Chapter LXV (9)

At John Ballantyne's house in Trinity, his great co-adjutor Constable was often to be seen. There Lockhart first met him. Struck by the majestic appearance of the publisher, he made a remark to Scott on Constable's 'gentlemanlike' (publishers were only 'booksellers' in those days) 'and distinguished appearance.' 'Ay,' replied Scott, 'Constable is indeed a grand-looking chield. He puts me in mind of Fielding's apology for Lady Booby--to wit, that Joseph Andrews had an air which, to those who had not seen many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility.' He is said to have been a large feeder and deep drinker: of a violent temper, but 'easily overawed by people of consequence.' He was, on the whole, not one of Scott's favourites--a circumstance, however, which was more owing to the great man's blind partiality for the Ballantynes, with whom Constable necessarily came into frequent contact. Scott, however, praises Constable as 'generous and far from bad-hearted.' Among his brothers of 'the trade' Constable was nicknamed 'the Czar,'and also 'the Crafty.' Scott declared that Constable was 'the prince of book-sellers.' He considered that the Crafty knew more of the business of a bookseller in planning and executing popular works than any man of his time. His imperious style was natural to the man, and his unaided rise to eminence in his important calling largely justified his pride. His share in the blame for the disaster of 1826 was at the time exaggerated, unfortunately also in the mind of Scott himself. It was the Ballantyne co-partnery that led to the unfortunate bill transactions, and the great pity was that both Constable and Scott took these tragic jokers on their own fictitious valuation. Constable I believe to have been truly a great man and in all respects a gentleman: as different in mental qualities as he was in physical dignity from the bounding brothers of Kelso. Who can fail to admit the genius of the man who _foresaw_ the value of the Waverley Novels, and who provided Scott with the greatest consolation of his last sad years--the _magnum opus_ of the collected edition, and thus enabled him to carry out his romantic resolve to pay the so-called _debts_ to the full? John Ballantyne told Lockhart a good story of Constable's fondness for bestowing nicknames. 'One day a partner of the house of Longman was dining with him in the country, to settle an important piece of business, about which there occurred a good deal of difficulty. "What fine swans you have in your pond there!" said the Londoner, by way of parenthesis.--"Swans!" cried Constable; "they are only geese, man. There are just five of them, if you please to observe, and their names are Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown." This skit cost the Crafty a good bargain.' Lockhart soon became a frequent visitor at Constable's country seat of Craigcrook Castle (afterwards tenanted by Francis Jeffrey), and says that he did the honours of the ancient home of noble Grahams with all the ease that might have been looked for had he been the long-descended owner of the place. He greatly admired Constable's 'manly and vigorous' conversation, full of old Scotch anecdotes, which he told with a spirit and humour only second to his great author's. 'His very equipage,' Lockhart adds, 'kept up the series of contrasts between him and the two Ballantynes. Constable went back and forward between the town and Polton in a deep-hung and capacious green barouche, without any pretence at heraldic blazonry, drawn by a pair of sleek, black, long-tailed horses, and conducted by a grave old coachman in plain blue livery. The Printer of the Canongate drove himself and his wife about the streets and suburbs in a snug machine, which did not overburthen one powerful and steady cob:--while the gay Auctioneer, whenever he left the saddle for the box, mounted a bright blue dogcart, and rattled down the Newhaven Road with two high-mettled steeds prancing tandem before him.' Johnnie, indeed, kept up a good stable, hunted the fox at times, and had the pleasant whim of naming his numerous steeds after various characters in Scott's works. His daily mount was a milk-white hunter, y-clept Old Mortality, and he was always attended by a leash or two of greyhounds, which he named Die Vernon, Jenny Dennison, and so on. At business he appeared in sporting half-dress,--'a light-grey frock, with emblems of the chase on its silver buttons, white cord breeches, and jockey-boots in Meltonian order.' Scott was a constant frequenter of his auction rooms in Hanover Street, at the door of which his favourite Maida was to be seen waiting his arrival from the Court, couched among Johnnie's greyhounds. Such was the frivolous, but astute, underminer, who succeeded to the end in maintaining a fatal hold on the great genius, and finally left him to toil as a slave, often at a loss for money for mere current expenses, during the last years of what might have been one of the happiest of lives. It is a melancholy fact, and perhaps, after all, his own favourite saying fits it best--that often the wisest of men keep, as it were, the average stock of folly only in reserve, to be _all_ expended on some one flagrant absurdity. One can at least understand Scott's affection for John Ballantyne, when one thinks of such an incident as this, related by Scott himself: 'A poor divinity student was attending his sale one day, and Johnnie remarked to him that he looked as if he were in bad health. The young man assented with a sigh. "Come," said Ballantyne, "I think I ken the secret of a sort of draft that would relieve you--particularly," he added, handing him a cheque for L$ or L10--"particularly, my dear, if taken upon an empty stomach."

John Ballantyne died at Edinburgh in the summer of 1821. Scott and Lockhart attended his funeral in the Canongate churchyard. 'As we stood together' (the latter relates), 'while they were smoothing the turf over John's remains, the heavens, which had been dark and slaty, cleared suddenly, and the midsummer sun shone forth in his strength. Scott, ever awake to the "skiey influences," cast his eye along the overhanging line of the Calton Hill, with its gleaming walls and towers, and then turning to the grave again, "I feel," he whispered in my ear, "as if there would be less sunshine for me from this day forth."'

