Part 56
“My last paying caper was the Sloanes. They beat Haynau. I declare to you, sir, the knowingest among us couldn’t have invented a cock to equal the conduct of them Sloanes. Why, it’s disgusting to come near the plain truth about them. I think, take it altogether, Sloane was as good as the Pope, but he had a stopper like Pius the Ninth, for that was a one-sided affair, and the Catholics wouldn’t buy; and Sloane was too disgusting for the gentry, or better sort, to buy him. But I’ve been in little streets where some of the windows was without sashes, and some that had sashes had stockings thrust between the frames, and I’ve taken half a bob in ha’pennies. Oh! you should have heard what poor women said about him, for it was women that bought him most. They was more savage against him than against her. Why, they had fifty deaths for him. Rolling in a barrel, with lots of sharp nails inside, down Primrose-hill, and turned out to the women on Kennington-common, and boiled alive in oil or stuff that can’t be mentioned, or hung over a slow fire. ‘O, the poor dear girl,’ says they, ‘what she’s suffered.’ We had accounts of Mistress Sloane’s apprehension before the papers. We had it at Jersey, and they had it at Boulogne, but we were first. Then we discovered, because we _must_ be in advance of the papers, that Miss Devaux was Sloane’s daughter by a former wife, and Jane Wilbred was Mrs. Sloane’s daughter by a former husband, and was entitled to 1,000_l._ by rights. Haynau was a fool to Sloane.
“I don’t know of anything fresh that’s in hand, sir. One of our authors is coming out with something spicy, against Lord John, for doing nothing about Wiseman; ’cause he says as no one thing that he’s written for Lord John ever sold well, something against him may.”
OF THE CHAUNTERS.
“As the minstrel’s art,” writes Mr. Strutt, in his “Sports and Pastimes,” “consisted of several branches, the professors were distinguished by different denominations, as ‘rimours, _chanterres_, conteours, jougleours or jongleurs, jestours, lecours, and troubadours or trouvers:’ in modern language, rhymers, singers, story-tellers, jugglers, relaters of heroic actions, buffoons, and poets; but all of them were included under the general name of minstrel. An eminent French antiquary says of the minstrels, that some of them themselves composed the subjects they sang or related, as the trouvers and the conteurs; and some of them used the compositions of others, as the jougleours and the chanteurs. He further remarks, that the trouvers may be said to have embellished their productions with rhyme, while the conteurs related their histories in prose; the jougleours, who in the middle ages were famous for playing upon the vielle” [a kind of hurdy-gurdy], “accompanied the songs of the trouvers. These jougleours were also assisted by the chanteurs; and this union of talents rendered the compositions more harmonious and more pleasing to the auditory, and increased their rewards, so that they readily joined each other, and travelled together in large parties. It is, however, very certain that the poet, the songster, and the musician were frequently united in the same person.” My account of the authors, &c., of street literature shows that the analogy still holds.
The French antiquary quoted was Fauchet, in his “Origine de la Langue et Poësie Françoise” (1581); and though he wrote concerning his own country, his descriptions apply equally to the English minstrels, who were principally Normans, for many reigns after the Conquest, and were of the same race, and habits, and manners as on the French side of the Channel.
Of the minstrels, I shall have more to say when I treat of the ballad-singers and the bands of street and public-house musicians of to-day, between whom and the minstrels of old there is, in many respects, a somewhat close resemblance. Minstrelsy fell gradually from its high estate, and fell so low that, in the 39th year of Elizabeth’s reign--a period when the noblest poetry of any language was beginning to command the ear of the educated in England--the minstrels were classed in a penal statute with rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars! Putenham, in his “Arte of English Poesie” (1589), speaks of “taverne minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat.” One of the statutes enacted in Cromwell’s Protectorate was directed against all persons “commonly called fidlers or minstrells.”
In the old times, then, the jougeleurs and jestours were assisted by the chanteurs. In the present day the running patterer--who, as I have shown, is the sufficiently legitimate descendant of the jestour, and in some respects of the mountebank--is accompanied generally by a chaunter, so presenting a further point of resemblance between ancient and modern street-folk. The chaunter now not only sings, but fiddles, for within these few years the running patterers, to render their performances more attractive, are sometimes accompanied by musicians. The running performer then, instead of hurrying along with the members of his mob, making sufficient noise to arouse a whole street, takes his stand with the chaunter in any promising place, and as the songs which are the most popular are--as is the case at many of the concert-rooms--sometimes “spoken” as well as sung, the performers are in their proper capacity, for the patterer not only “speaks,” but speaks more than is set down for him, while the chaunter fiddles and sings. Sometimes the one patters while the other sings, and their themes are the same.
