over, and his name was knowen everywhere, as foolishnesse is much
regarded of the people, where wisdome is not in place; specially because
he was then imprisoned for the matter, the rumour was the larger, their
wonderynges were the wantoner, their practises the foolisher, their
busye talkes and other idle doinges the greater. Continually from
thence, as the rude manner of people is, olde gossyps tales went
abroade, new tales were invented, fables were added to fables, and lyes
grew upon lyes. So that every daye newe slanders were laide upon the
King, and not one of them true. Rumors arose, blasphemyes were sprede,
the enemyes rejoyced, and treasons by the priestes were mainteyned; and
what lykewise was surmised, or other subtiltye practised, all was then
lathered upon this foolish prophet, as 'thus saith Peter Wakefield;'
'thus hath he prophecied;' 'and thus it shall come to pass;' yea, many
times, when he thought nothing lesse. And when the Ascension-day was
come, which was prophecyed of before, King John commanded his royal
tent to be spread in the open fielde, passing that day with his noble
counseyle and men of honour, in the greatest solemnitie that ever he did
before; solacing himself with musickale instrumentes and songs, most
in sight among his trustie friendes. When that day was paste in all
prosperitie and myrth, his enemyes being confused, turned all into an
allegorical understanding to make the prophecie good, and sayde, 'he
is no longer King, for the Pope reigneth, and not he.'" [King John was
labouring under a sentence of excommunication at the time.]
"Then was the King by his council perswaded that this false prophet had
troubled the realme, perverted the heartes of the people, and raysed the
commons against him; for his wordes went over the sea, by the help of
his prelates, and came to the French King's care, and gave to him a
great encouragement to invade the lande. He had not else done it so
sodeinely. But he was most lowly deceived, as all they are and shall
be that put their trust in such dark drowsye dreames of hipocrites. The
King therefore commanded that he should be hanged up, and his sonne also
with him, lest any more false prophets should arise of that race."
Heywood, who was a great stickler for the truth of all sorts of
prophecies, gives a much more favourable account of this Peter of
Pomfret, or Pontefract, whose fate he would, in all probability, have
shared, if he had had the misfortune to have flourished in the same age.
He says, that Peter, who was not only a prophet, but a bard, predicted
divers of King John's disasters, which fell out accordingly. On being
taxed for a lying prophet in having predicted that the King would be
deposed before he entered into the fifteenth year of his reign, he
answered him boldly, that all he had said was justifiable and true; for
that, having given up his crown to the Pope, and paying him an annual
tribute, the Pope reigned, and not he. Heywood thought this explanation
to be perfectly satisfactory, and the prophet's faith for ever
established.
But to return to Merlin. Of him even to this day it may be said, in the
words which Burns has applied to another notorious personage,
"Great was his power and great his fame;
Far kenned and noted is his name?
His reputation is by no means confined to the land of his birth, but
extends through most of the nations of Europe. A very curious volume of
his Life, Prophecies, and Miracles, written, it is supposed, by Robert
de Bosron, was printed at Paris in 1498, which states, that the Devil
himself was his father, and that he spoke the instant he was born, and
assured his mother, a very virtuous young woman, that she should not die
in child-bed with him, as her ill-natured neighbours had predicted. The
judge of the district, hearing of so marvellous an occurrence, summoned
both mother and child to appear before him; and they went accordingly
the same day. To put the wisdom of the young prophet most effectually
to the test, the judge asked him if he knew his own father? To which the
infant Merlin replied, in a clear, sonorous voice, "Yes, my father is
the Devil; and I have his power, and know all things, past, present, and
to come." His worship clapped his hands in astonishment, and took the
prudent resolution of not molesting so awful a child, or its mother
either.
Early tradition attributes the building of Stonehenge to the power of
Merlin. It was believed that those mighty stones were whirled through
the air, at his command, from Ireland to Salisbury Plain, and that he
arranged them in the form in which they now stand, to commemorate
for ever the unhappy fate of three hundred British chiefs, who were
massacred on that spot by the Saxons.
