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The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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_December_ 17.--Dined with the Solicitor--Lord Chief-Baron[76]--Sir
William Boothby, nephew of old Sir Brooke, the dandy poet, etc. Annoyed
with anxious presentiments, which the night's post must dispel or
confirm--all in London as bad as possible.

_December_ 18.--Ballantyne called on me this morning. _Venit illa
suprema dies_. My extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from
London which all but positively announce the failure of Hurst and
Robinson, so that Constable & Co. must follow, and I must go with poor
James Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all. But if
they leave me L500, I can still make it L1000 or L1200 a year. And if
they take my salaries of L1300 and L300, they cannot but give me
something out of them. I have been rash in anticipating funds to buy
land, but then I made from L5000 to L10,000 a year, and land was my
temptation. I think nobody can lose a penny--that is one comfort. Men
will think pride has had a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in
thinking that my fall makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have
the satisfaction to recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage
to many, and that some at least will forgive my transient wealth on
account of the innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good
to the poor. This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the
cottages of Abbotsford, which I do not nourish the least hope of
preserving. It has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and
now the recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I
have formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and
profit, will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have
half resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall
with such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was
once the wealthy, the honoured? My children are provided; thank God for
that. I was to have gone there on Saturday in joy and prosperity to
receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish--but
the thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more
than any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love my
dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the tone
of mind with which men should meet distress.

* * * * *

I find my dogs' feet on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me
everywhere--this is nonsense, but it is what they would do could they
know how things are. Poor Will Laidlaw! poor Tom Purdie! this will be
news to wring your heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my
prosperity was daily bread.

Ballantyne behaves like himself, and sinks his own ruin in contemplating
mine. I tried to enrich him indeed, and now all--all is gone. He will
have the "Journal" still, that is a comfort, for sure they cannot find a
better Editor. _They_--alas! who will _they_ be--the _unbekannten Obern_
who are to dispose of my all as they will? Some hard-eyed banker; some
of those men of millions whom I described. Cadell showed more kind and
personal feeling to me than I thought he had possessed. He says there
are some properties of works that will revert to me, the copy-money not
being paid, but it cannot be any very great matter, I should think.

Another person did not afford me all the sympathy I expected, perhaps
because I seemed to need little support, yet that is not her nature,
which is generous and kind. She thinks I have been imprudent, trusting
men so far. Perhaps so--but what could I do? I must sell my books to
some one, and these folks gave me the largest price; if they had kept
their ground I could have brought myself round fast enough by the plan
of 14th December. I now view matters at the very worst, and suppose that
my all must go to supply the deficiencies of Constable. I fear it must
be so. His connections with Hurst and Robinson have been so intimate
that they must be largely involved. This is the worst of the concern;
our own is comparatively plain sailing.

Poor Gillies called yesterday to tell me he was in extremity. God knows
I had every cause to have returned him the same answer. I must think his
situation worse than mine, as through his incoherent, miserable tale, I
could see that he had exhausted each access to credit, and yet fondly
imagines that, bereft of all his accustomed indulgences, he can work
with a literary zeal unknown to his happier days. I hope he may labour
enough to gain the mere support of his family. For myself, the magic
wand of the Unknown is shivered in his grasp. He must henceforth be
termed the Too-well-known. The feast of fancy is over with the feeling
of independence. I can no longer have the delight of waking in the
morning with bright ideas in my mind, haste to commit them to paper, and
count them monthly, as the means of planting such groves, and purchasing
such wastes; replacing my dreams of fiction by other prospective visions
of walks by

"Fountain heads, and pathless groves
Places which pale passion loves."[77]

[Sidenote: Footnote to page 44 in the original MS.:--"Turn back to page
41 and 42. I turned the page accidentally, and the partner of a bankrupt
concern ought not to waste two leaves of paper."]

