New Buildings at Abbotsford. -- Chiefswood. -- William Erskine.
-- Letter to Countess Purgstall. -- Progress of the Pirate. --
Franck's Northern Memoir, and Notes of Lord Fountainhall,
Published. -- Private Letters in the Reign of James I. --
Commencement of the Fortunes of Nigel. -- Second Sale of
Copyrights. -- Contract for "Four Works of Fiction." -- Enormous
Profits of the Novelist, and Extravagant Projects of Constable.
-- The Pirate Published. -- Lord Byron's Cain, Dedicated to
Scott. -- Affair of the Beacon Newspaper.
1821
[Illustration: CHIEFSWOOD
_After the drawing by J. M. W. Turner_]
When Sir Walter returned from London, he brought with him the detailed
plans of Mr. Atkinson for the completion of his house at Abbotsford;
which, however, did not extend to the gateway or the beautiful screen
between the court and the garden--for these graceful parts of the
general design were conceptions of his own, reduced to shape by the
skill of the Messrs. Smith of Darnick. It would not, indeed, be easy
for me to apportion rightly the constituent members of the whole
edifice;--throughout there were numberless consultations with Mr.
Blore, Mr. Terry, and Mr. Skene, as well as with Mr. Atkinson--and the
actual builders placed considerable inventive talents, as well as
admirable workmanship, at the service of their friendly employer.
Every preparation was now made by them, and the foundations might
have been set about without farther delay; but he was very
reluctant to authorize the demolition of the rustic porch of the old
cottage, with its luxuriant overgrowth of roses and jessamines; and,
in short, could not make up his mind to sign the death-warrant of this
favorite bower until winter had robbed it of its beauties. He then
made an excursion from Edinburgh, on purpose to be present at its
downfall--saved as many of the creepers as seemed likely to survive
removal, and planted them with his own hands about a somewhat similar
porch, erected expressly for their reception, at his daughter Sophia's
little cottage of Chiefswood.
There my wife and I spent this summer and autumn of 1821--the first of
several seasons, which will ever dwell on my memory as the happiest of
my life. We were near enough Abbotsford to partake as often as we
liked of its brilliant society; yet could do so without being exposed
to the worry and exhaustion of spirit which the daily reception of
newcomers entailed upon all the family except Sir Walter himself. But,
in truth, even he was not always proof against the annoyances
connected with such a style of open-house-keeping. Even his temper
sunk sometimes under the solemn applauses of learned dulness, the
vapid raptures of painted and periwigged dowagers, the horse-leech
avidity with which underbred foreigners urged their questions, and the
pompous simpers of condescending magnates. When sore beset at home in
this way, he would every now and then discover that he had some very
particular business to attend to on an outlying part of his estate,
and craving the indulgence of his guests overnight, appear at the
cabin in the glen before its inhabitants were astir in the morning.
The clatter of Sibyl Grey's hoofs, the yelping of Mustard and Spice,
and his own joyous shout of _reveillee_ under our windows, were the
signal that he had burst his toils, and meant for that day to "take
his ease in his inn." On descending, he was to be found seated with
all his dogs and ours about him, under a spreading ash that
overshadowed half the bank between the cottage and the brook, pointing
the edge of his woodman's axe for himself, and listening to Tom
Purdie's lecture touching the plantation that most needed thinning.
After breakfast, he would take possession of a dressing-room upstairs,
and write a chapter of The Pirate; and then, having made up and
despatched his packet for Mr. Ballantyne, away to join Purdie wherever
the foresters were at work--and sometimes to labor among them as
strenuously as John Swanston himself--until it was time either to
rejoin his own party at Abbotsford, or the quiet circle of the
cottage.--When his guests were few and friendly, he often made them
come over and meet him at Chiefswood in a body towards evening;[133]
and surely he never appeared to more amiable advantage than when
helping his young people with their little arrangements upon such
occasions. He was ready with all sorts of devices to supply the wants
of a narrow establishment; he used to delight particularly in sinking
the wine in a well under the _brae_ ere he went out, and hauling up
the basket just before dinner was announced--this primitive process
being, he said, what he had always practised when a young housekeeper;
and in his opinion far superior in its results to any application of
ice; and, in the same spirit, whenever the weather was sufficiently
genial, he voted for dining out of doors altogether, which at once
got rid of the inconvenience of very small rooms, and made it natural
and easy for the gentlemen to help the ladies, so that the paucity of
servants went for nothing. Mr. Rose used to amuse himself with
likening the scene and the party to the closing act of one of those
little French dramas, where "Monsieur le Comte" and "Madame la
Comtesse" appear feasting at a village bridal under the trees; but in
truth, our "M. le Comte" was only trying to live over again for a few
simple hours his own old life of Lasswade.
[Footnote 133: [Among the friendly visitors at this time was Mr.
Charles Young, who brought with him his son. The latter in his diary
sketches, not without some vivid touches, the days spent at
Abbotsford. One slight incident connected with Scott's greeting of his
guests may be noted. On hearing the lad's Christian name, he exclaimed
with emphasis, "Why, whom is he called after?" On being told that the
name was in memory of the boy's mother, Julia Anne, he replied, "Well,
it is a capital name for a novel, I must say;" a remark which Julian
Young naturally recalled when _Peveril_ was published. The Youngs also
visited Chiefswood, and the youthful diarist was much impressed by
Lockhart's strikingly handsome face, while "his deference and
attention to his father-in-law were delightful to witness."--See
_Memoir of Charles Mayne Young_, pp. 88-96.]]
When circumstances permitted, he usually spent one evening at least in
the week at our little cottage; and almost as frequently he did the
like with the Fergusons, to whose table he could bring chance
visitors, when he pleased, with equal freedom as to his daughter's.
Indeed it seemed to be much a matter of chance, any fine day when
there had been no alarming invasion of the Southron, whether the three
families (which, in fact, made but one) should dine at Abbotsford,
Huntly Burn, or at Chiefswood; and at none of them was the party
considered quite complete, unless it included also Mr. Laidlaw. Death
has laid a heavy hand upon that circle--as happy a circle I believe as
ever met. Bright eyes now closed in dust, gay voices forever silenced,
seem to haunt me as I write. With three exceptions, they are all gone.
Even since the last of these volumes[134] was finished, she whom I may
now sadly record as, next to Sir Walter himself, the chief ornament
and delight at all those simple meetings--she to whose love I owed my
own place in them--Scott's eldest daughter, the one of all his
children who in countenance, mind, and manners, most resembled
himself, and who indeed was as like him in all things as a gentle
innocent woman can ever be to a great man deeply tried and skilled in
the struggles and perplexities of active life--she, too, is no more.
And in the very hour that saw her laid in her grave, the only other
female survivor, her dearest friend Margaret Ferguson, breathed her
last also.--But enough--and more than I intended--I must resume the
story of Abbotsford.
[Footnote 134: The 4th vol. of the original edition was published in
July--the 5th (of which this was the sixth chapter) in October, 1837.]
During several weeks of that delightful summer, Scott had under his
roof Mr. William Erskine and two of his daughters; this being, I
believe, their first visit to Tweedside since the death of Mrs.
