You have frequently fixed your abode in high places. Are there
not recorded in history the names of kings and statesmen whom an
irresistible desire to scheme, and trick, and overreach, has brought
to the block? The times were difficult--that much one may admit. Noble
heads of honourable and upright men were lopped in profusion; and it
may be argued, with some show of reason, that the man whose character
was as flawless as pure crystal, was like to fare as badly as the
muddiest rascal of them all, if his side sank in defeat. And yet
I cannot help believing that, in some cases at least, a man might
have had a happier end if he had abstained from acts of political
turpitude, which were as irrational in their conception as they
were ruinous in their effect; acts, that is, which, in the existing
circumstances, no sane man could have undertaken unless the mere doing
of these rogueries had been a supreme and a necessary pleasure to him.
There was poor CHARLES THE FIRST. Surely, in spite of that melancholy,
doomed face, he might have died in peace if he had only played the
game fairly. JAMES THE SECOND, too, and MARLBOROUGH, the greatest
Captain of his age, and BOLINGBROKE, the eloquent philosophiser, the
grave moralist, how different might their ends have been had not you,
O CROOKEDNESS, presided at their births, and ruled their lives. But,
avaunt, History! Here I am straying into a treatise, when I merely
intended to remind you of little PETER SHEEF, and of his adventures.
[Illustration]
PETER and I were freshmen together at Cambridge in the remote past
before "Johnnies," and "Chappies," and "Mashers" had been heard of,
before the "oof bird" had been fledged in its pink and sporting nest,
or the Egyptian cigarette had asserted its universal sway. I daresay
we differed but little (by "we" I mean the freshmen of our year) from
those who have lately appeared for the first time in King's Parade, or
Jesus Lane. We were very young--we imagined Proctors to be destitute
of human feeling; we ate portentous breakfasts of many courses, and,
for the most part, treated our allowances as though they had been so
much pocket-money. Also we had an idea that a man who had passed his
thirtieth year was absurdly old, and that nobody could be called a
boy whose name had been entered on the books of a College. In fact,
we were freshmen.
PETER and I were a good deal thrown together during our first term.
Like me, he had come up from one of the smaller schools, and we had
not, therefore, a very large number of friends to start with. PETER
was one of the pleasantest fellows in the world, always cheerful,
good-tempered, and obliging. He always seemed to have plenty of money.
Indeed, I know that his father made him an allowance of £800 a year,
a sum which was considerably more than double that received by the
majority of his fellows. The parental SHEEF I have since discovered
was a Solicitor, who had made his mark and his fortune by the crafty
defence of shady financiers in distress, of bogus company promoters,
and generally of the great race who live in the narrow border-land
which divides the merely disreputable from the positively indictable.
But at that time I didn't trouble my head to inquire about PETER's
father, and was content as most Undergraduates are, to take my friends
as I thought I found them. PETER was musical; he played several
instruments with skill, and sang a capital song. With all these
qualities, he soon became, to a certain extent, popular. He then set
up as a giver of good and expensive dinners, kept a couple of horses
in the hunting season, devoted great attention to his dress, and made
himself unobtrusively agreeable to the little gods of our miniature
world. In his second year he had gained a position; most people spoke
well of him, and liked him. It only rested with PETER himself to
maintain what he had gained, and to enter on life with troops of
friends. A few moments of purposeless folly were sufficient to shatter
him.
I remember that in my first term I was not very agreeably impressed
by something that PETER did. A dog-fancier happened to come through
the street in which we both lodged, and PETER began to bargain with
him for a fox-terrier, who, according to the fancier's account, had
a pedigree as long and as illustrious as that of a Norman Peer.
Eventually it had been agreed that the dog was to become PETER's
property in consideration of thirty shillings in cash, a pair of
trousers, and a bottle of brandy. The exchange was made, and the man
departed. Thereupon PETER informed me with glee, that the trousers
were a pair of his father's, which had been packed in his portmanteau
by mistake, and that the brandy-bottle contained about fifty per cent.
of water, that amount of brandy having been poured off before payment
was made. As PETER put it, "I've done him in the eye, to prevent him
doing me." I tried in vain to bring him round to the opinion that (let
alone robbing one's father) cheating a cheat was one of the lowest
forms of roguery. The dog-fancier soon afterwards returned, and
protested, with tears in his eyes, that the shabby trick had wounded
him in his tenderest feelings, but he seemed quite willing to begin a
fresh bargain with "the only gen'lemen, s'help me, as ever bested pore
little ALEC."
All this is, however, by the way. I merely mention it to illustrate
PETER's character. At the University Steeple-Chase Meeting, which
took place at the end of our third October term, SHEEF had entered
his animals for several races. He was a good rider, and confidently
anticipated success. To celebrate the occasion, he had arranged a big
dinner-party, and had invited some twenty of us to dine with him. I
had been unable to go to the races myself, but at the appointed hour
I turned up at SHEEF's rooms. I found the table brilliantly laid,
waiters hanging about, and dozens of Champagne in readiness. SHEEF
was there, but, beside myself, no other guest had appeared. And not a
single one came. I forget what excuse the miserable host made, but the
result was that we two solemnly dined at a table laid for ten times
our number. I think I shall remember that ghastly festivity as long as
I live. The next day all Cambridge knew that SHEEF had not only pulled
one of his horses openly and disgracefully, but had wilfully misled
both his friends and the book-makers as to the horse he intended to
ride in a race for which entries were made at the post. I never heard
that he stood to win more than £50 by the transaction. And for this
paltry sum (paltry, that is, to a man of his means) he had wrecked his
reputation, and all the possibilities of his career.
I see him slinking about London sometimes. Last year he passed,
with much discredit, through the Bankruptcy Court. He has been a
Director of countless Companies, for the stock of fools seems to be
inexhaustible. There can only be one end for such a man as SHEEF. The
cool, callous, and calculating knave may get clear through to the end;
but SHEEF always was stupidly good-natured, and good-nature hangs like
a millstone round the neck of rascality. I cannot myself detest him as
I ought to do. He was so near to completely successful respectability.
But crookedness ruined him, in spite of his better wishes. Was it
altogether his own fault?
That, as Mr. BRET HARTE observes, lets me out.