CHAPTER XXXVIIEnthusiasm of Volunteers—Drill and Sham Fights—Scott's Letters—Quartermaster—Anecdote by Cockburn—Recruiting for the Army—Indifference to Fear of Invasion—Greatness of the Danger—War Song of 1802.Captain Coburn's company was the left flank company of the 'Western Battalion of Midlothian Volunteers.' The right flank company was commanded by John Archibald Murray (afterwards Lord Murray), so that both these companies had embryo judges at their head. So ardent was their zeal that, besides the general day performance in Heriot's Green and Bruntsfield Links, the two companies used to drill almost every night of the four winter months of 1804 and 1805, by torch-light, in the ground flat of the George Street Assembly Rooms, which was then all one earthen-floored apartment. Then there was drilling with the whole regiment, besides parades, reviews, and four to six inspections in the course of the year. Sometimes they were ordered on 'permanent duty' to Leith or Haddington, and billeted on the long-suffering citizens. Then there were the sham fights, the marches, and the continual serio-comedy of the officers' mess. Such was the state of affairs for years in every corner of Great Britain. All who enrolled as volunteers were exempt from the militia ballot and from the risk of having to serve in the field as long as the war lasted. Thus the volunteer ranks were easily filled; and the sense of duty, or the contagious excitement of the time, supplied plenty of officers. The whole population, in fact, became military. Any able-bodied man, of whatever rank, who wasnota volunteer, or a local militiaman, had to explain or apologise for his singularity.Scott's letters of this time are full of the camp scenes at Musselburgh. Writing in July, he says to Miss Seward, 'We are assuming a very military appearance. Three regiments of militia, with a formidable park of artillery, are encamped just by us. The Edinburgh Troop, to which I have the honour to be quarter-master, consists entirely of young gentlemen of family, and is, of course, admirably well mounted and armed. For myself, I must own that to one who has, like me,la tête un peu exaltée, "the pomp and circumstance of war" gives, for a time, a very poignant and pleasing sensation. The imposing appearance of cavalry, in particular, and the rush which marks their onset, appear to me to partake highly of the sublime.'But the sublime was occasionally varied by a touch of the ludicrous. This is brought very vividly before us in the anecdote related by Cockburn, who, like the rest, records Scott's extraordinary zeal in the patriotic cause. 'It was,' he says, 'with him an absolute passion, indulgence in which gratified his feudal taste for war, and his jovial sociableness. He drilled, and drank, and made songs, with a hearty conscientious earnestness which inspired or shamed everybody within the attraction. I do not know if it is usual, but his troop used to practise, individually, with the sabre at a turnip,[1] which was stuck on the top of a staff, to represent a Frenchman, in front of the line. Every other trooper, when he set forward in his turn, was far less concerned about the success of his aim at the turnip, than about how he was to tumble. But Walter pricked forward gallantly, saying to himself, "cut them down, the villains, cut them down!" and made his blow, which from his lameness was often an awkward one, cordially muttering curses all the while at the detested enemy.'[1] One thinks of Oliver Proudfute and his sternpost of a dromond, fixed up in his yard for practice. 'That must make you familiar with the use of your weapon,' said the Smith. 'Ay, marry does it.'—Fair Maid of Perth, chap. viii.Looking at the patriotic movement in the cold light of reason, one can see that its real use was a much humbler one than those enthusiastic and gallant fellows intended. Young artisans and ploughmen who had once joined the volunteers, falling in love with the liveliness and display of the military career, and becoming unsettled in mind for the dull routine of their daily work, drifted readily into the paid militia. Thus the volunteer system was indirectly a splendid means of recruiting for the army. But there can be no doubt that for immediate service in the field—and it was for this that they were preparing—the volunteers would not have been found qualified. Their existence, however, gave the nation confidence, and prevented all danger of panic. It is marvellous to find, on the best evidence of those who lived and acted important parts in those critical years, that the general feeling about invasion was one of complete indifference. Most people went about their own business, and trusted to the country's luck. Although justified by events, it was an ill-founded security. Men of speculative minds, the Cockburns and the Horners, were in a great and genuine fright. Romantic and active spirits, like Scott, anticipated the turning of their sport into earnest at any moment. And how easily it might have happened so. 'Questions are mooted' (said Horner), 'and possibilities supposed, that make one shudder for the fate of the world.' Certainly there were reasons enough for constant fear and dread: the brilliant and unbroken success of Napoleon's arms: Ireland, a ready and willing basis for his first attack: and then the fearful loss and suffering to a country so thickly peopled and utterly unprepared for internal defence, should the war actually be brought within our bounds.'If ever breath of British galeShall fan the tri-color,Or footstep of invader rude,With rapine foul, and red with blood,Pollute our happy shore—Then, farewell home, and farewell friends!Adieu each tender tie!Resolved we mingle in the tide,Where charging squadrons furious ride,To conquer or to die.'—From 'War-Song of Royal EdinburghLight Dragoons,' 1802.CHAPTER XXXVIIIAshestiel—39 Castle Street—'Honest Tom Purdie'—Associations of Scott's Work with Edinburgh Home—First Lines of the Lay—Abandons the Bar for Literature—Story of Gilpin Horner—Progress of the Poem.In the summer of 1803, when Scott was engaged in the military functions in which his heart delighted, he received a gentle hint from the Lord-Lieutenant of Selkirkshire with regard to the less exciting claims of his sheriffship. He had not yet complied strictly with the law which required that every sheriff should reside at least four months in the year within his own jurisdiction. In order to comply with the law, the Lasswade cottage was now given up, and in the summer of 1804 the family took up their residence for that season at Ashestiel, a farmhouse very romantically situated on the banks of the Tweed, a few miles from Selkirk. Their town residence, since 1802, was 39 Castle Street, and continued so to be till the black days of 1826. By the death of his uncle Robert in June 1804, Scott inherited Rosebank, 'a beautiful little villa on the banks of the Tweed, and about thirty acres of the finest land in Scotland.' The estate was sold in the course of the year for £5000. Scott's fixed income, from all sources, at this time seems to have been about £1000 a year. During the first week at Ashestiel the Sheriff acquired his famous retainer 'honest Tom Purdie'; the ideal companion that the Sheriff got so much good of, 'Tom Purdie, kneaded up between the friend and servant, as well as Uncle Toby's bowling-green between sand and clay.' This is Lockhart's account of their meeting: 'Tom was first brought before him, in his capacity of Sheriff, on a charge of poaching, when the poor fellow gave such a touching account of his circumstances—a wife, and I know not how many children, depending on his exertions—work scarce and grouse abundant—and all this with a mixture of odd sly humour,—that the Sheriff's heart was moved. Tom escaped the penalty of the law—was taken into employment as shepherd, and showed such zeal, activity, and shrewdness in that capacity, that Scott never had any occasion to repent of the step he soon afterwards took, in promoting him to the position' (of farm grieve) 'which had been originally offered to James Hogg.'To return to Edinburgh, and 39 Castle Street. 'Poor No. 39' was from 1802 Scott's home and headquarters, his workshop, where he had all his books and manuscripts stored, the tools he delighted to employ in planning and perfecting the wondrous works of his tireless pen and teeming fancy. The house had its connection therefore with the far greater part of Scott's literary work, a connection starting from theLay of the Last Minstrel, which Scott himself regarded as 'the first work in which he laid his claim to be considered as an original author,' and continuing as far asWoodstock, on which he was engaged in the fatal January of 1826. Even more than Abbotsford, No. 39 Castle Street deserves to be called the shrine of Scott's memory, having been the scene of his labours, the home of his children's infancy, the place where his friends and professional colleagues were feasted at his genial board, and the scene where the dauntless old hero took up his lance for his last romantic encounter, the fight with the fiery dragon of debt which Ballantyne had raised to torture his latest years. TheLaywas not actually commenced here, but at the Lasswade cottage. Here, in the autumn of 1802, he read the opening stanzas to his friends William Erskine and George Cranstoun.[1] They were naturally so much impressed as hardly to venture a remark, and the ardent poet concluded that 'their disgust had been greater than their good-nature chose to express.' He threw the MS. in the fire, but on finding that he had so strangely mistaken their feelings, he decided to begin again. The first canto was completed during a few days' confinement to his room in Musselburgh during the 'autumn manoeuvres,' and he thereafter proceeded with it at the rate of a canto a week. In his letter to George Ellis introducing Leyden, he mentions his intention of including in the third volume of theMinstrelsy'a long poem, a kind of romance of Border chivalry, in a light-horseman sort of stanza.'[1] Cranstoun, a great favourite of Scott's, was one of his legal advisers in his troubles. He became a lord of session in 1826, as Lord Corehouse.As we know from the Introduction to theLay, it was now, while the first draft of the poem was finished on his desk, that Scott finally resolved to abandon the Bar for literature. His last year's earnings, 1802-3, were £228, 18s. It is probable that his professional friends expected this, which would be sure to decrease their patronage. 'Certain it is,' he says, 'that the Scottish Themis was at this time peculiarly jealous of any flirtation with the Muses.' It showed, all the same, great confidence in his literary resources, for he was well aware that anything like a firm reputation with the public was a thing he had still to acquire.Every one now knows that the story of the goblin page, Gilpin Horner, was really the occasion which started the poem. The beautiful young Countess of Dalkeith, having heard the old legend, suggested half in jest that Scott should make a ballad of it. 