The Adventures of Philip

the grave epicures with whom he dined: he used to boast, like a worthy bon

  vivant who knows the value of wine-conversation after dinner, of the quantities

  which he possessed, and the rare bins which he had in store; but when the

  executioners came to arrange his sale, there was found only a beggarly account

  of empty bottles, and I fear some of the unprincipled creditors put in a great

  quantity of bad liquor which they endeavoured to foist off on the public as the

  genuine and carefully selected stock of a well-known connoisseur. News of this

  dishonest proceeding reached Dr. Firmin presently in his retreat; and he showed

  by his letter a generous and manly indignation at the manner in which his

  creditors had tampered with his honest name and reputation as a bon vivant. He

  have bad wine! For shame! He had the best from the best wine-merchant, and paid,

  or rather owed, the best prices for it; for of late years the doctor had paid no

  bills at all: and the wine-merchant appeared in quite a handsome group of

  figures in his schedule. In like manner his books were pawned to a book

  auctioneer; and Brice, the butler, had a bill of sale for the furniture. Firmin

  retreated, we will say with the honours of war, but as little harmed as possible

  by defeat. Did the enemy want the plunder of the city? He had smuggled almost

  all his valuable goods over the wall. Did they desire his ships? He had sunk

  them: and when at length the conquerors poured into his stronghold, he was far

  beyond the reach of their shot. Don't we often hear still that Nana Sahib is

  alive and exceedingly comfortable? We do not love him; but we can't help having

  a kind of admiration for that slippery fugitive who has escaped from the

  dreadful jaws of the lion. In a word, when Firmin's furniture came to be sold,

  it was a marvel how little his creditors benefited by the sale. Contemptuous

  brokers declared there never was such a shabby lot of goods. A friend of the

  house and poor Philip bought in his mother's picture for a few guineas; and as

  for the doctor's own state portrait, I am afraid it went for a few shillings

  only, and in the midst of a roar of Hebrew laughter. I saw in Wardour Street,

  not long after, the doctor's sideboard, and what dealers cheerfully call the

  sarcophagus cellaret. Poor doctor! his wine was all drunken; his meat was eaten

  up; but his own body had slipped out of the reach of the hookbeaked birds of

  prey.

  We had spoken rapidly in under tones, innocently believing that the young people

  round about us were taking no heed of our talk. But in a lull of the

  conversation, Mr. Pendennis junior, who had always been a friend to Philip,

  broke out with??"Philip! if you are so very poor, you'll be hungry, you know,

  and you may have my piece of bread and jam. And I don't want it, mamma," he

  added; "and you know Philip has often and often given me things."

  Philip stooped down and kissed this good little Samaritan. "I'm not hungry,

  Arty, my boy," he said; "and I'm not so poor but I have got??look here??a fine

  new shilling for Arty!"

  "Oh, Philip, Philip!" cried mamma.

  "Don't take the money, Arthur," cried papa.

  And the boy, with a rueful face but a manly heart, prepared to give back the

  coin. "It's quite a new one; and it's a very pretty one: but I won't have it,

  Philip, thank you," he said, turning very red.

  "If he won't, I vow I will give it to the cabman," said Philip.

  "Keeping a cab all this while? Oh, Philip, Philip!" again cries mamma the

  economist.

  "Loss of time is loss of money, my dear lady," says Philip, very gravely. "I

  have ever so many places to go to. When I am set in for being ruined, you shall

  see what a screw I will become! I must go to Mrs. Brandon, who will be very

  uneasy, poor dear, until she knows the worst."

  "Oh, Philip, I should like so to go with you!" cries Laura. "Pray, give her our

  very best regards and respects."

  "Merci!" said the young man, and squeezed Mrs. Pendennis's hand in his own big

  one. "I will take your message to her, Laura. J'aime qu'on I'aime, savezvous?"

  "That means, I love those who love her," cries little Laura; "but, I don't

  know," remarked this little person afterwards to her paternal confidant, "that I

  like all people to love my mamma. That is, I don't like her to like them,

  papa??only you may, papa, and Ethel may, and Arthur may, and I think, Philip

  may, now he is poor and quite, quite alone??and we will take care of him, won't

  we? And, I think, I'll buy him something with my money which aunt Ethel gave

  me."

