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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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Che Cpopes of English Literature
EDITED BY

WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON

THE LITERATURE OF ROGUERY
BY
FRANK WADLEIGH CHANDLER

VOLUME II
THE LITERATURE OF
ROGUERY

BY

FRANK WADLEIGH CHANDLER

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN THE POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE OF
BROOKLYN; SOMETIME LECTURER IN COMPARATIVE
LITERATURE IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY; AUTHOR
or “ROMANCES OF ROGUERY”’

Humani nihil a me alienum puto

IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL, IT

 

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
Che Viverside Press, Cambridge
1907
Naira

COPYRIGHT 1907 BY FRANK WADLEIGH CHANDLER

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published October 1907
CONTENTS

VOLUME II

Cuapter VII. Tue Picaresqure Novet IN THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

1. Defoe

2. Fielding .

3. Smollett

4. Imitators and Tiss eabens
Bibliography

CuHapter VIII. Romantic Rocurery FRom Scott To
BuLWwER
1. Seott
2. Picaros in the Orient.
3. James and Ainsworth
4. Bulwer
Bibliography

Cuaptrer IX. ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

1. Cockney Rogueries *

2. Lever and the Irish Novel .

3. Marryat and the Essayists .
Bibliography :

Cuapter X. Tue RocveE In uis SoctaL ENVIRONMENT

1. Dickens
2. Mayhew .

285
300
309
320
340

342
347
859
370
378

380
387
397
409

411
428
vi

3. Reade

Bibliography ;

Cuaprer XI.

REALISM

1. Borrow .
2. Thackeray

Bibliography

CONTENTS

o 8 «@

SYMPATHETIC AND SatTiric RocuE

Cuapter XII. Roauery in Recent Fiction

1. The New Romanticism .
2. Gypsydom -

D> Or me 9

. Boy Life . . .

. The New Realism aa aby a

. Bushranging and Convict Life

. Raffles and Company
Bibliography

Cuapter XIII. Tus Literature or CRIME-DETECTION

Bibliography

InDEX

*

431
438

439
450
468

469
481
486
493

- 608

515
522

524
549

551
THE LITERATURE OF ROGUERY
THE LITERATURE OF ROGUERY

CHAPTER VII

THE PICARESQUE NOVEL IN THE EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY

1. Defoe

HE eighteenth century, as the age of prose and
observation, rather than of poetry and free im-
agination, fathered the modern novel. Even
#| Richardson, who was laughed at by Fielding
~ as an idealist, and who borrowed the letter-
form from heroic romance, won success by his bourgeois real-
ism, and owed a debt to the ob: tional studies of the pica-
resque tale. Still more potent, of course, were such picaresque
models in determining the fictions of the professed realists.
Translations from the Spanish and the French continued to
bear fruit, vying with native rogue elements long maturing.
Though the day of direct borrowing was past, what was best
in the picaresque manner and method only now became truly
effective.

Fresh English renderings of the Spanish novels were not
lacking. The “Gardufia” was compressed from Davies’s earlier
version, and became “‘The Life of Donna Rosina” (c. 1700).
Its inserted novelas were separately issued as ‘Three Ingen-
ious Spanish Novels” (1712), and L’Estrange and Ozell made
a fresh translation of the whole (1717, 1727). Cervantes’s
“Novelas” was Englished in part by Ozell (1709), and was re-
done by other hands in 1728 and 1729. Captain John Stevens
issued ‘The Comical Works of Quevedo” (1707, 1709, 1742),

  

'
286 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

and upon this was based the version of Pedro Pineda (1743).
Stevens, too, in “The Spanish Libertines” (1707) presented
to English readers ‘La Picara Justina,” “Celestina,” and
“‘Estevanillo Gonzalez ;” and the “Celestina” and “Guz-
man” in 1708 came once more into English through the French.
Even ‘“‘Lazarillo,” unwearied by its sixteenth and seventeenth
century vogue, reappeared in 1708 and 1726, while Que-
vedo’s ‘‘Visions” was read in versions of 1702, 1708, and
1715.

These facts sufficiently indicate that Defoe did not want
for Spanish picaresque matter had he cared to utilize it. What
distinguishes him and his followers from preceding makers
of fiction is their refusal to be content with the story for the
story’s sake, independent of the conditions of actual life.
Jests and jabliaux, the tricks of the Italian novella or the
Spanish romance of roguery, count for little in the modern
novel, and the first to turn his back upon them is Defoe. Where
| others had taken the romance of roguery’s jests, and yet others
‘were to appropriate its satire, Defoe was content to apply to
_hative material its observational method.

His realistic temperament favored this. He wrote for the
moment to be read by the many. When his work seems far-
thest removed from the present, as im the “Journal of the
Plague Year,” it is reportorial, and depends upon a current
event, — the threatened pest of 1722. Contemporary inter-
est partially induced his criminal pamphlets, “Crusoe,” the
tales of rogues and adventurers, his didactic treatises for ser-
vants, families, and tradesmen, his essays on projects and
commerce, and even his dealings with the supernatural.

riting the thing that the public would read at the instant,
he did not care that for fact he must often substitute its sem-
blance, Journalism was yet without adequate means for
DEFOE 287

gathering data, and the imagination to supply spontaneously
a host of missing details was a newspaper requisite. This was
Defoe’s special gift, and he used it so well that, although his
elaborate “Tour Thro’ the Whole Island of Great Britain”
might be based upon seventeen journeys, it was hardly more
circumstantial than the narrative of the great storm, penned
while in prison, Small wonder, then, that<his novels insist
upon their veracity, and seek to attest it by accumulations of
the unimportant>

But Defoe’s realism as a factor in his success was variously
supplemented in different works, In “Crusoe” the zest of
adventure, the spectacle of ingenuity in distress, and of soli-
tary man face to face with Nature proved as potent as the
realism, ‘‘Captain Singleton” and “Captain Avery” made
a similar if more limited appeal; and the rogue novels supply
what these and “‘Crusoe”’ lack, namely, an interest in conscience.
For while Robinson has much to say of morality and preaches
conventicle sermons in his “Serious Reflections,”’ he remains
without definite character, experiences no spiritual conflicts,
and, however godly, knows no ethical development.

Defoe’s interest in the picaresque has been variously ex-
plained. It is supposed to have been acquired during his im-
prisonment in Newgate for writing ‘The Shortest Way with
Dissenters ;” it is also alleged to have been due to his associa-
tion with John Applebee, a printer of criminals’ confessions and
biographies. Certainly, as Applebee’s representative, Defoe in-
terviewed many condemned rogues, and his picaresque essays
are coincident with this connection. Shortly after becoming
a writer for ‘“‘Applebee’s Journal,” he published there a let-
ter professing to come from a woman prematurely returned
from transportation. She complains of being bullied by a
villain on the threat that he will give her up to justice unless
288 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

she supplies his wants. Defoe’s later contributions to the
“Journal” included articles on Cartouche, Jack Sheppard,
and Jonathan Wild, each of whom he made the subject of
separate criminal pamphlets. *

It was the more romantic side of roguery, however, that
attracted him. “Crusoe” had showed the merest touch of ras-
cality in the hero’s running off to sea and in his later repent-
ance for it; but in “The King of Pirates, . . . Captain Avery”
(1719), picaresque features became prominent, romantic sea
thefts replacing Robinson’s romantic island. In “The Life,
Adventures, and Pyracies of the Famous Captain Singleton”
(1720) similar dare-devil rascality is set off by that still more
romantic journey across Africa, past the then undiscovered
but rightly imagined sources of the Nile. Although this, the
most interesting feature of the book, is mere adventure, and
although much else here is not properly roguish, the vagabond
life and piracies of Singleton, and the character of William
Walters, the Quaker, deserve attention. As to the piracies,
they are of a piece with those described in Defoe’s account
of Avery, and Madagascar is again the buccaneers’ favorite
rendezvous. Singleton, like Avery, returns to Europe by guile
and in disguise, but, unlike that worthy, he grows tender of
conscience, and reforms. In vicissitude, however, he is closer
to the traditional rogue. For, kidnapped as a child, sold to a
beggar woman, passed to a Gypsy, and thrown upon the parish
at the latter’s hanging, he early goes to sea, and is enslaved
by Algerine rovers, then plays the picaro as cabin-boy aboard

1 For Defoe’s pamphlets, ef. ante, pp. 160-164, 186, 187, and 228. The
Street Robberies Consider’d is analyzed infra, pp. 321-323. If this be in-
deed by Defoe, it is significant as his single fiction betraying foreign
picaresque influence. As for his major novels of roguery, they descend
unmistakably from the native criminal biographies.
DEFOE 289

a Portuguese trader, and is marooned for his share in a mutiny.
When the perils of his African expedition are past, he resumes
his evil ways, to repent only at the pitch of piratical prosperity,
on being admonished by the bellicose Quaker. This diverting
companion in arms is a willing captive, who enjoys his fling
in the world, fortified by a certificate that whatever he does is
done under his captors’ compulsion. He is the drollest and
driest of pirates, a brave, sensible, merciful fellow, solemnly
witty, and of all Defoe’s characters the one conceived with
most humor.

In 1720, also, Defoe issued a biography of Duncan Camp-
bell, the fortune-teller, which focuses the picaresque glass
nearer home upon a humbler subject. Thereafter he inclined
to deal with more matter-of-fact, petty reprobates, as witness
his criminal pamphlets already described. Although these
failed to attain the dignity of fiction, they were scarcely differ-
ent in quality from the criminal novels. Thus, the description
of the cheats of William Blewet, in the “Lives of Six Notorious
Street Robbers,” and the reference there to the vagabond
boys of the glass-houses, might have come out of “Colonel
Jacque” or “Moll Flanders.”

The contrast between “The Fortunes and Misfortunes of
the Famous Moll Flanders” (1722) and earlier picaresque
fiction is remarkable. Allowing for national differences, the
scope of the rogue novel had scarcely been altered during the
seventeenth century. Even the later “Gil Blas” remained in
aim and procedure allied with its Spanish models; but Defo
at a blow changed a comic and satirical fiction to one, in som
sense, of character. He showed the decline of a soul from inno-
cence to knowledge, temptation, and sin, and then its rise, by
virtue of repentance, from distress through honesty to pros-
perity and calm) No doubt he thought less of character-
290 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

development as such than of the moral influence his tract might
exert upon discouraged thieves condemned to transportation;
but his achievement was a long step in advance.

Born in Newgate of a thief, Moll falls among Gypsies, is reared by
an honest creature, and adopted by a lady whose elder son seduces
her. Frequent marriages and widowhoods follow. Her unthrifty
tradesman decamps to the Continent; her Virginia planter she leaves
on discovering him to be a half-brother. Her adventurer husband
she parts with good-naturedly, each having been deceived in wealth-
hunting by the other’s pretensions. Her banker husband divorces a
demented wife for love of Moll, and at his death she finds herself destitute.

So at the age of ‘fifty, Moll commits her first theft. One cheat leads
to another. A fenjale receiver of stolen goods becomes her friend; all
her companions age either rogues or dupes. She robs a tipsy gentle-
man in a coach, and attaches herself to him for a while, stands by
vehicles before inns, and receives bundles as though she had been the
porter’s wife, is apprehended on error, secures damages against her
false accuser, and, as the result of new rogueries, enters Newgate.

Condemned to be hanged, she secures a reprieve, and then, repent-
ant, is transported to Virginia, accompanied by her adventurer husband.
Eight years of increasing prosperity in the plantations make a new
woman of her, and, with her husband and a son, she returns to Eng-
land where, she says, “we resolve to spend the remainder of our years
in sincere penitence for the wicked lives we have spent.”

Now the significance of this story does not lie in its plot.
Any other criminal incidents could as well have served De-
foe’s turn; and Moll in her cheats fails of much cunning. Her
chief professional trick is the jostling of the victim whose
pocket she is picking. She steals at a conflagration by pre-
tending to rescue goods, and when revealing smuggled finery
to a customs officer, takes his reward and her toll of laces, too.
She knows how in case of danger to ery “ Pickpocket ” first, and
being pursued in man’s clothing, she contrives to be found in
a wrapper unconcernedly sewing. That Defoe did not think
it worth while to cull choicer frauds from the hundreds on
DEFOE 291

record is evidence how little he cared for them. His interest
lay not in the cheats but in the cheater, and less in the deeds
of the cheater than in her conscience.

The account of Moll’s first theft shows this clearly. She
merely steps into an apothecary’s shop, as if to.avoid a passing
vehicle, and, putting her hand behind her, clasps a bundle and
walks out. ‘It is impossible to express the horror of my soul
all the while I did it,” she says. ““When I went away I had
no heart to run or scarce to mend my pace.” That night she
weeps and cannot sleep for thinking of the bundle’s owner.
«« Perhaps,’ said I, ‘it may be some poor widow like me, that
had packed up their goods to go and sell them for a little
bread for herself and her poor child, and are now starving
and breaking their hearts for want of that little they would
have fetched.’” Similarly, in Moll’s theft of a necklace from
a little girl coming from dancing-school, attention is fixed
not upon the small skill required to pilfer from an innocent,
but upon the conflicting emotions of avarice and remorse that
surge over the thief, tempting her at one moment to kill the
child, and at the next to set it on its way.

In his conduct of the narrative Defoe improved upon his
predecessors. With Le Sage, he was the first to endow the
picaresque form with a unity deeper than the anti-hero’s
identity. He surpasses Le Sage in adhering to the unity of
character. Frequently when, according to the old formula, some
subordinate would have told the story of his life, Defoe resists
the temptation, and his protagonist will say, “He gave me also
so many distinct accounts of his adventures that it is with
great reluctance that I decline relating them. But this is my
own story, not his.” Such forbearance was unnecessary so long
as the satirization of manners and the recounting of tricks
were the aim, but as soon as the attempt to portray charac-
2902 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

ter prevailed, whatever would distract from that interest was
properly suppressed. Moreover, Defoe assailed not only the
interpolated tale and autobiography, but also the extraneous
homily. To his anti-heroine, moral reflection was natural.
With the lay figures of an Aleman, an Andrés Pérez, or a
Geronimo de Alcala, it was simply the author’s ventriloquism.

But the sharpest contrast between Defoe and previous pica-
resque writers lies in his treatment of love. Mhe Spanish and
French anti-heroines seem never to have known unarmed in-
nocence or natural affection. Moll Flanders experiences all
the hopes and fears of a blind devotion Her first affair
with the elder son of her benefactress is alone sufficient to
distinguish Defoe from every writer in the picaresque field
before him. His description of the winning of her heart by
the lover’s seeming kindness, and her gradual yielding to his
promises amid a cloud of misgivings, is no part of the train
of literary influence that proceeds from “‘Lazarillo.” When
the lover had first caught her in his arms she says, “I strug-
gled to get away, and yet did it but faintly neither, and he
held me fast and still kissed me till he was almost out of breath,
and then sitting down says, ‘Dear Betty, I am in love with you.’”

She believed he meant to marry her, and spared him the
ceremony because he said it would ruin his prospects. Then
the younger brother made love to her honorably, and she found
herself besieged, yet unable to tell him the truth. The elder
brother, perceiving that her refusal of so advantageous an offer
must arouse suspicion and perhaps discover himself, advised
her to accede. “I gave him a look of horror at those words,”
says Moll, “and turning pale, was at the very point of sinking
down out of the chair I sat in. . . . ‘Is this your faith and hon-
our, your love, and the solidity of your promises ?’”’ she cries.

Long after, when she has become hardened and has mar-
DEFOE 293

ried an adventurer for money, her conduct at his desertion of
her is not at all that of the traditional anti-heroine. She eats
but little and falls into a vehement fit of crying, calling him
by name. “‘O Jemmy,’ said I, ‘come back, come back; I
will give you all I have; I will beg; I will give you all I have;
I will beg, I will starve with you!’” So she raves on, and at
dusk he does return, declaring he heard her calling him in
Delamere Forest.

When it is said that Defoe’s novels first graft the character-
element upon the old picaresque stem, the statement is made,
and should be accepted, with reservations. Defoe has no
perception of fine shades of character or of character-develop-
ment; the feelings he presents are the simplest; and emotion
with him is the exception rather than the rule. Maternal
affection, for example, although Moll is the mother of twelve
children, finds no expression in action, and but little in words.
Once only, when she is forbidden to recognize a son, she says,
“Let any mother of children that reads this consider it, and
but think with what anguish of mind I restrained myself,
what yearnings of soul I had in me to embrace him, and weep
over him.”

Similar limitations are even more apparent in “The His-
tory of the Most Remarkable Life and Extraordinary Adven-
tures of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Vulgarly Called
Colonel Jack” (1722). The long title-page was calculated to
sell the book rather than truthfully to proclaim its contents,
and as a whole the story was inferior to its predecessor. It
consists of three parts, the first describing Jack’s roguish
boyhood, the second his rise to fortune in Virginia, and the
third his adventures in Europe and Mexico. The last sets
forth a career neither wicked enough nor good enough to be
interesting. Its chief events are foolish marriages to women
294 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

who prove to be faithless. The central portion is devoted to
exploiting the opportunities afforded criminals for living a
prosperous life in Virginia. It is tediously minute in matters of
debit and credit, and is given up to the sermons and Scrip-
ture citations of a reformed thief, Jack’s tutor. Only the first
third of the story shows skill in character-drawing and narra-
tive power, and just this much of it is picaresque.

Jack is an unknown somebody’s son, told, as a child, that his father
was a gentleman. He comes up with another child of shame, reared
by a poor woman whose own son, like these others, is called Jack. The
three take military nicknames that they may be the better distinguished.
The Captain is surly and stubborn, the Major merry and brave, and
the Colonel “a poor unhappy, tractable dog.” In summer the three
sleep on bulkheads and shop-doors, and in winter they crawl under
the nealing arches of a glass-house to lie on the warm ash-heaps. When
vagabondage gives place to thievery, the Captain is whipped in Bride-
well, but the Major proves fortunate and shares his profits with the
Colonel, who being tutored by Will, another pickpocket, becomes
adroit himself. “I never took this picking of pockets to be dishonesty,”
says he; “I looked upon it as a kind of trade that I was to be bred up
to, and so I entered upon it until I became hardened in it beyond the
power of retreating.”

The tribulation brought upon him by the sudden acquisition of
wealth is one of the master-strokes of the story. He is not touched in
conscience, but care weighs him down. His pocket is full of holes;
he knows that the other boys will attack him if they get wind of his
treasure. The guineas he hides in his shoe, but they hurt him and he
is forced to wrap them in a dirty cloth. He can sleep but little at night
for anxiety and the fear that he may talk out in his dreams. In quest
of a safe hiding-place, he climbs a tree and thrusts his money into a
hole. When he reaches for it again it is gone. The tree is hollow and
he has lost it. Frantically he reaches after it, scratches his arm till it
bleeds, and then clambering down in despair, happens upon his rag-
bound treasure lying in a cavity of the trunk close to the ground. “I
was but a child, and I rejoiced like a child, for I hollo’d quite out
loud when I saw it; then I ran to it and snatched it up, hugged and
kissed the dirty rag a hundred times; then danced and jumped about,
DEFOE 295

ran from one end of the field to another, and, in short, I knew not what,
much less do I know now what I did, though I shall never forget the
thing, either what a sinking grief it was to my heart when I thought
T had lost it, or what a flood of joy overwhelmed me when I thought
I had got it again.” So careful a study of an inconsequential act, for
the sake of the emotion involved, had never before been known in the
literature of roguery.

Jack now delivers stolen bills for a reward, and in his dialogue with
their owner, approximates a passage in “Simplicissimus.”! He and
Will practice many rogueries and even use mild violence. But his blood
runs chill when he overhears the master of the glass-house rebuking
a customer for swearing, and declaring it fit only for the ragged, black-
guard boys who sleep among his ashes. Often he stops and asks him-
self if this be the life of a gentleman. In company with a gang of foot-
pads he robs a woman, and then turns to Will demanding, “‘ Was it
like a gentleman for me to take that twenty-two shillings from a poor
ancient woman, when she begged of me on her knees not to take it,
and told me it was all she had in the world to buy her bread for her-
self and a sick child which she had at home? Do you think I could
have been so cruel had you not stood by and made me do it? Why,
I cried at doing it as much as the poor woman did, though I did not
let you see me.” ‘You fool you,’ says Will, ‘you will never be fit for
our business, indeed !’”

This is the turning-point in Jack’s early life; for Will is presently
executed, and the Colonel, after narrowly escaping that fate, flees to
Scotland with the Captain, who forages by the way. In Edinburgh
they are frightened at beholding a public whipping of rogues, and
enlist for the wars, but when their troop is ordered to Flanders, they
desert. At Newcastle they are wheedled aboard a vessel, ostensibly
bound for London, but find themselves kidnapped as slaves for Vir-
ginia. Colonel Jack grows reconciled to his fate, realizing that he has
little to lose by the change, and with his arrival in the New World the
picaresque scenes are at an end.

Defoe in this novel arouses expectations never satisfied.

1 C£, T.S. Perry’s English Literature in the Eighteenth Century, p. 314.
The resemblance is probably fortuitous, for the situation is the obvious
one of a child’s not knowing its parents and so declaring it never had any.
Jack seems inexplicably simple for one who has consorted all his life with
street arabs.
296 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

Jack’s recollection that he is the son of a gentleman and his
boyish striving in his poor way to be true to that ideal seem
significant. Yet after much apparent preparation for the dis-
covery of the father or the final redemption of the son, nothing
happens. Again, Captain Jack, on being kidnapped, vows
that he will kill the ship’s master on land or sea, sooner or
later. The threat is so often repeated, and the reader’s mind
is so thoroughly prepared for a vengeance in keeping with the
rogue’s dogged character and with hints of his ultimate fate
by hanging, that nothing short of a tragedy of hate can be ex-
pected. But Defoe misses fire; the ship’s master is never heard
of again, and Captain Jack hangs for a matter unexplained.

Once more, and for the last time, Defoe paid his respects
to the literature of roguery in “Roxana” (1724).

A woman wedded to a fool, and deserted by him, deserts in turn
her children. At first through necessity, then through avarice, she
becomes the mistress of successive lovers, — a jeweler, a prince, a
merchant, a lord. After years of guilty independence she is persuaded
to marry. She gains a title; but, being discovered by the children she
had wronged, is brought to shame. Cut off without resources on the
death of her husband, she dies penitent in a debtor’s prison.

This sombre story is not enlivened by a ray of humor. It
is bloodless and unnatural. It lacks the pathos to be found
in the struggles of little Jack, and the too generous love of
Moll Flanders for her young master, and her anguish of soul
at the first crime. Roxana is almost without emotion. She
certainly wins no sympathy. Her passion is controlled by
avarice. She knows no parental instincts. Her children are
disposed of as readily as they are begotten. Marriage she
considers a crushing limitation upon individual liberty. Natu-
rally the prosperous alone are to be loved, and the lady her-

1 The Fortunate Mistress, or a History of . . . Mademoiselle de Beleau,
. . « known by the Name of the Lady Roxana, in the Time of Charles II.
DEFOE 297

self, as becomes a picara, devotes much attention to questions
of profit and loss.

More serious than the lack of emotion is the lack of psy-
chology. Defoe has been called a realist, but he is here es-
sentially unreal. His characters not only possess no natural
affections, but they act without adequate motives. In Paris
a Jew takes a mad antipathy to Roxana merely because
she has commented upon his ugliness. He hounds her about
in consequence, and even lays a murder at her door. Long
afterwards, when everybody else has forgotten him, Roxana
sends a friend to France to ascertain his whereabouts. Her
action is unreasonable, but it reawakens the reader’s belief
that a crisis is impending. Instead, nothing further is ever
said of the Jew. Again, Roxana, when she has every advantage
to gain by accepting the proffer of marriage made by a Dutch
merchant who has already won her favors, sends him away
and will not receive him until a dozen years have elapsed.
The daughter of Roxana, who has unwittingly acted as her
mother’s servant, embarks upon a foolish quest for that mother,
although she knows it to be detrimental to all her interests.
Amy, Roxana’s maid and confidante, succumbs to an over-
mastering desire to murder this daughter who has never done
her an injury. The Dutch merchant, when he has become a
baronet and the husband of Roxana, discovers that this girl
and his valet are Roxana’s children. He must have known
his wife’s character, if only from her early conduct with him-
self, yet he rages at her, and on his death-bed forbids her
receiving assistance from his executors or from her son.

The most absurd situation, however, is Roxana’s forcing the
jeweler, upon whose favors she is wholly dependent, to out-
rageous infidelity with her own maid. The jeweler has no
desire to forsake his mistress, but Roxana insists, and even
298 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

supervises the deed, merely that thereafter the maid shall not
be able to boast her moral superiority. With characters so
perverse in motive, with personages who are simply puppets,
it is only natural that the morality of “Roxana” should be
external and distorted.

The anti-heroine is first subject only to superstitious fore-
bodings. Before one lover is murdered she fancies that his
face looks like a death’s-head, and begs him not to leave her.
When he has gone, she only waits to receive the dismal news,
so sure is she of its coming. Once her Dutch merchant “fore-
told some fatal things which he said he was well assured I
should fall into; ... and when those things did come to
pass, I was persuaded he had some more than human know-
ledge.” During her flight from France with Amy, a storm at
sea awakens Roxana’s conscience and offers Defoe an occa-
sion for moral reflections. But the lady herself admits that
this was only the momentary effect of fear. ‘I saw nothing
of the corruption of nature, the sin of my life, as an offense
against God, as a thing odious to the holiness of his being, as
abusing his mercy, and despising his goodness.” Unlike Moll
Flanders and Colonel Jack, Roxana persists in her evil courses
almost to the last, and even then, although her maid declares
that “she was a sincere penitent, and in every action had all
the behaviour of a Christian,” the reader sees no evidence
of such a change of heart. In his Preface, however, Defoe
had said of her repentance, “The noble inferences that are
drawn from this one part are worth all the rest of the story,
and abundantly justify, as they are the professed design of
the publication.”

What relationship exists between this novel and its Span-
ish predecessors? Walter Scott was one of the first to proclaim
the connection. Was he justified in deeming Defoe’s minor
DEFOE 299

fictions legitimate heirs of “Lazarillo de Tormes” and “Guz-
man de Alfarache”? So far as “Roxana” is concerned, the
only portion of the story devoted to cheats is that describing
the deceits practiced by Amy and Roxana upon the latter’s
son and daughter. Here there is no parallel with the cheats
perpetrated for thievery in the classic picaresque tales. The
closest resemblance to the southern romance of roguery is the
passing of Roxana from lover to lover, a feminine substitute
for the service of masters. But this is no evidence of foreign
inspiration, and “Roxana” fails in satire, observation, and
humor. A bad woman tells the story of her life. Justina,
Elena, Rufina, and Teresa of Manzanares were bad women,
too, but they possessed rare wit, sharp tongues, and merry
hearts ; they laughed at the follies of the world and profited
by them.

“Roxana,” in brief, lacks unity, plan, and interest. It is
uselessly clogged with irrelevant detail. It is simply a tale of
adventure, and insignificant adventure at that. In “Moll
Flanders,” and to a less extent in “Colonel Jacque,” Defoe had
struck the keynote of the modern novel. He had partially
subordinated incidents to character. His predilection for
ethical studies had made his thought pivot upon the moral
quality of every act. Unconsciously he had marked out the
way for the later development of the novel. But just as with
appalling absence of artistic feeling he had supplemented
Crusoe’s absorbing island adventures by Crusoe’s common-
place continental travels and his reflections, so here in “Rox-
ana,” and even in the latter part of “Colonel Jacque,” he ap-
pears serenely unaware of lost opportunities. “Roxana” is
a reversion to the past. To have made Defoe’s career as a
novelist entirely rational, he should have begun with “Rox-
ana,” in which the incidents are everything, then have
300 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

advanced to “Colonel Jacque,” in which character begins to

emerge, and have culminated in “Moll Flanders,” in which
character becomes paramount.

2. Fielding

Despite the excellent foundation for the novel laid by Defoe,
nearly twenty years elapsed before Richardson continued the
genre. Swift’s “Gulliver” had intervened (1726), combining
adventure and seeming realism with satire in the greatest of
all fantastic journeys. But “Pamela” (1740) first revealed the
possibilities of the new fiction as a reflection of actual life and
character.

In its choice of a heroine in service, and in its attention to
commonplace detail, this novel in letters superficially resembled
the romance of roguery. In all else, however, the contrast was
notable, and Richardson’s other fictions only emphasized it.
“Clarissa” (1748) and “Sir Charles Grandison” (1753) pic-
tured polite society instead of low, and the libertinism of Love-
lace or of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen had little in common with
the cheating love-matches proposed by Spanish sharpers.

Henry Fielding, however, by temperament and experience
of life was better calculated to profit from the picaresque tra-
dition. His sensibilities were none too fine; his sense of humor
was highly developed; every-day life with its misadventures,
slips from virtue, and comfortable animalism, appealed to him;
Richardson seemed a milksop; and so, having practiced his
hand at twenty-five rough-and-tumble comedies, Fielding tried
a fresh form and burlesqued “Pamela” in “Joseph Andrews”
(1742).

This professed to be “written in imitation of the manner
of Cervantes,” and its Quixotic figure, Parson Adams, made
the fortune of the book. Like his great prototype, Adams is
FIELDING 301

a learned dreamer who suffers buffetings with undiminished
dignity; but the method and comic spirit of the whole are the
chief Cervantine reminiscences. Nor is Scarron forgotten in
farcical scenes, such as Adams’s and Trulliber’s pigsty confer-
ence, Adams’s encounter with the pan of hog’s blood and the
tub of water, or the mistakes by night at Booby Hall.

But for all its practical jests and Spanish inspiration “Joseph
Andrews” is not picaresque. The hero and his Fanny are
impeccable, and although Lady Booby and Slipslop, her
maid, bid fair to prove lax in virtue, it is all in the way of in-
clination hinted at, instead of performance broadly described.
Even the amours recounted in the history of Betty the Cham-
bermaid are prosecuted for the satisfaction of passion rather
than for any hope of gain. The chief reminiscences of the
picaresque type consist in the menial station of Joseph, Slip-
slop, and Fanny, and the peripatetic character of the adven-
tures. But the latter are lacking in roguery, and the parody
upon Richardson compelled the former. Only in the story of
Joseph’s father ” is there an approach to a career of rascality.

Fielding’s “Miscellanies” of the next year, however, con-
tained two picaresque fictions. The first was the “Journey
From This World to the Next,” a fantasy supposedly found
in manuscript in a stationer’s attic and approved by Parson
Adams.* It describes the adventures of a soul proceeding at
death to the other world along with jolly spirits in a coach.

The soul passes through the City of Diseases, visits the Palace of
Death and a Wheel of Fortune that determines the lot of those about

1 Searron is referred to, together with Gil Blas and the Paysan parvenu,
in bk. iii, ch. 1; Don Quixote receives mention in bk. ii, ch, 16, and in
bk. iii, chs. 1, 9.

2 Bk. iii, ch. 3.

® Probably suggested by a contemporary imitation of Quevedo, entitled
Cardinal Fleury’s Journey to the Other World, April, 1743.
302 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

to be born, and reaching Elysium meets the distinguished dead, —
Homer with Mme. Dacier in his lap, Virgil with Mr. Addison
under his arm, Shakespeare and Milton, Adam and Cesar in friendly
arley.

Then Julian the Apostate takes the floor, and through all but one
of the remaining chapters relates the story of his transmigrations. He
has experienced incarnations as slave, Jew, general, heir, carpenter,
beau, monk, fiddler, wise-man, king, fool, prince, beggar, statesman,
soldier, tailor, alderman, poet, knight, and dancing-master. At each
of his deaths, Minos has sent him scampering back to earth to do
further penance, until as Bishop Latimer, his martyrdom has been
deemed sufficient expiation of the sins done in the flesh.

It is in the device of satire upon estates through transmigra-
tions in lieu of successive employments that Fielding recalls
the “Siglo Pitagérico” of Enriquez Gémez. The adventures
are roguish also. Julian as slave intrigues with his master’s
wife. As helper to a heathen priest, he assists in conveying away
sacrifices, which the credulous assume their deities to have
devoured. As carpenter he is guilty of fraud in measuring his
work; as fiddler he discourses music while his mother picks
the pockets of the auditors; as wise-man he is hypocrite; and
as king of Spain he befools his armies with a claptrap vision
of St. James, which brings victory. In the parts of states-
man and alderman his craft is necessarily great, and as a
Roman beggar he assumes the countenance miserable and
the voice lamentable.

More picaresque, however, was the second fiction of the
“Miscellanies,” the well-known “Life of the Late Mr. Jona-
than Wild the Great.” It may easily have preceded “Joseph
Andrews” in the writing, for it is further removed from the
novel in substance and in treatment. Purporting to be the bio-
graphy of the actual rascal who had terrorized London in the
early decades of the century, and whose career Defoe among
others had celebrated, it was rather a satire upon the assump-
FIELDING 303

tion that greatness and goodness are necessarily allied. It
also burlesqued heroic romance. When the anti-hero at sea
in a leaky skiff leaps overboard to end it all, only to be “ mir-
aculously within two minutes after replaced in his boat,”
Fielding remarks, “And this without the assistance of a dol-
phin or a seahorse, or any other fish or animal, who are always
as ready at hand when a poet or historian pleases to call for
them to carry a hero through the sea, as any chairman at
a coffee-house door near St. James’s, to convey a beau over
a street, and preserve his white stockings.” At the end of a
chapter of such banter, he explains that Wild merely changed
his mind and climbed back into the boat.

Even more obvious is the burlesque of the criminal pam-
phlet, which no doubt gave rise to the satire upon greatness
divorced from goodness. For through the whole array of such ~ ?
pamphlets rogues had been hailed in all seriousness as heroes.
Their achievements and abilities had been extolled,’ and the
irony of Fielding consists in aping the grandiloquence of the
criminal pamphlet, yet so overcharging it as to make his reader
reverse the usual process and fall to detesting what is praised
and sympathizing with what is condemned.

Two groups of personages were devised to accomplish this
end; one including the rascals,— Wild and his comrades,
La Ruse, Bob Bagshot, the Snap Family, Fireblood, and
Blueskin; the other composed of the honorable Heartfree fam-
ily and Friendly. The machinations of Wild against Heart-
free and their ultimate defeat make up the plot, which is
decorated with minor villainies serving to emphasize the ironic
idea of greatness and the perfidy of every rogue toward every

1 Captain Johnson’s Lives of Highwaymen (1734) had shown Wild medi-
tating self-destruction and being moved thereto by ‘‘ the examples of the
famous Heroes of Antiquity.”
304 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

other. Throughout, the ironic praise of the wicked finds its
balance in ironic dispraise of the good, and neither character
nor plot is of importance as compared with this central pur-
pose.

Jonathan Wild, descended from Longfinger, a pickpurse and one
of Falstaff’s ragged regiment, early discovers the antiquity of Prig-
gism, and indulges in a course of picaresque reading. “Thus the
Spanish Rogue was his favourite book, and the Cheats of Scapin his
favourite play.” He is first presented, however, in maturity as the friend
of the imprisoned Count La Ruse, for whom his jailer has so high
a regard that, “using only the precaution of keeping his doors well
locked and barred,” he “took his prisoner’s word that he would not
go forth.” Wild is a favored frequenter of this house of detention and
an admirer of the deputy bailiff’s daughter, the chaste Laetitia Snap,
who rejects his advances only to release from the closet another ad-
mirer as soon as this one has fled. Wild himself indulges in an amour
with a certain Miss Molly, not being one of those “tainted with that
mean, base, low vice or virtue as it is called of constancy.” He plays
at cards, organizes a band to plunder the winner, reflects on greatness,
and divides mankind into “those who use their own hands, and those
who employ the hands of others. The former are the base and the
rabble; the latter, the genteel part of creation.” Equipped with this
philosophy, he is prepared to practice through others the series of
frauds now perpetrated upon the guileless Heartfree.

The latter is a jeweler, an old schoolmate of Wild’s, “withal so silly
a fellow that he never took the least advantage of the ignorance of his
customers, and contented himself with very moderate gains on his
goods.” His wife is a “mean-spirited, poor, domestic, low-bred animal,
who confined herself mostly to the care of her family, placed her hap-
piness in her husband and her children, and followed no expensive
fashions or diversions.” Through a series of intrigues and accidents,
Wild obtains possession of Heartfree’s jewels, fathers the crime on
an enemy, who is hanged by the help of false witnesses, and sees the
jeweler carried off to Bailiff Snap’s after a scene of tenderness with
his wife “too low and contemptible to be recounted to our great
readers.”

Wild’s schemes are next played against Mrs. Heartfree. He lures
her to sea, pretending that her husband desires her flight to Holland.
FIELDING 305

In a storm he makes violent love to her, and she is only saved by the
Captain. Wild is set adrift in a skiff as punishment, and the vessel that
rescues him he seeks to betray to the enemy. Having returned to Lon-
don, he plans to consummate Heartfree’s ruin, on the principle that
men hate those they injure because they fear retaliation after dis-
covery.

But the jeweler, who is without one spark of greatness, refuses to
escape at Wild’s offer of aid, and even thanklessly brings suit against
the latter for spiriting away his wife. A few primed witnesses turn the
case against Heartfree, who, accused of felony and embezzling, lan-
guishes in Newgate and is condemned to be hanged. Then Mrs. Heart-
free returns to tell a rather silly tale of persecution in foreign lands by
successive admirers, among whom has been La Ruse. From him she
has recovered her husband’s lost jewels, and to complete their happi-
ness a reprieve arrives. “ Yet lest our reprieve should seem to resemble
that in ‘The Beggar’s Opera,’” says Fielding, he will vouch for it as
perfectly natural. “‘We would rather have suffered half mankind to be
hanged than have saved one, contrary to the strictest rules of writing
and probability.”

As to Wild, his star is no longer in the ascendant. In vain has he
preached to his henchmen the nice rules of honor. They persist in
withholding from him part of their booty. Moreover, the chaste Lae-
titia, wedded in rapture, turns termagant and worse. “ A learned judge
frames a law making it capital in a Prig to steal with the hands of
other people, a law so plainly calculated for the destruction of all prig-
gish greatness that it was indeed impossible for our hero to avoid it.”
So Newgate receives him with open arms. He prepares for his trial,
“not like Socrates with patience and resignation, but with a good
number of false witnesses;” yet, alas, to no purpose. Wild proceeds
to the consummation of human greatness, the gallows, where the multi-
tude is so ravished with his grandeur as to salute him with missiles that
hasten the Ordinary’s last offices. Nevertheless, Wild contrives to
pick the parson’s pocket of a bottle-screw before being turned off.

In all this ironic chronicle the Jonathan Wild of history
emerges but faintly. His agency for the receipt and return
of stolen goods, his practices of schooling neophytes to adroit-
ness in thievery, and informing on them for blood-money,
and the fact of his having been stabbed in revenge by Blue-
306 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

skin are the only features of the picture that render it a por-
trait. Characterization is nowhere attempted, and the exam-
ple of Defoe in studying conscience is not followed, although
in the absurd adventures of Mrs. Heartfree among the sav-
ages, the exploits of Defoe’s travelers under similar condi-
tions may be burlesqued. The good remain mere masks; the
wicked, though possessing more life, are caricatures. Yet the
mock heroic description of Miss Laetitia is excellent, and
Blueskin cannot fail to amuse with his lordly “contempt of
those ridiculous distinctions of Meum and Tuum, which would
cause endless disputes, did not the law happily decide them
by converting both into Suum.” Similar touches of general
satire are frequent. ‘The Newgate Ordinary condemns Heart-
free to perdition for saying that he believes a sincere Turk
will be saved. When Heartfree is falsely accused, notwith-
standing his former virtuous behavior, “this story of his em-
bezzling was so far from surprising his neighbors, that many
of them declared they expected no better from him.”

The story is marked by but little realistic observation. Be-
yond a few cant terms, prison scenes, and character descrip-
tions, it is woven from airy fancy. It lacks traditional cheats
and jests. Not a clever piece of roguery is borrowed from
the classic collections, and nothing that Wild does is notable
as a device. Further, it fails to appropriate the Spanish pic-
aresque scheme of the service of masters. Free, then, from most
of the traits of the standard romance of roguery, this work
is a study in irony. Never for more than a moment can the
reader forget that behind these puppets is the author, ma-
nipulating them to produce a desired’ effect, extravagantly
decrying their virtues and commending their villainies on
the ground that “as we are to record the actions of a great
man, so we have nowhere mentioned any spark of goodness.”
FIELDING 307

Yet the English instinct for morality is everywhere present,
and the anti-hero’s fifteen rules of a picaro, which correspond
to King Charles’s virtuous twelve, are overturned in the au-
thor’s closing reflection that, “while it is in the power of every
man to be perfectly honest, not one in a thousand is capable
of being a complete rogue.”

In his preface to “Joseph Andrews,” Fielding had formu-
lated his theory of the comic prose epic. It should substitute
a light fable for a grave one, amusing sentiments for the sub-
lime, and inferior characters for those of superior rank. Its
shafts of ridicule should be directed at vanity and hypocrisy.
Vices it should present, since to picture life without them must
be difficult if not impossible, but they should at no time con-
stitute the principal figures upon the scene, or be shown as
causes habitually existing in the mind.

This theory found its complete exemplification only in 1749
with the publication of “The History of Tom Jones, a Found-
ling.” Here the form chanced upon by Fielding in his first
fiction was brought to perfection. The plot was highly organ-
ized and manipulated with artistic freedom; the characters
were multiplied, well developed, and vital; and life was sur-
veyed with the toleration of a humorist rich in experience of
the world. The inspiration of “Don Quixote” remained po-
tent, especially in the quality of humor and in the person of
Partridge, but it was now an influence diffused.

Similarly diffused and transformed was the contribution of
the picaresque novel. For if Jones contrasts with the hero
of romance by being human, he contrasts with the picaresque
anti-hero by being humane. He is warm-hearted and gener-
ous, but he is also weak-willed and something of a scapegrace.
He is a compromise between the picaro and the hero, intended
by his creator to set forth humanity in the average. The satire
308 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

of the novel is expended upon individual types rather than upon
professions, and the service of masters as its instrument is
discarded. The comic spirit here rises from farce to the high-
est comedy of character; realism subserves the ends of art,
and the field of observation is wider than that of any pica-
resque novel. Romantic love, too, plays a conspicuous part;
morality is made a matter of motive rather than of conformity
to external prescription; and in lieu of giving a frightful ex-
ample to warn the reader into avoiding evil courses, Fielding
teaches sympathy with virtue, contempt for meanness, and
indulgence for frailties.

“Tom Jones” indeed, though it could scarcely have come
into being without picaresque predecessors, transcends them
all, and cannot itself be ranked with the literature of roguery,
notwithstanding such dramatis persone as Blifil, Thwackum,
and Square, Lady Bellaston, and Ensign Northerton. Nor
can Fielding’s last novel, “Amelia” (1751), be credited to the
genre. Yet this story of the magnanimity of a heroine who
sacrifices every prospect for a husband unworthy of her re-
calls the romance of roguery in many scenes of low-life. Cap-
tain Booth is even less of a hero than Jones, and his infidelity
to Amelia is shocking. That he should be thrown into prison
unjustly and bullied by jail-birds and keepers whose interest
can only be bought, is small excuse for his prompt yielding
to the wiles of a fellow prisoner and former acquaintance,
Miss Matthews. Although constantly bolstered up by a kind
benefactor, Booth gambles, runs in debt, and declines to the
spunging-house. But his wife, besieged by lovers and aware
of her husband’s intrigue, never wavers in devotion, sells her
clothes and her children’s for his sake, and when he drinks
or throws away the proceeds, sweetly forgives. At length, a
pickpocket and the scheming lawyer who have conspired
SMOLLETT 309

with Amelia’s wicked sister in keeping her out of an estate are
brought to bay, and Amelia, enriched, shares her fortune with
the most contrite and least deserving of husbands.

3. Smollett

Where Fielding had acknowledged dependence upon Cer-
vantes, Tobias George Smollett, his less able rival, confessed
to the inspiration of Le Sage. The preface to his first novel,
“The Adventures of Roderick Random” (1748), praised
“Gil Blas” as describing the knavery and foibles of life with
infinite humor and sagacity. It contended, however, that the
anti-hero’s transitions from distress to happiness, and from
happiness to distress, are too sudden greatly to move the reader,
and that at best mirth rather than compassion is excited.

Such caviling came with ill grace from one so little a master
of emotion as Smollett, yet he professed to be able to do these
things better. He would accept Le Sage’s plan, and alter his
execution wherever the situations were uncommon, extrava-
gant, or peculiar to France or Spain. In reality, Smollett fell
far short of his model. Compassion was just what he failed to
arouse. His mirth was oftenest a loud guffaw at the expense
of buffoons in trouble, and his satire was rough and angry.
Though he relied on the picaresque formula, he used it but
clumsily, and the worth of his novels consists less in their form
and spirit than in their matter.

This is peculiarly the case with “Roderick Random,” which
embodies so much of Smollett’s own experience. Roderick’s
early life is a hard one.

Born of a marriage displeasing to his grandfather, he is scourged
unjustly, abused by his grandfather’s heir, and after some schooling,
goes to serve a surgeon, whose maid of all work by a false charge forces
him to flight with her master’s connivance. Accompanied by Strap,
310 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

an old school fellow, he flits from inn to inn toward London, meeting
experiences that savor of the ‘‘ Roman Comique” in endless mistakes at
night, and encountering the inevitable highwaymen and cheating land-
lords.

In London the fate of the pair is that of guileless rustics. They are
laughed at, spattered by coachmen, bullied at an ale-house, and gulled
at a public. Then Strap secures a place at a periwig-maker’s, and Rod-
erick devotes his time to seeing the town and seeking appointment as
surgeon’s mate in the navy. The trifling, red tape, importunate de-
mands for money, and ridiculous examination he suffers discourage
him, and he enters service with an apothecary. Here he learns the
art of making up prescriptions that lack every honest ingredient, and
observes the wiles of his master’s daughter and her cheating lover.
When he tries a fine match for himself, it is only to find his Miss Wil-
liams a lady of easy virtue, with a picaresque past.

A new series of adventures commences with Roderick’s seizure by a
press gang, and his being kidnapped aboard the man-of-war Thun-
der. Now he becomes surgeon’s assistant, but life afloat proves a round
of horrors, what with bad quarters, nauseating food, a brute for surgeon,
a bully for midshipman, and a devil for captain. The sick are treated
without humanity. The dropsical are sent to the shrouds, consump-
tives to the pumps, and when Jack Rattlin falls from the yard and
breaks his leg, Dr. Macshane can be prevented from amputating it
only at the pistol’s point. Roderick himself is stapled to the deck and
kept there during an engagement; kind-hearted Thomson leaps over-
board crazed by ill-treatment; the chaplain goes mad from drink; and
only proud Morgan the Welshman, who owes not a little to Shake-
speare’s Fluellen, can lighten this picture of the English navy at its
worst.

Random is wrecked on returning to England, but secures a place
as servant to a poetess. He makes love to her niece, Narcissa, is put
to flight bya rival, and taking refuge in France, is robbed by a Capuchin
and abused by innkeepers. Joining the Picardy regiment, he cam-
paigns in Germany, and meeting his old friend Strap, parades as the
latter’s master, and returns to London, hoping to entrap an heiress.

The life of the town is now satirized upon a higher level than before,
and the wits of the Bedford Coffee-House, the elegant Melinda, an
amorous earl, and fine society in general are flayed. Roderick at
Bath encounters Beau Nash and Narcissa, fights another of his many
SMOLLETT 311

duels, loses at play, and in London, after cheating expedients, declines
to the Marshalsea. Upon being released, he embarks on a slaving
voyage to South America ; his father turns up immensely rich; Rod-
erick marries Narcissa; Strap weds her maid, the reformed Miss
Williams ; and all ends happily.

Very little is made here of the service of masters. Roder-
ick, despite his employments with the surgeon, the apothe-
cary, and the poetess, is chiefly an adventurer. He is the per-
son to whom things happen; he lacks fixed character, and is
not even a rogue consistently. Though ready for every prank
and dissipation, and knowing no qualms of conscience, he is
really admired by Smollett as a fine, high-spirited youth en-
gaged in sowing wild oats. His physical courage and vivacity
are made to atone for his lack of morality, and he is never
condemned as a rascal. Other persons, however, like Miss
Williams the courtesan, Beau Jackson the poor devil spung-
ing for favors, Rourk Oregan the Irish fortune-hunter, Banter
who confesses to “having subsisted many years entirely by
his wit,” and Melopyn the poet of the Marshalsea, are excellent
picaresque types. Love is a mere device for ending the story
with a marriage, and plot and character-development count
for nothing. But the scenes and the whimsical folk Roderick
paints so graphically are the novel’s great contribution. In
the study of life at sea, a whole province is added to fiction;
and the blustering salt, Tom Bowling, who appears but too
seldom to unravel the knots that defy Roderick’s skill, and to
cut his sea capers and talk his sea jargon, is the father of all
delectable tars in literature.

For single incidents, Smollett was as largely indebted to
«Joseph Andrews” as to Scarron or Le Sage. But Fielding’s

1 Cf. Roderick’s notebook kept in Greek characters (ch. xxx), from

Joseph Andrews, book ii, ch. 10; Roderick’s being hunted with dogs by
his grandfather’s heir (ch. ii), from Joseph Andrews, bk. iii, ch. 6; Rod-
312 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

superior performance in “Tom Jones” seems to have served
him very little in “The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle” (1751).
Though written in the third person, this lacks even the unity
of “Random,” and relies far more on burlesque and the satire
of personal enemies. The early chapters are amusing if over-
detailed, but the story scarce holds together after the intro-
duction in the third volume of the “Memoirs of a Lady of
Quality,” an account of Frances Hawes, afterwards Lady
Vane, who is twice married and boasts many lovers.

Peregrine himself is adopted by Commodore Trunnion, that merry
grotesque, who, with Lieutenant Jack Hatchway and simple Thomas
Pipes, lives in the “garrison’’ as if at sea. After waggish pranks on
the Commodore, Peregrine goes to the Continent in charge of a tutor,
whose life he proceeds to make miserable. Pallet, a painter, is also his
butt, and the “Roman Comique” inspires many farcical scenes. Con-
fusions at inns by night, amorous intrigues discovered by accident, dupes
persuaded that they are ill or under arrest, and quarrels fomented that
cowards may duel, make up the fun.

Then Peregrine returns to England, and bestows his attention upon
gamesters and the cheating physicians of Bath. He meets a picaresque
misanthrope, Cadwallader Crabtree, who like Guzman de Alfarache
has been robbed of his luggage by servants at Bologna, and like
Le Sage’s Estevanille has barely escaped an auto da jé in Portugal.
“Tn short,” says Crabtree, “I have travelled over the greatest part of
Europe as a beggar, pilgrim, priest, soldier, gamester, and quack;
and felt the extreme of indigence and opulence, with the inclemency
of the weather in all its vicissitudes. I have learned that the characters
of mankind are everywhere the same: that commen sense and honesty
bear an infinitely small proportion to folly and vice; and that life is at
best a paltry province.”

With this philosopher Peregrine sets up a fortune-telling establish-
ment in order to subject the town to ridicule, a device borrowed from
such character-books as “The Man in the Moone Telling Strange

erick’s endeavors to overcome bribery in securing a place in the navy
(chs. xvi-xvili), foreshadowed by the story of the ale-house keeper in
Joseph Andrews, bk. ii, ch. 17 ; and Melopyn’s story of literary disappoint-
ments (chs. Lxii, lxiii), from Wilson’s tale in Joseph Andrews, bk. iii, ch. 3.
SMOLLETT 313

Fortunes” (1609) and the more fully developed “ Wandering Jew Tell-
ing Fortunes to Englishmen” (1649). Ill-connected adventures follow.
Nothing can damp Peregrine’s ardor for practical jests. By respond-
ing to two advertisements requesting loans, he leads each borrower to
take the other for a lender. He buys a beggar girl that he may teach
her, parrot-like, sentences from Shakespeare, Otway, and Pope; and
as a crowning jest he joins a college of authors. Arrested for debt and
confined in the Fleet, he hears accounts of the capture of each of his
fellows, which echo Captain Smith’s “Lives and Adventures of Bay-
liffs.” The narrative proper revives only when kind-hearted Hatch-
way and Pipes come to take up their lodgings in the Fleet in order
to bear Peregrine company. At the death of his father he inherits a
fortune and weds his Emilia, whom earlier he has tried to abduct.

In plan and incidents this novel is a reflection of its prede-
cessor. Pipes is a second Strap, Trunnion a more comical
Bowling, Peregrine a more profligate Roderick. The haphaz-
ard succession of events leads here to the Fleet, as there to the
Marshalsea; and happiness in both is achieved through no
skill or merit of the anti-hero, but by gods out of the machine
in the persons of wealthy fathers and willing brides. In “Pere-
grine Pickle,” however, the service of masters has vanished;
no personage moves with any purpose; the journey to France,
though based upon Smollett’s own trip with Dr. John Moore
in quest of novelistic material, but poorly supplies the place
of Roderick’s voyage in the Thunder; and the story is diffuse.
Peregrine commits more rogueries for pure mischief than
Roderick, but is even less of a picaro. He excites no sympathy,
for he struggles against no odds. Moreover, he is malicious
and depraved.

Smollett had condoned the faults of Peregrine and of
Roderick, but his “Adventures of Ferdinand, Count Fathom”
(1758) deliberately conjured up a rascal to arouse the reader’s
detestation, and to serve as a “beacon for the benefit of the
unexperienced and unwary.” The idea was fathered in part
314 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

by Fielding’s “Jonathan Wild,” and in part by foreign models.
With regard to the latter, the opening chapter complains of
readers who are offended at low-life characters of home growth,
yet “who delight in following Guzman de Alfarache through
all the mazes of squalid beggary; who with pleasure accom-
pany Don Quixote and his squire in the lowest paths of fortune;
who are diverted with the adventures of Scarron’s ragged
troop of strollers; and are highly entertained with the servile
situations of ‘Gil Blas.’” Somewhat later the author refers
to a French chevalier as “an odd sort of a man, a kind of
Lazarillo de Tormes, a caricatura.”

It was only in the account of Fathom’s mother, however,
that the Spanish picaresque spirit really prevailed.

The lady is a liquor-dispensing baggage of the army, so fond of a
soldier that she never knows which of a company the lad’s father may
be. She bears him about strapped in a knapsack at her back, balancing
a keg of Geneva before, and gives him the name of a German trooper.
In peace she keeps a cabaret in Prague, and in war traverses the field
of battle with a poniard and a bag, like Hugo’s Madame Thénardier,
relieving the wounded at once of their pains and their property. On
one occasion she saves the life of a nobleman, reflecting that he will
doubtless reward her, and to him she consigns her Ferdinand. Ere
long she falls on the field of glory, laden down with the enemy’s spoils,
but shot by a wounded hussar she had been seeking to relieve — of his
valuable standard.

Although so much of the story has the right Spanish ring,
it soon loses humor and becomes a record of mediocre frauds.
Smollett grows more and more vexed with the monster of his
making, until at last he exclaims, “Perfidious wretch! thy
crimes turn out so atrocious that I half repent me of having
undertaken to record thy memoirs.” After this, whatever of
interest remains centres in the melodrama of injured innocence
triumphing over the machinations of the wicked.
SMOLLETT 815

Fathom’s boyhood is passed as page to the young Renaldo, Count
de Melville. He pilfers his master’s exercises at school, and makes love
to his master’s sister out of it. When rebuffed, he courts the lady’s
waiting maid, and connives to steal her mistress’s jewels and cast sus-
Picion on another. His philosophy of life is complete at eighteen.
“He had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded that the
sons of men preyed upon one another, and such was the end and con-
dition of their being.”

Accompanying Renaldo to Venice, Fathom intrigues with the wife
and the daughter of a jeweler. Then as a soldier he feigns illness to
escape active service, gallops off and fires a pistol that he may appear
to have been captured by the enemy, and when actually taken by the
French, professes to be a deserter to their side. After harrowing ad-
ventures, he reaches Paris, assumes the title of count, succumbs at cards
to a pair of English swindlers, relieves a distressed Spaniard of his
jewels, and crosses over to England.

For a time his rise is rapid, because the natives of the island are so
jealous of their liberties ‘that they will not bear the restraint of necessary
police, and an able artist may enrich himself with their spoils, without
running any risk of attracting the notice of the magistrate, or incurring
the least penalty of the law.’’ He manufactures false Cremonas, palms
off gems at extravagant values, plays havoc with the hearts of the ladies,
and for one season reigns paramount at Bristol Well. The tide then
turns, and through the suit of an irate husband Fathom goes to jail.

From this misfortune he is now released by his old master Renaldo,
who turns up deeply in love with a fair unknown. Fathom needs but
a glimpse of this divinity to determine on securing her for himself.
He prevails upon Renaldo to return to Austria; and the lady, thus
deserted, endures every persecution ingenuity can suggest, and sinks
into an untimely grave.

At least, Smollett does his best to convince the reader that this hap-
pens, picturing ber tormentor gloating over her “sable hearse adorned
with white plumes as emblems of Monimia’s purity.” The lady is very
much alive, however, and after Renaldo has tardily realized Fathom’s
perfidy and returned to lament at her tomb, she suddenly appears to
him, and a joyous marriage ensues. Fathom, in the meantime, has played
the quack and husband to ill purpose, so he repents and is forgiven.

This novel is distinguished among picaresque fictions by
316 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

several noteworthy traits. It boasts a close-woven plot, and
personages encountered at different stages of the action are
carefully drawn into relationship. ‘Thus, the tragic tale of
the Spaniard, Don Diego de Zelos, exiled from home after
having, as he believes, poisoned his wife and daughter and
stabbed the latter’s lover, seems a mere interpolated narra-
tive like those in “Gil Blas;” yet it proves an essential of the
whole. For Zelos is discovered to be the long-lost father of
Monimia; the lover was Renaldo in disguise; the ladies prove
to have been simply stupefied, not killed; and the father’s
victim was not Renaldo, but a robber. These secrets are kept
to the close, and the author is further at pains to unite repentant
Fathom in marriage with one of his early victims, and to
pair off the now widowed Don Diego with the lady who has
shielded Monimia in distress.

Insistence on the Gothic differentiates the tale still further
from previous picaresque fiction. Melodrama colors not only
plot and episodes, but the style. Fathom on his way to Paris,
seeking refuge by night from a storm, is locked by a beldame
into a loft, where he discovers beneath some straw a corpse yet
warm. Never doubting that his own murder is intended, he
disrobes the body, lays it on the bed, and hides, with pistols
cocked, to await developments. “About midnight he heard
the sound of feet ascending the ladder; the door was softly
opened; he saw the shadow of two men stalking towards the
bed; a dark lanthorn being unshrouded, directed their aim to
the supposed sleeper; and he that held it thrust a poniard
to his heart; the force of the blow made a compression on the
chest, and a sort of groan issued from the windpipe of the
defunct.”

So well has the adventurer on this occasion learned the
lesson of terror, that at another time, in order to ruin a young
SMOLLETT 317

girl, he plays upon her nervous fears with groans and rappings
and the music of an Aolian harp, until, terrified, she claims
his insidious protection.

The climax in Gothic episode is reached when Monimia,
supposed by Renaldo to be dead, appears to him as a ghost.
“The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined
battlement, the door was opened by the sexton, who by the
light of a glimmering taper conducted the despairing lover to
a dreary aisle, and stamped upon the ground with his foot,
saying, ‘Here the young lady lies interred.’”

Then in the spirit of that literature of melancholy to which
Blair, Parnell, Young, and Hervey had paid their tearful trib-
ute, Renaldo punctuates the night with rhythmic rhapsodies.
A few solemn notes sound from the organ; Renaldo shivers
“at this awful salutation ;*’ and the phantom appears. “He
heard the voice of his Monimia call Renaldo! Thrice he es-
sayed to answer: as oft his tongue denied its office. His hair
stood upright, and a cold vapour seemed to thrill through
every nerve.” The outpourings of poetic prose with which
he salutes the apparition are received quite sensibly by Mo-
nimia, who “sunk down upon achair,and with a sigh exclaimed,
“Indeed, this is too much!’ ”

Smollett is never more ridiculous than when, forsaking his
true field of realistic portraiture, he indulges in sentiment.
Renaldo, reunited with Monimia, “ravished a banquet from
her glowing lips, that kindled in his heart a flame which rushed
through every vein and glided to his marrow.” When he enters
his bride’s apartment it is “like a lion rushing on his prey.”
The high emotional dialogue is invariably unreal, and even
sober descriptions are couched in fustian and mock-Shake-
spearean phrases.

Such a strain was ill suited to satire, and here Smollett’s
318 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

smartest comment concerned the wiles of physicians at Tun-
bridge and London. Ferdinand as one of the fraternity keeps
a chariot, drives about as if on errands of mercy, arranges
to be summoned from church, and inserts the news of his cures
in the papers. But, when nature can no longer hold out against
his potions, and disaster threatens, he pretends an accident that
leads to dispensing with the chariot, excuses the dismissal of
the footman by alleging his drunkenness, and explains with-
drawal into a quiet court as a relief from the noise of the avenue.
Compared with the widely distributed satire of “Gil Blas”
or of “Guzman de Alfarache,” such sallies are insignificant;
and Fathom’s ingenuity in tricks is even slighter than his
satiric power. His rival, Ratchcali the Tyrolese rogue, and
the English swindlers in Paris are no abler, and the eccentrics
of the London jail are devoid of cleverness, despite their devo-
tion to such masterpieces as “the adventures of Loveill, Lady
Frail, George Edwards, Joe Thompson, Bampfylde-Moore
Carew, Young Scarron, and Miss Betsy Thoughiless.”” Ratch-
cali, indeed, points out the opportunities afforded by the me-
tropolis to the scheming valet de chambre, the empiric or opera-
tor for the teeth, the rascal violinist, and the false foreign count;
yet none of these is minutely described.

The novel remains a story of fanciful villainy crowned by
the superimposed contrition of the wicked and the miraculous
triumph of the good. Its morality is external, its world unreal.
It is a fiction neither of manners nor of character; it deserves
to be remembered, however, as the most conspicuous ancestor
of the modern penny-dreadful.

A year after the issue of “Roderick Random” Smollett
had produced the authoritative translation of “Gil Blas,” ! and

1 Le Sage’s masterpiece had already appeared in English dress in 1737
and in 1744. Smollett’s translation saw a dozen editions in the eighteenth
SMOLLETT 319

two years after the publication of “Fathom” he did “Don
Quixote” into English, following in the footsteps of Shelton,
Motteux, and Jervas. But his imitation of Cervantes, “The
Adventures of Sir Launcelot Greaves” (1762), was foredoomed
to failure. Smollett anticipated the objection of his critics
when he made Ferret declare to Sir Launcelot, “what was a
humourous romance and well-time satire in Spain near two
hundred years ago, will make but a sorry jest, and appear
equally insipid and absurd, when really acted from affecta-
tion at this time of day in a country like England.” The scenes
among which the knight and his squire progress are realistic
enough, and Captain Crowe, fresh from the sea but allured.
to knight-errantry, is of the diverting family of Bowling and
Trunnion. Yet the novel at best is a parody that burlesques
the incidents and fails to comprehend the spirit of its original.

A more picaresque fiction followed in “The History and Ad-
ventures of an Atom” (1769), imitating Fielding’s “Journey
From This World to the Next,” though describing the migra-
tions of an atom instead of those of a soul. Smollett pays poor
tribute to Swift in devoting attention to an inane account of
the buffooneries and imbecilities of an unreal Japan, a nation
created in sport by the gods and ruled by the meanest of all
preéxisting spirits.‘ The atom’s later migrations through a
Dutch mariner, a salad, an English supercargo, a duck, and
century, and versions of the novel were given by P. Proctor in 1774, by
Martin Smart in 1807, and by B. H. Malkin in 1809. Of Le Sage’s other
fictions, The Devil upon Two Sticks appeared in 1708, and The Devil upon
Crutches in 1759, both with frequent reprints ; Lockman presented The
Bachelor of Salamanca in 1737, and it was re-done by Townsend in 1825;
The Adventures of Chevalier de Beauch was issued in 1745, and The
History of Vanillo Gonzalez in 1792.

1 Pitt and Bute were assailed here as Orator Taycho and as Yak-Strot
respectively. A key to the satire’s political significance appeared in A

Second Journey Round the Library of a Bibliomaniac (1825), by William
Davis. napa

 
320 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

the father of the editor of its memoirs, as well as the adven-
tures of several souls, recall the “Siglo Pitagdrico.”

In “The Expedition of Humphry Clinker” (1771) Smollett
still held to the peripatetic notion, but his description of a
journey by means of the letters of five different persons was
a happy invention, calculated to broaden the humor and to
lay stress upon character in lieu of incident. The picaresque
scheme in this most genial of its author’s fictions was thus
relinquished, and bustle, bluster, and horseplay declined in
importance. If Miss Tabitha Bramble and her gaunt Lieuten-
ant Lismahago are portraits inthe burlesque style of Quevedo,
and if the jests upon the latter and Mr. Justice Frogmore, or the
confusion caused by fire at an inn, are souvenirs of Scarron,
roguery has sunk to low ebb. Humphry possesses the varied
talents of a picaro, makes as many blunders as the German
jesters, and moralizes like the Spanish Alonso; but when jailed
on suspicion of being a road-knight he simply exhorts his fel-
lows to repentance. The highwayman who desires to reform
is only the inverted ghost of a picaro; and Lismahago’s early
adventures in America as captive to the Indians, and finally
as sachem of the Badger Tribe, but faintly revive those of Le
Sage’s Chevalier de Beauchéne. Smollett had outgrown the
picaresque form, although he could not forget picaresque
episodes. Had he lived longer he would scarcely have contrib-
uted more to the literature of roguery. There are few, however,
who have contributed so much.

4. Imitators and Innovators
Laurence Sterne broke with the picaresque tradition, and
never drew a rogue. The merely external eccentricities beloved
of Smollett became with him whimsicalities of the mind. The
Cervantine influence, instead of producing the capers of a
STERNE 321

Launcelot Greaves, gave birth to the temperamentally incom-
mensurable Walter Shandy and Uncle Toby. Character re-
vealed in dialogue, adventure for the sake of the adventurer’s
moods and emotions, travel with the eye turned inward rather
than outward, mark Sterne’s fiction. The “Sentimental Journey”
(1768), with its exquisite art and luxurious play upon the feel-
ings, stands at a far remove from the wanderings of any picaro;
and even the wild buffoonery of the author and his characters in
“Tristram Shandy” (1759-67) fails to resemble the practical
jests of earlier picaresque literature. Uncle Toby the guileless
and generous, Corporal Trim, Widow Wadman, Mrs. Shandy,
Le Fevre, and the rest, live quite apart from the things that they
do, and are fresh and original. Whatever of picaresque influence
Sterne may have felt from Rabelais, Béroalde de Verville, or
Scarron, he makes all his own, and diverts from the channels
of roguery.

Lesser writers, however, did the obvious thing. An anony-
mous piece, attributed to Defoe but out of his usual spirit,
appeared in 1728 as “Street Robberies Consider’d.” This
unpromising title referred only to the last pages, which con-
tained some account of police corruption and the “‘ Warning
for Travellers,” derived from Clavell’s ‘‘Recantation” (1628),
already repeated in ‘“‘The Catterpillers of this Nation” and in
“The English Rogue.” But the body of the work was a smart
picaresque story quite in the vein of Quevedo.

A reformed thief relates the events of his life. His mother was con-
demned for stealing, and because it would be difficult for a weak person
to walk up Holborn Hill it was arranged “ she should be carry’d, with
a suitable attendance to her Quality.” In order to escape she bribed a
jury of matrons to swear she was with child, and then tried to persuade
the divine who visited her to justify their word. Eight pirates happen-

ing to stop at Newgate, they strove all they could to oblige her, and
succeeded among them. In a quarrel his mother wished them hanged,
322 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

“which alas ! came to pass.” says the thief, “for before I came into the
world to rejoice my fathers, they all lovingly swung together at Ex-
ecution Dock without leaving any provision for their posthumous off-
spring.” His mother was pardoned, and the keepers were glad to be
rid of her lest she should lay the child to them. The virtuous lady tied
him in a basket to « knocker in Cornhill, and when he was handed
over to the churchwardens she was so loud in her abuse of the unknown
profligate that they paid her ten pounds to care for him. At nine he
had made some progress in the nimming art, but he was fourteen
before he attempted anything noble. This was cutting the purse of a
fruit-woman, and his mother approved it, saying that a curse attends
idleness.

Henceforth his cheats were unceasing. He pretended to be a cook-
shop’s boy, and accepted money intended for the proprietor. At Smith-
field he followed a courser and his customer to an inn, and being mis-
taken by them for the tap-boy and by the landlord for their servant,
received a note to be changed, and walked off.1_ When his mother
was carried to Tyburn, he sought consolation in a clever mort. They
played the old crosbiting trick upon an amorous Quaker; and with
accomplices as servants, a chariot and six, and a self-imposed title, the
rogue set out for Bath, devising on the way a canting dictionary identi-
cal with that in “The English Rogue.” Out of humanity he relieved a
traveler of his heavy portmanteau; and a sea captain who bragged of
having money that nobody could come at, he outwitted by a false cry
of fire.

Having lost his last penny to gamblers, he discarded his breeches, and,
with their absence concealed by a long coat, rode to an inn. Next
morning he declared that his garments and money had been stolen.
The chamberlain was suspected, and the landlord, to save the reputation
of his house, disbursed several guineas and wiped out the reckoning.?
Despite the rogue’s protest that he and his mort had no business with a
priest save at the cart, and none with a ring save that under the left ear,
the lady insisted that he should marry her. He gave his promise, intend-
ing to break it; but both were taken to Newgate and he was forced to

1 A variation upon tricks in the Histoire générale des larrons (pt. i,
ch. 6),in The English Roque (pt. iii, ch. 18), and in Swalpo.

2 A trick recorded of the actual Colonel Francis Charteris (1675-1732),
Cf. The Lives of Twelve Bad Men (1894), p. 201. Charteris, however,
burned his breeches at the inn.
MISS FIELDING, ARBUTHNOT, AND AMORY 323

comply. They secured release, but the bride fell ill and spoke so mov-
ingly upon her death-bed that the thief turned repentant. His confes-
sions, except that they make no use of the service of masters, might
have been written in Spain in the heyday of rogue romance.

Such rollicking irony was lost upon Sarah Fielding, whose
‘‘ Adventures of David Simple” (1744) borrows the picaresque
form, but misses its spirit. Her David is a virtuous gentleman
of leisure predisposed to believe all men good, and therein con-
stantly disappointed. Having been cheated by his brother, he
sets out in quest of a real friend. He fixes his heart upon a
jeweler’s daughter, only to overhear her debating with a maid
the advisability of rejecting him for a richer suitor. He is every-
where confronted by the desengafio of the Spaniards, yet a
pessimistic conclusion is avoided by his discovery of a knot of
friends, and his marriage to one worthy of him. Though the
satire is occasionally sharp, the novel suffers from lack of hu-
mor, grasp on character, and knowledge of the world. David’s
brother is a rogue, but his autobiography, dictated in repent-
ance to a clergyman, is so moralized that it scarce seems a
part of the literature of roguery.

Two other fictions that partake but slightly of picaresque
elements are the “‘Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus” (1741), by
Swift’s satellite, John Arbuthnot, and the curious history of
“John Buncle” (1756-66), by Thomas Amory, the “English
Rabelais.” The latter contains the adventures of an accom-
plished, eccentric, and much-married Unitarian; the former
laughs at false learning, and shows precocious Martin taught
among other matters “‘an odd and secret manner of stealing ac-
cording to the custom of the Lacedemonians, wherein he suc-
ceeded so well that he practised it till the day of his death.”
Such works contributed to the Shandeian school, as did
“The Sisters” (1754), by the notorious ‘‘macaroni parson,”
324 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

Dr. William Dodd; but most that were picaresque looked to
Smollett as a model.

Foremost in this class was the anonymous “Life and Ad-
ventures of Joe Thompson” (1750). Its account of school life
recalls Quevedo, and prefigures Marryat and Dickens.

Mr. Prosody, the master, is a brute, and his wife is wont “to harangue
plentifully on the salutiferous and grateful nature of soups, and the
excellent properties of mutton dripping, which was, from its healing and °
balsamic qualities, given to us in lieu of butter.” The scholars are all so
oppressed by hunger that they are driven to the robbing of orchards,
and when the offense comes near home are cruelly flogged. Many
crude rogueries are practiced by Thompson, who only escapes from this
place by apprenticeship to a linen draper. Here the usual low-life
adventures succeed. He falls a victim to his master’s serving maid, turns
rake, intrigues with the married, is crosbitten, beaten, and robbed, and,
being left penniless after gaming, seeks refuge at home. But, chancing
to save his master’s son from highwaymen, he gains forgiveness. He
falls in love, is opposed by his lady’s relatives, and, believing her dead,
takes to dissipation, and sinks to a spunging- house and the Fleet. When
released he travels and does business in the East, is captured by the
French, meets many old friends by coincidence, and among them his
devoted Louisa, whom he marries.

In its use of scenes of recognition and interpolated autobiogra-
phies, and in its shift to the Orient, this novel is reminiscent of
“The English Rogue,” but it benefits from the art of Le Sage.
Smollett further inspired “‘The Life and Adventures of John
Connor” (1752), which stole several incidents direct from
“Roderick Random,” and in its Miss Dunn duplicated Miss
Williams. Connor is an Irish rascal who sings: —
I’m Jack the Bachelor, a flashy, roving blade,
And my whole delight is in the smuggling trade.
With Tom Field he outwits the authorities on land and sea,
now by hiding in an empty cask, now by disguising in woman’s
garb. He fights the officers in the open, and defeats their schemes
IMITATORS AND INNOVATORS 325

when they give a coffin full of stones a grand funeral in the hope
that Jack will come forth from concealment to view it.

Satirical studies of various trades, and sketches of low-life
in town, are given in “The Fortunate Imposter; or, the Very
Entertaining Adventures of Dick Hazard ” (1759), whose anti-
hero for amusement dresses as a beggar and interviews suc-
cessively a parson, a sailor, a Frenchman, and a lawyer. He
enters partnership with a professional rogue, and is introduced
to an organization of mendicants. He examines all the haunts
of vice, listens to the life histories of ladies of light virtue, and
while drunk stumbles into an intrigue that ends in a happy
mnarriage.

Four years earlier a different picaro bearing the same name
was celebrated at greater length in “The Adventures of Dick
Hazard.” Here an Irishman expelled from Trinity College,
Dublin, for participation in a blasphemous academy, passes
over to England to achieve a rich marriage. An accomplice
proves faithless, but a lady unhappily wed robs her husband,
and flees with Hazard to France. While voyaging to Italy they
are seized by Barbary pirates, and at Algiers the rogue passes
off the lady as his sister and encourages her to receive their
captor’s advances. In the meantime he himself fascinates the
Moor’s daughter, and escapes with her to London. Being left
a widower, he turns author, and then preacher, and, after the
usual imprisonment for debt, remarries. ‘The incidents of
Moorish captivity echo familiar episodes in the Spanish novels,
and the mysterious veiled lady to whom the adventurer is car-
ried each evening in a chair is a counterpart of one who figures
in Cespedes y Meneses’s “Soldado Pindaro.”* The satire
on authors, however, confided to Metaphor, the chief ballad
master and murder writer of the town, is pure Smollett.

1 Soldado Pindaro, pt. ii, ch. 3. Cf. Massuccio, Il novellino, novella xxvi.
326 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

To the same class, despite its dedication “To Tristram
Shandy, Esq.,” belongs “The History of Tom Fool” (1760).

Tom is taken to the Marshalsea, when a girl for whom he gave bond
decamps, “by mistake packing up his things for her own.” His fellow
prisoners recount their experiences, and the most roguish are those of
John Junior. This fellow’s father, a natural son of Peter the Great,
after consorting with a beggar woman and a tribe of Gypsies, be-
came footboy to a clergyman, and eloped with his daughter. Junior
was born of the match, but the Gypsies objected to his elegance, his
mother ran away, and his father was obliged to undertake a septennial
exile. The young rogue entered service with a puppet-showman, but
his being discovered in a compromising situation with the showman’s
wife “ occasioned some little uneasiness in the family.” The lady slipped
from Junior’s arms to those of a recruiting sergeant, and next to those
of an ensign, who made the rogue his servant. London proved alluring,
and his further adventures satirize the vices of the town. He hears the
picaresque histories of Squire Singleten and Miss Mask, and, although
he falls into the clutches of the law, secures release by a bribe to his
jailer’s wife. After his departure she discovers that the bag of guineas
he has given her is a bag of curtain rings and pewter scrap, and that
ber husband, with whom she has arranged for the rascal’s recapture, has
been outwitted.

