The Adventures of Philip

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  The Adventures of Philip on His Way Through the World; Shewing Who Robbed Him,

  Who Helped Him, and Who Passed Him by

  W. M. Thackeray

  VOL. I.

  CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL.

  CHAPTER II. AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME.

  CHAPTER III. A CONSULTATION.

  CHAPTER IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY.

  CHAPTER V. THE NOBLE KINSMAN.

  CHAPTER VI. BRANDON'S.

  CHAPTER VII. IMPLETUR VETERIS BACCHI.

  CHAPTER VIII. WILL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY THE BENEVOLENT.

  CHAPTER IX. CONTAINS ONE RIDDLE WHICH IS SOLVED, AND PERHAPS SOME MORE.

  CHAPTER X. IN WHICH WE VISIT THE "ADMIRAL BYNG."

  CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERY ILL-TEMPERED.

  CHAPTER XII. DAMOCLES.

  CHAPTER XIII. LOVE ME LOVE MY DOG.

  CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS.

  CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS.

  CHAPTER XV. SAMARITANS.

  CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE.

  VOL. II.

  CHAPTER I. BREVIS ESSE LABORO.

  CHAPTER II. DRUM IST'S SO WOHL MIR IN DER WELT.

  CHAPTER III. QU'ON EST BIEN A VINGT ANS.

  CHAPTER IV. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

  CHAPTER V. TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DYING.

  CHAPTER VI. PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS.

  CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH WE STILL HOVER ABOUT THE ELYSIAN FIELDS.

  CHAPTER VIII. NEC DULCES AMORES SPERNE, PUER, NEQUE TU CHOREAS.

  CHAPTER IX. INFANDI DOLORES.

  CHAPTER X. CONTAINS A TUG OF WAR.

  CHAPTER XI. I CHARGE YOU, DROP YOUR DAGGERS!

  CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH MRS. MACWHIRTER HAS A NEW BONNET.

  CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, LOIRE, AND STYX (INF�RIEUR).

  VOL. III.

  CHAPTER I. RETURNS TO OLD FRIENDS.

  CHAPTER II. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY.

  CHAPTER III. WAYS AND MEANS.

  CHAPTER IV. DESCRIBES A SITUATION INTERESTING BUT NOT UNEXPECTED.

  CHAPTER V. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN UNTRUTH.

  CHAPTER VI. RES ANGUSTA DOMI.

  CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH THE DRAWING ROOMS ARE NOT FURNISHED AFTER ALL.

  CHAPTER VIII. NEC PLENA CRUORIS HIRUDO.

  CHAPTER IX. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING.

  CHAPTER X. IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR TRIALS.

  CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY MUCH AGAINST US.

  CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH WE REACH THE LAST STAGE BUT ONE OF THIS JOURNEY.

  CHAPTER XIII. THE REALMS OF BLISS.

  VOL. I.

  CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL.

  "Not attend her own son when he is ill!" said my mother. "She does not deserve

  to have a son!" And Mrs. Pendennis looked towards her own only darling whilst

  uttering this indignant exclamation. As she looked, I know what passed through

  her mind. She nursed me: she dressed me in little caps and long-clothes: she

  attired me in my first jacket and trousers: she watched at my bedside through my

  infantile and juvenile ailments: she tended me through all my life: she held me

  to her heart with infinite prayers and she held me to her heart with infinite

  prayers and blessings. She is no longer with us to bless and pray; but from

  heaven, where she is, I know her love pursues me; and often and often I think

  she is here, only invisible.

  "Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled Dr. Goodenough. "She would have

  hysterics, and the nurse would have two patients to look after."

  "Don't tell me," cries my mother, with a flush on her cheeks. "Do you suppose if

  that child" (meaning, of course, her paragon) "were ill, I would not go to him?"

  "My dear, if that child were hungry, you would chop off your head to make him

  broth," says the doctor, sipping his tea.

  "Potage � la bonne femme," says Mr. Pendennis. "Mother, we have it at the club.

  You would be done with milk, eggs, and a quantity of vegetables. You would be

  put to simmer for many hours in an earthen pan, and��"

  "Don't be horrible, Arthur!" cries a young lady, who was my mother's companion

  of those happy days.

