The Adventures of Philip

by William Makepeace Thackeray

house in Thornhaugh Street, from which he had been previously ejected in a most

  unclerical and inebriated state."

  "On being taken to the station-house, the reverend gentleman lodged a complaint

  on his own side, and averred that he had been stupefied and hocussed in the

  house in Thornhaugh Street by means of some drug, and that whilst in this state

  he had been robbed of a bill for 386l. 4s. 3d., drawn by a person in New York,

  and accepted by Mr. P. Firmin, barrister, of Parchment Buildings, Temple."

  "Mrs. Brandon, the landlady of the house, No.��, Thornhaugh Street, has been in

  the habit of letting lodgings for many years past, and several of her friends,

  including Mr. Firmin, Mr. Ridley, the Rl. Acad., and other gentlemen, were in

  attendance to speak to her character, which is most respectable. After Z 25 had

  given evidence, the servant deposed that Hunt had been more than once disorderly

  and drunk before that house, and had been forcibly ejected from it. On the night

  when the alleged robbery was said to have taken place, he had visited the house

  in Thornhaugh Street, had left it in an inebriated state, and returned some

  hours afterwards vowing that he had been robbed of the document in question."

  "Mr. P. Firmin said: 'I am a barrister, and have chambers at Parchment

  Buildings, Temple, and know the person calling himself Hunt. I have not accepted

  any bill of exchange, nor is my signature affixed to any such document."'

  "At this stage the worthy magistrate interposed, and said that this only went to

  prove that the bill was not completed by Mr. F.'s acceptance, and would by no

  means conclude the case set up before him. Dealing with it, however, on the

  merits, and looking at the way in which the charge had been preferred, and the

  entire absence of sufficient testimony to warrant him in deciding that even a

  piece of paper had been abstracted in that house, or by the person accused, and

  believing that if he were to commit, a conviction would be impossible, he

  dismissed the charge."

  "The lady left the court with her friends, and the accuser, when called upon to

  pay a fine for drunkenness, broke out into very unclerical language, in the

  midst of which he was forcibly removed."

  Philip Firmin's statement that he had given no bill of exchange, was made not

  without hesitation on his part, and indeed at his friends' strong entreaty. It

  was addressed not so much to the sitting magistrate, as to that elderly

  individual at New York, who was warned no more to forge his son's name. I fear a

  coolness ensued between Philip and his parent in consequence of the younger

  man's behaviour. The doctor had thought better of his boy than to suppose that,

  at a moment of necessity, Philip would desert him. He forgave Philip,

  nevertheless. Perhaps since his marriage other influences were at work upon him,

  The parent made further remarks in this strain. A man who takes your money is

  naturally offended if you remonstrate; you wound his sense of delicacy by

  protesting against his putting his hand in your pocket. The elegant doctor in

  New York continued to speak of his unhappy son with a mournful shake of the

  head; he said, perhaps believed, that Philip's imprudence was in part the cause

  of his own exile. "This is not the kind of entertainment to which I would have

  invited you at my own house in England," he would say. "I thought to have ended

  my days there, and to have left my son in comfort, nay splendour. I am an exile

  in poverty: and he��but I will use no hard words." And to his female patients he

  would say: "No, my dear madam! Not a syllable of reproach shall escape these

  lips regarding that misguided boy! But you can feel for me; I know you can feel

  for me." In the old days, a high-spirited highwayman, who took a

  coach-passenger's purse, thought himself injured, and the traveller a shabby

  fellow, if he secreted a guinea or two under the cushions. In the doctor's now

  rare letters, he breathed a manly sigh here and there, to think that he had lost

  the confidence of his boy. I do believe that certain ladies of our acquaintance

  were inclined to think that the elder Firmin had been not altogether well used,

  however much they loved and admired the Little Sister for her lawless act in her

  boy's defence. But this main point we had won. The doctor at New York took the

  warning, and wrote his son's signature upon no more bills of exchange. The good

  Goodenough's loan was carried back to him in the very coin which he had

  supplied. He said that his little nurse Brandon was splendide mendax, and that

  her robbery was a sublime and courageous act of war.

