Walter Scott: Chronicles of the Canongate
=========================================
a machine-readable transcription
[For archival on the Internet Wiretap, the portions
have been concatenated. No other changes have been made.]
Version 1.0: 1993-03-25
This machine-readable transcription of the
Chronicles of the Canongate is based on the text
published as volumes 41 and 48 of the Waverley
Novels by Archibald Constable and Company in 1896.
Volume 41 also included the Keepsake Stories, which
have been separated from the Chronicles. The tale
`The Surgeon's Daughter' originally appeared in
volume 48, for reasons only printers and publishers
will understand.
The order of the files in this distribution are
as follows:
introduction - the author's introduction
introduction.appendix - account of the first public
announcement of Scott's authorship
of the Waverley novels
introductory - Chrystal Croftangry account of
himself
introductory.notes
the.highland.widow
the highland.widow.notes
the.two.drovers.introduction
the.two.drovers
the two.drovers.notes
the.surgeons.daughter.introduction
the.surgeons.daughter.preface
the.surgeons.daughter
the.surgeons.daughter.conclusion
Changes to the text
-------------------
Page-breaks have been removed
End-of-line hyphenations have been removed, and the
previously hyphenated word placed at the end of the
first text line. The text itself has been the main
guide for keeping or removing the hyphen; in some
cases the Centenary Edition has been consulted.
Small capitals in names have been replaced by
lower-case letters, otherwise by capitals.
appendix.to.introduction
p. lxvi: genius (genuis)
introductory:
p. 11: waistcoat (waistcoast)
p. 17: position (postion)
p. 44: magnificent (magnificient)
p. 83: don't (dont)
p. 87: postscript (postcript)
the.highland.widow
p. xxx: Corrie Dhu (Corri Dhu)
Odd, that 'Dhu' is so spelled here, while previusly
it is spelled 'dhu'. Same in C.E.
p. 223 pedestrians (pedes- || trains)
p. 223 termed (term-)
p. 287 missing '?' (hast thou at lest become sick)
Surgeons Daughter:
p. 153: taken by an eminent artist (arilst)
p. 174: But faith, this Schiller (``But faith)
p. 216: of whose loss she had (lose)
p. 304: adding fuel to fire (feul)
p. 337: use, he apprehended, to enable (apprehended to - missing comma)
p. 339: All these feelings (``All)
p. 382: force on her inclinations.'' (inclinations,'')
p. 383: ``Villain---double-dyed (missing dash)
p. 385: thou art Governor (Go-||venor)
p. 387: garment. In the (garment In)
p. 395: former adventures, the plundering (missing comma)
p. 403: brandished (bran-||nished)
p. 404: we have formerly described (formesly)
p. ???: he presumed him to be entirely ignorant (persumed)
Markup conventions
------------------
_ _ is placed around words that are italicized in
the text
= = is placed around words with extra emphasis --
small caps in the text.
--- is used to represent an em dash. Longer sequences of
hyphens indicates correspondingly longer dashes
signifies the oe ligature
signifies the ae ligature
signifies the ligature
signifies the a grave
signifies the e acute
signifies the e grave
signifies an e circumflex
signifies a c with cedilla
Footnotes
Footnotes in the text were placed at the foot of
the page; in this edition they have been placed
immediately after the line in which they are
referenced. The footnote callout is always an
asterisk,*
* Like this
and the text of the footnote has been placed,
slightly indented, between two empty lines, as
illustrated above. If the footnote comes at the
end of a paragraph, the first line of the
following paragraph is indented two spaces, as
usual.
Most footnotes are just references to end-notes.
In the original text, these appeared at the end of
each chapter -- in this electronic edition, they
have been placed in a file of their own, following
the model used in the Centenary Edition. The page
numbers of the original footnotes have been
replaced by letters A, B, etc, again on the
pattern used in the Centenary Edition.
Notes
-----
In The Surgeon's Daughter, the various amounts of
money are printed as L.100, L.200 and L.2000 etc.
These are so printed in the original, although the
Centenary Edition uses a pound sterling sign
instead of "L.".
The Surgeon's Daughter seems rather unevenly
edited. Here are some of the unevennesses I've
found:
Hindostan, Hindustan
Hindoo, Hindhu
jackall, jackals
Town-Clerk, Town-clerk
There also seems to be some occasional
inconsistence in the use of the following words.
Governor, governor
Government, government
The differences appear in both the original source
and the Cententary Edition
The transcription and proof-reading was done by
Anders Thulin, Rydsvagen 288, S-582 50 Linkoping,
Sweden. Email address: ath@linkoping.trab.se
I'd be glad to learn of any errors that you may
find in the text.
[1. Introduction]
INTRODUCTION
TO
CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE.
The preceding volume of this Collection concluded
the last of the pieces originally published
under the _nominis umbra_ of The
Author of Waverley; and the circumstances
which rendered it impossible for the writer
to continue longer in the possession of his
incognito, were communicated in 1827, in the
Introduction to the first series of Chronicles
of the Canongate,---consisting (besides a biographical
sketch of the imaginary chronicler)
of three tales, entitled ``The Highland Widow,''
``The Two Drovers,'' and ``The Surgeon's
Daughter.'' In the present volume the two
first named of these pieces are included, together
with three detached stories, which appeared
the year after in the elegant compilation
called ``The Keepsake.'' The ``Surgeon's Daughter''
it is thought better to defer
until a succeeding volume, than to
``Begin and break off in the middle.''
I have, perhaps, said enough on former occasions
of the misfortunes which led to the
dropping of that mask under which I had, for
a long series of years, enjoyed so large a portion
of public favour. Through the success of
those literary efforts, I had been enabled to
indulge most of the tastes, which a retired
person of my station might be supposed to
entertain. In the pen of this nameless romancer,
I seemed to possess something like the secret
fountain of coined gold and pearls vouchsafed
to the traveller of the Eastern Tale; and no
doubt believed that I might venture, without
silly imprudence, to extend my personal expenditure
considerably beyond what I should
have thought of, had my means been limited
to the competence which I derived from inheritance,
with the moderate income of a professional
situation. I bought, and built, and
planted, and was considered by myself, as by
the rest of the world, in the safe possession
of an easy fortune. My riches, however, like
the other riches of this world, were liable to
accidents, under which they were ultimately
destined to make unto themselves wings and
fly away. The year 1825, so disastrous to
many branches of industry and commerce,
did not spare the market of literature; and
the sudden ruin that fell on so many of the
booksellers, could scarcely gave been expected
to leave unscathed one, whose career had
of necessity connected him deeply and extensively
with the pecuniary transactions of that
profession. In a word, almost without one
note of premonition, I found myself involved
in the sweeping catastrophe of the unhappy
time, and called on to meet the demands of
creditors upon commercial establishments
with which my fortunes had long been bound
up, to the extent of no less a sum than one
hundred and twenty thousand pounds.
The author having, however rashly, committed
his pledges thus largely to the hazards of
trading companies, it behoved him, of course,
to abide the consequences of his conduct, and,
with whatever feelings, he surrendered on the
instant every shred of property which he had
been accustomed to call his own. It became
vested in the hands of gentlemen, whose integrity,
prudence, and intelligence, were combined
with all possible liberality and kindness
of disposition, and who readily afforded every
assistance towards the execution of plans, in
the success of which the author contemplated
the possibility of his ultimate extrication, and
which were of such a nature, that, had assistance
of this sort been withheld, he could have
had little prospect of carrying them into effect.
Among other resources which occurred, was
the project of that complete and corrected
edition of his Novels and Romances, (whose
real parentage had of necessity been disclosed
at the moment of the commercial convulsions
alluded to,) which has now advanced with
unprecedented favour nearly to its close; but
as he purposed also to continue, for the behoof
of those to whom he was indebted, the exercise
of his pen in the same path of literature,
so long as the state of his countrymen should
seem to approve of his efforts, it appeared to
him that it would have been an idle piece of
affectation to attempt getting up a new _incognito_,
after his original visor had been thus
dashed from his brow. Hence the personal
narrative prefixed to the first work of fiction
which he put forth after the paternity of the
``Waverley Novels'' had come to be publicly
ascertained: and though many of the particulars
originally avowed in that Notice have
been unavoidably adverted to in the prefaces
and notes to some of the preceding volumes
of the present collection, it is now reprinted
as it stood at the time, because some
interest is generally attached to a coin or medal
struck on a special occasion, as expressing,
perhaps, more faithfully than the same
artist could have afterwards conveyed, the
feelings of the moment that gave it birth. The
Introduction to the first series of Chronicles
of the Canongate ran, then, in these words:
INTRODUCTION.
All who are acquainted with the early history
of the Italian stage are aware, that Arlechino
is not, in his original conception, a
mere worker of marvels with his wooden
sword, a jumper in and out of windows, as
upon our theatre, but, as his party-coloured
jacket implies, a buffoon or clown, whose
mouth, far from being eternally closed, as
amongst us, is filled, like that of Touchstone,
with quips, and cranks, and witty devices, very
often delivered extempore. It is not easy to
trace how he became possessed of his black
vizard which was anciently made in the resemblance
of the face of a cat; but it seems
that the mask was essential to the performance
of the character, as will appear from the following
theatrical anecdote:---
An actor on the Italian stage permitted at
the Foire du St Germain, in Paris, was renowned
for the wild, venturous, and extravagant
wit, the brilliant sallies and fortunate
repartees, with which he prodigally seasoned
the character of the party-coloured jester.
Some critics, whose good-will towards a favourite
performer was stronger than their
judgment, took occasion to remonstrate with
the successful actor on the subject of the
grotesque vizard. They went wilily to their
purpose, observing that his classical and attic
wit, his delicate vein of humour, his happy
turn for dialogue, were rendered burlesque and
ludicrous by this unmeaning and bizzare disguise,
and that those attributes would become
far more impressive, if aided by the spirit of
his eye and the expression of his natural features.
The actor's vanity was easily so far
engaged as to induce him to make the experiment.
He played Harlequin barefaced, but
was considered on all hands as having made a
total failure. He had lost the audacity which
a sense of incognito bestowed, and with it all
the reckless play of raillery which gave vivacity
to his original acting. He cursed his advisers,
and resumed his grotesque vizard; but,
it is said, without ever being able to regain
the careless and successful levity which the
consciousness of the disguise had formerly bestowed.
Perhaps the Author of Waverley is now
about to incur a risk of the same kind, and
endanger his popularity by having laid aside
his incognito. It is certainly not a voluntary
experiment, like that of Harlequin; for it was
my original intention never to have avowed
these works during my lifetime, and the original
manuscripts were carefully preserved,
(though by the care of others rather than
mine,) with the purpose of supplying the necessary
evidence of the truth when the period
of announcing it should arrive.* But the
* These manuscripts are at present (August 1831) advertised
for public sale, which is an addition, though a small one,
to other annoyances.
affairs of my publishers having unfortunately
passed into a management different from their
own, I had no right any longer to rely upon
secrecy in that quarter; and thus my mask,
like my Aunt Dinah's in ``Tristram Shandy,''
having begun to wax a little threadbare about
the chin, it became time to lay it aside with a
good grace, unless I desired it should fall in
pieces from my face, which was now become
likely.
Yet I had not the slightest intention of selecting
the time and place in which the disclosure
was finally made; nor was there any
concert betwixt my learned and respected
friend Lord Meadowbank and myself upon
that occasion. It was, as the reader is probably
aware, upon the 23d February last, at a
public meeting, called for establishing a professional
Theatrical Fund in Edinburgh, that
the communication took place. Just before
we sat down to table, Lord Meadowbank*
* One of the Supreme Judges of Scotland, termed Lords of
Council and Session.
asked me privately, whether I was still anxious
to preserve my incognito on the subject of
what were called the Waverley Novels? I did
not immediately see the purpose of his lordship's
question, although I certainly might
have been led to infer it, and replied, that the
secret had now of necessity become known to
so many people that I was indifferent on the
subject. Lord Meadowbank was thus induced,
while doing me the great honour of proposing
my health to the meeting, to say something
on the subject of these Novels, so strongly
connecting them with me as the author, that
by remaining silent, I must have stood convicted,
either of the actual paternity, or of the
still greater crime of being supposed willing to
receive indirectly praise to which I had no just
title. I thus found myself suddenly and unexpectedly
placed in the confessional, and had
only time to recollect that I had been guided
thither by a most friendly hand, and could not,
perhaps, find a better public opportunity to lay
down a disguise, which began to resemble that
of a detected masquerader.
