GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS
---And must I ravel out My weaved-up follies?
Richard II, Act IV.
Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of thecompositions which are here offered to the public, with Notes andIllustrations, the Author, under whose name they are now for thefirst time collected, feels that he has the delicate task ofspeaking more of himself and his personal concerns than mayperhaps be either graceful or prudent. In this particular he runsthe risk of presenting himself to the public in the relation thatthe dumb wife in the jest-book held to her husband, when, havingspent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of her imperfection,he was willing to have bestowed the other half to restore her toher former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from the taskwhich the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to be aslittle of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhapsan indifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that,having introduced himself in the third person singular, heproceeds in the second paragraph to make use of the first. But itappears to him that the seeming modesty connected with the formermode of writing is overbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffnessand affectation which attends it during a narrative of somelength, and which may be observed less or more in every work inwhich the third person is used, from the Commentaries of Caesar tothe Autobiography of Alexander the Corrector.
I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to pointout my first achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some ofmy old schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had adistinguished character for that talent, at a time when theapplause of my companions was my recompense for the disgraces andpunishments which the future romance-writer incurred for beingidle himself, and keeping others idle, during hours that shouldhave been employed on our tasks. The chief enjoyment of myholidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had the sametaste with myself, and alternately to recite to each other suchwild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles andenchantments, which were continued from one day to another asopportunity offered, without our ever thinking of bringing them toa conclusion. As we observed a strict secrecy on the subject ofthis intercourse, it acquired all the character of a concealedpleasure, and we used to select for the scenes of our indulgencelong walks through the solitary and romantic environs of Arthur'sSeat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar places in thevicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those holidaysstill forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look backupon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, a prosperousgentleman, but too much occupied with graver business to thank mefor indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childishmystery.
When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studiesand graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom offiction, as if it were by a species of fatality. My indispositionarose, in part at least, from my having broken a blood-vessel; andmotion and speech were for a long time pronounced positivelydangerous. For several weeks I was confined strictly to my bed,during which time I was not allowed to speak above a whisper, toeat more than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to have morecovering than one thin counterpane. When the reader is informedthat I was at this time a growing youth, with the spirits,appetite, and impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course,greatly under this severe regimen, which the repeated return of mydisorder rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised that Iwas abandoned to my own discretion, so far as reading (my almostsole amusement) was concerned, and still less so, that I abusedthe indulgence which left my time so much at my own disposal.
There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh,founded, I believe, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besidescontaining a most respectable collection of books of everydescription, was, as might have been expected, peculiarly rich inworks of fiction. It exhibited specimens of every kind, from theromances of chivalry and the ponderous folios of Cyrus andCassandra, down to the most approved works of later times. I wasplunged into this great ocean of reading without compass or pilot;and, unless when some one had the charity to play at chess withme, I was allowed to do nothing save read from morning to night. Iwas, in kindness and pity, which was perhaps erroneous, howevernatural, permitted to select my subjects of study at my ownpleasure, upon the same principle that the humours of children areindulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste and appetitewere gratified in nothing else, I indemnified myself by becoming aglutton of books. Accordingly, I believe I read almost all theromances, old plays, and epic poetry in that formidablecollection, and no doubt was unconsciously amassing materials forthe task in which it has been my lot to be so much employed.
At the same time I did not in all respects abuse the licensepermitted me. Familiar acquaintance with the specious miracles offiction brought with it some degree of satiety, and I began bydegrees to seek in histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, andthe like, events nearly as wonderful as those which were the workof imagination, with the additional advantage that they were atleast in a great measure true. The lapse of nearly two years,during which I was left to the exercise of my own free will, wasfollowed by a temporary residence in the country, where I wasagain very lonely but for the amusement which I derived from agood though old-fashioned library. The vague and wild use which Imade of this advantage I cannot describe better than by referringmy reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a similarsituation, the passages concerning whose course of reading wereimitated from recollections of my own. It must be understood thatthe resemblance extends no farther.
