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THOMAS CARLYLE
* * * * *
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By Hector C. Macpherson.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By Oliphant Smeaton.
HUGH MILLER. By W. Keith Leask.
JOHN KNOX. By A. Taylor Innes.
ROBERT BURNS. By Gabriel Setoun.
THE BALLADISTS. By John Geddie.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor Herkless.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By Eve Blantyre Simpson.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. Garden Blaikie.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. Keith Leask.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By Oliphant Smeaton.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. Omond.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir George Douglas.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By John Wellwood.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor Saintsbury.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By Louis A. Barbe.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. Grosart.
JAMES THOMSON. By William Bayne.
MUNGO PARK. By T. Banks Maclachlan.
DAVID HUME. By Professor Calderwood.
* * * * *
THOMAS CARLYLE
by
HECTOR C MACPHERSON
Famous Scots Series
Published by Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
Edinburgh and London
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and the
printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
Second Edition completing Seventh Thousand.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Of the writing of books on Carlyle there is no end. Why, then, it may
pertinently be asked, add another stone to the Carlylean cairn? The
reply is obvious. In a series dealing with famous Scotsmen, Carlyle has
a rightful claim to a niche in the temple of Fame. While prominence has
been given in the book to the Scottish side of Carlyle's life, the fact
has not been lost sight of that Carlyle owed much to Germany; indeed, if
we could imagine the spirit of a German philosopher inhabiting the body
of a Covenanter of dyspeptic and sceptical tendencies, a good idea would
be had of Thomas Carlyle. Needless to say, I have been largely indebted
to the biography by Mr Froude, and to Carlyle's _Reminiscences_. After
all has been said, the fact remains that Froude's portrait, though
truthful in the main, is somewhat deficient in light and
shade--qualities which the student will find admirably supplied in
Professor Masson's charming little book, "Carlyle Personally, and in his
Writings." To the Professor I am under deep obligation for the interest
he has shown in the book. In the course of his perusal of the proofs,
Professor Masson made valuable corrections and suggestions, which
deserve more than a formal acknowledgment. To Mr Haldane, M.P., my
thanks are also due for his suggestive criticism of the chapter on
German thought, upon which he is an acknowledged authority.
I have also to express my deep obligations to Mr John Morley, who, in
the midst of pressing engagements, kindly found time to read the proof
sheets. In a private note Mr Morley has been good enough to express his
general sympathy and concurrence with my estimate of Carlyle.
_EDINBURGH, October 1897._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE 9
CHAPTER II
CRAIGENPUTTOCK--LITERARY EFFORTS 29
CHAPTER III
CARLYLE'S MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 42
CHAPTER IV
LIFE IN LONDON 65
CHAPTER V
HOLIDAY JOURNEYINGS--LITERARY WORK 79
CHAPTER VI
RECTORIAL ADDRESS--DEATH OF MRS CARLYLE 112
CHAPTER VII
LAST YEARS AND DEATH OF CARLYLE 129
CHAPTER VIII
CARLYLE AS A SOCIAL AND POLITICAL THINKER 138
CHAPTER IX
CARLYLE AS AN INSPIRATIONAL FORCE 152
THOMAS CARLYLE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE
'A great man,' says Hegel, 'condemns the world to the task of explaining
him.' Emphatically does the remark apply to Thomas Carlyle. When he
began to leave his impress in literature, he was treated as a confusing
and inexplicable element. Opinion oscillated between the view of James
Mill, that Carlyle was an insane rhapsodist, and that of Jeffrey, that
he was afflicted with a chronic craze for singularity. Jeffrey's verdict
sums up pretty effectively the attitude of the critics of the time to
the new writer:--'I suppose that you will treat me as something worse
than an ass, when I say that I am firmly persuaded the great source of
your extravagance, and all that makes your writings intolerable to many
and ridiculous to not a few, is not so much any real peculiarity of
opinion, as an unlucky ambition to appear more original than you are.'