I had therefore the task of avowing myself,
to the numerous and respectable company assembled,
as the sole and unaided author of
these Novels of Waverley, the paternity of
which was likely at one time to have formed
a controversy of some celebrity, for the ingenuity
with which some instructors of the public
gave their assurance on the subject, was extremely
persevering. I now think it further
necessary to say, that while I take on myself
all the merits and demerits attending these
compositions, I am bound to acknowledge with
gratitude, hints of subjects and legends which
I have received from various quarters, and
have occasionally used as a foundation of my
fictitious compositions, or woven up with them
in the shape of episodes. I am bound, in particular,
to acknowledge the unremitting kindness
of Mr Joseph Train, supervisor of excise
at Dumfries, to whose unwearied industry I
have been indebted for many curious traditions,
and points of antiquarian interest. It
was Mr Train who brought to my recollection
the history of Old Mortality, although I myself
had had a personal interview with that celebrated
wanderer so far back as about 1792,
when I found him on his usual task. He was
then engaged in repairing the gravestones of
the Covenanters who had died while imprisoned
in the Castle of Dunnottar, to which many
of them were committed prisoners at the period
of Argyle's rising; their place of confinement
is still called the Whigs' Vault. Mr Train,
however, procured for me far more extensive
information concerning this singular person,
whose name was Patterson, than I had been
able to acquire during my own short conversation
with him.* He was (as I think I have
* See, for some further particulars, the notes to Old Mortality,
in the present collective edition.
somewhere already stated) a native of the
parish of Closeburn, in Dumfries-shire, and
it is believed that domestic affliction, as well
as devotional feeling, induced him to commence
the wandering mode of life, which he
pursued for a very long period. It is more
than twenty years since Robert Patterson's
death, which took place on the high-road near
Lockerby, where he was found exhausted and
expiring. The white pony, the companion of
his pilgrimage, was standing by the side of its
dying master; the whole furnishing a scene
not unfitted for the pencil. These particulars
I had from Mr Train.
Another debt, which I pay most willingly,
I owe to an unknown correspondent (a lady),*
* The late Mrs Goldie.
who favoured me with the history of the upright
and high-principled female, whom, in
the Heart of Mid-Lothian, I have termed Jeanie
Deans. The circumstance of her refusing to
save her sister's life by an act of perjury, and
undertaking a pilgrimage to London to obtain
her pardon, are both represented as true by
my fair and obliging correspondent; and they
led me to consider the possibility of rendering
a fictitious personage interesting by mere dignity
of mind and rectitude of principle, assisted
by unpretending good sense and temper,
without any of the beauty, grace, talent, accomplishment,
and wit, to which a heroine of
romance is supposed to have a prescriptive
right. If the portrait was received with interest
by the public, I am conscious how much
it was owing to the truth and force of the original
sketch, which I regret that I am unable
to present to the public, as it was written with
much feeling and spirit.
Old and odd books, and a considerable collection
of family legends, formed another
quarry, so ample, that it was much more likely
that the strength of the labourer should be exhausted
than that materials should fail. I
may mention, for example's sake, that the terrible
catastrophe of the Bride of Lammermoor
actually occurred in a Scottish family of rank.
The female relative, by whom the melancholy
tale was communicated to me many years
since, was a near connexion of the family in
which the event happened and always told it
with an appearance of melancholy mystery,
which enhanced the interest, She had known,
in her youth, the brother who rode before the
unhappy victim to the fatal altar, who, though
then a mere boy, and occupied almost entirely
with the gaiety of his own appearance in the
bridal procession, could not but remark that
the hand of his sister was moist, and cold as
that of a statue. It is unnecessary further to
withdraw the veil from this scene of family
distress, nor, although it occurred more than
a hundred years since, might it be altogether
agreeable to the representatives of the families
concerned in the narrative. It may be proper
to say, that the events alone are imitated;
but I had neither the means nor intention of
copying the manners, or tracing the characters,
of the persons concerned in the real story.
Indeed, I may here state generally, that although
I have deemed historical personages
free subjects of delineation, I have never on
any occasion violated the respect due to private
life. It was indeed impossible that traits
proper to persons, both living and dead, with
whom I have had intercourse in society, should
not have risen to my pen in such works as
Waverley, and those which followed it. But
I have always studied to generalize the portraits,
so that they should still seem, on the
whole, the productions of fancy though possessing
some resemblance to real individuals.
Yet I must own my attempts have not in
this last particular been uniformly successful.
There are men whose characters are so peculiarly
marked, and the delineation of some
leading and principal feature, inevitably places
the whole person before you in his individuality.
Thus, the character of Jonathan Oldbuck, in
the Antiquary, was partly founded on that of
an old friend of my youth, to whom I am indebted
for introducing me to Shakspeare, and
other invaluable favours; but I thought I had
so completely disguised the likeness, that his
features could not be recognised by any one
now alive. I was mistaken, however, and indeed
had endangered what I desired should be
considered as a secret; for I afterwards learned
that a highly respectable gentleman, one of the
few surviving friends of my father,* and an
* James Chalmers, Esq. solicitor at law, London, who
died during the publication of the present edition of these
Novels. (Aug. 1831.)
acute critic, had said, upon the appearance of
the work, that he was now convinced who was
the author of it, as he recognised, in the Antiquary
of Monkbarns, traces of the character
of a very intimate friend of my father's family.
I may here also notice, that the sort of exchange
of gallantry, which is represented as
taking place betwixt the Baron of Bradwardine
and Colonel Talbot, is a literal fact. The real
circumstances of the anecdote, alike honourable
to Whig and Tory, are these:---
Alexander Stewart of Invernahyle,---a name
which I cannot write without the warmest recollections
of gratitude to the friend of my
childhood, who first introduced me to the Highlands,
their traditions, and their manners,---
had been engaged actively in the troubles of
1745. As be charged at the battle of Preston
with his clan, the Stewarts of Appine, he saw
an officer of the opposite army standing alone
by a battery of four cannon, of which he discharged
three on the advancing Highlanders,
and then drew his sword. Invernahyle rushed
on him, and required him to surrender, ``Never
to rebels!'' was the undaunted reply, accompanied
with a lounge, which the Highlander
received on his target; but instead of using
his sword in cutting down his now defenceless
antagonist, he employed it in parrying the blow
of a Lochaber axe, aimed at the officer by the
Miller, one of his own followers, a grim-looking
old Highlander, whom I remember to have
seen. Thus overpowered, Lieutenant Colonel
Allan Whitefoord, a gentleman of rank and
consequence, as well as a brave officer, gave up
his sword, and with it his purse and watch,
which Invernahyle accepted, to save them from
his followers. After the affair was over, Mr
Stewart sought out his prisoner, and they were
introduced to each other by the celebrated
John Roy Stewart, who acquainted Colonel
Whitefoord with the quality of his captor, and
made him aware of the necessity of receiving
back his property, which he was inclined to
leave in the hands into which it had fallen. So
great became the confidence established betwixt
them, that Invernahyle obtained from the Chevalier
his prisoner's freedom upon parole; and
soon afterwards, having been sent back to the
Highlands to raise men he visited Colonel
Whitefoord at his own house, and spent two
happy days with him and his Whig friends,
without thinking, on either side, of the civil
war which was then raging.
When the battle of Culloden put an end to
the hopes of Charles Edward, Invernahyle,
wounded and unable to move, was home from
the field by the faithful zeal of his retainers.
But, as he had been a distinguished Jacobite,
his family and property were exposed to the
system of vindictive destruction, too generally
carried into execution through the country of
the insurgents. It was now Colonel Whitefoord's
turn to exert himself, and he wearied
all the authorities, civil and military, with his
solicitations for pardon to the saver of his life,
or at least for a protection for his wife and
family. His applications were for a long time
unsuccessful: ``I was found with the mark of
the Beast upon me in every list,'' was Invernahyle's
expression. At length Colonel Whitefoord
applied to the Duke of Cumberland, and
urged his suit with every argument which he
could think of. Being still repulsed, he took
his commission from his bosom, and, having
said something of his own and his family's
exertions in the cause of the House of Hanover,
begged to resign his situation in their service,
since he could not be permitted to show
his gratitude to the person to whom he owed
his life. The Duke, struck with his earnestness,
desired him to take up his commission,
and granted the protection required for the
family of Invernahyle.
The Chieftain himself lay concealed in a cave
near his own house, before which a small body
of regular soldiers, were encamped. He could
hear their muster-roll called every morning,
and their drums beat to quarters at night, and
not a change of the sentinels escaped him. As
it was suspected that he was lurking somewhere
on the property, his family were closely
watched, and compelled to use the utmost precaution
in supplying him with food. One of
his daughters, a child of eight or ten years old,
was employed as the agent least likely to be
suspected. She was an instance among others,
that a time of danger and difficulty creates a
premature sharpness of intellect. She made
herself acquainted among the soldiers, till she
became so familiar to them, that her motions
escaped their notice; and her practice was, to
stroll away into the neighbourhood of the cave,
and leave what slender supply of food she carried
for that purpose under some remarkable
stone, or the root of some tree, where her father
might find it as he crept by night from his
lurking-place. Times became milder, and my
excellent friend was relieved from proscription
by the Act of Indemnity. Such is the interesting
story which I have rather injured than
improved, by the manner in which it is told in
Waverley.
This incident, with several other circumstances
illustrating the Tales in question, was
communicated by me to my late lamented
friend, William Erskine, (a Scottish Judge,
by the title of Lord Kinedder,) who afterwards
reviewed with far too much partiality
the Tales of my Landlord, for the Quarterly
Review of January 1817.* In the same article,
* Lord Kinedder died in August 1822. Eheu! (Aug.
1831)
are contained other illustrations of the Novels,
with which I supplied my accomplished friend,
who took the trouble to write the review. The
reader who is desirous of such information,
will find the original of Meg Merrilees, and I
believe of one or two other personages of the
same cast of character, in the article referred
to.
I may also mention, that the tragic and savage
circumstances which are represented as
preceding the birth of Allan MacAulay, in
the Legend of Montrose, really happened in
the family of Stewart of Ardvoirlich. The
wager about the candlesticks, whose place
was supplied by Highland torch-bearers, was
laid and won by one of the MacDonalds of
Keppoch.
There can be but little amusement in winnowing
out the few grains of truth which are
contained in this mass of empty fiction.
may, however, before dismissing the subject,
allude to the various localities which have
been affixed to some of the scenery introduced
into these Novels, by which, for example,
Wolf's-Hope is identified with Past-Castle in
Berwickshire,---Tillietudlem with Draphane in
Clydesdale,---and the valley in the Monastery,
called Glendearg, with the dale of the river
Allan, above Lord Somerville's villa, near Melrose.
I can only say, that, in these and other
instances, I had no purpose of describing any
particular local spot; and the resemblance
must therefore be of that general kind which
necessarily exists between scenes of the same
character. The iron-bound coast of Scotland
affords upon its headlands and promontories
fifty such castles as Wolf's-Hope; every
county has a valley more or less resembling
Glendearg; and if castles like Tillietudlem,
or mansions like the Baron of Bradwardine's,
are now less frequently to be met with, it is
owing to the rage of indiscriminate destruction,
which has removed or ruined so many
monuments of antiquity, when they were not
protected by their inaccessible situation.*
* I would particularly intimate the Kaim of Uric, on the
eastern coast of Scotland, as having suggested an idea for the
tower called Wolf's-Crag, which the public more generally
identified with the ancient tower of Fast-Castle.