At Abergwylly, near Caermarthen, is still shown the cave of the prophet
and the scene of his incantations. How beautiful is the description of
it given by Spenser in his "Faerie Queene." The lines need no apology
for their repetition here, and any sketch of the great prophet of
Britain would be incomplete without them:--
"There the wise Merlin, whilom wont (they say),
To make his wonne low underneath the ground,
In a deep delve far from the view of day,
That of no living wight he mote be found,
Whenso he counselled with his sprites encompassed round.
"And if thou ever happen that same way
To travel, go to see that dreadful place;
It is a hideous, hollow cave, they say,
Under a rock that lies a little space
From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace
Amongst the woody hills of Dynevoure;
But dare thou not, I charge, in any case,
To enter into that same baleful bower,
For fear the cruel fiendes should thee unwares devour!
"But, standing high aloft, low lay thine care,
And there such ghastly noise of iron chaines,
And brazen caudrons thou shalt rombling heare,
Which thousand sprites, with long-enduring paines,
Doe tosse, that it will stun thy feeble braines;
And often times great groans and grievous stownds,
When too huge toile and labour them constraines;
And often times loud strokes and ringing sounds
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.
"The cause, they say, is this. A little while
Before that Merlin died, he did intend
A brazen wall in compass, to compile
About Cayr Merdin, and did it commend
Unto these sprites to bring to perfect end;
During which work the Lady of the Lake,
Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send,
Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake,
Them bound till his return their labour not to slake.
"In the mean time, through that false ladie's traine,
He was surprised, and buried under biere,
Ne ever to his work returned again;
Natheless these fiendes may not their work forbeare,
So greatly his commandement they fear,
But there doe toile and travaile day and night,
Until that brazen wall they up doe reare."
[Faerie Queene, b. 3. c. 3. s. 6--13.]
Amongst other English prophets, a belief in whose power has not been
entirely effaced by the light of advancing knowledge, is Robert Nixon,
the Cheshire idiot, a contemporary of Mother Shipton. The popular
accounts of this man say, that he was born of poor parents, not far from
Vale Royal, on the edge of the forest of Delamere. He was brought up to
the plough, but was so ignorant and stupid, that nothing could be
made of him. Everybody thought him irretrievably insane, and paid no
attention to the strange, unconnected discourses which he held. Many of
his prophecies are believed to have been lost in this manner. But they
were not always destined to be wasted upon dull and inattentive ears.
An incident occurred which brought him into notice, and established his
fame as a prophet of the first calibre. He was ploughing in a field when
he suddenly stopped from his labour, and, with a wild look and strange
gestures, exclaimed, "Now, Dick! now, Harry! O, ill done, Dick! O, well
done, Harry! Harry has gained the day!" His fellow labourers in the
field did not know what to make of this rhapsody; but the next day
cleared up the mystery. News was brought by a messenger, in hot haste,
that at the very instant when Nixon had thus ejaculated, Richard III had
been slain at the battle of Bosworth, and Henry VII proclaimed King of
England.
It was not long before the fame of the new prophet reached the ears of
the King, who expressed a wish to see and converse with him. A messenger
was accordingly despatched to bring him to court; but long before he
reached Cheshire, Nixon knew and dreaded the honours that awaited him.
Indeed it was said, that at the very instant the King expressed the
wish, Nixon was, by supernatural means, made acquainted with it, and
that he ran about the town of Over in great distress of mind, calling
out, like a madman, that Henry had sent for him, and that he must go
to court, and be clammed; that is, starved to death. These expressions
excited no little wonder; but, on the third day, the messenger arrived,
and carried him to court, leaving on the minds of the good people of
Cheshire an impression that their prophet was one of the greatest ever
born. On his arrival King Henry appeared to be troubled exceedingly at
the loss of a valuable diamond, and asked Nixon if he could inform him
where it was to be found. Henry had hidden the diamond himself, with
a view to test the prophet's skill. Great, therefore, was his surprise
when Nixon answered him in the words of the old proverb, "Those who hide
can find." From that time forth the King implicitly believed that he had
the gift of prophecy, and ordered all his words to be taken down.
