found for his paragraphs. When his paper was completed at the week's end, he
surveyed it fondly��not the leading articles, or those profound and yet
brilliant literary essays which appeared in the Gazette��but the births, deaths,
marriages, markets, trials, and what not. As a shop-boy, having decorated his
master's window, goes into the street, and pleased surveys his work; so the fair
face of the Pall Mall Gazette rejoiced Mr. Firmin, and Mr. Bince, the printer of
the paper. They looked with an honest pride upon the result of their joint
labours. Nor did Firmin relish pleasantry on the subject. Did his friends allude
to it, and ask if he had shot any especially fine canard that week? Mr. Philip's
brow would corrugate and his cheeks redden. He did not like jokes to be made at
his expense. Was not his a singular antipathy?
In his capacity of sub-editor, the good fellow had the privilege of taking and
giving away countless theatre orders, and panorama and diorama tickets: the Pall
Mall Gazette was not above accepting such little bribes in those days, and Mrs.
Mugford's familiarity with the names of opera singers, and splendid appearance
in an opera-box, was quite remarkable. Friend Philip would bear away a heap of
these cards of admission, delighted to carry off our young folks to one
exhibition or another. But once at the diorama, where our young people sat in
the darkness, very much frightened as usual, a voice from out the midnight gloom
cried out: "Who has come in with orders from the Pall Mall Gazette?" A lady, two
scared children, and Mr. Sub-editor Philip, all trembled at this dreadful
summons. I think I should not dare to print the story even now, did I not know
that Mr. Firmin was travelling abroad. It was a blessing the place was dark, so
that none could see the poor sub-editor's blushes. Rather than cause any
mortification to this lady, I am sure Philip would have submitted to rack and
torture. But, indeed, her annoyance was very slight, except in seeing her friend
annoyed. The humour of the scene surpassed the annoyance in the lady's mind, and
caused her to laugh at the mishap; but I own our little boy (who is of an
aristocratic turn, and rather too sensitive to ridicule from his schoolfellows)
was not at all anxious to talk upon the subject, or to let the world know that
he went to a place of public amusement "with an order."
As for Philip's landlady, the Little sister, she, you know, had been familiar
with the press and press-men, and orders for the play for years past. She looked
quite young and pretty, with her kind smiling face and neat tight black dress,
as she came to the theatre��it was to an Easter piece��on Philip's arm, one
evening. Our children saw her from their cab, as they, too, were driving to the
same performance. It was "Look, mamma! There's Philip and the Little Sister!"
And then came such smiles, and nods, and delighted recognitions from the cab to
the two friends on foot! Of course I have forgotten what was the piece which we
all saw on that Easter evening. But those children will never forget; no, though
they live to be a hundred years old, and though their attention was distracted
from the piece by constant observation of Philip and his companion in the public
boxes opposite.
Mr. Firmin's work and pay were both light, and he accepted both very cheerfully.
He saved money out of his little stipend. It was surprising how economically he
could live with his little landlady's aid and counsel. He would come to us,
recounting his feats of parsimony with a childish delight. He loved to
contemplate his sovereigns, as week by week the little pile accumulated. He kept
a sharp eye upon sales, and purchased now and again articles of furniture. In
this way he broght home a piano to his lodgings, on which he could no more play
than he could on the tight-rope; but he was given to understand that it was a
very fine instrument; and my wife played on it one day when we went to visit
him, and he sat listening, with his great hands on his knees, in ecstasies. He
was thinking how one day, please heaven, he should see other hands touching the
keys��and player and instrument disappeared in a mist before his happy eyes. His
purchases were not always lucky. For example, he was sadly taken in at an
auction about a little pearl ornament. Some artful Hebrews at the sale conspired
and ran him up, as the phrase is, to a price more than equal to the value of the
trinket. "But you know who it was for, ma'am," one of Philip's apologists said.
"If she would like to wear his ten fingers he would cut 'em off and send 'em to
her. But he keeps 'em to write her letters and verses��and most beautiful they
are, too."
"And the dear fellow, who was bred up in splendour and luxury, Mrs. Mugford, as
you, ma'am, know too well��he won't drink no wine now. A little whiskey and a
glass of beer is all he takes. And his clothes�� he used to be so grand��you see
how he is now, ma'am. Always the gentleman, and, indeed, a finer or grander
looking gentleman never entered a room; but he is saving��you know for what,
ma'am."
And, indeed, Mrs. Mugford did know; and so did Mrs. Pendennis and Mrs. Brandon.
And these three women worked themselves into a perfect fever, interesting
themselves for Mr. Firmin. And Mugford, in his rough, funny way, used to say,
"Mr. P., a certain Mr. Heff has come and put our noses out of joint. He has, as
sure as my name is Hem. And I am getting quite jealous of our sub-editor, and
that is the long and short of it. But it's good to see him haw-haw Bickerton if
ever they meet in the office, that it is! Bickerton won't bully him any more, I
promise you!"
The conclaves and conspiracies of these women were endless in Philip's behalf.
