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The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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My little artist, Knight, gets on better with his portrait--the features
are, however, too pinched, I think.

Upon the whole, the days pass pleasantly enough--work till one or two,
then an hour or two's walk in the snow, then lighter work, or reading.
Late dinner, and singing or chat in the evening. Mathews has really all
the will, as well as the talent, to be amusing. He confirms my idea of
ventriloquism (which is an absurd word), as being merely the art of
imitating sounds at a greater or less distance, assisted by some little
points of trick to influence the imagination of the audience--the vulgar
idea of a peculiar organisation (beyond fineness of ear and of
utterance) is nonsense.

_January_ 13.--Our party are about to disperse--

"Like youthful steers unyoked, east, north, and south."[117]

I am not sorry, being one of those whom too much mirth always inclines
to sadness. The missing so many of my own family, together with the
serious inconveniences to which I have been exposed, gave me at present
a desire to be alone. The Skenes return to Edinburgh, so does Mr.
Scrope--_item_, the little artist; Mathews to Newcastle; his son to
Liverpool. So _exeunt omnes._[118]

Mathews assures me that Sheridan was generally very dull in society, and
sate sullen and silent, swallowing glass after glass, rather a hindrance
than a help. But there was a time when he broke out with a resumption of
what had been going on, done with great force, and generally attacking
some person in the company, or some opinion which he had expressed. I
never saw Sheridan but in large parties. He had a Bardolph countenance,
with heavy features, but his eye possessed the most distinguished
brilliancy. Mathews says it is very simple in Tom Moore to admire how
Sheridan came by the means of paying the price of Drury Lane Theatre,
when all the world knows he never paid it at all; and that Lacy, who
sold it, was reduced to want by his breach of faith.[119] Dined quiet
with Anne, Lady Scott, and Gordon.

_January_ 14.--An odd mysterious letter from Constable, who is gone post
to London, to put something to rights which is wrong betwixt them, their
banker, and another moneyed friend. It strikes me to be that sort of
letter which I have seen men write when they are desirous that their
disagreeable intelligence should be rather apprehended than avowed. I
thought he had been in London a fortnight ago, disposing of property to
meet this exigence, and so I think he should. Well, I must have
patience. But these terrors and frights are truly annoying. Luckily the
funny people are gone, and I shall not have the task of grinning when I
am serious enough. Dined as yesterday.

A letter from J.B. mentioning Constable's journey, but without
expressing much, if any, apprehension. He knows C. well, and saw him
before his departure, and makes no doubt of his being able easily to
extricate whatever may be entangled. I will not, therefore, make myself
uneasy. I can help doing so surely, if I will. At least, I have given up
cigars since the year began, and have now no wish to return to the
habit, as it is called. I see no reason why one should not be able to
vanquish, with God's assistance, these noxious thoughts which foretell
evil but cannot remedy it.

_January_ 15.--Like yesterday, a hard frost. Thermometer at 10; water in
my dressing-room frozen to flint; yet I had a fine walk yesterday, the
sun dancing delightfully on "grim Nature's visage hoar."[120] Were it
not the plague of being dragged along by another person, I should like
such weather as well as summer; but having Tom Purdie to do this office
reconciles me to it. _I cannot cleik with John_, as old Mrs. Mure [of
Caldwell] used to say. I mean, that an ordinary menial servant thus
hooked to your side reminds me of the twin bodies mentioned by
Pitscottie, being two trunks on the same waist and legs. One died before
the other, and remained a dead burden on the back of its companion.[121]
Such is close union with a person whom you cannot well converse with,
and whose presence is yet indispensable to your getting on. An actual
companion, whether humble or your equal, is still worse. But Tom Purdie
is just the thing, kneaded up between the friend and servant, as well as
Uncle Toby's bowling-green between sand and clay. You are certain he is
proud as well as patient under his burthen, and you are under no more
constraint than with a pony. I must ride him to-day if the weather holds
up. Meantime I will correct that curious fellow Pepys' Diary,--I mean
the article I have made of it for the _Quarterly_.

