Pyg (9 page)

Our first day’s journey was the shortest, being just over two miles. Our way led out through the City, across a narrow
Canal
, and past rough pastures and small farms into a small,
closely packed
Village
of drab brick houses, which bore the name
Drumcondra
. There was an Inn, a small stone Church, and a brownish sort of village Green, to one side of which was the
Market square where Mr Bisset planned to stage his Show—and yet a more Desolate spot, and more Uncongenial to Entertainment of any
Kind
would have been Difficult to imagine. The few
people I could see looked to be nearly the same
Colour
as the grey-brown bricks of their homes, walking about in a sort of
Torpor
, as though they had no will of their own but awaited
the Instruction or
Command
of another. The children there did not smile, and the Dogs looked hungry; it was a Weary town, and one in which, had we been Wise, we would never have
Tarried
.

Immune to the charms—or lack thereof—of this drab agglomeration of people and Buildings, Mr Bisset at once established himself at the
Inn
. He had been assured by the
proprietor that the Accommodations were pleasant, and that the next day being a
Market
day, his Show would doubtless be well attended. Mr Bellows was the innkeeper’s name; in his
appearance he was as oily as a wax
Taper
, and certainly put forth an incandescent Glow of welcome that first evening. We were all accommodated in the best Manner, myself with the other
Animals in the Yard, and my Master in the finest Room, which had a sort of
Loge
overlooking us. Fresh slops were our dinner, although, without Sam to keep me Company, these seemed a cold and
lonely meal indeed. It was not long before Quiet reigned over us Animals, while the sound of Messrs Bisset and Bellows, with their clinking glasses and their Guffaws, carried on late into the
night.

And so day dawned—grey and sullen—without a bird, or a beam of light to its name. True to the Innkeeper’s word, there was the Bustle of a Market-day outside the window, but to
behold these creatures as they went about their Business was a cheerless sight, for not one of them looked up to see their or any other portion of the Sky—keeping instead low and steady, much
as garden Worms, who live in dread of the sudden descent of a Spade. We established ourselves at once on what seemed the best part of the Pitch and set about our usual Routines, but to our
invitations there was no ready answer. ‘Has anyone a question for the Learned Pig?’ my Master asked. ‘Come, come, now, let the curious among you speak! Any Query, upon any
Matter?’ But question came there none. Mr Bisset was obliged, as he rarely was, to concoct a Dialogue with Himself, chiefly concerning mundane matters such as the Weather and the Time of Day,
to which I answered one damp pasteboard
Letter
at a time. By sunset, which came early, we were all too ready to quit that place, with very little to show for our Efforts, the Nobbins
amounting to a mere 4
s
. 6
d
.—the lowest we had commanded since our stay in Warrington, the very first Town in which our Act had been tried.

That night at the Inn, I retired early, unwilling to long contemplate the Dread I felt within at any number of future Performances I would be obliged to make amidst the Habitants of this Irish
Limbo
, working for a Master whom I no longer considered a Man, but rather a
Beast
who had still other Beasts in Tow. Worse still, I now knew little of our Plans or Progress, as I was
without the company of my dear Benefactor, who alone had provided me with any Intelligence of our Doings. I now found myself in the midst of a dark descent, without my only Friend and Guide; like a
Dante
suddenly robbed of his
Virgil
, I was at the Mercy of tormented spirits, crooked Paths and fearful Precipices, with no one to direct my steps. Never the less, I resolved that I
would not fall into that darkest chasm of all, the pit of Despair! I told myself repeatedly that Sam would find me somehow, and rescue me from these Torments, and until then, I must be as Stoic as
any
Philosopher
, accepting whatever came my way with patience and Fortitude.

