The Adventures of Philip

ill again, so that the friends who succoured me might once more come to my

  rescue.

  To poor little wounded Charlotte in her bed, our friend the mistress of the

  boarding-house brought back inexpressible comfort. Whatever might betide, Philip

  would never desert her! "Think you I would ever have gone on such an embassy for

  a French girl, or interfered between her and her parents?" madame asked, "Never,

  never! But you and Monsieur Philippe are already betrothed before heaven; and I

  should despise you, Charlotte, I should despise him, were either to draw back."

  This little point being settled in Miss Charlotte's mind, I can fancy she is

  immensely soothed and comforted; that hope and courage settle in her heart; that

  the colour comes back to her young cheeks; that she can come and join her family

  as she did yesterday. "I told you she never cared about him," says Mrs. Baynes

  to her husband. "Faith, no: she can't have cared for him much," says Baynes,

  with something of a sorrow that his girl should be so lightminded. But you and

  I, who have been behind the scenes, who have peeped into Philip's bed-room, and

  behind poor Charlotte's modest curtains, know that the girl had revolted from

  her parents; and so children will if the authority exercised over them is too

  tyrannical or unjust. Gentle Charlotte, who scarce ever resisted, was aroused

  and in rebellion: honest Charlotte, who used to speak all her thoughts, now hid

  them, and deceived father and mother; yes, deceived:?? what a confession to make

  regarding a young lady, the prima donna of our opera! Mrs. Baynes is, as usual,

  writing her lengthy scrawls to sister Mac Whirter at Tours, and informs the

  major's lady that she has very great satisfaction in at last being able to

  announce "that that most imprudent and in all respects ineligible engagement

  between her Charlotte and a certain young man, son of a bankrupt London

  physician, is come to an end. Mr. F.'s conduct has been so wild, so gross, so

  disorderly and ungentlemanlike, that the general (and you know, Maria, how soft

  and sweet a tempered man Baynes is) has told Mr. Firmin his opinion in

  unmistakable words, and forbidden him to continue his visits. After seeing him

  every day for six months, during which time she has accustomed herself to his

  peculiarities, and his often coarse and odious expressions and conduct, no

  wonder the separation has been a shock to dear Char, though I believe the young

  man feels nothing who has been the cause of all this grief. That he cares but

  little for her, has been my opinion all along, though she, artless child, gave

  him her whole affection. He has been accustomed to throw over women; and the

  brother of a young lady whom Mr. F. had courted and left (and who has made a

  most excellent match since,) showed his indignation at Mr. F.'s conduct at the

  embassy ball the other night, on which the young man took advantage of his

  greatly superior size and strength to begin a vulgar boxing-match, in which both

  parties were severely wounded. Of course you saw the paragraph in Galignani

  about the whole affair. I sent our dresses, but it did not print them, though

  our names appeared as amongst the company. Anything more singular than the

  appearance of Mr. F. you cannot well imagine. I wore my garnets; Charlotte (who

  attracted universal admiration) was in, Of course, the separation has occasioned

  her a good deal of pain; for Mr. F. certainly behaved with much kindness and

  forbearance on a previous occasion. But the general will not hear of the

  continuance of the connection. He says the young man's conduct has been too

  gross and shameful; and when once roused, you know, I might as well attempt to

  chain a tiger as Baynes. Our poor Char will suffer no doubt in consequence of

  the behaviour of this brute, but she has ever been an obedient child, who knows

  how to honour her father and mother. She bears up wonderfully, though, of

  course, the dear child suffers at the parting. I think if she were to go to you

  and Mac Whirter at Tours for a month or two, she would be all the better for

  change of air, too, dear Mac. Come and fetch her, and we will pay the dawk. She

  would go to certain poverty and wretchedness did she marry this most violent and

  disreputable young man. The general sends regards to Mac, and I am,"

