EDINBURGH
UNDER SIR WALTER SCOTT
BY
W. T. FYFE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
R. S. RAIT
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LTD.
1906
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
INTRODUCTION
In the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth—from, approximately, the death of Samuel Johnson in 1784 to that of Walter Scott in 1832—Edinburgh, rather than London, was the intellectual centre of the kingdom. It would, of course, be easy to show that London has never lacked illustrious men of letters among her citizens, and, in this very period, the names of Sheridan, Bentham, Blake, Lamb, and Keats at once occur to memory as evidence against our thesis. It must also be admitted that Edinburgh shares some of her great names with London, and that many of the writers of the time are associated with neither capital. The name of William Cowper recalls the village of Olney; the English Lakes claim their great poets; and Byron and Shelley call to mind Greece and Italy, as, in the earlier part of our period, Gibbon is identified with Lausanne. But the Edinburgh society which Scott remembered in his youth or met in his prime included a long series of remarkable men. Some of them, like Robertson the historian; Hugh Blair; John Home, the author of Douglas; Henry Mackenzie, 'The Man of Feeling'; John Leyden; Dugald Stewart; and John Wilson, 'Christopher North,' were more or less permanent residents. Others, like Adam Smith, Thomas Campbell, Lady Nairne, Thomas De Quincey, Sir James Mackintosh, and Sydney Smith, spent a smaller portion of their lives in Edinburgh. Not only was the city full of great writers; it produced also a series of great publishers—the Constables and the Blackwoods. The influence of the Edinburgh Review can scarcely be realised in these days of numberless periodicals, and it was from Edinburgh that its great rival, the Quarterly, drew much of its early support, and one of its great editors, John Gibson Lockhart. Edinburgh, moreover, was still a national metropolis, for the railway systems had not yet brought about the real union of England and Scotland, and it possessed a society not less distinctively Scots than the Established Church or the code of law. The judges who administered that law add still further to the interest of the scene. Some were men of great intellectual force, whose names still live in the history of English thought. Lord Hailes, the antagonist of Gibbon, and Lord Monboddo, who, in some sense, anticipated a discovery of Mr. Darwin, lived on to the close of the eighteenth century, and, in the early nineteenth, their reputation was sustained by Lord Woodhouselee, Lord Jeffrey, and Lord Cockburn. Others of the judges were notable for force of character, like Lord Braxfield, now familiar as 'Weir of Hermiston,' or for mere eccentricity, like Lord Eskgrove, one of the strangest beings who ever added to the gaiety of mankind.
The natural centre of this remarkable society is the great figure of Sir Walter Scott, who dominated Edinburgh during a large portion of the period, and the story of whose life has made so many Edinburgh names household words for all time. Lockhart's Life of Scott gives an interesting, though by no means a complete, picture of this society. There are many other sources of information: the Scots Magazine, the Annual Register, and so forth. Most important of all are the autobiographies of Alexander Carlyle and Lord Cockburn, two books which it is becoming more and more difficult to obtain. 'Jupiter' Carlyle of Inveresk was born in 1722, and lived until 1805. He could thus recollect the Porteous Mob; he had seen Prince Charlie in Edinburgh, and, from the garden of his father's manse at Prestonpans, he had watched the flight of General Cope's defeated troops. He had been the friend of David Hume, who died just before our period begins, of Smollett, and of Robertson and Adam Smith. Such a man had much to tell, and, fortunately for posterity, he chose to tell it. Not less interesting or important is the volume known as Memorials of his Time, by Henry Cockburn, who, from 1834 to his death in 1854, was a Scottish judge. He was born in 1779, and had been a member of a famous Edinburgh debating society—the 'Spec'—along with Henry Brougham, Francis Horner, Walter Scott, and Francis Jeffrey. He shared Jeffrey's politics, aided him in defending Radicals charged with sedition, and wrote his biography. His Memorials are by far the best source of our knowledge of social life in Scotland in the early years of the nineteenth century. Carlyle and Cockburn both wrote freely and without reserve, and each possessed an accurate memory and an appreciation of the picturesque. From these and similar materials Mr. W. T. Fyfe, an Edinburgh citizen, who possesses a wide and affectionate knowledge of his home and its history, has skilfully drawn his picture of Edinburgh under Sir Walter Scott. His book is no mere addition to the numerous lives of Sir Walter. It takes the well-known incidents of his career as affording some guiding lines for the grouping of the varied details, and the reader of Lockhart will find here fresh light upon some familiar names. The personality of the best-loved Scotsman who ever lived dominates this book as it dominated the real life of which it tells. The cords of a man and the bands of love still bind us to the Shirra o' the Forest, and even to the Laird of Abbotsford; there is none other among the mighty dead whose ways and whose home we know so well as those of the Great Unknown. He is not to be envied who can resist the personal spell of the Wizard:—
'O great and gallant Scott,
True Gentleman, heart, blood, and bone,
I would it had been my lot
To have seen thee, and heard thee, and known.'
Even those who are wise enough to read their Lockhart and the Letters and the Journals once a year will learn something about Scott from this book, and much about the friends whom he has immortalised in some of the sweetest strains that friendship ever inspired.
ROBERT S. RAIT.
NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD,
September 1906.
DESCRIPTION OF EDINBURGH
(From The Abbot, Chapter XVII.)
'The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, one of the most spacious in Europe. The extreme height of the houses, and the variety of Gothic gables and battlements, and balconies, by which the skyline on each side was crowned and terminated, together with the width of the street itself, might have struck with surprise a more practised eye than that of young Graeme. The population, close packed within the walls of the city, and at this time increased by the number of the lords of the King's party who had thronged to Edinburgh to wait upon the Regent Murray, absolutely swarmed like bees on the wide and stately street. Instead of the shop-windows, which are now calculated for the display of goods, the traders had their open booths projecting on the street, in which, as in the fashion of the modern bazaars, all was exposed which they had upon sale. And though the commodities were not of the richest kinds, yet Graeme thought he beheld the wealth of the whole world in the various bales of Flanders cloths, and the specimens of tapestry; and, at other places, the display of domestic utensils, and pieces of plate, struck him with wonder. The sight of cutlers' booths, furnished with swords and poniards, which were manufactured in Scotland, and with pieces of defensive armour, imported from Flanders, added to his surprise; and at every step, he found so much to admire and to gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock had no little difficulty in prevailing on him to advance through such a scene of enchantment.
'The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was equally a subject of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her muffler, or silken veil, traced her way delicately, a gentleman-usher making way for her, a page bearing up her train, and a waiting gentlewoman carrying her Bible, thus intimating that her purpose was towards the church. There he might see a group of citizens bending the same way, with their short Flemish cloaks, wide trowsers, and high-caped doublets, a fashion to which, as well as to their bonnet and feather, the Scots were long faithful. Then, again, came the clergyman himself, in his black Geneva cloak and band, lending a grave and attentive ear to the discourse of several persons who accompanied him, and who were doubtless holding serious converse on the religious subject he was about to treat of.'
DESCRIPTION OF EDINBURGH
(From Marmion, Canto IV.)
'Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed.
When sated with the martial show
That peopled all the plain below,
The wandering eye could o'er it go,
And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendour red;
For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow,
That round her sable turrets flow,
The morning beams were shed,
And tinged them with a lustre proud,
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height
Where the huge Castle holds its state,
And all the steep slope down,
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town!'
CONTENTS
Edinburgh in 1773—General Features of the Old City—Its Site and Plan—Flodden Wall—Nor' Loch—'Meadows'—Old Suburbs—Canongate—Portsburgh—'Mine own romantic Town'—College Wynd, Birthplace of Scott—Improvements in the Old Town
The Scotts in George Square—Walter's Lameness—Sandyknowe—Bath—Edinburgh—Changes in the City, 1763-1783—Migrations to the New Town—The Mound—New Manufactures and Trades—The first Umbrella
School-days—The High School—Old Methods of Teaching—Luke Fraser—Tone of the School—Brutal Masters—Schoolboy's Dress—Boyish Ideas—Scott's Pride of Birth—The 'Harden' Family—'Beardie'—The Dryburgh Lands
Dr. Adam, Rector of High School—Walter Scott's first Lines—Influence of Adam—Persecution by Nicol—Death-scene of the Rector—Home Life in George Square—Walter Scott the 'Writer'—Anecdotes of his Character
At Edinburgh University—Holidays at Kelso—Home—First University Class—Professor Hill—Professor Dalzell—The 'Greek Blockhead'—Anecdotes of Dalzell—His History of Edinburgh University
Scott's University Studies—The old Latin Chronicles—Dugald Stewart, His Success described—His elegant Essays—Popular Subjects—Picture of Stewart by Lord Cockburn—His Lectures—Anecdote of Macvey Napier—Meets Robert Burns—The Poet's 'Pocket Milton'
Old Edinburgh Society—Manners of the older Generation—St. Cecilia's Hall—Buccleuch Place Rooms—Rules of the Assemblies—-Drinking Customs—Recollections of Lord Cockburn
Description of St. Cecilia's Hall—Concerts—Old-fashioned Contempt for 'Stars'—Former Assembly Rooms—The George Street Rooms—Scott and the old Social Ways—Simplicity and Friendliness—His Picture of the Beginnings of Fashion in the New Town
Manners and Social Customs—Cockburn's Sketches—The Dinner-hour—The Procession—The Viands—Drinking—Claret—Healths and Toasts—Anecdote of Duke of Buccleuch—'Rounds' of Toasts—'Sentiments'—The Dominie of Arndilly—Scott's Views of the old Customs—Decline of 'friendly' Feeling
Religious Observances—Sunday Attendance at Church—Sunday Books—Breakdown of the System—Alleged Infidelity among Professors—Low State of Morality—Increase of mixed Population—Provincialism
Scott apprenticed to the Law—Copying Money and menus plaisirs—Novels—Romances—Early Attempts—John Irving—Sibbald's Library—Sees Robert Burns—The Parliament House—The 'Krames'
Topics of Talk—Religion—Scott's Freedom from Fanaticism—Dilettantism of the 'liberal young Men'—Politics—Basis of Scott's Toryism—Cockburn's Anecdote of Table-talk—Men of the Old School—Robertson the Historian—His History of Charles V.—His noble Generosity—Closing Years—Anecdotes
More Men of the Old School—Dr. Erskine—Scott on Church Disputes—His Admiration of Erskine's Character—Anecdote of Erskine's Walk to Fife—Professor Ferguson—His History of Rome—Abstainer and Vegetarian—Picture of Ferguson's Appearance—Odd Habits—Travels to Italy
'Jupiter' Carlyle—Noble Looks—Friend of Robertson and John Home—The Play of Douglas—Anecdote of Dr. Carlyle—Dr. Joseph Black—Latent Heat—His personal Appearance—Anecdote of last Illness—His History of Great Britain—Forerunner of the Modern School
The 'Meadows' one Hundred Years ago—A Resort of great Men—Vixerunt fortes—Their Intimacy and Quarrels—Hume and Ferguson—Home, the happy—His boundless Generosity—Sympathy with Misfortune—Home and Edinburgh Society—Sketch by Scott—'The Close of an Era'
Ladies of the Old School—Anecdotes told by Scott, Dr. Carlyle, and Lord Cockburn—Their Speech—'Suphy' Johnston—Anecdote of Suphy and Dr. Gregory—Miss Menie Trotter—Her Dream—Views of Religion
Scott's Contemporaries in Edinburgh—Local 'Societies'—The Speculative—Scott's Explosion—Visit of Francis Jeffrey to the 'Den'—Anecdote of Murray of Broughton—General View of the youthful Societies
The Scottish Bar—Two Careers open—Walter's Choice—Studies with William Clerk—The Law Professors—Hume's Lectures—Hard Study—Beginnings of social Distinction—Influence of Clerk—Early Love-story—Description of Walter Scott at Twenty
The Advocate's 'Trials'—Scott and Clerk admitted to the Bar—Walter's first Fee—Connection of the Scotts with Lord Braxfield—Scottish Judges—Stories of Braxfield
Stories of the Judges—Lord Eskgrove—His Appearance—The Trials for Sedition—Anecdotes of Circuit Dinners—'Esky' and the Harangue—The Soldier's Breeches—Esky and the Veiled Witness—Henderson and the Fine—The Luss Robbers—Death of Eskgrove
Scott's Anecdote of Lord Kames—Judicial Cruelty—Lord Meadowbank's Marriage—'Declaim, Sir'—Judges and Drinking—Hermand and the Pope—Bacchus on the Bench—Hermand and the Middy
Political Lawyers—Politics an 'accident' in Scott's History—Early Days at the Bar—Peter Peebles—The Mountain—Anecdote of Scott and Clerk—The German Class—Friendship with William Erskine—German Romance—Seniors of the Bar—Robert Blair—Greatest of Scottish Judges—Anecdote of Hermand and Henry Erskine
Seniors (continued)—Charles Hope—His Voice—Tribute by Cockburn—Robert Dundas, Nephew of Henry, Lord Melville—His Manner and Moderation—Anecdote of Lords Blair and Melville—Lord Melville's Son—Scott's Project of Emigration
Henry Erskine—His Ability and Wit—Tributes to his Character—Dismissal as Dean of Faculty—John Clerk—Reputation at the Bar—His Private Tastes—Art and Literature—Odd Habits—Anecdotes of Clerk and his Father
Scott's Border 'Raids'—Shortreed—Scott's Circuit Work—Jedburgh Anecdotes—Edinburgh Days—Fortune's—The Theatre Royal—Oyster Parties—Social Functions—General Reading
The Edinburgh Environment—Talk of French Revolution—The 'Jacobins'—The Volunteers—Irish Row in the Theatre—-Mrs. Barbauld's Visit—Taylor's Lenore—Scott's Version—Anecdote of the Skull—End of Love Affair—Reference in Peveril of the Peak
Friendship with Skene of Rubislaw—Skene's Account of the Edinburgh Light Horse—'Earl Walter'—Marriage of Walter Scott and Charlotte Carpenter—The Edinburgh Home—Edinburgh Friends—The Cottage at Lasswade
The Mercantile Class in Edinburgh—The Town Council—Political Corruption—Petty Tyranny—The Town Clerk—James Laing, Head of the Police—His Methods with Disturbers of the Peace—Anecdotes of Laing and Dugald Stewart
Public Condition of Edinburgh in 1800—Ostracism of Dugald Stewart—The Whigs—Their Struggle for Power—The Infirmary Incident—Dr. Gregory—His Pamphlets—Characteristics—Family Connection with Rob Roy
Strongest 'Impressions' from the Waverley Novels—Special Charm of Death of the old Lawyer in Chrystal Croftangry's Recollections—Death of Walter Scott the Elder—The 'very scene' described—Scott appointed Sheriff—Independence from Court Work
Scott settled in Edinburgh—Defacement of City—Wrytte's House—Gillespie the Snuff-seller—Erskine's Joke—The Woods of Bellevue—Scott's ideal rus in Urbe
Richard Heber in Edinburgh—Friendship with Scott—'Discovers' John Leyden—Leyden's Education—His Appearance, Oddities—Love of Country—His Help in Border Minstrelsy—Anecdote told by Scott—Leyden a Man of Genius
The 'Young Men of Edinburgh'—Their Whiggery—Anecdote of Jeffrey and Bell—James Graham, Author of The Sabbath—Sydney Smith—His Liking for Scotland—Whig Dread of Wit—Lord Webb Seymour—Horner's Analysis of him—Friendship with Playfair—His Anecdote of Horner
M. G. Lewis—Seeks out Scott—The Monk—Translation by Scott of Goetz—Anecdote of Lewis—James Ballantyne—Prints Apology for Tales of Terror—William Laidlaw—James Hogg—Character and Talents
Failure of Lewis's Tales—Scott's Border Minstrelsy—Ballantyne's Printing—His Conceit—Removal of Chief Baron from Queensberry House—His odd Benevolence—Anecdote of Charles Hope—The Schoolmasters Act
Anecdotes of R. P. Gillies—His Picture of Scott—'Border Press' at Abbeyhill—Britain armed for Defence—Scenes in Edinburgh—'Captain' Cockburn
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
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
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 of Lay of the Last Minstrel—Connection with Ballantyne—Secrecy of the Partnership
Scott and Jeffrey—Founding of Edinburgh Review—Impression in Edinburgh—Its Political and Literary Pretences—Review of Lay by Jeffrey—Strange Mistake—Beautiful Appreciation by Mr. Gladstone quoted—The Dies Irae
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
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
Marmion—Published by Constable—Misfortunes of Thomas Scott—George Ellis on Marmion—Hostile Review by Jeffrey—Charge of Want of Patriotism—Mrs. Scott and Jeffrey—Extraordinary Success of the Poem
John Murray—Share in Marmion—Reverence for Scott—The Quarterly Review—The 'Cevallos' Article—Jeffrey's Pessimism—Contemplated Flight to America—Anecdotes of Earl of Buchan
The Gallon Jail—Opening of Waterloo Place—Removal of Old Tolbooth—Scott purchases Land at Abbotsford—Professional Income—Correspondence with Byron—Anecdote of the 'Flitting' from Ashestiel
Scott and the Actors—Kemble, Siddons, Terry—Terry's Imitation of 'the Shirra'—Anecdote of Terry and C. Mathews—Mathews in Edinburgh—'The Reign of Scott'—Anecdotes of his Children—Excursion to the Western Isles
Waverley laid aside—Rokeby—Excitement at Oxford—Ballanyne's Dinner—Scott's Idea of Byron as a Poet—Ballantyne's Mismanagement—Aid from Constable—Loan from the Duke—Scott decides to finish Waverley
Success of the Allies—Address to the King—Freedom of Edinburgh—Edition of Swift—Printing of Waverley—Mystery of Authorship—Edinburgh Guesses—Excellent Review by Jeffrey—Scott's 'gallant composure'—Success of the Novel
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 New Town of Edinburgh in 1815—Effects of the 'Plan'—The Earthen Mound—Criticisms by Citizens after the War—The New Approaches—Destruction of City Trees—Lord Cockburn's Lament
The 'Jury Court'—Chief-Commissioner Adam—His Work and Success—Friendship with Scott—Character of Adam by Scott—The Blairadam Club—Anecdotes—Death of Lord Adam
1816—The Antiquary—Death of Major John Scott—The Aged Mother—Buying Land—The Ballantynes—The Black Dwarf and Blackwood—Scott and a Judgeship—Anecdote of Authorship of Waverley
1817—Overwork and Illness—Kemble's 'Farewell Address'—The Kemble Dinner—Blackwood's Magazine and the Reign of Terror in Edinburgh
Personal Anecdotes of Scott—Washington Irving—The Minister's Daughter—J. G. Lockhart—His Introduction to Scott—Annual Register—39 Castle Street—Scott's 'Den'—Animal Favourites
Scott and Edinburgh Society—Lockhart's Opinion—Scott's Drives in Edinburgh—Love of Antiquities—The Sunday Dinners at 39 Castle Street—The Maclean Clephanes—Erskine, Clerk, C. K. Sharpe, Sir A. Boswell, W. Allan,—Favourite Dishes
The National Monument—Still incomplete—The Salisbury Crags—-Danger of their Destruction—The Path impassable—Construction of the Radical Road—National Distress—Trials for Sedition—Anecdote of John Clerk—The City Guard
Scott and the Ballantynes—James in the Canongate—Ceremonies at the 'Waverley' Dinners—Reading of Scenes from the New Volume—John at Trinity—His 'Bower of Bliss'—Anecdote by C. Mathews
Anecdotes of Constable—'The Czar'—Plans the Magnum Opus—Anecdote of Longmans and Co.—Constable's House and Equipage—John Ballantyne's Habits—Horses and Dogs—Anecdote by Scott of his Liberality—Scott's Sorrow at his Death
The Baronetcy—Reasons for accepting—Marriage of Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart—Charles Scott and Archdeacon Williams—Improvements in Edinburgh—The 'Water Caddies'—Drama of Rob Roy—The Burns Dinner—Henry Mackenzie
The Commercial Disaster—Ruin of Ballantyne (Scott) and Constable—Scott's Feeling—Universal Sympathy—Offer of Help—Brave Reply—Cheerful Spirit—Constable—The Agreement—Removal from Castle Street—Death of Lady Scott—The Visit to Paris
House in Walker Street—Ill-health—Extraordinary Labours—Article on Hoffman—Kindness to Literary People—Murray's Party—Theatrical Fund Dinner—Life of Napoleon—Payment of £28,000 to Creditors—The Lockharts at Portobello—Grandfather's Tales—Domestic Happiness—Visit of Adolphus
Incident of Gourgaud—-Expected Duel—Scott's Preparations—Tired of Edinburgh—Changing Aspect of New Town—The 'Markets' superseded by Shops—The Female Poisoner—Scott's Opinion of 'Not Proven'—Points in its Favour
Visit of Richardson and Cockburn to Abbotsford—Sir Walter at Home—Anecdote of Cranstoun—Patterson's Anecdotes—The Burke and Hare Murders—Anecdote of Cockburn—Dr. Knox—Catholic Emancipation Bill—Meeting in Edinburgh—Death of Terry and Shortreed—Severe Illness of Scott—Death of Tom Purdie
Last Winter in Edinburgh—The Ayrshire Tragedy—Apoplectic Stroke—Retirement from the Clerkship—Visit to Edinburgh—Refusal to stop Literary Work—John Nicolson—Scott at Cadell's House—His Will
The Paralytic Stroke—The Last Novels—Election Meetings—Disgraceful Conduct of Radical Gangs—Scott's Journey for Health—The Return—Collapse and Stupor—The Last Stay in Edinburgh—Death of Sir Walter Scott
EDINBURGH
UNDER SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER I
Edinburgh in 1773—General Features of the Old City—Its Site and Plan—Flodden Wall—Nor' Loch—'Meadows'—Old Suburbs—Canongate—Portsburgh—'Mine own romantic Town'—College Wynd, Birthplace of Scott—Improvements in the Old Town.
