Scotch Literature. -- Robert Burns. -- Walter Scott. -- Thomas
Carlyle and Adam Smith. -- Burns Worship. -- Scotch Ballads and
Poetry.
Scotland possesses a national literature of which the greatest nations
might justly be proud.
To take only the great names, it may safely be said that more touching
and sublime poetry than that of Burns was never written, that Walter
Scott was the greatest novelist of the century, that Thomas Carlyle has
never been surpassed as a historian and essayist, and that Adam Smith's
_The Wealth of Nations_ can be considered as the basis of modern
political economy.
I pass over the Humes, Smolletts, and other illustrious representatives
of Scotch literature, on whom I certainly do not intend to write an
essay.
But how can one speak of Scotland without devoting a few words to Robert
Burns? In their worship of their great poet I see a trait characteristic
of the Scotch people.
Scotland is above all things full of practical common sense, but it is
steeped to the brim in poetry. There is poetry at the core of every
Scot. Visit the castle of the rich, or the cottage of the poor, or step
into your hotel bedroom, and you will see the portrait of the graceful
bard.
I happened to be in Edinburgh on the 25th of January, the anniversary of
Burns' birth. The theatres were empty. Everyone was celebrating the
anniversary. Dinners, meetings, lectures were consecrated to Burns; and
that which was passing in Edinburgh was also passing, on a small scale,
in every little Scotch village.
It was a national communion.
Burns wrote in Scotch, and in celebrating the anniversary of his birth,
they celebrated a national fete. His poetry reminds them that they
belong to a nation perfectly distinct from England, a nation having a
literature of her own. This is why his memory is revered by high and low
alike. The Scotch could no more part with their Burns than England with
Shakespeare, or Italy with Dante. The Gaelic tongue is rapidly dying
out, Scotch customs become more and more English every day, but each
year only adds to the glory of Robert Burns. His poems have run rapidly
through many editions--they have reached more than a hundred up to
now--the sad story of his life is retold every year, and his portrait is
still in great demand. The popularity Burns still enjoys in Scotland may
be judged from the fact than in one single shop in Edinburgh there are
twenty thousand portraits of the poet sold annually.
Whilst the English allow the house which Carlyle inhabited for so many
years at Chelsea to go to ruins, the Scotch take a pride in showing the
stranger the little clay cottage where Burns first saw the light on the
25th of January, 1759.
It is with real regret that I turn from the subject of the "Ayrshire
Ploughman," his life and his works. Few poets have united as he has,
delicate pathos and comic force, pure _reverie_ and the sense of the
grotesque. But after all, I should but do what has been done over and
over again by his numerous biographers, the chief of whom are Carlyle,
Chambers, and Professor Shairp.
Longfellow has said that what Jasmin, the author of the _The Blind Girl
of Castel Cuille_, was to the south of France, Burns was to the south of
Scotland: the representative of the heart of the people.
* * * * *
Nothing can be more suave, piquant, and picturesque than the wild and
primitive melodies of the songs of Scotland. The Scotch ballad is the
spontaneous production of the touching and simple genius of the nation.
The words are full of pathos and rustic humour. The music is light,
often plaintive, always graceful. The whole has a delicious perfume of
the mountain. I know of no other kind of song to compare with it, unless
it were perhaps the songs of the Tyrol and a few _Breton_ ballads.
The verses of Burns and other Scotch poets have inspired some of the
greatest musicians. Mendelssohn was a great admirer of them.
Madame Patti delights to charm her audiences with "Comin' thro' the
rye," or "Within a mile o' Edinbro' town," and these vocal gems suit the
supple voice of the inimitable songstress; they even suit her very
person, as she sings them in her arch manner, and finishes up with a
saucy little curtsey.
The songs of Scotland, old as they are most of them, have lost nothing
of their freshness. They are still the delight of the nation.[E]
[E] The finest edition of the Songs of Scotland is that recently
published by Messrs. Muir Wood, of Glasgow.