Walter Scott - The Bride of Lammermoor

Another poet of the period, with a very different purpose, has left an elegy, in which he darkly hints at and bemoans the fate of the ill-starred young person, whose very uncommon calamity Whitelaw, Dunlop, and Milne thought a fitting subject for buffoonery and ribaldry. This bard of milder mood was Andrew Symson, before the Revolution minister of Kirkinner, in Galloway, and after his expulsion as an Episcopalian following the humble occupation of a printer in Edinburgh. He furnished the family of Baldoon, with which he appears to have been intimate, with an elegy on the tragic event in their family. In this piece he treats the mournful occasion of the bride's death with mysterious solemnity.

The verses bear this title, "On the unexpected death of the virtuous Lady Mrs. Janet Dalrymple, Lady Baldoon, younger," and afford us the precise dates of the catastrophe, which could not otherwise have been easily ascertained. "Nupta August 12. Domum Ducta August 24. Obiit September 12. Sepult. September 30, 1669." The form of the elegy is a dialogue betwixt a passenger and a domestic servant. The first, recollecting that he had passed that way lately, and seen all around enlivened by the appearances of mirth and festivity, is desirous to know what had changed so gay a scene into mourning. We preserve the reply of the servant as a specimen of Mr. Symson's verses, which are not of the first quality:

Sir, 'tis truth you've told.

We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me!

Our joyful song's turn'd to an elegie.

A virtuous lady, not long since a brid,

Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied,

And brought home hither. We did all rejoice,

Even for her sake. But presently our voice

Was turn'd to mourning for that little time

That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime,

For Atropus, with her impartial knife,

Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life;

And for the time we may it well remember,

It being in unfortunate September; .

Where we must leave her till the resurrection.

'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.

Mr. Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon the fate of the widowed bridegroom, on which subject, after a long and querulous effusion, the poet arrives at the sound conclusion, that if Baldoon had walked on foot, which it seems was his general custom, he would have escaped perishing by a fall from horseback. As the work in which it occurs is so scarce as almost to be unique, and as it gives us the most full account of one of the actors in this tragic tale which we have rehearsed, we will, at the risk of being tedious, insert some short specimens of Mr. Symson's composition. It is entitled:

"A Funeral Elegie, occasioned by the sad and much lamented death of that worthily respected, and very much accomplished gentleman, David Dunbar, younger, of Baldoon, only son and apparent heir to the right worshipful Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, Knight Baronet. He departed this life on March 28, 1682, having received a bruise by a fall, as he was riding the day preceding betwixt Leith and Holyrood House; and was honourably interred in the Abbey Church of Holyrood House, on April 4, 1682."

Men might, and very justly too, conclude

Me guilty of the worst ingratitude,

Should I be silent, or should I forbear

At this sad accident to shed a tear;

A tear! said I? ah! that's a petit thing,

A very lean, slight, slender offering,

Too mean, I'm sure, for me, wherewith t'attend

The unexpected funeral of my friend:

A glass of briny tears charged up to th' brim.

Would be too few for me to shed for him.

The poet proceeds to state his intimacy with the deceased, and the constancy of the young man's attendance on public worship, which was regular, and had such effect upon two or three other that were influenced by his example:

So that my Muse 'gainst Priscian avers,

He, only he, WERE my parishioners;

Yea, and my only hearers.

He then describes the deceased in person and manners, from which it appears that more accomplishments were expected in the composition of a fine gentleman in ancient than modern times:

His body, though not very large or tall,

Was sprightly, active, yea and strong withal.

His constitution was, if right I've guess'd,

Blood mixt with choler, said to be the best.

In's gesture, converse, speech, discourse, attire,

He practis'd that which wise men still admire,

Commend, and recommend. What's that? you'll say.

'Tis this: he ever choos'd the middle way

'Twixt both th' extremes. Amost in ev'ry thing

He did the like, 'tis worth our noticing:

Sparing, yet not a niggard; liberal,

And yet not lavish or a prodigal,

As knowing when to spend and when to spare;

And that's a lesson which not many are

Acquainted with. He bashful was, yet daring

When he saw cause, and yet therein not sparing;

Familiar, yet not common, for he knew

To condescend, and keep his distance too.

He us'd, and that most commonly, to go

On foot; I wish that he had still done so.

Th' affairs of court were unto him well known;

And yet meanwhile he slighted not his own.

He knew full well how to behave at court,

And yet but seldom did thereto resort;

But lov'd the country life, choos'd to inure

Himself to past'rage and agriculture;

Proving, improving, ditching, trenching, draining,

Viewing, reviewing, and by those means gaining;

Planting, transplanting, levelling, erecting

Walls, chambers, houses, terraces; projecting

Now this, now that device, this draught, that measure,

That might advance his profit with his pleasure.

