black team, coachman, and trot back to town again��to the world, and to
business, and duty!
I am for saying no single unkindness of General Baynes which is not forced upon
me by my storyteller's office. We know, from Marlborough's story, that the
bravest man and greatest military genius is not always brave or successful in
his battles with his wife, and that some of the greatest warriors have committed
errors in accounts and the distribution of meum and tuum. We can't disguise from
ourselves the fact that Baynes permitted himself to be misled, and had
weaknesses not quite consistent with the highest virtue.
When he became aware that his carelessness in the matter of Mrs. Firmin's
trust-money had placed him in her son's power, we have seen how the old general,
in order to avoid being called to account, fled across the water with his family
and all his little fortune, and how terrified he was on landing on a foreign
shore to find himself face to face with this dreadful creditor. Philip's
renunciation of all claims against Baynes, soothed and pleased the old man
wonderfully. But Philip might change his mind, an adviser at Baynes' side
repeatedly urged. To live abroad was cheaper and safer than to live at home.
Accordingly Baynes, his wife, family, and money, all went into exile, and
remained there.
What savings the old man had I don't accurately know. He and his wife were very
dark upon this subject with Philip: and when the general died, his widow
declared herself to be almost a pauper. It was impossible that Baynes should
have left much money; but that Charlotte's share should have amounted to�� that
sum which may or may not presently be stated��was a little too absurd! You see
Mr. and Mrs. Firmin are travelling abroad just now. When I wrote to Firmin to
ask if I might mention the amount of his wife's fortune, he gave me no answer:
nor do I like to enter upon these matters of calculation without his explicit
permission. He is of a hot temper; he might, on his return, grow angry with the
friend of his youth, and say, "Sir, how dare you to talk about my private
affairs? and what has the public to do with Mrs. Firmin's private fortune?"
When, the last rites over, good-natured uncle Mac proposed to take Charlotte
back to Tours, her mother made no objection. The widow had tried to do the girl
such an injury, that perhaps the latter felt forgiveness was impossible. Little
Char loved Philip with all her heart and strength; had been authorized and
encouraged to do so, as we have seen. To give him up now, because a richer
suitor presented himself, was an act of treason from which her faithful heart
revolted, and she never could pardon the instigator. You see, in this simple
story, I scarcely care even to have reticence or secrets. I don't want you to
understand for a moment that Hely Walsingham was still crying his eyes out about
Charlotte. Goodness bless you! It was two or three weeks ago��four or five weeks
ago, that he was in love with her! He had not seen the Duchesse d'Ivry then,
about whom you may remember he had the quarrel with Podichon, at the club in the
Rue de Grammont. (He and the duchesse wrote poems to each other, each in the
other's native language.) The Charlotte had long passed out of the young
fellow's mind. That butterfly had fluttered off from our English rosebud, and
had settled on the other elderly flower! I don't know that Mrs. Baynes was aware
of young Hely's fickleness at this present time of which we are writing: but his
visits had ceased, and she was angry and disappointed; and not the less angry
because her labour had been in vain. On her part, Charlotte could also be
resolutely unforgiving. Take her Philip from her? Never, never! Her mother force
her to give up the man whom she had been encouraged to love? Mamma should have
defended Philip, not betrayed him! If I command my son to steal a spoon, shall
he obey me? And if he do obey and steal, and be transported, will he love me
afterwards? I think I can hardly ask for so much filial affection.
So there was strife between mother and daughter; and anger not the less bitter,
on Mrs. Baynes' part, because her husband, whose cupidity or fear had, at first,
induced him to take her side, had deserted her and gone over to her daughter. In
the anger of that controversy Baynes died, leaving the victory and right with
Charlotte. He shrank from his wife: would not speak to her in his last moments.
The widow had these injuries against her daughter and Philip; and thus neither
side forgave the other. She was not averse to the child's going away to her
which I fear had but little love in it. I don't envy those children who remain
under the widow's lonely command; or poor Madame Smolensk, who has to endure the
arrogance, the grief, the avarice of that grim woman. Nor did madame suffer
under this tyranny long. Galignani's Messenger very soon announced that she had
lodgings to let, and I remember being edified by reading one day in the Pall
Mall Gazette that elegant apartments, select society, and an excellent table
were to be found in one of the most airy and fashionable quarters of Paris.
Inquire of Madame la Baronne de S��sk, Avenue de Marli, Champs Elys�es.
We guessed without difficulty how this advertisement found its way to the Pall
Mall Gazette; and very soon after its appearance Madame de Smolensk's friend,
Mr. Philip, made his appearance at our tea-table in London. He was always
welcome amongst us elders and children. He wore a crape on his hat. As soon as
the young ones were gone, you may be sure he poured his story out; and enlarged
upon the death, the burial, the quarrels, the loves, the partings we have
narrated. How could he be put in a way to earn three or four hundred a year?