I am told, however, that there are only fifty running patterers who are regularly their own chaunters, fiddling to their songs, while the mob work as usual, or one man sings, or speaks and sings, with the chaunter. Two of these men are known as Brummagem Jack, and the Country Paganini. From twenty to thirty patterers, however, are chaunters also, when they think the occasion requires it.
Further to elucidate chaunting, and to show the quality of the canticles, and the way of proceeding, I cite a statement of his experience as a chaunter, from the running patterer, whose details of his more especial business I have already given, but who also occasionally chaunts:--
OF THE EXPERIENCE OF A CHAUNTER.
“The Pope, sir,” he began, “was as one-sided to chaunt as to patter, in course. We had the Greeks (the lately-arrived Irish) down upon us more than once. In Liverpool-street, on the night of the meeting at Guildhall about the Papal Aggression, we had a regular skrimmage. One gentleman said: ‘Really, you shouldn’t sing such improper songs, my men.’ Then up comes another, and he was a little crusted with port wine, and he says: ‘What, against that cove the Pope! Here, give me half a dozen of the papers.’ The city was tidy for the patter, sir, or the chaunt; there was sixpences; but there was shillings at the West End. And for the first time in their innocent lives, the parsons came out as stunning patrons of the patter. One of ’em as we was at work in the street give a bit of a signal and was attended to without any parade to the next street, and was good for half-a-crown! Other two stopped, that wery same day, and sent a boy to us with a Joey. Then me and my mate went to the Rev. W.’s, him as came it so strong for the fire-works on the Fifth of November. And we pattered and we pattered, and we chaunted and we chaunted, but no go for a goodish bit. His servant said he weren’t at home. In course _that_ wouldn’t do for us, so down he came his-self at last, and says, werry soft: ‘Come to-morrow morning, my men, and there’ll be two gentlemen to hear you.’ We stuck to him for something in hand, but he said the business had cost him so much already, he really couldn’t. Well, we bounced a bob out of him, and didn’t go near him again. After all we did for his party, a shilling was black ingratitude. Of course _we_ has no feeling either for or agin the Pope. _We_ goes to it as at an election; and let me tell you, sir, we got very poorly paid, it couldn’t be called paid, for working for Lord John at the City Election; and I was the original of the live rats, which took well. But there’s a good time coming to pay Lord Johnny off.
“Some of the tunes--there’s no act of parliament about tunes, you know, sir--was stunners on the fiddle; as if a thousand bricks was falling out of a cart at once. I think ‘The Pope and Cardinal Wiseman,’ one of the first of the songs, did as well as any. This werse was greatly admired:--
‘Now Lord John Russell did so bright, to the Bishop of Durham a letter write Saying while I’ve a hand I’ll fight, The pope and cardinal wiseman, Lord John’s ancestor as I tell, Lord William Russell then known well His true religion would not sell, A martyr he in glory fell, And now Lord John so bold and free, Has got a rope as we may see, To hang up on each side of a tree, The pope and cardinal wiseman.’
“This finishing werse, too, was effective, and out came a few browns:--
‘Now we don’t care a fig for Rome, why can’t they let the girls alone, And mind their business at home, the pope and cardinal wiseman. With their monsical red cardinals hat, And lots of wafers in a sack, If they come here with all their clack, we’ll wound them fil fal la ra whack, In England they shall not be loose, Their hum bugging is all no use, If they come here we’ll cook their goose, The pope and Cardinal Wiseman.
CHORUS
Monks and Nuns and fools afloat, We’ll have no bulls shoved down our throat, Cheer up and shout down with the Pope, And his bishop cardinal Wiseman.’
“Then there was another, sir. ‘The Pope he is coming; oh, crikey, oh dear!’ to the tune of the ‘Camels are coming.’ There was one bit that used to tickle them. I mayn’t exactly remember it, for I didn’t do anything beyond a spurt in it, and haven’t a copy for you, but it tickled ’em with others. This was the bit:--
‘I’ve heard my old grandmother’s grandmother say, They burnt us in Smithfield full ten every day. O, what shall I do, for I feel very queer, The Pope he’s a-coming, oh! crikey, oh, dear!’
“Bless you, sir, if I see a smart dressed servant girl looking shyly out of the street-door at us, or through the area railings, and I can get a respectful word in and say, ‘My good young lady, do buy of a poor fellow, we haven’t said a word to your servants, we hasn’t seen any on ’em,’ then she’s had, sir, for 1_d._ at least, and twice out of thrice; that ‘good young lady’ chloroforms her.
