Book of Scoundrels

Charles Whibley

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. I desire to thank the Proprietors of the 'National Observer, ' the 'New Review, ' the 'Pall Mall Gazette, ' and 'Macmillan's Magazine, ' for courteous permission to reprint certain chapters of this book.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819933601
• Langue: English

Extrait

A BOOK OF SCOUNDRELS
By Charles Whibley
To the Greeks
FOOLISHNESS
I desire to thank the Proprietors of the 'NationalObserver, ' the 'New Review, ' the 'Pall Mall Gazette, ' and'Macmillan's Magazine, ' for courteous permission to reprintcertain chapters of this book.
INTRODUCTION
There are other manifestations of greatness than torelieve suffering or to wreck an empire. Julius Cæsar and JohnHoward are not the only heroes who have smiled upon the world. Inthe supreme adaptation of means to an end there is a constantnobility, for neither ambition nor virtue is the essential of aperfect action. How shall you contemplate with indifference thecareer of an artist whom genius or good guidance has compelled toexercise his peculiar skill, to indulge his finer aptitudes? Amasterly theft rises in its claim to respect high above thereprobation of the moralist. The scoundrel, when once justice isquit of him, has a right to be appraised by his actions, not bytheir effect; and he dies secure in the knowledge that he iscommonly more distinguished, if he be less loved, than his virtuouscontemporaries.
While murder is wellnigh as old as life, propertyand the pocket invented theft, late-born among the arts. It was notuntil avarice had devised many a cunning trick for the protectionof wealth, until civilisation had multiplied the forms of portableproperty, that thieving became a liberal and an elegant profession.True, in pastoral society, the lawless man was eager to liftcattle, to break down the barrier between robbery and warfare. Butthe contrast is as sharp between the savagery of the ancient reiverand the polished performance of Captain Hind as between the daub ofthe pavement and the perfection of Velasquez.
So long as the Gothic spirit governed Europe,expressing itself in useless ornament and wanton brutality, themore delicate crafts had no hope of exercise. Even the adventurerupon the road threatened his victim with a bludgeon, nor was ituntil the breath of the Renaissance had vivified the world that agentleman and an artist could face the traveller with a courteousdemand for his purse. But the age which witnessed the enterprise ofDrake and the triumph of Shakespeare knew also the prowess of thehighwayman and the dexterity of the cutpurse. Though the artdisplayed all the freshness and curiosity of the primitives, stillit was art. With Gamaliel Ratsey, who demanded a scene from Hamletof a rifled player, and who could not rob a Cambridge scholarwithout bidding him deliver an oration in a wood, theft was alreadybetter than a vulgar extortion. Moll Cutpurse, whose intelligenceand audacity were never bettered, was among the bravest of theElizabethans. Her temperament was as large and as reckless as BenJonson's own. Neither her tongue nor her courage knew the curb ofmodesty, and she was the first to reduce her craft to a set of wiseand imperious rules. She it was who discovered the secret ofdiscipline, and who insisted that every member of her gang shouldundertake no other enterprise than that for which nature had framedhim. Thus she made easy the path for that other hero, of whom youare told that his band was made up 'of several sorts of wickedartists, of whom he made several uses, according as he perceivedwhich way every man's particular talent lay. ' This statesman—Thomas Dun was his name— drew up for the use of his comrades astringent and stately code, and he was wont to deliver an addressto all novices concerning the art and mystery of robbing upon thehighway. Under auspices so brilliant, thievery could not butflourish, and when the Stuarts sat upon the throne it was alreadylifted above the level of questioning experiment.
Every art is shaped by its material, and with thevariations of its material it must perforce vary. If the skill ofthe cutpurse compelled the invention of the pocket, it is certainthat the rare difficulties of the pocket created the miraculousskill of those crafty fingers which were destined to empty it. Andas increased obstacles are perfection's best incentive, a finercunning grew out of the fresh precaution. History does not tell uswho it was that discovered this new continent of roguery. Thosethere are who give the credit to the valiant Moll Cutpurse; butthough the Roaring Girl had wit to conceive a thousand strangeenterprises, she had not the hand to carry them out, and the firstpickpocket must needs have been a man of action. Moreover, hernickname suggests the more ancient practice, and it is wiser toyield the credit to Simon Fletcher, whose praises are chanted bythe early historians.