  "And I'll give him my money," cries a boy.

  "And I'll div him my??my??" Psha! what matters what the little sweet lips

  prattled in their artless kindness? But the soft words of love and pity smote

  the mother's heart with an exquisite pang of gratitude and joy: and I know where

  her thanks were paid for those tender words and thoughts of her little ones.

  Mrs. Pendennis made Philip promise to come to dinner, and also to remember not

  to take a cab??which promise Mr. Firmin had not much difficulty in executing,

  for he had but a few hundred yards to walk across the Park from his club; and I

  must say that my wife took a special care of our dinner that day, preparing for

  Philip certain dishes which she knew he liked, and enjoining the butler of the

  establishment (who also happened to be the owner of the house) to fetch from his

  cellar the very choicest wine in his possession.

  I have previously described our friend and his boisterous, impetuous, generous

  nature. When Philip was moved, he called to all the world to witness his

  emotion. When he was angry, his enemies were all the rogues and scoundrels in

  the world. He vowed he would have no mercy on them, and desired all his

  acquaintances to participate in his anger. How could such an open-mouthed son

  have had such a close-spoken father? I daresay you have seen very well-bred

  young people, the children of vulgar and ill-bred parents; the swaggering father

  have a silent son; the loud mother a modest daughter. Our friend is not Amadis

  or Sir Charles Grandison; and I don't set him up for a moment as a person to be

  revered or imitated; but try to draw him faithfully, and as nature made him. As

  nature made him, so he was. I don't think he tried to improve himself much.

  Perhaps few people do. They suppose they do: and you read, in apologetic

  memoirs, and fond biographies, how this man cured his bad temper, and t'other

  worked and strove until he grew to be almost faultless. Very well and good, my

  good people. You can learn a language; you can master a science; I have heard of

  an old square-toes of sixty who learned, by study and intense application, very

  satisfactorily to dance; but can you, by taking thought, add to your moral

  stature? Ah me! the doctor who preaches is only taller than most of us by the

  height of the pulpit: and when he steps down, I daresay he cringes to the

  duchess, growls at his children, scolds his wife about the dinner. All is

  vanity, look you: and so the preacher is vanity, too.

  Well, then, I must again say that Philip roared his griefs: he shouted his

&
nbsp; laughter: he bellowed his applause: he was extravagant in his humility as in his

  pride, in his admiration of his friends and contempt for his enemies: I daresay

  not a just man, but I have met juster men not half so honest; and certainly not

  a faultless man, though I know better men not near so good. So, I believe, my

  wife thinks: else, why should she be so fond of him? Did we not know boys who

  never went out of bounds, and never were late for school, and never made a false

  concord or quantity, and never came under the ferule; and others who were always

  playing truant, and blundering, and being whipped; and yet, somehow, was not

  Master Naughtyboy better liked than Master Goodchild? When Master Naughtyboy

  came to dine with us on the first day of his ruin, he bore a face of radiant

  happiness ??he laughed, he bounced about, he caressed the children; now he took

  a couple on his knees; now he tossed the baby to the ceiling; now he sprawled

  over a sofa, and now he rode upon a chair; never was a penniless gentleman more

  cheerful. As for his dinner, Phil's appetite was always fine, but on this day an

  ogre could scarcely play a more terrible knife and fork. He asked for more and

  more, until his entertainers wondered to behold him. "Dine for to-day and

  to-morrow too; can't expect such fare as this every day, you know. This claret,

  how good it is! May I pack some up in paper, and take it home with me?" The

  children roared with laughter at this admirable idea of carrying home wine in a

  sheet of paper. I don't know that it is always at the best jokes that children

  laugh??children and wise men too.

  When we three were by ourselves, and freed from the company of servants and

  children, our friend told us the cause of his gaiety. "By George!" he swore, "it

  is worth being ruined to find such good people in the world. My dear, kind

  Laura"??here the gentleman brushes his eyes with his fist??"it was as much as I

  could do this morning to prevent myself from hugging you in my arms, you were so

  generous, and??and so kind, and so tender, and so good, by George. And after

  leaving you, where do you think I went?"