“Then this one, now, is stunning. It’s part of what the Queen was a going to sing at the opening of the parliament, but she changed her mind, and more’s the pity, for it would have had a grand effect. It’s called ‘The Queen, the Pope, and the Parliament,’ and these is the best of the stanzas; I calls them werses in common, but stanzas for Wick:
‘My lords and my gentlemen all, The bishops and great house of commons On you for protection I call, For you know I am only a woman, I am really quite happy indeed-- To meet you like birds of a feather, So I hope you will all struggle with me, And pull away boys altogether, My name is Victoria the Queen.
‘Our bishops and deans did relent, And say they for ever was undone, Bishop Philpott a long challenge sent To his lordship the bishop of London, To fight him on Hounslow Heath-- But the bishop of London was coosey, He gave him one slap in the mouth, And then sent a letter to pusey, No humbuggery stories for vick--
‘I heard my old grandfather say His great grandmother easily loved reckon When they made a fool run away, Whose name was king Jemmy the second. Billy gave him a ticket for soup, Though Bill married old Jemmy’s daughter He knocked him from old Palace yard, To Ireland, across the Boyne water, Long life to Victoria the Queen.
‘Come here my old friend Joey Hume, I know you in silence wont mope now, Go up and get inside the moon And make fast a great torry rope now, And then give a spring and a jump And you to a peerage shall rise then, For we’ll swing up old Pius the Pope And his eminence cardinal Wiseman, Old England and down with the Pope.’
“Then there wasn’t no risk with Haynau--I told you of the Pope first, ’cause he was most chaunted--no fear of a _ferricadouzer_ for the butcher. How is it spelled, sir? Well, if you can’t find it in the dictionary, you must use your own judgment. What does it mean? It means a dewskitch (a good thrashing). I’ve been threatened with dark nights about the Pope, after the Greeks has said: ‘Fat have you to say agin the holy gintleman? To the divil wid all the likes o’ ye.’ Haynau was a fair stage and no favour. This werse was best liked:--
‘The other day as you must know, In Barclay’s brewhouse he did go And signed his bloody name “Haynau.” The fellow that flogged the women. Baron Rothchild did him shend, And in the letter which he penn’d He shaid the sheneral wash his friend, And so good a man he could not mend.
CHORUS
Rumpsey bumsy--bang him well-- Make his back and sides to swell Till he roars aloud with dreadful yell, The fellow that flogged the women.’
“The women bought very free; poor women, mostly; we only worked him to any extent in the back drags. One old body at Stepney was so pleased that she said, ‘O, the bloody-minded willain! Whenever you come this way again, sir, there’s always 1_d._ for you.’ She didn’t pay in advance though.
“Then it ended, sir, with a beautiful moral as appeals to every female bosom:--
‘That man who would a female harm, Is never fit to live.’
“We always likes something for the ladies, bless ’em. They’re our best customers.
“Then there was poor Jael Denny, but she was humped, sir, and I’ve told you the reason. Her copy of werses began:--
‘Since Corder died on Buystree, No mortal man did read or see, Of such a dreadful tragedy, As I will now unfold. A maid in bloom--to her silent tomb, Is hurried in the prime of life, How could a villain cause such strife She worthy was a famous wife. The like was seldom told.
CHORUS.
She was young and gay, Like the flowers of may, In youth and vigour health and bloom, She is hurried to the silent tomb. Through Essex, such a dreadfull gloom, Jael Denny’s murder caused.’
“My last chaunt was Jane Wilbred; and her werses--and they did tidy well--began:--
‘A Case like this you seldom read, Or one so sad and true, And we sincerely hope the perper- trators both will rue To serve a friendless servant girl, Two years they did engage, Her name it is Jane Willbred, And eighteen years of age.’
“What do you think of the Great Exhibition, sir? I shall be there. Me and my mates. We are going to send in a copy of werses in letters of gold for a prize. _We’ll_ let the foreigners know what the real native melodies of England is, and no mistake.”
OF THE DEATH AND FIRE HUNTERS.
I have described the particular business of the running patterer, who is known by another and a very expressive cognomen--as a “Death Hunter.” This title refers not only to his vending accounts of all the murders that become topics of public conversation, but to his being a “murderer” on his own account, as in the sale of “cocks” mentioned incidentally in this narrative. If the truth be saleable, a running patterer prefers selling the truth, for then--as one man told me--he can “go the same round comfortably another day.” If there be no truths for sale--no stories of criminals’ lives and loves to be condensed from the diffusive biographies in the newspapers--no “helegy” for a great man gone--no prophecy and no crim. con.--the death hunter invents, or rather announces, them. He puts some one to death for the occasion, which is called “a cock.” The paper he sells may give the dreadful details, or it may be a religious tract, “brought out in mistake,” should the vendor be questioned on the subject; or else the poor fellow puts on a bewildered look and murmurs, “O, it’s shocking to be done this way--but I can’t read.” The patterers pass along so rapidly that this detection rarely happens.
