Pyg

by Russell Potter

  And so we went upon our way, passing through the villages of Carnforth, Lowgill and Oddendale, making our next rest in the ancient town of Penrith, with its lovely market-square and ruined castle, where it was said that Richard III lived for some years prior to ascending—if that is the right word for it—the throne of England. Of course I knew him as a villain, and an especially cruel one, from Shakespeare, but I could not help but feel a measure of empathy for a man so often mocked for mere physical deformity—after all, there’s ‘no beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity’—even if the soul within were more deformed. The castle was built of handsome reddish stones, and was by way of slowly returning to the soil, as these same stones appeared in many a local dwelling or patch of wall, there being no other materials so near at hand in such a desolate country.

  Of the hinterlands and frontiers that lie between England and Scotland, I can say but little, other than that—should the Union of these two countries be ever hoped to come to meaningful Fruition—it will first be necessary to improve the Roads. The zigzag passage of our wagon over hill and Dale, along the rutted, mad-angled and treacherous by-ways that pass for roads in these parts, made me more Sea-sick than ever I was aboard a ship. It was fortunate indeed that we had no engagements in this part of the country, as I would scarcely have been able to Stand, let alone give any kind of Performance, so greatly was I troubled in my Legs and afflicted in my Stomach. It was with a sense of blessed relief that we began our slow descent into the welcoming valley of the Clyde, and could glimpse at last, upon the Horizon, the sooty towers and busy quays of Glasgow, where next we were to make our Appearance.

  We shortly crossed over the river and proceeded to King Street, where we arrived momentarily at our destination, the Dancing establishment of Mr Frazer. It was said, at the time of our Exhibition there, to be the principal school of Etiquette and fine Manners in the City, and very much the Glass of Fashion for its inhabitants. One might wonder that such a place would welcome the presence of a Pig such as I, but on our meeting Mr Frazer all our uncertainty as to his motives was at a stroke Dissolved. Here was a man so jovial, so Warm of spirit, and yet so graceful in his manners, that he could manage to Roar with laughter without in the least way deviating from his excellent Deportment; indeed, he made the sound so freely and spontaneously, that he readily Infected all the Company around him with it. (I must here confess that, try though I might, I could not—nor could any of my Race—manage to emulate the human Laugh, but under Mr Frazer’s influence and tutelage, I came as near such a Sound as I should ever hope to venture, convulsed as I was with a sort of intermittent Wheeze.)

  Our host had made arrangements for our accommodation at an Inn convenient to the place, and on our arrival we found that all was paid for in advance, an act of kindness Rare among his kind. We had been engaged for a full week of double performances, with afternoon and evening shows each day, but both were of a different kind from any to which we had previously been accustomed. Mr Frazer had us in a front room on the ground floor, with a bay window facing the street, through which we could be seen as our own Advertisement. We did not, however, do any of our more complicated routines, but rather, on the hour and the half-hour, a sort of brief impromptu sketch, in which we took advantage of the composition of the Crowd and displayed some business fitted to their interests and Capacity. For children, we did simple sums and took questions on school subjects; for a crowd of women, we did an abbreviated version of our mind-reading act; for men, who were more abundant at the evening performance, we did our more elaborate routines, including Latin conjugations and declensions.

  As the week progressed, I could see the wisdom of our Host’s design: the shorter, periodic performances drew crowds into his antechambers, but also left them with idle time between our Acts—time in which, as it would happen, they might have a peep into one of the Dancing-rooms, and perhaps—especially if a young person were present with a parent or chaperone—they might enrol their names as pupils. I am sure that, during our sojourn there, we brought about a great increase in Business to Mr Frazer, much more than he was paying for our appearances; I might indeed have resented the Bargain, save that I soon came quite to prefer these small and Spontaneous routines to our usual lengthier and more constrained ones. With them, I felt much more like a Visitor or a Guest than a mere Novelty or object of Admiration, and I was able to make the acquaintance of quite a number of the better sort of persons of the Town. Among these I might mention the painter Archibald Blair, the barrister John Orr, and the skilled instrument-maker and mathematician Murray Ofburn, all of whom paid me the most generous compliments, and with whom I enjoyed the pleasantest conversations.

