Throws some light upon Nicholas's love; but whether for good or evil the reader must determine A FTER an anxious consideration of the painful and embarrassing position in which he was placed, Nicholas decided that he ought to lose no time in frankly stating it to the kind brothers. Availing himself of the first opportunity of being alone with Mr Charles Cheeryble at the close of next day, he accordingly related Smike's little history, and modestly but firmly expressed his hope that the good old gentleman would, under such circumstances as he described, hold him justified in adopting the extreme course of interfering between parent and child, and upholding the latter in his disobedience; even though his horror and dread of his father might seem, and would doubtless be represented as, a thing so repulsive and unnatural, as to render those who countenanced him in it, fit objects of general detestation and abhorrence.
`So deeply rooted does this horror of the man appear to be,' said Nicholas, `that I can hardly believe he really is his son. Nature does not seem to have implanted in his breast one lingering feeling of affection for him, and surely she can never err.'
`My dear sir,' replied brother Charles, `you fall into the very common mistake of charging upon Nature, matters with which she has not the smallest connection, and for which she is in no way responsible. Men talk of Nature as an abstract thing, and lose sight of what is natural while they do so.
Here is a poor lad who has never felt a parent's care, who has scarcely known anything all his life but suffering and sorrow, presented to a man who he is told is his father, and whose first act is to signify his intention of putting an end to his short term of happiness: of consigning him to his old fate, and taking him from the only friend he has ever had -- which is yourself. If Nature, in such a case, put into that lad's breast but one secret prompting which urged him towards his father and away from you, she would be a liar and an idiot.'
Nicholas was delighted to find that the old gentleman spoke so warmly, and in the hope that he might say something more to the same purpose, made no reply.
`The same mistake presents itself to me, in one shape or other, at every turn,' said brother Charles. `Parents who never showed their love, complain of want of natural affection in their children -- children who never showed their duty, complain of want of natural feeling in their parents -- law-makers who find both so miserable that their affections have never had enough of life's sun to develop them, are loud in their moralisings over parents and children too, and cry that the very ties of nature are disregarded.
Natural affections and instincts, my dear sir, are the most beautiful of the Almighty's works, but like other beautiful works of His, they must be reared and fostered, or it is as natural that they should be wholly obscured, and that new feelings should usurp their place, as it is that the sweetest productions of the earth, left untended, should be choked with weeds and briers. I wish we could be brought to consider this, and remembering natural obligations a little more at the right time, talk about them a little less at the wrong one.'
After this, brother Charles, who had talked himself into a great heat, stopped to cool a little, and then continued:--`I dare say you are surprised, my dear sir, that I have listened to your recital with so little astonishment. That is easily explained -- your uncle has been here this morning.'
Nicholas coloured, and drew back a step or two.
`Yes,' said the old gentleman, tapping his desk emphatically, `here -- in this room. He would listen neither to reason, feeling, nor justice.
But brother Ned was hard upon him -- brother Ned, sir, might have melted a paving-stone.'
`He came to --' said Nicholas.
`To complain of you,' returned brother Charles, `to poison our ears with calumnies and falsehoods; but he came on a fruitless errand, and went away with some wholesome truths in his ear besides. Brother Ned, my dear My Nickleby -- brother Ned, sir, is a perfect lion. So is Tim Linkinwater -- Tim is quite a lion. We had Tim in to face him at first, and Tim was at him, sir, before you could say "Jack Robinson."'
`How can I ever thank you for all the deep obligations you impose upon me every day?' said Nicholas.
`By keeping silence upon the subject, my dear sir,' returned brother Charles. `You shall be righted. At least you shall not be wronged. Nobody belonging to you shall be wronged. They shall not hurt a hair of your head, or the boy's head, or your mother's head, or your sister's head. I have said it, brother Ned has said it, Tim Linkinwater has said it. We have all said it, and we'll all do it. I have seen the father -- if he is the father -- and I suppose he must be. He is a barbarian and a hypocrite, Mr Nickleby. I told him, "You are a barbarian, sir." I did. I said, "You're a barbarian, sir." And I'm glad of it -- I am very glad I told him he was a barbarian -- very glad indeed!'
By this time brother Charles was in such a very warm state of indignation, that Nicholas thought he might venture to put in a word, but the moment he essayed to do so, Mr Cheeryble laid his hand softly upon his arm, and pointed to a chair.
`The subject is at an end for the present,' said the old gentleman, wiping his face. `Don't revive it by a single word. I am going to speak upon another subject -- a confidential subject, Mr Nickleby. We must be cool again, we must be cool.'
After two or three turns across the room he resumed his seat, and drawing his chair nearer to that on which Nicholas was seated, said --`I am about to employ you, my dear sir, on a confidential and delicate mission.'
`You might employ many a more able messenger, sir,' said Nicholas, `but a more trustworthy or zealous one, I may be bold to say, you could not find.'
`Of that I am well assured,' returned brother Charles, `well assured.
You will give me credit for thinking so, when I tell you that the object of this mission is a young lady.'