The blunder made by Jeffrey in regard both to Carlyle and Wordsworth
emphasises the truth which critics seem reluctant to bear in mind, that,
before the great man can be explained, he must be appreciated.
Emphatically true of Carlyle it is that he creates the standard by which
he is judged. Carlyle resembles those products of the natural world
which biologists call 'sports'--products which, springing up in a
spontaneous and apparently erratic way, for a time defy classification.
The time is appropriate for an attempt to classify the great thinker,
whose birth took place one hundred years ago.
Towards the close of the last century a stone-mason, named James
Carlyle, started business on his own account in the village of
Ecclefechan, Dumfriesshire. He was an excellent tradesman, and frugal
withal; and in the year 1791 he married a distant kinswoman of his own,
Janet Carlyle, who died after giving birth to a son. In the beginning of
1795 he married one Margaret Aitken, a worthy, intelligent woman; and on
the 4th of December following a son was born, whom they called Thomas,
after his paternal grandfather. This child was destined to be the most
original writer of his time.
Little Thomas was early taught to read by his mother, and at the age of
five he learnt to 'count' from his father. He was then sent to the
village school; and in his seventh year he was reported to be 'complete'
in English. As the schoolmaster was weak in the classics, Tom was
taught the rudiments of Latin by the burgher minister, of which strict
sect James Carlyle was a zealous member. One summer morning, in 1806,
his father took him to Annan Academy. 'It was a bright morning,' he
wrote long years thereafter, 'and to me full of moment, of fluttering
boundless Hopes, saddened by parting with Mother, with Home, and which
afterwards were cruelly disappointed.' At that 'doleful and hateful
Academy,' to use his own words, Thomas Carlyle spent three years,
learning to read French and Latin, and the Greek alphabet, as well as
acquiring a smattering of geometry and algebra.
It was in the Academy that he got his first glimpse of Edward
Irving--probably in April or May 1808--who had called to pay his
respects to his old teacher, Mr Hope. Thomas's impression of him was
that of a 'flourishing slip of a youth, with coal-black hair, swarthy
clear complexion, very straight on his feet, and except for the glaring
squint alone, decidedly handsome.' Years passed before young Carlyle saw
Irving's face again.
James Carlyle, although an austere man, and the reverse of
demonstrative, was bound up in his son, sparing no expense upon the
youth's education. On one occasion he exclaimed, with an unwonted
outburst of glee, 'Tom, I do not grudge thy schooling, now when thy
Uncle Frank owns thee to be a better Arithmetician than himself.' Early
recognising the natural talent and aptitude of his son, he determined
to send him to the nearest university, with a view to Thomas studying
for the ministry. One crisp winter's morning, in 1809, found Thomas
Carlyle on his way to Edinburgh, trudging the entire distance--one
hundred miles or so.
He went through the usual university course, attended the divinity
classes, and delivered the customary discourses in English and Latin.
But Tom was not destined to 'wag his head in a pulpit,' for he had
conscientious objections which parental control in no way interfered
with. Referring to this vital period of his life, Carlyle wrote: 'His
[father's] tolerance for me, his trust in me, was great. When I declined
going forward into the Church (though his heart was set upon it), he
respected my scruples, my volition, and patiently let me have my way.'
Carlyle never looked back to his university life with satisfaction. In
his interesting recollections Mr Moncure Conway represents Carlyle,
describing his experiences as follows:--'Very little help did I get from
anybody in those years, and, as I may say, no sympathy at all in all
this old town. And if there was any difference, it was found least where
I might most have hoped for it. There was Professor ----. For years I
attended his lectures, in all weathers and all hours. Many and many a
time, when the class was called together, it was found to consist of one
individual--to wit, of him now speaking; and still oftener, when others
were present, the only person who had at all looked into the lesson
assigned was the same humble individual. I remember no instance in which
these facts elicited any note or comment from that instructor. He once
requested me to translate a mathematical paper, and I worked through it
the whole of one Sunday, and it was laid before him, and it was received
without remark or thanks. After such long years, I came to part with
him, and to get my certificate. Without a word, he wrote on a bit of
paper: "I certify that Mr Thomas Carlyle has been in my class during his
college course, and has made good progress in his studies." Then he rang
a bell, and ordered a servant to open the front door for me. Not the
slightest sign that I was a person whom he could have distinguished in
any crowd. And so I parted from old ----.'
