University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
HOW SIR ASINUS INVENTED A NEW ORDER OF PHILOSOPHERS,
THE APICIANS.

SIR ASINUS was clad as usual in a rich suit of silk,
over which fell in graceful folds his old faded dressing
gown. His red hair was unpowdered—his garters
were unbuckled, and one of them had fallen to the floor
—his feet were lazily thrust into ample slippers run
down deplorably at the heel.

He had been meditating strictly the unwilling muse;
for on the table lay a number of sheets of paper covered
with unfortunate verses, which obstinately refused to
rhyme. He seemed to have finally abandoned this occupation
in despair—flying for refuge to his window, from
which he had seen his friend coming down Gloucester
street.

When Jacques entered, he retained his seat with an
appearance of great carelessness, and extending two
fingers negligently, drawled out:

“Good day, my boy. You perceive I have banished
those ignoble fears of proctors. I no longer shiver when
I hear a footstep on the staircase.”

Jacques smiled languidly.

“Only when you hear it on the portico—at Shadynook
or elsewhere,” he said.

“No more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me,” said Sir
Asinus cheerfully. “The greatest men are subject to

these sudden panics, and I am no exception. Ah!
what news?”

Jacques sat down sighing.

“None,” he said, “except that we have a new student
at college—Hoffland is his name, I believe—a
friend of Mowbray's apparently. Let's see your bad
verses.”

“No, no!” cried Sir Asinus, rolling them up. “Minerva
was invited, as our friend Page used to say, but
did not attend.”

“That reminds me of the ball.”

“At the `Raleigh?' ”

“Yes,” sighed Jacques.

“This day week, eh?”

“Yes; and every body is discussing it. It will be
held in the Apollo——”

“A capital room.”

“For a ball—yes.”

“For any thing—a meeting of conspirators, or patriots,
which might amount to the same thing,” said Sir Asinus.

“Well, will your knightship attend the ball?”

“Of course.”

“Pray, with whom?”

“Belle-bouche.”

Jacques smiled with melancholy triumph.

“I think you are mistaken,” he said, sadly.

“How?”

“She has engaged to go with me.”

“Base stratagem—unfaithful friend! I challenge you
on the spot.”

“Good! I accept.”

“Take your foil!” cried Sir Asinus, starting up.

“Pardon me, most worthy knight—hand it to me.
I can easily prick you without rising.”

Sir Asinus relented.

“Well, let us defer the combat,” he said; “but when
were you at Shadynook—which, by the by, should be
called Sunnybower?”

“Yesterday!”

“And maligned me?”

“Yes.”

“Very well—war to the death in future. What news
there?”

“Philippa is gone.”

“Ah?”

“Yes; she suddenly announced her intention some
days ago, and with a nod to me, drove off in her chariot.”

“A fine girl.”

“Why don't you court her, if you admire her so
much?”

“My friend,” said Sir Asinus, “you seem not to
understand that I am `tangled by the hair and fettered
by the eye' of Belle-bouche the fairy.”

Jacques sighed.

“Then I flatter myself she likes me,” said Sir Asinus,
caressing his red whiskers in embryo. “I am in fact
pledged exclusively to her. I can't espouse both.”

“Vanity!” said Jacques languidly; “but you could
build a feudal castle—a very palace—in the mountains
with Philippa's money.”

“There you are, with your temptations—try to seduce
me, a republican, into courtly extravagance—me, a
martyr to religious toleration, republican ideas, and the
rights of woman!”

“Very well, Sir Asinus, I won't tempt you further;
but I think it would be cheap for you to marry on any
terms—if only to extricate yourself from your present
difficulties. Once married, you would of course leave
college.”

“Yes; but I wish to remain.”

“What! in this attic?”

“Even so.”

“A hermit?”

