The Professor (2 page)

"After two days' travelling (railroads were not then in
existence) I arrived, one wet October afternoon, in the town of
X—. I had always understood that Edward lived in this town,
but on inquiry I found that it was only Mr. Crimsworth's mill and
warehouse which were situated in the smoky atmosphere of Bigben
Close; his RESIDENCE lay four miles out, in the country.

"It was late in the evening when I alighted at the gates of the
habitation designated to me as my brother's. As I advanced up
the avenue, I could see through the shades of twilight, and the
dark gloomy mists which deepened those shades, that the house was
large, and the grounds surrounding it sufficiently spacious. I
paused a moment on the lawn in front, and leaning my back against
a tall tree which rose in the centre, I gazed with interest on
the exterior of Crimsworth Hall.

"Edward is rich," thought I to myself. 'I believed him to be
doing well—but I did not know he was master of a mansion like
this.' Cutting short all marvelling; speculation, conjecture,
&c., I advanced to the front door and rang. A man-servant opened
it—I announced myself—he relieved me of my wet cloak and
carpet-bag, and ushered me into a room furnished as a library,
where there was a bright fire and candles burning on the table;
he informed me that his master was not yet returned from X—
market, but that he would certainly be at home in the course of
half an hour.

"Being left to myself, I took the stuffed easy chair, covered
with red morocco, which stood by the fireside, and while my eyes
watched the flames dart from the glowing coals, and the cinders
fall at intervals on the hearth, my mind busied itself in
conjectures concerning the meeting about to take place. Amidst
much that was doubtful in the subject of these conjectures, there
was one thing tolerably certain—I was in no danger of
encountering severe disappointment; from this, the moderation of
my expectations guaranteed me. I anticipated no overflowings of
fraternal tenderness; Edward's letters had always been such as to
prevent the engendering or harbouring of delusions of this sort.
Still, as I sat awaiting his arrival, I felt eager—very eager—I
cannot tell you why; my hand, so utterly a stranger to the grasp
of a kindred hand, clenched itself to repress the tremor with
which impatience would fain have shaken it.

"I thought of my uncles; and as I was engaged in wondering
whether Edward's indifference would equal the cold disdain I had
always experienced from them, I heard the avenue gates open:
wheels approached the house; Mr. Crimsworth was arrived; and
after the lapse of some minutes, and a brief dialogue between
himself and his servant in the hall, his tread drew near the
library door—that tread alone announced the master of the house.

"I still retained some confused recollection of Edward as he was
ten years ago—a tall, wiry, raw youth; NOW, as I rose from my
seat and turned towards the library door, I saw a fine-looking
and powerful man, light-complexioned, well-made, and of athletic
proportions; the first glance made me aware of an air of
promptitude and sharpness, shown as well in his movements as in
his port, his eye, and the general expression of his face. He
greeted me with brevity, and, in the moment of shaking hands,
scanned me from head to foot; he took his seat in the morocco
covered arm-chair, and motioned me to another sent.

"'I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the
Close,' said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent,
probably habitual to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern
tone, which sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery
utterance of the South.

"'The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed me
here,' said I. 'I doubted at first the accuracy of his
information, not being aware that you had such a residence as
this.'

"'Oh, it is all right!' he replied, 'only I was kept half an hour
behind time, waiting for you—that is all. I thought you must
be coming by the eight o'clock coach.'

"I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer,
but stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience;
then he scanned me again.

"I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first
moment of meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I
had saluted this man with a quiet and steady phlegm.

"'Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?' he asked
hastily.

"'I do not think I shall have any further communication with
them; my refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a
barrier against all future intercourse.'

"'Why,' said he, 'I may as well remind you at the very outset of
our connection, that "no man can serve two masters."
Acquaintance with Lord Tynedale will be incompatible with
assistance from me.' There was a kind of gratuitous menace in
his eye as he looked at me in finishing this observation.

"Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with
an inward speculation on the differences which exist in the
constitution of men's minds. I do not know what inference Mr.
Crimsworth drew from my silence—whether he considered it a
symptom of contumacity or an evidence of my being cowed by his
peremptory manner. After a long and hard stare at me, he rose
sharply from his seat.

"'To-morrow,' said he, 'I shall call your attention to some
other points; but now it is supper time, and Mrs. Crimsworth is
probably waiting; will you come?'

"He strode from the room, and I followed. In crossing the hall,
I wondered what Mrs. Crimsworth might be. 'Is she,' thought I,
'as alien to what I like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses
Seacombe—as the affectionate relative now striding before me? or
is she better than these? Shall I, in conversing with her, feel
free to show something of my real nature; or —' Further
conjectures were arrested by my entrance into the dining-room.

"A lamp, burning under a shade of ground-glass, showed a handsome
apartment, wainscoted with oak; supper was laid on the table; by
the fire-place, standing as if waiting our entrance, appeared a
lady; she was young, tall, and well shaped; her dress was
handsome and fashionable: so much my first glance sufficed to
ascertain. A gay salutation passed between her and Mr.
Crimsworth; she chid him, half playfully, half poutingly, for
being late; her voice (I always take voices into the account in
judging of character) was lively—it indicated, I thought, good
animal spirits. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked her animated
scolding with a kiss—a kiss that still told of the bridegroom
(they had not yet been married a year); she took her seat at the
supper-table in first-rate spirits. Perceiving me, she begged my
pardon for not noticing me before, and then shook hands with me,
as ladies do when a flow of good-humour disposes them to be
cheerful to all, even the most indifferent of their acquaintance.
It was now further obvious to me that she had a good complexion,
and features sufficiently marked but agreeable; her hair was red
—quite red. She and Edward talked much, always in a vein of
playful contention; she was vexed, or pretended to be vexed, that
he had that day driven a vicious horse in the gig, and he made
light of her fears. Sometimes she appealed to me.