Erskine in September, 1819. He had probably made a point of having his
friend with him at this particular time, because he was desirous of
having the benefit of his advice and corrections from day to day as he
advanced in the composition of The Pirate--with the localities of
which romance the Sheriff of Orkney and Zetland was of course
thoroughly familiar. At all events, the constant and eager delight
with which Erskine watched the progress of the tale has left a deep
impression on my memory; and indeed I heard so many of its chapters
first read from the MS. by him, that I can never open the book now
without thinking I hear his voice. Sir Walter used to give him at
breakfast the pages he had written that morning; and very commonly,
while he was again at work in his study, Erskine would walk over to
Chiefswood, that he might have the pleasure of reading them aloud to
my wife and me under our favorite tree, before the packet had to be
sealed up for the printer, or rather for the transcriber in Edinburgh.
I cannot paint the delight and the pride with which he acquitted
himself on such occasions. The little artifice of his manner was
merely superficial, and was wholly forgotten as tender affection and
admiration, fresh as the impulses of childhood, glistened in his eye,
and trembled in his voice.
This reminds me that I have not yet attempted any sketch of the person
and manners of Scott's most intimate friend. Their case was no
contradiction to the old saying, that the most attached comrades are
often very unlike each other in character and temperament. The mere
physical contrast was as strong as could well be, and this is not
unworthy of notice here; for Erskine was, I think, the only man in
whose society Scott took great pleasure, during the more vigorous part
of his life, that had neither constitution nor inclination for any of
the rough bodily exercises in which he himself delighted. The
Counsellor (as Scott always called him) was a little man of feeble
make, who seemed unhappy when his pony got beyond a footpace, and had
never, I should suppose, addicted himself to any out-of-doors sport
whatever. He would, I fancy, have as soon thought of slaying his own
mutton as of handling a fowling-piece: he used to shudder when he saw
a party equipped for coursing, as if murder were in the wind; but the
cool meditative angler was in his eyes the abomination of
abominations. His small elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel
eyes, were the index of the quick sensitive gentle spirit within. He
had the warm heart of a woman, her generous enthusiasm, and some of
her weaknesses. A beautiful landscape, or a fine strain of music,
would send the tears rolling down his cheek; and though capable, I
have no doubt, of exhibiting, had his duty called him to do so, the
highest spirit of a hero or a martyr, he had very little command over
his nerves amidst circumstances such as men of ordinary mould (to say
nothing of iron fabrics like Scott's) regard with indifference. He
would dismount to lead his horse down what his friend hardly perceived
to be a descent at all; grew pale at a precipice; and, unlike the
White Lady of Avenel, would go a long way round for a bridge.
Erskine had as yet been rather unfortunate in his professional career,
and thought a sheriffship by no means the kind of advancement due to
his merits, and which his connections might naturally have secured for
him. These circumstances had at the time when I first observed him
tinged his demeanor; he had come to intermingle a certain wayward
snappishness now and then with his forensic exhibitions, and in
private seemed inclined (though altogether incapable of abandoning the
Tory party) to say bitter things of people in high places; but with
these exceptions, never was benevolence towards all the human race
more lively and overflowing than his evidently was, even when he
considered himself as one who had reason to complain of his luck in
the world. Now, however, these little asperities had disappeared; one
great real grief had cast its shadow over him, and submissive to the
chastisement of heaven, he had no longer any thoughts for the petty
misusage of mankind. Scott's apprehension was, that his ambition was
extinguished with his resentment; and he was now using every endeavor,
in connection with their common friend the Lord Advocate Rae, to
procure for Erskine that long-coveted seat on the bench, about which
the subdued widower himself had ceased to occupy his mind. By and by
these views were realized to Scott's high satisfaction, and for a
brief season with the happiest effect on Erskine's own spirits;--but I
shall not anticipate the sequel.
Meanwhile he shrunk from the collisions of general society in
Edinburgh, and lived almost exclusively in his own little circle of
intimates. His conversation, though somewhat precise and finical on
the first impression, was rich in knowledge. His literary ambition,
active and aspiring at the outset, had long before this time merged in
his profound veneration for Scott; but he still read a great deal, and
did so as much I believe with a view to assisting Scott by hints and
suggestions, as for his own amusement. He had much of his friend's
tact in extracting the picturesque from old, and, generally speaking,
dull books; and in bringing out his stores he often showed a great
deal of quaint humor and sly wit.
Scott, on his side, respected, trusted, and loved him, much as an
affectionate husband does the wife who gave him her heart in youth,
and thinks his thoughts rather than her own in the evening of life; he
soothed, cheered, and sustained Erskine habitually. I do not believe a
more entire and perfect confidence ever subsisted than theirs was and
always had been in each other; and to one who had duly observed the
creeping jealousies of human nature, it might perhaps seem doubtful on
which side the balance of real nobility of heart and character, as
displayed in their connection at the time of which I am speaking,
ought to be cast.
Among the common friends of their young days, of whom they both
delighted to speak--and always spoke with warm and equal
affection--was the sister of their friend Cranstoun, the confidant of
Scott's first unfortunate love, whom neither had now seen for a period
of more than twenty years. This lady had undergone domestic
afflictions more than sufficient to have crushed almost any spirit but
her own. Her husband, the Count Purgstall, had died some years before
this time, leaving her an only son, a youth of the most amiable
disposition, and possessing abilities which, had he lived to develop
them, must have secured for him a high station in the annals of
genius. This hope of her eyes, the last heir of an illustrious
lineage, followed his father to the tomb in the nineteenth year of his
age. The desolate Countess was urged by her family in Scotland to
return, after this bereavement, to her native country; but she had
vowed to her son on his deathbed, that one day her dust should be
mingled with his; and no argument could induce her to depart from the
resolution of remaining in solitary Styria. By her desire, a valued
friend of the house of Purgstall, who had been born and bred up on
their estates, the celebrated Orientalist, Joseph von Hammer, compiled
a little memoir of The Two Last Counts of Purgstall, which he put
forth, in January, 1821, under the title of Denkmahl, or Monument; and
of this work the Countess sent a copy to Sir Walter (with whom her
correspondence had been during several years suspended), by the hands
of her eldest brother, Mr. Henry Cranstoun, who had been visiting her
in Styria, and who at this time occupied a villa within a few miles of
Abbotsford. Scott's letter of acknowledgment never reached her; and
indeed I doubt if it was ever despatched. He appears to have meditated
a set of consolatory verses for its conclusion, and the Muse not
answering his call at the moment, I suspect he had allowed the sheet,
which I now transcribe, to fall aside and be lost sight of among his
multifarious masses of MS.
TO THE COUNTESS PURGSTALL, ETC., ETC.
MY DEAR AND MUCH-VALUED FRIEND,--You cannot imagine how much I
was interested and affected by receiving your token of your kind
recollection, after the interval of so many years. Your brother
Henry breakfasted with me yesterday, and gave me the letter and
the book, which served me as a matter of much melancholy
reflection for many hours.
Hardly anything makes the mind recoil so much upon itself, as the
being suddenly and strongly recalled to times long past, and that
by the voice of one whom we have so much loved and respected. Do
not think I have ever forgotten you, or the many happy days I
passed in Frederick Street, in society which fate has separated
so far, and for so many years.
The little volume was particularly acceptable to me, as it
acquainted me with many circumstances, of which distance and
imperfect communication had either left me entirely ignorant, or
had transmitted only inaccurate information.
