Pyg

by Russell Potter

  All this was but a Prelude to my Appearance, which at first gave me a considerable fit of Anxiety. A performer is fortunate, I have since felt, if he struts upon the Stage only in the opening Act, like the guards of Elsinore in Hamlet: they have no one to follow, but all else must Follow them. Whereas, if one’s Cue comes late upon the Bill, one must follow, and seem to Exceed, every Act that has come before. On my very first performance, I was most Reluctant to emerge from my Compartment, so much so that Mr Bisset rapped upon the Enclosure with his Cane, which sent me scurrying forth quite abruptly, and to much Laughter on the part of the Crowd. Happily, I soon recovered my Composure, and turned my mind entirely to the Task at hand, for which Mr Bisset was an admirable Guide. He had taken the Precaution of asking those who wished their Questions addressed by the wonderful Sapient Pig, to fill in cards with their names and their questions written upon them (if they Could not write, then Sam would take down their Particulars). Mr Bisset held these cards in his hand quite Openly, for of course it did not occur to anyone that he had any means of Communicating their contents to me. He would shuffle them up a bit—in fact, making sure that there were not two persons named ‘John’ or similarly common names as ‘Tom’ and ‘Tim’ as these would risk, however slightly, the audience catching on to his Signals. He varied the words he chose quite astutely, and occasionally would use his Shoe to scuff out the code for some of the letters in Taps, such that neither his Utterances nor his Demeanour appeared to offer any Clew as to the right answers.

  There was a Hush, always, as I picked out the letters and numbers, and a great Cry of amazement when I spelt out just the answer. Besides getting the names, the Questions were all fairly Common: young Maids wanted to know if they would be married, and how many Children they would have, and would they have a lovely Home; Boys wanted me to guess their Age, and never complained if I Added to the Figure, while Men—who rarely participated, unless at the Insistence of their Wives—asked about only the most practical sorts of things, such as what price Apples would bring at Market this year, or what Horse they should wager upon at the Races. And my Master, since he made it his business to know a great deal about exactly such matters, was always able to give me a serviceable Reply, and when a Guess had to be made, one that pleased the Querent. At the end of my performance, I was to make a little Bow, and spell out ‘G-O-O-D-B-Y-E’, which always led to a great round of Applause, and a great take at the Nobbins (which is what we showfolk call the Money that is dropped in as a Hat is Passed).

  We did a very good business indeed at these Fairs, and by the time we arrived at the town of Prescot, we had taken in nearly a hundred Pounds, and Mr Bisset gave it out to Sam that we might consider carrying on to Liverpool, where he had a Friend who was the Proprietor of a Garden, said to be a veritable Vauxhall in Miniature, where we might draw far larger Crowds. There was only one Difficulty with this Plan, and that was the matter of Licences. The Magistrates in those days were often simply Men of the Town, of some Age and Dignity, whose usual purview was small disputes over Property, or minor civil offenders such as Disturbers of the Peace. When the time came each year for the Fair, they quite naturally extracted a Fee from all who would exhibit there. The fee was a standard one—amounts of five pounds or thereabouts were common—but the Magistrate was quite free to Increase it, for any arbitrary Reason, or, should the mood take him, to deny a Licence, even when a man was quite Ready to pay for it. Agricultural exhibitors, and vendors of food, were passed through quite Routinely, but as showmen we often faced a much more lengthy, and sometimes capricious, line of Questioning. Was the show harmful to public Morals in any way? Were the Animals treated in a Humane manner? Was there any Trick or Deception by which the poor honest fair-goer was to be taken for his hard-earned money? We sometimes had to run through our whole routine for the Magistrate’s benefit, and he and his Men might demand to see, and Inspect, any part of our Apparatus for signs of trickery.