  "And people when they knew you would like you very much."

  My uncle looked as if he did not understand the allegory.

  "What is this you are talking about? potage � la�� what d'ye call 'em?" says he.

  "I thought we were speaking of Mrs. Firmin, of Old Parr Street. Mrs. Firmin is

  doosid delicate woman," interposed the major. "All the females of that family

  are. Her mother died early. Her sister, Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She

  would be of no more use in a sick room than a�� than a bull in a china-shop,

  begad! and she might catch the fever, too."

  "And so might you, major!" cries the doctor. "Aren't you talking to me, who have

  just come from the boy? Keep your distance, or I shall bite you."

  The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with his chair.

  "Gad, it's no joking matter," says he; "I've known fellows catch fevers at��at

  ever so much past my age. At any rate, the boy is no boy of mine, begad! I dine

  at Firmin's house, who has married into a good family, though he is only a

  doctor, and��"

  "And pray what was my husband?" cried Mrs. Pendennis.

  "Only a doctor, indeed!" calls out Goodenough. "My dear creature, I have a great

  mind to give him the scarlet fever this minute!"

  "My father was a surgeon and apothecary, I have heard," says the widow's son.

  "And what then? And I should like to know if a man of one of the most ancient

  families in the kingdom ��in the empire, begad!��hasn't a right to pursoo a

  learned, a useful, an honourable profession. My brother John was��"

  "A medical practitioner!" I say, with a sigh.

  And my uncle arranges his hair, puts his handkerchief to his teeth, and says��

  "Stuff! nonsense��no patience with these personalities, begad! Firmin is a

  doctor, certainly��so are you ��so are others. But Firmin is a university man,

  and a gentleman. Firmin has travelled. Firmin is intimate with some of the best

  people in England, and has married into one of the first families. Gad, sir, do

  you suppose that a woman bred up in the lap of luxury��in the very lap, sir��at

  Ringwood and Whipham, and at Ringwood House in Walpole Street, where she was

  absolute mistress, begad��do you suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse-tender

  in a sick room? She never was fit for that, or for anything except��" (here the

  major saw smiles on the countenances of some of his audience) "except, I say, to

  preside at Ringwood House and��and adorn society, and that sort of thing. And if

  such a woman chooses to run away with her uncle's doctor, and marry below her

  rank��why, I don't think it's a laughing matter, hang me if I do."

  "And so she stops at the Isle of Wight, whilst the poor boy remains at the

  school," sighs my mother.

  "Firmin can't come away. He is in attendance on the Grand Dook. The prince is

  never easy without Firmin. He has given him his
Order of the Swan. They are

  moving heaven and earth in high quarters; and I bet you even, Goodenough, that

  that boy whom you have been attending will be a baronet��if you don't kill him

  off with your confounded potions and pills, begad!"

  Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his great eyebrows.

  My uncle continued��

  "I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man��a handsome man. I remember

  his father, Brand Firmin, at Valenciennes with the Dook of York��one of the

  handsomest men in Europe. Firebrand Firmin, they used to call him��a red-headed

  fellow��a tremendous duellist: shot an Irishman��became serious in after life,

  and that sort of thing��quarelled with his son, who was doosid wild in early

  days. Gentlemanly man, certainly, Firmin. Black hair: his father had red. So

  much the better for the doctor; but��but��we understand each other, I think,

  Goodenough? and you and I have seen some queer fishes in our time."

  And the old gentleman winked and took his snuff graciously, and, as it were,

  puffed the Firmin subject away.

  "Was it to show me a queer fish that you took me to Dr. Firmin's house in Parr

  Street?" asked Mr. Pendennis of his uncle. "The house was not very gay, nor the

  mistress very wise, but they were all as kind as might be; and I am very fond of

  the boy."

  "So did Lord Ringwood, his mother's uncle, like him," cried Major Pendennis.

  "That boy brought about a reconciliation between his mother and her uncle, after

  her runaway match. I suppose you know she ran away with Firmin, my dear?"