'A single scene of feudal festivity in the hall of Branksome, disturbed by some pranks of a nondescript goblin, was probably all that he contemplated; but suddenly, as he meditates his theme to the sound of the bugle, there flashes on him the idea of extending his simple outline so as to embrace a vivid panorama of that old Border life of war and tumult. Erskine, or Cranstoun, suggests that he would do well to divide the poem into cantos, and prefix to each of them a motto explanatory of the action, after the fashion of Spenser in theFaery Queen. He pauses for a moment—and the happiest conception of the framework of a picturesque narrative that ever occurred to any poet—one that Homer might have envied—the creation of the ancient harper, starts to life. By such steps did theLay of the Last Minstrelgrow out of theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border.'Lockhart has also drawn attention to the fact that Scott seems to have been quite willing to communicate this poem, in its progress, to all and sundry of his acquaintances. 'We shall find him' (he adds) 'following the same course with hisMarmion—but not, I think, with any of his subsequent works. His determination to consult the movements of his own mind alone in the conduct of his pieces, was probably taken before he began theLay; and he soon resolved to trust for the detection of minor inaccuracies to two persons only—James Ballantyne and William Erskine.'CHAPTER XXXIXEdinburgh Literary Society—The Men of 1800-1820—Revelation of Scott's Poetical Genius—Effect in Edinburgh—Local Pride in his Greatness—Anecdote of Pitt—Success ofLay of the Last Minstrel—Connection with Ballantyne—Secrecy of the Partnership.Enough has been said of individuals, of both the old and the new generation, to show the kind of society which looked on when Walter Scott made his first great attempt upon the public favour. The days of Hume and Home and Robertson were past, but a few of their contemporaries, such as Fergusson and Henry Mackenzie, still adorned the scene. Then there were Jeffrey, Cockburn, Brougham, and the rest of the young Mountaineers whom Cockburn has so fondly sketched. Well may Cockburn sing the praises of the unforgotten time—the first two decades of the nineteenth century. He explains its brilliancy by 'a variety of peculiar circumstances which operated only during this period.' There was, of course, the excitement of the war, with the stir and enthusiasm of the military preparations, all promoting cordiality in social intercourse. The closing of the Continent to the English, and the celebrity of Edinburgh's scientists and philosophers, brought many southerners there for pleasure or for education. But above all, the Edinburgh of those days realised what can seldom be attained more than partially in great centres—the ideal of 'literature and society embellishing each other, without rivalry, and without pedantry.' After the Peace there began a process of decay. Southern visitors turned to Italy and France, as in former years. And our philosophic Memorialist quaintly admits that 'a new race of peaceformed native youths came on the stage, but with little literature, and a comfortless intensity of political zeal.'To all the best of this interesting society Scott was already known, to many among both the old and the young he was an intimate friend, but they could hardly have foreseen, any more than he himself could have anticipated, the marvellous possibilities of the career of which they now beheld the auspicious start. Fortunately we have, in Cockburn'sMemorials, a brief and sober, but genuine and interesting picture of contemporary feeling in Edinburgh: 'Walter Scott's vivacity and force had been felt since his boyhood by his comrades, and he had disclosed his literary inclinations by some translations of German ballads, and a few slight pieces in theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border; but his power of great original conception and execution was unknown both to his friends and himself. In 1805 he revealed his true self by the publication of theLay of the Last Minstrel. The subject, from the principle of which he rarely afterwards deviated, was, for the period singularly happy. It recalled scenes and times and characters so near as almost to linger in the memories of the old, and yet so remote that their revival, under poetical embellishments, imparted the double pleasure of invention and of history. The instant completeness of his success showed him his region. TheLaywas followed by a more impressive pause of wonder and then by a louder shout of admiration, than even our previous Edinburgh poem—The Pleasures of Hope. But nobody, not even Scott, anticipated what was to follow. Nobody imagined the career that was before him; that the fertility of his genius was to be its most wonderful distinction; that there was to be an unceasing recurrence of fresh delight, enhanced by surprise at his rapidity and richness. His advances were like the conquests of Napoleon; each new achievement overshadowing the last; till people half wearied of his very profusion. The quick succession of his original works, interspersed as they were with (for him rather unworthy) productions of a lower kind, threw a literary splendour over his native city, which had now the glory of being at once the seat of the most popular poetry, and the most powerful criticism of the age.'An interesting anecdote is recorded by an early friend, William Dundas, which pleasantly connects with Scott the name of the great premier Pitt, then drawing, in solitary grandeur, near to the end of his extraordinary career. Dundas writes: 'I remember at Mr. Pitt's table in 1805, the Chancellor asked me about you and your then situation, and after I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed—"He can't remain as he is," and desired me to "look to it." He then repeated some lines from theLaydescribing the old harper's embarrassment when asked to play, and said—"This is a sort of thing which I might have expected in painting, but could never have fancied capable of being given in poetry."As regards the sale of the poem, the figures established a record in the history of popular poetry in Britain. 'The first edition of theLaywas a magnificent quarto, seven hundred and fifty copies; but this was soon exhausted, and there followed one octavo impression after another in close succession to the number of fourteen. In fact, some forty-four thousand copies had been disposed of in this country, and by the legitimate trade alone, before he superintended the edition of 1830, to which his biographical introductions were prefixed. The author's whole share in the profits of theLaycame to £769, 6s.'Very shortly after this Scott's unworldly faith and simple confidence in his friend led him to hoist on his shoulders the odious Succubus Ballantyne. This personage, pleading increasing expenses and need of 'more capital,' applied for a second 'liberal loan.' We have the man's own story, which to those who know what business is, needs no comment. We see the confident, smirking tradesman gaily holding up the bottomless sack, and Scott, with the sublime folly of a generous and sanguine nature, pouring his hard-won treasures into it. 'Now,' says James, 'being compelled, maugre all delicacy' (how well he understood Scott!) 'to renew my application, he candidly answered that he was not quite sure that it would be prudent for him to comply, but in order to evince his entire confidence in me, he was willing to make a suitable advance to be admitted as a third-sharer in my business.' Lockhart observes on this, that no trace has been discovered of any examination into the state of the business on the part of Scott, at this time. This is the sort of remark one would expect from Lockhart, a gentleman: but the implied acceptance of a portion of the blame for Scott is quite unnecessary. The question is, 'What did the Succubus say, and what did he show, to Scott at this time? Enough, I have no doubt, to convince Scott, and on quite good and sufficient grounds, that he was being favoured in being permitted to have a share in the concern. The fallacy, and the weakness, were in the man, not in the business. Scott's one mistake was this transcendental confidence in Ballantyne, who was a man formed by nature tofail! The partnership was very wisely kept a strict secret, and seems for years not even to have been suspected by any of his daily companions, except Erskine. Lockhart has remarked that 'its influence on his literary exertions and his worldly fortunes was productive of much good and not a little evil. I at this moment doubt whether it ought, on the whole, to be considered with more of satisfaction or of regret.'CHAPTER XLScott and Jeffrey—Founding ofEdinburgh Review—Impression in Edinburgh—Its Political and Literary Pretences—Review ofLayby Jeffrey—Strange Mistake—Beautiful Appreciation by Mr. Gladstone quoted—TheDies Irae.In his Introduction to theLayScott mentions,inter alia, that the poem had 'received the imprimatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had been already for some time distinguished by his critical talent.' TheEdinburgh Review *had been founded on the 10th of October 1802. Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, Brougham, and Horner were the most conspicuous among the founders. Sydney Smith was the first editor. He mentions the fact in the Preface to his Works: 'I proposed that we should set up a review; this was acceded to with acclamation. I was appointed editor, and remained long enough in Edinburgh to edit the first number of the *Edinburgh Review.' Cockburn confirms the statement, but points out that the projectors, though he was not at first their formal editor, leant mainly on Jeffrey's experience and wisdom. Though Smith actually edited the first number, it appears from Jeffrey's well-known statement that there was no official editor at first. After three numbers had appeared, it was seen that a responsible editor was indispensable. Jeffrey then became editor, under a fixed arrangement with the publisher, Archibald Constable.Like every other successful literary enterprise, theEdinburgh Reviewwas well fitted to the circumstances and to the time. Historically its importance was far greater than we can now well realise. But we can, from Cockburn's glowing account of it, to some extent conceive how to the literary youth of the time it appeared a phenomenon as remarkable as the original works of Scott. In hisLifeof Jeffrey he gives a long and complete account of the founding and the founders of theReview, and says of its first appearance: 'The effect was electrical. And, instead of expiring, as many wished, in their first effort, the force of the shock was increased on each subsequent discharge. It is impossible for those who did not live at the time, and in the heart of the scene, to feel, or almost to understand the impression made by the new luminary, or the anxieties with which its motions were observed. It was an entire and instant change of everything that the public had been accustomed to in that sort of composition. The old periodical opiates were extinguished at once. The learning of the new Journal, its talent, its spirit, its writing, its independence, were all new; and the surprise was increased by a work so full of public life springing up, suddenly, in a remote part of the kingdom.'TheReviewwas, of course, obnoxious to the opponents of reform. It was assailed with the usual amount of ridicule and personal abuse, and with prophecies of the speedy demise of so scandalous a publication. Few, indeed, anticipated that it had come to stay. None foresaw the services it was destined to perform. But all watched its progress with intense curiosity and interest. In Edinburgh, naturally, the interest was of the greatest. Men soon perceived that it was creating a new literary reputation for the city. It was something gained when the voice of Edinburgh counted for a power in political affairs. And, of course, with continued success, the voice became stronger, and the importance of Scottish opinion in both politics and literature was more and more widely acknowledged. 