During all the time of his residence at court he was in constant fear of
being starved to death, and repeatedly told the King that such would
be his fate, if he were not allowed to depart, and return into his own
country. Henry would not suffer it, but gave strict orders to all his
officers and cooks to give him as much to eat as he wanted. He lived
so well, that for some time he seemed to be thriving like a nobleman's
steward, and growing as fat as an alderman. One day the king went out
hunting, when Nixon ran to the palace gate, and entreated on his knees
that he might not be left behind to be starved. The King laughed, and,
calling an officer, told him to take especial care of the prophet during
his absence, and rode away to the forest. After his departure, the
servants of the palace began to jeer at and insult Nixon, whom they
imagined to be much better treated than he deserved. Nixon complained to
the officer, who, to prevent him from being further molested, locked him
up in the King's own closet, and brought him regularly his four meals a
day. But it so happened that a messenger arrived from the King to this
officer, requiring his immediate presence at Winchester, on a matter of
life and death. So great was his haste to obey the King's command, that
he mounted on the horse behind the messenger, and rode off, without
bestowing a thought upon poor Nixon. He did not return till three days
afterwards, when, remembering the prophet for the first time, he went to
the King's closet, and found him lying upon the floor, starved to death,
as he had predicted.
Among the prophecies of his which are believed to have been fulfilled,
are the following, which relate to the times of the Pretender:--
"A great man shall come into England,
But the son of a King
Shall take from him the victory."
"Crows shall drink the blood of many nobles,
And the North shall rise against the South."
"The cock of the North shall be made to flee,
And his feather be plucked for his pride,
That he shall almost curse the day that he was born,"
All these, say his admirers, are as clear as the sun at noon-day. The
first denotes the defeat of Prince Charles Edward, at the battle of
Culloden, by the Duke of Cumberland; the second, the execution of Lords
Derwentwater, Balmerino, and Lovat; and the third, the retreat of the
Pretender from the shores of Britain. Among the prophecies that still
remain to be accomplished, are the following:--
"Between seven, eight, and nine,
In England wonders shall be seen;
Between nine and thirteen
All sorrow shall be done!"
"Through our own money and our men
Shall a dreadful war begin.
Between the sickle and the suck
All England shall have a pluck,"
"Foreign nations shall invade England with snow on their helmets, and
shall bring plague, famine, and murder in the skirts of their garments."
"The town of Nantwich shall be swept away by a flood"
Of the two first of these no explanation has yet been attempted; but
some event or other will doubtless be twisted into such a shape as will
fit them. The third, relative to the invasion of England by a nation
with snow on their helmets, is supposed by the old women to foretell
most clearly the coming war with Russia. As to the last, there are not
a few in the town mentioned who devoutly believe that such will be its
fate. Happily for their peace of mind, the prophet said nothing of the
year that was to witness the awful calamity; so that they think it as
likely to be two centuries hence as now.
The popular biographers of Nixon conclude their account of him by
saying, that "his prophecies are by some persons thought fables; yet by
what has come to pass, it is now thought, and very plainly appears,
that most of them have proved, or will prove, true; for which we, on all
occasions, ought not only to exert our utmost might to repel by force
our enemies, but to refrain from our abandoned and wicked course
of life, and to make our continual prayer to God for protection and
safety." To this, though a non sequitur, every one will cry Amen!
Besides the prophets, there have been the almanack makers, Lilly, Poor
Robin, Partridge, and Francis Moore, physician, in England, and Matthew
Laensbergh, in France and Belgium. But great as were their pretensions,
they were modesty itself in comparison with Merlin, Shipton, and Nixon,
who fixed their minds upon higher things than the weather, and who were
not so restrained in their flights of fancy as to prophesy for only one
year at a time. After such prophets as they, the almanack makers hardly
deserve to be mentioned; no, not even the renowned Partridge, whose
wonderful prognostications set all England agog in 1708, and whose
death, at a time when he was still alive and kicking, was so pleasantly
and satisfactorily proved by Isaac Bickerstaff. The anti-climax would be
too palpable, and they and their doings must be left uncommemorated.
POPULAR ADMIRATION FOR GREAT THIEVES.
Jack. Where shall we find such another set of practical philosophers
who, to a man, are above the fear of death?
Wat. Sound men and true!
Robin. Of tried courage and indefatigable industry!
Ned. Who is there here that would not die for his friend?
Harry. Who is there here that would betray him for his interest?
Mat. Show me a gang of courtiers that could say as much!
Dialogue of thieves in the Beggars' Opera.
