The Adventures of Philip

have enemies??and I have, there's no doubt about that??I serve them out whenever

  and wherever I can. And let me tell you I don't half relish having my conduct

  called base. Its only natural; and it's right. Perhaps you would like to praise

  your enemies, and abuse your friend? If that's your line, let me tell you you

  won't do in the noospaper business, and had better take to some other trade."

  And the employer parted from his subordinate in some heat.

  Mugford, indeed, feelingly spoke to me about this insubordination of Philip.

  "What does the fellow mean by quarrelling with his bread and butter?" Mr.

  Mugford asked. "Speak to him, and show him what's what, Mr. P., or we shall come

  to a quarrel, mind you ??and I don't want that, for the sake of his little wife,

  poor little delicate thing. Whatever is to happen to them, if we don't stand by

  them?"

  What was to happen to them, indeed? Any one who knew Philip's temper, as we did,

  was aware how little advice or remonstrance were likely to affect that

  gentleman. "Good heavens?" he said to me, when I endeavoured to make him adopt a

  conciliatory tone towards his employer, "do you want to make me Mugford's

  galley-slave? I shall have him standing over me and swearing at me as he does at

  the printers. He looks into my room at times when he is in a passion, and glares

  at me, as if he would like to seize me by the throat; and after a word or two he

  goes off, and I hear him curse the boys in the passage. One day it will be on me

  that he will turn, I feel sure of that. I tell you the slavery is beginning to

  be awful. I wake of a night and groan and chafe, and poor Char, too, wakes and

  asks, 'What is it, Philip?' I say it is rheumatism. Rheumatism!" Of course to

  Philip's malady his friends tried to apply the commonplace anodynes and

  consolations. He must be gentle in his bearing. He must remember that his

  employer had not been bred a gentleman, and that though rough and coarse in

  language, Mugford had a kind heart. "There is no need to tell me he is not a

  gentleman, I know that," says poor Phil. "He is kind to Char and the child, that

  is the truth, and so is his wife. I am a slave for all that. He is my driver. He

  feeds me. He hasn't beat me yet. When I was away at Paris I did not feel the

  chain so much. But it is scarcely tolerable now, when I have to see my gaoler

  four or five times a week. My poor little Char, why did I drag you into this

  slavery?"

  "Because you wanted a consoler, I suppose," remarks one of Philip's comforters.

  "And do you suppose Charlotte would be happier if she were away from you? Though

  you live up two pair of stairs, is any home happier than yours, Philip? You

  often own as much, when you are in happier moods. Who has not his work to do,

  and his burden to bear? You say sometimes that you are imperious and

  hot-tempered. Perhaps your slavery, as you call it, may be good for you."

  "I have doomed myself and her to it," says Philip, hanging down his head.

  "Does she ever repine?" asks his adviser. "Does she not think herself the

  happiest little wife in the world? See, here, Philip, here is a note from her

  yesterday in which she says as much. Do you want to know what the note is about,

  sir?" says the lady, with a smile. "Well, then, she wanted a receipt for that

  dish which you liked so much on Friday, and she and Mrs. Brandon will make it

  for you."

  "And if it consisted of minced Charlotte," says Philip's other friend, "you know

  she would cheerfully chop herself up, and have herself served with a little

  cream-sauce and sippets of toast for your honour's dinner."

