Friday the 23d of February, 1827, is to be regarded as remarkable,
because on that day “The Great Unknown” confessed himself. The
disclosure was made at the first annual dinner of the “Edinburgh
Theatrical Fund,” then held in the Assembly Rooms, Edinburgh--Sir WALTER
SCOTT in the chair.
Sir WALTER SCOTT, after the usual toasts to the King and the Royal
Family, requested, that gentlemen would fill a bumper as full as it
would hold, while he would say only a few words. He was in the habit of
hearing speeches, and he knew the feeling with which long ones were
regarded. He was sure that it was perfectly unnecessary for him to enter
into any vindication of the dramatic art, which they had come here to
support. This, however, he considered to be the proper time and proper
occasion for him to say a few words on that love of representation which
was an innate feeling in human nature. It was the first amusement that
the child had--it grew greater as he grew up; and, even in the decline
of life, nothing amused so much as when a common tale is well told. The
first thing a child does is to ape his schoolmaster, by flogging a
chair. It was an enjoyment natural to humanity. It was implanted in our
very nature, to take pleasure from such representations, at proper
times, and on proper occasions. In all ages the theatrical art had kept
pace with the improvement of mankind, and with the progress of letters
and the fine arts. As he had advanced from the ruder stages of society,
the love of dramatic representations had increased, and all works of
this nature had been improved in character and in structure. They had
only to turn their eyes to the history of ancient Greece, although he
did not pretend to be very deeply versed in ancient history. Its first
tragic poet commanded a body of troops at Marathon. The second and next,
were men who shook Athens with their discourses, as their theatrical
works shock the theatre itself. If they turned to France, in the time of
Louis XIV., that era in the classical history of that country, they
would find that it was referred to by all Frenchmen as the golden age of
the drama there. And also in England, in the time of queen Elizabeth,
the drama began to mingle deeply and wisely in the general politics of
Europe, not only not receiving laws from others, but giving laws to the
world, and vindicating the rights of mankind. (_Cheers._) There had been
various times when the dramatic art subsequently fell into disrepute.
Its professors had been stigmatized: and laws had been passed against
them, less dishonourable to them than to the statesmen by whom they were
proposed, and to the legislators by whom they were passed. What were the
times in which these laws were passed? Was it not when virtue was seldom
inculcated as a moral duty, that we were required to relinquish the most
rational of all our amusements, when the clergy were enjoined celibacy,
and when the laity were denied the right to read their Bibles? He
thought that it must have been from a notion of penance that they
erected the drama into an ideal place of profaneness, and the tent of
sin. He did not mean to dispute, that there were many excellent persons
who thought differently from him, and they were entitled to assume that
they were not guilty of any hypocrisy in doing so. He gave them full
credit for their tender consciences, in making these objections, which
did not appear to him relevant to those persons, if they were what they
usurped themselves to be; and if they were persons of worth and piety,
he should crave the liberty to tell them, that the first part of their
duty was charity, and that if they did not choose to go to the theatre,
they at least could not deny that they might give away, from their
superfluity, what was required for the relief of the sick, the support
of the aged, and the comfort of the afflicted. These were duties
enjoined by our religion itself. (_Loud cheers._) The performers were in
a particular manner entitled to the support or regard, when in old age
or distress, of those who had partaken of the amusements of those places
which they rendered an ornament to society. Their art was of a
peculiarly delicate and precarious nature. They had to serve a long
apprenticeship. It was very long before even the first-rate geniuses
could acquire the mechanical knowledge of the stage business. They must
languish long in obscurity before they could avail themselves of their
natural talents; and after that, they had but a short space of time,
during which they were fortunate if they could provide the means of
comfort in the decline of life. That came late, and lasted but a short
time; after which they were left dependent. Their limbs failed, their
teeth were loosened, their voice was lost, and they were left, after
giving happiness to others, in a most disconsolate state. The public
were liberal and generous to those deserving their protection. It was a
sad thing to be dependant on the favour, or, he might say, in plain
terms, on the caprice of the public; and this more particularly for a
class of persons of whom extreme prudence was not the character. There
might be instances of opportunities being neglected; but let them tax
themselves, and consider the opportunities they had neglected, and the
sums of money they had wasted; let every gentleman look into his own
bosom, and say whether these were circumstances which would soften his
own feeling, were he to be plunged into distress. He put it to every
generous bosom--to every better feeling--to say what consolation was it
to old age to be told that you might have made provision at a time which
had been neglected--(_loud cheers_)--and to find it objected, that if
you had pleased you might have been wealthy. He had hitherto been
speaking of what, in theatrical language, was called “stars,” but they
were sometimes fallen ones. There were another class of sufferers
naturally and necessarily connected with the theatre, without whom it
was impossible to go on. The sailors had a saying, “every man cannot be
a boatswain.” If there must be persons to act _Hamlet_, there must also
be people to act _Laertes_, the _King_, _Rosencrantz_, and
_Guildenstern_, otherwise a drama cannot go on. If even Garrick himself
were to rise from the dead, he could not act _Hamlet_ alone. There must
be generals, colonels, commanding officers, and subalterns; but what
were the private soldiers to do? Many had mistaken their own talents,
and had been driven in early youth to try the stage, to which they were
not competent. He would know what to say to the poet and to the artist.