'All were the better for a journal to which every one with an object of due importance had access, which it was vain either to bully or to despise, and of the fame of which even its reasonable haters were inwardly proud.'Jeffrey's review of theLayis, on the whole, creditable to his critical sagacity and taste, though its praise fell far short of the impression made by the poem on the public mind. He made one strange enough blunder. He found fault with the goblin story, which he regarded as an excrescence, not knowing that it was actually the origin and occasion of the whole. He was wrong also in doubting the power of the poet's genius to inspire an interest in the exploits of the stark moss-troopers, and in the rugged names of the Border heroes and the Border scenes. All these uncouth names are now familiar in our mouths as household words.To sum up with theLay, Mr. Gladstone, in that delightfulcauserieon Scott given to his friends at Hawarden in 1868, said two excellent things about Scott's poetry. The first is, that Scott's reputation rests not less on his verse than on his prose. The second is, that his most extraordinary power, his highest genius, is shown at times in his poetry. 'I know nothing more sublime in the writings of Sir Walter Scott—certainly I know nothing so sublime in any portion of the sacred poetry of modern times—I mean of the present century—as the "Hymn for the Dead," extending only to twelve lines, which he embodied in theLay of the Last Minstrel. It is in these words, and they perhaps may be familiar:—"That day of wrath, that dreadful day,When heaven and earth shall pass away!What power shall be the sinner's stay?How shall he meet that dreadful day?When shrivelling like a parched scroll,The flaming heavens together roll;When louder yet, and yet more dread,Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,When man to judgment wakes from clay,Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay,Though heaven and earth shall pass away!"Simple as these words, and few as these lines are, they are enough to stamp with greatness the name of the man who wrote them.'CHAPTER XLITown and Country—Scott's Ideal—Reversion of Clerkship—Impeachment of Lord Melville—Acquittal—The Edinburgh Dinner—Scott's Song of Triumph—Nature of his Professional Duties—Social Claims and Literary Industry.When Scott decided to abandon the Bar, he had no intention of quitting Edinburgh. Notwithstanding his delight in natural scenery and his real fondness for rural pursuits and his passion for sport, he had an equally strong attachment to the city and its old routine. 'Here is the advantage of Edinburgh' (he says in hisJournal). 'In the country, if a sense of inability once seizes me, it haunts me from morning to night; but in Edinburgh the time is so occupied and frittered away by official duties and chance occupation, that you have not time to play Master Stephen and be gentlemanlike and melancholy. On the other hand, you never feel in town those spirit-stirring influences—those glances of sunshine that make amends for clouds and mist. The country is said to be quieter life; not to me, I am sure. In the town the business I have to do hardly costs me more thought than just occupies my mind, and I have as much of gossip and ladylike chat as consumes the time pleasantly enough. In the country I am thrown entirely on my own resources, and there is no medium betwixt happiness and the reverse.' To carry out his ideal, therefore, of a life alternating between town and country, and enjoying the best of both, and to keep his mind easy about the provision—generous, of course—which he should make for his increasing family, Scott was not satisfied with an income of £1000 a year. He accordingly set about obtaining another post—such a post (he frankly puts it) as an author might hope to retreat upon, without any perceptible alteration of circumstances, whenever the time came that the public grew weary of him, or he himself tired of his pen. He hoped, in fact, to obtain a clerkship in the Court of Session, and his friends began to work for it just after theLaywas published. These friends were the Duke of Buccleuch and Lord Melville, and, as we have seen, Pitt himself had given orders that something should be done. Near the end of 1805 it was arranged that Scott should have the succession to the clerkship held by Mr. Home of Wedderburn. The old gentleman was to retain the whole salary during his life, while Scott was to do the work and fall into the salary at Home's death. The matter was arranged just before Lord Melville's retirement, but a mistake having been made in the patent, Scott's commission had to be made out by the Home Secretary of the Whig Government of 1806. Thus it appeared as if he had owed his appointment to the Whigs, and some of the meaner sort among the local people grumbled loudly and complained of the preference. Scott resented this doubly, since he really owed nothing to the Whig Ministry and would never have accepted a favour at their hands. Lockhart says that this incident was the occasion of his making himself prominent for a time as a decided Tory partisan.The Coalition Government signalised its accession to power by impeaching Lord Melville. The charges, it is now well known, were groundless and absurd. At the same time 'the investigation brought out many circumstances by no means creditable to his discretion.' But on the one side there was a savage whoop of triumph when the autocrat was himself brought to trial; on the other, loud and scornful jubilation when the great pro-consul was acquitted. Less noise might well have served. In Edinburgh a public dinner was held to celebrate the event, on the 27th of June 1806, and for this occasion Scott wrote a jolly piece of rattling doggerel, 'Health to Lord Melville,' which was sung by James Ballantyne, and received with shouts of applause. A line in this song 'Tally-ho to the Fox,' was fastened upon by political spite as a shout of triumph over Fox, because he was then on his death-bed. Never was any effort of malignity more idiotic. If it had been so intended, even a fool might have seen that it would have been irrelevant. It was, of course, merely one note of the triumphal cock-crowing at the defeat of the impeachment. Any one who could seriously think that Scott would for a moment rejoice at the illness or death of Fox is outside the pale of argument.Surprise has often been expressed at the enormous output of Scott's literary labours during the twenty most active years of his life. But, vast as it is, the literary output represents only half of his industry and exertion. Neither his sheriffship nor his clerkship was a sinecure. The latter required actual attendance in the court, on the average, for from four to six hours daily during rather less than six months out of the twelve. The work, though partly mechanical, constantly entailed extra toil in the way of consulting law papers and authorities at home. It is well known, too, that Scott performed these duties with the most conscientious regularity and care. He never employed inferior assistants to relieve himself of drudgery. He took a just pride, as did also the best of his colleagues, in maintaining a high reputation for legal science. There can, indeed, be no question of the justness of his biographer's view, that it forms one of the most remarkable features in his history, that during his great period of literary production, he must have devoted a large proportion of his hours, during half at least of every year, to the conscientious discharge of professional duties.Thus Scott, while in Edinburgh, led a life of very exacting labour, and strictly governed by official routine. His habit of early rising enabled him to get through the larger portion of his literary task before breakfast. He was always ready to play his part cheerfully in the duties of the family circle, as well as to implement the round of social engagements. The latter were always great, owing to his own and his wife's popularity in society. Of course, as time went on and his fame became world-wide, these social calls upon his leisure became greater and greater. Still, he would often contrive to rescue some of the evening hours as well, in order to complete the minimum of his daily literary task. But for occasional drives with his family or friends, his time in town was mainly spent indoors, and later on he confessed that this want of activity and open-air life proved highly injurious to his bodily health.CHAPTER XLIIColleagues at the Clerks' Table-Morritt on Scott's Conversation—His Home Life—Treatment of his Children—Ideas on Education—Knowledge of the Bible—Horsemanship, Courage, Veracity—Success of the Training.The kindly affections of friendship were always to Scott 'the dearest part of human intercourse.' Even in 'that sand-cart of a place, the Parliament House' he found them in abundance. Among his colleagues were Colin Mackenzie of Portmore, the friend of his boyhood, 'one of the wisest, kindest, and best men of his time': Hector Macdonald Buchanan of Drummakiln: Sir Robert Dundas of Beechwood: and David Hume, nephew of the great David and Professor of Scots Law, afterwards a Baron of the Exchequer. Mentioning a dinner at Dundas's house, Scott says, 'My littlenieces(ex officio) gave us some pretty music.' The explanation of this is that all these families were so intimate and friendly that the children all called their fathers' colleaguesuncles, and the mothers of their little friendsaunts. 