The Edinburgh of Walter Scott's infancy was still the old, romantic, medieval city. It was almost wholly confined within the city wall, a result of the adherence to customs sanctioned by tradition, long after the causes which first established them have ceased to operate. The constantly recurring danger from English invasions was, in early times, a full and sufficient reason for dwelling inside the fortification. Of course, from the earliest times there was a tendency, especially among the leading and wealthy families, to build dwelling-houses and lay out gardens among the fields. Yet, on the whole, the increasing population sought its accommodation within the limits of the town. This is why Edinburgh citizens, following the old fashion of Paris, built their houses of an enormous height, some of them as high as twelve stories or more. The ground space available was, of course, limited by the extent of the wall, and on one side by the water of the Nor' Loch. Hence the necessity for making good use of every possible site. Social arrangements of a singular and quaint simplicity were the not unnatural result. In each gigantic barrack might be found ever so many different families, each occupying its own independent dwelling, sometimes consisting of only two or three rooms. The social dignity of the tenant increased with the height of his quarters. In the cellars and on the street floor were the humble members of the business and manual-working classes; professional persons went a story higher; and the nobility and gentry overlooked the whole from the upper half of the mansion. In modern times these houses, so far as they still exist, have been handed over almost entirely to the lower orders: they are, in fact, the slums of Edinburgh. But the quaint old arrangements had hardly been impaired even up to the year of Marmion and 'mine own romantic town.'
The site of the old city is as singular a site as could have been chosen, but it was selected with the one view of enjoying the very necessary protection of its citadel, the Castle. Its main street extends over the long backbone of the famous ridge which slopes from the Castle to Holyrood. The steep northern side of the ridge was bounded by the long sheet of water called the Nor' Loch, which formed a natural defence from the Castle Hill to a point called Halkerston's Wynd. The contour of the city has been compared to the figure of a turtle, the Castle being taken for the head, the High Street for the ridge of the back, and the numerous wynds and closes for the ribs: the analogy being completed by adding Canongate and Holyrood Palace for the tail. In similar figure, Carlyle graphically presents the sloping street and its wynds as 'covering like some rhinoceros skin, with many a gnarled embossment, church steeple, chimney head, Tolbooth and other ornament or indispensability, back and ribs of the slope.' The old city wall, built by James II., had fallen into ruin and disrepair by the year of Flodden, 1513. On that disastrous occasion there was built in hot haste and panic, of which even the surviving fragments give proof, the famous 'Flodden Wall,' which formed the city boundary till the time of Scott. The north side being almost entirely defended by the Nor' Loch, the wall extended from the Castle round the south and east sides of the city. Beside the Castle rock the first entrance to the city was the West Port, a gate which stood at the foot of the Grassmarket. We may judge how greatly the presence of the walls affected the life of the citizens from the fact that a small wicket-gate had to be constructed in the wall some distance from this Port in the year 1744. Twenty-two years before this, Thomas Hope of Rankeillor had drained the Borough Loch, and planted trees, made a walk, and laid down turf on its side, thus forming the park known as 'The Meadows.' It was to afford 'a more commodious egress to the elegant walks in the meadows' that the wicket was eventually opened. From the West Port the wall ran half-way along the east side of the steep lane called the Vennel, where a portion of it is still existent, thence turning south-east to Bristo Port. The next gate eastward was the Potterrow Port, originally Kirk-of-Field Port, at the head of the Horse Wynd, a lane leading down into the Cowgate. The Horse Wynd was, in fact, the principal access to the town in this quarter, and got its name from being, unlike the others, safe for horses. By the line of Drummond Street the wall proceeded to the Pleasance and the foot of St. Mary Wynd, which the Nether Bow joined to Leith Wynd. The Nether Bow, which was not built till 1616, was the chief entrance of the city, separating it from the Burgh of Canongate. The part of the wall which ran from the Nether Bow to the point at which Leith Wynd crossed the Nor' Loch was added in the year 1540.
Such were the walled boundaries of Edinburgh, within which the city made shift to contain its increasing population during a period of about two hundred and fifty years. Practically the Edinburgh of these centuries lay between the Castle and Holyrood lengthwise, and in breadth between the Nor' Loch and some distance beyond the Cowgate on the south. There was no lack, however, at any period of persons who preferred to live outside the city walls. In fact, old writers are continually remarking on such a strange and perverse disposition, for which they cannot account, especially in those old days when the danger from England was a very grim reality. The propensity led to the gradual growth of a few suburban hamlets, and the only wonder is that they were not larger and more numerous. Of these outside regions the Canongate was the largest, but it was really at first an independent ecclesiastical burgh, established by David I. in 1128 under the Abbey of Holyrood. It did not come under the jurisdiction of the city till the year 1636, when the Town Council bought it from the Earl of Roxburgh. Another 'burgh' of ancient fame was 'Portsburgh' at the other end of the city, extending from the West Port to Toll Cross. Straggling houses belonging to citizens were also to be found farther afield on the Glasgow Road, and in the district now named Dairy. The suburb of Bristo Street, as we have seen, adjoined one of the city gates, and beyond it were the grounds of Ross House, which about 1764 supplied a site for George Square, named after the reigning monarch, George III.
Within these bounds, then, is all that Scott meant when he wrote the words, 'mine own romantic town.' And indeed it was full of romance in every quarter. To him the New Town was but an appendage, a fast-growing appendage of the city itself—a fringe which set off the beauty of the general view. From his Castle Street mansion he looked across to the city of his imagination, and had he lived to see the beginning of the twentieth century, he might have gone farther afield. The city improvements of a large and important provincial centre could hardly have consoled his outraged spirit for the ruthless and needless destruction of priceless relics of the past in which he lived.
Edinburgh University, that is, the old University building, stands in a busy street, without any 'grounds' to remove it from the outside noise and distinguish it from the line of shops and shabby houses. The city of Edinburgh has always been celebrated for its unhappiness in the matter of selecting 'sites.' Why, therefore, the University was put in this unfortunate corner, need not be discussed. The Town Council, it seems, was responsible for the building, and the architect employed was Robert Adam. This edifice, according to a contemporary, was considered by many 'as the masterpiece of Mr. Adam,' but for lack of money the original plans were modified by W. H. Playfair. To make way for this great city improvement, one of the most characteristic 'bits' of old Edinburgh was cleared away. This was College Wynd, now known as Guthrie Street. The picturesque medieval lane, with its jutting balconies, battlemented roofs and charming old windows, had for nearly two centuries been a kind of University, or College, 'Close,' practically reserved for the residence of the learned Regents or Professors from generation to generation. One of the houses at the top of the Wynd demolished on this occasion belonged to Mr. Walter Scott, W.S., who resided in it with his family. Here happened the greatest event in the history of Edinburgh, the birth of our Walter Scott, on the 15th of August 1771.
The locality was not even at that time considered quite a desirable one, but socially it was regarded as satisfactory, even for a family of gentle birth. The fact is that about this time certain new ideas regarding health and fresh air were beginning to excite attention among the inhabitants of the old city. The rate of infant mortality was frightfully high, and the doctors began to ascribe it to the closeness and damp of the nurseries. In the lofty old mansions these were frequently located, for obvious reasons of convenience, in the 'laigh rooms' or sunk floors below the level of the street. The time was ripe for a great change. Building had already been begun on the site of Princes Street and George Street. Plans for a New Town had been approved in 1761, the architect being Mr. James Craig, who was a nephew of Thomson the poet. The North Bridge, which was to connect the New Town with the Old, was finished in 1772. At the same time a more conservative policy led others to try to confine the desired improvement to the Old Town. Brown's Square, part of which still may be seen at the top of Chambers Street, was built, and this was for the time the exclusively fashionable quarter of the city. It was to Brown's Square, as we read in Redgauntlet (Letter II.), that the Fairfords removed, when, as Alan relates to his friend Darsie Latimer, 'the leaving his old apartments in the Luckenbooths was to him' (the elder Fairford) 'like divorcing the soul from the body; yet Dr. R—— did but hint that the better air of this new district was more favourable to my health, as I was then suffering under the penalties of too rapid a growth, when he exchanged his old and beloved quarters, adjacent to the very Heart of Midlothian, for one of those new tenements [entire within themselves] which modern taste has so lately introduced.'
CHAPTER II
The Scotts in George Square—Walter's Lameness—Sandyknowe—Bath—Edinburgh—Changes in the City, 1763-1783—Migrations to the New Town—The Mound—New Manufactures and Trades—The first Umbrella.
To the good people of Edinburgh who had for many years the privilege of seeing Walter Scott daily in their streets, his robust and manly form must have emphasised his unfortunate lameness. It is a defect very painful to a man of bold and active spirit. But Scott had to bear with it all his life through. It began when he was an infant of eighteen months.
The touching little family tradition was often repeated to him afterwards, how one night he was racing about the room in an access of childish high spirits, refusing to go to bed. With difficulty he was caught at last and conveyed to his crib. Next morning he was found to be suffering from fever, and on the fourth day it was discovered that he had lost the use of the right leg. There appeared to be no dislocation or sprain; but the remedies devised by Dr. Rutherford and the other specialists from the University were of no avail. Walter was, in fact, doomed to be lame for life. He tells with a touch of melancholy humour how his parents in their anxiety eagerly made trial of every remedy offered by the sympathy of old friends or by the self-interest of empirics, and some of them were eccentric enough. On Dr. Rutherford's advice, however, the very sensible plan was adopted of sending the child to the country, where, with perfect freedom for open air life, he might have the chance of all the benefit that might gradually be obtained from the natural exertion of his limbs.
He was sent immediately to his grandfather Scott's residence at Sandyknowe, and here, to use his own words, 'I, who in a city had probably been condemned to hopeless and helpless decrepitude, was now a healthy, high-spirited, and, my lameness apart, a sturdy child—non sine diis animosus infans.' This gratifying improvement was quite confirmed by the time he was four years of age, but his parents were only the more anxious in their efforts after a complete cure. At this time it was suggested to his father that the waters at Bath might have some effect on the child's lameness. He was sent to Bath, going first by sea to London. Here he was taken to see the Tower, Westminster Abbey, etc., of which he took with him an impression so strong, complete, and accurate, that, on visiting the same scenes twenty-five years afterwards, he found nothing to correct in the mental pictures which his powerful memory had so long retained. The residence at Bath had no effect on his lameness, but it was here he learned to read, partly at a dame school, and partly at his aunt's knee. 'But I never' (he says) 'acquired a just pronunciation, nor could I read with much propriety.' After a year of Bath, he returned to Edinburgh. A short interval at home was followed by another season at beloved Sandyknowe. Sea-bathing was next recommended for his lameness, and after a few weeks of this at Prestonpans, he was finally taken home to George Square, which continued to be his dwelling-place till his marriage in 1797. He was, of course, too young to appreciate the changes which were going on in the city, but in later years no one realised more keenly than he the revolutionary effects, both concrete and social, of those same years of his childhood. His unfortunate lameness no doubt debarred Walter from seeing as much of the great extensions then proceeding as his brothers may have examined, but they must have been the one unfailing and constant topic of conversation everywhere, and were no doubt of special interest to one who could not even then have been unduly impressed by the vast cost and supposed magnificence of all that was new. The description just given of the city as contained within the old 'Flodden Wall' will help the reader at once to understand how the Edinburgh of Scott's single life differed from the Modern City, and how very considerable were the additions already to the ancient town. Some curious facts have been preserved in an old annual publication called the Picture of Edinburgh. In it we find a quaint 'comparative view' of Edinburgh as it was in 1763 and Edinburgh in the year 1783. In this period there were added on the south side Nicolson Street and Square, most of Bristo Street, George Square, and other streets: all of which took the place of gardens and open fields. The New Town had risen as if by magic. Progressive shopkeepers and bailies were already boasting of George Street as the most splendid street in Europe,[1] and Princes Street as the most elegant terrace. It was computed that over two millions sterling had been spent in these extensions. Wholesale migrations followed from the Old Town to the New, and many grand old mansions passed into unexpected hands. Oliver Cromwell's former lodgings were occupied by a mere sheriff-clerk. The house that at the time of the Union was inhabited by the Duke of Douglas fell to a wheelwright, and Lord President Craigie's mansion was transferred to a seller of old furniture. So great, in fact, was the change of habits and ideas, that we are told a common chairman, or porter, who had got into the apartments once used by Lord Drummore, complained of defective accommodation! The year 1783 also saw a new passage opened between the Old Town and the New. This was effected by means of the huge heap of earth collected from the excavations made in digging so many foundations. By agreement with the contractors, all this earth was conveyed, free of charge, to the space between the foot of Hanover Street and the Old Town ridge. It is also stated that in this period the number of four-wheeled carriages in Edinburgh increased from 396 to 1268. Coach-building became one of the most important industries, if it be true that about 1783 an Edinburgh coachmaker received an order from Paris for one thousand coaches. It seems that before this time the operation of trade was exactly the reverse, Paris being reputed to make carriages superior to any in Europe. Other trades, which had been wholly unknown to the old city, now sprang into existence, indicating great change of manners as well as increase of wealth. Amongst those, drapers' shops became the most numerous in the city, and hairdressers vastly increased in number. Oyster-cellars also became numerous, and are noted as being frequented by people of fashion, who sometimes held their private dancing-parties in these places. It was now that umbrellas came into general use. Before 1763, it would appear that an umbrella was regarded in Edinburgh as a rare phenomenon.
[1] But to Scott, of course, the old High Street always was 'the principal street of Edinburgh.' It is to it he refers with pride in The Abbot as being 'then, as now, the most spacious street in Europe.'
CHAPTER III
School-days—The High School—Old Methods of Teaching—Luke Fraser—Tone of the School—Brutal Masters—Schoolboy's Dress—Boyish Ideas—Scott's Pride of Birth—The 'Harden' Family—'Beardie'—The Dryburgh Lands.