The scraps of poetry which have been in
most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters
in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either
from reading or from memory, but, in the general
case, are pure invention. I found it too
troublesome to turn to the collection of the
British Poets to discover apposite mottos, and,
in the situation of the theatrical mechanist,
who, when the white paper which represented
his shower of snow was exhausted, continued
the storm by snowing brown, I drew on my
memory as long as I could, and, when that
failed, eked it out with invention. I believe
that, in some cases, where actual names are
affixed to the supposed quotations, it would be
to little purpose to seek them in the works of
the authors referred to. In some cases, I have
been entertained when Dr Watts and other
graver authors, have been ransacked in vain for
stanzas for which the novelist alone was responsible.
And now the reader may expect me, while
in the confessional, to explain the motives why
I have so long persisted iii disclaiming the
works of which I am now writing. To this it
would be difficult to give any other reply, save
that of Corporal Nym---It was the authors
humour or caprice for the time. I hope it will
not be construed into ingratitude to the public,
to whose indulgence I have owed my _sang
froid_ much more than to any merit of my own,
if I confess that I am, and have been, more indifferent
to success, or to failure, as an author,
than may be the case with others, who feel
more strongly the passion for literary fame,
probably because they are justly conscious of
a better title to it. It was not until I had attained
the age of thirty years that I made any
serious attempt at distinguishing myself as an
author; and at that period, men's hopes, desires,
and wishes, have usually acquired something
of a decisive character, and are not eagerly
and easily diverted into a new channel. When
I made the discovery,---for to me it was one,
---that by amusing myself with composition,
which I felt a delightful occupation, I could
also give pleasure to others, and became aware
that literary pursuits were likely to engage in
future a considerable portion of my time, I felt
some alarm that I might acquire those habits
of jealousy and fretfulness which have lessened,
and even degraded, the character even of great
authors, and rendered them, by their petty
squabbles and mutual irritability, the laughing-stock
of the people of the world. I resolved,
therefore, in this respect to guard my
breast, perhaps an unfriendly critic may add,
my brow, with triple brass,* and as much as
* Not altogether impossible, when it is considered that I
have been at the bar since 1792. (Aug. 1831.)
possible to avoid resting my thoughts and
wishes upon literary success, lest I should endanger
my own peace of mind and tranquillity
by literary failure. It would argue either stupid
apathy, or ridiculous affectation, to say
that I have been insensible to the public applause,
when I have been honoured with its
testimonies; and still more highly do I prize
the invaluable friendships which some temporary
popularity has enabled me to form among
those of my contemporaries most distinguished
by talents and genius, and which I venture to
hope now rest upon a basis more firm than the
circumstances which gave rise to them. Yet
feeling all these advantages as a man ought to
do, and must do, I may say, with truth and
confidence, that I have, I think, tasted of the
intoxicating cup with moderation, and that I
have never, either in conversation or correspondence,
encouraged discussions respecting
my own literary pursuits. On the contrary, I
have usually found such topics, even when introduced
from motives most flattering to myself,
rather embarrassing and disagreeable.
I have now frankly told my motives for concealment,
so far as I am conscious of having
any, and the public will forgive the egotism of
the detail, as what is necessarily connected
with it. The author, so long and loudly called
for, has appeared on the stage, and made his
obeisance to the audience. Thus far his conduct
is a mark of respect. To linger in their
presence would be intrusion.
I have only to repeat, that I avow myself in
print, as formerly in words, the sole and unassisted
author of all the Novels published
as works of the ``Author of Waverley.'' I
do this without shame, for I am unconscious
that there is any thing in their composition
which deserves reproach, either on the score
of religion or morality; and without any feeling
of exultation, because, whatever may have
been their temporary success, I am well aware
how much their reputation depends upon the
caprice of fashion; and I have already mentioned
the precarious tenure by which it is
held, as a reason for displaying no great avidity
in grasping at the possession.
I ought to mention, before concluding, that
twenty persons, at least, were, either from intimacy,
or from the confidence which circumstances
rendered necessary, participant of this
secret; and as there was no instance, to my
knowledge, of any one of the number breaking
faith, I am the more obliged to them, because
the slight and trivial character of the mystery
was not qualified to inspire much respect in
those intrusted with it. Nevertheless, like Jack
the Giant-Killer, I was fully confident in the
advantage of my ``Coat of Darkness,'' and had
it not been from compulsory circumstances, I
would have indeed been very cautious how I
parted with it.
As for the work which follows, it was meditated,
and in part printed, long before the avowal
of the novels took place, and originally commenced
with a declaration that it was neither
to have introduction nor preface of any kind.
This long proem, prefixed to a work intended
not to have any, may, however, serve to show
how human purposes, in the most trifling, as
well as the most important affairs, are liable
to be controlled by the course of events.
Thus, we begin to cross a strong river with
our eyes and our resolution fixed on that
point of the opposite shore, on which we purpose
to land; but, gradually giving way to
the torrent, are glad, by the aid perhaps of
branch or bush, to extricate ourselves at some
distant and perhaps dangerous landing-place,
much farther down the stream than that on
which we had fixed our intentions.
Hoping that the Courteous Reader will
afford to a known and familiar acquaintance
some portion of the favour which he extended
to a disguised candidate for his applause, I
beg leave to subscribe myself his obliged humble
servant,
WALTER SCOTT.
Abbotsford, _October_ 1, 1827.
---------
Such was the little narrative which I thought
proper to put forth in October 1827: nor
have I much to add to it now. About to
appear for the first time in my own name in
this department of letters, it occurred to me
that something in the shape of a periodical
publication might carry with it a certain air of
novelty, and I was willing to break, if I may
so express it, the abruptness of my personal
forthcoming, by investing an imaginary coadjutor
with at least as much distinctness of individual
existence as I had ever previously
thought it worth while to bestow on shadows
of the same convenient tribe. Of course, it
had never been in my contemplation to invite
the assistance of any real person in the sustaining
of my quasi-editorial character and
labours. It had long been my opinion, that
any thing like a literary _picnic_ is likely to
end in suggesting comparisons, justly termed
odious, and therefore to be avoided: and, indeed,
I had also had some occasion to know,
that promises of assistance, in efforts of that
order, are apt to be more magnificent than the
subsequent performance. I therefore planned
a Miscellany, to be dependent, after the old
fashion, on my own resources alone, and
although conscious enough that the moment
which assigned to the Author of Waverley
``a local habitation and a name,'' had seriously
endangered his spell, I felt inclined to adopt
the sentiment of my old hero Montrose, and
to say to myself, that in literature, as in war,
``He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all.''
To the particulars explanatory of the plan of
these Chronicles, which the reader is presented
with in Chapter II. by the imaginary Editor,
Mr Croftangry, I have now to add, that the
lady, termed in his narrative, Mrs Bethune
Balliol, was designed to shadow out in its
leading points the interesting character of a
dear friend of mine, Mrs Murray Keith,* whose
* The Keiths of Craig, in Kincardineshire, descended
from John Keith, fourth son of William, second Earl Marischal,
who got from his father, about 1480, the lands of Craig,
and part of Garvock, in that county. In Douglas's Baronage,
443 to 445, is a pedigree of that family. Colonel Robert
Keith of Craig (the seventh in descent from John) by his wife,
Agnes, daughter of Robert Murray of Murrayshall, of the
family of Blackbarony, widow of Colonel Stirling, of the
family of Keir, had one son; viz. Robert Keith of Craig, ambassador
to the court of Vienna, afterwards to St Petersburgh,
which latter situation he held at the accession of King George
III.,---who died at Edinburgh in 1774. He married Margaret,
second daughter of Sir William Cunningham of Caprington,
by Janet, only child and heiress of Sir James Dick of Prestonfield;
and, among other children of this marriage, were,
the late well-known diplomatist, Sir Robert Murray Keith,
K. B., a general in the army, and for some time ambassador at
Vienna; Sir Basil Keith, Knight, captain in the navy, who
died governor of Jamaica; and my excellent friend, Anne
Murray Keith, who ultimately came into possession of the family
estates, and died not long before the date of this Introduction,
(1831.)
death occurring shortly before had saddened
a wide circle, much attached to her, as well
for her genuine virtue and amiable qualities of
disposition, as for the extent of information
which she possessed, and the delightful manner
in which she was used to communicate it.
In truth, the author had, on many occasions,
been indebted to her vivid memory for the
_substratum_ of his Scottish fictions---and she
accordingly had been, from an early period, at
no loss to fix the Waverley Novels on the
right culprit.
In the sketch of Chrystal Croftangry's
own history, the author has been accused of
introducing some not polite allusions to respectable
living individuals: but he may safely, he
presumes, pass over such an insinuation. The
first of the narratives which Mr Croftangry
proceeds to lay before the public, ``The Highland
Widow,'' was derived from Mrs Murray
Keith, and is given, with the exception of a few
additional circumstances---the introduction of
which I am rather inclined to regret---very
much as the excellent old lady used to tell the
story. Neither the Highland cicerone Macturk,
nor the demure washingwoman, were
drawn from imagination: and on re-reading
my tale, after the lapse of a few years, and
comparing its effect with my remembrance of
my worthy friend's oral narration, which was
certainly extremely affecting, I cannot but suspect
myself of having marred its simplicity by
some of those interpolations, which, at the time
when I penned them, no doubt passed with
myself for embellishments.
The next tale, entitled ``The Two Drovers,''
I learned from another old friend, the late
George Constable, Esq. of Wallace-Craigie,
near Dundee, whom I have already introduced
to my reader as the original Antiquary of
Monkbarns. He had been present, I think, at
the trial at Carlisle, and seldom mentioned the
venerable judges charge to the jury, without
shedding tears,---which had peculiar pathos,
as flowing down features, carrying rather a
sarcastic or almost a cynical expression.
This worthy gentleman's reputation for
shrewd Scottish sense---knowledge of our national
antiquities---and a racy humour, peculiar
to himself, must be still remembered. For
myself, I have pride in recording that for
many years we were, in Wordsworth's language,
``------- a pair of friends, though I was young,
And `George was seventy-two.''
W. S.
Abbotsford, _Aug_. 15,1831.
[2. Introduction Appendix]
APPENDIX
TO
INTRODUCTION.
[It has been suggested to the Author, that it might be well
to reprint here a detailed account of the public dinner alluded
to in the foregoing Introduction, as given in the newspapers of
the time; and the reader is accordingly presented with the following
extract from the Edinburgh Weekly Journal for
Wednesday, 28th February, 1827.]
------
THEATRICAL FUND DINNER.
Before proceeding with our account of this
very interesting festival---for so it may be termed
---it is our duty to present to our readers the following
letter, which we have received from the
President.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE EDINBURGH WEEKLY
JOURNAL.
Sir,---I am extremely sorry I have not leisure
to correct the copy you sent me of what I am
stated to have said at the Dinner for the Theatrical
Fund. I am no orator; and upon such occasions
as are alluded to, I say as well as I can
what the time requires.
However, I hope your reporter has been more
accurate in other instances than in mine. I have
corrected one passage, in which I am made to
speak with great impropriety and petulance, respecting
the opinions of those who do not approve
of dramatic entertainments. I have restored what
I said, which was meant to be respectful, as every
objection founded in conscience is, in my opinion,
entitled to be so treated. Other errors I left as I
found them, it being of little consequence whether
I spoke sense or nonsense, in what was merely intended
for the purpose of the hour.
I am, sir,
Your obedient servant,
Walter Scott.
_Edinburgh, Monday_.