Alas, my dear friend, what can the utmost efforts of friendship
offer you, beyond the sympathy which, however sincere, must sound
like an empty compliment in the ear of affliction? God knows with
what willingness I would undertake anything which might afford
you the melancholy consolation of knowing how much your old and
early friend interests himself in the sad event which has so
deeply wounded your peace of mind. The verses, therefore, which
conclude this letter, must not be weighed according to their
intrinsic value, for the more inadequate they are to express the
feelings they would fain convey, the more they show the author's
anxious wish to do what may be grateful to you.
In truth, I have long given up poetry. I have had my day with the
public; and being no great believer in poetical immortality, I
was very well pleased to rise a winner, without continuing the
game till I was beggared of any credit I had acquired. Besides, I
felt the prudence of giving way before the more forcible and
powerful genius of Byron. If I were either greedy, or jealous of
poetical fame--and both are strangers to my nature--I might
comfort myself with the thought, that I would hesitate to strip
myself to the contest so fearlessly as Byron does; or to command
the wonder and terror of the public, by exhibiting, in my own
person, the sublime attitude of the dying gladiator. But with the
old frankness of twenty years since, I will fairly own, that this
same delicacy of mine may arise more from conscious want of vigor
and inferiority, than from a delicate dislike to the nature of
the conflict. At any rate, there is a time for everything, and
without swearing oaths to it, I think my time for poetry has gone
by.
My health suffered horridly last year, I think from over-labor
and excitation; and though it is now apparently restored to its
usual tone, yet during the long and painful disorder (spasms in
the stomach) and the frightful process of cure, by a prolonged
use of calomel, I learned that my frame was made of flesh, and
not of iron--a conviction which I will long keep in remembrance,
and avoid any occupation so laborious and agitating as poetry
must be, to be worth anything.
In this humor I often think of passing a few weeks on the
Continent--a summer vacation if I can--and of course my
attraction to Gratz would be very strong. I fear this is the only
chance of our meeting in this world--we, who once saw each other
daily! for I understand from George and Henry that there is
little chance of your coming here. And when I look around me, and
consider how many changes you would see in feature, form, and
fashion, amongst all you knew and loved; and how much, no sudden
squall, or violent tempest, but the slow and gradual progress of
life's long voyage, has severed all the gallant fellowships whom
you left spreading their sails to the morning breeze, I really am
not sure that you would have much pleasure.
The gay and wild romance of life is over with all of us. The
real, dull, and stern history of humanity has made a far greater
progress over our heads; and age, dark and unlovely, has laid his
crutch over the stoutest fellow's shoulders. One thing your old
society may boast, that they have all run their course with
honor, and almost all with distinction; and the brother suppers
of Frederick Street have certainly made a very considerable
figure in the world, as was to be expected from her talents under
whose auspices they were assembled.
One of the most pleasant sights which you would see in Scotland,
as it now stands, would be your brother George in possession of
the most beautiful and romantic place in Clydesdale--Corehouse. I
have promised often to go out with him, and assist him with my
deep experience as a planter and landscape gardener. I promise
you my oaks will outlast my laurels; and I pique myself more upon
my compositions for manure than on any other compositions
whatsoever to which I was ever accessary. But so much does
business of one sort or other engage us both, that we never have
been able to fix a time which suited us both; and with the utmost
wish to make out the party, perhaps we never may.
This is a melancholy letter, but it is chiefly so from the sad
tone of yours--who have had such real disasters to lament--while
mine is only the humorous sadness, which a retrospect on human
life is sure to produce on the most prosperous. For my own course
of life, I have only to be ashamed of its prosperity, and afraid
of its termination; for I have little reason, arguing on the
doctrine of chances, to hope that the same good fortune will
attend me forever. I have had an affectionate and promising
family, many friends, few unfriends, and, I think, no
enemies--and more of fame and fortune than mere literature ever
procured for a man before.
I dwell among my own people, and have many whose happiness is
dependent on me, and which I study to the best of my power. I
trust my temper, which you know is by nature good and easy, has
not been spoiled by flattery or prosperity; and therefore I have
escaped entirely that irritability of disposition which I think
is planted, like the slave in the poet's chariot, to prevent his
enjoying his triumph.
Should things, therefore, change with me--and in these times, or
indeed in any times, such change is to be apprehended--I trust I
shall be able to surrender these adventitious advantages, as I
would my upper dress, as something extremely comfortable, but
which I can make shift to do without.[135]...
[Footnote 135: In communicating this letter to my friend Captain Hall,
when he was engaged in his Account of a Visit to Madame de Purgstall
during the last months of her life, I suggested to him, in consequence
of an expression about Scott's health, that it must have been written
in 1820. The date of the _Denkmahl_, to which it refers, is, however,
sufficient evidence that I ought to have said 1821.]
As I may have no occasion hereafter to allude to the early friend with
whose sorrows Scott thus sympathized amidst the meridian splendors of
his own worldly career, I may take this opportunity of mentioning,
that Captain Basil Hall's conjecture, of her having been the original
of Diana Vernon, appeared to myself from the first chimerical; and
that I have since heard those who knew her best in the days of her
intercourse with Sir Walter, express the same opinion in the most
decided manner. But to return.
While The Pirate was advancing under Mr. Erskine's eye, Scott had even
more than the usual allowance of minor literary operations on hand. He
edited a reprint of a curious old book, called Franck's Northern
Memoir, and the Contemplative Angler; and he also prepared for the
press a volume published soon after, under the title of "Chronological
Notes on Scottish Affairs, 1680 to 1701, from the Diary of Lord
Fountainhall." The professional writings of that celebrated old lawyer
had been much in his hands from his early years, on account of the
incidental light which they throw on the events of a most memorable
period in Scottish history: and he seems to have contemplated some
more considerable selection from his remains, but to have dropped
these intentions, on being given to understand that they might
interfere with those of Lord Fountainhall's accomplished
representative, the present Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, Baronet. It is,
however, to be regretted that Sir Thomas's promise of a Life of his
eminent ancestor has not yet been redeemed.
In August appeared the volume of the Novelists' Library containing
Scott's Life of Smollett; and it being now ascertained that John
Ballantyne had died a debtor, the editor offered to proceed with this
series of prefaces, on the footing that the whole profits of the work
should go to his widow. Mr. Constable, whose health was now beginning
to break, had gone southwards in quest of more genial air, and was at
Hastings when he heard of this proposition. He immediately wrote to
me, entreating me to represent to Sir Walter that the undertaking,
having been coldly received at first, was unlikely to grow in favor if
continued on the same plan--that in his opinion the bulk of the
volumes, and the small type of their text, had been unwisely chosen,
for a work of mere entertainment, and could only be suitable for one
of reference; that Ballantyne's Novelists' Library, therefore, ought
to be stopped at once, and another in a lighter shape, to range with
the late collected edition of the first series of the Waverley
Romances, announced with his own name as publisher, and Scott's as
editor. He proposed at the same time to commence the issue of a Select
Library of English Poetry, with prefaces and a few notes by the same
hand; and calculating that each of these collections should extend to
twenty-five volumes, and that the publication of both might be
concluded within two years--"the writing of the prefaces, etc.,
forming perhaps an occasional relief from more important labors"!--the
bookseller offered to pay their editor in all the sum of L6000: a
small portion of which sum, as he hinted, would undoubtedly be more
than Mrs. John Ballantyne could ever hope to derive from the
prosecution of her husband's last publishing adventure. Various causes
combined to prevent the realization of these magnificent projects.
