Trojans take their Troy everywhere. Algiers I have only seen from the sea; but
New Orleans and Leicester Square I have visited; and have seen a quaint old
France still lingering on the banks of the Mississippi; a dingy modern France
round that great Globe of Mr. Wyld's, which they say is coming to an end. There
are French caf?s, billiards, estaminets, waiters, markers, poor Frenchmen, and
rich Frenchmen, in a new Paris?? shabby and dirty, it is true??but offering the
emigrant the dominoes, the chopine, the petit verre of the patrie. And do not
British Trojans, who emigrate to the continent of Europe, take their Troy with
them? You all know the quarters of Paris which swarm with us Trojans. From Peace
Street to the Arch of the Star are collected thousands of refugees from our
Ilium. Under the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli you meet, at certain hours, as
many of our Trojans as of the natives. In the Trojan inns of Meurice, the
Louvre, we swarm. We have numerous Anglo-Trojan doctors and apothecaries, who
give us the dear pills and doses of Pergamus. We go to Mrs. Guerre or kind Mrs.
Colombin, and can purchase the sandwiches of Troy, the pale ale and sherry of
Troy, and the dear, dear muffins of home. We live for years, never speaking any
language but our native Trojan; except to our servants, whom we instruct in the
Trojan way of preparing toast for breakfast; Trojan bread-sauce for fowls and
partridges; Trojan corned beef, We have temples where we worship according to
the Trojan rites. A kindly sight is that which one beholds of a Sunday in the
Elysian fields and the St. Honor? quarter, of processions of English grown
people and children, stalwart, red-cheeked, marching to their churches, their
gilded prayer-books in hand, to sing in a stranger's land the sacred songs of
their Zion. I am sure there are many English in Paris, who never speak to any
native above the rank of a waiter or shopman. Not long since I was listening to
a Frenchman at Folkestone, speaking English to the waiters and acting as
interpreter for his party. He spoke pretty well and very quickly. He was
irresistibly comical. I wonder how we maintained our gravity. And you and I, my
dear friend, when we speak French? I daresay we are just as absurd. As absurd?
And why not? Don't you be discouraged, young fellow. Courage, mon jeune ami!
Remember, Trojans have a conquering way with them. When ?neas landed at
Carthage, I daresay he spoke Carthaginian with a ridiculous Trojan accent; but,
for all that, poor Dido fell desperately in love with him. Take example by the
son of Anchises, my boy. Never mind the grammar or the pronunciation, but tackle
the lady, and speak your mind to her as best you can.
This is the plan which the Vicomte de Loisy used to adopt. He was following a
cours of English according to the celebrated m?thode Jobson. The cours assembled
twice a week: and the vicomte, with laudable assiduity, went to all English
parties to which he could gain an introduction, for the purpose of acquiring the
English language, and marrying une Anglaise. This industrious young man even
went au Temple on Sundays for the purpose of familiarizing himself with the
English language; and as he sat under Doctor Murrogh Macmanus of T. C. D., a
very eloquent preacher at Paris in those days, the vicomte acquired a very fine
pronunciation. Attached to the cause of unfortunate monarchy all over the world,
the vicomte had fought in the Spanish Carlist armies. He waltzed well: and
madame thought his cross looked nice at her parties. Will it be believed that
Mrs. General Baynes took this gentleman into special favour; talked with him at
soir?e after soir?e; never laughed at his English; encouraged her girl to waltz
with him (which he did to perfection, whereas poor Philip was but a hulking and
clumsy performer); and showed him the very greatest favour, until one day, on
going into Mr. Bonus's, the house agent (who lets lodgings, and sells British
pickles, tea, sherry, and the like), she found the vicomte occupying a stool as
clerk in Mr. Bonus's establishment, where for twelve hundred francs a year he
gave his invaluable services during the day! Mrs. Baynes took poor Madame
severely to task for admitting such a man to her assemblies. Madame was
astonished. Monsieur was a gentleman of ancient family who had met with
misfortunes. He was earning his maintenance. To sit in a bureau was not a
dishonour. Knowing that boutique meant shop and gar?on meant boy, Mrs. Baynes
made use of the words boutique gar?on the next time she saw the vicomte. The
little man wept tears of rage and mortification. There was a very painful scene,
at which, thank Mercy, poor Charlotte thought, Philip was not present. Were it
not for the general's cheveux blancs (by which phrase the vicomte very kindly
designated General Baynes's chestnut topknot) the vicomte would have had reason
from him. "Charming miss," he said to Charlotte, "your respectable papa is safe
from my sword! Madame your mamma has addressed me words which I qualify not. But
you??you are too 'andsome, too good, to despise a poor soldier, a poor
gentleman!" I have heard the vicomte still dances at boarding-houses and is
still in pursuit of an Anglaise. He must be a wooer now almost as elderly as the
good general whose scalp he respected.