It was in 1778 that Walter Scott began to attend the Grammar School, or High School of Edinburgh. The High School building stood at the foot of Infirmary Street, in what was called the High School Wynd. The name 'High School Yards' is still attached to a neighbouring lane. The 'Yards' would be the boys' playground. Like other Grammar Schools in Scotland the High School was managed by the Town Council,[1] by whose authority, at a date so early as 1519, the citizens were charged to send their boys to it and to no other school. In 1777 the Town Council erected a new schoolhouse, as the rapidly increasing numbers required more extensive accommodation. It seems that in the eighteenth century the reputation of the school stood very high, and, of course, it had then no rivals in the city. The number of pupils about this time is stated to have been six hundred. The teaching staff consisted of the Rector and four masters.
[1] The school was transferred in 1873 to the School Board of Edinburgh.
The classes were, of course, very large, and the method of teaching was necessarily very simple. Short tasks in Latin, set purely for repetition, were rhymed over by each boy in the same words and the same way. One Henry Cockburn, who joined the school in 1787, says it drove him stupid. 'Oh! the bodily and mental wearisomeness of sitting six hours a day, staring idly at a page, without motion and without thought.' He says the school was notorious for its severity and riotousness, and recalls his feelings of trembling and dizziness when he sat down amidst above a hundred new faces. His master he characterises as being as bad a schoolmaster as it is possible to fancy. Walter Scott was more fortunate. His class was taught by Mr. Luke Fraser, a good Latin scholar and a very worthy man. Walter seems to have enjoyed his school life. In Mr. Fraser's class he was not distinguished as one of the brilliant pupils. To the latter, especially the dux, James Buchan, he pays a warm tribute, and of himself he says: 'I glanced like a meteor from one end of the class to the other, and commonly disgusted my kind master as much by negligence and frivolity as I occasionally pleased him by flashes of intellect and talent. Among my companions, my good-nature and a flow of ready imagination rendered me very popular.... In the winter play-hours, when hard exercise was impossible, my tales used to assemble an admiring audience round Lucky Brown's fireside, and happy was he that could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator. I was also, though often negligent of my own task, always ready to assist my friends; and hence I had a little party of staunch adherents and partisans, stout of hand and heart, though somewhat dull of head—the very tools for raising a hero to eminence. So, on the whole, I made a brighter figure in the yards than in the class.' In speaking of his education, it must be remembered that he always underrates his attainments. There is no doubt that he had a gift for acquiring languages and was a remarkable pupil in every class. But because he was a little behind the others at the start, he seems to have fancied himself somewhat in that position all through. As to the manners and morals of the boys, Scott has left no criticism. Of their outside fun and adventures he has given a lively sketch in the episode of Green-Breeks in the third Appendix to the General Preface of his novels. We learn from Lord Cockburn that in his time and in his opinion, the tone of the school was vulgar and harsh. Among the boys (he states) coarseness of language and manners was the only fashion. An English boy was so rare, that his language was openly laughed at. No lady could be seen within the walls. Nothing evidently civilised was safe. Two of the masters, in particular, were so savage, that any master doing now what they did every hour, would certainly be transported.
The same writer mentions that the boys had to be at school during summer at seven in the morning. Here is his interesting description of his dress as a schoolboy: 'I often think I see myself in my usual High School apparel, which was the common dress of other boys. It consisted of a round black hat; a shirt fastened at the neck by a black ribbon, and except on dress days, unruffled; a cloth waistcoat, rather large, with two rows of buttons and of button-holes, so that it could be buttoned on either side, which, when one side got dirty, was convenient; a single-breasted jacket, which in due time got a tail and became a coat; brown corduroy breeks, tied at the knees by a showy knot of brown cotton tape; worsted stockings in winter, blue cotton stockings in summer, and white cotton for dress; clumsy shoes made to be used on either foot, and each requiring to be used on alternate feet daily; brass or copper buckles. The coat and waistcoat were always of glaring colours, such as bright blue, grass green, and scarlet. I remember well the pride with which I was once rigged out in a scarlet waistcoat and a bright green coat. No such machinery as what are now termed braces or suspenders had then been imagined.'
There was plenty of pride among the High School boys. The roughness of manners and coarseness of speech which they shared with the lower orders never impaired the strong feeling of caste which they imbibed at home. Among the baser spirits it was, of course, selfish and conceited, but it had a better and healthier effect on the finer natures of the few. Even as a boy, Walter Scott, as we have seen, lived much in an ideal world of his own creation. It was largely peopled with the romantic figures of the adventurous past, and the boy must have delighted greatly in the knowledge that many of his heroes of the past were ancestors of his own. Pride of birth was certainly one of his earliest ideals, and it continued to influence him, in a manly and noble spirit, all through life. It colours, as we know, every page of his romantic writings, both verse and prose. It is united always with the ideas of truth, honour, and courage, and strongly allied with a beautiful sentiment of chivalry and grace.
Though he never boasted of his own lineage—vulgarity being alien to his nature—he was always conscious of it, and always lived up to the ideal standard it created in his mind. His pedigree was one in which a romantic antiquary could not but rejoice. On the mother's side he was a lineal descendant of the Swintons of that ilk, a family which (as he records) produced many distinguished warriors in the Middle Ages, and which, for antiquity and honourable alliances, may rank with any in Britain. His father's family, the Scotts of Harden, were still more after his poetical heart. 'Wat of Harden, who came with speed,' was a typical Border chief, the sturdy hero of many a minstrel's lay. For among these rude Borderers not only had every dale its battle, but every river its song. And this attachment to music and song, together with the 'rude species of chivalry in constant use' among the Border clans, raises them to a level amply sufficient for romance. The grandson of Wat of Harden was another Walter Scott, who, not being his father's eldest son, was employed as Factor on the estate of Makerston. It is strange to think of Wat of Harden's grandson in a quasi-legal post and noted as a gentleman of literary leanings. Such he was, however, and a favourite friend of that great physician and elegant Latinist, Archibald Pitcairn. The two used to meet together in Edinburgh, and talked treasonable sentences in majestic Latin. This Walter, indeed, had proved his Jacobite loyalty in a manner worthy of his name. He had fought, 'with conquering Graham,' at Killiecrankie, and now testified his sorrow for the exile of the Stuarts by letting his beard grow, untouched by razor or scissors, as a symbol of mourning, and a visible protest.
This eccentricity gained for him the nickname of 'Beardie,' and it would have been well (says Sir Walter) that his zeal had stopped there. But he took arms, and intrigued in their cause, until he lost all he had in the world. His second son, Robert, was intended for the sea, but a shipwreck, which unfortunately occurred in his first voyage, gave him such a dislike for the salt water, that he refused to go back for a second trial. His father, displeased with his son's perversity, now left him to his own resources. It was the best thing that could have happened, for the youth had grit and character, as his grandson's amusing account of his proceedings sufficiently shows. 'He turned Whig upon the spot, and fairly abjured his father's politics and his learned poverty. His chief and relative, Mr. Scott of Harden, gave him a lease of the farm of Sandyknowe, comprehending the rocks in the centre of which Smailholm or Sandyknowe Tower is situated. He took for his shepherd an old man called Hogg, who willingly lent him, out of respect to his family, his whole savings, about thirty pounds, to stock the new farm. With this sum, which it seems was at that time sufficient for the purpose, the master and the servant set off to purchase a stock of sheep at Whitsun-Tryste, a fair held on a hill near Wooler in Northumberland. The old shepherd went carefully from drove to drove, till he found a hirsel likely to answer their purpose, and then returned to tell his master to come and conclude the bargain. But what was his surprise to see him galloping a mettled hunter about the racecourse, and to find he had expended the whole stock in this extraordinary purchase!—Moses' bargain of green spectacles did not strike more dismay into the Vicar of Wakefield's family, than my grandfather's rashness into the poor old shepherd. The thing, however, was irretrievable, and they returned without the sheep. In the course of a few days, however, my grandfather, who was one of the best horsemen of his time, attended John Scott of Harden's hounds on this same horse, and displayed him to such advantage that he sold him for double the original price. The farm was now stocked in earnest, and the rest of my grandfather's career was that of successful industry.'
The wife of this Robert Scott was Barbara Haliburton, daughter of a Berwickshire laird, whose brother was proprietor of part of the lands of Dryburgh, including the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey. Thus this rare old-world relic, unequalled in its beauty and its hallowed associations, was likely to fall into the hands of the father of Sir Walter Scott. It happened, however, that the old laird, Robert Haliburton, had a weakness for dabbling in trade, and so came to ruin himself. His Dryburgh possessions were sold, and passed for ever out of the hands of the novelist's relations. Scott seems to have felt considerable regret over this incident in his family history. There is a touching note of pathos in the remarks with which he sums it up in his Autobiography: 'And thus we have nothing left of Dryburgh, although my father's maternal inheritance, but the right of stretching our bones where mine may perhaps be laid ere any eye but my own glances over these pages.'
CHAPTER IV
Dr. Adam, Rector of High School—Walter Scott's first Lines—Influence of Adam—Persecution by Nicol—Death-scene of the Rector—Home Life in George Square—Walter Scott the 'Writer'—Anecdotes of his Character.
Very special honour, on the part of all lovers of Scott, is due to Alexander Adam, the Rector of the High School. Adam, whose text-book of Roman Antiquities continued for over a century to be used in the Scottish Grammar Schools and Universities, was not only a scholar, but a man of literary tastes and sympathies. He was ever ready to detect and encourage any sign of talent or character among the boys. It was his custom to encourage them to attempt poetical versions of Horace and Vergil. These were purely voluntary efforts, never set as tasks. Of course, such attempts had a strong attraction for Scott. Though he might not understand the Latin so well as some of his comrades, the Rector himself declared that Gualterus Scott was behind few in following and enjoying the author's meaning. His versions therefore often gained discriminating praise, and Adam ever after took much notice of the boy. It is a pleasure to find in the pages of Lockhart one of these juvenile efforts. No wonder that Adam had faith in the boy of twelve who could turn Vergil in language like this:
'In awful ruins Ætna thunders nigh,
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire,
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing fire;
At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd,
That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost;
Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn,
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne
With loud explosions to the starry skies,
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies,
Then back again with greater weight recoils,
While Ætna thundering from the bottom boils.'
This little piece, it seems, written in a weak, boyish scrawl, within pencilled marks still visible, had been carefully preserved by his mother; it was folded up in a cover inscribed by the old lady—'My Walter's first lines, 1782.'
Scott does full justice to the excellent influence of Dr. Adam on his character. 'I saw I was expected to do well, and I was piqued in honour to vindicate my master's favourable opinion. I climbed, therefore, to the first form; and, though I never made a first-rate Latinist, my school-fellows, and, what was of more consequence, I myself, considered that I had a character for learning to maintain. Dr. Adam, to whom I owed so much, never failed to remind me of my obligations when I had made some figure in the literary world.... He remembered the fate of every boy at his school during the fifty years he had superintended it, and always traced their success or misfortunes entirely to their attention or negligence when under his care. His "noisy mansion," which to others would have been a melancholy bedlam, was the pride of his heart; and the only fatigues he felt, amidst din and tumult, and the necessity of reading themes, hearing lessons, and maintaining some degree of order at the same time, were relieved by comparing himself to Cæsar, who could dictate to three secretaries at once:—so ready is vanity to lighten the labours of duty.' Another great man who testified the same kindly feeling towards Adam was Francis Jeffrey, who passed through his hands a few years later than Scott.
An incident in Adam's career must now be mentioned which throws a strong light on a rather seamy side of Edinburgh character at the time. Very naturally, though he had no sympathy or even acquaintance with the party politics then current, the Rector would occasionally make comparisons between the French Revolution and the events of ancient history. This led to some hostility on the part of the pupils. Then the parents took offence, and the Town Council, as patrons of the school, persecuted the good man by encouraging Nicol, one of the masters, to insult and defy him. This is the 'Willie' who was a friend of Burns, and who sorely tried the poet's patience during their tour in the Highlands. He seems to have been a good classical scholar, an 'admirable convivial humorist,' but in other respects a downright blackguard. The savage brute, taking advantage of his influence with the Council, went so far as actually to attempt the life of his chief, waylaying and attacking the poor man after dark. Nicol is one of the two masters whom Lord Cockburn mentions as the curse of the school, 'whose atrocities young men cannot be made to believe, but old men cannot forget.'
We pass from the High School and its memories with the beautiful and touching picture drawn by Scott of the death of his old master and friend: 'This (unpleasant incident) passed away with other heats of the period, and the Doctor continued his labours till about a year since, when he was struck with palsy while teaching his class. He survived a few days, but becoming delirious before his dissolution, conceived he was still in school, and after some expressions of applause or censure, he said, "But it grows dark—the boys may dismiss,"—and instantly expired.'
The home life during these school-days was very strict, but tempered by the natural outbreaks of youthful vitality. In later years it is clear that Walter regretted two things—the unnecessary gloom of Sunday at home, and the want of sympathy on the part of his father—more correctly the failure of giving expression to the feelings which were certainly there, and very deep and strong. But all the same he loved his father, and recognised to the full his splendid character. Walter Scott, the eldest son of Robert of Sandyknowe, was born in 1729. He was bred to the law, and in due time became a Writer to the Signet. Though not perhaps well fitted by nature for such a profession, he was a hard, conscientious worker, and took a special interest 'in analysing the abstruse feudal doctrines connected with conveyancing.' In fact, his high principles and earnest attachment to religion made it impossible for him to devote his whole mind to mere bargain-driving, whether for himself or others. Anything like sharpness in employing the necessities, wants, and follies of men for his own pecuniary advantage was entirely foreign to his nature. Of fighting the knaves and dastards with the petty weapons of an ignoble warfare he was as little capable as ever was his magnanimous son. In all such affairs, in that son's opinion, 'Uncle Toby himself could not have conducted himself with more simplicity than my father.' No quainter proof of this admirable simplicity could be imagined than the fact that he made a personal matter of the honour of his clients, and often embarrassed by his zeal for their credit persons whose sense of honour and duty was anything but keen. However, in those days character and honesty were still appreciated by men who did not imitate them. Mr. Scott rose to eminence in his profession, and enjoyed at one time an extensive practice. Somewhat formal in manner and a rigid Calvinist in religion, he had many little peculiarities of the rural rather than the city Scot. Thus, though very abstemious in his habits, he was fond of sociability and grew very merry over his sober glass of wine. Moderate in politics, he had a natural leaning to constitutional principles, and was jealous of modern encroachments on the royal prerogative. His weakness for established forms made him a stickler for points of etiquette at marriages, christenings, and funerals. The sweetness of his temper, the dignity and purity of his life, and the charm of his distinguished personality inspired those who knew him with singular affection for this Scottish Thomas Newcome. The best of all this might stand for the picture of the younger Walter Scott, but it is interesting to know that in features there was no resemblance between the father and the son. By a striking but not unusual freak of heredity, the latter's face was an almost perfect replica of that of his ancestor 'Beardie.'
CHAPTER V
At Edinburgh University—Holidays at Kelso—Home—First University Class—Professor Hill—Professor Dalzell—The 'Greek Blockhead'—Anecdotes of Dalzell—His History of Edinburgh University.
Walter Scott was a boy of thirteen when he entered the University. After leaving the High School he had been sent to spend half a year with his aunt, Miss Janet Scott, at Kelso. Here, while keeping up his Latin with a tutor, he was free to indulge in miscellaneous reading. Amongst other treasures he came upon Percy's Reliques, about which he declared he had never read a book half so frequently or with half the enthusiasm. It confirmed him in the love for legendary lore, which had begun in infancy. To this period also he traces the awaking of his feeling for the beauties of nature, 'more especially when combined with ancient ruins.' It became, as he says, an insatiable passion, and indeed goes far to account for his eager pursuit of territory at Abbotsford. Returning to Edinburgh in October, he joined the class of Humanity, under Mr. Hill, and the first Greek class, under Mr. Dalzell. Unfortunately for his Latin, Hill's class seems for the time to have been the rowdiest in the University. No work was done in it. Lord Cockburn, speaking of 1793, bitterly complains that the class was a scene of unchecked idleness and disrespectful mirth. Scott says that Hill was beloved by his students, but that he held the reins of discipline very loosely. In fact, the boy, as might have been expected of his lively nature, took his part in the fun and forgot much of the Latin he had learned under Adam and Whale (the Selkirk tutor). But his loss in the Greek class was greater still. The first class, in those days, was engaged on the mere elements, but Walter had not even the smattering which was necessary to keep up with this humble attempt. He therefore resolved not to learn Greek at all, and professed a contempt for the language, as a method of braving things out. He was known in the class as the Greek Blockhead, and at the end of the session he wrote an essay to prove the inferiority of Homer to Ariosto. This whimsical idea he defended with such force as to rouse Professor Dalzell's indignation, but while reproving the foolish presumption of the young critic, he honestly expressed his surprise at the quantity of out-of-the-way knowledge which the boy had displayed. It was like Samuel Johnson quoting Macrobius to the Oxford dons. But Dalzell, instead of complimenting and flattering the genius, denounced him, saying that dunce he was and dunce he would remain. The good judge, however, handsomely reversed and recalled this verdict in after-years 'over a bottle of Burgundy, at our literary club at Fortune's, of which he was a distinguished member.' Cockburn, like Scott, entered Dalzell's class without any knowledge of Greek. He has left a charming picture of the Professor, with whose ways and ideas he seems to have been in full sympathy. 'At the mere teaching of a language to boys, he was ineffective. How is it possible for the elements, including the very letters, of a language to be taught to one hundred boys at once, by a single lecturing professor? To the lads who, like me, to whom the very alphabet was new, required positive teaching, the class was utterly useless. Nevertheless, though not a good schoolmaster, it is a duty, and delightful to record Dalzell's value as a general exciter of boys' minds. Dugald Stewart alone excepted, he did me more good than all the other instructors I had. Mild, affectionate, simple, an absolute enthusiast about learning—particularly classical, and especially Greek—with an innocence of soul and of manner which imparted an air of honest kindliness to whatever he said or did, and a slow, soft, formal voice, he was a great favourite with all boys, and with all good men. Never was a voyager, out in quest of new islands, more delighted in finding one, than he was in discovering any good quality in any humble youth.... He could never make us actively laborious. But when we sat passive and listened to him, he inspired us with a vague but sincere ambition of literature, and with delicious dreams of virtue and poetry. He must have been a hard boy whom these discourses, spoken by Dalzell's low, soft, artless voice, did not melt.'