John Ballantyne was thus taken away from the evil to come, but James lived till 1833. Archibald Constable died on the 21st of July 1827. His proud spirit could not survive the tremendous downfall of his splendid fortunes. All his great undertakings, except the _Miscellany_, had passed from his control. He was reduced to 'an obscure closet of a shop,' and found himself without either capital or credit to start a new career. Of all with whom Scott had to do in the business of life, he is the only man in whose case Scott's natural generosity did not at once overcome every shadow of well or ill founded resentment or grudge.

*CHAPTER LIX*

The Baronetcy--Reasons for accepting--Marriage of Sophia Scott to John Gibson Lockhart--Charles Scott and Archdeacon Williams--Improvements in Edinburgh--The 'Water Caddies'--Drama of _Rob Roy_--The Burns Dinner--Henry Mackenzie.

It was in the end of the year 1818 that Scott received, through Lord Sidmouth, intimation of the Prince Regent's desire to confer on him a baronetcy. When informed of it privately, a few months before this, by Chief-Commissioner Adam, he had hesitated about accepting such an honour, feeling that it might dangerously affect the style of living and the ideas and aspirations of a contented family. However, the sudden death of Charles Charpentier altered all this. He left, as was believed, a large fortune, and had settled the reversion on his sister's family. The inheritance in the end came to nothing, but the expectation removed Scott's doubts as to accepting the title. His eldest son having by this time settled to enter the Army, it was obvious that the title would be of real advantage to him in his profession. We have fortunately Scott's views expressed in the frankest manner in a letter to Morritt, and they certainly require no comment. 'It would be easy,' he says, 'saying a parcel of fine things about my contempt of rank, and so forth; but although I would not have gone a step out of my way to have asked, or bought, or begged, or borrowed a distinction, which to me personally will rather be inconvenient than otherwise, yet coming as it does directly from the source of feudal honours, and as an honour, I am really gratified with it;--especially as it is intimated that it is His Royal Highness's pleasure to heat the oven for me expressly, without waiting till he has some new _batch_ of Baronets ready in dough.... After all, if one must speak for themselves, I have my quarters and emblazonments, free of all stain but Border theft and High Treason, which I hope are gentlemanlike crimes; and I hope Sir Walter Scott will not sound worse than Sir Humphry Davy, though my merits are as much under his, in point of utility, as can well be imagined. But a name is something, and mine is the better of the two.' It was not till March 1820 that he was able to go to London, having been prevented by illness at one time, and on a second proposed occasion by family afflictions. When he did go to London, his admirer was King George the Fourth. To him, at all events, the event was an honour and a credit, for it proceeded entirely from himself. His greeting to the new Baronet was, 'I shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter Scott's having been the first creation of my reign.' Shortly after this the two English Universities offered him the honorary degree of D.C.L. He was never able to avail himself of either offer.

On the 29th of April in this year, his daughter Sophia was married to John Gibson Lockhart. The son-in-law mentions that Sir Walter hastened his return from London--he had been sitting to Lawrence at the King's request--in order to get the marriage over before the unlucky month of May. Lockhart says too little of his own affairs, but he mentions that the wedding took place, _more Scotico_, in the evening, and that Sir Walter, adhering on all such occasions to ancient modes of observance with the same punctiliousness which he mentions as distinguishing his worthy father, gave a jolly supper afterwards to all the friends and connections of the young couple.

Towards the end of the year the second son, Charles, also left the family circle. He went to Lampeter to be under the celebrated scholar John Williams, afterwards Archdeacon of Cardigan. Mr. Williams, who became Rector of the Edinburgh Academy in 1824, was much appreciated by Scott, not only for his erudition, but as being 'always pleasant company.' At another time he calls him 'a heaven-born teacher.'

We may mention here another item in the constant process of modernising the city. About this time a strong feeling was growing, and even obtaining vent in public, against the sway of the Town Council. The position of Edinburgh, 'always thirsty and unwashed,' was then, by Lord Cockburn's account, in reference to water positively frightful. The wretched shallow tank on the north side of the Pentlands, the only source of supply, was often and for long periods empty. But the Town Council would do nothing. A private company was therefore formed, and the supply began to be regular. Then water-pipes were put into private houses, and the ancient fraternity of water-carriers found their occupation gone. 'In a very few years,' says Cockburn, 'there was not one extant. They were a very curious tribe, consisting of both men and women, but the former were perhaps the more numerous. Their days were passed in climbing up lofty stairs to the "flats." The little casks of water, when filled from the street wells, were slung upon their backs, suspended by a leather strap, which was held in front by the hand. They acquired a stopping attitude, by which they were easily recognised even when off duty. They were all rather old, and seemed little; but this last might be owing to their stooping. The men very generally had old red jackets, probably the remnants of the Highland Watch, or of the City Guard; and the women were always covered with thick duffle greatcoats, and wore black hats like the men. Every house had its favourite "Water Caddie." The fee (I believe) was a penny per barrel. In spite of their splashy lives and public-well discussions, they were rather civil, and very cracky creatures. What fretted them most was being obstructed in going up a stair; and their occasionally tottering legs testified that they had no bigotry against qualifying the water with a little whisky. They never plied between Saturday night and Monday morning; that is, their employers had bad hot water all Sunday. These bodies were such favourites, that the extinction of their trade was urged seriously as a reason against water being allowed to get into our houses in its own way.'

