Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books. Walter Scott
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hints that I should, what am I to do? If I think, why, I shall weep — and that’s nonsense; and I have no friend now — none — to receive my tediousness for half-an-hour of the gloaming. Let me be grateful — I have good news from Abbotsford.
June 5. — Though this be Monday, I am not able to feague it away, as Bayes says. Between correcting proofs and writing letters, I have got as yet but two pages written, and that with labour and a sensation of pain in the chest. I may be bringing on some serious disease by working thus hard; if I had once justice done to other folks, I do not much care, only I would not like to suffer long pain. Harden made me a visit. He argued with me that Lord M. affichéd his own importance, too much at the election, and says Henry is anxious about it. I hinted to him the necessity of counterbalancing it the next time, which will be soon.
Thomson also called about the Bannatyne Club.
These two interruptions did me good, though I am still a poor wretch.
After all, I have fagged through six pages; and made poor Wurmser lay down his sword on the glacis of Mantua — and my head aches — my eyes ache — my back aches — so does my breast — and I am sure my heart aches, and what can Duty ask more?
June 6. — I arose much better this morning, having taken some medicine, which has removed the strange and aching feeling in my back and breast. I believe it is from the diaphragm; it must be looked to, however. I have not yet breakfasted, yet have cleared half my day’s work holding it at the ordinary stint.
Worked hard. John Swinton, my kinsman, came to see me, — very kind and affectionate in his manner; my heart always warms to that Swinton connection, so faithful to old Scottish feelings. Harden was also with me. I talked with him about what Lord M. did at the election; I find that he disapproves — I see these visits took place on the 5th.
June 7. — Again a day of hard work, only at halfpast eight I went to the Dean of Faculty’s to a consultation about Constable, and met with said Dean and Mr. [J.S.] More and J. Gibson. I find they have as high hope of success as lawyers ought to express; and I think I know how our profession speak when sincere. I cannot interest myself deeply in it. When I had come home from such a business, I used to carry the news to poor Charlotte, who dressed her face in sadness or mirth as she saw the news affect me; this hangs lightly about me. I had almost forgot the appointment, if J.G. had not sent me a card, I passed a piper in the street as I went to the Dean’s and could not help giving him a shilling to play Pibroch a Donuil Dhu for luck’s sake — what a child I am!
June 8. — Bilious and headache this morning. A dog howl’d all night and left me little sleep. Poor cur! I dare say he had his distresses, as I have mine. I was obliged to make Dalgleish shut the windows when he appeared at halfpast six, as usual, and did not rise till nine, when me voici. I have often deserved a headache in my younger days without having one, and Nature is, I suppose, paying off old scores. Ay, but then the want of the affectionate care that used to be ready, with lowered voice and stealthy pace, to smooth the pillow — and offer condolence and assistance, — gone — gone — for ever — ever — ever. Well, there is another world, and we’ll meet free from the mortal sorrows and frailties which beset us here. Amen, so be it. Let me change the topic with hand and head, and the heart must follow.
I think that sitting so many days and working so hard may have brought on this headache. I must inflict a walk on myself to-day. Strange that what is my delight in the country is here a sort of penance! Well, but now I think on it, I will go to the Chief-Baron and try to get his Lordship’s opinion about the question with Constable; if I carry it, as there is, I trust, much hope I shall, Mr. Gibson says there will be funds to divide 6s. in the pound, without counting upon getting anything from Constable or Hurst, but sheer hard cash of my own. Such another pull is possible, especially if Boney succeeds, and the rogue had a knack at success. Such another, I say, and we touch ground I believe, for surely Constable, Robinson, etc., must pay something; the struggle is worth waring a headache upon.
I finished five pages to-day, headache, laziness, and all.
June 9. — Corrected a stubborn proof this morning. These battles have been the death of many a man — I think they will be mine. Well but it clears to windward; so we will fag on.
Slept well last night. By the way, how intolerably selfish this Journal makes me seem — so much attention to one’s naturals and non-naturals! Lord Mackenzie called, and we had much chat about business. The late regulations for preparing cases in the Outer-House do not work well, and thus our old machinery, which was very indifferent, is succeeded by a kind that will hardly move at all. Mackenzie says his business is trebled, and that he cannot keep it up. I question whether the extreme strictness of rules of court be advisable in practice they are always evaded, upon an equitable showing. I do not, for instance, lodge a paper debito tempore, and for an accident happening, perhaps through the blunder of a Writer’s apprentice, I am to lose my cause. The penalty is totally disproportioned to the delict, and the consequence is, that means are found out of evasion by legal fictions and the like. The judges listen to these; they become frequent, and the rule of Court ends by being a scarecrow merely. Formerly, delays of this kind were checked by corresponding amendes. But the Court relaxed this petty fine too often. Had they been more strict, and levied the mulct on the agents, with no recourse upon their clients, the abuse might have been remedied. I fear the present rule is too severe to do much good.
One effect of running causes fast through the Courts below is, that they go by scores to appeal, and Lord Gifford has hitherto decided them with such judgment, and so much rapidity, as to give great satisfaction. The consequence will in time be, that the Scottish Supreme Court will be in effect situated in London. Then down fall — as national objects of respect and veneration — the Scottish Bench, the Scottish Bar, the Scottish Law herself, and — and — ”there is an end of an auld sang.” Were I as I have been, I would fight knee-deep in blood ere it came to that. But it is a catastrophe which the great course of events brings daily nearer —
“And who can help it, Dick?”
I shall always be proud of Malachi as having headed back the Southron, or helped to do so, in one instance at least.
June 10. — This was an unusual teind-day at Court. In the morning and evening I corrected proofs — four sheets in number; and I wrote my task of three pages and a little more. Three pages a day will come, at Constable’s rate, to about £12,000 to £15,000 per year. They have sent their claim; it does not frighten me a bit.
June 11. — Bad dreams about poor Charlotte. Woke, thinking my old and inseparable friend beside me; and it was only when I was fully awake that I could persuade myself that she was dark, low, and distant, and that my bed was widowed. I believe the phenomena of dreaming are in a great measure occasioned by the double touch, which takes place when one hand is crossed in sleep upon another. Each gives and receives the impression of touch to and from the other, and this complicated sensation our sleeping fancy ascribes to the agency of another being, when it is in fact produced by our own limbs acting on each other. Well, here goes — incumbite remis.
June 12. — Finished volume third of Napoleon. I resumed it on the 1st of June, the earliest period that I could bend my mind to it after my great loss. Since that time I have lived, to be sure, the life of a hermit, except attending the Court five days in the week for about three hours on an average. Except at that time I have been reading or writing on the subject of Boney, and have finished last night, and sent to printer this morning the last sheets of fiftytwo written since 1st June. It is an awful screed; but grief makes me a housekeeper, and to labour is my only resource. Ballantyne thinks well of the work — very well, but I shall [expect] inaccuracies. An’ it were to do again, I would get some one to look it over. But who could that some one be? Whom is there left of human race that I could hold such close intimacy with? No one. “Tanneguy du Châtel, ou es-tu!”. Worked five pages.
June 13. — I took a walk out last evening after tea, and called on Lord Chief-Commissioner and the Macdonald Buchanans, that kind and friendly clan. The heat is very great, and