Mrs. Baynes was, to be sure, a heavy weight to bear for poor Madame, but her
lean shoulders were accustomed to many a burden; and if the general's wife was
quarrelsome and odious, he, as Madame said, was as soft as a mutton; and
Charlotte's pretty face and manners were the admiration of all. The yellow Miss
Bolderos, those hapless elderly orphans left in pawn, might bite their lips with
envy, but they never could make them as red as Miss Charlotte's smiling mouth.
To the honour of Madame Smolensk be it said that never by word or hint did she
cause those unhappy young ladies any needless pain. She never stinted them of
any meal. No full-priced pensioner of Madame's could have breakfast, luncheon,
dinners served more regularly. The day after their mother's flight, that good
Madame Smolensk took early cups of tea to the girls' rooms, with her own hands;
and I believe helped to do the hair of one of them, and otherwise to soothe them
in their misfortune. They could not keep their secret. It must be owned that
Mrs. Baynes never lost an opportunity of deploring their situation and
acquainting all new-comers with their mother's flight and transgression. But she
was good-natured to the captives in her grim way: and admired Madame's
forbearance regarding them. The two old officers were now especially polite to
the poor things: and the general rapped one of his boys over the knuckles for
saying to Miss Brenda, "If your uncle is a lord, why doesn't he give you any
money?" "And these girls used to hold their heads above mine, and their mother
used to give herself such airs!" cried Mrs. Baynes. "And Eliza Baynes used to
flatter those poor girls and their mother, and fancy they were going to make a
woman of fashion of her!" said Mrs. Bunch. "We all have our weaknesses. Lords
are not yours, my dear. Faith, I don't think you know one
," says stout little
Colonel Bunch. "I wouldn't pay a duchess such court as Eliza paid that woman!"
cried Emma; and she made sarcastic inquiries of the general, whether Eliza had
heard from her friend the Honourable Mrs. Boldero? But for all this Mrs. Bunch
pitied the young ladies, and I believe gave them a little supply of coin from
her private purse. A word as to their subsequent history. Their mamma became the
terror of boarding-housekeepers: and the poor girls practised their duets all
over Europe. Mrs. Boldero's noble nephew, the present Strongitharm (as a friend
who knows the fashionable world informs me), was victimized by his own uncle,
and a most painful affair occurred between them at a game at "blind hookey." The
Honourable Mrs. Boldero is living in the precinets of Holyrood; one of her
daughters is happily married to a minister; and the other to an apothecary who
was called in to attend her in quinsy. So I am inclined to think that phrase
about "select" boarding-houses is a mere complimentary term, and as for the
strictest references being given and required, I certainly should not lay out
extra money for printing that expression in my advertisement, were I going to
set up an establishment myself.
Old college friends of Philip's visited Paris from time to time; and rejoiced in
carrying him off to Borel's or the Trois Fr?res, and hospitably treating him who
had been so hospitable in his time. Yes, thanks be to Heaven, there are good
Samaritans in pretty large numbers in this world, and hands ready enough to
succour a man in misfortune. I could name two or three gentlemen who drive about
in chariots and look at people's tongues and write queer figures and queer Latin
on note-paper, who occultly made a purse containing some seven or ten score
fees, and sent them out to Dr. Firmin in his banishment. The poor wretch had
behaved as ill as might be, but he was without a penny or a friend. I daresay
Dr. Goodenough, amongst other philanthropists, put his hands into his pocket.