In February 1819 a dramatised version of _Rob Roy_ was played in the Edinburgh Theatre. The Bailie was played by the famous actor Charles Mackay, who, being a native of Glasgow, was able to do full justice to the dialect and all the little amusing peculiarities of the character. Scott is said to have been greatly interested in this representation of his story, and Lockhart says 'it was extremely diverting to watch the play of his features during Mackay's admirable realisation of his conception.' On his benefit night 'the Bailie' received an epistle of kind congratulation from no less a personage than Jedediah Cleishbotham. It is worth mentioning that, though his fellow-citizens greeted him on entering his box with 'some mark of general respect and admiration,' there was never anything said or done to embarrass him as hinting at his authorship of the play.

While _Rob Roy_ was enjoying its successful run, a party of two or three hundred Edinburgh gentlemen met, on February 22nd, at what has since become the national cult--a Burns dinner. This function was distinguished by a short speech from the veteran 'Man of Feeling,' who had welcomed Burns and praised his genius more than thirty years before. Scott's feeling towards Burns was one of constantly increasing admiration. 'Long life to thy fame' (he says in his _Journal_) 'and peace to thy soul, Rob Burns! When I want to express a sentiment which I feel strongly, I find the phrase in Shakespeare--or thee.' For Henry Mackenzie he had a strong regard. The old man surprised him by unfolding literary schemes in his old age. He loved to unbosom himself to Scott, and called him his 'literary confessor,' and 'I am sure' (said the patient victim) 'I am glad to return the kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square.' Scott's description of the veteran in 1825 is as follows: 'No man is less known from his writings. We would suppose a retired, modest, somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief and a sigh ready for every sentiment. No such thing: H. M. is alert as a contracting tailor's needle in every sort of business--a politician and a sportsman--shoots and fishes in a sort even to this day--and is the life of the company with anecdote and fun. Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.

In January 1831 Scott got the news of Henry Mackenzie's death. By this time Scott was contemplating the near approach of his own end, but he can still spare a regret for the old man, 'gayest of the gay, though most sensitive of the sentimental,' who had so long filled a niche in Scottish literature.

*CHAPTER LX*

The Commercial Disaster--Ruin of Ballantyne (Scott) and Constable--Scott's Feeling--Universal Sympathy--Offer of Help--Brave Reply--Cheerful Spirit--Constable--The Agreement--Removal from Castle Street--Death of Lady Scott--The Visit to Paris.

James Ballantyne on his deathbed declared that all the appearances of his prosperity were merely shadows. But Scott up to the end of 1825 had no idea of the magnitude of the crisis that had been so long preparing. On the 18th of December in that year he penned in his _Journal_ that melancholy summary of his career: 'What a life mine has been! Half-educated, almost wholly neglected or left to myself; stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and undervalued by most of my companions for a time; getting forward, and held a bold and clever fellow, contrary to the opinion of all who thought me a mere dreamer; broken-hearted for two years; my heart handsomely pieced again--but the crack will remain till my dying day. Rich and poor four or five times; once on the verge of ruin, yet opened a new source of wealth almost overflowing. Now to be broken in my pitch of pride.... Nobody in the end can lose a penny by me--that is one comfort.' Following entries prove that Ballantyne professed confidence. Even on 14th January, when Scott had received 'an odd mysterious letter' from Constable, hinting calamity, James had no doubts! On Tuesday the 17th the blow fell. Ballantyne came in the morning to say that he had arranged to stop. His own account of the interview is: 'It was between eight and nine in the morning that I made the final communication. No doubt he was greatly stunned--but, upon the whole, he bore it with wonderful fortitude. He asked--"Well, what is the actual step we must first take? I suppose we must do something?" I reminded him that two or three thousand pounds were due that day, so that we had only to do what we must do--refuse payment--to bring the disclosure sufficiently before the world. He took leave of me with these striking words--"Well, James, depend upon that, I will never forsake you."'

In the _Journal_ of that day--'I felt rather sneaking as I came home from the Parliament House--felt as if I were liable _monstrari digito_ in no very pleasant way. But this must be borne _cum caeteris_.' On which Lord Cockburn remarks: 'very natural for him to feel so; but it was the feeling of nobody else.'

From Cockburn's pages we can realise the astounding effect of the news of Scott's implication in the disaster upon his friends and fellow-citizens. The 'black Tuesday' became a recollection of sadness and pain to all who personally knew him. The destruction of half the city could not have caused greater astonishment and sorrow. His professional brethren now for the first time learned that Scott had 'dabbled in trade.' 'How humbled,' says Cockburn, 'we felt when we saw him--the pride of us all--dashed from his lofty and honourable station, and all the fruits of his well-worked talents gone. He had not then even a political enemy. There was not one of those whom his thoughtlessness had so sorely provoked, who would not have given every spare farthing he possessed to retrieve Sir Walter. Well do I remember his first appearance after this calamity was divulged, when he walked into Court one day in January 1826. There was no affectation, and no reality, of _facing it_; no look of indifference or defiance; but the manly and modest air of a gentleman conscious of some folly, but of perfect rectitude, and of most heroic and honourable resolutions. It was on that very day, I believe, that he said a very fine thing. Some of his friends offered him, or rather proposed to offer him, enough of money, as was supposed, to enable him to arrange with his creditors. He paused for a moment; and then, recollecting his powers, said proudly--"No! this right hand shall work it all off." His friend William Clerk supped with him one night after his ruin was declared. They discussed the whole affair openly and playfully; till at last they laughed over their noggins at the change, and Sir Walter observed that he felt something like Lambert and the other Regicides, who, Pepys says, when he saw them going to be hanged and quartered, were as cheerful and comfortable as any gentlemen could be in that situation.'

