Edinburgh Under Sir Walter Scott

by W. T. Fyfe

The song which begins thus was written by Scott about the close of 1813, inspired by the great successes of the Allies. On the magistrates of Edinburgh presenting an address to the King, Scott indited one for them which was privately acknowledged to himself as 'the most elegant congratulation a sovereign ever received or a subject offered.' It is gratifying to know that the magistrates were duly grateful for the service, which secured for them an extremely cordial reception at Carlton House. At Christmas 1813 Scott was presented with the freedom of the city and a very handsome piece of plate.

He had now been working for five or six years on the great edition of Swift in nineteen volumes, which came out in the summer of 1814. It was reviewed in the Edinburgh by Jeffrey at Constable's special request. The review contained an attack on the character of Swift so able and incisive as, in Constable's opinion, to have greatly retarded the sale of the work. But Jeffrey's appreciation of the editor and his work was admirable: giving him the frankest praise for 'minute knowledge and patient research, vigour of judgment and vivacity of style.' Of the Life he said most justly: 'It is not much like the production of a mere man of letters, but exhibits the good sense and large toleration of a man of the world, with much of that generous allowance for the

"Fears of the brave and follies of the wise,"

which genius too often requires, and should therefore be always most forward to show.' Meantime the latter 'genius' was preparing the great new stroke for fame which was now to extinguish all lesser lights in a blaze of unexpected glory. Early in the year Ballantyne had printed the first volume of Waverley. With the precaution regularly exercised all through, the MS. was copied by John Ballantyne before being sent to press. The printed volume was taken by John to Constable, who made the very liberal offer of £700 for the copyright. Scott's remark was that £700 was too much if the novel should not be successful, and too little if it should. But he added, 'If our fat friend had said £1000, I should have been staggered.' Fortunately Constable doubted, and lost the opportunity, an agreement being ultimately made for an equal division of profits between him and the author. The authorship was, of course, not hidden from 'our fat friend.' He published, therefore, on the 7th of July, what Scott, writing two days after to Morritt, called 'a small anonymous sort of a novel.' Even then, it seems, 'it had made a very strong impression here, and the good people of Edinburgh are busy in tracing the author.... Jeffrey has offered to make oath that it is mine.' Later on, replying to Morritt's protests, he says, 'I shall not own Waverley; my chief reason is, that it would prevent me the pleasure of writing again. David Hume, the nephew of the historian, says the author must be of a Jacobite family and predilections, a yeoman-cavalry man, and a Scottish lawyer, and desires me to guess in whom these happy attributes are united. I shall not plead guilty, however.... The Edinburgh faith is, that Waverley was written by Jeffrey.... The second edition is, I believe, nearly through the press. It will hardly be printed faster than it was written; for though the first volume was begun long ago, and actually lost for a time, yet the other two were begun and finished between the 4th June and the 1st July, during all which I attended my duty in court, and proceeded without loss of time or hinderance of business.'

We have an admirable picture from Lord Cockburn of the impression made in Edinburgh by this memorable event, and the sensations, as he puts it, produced by the first year of these Edinburgh works. 'It is curious,' he says, 'to remember the instant and universal impression in Edinburgh. The unexpected newness of the thing, the profusion of original characters, the Scotch language, Scotch scenery, Scotch men and women, the simplicity of the writing, and the graphic force of the descriptions, all struck us with an electric shock of delight. If the concealment of the authorship of the novels was intended to make mystery heighten their effect, it completely succeeded. The speculations and conjectures, and nods and winks and predictions and assertions were endless, and occupied every company, and almost every two men who met and spoke in the street. It was proved by a thousand indications, each refuting the other, and all equally true in fact, that they were written by old Henry Mackenzie, and by George Cranstoun, and William Erskine, and Jeffrey, and above all by Thomas Scott, Walter's brother, a regimental paymaster, then in Canada. But "the great unknown," as the true author was then called, always took good care, with all his concealment, to supply evidence amply sufficient for the protection of his property and his fame; in so much that the suppression of the name was laughed at as a good joke not merely by his select friends in his presence, but by himself. The change of line, at his age, was a striking proof of intellectual power and richness. But the truth is, that these novels were rather the outpourings of old thoughts than new inventions.'

