No man likes
to acknowledge that he has
made a mistake in
the choice of his profession,
and every man, worthy of the
name, will row long against wind
and tide before he allows himself
to cry
out, "I am baffled!" and submits to be floated passively back to land. From the
first week of my residence in X---- I felt my occupation irksome. The thing itself--the
work of copying and translating business-letters--was a dry and tedious task
enough, but had that been all, I should long have borne with the nuisance; I
am not of an impatient nature, and influenced by the double desire of getting
my living and justifying to myself and others the resolution I had taken to become
a tradesman, I should have endured in silence the rust and cramp of my best faculties;
I should not have whispered, even inwardly, that I longed for liberty; I should
have pent in every sigh by which my heart might have ventured to intimate its
distress under the closeness, smoke, monotony and joyless tumult of Bigben Close,
and its panting desire for freer and fresher scenes; I should have set up the
image of Duty, the fetish of Perseverance, in my small bedroom at Mrs. King's
lodgings, and they two should have been my household gods, from which my darling,
my cherished-in-secret, Imagination, the tender and the mighty, should never,
either by softness or strength, have severed me. But this was not all; the antipathy
which had sprung up between myself and my employer striking deeper root and spreading
denser shade daily, excluded me from every glimpse of the sunshine of life; and
I began to feel like a plant growing in humid darkness out of the slimy walls
of a well.
Antipathy is the only word
which can express the feeling
Edward Crimsworth had for me--a
feeling, in a great measure,
involuntary, and which was liable
to be excited by every, the most
trifling movement, look, or word
of mine. My southern accent annoyed
him; the degree of education
evinced in my language irritated
him; my punctuality, industry,
and accuracy, fixed his dislike,
and gave it the high flavour
and poignant relish of envy;
he feared that I too should one
day make a successful tradesman.
Had I been in anything inferior
to him, he would not have hated
me so thoroughly, but I knew
all that he knew, and, what was
worse, he suspected that I kept
the padlock of silence on mental
wealth in which he was no sharer.
If he could have once placed
me in a ridiculous or mortifying
position, he would have forgiven
me much, but I was guarded by
three faculties--Caution, Tact,
Observation; and prowling and
prying as was Edward's malignity,
it could never baffle the lynx-eyes
of these, my natural sentinels.
Day by day did his malice watch
my tact, hoping it would sleep,
and prepared to steal snake-like
on its slumber; but tact, if
it be genuine, never sleeps.
I had received
my first quarter's wages, and
was returning to my
lodgings, possessed heart and
soul with the pleasant feeling
that the master who had paid
me grudged every penny of that
hard-earned pittance--(I had
long ceased to regard Mr. Crimsworth
as my brother--he was a hard,
grinding master; he wished to
be an inexorable tyrant: that
was all). Thoughts, not varied
but strong, occupied my mind;
two voices spoke within me; again
and again they uttered the same
monotonous phrases. One said: "William,
your life is intolerable." The
other: "What can you do to alter
it?" I walked fast, for it was
a cold, frosty night in January;
as I approached my lodgings,
I turned from a general view
of my affairs to the particular
speculation as to whether my
fire would be out; looking towards
the window of my sitting-room,
I saw no cheering red gleam.
"That slut of a servant has
neglected it as usual," said
I, "and I shall see nothing but
pale ashes if I go in; it is
a fine starlight night--I will
walk a little farther."
It WAS a fine night, and the
streets were dry and even clean
for X----; there was a crescent
curve of moonlight to be seen
by the parish church tower, and
hundreds of stars shone keenly
bright in all quarters of the
sky.
Unconsciously I steered my
course towards the country; I
had got into Grove-street, and
began to feel the pleasure of
seeing dim trees at the extremity,
round a suburban house, when
a person leaning over the iron
gate of one of the small gardens
which front the neat dwelling-houses
in this street, addressed me
as I was hurrying with quick
stride past.
"What the deuce
is the hurry? Just so must
Lot have left Sodom,
when he expected fire to pour
down upon it, out of burning
brass clouds."
I stopped short, and looked
towards the speaker. I smelt
the fragrance, and saw the red
spark of a cigar; the dusk outline
of a man, too, bent towards me
over the wicket.