  That these were the actual words of Mrs. Baynes's letter I cannot, as a

  veracious biographer, take upon myself to say. I never saw the document, though

  I have had the good fortune to peruse others from the same hand. Charlotte saw

  the letter some time after, upon one of those not unfrequent occasions, when a

  quarrel occurred between the two sisters??Mrs. Major and Mrs. General??and

  Charlotte mentioned the contents of the letter to a friend of mine who has

  talked to me about his affairs, and especially his love affairs, for many and

  many a long hour. And shrewd old woman as Mrs. Baynes may be, you may see how

  utterly she was mistaken in fancying that her daughter's obedience was still

  secure. The little maid had left father and mother, at first with their eager

  sanction; her love had been given to Firmin; and an inmate??a prisoner if you

  will??under her father's roof, her heart remained with Philip, however time or

  distance might separate them.

  And now, as we have the command of Philip's desk, and are free to open and read

  the private letters which relate to his history, I take leave to put in a

  document which was penned in his place of exile by his worthy father, upon

  receiving the news of the quarrel described in the last chapter of these

  memoirs:??

  "Astor House, New York, September 27.

  "Dear Philip,??I received the news in your last kind and affectionate letter

  with not unmingled pleasure; but ah, what pleasure in life does not carry its

  amari aliquid along with it! That you are hearty, cheerful, and industrious,

  earning a small competence, I am pleased indeed to think: that you talk about

  being married to a penniless girl I can't say gives me a very sincere pleasure.

  With your good looks, good manners, attainments, you might have hoped for a

  better match than a half-pay officer's daughter. But 'tis useless speculating on

  what might have been. We are puppets in the hands of fate, most of us. We are

  carried along by a power stronger than ourselves. It has driven me, at sixty

  years of age, from competence, general respect, high position, to poverty and

  exile. So be it! laudo manentem, as my delightful old friend and philosopher

  teaches me??si celeres quatit pennas??you know the rest. Whatever our fortune

  may be, I hope that my Philip and his father will bear it with the courage of

  gentlemen.

  "Our papers have announced the death of your poor mother's uncle, Lord Ringwood,

  and I had a fond lingering hope that he might have left some token of

  remembrance to his brother's grandson. He has not. You have probam pauperiem

  sine dote. You have courage, health, strength, and talent. I was in greater

  straits than you are at your age. My father was not as indulgent as yours, I

  hope and trust, has been. From debt and dependence I worked myself up to a proud

  position by m
y own efforts. That the storm overtook me and engulphed me

  afterwards, is true. But I am like the merchant of my favourite poet: I still

  hope?? ay, at 63!??to mend my shattered ships, indocilis pauperiem pati. I still

  hope to pay back to my dear boy that fortune which ought to have been his, and

  which went down in my own shipwreck. Something tells me I must??I will!

  "I agree with you that your escape from Agnes Twysden has been a piece of good

  fortune for you, and am much diverted by your account of her dusky innamorato!

  Between ourselves, the fondness of the Twysdens for money amounted to meanness.

  And though I always received Twysden in dear Old Parr Street, as I trust a

  gentleman should, his company was insufferably tedious to me, and his vulgar

  loquacity odious. His son also was little to my taste. Indeed I was heartily

  relieved when I found your connection with that family was over, knowing their

  rapacity about money, and that it was your fortune, not you, they were anxious

  to secure for Agnes.

  "You will be glad to hear that I am in not inconsiderable practice already. My

  reputation as a physician had preceded me to this country. My work on Gout was

  favourably noticed here, and in Philadelphia, and in Boston, by the scientific

  journals of those great cities. People are more generous and compassionate

  towards misfortune here than in our cold-hearted island. I could mention several

  gentlemen of New York who have suffered shipwreck like myself, and are now

  prosperous and respected. I had the good fortune to be of considerable

  professional service to Colonel J. B. Fogle, of New York, on our voyage out; and

  the colonel, who is a leading personage here, has shown himself not at all

  ungrateful. Those who fancy that at New York people cannot appreciate and

  understand the manners of a gentleman, are not a little mistaken; and a man who,

  like myself, has lived with the best society in London, has, I flatter myself,

  not lived in that society quite in vain. The colonel is proprietor and editor of

  one of the most brilliant and influential journals of the city. You know that

  arms and the toga are often worn here by the same individual, and??