  Indeed, as the end of our time in Glasgow drew near, I found myself regretting our imminent departure—but I could not disappoint Dr Cullen, though it pained me to make my reconcilement to such a sad necessity. On our final Evening, the dancing hall was Cleared, and a stage erected so that I might give a full-scale Farewell performance, and the room was filled to overflowing. We brought back to the bill our Clairvoyant act, our Whist, and our ‘Animal Magnetism’ business, and finished the night with a grand Ball, followed by a dancing contest, for which I was given an honorary appointment as one of the Judges, a duty I discharged (I hope) quite capably, though my view of the dancers was perhaps not so Elevated as that of my fellow jurists. At the end, the winning couple was presented with a Cake, and I was given a laurel Wreath, aptly fitted to my Head, as a parting gift from a Committee of Leading Glaswegians—as a consequence of which, I have ever since styled myself the Pig Laureate of that fair City.

  When compared with our previous turbulent journey, the turnpike from Glasgow to Edinburgh was ‘smooth sailing’ all the way; it consisted chiefly of a wide and steady Track, with inns at regular intervals and small towns nestled among the many ridges and vales, that followed for a time the course of the Clyde. The names of the towns themselves were most quaint and curious: in the course of one single mile we passed through the settlements of Sallysburgh, Threeprig and Kirk O’Shotts. Many of these consisted of no more than a cottage or two and a heap of stones; others of more substance managed a small inn, a Well, and a modest church or ‘kirk’, as they are called thereabouts; the most substantial had their own High Street, crowded with rows of old half-timbered houses and sometimes a small market-square.

  Our progress was brisk, as we were most anxious to arrive at the appointed date, and by the afternoon of our third day, we could spy out the distant mass of Edinburgh Castle, which as we drew nearer seemed to stand almost alone atop its stony Cliffs, with the city itself a huddled, darker mass upon the horizon to its side. It made a sight most Dramatic, and one which I often recall with great Pleasure, as it marked the very first time I beheld that ancient yet lively citadel of Life and Learning, in which I have since made my Home.

  We approached by way of Queensferry Road, which twisted and turned in slow ascent, and then became Lothian Road. From there, we diverged on to Castle Terrace, which went round the southern edge of Castle Rock itself, then passed by the King’s Stables (so called) into the crowded thoroughfares of the Grassmarket. This district had many of the qualities of a typical market-square, save that it was extended in length as far as Twenty lesser such markets. Both sides of this vast swathe were crowded with shops, public houses, and sundry places of business, while in the middle area, a continuously shifting strip of tents and booths wound its way, looking for all the world like some Arabian bazaar, overflowing with goods and attractions of every describable sort. In the midst of all this clamour, fast by an ancient Well, stood yet another of those dark reminders of Human ways, a Gallows—I was relieved to learn that the last person to suffer upon it, one James Andrews, had been laid to rest, and the structure was shortly to be Removed for ever. I later discovered, to my great disappointment, that this was only on account of a New gallows having been erected within the city Gaol—evidence, to my mind, that there was at least some sense of Shame about the prac
tice, though only enough to drive it indoors and away from Public view.

  Much more to my liking were the tales told of the many showfolk who had there accomplished feats of great Fame, as in 1733 when a pair of Italians, father and son, strung a single rope from the battlements of the Castle to the south side of the Market, down which they slid, willy-nilly, first the father and then the son, the latter managing to blow continuously upon a Trumpet as he made his descent. Three days later, they staged another performance, with this addition: that after his descent, the father walked back up the rope all the way to the Castle walls, firing a pistol, beating a drum and loudly proclaiming that, while up there, he could defy the whole Court of Session!

