Almost every woman believes that, though Nature may not have made her beautiful, of her own accord she can achieve charm. “Charm” is the Possibility which Desire dangles before the nose of Hope. And every woman, who is a woman endeavours to make that Possibility a Certainty once, at least, in her life. To be beautiful is a great deal, but to be charming is of greater value and infinitely less dangerous to one's peace of mind. Especially to know that one is irresistible to some one whom one has no particular desire to resist—that surely is everything! What, then, is Charm?

Artemus Ward described a charming woman as “born to make hash of men's buzzoms”—which, though comprehensive, does not lead us very far, and sounds perilously near being a cooking recipe. Oscar Wilde said: “All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled. It is the secret of their attraction”—which, personally, I disbelieve absolutely. Spoiled people manage to get their own way, it is true, since the majority of us are so faint-hearted that we find it easier to offer ourselves in sacrifice than play our part in a scÈne À faire. But the effect of a metaphorical foot on one's neck is by no means a satisfying sensation, though we may endure it heroically. Longfellow described a charming woman as “when she passed it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music,” and this, though pleasing to the ear, seems to say so much and mean as little as any modern drawing-room ballad. Shakespeare, perhaps, came nearer giving us a word-picture of Charm when he wrote: “She told him stories to delight his ear; she showed him favours to allure his eye”; but even that description does not convey to us much more than the effort of a cook to fascinate a policeman. Charm is something more subtle than the ability to tell a smoking-room story in a drawing-room way and exhibit the best “points” Nature has given us with a fine semblance of doing so unconsciously. Perhaps the Dictionary gives the best definition when it explains Charm as being “something possessing occult power or influence.” Occultism seems the easiest explanation of the personal “sway” which some outwardly unattractive person wields over [pg 18] the most unlikely people, people who, by all reason and logic, policy and prudence, ought not to be thus fascinated. Love is easier to explain than Charm; or rather, perhaps, I ought to add, than that emotion which so often passes muster for Love, that emotion which, though it often ends in marriage, or divorce, or a six-months' despair, may arise from no more solid foundation than solitude, a moonlight night, and the sex-appeal of two people in a “romantic” mood. But just as Time is the supreme test of Love, so it is also the supreme test of Charm. A woman who is as charming at forty-nine as she was, say, at thirty, must necessarily possess something inherent in her nature, not recognizable as “beauty” perchance, which leads men nevertheless—and, what is infinitely more difficult, other women— by a single hair. Charm, indeed, has nothing whatever to do with either beauty or youth. Its genius lies in being able to delude the world that it is both beautiful as well as youthful, no matter what adverse criticism artists may indulge in, nor how many cold, ugly facts Father Time may bring forward to dispel the illusion. Real Charm rises superior to both. It is a quality which, because it cannot be analysed, cannot therefore be destroyed. So it is easier to call it “Occult,” which the Dictionary informs us is a power “hidden from the eye and understanding.” On the other hand, perhaps, it may be an unconscious form of mesmerism, the mesmerist being as totally unaware of his gift as the mesmerised is of his power.

