Pyg

by Russell Potter

  ‘Mr Samuel Nicholson?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And, let me see . . . Toby, is it?’

  I made a slight and (I hoped) graceful bow.

  Mr Sheldon could hide his delight no more, but broke into a wry smile. ‘My good fellows, word of your arrival precedes you—I had a letter from Dr Adams a fortnight ago—you are most welcome! But I must confess, until I had seen you with my own eyes, I was not certain of you—no, not certain at all! But now that we have met, I am sure we shall do each other great benefit! Great benefit indeed!’

  So saying, he motioned us to join him in a small room adjoining, where some cheese and bread had been set out for a modest luncheon; at his summons, the maid brought out two more loaves, and a bowl of whey, which was set before me. He asked after our journey, and whether we had found our lodgings satisfactory, and laughed greatly at our account of our reception—or lack thereof—by the doorman at Montagu House.

  ‘Well, Banks will see you—of that I have no doubt—but of course, he is frightfully busy, always is. The man’s mind is like a copious index—an entry for every thing, but once entered, only consulted sporadically. Yes, that’s it. But here, I think, we can do more for you, perhaps arrange for a little demonstration for some select friends. You would not be averse to that, Toby?’

  ‘Not at all,’ was my reply (Sam by this time having furnished me with my cards).

  ‘Still, I must say, I was a little surprised to hear you are engaged upon the public stage as well. Can it be so?’

  Sam and I looked at one another, our puzzlement quite evident.

  ‘What—then is there no truth in the bills? Surely you have seen them.’

  So saying, Mr Sheldon produced a handbill whose contents filled me with amazement (at first) and then with rage. The scoundrels! For here were my late fellows from my engagement at Astley’s in Dublin—none other than Signore Scaglioni, Herr Hautknochen, and ‘La Belle Espagnole’—and they were appearing with a creature advertised as ‘Toby, the Sagacious PIG, who reckons the number of people present, tells the time by a Gentleman’s watch, and distinguishes all sort of Colours’ and all this was to be seen, this very evening, at the Theatre Royal at Sadler’s Wells, for a mere two shillings!

  ‘This is a rank impostor!’ I declared.

  ‘Aha! I rather thought so. His talents did seem a good deal more rudimentary than yours,’ he replied.

  If I could have blushed, I would—my consternation was evident.

  ‘But what will you do? Surely your name and reputation must be defended!’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sam, ‘we should attend the show!’

  ‘And what then?’ Mr Sheldon shot back. ‘A duel?’

  ‘No, not a duel, but a Contest. Surely our Toby here would carry away the laurels!’

  ‘How do you propose to get him in?’

  This was a more considerable problem. For, however much people would flock to behold an Educated Pig, there was (in my experience) nary a Pig in attendance; nor would one be expected. Any attempt I might make to enter the premises would surely raise unwanted attention, and cause such a stir that the hoped-for contest would be impossible.

  ‘What if we were to issue a challenge?’ asked Mr Sheldon. ‘Invite this young Pretender, at a place and time of our choosing, and trounce him with your superior Knowledge and Skill! Surely he could not refuse.’

  ‘That’s it!’ declared Sam. ‘And we could have learned witnesses—yourself, sir, if you’re willing—to vouch for the Results!’

  To this Plan, I quickly gave my Assent, although not without some Reservations. For while I had little doubt that I would Prevail, I dreaded a return to my old life of the Shows, to which I had become quite Unaccustomed, and felt that, whoever the witnesses might be, there would be no preventing such a contest from becoming an untoward Spectacle, one at which even a Victory would not redound to my Benefit. Never the less, assured both by Sam and our new Friend that the circumstances would be most carefully Managed, and that every Care would be taken to ensure that our contest was purely Intellectual in nature, I decided to risk All. At its very base, there is nothing so like to burst that bubble Reputation as the Pin of a rival, a poseur, a Doppelgänger who sits grinning in one’s own Chair, and dares one to be seated!

