Chronicles of the Canongate
S >>
Sir Walter Scott >> Chronicles of the Canongate
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20
And now the reader may expect me, while in the confessional, to
explain the motives why I have so long persisted in 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 author's 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, [Not altogether impossible, when it
is considered that I have been at the bar since 1792. (Aug.
1831.)] and as much as 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 entrusted 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 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.
[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--namely 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).]
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.
*
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.]
THE 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,
EDINBURGH, MONDAY. WALTER SCOTT.
*
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., etc.
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 connection with the business of this meeting,
which his late Royal Highness had condescended in a particular
manner to patronize, 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, he 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 grew up; and
even in the decline of life nothing amuses 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 keen 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 have
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, he 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 was 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 later 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 hand to
the dramatic plough, he 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 everything they
parted with from their superfluity would do some good. They
would sleep the better themselves when they had 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 or 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 he 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 patronized 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 remodelled 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, heard, 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.)
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20