Time, as it glided on, brought the blessings of confirmed healthand personal strength, to a degree which had never been expectedor hoped for. The severe studies necessary to render me fit for myprofession occupied the greater part of my time; and the societyof my friends and companions, who were about to enter life alongwith, me, filled up the interval with the usual amusements ofyoung men. I was in a situation which rendered serious labourindispensable; for, neither possessing, on the one hand, any ofthose peculiar advantages which are supposed to favour a hastyadvance in the profession of the law, nor being, on the otherhand, exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, Imight reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater orless degree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself as apleader.
It makes no part of the present story to detail how the success ofa few ballads had the effect of changing all the purpose and tenorof my life, and of converting a painstaking lawyer of some years'standing into a follower of literature. It is enough to say, thatI had assumed the latter character for several years before Iseriously thought of attempting a work of imagination in prose,although one or two of my poetical attempts did not differ fromromances otherwise than by being written in verse. But yet I mayobserve, that about this time (now, alas! thirty years since) Ihad nourished the ambitious desire of composing a tale ofchivalry, which was to be in the style of the Castle of Otranto,with plenty of Border characters and supernatural incident. Havingfound unexpectedly a chapter of this intended work among some oldpapers, I have subjoined it to this introductory essay, thinkingsome readers may account as curious the first attempts at romanticcomposition by an author who has since written so much in thatdepartment. [Footnote: See Appendix No I.] And those who complain,not unreasonably, of the profusion of the Tales which havefollowed Waverley, may bless their stars at the narrow escape theyhave made, by the commencement of the inundation, which had sonearly taken place in the first year of the century, beingpostponed for fifteen years later.
This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandonthe idea of fictitious composition in prose, though I determinedto give another turn to the style of the work.
My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made sofavourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake,that I was induced to think of attempting something of the samekind in prose. I had been a good deal in the Hi
ghlands at a timewhen they were much less accessible and much less visited thanthey have been of late years, and was acquainted with many of theold warriors of 1745, who were, like most veterans, easily inducedto fight their battles over again for the benefit of a willinglistener like myself. It naturally occurred to me that the ancienttraditions and high spirit of a people who, living in a civilisedage and country, retained so strong a tincture of mannersbelonging to an early period of society, must afford a subjectfavourable for romance, if it should not prove a curious talemarred in the telling.
It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, Ithrew together about one-third part of the first volume ofWaverley. It was advertised to be published by the late Mr. JohnBallantyne, bookseller in Edinburgh, under the name of Waverley;or, 'Tis Fifty Years Since--a title afterwards altered to 'TisSixty Years Since, that the actual date of publication might bemade to correspond with the period in which the scene was laid.Having proceeded as far, I think, as the seventh chapter, I showedmy work to a critical friend, whose opinion was unfavourable; andhaving then some poetical reputation, I was unwilling to risk theloss of it by attempting a new style of composition. I thereforethrew aside the work I had commenced, without either reluctance orremonstrance. I ought to add that, though my ingenious friend'ssentence was afterwards reversed on an appeal to the public, itcannot be considered as any imputation on his good taste; for thespecimen subjected to his criticism did not extend beyond thedeparture of the hero for Scotland, and consequently had notentered upon the part of the story which was finally found mostinteresting.
Be that as it may, this portion of the manuscript was laid asidein the drawers of an old writing-desk, which, on my first comingto reside at Abbotsford in 1811, was placed in a lumber garret andentirely forgotten. Thus, though I sometimes, among other literaryavocations, turned my thoughts to the continuation of the romancewhich I had commenced, yet, as I could not find what I had alreadywritten, after searching such repositories as were within myreach, and was too indolent to attempt to write it anew frommemory, I as often laid aside all thoughts of that nature.
Two circumstances in particular recalled my recollection of themislaid manuscript. The first was the extended and well-meritedfame of Miss Edgeworth, whose Irish characters have gone so far tomake the English familiar with the character of their gay andkind-hearted neighbours of Ireland, that she may be truly said tohave done more towards completing the Union than perhaps all thelegislative enactments by which it has been followed up.
Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the richhumour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervade theworks of my accomplished friend, I felt that something might beattempted for my own country, of the same kind with that whichMiss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland--somethingwhich might introduce her natives to those of the sister kingdomin a more favourable light than they had been placed hitherto, andtend to procure sympathy for their virtues and indulgence fortheir foibles. I thought also, that much of what I wanted intalent might be made up by the intimate acquaintance with thesubject which I could lay claim to possess, as having travelledthrough most parts of Scotland, both Highland and Lowland, havingbeen familiar with the elder as well as more modern race, andhaving had from my infancy free and unrestrained communicationwith all ranks of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to theScottish plough-man. Such ideas often occurred to me, andconstituted an ambitious branch of my theory, however far short Imay have fallen of it in practice.
But it was not only the triumphs of Miss Edgeworth which worked inme emulation, and disturbed my indolence. I chanced actually toengage in a work which formed a sort of essay piece, and gave mehope that I might in time become free of the craft of romance-writing, and be esteemed a tolerable workman.
In the year 1807-08 I undertook, at the request of John Murray,Esq., of Albemarle Street, to arrange for publication someposthumous productions of the late Mr. Joseph Strutt,distinguished as an artist and an antiquary, amongst which was anunfinished romance, entitled Queenhoo Hall. The scene of the talewas laid in the reign of Henry VI, and the work was written toillustrate the manners, customs, and language of the people ofEngland during that period. The extensive acquaintance which Mr.Strutt had acquired with such subjects in compiling his laboriousHorda Angel-Cynnan, his Regal and Ecclesiastical Antiquities, andhis Essay on the Sports and Pastimes of the People of England hadrendered him familiar with all the antiquarian lore necessary forthe purpose of composing the projected romance; and although themanuscript bore the marks of hurry and incoherence natural to thefirst rough draught of the author, it evinced (in my opinion)considerable powers of imagination.
As the work was unfinished, I deemed it my duty, as editor, tosupply such a hasty and inartificial conclusion as could be shapedout from the story, of which Mr. Strutt had laid the foundation.This concluding chapter [Footnote: See Appendix No. II.] is alsoadded to the present Introduction, for the reason alreadymentioned regarding the preceding fragment. It was a step in myadvance towards romantic composition; and to preserve the tracesof these is in a great measure the object of this Essay.
Queenhoo Hall was not, however, very successful. I thought I wasaware of the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his languagetoo ancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge tooliberally, the ingenious author had raised up an obstacle to hisown success. Every work designed for mere amusement must beexpressed in language easily comprehended; and when, as issometimes the case in QUEENHOO HALL, the author addresses himselfexclusively to the antiquary, he must be content to be dismissedby the general reader with the criticism of Mungo, in the PADLOCK,on the Mauritanian music, 'What signifies me hear, if me nounderstand?'
I conceived it possible to avoid this error; and, by rendering asimilar work more light and obvious to general comprehension, toescape the rock on which my predecessor was shipwrecked.
But I was, on the other hand, so far discouraged by theindifferent reception of Mr. Strutt's romance as to becomesatisfied that the manners of the middle ages did not possess theinterest which I had conceived; and was led to form the opinionthat a romance founded on a Highland story and more modern eventswould have a better chance of popularity than a tale of chivalry.
My thoughts, therefore, returned more than once to the tale whichI had actually commenced, and accident at length threw the lostsheets in my way.
I happened to want some fishing-tackle for the use of a guest,when it occurred to me to search the old writing-desk alreadymentioned, in which I used to keep articles of that nature.
I got access to it with some difficulty; and, in looking for linesand flies, the long-lost manuscript presented itself.
I immediately set to work to complete it according to my originalpurpose.
And here I must frankly confess that the mode in which I conductedthe story scarcely deserved the success which the romanceafterwards attained.
The tale of WAVERLEY was put together with so little care that Icannot boast of having sketched any distinct plan of the work. Thewhole adventures of Waverley, in his movements up and down thecountry with the Highland cateran Bean Lean, are managed withoutmuch skill. It suited best, however, the road I wanted to travel,and permitted me to introduce some descriptions of scenery andmanners, to which the reality gave an interest which the powers ofthe Author might have otherwise failed to attain for them. Andthough I have been in other instances a sinner in this sort, I donot recollect any of these novels in which I have transgressed sowidely as in the first of the series.