------
The Theatrical Fund Dinner, which took place
on Friday, in the Assembly Rooms, was conducted
with admirable spirit. The Chairman, Sir Walter
Scott, among his other great qualifications, is well
fitted to enliven such an entertainment. His manners
are extremely easy, and his style of speaking
simple and natural, yet full of vivacity and point;
and he has the art, if it be art, of relaxing into a
certain homeliness of manner, without losing one
particle of his dignity. He thus takes off some of
that solemn formality which belongs to such meetings,
and, by his easy and graceful familiarity,
imparts to them somewhat of the pleasing character
of a private entertainment. Near Sir W. Scott
sat the Earl of Fife, Lord Meadowbank, Sir John
Hope of Pinkie, Bart., Admiral Adam, Baron Clerk
Rattray, Gilbert Innes, Esq., James Walker, Esq.,
Robert Dundas, Esq., Alexander Smith, Esq., &c.
The cloth being removed, ``Non Nobis Domine''
was sung by Messrs Thorne, Swift, Collier,
and Hartley, after which the following toasts were
given from the chair:---
``The King''---all the honours.
``The Duke of Clarence and the Royal Family.''
The Chairman, in proposing the next toast,
which he wished to be drunk in solemn silence,
said it was to the memory of a regretted prince,
whom we had lately lost. Every individual would
at once conjecture to whom he alluded. He had
no intention to dwell on his military merits. They
had been told in the senate; they had been repeated
in the cottage; and whenever a soldier was the
theme, his name was never far distant. But it was
chiefly in connexion with the business of this meeting,
which his late Royal Highness had condescended
in a particular manner to patronise, that
they were called on to drink his health. To that
charity he had often sacrificed his time, and had
given up the little leisure which he had from important
business. He was always ready to attend
on every occasion of this kind, and it was in that
view that he proposed to drink to the memory of
his late Royal Highness the Duke of York.---
Drunk in solemn silence.
The Chairman then requested that gentlemen
would fill a bumper as full as it would hold, while
he would say only a few words. He was in the
habit of hearing speeches, and he knew the feeling
with which long ones were regarded. He was sure
that it was perfectly unnecessary for him to enter
into any vindication of the dramatic art, which they
had come here to support. This, however, be
considered to be the proper time and proper occasion
for him to say a few words on that love of representation
which was an innate feeling in human
nature. It was the first amusement that the child
had---it grew greater as he grow up; and, even in
the decline of life, nothing amused so much as
when a common tale is told with appropriate personification.
The first thing a child does is to ape
his schoolmaster, by flogging a chair. The assuming
a character ourselves, or the seeing others
assume an imaginary character, is an enjoyment
natural to humanity. It was implanted in our very
nature, to take pleasure from such representations,
at proper times and on proper occasions. In all
ages the theatrical art had kept pace with the improvement
of mankind, and with the progress of
letters and the fine arts. As man has advanced
from the ruder stages of society, the love of dramatic
representations has increased, and all works
of this nature have been improved, in character
and in structure. They had only to turn their eyes
to the history of ancient Greece, although he did
not pretend to be very deeply versed in its ancient
drama. Its first tragic poet commanded a body of
troops at the battle of Marathon. Sophocles and
Euripides were men of rank in Athens, when
Athens was in its highest renown. They shook
Athens with their discourses, as their theatrical
works shook the theatre itself. If they turned to
France in the time of Louis the Fourteenth, that
era which is the classical history of that country,
they would find that it was referred to by all
Frenchmen as the golden age of the drama there.
And also in England, in the time of Queen Elizabeth,
the drama was at its highest pitch, when the
nation began to mingle deeply and wisely in the
general politics of Europe, not only not receiving
laws from others, but giving laws to the world,
and vindicating the rights of mankind. (Cheers.)
There have been various times when the dramatic
art subsequently fell into disrepute. Its professors
have been stigmatized; and laws have been
passed against them, less dishonourable to them
than to the statesmen by whom they were proposed,
and to the legislators by whom they were
adopted. What were the times in which these
laws were passed? Was it not when virtue was
seldom inculcated as a moral duty, that we were
required to relinquish the most rational of all our
amusements, when the clergy were enjoined celibacy,
and when the laity were denied the right to
read their Bibles? He thought that it must have
been from a notion of penance that they erected
the drama into an ideal place of profaneness, and
spoke of the theatre as of the tents of sin. He did
not mean to dispute, that there were many excellent
persons who thought differently from him, and
he disclaimed the slightest idea of charging them
with bigotry or hypocrisy on that account. He
gave them full credit for their tender consciences,
in making these objections, although they did not
appear relevant to him. But to these persons,
being, as he believed them, men of worth and
piety, he was sure the purpose of this meeting
would furnish some apology for an error, if there
be any, in the opinions of those who attend. They
would approve the gift, although they might differ
in other points. Such might not approve of going
to the Theatre, but at least could not deny that
they might give away from their superfluity, what
was required for the relief of the sick, the support
of the aged, and the comfort of the afflicted. These
were duties enjoined by our religion itself. (Loud
cheers.)
The performers are in a particular manner entitled
to the support or regard, when in old age or
distress, of those who had partaken of the amusements
of those places which they render an ornament
to society. Their art was of a peculiarly delicate
and precarious nature. They had to serve
a long apprenticeship. It was very long before
even the first-rate geniuses could acquire the mechanical
knowledge of the stage business. They
must languish long in obscurity before they can
avail themselves of their natural talents; and after
that, they have but a short space of time, during
which they are fortunate if they can provide the
means of comfort in the decline of life. That
comes late, and lasts but a short time; after which
they are left dependent. Their limbs fail---their
teeth are loosened---their voice is lost---and they
are left, after giving happiness to others, in a most
disconsolate state. The public were liberal and
generous to those deserving their protection. It
was a sad thing to be dependent on the favour, or,
be might say, in plain terms, on the caprice, of the
public; and this more particularly for a class of
persons of whom extreme prudence is not the
character. There might be instances of opportunities
being neglected; but let each gentleman tax
himself, and consider the opportunities they had
neglected, and the sums of money they had wasted;
let every gentleman look into his own bosom, and
say whether these were circumstances which would
soften his own feelings, were he to be plunged into
distress. He put it to every generous bosom---
to every better feeling---to say what consolation
was it to old age to be told that you might have
made provision at a time which had been neglected
---(loud cheers),---and to find it objected, that if
you had pleased you might have been wealthy.
He had hitherto been speaking of what, in theatrical
language, was called _stars_, but they were
sometimes falling ones. There were another class
of sufferers naturally and necessarily connected
with the theatre, without whom it was impossible
to go on. The sailors have a saying, every man
cannot be a boatswain. If there must be a great
actor to act Hamlet, there must also be people to
act Laertes, the King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern,
otherwise a drama cannot go on. If even
Garrick himself were to rise from the dead, he
could not act Hamlet alone. There must be generals,
colonels, commanding-officers, subalterns.
But what are the private soldiers to do? Many
have mistaken their own talents, and have been
driven in early youth to try the stage, to which
they are not competent. He would know what to
say to the indifferent poet and to the bad artist.
He would say that it was foolish, and he would
recommend to the poet to become a scribe, and the
artist to paint sign-posts---(loud laughter).---But
you could not send the player adrift, for if he
cannot play Hamlet, he must play Guildenstern.
Where there are many labourers, wages must be
low, and no man in such a situation can decently
support a wife and family, and save something off
his income for old age. What is this man to do
in latter life? Are you to cast him off like an
old hinge, or a piece of useless machinery, which
has done its work? To a person who had contributed
to our amusement, this would be unkind,
ungrateful, and unchristian. His wants are not of
his own making, but arise from the natural sources
of sickness and old age. It cannot be denied that
there is one class of sufferers to whom no imprudence
can be ascribed, except on first entering on
the profession. After putting his band to the dramatic
plough, be cannot draw back; but must continue
at it, and toil, till death release him from
want, or charity, by its milder influence, steps in
to render that want more tolerable. He had little
more to say, except that he sincerely hoped that
the collection to-day, from the number of respectable
gentlemen present, would meet the views entertained
by the patrons. He hoped it would do
so. They should not be disheartened. Though
they could not do a great deal, they might do
something. They had this consolation, that every
thing they parted with from their superfluity would
do some good. They would sleep the better themselves
when they have been the means of giving
sleep to others. It was ungrateful and unkind, that
those who had sacrificed their youth to our amusement
should not receive the reward due to them,
but should be reduced to hard fare in their old
age. We cannot think of poor Falstaff going to
bed without his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on
bones as marrowless as those of Banquo.---(Loud
cheers and laughter.)---As he believed that they
were all as fond of the dramatic art as he was in
his younger days, he would propose that they
should drink ``The Theatrical Fund,'' with three
times three.
Mr Mackay rose, on behalf of his brethren, to
return their thanks for the toast just drunk. Many
of the gentlemen present, he said, were perhaps
not fully acquainted with the nature and intention of
the institution, and it might not be amiss to enter
into some explanation on the subject. With whomsoever
the idea of a Theatrical Fund might have
originated, (and it had been disputed by the surviving
relatives of two or three individuals,) certain
it was, that the first legally constituted Theatrical
Fund owed its origin to one of the brightest ornaments
of the profession, the late David Garrick.
That eminent actor conceived that, by a weekly
subscription in the Theatre, a fund might be raised
among its members, from which a portion might
be given to those of his less fortunate brethren, and
thus an opportunity would be offered for prudence
to provide what fortune had denied---a comfortable
provision for the winter of life. With the welfare
of his profession constantly at heart, the zeal
with which he laboured to uphold its respectability,
and to impress upon the minds of his brethren, not
only the necessity, but the blessing of independence,
the Fund became his peculiar care. He
drew up a form of laws for its government, procured,
at his own expense, the passing of an Act
of Parliament for its confirmation, bequeathed to
it a handsome legacy, and thus became the Father
of the Drury-Lane Fund. So constant was his
attachment to this infant establishment, that be
chose to grace the close of the brightest theatrical
life on record, by the last display of his transcendent
talent, on the occasion of a benefit for this child
of his adoption, which ever since has gone by the
name of the Garrick Fund. In imitation of his.
noble example, Funds had been established in
several provincial theatres in England; but it remained
for Mrs Henry Siddons and Mr William
Murray to become the founders of the first Theatrical
Fund in Scotland. (Cheers.) This Fund commenced
under the most favourable auspices; it was
liberally supported by the management, and highly
patronised by the public. Notwithstanding, it fell
short in the accomplishment of its intentions.
What those intentions were, he (Mr Mackay)
need not recapitulate, but they failed; and he did
not hesitate to confess that a want of energy on
the part of the performers was the probable cause.
A new set of Rules and Regulations were lately
drawn up, submitted to and approved of at a general
meeting of the members of the Theatre; and
accordingly the Fund was re-modelled on the 1st
of January last. And here he thought he did but
echo the feelings of his brethren, by publicly acknowledging
the obligations they were under to
the management, for the aid given, and the warm
interest they had all along taken in the welfare of
the Fund. (Cheers.) The nature and object of
the profession had been so well treated of by the
President, that he would say nothing; but of the
numerous offspring of science and genius that court
precarious fame, the Actor boasts the slenderest
claim of all; the sport of fortune, the creatures of
fashion, and the victims of caprice---they are seen,
beard, and admired, but to be forgot---they leave
no trace, no memorial of their existence---they
``come like shadows, so depart.'' (Cheers.) Yet
humble though their pretensions be, there was no
profession, trade, or calling, where such a combination
of requisites, mental and bodily) were indispensable.
In all others the principal may practise
after he has been visited by the afflicting hand of
Providence---some by the loss of limb---some of
voice---and many, when the faculty of the mind is
on the wane, may be assisted by dutiful children,
or devoted servants. Not so the Actor---he must
retain all he ever did possess, or sink dejected
to a mournful home. (Applause.) Yet while they
are toiling for ephemeral theatric fame, how very
few ever possess the means of hoarding in their
youth that which would give bread in old age!