  My mother said "she had heard something of the story." And the major once more

  asserted that Dr. Firmin was a wild fellow twenty years ago. At the time of

  which I am writing he was Physician to the Plethoric Hospital, Physician to the

  Grand Duke of Gr�ningen, and knight of his order of the Black Swan, member of

  many learned societies, the husband of a rich wife, and a person of no small

  consideration.

  As for his son, whose name figures at the head of these pages, you may suppose

  he did not die of the illness about which we had just been talking. A good nurse

  waited on him, though his mamma was in the country. Though his papa was absent,

  a very competent physician was found to take charge of the young patient, and

  preserve his life for the benefit of his family, and the purpose of this

  history.

  We pursued our talk about Philip Firmin and his father, and his grand-uncle the

  earl, whom Major Pendennis knew intimately well, until Dr. Goodenough's carriage

  was announced, and our kind physician took leave of us, and drove back to

  London. Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to speak or

  listen. Some who were young then have topped the hill and are descending towards

  the valley of the shadows. "Ah," said old Major Pendennis, shaking his brown

  curls, as the doctor went away; "did you see, my good soul, when I spoke about

  his confr�re, how glum Goodenough looked? They don't love each other, my dear.

  Two of a trade don't agree, and besides I have no doubt the other doctor-fellows

  are jealous of Firmin, because he lives in the best society. A man of good

  family, my dear. There has already been a great rapprochement; and if Lord

  Ringwood is quite reconciled to him, there's no knowing what luck that boy of

  Firmin's may come to"

  Although Dr. Goodenough might think but lightly of his confr�re, a great portion

  of the public held him in much higher estimation: and especially in the little

  community of Grey Friars, of which the kind reader has heard in previous works

  of the present biographer, Dr. Brand Firmin was a very great favourite, and

  received with much respect and honour. Whenever the boys at that school were

  afflicted with the common ailments of youth, Mr. Sprat, the school apothecary,

  provided for them; and by the simple, though disgusting remedies which were in

  use in those times, generally succeeded in restoring his young patients to

  health. But if young Lord Egham, (the Marquis of Ascot's son, as my respected

  reader very likely knows) happened to be unwell, as was frequently the case,

  from his lordship's great command of pocket-money and imprudent fondness for the

  contents of the pastrycook's shop; or if any very grave case of illness occurred

  in the school, then, quick, the famous Dr. Firmin, of Old Parr Street,

  Burlington Gardens, was sent for; and an illness must have been very severe, if

  he could not cure it. Dr Firmin had been a school-fellow, and remained a special

  friend, of the head-master. When young Lord Egham, before mentioned (he was our

  only lord, and therefore we were a little proud and careful of our darling

  youth), got the erysipelas, which swelled his head to the size of a pumpkin, the

  doctor triumphantly carried him through his illness, and was complimented by the

  head-boy in his Latin oration on the annual speech-day for his superhuman skill

  and godlike delight salutem hominibus dando. The head-master turned towards Dr.

  Firmin, and bowed: the governors and bigwigs buzzed to one another, and looked

  at him: the boys looked at him: the physician held his handsome head down

  towards his shirt-frill. His modest eyes would not look up from the spotless

  lining of the broad-brimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed

  through the ancient hall, a scuffling of young feet, a rustling of new cassocks

  among the masters, and a refreshing blowing of noses ensued, as the orator

  polished off his period, and then passed to some other theme.

  Amidst the general enthusiasm, there was one member of the auditory scornful and

  dissentient. This gentleman whispered to his comrade at the commencement of the

  phrase concerning the doctor the (I believe of Eastern derivation) monosyllable

  "Bosh!" and he added sadly, looking towards the object of all this praise, "He

  can't construe the Latin��though it is all a parcel of humbug."

  "Hush, Phil!" said his friend; and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. Firmin,

  lifting up his eyes, looked at him for one moment; for the recipient of all this

  laudation was no other than Phil's father.

  The illness of which we spoke had long since passed away. Philip was a schoolboy

  no longer, but in his second year at the university, and one of half-a-dozen

  young men, ex-pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual dinner. The

  honours of this year's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, even more than for Lord Ascot

  in his star and ribbon, who walked with his arm in the doctor's into chapel. His

  lordship faltered when, in his after-dinner speech, he alluded to the

  inestimable services and skill of his tried old friend, whom he had known as a

  fellow-pupil in those walls��(loud cheers)�� whose friendship had been the

  delight of his life��a friendship which he prayed might be the inheritance of

  their children. (Immense applause; during which Dr. Firmin struggled with his

  emotion.)