From the very first the secret of the authorship was known to quite a number of persons, indeed to all Scott's intimates, and, in Lockhart's own opinion, the mystification never answered much purpose among other literary men of eminence. He thinks that all Scott wished was 'to set the mob of readers at gaze, and, above all, to escape the annoyance of having productions, actually known to be his, made the daily and hourly topics of discussion in his presence. All the critics, with the exception of the savage Quarterly, were able to see that Waverley was a great, an uncommon work. The author was at once acknowledged to be a genius. Foremost and frankest was Jeffrey, who began, 'It is a wonder what genius and adherence to nature will do.' The reviewer has, of course, many small and petty things to say, he has not yet surrendered himself fully to the great enchanter, but he clearly sees and heartily enjoys the points of real greatness—the creation of living characters and the marvellous resurrection of the period and its social state. He says what is a thing most true of Scott, that the work by the mere force of truth and vivacity of its colouring takes its place rather with the most popular of our modern poems than with the rubbish of provincial romances. This point, that the book was founded upon actual experience and observation, he strongly emphasises. This was what Scott of all possible authors possessed in the highest degree, and Jeffrey was quite certain that Waverley was Scott's. He concludes by saying that it is hard to see why the book should have been anonymous: if the author really was an 'unknown' personage, then Mr. Scott would have to look to his laurels against a sturdier competitor than any he had as yet encountered.

Such was the reception of Waverley: a reception not unworthy of a masterpiece. And it is worth while to remark once again the 'gallant composure' of the writer who had staked his fame and fortune on an experiment so new, uncertain, and dangerous. Before he had heard of its fate in England, he set out on a voyage to the Hebrides, Orkney and Shetland, so that he was practically cut off from letters and news for nearly two months. When he returned, he found that two editions of Waverley had been sold.

CHAPTER XLIX

The Lord of the Isles—Guy Mannering—Universal Delight—Effects of Peace in Scotland—Awakening of Public Opinion in Edinburgh—'Civic War'—Professor Duncan—Sketch by Lord Cockburn.

The month of January 1815 saw the publication of Scott's Lord of the Isles. On the 24th of February a second novel—Guy Mannering—was issued, by the Author of Waverley. Detailed dates given by Lockhart show that the novel was literally written, as Scott himself said, 'in six weeks at a Christmas.' Writing to Morritt on January 15, he says, 'I want to shake myself free of Waverley, and accordingly have made a considerable exertion to finish an odd little tale within such time as will mystify the public, I trust—unless they suppose me to be Briareus.' The biographer adds that this excess of labour was the result of difficulties about the discount of John Ballantyne's bills. The Lord of the Isles, though amply successful from the point of view of sale, was in point of reputation disappointing. On James acknowledging this, Scott, we are told by James Ballantyne, 'did look rather blank for a few seconds: in truth, he had been wholly unprepared for the event; for it is a singular fact, that before the public, or rather the booksellers, had given their decision, he no more knew whether he had written well or ill, than whether a die thrown out of a box was to turn up a size or an ace. However, he instantly resumed his spirit, and expressed his wonder rather that his poetical popularity should have lasted so long, than that it should have now at last given way. At length he said, with perfect cheerfulness, "Well, well, James, so be it—but you know we must not droop, for we can't afford to give over. Since one line has failed, we must just stick to something else"; and so he dismissed me, and resumed this novel.' The reviews of the Lord of the Isles, though rather severe on the structure of the poem and the imperfections of the hero, did ample justice to the majestic power and unfailing vigour of the story as well as to its rare descriptive beauties. But most will now agree with Lockhart that the best achievements in the book are the magnificent character of the heroic King, and the Homeric battle-piece of Bannockburn.