But now a brighter prospect dawned upon them,
and to the success of this their infant establishment
they looked with hope, as to a comfortable
and peaceful home in their declining years. He
concluded by tendering to the meeting, in the
name of his brethren and sisters, their unfeigned
thanks for their liberal support, and begged to
propose the health of the Patrons of the Edinburgh
Theatrical Fund. (Cheers.)
Lord Meadowbank said, that by desire of his
Hon. Friend in the chair, and of his Noble Friend
at his right hand, he begged leave to return thanks
for the honour which had been conferred on the
Patrons of this excellent Institution. He could
answer for himself---he could answer for them all
---that they were deeply impressed with the meritorious
objects which it has in view, and of their
anxious wish to promote its interests. For himself,
he hoped he might be permitted to say, that
he was rather surprised at finding his own name
as one of the Patrons, associated with so many
individuals of high rank and powerful influence.
But it was an excuse for those who had placed
him in a situation so honourable and so distinguished,
that when this charity was instituted, he happened
to hold a high and responsible station under
the Crown, when he might have been of use in
assisting and promoting its objects. His Lordship
much feared that he could have little expectation,
situated as he now was, of doing either; but
he could confidently assert, that few things would
give him greater gratification than being able to
contribute to its prosperity and support; and, indeed
when one recollects the pleasure which at
all periods of life he has received from the exhibitions
of the stage, and the exertions of the
meritorious individuals for whose aid this fund has
been established, he must be divested both of gratitude
and feeling who would not give his best
endeavours to promote its welfare. And now
that he might in some measure repay the gratification
which had been afforded himself, he would
beg leave to propose a toast, the health of one of
the Patrons, a great and distinguished individual,
whose name must always stand by itself, and which,
in an assembly such as this, or in any other assembly
of Scotsmen, can never be received, (not
he would say with ordinary feelings of pleasure or
of delight,) but with those of rapture and enthusiasm.
In doing so he felt that he stood in a somewhat
new situation. Whoever had been called
upon to propose the health of his Hon. Friend to
whom he alluded, some time ago, would have found
himself enabled, from the mystery in which certain
matters were involved, to gratify himself and his
auditors by allusions which found a responding
chord in their own feelings, and to deal in the language,
the sincere language, of panegyric, without
intruding on the modesty of the great individual
to whom be referred. But it was no longer possible,
consistently with the respect to one's auditors,
to use upon this subject terms either of mystification,
or of obscure or indirect allusion. The
clouds have been dispelled---the _darkness visible_
has been cleared away---and the Great Unknown
---the minstrel of our native land---the mighty
magician who has rolled back the current of time,
and conjured up before our living senses the men
and the manners of days which have long passed
away, stands revealed to the hearts and the eyes of
his affectionate and admiring countrymen. If he
himself were capable of imagining all that belonged
to this mighty subject---were he even able to give
utterance to all that as a friend, as a man, and as
a Scotsman, he must feel regarding it, yet knowing,
as he well did, that this illustrious individual was
not more distinguished for his towering talents, than
for those feelings which rendered such allusions
ungrateful to himself, however sparingly introduced,
he would, on that account, still refrain from
doing that which would otherwise be no less
pleasing to him than to his audience. But this his
Lordship hoped he would be allowed to say, (his
auditors would not pardon him were be to say less,)
we owe to him, as a people, a large and heavy
debt of gratitude. He it is who has opened to
foreigners the grand and characteristic beauties of
our country. It is to him that we owe that our
gallant ancestors and the struggles of our illustrious
patriots---who fought and bled in order to
obtain and secure that independence and that liberty
we now enjoy---have obtained a fame no
longer confined to the boundaries of a remote and
comparatively obscure nation, and who has called
down upon their struggles for glory and freedom
the admiration of foreign countries. He it is who has
conferred a new reputation on our national character,
and bestowed on Scotland an imperishable name,
were it only by her having given birth to himself.
(Loud and rapturous applause.)
Sir Walter Scott certainly did not think that,
in coming here to-day, he would have the task of
acknowledging, before 300 gentlemen, a secret
which, considering that it was communicated to more
than twenty people, had been remarkably well kept.
He was now before the bar of his country, and
might be understood to be on trial before Lord
Meadowbank as an offender; yet he was sure that
every impartial jury would bring in a verdict of
Not Proven. He did not now think it necessary
to enter into the reasons of his long silence. Perhaps
caprice might have a considerable share in it.
He had now to say, however, that the merits of
these works, if they had any, and their faults, were
entirely imputable to himself. (Long and loud
cheering.) He was afraid to think on what he had
done. ``Look on't again I dare not.'' He had thus
far unbosomed himself, and he knew that it would
be reported to the public. He meant, then, seriously
to state, that when he said he was the author,
he was the total and undivided author. With the
exception of quotations, there was not a single
word that was not derived from himself, or suggested
in the course of his reading. The wand was
now broken, and the book buried. You will allow
me further to say, with Prospero, it is your breath
that has filled my sails, and to crave one single
toast in the capacity of the author of these novels;
and he would dedicate a bumper to the health of
one who has represented some of those characters,
of which he had endeavoured to give the skeleton,
with a degree of liveliness which rendered him
grateful. He would propose the health of his friend
Bailie Nicol Jarvie, (loud applause)---and he was
sure, that when the author of Waverley and Rob Roy
drinks to Nicol Jarvie, it would be received with
that degree of applause to which that gentleman has
always been accustomed, and that they would take
care that on the present occasion it should be =prodigious=!
(Long and vehement applause.)
Mr Mackay, who here spoke with great humour
in the character of Bailie Jarvie.---My conscience!
My worthy father the deacon could not have believed
that his son could hae had sic a compliment
paid to him by the Great Unknown!
Sir Walter Scott.---The Small Known now,
Mr Bailie.
Mr Mackay.---He had been long identified with
the Bailie, and he was vain of the cognomen which
he had now worn for eight years; and he questioned
if any of his brethren in the Council had given
such universal satisfaction. (Loud laughter and applause.)
Before he sat down, he begged to propose
``the Lord Provost and the City of Edinburgh.''
Sir Walter Scott apologized for the absence
of the Lord Provost, who had gone to London on
public business.
Tune---``Within a mile of Edinburgh town.''
Sir Walter Scott gave, ``The Duke of Wellington
and the army.''
Glee---``How merrily we live.''
``Lord Melville and the Navy, that fought till
they left nobody to fight with, like an arch sportsman
who clears all and goes after the game.''
Mr Pat. Robertson---They had heard this
evening a toast, which had been received with intense
delight, which will be published in every
newspaper, and will be hailed with joy by all Europe.
He had one toast assigned him which he had
great pleasure in giving. He was sure that the
stage had in all ages a great effect on the morals
and manners of the people. It was very desirable
that the stage should be well regulated; and there
was no criterion by which its regulation could be
better determined than by the moral character and
personal respectability of the performers. He was
not one of those stern moralists who objected to
the Theatre. The most fastidious moralist could
not possibly apprehend any injury from the stage
of Edinburgh, as it was presently managed, and
so long as it was adorned by that illustrious individual,
Mrs Henry Siddons, whose public exhibitions
were not more remarkable for feminine
grace and delicacy, than was her private character
for every virtue which could be admired in domestic
life. He would conclude with reciting a few
words from Shakspeare, in a spirit not of contradiction
to those stern moralists who disliked the
Theatre, but of meekness:---``Good my lord, will
you see the players well bestowed? do you hear,
let them be well used, for they are the abstract
and brief chronicles of the time.'' He then gave
``Mrs Henry Siddons, and success to the Theatre-Royal
of Edinburgh.''
Mr Murray.---Gentlemen, I rise to return
thanks for the honour you have done Mrs Siddons,
in doing which I am somewhat difficulted,
from the extreme delicacy which attends a brother's
expatiating upon a sister's claims to honours
publicly paid---(hear, hear)---yet, Gentlemen, your
kindness emboldens me to say, that were I to give
utterance to all a brother's feelings, I should not
exaggerate those claims. (Loud applause.) I
therefore, Gentlemen, thank you most cordially
for the honour you have done her, and shall now
request permission to make an observation on the
establishment of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund.
Mr Mackay has done Mrs Henry Siddons and myself
the honour to ascribe the establishment to us;
but no, Gentlemen, it owes its origin to a higher
source---the publication of the novel of Rob Roy
---the unprecedented success of the opera adapted
from that popular production. (Hear, hear.) It
was that success which relieved the Edinburgh
Theatre from its difficulties, and enabled Mrs Siddons
to carry into effect the establishment of a
fund she had long desired, but was prevented from
effecting, from the unsettled state of her theatrical
concerns. I therefore hope that, in future
years, when the aged and infirm actor derives relief
from this fund, he will, in the language of the gallant
Highlander, ``Cast his eye to good old Scotland,
and not forget Rob Roy.'' (Loud applause.)
Sir Walter Scott here stated, that Mrs Siddons
wanted the means but not the will of beginning
the Theatrical Fund. He here alluded to
the great merits of Mr Murray's management, and
to his merits as an actor, which were of the first
order, and of which every person who attends the
Theatre must be sensible; and after alluding to
the embarrassments with which the Theatre had
been at one period threatened, be concluded by
giving the health of Mr Murray, which was drunk
with three times three.
Mr Murray.---Gentlemen, I wish I Could believe,
that, in any degree, I merited the compliments
with which it has pleased Sir Walter Scott
to preface the proposal of my health, or the very
flattering manner in which you have done me the
honour to receive it. The approbation of such an
assembly is most gratifying to me, and might encourage
feelings of vanity, were not such feelings
crushed by my conviction, that no man holding the
situation I have so long held in Edinburgh, could
have failed, placed in the peculiar circumstances in
which I have been placed. Gentlemen, I shall not
insult your good taste by eulogiums upon your
judgment or kindly feeling; though to the first I
owe any improvement I may have made as an actor,
and certainly my success as a Manager to the
second. (Applause.) When, upon the death of
my dear brother the late Mr Siddons, it was proposed
that I should undertake the management of
the Edinburgh Theatre, I confess I drew back,
doubting my capability to free it from the load of
debt and difficulty with which it was surrounded.
In this state of anxiety, I solicited the advice of
one who had ever honoured me with his kindest
regard, and whose name no member of my profession
can pronounce without feelings of the deepest
respect and gratitude---I allude to the late Mr
John Kemble. (Great applause.) To him I
applied; and with the repetition of his advice I
shall cease to trespass upon your time-(Hear,
hear.)-``My dear William, fear not; integrity
and assiduity must prove an overmatch for all difficulty;
and though I approve your not indulging a
vain confidence in your ownability, and viewing with
respectful apprehension the judgment of the audience
you have to act before, yet be assured that
judgment will ever be tempered by the feeling
that you are acting for the widow and the fatherless.''
(Loud applause.) Gentlemen, those words
have never passed from my mind; and I feel convinced
that you have pardoned my many errors,
from the feeling that I was striving for the widow
and the fatherless. (Long and enthusiastic applause
followed Mr Murray's address.)
Sir Walter Scott gave the health of the
Stewards.
Mr Vandenhoff.---Mr President and Gentlemen,
the honour conferred upon the Stewards, in the
very flattering compliment you have just paid us,
calls forth our warmest acknowledgments. In tendering
you our thanks for the approbation you have
been pleased to express of our humble exertions,
I would beg leave to advert to the cause in which
we have been engaged. Yet, surrounded as I am
by the genius---the eloquence of this enlightened
city, I cannot but feel the presumption which ventures
to address you on so interesting a subject.
Accustomed to speak in the language of others, I
feel quite at a loss for terms wherein to clothe the
sentiments excited by the present occasion. (Applause.)