Whether it be that the multitude, feeling the pangs of poverty,
sympathise with the daring and ingenious depredators who take away the
rich man's superfluity, or whether it be the interest that mankind in
general feel for the records of perilous adventures, it is certain
that the populace of all countries look with admiration upon great and
successful thieves. Perhaps both these causes combine to invest their
career with charms in the popular eye. Almost every country in Europe
has its traditional thief, whose exploits are recorded with all the
graces of poetry, and whose trespasses--
"--are cited up in rhymes,
And sung by children in succeeding times."
[Shakspeare's Rape of Lucretia.]
Those travellers who have made national manners and characteristics
their peculiar study, have often observed and remarked upon this
feeling. The learned Abbe le Blanc, who resided for some time in England
at the commencement of the eighteenth century, says, in his amusing
letters on the English and French nations, that he continually met with
Englishmen who were not less vain in boasting of the success of their
highwaymen than of the bravery of their troops. Tales of their address,
their cunning, or their generosity, were in the mouths of everybody, and
a noted thief was a kind of hero in high repute. He adds that the mob,
in all countries, being easily moved, look in general with concern upon
criminals going to the gallows; but an English mob looked upon such
scenes with 'extraordinary interest: they delighted to see them go
through their last trials with resolution, and applauded those who were
insensible enough to die as they had lived, braving the justice both of
God and men: such, he might have added, as the noted robber Macpherson,
of whom the old ballad says--
"Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he:
He played a spring, and danced it round
Beneath the gallows tree."
Among these traditional thieves the most noted in England, or perhaps in
any country, is Robin Hood, a name which popular affection has encircled
with a peculiar halo. "He robbed the rich to give to the poor;" and
his reward has been an immortality of fame, a tithe of which would be
thought more than sufficient to recompense a benefactor of his species.
Romance and poetry have been emulous to make him all their own; and the
forest of Sherwood, in which he roamed with his merry men, armed with
their long bows, and clad in Lincoln green, has become the resort of
pilgrims, and a classic spot sacred to his memory. The few virtues he
had, which would have ensured him no praise if he had been an honest
man, have been blazoned forth by popular renown during seven successive
centuries, and will never be forgotten while the English tongue endures.
His charity to the poor, and his gallantry and respect for women, have
made him the pre-eminent thief of all the world.
Among English thieves of a later date, who has not heard of Claude
Duval, Dick Turpin, Jonathan Wild, and Jack Sheppard, those knights of
the road and of the town, whose peculiar chivalry formed at once the
dread and the delight of England during the eighteenth century? Turpin's
fame is unknown to no portion of the male population of England after
they have attained the age of ten. His wondrous ride from London to York
has endeared him to the imagination of millions; his cruelty in placing
an old woman upon a fire, to force her to tell him where she had hidden
her money, is regarded as a good joke; and his proud bearing upon the
scaffold is looked upon as a virtuous action. The Abbe le Blanc,
writing in 1737, says he was continually entertained with stories of
Turpin--how, when he robbed gentlemen, he would generously leave them
enough to continue their journey, and exact a pledge from them never to
inform against him, and how scrupulous such gentlemen were in keeping
their word. He was one day told a story with which the relator was
he the highest degree delighted. Turpin, or some other noted
robber, stopped a man whom he knew to be very rich, with the usual
salutation--"Your money or your life!" but not finding more than five
or six guineas about him, he took the liberty of entreating him, in the
most affable manner, never to come out so ill provided; adding that, if
he fell in with him, and he had no more than such a paltry sum, he
would give him a good licking. Another story, told by one of Turpin's
admirers, was of a robbery he had committed upon a Mr. C. near
Cambridge. He took from this gentleman his watch, his snuff-box, and all
his money but two shillings, and, before he left him, required his word
of honour that he would not cause him to be pursued or brought before
a justice. The promise being given, they both parted very courteously.
They afterwards met at Newmarket, and renewed their acquaintance. Mr. C.
kept his word religiously; he not only refrained from giving Turpin into
custody, but made a boast that he had fairly won some of his money back
again in an honest way. Turpin offered to bet with him on some favourite
horse, and Mr. C. accepted the wager with as good a grace as he could
have done from the best gentleman in England. Turpin lost his bet and
paid it immediately, and was so smitten with the generous behaviour of
Mr. C. that he told him how deeply he regretted that the trifling affair
which had happened between them did not permit them to drink together.
