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Tobias Smollett
The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle

CHAPTER XXII

He is insulted by his Tutor, whom he lampoons—Makes a considerable Progress in Polite Literature; and, in an Excursion to Windsor, meets with Emilia by accident, and is very coldly received.

Among those who suffered by his craft and infidelity was Mr. Jumble, his own tutor, who could not at all digest the mortifying affront he had received, and was resolved to be revenged on the insulting author. With this view he watched the conduct of Mr. Pickle with the utmost rancour of vigilance, and let slip no opportunity of treating him disrespect, which he knew the disposition of his pupil could less brook than any other severity it was in his power to exercise.

Peregrine had been several mornings absent from chapel; and as Mr. Jumble never failed to question him in a very peremptory style about his non-attendance, he invented some very plausible excuses; but at length his ingenuity was exhausted: he received a very galling rebuke for his proffigacy of morals; and, that he might feel it the more sensibly, was ordered, by way of exercise, to compose a paraphrase in English verse upon these two lines in Virgil:—

 
Vane Ligur, frustraque animis elate superbis,
Nequicquam patrias tentasti lubricus artes.
 

The imposition of this invidious theme had all the desired effect upon Peregrine, who not only considered it as a piece of unmannerly abuse leveled against his own conduct, but also a retrospective insult on the memory of his grandfather, who, as he had been informed, was in his lifetime more noted for his cunning than candour in trade.

Exasperated at this instance of the pedant’s audacity, he had well nigh, in his first transports, taken corporal satisfaction on the spot; but, foreseeing the troublesome consequences that would attend such a flagrant outrage against the laws of the university, he checked his indignation, and resolved to revenge the injury in a more cool and contemptuous manner. Thus determined, he set on foot an inquiry into the particulars of Jumble’s parentage and education. He learnt that the father of this insolent tutor was a brick-layer, that his mother sold pies, and that the son, in different periods of his youth, had amused himself in both occupations, before he converted his views to the study of learning. Fraught with this intelligence, he composed the following ballad in doggerel rhymes; and next day, presented it as a gloss upon the text which the tutor had chosen:—

 
Come, listen, ye students of every degree;
I sing of a wit and a tutor perdie,
A statesman profound, a critic immense,
In short a mere jumble of learning and sense;
And yet of his talents though laudably vain,
His own family arts he could never attain.
 
 
His father, intending his fortune to build,
In his youth would have taught him the trowel to wield,
But the mortar of discipline never would stick,
For his skull was secured by a facing of brick;
And with all his endeavours of patience and pain,
The skill of his sire he could never attain.
 
 
His mother, a housewife neat, artful, and wise,
Renown’d for her delicate biscuit and pies,
soon alter’d his studies, by flattering his taste,
From the raising of walls to the rearing of paste!
But all her instructions were fruitless and vain;
The pie-making mystery he ne’er could attain.
 
 
Yet true to his race, in his labours were seen
A jumble of both their professions, I ween;
For, when his own genius he ventured to trust,
His pies seemed of brick, and his houses of crust.
Then good Mr. Tutor, pray be not so vain,
Since your family arts you could never attain.
 

This impudent production was the most effectual vengeance he could have taken on his tutor, who had all the supercilious arrogance and ridiculous pride of a low-born pedant. Instead of overlooking this petulant piece of satire with that temper and decency of disdain that became a person of his gravity and station, he no sooner cast his eye over the performance, than the blood rushed into his countenance, and immediately after exhibited a ghastly pale colour. With a quivering lip, he told his pupil, that he was an impertinent jackanapes; and he would take care that he should be expelled from the university, for having presumed to write and deliver such a licentious and scurrilous libel. Peregrine answered, with great resolution, that when the provocation he had received should be known, he was persuaded that he should be acquitted by the opinion of all impartial people; and that he was ready to submit the whole to the decision of the master.