  "I had actually written thus far when I read in the colonel's paper??the New

  York Emerald??an account of your battle with your cousin at the Embassy ball!

  Oh, you pugnacious Philip! Well, young Twysden was very vulgar, very rude and

  overbearing, and, I have no doubt, deserved the chastisement you gave him. By

  the way, the correspondent of the Emerald makes some droll blunders regarding

  you in his letter. We are all fair game for publicity in this country, where the

  press is free with a vengeance; and your private affairs, or mine, or the

  President's, or our gracious Queen's, for the matter of that, are discussed with

  a freedom which certainly amounts to licence. The colonel's lady is passing the

  winter in Paris, where I should wish you to pay your respects to her. Her

  husband has been most kind to me. I am told that Mrs. F. lives in the very

  choicest French society, and the friendship of this family may be useful to you

  as to your affectionate father,

  "G. B. F.

  "Address as usual, until you hear further from me, as Dr. Brandon, New York. I

  wonder whether Lord Estridge has asked you after his old college friend? When he

  was Headbury and at Trinity, he and a certain pensioner whom men used to

  nickname Brummell Firmin were said to be the best dressed men in the university.

  Estridge has advanced to rank, to honours! You may rely on it, that he will have

  one of the very next vacant garters. What a different, what an unfortunate

  career, has been his quondam friend's!??an exile, an inhabitant of a small room

  in a great hotel, where I sit at a scrambling public table with all sorts of

  coarse people! The way in which they bolt their dinner, often with a knife,

  shocks me. Your remittance was most welcome, small as it was. It shows my Philip

  has a kind heart. Ah! why, why are you thinking of marriage, who are so poor? By

  the way, your encouraging account of your circumstances has induced me to draw

  upon you for 100 dollars. The bill will go to Europe by the packet which carries

  this letter, and has kindly been cashed for me by my friends, Messrs. Plaster

  and Shinman, of Wall Street, respected bankers of this city. Leave your card

  with Mrs. Fogle. Her husband himself may be useful to you and your ever attached

  "Father."

  We take the New York Emerald at Bays's, and in it I had read a very amusing

  account of our friend Philip, in an ingenious correspondence entitled "Letters

  from an Attach?," which appeared in that journal. I even copied the paragraph to

  show to my wife, and perhaps to forward to our friend.

  "I promise you," wrote the attach?, "the new country did not disgrace the old at

  the British Embassy ball on Queen Vic's birthday. Colonel Z. B. Hoggins's lady,

  of Albany, and the peerless bride of Elijah J. Dibbs, of Twenty-ninth Street in

  your city, were the observed of all observers for splendour, for elegance, for

  refined native beauty. The Royal Dukes danced with nobody else; and at the

  attention of one of the Princes to the lovely Miss Dibbs, I observed his Royal

  Duchess looked as black as thunder. Supper handsome. Back Delmonico to beat it.

  Champagne so-so. By the way, the young fellow who writes here for the Pall Mall

  Gazette got too much of the champagne on board??as usual, I am told. The

  Honourable R. Twysden, of London, was rude to my young chap's partner, or winked

  at him offensively, or trod on his toe, or I don't know what??but young F.

  followed him into the garden; hit out at him; sent him flying, like a spread

  eagle into the midst of an illumination, and left him there sprawling. Wild,

  rampageous fellow this young F.; has already spent his own fortune, and ruined

  his poor old father, who has been forced to cross the water. Old Louis Philippe

  went away early. He talked long with our minister about his travels in our

  country. I was standing by, but in course ain't so ill-bred as to say what

  passed between them."

  In this way history is written. I daresay about others besides Philip, in

  English papers as well as American, have fables been narrated.

  CHAPTER X. CONTAINS A TUG OF WAR.