  Nearly all of the time, we were eventually allowed to put on our Show, though we were often assessed a higher Rate, to reimburse the Town for the trouble of examining us, or to stand surety against any later Discovery of deceit. Mr Bisset was a charming man, although I must say his power to charm Magistrates was as nothing before his gift with Animals. And this, as it happened, was precisely the Issue with Liverpool, as the Lord Mayor there, who was in charge of licences, was widely known to be especially Hostile to showmen. Never the less, with a ready venue, and the promise of great Profit, we hazarded the Journey, and the next day arrived in the little hamlet of Wavertree. From here, it would be but a short journey on foot into the City, and we could at least make Enquiry, to ‘test the waters’, as humans say, and see whether our Hopes might be given something to Feed upon. In the mean-time, our Bodies, at least, were well watered and fed, as we were lodged at Green Bank, near Mossley Hill, where an acquaintance of Mr Bisset kept a small dairy farm. Sam remained with me, thankfully, for I should not have liked to be left with Strangers, and we waited anxiously to see what the Result of our Master’s enquiries might be.

  It was late that night when he returned, and his Mood was darker than I had ever known it. The Lord Mayor’s secretary had kept him waiting the better part of the Afternoon, and when at last he was Admitted, had given him only a very brief and Dismissive interview. Mr Bisset had exerted all his power, and with the assistance of some Friends of his in the City, had persuaded him to reconsider, but only to this extent: he must examine the Pig in question, without any interference, and all alone—nothing else would do!—and if at last he were satisfied that there was no Deception, he would consider granting permission for its Exhibition. Our Master was, of course, gravely Troubled at this, for he believed that without his Presence, and his Signals, I would be unable to Demonstrate my intelligence, and all would be Ruined. Of course Sam and I knew better, but we could not, even at this juncture, bring ourselves to Disclose to Mr Bisset my true Knowledge of Letters. We feared either that it would Break his Spirit, by making it seem that he was no longer Needed, or cause him to fly into a Rage at this betrayal of his Secrets. Never the less, Sam at least persuaded him that he should come along; perhaps the Lord Mayor would not mind if a young boy, said merely to be the pig’s keeper, stayed by him.

  This thought so delighted Mr Bisset that he at once agreed, and proposed that, in a single night, he would train Sam with at least a perfunctory set of signals, so that he could, if permitted, transmit them to me in His Lordship’s presence. Sam, of course, already knew them all, but went along with the ruse, as being the easiest Solution to both his and Mr Bisset’s Predicament, and of course, so did I. We ran through the signals for ‘YES’ and ‘NO’ and even risked ‘MAYBE’, which, at five letters, was as far as our Master ventured to trust us. By means of these three replies, he hoped, we might be able to Convince His Lordship that, under the strictest measures, there was neither Fraud nor Deceit in this our Show, but that it was in fact an innocent, and indeed an Instructive, demonstration of the Native Wit of the Porcine race. It was quite late by the time we had completed our exercises, and as we were due in Town at ten the next Morning, we all retired at once, Mr Bisset to his Friend’s cottage, and Sam and myself—as had become our habit—to a common bed of Straw in the back of the Wagon. And there we slept, deeply and Soundly, as we had never slept before, and woke Refreshed, as though we had drunk the waters of Elysium, and wandered the hills of Paradise.

  7

  Our journey into Liverpool was not a Long one, for although we travelled entirely by Foot, it did not consume more than half an Hour. That noted City was not quite so Built up in those days as it has since become, save along the Quays, where a great deal of Business was done; the greater number of the Buildings were of a Low sort, and the lanes not much different from those of the smaller Towns, save that they were more Numerous and Crowded. We shortly arrived at the Town Hall, an impressive stone edifice with tall vaulted Windows, and a Roman sort of Portico. We were informed that it had once been topped
by a square Tower, which had recently been Dismantled, in order that a round dome could take its Place, but at the time of our Visit, this work was Incomplete, and the roof quite Flat. Our Appearance on the Steps caused quite a commotion, for although a Pig in the streets of Liverpool was quite beneath anyone’s Notice, a Pig on the Steps of the Town Hall was cause of Clamour and Outcry. Never was I more Offended, or taken Aback at the human Prejudice of feeling, than I was when two tall men dressed in the Livery of the City, came upon me with great Brooms, as though to Sweep me off their stairs!

