Pyg (15 page)

The next day, the estimable Doctor was unwell again, having perhaps over-exerted himself at the Banquet in his honour. There is, it must be admitted at once, something tedious
in
Praise
, the more so when it is the better Deserved. For if one has, in plain fact, accomplished great things, and presuming that one has not lost one’s memory or other Faculties,
this whole Business of praise is rather like an endless rehearsal of a Play based on one’s own life. And, unless the Playwrights be men of uncommon gifts (and this is rare), the Play itself
is
not
the thing, but rather a poor imitation or repetition of matters that one knows already, and yet one to which it is Impossible, without great breach of protocol, to
Object
. On
and on it must go, through every last execrable verse upon the occasion of one’s wonderful Visit, until the Visit itself be damned for the
Visitor
. Dr Johnson spent the next day in
bed, attended by his Physician, who prescribed a regimen of
Squills
to keep the water down. By these means, he was by that evening much Improved, and the next day was able to accompany Dr
Adams on a tour of Pembroke and some of the more notable sights of the University. Alas, although much disposed to ascend, he was defeated by the sixty-five steps to the Bodleian Library, an
edifice of which it may be said that the path of Learning is at its
Steepest
. He departed the next morning with his Entourage, intending to visit Lichfield, where he wished to call upon Miss
Seward.

Here I must insert a word about this magnificent Woman, whose virtues it quite exceeds my capacity adequately to praise. I had not known her name until Dr Johnson happened to mention the matter
of the Medal, and upon Reflection, I realised that it was she, too, who had addressed me in Chester. On that latter occasion, I had not been able to linger, and had had no opportunity to Thank her
in person; in the dim light of the Theatre, I had not been entirely certain of her
Identity
. That she was an acquaintance of Dr Johnson I would never have guessed, but now that I knew, I was
most anxious to learn more of her. From Dr Adams I heard something of her history: she was, in fact, the granddaughter of Dr Johnson’s late schoolmaster in Lichfield, the man whose stern
manners and frequent employment of the Lash were so ill-remembered by his famous
Pupil
. She herself was a remarkable Scholler, and was said to have been able to recite passages from
‘L’Allegro’ when she was only Three. There was a sad chapter to her life as well: her sister Sarah, who had been engaged to Dr Johnson’s stepson, had fallen ill and died on
the very eve of their
Wedding
, much to the distress of both families.

The friendly animosity, and jovial contest that ran between Miss Seward and the learned Doctor seems to have begun soon after this time. Aside from caring for her father, she devoted herself
almost entirely to literary composition, with an ‘Elegy on the Death of Mr Garrick’ among her early triumphs. Further elegiac verses upon the expirations of Major André and
Captain Cook soon followed, and she had but lately completed her first novel, which was entitled
Louisa.
Throughout this period she had corresponded with, and was frequently called upon by,
Dr Johnson who, though he was publicly dismissive of her ambitions, privately admired her intellect, and relished their literary and philosophical contests. Many were the subjects of their friendly
debates, conducted almost entirely via the post; I was at a later date shown a number of these Letters, and earnestly expressed the wish that they might some day be published. In the weeks and
months after Dr Johnson’s departure, and with the melancholy news of his Death that came not long after, I often expressed a wish to visit Miss Seward, but was for that time detained by my
Studies, which I was most anxious to pursue as long as Dr Adams would permit me.

That good man in every way endeavoured to Encourage me, and with his help I soon advanced, and embarked upon the reading of several of the more famous speeches of Cicero. Alas, though my
Progress was very strong, my path lay strewn with numerous
Obstacles
, the majority of which were not of my own Making. For, as they say,
invidia gloriae comes
: a number of the Fellows
of the College had taken umbrage at the
Attention
given me, and took to quoting passages from the College’s Statutes; they claimed that the Master had no authority to admit me as a
Pupil, or that if he did I should have to pay for my Tuition, and pass the requirements for Age and Good Character (the former of which I could hardly be expected to meet, as I was very far from my
sixteenth year, and by no means sure to live so long, a single Pig year being equivalent to several
Human
ones). To all these complaints, the Master patiently replied that as he himself was
covering all my Expenditures out of his own resources, and would gladly avouch that both my Character and Capability were the equal of any lad of the requisite age, thus my position was entirely
proper. Indeed, in the case of my Benefactor, he had already been admitted to the College and (having had the good fortune to be born on Guernsey) been elected the Bishop Morley’s
Scholler.

