I had a letter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell the poet,
and had reason to think, from the interest he had taken in some of my
earlier scribblings,[54] that a visit from me would not be deemed an
intrusion.
[Footnote 53: From the collection of papers entitled "Crayon
Miscellany." Irving's visit was made in 1817. His account of it was
not published until nearly twenty years afterward--that is, after
Scott's death.]
[Footnote 54: Irving at that time had published little more than the
"Salmagundi" papers and "Knickerbocker's History of New York."]
On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in a
post-chaise for the Abbey.
On the way thither I stopt at the gate of Abbotsford, and sent the
postilion to the house with the letter of introduction and my card, on
which I had written that I was on my way to the ruins of Melrose
Abbey, and wished to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Scott
(he had not yet been made a baronet) to receive a visit from me in the
course of the morning....
In a little while the "lord of the castle" himself made his
appearance. I knew him at once by the descriptions I had read and
heard, and the likeness that had been published of him. He was tall,
and of a large and powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almost
rustic: an old green shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at the
buttonhole, brown linen pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the
ankles, and a white hat that had evidently seen service. He came
limping up the gravel-walk, aiding himself by a stout walking-staff,
but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a large
iron-gray stag-hound of most grave demeanor, who took no part in the
clamor of the canine rabble, but seemed to consider himself bound, for
the dignity of the house, to give me a courteous reception.
Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone,
welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at
the door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drive
down, drive down to the house," said he, "ye're just in time for
breakfast, and afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey."
I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made my
breakfast. "Hout, man," cried he, "a ride in the morning in the keen
air of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast." I
was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a few
moments found myself seated at the breakfast-table....
Scott proposed a ramble to show me something of the surrounding
country. As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned
out to attend us. There was the old stag-hound Maida, a noble animal,
and a great favorite of Scott's; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a
wild thoughtless youngster, not yet arrived to the years of
discretion; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft silken hair,
long pendent ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in front
of the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came
from the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott as an old
friend and comrade.
In our walks, Scott would frequently pause in conversation to notice
his dogs and speak to them, as if rational companions; and, indeed,
there appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithful
attendants on man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maida
deported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed
to consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity
and decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance ahead
of us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry
at his ears, and endeavor to tease him into a frolic. The old dog
would keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now and
then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions....
We had not walked much further before we saw the two Miss Scotts
advancing along the hillside to meet us. The morning's studies being
over, they had set off to take a ramble on the hills, and gather
heather-blossoms with which to decorate their hair for dinner. As they
came bounding lightly, like young fawns, and their dresses fluttering
in the pure summer breeze, I was reminded of Scott's own description
of his children in his introduction to one of the cantos of "Marmion."
As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward and gamboled around
them. They played with them for a time, and then joined us with
countenances full of health and glee. Sophia,[55] the eldest, was the
most lively and joyous, having much of her father's varied spirit in
conversation, and seeming to catch excitement from his words and
looks. Ann was of quieter mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure,
no doubt, to her being some years younger.
[Footnote 55: Sophia three years later became the wife of John Gibson
Lockhart, the biographer of Scott.]
At the dinner Scott had laid by his half-rustic dress, and appeared
clad in black. The girls, too, in completing their toilet, had twisted
in their hair the sprigs of purple heather which they had gathered on
the hillside, and looked all fresh and blooming from their breezy
walk.
There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around the table were two or
three dogs in attendance. Maida, the old stag-hound, took his seat at
Scott's elbow, looking up wistfully in his master's eye, while
Finette, the pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I
soon perceived, she was completely spoiled....
Among the other important and privileged members of the household who
figured in attendance at the dinner was a large gray cat, who, I
observed, was regaled from time to time with titbits from the table.
This sage grimalkin was a favorite of both master and mistress, and
slept at night in their room; and Scott laughingly observed that one
of the least wise parts of their establishment was that the window was
left open at night for puss to go in and out. The cat assumed a kind
of ascendency among the quadrupeds--sitting in state in Scott's
armchair, and occasionally stationing himself on a chair beside the
door, as if to review his subjects as they passed, giving each dog a
cuff beside the ears as he went by. This clapper-clawing was always
taken in good part; it appeared to be, in fact, a mere act of
sovereignty on the part of grimalkin, to remind the others of their
vassalage; which they acknowledged by the most perfect acquiescence. A
general harmony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, and they
would all sleep together in the sunshine....