Both these Virtues were shortly put to the Test, as our northward progress proved to be a dismal detour. It rained continually, until the roads were churned into twin Rivers of Mud, and we were
frequently obliged to stop in order to navigate our way through some new and unexpected Mire. At
Drogheda
, the market was so sodden that we scarce drew any crowd at all, and afterwards Mr
Bisset was laid up in Bed for a week, with Rheumatism in his back and legs. When at last we arrived in
Dundalk
, there was a slight break in the weather, long enough for my Master to recover
his Health, and we had an exhibition for two nights at the Assembly Rooms there, adjacent to the Town Hall. Never the less, after the expense of renting the hall was accounted for, our takings
remained but little, and it was difficult to call to Mind our late glorious career before the lively crowds at Astley’s, as we now plied our trade before an audience that seemed to consist
largely of dreary, disconsolate souls, too weighed down with Drudgery to partake in Enjoyment of any Kind.

Several days later, we came into the city of Belfast by way of Banbridge, and here at last we found a more Profitable Venue for our Exhibitions. The Place was originally the Cellar of some
long-extinct Structure, which had lately been refitted as a sort of Theatre, and was popularly known as ‘The Vaults’. The manager there, a Mr Atkins, was most attentive to my
Master’s requirements, and very nearly repapered every Wall in the town with handbills. He personally arranged to obtain a Licence from the Magistrate, with whom he seemed on most friendly
terms, and decorated the hall and the entranceway with banners depicting me with my Waistcoat and medallions, and declaring me the favourite of the Crowned Heads of Europe (a falsity which, though
it pained my
Conscience
, so pleased my Pride that I found I could not complain about it). Rooms were arranged for us at a nearby Hotel, and on the Evening of our performance, the street
outside was filled with jugglers, Punch-and-Judy men, and other smaller entertainments, the better to entice the people to our own.

As a new Attraction this evening, we revived our
Clairvoyant
act, with which we had little bothered at our previous few shows, my Master averring that there was too little to read in
Minds such as those possessed by the Inhabitants of Drumcondra or
Drogheda
, which were shaped by constant and laboursome Toil. In particular, we invited the
Ladies
to attend,
experience having shown that they were more suggestible to our Routines, as well as more readily Impressed with the results. A modicum of Shrieking and Fainting does wonders for a show, my Master
was wont to say, and there was some truth in this. And so, after our regular sequence of spellings-out of where we were, who we were, and answers to the shouted Queries of this or that Gentleman at
the back of the Hall (they were, as usual, loud, and drunk, and were thus served with Comic answers), Mr Bisset enquired of a small group of middle-aged women, who were seated by arrangement with
the Proprietor in a small
Loge
quite near the stage, whether they would Approach and see whether the Sapient Pig could see their inmost thoughts.

The key to this act was that, well in advance of the invitation, my Master had secured some little information about each of the
Ladies
in question. This had, for a time, been Sam’s
job: he would present them with complimentary tickets to the very best Seats, and conduct them himself, all the while chatting merrily, and picking up sundry small details. Through this, and by
using a series of seemingly innocent questions (‘Will your husband be joining you tonight, Madam?’), he determined which were married, which widowed, the names of their children and
countless other trifles, all of which he duly delivered to Mr Bisset. Then, well before the performance, we would go over the ‘thoughts’ we were to ‘read’, cueing them to
each by the order in which my Master would ask them their questions. There was some little chance of variation, or of one of the subjects insisting on putting their own
Queries
to me, at
which he trusted to his usual set of silent cues, or—and this only as a last resort—to my ability, which he now knew all too well, to answer on my own. This last he thought most risky,
and forbade me to improvise, save upon a certain special Signal, and of course I was loath to incur his Displeasure.