Scott now, as at the beginning of his career of speculation, had views
about what a collection of English Poetry should be, in which even
Constable could not, on consideration, be made to concur; and I have
already explained the coldness with which he regarded further attempts
upon our Elder Novelists. The Ballantyne Library crept on to the tenth
volume, and was then dropped abruptly; and the double negotiation with
Constable was never renewed.
Lady Louisa Stuart had not, I fancy, read Scott's Lives of the
Novelists until, some years after this time, they were collected into
two little piratical duodecimos by a Parisian bookseller; and on her
then expressing her admiration of them, together with her astonishment
that the speculation of which they formed a part should have attracted
little notice of any sort, he answered as follows: "I am delighted
they afford any entertainment, for they are rather flimsily written,
being done merely to oblige a friend: they were yoked to a great,
ill-conditioned, lubberly, double-columned book, which they were as
useful to tug along as a set of fleas would be to draw a mail-coach.
It is very difficult to answer your Ladyship's curious question
concerning change of taste; but whether in young or old, it takes
place insensibly without the parties being aware of it.[136] A
grand-aunt of my own, Mrs. Keith of Ravelston,--who was a person of
some condition, being a daughter of Sir John Swinton of
Swinton,--lived with unabated vigor of intellect to a very advanced
age. She was very fond of reading, and enjoyed it to the last of her
long life. One day she asked me, when we happened to be alone
together, whether I had ever seen Mrs. Behn's novels?--I confessed the
charge.--Whether I could get her a sight of them?--I said, with some
hesitation, I believed I could; but that I did not think she would
like either the manners, or the language, which approached too near
that of Charles II.'s time to be quite proper reading. 'Nevertheless,'
said the good old lady, 'I remember them being so much admired, and
being so much interested in them myself, that I wish to look at them
again.' To hear was to obey. So I sent Mrs. Aphra Behn, curiously
sealed up, with 'private and confidential' on the packet, to my gay
old grand-aunt. The next time I saw her afterwards, she gave me back
Aphra, properly wrapped up, with nearly these words: 'Take back your
bonny Mrs. Behn; and, if you will take my advice, put her in the
fire, for I found it impossible to get through the very first novel.
But is it not,' she said, 'a very odd thing that I, an old woman of
eighty and upwards, sitting alone, feel myself ashamed to read a book
which, sixty years ago, I have heard read aloud for the amusement of
large circles, consisting of the first and most creditable society in
London?' This, of course, was owing to the gradual improvement of the
national taste and delicacy. The change that brings into and throws
out of fashion particular styles of composition, is something of the
same kind. It does not signify what the greater or less merit of the
book is;--the reader, as Tony Lumpkin says, must be in a concatenation
accordingly--the fashion, or the general taste, must have prepared him
to be pleased, or put him on his guard against it. It is much like
dress. If Clarissa should appear before a modern party in her lace
ruffles and head-dress, or Lovelace in his wig, however genteelly
powdered, I am afraid they would make no conquests; the fashion which
makes conquests of us in other respects, is very powerful in literary
composition, and adds to the effect of some works, while in others it
forms their sole merit."
[Footnote 136: [Lady Louisa in her letter, written in 1826, after
speaking of the delight which the _Lives_ had given to some of her
friends, tells of their being induced, by something said of Mackenzie,
to read aloud _The Man of Feeling_. The experiment failed sadly, the
(supposedly) finest touches only causing laughter. And yet the writer
could remember when the book had been read with rapture and many
tears. In her girlhood the _Nouvelle Heloise_ was the prohibited book
which all young persons longed to read. Now she finds that if it falls
in their way, it interests them not at all. So she propounds the
question which Sir Walter tries to answer.--See _Selections from the
Manuscripts of Lady Louisa Stuart_, pp. 233-236.]]
Among other miscellaneous work of this autumn, Scott amused some
leisure hours with writing a series of Private Letters, supposed to
have been discovered in the repositories of a Noble English Family,
and giving a picture of manners in town and country during the early
part of the reign of James I. These letters were printed as fast as he
penned them, in a handsome quarto form, and he furnished the margin
with a running commentary of notes, drawn up in the character of a
disappointed chaplain, a keen Whig, or rather Radical, overflowing on
all occasions with spleen against Monarchy and Aristocracy. When the
printing had reached the 72d page, however, he was told candidly by
Erskine, by James Ballantyne, and also by myself, that, however clever
his imitation of the epistolary style of the period in question, he
was throwing away in these letters the materials of as good a romance
as he had ever penned; and a few days afterwards he said to
me--patting Sibyl's neck till she danced under him,--"You were all
quite right: if the letters had passed for genuine they would have
found favor only with a few musty antiquaries, and if the joke were
detected, there was not story enough to carry it off. I shall burn the
sheets, and give you Bonny King Jamie and all his tail in the old
shape, as soon as I can get Captain Goffe within view of the gallows."
Such was the origin of The Fortunes of Nigel. As one set of the
uncompleted Letters has been preserved, I shall here insert a specimen
of them, in which the reader will easily recognize the germ of more
than one scene of the novel.[137]
[Footnote 137: [Two of Sir Walter's friends were to assist him in
these _Private Letters_. On June 16 he writes to Mr. Morritt: "Pray,
my good Lord of Rokeby, be my very gracious good lord, and think of
our pirated letters. It will be an admirable amusement for you, and I
hold you accountable for two or three academical epistles of the
period, full of thumping quotations of Greek and Latin in order to
explain what needs no explanation, and fortify sentiments which are
indisputable." In another letter, one of his last, written to Lockhart
from Naples in the spring of 1832, Scott says: "You may remember a
work in which our dear and accomplished friend, Lady Louisa,
condescended to take an oar, and which she handled most admirably. It
is a supposed set of extracts ... from a collection in James VI.'s
time, the costume admirably preserved, and like the fashionable wigs
more natural than one's own hair."--_Familiar Letters_, vol. ii. p.
120, and _Journal_, vol. ii. p. 473.]]
JENKIN HARMAN TO THE LORD ----.
