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[1] Hansard's "House of Lord's Debates," July 15, 1864
[2] "Quarterly Review," vol. cxv. p. 560

ANONYMOUS ON "WAVERLEY"

[From _The Quarterly Review_, July, 1814]

_Waverley; or, 'tis Sixty Years since_. 3 vols. 12mo. Edinburgh, 1814.

We have had so many occasions to invite our readers' attention to that
species of composition called Novels, and have so often stated our
general views of the principles of this very agreeable branch of
literature, that we shall venture on the consideration of our present
subject with but a few observations, and those applicable to a class of
novels, of which it is a favourable specimen.

The earlier novelists wrote at periods when society was not perfectly
formed, and we find that their picture of life was an embodying of their
own conceptions of the "_beau ideal_."--Heroes all generosity and ladies
all chastity, exalted above the vulgarities of society and nature,
maintain, through eternal folios, their visionary virtues, without the
stain of any moral frailty, or the degradation of any human necessities.
But this high-flown style went out of fashion as the great mass of
mankind became more informed of each other's feelings and concerns, and
as a nearer intercourse taught them that the real course of human life
is a conflict of duty and desire, of virtue and passion, of right and
wrong; in the description of which it is difficult to say whether
uniform virtue or unredeemed vice would be in the greater degree tedious
and absurd.

The novelists next endeavoured to exhibit a general view of society. The
characters in Gil Blas and Tom Jones are not individuals so much as
specimens of the human race; and these delightful works have been, are,
and ever will be popular, because they present lively and accurate
delineations of the workings of the human soul, and that every man who
reads them is obliged to confess to himself, that in similar
circumstances with the personages of Le Sage and Fielding, he would
probably have acted in the way in which they are described to have done.

From this species the transition to a third was natural. The first class
was theory--it was improved into a _generic_ description, and that again
led the way to a more particular classification--a copying not of man in
general, but of men of a peculiar nation, profession, or temper, or, to
go a step further--of _individuals_.

Thus Alcander and Cyrus could never have existed in human society--they
are neither French, nor English, nor Italian, because it is only
allegorically that they are _men_. Tom Jones might have been a
Frenchman, and Gil Blas an Englishman, because the essence of their
characters is human nature, and the personal situation of the individual
is almost indifferent to the success of the object which the author
proposed to himself: while, on the other hand, the characters of the
most popular novels of later times are Irish, or Scotch, or French, and
not in the abstract, _men_.--The general operations of nature are
circumscribed to her effects on an individual character, and the modern
novels of this class, compared with the broad and noble style of the
earlier writers, may be considered as Dutch pictures, delightful in
their vivid and minute details of common life, wonderfully entertaining
to the close observer of peculiarities, and highly creditable to the
accuracy, observation and humour of the painter, but exciting none of
those more exalted feelings, giving none of those higher views of the
human soul which delight and exalt the mind of the spectator of Raphael,
Correggio, or Murillo.

But as in a gallery we are glad to see every style of excellence, and
are ready to amuse ourselves with Teniers and Gerard Dow, so we derive
great pleasure from the congenial delineations of Castle Rack-rent and
Waverley; and we are well assured that any reader who is qualified to
judge of the illustration we have borrowed from a sister art, will not
accuse us of undervaluing, by this comparison, either Miss Edgeworth or
the ingenious author of the work now under consideration. We mean only
to say, that the line of writing which they have adopted is less
comprehensive and less sublime, but not that it is less entertaining or
less useful than that of their predecessors. On the contrary, so far as
utility constitutes merit in a novel, we have no hesitation in
preferring the moderns to their predecessors. We do not believe that any
man or woman was ever improved in morals or manners by the reading of
Tom Jones or Peregrine Pickle, though we are confident that many have
profited by the Tales of Fashionable Life, and the Cottagers of
Glenburnie.