  Mr Sheldon took it in hand to write to the performers at Sadler’s Wells, and had his letter delivered by messenger that same afternoon. We were pleased to receive a reply the next day, to the effect that our Challenge was accepted. As neutral ground, our opponents proposed the Academy Room at the Lyceum, Strand, where, just in the manner of a Duel, each side could propose its Weapons, and nominate its Seconds. A body of twelve men of good Reputation, six chosen by each Side, would serve as a sort of Jury, and Mr Lingham, the lessee of those Premises, would be the Chairman of this group ex officio, as a non-voting member, of course. Everything seemed to be in order, and we soon sat down to determine Who, among the many learned men we had at our disposal, would be ideal to serve upon our Panel.

  With Mr Sheldon as our Ambassador, we quickly secured the services of Richard Kirwan and William Aiton; Sir Joseph Banks, alas, though he was not entirely unsympathetic to my Plight, sent his regrets, as he did not wish to appear a Partisan in any issue involving members of the Royal Society. This left us still in need of Three, whom we sought through the Length and Breadth of Britain. Erasmus Darwin sent his regrets, explaining that his business in Birmingham required his attention throughout the period in question; James Keir, for similar reasons, could not afford to be absent from Staffordshire. Yet we were delighted to hear, a fortnight later, that William Cullen, the eminent physician, had at Dr Adams’s urging agreed to be one of our Jury, as had Theophilus Lindsey, the theologian. For the final place, I held out the keenest Hope that Miss Seward would be willing to serve, and I even did her the Favour—which I have, I must say, to none other—of writing her a personal Letter, which I dictated to Sam. The text of this Letter is most deeply engraved in the Book of my Memory, and unfolded in this Fashion:

  My dear Miss Seward,

  It is with the utmost Respect that I write to you, who have on so many occasions proved to be a Friend, and yet whom I have never had the chance properly to Meet, or thank for your many Kindnesses. You will have heard, I do not doubt, that I am placed in fresh Difficulties here in London, as both my name and reputation have been sullied by a Usurper, working in concert with a band of Ruffians—my late compatriots of the stage in Dublin. I have duly Challenged this Imitator, and he and I are to go to it at the Lyceum at the end of this present Month. There is to be empanelled a Jury, to judge the results of our Engagement, and each side may put forth six names. Were yours, my dear Miss Seward, to be enrolled upon on my list, I should count it one of the great honours of my so-far Brief existence, and it would bring me great Joy, regardless of the outcome of the Contest. You may reach me in care of Mr Sheldon, at the Royal Academy of Arts, 8 John Street, Strand.

  I remain, as ever, your most Humble Servant,

  Toby

  After posting it, I lived in constant apprehension as to any Reply, such that I asked Mr Sheldon after it nearly every Morning, and several times begged him to call upon the Society’s offices to check whether or not any word had been Received. I was, as a result, quite reduced to a quivering Bag of Nerves, which were again and again Jangled by the smallest inconvenience. You can imagine, then, my Elation, just over a week later, at receiving a reply in the Affirmative; indeed I have, ever since, carried this Letter close to my Bosom, by means of having it stitched into the lining of my Waistcoat:

  My Dear Mr Toby,

  Your appeal reached me this morning, and, not wishing to lose a Moment in reply, I will be brief. I should be delighted, and the Honour all mine, to have a place upon your Jury. You may count on my making an appearance, and I look forward very keenly to having at last the chance to Speak with you in Person (or should I say, in Pig?). I am more than confident as to the outcome of your upcoming Probation
.

  So take courage, my dear Toby!, and believe me always your friend and servant,

  Anna Seward

  14

  By then, the appointed date for this contest of Pig versus Pig had drawn quite Near, and Sam and I had made the most thorough preparations: we had practised all our old Routines, gone over all our usual Signals, and even taken time to review my Latin grammar, of which I was justly proud—and certain that no porcine poseur could possibly match. We were also anxious to find out who had been chosen for the Jury by our opposition, but our requests for any account of this were Denied, with the word that we would know them when we saw them. Never the less, we were able, by following such fashionable gossip as anticipated the Event, to determine that there were, by all accounts, no men of Science or Learning among them. The best-known was Mr John Walter, a former coal-merchant who had taken up a career as a Publisher, and put out something called the Daily Universal Register. We were a little put off that such a man could both judge the contest and Write about it, but Mr Sheldon assured me that his Newspaper was a very small concern, and like to come to nothing, whereas he had already secured for us a promise to publish his own account in the London Chronicle.1