This probably refers to the evening, mentioned in Scott's _Journal_, when his daughter was very greatly surprised by the loud hilarity of Clerk and his host. 'But do people suppose,' adds Scott, 'that he was less sorry for his poor sister,[1] or I for my lost fortune?' He declares that pride was his strongest passion--a passion which never hinged upon world's gear, which was always with him--light come, light go!

[1] Miss Elizabeth Clerk's sudden death had also occurred on the 17th of January.

Constable had stood like a hero in the breach to the last moment. His last device, a good one if he could have by magic imparted his own knowledge, foresight, and sublime faith to a board of directors, was to take Lockhart (in the capacity of a confidential friend of the author of _Waverley_) with him to the Bank of England, and to apply for a loan of from L100,000 to L200,000 on the security of the copyrights. These, it must be remembered, were the _Encyclopedia Britannica_, half of the _Edinburgh Review_, nearly all Scott's poetry, the Waverley Novels, and the _Life of Napoleon_, on which Scott was at the time working. Lockhart refused to interfere without direct instructions from Sir Walter. Poor Constable, he says, became livid with rage.

The claims against Scott were found in the end to amount to L130,000. All the world knows the course Scott elected to take; how he at once put his affairs in the hands of trustees, and became, by his own offer, the vassal of his creditors for life, toiling henceforward to pay their claims, not to enrich himself. From his side it was a noble sacrifice, as noble as any ever offered on the altar of honour. If the debts had been real, if he had actually had in possession the sum and used it, no other course would have been possible _salvo honore_. But commercial debts, the largely fictitious product of stamps and paper, should have been paid commercially. Such a course, he himself said, he might have advised a client to take, and it would have saved him much sorrow, pain, and trouble, without harming any man. However, he preferred it otherwise, and received the news of the acceptance of his offer as if it had been a mighty favour. He wrote in his _Journal_: 'This is handsome and confidential, and must warm my best efforts to get them out of the scrape.'

The agreement was finally, not of course without harassment and difficulty, passed. He was left in possession of Abbotsford, his official salary was left him to support his family, everything else was sold for behoof of the creditors, and all his future literary gains were assigned to them in advance. On March 15th he left his house in Castle Street, and on that night he wrote in his _Journal_: 'I never reckoned upon a change in this particular so long as I held an office in the Court of Session. In all my former changes of residence it was from good to better--this is retrograding. I leave this house for sale, and I cease to be an Edinburgh citizen, in the sense of being a proprietor, which my father and I have been for sixty years at least. So farewell, poor 39, and may you never harbour worse people than those who now leave you.'

Very soon after the departure from Castle Street a second calamity, probably hastened by the former, overtook the family. Lady Scott died at Abbotsford on the 14th of May. Scott, who was engaged in his Court duties at Edinburgh, and staying now in Mrs. Brown's lodgings, North St. David Street, reached Abbotsford late in the evening of the 15th. His weakly daughter Anne, worn out with attendance, was hysterical when he arrived. The entries in his _Journal_ are sadly touching: 'When I contrast what this place now is with what it has been not long since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of my family--all but poor Anne; an impoverished, an embarrassed man, deprived of the sharer of my thoughts, who could always talk down my sense of the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart that must bear them alone.'

The funeral took place on the 22nd at Dryburgh. Scott mentions very kindly the Rev. E. B. Ramsay, who performed the funeral service. This gentleman afterwards became famous, when Dean of Edinburgh, by his well-known book _Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life_.

And now Scott found the task he had imposed upon himself bracing him against despondency. He returned to Edinburgh and his old 'task,' thankful that it was of a graver nature (the _Life of Napoleon_), and determined to fight on 'for the sake of the children and of my own character.'

A visit to London and Paris was necessitated in October by his work on Napoleon. The change did him good, and Lockhart mentions that his behaviour under misfortunes so terrible had gained for him 'a deep and respectful sympathy, which was brought home to him in a way not to be mistaken.' This expedition for information had cost him L200--a matter for serious consideration in his changed circumstances.

*CHAPTER LXI*

House in Walker Street--Ill-health--Extraordinary Labours--Article on Hoffman--Kindness to Literary People--Murray's Party--Theatrical Fund Dinner--_Life of Napoleon_--Payment of L28,000 to Creditors--The Lockharts at Portobello--Grandfather's Tales--Domestic Happiness--Visit of Adolphus.