"You see I am meditating in
the field at eventide," continued
this shade. "God knows it's cool
work! especially as instead of
Rebecca on a camel's hump, with
bracelets on her arms and a ring
in her nose, Fate sends me only
a counting-house clerk, in a
grey tweed wrapper." The voice
was familiar to me--its second
utterance enabled me to seize
the speaker's identity.
"Mr. Hunsden!
good evening."
"Good evening,
indeed! yes, but you would
have passed me
without recognition if I had
not been so civil as to speak
first."
"I did not
know you."
"A famous excuse!
You ought to have known me;
I knew you,
though you were going ahead like
a steam-engine. Are the police
after you?"
"It wouldn't
be worth their while; I'm not
of consequence
enough to attract them.
"Alas, poor
shepherd! Alack and well-a-day!
What a theme
for regret, and how down in the
mouth you must be, judging from
the sound of your voice! But
since you're not running from
the police, from whom are you
running? the devil?"
"On the contrary,
I am going post to him."
"That is well--you're
just in luck: this is Tuesday
evening;
there are scores of market gigs
and carts returning to Dinneford
to-night; and he, or some of
his, have a seat in all regularly;
so, if you'll step in and sit
half-an-hour in my bachelor's
parlour, you may catch him as
he passes without much trouble.
I think though you'd better let
him alone to-night, he'll have
so many customers to serve; Tuesday
is his busy day in X---- and
Dinneford; come in at all events."
He swung the wicket open as
he spoke.
"Do you really wish me to go
in?" I asked.
"As you please--I'm
alone; your company for an
hour or two
would be agreeable to me; but,
if you don't choose to favour
me so far, I'll not press the
point. I hate to bore any one."
It suited me to accept the
invitation as it suited Hunsden
to give it. I passed through
the gate, and followed him to
the front door, which he opened;
thence we traversed a passage,
and entered his parlour; the
door being shut, he pointed me
to as arm-chair by the hearth;
I sat down, and glanced round
me.
It was a comfortable room,
at once snug and handsome; the
bright grate was filled with
a genuine ----shire fire, red,
clear, and generous, no penurious
South-of-England embers heaped
in the corner of a grate. On
the table a shaded lamp diffused
around a soft, pleasant, and
equal light; the furniture was
almost luxurious for a young
bachelor, comprising a couch
and two very easy chairs; bookshelves
filled the recesses on each side
of the mantelpiece; they were
well-furnished, and arranged
with perfect order. The neatness
of the room suited my taste;
I hate irregular and slovenly
habits. From what I saw I concluded
that Hunsden's ideas on that
point corresponded with my own.
While he removed from the centre-table
to the side-board a few pamphlets
and periodicals, I ran my eye
along the shelves of the book-case
nearest me. French and German
works predominated, the old French
dramatists, sundry modern authors,
Thiers, Villemain, Paul de Kock,
George Sand, Eugene Sue; in German--Goethe,
Schiller, Zschokke, Jean Paul
Richter; in English there were
works on Political Economy. I
examined no further, for Mr.
Hunsden himself recalled my attention.
"You shall have something," said
he, "for you ought to feel disposed
for refreshment after walking
nobody knows how far on such
a Canadian night as this; but
it shall not be brandy-and-water,
and it shall not be a bottle
of port, nor ditto of sherry.
I keep no such poison. I have
Rhein-wein for my own drinking,
and you may choose between that
and coffee."
Here again Hunsden suited me:
if there was one generally received
practice I abhorred more than
another, it was the habitual
imbibing of spirits and strong
wines. I had, however, no fancy
for his acid German nectar, but
I liked coffee, so I responded--
"Give me some
coffee, Mr. Hunsden."