One man told me that in the last eight or ten years, he, either singly or with his “mob,” had twice put the Duke of Wellington to death, once by a fall from his horse, and the other time by a “sudden and myst-_e_rious” death, without any condescension to particulars. He had twice performed the same mortal office for Louis Phillipe, before that potentate’s departure from France; each death was by the hands of an assassin; “one was stabbing, and the other a shot from a distance.” He once thought of poisoning the Pope, but was afraid of the street Irish. He broke Prince Albert’s leg, or arm, (he was not sure which), when his royal highness was out with his harriers. He never had much to say about the Queen; “it wouldn’t go down,” he thought, and perhaps nothing had lately been said. “Stop, there, sir,” said another patterer, of whom I inquired as to the correctness of those statements, (after my constant custom in sifting each subject thoroughly,) “stop, stop, sir. I _have_ had to say about the Queen lately. In coorse, nothing can be said against her, and nothing ought to; that’s true enough, but the last time she was confined, I cried her _accouchement_ (the word was pronounced as spelt to a merely English reader, or rather more broadly) of _three_! Lord love you, sir, it would have been no use crying _one_; people’s so used to that; but a Bobby came up and he stops me, and said it was some impudence about the Queen’s _coachman_! Why look at it, says I, fat-head--I knew I was safe--and see if there’s anything in it about the Queen or her coachman! And he looked, and in coorse there was nothing. I forget just now what the paper _was_ about.” My first-mentioned informant had apprehended Feargus O’Connor on a charge of high treason. He assassinated Louis Napoleon, “from a _fourth_ edition of the _Times_,” which “did well.” He caused Marshal Haynau to die of the assault by the draymen. He made Rush hang himself in prison. He killed Jane Wilbred, and put Mrs. Sloane to death; and he announced the discovery that Jane Wilbred was Mrs. Sloane’s daughter.
This informant did not represent that he had originated these little pieces of intelligence, only that he had been a party to their sale, and a party to originating one or two. Another patterer--and of a higher order of genius--told me that all which was stated was undoubtedly correct, “but me and my mates, sir,” he said, “did Haynau in another style. A splendid slum, sir! Capital! We assassinated him--_mys_-terious. Then about Rush. His hanging hisself in prison was a fake, I know; but we’ve had him lately. His ghost appeared--as is shown in the Australian papers--to Emily Sandford, and threatened her; and took her by the neck, and there’s the red marks of his fingers to be seen on her neck to this day!” The same informant was so loud in his praise of the “Ass-sass-sination” of Haynau that I give the account. I have little doubt it was his own writing. It is confused in passages, and has a blending of the “I” and the “we:”--
“We have just received upon undisputed authority, that, that savage and unmanly tyrant, that enemy to civil and religious liberty, the inhuman Haynau has at last finished his career of guilt by the hand of an assassin, the term assassin I have no doubt will greet harshly upon the ears of some of our readers, yet never the less I am compelled to use it although I would gladly say the _average_ of outraged innocence, which would be a name more suitable to one who has been the means of ridden the world of such a despicable monster.”
[My informant complained bitterly, and not without reason, of the printer. “Average,” for instance (which I have _italicised_), should be “avenger.” The “average of outraged innocence!”]
“It appears by the Columns of the Corour le Constituonal of Brussels,” runs the paper, “that the evening before last, three men one of which is supposed to be the miscreant, Haynau entered a Cafe in the Neighbourhood of Brussels kept by a man in the name of Priduex, and after partaking of some refreshments which were ordered by his two companions they desired to be shown to their chambers, during their stay in the public or Travellers Room, they spoke but little and seemed to be very cautious as to joining in the conversations which was passing briskly round the festive board, which to use the landlord’s own words was rather strange, as his Cafe was mostly frequented by a set of jovial fellows. M. Priduex goes on to state that after the three strangers had retired to rest some time a tall and rather noble looking man enveloped in a large cloak entered and asked for a bed, and after calling for some wine he took up a paper and appeared to be reading it very attentively, in due time he was shown to bed and all passed on without any appearance of anything wrong until about 6 o’clock in the morning, when the landlord and his family, were roused by a noise over head and cries of murder, and upon going up stairs to ascertain the cause, he discovered the person who was [known] to be Marshal Haynau, lying on his bed with his throat cut in a frightful manner, and his two companions standing by his bed side bewailing his loss. On the table was discovered a card, on which was written these words ‘Monster, I am avenged at last.’ Suspicion went upon the tall stranger, who was not anywhere to be found, the Garde arms instantly were on the alert, and are now in active persuit of him but up to the time of our going to press nothing further has transpired.”