This cannot be; but I may work substantial husbandry, work history, and
such concerns. They will not be received with the same enthusiasm; at
least I much doubt the general knowledge that an author must write for
his bread, at least for improving his pittance, degrades him and his
productions in the public eye. He falls into the second-rate rank of
estimation:

"While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad,
The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road."[78]

It is a bitter thought; but if tears start at it, let them flow. I am so
much of this mind, that if any one would now offer to relieve all my
embarrassments on condition I would continue the exertions which brought
it there, dear as the place is to me, I hardly think I could undertake
the labour on which I entered with my usual alacrity only this morning,
though not without a boding feeling of my exertions proving useless. Yet
to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was possible. My heart
clings to the place I have created. There is scarce a tree on it that
does not owe its being to me, and the pain of leaving it is greater than
I can tell. I have about L10,000 of Constable's, for which I am bound to
give literary value, but if I am obliged to pay other debts for him, I
will take leave to retain this sum at his credit. We shall have made
some _kittle_ questions of literary property amongst us. Once more,
"Patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards."

I have endeavoured at times to give vent to thoughts naturally so
painful, by writing these notices, partly to keep them at bay by busying
myself with the history of the French Convention. I thank God I can do
both with reasonable composure. I wonder how Anne will bear this
affliction? She is passionate, but stout-hearted and courageous in
important matters, though irritable in trifles. I am glad Lockhart and
his wife are gone. Why? I cannot tell; but I _am_ pleased to be left to
my own regrets without being melted by condolences, though of the most
sincere and affectionate kind.

* * * * *

Anne bears her misfortune gallantly and well, with a natural feeling, no
doubt, of the rank and consideration she is about to lose. Lady Scott is
incredulous, and persists in cherishing hope where there is no ground
for hope. I wish it may not bring on the gloom of spirits which has
given me such distress. If she were the active person she once was that
would not be. Now I fear it more than what Constable or Cadell will tell
me this evening, so that my mind is made up.

Oddly enough, it happened. Mine honest friend Hector came in before
dinner to ask a copy of my seal of Arms, with a sly kindliness of
intimation that it was for some agreeable purpose.

_Half-past Eight_.--I closed this book under the consciousness of
impending ruin, I open it an hour after, thanks be to God, with the
strong hope that matters may be got over safely and honourably, in a
mercantile sense. Cadell came at eight to communicate a letter from
Hurst and Robinson, intimating they had stood the storm, and though
clamorous for assistance from Scotland, saying they had prepared their
strongholds without need of the banks.

[Sidenote: This was a mistake.]

This is all so far well, but I will not borrow any money on my estate
till I see things reasonably safe. Stocks have risen from ---- to ----,
a strong proof that confidence is restored. But I will yield to no
delusive hopes, and fall back fall edge, my resolutions hold.

I shall always think the better of Cadell for this, not merely because
his feet are beautiful on the mountains who brings good tidings, but
because he showed feeling--deep feeling, poor fellow--he who I thought
had no more than his numeration table, and who, if he had had his whole
counting-house full of sensibility, had yet his wife and children to
bestow it upon--I will not forget this if I get through. I love the
virtues of rough and round men; the others are apt to escape in salt
rheum, sal-volatile, and a white pocket-handkerchief. An odd thought
strikes me: when I die will the Journal of these days be taken out of
the ebony cabinet at Abbotsford, and read as the transient pout of a man
worth L60,000, with wonder that the well-seeming Baronet should ever
have experienced such a hitch? Or will it be found in some obscure
lodging-house, where the decayed son of chivalry has hung up his
scutcheon for some 20s. a week, and where one or two old friends will
look grave and whisper to each other, "Poor gentleman," "A well-meaning
man," "Nobody's enemy but his own," "Thought his parts could never wear
out," "Family poorly left," "Pity he took that foolish title"? Who can
answer this question?

* * * * *

What a life mine has been!--half educated, almost wholly neglected or
left to myself, stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and
undervalued in society for a time by most of my companions, 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 to my dying
day. Rich and poor four or five times, once on the verge of ruin, yet
opened new sources of wealth almost overflowing. Now taken in my pitch
of pride, and nearly winged (unless the good news hold), because London
chooses to be in an uproar, and in the tumult of bulls and bears, a poor
inoffensive lion like myself is pushed to the wall. And what is to be
the end of it? God knows. And so ends the catechism.

_December_ 19.--Ballantyne here before breakfast. He looks on Cadell's
last night's news with more confidence than I do; but I must go to work
be my thoughts sober or lively. Constable came in and sat an hour. The
old gentleman is firm as a rock, and scorns the idea of Hurst and
Robinson's stopping. He talks of going up to London next week and making
sales of our interest in W[oodstock] and _Boney_, which would put a
hedge round his finances. He is a very clever fellow, and will, I think,
bear us through.

