all. I can see that by the way in which I am writing of these folks. By the way,
whilst I am giving this candid opinion of the Twysdens, do I sometimes pause to
consider what they think of me? What do I care? Think what you like. Meanwhile
we bow to one another at parties. We smile at each other in a sickly way. And as
for the dinners in Beaunash Street, I hope those who eat them enjoy their food.
Twysden is one of the chiefs now of the Powder and Pomatum Office (the Pigtail
branch was finally abolished in 1833, after the Reform Bill, with a compensation
to the retiring under-secretary), and his son is a clerk in the same office.
When they came out, the daughters were very pretty��even my wife allows that.
One of them used to ride in the Park with her father or brother daily; and
knowing what his salary and wife's fortune were, and what the rent of his house
in Beaunash Street, everybody wondered how the Twysdens could make both ends
meet. They had horses, carriages, and a great house fit for at least five
thousand a year; they had not half as much, as everybody knew; and it was
supposed that old Ringwood must make his niece an allowance. She certainly
worked hard to get it. I spoke of stabs anon, and poor little breasts and sides
scarred all over. No nuns, no monks, no fakeers take whippings more kindly than
some devotees of the world; and, as the punishment is one for edification, let
us hope the world lays smartly on to back and shoulders, and uses the thong
well.
When old Ringwood, at the close of his lifetime, used to come to visit his dear
niece and her husband and children, he always brought a cat-of-nine-tails in his
pocket, and administered it to the whole household. He grinned at the poverty,
the pretence, the meanness of the people, as they knelt before him and did him
homage. The father and mother trembling brought the girls up for punishment,
and, piteously smiling, received their own boxes on the ear in presence of their
children. "Ah!" the little French governess used to say, grinding her white
teeth, "I like milor to come. All day you vip me. When milor come, he vip you,
and you kneel down and kiss de rod."
They certainly knelt and took their whipping with the most exemplary fortitude.
Sometimes the lash fell on papa's back, sometimes on mamma's: now it stung
Agnes, and now it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoulders. But I think it was on
the heir of the house, young Ringwood Twysden, that my lord loved best to
operate. Ring's vanity was very thin-skinned, his selfishness easily wounded,
and his contortions under punishment amused the old tormentor.
As my lord's brougham drives up��the modest little brown brougham, with the
noble horse, the lord chancellor of a coachman, and the ineffable footman��the
ladies, who know the whirr of the wheels, and may be quarrelling in the
drawing-room, call a truce to the fight, and smooth down their ruffled tempers
and raiment. Mamma is writing at her table in that beautiful, clear hand which
we all admire; Blanche is at her book; Agnes is rising from the piano quite
naturally. A quarrel between those gentle, smiling, delicate creatures!
Impossible! About your most common piece of hypocrisy how men will blush and
bungle: how easily, how gracefully, how consummately, women will perform it!
"Well," growls my lord, "you are all in such pretty attitudes, I make no doubt
you have been sparring. I suspect, Maria, the men must know what devilish bad
tempers the girls have got. Who can have seen you fighting? You're quiet enough
here, you little monkeys. I tell you what it is. Ladies'-maids get about and
talk to the valets in the housekeeper's room, and the men tell their masters.
Upon my word I believe it was that business last year at Whipham which
frightened Greenwood off. Famous match. Good house in town and country. No
mother alive. Agnes might have had it her own way, but for that��"
"We are not all angels in our family, uncle!" cries Miss Agnes, reddening.
"And your mother is too sharp. The men are afraid of you, Maria. I've heard
several young men say so. At White's they talk about it quite freely. Pity for
the girls. Great pity. Fellows come and tell me. Jack Hall, and fellows who go
about everywhere."
"I'm sure I don't care what Captain Hall says about me��odious little wretch!"
cries Blanche.
"There you go off in a tantrum! Hall never has any opinion of his own. He only
fetches and carries what other people say. And he says, fellows say they are
frightened of your mother. La bless you! Hall has no opinion. A fellow might
commit murder, and Hall would wait at the door. Quite a discreet man. But I told
him to ask about you. And that's what I hear. And he says that Agnes is making
eyes at the doctor's boy."