We have heard Waverley called a Scotch Castle Rack-rent; and we have
ourselves alluded to a certain resemblance between these works; but we
must beg leave to explain that the resemblance consists only in this,
that the one is a description of the peculiarities of Scottish manners
as the other is of those of Ireland; and that we are far from placing on
the same level the merits and qualities of the works. Waverley is of a
much higher strain, and may be safely placed far above the amusing
vulgarity of Castle Rack-rent, and by the side of Ennui or the Absentee,
the best undoubtedly of Miss Edgeworth's compositions.

* * * * *

We shall conclude this article, which has grown to an immoderate length,
by observing what, indeed, our readers must have already discovered,
that Waverley, who gives his name to the story, is far from being its
hero, and that in truth the interest and merit of the work is derived,
not from any of the ordinary qualities of a novel, but from the truth of
its facts, and the accuracy of its delineations.

We confess that we have, speaking generally, a great objection to what
may be called historical romance, in which real and fictitious
personages, and actual and fabulous events are mixed together to the
utter confusion of the reader, and the unsettling of all accurate
recollections of past transactions; and we cannot but wish that the
ingenious and intelligent author of Waverley had rather employed himself
in recording _historically_ the character and transactions of his
countrymen _Sixty Years since_, than in writing a work, which, though it
may be, in its facts, almost true, and in its delineations perfectly
accurate, will yet, in sixty years _hence_, be regarded, or rather,
probably, _disregarded_, as a _mere_ romance, and the gratuitous
invention of a facetious fancy.

ON SCOTT'S "TALES OF MY LANDLORD"

[From _The Quarterly Review_, January, 1817]

_Tales of My Landlord_. 4 vols. 12mo. Third Edition. Blackwood,
Edinburgh. John Murray, London. 1817.

These Tales belong obviously to a class of novels which we have already
had occasion repeatedly to notice, and which have attracted the
attention of the public in no common degree,--we mean Waverley, Guy
Mannering, and the Antiquary, and we have little hesitation to pronounce
them either entirely, or in a great measure, the work of the same
author. Why he should industriously endeavour to elude observation by
taking leave of us in one character, and then suddenly popping out upon
us in another, we cannot pretend to guess without knowing more of his
personal reasons for preserving so strict an incognito that has hitherto
reached us. We can, however, conceive many reasons for a writer
observing this sort of mystery; not to mention that it has certainly had
its effect in keeping up the interest which his works have excited.

We do not know if the imagination of our author will sink in the opinion
of the public when deprived of that degree of invention which we have
been hitherto disposed to ascribe to him; but we are certain that it
ought to increase the value of his portraits, that human beings have
actually sate for them. These coincidences between fiction and reality
are perhaps the very circumstances to which the success of these novels
is in a great measure to be attributed: for, without depreciating the
merit of the artist, every spectator at once recognizes in those scenes
and faces which are copied from nature an air of distinct reality, which
is not attached to fancy-pieces however happily conceived and
elaborately executed. By what sort of freemasonry, if we may use the
term, the mind arrives at this conviction, we do not pretend to guess,
but every one must have felt that he instinctively and almost insensibly
recognizes in painting, poetry, or other works of imagination, that
which is copied from existing nature, and that he forthwith clings to it
with that kindred interest which thinks nothing which is human
indifferent to humanity. Before therefore we proceed to analyse the work
immediately before us, we beg leave briefly to notice a few
circumstances connected with its predecessors.