Having heartily disliked and mistrusted Firmin in prosperity, in adversity he
melted towards the poor fugitive wretch: he even could believe that Firmin had
some skill in his profession, and in his practice was not quite a quack.
Philip's old college and school cronies laughed at hearing that, now his ruin
was complete, he was thinking about marriage. Such a plan was of a piece with
Mr. Firmin's known prudence and foresight. But they made an objection to his
proposed union, which had struck us at home previously. Papa-in-law was well
enough, or at least inoffensive: but, ah, ye powers! what a mother-in-law was
poor Phil laying up for his future days! Two or three of our mutual companions
made this remark on returning to work and chambers after their autumn holiday.
We never had too much charity for Mrs. Baynes; and what Philip told us about her
did not serve to increase our regard.
About Christmas Mr. Firmin's own affairs brought him on a brief visit to London.
We were not jealous that he took up his quarters with his little friend, of
Thornhaugh Street, who was contented that he should dine with us, provided she
could have the pleasure of housing him under her kind shelter. High and mighty
people as we were??for under what humble roofs does not Vanity hold her
sway???we, who knew Mrs. Brandon's virtues, and were aware of her early story,
would have condescended to receive her into our society; but it was the little
lady herself who had her pride, and held aloof. "My parents did not give me the
education you have had, ma'am," Caroline said to my wife. "My place is not here,
I know very well; unless you should be took ill, and then, ma'am, you'll see
that I will be glad enough to come. Philip can come and see me; and a blessing
it is to me to set eyes on him. But I shouldn't be happy in your drawing-room,
nor you in having me. The dear children look surprised at my way of talking; and
no wonder: and they laugh sometimes to one another, God bless 'em! I don't mind.
My education was not cared for. I scarce had any schooling but what I taught
myself. My Pa hadn't the means of learning me much: and it is too late to go to
school at forty odd. I've got all his stockings and things darned; and his
linen, poor fellow!??beautiful: I wish they kep it as nice in France, where he
is! You'll give my love to the young lady, won't you, ma'am: and, oh! it's a
blessing to me to hear how good and gentle she is! He has a high temper, Philip
have: but them he likes can easy manage him. You have been his best kind
friends; and so will she be, I trust; and they may be happy though they're poor.
But they've time to get rich, haven't they. And it's not the richest that's the
happiest, that I can see in many a fine house where Nurse Brandon goes and has
her eyes open, though she don't say much, you know." In this way Nurse Brandon
would prattle on to us when she came to see us. She would share our meal, always
thanking by name the servant who helped her. She insisted on calling our
children "Miss" and "Master," and I think those young satirists did not laugh
often or unkindly at her peculiarities. I know they were told that Nurse Brandon
was very good; and that she took care of her father in his old age; and that she
had passed through very great griefs and trials; and that she had nursed uncle
Philip when he had been very ill indeed, and when many people would have been
afraid to come near him; and that her life was spent in tending the sick, and in
doing good to her neighbour.
One day during Philip's stay with us we happen to read in the paper Lord
Ringwood's arrival in London. My lord had a grand town house of his own which he
did not always inhabit. He liked the cheerfulness of a hotel better. Ringwood
House was too large and too dismal. He did not care to eat a solitary mutton
chop in a great dining-room surrounded by ghostly images of dead Ringwoods??his
dead son, who had died in his boyhood; his dead brother attired in the uniform
of his day (in which picture there was no little resemblance to Philip Firmin,
the colonel's grandson); Lord Ringwood's dead self, finally, as he appeared
still a young man, when Lawrence painted him, and when he was the companion of
the Regent and his friends. "Ah! that's the fellow I least like to look at," the
old man would say, scowling at the picture, and breaking out into the
old-fashioned oaths which garnished many conversations in his young days. "That
fellow could ride all day; and sleep all night, or go without sleep as he chose;
and drink his four bottles, and never have a headache; and break his collar
bone, and see the fox killed three hours after. That was once a man, as old
Marlborough said, looking at his own picture. Now my doctor's my master; my
doctor and the infernal gout over him. I live upon pap and puddens, like a baby;
only I've shed all my teeth, hang 'em. If I drink three glasses of sherry, my
butler threatens me. You young fellow, who haven't twopence in your pocket, by
George, I would like to change with you. Only you wouldn't, hang you, you
wouldn't. Why, I don't believe Todhunter would chang
e with me: would you,
Todhunter???and you're about as fond of a great man as any fellow I ever knew.