Professor Masson, who in loving, painstaking style has ferreted all the
facts about Carlyle's university life, sums up in these words: 'Without
assuming that he meant the university described in _Sartor Resartus_ to
stand literally for Edinburgh University, of his own experience, we have
seen enough to show that any specific training of much value he
considered himself to owe to his four years in the Arts classes in
Edinburgh University, was the culture of his mathematical faculty under
Leslie, and that for the rest he acknowledged merely a certain benefit
from being in so many class-rooms where matters intellectual were
professedly in the atmosphere, and where he learned to take advantage
of books.' As Carlyle put it in his Rectorial Address of 1866, 'What I
have found the university did for me is that it taught me to read in
various languages, in various sciences, so that I go into the books
which treated of these things, and gradually penetrate into any
department I wanted to make myself master of, as I found it suit me.'
In 1814, Carlyle obtained the mathematical tutorship at Annan. Out of
his slender salary of L60 or L70 he was able to save something, so that
he was practically independent. By and by James Carlyle gave up his
trade, and settled on a small farm at Mainhill, about two miles from
Ecclefechan. Thither Thomas hied with unfeigned delight at holiday time,
for he led the life of a recluse at Annan, his books being his sole
companions.
Edward Irving, to whom Carlyle was introduced in college days, was now
settled as a dominie in Kirkcaldy. His teaching was not favourably
viewed by some of the parents, who started a rival school, and resolved
to import a second master, with the result that Carlyle was selected.
Irving, with great magnanimity, gave him a cordial welcome to the 'Lang
Toon,' and the two Annandale natives became fast friends. The elder
placed his well-selected library at the disposal of the younger, and
together they explored the whole countryside. Short visits to Edinburgh
had a special attraction for both, where they met with a few kindred
spirits. On one of those visits, Carlyle, who had not cut off his
connection with the university, called at the Divinity Hall to put down
his name formally on the annual register. In his own words: 'Old Dr
Ritchie "not at home" when I called to enter myself. "Good!" answered I;
"_let the omen be fulfilled_."' Carlyle's studies in Kirkcaldy made him
eager to contribute to the fulfilment of the omen. Among the authors
which he read out of the Edinburgh University library was Gibbon, who
pushed Carlyle's sceptical questionings to a definite point. In a
conversation with Professor Masson, Carlyle stated that to his reading
of Gibbon he dated the extirpation from his mind of the last remnant
that had been left in it of the orthodox belief in miracles.
In the space of two years, Carlyle and Irving 'got tired of
schoolmastering and its mean contradictions and poor results.' They bade
Kirkcaldy farewell and made for Edinburgh,--Irving to lodge in Bristo
Street, 'more expensive rooms than mine,' naively remarks Carlyle, where
he gave breakfasts to 'Intellectualities he fell in with, I often a
guest with them. They were but stupid Intellectualities, etc.' As for
their prospects, this is what Carlyle says: 'Irving's outlooks in
Edinburgh were not of the best, considerably checkered with dubiety,
opposition, or even flat disfavour in some quarters; but at least they
were far superior to mine, and indeed, I was beginning my four or five
most miserable, dark, sick, and heavy-laden years; Irving, after some
staggerings aback, his seven or eight healthiest and brightest. He had,
I should guess, as one item several good hundreds of money to wait upon.
My _peculium_ I don't recollect, but it could not have exceeded L100. I
was without friends, experience, or connection in the sphere of human
business, was of shy humour, proud enough and to spare, and had begun my
long curriculum of _dyspepsia_ which has never ended since!'[1]
Carlyle's intention was to study for the Bar, if perchance he could eke
out a livelihood by private teaching. He obtained one or two pupils,
wrote a stray article or so for the 'Encyclopaedias'; but as he barely
managed to pay his way, he speedily gave up his law studies. He was at
this time--the winter of 1819--'advancing,' as he phrases it, 'towards
huge instalments of bodily and spiritual wretchedness in this my
Edinburgh purgatory.' It was about a couple of years thereafter ere
Carlyle went through what he has described as his 'spiritual new birth.'