'In truth' (says Lockhart) 'the establishment was a brotherhood.'We may here quote his friend Morritt's description, which, referring to the year 1808, gives so lifelike a notion of what Scott was to the friends of his prime: 'At this period his conversation was more equal and animated than any man's that I ever knew. It was most characterised by the extreme felicity and fun of his illustrations, drawn from the whole encyclopedia of life and nature, in a style sometimes too exuberant for written narrative, but which to him was natural and spontaneous. A hundred stories, always apposite, and often interesting the mind by strong pathos, or eminently ludicrous, were daily told, which, with many more, have since been transplanted, almost in the same language, into the Waverley Novels and his other writings. These, and his recitations of poetry, which can never be forgotten by those who knew him, made up the charm that his boundless memory enabled him to exert to the wonder of the gaping lovers of wonders. But equally impressive and powerful was the language of his warm heart, and equally wonderful were the conclusions of his vigorous understanding, to those who could return or appreciate either. Among a number of such recollections, I have seen many of the thoughts which then passed through his mind embodied in the delightful prefaces annexed late in life to his poetry and novels. Keenly enjoying literature as he did, and indulging his own love of it in perpetual composition, he always maintained the same estimate of it as subordinate and auxiliary to the purposes of life, and rather talked of men and events than of books and criticism.'The happiness he made at home for his children in their early years has been revealed by his son-in-law in a charming passage. Though familiar to many, it can hardly be out of place here: 'He had now two boys and two girls:—and he never had more. (They were Charlotte Sophia, born 1799; Walter, 1801; Anne, 1803; and Charles, 1805). He was not one of those who take much delight in a mere infant; but no father ever devoted more time and tender care to his offspring than he did to each of his, as they reached the age when they could listen to him, and understand his talk. Like their playmates, Camp and the greyhounds, they had at all times free access to his study; he never considered their prattle as any disturbance; they went and came as pleased their fancy; he was always ready to answer their questions; and when they, unconscious how he was engaged, entreated him to lay down his pen and tell them a story, he would take them on his knee, repeat a ballad or legend, kiss them, and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins, and resume his labour, as if refreshed by the interruption. From a very early age he made them dine at table, and "to sit up to supper" was the great reward when they had been "very good bairns." In short, he considered it as the highest duty as well as the sweetest pleasure of a parent to be the companion of his children; he partook all their little joys and sorrows, and made his kind unformal instructions to blend so easily and playfully with the current of their own sayings and doings, that so far from regarding him with any distant awe, it was never thought that any sport or diversion could get on in the right way, unlesspapawere of the party, or that the rainiest day could be dull, so he were at home.'Scott was no elaborate theorist in regard to education. His sound practical sense laid hold instinctively of a few invaluable principles, and these he carried out with his children with the most beneficial results. He would have nothing to do with the great specific of the period, those fearful 'children's books' filled with endless facts of science precisely worded for the purpose of committing to memory. He was quite pleased, however, with the older-fashioned books, in which stories appealing to the imagination were employed as a means of exciting curiosity in graver matters. He took pains to select for their tasks in recitation such passages of poetry as might be expected to please their fancy. His own stories and legends with which he amused them were the beginnings of an intelligent interest in Scottish History, and on Sundays the Bible stories were in the same way made at once delightful and familiar. 'He had his Bible' (says Lockhart), 'the Old Testament especially, by heart; and on these days inwove the simple pathos or sublime enthusiasm of Scripture, in whatever story he was telling, with the same picturesque richness as in his week-day tales the quaint Scotch of Pitscottie, or some rude romantic old rhyme from Barbour'sBruceor Blind Harry'sWallace:It was characteristic of the man to combine, like Xenophon's ancient Persians, the love of truth and the love of horsemanship as the two greatest aims in education. Each of his children, both girls and boys, became, as soon as old and strong enough for the exercise, the companion of his own rides over moor and stream and hill. He taught them to laugh at tumbles and slight misadventures, and they soon caught his own spirit, and came to delight in adventurous feats like his own. 'Without courage,' he used to say, 'there cannot be truth; and without truth there can be no other virtue.' With such a teacher, we may be sure the two fundamental virtues were imbibed in full perfection.CHAPTER XLIIIMarmion—Published by Constable—Misfortunes of Thomas Scott—George Ellis onMarmion—Hostile Review by Jeffrey—Charge of Want of Patriotism—Mrs. Scott and Jeffrey—Extraordinary Success of the Poem.Marmionwas begun in November 1806, and continued at intervals during the following year. He had made up his mind—so he tells us in the Introduction—not to be in a hurry with his new poem, but to bestow upon it more than his usual care. Particular passages accordingly were 'laboured with a good deal of care' and the progress of the work seems to have given him much pleasure. 'The period of its composition was a very happy one in my life.'Marmionwas the first of Scott's original works published by Archibald Constable. This enterprising gentleman offered a thousand guineas for the poem shortly after it was begun, a fact which speaks volumes at once for the sagacity of the publisher and the impression already made by the poet. The offer was accepted, and the price paid long before the book was published. Scott seems to have had occasion for the use of the money in connection with the final withdrawal of his brother Thomas at this time from practice as a Writer to the Signet. Thomas had been unfortunate in certain speculations outside his proper business. He afterwards became paymaster of the 70th Regiment and died in Canada.The appearance ofMarmionwas expected with intense interest in literary circles. It was published in the February of 1808. The general feeling was that expressed after an interval of two months by Scott's friend George Ellis, that 'dear old friend, who had more wit, learning, and knowledge of the world than would fit out twentyliterati.' Ellis writes, 'All the world are agreed that you are like the elephant mentioned in theSpectator, who was the greatest elephant in the world except himself, and consequently, that the only question at issue is, whether theLayorMarmionshall be reputed the most pleasing poem in our language.' He goes on to say that most people consider the Introductory Epistles—that to Canto V. is addressed to himself—as merely interruptions to the narrative. He expresses his own opinion thatMarmionis preferable to theLay, because its species of excellence is of much more difficult attainment. He thinks thatMarmion, from the nature of the plot, and from the quality and variety of the characters, might with advantage have been largely extended, and elevated to the rank and dignity of an Epic in twelve books. Such seems to have been, in brief, the spontaneous verdict onMarmionof London literary circles when the poem was fresh from the press. TheEdinburgh Review, all-powerful as the critical oracle of the time, had not yet recorded its verdict.Jeffrey'sReviewhad now been in existence for six years. Its pages were constantly illuminated by the brilliant productions of its army of able and talented young contributors. So far, also, it was without any rival worth considering at all. Its circulation was unprecedented, and its power to make or mar the fortunes of literary aspirants was esteemed absolute. Scott himself says, 'Of this work nine thousand copies are printed quarterly, and no genteel family can pretend to be without it, because, independent of its politics, it gives the only valuable literary criticism which can be met with.' On reading over Jeffrey's review ofMarmion, one feels even yet aggrieved: but as it did not hurt the actual victim, we need only say, with Lockhart, 'it is highly creditable to Jeffrey's courageous sense of duty.' Certainly, it requires a good deal of that quality, and of coolness as well, to accumulate such a wealth of depreciation and petty fault-finding on the head of a private friend and honoured colleague. Jeffrey fully anticipated that Scott would take offence, for he wrote him a half-apologetic letter, which was sent along with Scott's copy of the magazine. The article begins with Jeffrey's favourite sweep of the arm—the writer of a successful poem must expect sterner criticism when he ventures to issue a second of the same kind. This paves the way to enumerating previous objections—broken narrative, redundancy of minute description, inequality of merit in the composition, and the general spirit and animation 'unchastised by any great delicacy of taste, or elegance of fancy.' All these faults are common to both the poems, butMarmionis crowded with additional defects. Compared with theLay, he thinks it more clear thatMarmionhas greater faults than that it has greater beauties, though he isinclinedto believe in both propositions. While he admits greater richness and variety both of character and incident, he finds in it more tedious and flat passages. He refers with supercilious contempt to the 'epistolary dissertations,' in which, poor man, he finds little to his taste. He seems to be savagely angry that the poem is a romantic narrative—presumably it ought to have been something else. He regrets that the author should consume his talent in 'imitations of obsolete extravagance,' in which he is sure no human being can take any interest. He sums up his indictment in numbered paragraphs: the plan bad, the incidents improbable, the characters morally worthless, and the book too long. Though he does give warm and unstinted praise to 'Flodden Field,' he finds, strange to say, that the interspersed ballads have less finish and poetical beauty. Stranger still, the author has wilfully neglected Scottish feelings and Scottish characters. Think of this charge against Walter Scott—'scarcely one trait of Scottish nationality or patriotism has been introduced into the book'! A good deal is said about 'bad taste' and culpable haste. Then the merciful critic adds that he passes over many other blemishes of taste and diction. It happened that Jeffrey was invited to dine at 39 Castle Street on the very day this article appeared. In reply to Jeffrey's note Scott assured him that the article had not disturbed his digestion, though he hoped neither his booksellers nor the public would agree with the opinions it expressed: and begged he would come to dinner at the hour appointed. Lockhart tells how he was received by his host with the frankest cordiality, but Mrs. Scott, though perfectly polite, was not quite so easy with him as usual. She said as he took his leave, 'Well, good night, Mr. Jeffrey—they tell me that you have abused Scott in theReview, and I hope Mr. Constable has paid you very well for writing it.' Scott could indeed afford to be complacent. There was, if anything, some danger of the popularity ofMarmiongiving even him 'a heeze.'The success ofMarmionas a publication was as remarkable as that of theLay. The first edition, as usual a splendid quarto, of two thousand copies was sold out in less than a month. More than thirty thousand copies had been sold before the collected edition of the poems appeared in 1830.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Enthusiasm of Volunteers—Drill and Sham Fights—Scott's Letters—Quartermaster—Anecdote by Cockburn—Recruiting for the Army—Indifference to Fear of Invasion—Greatness of the Danger—War Song of 1802.