Both the incidents and the irony of this fiction derive from
the romance of roguery. ‘‘ We are to live in the world, and dis-
interestedness won’t pay turnpikes” is the book’s philosophy.
“Let me but secure a sufficient dependency,”’ exclaims one
character, ‘‘and I’ll live as virtuous as Penelope; that is Ill
keep up the appearance of it.” In thrusting at idealistic litera-
ture “Tom Fool” is never weary. “I know ’t is against all
rules of romance to mind eating when the distress’d damsel is
going to relate her sorrows,” exclaims the author, “‘but what say
ye ladies? The story won’t cool, the meat may;” and apropos
of pastoral writing it is said that “innocence might go to market
in Arcadia, but in England’s country towns, vice and folly
are as well received as in any parish within the bills of mortality.”
IMITATORS AND INNOVATORS 327

A special phase of the Smollettian novel was imitated in
“The Adventures of a Kidnapped Orphan” (1767), decrying
the system of impressment resorted to in the English army and
navy, and tracing the fortunes at sea and in India of a wealthy
victim of crimps. In the meantime other types of fiction had
been cultivated. Thomas Mozeen’s “Young Scarron” (1752)
had exhibited Will Glitter’s troop of strollers touring England
in emulation of the French journeys of Destin’s company in the
“Roman Comique.” If the interpolated tales of the original are
here rejected, the comic adventures at inns and the romantic
plot remain. Ramble as the Léandre of the piece rescues his
Diana from a libertine, who is promptly forgiven by the lady
and her lover on presenting the following apology: “‘Zounds,
Madam, my design was no worse than what is practis’d every
day. I love a pretty girl, and you, being such, struck my fancy,
and then I us’d my best endeavours to get possession of you.”

Gentlemen of similar morals persecute the heroine of ‘The
History of Betty Barnes” (1753), a child of honest but impov-
erished parents, who begins life by begging, enters service, and
changes mistresses with picaresque facility. Carried off by vio-
lence, she is saved by one villain from the brutality of another.
She retains her virtue, marries, and “‘is now the happy mistress
of a well-regulated family.” Such an obvious descendant of
“Pamela” was soon joined by an imitation of “Clarissa,” en-
titled ‘‘The Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph” (1761), dedi-
cated to Richardson, as ‘“‘a tribute due to exemplary goodness
and distinguished genius when found united in one person.”
The rascals who here harass the heroine are too violent for
rogues, but the realism of an unfortunate conclusion is excused
on the ground that experience shows fewcases of punishments
and rewards properly adjusted in this life, whence may be in-
ferred another life for compensation. Richardson was generally
328. THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

laughed at, however, by the realists, as in “The True Anti-
Pamela” (2d ed. 1770), relating the adventures of a choir-
boy who runs away to Carolina from his master, an organist,
and upon his enforced return is jilted by a lady. The reversal
of the usual male and female réles recalls Fielding’s burlesque
of “Pamela” in “Joseph Andrews,” although a second part,
describing the anti-hero’s cruise against the Spaniards, savors
rather of Smollett.

Ten years before the latter writer’s imitation of ‘Don Quixote”
in “ Launcelot Greaves,” Mrs. Charlotte Lennox had composed
her “Female Quixote ” (1752), satirizing the romance-fed young
lady who applies heroic standards to common life; and ten
years after Smollett’s venture Richard Graves in his ‘‘Spiritual
Quixote” (1772) poked fun at the Methodists through Geoffry
Wildgoose and his cobbler squire, Jeremiah Tugwell. How
plenteously novels, both satiric and romantic, poured from the
press after the middle of the century is attested by George
Colman’s farce, ‘‘Polly Honeycomb” (1760), directed against
circulating libraries, and containing in a preface a list of one
hundred and eighty-two fictions, classified as Adventures, His-
tories, and Memoirs. The great majority of these are the fruit
of a single decade, and the titles of most argue their contents.
Such volumes as “The Accomplished Rake,” “The Female
Rambler,” ‘‘Lady Frail,” ‘“‘The Jilts, or the Female Fortune
Hunters,” “The Intriguing Coxcomb,” “The Man of Plea-
sure,” ‘The Temple Beau, or the Town Rakes,” “Prostitutes
of Quality, or Adultery @ la mode,” ‘The Adventures” of
«« James Ramble,” of “ Will Ramble,” of “Will Hammond,” of
“Jerry Buck,” and of “Jack Smart,” and ‘‘ The Histories ”
of “ Dicky Gotham and Doll Clod,” of ‘‘Jasper Banks,” and
of “Some of the Penitents in the Magdalen House,” deserve
the oblivion into which they have fallen.
GOLDSMITH AND MACKENZIE 329

Yet in more worthy fictions picaresque influence crops out
when least expected. It appears very slightly in “The Vicar of
Wakefield ” (1766), though good Dr. Primrose and his family
are merely the victims of roguery. It was Goldsmith’s privilege
to refine the harsher practice of his predecessors, to avoid the
clownish whimsicality of an Adams or a Trunnion, the violent
and unredeemed villainy of a Lovelace, and the repulsive real-
ism of city life as described by a Random. Accordingly, when
he pictures the sharping trick played upon Moses or the experi-
ences of the Vicar in prison, it is to smile at the boy’s gullibility
and to commend the philanthropist’s zeal. Jenkinson, the amus-
ing swindler who gets the better of the Vicar himself, may de-
clare of the literature of roguery that “‘those relations which
describe the tricks and vices only of mankind, by increasing
our suspicion in life, retard our success;” yet in “The History
of a Philosophic Vagabond” the adventures of the Vicar’s son
George mark the survival of the picaresque tradition. For
George has become, or has tried to become, usher at an acad-
emy, hack author, parasite to a man of fashion, teacher of
English to the Dutch, professor of Greek at Louvain, itinerant
musician, critic of art in Paris, traveling tutor, professional
disputant of university theses, player, and soldier.’

Similarly, the sentimental Mackenzie’s “Man of the World”
(1773) exhibits not a little rascality and low-life. For it shows
Sir Thomas Sindall as the deliberate villain, who, to secure
possession of a clergyman’s daughter, lures her brother into fast
company, makes a gambler of him, and, when he commits a
robbery to retrieve his losses, and is condemned to transporta-

1 Goldsmith’s picaresque leanings are manifest, too, in such papers as
“ A City Night Piece ” in The Bee, and ‘‘ The Adventures of a Strolling
Player’? in The British Magazine, as well as in his translation of the
Roman Comique (1775). The Whole Comical Works of Scarron, issued in
1700 by Thomas Brown, Savage, and others, saw seven editions by 1759.
330 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

tion, feigns friendship for the sister and ruins her. The child
she bears disappears, she and her father die, and years after-
ward Sir Thomas, on the point of outraging a young girl,
discovers that she is his own daughter, and falls by the avenging
hand of the returned convict.

The picaresque form had earlier been extended to include
the adventures of a soul in its transmigrations, and in England
Fielding’s ‘‘ Journey from this World to the Next” had been
anticipated by the “Spectator,” where Will Honeycomb in the
person of a monkey writes the history of his incarnations.’
Other devices for satire, such asthe magic flight in the “Diablo
Cojuelo,” or the gift of invisibility common to “Fortunatus”
and ‘“‘Vogel-Nest,” had found favor, and the notion of an ani-
mal that should pass from master to master was as old as the
“Golden Ass.” But although Addison had sketched the adven-
tures of a shilling in the “Tatler,”? it was only in the second
half of the century that the inanimate and the animal adven-
turer came to be largely cultivated.

The author of “The History of Pompey the Little, or the
Life and Adventures of a Lap Dog” (1751), professes to be
encouraged by the fact that no character is thought too incon-
siderable to engage the public notice. “The lowest and most
contemptible vagrants, parish girls, chamber-maids, and pick-
pockets find historians to record their praises and readers to
wonder at their exploits. . . . The prisons and stews are ran-
sacked to find materials for novels and romances.” His Pom-
pey can at least rank with these. Born in Bologna, ‘‘a place
famous for lap-dogs and sausages,” Pompey is first the property
of a courtesan. He is then presented to a lover, is carried to
England, is given to a lady of intrigue, and goes the rounds

1 No, 343. 2 No. 249,
IMITATORS AND INNOVATORS 331

of high society. Later, he becomes the leader of a blind beg-
gar, who lives luxuriously on the proceeds of his trade.

Similar changes of fortune are exhibited in “The Adventures
of a Louse,” ? whose central figure passes from the pate of a
charity-school boy to a fine lady, an old buck, a philosopher,
and a hospital patient. “The Adventures of a Half Penny ” 2
shows a counterfeit coin disposed of to a peddler, exalted with
quicksilver into a shilling, reduced and made a gift to a child,
tossed to an orange-woman, rescued from a gin-shop by her
husband, who puts it to worse use, taken from a night-cellar
by a blood, and thrown into his creditor’s window.

Such works multiplied surprisingly, Smollett’s “History
of an Atom” being but one among many. “The Life and
Adventures of a Cat,” ‘The Memoirs of a Flea,” “The Ad-
ventures” of a “Fly,” of a ‘‘Horse in Peace and War,” of a
“Little White Mouse,” and the “‘Life and Perambulations of
a Mouse,” found inanimate rivals in the “Adventures” of a
“Bank Note,” a “Rupee,” a “‘Pincushion,” a “Corkscrew,” a
“Peg Top,” a “Whipping Top,” a “Silver Three-Pence,” an
‘‘Air Balloon,” a ‘Hackney Coach,” a “Pin,” and an “Os-
trich Feather of Quality.” Most of these could boast of roguish
incidents. In ‘‘The Adventures of a Black Coat” (1760), for
example, the garment is hired for a day by a sharper. On leav-
ing a coffee-house he mistakes another’s coat for his own, and
though he apologizes when the mistake is pointed out by the
lawful owner, he forgets to pay for his refreshment. He calls a
coach, and after a ride steps away through a house without sat-
isfying the driver. He perpetrates an elaborate cheat on a lord
and an auctioneer, bilks an innkeeper and a jeweler, and at the

1 Published January 1, 1754, as No. 121, of Dr. Richard Bathurst’s

Adventurer.
2 A shorter sketch in The Adventurer, No. 43, April 3, 1753.
332, THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

play steals an old gentleman’s cloak, identifying it by marks he
has taken the precaution to sew into it during the performance.
_ Such works represent a decline in the picaresque genre, for
the central figure can be used merely to focus the scenes satirized,
and is necessarily deprived of all initiative in rascality. Yet the
most conspicuous example of the type — “Chrysal, or the
Adventures of a Guinea” (1760-65), by Charles Johnstone —
teems with roguery. ‘This is the least agreeable and most
virulent of books, a revelation of the iniquities of eighteenth-
century society which constitutes in itself a fresh iniquity.

An alchemist is addressed by the spirit of a clipped guinea that he
has consigned to his crucible. The coin relates its experiences, from the
day of being mined in Peru by a convict, to its payment to the adept by
a pawnbroker. Dishonor attaches to all of its changes of service. A
priest, a ship’s captain, a gaming lord, a quack, a general’s gentleman,
a courtesan, a bawd, a corrupt magistrate, a bishop, a lady of rank,
a clyster-pipe seller, a minister of state, a general, a banker, a king, a
Jesuit, an inquisitor, a sailor, and a peddler, are among its masters.
The scene shifts from England to Holland, Germany, Bulgaria, and

Portugal, and the satire lashes not only abstract types of vice, but politi-
cal parties and “noted persons in every rank of life.”

Johnstone produced three other satires allied with the lit-
erature of roguery. In “The Reverie” (1762) he depicts a
flight to the paradise of fools entered upon one evening as the
narrator was reading Milton. Ariel is his guide to that delect-
able region “where self-deluded man, thro’ endless ages, con-
tinues to act over the absurdities in which he blindly places
the happiness of his life.” Bigots, libertines, and hypocrites
are displayed in bewildering number, and the ostensible editor
of this fantasy and of “‘Chrysal” is portrayed as a rogue who
has been in turn player, doctor, author, broken soldier, ship-
wrecked sailor, fool, madman, Gypsy, and parson.

“The History of Arsaces, Prince of Betlis ” (1774) parodies
JOHNSTONE 333

heroic romance, and retains the picaresque form with little of
its matter. To his conqueror a captive relates the story of his
life. He has been in service with Bedouins, a merchant, a vizier,
an officer, and others, and invariably has fallen from grace
by endeavoring to institute reforms. The scheme resembles that
of the Spanish “Alonso,” where the anti-hero displeases every
master by his moralizings. A series of letters from a Chinese
traveler to a friend at home constitutes “The Pilgrim” (1775),
which invades the territory already occupied by Bishop Percy
and by Goldsmith’s “Citizen of the World.” It spares neither
laws nor religion, and dissects low-life in many phases, from the
habits of courtesans to the practices of the debtor’s prison. But
Johnstone’s chief contribution to the literature of roguery was
made in two novels inspired by Smollett and Le Sage.

“The History of John Juniper, Esq., alias Juniper Jack ”
(1781) describes its anti-hero’s early career with the minuteness
of Sterne.

His mother keeps a gin cellar for gentlemen of industry, and she can
never fix upon his father, although at the suggestion of a Jesuit she tries
to raise money by imposing him upon three rich men at once. The
trick miscarries, and she is obliged to make the tour for America. Jack
is left behind to be nursed by an unscrupulous woman who is often on
the point of putting him out of the world, but finds a better expedient.
This involves changing him for a gentleman’s son, and so Jack becomes
a Juniper. Upon his new parents he practices a hundred rogueries
before being sent to school with a Scotch tutor. This fellow, plagued
by his pupil’s knavishness under the guise of simplicity, is finally robbed,
and Jack, now convinced that cheating is nobler than theft by force,
takes lessons in the art from a Jew.

He attests his skill by outwitting his master, endeavors to shake a
lady’s constancy to her absent lover, and in order to defeat another
rival undertakes in the disguise of a Genoese trickster to superintend
and expose this nabob’s bribing operations at an election. Then he
turns player, falls in love with an actress, poses as the son of a rich
Jamaica planter, gambles away a bequest, and encounters his mother
834 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

and his half-sister, who have risen to prosperity in Virginia. As heir to
half of the former’s fortune he flourishes in society, plays the politician,
and rescues a former flame from the wiles of a soldier of fortune. Of
the rest of his life reports vary. That his mind failed at last is small
disgrace, for, “as Marlborough, Swift, and Newton had died before,
so died Juniper Jack.”

Needless to say, this novel lacks plot and character. Its
humor declines as the satire waxes, and toward the close its
personages are too repulsive to amuse. The irony of “Jona-
than Wild” is often in evidence, as when the author, fearing
lest exception be taken to the word hero as applied to a rogue,
explains that the term has always designated destroyers, and
that Jack has as much title to it as Achilles or Alexander.

Johnstone’s other picaresque fiction, “The Adventures of
Anthony Varnish” (1786), is scarcely more genial.

It presents an Irishman, whose roguish life begins with his engage-
ment as servant to a schoolmaster, reminiscent of Lazarillo’s blind-
man in cruelty. When Varnish is beaten for his depredations he runs
away and secures a place with a quack. Scotch snuff, gamboge, and
vinegar are this master’s favorite prescriptions, and he treats the poor
with especial severity. Varnish is discharged, falls victim to a peddler
on the road, engages with a traveling menagerie, and then joins a beg-
ging soldier and his doxy. The former, with many oaths and digressions,
tells how he fought at Bunker Hill and found his wife in Boston, as
clever a girl as ever pillaged a battlefield. Among other tricks, he feigns
the falling sickness with soap under the tongue.

In Dublin Varnish takes service with a lieutenant who is soon ar-
rested for the forfeit of a bond. But the gallant fellow escapes in wo-
man’s clothes, and with his valet reaches Liverpool. On the road to
London the two attend a performance of ‘‘ Hamlet” which recalls “Tom
Jones,” and in the metropolis Varnish is flattered and deceived by a
putative foreign count. He is dismissed from the employ of a poet upon
giving an adverse opinion of his master’s works (a souvenir of Gil Blas’s
experience with the Archbishop of Granada), but, securing a new place
from a servants’ registry, saves the life of his master’s niece, marries
her, and inherits the old gentleman’s property.
IMITATORS AND INNOVATORS 335

This performance is poor enough. Johnstone, like his rogues,
lacked initiative. He could sketch personages and scenes with
humor or scathing satire, but he could never bind these sketches
together into an effective whole exhibiting character-develop-
ment. To the last he remained a satirist rather than a novelist.

The best picaresque fiction contemporary with Johnstone’s
work was the anonymous “Modern Times, or the Adventures
of Gabriel Outcast” (1785), written “in imitation of ‘Gil Blas.’ ”

Gabriel at the death of his parents sets out for London on top of a
stagecoach, is robbed by the traditional peddler, enters service as tutor
at the school of the cheating Doctor Slashem, is commissioned as
auction-room bidder to keep up prices, and during a false imprison-
ment learns the drolleries and deceits of a jail. He acts as scandal-
collector for the newspapers, sets up as divine on the strength of
the godly discourses he has stolen, and as footman to an amorous
widow chances to rescue from ignominy a young lady whose father
employs him out of gratitude. A jealous lord forces him to flee in beg-
gar’s clothes, and, being set upon by highwaymen in the New Forest, he
joins their band. “‘Come,’ said I, ‘my lads, I don’t mean to affront
you. You may be as great in your way, as the best of men in theirs.’”
Indeed, adds the author, “there are rascals in every walk of life, from
the first minister of state to the beggar in St. Giles, and to upbraid them
with their conduct is but to wage war with mankind.”

The rogue’s later adventures include service with a physician, and
with actors. When the latter play “The Mock Doctor” and “The
Beggar’s Opera” they are obliged to wait for their costumes until
enough people have assembled to get them out of pawn. The mayor of the
town grows over-attentive to the leading lady, and his wife obliges the
troop to move on. Gabriel tries letters, wins fame, marries, receives a
bequest, enters Parliament, and becomes secretary to the First Lord
of the Treasury. He is so adroit in arguing cases he privately dis-
approves that he is made minister. At length, wearied with the
shams of life, he remarries, and retires to the country to write his
autobiography.

How little such fictions had to add to the work of Le Sage
is obvious. The picaresque formula of the Spanish and French
336 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

type might continue to be applied to English conditions, but
it could only repeat ad nauseam the same dull round of incidents.
The literature of roguery required not only fresh matter, but
new methods and aims. Eccentric George Parker, the self-
dubbed “Librarian to the College of Wit, Mirth, and Humour,”
vainly strove in two autobiographic publications to make pica-
resque capital out of his adventurous career. But both the
“View of Society and Manners in High and Low Life” (1781)
and “‘Life’s Painter of Variegated Characters” (1789) were
distinguished for their essays on the orders and language of
thieves instead of for their narrative passages.

Gothic romance, as cultivated by Horace Walpole, Clara
Reeve, Anne Radcliffe, and Matthew Gregory Lewis, employed
villains rather than rogues, a choice philosophically justified by
Smollett’s friend and editor, Dr. John Moore. “‘If the hero
of a romance,” he declares, “‘is described devoid of principle,
and perfidious, the more detestable he is made in all other
respects, the better will the work serve the purposes of mo-
rality.” !

This theory he had exemplified in ‘‘Zeluco” (1786), which
purposes ‘‘to trace the windings of vice and delineate the dis-
gusting features of villainy” in order to prove “that misery is
inseparable from vice, and that the concurrence of every for-
tunate circumstance cannot produce happiness, or even tran-
quillity, independent of conscious integrity.” Zeluco, accord-
ingly, is a pure monster. His story knows neither humor nor
satire. And from the moment when he first appears, crushing
a bird in his boyish hand, to that when repentance sets in after
his being stabbed by the paramour of a mistress, he excites
no sympathy and arouses no interest. He is brother to Smol-

1 The Works of Tobias Smollett, M. D., edited by John Moore, M. D.
(1797), vol. i, ‘‘ The Life of Smollett.”’
MRS. INCHBALD AND GODWIN 337

lett’s Ferdinand, Count Fathom, and to Zavaleta’s Conde de
Matisio.

As for the thin stream of historical fiction proceeding from
Leland’s “‘Longsword,” and the studies of manners and char-
acter by Frances Burney and Jane Austen, they showed little
or no roguery, and it was only in the new novel of purpose
that picaresque elements survived. Here, however, they were
wholly transformed. The young philanthropist of Henry
Brooke’s “Fool of Quality” examines prisons and slums from
humanitarian motives. Mrs. Inchbald’s “Nature and Art”
(1796) deals with the gradual degradation of a girl, ultimately
condemned to death by a judge who proves to have been her
first seducer. Before learning who she really was he exclaims,
“Spirit of Agnes! look down and behold all your wrongs re-
venged! William feels—remorse !” This unsatisfactory bit of
poetic justice was designed to support Mrs. Inchbald’s theory
that happiness or misery is determined solely by mental states.
But in Agnes’s career there is a trace at least of picaresque in-
cident and philosophy. ‘“‘She began to suspect that dishonesty
was only held a sin to secure the property of the rich; and that
to take from those who did not want, by the art of stealing, was
less guilt than to take from those who did want, by the power
of the law.”

It was William Godwin, however, chief of the English revo-
lutionary circle, beloved and then hated by Mrs. Inchbald,
who made the most striking use of roguish material to further ,
a special purpose. This was done in his novel, “Things as
They Are, or the Adventures of Caleb Williams” (1794), “a
review of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despotism,
by which man becomes the destroyer of man.”

Falkland, although originally of noble nature, is provoked beyond
endurance by a villain whom in passion he kills. Forced to a series of
338 THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY NOVEL

deceits to cover the crime, he even acquiesces in the execution for it
of two who are guiltless. When his servant, Caleb Williams, learns
the secret unwillingly, he too is drawn into the net, and presently,
for his master’s self-protection, is charged with a theft of jewels. Caleb
breaks jail, is hounded about, and only informs on Falkland to save
himself. When the two are brought face to face, Caleb relents. He
analyzes his own mental anguish and the steps that have brought them
both to this pass, and pays tribute to Falkland’s natural excellence.
But the latter now confesses and dies, overwhelmed by all he has
suffered.

This is not a novel of intrigue, adventure, or manners. The
attack upon social conditions and the study of character are
its aims. But in the account of Caleb’s falling into jail, his
escape, his life among thieves, and his later shifts, the incidents
of the picaresque novel are drawn upon. The worst rogue of
the band into whose hands Caleb comes is Gines, a descendant
of Cervantes’s Ginés de Pasamonte. The old woman who houses
the gang duplicates the hag of the cavern in “Gil Blas;” and
Raymond, the leader, is a generous rascal, who dismisses Gines
because of his unkindness to Caleb, and refuses to heed the
entreaties of the rest to deliver up the fugitive for a reward.
When Caleb escapes, it is to wander as a beggar, to suffer arrest
as a mail robber, to bribe his accusers, change disguises day
by day, counterfeit the Jew in the London ghetto, and keep
body and soul together by composing “‘stories of Cartouche and
Gusman d’Alfarache.” But Gines, who from thief has turned
thief-taker, dogs him relentlessly, first on his own account, then
for Falkland. Wherever he has just won friends, there the thief-
taker comes. Although Hugo more powerfully developed the
situation in “Les Misérables,” Gines is the germ of Javert,
the ubiquitous, inflexible agent of society’s vengeance.

Amid the crowd of imitative writers, content during the latter
half of the eighteenth century to follow blindly the procedure of
IMITATORS AND INNOVATORS 339

native and foreign masters of picaresque narrative, there had
appeared but few innovators. If the great majority looked to
the past, Mrs. Inchbald and Godwin faced the future. Their
influence is especially to be discerned in such a rogue novel as
Bulwer-Lytton’s ‘Paul Clifford.”
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER VII

1

Picaresque fiction of the eighteenth century is incidentally considered
in Walter Raleigh’s The English Novel (N. Y., 1894), in Wilbur L. Cross’s
Development of the English Novel (N. Y., 1899), in David Masson’s
British Novelists and their Styles (Cambridge, 1856), in Bayard Tucker-
man’s History of English Prose Fiction (N. Y., 1882), in T. S. Perry’s
English Literature in the Eighteenth Century (N. Y., 1883), in Edmund
Gosse’s History of Eighteenth Century Literature (London, 1889), in
W. M. Thackeray’s English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century
(London, 1853), and in William Forsyth’s Novels and Novelists of the
Eighteenth Century (London, 1871), which seeks to illustrate “the man-
ners and morals of the age.”

Defoe is studied in the Memoirs of the Lije and Times of Daniel
De Foe, by Walter Wilson (London, 1830, 3 vols.), in William Chadwick’s
Life and Times of Daniel De Foe (London, 1859), in William Lee’s -
exhaustive Daniel Defoe: his Life and Recently Discovered Writings
(London, 1869, 3 vols.), in Thomas Wright’s Life (N. Y., 1894), and in
the briefer Zives by William Minto and W. Whitten. Consult, also,
J. J. Jusserand’s Le roman anglais et la réjorme littéraire de D. Defoe
(Bruxelles, 1887), Leslie Stephen’s Hours in a Library (1892, vol. i), and
W. P. Trent’s forthcoming Daniel Defoe. Defoe’s minor fictions may
be read in the Bohn Library, or in the edition of Romances and Narra-
tives, by George A. Aitken (London, 1895, 16 vols.).

2

Austin Dobson’s biography of Fielding (English Men of Letters,
1883) and Frederick Laurence’s Life of Henry Fielding with Notices
of his Writings, his Times, and his Contemporaries (London, 1855)
furnish criticism of his novels, as do the editions of his Works by Leslie
Stephen (London, 1882, 10 vols.), by G. E. B. Saintsbury (London, 1893,
12vols.), and by W. E. Henley (London, 1902, 16 vols.). Stephen’s Hours
BIBLIOGRAPHY 341

in a Library (1892, vol. ii) and Whitwell Elwin’s Some XVIII Century
Men of Letters (London, 1902, vol. ii) contain estimates of Fielding’s
fiction.

3

Smollett’s Works are edited with introductions by Saintsbury (London
and Philadelphia, 1895, 12 vols.) and by Henley (London, 1899-1901,
12 vols.). Smollett; his Lije and a Selection from his Writings was
published in 1867. The Selected Works (Edinburgh, 1870) contains
a memoir by David Herbert; and David Hannay’s Life (Great Writers,
1887) has been followed by Oliver Smeaton’s (Edinburgh, 1897).
Special phases of Smollett’s work are examined in F. J. Wershoven’s
Smollett und Lesage (Berlin, 1883), Arno Schneider’s Entwickelung des
Seeromans in England im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1901),
and Max Leuschel’s Autohiographisches in Smollett’s Roderick Random
(Leipzig, 1903). His novels are considered from the social point of view
in J. W. Péronne’s Ueber Englische Zustinde im 18. Jahrhundert nach
den Romanen von Fielding und Smollett (Berlin, 1890).

4

The lesser novelists are best noticed by Raleigh and by Forsyth. Field-
ing’s sister is studied in Georg Pliigge’s Miss Sarah Fielding als Roman-
Schrijtstellerin (Bautzen, 1898). Mrs. Lennox’s Female Quixote was
reprinted in 1783 and 1810. Richard Graves is the subject of a Memoir
by the Rev. F. Kilvert (1858),'and his Spiritual Quixote after editions in
1778, 1774, 1783, and 1808 has appeared in Mrs. Barbauld’s British
Novelists and in Walker’s British Classics. There are notices of Charles
Johnstone in the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1794, pt. ii, 591; 1807, pt.
ii, 631; 1810, pt. i, 311; in Ryan’s Worthies of Ireland, and Webb’s
Compendium of Irish Biography. A Life of John Moore was written
by Dr. Robert Anderson (Edinburgh, 1820), and Zeluco was translated
into French (1796). Mrs. Inchbald’s two novels are edited with a memoir
by William Bell Scott (London, 1880). Leslie Stephen in his Studies of
a Biographer (London, 1902, vol. iti) discusses William Godwin’s novels,
and the man himself is best presented in C. Kegan Paul’s William
Godwin, his Friends and Contemporaries (London, 1876, 2 vols.).
Caleb Williams has been reprinted (Boston, 1876). Hogarth as an artist
of the picaresque may be studied in the Lives by G. A. Sala (1866),
by Austin Dobson (1879), and by G. B. Brown (1905).
CHAPTER VIII

ROMANTIC ROGUERY FROM SCOTT TO
BULWER

1. Scott

'T was no part of the service of Walter Scott to
rehabilitate the picaresque novel. He sought
rather to temper the raw realism and crude
melodrama of the eighteenth century with the
spirit of true romance. Cervantes, two hun-
dred years earlier, had modified romantic idealism with pic-
aresque realism in “Don Quixote;” Scott reversed the process
in the “Waverley Novels.” He restored to fiction its lost bal-
ance, and what had been hysterical and false in the Otrantos
and Udolphos was reduced to probability, while what had been
low and mean in the Peregrine Pickles and John Junipers was
raised to the plane of art. So skillfully were the two elements
blended that a fiction truer to life than either resulted. The
rogue of the realistic novel in ceasing to occupy the centre of
the stage changed his nature, and usurped something of gla-
mour from the hero of romance. The hero in turn caught
more than a hint from the rogue.

Scott himself perceived the tendency. Writing of “ Waverley’
he confessed, “I am a bad hand at depicting a hero properly
so called, and have an unfortunate propensity for the dubious
characters of borderers, Highland robbers, and all others of a
Robin Hood description.” ‘Yet he had frowned upon Defoe’s
secondary fictions, saying, “Though we could select from these

  

>
SCOTT 343

picaresque romances a good deal that is not a little amusing,
we let them pass by, as we would persons, howsoever otherwise
interesting, who may not be in character and manners entirely
fit for good society.”

Romantic rascals had been painted in Scott’s poems, and it
was only natural that they should multiply on the ampler can-
vas of his novels. Edward Waverley, penetrating the haunts of
Highland outlaws, is received in the inevitable robber’s cave by
Donald Bean Lean, falls vainly in love with Fergus Mac-Ivor’s
sister, and fights along with the rest for Prince Charlie. Donald
in appearance is the reverse of the ideal bandit; but he is a
dashing thief none the less, and deserves the hanging he gets.
Robin Hood figures in “Ivanhoe” as a champion archer and
a friend to the oppressed, and Friar Tuck proves the jolliest
of mock hermits. Varney, the villainous manipulator of Lord
Leicester in “Kenilworth,” is backed by such rogues as the
Puritan hypocrite Foster, the swashbuckler Lambourne, and
the conjurer Alasco. Milder in roguery are sly Dickie Sludge
and his friend Wayland Smith, the mountebank. Dousterswivel,
the charlatan of “The Antiquary,” reveals by magic the spring
whose location he has previously ascertained, and unearths
from a tomb the horn of coin he has buried there. On the
other hand, Edie Ochiltree, the beggar of the same novel, pos-
sesses “something of poetical character and personal dignity,”
and is honest enough from the moment he first appears to
explode the Antiquary’s theory of the ruined pretorium.
“Who is he?” asks the Antiquary; “why, he has gone the vole
— has been soldier, ballad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now
a beggar.” His living original, Scott relates, was an itinerant
gambler, Andrew Gemmells, merged with whose portrait was
that also of an Edinburgh beadsman.

The Gypsy Meg Merrilies of “Guy Mannering” was similarly
344 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

drawn from an actual prototype, Jean Gordon of Yetholm, who
died of a ducking, and all nine of whose sons were hanged on
one day. Madge Gordon, her granddaughter, Scott had seen
in his boyhood. Meg he describes as possessed of a certain
“wild sublimity” in appearance and character, and though
Dominie Sampson proclaims her to be “harlot, thief, witch, and
gypsy.” she is lifted from the picaresque plane by her touch
of ennobling madness, and her devotion to the heir of Ellan-
gowan, whose birth-charm she has wrought, and whose kid-
napping she avenges. Scott was later laughed at by Borrow for
lack of fidelity to Gypsy ways and speech,’ and Meg is indeed
less a cousin to those Romanies of actual life who camp with
Lavengro in the dingle than to Scott’s own Norna of the Fitful
Head. Dirk Hatteraick, however, is sufficiently roguish, a
smuggler when his guns are in ballast, a privateer or pirate
when he gets them mounted, and at all times a coiner of rare
oaths, and the unscrupulous prosecutor of nefarious business.

Milder smugglers and freebooters appear in the later novels,
from Willie Graeme of Westburnflat in ‘The Black Dwarf,” and
Christie of the Clinthill in “The Monastery,” to the goodly com-
pany gathered in “Redgauntlet,”’ which includes such rogues
as Father Crackenthorp, Nanty Ewart of the Jumping Jenny,
and Tam Trumbull, the contraband trader. “The Heart of
Mid-Lothian” offers graphic prison scenes and the figure of
Daddy Ratcliffe, a convict who becomes underkeeper of the
Tolbooth, and gives Jeanie Deans a pass enabling her to go
unscathed of all road-knights on her errand of mercy to Lon-
don. Meg Murdockson, who has spirited away Effie’s child to
be revenged on its father, is hanged as a sorceress, and her crazy
lass, Madge Wildfire, dies of a witch-ducking. Then Effie’s

1 The supposed Gypsy jargon of Scott in Guy Mannering, ch. xxviii, is
simply thieves’ cant from the beggar-books.
SCOTT 345

son turns up as a Highland robber to kill in a fracas his own
faithless father. Here, as in most of Scott’s novels, the use of
disparate picaresque elements is governed by a higher romantic
purpose.

By title and theme, at least two of the fictions should have
proved romances of roguery, yet both elude such classification.
In “Rob Roy” the philosophic Andrew Fairservice excuses
his smuggling as “a mere spoiling o’ the Egyptians,” and Rob
is portrayed as a kind and gentle thief who, like Robin Hood,
would take from the rich to relieve the poor. He conceives
himself insulted by the legal emissaries of his victims, turns
outlaw, lifts blackmail from those who desire immunity from |
his depredations, and fights in the civil wars. He is less a rogue
than a hero, sung in the spirit of Wordsworth’s lines to him in
“Rob Roy’s Grave.” But even so, his story remains subordi-
nate in interest to that of Diana Vernon and Francis Osbaldi-
stone.

In “The Pirate ” (1822) three buccaneers play a part.

Mertoun, the Byronic recluse of Jarlshof, stalks in the background,
doing penance among the bleak islands of Zetland for his wicked past as
sea dog. His long-lost son, Clement Cleveland, the pirate, suffers ship-
wreck on this coast, and falls into rivalry with his rescuer and half-
brother, Mordaunt. But he never figures on the high seas, and through
his love for Minna Troil soon loses all taste for his old trade. Jack
Bunce finds the fustian be mastered as strolling actor an excellent
equipment for the réle of corsair, and delights to picture the booty to be
got upon the Spanish main. ‘“‘Give me such a chase,” he cries, “as we
might see from the mast head off the island of Trinidado, your Don
rolling as deep in the water as a grampus, deep-loaden with rum, sugar,
and bales of tobacco, and all the rest ingots, moidores, and gold dust;
then set all sail, clear the deck, stand to quarters, and up with the Jolly
Roger.” There are minor water-thieves, too, blustering Fletcher,
Derrick the quartermaster, Hawkins the boatswain, and Captain
Goffe, generally drunk as Davy’s sow, and shooting his men in frolic.
346 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

When Goffe has been deposed by his crew, Cleveland accepts the
captaincy on the condition that he be set ashore as soon as he has run
the Fortune’s Favourite safely out of the Orkneys. But before this
can happen the pirates are taken, and Cleveland and Bunce escape
hanging only because of an earlier act of heroism. Thus their rascality
is redeemed, and Cleveland dies fighting in the king’s service.

It is “The Fortunes of Nigel” (1822), however, that best
represents Scott’s employment of romantic roguery.

Nigel Olifaunt, who has come from Scotland to press his claims at the
court of James I, falls in with Buckingham’s favorite, Dalgarno, and
through him meets the ruffling rogues of Beaujeu’s Ordinary. The
young man roisters and dices with the rest until he finds that Dalgarno
is traducing him. Then he strikes his enemy within the royal precincts,
and is only saved from arrest by a friendly Templar who procures his
entrance to Whitefriars, the picaresque Alsatia, abounding in “‘ despera-
does of every description, — bankrupt citizens, ruined gamesters, ir-
reclaimable prodigals, desperate duellists, bravoes, homicides, and de-
bauched profligates, — all leagued together to maintain the immunities
of their asylum.”

Here is an English Cour des miracles or hampa which boasts its own
laws, government, and rebellions. Its rulers have been successively an
old fishwife, a broken attorney, a reformado captain, and a hedge
parson; but at Nigel’s advent a new potentate — Duke Hildebrod —
holds sway. He requires of each comer the payment of a garnish and
registration in an entry book, and he keeps his discontented subjects
quiet by assigning them rich refugees as boarders. Nigel is initiated
as a grand compounder, one who pays double that he may be asked
no questions. He meets old Trapbois, the usurer, later strangled for
his gold at dead of night, and Captain Colepepper, suspected of the
murder, a bully who has learned his blustering of Shakespeare’s Pistol.
Here is talk of conny-catching, crosbiting, rooking, and other matters
known to the early anatomies of roguery.

But Nigel escapes from Alsatia, and his story moves back to the usual
round of romance, —durance in the Tower, friendship for a page who
proves to be the heroine in disguise, and a final pardon at the hands of
the king. Dalgarno and Colepepper are caught in their own toils, and
only Gypsy Lutin, page to Dalgarno, goes free. He, too, is a picaro,
“unmatched in his tribe as rogue, thief, and liar,’”’ with parents of as
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 347

high rank as the gallows could exalt them to. A companion figure
is Dame Ursula Suddlechop, who comes of the family of Celestina.

Although Jonson’s “New Inn” furnished the groundwork of
Lutin’s roguery, and Shadwell’s “Squire of Alsatia” provided
the scenes in Whitefriars, such realistic matter was wholly
transmuted in Scott’s romantic crucible.

2. Picaros in the Orient

Byron, whose success in verse drove Scott into novel-writing,
was doubly romantic: in spirit, he asserted the primacy of
emotion; in subject, he sought the picturesque. Spain, Italy,
Greece, and the East early claimed his attention, and from the
publication of “Childe Harold” to the issue of “Don Juan,”
the foreign scenes he portrayed were as romantic objectively as
subjectively were the shades and shifts of emotion in his heroes.
From Harold, the mild sentimentalist, he passed to gloomy,
sin-haunted beings like the Corsair or Manfred, then to Cain
the Promethean rebel, and at last, with a laugh at the useless-
ness of it all, to the cynical Juan. So he followed unconsciously
the law of the sensualist’s evolution, moving on from delight
in emotion, through unsatisfied yearning, to despair and ro-
mantic irony.

It was at this final point and in “Don Juan” (1819-24)
that Byron approached the romance of roguery. His hero now
became an anti-hero, a jaunty rogue rather than a villain, a
perpetrator of frauds and a mocker at the world and himself.
He flits from one adventure to another, careless and satirical,
involved in amorous intrigue in Spain, suffering shipwreck
in the Mediterranean, finding refuge in the cave of a pirate
chief in the Greek Archipelago, infatuated with the corsair’s
daughter but soon to forget her when fate has parted them.
Disguised as a woman, he makes merry in the Sultan’s harem at
348 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

Constantinople, then turns soldier and fights in the ranks at
Ismail, presently figures as the favorite of Catherine II in
Russia, and ere long reaches England, to kill a highwayman
and to take a fall out of polite society.

Surely this peripatetic satirist is more closely affiliated with
the gentry of the picaresque novels than with the Don Juan
Tenorio of Andalusian tradition, and of Tirso de Molina’s
famous play. Where “El Burlador de Sevilla” presents a vil-
lain in one aspect, Byron’s poem traces the various fortunes of a
complex and volatile adventurer. But if Aleman and Quevedo
and even Le Sage were concerned in the genesis of Byron’s
“Don Juan,” their contribution was freely manipulated by
one whose own career had been half picaresque, and whose
masterful nature, defeated in its emotional quest, had turned
to irony. This versified romance of roguery is therefore as
individual as its author. Its rogue is no plebeian elbowing
up from rank to rank in society; it offers no scenes from
the gutters and stews; and cares nothing for the scheme of the
service of masters. It flies at higher game. Don Juan is a
young patrician, blasé at twenty and quite careless of his fate.
Yet even so, his heart is capable of a range of emotion incom-
prehensible to the Spanish picaro, and the beauty and pathos
of his love passages with Haidée are thrown into startling
contrast by the cynical reflections with which he checks the
welling tide of his own feeling.

Many of Don Juan’s adventures pass in the Levant, already
exploited by Byron in his narrative poems, “The Giaour,”
“The Bride of Abydos,” “The Corsair,” “Lara,” and “The
Siege of Corinth.” At this moment others, too, were turning to
the East,— Moore in “Lalla Rookh” and “The Epicurean,”
Maturin in “The Milesian Chief,” anonymous romancers
in “Sephora, a Hebrew Tale” and “Rameses, an Egyptian
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 349

Tale,” and Hope and Morier in excellent picaresque novels.
But the clearest echo of Byron was to be heard in “The Ad-
ventures of a Younger Son” (1831), by his friend, E. J. Trelawny.
This fanciful autobiography opens like a Marryat novel with
an account of youthful hardships, pranks, and enlistment in the
navy. Soon follows a racy tale of wild East Indian life, for
Trelawny turns pirate, captains a crew of dare-devil Arabs,
Mussulmans, Daccamen, Coolies, and Lascars, with a sprin-
kling of Swedes, Dutch, French, and Portuguese, and argues
that in preying upon others he is but despoiling robbers. Most
of his rascality proceeds, however, from unbridled passion.
He plays the savage with zest, runs amuck, is devoted to wine
and women, and in his thirst for liberty or license, his hatred
of priests, and his romantic attachment to the Arab girl Zela is
a more venturesome and less sentimental Byron.

The English poet’s influence was happily diluted with that
of Le Sage in “Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek at the
Close of the Eighteenth Century” (1819). Its author, Thomas
Hope, the son of an Amsterdam merchant, had settled in Eng-
land after eight years of architectural study in Spain, Sicily,
Greece, Turkey, Syria, and Egypt. As an art connoisseur he
issued illustrated volumes concerning house furnishings and
costumes, but “Anastasius” was put forth anonymously.
Sydney Smith was not the only one to feel surprise on dis-
covering that “the man of chairs and tables, and the gentle-
man of sofas” had produced it. Byron declared that on reading
it he wept for two reasons, — first because he had not written
it, and second because Hope had.

Anastasius is an adventurous rogue in service. The story’s
swiftness of action, tempered realism, range of satire, and
burlesque spirit, all derive from “Gil Blas;” but sentimentality
more and more crowds out these features. Anastasius becomes
350 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

a prose Don Juan, and the picaro is replaced by the soldier
of fortune and the gallant.

As a boy Anastasius flees from Chios when discovered in an intrigue,
falls into the hands of Maynote pirates and then of Turks, becomes
the favorite of a favorite of the Capitan Pasha, and rises to distin-
guished place through bravery in action. Sailing to Constantinople,
he makes love to the wife of a high official, and, being dismissed, seeks
in vain for aid from those formerly his friends. A band of rogues courts
and then deserts him, and he enters the service of a Jewish quack. The
rascal and his master advance from prescribing for the groom of a great-
grandson of the Sultan to attendance upon the Vizier himself, but the
chief physician of the seraglio casts them into prison, where a motley
horde is terrorized by a liberated galley slave.

Anastasius secures release only to fall ill of the plague and barely
to escape the assaults of hospital physicians. He acts as interpreter to
foreign visitors, pays court to the wife of an effendee, and in flight is
forced to turn Moslem. After indulgence in opium and magic he
voyages home to Chios, to be cast off by his father, and to lament the
death of his first mistress and perform upon her grave Byronic rites.
This marks the sentimentalizing departure from the picaresque vein,
and henceforth Anastasius is the rogue on a grander scale, a melancholy
victim of ambition. Egypt beholds him rise from simple mamlike
to kiashef. He weds the jealous sister of Suleiman, but at her death
is cashiered, goes on pilgrimage to Mecca, grows rich at Stamboul, and
journeys from island to island of the Archipelago, accompanied by a
friend who vainly strives to reconvert the renegade to Christianity.
After soldiering on the Nile and in Wallachia he turns merchant,
marries and tires of a Greek widow, ruins on a wager with gay com-
panions the beautiful Euphrosyne, and only when she has perished
learns to prize the treasure he has thrown away.

Thereafter his sole aim is to recover their lost child. At Damascus
and Bagdad, in the Arabian deserts with a Bedouin bride and allied
to the fanatical Wahhabees, he still is unable to forget Euphrosyne.
At last the child is found in Alexandria, but dies at the end of the voyage
to Trieste. Euphrosyne is avenged. And Anastasius, once all passion
and ambition, now at thirty-five a victim of satiety and remorse, expires
at a wayside cottage after dictating these dashing memoirs.

The interpolated histories of those encountered by Anastasius
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 351

are frequently roguish, from that of the pirate to whom the anti-
hero is bound in prison, to that of the Greek whose every friend
proves false. The latter is misused by the lady who adopts
him, by the captain, the baker, and the ballet master whom he
serves, and he recalls Defoe’s Colonel Jack, by hiding his
savings in a hollow tree, by sleeping at night among the cinders
of a public bath if not of a glass-house, and by falling on his
knees in veneration before the hissing cutlets of a cookshop.
The swaggering rake Aly, met on the voyage to Alexandria, is
half a picaro, too, and the Egyptian thieves are especially clever.
One clips the sleeve of a pelisse from its wearer’s side; another
professes to be a tailor, and while seeming to repair it absconds
with the whole garment; and a third steals a horse from a Nile
boat by swimming under water, upsetting the steed into the
river, clinging to its tail as it swims ashore, and then galloping
off. An Armenian banker makes away with a casket confided
to him, and a pious sub-deacon robs a burying-ground of Turk-
ish thigh-bones to show as Christian relics. For the Gypsies
Anastasius speaks a good word, but the professional beggars
of the Morea he condemns in passages that might have been
drawn from the anatomies of roguery. When he comes upon
a pack of mendicants whining by the roadside, and lays about
him with a whip, “the lame found the use of their legs, the
blind recovered their sight, and the deaf and dumb a stentorian
voice. A poor decrepit creature, doubled with age and infirm-
ity . . . became all at once as nimble as a stag; a man, shaped
like a dromedary, slipped his hunch without missing it; and
@ woman, eighteen months gone with child, stumbling over a
gravestone, brought to light a truss of straw.”

If the later exploits of Anastasius are melodramatic, he never
quite loses the character of picaro, whether assuming disguises
on the journey to his province to spy upon cheating minions or
352 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

resolving to turn highwayman. To the last, amid the senti-
ment satire remaims, and the flings at physicians are worthy of
Le Sage.

Even more obviously inspired by “Gil Blas” was James
Justinian Morier’s “Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan”
(1824). The author, as diplomat, traveler, and artist, had
twice visited Persia. Both journeys were chronicled in volumes
of travel, but “Hajji Baba,” with its humorous panorama, of
Eastern manners seen through the eyes of a rogue, is Morier’s
best memorial. An ingenious introduction confesses the book’s
dependence upon “that excellent picture of European life,
“Gil Blas’ of Le Sage,” and the novel’s adoption of the ser-
vice of masters, of satire, of inserted stories, of historical back-
ground, and even its order of events, corroborates the con-
fession.

Hajji, son of an Ispahan barber, early wields the razor on muleteers
and camel drivers, then serves a merchant, is captured by bandits,
becomes body barber to their chief, rides with the rest on their forays,
and pillages his native city. He is successively watercarrier and seller
of smoke, story-telling dervish, pretended courier, servant to the Shah’s
chief physician, rival of the Shah in love, police officer, and sub-
lieutenant to the chief executioner. Pursued by the royal anger, he
takes sanctuary in the tomb of Fatimeh at Kom, practices religious
cheats with a jolly dervish, and is forgiven by the Shah as an act of piety.
He engages as scribe to a holy hypocrite whose zeal leads to his fall, but
chance gives the rogue a fresh opportunity, for an official dies in a bath;
Hajji, the only spectator, impersonates him long enough to secure
rich booty; and when suspicion has fallen on another, who in greed
has assumed the dead man’s garments, Hajji sets out for the Turkish
frontier as pilgrim. Discovered and charged with murder, he escapes in
the confusion of an attack by robbers, and sets up as a merchant of pipes
at Bagdad.

Accompanying a caravan to Constantinople, he marries an emir’s
widow after representing himself to be descended from Mohammed,
but is soon exposed and cast off. He complains to the Persian ambas-
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 353

sador, who finds amusement in Hajji’s story, and sets him to compos-
ing a history of Europe to be furnished the Shah. Having returned to
Persia, he negotiates a bribe offered by the English ambassador to the

grand vizier, and in recognition is appointed chief secretary of a mission
to England.

There is as little plot here as in any romance of roguery.
Only a few of those early encountered reappear. Of nine in-
serted tales that impede the progress of events, seven are auto-
biographies, and two are stories told for diversion. If unity of
plot be lacking, complexity of character is no feature of Hajji
Baba. He is a ready rogue, without scruples or emotion. To
get the better of others is his accepted business. If he wishes
a bed, he points out that ill luck has ever attended it; if he
wishes a mirror, he assures the jaundiced owner of being as
pink as a rose, and declares that the glass is defective. When
taken by robbers he is careful to secure by a trick the turban
in which is concealed his master’s gold; and when moved to
restore the ducats to their owner, he reflects, “Had it not been
for my ingenuity, the money was lost forever; who therefore
has a better claim to it than myself?” Only once is he at all
in love, but the lady has already intrigued with his master, and
is presently delighted to be preferred by the Shah. Hajji never
thinks of her again until called upon as assistant executioner
to bear off her corpse when she and her infant have been
flung from the palace tower. The romantic love of Yusuf and
Mariam is shown only in an inserted tale.

More important, however, than plot, incident, or character is
the satire. All classes are laughed at, and three receive especial
chastisement, — physicians, priests, and bureaucrats. Morier’s
physicians are generally conscious rascals. One writes a charm,
and administers a solution of its ink to a patient. This acts as
an emetic, and chances to save the invalid’s life. Another is
354 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

the Shah’s chief doctor, who conspires to discredit a professional
Frankish rival guilty of introducing vaccination. Sometimes
the physician is ignorant rather than roguish. Hajji’s father
is refused a cordial by his physician when he sneezes. The
omen is so bad that two hours are allowed to elapse, and when
the cup is again offered, the patient is dead.

Religious imposture is assailed in many forms, from the
scrupulous outward conformity to rites on the part of the Shah,
really at heart a Sifi, to the audacious cheats of the dervish,
Sefer. Hajji finds that silence, bead-counting, and groans
offer a sure road to sainthood. His master, the mollah, is a
leader of prayer at the mosque, a lecturer at the college, and a
raging fanatic in assaulting enemies of the faith, merely to get
himself noticed. Moreover, he is privately interested in a scheme
for providing all men with temporary spouses, and gladly shares
his servant’s stolen booty. The contentions of Saini and Shiah,
the requirements for the office of Mishtehed, the gullibility or
rascality of pilgrims, and a hundred other phases of religion,
are laughed at in similar spirit.

But the severest satire is reserved for official corruption,
cowardice, and inefficiency. When Hajji has been robbed, the
prince to whom he complains chastises the offenders, but pockets
their booty, and at the victim’s request for its restoration dis-
misses him with the slap of a slipper across the mouth. Hajji
himself, as police officer sent to exact tribute, is tendered a small
bribe, and declares, “Unless you have money, ready downright
cash, to give, any other offer is useless; with money in your
hand, you may buy the Shah’s crown from his head; but with-
out it, I can only promise you a harvest of bastinadoes.”” When
taking the field he describes the brilliant action of five hundred
Persians who were turned back in fording a river by two Rus-
sian soldiers. “Whoever fought after this fashion? Killing,
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 355

killing, as if we were so many hogs!”’ exclaims the executioner.
“O Allah, Allah, if there was no dying in the case how the
Persians would fight!” The executioner reports a hot conflict,
nevertheless, and the vizier, about to issue a proclamation of
victory, instructs his secretary, “Let the account be suited to
the dignity and character of our victorious monarch. We are in
want of a victory just at present.”” When it has been announced
that from ten to fifteen thousand Russians have succumbed
the vizier is satisfied. “If the thing be not exactly so, yet,
by the good luck of the Shah, it will be so, and therefore it
amounts to the same thing.” It is this vizier, the actual Mirza
Sheffi, who suggests that the English forego their proposed
gift of the potato to the nation, and bestow upon him instead
a store of broadcloth. Neither he nor Hajji can comprehend
the English ambassador’s speech, “unadorned, unpolished,
neither more nor less than the truth, such as a camel driver
might use to a muleteer.” As for the Shah himself, he possesses
all the greed, craft, vanity, and ignorance of his model, Fath
Ali Shah, and the only wise and honest official depicted is the
humblest. This sanitary officer detects Hajji in selling adul-
terated tobacco, and orders him beaten till the soles of his feet
be jelly.

In all this amusing satire a wide range of scenes is traversed.
Life in the caravanserai, the bath, the harem, the palace, the
caravan, the camp, and the sanctuary reveals many types of
character, from the royal minister to the carpet spreader, from
the Turcoman bandit to the sacred Mishtehed. The fidelity of
Hajji’s picture has been attested by travelers, and his portraits
of individuals are recognizable, not only in the persons of the
Shah and the vizier, but in those of the royal physician, the chief
executioner, the poet, the Serdar of Erivan, and the French,
English, and Persian ambassadors. With experience so ample
356 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

Morier was absolved from over-dependence upon literary
models. No picaresque novel save “Gil Blas” seems to have
given him anything, although in his captivity among the Tur-
comans and in the diviner’s trick for recovering his stolen
inheritance occur parallels with incidents of the Spanish
“Alonso.” *

A sequel, published in 1828, carried the Persian rogue across
Europe and allowed him with his ambassador to inspect British
manners. But “The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan in
England” lacks its predecessor’s charm. Hajji’s own exploits
are no longer amusing, and although the work follows remotely
the plan of Montesquieu’s “Lettres Persanes” and Goldsmith’s
“Citizen of the World,” the satire is at the expense of the
travelers rather than at that of the country visited. Morier’s
other novels, “ Zohrab the Hostage” (1832), ““ Ayeshah, the Maid
of Kars” (1834), “The Mirzah” (1842), and “ Misselmah”
(1847), are sentimental rather than picaresque, although satire
returns in “Martin Troutroud, or the Frenchman in London”
(1849).

Persia and Turkey having been duly exploited in long fictions
as the scenes of roguish adventure, it was India’s turn, and in
1826 appeared “Pandurang Hari, or the Memoirs of a Hindoo.”
This has been assigned to William Browne Hockley, but, who-
ever its author, he professed to be merely the adapter of a
Mahratta manuscript disclosing the shifts to which even the
higher castes may be driven in a country where all depends
upon the will of superiors in power, and the rajah of to-day
may be the ryot of to-morrow. “Meanness, cunning, cowardice,

1 Alonso, parte ii, cap. 3, and Hajj? Baba, chs. iii, 1. The diviner’s
trick of allowing guilt to manifest itself had also appeared in Marcos de
Obregon, rel.i, des. 16, translated into English by Major Algernon Lang-
ton (1816).
PICAROS IN THE ORIENT 357

and self-interest” are proclaimed to be Mahratta traits; and
they certainly are well exemplified in this story.

Pandurang Hari is a foundling, taken into service by 2 maharajah.
He is early advised to pay no wages to his grooms or slipper-bearer, and
he confesses concerning a bit of dishonesty that “having been gradually
initiated in Mahratta roguery, it will not be matter of surprise that I
entered into this scheme with true Hindoo delight.” Urged to neglect no
opportunity of fingering money, he takes bribes from a petitioner to
his master, secretly observes him bury the treasure he has stolen from
a murdered victim, digs it up, gets the thief arrested, and bleeds him
to his last rupee. Then, although himself imprisoned for the murder,
he secures release by announcing the other’s guilt, and conspires with
the dead man’s son to declare far more to have been stolen than the
victim ever possessed.

Pandurang next serves as clerk to an army corps. Here he is com-
plained of by the soldiers for refusing them the arms that the arsenal
lacks, but flatters his general by declaring the equipment to be of the
best. The warriors are poltroons, and in battle feign death and are
routed. Then Pandurang turns beggar, serving an old rogue provided
with the emblems of religious mendicity, — a peacock’s tail, a pole, a
wallet, and a leopard’s skin to swing at his back. He is greased and
smeared all over with ashes and dirt, but when ordered to cut himself
to excite pity, he cuts his master instead, and is immediately seized as
an assassin and deprived of his money-bag.

When employed by an English merchant of Bombay, Pandurang
admits, “I became heartily sick of a service in which there was no chance
of profit beyond my wages.” Presently, however, he becomes peon to
another Englishman, whose chief clerk privily lets out his master’s funds
to native merchants. On being implicated in this affair and in the
clerk’s conspiracy to kill his employer, the anti-hero is driven out of
Bombay and falls into the hands of Pindarees. Captured by the Eng-
lish, he becomes servant in a fort, but in seeking revenge on the lover
of the commandant’s daughter, rouses the garrison by night, receives
a wound in trying to escape, and sees the Sepoys sent to take him un-
earth his savings buried beneath the tree in whose branches he is hiding.

So far the story conforms to the picaresque type, but from
this point it becomes a fiction of complicated intrigue and altered
358 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

purpose. The satire fades, the shifts of condition in the ser-
vice of masters are at an end, roguery gives way to villainy,
and haphazard adventure is replaced by a mystery plot. This
is negligible, since Pandurang has ceased to be a picaro. Suffice
it to say that he proves to be the Prince Jeoba, who with his
father has been kept from succeeding to the musnud of Satarah,
and is separated from his sweetheart by the machinations of a
wicked uncle, disguised as a mendicant. It is this very rascal
whom the hero has served unwittingly as third master, and
the novel concludes with his overthrow and confession.

If in “Pandurang Hari” the picaresque element survives
through but part of the tale, in Colonel Meadows Taylor’s
“Confessions of a Thug” (1839) it all but disappears. This
stirring romance, suggested by the author’s magisterial inves-
tigations of Thuggee, and based upon the actual admissions
of a Thug guilty of more than seven hundred murders, more
powerfully exhibits the frightful system of professional brigand-
age once prevalent throughout India than the scientific studies
of Thornton, Sleeman, and Hutton.’ Ameer Ali tells the story
of his life, from the killing and plunder of his parents by Thugs
and his own initiation into the order, to his capture by the Eng-
lish and his betrayal of former associates. As a devotee of the
goddess Bhowanee, wife of Siva the Destroyer, Ameer Ali and
his gang can claim religious sanction for their use of the deadly
choking cloth; but their aim is primarily theft, and they are
to be classed as the most violent and insidious of highway-
men. Necessarily, the account of their fortunes revels in
crimes of the blackest, so that this novel, by virtue of its
sanguinary character, as well as owing to its lack of humor,
of satire, and of the service of masters, is left without the
picaresque pale.

1 Cf, ante, p. 191.
JAMES 359

8. James and Ainsworth

Among the heirs of Scott none was more prolific than G. P. R.
James, whose century of novels includes such titles as “The
Robber,” ‘‘The Brigand,” “The Smuggler,” “The Convict,”
“The Gypsy,” “The King’s Highway,” and “Forest Days,”
the last a tale of Robin Hood. It is noteworthy that in all such
fictions James avoids the portrayal of roguery, or excuses it on
romantic or philosophic grounds.

“The King’s Highway” (1840), for example, deals with a
Jacobite conspiracy against William III, and touches on the
life of the Irish Rapparees. Colonel Sherbrooke joins the
latter after the confiscation of his property. ‘‘Such things,
alas! were not uncommon in those days, and gentlemen of
high birth and education have been known to take to the
king’s highway, not like Prince Hal for sport, but for a mouth-
ful of bread.” Sherbrooke’s adventures as road-knight are
lightly sketched, and find justification as a political duty. The
scene soon shifts from Ireland to the England of twenty years
after, and although a robbery is here described, it does not
involve Sherbrooke, who now opposes the Jacobite plot and
eventually swears allegiance to William. In “The Robber”
(1838) Franklin Gray, of “fierce and lionlike spirit,” is cap-
tain of a desperate band. Sinned against and sinning, he at
last shoots his faithful wife, believing she has betrayed him
to justice, and, clasping his baby boy, makes a prodigious leap
on horseback across a chasm. Then, maddened by remorse, he
springs from a cliff to die.

A more philosophic robber figures in ‘‘ The Brigand” (1841),
whose scene is the Savoyard Alps and Paris of the sixteenth
century. “‘It is because man’s law is not God’s law that I
stand here upon the mountain,” soliloquizes the hero. ‘Were
360 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

laws equal and just, there would be found few to resist them.
While they are unequal and unjust, the poor-hearted may
submit and tremble; the powerless may yield and suffer; the
bold, the free, the strong, and the determined fall back upon
the law of God, and wage war against the injustice of man.”
This is the tone of Schiller and of Bulwer, and it is voiced also
by the political transcendentalist of “The Convict” (1847),
who learns from imprisonment that moral force alone can
hope to triumph over wrong. The rogues of “The Smuggler”
(1845), if lacking in theory, are romantic in daring. Indeed,
any rascal without heroism or philosophy seems contempt-
ible to James, who says.of the olden days: “There was a
grander roughness and daringness about both our rogues
and our theorists. None but a small villain would consent to
be a swindler. We had more robbers than cheats; and if a
man chose to be an impostor, it was with all the dignity and
decision of a Psalmanazor, or a bottle conjuror.” Here every
rogue is ruthlessly eliminated at the close. Some are hanged;
Little Starlight vanishes, to be heard of long after as the pick-
pocket Night Ray, shot in escaping from Botany; and Hard-
ing the master smuggler, when pursued by a frigate, gener-
ously allows the crew of his lugger to put off in a boat, while
he himself sails away single-handed and is heard of no more.

Pharold, in “The Gypsy” (1835), is a virtuous go-between
in a plot that involves the enmity of brothers, the supposed
murder of one by the other, and the putative victim’s masquer-
ading under an assumed name. The children of Egypt are
romantic lay figures, “princes of honesty compared with the
great majority of our dear friends and worldly companions,”
says James, who, with as little accuracy in phrasing as in fact,
declares their language to be ‘“‘a barbarous compound of some
foreign tongue, the origin and structure of which has and most
JAMES AND AINSWORTH 361

likely ever will, baffle inquiry, and of English, mingled with
many a choice phrase from the very expressive jargon called
slang.”

Since James refused to meddle greatly with rascals, it was
left to two other followers of Scott to show that romanticism
and roguery are not incompatible. Bulwer-Lytton used pic-
aresque matter for serious ends, but William Harrison Ains-
worth employed it purely for entertainment. The first of
Ainsworth’s novels combined Gothic romance with picaresque
fiction, as Smollett had done in ‘‘ Ferdinand, Count Fathom.”
He profited, however, by acquaintance with a yet more dis-
tinguished predecessor in Gothicism. “I resolved,” says he,
“to attempt a story in the bygone style of Mrs. Radcliffe;
substituting an old English squire, an old manorial residence,
and an old English highwayman for the Italian marchese,
the castle, and the brigand of that great mistress of romance.”
The result was ‘“‘Rookwood” (1834), whose plot rings the
changes upon the familiar theme of the enemy brothers.

Luke Bradley discovers that by right he is Sir Luke Rookwood, and
although betrothed to a Gypsy girl, he henceforth seeks to wed a cousin,
already affianced to his usurping half-brother, Ranulph. Behind this
conflict of the brothers stands Luke’s grandfather, who turns out to be
another Rookwood, ill-used long before by his brother, and bent upon
wreaking revenge on this brother’s descendants. The resentment of
the Gypsy queen, the ambition of Lady Rookwood, who wishes to
keep the title for her son, and would compass the death of his rival,
and the rollicking schemes of Dick Turpin, king of the road, further
complicate the intrigue.

The Castle of Rookwood, with its sepulchral vault, secret
passages, sliding panels, and moving statue, is of the Otranto
model, although incongruously set in the midst of a classic
garden. Gypsies haunt the ivy-mantled ruins of Davenham
Priory. Their queen inhabits a gloomy octagonal chamber.
362 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

The captive heroine is led to an enforced marriage within a
subterranean cell, once the abode of an anchorite. Spells and
prophecies, love philtres, omens, ghosts, — explained and in-
explicable, — midnight funerals and bridals, corpses swinging
in the moonlight from a gibbet, a dead hand on whose finger
gleams a wedding ring, a poisoned tress of hair that kills, and
an entombment alive,—these and similar devices of the Rad-
cliffe School abound.

Where incidents and properties are so sensational, little
can be expected of the characters. Lady Rookwood is pre-
ternaturally haughty; Luke is so slightly realized as at first
to seem a hero in distress and later to prove a villain. Ranulph
is as colorless as the lady he weds, and her parents are auto-
mata. Old Peter Bradley is endowed with the gift of prophecy;
he revels in the dark secrets of the house, lapses into eldritch
laughter, or sings such songs as ‘‘The Corpse Candle,” “The
Carrion Crow,” “The Old Oak Coffin,” “The Churchyard
Yew,” and “The Hand of Glory,” and is responsible for most
of the book’s cheap tragedy. These people are not only unreal
in emotion, but their motives run counter to unreasonable
oaths. Father Checkley is so vowed to secrecy; the heroine
swears that she will marry none but the dreaded Luke; and
the Gypsy queen, having taken an oath to slay Luke’s bride,
discovers that chance has united him to her only daughter.

Picaresque rather than Gothic features, however, secure
‘*Rookwood’s” success, for the scenes where the Gypsies and
Turpin take part are drawn in excellent spirit, and if realism
be lacking, its place is supplied by romantic roguery.

The doughty Turpin first appears incognito as the crony of the late
Sir Piers, singing ballads in praise of highwaymen. After the burial
of his patron, he assails the wicked widow, disguised as the ghost of her
lord, and gains possession of the marriage certificate that proves Luke
AINSWORTH 363

Bradley to be Sir Piers’s lawful heir. From this moment he and Luke
are bosom friends. When initiated into the Gypsy crew he captures the
heroine as their prize and conspires to marry her to Luke. He keeps
off the rival, who has come to the rescue, and secures immunity for
himself by threatening to expose Lady Rookwood’s perfidy. Then,
surprised while carousing with other blades of the craft, he springs
astride of Black Bess to lead his pursuers a mad chase.

Though his part in the plot is slight, and his character is
nowhere analyzed, Turpin wins the reader’s interest. He be-
lieves profoundly in the life of the highway. ‘‘ Some of the finest
gentlemen of their day, as Captains Lovelace, Hind, Hannum,
and Dudley, were eminent on the road, and they set the fash-
ion,” he declares. As compared with the highwayman, “Who
produces so great an effect by so few words ?— ‘Stand and
deliver ! ’ is sure to arrest attention. Every one is captivated by
an address so faking. . . . Who so little need of a banker as
he? All he has to apprehend is a check; — all he has to draw
is a trigger. As to the women, they dote upon him; not even
your red-coat is so successful.” This is typical of Ainsworth’s
flippant treatment of roguery. Even when most in earnest, he
regards it indulgently, lamenting that “The Beggar’s Opera ”
should have laughed away England’s “night errantry,” and
that “the spirit of devotion to the fair sex, which was first
breathed upon the highway by the gay, gallant Claude Du
Vall, should have been extinguished at last by the cord that
tied the heroic Turpin to the remorseless tree.”

Turpin’s great feat, the ride on Black Bess from London
to York, is entertaining, if slightly motived. Just why he should
choose to kill his mare by a hundred-and-eighty-mile gallop
when he might have eluded pursuit nearer home is difficult to
say, unless it be for the reader’s delectation, On he dashes,
purposely never quite out of sight of the three riding behind.
To leap a toll gate or a market wagon, to smoke his pipe in
364 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

headlong flight, to drink his ale bridle in hand until the enemy
is just upon him, to charge down a declivity from one door of
a stable as the man-hunters burst in at the other, — all this is
Turpin’s delight. It little matters that improbable coincidences
mark his ride, that he should happen to find in his pocket a
mixture guaranteed to make a horse go to the death, that he
should meet at odd intervals many acquaintances. Nor does
it signify that at one page Dick is seen out of the saddle, “coolly
quaffing a tankard of ale,” and at another is said to have en-
joyed thus far neither rest nor respite. The total effect is con-
vincing, and the ride remains the book’s best feature.

Of other rascals there is a pretty show, from Tom King, the
gentleman highwayman, to Jerry Juniper, the sporting rogue,
who masquerades as Count Conyers. The Gypsies contrast
in their unreality with those portrayed by Borrow. Barbara
Lovel and her granddaughter are stage masks set above stage
costumes, The former is a sorceress, yellow as a toad, clad in
skins, her waist encircled with the magic zodiacal zone, her
companions an owl and an Egyptian aspic swimming in a
crystal bowl. Sybil, with Oriental eyes, lithe figure, bodice of
embroidered velvet, a costly kerchief at her throat, and a short
poniard depending from a chain of silver at her waist, seems
to have stepped from an opera. But the other Gypsies are
Elizabethan cadgers appropriated from the anatomies of
roguery. Balthazar the patrico, Zoroaster the upright man, and
the ruffler, hooker, and limping palliard rejoice in the cozenages
chronicled of them in the days of Shakespeare. At night the
whip-jack throws away his wooden leg, the dummerar ceases to
feign that his tongue has been cut out by the Algerines; ‘“‘morts,
autem morts, walking morts, dells, doxies, kinching morts,
and their coes, with all the shades and grades of the canting
crew” assemble to honor the installation of Turpin into the
AINSWORTH 365

fraternity. Sixteenth-century cant mingles with nineteenth-
century flash, and an actual swindler who victimized Canter-
bury in 1832 is absurdly identified with the type of Elizabethan
ruffler.

Ainsworth’s fiction, then, was wholly romantic. As based
upon reading rather than observation, it betrays indebtedness
to many sources. Schiller’s ‘“‘Die Rauber,” aside from its glo-
rification of brigandage, contributed to the plot of fraternal
enmity and rivalry in love. The Elizabethan tragedy of blood
reinforced Gothic romance in supplying melodrama. The tone
of burlesque derived both from Spanish picaresque fiction and
from English criminal pamphlets, one of which — the ‘‘Mem-
oirs of the Right Villainous John Hall” — provided a long
encomium upon highwaymen. Other rogues of reality and their
“Lives” furnished matter, from Du Vall and William Holli-
day to James Hardy Vaux and “The History of Irish Rogues
and Rapparees.” With hints from sources so various as the
tracts of Dekker, Brome’s “Merry Beggars,” “The Prince of
Priggs Revels,” Grose’s “Dictionary,” Hugo’s “Dernier Jour
d’un Condamné,” and Sancho de Moncada’s “Historia de los
Gitanos,”’ Ainsworth could dispense with reality.

The seventeen picaresque ballads of “Rookwood” hark
back to the lyrics of “The Beggar’s Opera.” Some, like “A
Chapter of Highwaymen” or ‘“‘The Rapparees,” disclose ac-
quaintance with the deeds of many rogues of reality. Others,
like “‘The Modern Greek” and ‘‘Oliver Whiddles,” are exer-
cises in flash. Turpin’s rhymed oath of initiation is phrased
in Elizabethan cant, and his “Song to Black Bess,” and such
ditties as “Will Davies and Dick Turpin,” “The Pledge of
the Highwayman,” and “‘The Four Cautions,” stick to simple
English. Whatever the diction, the spirit of all is epitomized
by Tom King, who sings: —
366 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

As the highwayman’s life is the fullest of zest,

So the highwayman’s death is the briefest and best;
He dies not as other men die, by degrees,

But at once! without flinching — and quite at his ease.

Ainsworth’s second picaresque novel, “Jack Sheppard”
(1839), avoided one pitfall of the first. This was the character
in high life, most absurd of all the unrealities in “‘Rookwood.”
Thames Darrell, reared by a carpenter, and married to his
daughter, discovers only in the last few pages that he is by birth
a peer of France. Lady Trafford, his mother, appears only to
disappear. Sir Rowland Trenchard, his uncle, plays some part
as villain, it is true, but both he and Thames remain subordi-
nate to the villain and the hero of the people. Wicked Wild
and careless Jack Sheppard are the real centres of interest,
and the scenes and personages associated with them are those
of low-life.

“‘Jack Sheppard” was intended as a study in the Spanish
style. Jack’s relation to Peninsular picaros is more than once
acknowledged. In describing his appearance Ainsworth says,
“Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those
vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for
which Guzman d’Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Este-
vanillo Gonzalez might have sat: faces that almost make one
in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoy-
ment.” When Jack is visited in prison by Hogarth and Thorn-
hill, the artists, and by the poet Gay, the last remarks: “Egad,
Jack, you should write your adventures. They would be quite
as entertaining as the histories of Guzman d’Alfarache, Laza-
rillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or
any of my favorite rogues — and far more instructive.” There-
upon Jack suggests to Gay the writing of “The Beggar’s Opera.”

Despite his literary ancestry, Jack Sheppard differs from
AINSWORTH 367

Continental picaros. At first he lacks their spirit of fun; later,
he is presented over-seriously as a noble fellow oppressed. In
other words, he knows no consistency of character. He is now
malicious, and now heroic, but in neither réle can he compare
with his light-hearted Spanish rivals. At the outset he is con-
trasted with his foster brother as the foil to a model of perfec-
tion. He idles, thieves, and fights with Thames, of whose affec-
tion for Winifred Wood he is jealous. He contrives toy models
of jails and gibbets, delights in such ballads as “The Thief
Catcher’s Prophecy” and ‘‘The Life and Death of the Dark-
man’s Budge,” and while cutting his name on a beam carols
cheerfully : —

When Claude du Vall was in Newgate thrown,

He carved his name on the dungeon stone;

Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shatter’d wall,

“You have carved your epitaph, Claude du Vall,
With your chisel so fine, tra la!”

Sheppard falsely accuses Thames of theft, insults his mother,
come to take him from the “flash ken,” picks a pocket in Willes-
den Church, and leads a burglary upon his benefactor. In all
these affairs he is the protégé of Jonathan Wild, and claims
as little sympathy as his Satanic master.

But from the moment that Wild turns upon him, Jack wins
the author’s affection. Henceforth he is a hero in distress, and
his conduct alters. Now he is the defender of Thames, instead
of his rival; contritely he visits his mother in Bedlam, whither
his conduct has brought her; later he risks his life in an at-
tempt to rescue her from the clutches of Wild; and it is in fool-
hardy attendance at her funeral that he suffers his last capture.
Moreover, after Wild’s antagonism has once been aroused,
Jack is guilty of no further rogueries; his ingenious escapes
from durance are natural endeavors to evade the vengeance
368 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

of a personal enemy rather than attempts to defeat the ends
of justice; and when at length he swings at Tyburn, admired
by a surging throng, the author and the reader have forgotten
that he is anything but a martyr.

Blueskin’s sufferings in the press-room and Jack’s escapes
from the condemned hold and the castle by way of the red room,
the chapel, and the leads furnish pretexts for minute accounts
of Newgate topography. Similarly Mrs. Sheppard’s incar-
ceration in Old Bedlam fathers a description of that gloomy
retreat, and Wood’s struggle with Sir Rowland in the midst
of the Thames gives rise to a picture of Old London Bridge.

In one respect this novel falls short of ‘‘Rookwood.” Tur-
pin’s brilliant ride finds its only parallel in Jack’s successive
escapes from prison. But these fail to arouse great interest,
for Jack is ill guarded; his endeavors are directed against
obstacles purely physical; and his folly in returning after each
escape to places where recapture is certain amounts to stupidity.
Records of his career confirm the belief that he was at best a
mean-spirited criminal. Ainsworth, however, has suppressed
most of his villainies, and by exaggerating his friendship with
Blueskin and Wild’s tyranny over both has sought to make the
repulsive attractive. The real Joseph Blake, alias Blueskin,
did not die in the attempt to rescue his friend, but was hanged
after having wept and trembled and “‘shewed all the Signs of
a timorous Confusion.” Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot were
wretches, and the only Tom Sheppard to be executed was
Jack’s brother, not his father, who was “aman of an extraor-
dinary good character.”

As for Wild, he is the novel’s ogre, a ruffian without redeem-
ing traits, the maker of thieves and their hounder to the gallows.

He has hanged the anti-hero’s father, and vows to hang Jack, too.
So he secures the boy’s implication in a robbery that culminates in mur-
AINSWORTH 369

der, and at Jack’s suggestion of going abroad to reform, delivers him
over to the law. In the meantime, by threatening to arrest Sir Rowland
as a Jacobite, Wild forces acceptance of his services in disposing of
Thames, who is shipped to sea and cast overboard. When years after-
ward Thames reappears, Wild continues to pursue him, and Sir Row-
land he murders.

The den within which this romantic ogre dwells is a mysterious struc-
ture provided with stone staircases, long and gloomy passages, chains,
bolts, gratings, and a well-hole, down which his victims are flung to
death. Halters, house-breaking tools, murderer’s weapons, and a two-
pronged flesh fork, used for dipping in oil the quarters of the hanged,
are among Wild’s bric-a-brac. His janizaries guard the place, ready at
their master’s beck to perpetrate any villainy. Quilt Arnold and grin-
ning Abraham Mendez, and all the Newgate crew, from Marvel the
hangman to negro Caliban, are his slaves. His power extends from the
Old Mint, ruled over by Baptist Kettleby, to the sea itself, swept by
the bark of his creature, Van Galgebrok; and he pursues to her death
insane Mrs. Sheppard, determined to marry her that he may secure
a claim to the Trenchard thousands.