One day I let the Little Sister out of my house, with a handkerchief to her
eyes, and in a great state of flurry and excitement, which perhaps communicates
itself to the gentleman who passes her at his own door. The gentleman's wife is
on her part not a little moved and excited. "What do you think Mrs. Brandon
says? Philip is learning shorthand. He says he does not think he is clever
enough to be a writer of any mark;��but he can be a reporter, and with this and
his place at Mr. Mugford's, he thinks he can earn enough to�� Oh, he is a fine
fellow!" I suppose feminine emotion stopped the completion of this speech. But
when Mr. Philip slouched into dinner that day, his hostess did homage before
him: she loved him: she treated him with a tender respect and sympathy which her
like are ever wont to bestow upon brave and honest men in misfortune.
Why should not Mr. Philip Firmin, barrister-at-law, bethink him that he belonged
to a profession which has helped very many men to competence, and not a few to
wealth and honours? A barrister might surely hope for as good earnings as could
be made by a newspaper reporter. We all knew instances of men who, having
commenced their careers as writers for the press, had carried on the legal
profession simultaneously, and attained the greatest honours of the bar and the
bench. "Can I sit in a Pump-court garret waiting for attorn
eys?" asked poor
Phil; "I shall break my heart before they come. My brains are not worth much: I
should addle them altogether in poring over law books. I am not at all a clever
fellow, you see; and I haven't the ambition and obstinate will to succeed which
carry on many a man with no greater capacity than my own. I may have as good
brains as Bickerton, for example; but I am not so bumptious as he is. By
claiming the first place wherever he goes, he gets it very often. My dear
friends, don't you see how modest I am? There never was a man less likely to get
on than myself��you must own that; and I tell you that Charlotte and I must look
forward to a life of poverty, of cheeseparings, and secondfloor lodgings at
Pentonville or Islington. That's about my mark. I would let her off, only I know
she would not take me at my word��the dear little thing. She has set her heart
upon a hulking pauper, that's the truth. And I tell you what I am going to do. I
am going seriously to learn the profession of poverty, and make myself master of
it. What's the price of cowheel and tripe? You don't know. I do; and the right
place to buy 'em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any man in London. My tap in
life is to be small beer henceforth, and I am growing quite to like it, and
think it is brisk and pleasant, and wholesome." There was not a little truth in
Philip's account of himself, and his capacities and incapacities. Doubtless, he
was not born to make a great name for himself in the world. But do we like those
only who are famous? As well say we will only give our regard to men who have
ten thousand a year, or are more than six feet high.
While, of his three female friends and advisers, my wife admired Philip's
humility, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather disappointed at his want of
spirit, and to think that he aimed so low. I shall not say which side Firmin's
biographer took in this matter. Was it my business to applaud or rebuke him for
being humble-minded, or was I called upon to advise at all? My amiable reader,
acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own way. We eat the dishes
early, or sit up late; we work, idle, smoke, or what not, because we choose so
to do, not because the doctor orders. Philip, then, was like you and me, who
will have our own way when we can. Will we not? If you won't, you do not deserve
it. Instead of hungering after a stalled ox, he was accustoming himself to be
content with a dinner of herbs. Instead of braving the tempest, he chose to take
in sail, creep along shore, and wait for calmer weaher.
So, on Tuesday of every week let us say, it was this modest sub-editor's duty to
begin snipping and pasting paragraphs for the ensuing Saturday's issue. He cut
down the parliamentary speeches, giving due favouritism to the orators of the
Pall Mall Gazette party, and meagre outlines of their opponents' discourses. If
the leading public men on the side of the Pall Mall Gazette gave entertainments,
you may be sure they were duly chronicled in the fashionable intelligence; if
one of their party wrote a book it was pretty sure to get praise from the
critic. I am speaking of simple old days, you understand. Of course there is no
puffing, or jobbing, or false praise, or unfair censure now. Every critic knows
what he is writing about, and writes with no aim but to tell truth.
Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was content to wear the shabbiest old
coat; Philip, the Philippus of one-and-twenty, who rode showy horses, and
rejoiced to display his horse and person in the Park, now humbly took his place
in an omnibus, and only on occasions indulged in a cab. From the roof of the
larger vehicle he would salute his friends with perfect affability, and stare
down on his aunt as she passed in her barouche. He never could be quite made to
acknowledge that she purposely would not see him: or he would attribute her
blindness to the quarrel which they had had, not to his poverty and present
position. As for his cousin Ringwood, "That fellow would commit any baseness,"
Philip acknowledged; "and it is I who have cut him," our friend averred.
A real danger was lest our friend should in his poverty become more haughty and
insolent than he had been in his days of better fortune, and that he should make
companions of men who were not his equals. Whether was it better for him to be
slighted in a fashionable club, or to swagger at the head of the company in a
tavern parlour? This was the danger we might fear for Firmin. It was impossible
not to confess that he was choosing to take a lower place in the world than that
to which he had been born.
"Do you mean that Philip is lowered, because he is poor?" asked an angry lady,
to whom this remark was made by her husband��man and wife being both very good
friends to Mr. Firmin.