Captain Coburn's company was the left flank company of the 'Western Battalion of Midlothian Volunteers.' The right flank company was commanded by John Archibald Murray (afterwards Lord Murray), so that both these companies had embryo judges at their head. So ardent was their zeal that, besides the general day performance in Heriot's Green and Bruntsfield Links, the two companies used to drill almost every night of the four winter months of 1804 and 1805, by torch-light, in the ground flat of the George Street Assembly Rooms, which was then all one earthen-floored apartment. Then there was drilling with the whole regiment, besides parades, reviews, and four to six inspections in the course of the year. Sometimes they were ordered on 'permanent duty' to Leith or Haddington, and billeted on the long-suffering citizens. Then there were the sham fights, the marches, and the continual serio-comedy of the officers' mess. Such was the state of affairs for years in every corner of Great Britain. All who enrolled as volunteers were exempt from the militia ballot and from the risk of having to serve in the field as long as the war lasted. Thus the volunteer ranks were easily filled; and the sense of duty, or the contagious excitement of the time, supplied plenty of officers. The whole population, in fact, became military. Any able-bodied man, of whatever rank, who wasnota volunteer, or a local militiaman, had to explain or apologise for his singularity.
Scott's letters of this time are full of the camp scenes at Musselburgh. Writing in July, he says to Miss Seward, 'We are assuming a very military appearance. Three regiments of militia, with a formidable park of artillery, are encamped just by us. The Edinburgh Troop, to which I have the honour to be quarter-master, consists entirely of young gentlemen of family, and is, of course, admirably well mounted and armed. For myself, I must own that to one who has, like me,la tête un peu exaltée, "the pomp and circumstance of war" gives, for a time, a very poignant and pleasing sensation. The imposing appearance of cavalry, in particular, and the rush which marks their onset, appear to me to partake highly of the sublime.'
But the sublime was occasionally varied by a touch of the ludicrous. This is brought very vividly before us in the anecdote related by Cockburn, who, like the rest, records Scott's extraordinary zeal in the patriotic cause. 'It was,' he says, 'with him an absolute passion, indulgence in which gratified his feudal taste for war, and his jovial sociableness. He drilled, and drank, and made songs, with a hearty conscientious earnestness which inspired or shamed everybody within the attraction. I do not know if it is usual, but his troop used to practise, individually, with the sabre at a turnip,[1] which was stuck on the top of a staff, to represent a Frenchman, in front of the line. Every other trooper, when he set forward in his turn, was far less concerned about the success of his aim at the turnip, than about how he was to tumble. But Walter pricked forward gallantly, saying to himself, "cut them down, the villains, cut them down!" and made his blow, which from his lameness was often an awkward one, cordially muttering curses all the while at the detested enemy.'
[1] One thinks of Oliver Proudfute and his sternpost of a dromond, fixed up in his yard for practice. 'That must make you familiar with the use of your weapon,' said the Smith. 'Ay, marry does it.'—Fair Maid of Perth, chap. viii.
Looking at the patriotic movement in the cold light of reason, one can see that its real use was a much humbler one than those enthusiastic and gallant fellows intended. Young artisans and ploughmen who had once joined the volunteers, falling in love with the liveliness and display of the military career, and becoming unsettled in mind for the dull routine of their daily work, drifted readily into the paid militia. Thus the volunteer system was indirectly a splendid means of recruiting for the army. But there can be no doubt that for immediate service in the field—and it was for this that they were preparing—the volunteers would not have been found qualified. Their existence, however, gave the nation confidence, and prevented all danger of panic. It is marvellous to find, on the best evidence of those who lived and acted important parts in those critical years, that the general feeling about invasion was one of complete indifference. Most people went about their own business, and trusted to the country's luck. Although justified by events, it was an ill-founded security. Men of speculative minds, the Cockburns and the Horners, were in a great and genuine fright. Romantic and active spirits, like Scott, anticipated the turning of their sport into earnest at any moment. And how easily it might have happened so. 'Questions are mooted' (said Horner), 'and possibilities supposed, that make one shudder for the fate of the world.' Certainly there were reasons enough for constant fear and dread: the brilliant and unbroken success of Napoleon's arms: Ireland, a ready and willing basis for his first attack: and then the fearful loss and suffering to a country so thickly peopled and utterly unprepared for internal defence, should the war actually be brought within our bounds.
'If ever breath of British galeShall fan the tri-color,Or footstep of invader rude,With rapine foul, and red with blood,Pollute our happy shore—Then, farewell home, and farewell friends!Adieu each tender tie!Resolved we mingle in the tide,Where charging squadrons furious ride,To conquer or to die.'—From 'War-Song of Royal EdinburghLight Dragoons,' 1802.
'If ever breath of British galeShall fan the tri-color,Or footstep of invader rude,With rapine foul, and red with blood,Pollute our happy shore—Then, farewell home, and farewell friends!Adieu each tender tie!Resolved we mingle in the tide,Where charging squadrons furious ride,To conquer or to die.'—
'If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-color,
Shall fan the tri-color,
Or footstep of invader rude,
With rapine foul, and red with blood,
Pollute our happy shore—
Pollute our happy shore—
Then, farewell home, and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!
Adieu each tender tie!
Resolved we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer or to die.'—
To conquer or to die.'—
From 'War-Song of Royal EdinburghLight Dragoons,' 1802.
From 'War-Song of Royal Edinburgh
Light Dragoons,' 1802.
Light Dragoons,' 1802.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Ashestiel—39 Castle Street—'Honest Tom Purdie'—Associations of Scott's Work with Edinburgh Home—First Lines of the Lay—Abandons the Bar for Literature—Story of Gilpin Horner—Progress of the Poem.
In the summer of 1803, when Scott was engaged in the military functions in which his heart delighted, he received a gentle hint from the Lord-Lieutenant of Selkirkshire with regard to the less exciting claims of his sheriffship. He had not yet complied strictly with the law which required that every sheriff should reside at least four months in the year within his own jurisdiction. In order to comply with the law, the Lasswade cottage was now given up, and in the summer of 1804 the family took up their residence for that season at Ashestiel, a farmhouse very romantically situated on the banks of the Tweed, a few miles from Selkirk. Their town residence, since 1802, was 39 Castle Street, and continued so to be till the black days of 1826. By the death of his uncle Robert in June 1804, Scott inherited Rosebank, 'a beautiful little villa on the banks of the Tweed, and about thirty acres of the finest land in Scotland.' The estate was sold in the course of the year for £5000. Scott's fixed income, from all sources, at this time seems to have been about £1000 a year. During the first week at Ashestiel the Sheriff acquired his famous retainer 'honest Tom Purdie'; the ideal companion that the Sheriff got so much good of, 'Tom Purdie, kneaded up between the friend and servant, as well as Uncle Toby's bowling-green between sand and clay.' This is Lockhart's account of their meeting: 'Tom was first brought before him, in his capacity of Sheriff, on a charge of poaching, when the poor fellow gave such a touching account of his circumstances—a wife, and I know not how many children, depending on his exertions—work scarce and grouse abundant—and all this with a mixture of odd sly humour,—that the Sheriff's heart was moved. Tom escaped the penalty of the law—was taken into employment as shepherd, and showed such zeal, activity, and shrewdness in that capacity, that Scott never had any occasion to repent of the step he soon afterwards took, in promoting him to the position' (of farm grieve) 'which had been originally offered to James Hogg.'
To return to Edinburgh, and 39 Castle Street. 'Poor No. 39' was from 1802 Scott's home and headquarters, his workshop, where he had all his books and manuscripts stored, the tools he delighted to employ in planning and perfecting the wondrous works of his tireless pen and teeming fancy. The house had its connection therefore with the far greater part of Scott's literary work, a connection starting from theLay of the Last Minstrel, which Scott himself regarded as 'the first work in which he laid his claim to be considered as an original author,' and continuing as far asWoodstock, on which he was engaged in the fatal January of 1826. Even more than Abbotsford, No. 39 Castle Street deserves to be called the shrine of Scott's memory, having been the scene of his labours, the home of his children's infancy, the place where his friends and professional colleagues were feasted at his genial board, and the scene where the dauntless old hero took up his lance for his last romantic encounter, the fight with the fiery dragon of debt which Ballantyne had raised to torture his latest years. TheLaywas not actually commenced here, but at the Lasswade cottage. Here, in the autumn of 1802, he read the opening stanzas to his friends William Erskine and George Cranstoun.[1] They were naturally so much impressed as hardly to venture a remark, and the ardent poet concluded that 'their disgust had been greater than their good-nature chose to express.' He threw the MS. in the fire, but on finding that he had so strangely mistaken their feelings, he decided to begin again. The first canto was completed during a few days' confinement to his room in Musselburgh during the 'autumn manoeuvres,' and he thereafter proceeded with it at the rate of a canto a week. In his letter to George Ellis introducing Leyden, he mentions his intention of including in the third volume of theMinstrelsy'a long poem, a kind of romance of Border chivalry, in a light-horseman sort of stanza.'
[1] Cranstoun, a great favourite of Scott's, was one of his legal advisers in his troubles. He became a lord of session in 1826, as Lord Corehouse.
As we know from the Introduction to theLay, it was now, while the first draft of the poem was finished on his desk, that Scott finally resolved to abandon the Bar for literature. His last year's earnings, 1802-3, were £228, 18s. It is probable that his professional friends expected this, which would be sure to decrease their patronage. 'Certain it is,' he says, 'that the Scottish Themis was at this time peculiarly jealous of any flirtation with the Muses.' It showed, all the same, great confidence in his literary resources, for he was well aware that anything like a firm reputation with the public was a thing he had still to acquire.
