Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books. Walter Scott
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April 14. Laboured at proofs and got them sent off, per Mr. Freeling’s cover. So there’s an end of the Chronicles. James rejoices in the conclusion, where there is battle and homicide of all kinds. Always politic to keep a trot for the avenue, like the Irish postilions. J.B. always calls to the boys to flog before the carriage gets out of the innyard. How we have driven the stage I know not and care not — except with a view to extricating my difficulties. I have lost no time in beginning the second series of Grandfather’s Tales, being determined to write as much as I can even here, and deserve by industry the soft pillow I sleep on for the moment.
There is a good scene supposed to have happened between Sam Rogers and a lady of fashion — the reporter, Lord Dudley. Sam enters, takes a stool, creeps close to the lady’s side, who asks his opinion of the last new poem or novel. In a pathetic voice the spectre replies — ”My opinion? I like it very much — but the world don’t like it; but, indeed, I begin to think the world wrong in everything, except with regard to you.” Now, Rogers either must have said this somewhere, or he has it yet to say. We dined at Lord Melville’s.
April 15. — Got the lamentable news that Terry is totally bankrupt. This is a most unexpected blow, though his carelessness about money matters was very great. God help the poor fellow! he has been ill-advised to go abroad, but now returns to stand the storm — old debts, it seems, with principal and interest accumulated, and all the items which load a falling man. And wife such a good and kind creature, and children. Alack! alack! I sought out his solicitor. There are £7000 or more to pay, and the only fund his share in the Adelphi Theatre, worth £5000 and upwards, and then so fine a chance of independence lost. That comes of not being explicit with his affairs. The theatre was a most flourishing concern. I looked at the books, and since have seen Yates. The ruin is inevitable, but I think they will not keep him in prison, but let him earn his bread by his very considerable talents. I shall lose the whole or part of £500 which I lent him, but that is the least of my concern. I hope the theatre is quite good for guaranteeing certain payments in 1829 and 1830. I judge they are in no danger.
I should have gone to the Club to-day, but Sir James Mackintosh had mistaken the day. I was glad of it, so stayed at home.
It is written that nothing shall flourish under my shadow — the Ballantynes, Terry, Nelson, Weber, all came to distress. Nature has written on my brow, “Your shade shall be broad, but there shall be no protection derived from it to aught you favour.”
Sat and smoked and grumbled with Lockhart.
April 16. — We dined at Dr. Young’s; saw Captain Parry, a handsome and pleasant man. In the evening at Mr. Cunliffe’s, where I met sundry old friends — grown older.
April 17. — Made up my “Gurnal,” which had fallen something behind. In this phantasmagorial place the objects of the day come and depart like shadows. Made calls. Gave [C.K.] Sharpe’s memorial to Lord Leveson Gower. Went to Murray’s, where I met a Mr. Jacob, a great economist. He is proposing a mode of supporting the poor, by compelling them to labour by military force, and under a species of military discipline. I see no objection to it, only it will make a rebellion to a certainty; and the tribes of Jacob will certainly cut Jacob’s throat.
Canning’s conversion from popular opinions was strangely brought round. While he was studying at the Temple, and rather entertaining revolutionary opinions, Godwin sent to say that he was coming to breakfast with him, to speak on a subject of the highest importance. Canning knew little of him, but received his visit, and learned to his astonishment, that in expectation of a new order of things, the English Jacobins desired to place him, Canning, at the head of their expected revolution. He was much struck, and asked time to think what course he should take — and, having thought the matter over, he went to Mr. Pitt and made the Anti-Jacobin confession of faith, in which he persevered until — — . Canning himself mentioned this to Sir W. Knighton, upon occasion of giving a place in the Charterhouse, of some ten pounds a year, to Godwin’s brother. He could scarce do less for one who had offered him the dictator’s curule chair.
Dined with Rogers with all my own family, and met Sharp, Lord John Russell, Jekyll, and others. The conversation flagged as usual, and jokes were fired like minute guns, producing an effect not much less melancholy, — a wit should always have an atmosphere congenial to him, otherwise he will not shine. Went to Lady Davy’s, where I saw the kind face, and heard the no less friendly greeting, of Lady Selkirk, who introduced all her children to me.
April 18. — Breakfasted with Joanna Baillie, and found that gifted person extremely well, and in the display of all her native knowledge of character and benevolence. She looks more aged, however. I would give as much to have a capital picture of her as for any portrait in the world. She gave me a manuscript play to read upon Witchcraft. Dined with the Dean of Chester, Dr. Phillpotts.
“Where all above us was a solemn row
Of priest and deacons, so were all below.”
There were the amiable Bishop of London (Howley), Coplestone, whom I remember a first man at Oxford, now Bishop of Llandaff, the Dean of St. Paul’s, and other dignitaries of whom I knew less. It was a very pleasant day — the wigs against the wits for a guinea in point of conversation. Anne looked queer, and much disposed to laugh at finding herself placed betwixt two prelates [in black petticoats].
April 19. — Breakfasted with Sir George Philips. Had his receipt against the blossoms being injured by frost. It consists in watering them plentifully before sunrise. This is like the mode of thawing beef. We had a pleasant morning, much the better that Morritt was with us. He has agreed to go to Hampton Court with us tomorrow.
Mr. Reynolds called on me about the drawing of the Laird’s Jock; he is assiduous and attentive, but a little forward. Poor Gillies also called. Both asked me to dinner, but I refused. I do not incline to make what is called literary acquaintances; and as for poor G., it is wild to talk about his giving dinner to others, when he can hardly get credit for his own.
Dined with Sir Robert Henry Inglis, and met Sir Thomas
Acland, my old and kind friend. I was happy to see him. He may be considered now as the head of the religious party in the House of Commons, a powerful body which Wilberforce long commanded. It is a difficult situation; for the adaptation of religious motives to earthly policy is apt — among the infinite delusions of the human heart — to be a snare. But I could confide much in Sir T. Acland’s honour and integrity. Bishop Blomfield [of Chester], one of the most learned prelates of the church, also dined.
Coming home, an Irish coachman drove us into a cul de sac, near Battersea Bridge. We were obliged to get out in the rain. The people admitted us into their houses, where they were having their bit of supper, assisted with lights, etc., and, to the honour of London, neither asked nor expected gratification.
April 20. — We went to Walter’s quarters in a body, and saw Hampton Court, with which I was more struck than when I saw it for the first time, about 1806. The pictures are not very excellent, but they are curious, which is as interesting, except to connoisseurs. Two I particularly remarked, of James I. and Charles I. eating in public. The old part of the palace, built by Wolsey, is extremely fine. Two handsome halls are still preserved: one, the ceiling of which is garnished, at the crossing and combining of the arches, with the recurring heads of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn — great stinginess in Henry, for these ornaments must have been put up after Wolsey’s fall. He could surely afford a diversity of this species of ornament if any man could. Formerly, when the palace was completely a fishing-house, it extended into, or rather over, the river. We had a good dinner from Walter, and wended merrily home.
April 21. — Dining is the principal act of the day in London. We took ours at Kensington with Croker. There were Theodore Hook and other witty men. He looks unhealthy and bloated. There was something, I know not what, awanting to the cheerfulness of the party. And
“Silence like a heavy cloud,
O’er all the warriors hung.”
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