I perceived
my answer pleased him; he had
doubtless expected
to see a chilling effect produced
by his steady announcement that
he would give me neither wine
nor spirits; he just shot one
searching glance at my face to
ascertain whether my cordiality
was genuine or a mere feint of
politeness. I smiled, because
I quite understood him; and,
while I honoured his conscientious
firmness, I was amused at his
mistrust; he seemed satisfied,
rang the bell, and ordered coffee,
which was presently brought;
for himself, a bunch of grapes
and half a pint of something
sour sufficed. My coffee was
excellent; I told him so, and
expressed the shuddering pity
with which his anchorite fare
inspired me. He did not answer,
and I scarcely think heard my
remark. At that moment one of
those momentary eclipses I before
alluded to had come over his
face, extinguishing his smile,
and replacing, by an abstracted
and alienated look, the customarily
shrewd, bantering glance of his
eye. I employed the interval
of silence in a rapid scrutiny
of his physiognomy. I had never
observed him closely before;
and, as my sight is very short,
I had gathered only a vague,
general idea of his appearance;
I was surprised now, on examination,
to perceive how small, and even
feminine, were his lineaments;
his tall figure, long and dark
locks, his voice and general
bearing, had impressed me with
the notion of something powerful
and massive; not at all:--my
own features were cast in a harsher
and squarer mould than his. I
discerned that there would be
contrasts between his inward
and outward man; contentions,
too; for I suspected his soul
had more of will and ambition
than his body had of fibre and
muscle. Perhaps, in these incompatibilities
of the "physique" with the "morale," lay
the secret of that fitful gloom;
he WOULD but COULD not, and the
athletic mind scowled scorn on
its more fragile companion. As
to his good looks, I should have
liked to have a woman's opinion
on that subject; it seemed to
me that his face might produce
the same effect on a lady that
a very piquant and interesting,
though scarcely pretty, female
face would on a man. I have mentioned
his dark locks--they were brushed
sideways above a white and sufficiently
expansive forehead; his cheek
had a rather hectic freshness;
his features might have done
well on canvas, but indifferently
in marble: they were plastic;
character had set a stamp upon
each; expression re-cast them
at her pleasure, and strange
metamorphoses she wrought, giving
him now the mien of a morose
bull, and anon that of an arch
and mischievous girl; more frequently,
the two semblances were blent,
and a queer, composite countenance
they made.
Starting from his silent fit,
he began:--
"William! what
a fool you are to live in those
dismal lodgings
of Mrs. King's, when you might
take rooms here in Grove Street,
and have a garden like me!"
"I should be
too far from the mill."
"What of that?
It would do you good to walk
there and back
two or three times a day; besides,
are you such a fossil that you
never wish to see a flower or
a green leaf?"
"I am no fossil."
What are you
then? You sit at that desk
in Crimsworth's
counting-house day by day and
week by week, scraping with a
pen on paper, just like an automaton;
you never get up; you never say
you are tired; you never ask
for a holiday; you never take
change or relaxation; you give
way to no excess of an evening;
you neither keep wild company,
nor indulge in strong drink."
"Do you, Mr.
Hunsden?"
"Don't think
to pose me with short questions;
your case and
mine are diametrically different,
and it is nonsense attempting
to draw a parallel. I say, that
when a man endures patiently
what ought to be unendurable,
he is a fossil."
"Whence do
you acquire the knowledge of
my patience?"
"Why, man,
do you suppose you are a mystery?
The other night
you seemed surprised at my knowing
to what family you belonged;
now you find subject for wonderment
in my calling you patient. What
do you think I do with my eyes
and ears? I've been in your counting-house
more than once when Crimsworth
has treated you like a dog; called
for a book, for instance, and
when you gave him the wrong one,
or what he chose to consider
the wrong one, flung it back
almost in your face; desired
you to shut or open the door
as if you had been his flunkey;
to say nothing of your position
at the party about a month ago,
where you had neither place nor
partner, but hovered about like
a poor, shabby hanger-on; and
how patient you were under each
and all of these circumstances!"
"Well, Mr.
Hunsden, what then?"
"I can hardly
tell you what then; the conclusion
to be drawn
as to your character depends
upon the nature of the motives
which guide your conduct; if
you are patient because you expect
to make something eventually
out of Crimsworth, notwithstanding
his tyranny, or perhaps by means
of it, you are what the world
calls an interested and mercenary,
but may be a very wise fellow;
if you are patient because you
think it a duty to meet insult
with submission, you are an essential
sap, and in no shape the man
for my money; if you are patient
because your nature is phlegmatic,
flat, inexcitable, and that you
cannot get up to the pitch of
resistance, why, God made you
to be crushed; and lie down by
all means, and lie flat, and
let Juggernaut ride well over
you."
