The Adventures of Philip on His Way Through the World; Shewing Who Robbed Him,
Who Helped Him, and Who Passed Him by
W. M. Thackeray
VOL. I.
CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL.
CHAPTER II. AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME.
CHAPTER III. A CONSULTATION.
CHAPTER IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY.
CHAPTER V. THE NOBLE KINSMAN.
CHAPTER VI. BRANDON'S.
CHAPTER VII. IMPLETUR VETERIS BACCHI.
CHAPTER VIII. WILL BE PRONOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY THE BENEVOLENT.
CHAPTER IX. CONTAINS ONE RIDDLE WHICH IS SOLVED, AND PERHAPS SOME MORE.
CHAPTER X. IN WHICH WE VISIT THE "ADMIRAL BYNG."
CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERY ILL-TEMPERED.
CHAPTER XII. DAMOCLES.
CHAPTER XIII. LOVE ME LOVE MY DOG.
CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS.
CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP'S MISHAPS.
CHAPTER XV. SAMARITANS.
CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE.
VOL. II.
CHAPTER I. BREVIS ESSE LABORO.
CHAPTER II. DRUM IST'S SO WOHL MIR IN DER WELT.
CHAPTER III. QU'ON EST BIEN A VINGT ANS.
CHAPTER IV. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
CHAPTER V. TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DYING.
CHAPTER VI. PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH WE STILL HOVER ABOUT THE ELYSIAN FIELDS.
CHAPTER VIII. NEC DULCES AMORES SPERNE, PUER, NEQUE TU CHOREAS.
CHAPTER IX. INFANDI DOLORES.
CHAPTER X. CONTAINS A TUG OF WAR.
CHAPTER XI. I CHARGE YOU, DROP YOUR DAGGERS!
CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH MRS. MACWHIRTER HAS A NEW BONNET.
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, LOIRE, AND STYX (INF�RIEUR).
VOL. III.
CHAPTER I. RETURNS TO OLD FRIENDS.
CHAPTER II. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY.
CHAPTER III. WAYS AND MEANS.
CHAPTER IV. DESCRIBES A SITUATION INTERESTING BUT NOT UNEXPECTED.
CHAPTER V. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN UNTRUTH.
CHAPTER VI. RES ANGUSTA DOMI.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH THE DRAWING ROOMS ARE NOT FURNISHED AFTER ALL.
CHAPTER VIII. NEC PLENA CRUORIS HIRUDO.
CHAPTER IX. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING.
CHAPTER X. IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR TRIALS.
CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY MUCH AGAINST US.
CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH WE REACH THE LAST STAGE BUT ONE OF THIS JOURNEY.
CHAPTER XIII. THE REALMS OF BLISS.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL.
"Not attend her own son when he is ill!" said my mother. "She does not deserve
to have a son!" And Mrs. Pendennis looked towards her own only darling whilst
uttering this indignant exclamation. As she looked, I know what passed through
her mind. She nursed me: she dressed me in little caps and long-clothes: she
attired me in my first jacket and trousers: she watched at my bedside through my
infantile and juvenile ailments: she tended me through all my life: she held me
to her heart with infinite prayers and she held me to her heart with infinite
prayers and blessings. She is no longer with us to bless and pray; but from
heaven, where she is, I know her love pursues me; and often and often I think
she is here, only invisible.
"Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled Dr. Goodenough. "She would have
hysterics, and the nurse would have two patients to look after."
"Don't tell me," cries my mother, with a flush on her cheeks. "Do you suppose if
that child" (meaning, of course, her paragon) "were ill, I would not go to him?"
"My dear, if that child were hungry, you would chop off your head to make him
broth," says the doctor, sipping his tea.
"Potage � la bonne femme," says Mr. Pendennis. "Mother, we have it at the club.
You would be done with milk, eggs, and a quantity of vegetables. You would be
put to simmer for many hours in an earthen pan, and��"
"Don't be horrible, Arthur!" cries a young lady, who was my mother's companion
of those happy days.
