Not long ago, in a little street on the outskirts of London, lived Edgar Scott, a young nobleman. He wasn't particularly handsome for those times and he wouldn't have been even now, but his blue blood and the name of his wealthy family made it so that women chased after him, in every possible and imaginable way.
Edgar was very tall. He wasn't fat nor too skinny, but his broad shoulders made him seem a little overweight. They were the very thing that made him unattractive. His face, however, was handsome. It was fresh like grass covered in dew, and his smile seemed as beautiful as the warm rays of sunlight that dried it. The credit for that smile certainly lay in the perfection of his teeth. His eyes were brown and very observant, sometimes curious, but always hidden behind fine-framed glasses.
Edgar was twenty years old. He was so full of energy that it seemed like he could climb Mount Everest. He was well known in London's high society. He had studied medicine in great depth. He was very intelligent and well-read. He loved to read and did so whenever he had time. He read in the living room, both during the day in the sunlight and at night in his bed before falling asleep.
Everyone in high society knew of his vast knowledge, but they appreciated him even more for not flaunting it and never imposing his opinions, even though they were often the most sensible ideas heard in a thousand drawing rooms across the UK.
During gatherings in those men-only drawing rooms, or during balls, Edgar Scott always kept to himself. The men would discuss politics, but Edgar couldn't care less. They spoke about war and Napoleon. They always started with a calm discussion and often ended up drunk or nearly fighting. Sometimes only their high social class prevented them from coming to blows. Edgar observed everything and simply smiled, or was distracted, whistling a melody he had heard on the piano a few days earlier.
Edgar didn't join in the men's discussions, not because he was shy or because he didn't know anything, on the contrary, he knew a lot, and his so-called shyness wasn't shyness at all, but rather reserve. His father was a passionate politician and always told him everything. Edgar didn't intervene because the world he lived in seemed too vain to him. He was for peace, absolute peace, but deep down, he knew that such a day would never come; after one war, another would break out, and so on, without an end.
"Why should I argue with others," he thought, "if I know that my opinion can never change anything?"
His father, however, thought otherwise, believing his son to be a weakling. Nevertheless, good old Alfred Scott never let it show, only respecting his only son's choices. His wife, Katerina, helped him keep quiet. But when his wife died, at just forty-nine years old from a sudden fever, there was no one left, except the old nurse, to defend Edgar. After the death of his beloved wife, Mr. Scott became increasingly strict with his son, and their relationship grew colder. Edgar felt it deeply. After his mother's death, it seemed as though his heart had shut down. He no longer smiled at anyone, no longer cared about what he wore, no longer spoke as before; he was like a bear in hibernation. Certainly, the cold relationship with his father didn't help.
Before that, young Edgar had never thought about death, but now that it had come so close, taking away someone he loved so dearly, only the sad thoughts of death touched his mind, and the world and prayers seemed more vain than ever.
"What's the point of all this?" he asked himself. "What's the point of growing up, studying, working, seeking love, passions, marriage... what's the point of living if sooner or later it comes, death?"
And so, Edgar lost all desire to live and secretly abandoned his studies. His passion, reading, however, remained with him. In fact, it doubled. It was Easter time, and that's why his father didn't notice anything.
When asked "why don't you go to the professor?" the son always replied, "It's Easter break, dad!" And his father would immediately stop worrying.
After all, Mr. Scott always saw his son sitting in the family library with a book in hand and never suspected that Edgar could be reading anything else. In fact, when he wasn't wandering around the house with empty eyes like a ghost, he would hide in his father's study, filled with shelves of all kinds of books. It was from the age of fifteen that this place had become a true sanctuary for Edgar. Little by little, the books from his father and grandfather, books on accounting and politics, were joined by novels. Over time, the family library grew so large that Edgar decided to open it to the public. But first, the young man needed his father's permission. So, as soon as he had the idea, he went to speak with him.
That day it was raining and quite cold. Knowing his father's afternoon habits well, it wasn't hard to find him inside; the old man often sat by the fire to warm up and listen to the rain tapping on the windows.
"Dad," said Edgar with an angelic tone (that was always how he asked for favors). "I have an important thing to ask you..."
"Speak," his father simply replied, keeping his eyes closed while listening to the rain and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He didn't seem eager to talk.
"Dad," Edgar then sat down on the nearby armchair, his voice trembling like the images created by the fire. "Dad, I've thought about making our library public. What do you think?"
"But why are you like this?!" his father suddenly exclaimed, raising his voice and turning quickly to look at him. "Why is it that every time you need something, you come here to ask me? Why are you so respectful, so polite? You never do anything without my consent!"
The young man smiled, remembering the abandoned medical school that no one knew about.
"Why?" he then asked. "What's wrong with this?"
"Nothing," Mr. Scott replied angrily, but this time, he hesitated a little. "It's just that you're different. Young people your age are spontaneous, they think of everything but libraries. Young people your age are looking for a wife, and you...?"
"I...?" Edgar nodded, with bitterness in his heart.
"What?" his father interrupted, looking at him pityingly, not as a father seeing a twenty-year-old son, but rather as a father looking at a ten-year-old. "Alright," he added. "Do what you want. You want to make it public? Then it will be. Who am I to stop you?"
"Thank you!" Edgar exclaimed. "You won't regret this decision!"
And he kissed his father on the cheek before leaving.