  Who was the first to spread the report that Philip was a prodigal, and had

  ruined his poor confiding father? I thought I knew a person who might be

  interested in getting under any shelter, and sacrificing even his own son for

  his own advantage. I thought I knew a man who had done as much already, and

  surely might do so again; but my wife flew into one of her tempests of

  indignation, when I hinted something of this, clutched her own children to her

  heart, according to her maternal wont, asked me was there any power would cause

  me to belie them? and sternly rebuked me for daring to be so wicked, heartless,

  and cynical. My dear creature, wrath is no answer. You call me heartless and

  cynic, for saying men are false and wicked. Have you never heard to what lengths

  some bankrupts will go? To appease the wolves who chase them in the winter

  forest,
have you not read how some travellers will cast all their provisions out

  of the sledge? then, when all the provisions are gone, don't you know that they

  will fling out perhaps the sister, perhaps the mother, perhaps the baby, the

  little, dear, tender innocent? Don't you see him tumbling among the howling

  pack, and the wolves gnashing, gnawing, crashing, gobbling him up in the snow?

  Oh, horror??horror! My wife draws all the young ones to her breast as I utter

  these fiendish remarks. She hugs them in her embrace, and says, "For shame!" and

  that I am a monster, and so on. Go to! Go down on your knees, woman, and

  acknowledge the sinfulness of our humankind. How long had our race existed ere

  murder and violence began? and how old was the world ere brother slew brother?

  Well, my wife and I came to a compromise. I might have my opinion, but was there

  any need to communicate it to poor Philip? No, surely. So I never sent him the

  extract from the New York Emerald; though, of course, some other good-natured

  friend did, and I don't think my magnanimous friend cared much. As for supposing

  that his own father, to cover his own character, would lie away his son's??such

  a piece of artifice was quite beyond Philip's comprehension, who has been all

  his life slow in appreciating roguery, or recognizing that there is meanness and

  double-dealing in the world. When he once comes to understand the fact; when he

  once comprehends that Tartuffe is a humbug and swelling Bufo is a toady; then my

  friend becomes as absurdly indignant and mistrustful as before he was admiring

  and confiding. Ah, Philip! Tartuffe has a number of good, respectable qualities;

  and Bufo, though an underground odious animal, may have a precious jewel in his

  head. 'Tis you are cynical. I see the good qualities in these rascals whom you

  spurn. I see. I shrug my shoulders. I smile: and you call me cynic. It was long

  before Philip could comprehend why Charlotte's mother turned upon him, and tried

  to force her daughter to forsake him. "I have offended the old woman in a

  hundred ways," he would say. "My tobacco annoys her; my old clothes offend her;

  the very English I speak is often Greek to her, and she can no more construe my

  sentences than I can the Hindostanee jargon she talks to her husband at dinner."

  "My dear fellow, if you had ten thousand a year she would try and construe your

  sentences, or accept them even if not understood," I would reply. And some men,

  whom you and I know to be mean, and to be false, and to be flatterers and

  parasites, and to be inexorably hard and cruel in their own private circles,

  will surely pull a long face to-morrow, and say, "Oh! the man's so cynical!"

  I acquit Baynes of what ensued. I hold Mrs. B. to have been the criminal??the

  stupid criminal. The husband, like many other men extremely brave in active

  life, was at home timid and irresolute. Of two heads that lie side by side on

  the same pillow for thirty years, one must contain the stronger power, the more

  enduring resolution. Baynes, away from his wife, was shrewd, courageous, gay at

  times; when with her he was fascinated, torpid under the power of this baleful

  superior creature. "Ah, when we were subs together in camp in 1803, what a

  lively fellow Charley Baynes was!" his comrade, Colonel Bunch, would say. "That

  was before he ever saw his wife's yellow face; and what a slave she has made of

  him!"

  After that fatal conversation which ensued after the ball, Philip did not come

  to dinner at madame's according to his custom. Mrs. Baynes told no family

  stories, and Colonel Bunch, who had no special liking for the young gentleman,

  did not trouble himself to make any inquiries about him. One, two, three days

  passed, and no Philip. At last the colonel says to the general, with a sly look

  at Charlotte, "Baynes, where is our young friend with the mustachios? We have