Every one now knows that the story of the goblin page, Gilpin Horner, was really the occasion which started the poem. The beautiful young Countess of Dalkeith, having heard the old legend, suggested half in jest that Scott should make a ballad of it. 'A single scene of feudal festivity in the hall of Branksome, disturbed by some pranks of a nondescript goblin, was probably all that he contemplated; but suddenly, as he meditates his theme to the sound of the bugle, there flashes on him the idea of extending his simple outline so as to embrace a vivid panorama of that old Border life of war and tumult. Erskine, or Cranstoun, suggests that he would do well to divide the poem into cantos, and prefix to each of them a motto explanatory of the action, after the fashion of Spenser in theFaery Queen. He pauses for a moment—and the happiest conception of the framework of a picturesque narrative that ever occurred to any poet—one that Homer might have envied—the creation of the ancient harper, starts to life. By such steps did theLay of the Last Minstrelgrow out of theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border.'
Lockhart has also drawn attention to the fact that Scott seems to have been quite willing to communicate this poem, in its progress, to all and sundry of his acquaintances. 'We shall find him' (he adds) 'following the same course with hisMarmion—but not, I think, with any of his subsequent works. His determination to consult the movements of his own mind alone in the conduct of his pieces, was probably taken before he began theLay; and he soon resolved to trust for the detection of minor inaccuracies to two persons only—James Ballantyne and William Erskine.'
CHAPTER XXXIX
Edinburgh Literary Society—The Men of 1800-1820—Revelation of Scott's Poetical Genius—Effect in Edinburgh—Local Pride in his Greatness—Anecdote of Pitt—Success ofLay of the Last Minstrel—Connection with Ballantyne—Secrecy of the Partnership.
Enough has been said of individuals, of both the old and the new generation, to show the kind of society which looked on when Walter Scott made his first great attempt upon the public favour. The days of Hume and Home and Robertson were past, but a few of their contemporaries, such as Fergusson and Henry Mackenzie, still adorned the scene. Then there were Jeffrey, Cockburn, Brougham, and the rest of the young Mountaineers whom Cockburn has so fondly sketched. Well may Cockburn sing the praises of the unforgotten time—the first two decades of the nineteenth century. He explains its brilliancy by 'a variety of peculiar circumstances which operated only during this period.' There was, of course, the excitement of the war, with the stir and enthusiasm of the military preparations, all promoting cordiality in social intercourse. The closing of the Continent to the English, and the celebrity of Edinburgh's scientists and philosophers, brought many southerners there for pleasure or for education. But above all, the Edinburgh of those days realised what can seldom be attained more than partially in great centres—the ideal of 'literature and society embellishing each other, without rivalry, and without pedantry.' After the Peace there began a process of decay. Southern visitors turned to Italy and France, as in former years. And our philosophic Memorialist quaintly admits that 'a new race of peaceformed native youths came on the stage, but with little literature, and a comfortless intensity of political zeal.'
To all the best of this interesting society Scott was already known, to many among both the old and the young he was an intimate friend, but they could hardly have foreseen, any more than he himself could have anticipated, the marvellous possibilities of the career of which they now beheld the auspicious start. Fortunately we have, in Cockburn'sMemorials, a brief and sober, but genuine and interesting picture of contemporary feeling in Edinburgh: 'Walter Scott's vivacity and force had been felt since his boyhood by his comrades, and he had disclosed his literary inclinations by some translations of German ballads, and a few slight pieces in theMinstrelsy of the Scottish Border; but his power of great original conception and execution was unknown both to his friends and himself. In 1805 he revealed his true self by the publication of theLay of the Last Minstrel. The subject, from the principle of which he rarely afterwards deviated, was, for the period singularly happy. It recalled scenes and times and characters so near as almost to linger in the memories of the old, and yet so remote that their revival, under poetical embellishments, imparted the double pleasure of invention and of history. The instant completeness of his success showed him his region. TheLaywas followed by a more impressive pause of wonder and then by a louder shout of admiration, than even our previous Edinburgh poem—The Pleasures of Hope. But nobody, not even Scott, anticipated what was to follow. Nobody imagined the career that was before him; that the fertility of his genius was to be its most wonderful distinction; that there was to be an unceasing recurrence of fresh delight, enhanced by surprise at his rapidity and richness. His advances were like the conquests of Napoleon; each new achievement overshadowing the last; till people half wearied of his very profusion. The quick succession of his original works, interspersed as they were with (for him rather unworthy) productions of a lower kind, threw a literary splendour over his native city, which had now the glory of being at once the seat of the most popular poetry, and the most powerful criticism of the age.'
An interesting anecdote is recorded by an early friend, William Dundas, which pleasantly connects with Scott the name of the great premier Pitt, then drawing, in solitary grandeur, near to the end of his extraordinary career. Dundas writes: 'I remember at Mr. Pitt's table in 1805, the Chancellor asked me about you and your then situation, and after I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed—"He can't remain as he is," and desired me to "look to it." He then repeated some lines from theLaydescribing the old harper's embarrassment when asked to play, and said—"This is a sort of thing which I might have expected in painting, but could never have fancied capable of being given in poetry."
As regards the sale of the poem, the figures established a record in the history of popular poetry in Britain. 'The first edition of theLaywas a magnificent quarto, seven hundred and fifty copies; but this was soon exhausted, and there followed one octavo impression after another in close succession to the number of fourteen. In fact, some forty-four thousand copies had been disposed of in this country, and by the legitimate trade alone, before he superintended the edition of 1830, to which his biographical introductions were prefixed. The author's whole share in the profits of theLaycame to £769, 6s.'
Very shortly after this Scott's unworldly faith and simple confidence in his friend led him to hoist on his shoulders the odious Succubus Ballantyne. This personage, pleading increasing expenses and need of 'more capital,' applied for a second 'liberal loan.' We have the man's own story, which to those who know what business is, needs no comment. We see the confident, smirking tradesman gaily holding up the bottomless sack, and Scott, with the sublime folly of a generous and sanguine nature, pouring his hard-won treasures into it. 'Now,' says James, 'being compelled, maugre all delicacy' (how well he understood Scott!) 'to renew my application, he candidly answered that he was not quite sure that it would be prudent for him to comply, but in order to evince his entire confidence in me, he was willing to make a suitable advance to be admitted as a third-sharer in my business.' Lockhart observes on this, that no trace has been discovered of any examination into the state of the business on the part of Scott, at this time. This is the sort of remark one would expect from Lockhart, a gentleman: but the implied acceptance of a portion of the blame for Scott is quite unnecessary. The question is, 'What did the Succubus say, and what did he show, to Scott at this time? Enough, I have no doubt, to convince Scott, and on quite good and sufficient grounds, that he was being favoured in being permitted to have a share in the concern. The fallacy, and the weakness, were in the man, not in the business. Scott's one mistake was this transcendental confidence in Ballantyne, who was a man formed by nature tofail! The partnership was very wisely kept a strict secret, and seems for years not even to have been suspected by any of his daily companions, except Erskine. Lockhart has remarked that 'its influence on his literary exertions and his worldly fortunes was productive of much good and not a little evil. I at this moment doubt whether it ought, on the whole, to be considered with more of satisfaction or of regret.'
CHAPTER XL
Scott and Jeffrey—Founding ofEdinburgh Review—Impression in Edinburgh—Its Political and Literary Pretences—Review ofLayby Jeffrey—Strange Mistake—Beautiful Appreciation by Mr. Gladstone quoted—TheDies Irae.
In his Introduction to theLayScott mentions,inter alia, that the poem had 'received the imprimatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had been already for some time distinguished by his critical talent.' TheEdinburgh Review *had been founded on the 10th of October 1802. Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, Brougham, and Horner were the most conspicuous among the founders. Sydney Smith was the first editor. He mentions the fact in the Preface to his Works: 'I proposed that we should set up a review; this was acceded to with acclamation. I was appointed editor, and remained long enough in Edinburgh to edit the first number of the *Edinburgh Review.' Cockburn confirms the statement, but points out that the projectors, though he was not at first their formal editor, leant mainly on Jeffrey's experience and wisdom. Though Smith actually edited the first number, it appears from Jeffrey's well-known statement that there was no official editor at first. After three numbers had appeared, it was seen that a responsible editor was indispensable. Jeffrey then became editor, under a fixed arrangement with the publisher, Archibald Constable.
Like every other successful literary enterprise, theEdinburgh Reviewwas well fitted to the circumstances and to the time. Historically its importance was far greater than we can now well realise. But we can, from Cockburn's glowing account of it, to some extent conceive how to the literary youth of the time it appeared a phenomenon as remarkable as the original works of Scott. In hisLifeof Jeffrey he gives a long and complete account of the founding and the founders of theReview, and says of its first appearance: 'The effect was electrical. And, instead of expiring, as many wished, in their first effort, the force of the shock was increased on each subsequent discharge. It is impossible for those who did not live at the time, and in the heart of the scene, to feel, or almost to understand the impression made by the new luminary, or the anxieties with which its motions were observed. It was an entire and instant change of everything that the public had been accustomed to in that sort of composition. The old periodical opiates were extinguished at once. The learning of the new Journal, its talent, its spirit, its writing, its independence, were all new; and the surprise was increased by a work so full of public life springing up, suddenly, in a remote part of the kingdom.'