  We arrived at the Premises early on the chosen Day that we might see the Arrangements of the place, and adapt ourselves to them. Ordinarily employed as a sort of lecture hall, the Lyceum had been modified slightly for this event, with a low platform erected at its Front for our Performances, and two rows of six chairs placed along the right-hand side of the hall, which comprised the Jury’s ‘box’. We were very nearly the first to arrive, and were greeted with great Warmth by Mr Lingham, a portly gentleman of perhaps sixty years of age. He seemed to take great delight in his rooms becoming the scene of such an Affair for (as he showed us in a book of press clippings he kept) the matter of the ‘Learned Pig’ was very much the Talk of the Town. I was somewhat astonished to Read for the first time what some Wags had to say on the Matter: no less a light than Sheridan proclaimed me ‘a far greater object of admiration to the English nation than ever was Sir Isaac Newton’ while an anonymous Bard epitomiz’d me thus in Verse:

  A gentle pig this Toby is, a real pig of Parts,

  As learnéd as an F.R.S. or graduate in Arts;

  His ancestors, ’tis true, alas, could only grunt and squeak,

  But He has been at Oxford—and in a week shall Speak.

  I had to admit, I basked in the glow of these Lines for more than a moment, although it was not quite Accurate to say that I should merely Speak, when in fact what I did was to Spell, a talent which the greater part of the ‘English Nation’ at that time, jabber as they might, did not possess.

  As we peered over these Documents, a number of other parties arrived, including Mr Walter and several other Men whom we took to be his co-jurors. None was known to us, but Mr Lingham was kind enough to give us their names: they were Joseph Sparkes, of the East India Company, Thomas Farr, a Liverpool merchant, James Sanderson, an Alderman, and Henry Blundell, of the Africa Company. All these men were similarly dressed, similarly deported and similarly Wigged; indeed, I could hardly recall a Farrow of new Pigs that looked more alike. For their part, I am sure none of them had made the acquaintance of any Animal, save as a piece of Merchandise, nor had any Notion of any Sapient beings unlike themselves; they may as well have been Visitors from some other celestial Sphere, as any more familiar Creatures. The last of their Number shortly arrived, whom we recognised at once, for here was Charles Dibdin, the illustrious Actor—but his presence did not at all cheer us, for we feared that, as a business associate of Mr Astley, he was very likely to vote in favour of the Pretender.

  Our own jurors had also begun to arrive, and each of them stopt to pay their brief Respects; as might be expected from men whose life was of the Mind, they made a far more Rumpled and irregular Set than their Mercantile colleagues. Richard Kirwan was the most Dignified of the Bunch, his head held aloft with the aid of a tight swathe of neckerchiefs; William Aiton, the botanist, was far more Loosely attired in a blue frock and grey waistcoat, wearing a red wig that matched his ruddy countenance. William Cullen then billowed in upon the Sails of his black academic Gown, his face radiating both Kindness and Acuity, and with him Theophilus Lindsey who, though more reserved, bore the Expression of a man whose Sobriety seemed always about to burst forth into a Grin. Of course I was most anxious, and not a little Shy, of meeting Miss Seward, and was enormously relieved when she appeared at last. From the moment she entered the room, it seemed to me as though the world contained but Herself and me, and all the rest were merely a species of Bystander. She wore an enormous dress of violet Taffeta, secured about her waist with a cincture of dark velvet; her Hair, which one could see was all her Own, was tied back with a ribbon of like material, and her face quite Glowed with the vivacity of a Woman who knows her own Purposes, and likely those of others as well.

  She curtsied lightly before me, and I Bowed as best I could, and by means of Sam and our small cards, we were at least able to make our Introductions.

  ‘Mr Toby, it is an honour finally to Meet you.’

  ‘Madam, the honour is all mine. I am most glad to see you!’