When Carlyle was in diligent search for congenial employment, a certain
Captain Basil Hall crossed his path, to whom Edward Irving had given
lessons in mathematics. The 'small lion,' as he calls the captain, came
to Carlyle, and wished the latter to go out with him 'to Dunglas,' and
there do 'lunars' in his name, he looking on and learning of Carlyle
'what would come of its own will.' The said 'lunars' meanwhile were to
go to the Admiralty, 'testifying there what a careful studious Captain
he was, and help to get him promotion, so the little wretch smilingly
told me.' Carlyle adds: 'I remember the figure of him in my dim lodging
as a gay, crackling, sniggering spectre, one dusk, endeavouring to
seduce me by affability in lieu of liberal wages into this adventure.
Wages, I think, were to be smallish ("so poor are we"), but then the
great Playfair is coming on visit. "You will see Professor Playfair." I
had not the least notion of such an enterprise on these shining terms,
and Captain Basil with his great Playfair _in posse_ vanished for me
into the shades of dusk for good.'[2] When private teaching would not
come Carlyle's way, he timorously aimed towards 'literature.' He had
taken to the study of German, and conscious of his own powers in that
direction, he applied in vain to more than one London bookseller,
proposing a complete translation of Schiller. Irving not only did his
utmost to comfort Carlyle in his spiritual wrestlings, but he tried to
find him employment. The two friends continued to make pleasant
excursions, and in June 1821 Irving brought Carlyle to Haddington, an
event which was destined to colour all his subsequent life; for it was
then and there he first saw Jane Welsh, a sight, he acknowledged, for
ever memorable to him.
'In the ancient County Town of Haddington, July 14, 1801, there was
born,' wrote Thomas Carlyle in 1869, 'to a lately wedded pair, not
natives of the place but already reckoned among the best class of people
there, a little Daughter whom they named _Jane Baillie Welsh_, and whose
subsequent and final name (her own common signature for many years) was
_Jane Welsh Carlyle_, and now so stands, now that she is mine in death
only, on her and her Father's Tombstone in the Abbey Kirk of that Town.
July 14th, 1801; I was then in my sixth year, far away in every sense,
now near and infinitely concerned, trying doubtfully after some three
years' sad cunctation, if there is anything that I can profitably put on
record of her altogether bright, beneficent and modest little Life, and
Her, as my final task in this world.'[3] The picture was never completed
by the master-hand; the 'effort was too distressing'; so all his notes
and letters were handed over to a literary executor.
At the time of Carlyle's introduction to Miss Welsh, she was living with
her widowed mother. Her father, Dr John Welsh, came of a good family,
and was a popular country physician. Her mother was Grace Welsh of
Capelgill, and was reckoned a beautiful, but haughty woman. Their
marriage took place in 1800, and their only child, Jane, was born, as we
have seen, the year following. Her most intimate friend, Miss Geraldine
Jewsbury, tells us that Miss Welsh had 'a graceful and beautifully-formed
figure, upright and supple, a delicate complexion of creamy white, with
a pale rose tint in the cheeks, lovely eyes full of fire and softness,
and with great depths of meaning.' She had a musical voice, was a good
talker, extremely witty, and so fascinating in every way that a relative
of hers told Miss Jewsbury that every man who spoke to her for five
minutes felt impelled to make her an offer of marriage. Be that as it
may, it _is_ certain that Miss Jane Welsh had troops of suitors in and
around the quiet country town. She always spoke of her mother with deep
affection and great admiration. Her father she reverenced, and he was
the only person during her girlhood who had any real influence over her.
This, then, was the young lady of whom Thomas Carlyle carried back to
Edinburgh a sweet and lasting impression. They corresponded at
intervals, and Thomas was permitted to send her books occasionally.
