Mary Brunton
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FEB. 20, 1811.
It has come out, the evil spirit knows how, that I am the author of Self-Control. The report meets us at every turn; and is now so strong, that our only way is to turn it off, without either confessing or denying. Of course, all the excellencies of the book are attributed to Mr B., while I am left to answer for all its defects. The report has gathered strength from the imprudent zeal of M. S.; who, exasperated by hearing her own sex deprived of any little credit it might have done them, averred, in the heat of her indignation, that "to her certain knowledge Mr B. had never written a line of it." The inference was clear--she knew who had. Thus, her authority is added to a report, which, I say again, arose the evil spirit knows how; for I warrant he is at the bottom of any thing so tormenting.
This is my bad news; and bad enough, though not quite so bad in reality, as it was in anticipation. Perhaps it may die away again. If not, there is no help. I must only creep a little closer into my shell; and shrink, if possible, a little more from the public eye.
Now for my good news. And, first, for the best, my highly respected, excellent friend, W----, the willing, industrious, and successful disciple of the Master, whose unprofitable servant I am,--gives the book his unqualified approbation; and, what I value a thousand times more than all the flattering things which have been said, or can be said, of its style and imagery, he says it will be useful.
Next, Mr Miller states the sale to be unexampled here. In five days 240 went out of the hands of the publishers. The remainder of the edition are sent to London. How it may do there remains to be seen. Here, it is very much indebted for its success to the attention and friendship of the publishers. * *
Let me hear from you according to my last injunctions. Be very minute, if you wish to be useful to me. I am sure I need say no more. If I could acquit you of partiality, I might find a pleasure of the same sort in your approbation as in W.'s. But he knew nothing of the author.
I have heard a great many fine speeches about the book; but truly my memory is rather short on that subject. Per contra--"The first sentence of the dedication is nonsensical and affected." Nonsense it may be; but I stoutly deny the affectation. Moreover, "the author must be Scotch, for there are two Scotticisms in the book." It has a great many other faults; but I forget them now. * *
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TO THE SAME.
APRIL 19, 1811.
I ought to have thanked you an age ago (speaking with feminine hyperbole) for your very kind, very satisfactory letter. Vague praise or censure, even from you, would have brought me neither pleasure nor profit; but, when you descend to particulars, you are useful; and in general agreeable to me.
You would be astonished, if you saw how composedly your thin-skinned friend now hears both praise and censure. I protest I am often astonished at it myself. It is quite unaccountable from any part of the constitution of my own mind, with which I am acquainted. If I could believe myself to be so conceited, I might call it a saucy feeling of superiority to the generality of my critics; but it would not be pleasant to think myself so destitute of decent humility.
Now that you have told me what you think defective in Self-Control, I shall, without reservation, acquaint you with all the faults (so far as I recollect them) with which it has been charged by others; and shall even candidly confess those which strike myself. To begin with the latter, which, of course, appear to me to have most foundation; I think the story of Self-Control is defective--it is disjointed-- it wants unity. The incidents, particularly in the second volume,* have little mutual connection. This appeal's to me the capital defect of the book. It is patch-work--the shreds are pretty, and sometimes rich; but the joining is clumsily visible. You, who know how the thing was put together, will easily account for this blemish; but I doubt neither you nor I can now excuse or mend it. The American expedition, too,--though, in the author's opinion, the best written part of the book,--is more conspicuously a patch, than any thing else which it contains. Though I do not see the outrageous improbability with which it has been charged, I confess that it does not harmonize with the sober colouring of the rest. We have all heard of a "peacock with a fiery tail;" but my American jaunt is this same monstrous appendage tacked to a poor little grey linnet.
In the middle of the second volume the story lags. An author of move experience would have brought out the characters without such an awful pause in incident. An author of more invention would have contrived incidents to serve that very purpose, as well as to fill up agreeably the necessary time between the close of the first love, and the triumph of the second.
I confess to you, that these are the only great faults in Self-Control to which my conscience pleads guilty; but they are far from being the only ones of which I am accused.