Dalzell was clerk to the General Assembly, and was long one of the curiosities of that strange place, for which Cockburn quaintly says he was too innocent. The last time he saw Dalzell was just before his death, of the near approach of which the old man was quite aware. He was busy amusing his children by trying to discharge a twopenny cannon; but his alarm and awkwardness only terrified the little ones. At last he got behind a washing-tub, and then, fastening the match to the end of a long stick, set the piece of ordnance off gloriously. He seems to have held the opinion strongly that the seventeenth century was responsible for the defects of classical learning in Scotland. Sydney Smith declared that one dark night he had overheard the Professor muttering to himself on the street, 'If it had not been for that confounded Solemn League and Covenant, we would have made as good longs and shorts as they' (the English Episcopalians).
Professor Dalzell compiled a History of the University of Edinburgh from its foundation to his own time. His own election to the Greek chair took place in 1772, and he was at the time acting as tutor to the sons of the Earl of Lauderdale. From 1785 he appears to have acted as joint Secretary and Librarian, thus obtaining access to all the materials necessary for his elaborate History.
CHAPTER VI
Scott's University Studies—The old Latin Chronicles—Dugald Stewart, His Success described—His elegant Essays—Popular Subjects—Picture of Stewart by Lord Cockburn—His Lectures—Anecdote of Macvey Napier—Meets Robert Burns—The Poet's 'Pocket Milton.'
Certainly Edinburgh University cannot claim to have contributed much, if anything at all, to the training of the future poet, novelist, and man of letters. In his second session he fell ill, and was sent again to Kelso to recruit. He had now lost all taste for the Latin classics, and his reading at this time was almost entirely without aim or system, except that his taste led him to make a special point of history. He read George Buchanan's Latin History of Scotland, Matthew Paris, and various monkish chronicles in Latin, but Greek he now gave up for ever. He had forgotten the very letters of the Greek alphabet; a loss, as he says, never to be repaired, considering what that language is, and who they were who employed it in their compositions. His knowledge of mathematics was, by his own account, never more than a superficial smattering. He seems, however, to have won some distinction in the study of ethics, having been one of the students selected in this class for the distinction of reading an essay before the Principal. The great ornament of the Arts Faculty was at this time Dugald Stewart, of whom some account must now be given as representing in its best and typical aspects the characteristic Edinburgh culture of the period. Stewart had succeeded his father as Professor of Mathematics in 1775, and had obtained the chair of Moral Philosophy in 1785 by exchanging with a colleague. He occupied this chair for twenty-five years, during which time, by his lectures and writings, he gained the very highest distinction, not only for the importance of his philosophical speculations, but on account of the high literary merits of his style. There is no doubt that his reputation was greatly exaggerated, for his technical work was really of no value; but in his own time he maintained a foremost place, and his celebrity shed honour alike on his University and his native country. In fact, Dugald Stewart is the most remarkable example we know of the great possibilities that lie open to men of ordinary or even meagre capacities, who know how to make effective use of the commonplace. His merits were such as may belong to any man: he mastered the details of his subject with thorough care, he read much and drew upon literature for illustrative quotations, he supported moral theories by an elaborate sentimental rhetoric, he was most careful in his personal conduct, and, above all, he studiously maintained great formal dignity of both speech and manners. In short, he cultivated all the prudential and external methods of success, and he obtained it full and overflowing. He might have reversed the lines of Cato, and said:
''Tis not in mortals to deserve success:
But I'll do more, my subjects, I'll command it.'
In his college lectures his method was to expatiate on the popular aspects of moral themes, studiously avoiding repulsive technicalities and brain-taxing discussions. Thus, by judiciously limiting his topics to those in which it was possible to exercise the embellishments of rhetoric, he succeeded in his aim of always preserving the appearance of dignity and greatness. He never deviated from the great style in language or manner, and it is not surprising that his matter temporarily passed for great. The man who is never seen other than faultlessly attired in the height of fashion is bound to be considered a well-to-do gentleman. Walter Scott, however, does not seem to have been carried away by the prevailing current of enthusiasm. He merely mentions that he was further instructed in Moral Philosophy by Mr. Dugald Stewart, whose striking and impressive eloquence riveted the attention even of the most volatile students.
To Lord Cockburn's essentially different nature Stewart was the ideal of academic greatness, the correctness of Stewart's taste striking him with a certain awe. Stewart's elegant essays, 'embellished by the happiest introduction of exquisite quotations,' on such subjects as the obligations of patriotism and affection, the cultivation and the value of taste, the charms of literature and science, etc., appeared to him not only fascinating, which they were, but always great, which certainly they were not.
Lord Cockburn describes Dugald Stewart as 'about the middle size, weakly limbed, and with an appearance of feebleness which gave an air of delicacy to his gait and structure. His forehead was large and bald, his eyebrows bushy, his eyes grey, and intelligent, and capable of conveying any emotion, from indignation to pity, from serene sense to hearty humour: in which they were powerfully aided by his lips, which, though rather large perhaps, were flexible and expressive. The voice was singularly pleasing; and, as he managed it, a slight burr only made its tones softer. His ear, both for music and for speech, was exquisite; and he was the finest reader I have ever heard. His gesture was simple and elegant, though not free from a tinge of professional formality; and his whole manner that of an academical gentleman....
'He lectured, standing, from notes which, with their successive additions, must, I suppose, at last have been nearly as full as his spoken words. His lecturing manner was professorial, but gentlemanlike; calm and expository, but rising into greatness, or softening into tenderness, whenever his subject required it. A slight asthmatic tendency made him often clear his throat; and such was my admiration of the whole exhibition, that Macvey Napier told him, not long ago, that I had said there was eloquence in his very spitting. "Then," said he, "I am glad there was at least one thing in which I had no competitor...." To me his lectures were like the opening of the heavens. I felt that I had a soul. His noble views, unfolded in glorious sentences, elevated me into a higher world. I was as much excited and charmed as any man of cultivated senses would be, who, after being ignorant of their existence, was admitted to all the glories of Milton, Cicero, and Shakespeare. They changed my whole nature. In short, Dugald Stewart was one of the greatest of didactic orators. Had he lived in ancient time, his memory would have descended to us as that of one of the finest of the old eloquent sages. But his lot was better cast. Flourishing in an age which requires all the dignity of morals to counteract the tendencies of physical pursuits and political convulsion, he has exalted the character of his country and his generation. No intelligent pupil of his ever ceased to respect philosophy or was ever false to his principles, without feeling the crime aggravated by the recollection of the morality that Stewart had taught him.'
This last tribute to Stewart is a very fine idea. It recalls Persius' noble line:
'Virtutem videant, intabescantque relicta.'
Stewart had the great honour and felicity of meeting Burns on his first visit to Edinburgh in 1786. A more singularly contrasted pair could hardly have been brought together from any corners of the earth. Burns looked up to the celebrated professor with genuine admiration, for rhetoric was the great poet's besetting weakness. He speaks of Stewart personally always with respect and esteem, but the stateliness of the patricians in Edinburgh almost disgusted him with life. He was obliged to buy a pocket Milton, so that he might be able, whenever he recalled it, to study the sentiments of courage, independence, and noble defiance, 'in that great personage, SATAN,' as an antidote to the poisoned feeling of disgust.
CHAPTER VII
Old Edinburgh Society—Manners of the older Generation—St. Cecilia's Hall—Buccleuch Place Rooms—Rules of the Assemblies—Drinking Customs—Recollections of Lord Cockburn.
The great transformation process of Edinburgh life and society was a striking feature of the years during which Walter Scott grew from boyhood to manhood. The rise of the New Town, with the consequent rapid migration of the much greater part of the well-to-do population, was naturally the most active factor in the change. There was a general alteration of habits. Families changed their style of living. Old arrangements, necessitated by the lofty old houses, disappeared. Old peculiarities, which gave character and Scottish individuality to the city, were obliterated as if by magic. As might be expected, such sweeping changes were disliked and denounced by many who looked upon the whole movement as a vulgarising of the old gentilities. The social habits of the older generation were a strange mixture of coarseness and extreme decorum, based upon artificial rules. The latter side is seen in the delightful sketches which Lord Cockburn has left us of the old concert-rooms and assembly-rooms which were maintained by the fashionable class for their own exclusive use.
'Saint Cecilia's Hall was the only public resort of the musical, and besides being our most selectly fashionable place of amusement, was the best and the most beautiful concert-room I have ever yet seen. And there have I myself seen most of our literary and fashionable gentlemen, predominating with their side curls and frills, and ruffles, and silver buckles; and our stately matrons stiffened in hoops and gorgeous satin; and our beauties with high-heeled shoes, powdered and pomatumed hair, and lofty and composite head-dresses. All this was in the Cowgate! the last retreat nowadays of destitution and disease. The building still stands, though raised and changed, and is looked down upon from South Bridge, over the eastern side of the Cowgate Arch. When I last saw it, it seemed to be partly an old clothesman's shop, and partly a brazier's.[1] The abolition of this Cecilian temple, and the necessity of finding accommodation where they could, and of depending for patronage on the common boisterous public, of course, extinguished the delicacies of the old artificial parterre.
[1] It is now part of the bookbinding premises of George Cooper and Co., Niddry Street. The Hall itself is now used as a store for paper.
'Our balls, and their manners, fared no better. The ancient dancing establishments in the Bow and the Assembly Close I know nothing about. Everything of the kind was meant to be annihilated by the erection (about 1784) of the handsome apartments in George Street. Yet even against these, the new part of the old town made a gallant struggle, and in my youth the whole fashionable dancing, as indeed the fashionable everything, clung to George Square; where (in Buccleuch Place, close by the south-eastern corner of the square) most beautiful rooms were erected, which, for several years, threw the New Town piece of presumption entirely into the shade. And here were the last remains of the ballroom discipline of the preceding age. Martinet dowagers and venerable beaux acted as masters and mistresses of ceremonies, and made all the preliminary arrangements. No couple could dance unless each party was provided with a ticket prescribing the precise place in the precise dance. If there was no ticket, the gentleman, or the lady, was dealt with as an intruder, and turned out of the dance. If the ticket had marked upon it—say, for a country dance, the figures 3, 5, this meant that the holder was to place himself in the third dance, and fifth from the top; and if he was anywhere else, he was set right or excluded. And the partner's tickets must correspond. Woe to the poor girl who, with ticket 2, 7, was found opposite a youth marked 5, 9! It was flirting without a licence, and looked very ill, and would probably be reported by the ticket director of that dance to the mother. Of course, parties, or parents, who wished to secure dancing for themselves or those they had charge of, provided themselves with correct and corresponding vouchers before the ball day arrived. This could only be accomplished through a director: and the election of a pope sometimes requires less jobbing. When parties chose to take their chance, they might do so; but still, though only obtained in the room, the written permission was necessary; and such a thing as a compact to dance, by a couple, without official authority, would have been an outrage that could scarcely be contemplated. Tea was sipped in side-rooms, and he was a careless beau who did not present his partner with an orange at the end of each dance; and the orange and the tea, like everything else, were under exact and positive regulations. All this disappeared, and the very rooms were obliterated, as soon as the lately raised community secured its inevitable supremacy to the New Town. The aristocracy of a few predominating individuals and families came to an end; and the unreasonable old had nothing for it but to sigh over the recollection of the select and elegant parties of their youth, where indiscriminate public right was rejected, and its coarseness awed.
'Yet in some respects there was far more coarseness in the formal age than in the free one. Two vices especially, which have been long banished from all respectable society, were very prevalent, if not universal, among the whole upper ranks—swearing and drunkenness. Nothing was more common than for gentlemen who had dined with ladies, and meant to rejoin them, to get drunk. To get drunk in a tavern seemed to be considered as a natural, if not an intended consequence of going to one. Swearing was thought the right, and the mark, of a gentleman. And, tried by this test, nobody, who had not seen them, could now be made to believe how many gentlemen there were. Not that people were worse tempered then than now. They were only coarser in their manners, and had got into a bad style of admonition and dissent. And the evil provoked its own continuance, because nobody who was blamed cared for the censure, or understood that it was serious, unless it was clothed in execration; and any intensity even of kindness or of logic, that was not embodied in solid commination, evaporated, and was supposed to have been meant to evaporate, in the very uttering. The naval chaplain justified his cursing the sailors, because it made them listen to him; and Braxfield apologised to a lady whom he damned at whist for bad play, by declaring that he had mistaken her for his wife. This odious practice was applied with particular offensiveness by those in authority towards their inferiors. In the army it was universal by officers towards soldiers; and far more frequent than is now credible by masters towards servants.'
CHAPTER VIII
Description of St. Cecilia's Hall—Concerts—Old-fashioned Contempt for 'Stars'—Former Assembly Rooms—The George Street Rooms—Scott and the old Social Ways—Simplicity and Friendliness—His Picture of the Beginnings of Fashion in the New Town.
A few additional details can still be given of the places thus described by Lord Cockburn. St. Cecilia's Hall was seated, in the manner of an amphitheatre, for five hundred persons, with a large open space in the centre. The orchestra was at the upper end of the room, where there was also 'an elegant organ.' It was managed by a great society of musical gentlemen, a society which, it seems, originated from a weekly club-meeting, as was then usual, in a tavern. The landlord, Steil, was extremely fond of music, and was regarded as an excellent singer of Scottish songs. The concerts given in St. Cecilia's Hall, besides their fashionable aspect, seem to have been of high musical merit. One writing about the beginning of last century laments most feelingly its neglect and decay. He describes the great doings of its palmy days, when the best compositions of the old school took the lead in the plans of the concerts; when the sublime compositions of Handel, and the enchanting strains of Corelli, were ably conducted under the direction of a Pinto, a Puppo, a Penducci, and a Kelly. He declares that genuine taste for music has decayed in Edinburgh; that the rage of the present day is only to be captivated by those intricate capriccios in execution which excite no passion but surprise; and that the sweet sounds which enchanted the ears of our forefathers are now laid aside for those which amaze rather than delight. It is true (he continues) we may be occasionally honoured with a visit by a Braham or a Catalani; but, like birds of passage, scarcely have they feathered their nests, when they wing their way to milder climes. How different and how disagreeable, in fact, must modern arrangements have appeared to old-fashioned worthies. The 'stars' of the old time were paid only by results, that is, by benefit nights whose success was, of course, in proportion to the singer's merits.
The first Assembly Rooms were at the West Bow, opened in 1760. The Assemblies were removed to new rooms in the High Street (Assembly Close) some ten years later. They were weekly meetings for dancing and card-playing, kept up by a charge of five shillings for admission. At first the Assemblies were managed entirely by private individuals, but a change was made in 1746, when they were transferred to the charge of seven persons connected with the Royal Infirmary and the Charity Workhouse. A lady of fashion was always associated with this committee, to look after points of etiquette and decorum. The surplus funds were always given to the two institutions named. The George Street Rooms were erected to supply defects of accommodation and to shift the centre of fashion into the New Town. Sir Walter pictures the veterans of his generation as recollecting with a sigh the Old Assembly Rooms, or Dun's Rooms, or the George Street Rooms, when first opened, as a place of public amusement, where all persons, of rank and fashion entitling them to frequent such places, met upon easy and upon equal terms, and without any attempt at intrusion on the part of others; where the pretensions of every one were known and judged of by their birth and manners, and not by assumed airs of extravagance, or a lavish display of wealth. His conclusion was that, upon the whole, the society of the higher classes in Edinburgh was formerly select, the members better known to each other, and therefore more easy in intercourse than at a later day (say after the beginning of the nineteenth century). Evidently what charmed Scott was the family charm of the old system, and the mild assertion of the aristocratic caste which was doomed to give way before the claims of mere wealth. The Scottish aristocracy were not rich. The old Edinburgh therefore suited at once their purses and their prejudices. The ladies were content to entertain their friends at tea. Then after some wine-drinking by the gentlemen, the carpets would be lifted, and a homely and happy evening spent in dancing. Thus there was abundance of sociability at little expense; and friendships were warmer because of this admission to the intimacies of the ordinary daily life. Families met more frequently, when the only preparation necessary was 'a social and domestic meal of plain cookery, with a glass of good port-wine or claret.' Scott is never severe on the drinking customs, of which the purely social aspect appealed so strongly to his warm heart and kindly nature. He admits that the claret was sometimes allowed to circulate too often and too long, but the tea-table and the card-party claimed their rights sooner or later, and perhaps the young ladies might thank the claret for the frequent proposal of rolling aside the carpet and dancing to the music of the pianoforte.
Contrast with these happy and home-like revels the beginnings of the modern system as pictured by Scott. 'Certainly he who has witnessed and partaken of pleasures attainable on such easy terms, may be allowed to murmur at modern parties, where, with much more formality and more expense, the same cheerful results are not equally secured. When, after a month's invitation, he meets a large party of twenty or thirty people, probably little known to him and to each other, who are entertained with French cookery and a variety of expensive wines offered in succession, while circumstances often betray that the landlord is making an effort beyond his usual habits; when the company protract a dull effort at conversation under the reserve imposed by their being strangers to each other, and reunite with the ladies, sober enough, it is true, but dull enough also, to drink cold coffee, he expects at least to finish the evening with dance and song, or the lively talk around the fire, or the comfortable, old-fashioned rubber. But these are no part of modern manners. No sooner is the dinner-party ended, than each guest sets forth on a nocturnal cruise from one crowded party to another; and ends by elbowing, it may be, in King Street, about three o'clock in the morning, the very same folks whom he elbowed at ten o'clock at night in Charlotte Square, and who, like him, have spent the whole night in the streets, and in going in or out of lighted apartments.'