That was the present question. Ere he came to see us, he had already been
totting up ways and means. He had been with our friend Mrs. Brandon: was staying
with her. The Little Sister thought three hundred would be sufficient. They
could have her second floor��not for nothing; no, no, but at a moderate price,
which would pay her. They could have her attics, if more rooms were needed. They
could have her kitchen fire, and one maid, for the present, would do all their
work. Poor little thing! She was very young. She would be past eighteen by the
time she could marry; the Little Sister was for early marriages, against long
courtships. "Heaven helps those as helps themselves," she said. And Mr. Philip
thought this excellent advice; and Mr. Philip's friend, when asked for his
opnion��"Candidly now, what's your opinion?"�� said, "Is she in the next room?
Of course you mean you are married already."
Philip roared one of his great laughs. No, he was not married already. Had he
not said that Miss Baynes was gone away to Tours to her aunt and uncle? But that
he wanted to be married; but that he could never settle down to work till he
married; but that he could have no rest, peace, health, till he married that
angel he was ready to confess. Ready? All the street might hear him calling out
&nb
sp; the name and expatiating on the angelic charms and goodness of his Charlotte. He
spoke so loud and long on this subject that my wife grew a little tired; and my
wife always likes to hear other women praised, that (she says) I know she does.
But when a man goes on roaring for an hour about Dulcinea? You know such talk
becomes fulsome at last; and, in fine, when he was gone, my wife said, "Well, he
is very much in love; so were you��I mean long before my time, sir; but does
love pay the housekeeping bills, pray?"
"No, my dear. And love is always controlled by other people's advice:��always,"
says Philip's friend, who I hope you will perceive was speaking ironically.
Philip's friends had listened not impatiently to Philip's talk about Philip.
Almost all women will give a sympathizing hearing to men who are in love. Be
they ever so old, they grow young agian with that conversation, and renew their
own early times. Men are not quite so generous: Tityrus tires of hearing Corydon
discourse endlessly on the charms of his shepherdess. And yet egotism is good
talk. Even dull biographies are pleasant to read: and if to read, why not to
hear? Had Master Philip not been such an egotist, he would not have been so
pleasant a companion. Can't you like a man at whom you laugh a little? I had
rather such an open-mouthed conversationist than your cautious jaws that never
unlock without a careful application of the key. As for the entrance to Mr.
Philip's mind, that door was always open when he was awake, or not hungry, or in
a friend's company. Besides his love, and his prospects in life, his poverty,
Philip had other favourite topics of conversation. His friend the Little Sister
was a great theme with him; his father was another favourite subject of his
talk. By the way, his father had written to the Little Sister. The doctor said
he was sure to prosper in his newly adopted country. He and another physician
had invented a new medicine, which was to effect wonders, and in a few years
would assuredly make the fortune of both of them. He was never without one
upon poor Philip for little sums, his letters were sure to be especially
magniloquent and hopeful. "Whenever the doctor says he has invented the
philosopher's stone," said poor Philip, "I am sure there will be a postscript to
say that a little bill will be presented for so much, at so many days' date."
Had he drawn on Philip lately? Philip told us when, and how often. We gave him
all the benefit of our virtuous indignation. As for my wife's eyes, they gleamed
with anger. What a man: what a father! Oh, he was incorrigible! "Yes, I am
afraid he is," says poor Phil, comically, with his hands roaming at ease in his
pockets. They contained little else than those big hands. "My father is of a
hopeful turn. His views regarding property are peculiar. It is a comfort to have
such a distinguished parent, isn't it? I am always surprised to hear that he is
not married again. I sigh for a mother-in-law," Philip continued.
"Oh, don't, Philip!" cried Mrs. Laura, in a pet. "Be generous: be forgiving: be
noble: be Christian! Don't be cynical and imitating��you know whom!"
Whom could she possibly mean, I wonder? After flashes, there came showers in
this lady's eyes. From long habit I can understand her thoughts, although she
does not utter them. She was thinking of these poor, noble, simple, friendless
young people; and asking heaven's protection for them. I am not in the habit of
over-praising my friends, goodness knows. The foibles of this one I have
described honestly enough. But if I write down here that he was courageous,
cheerful in adversity, generous, simple, truth-loving, above a scheme ��after
having said that he was a noble young fellow�� dixi; and I won't cancel the
words.
Ardent lover as he was, our friend was glad to be back in the midst of the
London smoke, and wealth, and bustle. The fog agreed with his lungs, he said. He
breathed more freely in our great city than in that little English village in
the centre of Paris which he had been inhabiting. In his hotel, and at his caf�
(where he composed his eloquent "Own Correspondence"), he had occasion to speak
a little French, but it never came very trippingly from his stout English
tongue. "You don't suppose I would like to be taken for a Frenchman," he would
say with much gravity. I wonder who ever thought of mistaking friend Philip for
a Frenchman?