  This was undoubtedly true. Did not Job's friends make many true remarks when

  they visited him in his affliction? Patient as he was, the patriarch groaned and

  lamented, and why should not poor Philip be allowed to grumble, who was not a

  model of patience at all? He was not broke in as yet. The mill-horse was restive

  and kicked at his work. He would chafe not seldom at the daily drudgery, and

  have his fits of revolt and despondency. Well? Have others not had to toil, to

  bow the proud head, and carry the daily burden? Don't you see Pegasus, who was

  going to win the plate, a weary, broken-knee'd, broken-down old cab hack

  shivering in the rank; or a sleek gelding, mayhap, pacing under a corpulent

  master in Rotten Row? Philip's crust began to be scanty, and was dipped in

  bitter waters. I am not going to make a long story of this part of his career,

  or parade my friend as too hungry and poor. He is safe now, and out of all

  peril, heaven be thanked! but he had to pass through hard times and to look out

  very wistfully lest the wolf should enter at the door. He never laid claim to be

  a man of genius, nor was he a successful quack who could pass as a man of

  genius. When there were French prisoners in England, we know how stout old

  officers who had plied their sabres against Mamelouks, or Russians, or Germans,

  were fain to carve little gimcracks in bone with their penknives, or make

  baskets and boxes of chipped straw, and piteously sell them to casual visitors

  to their prison. Philip was poverty's prisoner. He had to make such shifts, and

  do such work, as he could find in his captivity. I do not think men who have

  undergone the struggle, and served the dire task-master, like to look back and

  recal the grim apprenticeship. When Philip says now, "What fools we were to

  marry, Char," she looks up radiantly, with love and happiness in her eyes??looks

  up to heaven, and is thankful; but grief and sadness come over her husband's

  face at the thought of those days of pain and gloom. She may soothe him, and he

  may be thankful too; but the wounds are still there which were dealt to him in

  the cruel battle with fortune. Men are ridden down in it. Men are poltroons and

  run. Men maraud, break ranks, are guilty of meanness, cowardice, shabby plunder.

  Men are raised to rank and honour, or drop and perish unnoticed on the field.

  Happy he who comes from it with his honour pure! Philip did not win crosses and

  epaulets. He is like us, my dear sir, not a heroic genius at all. And it is to

  be hoped that all three have behaved with an average pluck, and have been guilty

  of no meanness, or treachery, or desertion. Did you behave otherwise, what would

  wife and children say? As for Mrs. Philip, I tell you she thinks to this day

  that there is no man like her husband, and is ready to fall down and worship the

  boots in which he walks.

  How do men live? How is rent paid? How does the dinner come day after day? As a

  rule, there is dinner. You might live longer with less of it, but you can't go

  without it and live long. How did my neighbour 23 earn his carriage, and how did

  24 pay for his house? As I am writing this sentence, Mr. Cox, who collects the

  taxes in this quarter, walks in. How do you do, Mr. Cox? We are not in the least

  afraid of meeting one another. Time was??two, three years of time??when poor

  Philip was troubled at the sight of Cox; and this troublous time his biographer

  intends to pass over in a very few pages.

