_November_ 1.--I waked in the night and lay two hours in feverish
meditation. This is a tribute to natural feeling. But the air of a fine
frosty morning gave me some elasticity of spirit. It is strange that
about a week ago I was more dispirited for nothing at all than I am now
for perplexities which set at defiance my conjectures concerning their
issue. I suppose that I, the Chronicler of the Canongate, will have to
take up my residence in the Sanctuary[65] for a week or so, unless I
prefer the more airy residence of the Calton Jail, or a trip to the Isle
of Man. These furnish a pleasing choice of expedients. It is to no
purpose being angry at Ehud or Ahab, or whatever name he delights in. He
is seeking his own, and thinks by these harsh measures to render his
road to it more speedy. And now I will trouble myself no more about the
matter than I can possibly help, which will be quite enough after all.
Perhaps something may turn up better for me than I now look for. Sir
Adam Ferguson left Bowhill this morning for Dumfriesshire. I returned to
Abbotsford to Anne, and told her this unpleasant news. She stood it
remarkably well, poor body.
_November_ 2.--I was a little bilious to-night--no wonder. Had sundry
letters without any power of giving my mind to answer them--one about
Gourgaud with his nonsense. I shall not trouble my head more on that
score. Well, it is a hard knock on the elbow; I knew I had a life of
labour before me, but I was resolved to work steadily; now they have
treated me like a recusant turnspit, and put in a red-hot cinder into
the wheel alongst with [me]. But of what use is philosophy--and I have
always pretended to a little of a practical character--if it cannot
teach us to do or suffer? The day is glorious, yet I have little will to
enjoy it, but sit here ruminating upon the difference and comparative
merits of the Isle of Man and of the Abbey. Small choice betwixt them.
Were a twelvemonth over, I should perhaps smile at what makes me now
very serious.
Smile!--No, that can never be. My present feelings cannot be recollected
with cheerfulness; but I may drop a tear of gratitude. I have finished
my _Tales_[66] and have now nothing literary in hand. It would be an
evil time to begin anything.
_November_ 3.--Slept ill, and lay one hour longer than usual in the
morning. I gained an hour's quiet by it, that is much. I feel a little
shaken at the result of to-day's post. Bad it must be, whatsoever be the
alternative. I am not able to go out, my poor workers wonder that I pass
them without a word. I can imagine no alternative but either retreat to
the Sanctuary or to the Isle of Man. Both shocking enough. But in
Edinburgh I am always near the scene of action, free from uncertainty
and near my poor daughter; so I think I will prefer it, and thus I rest
in unrest. But I will not let this unman me. Our hope, heavenly and
earthly, is poorly anchored, if the cable parts upon the strain. I
believe in God who can change evil into good; and I am confident that
what befalls us is always ultimately for the best. I have a letter from
Mr. Gibson, purporting the opinion of the trustees and committee of
creditors, that I should come to town, and interesting themselves warmly
in the matter. They have intimated that they will pay Mr. Abud a
composition of six shillings per pound on his debt. This is a handsome
offer, but I understand he is determined to have his pound of flesh. If
I can prevent it, he shall not take a shilling by his hard-hearted
conduct.
_November_ 4.--Put my papers in some order, and prepared for my journey.
It is in the style of the Emperors of Abyssinia who proclaim--Cut down
the Kantuffa in the four quarters of the world,--for I know not where I
am going. Yet, were it not for poor Anne's doleful looks, I would feel
firm as a piece of granite. Even the poor dogs seem to fawn on me with
anxious meaning, as if there were something going on they could not
comprehend. They probably notice the packing of the clothes, and other
symptoms of a journey.
Set off at twelve, firmly resolved in body and in mind. Dined at Fushie
Bridge. Ah! good Mrs. Wilson, you know not you are like to lose an old
customer.[67]
But when I arrived in Edinburgh at my faithful friend, Mr. Gibson's,
lo! the scene had again changed, and a new hare is started.[68]
The trustees were clearly of opinion that the matter should be probed to
the very bottom; so Cadell sets off to-morrow in quest of Robinson,
whose haunts he knows. There was much talk concerning what should be
done, how to protect my honour's person, and to postpone commencing a
defence which must make Ahab desperate, before we can ascertain that the
grounds are really tenable. This much I think I can see, that the
trustees will rather pay the debt than break off the trust and go into a
sequestration. They are clearly right for themselves, and I believe for
me also. Whether it is in human possibility that I can clear off these
obligations or not, is very doubtful. But I would rather have it written
on my monument that I died at the desk than live under the recollection
of having neglected it. My conscience is free and happy, and would be so
if I were to be lodged in the Calton Jail. Were I shirking exertion I
should lose heart, under a sense of general contempt, and so die like a
poisoned rat in a hole.
Dined with Gibson and John Home. His wife is a pretty lady-like woman.
Slept there at night.
_November_ 6.--I took possession of No. 6 Shandwick Place, Mrs. Jobson's
house. Mr. Cadell had taken it for me; terms £100 for four months--cheap
enough, as it is a capital house. I offered £5 for immediate entrance,
as I do not like to fly back to Abbotsford. So here we are established,
_i.e._ John Nicolson[69] and I, with good fires and all snug.