to
a certain manuscript, written in French, which was entitled: "A Treatise
on Pleasure; or, A Rational Journal of a Young English Nobleman. To be
published one hundred years after my death."
Lebeau remarked many things; among others these:--
"This youth, reared in the very lap of happiness, was not happy. The
pleasure which formed his daily lessons seemed to him stale and forced.
Over and beyond the delights which were multiplied for him and almost
imposed upon him, he dreamed of others to which he could not attain,
thereby proving that the true vocation of man is the unattainable, the
unreal. He was bred according to nature, that is to say, after the
fashion of savages; his joys revolved in the narrow, wretched circle in
which the primitive inhabitants of the globe vegetate. Five or six
thousand years of civilization have delicately undermined, modelled, and
ameliorated this block of confused sensations which we represent. The
thousand constraints which man has imposed upon himself, and his
privations, voluntary or obligatory, not to mention his griefs, have
refined him, perfected his organs of pleasure, increased his faculty of
happiness an hundred-fold. Suppress these constraints, these tests,
these combats, and you leave him but the swift, bestial joys in which
the aborigines, our ancestors, forgot for a moment in the obscurity of
their caverns the frightful misery of their existence. Young Mowbray at
twenty years of age had run the gamut of fallacious love. He had learned
the principles of gallantry and debauchery as one learns Latin; but
never having trembled, wept, nor suffered, he was totally ignorant of
genuine love."
All at once towards Lebeau, that man of infinite complaisance, he
experienced a sense of secret resistance. It was upon the day when first
he was smitten by the charms of Miss Woodville. A will seemed to
interpose between him and the object of his desire, seeming to say: "All
women, but not _this one_!"
Was it not sufficient that she had become dearer to him than all
others?