CHAPTER IX
Manners and Social Customs—Cockburn's Sketches—The Dinner-hour—The Procession—The Viands—Drinking—Claret—Healths and Toasts—Anecdote of Duke of Buccleuch—'Rounds' of Toasts—'Sentiments'—The Dominie of Arndilly—Scott's Views of the old Customs—Decline of 'friendly' Feeling.
We shall now give Lord Cockburn's very interesting picture of the evenings which Scott dwelt upon with such sympathetic regret:—
'The prevailing dinner-hour was about three o'clock. Two o'clock was quite common, if there was no company. Hence it was no great deviation from their usual custom for a family to dine on Sundays "between sermons"—that is, between one and two. The hour, in time, but not without groans and predictions, became four, at which it stuck for several years. Then it got to five, which, however, was thought positively revolutionary; and four was long and gallantly adhered to by the haters of change as "the good old hour." At last even they were obliged to give in. But they only yielded inch by inch, and made a desperate stand at half-past four. Even five, however, triumphed, and continued the average polite hour from (I think) about 1806, or 1807, till about 1820. Six has at last prevailed, and half an hour later is not unusual. As yet this is the furthest stretch of London imitation.... Thus, within my memory, the hour has ranged from two to half-past six o'clock; and a stand has been regularly made at the end of every half-hour against each encroachment; and always on the same grounds—dislike of change and jealousy of finery.'
Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns, it will be remembered, who flourished circa 1804, invited his guests to the famous 'coenobitical symposion' at four o'clock precisely. It may be presumed that the Antiquary in this matter, however, lingered a little in the rear of the fashion. The dishes at the symposion comprehended 'many savoury specimens of Scottish viands now disused at the tables of those who affect elegance'—hotch-potch, 'the relishing Solan goose,' fish and sauce, crappit-heads, and chicken-pie. The Antiquary's beverage was port, a wine highly approved of by the clerical friend who so ably disposed of the relics of the feast intended for the worthy host's supper.
'The procession from the drawing-room to the dining-room was formerly arranged on a different principle from what it is now. There was no such alarming proceeding as that of each gentleman approaching a lady, and the two hooking together. This would have excited as much horror as the waltz at first did, which never showed itself without denunciations of continental manners by correct gentlemen and worthy mothers and aunts. All the ladies first went off by themselves, in a regular row, according to the ordinary rules of precedence. Then the gentlemen moved off in a single file; so that when they reached the dining-room, the ladies were all there, lingering about the backs of the chairs, till they could see what their fate was to be. Then began the selection of partners, the leaders of the male line having the advantage of priority; and of course the magnates had an affinity for each other.
'The dinners themselves were much the same as at present. Any difference is in a more liberal adoption of the cookery of France. Ice, either for cooling or eating, was utterly unknown, except in a few houses of the highest class. There was far less drinking during dinner than now, and far more after it. The staple wines, even at ceremonious parties, were in general only port and sherry. Champagne was never seen. It only began to appear after France was opened by the peace of 1815. The exemption of Scotch claret from duty, which continued (I believe) till about 1780, made it till then the ordinary beverage. I have heard Henry Mackenzie and other old people say that, when a cargo of claret came to Leith, the common way of proclaiming its arrival was by sending a hogshead of it through the town on a cart, with a horn; and that anybody who wanted a sample, or a drink under pretence of a sample, had only to go to the cart with a jug, which, without much nicety about its size, was filled for a sixpence. The tax ended this mode of advertising; and, aided by the horror of everything French, drove claret from all tables below the richest.
'Healths and toasts were special torments; oppressions which cannot now be conceived. Every glass during dinner required to be dedicated to the health of some one. It was thought sottish and rude to take wine without this—as if forsooth there was nobody present worth drinking with. I was present about 1803, when the late Duke of Buccleuch took a glass of sherry by himself at the table of Charles Hope, then Lord Advocate; and this was noticed afterwards as a piece of ducal contempt. And the person asked to take wine was not invited by anything so slovenly as a look combined with a putting of the hand upon the bottle, as is practised by near neighbours now. It was a much more serious affair. For one thing, the wine was very rarely on the table. It had to be called for; and in order to let the servant know to whom he was to carry it, the caller was obliged to specify his partner aloud. All this required some premeditation and courage. Hence timid men never ventured on so bold a step at all, but were glad to escape by only drinking when they were invited. As this ceremony was a mark of respect, the landlord, or any other person who thought himself the great man, was generally graciously pleased to perform it to every one present. But he and others were always at liberty to abridge the severity of the duty by performing it by platoons. They took a brace, or two brace, of ladies or of gentlemen, or of both, and got them all engaged at once, and proclaiming to the sideboard—"A glass of sherry for Miss Dundas, Mrs. Murray, and Miss Hope, and a glass of port for Mr. Hume, and one for me," he slew them by coveys. And all the parties to the contract were bound to acknowledge each other distinctly. No nods or grins or indifference, but a direct look at the object, the audible uttering of the very words—"Your good health," accompanied by a respectful inclination of the head, a gentle attraction of the right hand towards the heart, and a gratified smile. And after all these detached pieces of attention during the feast were over, no sooner was the table cleared, and the after-dinner glasses set down, than it became necessary for each person, following the landlord, to drink the health of every other person present, individually. Thus, where there were ten people, there were ninety healths drunk. This ceremony was often slurred over by the bashful, who were allowed merely to look the benediction; but usage compelled them to look it distinctly, and to each individual. To do this well required some grace, and consequently it was best done by the polite ruffled and frilled gentlemen of the olden time.
'This prandial nuisance was horrible. But it was nothing to what followed. For after dinner, and before the ladies retired, there generally began what were called "Rounds" of toasts; when each gentleman named an absent lady, and another person was required to match a gentleman with that lady, and the pair named were toasted, generally with allusions and jokes about the fitness of the union. And, worst of all, there were "sentiments." These were short epigrammatic sentences, expressive of moral feelings and virtues, and were thought refined and elegant productions. A faint conception of their nauseousness may be formed from the following examples, every one of which I have heard given a thousand times, and which indeed I only recollect from their being favourites. The glasses being filled, a person was asked for his, or her, sentiment, when this, or something similar, was committed—"May the pleasures of the evening bear the reflections of the morning," Or, "May the friends of our youth be the companions of our old age." Or, "Delicate pleasures to susceptible minds." "May the honest heart never feel distress." "May the hand of charity wipe the tear from the eye of sorrow." "May never worse be among us." There were stores of similar reflections; and for all kinds of parties, from the elegant and romantic to the political, the municipal, the ecclesiastic, and the drunken. Many of the thoughts and sayings survive still, and may occasionally be heard at a club or a tavern. But even there they are out of vogue as established parts of the entertainment; and in some scenes nothing can be very offensive. But the proper sentiment was a high and pure production; a moral motto; and was meant to dignify and grace private society. Hence, even after an easier age began to sneer at the display, the correct thing was to receive the sentiment, if not with real admiration, at least with decorous respect. Mercifully, there was a large known public stock of the odious commodity, so that nobody who could screw up his nerves to pronounce the words, had any occasion to strain his invention. The conceited, the ready, or the reckless, hackneyed in the art, had a knack of making new sentiments applicable to the passing accidents, with great ease. But it was a dreadful oppression on the timid or the awkward. They used to shudder, ladies particularly—for nobody was spared when their turn in the round approached. Many a struggle and blush did it cost; but this seemed only to excite the tyranny of the masters of the craft; and compliance could never be avoided except by more torture than yielding. There can scarcely be a better example of the emetical nature of the stuff that was swallowed than the sentiment elaborated by the poor dominie of Arndilly. He was called upon, in his turn, before a large party, and having nothing to guide him in an exercise to which he was new, except what he saw was liked, after much writhing and groaning, he came out with—"The reflection of the moon in the cawm bosom of the lake." It is difficult for those who have been born under a more natural system, to comprehend how a sensible man, a respectable matron, a worthy old maid, and especially a girl, could be expected to go into company only on such conditions.'
Different men, different minds. Even from this picture, which is taken from the point of view of one who was by nature critical and prone to dissent, one can see how jolly and amusing such parties must often have been made. Scott liked them; enjoyed them thoroughly. What would one not give to have seen him presiding at one of those 'grave annual dinners of the Bannatyne Club,' where he always insisted on rounds of ladies and gentlemen, and of authors and printers, poets and kings, in regular pairs. The custom, in spite of its drawbacks, fulfilled the great end and aim of sociability: it brought every individual guest into active participation in the evening's proceedings. Nowadays, 'annual' banquets almost always fail in this; being only, as a rule, occasions for more or less falsetto speechifying by a temporary clique of self-regarded notables and their complacent secretary. The toast-system was also favourable to loyalty and patriotism, the health of the King never being neglected at the family dinner-table, even when no guests were present. That custom, we fear, has now fallen away, along with that other and nobler one immortalised in 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.'
CHAPTER X
Religious Observances—Sunday Attendance at Church—Sunday Books—Breakdown of the System—Alleged Infidelity among Professors—Low State of Morality—Increase of mixed Population—Provincialism.
The externals of religion in Edinburgh underwent a radical change during the boyhood of Walter Scott. The generation that was then retiring from the scene was a generation devoted, in all externals at least, to the cultivation of the religious duties. Rich and poor, old and young, they attended church with unfailing regularity. They held to the strict Puritanic idea of the Sabbath Day. That is, they thought devotion the only proper employment of that day, and considered even a casual appearance on the street during the hours of worship as a disgrace. With them family worship was a general and honoured practice. The reading of any but definitely religious books on Sunday was forbidden in every respectable family. In fact, the Sunday at home in such a family as Scott's was a day of discipline, of which even his good-nature was inclined to complain. What vexed his young soul was 'the gloom of one dull sermon succeeding to another.' The Sunday books were to him a relief and a delight. He retained all his life a favour for Bunyan's Pilgrim, Gesner's Death of Abel, Rowe's Letters, and a few others. Still, in his opinion, the tedium of the day did the young people no good. The scene soon changed. Even in the early eighties we find it noted as 'ungenteel' to go to church in a family capacity. Amusements and idle recreation began to be common. The streets were now crowded during the hours of service. On Sunday evenings they became scenes of noise and disorder. Family worship was abandoned, even, as was whispered, by the clergy themselves. And, as a striking evidence of this rapid declension, it is recorded that church collections had fallen from £1500 to £1000 a year. Critical seniors loudly wailed, but their outcry was as useless as it was earnest. Old times were changed, old manners gone, never to return. The decent, staid, and dignified generation was being hustled from the scene by a flippant, noisy crowd of loose and licentious innovators. Conduct which the elders would have regarded and punished as criminal was no longer atoned for even by the blush of shame.
Such a view of Edinburgh's religious state at the end of the eighteenth century was at all events maintained by certain praisers of the past. It has also been stoutly asserted that infidelity was rampant, under the ægis of the redoubtable David Hume. The University especially was accused of being tainted with infidelity, but the charge is denounced by Lord Cockburn as utterly false. 'I am not aware (he says) of a single professor to whom it was ever applied, or could be applied, justly. Freedom of discussion was not in the least combined with scepticism among the students, or in their societies. I never knew nor heard of a single student, tutor, or professor, by whom infidelity was disclosed, or in whose thoughts I believed it to be harboured, with perhaps only two obscure and doubtful exceptions. I consider the imputation as chiefly an invention to justify modern intolerance.'
As to the comparative religiousness of the present and the preceding generation, any such comparison is very difficult to be made. Religion is certainly more the fashion than it used to be. There is more said about it; there has been a great rise, and consequently a great competition, of sects; and the general mass of the religious public has been enlarged. On the other hand, if we are to believe one-half of what some religious persons themselves assure us, religion is now almost extinct. My opinion is that the balance is in favour of the present time. And I am certain that it would be much more so, if the modern dictators would only accept of that as religion, which was considered to be so by their devout fathers.'
On the whole, with due heed paid to possible qualifications, it is clear that the standard of life and conduct must have been low between, say, 1780 and 1820. We have Scott's express statement that domestic purity was in general maintained in Edinburgh society, but scandalous exceptions were by no means unknown. Among the lower classes the freedom from wholesome, if irksome, restraints was, of course, marked by greater lapses. Among them a generation grew up, practically ignorant of the elementary ideas of religion. As a contemporary quaintly puts it, they were as ignorant as Hottentots, and as little acquainted with the decalogue as with repealed Acts of Parliament. The streets, which formerly a lady might have traversed in perfect safety at any hour, now became notoriously unsafe. Doubtless all this was increased, and to some extent occasioned, by the constant influx of a new and shifting population, attracted by the rapid extension of the city. The vices and easy manners of a modern city soon concealed what remained of the old Scottish habits and character. In short, Edinburgh in those years passed from the state of a national capital to that of a big provincial centre, such as Colonel Mannering beheld it, 'with its noise and clamour, its sounds of trade, of revelry and licence, and the eternally changing bustle of its hundred groups.'
CHAPTER XI
Scott apprenticed to the Law—Copying Money and menus plaisirs—Novels—Romances—Early Attempts—John Irving—Sibbald's Library—Sees Robert Burns—The Parliament House—The 'Krames.'
About 1785-86, Walter Scott, acceding to his father's wish, was indentured in his father's office, and 'entered upon the dry and barren wilderness of forms and conveyances.' Boy as he was, he felt even then that he was not cut out for this career, but family circumstances and the necessary intimacy with so many representatives of the profession no doubt prevented him from making any very serious objection, though he felt in a general way that his 'parts ill-suited law's dry, musty arts.' His warm affection and respect for his father was also a determining motive. For this reason, and indeed with the honest desire to excel, he made up his mind to work hard. But he was never enthusiastic over deeds and quills. He mentions as no trifling incentive to labour, the copying money, an allowance which supplied him with funds for going to the theatre and subscribing to a library.[1] One of his feats was to copy one hundred and twenty folio pages with no interval either for food or rest. But when there was no call for toil, he would spend his time in reading. His desk was filled with books of every kind, except manuals of law. His supreme delight was in works of fiction, of which he must have read an enormous number. He was not, however, entirely uncritical in his choice. Only the 'art of Burney, or the feeling of Mackenzie,' could make him read a domestic tale. He therefore realised early enough that the field of novel-writing was unoccupied. His fondness for adventure led him to devour every romance he came across without much discrimination. 'I really believe (he says) I have read as much nonsense of this class as any man now living.' Of the exploits of knight-errantry he never tired, and he soon began to make attempts at imitating the stories he loved. These early efforts were not in verse.
[1] See General Preface to Waverley Novels.
A quaintly interesting glimpse into the life of this most notable of law apprentices is given in the General Preface of 1829, where he describes himself and a chosen friend as delighting, on a holiday, to escape from the town and in some solitary spot to recite alternately such adventures as each had been able to invent. 'These legends, in which the material and the miraculous always predominated, we rehearsed to each other during our walks, which were usually directed to the most solitary spots about Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags.... Whole holidays were spent in this singular pastime, which continued for two or three years, and had, I believe, no small effect in directing the turn of my imagination to the chivalrous and romantic in poetry and prose.' This companion of Scott's was Mr. John Irving, W.S., whose mother seems also to have been very sympathetic with the boy. She would recite ballads to him, which he easily learned by heart, and which helped him in making the collection in six volumes which he had thus early begun.
Such being his tastes, he was naturally more interested in literary characters than in the notable men of the legal profession. In the course of frequenting Sibbald's circulating library in Parliament Square, where he must have spent a good deal of time in rummaging the dusty shelves for rare old songs and romances, he had occasionally 'a distant view' of some of the literary celebrities of the time. Among them was the unfortunate Andrew Macdonald, author of Vimonda, and also from this library vantage-ground he saw, at a distance, 'the boast of Scotland, Robert Burns.'[2] The Parliament House itself was less interesting to Scott than his beloved library, but he must by this time have been very familiar with it, and often have seen the 'Lords' of the old generation, whose pictures have been so quaintly sketched by Lord Cockburn. Edinburgh, like any other collection of three hundred thousand people, has amongst its numbers persons possessed of some æsthetic conscience, persons who lament the past orgies of Vandalism, and who do not admire the present triumphs of commercial architecture. But such men are naturally not as a rule to be found in Town or Parish Councils, and seldom indeed in public posts of any kind. Thus the population has always seemed wholly given over to the worship of the æsthetic Baal, and as a consequence the name of Lord Cockburn shines in almost solitary splendour as that of a dignitary who protested against the incredible doings of ignorance and avarice dressed in the authority of municipal rank. Cockburn bitterly regretted the destruction of the old Parliament House, which, he says, was, both outside and in, a curious and interesting place. 'The old building exhibited some respectable turrets, some ornamented windows and doors, and a handsome balustrade. But the charm that ought to have saved it was its colour and its age, which, however, were the very things that caused its destruction. About one hundred and seventy years had breathed over it a grave grey hue. The whole aspect was venerable and appropriate; becoming the air and character of a sanctuary of Justice. But a mason pronounced it to be all Dead Wall.[3] The officials to whom, at a period when there was no public taste in Edinburgh,[4] this was addressed, believed him; and the two fronts were removed in order to make way for the bright free-stone and contemptible decorations that now disgrace us.... I cannot doubt that King Charles tried to spur his horse against the Vandals when he saw the profanation begin. But there was such an utter absence of public spirit in Edinburgh then, that the building might have been painted scarlet without anybody objecting.'
[2] 'I saw him one day at the late venerable Professor Ferguson's, where there were several gentlemen of literary reputation, among whom I remember the celebrated Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of course, we youngsters sat silent, looked and listened. The only thing I remember which was remarkable in Burns's manner was the effect produced upon him by a print of Bunbury's, representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his dog sitting in misery on the one side, on the other his widow, with a child in her arms. These lines were written beneath:
"Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain;
Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
Gave the sad presage of his future years,
The child of misery baptized in tears."
