JOHN BALLANTYNE, PUBLISHER
The business at Paul’s Work continuing to prosper, about 1808 or 1809 a
new venture was made by John Ballantyne commencing as publisher, with
Scott as a “silent” partner. He took the designation of “Bookseller to
the Regent.” This firm was projected as the result of a quarrel between
Scott and Constable, regarding a political article which appeared in
the _Edinburgh Review_—to which he occasionally contributed—combined
also with the reputed incivility which he received from Mr. Hunter, the
publisher’s partner. The capital for the new firm was arranged, and a
deed, deposited for the purpose of secrecy in the hands of Scott, laid
the foundation of the firm of John Ballantyne & Co., publishers and
booksellers, Edinburgh. Scott appears to have found most of the capital;
and “jocund Johnny” was installed in Hanover Street as the avowed rival
of Constable, and as publisher in Scotland, for John Murray, of the
new _Quarterly Review_, which had been started in opposition to the
_Edinburgh_.
[Illustration: JOHN BALLANTYNE
From the original painting by John Ballantyne, R.S.A.]
It has often been a matter of surprise that Scott, with his family pride,
his fame, and his money, should have adopted such means of adding to his
income. He seems to have been ashamed in some measure of this mercantile
speculation, as all the arrangements were kept a profound secret—Scott
being always considered the mere patron and friend of the Ballantynes. He
evidently thought he would derive profit from a business guided by a man
of knowledge like himself, and confounded the aspirations of an author
with the expectations of a merchant.
Scott was now at the zenith of his fame as a poet. Immense sums had been
given by other publishers for his works, still more splendid offers
were made to him for further productions, and it would seem probable
that the idea of sharing the profits of author, publisher, and printer
had presented itself to his mind in this way. Accordingly, the first
work published by John Ballantyne, and printed, of course, by James
Ballantyne, was “The Lady of the Lake,” for writing which the sum of
£3000 was placed to Scott’s credit in the publisher’s books. After the
business was fairly begun, Scott, greatly to the annoyance of Constable,
almost wholly withdrew himself from the premises of the latter in the
High Street, and directed his steps to the cheerful and handsome rooms of
John Ballantyne in Hanover Street. They formed a convenient resting-place
in his daily journeys to and from Parliament Square, and contained a
store of his favourite black-letter volumes. No doubt, also, considering
the extreme degree to which party spirit was carried in those days, he
would find himself pleasantly free from the band of Edinburgh Whigs who
frequented Constable’s premises in the Old Town.
But the publishing firm in Hanover Street, begun in pique, was never
prosperous. Scott’s goodness of heart led him to help on many books
which he ought to have known could never be successful. These included
a ponderous “History of the Culdees,” by his friend Dr. Jamieson; a poor
edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, by Henry Weber; three volumes of the
Poems of Anna Seward, already referred to; a bulky collection of the
Tixall Poetry and Letters; and, worse than all, the _Edinburgh Annual
Register_, for which he himself did much work, but which left the firm
with about £1000 a year on the wrong side of the ledger. Besides all
this, John Ballantyne proved an indifferent and irregular book-keeper;
and it was in vain that Scott repeatedly wrote letters of remonstrance
to him, though in doing so he frequently made the bookseller’s habits
the subject rather of his jokes than of his indignation. John was
happy-go-lucky in his methods, and as Mr. Andrew Lang says, “was like the
proverbial spendthrift who can never be induced to give his benevolent
kinsfolk a full schedule of his debts.” The consequence was that the
business was neglected and allowed to drift; and in 1813, when it was
wound up, a great amount of useless stock had been accumulated, which
was partly cleared off by forced sales to Constable and others. Scott by
this time had resumed friendly relations with Constable, whose partner
Hunter was now out of the firm. The printing business at Paul’s Work was
sadly hampered by these publishing transactions, and Constable himself
was seriously injured by the burden of almost unsaleable stock, which he
had to take over as part of the price he agreed to pay for the copyright
of forthcoming works by Scott, and much of which he had afterwards to
sell to other booksellers at a heavy loss to himself.[18]
Archibald Constable was one of the most sagacious men who have ever
followed the profession of publisher.[19] Though he made no pretensions
to literature, he was well skilled in it generally, and was of most
essential service to Scott on many occasions. He came from Fife, served
his apprenticeship with Peter Hill, and then set up for himself in a
“small way” in a shop forming part of the Royal Exchange buildings,
next door to Allan’s Close, High Street. It was a mere box of a place,
but as his business increased he enlarged his premises by opening a
communication with the tenement behind. At first he devoted his attention
to the collection of old and rare books, and the sign above his door had
in large letters, “Scarce Books.” Shortly after he began business the
public were amused one morning to find the preposition “of” inserted in
the sign, advertising that the bookseller was “Scarce of Books.”