Mr. Hunsden's eloquence was
not, it will be perceived, of
the smooth and oily order. As
he spoke, he pleased me ill.
I seem to recognize in him one
of those characters who, sensitive
enough themselves, are selfishly
relentless towards the sensitiveness
of others. Moreover, though he
was neither like Crimsworth nor
Lord Tynedale, yet he was acrid,
and, I suspected, overbearing
in his way: there was a tone
of despotism in the urgency of
the very reproaches by which,
he aimed at goading the oppressed
into rebellion against the oppressor.
Looking at him still more fixedly
than I had yet done, I saw written
in his eye and mien a resolution
to arrogate to himself a freedom
so unlimited that it might often
trench on the just liberty of
his neighbours. I rapidly ran
over these thoughts, and then
I laughed a low and involuntary
laugh, moved thereto by a slight
inward revelation of the inconsistency
of man. It was as I thought:
Hunsden had expected me to take
with calm his incorrect and offensive
surmises, his bitter and haughty
taunts; and himself was chafed
by a laugh, scarce louder than
a whisper.
His brow darkened, his thin
nostril dilated a little.
"Yes," he began, "I
told you that you were an aristocrat,
and who but an aristocrat would
laugh such a laugh as that, and
look such a look? A laugh frigidly
jeering; a look lazily mutinous;
gentlemanlike irony, patrician
resentment. What a nobleman you
would have made, William Crimsworth!
You are cut out for one; pity
Fortune has baulked Nature! Look
at the features, figure, even
to the hands--distinction all
over--ugly distinction! Now,
if you'd only an estate and a
mansion, and a park, and a title,
how you could play the exclusive,
maintain the rights of your class,
train your tenantry in habits
of respect to the peerage, oppose
at every step the advancing power
of the people, support your rotten
order, and be ready for its sake
to wade knee-deep in churls'
blood; as it is, you've no power;
you can do nothing; you're wrecked
and stranded on the shores of
commerce; forced into collision
with practical men, with whom
you cannot cope, for YOU'LL NEVER
BE A TRADESMAN."
The first part of Hunsden's
speech moved me not at all, or,
if it did, it was only to wonder
at the perversion into which
prejudice had twisted his judgment
of my character; the concluding
sentence, however, not only moved,
but shook me; the blow it gave
was a severe one, because Truth
wielded the weapon. If I smiled
now, it, was only in disdain
of myself.
Hunsden saw his advantage;
he followed it up.
"You'll make nothing by trade," continued
he; "nothing more than the crust
of dry bread and the draught
of fair water on which you now
live; your only chance of getting
a competency lies in marrying
a rich widow, or running away
with an heiress."
"I leave such shifts to be
put in practice by those who
devise them," said I, rising.
"And even that is hopeless," he
went on coolly. "What widow would
have you? Much less, what heiress?
You're not bold and venturesome
enough for the one, nor handsome
and fascinating enough for the
other. You think perhaps you
look intelligent and polished;
carry your intellect and refinement
to market, and tell me in a private
note what price is bid for them."
Mr. Hunsden had taken his tone
for the night; the string he
struck was out of tune, he would
finger no other. Averse to discord,
of which I had enough every day
and all day long, I concluded,
at last, that silence and solitude
were preferable to jarring converse;
I bade him good-night.
"What! Are you going, lad?
Well, good-night: you'll find
the door." And he sat still in
front of the fire, while I left
the room and the house. I had
got a good way on my return to
my lodgings before I found out
that I was walking very fast,
and breathing very hard, and
that my nails were almost stuck
into the palms of my clenched
hands, and that my teeth were
set fast; on making this discovery,
I relaxed both my pace, fists,
and jaws, but I could not so
soon cause the regrets rushing
rapidly through my mind to slacken
their tide. Why did I make myself
a tradesman? Why did I enter
Hunsden's house this evening?
Why, at dawn to-morrow, must
I repair to Crimsworth's mill?
All that night did I ask myself
these questions, and all that
night fiercely demanded of my
soul an answer. I got no sleep;
my head burned, my feet froze;
at last the factory bells rang,
and I sprang from my bed with
other slaves.
|