Chapter XXVI
The Edinburgh Environment—Talk of French Revolution—The ‘Jacobins’—The Volunteers—Irish Row in the Theatre—Mrs. Barbauld’s Visit—Taylor’s Lenore—Scott’s Version—Anecdote of the Skull—End of Love Affair—Reference in Peveril of the Peak.
To understand the environment of Scott about 1794, it is necessary to remember that people’s minds and conversation were almost wholly occupied with the French Revolution. It affected every one, and met one everywhere. Of real sympathy with the French Republic there never was much anywhere in Britain. In Edinburgh, as in several other towns, there were a few persons who affected an admiration for the Republic and for everything French. These were called Jacobins, but they soon disappeared from public view. The name, however, continued to be used as a political nickname, and was applied freely to all who showed sympathy with the idea of reform. There was a belief, more or less vague, among the Tories and the wealthier class generally, that the working men were hostile to the Constitution. Altogether the feelings of loyal men, young and old, were strongly excited. In spring of 1794 Scott wrote to friends in Roxburghshire exulting in the ‘good spirit’ shown by the upper classes in Edinburgh. He was much excited over the enrolment of a regiment of volunteers, in which his brother Thomas was a grenadier, and from which he himself was excluded by his lameness. We can imagine him chafing in soul to be ‘a mere spectator of the drills.’ It was more than his hot, impulsive nature could endure. At last the happy inspiration came to him to propose the formation of a corps of volunteer light horse. The idea was popular, but some time was required to get it carried out.
Meantime an incident happened which vividly illustrates the highly-charged atmosphere of the time and Scott’s romantic excess of loyalty. Some Irish medical students had set themselves to annoy the loyal people in the theatre by calling for seditious tunes and howling down the National Anthem. This foolish conduct was, of course, strongly resented by the audience, and especially by the young Tory lawyers. It was determined to give the Irishmen a lesson, and put a stop to the scandal. ‘Scott’ (says Lockhart) ‘was conspicuous among the juvenile advocates and solicitors who on this grand night assembled in front of the pit, armed with stout cudgels, and determined to have God save the King not only played without interruption but sung in full chorus by both company and audience. The Irishmen were ready at the first note of the anthem. They rose, clapped on their hats, and brandished their shillelaghs; a stern battle ensued, and after many heads had been cracked, the lawyers at length found themselves in possession of the field.’ From a letter of Scott’s written a few days after, it appears that five of the loyal youths had been bound over to keep the peace, and that he personally had knocked down three of the Democrats. His friends said he had ‘signalised himself splendidly in this desperate fray.’ On the occasion of the riots which took place in the course of this troubled year he was active among the special constables sworn in to guard the town.
In the autumn of 1795 Mrs. Barbauld was on a visit to Edinburgh. One evening this distinguished writer read to a party in the house of Dugald Stewart an unpublished poem by William Taylor, a translation of Burger’s ballad of Lenore. Scott was not one of the company. He seems to have been away on one of his usual tours, but on his return in the course of a few weeks, a friend gave him, as best he could, an account of the performance. Scott was deeply interested, and never rested till he had procured a copy of the original German. After reading the poem, he told his friend, Miss Cranstoun, that he was going to write a translation of it himself. He was greatly excited over the matter, and finished his task at one sitting the same night. In the morning, before breakfast, he took his production to Miss Cranstoun, who was not only delighted but astonished. Lockhart quotes from one of her letters, ‘Upon my word, Walter Scott is going to turn out a poet—something of a cross, I think, between Burns and Gray.’ Sir Alexander Wood, to whom also he showed the poem the same day, retained a vivid recollection of the high-strung enthusiasm to which he had worked himself up by dwelling on the wild, unearthly imagery of the ballad. He tells how Scott must needs provide himself with symbols, a skull and cross-bones, which they procured from Dr. John Bell, and which Scott set up as trophies on the top of his little book-case. When Wood visited him, after many years of absence from this country, he saw them again similarly placed in his dressing-room at Abbotsford.
Miss Cranstoun, afterwards Countess of Purgstall, told Captain Basil Hall on her deathbed that she and William Erskine got a few copies of the Lenore printed. She was doing her best for Scott in his courtship of Miss Stuart, and thought the verses might work in his favour. She sent a copy, ‘richly bound and blazoned,’ to Scott, who was in the country at a house where Miss Stuart was also a visitor. This was really Scott’s first publication. The verses were much admired by his friends, but this was all. His pursuit of Miss Stuart presently came to an end, on the announcement of her engagement to Forbes. A most interesting glimpse into the real inwardness of this affair is afforded in Peveril of the Peak, written twenty-six years after. The poet thus soberly moralises, non sine desiderio:—‘The period at which love is formed for the first time, and felt most strongly, is seldom that at which there is much prospect of its being brought to a happy issue. The state of artificial society opposes many complicated obstructions to early marriages; and the chance is very great that such obstacles prove insurmountable. In fine, there are few men who do not look back in secret to some period of their youth, at which a sincere and early affection was repulsed, or betrayed, or became abortive from opposing circumstances. It is these little passages of secret history which leave a tinge of romance in every bosom, scarce permitting us, even in the most busy or the most advanced period of life, to listen with total indifference to a tale of true love.’