  In so far, since his marriage, Mr. Philip had been pretty fortunate. At need,

  friends had come to him. In moments of peril he had had succour and relief.

  Though he had married without money, fate had sent him a sufficiency. His flask

  had never been empty, and there was always meal in his bin. But now hard trials

  were in store for him: hard trials which we have said were endurable, and which

  he has long since lived through. Any man who has played the game of life or

  whist, knows how for one while he will have a series of good cards dealt him,

  and again will get no trumps at all. After he got into his house in Milman

  Street and quitted the Little Sister's kind roof, our friend's good fortune

  seemed to desert him. "Perhaps it was a punishment for my pride, because I was

  haughty with her, and��and jealous of that dear good little creature," poor

  Charlotte afterwards owned in conversation with other friends:��"but our fortune

  seemed to change when we were away from her, and that I must own."

  Perhaps, when she was yet under Mrs. Brandon's roof, the Little Sister's

  provident care had done a great deal more for Charlotte than Charlotte knew.

  Mrs. Philip had the most simple tastes in the world, and upon herself never

  spent an unnecessary shilling. Indeed, it was a wonder, considering her small

  expenses, how neat and nice Mrs. Philip ever looked. But she never could deny

  herself when the children were in question; and had them arrayed in all sorts of

  fine clothes; and stitched and hemmed all day and night to decorate their little

  prsons; and in reply to the remonstrances of the matrons her friends, showed how

  it was impossible children could be dressed for less cost. If anything ailed

  them, quick, the doctor must be sent for. Not worthy Goodenough, who came

  without a fee, and pooh-poohed her alarms and anxieties; but dear Mr. Bland, who

  had a feeling heart, and was himself a father of children, and who supported

  those children by the produce of the pills, draughts, powders, visits, which he

  bestowed on all families into whose doors he entered. Bland's sympathy was very

  consolatory; but it was found to be very costly at the end of the year. "And,

  what then?" says Charlotte, with kindling cheeks. "Do you suppose we should

  grudge that money, which was to give health to our dearest, dearest babies? No.

  You can't have such a bad opinion of me as that!" And accordingly Mr. Bland

  received a nice little annuity from our friends. Philip had a joke about his

  wife's housekeeping which perhaps may apply to other young wom
en who are kept by

  over-watchful mothers too much in statu pupillari. When they were married, or

  about to be married, Philip asked Charlotte what she would order for dinner? She

  promptly said she would order leg of mutton. "And after leg of mutton?" "Leg of

  beef, to be sure!" says Mrs. Charlotte, looking very pleased, and knowing. And

  the fact is, as this little housekeeper was obliged demurely to admit, their

  household bills increased prodigiously after they left Thornhaugh Street. "And I

  can't understand, my dear, how the grocer's book should mount up so; and the

  butterman's, and the beer," We have often seen the pretty little head bent over

  the dingy volumes, puzzling, puzzling: and the eldest child would hold up a

  warning finger to ours, and tell them to be very quiet, as mamma was at her

  "atounts."

  And now, I grieve to say, money became scarce for the payment of these accounts;

  and though Philip fancied he hid his anxieties from his wife, be sure she loved

  him too much to be deceived by one of the clumsiest hypocrites in the world.