MY LORD,--Towching this new mishappe of Sir Thomas, whereof your
Lordshippe makes querie of me, I wolde hartilie that I could,
truth and my bounden dutie alweys firste satisfied, make suche
answer as were fullie pleasaunte to me to write, or unto your
Lordshippe to reade. But what remedy? young men will have
stirring bloodes; and the courtier-like gallants of the time will
be gamesome and dangerous, as they have beene in dayes past. I
think your Lordshippe is so wise as to caste one eye backe to
your own more juvenile time, whilest you looke forward with the
other upon this mischaunce, which, upon my lyfe, will be founde
to be no otherwise harmful to Sir Thomas than as it shews him an
hastie Hotspur of the day, suddenlie checking at whatsoever may
seem to smirche his honour. As I am a trew man, and your
Lordship's poore kinsman and bounden servant, I think ther lives
not a gentleman more trew to his friende than Sir Thomas; and
although ye be but brothers uterine, yet so dearly doth he holde
your favour, that his father, were the gode knight alyve, should
not have more swaye with him than shalle your Lordship; and,
also, it is no kindly part to sow discord betwene brethrene; for,
as the holy Psalmist saythe, "_Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum
habitare fratres_," etc. And moreover, it needes not to tell your
Lordshippe that Sir Thomas is suddene in his anger; and it was
but on Wednesday last that he said to me, with moche
distemperature,--Master Jenkin, I be tolde that ye meddle and
make betwene me and my Lorde my brother; wherfore, take this for
feyr warninge, that when I shall fynde you so dooyng, I will
incontinent put my dager to the hilte in you:--and this was
spoken with all earnestness of visage and actioun, grasping of
his poinard's handle, as one who wolde presentlie make his words
good. Surely, my Lord, it is not fair carriage toward you pore
kinsman if anie out of your house make such reports of me, and of
that which I have written to you in sympleness of herte, and in
obedience to your commandemente, which is my law on this matter.
Truely, my Lord, I wolde this was well looked to, otherweys my
rewarde for trew service might be to handsell with my herte's
blode the steel of a Milan poignado. Natheless, I will procede
with my mater, fal back fal edge, trustyng all utterly in the
singleness of my integretie, and in your Lordshippe's
discretioun.
My Lorde, the braule which hath befallen chaunced this waye, and
not otherwise. It hap'd that one Raines, the master of the
ordinarie where his honour Sir Thomas eteth well nie dailie (when
he is not in attendance at courte, wherein he is perchance more
slacke than were wise), shoulde assemble some of the beste who
haunte his house, havyng diet ther for money. The purpose, as
shewn forthe, was to tast a new piece of choice wyne, and ther
Sir Thomas must nedes be, or the purpos holdes not, and the
Alicant becometh Bastard. Wel, my Lord, dice ther wer and music,
lustie helthes and dizzie braines,--some saye fair ladyes also,
of which I know nought, save that suche cockatrices hatch wher
such cockes of the game do haunt. Alweys ther was revel and
wassail enow and to spare. Now it chaunced, that whilst one
Dutton, of Graie's-Inn, an Essex man, held the dice, Sir Thomas
fillethe a fulle carouse to the helth of the fair Ladie
Elizabeth. Trulie, my Lord, I cannot blame his devotioun to so
fair a saint, though I may wish the chapel for his adoration had
been better chosen, and the companie more suitable; _sed respice
finem_. The pledge being given, and alle men on foote, aye, and
some on knee, to drink the same, young Philip Darcy, a near
kinsman of my Lorde's, or so callyng himself, takes on him to
check at the helthe, askyng Sir Thomas if he were willinge to
drink the same in a Venetian glasse? the mening of whiche hard
sentence your Lordshippe shal esilie construe. Whereupon Sir
Thomas, your Lordshippe's brother, somewhat shrewishly demanded
whether that were his game or his earnest; to which demaunde the
uther answers recklessly as he that wolde not be brow-beaten,
that Sir Thomas might take it for game or ernest as him listed.
Whereupon your Lordshippe's brother, throwing down withal the
woodcocke's bill, with which, as the fashioun goes, he was
picking his teeth, answered redily, he cared not that for his
game or ernest, for that neither were worth a bean. A small
matter this to make such a storie, for presentlie young Darcie up
with the wine-pot in which they had assaid the freshe hogshede,
and heveth it at Sir Thomas, which vessel missing of the mark it
was aym'd at, encountreth the hede of Master Dutton, when the
outside of the flaggon did that which peradventure the inside had
accomplish'd somewhat later in the evening, and stretcheth him on
the flore; and then the crie arose, and you might see twenty
swords oute at once, and none rightly knowing wherfor. And the
groomes and valets, who waited in the street and in the kitchen,
and who, as seldom failes, had been as besy with the beer as
their masters with the wine, presentlie fell at odds, and betoke
themselves to their weapones; so ther was bouncing of bucklers,
and bandying of blades, instede of clattering of quart pottles,
and chiming of harpis and fiddles. At length comes the wache,
and, as oft happens in the like affraies, alle men join ageynst
them, and they are beten bak: An honest man, David Booth,
constable of the night, and a chandler by trade, is sorely hurt.
The crie rises of Prentices, prentices, Clubs, clubs, for word
went that the court-gallants and the Graie's-Inn men had
murther'd a citizen; all mene take the street, and the whole ward
is uppe, none well knowing why. Menewhile our gallants had the
lucke and sense to disperse their company, some getting them into
the Temple, the gates wherof were presentlie shut to prevent
pursuite I warrant, and some taking boat as they might; water
thus saving whom wyne hath endaunger'd. The Alderman of the ward,
worthy Master Danvelt, with Master Deputy, and others of repute,
bestow'd themselves not a litel to compose the tumult, and so al
past over for the evening.
My Lord, this is the hole of the mater, so far as my earnest and
anxious serch had therein, as well for the sake of my
blode-relation to your honourable house, as frome affectioun to
my kinsman Sir Thomas, and especiallie in humble obedience to
your regarded commandes. As for other offence given by Sir
Thomas, whereof idle bruites are current, as that he should have
call'd Master Darcie a codshead or an woodcocke, I can lerne of
no such termes, nor any nere to them, only that when he said he
cared not for his game or ernest, he flung down the woodcock's
bill, to which it may be there was sticking a part of the head,
though my informant saithe otherwise; and he stode so close by
Sir Thomas, that he herde the quart-pot whissel as it flew
betwixt there too hedes. Of damage done among the better sort,
there is not muche; some cuts and thrusts ther wer, that had
their sequents in blood and woundes, but none dedlie. Of the
rascal sort, one fellowe is kill'd, and sundrie hurt. Hob Hilton,
your brother's grome, for life a maymed man, having a slash over
the right hande, for faulte of a gauntlet.--Marry he has been a
brave knave and a sturdie: and if it pleses your goode
Lordshippe, I fynd he wolde gladlie be preferr'd when tym is
fitting, to the office of bedle. He hath a burlie frame, and
scare-babe visage; he shall do wel enoughe in such charge, though
lackyng the use of four fingers.[138] The hurtyng of the
constabel is a worse matter; as also the anger that is between
the courtiers and Graie's-Inn men; so that yf close hede be not
given, I doubt me we shall here of more _Gesto Graiorum_. Thei
will not be persuaded but that the quarrel betwixt Sir Thomas and
young Darcie was simulate; and that Master Button's hurte wes
wilful; whereas, on my lyfe, it will not be founde so.
The counseyl hath taen the matter up, and I here H. M. spoke many
things gravely and solidly, and as one who taketh to hert such
unhappie chaunces, both against brauling and drinking. Sir
Thomas, with others, hath put in plegge to be forthcoming; and so
strictly taken up was the unhappie mater of the Scots Lord,[139]
that if Booth shulde die, which God forefend, there might be a
fereful reckoning: For one cityzen sayeth, I trust falslie, he
saw Sir Thomas draw back his hand, having in it a drawn sword,
just as the constabel felle. It seems but too constant, that thei
were within but short space of ech other when his unhappy chaunce
befel. My Lord, it is not for me to saie what course your
Lordshippe should steer in this storm, onlie that the Lord
Chansellour's gode worde wil, as resen is, do yeoman's service.