Now, Simon, says his biographer, was 'looked upon tobe the greatest artist of his age by all his contemporaries. ' Theson of a baker in Rosemary Lane, he early deserted his father'soven for a life of adventure; and he claims to have been the firstcollector who, stealing the money, yet left the case. The newmethod was incomparably more subtle than the old: it afforded anopportunity of a hitherto unimagined delicacy; the wielders of thescissors were aghast at a skill which put their own clumsiness toshame, and which to a previous generation would have seemed thewildest fantasy. Yet so strong is habit, that even when the pickingof pockets was a recognised industry, the superfluous scissorsstill survived, and many a rogue has hanged upon the Tree becausehe attempted with a vulgar implement such feats as his unaidedforks had far more easily accomplished.
But, despite the innovation of Simon Fletcher, thehighway was the glory of Elizabeth, the still greater glory of theStuarts. 'The Lacedæmonians were the only people, ' said HoraceWalpole, 'except the English who seem to have put robbery on aright foot. ' And the English of the seventeenth century need fearthe rivalry of no Lacedæmonian. They were, indeed, the most valiantand graceful robbers that the world has ever known. The Civil Warencouraged their profession, and, since many of them had fought fortheir king, a proper hatred of Cromwell sharpened their wits. Theywere scholars as well as gentlemen; they tempered their sport witha merry wit; their avarice alone surpassed their courtesy; and theyrobbed with so perfect a regard for the proprieties that it wasonly the pedant and the parliamentarian who resented theirinterference.
Nor did their princely manner fail of its effectupon their victims. The middle of the seventeenth century was thegolden age, not only of the robber, but of the robbed. The game wasplayed upon either side with a scrupulous respect for a potent, ifunwritten, law. Neither might nor right was permitted to controlthe issue. A gaily attired, superbly mounted highwayman would holdup a coach packed with armed men, and take a purse from each,though a vigorous remonstrance might have carried him to Tyburn.But the traveller knew his place: he did what was expected of himin the best of tempers. Who was he that he should yield in courtesyto the man in the vizard? As it was monstrous for the one todischarge his pistol, so the other could not resist withoutcommitting an outrage upon tradition. One wonders what had been theresult if some mannerless reformer had declined his assailant'sinvitation and drawn his sword. Maybe the sensitive art might havedied under this sharp rebuff. But none save regicides were known toresist, and their resistance was never more forcible than a volleyof texts. Thus the High-toby-crack swaggered it with insolentgaiety, knowing no worse misery than the fear of the Tree, so longas he followed the rules of his craft. But let a touch of brutalitydisgrace his method, and he appealed in vain for sympathy orindulgence. The ruffian, for instance, of whom it is grimlyrecorded that he added a tie-wig to his booty, neither deserved norreceived the smallest consideration. Delivered to justice, hespeedily met the death his vulgarity merited, and the road wastaught the salutary lesson that wigs were as sacred as trinketshallowed by association.
With the eighteenth century the highway fell upondecline. No doubt in its silver age, the century's beginning, manya brilliant deed was done. Something of the old policy survived,and men of spirit still went upon the pad. But the breadth of theancient style was speedily forgotten; and by the time the FirstGeorge climbed to the throne, robbery was already a sordid trade.Neither side was conscious of its noble obligation. The vulgaraudacity of a bullying thief was suitably answered by theungracious, involuntary submission of the terrified traveller. Fromend to end of England you might hear the cry of 'Stand and deliver.' Yet how changed the accent! The beauty of gesture, the deferenceof carriage, the ready response to a legitimate demand— all thequalities of a dignified art were lost for ever. As its professorsincreased in number, the note of aristocracy, once dominant, wassilenced. The meanest rogue, who could hire a horse, might cut acontemptible figure on Bagshot Heath, and feel no shame at robbinga poor man. Once— in that Augustan age, whose brightest ornamentwas Captain Hind— it was something of a distinction to be decentlyplundered. A century later there was none so humble but he might beasked to empty his pocket. In brief, the blight of democracy wasupon what should have remained a refined, secluded art; and nowiseis the decay better illustrated than in the appreciation ofbunglers, whose exploits were scarce worth a record.
James Maclaine, for instance, was the hero of hisage. In a history of cowards he would deserve the first place, andthe 'Gentleman Highwayman, ' as he was pompously styled, enjoyed atriumph denied to many a victorious general. Lord Mountford ledhalf White's to do him honour on the day of his arrest. On thefirst Sunday, which he spent in Newgate, three thousand jostled forentrance to his cell, and the poor devil fainted three times at theheat caused by the throng of his admirers. So long as his fate hungin the balance, Walpole could not take up his pen without acompli