Edward Irving used to live in Dr Welsh's house when he taught in the
local school, and he led Jeannie--a winsome, wilful lass--to take an
interest in the classics. She entertained a girlish passion for the
handsome youth, and there can be little doubt that they would have
ultimately been married, were it not that the eldest daughter of a
Kirkcaldy parson, Miss Martin, had 'managed to charm Irving for the time
being,' and an engagement followed.
Before Carlyle had drifted into Edinburgh he had, of course, heard of
the fame of Francis Jeffrey. He heard him once speaking in the General
Assembly 'on some poor cause.' Jeffrey's pleading seemed to Carlyle
'abundantly clear, full of liveliness, free flowing ingenuity.' 'My
admiration,' he adds, 'went frankly with that of others, but I think it
was hardly of very deep character.' When Carlyle was in the 'slough of
despond,' he bethought him of Jeffrey, this time as editor of the
_Edinburgh Review_. He resolved to try the 'great man' with an actual
contribution. The subject was a condemnation of a new French book, in
which a mechanical theory of gravitation was elaborately worked out by
the author. He got 'a certain feeble but enquiring quasi-disciple' of
his own to act as amanuensis, from whom he kept his ulterior purpose
quite secret. Looking back through the dim vista of seven-and-forty
years, this is what Carlyle says of that anxious time: 'Well do I
remember those dreary evenings in Bristo Street; oh, what ghastly
passages and dismal successive spasms of attempt at "literary
enterprise"!... My "Review of Pictet" all fairly written out in George
Dalgliesh's good clerk hand, I penned some brief polite Note to the
great Editor, and walked off with the small Parcel one night to his
address in George Street. I very well remember leaving it with his valet
there, and disappearing in the night with various thoughts and doubts!
My hopes had never risen high, or in fact risen at all; but for a
fortnight or so they did not quite die out, and then it was in absolute
zero; no answer, no return of MS., absolutely no notice taken, which was
a form of catastrophe more complete than even I had anticipated! There
rose in my head a pungent little Note which might be written to the
great man, with neatly cutting considerations offered him from the small
unknown ditto; but I wisely judged it was still more dignified to let
the matter lie as it was, and take what I had got for my own benefit
only. Nor did I ever mention it to almost anybody, least of all to
Jeffrey in subsequent changed times, when at anyrate it was fallen
extinct.'[4]
Carlyle's star was, however, in the ascendant, for in 1822 he became
tutor to the two sons of a wealthy lady, Mrs Charles Buller, at a salary
of L200 a year. It was through Irving that this appointment came. The
young lads boarded with 'a good old Dr Fleming' in George Square,
whither Carlyle went daily from his lodgings at[5]3 Moray Street,
Pilrig Street. The Bullers finally returned to London, Carlyle staying
at his father's little homestead of Mainhill to finish a translation of
'Wilhelm Meister.' He followed the Bullers to London, where he resigned
the tutorship in the hope of getting some literary work.
Irving introduced him to the proprietor of the _London Magazine_, who
offered Carlyle sixteen guineas a sheet for a series of 'Portraits of
Men of Genius and Character.' The first was to be a life of Schiller,
which appeared in that periodical in 1823-4. Mr Boyd, the Edinburgh
publisher, accepted the translation of 'Wilhelm Meister.' 'Two years
before,' wrote Carlyle in his _Reminiscences_, 'I had at length, after
some repulsions, got into the heart of "Wilhelm Meister," and eagerly
read it through; my sally out, after finishing, along the vacant streets
of Edinburgh, (a windless, Scotch-misty Saturday night), is still vivid
to me. "Grand, surely, harmoniously built together, far-seeing, wise,
and true: when, for many years, or almost in my life before, have I read
such a book?"' A short letter from Goethe in Weimar, in acknowledgment
of a copy of his 'Wilhelm Meister,' was peculiarly gratifying to
Carlyle.
