These fears of the brave, then, were not unfamiliar to Scott; but he audaciously disregarded all of them in the composition of Guy Mannering. He had just spun his web, like the spider of his simile, he had just taken off his intellectual fields the scourging crop of The Lord of the Isles, he had just received the discouraging news of its comparative failure, when he buckled to, achieved Guy Mannering in six weeks, and published it. Moliere tells us that he wrote Les Facheux in a fortnight; and a French critic adds that it reads indeed as if it had been written in, a fortnight. Perhaps a self-confident censor might venture a similar opinion about Guy Mannering. It assuredly shows traces of haste; the plot wanders at its own will; and we may believe that the Author often-did not see his own way out of the wood. But there is little harm in that. If I do not know what is coming next, a modern novelist has remarked, how can the public know? Curiosity, at least, is likely to be excited by this happy-go-lucky manner of Scotts. The worst of it is; as he wrote to Lady Abercorn about his poems (June 9,1808), that I am not very good or patient in slow and careful composition; and sometimes I remind myself of the drunken man, who could run long after he could not walk. Scott could certainly run very well, though averse to a plodding motion.
[He was probably thinking of a famous Edinburgh character, Singing Jamie Balfour. Jamie was found very drunk and adhering to the pavement one night. He could not raise himself; but when helped to his feet, ran his preserver a race to the tavern, and won!]
The account of the years work which preceded Guy Mannering is given by Lockhart, and is astounding. In 1814 Scott had written, Lockhart believes, the greater part of the Life of Swift, most of Waverley and the Lord of the Isles; he had furnished essays to the Encyclopaedia, and had edited The Memorie of the Somervilles. The spider might well seem spun out, the tilth exhausted. But Scott had a fertility, a spontaneity, of fancy equalled only, if equalled at all, by Alexandre Dumas.
On November 7 of this laborious year, 1814, Scott was writing to Mr. Joseph Train, thanking him for a parcel of legendary lore, including the Galloway tale of the wandering astrologer and a budget of gypsy traditions. Falling in the rich soil of Scotts imagination, the tale of the astrologer yielded a name and an opening to Guy Mannering, while the gypsy lore blossomed into the legend of Meg Merrilies. The seed of the novel was now sown. But between November 11 and December 25 Scott was writing the three last cantos of the Lord of the Isles. Yet before the Lord of the Isles was published (Jan. 18, 1815), two volumes of Guy Mannering were in print (Letter to Morritt, Jan. 17, 1815.) The novel was issued on Feb. 14, 1815. Scott, as he says somewhere, was like the turnspit dog, into whose wheel a hot cinder is dropped to encourage his activity. Scott needed hot cinders in the shape of proof-sheets fresh from the press, and he worked most busily when the printers devil was waiting. In this case, not only the printers devil, but the wolf was at the door. The affairs of the Ballantynes clamoured for moneys In their necessity and his own, Scott wrote at the rate of a volume in ten days, and for some financial reason published Guy Mannering with Messrs. Longmans, not with Constable. Scott was at this moment facing creditors and difficulties as Napoleon faced the armies of the Allies, present everywhere, everywhere daring and successful. True, his Lord of the Isles was a disappointment, as James Ballantyne informed him. Well, James, so be it; but you know we must not droop, for we cannot afford to give over. Since one line has failed, we must just stick to something else. And so he dismissed me, and resumed his novel.