Never the less, a small group of Fellows continued their grumbling and complaints, and eventually wrote to the Chancellor, Lord North, with a bill against me. Happily, that eminent man was then
engaged in a series of agonising political machinations with Pitt the Younger, which so preoccupied him that he could devote no attention to the matter, referring it to the Vice-Chancellor, a
certain Reverend Mr Chapman. And that man, being on old and comfortable terms with Dr Adams, came one day to our Breakfast, and was so charmed by my abilities that he declared that, if I must go,
then more than half of the Undergraduates must go with me as I was quite clearly their Equal, if not their
Better
. As a result, I was out of any immediate danger, being—or so I thought
then—possessed as I was of the proverbial Friends in High Places.

And yet there I was soon to be proven mistaken, for the lack of any administrative relief of their Grievances did not, by any means, discourage my opponents; indeed, it
emboldened
them.
It was just after the commencement of Hilary term that a number of undergraduates—encouraged, I am sure, by their Betters—came upon me under cover of the Night, shoved me into a Burlap
sack, and made away with me to a nearby Public House, the Eagle and Child. There, they set me up upon a Platter, to which they tied me with a length of stout cord, and stuffed an Apple into my
mouth, as though I were to be served up as their Dinner.
O tempora
,
o mores!
They then proceeded to exhaust themselves with Toasts, loudly proclaiming that the Establishment should be
rechristened the Plover and the Pig, the Swan and the Swine, and other such names, and demanding that the proprietor set me up to Roast. That man, to my eternal Gratitude, refused their requests;
knowing that they were from Pembroke, he had some inkling that I might be the celebrated Pig there resident, and did all he could to keep them preoccupied. So, while proclaiming the next round free
of charge, he quietly sent round his boy to the Porter’s Lodge; the porter fetched Dr Adams and that gentleman hurried to my Rescue.

I had, of course, no idea of this, and was as stunned as my captors when the Master strode through the doors in the midst of yet another round of boisterous toasts and taunts. When I look back
upon it, despite the mortal terror I was in, I cannot help but laugh at the looks of utter dismay upon their ruddy faces—faces that, only a moment earlier, had been bedecked with grins and
laughter. Their vital juices at once drained out of them as quick as beer from an overturned cup, and they made a drunken (and not very successful) attempt to rush out of the back door, which ended
in a heap of twisted legs and flailing arms. Dr Adams himself was remarkably calm: he stood, walking-stick in hand, and fixed those young men with such a look that, one by one, they unfolded
themselves and stood at attention. He asked them each to state their names (which, of course, he knew quite well already), then dismissed them with a word. He and the proprietor then removed the
apple from my jaws and, with the greatest care and kindness, untied me and checked to see that I was unhurt. Having not my pasteboard cards about me, I could not express my Gratitude to them except
with Looks, but these I am sure they Understood. At last, in the company of Dr Adams, I was escorted back to my bed in the stables, and given fresh water and oats to aid in my Recovery.

