The man with no shoes, so the saying goes, is unhappy with his lot until he meets the man with no feet. It has always been a source of wonderment to me how one's own misfortune is made more bearable by consideration of another's greater misfortune. But, if there's any truth in the saying, then present-day Dubliners - victims of burglary, bag-snatching, car-stealing and all manner of crimes against person and property - may derive some solace from the knowledge that, as far as criminality and lawlessness is concerned, their city was a far worse place to be in Georgian times than it is now.
In those days, a deadly hostility grew up between the Liberty Boys, tailors and weavers of Thomas Street, and the Ormond Boys, butchers who lived by Ormond Quay. Battles between these two factions sometimes made the quays and bridges impassable for days on end.
Trinity students
Sober and peace-loving citizens had to keep to their houses. But it was the students of Trinity College who were the keenest participants in the fights. They were ever eager for a scrap and the college grounds became a sort of sanctuary for debtors who knew that the students would fight off any bailiff who tried to follow.
There was, of course, no police force. Night watchmen were first appointed in 1723 and they had to be "honest men and good Protestants".
The theatre was another venue for outrageous student behaviour. They pelted the actors, climbed on the stage, invaded the green room. The theatre manager, Thomas Sheridan, father of Richard Brinsley, was a particular target. They not only attacked his theatre but ransacked his house several nights running.
Such was the ascendancy of rank and the terror these so-called "bucks" inspired that for a long time no jury could be found which would find a "gentleman" guilty of assault on a mere "player". But Sheridan showed some spirit and persisted with his legal action and, to everybody's surprise and the dismay of the students, won his case.
The whole enjoyment and business of life of the "bucks" seemed to consist of eccentricity and violence. Often this eccentricity descended to the level of the most complete stupidity - as when a number of them in the Hellfire Club set fire to the room in which they sat and endured the flames with incredible obstinacy to show their scorn for the threatened fires of hell.
One can only conclude that they were rat-arsed with drink and, furthermore, that they were true believers in the same hell fires. Otherwise, why bother?
In the coffee houses, the "bucks" walked back and forth wearing long trains on their gowns and if anyone touched the train accidentally, the sword of the owner was immediately drawn.
Duelling lawyers
The practice of duelling started after the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 and flourished for the next 200 years. Although against the law, it was most commonly practised by lawyers. It was even regarded as a prerequisite to preferment in that profession. John Toler, Earl Norbury, often boasted that he began his legal career with "£50 and a pair of hair-trigger pistols" and it was said of him that he "shot up" in promotion. He became Lord Chief Justice.
It wasn't unknown for opposing counsel to leave the court in the middle of a debate, fight with swords or pistols and then return to the courtroom - if one of them had not been killed or maimed, that is.
The chairman of the Quarter Sessions, Bully Egan, was so soft-hearted that he couldn't pass a heavy sentence without shedding a tear, but he was remarkably resolute when shooting at an acquaintance. And, of course, Humanity Dick Martin, so called for his interest in animal welfare, was known as "Hair-trigger Dick" for his eagerness to shoot humans.
The fun was not confined to Dublin. Counties became distinguished for their dexterity with particular weapons: Tipperary, Roscommon and Sligo for the pistol, Galway for the sword and Mayo for equal skill with both. Weapons were kept in readiness at inns for the convenience of customers who might "come on an emergency unprovided".
In 1798 there were 190 houses in Thomas Street, 52 of which were licensed to sell drink. Among the so-called upper classes the great end and aim of life seemed to be convivial indulgence to excess. The rule of drinking was that no man was "allowed to leave the company till he was unable to stand and then he might leave only if he could walk".
Missed rounds
If a guest left the room, pieces of paper were dropped in his glass to show the number of rounds he had missed and on his return he had to drink a glass for each.
Decanters had round bottoms and glasses without stems were in vogue, to speed up drinking. Judges were frequently inebriated on the bench - in spite of the phrase - and John Philpot Curran, father of Sarah, said of one: "Though he did not weep, he certainly had a drop in his eye."
So - with occasional exceptions, such as the butchers and tailors of the Liberties - most of the lawlessness and bad behaviour of the period was associated with the aristocratic, privileged and professional classes. We're more egalitarian now. As Joe Orton put it: "Today we live in an age of equality . . . all classes are criminal."