Dined at Lord Chief-Baron's.[79] Lord Justice-Clerk; Lord President;[80]
Captain Scarlett,[81] a gentlemanlike young man, the son of the great
Counsel,[82] and a friend of my son Walter; Lady Charlotte Hope, and
other woman-kind; R. Dundas of Arniston, and his pleasant and
good-humoured little wife, whose quick intelligent look pleases me more,
though her face be plain, than a hundred mechanical beauties.

_December_ 20.--I like Ch. Ba. Shepherd very much--- as much, I think,
as any man I have learned to know of late years. There is a neatness and
precision, a closeness and truth, in the tone of his conversation, which
shows what a lawyer he must have been. Perfect good-humour and suavity
of manner, with a little warmth of temper on suitable occasions. His
great deafness alone prevented him from being Lord Chief-Justice. I
never saw a man so patient under such a malady. He loves society, and
converses excellently; yet is often obliged, in a mixed company
particularly, to lay aside his trumpet, retire into himself, and
withdraw from the talk. He does this with an expression of patience on
his countenance which touches one much. He has occasion for patience
otherwise, I should think, for Lady S. is fine and fidgety, and too
anxious to have everything _pointe devise_.

Constable's licence for the Dedication is come, which will make him
happy.[83]

Dined with James Ballantyne, and met my old friend Mathews, the
comedian, with his son, now grown up a clever, rather forward lad, who
makes songs in the style of James Smith or Colman, and sings them with
spirit; rather lengthy though.

_December 21._--There have been odd associations attending my two last
meetings with Mathews. The last time I saw him, before yesterday
evening, he dined with me in company with poor Sir Alexander Boswell,
who was killed within two or three months.[84] I never saw Sir Alexander
more.[85] The time before was in 1815, when John Scott of Gala and I
were returning from France, and passed through London, when we brought
Mathews down as far as Leamington. Poor Byron lunched, or rather made an
early dinner, with us at Long's, and a most brilliant day we had of it.
I never saw Byron so full of fun, frolic, wit, and whim: he was as
playful as a kitten. Well, I never saw him again.[86] So this man of
mirth, with his merry meetings, has brought me no luck. I like better
that he should throw in his talent of mimicry and humour into the
present current tone of the company, than that he should be required to
give this, that, and t'other _bit_ selected from his public recitations.
They are good certainly--excellent; but then you _must_ laugh, and that
is always severe to me. When I do laugh in sincerity, the joke must be
or seem unpremeditated. I could not help thinking, in the midst of the
glee, what gloom had lately been over the minds of three of the company,
Cadell, J.B., and the Journalist. What a strange scene if the surge of
conversation could suddenly ebb like the tide, and [show] us the state
of people's real minds! Savary[87] might have been gay in such a party
with all his forgeries in his heart.

"No eyes the rooks discover
Which lurk beneath the deep."[88]

Life could not be endured were it seen in reality.

Things are mending in town, and H[urst] and R[obinson] write with
confidence, and are, it would seem, strongly supported by wealthy
friends. Cadell and Constable are confident of their making their way
through the storm, and the impression of their stability is general in
London. I hear the same from Lockhart. Indeed, I now believe that they
wrote gloomy letters to Constable, chiefly to get as much money out of
them as they possibly could. But they had well-nigh overdone it. This
being Teind Wednesday must be a day of leisure and labour. Sophia has
got a house, 25 Pall Mall. Dined at home with Lady Scott and Anne.

_December_ 22.--I wrote six of my close pages yesterday, which is about
twenty-four pages in print. What is more, I think it comes off
twangingly. The story is so very interesting in itself, that there is no
fear of the book answering.[89] Superficial it must be, but I do not
disown the charge. Better a superficial book, which brings well and
strikingly together the known and acknowledged facts, than a dull boring
narrative, pausing to see further into a mill-stone at every moment than
the nature of the mill-stone admits. Nothing is so tiresome as walking
through some beautiful scene with a _minute philosopher_, a botanist, or
pebble-gatherer, who is eternally calling your attention from the grand
features of the natural scenery to look at grasses and chucky-stones.
Yet, in their way, they give useful information; and so does the minute
historian. Gad, I think that will look well in the preface. My bile is
quite gone. I really believe it arose from mere anxiety. What a
wonderful connection between the mind and body!