Carlyle was not happy in London; dyspepsia and 'the noises' sorely
troubled him. He was anxious to be gone. To the surprise of Irving--who
was now settled in the metropolis--and everybody else, he resolutely
decided to return to Annandale, where his father had leased for him a
compact little farm at Hoddam Hill, three miles from Mainhill, and
visible from the fields at the back of it. 'Perhaps it was the very day
before my departure,' wrote Carlyle, 'at least it is the last I
recollect of him [Irving], we were walking in the streets multifariously
discoursing; a dim grey day, but dry and airy;--at the corner of
Cockspur Street we paused for a moment, meeting Sir John Sinclair
("Statistical Account of Scotland" etc.), whom I had never seen before
and never saw again. A lean old man, tall but stooping, in tartan cloak,
face very wrinkly, nose blue, physiognomy vague and with distinction as
one might have expected it to be. He spoke to Irving with benignant
respect, whether to me at all I don't recollect.'
Carlyle shook the dust of London from off his feet, and by easy stages
made his way northwards. Arrived at Ecclefechan, within two miles of his
father's house, while the coach was changing horses, Carlyle noticed
through the window his little sister Jean earnestly looking up for him.
She, with Jenny, the youngest of the family, was at school in the
village, and had come out daily to inspect the coach in hope of seeing
him. 'Her bonny little blush and radiancy of look when I let down the
window and suddenly disclosed myself,' wrote Carlyle in 1867, 'are still
present to me.' On the 26th of May 1825, he established himself at
Hoddam Hill, and set about 'German Romance.' His brother Alick managed
the farm, and his mother, with one of the girls, was generally there to
look after his comforts.
During the intervening years, Carlyle's intimacy with Miss Jane Welsh
gradually increased, with occasional differences. She had promised to
marry him if he could 'achieve independence.' Carlyle's idea was that
after their marriage they should settle upon the farm of Craigenputtock,
which had been in the possession of the Welsh family for generations,
and devote himself to literary work. By and by Miss Welsh accepted his
offer of marriage, but not until she had acquainted him of the Irving
incident. The wedding took place on the 17th of October 1825, and the
young couple took up housekeeping in a quiet cottage at Comely Bank,
Edinburgh. Of his life at this period, the best description is given by
Carlyle himself, in a letter to Mrs Basil Montague, dated Christmas Day
1826:--
'In spite of ill-health I reckon myself moderately happy here, much
happier than men usually are, or than such a fool as I deserve to be. My
good wife exceeds all my hopes, and is, in truth, I believe, among the
best women that the world contains. The philosophy of the heart is far
better than that of the understanding. She loves me with her whole soul,
and this one sentiment has taught her much that I have long been vainly
at the schools to learn.... On the whole, what I chiefly want is
occupation; which, when the times grow better, or my own genius gets
more alert and thorough-going, will not fail, I suppose, to present
itself.... Some day--oh, that the day were here!--I shall surely speak
out those things that are lying in me, and give me no sleep till they
are spoken! Or else, if the Fates would be so kind as to shew me--that I
had nothing to say! This, perhaps, is the real secret of it after all;
a hard result, yet not intolerable, were it once clear and certain.
Literature, it seems, is to be my trade, but the present aspects of it
among us seem to me peculiarly perplexed and uninviting.'[6]Here, as in
undertone, we discover what Professor Masson calls the constitutional
sadness of Carlyle--a sadness which, along with indifferent health, led
him to be impatient at trifles, morbid, proud, and at times needlessly
aggressive in speech and demeanour. These traits, however, in the early
years of married life were not specially visible; and on the whole the
Comely Bank period may be described as one of calm happiness. Carlyle's
forecast was correct. Literature was to be his trade.