Among other unfounded reports, it has been said that the copyrightof Waverley was, during the book's progress through the press,offered for sale to various book-sellers in London at a veryinconsiderable price. This was not the case. Messrs. Constable andCadell, who published the work, were the only persons acquaintedwith the contents of the publication, and they offered a large sumfor it while in the course of printing, which, however, wasdeclined, the Author not choosing to part with the copyright.<
br />
The origin of the story of Waverley, and the particular facts onwhich it is founded, are given in the separate introductionprefixed to that romance in this edition, and require no notice inthis place.
Waverley was published in 1814, and, as the title-page waswithout the name of the Author, the work was left to win its wayin the world without any of the usual recommendations. Itsprogress was for some time slow; but after the first two or threemonths its popularity had increased in a degree which must havesatisfied the expectations of the Author, had these been far moresanguine than he ever entertained.
Great anxiety was expressed to learn the name of the Author, buton this no authentic information could be attained. My originalmotive for publishing the work anonymously was the consciousnessthat it was an experiment on the public taste which might veryprobably fail, and therefore there was no occasion to take onmyself the personal risk of discomfiture. For this purposeconsiderable precautions were used to preserve secrecy. My oldfriend and schoolfellow, Mr. James Ballantyne, who printed theseNovels, had the exclusive task of corresponding with the Author,who thus had not only the advantage of his professional talents,but also of his critical abilities. The original manuscript, or,as it is technically called, copy, was transcribed under Mr.Ballantyne's eye by confidential persons; nor was there aninstance of treachery during the many years in which theseprecautions were resorted to, although various individuals wereemployed at different times. Double proof-sheets were regularlyprinted off. One was forwarded to the Author by Mr. Ballantyne,and the alterations which it received were, by his own hand,copied upon the other proof-sheet for the use of the printers, sothat even the corrected proofs of the Author were never seen inthe printing office; and thus the curiosity of such eagerinquirers as made the most minute investigation was entirely atfault.
But although the cause of concealing the Author's name in thefirst instance, when the reception of Waverley was doubtful, wasnatural enough, it is more difficult, it may be thought, toaccount for the same desire for secrecy during the subsequenteditions, to the amount of betwixt eleven and twelve thousandcopies, which followed each other close, and proved the success ofthe work. I am sorry I can give little satisfaction to queries onthis subject. I have already stated elsewhere that I can renderlittle better reason for choosing to remain anonymous than bysaying with Shylock, that such was my humour. It will be observedthat I had not the usual stimulus for desiring personalreputation, the desire, namely, to float amidst the conversationof men. Of literary fame, whether merited or undeserved, I hadalready as much as might have contented a mind more ambitious thanmine; and in entering into this new contest for reputation I mightbe said rather to endanger what I had than to have anyconsiderable chance of acquiring more. I was affected, too, bynone of those motives which, at an earlier period of life, woulddoubtless have operated upon me. My friendships were formed, myplace in society fixed, my life had attained its middle course. Mycondition in society was higher perhaps than I deserved, certainlyas high as I wished, and there was scarce any degree of literarysuccess which could have greatly altered or improved my personalcondition.