Our author has told us it was his object to present a succession of
scenes and characters connected with Scotland in its past and present
state, and we must own that his stories are so slightly constructed as
to remind us of the showman's thread with which he draws up his pictures
and presents them successively to the eye of the spectator. He seems
seriously to have proceeded on Mr. Bays's maxim--"What the deuce is a
plot good for, but to bring in fine things?"--Probability and
perspicuity of narrative are sacrificed with the utmost indifference to
the desire of producing effect; and provided the author can but contrive
to "surprize and elevate," he appears to think that he has done his duty
to the public. Against this slovenly indifference we have already
remonstrated, and we again enter our protest. It is in justice to the
author himself that we do so, because, whatever merit individual scenes
and passages may possess, (and none have been more ready than ourselves
to offer our applause), it is clear that their effect would be greatly
enhanced by being disposed in a clear and continued narrative. We are
the more earnest in this matter, because it seems that the author errs
chiefly from carelessness. There may be something of system in it,
however: for we have remarked, that with an attention which amounts even
to affectation, he has avoided the common language of narrative, and
thrown his story, as much as possible, into a dramatic shape. In many
cases this has added greatly to the effect, by keeping both the actors
and action continually before the reader, and placing him, in some
measure, in the situation of the audience at a theatre, who are
compelled to gather the meaning of the scene from what the _dramatis
personae_ say to each other, and not from any explanation addressed
immediately to themselves. But though the author gain this advantage,
and thereby compel the reader to think of the personages of the novel
and not of the writer, yet the practice, especially pushed to the extent
we have noticed, is a principal cause of the flimsiness and incoherent
texture of which his greatest admirers are compelled to complain. Few
can wish his success more sincerely than we do, and yet without more
attention on his own part, we have great doubts of its continuance.

In addition to the loose and incoherent style of the narration, another
leading fault in these novels is the total want of interest which the
reader attaches to the character of the hero. Waverley, Brown, or
Bertram in Guy Mannering, and Lovel in the Antiquary, are all brethren
of a family; very amiable and very insipid sort of young men. We think
we can perceive that this error is also in some degree occasioned by the
dramatic principle upon which the author frames his plots. His chief
characters are never actors, but always acted upon by the spur of
circumstances, and have their fates uniformly determined by the agency
of the subordinate persons. This arises from the author having usually
represented them as foreigners to whom every thing in Scotland is
strange,--a circumstance which serves as his apology for entering into
many minute details which are reflectively, as it were, addressed to the
reader through the medium of the hero. While he is going into
explanations and details which, addressed directly to the reader, might
appear tiresome and unnecessary, he gives interest to them by exhibiting
the effect which they produce upon the principal person of his drama,
and at the same time obtains a patient hearing for what might otherwise
be passed over without attention. But if he gains this advantage, it is
by sacrificing the character of the hero. No one can be interesting to
the reader who is not himself a prime agent in the scene. This is
understood even by the worthy citizen and his wife, who are introduced
as prolocutors in Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle. When they are
asked what the principal person of the drama shall do?--the answer is
prompt and ready--"Marry, let him come forth and kill a giant." There is
a good deal of tact in the request. Every hero in poetry, in fictitious
narrative, ought to come forth and do or say something or other which no
other person could have done or said; make some sacrifice, surmount some
difficulty, and become interesting to us otherwise than by his mere
appearance on the scene, the passive tool of the other characters.

The insipidity of this author's heroes may be also in part referred to
the readiness with which the twists and turns his story to produce some
immediate and perhaps temporary effect. This could hardly be done
without representing the principal character either as inconsistent or
flexible in his principles. The ease with which Waverley adopts and
after forsakes the Jacobite party in 1745 is a good example of what we
mean. Had he been painted as a steady character, his conduct would have
been improbable. The author was aware of this; and yet, unwilling to
relinquish an opportunity of introducing the interior of the Chevalier's
military court, the circumstances of the battle of Preston-pans, and so
forth, he hesitates not to sacrifice poor Waverley, and to represent him
as a reed blown about at the pleasure of every breeze: a less careless
writer would probably have taken some pains to gain the end proposed in
a more artful and ingenious manner. But our author was hasty, and has
paid the penalty of his haste.

We have hinted that we are disposed to question the originality of these
novels in point of invention, and that in doing so, we do not consider
ourselves as derogating from the merit of the author, to whom, on the
contrary, we give the praise due to one who has collected and brought
out with accuracy and effect, incidents and manners which might
otherwise have slept in oblivion. We proceed to our proofs.[1]

[1] It will be readily conceived that the curious MSS. and other
information of which we have availed ourselves were not accessible
to us in this country; but we have been assiduous in our inquiries;
and are happy enough to possess a correspondent whose researches on
the spot have been indefatigable, and whose kind, and ready
communications have anticipated all our wishes.