  Only, being a much cleverer hypocrite than her husband, she pretended to be

  deceived, and acted her part so well that poor Philip was mortified with her

  gaiety, and chose to fancy his wife was indifferent to their misfortunes. She

  ought not to be so smiling and happy, he thought; and, as usual, bemoaned his

  lot to his friends. "I come home, racked with care, and thinking of those

  inevitable bills: I shudder, sir, at every note that lies on the hall table, and

  would tremble as I dashed them open as they do on the stage. But I laugh and put

  on a jaunty air, and humbug Char. And I hear her singing about the house and

  laughing and cooing with the children, by Jove. She's not aware of anything. She

  does not know how dreadfully the res domi is squeezing me. But before marriage

  she did, I tell you. Then, if anything annoyed me, she divined it. If I felt

  ever so little unwell, you should have seen the alarm in her face! It was

  'Philip, dear, how pale you are;' or, 'Philip, how flushed you are;' or, 'I am

  sure you have had a letter from your father. Why do you conceal anything from

  me, sir? You never should��never!' And now when the fox is gnawing at my side

  under my cloak, I laugh and grin so naturally that she believes I am all right,

  and she comes to meet me flouncing the children about in my face, and wearing an

  air of consummate happiness! I would not deceive her for the world, you know.

  But it's mortifying. Don't tell me. It is mortifying to be tossing awake all

  night, and racked with care all day, and have the wife of your bosom chattering

  and singing and laughing, as if there were no cares, or doubts, or duns in the

  world. If I had the gout and she were to laugh and sing, I should not call that

  sympathy. If I were arrested for debt, and she were to come grinning and

  laughing to the sponging-house, I should not call that consolation. Why doesn't

  she feel? She ought to feel. There's Betsy, our parlour-maid. There's the old

  fellow who comes to clean the boots and knives. They know how hard up I am. And

  my wife sings and dances whilst I am on the verge of ruin, by Jove; and giggles

  and laughs as if life was a pantomime!"

  Then the man and woman into whose ears poor Philip roared out his confessions

  and griefs, hung down their blushing heads in humbled silence. They are

  tolerably prosperous in life, and, I fear, are pretty well satisfied with

  themselves and each other. A woman who scarcely ever does any wrong, and rules

  and governs her own house and family, as my��, as the wife of the reader's

  humble servant most notoriously does, often becomes��must it be said?��to

  certain of her own virtue, and is too sure of the correctness of her own

  opinion. We virtuous people give advice a good deal, and set a considerable

  value upon that advice. We meet a certain man who has fallen among thieves, let

  us say. We succour him readily enough. We take him kindly to the inn, and pay

  his score there: but we say to the landlord, "You must give this poor man his

  bed; his medicine at such a time, and his broth at such another. But, mind you,

  he must have that physic, and no other; that broth when we order it. We take his

  case in hand, you understand. Don't listen to him or anybody else. We know all

  about everything. Good-by. Take care of him. Mind the medicine and the broth!"

  and Mr. Benefactor or Lady Bountiful goes away, perfectly self-satisfied.

  Do you take this allegory? When Philip complained to us of his wife's friskiness

  and gaiety; when he bitterly contrasted her levity and carelessness with his own

  despondency and doubt, Charlotte's two principal friends were smitten by shame.

  "Oh, Philip! dear Philip!" his female adviser said (having looked at her husband

  once or twice as Firmin spoke, and in vain endeavoured to keep her gilty eyes

  down on her work), "Charlotte has done this, because she is humble, and because

  she takes the advice of friends who are not. She knows everything, and more than

  everything; for her dear tender heart is filled with apprehension. But we told

  her to show no sign of care, lest her husband should be disturbed. And she

  trusted in us; and she puts her trust elsewhere, Philip; and she has hidden her

  own anxieties, lest yours should be increased; and has met you gaily when her

  heart was full of dread. We think she has done wrong now; but she did so because

  she was so simple, and trusted in us who advised her wrongly. Now we see that

  there ought to have been perfect confidence always between you; and that it is

  her simplicity and faith in us which have misled her."

  Philip hung down his head for a moment, and hid his eyes; and we knew, during

  that minute when his face was concealed from us, how his grateful heart was

  employed.

  "And you know, dear Philip��" says Laura, looking at her husband, and nodding to

  that person, who certainly understood the hint.