In ballads of roguery this novel is less fully equipped than
“Rookwood.” 'The best celebrates the vessel of ale proffered
to criminals on their way to execution. Blueskin is the singer,
and in one stanza he takes occasion to assail his enemy: —

When gallant Tom Sheppard to Tyburn was led, —
“Stop the cart at the Crown — stop a moment,” he said,

He was offer’d the Bowl, but he left it and smiled,
Crying, “Keep it till call’d for by Jonathan Wild!

The rascal one day

Will pass by this way,
And drink a full measure to moisten his clay!
And never will Bowl of St. Giles have beguiled
Such a thorough-paced scoundrel as Jonathan Wild!”

It cannot be doubted that Ainsworth’s romantic glorification
of criminals exerted a baneful influence upon criminals them-
selves, both directly and through cheap dramatizations ap-
pealing to those unable to read. Evidence of this appears in
370 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

Mayhew’s “London Labour and the London Poor” (1851),
in verbatim statements from vagrants and thieves.’ Ten years
earlier Camden Pelham declared of “Jack Sheppard,” “The
rage for housebreakers has become immense, and the fortunes
of the most notorious and the most successful of thieves have
been made the subject of entertainments at no fewer than six
of the London theatres.” ?

Against such tendencies the forces of literature rose in revolt.
Dickens wrote ‘Oliver Twist” and Thackeray composed
“Catherine” to counteract them; Ainsworth himself forsook
roguery for historical romance in the vein of Hugo; and Bul-
wer, although he also fell under the ban, sought to excuse the
presentation of rascality on the plea of social or psychological
intention.

4. Bulwer

Bulwer confessed to Godwin’s inspiration in selecting the
theme of “Paul Clifford” (1830). He further explained his
resort to the novel of purpose by pointing to the social demand
of the moment. Poetry had fallen from fashion; the middle
classes were asking instruction; he would demonstrate the er-
rors of criminal law, and at the same time entertain. To such
ends what could be better adapted than the picaresque novel ?
The fiction he wrote proved, however, a strange medley of
melodrama, burlesque, and social polemic. It was designed
to illustrate the influence of criminal environment upon the
innocent, and to show the inadequacy of a law which punishes
the criminals it has created, yet allows those who live within
its pale to be as bad as those without. The thesis of ‘Paul
Clifford” was maintained with little logic. ‘The scoundrel

1 London Labour, vol. iii, pp. 393, 399, 401; vol. iv, p. 347.
2 Chronicles of Crime (1841), vol. i, p. 50.
BULWER 371

picked to defy the spirit and comply with the letter of the law
was too obviously degraded as a villain, while the rogue
selected to be the victim of environment was unwarrantably
exalted as a hero. The latter, moreover, lacked the tang of wit,
impudence, and delight in his profession so essential to the
picaro; the low-life scenes were bookish and unreal; and the
humor and satire were forcedly smart.

Paul Clifford is the unrecognized son of the prosperous villain, Wil-
liam Brandon. Left by the death of his wronged mother to be brought
up in the London slums, he reads “The Life and the Adventures of
Turpin,” practices pocket-picking, gambles, and falls under the spell
of Augustus Tomlinson, a philosophic scamp, and Long Ned, a genteel
highwayman. For a while he tries to gain an honest livelihood through
journalism, but being cheated here, and then clapped into Bridewell
for a theft of which he is innocent, Paul succumbs to fate. He escapes
with Tomlinson, joins a band of highwaymen, and ere long becomes
its captain. While escorting home in jest the parson whom his accom-
plices have robbed, Paul meets and is fascinated by Lucy Brandon.
Later at Bath, where he and the rest betake themselves to masquerade
as fine gentlemen, he saves her from the clutches of his band, after at-
tending uninvited the ball given by a rival. Then, though he knows
that the gratitude of Lucy’s father will prompt him to allow the suit,
the magnanimous highwayman withdraws. In the meantime Lucy
becomes the ward of her uncle, the villain, who urges upon her the claims
of Lord Mauleverer. But the latter is refused and shortly suffers rob-
bery from Paul Clifford and his men, who then resort to their Red Cave,
an evident reminiscence of the grottoes of “Gil Blas” and “The Mem-
oirs of Turpin.” When the band is surprised here, Paul alone con-
trives to elude arrest, and although free at last to seek his fortune by
honest means, he resolves to make a final effort for the rescue of his
friends. It succeeds, but he is taken. When brought to the bar, his
judge proves to be Lucy’s uncle, William Brandon, the very man
through whose accusation he was first wrongfully imprisoned, and who
at the close of the trial receives intelligence that the prisoner is his only
son by a secret marriage. Brandon had wrecked the life of his wife,
allowing her years before to elope with Mauleverer in order to ruin her,
and she, in return, had stolen away little Paul. Thus the wheel has come
372 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

full circle, and Brandon, the villain approved by society, at the com-
plaint of his accomplice in villainy must determine the fate of his own
child, for whose criminal life he is responsible, and upon whose dis-
covery he has staked all his hopes. He pronounces sentence of death,
but succumbs to the strain. As for Paul, his sentence is relaxed to trans-
portation; he escapes, and being joined by his faithful Lucy, takes
refuge in America, to lead there an honest and honored life.

The thesis of “Paul Clifford” is elaborated in the anti-hero’s
plea before the court, a diatribe against the injustice of the laws,
and a blinking of the fact that he himself has been anything
save a creature of conditions. ‘‘ Your laws are but of two classes:
the one makes criminals, the other punishes them. I have suf-
fered by the one, — I am about to perish by the other.” God-
win’s revolutionary voice is heard, also, in an attack upon the
permitted duplicities of trade. ‘‘Is there honesty in the bread
you eat, in a single necessity which clothes, or feeds, or warms
you? Let those whom the law protects consider it a protector;
when did it ever protect me?”

Setting aside such eloquent anarchism and the powerful
drama of Brandon and Clifford face to face, the novel is dandy-
ish and occasionally even dull. Its personages are fanciful
beings, and the scenes are novelistic scénes & faire. Bulwer is
only half serious in pursuing this vein, and as social reformer
finds it difficult to preserve decorum, lapsing frequently into
puns, parody, and disguised political allusions.! Although he
sought local color in visits to the prisons of London, the low-
life he depicts is that of romance. The irony of Fielding’s
“Jonathan Wild” reappears with purpose reversed, for here it
is the rogue who finds a defender. Such irony reaches a cli-
max in the lucubrations of Augustus Tomlinson, who becomes

" For the identification of political personages, see The Life, Letters, and

Literary Remains of Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton, by his son, 1883 (vol. ii,
pp. 248, 289),
BULWER 373

professor of moral philosophy in a German university. His
posthumous writings are appended to the novel in two groups,
‘‘Maxims on the Popular Art of Cheating, Illustrated by Ten
Characters,” and “Brachylogia, or Essays, Critical, Sentimen-
tal, Moral, and Original.” Here Tomlinson, among other
sage reflections, echoes Fielding by saying: “Whenever you
read the life of a great man, I mean a man eminently suc-
cessful, you will perceive all the qualities given to him are the
qualities necessary even to a mediocre rogue; . . . wherefore,
if luck cast you in humble life, assiduously study the biogra-
phies of the great, in order to accomplish you as a rogue; if
in the more elevated range of society, be thoroughly versed
in the lives of the roguish,— so shall you fit yourself to be
eminent.”

Even more picaresque than this philosophy is Tomlinson’s
history, related to Paul as they pick oakum in Bridewell. It
reads like a chapter from the Spanish romances of roguery,
and it involves such cheats as would have delighted Quevedo.
The other rascals, from Long Ned and Roaring Attie to Scar-
let Jem and Old Bags, together with subordinate figures, such
as Margery Lobkins and Dummie Dunnaker, are more shadowy
than this philosopher of roguery. ‘The songs that they sing, like
those in the novels of Ainsworth, are inspired by “The Beg-
gar’s Opera,” all ringing the changes on the same theme: —

Oh there never was life like the robber’s — so
Jolly, and bold, and free;
And its end, — why a cheer from the crowd below,
And a leap from a leafless tree.
The language of these rogues, however, lacks the antiquity of
the cant derived by Ainsworth from Brome and Dekker. If
Le Sage has guided Bulwer’s brush in the picaresque scenes,
Smollett, too has taught him something in the satire upon poor-
374 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

devil authors and the use of burlesque. The latter is shown at
its best in Tomlinson’s mock-heroic ‘‘ Farewell to London.”

The influence of “Paul Clifford” was considerable. A sec-
ond edition appeared within three months, and the demand for
new issues incited piracies. Both Ainsworth and Dickens were
stimulated by Bulwer’s success in this field, the one to experi-
ments in romantic roguery, the other to a humanitarian adapta-
tion of picaresque fiction. The reform of criminal law itself
seems to have been partially effected through “Paul Clifford,”
the number of crimes punishable by death being reduced, and
prison régime being modified by enactments traceable to the
fiction.

In ‘Eugene Aram” (1832) Bulwer departed from the pica-
resque tradition, although still retaining for hero a criminal.

Aram at the opening of the story lives in scholarly seclusion at Grass-
dale. Here he has fallen in love with the Squire’s daughter, Madeline.
His disappointed rival is her cousin, Walter, who rides away in order to
forget this passion, and who by chance comes upon the trail of his long-
lost father. The latter proves to have been murdered. Clue after clue
is followed up until Walter in Yorkshire meets a rascal, who, being
charged with the crime, fastens it upon Aram. In the meantime, Aram
has been visited at Grassdale by this Houseman, submitting to be levied
on under threats of exposure, but arranging on the promise of an an-
nuity that the blackmailer shall retire for life to France. Only the fatal
illness of Houseman’s daughter prevents the fulfillment of this plan,
for, dazed with grief at her death, he lets slip the secret so long con-
cealed, and then to save himself shifts the deed to his accomplice. Aram,
who but for this act has led an upright life, is arrested on his wedding
day. Madeline dies, and, although Aram has maintained his innocence
with subtlety, he leaves with Walter a letter of confession, and takes
his life to escape execution.

The interest of this story depends upon two things, — the
plot as it draws the net closer about Aram, and the play of the
culprit’s mind and feelings as he beholds the Nemesis of his past
BULWER 375

rise up to destroy his present and future. He is no careless pi-
caro, but the desponding sufferer for a secret sin. If he truckles
with his more guilty accomplice, it is only to be left to live his
life to nobler ends; the original deed was, in fact, inspired
by the yearning for knowledge with which he might bless the
world, This is the theme wrought out with greater psychological
insight in Dostoyevski’s “Crime and Punishment.” The Eng-
lish romancer, however, was charged with sentimentalizing
crime, no doubt because his anti-hero is so proud that he weaves
a tissue of half-justified deceptions to veil his guilt, and so gentle
that he wins sympathy.

In the journey of Walter Lester, comedy contrasts with the
gloom of the central story. Here the influence of “Gil Blas”
emerges in a few adventures and types of character, as well as
in the satire upon physicians. Corporal Bunting, Walter’s
Sancho Panza in the expedition, can trace his descent direct
from ‘‘Tristram Shandy,” and Scott, to whom the novel was
dedicated, may be held responsible for Dame Darkmans, Peter
Dealtry the innkeeper, and Bess Airlie the Gypsy. As for the
professional criminal, Houseman, he is at first a philosophic
rascal of the Tomlinson type, who later proves the ordinary
rogue. He robs on the highway and associates with a gang,
two of whose members attempt a burglary at the house of the
Squire. In a firelit cavern he figures as the theatric villain pro-
posing terms to Aram, and a glimpse of him is had in his Lon-
don haunts with drunken Bess, his mort.

Bulwer might speak of his anti-hero as having no share in
the ‘‘profligate knavery and brutal cruelty that revolt and dis-
gust us in the literature of Newgate and the Hulks,” yet the
foundation of his fiction was criminal facts and precisely such
criminal biographies.‘ More significant than the novel’s genesis,

1 Bulwer uses Aram’s speech in court verbatim. The real Aram was
376 ROMANTIC ROGUERY

however, is its position with regard to the genre. It represents
a departure from the light-hearted romance of roguery to the
sober study of sin. Nathaniel Hawthorne is the master of the
latter phase of fiction in English, and although too much of an
idealist. to indulge in picaresque writing, he acknowledges its
influence in “The House of the Seven Gables” (1851). Here
Holgrave, the daguerreotypist, in vicissitude of adventure at
least, is a colorless picaro. ‘Young as he was,” says Haw-
thorne, “‘his life had contained enough of incident to fill very
creditably an autobiographic volume. A romance on the plan of
‘Gil Blas,’ adapted to American society and manners, would
cease to be a romance. The experience of many individuals
among us, who think it hardly worth the telling, would equal the
vicissitudes of the Spaniard’s earlier life.” Holgrave is of lowly
birth and scanty education; he has served in various condi-
tions, from schoolmaster, salesman in a country store, political
editor of a newspaper, and peddler of perfumes, to itinerant
dentist, supernumerary official aboard a packet ship, tramp
in Italy, France, and Germany, member of a community of
Fourierists, and lecturer on mesmerism. But Hawthorne is
careful to distinguish him from the vagabonds whom he su-
perficially resembles. ‘‘Homeless as he had been, — contin-
ually changing his whereabout, and, therefore, responsible
neither to public opinion nor to individuals, — putting off one
exterior and snatching up another, to be soon shifted for a third,
born in 1704 in Netherdale, Yorkshire, and early showed talent in the
service of Sir Edward Blackett, whose brother, « merchant, afterward
took him to London as bookkeeper. Later, he studied alone at Newby
and then under the direction of William Norton of Knaresborough. The
murder of Clark occurred February 8, 1745, and it was only in August,
1759, that Aram was brought to trial, condemned, and hanged at York.
In the meantime he had acted as usher and tutor in several schools and

had acquired high proficiency in languages. Cf. the Biographia Britan-
nica.
BULWER 377

— he had never violated the innermost man, but had carried
his conscience along with him.” 4

Where “‘Eugene Aram” had exhibited the effects of crime
rather than its immediate action, Bulwer’s “Lucretia, or the
Children of Night” (1846) dealt directly with villainy. It sought
to trace the influence of money as a corrupter of the heart, and
to support its study drew actual criminals, chief among whom
was the forger, Thomas Griffiths Wainewright.

Dalibard, his son Varney, and his second wife Lucretia are the “Chil-
dren of Night,’’ whose evil passions furnish the mainspring of the novel.
Dalibard, after giving to the guillotine Varney’s mother, comes to Eng-
land to serve as secretary to a baronet. There he covets his master’s
niece, the heartless Lucretia. He breaks up her match with another
and marries her himself, but the small fortune she brings fails to satisfy
him, and soon he is plotting to secure an inheritance by removing a
cousin and later by bestowing attention upon that cousin’s widow.
Lucretia now stands in his way, and he attempts to poison her. She re-
taliates by handing him over to be murdered by an enemy. His own
son has enabled her to do this, and henceforth he and she are villains in
partnership. As a means to a fortune they scheme the deaths by slow
poison of Lucretia’s niece and the latter’s lover. Varney, in addition,
heavily insures the girl’s life, hoping with the funds so secured to cover
a forgery. The catastrophe comes when Lucretia is denounced by a
crossing-sweeper, whom she slays only to find him her son. She goes
mad, and Varney is transported and figures as the most pestilent rogue
in the convict colony.

Surcharged with sentiment and high-sounding apostrophes,
unrelieved by humor, and reveling in crimes of the blackest,
“Lucretia” is pure melodrama, and at a far remove from the
typical picaresque novel. It marks, however, the final stage
in the transition from roguery to villainy.

1 The House of the Seven Gables, ch. xii.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER VIII
1-4

Nineteenth-century fiction is discussed by Cross (op. cit.), by Tuck-
erman (op. cit.), in James Oliphant’s Victorian Novelists (London,
1899), in Percy Russell’s scattering Guide to British and American
Novels (London, 1894), in Sidney Lanier’s The English Novel and the
Principle of its Development (N. Y., 1883), and in G. E. B. Saints-
bury’s History of Nineteenth Century Literature (N. Y., 1899).

1

No study has been made of low-life in Scott, but his novels are con-
sidered in the biographies by Andrew Lang (N. Y., 1906), by G. Le
Grys Norgate (London, 1906), by W. H. Hudson (London, 1901), by
C. D. Yonge (Great Writers, 1888), and by R. H. Hutton (English Men
of Letters, 1878); in J. G. Lockhart’s Memoirs of the Lije of Sir Walter
Scott (1837), in F. Jeffrey’s Essays, in Carlyle’s Essays, in N. W.Senior’s
Essays on Fiction (London, 1864), in W. Bagehot’s Literary Studies
(1884, vol. ii), in Leslie Stephen’s Hours in a Library (London, 1874,
vol. i), and in A. A. Jack’s Essays on the Novel as Illustrated by Scott
and Miss Austen (London and N. Y., 1897). Special phases of Scott’s
fiction are examined in Walter Freye’s Influence of Gothic Literature on
Sir Walter Scott (Rostock, 1902), in Kurt Gaebel’s Bettriige zur Technik
der Erztihlung in der Romane Walter Scotts (Marburg, 1901), in Albert
Siebert’s Untersuchungen zu Walter Scotts Waverley (Jena, 1902), and in
Martin Schiiler’s Quellenforschungen zu Scotts Roman Rob Roy (Leipzig,
1901). The Border Edition of the Waverley Novels (London, 1894)
contains valuable introductory essays and notes by Andrew Lang.

2

Trelawny’s Adventures of a Younger Son is edited with a memoir by
Edward Garnett (Adventure Series, 1890). It appeared in a New York
edition (1834, 2 vols.), in Bentley’s Standard Novels (1835), in German
BIBLIOGRAPHY 379

(Leipzig, 1832), and was issued in French shortly after by Alexandre
Dumas as Le cadet de famille in his journal, Le mousquetaire. The real
Trelawny is studied by Richard Edgeumbe in Edward Trelawny: a
Biographical Sketch (Plymouth, 1882). The best notice of Hope is by
Warwick Wroth (Dict. of Nat. Biog., vol. xxvii); Anastasius was re-
viewed in Blackwood (vol. x), in the Edinburgh Review, by Sydney
Smith (vol. xxxv), and in the Quarterly Review (vol. xxiv). Scott
highly praised Morier’s novels in the Quarterly (vols. xxi, xxvi, xxxix),
and they are noticed in Fraser’s (vol. vii). The Adventures of Hajjt
Baba has seen editions in 1877, 1895, 1896, and 1897. The best contains
a valuable introduction by George N. Curzon (London, 1895). Pan-
durang Hari is edited with a preface by Sir H. Bartle E. Frere (Lon-
don, 1875); it has been reprinted (London, 1891). A brief notice of
Hockley (1792-1860), who also wrote Tales of a Zenana, appears in
Buckland’s Dictionary of Indian Biography. The Conjessions of a Thug
has been reprinted (London, 1873 and 1883).

3

Notices of G. P. R. James’s works appear in the Edinburgh Review
(1837), in the Genileman’s Magazine (1860), and in the Atheneum
(June 23, 1860). His collected fiction (London, 1844-49, 21 vols.) con-
tains an interesting preface, and his best novels have been republished
by Routledge (London, n. d.). Editions of Ainsworth’s novels are
numerous, and the best (London and Philadelphia, 1902) contains a
Memoir by W. E. A. Axon. The Early Lije of W. H. Ainsworth, by
Jobn Evans, and Laman Blanchard’s brief Memoir in the Mirror (1842)
notice his work, which has excited very little critical comment.

4

Bulwer is considered in S. Smiles’s Brief Biographies (1861), in Thom-
son Cooper’s Lord Lytton (London, 1873), in the Prefatory Memoir by
his Son contained in Bulwer’s Speeches and Other Political Writings
(London, 1874), and in The Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of Ed-
ward Bulwer, Lord Lytton, by his son (London, 1883, 2 vols.). Criti-
cisms of his fiction appear in W. L. G. Brimley’s Essays (London, 1868),
in Sir E. B. Hamley’s Shakespeare’s Funeral and Other Papers (Lon-
don, 1889), and in F. Heinrich’s Laurence Sterne und Edward Bulwer
(Leipzig, 1904). Paul Clifford is discussed as a novel of social propa-
ganda in L. Cazamian’s Le roman social en Angleterre (Paris, 1904).
CHAPTER IX
ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

1. Cockney Rogueries

HILE romantic readers acknowledged the charm
of Scott’s novels, the matter-of-fact found de-
light in the Cockney sketches of Pierce Egan.
“Glorious Pierce,” first of sporting editors,
patron of the ring and the turf, was the idol
of half England in the twenties. If his “Boxiana,” ‘Walks
through Bath,” ‘Sporting Anecdotes,” and ‘Picture of the
Fancy” were popular, what shall be said of “Life in London,”
which set a fashion in literature and fathered (according to
the author) sixty-five publications and plays? To have read
it was a passport to sporting society, and to emulate its “day
and night scenes of Jerry Hawthorne, Esquire, and his elegant
friend, Corinthian Tom, accompanied by Bob Logic, the Ox-
onian, in their rambles and sprees through the metropolis,” was
the ambition of every young blood.

Although Thackeray, among others, has recorded his early
impressions of “‘Life in London,” it is difficult to understand
the enthusiasm once aroused by so vulgar a chronicle. No doubt
“Pickwick Papers” too far outdid this original in humor and in
character drawing to admit of its satisfying the public there-
after. Yet as a monument to the late Georgian conception of
seeing life, it is still of interest.

The work was issued in monthly numbers, beginning in
July, 1821. It affected italics, capitalization, doggerel, flash,

  
COCKNEY ROGUERIES 381

puns, and footnote asides, and it acknowledged dependence
upon the eighteenth-century novelists and Sterne in particular.
Not the least contribution to the volume’s success was its thirty-
six plates, done in color by the Cruikshanks, wherein to-day
Tom, Logic, and Jerry remain most vital. Corinthian Tom
is the elegant dandy addicted to the pleasures of fast life; Jerry
is his country cousin brought up to town to see the sights, and
sent home again exhausted by his round of gayeties, and Logic
is the green-spectacled little Oxonian, game to the last, who
knows more of Corinthianism than of Greek. These and their
female friends, chief of whom is Corinthian Kate, are the empti-
est of types, and the scenes they observe are alone of impor-
tance.

When Tom, returning from a visit to Hawthorne Hall, brings to
London his cousin Jerry, the latter inspects Corinthian House, rides
in Hyde Park, attends the play at Old Drury, and promenades in the
Saloon among the gay Cyprians. Then his guides bear him off to drink
blue ruin at a sluicery, to make merry in a coffee-shop swarming with
the vicious, and to fall into the clutches of the police. They visit the
watch-house and the Bow Street magistrates, take part in the revels
of a masquerade supper, receive a lesson from pugilist Jackson, and
call on the champion, Tom Cribb. From the dog-pit they pass to scenes
among the dustmen of Tothill Fields. Now they pitch over the box of
the sleeping watchman, try a bout at fencing, or expose the fortune-
teller in her garret. In Leicester Fields they are robbed by the Peep 0”
Day Boys; in the condemned yard at Newgate they interview those
about to be hanged; at a low resort they carouse with “Lascars, blacks,
jack-tars, coal heavers, dustmen, women of colour, old and young, and
a sprinkling of the remnants of once fine girls.”

Life in London appears to no greater advantage among the super-
refined of Almack’s, for the “swell broad coves” who lose to the trio
in the royal cock-pit, seek dishonest revenge at whist, with a pal to spy
on their victims’ cards in a mirror, and a black to ply them with wine.
A carnival at the opera, a visit to celebrities in the Drury Lane green-
room, and flirtations at Vauxhall, bring the adventurers back to low
scenes in the slums of the “Holy Land.” Here in a cellar are the cadgers
382. ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

roistering after their day’s begging, crutches and sores discarded, a
one-legged fiddler enlivening the party, Peg the ballad-singer ogling
Corinthian Tom, the legless boy as chairman toasting success to flat-
catching, old Suke coming down the ladder, and the whole throng,
from black Massa Piebald to the scratching tramp, making havoc
with the peck and booze. Finally, when Bob Logic is carried off to the
Fleet, like Pickwick in later days, a visit to him reveals the humors of
that world of petty iniquities where broken rogues lie up in the whistling
shop pending repairs.

In all these pictures, rascality predominates. Egan, in his
“Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic” (1828),
might kill off his principal rogues as a penalty for their dissi-
pation, and reform and marry to the virtuous Miss Rosebud
his gay Squire Jerry, but the series remained sufficiently shock-
ing to English decorum. To portray Logic engaged in amours
with a hulking negress and boasting his prowess afterwards,
to show young men of education and social standing abetting
in vice depraved gutter-snipes, was to offend both taste and
morals. The town, however, echoed the defense entered by
Moncrieff in his operatic “Tom and Jerry” (1821): ‘‘To those
venerable noodles who complain that I and my prototype,
Pierce, have made this the age of flash, I answer, ‘ Any age is
better than the age of Cant.’”

Other hands extended the vogue of Tom and Jerry upon
the stage. Jerrold, Dibdin, Farrell, and Barrymore produced
plays on the theme; Hodgson presented a juvenile “Life in
London,” and Bartholomew Fair entertained its patrons with
a harlequinade. Egan’s own dramatization, with the songs
and parodies of his ‘‘ New Pedestrian Equestrian Extravaganza,”
appeared in 1822. One of these ditties takes off a sentimental
ballad in “‘Guy Mannering : ” —

O slumber, my kid-wy, thy dad is a scamp,
Thy mother ’s a bunter, brush’d off on the tramp;
COCKNEY ROGUERIES 383

She ’s sold all her sprats, and left nothing for thee,

And got lushy and daffy, and out on a spree!
Then rest thee, kid, rest thee, kid, snooze while you can,
If you open your peepers you ’ll go without scran.

Egan’s success with “Life in London” lost him his place
as pugilistic specialist on “The Weekly Dispatch,” and in
retaliation he launched “Pierce Egan’s Life in London and
Sporting Guide,” which after 1827 became “‘Bell’s Life in Lon-
don.” In the meantime, his sporting rival, John Badock (“‘Jon-
athan Bee”), was editing such periodicals as “The Fancy”
and “The Fancy Gazette,” and issuing a ‘‘Dictionary of the
Turf, the Ring, the Chase, the Pit, the Bon Ton, and the Va-
rieties of Life,” as well as “A Living Picture of London,” which
professed in beggar-book fashion to warn the unwary of the
snares set by metropolitan rogues. His anonymous “Real Life
in London,” depicting “the rambles and adventures of Bob
Tallyho, Esq., and his cousin the Hon. Tom Dashall, &c.,
through the Metropolis,” was obviously inspired by Egan’s
“Life in London,” and like that work rejoiced in a sequel,
“The Further Rambles and Adventures of Bob Tallyho and
Tom Dashall.” The colored prints that embellished these vol-
umes were supplied by such artists as Heath, Dighton, Brooke,
and Rowlandson. George Cruikshank further did twenty-one
plates for ‘‘Life in Paris,” devoted to the French “rambles,
sprees, and amours of Dick Wildfire, of Corinthian celebrity,
and his bang-up companions, Squire Jenkins and Captain
O’Shuffleton.”

This collaboration of author and illustrator in the portrayal
of comic scenes appears to have been first popularized by Wil-
liam Combe’s versified burlesque, ‘The Tour of Doctor Syn-
tax in Search of the Picturesque” (1812). Nine editions were
exhausted in six years, and besides translations into Dutch
384 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

and German, a version in French — ‘‘Le Don Quichotte Ro-
mantique” — contested public approval with the rendering
of Egan’s masterpiece as ‘“‘Le Diorame Anglais.” Dickens’s
“Pickwick,” the most distinguished successor of these illus-
trated gayeties, was originally designed as letter-press for the
drawings of Seymour, and the later volumes of Robert Smith
Surtees laid John Leech and H. K. Browne under contribution
for plates to adorn such fictions as “Mr. Sponge’s Sporting
Tour,” “Mr. Romford’s Hounds,” “‘Hawbuck Grange, or the
Sporting Adventures of Thomas Scott, Esq.,”’ and the better
known ‘‘Jorrocks’s Jaunts and Jollities’’ and “‘Handley Cross,
or Mr. Jorrocks’s Hunt.” Jorrocks, the Cockney grocer, who
indulges in sport despite farcical mishaps arising from his un-
fitness for it, and who falls a victim to adventurers, is not lack-
ing in picaresque experience, as witness his affair with the
Countess Benvolio.

Much the same vein was worked by that versatile wag,
Theodore Hook, the nine volumes of whose “Sayings and Do-
ings” (1826-29) include at least two with roguish traits. These
are ‘‘Martha the Gipsy,” a slight tale of a Romany beggar’s
curse, and “Gervase Skinner,” a satire on avarice. In the latter
an amorous miser is victimized by a theatrical picara and her
complacent husband, and he further suffers a series of un-
toward accidents, from arrest for horse-stealing to being con-
fined by error in an insane asylum. His mansion burns, a bank
fails, and the picara, Mrs. Fuggleston, when there is no longer
any prospect of booty, vanishes with her spoils.

In “Gilbert Gurney” (1836) Hook told the story of a gen-
tlemanly adventurer and his friend Daly, a practical joker.

Daly, when in debt, inserts in the papers a notice of his death dated

from abroad, and then passes himself off upon tradesmen as his own
twin brother come as a pious duty to settle for five shillings in the pound.
COCKNEY ROGUERIES 385

With a string he catches Cockney couples out for a rowon the river,
or escapes recognition in a tight place by feigning a nose-bleed. He
lands from his boat on a gentleman’s lawn, and declaring himself the
surveyor for a new canal which will cut through that very property,
is regally entertained by the owner, only to reject, with a tirade against
bribery, the note slipped into his hand at leaving. When discovered
in poaching he wheedles the irate proprietor into inviting him to dinner,
and at a fancy-dress ball provides drugged macaroons for the dancers,
and induces the musicians to forestall the guests at the banquet. He
tenders a dinner composed in each course of a leg of mutton, and ex-
plains that the tavern-keepers will trust him for only one dish at a time,
and that all have hit upon the dish of the season. At a crowded inn
he is victimized by being put to sleep in a room with a lady. Cautioned
that she is an invalid and must not be disturbed, he peeps at the fair
sleeper, whose gentility in not snoring he has admired, and is shocked
to discover a corpse. Beyond such pranks and mishaps, Daly’s part
in the plot is small. When Gurney aspires to the hand of an heiress,
Daly volunteers to marry her widowed mamma. This is a kind service,
for a will provides that in case of the mother’s second marriage, the
daughter’s income shall be doubled. But the rogue’s resolution weakens,
and getting another to marry the widow, he himself runs away with
the heiress. After an abortive duel with Gurney, the two are reconciled,
for Daly is sufficiently punished in finding his wife a Tartar, and her
fortune already dissipated by an absconding trustee.

A similar Cockney picaro is the tallow-chandler who poses
as a man of fashion in Hook’s “Jack Brag” (1836).

Leaving the conduct of the business to his mother, Jack rents a door-
plate in a fashionable quarter, talks airily of his little place in Surrey,
and proceeds to dissipate the fortune left by his father. At every turn
he is rebuffed. He casts off his plebeian sweetheart, but sees her marry
a worthier; he patronizes a stranger, who proves to be the lord he has
just been traducing; he urges his mother’s remarriage that he may be
relieved of keeping track of her affairs, only to answer her matrimonial
advertisement in person and be exposed to the ridicule of his friends
in high-life. Like Falstaff he courts two ladies at once, and they, compar-
ing his letters, laugh him to scorn. When he turns yachtsman at Cowes,
his guests leave him sick in his berth and make merry on deck at his
expense. He conducts a costly campaign upon the heart of a wealthy
386, ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

dowager, but is exposed and fails of the prize. The steeple chase he
has organized brings about his ears a lawsuit; his new step-father to
satisfy a debt withdraws his whole balance at the bank; and Brag
in penury retires to Spain to serve in the commissary. Only at the step-
father’s death does he return to the tallow-chandlery, chastened of his
pretensions and his roguery.

The theme of Cockney ambition received even fuller exploi-
tation in Samuel Warren’s ‘‘Ten Thousand a Year” (1839-41).
Here the vulgar Tittlebat Titmouse falls heir to a fortune,
through the sharp legal practice of Quirk, Gammon, and Snap.
He ousts from their estate the worthy Aubreys, marries the only
daughter of an earl, and enters Parliament. Everywhere he
plays the consequential ass, adored by wealth-worshiping soci-
ety. The catastrophe arrives at the end of the third volume,
when, the claims of Titmouse being more thoroughly sifted,
he proves of illegitimate birth, and with the reversion of the
estate to its rightful possessors, sinks into idiocy. The mis-
fortunes of those who suffer by the elevation of this impossible
parvenu, though narrated soberly, are unimportant. The
teader cares little about the devotion of Delamere to Kate
Aubrey, or the persecutions endured by Lord Dreddlington.
The fool and his toadies alone claim attention, yet they are
mere grotesques. The satire is rifled of its power when at-
tached to such masks as the Reverend Dismall Horror, Swindle
O’Gibbet, M. P., the Honourable Empty Belly, Toady Hug,
Heartbreak, Bloodsuck, Mortmain, Oily Gammon, lawyer
Quirk of Alibi House, and Tag Rag, the merchant.

If Titmouse be too much the fool for a picaro, his story con-
forms to the picaresque formula. He is low born, in service,
ambitious, and unscrupulous. He supplements his own cun-
ning by the cheats of those more clever; he is servile in humble
station and arrogant with his betters when buoyed up by chance;
he is ever a source of satire and laughter, and his ups and downs,
LEVER AND THE IRISH NOVEL 387

like those of the picaro, are portrayed as a warning example.
Few books of the day were more popular. Reimpressions, trans-
lations, and dramatizations followed. But Warren did not revert
to picaresque fiction. His earlier ‘“‘Passages From the Diary
of a Late Physician” and the succeeding “Adventures of an
Attorney in Search of Practice” were not concerned with
roguery. Nor is his rapidly written novel, “Now and Then”
(1847), to be classified as picaresque, although its basis is a
crime.

Dickens, in fact, too far outshone Warren and the lesser
Cockney luminaries. He marks the culmination of the comic
genre, and at the same time extends the range of observation
to do what Warren but vaguely accomplished, — to study the
rogue in his social environment.

2. Lever and the Irish Novel

The Irish novel, cultivated by two groups of writers during
the first half of the nineteenth century, occupies a special place
in the history of English fiction, and boasts its own quota of
rogues. Miss Edgeworth, Lady Morgan, Maxwell, Lover, and
Lever were the chief authors of the Anglo-Irish group; the
Banims, Griffin, and Carleton, of the Irish. The latter group
assumed in the main the point of view of the peasantry, the
former, that of the gentry; but the rascals depicted were fairly
distributed between them.

Of such rascals three types may be distinguished: the awk-
ward fool, the witty adventurer, and the scoundrel. Mrs. Crof-
ton Croker’s ‘“‘Barney Mahoney” (1832) affords an example
of the blundering, merry peasant who is a picaro in wit, al-
though lacking the picaro’s meanness. Ten years later this
character received fuller development in the Andy Rooney of
Samuel Lover’s ‘‘Handy Andy,” whose buffooneries, if less
388 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

intentional, are more farcical. Both Andy and Barney resem-
ble the early German jesters of feigned simplicity, and parallel
the awkward comic Irishman, so long a favorite on the stage.

The witty adventurers are folk of every condition, from the
gentlemanly rover to the low-born rogue in service. Miss Edge-
worth in the first of Irish tales — “Castle Rackrent” (1800) —
presents Sir Kit as one of the gentry, a sportsman and gamester,
free with his guineas, and ever in need of them. When he drops
in a duel, the Jewess whom he has married for her fortune is
dying, and no less than three ladies are contending for the right
to call him lord. Darby Crawley, in Lady Morgan’s “Florence
Macarthy” (1816), is a successful rogue who rises from low
things to high, and both Maxwell and Lever delight to portray
the military adventurer. This type proved, indeed, most pop-
ular. In Maxwell’s ‘Adventures of Captain Blake” and in
Lever’s “Confessions of Harry Lorrequer,” “Charles O’Mal-
ley,” “Jack Hinton,” “Tom Burke,” and ‘Maurice Tiernay,”
he is dashing and careless, tireless in activity, inexhaustible
in hilarity, and recklessly brave. In fact, he is scarcely a rogue
at all; for the Irish love of battles, of bravado, and of fun re-
deems his picaresque tendencies, and the background of Na-
poleonic history diverts attention from a potential anti-hero to
events actually heroic. Yet these exuberant young fellows are
wonderfully ready with tricks and deceits. Lorrequer mas-
querades as physician, consults with distinguished members
of the faculty, and pronounces that their patient suffers from
a ‘“‘stay-at-home-with-us” (steatomatous) tumor. Maurice
Tiernay, who finds Robespierre’s pocket-book, knows instinc-
tively how to make the most of it. One and all are in quest of
advancement, and rely on their wits to achieve it.

The veteran adventurer is also a favorite with Lever, who
draws such jolly old dogs of easy morality as the chief person-
LEVER AND THE IRISH NOVEL 389

age in “Sir Brook Fossbrooke” or Bagenal Daly in “The
Knight of Gwynne,” a portrait of the actual Beauchamp
Bagenal.t Here belong Count Considine, in “Charles O’Mal-
ley,” and Godfrey O’Malley, his friend, who plays a fine pica-
resque trick at the expense of his Dublin creditors. Causing
his death to be announced and a funeral to be held, he escapes
from town in the coffin, and then, from the hearse’s top, de-
mands of his neighbors a reélection to Parliament, as a mem-
ber of which he will be exempt from future arrest.

Quite as entertaining as the adventurers of the gentry are the
roguish servants. These remain true to their masters, but are
bound by no scruples of conscience to regard the rest of the
world. Ready for a fight, a song, or any mild knavery are Denis
O’Brien, in Maxwell’s “Captain Blake,” and Mickey Free,
the jollier servitor, in ‘Charles O’Malley.” Mickey is as wit-
tily impudent as any picaro, and so in more rascally fashion is
Tipperary Joe, in ‘Jack Hinton,” a character derived from
an actual beggar, who was wont to climb behind the Dublin
and Kilkenny coach to gather his toll from the passengers.

The third type of rascal—the out-and-out scoundrel —
figures chiefly in fictions of the pure Irish group, picturing the
peasantry; yet the Anglo-Irish writers do not forget him. Miss
Edgeworth introduces such shrewd rascals as Attorney Quirk
and Sir Murtagh in “Castle Rackrent,” and lawyer Patrick-
son in “Ormond.” Lever draws a gallery of villains, from
Tom Gleason and old Hickman, in ‘The Knight of Gwynne,”
and Fagan, in “Sir Jasper Carew,” to Linton, in ‘Roland
Cashel.” He even makes a colossal swindler his hero in ‘ Daven-
port Dunn,” which draws upon the career of the unscrupulous
Junior Lord of the Treasury, John Sadleir; and in “A Day’s

1 Cf. Sir Jonah Barrington, Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation, Paris,
1833, p. 184.
390 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

Ride” he wearied the readers of Dickens’s “All the Year
Round” by irony in Thackeray’s vein anent a knavish fool.

It is in the pages of John Banim, Griffin, and Carleton, how-
ever, that Irish scoundrelism lives most fully. Banim, in “The
Peep 0’ Day, or John Doe” (1825), depicts the evils of a secret
society. His hero, stung by injustice, joins the Shanavests, and,
like Schiller’s Karl Moor, uses the band to gratify a private
vengeance. In “The Last Baron of Crana” (1826) the central
figure turns chief of the Rapparees — organized road-knights,
forced into roguery by laws proscribing the religion and con-
fiscating the property of James II’s defeated adherents. Vil-
lainy without political cast appears in Gerald Griffin’s “Col-
legians” (1826), where Hardress Cregan, wearied of the rustic
beauty he has married in secret, finds her murdered by his
hump-backed servant, Danny Mann. Danny, when denounced
for what his devotion has prompted, hands his master over
to justice, and Cregan dies on shipboard during transportation.
Of minor importance are Griffin’s ““Suil Dhuv, or the Coiner,”
“The Aylmers of Bally-Aylmer,” with its smugglers, and “ Card
Drawing,” with its conscience-struck scoundrel.

It is William Carleton, however, ablest of the Irish novelists,
who in his pictures of peasant life best acquaints his readers
with the grimmer side of roguery. Bartle Flanagan, victim of
the miser in “Fardorougha” (1839), becomes in turn a villain,
and wreaks vengeance upon the miser’s son, his rival, by se-
curing his conviction for the crime of another. In “Rody the
Rover, the Irish Detective” (1845), the title réle is held by a
despicable anti-hero, one of a crew of self-seeking scamps, the
Ribbonmen, who lure simple peasants into their society and
goad them on to the commission of outrages, only to betray
them to the government for a price. Rody, in fact, is a politi-
cal Jonathan Wild, and his especial victim, Tom M’Mahon,
LEVER AND THE IRISH NOVEL 391

hangs for the crime he had sought to prevent. In “Valen-
tine M’Clutchy” (1845), a still blacker portrait is drawn of
a reprobate land-agent, who rises from the dregs by dint of
scheming, to become an absolute despot. He experiences pica-
resque shifts of condition, passing from process-server to mag-
istrate through the stages of bailiff, constable, agent, and chief.
Each advance is the result of rascality, and when he rules for
an absentee landlord, it is with a hand of iron. He defrauds
the landlord of his money, and the peasantry of their rights
and their peace. His legal devices for cheating them, his illegal
outrages and those of his insolent son, at last bring retribution.
A similar figure is M’Gowan in Carleton’s “Black Prophet,”
that harrowing account of the miseries of famine. But closer
than either to the typical picaro is Hycy Burke in ‘The Emi-
grants of Ahadarra” (1847), related in good looks, taking
manners, and jaunty cynicism to Thackeray’s Barry Lyndon.
His usage of his parents, of his sweetheart, and of his friends,
his utter heartlessness and self-revealed anti-heroism are pre-
cisely in Barry’s manner.

In ‘Redmond, Count O’Hanlon, the Irish Rapparee” (1862)
Carleton’s villain is an English officer, and his hero is a Hiber-
nian Robin Hood of the seventeenth century, who intervenes
to protect the virtuous Rose Callan, and restore her to the lover
from whom she has been abducted. Facetious Patchy Baccah
is the agent of the Rapparees, standing within the good graces
of the British, and so enabled to warn his friends of their every
movement. Patchy it is who introduces us to the robbers as-
sembled in formidable array within a romantic cave. Here
are such famous road-knights of reality as Shane Bearnah,
Strong John McPherson, Quee Harry Donaghan the Napper
of Ulster, Captain Power, O’Kelly the Kilkenny man, and
Charles Dempsey, or Cahir na Cappul (Charles of the Horses).
392 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

Dempsey figures also in John Banim’s “Boyne Water,” and
another brave rogue, Manus Mac O’Neil, the gold-finder, plays
a part in Griffin’s “‘Suil Dhuv.” As for Redmond himself, he
is the paragon of priggers, handsome, valiant, courtly, liberal
to his subjects, generous to the afflicted, a terror to his foes,
secure with his friends.

Here, and throughout the Irish novels, aside from the rogues
that are studied, a host of picaresque traits and incidents ap-
pear. For the Irishman’s love of defying the law, which leads to
the drubbing of bailiffs, the outwitting of gaugers, illicit distill-
ing, and smuggling, provokes many an amusing rogue scene, and
his romantic delight in duels and abductions adds to the list.

The originality of most of these fictions is marked. In so
far as they depend upon literary influence, Le Sage and Smollett
are potent. Carleton, though he wrote with a passion foreign
to Le Sage, was first inspired by happening upon a copy of
“Gil Blas,” procured from a peddler. “I did not then even
know that it was fiction,” he says, “but took it for granted
that all the adventures were true.” Its effect was ‘‘to fill my
imagination with such a romantic love of adventure, as made
me wish myself a thousand times the hero of some that might
resemble those.” Soon he ran away to seek his fortune in emu-
lation of Le Sage’s picaro; and he pictures himself spending
the night in Dublin in a beggar’s cellar where “crutches, wooden
legs, artificial cancers, scrofulous necks, artificial wens, sore
legs, and a vast variety of similar complaints, were hung up
upon the walls.” Lever’s novels, with their powerfully in-
dividualized “I,” resemble ‘‘Gil Blas,” and their wit has been
compared to that of Figaro, since “ sentence after sentence
blazes forth and bangs like a discharge of fireworks.”? One

1 Cf. D. J. O’Donoghue’s Life of William Carleton, 1896, chs. ix, xiii.
2 Cf. W. J. Fitzpatrick’s The Life of Charles Lever, 1879, vol. ii, p. 14.
LEVER AND THE IRISH NOVEL 393

at least — the picaresque “‘Con Cregan” — was directly pat-
terned upon the French masterpiece, being undertaken at the
suggestion of a friend who had read Padre Isla’s Spanish ver-
sion, and who advised Lever’s trying something in that style.

Smollett, himself a disciple of Le Sage, was peculiarly Le-
ver’s master, and the result is visible in such grotesque figures
as Cross Corny Delany, in ‘“‘Jack Hinton,” and in Lever’s
whole procedure in narrative. Like Smollett, he draws from
living originals and presents actual occurrences. Like Smol-
lett, he cares little for the niceties of construction or the analysis
of character. Farce, practical jests, and the capers of the eccen-
tric amuse him, and in Smollett’s manner he was wont to reel
off a haphazard series of adventures with just enough love story
to be closed by a ‘‘God bless you, my children.” In “The Dodd
Family Abroad” (1854) Lever followed the device of Smol-
lett’s ‘Humphry Clinker,” for he assembles the letters written
by a company of travelers, who describe from diverse points
of view their experiences en route and thereby reveal their in-
dividual humors. In two ways, however, Lever supplemented
Smollett; for, carrying his travelers to the Continent, he af-
forded amusement by exhibiting the shock given to their pre-
conceptions of foreign life by the actuality; and he further
drew laughter from the deceits and extortions everywhere
practiced upon them. In the latter respect this novel is at least
affiliated with the romances of roguery.

Fielding’s conception of the unheroic hero is Lever’s also,
and when Lord Dalling objected concerning the Irishman’s
last novel, “Kilgobbin” (1872), that it could show no one char-
acter transcendently pure or good or virtuous, Lever admitted
that he might have been tilting the cask so long that the dregs
were coming out muddy, but protested that “the kingdom of
the world is made up of people of mixed motives, not very
394 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

wicked or the reverse, but doing a variety of inconvenient and
some positively bad things.”

In the whole range of Irish fiction the chief picaresque suc-
cess was scored by Lever’s ‘‘Confessions of Con Cregan, the
Irish Gil Blas” (1849). Carelessly written and little esteemed
by the author, who set more store by his contemporary “Dal-
tons,” this novel delighted the public.

Con is the son of a rascal informer. Out of pique he secures his fa-
ther’s transportation for life; the Crown then confiscates the family
property; so, being cast on the world, the rogue sets forth to see it at
leisure. In Dublin he is “hazed” by college students, falls in with a
band of little vagabonds, and being preferred to hold the horse of a
dashing captain, canters away with his charge to take part in the races.
In the midst of his glory comes arrest, but wit secures his release. That
night on the wharves he saves the life of a gentleman gambler, and
accepts service aboard the latter’s yacht. Voyaging across the Atlantic,
he incurs his mad master’s displeasure, and the crew, to save Con from
a worse fate, maroon him on a desert island. After encountering here
a terrible negro convict, the rogue reaches Quebec to pose as fashion-
able butler. He is armed with forged characters and plentiful allusions
to the titled masters he has served, and ere long becomes social dictator
of the Hotel Davis. But a practical joke upon an understrapper, in-
duced to chalk numbers across the backs of guests at a ball, in lieu of
coat checks, sets him adrift once more.

Fora little, Con is guide to a family of Irish emigrants; then he crosses
the States to New Orleans, where he shines as a prince of mendacity.
Having chanced upon another’s lottery prize he visits Texas and Mexico,
where follow exciting adventures, from outwitting the spy on his trail
and rescuing from drowning the fair Donna Maria, to escaping across
the marshes from a lazaretto, and placer-mining with desperadoes
at the foot of the Rockies. When the mining camp is swept away by a
flood, Con braves the terrors of a solitary journey over the prairies,
and at a convict settlement is forced to take the place of a dog in goad-
ing two asses round a treadmill by day and frightening off mountain
wolves by night. Aided in flight from these horrors by the mysterious
masked Sefiora, he duels with a jealous Mexican and, in digging the
grave of a miner, unearths a great treasure.
LEVER AND THE IRISH NOVEL 395

Henceforth, with coach and six, Con becomes El Conde de Cregano,
grandee of Spain; and if he fails to gain the hand of his Donna Maria,
it is only because he arrives to open his suit on the day of her marriage
to another. Sailing to Malaga in pursuit of the lady, he is there cast into
prison as a Carlist, but escapes, travels to Italy as courier to an English
family, and in Paris becomes a “quatorziéme,” to be hired as fourteenth
at any table where there is danger of seating an unlucky thirteen.

The new profession proves an open sesame to journalism, to high
society, and to military honors. At Naples he recognizes in the wife
of the Spanish ambassador the very Sefiora of the Mexican convict col-
ony. Her influence secures him recognition of his title, and the French
king appoints him ambassador. It only remains for the rogue, thus
promoted to grandeur, to revisit the scenes of his humble beginnings,
and to find there and marry the fair widow, Donna Maria.

This laughable farrago is Irish in its exuberant wit and ex-
travagance, if not in its scene. Its events, however improbable,
win credence in the reading, and although the plot be romantic,
its details are handled with realism. Such traits of the picaresque
type as satire, roguery, and the service of masters proclaim
the novel’s ancestry; yet little or nothing is borrowed. The
device whereby Cregan the elder bequeaths to himself broad
acres when requested by a rascal to impersonate one already
dead is as old as the novelle,! and Con’s tricks as butler savor
fortuitously of the wiles of the “ Picara Justina ;” but this is all.
Lever worked up his Texan and Mexican scenes through inter-
views with an American officer, and had himself suffered ship-
wreck on the Island of Anticosti. Much of the charm of the
fiction is due to the verve of its style, a cross between the easy
humor of Le Sage and the brilliant burlesque of Quevedo,
with a devil-may-care sparkle in dialogue that is Lever’s own.
As for Con, he equals his Spanish and French brothers in wit,

1 It appears among the six tales of Marco Cademosto da Lodi, Sonetti
ed altre rime, con alcune novelle, Roma, 1543, and it figures, also, in the
Piacevoli notte of Granucci, Venezia, 1574,
396 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

and is their superior in valor and passion. His cheats are never
sordid, and he is inspired with the notion, so potent in the mind
of Defoe’s Colonel Jack, of being a gentleman. His lying is
done in fun to test the simplicity of his listeners. Gravely he
tells an outrageous tale of having been concealed at birth in
a violin case and being raffled for by royalty, or exhibits his
coat of arms, — the crown of Ireland over a shield embossed
with an eye winking and the motto, ‘Maybe not,” in Gaelic.
If he outdoes Barry Lyndon in lies, he remains by contrast
good-humored to the last. “Let Dame Fortune only deal me
trumps,” he says, ‘‘and I’ll promise never to look into my
neighbor’s hand,” an opportunism in honesty that happens
to bring him out with colors flying and that spares the reader
any moral reflections. In combat and love Con is far from a
picaro, for he proves both brave and constant. To his Donna
Maria he even reveals the truth regarding his birth, saying,
“T could not have gone on deceiving you, even though this con-
fession should separate us forever.”

By way of relief to the humorous episodes, tragic incidents
often supervene, and these present strange figures who reap-
pear or prove to be related to others already met. Thus the
convict of Anticosti reénters the story when a Louisiana cap-
tain tells of his fearful crimes, and again when Con discovers in
Mexico his treasure, bought with so much blood. Sir Dudley
Broughton, the mad gambler, voyaging from port to port in
quest of revenge upon his wife’s seducer, is ever in the back-
ground, savage and imperious, ready to visit death on the boy
who in self-defense has flung overboard a pet lion whelp, and
planning for his enemy a lingering agony on some low reptile-
haunted isle.

The seducer, too, who has played so well the part of Russian
envoy in London and that of consul to Campecho in South
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 397

America, reappears upon the high seas as the very scoundrel
who will procure Con’s imprisonment at Malaga. And once
more he emerges rowing at a convict’s oar in the Bay of Naples,
to be grappled by Sir Dudley and drawn beneath the waves,
while the mysterious Sefiora, who has wrecked the lives of both,
sinks senseless, never to regain her reason. In the pest-haunted
house at Quebec, Con hears the story of Mat Cullinane, hanged
years before in Ireland on a false charge; then at dead of night,
peering through a doorway, Con discerns the livid form of the
real culprit, who, dying, is calling for a priest to confess him.

Such correspondences give to the narrative a certain unity;
yet, true to the genius of its type, chance is paramount. Of
character study or close-knit plot there is no trace. Whatever
Con’s changes of condition may teach him, he is no nearer the
goal as drudge in the Mexican treadmill than he was as Dublin
street arab. Rich or poor, he follows where Fortune beckons,
careless of the past, reckless in the present, and trusting to the
future to win him affluence by some throw of the dice.

3. Marryat and the Essayists

In construction most of the novels of Captain Frederick
Marryat are allied to the romance of roguery; for they chronicle
the progress of a not over-scrupulous hero from obscurity to
comfortable or distinguished position. ‘They are essentially
episodical tales, rejoicing in rough character sketches, adven-
tures, and horseplay. But it is a distinguishing trait of their
author that he remains as a rule too conscious of the moralities
to enter with zest upon the creation of rogues. He seeks to ex-
tenuate incidental rascality, and when most successful in de-
picting picaros seems least aware of it. His typical heroes are
such negative creatures of chance as Jacob Faithful, Midship-
man Easy, or Peter Simple, folk half explained by their names
398 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

and made, for the rest, by what happens to them. Midshipman
Easy falls into humorous difficulties in attempting to square
naval experience with his a priori conceptions of human equal-
ity, and Peter Simple in his distinguishing trait recalls the Ger-
man jesters and Simplicissimus. Others are born with a purpose
to prove their paternity, and all begin life with a passion for
practical jokes, which, carried too far, inclines them to be mean
or brutal. This is notably the case with the hero of ‘Percival
Keene” (1842).

Percival’s jests at the expense of his grandmother and schoolmaster
are as low as those of Meriton Latroon in “The English Rogue.” He
sticks the old lady with a needle, fills her snuff-box with gunpowder,
and bites her severely. He physics his master, fastens him down to a
bench with cobbler’s wax, anoints his ferule with bird-lime and his
handkerchief with cow-itch, secretes dead cats in the schoolroom, and
by an explosion burns down the school. He attaches a hook to a gen-
tleman’s coat-tails and trains a dog to catch at it growling. He breaks
up a play by showering down snuff on the audience; he singes the wig
of a purser, befools a green midshipman into insulting his superior,
and frightens a table of diners into believing themselves poisoned, only
to provide as remedy a powerful emetic.

Upon all of these crudities Marryat smiles indulgently, think-
ing them rather good fun. He never intends his hero for a rogue,
but, excusing such sallies as so much youthful exuberance, he
carries Percival to the rank of post-captain by allowing him
plenty of bravery and an attachment to the nobleman long
suspected and eventually acknowledged to be his father.

Similar horseplay and greater moral degeneracy character-
ize the hero of Marryat’s first novel, “Frank Mildmay” (1829).

Mildmay is confessedly a rogue and a mean one. He resorts to lying
and craft; he delights in dealing blows below the belt; he paints the
face of a sleeping enemy with lunar caustic, and cuts down another’s

hammock so that its occupant shall strike the corner of a shot-case be-
neath. He tries to brain the same victim with a loaded candlestick;
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 399

and his motto is to gain by artifice whatever is withheld by force. When
those who have been witnesses of his perfidy are struck down in battle,
he admits, “I was secretly pleased when I saw them removed beyond
the reach of human interrogation.” He is proud and revengeful, vain
of his personal charms, and a devil with the women. Hearts break for
him at Halifax, a mulatto mistress in the West Indies seeks to poison
him when he deserts her for an officer’s daughter, and at home he is
torn between the righteous Emily and the refined libertine Eugenia.
The latter is an actress for whose sake he goes upon the stage. At the
same time he falls enamored of Emily, whose life he has almost taken
by flinging a stone at her coachman and causing her horses to over-
turn her vehicle. Rushing up, he extricates the young lady, and es-
caping recognition as an assailant, is pleased to be accepted as her
savior. Eugenia “refines his vice” and then heroically withdraws,
leaving him to offer marriage to Emily. Towards the end of the book,
Emily is shocked to behold her lover, two weeks prior to the day ap-
pointed for their marriage, in company with Eugenia and her son. She
breaks off the match, and Mildmay bidding eternal farewell to his
mistress proceeds to Paris and gambles on her money, a bit of rascality
narrated without a qualm. But Eugenia and her son obligingly die, and
after ten days of religious instruction from a bishop Mildmay repents
of his sins for the twentieth time and is reconciled to Emily.

Like the heroes of Smollett this dashing adventurer is a far
worse person than his creator supposes. For, although he is
made to compare himself to Don Juan and Don Galaor, he
is also allowed to attribute most of his vice to environment.
“‘My mind was not naturally corrupt; it was only so at times,
and from peculiar circumstances; but I was always generous,
and easily reconciled to a sense of my duty, when reminded
of my fault.” Of this generosity not a trace appears, and no
one but the author has ever mistaken Mildmay for a gentle-
man. This proved unfortunate, since much of his career was
recognizably Marryat’s own. ‘

If Mildmay and Keene typify Marryat’s rascally heroes who
reform after sowing wild oats, there is a less equivocal style
400 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

of scoundrel that delights him. This is the corsair, variously
exhibited in such villains of theatric cast as the unspeakable
Cain, in “The Pirate” (1836), flinging beautiful victims to
the sharks; the wicked, but more natural, Lieutenant Van
Slyperken, in “Snarleyyow” (1837), finally strung up with
his dog at the yard-arm; and the philosophic American negro,
in “Percival Keene,” who, out of revenge for the wrongs done
his race, seeks to exterminate all whites, and at last, when
threatened with capture, blows up his ship and himself. A
smuggler given to practical joking appears in “The Three
Cutters” (1836), where humorous Jack Pickersgill retaliates
upon the officious nobleman who boards his vessel to lay him
under arrest, by turning his captor’s yacht into a smuggler,
and usurping the gentleman’s title. A more serious scamp in
the same trade is the daring adventurer in ‘‘The King’s Own”
(1830) who impresses the hero into his crew. But these thieves
of the deep and the seaboard are picaros only by courtesy, and
although little Tommy Seagrave, the bad boy in Marryat’s
“Masterman Ready” (1841), retains picaresque greed and
mischief unaltered by his island shipwreck, his career is never
followed up.

In the land novels, as well as in the sea tales, Marryat adopts
but modifies picaresque procedure. Thus, in “Valerie” (1849),
the service of masters faintly survives, for the central figure is
a French girl, abused at home, and experiencing various changes
of condition abroad. She acts as companion, governess, model
for a novelist, and milliner, before her marriage to the Comte
de Chavannes. In “The Poacher” and in “Japhet in Search
of a Father” rascality, in addition to shifts of condition, finds
a place.

“Joseph Rushbrook, or the Poacher” (1841) alters the
Picaresque genre almost beyond recognition by converting
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 401

the anti-hero to a hero and by dropping all satire. On the other
hand, the service of masters, the rise from mean to high estate,
and scenes of low-life remain.

A poacher murders the peddler who has planned to betray him. The
poacher's son devotedly assumes his father’s guilt and runs away, to
experience adventures in service, as page to an Irish officer, as account-
ant to a bum-boat woman, and as apprentice to an itinerant tinker.
Each change of condition results from threatened apprehension. At
length, after he has won success under various names, his identity tran-
spires, and he is tried and convicted. At this point, his father, who has
inherited a great property under another name, writes a confession
and dies. Joseph comes into the estate, and marries the girl who has
been kind to him in adversity.

Nothing could be less picaresque in spirit, yet the tradition
of the romance of roguery inspires this moral tale. The elder
Rushbrook’s trick of feigning drunkenness on the nights of
his forays, Joey’s device for his father’s protection, his falling
among juvenile London thieves, his service with masters, his
encounter with tramps who try to rob him, and the life of his
tinker master are all picaresque echoes. The tinker is a right-
eous vagabond rich in experience. He has served as boarding-
school usher, as waiter at a posting house, as clerk to a corn
chandler, as apprentice to a miller and coal merchant, as clerk
on a fourteen-gun brig, as shopman at a draper’s, and as ware-
houseman, porter, and foreman in a cutler’s shop, before be-
coming tinker and knife-grinder.

Joey’s other patrons are the dashing Irishman, closely re-
lated to the heroes of Lever,and asmuch at home in the Russian
court as on his native bog; Major M’Shane, who has wed the
buxom keeper of an eating-house after a lucky escape from
a, cheating widow; kind-hearted Mrs. Chopper, the bum-boat
woman of Gravesend; and Messrs. Small and Sleek, the pros-
perous naval agents. Of the other characters, Furness, once
402 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

schoolmaster, then marine, and next deserter, is a picaro who
becomes villain; while Nancy, the wild wanton of Gravesend,
is a picara who reforms. The scenes of low-life are no more
convincing than are those of love-making, so that on all sides
Marryat has cut and trimmed the picaresque model to suit his
own fashion.

More successful in its modifications was ‘‘ Japhet in Search
of a Father ” (1836).

Japhet is a foundling, apprenticed at fourteen to a Smithfield apoth-
ecary, but consumed with a desire to find his unknown father. After
rogueries in service, he sets forth with a fellow apprentice on this chi-
merical quest, falls in with a charlatan and a band of Gypsies, and
becomes an adept juggler and fortune-teller. Next, he plays the fine
gentleman, masquerading as the nephew of a nobleman, and intro-
duced to society by a man of the world, who makes him a gamester.
This friend dies in a duel but leaves his all to Japhet, who now follows
several false clues in the quest for his father, and experiences tragic
misadventures in Ireland when engaged in proving the identity of a
girl he has rescued from the Gypsies. Then he returns to London to
game away what remains of his inheritance, to duel, and through error
to be condemned to be hanged as a robber. Reprieved at the last mo-
ment, he finds an asylum with his first master, sets up a shop of his own,
and falls in love with a Quakeress. At this juncture, the long-expected
father appears as a god out of the machine to bestow upon Japhet a
fortune and to crown his marriage with a blessing.

Like much of Marryat’s work, this novel is amusing: but
mediocre, careless in plot, and composed with fatal facility.
Unlike the sea tales, it presents no living characters. Marryat’s
attempt to attain the picturesqueness of a comic rogue-fiction
and yet keep to the moralities results in a dull compromise.
Japhet has overmuch to say concerning honesty. In his tricks
as an apprentice, he refuses to defraud his master, and is con-
tent with merely overcharging the simple to whom he dispenses
physic. When he cheats at cards, he suffers tedious qualms,
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 403

He is the type of half-hearted picaro, less interesting than the
complete rascal, who, if he thinks of repentance, does so only
at the close of a merry life.

As for Japhet’s desire to discover his father, it is an obsession
amounting to mania. It furnishes his story and his character
with their chief unity; yet his own efforts achieve nothing, for
accident alone bestows upon him a distinguished parent. Those
whom Japhet meets are as vague in character as himself. The
charlatan, at first a generous rogue, turns out a desperate vil-
lain, who to secure a title has kidnapped his niece, and plots
Japhet’s death. Old Phineas Cophagus, Japhet’s first master,
is differentiated from others merely by a trick of speech. Lieu-
tenant Talbot, once of the dragoons, but turned Quaker, is
similarly tagged by his trait of bodily cowardice coupled with
valor in spirit. Japhet’s East Indian father is irascibility per-
sonified, and to be taken captive by counter irascibility alone.

One character, however, is better realized. This is Major
Carbonnell, the jaunty man about town, fond of cards and
company, a confessed parasite, but punctilious in matters
of fashion. Of his relations with tradesmen he says, “I tell
them honestly I never will pay them; and you may depend upon
it, I intend most sacredly to keep my word. I never do pay
anybody for the best of all possible reasons, I have no money;
but then I do them a service — I make them fashionable, and
they know it.” In the duel that costs him his life the major
tries to trick the enemy by getting the light in his eyes; yet in
the face of death he is brave, and declaring his repentance at
so late an hour to be of no avail, he refuses to indulge in cant.

Other picaresque figures are the disreputable gambler who
parts from Japhet lest the latter’s honesty injure his character;
the highwayman who waits to exonerate Japhet until sentence
of death has been passed upon him in order to show the errors
404 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

of trial by jury; the religious adventuress who goes into profit-
able trances induced by stimulants; and Japhet’s boon com-
rade, Timothy. The last has been a rogue apprentice, a mounte-
bank, a valet, a pretended Gypsy, the driver of a dog cart,
a vender of crockery, and when rescued from distress by his
friend, he has joined the ballad-singers and mumpers, and is
begging and stealing disguised as a wooden-legged sailor.

The passages most clearly inspired by the romance of roguery
concern Japhet’s and Tim’s early experiences with the char-
latan and with the Gypsies into whose tribe this Melchior has
married. If Marryat shows little knowledge of Romany cus-
toms, beyond references to their hatred of gorgios, to their cap-
turing fish by means of intoxicating berries, and to their hiding
of plunder in pools, the vagabond life of such rogues is amus-
ingly portrayed. Melchior is a capital cheat, and as a master-
juggler, a quack seller of nostrums, or a seer, he wins success
by adroit control of confederates,— Num his fool, Jumbo and
Tim his acrobats, Japhet his juggler, stolen Fleta his slack-
wire dancer, and Nattée his wife, the fortune-teller. The reader
must always regret that Marryat, for the sake of the intrigue,
should have turned so pleasing a rogue into a villain; and he
will wonder that the same motive should not have led to his
marrying Japhet to the delightful Fleta.

One other novel slightly affiliated with the literature of rogu-
ery Marryat edited. This was “Rattlin the Reefer” (1838),
written by Captain Edward Howard, his assistant on the staff
of “The Metropolitan.” The fiction resembles “ Japhet” in
central idea, and its plot shows some gleanings from ‘Oliver
Twist,”’ especially in the illegitimate half-brother who perse-
cutes the hero. But if Joshua Daunton lives like Monks, he
dies like Sikes, falling and being hanged by the rope he has
noosed to effect his escape from a mob,
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 405

Marryat’s American contemporary, James Fenimore Cooper,
in his thirty-two novels rarely approached even the confines
of the picaresque. Although the deficiencies of Scott’s nautical
scenes in “‘The Pirate” led Cooper to paint superior sea pic-
tures in “The Pilot” and “The Red Rover” (1828), it is only
in the latter that a rascal is the protagonist. Here, however, the
Rover is no rogue, but a romantic corsair, driven to his wicked
trade by early disappointment, and weaned from it at last by
an awakened conscience that prompts him to die fighting in a
good cause.

If any early American fiction can be said to transplant the
rogue tradition, it is a novel by Royall Tyler, rather than the
Gothic tales of Charles Brockden Brown,' or such Cervantine
echoes as Mrs. Tabitha Tenny’s ‘‘Female Quixotism” (1808)
and Hugh Henry Brackenridge’s “‘Modern Chivalry, or the
Adventures of Captain Farrago and Teague O’Regan his
Servant” (1796, 1806). The last, it is true, shows Teague as
occasionally a knave and as always a blunderer, and it con-
fesses to the inspiration of Rabelais, Cervantes, Le Sage, and
Swift; but the book is at best an over-bald satire upon the
abuses of democracy; its characters are mere automata, and
its events lack all fictional interest. Royall Tyler, on the other
hand, in “The Algerine Captive” (1799), made a closer tran-
script of life according to the picaresque canon. His Dr. Up-
dike Underhill, if only an inferior Gil Blas, is a good-humored,
matter-of-fact satirist, pricking the bubbles of life at Harvard
and among the folk of a country town, assailing the medical
faculty with Le Sage’s own animus, voyaging abroad as ship’s

1 Yet Brown’s Ormond ; or, The Secret Witness (1799) was derived from
Godwin’s Caleb Williams, and Brown’s mystery plots anticipate those of
the detective novel. Cf. M.S. Vilas’s Charles Brockden Brown, a Study
of Early American Fiction (Burlington, 1904).
406 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

surgeon, like a promoted Roderick Random, and falling among
Algerine pirates, after the fashion of the first Spanish rogues.

Half a century later Wilkie Collins, with something of Mar-
ryat’s farcical manner, wrote a picaresque novel entitled “A
Rogue’s Life” (1855). Here a careless young fellow tries medi-
cine, caricaturing, and portrait-painting, is imprisoned for debt,
takes to doing old masters to order, becomes secretary to a sci-
entific society, and falls in love with a coiner’s daughter. Then
the coiner, Dr. Dulcifer, offers young Softly the choice of death
or turning felon, and he becomes a counterfeiter along with Old
and Young File, Mill, and Screw. But Screw betrays his con-
federates, and Bow Street runners seize the doctor. The latter,
however, escapes through a curious trap-door, and Softly gets
away to Wales. Pursued by a runner, he yields to arrest only
after marriage with his Alicia whom he has carried across the
Scottish border. When his sentence is relaxed to transportation,
Alicia, who possesses valuable jewels, follows him out to Aus-
tralia, and he poses as her valet until they can be remarried,
and can set up in prosperity. Charles Reade suggested that
Collins continue this autobiography with an account of Aus-
tralian convict life, but the author of “The Moonstone” and
“The Woman in White” preferred melodramatic villainy to
roguery. If his single novel in the genre lacks character study
and a moral, it is light-hearted and amusing.

Among the essayists, Lamb, Hunt, Jerrold, and De Quincey
paid some slight tribute to the literature of roguery. Lamb
in his “Complaint on the Decay of Beggars” fondly recalled
certain London vagabonds, swept away by social reform, and
urged that charity be shown even to painted distress. Leigh
Hunt, in addition to composing ballads of Robin Hood and
modernizing several of the more picaresque tales of Chaucer,
contributed to ‘‘The Indicator” a sympathetic account of the
MARRYAT AND THE ESSAYISTS 407

literature of roguery, entitled “Thieves, Ancient and Modern”
(1820). This reviews the rascally prowess of Cacus, Autolycus,
Sisyphus, and Mercury; recalls the thieving architect of He-
rodotus, the forty thieves of “The Arabian Nights,” the Bru-
nello of Boiardo and Ariosto; and retells two picaresque novelle
by Massuccio.’ It glances at the robbers in “Gil Blas,” and
at the Cid’s cheat upon the Jews; quotes from “Lazarillo de
Tormes” and from Quevedo’s “Buscon;” acknowledges ac-
quaintance with “Marcos de Obregon,” with Fielding’s “Jona-
than Wild,” with Smollett’s ‘Ferdinand, Count Fathom,” and
with the Abbé Prévost’s ‘Manon Lescaut.” Then, after con-
sidering Falstaff, Schiller’s “Robbers,” and a few anti-heroes
of the “Newgate Calendar,” it concludes with a sketch of
Claude Du Vall, drawn from the “‘Harleian Miscellany.”

Douglas Jerrold, in his “Handbook of Swindling” (1839),
laughed at impostors high and low through the fictitious recol-
lections and philosophizings of Captain Barabbas Whitefeather,
knight of every order of the fleece; and De Quincey in the
same ironic vein devoted three papers to “Murder Considered
as One of the Fine Arts,” recalling the treatment accorded
rascality by Fielding and Gay, and forecasting Stevenson’s
fantastic “Suicide Club.” The third (1854) is an elaborated
criminal pamphlet, but the first and the second (1827, 1839)
humorously consider ideal conditions of crime, one through
a learned lecture on the theme, and the other in describing a
dinner given in honor of Thugs and Thuggism.

1 One is the story (ZZ novellino, novella xvii) of the fish presented by
rogues as a token from a husband to his wife for the delivery of a silver
cup to be engraved, the swindlers not only obtaining the cup, but also re-
elaiming the fish. This tale figured in Painter’s Palace of Pleasure, and
versions of it have been noticed above as appearing in Scoggins Jests, in
Greene’s Thirde and last Part of Conny-catching and Blacke Bookes Mes-

senger, in The History of Fortunatvs, and in Marston’s Dutch Courtezan.
CE£. ante, pp. 61, 97, 100, 225, 243.
408 ADVENTURERS AFLOAT AND ASHORE

More closely allied with the Peninsular romances of roguery
was De Quincey’s “Spanish Military Nun” (1847), a free
rendering of the “Historia de la Monja Alférez, Donna Cata-
lina de Erauso,” published at Paris in 1830 by Joaquin Maria
de Ferrer, a Castilian refugee, but composed two centuries
before in Spain.’ Catalina was an actual Amazon of the seven-
teenth century, who, escaping from a convent at fifteen, trav-
ersed Spain in male attire in service and out of it, voyaged to
Peru, played involuntary havoc with many ladies’ hearts, fought
as a trooper in Chile, killed in a duel her own brother, fled over
the Andes, twice escaped hanging, and then returned to Spain,
to be forgiven by king and Pope. She differs from other picaras
in preferring adventure to mere roguery, and in rejecting amo-
rous intrigue as a means for securing advancement. Yet she
serves a variety of masters, passes through frequent changes of
condition, and does not scruple to take from the pocket of her
neighbor what her own pocket lacks. In all her dare-devil ex-
ploits, up to her last stout stand in defense of a wife pursued
by a jealous husband, Catalina’s fortunes are followed with
rare picaresque humor enhanced by De Quincey’s delicious
mock gravity.

1 CE£. ante, p. 13.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER IX

1

Pierce Egan is considered by Thackeray in An Essay on George
Cruikshank (1840), and in De Juventute in The Roundabout Papers
(1860-63). Consult also J. C. Hotten’s interesting Preface to his edi-
tion of Lije in London (1870), Charles Hindley’s Life and Times of
James Cainach (1878), and his True History of Tom and Jerry (1890).
For Surtees, see the Memorial Sketch prefixed to the Jaunts and Jollities
(London, 1869). Hook is discussed in R. H. Dalton Barham’s Lije and
Remains of Theodore Hook (London, 1849, 2 vols.), by Lockhart in
the Quarterly Review (vol. Ixxii), in a New Lije in the collection of his
Humorous Works (1878), in the Memoir prefixed to his Choice Humor-
ous Works (1889), in John Timbs’s Anecdote Biography (1860-63, vol.
iv), and in Samuel Smiles’s Brie? Biographies (1861). Warren’s Ten
Thousand a Year appeared in The Hundred Best Novels (1899), and
may also be read in Cyrus Townsend Brady’s abridgment (N. Y., 1905).

2

The authority for the Irish novel is Horatio Sheafe Krans’s Irish
Life in Irish Fiction (N. Y., 1903), to which I am largely indebted.
Criticism of separate works may be found in the biographies of in-
dividual authors. The chief of such biographies are the following:
P. J. Murray’s Life of John Banim (N. Y., 1869), D. J. O’Donoghue’s
Life of William Carleton (London, 1896), A. J. C. Hare’s Life and
Letters of Maria Edgeworth (Boston and N. Y., 1895), Daniel Griffin’s
Lije of Gerald Griffin (London, 1843), William Bayle Bernard’s Life
of Samuel Lover (London, 1874), W. J. Fitzpatrick’s Lady Morgan
(London, 1860) and The Lije of Charles Lever (London, 1879), and
Edmund Downey’s Charles Lever, his Life in his Letters (Edinburgh,
1906). Accessible editions of the novels are noted in the bibliography
appended to Krans’s monograph. Lever is criticised in Blackwood,
Aug., 1862, and by Saintsbury in the Fortnightly Review, vol. xxxii.
410 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Con Cregan has been reprinted (Boston, 1895, 2 vols.) in a new edition
of Lever’s Select Works (1891-96).

3

Marryat’s novels are discussed in Florence Marryat’s Life and Let-
ters of Captain Marryat (N. Y., 1872, 2 vols.), in David Hannay’s Lije
of Captain Frederick Marryat (Great Writers, 1889), and in Hannay’s
Introduction to Mr. Midshipman Easy (London, 1904). Notices of the
author and of his novels appear in The Atheneum, May 18, 1889; in
Temple Bar, 1873; and in Fraser’s, May, 1838. Editions of Marryat
are published by Macmillan and by Routledge (1895-98). The His-
toria de la Monja Aljérez has appeared in French as La nonne Aljérez
(Paris, 1894), edited by J. M. de Hérédia, and illustrated by Vierge.
CHAPTER X

THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

1. Dickens

HE literature of roguery has tended to insist
either upon the rogue as an individual, or else
upon the society through which he moves. The
early Spanish novelists, together with Le Sage
and Grimmelshausen, obeyed the latter tend-
ency, which in England found best expression in the anato-
mies of roguery. English novelists, however, have been in-
terested rather in the rogue and his adventures. It is Dickens,
who, inheriting the tradition of Smollett and Egan and profiting
by the reformative purpose of Godwin and Bulwer, first com-
bined the two tendencies, studying rogues as individuals and
also as social phenomena.