I was not, therefore, touched by the spur of ambition, usuallystimulating on such occasions; and yet I ought to stand exculpatedfrom the charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to publicapplause. I did not the less feel gratitude for the public favour,although I did not proclaim it; as the lover who wears hismistress's favour in his bosom is as proud, though not so vain, ofpossessing it as another who displays the token of her grace uponhis bonnet. Far from such an ungracious state of mind, I haveseldom felt more satisfaction than when, returning from a pleasurevoyage, I found Waverley in the zenith of popularity, and publiccuriosity in full cry after the name of the Author. The knowledgethat I had the public approbation was like having the property ofa hidden treasure, not less gratifying to the owner than if allthe world knew that it was his own. Another advantage wasconnected with the secrecy which I observed. I could appear orretreat from the stage at pleasure, without attracting anypersonal notice or attention, other than what might be founded onsuspicion only. In my own person also, as a successful author inanother department of literature, I might have been charged withtoo frequent intrusions on the public patience; but the Author ofWaverley was in this respect as impassible to the critic as theGhost of Hamlet to the partisan of Marcellus. Perhaps thecuriosity of the public, irritated by the existence of a secret,and kept afloat by the discussions which took place on the subjectfrom time to time, went a good way to maintain an unabatedinterest in these frequent publications. There was a mysteryconcerning the Author which each new novel was expected to assistin unravelling, although it might in other respects rank lowerthan its predecessors.
I may perhaps be thought guilty of affectation, should I allege asone reason of my silence a secret dislike to enter on personaldiscussions concerning my own literary labours. It is in everycase a dangerous intercourse for an author to be dwellingcontinually among those who make his writings a frequent andfamiliar subject of conversation, but who must necessarily bepartial judges of works composed in their own society. The habitsof self-importance which are thus acquired by authors are highlyinjurious to a well-regulated mind; for the cup of flattery, if itdoes not, like that of Circe, reduce men to the level of beasts,is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and the ablest downto that of fools. This risk was in some degree prevented by themask which I wore; and my own stores of self-conceit were left totheir natural course, without being enhanced by the partiality offriends or adulation of flatterers.
If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have longobserved, I can only resort to the explanation supplied by acritic as friendly as he is intelligent; namely, that the mentalorganisation of the novelist must be characterised, to speakcraniologically, by an extraordinary development of the passionfor delitescency! I the rather suspect some natural disposition ofthis kind; for, from the instant I perceived the extreme curiositymanifested on the subject, I felt a secret satisfaction inbaffling it, for which, when its unimportance is considered, I donot well know how to account.
My desire to remain concealed, in the character of the Author ofthese Novels, subjected me occasionally to awkward embarrassments,as it sometimes happened that those who were sufficiently intimatewith me would put the question in direct terms. In this case, onlyone of three courses could be followed. Either I must havesurrendered my secret, or have returned an equivocating answer,or, finally, must have stoutly and boldly denied the fact. Thefirst was a sacrifice which I conceive no one had a right to forcefrom me, since I alone was concerned in the matter. Thealternative of rendering a doubtful answer must have left me opento the degrading suspicion that I was not unwilling to assume themerit (if there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claimto; or those who might think more justly of me must have receivedsuch an equivocal answer as an indirect avowal. I thereforeconsidered myself entitled, like an accused person put upon trial,to refuse giving my own evidence to my own conviction, and flatlyto deny all that could not be proved against me. At the same timeI usually qualified my denial by stating that, had I been theAuthor of these works, I would have felt myself quite entitled toprotect my secret by refusing my own evidence, when it was askedfor to accomplish a discovery of what I desired to conceal.
The real truth is, that I never expected or hoped to disguise myconnection with these Novels from any one who lived on terms ofintimacy with me. The number of coincidences which necessarilyexisted between narratives recounted, modes of expression, andopinions broached in these Tales and such as were used by theirAuthor in the intercourse of private life must have been far toogreat to permit any of my familiar acquaintances to doubt theidentity betwixt their friend and the Author of Waverley; and Ibelieve they were all morally convinced of it. But while I wasmyself silent, their belief could not weigh much more with theworld than that of others; their opinions and reasoning wereliable to be taxed with partiality, or confronted with opposingarguments and opinions
; and the question was not so much whether Ishould be generally acknowledged to be the Author, in spite of myown denial, as whether even my own avowal of the works, if suchshould be made, would be sufficient to put me in undisputedpossession of that character.