This arbitration he proposed, because he knew the master and Jumble were at variance; and, for that reason, the tutor durst not venture to put the cause on such an issue. Nay, when this reference was mentioned, Jumble, who was naturally jealous, suspected that Peregrine had a promise of protection before he undertook to commit such an outrageous insult; and this notion had such an effect upon him, that he decided to devour his vexation, and wait for a more proper opportunity of gratifying his hate. Meanwhile, copies of the ballad were distributed among the students, who sang it under the very nose of Mr. Jumble, to the tune of “A Cobbler there was” etc.; and the triumph of our hero was complete. Neither was his whole time devoted to the riotous extravagancies of youth. He enjoyed many lucid intervals, during which he contracted a more intimate acquaintance with the classics, applied himself to the reading of history, improved his taste for painting and music, in which he made some progress; and, above all things, cultivated the study of natural philosophy. It was generally after a course of close attention to some of these arts and sciences, that his disposition broke out into those irregularities and wild sallies of a luxuriant imagination, for which he became so remarkable; and he was perhaps the only young man in Oxford who, at the same time, maintained an intimate and friendly intercourse with the most unthinking, as well as the most sedate students at the university.

It is not to be supposed that a young man of Peregrine’s vanity, inexperience, and profusion, could suit his expense to his allowance, liberal as it was—for he was not one of those fortunate people who are born economists, and knew not the art of withholding his purse when he saw his companion in difficulty. Thus naturally generous and expensive, he squandered away his money, and made a most splendid appearance upon the receipt of his quarterly appointment; but long before the third month was elapsed, his finances were consumed: and as he could not stoop to ask an extraordinary supply, was too proud to borrow, and too haughty to run in debt with tradesmen, he devoted those periods of poverty to the prosecution of his studies, and shone forth again at the revolution of quarter-day.

In one of these eruptions he and some of his companions went to Windsor, in order to see the royal apartments in the castle, whither they repaired in the afternoon; and as Peregrine stood contemplating the picture of Hercules and Omphale, one of his fellow-students whispered in his car, “Zounds! Pickle, there are two fine girls!” He turned instantly about, and in one of them recognized his almost forgotten Emilia; her appearance acted upon his imagination like a spark of fire that falls among gun-powder; that passion which had lain dormant for the space of two years, flashed up in a moment, and he was seized with a trepidation. She perceived and partook of his emotion; for their souls, like unisons, vibrated with the same impulse. However, she called her pride and resentment to her aid, and found resolution enough to retire from such a dangerous scene.

Alarmed at her retreat, he recollected all his assurance, and, impelled by love, which he could no longer resist, followed her into the next room, where, in the most disconcerted manner, he accosted her with “Your humble servant, Miss Gauntlet;” to which salutation she replied, with an affectation of indifference, that did not, however, conceal her agitation, “Your servant, sir;” and immediately extending her finger toward the picture of Duns Scotus, which is fixed over one of the doors, asked her companion, in a giggling tone, if she did not think he looked like a conjurer? Peregrine, nettled into spirits by this reception, answered for the other lady, “that it was an easy matter to be a conjurer in those times, when the simplicity of the age assisted his divination; but were he, or Merlin himself, to rise from the dead now, when such deceit and dissimulation prevail, they would not be able to earn their bread by the profession.”—“O! Sir,” said she, turning full upon him, “without doubt they would adopt new maxims; ‘tis no disparagement in this enlightened age for one to alter one’s opinion.”—“No, sure, madam,” replied the youth, with some precipitation, “provided the change be for the better.”—“And should it happen otherwise,” retorted the nymph, with a flirt of her fan, “inconstancy will never want countenance from the practice of mankind.”—“True, madam,” resumed our hero, fixing his eyes upon her; “examples of levity are every where to be met with.”—“Oh Lord, sir,” cried Emilia, tossing her head, “you’ll scarce ever find a fop without it.”

By this time his companion, seeing him engaged with one of the ladies, entered into conversation with the other; and, in order to favour his friend’s gallantry, conducted her into the next apartment, on pretence of entertaining her with the sight of a remarkable piece of painting.