Dickens’s predilection for depicting low-life was manifest
‘in his earliest work. The “Sketches by Boz” (1836) contained
pieces like ‘‘Seven Dials,” “The Pawnbroker’s Shop,” and
“The Prisoner’s Van,” together with “A Passage in the Life
of Mr. Watkins Tottle,” showing the sorrows of a spunging-
house, and the ‘‘Drunkard’s Death,” a temperance tract.

In “The Pickwick Papers” (1836-37), however, such sor-
did, moralized scenes gave way to humorous roguery. Pick-
wick himself is of the race of Don Quixote and Parson Adams,
a lovable sufferer from the jests and wiles of others, issuing
from every situation with dignity unimpaired and with faith
in human goodness unshaken. Sam Weller possesses the sense,

 
412 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

cunning, and humor of the picaro, and lacks only his dishonesty
and inhumanity. A thorough-paced Cockney, he is neverthe-
less descended from such comic servants of literature as Guz-
man de Alfarache, Gil Blas, Figaro, and in particular Sancho
Panza, for whose proverbs he substitutes farcical comparisons
galore: “*Avay vith melincholly, as the little boy said ven his
school missis died;” ‘‘I only assisted natur’ ma’am; as the
doctor said to the boy’s mother, arter he’d bled him to death.”
Sam is as hard-headed as Sancho but less prosaic. He thinks
little of himself, and from the first is bound to Pickwick by
ties of a more appreciative affection. No mere picaro could
succumb to sentiment so readily as does Sam in the affair
of the housemaid, and none would so deliberately share his
master’s imprisonment. Yet Sam delights to entertain a com-
pany of Jehus by singing a ballad on Turpin, the highway-
man.

Of genuine rogues ‘‘The Pickwick Papers” can boast a
plenty. Behold the rascals of the inserted tales: the matri-
monial adventurer of ‘The Bagman’s Story,” the transported
criminal of “The Convict’s Return,” the vindictive prisoner
of “The Old Man’s Tale About a Queer Client,” and the
dissolute actor sinking to death in “The Stroller’s Tale.”
Or, better still, consider the rogues more carefully drawn in the
main narrative. Here is pious Stiggins, a hypocrite, who fore-
casts Pecksniff and Chadband. Here are Dodson and Fogg,
crafty men of the law; the medical swindlers, Ben Allen and
Bob Sawyer; and the professional picaros, Alfred Jingle and
Job Trotter; to say nothing of the motley denizens of the
Fleet.

As for Allen, he clings to a scheme for marrying his sister
to Sawyer, his dissolute friend. In the meantime, both have
set up as charlatans. Sawyer is equipped with green spectacles
DICKENS 413

and a mouldy book, He surveys his rows of gilt-labeled drawers,
one half empty, the other half dummies. ‘Hardly anything
real in the shop but the leeches,” he explains, ‘‘and they are
second hand.” His patent digester is a black brandy bottle;
coal comes from a compartment marked “Soda Water; ” his
patrons are gathered by delivering medicines and then reclaim-
ing them as misdirected when the family has had time to peruse
the wrappings. The lamplighter is tipped to pull the night bell
at each passing, and a boy-is hired to dash into church on Sun-
days in quest of his master. “‘‘ Bless my soul!’ everybody says,
‘somebody taken suddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent
for. What a business that young man has!’”

But it is Jingle who takes the palm for roguery. He early
appears to rescue the innocent hero from the impositions of a
cabman, and attaching himself to the Pickwickians, lives on
their bounty until exposed. Jingle is a wandering actor, with
a voluble tongue and quick wit. His speech, by a trick caught
from Hook, is as disjointed as rapid. When at the Rochester
ball, after flirting with a widow, Jingle is handed the jealous
Dr. Slammer’s card, he nods affably. “Slammer — much
obliged — polite attention — not ill now, Slammer — but when
I am — knock you up.” The doctor calls him a poltroon, but
Jingle is nonchalant. “Oh! I see, negus too strong here —
liberal landlord — very foolish — very — lemonade much bet-
ter — hot rooms — elderly gentleman — suffer for it in the
morning — cruel — cruel.”

At Wardle’s, Jingle makes a quick campaign on the heart
and property of ancient Miss Rachael, defeating his rival Tup-
man by a dishonest ruse. Pickwick and Wardle pursue the
eloping pair, and readily buy off the rascal, who stickles only
at the terms. Soon he makes his bow as a gentleman of fortune
in the salon of Mrs. Leo Hunter, but being confronted by Pick-
414 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

wick, recollects having omitted to give his postilion orders,
and slips away. Pickwick follows, and at Bury St. Edmunds
learns from the pious Job Trotter that his master is on the
point of carrying off a wealthy miss from a boarding school.
When Job with tears in his eyes has confessed, Pickwick gives
him a guinea. Only when the defender of virtue, prowling at
night in the boarding-school garden, has been mistaken for a
burglar, does he realize that he and Sam the astute have been
sold.

Jingle, now a captain, reappears as suitor to the daughter
of the Mayor of Ipswich, while Trotter has pretensions to the
savings of the mayor’s cook. Here, at last, master and man
suffer defeat. ‘‘What prevents me from detaining these men
as rogues and impostors?” cries the irate mayor on discover-
ing the fraud that has been practiced upon him. “It is a
foolish mercy. What prevents me?” To this Jingle replies at
his ease, “Pride, old fellow, pride. Would n’t do — no go —
caught a captain, eh? —ha! ha! very good — husband for
daughter — biter bit— make it public—not for worlds —
look stupid — very!”

When at length Jingle and Job turn up forlorn in the Fleet,
kind-hearted Pickwick befriends them and pays their passage
to the West Indies, where a new beginning may be made. ‘‘ What
do you think? Is there any chance of their permanent reforma-
tion?” asks Pickwick of his lawyer, who can only shrug his
shoulders. ‘If those two fellows were to commit a burglary
to-morrow,” he says, ‘“‘my opinion of this action would be
equally high.”

A whole series of picaresque scenes is displayed in the chap-
ters dealing with Pickwick’s voluntary incarceration in the Fleet.
Here the easy vagabonds who drink and smoke, roar and play
at skittles, are exhibited in their dirty coffee-room. The listless
DICKENS 415

debtors loiter about the racket-court, slip-shod women trail
across the yard to the cook-house, children tumble in rags on
the pavement, heads loll out of windows, and rascals look in
at the whistling-shop, a mart for whiskey, kept by favored
prisoners with the connivance of the turnkeys. The charac-
ters of Fleet prisoners are no less graphically given. One is the
cobbler who goes to bed on the floor under a deal table, to re-
mind him of a four-poster. Another is the chancery prisoner
who gets his discharge for the other world. A drunken chap-
lain, a pugilistic butcher, and a wily leg are the companions
with whom Pickwick is quartered at his arrival. Roker the
turnkey and phlegmatic Neddy, who spends his days paring
mud off his shoes, are Pickwick’s acquaintances. On his first
night in prison, he is awakened by the Zephyr who dances
a hornpipe, while Smangle, sitting up in bed, warbles a comic
song, and Mivins shouts encouragement to both, When the
Zephyr snatches off Pickwick’s night-cap, he receives a smart
blow from that worthy, but is promptly reconciled. Smangle
cautions Pickwick against Mivins’s fondness for borrowing,
and in the next breath requests a loan for himself. He pro-
fesses to know a delightful washerwoman to whom he will
confide Pickwick’s fine linen. ‘Shall I put any of those little
things up with mine? Don’t say anything about the trouble.
Confound and curse it, if one gentleman under a cloud is not
to put himself a little out of the way to assist another gentle-
man in the same condition, what is human nature?”

The social environment of roguery is often forgotten in
“Pickwick” because of the fun, but in “The Adventures of
Oliver Twist” (1837-88) its portrayal is doubly emphasized.
To substitute for the unrealities of “The Beggar’s Opera” and
of Bulwer’s “Paul Clifford” rogues in their actual wretched-
ness, appeared to Dickens ‘‘to attempt a something which was
416 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

needed, and which would be a service to society.” His Preface
declaims against the thieves of romance, ‘faultless in dress,
plump in pocket, choice in horseflesh, bold in bearing, fortunate
in gallantry, great at a song, a bottle, a pack of cards or a dice
box, and fit companions for the bravest.” And he cries, ‘‘ Here
are no canterings on moonlit heaths, no merrymakings in the
snuggest of all possible caverns, none of the attractions of dress,
no embroidery, no lace, no jack-boots, no crimson coats and
ruffles, none of the dash and freedom with which ‘the road’
has been time out of mind invested. The cold wet shelterless
midnight streets of London; the foul and frowsy dens, where
vice is closely packed and lacks the room to turn; the haunts
of hunger and disease; the shabby rags that scarcely hold to-
gether; where are the attractions of these things?”

Nothing could be more moral or more English. It is Puritan
Defoe outdone. The formula differs from Defoe’s, for the hero
is not a rogue who repents, and attention is not focused upon
the conflicts of a tempted soul, but the moral purpose remains
unaltered. Dickens, like the whole Spanish school, professes
to set up a beacon of life and to warn by a frightful example.
Hence arises his occasional caricature, as well as his use of
the Gothic in Monks and Fagin and the hags of the workhouse.

Oliver, born in this workhouse, left an orphan on the parish, farmed
out, and at nine brought back to pick oakum and be dieted on gruel,
first sees the outer world as apprentice to an undertaker. Tl treatment
leads him to run away, and he falls in with a pickpocket who presents
him as recruit to a troop of London rogues. In their first quest for booty,
though a mere spectator, Oliver is captured; but the benevolent victim
refuses to press the charge, and takes the tyro home. The rascals,
however, pounce upon him again, and he is forced to share in an at-
tempted robbery upon a country house, only to be shot when on the
point of warning the inmates. From this moment Fortune smiles. He

is nursed back to health and adopted by the family whose possessions
he has been sent to steal, and ultimately his early benefactor unites
DICKENS 417

with these later protectors in probing his identity and restoring his
rightful inheritance. This has been imperiled by the machinations
of a half brother, leagued with the rogues to corrupt little Oliver.
At last, the villain is compelled to confess, the rascal crew is hunted
down, and while the evil perish or repent, the good reap the rewards
of virtue.

Obviously, Oliver is a passive hero. Though he rebels at the
starvation orders of the Workhouse Board, and by the taunts
of a bully is goaded into fight, yet in the long run he is simply
the sufferer who excites sympathy, the victim to be rescued
and made happy. Oliver’s moral rectitude is temperamental,
rather than a matter of character. He is a sentimental boy
who never knows temptation. The ill treatment of the work-
house or of Sowerberry’s shop fails to embitter him. He is as
innocent and honest in the den of Fagin as under the generous
treatment of Miss Maylie. Unlike his Spanish or French for-
bears, he does not learn to dupe the world from being first
himself deluded. What Lazarillo de Tormes or Gil Blas, on
beholding an Artful Dodger snatch a handkerchief, would feel
“horror and alarm,” or at the prospect of a house-breaking
would start back ‘well nigh mad with grief and terror” or
would cry out to his mentor, ““Oh, pray have mercy on me,
and do not make me steal! For the love of all the bright angels
that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me!”? Surely no Con-
tinental picaro was ever so given to sobbing, or uttering com-
plaints: ““‘So lonely, sir! So very lonely!’ cried the child.
‘Everybody hates me. Oh! sir, don’t, don’t, pray, be cross to
me!’”

If Oliver be something of a Sunday-school hero, the novel
is none the less of the picaresque family. Its characteristic
figures and scenes are those of low-life, and its humor, pathos,
and interest centre in roguery. Fagin, the crafty old Jew, with
his beak, claws, quilt of red hair, saturnine laugh, and insin-
418 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

uating “my dears” is unforgettable. One need only compare
him with the actual Jonathan Wild, most of whose habits he
shares, to perceive how the anti-hero of fiction transcends in
vitality his historical prototype. Inordinate greed is Fagin’s
one passion. To gratify it, he will play the merry old gentle-
man with his pupils in vice, dodging about as they jostle and
rob him in practice. He will bear without murmur the impre-
cations of Sikes, cringing because he still can use this bully.
There is never one of his pupils or pals that he will not give
over to justice when the fortunate moment shall have come.
“What a time this would be for a sell!” says the landlord of
The Three Cripples; “I’ve got Phil Barker here, so drunk
that a boy might take him.” To this Fagin replies, ‘‘ Aha!
but it’s not Phil Barker’s time. Phil has something more to
do before we can afford to part with him; so go back to the
company, my dear, and tell them to lead merry lives — while
they last.” Fagin’s professions of poverty and affliction pro-
ceed from the same source, and his gruesome humor is merely
assumed to veil it. Greed has swallowed up all his better
nature, and in Newgate on the eve of execution he presents a
dreadful figure writhing in wrath and fear.

Sikes, the house-breaker, lacks even the feigned humor of
Fagin. He is morose and malicious. ‘‘ Burn my body,” “Strike
me blind,” are his favorite phrases. His invectives are vitriol;
his hatred consumes. Those most faithful to him he maims
or kills. At first, he is seen assaulting his dog with poker and
clasp-knife out of sheer moodiness. After visiting every bru-
tality upon the girl who has nursed him through illness, he
concludes by raining blows from the butt of his pistol on her
upturned face, and then strikes her down with a club. His last
deed is his best, when, at bay on the roof of a rookery, pursued
by a mob, and haunted by the eyes of his victim, he falls and
DICKENS 419

is hanged by the rope he had prepared for escape, while the
faithful cur, leaping after, dashes out its brains in the ditch
below.

Less brutal, but no less bitter in hatred, is Edward Leeford,
or Monks, Oliver’s half brother, who has plotted the boy’s
moral] destruction in order to gain for himself their father’s
inheritance. He lurks in the background, a villain with con-
ventional motives and physical traits, dark, sunken eyes, lips
and hands disfigured where his teeth have torn them in fits,
bearing a livid mark like a burn on his throat, and given to
backward glancings. Venomous to the last, he is the serpent
scotched, but not killed.

Of pleasanter kind are the minor rogues: Flash Toby
Crackit; Young Barney the Jew, who speaks through his
nose; weak-witted Tommy Chitling, in love with Miss Betsy;
and the humorous pair, Charley Bates and Jack Dawkins, or
the Artful Dodger. The last, in nonchalance, smartness, and
humor, is a typical picaro. He delights in playful questions
and ironical answers. “I’ve got to be in London to-night,”
he tells Oliver at their first meeting, “and I know a ’spectable
old genelman as lives there, wot’ll give you lodgings for no-
think, and never ask for the change — that is if any genelman
he knows interduces you. And don’t he know me? Oh, no!
Not in the least! By no means. Certainly not!” A swaggering,
roystering young gentleman this, in clothes too big for him,
with little, sharp, ugly eyes, dirty in person, self-possessed, apt
in thieves’ cant, convinced of the greatness of his profession,
proud of his skill and his gains, and deeply injured when taken
in the fact and brought before a magistrate to be sentenced to
transportation. Asked if he wishes to make any statement, he
airily answers, ‘No, not here, for this ain’t the shop for justice;
besides which, my attorney is a-breakfasting with the Wice
420 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

President of the House of Commons; but I shall have some-
thing to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a wery
numerous and ’spectable circle of acquaintance.” As for Mas-
ter Charley Bates, he laughs more than the Dodger, but is
less agreeable in his amusement at the cleverness or inno-
cence of others. Yet his heart is in the right place, and at last
he repents.

Two others of the crew are rascals contrasted: Noah Clay-
pole, the bully and sneak, a convert to roguery through greed;
and Nance, the born thief, with something of womanhood left.
Where Noah will stipulate with Fagin for the easiest of sharp-
ing trades, the kynchen lay, a grabbing of money from children,
Nance is bold and desperate. She will brave her tyrant, accept
his blows without flinching, or kidnap little Oliver, pretending
to the crowd that he has run away from home. But her con-
science is tender still, and she risks and loses her life to save
the boy. It is this self-sacrifice and her love for even so aban-
doned a wretch as Sikes that ennoble her.

Unconscious burlesque marks the beginning of the novel,
humanitarian indignation leading Dickens to caricature the in-
struments of abuses. When Oliver asks for more gruel, the
scene, however memorable, is as unreal as any in Quevedo’s
*‘Buscon.” Burlesque, for the same reason, colors certain
characters: Mrs. Mann of the baby farm, addicted to gin; the
master of the workhouse and the gentlemen of the Board;
Gamfield, the chimney sweep, who, laboring under the slight
imputation of having bruised to death several boys, is seeking
another; Mrs. Corney, the workhouse matron; and sanctimo-
nious Bumble the beadle. Creatures of the law, like Fang,
the insolent magistrate, and Blathers and Duff, the detectives,
are more or less satirized, and the author’s ironical reflec-
tions frequently intrude. When Oliver on a hard bed sobs
DICKENS 421

himself to sleep, Dickens exclaims, “What a noble illustration
of the tender laws of England! They let the paupers go to
sleep.”

Quevedo’s burlesque model is followed again in “Nicholas
Nickleby” (1838-89), where the Dotheboys Hall of Wackford
Squeers is as much a place of torment as the school of Doctor
Cabra attended by Don Pablos. But Dickens’s earnestness
of purpose and special plea for educational reform, if they
favor over-emphasis, are in contrast with the rollicking trav-
esty of the Spaniard. Squeers is a rascal, deserving of his sen-
tence to transportation, and second only to Ralph Nickleby, the
usurer, who hangs himself when his frauds have been exposed
by the hypocritical Snawley. The plotting felon, Brooker,
and the swindler, Sir Mulberry Hawk, verge on the villainous;
but the itinerant Crummles family and sly Mantalini, gone to
the demnition bow-wows, are pleasantly picaresque.

Equally liberal in its use of roguery was ‘The Old Curiosity
Shop” (1840-41), which presents such diverse types as the
malign dwarf Quilp, dissolute Trent, and the pathetic gambler
and thief, Nell’s grandfather. Jowl and List, the rascals who
tempt him, and Sampson Brass, the wicked attorney, contrast
with the jolly wax-work folk, with Tom Scott who turns
tumbler, and with Dick Swiveller, devoted to spirits and meta-
phorical speech. When Dick has had “the sun very strong in
his eyes,” he asks with a sigh, ‘‘But what is the odds so long
as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of conwiviality, and the
wing of friendship never moults a feather?” Although he en-
gages in Trent’s scheme to gain the old man’s fancied wealth
by agreeing to marry little Nell, yet he opposes his master’s
persecution of Kit Nubbles, and is all gratitude to the frowsy
*Marchioness” who nurses him through a fever. When he
gets his legacy, he sends her off to school, and at last marries
422 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

her. He is a lovable rogue, despite his indolence, lies, and the
victimizing of shop-keepers, whereby he closes up street after
street to his further progress.

“Barnaby Rudge” (1841) deals with riot and crime rather
than with roguery. But in “Martin Chuzzlewit” (1843-44)
amusing rascality reappears with Pecksniff as the prince of
hypocrites and Montague Tigg, the soldier of fortune, as a true
picaro. The latter’s brain seethes with schemes of deceit. He
befriends the seedy Chevy Slyme, “perpetually round the
corner, sir,” hoping to steer him into a fortune; he organizes
a colossal swindle, and by threatened blackmail, forces Jonas
Chuzzlewit and Pecksniff, his father-in-law, to invest in the
bubble. His American counterpart is Zephaniah Scadder, who
wheedles young Chuzzlewit into the purchase of fifty acres of
what proves to be morass. Half picaresque, too, are those
merry old comforters of the sick, Betsey Prig and Sairey Gamp,
the latter haunted by the hypothetical Mrs. Harris, and making
but one request in the houses where she visits: ‘“‘Leave the
bottle on the chimley-piece and let me put my lips to it when
I am so dispoged.” Even Jonas Chuzzlewit, the villain, has
imbibed picaresque philosophy, and propounds the dictum,
“Do other men; for they would do you.” “‘Dombey and Son”
(1846-48) contributes litile to the literature of roguery, except
such types as the pugilistic Game Chicken; the Reverend
Howler, early discharged from the West India Docks ‘“‘on
suspicion of screwing gimlets into puncheons, and applying
his lips to the orifice;”” Alice Brown, the transported crimi-
nal; and James Carker, the respectable rascal who ruins her,
and is ruined himself by eloping with the second Mrs.
Dombey.

More notable are the anti-heroes of “David Copperfield”
(1849-50): the monster of humility, Uriah Heep, planning
DICKENS 423

the subversion of his master and eventually imprisoned for
fraud, forgery, and conspiracy; Trotwood, the gambling ad-
venturer, discarded as the husband of Miss Betsey; handsome,
pleasure-loving Steerforth, bringing desolation to the Peggotty
household through the seduction of little Emily; and Littimer,
his quiet, clever servant and tool. The Micawbers are honest
in intentions, no doubt, but Mr. Micawber’s wonderful shifts
for satisfying his creditors, his easy improvidence, his joyous
reliance on the something about to turn up, his moments of
hilarious elevation, followed by those of a depression productive
of oratorical begging letters, bear the picaresque mark, as do
the scenes in the King’s Bench Prison and in Murdstone and
Grinby’s warehouse where David washes bottles with Mick
Walker and Mealy Potatoes.

Similar low-life interiors figure in “Little Dorrit” (1855-57),
whose story opens in the prison at Marseilles, and continues
to unfold through many chapters within the London Marshal-
sea. Here it is that William Dorrit, the Father of the Mar-
shalsea, passes a quarter of a century for debts he cannot un-
derstand incurring; here his daughter, Little Dorrit, is ushered
into the world by brandy-soaked Doctor Haggage; and here
Bob the turnkey stands her godfather, and the son of another
turnkey makes hopeless love to her. Here, too, in later days
comes the hero, to be nursed by her in illness, when a swindler
has dissipated his fortune and hers; and from the prison they
at last emerge to marry. Rogues abound in this novel. The
French chevalier d’industrie pushes his wife over a cliff to profit
by her property, and breaking jail tries in England to levy
blackmail on Mrs. Clennam, herself guilty of fraud. Merdle,
the society banker, speculates with trust funds; Christopher
Casby, the landlord of Bleeding Heart Yard, is a patriarchal
hypocrite exposed by his own tool Pancks; and Edward
424 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

Dorrit, the ne’er-do-well, serves as many masters as a Spanish
picaro.

Where “Little Dorrit” attacks the debtors’ prisons and the
hopeless delays and red-tape of the ‘“‘Cireumlocution Office,”
“Bleak House” and “Hard Times” assail respectively the
Court of Chancery and the spirit of crass commercialism. In
‘Hard Times” (1854) the amusing, light-hearted people of
Sleary’s circus provide a relief from such dark figures as drunken
Mrs. Blackpool and Thomas Gradgrind, the resultant of his
father’s philosophy of facts and realities, who robs a bank, and
diverts suspicion to an innocent workman. In “Bleak House”
(1852-53) Harold Skimpole, a partial portrait of Leigh Hunt,
ranks as one of the best of Dickens’s family of easy-going
debtors. He is sentimental and witty, brilliant in speech, con-
tent that others should bear his burdens, and master of a
sophistry that relieves his conscience in every emergency. “I
am constantly being bailed out, like a boat; or paid off, like
a ship’s company. Somebody always does it for me. J can’t
do it, you know, for I never have any money; but Somebody
does it... . Let us drink to Somebody, God bless him!”
Gridley, the chancery suitor, is merely a victim, as is the cross-
ing sweeper, made to move on until he moves out of this world.
Tulkinghorn the solicitor, who with the aid of Inspector Bucket
hunts down Lady Dedlock’s secret, only to be murdered by
Mademoiselle Hortense, shows Dickens’s gradual approach to
the detective novel.

In “A Tale of Two Cities” (1859) Sydney Carton is a sen-
timentalized picaro, “‘an amazingly good jackal” of the law,
dissolute and clever, drudging for Stryver when sufficiently
drunk, incapable of steering his own bark, yet with noble im-
pulses that culminate in his fine self-sacrifice in behalf of a rival.
Solomon Pross, the ‘prison sheep,” on the other hand, is a
DICKENS 425

miserable scoundrel, who has squandered his sister’s fortune,
and who declines from the trade of spy to that of turnkey. Bet-
ter than either in roguery is Jerry Cruncher, porter by day,
body-snatcher by night, the most delectable resurrectionist in
literature.

The source of all Pip’s Great Expectations, in the novel of
that name (1861), is Abel Magwitch, a convict who comes on
the scene with the first chapter, having escaped from the hulks.

Magwitch arranges to provide for the boy who has assisted him on
the marshes, although Pip in his gifts of food and a file has been ani-
mated by terror rather than by compassion. Years after, when Mag-
witch, returning from transportation, reveals himself as Pip’s bene-
factor, the latter overcomes his aversion, seeks to aid his patron’s flight
to the Continent, and eventually marries his daughter. If little be said
of the crimes that ruined this jail-bird, and if death intervene to pre-
vent his execution, his enemy, the convict Compeyson, is made out a
thorough villain. He has betrayed Miss Havisham, and it is he who
dogs the steps of his one time tool, and at last gives him over to the po-
lice. Magwitch says of him, “Compey’s business was the swindling,
handwriting, forging, stolen banknote passing, and such like. All sorts
of traps as Compey could set with his head, and keep his own legs out
of, and get the profits from, and let another man in for, was Compey’s
business.” As for Magwitch’s agents, the criminal lawyers, Jaggers and
Wemmick, they are kindly men for their trade, and the only villain of
the novel, save Compeyson, is sullen Dolge Orlick, who kills Mrs.
Gargery and assaults Pip himself at the lime-kiln.

“Our Mutual Friend” (1864-65) swarms with rascals. Here
are the fashionable fortune hunters, the Lammles, who like
the pair in Cervantes’s novella have married for wealth, each
to discover in the other a defeated impostor. Not only do they
vow revenge on the brand-new Veneerings, who have brought
them together, but in vain they plot to win Boffin’s favor or
to marry off to an heiress the scoundrel who will pay for this
service. Here is Headstone, the jealous schoolmaster, the sub-
426 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

ject of a psychological study in crime that recalls Bulwer’s
«Eugene Aram.” Here are the amphibians: Radfoot, chief
agent in the robbing of Harmon; Gaffer Hexam, the lugu-
brious fisher for bodies; and his desperate partner, Rogue Rider-
hood. If Riderhood fastens on Hexam the supposed murder
of ‘Harmon, he gets his deserts when Headstone, hounded
for hush money, drags him to death in the canal. The pica-
resque character complement includes also the reprobate father
of the doll’s dressmaker, who knows only too well his tricks and
his manners; Silas Wegg, the sly vender of ballads, plotting
the overthrow of his benefactor; and his confederate, Venus,
the taxidermist, who, however, early repents.

Interest in the detection of crime, already evinced in “Bleak
House,” bade fair to prevail in the unfinished “ Mystery of
Edwin Drood” (1870). Melodramatic Jasper plots to destroy
one nephew, and cast the blame on another. Drood disappears,
and Jasper, publicly protesting that he will ferret out the mur-
derer, is himself being spied upon by detective Datchery when
the story breaks off. It has been conjectured that Datchery is
Drood in disguise. Such a solution for a similar situation
Dickens had offered a dozen years before in his tale, ‘Hunted
Down.” There the villain is the plausible Slinkton, who poisons
one niece, and is shadowed by the lover of another. This ama-
teur detective is an insurance actuary, who, feigning drunken-
ness, seems an easy victim to Slinkton. At the critical moment
he throws off his disguise, but the villain, to escape the law,
swallows his own poison.

To “Household Words” Dickens contributed articles (1850
to 1856) describing detectives and rogues of reality. In “The
Detective-Police,” members of the force recount their experi-
ences in tracking Tally-ho Thompson, “‘a famous horse-stealer,
couper, and magsman,” Fikey the Sou’ Western Railway forger,

7
DICKENS 427

a band of silk thieves, and a bill-stealing Jew. In ‘‘Three De-
tective Anecdotes” a hospital thief and a murderer are cap-
tured, and Sergeant Witchem, by an artful touch, persuades
a rogue to pass him a stolen diamond. “‘On Duty With Inspec-
tor Field” relates a night tour of the slums, presenting scenes
in a cellar full of thieves, in a tramps’ lodging house, in the Old
Mint, in the Farm House, and in the sailors’ haunts on Ratcliffe
Highway. Here is Blackey, who has stood on London Bridge
five-and-twenty years with painted sores; and here is Bark,
red and wrathful, with awful parts of speech and a sanguine
throat made expressly for the noose. “Down With the Tide”
pictures nautical roguery viewed by night from a police galley.
Here, after the toll-taker of Waterloo Bridge has told of suicides
and fights within his province, a Thames policeman identifies
the tricks of various water-thieves: tier-rangers, Seas ship-
wrights, and dredgermen.

If these sketches revive the anatomy of roguery, ‘“‘ Hunted
Down” recalls the criminal biography; for jt is a fictional
adaptation of the career of Thomas Griffiths Wainewright,
the insurance swindler, already pilloried in Bulwer’s ‘‘Lu-
cretia.”” Dickens, indeed, touches every aspect of the literature
of roguery from beggar-book to detective tale. His novels teem
with low-life. They are realistic in matter, and romantic in
treatment. Now he laughs at rascality with the humorist’s
tolerance, and now he assails it with the wrath of a Puritan
zealot. Yet his presentation never disgusts, like Thackeray’s,
and never unduly allures, like Ainsworth’s. Although Dickens
fails to conform to the Spanish and, French picaresque formula,
and although he does not once employ a rogue for central figure,
his novels, nevertheless, afford the broadest view of rogues in
their social environment, and a portrait gallery unparalleled
in the richness and variety of character types.
428 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

2. Mayhew

Two disciples of Dickens, in the fifties, applied his method
intensively, — Charles Reade to penal conditions, and Augustus
Mayhew to street arab life. Both were students of social prob-
lems, and scrupulous collectors of facts. Both protested against
the unreal romantic roguery presented by Ainsworth and by
Bulwer. But where Reade held a brief for a special reform,
Mayhew was content to observe in general the influence of
criminal environment upon the young.

Mayhew first collaborated with his brother Henry in a
humorous novel, ‘The Greatest Plague of Life, or the Adven-
tures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant” (1847). Alone,
he composed such tales as “Kitty Lamere, or a Dark Page
in London Life” (1855), ‘The Finest Girl in Bloomsbury”
(1861), ““Blow Hot, Blow Cold” (1862), and ‘‘Faces For For-
tunes” (1865). For the stage he wrote with H. S. Edwards half
a dozen comic pieces, but “Paved With Gold” (1857) was his
typical picaresque work. ‘This novel, based upon sketches ori-
ginally designed for Henry Mayhew’s “‘ London Labour and the
London Poor,” counts for less as a story than as a study of
criminal manners.

Philip Merton, born in a prison, nursed in a workhouse, and edu-
cated in a pauper school, runs away to live in the London streets. He
sells water-cress, becomes a crossing sweeper, joins a fraternity of
street arabs who tumble for coppers, serves as donkey boy, and after
false imprisonment on a charge of attempting to cash a stolen check,
engages with a shooting-board man who jogs about the country like
a Gypsy. Parting from this master in a quarrel, Philip turns downright
tramp, travels with two rogues, and becomes a captain of vagrants
leagued to prey upon workhouses. When his father appears in the per-
son of a professional criminal, Philip aids him in counterfeit passing
and in burglary. This Vautrin yearns to be revenged upon his wife’s
MAYHEW 429

father, a banker, who has disdained him, and to this end he breaks into
the latter’s mansion, and extorts from the banker a promise to make
over to Philip his inheritance. The young man, in the meantime, has
married and escaped to France, where Vautrin presently joins him.

Poetic justice is slighted in this crude novel, for both the
picaro by circumstance and the picaro by profession may re-
joice that their dishonest labors are crowned with success, while
the innocent are left to suffer. Philip’s mother, the victim of
Vautrin’s desertion, dies in a prison; and the boy’s foster sister,
a maid-servant, is betrayed into a mock marriage with the
banker’s dissolute son. This Captain Crozier is a high-life
rogue, related to the eighteenth-century libertines. He wagers
with bloods that he can bring his virtuous victim to a dinner
within six months; he bargains with the money-lenders on his
father’s death, gambles, drinks, and affects fancy sports. In-
deed, he enters the action mainly as an excuse for describing
rat-killing, prize-fighting, and horse-racing.

Vautrin is the picaro of French and Spanish romance, a
swindler of many inventions, who blames society for making
him what he is. Like Bulwer’s Tomlinson, he philosophizes
upon roguery; honesty for him is undetected fraud, robbery
is an unrecognized profession; he declares himself a captain
in the standing army of poverty. Love for his son he comes to
feel, but this leads him to achieve the boy’s corruption, that
between them there may remain no barrier. Vautrin’s pica-
resque tricks are as many as his vicissitudes. He purloins a
note from a friend, and tries to cash it through unsuspecting
Phil. He issues a worthless check as agent for a mythical firm.
Now he is a philanthropist, with a scheme whereby every old
maid shall receive an annuity. Now he conducts a restaurant,
or speculates on the Bourse, or vends toothpowder. He robs
on the highway in London, and tours the provinces to steal at
480 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

inns. He is an adept at passing light sovereigns, and excels
in burglary.

But the best realistic roguery attaches to the adventures of
Philip. His life in the workhouse and in the industrial school
contrasts in its amenities with the hardships endured by Oliver
Twist. In vain Mayhew protests that prudence rather than
affection rules in these places. His Philip receives excellent
treatment, and runs away only to break from all discipline.
A kind-hearted ex-convict equips him for the water-cress busi-
ness, and it is not until his entrance into the gang of caten-
wheelers, or street acrobats, under King Teddy Flight and
Captain Jack Drake, that he becomes aman of the world,
skilled in oaths, theft, and beggary.

The crew of street boys is carefully pictured. ‘They meet in conclave
on the steps of St. Martin’s Church, talk in cant, and submit to their
own laws, sleep at Mother O’Donovan’s lodgings, or lie on the flower
beds of St. James’s Park. By night they haunt the Haymarket, looking
out cabs for those leaving the play, victimizing the drunken, entertain-
ing the sober. Yet, when Philip leaves these companions, he turns hon-
est again, serves his donkeyman with vigilance, and repays the money
his foster sister has given to set him up in trade. As assistant to the
shooting-board man, he merely borrows turnips from the fields in pass-
ing, and it is only as a tramp that he grows confirmed in roguery.

Now it is lame Ned Purchase and stalwart Billy Fortune who in-
struct him in crime. At Stafford they pass the night in the padding
ken of Mrs. Lully, who buys their begged food, and entertains a pica-
resque crew. Here is a hawker of paper and wax consulting with a
cadger, and near by sits a stealer of boxes from the backs of carriages,
a purloiner of pots from public-houses and of bread from bakers’ bas-
kets. An old woman with an ague, caught from skippering it under
haystacks, curls her bare toes at the fire, and a small boy smokes a pipe
after a day of singing ballads and diving down areas to sneak silver
pap feeders. Apart reclines a high-flier, who whips up trinkets from
jewelers, and solicits for fraudulent societies. He debates with a plucked
medical student who plays the shipwrecked sea-captain. Beggars and
READE 431

swindlers loll about in every variety, from those with artificial sores to
pretended needle-makers ruined in health by their trade.

When Philip has won his spurs as a captain of vagrants, he leads
assaults upon Irish tramps, their rivals; he claims at doors the linen
he has seen delivered there, grows proficient in the use of cipher signs
as guides to his gang, and robs the sleeping. When leagued with his
father, his devices take on more subtlety; counterfeiting gives place to
house-breaking along with Tater-trap Sam, and then it is Philip, dressed
as a groom, who cajoles from servants their masters’ secrets, or delivers
misdirected letters in order to examine the locks.

Although based primarily upon observation, “Paved With
Gold” has its literary affiliations. The sporting sketches of
Surtees and Egan contribute to the experiences of Captain
Crozier and of Phil, as do the anatomies of roguery. Continental
picaresque fiction inspires the career of Vautrin, and Defoe
is the source of Philip’s youthful exploits. Philip, indeed, is a
younger brother to Defoe’s Colonel Jack.

3. Reade

Charles Reade chanced by accident upon picaresque fiction.
“It Is Never Too Late To Mend” (1856), which chiefly associates
him with the genre, was the work of an eccentric and versatile
dramatist who had previously written only two novels. “ Peg
Woffington” had celebrated the Irish actress, and ‘‘Christie
Jobnstone” had contrasted high society with honest low-life,
when Reade, in plotting his drama ‘“‘Gold” (1853), began the
study of rogues. “‘One of my characters is to be a thief,” his
diary records; “I have the entrée of Durham Gaol, and I
am studying thieves. I have got lots of their letters, and one
or two autobiographies from the chaplain.”

A year later he remarks, “‘If ever I write a novel on ‘Gold,’
introduce a Jew and a learned Divine (chaplain of Tom Rob-
inson’s gaol), who meet with a holy horror of each other, battle,
432 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

argue, find they were both in the dark as respects each other,
and that all supposed monsters are men — no more, no less.”

When the novel is actually begun, the diary sheds fresh light
on the author’s methods. “Tom Robinson is in gaol. I have
therefore been to Oxford Gaol and visited every inch and shall
do the same at Reading. Having also collected material in
Durham Gaol, whatever I write about Tom Robinson’s gaol
will therefore carry (I hope) a physical exterior of truth.” He
further describes plans for collecting information concerning
a sea voyage, gold mining in Australia, and ‘‘what is in the
head and in the heart of a modern Jew.”

Few before Reade had contributed to the literature of roguery
so seriously. Bulwer had agitated reforms touching criminals;
Borrow had studied rogues out of love for them; and the anat-
omies of roguery had professed to reveal the picaro for society’s
benefit. But Reade took up the cudgels for prison reform in
the spirit of Dickens, writing a novel of purpose, which in its
realism and sober message to the unfortunate recalls the pica-
resque tales of Defoe. Mrs. Stowe’s “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was
also influential upon Reade, who referred to it as “‘great by
theme, great by skill, and greater by a writer’s soul honestly
flung into its pages.”

George Fielding, a Berkshire farmer, goes to Australia to earn the
thousand pounds demanded by his uncle as a condition for marriage
with his cousin, Susan Merton. Before leaving, he pledges his brother
to abandon all claim to Susan, and thus unwittingly leaves the field
open to another rival, the villain Meadows, who relies for success upon
his power over old Merton and the machinations of his creature, Craw-
ley. Only George’s Jewish friend, Isaac Levi, remains to oppose these
schemes. Two figures, hitherto lightly sketched, now take the stage:
Tom Robinson, the hero’s servant, imprisoned for theft; and Richard
Eden, the prison chaplain, who wages war upon the nefarious penal

system under which Robinson suffers. When the system succumbs,
Robinson is transported to Australia. Here he unites with Fielding in
READE 433

sheep-farming and gold-digging. Despite opposition, the pair win
wealth, and return to England in time to prevent Meadows’s marriage
with Susan. A last conflict, in which the Jew assists in worsting both
Meadows and Crawley, brings happiness to the virtuous and forgive-
ness to the wicked. The thief, rescued from prison by the fighting chap-
lain, and transformed from anti-hero to hero, has learned that “it is
never too late to mend.”

Obviously, Robinson is a very different rogue from most
in the picaresque family. He evinces no delight in traditional
tricks, and is never witty or satirical. Appearing for the lessons
that his life may convey, he is portrayed in his conversion, back-
slidings, and final conquest of self, rather than in his earlier
roguery. In the first section of the story he merely suffers
arrest; in the second, he offers a pretext for arraigning prison
management; and only in the last can he claim attention for
himself.

The scenes in the jail are the most powerful of their kind in
literature. Ignorance and inhumanity combine to torture the
poor devils, who are torn from the productive labor of brush-
making to turn futile cranks, and who, when fainting from the
toil, are strapped in crucifixion jackets, or are kept in solitary
confinement and deprived of food, light, and air. Into this hell
comes Eden, the chaplain, who wins the sympathy of the pris-
oners by himself submitting to these torments. He battles un-
remittingly against the brutal governor and the lethargic visiting
justices, as well as against despair in the hearts of the convicts.
The Home Office remains deaf to the chaplain’s appeals, until
a boy who has been shamefully abused hangs himself in his
cell. Then, at last, the authorities act, and the governor and his
system are swept away.

Thus far, rogue Robinson has been passive, sharing the
reader’s sympathy with other convicts, Gillies, Old Strutt,
‘weak-minded Carter, and little Josephs, whose actual proto-
434 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

type, Andrews, was done to death in Birmingham Gaol by
Lieutenant Austin, its governor from 1851 to 1853. When the
scene has shifted to Australia, however, Robinson steps to the
fore, first as a rogue in action, next as an honest adventurer,
and then as the righteous terror of all evil-doers.

Reaching Sydney, shaken in his good resolutions by contact with
criminals aboard ship, he engages as a convict servant, fleeces his mas-
ter, takes part in a robbery, and escapes to the interior. Here he again
repents, hunts out George Fielding, saves his life, and with him strikes
gold. There are rogues to be fought, — Mephistopheles, Brutus, Black
Will, Walker the peddler, and lawyer Crawley sent out by Meadows to
compass the ruin of George. But Jacky, the native saved from a shark,
proves a useful Man Friday, and Carlo the dog and most of the camp
cleave to the pair. Robinson becomes the miners’ darling, rules his
turbulent subjects with the sense of a Sancho Panza, and at last, having
brought George through a sea of troubles, returns to Australia to marry
the housemaid who has pitied him in poverty.

Strength, truth, and animation, the three qualities noted by
Besant as distinguishing the novels of Reade, are evident here;
and certain whimsicalities — sentences doing duty as para-
graphs, paragraphs as chapters, a free use of capitals, italics,
bracketed comments, and labeled dialogue — cannot detract
from the tale’s compelling interest. “It Is Never Too Late To
Mend” won its way on both sides of the Atlantic as a novel,
and enjoyed equal success as a play. Before Reade could offer
his own dramatic version, plays by literary pirates were accumu-
lating fortunes. His “Sera Nunquam” began its career at the
Princess’s Theatre in 1865, and productions multiplied in Lon-
don, in the provinces, and in America.

In the meantime, Reade had worked the picaresque vein
somewhat farther, his ‘Autobiography of a Thief” (1858)
describing Robinson’s early life, and purporting to have been
composed in jail at the instance of Eden.
READE 435

Robinson has served as many masters as the best of Spanish rogues.
After picaresque vicissitudes as tutor, weaver, chemist, baker, sailor,
and merchant, he takes to counterfeiting, housebreaking, and medical
swindling, joins a gang proficient in frauds, and weds a fair recruit, the
bride and groom leaping over a chalk-line as an extemporized priest
pronounces: —

Leap rogue and follow jade,
Man and wife for evermore.

Robinson’s further exploits include robberies in England and gold-
hunting in California, but moved to repent in jail, he versifies the chap-
lain’s sermon, and pens his “Prison Thoughts” in wretched couplets.

If here the criminal biographies were used as models, in
Reade’s masterpiece several episodes reflect the anatomies of
roguery. “‘The Cloister and the Hearth” (1861), in its rich
reproduction of life in Germany and Italy at the end of the Mid-
dle Ages, would have been incomplete without some notice of
thieves and beggars. This is given in the dare-devil adventures
of the hero at inns and on the road, but more particularly in
the epistolary account of his comradeship with Cul de Jatte,
one of the most delightful of vagabonds.’

Gerard, traveling up the Rhine valley to Italy, is robbed of his all,
and falls in with this merry beggar, who engages him as servant and
promises to teach him “how to maund, and chaunt, and patter, and
to raise swellings, and paint sores and ulcers.” Though Gerard re-
mains honest, he cannot but be amused by his master’s ribald songs,
light-hearted immorality, proficiency in rascal lore, and clever tricks.
Cul de Jatte defends mendicancy as an ancient and honorable mystery.
He points with pride to his feet, washed in piety by the king of France
one day, and on the next set in the stocks by a village warden. He
expounds the meaning of the signs placed at cross-roads and on house-
doors by members of his fraternity. He feigns fits with soap under his
tongue, and a straw thrust up his nose to bring blood. A knuckle-bone
from a churchyard serves him as St. Anthony’s thumb or St. Martin’s
little finger. He exposes the mock palmer who peddles Normandy
cockle-shells as mementos of the Holy Land, and laughs at his ser-

1 Of, The Cloister and the Hearth, vol. ii, ch. 4.
-436 THE ROGUE IN HIS SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

vant’s gullibility when a trull, pretending madness, and led about in a
chain by her husband, claims an alms. He glibly comments on the pic-
ture presented by the Gypsies en route and in bivouac. He shows his
readiness of wit in turning misfortune into a miracle when the monastery
dogs lick off his painted sores; and through it all he shares the high
spirits of Shakespeare’s Autolycus, save when he sees another beggar
lashed by the hangman, and a woman thief flung from a bridge.
Then he trembles with fear, and cries, “Too late, too late,” yet soon
forgets the lesson. At last, a rival in beggary informs on him, and a
burgomaster casts him into prison, merely because his mutilated ears
bear witness to previous punishments.

For some of this matter Reade has gone direct to the ‘‘ Liber
Vagatorum.” The demoniac is the vopper of that beggar-book;
the fit-throwing trick appertains to the grantner; the woman
dressed to seem pregnant is a bildtrager; and the catalogue
of roguish types recited by Cul de Jatte repeats the terms of
the ‘“‘Liber,” and even keeps to their sequence.’ For other
Picaresque passages the source must be sought in Gothic ro-
mance. There is a robber-haunted windmill, with a sinking
floor that drops its victims to a well beneath. Gerard escapes
from this trap by clinging to the revolving sails, and then fires
the structure to consume his enemies. Earlier, he and Denys
are besieged by night within a thieves’ tavern, where they kill
one assailant, paint his corpse with phosphorus to frighten his
confederates, and then in hand-to-hand combat slay the ter-
tible Abbot, leader of the band.?

Though the melodrama of these scenes and the humor of
the Cul de Jatte incidents combine to present the late medieval

1 Reade was doubtless inspired by J. C. Hotten’s English translation of
the Liber vagatorum, which had just appeared (1860). He notes a few
French types also, but is more familiar with the English beggar-books,
He refers to rufflers, whipjalks [sic], dommerars, glymmerars, jarkmen,
patricos, autem morts, and walking morts, and repeats part of the

prescription for sore-making from Dekker’s O per se O (1612).
2 Cf. The Cloister and the Hearth, vol. i, chs. 33-37.

ae
READE 437

rogue in his social surroundings, Reade was but a fortuitous
cultivator of picaresque fiction, and his later novels had little
to do with it. Of the two humanitarian tales, “Hard Cash”
and “Put Yourself in His Place,” the former introduced pirates,
and the latter in attacking trade-unionism used hoodlums; but
neither was picaresque. Indeed, the only other novel by Reade
ever claimed for the genre was “Griffith Gaunt” (1865),
dramatized by Augustin Daly, and travestied by C. H. Webb.
It is roguish only in so far as its hero is an anti-hero, led into
bigamy and foul deceit through jealousy and temperamental
weakness. Like other English works, its interest centres in the
portrayal of character, and involves reformation at the close.
In its analysis of the rascal’s heart, “Griffith Gaunt” transcends
“It Is Never Too Late To Mend.” To this it sustains a rela-
tion similar to that which Bulwer’s “Eugene Aram” bears to
his earlier “Paul Clifford;” for the theme is the rogue in his
individual life, rather than the rogue in his social environment.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER X
1-3

Fiction in its social aspect is discussed in Louis Cazamian’s Le ro-
man social en Angleterre (Paris, 1904). John Forster’s authoritative
Life of Charles Dickens (London, 1872-74, 3 vols.) has been supple-
mented by such biographies as A. W. Ward’s (English Men of Letters,
1882), F. T. Marzials’s (Great Writers, 1887), R. Langton’s Childhood
and Youth of Charles Dickens (London, 1891), Percy Fitzgerald’s Lije
of Charles Dickens (London, 1905, 2 vols.), and by such critical studies
as George Gissing’s Charles Dickens (London and N. Y., 1898),
F. G. Kitton’s Novels of Charles Dickens (London, 1897), and Charles
Dickens; his Life, Writings, and Personality (London, 1902), and
G. K. Chesterton’s Charles Dickens (N. Y., 1906). The question of
sources is examined in Frank Wilson’s Dickens in seinen Beziehungen
zu den Humoristen, Fielding und Smollett (Leipzig, 1894), in Albert
Winter’s Joseph Addison als Humorist in seinem Einfluss auf Dickens
Jugendwerke (Anglia, 1899, vol. xxi), and in Siegfried Benignus’s Studien
iiber die Anfinge von Dickens (Esslingen, 1895). Pickwick is considered
at length in Percy Fitzgerald’s gossiping History of Pickwick (Lon-
don, 1891). H. S. Ashbee has a brief article in the Revue hispanique
(1899, p. 307) entitled Don Quixote and Pickwick. The Dickens Diction-
ary, by Gilbert A. Pierce, with additions by William A. Wheeler (Boston,
1894), is useful. Andrew Lang’s Gadshill Edition of Dickens’s Works
(London and N. Y., 1896-99) and the edition by Charles Dickens the
Younger (London and N. Y., 1892-96) are helpful in their introductions.

The chief notice of Augustus Mayhew is that in the Dict. of Nat
Biog., vol. xxxvi. Charles Reade, A Memoir (N. Y., 1887), by C. L.
Reade and Compton Reade, is authoritative but inchoate. Reade’s
work is criticised in The Atheneum (Apr. 19, 1884), in The Fortnightly
Review (Oct., 1884), and in A. C. Swinburne’s Miscellanies (1886).
Reade’s novels appear in the Library Edition (London and N. Y.,
1896-1903, 17 vols.).
CHAPTER XI
SYMPATHETIC AND SATIRIC ROGUE REALISM

1. Borrow

JHE observer of things as they are may use them
in art sympathetically or satirically. He may
coin reality to pass current, or else to disgust
#| with life’s counterfeits. In dealing with roguery
Thackeray best exemplifies the latter practice,
Borrow the former. Where Thackeray assails rascality, Borrow
condones it. He is the apologist of the Gypsies and the laureate
of vagabondism. He delights to study rogue characters, and
reflects that criminals are often creatures of circumstance. He
himself must be free as the wind, wandering forth or pitching
his tent at fancy’s beck, now fashioning horseshoes in the dingle,
now exchanging confidences with the thievish apple-woman of
London Bridge, or the Romany chals and chies under a hedge.
He finds solace in compiling Newgate lives and trials. He
exalts the virtues of horseflesh, pugilism, and ale. He decries
respectability, — the smugness of the priest, the gentility of Scott,
the unreal peddlerism of Wordsworth. His pride and intoler-
ance are aspects of an “‘unconquerable love of independence.”
Although one of the most original of writers, he fears lest he
appropriate the ideas of others. Despite his acquaintance with
the picaresque novels of Spain, and his praise of “The English
Rogue” as “written by a remarkable genius,” he proceeds with-
out reference to predecessors. He rediscovers on his own

   
440 SYMPATHETIC REALISM: BORROW

account the romance of roguery, and occupies a special niche
in the picaresque pantheon.

Borrow entered the lists of literature in 1823 as a translator
for the magazines of German, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, and
Spanish poems. His first separate publication was a six-volume
piece of picaresque book-making, —the ‘‘Celebrated Trials
and Remarkable Cases of Criminal Jurisprudence” (1825).
This was followed by fresh translations that embraced Klinger’s
‘**Faustus” (1825), ‘““Romantic Ballads,” from the Danish
(1826), “The Memoirs of Vidocq” (1828-29), ““Targum,” or
“metrical translations from thirty languages and dialects”
(1835), a Mexican and a Gypsy version of “St. Luke,” and a
Manchu version of the “New Testament.” Long after, there
appeared “The Sleeping Bard” (1860), a translation from the
Welsh; ‘Romano Lavo-Lil ” (1874), a word-book of the Eng-
lish-Gypsy language; and “The Turkish Jester, or the Plea-
santries of Cogia Nasr Eddin Effendi,” translated from the
Turkish (1884). Borrow’s reputation, however, rests upon
the more original works of travel and autobiography that fall
between the earlier and the later groups of translations. For
these his nomadic life before 1840 afforded excellent prepara-
tion. As a youth, he roamed over England, Scotland, and Ire-
land, either in the train of his soldier father, or else in quest
of adventure; in manhood, he traveled in Russia, in the East,
and in Spain as agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society.
After marriage he settled at Oulton, to write out of a rich ex-
perience, and to entertain upon his estate Gypsies and vaga-
bonds after the fashion of his Elizabethan prototype, Thomas
Harman.

The first fruit of these peaceful years was “The Zincali, an
Account of the Gypsies of Spain” (1841), describing the Gyp-
sies’ history, manners, and literature, and the laws enacted
“THE BIBLE IN SPAIN” 441

for their restraint. Two years later appeared “The Bible in
Spain,” no sober narrative of missionary achievement, but a
fascinating chronicle of travel, rich in vignettes of low-life.

Here the novel colporteur no sooner sets forth to ride across Portugal
than he falls to talking of the great robber, Sabocha, in whose ruined
house, the haunt of highwaymen, he leaves a Testament and tracts.
Now he rejoices in an inn known as “the hostelry of thieves;” now
he converses with a roguish beggar and quotes from “Gil Blas;”’ pre-
sently he has joined the Gypsies, galloping across Spain with fierce
Antonio Lopez, interviewing the hag who has practiced fortune-telling
among Moors and renegades in Africa, or crouching by the camp-fire
of the tawny fugitives pursued for having stolen an ass. In Madrid he
attends an execution, and at ‘alow tavern in a neighbourhood notorious
for robbery and murder” drinks with a bull-fighter and a famous thief,
engaging the latter on a wager in speaking the crabbed Gitano. Later,
this fellow is Borrow’s companion in prison, having been seized for
robbing the queen’s milliner, and soon to be garroted for a worse offense.

The old Spanish prison pamphlets find an echo in Borrow’s account
of life in the Carcel de la Corte. He remarks the half-naked boys herded
in “the chicken coop,” the Sunday foppery of distinguished picaros,
“supported in prison by their majas and amigas,” and the professional
housebreaker, with his six-year-old son swaggering about with a long
Manchegan knife thrust in his little crimson sash. Borrow hobnobs
with the French thief and murderer who, having hired a fine house,
has confiscated the goods ordered to be sent to it. He admires the
sobriety and decorum of Spanish criminals when not professionally
occupied.

On the road he is entertained by a blind beggar girl who spouts Latin,
and by a ruffian’s mistress, who, being stabbed by her gallant, rebuffs
his interference in her favor. He wins the esteem of the dreaded valiente
of Finisterra, and sings the praises of the strand of San Lucar, cele-
brated by Cervantes and the picaresque novelists as the haunt of scoun-
drels. Accused of preferring the society of rogues, he retorts, “Why
should I be ashamed of their company when my Master mingled with
publicans and thieves?”

Less entertaining, although not devoid of roguish episode,
is Borrow’s other volume of travel, “Wild Wales” (1862).
442 SYMPATHETIC REALISM: BORROW

This opens with praise of Morgan, the buccaneer, and closes
with a vivid character sketch of a tramping girl whose father
has been a prize-fighting bricklayer, and whose mother has
died in jail after gouging out the eye of her husband’s slayer.
A family of Gypsies is met journeying in their cabin on wheels;
but the wanderer early learns that the Gwyddeliad, or vaga-
bond Irish, have superseded the Gypsiad in Wales; and he
encounters such tinkering rogues, or hears from others of their
customs.

Chief here among picaresque figures is Johanna Colgan,
the bedeviled woman of Limerick, who begs an alms for the
glory of God and threatens a curse if it be refused. She herself
is the victim of such a curse, and the story of its infliction
proves a delightful bit of folk-lore. A jest-book rogue of the
seventeenth century, Twm Shone Catti, also appears, por-
trayed with excellent spirit by a Welsh drover. Twm, or Tom,
was a cattle and horse thief, most of whose tricks may be par-
alleled elsewhere, in the German “Schwiinke,” in the Eng-
lish jests and anatomies of roguery, in the “Lives and Actions
of the Most Notorious Irish Highwaymen, Tories, and Rap-
parees,” and in the storybook of Klim, the Russian robber.’

With all their vagabond charm, “The Zincali,” “The Bible
in Spain,” and “Wild Wales” must yield in picaresque inter-
est to Borrow’s unfinished autobiography in two parts, “La-
vengro” (1851) and ‘‘The Romany Rye” (1857). This happy-
go-lucky narrative mixes fact with fiction, and deals with the
first twenty-two years of Borrow’s life. Most of it concerns the
last four months of this time, the period of a memorable ex-
periment in vagabondage. What precedes is an account of
childhood and of school days, of apprenticeships to a solicitor
and a publisher, and of encounters with strange characters.

1 Skazka Oklimkie, Moscow, 1829.
“LAVENGRO” AND “THE ROMANY RYE” 443

Here, among other matters, is the child’s first reading of Defoe, and
his meeting with the old herbalist, who has seen the king of the vipers,
and who teaches the boy the art of snake-charming. With David Hag-
gart, the future criminal, Borrow scales the castle cliff at Edinburgh.
To Murtagh, the Irish gossoon, he gives a pack of cards in payment for
lessons in Irish. On a lonely bog he comes upon Jerry Grant, the out-
law, reputed a fairy man. An ugly smith he discovers to be a magician
with horses. Now he studies Romany, or extols “the bruisers of Eng-
land ;” and again he describes the death of his father in a passage
worthy of Sterne. A year of London entails Grub Street drudgery from
which he seeks relief in miniature adventures with thimble-riggers, with
an apple-woman, with an Armenian merchant, with a gay dandy, and
with a score of others besides. Then, in the spring of 1825, Lavengro
or the word-master, as the Gypsies call him, sets forth to wander, and
buying the cart of a traveling tinker, turns professional tramp.

All that follows is given in photographic detail, filling both
volumes of ‘The Romany Rye” and the third of ‘“‘Lavengro.”
Here are related such incidents as the attempt on his life by
Mrs. Herne; his rescue by the Welsh preacher, self-convicted
of having committed the sin against the Holy Ghost; his life
in the dingle with Isopel Berners; his service as hostler at an
inn; and his ride across England to Horncastle Fair. An erratic
‘‘ Appendix” vents Borrow’s prejudices. But neither these nor
his story is of consequence compared with his studies of rascal
character.

First among picaresque figures is the old apple-woman of
London Bridge, — a pan of charcoal at her feet, and Defoe’s
“Moll Flanders” in her hand. Seeing Lavengro clamber up
the parapet, she plucks him down, fearing lest he be disheartened
by ill luck in cly-faking.

“What do you mean by cly-faking?” he asks.

“Lor, dear! no harm; only taking a handkerchief now and then.”

“Do you take me for a thief?”

“Nay, dear! don’t make use of bad language; we never calls them
thieves here, but prigs and fakers; to tell you the truth, dear, seeing
444 SYMPATHETIC REALISM: BORROW

you spring at that railing put me in mind of my own dear son, who is
now at Bot’ny; when he had bad luck, he always used to talk of flinging
himself over the bridge.”

Presently Lavengro asks, “So you think there’s no harm in stealing?”

“No harm in the world, dear! Do you think my own child would have
been transported for it, if there had been any harm in it? and, what’s
more, would the blessed woman in the book here have written her life
as she has done, and given it to the world, if there had been any harm
in faking?”

“What was her name ?”

“Her name, blessed Mary Flanders.”

The delightful old woman proves to be a petty receiver of stolen goods,
and when Lavengro has bestowed sixpence upon her, she whispers,
“Tf you have any clies to sell at any time, Ill buy them of you; all safe
with me; I never peach, and scorns a trap; so now, dear, God bless
you! and give you good luck !”

On his next visit to the bridge, Lavengro finds her booth shifted, for
mischievous boys have snatched away her “blessed Mary,” and al-
though she has regained the book, the fright has worried her, and she
wishes they may be hanged.

“T thought you did n’t dislike stealing, — that you were ready to buy
things — there was your son, you know .. .”

“Yes, to be sure.”

“He took things.”

“To be sure he did.”

“But you don’t like a thing of yours to be taken.”

“No, that’s quite a different thing; what’s stealing handkerchiefs,
and that kind of thing, to do with taking my book; there’s a wide dif-
ference — don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see.”

“Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I’m glad you do.”

Ere long, this mistress of moral logic becomes dissatisfied with Defoe,
for a voice at night repeats, “Thou shalt not steal,” and she remembers
her childhood, and wishes for a Bible.

“Well, then, I’ll buy you one,” Lavengro suggests.

“No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the money; but
if you can take me one conveniently on the sly, you know — I think
you may, for, as it isa good book, I suppose there can be no harm in
taking it.”
“LAVENGRO” AND “THE ROMANY RYE” 445

The Bible, being purchased, not stolen, brings peace to the poor soul;
and later Lavengro encounters on the road the returned convict, her
son, come home to his dear mother.

Another rogue of interest is the pickpocket who filches
“blessed Mary,” and sells it to a book fancier as a first edition.
Having turned thimble-engro at fairs, he offers Lavengro the
position of bonnet, or secret confederate in the game of the
pea beneath the thimbles. Lavengro declines the office; but
when the thimble-man is performing his profitable trick be-
fore a crowd, and the ‘‘word-master” perceives a constable
approaching, he gives a warning cry, at which the other darts
away, not without a nod of invitation to his extemporary bonnet.

Less indulgence is shown the rascal who, by a play upon
words, has defrauded an old man of his ass, giving him six
pounds of flints in lieu of six pounds sterling; for the picaros
Borrow loves are those unconscious of moral obliquity.

Such a naive rogue is Jack, the jockey with a beam in his eye, who
begins his story in frue Spanish fashion: ‘‘ My grandfather was a shorter,
and my father was a smasher; the one was scragg’d, and the other
lagg’d.” From his father Jack has learned to utter forged notes, but
he escapes the gallows by turning state’s evidence. After serving with
a family of basket-making thieves, whose leader dies from acquaintance
with a man-trap, Jack joins two vagabonds as a stone-throwing artist,
but through an unlucky shot lands in Bridewell. He makes a mad ride
to be present at the hanging of a friend, according to promise; and he
rescues a former sweetheart from her drunken husband, who has haled
her in a halter to market. As a jockey he is familiar with such horse-
courser’s wiles as making a dull nag swallow an eel, and dosing an ill-
tempered beast with ale.1 He is apt at sleight of hand, and carries a
duplicate pea with which to defraud thimble-riggers.

1 Practically Borrow’s only use of traditional tricks. These are noted
above, at pp. 108, 219, as appearing in Dekker’s Lanthorne and Candle-
light (1608), in Robin Conscience (1635), and in The English Rogue, pt. iv
(1671).
446 SYMPATHETIC REALISM: BORROW

One of the thimble-riggers proves to be Lavengro’s old tutor in Irish,
roguish Murtagh, who has studied for the Church in Italy and suffered
imprisonment for beating his rector at cards. On escaping, he finds the
rector, the sub-rector, the almoner, and the Pope at play with the very
pack taken from him. He warns his Holiness that the cards are marked.
Let Murtagh but supply the rector’s place, however, and he promises
that “divil an advantage will I take of the dirty marks, though I know
them all, having placed them on the cards myself.” This escapade costs
him three years more in a dungeon, with nothing to read but “The Cal-
endars of Newgate” and “The Lives of Irish Rogues and Rapparees.”
Then he breaks jail, enlists in a regiment of the Faith, and making his
way through Spain by begging and gaming, turns bonnet to a thimble-
rigger in England, and soon steals his master’s outfit. When last heard
of he has won promotion in the Church, and is about to be made Pri-
mate of Ireland.

Among the lesser picaresque gentry are a rat-catcher, a cockpit-
keeper, and an ex-prize-fighter turned innkeeper. The last, having
lost his all at a cock-main, plans to recuperate through a fist-fight be-
tween the Romany Rye (Lavengro’s later title) and Isopel Berners.
“*If you take my advice,’ he says, “you will determine between you
that the young woman shall be beat, as I am sure that the odds will run
high upon her, . . . so that all the flats who think it will be all right
will back her, as I myself would, if I thought it would be a fair thing.’
‘But,’ said I, ‘you said the other day that you liked the fair thing.’
‘That was by way of gammon,’ said the landlord; ‘ just, do you see,
as a Parliament cove might say, speechifying from a barrel to a set of
flats, whom he means to sell.’”

The Gypsies of ‘‘Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye,” if
seen at their best as they camp in the Staffordshire dingle, are
shown long before when Lavengro stumbles upon them as a
child. They try to frighten him off, but perceiving the snake
he carries, address him as their “precious little God Almighty.”
Years afterward he meets them again, and arouses their jeal-
ousy by studying Romany.

“Do you know that I am dangerous?” cries one old hag; “* my name

is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!” And dangerous she proves,
for when Lavengro has purchased the tinkering kit of Jack Slingsby,
“LAVENGRO” AND “THE ROMANY RYE” 447

and camps ina lane, her granddaughter comes singing a Gypsy song and
brings him a poisoned cake. Then, as he lies in his tent sick unto death,
she and the crone steal up to gloat over him. When he recovers, Mrs.
Herne, who has never before failed in a drabbing, hangs herself in
chagrin.

Presently, in the dingle, Lavengro encounters another Herne, the
Flaming Tinman, who has driven Slingsby out of trade, and means to
do the same for his successor. The Tinman puts up a royal battle
cheered on by his mort, Grey Moll, while the word-master, knocked
down six times, takes breath in the lap of Isopel Berners, then rises
to achieve victory with a smashing right-hander.

If these Hernes are evil spirits among the Gypsies, others of the tribe
are better-tempered rogues. There is Jasper Petulengro, for example,
who avenges the death of his wicked mother-in-law by a perfunctory
exchange of fisticuffs with his friend, Lavengro. Jasper compares his
tribe to the cuckoos: “Everybody speaks ill of us both, and everybody
is glad to see both of us again.” Thecoins he wins by fighting and horse-
trading he loses at cards, or sews as buttons on his coat. Once, he gen-
erously secretes a purse in the word-master’s pocket, insisting on the lat-
ter’s purchase with it of a fine steed. “It is the money I earnt by fighting
in the ring; I did not steal it, brother, nor did I get it by disposing of
spavined donkeys, or glandered ponies — nor is it, brother, the profits
of my wife’s witchcraft and dukkerin.” When urged to learn reading,
Jasper replies, “‘We have no time, brother.” “Are you not frequently
idle?”’ “Never, brother; when we are not engaged in our traffic, we
are engaged in taking our relaxation; so we have no time to learn.”

Jasper’s faith is a faith of the moment. Having denied the existence
of the soul, and being confronted with his earlier references to it, he
can only express astonishment at the word-master’s memory. “Well,
brother, I don’t deny that I may have said that I believe in dukkerin,
and in Abershaw’s dook, which you say is his soul; but what I believe
one moment, or say I believe, don’t be certain that I shall believe the
next, or say I do.”

Jasper’s wife likes to remind her husband that a duke of the gorgios
once offered to make her his second wife: “for it is true that he had
another,” she explains, “who was old and stout, though mighty rich,
and highly good-natured; so much so indeed, that the young lord as-
sured me that she would have no manner of objection to the arrange-
ment; more especially if I would consent to live in the same house with
448 SYMPATHETIC REALISM: BORROW

her, being fond of young and cheerful society.” Her sister, Mrs. Chikno,
is an ugly creature, jealous of her handsome husband, Tawno Chikno,
who has little to say, and who falls asleep when his wife sings to the
fiddling of Piramus a Romany ditty of drabbing the baulo (poisoning
the porker). Ursula, however, another sister, holds the palm among
Gypsy women.

Nowhere, indeed, is Borrovian art more evident than in the Romany
Rye’s dialogue with Ursula beneath a thorn-bush. She admits her will-
ingness to play the thief and liar if the stake be high, but resents the
suggestion of selling her honor.

“T don’t much care being called a thief and a liar,” said Ursula; “a
person may be a liar and a thief, and yet a very honest woman, but . . .””

“Well, Ursula.”’

“T tell you what, brother, if you ever sinivate again that I could be
the third thing, so help me duvel! I’ll doyou a mischief. By my God, I
will!” She confesses to accepting presents from gallants, and to leading
them on to make fools of them, and then when they grow violent, driving
them away.

“T uses bad and terrible language, of which I have plenty in store.”

“But if your terrible language has no effect ?””

“Then I screams for the constable, and if he comes not, I uses my
teeth and nails.”

Should a gorgio boast of having obtained her favors, she would break
his head with the stick her coko could privily convey into her hand.
And in the old days, she says, if any Romany chi went too far with a
gorgio, she was buried alive by her cokos and pals in an uninhabited
place. Ursula then tells of her marriage to Launcelot Lovell, a rogue
who punished her with kicks and blows whenever she came home with
less than five shillings. He whistled a horse from a farmer’s field, and
was sentenced to transportation for life. Just before he was to go away
she smuggled him a saw in a gingercake, and joined him after his
escape; but the pursuit coming up, he set off again. After some days
she followed, guided by his patteran, or leaf-trail. It ran to the bank
of a stream and there disappeared, for Launcelot had slipped and been
drowned. She lamented him long, but at length married pepper-faced
Sylvester.

“Why, is he not the Lazarus of the Gypsies? has he a penny of his
own, Ursula?” asks the Romany Rye.

“Then the more his want, brother, of a clever chi like me to take care
“LAVENGRO” AND “THE ROMANY RYE” 449

of him and his childer. I tell you what, brother, I will chore, if necessary,
and tell dukkerin for Sylvester, if even so heavy as scarcely to be able
to stand.”

Dissimilar in race and character, but half a vagabond is
Isopel Berners. Though she makes her entrance by striking
the word-master an unprovoked blow, she soon takes his part
against the Tinman, and ere long falls in love with him. She
is an Amazon, big enough to have been born in a church, and
as blond as a Norwegian queen. Despite her fierceness, she
is womanly, joying in her tea, yearning for friendship, and in
moments of depression yielding even to tears. Her mother
was a milliner, who, when the officer that should have married
her fell in action, died demented in the Long Melford Work-
house at Isopel’s birth. “So I was born and bred in the great
house,” says the girl, “where I learnt to read and sew, to fear
God, and to take my own part.” Put out at service, she con-
tinued to take her own part, striking down the mistress who
abused and the master who insulted her. Wandering across
country with an old woman peddler, she trounced the sailors
who interfered with their trade, and, inheriting the cart and its
stock, united for company’s sake with the Flaming Tinman
and his Moll.

Now she camps beside Lavengro in the dingle. He drinks her
tea, teaches her Armenian, and plays the master in a hundred
little matters; but he cannot see until too late that her great
heart is his for the asking. “Well, if I had the power, I would
make you queen of something better than the dingle — Queen
of China,” he tells her. ‘‘‘Something less would content me,’
said Belle, sighing as she rose to prepare our evening meal.”
The postilion whose coach has been overturned in a storm sits
by their fire, and declares them runaway lovers married at
Gretna Green; and when Lavengro asks Isopel what she thinks
450 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

of this surmise, ‘“‘‘What should I think of it,’ said Belle, still
keeping her face buried in her hands, “but that it is mere non-
sense.’” At length, between jest and earnest, Lavengro sug-
gests that they go to America. He offers to try a wrestling bout
with her, if like Brynhilda she has resolved that none shall
marry her who cannot fling her down. His banter only per-
plexes her. She pleads for time to consider, and on the mor-
row he finds her with clothes unchanged after a sleepless night.
Instead of asking her answer, he sets out for a fair. “On ar-
riving at the extremity of the plain,” says he, ‘‘I looked towards
the dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the beams of
the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and figure.
I waved my hand towards her. She slowly lifted up her right
arm. I turned away, and never saw Isopel Berners again.”

Such is the magic with which Borrow can invest a sim-
ple incident. He breathes upon picaresque scenes a dreamy
glamour and reveals picaresque character through dramatic
dialogue. His people are individuals, not types, and his art
combines the qualities of Defoe and of Sterne. Among the
makers of the literature of roguery he is the most romantic
of realists.

2. Thackeray

During the decade that intervened between the appearance
of Thackeray’s first work of importance, “The Yellowplush
Papers,” and the publication of “‘Vanity Fair,’ he remained
a contributor to the literature of roguery. With purpose uni-
formly satirical, he at first burlesqued roguery in sketches where
vulgarity was often mistaken for vice, and where vice, as in
“Catherine,” was so fiercely assailed as to repel. But in “Barry
Lyndon” the cynic and moralizer effaced himself, and turned
to irony. Barry, the scoundrel who reveals his wickedness as
EARLY BURLESQUES 451

though it were virtue, and who lays bare the psychology of
roguery, is the prince of ironic creations. ‘‘Vanity Fair” ex-
tended the range of observation and satire to include all phases
of social hypocrisy, from the purse-proud, the stupidly covetous,
and the cowardly, to the vicious and the brutal. If two or three
persons of virtue slipped into the story, it was only to throw
into contrast the wicked. And all these anti-heroic figures
their creator held up for contempt, both ironically and by
direct abuse. .

The same methods and aims mark Thackeray’s minor works
of the period. In “Captain Rook and Mr. Pigeon” he
anatomized a swindler. “The Paris Sketch Book” exhibited
roguish predilections in its accounts of Mary Ancel, Cartouche,
and the gambler’s death-bed. ‘‘The Shabby Genteel Story”
was purposely vulgar. “The Great Hoggarty Diamond,”
though softened by pathos, showed its hero in a debtor’s prison,
and introduced a bubble-promoter. “Going to See a Man
Hanged” was outdone in satire by ‘The Ravenswing,” deal-
ing with Morgiana Crump’s rejection of her honest lovers for
the dashing captain who proves a swindler. “The Diary of
C. Jeames de la Pluche” laughed at the parvenu footman in
love with a housemaid; and ‘‘Punch’s Prize Novelists,” in
“George de Barnwell,” fired its first shot at Bulwer and the
sentimental novel of crime. Incidentally, it revived the rogue
of Lillo’s “London Merchant” and of its parent ballad.

But it was “The Memoirs of Mr. C. J. Yellowplush, Some-
time Footman in Many Genteel Families” (1837-38) that first
unmistakably echoed the picaresque novel, both as the auto-
biography of a servant satirizing his masters and as a chron-
icle of roguery.

Yellowplush in these misspelled confessions touches on his doubtful
parentage, his schooling, and his apprenticeship to a shopkeeper whose
452 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

windows gave on Newgate hangings. But he fixes especial attention
upon his service with two masters. One is the elegant Altamont, who
lodges with the shabby Shums, and when he has married Miss Mary is
discovered to be only a crossing-sweeper. The other is Algernon Percy
Deuceace, fifth son of the Earl of Crabs.

Deuceace pretends to read law in the Temple, but by gambling repairs
the deficiencies of an unpaid allowance. He defrauds his wealthy
fellow lodger, and cheats his confederate in the plot. Retreating to
Paris, he opens a matrimonial campaign upon the ugly daughter and
upon the handsome widow of an Indian general, the division of whose
property remains in doubt. Deuceace plans to keep both fish in play
until he can hook the better. But his father, refused a loan, becomes
his rival. Crabs disparages his son’s manner of life and prospects, sets
the widow to proving him a mercenary, and leads him off on a false
scent to the daughter. Then the fond parent throws his son into prison
by buying up the latter’s protested debts, marries the widow himself,
and cuts off the girl by securing the widow’s refusal to her marriage with
Deuceace. The latter loses a hand in a duel that has been incited by
Lord Crabs, and finds himself tied to a penniless fright. Sneaking
Yellowplush, his valet, goes over to serve Lord Crabs.

This disagreeable story foreshadows in treatment and spirit
‘“‘Barry Lyndon.” The people and their motives are despicable,
and the patient irony with which these plots and counterplots
are portrayed is characteristic of Thackeray. The smiling
villainy Thackeray delighted to depict is suggested in Yellow-
plush’s verdict on Crabs: — “Bless his old face! such a puf-
fickly good-natured, kind-hearted, merry, selfish old scoundril,
I never shall see again.” The sharpest irony, however, is re-
served for the last scene. Yellowplush describes how Crabs and
his bride in the Bois, expatiating on the gentle influence of
nature on the heart, chanced upon the miserable pair they had
ruined. Haughtily they took places in their carriage, and “ with
igstream dellixy and good natur bust into a ror of lafter. .
Deuceace turned round. I see his face now — the face of a
devvle of hell! Fust, he lookt towards the carridge, and pinted
“ CATHERINE” 453

to it with his maimed arm; then he raised the other and struck
the woman by his side. She fell, screaming. Poor thing! Poor
thing!”

A year later Thackeray vented his spleen against romantic
rascality in “Catherine.” ‘The public will hear of nothing
but rogues,” he complains, “‘and the only way in which poor
authors, who must live, can act honestly by the public and
themselves, is to paint such thieves as they are; not dandy,
poetical, rosewater thieves; but real downright scoundrels,
leading scoundrelly lives, drunken, profligate, dissolute, low;
as scoundrels will be. They don’t quote Plato, like Eugene
Aram; or live like gentlemen, and sing the pleasantest ballads
in the world, like jolly Dick Turpin; or prate eternally about
76 xadéyv, like that precious canting Maltravers, . . . or die
whitewashed saints, like poor ‘Biss Dadsy’ in ‘Oliver Twist.’”

From the “Newgate Calendar,” accordingly, Thackeray
selected as anti-heroine Catherine Hayes, burned at Tyburn
in 1726 for the murder of her husband. Her adventures, he
promised, should be agreeably low and delightfully disgusting.