"It's a shame," cries Agnes, shedding tears under her martyrdom.
object to that? Has his poor mother's money, and his father's: must be well to
do. A vulgar fellow, but a clever fellow, and a determined fellow, the
doctor��and a fellow who, I suspect, is capable of anything. Shouldn't wonder at
that fellow marrying some rich dowager. Those doctors get an immense influence
over women; and unless I'm mistaken in my man, Maria, your poor sister got hold
of a��"
"Uncle!" cries Mrs. Twysden, pointing to her daughters, "before these��"
"Before those innocent lambs! Hem! Well, I think Firmin is of the wolf sort:"
and the old noble laughed, and showed his own fierce fangs as he spoke.
"I grieve to say, my lord, I agree with you," remarks Mr. Twysden. I don't think
Firmin a man of high principle. A clever man? Yes. An accomplished man? Yes. A
good physician? Yes. A prosperous man? Yes. But what's a man without principle?"
"You ought to have been a parson, Twysden."
"Others have said so, my lord. My poor mother often regretted that I didn't
choose the Church. When I was at Cambridge, I used to speak constantly at the
Union. I practised. I do not disguise from you that my aim was public life. I am
free to confess I think the House of Commons would have been my sphere; and, had
my means permitted, I should certainly have come forward."
Lord Ringwood smiled, and winked to his niece��
"He means, my dear, that he would like to wag his jaws at my expense, and that I
should put him in for Whipham."
"There are, I think, worse members of Parliament," remarked Mr. Twysden.
"If there was a box of 'em like you, what a cage it would be!" roared my lord.
"By George, I'm sick of jaw. And I would like to see a king of spirit in this
country, who would shut up the talking shops, and gag the whole chattering
crew!"
"I am a partisan of order��but a lover of freedom," continues Twysden. "I hold
that the balance of our constitution��"
I think my lord would have indulged in a few of those oaths with which his
old-fashioned conversation was liberally garnished; but the servant, entering at
this moment, announces Mr. Philip Firmin; and ever so faint a blush flutters up
in Agnes' cheek, who feels that the old l
ord's eye is upon her.
"So, sir, I saw you at the opera last night," says Lord Ringwood.
"I saw you, too," says downright Phil.
The women looked terrified, and Twysden scared. The Twysdens had Lord Ringwood's
box sometimes. But there were boxes in which the old man sate, and in which they
never could see him.
"Why don't you look at the stage, sir, when you go to the opera, and not me?
When you go to church you ought to look at the parson, oughtn't you?" growled
the old man. "I'm about as good to look at as the fellow who dances first in the
ballet��and very nearly as old. But if I were you, I should think looking at the
Ellsler better fun."
And now you may fancy of what old, old times we are writing��times in which
those horrible old male dancers yet existed��hideous old creatures, with low
dresses and short sleeves, and wreaths of flowers, or hats and feathers round
their absurd old wigs��who skipped at the head of the ballet. Let us be thankful
that those old apes have almost vanished off the stage, and left it in
possession of the beauteous bounders of the other sex. Ah, my dear young
friends, time will be when these too will cease to appear more than mortally
beautiful! To Philip, at his age, they yet looked as lovely as houris. At this
time the simple young fellow, surveying the ballet from his stall at the opera,
mistook carmine for blushes, pearl powder for native snows, and cotton-wool for
natural symmetry; and I dare say when he went into the world, he was not more
clear-sighted about its rouged innocence, its padded pretension, and its painted
candour.