  ‘And I you! Have no fear—why, I believe that those Periwigs over there have not the Least idea of your true abilities—but you will show them, of that I am certain.’

  ‘Your confidence is most Heartening—I shall do my very best to Repay it.’

  And then it was time to take the Stage. Curiously, although I had been told he was present, my Rival was not yet in evidence; the explanation of this came when, through a side-door cleverly concealed as a section of the Wall, he and his Man entered. It was a strange and Uncanny thing to behold another creature as curiously Removed from Nature as myself, and yet what first struck my Eye were our enormous differences. If I was large and Pink, he was small and Black, with a fine bristle of hair that looked to have been lately combed. It was not an uncomely appearance, and while he, too, had a fancy Waistcoat, his was of a rich Crimson, which nicely complemented his dusky complexion. I could not, alas, say as much for his Master, whose lumpy, corpulent form was ill-squeezed into a ridiculous green Frock coat, his plump head plopped above his Lace neckerchief like a Tomato upon a Napkin. Never the less, despite his unpleasant appearance, he bowed courteously and low (as did my Sam), and conducted himself with dignity throughout the Proceedings.

  We were first given a series of Questions submitted by the Jury, most of them very rudimentary ones that admitted of a brief answer: what was the capital of France, what country lay to the West of England, how many gills in a Pint, and so forth. Both my rival and I managed all of them without fault, although at one point I came close to accidentally dropping one of my Letters, as I stumbled upon an irregular Board in the platform. On and on it went, until it became quite clear that such questions would settle no Matter but that of sheer Endurance. We were next given questions that had been written out in block letters upon cards, which I found my counterpart could Read as well as I, though whether through his own Sense or prior training I could not tell. Next, we were asked to tell the Time displayed upon a Pocket watch, another task we both managed with alacrity. Clearly, these were all as much a part of the other Pig’s repertoire as they were of mine, and none was likely to disclose a shade of difference between us.

  As arranged, our next round was conducted in Latin, and involved the declension of nouns of various kinds, along with the conjugation of Verbs. I had expected them to have prepared for the test, but was amazed to see how quickly my Competitor laid out his A-M-O, A-M-A-S, and A-M-A-T; he fairly leapt to his letters, and although I did my best, I could barely manage to keep pace with him, and was quite soon Out of Breath. Simple sentences were then demanded of us, with the words spoken out loud leaving us the task of spelling them, and again neither my dark Opponent nor myself made any missteps. And so the sentences continued one after another, droning along in my Brain like the repeated march of a pair of Boots
over the same piece of Ground. Finally, when I felt I could stand it no more, I ran across the stage, knocking over my opponent’s table where his cards stood at the ready, and quickly spelt out from the resulting heap of letters this question: Q-U-O U-S-Q-U-E T-A-N-D-E-M—which is to say, How much longer?

  There was a stunned Silence among all present; then a murmur of puzzlement swept through Jury and Spectators alike. Mr Lingham, taking his role as Judge to heart, pounded with his Gavel upon the railing, calling for ‘order in the court’, but the sight was so unintentionally Comic, that it only Added to the chaos. At last Dr Cullen, who had earlier been elected Foreman by his fellow Jurors, stood and called for silence.

  ‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please! I ask you to recall the Dignity of this occasion; we are here to exercise our Rational faculties, not our Passions!’

  This was followed by general grunts of agreement, and expectant silence.

  ‘I would call your attention to the following points: one, that for more than an hour, we have given our two subjects every kind of Test that their abilities—or so we supposed—permitted, and Both have acquitted themselves without Error. Two, that there are two Measures of good Learning—the fair Reply, and the intelligent Question, and that the Latter is by far the greater. Three, that Toby here, who is by all accounts at least the Elder of our contestants, finding himself in a state of Exasperation, has shown himself capable of this second and more Profound evidence of Understanding. For anything that can be done by Rules, whether it is telling the Time or declining Nouns, can be learnt by Rote, but the spontaneous generation of Discourse, though it follows these, cannot be made by them; it is, as the poet Dante once remarked, written deep within the spirit and is there formed sine omnia regula—without any rules.’