TheReviewwas, of course, obnoxious to the opponents of reform. It was assailed with the usual amount of ridicule and personal abuse, and with prophecies of the speedy demise of so scandalous a publication. Few, indeed, anticipated that it had come to stay. None foresaw the services it was destined to perform. But all watched its progress with intense curiosity and interest. In Edinburgh, naturally, the interest was of the greatest. Men soon perceived that it was creating a new literary reputation for the city. It was something gained when the voice of Edinburgh counted for a power in political affairs. And, of course, with continued success, the voice became stronger, and the importance of Scottish opinion in both politics and literature was more and more widely acknowledged. 'All were the better for a journal to which every one with an object of due importance had access, which it was vain either to bully or to despise, and of the fame of which even its reasonable haters were inwardly proud.'
Jeffrey's review of theLayis, on the whole, creditable to his critical sagacity and taste, though its praise fell far short of the impression made by the poem on the public mind. He made one strange enough blunder. He found fault with the goblin story, which he regarded as an excrescence, not knowing that it was actually the origin and occasion of the whole. He was wrong also in doubting the power of the poet's genius to inspire an interest in the exploits of the stark moss-troopers, and in the rugged names of the Border heroes and the Border scenes. All these uncouth names are now familiar in our mouths as household words.
To sum up with theLay, Mr. Gladstone, in that delightfulcauserieon Scott given to his friends at Hawarden in 1868, said two excellent things about Scott's poetry. The first is, that Scott's reputation rests not less on his verse than on his prose. The second is, that his most extraordinary power, his highest genius, is shown at times in his poetry. 'I know nothing more sublime in the writings of Sir Walter Scott—certainly I know nothing so sublime in any portion of the sacred poetry of modern times—I mean of the present century—as the "Hymn for the Dead," extending only to twelve lines, which he embodied in theLay of the Last Minstrel. It is in these words, and they perhaps may be familiar:—
"That day of wrath, that dreadful day,When heaven and earth shall pass away!What power shall be the sinner's stay?How shall he meet that dreadful day?When shrivelling like a parched scroll,The flaming heavens together roll;When louder yet, and yet more dread,Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,When man to judgment wakes from clay,Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay,Though heaven and earth shall pass away!"
"That day of wrath, that dreadful day,When heaven and earth shall pass away!What power shall be the sinner's stay?How shall he meet that dreadful day?When shrivelling like a parched scroll,The flaming heavens together roll;When louder yet, and yet more dread,Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,When man to judgment wakes from clay,Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay,Though heaven and earth shall pass away!"
"That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away!
What power shall be the sinner's stay?
How shall he meet that dreadful day?
When shrivelling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll;
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away!"
Simple as these words, and few as these lines are, they are enough to stamp with greatness the name of the man who wrote them.'
CHAPTER XLI
Town and Country—Scott's Ideal—Reversion of Clerkship—Impeachment of Lord Melville—Acquittal—The Edinburgh Dinner—Scott's Song of Triumph—Nature of his Professional Duties—Social Claims and Literary Industry.
When Scott decided to abandon the Bar, he had no intention of quitting Edinburgh. Notwithstanding his delight in natural scenery and his real fondness for rural pursuits and his passion for sport, he had an equally strong attachment to the city and its old routine. 'Here is the advantage of Edinburgh' (he says in hisJournal). 'In the country, if a sense of inability once seizes me, it haunts me from morning to night; but in Edinburgh the time is so occupied and frittered away by official duties and chance occupation, that you have not time to play Master Stephen and be gentlemanlike and melancholy. On the other hand, you never feel in town those spirit-stirring influences—those glances of sunshine that make amends for clouds and mist. The country is said to be quieter life; not to me, I am sure. In the town the business I have to do hardly costs me more thought than just occupies my mind, and I have as much of gossip and ladylike chat as consumes the time pleasantly enough. In the country I am thrown entirely on my own resources, and there is no medium betwixt happiness and the reverse.' To carry out his ideal, therefore, of a life alternating between town and country, and enjoying the best of both, and to keep his mind easy about the provision—generous, of course—which he should make for his increasing family, Scott was not satisfied with an income of £1000 a year. He accordingly set about obtaining another post—such a post (he frankly puts it) as an author might hope to retreat upon, without any perceptible alteration of circumstances, whenever the time came that the public grew weary of him, or he himself tired of his pen. He hoped, in fact, to obtain a clerkship in the Court of Session, and his friends began to work for it just after theLaywas published. These friends were the Duke of Buccleuch and Lord Melville, and, as we have seen, Pitt himself had given orders that something should be done. Near the end of 1805 it was arranged that Scott should have the succession to the clerkship held by Mr. Home of Wedderburn. The old gentleman was to retain the whole salary during his life, while Scott was to do the work and fall into the salary at Home's death. The matter was arranged just before Lord Melville's retirement, but a mistake having been made in the patent, Scott's commission had to be made out by the Home Secretary of the Whig Government of 1806. Thus it appeared as if he had owed his appointment to the Whigs, and some of the meaner sort among the local people grumbled loudly and complained of the preference. Scott resented this doubly, since he really owed nothing to the Whig Ministry and would never have accepted a favour at their hands. Lockhart says that this incident was the occasion of his making himself prominent for a time as a decided Tory partisan.
The Coalition Government signalised its accession to power by impeaching Lord Melville. The charges, it is now well known, were groundless and absurd. At the same time 'the investigation brought out many circumstances by no means creditable to his discretion.' But on the one side there was a savage whoop of triumph when the autocrat was himself brought to trial; on the other, loud and scornful jubilation when the great pro-consul was acquitted. Less noise might well have served. In Edinburgh a public dinner was held to celebrate the event, on the 27th of June 1806, and for this occasion Scott wrote a jolly piece of rattling doggerel, 'Health to Lord Melville,' which was sung by James Ballantyne, and received with shouts of applause. A line in this song 'Tally-ho to the Fox,' was fastened upon by political spite as a shout of triumph over Fox, because he was then on his death-bed. Never was any effort of malignity more idiotic. If it had been so intended, even a fool might have seen that it would have been irrelevant. It was, of course, merely one note of the triumphal cock-crowing at the defeat of the impeachment. Any one who could seriously think that Scott would for a moment rejoice at the illness or death of Fox is outside the pale of argument.
Surprise has often been expressed at the enormous output of Scott's literary labours during the twenty most active years of his life. But, vast as it is, the literary output represents only half of his industry and exertion. Neither his sheriffship nor his clerkship was a sinecure. The latter required actual attendance in the court, on the average, for from four to six hours daily during rather less than six months out of the twelve. The work, though partly mechanical, constantly entailed extra toil in the way of consulting law papers and authorities at home. It is well known, too, that Scott performed these duties with the most conscientious regularity and care. He never employed inferior assistants to relieve himself of drudgery. He took a just pride, as did also the best of his colleagues, in maintaining a high reputation for legal science. There can, indeed, be no question of the justness of his biographer's view, that it forms one of the most remarkable features in his history, that during his great period of literary production, he must have devoted a large proportion of his hours, during half at least of every year, to the conscientious discharge of professional duties.
Thus Scott, while in Edinburgh, led a life of very exacting labour, and strictly governed by official routine. His habit of early rising enabled him to get through the larger portion of his literary task before breakfast. He was always ready to play his part cheerfully in the duties of the family circle, as well as to implement the round of social engagements. The latter were always great, owing to his own and his wife's popularity in society. Of course, as time went on and his fame became world-wide, these social calls upon his leisure became greater and greater. Still, he would often contrive to rescue some of the evening hours as well, in order to complete the minimum of his daily literary task. But for occasional drives with his family or friends, his time in town was mainly spent indoors, and later on he confessed that this want of activity and open-air life proved highly injurious to his bodily health.
CHAPTER XLII
Colleagues at the Clerks' Table-Morritt on Scott's Conversation—His Home Life—Treatment of his Children—Ideas on Education—Knowledge of the Bible—Horsemanship, Courage, Veracity—Success of the Training.
The kindly affections of friendship were always to Scott 'the dearest part of human intercourse.' Even in 'that sand-cart of a place, the Parliament House' he found them in abundance. Among his colleagues were Colin Mackenzie of Portmore, the friend of his boyhood, 'one of the wisest, kindest, and best men of his time': Hector Macdonald Buchanan of Drummakiln: Sir Robert Dundas of Beechwood: and David Hume, nephew of the great David and Professor of Scots Law, afterwards a Baron of the Exchequer. Mentioning a dinner at Dundas's house, Scott says, 'My littlenieces(ex officio) gave us some pretty music.' The explanation of this is that all these families were so intimate and friendly that the children all called their fathers' colleaguesuncles, and the mothers of their little friendsaunts. 'In truth' (says Lockhart) 'the establishment was a brotherhood.'