The moment having arrived, three Ladies were shown to seats upon the Stage, amidst much crinkling of dresses and fluttering of fans; although they were all of a settled age—perhaps thirty,
perhaps forty—they were as animated and exaggeratedly Demure as
Schoolgirls
, and cast their eyes at me as though they had never seen such a thing as a Pig in all their lives. The first
two were easily handled. Number One, a widow, enquired whether I could tell the name of her deceased Husband, which of course I managed without any trouble, along with the particulars of his Trade,
and identifying a Watch as his. Number Two, who was in fact the Wife of one of the Proprietor’s near relations, was more than delighted to hear of her husband’s merits, the Names of her
Children, and even her pet
Cockatoo
. Number Three, I thought, might be some trouble: she was the quietest of the lot, and blushed—though whether with pleasure or embarrassment I could
not say—at each of the answers we gave to the ladies before her. Her jaw seemed clenched with some determination, and her eyes glittered like little stones; she joined in neither the laughter
nor the applause of her Companions. When at last her turn came, she blushed still more deeply, and for a long time appeared to be almost unable to
Speak
, though several lines of questioning
were suggested to her.

At last, by a visible effort overcoming her trepidation, she burst forth.

‘Is it really true that your Pig can read minds?’ (This to Mr Bisset).

‘Madam, I can assure you, he has done so on Hundreds of occasions, without Error, and without causing his subjects the least Distress of any Kind,’ was his reply.

She grappled inwardly with this. ‘Very well, then. I should like to know whether my Husband has been Faithful to me!’

This was impossible. In the absence of the Husband, it was quite unclear whose Mind I was supposed to read. And yet I could readily perceive—as could, I am sure, my Master—that the
woman was completely convinced of her spouse’s infidelity, and sought only to have her suspicions confirmed. Were we, then, to give a Positive answer, we would incur her wrath—she might
well claim that our Clairvoyant act was a sham—and if we answered in the Negative, we would instantly offend her
Husband
, who would be none too pleased, and likely to condemn our Act
even more vociferously. Mr Bisset glanced furtively among the Audience, but due to the subterranean nature of the dim-lit Hall, he could not quite make out whether there was any Husband in
attendance. At last, he could defer no longer and gave me the Signal to answer freely. I readily spelt out: ‘N-O.’

The audience immediately roared their reaction, with the women, and the more sober of the men, exclaiming against the Impropriety of such a question, while those at the rear of the hall laughed
uproariously, cheered and whistled. For the Subject upon the Stage, at least, this Answer proved to be precisely the one she had hoped to hear: she tossed a small silk purse at me—which we
later found to contain five Guineas in gold—and strode off the stage with a look of fierce Determination. Her two Companions, their moment of public fame now spoilt by this unexpected Breach
of
Protocol
, loudly expressed their disapproval, and ran—or nearly ran—as fast as their crinolined figures could carry them, down the aisle and out of the door behind her. The
hoots, the catcalls and the shouts continued to mount, and soon made such a veritable Cacophony of Noise that the unfortunate manager, Mr Atkins, could hardly make himself heard over the Din. We
endeavoured mightily to continue our Act, but were met only with raucous jeers and cries of ‘How ’bout you read
my
wife’s mind?’, ‘Bloody knackers!’ and
‘Geroff!’, such that we were shortly obliged to quit the Stage, and make a hasty exit via the back stairs.

Luckily—or so it then seemed—the alley in which we found ourselves was adjacent to the yard of the Inn at which we were lodged, such that Mr Bisset was able to return me to my
Paddock and slip into his own rooms without attracting any further attention from the boisterous crowd, who had since moved out of the ‘Vaults’ and were milling about on the street,
looking for any sort of Trouble they could find, or make. From where I was confined, I could see the light in my Master’s chamber, and heard him in a heated discussion with Mr Atkins, after
which he paced back and forth before the Window, muttering words I could not discern. As nearly as I could gather, the manager had declared that he had sustained great Damage to his furniture and
equipment on account of our Show, and insisted that the cost must be deducted from our Take—and no argument of Mr Bisset’s could persuade him to withdraw this
Demand
. Shortly
after Mr Atkins had quit the room, I could see that my Master had ordered up a flagon of ale—a very unusual thing for him—and appeared to be drinking it down with great gusto.