MY timidity and my obscurity occasioned me to live a secluded life at
college, and to be little known. No relative ever came to visit me, for
I had no relative. No intimate friends broke in upon my studies, for I
made no intimate friends. I supported myself on my scholarship, and read
much. My college time was otherwise not so very different from my time
at Hoghton Towers.
Knowing myself to be unfit for the noisier stir of social existence, but
believing myself qualified to do my duty in a moderate, though earnest
way, if I could obtain some small preferment in the Church, I applied my
mind to the clerical profession. In due sequence I took orders, was
ordained, and began to look about me for employment. I must observe that
I had taken a good degree, that I had succeeded in winning a good
fellowship, and that my means were ample for my retired way of life. By
this time I had read with several young men; and the occupation increased
my income, while it was highly interesting to me. I once accidentally
overheard our greatest don say, to my boundless joy, ‘That he heard it
reported of Silverman that his gift of quiet explanation, his patience,
his amiable temper, and his conscientiousness made him the best of
coaches.’ May my ‘gift of quiet explanation’ come more seasonably and
powerfully to my aid in this present explanation than I think it will!
It may be in a certain degree owing to the situation of my college-rooms
(in a corner where the daylight was sobered), but it is in a much larger
degree referable to the state of my own mind, that I seem to myself, on
looking back to this time of my life, to have been always in the peaceful
shade. I can see others in the sunlight; I can see our boats’ crews and
our athletic young men on the glistening water, or speckled with the
moving lights of sunlit leaves; but I myself am always in the shadow
looking on. Not unsympathetically,—God forbid!—but looking on alone,
much as I looked at Sylvia from the shadows of the ruined house, or
looked at the red gleam shining through the farmer’s windows, and
listened to the fall of dancing feet, when all the ruin was dark that
night in the quadrangle.
I now come to the reason of my quoting that laudation of myself above
given. Without such reason, to repeat it would have been mere
boastfulness.
Among those who had read with me was Mr. Fareway, second son of Lady
Fareway, widow of Sir Gaston Fareway, baronet. This young gentleman’s
abilities were much above the average; but he came of a rich family, and
was idle and luxurious. He presented himself to me too late, and
afterwards came to me too irregularly, to admit of my being of much
service to him. In the end, I considered it my duty to dissuade him from
going up for an examination which he could never pass; and he left
college without a degree. After his departure, Lady Fareway wrote to me,
representing the justice of my returning half my fee, as I had been of so
little use to her son. Within my knowledge a similar demand had not been
made in any other case; and I most freely admit that the justice of it
had not occurred to me until it was pointed out. But I at once perceived
it, yielded to it, and returned the money—
Mr. Fareway had been gone two years or more, and I had forgotten him,
when he one day walked into my rooms as I was sitting at my books.
Said he, after the usual salutations had passed, ‘Mr. Silverman, my
mother is in town here, at the hotel, and wishes me to present you to
her.’
I was not comfortable with strangers, and I dare say I betrayed that I
was a little nervous or unwilling. ‘For,’ said he, without my having
spoken, ‘I think the interview may tend to the advancement of your
prospects.’
It put me to the blush to think that I should be tempted by a worldly
reason, and I rose immediately.
Said Mr. Fareway, as we went along, ‘Are you a good hand at business?’
‘I think not,’ said I.
Said Mr. Fareway then, ‘My mother is.’
‘Truly?’ said I.
‘Yes: my mother is what is usually called a managing woman. Doesn’t make
a bad thing, for instance, even out of the spendthrift habits of my
eldest brother abroad. In short, a managing woman. This is in
confidence.’
He had never spoken to me in confidence, and I was surprised by his doing
so. I said I should respect his confidence, of course, and said no more
on the delicate subject. We had but a little way to walk, and I was soon
in his mother’s company. He presented me, shook hands with me, and left
us two (as he said) to business.
I saw in my Lady Fareway a handsome, well-preserved lady of somewhat
large stature, with a steady glare in her great round dark eyes that
embarrassed me.
Said my lady, ‘I have heard from my son, Mr. Silverman, that you would be
glad of some preferment in the church.’ I gave my lady to understand
that was so.
‘I don’t know whether you are aware,’ my lady proceeded, ‘that we have a
presentation to a living? I say _we_ have; but, in point of fact, _I_
have.’