Old Lord Ringwood had a humorous pleasure in petting and coaxing Philip Firmin
before Philip's relatives of Beaunash Street. Even the girls felt a little
plaintive envy at the partiality which uncle Ringwood exhibited for Phil; but
the elder Twysdens and Ringwood Twysden, their son, writhed with agony at the
preference which the old man sometimes showed for the doctor's boy. Phil was
much taller, much handsomer, much stronger, much better tempered, and much
richer, than young Twysden. He would be the sole inheritor of his father's
fortune, and had his mother's thirty thousand pounds. Even when they told him
his father would marry again, Phil laughed, and did not seem to care�� "I wish
suppose I shall go into chambers. Old Parr Street is not as gay as Pall Mall." I
am not angry with Mrs. Twysden for having a little jealousy of her nephew. Her
boy and girls were the fruit of a dutiful marriage; and Phil was the son of a
disobedient child. Her children were always on their best behaviour before their
great uncle; and Phil cared for him no more than for any other man; and he liked
Phil the best. Her boy was as humble and eager to please as any of his
lordship's humblest henchmen; and Lord Ringwood snapped at him, browbeat him,
and trampled on the poor darling's tenderest feelings, and treated him scarcely
better than a lacquey. As for poor Mr. Twysden, my lord not only yawned
unreservedly in his face (that could not be helped�� poor Talbot's talk set many
of his acquaintance asleep) ��but laughed at him, interrupted him, and told him
to hold his tongue. On this day as the family sat together, at the pleasant
hour��the before dinner hour��the fireside and tea-table hour��Lord Ringwood
said to Phil��
"Dine with me to-day, sir?"
"Why does he not ask me, with my powers of conversation?" thought old Twysden to
himself.
"Hang him, he always asks that beggar," writhed young Twysden, in his corner.
"Very sorry, sir, can't come. Have asked some fellows to dine at the Blue
Posts," says Phil.
"Confound you, sir, why don't you put 'em off?" cries the old lord. "You'd put
'em off, Twysden, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, sir!" The heart of father and son both beat.
"You know you would; and you quarrel with this boy for not throwing his friends
over. Good-night, Firmin, since you won't come."
And with this my lord was gone.
The two gentlemen of the house glumly looked from the window, and saw my lord's
brougham drive swiftly away in the rain.
"I hate your dining at those horrid taverns," whispered a young lady to Philip.
"It is better fun than dining at home," Philip remarks.
"You smoke and drink too much. You come home late, and you don't live in a
proper monde, sir!" continues the young lady.
"What would you have me do?"
"Oh, nothing! You must dine with those horrible men," cries Agnes; else you
might have gone to Lady Pendleton's to-night."
"I can throw over the men easily enough, if you wish," answered the young man.
"I? I have no wish of the sort. Have you not already refused uncle Ringwood?"
"You are not Lord Ringwood," says Phil, with a tremor in his voice. "I don't
know there is much I would refuse you."
"You silly boy! What do I ever ask you to do that you ought to refuse? I want
you to live in our world, and not with your dreadful wild Oxford and Temple
bachelors. I don't want you to smoke. I want you to go into the world of which
you have the entr�e��and you refuse your uncle on account of some horrid
engagement at a tavern!"
"Shall I stop here? Aunt, will you give me some dinner��here?" asks the young
man.
"We have dined: my husband and son dine out," said gentle Mrs. Twysden.
There was cold mutton and tea for the ladies; and Mrs. Twysden did not like to
seat her nephew, who was accustomed to good fare and high living, to that meagre
meal.
"You see I must console myself at the tavern," Philip said. "We shall have a
pleasant party there."
"And pray who makes it?" asks the lady.
"There is Ridley, the painter."
"My dear Philip! Do you know that his father was actually��"
"In the service of Lord Todmorden? He often tells us so. He is a queer
character, the old man."
"Mr. Ridley is a man of genius, certainly. His pictures are delicious, and he
goes everywhere��but�� but you provoke me, Philip, by your carelessness; indeed
you do. Why should you be dining with the sons of footmen, when the first houses
in the country might be open to you? You pain me, you foolish boy."
"For dining in company of a man of genius? Come, Agnes!" And the young man's
brow grew dark. "Besides," he added, with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, which
Miss Agnes did not like at all��"besides, my dear, you know he dines at Lord
Pendleton's."
