Chapter XL
Scott and Jeffrey—Founding of Edinburgh Review—Impression in Edinburgh—Its Political and Literary Pretences—Review of Lay by Jeffrey—Strange Mistake—Beautiful Appreciation by Mr. Gladstone quoted—The Dies Irae.
In his Introduction to the Lay Scott mentions, inter alia, that the poem had ‘received the imprimatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had been already for some time distinguished by his critical talent.’ The Edinburgh Review *had been founded on the 10th of October 1802. Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, Brougham, and Horner were the most conspicuous among the founders. Sydney Smith was the first editor. He mentions the fact in the Preface to his Works: ‘I proposed that we should set up a review; this was acceded to with acclamation. I was appointed editor, and remained long enough in Edinburgh to edit the first number of the *Edinburgh Review.’ Cockburn confirms the statement, but points out that the projectors, though he was not at first their formal editor, leant mainly on Jeffrey’s experience and wisdom. Though Smith actually edited the first number, it appears from Jeffrey’s well-known statement that there was no official editor at first. After three numbers had appeared, it was seen that a responsible editor was indispensable. Jeffrey then became editor, under a fixed arrangement with the publisher, Archibald Constable.
Like every other successful literary enterprise, the Edinburgh Review was well fitted to the circumstances and to the time. Historically its importance was far greater than we can now well realise. But we can, from Cockburn’s glowing account of it, to some extent conceive how to the literary youth of the time it appeared a phenomenon as remarkable as the original works of Scott. In his Life of Jeffrey he gives a long and complete account of the founding and the founders of the Review, and says of its first appearance: ‘The effect was electrical. And, instead of expiring, as many wished, in their first effort, the force of the shock was increased on each subsequent discharge. It is impossible for those who did not live at the time, and in the heart of the scene, to feel, or almost to understand the impression made by the new luminary, or the anxieties with which its motions were observed. It was an entire and instant change of everything that the public had been accustomed to in that sort of composition. The old periodical opiates were extinguished at once. The learning of the new Journal, its talent, its spirit, its writing, its independence, were all new; and the surprise was increased by a work so full of public life springing up, suddenly, in a remote part of the kingdom.’
The Review was, of course, obnoxious to the opponents of reform. It was assailed with the usual amount of ridicule and personal abuse, and with prophecies of the speedy demise of so scandalous a publication. Few, indeed, anticipated that it had come to stay. None foresaw the services it was destined to perform. But all watched its progress with intense curiosity and interest. In Edinburgh, naturally, the interest was of the greatest. Men soon perceived that it was creating a new literary reputation for the city. It was something gained when the voice of Edinburgh counted for a power in political affairs. And, of course, with continued success, the voice became stronger, and the importance of Scottish opinion in both politics and literature was more and more widely acknowledged. ‘All were the better for a journal to which every one with an object of due importance had access, which it was vain either to bully or to despise, and of the fame of which even its reasonable haters were inwardly proud.’
Jeffrey’s review of the Lay is, on the whole, creditable to his critical sagacity and taste, though its praise fell far short of the impression made by the poem on the public mind. He made one strange enough blunder. He found fault with the goblin story, which he regarded as an excrescence, not knowing that it was actually the origin and occasion of the whole. He was wrong also in doubting the power of the poet’s genius to inspire an interest in the exploits of the stark moss-troopers, and in the rugged names of the Border heroes and the Border scenes. All these uncouth names are now familiar in our mouths as household words.
To sum up with the Lay, Mr. Gladstone, in that delightful causerie on Scott given to his friends at Hawarden in 1868, said two excellent things about Scott’s poetry. The first is, that Scott’s reputation rests not less on his verse than on his prose. The second is, that his most extraordinary power, his highest genius, is shown at times in his poetry. ‘I know nothing more sublime in the writings of Sir Walter Scott—certainly I know nothing so sublime in any portion of the sacred poetry of modern times—I mean of the present century—as the “Hymn for the Dead,” extending only to twelve lines, which he embodied in the Lay of the Last Minstrel. It is in these words, and they perhaps may be familiar:—
“That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away!
What power shall be the sinner’s stay?
How shall he meet that dreadful day?
When shrivelling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll;
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be THOU the trembling sinner’s stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away!”
Simple as these words, and few as these lines are, they are enough to stamp with greatness the name of the man who wrote them.’