Quick in his bargains, honest in commerce,

Just in his dealings, being much adverse

From quirks of law, still ready to refer

His cause t' an honest country arbiter.

He was acquainted with cosmography,

Arithmetic, and modern history;

With architecture and such arts as these,

Which I may call specifick sciences

Fit for a gentleman; and surely he

That knows them not, at least in some degree,

May brook the title, but he wants the thing,

Is but a shadow scarce worth noticing.

He learned the French, be't spoken to his praise,

In very little more than fourty days.

Then comes the full burst of woe, in which, instead of saying much himself, the poet informs us what the ancients would have said on such an occasion:

A heathen poet, at the news, no doubt,

Would have exclaimed, and furiously cry'd out

Against the fates, the destinies and starrs,

What! this the effect of planetarie warrs!

We might have seen him rage and rave, yea worse,

'Tis very like we might have heard him curse

The year, the month, the day, the hour, the place,

The company, the wager, and the race;

Decry all recreations, with the names

Of Isthmian, Pythian, and Olympick games;

Exclaim against them all both old and new,

Both the Nemaean and the Lethaean too:

Adjudge all persons, under highest pain,

Always to walk on foot, and then again

Order all horses to be hough'd, that we

Might never more the like adventure see.

Supposing our readers have had enough of Mr. Symson's woe, and finding nothing more in his poem worthy of transcription, we return to the tragic story.

It is needless to point out to the intelligent reader that the witchcraft of the mother consisted only in the ascendency of a powerful mind over a weak and melancholy one, and that the harshness with which she exercised her superiority in a case of delicacy had driven her daughter first to despair, then to frenzy. Accordingly, the Author has endeavoured to explain the tragic tale on this principle. Whatever resemblance Lady Ashton may be supposed to possess to the celebrated Dame Margaret Ross, the reader must not suppose that there was any idea of tracing the portrait of the first Lord Viscount Stair in the tricky and mean-spirited Sir William Ashton. Lord Stair, whatever might be his moral qualities, was certainly one of the first statesmen and lawyers of his age.

The imaginary castle of Wolf's Crag has been identified by some lover of locality with that of Fast Castle. The Author is not competent to judge of the resemblance betwixt the real and imaginary scenes, having never seen Fast Castle except from the sea. But fortalices of this description are found occupying, like ospreys' nests, projecting rocks, or promontories, in many parts of the eastern coast of Scotland, and the position of Fast Castle seems certainly to resemble that of Wolf's Crag as much as any other, while its vicinity to the mountain ridge of Lammermoor renders the assimilation a probable one.

We have only to add, that the death of the unfortunate bridegroom by a fall from horseback has been in the novel transferred to the no less unfortunate lover.

FEW have been in my secret while I was compiling these narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become public during the life of their author. Even were that event to happen, I am not ambitious of the honoured distinction, digito monstrari. I confess that, were it safe to cherish such dreams at all, I should more enjoy the thought of remaining behind the curtain unseen, like the ingenious manager of Punch and his wife Joan, and enjoying the astonishment and conjectures of my audience. Then might I, perchance, hear the productions of the obscure Peter Pattieson praised by the judicious and admired by the feeling, engrossing the young and attracting even the old; while the critic traced their fame up to some name of literary celebrity, and the question when, and by whom, these tales were written filled up the pause of conversation in a hundred circles and coteries. This I may never enjoy during my lifetime; but farther than this, I am certain, my vanity should never induce me to aspire.

I am too stubborn in habits, and too little polished in manners, to envy or aspire to the honours assigned to my literary contemporaries. I could not think a whit more highly of myself were I found worthy to "come in place as a lion" for a winter in the great metropolis. I could not rise, turn round, and show all my honours, from the shaggy mane to the tufted tail, "roar you an't were any nightingale," and so lie down again like a well-behaved beast of show, and all at the cheap and easy rate of a cup of coffee and a slice of bread and butter as thin as a wafer. And I could ill stomach the fulsome flattery with which the lady of the evening indulges her show-monsters on such occasions, as she crams her parrots with sugar-plums, in order to make them talk before company. I cannot be tempted to "come aloft" for these marks of distinction, and, like imprisoned Samson, I would rather remain—if such must be the alternative—all my life in the mill-house, grinding for my very bread, than be brought forth to make sport for the Philistine lords and ladies. This proceeds from no dislike, real or affected, to the aristocracy of these realms. But they have their place, and I have mine; and, like the iron and earthen vessels in the old fable, we can scarce come into collision without my being the sufferer in every sense. It may be otherwise with the sheets which I am now writing. These may be opened and laid aside at pleasure; by amusing themselves with the perusal, the great will excite no false hopes; by neglecting or condemning them, they will inflict no pain; and how seldom can they converse with those whose minds have toiled for their delight without doing either the one or the other.