  Yet despite the lively history of the place, and our forthcoming Engagement to put on afternoon performances, we did not pause at any of the venerable Inns in those parts, having been advised by Dr Cullen that these were mostly very low houses, such that even those who stabled their horses there took rooms elsewhere if they could afford to. We proceeded instead to George-street, where that good man had arranged for us to stay in private lodgings not far from his own residence, and convenient to the hall of the College of Physicians. On our arrival, we were escorted to our rooms, which we found had been specially fitted with both a feather bed and one of Straw, with all the accoutrements of the latter laid out for my Convenience—among them a low table and basin, a brush and towel, and even a Mirror placed so that I might easily examine myself within it. Indeed, this was the first time since our early days at Mr Bisset’s singular residence that I had ever had the sensation of being truly at Home, in a place where both my stature and capabilities were perfectly accommodated.

  That very evening, Dr Cullen came to meet us, and made us feel twice welcome with his easy demeanour and natural manners. Given the length of our journey, he was most anxious that we felt no obligation to make any appearances, or greet any new or strange Faces, before we were able to take our Rest. During the course of his visit, our dinner was brought to us by a young serving-boy of the name of Jamie—who has since become a fast friend—while we discussed our future plans and possibilities. My engagement in the Grassmarket, which commenced three days hence, was to be strictly limited to a fortnight, and was advertised as ‘the very Final Appearance of that Famous Pig, TOBY, whose remarkable skill with Language exceeds that of any of his Rivals, and has been the subject of Universal acclamation in Dublin, London, Glasgow and numerous other places throughout the British Isles’. Once I had taken my last Bow, however, my plans were far less certain: I had considered retiring to a place in the Country, a tour of Europe (purely as a Spectator, not a Performer), or perhaps undertaking a voyage to America.

  Dr Cullen nodded attentively as I spelt out my Options, and commended me on my abiding interest in the world about me—but then he paused, looking upon me with a strange, yet benevolent gaze.

  ‘Toby, you are a most remarkable fellow; would that I had among my students any with half your intelligence and native curiosity! I have heard that you had completed scarcely a Year of your studies, and that your removal to London, and the subsequent death of Dr Adams, prevented you from resuming them. You must know that I have most carefully considered what I am about to say, and would not make the offer were it not both in my power and Approved by all the requisite authorities. So I say to you, would you like to be a student here at the University? Ours may not be so ancient as the halls of Oxford, but we have built here as strong a fortress of Learning as any they have there. Our lectures, our Libraries and our tutors would be at your disposal, and you would be Registered as my pupil, with all the privileges and responsibilities of any other student here. What say you? Will you not consider it?’

  I hesitated only a moment—and that because I was utterly overcome by the generosity of his offer—before I at once spelt out my acceptance of this singular Honour. I could think of no way to thank him; I was sure I had not been of any special service—nor did I know of any other Friends who might have advocated on my behalf.

  ‘But what about the matter of Fees?’ I asked, with some trepidation.

  ‘You have more friends than you may realise; I myself raised a subscription among them, and from my colleagues here in Edinburgh, and from these funds all such sums will be paid, as well as an allowance for room, board and any books or other supplies you may require.’

  To this astonishing news I could make no reply—I simply bowed low.

  17

  But before my studies could commence, I had one last performance to give, and I was determined that it should be my best. Sam and I had engaged a local carpenter to erect for us a spacious, purpose-built Booth, quite nearly the size of a small house, at the best pitch on the Grassmarket, just adjacent to the West Port, past which nearly everyone and everything passed on its way to or from market. Incorporated into this was a large banner, boldly painted on a length of tautly stretched linen, which depicted scenes from my entire Life and Career, under the following heads, viz., ‘Toby is born at SALFORD’; ‘Toby at Astley’s Amphitheatre, DUBLIN’; ‘Toby a pupil at OXFORD’; ‘Triumph in LONDON’; and finally ‘Elected Pig-laureate at GLASGOW’. We engaged two subsidiary showmen as ‘barkers’ to drum up business at either end of the market, and a small fleet of boys to serve as animated Sandwiches, parading through town between two slabs of wood upon which were plastered the Bills for our show. Notices in all the papers completed the plan of our Campaign; never, to my knowledge, has any such show been more widely Advertis’d in advance of its Opening.