Catherine is barmaid of a Warwickshire inn, from which she elopes
with the vicious Count Galgenstein. When he plans to desert her, she
serves him laudanum, and escapes to her village to marry a former
admirer. Although the count recovers, his faithful retainer, Corporal
Brock, seizes the opportunity to rob him, and, after playing the fine
gentleman in his master’s stead, unites with Macshane, a highwayman,
to seize Catherine’s bridegroom for a ransom.

Seven years later, this rogue returns from transportation and attaches
himself to Mrs. Catherine’s family circle in London. Here her husband
keeps Tyburn Road lodgings, lends money, receives stolen goods, and
inspects executions. When the count turns up as Bavarian ambassador,
Mrs. Catherine renews his acquaintance. To be rid of her, he promises
marriage, provided she will make an end of her husband. She readily
complies, but is merely laughed at by his excellency, who gives her over
to justice.
A54 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

This brutal fiction, reveling in scenes of profligacy, unre-
lieved by humor or character study, rendered tedious by re-
curring diatribes against readers and writers of picaresque
romances, was far worse as a medicine than the disease it
sought to cure. In the endeavor to make roguery detestable
Thackeray only made a detestable tale. That he perceived
his mistake is evident from the change of method exhibited
in his two master satires on roguery,— ‘Barry Lyndon”
and “Vanity Fair.”

“The Luck of Barry Lyndon” (1844) traces the career of a
dashing young Irishman who tells his story with infinite verve,
unaware of his wickedness and imputing to others its con-
sequences.

Redmond Barry, brought up in penury and with six weeks of schooling
to suffice him for life, falls in love at fifteen, duels with his rival, retires
from the field assured that he has done a murder; but, having fled to
Dublin and enlisted, learns too late that the thing was a hoax to get
rid of him.

With soldiering in Germany romance gives way to roguery. Barry
in battle distinguishes himself by slaying and picking the pocket of a
little ensign. His only wound is received in trying to defraud a compan-
ion. If he pretend love to the Lischen who nurses him, it is only because
“‘to the man who has to make his way in the world, these dear girls
ean always be useful.” He feigns madness, and robs his wounded
lieutenant in order to escape further duty, but is kidnapped into the
service of Frederick the Great.

Scenes of the Seven Years’ War succeed. Although nothing of heroism
in the field appears, the crimping system, garrison intrigues, and sharp-
ing are vividly drawn. Now, whom should Barry’s captain set him to
spy upon but an elegant gambler, who turns out to be his own uncle,
early driven from home because of his Catholic piety? Uncle and
nephew join forces, Barry as valet keeping an eye on the trumps as he
serves the champagne. Cheating? No; only the coward would cheat
with those “vulgar expedients of cogged dice and cut cards,” says
Barry. Such a man “‘is not fit to play in the society of gallant gentle-
men; and my advice to people who see such a vulgar person at his
“BARRY LYNDON ” 455

pranks is, of course, to back him while he plays, but never — never
to have anything to do with him. Play grandly, play honourably.”

Barry’s escape to Saxony is carried off to picaresque perfection.
Disguised as his uncle, the Chevalier (who happens to have been ordered
out of Frederick’s dominions), the rascal undergoes the sentence in
pretended dudgeon, while the real Chevalier, concealed at home,
pounces upon a captain come to loot his luggage, and after extorting
hush money from the captain, departs in peace. Henceforth the pair
lead a life of splendor, going on progress from court to court, study-
ing cards and pedigrees. An Irish crown gleams on their coach.
An amethyst ring is described as an heirloom once worn by their an-
cestor, King Brian Boru, or Barry. Plans of their Irish estates are
exhibited. Duels galore must be fought to uphold the family honor;
but these Barry wins with burlesque celerity. And although ladies
of rank will substitute paste for diamonds, or a partner in faro may
decamp with joint winnings, in the main prosperity smiles, and wit
repairs all losses.

At length matrimonial schemes culminate in the playing by Barry of
a really great game, and his shift from fraud to villainy. The scene of
his first exploit is the Duchy of X——-,! where everybody from lackey
and soldier to court marshal and finance minister is addicted to gaming.
“Among such fellows,” says Barry, “it was diamond cut diamond.
What you call fair play would have been a folly.” The prize to be
striven for is the rich Countess Ida. To bankrupt her fiancé at cards
and to win from him his intended bride on a threat of blackmail is
easy, for this Chevalier de Magny is already deep in an amour with the
Princess Olivia. But, alas! the scandal regarding the Princess reaches
the ears of her Prince, and the bubble bursts. Magny is forced to drink
poison in prison. The adventurers are shipped out of the Duchy, and
the Princess is murdered in a vault at dead of night.

Barry, however, never loses heart. Why should he? “One of

1 A symbol for the kingdom of Wiirtemberg. Thackeray’s source is
confessed in his notebook. The entry runs, ‘‘ January 4, 1844. Read in
a silly book called L’ Empire a good story about the first K. of Wiirtem-
berg’s wife; killed by her husband for adultery. Frederick William, born
in 1734 (?), m. in 1780 the Princess Caroline of Brunswick Wolfenbiittel,
who died the 27th September, 1788. For the rest of the story see L’Em-
ptre ou diz ans sous Napoléon, par un Chambellan: Paris, Allardin, 1836,
vol, i, 220.”’
456 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

the most accomplished, the tallest, the most athletic, and the hand-
somest gentlemen of Europe, as I was then, a young fellow of my
figure could not fail of having advantages, which a person of my
spirit knew very well how to use. But upon these subjects I am dumb.”
As a matter of fact, he is loquacious and falls to apostrophizing his
ensuing conquests, — “charming Schuvaloff, black-eyed Sczotarska,
dark Valdez, tender Hegenheim, brilliant Langeac: — ye gentle hearts
that knew how to beat in old times for the warm young Irish gentleman,
where are you now?”

Such sentimental victims pale before the most unfortunate of all,
Honoria, Countess of Lyndon, whom Barry presently meets at Spa,
woos beneath the nose of her husband, and weds against her will. His
account of his determined courtship and of the disaster he brings upon
her occupies the remainder of these memoirs, and but for the grim
humor that illumines every page would prove intolerable. Yet so naive
is Barry in unfolding his motives and plots that the reader’s interest
is absorbed by the reprobate’s self-analysis, rather than by the evi-
dences of his moral perversion.

He first entraps Lady Lyndon by correspondence concerning transub-
stantiation. “He wants to step into my shoes,” complains her gouty
lord. ‘The man would be happy who did so,” responds Barry, “‘ pro-
vided there were no chalk-stones included.” When after a year Sir
Charles dies, Barry, who as a mere precaution has been wooing a
wealthy Norman widow, forsakes her and hastens to Ireland to fly at
higher game. He opens attack upon Lady Eyndon by dueling with her
cousin, and then removing him from rivalry by exhibiting selections
from her letters. Her domestics are bribed; her every movement is
dogged or anticipated; her ward is abducted and married to Barry’s
relative; and at last, frightened into the belief that this terrible lover
cannot be eluded, the lady succumbs. Barry procures royal permission
to write her name after his own henceforth, and at thirty finds himself
at the pitch of prosperity.

But the new position entails responsibilities. An immense property
roust be looked after. Gothic Hackton Castle must be remodeled into
“the latest French-Greek and most classical style.” Lady Lyndon
must be kept in subjection, and her young Viscount Bullingdon must be
thrashed for quoting “‘Hamlet’’ to his mother. The adventurer may
contrive to get into Parliament; yet he must lavish great sums upon
princely favorites, fit out a regiment for America, lose bets to the royal
“BARRY LYNDON” 457

dukes, and in spite of it all fail of the peerage he seeks. For, after a
public horsewhipping of his step-son, slander grows busy; the sover-
eign frowns; and Barry, losing his seat (through calumny of course),
is harassed by duns and by the jealousy of his lady. Forced to retreat
to Ireland, he there suffers a more crushing blow in the death of his
spoiled little Bryan.

Though he sells all the Hackton timber, complaining that his wife’s
ancestors have defrauded him in planting elms instead of oaks, the
proceeds vanish in two nights’ play. Lady Lyndon objects to his
feigning the birth of an heir, and resents his mother’s espionage. ‘‘Had
she left me,” says Barry of his wife, “I was ruined next day. This
(which my mother knew) compelled us to keep a tight watch over her;
but as for imprisoning her, I repel the imputation with scorn.”

Lady Lyndon escapes from such toils only by plotting. Barry,
carrying her up to London to sign away all that remains of her property,
is pounced upon by prearrangement and given his choice of prison or an
annuity to keep out of the country. “What was the poor, lonely, and
broken-hearted man to do?” he asks. “I took the annuity and was
declared outlaw in the course of the next week.” Here his confessions
halt, but Thackeray provides an epilogue which revives Bullingdon,
earlier reported killed in the wars, and describes the death from delirium
tremens of the famous and fashionable Barry Lyndon after nineteen
years’ imprisonment in the Fleet.

Spanish fiction exerted no direct influence upon this novel,
but actual memoirs were more potent. Barry’s prototype is
Andrew Robinson Stoney, who married the Dowager Countess
of Strathmore in 1777 and hyphenated her name with his. He
led her just such a dance, dissipating her property, felling her
timber, maltreating her person, buying his way into Parlia-
ment, kicking about his buffoon of a chaplain, and finally being
divorced, to die in a jail.1_ The earlier exploits of Barry are
somewhat indebted to two other rogues of reality, — Sir Charles
Hanbury Williams and G. J. Casanova de Seingalt.?

1 The Lives of Andrew Robinson Bowes, Esq., and the Countess of Strath-
more, Written from Letters and Other Well Authenticated Documents, by
Jesse Foot, Surgeon, 1810.

2 Seingalt is once referred to in the novel : ‘‘ When Seingalt engaged
458 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

With such suggestions for the central figures, and with
scandal concerning the first king of Wiirtemberg’s wife as basis
for the tragic interlude of the Duchy of X——, literary inspira-
tion might seem superfluous. Yet Smollett and Ainsworth sug-
gested the resort to the Gothic, Maxwell and Lever provided
the model of rollicking Irish autobiography, and Fielding was
Thackeray’s master in irony.

“Barry Lyndon” differs from the typical picaresque novel
in several particulars. It does not portray a world of common
vulgarity. Barry declares, “I never had a taste for anything
but genteel company, and hate all descriptions of low life.”
Sharping at cards and in matrimony delimits his rascality, and
where other picaros run through the gamut of social conditions
and fraud, he is only soldier, gambler, and gentleman. The
service of masters plays little part, and satire on professions
none at all. Barry, moreover, contrasts with the Spanish rascals
in his dash of emotion; for, besides his boyish love for Miss
Norah, he knows as a man weary nights of weeping as he
thinks of dear Ireland, and, on meeting his uncle, bursts into
tears. Later, he writes of his child, “I think there is not a day
since I lost him but his bright face and beautiful smiles look
down on me out of heaven, where he is, and that my heart does
not yearn towards him. . . . I have got a lock of his soft brown
hair hanging round my breast now; it will accompany me to
my dishonoured pauper’s grave.”

It is characteristic of Thackeray’s earlier work, as well as
of the genre, that scarcely a virtuous person should appear in
“Barry Lyndon.” Even those victims who appeal to the
reader’s sympathy are far from admirable. The Princess is an
adulteress; Lady Lyndon is a fool. Sir Charles, her husband,

aman for six-and-thirty hours without leaving the table, do you think
that he showed no courage?’ asks Barry (ch. ix).
“BARRY LYNDON ” 459

is a broken-down roué, whose lament that he has never had a
virtuous attachment is as natural as the counsel that immedi-
ately follows: “Get a friend, sir, and that friend a woman —
a good household drudge who loves you. That is the most pre-
cious sort of friendship, for the expense of it is all on the wo-
man’s side. The man need n’t contribute anything.” The
Chevalier de Balibari, with all his piety, is brilliant as a deviser
of swindles. In adversity he meditates retiring from a world so
full of vanity. In his letter advising Barry how to persecute
Lady Lyndon, he complains that an attainder should keep him
out of the plot, describes his mortifications, and prays for
Barry’s conversion to the true faith. His final plea for money to
admit him to a religious house is gravely refused by Barry; “my
religious principles,” he says, “forbidding me to encourage
superstition in any way.”

A figure of equal vitality is Barry’s mother, who appears in
a pathetic light when her son after long absence fails to visit her,
and again as she shares the misery of his confinement in the
Fleet. On the former occasion she destroys the present Barry
has sent her as a sop, and having disowned him comes to
Dublin and sits like a beggar at his door to gain a glimpse of
her darling, who is giving a party within. At other times, how-
ever, she is a harridan, the tyrant of Lady Lyndon, and feared
even by her crony, the Reverend Jowls.

Among the minor personages, one is contemptible, and two
are drawn with some sympathy. Barry’s chaplain is a wretch
“who would rather be knocked by a great man than not be
noticed by him;” but old General Magny remains brave in
disgrace, and spoiled little Bryan awakes pity as he gallops to
his death on the pony he had been forbidden under threat of a
beating to ride. “There he lay,” says Barry, describing his
pursuit of the child horsewhip in hand, “there he lay in his
460 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

little boots and spurs, and his little coat of scarlet and gold. His
dear face was quite white, and he smiled as he held a hand
out to me, and said painfully, ‘You won’t whip me, will you,
papa? fad

But all these people pale before the great Barry Lyndon
himself. Never was the autobiographic form more certainly
warranted than here. Barry’s egotism demands it; the psycho-
logical interest and irony of the book would be impossible with-
out it, and the intrusion of reflections or the pointing of a moral
by the author it happily obviates. Only in half a dozen foot-
notes does Thackeray comment upon his anti-hero’s narrative,
and in but one with animus, there contrasting him with the
romantic heroes of Scott and of James.

Barry’s egotism has already been instanced. He never
wearies of describing himself as the handsomest, bravest, and
most admired fellow in Europe. At his marriage with Lady
Lyndon, it is “I and Honoria,” and much of his mendacity
proceeds from this belief in himself. The “miserable old
tumble-down place,” his childhood home, becomes through the
mist of years “one of the most splendid palaces in Europe;”
his estates and duels multiply upon paper; his reputation in
Ireland is enhanced by making his uncle’s order of the spur
hereditary. Like other liars, he comes to believe his fables. He
is indignant that the king should refuse his reinstatement to
rights originally of his own invention. He is convinced of the
delicate state of his lady’s health after having plotted the
fraudulent birth of an heir. Master Quin, whom he confesses
to have shamefully used as a drudge “cheap and faithful,”
becomes within a few lines “the man I had cherished in my
bosom;” and professions of his veracity are as plentiful as their
contradictions in fact.

Much of Barry’s unconscious irony consists in his laudation
“BARRY LYNDON” 461

of virtue or reprehension in others of faults only too patent in
himself. Immediately after having delivered a tirade against
brutality, he recounts his own martial feats, the clubbing to
death of a boy, and the violation of hospitality accorded by
helpless women. He is shocked to discover the title of an
accomplice to have been forged, forgetting his own impostures.
He praises bright honor, but shows how little notion he has of
its essence: “What is life good for but for honour? and that
is so indispensable that we should attain it anyhow.” Later
he avers that he “was always too much a man of honour and
spirit to save a penny of Lady Lyndon’s income.”

Still more characteristic is the irony of Barry’s habitual
excuses. When his dastardly plan to lay hands on the Countess
Ida’s fortune is in progress, he remarks, “Though some rigid
moralist may object to its propriety, I say that anything is fair
in love,” as if this were a case of the affections. When he has
engaged Lady Lyndon’s maid to read all her mistress’s letters,
he adds, “I do not defend this practice of letter opening in
private life, except in cases of the most urgent necessity.”” Of
young Bullingdon he protests that, “‘as he grew up to be a man,
his hatred towards me assumed an intensity quite wicked to
think of (and which I promise you I returned with interest).”
Earlier he has said, “For the first three years J never struck my
wife but when I was in liquor. When I flung the carving knife
at Bullingdon I was drunk, as everybody present can testify;
but as for having any systematic scheme against the poor lad,
I can declare solemnly that beyond merely hating him (and
one’s inclinations are not in one’s power), I am guilty of no evil
towards him.”

Little Bryan with his last breath begs his father and mother
to quarrel no more, and Barry, relating the circumstance,
admits that the boy’s “mother was affected by these admoni-
462 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

tions, and I was so, too. I wish she had enabled me to keep
the counsel which the dying boy gave us.”” When Lady Lyndon
jaments his gross infidelity, he asks, “If I found that the Devon-
shire girls were among the handsomest in the kingdom, is it my
fault ?”’ Of his mother he declares, “She has always spoken of
me in my true light, as a martyr to the rascality of others.” He
leaves her in the lurch, however, when forced to fly the kingdom,
and protests her complaints to have been unfounded. He neg-
lect her? Never! Why, even as he writes, after years of im-
prisonment, does she not sit working by his side? That she is
toiling for him fails to shake Barry’s logic.

Finally, the irony of the anti-hero’s test for morality is char-
acteristic. He would make it depend upon worldly failure or
success. “If any people should be disposed to think my history
immoral, I will beg those cavillers to do me the favour to read
the conclusion of my adventures; when they will see it was no
such great prize I had won:” — as if losing the prize of life
were sufficient palliation of cheating during the game. To one
with conscience so perverted repentance is scarcely possible, and
Thackeray’s treatment of his picaro was too masterly to allow
of Barry’s easy conversion ere death. To the last he remains
the rogue that little by little he has made himself. His story is
altogether the most powerful in the range of picaresque fiction.

As for “Vanity Fair” (1847-48), that ‘‘novel without a hero”
can boast the subtlest of anti-heroines. Becky Sharp descends
from a long line, but in finesse and vitality she excels all her
literary forbears. The Celestinas and Justinas of Spain, the
Laures and Lucindes of France, the German Courages, and the
English Molls and Roxanas, are children compared to her.
She depends upon their cheats no more than does Barry Lyndon
upon those of the Lazarillos, Don Raphaels, or Jack Wiltons.
The frauds she perpetrates are common to all rogues of both
“VANITY FAIR” 463

sexes, — eluding an unpaid landlord by feigning a journey, and
leaving behind empty trunks as security, squeezing admirers
for diamonds and cash, and encouraging the guileless to gamble
with her husband. But such devices are of moment only as they
unfold her character, and it is in character analysis, as well as
in social satire, that Thackeray shines preéminent. To describe
the vulgar woman of the streets or the professional shop-lifter
is one thing; to dissect the mind and manceuvres of a complex
adventuress is another.

Rebecca Sharp, daughter of a French ballet girl and a dissi-
pated drawing master, is perfectly passionless. She accepts the
presents of the Osbornes, “after just the proper degree of hesita-
tion,” only to laugh in her sleeve at these vulgar city people.
She scorns children. She abuses her own little Rawdon, and
spurns her husband for his devotion to the boy. Only when she
tries to captivate Sir Pitt does she hem a shirt for the child.
“Whenever Mrs. Rawdon wished to be particularly humble and
virtuous this littleshirt used to come outof her work-box. It had
got to be too small for Rawdon long before it was finished.”
From the moment when she begins assaults upon the susceptible
Jos Sedley, through her trifling with old Sir Pitt, her capture of
Rawdon, her flirtations with George Osborne and with General
Tufto, and her flattery of young Sir Pitt, up to her dark intrigue
with the Marquis of Steyne, and the affairs ensuing, her heart
is never once engaged. She plays with these victims for personal
gain. She uses and discards them. If she chance to be herself
discarded, she seeks fresh conquests unperturbed. For Rawdon
alone she evinces patronizing regard, until his stupidity dis-
gusts her. When he has ridden off to Waterloo on a borrowed
nag, wearing his shabbiest uniform that Becky may enjoy the
larger resources in case he should fall, she re-reads George
Osborne’s note proposing elopement, smiles at herself in the
464 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

glass, relishes her breakfast, and takes complacent account of
her possessions. Later, through the years of elegant swindling
in Paris and London, she merely tolerates her husband, and
seeks to keep him out of the way. Once only she loses contempt
for him. When in fury he strikes down Lord Steyne, we hear
that “she admired her husband, strong, brave, and victo-
rious.”

Of conscience Becky knows nothing. Her breast is the scene
of no conflict. From the outset she is given up to getting on in
the world as she finds it. So she lavishes attentions on coarse
old Sir Pitt and on sour Miss Crawley, whose five-per-cents are
coveted by an affectionate family. When Sir Pitt goes down on
his knees to her before his wife’s funeral she suffers chagrin,
not at the insult, but because, having already in secret married
his son, she must reject this offer and lose a title. She coquets
with George Osborne on his honeymoon, and gleefully wounds
Amelia, her first protectress. When Rawdon grumbles that his
winnings at play will hardly discharge the inn bill, she asks,
“Why need we pay it?” She is expert in tapping admirers for
presents, hinting the lack of a watch or a jewel. She jockeys
cowardly Jos out of a small fortune for her horses when she
finds him in a panic to flee from Brussels. She lures the guile-
less to ruin through her husband’s prowess at cards, the dice-
box, and the cue, though she is wise enough to counsel him that
“gambling, dear, is good to help your income, but not as an
income in itself.” Plotting to secure something more perma-
nent, she spreads the report of a legacy just received, arranges
their flight from Paris, and compounds with their London
creditors. Then she sets up an establishment in Mayfair that
costs next to nothing, inasmuch as all the servants and trades-
men are owed and forced to keep interest in her welfare, while
gallant gentlemen furnish the larder and the cellar.
“VANITY FAIR” 465

She swindles the retired family butler, her landlord, pretends
to invest while she appropriates the savings of her sheep-dog
companion, Miss Briggs, diverts to herself whatever gifts of
money are made to her little boy, appears on her presentation at
court in laces and brocades which she has abstracted from the
wardrobes while putting Sir Pitt’s house to rights, and seriously
reflects, “I think I could be a good woman if I had five thousand
a year.” She flatters Sir Pitt until he exclaims, “How that
woman comprehends me!” When the sardonic Marquis of
Steyne, friend of his Glorious Majesty, and “with all his stars,
garters, collars, and cordons” succumbs to her wiles, he obliges
his wife to invite Becky to Gaunt House, sends young Rawdon
to school, procures an office for old Rawdon, and is enchanted
with even her attempts to deceive him. “What an accom-
plished little devil it is,” he cries; “what a splendid actress and
manager! She is unsurpassable in lies.”

Becky’s mendacity is, indeed, so usual that the reader does
not know whether to believe her protestations of innocence
at the critical moment when Rawdon, having returned unex-
pectedly from the spunging-house where she had left him to
languish, finds her, glittering with diamonds, smiling up in the
face of the Marquis, who is stooping to kiss her hand.

The misfortunes that follow during years of lonely privateer-
ing cannot awake in her a conscience, and when worn and disrep-
utable she comes on Dobbin, Amelia, and Jos, the only piece
of honesty to her credit is the impulsive disabusing of Amelia’s
mind, so long under the delusion that her George had been a
saint. In everything else Becky cheats as always. And when
Jos, after having insured his life in her behalf,suddenly dies, the
solicitor of the company pronounces it a black case.

Compared to the green-eyed Miss Sharp, Rawdon Crawley
is an innocent. Thackeray has been chidden for evincing affec-
466 SATIRIC REALISM: THACKERAY

tion for this dull-witted rascal whom he once or twice calls
“honest,”’ but the epithet is partly ironical, and for the rest
comparative. Rawdon is simply the common adventurer,
dandified, an adept in boxing and rat-hunting, a duelist and
a gambler, fond of the bottle. Like Becky he is without con-
science, but unlike her he is blessed or cursed with affections.
He cares for his boy and his wife, and resents the latter’s in-
fidelity. Yet for none of these things can he claim any virtue.
If he refuses to allow his wife to retain the price of her dishonor,
and if he sends off a challenge to Steyne, he is as quickly ap-
peased as incensed, and accepts from those hands the sinecure
governorship which takes him forever out of the way. Where
Becky is distinctive in roguery, Rawdon is commonplace, for she
has a head, but lacks heart; he has a heart, but lacks head.
After “Vanity Fair” Thackeray, considering that he had
exhausted the vein of pure roguery, turned elsewhere. Pen-
dennis might be scarcely heroic, the Costigans were vulgar, Sir
Francis Clavering was wicked, and John Armstrong Amory
Altamont was a rogue and ex-convict; but rascality no longer
filled the scene. Thackeray pretended that on attempting an
exciting plan for “Pendennis” he found that he failed for want
of experience. “Never having been intimate with any convict
in my life, and the manners of ruffians and gaol-birds being
quite unfamiliar to me, the idea of entering into competition
with M. Eugene Sue was abandoned. To describe a real
rascal you must make him so horrible that he would be too
hideous to show; and unless the painter paints him fairly,
I hold he has no right to show him at all.” This was strange
doctrine to come from the biographer of Deuceace, of Barry
Lyndon, and of Catherine, but it did duty as an excuse for
forsaking one style in order to cultivate another. In “Henry
Esmond” and “The Virginians” the change was complete,
THACKERAY 467

and although “The Newcomes” assailed the hypocritical and
corrupt in high society, and although “The Wolves and the
Lamb,” and its later refashioning, “Lovel the Widower,” as
well as “The Adventures of Philip,” returned to the satire of
vulgarity, roguery proper was abandoned.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER XI

1

Studies of Borrow are included in S. Smiles’s Brief Biographies
(London, 1861), in J. B. J. E. Montégut’s Ecrivains modernes de
T Angleterre (Paris, 1885-92, vol. ii), in G. E. B. Saintsbury’s Essays in
English Literature (London, 1891), in Isopel Berners, Text edited with
Introductions and Notes, by Thomas Seccombe (N. Y., 1904), and in
Arthur Rickett’s The Vagabond in Literature (London and N. Y., 1906).
The standard biography is W. I. Knapp’s painstaking Life, Writings,
and Correspondence of George Borrow (N. Y., 1899, 2 vols.). ‘The Bible
in Spain has been issued in an eighteenth edition, by U. R. Burke
(N. Y., 1896). Editions of Lavengro appeared in 1888, 1893, 1896, and
1900, and of The Romany Rye in 1888 and 1900. ‘Theodore Watts-
Dunton’s Introduction to the Minerva Library Edition of both (Zavengro,
1893, Romany Rye, 1900), as well as his essay in Chambers’s Cyclopedia
of English Literature (vol. iii), should be consulted. ‘The Borrow books
are reprinted in Dent’s Everyman’s Library (London, 1906).

2

Thackeray is discussed in the biographies by Anthony Trollope
(English Men of Letters, 1879), by Lewis Melville (London, 1899), by
H. Merivale and F. T. Marzials (Great Writers, 1891), and by Charles
Whibley (London, 1904), and in W. S. Lilly’s Four English Humourisis
(London, 1895), in A. A. Jack’s Thackeray ; a Study (London, 1895), in
W. C. Brownell’s Victorian Prose Masters (N. Y., 1901), and in H. D.
Sedgwick’s Essays on Great Writers (Boston, 1903). The Biographical
Edition of Thackeray (N. Y., 1898-99, 13 vols.) is valuable for its
introductions by Thackeray’s daughter, Mrs. A. T. Ritchie. Walter
Jerrold’s edition (London, 1901) is also excellent.
CHAPTER XII
ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

1. The New Romanticism

N the contemporary reaction against the despot-
ism of fact the literature of roguery has largely
participated. Picaresque fiction, although nor-
mally associated with realism, has always tended
to supplement earlier studies of low-life by stories
told for the story’s sake. Two types of rogue in particular have
found favor with the romanticists, — the sea rover, and the
road-knight or outlaw.

From the qualified rascality of Scott’s “Pirate” to the humor-
ous scoundrelism of Cutcliffe-Hyne’s “Adventures of Captain
Kettle,” or the rattling bravery of his “Prince Rupert, the Buc-
caneer,” the range of nautical picaros is a wide one; but most
are romantic and incline to villainy rather than to roguery.
Here belong such gentry as figure in Bloundelle-Burton’s “ His-
paniola Plate” and “Gentleman-Adventurer,” in Alan Oscar’s
“Captain Kid’s Millions,” in Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,”
“The Wrecker,” and “The Ebb Tide,” in 5. R. Crockett’s
“Little Anna Mark,” and in older favorites like Angus Bethune
Reach’s “Leonard Lyndsay,” E. B. G. Warburton’s “Darien,
or the Merchant Prince,” G. W. Thornbury’s “Buccaneers,
or Monarchs of the Main,” and W. H. G. Kingston’s “John
Deane.” A famous Welsh pirate of the seventeenth century is
celebrated in Edward Howard’s “Sir Henry Morgan,” in Owen
Rhoscomyl’s “Jewel of Ynis Galon,” and in Cyrus Townsend

  
470 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Brady’s “Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer,” which, professing to
replace the gentlemanly and humorous pirate by an account of
the real article, nevertheless remains romantic. Occasionally
the spirit of realism animates the story, as in Rolf Boldrewood’s
“Modern Buccaneer,” detailing the exploits of an Australian
tar in the Pacific; but such a tale is counterbalanced by that
of a fantastic crew whose electric bark sweeps the deep in Max
Pemberton’s “Iron Pirate.”

The smugglers, too, although more accessible to the average
writer, receive imaginative handling, not only by Scott and by
James, from whom it was to have been expected, but in such
recent tales as Julian Corbett’s “Business in Great Waters,”
Meade Falkner’s “Moonfleet,”” Amyot Sagon’s “ When George
Ill Was King,” and A. H. Norway’s entertaining “Parson
Peter.”

Nor has the romantic outlaw and robber been neglected.
Robin Hood, facile princeps among such rascals, has continued
to be celebrated in verse, in comic opera, and in fiction. Scott
and James paid him tribute, Thomas Love Peacock wrote him
down in “Maid Marian,” and now he figures in Gilliat’s juve-
niles, — “In Lincoln Green” and “ Wolf’s Head,” — in How-
ard Pyle’s “Merry Adventures of Robin Hood,” and in Barry
Pain’s “Romantic History,” while a rogue known as the Robin
Hood of Shropshire, of three centuries later, is depicted in
Hudson’s “Wild Humphrey Knyaston.” Scotchmen have ever
evinced sympathy with outlaws and mosstroopers, and S. R.
Crockett’s “Raiders,” “Grey Man,” and “Dark 0’ the Moon”
use them freely. Other story-tellers — notably Lord Hamilton,
Sir George Douglas, and Thomas Pinkerton — may fairly com-
peteinsuch romances as “The Outlaws of the Marches,” “New
Border Tales,” and “Blue Bonnets Up.” Juvenile fiction espe-
cially glories in the unreal roguery of the thief of the woods, and
THE NEW ROMANTICISM 471

tales like Gilliat’s “Forest Outlaws,” Foster and Cuthell’s
“Robber Baron of Bedford Castle,” and Chetwode’s “Knight
of the Golden Chain ” are assured eager readers.

Foremost among the later romanticists in depicting rascality,
as in all else, stands Robert Louis Stevenson. It is a common-
place of criticism to note in him two men, a Dr. Jekyll and a
Mr. Hyde. In the latter character Stevenson delights in the
sanguinary, contemplates deep crimes or morbid states of mind,
and paints in lurid colors on dark backgrounds unbridled pas-
sions. No wonder if amid the plotting and fighting in his
romances, the desperate pursuits and hairbreadth escapes, with
all the forces of hate and greed in deadly play, light-hearted
roguery should be elbowed from the scene. Yet even the villains
wear such traits as must win their admission to the company
of the rogues of literature.

“An Inland Voyage” and “Travels With a Donkey” display
a charming Bohemianism that recalls the adventures of George
Borrow. Francois Villon, ‘student, poet, and housebreaker,” is
considered in “Familiar Studies” (1882), and reappears, busied
about robbery and murder, in “‘ New Arabian Nights ” (1882).
There, too, “‘ The Suicide Club” and ‘‘ The Rajah’s Diamond ”
portray crime fantastically, after the fashion of De Quincey.
In “The Dynamiter” (1885), written with Mrs. Stevenson,
extravagant interlocking tales compose a playful satire upon
anarchy; Clara Luxmore and Irish Zero are burlesque rogues.
The latter, for example, rejoices in an infernal machine that
injures only a child and awheelbarrow. Then, having destroyed
the property of a benefactor, he exclaims, “How, I ask you,
after having tasted these joys, am I to condescend to a less
glorious life?”

In “The Merry Men, and Other Tales” (1887), the story of
“Markheim,” although touched with allegory, offers a remark-
472 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

able study of criminal psychology, and even “The Treasure of
Franchard” introduces an ex-thief, who in order to save a
master from the penalties entailed by wealth, steals his newly
found gold plate. “Treasure Island” (1881-82), with its rough
buccaneers pitted in mutiny against treasure-hunters, presents
a pretty assemblage of rascals, from Billy Bones, who dies of
apoplexy on being tipped the black spot, and his enemies Black °
Dog and the blind man Pew, to one-legged Long John Silver, ‘
the sea-cook, with his screaming parrot and his crutch swung
by a lanyard round his neck. He has sailed with pirates Flint
and England; he leads the mutineers of The Hispaniola; but,
when they are on the verge of defeat, goes over in secret to
Captain Smollett’s side, and escapes from the ship with a bag
of doubloons to console him. His worthiest companion is
Israel Hands, Flint’s old gunner. “Now I tell you I never seen
good come o” goodness yet,” he declares, lying wounded in the
scuppers; ‘‘him as strikes first is my fancy; dead men don’t
bite; them’s my views — amen, so be it.” Thereupon, he
jumps up and flings his dirk at little Jim Hawkins, only to be
shot dead from the shrouds by the boy.

In “Kidnapped” (1886), also, romantic roguery of a villain-
ous cast plays its part. For David Balfour’s uncle sends him
of a dark night up a ruined stair, hoping that he may pitch
headlong; and, failing herein, pays a skipper to carry him off
to be sold in the Carolinas. Then when Alan Breck, the proud
Jacobite, has clambered aboard The Covenant, the skipper
and his mates plan to rob and murder him, and only a desperate
battle in the round-house can beat them off. Here and in the
sequel, “‘ David Balfour ” (1893), figures the Appin murder; and,
although David and Alan be guiltless, their flight through the
heather awakens all the sensations of the fugitive from justice.
This is the case as well in “St. Ives” (1897). For the hero first
THE NEW ROMANTICISM 473

flees from pursuit after a daring escape from imprisonment in
Edinburgh Castle, and then, having killed an enemy in a sensa-
tional duel with scissors in the dark, must elude the hounds of
the law, unleashed by his victim’s cousin.

Family enmity combines with brilliant villainy in “The
Master of Ballantrae”’ (1889), which affords one of the most
patient studies of fraternal hatred in literature. The Master,
his father’s favorite, proves a demon of malice toward his
younger brother, and shares with Iago the ability to assume a
bluff exterior. When alone with his brother he stands revealed as
a devil, but at the advent of others will play the victim of envy,
maddening by his duplicity, and profiting by the rage he stirs
to seem the more magnanimous.

Brutal rather than subtle villainy determines the actions of
Edward Hyde in Stevenson’s dream-based allegory; but in “The
Beach of Fales4,” and in “The Wrecker” and “The Ebb Tide,”
done in collaboration with Lloyd Osbourne, both types of the
anti-heroic are merged, and realism tempers romanticism. “The
Beach of Falesd ” (1892), in the “Island Nights’ Entertain-
ments,” tells a powerful story of the rascality of a beach-comb-
ing trader, who gulls a blackamoor and a gin-soaked captain,
his partners, and disposing of his competitors in business by
foul play, rules the Kanakas, his customers, by catering to
their superstitious fears with legerdemain and with luminous
idols and Holian harps hung in trees. Case meets his master,
however, in the burly trader Wiltshire, and is stabbed to
death in his own mock temple after a battle royal.

“The Wrecker,” of the same year, affiliates with the detec-
tive story, being avowedly written as a counterblast to the
insincerity of the police novel, which over-accentuates mere
mechanism. The remedy proposed is a gradual approach to
the mystery through a study of manners and of character, —
474 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

“the method of Charles Dickens in his later work.” The fic-
tion, therefore, comprises two parts: the first detailing the
Picaresque careers of the narrator and a volatile friend, the
second setting forth their purchase at auction of the bark
Flying Scud, the mystery ensuing, and its long unraveling.
This analysis furnishes, in turn, picaresque incidents from the
lives of a blackmailing lawyer and a vagabond gentleman, as
well as adventurous episodes in the later career of the narrator.
America, the South Seas, England, and France provide a broad
setting; the character types are striking and essentially mod-
ern; and the lust for gold is the novel’s master passion.

The shocking violence of the scenes on Midway Island is
repeated with less of comic relief in “The Ebb Tide” (1894).

Three moral castaways in the South Seas find fortume in the shape
of a plague-stricken schooner confided to them to be sailed to her port
in Australia. They plot to dispose of her champagne cargo on the coast
of Peru, but after a drunken debauch discover their booty to be but
water, a cargo got up expressly to be lost, in furtherance of an insurance
swindle. So the thieves, sobered and sold, find themselves with scant
provisions adrift in mid-Pacific. But they sight an uncharted island, the
home of a lonely pearl-fisher. Smallpox has swept the atoll, leaving
him only three blacks for company. To plunder and kill all four
seems easy. Huish, the reptilian Cockney, and disgraced Captain Davis
indulge in treacherous scheming. Their companion, the ruined Oxonian,
broken in will and maudlin in emotion, cleaves eventually to their
intended victim, who triumphs by his daring. For, as Huish, protected
by a flag of truce, is about to fling at his head a jar of vitriol, Attwater
shoots and breaks it over the thrower. Then he plays with his rifle
about Davis’s ears, while the latter, tied to a ship’s figurehead, is
adjured to pray. When Davis complies, Attwater forgives him; hence-
forth the captain can scarce be got from his knees, and refuses to leave
the island where he has found peace in believing.

A cynical, almost blasphemous note is struck in this tale. The
religion of Davis and Attwater is fetichism divorced from good
THE NEW ROMANTICISM 4T5

works, and the irreligion and profanity of Huish approach the
bounds of endurance. Physically degenerate, and worse in his
pleasantries than in his curses, Huish is one of the most detest-
able scoundrels of literature. Small wonder, then, that Steven-
son himself, in the “Vailima Letters,’ should have referred to
this novel as “the ever to be execrated ‘Ebb Tide.’”

Lloyd Osbourne’s nine tales of South Sea life, collected in
“Wild Justice” (1906), continue this vein, and T. Jenkins
Hains’s “The Black Barque”’ (1905) describes the last voyage
of the pirate slave-ship, Gentle Hand. A somewhat similar
handling of South Sea roguery is that given by Kipling in his
short story, “The Devil and the Deep Sea” (1898). Here a
pearl-poaching steamer, with her engines damaged by the shell
of a pursuing gunboat, is laid up in a forsaken port, while her
rascal crew are held prisoners for months in the jungle. The
rogues get back to their ship to await the call of a government
vessel; and confined there, naked and banana-starved in the
tropical heat, contrive by Herculean efforts to repair their en-
gines, to cut moorings, and to steam away half mad. Vivid as
is the tale, it emphasizes roguery less than the brute struggle
against physical obstacles, and at last the ship seems a living
thing, as crazy as her crew.

Pure melodrama marks E. W. Hornung’s “Dead Men Tell
No Tales” (1899).

A ship homeward bound from Australia is burned at sea with her
skipper’s connivance, in order to conceal the theft of her gold-dust
cargo. The plotters convey their booty to a waiting schooner, and hoist
sail for the Lancashire estate of Young Rattray, the sailor son of a
smuggling race, who, failing in the mines, has turned bushranger and
rogue. With him are associated the ship’s captain, a Portuguese villain,
and a black. To their chagrin the wreck’s sole survivor reaches England
before them. Fearing that he may suspect their crime, they lure him
to their retreat for safe-keeping; but there he discovers all. In the battle
476 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

that follows the knaves succumb, although the less culpable Rattray is
allowed to escape. Rivalry for the hand of the villain’s step-daughter,
desperate fighting, the intervention of a detective and the police, and
the part played by a secret passage leading from Rattray’s mansion to
the sea, serve to complicate a tale in which character remains subordi-
nate to action, and entertainment is the whole end.

In dealing with land thieves the new romanticism has been
prone to revert to those of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries. Such a highwayman is the Richard Ryder of
H. B. Marriott Watson’s “Galloping Dick” (1896) and “The
King’s Highway” (1907), a swashbuckler of Restoration days,
whose speech teems with Odds and Oons, Gadsbobs, ’Slifes,
and Lards, and whose sword is as ready to fly from its scab-
bard as his tongue to drop scurrility.

Now he entertains a bishop at dinner, and forces him to go upon the
pad. Now he takes refuge from traps in a lady’s chamber, and passes a
joyous evening as her sister’s husband. Once he duels in a donjon in
behalf of a prisoner whose escape he aids, only to take toll of his pockets
thereafter; and again, under sentence of death in Newgate, he fuddles
the Ordinary, and procures the means for a spectacular escape from
the cart. Wounded in assaulting a treasure coach, he turns the tables
upon the only survivor, and locks him up for the deed; and once he
mistakes Charles II for a brother highwayman; yet, perceiving his
error, carries the game through gayly, challenging his witty Majesty and
protesting love to his mistress.

The fortunes of seventeenth-century strollers engaged in a
clever fraud are lightly described by Frank Barrett in “A Set
of Rogues” (1895).

These players, forced out of London by the plague, put in the stocks
for burning a barn they have played in, robbed and deserted by their
stage villain, and misused by an innkeeper, are rescued by a Spanish
picaro who has conceived a bold scheme. Kit Sutton, Jack Dawson,
and the latter’s daughter are to claim the estate of a lady and her niece
held for ransom in Barbary. A sharp steward must be outwitted; Moll
must be trained to play the part of Judith Godwin redeemed from
THE NEW ROMANTICISM 477

slavery; and Jack and Kit are to act the captain and the merchant
engaged in procuring her purchase from the Moors.

At the end of a year’s preparation in Spain the rogues are set adrift
by prearrangement with Moorish pirates. Being picked up by an
English vessel, they return home with ample color to their story. But
Moll when installed at Hurst Castle falls in love with and marries
her pretended cousin; and her father, visiting her secretly, is discovered
by the steward, who thereupon seizes the estate in Mrs. Godwin’s
name and turns them all out. Moll is now filled with remorse, and goes
to Barbary to take the place of the girl she has impersonated. The
latter has died, but Mrs. Godwin is liberated, and unites with the
Spaniard and his pals to secure her savior’s release. A sea-fight with
Moors, perilous moments in a sinking ship, and the generous suicide of
Dawson precede a rescue. These are in part the incidents of Spanish
picaresque fiction, but softened by romance and sentiment.

Eighteenth-century prison scenes and low-life characters
are similarly glozed over in Sir Walter Besant’s “Orange
Girl” (1899). The musician who forsakes his father’s firm to
fiddle to sailors remains subordinate in interest to the scoun-
drels who twice imprison him in a conspiracy to secure his
estate, or to the actress, once an orange girl, who makes every
sacrifice to save his life.

In most points Jenny Wilmot’s career corresponds with that of Nell
Gwyn. Her father is hanged as a highwayman; her mother and sister
keep a thieves’ kitchen, and traffic in stolen goods; she herself conducts
the Soho Assembly for dancing and gaming. Secretly married to the
hero’s dissolute cousin, she defeats her husband’s plots, and when he
retaliates and she is condemned to transportation, grateful Will Halliday
accompanies her to Virginia that her freedom may be purchased with
the fortune she has helped him to secure. Roguery in the King’s Bench
Prison, in Newgate, and in the slums of St. Giles is faithfully rendered,
and Merridew, the thief-taker, is a portrait of Jonathan Wild.

Still another type of eighteenth-century rascal is pleasantly
pilloried by Besant and James Rice in “The Chaplain of the
Fleet” (1881). Here Dr. Gregory Shovel is the prince of those
478 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

clerical rogues who, safe within the liberties of the Fleet, gained
a living by performing easy marriages. When his innocent
niece comes to live with him he makes her unwittingly a party
to fraud, and she goes through the form of a marriage with
the great Lord Chudleigh. Later they fall in love, Chudleigh
forgives, the sly old charlatan loses his post but finds friends
to care for him, and Kitty’s disappointed lovers — a poet, a
rake, and a bully — make the best of a bad matter.

In Stanley J. Weyman’s typical romance, “Starvecrow
Farm” (1905), English life of the Georgian era affords ample
excitement, for a willful heroine elopes with a low-bred rascal
who is dodging a Bow Street runner; and an ugly miser, a
wicked squire-parson, and a Gypsy girl, jealous and bent upon
revenge, tangle up the intrigue, which is knotted and unraveled
in a tavern, in a den of smugglers, and in Kendal Jail. The
London of an earlier period’ is the scene of Robert Neilson
Stephens’s “Captain Ravenshaw” (1901). This, in telling the
story of an Elizabethan roarer ultimately converted from his
wild ways, revives for a little Moll Cutpurse, and endows a
company of vagabonds with the speech of the conny-catching
pamphlets. A slighter novel of adventure, “The Romance of a
Rogue” (1902), by Joseph Sharts, presents America in the days
of Adams and Jefferson, and sketches two jolly blacklegs, one
as a picaro in love. Chance favors Scarlett’s posing as a gentle-
man, and Miss Netty accepts him gladly. But his identity
being exposed, he trudges sorrowfully away, his day of romance
over.

Spain has been used as an effective background for outlaws
in “The Bandolero” (1905), by Paul Gwynne, and in a series
of romantic fictions by Kate and Hesketh Prichard. “The
Bandolero” exhibits the revenge inflicted by a bandit upon the
nobleman who has caused the death of the bandit’s wife; but
THE NEW ROMANTICISM 479

a more sentimental and surprising Spanish highwayman is
the Prichards’ cadaverous hidalgo, whose exploits are detailed
in “Don Q.” (1904), in ““New Chronicles of Don Q.” (1906),
and in “Don Q. in the Sierra” (1906). This ingenious brigand,
a cross between d’Artagnan and Raffles, makes life interesting
for his victims by giving a hunting party at which a famous
sportsman is forced to play the hunted, and by obliging a crick-
eter to defend with his bat a wicket that consists of a keg of
powder surmounted by a burning candle. He is witty, chival-
rous, and daring, runs his neck into the noose time and again
for the sake of a pretty face, and once, at least, is hard beset
by an infatuated sefiora, determined to marry him at all odds.

In Maurice Hewlett’s “Fool Errant” (1905) eighteenth-
century Italy is seen through the eyes of Francis-Antony
Strelley, the mildest of picaresque adventurers. In §S. C.
Comstock’s “Marcelle the Mad” (1906) a woman outlaw of
the days of Charles the Bold of Burgundy roams the Forest of
Ardennes. The La Plata country of South America witnesses
the exploits of Richard Lamb, an English Gil Blas, in W. H.
Hudson’s “The Purple Land” (1885), and a Robin Hood of
the north ranges the Hudson Bay wilderness in Laurence
Mott’s “Jules of the Great Heart” (1905). Devonshire is the
less remote haunt of a very modern road-knight in Harris
Burland’s “The Black Motor Car” (1905). This anti-hero,
embittered by his life as a convict, emerges from prison to
scour the countryside in an automobile, by means of which he
perpetrates burglaries and even murders. At last he indulges in
a mad ride to the north, pursued by justice, a reminiscence, no
doubt, of Turpin’s gallop to York in “Rookwood;” but though
he escapes the police, the car runs upon quicksands, and its
insane owner sinks to death.

Contemporary in rascality, also, yet marked by an eighteenth-
480 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

century style, is Max Pemberton’s “A Gentleman’s Gentle-
man” (1896). Here a valet describes the wiles of his master,
the Irish adventurer, Sir Nicholas Steele, in quest of an heiress
to marry.

Once, on the eve of matrimonial success, an enemy intervenes,
warned by the message designed to have lured him away; yet master
and man escape with the bride’s wedding gems for their pains. Again,
Sir Nicholas believes that he has conquered the heart of a baroness, and
challenges to a duel her brother, only to find them theatrical people
bent upon a hoax. Then, at the risk of his life, he wins the reward he
has induced an American magnate to offer for tracing a dissolute son
lost in Paris; but his plan to marry the young man’s sister proves vain,
for the lady is hurried home. In Vienna the sharpers procure and dis-
pose of a diamond through misrepresentation. In Brittany they win
a fortune at cards, and lose it, thanks to the subtlety of a female gam-
bler. In Russia Sir Nicholas prompts a scoundrel to flirt with an heiress
on the eve of her marriage to a general. The latter is slain in a duel,
and his adversary being shot at Sir Nicholas’s instigation, the Irish
rogue is left free to marry the lady himself. At this fortunate juncture,
however, he parts with the valet who has come to know too much of his
life and methods.

Here may be heard an echo of “Deuceace” and of “Barry
Lyndon,” but the story lacks ingenuity, character, and care in
the writing. Of one personage, introduced “with his left hand
cut off at the wrist,” it is shortly recorded that “he would take
a fork in his left hand and a pipe in his right.” Pemberton’s
other stories either unite the traits of Dumas and Jules Verne,
or delight in sensational crime in high-life. Of the former kind
are “The Impregnable City,” “The Phantom Army,” and
“The Iron Pirate;” of the latter are ‘‘Signiors of the Night,”
which deals with Venetian villainy; “Féo,” with its wicked
Austrian prince; and “The Footsteps of a Throne,” intro-
ducing a gambling Russian princess. In “A Gentleman’s
Gentleman,” however, Pemberton has varied picaresque pro-
GYPSYDOM 481

cedure; first, by presenting the single term of service of a rogue
to a rogue; second, by confining himself to mere episodes in the
career of both; and, third, by allowing the servant complete
fidelity to his master. Such a fiction, like Marriott Watson’s
“Galloping Dick” and his “Skirts of Happy Chance,” fore-
shadows the style and method of the later Raffles romances.

2. Gypsydom

The Gypsy is ex officio a rogue. Literature has never neg-
lected his rascality, yet the charm of his primitive nature and
of his wandering life has tended to obscure his cheats, and even
the realists in dealing with him have turned romantic. When
Borrow, in the fifties, recorded his observations of Romany
customs and character, he showed once for all that the fantastic
Gypsy of the stage and of the novel was less effective in litera-
ture than his brother of actual life. The researches of scholars
have fortified this belief. The essays of Hoyland and Roberts
have been followed by the fascinating works of Simson, Smart,
Crofton, Leland, and Groome, while on the Continent the
monographs of Bataillard and Pott have been supplemented
by those of Liebich, Paspati, Constantinescu, and Miklosich.
To-day the Gypsies of fiction that count are those of the high-
ways, not of mere fancy, and the study of their habits and folk-
lore is a matter of course.

In “The Gypsies of the Danes’ Dike” (1864) George S.
Phillips drew upon his acquaintance with a Romany tribe
gained in 1855, while establishing mechanics’ libraries in.
Yorkshire. He tells of a lover’s heart torn between beautiful
Myra, a chi, and the gorgio, Violet. His delineation of the
matters of Egypt recalls that of Borrow, although the philology
and intimate character study are absent. He substitutes for
Borrow’s hypocritical Man in Black a bigoted Anglican rector,
482 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

and his Gypsies are less prone to rascality. Ishmael Toon,
Ikey, Ina, Nosey, and Granny Mabel are, indeed, beneficent
figures, while Myra is thoroughly idealized. Only the strange
tawnies are rogues, — such fellows as Loke and Pento and their
pals, who commit burglary, or Juga, who as emissary for Myra’s
hand seeks to murder Master Geordie, and is slain by the
dagger of Myra herself. The mystical element, lacking in
Borrow, is notable here, and this, together with the plot, fore-
casts the “Aylwin” of Watts-Dunton.

A much greater master of Romany lore was Charles Godfrey
Leland, whose “English Gypsies and Their Language” (1873)
owes nothing in matter to predecessors, but is rich in character
sketches, anecdotes, and dialogues in the manner of Borrow.
With Janet Tuckey and Professor Edward H. Palmer of
Cambridge, Leland collected “English Gipsy Songs” (1875),
many of which are roguish. His “Gypsies” (1882) recounts
experiences among Russian, Austrian, Welsh, and American
children of the road, relates legendary stories, and describes
the Shelta, or Tinkers’ Talk, a Celtic jargon supposedly
referred to in Shakespeare’s “I can drink with any tinker in his
own language.” Finally, his “Gypsy Sorcery and Fortune-
Telling” (1891), with much curious learning, celebrates the
enchantment that is the outcome of life in wild places. Witch-
doctoring, love philters, conjurations, exorcisms, and charms,
believed in or practiced for deception and gain, are pictur-
esquely discussed.

The unreal Gypsy of the imagination reappears as an in-
cidental figure in William McDonnell’s free-thinking novel,
“Heathens of the Heath” (1874); but here the crone Zingari
exists only to contrast Hindoo practices and beliefs with Chris-
tian, to the latter’s disparagement.

G. J. Whyte-Melville’s “Katerfelto” (1875) revives the
GYPSYDOM 483

familiar plot of a Gypsy girl’s self-sacrifice in the interest of
her gorgio rival.

Thyra Lovel nurses John Garnet back to life after he has been
wounded in a fatal duel forced upon him. When her charlatan master
sets Garnet the task of robbing a gentleman’s coach of political papers,
Thyra and her tribe assist, and the robbery is attributed to Galloping
Jack, a highwayman. Although Thyra is already betrothed to a Gypsy,
and recognizes the Romany law that apportions death to the chi who
would marry out of her race, she persists in her devotion to Garnet; and
even when she learns that his heart is another’s, she protects him at
the cost of her life.

Needless to say, the roguery of this novel centres in the other
Romanies, and not in Thyra. Duke Michael of Egypt, Fin
Cooper, the Hearnes, and the Lees are genuine vagabond
Gypsies; Abner Gale, the roistering parson, is a vindictive ras-
cal; and Katerfelto, the charlatan, recalls the roguish fortune-
tellers of seventeenth-century satirical tracts.

A somewhat similar theme is played upon with greater
technical knowledge by Francis Hindes Groome in ‘“ Krieg-
spiel, the War Game” (1896). Rascals predominate here, al-
though Sagul Stanley, yielding her lover to another, proves a
noble figure.

Sir Lionel Glemham, whose mother has been a Romany, is kidnapped
from Oxford by Perun Stanley, a disappointed rival, already guilty of
the murder of Lionel’s father. Dr. Robert Watson, a charlatan of
greater powers than Katerfelto, seeks to marry off Lionel by force to a
daughter, who poses as a descendant of the Stuarts; and at the same
time he plots to disembarrass himself of his Gypsy accomplice. Sir
Lionel, drugged and bound, is carried to Wales in a Gypsy caravan,
and the climax of his woes is reached when Perun, having dug his
grave, gives way to Dr. Watson, come to count out the sixty seconds
of life that alone shall be his. At the fifty-ninth, the courageous Sagul
Stanley swings aloft a ponderous tent-mallet and crushes the villain’s
skull. Lionel is released; the body of Watson is flung into the grave ; and
484 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

the drunken Perun, returning in the dusk, covers it over, supposing it
to be the corpse of Lionel.

Then Sagul conducts the young man to Edinburgh, where for months
she nurses him through illness. He recovers, but merely to feel a deep
aversion to his rescuer. Generously she leaves him, having prepared
for his reunion with Marjory Avenel, and when she summons him back
to her side, it is only as she lies dying in her tent.

Other Gypsies, notably the mercurial Wanselo, are in the
Picture; and, despite the touch of melodrama, Gypsy life is
drawn with fidelity. Dr. Watson is represented as a grandson
of the actual adventurer of that name who illumined Napoleonic
times. Tales of the rascally prowess of Watson the first are
often in the mouth of his descendant, who in particular rejoices
to tell of his having outwitted that other rogue of reality,
Thomas Griffiths Wainewright.

The same author’s “In Gipsy Tents” (1880) and “Gypsy
Folk Tales” (1899) defend the children of Egypt from many
of the charges brought against them, and point the resemblance
in their folk-lore to that of other races. Roguery, in Groome’s
view, is no more a concomitant of Gypsy blood than is virtue;
for if such a story as “The Two Thieves” be popular among
Romanies, it has its counterpart in the Rhampsinitus story of
Herodotus, and in “The Master Thief Tale,” so widely spread
through Europe.

Certainly, roguery is not involved in Matthew Arnold’s
“Scholar-Gipsy,” or to any extent in George Meredith’s “Ad-
ventures of Harry Richmond” (1897), where the vivacious
Kiomi early protects the hero from the pursuit of a school-
master. She comes of a Hampshire tribe, to which she is
returning from a, visit, in company with a band of mumpers.
Harry joins the nomads, exchanges fisticuffs with Kiomi
like Lavengro with Isopel Berners, but is presently reclaimed
by his grandfather. Henceforth, the Gypsies are seen in the
GYPSYDOM 485

background, emerging but once in a mistaken assault upon
Harry. This nearly costs him his life, yet it affords Kiomi the
traditional opportunity of tending him in illness.

It is Theodore Watts-Dunton, however, who has _ best
achieved the romantic apotheosis of the Gypsy without neglect-
ing actual Romany traits. “Aylwin” (1898) describes with
mystic charm a lover’s loss of his beloved, his quest for her,
and their reunion through the devotion of Sinfi Lovell, who
conceals her own passion for the hero.

Winifred Wynne, a Welsh girl, whose rascal father desecrates the
grave of her lover’s father, and calls down a curse on her innocent soul,
wanders away in a trance to beg in the London streets and to pose as a
painter’s model. In vain Henry Aylwin seeks her among Gypsies and
gorgios, beholding her set forth on the canvas of the dreamer Wilder-
spin, or tracing her to the slums and to grotesque Mrs. Gudgeon. There
he hears of her death, but the report proves false, for Winifred has been
rescued by D’Arcy, an artist. Her strange hysteria, a physical mani-
festation of the curse, is now assumed voluntarily by her Gypsy friend,
Sinfi Lovell. Among the Welsh mountains, in a scene theatrically pre-
pared, Sinfi restores to Aylwin his Winifred, and then goes her way
alone.

This novel is noteworthy as an artistic exposition of the
author’s gospel of the Renascence of Wonder," and as contain-
ing veiled portraits of distinguished poets and painters; but
not less remarkable is its use of the Gypsies. Without the
glamour thrown upon them by Borrow, “Aylwin” could never
have been; but Borrow is at heart a realist, Watts-Dunton an
idealist. The Gypsies of the latter, speaking the same jargon
as Borrow’s vagabonds, and presenting many identical traits,
lack their refreshing moral obliquity. The sophistry of primi-
tive natures, the inability to set orthodox limits between right

1 C£, Watts-Dunton’s The Renascence of Wonder: .A Treatise on the
Romantic Movement (1903).
486 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

and wrong, so characteristic of the actual Gypsy and of Bor-
row’s presentation of the type, is absent from “ Aylwin,” as well
as from Watts-Dunton’s interesting poem, “The Coming of
Love: Rhona Boswell’s Story” (1897). The Borrovian dia-
logue remains, but its purpose in exposing distorted moral
conceptions is gone. Here is no Ursula or Jasper Petulengro
to justify cheating the gorgios, poisoning cattle, beating one’s
wife, or killing the chi who has married out of her caste. The
thing itself may be done as in the poem, where Rhona, wedded
to Percy Aylwin, is slain by her outraged tribe; but the per-
verted logic back of the deed is never dissected. Herne the
Scollard, the Gypsy rival of Percy, is simply a jealous villain
drowned in a scuffle with his sweetheart; and Rhona and Sinfi,
however vital, remain heroines of ideal perfection. So roguery,
which is almost inseparable from Borrow’s realistic portrayal
of the Gypsy, gives place in the work of the latest of gypsolo-
gists to romantic nobility.

3. Boy Life

Light-hearted roguery has been associated with boyhood
ever since the Spaniards first fashioned picaresque fiction. The
youthful pranks of a Lazarillo, a Tristan "Hermite, a Jack
Wilton, or a Colonel Jack, have differed but little from one
another, or from those of Smollett’s or Marryat’s anti-heroes.
Of late, however, the range of boyish roguery has been enlarged
to include a wider variety of types. Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s
“Story of a Bad Boy,” or Arthur Stringer’s “Lonely O’Malley,””
with their mild mischief, are at a far remove from the vulgar
and well-nigh malicious practical joking of George Wilbur
Peck’s “Peck’s Bad Boyand His Pa,” “‘ Peck’s Bad Boy and the
Groceryman,” and other stories. Morrison’s ‘‘A Child of the
Jago,” in its repellent representation of criminal boyhood in
BOY LIFE 487

the London slums, contrasts with the romantic exploits of the
Parisian waif in Dr. Weir Mitchell’s “ Adventures of Francois.”
Such a tramp’s “prushun” as Flynt’s “Little Brother,” or the
Australian street arab in Farjeon’s “Grif,” has little in com-
mon with Mark Twain’s romantic Tom Canty in “The Prince
and the Pauper” (1882).

The latter, with its charming if improbable change of places
between Tom and Edward VI of England, draws most of its
low-life direct from “The English Rogue.” The outcast king,
stretched upon his pallet in Offal Court or forced to maund with
the cadgers, listens to the cant first chronicled by Copland and
Harman, and associates with vagabonds, whose names and
functions were described by Dekker and Head. At the same
time, his pauper double accepts the adulation of courtiers at
Whitehall with a strangely easy conscience, yet welcomes at last
the real king’s return.

Far more natural, however, are Mark Twain’s American
boys first introduced in “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”
(1876). Tom’s pranks upon his Aunt Polly, his scrapes at school,
his masquerading as Robin Hood and the Black Avenger of
the Spanish Main are in the picaresque manner, although the
roguery scarcely extends beyond the smartness of his inducing
others to do his whitewashing. He is romantic as well as mis-
chievous, and together with Huck Finn witnesses the murder
of the physician by his accomplices in grave-robbing, and in a
haunted house sees the unearthing of buried gold by Indian
Joe. At the murder trial Tom rallies to the rescue of the inno-
cent, at school he takes the chastisement due to Becky Thatcher,
and when lost in the cave he protects her. Even prosaic Huck
plays the hero, too, preserving the Widow Douglas from the
half-breed’s revenge, although he cannot endure the gratitude
of her civilizing process, and lapses again into vagabondage.
488 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

“Tom Sawyer Abroad” (1894) shifts the merry pair to a
fantastic plane and eliminates roguery, for their balloon journey
to the Sahara and their adventures at the Pyramids and
Mt. Sinai compose a farrago of nonsense. But in “Tom Saw-
yer, Detective ” (1882) realism and roguery rule, although
it is Tom and Huck who pose as heroic unravelers of fraud,
while the rascals are the Dunlaps. A diamond robbery and a
murder, the concealing of gems in a pair of boot heels, circum-
stantial evidence against the innocent, and the resemblance
between twins, constitute the elements of mystery derived from
the records of a Swedish criminal trial.

It is in “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” (1885),
however, that boyish roguery is at its best. Huck, the town
pariah, is a rogue with limitations. Although ready in lies,
deceits, and disguises, and a petty thief, he is sound at heart.
He scruples at helping to steal a “nigger;” he cannot bring
himself to join with professional rogues in a swindle of moment;
he protects the weak, and is loyal to his friends. To the Don
Quixote of the imaginative Tom Sawyer, he plays a delightful
Sancho.

After the pair’s exploits with their robber band, Huck is kept prisoner
in the woods by his drunken Pap, but escapes to become the Robinson
Crusoe of Jackson’s Island. Here he discovers a Man Friday in the
person of Miss Watson’s Nigger Jim, run away from bondage. When
pursuit menaces, they set off down the Mississippi on a raft, tying up
in shady coverts by day, and slipping easily along by night. They
forage for poultry, lift booty from a floating house, relieve of their spoils
a trio of scoundrels on a wreck, and are run into by a steamboat. Then
Huck, who has swum ashore, enjoys the hospitality of the Granger-
fords, and witnesses the tragic progress of their feud with the Shepherd-
sons. Later, he rejoins Jim, and they save two rogues from the wrath
of those they have victimized. The younger professes to be the Duke of
Bridgewater, and the elder declares himself the late dauphin, now right-
ful king of France. Installed on the raft, the rascals exact of its navi-
BOY LIFE 489

gators the respect due their rank, and play the towns they pass for a
living. Fraud succeeds fraud as the raft drifts south, until they sell off
Jim on the sly. But the faithful Huck discovers his black friend, held
in durance by an uncle of Tom Sawyer’s.

Tom himself appears, come for a visit; land though it is a simple
matter to set Jim free, Tom for the romance of the thing multiplies
the difficulties of effecting his release, and’ provides him with every
accessory to misery enjoyed by famous prisoners of history and of
fiction. At last, when the family is terrified and Jim is bewildered, they
escape, pursued by a vigilance committee. But Tom is shot and brought
back to recover, and only then does he confess that he knew from the
first of Jim’s having been freed by Miss Watson before her death.

If Huck Finn is delightful as a matter-of-fact rogue, and
Tom Sawyer as a romantic one, and if both are little more than
mild mischief-makers, the king and the duke are arrant picaros
equal to any swindle. His Majesty fills his pockets at a camp-
meeting by confessing himself a pirate suddenly converted.
As Edmund Kean the Elder, he impersonates Juliet, despite
his beard, and then enacts the Royal Nonesuch, in naturalibus,
striped with paint. The duke conducts a printing office in its
owner’s absence, appears on the boards as Garrick the Younger,
disguises Jim as a sick Arab to frighten off the inquisitive, and
acts the deaf-mute in the pair’s most distinguished bit of ras-
cality. This is their posing as the English heirs of Peter Wilkins
just deceased, a fraud which fails through Huck’s interference,
and the appearance of the true heirs. Their later exploits
include temperance lecturing, the management of a dancing
school, doctoring, and fortune-telling. The last that Huck sees
of them they are tarred and feathered, each riding a rail in a
torchlight procession. Few books in the range of picaresque
literature can equal this in pure fun, and it is deserving of praise
for its fidelity to boyhood and to a phase of American life now
passed away.

Another type of mild rogue rising superior to dishonest sur-
490 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

roundings is happily shown in S. R. Crockett’s “Cleg Kelly,
Arab of the City” (1896). Cleg is a smart youngster of the
Edinburgh slums, whose father is a burglar and a brute. Cleg
comes to hate his ways, steals his housebreaking tools, and,
when their owner is sent to prison for a year, dances a horn-
pipe for joy. Unlike the normal rogue, he makes friends with
the police, to whom he turns over his father’s pilferings; and
through admiration for a fair mission worker he seeks honest
employment in delivering papers.

Closely associated with Cleg’s career is that of Vara Kavanagh
who has her small brothers to care for, and her drunken mother
to avoid. Cleg champions Vara, and enters the service of a
demented general whom he protects against robbery at the
hands of his father and of Vara’s mother. Both meet their
deserts, and Cleg, profiting by the fabulous bequest of his
patron, marries his sweetheart. Roguery is throughout at a dis-
count, and the realism of dialect and of slum life is modified by
humor and by sentiment. Such is the case, too, with Crockett’s
parallel tale, “Fishers of Men” (1906), which relates the story
of Kid McGhie, whose mother, Mad Mag, is terrorized by her
second husband, “Knifer” Jackson, the burglar.

The hero of Kipling’s “Kim” (1901) is an adventurous waif,
son of an Irishman and a native woman, who being engaged to
serve a pious lama, wanders over India, keeping faith with his
master, but knowing no scruples in tricking others. He falls
in with government spies, is trained to the service, and grows
proficient in stealing the papersof Russian and French intriguers.
But at best he is only part picaro, his thefts being justified
politically, and the zest of adventure, rather than avarice, lead-
ing him on.

In “The Little Brother, a Story of Tramp Life” (1902) Josiah
Flynt [Willard] describes with pathos the adventures of eight-
BOY LIFE 491

year-old Benny Myrtaugh, who runs away from his supposed
sister, Janet, and becomes the “prushun,” or begging appren-
tice, of West Virginia Blackie.

Life on the road, in tramp hangouts, and in durance, brings its joys
and its griefs to the boy. Imprisonment among professional criminals
in a county jail shows him the distinction between the crook and the
tramp. At last, he falls from a car and lies dying. Oregon Slim volun-
teers to carry the tidings to Janet. By dint of desperate riding on the
trucks of freights and express trains he succeeds, though it costs him
his life. In the hobo camp Janet finds her boy, only to lose him, and
in Blackie she recognizes the boy’s father, whose desertion years before
has left her to rear his child as a brother. She has supposed herself
legally married, but Blackie, the snarer of his own son, in contrition
confesses their marriage to have been a trick. So, at last, Janet is free
to accept the honest lover whose protection, accorded without hope
of reward, has long been her only resource.

Boy life romantically treated figures in I. Hooper’s “His Grace
o’ the Gunne” (1898), the story of a Restoration rogue engaged
by a wicked nobleman to poison the young cripple who blocks
his way to an estate.

Lurlin Kirke, son of an unknown gentleman and of a thief, is brought
up among thieves at “The Gunne Inn,” and gains the title of His Grace
by the loftiness of his bearing. Sent into Devonshire to masquerade
as tutor and companion to his intended victim, Lurlin repents; and,
though he steals the family’s jewels, he later restores them, and plays
the good angel to his benefactors. He slays in a duel the nobleman who
has engaged him to do murder, and who threatens the honor of Madam
Celia; he saves the life of that lady, under sentence for witchcraft,
by changing clothes with her in prison, and going to the pyre. His
accomplices have earlier sought revenge upon him for forsaking their
cause, stringing him up to a tree with a dagger through his hands; and
he is rescued now in the nick of time, to become steward of the Challoner
estates.

The story put in his mouth smacks of the antique, and the
thieves’ cant of the earlier chapters is drawn from Elizabethan
sources and from “The English Rogue.”
492 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Best of all such romantic studies of reguish boyhood is
Dr. Weir Mitchell’s “Adventures of Francois” (1898), with
its scene in the France of the Revolution, and its anti-hero
a merry foundling and choir-boy turned street arab.

In the fle de la Cité, “the refuge of the finest assortment of thieves,
bravos, Gypsies, and low women to be found in any capital of Europe,”
Frangois lodges with Mme. Quatre Pattes, the fence and thief-taker;
and with Toto, his poodle, plies a lively trade. Toto is sold and resold,
only to slip back each time to his master. He can carry off a dinner or
keep small booty concealed in his mouth, and feign sleep. Frang¢ois
himself is quick with his hands and adroit in his practice on snuff boxes.
When he saves a juggler accused of robbery by picking his pocket, the
grateful charlatan teaches him juggling, card-tricks, and palmistry,
but soon the juggler turns Jacobin, and Frangois and Toto fall back
on their thieving.

The rescue of a gentleman beset by brigands introduces the boy to a
swordsman, and he becomes master of the foils at Gamel’s salle d’armes.
But Gamel is implicated in a Royalist plot; Citizen Amar, who comes
to investigate, is wounded by the Marquis de Ste. Luce; and Francois
flees into the country. There he robs the Jacobin who imprisons him,
escapes, warns Ste. Luce of a plot to pillage his chateau, and holds
with him a staircase against a howling mob. Soon he is hiding in the
woods, and then reénters Paris, carried past the guards disguised as a
wounded veteran. Miserable dodging follows, until being denounced as
an emigré by the old witch, Quatre Pattes, he is haled to prison to await
his turn for the guillotine. But he succeeds in being made a spy, clips
off the name of his friend Ste. Luce from the condemned list, and finally
secures release. Then he entraps the treacherous Quatre Pattes in a net
of her own devising, but being pursued escapes to the catacombs.
Here he leads through dangers to safety a party of noble refugees,
and when they emerge, it is to find the Terror past, and the reaction
set in.

Francois’s latter days are honest and easy, for he becomes the servant
of those he has saved. Henceforth he is relieved from the necessity of
thieving, yet he glories in his former pilferings, sympathizes with the
Bonapartes as the most magnificent of thieves, and dies, advising the
priest who administers the last rites, that “‘the left-hand pocket is the
safer; we look not there.”
THE NEW REALISM 493

4. The New Realism

The new realism is distinguished by the variety of its range
and purpose. It examines all levels of society in all parts of
the world. It records its observations with the impartiality of
the scientist, with philanthropic zeal, with irony, or with satire.
Cosmopolitan in subject and manifold in aims, it varies widely
in quality. Now it wins a hearing by fidelity to prosaic fact;
now it surprises by revealing aspects of life unfamiliar; now
it shocks by portraying social evils.

Of late, pictures of life in the slums have been especially
given to setting forth roguery with realism. Sir Walter Besant’s
“All Sorts and Conditions of Men” (1882), reporting a social
experiment among the wretched of Whitechapel, revived that
humanitarian interest in the lives of the poor first strongly
voiced in the novels of Dickens. George Gissing has followed
with fictions pointing to rascality as an inevitable outcome of
the struggle for existence among the hopelessly poor. His first
novel, “The Unclassed’’ (1884), had for heroine a woman of
the streets. His “Demos” (1886) analyzed the influence of
socialism upon the workers, and chronicled the fall from grace
of a toiler suddenly grown wealthy. “'Thyrza” (1887) gave the
history of a factory girl, and “The Netherworld” (1889), in all
but two of its characters, showed creatures vicious or shiftless.

Clara Hewitt, a barmaid, runs away with a clerk, turns actress, and
is vitriol-scarred by a rival. Pennyloaf Candy, the child of a gin-soaked
mother, marries brutal Hewitt, who falls to coining, and dies in jail
after a futile attempt to escape. Joseph Snowdon plots to gain a rela-
tive’s money, but dissipates the inheritance and dies miserably. And
Clem Peckover, the shrew made cruel by poverty, who marries Snowdon
for the sake of his property, is prepared to deceive and desert him at
need, when she is deceived and deserted herself. Then she urges her
former lover to get rid of her husband and of his wife by fair means or
494 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

foul, and, appealing in vain to her mother for sympathy, retaliates with
poison, and enters prison.

Roguery like this can show little in common with the gallant
rascality of a Turpin or with the subtle wiles of a Raffles, yet
who shall venture to deny such a novel some affiliation with
the genre launched in Spain ere the birth of sympathy with the
miserable poor?

While Gissing in his later volumes, “The Whirlpool” and
“The Charlatan,” inclined to deal with the vices of a higher
society, there has been no lack of those bent upon supple-
menting his earlier examinations of low-life. Apart from such
kindly studies as Zangwill’s “Children of the Ghetto” (1892)
and Elizabeth Robins’s sketches of doings among servants in
“Below the Salt” (1896), or Annie Wakeman’s “Autobio-
graphy of a Charwoman” (1900), all of which are remote
enough from roguery, the squalid, vicious, or unfortunate poor
have been subjected to the scrutiny of many literary observers.
Some have modified realistic fidelity with humorous optimism
and an appreciation of worthy low-life traits. To this class
belong the tales of Edwin William Pugh and of William Pett
Ridge, Edith Ostlere’s “From the Seven Dials” (1898), Miss
G. T. Kimmins’s “Polly of Parker’s Rents” (1899), Richard
Whiteing’s “No. 5 John Street” (1899), W. J. Wintle’s “Para-
dise Row” (1896), depicting low-life in Leeds, and American
stories of the type of J. W. Sullivan’s “Tenement Tales of New
York” (1895), Owen Kildare’s “My Mamie Rose” and “The
Wisdom of the Simple” (1905), and O. Henry’s “The Four
Million” (1906).

Realism less qualified by sentiment marks St. John Adcock’s
“East End Idylls” (1897) and “In the Image of God” (1898),
A. F. Sanborn’s ““Meg MclIntyre’s Raffle, and Other Stories”
(1896), containing such studies of the depraved as “A Lodging-
THE NEW REALISM 495

House Bum” and “Episodes in the Career of Shuffles.” Still
more harsh in their piling up of the horrors of poverty enforcing
to crime are Stephen Crane’s “Bowery Tales” (1900), W. S.
Maugham’s “Liza of Lambeth” (1897),— leaves from the life
of a wretched factory girl, — and the studies of Arthur Morrison.

As for Morrison, no photographs of the London slums have
been so faithful or so free from sentimentalism as his. Residence
in the quarter and connection with a charity trust provided
material for sketches that began to appear in the magazines in
1891, to be later collected as “Tales of Mean Streets” (1894).
Here poverty and vice are the themes rather than professional
crime. In “Lizerunt” a girl of eighteen marries a loafer sup-
ported by his mother’s mangling. She is turned out of the
pickle-factory before the birth of her third child, to be beaten
by her husband. He abuses his mother till she dies, and then
to compensate for a diminished income drives his wife forth
to walk the streets. Occasionally, as in “A Conversion,” humor
softens a grim purpose. Scuddy Lond, the thief, fertile in ex-
cuses for wrongdoing, feels himself converted at a Salvation Army
meeting. He emerges in high religious ecstasy to snatch the
day’s earnings from an old cripple peddling trotters at the door.

Morrison’s “To London Town” (1899), which traces the
history of a family of the docks, shows less distrust of emotion
and a better grade of society, and his “Cunning Murrel” (1900)
departs still further from repulsive roguery in its Essex witch-
finder, only half convinced of his powers and accordingly half
a picaro. The author’s pessimistic realism is at its darkest,
however, in “A Child of the Jago” (1896).