Peregrine, laying hold on this opportunity of being alone with the object of his love, assumed a most seducing tenderness of look, and, heaving a profound sigh, asked if she had utterly discarded him from her remembrance. Reddening at this pathetic question, which recalled the memory of the imagined slight he had put upon her, she answered in great confusion, “Sir, I believe I once had the pleasure of seeing you at a ball in Winchester.”—“Miss Emilia,” said he, very gravely, “will you be so candid as to tell me what misbehaviour of mine you are pleased to punish, by restricting your remembrance to that single occasion?”—“Mr. Pickle,” she replied, in the same tone, “it is neither my province nor inclination to judge your conduct; and therefore you misapply your question when you ask such an explanation of me”—“At least” resumed our lover, “give me the melancholy satisfaction to know for what offence of mine you refused to take least notice of that letter which I had the honour to write from Winchester by your own express permission.”—“Your letter,” said miss, with great vivacity, “neither required, nor, in my opinion, deserved an answer; and to be free with you, Mr. Pickle, it was but a shallow artifice to rid yourself of a correspondence you had deigned to solicit.”

Peregrine, confounded at this repartee, replied that howsoever he might have failed in point of elegance or discretion, he was sure he had not been deficient in expressions of respect and devotion for those charms which it was his pride to adore: “As for the verses,” said he, “I own they were unworthy of the theme; but I flattered myself that they would have merited your acceptance, though not your approbation, and been considered not so much as the proof of my genius, as the genuine effusion of my love.”—“Verses,” cried Emilia with an air of astonishment, “what verses? I really don’t understand you.”

The young gentleman was thunderstruck at this exclamation; to which, after a long pause, he answered: “I begin to suspect, and heartily wish it may appear, that we have misunderstood each other from the beginning. Pray, Miss Gauntlet, did you not find a copy of verses inclosed in that unfortunate letter?”—“Truly, sit,” said the lady, “I am not so much of a connoisseur as to distinguish whether that facetious production, which you merrily style as an unfortunate letter, was composed in verse or prose; but methinks, the jest is a little too stale to be brought upon the carpet again.” So saying, she tripped away to her companion, and left her lover in a most tumultuous suspense. He now perceived that her neglect of his addresses when he was at Winchester, must have been owing to some mystery which he could not comprehend; and she began to suspect and to hope that the letter which she received was spurious, though she could not conceive how that could possibly happen, as it had been delivered to her by the hands of his own servant.

However, she resolved to leave the task of unravelling this affair to him, who, she knew, would infallibly exert himself for his own as well as her satisfaction. She was not deceived in her opinion: he went up to her again at the staircase, and, as they were improvided with a male attendant, insisted upon squiring the ladies to their lodgings. Emilia saw his drift, which was no other than to know where she lived; and though she approved of his contrivance, thought it was incumbent upon her, for the support of her own dignity, to decline the chivalry; she therefore thanked him for his polite offer, but would by no means consent to his giving himself such unnecessary trouble, especially as they had a very little way to walk. He was not repulsed by this refusal, the nature of which he perfectly understood; nor was she sorry to see him persevere in his determination: he therefore accompanied them in their return, and made divers efforts to speak with Emilia in particular; but she had a spice of the coquette in her disposition, and being determined to whet his impatience, artfully baffled all his endeavours, by keeping her companion continually engaged in the conversation, which turned upon the venerable appearance and imperial situation of the place. Thus tantalized, he lounged with them to the door of the house in which they lodged, when his mistress, perceiving, by the countenance of her comrade, that she was on the point of desiring him to walk in, checked her intention with a frown; then, turning to Mr. Pickle, dropped him a very formal curtsy, seized the other young lady by the arm, and saying, “Come, cousin Sophy,” vanished in a moment.

CHAPTER XXIII

After sundry unsuccessful Efforts, he finds means to come to an Explanation with his Mistress; and a Reconciliation ensues.

Peregrine, disconcerted at their sudden disappearance, stood for some minutes gaping in the street, before he could get the better of his surprise; and then deliberated with himself whether he should demand immediate admittance to his mistress, or choose some other method of application. Piqued at her abrupt behaviour, though pleased with her spirit, he set his invention to work, in order to contrive some means of seeing her: and in a fit of musing arrived at the inn, where he found his companions, whom he had left at the castle-gate. They had already made inquiry about the ladies; in consequence of which he learnt that Miss Sophy was daughter of a gentleman in town to which his mistress was related; that an intimate friendship subsisted between the two young ladies; that Emilia had lived almost a month with her cousin, and appeared at the last assembly, where she was universally admired: and that several young gentlemen of fortune had since that time teased her with addresses.