He would say that it was foolish, and he would recommend to the poet to
become a scribe, and the artist to paint sign-posts (_Loud laughter._)
But he could not send the player adrift; for if he could not play
_Hamlet_, he must play _Guildenstern_. Where there were many labourers,
wages must be low, and no man in such a situation could decently support
a wife and family, and save something of his income for old age. What
was this man to do in latter life? Were they to cast him off like an old
hinge, or a piece of useless machinery, which had done its work? To a
person who had contributed to our amusement, that would be unkind,
ungrateful, and unchristian. His wants were not of his own making, but
arose from the natural sources of sickness and old age. It could not be
denied that there was one class of sufferers to whom no imprudence
could be ascribed, except on first entering on the profession. After
putting his hand to the dramatic plough, he could not draw back, but
must continue at it, and toil, till death released him; or charity, by
its milder assistance, stepped in to render that want more tolerable. He
had little more to say, except that he sincerely hoped that the
collection to-day, from the number of respectable gentlemen present,
would meet the views entertained by the patrons. He hoped it would do
so. They should not be disheartened. Though they could not do a great
deal, they might do something. They had this consolation, that every
thing they parted with from their superfluity would do some good. They
would sleep the better themselves when they had been the means of giving
sleep to others. It was ungrateful and unkind that those who had
sacrificed their youth to our amusement should not receive the reward
due to them, but should be reduced to hard fare in their old age. They
could not think of poor Falstaff going to bed without his cup of sack,
or Macbeth fed on bones as marrowless as those of Banquo. (_Loud cheers
and laughter._) As he believed that they were all as fond of the
dramatic art as he was in his younger days, he would propose that they
should drink “The Theatrical Fund,” with three times three.
Mr. MACKAY rose on behalf of his brethren, to return their thanks for
the toast just drank.
Lord MEADOWBANK begged to bear testimony to the anxiety which they all
felt for the interests of the institution which it was for this day’s
meeting to establish. For himself, he was quite surprised to find his
humble name associated with so many others, more distinguished, as a
patron of the institution. But he happened to hold a high and important
public station in the country. It was matter of regret that he had so
little the means in his power of being of service; yet it would afford
him at all times the greatest pleasure to give assistance. As a
testimony of the feelings with which he now rose, he begged to propose a
health, which he was sure, in an assembly of Scotsmen, would be
received, not with an ordinary feeling of delight, but with rapture and
enthusiasm. He knew that it would be painful to his feelings if he were
to speak of him in the terms which his heart prompted; and that he had
sheltered himself under his native modesty from the applause which he
deserved. But it was gratifying at last to know that these clouds were
now dispelled, and that the “great unknown”--“the mighty
Magician”--(_here the room literally rung with applauses for some
minutes_)--the Minstrel of our country, who had conjured up, not the
phantoms of departed ages, but realities, now stood revealed before the
eyes and affections of his country. In his presence it would ill become
him, as it would be displeasing to that distinguished person, to say, if
he were able, what every man must feel, who recollected the enjoyment he
had had from the great efforts of his mind and genius. It had been left
for him, by his writings, to give his country an imperishable name. He
had done more for that country, by illuminating its annals, by
illustrating the deeds of its warriors and statesmen, than any man that
ever existed, or was produced, within its territory. He had opened up
the peculiar beauties of his native land to the eyes of foreigners. He
had exhibited the deeds of those patriots and statesmen to whom we owed
the freedom we now enjoyed. He would give “The health of Sir Walter
Scott.”