  Fortunately, at just this Moment, the Lord Mayor’s secretary came forward, and motioned us back down the stairs, explaining that our Examination was to take place in a builder’s Yard on the opposite Corner of the Square. Here, with the blank brick faces of the neighbouring Buildings for our Enclosure, we were met by the Lord Mayor, a red-cheeked, huffing man by the name of James Blackburn. He did not exhibit any Sympathy of any kind—which hardly surprised me—but more than that, he seemed to possess a sort of Anti-Feeling that was so pronounced as to be almost a Feeling. My master was dismissed at once, though to his great Relief, Sam was permitted to remain. Mr Blackburn retained only his Secretary, who took his station at a little Table in the corner of the Yard, quill in Hand, to transcribe the Proceedings.

  ‘Ah, so this is the Celebrated “sapient” Pig, eh? Is that correct?’

  No one else seeming ready to answer, Sam ventured a ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And of what does his Sapience consist, eh? Can you tell me how many Ounces in a Gill? Name the most prosperous port in the Antilles? Tell what disguise Achilles wore when he was hiding amongst the women in the Palace of Lycomedes? Hey! Speak your Wisdom, you learned Swine, or for ever hold your Peace!’

  To this I could not, at first, conceive of any Answer, so dire and Strong were my feelings. But then Sam, who knew a good deal more about these strange Queries than I, began his Signals—as subtly, if not more so, than our Master used to. First, he signalled the number Five, which I quickly pickt out from the Numbers that were among our Cards. So much for the ounces in a Gill! I thought. And then, at his direction, and by Eyes only, he had me pick out P-U-E-R-T-O and R-I-C-O. Last, he had me spell out this phrase: ‘D-R-E-S-S-E-D A-S A G-I-R-L.’

  Throughout my Performance, the Lord Mayor looked upon me most Intently, his eyes Widening answer by answer. By the last phrase, his jaw quite literally Dropt, such that one could almost Hear it go Slack—here was a Man astonished, as they used to say, Turned to a very Stone! It was a long, full minute before he could muster up his Reply, even as his Secretary sat Poised with his Pen to take it Down, and it was this: ‘Hah! I dare say we have here a Pig better schooled than Half the Aldermen of the City! Ho! By God, Wilkinson, here there be Wonders! Give this Pig a Licence, and tell his Man that he is certainly the Lesser of the Two!’ Thus saying, half Laughing and half Reproaching himself for his Doubts, Mr James Blackburn the Younger stept Out from the Yard, leaving his Secretary to scribble us up a Licence, for which I was most heartily Proud—for This I had done by Myself, with my Benefactor’s help only. God save the city of Liverpool! To this day, it remains the one place in the World where I can say I proved my Self by my Self—and for that I shall ever be Grateful.

  Our Licence at last secured, we returned to our lodgings at Green Bank, and shortly removed to the Juggler Street Market, which was at that time a common place for shows of all Kinds. It consisted merely of a Widened portion of the main Street, part of which was taken up by a group of Stalls, with the rest left open for a varied array of Entertainments. The cost for erecting our Show here was steep, being £5 6s., but Mr Bisset had great Plans, and considered the fee a mere Pittance. Here we would perform but a Reduced version of our regular programme, and give out handbills and discounted Tickets for our upcoming Engagement at his friend’s place, which was called Ranelagh Gardens. I must Confess that, having some time later attended the Establishment of that Name in Chelsea, it Bore no Resemblance to Gardens whatsoever. For, despite their grand Name, these ‘Gardens’ would in fact be better described as a Yard adjoining a Tavern. In its midst there stood a modest Amphitheatre, with wooden benches and a Stage that could accommodate a few Players (though certainly not a full Orchestra). In a manner that was, at best, a dim Echo of its London namesake, each evening commenced with a Concert, followed by a few tawdry Entertainments, and concluded with Fireworks. Our appearance there, to my Mind, would Raise both the Custom and Reputation of the place by a considerable Measure, besides bringing a very handsome Profit to Ourselves.

  And so indeed it came to pass. For the first week, our performance was preceded by a musical soirée, featuring the talents of a certain Mr Morgan upon the Violin, and the vocalisations of a Mrs Ellis, but the Interest was so Plainly in our Favour, that the proprietor decided to give us the Top billing—upon which Morgan and Ellis promptly quit the show, being most Unwilling, they said, to follow a Pig upon the programme. Their departure was Lamented by None, and Mr Bisset quickly expanded our Act, adding a Routine we had practised, whereby I would ‘Tell’ the time after examining a pocket Watch provided by a member of the Audience, as well as a Clairvoyant Act, in which I seemed to read Minds. Of this particular portion of the show, out of professional Pride, I will not disclose the Secret—but those who are Privy to similar Acts performed by Humans, will easily be able to infer how I managed to fit the same Bill. It is still Remarkable to me that there are more people willing to credit a Pig with Extraordinary powers than with the most Ordinary ones, such as the understanding of the Rudiments of Language.