Our hero’s ambition was flattered, and his passion inflamed with this intelligence; and he swore within himself that he would not quit the spot until he should have obtained an undisputed victory over all his rivals.

That same evening he composed a most eloquent epistle, in which he earnestly entreated that she would favour him with an opportunity of vindicating his conduct: but she would neither receive his billet, nor see his messenger. Balked in this effort, he inclosed it in a new cover directed by another hand, and ordered Pipes to ride next morning to London, on purpose to deliver it at the post-office; that coming by such conveyance she might have no suspicion of the author, and open it before she should be aware of the deceit.

Three days he waited patiently for the effect of this stratagem, and, in the afternoon of the fourth, ventured to hazard a formal visit, in quality of an old acquaintance. But here too he failed in his attempt: she was indisposed, and could not see company. These obstacles served only to increase his eagerness: he still adhered to his former resolution; and his companions, understanding his determination, left him next day to his own inventions. Thus relinquished to his own ideas, he doubled his assiduity, and practised every method his imagination could suggest, in order to promote his plan.

Pipes was stationed all day long within sight of her door, that he might be able to give his master an account of her motions; but she never went abroad except to visit in the neighbourhood, and was always housed before Peregrine could be apprised of her appearance. He went to church with a view of attracting her notice, and humbled his deportment before her; but she was so mischievously devout as to look at nothing but her book, so that he was not favoured with one glance of regard. He frequented the coffee-house, and attempted to contract an acquaintance with Miss Sophy’s father, who, he hoped, would invite him to his house: but this expectation was also defeated. That prudent gentleman looked upon him as one of those forward fortune-hunters who go about the country seeking whom they may devour, and warily discouraged all his advances. Chagrined by so many unsuccessful endeavours, he began to despair of accomplishing his aim; and, as the last suggestion of his art, paid off his lodging, took horse at noon, and departed, in all appearance, for the place from whence he had come. He rode, but a few miles, and in the dusk of the evening returned unseen, alighted at another inn, ordered Pipes to stay within doors, and keeping himself incognito, employed another person as a sentinel upon Emilia.

It was not long before he reaped the fruits of his ingenuity. Next day in the afternoon he was informed by his spy that the two young ladies were gone to walk in the park, whither he followed them on the instant, fully determined to come to an explanation with his mistress, even in presence of her friend, who might possibly be prevailed upon to interest herself in his behalf.

When he saw them at such a distance that they could not return to town before he should have an opportunity of putting his resolution in practice, he mended his pace, and found means to appear before them so suddenly, that Emilia could not help expressing her surprise in a scream. Our lover, putting on a mien of humility and mortification, begged to know if her resentment was implacable; and asked why she had so cruelly refused to grant him the common privilege that every criminal enjoyed. “Dear Miss Sophy,” said he, addressing himself to her companion, “give me leave to implore your intercession with your cousin. I am sure you have humanity enough to espouse my cause, did you but know the justice of it; and I flatter myself that by your kind interposition I may be able to rectify that fatal misunderstanding which hath made me wretched.”—“Sir,” said Sophy, “you appear like a gentleman, and I doubt not but your behaviour has been always suitable to your appearance; but you must excuse me from undertaking any such office in behalf of a person whom I have not the honour to know.”—“Madam,” answered Peregrine, “I hope Miss Emy will justify my pretensions to that character, notwithstanding the mystery of her displeasure, which, upon my honour, I cannot for my soul explain.”—“Lord! Mr. Pickle,” said Emilia, who had by this time recollected herself, “I never questioned your gallantry and taste; but I am resolved that you shall never have cause to exercise your talents at my expense; so that you tease yourself and me to no purpose. Come, Sophy, let us walk home again.”—“Good God! madam,” cried the lover, with great emotion, “why will you distract me with such barbarous indifference? Stay, dear Emilia!—I conjure you on my knees to stay and hear me. By all that is sacred, I was not to blame. You must have been imposed upon by some villain who envied my good fortune, and took some treacherous method to ruin my love.”