The air of "Bonnie Dundee" running in my head to-day, I [wrote] a few
verses to it before dinner, taking the key-note from the story of
Clavers leaving the Scottish Convention of Estates in 1688-9.[90] I
wonder if they are good. Ah! poor Will Erskine![91] thou couldst and
wouldst have told me. I must consult J.B., who is as honest as was W.E.
But then, though he has good taste too, there is a little of Big Bow-wow
about it. Can't say what made me take a frisk so uncommon of late years,
as to write verses of freewill. I suppose the same impulse which makes
birds sing when the storm seems blown over.

Dined at Lord Minto's. There were Lord and Lady Ruthven, Will Clerk, and
Thomas Thomson,--a right choice party. There was also my very old friend
Mrs. Brydone, the relict of the traveller,[92] and daughter of Principal
Robertson, and really worthy of such a connection--Lady Minto, who is
also peculiarly agreeable--and her sister, Mrs. Admiral Adam, in the
evening.

_December_ 23.--The present Lord Minto is a very agreeable,
well-informed, and sensible man, but he possesses neither the high
breeding, ease of manner, nor eloquence of his father, the first Earl.
That Sir Gilbert was indeed a man among a thousand. I knew him very
intimately in the beginning of the century, and, which was very
agreeable, was much at his house on very easy terms. He loved the Muses,
and worshipped them in secret, and used to read some of his poetry,
which was but middling.

Tom Campbell lived at Minto, but it was in a state of dependence which
he brooked very ill. He was kindly treated, but would not see it in the
right view, and suspected slights, and so on, where no such thing was
meant. There was a turn of Savage about Tom though without his
blackguardism--a kind of waywardness of mind and irritability that must
have made a man of his genius truly unhappy. Lord Minto, with the
mildest manners, was very tenacious of his opinions, although he changed
them twice in the crisis of politics. He was the early friend of Fox,
and made a figure towards the end of the American war, or during the
struggles betwixt Fox and Pitt. Then came the Revolution, and he joined
the Anti-Gallican party so keenly, that he declared against Addington's
peace with France, and was for a time, I believe, a Wyndhamite. He was
reconciled to the Whigs on the Fox and Grenville coalition; but I have
heard that Fox, contrary to his wont, retained such personal feelings as
made him object to Sir Gilbert Elliot's having a seat in the Cabinet; so
he was sent as Governor-General to India--a better thing, I take it, for
his fortune. He died shortly after his return,[93] at Hatfield or
Barnet, on his way down to his native country. He was a most pleasing
and amiable man. I was very sorry for his death, though I do not know
how we should have met, for the contested election in 1805 [in
Roxburghshire] had placed some coldness betwixt the present Lord and me.
I was certainly anxious for Sir Alexander Don, both as friend of my most
kind friend Charles, Duke of Buccleuch, and on political accounts; and
those thwartings are what men in public life do not like to endure.
After a cessation of friendship for some years, we have come about
again. We never had the slightest personal dispute or disagreement. But
politics are the blowpipe beneath whose influence the best cemented
friendships too often dissever; and ours, after all, was only a very
familiar acquaintance.

It is very odd that the common people at Minto and the neighbourhood
will not believe to this hour that the first Earl is dead. They think he
had done something in India which he could not answer for--that the
house was rebuilt on a scale unusually large to give him a suite of
secret apartments, and that he often walks about the woods and crags of
Minto at night, with a white nightcap, and long white beard. The
circumstance of his having died on the road down to Scotland is the sole
foundation of this absurd legend, which shows how willing the vulgar are
to gull themselves when they can find no one else to take the trouble. I
have seen people who could read, write, and cipher, shrug their
shoulders and look mysterious when this subject was mentioned. One very
absurd addition was made on occasion of a great ball at Minto House,
which it was said was given to draw all people away from the grounds,
that the concealed Earl might have leisure for his exercise. This was on
the principle in the German play,[94] where, to hide their conspiracy,
the associates join in a chorus song.

We dined at home; Mr. Davidoff and his tutor kept an engagement with us
to dinner notwithstanding the death of the Emperor Alexander. They went
to the play with the womankind; I stayed at home to write.