The nature of the Institution which has
sought your fostering patronage, and the objects
which it contemplates, have been fully explained
to you. But, gentlemen, the relief which it proposes
is not a gratuitous relief---but to be purchased
by the individual contribution of its members towards
the general good. This Fund lends no encouragement
to idleness or improvidence; but it offers
an opportunity to prudence, in vigour and youth,
to make provision against the evening of life and
its attendant infirmity. A period is fixed, at
which we admit the plea of age as an exemption
from professional labour. It is painful to behold
the veteran on the stage (compelled by necessity)
contending against physical decay, mocking the
joyousness of mirth with the feebleness of age,
when the energies decline, when the memory
fails, and ``the big manly voice, turning again towards
childish treble, pipes and whistles in the
sound.'' We would remove him from the mimic
scene, where fiction constitutes the charm; we
would not view old age caricaturing itself. (Applause.)
But as our means may be found, in time
of need, inadequate to the fulfilment of our wishes
---fearful of raising expectations, which we may be
unable to gratify-desirous not ``to keep the word
of promise to the ear, and break it to the hope''---
we have presumed to court the assistance of the
friends of the drama to strengthen our infant institution.
Our appeal has been successful, beyond
oar most sanguine expectations. The distinguished
patronage conferred on us by your presence on
this occasion, and the substantial support which
your benevolence has so liberally afforded to our
institution, must impress every member of the
Fund with the most grateful sentiments---sentiments
which no language can express, no time obliterate.
(Applause.) I will not trespass longer on
your attention. I would the task of acknowledging
our obligation had fallen into abler hands. (Hear,
hear.) In the name of the Stewards, I most respectfully
and cordially thank you for the honour
you have done us, which greatly overpays our
poor endeavours. (Applause.)
[This speech, though rather inadequately reported,
was one of the best delivered on this occasion.
That it was creditable to Mr Vandenhoff's
taste and feelings, the preceding sketch will show;
but how much it was so, it does not show.]
Mr J. Cay gave Professor Wilson and the University
of Edinburgh, of which he was one of the
brightest ornaments.
Lord Meadowbank, after a suitable eulogium,
gave the Earl of Fife, which was drunk with three
times three.
Earl Fife expressed his high gratification at
the honour conferred on him. He intimated his
approbation of the institution, and his readiness to
promote its success by every means in his power.
He concluded with giving the health of the Company
of Edinburgh.
Mr Jones, on rising to return thanks, being
received with considerable applause, said he was
truly grateful for the kind encouragement he had
experienced, but the novelty of the situation in
which he now was, renewed all the feelings he
experienced when he first saw himself announced
in the bills as a young gentleman, being his first
appearance on any stage. (Laughter and applause.)
Although in the presence of those whose indulgence
had, in another sphere, so often shielded
him from the penalties of inability, be was unable
to execute the task which had so unexpectedly devolved
upon him in behalf of his brethren and
himself. He therefore begged the company to
imagine all that grateful hearts could prompt the
most eloquent to utter, and that would be a copy
of their feelings. (Applause.) He begged to trespass
another moment on their attentions, for the
purpose of expressing the thanks of the members
of the Fund to the Gentlemen of the Edinburgh
Professional Society of Musicians, who, finding
that this meeting was appointed to take place on
the same evening with their concert, had in the
handsomest manner agreed to postpone it. Although
it was his duty thus to preface the toast he
had to propose, he was certain the meeting required
no farther inducement than the recollection of the
pleasure the exertions of those gentlemen had
often afforded them within those walls, to join
heartily in drinking ``Health and prosperity to
the Edinburgh Professional Society of Musicians.''
(Applause.)
Mr Pat. Robertson proposed ``the health of
Mr Jeffrey,'' whose absence was owing to indisposition.
The public was well aware that he was
the most distinguished advocate at the bar; he was
likewise distinguished for the kindness, frankness,
and cordial manner in which he communicated
with the junior members of the profession, to the
esteem of whom his splendid talents would always
entitle him.
Mr J. Maconochie gave ``the health of Mrs
Siddons, senior---the most distinguished ornament
of the stage.''
Sir W. Scott said, that if any thing could reconcile
him to old age, it was the reflection that he
had seen the rising as well as the setting sun of
Mrs Siddons. He remembered well their breakfasting
near to the theatre---waiting the whole day
---the crushing at the doors at six o'clock---and
their going in and counting their fingers till seven
o'clock. But the very first step---the very first
word which she uttered, was sufficient to overpay
him for all his labours. The house was literally
electrified; and it was only from witnessing the
effects of her genius, that he could guess to what
a pitch theatrical excellence could be carried.
Those young gentlemen who have only seen the
setting sun of this distinguished performer, beautiful
and serene as that was, must give us old fellows,
who have seen its rise and its meridian, leave to
hold our heads a little higher.
Mr Dundas gave ``The memory of Home, the
author of Douglas.''
Mr Mackay here announced that the subscription
for the night amounted to L.280; and he expressed
gratitude for this substantial proof of their
kindness. [We are happy to state that subscriptions
have since flowed in very liberally.]
Mr Mackay here entertained the company with
a pathetic song.
Sir Walter Scott apologized for having so
long forgotten their native land. He would now give
Scotland, the Land of Cakes. He would give
every river, every loch, every hill, from Tweed to
Johnnie Groat's house--every lass in her cottage
and countess in her castle; and may her sons stand
by her, as their fathers did before them, and he
who would not drink a bumper to his toast, may
he never drink whisky more!
Sir Walter Scott here gave Lord Meadowbank,
who returned thanks.
Mr H. G. Bell said, that he should not have
ventured to intrude himself upon the attention of
the assembly, did be not feel confident, that the
toast he begged to have the honour to propose,
would retake amends for the very imperfect manner
in which be might express his sentiments regarding
it. It had been said, that notwithstanding
the mental supremacy of the present age, notwithstanding
that the page of our history was studded
with names destined also for the page of immortality,
---that the genius of Shakspeare was extinct,
and the fountain of his inspiration dried up. It
might be that these observations were unfortunately
correct, or it might be that we were bewildered
with a name, not disappointed of the reality,
---for though Shakspeare had brought a Hamlet,
an Othello, and a Macbeth, an Ariel, a Juliet, and
a Rosalind, upon the stage, were there not authors
living who had brought as varied, as exquisitely
painted, and as undying a range of characters into
our hearts? The shape of the mere mould into
which genius poured its golden treasures was surely
a matter of little moment,---let it be called a Tragedy,
a Comedy, or a Waverley Novel. But even
among the dramatic authors of the present day, he
was unwilling to allow that there was a great and
palpable decline from the glory of preceding ages,
and his toast alone would bear him out in denying
the truth of the proposition. After eulogizing the
names of Baillie, Byron, Coleridge, Maturin, and
others, he begged to have the honour of proposing
the health of James Sheridan Knowles.
Sir Walter Scott.---Gentlemen, I crave a
bumper all over. The last toast reminds me of a neglect
of duty. Unaccustomed to a public duty of this
kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial of it may
be excused, and omissions pardoned. Perhaps I
have made one or two omissions in the course of the
evening, for which I trust you will grant me your
pardon and indulgence. One thing in particular I
have omitted, and I would now wish to make
amends for it, by a libation of reverence and respect
to the memory of Shakspeare. He was a
man of universal genius, and from a period soon
after his own era to the present day, he has been
universally idolized. When I come to his honoured
name, I am like the sick man who hung up his
crutches at the shrine, and was obliged to confess
that he did not walk better than before. It is
indeed difficult, gentlemen, to compare him to any
other individual. The only one to whom I can at
all compare him, is the wonderful Arabian dervish,
who dived into the body of each, and in this way
became familiar with the thoughts and secrets of
their hearts. He was a man of obscure origin,
and, as a player, limited in his acquirements, but
he was born evidently with a universal genius.
His eyes glanced at all the varied aspects of life,
and his fancy portrayed with equal talents the king
on the throne, and the clown who crackles his
chestnuts at a Christmas fire. Whatever note he
takes, he strikes it just and true, and awakens a
corresponding chord in our own bosoms. Gentlemen,
I propose ``The memory of William Shakspeare.''
Glee,---``Lightly tread, 'tis hallowed ground.''
After the glee, Sir Walter rose, and begged to
propose as a toast the health of a lady, whose living
merit is not a little honourable to Scotland. The
toast (said he) is also flattering to the national
vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I intend
to propose is a native of this country. From the
public her works have met with the most favourable
reception. One piece of hers, in particular, was
often acted here of late years, and gave pleasure
of no mean kind to many brilliant and fashionable
audiences. In her private character she (he begged
leave to say) is as remarkable, as in a public
sense she is for her genius. In short, he would
in one word name-``Joanna Baillie.''
This health being drunk, Mr Thorne was called
on for a song, and sung, with great taste and feeling,
``The Anchor's weighed.''
W. Menzies, Esq., Advocate, rose to propose
the health of a gentleman for many years connected
at intervals with the dramatic art in Scotland.
Whether we look at the range of characters he
performs, or at the capacity which he evinces in
executing those which he undertakes, he is equally
to be admired. In all his parts he is unrivalled.
The individual to whom he alluded is, (said he)
well known to the gentlemen present, in the characters
of Malvolio, Lord Ogleby, and the Green
Man; and, in addition to his other qualities, he
merits, for his perfection in these characters, the
grateful sense of this meeting. He would wish, in
the first place, to drink his health as an actor; but
he was not less estimable in domestic life, and as a
private gentleman; and when be announced him
as one whom the chairman had honoured with his
friendship, he was sure that all present would cordially
join him in drinking ``The health of Mr
Terry.''
Mr William Allan, banker, said, that he did
not rise with the intention of making a speech. He
merely wished to contribute in a few words to the
mirth of the evening---an evening which certainly
had not passed off without some blunders. It had
been understood---at least be had learnt or supposed,
from the expressions of Mr Pritchard---that
it would be sufficient to put a paper, with the name
of the contributor, into the box, and that the gentleman
thus contributing would be called on for the
money next morning. He, for his part, had committed
a blunder, but it might serve as a caution
to those who may be present at the dinner of next
year. He had merely put in his name, written on
a slip of paper, without the money. But he would
recommend that, as some of the gentlemen might
be in the same situation, the box should be again
sent round, and he was confident that they, as well
as he, would redeem their error.
Sir Walter Scott said, that the meeting was
somewhat in the situation of Mrs Anne Page, who
had L.300 and possibilities. We have already got,
said he, L.280, but I should like, I confess, to have
the L.300. He would gratify himself by proposing
the health of ail honourable person, the Lord
Chief Baron, whom England has sent to us, and
connecting with it that of his ``yokefellow on the
bench,'' as Shakspeare says, Mr Baron Clerk---
The Court of Exchequer.
Mr Baron CLERK regretted the absence of his
learned brother. None, he was sure, could be more
generous in his nature, or more ready to help a
Scottish purpose.
Sir Walter Scott.---There is one who ought
to be remembered on this occasion. He is, indeed,
well entitled to our grateful recollection---one, in
short, to whom the drama in this city owes much.
He succeeded, not without trouble, and perhaps at
some considerable sacrifice, in establishing a theatre.
The younger part of the company may not recollect
the theatre to which I allude; but there are
some who with me may remember by name a place
called Carrubber's Close. There Allan Ramsay
established his little theatre. His own pastoral
was not fit for the stage, but it has its admirers in
those who love the Doric language in which it is
written; and it is not without merits of a very peculiar
kind. But, laying aside all considerations of
his literary merit, Allan was a good jovial honest
fellow, who could crack a bottle with the best.---
The memory of Allan Ramsay.
Mr Murray, on being requested, sung, ``'Twas
merry in the hall,'' and at the conclusion was greeted
with repeated rounds of applause.
Mr Jones.---One omission I conceive has been
made. The cause of the fund has been ably advocated,
but it is still susceptible, in my opinion, of
an additional charm---
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh, what were man?---a world without a sun
And there would not be a darker spot in poetry
than would be the corner in Shakspeare Square,
if, like its fellow, the Register Office, the Theatre
were deserted by the ladies. They are, in fact,
our most attractive stars.---``The Patronesses of
the Theatre---the Ladies of the City of Edinburgh.''