  Given the means employed, we expected a goodly crowd, and we were not disappointed; indeed, the numbers so greatly exceeded our expectations that we were obliged to add a third, and later a fourth, Show every day. Eager crowds of local citizenry queued long before our first appearance each day at Noon, and well after our final show each evening, the disappointed mingled with the men who were busy removing the market-stalls and unsold produce. The notices in the local papers were exceedingly kind, and each night in our lodgings we were presented with further letters and notes addressed to me, offering warm tributes to my work, and enquiring about tickets for the next Performance. By the third day, our morning stroll to the Grassmarket became a sort of Procession, with the local crossing-sweepers and errand-boys proclaiming our progress and heralding our Entry, as though we were Royalty, while behind us trailed a string of carts, costermongers and carriages nearly as extensive as the Lord Mayor’s Parade in London.

  A few days into our run, I received a singular Visitor, a man whose Star was just then most Ascendant in the Sky: Robert Burns, the Ayrshire ploughman-turned-poet. He arrived in fine fettle, in the company of Mr Creech, a local bookseller who had just then undertaken to publish a new edition of his Poems, along with a large gaggle of miscellaneous Followers, whose exact connection with the Poet was hard to Ascertain. They made, never the less, for a most colourful audience, and Sam at once arranged for them to be seated together, and issued tickets gratis, which would have offended those yet waiting to attend had it been any other person but Burns. The great poet himself, remarkably, seemed unaffected by this adulation: he retained a sturdy rustic dignity which seemed to regard all Praise as superfluous; his countenance possessed at all times a constant, even Temperament, and it was only in his eyes that there glimmered—or so I thought—an intensity of Feeling that belied his modest appearance and calm comportment. Truly, I have never beheld a pair of eyes such as those, before or since, and when—at the conclusion of my performance—we were introduced, I felt myself quite under their Spell. We exchanged only bows and polite glances, but I am sure I was not alone in sensing a strange feeling of kinship between us, these two simple Country creatures whose capacity for Language was similarly made out to be some remarkable Spectacle, eliciting adulation that would somehow be lessened had we both been born not Sons of Toil but to a gentler class.

  This feeling was renewed, some time later, when I heard from Dr Cullen that Mr Burns, invited to a fashionable soi
rée by a Countess, where he feared he would be greeted not as a true Friend but rather a mere Curiosity, had replied thusly: ‘Mr Burns will do himself the honour of waiting upon her on the ninth inst., provided Her Ladyship will also invite the Learned Pig.’ This has, since then, been interpreted as far from complimentary, by a great many ignorant and idle commentators who have supposed that for Burns to compare himself to Me was a reflection of a perceived Insult, rather than—as I am sure it was meant—a most generous avowal of our abiding sense of kinship. Poor Burns: though the span of life granted Man is (generally) many times that allotted to Pigs, he had scarce another nine years of life, while I have lived to mourn his Death, and regret the brevity, though not the brilliance, of his poetic Career.

  As for myself, the remainder of my performances in the Grassmarket were as great a success as the first, and I was then, and have for ever since been, grateful to the people of Edinburgh for the accolades and attendance with which I was showered for the duration of my Show. On the final evening, it was attended by the Lord Provost, Sir James Stirling, accompanied by a great many councillors of that fair City; there was also a delegation from the University, which included Dr Cullen, along with his estimable colleague Dr Monro, and the poet and playwright John Home, who paid me the singular compliment of reading an Encomium he had composed for the occasion, which concluded,

  Where next may lie the Realms you will explore,

  When Science to you opens all her store?

  Already have you in your sapient brain

  More than most men in all their lives attain!

  May we not hope, in this improving Age

  Of human things—to see on Terra’s stage

  Pigs take the lead of men, and from their styes

  To honours, riches, and high office, rise!