One, I am sure, will astonish you, as, I am sure, it did me. It is alleged, that no virtuous woman could continue to love a man who makes such a debut as Hargrave. All I say is, that I wish all the affections of virtuous persons were so very obedient to reason. As to the faults found with the incidents, they are at least four times as numerous as the incidents themselves. "Hargrave bursts upon you too abruptly." "Laura should have been more confidential to Mrs Douglas." "Her proficiency in painting is improbable." "The curricle-adventure is trivial." "There is too much of Lady Pelham." "The second volume is dull." "Laura should, at all events, have found means to get rid of Hargrave." "De Courcy's long unsuccessful passion degrades him into a tame despicable being." "The arrest is clumsy, improbable, and tedious." "Jessie Wilson is coarse and indelicate." Above all, "The American story is tasteless, extravagant, and altogether flat, stale, and unprofitable."
Nevertheless, the book is both read and bought. In spite of all these faults, and a hundred more, (many of them contradictory), there is not a copy to be had either in Edinburgh or in London.
I finished the corrections for the second edition last night--and now, what shall I do next? You know I have no great enjoyment in idleness.
Meanwhile, the hurrying of that vile book into the world has put all my necessary and appropriate employments far behind. I have letters to write--books to read--presses to put in order--wine to bottle--gowns to make--and all manner of household linen and wearing apparel to mend. To-day I have eleven people to dine with me, for which important event I must go and prepare. So it is lucky that my paper is full.
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She had at all times great pleasure in travelling; and after her book had been prepared for the second and third editions, we visited England in 1812.
This was her first visit to London; and it was very interesting to trace the impression made upon her mind by that world of wonders.
The pleasure which she anticipated in the journey, she thus states in a letter to her sister-in-law.
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TO MRS BALFOUR.
MARCH 21, 1812.
The beginning of this month was delightful, and the hedges were just going to burst into leaf; when, behold, this week we have snow a foot thick, and to-day it is again falling without intermission, accompanied by a tremendous gale. It is well for those, who, like you and me, have comfortable homes, and affectionate inmates of them. Let it snow on now, and so perhaps we may escape it in April, when it would spoil all the fruit crops at St Leonards, and kill all the lambs in Elgar Holm. I hope, too, that it may serve instead of the May fogs, which would dismally eclipse my views in travelling to London.
You would smile if you knew how much I am bent on this journey, and, perhaps, with some latent self-complacency, you would say, "Well, well, I would not give the sight of little Thomas fondling his sister for all the sights in London." But consider, my dear, that I have no Maries nor Thomases. When I leave home, I carry all that makes the soul of home with me; I leave nothing behind but walls and furniture; and when I return, I bring back materials for enlivening my fire-side.
To tell the truth, I believe nobody was ever better formed for enjoying life than I, saving and excepting in the construction of an abominable stomach; for I delight in travelling, yet can be happy at home. I enjoy company, yet prefer retirement. I can look with rapture on the glorious features of nature--the dark lake--the rugged mountain--the roaring cataract--yet can gaze with no small pleasure on the contents of a haberdasher's window. * *
May God grant that, as long as I have friends, I may have a heart to love them; that I may never be loose from the sacred charities of kindred, nor stand alone in a world peopled with my brethren. I trust I shall always love you all, and I hope I shall always have a little corner in all your hearts. I particularize "you," lest you should fancy that "all" meant all my brethren of mankind. Now, I should wish to love them all, to be sure; but truly, I have no great hopes. Yet I think I would willingly serve any one, provided I were allowed to tell him plainly and roundly that I thought him a rogue or a fool, if that happened to be my opinion for the time.
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Some extracts from her Journal of this tour, and of a subsequent one in 1815, will be found in the following volume.
These extracts in themselves will not, I hope, be found to be devoid of interest. But the principal purpose for which they are introduced, is to illustrate the general habits of the writer's mind. They exhibit, I think, not only a discriminating love of landscape scenery, but an intelligent observation of the works of art; a patient investigation of subjects which might not have been supposed very likely to attract her; and a facility of expressing, in brief and perspicuous language, the new ideas which she had acquired.
The Journal was written in the most hurried and desultory manner, often noted down in the parlour of an inn at night after a fatiguing journey. It was written merely for the purpose of reviving her own recollections. For this was one great source of her pleasure in travelling; the occupation not only engrossed and delighted her while it lasted, but she had equal satisfaction in looking back upon it, and in talking over with those to whom she could communicate her feelings freely, the new impressions which she had received, and the new lights which had reached her.