"'Now, Mr. William, isn't it absurd in Edward to talk so? He says
he will drive Jack, and no other horse, and the brute has thrown
him twice already.

"She spoke with a kind of lisp, not disagreeable, but childish.
I soon saw also that there was more than girlish—a somewhat
infantine expression in her by no means small features; this lisp
and expression were, I have no doubt, a charm in Edward's eyes,
and would be so to those: of most men, but they were not to
mine. I sought her eye, desirous to read there the intelligence
which I could not discern in her face or hear in her
conversation; it was merry, rather small; by turns I saw
vivacity, vanity, coquetry, look out through its irid, but I
watched in vain for a glimpse of soul. I am no Oriental; white
necks, carmine lips and cheeks, clusters of bright curls, do not
suffice for me without that Promethean spark which will live
after the roses and lilies are faded, the burnished hair grown
grey. In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well; but
how many wet days are there in life—November seasons of
disaster, when a man's hearth and home would be cold indeed,
without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect.

"Having perused the fair page of Mrs. Crimsworth's face, a deep,
involuntary sigh announced my disappointment; she took it as a
homage to her beauty, and Edward, who was evidently proud of his
rich and handsome young wife, threw on me a glance—half
ridicule, half ire.

"I turned from them both, and gazing wearily round the room, I
saw two pictures set in the oak panelling—one on each side the
mantel-piece. Ceasing to take part in the bantering conversation
that flowed on between Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth, I bent my
thoughts to the examination of these pictures. They were
portraits—a lady and a gentleman, both costumed in the fashion
of twenty years ago. The gentleman was in the shade. I could
not see him well. The lady had the benefit of a full beam from
the softly shaded lamp. I presently recognised her; I had seen
this picture before in childhood; it was my mother; that and the
companion picture being the only heir-looms saved out of the sale
of my father's property.

"The face, I remembered, had pleased me as a boy, but then I did
not understand it; now I knew how rare that class of face is in
the world, and I appreciated keenly its thoughtful, yet gentle
expression. The serious grey eye possessed for me a strong
charm, as did certain lines in the features indicative of most
true and tender feeling. I was sorry it was only a picture.

"I soon left Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth to themselves; a servant
conducted me to my bed-room; in closing my chamber-door, I shut
out all intruders—you, Charles, as well as the rest.

"Good-bye for the present,
"WILLIAM CRIMSWORTH."

To this letter I never got an answer; before my old friend
received it, he had accepted a Government appointment in one of
the colonies, and was already on his way to the scene of his
official labours. What has become of him since, I know not.

The leisure time I have at command, and which I intended to
employ for his private benefit, I shall now dedicate to that of
the public at large. My narrative is not exciting, and above
all, not marvellous; but it may interest some individuals, who,
having toiled in the same vocation as myself, will find in my
experience frequent reflections of their own. The above letter
will serve as an introduction. I now proceed.

A FINE October morning succeeded to the foggy evening that had
witnessed my first introduction to Crimsworth Hall. I was early
up and walking in the large park-like meadow surrounding the
house. The autumn sun, rising over the —shire hills,
disclosed a pleasant country; woods brown and mellow varied the
fields from which the harvest had been lately carried; a river,
gliding between the woods, caught on its surface the somewhat
cold gleam of the October sun and sky; at frequent intervals
along the banks of the river, tall, cylindrical chimneys, almost
like slender round towers, indicated the factories which the
trees half concealed; here and there mansions, similar to
Crimsworth Hall, occupied agreeable sites on the hill-side; the
country wore, on the whole, a cheerful, active, fertile look.
Steam, trade, machinery had long banished from it all romance and
seclusion. At a distance of five miles, a valley, opening
between the low hills, held in its cups the great town of X—.
A dense, permanent vapour brooded over this locality—there lay
Edward's "Concern."

I forced my eye to scrutinize this prospect, I forced my mind to
dwell on it for a time, and when I found that it communicated no
pleasurable emotion to my heart—that it stirred in me none of
the hopes a man ought to feel, when he sees laid before him the
scene of his life's career—I said to myself, "William, you are a
rebel against circumstances; you are a fool, and know not what
you want; you have chosen trade and you shall be a tradesman.
Look!" I continued mentally—"Look at the sooty smoke in that
hollow, and know that there is your post! There you cannot dream,
you cannot speculate and theorize—there you shall out and
work!"

Thus self-schooled, I returned to the house. My brother was in
the breakfast-room. I met him collectedly—I could not meet him
cheerfully; he was standing on the rug, his back to the fire—how
much did I read in the expression of his eye as my glance
encountered his, when I advanced to bid him good morning; how
much that was contradictory to my nature! He said "Good morning"
abruptly and nodded, and then he snatched, rather than took, a
newspaper from the table, and began to read it with the air of a
master who seizes a pretext to escape the bore of conversing with
an underling. It was well I had taken a resolution to endure for
a time, or his manner would have gone far to render insupportable
the disgust I had just been endeavouring to subdue. I looked at
him: I measured his robust frame and powerful proportions; I saw
my own reflection in the mirror over the mantel-piece; I amused
myself with comparing the two pictures. In face I resembled him,
though I was not so handsome; my features were less regular; I
had a darker eye, and a broader brow—in form I was greatly
inferior—thinner, slighter, not so tall. As an animal, Edward
excelled me far; should he prove as paramount in mind as in
person I must be a slave—for I must expect from him no
lion-like generosity to one weaker than himself; his cold,
avaricious eye, his stern, forbidding manner told me he would not
spare. Had I then force of mind to cope with him? I did not
know; I had never been tried.