a book of scoundrels(流浪之书)-第2章
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swaggered it with insolent gaiety； knowing no worse misery than the fear
of the Tree； so long as he followed the rules of his craft。 But let a touch
of brutality disgrace his method； and he appealed in vain for sympathy or
indulgence。 The ruffian； for instance； of whom it is grimly recorded that
he added a tie…wig to his booty； neither deserved nor received the smallest
consideration。 Delivered to justice； he speedily met the death his
vulgarity merited； and the road was taught the salutary lesson that wigs
were as sacred as trinkets hallowed by association。
With the eighteenth century the highway fell upon decline。 No doubt
in its silver age； the century's beginning； many a brilliant deed was done。
Something of the old policy survived； and men of spirit still went upon the
pad。 But the breadth of the ancient style was speedily forgotten； and by
the time the First George climbed to the throne； robbery was already a
sordid trade。 Neither side was conscious of its noble obligation。 The
vulgar audacity of a bullying thief was suitably answered by the
ungracious； involuntary submission of the terrified traveller。 From end to
end of England you might hear the cry of ‘Stand and deliver。' Yet how
changed the accent！ The beauty of gesture； the deference of carriage； the
ready response to a legitimate demandall the qualities of a dignified art
were lost for ever。 As its professors increased in number； the note of
aristocracy； once dominant； was silenced。 The meanest rogue； who could
hire a horse； might cut a contemptible figure on Bagshot Heath； and feel
no shame at robbing a poor man。 Oncein that Augustan age； whose
brightest ornament was Captain Hindit was something of a distinction to
be decently plundered。 A century later there was none so humble but he
might be asked to empty his pocket。 In brief； the blight of democracy
was upon what should have remained a refined； secluded art； and nowise
is the decay better illustrated than in the appreciation of bunglers； whose
exploits were scarce worth a record。
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James Maclaine； for instance； was the hero of his age。 In a history of
cowards he would deserve the first place； and the ‘Gentleman
Highwayman；' as he was pompously styled； enjoyed a triumph denied to
many a victorious general。 Lord Mountford led half White's to do him
honour on the day of his arrest。 On the first Sunday； which he spent in
Newgate； three thousand jostled for entrance to his cell； and the poor devil
fainted three times at the heat caused by the throng of his admirers。 So
long as his fate hung in the balance； Walpole could not take up his pen
without a compliment to the man； who claimed to have robbed him near
Hyde Park。 Yet a more pitiful rascal never showed the white feather。
Not once was he known to take a purse with his own hand； the summit of
his achievement being to hold the horses' heads while his accomplice
spoke with the passengers。 A poltroon before his arrest； in Court he
whimpered and whinnied for mercy； he was carried to the cart pallid and
trembling； and not even his preposterous finery availed to hearten him at
the gallows。 Taxed with his timidity； he attempted to excuse himself on
the inadmissible plea of moral rectitude。 ‘I have as much personal
courage in an honourable cause；' he exclaimed in a passage of false dignity；
‘as any man in Britain； but as I knew I was committing acts of injustice； so
I went to them half loth and half consenting； and in that sense I own I am a
coward indeed。'
The disingenuousness of this proclamation is as remarkable as its
hypocrisy。 Well might he brag of his courage in an honourable cause；
when he knew that he could never be put to the test。 But what palliation
shall you find for a rogue with so little pride in his art； that he exercised it
‘half loth； half consenting'？ It is not in this recreant spirit that
masterpieces are achieved； and Maclaine had better have stayed in the far
Highland parish； which bred him； than have attempted to cut a figure in
the larger world of London。 His famous encounter with Walpole should
have covered him with disgrace； for it was ignoble at every point； and the
art was so little understood； that it merely added a leaf to his crown of
glory。 Now； though Walpole was far too well…bred to oppose the demand
of an armed stranger； Maclaine； in defiance of his craft； discharged his
pistol at an innocent head。 True； he wrote a letter of apology； and
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A BOOK OF SCOUNDRELS
insisted that； had the one pistol… shot proved fatal； he had another in
reserve for himself。 But not even Walpole would have believed him； had
not an amiable faith given him an opportunity for the answering quip：
‘Can I do less than say I will be hanged if he is？'
As Maclaine was a coward and no thief； so also he was a snob and no
gentleman。 His boasted elegance was not more respectable than his art。
Fine clothes are the embellishment of a true adventurer； they hang ill on
the sloping shoulders of a poltroon。
And Maclaine； with all the ostensible weaknesses of his kind； would
claim regard for the strength that he knew not。 He occupied a costly
apartment in St。 James's Street； his morning dress was a crimson damask
banjam； a silk shag waistcoat； trimmed with lace； black velvet breeches；
white silk stockings； and yellow morocco slippers； but since his
magnificence added no jot to his courage； it was rather mean than
admirable。 Indeed； his whole career was marred by the provincialism of
his native manse。
And he was the adored of an intelligent age； he basked a few brief
weeks in the noonday sun of fashion。
If distinction was not the heritage of the Eighteenth Century； its glory
is that now and again a giant raised his head above the stature of a
prevailing rectitude。 The art of verse was lost in rhetoric； the noble prose；
invented by the Elizabethans； and refined under the Stuarts； was whittled
away to common sense by the admirers of Addison and Steele。 Swift and
Johnson； Gibbon and Fielding； were apparitions of strength in an amiable；
ineffective age。 They emerged sudden from the impeccable greyness； to
which they afforded an heroic contrast。 So； while the highway drifted
drifted to a vulgar incompetence； the craft was illumined by many a flash
of unexpected genius。 The brilliant achievements of Jonathan Wild and
of Jack Sheppard might have relieved the gloom of the darkest era； and
their separate masterpieces make some atonement for the environing
cowardice and stupidity。 Above all； the Eighteenth Century was
Newgate's golden age； now for the first time and the last were the rules
and customs of the Jug perfectly understood。 If Jonathan the Great was
unrivalled in the art of clapping his enemies into prison； if Jack the Slip…
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A BOOK OF SCOUNDRELS
string was supreme in the rarer art of getting himself out； even the meanest
criminal of his time knew what was expected of him； so long as he
wandered within the walled yard； or listened to the ministrations of the
snuff…besmirched Ordinary。 He might show a lamentable lack of
cleverness in carrying off his booty； he might prove a too easy victim to
the wiles of the thief…catcher； but he never fell short of courage； when
asked to sustain the consequences of his crime。
Newgate； compared by one eminent author to a university； by another
to a ship； was a republic； whose liberty extended only so far as its iron
door。 While there was no liberty without； there was licence within； and if
the culprit； who paid for the smallest indiscretion with his neck；
understood the etiquette of the place； he spent his last weeks in an orgie of
rollicking lawlessness。 He