"And people when they knew you would like you very much."
My uncle looked as if he did not understand the allegory.
"What is this you are talking about? potage � la�� what d'ye call 'em?" says he.
"I thought we were speaking of Mrs. Firmin, of Old Parr Street. Mrs. Firmin is
doosid delicate woman," interposed the major. "All the females of that family
are. Her mother died early. Her sister, Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She
would be of no more use in a sick room than a�� than a bull in a china-shop,
begad! and she might catch the fever, too."
"And so might you, major!" cries the doctor. "Aren't you talking to me, who have
just come from the boy? Keep your distance, or I shall bite you."
The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with his chair.
"Gad, it's no joking matter," says he; "I've known fellows catch fevers at��at
ever so much past my age. At any rate, the boy is no boy of mine, begad! I dine
at Firmin's house, who has married into a good family, though he is only a
doctor, and��"
"And pray what was my husband?" cried Mrs. Pendennis.
"Only a doctor, indeed!" calls out Goodenough. "My dear creature, I have a great
mind to give him the scarlet fever this minute!"
"My father was a surgeon and apothecary, I have heard," says the widow's son.
"And what then? And I should like to know if a man of one of the most ancient
families in the kingdom ��in the empire, begad!��hasn't a right to pursoo a
learned, a useful, an honourable profession. My brother John was��"
"A medical practitioner!" I say, with a sigh.
And my uncle arranges his hair, puts his handkerchief to his teeth, and says��
"Stuff! nonsense��no patience with these personalities, begad! Firmin is a
doctor, certainly��so are you ��so are others. But Firmin is a university man,
and a gentleman. Firmin has travelled. Firmin is intimate with some of the best
people in England, and has married into one of the first families. Gad, sir, do
you suppose that a woman bred up in the lap of luxury��in the very lap, sir��at
Ringwood and Whipham, and at Ringwood House in Walpole Street, where she was
absolute mistress, begad��do you suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse-tender
in a sick room? She never was fit for that, or for anything except��" (here the
major saw smiles on the countenances of some of his audience) "except, I say, to
preside at Ringwood House and��and adorn society, and that sort of thing. And if
such a woman chooses to run away with her uncle's doctor, and marry below her
rank��why, I don't think it's a laughing matter, hang me if I do."
"And so she stops at the Isle of Wight, whilst the poor boy remains at the
school," sighs my mother.
"Firmin can't come away. He is in attendance on the Grand Dook. The prince is
never easy without Firmin. He has given him his
Order of the Swan. They are
moving heaven and earth in high quarters; and I bet you even, Goodenough, that
that boy whom you have been attending will be a baronet��if you don't kill him
off with your confounded potions and pills, begad!"
Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his great eyebrows.
My uncle continued��
"I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man��a handsome man. I remember
his father, Brand Firmin, at Valenciennes with the Dook of York��one of the
handsomest men in Europe. Firebrand Firmin, they used to call him��a red-headed
fellow��a tremendous duellist: shot an Irishman��became serious in after life,
and that sort of thing��quarelled with his son, who was doosid wild in early
days. Gentlemanly man, certainly, Firmin. Black hair: his father had red. So
much the better for the doctor; but��but��we understand each other, I think,
Goodenough? and you and I have seen some queer fishes in our time."
And the old gentleman winked and took his snuff graciously, and, as it were,
puffed the Firmin subject away.
"Was it to show me a queer fish that you took me to Dr. Firmin's house in Parr
Street?" asked Mr. Pendennis of his uncle. "The house was not very gay, nor the
mistress very wise, but they were all as kind as might be; and I am very fond of
the boy."
"So did Lord Ringwood, his mother's uncle, like him," cried Major Pendennis.
"That boy brought about a reconciliation between his mother and her uncle, after
her runaway match. I suppose you know she ran away with Firmin, my dear?"
