Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 283, November 17, 1827», страница 5

Monthly Magazine.

CURIOSITY

If I were to enumerate all the great and venerable personages who indulge in an extensive curiosity, I should never arrive at the end of my subject. Lawyers and physicians are eternal questionists; the clergy are curious, especially on agricultural affairs; the first nobles in the land take in the "John Bull" and the "Age" to gratify the most prurient curiosity. The gentlemen of the Stock Exchange live only from one story to another, and are miserable if a "great man's butler looks grave," without their knowing why. So general indeed is this passion, that one half of every Englishman's time is spent in inquiring after the health of his acquaintance, and the rest in asking "what news?" There is a very respectable knot of persons who go up and down the country asking people their opinion of the pope's infallibility, and what they think of the Virgin Mary; and when they do not get an answer to their mind, they fall to shouting, "The Church is in danger," like a parcel of lunatics. Another set, equally respectable, are chiefly solicitous for your notions concerning the Apocalypse; and to learn whether you read your Bible at all, or whether with or without note or comment. Then again, a third set of the curious are to be seen, mounted upon lamp-posts, and peeping into their neighbours' windows, to learn whether they shave themselves, or employ a barber on a Sunday morning; and a fourth, who cannot find time to go to church, in their anxiety to know that their neighbours do not smoke pipes and drink ale in the time of divine service. In short, society may be considered as one great system of espionage; and the business of every man is not only with the actions, but with the very thoughts of all his neighbours.

New Monthly Magazine.

THE SELECTOR. AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE

[Ecce iterum Crispinus!—We intend to continue our notice of the above work in a series of snatches, or portraitures, for which mode (from its varied and detached character) it is perhaps better calculated than any of its predecessors. Our anticipatory anxiety in selecting the Two Drovers was a forcible illustration of the maxim, Qui dat cito, dat bis; for the extent occupied by the portion already quoted and its interruption, with the immense influx of works recently published, have somewhat interfered with our arrangements. In "the Introduction" to the "Chronicles," Sir Walter Scott avows the authorship of the Waverley Novels, and recapitulates the explanation which took place at the Theatrical Fund Meeting, at Edinburgh, in July last. Sir Walter then proceeds to acknowledge, with gratitude, "hints of subjects and legends" which he received from various quarters, and occasionally used as a foundation of his fictitious compositions, or wove in the shape of episodes; and from these acknowledgments we select the following dram. pers.]

Old Mortality.—It was Mr. Train, supervisor of excise at Dumfries, who recalled to my recollection the history of Old Mortality, although I myself had a personal interview with that celebrated wanderer, so far back as about 1792. He was then engaged in repairing the grave-stones of the Covenanters who had died while imprisoned in the castle of Dunnottar, to which many of them were committed prisoners at the period of Argyle's rising; their place of confinement is still called the Whig's vault. Mr. Train, however, procured for me far more extensive information concerning this singular person, whose name was Patterson, than I had been able to acquire during my short conversation with him. He was (as I may have somewhere already stated) a native of the parish of Closeburn, in Dumfries-shire, and it is believed that domestic affliction, as well as devotional feeling, induced him to commence the wandering mode of life, which he pursued for a very long period. It is more than twenty years since Robert Patterson's death, which took place on the high road near Lockerby, where he was found exhausted and expiring. The white pony, the companion of his pilgrimage, was standing by the side of its dying master; the whole furnishing a scene not unfitted for the pencil. These particulars I had from Mr. Train.

Jennie Deans.—An unknown correspondent (a lady) favoured me with the history of the upright and high principled female, whom, in the "Heart of Mid Lothian," I have termed Jeanie Deans. The circumstance of her refusing to save her sister's life by an act of perjury, and undertaking a pilgrimage to London to obtain her pardon, are both represented as true by my fair and obliging correspondent; and they led me to consider the possibility of rendering a fictitious personage interesting by mere dignity of mind and rectitude of principle, assisted by unpretending good sense and temper, without any of the beauty, grace, talent, accomplishment, and wit, to which a heroine of romance is supposed to have a prescriptive right. If the portrait was received with interest by the public, I am conscious how much it was owing to the truth and force of the original sketch, which I regret that I am unable to present to the public, as it was written with much feeling and spirit.

Bride of Lammermoor.—The terrible catastrophe of the Bride of Lammermoor actually occurred in a Scottish family of rank. The female relative, by whom the melancholy tale was communicated to me many years since, was a near connexion of the family in which the event happened, and always told it with an appearance of melancholy mystery, which enhanced the interest. She had known, in her youth, the brother who rode before the unhappy victim to the fatal altar, who, though then a mere boy, and occupied almost entirely with the gallantry of his own appearance in the bridal procession, could not but remark that the hand of his sister was moist, and cold as that of a statue. It is unnecessary further to withdraw the veil from this scene of family distress, nor, although it occurred more than a hundred years since, might it be altogether agreeable to the representatives of the families concerned in the narrative. It may be proper to say that the events are imitated; but I had neither the means nor intention of copying the manners, or tracing the characters, of the persons concerned in the real story.