Burns seemed much affected by the print, or rather by the ideas which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of "The Justice of the Peace." I whispered my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, which, though of mere civility, I then received and still recollect with very great pleasure.'—Letter to J. G. LOCKHART.
[3] This means, when translated, that it was plain wall, without any architectural or æsthetic value.
[4] Observe the delightful ambiguity.
Among the most vivid childish memories of Scott and his contemporaries was that of the Krames. It is described in the Heart of Midlothian as a narrow, crooked lane, winding between the Old Tolbooth and the Luckenbooths on the one side, and the buttresses and projections of St. Giles's Cathedral on the other. At one time, as Scott mentions, the narrow court, with its booths plastered against the sides of the Cathedral, was occupied by the hosiers, hatters, glovers, mercers, milliners, and drapers, who removed, however, to the South Bridge as soon as it was opened. The Krames then fell into the hands of the toy-merchants, and became the paradise of childhood. Its glories were maintained all the year round, but at New Year time especially it was the enchanted ground of the city youngsters. To the youthful Cockburn it was like one of the Arabian Nights' bazaars in Bagdad, and there is a touch of personal recollection, too, in Scott's picture (Heart of Midlothian, chap. vi.) of the little loiterers in the Krames, 'enchanted by the rich display of hobby-horses, babies, and Dutch toys, yet half-scared by the cross looks of the withered pantaloon, or spectacled old lady, by whom those tempting wares were watched and superintended.' The Krames disappeared, on the demolition of the adjacent Tolbooth, in 1817.
CHAPTER XII
Topics of Talk—Religion—Scott's Freedom from Fanaticism—Dilettantism of the 'liberal young Men'—Politics—Basis of Scott's Toryism—Cockburn's Anecdote of Table-talk—Men of the Old School—Robertson the Historian—His History of Charles V.—His noble Generosity—Closing Years—Anecdotes.
In all probability Walter Scott was not very greatly interested or influenced by the general conversation. Neither by nature nor by circumstances was he ever in danger of being seduced into fanaticism of any kind. As regards religion, his was the simple faith of one who reverenced God as the Omnipotent whose power meant justice, goodness, truth and love, and who loved his fellow-men, content to be happy himself and to try to pour out happiness on all around him. His mind did not hanker after theories on the mystery of existence. In fact, he was a 'moderate' of the best kind, whose only anxiety was that his life should be in the right. They seek in vain who search his volumes for philosophical wisdom or prophetic gleams. He never posed as preacher or as sage. He accepted the religion of his time, and felt himself at home in the Episcopal Church of Scotland rather than in the Calvinistic temples, whose services always repelled him by their gloom and dryness. Still less was he attracted by anything intellectually fanatical. His mind naturally rejected humbug. He was not one of the dilettante young gentlemen whose talk was of chemistry because Lavoisier had made it fashionable. Nor was he one of Cockburn's 'liberal young men of Edinburgh,' who lived upon Adam Smith, a sound enough, but for them apt to be windy, diet. I have no doubt he appreciated the greatness and good sense of the author of the Wealth of Nations, and the value of the brilliant work of Lavoisier, but the direction of his intellectual interests was determined by his heart. And his heart was in the story of the Past, glowing over the old ballads, songs, and romances of the age of chivalry and glory. He was not a party politician any more than he was a chemist or an economist. He was a Tory only because his sympathies were with the kind of people who composed that party. He identified the party with the gallantry and loyalty of the Cavalier, with the free, wholesome life of the country as opposed to the grasping selfishness and coarse materialism of the town, and with the generous sense of honour which made himself the truest and sweetest of gentlemen. His Toryism was a sentiment as far above the actual existing politics of his party as Milton's ideal republicanism was above the practice of his Puritan contemporaries, whom he styles 'owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs.' Scott's saving gift of humour saved him from sharing the painful impression of which Lord Cockburn speaks. He was not so easily pained. When worthy people talk nonsense in the bosom of the family, they should not be taken too seriously even by boys. 'My father's house (Lord Cockburn says) was one of the places where the leaders and the ardent followers of the party in power were in the constant habit of assembling. I can sit yet, in imagination, at the small side-table, and overhear the conversation, a few feet off, at the established Wednesday dinner. How they raved! What sentiments! What principles! Not that I differed from them. I thought them quite right, and hated liberty and the people as much as they did. But this drove me into an opposite horror; for I was terrified out of such wits as they left me at the idea of bloodshed, and it never occurred to me that it could be avoided. My reason no sooner began to open, and to get some fair-play, than the distressing wisdom of my ancestors began to fade, and the more attractive sense that I met with among the young men into whose company our debating societies threw me, gradually hardened me into what I became—whatever this was.' Fortunately Cockburn, though he became a Whig and a political lawyer, did not let his mind become narrowed against the larger human interests. His sketches of some of the representative men of the older generation are as warm and appreciative as could be wished. He speaks of the pleasure he felt in having seen them, though it was at a time when he could only judge of their qualities from the respect which they commanded even among the young. One of these was Dr. William Robertson, described in Guy Mannering by Mr. Pleydell, with some pride, as 'our historian of Scotland, of the Continent, and of America.' Robertson's long and illustrious career was almost wholly connected with Edinburgh. He was educated at the University there, and about 1760 became minister of Old Greyfriars, which had been his father's charge before, and where Pleydell conducts Colonel Mannering to hear him preach. He was greater as a church leader and a man of letters than as a preacher. Lord Brougham, who was his grand-nephew, says that he preferred moral to gospel subjects, in order to discountenance the fanaticism of the evangelicals. As a church leader, he may be called the Lord North of the Church of Scotland. The 'moderatism' of Robertson led, after other secessions, eventually to the Disruption of 1843. But in spite of his professional activities, Robertson was essentially a literary artist. Conscientious and prolonged research gave a value to his historical works, which largely atoned for the monotony of his somewhat too ornate and dignified style. He has the glory—and that too, when Samuel Johnson was at his zenith—of having established a record in literary remuneration. For his history of Charles V. he received £4500, the largest sum which had till then been paid for a single work. No one will grudge the reward to the man who, at the age of twenty-two, with a country clergyman's income of less than £100 a year, took into his charge his orphaned brother and six sisters, and postponed his marriage for several years that he might give them education. In the last two years of his life, 1791-93, he was taken to reside at Grange House, a rare old mansion, the seat of the family of Dick Lauder, of Grange and Fountainhall. Here the enfeebled old man, quite broken down by disease of the liver, spent his time as much as possible in the garden. The Cockburn family, who lived close by at Hope Park, were intimate friends, and thus young Henry came to see a great deal of the Principal in the last summer of his life. He describes the historian as 'a pleasant-looking old man, with an eye of great vivacity and intelligence, a large projecting chin, small hearing-trumpet fastened by a black ribbon to a button-hole of his coat, and a rather large wig, powdered and curled.' For all his feebleness, with deafness superadded, he seems up to the last to have been able to take an animated part in conversation, whenever a favourite subject happened to be started at his table.
CHAPTER XIII
More Men of the Old School—Dr. Erskine—Scott on Church Disputes—His Admiration of Erskine's Character—Anecdote of Erskine's Walk to Fife—Professor Ferguson—His History of Rome—Abstainer and Vegetarian—Picture of Ferguson's Appearance—Odd Habits—Travels to Italy.
When Colonel Mannering and Mr. Pleydell went to Greyfriars Church to hear Dr. Robertson, they found, somewhat to their disappointment, that the great historian was not to be the preacher that morning. 'Never mind,'said the counsellor, 'have a moment's patience, and we shall do very well.' The preacher they actually did hear was that distinguished and excellent man, Dr. John Erskine, who was Robertson's colleague in the pastoral charge of Greyfriars. Scott describes his external appearance as not prepossessing: 'A remarkably fair complexion, strangely contrasted with a black wig without a grain of powder; a narrow chest and a stooping posture; hands which, placed like props on either side of the pulpit, seemed necessary rather to support the person than to assist the gesticulation of the preacher—no gown, not even that of Geneva, and a gesture which seemed scarce voluntary. "The preacher seems a very ungainly person," said Mannering. "Never fear, he's the son of an excellent Scottish lawyer—he'll show blood, I'll warrant him." The learned counsellor predicted truly.' They listen, in fact, to a typical specimen of Scottish pulpit eloquence, and Mannering is fain to admit that he had seldom heard so much learning, metaphysical acuteness, and energy of argument, brought into the service of Christianity. There is no doubt that in this most delightful chapter (xxxvii.) of Guy Mannering we have Scott himself in the person of Mr. Paulus Pleydell. And in the remarks of the witty counsellor we get some light here and there on how Scott regarded some of those questions which by our Whigs and philosophical Radicals and suchlike are regarded as so much more important and dignified than old ballads and mere human questions of noble courage, love, kindness, fun, and truth. Speaking of Robertson and Erskine's notorious difference in regard to church government, Mannering asks the advocate what he thinks of these points of difference: 'Why, I hope, Colonel, a plain man may go to heaven without thinking about them at all.' That was Walter Scott, God bless his memory! He was too much a living soul to waste his time or his brain power on the pitiful, dry, deadening rubbish of polemics in religion or in affairs of state. He had warm blood in his veins and a warm heart in his breast, and therefore could not waste his manhood on the marvellous speculations of the 'liberal young men of Edinburgh.' Therefore, to pervert a sentence of Carlyle, he became Walter Scott of the Universe, instead of drying up into a fossil Chancellor or Judge. What interested Scott in Erskine and Robertson, as it did in all such human beings whom he ever knew, was the beautiful, simple goodness of heart, which was so much finer a thing than the fleeting glory of eloquence or power. He tells with gusto how, in spite of differences of opinion the greatest possible in their sphere, the two good men never for a moment lost personal regard or esteem for each other, or suffered malignity to interfere with their opposition. Erskine was indeed very generally esteemed even by his opponents for his candour and kindliness, and his personal qualities went more to make his high reputation than the marked ability displayed in his works on Divinity. Cockburn, who, like Scott, used to attend his church, says he was all soul and no body; and compares the stooping figure of the old man, as he walked along, with his hands in his sides, and his elbows turned outwards, to a piece of old china with two handles. He also mentions the interesting fact that Erskine, as well as Robertson, habitually spoke 'good honest natural Scotch.' To illustrate his assertion that there was nothing this good man would not do for truth or a friend, Cockburn relates a characteristic anecdote: 'His friend Henry Erskine had once some interest in a Fife election, but whether as a candidate or not I can't say, in which the Doctor had a vote. Being too old and feeble to bear the motion of a carriage or of a boat, he was neither asked nor expected to attend; but loving Henry Erskine, and knowing that victories depended on single votes, he determined to walk the whole way round by Stirling Bridge, which would have taken him at least a fortnight; and he was only prevented from doing so, after having arranged all his stages, by the contest having been unexpectedly given up. Similar sacrifices were familiar to the heroic and affectionate old gentleman.' Dr. Erskine died at Edinburgh in 1803. His father was the famous lawyer, John Erskine, whose great work the Institutes of the Law of Scotland is understood to be still the leading authority on its subject.
In the list of the young friends with whom Walter Scott chiefly associated about 1788-89 occurs the name of Adam Ferguson, who continued to be a cherished intimate, and became, in 1818, Scott's tenant and neighbour at Huntley Burn on the lands of Abbotsford. His father was the venerable and famous Professor Adam Ferguson, who, taken all round, was probably the ablest of the many remarkable men who signalised Edinburgh in this period. From about 1745 to 1757 he had been chaplain to the 42nd Highlanders, or Black Watch, and it is mentioned that no orders could keep him in the rear during an action. He was next appointed Keeper of the Advocates' Library in succession to David Hume. He remained in this post for less than a year, and soon after began his connection with Edinburgh University, first as Professor of Natural Philosophy, and then, in 1764, as Professor of Moral Philosophy. The latter subject was his favourite study, and he filled the chair for twenty years. During this time he wrote his great work, the History of the Roman Republic. He was a man of original mind, and had a rare faculty of extempore lecturing, for which his practical experience in the world and his extensive travels in Europe and America must have supplied him with a rich and varied fund of striking illustrations. In his personal habits he was an exception to his generation, being a strict abstainer from both wine and animal food. In consequence of this peculiarity he seems to have refrained from dining out, except with his relative Dr. Joseph Black, a kindred spirit; and his son used to say it was delightful to see the two philosophers rioting over a boiled turnip! 'When I first knew him (says Lord Cockburn), he was a spectacle well worth beholding. His hair was silky and white; his eyes animated and light blue; his cheeks sprinkled with broken red, like autumnal apples, but fresh and healthy; his lips thin, and the under one curled. A severe paralytic attack had reduced his animal vitality, though it left no external appearance, and he required considerable artificial heat. His raiment, therefore, consisted of half-boots lined with fur, cloth breeches, a long cloth waistcoat with capacious pockets, a single-breasted coat, a cloth greatcoat also lined with fur, and a felt hat commonly tied by a ribbon below the chin. His boots were black; but with this exception the whole coverings, including the hat, were of a Quaker grey colour, or of a whitish brown; and he generally wore the fur greatcoat within doors. When he walked forth, he used a tall staff, which he commonly held at arm's-length out towards the right side; and his two coats, each buttoned by only the upper button, flowed open below, and exposed the whole of his curious and venerable figure. His gait and air were noble; his gesture slow; his look full of dignity and composed fire. He looked like a philosopher from Lapland. Domestically he was kind, but anxious and peppery. His temperature was regulated by Fahrenheit; and often, when sitting quite comfortably, he would start up and put his wife and daughters into commotion, because his eye had fallen on the instrument, and discovered that he was a degree too hot or too cold. He always locked the door of his study when he left it, and took the key in his pocket; and no housemaid got in till the accumulation of dust and rubbish made it impossible to put the evil day off any longer; and then woe on the family. He shook hands with us boys one day in summer 1793, on setting off, in a strange sort of carriage, and with no companion except his servant, James, to visit Italy for a new edition of his history. He was then about seventy-two, and had to pass through a good deal of war; but returned in about a year, younger than ever.'
From this time, however, his remarkable figure ceased to be seen in Edinburgh. His last years were spent mostly in rural retirement, and he died at St. Andrews in 1816.
CHAPTER XIV
'Jupiter' Carlyle—Noble Looks—Friend of Robertson and John Home—The Play of Douglas—Anecdote of Dr. Carlyle—Dr. Joseph Black—Latent Heat—His personal Appearance—Anecdote of last Illness—His History of Great Britain—Forerunner of the Modern School.
Of the other eighteenth-century Edinburgh worthies in Cockburn's little gallery, the best-known name is that of 'Jupiter' Carlyle, the minister of Inveresk. Carlyle's fame, or notoriety, what you will, came from his intimate relations with the eminent characters of his time, such as Hume, Blair, Home, and Adam Smith. If he was not great himself, his wise counsels aided his friends to achieve greatness. The charm of his manners was extraordinary, and his countenance and bearing so nobly imposing as to suggest the classical eke-name of Jupiter. While he lived, Carlyle and culture were synonymous. Cockburn, who scarcely appreciated his value, admits the grace and kindness of his manner, and says that he was one of the noblest-looking old gentlemen he almost ever beheld. Carlyle was a conspicuous figure in the General Assembly. He was a firm ally of Principal Robertson, whose moderate policy was exactly to the mind of the extremely 'Broad' minister of Inveresk. Great excitement was aroused by his open support of his friend Home in producing the play of Douglas. It is said that he took part in the private rehearsal of the play, and made a distinct hit as Old Norval. At the third public representation he was present in the theatre, and witnessed the extraordinary success of Home's piece. The play was received by crowded audiences for many successive nights with universal and vociferous applause. 'Where's your Shakespeare noo?' was the triumphant shout of a patriotic but uncritical admirer. The play of Douglas, though rejected by the keen judgment of Garrick as 'totally unfit for the stage,' has passages of fine rhetoric, and shows at least an easy mastery of elegant language. The author Home was suspended by the General Assembly for his audacity in writing a play while he was a minister of the Church of Scotland. A few years after, he received a pension of £300 a year, which enabled him to spend the remainder of his life in happiness and peace. Carlyle, his neighbour and constant friend, has done full justice to the amiable qualities of Home, who was the liberal friend of struggling merit in the hour of need. Carlyle died in 1805 at the age of eighty-four, and Home in 1808, aged eighty-six.
Dr. Carlyle was a famous bon vivant. His physical powers were fortunately adequate to carry him through in any company. It is strange and amusing in these days to think of a man like him sitting through the prolonged convivialities of his clubs and parties. For Carlyle, both as a divine and an aristocrat, was the very pink of propriety. He would have deplored excess in himself as he did in others. He was, in fact, a very temperate gentleman, and his conduct was admirable and exemplary. The respect that was paid to his merits was only increased by the fact that he could drink his four or five bottles of wine with impunity—nay, with advantage. He was often the better, never the worse, of his wine. One evening he was leaving Pinkieburn House, where he had dined, and wending his way home with all his usual Olympian dignity. An old woman-servant stood at the side-door, beholding the minister with reverent admiration. 'Ay,' she was heard to say, 'there goes Dr. Carlyle, the good man—as steady as a wall, and he's had his ain share o' four bottles o' port.'