I have been often asked concerning supposed cases, in which I wassaid to have been placed on the verge of discovery; but, as Imaintained my point with the composure of a lawyer of thirtyyears' standing, I never recollect being in pain or confusion onthe subject. In Captain Medwyn's Conversations of Lord Byron thereporter states himself to have asked my noble and highly giftedfriend,' If he was certain about these Novels being Sir WalterScott's?' To which Lord Byron replied, 'Scott as much as ownedhimself the Author of Waverley to me in Murray's shop. I wastalking to him about that Novel, and lamented that its Author hadnot carried back the story nearer to the time of the Revolution.Scott, entirely off his guard, replied, "Ay, I might have done so;but--" there he stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correcthimself; he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment by aprecipitate retreat.' I have no recollection whatever of thisscene taking place, and I should have thought that I was morelikely to have laughed than to appear confused, for I certainlynever hoped to impose upon Lord Byron in a case of the kind; andfrom the manner in which he uniformly expressed himself, I knewhis opinion was entirely formed, and that any disclamations ofmine would only have savoured of affectation. I do not mean toinsinuate that the incident did not happen, but only that it couldhardly have occurred exactly under the circumstances narrated,without my recollecting something positive on the subject. Inanother part of the same volume Lord Byron is reported to haveexpressed a supposition that the cause of my not avowing myselfthe Author of Waverley may have been some surmise that thereigning family would have been displeased with the work. I canonly say, it is the last apprehension I should have entertained,as indeed the inscription to these volumes sufficiently proves.The sufferers of that melancholy period have, during the last andpresent reign, been honoured both with the sympathy and protectionof the reigning family, whose magnanimity can well pardon a sighfrom others, and bestow one themselves, to the memory of braveopponents, who did nothing in hate, but all in honour.
While those who were in habitual intercourse with the real authorhad little hesitation in assigning the literary property to him,others, and those critics of no mean rank, employed themselves ininvestigating with persevering patience any characteristicfeatures which might seem to betray the origin of these Novels.Amongst these, one gentleman, equally remarkable for the kind andliberal tone of his criticism, the acuteness of his reasoning, andthe very gentlemanlike manner in which he conducted his inquiries,displayed not only powers of accurate investigation, but a temperof mind deserving to be employed on a subject of much greaterimportance; and I have no doubt made converts to his opinion ofalmost all who thought the point worthy of consideration.[Footnote: Letters on the Author of Waverly; Rodwell and Martin,London, 1822.] Of those letters, and other attempts of the samekind, the Author could not complain, though his incognito wasendangered. He had challenged the public to a game at bo-peep, andif he was discovered in his 'hiding-hole,' he must submit to theshame of detection.
Various reports were of course circulated in various ways; somefounded on an inaccurate rehearsal of what may have been partlyreal, some on circumstances having no concern whatever with thesubject, and others on the invention of some importunate persons,who might perhaps imagine that the readiest mode of forcing theAuthor to disclose himself was to assign some dishonourable anddiscreditable cause for his silence.
It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition wastreated with contempt by the person whom it principally regarded;as, among all the rumours that were current, there was only one,and that as unfounded as the others, which had nevertheless somealliance to probability, and indeed might have proved in somedegree true.
I allude to a report which ascribed a great part, or the whole, ofthese Novels to the late Thomas Scott, Esq., of the 70th Regiment,then stationed in Canada. Those who remember that gentleman willreadily grant that, with general talents at least equal to thoseof his elder brother, he added a power of social humour and a deepinsight into human character which rendered him an universallydelightful member of society, and that the habit of compositionalone was wanting to render him equally successful as a writer.The Author of Waverley was so persuaded of the truth of this, thathe warmly pressed his brother to make such an experiment, andwillingly undertook all the trouble of correcting andsuperintending the press. Mr. Thomas Scott seemed at first verywell disposed to embrace the proposal, and had even fixed on asubject and a hero. The latter was a person well known to both ofus in our boyish years, from having displayed some strong traitsof character. Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent hisyouthful acquaintance as emigrating to America, and encounteringthe dangers and hardships of the New World, with the samedauntless spirit which he had displayed when a boy in his nativecountry. Mr. Scott would probably have been highly successful,being familiarly acquainted with the manners of the nativeIndians, of the old French settlers in Canada, and of the Brulesor Woodsmen, and having the power of observing with accuracy whatI have no doubt he could have sketched with force and expression.In short, the Author believes his brother would have made himselfdistinguished in that striking field in which, since that period,Mr. Cooper has achieved so many triumphs. But Mr. T. Scott wasalready affected by bad health, which wholly unfitted him forliterary labour, even if he could have reconciled his patience tothe task. He never, I believe, wrote a single line of theprojected work; and I only have the melancholy pleasure ofpreserving in the Appendix [Footnote: See Appendix No. III.] thesimple anecdote on which he proposed to found it.