* * * * *

The traditions and manners of the Scotch were so blended with
superstitious practices and fears, that the author of these novels seems
to have deemed it incumbent on him, to transfer many more such incidents
to his novels, than seem either probable or natural to an English
reader. It may be some apology that his story would have lost the
national cast, which it was chiefly his object to preserve, had this
been otherwise. There are few families of antiquity in Scotland, which
do not possess some strange legends, told only under promise of secrecy,
and with an air of mystery; in developing which, the influence of the
powers of darkness is referred to. The truth probably is, that the
agency of witches and demons was often made to account for the sudden
disappearance of individuals and similar incidents, too apt to arise out
of the evil dispositions of humanity, in a land where revenge was long
held honourable--where private feuds and civil broils disturbed the
inhabitants for ages--and where justice was but weakly and irregularly
executed. Mr. Law, a conscientious but credulous clergyman of the Kirk
of Scotland, who lived in the seventeenth century, has left behind him a
very curious manuscript, in which, with the political events of that
distracted period, he has intermingled the various portents and
marvellous occurrences which, in common with his age, he ascribed to
supernatural agency. The following extract will serve to illustrate the
taste of this period for the supernatural. When we read such things
recorded by men of sense and education, (and Mr. Law was deficient in
neither), we cannot help remembering the times of paganism, when every
scene, incident, and action, had its appropriate and presiding deity. It
is indeed curious to consider what must have been the sensations of a
person, who lived under this peculiar species of hallucination,
believing himself beset on all hands by invisible agents; one who was
unable to account for the restiveness of a nobleman's carriage horses
otherwise than by the immediate effect of witchcraft: and supposed that
the _sage femme_ of the highest reputation was most likely to devote the
infants to the infernal spirits, upon their very entrance into life.

* * * * *

To the superstitions of the North Britons must be added their peculiar
and characteristic amusements; and here we have some atonement to make
to the memory of the learned Paulus Pleydell, whose compotatory
relaxations, better information now inclines us to think, we mentioned
with somewhat too little reverence. Before the new town of Edinburgh (as
it is called) was built, its inhabitants lodged, as is the practice of
Paris at this day, in large buildings called _lands_, each family
occupying a story, and having access to it by a stair common to all the
inhabitants. These buildings, when they did not front the high street of
the city, composed the sides of little, narrow, unwholesome _closes_ or
lanes. The miserable and confined accommodation which such habitations
afforded, drove _men of business_, as they were called, that is, people
belonging to the law, to hold their professional rendezvouses in
taverns, and many lawyers of eminence spent the principal part of their
time in some tavern of note, transacted their business there, received
the visits of clients with their writers or attornies, and suffered no
imputation from so doing. This practice naturally led to habits of
conviviality, to which the Scottish lawyers, till of very late years,
were rather too much addicted. Few men drank so hard as the counsellors
of the old school, and there survived till of late some veterans who
supported in that respect the character of their predecessors. To vary
the humour of a joyous evening many frolics were resorted to, and the
game of _high jinks_ was one of the most common.[1] In fact, high jinks
was one of the _petits jeux_ with which certain circles were wont to
while away the time; and though it claims no alliance with modern
associations, yet, as it required some shrewdness and dexterity to
support the characters assumed for the occasion, it is not difficult to
conceive that it might have been as interesting and amusing to the
parties engaged in it, as counting the spots of a pack of cards, or
treasuring in memory the rotation in which they are thrown on the table.
The worst of the game was what that age considered as its principal
excellence, namely, that the forfeitures being all commuted for wine, it
proved an encouragement to hard drinking, the prevailing vice of the
age.

[1] We have learned, with some dismay, that one of the ablest lawyers
Scotland ever produced, and who lives to witness (although in
retirement) the various changes which have taken place in her courts
of judicature, a man who has filled with marked distinction the
highest offices of his profession, _tush'd_ (pshaw'd) extremely at
the delicacy of our former criticism. And certainly he claims some
title to do so, having been in his youth not only a witness of such
orgies as are described as proceeding under the auspices of Mr.
Pleydell, but himself a distinguished performer.

