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In: Historical Novels·Novels·American Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #23283.
The work is a playful, dialogue‑driven vignette set in 1764 Williamsburg, presenting a young, flamboyantly dressed college student, presumably Thomas Jefferson before he reached his majority, engaged in a mock‑duel of wits with his companion, the melancholy Jacques. The opening scene is a rapid exchange of teasing insults, faux‑Latin verses, and garbled French, all framed by the characters’ exaggerated self‑importance and the looming presence of the college proctor. Their banter spirals from a sarcastic reading of a Latin song to a tangled word‑play on the name “Belinda,” which becomes “Belle‑bouche,” while the surrounding description of the college’s garden and the arrival of a young woman named Belle‑bouche hints at a broader social setting of youthful romance and academic rivalry.
The narrative’s voice is unmistakably eighteenth‑century, employing ornate, almost theatrical language, frequent classical allusions, and a rhythm that mimics the repartee of a stage comedy. Its style blends satire with a romanticized portrait of colonial Virginia, offering a window into the affectations and literary pretensions of the era’s gentry. Readers who enjoy historical pastiches, spirited linguistic games, and a glimpse of early American collegiate life, especially those fascinated by a youthful Jefferson rendered as a flamboyant, self‑styled “prince of wits”, will find this manuscript an entertaining, if indulgently elaborate, portrait of colonial youth.
The opening · free to read
The young man who had asserted his inalienable natural rights with so much fervor was scarcely twenty--at least he had not reached his majority. He was richly clad, with the exception of an old faded dressing gown, which fell gracefully like a Roman toga around his legs; and his face was full of intelligence and careless, somewhat cynical humor. The features were hard and pointed, the mouth large, the hair sandy with a tinge of red.
"Ah, my dear forlorn lover!" he cried, grasping his visitor's hand, "I thought you were that rascally proctor, and was really preparing for a hand-to-hand conflict, to the death."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, sir! could I expect anything else, from the way you turned my knob? You puzzled me."
"So I see," said his visitor; "you had your gun, and were evidently afraid."
"Afraid? Never!"
"Afraid of your shadow!"
"At least I never would have betrayed fear had I seen you!" retorted the occupant of the chamber. "You are so much in love that a fly need not be afraid of you. Poor Jacquelin! poor melancholy Jacques! a feather would knock you down."
The melancholy Jacques sat down sighing.
"The fact is, my dear fellow," he said, "I am the victim of misfortune: but who complains? I don't, especially to you, you great lubber, shut up here in your den, and with no hope or fear on earth, beyond pardon of your sins of commission at the college, and dread of the proctor's grasp! You are living a dead life, while I--ah! don't speak of it. What were you reading?"
"That deplorable Latin song. Salve your ill-humor with it!"
And he handed his visitor, by this time stretched carelessly upon a lounge, the open volume. He read:
"Orientis partibus Adventavit asinus, Pulcher et fortissimus, Sarcinis aptissimus.
"Hez, sire asne, car chantez Belle bouche rechignez, Vous aurez du foin assez, Et de l'avoine a plantez."
"Good," said the visitor satirically; "that suits you--except it should be '_occidentis_ partibus:' our Sir Asinus comes from the west. And by my faith, I think I will in future dub you Sir Asinus, in revenge for calling me--me, the most cheerful of light-hearted mortals--the 'melancholy Jacques.'"
"Come, come!" said the gentleman threatened with this sobriquet, "that's too bad, Jacques."
"_Jacques!_ You persist in calling me Jacques, just as you persist in calling Belinda, _Campana in die_--_Bell in day_. What a deplorable witticism! I could find a better in a moment. Stay," he added, "I have discovered it already."
"What is it, pray, most sapient Jacques?"
"Listen, most long-eared Sir Asinus."
"Well," said his friend, "now that you have mangled that French with your wretched pronunciation, please explain how my lovely Belinda--come, don't sigh and scowl because I say 'my,' for you know it's all settled--tell me where in these lines you find her name."
"In the second," sighed Jacques.
"Oh yes!--bah!"
"There you are sneering. You make a miserable Latin pun, by which you translate Belinda into _Campana in die_--Bell in day--and when I improve your idea, making it really good, you sneer."
"Really, now!--well, I don't say!"
"Belle-bouche! Could any thing be finer? 'Pretty-mouth!' And then the play upon Bel, in Belinda, by the word Belle. Positively, I will in future call her nothing else. Belle-bouche--pretty-mouth! Ah!"
And the unfortunate lover stretched languidly upon the lounge, studied the ceiling, and sighed piteously.
His friend burst into a roar of laughter. Jacques--for let us adopt the sobriquets all round--turned negligently and said:
"Pray what are you braying at, Sir Asinus?"
"At your sighs."
"Did I sigh?"
"Yes, portentously!"
"I think you are mistaken."
"No!"
"I never sigh."
And the melancholy Jacques uttered a sigh which was enough to shatter all his bulk.
The consequence was that Sir Asinus burst into a second roar of laughter louder than before, and said:
"Come, my dear Jacques, unbosom! You have been to see----"
"Belle-bouche--Belle-bouche: but I am not in love with her."
"Oh no--of course not," said his friend, laughing ironically.
Jacques sighed.
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