Schulde it come to fine or imprisonment, as is to be fered, why
should not your Lordshippe cast the weyght into the balance for
that restraint which goode Sir Thomas must nedes bear himself,
rather than for such penalty as must nedes pinche the purses of
his frendes. Your Lordship always knoweth best; but surely the
yonge knyght hath but litel reson to expect that you shulde
further engage yourself in such bondes as might be necessary to
bring this fine unto the Chequer. Nether have wise men helde it
unfit that heated bloode be coold by sequestration for a space
from temptation. There is dout, moreover, whether he may not hold
himself bounden, according to the forme of faythe which such
gallants and stirring spirits profess, to have further meeting
with Master Philip Darcie, or this same Dutton, or with bothe, on
this rare dependence of an woodcocke's hede, and a quart-pot;
certeynly, methoughte, the last tym we met, and when he bare
himself towards me, as I have premonish'd your Lordshippe, that
he was fitter for quiet residence under safe keeping, than for a
free walk amongst peceful men.
And thus, my Lord, ye have the whole mater before you; trew ye
shall find it,--my dutie demands it,--unpleasing, I cannot amende
it: But I truste neither more evil _in esse_ nor _in posse_, than
I have set forth as above. From one who is ever your Lordshippe's
most bounden to command, etc.--J. H.
[Footnote 138: "The death of the _rascal_ sort is mentioned as he
would have commemorated that of a dog; and his readiest plan of
providing for a profligate menial, is to place him in superintendence
of the unhappy poor, over whom his fierce looks and rough demeanor are
to supply the means of authority, which his arm can no longer enforce
by actual violence!"]
[Footnote 139: "Perhaps the case of Lord Sanquhar. His Lordship had
the misfortune to be hanged, for causing a poor fencing-master to be
assassinated, which seems the unhappy matter alluded to."]
I think it must have been about the middle of October that he dropped
the scheme of this fictitious correspondence. I well remember the
morning that he began The Fortunes of Nigel. The day being destined
for Newark Hill, I went over to Abbotsford before breakfast, and found
Mr. Terry (who had been staying there for some time) walking about
with his friend's master-mason (John Smith), of whose proceedings he
took a fatherly charge, as he might well do, since the plan of the
building had been in a considerable measure the work of his own taste.
While Terry and I were chatting, Scott came out, bare-headed, with a
bunch of MS. in his hand, and said, "Well, lads, I've laid the keel of
a new lugger this morning--here it is--be off to the waterside, and
let me hear how you like it." Terry took the papers, and walking up
and down by the river, read to me the first chapter of Nigel. He
expressed great delight with the animated opening, and especially with
the contrast between its thorough stir of London life, and a chapter
about Norna of the Fitful-head, in the third volume of The Pirate,
which had been given to him in a similar manner the morning before. I
could see that (according to the Sheriff's phrase) _he smelt roast
meat_; here there was every prospect of a fine field for the art of
_Terryfication_. The actor, when our host met us returning from the
haugh, did not fail to express his opinion that the new novel would be
of this quality. Sir Walter, as he took the MS. from his hand, eyed
him with a gay smile, in which genuine benevolence mingled with mock
exultation, and then throwing himself into an attitude of comical
dignity, he rolled out, in the tones of John Kemble, one of the
loftiest bursts of Ben Jonson's Mammon:--
"Come on, sir. Now you set your foot on shore
In _Novo orbe_--
----------------Pertinax, my Surly,[140]
Again I say to thee aloud, Be rich,
This day thou shalt have ingots."
[Footnote 140: The fun of this application of "my Surly" will not
escape any one who remembers the kind and good-humored Terry's power
of assuming a peculiarly saturnine aspect. This queer grimness of look
was invaluable to the comedian in several of his best parts; and in
private he often called it up when his heart was most cheerful.]
This was another period of "refreshing the machine." Early in
November, I find Sir Walter writing thus to Constable's partner, Mr.
Cadell: "I want two books, Malcolm's London Redivivus, or some such
name, and Derham's Artificial Clock-maker." [The reader of Nigel will
understand these requests.] "All good luck to you, commercially and
otherwise. I am grown a shabby letter-writer, for my eyes are not so
young as they were, and I grudge everything that does not go to
press." Such a feeling must often have been present with him; yet I
can find no period when he grudged writing a letter that might by
possibility be of use to any of his family or friends, and I must
quote one of the many which about this very time reached his second
son.
TO MR. CHARLES SCOTT.
_Care of the Rev. Mr. Williams, Lampeter._
21st November, 1821.
MY DEAR CHARLES,--I had the pleasure of your letter two days
since, being the first symptom of your being alive and well which
I have had _directly_ since you left Abbotsford. I beg you will
be more frequent in your communications, which must always be
desirable when you are at such a distance. I am very glad to hear
you are attending closely to make up lost time. Sport is a good
thing both for health and pastime; but you must never allow it to
interfere with serious study. You have, my dear boy, your own
fortune to make, with better assistance of every kind than I had
when the world first opened on me; and I assure you that had I
not given some attention to learning (I have often regretted
that, from want of opportunity, indifferent health, and some
indolence, I did not do all I might have done), my own situation,
and the advantages which I may be able to procure for you, would
have been very much bounded. Consider, therefore, study as the
principal object. Many men have read and written their way to
independence and fame; but no man ever gained it by exclusive
attention to exercises or to pleasures of any sort. You do not
say anything of your friend Mr. Surtees,[141] who I hope is well.
We all remember him with much affection, and should be sorry to
think we were forgotten.
Our Abbotsford Hunt went off extremely well. We killed seven
hares, I think, and our dogs behaved very well. A large party
dined, and we sat down about twenty-five at table. Every
gentleman present sung a song, _tant bien que mal_, excepting
Walter, Lockhart, and I myself. I believe I should add the
melancholy Jaques, Mr. Waugh, who, on this occasion, however, was
not melancholy.[142] In short, we had a very merry and sociable
party.
There is, I think, no news here. The hedger, Captain
Davidson,[143] has had a bad accident, and injured his leg much
by the fall of a large stone. I am very anxious about him as a
faithful and honest servant. Every one else at Abbotsford, horses
and dogs included, are in great preservation.