This toast was drank with enthusiastic cheering.
Sir WALTER SCOTT certainly did not think, that, in coming there that
day, he would have the task of acknowledging, before 300 gentlemen, a
secret which, considering that it was communicated to more than 20
people, was remarkably well kept. He was now before the bar of his
country, and might be understood to be on trial before lord Meadowbank,
as an offender; yet he was sure that every impartial jury would bring in
a verdict of “not proven.” He did not now think it necessary to enter
into reasons for his long silence. Perhaps he might have acted from
caprice. He had now to say, however, that the merits of these works, if
they had any, and their faults, were entirely imputable to himself.
(_Long and loud cheering._) He was afraid to think on what he had done.
“Look on’t again I dare not.” He had thus far unbosomed himself, and he
knew that it would be reported to the public. He meant, when he said
that he was the author, that he was the total and undivided author. With
the exception of quotations, there was not a single word that was not
derived from himself, or suggested in the course of his reading. The
wand was now broken and the rod buried. They would allow him further to
say, with _Prospero_, “Your breath it is that has filled my sails,” and
to crave one single toast in the capacity of the author of those novels,
and he would dedicate a bumper to the health of one who had represented
some of those characters, of which he had endeavoured to give the
skeleton, with a degree of liveliness which rendered him grateful. He
would propose the health of his friend _Bailie Nicol Jarvie_; (loud
applause;) and he was sure that, when the author of _Waverley_ and _Rob
Roy_ drank to _Nicol Jarvie_, it would be received with that degree of
applause to which that gentleman had always been accustomed, and that
they would take care that, on the present occasion, it should be
prodigious! (_Long and vehement applause._)
Mr. MACKAY, who spoke with great humour in the character of _Bailie
Jarvie_.--“My conscience! My worthy father, the Deacon, could not have
believed that his son could hae had sic a compliment paid to him by the
_Great Unknown_.”
Sir WALTER SCOTT.--“_Not unknown now_, Mr. Bailie.”
After this avowal, numerous toasts were duly honoured; and on the
proposal of “the health of Mrs. Siddons, senior, the most distinguished
ornament of the stage,” Sir WALTER SCOTT said, that if any thing could
reconcile him to old age, it was the reflection that he had seen the
rising as well as the setting sun of Mrs. Siddons. He remembered well
their breakfasting near to the theatre--waiting the whole day--the
crushing at the doors at six o’clock--and their going in and counting
their fingers till seven o’clock. But the very first step--the very
first word which she uttered, was sufficient to overpay him for all his
labours. The house was literally electrified; and it was only from
witnessing the effects of her genius, that he could guess to what a
pitch theatrical excellence could be carried. Those young fellows who
had only seen the setting sun of this distinguished performer, beautiful
and serene as that was, must give the old fellows who had seen its rise
leave to hold their heads a little higher.
Sir WALTER SCOTT subsequently gave “Scotland, the Land of Cakes.” He
would give every river, every loch, every hill, from Tweed to Johnnie
Groat’s house--every lass in her cottage, and countess in her castle;
and may her sons stand by her, as their fathers did before them, and he
who would not drink a bumper to his toast, may he never drink whiskey
more.
Mr. H. G. BELL proposed the health of “James Sheridan Knowles.”
Sir WALTER SCOTT.--Gentlemen, I crave a bumper all over. The last toast
reminds me of a neglect of duty. Unaccustomed to a public duty of this
kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial of it may be excused, and
omissions pardoned. Perhaps I have made one or two omissions in the
course of the evening, for which I trust you will grant me your pardon
and indulgence. One thing in particular I have omitted, and I would now
wish to make amends for it by a libation of reverence and respect to the
memory of Shakspeare. He was a man of universal genius, and from a
period soon after his own era to the present day, he has been
universally idolized. When I come to his honoured name, I am like the
sick man who hung up his crutches at the shrine, and was obliged to
confess that he did not walk better than before. It is indeed difficult,
gentlemen, to compare him to any other individual. The only one to whom
I can at all compare him, is the wonderful Arabian dervise, who dived
into the body of each, and in that way became familiar with the thoughts
and secrets of their hearts. He was a man of obscure origin, and as a
player, limited in his acquirements; but he was born evidently with a
universal genius. His eyes glanced at all the varied aspects of life,
and his fancy portrayed with equal talents the king on the throne, and
the clown who crackled his chestnuts at a Christmas fire. Whatever note
he took, he struck it just and true, and awakened a corresponding chord
in our own bosoms. Gentlemen, I propose “The memory of William
Shakspeare.”