On the subject of Davie Gellatley, the fool of the Baron of
Bradwardine's family, we are assured there is ample testimony that a
custom, referred to Shakespeare's time in England, had, and in remote
provinces of Scotland, has still its counterpart, to this day. We do not
mean to say that the professed jester with his bauble and his
party-coloured vestment can be found in any family north of the Tweed. Yet
such a personage held this respectable office in the family of the Earls
of Strathemore within the last century, and his costly holiday dress,
garnished with bells of silver, is still preserved in the Castle of
Glamis. But we are assured, that to a much later period, and even to
this moment, the habits and manners of Scotland have had some tendency
to preserve the existence of this singular order of domestics. There are
(comparatively speaking) no poor's rates in the country parishes of
Scotland, and of course no work-houses to immure either their worn out
poor or the "moping idiot and the madman gay," whom Crabbe characterizes
as the happiest inhabitants of these mansions, because insensible of
their misfortunes. It therefore happens almost necessarily in Scotland,
that the house of the nearest proprietor of wealth and consequence
proves a place of refuge for these outcasts of society; and until the
pressure of the times, and the calculating habits which they have
necessarily generated had rendered the maintenance of a human being
about such a family an object of some consideration, they usually found
an asylum there, and enjoyed the degree of comfort of which their
limited intellect rendered them susceptible. Such idiots were usually
employed in some simple sort of occasional labour; and if we are not
misinformed, the situation of turn-spit was often assigned them, before
the modern improvement of the smoke-jack. But, however employed, they
usually displayed towards their benefactors a sort of instinctive
attachment which was very affecting. We knew one instance in which such
a being refused food for many days, pined away, literally broke his
heart, and died within the space of a very few weeks after his
benefactor's decease. We cannot now pause to deduce the moral inference
which might be derived from such instances. It is however evident, that
if there was a coarseness of mind in deriving amusement from the follies
of these unfortunate beings, a circumstance to the disgrace of which
they were totally insensible, their mode of life was, in other respects,
calculated to promote such a degree of happiness as their faculties
permitted them to enjoy. But besides the amusement which our forefathers
received from witnessing their imperfections and extravagancies, there
was a more legitimate source of pleasure in the wild wit which they
often flung around them with the freedom of Shakespeare's licensed
clowns. There are few houses in Scotland of any note or antiquity where
the witty sayings of some such character are not occasionally quoted at
this very day. The pleasure afforded to our forefathers by such
repartees was no doubt heightened by their wanting the habits of more
elegant amusement. But in Scotland the practice long continued, and in
the house of one of the very first noblemen of that country (a man whose
name is never mentioned without reverence) and that within the last
twenty years, a jester such as we have mentioned stood at the side-table
during dinner, and occasionally amused the guests by his extemporaneous
sallies. Imbecility of this kind was even considered as an apology for
intrusion upon the most solemn occasions. All know the peculiar
reverence with which the Scottish of every rank attend on funeral
ceremonies. Yet within the memory of most of the present generation, an
idiot of an appearance equally hideous and absurd, dressed, as if in
mockery, in a rusty and ragged black coat, decorated with a cravat and
weepers made of white paper in the form of those worn by the deepest
mourners, preceded almost every funeral procession in Edinburgh, as if
to turn into ridicule the last rites paid to mortality.

It has been generally supposed that in the case of these as of other
successful novels, the most prominent and peculiar characters were
sketched from real life. It was only after the death of Smollet, that
two barbers and a shoemaker contended about the character of Strap,
which each asserted was modelled from his own: but even in the lifetime
of the present author, there is scarcely a dale in the pastoral
districts of the southern counties but arrogates to itself the
possession of the original Dandie Dinmont. As for Baillie Mac Wheeble, a
person of the highest eminence in the law perfectly well remembers
having received fees from him.