"My dear," replies the worlding of a husband, "suppose Philip were to take a
fancy to buy a donkey and sell cabbages? He would be doing no harm; but there is
no doubt he would lower himself in the world's estimation."
"Lower himself!" says the lady, with a toss of her head. "No man lowers himself
by pursuing an honest calling. No man!"
"Very good. There is Grundsell, the greengrocer, out of Tuthill Street, who
waits at our dinners. Instead of asking him to wait, we should beg him to sit
down at table; or perhaps we should wait, and stand with a napkin behind
Grundsell."
"Nonsense!"
"Grundsell's calling is strictly honest, unless he abuses his opportunities, and
smuggles away��"
"��smuggles away stuff and nonsense!"
"Very good; Grundsell is not a fitting companion, then, for us, or the nine
little Grundsells for our children. Then why should Philip give up the friends
of his youth, and forsake a club for a tavern parlour? You can't say our little
friend, Mrs. Brandon, good as she is, is a fitting companion for him?"
"If he had a good little wife, he would have a companion of his own degree; and
he would be twice as happy; and he would be out of all danger and
temptation��and the best thing he can do is to marry directly!" cries the lady.
"And, my dear, I think I shall write to Charlotte and ask her to come and stay
with us."
There was no withstanding this argument. As long as Charlotte was with us we
were sure that Philip would be out of harm's way, and seek for no other company.
children. My wife pleased herself by adorning this chamber, and uncle Mac
happening to come to London on business about this time, the young lady came
over to us under his convoy, and I should like to describe the meeting between
her and Mr. Philip in our parlour. No doubt it was very edifying. But my wife
and I were not present, vous concevez. We only heard one shout of surprise and
delight from Philip as he went into the room where the young lady was waiting.
We had but said, "Go into the parlour, Philip. You will find your old friend,
Major Mac, there. He has come to London on b
usiness, and has news of��" There
was no need to speak, for here Philip straightway bounced into the room.
And then came the shout. And then out came Major Mac, with such a droll twinkle
in his eyes! What artifices and hypocrisies had we not to practise previously,
so as to keep our secret from our children, who assuredly would have discovered
it! I must tell you that the paterfamilias had guarded against the innocent
prattle and inquiries of the children regarding the preparation of the little
bedroom, by informing them that it was intended for Miss Grigsby, the governess,
with whose advent they had long been threatened. And one of our girls, when the
unconscious Philip arrived, said, "Philip, if you go into the parlour, you will
find Miss Grigsby, the governess, there." And then Philip entered into that
parlour, and then arose that shout, and then out came uncle Mac, and then And we
called Charlotte Miss Grigsby all dinner-time; and we called her Miss Grigsby
next day; and the more we called her Miss Grigsby the more we all laughed. And
the baby, who could not speak plain yet, called her Miss Gibby, and laughed
loudest of all; and it was such fun. But I think Philip and Charlotte had the
best of the fun, my dears, though they may not have laughed quite so loud as we
did.
As for Mrs. Brandon, who, you may be sure, speedily came to pay us a visit,
Charlotte blushed, and looked quite beautiful when she went up and kissed the
Little Sister. "He have told you about me, then!" she said, in her soft little
voice, smoothing the young lady's brown hair. "Should I have known him at all
but for you, and did you not save his life for me when he was ill?" asked Miss
Baynes. "And mayn't I love everybody who loves him?" she asked. And we left
these women alone for a quarter of an hour, during which they became the most
intimate friends in the world. And all our household, great and small, including
the nurse (a woman of a most jealous, domineering, and uncomfortable fidelity),
thought well of our gentle young guest, and welcomed Miss Grigsby.
Charlotte, you see, is not so exceedingly handsome as to cause other women to
perjure themselves by protesting that she is no great things after all. At the
period with which we are concerned, she certainly had a lovely complexion, which
her black dress set off, perhaps. And when Philip used to come into the room,
she had always a fine garland of roses ready to offer him, and growing upon her
cheeks, the moment he appeared. Her manners are so entirely unaffected and
simple that they can't be otherwise than good: for is she not grateful,
truthful, unconscious of self, easily pleased, and interested in others? Is she
very witty? I never said so��though that she appreciated some men's wit (whose
names need not be mentioned) I cannot doubt. "I say," cries Philip, on that
memorable first night of her arrival, and when she and other ladies had gone to
bed, "by George! isn't she glorious, I say! What can I have done to win such a
pure little heart as that? Non sum dignus. It is too much happiness��too much,
by George!" And his voice breaks behind his pipe, and he squeezes two fists into
eyes that are brimful of joy and thanks. Where Fortune bestows such a bounty as
this, I think we need not pity a man for what she withdraws. As Philip walks
away at midnight (walks away? is turned out of doors; or surely he would have
gone on talking till dawn), with the rain beating in his face, and fifty or a
hundred pounds for all his fortune in his pocket, I think there goes one of the
happiest of men��the happiest and richest. For is he not possessor of a treasure
which he could not buy, or would not sell, for all the wealth of the world?
My wife may say what she will, but she assuredly is answerable for the
invitation to Miss Baynes, and for all that ensued in consequence. At a hint