The Complete Autobiographical Writings of Sir Walter Scott. Walter Scott
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after receiving the news of the death of his little grandson, and shows the tender relations which existed between Sir Walter and his son-in-law: —
“MY DEAR LOCKHART, — I have written with such regularity that … I will not recur to this painful subject. I hope also I have found you both persuaded that the best thing you can do, both of you, is to come out here, where you would find an inestimable source of amusement, many pleasant people, and living in very peaceful and easy society. I wrote you a full account of my own matters, but I have now more complete [information]. I am ashamed, for the first time in my life, of the two novels, but since the pensive public have taken them, there is no more to be said but to eat my pudding and to hold my tongue. Another thing of great interest requires to be specially mentioned. You may remember a work in which our dear and accomplished friend Lady Louisa condescended to take an oar, and which she has handled most admirably. It is a supposed set of extracts relative to James VI. from a collection in James VI.‘s time, the costume (?) admirably preserved, and, like the fashionable wigs, more natural than one’s own hair. This, with the Lives of the Novelists and some other fragments of my wreck, went ashore in Constable’s, and were sold off to the highest bidder, viz., to Cadell, for himself and me. I wrote one or two fragments in the same style, which I wish should, according to original intention, appear without a name, and were they fairly lightly let off there is no fear of their making a blaze. I sent the whole packet either to yourself or Cadell, with the request. The copy, which I conclude is in your hands by the time this reaches you, might be set up as speedily and quietly as possible, taking some little care to draw the public attention to you, and consulting Lady Louisa about the proofs. The fun is that our excellent friend had forgot the whole affair till I reminded her of her kindness, and was somewhat inclined, like Lady Teazle, to deny the butler and the coach-horse. I have no doubt, however, she will be disposed to bring the matter to an end. The mode of publication I fancy you will agree should rest with Cadell. So, providing that the copy come to hand, which it usually does, though not very regularly, you will do me the kindness to get it out. My story of Malta will be with you by the time you have finished the Letters, and if it succeeds it will in a great measure enable me to attain the long projected and very desirable object of clearing me from all old encumbrances and expiring as rich a man as I could desire in my own freehold. And when you recollect that this has been wrought out in six years, the sum amounting to at least £120,000, it is somewhat of a novelty in literature. I shall be as happy and rich as I please for the last days of my life, and play the good papa with my family without thinking on pounds, shillings, and pence. Cadell, with so fair a prospect before him, is in high spirits, as you will suppose, but I had a most uneasy time from the interruption of our correspondence. However, thank God, it is all as well as I could wish, and a great deal better than I ventured to hope. After the Siege of Malta I intend to close the [series] of Waverley with a poem in the style of the Lay, or rather of the Lady of the Lake, to be a L’Envoy, or final postscript to these tales. The subject is a curious tale of chivalry belonging to Rhodes. Sir Frederick Adam will give me a cast of a steamboat to visit Greece, and you will come and go with me. We live in a Palazzo, which with a coach and the supporters thereof does not, table included, cost £120 or £130 a month. So you will add nothing to our expenses, but give us the great pleasure of assisting you when I fear literary things have a bad time. We will return to Europe through Germany, and see what peradventure we shall behold. I have written repeatedly to you on this subject, for you would really like this country extremely. You cannot tread on it but you set your foot upon some ancient history, and you cannot make scruple, as it is the same thing whether you or I are paymaster. My health continues good, and bettering, as the Yankees say. I have gotten a choice manuscript of old English Romances, left here by Richard, and for which I know I have got a lad can copy them at a shilling a day. The King has granted me liberty to carry it home with me, which is very goodnatured. I expect to secure something for the Roxburghe Club. Our posts begin to get more regular. I hope dear baby is getting better of its accident, poor soul. — Love to Sophia and Walter.
Your affectionate Father,
Walter SCOTT.]
April
April 15, Naples. — I am on the eve of leaving Naples after a residence of three or four months, my strength strongly returning, though the weather has been very uncertain. What with the interruption occasioned by the cholera and other inconveniences, I have not done much. I have sent home only the letters by L.L. Stuart and three volumes of the Siege of Malta. I sent them by Lord Cowper’s son — Mr. Cowper returning, his leave being out — and two chests of books by the Messrs. Turner, Malta, who are to put them on board a vessel, to be forwarded to Mr. Cadell through Whittaker. I have hopes they will come to hand safe. I have bought a small closing carriage, warranted new and English, cost me £200, for the convenience of returning home. It carries Anne, Charles, and the two servants, and we start tomorrow morning for Rome, after which we shall be starting homeward, for the Greek scheme is blown up, as Sir Frederick Adam is said to be going to Madras, so he will be unable to send a frigate as promised. I have spent on the expenses of medical persons and books, etc., a large sum, yet not excessive.
Meantime we [may] have to add a curious journey of it. The brigands, of whom there are so many stories, are afloat once more, and many carriages stopped. A curious and popular work would be a history of these ruffians. Washington Irving has attempted something of the kind, but the person attempting this should be an Italian, perfectly acquainted with his country, character, and manners. Mr. R — — , an apothecary, told me a singular [occurrence] which happened in Calabria about six years ago, and which I may set down just now as coming from a respectable authority, though I do not [vouch it].
Death of il BIZARRO.
This man was called, from his wily but inexorable temper, Il Bizarro, i.e. the Bizar. He was captain of a gang of banditti, whom he governed by his own authority, till he increased them to 1000 men, both on foot and horseback, whom he maintained in the mountains of Calabria, between the French and Neapolitans, both of which he defied, and pillaged the country. High rewards were set upon his head, to very little purpose, as he took care to guard himself against being betrayed by his own gang, the common fate of those banditti who become great in their vocation. At length a French colonel, whose name I have forgot, occupied the country of Bizarro, with such success that he formed a cordon around him and his party, and included him between the folds of a military column. Wellnigh driven to submit himself, the robber with his wife, a very handsome woman, and a child of a few months old, took a position beneath the arch of an old bridge, and, by an escape almost miraculous, were not perceived by a strong party whom the French maintained on the top of the arch. Night at length came without a discovery, which every moment might have made. When it became quite dark, the brigand, enjoining strictest silence on the female and child, resolved to steal from his place of shelter, and as they issued forth, kept his hand on the child’s throat. But as, when they began to move, the child naturally cried, its father in a rage stiffened his grip so relentlessly that the poor infant never offended more in the same manner. This horrid [act] led to the conclusion of the robber’s life.
His wife had never been very fond of him, though he trusted her more than any who approached him. She had been originally the wife of another man, murdered by her second husband, which second marriage she was compelled to undergo, and to affect at least the conduct of an affectionate wife. In their wanderings she alone knew where he slept for the night. He left his men in a body upon the top of an open hill, round which they set watches. He then went apart into the woods with his wife, and having chosen a glen — an obscure and deep thicket of the woods, there took up his residence for the night. A large Calabrian sheepdog, his constant attendant, was then tied to a tree at some distance to secure his slumbers, and having placed his carabine within reach of his lair, he consigned himself to such sleep as belongs to his calling. By such precautions he had secured his rest for many years.
But after the death of the child, the measure of his offence towards the unhappy mother was full to the brim, and her thoughts became determined on revenge. One evening he took up his quarters for the night with these precautions, but without the usual success. He had laid his