Miss Sophy, who possessed a large stock of good nature, and to whom her cousin had communicated the cause of her reserve, seeing the young gentleman so much affected with that disdain which she knew to be feigned, laid hold on Emilia’s sleeve, saying, with a smile, “Not quite so fast, Emily. I begin to perceive that this is a love-quarrel, and therefore there may be hopes of a reconciliation; for I suppose both parties are open to conviction.”—“For my own part,” cried Peregrine, with great eagerness, “I appeal to Miss Sophy’s decision. But why do I say appeal? Though I am conscious of having committed no offence, I am ready to submit to any penance, let it be never so rigorous, that my fair enslaver herself shall impose, provided it will entitle me to her favour and forgiveness at last.” Emily, well nigh overcome by this declaration, told him, that as she taxed him with no guilt, she expected no atonement, and pressed her companion to return to town. But Sophy, who was too indulgent to her friend’s real inclination to comply with her request, observed that the gentleman seemed so reasonable in his concessions, that she began to think her cousin was in the wrong, and felt herself disposed to act as umpire in the dispute.

Overjoyed at this condescension, Mr. Pickle thanked her in the most rapturous terms, and, in the transport of his expectation, kissed the hand of his kind mediatrix—a circumstance which had a remarkable effect on the countenance of Emilia, who did not seem to relish the warmth of his acknowledgment.

After many supplications on one hand, and pressing remonstrances on the other, she yielded at length, and, turning to her lover while her face was overspread with blushes,—“Well, sir,” said she, “supposing I were to put the difference on that issue, how could you excuse the ridiculous letter which you sent to me from Winchester?” This expostulation introduced a discussion of the whole affair, in which all the circumstances were canvassed; and Emilia still affirmed, with great heat, that the letter must have been calculated to affront her; for she could not suppose the author was so weak as to design it for any other purpose.

Peregrine, who still retained in his memory the substance of this unlucky epistle, as well as the verses which were inclosed, could recollect no particular expression which could have justly given the least umbrage; and therefore, in the agonies of perplexity, begged that the whole might be submitted to the judgment of Miss Sophy, and faithfully promised to stand to her award. In short, this proposal was, with seeming reluctance, embraced by Emilia, and an appointment made to meet next day in the place, whither both parties were desired to come provided with their credentials, according to which definitive sentence would be pronounced.

Our lover, having succeeded thus far, overwhelmed Sophy with acknowledgments on account of her generous mediation; and in the course of their walk, which Emilia was now in no hurry to conclude, whispered a great many tender protestations in the ear of his mistress, who nevertheless continued to act upon the reserve, until her doubts should be more fully resolved.

Mr. Pickle, having found means to amuse them in the fields till the twilight, was obliged to wish them good even, after having obtained a solemn repetition of their promise to meet him at the appointed time and place, and then retreated to his apartment, where he spent the whole night in various conjectures on the subject of the letter, the Gordian knot of which he could by no means untie. One while he imagined that some wag had played a trick on his messenger, in consequence of which Emilia had received a supposititious letter; but, upon farther reflection, he could not conceive the practicability of any such deceit. Then he began to doubt the sincerity of his mistress, who perhaps had only made that a handle for discarding him, at the request of some favoured rival; but his own integrity forbade him to harbour this mean suspicion; and therefore he was again involved in the labyrinth of perplexity. Next day he waited on the rack of impatience for the hour of five in the afternoon, which no sooner struck than he ordered Pipes to attend him, in case there should be occasion for his evidence, and repaired to the place of rendezvous, where he had not tarried five minutes before the ladies appeared. Mutual compliments being passed, and the attendant stationed at a convenient distance, Peregrine persuaded them to sit down upon the grass, under the shade of a spreading oak, that they might be more at their ease; while he stretched himself at their feet, and desired that the paper on which his doom depended might be examined. It was accordingly put into the hand of his fair arbitress, who read it immediately with an audible voice. The first two words of it were no sooner pronounced, than he started, with great emotion, and raised himself upon his hand and knee, in which posture he listened to the rest of the sentence; then sprang upon his feet in the utmost astonishment, and, glowing with resentment at the same time, exclaimed, “Hell and the devil! what’s all that? Sure you make a jest of me, madam!”—“Pray, sir,” said Sophy, “give me the hearing for a few moments, and then urge what you shall think proper in your own defence.” Having thus cautioned him, she proceeded; but before she had finished one-half of the performance, her gravity forsook her, and she was seized with a violent fit of laughter, in which neither of the lovers could help joining, notwithstanding the resentment which at that instant prevailed in the breasts of both. The judge, however, in a little time, resumed her solemnity, and having read the remaining part of this curious epistle, all three continued staring at each other alternately for the space of half a minute, and then broke forth at the same instant in another paroxysm of mirth. From this unanimous convulsion, one would have thought that both parties were extremely well pleased with a joke, yet this was by no means the case.