The Antiquary.—The character of Jonathan Oldbuck, in the "Antiquary," was partly founded on that of an old friend of my youth, to whom I am indebted for introducing me to Shakspeare, and other invaluable favours; but I thought I had so completely disguised the likeness, that it could not be recognised by any one now alive. I was mistaken, however, and indeed had endangered what I desired should be considered as a secret; for I afterwards learned that a highly respectable gentleman, one of the few surviving friends of my father, and an acute critic, had said, upon the appearance of the work, that he was now convinced who was the author of it, as he recognised, in the "Antiquary," traces of the character of a very intimate friend of my father's family.

Waverley.—The sort of exchange of gallantry between the Baron of Bradwardine and Col. Talbot is a literal fact. [For the real circumstances of the anecdote, we must refer our readers to the "Introduction" itself. It was communicated to Sir Walter by the late Lord Kinedder.]

Guy Mannering.—The origin of Meg Merrilies, and of one or two other personages of the same cast of character, will be found in a review of the Tales of my Landlord in the Quarterly Review of January, 1817.

Legend of Montrose.—The tragic and savage circumstances which are represented as preceding the birth of Allan Mac Aulay, in the "Legend of Montrose," really happened in the family of Stewart of Ardvoirloch. The wager about the candlesticks, whose place was supplied by Highland torch-bearers, was laid and won by one of the Mac Donalds of Keppoch.

I may, however, before dismissing the subject, allude to the various localities which have been affixed to some of the, scenery introduced into these novels, by which, for example, Wolf's-Hope is identified with Fast Castle, in Berwickshire; Tillietudlem with Draphane, in Clydesdale; and the valley in the "Monastery," called Glendearg, with the dale of the Allan, above Lord Somerville's villa, near Melrose. I can only say, that, in these and other instances, I had no purpose of describing any particular local spot; and the resemblance must therefore be of that general kind which necessarily exists betwixt scenes of the same character. The iron-bound coast of Scotland affords upon its headlands and promontories fifty such castles as Wolf's-Hope; every country has a valley more or less resembling Glendearg; and if castles like Tillietudlem. or mansions like the Baron of Bradwardine's, are now less frequently to be met with, it is owing to the rage of indiscriminate destruction, which has removed or ruined so many monuments of antiquity, when they were not protected by their inaccessible situation.—The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters in these novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of the British poets to discover apposite mottos, and, in the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the white paper which represented his shower of snow was exhausted, continued the storm by snowing brown, I drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in some cases, where actual names are affixed to the supposed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seek them in the works, of the authors referred to.—And now the reader may expect me, while in the confessional, to explain the motives why I have so long persisted in disclaiming the works of which I am now writing. To this it would be difficult to give any other reply, save that of Corporal Nym—It was the humour or caprice of the time.

It was not until I had attained the age, of thirty years that I made any serious attempt at distinguishing myself as an author; and at that period, men's hopes, desires, and wishes, have usually acquired something of a decisive character, and are not eagerly and easily diverted into a new channel. When I made the discovery,—for to me it was one,—that by amusing myself with composition, which I felt a delightful occupation, I could also give pleasure to others, and became aware that literary pursuits were likely to engage in future a considerable portion of my time, I felt some alarm that I might acquire those habits of jealousy and fretfulness which have lessened, and even degraded, the character of the children of imagination, and rendered them, by petty squabbles and mutual irritability, the laughing-stock of the people of the world, I resolved, therefore, in this respect, to guard my breast (perhaps an unfriendly critic may add, my brow,) with triple brass, and as much as possible to avoid resting my thoughts and wishes upon literary success, lest I should endanger my own peace of mind and tranquillity by literary failure. It would argue either stupid apathy or ridiculous affectation, to say that I have been insensible to the public applause, when I have been honoured with its testimonies; and still more highly do I prize the invaluable friendships which some temporary popularity has enabled me to form among those most distinguished by talents and genius, and which I venture to hope now rest upon a basis more firm than the circumstances which gave rise to them. Yet feeling all these advantages, as a man ought to do, and must do, I may say, with truth and confidence, that I have tasted of the intoxicating cup with moderation, and that I have never, either in conversation or correspondence, encouraged discussions respecting my own literary pursuits. On the contrary, I have usually found such topics, even when introduced from motives most flattering to myself, rather embarrassing and disagreeable. I have now frankly told my motives for concealment, so far as I am conscious of having any, and the public will forgive the egotism of the detail, as what is necessarily connected with it. I have only to repeat, that I avow myself in print, as formerly in words, the sole and unassisted author of all the novels published as the composition of the "Author of Waverley." I ought to mention, before concluding, that twenty persons at least were, either from intimacy or from the confidence which circumstances rendered necessary, participant of this secret; and as there was no instance, to my knowledge, of any one of the number breaking the confidence required from them, I am the more obliged to them, because the slight and trivial character of the mystery was not qualified to inspire much respect in those intrusted with it.