On resuming his duties in Edinburgh at the end of November (1826), Scott went to reside in a furnished house in Walker Street, which he had taken for the winter. In his _Journal_, 27th November, he says: 'Walter came and supped with us, which diverted some heavy thoughts. It is impossible not to compare this return to Edinburgh with others in more happy times. But we should rather recollect under what distress of mind I took up my lodgings in Mrs. Brown's last summer, and then the balance weighs deeply on the favourable side. This house is comfortable and convenient.' It was for the sake of his daughter's company that he had taken this house. The winter, however, proved a weary time. His incessant toil at his _Napoleon_ was hampered by continual ill-health--successive attacks of rheumatism, which might well have excused him from work of any kind. But his watchword was, 'I am now at my oar, and I must row hard.' To crown all his troubles, the weather was exceptionally cold and trying. He could not but think often of the days when rain and cold and long night journeys did him no harm, and he was painfully conscious of a speedy break-up of the hard-wrought machine. Bad nights were the rule, and he was sometimes sick with mere pain. Sometimes he notes his work, proof-sheets and the like, as 'finished mechanically.' 'All well,' he ends up on 21st December, 'if the machine would but keep in order, but "The spinning-wheel is auld and stiff." I shall never see the threescore and ten, and shall be summed up at a discount. No help for it, and no matter either.' Yet, even in these circumstances, he wrote more than his task. One of these minor pieces was an article on Hoffman for the _Foreign Quarterly_, a review edited by R. P. Gillies. It was done purely as a kindness to Gillies, giving, as Lockhart says, a poor brother author L100 at the expense of considerable time and drudgery to himself. He had done the same in numberless instances, often for persons whose only claim on him was that of the common vocation. At this time he naturally went but little into society, but his enjoyment of good company could still be keen. On spending an evening with John A. Murray, he says: 'When I am out with a party of my Opposition friends, the day is often merrier than when with our own set. Is it because they are cleverer? Jeffrey and Harry Cockburn are, to be sure, very extraordinary men; yet it is not owing to that entirely. I believe both parties meet with the feeling of something like novelty--we have not worn out our jests in daily contact.'

On the 23rd of February 1827 he presided at the famous Theatrical Fund Dinner, at which he publicly admitted his authorship of the Waverley Novels. All he says of the incident is, 'Meadowbank taxed me with the novels, and to end that farce at once I pleaded guilty, so that splore is ended.' Of course, as a matter of fact, the secret had been an open one from the day of the first meeting of Ballantyne's creditors. When Scott was thinking of himself as liable _monstrari digito_ as the partner of an insolvent firm, every one else was thinking of him as the now-revealed 'author of _Waverley_.' 'Scott ruined,' Earl Dudley exclaimed on hearing the news, 'the author of _Waverley_ ruined! Good God! let every man to whom he has given months of delight give him a sixpence, and he will rise to-morrow morning richer than Rothschild!' That was probably what was in the mind of every man who gazed on Scott's calm, honest face in the first days of trouble.

On the 7th of June he finished _Napoleon_, which had grown on his hands, much beyond the original estimate, to nine closely-printed volumes. The work produced L18,000 for his creditors, so that in eighteen months he had actually diminished his obligations by L28,000.

One of the most touching episodes of Scott's life was his loving anxiety for his invalid grandson, the child of Lockhart and Sophia. Knowing the fearful strain that Sir Walter was now keeping up in working double tides for his bondholding masters, Lockhart and his wife did what they could to induce him to moderate his zeal. 'But nothing,' says Lockhart, 'was so useful as the presence of his invalid grandson. The poor child was at this time so far restored as to be able to sit on his pony again; and Sir Walter, who had conceived, the very day he finished _Napoleon_, the notion of putting together a series of _Tales on the History of Scotland_, somewhat in the manner of Mr. Croker's on that of England, rode daily among the woods with his "Hugh Littlejohn," and told the story, and ascertained that it suited the comprehension of boyhood, before he reduced it to writing.' During the rest of this year he wrote new matter which filled five to six volumes in the uniform edition of his works, but this Lockhart thinks was light and easy compared with 'the perilous drudgery' of the preceding eighteen months.

Ill-health and the perpetual consciousness of his bondage had marvellously little effect as yet on the quality of his work. To friends who visited him casually he seems to have rarely alluded to any of his troubles. Adolphus, however, mentions that once, when speaking of his _Life of Napoleon_, he said in a quiet but touching tone, 'I could have done it better, if I had written at more leisure, and with a mind more at ease.' Adolphus was deeply impressed by the sight of his quiet cheerfulness among his family and their young friends. He has preserved one of Scott's remarks on the subject of happiness which is both characteristic and, considering the time, strikingly suggestive. Scott having said something about an accident which had spoiled the promised pleasure of a visit to his daughter in London, then observed, 'I have had as much happiness in my time as most men, and I must not complain now.' Adolphus replied that, whatever had been his share of happiness, no one could have laboured better for it. Scott's answer was, 'I consider the capacity to labour as part of the happiness I have enjoyed.' In mentioning Adolphus (who had written a book on the authorship of the Waverley Novels) and his visit, Scott wrote in his _Journal_, 'He is a modest as well as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned.'

*CHAPTER LXII*

Incident of Gourgaud--Expected Duel--Scott's Preparations--Tired of Edinburgh--Changing Aspect of New Town--The 'Markets' superseded by Shops--The Female Poisoner--Scott's opinion of 'Not Proven'--Points in its Favour.