While struggling on, he gained the affections of the daughter of Mr.
Willison, a well-known printer of Edinburgh. This connection seems to
have arisen through the medium of the _Edinburgh Review_, which Constable
published, and which Willison printed.[20] He discountenanced the match,
but the young lady consulted her own inclinations, and the marriage took
place soon after. The printer became reconciled, and gave his son-in-law
considerable assistance; but the publication of the _Review_ was the
chief means of Constable’s advancement, and his little shop gradually
became the rendezvous of the learned of Edinburgh.
After the failure of the publishing and bookselling company, John
Ballantyne became a literary and art auctioneer in the Hanover Street
premises. For this kind of work he was specially qualified; and he
conducted it with marked success, particularly in the disposal of
literary property. The auction rooms became a fashionable lounge. A
periodical which he issued in connection with his business was called
the _Sale Room_, written very much after the style of the _Spectator_.
It was rather a dull concern, however, and had little success; although
one of its numbers contained a humorous poem by Scott called “The Sultan
of Serendib, or The Search after Happiness,” and another had an article
by Lockhart signed “Christopher Corduroy,” which first drew Scott’s
attention to that writer.
The first number of the _Sale Room_ was issued on Saturday, Jan. 4, 1817,
and contained the following introductory paragraph, presumably by John
Ballantyne:
“An architect of great skill and experience was wont to say, that he
found less difficulty in giving the plan of a gentleman’s seat than in
devising a lodge for the termination of his avenue. We are much mistaken
if a similar difficulty has not been felt by most periodical essayists.
The first appearance before the public is like the entrance of a bashful
person into a ceremonious company, and in both cases the French proverb
applies, _Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coûte._ And how often have
we seen such a person, qualified both to entertain and enjoy society,
suffering during a whole evening under the too acute feeling of some
awkwardness or inadvertent solecism, which he supposes himself to have
committed on his first entrance. But the case of the essayist is still
harder. The utmost that can be expected from a member of fashionable
society is, that he shall present himself with the ordinary ease and
grace of men of good breeding; and those who affect peculiarity, or
marked singularity of manners, are in our day, as in Congreve’s, set down
among the Lord Froths and Mr. Brisks, the solemn or lively coxcombs of
society. But here the metaphor no longer holds; for, in this department
of literature, mediocrity, however void of affectation, or even if marked
by elegance, is insufficient to produce any impression on the public.
It is expected of us, not only that we should be eloquent, but that we
shall be new; not only that we should be correct, but that we shall be
striking; and that our lucubrations should promise to combine originality
with the humour of Addison, the learning of Cumberland, and the pathos
of the Man of Feeling. Aware of the difficulty, not indeed of making
such promises, but of giving the public any sound reason to think that
it was in our power to keep them, we were somewhat tempted to elude the
task of announcing our pretensions in an opening number; and, like the
worthy Irishman, who, on finding the second month of attendance at the
fencing-school was rated at a lower fee than that which preceded it,
requested to take the second month first, we had half resolved to publish
No. II. of THE SALE ROOM before No. I.”
This opening Essay was signed C. for Coryphæus, the name given to the
presiding genius of the contributors to the periodical. It continued for
twenty-eight numbers, the last being issued on Saturday, July 12, 1817.
It consisted of weekly essays of varying length of from six to eight
pages, and, when the subject matter was only sufficient to fill six or
seven, the remaining pages were left blank.[21]
John Ballantyne was much in request as musical critic on the _Edinburgh
Weekly Journal_, of which his brother James was editor. He also made at
least one excursion into the field of letters. This was a novel in two
volumes called “The Widow’s Lodgings.” It had little merit, but reached a
second edition.