During her residence in London she was seized with an aguish ailment, which, as she herself states in the Journal, most essentially diminished her pleasure for the time; and which, by subsequent attacks, injured materially both her health and her spirits.
On her return to Edinburgh, she began again to think of literary employment. It was some time before she could fix on a subject. Various themes either presented themselves to her own mind, or were suggested to her notice, without meeting her full approbation; till it occurred to me that it might be interesting to continue the plan which her former novel had begun; and to shew the means through which, when Self-Control has been neglected, the mind must be trained by suffering ere it can hope for usefulness or for true enjoyment.
About the end of the year 1812, Disci- pline was begun upon this plan. She profited in so far by the advice which had formerly been offered to her, that she did prepare a sketch of the story before any part of it was executed. But the very meagreness of the outline bespeaks the prevalence of her former habits, and shews how little she profited by its use.
I insert here what part of it remains, in the words in which it was drawn up. The number of each chapter is placed at the head of a page, in a very small book; and the asterisks mark blank spaces, which, no doubt, it was her original intention to fill up, in proportion as her own conceptions of her story should be matured. Scarcely any thing, however, seems to have been added to the first outline, till the narrative was allowed, as before, to develope itself in the finished manuscript. Several pages at the beginning and end of the book are cancelled.
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OUTLINE OF DISCIPLINE.
CHAP. X. Miss Mortimer's departure.-- * Hackney-coach.-- * Mr Maitland's eloquence.-- * Miss Mortimer's letter.
CHAP. XI. Ellen's reflections on Miss M.'s letter.-- * Tries to make Mr Maitland jealous of Lord F., at Miss A.'s instigation.
CHAP. XII. Mr Maitland leaves her.-- * Entanglement.-- * Her father forbids.--Ellen angry. -- * Quarrels with Lady Maria about precedence. --These determine her.--Such the amiable passions which sometimes instigate a love-match!
CHAP. XIII. Elopement.
CHAP. XIV. Return.
CHAP. XV. Application to Miss Arnold, and answer.-- * Creditors offer her a small sum to subsist on for the present.--She disdainfully refuses.-- * Retires to--. * Alone, in want and desolate. late.-- * Miss M. comes.--Urges Ellen to go home with her.--Ellen sullenly drives her away.--Fido left behind.--Ellen weeps over him.
CHAP. XVI. Goes home with Miss M.--* Shewn to room.--Bible.-- * True repentance.-- * Miss M.'s life and manners.-- * Ellen, charmed with the eloquence of a Sectary, is going to join. --Miss M. persuades her to pause.
CHAP. XVII. Letter from Mr Maitland.--Story. -- * Pays Lord F--Meets Lady Maria.--Sells ring for Miss Mortimer.-- * Miss M dies.--Ellen gives all to the old servant.-- * Contrast of E.'s sorrow with her former rebellious despair.
CHAP. XVIII. Ellen, still proud, unwilling to enter into a menial life among acquaintance.--* Gets a letter of recommendation from Miss M.'s friend, and goes to ---- * Finds the lady absent.-- Seeks a situation.--Engaged by a cunning fool.-- * Mistress jealous that E. has something concealed.-- * Then jealous of her lover.
CHAP. XIX. Mistress marries, and is quite engaged with her husband for the present.-- * Always showing signs of jealousy.-- * Ellen.--Fever.-- Removed by mistress to a mad-house.--Blank in her recollection.
CHAP. XX. Ellen's first recollectedness.
CHAP. XXI. Ellen dismissed.--Sends for her clothes.--Sells some for subsistence.--Her delight in the fresh fields, &c.-- * Meets Miss Arnold a beggar.--Sells shawl.--Miss A. sick--impatient-- wretched.--Tells her story cunningly.--Retains little traits of cunning still, and of sly flattery, even where she has nothing to gain by it.-- * Ellen, after many struggles, resolves to beg for her.