Here Dicky Perrott, a vagabond of the London slums, grows up a
thief and, being ousted from his one honest employment by an avari-
cious fence, relapses into roguery, and dies in a street brawl. His per-
sonal fortunes are subordinate in interest to the social conditions among
496 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

which he lives. The Jago is a nursery of crime. Those born or lapsed
into it are doomed. The East End Elevation Mission may appeal to
neat clerks and smart artisans, but to the clever ones of the Jago it
offers only a field for pocket-picking. The County Council may erect
barrack dwellings and tear down the vermin-seething rookeries, but
the unreclaimed prefer to move farther out, carrying Jago vice with
them. Even good Father Sturt, the fighting philanthropist, declares the
thing to be hopeless; and the surgeon who ushers into the world a new
brother for Dicky cries: “Here lies the Jago, a nest of rats, breeding,
breeding, as only rats can; and we say it is well. On high moral grounds
we uphold the right of rats to multiply their thousands. Sometimes we
catch a rat. And we keep it a little while, nourish it carefully, and put
it back into the nest to propagate its kind.”

Dicky’s mother, though born to better things, yields to the inevitable.
His father pockets the bishop’s watch which the boy has clicked, and
belts him for it. Coming home from street fights, he tucks his bloody
bludgeon beneath a loose floor-board, and curses his family. At “The
Bag of Nails” he dances attendance upon the high mobsmen. After
many robberies he negotiates with the coffee-house fence to purchase
his latest swag, but Weech sells him out to the police. Lagged for five
years, and released within four because of good conduct, he returns to
the Jago to hack his enemy to death with a case knife, and then to be
hanged for it.

Dicky is only less brutal because younger. He delights to pummel a
hunchback, to ply metal fence bars on the heads of the Dove-Laners,
and to engage in all treachery. But what can be expected of one raised
among cosh-carriers, — bullies armed with iron rods for stunning the
strangers lured home by the prowling sirens of the Jago? Heis bred upto
violence. He sees his mother’s face scored with the jagged points of a
broken bottle. He looks on when old Biddy Flynn is robbed and rolled
in the gutter by loafers, and when a wagon driver is stripped and beaten
insensible. His friends are spirits of evil, of whom Kiddo Cook and
Pigeony Poll the harlot alone reform.

The only relief in this story of sickening horrors is Dicky’s
affection for a donkey and for his baby sister, and the incident
of his stealing a music box as a peace offering to the Ropers,
victims of his own and of their neighbors’ thefts.

A South London rogue is the anti-hero of Clarence Rook’s
THE NEW REALISM 497

“Hooligan Nights” (1899), which reports in flash a series of
interviews with a youth of Irish Court.

His father deserts on hearing of his advent, and his mother finds
solace in an acrobat-burglar. Alf rises from the nicking of livestock,
fan-light jumping, and counterfeit-passing to housebreaking. As page
to a toff he induces a maid-servant to aid him in cleaning out their
master’s house, forgetting, however, to share the profits. Yet at times
he is magnanimous. Once, while cracking a crib, he cares for a stran-
gling baby; and again he trounces the Frenchman who has insulted a
slavey. The slavey is Alice, whose father is a bookmaker, and whose
mother loves the cup. When Alf objects to the rivalry of Ginger and
blacks Alice’s eyes, she only admires him the more, and they are mar-
tied at a time convenient for abstracting the bookmaker’s pony and
cart. The ring is pilfered; even the parson’s fee is not paid; yet Alf
contemplates a half reformation. With a stolen pony and barrow he
will hawk vegetables honestly enough, provided he can pick up his stock
for nothing.

Of more importance than Alf’s story are his dissertations upon
the phases of his trade. He describes tricks as old as those
of the jest-books, dilates upon methods of burglary and police
evasion, and provides information of the same character as
that contained in the anatomies of roguery.

Where Morrison in a mood of despair has laid bare the ulcer
of East London vice, and Rook has shown up Lambeth ras-
cality, declaring, “I am not responsible for the universe; and
if under the present conditions of life a Lambeth boy can get
more fun by going sideways than by going straight, I cannot
help it,” William Pett Ridge looks upon moral lapses among
Cockneys of a better class with indulgent optimism. He studies
individuals rather than the groups that constitute a condition,
surrounds his rogues with the virtuous, and finds in them
elements of nobility. Humor and sympathy determine his
attitude, and the worst of his delinquents is capable of sen-
timent and self-sacrifice.
498 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Thus, “Mord Em’ly” (1898) follows the fortunes of the
daughter of a convict and a charwoman, who undergoes pica-
Tesque experiences as domestic servant and eating-house wait-
ress. “A Son of the State” (1899) chronicles the rise of a
Hoxton waif from roguery to honest sailordom. In “Outside
the Radius” (1899) and in “London Only” (1901) are offered
amusing sketches of low and of middle-class life; and “A
Breaker of Laws” (1900) tells the story of a burglar in love.

Alfred Bateson, who robs the lady philanthropist for whom his
sweetheart works, endeavors for the sake of the latter to give over his
trade. His faithful friend, William Finnis, a middle-class Major Dobbin,
has gone wooing with the burglar and stands by him in every emer-
gency. His little wife believes him a prodigy of virtue and is carefully
kept in ignorance of the truth when Bateson, after again yielding to
temptation, is sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment. Through the
kindly deception of Finnis she believes him dead, and when he returns
to find her happy with her boy under the protection of her former
mistress, and still idealizing him, he goes away that her dream may not
be broken.

William Ladd, an old pal in burglary, his cheerful sister, and Mrs.
Fayres, the choleric fence who betrays Bateson at his refusal of her
exorbitant terms for his stolen van-load of watches, are the other pica-
resque characters. Bateson himself in his devotion to Caroline and to
little Trafalgar, in his humor, patience, and generosity, in his lack of
conscience, and in his infidelity even to his best friend, is a very human
mixture of good and evil, far removed from the savage brutes drawn
by Morrison.

Morley Roberts has depicted London below the surface
in “Maurice Quain” (1897), and George Moore has exploited
English low-life more broadly with humanitarian purpose in
such stories as “A Mummer’s Wife” (1884), “Evelyn Innes”
(1898), and “Esther Waters” (1894), the last an idyl of horse-
racing gentry. The foremostof American realists, William Dean
Howells, has studied the American defaulter with dispassionate
skill in “The Quality of Mercy” (1892), a novel concerned
THE NEW REALISM 499

not at all with roguery, but careful in its analysis of the states
of mind of an embezzler who has vainly hoped to retrieve
his past in Canada. “The Rise of Silas Lapham” (1885) faintly
recalls the picaresque scheme in its tracing of the various for-
tunes in the career of a self-made man. That the author has
recognized the remote connection with a Spanish source there
can be little doubt, for in his pleasant confessions, entitled
“My Literary Passions” (1895), he records his early “raptur-
ous delight in a certain Spanish book” — “Lazarillo de
Tormes,” — and his having even projected its translation.
“T am sure,” he continues, “that the intending author of
American fiction would do well to study the Spanish pica-
resque novels; for in their simplicity of design he will find
one of the best forms for an American story. The intrigue of
close texture will never suit our conditions, which are so loose
and open and variable; each man’s life among us is a romance
of the Spanish model, if it is the life of a man who has risen,
as we nearly all have, with many ups and downs.” ?

More militant and less literary realism marks a series of
American fictions that arouse interest as reflecting phases of
home-bred rascality. Official corruption is the theme of Francis
Lynde’s “The Grafters” (1904). Here a corporation lawyer
fights single-handed a political ring, and delivers his final blow
by luring the “grafters” aboard a special train, then run at
break-neck speed across a state frontier. The fallibility and
vice of the police are exposed by Josiah Flynt [Willard] and

1 My Literary Passions, p. 139; ef., also, Mr. Howells’s praise of Don
Quixote, pp. 26, 27. On re-reading Don Quixote at fifty, he says, ‘‘ The
greatness of the book seemed to me greater than ever. I believe that its
free and simple design, where event follows event without the fettering
control of intrigue, but where all grows naturally out of character and
conditions, is the supreme form of fiction; and I cannot help thinking
that if we ever have a great American novel it must be built up on some
such large and noble lines.”
500 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Francis Walton [Alfred Hodder] in “The Powers that Prey”
(1900), a volume of short stories intended to destroy the roman-
ticist’s conceptions of the wholly astute detective and of the
wholly black criminal. The only efficient detectives are the spies
and traitors of the criminal classes forcibly manipulated by
the police. When the friend of a politician is robbed, the police
set two innocent crooks on the trail of the thief, threatening _
arrest on old scores if he be not forthcoming, and promising !
immunities as a reward. Detective Minick, who wins fame
in the papers as a second Sherlock Holmes, secures a hand-
some reward by such means, and through his emissaries in
prison extorts money from convicts for favors accorded. Once
he conspires in the escape of a convict who has hidden his
plunder and has offered to share it. When the prize is in hand
Minick draws a revolver and threatens to take the poor devil
back to his cell unless he name his accomplice. But having
extorted the name, Minick knocks its giver senseless, and re-
turns him to prison in triumph. A rogue, who has incurred a
police captain’s hatred, suffers for a murder he never committed,
even though the actual offender in dying has confessed to the
captain. The mayor of an Ohio town shares with gamblers
who operate in the wake of a circus, and the futility of reform
politics is laughed at in the story of a crook who secures the
position of chief of detectives in order to plunder a bank. Most
of the tales are coldly cynical, and the generosity of Peggie
Niven, an expert in male impersonation, is unique.

The dishonesty of police, of prison authorities, and of men
prominent in affairs is the text of Julian Hawthorne’s “Con-
fessions of a Convict” (1893). A ruined banker engages a
burglar to break into his safes on the promise of fifty thou-
sand dollars to be found there. But he leaves only seven hundred
and victimizes his directors by declaring his bank to have been
THE NEW REALISM 501

robbed of hundreds of thousands. A criminal lawyer extorts
a fortune from his client as the price of buying a favorable
opinion from his father, the judge. Jailers grow sleek by sup-
plying inferior food and medicines to the “zebus,” and the
police levy contributions on their criminal dependents, and
hand over recalcitrants as scape-goats for the complacent.

Hutchins Hapgood in “The Autobiography of a Thief”
(1903) edits the reminiscences of a crook who has spent half
his days in prison. He is a rogue with a taste for letters, an
admirer of Becky Sharp and Barry Lyndon, and a critic of
the improbable brutality of Sikes. But his own narrative is
as crude and inartistic as Josiah Flynt’s “Rise of Ruderick
Clowd,” of the same year.

This Ruderick is a child of shame early inducted into the mysteries
of “fobbin’.” Sent to a reform school, he organizes an escape, and is
adopted by a gang. So rapid is his rise that the queen of Chicago’s
underworld falls in love with him, and robs a bank merely to attest
her devotion. But Ruderick, at the head of a mob of his own, is in-
formed upon by rivals, and goes to the penitentiary. Eight years of
prison prepare him to live more desperately on his release. He loots a
bank by posing as a detective on the watch for crooks, and with the
connivance of a watchman and the police effects a bond robbery. In
England he serves a fence who operates by means of a luxurious yacht.
After four years of prison the adventurer returns to America with a
distaste for foreign shores. ,

Ruderick’s regeneration begins with his refusal to commit arson in
an attempted insurance swindle. His last imprisonment in a Mississippi
“stir” is marked by good conduct. He returns to New York, and marry-
ing his honest landlady, becomes in rogue parlance “a dead one.”

There is as little plan and form in this story as in the tales of
Defoe. Occasionally Ruderick happens upon a relative, but
nothing ever comes of it. Usually he remains unaware of the
relationship, and dramatic possibilities are thereby sacrificed.
Thus, he robs unwittingly the warehouse of his own father;
502 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

and the clerk he refuses to burn is his half-brother. In his
love affairs he exhibits neither constancy nor affection. Of
character he shows no trace, and his retirement from thieving
is chiefly the result of a conviction that it does not pay.

Such realism is harsh and unliterary, but that tinged with
satire harks back to Thackeray for guidance, and embraces
in its objects of assault the single type or profession, and the
social group. An example of the latter is E. F. Benson’s “Mam-
mon and Co.” (1899), a satire upon high-life, distantly de-
scended from the old picaresque tale. To be sure, the rogues
are no longer clad in rags; nor do they beg or pick pockets
for a living. Yet they gamble and cheat, launch fleets of paper
companies, make love to other men’s wives, and when in want
of money, instead of being haled before a magistrate as vaga-
bonds, entertain princes and give the best of balls.

The psalm-singing swindler Alington, with his pretended gold mines,
installs his Swiss valet as a gentleman in his Melbourne house to con-
trol the market. He knows that Chavasse is his creature, for having
once detected him in opening the door to burglars, Alington has only to
threaten handing him over to the police to exact implicit obedience.

Lady Conybeare and her husband are among the swindler’s victims,
but there is little to choose in virtue among them. Kit may detect
Alington’s cheating at baccarat, yet she falls into the same practice
herself. Lord Comber’s attentions to her are valued at first for the pre-
sents they bring; and it is only when Jack’s younger brother and his
wife interfere that Jack discovers how near Kit has been to eloping
with the present-giver. It is “ Vanity Fair’ revamped and made smart.

A similar novel is “Emmanuel Burden, Merchant” (1904),
by Hilaire Belloc, wherein the rascality of company-promoting
and of “empire-building ” is exposed with a brilliant irony
that further satirizes the conventional biography of the suc-
cessful merchant.

The opposite variety of individual and professional satire
THE NEW REALISM 503

is illustrated by Dr. Weir Mitchell’s “Autobiography of a
Quack” (1900), a confession of scoundrelism in the ironical
spirit of “Barry Lyndon.”

Dr. Sandcraft, dying in the Massachusetts General Hospital, pens
the story of his life, convinced that the world has used him ill, yet
unconsciously revealing his roguery. A malicious boyhood is capped by
thievery at Princeton. ‘During my junior year,” he says, “I became
unpopular, and as I was very cautious I cannot see why.” Hazing and
practical jests he eschews. “I have never been guilty of any of those
pieces of wanton wickedness which injure the feelings of others while
they lead to no useful result.”

Equipped for the medical profession in short order, he begins ques-
tionable practice in an unsavory quarter of Philadelphia. Now he
mistakes measles for smallpox, and is disgraced by running away; now
he conspires to prevent a marriage by convincing a patient that she is
consumptive; and now he plays coroner, and pretends a post-mortem
to oblige a poisoner and to satisfy his victim’s sister that her brother died
a natural death. After successful swindling as a homceopathist, he is
forced by a burglar patron to interest himself in the case of his friend,
the poisoner, who has been condemned to be hanged. He pretends his
ability to cut a hole in File’s windpipe which will allow of his resuscita-
tion after hanging, and barely escapes with his life when the lie is dis-
covered. In St. Louis new quackery proves profitable. He returns to
the East to enjoy dissipation, to rob his aunt of her savings, to engage
in schemes against the government during the Civil War, and to be
swindled himself and then imprisoned for having feigned fits to escape
military service after plentiful enlistments and desertions productive
of bounty money. When the doctors declare him fatally ill, he thinks
it such a trick as he himself might have played. But he dreams of a
sister he has impoverished as “‘a shameless, worn creature with great
sad eyes,” and suddenly, as he sees again the phantom of the curly-
headed boy he once was, the pen falls from his hand.

The realism that is designed primarily to entertain or to sub-
serve the ends of art, without regard to a serious social or moral
purpose, colors much of the contemporary literature of roguery.
It is to be seen in such a veritable autobiography as Ralph
504 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Keeler’s ‘Vagabond Adventures” (1870), describing the
author’s vicissitudes as runaway, boot-black, cabin-boy, and
minstrel performer aboard steamers upon the Great Lakes and
the Mississippi, and as student in a Jesuit College. It appears
also in fictional narratives like J. D. Burn’s “Autobiography
of a Beggar Boy” (1855); Isaac K. Friedmann’s “Autobio-
graphy of a Beggar” (1903), which is “prefaced by some of the
humorous adventures and incidents related in the Beggar’s
Club;” Charles Hindley’s “Life and Adventures of a Cheap
Jack” (1881, 2d ed.), the curious and rambling account of an
itinerant fakir; and M. G. Mitton’s “Scamp” (1905), the
narrative of a dog of the streets, captured by poachers, sold
to a counterfeiter, passed from roguish master to roguish master,
till at last made happy by a kind mistress.

Such realism is obvious in Bret Harte’s tales of the mining
camps, with their rascally characters redeemed by generous
impulses,— courtesans, gamblers, drunkards, and_ thieves,
envisaged with humor and pathos in the manner of Dickens. It
appears in Tom Gallon’s “Rogue in Love” (1900), where a
jailed anti-hero turns honest after playing the guardian angel
to his innocent fellow captive; and it marks Eleanor Frances
Poynter’s “My Little Lady” (1870), describing the experiences
of the daughter of a Belgian gambler, and Margaret Louisa
Woods’s “The Vagabonds” (1894), picturing the life of a cir-
cus on tour. It figures in Lily Dougall’s “Beggars All” (1891),
where the heroine finds herself married to a thief; and in Ethel
Watts Mumford’s “Dupes” (1901), whose hero assists a reli-
gious adventuress toestablish a sisterhood of contemplation, only
to discover his own sweetheart entering the fold in good faith.

Tothis group belongs Edmund Yates’s “ Black Sheep” (1867),
elaborating a murder mystery, in which suspicion is diverted
from the actual criminal to an innocent ne’er-do-well by the
THE NEW REALISM 505

former’s brilliantly unscrupulous wife. A comedy counterpart
is Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s “Prudence Palfrey” (1874), for
here Cool Dick of Tuolumne County, having robbed John Dent
in the Montana mines, reappears as the dashing young parson
of Rivermouth, making love to Dent’s sweetheart, and pro-
ducing a pal to announce her lover’s death.

Dr. Weir Mitchell’s “New Samaria” (1905) in a similar
spirit relates the story of a New York banker forced through
accident into trampdom, and befriended by “a dog of pica-
resque habits” and bya fellow vagabond to whom he had earlier
refused an alms. W. E. Norris in “The Rogue” (1888) details
the case of another misjudged victim, who supposing himself a
widower, courts a widow, and is exposed for a gay deceiver.
Although coincidences and sensational situations abound in
George R. Sims’s “Rogues and Vagabonds”’ (1885), the novel
takes realistic standing by virtue of its many low-life scenes
and by the characterization of such rascals as Preene, Heckett,
and Marston. The last, as anti-hero, divides interest with the
hero, wrongfully convicted of robbery; but the moralities are
duly safeguarded by the ultimate misery and death of the rogue
and by the escape from jail of George Heritage, who on being
exonerated regains his estate. J. H. Crawford in his “Auto-
biography of a Tramp” (1900) gives in dialogue episodes
from the lives of English nomads occupied in basket-making,
peddling, poaching, fortune-telling, and in the operation of a
puppet-show; and Major Arthur Griffiths, in “Criminals I
Have Known” (1895), tells sixty sketchy stories of more sordid
rascaldom.

With greater sentiment David Christie Murray, in “A
Rogue’s Conscience” (1899), describes the escape of a London
counterfeiter to a British Columbia mining town where he
experiences a change of heart. For the sight of a family in
506 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

poverty as the result of his knavery touches his conscience, and
an experience in being robbed of a valuable claim brings home
to him still further the significance of theft. Accordingly, he
passes the lesson along by stealing the fortune of his pal and
then returning it with a homely apologue of the skunk endowed
at length with the sense of smell.

This vein of rogue realism has been cultivated also by Richard
Harding Davis. His “Gallegher” (1891) presents green-goods
menand burglars, and in “thedisreputable Mr. Raegan,” creates
a sympathetic criminal who succumbs to the wiles of a baby
while eluding police pursuit. “Van Bibber, and Others” (1892)
describes Hefty Burke’s revenge upon the officer that has
unjustly jailed him, and pictures a girl, who, awaiting the
release of a bank-burglar, is met at the prison door by his
coffin. In “The Exiles” (1894) an assistant district-attorney
of New York spends a month in Tangier on intimate terms
with such refugees as a forger, a divorce co-respondent, a bail-
jumping police commissioner, and an embezzler. But learning
that the last has robbed the friend of his sister, he, too, stoops to
roguery, holding up the unsuspecting embezzler at the point
of a pistol. “Soldiers of Fortune” (1897), in a more adven-
turous spirit, adopts picaresque features, its hero passing
through various shifts of condition, playing sailor, soldier,
German baron, cow-boy, and railway promoter.

It is Kipling, however, who best illustrates the tolerant,
entertaining use of rogue realism. His Mrs. Hauksbee and
Mrs. Reiver are undeveloped Beeky Sharps, and his Strickland
is a mild Sherlock Holmes. That delightful trio, Learoyd,
Ortheris, and Mulvaney, are merrily picaresque at times, as
when the tipsy Irishman impersonates a god in “The Incarna-
tion of Krishna Mulvaney,” or when in “Private Learoyd’s
Story” the canny Yorkshireman allows himself to be bribed
THE NEW REALISM 507

by a lady to steal a valuable dog, and then plots with his com-
panions to pass off upon her the canteen sergeant’s cur painted
to resemble the other. Various aspects of Hindu roguery are
depicted, from the naive confessions of the rascal dismissed from
the police force in “At Howli Thana,” to the tricks of the pre-
tended sorcerer of “In the House of Suddhoo,” or to “The
Finances of the Gods,” which describes the cheating of a miserly
money-lender well repaid for his endeavors to outwit Shiv and
Ganesh and rob a mendicant.

The native courtesan is seen in her intrigues in “On the City
Wall;” a wily priest tricks Christian converts by clothing them
in a stuff woven from the fibre of a poisonous nettle, which leads
them in terror to discard the new religion along with the clothes;
and the “Lament of the Border Cattle Thief” is a jail-ballad
sung by an unregenerate rogue plotting fresh mischief. Best of
the native rascals is jolly Ram Dass, twin brother and duper
of Durga Dass in “The Gemini,” a comedy of errors, wherein
the scoundrel sees to it that his twin shall receive the beating
intended for himself. Then, as though it had indeed befallen
him, he secures a judgment of five hundred rupees, and after
robbing the long-suffering Durga, absconds.

Most characteristic, however, in its presentation of roguery
is “The Man Who Would be King.” This sets forth with
peculiar power the wild ambition of the rascal adventurers,
Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan, to cross the borders of
India and rule over Kafiristan. It traces their progress thither
as mad priest and as acolyte, and their acceptance as divinities
by their subjects, until Dravot in an evil moment reveals his
humanity by desiring to take a wife. Then when she bites him
and the blood flows, the natives revolt, Dravot is slain, and
Carnehan after terrible tortures returns to India, crazed and
bearing his companion’s head in a bag.
508 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Here, as in “The Devil and the Deep Sea,” Kipling vitalizes
the indomitable will of man, seeking his own or another’s,
resolute against his enemies, crafty or bold according to his na-
ture. For roguery as such Kipling cares little. He never dis-
cusses it as a moral phenomenon; he neither condones nor
condemns it. It is simply part of the scheme of things existent,
one aspect of the surging tides of life that he has watched upon
so many shores.

5. Bushranging and Convict Life

Owing to the circumstances of its colonization, Australia has
proved prolific in novels of convict life and of bushranging, a
species of brigandage resorted to chiefly by felons escaped from
their bounds. Reade, Farjeon, and Kingsley broke ground
for this type of fiction, and many have followed in their train.
Thus Marcus A. H. Clarke’s “For the Term of His Natural
Life” (1875) describes with gruesome fidelity the sufferings of
a Tasmanian convict. George Manville Fenn’s “This Man’s
Wife’ (1887) centres interest in the woman who clings to her
Botany Bay husband despite his unworthiness. “Robbery
Under Arms” (1888) and “The Squatter’s Dream” (1895),
by Rolf Boldrewood [T. A. Browne], deal with bushrangers;
and a victim of circumstantial evidence is the convict hero
of “In the Track of a Storm” (1896), by Owen Hall [James
Davis]. Sketches of the bush, like Henry Lawson’s “When
the Billy Boils” (1897) and “On the Track, and Over the
Sliprails” (1901), reflect the rough and roguish experiences of
gold-diggers, sheep and cattle farmers, and the riff-raff who
prey upon them.

The realism of G. L. Becke and Walter Jeffery’s “First
Fleet Family” (1895), describing the eighteenth-century set-
tlement of New South Wales by convicts, or the more brutal
BUSHRANGING AND CONVICT LIFE 509

“Tales of Australian Early Days” (1894) and “Tales of the
Isle of Death” (1897), by Price Warung, find their romantic
complement in Rosa Praed’s “Outlaw and Lawmaker” (1893)
and in the melodramatic fictions of Hume Nisbet, “Bail Up!”
(1893) and “A Bush Girl’s Romance” (1894). Still later acces-
sions to this group have been received in the more plausible
and no less entertaining tales of Ernest William Hornung,
which, together with such novels as “Geoffry Hamlyn,” “Grif,”
and “Robbery Under Arms,” deserve examination.

Henry Kingsley’s “Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn” (1859)
chiefly concerns a Devonshire rogue, who after several forgeries
elopes with a vicar’s daughter, squanders her fortune, and being
apprehended for coining, is transported to Van Diemen’s Land.

Years later Hawker figures in Australia as a bushranger, and chancing
to kill his own son who has sought to take him, is hanged. Associated
with this rogue as accomplices or enemies are other rascals. One is his
son by an unfortunate mistress, 2 boy who comes up in a workhouse,
follows his father’s ways, is transported, joins the bushrangers, and dies
as servant to an explorer in the desert. Another is a returned convict,
who early blackmails Hawker into renewed forgery, and whose death
he at last compasses in the bush. But the gloomiest figure is Moody the
cannibal, who devours two companions in his flight from imprisonment.
The main interest, however, centres less in these rogues than in Hawker’s
noble wife, who emigrates to Australia, and after many vicissitudes reaps
the reward of long suffering by marriage to the faithful lover of her
youth.

Somewhat similar in its mixture of roguery and nobility is
B. L. Farjeon’s “Grif” (1871), whose boy-hero is a warm-
hearted thief.

His father, a ticket-of-leave man, belongs to a gang that is plotting
to rob the father of Grif’s best friend, Alice. Old Nuttall has cast off
the girl because of her marriage to a former employee; and the rascals
are seeking to force this fellow, Handfield, into their schemes when
Grif comes to the rescue. The desperadoes commit a murder on the
510 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

gold fields, and fasten it upon Handfield; but Grif hears of the villainy,
and with Alice travels up to Highlay Station to warn her obdurate father.
The station is saved from robbery, Handfield is exonerated, and old
Nuttall relents. But Grif dies, slain by bis own father’s hand.

Grif is not oversentimentalized like his prototype, Oliver
Twist. He partially reforms, but merely because his affections
are touched, and to the last he feels no compunction at roguery
that will help those he loves. His life in the back-yard barrel,
his kindness to his dog and to Little Peter, his regard for miser-
able Milly and her baby, his endeavor for Alice’s sake to become
one of philanthropic Blemish’s moral boot-blacks, and his bear-
ing of false witness in order to protect Alice’s husband, present
interesting facets of a natural character.

Of the less sympathetic rogues Jim Pizey and the Tender-
Hearted Oysterman are chief; the latter affecting wordy mild-
ness, though the bloodiest of the lot; and the former leaving
his mistress to die in a delirium of grief and drink. Black Sam
and Ned Rutt are birds of the same feather, and Old Flick of the
all-sorts store, who aids them in devilry, is Fagin revived.

More minute in its study of rascality is Browne’s “Robbery
Under Arms.” Dick Marston, condemned at twenty-nine to
be hanged for highway robbery, sits down in his cell to write
the story of his life. His narrative is prolix, but it breathes the
free winds of the bush. Its principal rogues are gallant fel-
lows gone wrong, forced by the price set for their capture to
venture deeper into crime.

Dick and Jim Marston are first lured into “cattle-duffing” by their
father, an ex-poacher and convict. Favored by the discovery of a
sunken valley, they make it the stabling place of the animals they steal.
Robbery succeeds robbery, with intervals of honest sheep-shearing and
occasional acts of bravery, such as Jim’s saving the girl whose horse
is galloping toward a hidden precipice. The driving to Adelaide of
a whole herd of cattle and their auctioning there is successfully com-
BUSHRANGING AND CONVICT LIFE 511

passed through the talents of Starlight, a mysterious gentleman-des-
perado who figures as captain of the band. Starlight is eventually
taken in New Zealand and Dick at his home, but Jim eludes pursuit,
and later assists in the escape of the others from Berrima Gaol.

Now they turn to “sticking-up” coaches; then a bank in a small
town succumbs to their wiles; and next they go gold-mining, and toil
honestly for months together. Jim even marries; but his bride’s sister,
to be revenged upon Dick’s neglect of her, reveals their identity, and
Jim is captured. The others waylay his escort, and soon the band is
back at the devil’s own work, robbing the gold coach and doing to death
self-appointed detectives. But feats of chivalry and bravado are theirs as
well. Starlight and the Marstons protect the helpless against the bru-
tality of members of their gang. Starlight boldly attends the marriage
of a girl who has befriended him, hobnobs in disguise with the chief
of police, and races his famous Rainbow against the field. Just when
the three have determined to lead a straight life in America, they are
informed upon by Starlight’s servant, and after a battle with the con-
stabulary only Dick is left alive to be tried and sentenced to death.
A reprieve relieves the reader’s anxiety, and a further concession is
allowed him in a glimpse of the one-time robber, after twelve years’
imprisonment, married to his sweetheart, and established as manager
of a Queensland station.

Although Starlight is the most attractive among these out-
laws, a Turpin in horsemanship and a Du Vall in polish, the
other rogues are as carefully drawn. They range from smart
Billy the Boy to cruel Dan Moran, from gloomy Ben Marston
with his faithful cur Crib to the acute and ubiquitous half-caste
Warrigal.

More prolific than Browne, Farjeon, or Kingsley in the
creation of rogues, Ernest William Hornung has achieved
within this province the highest popularity. His “Boss of
Taroomba” (1894) celebrates a plucky girl, who, in company
with a German piano-tuner, defends her sheep farm against
the attack of bushrangers. The “Belle of Toorak” (1900)
shows an escaped convict gaining the protection of a young

1 Reissued as The Shadow of a Man (1901).
512 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

bushman who for a time believes himself the convict’s son.
“Trralie’s Bushranger”’ (1896) tells a lively story of Australian
adventure in which roguery and heroism counterbalance.
“Stingaree” (1905) glorifies a romantic New South Wales
highwayman. And even Raffles, the genteel anti-hero of “The
Amateur Cracksman” (1899), begins his career in Australia.

In such novels as shift the scene from Australia to England,
crime and rascality continue to flourish. In “Peccavi’’ (1900)
is described the tragic penance of an English clergyman who
has committed a crime. In “Young Blood” (1898) the hero’s
efforts to live down the disgrace of his father bring him into
conflict with a villain and a swindler. In “The Shadow of the
Rope” (1902) crime and its detection motive the relations
between a heroine, suspected of murdering her first husband,
and the man who pities and marries her, although believing in
her guilt. He in turn falls under suspicion of crime, and it is only
with the dying confession of another that both are exonerated.

Hornung’s most serious study of rascality and of convict life
is made in “The Rogue’s March” (1896).

Tom Erichsen, convicted of murder on circumstantial evidence,
receives a reprieve that transports him to New South Wales. There he
falls into the clutches of brutal masters, the Sullivans of Castle Sullivan.
He escapes, joins a band of outlaws, and raids the Sullivans, but being
recaptured is consigned to a chain-gang. From this misery he finds
release through the kind offices of Daintree, the stranger who at his
trial has interfered to save him from disgrace. As servant to this bene-
factor, Tom slowly regains his better nature, but presently discovers that
the English girl Daintree purposes to marry on her arrival at Sydney is
his own sweetheart. Indeed, it is she who has inspired most of Dain-
tree’s kindness. Divided between gratitude to his master and love for
Claire Harding, Tom for the sake of the former denies his innocence
to the latter. At this juncture Daintree is proved to have been the real
murderer for whose crime the hero has suffered, and whose vagaries are
excused as the results of hereditary madness. A free pardon follows
Tom’s marriage to the heroine.
BUSHRANGING AND CONVICT LIFE 513

The picaresque scenes of this novel appear in three sections.
The earliest concerns the rascality of Captain Blaydes, his
murder, and the trial and conviction of Tom Erichsen for the
deed. Life in the condemned cell at Newgate is vividly por-
trayed. Companionship with Creasey the wife-stabber gives
way to solitude and to a fit of frenzy as Tom hears the crowd
outside whiling away the hours before his hanging, and reads
the pamphlet describing his “Life, Trial, and Awful Execu-
tion.” Then comes the reprieve which ushers in a second phase
of his picaresque adventures.

In New South Wales he fights the thieves who would rob
his drunken master, befriends Peggy O’Brien, the cook of the
convict crew at Castle Sullivan, and, exciting Nat Sullivan’s
jealousy, falls a victim to plots. So he finds himself condemned
to fifty lashes, and failing in an attempt to break from his tor-
mentors receives fifty more. Grown desperate, and aided by
Peggy to escape from the lockup, he meets in the bush the
saturnine Hookey Simpson, a schoolmaster-bandit, the place
of whose missing arm is supplied by a sharpened steel hook, the
deadliest of weapons. Hookey has just disposed of the Italian
chief of their crew, and now with benevolent brow scarcely
seamed, and with horn spectacles but jostled, he drives his
steel arm deep into the neck of a grumbling subordinate, re-
marking, as he straightens his glasses, “So, that’s all right.”

Then follows the Sullivan raid, Tom taking part clad in the
clothes of the dead Italian, fleeing before the relief party of
troopers, yet captured where his horse flings him in the sand.
The succeeding months of nightmare in the penal stockade, as
he clanks his chains and doggedly wields a pick, are scarcely
lightened by the recollections of the veteran First Fleeter, or
by the hatching of a convict conspiracy.

At last, the third phase of his criminal life brings him res-
514 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

pite. Daintree is kind. From Paramatta, where the women
convicts are shaved instead of lashed, Tom rescues Peggy
on the pretense of selecting a wife. And though for a little
she turns on him jealously, and Nat Sullivan comes hunting
him, and his master proves his rival, all ends as it should.
The book is labeled a romance, but it is careful and vera-
cious in detail. Charles White’s “Convict Life,” together
with newspapers, the “New South Wales Calendar,” and the
“Blue-Book”’ of 1837, furnished a partial basis for the Aus-
tralian scenes, as did parliamentary papers for the scenes in
Newgate.

Compared with Tom Erichsen, the Australian bushranger
presented in the ten tales of Hornung’s “Stingaree” (1905) is a
creature of fantasy. This cultivated highwayman, who because
he admires the singing of Miss Bouverie “sticks up”’ a concert
expressly to give her a place upon the programme and thereby
bring her to the attention of a distinguished composer, is as
unreal as diverting.

Dressed in the height of fashion, riding his white mare, Barmaid,
and surveying his victims through a monocle while he covers them with
a pair of revolvers, Stingaree never loses self-possession. Even when
captured, he knows a hundred tricks for eluding vigilance, from feign-
ing a swoon and discharging his dozing captor’s weapon with his toe,
to gagging the admiring criminologist come to study him in jail and
escaping in the student’s clothes. Occasionally he meets his match,
as in the fighting Bishop Methuen, who, in spite of having been robbed
along with his chaplain in the bush, races across the burning sands in
pyjamas and pounces upon the bushranger just as he and a pal, posing
as bishop and chaplain, have “stuck up” an astonished congregation.
But even the bishop must recognize the criminal’s generosity; for when
a youthful anti-hero-worshiper, out of admiration for Stingaree, as-
sumes the onus of having robbed the Deniliquin coach, the highway-
man rides to the bishop and exonerates the foolish youth, only to be
seized by constables himself. Stingaree, in his creator’s words, is “a
RAFFLES AND COMPANY 515

man of birth and mystery, with an ostentatious passion for music, and
as romantic a method as that of any highwayman of the Old World.”

6. Raffles and Company

The most popular literary rogue of recent times owes to the
most popular of literary detectives his birth and characteristics.
Hornung’s “Amateur Cracksman”’ (1899), dedicated to Conan
Doyle, betrays with its sequels, “Raffles” (1901) and “A Thief
in the Night” (1905), the distinguishing traits of Sherlock
Holmes. Raffles is secretive and taciturn, a non-professional
who excels in ability those of the trade, and a gentleman when
not engaged in business. He is gifted with analytic powers of
no mean order. He has his fastidious specialities, — cricket and
Sullivan cigarettes. His cleverness is heightened by contrast
with the surprised stupidity of his associate, the narrator
Bunny, who reflects Doyle’s Dr. Watson. Raffles’s exploits,
like many of Sherlock Holmes’s, are chronicled by episodes
in short story form, and they make their appeal by similar
devices to the same emotions.

The great difference between the two groups of fictions is
the reversal of point of view. But in this reversal the rogue
is at a disadvantage morally and intellectually. To offset his
intellectual disadvantage, Raffles is given peculiar and diffi-
cult undertakings, as well as special qualities, — “his high
spirits, his iron nerve, his buoyant wit, his perfect ease and
self-possession.” His cleverness and breeding are meant to
blind admirers to his moral disadvantage; but the whole ques-
tion of right and wrong is blinked. Though he dies as a patriot
in the Boer War, he is still the rogue and adventurer, and all
his creator’s attempts to portray him as a hero, rather than an
anti-hero, deservedly fail.

Raffles himself holds to the theory propounded by Fielding.
516 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Human nature is a chess-board, a thing of alternate black
and white. “Why desire to be all one thing or all the other,”
he asks, “like our forefathers on the stage or in the old-fashioned
fiction? Let us know all squares of the board and enjoy the
light the better for the shade.” As a matter of fact, he does not
know what conscience means. To speak of him as “forever
dazzling one with a fresh and unsuspected facet of his charac-
ter” indicates what his creator wished him to do, rather than
what he does. At first, even his skill fails to be convincing. The
burglary of the jewelry shop in “The Ides of March”’ is alto-
gether too simple. When he disguises as a policeman and
rescues his pal by apprehending him, Raffles is better; but
Mackenzie, the Scotch detective with whom he must frequently
contend, is far from the equal of Holmes.

When all is said and done, however, Raffles is an entertaining
fellow. His initial crime, an Australian bank robbery, may be
too desperate for the first offense of a respectable amateur
cricketer; and the purposed killing in cold blood of the fence,
in “Willful Murder,” is quite out of Raffles’s character, as is
his tragic love passage, in “The Fate of Faustina” and its
sequel, wherein the band of the Camorra seeks melodramatic
revenge. But who cares? The individual incidents hold the
attention, they are well told, and afford a surprising variety of
adventures. They range from the capture in broad daylight
of a gold vase from the British Museum, and its presentation
in a biscuit box as a jubilee gift to the queen, to the purloining
of a Velasquez from the parvenu who for a song has bought
it of the owner’s scapegrace son.

Here are narrow escapes, as well as daring thefts. The hand
of the rogue thrust through the hole he has cut in a door is
caught by elated schoolboys. When apprehended for stealing
the emperor’s pearl he dives from an ocean steamer. He wounds
RAFFLES AND COMPANY 517

and chloroforms himself to color the escape of a blackmailer.
He is bound and gagged before a clock arranged to discharge a
revolver at a certain hour. He evades the police by pretended
invalidism, and a former sweetheart by a feigned death and
funeral. Few of these tricks hark back to the literature of
roguery, as does by exception the use of duplicate boxes for
the stealing of jewels in “No Sinecure.” They are chiefly
imaginative inventions, careless of the facts of criminology. A
romantic glamour, indeed, is upon every exploit. Raffles admits
having queried on entering the lists, “Why settle down to
some humdrum uncongenial billet, when excitement, romance,
danger, and a decent living were all going begging together ?”

Just this combination of danger, romance, and excitement
is well exemplified in such a story as “To Catch a Thief.” Here
Raffles plays the detective as well as the rogue, selects Lord
Ernest Belville as the mysterious society robber, discovers his
loot concealed in a pair of Indian clubs, and surprised by his
rival, captures and releases him, only to be followed and cap-
tured in turn. Then, at dead of night in the midst of a thunder-
storm, Raffles dodges Lord Ernest on the roofs, and in a light-
ning flash sees him tumble down the gulf of an alley to death.

In the face of such plausible roguery and of Raffles’s occa-
sional heroism, Thackeray’s wholesome advice in “Catherine”
is worth remembering: “Let your rogues in novels act like
rogues, and your honest men like honest men; don’t let us have
any juggling and thimblerigging with virtue and vice, so that,
at the end of three volumes, the bewildered reader shall not
know which is which; don’t let us find ourselves kindling at
the generous qualities of thieves, and sympathizing with the
rascalities of noble hearts.”

Raffles has not only achieved the distinction of a burlesque
in John Kendrick Bangs’s “‘Mrs. Raffles, the Adventures of an
518 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Amateur Crackswoman” (1905), related by Bunny, but he has
furnished inspiration for various light-hearted tales, loosely
bound together, and designed as an offset to the literature of
crime-detection. Miriam Michelson’s “In the Bishop’s Car-
riage” (1903) presents a resourceful thief in Nance Olden,
whose audacity in roguery is her charm.

Decked in another woman’s cloak and with a man’s watch hid in
her waist, she steps into the waiting carriage of a bishop and feigns
sleep. When he enters she awakes to embrace him as her long-expected
papa, and then to express chagrin at her pretended error. To shield him
from scandal, she poses as the demented victim of overstudy, and then
to elude the physician who will expose her shamming, she exchanges
clothes with a servant, and having ushered him in, speeds away to safety.
In the guise of a hotel bell-boy she pockets a guest’s diamonds, yet in
escaping is forced to impersonate the attendant of an invalid, who
kindly assists in the subterfuge. She detects the bishop’s wife in shop-
lifting, and by feigning herself an employee of the establishment secures
the spoils for her own. Then a theatrical manager finds her robbing his
flat, perceives her histrionic ability, sends away the policeman he had
summoned, and engages her upon the spot.

From this moment Nance Olden’s reform is assured. She may steal
the jewels of a fellow actress, but in a fit of remorse she carries them to
her benefactor and confesses. The scoundrel lover who had first led her
into temptation escapes from prison confirmed in brutality, and she
can care for him no longer. More and more she comes to admire her
generous manager. When he is worsted in fighting the theatrical trust,
she apparently goes over to the enemy, but it is only to steal from a rival
the paper that saves her friend. Fortune smiles, and at last the happy
manager marries his reformed protégée.

In “The Wire Tappers” (1906) Arthur Stringer pleads the
case of an electrician who nurses a dream of conveying pictures
by telegraph, but who pending its realization is induced by a
crook, MacNutt, to apply his science to thieving. Clever Jim
Durkin becomes an expert in professional roguery, falls in love
with his fair accomplice, and finds in MacNutt a rival. Just
how dangerous this rival can be is not shown until MacNutt
RAFFLES AND COMPANY 519

in revenge calls up the unhappy Durkin on the telephone
that he may hear the cries of his sweetheart, as she is mur-
dered. Needless to say, the villain is foiled at the last moment,
and the lovers elude the police. Then they sail away to begin
life anew, and incidentally to take breath for fresh and more
honest doings in a sequel, “Phantom Wires” (1907).

Equally modern in picaresque features are “The Electric
Theft” (1905), by Neil Wynn Williams, and such fantastic
tales as compose Henry A. Hering’s “The Burglars’ Club”
(1906) and Nelson Lloyd’s “The Robberies Company, Lim-
ited” (1906). The last sets forth the amusing successes of an
association of philosophic thieves who argue that superfluous
wealth is the worst of all evils, and who in relieving the rich of
this burden frankly demand the thanks of their victims. As
for “The Burglars’ Club,” its members are not socialists, but
bachelors of cultivation, wearied with the normal pleasures
of life, and craving fresh excitement. Their fee of initiation is
a town burglary, and the dues of the club are burglaries in the
provincial line at stated intervals.

This idea of the gentleman thief, inspired by the gallant
Raffles, finds expression as well in “The Social Highwayman”
(1905), by Elizabeth Phipps Train. Here Jenkins Hanby, an
ex-convict, engages as valet with the elegant Courtice Jaffray,
who preys upon the surplus possessions of luxurious friends.
After exciting adventures wherein the valet plays an excellent
second, suspicion fixes for the first time upon the social high-
wayman. The valet protests that he alone is at fault, but Jaffray
rejects the sacrifice. He confesses to the sleight-of-hand by
which he has lived at his ease, and escapes the consequences
through death by a merciful accident.

The roguish valet, a survival of the Spanish picaresque
scheme, reappears in Arthur Train’s “McAllister and his
520 ROGUERY IN RECENT FICTION

Double ” (1905). This describes amusing episodes from the
life of a clubman so unfortunate as to possess a soft heart and
a thievish servant closely resembling himself.

When Fatty Welch is discharged he enters prison, but on being
released keeps crossing his old master’s track with disastrous results;
for the clubman is often mistaken for the rogue. After spending a
Christmas in “quod” as the result of such an error, McAllister’s sym-
pathies are so far aroused that he cannot but assist in the escape of his
friend from tight places, even when himself acting the amateur detective
with the professional sleuth, Barney Conville.

The extreme of romantic roguery is attained in Sidney
Paternoster’s “The Motor Pirate” (1905) and in its sequel
“The Cruise of the Motor Boat Conqueror” (1906); the one
describing a highwayman who takes toll of his victims from the
shelter of an iron-clad automobile, and the other introducing
a sailor who plies his piratical trade in an invincible nautical
machine. Far better, however, in its combination of romance
and of fact is “The Picaroons” (1904), by Gelett Burgess and
Will Irwin. This fiction in its fantastic interlocking tales catches
the spirit of Stevenson’s “New Arabian Nights,” and adapts
to recent American life the method of the old Spanish picaresque
novel.

Three vagabonds encounter by chance in a San Francisco restaurant
and are pleasantly regaled without charge by Coffee John. A Bohemian
journalist, it seems, having made his fortune by a news syndicate con-
ducted here, has arranged to spread a feast for the first three comers
on each anniversary of his success. When the picaroons have listened
to Coffee John’s reading of their benefactor’s story, each tells in turn
the story of his own career. Coffee John follows suit, and to each gives a
dime, with instructions to return on the ensuing evening to report the
day’s adventures. The telling of these new adventures involves the
recital by the-picaroons of adventures that have been described to
them by six others they have met. Each picaroon with his dime has
won a thousand dollars. But Coffee John, disgusted with the methods
employed, dismisses his guests as rascals past redemption.
RAFFLES AND COMPANY 521

All the tales that fit into this scheme are picaresque. The smart
Harvard Freshman, expelled, turned adrift by his father, now a tramp,
next a jockey’s attendant, then fortunate in crooked racing, and at last a
beggar, is the first picaroon. The second is the gloomy ex-medium,
Vango, haunted by the ghost of a dupe. The third is a cowboy, who in
order to win his sweetheart’s favor enlists for service in the Philippines,
but being refused by the surgeons, allows the circulation of reports of his
heroism in battle, and is exposed and ruined.

The day’s adventures of each are sufficiently melodramatic. The
Freshman smokes, on a wager, forty panatelas won from a slot machine,
gambles in Chinatown with the proceeds, is captured in a police raid,
but receives his thousand of winnings on being released from jail. The
medium falls from a ferryboat, clambers aboard a smuggler’s launch,
assists a quadroon there in removing the corpse of her Chinese husband,
and secures his thousand for finding a clue to the murderers. The cow-
boy pursues to a Turkish bath and identifies by a tattoo mark the
missing husband of a vaudeville actress, and his thousand is won by
impersonating for this rogue the trustee of a large bequest.

Equally roguish are the tales to which each picaroon gives ear, from
the street-car conductor’s story of cheating the company, or the Klon-
diker’s tale of his strange squaw-wife, to the dermograph artist’s recital
of a kidnapping, or the quadroon’s account of opium smuggling, of
fights with highbinders, of Chinese theatrical life, and of the pursuit
of her father by detectives unjustly suspecting him of an outrage. The
vaudeville actress tells of elopement and Bohemian ways; her husband
describes his career in the Philippines, where flirtation with a Spanish
beauty led to his capture by insurgents and enforced desertion from
his regiment; and Coffee John explains his prosperity as the price of
his services in buying off from blackmail a swindling actress who stood
in the way of a rich young gentleman’s marriage.

Unprofessional roguery is the occupation of all these amus-
ing folk, and the indulgent humor of the recital is quite in
the Continental tradition. But “The Picaroons” differs from
its far Spanish ancestors in discarding both satire and the ser-
vice of masters. Like all fictions of the Rafiles group, it deals
only with episodes in the lives of its rascals, and subordinates
the realism of subject-matter to the romanticism of plot.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER XII

1-6

The recent literature of roguery requires small bibliographical
comment. The works themselves are accessible, and the only general
account of them is to be found in such a volume as Ernest A. Baker’s
Descriptive Guide to the Best Fiction (London, 1903). Biographies of
the more important authors may be consulted for criticisms of their
writings. Stevenson literature includes Graham Balfour’s Lije (N. Y.,
1901, 2 vols.), Walter Raleigh’s Robert Louis Stevenson (London, 1895),
H. B. Baildon’s Robert Louis Stevenson (N. Y., 1901), and L. C.
Cornford’s Robert Louis Stevenson (Edinburgh, 1899). Kipling is dis-
cussed in Francis Adams’s Essays in Modernity (1899), in J. W.
Clarke’s Rudyard Kipling (1899), in F. L. Knowles’s Kipling Primer
(1899), and in Richard Le Gallienne’s Rudyard Kipling, a Criticism
(London, 1900). Sir Walter Besant’s Autobiography (N. Y., 1902),
James Douglas’s elaborate monograph, Theodore Watts-Dunton ; Poet,
Novelist, Critic (London, 1904), and Elizabeth Robins Pennell’s Charles
Godfrey Leland (N. Y., 1906, 2 vols.) incidentally notice portions of
the field.

2

The use made of the Gypsy in literature has been little investigated,
but the people and their language have received extensive attention.
Among the best studies are the following: Walter Simson’s History
of the Gipsies (London, 1865; N. Y., 1866) and Gipsy Life (London,
1880); Samuel Roberts’s The Gypsies; their Origin, Continuance, and
Destination (London, 1836); John Hoyland’s Historical Survey of the
Customs, Habits, and Present State of the Gypsies (York, 1816); Paul
Bataillard’s L’apparition des Bohémiens en Europe (1844), and many
later papers; A. F. Pott’s Zigeuner in Europa und Asien (Halle, 1844—
45, 2 vols.); Richard Liebich’s Zigeuner in threm Wesen und in ihrer
Sprache (Leipzig, 1863); Franz von Miklosich’s Zigeuner (Wien, 1874—
78); H. T. Crofton’s English Gipsies under the Tudors (Papers of
BIBLIOGRAPHY 523

the Manchester Literary Club, 1880) and Gipsy. Lije in Lancashire and
Cheshire (ibid., 1877); Hubert Smith’s Tent Lije With English Gipsies
in Norway (London, 1873); Ribton-Turner’s History of Vagrants and
Vagrancy (London, 1887, ch. xxii); Dr. Barbu Constantinescu’s Probe
de Limba si literatura T siganilor (Bucharest, 1878); David MacRitchie’s
Accounts of the Gypsies of India (London, 1886); Francisco de Sales
Mayo’s El Gitanismo (Madrid, 1870); and Sir Richard F. Burton’s
The Jew, the Gypsy, and El Islam (London, 1898). The Gypsy lan-
guage is further studied in Dr. Alexander G. Paspati’s Etudes sur les
Tschinghianés ou Bohémiens de Empire Ottoman (Constantinople,
1870); in Friedrich Miiller’s Beitrage zur Kenniniss der Rom Sprache
(Wien, 1869); in J. Tineo Rebolledo’s “A Chippicalli’”” — Diccionario
Gitano-Espafiol (Granada, 1900); and in The Dialect of the English
Gipsies, by Dr. Bath C. Smart and H. T. Crofton. F. J. Furnivall has
edited Andrew Boorde’s The fyrst boke of the introduction of knowledge
(Early Engl. Teat Soc. Publ., Extra Ser., no. 10, 1870), which con-
tains the earliest Gypsy in print (1542). The Gypsy Lore Society
Journal (Edinburgh, 1888-92, 3 vols.) includes much interesting matter.
Crofton’s Hand-list of Books . . . in English relating to Gypsies appears
there, vol. i, p. 153; and a List of Works Relating to Gipsies is given
in the Bulletin of the New York Public Library, N. Y., July, 1906.

5

The cultivators of the bushranger in fiction are considered in such
works as G. B. Barton’s Poets and Prose Writers of New South Wales
(Sydney, 1866), D. Byrne’s Australian Writers (London, 1896), A. P.
Martin’s Beginnings of an Australian Literature (London, 1898), and
The Development of Australian Literature, by H. G. Turner. For his-
torical facts, consult Charles White’s Convict Life, F. A. Hare’s Last of
the Bushrangers (1892), and Marcus A. H. Clarke’s Stories of Australia
in the Early Days (London, 1897), where figure such picaresque worthies
as Barrington, prince of pickpockets; Jorgenson, king of adventurers;
Michael Howe, the bushranger; Buckley, the escaped convict; and the
perpetrators of the Nelson gold robbery. Major Griffiths’s Mysteries
of Police and Crime (1899, vol. i, pp. 412 ff.) discusses the origin and
notable examples of the bushranger; and early studies of convict life
are made in James Mudie’s Felonry of New South Wales (London,
1837), in George Barrington’s Voyage to Botany Bay (London, 1798),
and in A Sequel to Barrington’s Voyage (London, 1801).
CHAPTER XIII

THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

NCE the first half of the nineteenth century the
literature of roguery has been supplemented and
in part replaced by a new genre. This is the
literature of crime-detection. Tales, novels, and
plays, by the hundred, have presented crimes
venial or revolting, open or obscure, only to focus interest
upon the pursuit of the perpetrator. The criminal has yielded
as hero to the criminal hunter, who may run down his game
by reason of intellectual subtlety, or through physical endur-
ance; who may serve in the uniformed police, or in the ranks
of the plain-clothes officers; who may represent a private
agency, or remain unattached as a brilliant amateur. Whatever
his grade or attainments, however, the detective overshadows
his quarry, the exploitation of roguery ceases to be an end,
its humors are diminished, and as an evil to be overcome it is
raised to its highest power of villainy. Hence the literature of
crime-detection, allied in its negative aspects with the litera-
ture of roguery, diverges from that genre in its positive tenden-
cies. It claims a place in this history, therefore, merely as a
terminus ad quem of the picaresque novel, and its treatment
cannot pretend to be morethan suggestive, much less exhaustive.

The literature of crime-detection is of recent growth because
the historical conditions upon which it depends are modern.
Moreover, its cultivation has been most marked in France
because that country first developed the detective system.

 
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND 525

The Parisian police, established in the fourteenth century
by Charles V, was organized only under Louis XIV. The
first police lieutenant took office in 1667, and showed his mettle
in clearing out the notorious Cour des Miracles. Succeeding
lieutenants — notably De Sartines and Lenoir — employed
ex-criminals as detectors of crime. Private rather than public
spies were used by the political clubs in the Revolution, but
the Directory revived the office of police minister, and during
the Consulate Fouché and Savary systematized espionage to
an extent undreamt of before. Even so, it was left for the
reformed thief, Eugéne Francois Vidocq, to organize the first
official detective bureau. This was in 1817. For the eight years
preceding he had acted as an independent thief-catcher, and
for ten years thereafter he did the state service as chief of the
new Brigade de Sureté. He then retired to manage a private
agency, and when, in 1857, he died, after issuing several anat-
omies of roguery, he left the detective bureau, public and pri-
vate, a fixed institution, conducted by reputable specialists, and
the literature of crime-detection a new and alluring field for
the writer.

In the meantime, England had followed France afar off in
the organization of its police. The inefficient London watch,
established as early as 1285, and bolstered up from time to
time by fresh enactments, had attained the acme of impotence
early in the eighteenth century. The passage, in 1692, of a
law offering state payment for the apprehension of criminals
turned thief-taking to a profitable trade. At first, the law applied
to the apprehension of highwaymen only, but it was presently
extended to embrace all grades of the London thieves, the
rewards being proportioned to the enormity of the crime com-
mitted. The most notable result of this law was the rise of
Jonathan Wild. As a private detective Wild systematically
526 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

incited to crime, and then when the moment was ripe, and
when his victims had done their worst and could be sold at
| best profit, he would pounce upon them, to reap a harvest, not
g only of blood-money, but of fees for the return of stolen goods.
The Bow Street runners, who were the first professional de-
tectives, proved scarcely more reputable in their methods.
It was not to their interest to prevent crime, and the great
fortunes left by several bear witness to their practices. In vain
Henry Fielding, the novelist, and his blind half-brother, Sir
John Fielding, attempted police reform at Bow Street. The
horse patrol, suggested by the latter, lapsed with the conclusion
of his tenure of office, and the venality of the police increased.
In 1815 £80,000 was paid in rewards as a virtual subsidy from
the state for the encouragement of crime.

Although in 1798 a river police was organized, it was not
until 1829 that Sir Robert Peel succeeded in overcoming public
opposition to the establishment of a thorough-going metropol-
itan police system. Even then, so fearful were Englishmen
lest their liberties be compromised, that vigorous protests were
offered in Parliament against the practice of employing spies.
As a result, detectives in plain clothes were not introduced until
1842. Then, only twelve were appointed. The number was
soon increased, however, and in 1878, because of the De Gon-
court scandal, Howard Vincent completely reorganized the
system, and created at Scotland Yard the present Criminal
Investigation Department.

Now the literature of crime-detection rests in part upon

: lenis historical basis, and in part upon the literary need for
I! varying the old picaresque formula. Anti-heroes pure and
simple are sure to weary. Their range of deed and feeling is
narrow. Morally they alienate sympathy; intellectually they
compare unfavorably with the trained detector of crime. This
VIDOCQ 527

new figure was accordingly seized upon as offering a welcome
substitute for the hackneyed rogue. He permitted the same
graphic portrayal of low-life, but he increased the sensational
features of that portrayal, and gratified a common instinct for
mystery. As the agent of outraged society he appealed to the
moralist; as the disentangler of practical problems of human
deed and motive he appealed to the analyst; as a substitute for
the fate of the Greeks he appealed to the artist. In short, the
appearance of the detective in fact supplied a pretext for re-
versing the point of view of the literature of roguery.

Within the realm of fiction the police hero had long been
maturing; it was only necessary that a Vidocq should issue
his “Mémoires” (1828-29) for the literary transition from
rogue to detective to be definitely effected. It is Vidocq, more
than any other, indeed, who in letters as in life marks the pro-
gress from the anti-hero to the hero. Vidocq’s “Mémoires”
was followed by a “Supplément” (1830), by a descriptive
treatise, “Les Voleurs: Physiologie de leurs Mceurs et de
leur Langage” (1837); by such volumes of information and
advice as “Ficlaircissements Donnés au Commerce sur les
Manceuvres Captieuses des Filous” (1840) and “Quelques
Mots sur une Question a L’Ordre du Jour” (1844), and by
other criminal studies edited by various hands.’ The “Mé-
moires”’ was at once done into English, and many editions
appeared both in England and in America. Balzac was in-
debted to Vidocq for the creation of his Vautrin; and Vau-
trin in turn inspired the plot of Dickens’s “Great Expecta-
tions.”

Balzac’s “Histoire des Treize” (1833-34), “Splendeurs et

1 E. g., Les vrais mystéres de Paris (1844), arranged by Alfred Lucas,
and Les chauffeurs du Nord (1845-46), arranged by Auguste Vitu. Vi-
docq’s Mémoires and Supplément were edited by L. F. L’Héritier and
by Maurice Descombes.
628 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

Miséres des Courtisanes” (1838-46), and “Ténébreuse Affaire”
(1841) presented the police hero in various aspects. Dumas
put forward his M. Jackal in “Les Mohicans de Paris” as
one of the earliest of the type, but Hugo’s Javert had been
conceived and drawn at nearly the same time, although “Les
Misérables” did not see the light until 1862. Eugene Sue,
who in “Kernock le Pirate” (1830), “Les Sept Péchés Capi-
taux” (1847-49), and similar works had begun to study rogues,
wrote a criminal epic in his famous “Les Mystéres de Paris”
(1842-48), which incidentally exhibits the Prince de Gérolstein
assuming the réle of amateur detective. Xavier de Montépin
in his novel and his play, “La Siréne”’ (1856), showed a police
agent whose son as detective succumbs to the wiles of a siren
in order the better to entrap her; and in a series of volumes
published between 1863 and 1866 the same author continued to
set forth the careers of policemen and of criminals."

Paul Bocage in 1862 wrote ‘“‘Les Puritains de Paris,” intro-
ducing the detective Fagon. About the same time E. L. A.
Brisebarre and Eugéne Nus, who had each earlier dealt with
rogues,” produced their two-part police drama, “La Route &
Mélun” and “Le Retour de Brest,” later adapted in English
by Tom Taylor as “The Ticket-of-Leave Man,” and notable
for its detective, Hawkshaw. Paul Féval, who in “Les Habits
Noirs” celebrated a gentleman burglar, may be looked upon as
the originator of the type distinguished in “The Silver King,”
in “The Amateur Cracksman,” and in “The Social Highway-
man;” but he knew his secret police better even than his

1Cf£. Les enfers de Paris, La fille du forcat, Les métamorphoses de
crimes, Les mystéres du Palais Royal, Les tragédies paristennes, Les pi-
rates de la Seine, Bob le pendu, and La fille du meutrier.

2 In Jacques le corsaire (1844), by Nus and Desnoyers; and in Monseigneur,
ou les voleurs en 1720 (1844), by Brisebarre, Dumanoir, and Anicet-Bour-
geois.
GABORIAU 529

criminals, as witness “Les Mystéres de Londres,” which saw
twenty editions, and “L’Histoire des Tribunaux Secrets” and
“La Rue de Jérusalem,” which, if less popular, were more
accurate still in detail.

It was left for Emile Gaboriau, however, to perfect the litera-
ture of crime-detection in France. In a succession of novels,
from “L’Affaire Lerouge” (1866) to “La Corde au Cou,”
published in the year of his death (1873), as well as in two
posthumous tales — “L’Argent des Autres” (1874) and “La
Dégringolade” (1876) — this prolific author developed his fa-
mous detectives, Lecoq the professional, and Pére Tabaret
the amateur. Both agree in the infinite zest and patience with
which they track down criminals. They are not so much ana-
lysts as blood-hounds, keen on the scent from the first rumor
of crime, and untiring in the chase. Action with them is every-
thing. They cannot rest until their prey be found. Unlike
Poe’s Dupin, they indulge in no calm diagnosis of the case at
home, and prepare r no carefully constructed theory to be. wrought
out by ‘others. And because they mix immediately with the
world of crime, the account of their exploits is invariably melo-
dramatic.

Gaboriau drew his inspiration from Vidocq, Balzac, and the
Archives of the Rue de Jérusalem, — that arsenal of criminal
records capable of furnishing forth a whole army of novelists.
His method is to open the story with the discovery of the crime
to be considered and with a presentation of its mysterious
features. Then the pursuit of certain clues leads the detective
to fasten suspicion upon some one scarcely to have been sus-
pected by the reader. Here the thread of narrative is usually
broken by a long excursion into the family history of the sus-
pect. This injects many new elements into the problem. The
detective next reviews the case, his conclusions are confirmed,
530 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

and his chase leads him through harrowing experiences to
successful capture. Frequently Gaboriau dwells overmuch
upon the intercalated history of his criminal, developing the
motives that produced the crime in so great detail as to obscure
the interest in crime-detection. Such passages, however, show
the influence of the picaresque rather than of the detective
formula, and they tacitly acknowledge the close relationship
between the two.

Gaboriau’s novels gained immediate vogue, not only in
France, but in America as well, where Christern, a New York
importer of foreign books, was quick to perceive their possibil-
ities in translation. Adaptations appeared in the Sunday news-
papers under alluring and alliterative titles, such as “Crimson
Crime” for “L’Affaire Lerouge,” “Dark Deeds” for “Le
Crime d’Orcival,” “Manhattan Unmasked” for “Les Esclaves
de Paris,” and “The Steel Safe” for “Le Dossier No. 113.”
The last enjoyed especial popularity because issued in the
wake of a similar and actual New York mystery, and made
to conform in part to its features. Imitation followed transla-
tion, and henceforth the melodramatic literature of crime-
detection was firmly intrenched as a favorite with the masses.

Long before the day of Gaboriau, however, Edgar Allan Poe
had experimented in the genre. Fascinated as he was with the
gruesome/and mysterious, and gifted beyond others in devising
tales of terror, he nevertheless eschewed melodrama in his
detective stories and emphasized _ratiocination. To tell the
truth, . his temperament was analytical as well as romantic, and
delight in theorizing suggested to him the character of Dupin,
the first purely intellectual detective.

Poe began his career as editor of “Graham’s Magazine”
by publishing there his “Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841).
The crime in this tale is sufficiently horrible. A mother and a
POE 531

daughter have been brutally slain. The attendant circum-
stances are seemingly inexplicable. The professional police are
baffled. At this point Dupin, the quiet amateur, intervenes.
He weighs all the factors in the case, and concludes that the
deed was done by an ourang-outang. His conclusions astonish
the police, but receive confirmation in the confession of the
animal’s master. Here attention is focused upon the crime
only in so far as it gives opportunity for the display of Dupin’s
powers of induction. The strange voice that has been heard, the
absence of motive, the evidences of superhuman strength and
agility, the marks upon the throat of one victim, and the mysteri-
ous entrance and escape of the perpetrator by a lightning rod
are elements that Dupin artfully notes and weaves into a theory.
There is no breathless pursuitof the animal; there are no hair-
breadth escapes for the detective. He simply solves a riddle.
He does much as Poe himself later did when he correctly un-
raveled the involved plot of “Our Mutual Friend” long before
that novel’s conclusion.

A year after the publication of Poe’s first detective story
he issued in the same magazine two others, — “The Mystery
of Marie Rogét” and “The Purloined Letter.”” The former
reflects the unexplained murder in 1842 of Mary Rogers, a
New York cigar-maker. Poe’s conclusions were later corrobo-
rated by the confessions of twoaccomplices in the actual crime.
Marie Rogét, the Parisian grisette,isfound floating in the Seine.
The endeavors of the police prove futile, and Dupin’s assist-
ance is sought. With a few clues, such as a strip of cloth tied
about the girl’s neck in a knot known only to sailors, and the
disappearance of a boat, Dupin fastens the deed upon a hitherto
unsuspected naval officer.

“The Purloined Letter,” Poe’s third and best story of the
kind, remains a masterpiece of the genre. Here not even a trace
532 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

of melodrama lingers. A compromising letter has been filched
from a high personage by an intriguing minister. The Parisian
prefect of police, after vainly searching the minister’s house
and even his person, appeals in despair to Dupin. The latter
promises to procure the missing letter by the next day, and true
to his word, hands it over at the time appointed. Then he ex-
plains to the friend who narrates the story the method that has
enabled him to perform this feat. It is as simple as it is logical.
The prefect is merely a mathematician; the successful detector
of crime must be a poet as well. He must be able to project
himself by means of imagination into the personality of the
criminal he is hunting. Only thus can he hope to understand the
precautions any criminal will take. The minister must have
appreciated the prefect’s limitations and the dull invariable-
ness of his mathematical methods. He was certain therefore to
have given the purloined letter the most prominent place in
his apartment. The prefect overlooked it because convinced
@ priori that it must be in the most secret of places. Dupin,
having deduced so much from his knowledge of the characters
of both, needed only to call upon the minister, to observe the
letter, to imitate its external appearance, and in a second visit
to contrive an exchange.

Poe, like Gaboriau, found disciples; but where many could
follow the Frenchman, few were able to catch the art of the
American. The detective fiction read by the masses has of
course largely adopted the methods of Gaboriau. But there
has been a constant tendency to rise from the sensational to
the analytical; and from a combination of the two a third type
has resulted. Its purpose is to gratify the reader’s taste for the
ghastly, the tragic, or the criminal, and at the same time to
propose a mystery whose solution shall exercise all his intellec-
tual ingenuity.
SENSATION AND ANALYSIS COMBINED _ 533

The supreme example of this mingling of the sensational
and the analytical is to be seen in the stories concerning Sher-
lock Holmes; but as early as 1864 “The Autobiography of a
London Detective” and the “Experiences of a French Detec-
tive Officer,” by “Waters,” author of “Undiscovered Crimes,”
combined the two. Such French and English adventures were
supplemented in 1865 by an American contribution — “Leaves
from the Note-Book of a New York Detective,” — detailing
episodes in the career of James Brampton, whose powers of
quiet observation and analysis were especially emphasized; and
to the same group belongs the “Strange Stories of a Detective
Officer, or Curiosities of Crime,” by an ex-detective.

Since the sixties the output of detective fiction has increased
amazingly. The mystery tales of Miss Braddon, of Edmund
Yates, and of Wilkie Collins have been succeeded by countless
volumes presenting the detective in every situation and endowed
with all possible virtues. Now he is of a low social order, like
the immensely popular Old Sleuth, Old Rafferty, Chink the
Chinese Detective, Ferret the Man of a Million Disguises, or
Butts the Boy Detective. Again, he is of a somewhat higher
class, like the active Mr. Gryce of Anna Katherine Green’s
cultivation; and occasionally he appears as a patrician of the
school of Dupin and Sherlock Holmes.

Policemen and laymen have composed these stories; the
literary hack, the secret-service officer, and the reputable novel-
ist vying in attempts to catch the public ear. Allan Pinkerton,
founder of a noted private agency, issued in the seventies and

eighties a whole series of such volumes ;' and to the same class

1 E.g., The Gypsies and the Detectives; The Expressman and the De-
tective; The Molly Maguires and the Detectives; Strikers, Communists,
Tramps, and Detectives ; The Model Town and the Detectives ; The Spiritual-
ists and the Detectives; The Detective and the Somnambulist ; Professional
Thieves and the Detective; Claude Melnotte as Detective ; and Thirty Years
534 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

belong George S. McWatters’s “Knots Untied, or Ways and
By-Ways in the Hidden Life of American Detectives” (1871),
Captain George P. Burnham’s “Memoirs of the United
States Secret Service ” (1872), and J. H. Warren’s “Thirty
Years’ Battle with Crime”’ (1875), depicting ‘the shame of New
York under the glare of an old detective’s lantern.” More
recently, Inspector Griffiths of Scotland Yard has drawn crimi-
nal life from the detective’s point of view in “Fast and Loose,”
in “In Tight Places,” in “The Passenger from Calais,” and
in “The Rome Express ;” Lieutenant Carmichael has written
his “ Personal Adventures of a Detective;” Victor H. Speer
has edited “The Memoirs of a Great Detective,” relating inci-
dents from the career of John Wilson Murray, a Canadian
secret-bureau chief; and lovers of mystery have been regaled
with Cleveland Moffett’s “True Detective Stories,” based upon
“the archives of the Pinkertons,” with “Fifteen Detective
Stories by the Police Captains of New York,” and with Alfred
Henry Lewis’s “'The Confessions of a Detective.”

The transition from professedly realistic studies to pure
fiction is marked by the frequent collaboration of the police
official and the littérateur. Julian Hawthorne, for example,
has issued a series of police novels purporting to be taken from
the diary of Inspector Thomas Byrnes of New York, and includ-
ing such volumes as “A Tragic Mystery,” “The Great Bank
Robbery,” ‘The Fatal Letter,” and “An American Penman.”
The last may be described as typical of its kind. A Russian
count is arrested upon suspicion of having attempted the robbery
of a New York bank-messenger. He is really the victim of
others, and Inspector Byrnes, to whom he relates the story of
his life, at once engages him as a special detective to run down

a Detective, a Thorough and Comprehensive Exposé of Criminal Practition-
ers of all Grades and Classes. The last is a veritable anatomy of roguery.
THE DETECTIVE ON THE STAGE 535

in Europe a band of swindlers, chief of whom is a noted Amer-
ican forger. This fellow and his crew are the very rogues who
have brought misfortune upon the count in the past. Asso-
ciated with them against her will is the count’s former sweet-
heart. Plotand counterplot result in the rout of the rascals; and
the lady in the case, refusing to betray her accomplices, takes
poison after confessing that the report of the confiscation of the
count’s estates has been a canard. Restored to wealth and to
good name, the amateur detective relieves the poverty of the
banker who had first cast suspicion on him, and weds the
banker’s daughter.

Dickens in his later fiction acknowledged the spell of the
mystery tale; Stevenson in “The Wrecker” sought to vary
and amplify the type; ? and Mark Twain, although he has bur-
lesqued it amusingly in “A Double-Barrelled Detective Story”
(1902), which carries Sherlock Holmes to a Western mining-
camp, earlier cultivated it in “Tom Sawyer, Detective” (1894)
and in ‘“Pudd’nhead Wilson” (1894). Wilson, a dry-witted
eccentric with a hobby for collecting the thumb imprints of his
neighbors, at last turns their laughter to admiration when by
means of such autographs he unravels a murder tangle in court.
This novel has been dramatized, as have many others involving
the appearance of crime-detectors. Plays of the first half of the
nineteenth century, dealing with old-fashioned thief-takers like
Jonathan Wild and Vidocq, have been supplemented by the
racier stage-presentations of a Hawkshaw or a Captain Red-
wood. Yet, except for William Gillette’s acting version of the
adventures of Sherlock Holmes, it may safely be said that the

1In Bleak House, in Great Expectations, in Our Mutual Friend, in
Hunted Down, and in The Mystery of Edwin Drood, as well as in such
sketches as The Detective-Police, Three Detective Anecdotes, On Duty With

Inspector Field, and Down With the Tide; ef. ante, pp. 424-427,
2 Cf. ante, pp. 473, 474.
536 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

literature of crime-detection has profited little from the labors
of the dramatists. The detective of the stage is perforce less an
analyst than an active and sensational police officer, and fiction
remains the proper sphere for the unfolding of the mystery plot.

The ranks of the more recent writers of such fiction contain
some for whom its creation has become a profession. Prominent
among those who have followed the vein with consistent devo-
tion are B. L. Farjeon, Rodrigues Ottolengui, Fergus Hume,
Headon Hill [F. Grainger], J. E.P. Muddock, and Anna Kath-
erine Green [Mrs. Charles Rohlfs].'| Others have lent their
pens to the literature of crime-detection but occasionally, as
have Julian Hawthorne, William Hudson in “The Dugdale
Millions,” George R. Sims in “Dorcas Dene, Detective” and

1 The list of novels and short story collections by these authors includes
the following: Great Porter Square, The Mystery of M. Felix, For the
Defense, Something Occurred, Widow Cherry, or the Mystery of Roaring
Meg, The Tragedy of Featherstone, and Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square,
by Farjeon; An Artist in Crime, Conflict of Evidence, The Crime of the
Century, A Modern Wizard, and Final Proof, or the Value of Evidence,
by Ottolengui; The Crime of the Liza Jane, The Mystery of a Hansom
Cab, Tracked by a Tattoo, The Carbuncle Clue, The Crimson Cryptogram,
Shylock of the River, The Crime of the Crystal, A Creature of the Night,
For the Defense, The Clock Struck One, and Hagar of the Pawn-Shop, by
Hume; Clues from a Detective Camera, Clues from the Notebook of Zam-
bra the Detective, The One Who Saw, Millions of Mischief, By a Hair’s
Breadth, and The Avengers, by Hill; Detective’s Triumphs, From Clue to
Capture, From Information Received, Inthe Grip of the Law, Link by Link,
Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan? Tracked to Doom, Suspicions Aroused, Tales
of Terror, Chronicles of Michael Danevitch of the Russian Secret Service, and
Records of Vincent Trill of the Detective Service,by Muddock. Mrs. Rohlfs’s
contributions to the genre comprise The Leavenworth Case, A Strange Dis-
appearance, The Sword of Damocles, Hand and Ring, The Mill Mystery,
Marked ‘* Personal,” Miss Hurd : an Enigma, Behind Closed Doors, Cyn-
thia Wakeham’s Money, Dr. Izard’s Old Stone House, and Other Stories ;
7to 12; X,Y,Z; The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock; That Affair Next
Door, Lost Man's Lane, A Difficult Problem, and Other Stories; One of
My Sons, The Filigree Ball, The Circular Study, The House in the Mist,
The Millionaire Baby, The Amethyst Box, and a dramatization of The
Leavenworth Case.
CONAN DOYLE 537

“In London’s Heart,” David Christie Murray in “A Dan-
gerous Catspaw” and “A Race for Millions,” Robert W.
Chambers in “A Tracer of Lost Persons,” S. M. Gardenshire
in “The Long Arm,” Robert Barr in “The Triumphs of
Eugene Valmont,” E. §. De Pue in ‘“‘Dr. Nicholas Stone,”
R. W. Kauffman in “Miss Frances Baird, Detective,” F. M.
White in ‘The Crimson Blind,” Jacques Futrelle in “The
Thinking Machine,” and Arthur Morrison in ‘Martin
Hewitt, Investigator,” “The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt,”
“The Adventures of Martin Hewitt,” and ‘The Red Tri-
angle.” But of all these makers of detective fiction the avowed
sovereign is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If his literary activity
has by no means been confined to this province, at least his
successes within it have brought him his chief distinction, since
they have determined the later development of a whole genre.