This toast I ask leave to drink with all
the honours which conviviality can confer.
Mr Patrick Robertson would be the last
man willingly to introduce any topic calculated to
interrupt the harmony of the evening; yet he felt
himself treading upon ticklish ground when be approached
the region of the Nor' Loch. He assured
the company, however, that he was not about to
enter on the subject of the Improvement bill. They
all knew, that if the public were unanimous---if
the consent of all parties were obtained---if the
rights and interests of every body were therein
attended to, saved, reserved, respected, and excepted
---if every body agreed to it---and finally, a
most essential point---if nobody opposed it---then,
and in that case, and provided also, that due intimation
were given---the bill in question might pass
---would pass---or might, could, would, or should
pass---all expenses being defrayed.---(Laughter.)---
He was the advocate of neither champion,and would
neither avail himself of the absence of the Right
Hon. the Lord Provost, nor take advantage of the
non-appearance of his friend, Mr Cockburn.---
(Laughter.)---But in the midst of these civic broils,
there had been elicited a ray of hope, that, at some
future period, in Bereford Park, or some other place,
if all parties were consulted and satisfied, and if intimation
were duly made at the Kirk doors of all
the parishes in Scotland, in terms of the statute in
that behalf provided---the people of Edinburgh
might by possibility get a new theatre.---(Cheers
and laughter.)---But wherever the belligerent
powers might be pleased to set down this new
theatre, he was sure they all hoped to meet the
Old Company in it. He should therefore propose
---``Better accommodation to the Old Company
in the new theatre, site unknown.''---Mr Robertson's
speech was most humorously given, and he
sat down amidst loud cheers and laughter.
Sir Walter Scott.---Wherever the new
theatre is built, I hope it will not be large.
There are two errors which we commonly commit
---the one arising from our pride, the other from
our poverty. If there are twelve plans, it is odds
but the largest, without any regard to comfort, or
an eye to the probable expense, is adopted. There
was the College projected on this scale, and undertaken
in the same manner, and who shall see the
end of it? It has been building all my life, and
may probably last during the lives of my children,
and my children's children. Let not the same prophetic
hymn be sung, when we commence a new
theatre, which was performed on the occasion of
laying the foundation stone of a certain edifice,
``behold the endless work begun.'' Play-going
folks should attend somewhat to convenience. The
new theatre should, in the first Place, be such as
may be finished in eighteen months or two years;
and, in the second place, it should be one in which
we can hear our old friends with comfort. It is
better that a moderate-sized house should be crowded
now and then, than to have a large Theatre
with benches continually empty, to the discouragement
of the actors, and the discomfort of the spectators.
---(Applause.)---He then commented in flattering
terms on the genius of Mackenzie and his
private worth, and concluded by proposing ``the
health of Henry Mackenzie, Esq.''
Immediately afterwards he said: Gentlemen,---
It is now wearing late, and I shall request permission
to retire. Like Partridge I may say, ``non
sum qualis eram.'' At my time of day, I can agree
with Lord Ogilvie as to his rheumatism, and say,
``There's a twinge.'' I hope, therefore, you will
excuse me for leaving the chair.---(The worthy
Baronet then retired amidst long, loud, and rapturous
cheering.)
Mr Patrick Robertson was then called to the
chair by common acclamation.
Gentlemen, said Mr Robertson, I take the
liberty of asking you to fill a bumper to the very
brim. There is not one of us who will not remember,
while he lives, being present at this day's festival,
and the declaration made this night by the
gentleman who has just left the chair. That declaration
has rent the veil from the features of the
Great Unknown---a name which must now merge
in the name of the Great Known. It will be
henceforth coupled with the name of Scott, which
will become familiar like a household word. We
have heard the confession from his own immortal
lips---(cheering)---and we cannot dwell with too
much, or too fervent praise, on the merits of the
greatest man whom Scotland has produced.
After which, several other toasts were given,
and Mr Robertson left the room about half-past
eleven. A few choice spirits, however, rallied
round Captain Broadhead of the 7th hussars, who
was called to the chair, and the festivity was prolonged
till an early hour on Saturday morning.
The band of the Theatre occupied the gallery,
and that of the 7th hussars the end of the room,
opposite the chair, whose performances were greatly
admired. It is but justice to Mr Gibb to state
that the dinner was very handsome (though slowly
served in) and the wines good. The attention of
the stewards was exemplary. Mr Murray and Mr
Vandenhoff, with great good taste, attended on Sir
Walter Scott's right and left, and we know that
he has expressed himself much gratified by their
anxious politeness and sedulity.
[3. Introductory]
CHRONICLES
OF
THE CANONGATE.
CHAPTER I.
Mr Chrystal Croftangry's account of
Himself.
Sic itur ad astra.
``This is the path to heaven.'' Such is the ancient
motto attached to the armorial bearings of
the Canongate, and which is inscribed, with greater
or less propriety, upon all the public buildings,
from the church to the pillory, in the ancient quarter
of Edinburgh, which bears, or rather once
bore, the same relation to the Good Town that
Westminster does to London, being still possessed
of the palace of the sovereign, as it formerly was
dignified by the residence of the principal nobility
and gentry. I may, therefore, with some propriety,
put the same motto at the bead of the literary
undertaking by which I hope to illustrate the
hitherto undistinguished name of Chrystal Croftangry.
The public may desire to know something of
an author who pitches at such height his ambitious
expectations. The gentle reader, therefore---for
I am much of Captain Bobadil's humour, and could
to no other extend myself so far---the _gentle_ reader,
then, will be pleased to understand, that I am
a Scottish gentleman of the old school, with a fortune,
temper, and person, rather the worse for
wear. I have known the world for these forty
years, having written myself man nearly since
that period---and I do not think it is much mended.
But this is an opinion which I keep to myself
when I am among younger folk, for I recollect,
in my youth, quizzing the Sexagenarians who
carried back their ideas of a perfect state of society
to the days of laced coats and triple ruffles, and
some of them to the blood and blows of the Forty-five:
Therefore I am cautious in exercising the
right of censorship, which is supposed to be acquired
by men arrived at, or approaching, the mysterious
period of life, when the numbers of seven
and nine multiplied into each other, form what
sages have termed the Grand Climacteric.
Of the earlier part of my life it is only necessary
to say, that I swept the boards of the Parliament-House
with the skirts of my gown for the
usual number of years during which young Lairds
were in my time expected to keep term---got no
fees---laughed, and made others laugh---drank claret
at Bayle's, Fortune's, and Walker's---and eat
oysters in the Covenant Close.
Becoming my own master, I flung my gown at
the bar-keeper, and commenced gay man on my
own account. In Edinburgh, I ran into all the
expensive society which the place then afforded.
When I went to my house in the shire of Lanark,
I emulated to the utmost the expenses of men of
large fortune, and had my hunters, my first-rate
pointers, my game-cocks, and feeders. I can more
easily forgive myself for these follies, than for
others of a still more blamable kind, so indifferently
cloaked over, that my poor mother thought
herself obliged to leave my habitation, and betake
herself to a small inconvenient jointure-house,
which she occupied till her death. I think, however,
I was not exclusively to blame in this separation,
and I believe my mother afterwards condemned
herself for being too hasty. Thank God,
the adversity which destroyed the means of continuing
my dissipation, restored me to the affections
of my surviving parent.
My course of life could not last. I ran too fast
to run long; and when I would have checked my
career, I was perhaps too near the brink of the
precipice. Some mishaps I prepared by my own
folly, others came upon me unawares. I put my
estate out to nurse to a fat man of business, who
smothered the babe he should have brought back
to me in health and strength, and, in dispute with
this honest gentleman, I found, like a skilful general,
that my position would be most judiciously
assumed by taking it up near the Abbey of Holyrood.*
* Note A. Holyrood.
It was then I first became acquainted with
the quarter, which my little work will, I hope,
render immortal, and grew familiar with those
magnificent wilds, through which the Kings of
Scotland once chased the dark-brown deer, but
which were chiefly recommended to me in those
days, by their being inaccessible to those metaphysical
persons, whom the law of the neighbouring
country terms John Doe and Richard Roe. In
short, the precincts of the palace are now best
known as being a place of refuge at any time from
all pursuit for civil debt.
Dire was the strife betwixt my quondam doer
and myself; during which my motions were circumscribed,
like those of some conjured demon,
within a circle, which, ``beginning at the northern
gate of the King's Park, thence running northways,
is bounded on the left by the King's garden-wall,
and the gutter, or kennel, in a line wherewith
it crosses the High Street to the Watergate,
and passing through the sewer, is bounded
by the walls of the Tennis-court and Physic-garden,
&c. It then follows the wall of the churchyard,
joins the north west wall of St Ann's Yards,
and going east to the clack mill-house, turns southward
to the turnstile in the King's park-wall, and
includes the whole King's Park within the Sanctuary.''
These limits, which I abridge from the accurate
Maitland, once marked the Girth, or Asylum, belonging
to the Abbey of Holyrood, and which,
being still an appendage to the royal palace, has
retained the privilege of an asylum for civil debt.
One would think the space sufficiently extensive
for a man to stretch his limbs in, as, besides a reasonable
proportion of level ground, (considering
that the scene lies in Scotland,) it includes within
its precincts the mountain of Arthur's Seat, and
the rocks and pasture land called Salisbury Crags.
But yet it is inexpressible how, after a certain
time had elapsed, I used to long for Sunday' which
permitted me to extend my walk without limitation.
During the other six days of the week I
felt a sickness of heart, which, but for the speedy
approach of the hebdomadal day of liberty, I could
hardly have endured. I experienced the impatience
of a mastiff, who tugs in vain to extend the
limits which his chain permits.
Day after day I walked by the side of the kennel
which divides the Sanctuary from the unprivileged
part of the Canongate; and though the
month was July, and the scene the old town of
Edinburgh, I preferred it to the fresh air and verdant
turf which I might have enjoyed in the King's
Park, or to the cool and solemn gloom of the portico
which surrounds the palace. To an indifferent
person either side of the gutter would have seemed
much the same---the houses equally mean, the
children as ragged and dirty, the carmen as brutal,
the whole forming the same picture of low life in a
deserted and impoverished quarter of a large city.
But to me, the gutter, or kennel, was what the
brook Kedron was to Shimei; death was denounced
against him should he cross it, doubtless because
it was known to his wisdom who pronounced the
doom, that from the time the crossing the stream
was debarred, the devoted man's desire to transgress
the precept would become irresistible, and he
would be sure to draw down on his head the penalty
which he had already justly incurred by cursing
the anointed of God. For my part, all Elysium
seemed opening on the other side of the kennel,
and I envied the little blackguards, who, stopping
the current with their little dam-dikes of mud, had
a right to stand on either side of the nasty puddle
which best pleased them. I was so childish as even
to make an occasional excursion across, were it
only for a few yards, and felt the triumph of a
schoolboy, who, trespassing in an orchard, hurries
back again with a fluttering sensation of joy and
terror, betwixt the pleasure of having executed
his purpose, and the fear of being taken or discovered.
I have sometimes asked myself, what I should
have done in case of actual imprisonment, since I
could not bear without impatience a restriction
which is comparatively a mere trifle; but I really
could never answer the question to my own satisfaction.
I have all my life hated those treacherous
expedients called _mezzo-termini_, and it is possible
with this disposition I might have endured more
patiently an absolute privation of liberty, than the
more modified restrictions to which my residence
in the Sanctuary at this period subjected me. If,
however, the feelings I then experienced were to
increase in intensity according to the difference
between a jail and my actual condition, I must have
hanged myself, or pined to death; there could have
been no other alternative.