My mother said "she had heard something of the story." And the major once more
which I am writing he was Physician to the Plethoric Hospital, Physician to the
Grand Duke of Gr�ningen, and knight of his order of the Black Swan, member of
many learned societies, the husband of a rich wife, and a person of no small
consideration.
As for his son, whose name figures at the head of these pages, you may suppose
he did not die of the illness about which we had just been talking. A good nurse
waited on him, though his mamma was in the country. Though his papa was absent,
a very competent physician was found to take charge of the young patient, and
preserve his life for the benefit of his family, and the purpose of this
history.
We pursued our talk about Philip Firmin and his father, and his grand-uncle the
earl, whom Major Pendennis knew intimately well, until Dr. Goodenough's carriage
was announced, and our kind physician took leave of us, and drove back to
London. Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to speak or
listen. Some who were young then have topped the hill and are descending towards
the valley of the shadows. "Ah," said old Major Pendennis, shaking his brown
curls, as the doctor went away; "did you see, my good soul, when I spoke about
his confr�re, how glum Goodenough looked? They don't love each other, my dear.
Two of a trade don't agree, and besides I have no doubt the other doctor-fellows
are jealous of Firmin, because he lives in the best society. A man of good
family, my dear. There has already been a great rapprochement; and if Lord
Ringwood is quite reconciled to him, there's no knowing what luck that boy of
Firmin's may come to"
Although Dr. Goodenough might think but lightly of his confr�re, a great portion
of the public held him in much higher estimation: and especially in the little
community of Grey Friars, of which the kind reader has heard in previous works
of the present biographer, Dr. Brand Firmin was a very great favourite, and
received with much respect and honour. Whenever the boys at that school were
afflicted with the common ailments of youth, Mr. Sprat, the school apothecary,
provided for them; and by the simple, though disgusting remedies which were in
use in those times, generally succeeded in restoring his young patients to
health. But if young Lord Egham, (the Marquis of Ascot's son, as my respected
reader very likely knows) happened to be unwell, as was frequently the case,
from his lordship's great command of pocket-money and imprudent fondness for the
contents of the pastrycook's shop; or if any very grave case of illness occurred
in the school, then, quick, the famous Dr. Firmin, of Old Parr Street,
Burlington Gardens, was sent for; and an illness must have been very severe, if
he could not cure it. Dr Firmin had been a school-fellow, and remained a special
friend, of the head-master. When young Lord Egham, before mentioned (he was our
only lord, and therefore we were a little proud and careful of our darling
youth), got the erysipelas, which swelled his head to the size of a pumpkin, the
doctor triumphantly carried him through his illness, and was complimented by the
head-boy in his Latin oration on the annual speech-day for his superhuman skill
and godlike delight salutem hominibus dando. The head-master turned towards Dr.
Firmin, and bowed: the governors and bigwigs buzzed to one another, and looked
at him: the boys looked at him: the physician held his handsome head down
towards his shirt-frill. His modest eyes would not look up from the spotless
lining of the broad-brimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed
through the ancient hall, a scuffling of young feet, a rustling of new cassocks
among the masters, and a refreshing blowing of noses ensued, as the orator
polished off his period, and then passed to some other theme.
Amidst the general enthusiasm, there was one member of the auditory scornful and
dissentient. This gentleman whispered to his comrade at the commencement of the
phrase concerning the doctor the (I believe of Eastern derivation) monosyllable
"Bosh!" and he added sadly, looking towards the object of all this praise, "He
can't construe the Latin��though it is all a parcel of humbug."
"Hush, Phil!" said his friend; and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. Firmin,
lifting up his eyes, looked at him for one moment; for the recipient of all this
laudation was no other than Phil's father.
The illness of which we spoke had long since passed away. Philip was a schoolboy
no longer, but in his second year at the university, and one of half-a-dozen
young men, ex-pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual dinner. The
honours of this year's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, even more than for Lord Ascot
in his star and ribbon, who walked with his arm in the doctor's into chapel. His
lordship faltered when, in his after-dinner speech, he alluded to the
inestimable services and skill of his tried old friend, whom he had known as a
fellow-pupil in those walls��(loud cheers)�� whose friendship had been the
their children. (Immense applause; during which Dr. Firmin struggled with his
emotion.)
The doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace; the Latin quotations which
he used were not exactly novel; but Phil need not have been so angry or
illbehaved. He went on sipping sherry, glaring at his father, and m
uttering
observations that were anything but complimentary to his parent. "Now look,"
says he, "he is going to be overcome by his feelings. He will put his
handkerchief up to his mouth, and show his diamond ring. I told you so! It's too
much. I can't swallow this��this sherry. I say, you fellows, let us come out of
this, and smoke somewhere." And Phil rose up and quitted the dining-room, just
as his father was declaring what a joy, and a pride, and a delight it was to him
to think that the friendship with which his noble friend honoured him was likely
to be transmitted to their children, and that when he had passed away from this
earthly scene (cries of "No, no!" "May you live a thousand years!") it would be
his joy to think that his son would always find a friend and protector in the
noble, the princely house of Ascot.
We found the carriages waiting outside Grey Friars' Gate, and Philip Firmin,
pushing me into his father's, told the footman to drive home, and that the
doctor would return in Lord Ascot's carriage. Home then to Old Parr Street we
went, where many a time as a boy I had been welcome. And we retired to Phil's
private den in the back buildings of the great house: and over our cigars we
talked of the Founder's-day Feast, and the speeches delivered; and of the old
Cistercians of our time; and how Thompson was married, and Johnson was in the
army; and Jackson (not red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson,) was first in his
year, and so forth; and in this twaddle we were most happily engaged, when
Phil's father flung open the tall door of the study.
"Here's the governor!" growled Phil; and in an undertone, "what does he want?"
"The governor," as I looked up, was not a pleasant object to behold. Dr. Firmin
had very white false teeth, which perhaps were a little too large for his mouth,
and these grinned in the gas-light very fiercely. On his cheeks were black
whiskers, and over his glaring eyes fierce black eyebrows, and his bald head
glittered like a billiard-ball. You would hardly have known that he was the
original of that melancholy philosophic portrait which all the patients admired
in the doctor's waiting-room.
"I find, Philip, that you took my carriage," said the father; "and Lord Ascot
and I had to walk ever so far for a cab!"
"Hadn't he got his own carriage? I thought, of course, he would have his
carriage on a State-day, and that you would come home with the lord," said
Philip.
"I had promised to bring him home, sir!" said the father.
"Well, sir, I'm very sorry," continued the son, curtly.
"Sorry!" growls the other.
"I can't say any more, sir, and I am very sorry," answers Phil; and he knocked
the ash of his cigar into the stove.
The stranger within the house hardly knew how to look on its master or his son.
There was evidently some dire quarrel between them. The old man glared at the
young one, who calmly looked his father in the face. Wicked rage and hate seemed
to flash from the doctor's eyes, and anon came a look of wild pitiful
supplication towards the guest, which was most painful to bear. In the midst of
what dark family mystery was I? What meant this cruel spectacle of the father's
terrified anger, and the son's scorn?
"I��I appeal to you, Pendennis," says the doctor, with a choking utterance and
ghastly face.
"Shall we begin ab ovo, sir?" says Phil. Again the ghastly look of terror comes
over the father's face.
"I��I promise to bring one of the first noblemen in England," gasps the doctor,
"from a public dinner, in my carriage; and my son takes it, and leaves me and
Lord Ascot to walk!��Is it fair, Pendennis? Is it the conduct of a gentleman to
a gentleman; of a son to a father?"
"No, sir," I said gravely, "nothing can excuse it." Indeed I was shocked at the
young man's obduracy and undutifulness.
"I told you it was a mistake!" cries Phil, reddening. "I heard Lord Ascot order
his own carriage; I made no doubt he would bring my father home. To ride in a
chariot with a footman behind me, is no pleasure to me, and I would far rather