But if we cannot break up Charm into its component parts, we can, at least, say definitely what it is not. It cannot be cultivated, for one thing, though life and experience may help to make it finer, more exquisite. Nor is it necessarily the natural possession of either beautiful or clever people. Most of us have met men and women who were both mediocre in appearance and uncultivated in mind, who nevetheless were charming in no slight degree, in that the evidence of charm be admiration and friendship. The natural gift they possessed was the power to make all those with whom they came in contact feel charming too, and this, after all, may or may not be the great secret of Charm? Beauty is delightful to gaze upon; but it is, as it were, a self-contained quality—we cannot share in it except as spectators. But the genius of a charming man or woman is that they help to bring out all that is best in other people. [pg 19] Beauty only makes other people feel more beautiful or infinitely plainer and either is a very lonely feeling. But in Charm we seem to share; it seems to mingle us, not only with the charmer, but with all the world around them. Beauty is like a wonderful jewel; but Charm, if I may refer to it in metaphor, resembles an ideal home. And who would not rather pawn their jewellery than break up a happy domesticity? It is perhaps this feeling which Charm gives us of being perfectly “at home” that is its most precious possession. So, may be, it is really the one word we give to that quality of the mind and heart which mingles both sympathy and understanding in equal quantities. Most women, when they desire to cultivate Charm, read up the Memoirs of Ninon de l'Enclos, whereas they would be much wiser to analyze the attractive qualities of the dog! Animals are always charming, because they are always natural; and to be natural is ninety per cent of fascination. The reason so many men and women are bores is because so many men and women are never content to make the best of what they are, but are always pretending to be what they are not, generally ending their performance by giving a dismal caricature of the Ideal they have tried so vainly to emulate. Even honesty in this world of masks is charming. I don't, of course, mean that honesty which will scrupulously repay threepenny bits, but the honesty which will be content to be exactly what it is, without pretence or disguise, and with no additional trimming in the way of either gold lace or sackcloth and ashes. An artificial person is never charming, though they may sometimes achieve a charming effect. An honest wrongdoer is infinitely more attractive than a Saint who pretends that he has done no wrong. The great charm of a charming person is that he can mingle the most diverse human elements, bringing them down to the one common denominator of Humanity, where all that is true in Nature forges that link which binds men together in brotherhood and humility. Charm pierces all disguise: its influence is so delightful, since it helps us to be our true selves, reprieving us for the nonce from that effort of “pretending” which the world expects to find, and is embarrassed when this expectation fails. Charm, then, is not a gift like Beauty, but a grateful acceptance, unconsciously illustrating in our hearts the fact that it is more satisfying to give than to receive. In this way the Loquacious finds a good Listener most attractive, [pg 20] and the Strong are never so happy with themselves as when administering to the needs of the Weak. Two “born talkers” were born to hate each other; just as one good listener finds another good listener exceedingly dull company. That, too, is why Reserve thinks Vivacity a thing of infinite repose, and the Vivacious discover in the Reserved a silent strength more inspiring than eloquence. It is the man or woman whose gifts bring out all the best in us who we call “charming,” since further description seems unnecessary. Charming people, then, must perforce be natural, since artificiality raises between men a bulwark which not even Good Intentions can scale. They must also be sympathetic, since those who demand sympathy are rarely more than tolerated. They must also possess “Understanding,” since without Understanding one might as well reveal oneself to a brick wall. Granted these things, it will not take us very long to find them beautiful as well.

Charm is not, then, an assertive quality, unless unselfishness can resemble “assertiveness.” Rather is it the power to draw from others those natural qualities which otherwise lie dormant within them. We all yearn to be our true selves: the difficulty is that we receive so little encouragement from those with whom we are brought into contact. Thus, as I wrote before, we are all apt to find charm in those who, as it were, seem to possess the key to our hearts. We delight to talk to them, because with them we feel safe from that danger which besets us so often—the danger of being wilfully misunderstood, wilfully misjudged, our “dreams” and “ideals” wilfully distorted. In their society we expand, living and speaking as free men would live and speak in a world of real freedom. Leaving them to return to the world is as a “farewell” to liberty upon re-entering prison. Physically they may not attract us; though, such is the potency of Charm, that those we like we very soon begin to admire. Which is a blessing without the least disguise, since it enables those who have neither youth nor beauty nor wealth to recommend them to find friendship and love nevertheless. Charm is, as it were, the passion of a “soul”—a passion in which there is nothing physical, but rather a mental and spiritual elation overwhelming the simple “call of the flesh.” Thus real Charm is ageless, because it can triumph even over physical decay. The Charm of Innocence; the Charm of Youth;—these states do not really [pg 21] belong to those gifts of sympathy and understanding which are the two chief elements of Charm. Youth and Innocence leave us at last. Our regret over their departure is at best a purely academic sorrow. In the hearts of those who find us charming we know that we can defy Age. Our greater Knowledge will but give us a clearer Understanding, and for these things shall we be loved. Charm, in fact, is what maturity offers men and women in exchange for their Youth. In finding it, they escape that loneliness which is the one haunting terror of growing old. We speak, of course, of “charming girls” and “charming young men,” but what we really mean is that they are merely nice and young. “Charming,” indeed, is a word which we use as thoughtlessly as we use “Love.” We employ it to express prettiness and elegance, daintiness and good-nature. But none of these things necessarily express “Charm” any more than do those couples, who make use of the trees in Hyde Park to cuddle beneath them, express Love. They are just words we employ because our Dictionary is limited and we cannot think of any other. Real Charm is something much more subtle than any of these things—more subtle, yet more potent. In fact, no one may pride themselves on the possession of Charm until Time has robbed them of all those “minor beauties.” Indeed, if I were asked to explain Charm—and in thus being asked I should be faced by the difficulty of explaining the well-nigh inexplicable—I should sum it up as a kind of super-intelligence of the “soul,” an intelligence which combines the wisdom of the Heart with the wisdom of the World, the Wisdom of the Serpent with some of the guileless optimism of the Dove; above all, the gift of interpreting men and women to themselves, thus bringing to their troubled “souls” that sense of repose which comes from an opportunity to be completely natural, and, in being natural, to arise refreshed in body and spirit, ready for further efforts to solve the problem of true Happiness in Life.