“Who said I was a hermit? I am surrounded with
friends! Ned Carter comes and smokes with me until
my room is one impervious fog, all the while protesting
undying friendship, and asking me to write love verses
for him. Tom Randolph is a faithful friend and companion.
Stay, look at that beautiful suit of Mecklenburg
silk which Bell-bouche admired so much—I saw she
did. Tom gave me that—in return for my new suit of
embroidered cloth. Who says human nature is not disinterested?”

“Cynic!”

“Yes, I would be, were I not a Stoic.”

“You are neither—you are an Epicurean.”

“Granted: I am even an Apician.”

“What's that? Who was Apicius?”

“There, now, you are shockingly ignorant; you really
don't know what apis means in Sanscrit—bah!”

“In Sanscrit? True; but in Latin it is——”

“Bee: I'll help you out.”

“Very well, you are an Apician, you say: expound”

“Why! do I not admire Belle-bouche?”

“I believe so.”

“Pretty mouth—that is the translation?”

“Yes.”

“A mouth like Suckling's lady-love's—stay, was it
Suckling? Yes: Sir John. `Some bee had stung it
newly,' you know. Well, Belle-bouche has honey lips
—a beautiful idea—and bees love honey, and I love
Belle-bouche: there's the syllogism, as you tiresome
logicians say. Q. E. D., I am an Apician!”

Jacques stands astounded at this gigantic philological
joke, to the great satisfaction of his friend, who caresses
his sandy whiskers with still greater self-appreciation.

“Now call me Sir Asinus any longer, if you dare!”
he says; and he begins chanting from the open book:

“Translate now!” cries Sir Asinus, “and bear testimony
to my worth.”

Jacques takes the book and reads over the Latin;
then he extemporizes:

Having modestly made this translation, Jacques closes
the book and rises.

Sir Asinus tears his hair, and declares that his friend's
ignorance of Latin is shocking.

“The ordinary plea when the rendering of disputed
passages is not to our taste,” says Jacques. “But I
must go. By the by, the worthy Doctor came near
seeing you in the Governor's chariot.”

“It was more than he dared to recognise me,” said
Sir Asinus grandly.

“Dared, eh?”

“Certainly; if he had bowed to me, I should have
cut his acquaintance. I would have refused to return
his salute. I carefully avoided even looking at him, to
spare his feelings.”

“I appreciate your delicacy,” said his friend; “you
commenced your system even at Shadynook. Did you
win any thing from Fauquier?”

“How did you know we played?”

“Why, returning past midnight, I saw lights.”

“Very well—that proved nothing. We did play,
however, friend Jacques, and I lost; which gave his
Excellency an opportunity to perform a very graceful
act. But enough. Before you go, tell me whom you
were conversing with just now.”

“A maiden,” said Jacques.

“No! a perfect fairy.”

“See the effect of seclusion! You are getting into
such a state of disgust with your books, that you'll end
by espousing Mother Bobbery, you unfortunate victim
of political ideas.”

“I disgusted—I tired of my books—I tired, when I
have this glorious song to sing!”

And at the top of his voice Sir Asinus chanted:

“Excellent dog Latin,” said Jacques; “and literally
translated it signifies:

That is to say, asinarian strategy has made the attempt.”

But Sir Asinus, disregarding these strictures, began
to sing the chorus:

“Good,” said Jacques; “that signifies:

But on reflection the translation is bad—`belle bouche

is not `braying mouth;' which reminds me that I must
take my departure.”

“Where are you going, unhappy profaner of ecclesiastical
psalmody?”

“To see Belle-bouche,” sighed Jacques.

Sir Asinus tore his hair.

“Then I'll go too,” he cried.

“I've the last horse at the Raleigh,” observed Jacques
with melancholy pleasure. “Good morning, my dear
friend. Take care of yourself.”

And leaving Sir Asinus with a polite bow, Jacques
went down the staircase. As for Sir Asinus, in the excess
of his rage he sat down and composed a whole canto
of an epic—which luckily has not descended to our day.
The rats preserved humanity.