In these circumstances, far from inspiring, was Guy Mannering written and hurried through the press. The story has its own history: one can watch the various reminiscences and experiences of life that crystallized together in Scotts mind, and grouped themselves fantastically into his unpremeditated plot. Sir Walter gives, in the preface of 1829, the legend which he heard from John MacKinlay, his fathers Highland servant, and on which he meant to found a tale more in Hawthorns manner than in his own. That plan he changed in the course of printing, leaving only just enough of astrology to annoy pedantic reviewers and foolish Puritans. Whence came the rest of the plot, the tale of the long-lost heir, and so on? The true heir, kept out of his own, and returning in disguise, has been a favourite character ever since Homer sang of Odysseus, and probably long before that. But it is just possible that Scott had a certain modern instance in his mind. In turning over the old manuscript diary at Branxholme Park (mentioned in a note to Waverley), the Editor lighted on a singular tale, which, in the diarists opinion, might have suggested Guy Mannering to Sir Walter. The resemblance between the story of Vanbeest Brown and the hero of the diarist was scanty; but in a long letter of Scotts to Lady Abercorn (May 21, 1813), a the Editor finds Sir Walter telling his correspondent the very narrative recorded in the Branxholme Park diary. Singular things happen, Sir Walter says; and he goes on to describe a case just heard in the court where he is sitting as Clerk of Sessions. Briefly, the anecdote is this: A certain Mr. Carruthers of Dormont had reason to suspect his wifes fidelity. While proceedings for a divorce were pending, Mrs. Carruthers bore a daughter, of whom her husband, of course, was legally the father. But he did not believe in the relationship, and sent the infant girl to be brought up, in ignorance of her origin and in seclusion, among the Cheviot Hills. Here she somehow learned the facts of her own story. She married a Mr. Routledge, the son of a yeoman, and compounded her rights (but not those of her issue) for a small sung of ready money, paid by old Dormont. She bears a boy; then she and her husband died in poverty. Their son was sent by a friend to the East Indies, and was presented with a packet of papers, which he left unopened at a lawyers. The young man made a fortune in India, returned to Scotland, and took a shooting in Dumfriesshire, near bormont, his ancestral home. He lodged at a small inn hard by, and the landlady, struck by his name, began to gossip with him about his family history. He knew nothing of the facts which the landlady disclosed, but, impressed by her story, sent for and examined his neglected packet of papers. Then he sought legal opinion, and was advised, by President Blair, that he had a claim worth presenting on the estate of Dormont. The first decision of the cause, writes Scott, was favourable. The true heir celebrated his legal victory by a dinner-party, and his friends saluted him as Dormont. Next morning he was found dead. Such is the true tale. As it occupied Scotts mind in 1813, and as he wrote Guy Mannering in 1814-15, it is not impossible that he may have borrowed his wandering heir, who returns by pure accident to his paternal domains, and there learns his origin at a womans lips, from the Dormont case. The resemblance of the stories, at least, was close enough to strike a shrewd observer some seventy years ago.
Another possible source of the plot-a more romantic origin, certainly-is suggested by Mr. Robert Chambers in Illustrations of the Author of Waverley. A Maxwell of Glenormiston, a religious and bigoted recluse, sent his only son and heir to a Jesuit College in Flanders, left his estate in his brothers management, and died. The wicked uncle alleged that the heir was also dead. The child, ignorant of his birth, grew up, ran away from the Jesuits at the age of sixteen, enlisted in the French army, fought at Fontenoy, got his colours, and, later, landed in the Moray Firth as a French officer in 1745. He went through the campaign, was in hiding in Lochaber after Drumossie, and in making for a Galloway port, was seized, and imprisoned in Dumfries. Here an old woman of his fathers household recognized him by a mark which she remembered on his body. His cause was taken up by friends; but the usurping uncle died, and Sir Robert Maxwell recovered his estates without a lawsuit. This anecdote is quoted from the New Monthly Magazine, June, 1819. There is nothing to prove that Scott was acquainted with this adventure. Scotts own experience, as usual, supplied him with hints for his characters. The phrase of Dominie Sampsons father, Please God, my bairn may live to wag his pow in a pulpit, was uttered in his own hearing. There was a Bluegown, or Bedesman, like Edie Ochiltree, who had a son at Edinburgh College. Scott was kind to the son, the Bluegown asked him to dinner, and at this meal the old man made the remark about the pulpit and the pow. A similar tale is told by Scott in the Introduction to The Antiquary (1830). As for the good Dominie, Scott remarks that, for certain particular reasons, he must say what he has to say about his prototype very