In the _Life of Napoleon_ Scott had made use of certain documents which had been put at his disposal in the British Colonial Office. Founding on these unimpeachable authorities, he had told how General Gourgaud, one of Napoleon's aides-de-camp at St. Helena, though he had given the British Government private information that Bonaparte's complaints of ill-usage were utterly unfounded, had afterwards supported and encouraged in France the idea that Sir Hudson Lowe's conduct towards his illustrious prisoner had been cruel and tyrannical. About the end of August Cadell sent extracts from French newspapers to Scott, stating that Gourgaud was going to London to _verify_ the statements in the history. This Cadell took to mean that the fire-eater intended to fasten a quarrel on Scott and challenge him to a duel. The good bookseller was alarmed, but Scott took it all very coolly. He had really dealt very moderately and delicately with Gourgaud's shaky reputation, and when the latter at last wrote his attack in the French newspapers, Scott retorted by simply publishing in full the extracts he had made from the records of the Colonial Office. The General, though he continued to load Scott with abuse, did not dare to pen a direct negative, and so the affair 'fizzled out.' Scott had expected a challenge, and had quite made up his mind to fight, Clerk promising to act as his second. 'He shall not dishonour the country through my sides, I can assure him.' In the end he writes, 'I wonder he did not come over and try his manhood otherwise. I would not have shunned him nor any Frenchman who ever kissed Bonaparte's breech.'

At this period Scott's heart became more and more fixed upon Abbotsford, his interest in Edinburgh proportionately less. Edinburgh was now only the workshop, in which he must toil with fettered limbs, and without the buoyancy of health and strength which used to make his labours a portion of his happiness. 'Fagged by the Court'--'no time for _work_'--fagged by the good company of Edinburgh, he is tempted to run off to Abbotsford--'but it will not do; and, sooth to speak, it ought not to do; though it would do me much pleasure if it would do.' Such was his state of mind, and his interest in local affairs and changes of the city was naturally diminished. About the time of the Ballantyne disaster, the opening of the New Town markets at Stockbridge might perhaps have drawn his attention to the great change going on in the city, which has made it internally so modern, and so commonplace. The New Town was now fast becoming a town of shops. The old 'market' system, so characteristic of Edinburgh, was dying out. Formerly the dealers in any one commodity were all grouped together in a certain fixed and limited locality. This was what was meant by a 'market': a congregation of shops or rather booths. For example, the Flesh Market was at the Tron: the Cattle Market at King's Stables end of the Grassmarket, and so on. Cockburn remembered when, about 1810, the only supply of fish for the citizens was in the Fish Market Close, which he justly calls a steep, narrow, stinking ravine. 'The fish' (he says) 'were generally thrown out on the street at the head of the close, whence they were dragged down by dirty boys or dirtier women; and then sold unwashed--for there was not a drop of water in the place--from old, rickety, scaly wooden tables, exposed to all the rain, dust and filth.... I doubt if there was a single fish-shop in Edinburgh so early as the year 1822.' The fruit and vegetable market was quite as bad, managed by 'a college of old gin-drinking women, who congregated with stools and tables round the Tron Church.' The fruit was put on the tables, but the vegetables were thrown on the ground. 'I doubt, Cockburn adds, 'if there was a fruit-shop in Edinburgh in 1815. All shops indeed meant for the sale of any article on which there was a local tax or market-custom, were discouraged by the magistrates or their tacksman as interfering with the collection of the dues. The growth of shops of all kinds in the New Town is remarkable. I believe there were not half a dozen of them in the whole New Town, west of St. Andrew Street, in 1810. The dislike to them was so great, that any proprietor who allowed one was abused as an unneighbourly fellow.'

In February 1827 a poisoning case came up for trial which excited great interest in the city. Scott has given a life-like sketch of the scene in his _Journal_. 'In Court, and waited to see the poisoning woman. She is clearly guilty, but as one or two witnesses said the poor wench hinted an intention to poison herself, the jury gave that bastard verdict, _Not Proven_. I hate that Caledonian _medium quid_. One who is not _proven guilty_ is innocent in the eye of the law. It was a face to do or die, or perhaps to do to die. Thin features, which have been handsome, a flashing eye, an acute and aquiline nose, lips much marked, as arguing decision, and, I think, bad temper--they were thin, and habitually compressed, rather turned down at the corners, as one of a rather melancholy disposition. There was an awful crowd; but, sitting within the bar, I had the pleasure of seeing much at my ease; the constables knocking the other folks about, which was of course very entertaining.'

Referring to the same incident, Lord Cockburn says that Scott's description of the woman is very correct; 'she was like a vindictive masculine witch. I remember him sitting within the bar looking at her. As we were moving out, Sir Walter Scott's remark upon the acquittal was, "Well, sirs, all I can say is that if that woman was my wife I should take good care to be my own cook."'

It is somewhat startling to find Scott so strongly denouncing our Caledonian verdict of _Not Proven_. _Pace tanti viri_, his opinion is not ours. A jury may be convinced of the guilt of a person, and yet quite satisfied that the prosecution has failed to prove it. _Experto crede_; in a criminal case in the Sheriff Court I have been on a jury that was absolutely unanimous on both points, the police evidence having been got up in a most perfunctory style. It was very satisfactory to us to be able to say 'Not Proven,' which was absolutely accurate, and yet not to be obliged to give the prisoner a certificate of innocence. Probably this verdict, while at times favouring the guilty, has saved the life of many an innocent victim of circumstantial fatality. It is entirely in favour of the innocent 'suspect,' to whom every day of respite is an additional chance of clearing his name: to the guilty it is an effective punishment, since any day may bring to light the defective links in the proof of his guilt.

*CHAPTER LXIII*

Visit of Richardson and Cockburn to Abbotsford--Sir Walter at Home--Anecdote of Cranstoun--Patterson's Anecdotes--The Burke and Hare Murders--Anecdote of Cockburn--Dr. Knox--Catholic Emancipation Bill--Meeting in Edinburgh--Death of Terry and Shortreed--Severe Illness of Scott--Death of Tom Purdie.