  The doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace; the Latin quotations which

  he used were not exactly novel; but Phil need not have been so angry or

  illbehaved. He went on sipping sherry, glaring at his father, and m
uttering

  observations that were anything but complimentary to his parent. "Now look,"

  says he, "he is going to be overcome by his feelings. He will put his

  handkerchief up to his mouth, and show his diamond ring. I told you so! It's too

  much. I can't swallow this��this sherry. I say, you fellows, let us come out of

  this, and smoke somewhere." And Phil rose up and quitted the dining-room, just

  as his father was declaring what a joy, and a pride, and a delight it was to him

  to think that the friendship with which his noble friend honoured him was likely

  to be transmitted to their children, and that when he had passed away from this

  earthly scene (cries of "No, no!" "May you live a thousand years!") it would be

  his joy to think that his son would always find a friend and protector in the

  noble, the princely house of Ascot.

  We found the carriages waiting outside Grey Friars' Gate, and Philip Firmin,

  pushing me into his father's, told the footman to drive home, and that the

  doctor would return in Lord Ascot's carriage. Home then to Old Parr Street we

  went, where many a time as a boy I had been welcome. And we retired to Phil's

  private den in the back buildings of the great house: and over our cigars we

  talked of the Founder's-day Feast, and the speeches delivered; and of the old

  Cistercians of our time; and how Thompson was married, and Johnson was in the

  army; and Jackson (not red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson,) was first in his

  year, and so forth; and in this twaddle we were most happily engaged, when

  Phil's father flung open the tall door of the study.

  "Here's the governor!" growled Phil; and in an undertone, "what does he want?"

  "The governor," as I looked up, was not a pleasant object to behold. Dr. Firmin

  had very white false teeth, which perhaps were a little too large for his mouth,

  and these grinned in the gas-light very fiercely. On his cheeks were black

  whiskers, and over his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, and his bald head

  glittered like a billiard-ball. You would hardly have known that he was the

  original of that melancholy philosophic portrait which all the patients admired

  in the doctor's waiting-room.

  "I find, Philip, that you took my carriage," said the father; "and Lord Ascot

  and I had to walk ever so far for a cab!"

  "Hadn't he got his own carriage? I thought, of course, he would have his

  carriage on a State-day, and that you would come home with the lord," said

  Philip.

  "I had promised to bring him home, sir!" said the father.

  "Well, sir, I'm very sorry," continued the son, curtly.

  "Sorry!" growls the other.

  "I can't say any more, sir, and I am very sorry," answers Phil; and he knocked

  the ash of his cigar into the stove.

  The stranger within the house hardly knew how to look on its master or his son.

  There was evidently some dire quarrel between them. The old man glared at the

  young one, who calmly looked his father in the face. Wicked rage and hate seemed

  to flash from the doctor's eyes, and anon came a look of wild pitiful

  supplication towards the guest, which was most painful to bear. In the midst of

  what dark family mystery was I? What meant this cruel spectacle of the father's

  terrified anger, and the son's scorn?

  "I��I appeal to you, Pendennis," says the doctor, with a choking utterance and

  ghastly face.

  "Shall we begin ab ovo, sir?" says Phil. Again the ghastly look of terror comes

  over the father's face.

  "I��I promise to bring one of the first noblemen in England," gasps the doctor,

  "from a public dinner, in my carriage; and my son takes it, and leaves me and

  Lord Ascot to walk!��Is it fair, Pendennis? Is it the conduct of a gentleman to

  a gentleman; of a son to a father?"

  "No, sir," I said gravely, "nothing can excuse it." Indeed I was shocked at the

  young man's obduracy and undutifulness.

  "I told you it was a mistake!" cries Phil, reddening. "I heard Lord Ascot order

  his own carriage; I made no doubt he would bring my father home. To ride in a

  chariot with a footman behind me, is no pleasure to me, and I would far rather