Don't tell me. You are, sir. Why, when I walked with you on Ryde sands one day,
I said to that fellow, 'Todhunter, don't you think I could order the sea to
stand still?' I did. And you had never heard of King Canute, hanged if you
had??and never read any book except the Stud-book and Mrs. Glasse's Cookery,
hanged if you did." Such remarks and conversations of his relative has Philip
reported to me. Two or three men about town had very good imitations of this
toothless, growling, blasphemous old cynic. He was splendid and penurious;
violent and easily led; surrounded by flatterers and utterly lonely. He had
old-world notions, which I believe have passed out of the manners of great folks
now. He thought it beneath him to travel by railway, and his postchaise was one
of the last on the road. The tide rolled on in spite of this old Canute, and has
long since rolled over him and his postchaise. Why, almost all his imitators are
actually dead; and only this year, when old Jack Mummers gave an imitation of
him at Bays's (where Jack's mimicry used to be received with shouts of laughter
but a few years since), there was a dismal silence in the coffee-room, except
from two or three young men at a near table, who said, "What is the old fool
mumbling and swearing at now? An imitation of Lord Ringwood, and who was he?" So
our names pass away, and are forgotten: and the tallest statues, do not the
sands of time accumulate and overwhelm them? I have not forgotten my lord; any
more than I have forgotten the cock of my school, about whom, perhaps, you don't
care to hear. I see my lord's bald head, and hooked beak, and bushy eyebrows,
and tall velvet collar, and brass buttons, and great black mouth, and trembling
hand, and trembling parasites round him, and I can hear his voice, and great
oaths, and laughter. You parasites of to-day are bowing to other great people;
and this great one, who was alive only yesterday, is as dead as George IV. or
Nebuchadnezzar.
Well, we happen to read that Philip's noble relative, Lord Ringwood, has arrived
at ?? hotel, whilst Philip is staying with us: and I own that I counsel my
friend to go and wait upon his lordship. He had been very kind at Paris: he had
evidently taken a liking to Philip. Firmin ought to go and see him. Who knows?
Lord Ringwood might be inclined to do something for his brother's grandson.
This was just the point, which any one who knew Philip should have hesitated to
urge upon him. To try and make him bow and smile on a great man with a view to
future favours, was to demand the impossible from Firmin. The king's men may
lead the king's horses to the water, but the king himself can't make them drink.
I own that I came back to the subject, and urged it repeatedly on my friend. "I
have been," said Philip, sulkily. "I have left a card upon him. If he wants me,
he can send to No. 120, Queen Square, Westminster, my present hotel. But if you
think he will give me anything beyond a dinner, I tell you you are mistaken."
We dined that day with Philip's employer, worthy Mr. Mugford, of the Pall Mall
Gazette, who was profuse in his hospitalities, and especially gracious to
Philip. Mugford was pleased with Firmin's letters; and you may be sure that
severer critics did not contradict their friend's good-natured patron. We drove
to the suburban villa at Hampstead, and steaming odours of soup, mutton, onions,
rushed out into the hall to give us welcome, and to warn us of the good cheer in
store for the party. This was not one of Mugford's days for countermanding side
dishes, I promise you. Men in black, with noble white cotton gloves, were in
waiting to receive us, and Mrs. Mugford, in a rich blue satin and feathers, a