Dr. Joseph Black, the eminent chemist, lived in Edinburgh from 1766 to his death in 1799. He was Professor of Chemistry in the University, but his delicate health seems to have disabled him from continuing the researches so fruitfully pursued in Glasgow (1756-66). His fame rests on the discovery of Latent Heat, and he seems to have been the first to apply hydrogen gas in raising balloons. Looking at his portrait, one realises the remarkable truth and felicity of Cockburn's word-picture: 'A striking and beautiful person; tall, very thin, and cadaverously pale; his hair carefully powdered, though there was little of it except what was collected into a long thin queue; his eyes dark, clear, and large, like deep pools of pure water. He wore black speckless clothes, silk stockings, silver buckles, and either a slim green silk umbrella, or a genteel brown cane. The general frame and air were feeble and slender. The wildest boy respected Black. No lad could be irreverent towards a man so pale, so gentle, so elegant, and so illustrious. So he glided like a spirit through our rather mischievous sportiveness unharmed. He died seated with a bowl of milk on his knee, of which his ceasing to live did not spill a drop; a departure which it seemed, after the event happened, might have been foretold of this attenuated philosophical gentleman.' We shall not omit the companion picture to this touching scene, the even more tranquil death of Dr. Robert Henry, the historian. Four days before his death, he wrote to Sir Harry Moncrieff the strange message: 'Come out here directly. I have got something to do this week, I have got to die.' Moncrieff obeyed the summons, and sat with him alone for what turned out to be the last three days of his life. During this time, as he sat in his easy-chair, now dozing, now conversing, a neighbouring minister, who was a notorious and much-dreaded bore, came to call. 'Keep him out,' cried the doctor, 'don't let the cratur in here.' It was too late, the cratur entered, but when he came in, behold the doctor to all appearance fast asleep. Moncrieff at once taking in the situation, signed to the intruder to be silent. The visitor sat down, apparently to wait till Dr. Henry might awake. Every time he offered to speak, he was checked by solemn gestures from Moncrieff or Mrs. Henry. 'So he sat on, all in perfect silence, for above a quarter of an hour; during which Sir Harry occasionally detected the dying man peeping cautiously through the fringes of his eyelids to see how his visitor was coming on. At last Sir Harry tired, and he and Mrs. Henry pointing to the poor doctor, fairly waved the visitor out of the room; on which the doctor opened his eyes wide, and had a tolerably hearty laugh; which was renewed when the sound of the horse's feet made them certain that their friend was actually off the premises. Dr. Henry died that night.' His one work, a remarkable pioneer production, was the History of Great Britain. Though severely criticised at the time of its publication, the work certainly deserves Cockburn's praise of 'considerable merit in the execution.' Its author, however, has the credit, apart from the intrinsic value of his own attempt, of having discovered the new and fruitful idea of making history display the internal growth of the nation as well as its political development. In short, Henry was the forerunner of Macaulay and Green.
CHAPTER XV
The 'Meadows' one Hundred Years ago—A Resort of great Men—Vixerunt fortes—Their Intimacy and Quarrels—Hume and Ferguson—Home, the happy—His boundless Generosity—Sympathy with Misfortune—Home and Edinburgh Society—Sketch by Scott—'The Close of an Era.'
Time's changes have altered the state of the 'Meadows.' This park is now surrounded by houses, a tramway line passes half-way down its south side, and a constant stream of passengers between north and south makes its Middle Walk a busy thoroughfare. The privacy is gone for ever that made it in the eighteenth century 'so distinctly the resort of our philosophy and our fashion.' It is now a noisy playground for the flannelled fools at the wicket and the muddied oafs at the goal. In the corners are swings, parallel bars, etc., for the use of little children. But in the days of Scott's boyhood, it was possible to enjoy a quiet, meditative stroll in these still suburban fields. And the great learned and legal luminaries made the Meadows their resort for talk or for quiet meditation. The lofty yet simple character of the men of this great generation, but still more their strong nationality, combined with their graceful manners and extraordinary benevolence, made a strong impression on the imagination of Scott. The brilliance of the succeeding era, which he himself created, never quite made up to his mind for what was lost. The change was inevitable, but to him the men whom as a boy he had seen in the Meadows or on the streets of Edinburgh, the geniuses whose works and reputation had then only been known to him by name, remained always the ideal figures of Scotland's literary and scientific greatness. He was struck also by the breadth of mind which they had, almost without exception, and which he, almost alone, carried over into the next century: for those great men were like a family of amiable brothers, free from jealousy and eagerly ready to make common cause of each individual's fame. In reviewing Mackenzie's Life of Home for the Quarterly in 1827, he speaks of them in this touching strain: 'There were men of literature in Edinburgh before she was renowned for romances, reviews, and magazines:
"Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona";
and a single glance at the authors and men of science who dignified the last generation will serve to show that, in those days, there were giants in the North. The names of Hume, Robertson, and Ferguson stand high in the list of British historians. Adam Smith was the father of the economical system in Britain, and his standard work will long continue the text-book of that science. Dr. Black as a chemist opened the path of discovery which has since been prosecuted with such splendid success. Of metaphysicians Scotland boasted perhaps but too many; to Hume and Ferguson we must add Reid, and, though younger, still of the same school, Dugald Stewart. In natural philosophy Scotland could present Professor Robison, James Watt, and Clerk of Eldin, who taught the British seamen the road to assured conquest. Others we could mention, but these form a phalanx whose reputation was neither confined to their narrow, poor, and rugged native country, nor to England and the British dominions, but known and respected wherever learning, philosophy, and science were honoured.' In regard to the personal friendship of these great men, be it remembered, to the honour of the excellent 'Jupiter' Carlyle, that he was a great peacemaker among them. So was John Home, the happy. Ferguson, it would seem, had the defects of his virtues. Sir Walter, indeed, who never minimised the merits of any man except himself, says he kept his passions and feelings in strong subjection to his reason, but there were occasions when the 'passions and feelings' refused to be controlled. In fact, he was a constant thorn in the patient side of Carlyle; being jealous of his rivals and indignant against any assumption of superiority. However, Home and Carlyle kept Adam Smith, Ferguson, and Hume on very good terms; while Robertson's good-nature was so great, that it disarmed Ferguson's weakness without the aid of the peacemakers. Thus they all dwelt in unity, and 'held their being on the terms—each aid the ithers.' And so Carlyle remarks, as if the assumption were the only possible one, 'David Hume did not live to see Ferguson's History, otherwise his candid praise would have prevented all the subtle remarks of the jealous or resentful.' Very probably, after all, for Hume always regarded Ferguson as the master spirit of the group. He was certainly the most masterful, for, as Cockburn records, though a most kind and excellent man, he was as fiery as gunpowder. The darling of the fraternity was of course John Home. Famed in his youth for sprightliness and wit, he simply charmed every company in which he mingled. He was joyous himself, and the cause of joy in others. 'Such was the charm of his fine spirits in those days (says Carlyle, who knew and loved him like a very brother), that when he left the room prematurely, which was but seldom the case, the company grew dull, and soon dissolved.' To praise his works was a sure passport to his favour, and after once conferring his esteem there was nothing he would not do or say to attest it. For the sake of the poor he made himself a beggar, and was thus able to dispense constantly, not in charity but in friendly kindness to the struggling and unfortunate, many times the amount of his modest pension. For this his name should stand above all Greek, above all Roman fame, save that of Cimon or of Donatello. After all, the cultured and refined poor are the greatest sufferers in our modern civilisation. They suffer, without betraying it, the same privations of want and cold as the more favoured inhabitants of the slums, and they suffer in addition unspeakable agonies of mind, beholding themselves daily sinking in the struggle to climb up the slippery side of the pit of poverty. Their very work is spoiled and depreciated by the ceaseless haunting of the spectre of ruin, and the absolute certainty that the struggle is hopeless. Such persons were happy to be near John Home. He was their Providence. He sought them out, made their acquaintance, gained their confidence, guessed the needs they would not tell, and never failed to put the poor wretches in the way of hope. When shall we see his like again? Probably when another Donatello ruins himself for his friends, and when another youthful de Medici bestows a second fortune on the ruined old artist, to maintain the credit of his father's name. No wonder that Scott saw Home as the object of general respect and veneration. The kindly old man mingled in society to the very last. He died in 1808. 'There was a general feeling (Scott adds) that his death closed an era in the literary history of Scotland, and dissolved a link, which, though worn and frail, seemed to connect the present generation with that of their fathers.'
CHAPTER XVI
Ladies of the Old School—Anecdotes told by Scott, Dr. Carlyle, and Lord Cockburn—Their Speech—'Suphy' Johnston—Anecdote of Suphy and Dr. Gregory—Miss Menie Trotter—Her Dream—Views of Religion.
Speaking of the society manners of the old generation, Scott more than hints that the upper classes in Scotland had only just emerged from a very rough and socially ignorant condition. He tells an anecdote of 'a dame of no small quality, the worshipful Lady Pumphraston, who buttered a pound of green tea, sent her as an exquisite delicacy, dressed it as a condiment to a rump of salt beef, and complained that no degree of boiling would render those foreign greens tender.' One of the most extraordinary passages in Carlyle's book is a description of a tour he made in his boyhood—it was in the summer of 1733—with his father and another clergyman, Jardine, minister of Lochmaben. They visited Bridekirk, the family seat of the Carlyles. The laird was from home, but the lady came to the door, and with boisterous hospitality ordered the party to alight and come in. She is described as a very large and powerful virago, about forty years of age. Her appearance naturally startled the boy. A gentlewoman like this he had never seen, and the picture fixed itself in his memory for life. 'Lady Bridekirk (he says) was like a sergeant of foot in women's clothes; or rather like an over-grown coachman of a Quaker persuasion. On our peremptory refusal to alight, she darted into the house, like a hogshead down a slope, and returned instantly with a pint bottle of brandy—a Scots pint, I mean—and a stray beer-glass, into which she filled almost a bumper. After a long grace said by Mr. Jardine—for it was his turn now, being the third brandy-bottle we had seen since we left Lochmaben—she emptied it to our healths, and made the gentlemen follow her example: she said she would spare me as I was so young, but ordered a maid to bring a ginger-bread cake from the cupboard, a luncheon of which she put in my pocket. This lady was famous, even in the Annandale border, both at the bowl and in battle: she could drink a Scots pint of brandy with ease; and when the men grew obstreperous in their cups, she could either put them out of doors, or to bed, as she found most convenient.' In the latter half of the century, however, the typical lady of rank was a very great improvement on Lady Bridekirk. Like that hospitable virago, she was distinctly Scottish in speech and in dress. 'They all dressed (says Cockburn), and spoke, and did, exactly as they chose; but without any other vulgarity than what perfect naturalness is sometimes mistaken for. They were a delightful set; strong-headed, warm-hearted, and high-spirited; the fire of their tempers not always latent; merry even in solitude; very resolute; indifferent about the modes and habits of the modern world; and adhering to their own ways, so as to stand out, like primitive rocks, above ordinary society.'
There is no doubt they had an individuality and distinction, which the universal adoption of Southern customs and speech has since made impossible. They were, like Scott's Mrs. Bethune Baliol, of 'real old-fashioned Scottish growth,' and their dialect was the same. 'It was Scottish, decidedly Scottish, often containing phrases and words little used in the present day. But the tone and mode of pronunciation were as different from the usual accent of the ordinary Scotch patois, as the accent of St. James's is from that of Billingsgate. The vowels were not pronounced much broader than in the Italian language, and there was none of the disagreeable drawl which is so offensive to modern ears. In short, it seemed to be the Scottish as spoken by the ancient court of Scotland, to which no idea of vulgarity could be attached.' The Countess of Eglinton, to whom Allan Ramsay dedicated his Gentle Shepherd, was the ideal type of this generation in Scott's estimation (see Note G to Highland Widow).
Miss Sophia, or 'Suphy,' Johnston, of the family of Hilton, was perhaps even more deserving of the choice. Her picture has been drawn by Lady Anne Barnard and by Lord Cockburn, who as a boy knew 'Suphy' in her old age. Her character was just as independent as is possible. She had 'her own proper den' in Windmill Street. One female servant was all the attendance she required. This privileged person generally left her alone all the Sunday, when by Miss Suphy's orders she locked the door upon her mistress and carried away the key. Thus the old lady was saved the trouble of rising to admit visitors, but she had a hole through which she could easily see who was at the door and even have a little talk when she felt inclined; with this very considerable advantage that, whenever she had had enough, she could tell the caller to go away. This remarkable woman, owing to her father's eccentricity, had been brought up without education and passed her youth 'in utter rusticity.' She made herself a good carpenter and smith, and even when past middle age she would still occasionally shoe a horse. Lady Anne calls her a droll, ingenious fellow, and says she was by many people suspected of being a man. She was a great reader, having taught herself to read and write after she came to woman's age. Cockburn, who saw her first at Niddrie, the house of the Wauchopes, near Edinburgh, when she was about sixty, did not think her 'Amazonian,' but his description of her appearance seems to suit the epithet. 'Her dress was always the same—a man's hat when out of doors and generally when within them, a cloth covering exactly like a man's greatcoat, buttoned closely from the chin to the ground, worsted stockings, strong shoes with large brass clasps.' Such peculiarities, in those simpler and more natural times, did not affect her welcome in society. She was prized by the most fashionable and aristocratic persons for her excellent disposition and her rare intellectual powers, for her racy talk, spiced with anecdote and shrewd, often sarcastic observation; and for the originality of her views, which she never hesitated to express with refreshing pith and freedom of speech. Her natural cheerfulness was never impaired either by the loneliness of her life or by the narrowness of her fortune. When shall we find again in a noble lady's drawing-room so picturesque a figure 'sitting, with her back to the light, in the usual arm-chair by the side of the fire, in the Niddrie drawing-room, with her greatcoat and her hat, her dark wrinkled face, and firmly pursed mouth, the two feet set flat on the floor and close together, so that the public had a full view of the substantial shoes, the book held by the two hands very near the eyes?'
Suphy and her contemporaries were all as stout of heart as some of them were strong of arm. They had no fear of death, and, though they enjoyed life and took a deep interest in affairs around them, they had no hankering concern to ward off the inevitable. When Suphy's strength was giving way, the famous Dr. Gregory cautioned her to leave off animal food, saying she must be content with 'spoon meat' unless she wished to die. 'Dee, Doctor; odd! I'm thinking they've forgotten an auld wife like me up yonder.' Next day the doctor called, and found her at the spoon meat—supping a haggis!
Of a little later date was Miss Menie Trotter, of the Mortonhall family, with whom Lord Cockburn's sketches end:—
'She was of the agrestic order. Her pleasures lay in the fields and long country walks. Ten miles at a stretch, within a few years of her death, was nothing to her.... One of her friends asking her, not long before her death, how she was, she said, "Very weel—quite weel. But, eh, I had a dismal dream last nicht; a fearful dream!" "Ay, I'm sorry for that; what was it?" "Ou, what d'ye think? Of a' places i' the world, I dreamed I was in heaven! And what d'ye think I saw there? Deil hae 't but thoosands upon thoosands, and ten thoosands upon ten thoosands, o' stark naked weans! That wad be a dreadfu' thing, for ye ken I ne'er could bide bairns a' my days."'
The great memoirist concludes his sketches of the old Scottish ladies with a criticism on their religion which has an interest now as revealing the religiosity that characterised his own time. He declares that from the freedom of their remarks and their free use of religious terms, they would all have been deemed irreligious in his day. We are happily far removed now from the time when cheerfulness and freedom of expression on sacred subjects would excite the horror of the pious.
CHAPTER XVII
Scott's Contemporaries in Edinburgh—Local 'Societies'—The Speculative—Scott's Explosion—Visit of Francis Jeffrey to the 'Den'—Anecdote of Murray of Broughton—General View of the youthful Societies.
How deeply Scott's imagination was affected, how richly his memory filled, how strongly his inestimable natural qualities confirmed and developed by his long and intimate association with such pricelessly rare and noble specimens of the old Scottish national character as have flitted through the last few chapters, it requires no help of ours to convince any reader of the Scotch Novels. There is more danger perhaps of exaggerating any influence that may have been exercised upon him by his equals in age and juniors with whom he came in contact in general society, and particularly in the 'literary societies' of the city. There have been at all periods, we believe, many societies of this kind for the young aspirants at Edinburgh University. Naturally the young bloods of the law are the most anxious to shine in such arenas. Naturally also the prize of reputation usually falls to the glib and fluent speaker, especially if he has some real ability and learning to second his tongue. The better the society is attended, the more genuine is the mettle required in its leaders. It is, however, perhaps safe to assert the general principle that success in these meetings implies talent rather than genius, forensic skill rather than learning or intellect. Thus we can quite believe, as stated in his Life, that for Francis Jeffrey his entrance into the Speculative Society did more than any other event in the whole course of his education, though such a statement about Scott would be ludicrous. We can quite agree with Cockburn that the same society has trained more young men to public speaking, talent, and liberal thought than all the other private institutions in Scotland. At the same time we do not in the least regret that it did not effect all this for Walter Scott. He says with his usual unconscious self-depreciation that he never made any great figure in these societies. He was a member, however, of several in succession, and took some part in their proceedings. He would have preferred to be silent, but the rules of the societies compelled him at times to contribute an essay. In his own opinion his essays were but very poor work. This they may have been from a critic's point of view. But they had the quality of genius. They were at least utterly different and distinct from all others. They astonished and delighted the fortunate hearers. We can gather some idea of this even from his own statement: 'I was like the Lord of Castle Rack-rent, who was obliged to cut down a tree to get a few faggots to boil the kettle; for the quantity of ponderous and miscellaneous knowledge which I really possessed on many subjects, was not easily condensed, or brought to bear upon the object I wished particularly to become master of. Yet there occurred opportunities when this odd lumber of my brain, especially that which was connected with the recondite parts of history, did me, as Hamlet says, "yeoman's service." My memory of events was like one of the large, old-fashioned stone cannons of the Turks—-very difficult to load well and discharge, but making a powerful effect when by good chance any object did come within range of its shot. Such fortunate opportunities of exploding with effect maintained my literary character among my companions, with whom I soon met with great indulgence and regard.' It was in January, 1791, that Scott became a member of the Speculative, the most ambitious of the literary societies. On the 11th of December, 1792, Francis Jeffrey was admitted. On that evening one of Scott's happy explosions occurred. He delivered an essay on Ballads, which so interested the future critic that he sought and obtained Scott's acquaintance, a circumstance which pleasantly revives the memory of Jeffrey now that his works, once so formidable, have fallen into the wallet where Time stores alms for Oblivion. Jeffrey called on Scott the very next evening, and found him 'in a small den, on the sunk floor of his father's house in George's Square surrounded with dingy books,' from which, Lockhart records, they went to a tavern and supped together. In this snug den of Walter's his character and interests were visibly and quaintly to be traced. It was full to overflowing of books, and a small painted cabinet contained old Scottish and Roman coins. A little print of Bonnie Prince Charlie was guarded by a claymore and a Lochaber axe, which had been given him by old Stewart of Invernahyle, a Jacobite client of his father's, who had been 'out' in both the 'Fifteen' and the 'Forty-five.' Below the picture a china saucer was hooked up against the wall. This was 'Broughton's saucer,' the memorial of a very striking incident in the domestic life of the Scotts. One autumn Mr. Scott senior had a client who came regularly every evening at a certain hour to the house, and remained in the Writer's private room usually till long after the family had gone to bed. The little mystery of the unknown visitor excited Mrs. Scott's curiosity, and her husband's vague statements increased it. One night, therefore, though she knew it was against her husband's desire, she entered the room with a salver in her hand, and offered the gentlemen a dish of tea. Mr. Scott very coldly refused it, but the stranger bowed and accepted a cup. Presently he took his leave, and Mr. Scott, lifting the empty cup he had used, threw it out on the pavement. His wife was astonished at first, but not when she heard the explanation: 'I may admit into my house, on business, persons wholly unworthy to be treated as guests by my wife. Neither lip of me nor of mine comes after Mr. Murray of Broughton's.' It was actually the traitor Secretary Murray, who bought off his life and fortune by giving evidence against his gallant associates. The saucer belonging to the traitor's cup was appropriated by Walter for his collection. Lockhart gives an additional anecdote which equally brings out the disgust felt by the loyal-hearted Scots towards the traitor. 'When Murray was confronted with Sir John Douglas of Kelhead (ancestor of the Marquis of Queensberry), before the Privy Council in St. James's, the prisoner was asked, "Do you know this witness?" "Not I," answered Douglas; "I once knew a person who bore the designation of Murray of Broughton—but that was a gentleman and a man of honour, and one that could hold up his head!"' A great deal of pardonable nonsense has been spoken and written by distinguished persons regarding the literary societies of their youth. We shall conclude with Scott's own general remarks, which are much more sensible and only exaggerated in depreciating himself. 'Looking back on those times, I cannot applaud in all respects the way in which our days were spent. There was too much idleness, and sometimes too much conviviality; but our hearts were warm, our minds honourably bent on knowledge and literary distinction; and if I, certainly the least informed of the party, may be permitted to bear witness, we were not without the fair and creditable means of obtaining the distinction to which we aspired.'