_Edinburgh, January_ 16.--Came through cold roads to as cold news. Hurst
and Robinson have suffered a bill of L1000 to come back upon Constable,
which I suppose infers the ruin of both houses. We shall soon see.
Constable, it seems, who was to have set off in the last week of
December, dawdled here till in all human probability his going or
staying became a matter of mighty little consequence. He could not be
there till Monday night, and his resources must have come too late.
Dined with the Skenes.[122]

_January_ 17.--James Ballantyne this morning--good honest fellow, with a
visage as black as the crook.[123] He hopes no salvation; has indeed
taken measures to stop. It is hard, after having fought such a battle.
Have apologised for not attending the Royal Society Club, who have a
_gaudeamus_ on this day, and seemed to count much on my being the
preses.

My old acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth Clerk, sister of Willie, died
suddenly. I cannot choose but wish it had been S.W.S., and yet the
feeling is unmanly. I have Anne, my wife, and Charles to look after. 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_; and, thank God, however uncomfortable, I
do not feel despondent.

I have seen Cadell, Ballantyne, and Hogarth. All advise me to execute a
trust of my property for payment of my obligations. So does John
Gibson,[124] and so I resolve to do. My wife and daughter are gloomy,
but yet patient. I trust by my hold on the works to make it every man's
interest to be very gentle with me. Cadell makes it plain that by
prudence they will, in six months, realise L20,000, which can be
attainable by no effort of their own.

_January_ 18.--He that sleeps too long in the morning, let him borrow
the pillow of a debtor. So says the Spaniard, and so say I. I had of
course an indifferent night of it. I wish these two days were over; but
the worst _is_ over. The Bank of Scotland has behaved very well;
expressing a resolution to serve Constable's house and me to the
uttermost; but as no one can say to what extent Hurst and Robinson's
failure may go, borrowing would but linger it out.

_January_ 19.--During yesterday I received formal visits from my
friends, Skene and Colin Mackenzie (who, I am glad to see, looks well),
with every offer of service. The Royal Bank also sent Sir John Hope and
Sir Henry Jardine[125] to offer to comply with my wishes. The Advocate
came on the same errand. But I gave all the same answer--that my
intention was to put the whole into the hands of a trustee, and to be
contented with the event, and that all I had to ask was time to do so,
and to extricate my affairs. I was assured of every accommodation in
this way. From all quarters I have had the same kindness. Letters from
Constable and Robinson have arrived. The last persist in saying they
will pay all and everybody. They say, moreover, in a postscript, that
had Constable been in town ten days sooner, all would have been well.
When I saw him on 24th December, he proposed starting in three days, but
dallied, God knows why, in a kind of infatuation, I think, till things
had got irretrievably wrong. There would have been no want of support
then, and his stock under his own management would have made a return
immensely greater than it can under any other. _Now_ I fear the loss
must be great, as his fall will involve many of the country dealers who
traded with him.

I feel quite composed and determined to labour. There is no remedy. I
_guess_ (as Mathews makes his Yankees say) that we shall not be troubled
with visitors, and I _calculate_ that I will not go out at all; so what
can I do better than labour? Even yesterday I went about making notes on
_Waverley_, according to Constable's plan. It will do good one day.
To-day, when I lock this volume, I go to W[oodstock]. Heigho!

Knight came to stare at me to complete his portrait. He must have read a
tragic page, compared to what he saw at Abbotsford.[126]

We dined of course at home, and before and after dinner I finished about
twenty printed pages of _Woodstock_, but to what effect others must
judge. A painful scene after dinner, and another after supper,
endeavouring to convince these poor dear creatures that they must not
look for miracles, but consider the misfortune as certain, and only to
be lessened by patience and labour.

_January_ 20.--Indifferent night--very bilious, which may be want of
exercise. A letter from Sir J. Sinclair, whose absurd vanity bids him
thrust his finger into every man's pie, proposing that Hurst and
Robinson should sell their prints, of which he says they have a large
collection, by way of lottery like Boydell.

"In scenes like these which break our heart
Comes Punch, like you and----"

_Mais pourtant, cultivons notre jardin_. The public favour is my only
lottery. I have long enjoyed the foremost prize, and something in my
breast tells me my evil genius will not overwhelm me if I stand by
myself. Why should I not? I have no enemies--many attached friends. The
popular ascendency which I have maintained is of the kind which is
rather improved by frequent appearances before the public. In fact,
critics may say what they will, but "_hain_ your reputation, and _tyne_
your reputation," is a true proverb.[127]

Sir William Forbes called--the same kind, honest friend as ever, with
all offers of assistance,[128] etc. etc. All anxious to serve me, and
careless about their own risk of loss. And these are the cold, hard,
money-making men whose questions and control I apprehended.