_December_ 24.--Wrote Walter and Jane, and gave the former an account of
how things had been in the money market, and the loan of L10,000.
Constable has a scheme of publishing the works of the Author of
W[averley] in a superior style, at L1, 1s. volume. He says he will
answer for making L20,000 of this, and liberally offered me any share of
the profit. I have no great claim to any, as I have only to contribute
the notes, which are light work; yet a few thousands coming in will be a
good thing--besides the P[rinting] Office. Constable, though
valetudinary, and cross with his partner, is certainly as good a pilot
in these rough seas as ever man put faith in. His rally has put me in
mind of the old song:--

"The tailor raise and shook his duds,
He gar'd the BILLS flee aff in cluds,
And they that stayed gat fearfu' thuds--
The tailor proved a man, O."[95]

We are for Abbotsford to-day, with a light heart.

_Abbotsford, December_ 25.--Arrived here last night at seven. Our halls
are silent compared to last year, but let us be thankful--when we think
how near the chance appeared but a week since that these halls would
have been ours no longer. _Barbarus has segetes? Nullum numen abest, si
sit prudentia_. There shall be no lack of wisdom. But come--_il faut
cultiver notre jardin_.[96] Let us see: I will write out the "Bonnets of
Bonnie Dundee"; I will sketch a preface to _La Rochejacquelin_ for
_Constable's Miscellany,_ and try about a specimen of notes for the
W[averley Novels]. Together with letters and by-business, it will be a
good day's work.

"I make a vow,
And keep it true."

I will accept no invitation for dinner, save one to Newton-Don, and
Mertoun to-morrow, instead of Christmas Day. On this day of general
devotion I have a particular call for gratitude!!

* * * * *

My God! what poor creatures we are! After all my fair proposals
yesterday, I was seized with a most violent pain in the right kidney and
parts adjacent, which, joined to deadly sickness which it brought on,
forced me instantly to go to bed and send for Clarkson.[97] He came and
inquired, pronouncing the complaint to be gravel augmented by bile. I
was in great agony till about two o'clock, but awoke with the pain gone.
I got up, had a fire in my dressing-closet, and had Dalgleish to shave
me--two trifles, which I only mention, because they are contrary to my
hardy and independent personal habits. But although a man cannot be a
hero to his valet, his valet in sickness becomes of great use to him. I
cannot expect that this first will be the last visit of this cruel
complaint; but shall we receive good at the hand of God, and not receive
evil?

_December 27th_.--Slept twelve hours at a stretch, being much exhausted.
Totally without pain to-day, but uncomfortable from the effects of
calomel, which, with me at least, is like the assistance of an auxiliary
army, just one degree more tolerable than the enemy it chases away.
Calomel contemplations are not worth recording. I wrote an introduction
and a few notes to the _Memoirs of Madame La Rochejacquelin_,[98] being
all that I was equal to.

Sir Adam Ferguson came over and tried to marry my verses to the tune of
"Bonnie Dundee." They seem well adapted to each other. Dined with Lady
Scott and Anne.

Worked at Pepys in the evening, with the purpose of review for
Lockhart.[99] Notwithstanding the depressing effects of the calomel, I
feel the pleasure of being alone and uninterrupted. Few men, leading a
quiet life, and without any strong or highly varied change of
circumstances, have seen more variety of society than I--few have
enjoyed it more, or been _bored_, as it is called, less by the company
of tiresome people. I have rarely, if ever, found any one, out of whom I
could not extract amusement or edification; and were I obliged to
account for hints afforded on such occasions, I should make an ample
deduction from my inventive powers. Still, however, from the earliest
time I can remember, I preferred the pleasure of being alone to waiting
for visitors, and have often taken a bannock and a bit of cheese to the
wood or hill, to avoid dining with company. As I grew from boyhood to
manhood I saw this would not do; and that to gain a place in men's
esteem I must mix and bustle with them. Pride and an excitation of
spirits supplied the real pleasure which others seem to feel in society,
and certainly upon many occasions it was real. Still, if the question
was, eternal company, without the power of retiring within yourself, or
solitary confinement for life, I should say, "Turnkey, lock the cell!"
My life, though not without its fits of waking and strong exertion, has
been a sort of dream, spent in

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