  At the end of six months the Upper Ten Thousand of New York heard with modified

  wond
er that the editor of that fashionable journal had made a retreat from the

  city, carrying with him the scanty contents of the till; so the contributions of

  Philalethes never brought our poor friend any dollars at all. But though one

  fish is caught and eaten, are there not plenty more left in the sea? At this

  very time, when I was in a natural state of despondency about poor Philip's

  affairs, it struck Tregarvan, the wealthy Cornish member of Parliament, that the

  Government and the House of Commons slighted his speeches and his views on

  foreign politics; that the wife of the Foreign Secretary had been very

  inattentive to Lady Tregarvan; that the designs of a certain Great Power were

  most menacing and dangerous, and ought to be exposed and counteracted; and that

  the peerage which he had long desired ought to be bestowed on him. Sir John

  Tregarvan applied to certain literary and political gentlemen with whom he was

  acquainted. He would bring out the European Review. He would expose the designs

  of that Great Power which was menacing Europe. He would show up in his proper

  colours a Minister who was careless of the country's honour, and forgetful of

  his own: a Minister whose arrogance ought no longer to be tolerated by the

  country gentlemen of England. Sir John, a little man in brass buttons, and a

  tall head, who loves to hear his own voice, came and made a speech on the above

  topics to the writer of the present biography; that writer's lady was in his

  study as Sir John expounded his views at some length. She listened to him with

  the greatest attention and respect. She was shocked to hear of the ingratitude

  of Government; astounded and terrified by his exposition of the designs of??of

  that Great Power whose intrigues were so menacing to European tranquillity. She

  was most deeply interested in the idea of establishing the Review. He would, of

  course, be himself the editor; and??and?? (here the woman looked across the

  table at her husband with a strange triumph in her eyes)??she knew, they both

  knew, the very man of all the world who was most suited to act as sub-editor

  under Sir John??a gentleman, one of the truest that ever lived??a university

  man; a man remarkably versed in the European languages?? that is, in French most

  certainly. And now the reader, I dare say, can guess who this individual was. "I

  knew it at once," says the lady, after Sir John had taken his leave. "I told you

  that those dear children would not be forsaken." And I would no more try and

  persuade her that the European Review was not ordained of all time to afford

  maintenance to Philip, than I would induce her to turn Mormon, and accept all

  the consequences to which ladies must submit when they make profession of that

  creed.

  "You see, my love," I say to the partner of my existence, "what other things

  must have been ordained of all time as well as Philip's appointment to be

  sub-editor of the European Review. It must have been decreed ab initio that Lady

  Plinlimmon should give evening parties, in order that she might offend Lady

  Tregarvan by not asking her to those parties. It must have been ordained by fate

  that Lady Tregarvan should be of a jealous disposition, so that she might hate

  Lady Plinlimmon, and was to work upon her husband, and inspire him with anger

  and revolt against his chief. It must have been ruled by destiny that Tregarvan

  should be rather a weak and wordy personage, fancying that he had a talent for

  literary composition. Else he would not have thought of setting up the Review.

  Else he would never have been angry with Lord Plinlimmon for not inviting him to

  tea. Else he would not have engaged Philip as sub-editor. So, you see, in order

  to bring about this event, and put a couple of hundreds a year into Philip

  Firmin's pocket, the Tregarvans have to be born from the earliest times; the

  Plinlimmons have to spring up in the remotest ages, and come down to the present

  day: Dr. Firmin has to be a rogue, and undergo his destiny of cheating his son

  of money:??all mankind up to the origin of our race are involved in your

  proposition, and we actually arrive at Adam and Eve, who are but fulfilling

  their destiny, which was to be the ancestors of Philip Firmin."

  "Even in our first parents there was doubt and scepticism and misgiving," says

  the lady, with strong emphasis on the words. "If you mean to say that there is

  no such thing as a Superior Power watching over us, and ordaining things for our

  good, you are an atheist??and such a thing as an atheist does not exist in the

  world, and I would not believe you if you said you were one twenty times over."

  I mention these points by the way, and as samples of lady-like logic. I

  acknowledge that Philip himself, as he looks back at his past career, is very

  much moved. "I do not deny," he says, gravely, "that these things happened in

  the natural order. I say I am grateful for what happened; and look back at the

  past not without awe. In great grief and danger maybe, I have had timely rescue.