Lord Chief Commissioner Adam also came to see me, and the meeting,
though pleasing, was melancholy. It is the first time we have met since
the _break up_ of his hopes in the death of his eldest son on his return
from India, where he was Chief in Council and highly esteemed.[129] The
Commissioner is not a very early friend of mine, for I scarce knew him
till his settlement in Scotland with his present office.[130] But I have
since lived much with him, and taken kindly to him as one of the most
pleasant, kind-hearted, benevolent, and pleasing men I have ever known.
It is high treason among the Tories to express regard for him, or
respect for the Jury Court in which he presides. I was against that
experiment as much as any one. But it is an experiment, and the
establishment (which the fools will not perceive) is the only thing
which I see likely to give some prospects of ambition to our bar, which
has been otherwise so much diminished. As for the Chief Commissioner, I
dare say he jobs, as all other people of consequence do, in elections,
and so forth. But he is the personal friend of the King, and the decided
enemy of whatever strikes at the constitutional rights of the Monarch.
Besides, I love him for the various changes which he has endured through
life, and which have been so great as to make him entitled to be
regarded in one point of view as the most fortunate--in the other, the
most unfortunate--man in the world. He has gained and lost two fortunes
by the same good luck, and the same rash confidence, which raised, and
now threatens, my _peculium_. And his quiet, honourable, and generous
submission under circumstances more painful than mine,--for the loss of
world's wealth was to him aggravated by the death of his youngest and
darling son in the West Indies,--furnished me at the time and now with a
noble example. So the Tories and Whigs may go be d----d together, as
names that have disturbed old Scotland, and torn asunder the most kindly
feelings since the first day they were invented. Yes, ----- them, they
are spells to rouse all our angry passions, and I dare say,
notwithstanding the opinion of my private and calm moments, I will open
on the cry again so soon as something occurs to chafe my mood; and yet,
God knows, I would fight in honourable contest with word or blow for my
political opinions; but I cannot permit that strife to "mix its waters
with my daily meal," those waters of bitterness which poison all mutual
love and confidence betwixt the well-disposed on either side, and
prevent them, if need were, from making mutual concessions and balancing
the constitution against the ultras of both parties. The good man seems
something broken by these afflictions.

_January_ 21.--Susannah in _Tristram Shandy_ thinks death is best met in
bed. I am sure trouble and vexation are not. The watches of the night
pass wearily when disturbed by fruitless regrets and disagreeable
anticipations. But let it pass.

"Well, Goodman Time, or blunt, or keen,
Move thou quick, or take thy leisure,
Longest day will have its e'en,
Weariest life but treads a measure."

I have seen Cadell, who is very much downcast for the risk of their
copyrights being thrown away by a hasty sale. I suggested that if they
went very cheap, some means might be fallen on to keep up their value or
purchase them in. I fear the split betwixt Constable and Cadell will
render impossible what might otherwise be hopeful enough. It is the
Italian race-horses, I think, which, instead of riders, have spurs tied
to their sides, so as to prick them into a constant gallop. Cadell tells
me their gross profit was sometimes L10,000 a year, but much swallowed
up with expenses, and his partner's draughts, which came to L4000
yearly. What there is to show for this, God knows. Constable's apparent
expenses were very much within bounds.

Colin Mackenzie entered, and with his usual kindness engages to use his
influence to recommend some moderate proceeding to Constable's
creditors, such as may permit him to go on and turn that species of
property to account, which no man alive can manage so well as he.

Followed Mr. Gibson with a most melancholy tale. Things are so much
worse with Constable than I apprehended that I shall neither save
Abbotsford nor anything else. Naked we entered the world, and naked we
leave it--blessed be the name of the Lord!

_January_ 22.--I feel neither dishonoured nor broken down by the
bad--now really bad news I have received. I have walked my last on the
domains I have planted--sate the last time in the halls I have built.
But death would have taken them from me if misfortune had spared them.
My poor people whom I loved so well! There is just another die to turn
up against me in this run of ill-luck; _i.e._ if I should break my magic
wand in the fall from this elephant, and lose my popularity with my
fortune. Then _Woodstock_ and _Bony_ may both go to the paper-maker, and
I may take to smoking cigars and drinking grog, or turn devotee, and
intoxicate the brain another way. In prospect of absolute ruin, I wonder
if they would let me leave the Court of Session. I would like, methinks,
to go abroad,

"And lay my bones far from the _Tweed_."