  "I think I can guess, Philip," says Laura.

  "Well," says Philip, winking his eyes again, and tossing off a great bumper of

  wine, "I went to her, of course. I think she is the best friend I have in the

  world. The old man was out, and I told her about everything that had happened.

  And what do you think she has done? She says she has been expecting me?? she

  has; and she has gone and fitted up a room with a nice little bed at the top of

  the house, with everything as neat and trim as possible; and she begged and

  prayed I would go and stay with her??and I said I would, to please her. And then

  she takes me down to her room; and she jumps up to a cupboard, which she

  unlocks; and she opens and takes three-and-twenty pounds out of a ??out of a

  tea??out of a tea-caddy??confound me!?? and she says, 'Here, Philip,' she says,

  and??Boo! what a fool I am!" and here the orator fairly broke down in his

  speech.

  CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE.

  When the poor Little Sister proffered her mite, her all, to Philip, I daresay

  some sentimental passages occurred between them which are much too trivial to be

  narrated. No doubt her pleasure would have been at that moment to give him not

  only that gold which she had been saving up against rent-day, but the spoons,

  the furniture, and all the valuables of the house, including, perhaps, J. J.'s

  bricabrac, cabinets, china, and so forth. To perform a kindness, an act of

  self-sacrifice;??are not these the most delicious privileges of female

  tenderness? Philip checked his little friend's enthusiasm. He showed her a purse

  full of money, at which sight the poor little soul was rather disappointed. He

  magnified the value of his horses, which, according to Philip's calculation,

  were to bring him at least two hundred pounds more than the stock which he had

  already in hand; and the master of such a sum as this, she was forced to

  confess, had no need to despair. Indeed, she had never in her life possessed the

  half of it. Her kind dear little offer of a home in her house he would accept

  sometimes, and with gratitude. Well, there was a little consolation in that. In

  a moment that active little housekeeper saw the room ready; flowers on the

  mantel-piece; his looking-glass which her father could do quite well with the

  little one, as he was always shaved by the barber now; the quilted counterpane,

  which she had herself made?? I know not what more improvements she devised; and

  I fear that at the idea of having Philip with her, this little thing was as

  extravagantly and unreasonably happy as we have just now seen Philip to be. What

  was that last dish which P?tus and Arria shared in common? I have lost my

  Lempriere's dictionary (that treasure of my youth), and forget whether it was a

  cold dagger au naturel, or a dish of hot coals ? la Romaine, of which they

  partook; but, whatever it was, she smiled, and delightedly received it, happy to

  share the beloved one's fortune.

  Yes: Philip would come home to his Little Sister sometimes: sometimes of a

  Saturday, and they would go to church on Sunday, as he used to do when he was a

  boy at school. "But then, you know," says Phil, "law is law; study is study. I

  must devote my whole energies to my work??get up very early."

  "Don't tire your eyes, my dear," interposes Mr. Philip's soft, judicious friend.

  "There must be no trifling with work," says Philip, with awful gravity. "There's

  Benton the Judge: Benton, and Burbage, you know."

  "Oh, Benton and Burbage!" whispers the Little Sister, not a little bewildered.

  "How do you suppose he became a judge before forty?"

  "Before forty who? law, bless me!"

  "Before he was forty, Mrs. Carry. When he came to work, he had his own way to

  make: just like me. He had a small allowance from his father: that's not like

  me. He took chambers in the Temple. He went to a pleader's office. He read

  fourteen, fifteen, hours every day. He dined on a cup of tea and a muttonchop."

  "La, bless me, child! I wouldn't have you do that, not to be Lord

  Chamberlain??Chancellor what's his name? Destroy your youth with reading, and

  your eyes, and go without your dinner? You're not used to that sort of thing,

  dear; and it would kill you!"