In the following spring came a letter to Carlyle from Procter (Barry
Cornwall), whom he had met in London, offering to introduce him formally
to Jeffrey, whom he certified to be a 'very fine fellow.' One evening
Carlyle sallied forth from Comely Bank for Jeffrey's house in George
Street, armed with Procter's letter. He was shown into the study. 'Fire,
pair of candles,' he relates, 'were cheerfully burning, in the light of
which sate my famous little gentleman; laid aside his work, cheerfully
invited me to sit, and began talking in a perfectly human manner.' The
interview lasted for about twenty minutes, during which time Jeffrey had
made kind enquiries what his visitor was doing and what he had
published; adding, 'We must give you a lift,' an offer, Carlyle says,
which in 'some complimentary way' he managed to Jeffrey's satisfaction
to decline. Jeffrey returned Carlyle's call, when he was captivated by
Mrs Carlyle. The intimacy rapidly increased, and a short paper by
Carlyle on Jean Paul appeared in the very next issue of the _Edinburgh
Review_. 'It made,' says the author, 'what they call a sensation among
the Edinburgh buckrams; which was greatly heightened next Number by the
more elaborate and grave article on "German Literature" generally, which
set many tongues wagging, and some few brains considering, _what_ this
strange monster could be that was come to disturb their quiescence and
the established order of Nature! Some Newspapers or Newspaper took to
denouncing "the Mystic School," which my bright little Woman declared to
consist of me alone, or of her and me, and for a long while after
merrily used to designate us by that title.'
Mrs Carlyle proved an admirable hostess; Jeffrey became a frequent
visitor at Comely Bank, and they discovered 'mutual old cousinships' by
the maternal side. Jeffrey's friendship was an immense acquisition to
Carlyle, and everybody regarded it as his highest good fortune. The
_literati_ of Edinburgh came to see her, and 'listen to her husband's
astonishing monologues.' To Carlyle's regret, Jeffrey would not talk in
their frequent rambles of his experiences in the world, 'nor of things
concrete and current,' but was 'theoretic generally'; and seemed bent
on converting Carlyle from his 'German mysticism,' back merely, as the
latter could perceive, into 'dead Edinburgh Whiggism, scepticism, and
materialism'; 'what I felt,' says Carlyle, 'to be a forever impossible
enterprise.' They had long discussions, 'parryings, and thrustings,'
which 'I have known continue night after night,' relates Carlyle, 'till
two or three in the morning (when I was his guest at Craigcrook, as once
or twice happened in coming years); there he went on in brisk logical
exercise with all the rest of the house asleep, and parted usually in
good humour, though after a game which was hardly worth the candle. I
found him infinitely witty, ingenious, sharp of fence, but not in any
sense deep; and used without difficulty to hold my own with him.'
Jeffrey did everything in his power to further Carlyle's prospects and
projects. He tried to obtain for him the professorship of Moral
Philosophy at St Andrews University, vacated by Dr Chalmers.
Testimonials were given by Irving, Brewster, Buller, Wilson, Jeffrey,
and Goethe. They failed, however, in consequence of the opposition of
the Principal, Dr Nicol.
To Carlyle, doubtless, the most memorable incidents of the Edinburgh
period was his correspondence with Goethe. The magnetic spell thrown
over Carlyle by Goethe will ever remain a mystery. Between the two men
there was no intellectual affinity. One would have expected Goethe the
Pagan to have repelled Carlyle the Puritan, unless we have recourse to
the philosophy of opposites, and conclude that the tumultuous soul of
Carlyle found congenial repose in the Greek-like restfulness of Goethe.
The great German had been deeply impressed by the profound grasp which
Carlyle was displaying of German literature. After reading a letter
which he had received from Walter Scott, Goethe remarked to Eckermann:
'I almost wonder that Walter Scott does not say a word about Carlyle,
who has so decided a German tendency that he must certainly be known to
him. It is admirable in Carlyle, that, in his judgment of our German
authors, he has especially in view the _mental and moral core_ as that
which is really influential. Carlyle is a _moral force of great
importance_; there is in him much for the future and we cannot foresee
what he will produce and effect.'
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Reminiscences_, vol. i. p. 141.
[2] _Reminiscences_, vol. i. p. 142.
[3] _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. p. 69.
[4] _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. pp. 18, 19.
[5] Now 2 Spey Street.
[6] Masson's 'Edinburgh Sketches and Memories,' pp. 329-30.