But I find my eyes moistening, and that will not do. I will not yield
without a fight for it. It is odd, when I set myself to work _doggedly_,
as Dr. Johnson would say, I am exactly the same man that I ever was,
neither low-spirited nor _distrait_. In prosperous times I have
sometimes felt my fancy and powers of language flag, but adversity is to
me at least a tonic and bracer; the fountain is awakened from its inmost
recesses, as if the spirit of affliction had troubled it in his passage.

Poor Mr. Pole the harper sent to offer me L500 or L600, probably his
all.[131] There is much good in the world, after all. But I will
involve no friend, either rich or poor. My own right hand shall do
it--else will I be _done_ in the slang language, and _undone_ in common
parlance.

I am glad that, beyond my own family, who are, excepting L.S., young and
able to bear sorrow, of which this is the first taste to some of them,
most of the hearts are past aching which would have once been
inconsolable on this occasion. I do not mean that many will not
seriously regret, and some perhaps lament, my misfortunes. But my dear
mother, my almost sister, Christy R[utherfor]d,[132] poor Will
Erskine--these would have been mourners indeed.

Well--exertion--exertion. O Invention, rouse thyself! May man be kind!
May God be propitious! The worst is, I never quite know when I am right
or wrong; and Ballantyne, who does know in some degree, will fear to
tell me. Lockhart would be worth gold just now, but he too would be too
diffident to speak broad out. All my hope is in the continued indulgence
of the public. I have a funeral-letter to the burial of the Chevalier
Yelin, a foreigner of learning and talent, who has died at the Royal
Hotel. He wished to be introduced to me, and was to have read a paper
before the Royal Society when this introduction was to have taken place.
I was not at the Society that evening, and the poor gentleman was taken
ill at the meeting and unable to proceed. He went to his bed and never
rose again; and now his funeral will be the first public place I shall
appear at. He dead, and I ruined; this is what you call a meeting.[133]

_January_ 23.--Slept ill, not having been abroad these eight
days--_splendida bilis_. Then a dead sleep in the morning, and when the
awakening comes, a strong feeling how well I could dispense with it for
once and for ever. This passes away, however, as better and more dutiful
thoughts arise in my mind. I know not if my imagination has flagged;
probably it has; but at least my powers of labour have not diminished
during the last melancholy week. On Monday and Tuesday my exertions were
suspended. Since Wednesday inclusive I have written thirty-eight of my
close manuscript pages, of which seventy make a volume of the usual
Novel size.

Wrote till twelve A.M., finishing half of what I call a good day's
work--ten pages of print, or rather twelve. Then walked in Princes
Street pleasure-grounds with good Samaritan James Skene, the only one
among my numerous friends who can properly be termed _amicus curarum
mearum,_ others being too busy or too gay, and several being estranged
by habit.[134]

The walks have been conducted on the whole with much taste, though Skene
has undergone much criticism, the usual reward of public exertions, on
account of his plans. It is singular to walk close beneath the grim old
Castle, and to think what scenes it must have seen, and how many
generations of three score and ten have risen and passed away. It is a
place to cure one of too much sensation over earthly subjects of
mutation. My wife and girl's tongues are chatting in a lively manner in
the drawing-room. It does me good to hear them.

_January_ 24.--Constable came yesterday, and saw me for half an hour. He
seemed irritable, but kept his temper under command. Was a little
shocked when I intimated that I was disposed to regard the present works
in progress as my own. I think I saw two things:--(1) That he is
desirous to return into the management of his own affairs without
Cadell, if he can. (2) That he relies on my connection as the way of
helping us out of the slough. Indeed he said he was ruined utterly
without my countenance. I certainly will befriend him if I can, but
Constable without Cadell is like getting the clock without the
pendulum--the one having the ingenuity, the other the caution of the
business. I will see my way before making any bargain, and I will help
them, I am sure, if I can, without endangering my last cast for freedom.
Worked out my task yesterday. My kind friend Mrs. Coutts has got the
cadet-ship for Pringle Shortreed, in which he was peculiarly interested.