generally. Mr. Chambers finds the prototype in a Mr. James Sanson, tutor in the house of Mr. Thomas Scott, Sir Walters uncle. It seems very unlike Sir Walter to mention this excellent man almost by his name, and the tale about his devotion to his patrons daughter cannot, apparently, be true of Mr. James Sanson. The prototype of Pleydell, according to Sir Walter himself (Journal, June 19, 1830), was my old friend Adam Rolland, Esq., in external circumstances, but not in frolic or fancy. Mr. Chambers, however, finds the original in Mr. Andrew Crosbie, an advocate of great talents, who frolicked to ruin, and died in 1785. Scott may have heard tales of this patron of High Jinks, but cannot have known him much personally. Dandie Dinmont is simply the typical Border farmer. Mr. Shortreed, Scotts companion in his Liddesdale raids, thought that Willie Elliot, in Millburnholm, was the great original. Scott did not meet Mr. James Davidson in Hindlee, owner of all the Mustards and Peppers, till some years after the novel was written. Guy Mannering, when read to him, sent Mr. Davidson to sleep. The kind and manly character of Dandie, the gentle and delicious one of his wife, and the circumstances of their home, were suggested, Lockhart thinks, by Scotts friend, steward, and amanuensis, Mr. William Laidlaw, by Mrs. Laidlaw, and by their farm among the braes of Yarrow. In truth, the Border was peopled then by Dandies and Ailies: nor is the race even now extinct in Liddesdale and Teviotdale, in Ettrick and Yarrow. As for Mustard and Pepper, their offspring too is powerful in the land, and is the deadly foe of vermin. The curious may consult Mr. Cooks work on The Dandie Dinmont Terrier. The Duke of Buccleughs breed still resembles the fine example painted by Gainsborough in his portrait of the duke (of Scotts time). Tod Gabbie, again, as Lockhart says, was studied from Tod Willie, the huntsman of the hills above Loch Skene. As for the Galloway scenery, Scott did not know it well, having only visited the Kingdom in 1793, when he was defending the too frolicsome Mr. McNaught, Minister of Girthon. The beautiful and lonely wilds of the Glenkens, in central Galloway, where traditions yet linger, were, unluckily, terra incognita to Scott. A Galloway story of a murder and its detection by the prints of the assassins boots inspired the scene where Dirk Hatteraick is traced by similar means. In Colonel Mannering, by the way, the Ettrick Shepherd recognized Walter Scott, painted by himself.
Another possible source of the plot-a more romantic origin, certainly-is suggested by Mr. Robert Chambers in Illustrations of the Author of Waverley. A Maxwell of Glenormiston, a religious and bigoted recluse, sent his only son and heir to a Jesuit College in Flanders, left his estate in his brothers management, and died. The wicked uncle alleged that the heir was also dead. The child, ignorant of his birth, grew up, ran away from the Jesuits at the age of sixteen, enlisted in the French army, fought at Fontenoy, got his colours, and, later, landed in the Moray Firth as a French officer in 1745. He went through the campaign, was in hiding in Lochaber after Drumossie, and in making for a Galloway port, was seized, and imprisoned in Dumfries. Here an old woman of his fathers household recognized him by a mark which she remembered on his body. His cause was taken up by friends; but the usurping uncle died, and Sir Robert Maxwell recovered his estates without a lawsuit. This anecdote is quoted from the New Monthly Magazine, June, 1819. There is nothing to prove that Scott was acquainted with this adventure. Scotts own experience, as usual, supplied him with hints for his characters. The phrase of Dominie Sampsons father, Please God, my bairn may live to wag his pow in a pulpit, was uttered in his own hearing. There was a Bluegown, or Bedesman, like Edie Ochiltree, who had a son at Edinburgh College. Scott was kind to the son, the Bluegown asked him to dinner, and at this meal the old man made the remark about the pulpit and the pow. A similar tale is told by Scott in the Introduction to The Antiquary (1830). As for the good Dominie, Scott remarks that, for certain particular reasons, he must say what he has to say about his prototype very generally. Mr. Chambers finds the prototype in a Mr. James Sanson, tutor in the house of Mr. Thomas Scott, Sir Walters uncle. It seems very unlike Sir Walter to mention this excellent man almost by his name, and the tale about his devotion to his patrons daughter cannot, apparently, be true of Mr. James Sanson. The prototype of Pleydell, according to Sir Walter himself (Journal, June 19, 1830), was my old friend Adam Rolland, Esq., in external circumstances, but not in frolic or fancy. Mr. Chambers, however, finds the original in Mr. Andrew Crosbie, an advocate of great talents, who frolicked to ruin, and died in 1785. Scott may have heard tales of this patron of High Jinks, but cannot have known him much personally. Dandie Dinmont is simply the typical Border farmer. Mr. Shortreed, Scotts companion in his Liddesdale raids, thought that Willie Elliot, in Millburnholm, was the great original. Scott did not meet Mr. James Davidson in Hindlee, owner of all the Mustards and Peppers, till some