The narrator of this anecdote was quite proud that England was the
birthplace of such a highwayman.
[The Abbe, in the second volume, in the letter No. 79, dressed to
Monsieur de Buffon, gives the following curious particulars of the
robbers of 1757, which are not without interest at this day, if it
were only to show the vast improvement which has taken place since that
period:--"It is usual, in travelling, to put ten or a dozen guineas in
a separate pocket, as a tribute to the first that comes to demand them:
the right of passport, which custom has established here in favour of
the robbers, who are almost the only highway surveyors in England, has
made this necessary; and accordingly the English call these fellows
the 'Gentlemen of the Road,' the government letting them exercise their
jurisdiction upon travellers without giving them any great molestation.
To say the truth, they content themselves with only taking the money
of those who obey without disputing; but notwithstanding their boasted
humanity, the lives of those who endeavour to get away are not always
safe. They are very strict and severe in levying their impost; and if
a man has not wherewithal to pay them, he may run the chance of getting
himself knocked on the head for his poverty.
"About fifteen years ago, these robbers, with the view of maintaining
their rights, fixed up papers at the doors of rich people about London,
expressly forbidding all persons, of whatsoever quality or condition,
from going out of town without ten guineas and a watch about them, on
pain of death. In bad times, when there is little or nothing to be got
on the roads, these fellows assemble in gangs, to raise contributions
even in London itself; and the watchmen seldom trouble themselves to
interfere with them in their vocation."]
Not less familiar to the people of England is the career of Jack
Sheppard, as brutal a ruffian as ever disgraced his country, but who
has claims upon the popular admiration which are very generally
acknowledged. He did not, like Robin Hood, plunder the rich to relieve
the poor, nor rob with an uncouth sort of courtesy, like Turpin; but he
escaped from Newgate with the fetters on his limbs. This achievement,
more than once repeated, has encircled his felon brow with the wreath of
immortality, and made him quite a pattern thief among the populace. He
was no more than twenty-three years of age at the time of his execution,
and he died much pitied by the crowd. His adventures were the sole
topics of conversation for months; the print-shops were filled with his
effigies, and a fine painting of him was made by Sir Richard Thornhill.
The following complimentary verses to the artist appeared in the
"British Journal" of November 28th, 1724.
"Thornhill! 'tis thine to gild with fame
Th' obscure, and raise the humble name;
To make the form elude the grave,
And Sheppard from oblivion save!
Apelles Alexander drew--
Cesar is to Aurelius due;
Cromwell in Lilly's works doth shine,
And Sheppard, Thornhill, lives in thine!"
So high was Jack's fame that a pantomime entertainment, called
"Harlequin Jack Sheppard," was devised by one Thurmond, and brought out
with great success at Drury Lane Theatre. All the scenes were painted
from nature, including the public-house that the robber frequented in
Claremarket, and the condemned cell from which he had made his escape in
Newgate.
The Rev. Mr. Villette, the editor of the "Annals of Newgate," published
in 1754, relates a curious sermon which, he says, a friend of his heard
delivered by a street-preacher about the time of Jack's execution. The
orator, after animadverting on the great care men took of their bodies,
and the little care they bestowed upon their souls, continued as
follows, by way of exemplifying the position:--"We have a remarkable
instance of this in a notorious malefactor, well known by the name
of Jack Sheppard. What amazing difficulties has he overcome! what
astonishing things has he performed! and all for the sake of a stinking,
miserable carcass; hardly worth the hanging! How dexterously did he pick
the chain of his padlock with a crooked nail! how manfully he burst his
fetters asunder!--climb up the chimney!--wrench out an iron bar!--break
his way through a stone wall!--make the strong door of a dark entry fly
before him, till he got upon the leads of the prison! then, fixing
a blanket to the wall with a spike, he stole out of the chapel. How
intrepidly did he descend to the top of the turner's house!--how
cautiously pass down the stair, and make his escape to the street door!
"Oh! that ye were all like Jack Sheppard! Mistake me not, my brethren;
I don't mean in a carnal, but in a spiritual sense, for I propose to
spiritualise these things. What a shame it would be if we should not
think it worth our while to take as much pains, and employ as many deep
thoughts, to save our souls as he has done to preserve his body!