  The Gardens were packed to their Limit every Evening, and even though the proprietor hired carpenters to put in additional Stalls on either side of the benches, the crowd spilled out on to the Grass, with people vying for the best View, and jostling one another in their anxiety to behold this new Wonder. We had a run of nine weeks, with almost no decline in Attendance, and drew our show to a Conclusion more for the sake of our own Rest than for any slackening in our Business. The last night was the most crowded of all, and at the end of our Performance, we were met by the Lord Mayor and a Committee of Prominent Citizens, who presented us with the Liberty of the Town, and claimed pride of place as the First city in which the Learned Pig had made his Public reputation.

  It was by this time quite late in the Year, and the Season for performances out-of-doors was quickly drawing to a Close. We had one other Prospect that Mr Bisset had contemplated, which was to take ship from Liverpool to Dublin, where we might manage a booking in an indoor Theatre or Lecture-hall. He had already corresponded with a number of possible venues, sending along the latest clippings from the Press as evidence of our Warm reception. The most notable of these was Astley’s Amphitheatre, a dependent House of its Parent Chapter in London, which did an enormous trade in Equestrian shows, with a Variety of other Acts between. As the Premier establishment of its Kind, its Rates were far higher than any we had yet Commanded; the least expensive Seats cost a Shilling, with private Boxes running from 10s. 6d. to £2 11s More might be made in a single Night there than we had earned in our entire time in Liverpool, and Mr Bisset was quite keen to secure an Engagement.

  We waited a further Week, the Weather being quite Dismal and Wet, and almost had decided to go Home, when a letter arrived via the Dublin Packet. We were offered a two-week stand at Astley’s, with a most generous Guarantee against receipts; should Attendance be better than contracted, we would gain a Percentage of the sales of Tickets. Mr Bisset was beside himself, and Sam’s mind was quite Overtaken with thoughts of Dublin. And yet, for myself, I must in Truth declare that I had begun to Weary of the life of a Performer, and secretly Hoped that I might enjoy some months Away from the Stage, or perhaps even Retire with my Laurels intact. Never the less, seeing my Benefactor’s heart was so much Set upon the Journey, I undertook to accompany him Freely and put aside my Doubts, trusting that our Success There would mean a longer, quieter time After.

  The next morning, as we
went to board the Packet, I encountered the first of what, in retrospect, seem ill Omens. The Captain of our Vessel absolutely Refused to have any Animals above deck, however crated or Constrained; we must be in the Hold. No amount of Cajoling would change his mind, neither any Sum—and Mr Bisset made a most Generous offer, more than Twice the fare of a human Passenger—induce him to Budge so much as a Fraction. I was therefore hauled down Below by a pair of stout young Sailors, and my enclosure Packed with all the others, alongside a slatted crate of half-starved Cattle, and several boxes of laying Hens. It took some ingenuity, but Sam, of course, eventually managed to Find me and, though his Visits were brief, he brought me morsels of his own Food, and News from above Decks, such that I considered myself not much less Comfortable than I would have been Above. The crossing was a lengthy one, with an intervening Call at the Isle of Man, and it was very late indeed that I learnt—by Sam’s shout—that the distant lights of Dublin could be seen.

  As we drew up along the stone Quays of the River Liffey, I could hear the shouts of the Stevedores as they readied their ropes and nets, and before long I was at last restored to Fresh air. As I was hauled out on a Pallet, I caught my first Glimpse of that vast City, which was the dim outline of the Custom House, and behind it the lamplit streets of a bustling Metropolis. So here we were: at the peak of our Fame, doubtless soon to be the Talk of the Town—and yet, for some reason I could not Fathom, I felt nothing within my heart but a sort of cold, containing darkness that I could neither penetrate nor shake off.