years after the novel was written. Guy Mannering, when read to him, sent Mr. Davidson to sleep. The kind and manly character of Dandie, the gentle and delicious one of his wife, and the circumstances of their home, were suggested, Lockhart thinks, by Scotts friend, steward, and amanuensis, Mr. William Laidlaw, by Mrs. Laidlaw, and by their farm among the braes of Yarrow. In truth, the Border was peopled then by Dandies and Ailies: nor is the race even now extinct in Liddesdale and Teviotdale, in Ettrick and Yarrow. As for Mustard and Pepper, their offspring too is powerful in the land, and is the deadly foe of vermin. The curious may consult Mr. Cooks work on The Dandie Dinmont Terrier. The Duke of Buccleughs breed still resembles the fine example painted by Gainsborough in his portrait of the duke (of Scotts time). Tod Gabbie, again, as Lockhart says, was studied from Tod Willie, the huntsman of the hills above Loch Skene. As for the Galloway scenery, Scott did not know it well, having only visited the Kingdom in 1793, when he was defending the too frolicsome Mr. McNaught, Minister of Girthon. The beautiful and lonely wilds of the Glenkens, in central Galloway, where traditions yet linger, were, unluckily, terra incognita to Scott. A Galloway story of a murder and its detection by the prints of the assassins boots inspired the scene where Dirk Hatteraick is traced by similar means. In Colonel Mannering, by the way, the Ettrick Shepherd recognized Walter Scott, painted by himself.
The reception of Guy Mannering was all that could be wished. William Erskine and Ballantyne were of opinion that it is much more interesting than Waverley. Mr. Morritt (March, 1815) pronounced himself to be quite charmed with Dandie, Meg Merrilies, and Dirk Hatteraick, characters as original as true to nature, and as forcibly conceived as, I had almost said, could have been drawn by Shakspeare himself. The public were not less appreciative. Two thousand copies, at a guinea, were sold the day after publication, and three thousand more were disposed of in three months. The professional critics acted just as Scott, speaking in general terms, had prophesied that they would. Let us quote the British Critic (1815).
There are few spectacles in the literary world more lamentable than to view a successful author, in his second appearance before the public, limping lamely after himself, and treading tediously and awkwardly in the very same round, which, in his first effort, he had traced with vivacity and applause. We would not be harsh enough to say that the Author of Waverley is in this predicament, but we are most unwillingly compelled to assert that the second effort falls far below the standard of the first. In Waverley there was brilliancy of genius In Guy Mannering there is little else beyond the wild sallies of an original genius, the bold and irregular efforts of a powerful but an exhausted mind. Time enough has not been allowed him to recruit his resources, both of anecdote and wit; but, encouraged by the credit so justly, bestowed upon one of then most finished portraits ever presented to the world, he has followed up the exhibition with a careless and hurried sketch, which betrays at once the weakness and the strength of its author.
The character of Dirk Hatteraick is a faithful copy from nature, it is one of those moral monsters which make us almost ashamed of our kind. Still, amidst the ruffian and murderous brutality of the smuggler, some few feelings of our common nature are thrown in with no less ingenuity than truth The remainder of the personages are very little above the cast of a common lively novel The Edinburgh lawyer is perhaps the most original portrait; nor are the saturnalia of the Saturday evenings described without humour. The Dominie is overdrawn and inconsistent; while the young ladies present nothing above par..
There are parts of this novel which none but one endowed with the sublimity of genius could have dictated; there are others which any ordinary character cobbler might as easily have stitched together. There are sparks both of pathos and of humour, even in the dullest parts, which could be elicited from none but the Author of Waverley... If, indeed, we have spoken in a manner derogatory to this, his later effort, our censure arises only from its comparison with the former..
We cannot, however, conclude this article without remarking the absurd influence which our Author unquestionably attributes to the calculations of judicial astrology. No power of chance alone could have fulfilled the joint predictions both of Guy Mannering and Meg Merrilies; we cannot suppose that the Author can be endowed with sufficient folly to believe in the influence of planetary conjunctions himself, nor to have so miserable an idea of the understanding of his readers as to suppose them capable of a similar belief. We must also remember that the time of this novel is not in the dark ages, but scarcely forty years since; no aid, therefore, can be derived from the general tendency of popular superstition. What the clew may be to this apparent absurdity, we cannot imagine; whether the Author be in jest or earnest we do not know, and we are willing to suppose in this dilemma that he does not know himself.