To this I may add, I can easily conceive that there may have beencircumstances which gave a colour to the general report of mybrother being interested in these works; and in particular that itmight derive strength from my having occasion to remit to him, inconsequence of certain family transactions, some considerable sumsof money about that period. To which it is to be added that if anyperson chanced to evince particular curiosity on such a subject,my brother was likely enough to divert himself with practising ontheir credulity.
It may be mentioned that, while the paternity of these Novels wasfrom time to time warmly disputed in Britain, the foreignbooksellers expressed no hesitation on the matter, but affixed myname to the whole of the Novels, and to some besides to which Ihad no claim.
The volumes, therefore, to which the present pages form a Prefaceare entirely the composition of the Author by whom they are nowacknowledged, with the exception, always, of avowed quotations,and such unpremeditated and involuntary plagiarisms as can scarcebe guarded against by any one who has read and written a greatdeal. The original manuscripts are all in existence, and entirelywritten (horresco referens) in the Author's own hand, exceptingduring the years 1818 and 1819, when, being affected with severeillness, he was obliged to employ the assistance of a friendlyamanuensis.
The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarilyentrusted, or communicated by chance, amounted, I should think, totwenty at least, to whom I am greatly obliged for the fidelitywith which they observed their trust, until the derangement of theaffairs of my publishers, Messrs. Constable and Co., and theexposure of their account books, which was the necessaryconsequence, rendered secrecy no longer possible. The particularsattending the avowal have been laid before the public in theIntroduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate.
The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the purpose ofthis edition. I have some reason to fear that the notes whichaccompany the tales, as now published, may be thought toomiscellaneous and too egotistical. It maybe some apology for this,that the publication was intended to be posthumous, and stillmore, that old men may be permitted to speak long, because theycannot in the course of nature have long time to speak. Inpreparing the present edition, I have done all that I can do toexplain the nature of my materials, and the use
I have made ofthem; nor is it probable that I shall again revise or even readthese tales. I was therefore desirous rather to exceed in theportion of new and explanatory matter which is added to thisedition than that the reader should have reason to complain thatthe information communicated was of a general and merely nominalcharacter. It remains to be tried whether the public (like a childto whom a watch is shown) will, after having been satiated withlooking at the outside, acquire some new interest in the objectwhen it is opened and the internal machinery displayed to them.
That Waverly and its successors have had their day of favour andpopularity must be admitted with sincere gratitude; and the Authorhas studied (with the prudence of a beauty whose reign has beenrather long) to supply, by the assistance of art, the charms whichnovelty no longer affords. The publishers have endeavoured togratify the honourable partiality of the public for theencouragement of British art, by illustrating this edition withdesigns by the most eminent living artists. [Footnote: Theillustrations here referred to were made for the edition of 1829]
To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie, to Edwin Landseer,who has exercised his talents so much on Scottish subjects andscenery, to Messrs. Leslie and Newton, my thanks are due, from afriend as well as an author. Nor am I less obliged to Messrs.Cooper, Kidd, and other artists of distinction to whom I am lesspersonally known, for the ready zeal with which they have devotedtheir talents to the same purpose.
Farther explanation respecting the Edition is the business of thepublishers, not of the Author; and here, therefore, the latter hasaccomplished his task of introduction and explanation. If, like aspoiled child, he has sometimes abused or trifled with theindulgence of the public, he feels himself entitled to full beliefwhen he exculpates himself from the charge of having been at anytime insensible of their kindness.
ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.