_Glee_--“Lightly tread his hallowed ground.”
Sir WALTER rose after the glee, and begged to propose as a toast the
health of a lady whose living merits were not a little honourable to
Scotland. This toast (said he) is also flattering to the national vanity
of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I intend to propose is a native of this
country. From the public her works have met with the most favourable
reception. One piece of hers, in particular, was often acted here of
late years, and gave pleasure of no mean kind to many brilliant and
fashionable audiences. In her private character, she (he begged leave to
say) was as remarkable as in a public sense she was for her genius. In
short, he would, in one word, name--“Joanna Baillie.”
Towards the close of the evening, Sir WALTER observed:--There is one who
ought to be remembered on this occasion. He is indeed well entitled to
our great recollection--one, in short, to whom the drama in this city
owes much. He succeeded, not without trouble, and perhaps at some
considerable sacrifice in establishing a theatre. The younger part of
the company may not recollect the theatre to which I allude; but there
are some who with me may remember, by name, the theatre in
Carrubber’s-close. There Allan Ramsay established his little theatre.
His own pastoral was not fit for the stage, but it has its own admirers
in those who love the Doric language in which it is written; and it is
not without merits of a very peculiar kind. But, laying aside all
considerations of his literary merit, Allan was a good, jovial, honest
fellow, who could crack a bottle with the best. “The memory of Allan
Ramsay.”
Mr. P. ROBERTSON.--I feel that I am about to tread on ticklish ground.
The talk is of a new theatre, and a bill may be presented for its
erection, saving always, and provided the expenses be defrayed and
carried through, provided always it be not opposed. Bereford-park, or
some such place, might be selected, provided always due notice was
given, and so we might have a playhouse, as it were, by possibility.
Sir WALTER SCOTT.--Wherever the new theatre is built, I hope it will not
be large. There are two errors which we commonly commit--the one arising
from our pride, the other from our poverty. If there are twelve plans,
it is odds but the largest, without any regard to comfort, or an eye to
the probable expense, is adopted. There was the college projected on
this scale, and undertaken in the same manner, and who shall see the end
of it? It has been building all my life, and may probably last during
the lives of my children, and my children’s children. Let it not be said
when we commence a new theatre, as was said on the occasion of laying
the foundation-stone of a certain building, “Behold the endless work
begun.” Play-going folks should attend somewhat to convenience. The new
theatre should, in the first place, be such as may be finished in
eighteen months or two years; and, in the second place, it should be one
in which we can hear our old friends with comfort. It is better that a
theatre should be crowded now and then, than to have a large theatre,
with benches continually empty, to the discouragement of the actors, and
the discomfort of the spectators.
Sir WALTER immediately afterwards said, “Gentlemen, it is now wearing
late, and I shall request permission to retire. Like Partridge, I may
say, ‘_non sum qualis eram_.’ At my time of day, I can agree with Lord
Ogleby, as to the rheumatism, and say, ‘There’s a twinge.’ I hope,
therefore, you will excuse me for leaving the chair.”--(_The worthy
baronet then retired amidst long, loud, and rapturous cheering._)
* * * * *
These extracts[80] contain the substance of Sir Walter Scott’s speeches
on this memorable occasion. His allusions to actors and the drama are,
of themselves, important; but his avowal of himself as the author of the
“Waverley Novels,” is a fact of peculiar interest in literary history.
Particular circumstances, however, had made known the “Great Unknown” to
several persons in London some months previously, though the fact had
not by any means been generally circulated.
[80] From the report of the “Edinburgh Evening Courant” of Saturday,
24th Feb. 1827; in “The Times” of the Tuesday following.
* * * * *
~Hot Meals.~