You ask me about reading history. You are quite right to read
Clarendon--his style is a little long-winded; but, on the other
hand, his characters may match those of the ancient historians,
and one thinks they would know the very men if you were to meet
them in society. Few English writers have the same precision,
either in describing the actors in great scenes, or the deeds
which they performed. He was, you are aware, himself deeply
engaged in the scenes which he depicts, and therefore colors them
with the individual feeling, and sometimes, doubtless, with the
partiality of a partisan. Yet I think he is, on the whole, a fair
writer; for though he always endeavors to excuse King Charles,
yet he points out his mistakes and errors, which certainly are
neither few nor of slight consequence. Some of his history
regards the country in which you are now a resident; and you will
find that much of the fate of that Great Civil War turned on the
successful resistance made by the city of Gloucester, and the
relief of that place by the Earl of Essex, by means of the
trained bands of London,--a sort of force resembling our local
militia or volunteers. They are the subject of ridicule in all
the plays and poems of the time; yet the sort of practice of arms
which they had acquired, enabled them to withstand the charge of
Prince Rupert and his gallant cavalry, who were then foiled for
the first time. Read, my dear Charles, read, and read that which
is useful. Man only differs from birds and beasts, because he has
the means of availing himself of the knowledge acquired by his
predecessors. The swallow builds the same nest which its father
and mother built; and the sparrow does not improve by the
experience of its parents. The son of the learned pig, if it had
one, would be a mere brute, fit only to make bacon of. It is not
so with the human race. Our ancestors lodged in caves and
wigwams, where we construct palaces for the rich, and comfortable
dwellings for the poor; and why is this--but because our eye is
enabled to look back upon the past, to improve upon our
ancestors' improvements, and to avoid their errors? This can only
be done by studying history, and comparing it with passing
events. God has given you a strong memory, and the power of
understanding that which you give your mind to with
attention--but all the advantage to be derived from these
qualities must depend on your own determination to avail yourself
of them, and improve them to the uttermost. That you should do
so, will be the greatest satisfaction I can receive in my
advanced life, and when my thoughts must be entirely turned on
the success of my children. Write to me more frequently, and
mention your studies particularly, and I will on my side be a
good correspondent.
I beg my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Williams. I have left no
room to sign myself your affectionate father,
W. S.
[Footnote 141: Mr. Villiers Surtees, a schoolfellow of Charles Scott's
at Lampeter, had spent the vacation of this year at Abbotsford. He is
now one of the Supreme Judges at the Mauritius.]
[Footnote 142: Mr. Waugh was a retired West Indian, of very dolorous
aspect, who had settled at Melrose, built a large house there,
surrounded it and his garden with a huge wall, and seldom emerged from
his own precincts except upon the grand occasion of the Abbotsford
Hunt. The villagers called him "the Melancholy Man"--and considered
him as already "dreein' his dole for doings amang the poor niggers."]
[Footnote 143: This hedger had got the title of Captain, in memory of
his gallantry at some _row_.]
To return to business and Messrs. Constable.--Sir Walter concluded,
before he went to town in November, another negotiation of importance
with this house. They agreed to give for the remaining copyright of
the four novels published between December, 1819, and January,
1821--to wit, Ivanhoe, The Monastery, The Abbot, and Kenilworth--the
sum of five thousand guineas. The stipulation about not revealing the
author's name, under a penalty of L2000, was repeated. By these four
novels, the fruits of scarcely more than twelve months' labor, he had
already cleared at least L10,000 before this bargain was completed.
They, like their predecessors, were now issued in a collective shape,
under the title of "Historical Romances, by the Author of Waverley."
I cannot pretend to guess what the actual state of Scott's pecuniary
affairs was at the time when John Ballantyne's death relieved them
from one great source of complication and difficulty. But I have said
enough to satisfy every reader, that when he began the second, and
far the larger division of his building at Abbotsford, he must have
contemplated the utmost sum it could cost him as a mere trifle in
relation to the resources at his command. He must have reckoned on
clearing L30,000 at least in the course of a couple of years by the
novels written within such a period. The publisher of his Tales, who
best knew how they were produced, and what they brought of gross
profit, and who must have had the strongest interest in keeping the
author's name untarnished by any risk or reputation of failure, would
willingly, as we have seen, have given him L6000 more within a space
of two years for works of a less serious sort, likely to be despatched
at leisure hours, without at all interfering with the main
manufacture. But alas, even this was not all. Messrs. Constable had
such faith in the prospective fertility of his imagination, that they
were by this time quite ready to sign bargains and grant bills for
novels and romances to be produced hereafter, but of which the
subjects and the names were alike unknown to them and to the man from
whose pen they were to proceed.[144] A forgotten satirist well says,--
"The active principle within
Works on some brains the effect of gin;"
but in his case, every external influence combined to stir the flame,
and swell the intoxication of restless exuberant energy. His allies
knew, indeed, what he did not, that the sale of his novels was rather
less than it had been in the days of Ivanhoe; and hints had sometimes
been dropped to him that it might be well to try the effect of a
pause. But he always thought--and James Ballantyne had decidedly the
same opinion--that his best things were those which he threw off the
most easily and swiftly; and it was no wonder that his booksellers,
seeing how immeasurably even his worst excelled in popularity, as in
merit, any other person's best, should have shrunk from the experiment
of a decisive damper. On the contrary, they might be excused for from
time to time flattering themselves that if the books sold at a less
rate, this might be counterpoised by still greater rapidity of
production. They could not make up their minds to cast the peerless
vessel adrift; and, in short, after every little whisper of prudential
misgiving, echoed the unfailing burden of Ballantyne's song--to push
on, hoisting more and more sail as the wind lulled.
[Footnote 144: Mr. Cadell says: "This device for raising the wind was
the only real legacy left by John Ballantyne to his generous friend;
it was invented to make up for the bad book stock of the Hanover
Street concern, which supplied so much good money for the passing
hour."--(1848.)]
He was as eager to do as they could be to suggest--and this I well
knew at the time. I had, however, no notion, until all his
correspondence lay before me, of the extent to which he had permitted
himself thus early to build on the chances of life, health, and
continued popularity. Before The Fortunes of Nigel issued from the
press, Scott had exchanged instruments, and received his bookseller's
bills, for no less than four "works of fiction"--not one of them
otherwise described in the deeds of agreement--to be produced in
unbroken succession, each of them to fill at least three volumes, but
with proper saving clauses as to increase of copy-money, in case any
of them should run to four. And within two years all this anticipation
had been wiped off by Peveril of the Peak, Quentin Durward, St.
Ronan's Well, and Redgauntlet; and the new castle was by that time
complete, and overflowing with all its splendor; but by that time the
end also was approaching!
The splendid romance of The Pirate was published in the beginning of
December, 1821; and the wild freshness of its atmosphere, the
beautiful contrast of Minna and Brenda, and the exquisitely drawn
character of Captain Cleveland, found the reception which they
deserved. The work was analyzed with remarkable care in the Quarterly
Review, by a critic second to few, either in the manly heartiness of
his sympathy with the felicities of genius, or in the honest acuteness
of his censure in cases of negligence and confusion. This was the
second of a series of articles in that Journal, conceived and executed
in a tone widely different from those given to Waverley, Guy
Mannering, and The Antiquary. I fancy Mr. Gifford had become convinced
that he had made a grievous mistake in this matter, before he
acquiesced in Scott's proposal about "quartering the child" in
January, 1816; and if he was fortunate in finding a contributor able
and willing to treat the rest of Father Jedediah's progeny with
excellent skill, and in a spirit more accordant with the just and
general sentiments of the public, we must also recognize a pleasing
and honorable trait of character in the frankness with which the
recluse and often despotic editor now delegated the pen to Mr. Senior.
On the 13th December, Sir Walter received a copy of Cain, as yet
unpublished, from Lord Byron's bookseller, who had been instructed to
ask whether he had any objection to having the "Mystery" dedicated to
him. He replied in these words:--
TO JOHN MURRAY, ESQ., ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON.
EDINBURGH, 17th December, 1821.