We may here quote his friend Morritt's description, which, referring to the year 1808, gives so lifelike a notion of what Scott was to the friends of his prime: 'At this period his conversation was more equal and animated than any man's that I ever knew. It was most characterised by the extreme felicity and fun of his illustrations, drawn from the whole encyclopedia of life and nature, in a style sometimes too exuberant for written narrative, but which to him was natural and spontaneous. A hundred stories, always apposite, and often interesting the mind by strong pathos, or eminently ludicrous, were daily told, which, with many more, have since been transplanted, almost in the same language, into the Waverley Novels and his other writings. These, and his recitations of poetry, which can never be forgotten by those who knew him, made up the charm that his boundless memory enabled him to exert to the wonder of the gaping lovers of wonders. But equally impressive and powerful was the language of his warm heart, and equally wonderful were the conclusions of his vigorous understanding, to those who could return or appreciate either. Among a number of such recollections, I have seen many of the thoughts which then passed through his mind embodied in the delightful prefaces annexed late in life to his poetry and novels. Keenly enjoying literature as he did, and indulging his own love of it in perpetual composition, he always maintained the same estimate of it as subordinate and auxiliary to the purposes of life, and rather talked of men and events than of books and criticism.'
The happiness he made at home for his children in their early years has been revealed by his son-in-law in a charming passage. Though familiar to many, it can hardly be out of place here: 'He had now two boys and two girls:—and he never had more. (They were Charlotte Sophia, born 1799; Walter, 1801; Anne, 1803; and Charles, 1805). He was not one of those who take much delight in a mere infant; but no father ever devoted more time and tender care to his offspring than he did to each of his, as they reached the age when they could listen to him, and understand his talk. Like their playmates, Camp and the greyhounds, they had at all times free access to his study; he never considered their prattle as any disturbance; they went and came as pleased their fancy; he was always ready to answer their questions; and when they, unconscious how he was engaged, entreated him to lay down his pen and tell them a story, he would take them on his knee, repeat a ballad or legend, kiss them, and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins, and resume his labour, as if refreshed by the interruption. From a very early age he made them dine at table, and "to sit up to supper" was the great reward when they had been "very good bairns." In short, he considered it as the highest duty as well as the sweetest pleasure of a parent to be the companion of his children; he partook all their little joys and sorrows, and made his kind unformal instructions to blend so easily and playfully with the current of their own sayings and doings, that so far from regarding him with any distant awe, it was never thought that any sport or diversion could get on in the right way, unlesspapawere of the party, or that the rainiest day could be dull, so he were at home.'
Scott was no elaborate theorist in regard to education. His sound practical sense laid hold instinctively of a few invaluable principles, and these he carried out with his children with the most beneficial results. He would have nothing to do with the great specific of the period, those fearful 'children's books' filled with endless facts of science precisely worded for the purpose of committing to memory. He was quite pleased, however, with the older-fashioned books, in which stories appealing to the imagination were employed as a means of exciting curiosity in graver matters. He took pains to select for their tasks in recitation such passages of poetry as might be expected to please their fancy. His own stories and legends with which he amused them were the beginnings of an intelligent interest in Scottish History, and on Sundays the Bible stories were in the same way made at once delightful and familiar. 'He had his Bible' (says Lockhart), 'the Old Testament especially, by heart; and on these days inwove the simple pathos or sublime enthusiasm of Scripture, in whatever story he was telling, with the same picturesque richness as in his week-day tales the quaint Scotch of Pitscottie, or some rude romantic old rhyme from Barbour'sBruceor Blind Harry'sWallace:
It was characteristic of the man to combine, like Xenophon's ancient Persians, the love of truth and the love of horsemanship as the two greatest aims in education. Each of his children, both girls and boys, became, as soon as old and strong enough for the exercise, the companion of his own rides over moor and stream and hill. He taught them to laugh at tumbles and slight misadventures, and they soon caught his own spirit, and came to delight in adventurous feats like his own. 'Without courage,' he used to say, 'there cannot be truth; and without truth there can be no other virtue.' With such a teacher, we may be sure the two fundamental virtues were imbibed in full perfection.
CHAPTER XLIII
Marmion—Published by Constable—Misfortunes of Thomas Scott—George Ellis onMarmion—Hostile Review by Jeffrey—Charge of Want of Patriotism—Mrs. Scott and Jeffrey—Extraordinary Success of the Poem.
Marmionwas begun in November 1806, and continued at intervals during the following year. He had made up his mind—so he tells us in the Introduction—not to be in a hurry with his new poem, but to bestow upon it more than his usual care. Particular passages accordingly were 'laboured with a good deal of care' and the progress of the work seems to have given him much pleasure. 'The period of its composition was a very happy one in my life.'Marmionwas the first of Scott's original works published by Archibald Constable. This enterprising gentleman offered a thousand guineas for the poem shortly after it was begun, a fact which speaks volumes at once for the sagacity of the publisher and the impression already made by the poet. The offer was accepted, and the price paid long before the book was published. Scott seems to have had occasion for the use of the money in connection with the final withdrawal of his brother Thomas at this time from practice as a Writer to the Signet. Thomas had been unfortunate in certain speculations outside his proper business. He afterwards became paymaster of the 70th Regiment and died in Canada.
The appearance ofMarmionwas expected with intense interest in literary circles. It was published in the February of 1808. The general feeling was that expressed after an interval of two months by Scott's friend George Ellis, that 'dear old friend, who had more wit, learning, and knowledge of the world than would fit out twentyliterati.' Ellis writes, 'All the world are agreed that you are like the elephant mentioned in theSpectator, who was the greatest elephant in the world except himself, and consequently, that the only question at issue is, whether theLayorMarmionshall be reputed the most pleasing poem in our language.' He goes on to say that most people consider the Introductory Epistles—that to Canto V. is addressed to himself—as merely interruptions to the narrative. He expresses his own opinion thatMarmionis preferable to theLay, because its species of excellence is of much more difficult attainment. He thinks thatMarmion, from the nature of the plot, and from the quality and variety of the characters, might with advantage have been largely extended, and elevated to the rank and dignity of an Epic in twelve books. Such seems to have been, in brief, the spontaneous verdict onMarmionof London literary circles when the poem was fresh from the press. TheEdinburgh Review, all-powerful as the critical oracle of the time, had not yet recorded its verdict.
Jeffrey'sReviewhad now been in existence for six years. Its pages were constantly illuminated by the brilliant productions of its army of able and talented young contributors. So far, also, it was without any rival worth considering at all. Its circulation was unprecedented, and its power to make or mar the fortunes of literary aspirants was esteemed absolute. Scott himself says, 'Of this work nine thousand copies are printed quarterly, and no genteel family can pretend to be without it, because, independent of its politics, it gives the only valuable literary criticism which can be met with.' On reading over Jeffrey's review ofMarmion, one feels even yet aggrieved: but as it did not hurt the actual victim, we need only say, with Lockhart, 'it is highly creditable to Jeffrey's courageous sense of duty.' Certainly, it requires a good deal of that quality, and of coolness as well, to accumulate such a wealth of depreciation and petty fault-finding on the head of a private friend and honoured colleague. Jeffrey fully anticipated that Scott would take offence, for he wrote him a half-apologetic letter, which was sent along with Scott's copy of the magazine. The article begins with Jeffrey's favourite sweep of the arm—the writer of a successful poem must expect sterner criticism when he ventures to issue a second of the same kind. This paves the way to enumerating previous objections—broken narrative, redundancy of minute description, inequality of merit in the composition, and the general spirit and animation 'unchastised by any great delicacy of taste, or elegance of fancy.' All these faults are common to both the poems, butMarmionis crowded with additional defects. Compared with theLay, he thinks it more clear thatMarmionhas greater faults than that it has greater beauties, though he isinclinedto believe in both propositions. While he admits greater richness and variety both of character and incident, he finds in it more tedious and flat passages. He refers with supercilious contempt to the 'epistolary dissertations,' in which, poor man, he finds little to his taste. He seems to be savagely angry that the poem is a romantic narrative—presumably it ought to have been something else. He regrets that the author should consume his talent in 'imitations of obsolete extravagance,' in which he is sure no human being can take any interest. He sums up his indictment in numbered paragraphs: the plan bad, the incidents improbable, the characters morally worthless, and the book too long. Though he does give warm and unstinted praise to 'Flodden Field,' he finds, strange to say, that the interspersed ballads have less finish and poetical beauty. Stranger still, the author has wilfully neglected Scottish feelings and Scottish characters. Think of this charge against Walter Scott—'scarcely one trait of Scottish nationality or patriotism has been introduced into the book'! A good deal is said about 'bad taste' and culpable haste. Then the merciful critic adds that he passes over many other blemishes of taste and diction. It happened that Jeffrey was invited to dine at 39 Castle Street on the very day this article appeared. In reply to Jeffrey's note Scott assured him that the article had not disturbed his digestion, though he hoped neither his booksellers nor the public would agree with the opinions it expressed: and begged he would come to dinner at the hour appointed. Lockhart tells how he was received by his host with the frankest cordiality, but Mrs. Scott, though perfectly polite, was not quite so easy with him as usual. She said as he took his leave, 'Well, good night, Mr. Jeffrey—they tell me that you have abused Scott in theReview, and I hope Mr. Constable has paid you very well for writing it.' Scott could indeed afford to be complacent. There was, if anything, some danger of the popularity ofMarmiongiving even him 'a heeze.'
The success ofMarmionas a publication was as remarkable as that of theLay. The first edition, as usual a splendid quarto, of two thousand copies was sold out in less than a month. More than thirty thousand copies had been sold before the collected edition of the poems appeared in 1830.