CHARLIE.
This big boy was about as far from being handsome as any ordinary
imagination could conceive: his large loose limbs, his big features, his
swarthy complexion, though they were rather uglier in their present
development than they were likely to be when their possessor was
full-grown and a man, could never, by any chance, gain him the moderate
credit of good looks. He was not handsome emphatically, and yet there
never was a more expressive face: that great furrowed brow of his went
up in ripples and waves of laughter when the young gentleman was so
minded, and descended in rolls of cloud when there was occasion for such
a change. His mouth was not a pretty mouth: the soft curve of Cupid’s
bow, the proud Napoleonic curl, were as different as you could suppose
from the indomitable and graceless upper-lip of Charlie Atheling. Yet
when that obstinate feature came down in fixed and steady
impenetrability, a more emphatic expression never sat on the haughtiest
curve of Greece. He was a tolerably good boy, but he had his foible.
Charlie, we are grieved to say, was obstinate--marvellously obstinate,
unpersuadable, and beyond the reach of reasoning. If anything could have
made this propensity justifiable--as nothing could possibly make it more
provoking--it was, that the big boy was very often in the right. Time
after time, by force of circumstances, everybody else was driven to give
in to him: whether it really was by means of astute and secret
calculation of all the chances of the question, nobody could tell; but
every one knew how often Charlie’s opinion was confirmed by the course
of events, and how very seldom his odd penetration was deceived. This,
as a natural consequence, made everybody very hot and very resentful who
happened to disagree with Charlie, and caused a great amount of
jubilation and triumph in the house on those occasions, unfrequent as
they were, when his boyish infallibility was proved in the wrong.
Yet Charlie was not clever. The household could come to no satisfactory
conclusion upon this subject. He did not get on with his moderate
studies either quicker or better than any ordinary boy of his years. He
had no special turn for literature either, though he did not disdain
_Peter Simple_ and _Midshipman Easy_. These renowned productions of
genius held the highest place at present in that remote corner of
Charlie’s interest which was reserved for the fine arts; but we are
obliged to confess that this big boy had wonderfully bad taste in
general, and could not at all appreciate the higher excellences of art.
Besides all this, no inducement whatever could tempt Charlie to the
writing of the briefest letter, or to any exercise of his powers of
composition, if any such powers belonged to him. No, he could not be
clever--and yet----
They did not quite like to give up the question, the mother and sisters.
They indulged in the loftiest flights of ambition for him, as
heaven-aspiring, and built on as slender a foundation, as any bean-stalk
of romance. They endeavoured greatly, with much anxiety and care, to
make him clever, and to make him ambitious, after their own model; but
this obstinate and self-willed individual was not to be coerced. So far
as this matter went, Charlie had a certain affectionate contempt for
them all, with their feminine fancies and imaginations. He said only
“Stuff!” when he listened to the grand projects of the girls, and to
Agnes’s flush of enthusiastic confidence touching that whole unconquered
world which was open to “a man!” Charlie hitched his great shoulders,
frowned down upon her with all the furrows of his brow, laughed aloud,
and went off to his grammar. This same grammar he worked at with his
usual obstinate steadiness. He had not a morsel of liking for “his
studies;” but he “went in” at them doggedly, just as he might have
broken stones or hewed wood, had that been a needful process. Nobody
ever does know the secret of anybody else’s character till life and time
have evolved the same; so it is not wonderful that these good people
were a little puzzled about Charlie, and did not quite know how to
dispose of their obstinate big boy.
Charlie himself, however, we are glad to say, was sometimes moved to
take his sisters into his confidence. _They_ knew that some ambition did
stir within that Titanic boyish frame. They were in the secret of the
great discussion which was at present going on in the breast of Charlie,
whose whole thoughts, to tell the truth, were employed about the
momentous question--What he was to be? There was not a very wide choice
in his power. He was not seduced by the red coat and the black coat,
like the ass of the problem. The syrens of wealth and fame did not sing
in his ears, to tempt him to one course or another. He had two homely
possibilities before him--a this, and a that. He had a stout intention
to be _something_, and no such ignoble sentiment as content found place
in Charlie’s heart; wherefore long, animated, and doubtful was the
self-controversy. Do not smile, good youth, at Charlie’s two
chances--they are small in comparison of yours, but they were the only
chances visible to him; the one was the merchant’s office over which Mr
Atheling presided--head clerk, with his two hundred pounds a-year; the
other was, grandiloquently--by the girls, not by Charlie--called the
law; meaning thereby, however, only the solicitor’s office, the lawful
empire and domain of Mr Foggo. Between these two legitimate and likely
regions for making a fortune, the lad wavered with a most doubtful and
inquiring mind. His introduction to each was equally good; for Mr
Atheling was confidential and trusted, and Mr Foggo, as a mysterious
rumour went, was not only most entirely trusted and confidential, but
even in secret a partner in the concern. Wherefore long and painful were
the ruminations of Charlie, and marvellous the balance which he made of
precedent and example. Let nobody suppose, however, that this question
was discussed in idleness. Charlie all this time was actually in the
office of Messrs Cash, Ledger, and Co., his father’s employers. He was
there on a probationary and experimental footing, but he was very far
from making up his mind to remain. It was an extremely difficult
argument, although carried on solely in the deep invisible caverns of
the young aspirant’s mind.
The same question, however, was also current in the family, and remained
undecided by the household parliament. With much less intense and
personal earnestness, “everybody” went over the for and against, and
contrasted the different chances. Charlie listened, but made no sign.
When he had made up his own mind, the young gentleman proposed to
himself to signify his decision publicly, and win over this committee of
the whole house to his view of the question. In the mean time he
reserved what he had to say; but so far, it is certain that Mr Foggo
appeared more tempting than Mr Atheling. The family father had been
twenty or thirty years at this business of his, and his income was two
hundred pounds--“that would not do for me,” said Charlie; whereas Mr
Foggo’s income, position, and circumstances were alike a mystery, and
might be anything. This had considerable influence in the argument, but
was not conclusive; for successful merchants were indisputably more
numerous than successful lawyers, and Charlie was not aware how high a
lawyer who was only an attorney could reach, and had his doubts upon the
subject. In the mean time, however, pending the settlement of this
momentous question, Charlie worked at two grammars instead of one, and
put all his force to his study. Force was the only word which could
express the characteristic power of this boy, if even _that_ can give a
sufficient idea of it. He had no love for his French or for his Latin,
yet learned his verbs with a manful obstinacy worthy all honour; and it
is not easy to define what was the special gift of Charlie. It was not a
describable thing, separate from his character, like beauty or like
genius--it _was_ his character, intimate and not to be distinguished
from himself.