John Richardson, 'the learned Peerage lawyer,' was the intimate of Henry Cockburn, and the favoured and highly prized friend of Sir Walter Scott. He tells a good fishing story of earlier days when he visited Sir Walter at Ashestiel. Richardson was fishing in the Tweed, Scott walking by his side, when, after the capture of numerous fine trout, he hooked something greater and unseen. Scott became greatly excited: to their common alarm the rod broke; but climbing the bank and holding the rod down, the angler at last managed to bring his mysterious prize round a small peninsula towards the bank. Then 'Sir Walter jumped into the water, seized him, and threw him out on the grass. Tom Purdie came up a little time after, and was certainly rather discomposed at my success. "It will be some sea brute," he observed; but he became satisfied that it was a fine river-trout, and such as, he afterwards admitted, had not been killed in Tweed for twenty years; and when I moved down the water, he went, as Sir Walter afterwards observed, and gave it a kick on the head, observing, "To be ta'en by the like o' him frae Lunnon!"'

The two friends met again in very different form in 1828, when Cockburn accompanied Richardson to visit Scott at Abbotsford. Apropos of this visit we have happily a very fine description by Cockburn of Scott and his talk at this time. He describes his appearance thus: 'When fitted up for dinner, he was like any other comfortably ill-dressed gentleman. But in the morning, with the large coarse jacket, great stick, and leathern cap, he was Dandy Dinmont or Dirk Hatteraick--a poacher or a smuggler.' Scott gave them an anecdote of an early anticipation regarding the professional prospects of their friend George Cranstoun, who had been recently raised to the bench. Just after being called to the Bar, Cranstoun, William Erskine, and Scott went to dine with an old Selkirk writer, a devoted drinker of the old school. Cranstoun, who was never anything at a debauch, was driven off the field, with a squeamish stomach and a woful countenance, shamefully early. Erskine, always ambitious, adhered to the bowl somewhat longer; but Scott who, as he told us, 'was at home with the hills and the whisky punch,' not only triumphed over these two, but very nearly over the landlord. As they were mounting their horses to ride home, the entertainer let the other two go without speaking to them; but he embraced Scott, assuring him that he would rise high. 'And I'll tell ye what, Maister Walter, that lad Cranstoun may get to the tap o' the bar if he can; but tak my word for't--it's no be by drinking.'

In his _Journal_, 4th April 1829, it is mentioned that one David Patterson wrote to Sir Walter to suggest that he should write on the subject of the Burke and Hare murders, and to offer him for materials his 'invaluable collection of anecdotes.' 'Did ever one hear of the like?' adds Scott. 'The scoundrel has been the companion and patron of such atrocious murderers and kidnappers, and he has the impudence to write to any decent man!'

Burke and Hare were two desperadoes who, for about two years, had carried on a regular trade of murder in Edinburgh, the scene being a gloomy back house, recently demolished, in a close near the north corner of the West Port and Lady Lawson Street. Here they had disposed of sixteen victims, selling all the bodies to the doctors for dissection. The popular excitement when the discovery was made, and when Burke, Hare, and Helen Macdougal were brought to trial, was something unexampled in the city. 'No case,' says Lord Cockburn, 'ever struck the public heart or imagination with greater horror. And no wonder. The regular demand for anatomical subjects, and the high prices given, held out a constant premium to murder; and when it was shown to what danger this exposed the unprotected, every one felt himself living among persons to whom murder was a trade.' At this time Dr. Robert Knox, a very clever surgeon, was the most popular lecturer in the medical school, and into his hands most of the bodies had come. The populace fully believed that he had known that the bodies were those of murdered persons. Few could believe him entirely innocent--a supposition, of course, inconsistent with his anatomical skill. He was, however, acquitted of all blame by the report of an independent and influential committee, and remained in Edinburgh till 1841. Lord Cockburn states that all the Edinburgh anatomists incurred great odium, which he considered most unjust. Tried in view of the invariable, and at that time necessary practice of the profession, the anatomists were, in his opinion, 'spotlessly correct, and Knox the most correct of them all.' It was Cockburn who, as counsel for the defence, secured the acquittal of Helen Macdougal. A story went round that, on finishing his address to the jury and observing its effect, he whispered, 'Infernal hag! the gudgeons swallow it!' This was utterly untrue. The evidence was really insufficient to warrant a conviction, and the defence was, of course, entirely honest. Of the two assassins, Hare escaped by turning King's Evidence, and Burke, the less revolting of the two, was hanged. On the evening of the execution Scott wrote, 'The mob, which was immense, demanded Knox and Hare, but though greedy for more victims, received with shouts the solitary wretch who found his way to the gallows out of five or six who seem not less guilty than he.' Knox's brilliant career was ruined by the incident. He passed the last twenty years of his life in London, in a precarious struggle for a poor existence, and died in 1862.

In March 1829 Edinburgh had a great meeting in favour of Wellington and Peel's measure of Catholic Emancipation. Scott and a number of Tories supported it. His opinion was that the measure ought to satisfy all lovers of peace. But he had his doubts about _Pat_, 'who with all his virtues, is certainly not the most sensible person in the world.' The petition got up by the meeting was signed by eight thousand persons, but the two opposing petitions were much more numerously signed. When the first petition was read in the House of Commons, the name of Sir Walter Scott was received with a great shout of applause, which led Sir Robert Peel to send him a special and very cordial letter of thanks. Of this petition Cockburn, who was prominent in the whole affair, declares that the eight thousand who signed were of a higher and more varied class than ever concurred in any political measure in Edinburgh.