After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also for
study and library. Against the wall on one side was a long
writing-table, with drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished
wood, with folding-drawers richly studded with brass ornaments, within
which Scott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a
kind of niche, was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with a
closed helmet, and flanked by gantlets and battle-axes. Around were
hung trophies and relics of various kinds; a simitar of Tipu Sahib; a
Highland broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rippon spurs from
Bannockburn, and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, and
bore his initials, R. M. C.,[56] an object of peculiar interest to me
at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in
printing a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw.
[Footnote 56: Robert McGregor Campbell was the real name of Rob Roy.]
On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well stored with works of
romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and
antiquated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the
principal part of his books being at Edinburgh.
From this little cabinet of curiosities Scott drew forth a manuscript
picked up on the field at Waterloo, containing copies of several songs
popular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood--"the
very life-blood, very possibly," said Scott, "of some gay young
officer who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from some
lady-love in Paris."...
The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apartment,
half study, half drawing-room. Scott had read several passages from
the old romances of Arthur, with a fine deep sonorous voice, and a
gravity of tone that seemed to suit the antiquated black-letter
volume. It was a rich treat to hear such a work, read by such a
person, and in such a place; and his appearance as he sat reading, in
a large armed chair, with his favorite hound Maida at his feet and
surrounded by books and relics, and border trophies, would have formed
an admirable and most characteristic picture.
While Scott was reading, the sage grimalkin already mentioned had
taken his seat in a chair beside the fire, and remained with fixt eye
and grave demeanor, as if listening to the reader. I observed to Scott
that his cat seemed to have a black-letter taste in literature.
"Ah," said he, "these cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There
is always more passing in their minds than we are aware of. It comes,
no doubt, from their being so familiar with witches and warlocks."...
When I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep;
the idea of being under the roof of Scott, of being on the borders of
the Tweed in the very center of that region which had for some time
past been the favorite scene of romantic fiction, and above all, the
recollections of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I had
taken it, and the conversation which had passed, all fermented in my
mind, and nearly drove sleep from my pillow.
On the following morning the sun darted his beams from over the hills
through the low lattice window. I rose at an early hour, and looked
out between the branches of eglantine which overhung the casement. To
my surprize Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment of
stone, and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building.[57]
I had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yesterday, he
would be closely occupied this morning; but he appeared like a man of
leisure, who had nothing to do but bask in the sunshine and amuse
himself.
[Footnote 57: This "new building" became in time the mansion now known
as Abbotsford. At the time of Irving's visit Scott was living in a
small villa which he had built after settling at the place in 1812.
The present large castellated residence was produced by making
extensive additions to the original villa.]
I soon drest myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plans
of Abbotsford: happy would it have been for him could he have
contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage, and
the simple yet hearty and hospitable style in which he lived at the
time of my visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense
it entailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial
style, was a drain upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, and a
weight upon his mind, and finally crusht him....
After breakfast Scott was occupied for some time correcting
proof-sheets, which he had received by the mail. The novel of "Rob
Roy,"[58] as I have already observed, was at that time in the press,
and I supposed them to be the proof-sheets of that work. The
authorship of the Waverley novels was still a matter of conjecture and
uncertainty; tho few doubted their being principally written by Scott.
One proof to me of his being the author was that he never adverted to
them. A man so fond of anything Scottish, and anything relating to
national history or local legend, could not have been mute respecting
such productions, had they been written by another. He was fond of
quoting the works of his contemporaries; he was continually reciting
scraps of border songs, or relating anecdotes of border story. With
respect to his own poems and their merits, however, he was mute, and
while with him I observed a scrupulous silence on the subject.
[Footnote 58: Of his novels Scott at this time had published only
"Waverley," "Guy Mannering," "The Antiquarii," "Old Mortality," and
the "Black Dwarf."]