I went to the Court for the first time to-day, and, like the man with
the large nose, thought everybody was thinking of me and my mishaps.
Many were, undoubtedly, and all rather regrettingly; some obviously
affected. It is singular to see the difference of men's manner whilst
they strive to be kind or civil in their way of addressing me. Some
smile as they wish me good-day, as if to say, "Think nothing about it,
my lad; it is quite out of our thoughts." Others greeted me with the
affected gravity which one sees and despises at a funeral. The best
bred--all, I believe, meaning equally well--just shook hands and went
on. A foolish puff in the papers, calling on men and gods to assist a
popular author, who, having choused the public of many thousands, had
not the sense to keep wealth when he had it. If I am hard pressed, and
measures used against me, I must use all means of legal defence, and
subscribe myself bankrupt in a petition for sequestration. It is the
course I would have advised a client to take, and would have the effect
of saving my land, which is secured by my son's contract of marriage. I
might save my library, etc., by assistance of friends, and bid my
creditors defiance. But for this I would, in a court of honour, deserve
to lose my spurs. No, if they permit me, I will be their vassal for
life, and dig in the mine of my imagination to find diamonds (or what
may sell for such) to make good my engagements, not to enrich myself.
And this from no reluctance to allow myself to be called the Insolvent,
which I probably am, but because I will not put out of the [power] of my
creditors the resources, mental or literary, which yet remain to me.

Went to the funeral of Chevalier Yelin, the literary foreigner mentioned
on 22d. How many and how various are the ways of affliction! Here is
this poor man dying at a distance from home, his proud heart broken, his
wife and family anxiously expecting letters, and doomed only to learn
they have lost a husband and father for ever. He lies buried on the
Calton Hill, near learned and scientific dust--the graves of David Hume
and John Playfair being side by side.

_January_ 25.--Anne is ill this morning. May God help us! If it should
prove serious, as I have known it in such cases, where am I to find
courage or comfort? A thought has struck me--Can we do nothing for
creditors with the goblin drama, called _Fortunes of Devorgoil_? Could
it not be added to _Woodstock_ as a fourth volume? Terry refused a gift
of it, but he was quite and entirely wrong; it is not good, but it may
be made so. Poor Will Erskine liked it much.[135] Gave my wife her L12
allowance. L24 to last till Wednesday fortnight. _January_ 26.--Spoke
to J.B. last night about _Devorgoil_, who does not seem to relish the
proposal, alleging the comparative failure of _Halidon Hill_. Ay, says
Self-Conceit, but he has not read it; and when he does, it is the sort
of wild fanciful work betwixt heaven and earth, which men of solid parts
do not estimate. Pepys thought Shakespeare's _Midsummer Night's Dream_
the most silly play he had ever seen, and Pepys was probably judging on
the same grounds with J.B., though presumptuous enough to form
conclusions against a very different work from any of mine. How if I
send it to Lockhart by and by?

I called to-day at Constable's; both partners seemed secure that Hurst
and Robinson were to go on and pay. Strange that they should have
stopped. Constable very anxious to have husbanding of the books. I told
him the truth that I would be glad to have his assistance, and that he
should have the benefit of the agency, but that he was not to consider
past transactions as a rule for selling them in future, since I must
needs make the most out of the labours I could: _item_, that I, or
whoever might act for me, would of course, after what has happened, look
especially to the security. He said if Hurst and Robinson were to go on,
bank notes would be laid down. I conceive indeed that they would take
_Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_ almost at loss rather than break the
connection in the public eye. Sir William Arbuthnot and Mr. Kinnear were
very kind. But _cui bono_?[136]

Gibson comes with a joyful face announcing all the creditors had
unanimously agreed to a private trust. This is handsome and
confidential, and must warm my best efforts to get them out of the
scrape. I will not doubt--to doubt is to lose. Sir William Forbes took
the chair, and behaved as he has ever done, with the generosity of
ancient faith and early friendship. They[137] are deeper concerned than
most. In what scenes have Sir William and I not borne share
together--desperate, and almost bloody affrays, rivalries, deep
drinking-matches, and, finally, with the kindest feelings on both sides,
somewhat separated by his retiring much within the bosom of his family,
and I moving little beyond mine. It is fated our planets should cross
though, and that at the periods most interesting for me. Down--down--a
hundred thoughts.

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