Doyle’s supremacy is due in part to the fact that he has made
himself the heir of what was best in his predecessors. From Poe
he has taken the analytical element, from Gaboriau the sensa-
tional. Where Dupin was sheer reason, and Lecoq sheer energy,
Sherlock Holmes is reason governing energy, and energy
marked by quiet nonchalance. The virtues of Dupin and of
Lecoq unite in him, but he is more plausible than Dupin, be-
cause by hypothesis a man of exact scientific knowledge, and
more plausible than Lecoq, because his success is the outcome
of his qualities rather than the result of mere chance. In the
matter of construction, also, Doyle has availed himself of Poe’s
concise presentation, and of Gaboriau’s favorite device of inter-
rupting the main narrative to insert the history of the criminal,
by way of explaining his motives.

But literary influence was not alone responsible for Holmes’s
characteristics. During Doyle’s medical apprenticeship in
Edinburgh he was impressed by the analytical powers of one
538 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

of his professors. In lecturing to a class Dr. J oseph Bell would
supplement his diagnosis by brilliant inferences regarding his
patient’s manner of life, character, and past, — all based upon
trifles. This Dupin of actuality provided a living model more
potent perhaps than literary tradition in shaping Doyle’s clever
hero. At all events, Sherlock Holmes made his bow to the public
in 1887 in a novel published in “Beeton’s Christmas Annual.”
This was “‘A Study in Scarlet.” It is largely analytical. Dr.
Watson, the narrator, corresponds to the recorder of Dupin’s
feats, and is used, not only to tell the story, but also to take the
edge from the reader’s incredulity by his own oft-expressed as-
tonishment. When Holmes investigates the scene and circum-
stances of a murder that has baffled the police, Watson regards
his actions with wonder, and on retiring from the place is
amazed to receive from Holmes a detailed description of the
criminal and of his deed. Then the culprit is caught, and proves
to be exactly as prefigured by Holmes, and there follows an
account of the events leading up to the crime in the manner of
Gaboriau.

Two years later appeared “The Sign of Four,” which resorts
more deliberately to the sensational. Here a mysterious treasure-
chest, four Hindoos, an Indian captain, a major, a wooden-
legged murderer and thief, and a poisoned thorn, are used to
perplex the action, until only the acute inductions of Holmes
can bring peace to the mind of the reader. Successive complica-
tions render the detective’s feat more remarkable, and the flame
of excitement, kindled by the original crime, is constantly re-
plenished as the pursuit of the guilty gives rise to fresh situations
that startle.

The mingling of melodrama with analysis becomes still more
marked in “The Hound of the Baskervilles” (1902). Legend
declares that the descendants of wicked Sir Hugo Baskerville
SHERLOCK HOLMES 539

are doomed to be haunted and killed by a phantom hound. The
mysterious death of Sir Charles seems to confirm the story. His
heir fears to take up residence upon the lonely moors lest the
same fate await him; but Holmes, when called into consulta-
tion, laughs at the legend. Investigation convinces him that the
criminal concerned in the case is a scheming descendant of
another branch of the family, who seeks the extinction of the
direct heirs. An attempt to seize the criminal red-handed gives
rise to an exciting scene. Holmes and Watson, in ambush by
night upon the moor, await the coming of the great hound that
gleams with a strange light. They discharge their weapons at
the phantom as it sweeps past, and Holmes in pursuit lays it low
just as it springs at the throat of the young heir. Then the mys-
tery is solved, for the hound proves to have been coated with
phosphorus. His master has vanished, but a treacherous bog
sufficiently accounts for his disappearance.

Even more characteristic, however, than these longer fictions
are the thirty-six tales comprised in ‘The Adventures of Sher-
lock Holmes” (1891), “The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes”
(1893), and “The Return of Sherlock Holmes” (1904). Here
the technique of the short story of crime-detection reaches its
acme, and every phase of mystery and of solution is exhibited.
Although several of the tales are told by the detective himself,
Dr. Watson as a rule acts the admiring Boswell to his friend,
chronicling these cases ostensibly to illustrate Holmes’s qualities
of mind. Usually the account opens with Watson’s calling upon
Holmes at Baker Street. There he receives an incidental demon-
stration of the great man’s analytic powers, or listens to the
general features of some mystery. The bell rings, and a client
enters. If Holmes has not already informed Watson of this
client’s business, the visitor explains it from the beginning, but
if the matter has already been broached he adduces fresh details.
540 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

Then, when the detective has engaged to look into the affair,
his client leaves, and later Holmes, alone or in company with
Watson, journeys to the scene of the crime, surveys it carefully,
and meets and interviews various suspects. The solution of the
problem may be reached at home, or else upon the spot after
exciting manceuvres. In either event Holmes loves a surprising
dénouement. So he smokes out the Norwood builder from his
hiding place, shows the troubled diplomat a stolen document
in the very treasure-box from which it has been taken, paints a
missing race-horse and runs him in a steeple-chase beneath the
unsuspecting owner’s eyes, or serves up in a dish at breakfast
the Naval Treaty, whose loss has threatened the breakfaster
with ruin.

Sometimes what has seemed no more than an odd mystery
proves the preliminary to a crime perpetrated during the course
of the story, and Holmes, in the light of what has gone before,
is enabled to explain the problem where others fail. This is the
case in such tales as “The Red-Headed League,” ‘“‘The Five
Orange Pips,” ‘‘The Stock-Broker’s Clerk,” ‘The Resident
Patient,” “The Adventure of the Dancing Men,” “The Ad-
venture of the Six Napoleons,” and “The Adventure of the
Second Stain.” More often the crime has already been com-
mitted. Then it is Holmes’s duty to exonerate some one wrong-
fully suspected of the deed, as happens in “The Boscombe
Valley Mystery,” in ‘The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet,”
in “Silver Blaze,” in “The Crooked Man,” and in “The
Adventure of Black Peter.” He may even succeed in proving
that no crime has been done, as in “‘A Case of Mistaken Iden-
tity,” in “The Crooked Man,” and in ‘‘The Man with the
Twisted Lip,” or he may apprehend the criminal, as he does the
burglar who is burrowing into a bank vault, the thief who has
concealed a blue carbuncle in a goose, that other thief who slips
SHERLOCK HOLMES 541

the black pearl of the Borgias into a soft plaster cast, the seaman
who has slain his old enemy, the father and son who have mur-
dered their servant, or the professor’s wife, who having killed
her husband’s secretary, and, being discovered hidden in a
wardrobe, swallows poison. More than once, however, Holmes,
although he unearths the criminal, conceals that fact from the
police, and allows his quarry freedom, believing that a higher
law of justice has warranted this mercy.

Although Holmes is primarily an analyst, he now and then
proves as active as the detective of the purely sensational school.
When in “A Scandal in Bohemia” he seeks to regain for a
noble personage compromising letters held by an adventuress,
he pursues the lady to her secret wedding, comes forward to
serve as a witness to the ceremony, then disguises as a clergy-
man, arranges a dispute before her house, and has Watson raise
a cry of fire without, so that, when the lady rushes to secure her
papers from the supposed danger, he may observe their place
of concealment. In ‘‘The Final Problem” he dresses as a
decrepit Italian priest, in order to elude the insidious Moriarty,
with whom, however, he presently engages in a hand-to-hand
struggle on the brink of a Swiss precipice. In “‘The Adventure
of the Empty House” he amazes Watson by appearing in the
guise of an old book-worm, when supposed to have lost his life,
and then leads in the capture of Moriarty’s lieutenant, who is
shooting with an air-gun at an illusive silhouette of Holmes
rigged up in an opposite window. In “The Adventure of Mil-
verton,” Holmes and Watson, in quest of certain documents,
boldly break into the mansion of a blackmailer and chancing
to witness there his murder by an irate mistress, burn the con-
tents of his safe, and escape.

Occasionally, by contrast, Holmes does little or nothing.
Thus, in ‘‘The Yellow Face” he offers an explanation of a
542 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

mystery, but when upon closer investigation the truth emerges,
he is as much surprised as his client. In ‘The Adventure of the
Engineer’s Thumb,” a den of coiners that he seeks is revealed
before he has had a chance to act, and the criminals themselves
escape. In “The ‘Gloria Scott,” moreover, he merely re-
counts to Watson the story of a convict mutiny aboard a brig
bound for Australia, and the later hounding to death of one of
the convicts, who, having reformed and grown prosperous, is
recognized by a sailor of the expedition.

It is in the more analytical tales, however, that Holmes ap-
pears at his best. ‘‘Problems,” he declares, “‘may be solved in
the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solu-
tion by the aid of their senses.” He rails at his biographer for
having slurred over ‘‘work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in
order to develop sensational details which may excite, but can-
not possibly instruct, the reader.” His only emotion is the plea-
sure born of the chase, or the pride that is fed by success. His
closest approach to love is admiration for the woman sharper
who outwits him. If he delights to astonish the uninitiated by
his prowess, or to patronize Inspectors Lestrade and Stanley
Hopkins of Scotland Yard, he evinces no desire for public no-
toriety, rarely accepts payment for his services, and is content
that his professional rivals shall profit by what he himself has
achieved. The intellectual satisfaction of having resolved an
enigma is his sufficient reward. Watson declares him to be “‘the
most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world
has seen.”

Specifically, Holmes is a student of facts and of character,
and a specialist in many odd sciences. He keeps a register of the
biographies of notables and of rogues for ready reference. With
his microscope he can point the significance of every footprint
and scratch, or recognize every variety of cigar ash. He is an
SHERLOCK HOLMES 543

expert in identifying handwriting, thus being enabled to resolve
“The Reigate Puzzle” by proving that the words scrawled
across a paper found in the clasp of a murdered coachman have
been penned in their alternate letters by two different hands.
He is further a master of every cipher, a reader of palimpsests,
and a research chemist.

Watson at the outset has said, ‘I shall . . . give the prefer-
ence to those cases which derive their interest not so much from
the brutality of the crime, as from the ingenuity and dramatic
quality of the solution;” and later he insists that the facts have
often been commonplace when his friend’s most remarkable
feats of reasoning have been performed. Accordingly it is in the
interpretation of trifles light as air that Holmes is shown to excel.
From a hat he deduces the characteristics of its wearer; from a
golden pince-nez dropped by an assassin he divines its owner
to be a well-dressed lady, whose nose is thick, whose eyes are set
close, whose forehead is puckered, whose expression is peering,
whose shoulders are rounded, and whose record will exhibit at
least two recent visits to an optician. In “The Adventure of the
Abbey Grange” the sediment in one of three wine-glasses, a
severed bell-rope frayed at one end, and a peculiar knot lead
him to conclude that the murder of a brutal nobleman has been
perpetrated by a seafaring lover of the latter’s wife, and not
by the burglars that the lady and her maid describe. In “‘The
Adventure of the Norwood Builder” he proves from the care-
lessness with which a will has been drawn, from the irregu-
larity of the writing, which has evidently been done in a railway
carriage, from bloody thumb prints on a wall, and from meas-
urements which show a secret room in an attic, that the alleged
murder has never been committed. In “The Musgrave Rit-
ual ”— a piece reminiscent of Poe’s “Gold Bug” — Holmes
disengages from an old family catechism explicit directions as
544 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

to the location of a vault where has been hidden the crown of
Charles I. His inference that the ritual has already been deci-
phered by a missing butler is then confirmed as correct, for the
butler is found dead in the vault where he has been shut by
a jealous maid-servant, his accomplice in the hunt for treasure.

Such tales are typical in their mingling of sensation with
analysis, but there are others in which the interest is purely
intellectual. In “‘The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor” the
bride who vanishes during her wedding breakfast is shown by
Holmes to have recognized at the ceremony a husband she had
thought dead, and to have merely rejoined him, leaving her
bridal clothes in a pond to throw pursuers off the scent. In “The
Adventure of the Three Students” the copier of an examination
paper is detected by his unusual height, which alone could
have enabled him to look in at his tutor’s window, by the
strange fainting of the tutor’s porter, which is shown to have
been feigned in order to cover a glove that the culprit, a son of a
former master, had dropped on a chair, and by certain scratches
and cones of clay and sawdust, which are identified as the
traces left by a pair of spiked jumping shoes carried in the hand
of an athlete.

As for the crimes upon which these stories are based, they
vary from murders and thefts to kidnappings and forcible mar-
riages. Warnings of imminent death are conveyed by the five
orange pips of the Ku Klux Klan, by the hieroglyphics known
as the dancing men, and by the footprints observed in the room
of the resident patient. Now an ex-whaling-master is transfixed
in his shanty by one of his own harpoons; now a hydraulic press
closes down on the engineer who has inspected it too curiously.
A gang of swindlers employs the fumes of charcoal to suffocate
recalcitrant captives, and Holmes himself is dragged over a
cliff, apparently to perish. In ‘‘The Speckled Band” a malig-
SHERLOCK HOLMES 545

nant physician, in order to prevent the marriage of a step-
daughter, attempts her murder by the means that have proved
effective in disposing of her sister. At dead of night he introduces
into her room a swamp-adder, which glides down a bell-rope,
and being beaten back by the waiting Holmes, poisons its
manipulator.

Here, also, are thefts of papers and of valuables, a burglary
or two, swindlings, and mysterious appearances and disappear-
ances. In “The Man with the Twisted Lip” a beggar, arrested
on complaint of a lady for having made away with her husband,
proves to be the husband himself, who has gained a livelihood
thus transformed. In “A Case of Mistaken Identity” the girl
who deplores the disappearance of her lover on the eve of mar-
riage learns from Holmes that he is merely her stepfather who
has sought in disguise to engage her affections that she may con-
tinue thereafter unwed, and so secure him in the enjoyment of
her property. In ‘“‘The Adventure of the Copper Beeches”
another rascal, inspired by similar motives, imprisons his step-
daughter, and procures a governess to pose in a window as the
girl, thus deceiving a watching lover into believing her happy
and free. Now a little nobleman is kidnapped from the Priory
School by a wicked half-brother; now a Greek interpreter is
carried off by plotters who require his linguistic services; pre-
sently a lady is seized by aruffian who hopes through marriage to
gain her fortune; and then, in “The Stock-Broker’s Clerk,” a
youth who is lured from the London berth just offered him by
the promise of a better position in Birmingham, finds that his
name and the former place have been assumed by a rascal, in
order to rob the London firm.

Jewels are concealed by thieves in the most unlikely of places;
a beryl coronet is filched from the house of a banker, who be-
lieves his son guilty of the deed, until Holmes fixes the crime on
546 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

the young man’s cousin and her unscrupulous lover; and in
“The Naval Treaty” the theft of that document leaves the
reader’s suspicions to vacillate among several possible culprits,
from the diplomat who has asked that it be copied, and the
porter of the office where the copying has been done, to the
porter’s wife, the copyist’s sweetheart, and the sweetheart’s
brother.

Crime as such, however, counts for little in fiction of this type,
for the more analytical the tale, the less is the figure cut by mere
roguery. In ‘‘The Red-Headed League,” for example, an
amusing mystery and a clever solution are based upon the sim-
plest of facts. An advertisement offering a position to a red-
headed man is shown to a pawnbroker by his clerk. The flaming
locks of the pawnbroker secure him the place, which only re-
quires the copying out in a certain office for a few hours a day
of pages from the “Encyclopedia Britannica.” The pay is ex-
cellent, but one morning the pawnbroker finds his sinecure gone,
for a placard announces the dissolution of the Red-Headed
League. Desiring reinstatement, he consults Holmes, who,
learning that the clerk had come to the pawnbroker for half pay,
and that he had manifested a fondness for developing photo-
graphs in his master’s cellar, calls at the shop, notices the man’s
wrinkled trouser knees, and observes that a bank, located on
another street, adjoins this shop in the rear. Evidently a tunnel
has been dug during the pawnbroker’s enforced absence, and a
burglary is in contemplation. That Holmes and the police then
capture the robbers as they emerge from their burrow is a matter
of minor importance, since it is neither the rogues nor their deed,
but the oddity of clues to the case, and the ingenuity of the de-
tective’s inductions, that command the reader’s attention.

For Doyle, in short, the detective, not the rogue, is the thing.
Once only does he conjure up an anti-hero fit to cope with his
CONCLUSION 5A

hero in guile. Moriarty is an ex-professor of mathematics,
turned chief of a great criminal syndicate. ‘“‘He is a genius,”
says Holmes, ‘‘a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a
brain of the first order. He sits motionless like a spider in the
centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he
knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself.
He only plans.” This modernized and sublimated Jonathan
Wild is left undeveloped, however, in order that the fascinating
Sherlock Holmes may continue to hold the stage without a
rival.

While the upper classes have been catered to by Conan Doyle,
the great unwashed have been regaled in shilling shockers and
in dime novels by Nicholas Carter [John Russell Coryell], and
by countless of his kind. Writers of this school have lent their
pens either to cheap periodicals or to paper-covered volumes,
published in series. One collection of such volumes already
boasts five hundred novels. That few if any of these works devi-
ate from crudest melodrama, and that most deserve oblivion,
needs no demonstration. To discuss them, or the output in
similar vein of authors more approved, would transgress the
limits of this study. It is here sufficient to have recognized in
the literature of crime-detection an heir of the literature of
roguery, and to have marked the circumstances of its birth and
the trend of its development. That this subsidiary genre will
attain to the rank or to the influence of its picaresque parent
seems unlikely; but that both are destined to survive while
society continues subject to the depredations of the anti-hero,
who can doubt ?

As a force moulding literary history the English literature
of roguery has proved most potent in affecting the drift of the
drama in the early seventeenth century, in cooperating to create
the novel in the eighteenth century, and in amplifying the scope
648 THE LITERATURE OF CRIME-DETECTION

of that novel, and in producing the detective story in the nine-
teenth century. If it has stood at a far remove from art in such
departments as the anatomies of roguery and the criminal
biographies, and in such a work as ‘‘The English Rogue,” it
has also achieved artistic distinction in the later fiction, and
it has reckoned among its devotees many whose names rank
high in the annals of literature. Most picturesque in the days
of Elizabeth, most immoral in the days of the Stuarts, and
most earnest and at the same time most merry under the
Georges, it has become since the advent of the nineteenth
century most diffused, complex, and varied. Now it views
sordid actuality in the dry light of reason; now it yields to
the play of imagination and of sentiment; now it is merely
ingenious. It receives the tribute alike of the romanticist and
of the realist. It adapts itself equally well to the purposes of
the moralist and to those of the jester, to the propaganda
of the humanitarian reformer, or to the inventions of the light-
hearted fteller of tales. To entertain has ever been its purpose,
but although much of it has done only this, in the main the
genre has acquired significance in so far as it has also sub-
served the ends of satire, or revealed the manners and life of
the underworld, or contributed to an understanding of char-
acter, or furthered a study of social conditions with a view to
social improvement. In some or all of these directions the lit-
erature of roguery has successfully adventured in the past,
and these remain the pathways open to its progress in the
future.
BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER XIII

Histories of literature ignore detective fiction, and it has been accorded
but slight treatment in the magazines. The most suggestive article upon
this theme — H. L. Williams’s Germ of the Detective Novel (Book-Buyer,
21: 268) — is tantalizing by what it omits. A.B. Maurice in The Detec-
tive in Fiction (Bookman, 15: 231) classifies the sleuth according to his
social caste. M. Thornton Armstrong in The Detective Story (Editor,
23: 5) very briefly outlines the requirements of the genre. Most other
notices are worthless, although The Scientific Detection of Crime (Green
Bag, 3: 288), Criminals and their Detection (New Review, 9: 65), and
Fiction and Crime (Saturday Review, 62: 349) may be consulted. I am
chiefly indebted to an unpublished essay, The Detective Story, prepared
under my direction by Mr. Frank de Raismes Storey, a former pupil.
Gaboriau is discussed in The Sensational Serial (Living Age, 230: 129),
and in A. E. Gathorne-Hardy’s Novels of Gaboriau (National Review,
8: 591). Captain W. L. Melville Lee’s History of Police in England
(1901), Major Griffiths’s Mysteries of Police and Crime (1899), P. H.
Fitzgerald’s Chronicles of Bow Street Police Office (1888, 2 vols.), G.S.
McWatters’s Detectives of Europe and America (1883), and Patrick
Colquhoun’s Treatise on the Police of the M etropolis (London, 1806, 7th
ed.) afford historical side-lights on the rise of the detective story. Poe’s
contribution is considered by Brander Matthews (Scribner’s, 42: 3).
His analytical powers are examined in C. O. Hurd’s The Logic of the
Murders in the Rue Morgue (Harvard Monthly, 1:7), but his biographers
have not investigated his detective fiction as to source or influence.
Wilkie Collins is noticed in A. C. Swinburne’s Studies in Prose and
Poetry (London, 1894). Sir Arthur Conan Doyle receives consideration
in various brief articles, notably The Genesis of Sherlock Holmes (Book-
man, 12: 550), Wilkie Collins and his Mantle (Living Age, 233: 566),
The Novels of Arthur Conan Doyle (Living Age, 242: 641), Inconsis-
tencies of Sherlock Holmes (Bookman, 14: 446), and Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle (Academy, 65: 444). Doyle himself in the thousandth number of
London Tit-Bits has discussed his detective fiction.
INDEX

Containing the titles of works, the names of authors, and the names of
a few rogues of reality referred to in the text and in the footnotes, and the

names of authors and of editors referred to in the bibliographies.

When more

than one item is given, references of importance are indicated by heavy-

faced figures.

Assorr, J. 8. C., 178.
Accomplished Rake, The, 328.
Account of John Gow, the Pirate, 161.

Adventures of Martin Hewitt, 537,
Adventures of Philip, 467.
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, 539-

 

Account of Mrs. Mary Carlton, 149. 547.
A t of the Behaviour of Macl Ad es of Tom Sawyer, 487.
165 n. Adventures of Vidocg, 273.

Account of the Trial of Thurtell and
Hunt, 170.

Adams, Francis, 522.

Adcock, St. John, 494.

Addison, Joseph, 80, 330.

Ade, George, 128.

Adelphi, 260 n.

Adlard, J. E., 137.

Admiral Guinea, 280.

Adventures and Exploits of Jack Shep-
pard, 163 n.

Adventures of an Air Balloon, of a
Bank Note, of a Black Coat, of a Cat,
of a Corkscrew, of a Fly, of a Hackney
Coach, of a Half Penny, of a Horse,
of a Little White Mouse, of a Louse,
of an Ostrich Feather, of a Peg Top,
of a Pin, of a Pincushion, of a Rupee,
of a Silver Three Pence, of a Whip-
ping Top, 331.

Adventures of an Attorney, 387.

Adventures of a Kidnapped Orphan,
327.

Adventures of a Strolling Player, 329 n.

Adventures of a Younger Son, 349, 378.

Adventures of Captain Blake, 388, 389.

Adventures of Captain Kettle, 469.

Adventures of Chevalier de Beauchesne,
319 n.

Adventures of Covent Garden, 227-228.

Adventures of Dick Hazard, 325.

Adventures of Frangois, 487, 492.

Adventures of Harry Richmond, 484.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 488-
489.

4Blfric, 44.

AXsop, 26.

Affaire Lerouge, L’, 529, 530.

Agnes de Castro, 227.

Agreda y Vargas, Diego, 11, 16.

Ainsworth, W. H., 1, 119 n., 127, 131,
182, 270, 273, 361-370, 379, 427,
428, 458.

Aitken, G. A., 163 n., 340.

Akademischer Roman, 31.

Alarme for Sinners, 155.

Alarum Against Vsurers, 77.

‘Albertinus, Mgidius, 28, 42.

Albery, James, 270.

Alboize, E., 138.

‘Albumazar, "939.

Alchemist, The, 144,238-239, 258, 268,
282.

: Aleino, El Abate, 24.

. Alden, R. M., 86.

t Aldrich, T. B., 486, 505.

| Aleman, Mateo, 8, 38, 107, 183, 225,

| 235 n., 292, 348.

Algerine Captive, The, 405.

Allen, Rev. Dr., 165 n.

| ALL Sorts and Conditions of Men,
493.

All Fooles, 242.

All's Well That Ends Well, 233.

Almahide, 208.

Almar, George, 270, 272.

Alone in the Pirates’ Lair, 279

| Alonso, moco de muchos amos, 11,13, 29,
218 n., 222 n., 333, 356.

 

| Amadis, 32, 207.
552

Amanda, 209, 211.

Amateur Cracksman;
515-517, 528.

Amateur Cracksman, The (a play), 281.

Ambrose Gwinett, 273.

Amelia, 308, 309.

Amends for Ladies, 146 n., 254 n.

Americaensche Zee-Roovers, De, 177.

American Penman, An, 534, 535.

American Slang Dictionary, 122.

American Trenck, The, 170.

American Vocabulum, 122, 128.

Amethyst Box, The, 536 n.

Amorous Gallant's Tongue, The, 120.

Amory, Thomas, 323.

Amours du Filou et de Robinette, Les,
18, 40.

Anastasius, or Memoirs of ua Greek,
349-352, 379.

Anatomie of Absurditie, The, 193.

Anatomy of Melancholy, The, 107 nu.

Anderson, Dr. Robert, 341.

Andrews, A., 190.

Andrews, Charles, 189.

Andrews, G., 121.

Anglicus, Ducange, 122, 128.

Anicet-Bourgeois, A., 528 n.

Annals of Newgate, 179, 190.

Answer to a Foolish Pamphlet, 154 n.

Answer to an Insolent Libel, 159.

Anthony Varnish, The Adventures of,
334.

Antiquary, The, 343.

Antoine, Ferdinand, 42.

Anz, H., 85.

Apology for the Life of Bampfylde-
Moore Carew, 167.

Applebee, John, 178, 287.

Applebee's Journal, 160, 162, 287, 288.

Apuleius, 31.

Arabian Nights, 4

Aram, Eugene, nee 182, 271,374-377.

‘Arbasto, 93.

Arbuthnot, John, 323.

Archer, William, 284.

Archpriest of Hita, Juan Ruiz, 7.

Archpriest of Talavera, Alfonzo Mar-
tinez de Toledo, 7.

Arden of Feversham, 141, 142.

Ardid de la pobreza, 14.

Argenis, 17.

Argent des autres, L’, 529.

Armin, Robert, 68, 76, 85, 148.

Armstrong, M. T., 549.

Arnold, Matthew, 484.

The, 1, 612,

 

INDEX

Arraignment of Women, 77.

Arsaces, Prince of Betlis, 332-333.

Artful Cards, 278, 279.

Artful Dodger, The, 270.

Artist in Crime, An, 536 n.

Art of Iugling or Legerdemaine, The,104.

Ashbee, H. S., 438.

Ashton, John, 67 n., 85, 86.

Asselijn, Thomas, 33.

Asselineau, Charles, 40.

Astrea, 77.

Astrea, or True Love's Mirrour, 208.

Astrée, L’, 208.

Astrologo, L’, 239.

At Howli Thana, 507.

Auberge des Adrets, L’, 275.

Augusta Triumphans, 156.

Aulularia, 32.

Austen, Jane, 337.

Authentic History of Jonathan Wild,
161 n.

Authentic Memoirs of John Sheppard;
162 n.

Autobiography of a Beggar, 504.

Autobiography of a Beggar Boy, 504.

Autobiography of a Charwoman, 494.

Autobiography of a ‘London Detective,
533.

Autobiography of a Quack, 503.

Autobiography of a Thief (Hapgood),
170, 501.

Autobiography of a Thief (Reade), 184,
434-435.

Autobiography of a Tramp, 505.

Avantures d’ Assoucy, 20.

Avantures de Buffalis, 24, 31.

Avantures d' Italie, 20.

Avantures du Chevalier de la Gaillardise,
19.

Avanturiers, Les, 177.

Avanturiers flibustiers, 177.

Avellaneda, Alonso Ferndndez de, 22.

Avengers, The, 536 n.
Aventuras del Bachiller Trapaza, 12.
Aventures de M. Robert Chevalier,
dit de Beauchéne, 23, 24, 319 n.
Awdeley, John, 27, 76, 79, 87, 88-89,
90, 92, 104, 112, 118, 119, 136, 141,
205, 212 n.

Axon, W. E. A., 379.

Ayeshah, 356.

Aylmers of Bally-Aylmer, The, 390.

Aylwin, 482, 485.

Ayres, Philip, 206.

Aytoun, W. E., 127.
INDEX

Bacchus and Venus, 120, 125.

Bacchusia, oder Fasenacht-Land, 31.

Bachelier de Salamanque, 23, 24, 40.

Bachelor of Salamanca, 319 n.

Badock, John, 119, 121, 383.

Bahr, J. M., 30 n.

Bagehot, Walter, 378.

Bahlsen, Ludwig, 230.

Baildon, H. B., 522.

Bail Up! 509.

Baker, D. E., 284.

Baker, Ernest A., 522.

Baldwin, E. C., 86.

Baldwin, W., 179.

Balfour, Graham, 522.

Balzac, Honoré de, 25, 527-528, 529.

Bampfylde-Moore Carew, or the Gipsey
of the Glen, 168.

Bancroft, Hubert H., 191.

Banditti, The, 261.

Bandolero, The, 478.

Bang, W., 283.

Bangs, John Kendrick, 517.

Bang-up Dictionary, The, 121.

Banim, John, 387, 390, 392.

Banished Cavaliers, The, 227.

Banquet of Jeasts, A, 69.

Barbadillo, A. G. de Salas, 11, 19,
206.

Barbauld, Mrs., 341.

Barclay, Alexander, 50, 75.

Barclay, John, 16, 39, 206, 211, 225.

Barefaced Impostors, 277.

Baret, Eugéne, 37.

Barezzi, Barezzo, 28.

Barham, R. H. Dalton, 409.

Barnaby Rudge, 422.

Barnett, C. Z., 270.

Barney Mahoney, 387.

Baron de Feneste, 17.

Barr, Robert, 537.

Barré, M. L., 19.

Barrére, A., 122, 137.

Barrett, Frank, 476.

Barrington, George, 119, 190, 523.

Barrington, Sir Jonah, 389 n.

Barry, Lodowick, 250.

Barry Lyndon, The Luck of, 4, 78, 450,
452, 454-462, 480, 503.

Barrymore, W., 382.

Barth, Kaspar, 28.

Bartholomew Fair, 239-240, 282.

Barton, G. B., ‘aaa

Bartsch, K., 4

Bataillard, Paul, 481, 522,

 

553

Batchelars Banquet, The, 76.

Bates, K. L., 84.

Bathurst, Richard, 331.

Baudoin, J., 30 n.

Baumstark, Rheinhold, 38.

Beach of Falesdé, The, 473.

Beaumarchais, Pierre A. C. de, 25.

Beaumont, Francis, 252, 283.

Beaux’ Stratagem, The, 263.

Bebel, H., 26.

Becke, G. L., 508.

Beckett, Gilbert A. a, 270.

Bede, 44.

Bee, The, 329 n.

Beggar of Bethnal Green, The, 275.

Beggar of Cripplegate, The, 274-275.

Beggars All, 504.

Beggars’ Bush, The, 124, 251,
255 n., 258, 268.

Beggar's Opera, The, 1, 78, 125, 261,
263-265, 281, 363, 365, 366, 373,
415.

Beggar's Pantomime, The, 267.

Beggar’s Wedding, The, 267.

Begley, Rev. Walter, 210 n.

Behn, Mrs. Aphra, 226-227, 231, 261,
266.

Belle of Toorak, The, 511.

Bellman of London, The (Daborne),
106 n.

Belloc, Hilaire, 502.

Bells, The, 278.

Bell's Life in London, 383.

Belman of London, The, 97 n., 105 n.,
106-107, 108, 111, 137, 213 n., 216,
236 n.

Below the Salt, 494.

Belphegor, 259.

Benignus, Siegfried, 438.

Bensley, T., 136.

Benson, Captain, 180.

Benson, E. F., 502.

Berg, W., 43.

Berger extravagant, 18, 39, 207.

Bernard, W. B ff

Bernardin, N. M., 39.

Bernhardi, W., 136.

Besant, Sir Walter, 477, 493, 522.

Bess of Bedlam's Garland, 89 n.

Bessy Wild, 279.

Betty Barnes, 327.

Bevis of Hampton, 123 n.

Beware of Pick-Purses, 89 n.

Bible in Spain, The, 441, 442, 468.

Bidwell’s Travels, 170.

252,
554

Binny, John, 129, 131.

Bird, Valentine, 102 n.

Birth, Life, and Death of John Frank,
The, 70.

Black Barque, The, 475.

Black Bess, 186.

Black Dog of Newgate, The (a play),
112 n.

Black Dwarf, The, 344.

Blacke Booke, The, 99 u., 112 n., 247.

Blacke Bookes Messenger, The, 99-101,
104, 106, 151, 192, 407 n.

Blacke Dogge of Newgate, The, 111-112,
158.

Blackguardiana, 121.

Black Motor Car, The, 479.

Black Procession, The, 124.

Black Prophet, The, 391.

Black Sheep, 271, 504.

Blackwood’s Magazine, 121 n.

Blake, Joseph, called Blueskin, 168,
180, 190, 368, 369.

Blanchard, Laman, 379.

Bleak House, 424, 535 n.

Blind Beggar of Alexandria, 232.

Blind Beggar of Bednal-Green, The,
250, 252, 255, 268, 283.

Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, The, 75.

Bliss, Dr. John, 86.

Bloody Brother, The, 253.

Bloundelle-Burton, J., 469.

Blow Hot, Blow Cold, 428.

Blue Bonnets Up, 470.

Blueskin, 186.

Blurt, Master Constable, 248, 256.

Bob Covey, The Newgate Jester, 279.

Bobertag, Felix, 41, 42.

Bob le pendu, 528 n.

Bocage, Paul, 528.

Boccaccio, Giovanni, 29 n., 47, 65, 66,
69, 173, 175, 213, 226.

Bohémiens, Les, 275.

Bon Gualtier Ballads, 127.

Bonilla y San Martin, Adolfo, 37, 38.

Boorde, Andrew, 60 n., 523.

Booth, Mrs., 268.

Bornet, A., 36.

Borrow, George, 1, 169, 180, 184-185,
182, 190, 364, 432, 4389-450, 468,
471, 481, 482, 485, 486.

Bos, Lambert van, 33.

Bossert, Adolphe, 42.

Boss of Taroomba, The, 511.

Boucicault, Dion, 271, 277.

Bought Wit is Best, 74.

 

INDEX

Bourget, Paul, 40.

| Bowery Tales, 495.

Bowge of Court, 76.
Boxiana, 127, 380.

Boy Burglar, The, 279.

Boy Detective, The, 279.
Boyle, Earl of Orrery, Roger, 208, 227.
Boyne Water, 392.

Boy of Santillane, The, 271.
Brace, C. L., 132.
Brackenridge, H. H., 405.
Braddon, Miss, 533.

Brady, C. T., 409, 470.

| Brady, J. H., 38.

Bragg, Joe, 170.

| Brande, Geerard van den, 33.

Brandt, Sebastian, 27, 76.
Braune, W., 42.

| Brave English Gypsy, The, 122.

Breaker of Laws, A, 498.

Brederoo, G. A, 32, 43.

Bremond, Gabriel, 16.

Breton, Nicholas, 78, 192, 202-205,
231.

Bretonne, Restif de la, 16.

Brewer, Thomas, 77. .

Bride of Abydos, The, 348.

Brie, F. W. D., 86.

Brief Account of Six Street Robbers, A,
161, 289.

Brigand, The (James), 359, 360.

Brigand, The (Planché), 272.

Brigand and his Banker, The, 277.

Brimley, W. L. G., 379.

Brink, B. ten, 83.

Brink, Jan ten, 43.

Brisebarre, E. L. A., 528.

Brock, Edmund, 83.

Broeck, Adrian van, 161.

Brome, Richard, 124, 146 n., 125, 255-
256, 268, 283, 365, 373.

Brooke, Henry, 337.

Brothers, The, 268.

Brown, C. Brockden, 405.

Brown, G. B., 341.

Brown, John, 231.

Brown, Thomas, 329.

Brown, T. Allston, 284.

Brown, Tom, 40.

Browne, T. A. [Rolf Boldrewood], 470,
508, 510-511.

Brownell, W. C., 468.

Bruder Rausch, 26, 85. (See also The
Historie of Frier Rush.)

Brunetiére, Ferdinand, 39.
INDEX

| Caleb Williams, 270,

Brydges, Sir Egerton, 137.

Bucaniers of America, 178.

Buccaneers, The, 469.

Buccaneers and Marooners of America,
The, 178, 191.

Buccaneers and Pirates of Our Coasts,
The, 178.

Buccaneers, or Monarchs of the Main,
The, 178.

Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke of,
78.

Buckstone, J. B., 270.

Budg and Snudg ‘Song, 124,

Bull and Bear Baiting, 105 n.

Bullen, A. H., 189, 283.

Bulwer-Lytton, Edward, 1, 81, 182,
270, 274, 276, 339, 360, 361, 370-
377, 379, 411, 426, 427, 428, 432,
437, 451.

Bunch of Violets, A, 280.

Bunyan, John, 225-226.

Burgess, Gelett, 6 n., 520-521.

Burglar and the Lady, The, 281 n.

Burglar’s Club, The, 519.

Burke, U. R., 468.

Burlador de Sevilla, El, 348.

Burland, Harris, 479.

Burn, J. D., 504.

Burnand, F. C., 277, 278.

Burney, Frances, 337.

Burney, James, 178, 191.

Burnham, G. P., 534.

Burns, Robert, 126, 127.

Burton, Sir Richard F., 523.

Burton, Robert, 107 n.

Bury Fair, 260.

Buscon don Pablos, Historia de la vida
del, 9, 16, 28, 34, 38, 173, 201, 206,
214, 407, 420.

Bush Girl’s Romance, A, 509.

Bushrangers, The, 279.

Business in Great Waters, 470.

Busy Bee, The, 126.

Butler, Samuel, 77.

By a Hair's Breadth, 536 n.

Byrne, D., 523.

Byrnes, Inspector Thomas, 132, 181,
534.

Byrom, Dr., 126.

Byron, George Gordon,
347-349.

Byron, H. J., 277.

Lord, 127,

Cademosto da Lodi, Marco, 395 n.
Calderon de la Barca, Pedro, 224.

 

555

337-338, 341,
405 n.

Calvi, Francois de, 18.

Cambridge Jests, 67.

Camp, Maxime du, 119 n.

Campbell, A. C., 132, 190.

Campbell, Helen, 132.

Campbell, W. W., 85.

Canidia, or the Witches, 121.

Cafiete, Manuel, 37.

Canterbury Tales, 47, 48.

Canter’s Serenade, 125.

Canting Academy, The, 120.

Capitulaciones de la vida de corte, 9.

Captain Heron, 185, 273.

Captain Kidd and other Pirates, 178.

Captain Kid’s Millions, 469.

Captain Kyd, 272.

Captain Macheath, 127.

Captain Ravenshaw, 478.

Captain Rook and Mr. Pigeon, 451.

Captain Singleton, 287, 288-289.

Captain Spruce the Highwayman, 272.

Caractéres, Les, 21.

Carbuncle Clue, The, 536 n.

Card Drawing, 390.

Cardinal Fleury’s Journey, 301 n.

Carew, Bampfylde-Moore, 120, 166-
168, 186, 190.

Carey, Henry, 78.

Carleton, William, 183, 387, 390-392.

Carlyle, Thomas, 378.

Carmichael, Lieutenant, 534.

Carolina, 146 n.

Carpenter, Mary, 129 n.

Carter, Nicholas [J. R. Coryell], 547.

Cartouche, L. D., 161, 186, 267, 273.

Cartouche (Waldron), 273.

Cartouche, or the French Robbers,
267.

Cartwright, William, 256.

Casa de juego, 13.

Casamiento engafioso, 10, 219 n.

Casaubon, 78.

Case is Altered, The, 237.

Cassandra, 78.

Cassandre, 208.

Caste, 278.

Castillo, Diego del, 14.

Castle Rackrent, 388, 389.

Cast Over the Water, A, 113 n.

Catherine, 183, 370, 450, 453-464.

Catnach, James, 170 n.

Catriona (David Balfour), 472.

Cats, Jacob, 33.
556

Catterpillers of this Nation Anato-
mized, The, 116, 213, 215 n., 321.

Caulfield, James, 121, 137, 180.

Caveat for Cutpurses, 89 n.

Caveat for Knaves, 89 n.

Caueat or Warening, For commen
Corsetors Vvigarely Called Vaga-
bones, 28, 79, 89-92, 101, 106, 107,
111, 136, 146, 212 n.

Caveat to Beware of Coseners, 89 n.

Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, Wil-
liam, 261.

Caxton, William, 206.

Cazamian, Louis, 379, 438.

Celebrated Trials, 180, 184, 190, 440.

Celestina, La, 7, 9, 15, 28, 32, 38, 52,
206, 235 n., 286.

Cervantes, Miguel de, 9, 11, 33, 38, 41,
107, 206, 207, 208, 249, 257, 269n.,
285, 300, 319, 338, 342, 405, 425,

441.

Cespedes y Meneses, Gonzalo, 11, 208,
325.

Cevallos, Ordofiez de, 13.

Chadwick, William, 340.

Chambers, E. K., 84.

Chambers, R. W., 537.

Champmeslé, Charles Chevillet, dit,
19.

Chandler, F. W., 13 n., 36, 231.

Chapelain, Jean, 16.

Chaplain of the Fleet, The, 477, 478.

Chapman, George, 232, 242, 254, 283.

Chappuys, Gabriel, 16.

Character of an Ape Gentlewoman, of
an Exchange Wench, 80; of an In-
former, 79; of a Pawn Broker, of a
Pilfering Tailor, 80; of a Solicitor, of
a Tally Man, 79; of a Town Gallant,
of a Town Miss, 80.

Characters (Overbury), 79, 80.

Characters of Virtues and Vices, 78.

Charlanne, L., 231.

Charlatan, The, 494.

Charles O’ Malley, 388, 389.

Chasles, Emile, 37.

Chasles, Philaréte, 39.

Chaste Maid in Cheapside, A, 248.

Chatrian, A., 278.

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 45, 47-48, 50, 65,
66, 173, 198, 217 n., 406.

Chauffeurs du nord, Les, 527 n.

Chaves, Christébal de, 8.

Cheating Sollicitor Cheated, The, 149.

Cheats, The, 259.

 

INDEX

Cheats of Scapin, The, 261.

Cheke, Sir John, 50.

Chester Plays, 51, 84.

Chesterton, G. K., 438.

Chettle, Henry, 58, 77, 94, 192, 199-
202, 205, 230, 232, 250, 255 n.

Chetwode, R. D., 471.

Chevalier d'industrie, Histoire comique
d'un, 25.

Chevalier hypocondriaque, Le, 18, 34.

Chevaliers du Browillard, Les, 273.

Child, Francis J., 85.

Childe Harold, 347.

Child of the Jago, A, 486, 495-496.

Child-Stealer, The, 272.

Children of the Ghetto, 494.

Chimera mendicorum, 15.

Choice of Harlequin, 125.

Cholevius, L., 41.

Christian Turn'd Turke, A, 140.

Christie Johnstone, 431.

Christs Teares Over Iervsalem, 193.

Chroncicle of Tyburn, 178.

Chronicles of Bow Street, 132, 549.

Chronicles of Crime, 180, 190, 370 n.

Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, 537.

Chronicles of Michael Danevitch, 536 n.

Chronicles of Newgate, 132, 180 n., 190,
191.

Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea,
332.

Churchyard, Thomas, 224,

Circular Study, The, 536 n.

Citizen of the World, 333, 356.

City Heiress, 261.

City Night Piece, A, 329 n.

City Ramble,or Humours of the Comp-
ter, The, 267.

Clapp, J. B., 284.

Clarétie, Léo, 39.

Clarissa, 300, 327.

Clarke, H. Butler, 37.

Clarke, J. W., 522.

Clarke, Marcus A. H., 508, 523.

Clarke, N. B., 272, 273.

Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar
Tongue, 121.

Claude Duval, 185.

Claude Duval (Haines), 273.

Claude Duval, or the Highwayman for
Ladies, 277.

Claude Melnotte as Detective, 533 n.

Clavell, John, 114-116, 137, 149.

Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City, 490.

Clelia, 78.
INDEX

Clélie, 208.

Clemens,Samuel L. (See Twain, Mark.)

Cleopatra, 78.

Cléopdtre, 208.

Clerville, 18.

Clock Struck One, The, 536 n.

Cloister and the Hearth, The, 435-436.

Clouston, W. A., 83.

Clues from a Detective Camera, 536 n.

Clues from the Notebook of Zambra the
Detective, 536 n.

Cobbold, Rev. Richard, 185 n.

Cobler of Caunterburie, The, 60,65-66.

Cocke Lorelles Bote, 76, 88, 110 n., 136.

Cogan, Henry, 208.

Collection of the Books of James Cat-
nach, 170 n.

Colleen Bawn, The, 271.

Collegians, The, 271, 390.

Collet, Stephen, 137.

Colley, 267.

Collier, Jeremy, 263.

Collier, J. Payne, 85, 144 n., 188,
282.

Collins, J. Churton, 136.

Collins, W. Wilkie, 406, 533, 549.

Colman, George, 328.

Colman the, Younger, George, 270.

Colombey, Emile, 40.

Colonel Jacque, 186, 289, 293-296, 299,
300.

Coloquio de los perros, 10.

Colquhoun, Patrick, 549.

Combe, William, 383, 384.

Come All You Buffers Gay, 126.

Comedy of Errors, The, 233.

Comentarios del desengafiado, 13.

Comical Bargain, The, 154 n.

Comical History of Francion, The, 207.

Comical Works of Quevedo, 285.

Comic Stories, 60, 69.

Coming of Love, The, 486.

Commendation of Cockes and Cock-
Fighting, 105 n.

Committee, The, 268.

Compans, Ternaux, 13.

Complaint on the Decay of Beggars,
406.

Compleat Angler, 171.

Compleat Gamester, 171.

Compleat History of John Hall, 165.

Compleat Mendicant, The, 228-229.
231.

Complete History of James Maclean,
165 n.

 

557

Complete History of the Lives of High-
waymen, 163, 172-176.

Compters Common-Wealth, The, 112-
113, 213 n.

Comstock, S. C., 479.

Concanen, Matthew, 268 n.

Conceites of Old Hobson, 61, 65.

Con Cregan, Confessions of, 393, 394—
397, 410.

Conde Lucanor, 61, 173.

Confederacy, The, 262.

Confessio Amantis, 45.

Confessions of a Convict, 170, 500.

Confessions of a Detective, 534.

Confessions of a Thief, 170.

Confessions of a Thug, 358, 379.

Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, 388.

Confessions of the Murderers of this
Country, 181.

Conflict of Evidence, 536 n.

Congreve, William, 226, 262.

Constant Maid, The, 254.

Constantinescu, Barbu, 481, 523.

Contention Between Liberalitie and
Prodigalitie, 52.

Conversations (Mile. de Scudéry), 208.

Convict, The (James), 359, 360.

Convict, The (Wilson), 121 n.

Convict Life, 514, 523.

Cony-Catching Bride, The, 148.

Cook, D., 284.

Cooper, J. Fenimore, 405.

Cooper, Thomson, 379.

Copland, Robert, 76, 87-88, 119, 136,
487.

Copland, William, 59.

Corbett, Julian, 470.

Corde au cou, La, 529.

Cornford, L. C., 522.

Corre, Armand, 36.

Corsair, The, 348.

Cosenages of Dorothie Phillips, The
Notorious, 148.

Cosgrave, J., 181.

Cotterel, Sir Charles, 208.

Cotton, Charles, 171-172, 190, 191.

Counter-Scuffle and the Counter-Rat,
The, 113, 114.

Court Beggar, The, 146 n., 255-256.

Courthope, W. J., 282.

Courtilz de Sandras, Gatien, 21.

Court Intrigue, 176.

Court of Conscience, 76.

Court of the King of Bantam, 227.

Coventry Plays, 84.
558

Cowley, Abraham, 259.

Cox, Joseph, 160.

Cox, Robert, 258.

Crane, Stephen, 495.

Cranley, Thomas, 209.

Crawford, J. H., 505.

Creature of the Night, A, 536 n.

Crime and Punishment, 375.

Crime d’Orcival, Le, 530.

Crime in England, 129 n., 190.

Crime, its Amount, Causea, 129 n.

. Crime of the Century, of the Crystal, of
the ‘Liza Jane, 536 n.

Criminal Chronology, 179.

Criminal Prisons of London, 131.

Criminal Recorder, The, 180.

Criminals I have Known, 505.

Criminals of America, 181.

Crimson Blind, The, 537.

Crimson Crime, 530.

Crimson Cryptogram, The, 536 n.

Crispin, 22.

Crispin and Crispianus, 75.

Croce, Julio Cesare, 71.

Crockett, S. R., 469, 470, 490.

Crofton, H. T., 481, 522, 523.

Croker, Mrs. Crofton, 387.

Crope, Henry, 224 n.

Crop-eare Curried, 123 n.

Cross, Wilbur L., 340, 378.

Crouch, Humphrey, 69, 74, 209, 231.

Crowne, John, 208, 261.

Cruikshank, George, 129.

Cruise of the Motor Boat Conqueror,
The, 520.

Cry Against Killing of Men, 156 n.

Cumberland, Richard, 268, 269.

Cummins, T. J., 191.

Cunliffe, J. W., 283.

Cunning Murrel, 495.

Cunning Northerne Begger, The, 122.

Curiosities of Crime in Edinburgh, 180.

Curtaine-Drawer of the World, 77.

Curzon, George N., 379.

Cushman, L. W., 84.

Cutcliffe-Hyne, C. J., 469.

Cuthell, E. C., 470.

Cutter of Coleman Street, 259.

Cynthia Wakeham’s Money, 536 n.

Cyrano de Bergerac, S. de, 30 n., 78.

Daborne, Robert, 106 n., 140, 141 n.
Daltons, The, 394.

Daly, Augustin, 437.

Daneker the Dutchman, 141.

 

INDEX

Dangerous Catspaw, A, 537.
Dangerous Classes of New York, 132.
Darien, 469.

Dark Deeds, 530.

Darkness and Daylight, 132.

Dark of the Moon, 470.

D’Assoucy, Charles, 20, 40.

D’Aubigné, Agrippa, 17, 39, 40.

D’Aubrincourt, Sieur, 17.

Daudet, Alphonse, 74.

Davenport Dunn, 183, 389.

David Copperfield, 422-423.

David Balfour, 472.

David Huntley's Adventures, 153 n.

David Simple, 323.

Davies of Kidwelly, John, 206, 208, 285.

Davis, James [Owen Hall], 508.

Davis, Richard Harding, 506.

Davis, William, 319 n.

Davis the Pirate, 178.

Day, John, 56 n., 142 n., 250, 251,255 n.

Day’s Ride, A, 389.

Day with a Tramp, A, 133.

Deacon Brodie, 280.

Dead Men Tell No Tales, 475-476,

Dead Souls, 1.

Death of Robert Earl of Huntingdon,
232.

Decameron, 29 n., 213 n., 217 n.

Declaration of Popish Impostures, 57 n.

Decourcelles, A, 279.

Dedekind, Friedrich, 27, 76.

Defence of Conny catching, The, 101-
102, 104, 137, 143 n., 205.

Defenders and Offenders, 132.

Defense (of Marriot), 150 n.

Defoe, Daniel, 1, 4, 20, 105, 116, 160-
163, 178, 186, 187, 190, ue nee Da
228, 231, 265, 286-300, 306, 321-
323, 340, 351, 396, 416, a3, 432,
443, 450.

Dégringolade, La, 529.

De Haan, Fonger, 36, 37.

Deimling, H., 84.

Deken, Aagje, 35.

Dekker, Thomas, 71, 76, 87, 97, 99,
105-111, 114, 120, 134, 137, 141,
144 n., 167, 176, 205, 209, 212 n.,
213 n., 215 n., 216, 236 n., 242, 243—
244, 249 n., 252, 283, 365, 373, 436 n.,
445 n., 487.

Delicado, Francisco, 38.

Deloney, Thomas, 71-73, 74, 86.

Demogeot, J. C., 38.

Demos, 493.
INDEX

De Pue, E. S.; 537.

De Quincey, Thomas, 13, 183, 406,
407-408.

Dernier jour d’un condamné, 365.

Deschamps, Gaston, 40.

Descombes, Maurice, 527 n.

Description of Love, The, 122.

Desnoyers, Charles, 528 n.

Desordenada codicia de los bienes
agenos, La, 10, 11, 16, 20, 87, 173,
174, 206, 214, 217, 258 n.

Detection of Dyce Play, 104 n.

Detective Police, The, 426, 535 n.

Detective and the Somnambulist, The,
533 n.

Detective's Triumphs, 536 n.

Deuz Cosses, Les, 279.

Devil and the Deep Sea, The, 475, 507.

Devil is an Ass, The, 240, 259, 282.

Devil's Cabinet Broken Open, The, 121. '

Devil Upon Crutches, 319 n.

Devil Upon Two Sticks, 269, 319 n.

D’Exiles, Abbé Prévost, 25.

Diable boiteux, Le, 22, 40, 77, 269.

Diablo cojuelo, El, 13, 22, 330.

Dialogue Between Sheppard and Cesar,
162 n.

Diary of a Late Physician, The, 387. |

Diary of C. Jeames de la Pluche, The,
451.

Dia y noche de Madrid, 14.

Dibdin, Charles, 269, 272, 284.

Dibdin, Charles I. M., 384.

Dibdin, J. C., 284.

Dibdin, Tom, 270 n., 271, 272, 384.

Dickens, Charles, 1, 5, 182, 270, 324,
870, 374, 384, 387, 390, 411-427,
428, 438, 474, 493, 504, 527, 535,

Dickenson, John, 103.

Dick Hazard, 325.

Dick Turpin and Tom King, 273.

Dictionary of all the Cant and Flash
Languages, 121.

Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, etc.,

. 122, 134.

Dictionary of Slang, Jargon, Cant, 122.

Dictionary of the Canting Crew, 120.

Dictionary of the Turf, Ring, Chase,
Pit, etc., 121, 383.

Diderot, Denis, 269.

Dido Queene of Carthage, 193.

Difficult Problem, A, 536 n.

Digby Mysteries, 51.

Dillon, Charles, 271.

Diorame anglais, Le, 384.

 

559

Diplomacy, 278.

Discoverie of Witchcraft, 56 n., 57 n.

Discoveries of John Poulter, The, 117,
165.

Discovery of a London Monster, 112.

Discovery of Receivers and Thief-takers,
156 n., 159.

Discursos morales, 10.

Disobedient Child, The, 52.

Dispvtation Betweene a Hee Conny-
catcher and a Shee Conny-catcher,
98-99, 104, 114.

Dixon, H., 138.

Dixon, Robert, 121.

Dobson, Austin, 263 n., 284, 340, 341.

| Dobsons Drie Bobbes, 60, 61.

Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock, The,
536 n.

| Dr. Izard’s Old Stone House, 536 n.

Dr. Nicholas Stone, 537.

Dodd, Dr. William, 324.

Dodd Family Abroad, The, 393.
Dombey and Son, 422.

| Don Clarazel de Gontarnos, 34.
| Don Giovanni, 260 n.

Don Gregorio Guadatia, Life of, 13.

Don Iro, 31.

Don Japhet, 19.

Don Juan, 127, 347-348.

Don Juan Lamberto, 77.

Don Q., 479.

Don Q. in the Sierra, 479.

Don Quichotte romantique, 384.

Don Quizote, 9, 16, 18, 22, 33, 34, 77,
123 n., 174, 206, 21¢, 301 n., 307,
314, 319, 328, 342, 411, 438, 499 n.

Don Zara del Fogo, 77.

| Doorluchtige dienstboden, De, 33.

Dora, 278.

Doran, J., 85, 284.

Dorcas Dene, Detective, 526.

Dorer, Edmund, 41.

Dorvigny, 25.

D’Orvilliers, Le Tellier, 19.

Dossier No. 113, Le, 530.

Dostoyevski, F. M., 375.

Double-Barrelled Detective Story, A, 535.

Double Dealer, The, 262.

Douce, F., 282.

Dougall, Lily, 504.

Douglas, James, 522,

Douglas, Sir George, 470.

Downey, Edmund, 409.

Downfall of Robert Earl of Hunting-
don, 232.
560

Down with the Tide, 427, 535 n.

Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, 515, 537-
5A7, 549.

Drahm, August, 36.

Drake, N., 282.

Drayton, Michael, 244 n.

Dream of Eugene Aram, The, 182, 278.

Drink, 278.

Drury, G. T., 190.

Dryden, John, 262.

Direr, H., 31.

Duffet, Thomas, 227.

Dugdale Millions, The, 536.

Dukas, Jules, 39.

Dumanoir, Philippe, 528 n.

Dumas, Alexandre, 379, 480.

Duncombe, 121, 168 n.

Dunlop, J. C., 37, 84.

Dunpby, T., 191.

Dupes, 504.

D’Urfée, Honoré, 208.

Dutch Courtezan, The, 61, 242-243,
262, 407 n.

Dutch Lover, The, 227.

Du Vall, Claude, 154, 173, 182, 185,
186, 189, 273, 277.

Dyalogue of the Worshyp of Y magys, 49.

Dyce, Alexander, 136, 283.

Dynamiter, The, 471.

Earle, John, 86.

Early English Poetry, 141 n.

East End Idylis, 494.

Eastward Hoe, 242, 268.

Ebb Tide, The, 469, 473, 474-475.

Eclaircissements sur filous, 527.

Edgeumb, Richard, 379.

Edgett, E. F., 284.

Edgeworth, Maria, 387, 388, 389.

Edwards, H. §., 428.

Edwards, Richard, 60, 69.

Egan, Pierce, 121, 127, 170, 182, 183,
270, 274, 380-384, 411, 431.

Hichendorff, Joseph von, 43.

Ely O'Connor, 271.

Electric Theft, The, 519.

Ellis, Havelock, 36, 283.

Elwin, Whitwell, 341.

Emigrants of Ahadarra, The, 391.

Emmanuel Burden, Merchant, 502.

Empiric, The, 258.

Encomium morie, 49.

Endimion, 232.

Endlicber, S., 85.

Enfers de Paris, Les, 528 n.

 

INDEX

Engaftos deste siglo, 10, 16.

England's Jests Refin'd, 69.

English Adventures, 227.

English Gipsies and their Language,
The, 482.

English Gipsy Songs, 482.

English Gueman, James Hind, The,
100 n., 150-161.

Englishman, The, 176.

English Rogue, The, 6,18, 34, 61, 63 n.,
70, 80, 81 n., 106, 109, 115, 117 n.,
120, 151, 153, 174, 175, 192, 207,
209, 211-221, 222, 223, 228, 229,
231, 247, 321, 322, 324, 398, 439,
445 n., 491.

English Rogue, The (a play), 261 n.

English Rogue, or the Life of Jeremy
Sharp, The, 221.

English Villain, or the Grand Thief,
The, 151.

English Villanies, 109.

Enquiry into Executions at Tyburn,
An, 157.

Enriquez de Castro, 10.

En roulant de vergne en vergne, 128.

Ens, Kaspar, 28.

Epicurean, The, 348.

Epigrams (Freeman), 146 n.

Epistle from Jack Sheppard, 162 n.

Epsom Wells, 259.

Erasmus, 49, 76.

Erckmann, E., 278.

Esclaves de Paris, Les, 530.

Escuela de Celestina, La, 11.

Espanol Gerardo, El, 11, 208.

Espinel, Vicente, 10.

Essayes and Characters, 80.

Essayes and Characters of a Prison,
79, 113, 137.

Essex Champion, The, 77.

Estevanille Gonzalés, 23, 40.

Estevanillo Gonzalez, 14, 216, 286, 366.

Esther Waters, 498.

Estrada, Diego Duque de, 13.

Eugene Aram, 182, 374-375, 377, 426,
437.

Eugene Aram (plays), 271.

Eulenspiegel, 1, 26, 42, 57 n., 59, 61,
68, 69 n., 83, 86, 163, 168, 173, 217.

Euphormionis lusinini satyricon, 16,
19, 39, 211, 225.

Euphues, 211.

Euphues his Censure to Philautus, 93.

Evans, John, 379.

Evelyn Innes, 498.
INDEX

Every Man in his Humour, 237.
Ewald, A. C., 284.

Exiles, The, 506.

Experiences of a French Detective, 533.
Expressman and the Detectives, The,

Exquemelin, A. O., 177-178.

Faces for Fortunes, 428.

Facetie, 26.

Faire Quarrell, A, 249.

Fairing for the Merrily Disposed, A,

74.

Fair Jilt, The, 226.

Fair Maid of Bristol, The, 142 n.

Faith and Falsehood, 274.

Falkner, Meade, 470.

False Count, The, 227.

Familiar Studies, 471.

Famous Chronicle of Edward I, 232.

Famous History of Don Bellianis, 208 n.

Famous History of Montelion, 208 n.

Fancy, The, 383.

Fancy Gazette, The, 383.

Fancy Tog’s Man vs. Young Sad Boy,
The, 170.

Fardorougha the Miser, 390.

Farewell to Follie, 94.

Farinelli, Arturo, 41, 260 n.

Farjeon, B. L., 487, 508, 509-510,
511, 536.

Farley, Philip, 181.

Farmer, J. 8., 122, 137.

Farnie, H. B., 277.

Farquhar, George, 262, 284.

Fast and Loose, 534.

Fatal Curiosity, The, 142.

Fatal Letter, The, 534.

Fatal Marriage, The, 261.

Federer, C. A., 86.

Feigned Astrologer, The, 146 n.

Felon's Bond, The, 272.

Female Brigand, The, 272.

Female Quixote, The, 328, 341.

Female Quixotiam, 405.

Female eee The, 328.

Fenn, G. M.,

Fennor, aie 87, 112-113, 213 n.

Féo, 480.

Ferdinand, Count Fathom, 313-318,
361, 407.

Ferndndez-Guerra y Orbe, A., 38.

Ferrer, J. M. de, 408.

Ferri, Enrico, 36.

Feuillet, Octave, 280.

 

561

Féval, Paul, 528.

Fidge, George, 100 n., 150-151.

Field, Nathaniel, 146 n., 254 n.

Fielding, Henry, 1, 4, 78, 154, 167, 168,
186, 268, 285, 300-309, 314, 319,
328, 330, 340, 341, 372, 373, 393,
407, 515, 526.

Fielding, Sarah, 323, 341.

Fifteen Detective Stories, 534.

Figueroa, Christéval Suarez de, 10.

Filigree Ball, The, 536 n.

Fille du forcat, La, 528 n.

Fille du meutrier, La, 528 n.

Filon, Augustin, 284.

Final Proof, 536 n.

Finances of the Gods, 507.

Finest Girl in Bloomsbury, The, 428.

Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry,
and Logic, The, 382.

Finken-Ritter, 27.

First Fleet Family, A, 508.

Fischart, Johann, 26.

Fishers of Men, 490.

Fitzball, Edward, 270 n., 271, 272.

Fitzgerald, P. H., 132, 284, 438, 549.

Fitzmaurice-Kelly, James, 37, 38, 41.

Fitzpatrick, W. J., 392 n., 409.

Flash Man of St. Giles, The, 126.

Fleay, F.G., 56 n., 243 n., 244 n., 261 n.,;
282.

Flema de Pedro Hernandez, 14. °

Fletcher, John, 124, 251-253, 255, 256,
258, 260, 261, 268, 283.

Fliegende Wandersmann, Der, 30 n.

Florence Macarthy, 388.

Flowers of Hemp, 127.

Flynt [Willard], Josiah, 183-135, 138;
487, 490-491, 499-500, 501.

Foerster, W., 40.

Fool Errant, 479.

Foole Vpon Foole, 68.

Fool of Quality, 337.

Foote, Samuel, 269.

Footsteps of a Threne, 480.

Ford, John, 154.

Forest Days, 359.

Forest Outlaws, 471.

Forster, John, 438.

Forsyth, William, 340, 341.

For the Defense (Farjeon), 536 n.

For the Defense (Hume), 536 n.

For the Term of his Natural Life, 508.

Fortunate Fool, The, 206.

Fortunate Imposter, Dick Hazard, The;
325.
562

Fortunate Isles, The, 241.

Fortunate Mistress, The. (See Roxana.)

Fortune by Land and Sea, 140, 251.

Fortunes of Nigel, The, 119 n., 260 n.,
346-347; dramatizations of, 270 n.

Foster, A. J., 471.

Foster, J. C., 279.

Foulché-Delbose, R., 37.

Fourberies de Scapin, 1, 261.

Four Million, The, 494.

Fournel, Victor, 38, 40.

Fournier, Edouard, 40.

Four P's, The, 52.

Fouyne de Seville, La, 16.

Fox, R. K., 122.

Foxe, John, 49.

Frankel, L., 83.

Fragments d’une histoire comique, 18.

Francion, L' Histoire comique de, 17,
18, 31, 34, 39, 40, 175, 207, 218 n.,
229, 254,

Francotte, X., 36.

Frank Mildmay, 398-399.

Franzésische Gyges, Der, 31.

Fraternitye of Vacabondes, The, 28,
76, 79, 88-89, 110 n., 136, 141.

Frauenzimmer Gesprichspiele, 28.

Freeman, Thomas, 146 n.

French, Sydney, 270 n.

Frere, Sir H. Bartle, 379.

Freres Tale, 48, 83.

Freudenhold, Martin, 28.

Freye, Walter, 378.

Friedmann, Isaac K., 504.

Frisky Moll's Song, 125.

Frogges of Egypt, 115 n.

From Clue to Capture, 536 n.

From Information Received, 536 n.

From the Seven Dials, 494.

Fuerza de la sangre, 249.

Fulda, L., 42.

Fulwell, Ulpian, 51.

Furetitre, Antoine, 20, 39, 228.

Furnivall, F. J., 83, 84, 136.

Further Rambles of Bob Tallyho, 383,

Futrelle, Jacques, 537.

Gaberlunyie ,Man, The, 49.

Gaboriau, Emile, 529-530, 532, 537, |.

538, 549.
Gaebel, Kurt, 378.
Gainsford, Thomas, 154.
Gallathea, 232.
Gallegher, 506.
Gallon, Tom, 504.

 

INDEX

Galloping Dick, 476, 481.

Gamester, The (Moore), 269.

Gamester, The (Shirley), 254, 268.

Gammer Gurtons Needle, 52, 56 n.

Garcia, Dr. Carlos, 10, 174.

Garcia, Marcos, 14.

Gardenshire, 8S. M., 537.

Gardufia de Sevilla, La, 12, 16, 31, 34,
63 n., 164, 173, 206, 217, 285.

Garnett, Edward, 378.

Garofalo, Rafaele, 36.

Garrick, David, 268.

Garriga, F. J., 37.

Garzoni, T., 76.

Gascon extravagant, Le, 18.

Gathorne-Hardy, A. E., 549.

Gay, John, 78, 125, 263-267, 268, 284,
366, 407.

Gay, Jules, 40.

Gayton, Edmund, 79, 113, 114, 145 n.

Geleerde advokaat, De, 34.

Gemini, The, 507.

General History of Famous Highway-
men, 177.

General History of Pyrates, 177.

Geneste, J., 261 n., 284.

Geneste, La, 16.

Gengenbach, Pamphilus, 27.

Gentle Craft, The, 71, 74, 85.

Gentleman, Francis, 268.

Gentleman Adventurer, 469.

Gentleman’s Gentleman, A, 480.

George a Greene, 73 n.

George-a-Greene, the Pinner of Wake-
field, 232.

George Barnwell, the London Merchant,
142, 269, 451.

| Gering, H., 85.

Gervase Skinner, 384.

Gervinus, G. C., 41.

Gesichte Philanders von Sittewald, 28,
42.

Gesta romanorum, 26, 83.

Giaour, The, 348.

Gifford, W., 282, 283.

Gilbert, W. S., 277.

Gilbert Gurney, 384-385.

Gil Blas, 17, 21, 22-24, 25, 31, 39, 40,
269, 271, 289, 301 n., 314, 316, 318,
334, 335, 338, 349, 352, 356, 371,
375, 392, 394, 407, 441.

Gil Blas (Moore), 269.

Gillette, William, 535.

Gilliat, Rev. E., 470, 471.

Giovanni in London, 274.
INDEX

Gipsies, The, 269.

Gipsias Metamorphosed, The, 110 u.,
241, 249, 255 n.

Gipsy Jack, 275.

Gissing, George, 438, 493-494.

Gitanilla, La, 33, 249.

Glapthorne, Henry, 256.

Goblins, The, 258, 283.

Godwin, Bishop Francis, 30 n.

Godwin, William, 182, 270, 337-338,
339, 341, 405 n., 411.

Goedeke, Karl, 41, 42.

Going to See a Man Hanged, 451.

Going to the Bad, 277.

Gold, 431.

Golden Ass, 330.

Goldener Hund, 31.

Goldsmith, Oliver, 269, 329, 333, 356.

Gémez, Antonio Enriquez, 13, 302.

Géngora, Luis de, 19.

Good and the Badde, The, 78.

Goodman, Nicholas, 147, 223.

Good Newes and Bad Newes, 111.

Goodwin, Gordon, 137, 231.

Gordon, Charles, 191.

Gosse, Edmund, 230, 340.

Gower, John, 45, 47.

Grafters, The, 499.

Grand Cyrus, Le, 77, 208.

Grand Pyrate, The, 141.

Granger, James, 137.

Granucci, Nicolao, 395 n.

Graves, Rev. Richard, 328, 341.

Great Bank Robbery, The, 534.

Great Duke of Florence, The, 250.

Great Eater of Gray’s Inn, The, 150 n.

Great Expectations, 426, 527, 535 n.

Great Hoggarty Diamond, The, 451.

Great Law of Subordination, The, 160.

Great Porter Square, 536 n.

Great World of London, The, 131.

Greatest Plague in Life, The, 428.

Green, Anna Katherine [Mrs. Charles
Roblfs], 533, 536.

Greene, Robert, 1, 58 n., 87, 92, 93-
103, 105, 106, 107, 111, 114, 118,
122, 186, 143 n., 151, 174, 192, 193,
199, 200, 202, 205, 207, 213 n., 232,
237, 407 n.

Greene in Conceipt, 103.

Greenes Ghost Havnting Conie-catchers,
99 n., 100 n., 103-104, 107, 110,
117 n., 187, 213 n., 215 n., 247 n.

Greenes newes both from Heauen and
Hell, 102-103, 109 n., 254.

 

563

Greenough, C. N., 86.

Greenwood, J., 138.

Greenwood, Tom, 270.

Grey Man, 470.

Grif, 487, 509-510.

Griffin, Daniel, 409.

Griffin, Gerald, 271, 387, 390.

Griffith Gaunt, 437.

Griffiths, Major Arthur, 132, 180, 190,
191, 505, 523, 534, 549.

Grillenvertreiber, 27.

Grimellos Fortunes, 203-205.

Grimmelshausen, Hans J. C. von,
29-30, 31, 65, 224, 226, 411.

Groatsworth of Wit, A, 94,137, 192,
199.

Grobianus, 27, 41, 76, 86, 105.

Grobianus et Grobiana, 27.

Groome, Francis Hindes, 62 n., 481,

Grosart, Alexander B., 85, 102 n., 136,
137, 230.

Grose, Captain Francis, 121, 365.

Groundworke of Conny-catching, The,
97 n., 101, 104, 117 n.

Grundy, Sydney, 280.

Guardian, The, 250, 259 n.

Giinther, K. E., 84.

Guevara, Luis Vélez, 13.

Guia y avisos de forasteros, 11.

Gulliver’s Travels, 78, 300.

Guls Horne-booke, 76, 137.

Guy Mannering, 119 n., 343-344, 382;
dramatization of, 270 n.

Guzman, J. Pérez de, 37.

Guzman de Alfarache, 1, 8, 9,12, 16, 23,
28, 33, 34, 38, 39, 66 n., 69 n., 123 n.,
175, 183, 203, 206, 209, 220, 222,
225, 229, 235 n., 237, 253, 261, 269,
286, 299, 312, 314, 318, 366.

Guzman, Hind, and Hannam Ouitstript,
152 n.

Gwynne, Paul, 478.

Gypsies, The, 482.

Gypsies and the Detectives, 533 n.

Gypsies of the Danes Dike, 481-482.

Gypsy, The, 359, 360.

Gypsy Folk Tales, 62 n., 484.

Gypsy Sorcery and Fortune-Telling;
482.

Haack, Gustav, 39.

Habits noirs, Leg, 528,
Hababurgischer Ottobert, 32 n.
Hagar of the Pawn-Shop, 536 n.
564

Hahner, Lorenz, 85.

Hainam, Richard, 151-152, 363.

Haines, J. T., 273.

Hains, T. Jenkins, 475.

Hajjt Baba of Ispahan, 352-356, 379.

Hajjt Baba of Ispahan in England, 356.

Hales, Dr. J., 84.

Hall, A. C., 36.

Hall, J., 268.

Hall, Joseph, 78.

Halliday, Andrew, 129, 270 n.

Halliwell-Phillipps, J. O., 84, 85, 86,
137, 282.

Hamilton, Anthony, 21.

Hamilton, Lord, 470.

Hamley, Sir E. B., 379.

Hand and Ring, 536 n.

Handbook of Swindling, 407.

Handley Cross, 384.

Handsome Jack, 279.

Handy Andy, 387.

Hanger, Colonel George, 172 n.

Hanging Not Punishment Enough,
156 n.

Hanmer, Meredith, 224 n.

Hannay, David, 37, 341, 410.

Hanotaux, Gabriel, 39.

Hans von Stein, or the Robber Knight,
272.

Hapgood, Hutchins, 170, 501.

Happel, Eberhard Werner, 31.

Hard Cash, 437.

Hard Times, 424.

Hare, A. J. C., 409.

Hare, F. A., 523.

Harlequin Sheppard, 125, 267.

Harman, Thomas, 28, 79, 87, 88, 89-
92, 101, 105, 107, 108, 109, 111,
117 n., 119, 122, 134, 186, 146, 167,
176, 205, 212, 237, 249 n., 440, 487.

Harptas en Madrid, Las, 12.

Harrison, Rev. William, 92.

Harrisse, H., 40.

Harrowing of Hell, The, 51.

Harsdérffer, Georg P., 28.

Harsnett, 8., 57 n.

Harte, F. Bret, 504.

Harvey, Gabriel, 61, 62, 144n.,145n.,
192.

Haspelhaus Simplicien, 30 n.
Hathway, R., 61.

Hauffen, A., 41,

Haughton, William, 251.

Haue with you to Saffron-walden, 102 n.
Hawbuck Grange, 384.

 

INDEX

Hawk the Highwayman, 271.
Hawthorne, Julian, 170, 500, 534, 536.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 376, 536.
Hazafias y la Rua, Joaquin, 38.
Hazlewood, C. H., 279.
Hazlitt, W. C., 84, 85, 107 n., 112 n.,
136, 137, 231, 282, 284.
Head, Richard, 1, 69, 81, 92 n., 115,
116, 120, 192, 209, 211-214, 223-
224, 231, 487.
Healey, J., 78. i) et de
Heart of Mid-Lothian, The, 182, 344- , , . ,,

345.
Heath, Samuel, 270 n.
Heathens of the Heath, 482.
Heavens Hue and Cry after Lust and
Murder, 157 n.
Hectors, The, 116 n.
Heinrich, Franz, 379.
Heinsius, Junior, Nicolaas, 33-34, 43.
Hell upon Earth, 114.
Hemyng, Bracebridge, 129.
Henderson, T. F., 137.
Henley, W. E., 122, 127, 137, 280,
340, 341.
Henrietta Robinson, 170.
Henry, O., 494.
Henry Esmond, 466.
Henry IV, Part 7, 108 n., 233, 235 n.
Henry IV, Part ti, 233, 235 n.
Henry V, 235 n.
Henry VI, Part ti, 49.
Heptameron, 254.
Herbert, David, 341.
Hérédia, J. M. de, 410.
Hereward the Wake, 44.
Herford, Charles H., 85, 86,
Hering, H. A., 519.
Héritier, L’, L. F., 527 n.
Herodotus, 484.
Hewlett, Maurice, 479.
Hext, 136.
Hey for Honesty, 144 n.
Heywood, John, 48, 52.
Heywood, Thomas, 140, 251, 283.
Hidalgo, Juan, 9.
Highland Rogue, The, 163.
High Pad’s Boast, The, 124.
Highwayman’s Holiday, The, 277.
Highwaywoman, The, 148.
Hill, F., 129 n.
Hill, Headon [F. Grainger], 536.
Hill, M. D., 129.
Hind, James, 149-151, 182, 363.
Hindley, Charles, 409, 504.
INDEX

Hind’s Declaration; Petition, Trial,
and Confession, 150.

Hind’s Elder Brother, 152 n.

Hind’s Ramble, 150.

Hia Grace o' the Gunne, 119 n., 491.

His Own Story, 170.

Hispaniola Plate, 469.

ya ‘tatotre @ Alcidalis et Zélide, 208, 227.

Histoire de Pedrille del Campo, 24.

Histoire des treize, 527.

Histoire des tribunauz secrets, 529.

Histoire du Chevalier Berinus, 83.

Histoire générale des larrons, 17, 31, 40,
63 n., 67, 70 n., 140, 151, 172, 175,
213 n., 217 n., 218 n., 223 n., 322 n.