  Under great suffering I have met with supreme consolation. When the trial has

  seemed almost too hard for me it has ended, and our darkness has been

  lightened." Ut vivo et valeo??si valeo, I know by Whose permission this is,??and

  would you forbid me to be thankful? to be thankful for my life; to be thankful

  for my children; to be thankful for the daily bread which has been granted to

  me, and the temptation from which I have been rescued? As I think of the past

  and its bitter trials, I bow my head in thanks and awe. I wanted succour, and I

  found it. I fell on evil times, and good friends pitied and helped me??good

  friends like yourself, your dear wife, many another I could name. In what

  moments of depression, old friend, have you not seen me, and cheered me? Do you

  know in the moments of our grief the inexpressible value of your sympathy? Your

  good Samaritan takes out only twopence maybe for the wayfarer whom he has

  rescued, but the little timely supply saves a life. You remember dear old Ned

  St. George??dead in the West Indies years ago? Before he got his place, Ned was

  hanging on in London, so utterly poor and ruined, that he had not often a

  shilling to buy a dinner. He used often to come to us, and my wife and our

  children loved him; and I used to leave a heap of shillings on my study-table,

  so that he might take two or three as he wanted them. Of course you remember

  him. You were at the dinner which we gave him on his getting his place. I forget

  the cost of that dinner; but I remember my share amounted to the exact number of

  shillings which poor Ned had taken off my table. He gave me the money then and

  there at the tavern at Blackwall. He said it seemed providential. But for those

  shillings, and the constant welcome at our poor little table, he said he thought

  he should have made away with his life. I am not bragging of the twopence which

  I gave, but thanking God for sending me there to give it. Benedico benedictus. I

  wonder sometimes am I the I of twenty years ago? before our heads were bald,

  friend, and when the little ones reached up to our knees? Before dinner you saw

  me in the library reading in that old European Review wh
ich your friend

  Tregarvan established. I came upon an article of my own, and a very dull one, on

  a subject which I knew nothing about. "Persian politics, and the intrigues at

  the Court of Teheran." It was done to order. Tregarvan had some special interest

  about Persia, or wanted to vex Sir Thomas Nobbles, who was Minister there. I

  breakfasted with Tregarvan in the Albany, the facts (we will call them facts)

  and papers were supplied to me, and I went home to point out the delinquencies

  of Sir Thomas, and the atrocious intrigues of the Russian Court. Well, sir,

  Nobbles, Tregarvan, Teheran, all disappeared as I looked at the text in the old

  volume of the Review. I saw a deal table in a little room, and a reading lamp,

  and a young fellow writing at it, with a sad heart, and a dreadful apprehension

  torturing him. One of our children was ill in the adjoining room, and I have

  before me the figure of my wife coming in from time to time to my room and

  saying, "She is asleep now, and the fever is much lower."

  Here our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a tall young lady, who

  says, "Papa, the coffce is quite cold: and the carriage will be here very soon,

  and both mamma and my godmother say they are growing very angry. Do you know you

  have been talking here for two hours?"

  Had two hours actually slipped away, as we sate prattling about old times? As I

  narrate them, I prefer to give Mr. Firmin's account of his adventures in his own

  words, where I can recal or imitate them. Both of us are graver and more

  reverend seigniors than we were at the time of which I am writing. Has not

  Firmin's girl grown up to be taller than her godmother? Veterans both, we love

  to prattle about the merry days when we were young??(the merry days? no, the

  past is never merry)??about the days when we were young; and do we grow young in

  talking of them, or only indulge in a senile cheerfulness and prolixity?

  Tregarvan sleeps with his Cornish fathers: Europe for many years has gone on

  without her Review: but it is a certainty that the establishment of that occult

  organ of opinion tended very much to benefit Philip Firmin, and helped for a

  while to supply him and several innocent people dependent on him with their

  daily bread. Of course, as they were so poor, this worthy family increased and

  multiplied; and as they increased, and as they multiplied, my wife insists that

  I should point out how support was found for them. When there was a second child

  in Philip's nursery, he would have removed from his lodgings in Thornhaugh

  Street, but for the prayers and commands of the affectionate Little Sister, who

  insisted that there was plenty of room in the house for everybody, and who said

  that if Philip went away she would cut off her little godchild with a shilling.

  And then indeed it was discovered for the first time, that this faithful and

  affectionate creature had endowed Philip with all her little property. These are

  the rays of sunshine in the dungeon. These are the drops of water in the desert.

  And with a full heart our friend acknowledges how comfort came to him in his

  hour of need.

  Though Mr. Firmin has a very grateful heart, it has been admitted that he was a

  loud, disagreeable Firmin at times, impetuous in his talk, and violent in his

  behaviour: and we are now come to that period of his history, when he had a

  quarrel in which I am sorry to say Mr. Philip was in the wrong. Why do we

  consrot with those whom we dislike? Why is it that men will try and associate

  between whom no love is? I think it was the ladies who tried to reconcile Philip

  and his master; who brought them together, and strove to make them friends; but

  the more they met the more they disliked each other; and now the Muse has to

  relate their final and irreconcilable rupture.

  Of Mugford's wrath the direful tale relate, O Muse! and Philip's pitiable fate.