A/N: Steerforth is one of my favorite literary characters-he's so dazzling and attractive, but so corrupt and weak. An interesting parallel, perhaps, to Henry Crawford from Mansfield Park. Anyway, I was just watching the epic 1999 version of David Copperfield (the one with Daniel Radcliffe) and felt inspired. =)
It was not by my design that the remembrance came to me, though I remained long with it after the inciting moment, turning over the past in my mind.
My sons developed the uncanny habit of begging for my own re-tellings, preferring my inferior powers to the classics—and I was borne back, almost against my will, to the days of Salem House, when Steerforth proposed a plan much the same.
I no longer chastised myself for pausing over his memory; so vivid a spirit, so blighted a mark, must necessarily occupy a broad span of mind. And though I never spoke of him to my children, nor often to Agnes, I recalled still the exhilaration of his quick, uneasy mind—how he had asked for stories because he could not sleep, how he had little interest in my comfort but a strong investment in our friendship.
He was too used to worship, and too little used to love.
I would not forget him, even to spare myself the pangs of regret over my own unwitting involvement in his transgressions. His tragedy was my teacher, a guide as rough and stumbling as my child-voice, mouthing the tales of greater minds.
Ah, Steerforth. You suffered the bright glory of a life and legend that made you, for a time, the hero of everybody's story.
You were left no hero for your own.