Walter Scott - The Man Behind the Books. Walter Scott
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and I wrought not at Boney, but upon the prose works, of which I will have a volume ready to send in on Monday. I got a letter from John Gibson, with an offer by Longman for Napoleon of ten thousand five hundred guineas, which I have advised them to accept. Also I hear there is some doubt of my getting to London, from the indecision of these foolish Londoners.
I don’t care whether I go or no! And yet it is unpleasant to see how one’s motions depend on scoundrels like these. Besides, I would like to be there, were it but to see how the cat jumps. One knows nothing of the world, if you are absent from it so long as I have been.
October 8. — Locker left me this morning. He is of opinion the ministry must soon assume another form, but that the Whigs will not come in. Lord Liverpool holds much by Lord Melville — well in point of judgment — and by the Duke of Wellington — still better, but then the Duke is a soldier — a bad education for a statesman in a free country. The Chancellor is also consulted by the Premier on all law affairs. Canning and Huskisson are at the head of the other party, who may be said to have taken the Cabinet by storm, through sheer dint of talent. I should like to see how these ingredients are working; but by the grace of God, I will take care of putting my finger into the cleft stick.
Locker has promised to get my young cousin Walter Scott on some quarterdeck or other.
Received from Mr. Cadell the second instalment advance of cash on Canongate. It is in English bills and money, in case of my going to town.
October 9. — A gracious letter from Messrs. Abud and Son, bill-brokers, etc.; assure Mr. Gibson that they will institute no legal proceedings against me for four or five weeks. And so I am permitted to spend my money and my leisure to improve the means of paying them their debts, for that is the only use of my present journey. They are Jews: I suppose the devil baits for Jews with a pork griskin. Were I not to exert myself, I wonder where their money is to come from.
A letter from Gillies menacing the world with a foreign miscellany. The plan is a good one, but “he canna haud it,” as John Moodie says. He will think all is done when he has got a set of names, and he will find the difficulty consists not in that, but in getting articles. I wrote on the prose works.
Lord and Lady Minto dined and spent the night at Abbotsford.
October 10. — Well, I must prepare for going to London, and perhaps to Paris. The morning frittered away. I slept till eight o’clock, then our guests till twelve; then walked out to direct some alterations on the quarry, which I think may at little expense be rendered a pretty recess. Wordsworth swears by an old quarry, and is in some degree a supreme authority on such points. Rain came on; returned completely wet. I had next the displeasure to find that I had lost the conclusion of vol. v. of Napoleon, seven or eight pages at least, which I shall have to write over again, unless I can find it. Well, as Othello says, “that’s not much.” My cousin James Scott came to dinner.
I have great unwillingness to set out on this journey; I almost think it ominous; but
“They that look to freits, my master dear,
Their freits will follow them.”
I will stick to my purpose. Answered a letter from Gillies about establishing a foreign journal; a good plan, but I fear in sorry hands. Of those he names as his assistants they who can be useful will do little, and the labours of those who are willing to work will rather hold the publication down. I fear it will not do.
I am downhearted about leaving all my things, after I was quietly settled; it is a kind of disrooting that recalls a thousand painful ideas of former happier journeys. And to be at the mercy of these fellows! God help — but rather God bless — man must help himself.
October 11. — We are ingenious self-tormentors. This journey annoys me more than anything of the kind in my life. My wife’s figure seems to stand before me, and her voice is in my ears — ”Scott, do not go.” It half frightens me. Strong throbbing at my heart, and a disposition to be very sick. It is just the effect of so many feelings which had been lulled asleep by the uniformity of my life, but which awaken on any new subject of agitation. Poor, poor Charlotte!! I cannot daub it further. I get incapable of arranging my papers too. I will go out for half-an-hour. God relieve me!
I quelled this hysterica passio by pushing a walk towards Kaeside and back again, but when I returned I still felt uncomfortable, and all the papers I wanted were out of the way, and all those I did not want seemed to place themselves under my fingers; my cash, according to the nature of riches in general, made to itself wings and fled, I verily believe from one hidingplace to another. To appease this insurrection of the papers, I gave up putting my things in order till tomorrow morning.
Dined at Kippielaw with a party of neighbours. They had cigars for me, very politely. But I must break folks off this. I would [not] willingly be like old Dr. Parr, or any such quiz, who has his tastes and whims, forsooth, that must be gratified. So no cigars on the journey.
October 12. — Reduced my rebellious papers to order. Set out after breakfast, and reached Carlisle at eight o’clock at night.
Rokeby Park, October 13. — We were off before seven, and visiting Appleby Castle by the way (a most interesting and curious place), we got to Morritt’s about halfpast four, where we had as warm a welcome as one of the warmest hearts in the world could give an old friend. I saw his nephew’s wife for the first time, a very pleasing young person. It was great pleasure to me to see Morritt happy in the midst of his family circle, undisturbed, as heretofore, by the sickness of any dear to him.
On recalling my own recollections during my journey I may note that I found great pleasure in my companion’s conversation, as well as in her mode of managing all her little concerns on the road. I am apt to judge of character by good-humour and alacrity in these petty concerns. I think the inconveniences of a journey seem greater to me than formerly; while, on the other hand, the pleasures it affords are rather less. The ascent of Stainmore seemed duller and longer than usual, and Bowes, which used to strike me as a distinguished feature, seemed an ill-formed mass of rubbish, a great deal lower than I had supposed; yet I have seen it twenty times at least. On the other hand, what I lose in my own personal feelings I gain in those of my companion, who shows an intelligent curiosity and interest in what she sees. I enjoy therefore, reflectively, veluti in speculo, the sort of pleasure to which I am now less accessible.
October 14. — Strolled about in the morning with Morritt, and saw his new walk up the Tees, which he is just concocting. Got a pamphlet he has written on the Catholic Question. In 1806 he had other views on that subject, but “live and learn” as they say. One of his squibs against Fox and Grenville’s Administration concludes —
“Though they sleep with the devil, yet theirs is the hope,
On the scum of old England, to rise with the Pope.”
Set off at two, and reached Wetherby to supper and bed.
It was the Corporation of Leeds that by a subscription of £80,000 brought in the anti-Catholic candidate. I remember their subscribing a similar sum to bring in Morritt, if he would have stood.
Saw in Morritt’s possession an original miniature of Milton by Cooper — a valuable thing indeed. The pedigree seemed authentic. It was painted for his favourite daughter — had come into possession of some of the Davenants — was then in the Devonshire collection from which it was stolen. Afterwards purchased by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and at his sale by Morritt or his father. The countenance handsome and dignified, with a strong expression of genius, probably the only portrait of Milton taken from the life excepting the drawing from which Faithorne’s head is done.
[Grantham,] October 15. — Old England is no changeling. It is long since I travelled this road, having come up to town chiefly by sea of late years, but things seem much the same. One race of red-nosed innkeepers are gone, and their widows, eldest sons, or head-waiters exercise hospitality in their room with the same bustle and importance. Other things seem, externally at least, much the same. The land, however, is much better