  Philip smoothed his fair hair off his ample forehead, and nodded his head,

  smiling sweetly. I think his inward monitor hinted to him that there was not

  much danger of his killing himself by over-work. "To succeed at the law, as in

  all other professions," he continued, with much gravity, "requires the greatest

  perseverance, and industry, and talent; and then, perhaps, you don't succeed.

  Many have failed who have had all these qualities."

  "But they haven't talents like my Philip, I know they haven't. And I had to

  stand up in a court once, and was cross-examined by a vulgar man before a horrid

  deaf old judge; and I'm sure if your lawyers are like them I don't wish you to

  succeed at all. And now, look! there's a nice loin of pork coming up. Pa loves

  roast pork; and you must
come and have some with us; and every day and all days,

  my dear, I should like to see you seated there." And the Little Sister frisked

  about here, and bustled there, and brought a cunning bottle of wine from some

  corner, and made the boy welcome. So that, you see, far from starving, he

  actually had two dinners on that first day of his ruin.

  Caroline consented to a compromise regarding the money, on Philip's solemn vow

  and promise that she should be his banker whenever necessity called. She rather

  desired his poverty for the sake of its precious reward. She hid away a little

  bag of gold for her darling's use whenever he should need it. I daresay she

  pinched and had shabby dinners at home, so as to save yet more, and so caused

  the captain to grumble. Why, for that boy's sake, I believe she would have been

  capable of shaving her lodgers' legs of mutton, and levying a tax on their

  tea-caddies and baker's stuff. If you don't like unprincipled attachments of

  this sort, and only desire that your womankind should love you for yourself, and

  according to your deserts, I am your very humble servant. Hereditary bondswomen!

  you know, that were you free, and did you strike the blow, my dears, you were

  unhappy for your pain, and eagerly would claim your bonds again. What poet has

  uttered that sentiment? It is perfectly true, and I know will receive the

  cordial approbation of the dear ladies.

  Philip has decreed in his own mind that he will go and live in those chambers in

  the Temple where we have met him. Vanjohn, the sporting gentleman, had

  determined for special reasons to withdraw from law and sport in this country,

  and Mr. Firmin took possession of his vacant sleeping chamber. To furnish a

  bachelor's bed-room need not be a matter of much cost; but Mr. Philip was too

  good-natured a fellow to haggle about the valuation of Vanjohn's bedsteads and

  chests of drawers, and generously took them at twice their value. He and Mr.

  Cassidy now divided the rooms in equal reign. Ah, happy rooms! bright rooms,

  rooms near the sky, to remember you is to be young again! for I would have you

  to know, that when Philip went to take possession of his share of the fourth

  floor in the Temple, his biographer was still comparatively juvenile, and in one

  or two very old-fashioned families was called "young Pendennis."

  So Philip Firmin dwelt in a garret; and the fourth part of a laundress and the

  half of a boy now formed the domestic establishment of him who had been attended

  by housekeepers, butlers, and obsequious liveried menials. To be freed from that

  ceremonial and etiquette of plush and worsted lace was an immense relief to

  Firmin. His pipe need not lurk in crypts or back closets now: its fragrance

  breathed over the whole chambers, and rose up to the sky, their near neighbour.

  The first month or two after being ruined. Philip vowed, was an uncommonly

  pleasant time. He had still plenty of money in his pocket; and the sense that,

  perhaps, it was imprudent to take a cab or drink a bottle of wine, added a zest

  to those enjoyments which they by no means possessed when they were easy and of

  daily occurrence. I am not certain that a dinner of beef and porter did not

  amuse our young man almost as well as banquets much more costly to which he had

  been accustomed. He laughed at the pretensions of his boyish days, when he and

  other solemn young epicures used to sit down to elaborate tavern banquets, and

  pretend to criticize vintages, and sauces, and turtle. As yet there was not only

  content with his dinner, but plenty therewith; and I do not wish to alarm you by

  supposing that Philip will ever have to encounter any dreadful extremities of

  poverty or hunger in the course of his history. The wine in the jug was very low

  at times, but it never was quite empty. This lamb was shorn, but the wind was

  tempered to him.

  So Philip took possession of his rooms in the Temple, and began actually to