  "And I say, Firmin," breaks in the lady's husband, "You understand, if you are

  at all��that is, if you��that is, if we can��"

  "Hold your tongue!" shouts Firmin, with a face beaming over with happiness. "I

  know what you mean. You beggar, you are going to offer me money! I see it in

  your face; bless you both! But we'll try and do without, please heaven. And��and

  it's worth feeling a pinch of poverty to find such friends as I have had, and to

  share it with such a��such a��dash��dear little thing as I have at home. And I

  won't try and humbug Char any more. I'm bad at that sort of business. And

  good-night, and I'll never forget your kindness, never!" And he is off a moment

  afterwards, and jumping down the steps of our door, and so into the park. And

  though there were not five pounds in the poor little house in Milman Street,

  there were not two happier people in London that night than Charlotte and Philip

  Firmin. If he had his troubles, our friend had his immense consolations.

  Fortunate he, however poor, who has friends to help, and love to console him in

  his trials.

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

  Every man and woman amongst us has made his voyage to Lilliput, and
his tour in

  the kingdom of Brobdingnag. When I go to my native country town, the local paper

  announces our arrival; the labourers touch their hats as the pony-chaise passes,

  the girls and old women drop curtsies; Mr. Hicks, the grocer and hatter, comes

  to his door, and makes a bow, and smirks and smiles. When our neighbour Sir John

  arrives at the hall, he is a still greater personage; the bell-ringers greet the

  hall family with a peal; the rector walks over on an early day, and pays his

  visit; and the farmers at market press round for a nod of recognition. Sir John

  at home is in Lilliput: in Belgrave Square he is in Brobdingnag, where almost

  everybody we meet is ever so much taller than ourselves. "Which do you like

  best, to be a giant amongst the pigmies, or a pigmy among the giants?" I know

  what sort of company I prefer myself: but that is not the point. What I would

  hint is, that we possibly give ourselves patronizing airs before small people,

  as folks higher placed than ourselves give themselves airs before us.

  Patronizing airs? Old Miss Mumbles, the half-pay lieutenant's daughter, who

  lives over the plumber's, with her maid, gives herself in her degree more airs

  than any duchess in Belgravia, and would leave the room if a tradesman's wife

  sat down in it.

  Now it has been said that few men in this city of London are so simple in their

  manners as Philip Firmin, and that he treated the patron whose bread he ate, and

  the wealthy relative who condescended to visit him, with a like freedom. He is

  blunt but not familiar, and is not a whit more polite to my lord than to Jack or

  Tom at the coffee-house. He resents familiarity from vulgar persons, and those

  who venture on it retire maimed and mortified after coming into collision with

  him. As for the people he loves, he grovels before them, worships their

  boot-tips, and their gown-hems. But he submits to them, not for their wealth or

  rank, but for love's sake. He submitted very magnanimously at first to the

  kindnesses and caresses of Lady Ringwood and her daughters, being softened and

  won by the regard which they showed for his wife and children.

  Although Sir John was for the Rights of Man everywhere, all over the world, and

  had pictures of Franklin, Lafayette, and Washington in his library, he likewise

  had portraits of his own ancestors in that apartment, and entertained a very

  high opinion of the present representative of the Ringwood family. The character

  of the late chief of the house was notorious. Lord Ringwood's life had been

  irregular and his morals loose. His talents were considerable, no doubt, but

  they had not been devoted to serious study or directed to useful ends. A wild

  man in early life, he had only changed his practices in later life in

  consequence of ill health, and became a hermit as a Certain Person became a

  monk. He was a frivolous person to the end, and was not to be considered as a

  public man and statesman; and this light-minded man of pleasure had been

  advanced to the third rank of the peerage, whilst his successor, his superior in

  intellect and morality, remained a Baronet still. How blind the Ministry was

  which refused to recognize so much talent and worth! Had there been public

  virtue or common sense in the governors of the nation, merits like Sir John's

  never could have been overlooked. But Ministers were notoriously a family

  clique, and only helped each other. Promotion and patronage were disgracefully

  monopolized by the members of a very few families who were not better men of

  business, men of better character, men of more ancient lineage (though birth, of

  course, was a mere accident) than Sir John himself. In a word, until they gave

  him a peerage, he saw very little hope for the cabinet or the country.

  In a very early page of this history mention was made of a certain Philip