"What is that you are talking of Lady Pendleton, children?" asked watchful mamma
from her corner.
"Ridley dines there. He is going to dine with me at a tavern to-day. And Lord
Halden is coming��and Mr. Winton is coming��having heard of the famous
beefsteaks."
"Winton! Lord Halden! Beefsteaks! Where? By George! I have a mind to go, too!
Where do you fellows dine? au cabaret? Hang me, I'll be one," shrieked little
Twysden, to the terror of Philip, who knew his uncle's awful powers of
conversation. But Twysden rem
embered himself in good time, and to the intense
relief of young Firmin. "Hang me. I forgot! Your aunt and I dine with the
Bladeses. Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and bad wine��which is unpardonable;
but we must go��on n'a que sa parole, hey? Tell Winton that I had meditated
joining him, and that I have still some of that Ch�teau Margaux he liked.
Halden's father I know well. Tell him so. Bring him here. Maria, send a Thursday
card to Lord Halden! You must bring him here to dinner, Philip. That's the best
way to make acquaintance, my boy!" And the little man swaggers off, waving a
bed-candle, as if he was going to quaff a bumper of sparkling spermaceti.
The mention of such great personages as Lord Halden and Mr. Winton silenced the
reproofs of the pensive Agnes.
"You won't care for our quiet fireside whilst you live with those fine people,
Philip," she sighed. There was no talk now of his throwing himself away on bad
company.
So Philip did not dine with his relatives: but Talbot Twysden took good care to
let Lord Ringwood know how young Firmin had offered to dine with his aunt that
day after refusing his lordship. And everything to Phil's discredit, and every
act of extravagance or wildness which the young man committed, did Phil's uncle,
and Phil's cousin Ringwood Twysden, convey to the old nobleman. Had not these
been the informers, Lord Ringwood would have been angry; for he exacted
obedience and servility from all round about him. But it was pleasanter to vex
the Twysdens than to scold and browbeat Philip, and so his lordship chose to
laugh and be amused at Phil's insubordination. He saw, too, other things of
which he did not speak. He was a wily old man, who could afford to be blind upon
occasion.
What do you judge from the fact that Philip was ready to make or break
engagements at a young lady's instigation? When you were twenty years old, had
no young ladies an influence over you? Were they not commonly older than
yourself? Did your youthful passion lead to anything, and are you very sorry now
that it did not? Suppose you had had your soul's wish and married her, of what
age would she be now? And now when you go into the world and see her, do you on
your conscience very much regret that the little affair came to an end? Is it
that (lean, or fat, or stumpy, or tall) woman with all those children whom you
once chose to break your heart about; and do you still envy Jones? Philip was in
live with his cousin, no doubt, but at the university had he not been previously
in love with the Tomkinsian professor's daughter, Miss Budd; and had he not
already written verses to Miss Flower, his neighbour's daughter in Old Parr
Street? And don't young men always begin by falling in love with ladies older
than themselves? Agnes certainly was Philip's senior, as her sister constantly
took care to inform him.
And Agnes might have told stories about Blanche, if she choose��as you may about
me, and I about you. Not quite true stories, but stories with enough alloy of
lies to make them serviceable coin; stories such as we hear daily in the world;
stories such as we read in the most learned and conscientious history-books,
which are told by the most respectable persons, and perfectly authentic until
contradicted. It is only our histories that can't be contradicted (unless, to be
sure, novelists coantradict themselves, as sometimes they will). What we say
about people's virtues, failings, characters, you may be sure is all true. And I
defy any man to assert that my opinion of the Twysden family is malicious, or
unkind, or unfounded in any particular. Agnes wrote verses, and set her own and
other writers' poems to music. Blanche was scientific, and attended the
Albemarle Street lectures sedulously. They are both clever women as times go;
well educated and accomplished, and very well-mannered when they choose to be
pleasant. If you were a bachelor, say, with a good fortune, or a widower who
wanted consolation, or a lady giving very good parties and belonging to the