CHAPTER XVIII
The Scottish Bar—Two Careers open—Walter's Choice—Studies with William Clerk—The Law Professors—Hume's Lectures—Hard Study—Beginnings of social Distinction—Influence of Clerk—Early Love-story—Description of Walter Scott at Twenty.
Of the two branches of the legal profession, the bar offered the greatest attractions to young men ambitious of distinction. For mere financial success Walter Scott might have been tempted to take to the Writer's career. His father offered to take him at once into partnership, which would have meant 'an immediate prospect of a handsome independence.' But Walter was never very fond of money, and had then no expensive plans in view to make the acquisition of it a necessity. In all other respects he preferred the Advocate's life. It was the line of ambition and liberty. When he saw that his father also would prefer it, he hesitated no longer. Four arduous years of preparation (1789 to 1792) were devoted to the necessary legal studies. This period was utterly different from his Arts course. He studied with the greatest zeal and perseverance, giving his whole heart to the one aim. The companion of his studies was his cherished friend, William Clerk, whom he describes as 'a man of the most acute intellects and powerful apprehension, and who, should he ever shake loose the fetters of indolence by which he has been trammelled, cannot fail to be distinguished in the highest degree.' At this time the Civil Law chair might be considered 'as in abeyance,' the Professor being almost in a state of dotage. It was different with the class of Scots Law. Under Professor David Hume, an enormous amount of legal learning had to be got up. Jeffrey, who attended the class in 1792, 'groaned over Hume's elaborate dulness,' but on Scott the subject seemed to exercise a charm. He considered Hume's prelections an honour to himself and an advantage to his country. He copied them over twice, which would mean the writing of four or five hundred closely packed pages. He speaks of Hume as having imported plan and order to the ancient and constantly altered structure of Scots Law by 'combining the past state of our legal enactments with the present, and tracing clearly and judiciously the changes which took place, and the causes which led to them.'
Upon these years of legal study Scott could always look back with satisfaction. 'A little parlour (he tells in his fragment of Autobiography, referring to the 'den' where Jeffrey found him) was assigned me in my father's house, which was spacious and convenient (for a modest student), and I took possession of my new realms with all the feelings of novelty and liberty. Let me do justice to the only years of my life in which I applied to learning with stern, steady, and undeviating industry. The rule of my friend Clerk and myself was, that we should mutually qualify ourselves for undergoing an examination upon certain points of law every morning in the week, Sundays excepted.... His house being at the extremity of Princes Street, New Town, was a walk of two miles. With great punctuality, however, I beat him up to his task every morning before seven o'clock, and in the course of two summers, we went, by way of question and answer, through the whole of Heineccius's Analysis of the Institutes and Pandects, as well as through the smaller copy of Erskine's Institutes of the Law of Scotland.'
At this time, as a natural consequence of advancing years, his parents had given over entertaining company, unless in the case of near relations. Walter, however, though he was thus left in a great measure to form connections for himself, found no difficulty in making his way into good society. He scarcely ever refers to his social triumphs, but from other sources we can gather that he soon became a notable and a favourite figure. Before he had achieved any literary reputation, he had conquered local fame by the charm of his personality and the freshness of his conversation. Cockburn, speaking of the year 1811, has recorded that 'people used to be divided at this time as to the superiority of Scott's poetry or his talk. His novels had not yet begun to suggest another alternative. Scarcely, however, even in his novels was he more striking or delightful than in society, where the halting limb, the bur in the throat, the heavy cheeks, the high Goldsmith-forehead, the unkempt locks, and general plainness of appearance, with the Scotch accent and stories and sayings, all graced by gaiety, simplicity, and kindness, made a combination most worthy of being enjoyed.'
His early cultivation of society, which was of course a wholesome thing for a youth of twenty, was greatly favoured by his friendship with William Clerk. We have Lockhart's authority for the opinion that 'of all the connections he formed in life there was no one to whom he owed more.' Clerk's influence helped to decide him to take to the bar, the line of ambition and liberty. He then, as we have seen, by his very physical inertia, supplied Scott with a stimulating object during their legal studies. His influence on Scott's personal habits even was good and great. Walter's modesty and kind good-nature had perhaps made him a trifle more free and easy with his father's apprentices than was quite desirable for either him or them. They were, of course, his professional equals and the sharers in his daily pursuits, but their ideas and manners were not calculated to promote ambition so much as liberty. Walter, during his apprenticeship, was intentionally careless of appearances, and apt to be slovenly in his dress. He condescended to the clubs and festive resorts of the apprentices, a most dangerous thing for a genius, as Ferguson's blasted career had just proved. It was a fortunate enough and useful episode for the future author of Guy Mannering, but it was not a good school of manners or academy of habits for Walter Scott. Fortunately William Clerk, with his West-end prejudices, came just at the right time, to chaff his friend out of his slovenliness and to show him the way to a more wholesome and not less interesting society. Finally, of course, it was his own sound sense that made this amiable change in his habits so easy. To this period, that is, about 1790, belongs the most romantic episode of Walter Scott's life, his unrequited love for Margaret Stuart.[1] He had made her acquaintance in the Greyfriars churchyard on a wet Sunday afternoon, when she accepted his offered umbrella and his escort home, for 'young Walter Scott,' a Duchess of Sutherland at this time said, 'was a comely creature.' And here we may give Lockhart's description of Scott as seen by Clerk and Margaret and the rest of his Edinburgh friends:—
'His personal appearance at this time was not unengaging.... He had outgrown the sallowness of early ill-health, and had a fresh, brilliant complexion. His eyes were clear, open, and well-set, with a changeful radiance, to which teeth of the most perfect regularity and whiteness lent their assistance, while the noble expanse and elevation of the brow gave to the whole aspect a dignity far above the charm of mere features. His smile was always delightful; and I can easily fancy the peculiar intermixture of tenderness and gravity with playful, innocent hilarity and humour in the expression, as being well calculated to fix a fair lady's eye. His figure, excepting the blemish in one limb, must in those days have been eminently handsome; tall, much above the usual standard, it was cast in the very mould of a young Hercules; the head set on with singular grace, the throat and chest after the truest model of the antique, the hands delicately finished; the whole outline that of extraordinary vigour, without as yet a touch of clumsiness.... I have heard him, in talking of this part of his life, say, with an arch simplicity of look and tone, which those who were familiar with him can fill in for themselves—"It was a proud night with me when I first found that a pretty young woman could think it worth her while to sit and talk with me, hour after hour, in a corner of the ballroom, while all the world were capering in our view."'
[1] Scott's youthful love-dream lasted through several years. The lady eventually married Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, who was a banker in Edinburgh. Sir William acted a very friendly part during Scott's financial disaster of 1826-27.
CHAPTER XIX
The Advocate's 'Trials'—Scott and Clerk admitted to the Bar—Walter's first Fee—Connection of the Scotts with Lord Braxfield—Scottish Judges—Stories of Braxfield.
The trials set to candidates for admission into the Faculty of Advocates were duly passed by Scott and his friend Clerk on the same days. They were formally admitted to the fraternity on the 11th of July, 1792.
There is always some story of the young Advocate's first fee. When the ceremony of 'putting on the gown' was completed, Scott said to Clerk, putting on the air and tone of some Highland lassie waiting at the Cross to be 'fee'd' for the harvest, 'We've stood here an hour by the Tron, hinny, an' deil a ane has speir'd our price.' The friends were about to leave the Outer Court, when a friend, a solicitor, came up and gave Scott his first guinea fee. As he and Clerk went down the High Street, they passed a hosier's shop, and Scott remarked, 'This is a sort of wedding-day, Willie; I think I must go in and buy me a new nightcap.' Thus he 'wared' his guinea, but it is pleasing to know that his first big fee was spent on a silver taper-stand for his mother, which (Lockhart tells) the old lady used to point to with great satisfaction, as it stood on her chimney-piece five-and-twenty years afterwards.
Scott's 'thesis'—no doubt, like Alan Fairford's, a very pretty piece of Latinity—was dedicated to the terrible Lord Braxfield, 'the giant of the bench,' as Cockburn calls him, 'whose very name makes people start yet.' Braxfield was a friend and near neighbour of the Scotts, his house being No. 28 George Square. It is said that he was rather kind to nervous young advocates at their first appearance in a case, so long as they were not 'Bar flunkies'—his term for brainless fops. Braxfield lives in popular tradition as a monster of rough and savage cruelty, and the sketch of the man by Cockburn bears out the character only too well. The sketch may be quoted in full, for its intrinsic interest, and for the vivid light it throws on the character and manners of Scottish judges in the century following the Union.
'Strong-built and dark, with rough eyebrows, powerful eyes, threatening lips, and a low growling voice, he was like a formidable blacksmith. His accent and his dialect were exaggerated Scotch; his language, like his thoughts, short, strong, and conclusive.... Within the range of the Feudal and the Civil branches, and in every matter depending on natural ability and practical sense, he was very great; and his power arose more from the force of his reasoning and his vigorous application of principle, than from either the extent or the accuracy of his learning.... He had a colloquial way of arguing, in the form of question and answer, which, done in his clear, abrupt style, imparted a dramatic directness and vivacity to the scene.
'With this intellectual force, as applied to law, his merits, I fear, cease. Illiterate, and without any taste for refined enjoyment, strength of understanding, which gave him power without cultivation, only encouraged him to a more contemptuous disdain of all natures less coarse than his own. Despising the growing improvement of manners, he shocked the feelings even of an age which, with more of the formality, had far less of the substance of decorum than our own. Thousands of his sayings have been preserved, and the substance of them is indecency; which he succeeded in making many people enjoy, or at least endure, by hearty laughter, energy of manner, and rough humour. Almost the only story I ever heard of him that had some fun in it without immodesty, was when a butler gave up his place because his lordship's wife was always scolding him. "Lord!" he exclaimed, "ye 've little to complain o'; ye may be thankfu' ye 're no married to her."
'It is impossible to blame his conduct as a criminal judge too gravely, or too severely. It was a disgrace to the age. A dexterous and practical trier of ordinary cases, he was harsh to prisoners even in his jocularity, and to every counsel whom he chose to dislike.... It may be doubted if he was ever so much in his element as when tauntingly repelling the last despairing claim of a wretched culprit, and sending him to Botany Bay or the gallows with an insulting jest; over which he would chuckle the more from observing that correct people were shocked.[1] Yet this was not from cruelty, for which he was too strong and too jovial, but from cherished coarseness....
[1] His remark to Margaret, one of the 'Friends of the People,' who made a speech in his own defence, was, 'Ye're a very clever chiel, man, but ye wad be nane the war o' a hanging.'
'In the political trials of 1793 and 1794 he was the Jeffreys of Scotland. He, as the head of the court, and the only very powerful man it contained, was the real director of its proceedings. The reports make his abuse of the judgment seat bad enough: but his misconduct was not so fully disclosed in formal decisions and charges, as it transpired in casual remarks and general manner. "Let them bring me prisoners and I'll find them law" used to be openly stated as his suggestion, when an intended political prosecution was marred by anticipated difficulties. Mr. Horner (father of Francis), who was one of the juniors in Muir's case, told me that when he was passing, as was often done then, behind the bench to get into the box, Braxfield, who knew him, whispered—"Come awa', Mr. Horner, come awa', and help to hang[2] ane o' thae damned scoondrels." The reporter of Gerald's case could not venture to make the prisoner say more than that "Christianity was an innovation." But the full truth is, that in stating this view he added that all great men had been reformers, "even our Saviour himself." "Muckle he made o' that," chuckled Braxfield in an under voice; "he was hanget." Before Hume's Commentaries had made our criminal record intelligible, the form and precedents were a mystery understood by the initiated alone, and by nobody so much as by Mr. Joseph Norris, the ancient clerk. Braxfield used to quash anticipated doubts by saying—"Hoot! just gie me Josie Norrie and a gude jury, an' I'll doo for the fallow." He died in 1799, in his seventy-eighth year.'
[2] Hang was his phrase for all kinds of punishment.
CHAPTER XX
Stories of the Judges—Lord Eskgrove—His Appearance—The Trials for Sedition—Anecdotes of Circuit Dinners—'Esky' and the Harangue—The Soldier's Breeches—Esky and the Veiled Witness—Henderson and the Fine—The Luss Robbers—Death of Eskgrove.
Stories about one or other of the judges were apparently the leading feature of conversation in Edinburgh society at the end of the eighteenth century. Lord Eskgrove, who, almost in his dotage at the age of seventy-six, was appointed to succeed Braxfield as head of the Criminal Court, was about the most ludicrous and childishly eccentric of the race. For a time it seemed the whole occupation of the wits to relate anecdotes about old Eskgrove. To give these anecdotes with a recognisable mimicry of his voice and manner was, in Cockburn's phrase, 'a sort of fortune in society.' And Scott, he adds, in those days was famous for this particularly. It was not the wit or the humour of Eskgrove which amused. He seems to have had neither. It was simply his personal oddity, and the utter incongruity of such an incredible creature elevated to a position such as his. His face is described as varying from a scurfy red to a scurfy blue. His nose was prodigious: the under lip enormous, and supported on a huge clumsy chin, which moved like the jaw of a Dutch toy. He walked with a slow, stealthy step—something between a walk and a hirple, and helped himself on by short movements of his elbows, backwards and forwards, like fins. His voice was low and mumbling. His pronunciation seems to have been fantastic in the extreme, especially in the way of cutting even short words into two. The following anecdotes from Cockburn, who knew him, 'when he was in the zenith of his absurdity,' bring 'Esky' very vividly before us.
At the trial of Fysche Palmer for sedition, he made one of the very few remarks he ever made which had some little merit of their own. It was a retort to Mr. John Haggart, one of the prisoner's counsel, who, in defending his client against the charge of disrespect to the king, quoted Burke's statement that kings are naturally lovers of low company. "Then, sir, that says very little for you or your client! for if kinggs be lovers of low company, low company ought to be lovers of kinggs!"
'Nothing disturbed him so much as the expense of the public dinner for which the judge on the circuit has a fixed allowance, and out of which the less he spends the more he gains. His devices for economy were often very diverting. His servant had strict orders to check the bottles of wine by laying aside the corks. Once at Stirling his lordship went behind a screen, while the company was still at table, and seeing an alarming row of corks, got into a warm altercation, which everybody heard, with John; maintaining it to be "impossibill" that they could have drunk so much. On being assured that they had, and were still going on—"Well, then, John, I must just protect myself!" On which he put a handful of the corks into his pocket, and resumed his seat.
'Like the poor man in the story, Lord Eskgrove was "sair hauden doon by yon turkey cock." The plague of his life for more than a year was Henry Brougham. In revenge the judge used to sneer at Brougham's eloquence by styling it or him the Harangue. "Well, gentle-men, what did the Harangue say next? Why, it said this" (mis-stating it); "but here, gentle-men, the Harangue was most plainly wrong, and not intelligibill."
'Everything was connected by his terror with republican horrors. I heard him, in condemning a tailor to death for murdering a soldier by stabbing him, aggravate the offence thus: "And not only did you murder him, whereby he was bereaved of his life, but you did thrust, or push, or pierce, or project, or propell, the le-thall weapon through the belly-band of his regimen-tal breeches, which were his Majes-ty's!"
'In the trial of Glengarry for murder in a duel, a lady of great beauty was called as a witness. She came into court veiled. But before administering the oath Eskgrove gave her this exposition of her duty—"Young woman! you will now consider yourself as in the presence of Almighty God and of this High Court. Lift up your veil; throw off all modesty, and look me in the face."