Emilia imagined that, notwithstanding his affected surprise, her lover, in spite of himself, had received the laugh at her expense, and in so doing applauded his own unmannerly ridicule. This supposition could not fail of raising and reviving her indignation, while Peregrine highly resented the indignity, with which he supposed himself treated, in their attempting to make him the dupe of such a gross and ludicrous artifice. This being the situation of their thoughts, their mirth was succeeded by a mutual gloominess of aspect; and the judge, addressing herself to Mr. Pickle, asked if he had anything to offer why sentence should not be pronounced? “Madam,” answered the culprit, “I am sorry to find myself so low in the opinion of your cousin as to be thought capable of being deceived by such shallow contrivance.”—“Nay, sir,” said Emilia, “the contrivance is your own; and I cannot help admiring your confidence in imputing it to me.”—“Upon my honour, Miss Emily, resumed our hero, “you wrong my understanding, as well as my love, in accusing me of having written such a silly, impertinent performance. The very appearance and address of it is so unlike the letter which I did myself the honour to write, that I dare say my man, even at this distance of time, will remember the difference.”

So saying, he extended his voice, and beckoned to Pipes, who immediately drew near. His mistress seemed to object to the evidence, by observing that to be sure Mr. Pipes had his cue; when Peregrine, begging she would spare him the mortification of considering him in such a dishonourable light, desired his valet to examine the outside of the letter, and recollect if it was the same which he had delivered to Miss Gauntlet about two years ago. Pipes, having taken a superficial view of it, pulled up his breeches, saying, “Mayhap it is, but we have made so many trips, and been in so many creeks and corners since that time, that I can’t pretend to be certain; for I neither keep journal nor log-book of our proceedings.” Emilia commended him for his candour, at the same time darting a sarcastic look at his master, as if she thought he had tampered with his servant’s integrity in vain; and Peregrine began to live and curse his fate for having subjected him to such mean suspicion, attesting heaven and earth in the most earnest manner, that far from having composed and conveyed that stupid production, he had never seen it before, nor been privy to the least circumstance of the plan.

Pipes, now, for the first time, perceived the mischief which he had occasioned; and, moved with the transports of his master, for whom he had a most inviolable attachment, frankly declared he was ready to make oath that Mr. Pickle had no hand in the letter which he delivered. All three were amazed at this confession, the meaning of which they could not comprehend. Peregrine, after some pause, leaped upon Pipes, and seizing him by the throat, exclaimed, in an ecstasy of rage. “Rascal! tell me this instant what became of the letter I entrusted to your care.” The patient valet, half-strangled as he was, squirted a collection of tobacco-juice out of one corner of his mouth, and with great deliberation replied, “Why, burnt it, you wouldn’t have me to give the young woman a thing that shook all in the wind in tatters, would you?” The ladies interposed in behalf of the distressed squire, from whom, by dint of questions which he had neither art nor inclination to evade, they extorted an explanation of the whole affair.

Such ridiculous simplicity and innocence of intention appeared in the composition of his expedient, that even the remembrance of all the chagrin which it had produced, could not rouse their indignation, or enable the to resist a third eruption of laughter which they forthwith underwent. Pipes was dismissed, with many menacing injunctions to beware of such conduct for the future; Emilia stood with a confusion of joy and tenderness in her countenance; Peregrine’s eyes kindled into rapture, and, when Miss Sophy pronounced the sentence of reconciliation, advanced to his mistress, saying, “Truth is mighty, and will prevail;” then clapping her in his arms, very impudently ravished a kiss, which she had not power to refuse. Nay, such was the impulse of his joy, that he took the same freedom with the lips of Sophy, calling her his kind mediatrix and guardian angel; and behaved with such extravagance of transport, as plainly evinced the fervour and sincerity of his love.