About the middle of May appeared _Anne of Geierstein_, which, as Lockhart has put it, may almost be called the last work of Scott's imaginative genius. To the reader who peruses this story, keeping in mind the time and the circumstances in which it was written, it is full of passages which touchingly depict the past and present emotions of the writer's own career.

The next two months deprived him of two old friends--Terry and Shortreed--with whom, he writes, 'many recollections die.' Meanwhile there was great comfort in the success of his _Magnum Opus_--the collected works.

At the end of this year, 1829, eight volumes had appeared, and the monthly sale was thirty-five thousand. The effect on his spirits was gratifying to his friends, for he had been almost prostrated by fears and anxiety about the health of his eldest son. Then came the first warning of the end. 'Good news of Walter' was succeeded by a serious and alarming attack of illness--in fact a threatening of apoplexy. He obtained relief by cupping, but he had apparently no delusions as to the meaning of the stroke. Writing to tell Walter of his recovery, he talks of coming death, and in view of 'the pro-di-gi-ous sale' of the Novels, he says, 'I should be happy to die a free man; and I am sure you will all be kind to poor Anne, who will miss me most. I don't intend to die a minute sooner than I can help for all this; but when a man takes to making blood instead of water, he is tempted to think on the possibility of his soon making earth.'

Another warning was the loss of his 'old and faithful servant,' the never-failing Tom Purdie. He died suddenly, and on his grave, close to the Abbey at Melrose, may be seen the monument placed there by Sir Walter 'in sorrow for the loss of a humble but sincere friend.' This bereavement was felt so keenly that, for once in his life, Scott was impatient to leave Abbotsford and resume the engrossing cares of the city. 'I am so much shocked, that I really wish to be quit of the country and safe in the town.'

*CHAPTER LXIV*

Last Winter in Edinburgh--The _Ayrshire Tragedy_--Apoplectic Stroke--Retirement from the Clerkship--Visit to Edinburgh--Refusal to stop Literary Work--John Nicolson--Scott at Cadell's House--His Will.

On reaching 'the safety of the town' he began work without delay. The _Ayrshire Tragedy_, his most ambitious attempt in drama, was finished before the close of the year. It is founded on the horrible story of Mure of Auchindrane. The 'tragedy' is, however, really less interesting and dramatic than the simple prose version of the story which forms the preface.

So was Scott's life going on--the regular daily routine of his Court duties and then the daily portion of 'work,' of which, in spite of all that happened, he seems to have done as much in 1830 as in the previous year. There was no immediate warning of the terrible collapse. On the 15th of February he returned from the Court as usual about two o'clock. An old lady was waiting to show him some papers. He sat with her for half an hour, seeming to be occupied with the MS. When he rose from his chair to usher out his visitor, he sank back again. His features were slightly convulsed. After a few minutes he rose and staggered to the drawing-room. His daughter Anne and Miss Lockhart ran to him, but they were not in time--he fell at full length on the floor. A surgeon was fetched without delay, and bleeding proved effective. So fully did he recover his faculties, that he was able shortly to go out as usual, and few noticed any serious change. For a time he and his friends tried to believe that 'the attack had proceeded merely from the stomach.' The symptoms, however, too clearly indicated the more serious danger. 'When we recollect,' says the biographer, 'that both his father and his elder brother died of paralysis, and consider the violences of agitation and exertion to which Sir Walter had been subjected during the four preceding years, the only wonder is that this blow (which had, I suspect, several indistinct harbingers) was deferred so long; there can be none that it was soon followed by others of the same description.'

His health continued to improve till the autumn of this year. He was now preparing to bid farewell to Edinburgh. In July he retired from the Clerkship of Session, receiving an allowance of L800 a year, and refusing (with consent of his masters) a pension of L500, which would have made up the loss of income. The idea of leaving Edinburgh was, all the same, very painful. 'I can hardly' (he wrote at this time) 'form a notion of the possibility that I am not to return to Edinburgh.' The breaking up of a routine which had lasted for twenty-six years, was in itself a serious change. It meant also the loss, during the winter, of the society which helped so much to cheer him. And then, as Lockhart says, 'he had a love for the very stones of Edinburgh, and the thought that he was never again to sleep under a roof of his own in his native city, cost him many a pang.'

His return to Edinburgh in November was for the purpose of consulting his physicians there after another slight attack of apoplexy. One of these was the famous Abercrombie. They prescribed a severe regimen of spare diet, and strongly urged him to cease from brain-work. Lockhart and his relatives did the same. His reply was: 'I am not sure that I am quite myself in all things; but I am sure that in one point there is no change. I mean, that I foresee distinctly that if I were to be idle, I should go mad. In comparison to this, death is no risk to shrink from.' It can be seen from his diary what this 'work' meant; he speaks of being 'fogged with frozen vigils'--of working 'without intermission'--and grudges an afternoon's chat with visitors, 'though well employed and pleasantly.' And all this time the symptoms of physical collapse were growing daily more plain and more painful. 'I speak with an impediment--the constant increase of my lameness--the thigh-joint, knee-joint, and ancle-joint. I should not care for all this, if I were sure of dying handsomely.... But the fear is, lest the blow be not sufficient to destroy life, and that I should linger on, "a driveller and a show."'