The lads who had absconded with me were given severe dressings-down, and their cases were referred to the University’s Proctor; they all had to pay fines, and were abjured from any further
such mischief on penalty of Expulsion. I was never so relieved in my Life, but it was clear to me at that moment that I could hardly expect to continue my studies under such circumstances. I had
become a source of Diversion to the other students, and feared that there would surely be more such incidents; worse yet, I had become a distraction to my Benefactor, who was advancing so well in
his own studies. I discussed the whole matter at great length with Dr Adams, who was, I am sure, grieved at the thought of losing me, whom he often called his ‘second most famous
pupil’, and anxious that I need never return to the life of Show-Halls and street performances. At length, it was decided that, in such circumstances that—
aut disce aut
discede
—once the regular Term of the University was concluded, Sam and I should at last go to London. There, Dr Adams would take care that we were not made the subject of Vulgar displays
for pecuniary compensation, but rather introduced to the members of Learned Societies, Athenaeums and other such Institutions, where my Learning would be continued, and I could demonstrate my
abilities in an atmosphere of refinement and proper scientific
Enquiry
.

When the time came at last for us to depart, Dr Adams supplied me with letters of introduction, along with money sufficient to undertake our journey; the rest of the sum promised us he had
caused to be deposited several weeks earlier in the hands of a London banker of his acquaintance, from whom we could draw on it as needed. Our wagon was cleaned and refurbished, the horses freshly
groomed, and the whole load bedecked with banners and ribbons. Despite their earlier pranks, the young schollers of Pembroke turned out in great number and gave us a Roaring send-off, as though we
had been a sort of School team. Dr Adams himself was the last to see us off, and I was surprised to see that he had tears in his eyes and Distraction in his Aspect—and he bore in his hands a
copy of Dr Johnson’s
Dictionary
that the Great Man had personally inscribed to him. Against all my protests, he insisted I receive it as a gift, declaring: ‘It will be of far
greater service, and more perdurable value, in your possession than in mine. Take it! And, as you read, think on him who, for a time, accompanied you on the road of learning.
Docendo discimus,
mi alme sus
—Good-bye, my friend!’

13

A
nd so at last we finally turned our steps to
London
, which had—ever since our earliest days with Mr Bisset—been promised as our
ultimate Destination. We had a journey of three or four days ahead of us, but as we had no anxieties for our upkeep, we kept a leisurely pace and took in such sights as presented themselves, in the
manner of Gentleman travellers. Our first day’s journey brought us to Tetsworth, a modest hamlet tucked away in the hills off the main road; we stayed there at a well-known establishment by
the name of the Swan, whose proprietor was an old acquaintance of Dr Adams, and gave us very pleasant accommodations.

The next day brought us to High Wycombe, a more substantial market town whose chief feature was its Guildhall, an impressive structure of brick upheld by a series of open, arched colonnades.
Here, we were to be the guests of the Earl of Shelburne, whose estate of Loakes House stood nearby, but His Lordship being detained by government business, we were welcomed instead by a friend of
his, a gregarious little man by the name of Maurice Morgann. Mr Morgann had known Dr Johnson quite well, and indeed had stayed with him at Loakes House only a few years previous, at which time they
had enjoyed a fierce debate over the merits of Shakespeare’s Falstaff. The learned Doctor held that Falstaff was a fool and a knave, while Mr Morgann insisted that, fool though he sometimes
seemed, the old knight’s knavery was to a purpose, and formed a vital part of Prince Hal’s education.

I was inclined to agree with this more kindly view, and indeed I could hardly have imagined a more well-disposed and jovial Host. We commiserated on the news of the death of Dr Johnson, but
agreed with Mr Morgann when he declared that the great man’s passing had been, in fashion with his life, most perfectly timed. He had known of his impending demise long enough to make his
adieus and set his affairs in order, and knew that his Legacy was guaranteed; what better peace of mind could a man ask for? Mr Morgann himself was, he confessed, on his own way to Retirement; His
Lordship’s ministry being at an end, he had been gracious enough to confer upon him a generous Sinecure, placing him in charge of the Hackney Coach Office. He looked forward to setting his
affairs in order, and perhaps taking up his new interest in Natural history. To that end, he asked whether I might mind submitting myself to an
Examination
that I might be entered in his
Book, and to this I gladly consented.