Historia de la Monja Alférez, 13, 408,
410.

Historia de los gitanos, 365.

Historie of Frier Rush, The, 56-57, 85,
240.

Historie of the Miller of Abyngton,
The, 60 n., 66.

History and Adventures of Three Fin-
gered Jack, 185 n.

History of an Atom, The, 319, 331.

History of Bayliffs, 176, 313.

History of Bucaniers, 178.

History of Burke and Hare, 170.

History of Executions, 178.

History of Fortunatvs, 224-225, 407 n.

History of Hectors, 116.

History of Irish Rogues and Rapparees,
182, 365.

History of Jack Sheppard, 182.

History of John Sheppard, 162.

History of Margaret Catchpole, 185 n.

History of Mistris Jane Shore, 154.

History of Parismus, 208 n.

History of Perkin Warbeck, 154.

History of Pirates, 140.

History of the Buccaneers of America,
178.

History of the Frolicksome Courtier, 69.

History of the Gypsies, 168.

History of the King and the Cobbler, 74.

History of the Lives and Actions of
Jonathan Wild, Joseph Blake, etc.,
161 n.

History of the Pirates, 178.

History of the Vigilantes, 181.

History of Tom Fool, 326.

History of Vantllo Gonzalez, 319 n.

Hitchin, Charles, 156, 158, 159.

Hockley, W. B., 356, 379.

Hocus Pocus Iunior, 105.

565

Hodgett, John, 144.

Hodgetts, E. A. B., 136.

Hérl von Watterstorff, C. A., 31.

Holborn Hector, The, 79.

Holeroft, Thomas, 270.

Holinshed’s Chronicles, 92.

Holland, Samuel, 77.

Hollands Leagver (Goodman), 147;
223. ‘

Hollande Leagver (Marmion), 145 n.;
147-148, 189, 257.

Holmes, J., 129 n.

Honest Thieves, 268.

Honest Whore, The, 243-244,

aoe of the Merchant-Taylors, The,
73 n.

Honourable Prentice, The, 73.

Hood, Robin, 54-55, 71, 73, 84-85,
233, 250, 267, 277, 470.

Hood, Thomas, 182, 278.

Hooft, P. C., 32.

Hoogstraten, Jan van, 34.

Hook, Theodore, 183, 270, 384-386,
409.

Hooligan Nights, 497.

Hooper, I., 119 n., 491.

Hope, Thomas, 349-352, 379.

Hornung, E. W., 131, 475, 509, 511-
517.

Horseload of Fools, A, 76.

Horse Thief, The, 271.

Horsley, J. W., 138.

Hospitall of Incvrable Fooles, 76.

Hotten, J. C., 121, 122, 134, 136, 409,
436 n.

Hough, Emerson, 191.

Hound of the Baskervilles,
539.

House Breaker’s Song, 128.

House in the Mist, The, 536 n.

House of the Seven Gables, The, 376,
377.

Howard, Captain Edward, 404, 469.

Howard, Sir Robert, 268.

Howe, J. B., 272, 279.

Howells, W. D., 498-499.

Howleglass (see also Eulenspiegel), 59.

Hoyland, John, 481, 522.

Hudibras, 77, 154, 161.

Hudson, W. H., 378, 479, 536.

Hugo, Victor, 25, 118, 314, 338, 365,
370, 528.

Humbug, 277.

Hume, Fergus, 536.

The, 538-

 

Hume, M. A.S., 5 n., 230.
566

Humerous Dayes Myrth, An, 242.

Hummein, Die, 27.

Humourist, The, 126.

Humourists, The, 259.

Humour, Wit, and Satire of the 17th
Century, 67 n., 85.

Humours of the Road, 268.

Humphry Clinker, The Expedition of,
320, 393.

Hundred Stretches Hence, A, 128.

C. Mery Talys, 59, 61.

Hunold, C. F., 31.

Hunt, Leigh, 406-407.

Hunted Down, 182, 426, 427, 535 n.

Hunter, Rev. Joseph, 85.

Huon of Bordeaux, 59 n.

Hurd, C. O., 549.

Hurt of Sedicion, The, 50.

Husbande, Tyb the Wife, etc., The, 52.

Hutton, J, 191, 358.

Hutton, Luke, 87, 93, 111-112, 137,
144, 149, 158.

Hutton, R. H., 378.

Huygens, C., 32.

Hycke-Scorner, 52.

Hye Way to the Spyttel Hous, The, 76,
87-88, 136.

Hyjia de Celestina, La, 11, 206.

Hypocrites, The, 206.

Ibrahim, 208.

Tcaza, F. A. de, 38.

Icon animorum, 206.

Idle 'Prentice, a Tyburnian Idyll, The,
277.

Tf it be not Good, the Divel is in It, 244.

Illustrious Bassa, The, 77.

Tlustre fregona, La, 10, 33.

Imposteurs insignes, Les, 21.

Impostors, The (Cumberland), 269.

Impostors, The (Reed), 269.

Impregnable City, The, 480.

Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney, The,
506.

Inchbald, Mrs., 337, 339, 341.

Incognita, 226.

Individual, The, 128.

Ingeland, Thomas, 52.

In Gipsy Tents, 484.

Inland Voyage, An, 471.

In Lincoln Green, 470.

In London's Heart, 537.

Insel Felsenburg, 32.

Insulanischer Mandorell, 32 n.

Insurance and Crime, 132, 190.

 

INDEX

In the Bishop's Carriage, 518.

In the Bishop's Carriage (a play), 281.

In the Grip of the Law, 536 n.

In the House of Suddhoo, 507.

In the Image of God, 494,

In the Track of a Storm, 508.

In Tight Places, 534.

Intriguing Coxcomb, The, 328.

Iphigenis, 78.

Iron Chest, The, 270.

Iron Pirate, The, 470, 480.

Irralie’s Bushranger, 512.

Irwin, Wallace, 128.

Irwin, Will, 6 n., 520, 521.

Isla, Padre, 24, 393.

Island Nights’ Entertainments, 473.

Isle of Dogs, The, 199.

Italian Taylor and his Boy, The, 68.

Italienischer Robingon, 31.

It Is Never Too Late To Mend, 183,271,
431-434, 437.

Ivanhoe, 343.

Jack, A. A., 378, 468.

Jack Begger Under the Bush, 122.

Jack Brag, 270, 385-386.

Iacke of Dover, 68, 85.

Jack Hinton, 388, 389, 393.

Tack of Newbery, 71-72, 86.

Tack Poffe, 77.

Jack Randall, 127 n.

Jack Sheppard, 127, 182, 270, 366-
370.

Jack Sheppard and his Dog, 273.

Jack Sheppard on Horseback, 273.

Jack Smart, 328.

Jackson, William, 180, 190.

Jackson's Recantation, 116, 149.

Jacques le corsaire, 528 n.

Jacques Strop, 276.

James, G. P. R., 359-361, 379, 460,
470.

James V of Scotland, 49.

James Ramble, 328.

Japhet in Search of a Father, 400, 402-
404.

Jardine, D., 191.

Jargon de l'argot reformé, Le, 15.
Jasper Banks, 328.

Jean Rebhu, 30.

Jeffery, Walter, 508.

Jeffrey, F., 378.

Jerrold, Douglas, 382, 406, 407.
Jerrold, Walter, 468.

Jerry Abbershaw, 272.
INDEX

Jerry Buck, 328.

Jervas, Charles, 319.

Jests Concerning Popes, Monkes, and
Friers, 68.

Jeste from the University, 67.

Jests of George Peele, 63-64.

Jests of Hugh Peters, 69.

Tests to make you Merie, 105 n.

Jewel of Ynis Galon, The, 469.

Jilts, or Female Fortune Hunters, The,
328.

Jim the Penman, 279-280.

Jodelet, 19.

Joe Miller's Jests, 70.

Joe Miller's Jests (a play), 268.

Joe Thompson, Life and Adventures of,
324.

John Buncle, 323.

John Connor, Life and Adventures of,
324.

John Deane, 469.

John Dory, 123 n.

John Juniper, The History of , 333-334.

Johnson, Captain Charles, 177-178,
179, 303 n.

Johnson, Richard, 77.

Johnson, Samuel, 284.

Johnstone, Charles, 1, 78, 332-335,
341.

Johnstone, J. B., 270.

Jolly Beggara, The, 126-127, 137.

Jonathan Wild the Great, The History
of Mr., 4, 78, 158, 186, 302-307,
314, 334, 372, 407.

Jonckbloet, W. J., 43.

Jones, H. A., 279, 281.

Jones, J. 8., 272.

Jonson, Ben, 48, 61, 110 n., 141, 144,
145 n., 237-241, 242, 244, 250, 253,
255 n., 256, 258, 259, 268, 282, 347.

Jorrock’s Jaunts and Jollities, 384.

Joseph Andrews, 300-301, 302, 307,
311, 312, 328.

Joseph Rushbrook, or the Poacher, 400-

402.

Journal of the Plague Hee 105, 286.

Journée des Parques, Une, 2

Journey from this World to tha Next,
301-302, 319, 330.

Joviall Crew, or Beggars-Bush, The, 123.

Joviall Crew, or the Merry Beggars, A,
255, 268.

Judas der Ertzschelm, 31, 42.

Juif Polonais, Le, 278.

Jules of the Great Heart, 479.

 

567

Jusserand, J. J.; 39, 40, 83, 84, 105 n.;
198 n., 230, 231, 340.

Karajan, T. G. von, 42.

Katerfelto, 482-483.

Kauffmann, R. W., 537.

Keeler, Ralph, 504.

Keinz, F., 41.

Kelly, W. K., 38.

Kenilworth, 343; dramatizations of,
270 n.

Kennedy, H. M., 83.

Kernock le pirate, 528.

a Captain, 178, 180, 186, 272,

ieee: 472,

Kildare, Owen, 494.

Kilgobbin, 393.

Killing of the Children, The, 51.

Kim, 490.

Kimmins, Miss G. T., 494.

Kind-Harts Dreame, 199, 230.

King Edward IV and the Miller of
Tamworth, 74.

King Lear, 89, 233.

King of Pirates... .Captain Avery, The,
161, 287, 288.

King’s Highway, The, 359.

King's Own, The, 400.

Kingsley, Henry, 408, 509, 511.

Kingston, W. H. G., 469.

Kipling, Rudyard, 475, 490, 506-507,
522.

Kippenberg, A., 43.

irkman, Francis, 80, 192, 207 n.,

211-212, 213 n., 214-221, 231, 258.

Kitton, F. G., 438,

Kittredge, G. L., 57 n., 85.

Kitty Lamere, 428.

Klein, J. L., 235 n.

Klinger, M., 440.

Klucht van Trijntje Cornelis, 32.

Knacke to Knowe a Knave, A, 53.

Knapp, A., 179.

Knapp, W. I., 185 n., 468.

Knave in Grain, The, 243 n.

Knave in Grain New Vampt, 243 n.

Knave of Clubbes, 64 n., 111.

Knave of Hearts, 111.

Knaues of Spades and Diamonds, 111.

Knight, Thomas, 268.

Knight of Gwynne, The, 389.

Knight of Malta, The, 256.

Knight of the Golden Chain, The, 471.

Knot of Fooles, 77.
568

Knots Untied, 534.
Knowles, F. L., 522.
Knowles, Sheridan, 275.
Knox, Colonel, T. W., 132.
Knuust, H., 42.

Kohler, R., 83.

Kélbing, E., 83.

Koeppel, E., 283.
Koerting, Heinrich, 38.
Kohler, Josef, 36, 282.
Kollmann, Wilhelm, 231.
Krans, Horatio 8., 409.
Kriegspiel, the War Game, 483-485.
Kruyssen, 8S. van der, 33.
Kurz, Heinrich, 42.
Kuskop, Theodor, 231.
Kyd, Thomas, 142, 232.

La Bruyére, Jean de, 21.

Lacroix, Paul [Bibliophile Jacob], 40.

Lambel, H., 41.

Lady Frail, 328.

Lady of Lyons, The, 276.

Lady of Lyons, The (H. J. Byron's
burlesque), 277.

La Fontaine, Jean de, 19.

Lalenbuch, 27.

Lalla Rookh, 348.

Lamarca, Loubayssin de, 10.

Lamb, Gharles, 406.

Lame Commonwealth, The, 258.

Lament of the Border Cattle Thief, 507.

Lang, Andrew, 378, 438.

Lang, John, 278.

Lange, Alexis F., 86.

Langendijk, Pieter, 33.

Langland, William, 45, 46, 55.

Langton, Major Algernon 356 n.

Langton, R., 438.

Lanier, Sidney, 378.

Lanson, Gustav, 39.

Lanthorne and Candle-light, 107-108,
137, 212 n., 215 n., 445 n.

Lantron and Candle-lyghte, 107 n.

Lappenberg, J. M., 42.

Lara, 348.

Larroumet, Gustav, 40.

Last Baron of Crana, 390.

Last Speech and Dying Confession of
Ebenezer Elliston, 157, 190.

Last Will and Testament of James
Hind, 150.

Late Lancashire Witches, The, 251.

Launcelot Greaves, The Adventures of
Sir, 319, 328.

 

INDEX

Laurence, 270 n.

Laurence, Frederick, 340.

Laurent, Emile, 36.

Laurent, Eugéne, 36.

Lavengro, 185 n., 442-449, 468.

Laverne, or the Spanish Gipsy, 206.

Lawson, Henry, 508.

Lawyers Clarke Trappan'd, The, 149.

Lazarillo de Manzanares, 11, 217.

Lazarillo de Tormes, 7-8, 9, 15, 16, 28,
31, 32, 34, 38, 62, 123 n., 197, 198,
200, 201, 206, 214, 222, 229, 235 n.,
286, 299, 314, 334, 366, 407, 499.

Leah Kleschna, 281.

Leary Man, The, 128.

Leather-More, or Advice Concerning
Gaming, 105, 172, 219.

Leavenworth Case, The, 536 n.

Leaves from the Note-Book of a De-
tective, 533.

Le Breton, André, 38.

Lee, E., 230.

Lee, Sidney, 85, 231.

Lee, William, 163 n., 231, 265 n., 340.

Lee, Captain W. L. Melville, 549.

Le Gallienne, R., 522.

Leland, Charles Godfrey, 122, 137,
481, 482.

Leland, Thomas, 337.

Lemcke, Gustav, 37.

Lennox, Mrs. Charlotte, 268, 328, 341.

Lenten Stuffe, 193.

Leonard Lyndsay, 469.

Leper the Taylor, 75.

Le Sage, Alain-René, 10, 16, 22-24,
39, 40, 229, 291, 309, 311, 312,
318 n., 319 n., 320, 324, 333, 335,
348, 349, 352, 373, 392, 393, 405,
411.

Lessing, G. E., 269.

L’Estrange, Sir Roger, 206, 285.

Letting of Hvmovrs Blood in the Head-
Vaine, 105.

Lettres Persanes, 356.

Leuschel, Max, 341.

Leven van Louwtje van Zevenhuizen,

Leven van Ruffine, 34.

Lever, Charles, 1, 21, 183, 387, 388,
389, 392-397, 401, 409, 458.

Levey, R. M., 284.

Lewis, Alfred Henry, 534.

Lewis, Leopold, 278.

Lewis, M. G., 336.

Lexicon Balatronicum, 121.
INDEX

L’Hermite, Tristan, 18, 39, 205.

Libertine, The, 260.

Inbertins en campagne, Les, 21, 40.

een vagatorum, 7, 27, 87, 92, 136,

Libre de les dones, 7.

Liebich, Richard, 481, 522.

Life and Actions of Cartouche, 161.

Life and Adventures of a Cheap Jack,
504.

and Adventures
Gwynnett, 165.

Life and Adventures of Bampfylde-
Moore Carew, 167.

Life and Adventures of Captain John
Avery, 161.

Life and Adventures of Jack Sheppard,
163 n.

Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, 185.

Life and Adventures of Richard Turpin,
182.

Life and Adventures of S. D. Hayward,
170.

Life and Death of Gamaliel Ratsey,
96 n., 143-144, 188.

Life and Death of Griffin Flood, 158.

Infe and Death of James Turner, 155 n.

Life and Death of Mr. Badman, 225-
226, 231.

Life and Death of the English Rogue,

220.
Life and Death of William Longbeard,

of Ambrose

142.

Life and Death of Young Lazarillo, 221.

Life and Pranks of Long Meg, 144-145.

Life and Progresse of Walker the Iron-
monger; 154.

Life in London, 182, 270, 380-383.

Life in Paris, 383.

Life in St. George’s Fields, 127.

Life in Sing Sing, 133.

Life of Charles Lever, 392 n.

Life of Charles Speckman, 165.

Life of David Haggart, 169.

Life of Donna Rosina, 285.

Lije of Du Vall, 182.

Life of Jack Sheppard, 163 n.

Life of John Waller, 164.

Life of Jonathan Wild (H. D.), 160.

Life of Jonathan Wilde, 161 n.

Life of Robert Ramsey, 164.

Life of William Carleton, 392 n.

Life of William Stuart, 170.

Life's Painter of Variegated Characters,
118, 137, 336.

 

569

Iights o' London, The, 279.

Like wil to Like, 51.

Liliencron, R. von, 42.

Lillo, George, 142, 269, 451.

Lilly, W. S., 468.

Link by Link, 536 n.

Lifian y Verdugo, Antonio, 11.

Lintilhac, Eugéne, 39.

Iitile Anna Mark, 469.

Little Brother, The, 487, 490-491.

Little Dorrit, 423, 424.

Little French Lawyer, The, 253, 268.

Iattle Robin Hood, 277.

Lives and Actions of Irish Highwaymen,
Tories, and Rapparees, 181, 442, 446.

Lives and Adventures of Sheppard,
Morris, Nevinson, and Beane, 163 n.

Lives and Deaths of Two Pyrats, 140.

Lives and Sharping Tricks of Eminent
Gamesters, 172 n.

Lives of A. R. Bowes and the Countess
of Strathmore, 457 n.

Lives of Highwaymen, 140, 190, 303 n.

Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals,
178, 190.

Lives of Twelve Bad Men, 181, 190,
322 n.

Lives of Twelve Bad Women, 181, 189.

Living Picture of London, A, 383.

Liza of Lambeth, 495.

Lloyd, Edward, 186.

Lloyd, Nelson, 519.

Lockhart, J. G., 378, 409.

Lodge, Thomas, 77, 111, 140, 142,
188, 232, 244 n.

Logan, W. H., 189, 283.

Lombroso, Cesare, 36.

London and the Country Carbonadoed,
79. :

London Bridge, 273.

London Characters, 131.

London Guide and Strangers’ Safe-
guard, 119.

London Labour and the London Poor,
129-131, 370, 428.

London Only, 498.

London Spy, The, 119.

Lonely O’ Malley, 486.

Long Arm, The, 537.

Longsword, 337.

Look Ere You Leap, 77.

Looking Glasse for London, A, 232.

Look on me London, 77.

Lost Man’s Lane, 536 n.

Love and Revenge, 262 n.
570

Loveday, Robert, 207, 208.

Love for Love, 262.

Lovel the Widower, 467.

Lover, Samuel, 387.

Love Restored, 241.

Love's Cure, 253, 256.

Loves of Osmin and Daraza, 269 n.

Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum, 128.

Lowdell, E., 38.

Lowe, R. W., 284.

Lozana Andaluza, 7, 37.

Lucas, Alfred, 527 n.

Lucas, Theophilus, 171-172, 190, 191.

Lucian, 78.

Lucky Mistake, 227.

Lucretia, or the Children of Night, 182,
377, 427.

Luke Hutton’s Lamentation, 112 n.

Luke Hutton’s Repentance, 112 n.

Luna, Juan de, 11, 16.

Lupton, Donald, 79.

Luther, Martin, 27.

Luzae, C. J., 43.

Lydgate, John, 75.

Lyly, John, 93, 198, 202, 232.

Lynde, Francis, 499.

Lyndsay, David, 48.

Lyons Mail, The, 278.

Lytell Geste of Robyn Hoode, A, 55.

Mabbe, James, 38, 206, 237.

Macaire, 280.

McAllister and his Double, 520.

Maccoll, Norman, 38.

McCormick, L., 281 n.

MacDonald, Arthur, 36.

McDonnell, William, 482.

Macgregor, Rob Roy, 163, 270 n., 345.

Macheath in the Shades, 268.

Mackenzie, Henry, 329.

McKenna, Stanley, 279.

McKerrow, R. B., 137, 230.

McLellan, C. M. §8., 281.

McLevy, J., 180.

MacRitchie, David, 523.

McWatters, G. S., 534, 549.

Madde Pranckes of Merry Mall, 145 n.

Mad Tom a Bedlam’s Desires of Peace,
89 n.

Mad Tom's Garland, 89 n.

Mad World my Masters, A (Breton),

203.

Mad World My Masters, A (Middle-
ton), 247, 261.

Magnetic Lady, The, 241.

 

INDEX

Magnyfycence, 52.

Maid Marian, 470.

Maidment, James, 189, 283.

Mattre Patelin, 67.

Malcomo von Liebendau, 30 n.

Malkin, B. H., 319 n.

Mamiillia, 93.

Mammon, 280.

Mammon and Co., 502.

Mandeville, Bernard de, 157.

Manhattan Unmasked, 530.

Man in the Moone, 30 n.

Man in the Moone telling Fortunes,
The, 81, 312.

Mankind, 52.

Man of Pleasure, The, 328.

Man of the World, The, 329-330.

Manon Lescaut, 25, 407.

Manuel, Don Juan, 173.

Manuel, E., 278.

Man Who Would Be King, The, 507.

Maquet, A., 138.

Marcelle the Mad, 479.

Marcos de Obregon, 10, 16, 23, 37, 175,
218 n., 225, 356 n., 407.

Margaret Catchpole, 185;
tion of, 271.

Marivaux, P. C., 25.

Marked ‘: Personal,” 536 n.

Markheim, 471.

Markolf, 26.

Marlowe, Christopher, 3, 95, 232.

Marmion, Shackerley, 147-148, 189,
257.

Marriage of Wit and Wisdom, The, 52.

Marryat, Florence, 410.

Marryat, Frederick, 1, 324,397-405,
410.

Marsden, F., 279.

Marston, John, 61, 242-243, 283, 407.

Martha the Gipsy, 384.

Marti, Juan, 8, 235 n.

Martin, A. P., 523.

Martin, Sir Theodore, 127.

Martin Chuzzlewit, 422.

Martin Hewitt, Investigator, 537.

Martin Mark-All, Beadle of Bridewell,
110-111, 115 n.

Martin Troutroud, 356.

Martinenche, Ernest, 39.

Martinus Scriblerus, 323.

Marvelus Dedes of Lazaro de Tormes;
60.

Mary Magdalene, 51.

Marzials, F. T., 438, 468.

dramatiza-
INDEX

Masque of Queens, The, 241.

Masque of the Fortunate Isles, The, 61.

Massinger, Philip, 249-250, 251, 252,
253, 283.

Masson, David, 340.

Massuccio di Salerno, 29 n., 226, 253,
325 n., 407.

Masterman Ready, 400.

Master of Ballantrae, The, 473.

Matsell, G. W., 122, 128.

Matthews, Brander, 549.

Maturin, C. R., 348.

Maugham, W. S., 495.

Maunder's Praise of his Mort, 124,

Maurice, A. B., 549.

Maurice Quain, 498.

Maurice Tiernay, 388.

Maxwell, W. H., 387, 388, 389, 458.

May, Thomas, 206.

May Day, or the Little Gipay, 268.

Mayhew, Augustus, 428-431, 438.

Mayhew, Henry, 129-132, 370, 428.

Mayo, F. de Sales, 523.

Mayor of Quinborough, The, 248.

Measure for Measure, 233, 245.

Meekeren, J. van, 33.

Meeting of Gallanta at an Ordinarie,
The, 66-67, 86.

Meg McIntyre’s Raffle, 494.

Meier Helmbrecht, 27, 41.

Mélange amusant, 24.

Melville, Lewis, 468.

Mémoires d’ Artagnan, 21.

Mémoires de Mme. de Barneveldt, 25.

Mémoires de Vidocq, 185, 440, 627.

Mémoires du Chevalier Hasard, 21.

Mémoires du Comte de Gramont, 21.

Memoirs of a Flea, 331.

Memoirs of a Great Detective, 534.

Memoirs of Claude DuVall, 154, 189,
365.

Memoirs of Gamesters, 140, 171-172.

Memoirs of James Hardy Vauz, 119,
165, 169.

Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph, 327.

Memoira of Mr. C. J. Yellowplush,
451-452.

Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, 539-547.

Memoirs of the Life and Timea of
Jonathan Wild, 163, 176.

Memoirs of the Northern Impostor, 168.

Memoirs of the Right Villainous John
Hall, 365.

Memoirs of the U. S. Secret Service,
534,

 

571

Memoirs of Turpin, 371.

Memorials of Millbank, 132.

Menaphon, 193.

Mendoza, Diego Hurtado de, 7, 38.

Menéndez y Pelayo, Marcelino, 37, 38.

Merchant of Venice, The, 233.

Mercury Vindicated From the Al-
‘chemists, 239.

Meredith, George, 484.

Merie Tales Newly Imprinted (Skelton),
60, 62-63.

Mérimée, Ernest, 38.

Merivale, H., 468.

Meriwether, Lee, 133.

Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, 470.

Merry Divell of Edmunton, The, 74.

Merry LIfe and Mad Exploits of
James Hind, The, 151.

Merry Men, and Other Tales, The, 471.

Merry Sadler of Walden, The, 75.

Merry Wives of Windsor, The, 235 n.

Merry Zingara, The, 277.

Mery Gest How a Sergeaunt Wolde
Lerne to be a Frere, 66.

Mery Play between the Pardoner and
the Frere, 52.

Mery Tales, and quick answeres, 59, 64.

M étamorphoses de crimes, Les, 528 n.

Michaelmas Term, 245.

Michel, F., 40.

Michelson, Miriam, 518.

Micrologia, 78.

Middleton, Thomas, 145 n., 242, 244—-
249, 255 n., 256, 261, 283.

Midsummer Night's Dream, 58 n., 59.

Mihil Mumchance, 104-105, 106, 171.

Miklosich, Franz von, 481, 522.

Milchsack, G., 41.

Milesian Chief, The, 348.

Milleres Tale, 48, 83.

Miller of Mansfield, The, 74.

Millionaire Baby, The, 536 n.

Millions of Mischief, 536 n.

Mill Mystery, The, 536 n.

Milton, John, 85, 146 n., 210.

Minto, William, 340.

Mirifando, Terpo, 31.

Mirrour of Knighthood, The, 123 n.

Mirzah, The, 356.

Miscellanies (Fielding), 301, 302.

Misérables, Les, 338, 528.

Miseries of a Iatle, 113.

Miseries of Mauillia, 202.

Misselmah, 356.

Miss Frances Baird, Detective, 537.
572

Miss Hurd, 536 n.

Mitchell, 8. Weir, 487, 492, 503, 505.

Mitton, M. G., 504.

Model Town and the Detectives, The,
533 n.

Modern Buccaneer, A, 470.

Modern Chivalry, 405.

Modern Flash, 121.

Modern Times, or Gabriel Outcast, 335.

Modern Wizard, A, 536 n.

Modest Vindication of Henry Walker,
A, 154n.

Moffett, Cleveland, 534.

Mohicans de Paris, Les, 528.

Mohocks, The, 267.

Molitre, 261, 268.

Molina, Tirso de, 348.

Moll Flanders, 1, 186, 187, 289-293,
300, 442.

Molly Maguires and the Detectives,
The, 533 n.

Momus francois, Duc de Roquelaure,
Le, 25.

Monastery, The, 343.

Moncada, Sancho de, 365.

Moncrieff, W. T., 270, 271, 274-275,
382.

Monseigneur, ow les voleurs, 528 n.

Monselet, Charles, 39.

Monsieur d’Olive, 242, 254.

Montégut, J. B. J. E., 468.

Montépin, Xavier de, 528.

Montesquieu, C. 8. Baron de, 356.

Montjoye, 280.

Moonfleet, 470.

Moonstone, The, 406.

Moore, Edward, 269.

Moore, George, 498.

Moore, Dr. John, 313, 336, 341.

Moore, Langdon W., 170.

Moore, Thomas, 127.

Moor’s Revenge, The, 227.

Mord Emly, 498.

More, Sir Thomas, 66.

More Dissemblers Besides Women,
249 n.

Morel-Fatio, Alfred, 38.

Moreto y Cabafia, Augustin, 261.

Morgan, Lady, 387, 388.

Morgann, Maurice, 282.

Morier, J. J., 349, 352-356, 379.

Morillot, Paul, 38, 39.

Morisot, C. B., 17.

Morley, Henry, 83, 85, 86, 94 n., 138,
198 n., 284,

 

INDEX

Morlitre, Chevalier de la, 25.

Morrison, Arthur, 486, 495-496, 497,
537.

Morrison, W. D., 36.

Moscherosch, Hans Michael, 28, 42.

Moseley, B., 185 n.

Mother Bombie, 232.

Motor Pirate, The, 520.

Mott, Laurence, 479.

Motteux, Peter, 319.

Mouche, avantures de Bigand, La, 25.

Mouby, Chevalier de, 25.

Mountebank, The, 150.

Mountebanks, The, 277.

Mourning Garment, 93.

Mozeen, Thomas, 327.

Mrs. Raffles, 518.

Much Ado About Nothing, 233.

Muddock, J. E. P., 536.

Mudie, James, 523.

Miller, Friedrich, 523.

Mumford, Ethel Watts, 504.

Mummer's Wife, A, 498.

Munday, Anthony, 58, 232.

Murder at Bohelland Farm, The, 142.

Murder Considered as One of the Fine
Arts, 183, 407.

Murders in the Rue Morgue, The, 530-
531.

Murner, Thomas, 27.

Murray, David C., 505, 537.

Murray, P. J., 409.

Murther Upon Murther, 155.

Musa Pedestris, 128, 137.

My Literary Passions, 499.

My Little Lady, 504.

My Mamie Rose, 494.

Mynshul, Geffray, 79, 87, 113, 137.

Mysteres de Londres, 529.

Mysteres de Paris, 528.

Mystéres du Palais Royal, 528 n.

Mysteries of Paris (a play), 271.

Mysteries of Police and Crime, 132,
180 n., 523, 549.

Mystery of a Hansom Cab, The, 536 n.

Mystery of Edwin Drood, The, 426,
535 n.

Mystery of Marie Rogét, The, 531.

Mystery of M. Feliz, The, 536 n.

My Time, O ye Muses, 126.

Nachtbichlein, 57 n.

Narquotse Justine, 16.

Narrative of all the Robberies, Escapes
. . « of Jack Sheppard, 162 n.
INDEX

Narrative of the Proceedings in France,
A, 161.

Narrenbeschwerung, 27.

Narrenschiff, 27, 42.

Nash, Thomas, 1, 61, 95, 105, 145 n.,
192-198, 199, 200, 205, 207, 230.

Nature and Art, 337.

Navarrete y Rivera, Francisco de, 13.

Necio bien afortunado, 11, 206.

Ne’er-do-Well, The, 277.

Neilson, W. A., 210 n.

Nest of Ninnies, A, 68, 76, 85.

Netherworld, The, 493-494.

Neuer too late, 94.

New Arabian Nights, 471, 520.

New Border Tales, 470.

New Canting Dictionary, 124, 125.

New Chronicles of Don Q., 479.

New Custome, The, 52.

New Dictionary of the Canting Crew,
120.

New Inn, 241, 347.

New Samaria, 505.

New South Wales Calendar, 514.

New Way to Pay old Debts, A, 249,
250, 283.

New York Tombs, its Secrets and
Mysteries, The, 132, 190.

Newcomes, The, 467.

Newe Playe of Robyn Hoode, 54.

Newes from Perin, 142.

Newee from the Sea of Two Pyrats, 141.

Newgate Calendar, 1, 140, 157,179,
180, 183, 190, 272, 407, 453.

Newgate's Garland, 160.

News from Covent Garden, 80.

Nicholas Nickleby, 421.

Nicholls, Sir George, 83.

Nicholson, Brinsley, 282.

Nicker Nicked, The, 105.

Night Before Larry Was Stretched, The,
128.

Night-Walker, or the Little Thief, The,
252-253, 260, 261, 268.

Nifia de los embustes, Teresa de Man-
zanares, La, 12.

Nisbet, Hume, 509.

Nobili, Giacinto, 27.

Noble Gentleman, The, 253.

No Jest like a True Jest, 151.

No puede ser, 261. :

Norgate, G. Le Grys, 378.

Norris, W. E., 505.

Northbrooke, J., 104 n.

Northward Hoe, 244.

 

573

Norway, A. H., 470.

Norwood Gipsies, 269.

Notable Discouery of Coosnage, A, 95,
96, 102, 106, 137.

Notes of an Itinerant Policeman, 134.

Notorious Cosenages of Dorothie Phil-
lipa, The, 148.

Notorious Impostor, The, 152-153.

Notre-Dame de Paris, 118.

Nott, Dr., 137.

Nouvelles tragicomiques, 19.

Nova Solyma, 210-211.

Novelas exemplares, 10, 16, 38, 206,
269 n., 285.

Novelas morales, 11,

Novellino, Il, 29 n., ea, n., 325 n., 407 n.

Now and Then, 387.

Nuge@ Venales, 69, 224.

No. 5 John Street, 494,

Nus, Eugéne, 528.

Obi, or the History of Three Fingered
Jack, 185 n.

Ochoa, Eugenio O., 37.

O'Donoghue, D. J., 392 n., 409.

Offray, Antoine, 19.

Oj Manie Famous Pirats, 140.

Of the Endes and Deathes of Two
Prisoners, 141.

Old Ballads, 112 n.

Old City Manners, 268.

Old Curiosity Shop, The, 421.

Olde Fortunatus, 244.

Oliphant, James, 378.

Oliver Twist, 370, 404, 415-421; dram-
atizations of, 270.

Olivier, Abbé, 20.

On Duty With Inspector Field, 427,
535 n.

On the City Wall, 507.

On the Track, and Over the Sliprails,
508.

One of My Sons, 536 n.

One Who Saw, The, 536 n.

O per se O, 108-109, 114, 120, 209,
212 n., 436 n.

Orange Girl, The, 477.

Order of Fools, The, 75.

Orders for Setting Roges to Worke, 157 n.

Ordinary, The, 256.

Orellana y Rincén, Luis, 38.

Original English Rogue, The, 221.

Ormond (Brown), 405 n.

Ormond (Edgeworth), 389.

Oroonoko, 227, 266.
574

O’Rorke, J., 284.

Orphan, The, 227.

Osbourne, Lloyd, 473-475.

Oscar, Alan, 469.

Ostlere, Edith, 494.

O'Sullivan, V., 282.

Ottolengui, Rodrigues, 536.

Otway, Thomas, 227, 261, 313.

Our Convicts, 129 n.

Our Mutual Friend, 425-426, 531,
535 n.

Outlaw and Lawmaker, 509.

Outlaws of the Marches, 470.

Outside the Radius, 498.

Overbury, Sir Thomas, 79, 80.

Oxberry, William, 270 n.

Oxenford, J., 270.

Ozell, J., 285.

Ozmyn and Daraxa, 269.

Page disgracié, Le, 18.

Pain, Barry, 470.

Painter, William, 407 n.

Paire of Spy-Knaves, 111.

Palace of Pleasure, 407 n.

Palm, H., 41.

Palmer, E. H., 482.

Palmerin, 32, 207.

Palmistry, the Secrets Thereof Dis-
closed, 49.

Pamela, 300, 327, 328.

Pandion and Amphigenia, 208.

Pandosto, 93.

Pandurang Hari, 356-358, 379.

Paradise Row, 494.

Pardoneres Tale, 48.

Paredes, Diego Garcia de, 8.

Paris Sketch Book, 451.

Parker, George, 117-118, 125, 137,336.

Parker, Martin, 61.

Parkes, W., 77.

Parnassus Playes, 76.

Parson Haben’s Sermon, 143.

Parson of Kalenborow, The, 59.

Parson Peter, 470.

Parthenissa, 208, 227.

Paspati, A. G., 481, 523.

Pasquils Iests, 60,67, 175, 218 n.

Passagero, El, 10.

Passenger from Calais, The, 534.

Paston, George, 190.

Paternoster, Sidney, 520.

Paterson, William, 189.

Patrafiuelo, 8.

Paul, C. Kegan, 341.

 

INDEX

| Paul Clifford, 81, 182, 339, 370-374,

379,415, 437; dramatizations of, 271.

Pauli, Johannes, 26.

Paved with Gold, 428-431.

Payer, Rudolf von, 42.

Paysan parvenu, Le, 25, 301 n.

Peacock, Thomas L., 470.

Peake, R. B., 271.

Pearson, Edwin, 86.

Peccavi, 512.

Peck, G. W., 486.

Peck's Bad Boy and his Pa, 486.

Peck’s Bad Boy and the Groceryman,
486.

Pedro de Urdemalas, 10.

Peele, George, 63-64, 232.

Peep o’ Day, or John Doe, The, 390.

Peg Woffington, 431.

Pelham, Camden, 180, 370.

Pemberton, Max, 470, 480.

Pendennis, 466.

Penitent Murderer, The, 155.

Penitents in the Magdalen House, 328.

Pennell, Elizabeth R., 522.

Percival Keene, 398, 400.

Percy, Bishop Thomas, 142, 333.

Peregrine Pickle, The Adventures of,
81, 312-313.

Pérez, Andrés, 9, 37, 292.

Periquillo, él de Jas gallineras, 14.

Perjur'd Beauty, The, 227.

Péronne, J. W., 341.

Perry, T. S., 295 n., 340.

Perry, William, 119.

Persiles y Sigismunda, 208.

Personal Adventures of a Detective, 534.

Peter Leu, 26,

Peters, R., 39.

Petronius, 6, 238.

Pfaffe Amis, 26, 41, 61.

Pjarrer von Kalenberg, Der, 26, 59.

Phantom Army, The, 480.

Phantom Wires, 519.

Pharamond, 78.

Philips, Ambrose, 263 n.

Phillips, G. S., 481.

Phillips, John, 77, 206, 208.

Phenix, The, 245.

Piacevoli notte (Granucci), 895.

Ptacevoli notte (Straparola), 68 n.

Picara Justina, La, 9, 13, 16, 28, 29,
37, 216, 235 n., 286, 395.

Picara, or Triumphs of Female Sub-
tilty, La, 206.

Ptcaro amante, El, 14.
INDEX

Picaroons, The, 6 n., 620-521.

Pickpocket's Chaunt, The, 128.

Pickwick Abroad, 128.

Pickwick Papers, The, 380, 384, 411-
415, 438; dramatizations of, 270.

Picture, The, 250.

Picture of the Fancy, 380.

Pierce, G. A., 438.

Pierce Egan’s Life in London, 383.

Pierce Pennilesse Hia Svpplication to
the Divell, 193.

Piers Plainnes seauen yerea Prentiship,
77, 199-202, 205, 230.

Piers the Plowman, 46, 84.

Pilgrims, The, 333.

Pilgrim’s Progress, The, 225.

Pill to Purge Melancholy, A, 150.

Pilot, The, 405.

Pinder of Wakefield, The, 73.

Pineda, Pedro, 286.

Pinero, A. W., 280.

Pinkerton, Allan, 533.

Pinkerton, Thomas, 470.

Pinner of Wakefield, The, 73 n., 85.

Piratas, Las, 177.

Pirate, The (Marryat), 400.

Pirate, The (Scott), 345-346, 405, 469;
dramatization of, 270 n.

Pirate of the Iales, The, 272.

Pirates de la Seine, Les, 528 n.

Pirates of Penzance, The, 277.

Pirates of Putney, The, 277.

Planché, J. R., 272.

Plancher-Valcour, 25.

Plautus, 32, 238.

Play of the Shepherds, 51.

Pleasant Adventures of the Witty
Spaniard Lazarillo, 221.

Pleasant and Princely History of the
Gentle Craft, 75.

Pleasant Historie of Iohn Winchcomb,
The. (See lack of Newbery.)

Pleasant Notes upon Don Quizot, 114,
145 n.

Plint, T., 129 n., 190.

Plomer, H. R., 136.

Plot and Passion, 278.

Pligge, Georg, 341.

Pocock, Isaac, 270 n., 271, 272.

Poe, Edgar Allan, 529, 530-532, 549.

Poestas picarescas, 9.

Poetaster, The, 237.

Poggio Bracciolini, G. F., 26.

Point d'honneur, 22.

Polexander, 78.

 

575

Polezandre, 208.
Polignac, 34.
Pollard, A. W., 84.

Pollitique Platt for the Reformation of

Roges, A, 157 n.

Polly, 125, 226.

Polly Honeycomb, 328.

Polly of Parker’s Renta, 494.

Polyandre, 18.

Pompey the Little, 330.

Poole, J. F., 273.

Pope, Alexander, 263 n., 313.

Popular Comic Song Book, 128.

Porta, Gian Battista della, 239.

Pott, A. F., 481, 522.

Powers that Prey, The, 500.

Poynter, Eleanor F., 504.

Practises of Elizabeth Caldwell, 148.

Prado, Andrés de, 14.

Praed, Rosa, 509.

Praise, Antiquity, and Commodity of
Beggery, The, 123.

Praise and Vertue of a Jayle, The, 113 n.

Praise of Folie, The, 786.

Précaution inutile, La, 253 n.

Préfontaine, César Oudin de, 19.

Preshac, Abbé, 19.

Prest, Tom, 186.

Price, Laurence, 74.

Prichard, Kate and Hesketh, 478, 479.

Prien, F., 42.

Priest, Josiah, 169.

Prince and the Pauper, The, 109, 119,
487.

Prince of Priggs Revels, An Excellent
Comedy Called the, 150, 365.

Prince Rupert, 469.

Prison Breaker, The, 267.

Private Learoyd’s Story, 506.

Proctor, P., 319 n.

Proescholdt, L., 83.

Professional Criminals of America, 132,

181.

Professional Thieves and the Detective,
533 n.

Profligate, The, 280.

Projectors, The, 259.

Prostitutes of Quality, 328.

Proteus Redivivus, 81,116 n., 216, 222,
223.

Prudence Palfrey, 505.

Pudd'nhead Wilson, The Tragedy of,
535.

Pugh, E. W., 494.

Puibusque, Adolf, 39,
576

Punch's Prize Novelists, 451.
Puritains de Paris, Les, 528.
Puritan, The, 64, 268.
Purloined Letter, The, 531-532.
Purple Land, The, 479

Put Yourself in His Place, 437.
Pyle, Howard, 178, 470.

Quacks, The, 268.

Quakers’ Opera, The, 267.

Quality of Mercy, The, 498.

Quelques mots sur une question & Tordre
du jour, 527.

Questions concerning Coniehood, 104 n.

Quevedo y Villegas, Francisco de, 9,
14, 16, 19, 28, 34, 38, 153, 173, 206,
214, 286, 301 n., 320, 321, 324, 348,
373, 393, 407, 420, 421.

Quinze joyes de mariage, 76.

Qvippe for an Vpstart Courtier, A, 102.

Rabelais, Francois, 15, 26, 78, 206, 405.

Race for Miilions, A, 537.

Raclots, Sieur, 16.

Radcliffe, Mrs. Anne, 336, 361.

Rauber, Die, 365, 407.

Raffles, 515-517.

Ragpicker of Paris, The, 272.

Raiders, The, 470.

Raimundo el entremetido, 13, 38.

Rake’s Progress, The, 274.

Raleigh, Walter, 340, 341, 522.

Ralph Roister Dotster, 53, 232.

Ram Alley, or Merry Tricks, 250.

Rameses, 348.

Randail’s Diary of Proceedings, 127 n.

Randolph, Thomas, 144 n.

Rands, W. B. [Matthew Browne], 84.

Rankins, William, 61.

Rann, Sixteen String Jack, 168, 180,
185, 186, 273, 274 n.

Rapparee, The, 277.

Rastell, John, 52.

Ratsey, Gamaliel, 140, 143-144.

Ratseys Ghoaste, 144, 188.

Raittlin the Reefer, 404.

Ravenswing, The, 451.

Reach, A. B., 469.

Reade, Charles, 1, 183, 184, 271, 278,
406, 428, 431-438, 508.

Reade, C. L., 438.

Reade, Compton, 438.

Real Life and Times of Jack Sheppard,
The, 163 n.

Real Life in London, 383.

 

INDEX

Réaume, Eugéne, 39.

Rebolledo, J. Tineo, 523.

Recantation Of an ill led Life, A, 114-
115, 137, 149, 213, 321.

Recollections of a New York Chief of
Police, 132.

Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn, 509.

Recollections of Thurtell, 170.

Records of Vincent Trill, 536 n.

Rede, Leman, 127, 270, 273.

Redgauntlet, 344.

Redmond, Count O’ Hanlon, 391-392.

Red Rover, The (Cooper), 405.

Red Rover (Fitzball), 272.

Red Triangle, The, 537.

Reece, Robert, 277.

Reed, Joseph, 269.

Reeve, Clara, 336.

Regnier, G., 36.

Regulator, The, 159.

Reigles dea filous, 15.

Relacién de la cdrcel de Sevilla, 8.

Relation of the Taking of James Hind,
150.

Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 142.

Remarkable Trials and Notorious
Charactera, 180.

Renascence of Wonder, The, 485 n.

Repentance of Robert Greene, The, 93.

Report of Fauntleroy's Trial, 170.

Reaponce au grand cesre, 15.

Retour de Brest, Le, 528.

Return of Sherlock Holmes, The, 539-
547.

Reuter, Christian, 43.

Revenge, or Match in Newgate, The, 262.

Reverie, The, 332.

Reves Tale, 48, 83.

Reynard the Fox, 206.

Reynolds, W. M., 128.

Rhoscomy]l, O., 469.

Rhys, E., 283.

Ribton-Turner, C. J., 83, 137.

Rice, James, 477.

Richardson, Samuel, 32, 285, 300,301,
327.

Rickett, Arthur, 4

Ridge, William bet “494, 497-498.

Riis, Jacob A., 138.

Rimbault, E. F., 136, 230.

Rinconete y Cortadillo, 10, 28, 107.

Ring, Der, 27.

Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation, 389 n.

Rise of Ruderick Clowd, The, 501.

Rise of Silas Lapham, The, 499.
INDEX

Ritchie, Mrs. A. T., 468.

Rivadeneyra, Manuel, 37.

Road to Ruin, The, 270.

Roaring Girle, The, 145-146, 244.

Roaring Megge, 144 n.

Robber, The, 169, 359.

mere Baron of Bedjord Castle, The,

i,

Robber of the Rhine, The, 272.

Robbers of the Pyrenees, 272.

Robber’s Wife, The, 272.

Robberies Company Limited, The, 519.

Robbery Under Arms, 508, 509, 510-
611.

Robbing Roy, 277.

Robert Macaire (H. J. Byron), 277.

Robert Macaire (Selby), 275-276.

Roberts, Morley, 498.

Roberts, Samuel, 481, 522.

Robertson, T. W., 278.

Robert the Deuyll, 58, 85.

Robin Conscience, 219 n., 445.

Robin Good-Fellow, 58-59, 85.

Robin Hood (Burnand), 277.

Robins, Elizabeth, 494.

Robinson, W. C., 83.

Robinsonaden, 31, 35, 43.

Robinson Crusoe, 29, 31, 187, 286, 287,
288; dramatization of, 271.

Rob Roy, 163 n., 182,345; dramatiza-
tions of, 270 n.

Rob Roy's Grave, 349.

Roche, Jean de la, 18.

Rocoles, J. B. de, 21.

Roderick Random, The Adventures of,
99, 309-311, 312, 318, 324.

Rodomontades espagnoles, 224.

Rody the Rover, 390.

Rogue, The, 505.

Rogue in Love, 504.

Rogues and Vagabonda, 505.

Rogues and Vagabonda of the Race
Course, 132.

Rogue’s Comedy, 281.

Rogue’s Conscience, 505-506.

Rogue's Life, A, 406.

Rogue’s March, The, 512-514.

Rogueries of Nicholas, 274.

Roig, Jaime, 7.

Rojas, Augustin de, 9.

Roland Cashel, 389.

Roman bourgeois, 20, 40, 228.

Romance of a Rogue, The, 478.

Romances de germania, 9.

Romances of Roguery, 13 n., 36, 231.

 

577

Romancio-Mastiz, 77 n.

Roman comique, 1, 5, 17, 19, 34, 39;
206, 220, 310, 312, 327, 329 n.

Roman de Renart, 6, 26.

Roman d' Eustache le Moine, 15, 40.

Romano Lavo-Lil, 440.

Romantic Ballads, 440.

Romantic History of Robin Hood, 470.

Romany Rye, The (Borrow), 442-450,
468.

Romany Rye, The (Sims), 279.

Rome Express, The, 534.

Romford’s Hounds, Mr., 384.

Rook, Clarence, 496.

Rookwood, 119 n., 127, 182, 361-366,
369, 479.

Roome, Edward, 268 n.

Roscoe, Thomas, 38.

Rosenbach, A. 8. W., 84.

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 32, 227.

Route & Mélun, La, 528.

Rover's Bride, The, 272.

Rowlands, David, 235 n.

Rowlands, Samuel, 64 n., 87, 99 n.;
100 n., 103-104, 107, 110-111, 114,
115 n., 137, 205, 213 n., 247 n.

Rowley, William, 140, 249, 255 n.

Rozana, 296-300.

Roxas, Francisco de, 19.

Roy, Emile, 39.

Royal Merchant, The, 268.

Rozelli, L’infortuné Napolitain, 20.

Rue de J éruaalem, La, 529.

Ruhl, Ernst, 86.

Ruffian Boy, 272.

Rufian dichoso, El, 10.

Ruis, Leopoldo, 38.

Russell, Percy, 378.

Rylands, L. G., 36.

Sabia Flora Malsabadilla, La, 11.

Sad Shepherd, The, 241.

Sack-Full of Newes, 59, 61.

Sacrifice of Cain and Abel, 50.

Sadler's Memoirs, 152.

Sagaz marido examinado, El, 11.

Sagon, Amyot, 470.

Sainte-Beuve, C. A., 39.

St. Ives, 472.

Saintsbury, G. E. B., 39, 137, 340,
341, 378, 409, 468.

Sala, G. A., 341.

Salillas, Rafael, 37.

Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square,
536 n.
578

Sanborn, A. F., 494.

Sanders, Robert, 179.

Sandman’s Wedding, 125.

Santa Clara, Abraham a [Ulrich Me-
gerle], 31.

Santos, Francisco de, 14.

Sardou, V., 278.

Satyre of the Thrie Estattis, Ane, 48.

Satyrick Elegie, 154,

Satyrischer Roman, 31.

Saugrain, Jean, 15.

Saunders, Richard, 49.

Savage, John, 40, 329 n.

Sayavedra, Mateo Luxan de, 8, 235n.

Sayings and Doings, 384.

Scamp, 504.

Scamps of London, 275.

Scarlet Dick, 279.

Scarron, Paul, 19, 20, 39, 206, 228,
253 n., 301, 311, 314, 320.

Schade, O., 85.

Scheible, J., 41.

Scheidt, Kaspar, 27, 41.

Schelmenzunfft, 27.

Schelmuffeky, 43.

Scherer, W., 41, 42.

Schildbirgerbuch, 27.

Schiller, Friedrich, 360, 365, 390, 407.

Schimpf und Ernat, 26.

Schmidt, Erich, 43.

Schmitz, Dora, 83.

Schnabel, J. G., 32.

Schneider, Adam, 41.

Schneider, Arno, 341.

Schneider, L., 43.

Scholar-Gipsy, The, 484.

Schoole of Slovenrie, The, 76.

Schreiber, H., 42.

Schréder, K., 42.

Schiller, Martin, 378.

Schultheiss, Albert, 37.

Schumann, Valentin, 57 n.

Schwering, Julius, 41.

Scipion, 208.

Scoggins Jests, 60-61, 217, 243, 262,
407 n.

Scot, Reginald, 57 n.

Scott, Clement, 278, 284.

Scott, Sir Walter, 119 n., 163 n., 182,
183, 190, 260 n., 270 n., 298,342-347,
359, 361, 378, 439, 460, 469, 470.

Scott, W. B., 341.

Scoundrel's Dictionary, The, 120.

Scourge for a Den of Thieves, A, 206.

Scowrers, The, 260.

 

INDEX

Scudéry, Mlle. de, 208.

Searle, Cyril, 270.

Seccombe, Thomas, 181, 468.

Second part of Conny-catching, 96,
143 n., 213 n., 237 n.

Second Part of the Discovery of Thievea,
121.

Second Thoughts are Best, 156.

Secret History of Celebrated Jilts, 176.

Secrets of the Prison House, 132.

Secunda Pastorum, 51.

Sedgwick, H. D., 468.

Segunda parte de Lazarillo de Tormes;

8.
Selby, Charles, 275-276, 277.
Seltzame Springinsfeld, Der, 29.
Senior, N. W., 378.
Sentimental Journey, A, 321.

Sephora, 348.
Sept péchés capitaux, Les, 528.
Sera Nunquam, 434. ae

Serious Reflections of Robinson Crusoe,
287.

Set of Rogues, A, 476-477.

Seuen deadlie Sinnes of London, 107 n.

Seven to Twelve, 536 n.

Shabby Genteel Story, 451.

Shadow of a Man, The, 511 n.

Shadow of the Rope, The, 512.

Shadwell, Thomas, 259-261, 283, 347.

Shakespeare, William, 5, 49, 54, 58, 64,
69, 72, 93, 95, 144,175, 193, 232-
237, 282, 313, 436.

Sharts, Joseph, 478.

Shelley, Mrs., 154.

Shelton, Thomas, 206, 319.

Shepherd, R. H., 283.

Sheppard, Jack, 162, 180, 182, 190,
267, 270, 273, 366-370.

Sheridan, R. B., 269.

Sherlock Holmes (Gillette), 281, 535.

Shipman, Thomas, 146 n.

Shipmannes Tale, 48, 217 n.

Shirley, James, 124, 252, 264, 260,
261, 268, 283.

Shoemaker's Glory, The, 75.

Shoemaker’s Holiday, The, 71.

Shops and Companies of London, 131.

Shortest Way with Dissenters, 287.

Shylock of the River, 536 n.

Shyp of Folys, 50, 75.

Sidney, Sir Philip, 200, 202.

Siebert, Albert, 378.

Siegel P., 231.

Siege of Corinth, 348.
INDEX

Sievers, Richard, 86.

Siglo Pitagérico, 13, 23, 302, 320.

Signiors of the Night, 480.

Sign of Four, The, 538.

Silver King, The, 279, 528.

Simplicianische Scrijten, 30 n., 42.

Simplicissimus, Der Abentheurliche, 5,
29-30, 32 n., 42, 210, 220 n., 295.

Simpson, J. P., 271.

Simrock, C., 41.

Sims, G. R., 127, 279, 505, 536.

Simson, Walter, 168, 481.

Sinks of London Laid Open, The, 129.

Sir Brook Fosabrooke, 389.

Sir Charles Grandison; 300.

Sir Courtly Nice, 261.

Sir Henry Morgan, 469.

Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer, 470.

Sir Jasper Carew, 389.

Stréne, La, 528.

Sisters, The (Dodd), 323.

Sisters, The (Shirley), 254-255.

Sixteen String Jack, 185.

Sixteen String Jack (Rede), 127, 273-
274.

Sizteen String Jack, or the Knavea of
Knaves’ Acre (Wilks), 274 n.

Six Worthy Yeomen of the West, 71.

Skazka Oklimkie, 442 n.

Skeat, W. W., 83, 84.

Skelton, Richard, 52, 60, 61, 62, 76,
163.

Sketch of the Life of Stephen Burrougha,
169

Sketches by Boz, 411.

Sketches of the Life of William Stuart,
170.

Skialetheia, 58.

Skirts of Happy Chance, The, 481.

Slang and its Analogues, 122.

Slang Dictionary, 134, 137.

Slang Dictionary of New York, London,
and Paris, 122.

Slang Pastoral, 126.

Sleeman, Sir William, 191, 358.

Sleeping Bard, The, 440.

Smart, Bath C., 481, 523.

Smart, Martin, 319 n.

Smeaton, Oliver, 341.

Smiles, Samuel, 379, 468.

Smith, Captain Alexander, 120, 146 n.,
158, 163, 172-177, 178, 179, 190,
313.

Smith, Hubert, 523.

Smith, J. T., 129.

 

579

Smith, L. T., 83, 84, 129.

Smith, Walter, 64.

Smith, W. H., 128.

Smollett, Tobias George, 1, 81, 153;
309-320, 328, 333, 336,341, 361, 392,
393, 399, 407, 411, 458.

Smuggler, The, 359, 360.

Smuggler’s Daughter, The, 272.

Snarleyyow, 400.

Soane, George, 270 n.

Social Highwayman, The, 519, 528;
dramatization of, 281.

Soergel, A., 283.

Soldado Pindaro, 11, 325 n.

Soldiers of Fortune, 506.

Solis, Antonio de, 33.

Solérzano, A. Castillo, 12, 19, 34, 173.

Something Occurred, 536 n.

Song of the Beggar, 122.

Song of the Young Prig, 128.

Sonne of the Rogue, The, 206.

Sonnets for the Fancy, 127.

Son of the State, A, 498.

Soolmans, J., 33.

Sorel, Charles, 17, 18, 39, 207.

Southerne, Thomas, 261.

Southey, Robert, 183.

Spaansche Brabander, 32.

Spaensche heidin, 33.

Spaniard, The, 77 n.

Spanischer Robinson, 31.

Spanish Bawd, The, 206.

Spanish Friar, The, 262.

Spanish Gipsie, The, 249, 255.

Spanish Influence on English Litera-
ture, 5n., 230.

Spanish Libertines, The, 286.

Spanish Military Nun, The, 13, 408.

Spanish Rogue, The (a play), 261.

Spanish Tragedy, The, 142.

Spectator, The, 330.

Speculum stultorum, 76.

Speech and Deportment of Colonel
Turner, 155 n.

Speer, V. H., 534.

Spenser, Edmund, 62, 235 n.

Spiritualists and the Detectives, The,
533 n.

Spiritual Quixote, 328, 341.

Splendeurs et miséres des courtisanes,
528.

Sponge's Sporting Tour, Mr., 384.

Sporting Anecdotes, 380.

Squatter’s Dream, 508.

Squire of Alsatia, The, 260-261, 347.
580

Stainhéwel, Heinrich, 26.

Stanley's Remedy, 157 n.

Staple of News, The, 241, 283.

Starvecrow Farm, 478.

State Prison Life, 132.

Steele, Sir Richard, 176.

Steel Safe, The, 530.

Stephen, Sir Leslie, 340, 341, 378.

Stephens, John, 80.

Stephens, R. N., 478.

Sterne, Laurence, 320-321, 381, 450.

Stevens, Captain John, 285.

Stevenson, J. §., 84.

Stevenson, R. L., 182, 280, 407, 469,
471-475, 520, 521, 535,

Stingaree, 512, 614.

Stirling, Edward, 270, 271, 272.

Stockton, F. R., 178.

Stone, W. G., 84.

Storey, Frank de R., 549.

Storojenko, Nikolai, 136.

Story of a Bad Boy, The, 486.

Story of a Strange Career, The, 170.

Stowe, Mrs. H. B., 432.

Strange Banquet, 110 n.

Strange Disappearance, A, 536 n.

Strange Newes, 68.

Strangers’ Guide, 119.

Strange Stories of a Detective Officer,
533.

Straparola, G. F., 68 n.

Street Robberies Consider’d, 116, 156,
288 n.,321-323.

Streubel, Ernest J., 283.

Stricker, Der, 26.

Strikers, Communists, Tramps,
Detectives, 533 n.

Stringer, Arthur, 486, 518.

Study in Scarlet, A, 538.

Subtil Cordovés Pedro de Urdemalas, 11.

Successful Pirate, The, 267.

Suckling, Sir John, 258, 284.

Sue, Eugéne, 271, 466, 528.

Suefios, Los, 9, 16, 28, 33, 281.

Suggestions for the Suppression of
Crime, 129 n.

Suicide Club, 407, 471.

Suil Dhuv, or the Coiner, 390, 392; dra-
matization of, 271.

Sullivan, J. W., 494.

Sundry Strange Murders, 141.

Supplément aux mémoires de Vidocqg,
527.

Surgéres, Grange de, 39.

Surtees, R. §., 384, 409, 431.

and

 

INDEX

Suspicions Aroused, 536 n.

Suter, W. E., 272, 273, 277.

Sutton, C., 132, 190.

Swaen, A. E. H., 284.

Swalpo, Merry Frolics, or the Comical
Cheats of, 61, 69-70, 322 n.

Swetnam, Joseph, 77.

Swift, Jonathan, 78, 157, 190, 263,
300, 405.

Swinburne, A. C., 283, 438, 549.

Swiney [Owen MacSwinny], 268.

Sword of Damocles, The, 536 n.

Symonds, J. A., 84, 283.

Symons, A., 283.

Symons, J. C., 129 n.

Tactics for the Times, 129 n.

Tale of Beryn, 48, 83.

Tale of Two Cities, 424.

Tales, and quicke answeres, 59, 66.

Tales of Australian Early Days, 509.

Tales of Mean Streets, 495.

Tales of Terror, 536 n.

Tales of the Isle of Death, 509.

Tales of the Wise Men of Gotham, 60 n.

Taming of the Shrew, The, 60.

Tappan, E. M., 231.

Tarde, Gabriel, 36.

Targum, 440.

Tarlton, Richard, 65 n., 76.

Tarltons Jests, 60, 65.

Tarltons Newes Ovt of Purgatory, 60,
65, 66.

Tatler, The, 330.

Tavern Bilkers, The, 268.

Taylor, Colonel Meadows, 358.

Taylor, Tom, 277, 528.

Taylor the Water Poet, 61, 69,105 n.;
123, 145 n.

Teatro del hombre, 14, 197.

Temple Beau, The, 328.

Ténébreuse affaire, 528.

Tenement Tales of New York; 494.

Tenny, Mrs. Tabitha, 405.

a ai a Year, 271, 386-387,

Terence, 260 n.

Terrors of the Night, 199 n.

Thackeray, W. M., 1, 4, 78, 182, 183,
284, 340, 370, 380, 390, 391, 409,
427, 439, 450-467, 468, 502.

That Affair Next Door, 536 n.

Theophrastus, 78.

Thibault, Governor of Talmont, 24,

Thief in the Night, A, 515.
INDEX

Thieves, Ancient and Modern, 407.
Thieves, Beggars, Prostitutes, 129 n.
Thieves’ Chaunt, 128.

Thieves’ Dictionary, 120.

Thieves Falling Out, 114.

Thieves’ Grammar, 120.

Thieves’ New Canting Dictionary, 176.

Things as They Are. (See Caleb Wil-
liams.)

Thinking Machine, The, 537.

Thirde and last Part of Conny-catching,
97-98, 101, 104, 107, 174, 237 n.,
407 n.

Thirty Years a Detective, 533-534 n.

Thirty Years’ Battle with Crime, 534.

This Man's Wife, 508.

Thomas Hickathrift, 74.

Thomas Merry, 142 n.

Thomas of Reading, Pleasant History
of, 71, 72-78, 85.

ae Stroud, Second and Third Part,
251 n.

Thompson, Thomas, 261 n.

Thoms, W. J., 85.

Thornbury, G. W., 178, 190, 469.

Thornton, E., 191, 358.

Three Cutters, 400.

Three Detective Anecdotes, 427, 535 n.

Three Fingered Jack, 185.

Three Ingenious Novels, 285.

Three Ladies of London, 58, 108 n.;
215 n., 236 n.

Three Lords and Three Ladies of Lon-
don, 54,

Thiimmel, J., 282.

Thurmond, John, 125, 267.

Thyrza, 493.

Ticket-of-Leave Man, The, 277-278,
528.

Ticknor, George, 37.

Timbs, John, 409.

Timoneda, Juan de, 8.

Timon of Athens, 234.

Tincker of Turvey, The, 69.

Tittman, Julius, 42.

Tizac, Gaspard d’Ardenne de, 39.

Tobacconist, The, 268.

To London Town, 495.

Tolosa, Juan Cortes de, 10, 11.

Tom and Jerry, 382.

Tom Burke, 388.

Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress, 127.

Tom Jones, a Foundling, The History
of, 168, 307-308, 312, 334.

Tom Ladle, 74.

 

581

Tom Long the Carrier, 69, 74.

Tom Sawyer, Adventures of, 487.

Tom Sawyer Abroad, 488.

Tom Sawyer, Detective, 488, 535.

Tom Stitch the Taylor, 75.

Tom Tram, 74

Tomlinson, 126.

Total Rout of a Pack of Knaves, 120.

Toulmin, A. H., 132.

Tour of Doctor Syntax, The, 383-384.

Tour Through the Island of Great Brit-
ain, 287.

Tours de Mattre Gonin, Les, 21.

Tovar y Valderrama, Diego, 13.

Trent, W. P., 161 n., 163 n., 231, 340.

Trepan, The, 148.

Trick to Catch the Old-One, A, 246, 249.

Trick upon Trick, 262 n,

Tristram Shandy, 321, 375.

Triumphant Widow, The, 261.

Triumph of Truth, The, 155.

Triumph of Wit, 124-125.

Triumphs of Eugene Valmont, The, 537.

Trivia, 267 n.

Troilus and Crysede, 47.

Trois mousquétaires, Les, 21.

Trollope, Anthony, 468.

Trost, J., 40.

True Account of the Life of Jonathan
Wild, 160.

True Account of the Tryal of Mary
Carlton, 149.

True Anti-Pamela, 328.

True Character of Trades and Callings,
78.

True Characters, 80.

True Description of a Compter, 113.

True Detective Stories, 534.

True History of Perkin Warbeck, 154.

True and Perject Relation of the Taking
of James Hind, 150.

Towneley Plays, 51, 84.

Town Miss’s Declaration, 80.

Fown Spy, The, 145 n.

Townsend, J., 40, 319 n.

Tracer of Lost Persons, A, 537.

Tracked by a Tattoo, 536 n.

Tracked to Doom, 536 n.

Tragédies parisiennes, Les, 528 n.

Tragedy of Featherstone, The, 536 n.

Tragic Mystery, A., 534.

Train, Arthur, 519.

Train, Elizabeth P., 519.

Tramp at Home, 133.

Tramp, his Tricks, etc., The; 132.
582

Tramp Trip, 133.

Tramping with Tramps, 133-134.

Transactions of Lothian Tom, 70.

Trapper Trapt, The, 150 n.

Travels with a Donkey, 471.

Travers, W., 279.

Treasure Island, 280, 469, 472.

Treasure of Franchard, The, 472.

Treatise of Dicing, 104 n.

Treatises Touchyng Dyce Play, 104 n.

Treatyse Answerynge the Boke of
Beardes, 110 n.

Trelawny, E, J., 349, 379.

Tuckerman, Bayard, 340, 378.

Tuckey, Janet, 482.

Tarkischer Vagant, 31.

Turcaret, 22.

Turkish Jester, ae 440.

Turner, H. G.,

Turpin, Richard, 180, 182, 272, 273,
362-365.

Twain, Mark [Samuel L. Clemens],
109, 119 n., 487-489, 535.

Twelve Ingenious Characters, 79.

XII mery Jests of the wyddow Edyth,
60, 64-65.

Two Convicted Thieves, 120.

Two Gentlemen of Verona, 233.

Two Italian Gentlemen, 58.

Two Little Vagabonds, 279.

Two Maids of More-clacke, 68.

Two Most Unnatural Murthers, 142.

Two Tragedies in One, 142 n.

Tyburn Calendar, 178.

Tychander, 31.

Tyler, Royall, 405.

Tyro, T. T., 1440.

Ubeda, Francisco Lopez de, 9, 37.

Ulenhart, Niclas, 28.

Ullrich, H., 43.

Unclassed, The, 493.

Uncle Tom's Cabin, 432.

Underhill, John, 284.

Underhill, John Garrett, 230.

Undiscovered Crimes, 533.

Unfortunate Hodge, 74.

Vnfortunate Traveller, Or the life of
Iacke Wilton, The, 192-198, 200,
205, 211, 229, 230, 231.

Ungarischer Simplicissimus, 30.

Universal Jester, The, 69.

Universal Songster, The, 128.

Unlucky Citizen, The, 221-223.

Unnatural Grandmother, The, 148.

 

INDEX

Utopia, 49.
Utter, R. P., 230.
Utterson, E. V., 136.

Vagabond Adventures, 504.

Vagabondiana, 128.

Vagabondo, Il, 27, 40, 87.

Vagabonds, The, 504.

Vatlima Lettera, 475.

Valentine M’Clutchy, 391.

Valerie, 400.

Valise trouvée, La, 24.

Van Bibber and Others, 506.

Vanbrugh, Sir John, 262.

Van Hoven, J., 33.

Van Laun, Henri, 40.

Vanity Fair, 1,278,450, 451, 462-466;
502; dramatization of, 281.

Varnhagen, Hermann, 83.

Vaux, James Hardy, 119, 165, 169.

Veckenstedt, E., 39.

Vega Carpio, Lope Felix de, 19.

Verdier, Sieur du, 18, 34.

Verity, A. W., 283.

Verkehrte Welt, 30 n.

Verliefde Kok, 34.

Vermakelyke Avanturesse, 34.

Vermakelyke Avanturier, 33-34.

Verne, Jules, 480.

Verwers, 33.

Vetter, F., 83.

Viage del mundo, 13.

Viage entretenido, 5, 9, 19, 37, 64.

Viau, Théophile de, 18, 40.

Vicar of Wakefield, The, 329.

Vida del ptcaro, La, 9.

Vida y hechos de Estevant Gon-
zalez, 14. a a

Vidocg, E. F., 127, 128, 185, 273, 525,
527, 529.

Vidocg, 273.

Vidocg, the Thieftaker, 273.

Vie de Mlle. de Cronel, 25.

Vie et vols du Jean Sheppard, 162 n.

Vie genereuse des mercelots, gueuz, et
boesmiens, 15, 20, 39, 40, 87.

View of High and Low Life, 117-118;
336,

Vilas, M. 8., 405 n.

Viles, Edward, 136.

Villainous Life of John Hall, 182.

Villanies Discovered, 109.

Villette, Rev. John, 179, 190.

Villon, Francois, 1, 15, 128, 471.

Vincent, Arthur, 181, 190.
INDEX

Vintner in the Suds, The, 262 n.

Vintner Tricked, The, 262 n.

Virginians, The, 466.

Virtuoso, The, 259.

Vita di Bertoldo, 71.

Vitu, Auguste, 37, 527 n.

Voiture, Vincent, 208, 227.

Voleurs, Les, 527.

Volpone, or the Fox, 237-238, 250, 282,

Volunteers, or the Stock Jobbers, The,
259.

Voz clamantis, 45.

Voyage forcé de Becafort, Le, 21.

Vrais mystéres de Paris, Lea, 527 nu.

Vulgar Tongue, The, 122, 128.

Wainewright, Thomas Griffiths, 182,
377, 427, 484.

Wakeman, Annie, 494.

Waking Man’s Dream, The, 60.

Waldron, W. R., 273.

Walford, Cornelius, 138.

Walker, Gilbert, 104 n.

Walks Through Bath, 380.

Walling, G. W., 132,

Walpole, Horace, 336.

Walton, Francis {Alfred Hodder], 500.

Walton, Izaak, 171.

Wandering Jew telling Fortunes to
Englishmen, The, 81, 313.

Wandering Whore, The, 207 n.

Wanton Tom, 75.

Warburton, E. B. G., 469.

Ward, A. W., 84, 142 n., 282, 438,

Ward, H. 8., 84.

Ward, W. C., 284.

Warenar, 32.

Warning for Fair Women, The, 142 n.

Warning for House-Keepers, A, 117,
124,

Warren, F. M., 37.

Warren, J. H., 534.

Warren, Samuel, 271, 386-387, 409.

Warung, Price, 509.

Water Comorant, The, 145.

Waterloo, Stanley, 170.

“Waters,” 533.

Watson, Henry, 50.

Watson, H. B. Marriott, 476, 481.

Watts, H. E., 38.

Watts-Dunton, Theodore, 482, 485—
486, 522.

Waverley, 342, 348; dramatization of,
270.

Waverley Novels, The, 270, 342-346.

 

583

Webb, C. H., 437.

Webster, Benjamin, 271.

Webster, John, 244.

We Have Brought our Hogs to a Fair
Market, 150.

Weighley, alias Wild, 161.

Weise, Christian, 42.

Weiss, J., 282.

Welch Traveller, or the Unfortunate
Welchman, The, 209, 211, 231.

Werner, A., 43.

Wernher der Gartenzre, 27.

Wershoven, F. J., 341

West, Richard, 76.

Westward for Smelts, 66.

Westward Hoe, 145 n., 244.

Wey, Francis, 39.

Weyman, Stanley J., 478.

Wheeler, William A., 438.

When George III Was King, 470.

When the Billy Boils, 508.

Whibley, Charles, 468.

Whirlpool, The, 494.

White, Charles, 514, 523.

White, F. M., 537.

White, G., 270.

Whiteing, Richard, 494.

Whitten, W., 340.

Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan? 536 n.

Whole Art of Thieving Discovered, The,
120.

Whole Life ‘of Henry Walker, The;
154,

Whyte, Frederic, 284.

Whyte-Melville, G. J., 482.

Wickins, Nathan, 113 n.

Wickram, Jorg, 26, 41.

Widow, The, 248-249.

Widow Cherry, 536 n.

Wil Bagnal’s Ghost, 79, 113.

Wild, Jonathan, 155, 158-161, 180,
182, 186, 190, 279, 302-306, 367,
418, 477.

Wild Humphrey Knyaston, 470.

Wild Justice, 475.

Wild Wales, 441-442,

Wilkins, George, 105 n.

Wilkinson, G. T., 180.

Wilks, T. E., 271, 274 n.

Willet, Rowland, 69.

Will Hammond, The Adventures of,
328.

Williams, H. L., 549.

Williams, Leonard, 208.

Williams, N. W., 519.
584

Will Ramble, The Adventures of, 328.

Wills, W. G., 182, 271.

Wils, Cornelia, 33.

Wilson, Frank, 438.

Wilson, George, 105 n.

Wilson, Henry, 180.

Wilson, H., 37.

Wilson, John, 259, 283.

Wilson, John [Christopher
121 n.

Wilson, Robert, 53, 215 n.

Wilson, Walter, 340.

Wily Beguiled, 244 n.

Winkel, J. te, 43.

Winstanley, William, 73 n.

Winter, Albert, 438.

Winter's Tale, The, 93, 233, 236-237.

Wintle, W. J., 494.

Wireker, N., 75.

Wire Tappers, The, 518.

Wisdom of the Simple, The, 494.

Wise-woman of Hogsdon, The, 261,
283.

Wit and Mirth Ovt of Tavernes and
Ordinaries, 69.

Wit for Money, 150.

Wit in a Constable, 256.

Wits, or Sport upon Sport, The, 219 n.

Wittenweiler, Heinrich, 27.

Witty Exploits of George Buchanan,
The, 70.

Witty Jests of John Frith, The, 152 n.

Witty Rogue Arraigned, The, 151-152.

Witty William of Wiltshire, 74.

Wolf, Ferdinand, 85.

Wolff, Betje, 35.

Wolff, E., 42.

Wolj’s Head, 470.

Wolves and the Lamb, The, 467.

Woman Captain, The, 260.

Woman Hater, The, 253.

Woman in White, The, 406.

Woman's Champion, The, 145 n.

Woman's Revenge, 262 n.

Wonderful Characters, 180.

North],

THE

 

INDEX

Wonderful Lije and Adventures of
Three Fingered Jack, 185 n.

Wonderful Newes from Wood-Street
Counter, 113 n.

Wonderfull Yeare 1603, 105.

Woods, Margaret L., 504.

Worde, Wynkyn de, 55, 58 n.

Wordsworth, William, 345, 439.

Workhouse Boy, The, 270.

World of Graft, The, 135.

Wrecker, The, 469, 473-474.

Wright, Thomas, 84, 85, 340.

Wroth, Warwick, 379.

Wunderbarliche Vogel-Nest, Das, 29,
220 n., 224, 330.

Wycherley, William, 262.

Wyckoff, Walter, 133.

Wyclif, John, 47.

X,Y, Z, 536 n.

Yafiez y Ribera, G. de Alcald, 11, 292.
Yarrington, Robert, 142.

Yates, Edmund, 271, 504, 533.
Yellowplush Papers, The, 450.

Ye Scamps, ye Pads, ye Divers, 125.
Yonge, C. D., 378.

Yonge, Sir William, 268 n.

York Plays, 50, 84.

Yorkshire Rogue, The, 152 n.
Yorkshire Tragedy, The, 142.
Young, Sir Charles, 279-280.
Young Blood, 512.

Young Scarron, 327.

Your Five Gallants, 246.

Zangwill, Israel, 494.

Zarncke, F., 43.

Zavaleta, Juan de, 14, 197, 337.
Zayas, Maria de, 19.

Zelinda, 78, 227.

Zeluco, 336, 341.

Zincali, The, 440, 442.

Zohrab, the Hostage, 356.

Zola, Emile, 3.

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