MY DEAR SIR,--I accept with feelings of great obligation the
flattering proposal of Lord Byron to prefix my name to the very
grand and tremendous drama of Cain. I may be partial to it, and
you will allow I have cause; but I do not know that his Muse has
ever taken so lofty a flight amid her former soarings. He has
certainly matched Milton on his own ground. Some part of the
language is bold, and may shock one class of readers, whose tone
will be adopted by others out of affectation or envy. But then
they must condemn the Paradise Lost, if they have a mind to be
consistent. The fiendlike reasoning and bold blasphemy of the
fiend and of his pupil lead exactly to the point which was to be
expected--the commission of the first murder, and the ruin and
despair of the perpetrator.
I do not see how any one can accuse the author himself of
Manichaeism. The devil takes the language of that sect, doubtless;
because, not being able to deny the existence of the Good
Principle, he endeavors to exalt himself--the Evil Principle--to
a seeming equality with the Good; but such arguments, in the
mouth of such a being, can only be used to deceive and to betray.
Lord Byron might have made this more evident, by placing in the
mouth of Adam, or of some good and protecting spirit, the reasons
which render the existence of moral evil consistent with the
general benevolence of the Deity. The great key to the mystery
is, perhaps, the imperfection of our own faculties, which see and
feel strongly the partial evils which press upon us, but know too
little of the general system of the universe, to be aware how the
existence of these is to be reconciled with the benevolence of
the great Creator.--Ever yours truly,
WALTER SCOTT.
In some preceding narratives of Sir Walter Scott's Life, I find the
principal feature for 1821 to be an affair of which I have as yet said
nothing; and which, notwithstanding the examples I have before me, I
must be excused for treating on a scale commensurate with his real
share and interest therein. I allude to an unfortunate newspaper, by
name The Beacon, which began to be published in Edinburgh in January,
1821, and was abruptly discontinued in the August of the same year. It
originated in the alarm with which the Edinburgh Tories contemplated
the progress of Radical doctrines during the agitation of the Queen's
business in 1820--and the want of any adequate counteraction on the
part of the Ministerial newspapers in the north. James Ballantyne had
on that occasion swerved from his banner--and by so doing given not a
little offence to Scott. He approved, therefore, of the project of a
new Weekly Journal, to be conducted by some steadier hand;[145] and
when it was proposed to raise the requisite capital for the
speculation by private subscription, expressed his willingness to
contribute whatever sum should be named by other gentlemen of his
standing. This was accepted of course; but every part of the advice
with which the only man in the whole conclave that understood a jot
about such things coupled his tender of alliance, was departed from in
practice. No experienced and responsible editor of the sort he pointed
out as indispensable was secured; the violence of disaffected spleen
was encountered by a vein of satire which seemed more fierce than
frolicsome; the Law Officers of the Crown, whom he had most
strenuously cautioned against any participation in the concern, were
rash enough to commit themselves in it; the subscribers, like true
Scotchmen, in place of paying down their money, and thinking no more
of that part of the matter, chose to put their names to a bond of
security on which the sum-total was to be advanced by bankers; and
thus, by their own over-caution as to a few pounds, laid the
foundation for a long train of humiliating distresses and disgraces;
and finally, when the rude drollery of the young hot bloods to whom
they had entrusted the editorship of their paper, produced its natural
consequences, and the ferment of Whig indignation began to boil over
upon the dignified patrons of what was denounced as a systematic
scheme of calumny and defamation--these seniors shrunk from the
dilemma as rashly as they had plunged into it, and instead of
compelling the juvenile allies to adopt a more prudent course, and
gradually give the journal a tone worthy of open approbation, they,
at the first blush of personal difficulty, left their instruments in
the lurch, and, without even consulting Scott, ordered the Beacon to
be extinguished at an hour's notice.
[Footnote 145: It has been asserted, since this work first appeared,
that the editorship of the proposed journal was offered to Ballantyne,
and declined by him. If so, he had no doubt found the offer
accompanied with a requisition of political pledges, which he could
not grant.--(1839.)]
A more pitiable mass of blunder and imbecility was never heaped
together than the whole of this affair exhibited; and from a very
early period Scott was so disgusted with it, that he never even saw
the newspaper, of which Whigs and Radicals believed, or affected to
believe, that the conduct and management were in some degree at least
under his dictation. The results were lamentable: the Beacon was made
the subject of Parliamentary discussion, from which the then heads of
Scotch Toryism did not escape in any very consolatory plight; but
above all, the Beacon bequeathed its rancor and rashness, though not
its ability, to a Glasgow paper of similar form and pretensions,
entitled The Sentinel. By that organ the personal quarrels of the
Beacon were taken up and pursued with relentless industry; and
finally, the Glasgow editors disagreeing, some moment of angry
confusion betrayed a box of MSS., by which the late Sir Alexander
Boswell of Auchinleck was revealed as the writer of certain truculent
enough pasquinades. A leading Edinburgh Whig, who had been pilloried
in one or more of these, challenged Boswell--and the Baronet fell in
as miserable a quarrel as ever cost the blood of a high-spirited
gentleman.[146]
This tragedy occurred in the early part of 1822; and soon afterwards
followed those debates on the whole business in the House of Commons,
for which, if any reader feels curiosity about them, I refer him to
the Parliamentary Histories of the time. A single extract from one of
Scott's letters to a member of the then Government in London will be
sufficient for my purpose; and abundantly confirm what I have said as
to his personal part in the affairs of the Beacon:--
[Footnote 146: [James Stuart of Dunearn was Boswell's opponent.
Lockhart in writing to Scott of Sir Alexander's death [March 27] adds:
"I hope I need not say how cordially I enter into the hope you
express, that this bloody lesson may be a sufficient and lasting one.
I can never be sufficiently grateful for the advice which kept me from
having any hand in all these newspaper skirmishes. Wilson also is
totally free from any concern in any of them, and for this I am sure
he also feels himself chiefly indebted to your counsel."--_Familiar
Letters_, vol. ii. p. 137. Stuart's trial took place on June 10, and
his acquittal was hailed as a triumph by the Whigs. Lord Cockburn was
one of Stuart's counsel, and in his _Memorials_, pp. 392-399, will be
found an account of the affair, as viewed by a distinguished member of
that party.]]
TO J. W. CROKER, ESQ., ADMIRALTY.
MY DEAR CROKER,--... I had the fate of Cassandra in the Beacon
matter from beginning to end. I endeavored in vain to impress on
them the necessity of having an editor who was really up to the
business, and could mix spirit with discretion--one of those
"gentlemen of the press," who understand the exact lengths to
which they can go in their vocation. Then I wished them, in place
of that _Bond_, to have each thrown down his hundred pounds, and
never inquired more about it--and lastly, I exclaimed against the
Crown Counsel being at all concerned. In the two first
remonstrances I was not listened to--in the last I thought myself
successful, and it was not till long afterwards that I heard they
had actually subscribed the Bond. Then the hasty renunciation of
the thing, as if we had been doing something very atrocious, put
me mad altogether. The younger brethren, too, allege that they
are put into the front of the fight, and deserted on the first
pinch; and on my word I cannot say the accusation is altogether
false, though I have been doing my best to mediate betwixt the
parties, and keep the peace if possible. The fact is, it is a
blasted business, and will continue long to have bad
consequences.--Yours in all love and kindness,
WALTER SCOTT.