A curious story of John’s volatile nature and indiscreet vivacity is
related in the second volume of Mrs. Charles Mathews’ life of her
husband, the well-known humorist and actor. At a dinner-party where
Constable, Terry, and John Ballantyne were present, he closed a speech
he had been making about some books with the startling announcement: “I
shall soon send you Scott’s new novel!” Mrs. Mathews goes on to say: “I
shall never forget the consternation of Messrs. Constable and Terry,
and, indeed, we were as much embarrassed. Constable looked daggers—and
Terry used some—for, with a stern brow and a correcting tone, he cried
out ‘John!’ adding, with a growl resembling what is generally made to
check or reprove a mischievous dog,—‘Ah! what are you about?’ which made
us drop our eyes in pain for the indiscreet tattler; while Wee Johnny
looked like an impersonation of Fear, startled at the sound himself had
made. Not another word was said; but our little good-natured friend’s
lapse was sacred with us, and the secret was never divulged while it was
important to preserve it.”
John Ballantyne visited the Continent shortly after Waterloo, and
published an account of his travels, in which the “long-bow” did good
service. Being on one occasion rebuked by a lady for having stated as
facts what were transparent fictions, his reply to the censure was in
these few words: “Very true, madam, what you say; but truth is a great
hamperer of genius.”[22]
During the earlier and perhaps most interesting years in the career of
the “Great Unknown,” John Ballantyne managed all the business connected
with the communication of the author’s works to the public. When Scott
began “The Bride of Lammermoor,” his amanuenses were William Laidlaw
and John Ballantyne, “of whom he preferred the latter, when he could
be at Abbotsford, on account of the superior rapidity of his pen, and
also because John kept his pen to the paper without interruption; and,
though with many an arch twinkle in his eyes, and now and then an audible
smack of his lips, had resolution to work on like a well-trained clerk;
whereas good Laidlaw entered with such keen zest into the interest of the
story as it flowed from the author’s lips, that he could not suppress
exclamations of surprise and delight—‘Gude keep us a’!—the like o’
that!—eh sirs!’ and so forth, which did not promote despatch.”[23]
In several long articles which appeared in _Tait’s Magazine_ in 1843,
entitled “Random Recollections of Scott and the Ettrick Shepherd,” by
Mr. John Morrison, a land-surveyor, there are several notices of James
and John Ballantyne. The following is one of those relating to John: “On
a day appointed,” says Mr. Morrison, “we all set out on a hare-hunting
expedition. Miss Scott rode Queen Mab, a little pony; John Ballantyne was
mounted on Old Mortality, an old gaunt white horse. He was dressed in
a green coat, the buttons of mother-of-pearl, silver and gold—with, if
I remember well, a precious stone in the centre, and altogether a most
harlequin and piebald figure. Sir Walter appeared to laugh and amuse
himself with his grotesque appearance. I admired the buttons. ‘And well
you may,’ said Sir Walter. ‘These buttons, sir, belonged to the Great
Montrose, and were cut, by our friend John, from an old coat belonging
to the Marquis, which he purchased from an unworthy descendant of the
family, Graham of Gartmore, with many other nick-nackets too tedious
to enumerate.’ On the same day,” Mr. Morrison continues, “at and after
dinner, although he looked very kindly on Johnny Ballantyne, Scott made
himself merry at his expense, and Ballantyne seemed awed in his presence;
although, when addressed, he turned a bold front to any one else. I
ventured to joke him a little on the quality of his coat, and said it was
the best at table. ‘Yes,’ said John, ‘and it belonged to a better man.’
You will find some difficulty in convincing Mr. Morrison of that,’ said
Sir Walter”—the latter well knowing that Morrison’s sentiments regarding
the character of Montrose were at variance with his own.
After some years of failing health, John Ballantyne retired to a villa
which he had built near Kelso, and here he was frequently visited by Sir
Walter. On one of these occasions, the latter revived a long-forgotten
project of their early connection in business, and offered his gratuitous
services as editor of a Novelists’ Library, to be printed and published
for the benefit of his friend. The offer was eagerly embraced, and the
first volume of “Ballantyne’s Novelists’ Library” appeared in February
1821, though the collection, notwithstanding the Biographies and
Introductions which Scott wrote for it,[24] did not prove a fortunate
speculation.