As for that faithful Little Sister, her house and heart were still at the young
man's service. We have not visited Thornhaugh Street for some time. Mr. Philip,
whom we have been bound to attend, has been too much occupied with his
love-making to bestow much thought on his affectionate little friend. She has
been trudging meanwhile on her humble course of life, cheerful, modest,
laborious, doing her duty, with a helping little hand ready to relieve many a
fallen wayfarer on her road. She had a room vacant in her house when Philip
came. A room, indeed! Would she not have had a house vacant, if Philip wanted
it? But in the interval since we saw her last, the Little Sister, too, has had
to assume black robes. Her father, the old captain, has gone to his rest. His
place is vacant in the little parlour: his bedroom is ready for Philip, as long
as Philip will stay. She did not profess to feel much affliction for the loss of
the captain. She talked of him constantly as though he were present; and made a
supper for Philip, and seated him in her Pa's chair. How she bustled about on
the night when Philip arrived! What a beaming welcome there was in her kind
eyes! Her modest hair was touched with silver now; but her cheeks were like
apples; her little figure was neat, and light, and active; and her voice, with
its gentle laugh, and little sweet bad grammar, has always seemed one of the
sweetest of voices to me.
Very soon after Philip's arrival in London, Mrs. Brandon paid a visit to the
wife of Mr. Firmin's humble servant and biographer; and the two women had a fine
sentimental consultation. All good women, you know, are sentimental. The idea of
young lovers, of match-making, of amiable poverty, tenderly excites and
interests them. My wife, at this time, began to pour off fine long letters to
Miss Baynes, to which the latter modestly and dutifully replied, with many
expressions, of fervour and gratitude for the interest which her friend in
London was pleased to take in the little maid. I saw by these answers that
Charlotte's union with Philip was taken as a received point by these two ladies.
They discussed the ways and means. They did not talk about broughams,
settlements, town and country houses, pin-moneys, trousseaux; and my wife, in
computing their sources of income, always pointed out that Miss Charlotte's
fortune, though certainly small, would give a very useful addition to the young
couple's income. "Fifty pounds a year not much! Let me tell you, sir, that fifty
pounds a year is a very pretty little sum: if Philip can but make three hundred
a year himself, Mrs. Brandon says they ought
to be able to live quite nicely."
You ask, my genteel friend, is it possible that people can live for four hundred
a year? How do they manage, ces pauvres gens? They eat, they drink, they are
clothed, they are warmed, they have roofs over their heads, and glass in their
windows; and some of them are as good, happy, and well-bred as their neighbours
who are ten times as rich. Then, besides this calculation of money, there is the
fond woman's firm belief that the day will bring its daily bread for those who
work for it and ask for it in the proper quarter; against which reasoning many a
man knows it is in vain to argue. As to my own little objections and doubts, my
wife met them by reference to Philip's former love affair with his cousin, Miss
Twysden. "You had no objection in that case, sir," this logician would say. "You
would have had him take a creature without a heart. You would cheerfully have
seen him made miserable for life, because you thought there was money enough and
a genteel connection. Money indeed! Very happy Mrs. Woolcomb is with her money!
Very creditably to all sides has that marriage turned out!" I need scarcely
remind my readers of the unfortunate result of that marriage. Woolcomb's
behaviour to his wife was the agreeable talk of London society and of the London
clubs very soon after the pair were joined together in holy matrimony. Do we not
all remember how Woolcomb was accused of striking his wife, of starving his
wife, and how she took refuge at home and came to her father's house with a
black eye? The two Twysdens were so ashamed of this transaction, that father and
son left off coming to Bays's, where I never heard their absence regretted but
by one man, who said that Talbot owed him money for losses at whist for which he
could get no settlement.
Should Mr. Firmin go and see his aunt in her misfortune? Bygones might be
bygones, some of Philip's advisers thought. Now, Mrs. Twysden was unhappy, her
heart might relent to Philip, whom she certainly had loved as a boy. Philip had
the magnanimity to call upon her; and found her carriage waiting at the door.
But a servant, after keeping the gentleman waiting in the dreary,
well-remembered hall, brought him word that his mistress was out, smiled in his
face with an engaging insolence, and proceeded to put cloaks, courtguides, and
other female gear into the carriage in the presence of this poor deserted
nephew. This visit, it must be owned, was one of Mrs. Laura's romantic efforts
at reconciling enemies: as if, my good creature, the Twysdens ever let a man
into their house who was poor or out of fashion! They lived in a constant dread
lest Philip should call to borrow money of them. As if they ever lent money to a
man who was in need! If they ask the respected reader to their house, depend on
it they think he is well to do. On the other hand, the Twysdens made a very
handsome entertainment for the new lord of Whipham and Ringwood who now reigned
after his kinsman's death. They affably went and passed Christmas with him in
the country; and they cringed and bowed before Sir John Ringwood as they had
bowed and cringed before the earl in his time. The old earl had been a Tory in
his latter days, when Talbot Twysden's views were also very conservative. The
present lord of Ringwood was a Whig. It is surprising how liberal the Twysdens
grew in the course of a fortnight's after-dinner conversation and
pheasant-shooting talk at Ringwood. "Hang it! you know," young Twysden said, in
his office afterwards, "a fellow must go with the politics of his family, you
know!" and he bragged about the dinners, wines, splendours, cooks, and preserves
of Ringwood as freely as in the time of his noble grand-uncle. Any one who has
kept a house-dog in London, which licks your boots and your platter, and fawns
for the bones in your dish, knows how the animal barks and flies at the poor who