Amongst many companions who forgot and neglected
me of course, when my difficulties seemed
to be inextricable, I had one true friend; and that
friend was a barrister, who knew the laws of his
country well, and, tracing them up to the spirit of
equity and justice in which they originate, had
repeatedly prevented, by his benevolent and manly
exertions, the triumphs of selfish cunning over
simplicity and folly. He undertook my cause,
with the assistance of a solicitor of a character similar
to his own. My quondam doer had ensconced
himself chin-deep among legal trenches, hornworks,
and, covered ways; but my two protectors shelled
him out of his defences, and I was at length a free
man, at liberty to go or stay wheresoever my mind
listed.
I left my lodgings as hastily as if it had been a
pest-house; I did not even stop to receive some
change that was due to me on settling with my
landlady, and I saw the poor woman stand at her
door looking after my precipitate flight, and shaking
her head as she wrapped the silver which she
was counting for me in a separate piece of paper,
apart from the store in her own moleskin purse.
An honest Highlandwoman was Janet MacEvoy,
and deserved a greater remuneration, had I possessed
the power of bestowing it. But my eagerness
of delight was too extreme to pause for explanation
with Janet. On I pushed through the
groups of children, of whose sports I had been so
often a lazy lounging spectator. I sprung over
the gutter as if it had been the fatal Styx, and I a
ghost, which, eluding Pluto's authority, was making
its escape from Limbo lake. My friend had
difficulty to restrain me from running like a madman
up the street; and in spite of his kindness and
hospitality, which soothed me for a day or two, I
was not quite happy until I found myself aboard of
a Leith smack, and, standing down the Frith with
a fair wind, might snap my fingers at the retreating
outline of Arthur's Seat, to the vicinity of which
I had been so long confined.
It is not my purpose to trace my future progress
through life. I had extricated myself, or rather
had been freed by my friends, from the brambles
and thickets of the law, but, as befell the sheep in
the fable, a great part of my fleece was left behind
me. Something remained, however; I was in the
season for exertion, and, as my good mother used
to say, there was always life for living folk. Stern
necessity gave my manhood that prudence which
my youth was a stranger to. I faced danger, I
endured fatigue, I sought foreign climates, and
proved that I belonged to the nation which is proverbially
patient of labour and prodigal of life. Independence,
like liberty to Virgil's shepherd, came
late, but came at last, with no great affluence in its
train, but bringing enough to support a decent appearance
for the rest of my life, and to induce
cousins to be civil, and gossips to say, ``I wonder
who old Croft will make his heir? he must have
picked up something, and I should not be surprised
if it prove more than folk think of.''
My first impulse when I returned home was
to rush to the house of my benefactor, the only
man who had in my distress interested himself in
my behalf. He was a snuff-taker, and it had been
the pride of my heart to save the _ipsa corpora_ of
the first score of guineas I could hoard, and to have
them converted into as tasteful a snuff-box as Rundell
and Bridge could devise. This I had thrust
for security into the breast of my waistcoat, while,
impatient to transfer it to the person for whom it
was destined, I hastened to his house in Brown's
Square. When the front of the house became
visible, a feeling of alarm checked me. I had been
long absent from Scotland, my friend was some
years older than I; he might have been called to
the congregation of the just. I paused, and gazed
on the house, as if I had hoped to form some conjecture
from the outward appearance concerning
the state of the family within. I know not how it
was, but the lower windows being all closed and
no one stirring, my sinister forebodings were rather
strengthened. I regretted now that I had not
made enquiry before I left the inn where I alighted
from the mail-coach. But it was too late; so I hurried
on, cager to know the best or the worst which
I could learn.
The brass-plate bearing my friend's name and
designation was still on the door, and when it
was opened, the old domestic appeared a good
deal older I thought than he ought naturally
to have looked, considering the period of my absence.
``Is Mr Sommerville at home?'' said I,
pressing forward.
``Yes, sir,'' said John, placing himself in opposition
to my entrance, ``he is at home, but------''
``But he is not in,'' said I. ``I remember your
phrase of old, John. Come, I will step into his
room, and leave a line for him.''
John was obviously embarrassed by my familiarity.
I was some one, lie saw, whom he ought to
recollect, at the same time it was evident he remembered
nothing about me.
``Ay, sir, my master is in, and in his own room,
but------''
I would not hear him out, but passed before him
towards the well-known apartment. A young lady
came out of the room a little disturbed, as it seemed,
and said, ``John, what is the matter?''
``A gentleman, Miss Nelly, that insists on seeing
my master.''
``A very old and deeply indebted friend,'' said
I, ``that ventures to press myself on my much-respected
benefactor on my return from abroad.''
``Alas, sir,'' replied she, ``my uncle would be
happy to see you, but------''
At this moment, something was heard within
the apartment like the falling of a plate, or glass,
and immediately after my friend's voice called
angrily and eagerly for his niece. She entered the
room hastily, and so did I. But it was to see a
spectacle, compared with which that of my benefactor
stretched on his bier would have been a
happy one.
The easy-chair filled with cushions, the extended
limbs swathed in flannel, the wide wrapping-gown
and nightcap, showed illness; but the dimmed
eye, once so replete with living fire, the blabber
lip, whose dilation and compression used to give
such character to his animated countenance,---the
stammering tongue, that once poured forth such
floods of masculine eloquence, and had often swayed
the opinion of the sages whom he addressed,---all
these sad symptoms evinced that my friend was in
the melancholy condition of those, in whom the
principle of animal life has unfortunately survived
that of mental intelligence. He gazed a moment at
me, but then seemed insensible of my presence, and
went on---he, once the most courteous and well-bred!
---to babble unintelligible but violent reproaches
against his niece and servant, because he himself
had dropped a teacup in attempting to Place it on
a table at his elbow. His eyes caught a momentary
fire from his irritation; but he struggled in vain
for words to express himself adequately, as, looking
from his servant to his niece and then to the
table, he laboured to explain that they had placed
it (though it touched his chair) at too great a distance
from him.
The young person, who had naturally a resigned
Madonna-like expression of countenance, listened
to his impatient chiding with the most humble submission,
checked the servant, whose less delicate
feelings would have entered on his justification, and
gradually, by the sweet and soft tone of her voice,
soothed to rest the spirit of causeless irritation.
She then cast a look towards me, which expressed,
``You see all that remains of him whom you
call friend.'' It seemed also to say, ``Your longer
presence here can only be distressing to us all.''
``Forgive me young lady,'' I said, as well as
tears would permit; ``I am a person deeply obliged
to your uncle. My name is Croftangry.''
``Lord! and that I should not hae minded ye,
Maister Croftangry,'' said the servant. ``Ay, I
mind my master had muckle fash about your job.
I hae heard him order in fresh candles as midnight
chappit, and till't again. Indeed, ye had aye his
gude word, Mr Croftangry, for a' that folks said
about you.''
``Hold your tongue, John,'' said the lady, somewhat
angrily; and then continued, addressing herself
to me, ``I am sure, sir, you must be sorry to
see my uncle in this state. I know you are his
friend. I have heard him mention your name, and
wonder he never heard from you.'' A new cut this,
and it went to my heart. But she continued, ``I
really do not know if it is right that any should---
If my uncle should know you, which I scarce think
possible, he would be much affected, and the doctor
says that any agitation------But here comes Dr------
to give his own opinion.''
Dr ------ entered. I had left him a middle-aged
man; he was now an elderly one; but still the same
benevolent Samaritan, who went about doing good,
and thought the blessings of the poor as good a
recompense of his professional skill as the gold of
the rich.
He looked at me with surprise, but the young
lady said a word of introduction, and I, who was
known to the doctor formerly, hastened to complete
it. He recollected me perfectly, and intimated
that he was well acquainted with the reasons
I had for being deeply interested in the fate of his
patient. He gave me a very melancholy account
of my poor friend, drawing me for that purpose a
little apart from the lady. ``The light of life,'' he
said, ``was trembling in the socket; he scarcely
expected it would ever leap up even into a momentary
flash, but more was impossible.'' He then
stepped towards his patient, and put some questions,
to which the poor invalid, though he seemed
to recognise the friendly and familiar voice, answered
only in a faltering and uncertain manner.
The young lady, in her turn, had drawn back
when the doctor approached his patient. ``You see
how it is with him,'' said the doctor, addressing
me; ``I have heard our poor friend, in one of the
most eloquent of his pleadings, give a description
of this very disease, which he compared to the tortures
inflicted by Mezentius, when he chained the
dead to the living. The soul, he said, is imprisoned
in its dungeon of flesh, and though retaining its
natural and unalienable properties, can no more
exert them than the captive enclosed within a prison-house
can act as a free agent. Alas! to see
him, who could so well describe what this malady
was in others, a prey himself to its infirmities! I
shall never forget the solemn tone of expression
with which he summed up the incapacities of the
paralytic,---the deafened ear, the dimmed eye, the
crippled limbs,---in the noble words of Juvenal---
------` omni
Membrorum damno major, dementia, qu nec
Nomina servorum, nec vultum agnoscit amici.' ''
As the physician repeated these lines, a flash of
intelligence seemed to revive in the invalid's eye---
sunk again---again struggled, and he spoke more
intelligibly than before, and in the tone of one
eager to say something which he felt would escape
him unless said instantly. ``A question of death-bed,
a question of death-bed, doctor---a reduction
_ex capite lecti_---Withering against Wilibus---about
the _morbus sonticus_. I pleaded the cause for the
pursuer---I, and---and---Why, I shall forget my
own name---I,and---he that was the wittiest and
the best-humoured man living---''
The description enabled the doctor to fill up the
blank, and the patient joyfully repeated the name
suggested. ``Ay, ay,'' he said, ``just he---Harry
---poor Harry---'' The light in his eye died
away, and he sunk back in his easy-chair.
``You have now seen more of our poor friend,
Mr Croftangry,'' said the physician, ``than I dared
venture to promise you; and now I must take my
professional authority on me, and ask you to retire.
Miss Sommerville will, I am sure, let you know if
a moment should by any chance occur when her
uncle can see you.''
What could I do? I gave my card to the young
lady, and, taking my offering from my bosom---
``if my poor friend,'' I said, with accents as broken
almost as his own, ``should ask where this came
from, name me; and say from the most obliged and
most grateful man alive. Say, the gold of which
it is composed was saved by grains at a time, and
was hoarded with as much avarice as ever was a
miser's:---to bring it here I have come a thousand
miles, and now, alas, I find him thus!''
I laid the box on the table, and was retiring with
a lingering step. The eye of the invalid was caught
by it, as that of a child by a glittering toy, and with
infantine impatience he faltered out enquiries of Dis
niece. With gentle mildness she repeated again
and again who I was, and why I came, &c. I was
about to turn, and hasten from a scene so painful,
when the physician laid his hand on my sleeve---
``Stop,'' he said, ``there is a change.''
There was indeed, and a marked one. A faint
glow spread over his pallid features---they seemed
to gain the look of intelligence which belongs to
vitality---his eye once more kindled---his lip coloured---
and drawing himself up out of the listless posture
he had hitherto maintained, he rose without
assistance. The doctor and the servant ran to give
him their support. He waved them aside, and they
were contented to place themselves in such a postion
behind as might ensure against accident, should
his newly-acquired strength decay as suddenly as
it had revived.
``My dear Croftangry,'' he said, in the tone of
kindness of other days, ``I am glad to see you returned---
You find me but poorly---but my little
niece here and Dr ------ are very kind---God bless
you, my dear friend! we shall not meet again till
we meet in a better world.''
I pressed his extended hand to my lips---I pressed
it to my bosom---I would fain have flung myself
on my knees; but the doctor, leaving the patient
to the young lady and the servant, who wheeled
forward his chair, and were replacing him in it,
hurried me out of the room. ``My dear sir,'' he
said, ``you ought to be satisfied; you have seen
our poor invalid more like his former self than he
has been for months, or than he may be perhaps
again until all is over. The whole Faculty could
not have assured such an interval---I must see whether
any thing can be derived from it to improve
the general health---Pray, bego | | |
