Philip: The Story of a Boy Violinist

by Virginia C. Young; Mary C. Hungerford

“How I wish that our Philip could see his boy to-day! Do you notice how like his father the dear boy grows?”

As for Philip, he was very grave and silent during the journey to London, but the first glimpse of the great city aroused all his enthusiasm, and he chattered and laughed and asked questions as they were being driven to the hotel, while Lord Ashden leaned back in the cab, pleased and diverted by the boy’s exclamations of interest and pleasure. As for Philip himself, it was pleasure enough to be travelling alone with a man like Lord Ashden, for whom, from the first moment of meeting him on that memorable day in the woods, he had cherished a sort of rapturous admiration, which was something very different from his cousin Marion’s silly veneration for rank. Indeed, he was still far too innocent of the world’s ways to be conscious of the value placed on high position; and Lord Ashden, sick of the insincerity and shallowness of the people whom he met in society, found a large measure of the happiness which he had thought to have lost forever, in the society of this true-hearted boy.

They spent only one night in London, starting the next day for the Continent. It had been their intention to go on at once to Italy, but Lord Ashden was detained in Paris by important business for more than a month, and this was a period of constant wonder and delight to Philip.

Marwin, Lord Ashden’s confidential servant, was an experienced traveller, and in his care Philip visited the places that he and Miss Acton had tried to see in imagination in the long, quiet evenings at Lowdown, when Aunt Delia had talked to them of her own extensive travels throughout Europe. Philip recognized several of the places which he now visited, from Mrs. Seldon’s graphic description of them. Marvin was an intelligent guide, and his running commentary upon what they saw was listened to by his young charge with flattering attention. Lord Ashden was not able to go about very much, and the sights of Paris were not novelties to him; but every evening he drew from Philip a description of his day’s adventure.

“Is this the very best day of all?” he would say, as the boy’s bright, expressive face appeared at his door.

“Oh, yes, sir, the very, very best of all,” would be the answer he was always sure of receiving. The certainty of finding ready sympathy made the boy willing to speak freely of his thoughts and emotions, and Lord Ashden, who had the gift of drawing people out, sometimes led him on, after hearing an account of the places he had seen, to talk of thoughts, hopes, and desires that he had never spoken of to any one.

It was on a morning after one of these conversations that Lord Ashden announced his intention of taking Philip himself to see some pictures. They were not in a public gallery, but were the choice private collection of a distinguished patron of art, who occasionally threw open his gallery to an appreciative public. There was no one present but themselves when they first entered the room and walked about, examining the pictures at leisure. There was a curious mingling of ancient and modern art, but to Philip’s undistinguishing eye, all of them were beautiful, and he listened entranced while his friend explained the subject of one and another of his own favorites.

“Oh, my dear boy!” he exclaimed suddenly, after giving a most entertaining account of the “Barmecides’ Feast,” which hung before them, “how vividly all this talk about pictures reminds me of your father!”

He knew quite well that this was a subject of which his companion never grew weary, and it was the subject, too, which always drew this strangely assorted pair more closely together. They sat down on a bench in a quiet corner, and many a visitor to the gallery that morning lingered to admire the tall, distinguished-looking Englishman who was talking with such earnestness to the beautiful, fair-haired boy, who with eager, upturned face looked almost like one of the young angels in a celebrated picture which hung just above his head.

This was but one of many happy days of intimate companionship and sight-seeing, and Philip, even with Italy in prospect, turned his back upon the gay French capital with a long sigh of regret. When they reached Rome they found that the famous teacher whose advice Lord Ashden had come so far to seek for Philip had left, a few months before, to take charge of a large conservatory at Milan. They decided not to follow him at once, however, for Lord Ashden was anxious that Philip should see something of the Eternal City before settling down to work and study. He himself was guide this time, and he took the boy to palaces and picture galleries, to cathedrals and studios and concerts, until Philip was scarcely able to sleep at night, for thinking of the wonder and the beauty of it all; and then his wise and kind guide planned that they should spend a day or two at Naples, which they passed drifting about on the beautiful bay, and so when Philip was quite rested again, they travelled on by easy stages to Milan.