On the 16th of June 1821, John Ballantyne died at Edinburgh. Until a
week or two before, Sir Walter had not entertained any thought that
his end was so near. “I (Lockhart) accompanied Sir Walter when one of
their last interviews took place, and John’s deathbed was a thing not to
be forgotten. We sat by him for perhaps an hour, and I think half that
space was occupied with his predictions of a speedy end, and details of
his last will, which he had just been executing, and which lay on his
coverlid; the other half being given, five minutes or so at a time, to
questions and remarks, which intimated that the hope of life was still
flickering before him—nay, that his interest in all its concerns remained
eager. The proof-sheets of a volume of his Novelists’ Library lay also
by his pillow; and he passed from them to his will, and then back to
them, as by jerks and starts the unwonted veil of gloom closed upon his
imagination, or was withdrawn again.... Scott was visibly and profoundly
shaken by this scene and sequel. As we stood together a few days
afterwards, while they were smoothing the turf over John’s remains in the
Canongate Churchyard, the heavens, which had been dark and slaty, cleared
up suddenly, and the midsummer sun shone forth in his strength. Scott,
ever awake to the skyey influences, cast his eye along the overhanging
line of the Calton Hill, with its gleaming walls and towers, and then
turning to the grave again, ‘I feel,’ he whispered in my ear, ‘I feel as
if there would be less sunshine for me from this day forth.’
“As we walked homewards, Scott told me, among other favourable traits of
his friend, one little story which I must not omit. He remarked one day
to a poor student of divinity attending his auction, that he looked as
if he were in bad health. The young man assented with a sigh. ‘Come,’
said Ballantyne, ‘I think I ken the secret of a sort of draft that would
relieve you—particularly,’—he added, handing him a cheque for £5 or
£10—‘particularly, my dear, if taken upon an empty stomach.’”[25]
In the “Noctes Ambrosianæ” (vol. iii. pp. 93-95), there is the following
tribute to the memory of John Ballantyne:—
_Shepherd._ Johnny Ballantyne!
_North._ Methinks I see him—his slight, slender figure, restless with a
spirit that knew no rest—his face so suddenly changeful in its expression
from what a stranger might have thought habitual gravity, into what his
friends knew to be native there—glee irrepressible and irresistible—the
very madness of mirth, James, in which the fine ether of animal spirits
seemed to respire the breath of genius, and to shed through the room, or
the open air, a contagion of cheerfulness, against which no heart was
proof, however sullen, and no features could stand, however grim; but
still all the company, Canters and Covenanters inclusive, relaxed and
thawed into murmurs of merriment, even as the strong spring sunshine
sends a-singing the bleak frozen moor-streams till all the wilderness is
alive with music.
_Shepherd._ He was indeed a canty cratur—a delichtfu’ companion.
_North._ I hear his voice this moment within my imagination, as distinct
as if it were speaking. ’Twas exceedingly pleasant....
_Shepherd._ What’n a lauch!
_North._ Soul-and-heart-felt!
_Shepherd._ Mony a strange story fell down stane-dead when his tongue
grew mute. Thousands o’ curious, na, unaccountable anecdotes, ceased to
be the day his een were closed, for he telt them, sir, as ye ken, wi’
his een mair than his lips; and his verra hauns spak, when he snapped
his forefinger and his thoom, or wi’ the haill five spread out—and he
had what I ca’ an elegant haun o’ fine fingers, as maist wutty men
hae—manually illustrated his subjeck, till the words gaed aff, murmuring
like bees frae the tips; and then Johnny was quate again for a minute
or sae, till some ither freak o’ a fancy came athwart his genie, and
instantly loupt intil look, lauch, or speech—or rather a’ the three
thegither in ane, while Sir Walter himsel keckled on his chair, and
leanin’ wi’ thae extraordinar chowks o’ his, that aften seem to me
amaist as expressive as his pile o’ forehead, hoo would he fix the
grey illumination o’ his een on his freen Johnny, and ca’ him by that
familiar name; and by the sympathy o’ that maist capawcious o’ a’ souls,
set him clean mad—richt-doun wudd a’thegither—till really, sir, he got
untholeably divertin’; and folk compleened o’ pains in their sides, and
sat wi’ the tears rinnin’ doun their cheeks, praying him for gudeness to
haud his tongue, for that gin he didna, somebody or ither would be fa’in
doun in a fit, and be carried out dead.
[Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
PAINTED BY SIR HENRY RAEBURN, R.A.]