CHAP. XXII. &c.--Sees her name in a newspaper-advertisement.-- * Journey.-- Highland inn,--Children..--Fowls.--Petticoat-bellows.--Tub-- chimney.--Horse with creels.-- * Scenery.--Glen Eredine.-- * Castle Eredine.--Multitude of servants.-- Old Chief.--Furniture.--Miss Graham's apartments.-- * Cecil sick--broken-hearted for death of Mr Kenneth.--Visit to Cecil.--Cecil's song.-- * Lord St E.
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This work too, like the former, was printed from the first copy; and with even less of interlineation and change in the writing than in Self-Control. It was composed, however, more slowly and with more labour. While writing Self-Control, she attended to nothing else during those hours in which it engaged her. But amidst the composition of Discipline she had usually some female work going on. In the intervals of sewing or knotting she wrote down, what she had first deliberately considered both in regard to sentiment and to style.
A part of the book from which she herself received very great pleasure in the composition, and from which she anticipated with most confidence its popularity, was the sketch of Highland manners in the third volume. She had been delighted with the pictures of Irish character which Miss Edgeworth has drawn so skilfully. The little which she had seen of the Highlands convinced her that materials for a similar attempt might be found there of not inferior interest. She was anxious in her enquiries; and eager in giving form to the information which she gained.
The ardour and minuteness with which, during some little excursions into the Highlands, she prosecuted her observation of scenery, manners, and character, are strikingly exemplified in the following letter.
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TO MISS JOANNA BAlLLIE.
Nov. 1813.
I suppose you are by this time returned from your Devonshire excursion, and I trust you have brought with you a stock of health and strength for the winter. I am not sure that the benefit is lasting; but I know that the climbing of hills has an admirable effect on the spirits at the time; and I fancy there is enough of that sort of exercise in Devonshire. However, I hope you will be so national as to let me say, that a pretty little English knoll is not half so exhilarating as the top of a Scotch hill.
Perhaps my feeling is partly prejudice--but it is not quite so; therefore, though you should not join in it, do not hold it in utter derision! I have jumped with joy, when, from the top of one of our own mountains, I have unexpectedly seen, as it were just at my feet, some well-known object which I had thought far beyond my sight. But, in the middle of a wide prospect, where all is new and strange, one feels one's self emphatically a stranger, with all a stranger's unconcern in the objects around! However, England is no strange land to you; so some winding avenue, or some smoke curling above its woods, may carry your imagination as pleasantly away, as mine follows a burn dancing in the sun, or a glen that shelters the house of a friend.
I spent part of this summer in Perthshire, and many a pleasant ramble had I! One of them was to Killivrochan, the wildest of all human habitations. It stands upon the bank of the Tummel, about two miles (Highland miles perhaps) above the pass of Killiecrankie. Did you ever see the Tummel? It is the stream of my affection! Of all rivers, it is the most truly Highland; an impetuous, melancholy, romantic stream, foaming among the fragments that have fallen from mountains which seem to have been cleft for its course.
Killivrochan has no lawns nor gardens near it; no paltry work of man's device, to fritter away the majesty of nature! Fortunately there is no room for such disfigurements, for the site of the house occupies the only level spot between a perpendicular mountain and the river. The walks are cut in solid rock, and, sometimes approaching the brink of the precipice, shew the Tummel foaming far below! Sometimes they descend to the very bed of the stream, and then wind up its perpendicular bank, to shew the noblest mountain-view imaginable! But still all is deep solitude! no trace appears of any living thing; except now and then a roe springing from a thicket, or an eagle sailing down the glen.
The place was advertised as shooting quarters; which brought some strangers where Lowland foot had seldom trodden; but none inclined to take up their rest there. An Englishman who visited it the day before I was there, declared that he "would rather have a grave opened, and jump into it alive, than be buried in such a frightful desert." You cannot imagine with what contempt the servants related this specimen of Lowland taste! "I should lose at least one child a-day in those whirlpools," said the Englishman.
"Your honour would need to bring a large family with you then for the summer," answered the forester.
But it was not the scenery alone that amused me in Perthshire; the inhabitants furnish me with entertainment of a different kind. I have been so long among the stupid plodding Lowlanders, that I was struck with many little Celticisms, which would have escaped me a dozen of years ago. Multitudes of these, which were amusing enough at the moment, it will not do to relate. Did you ever observe with what fearless decision a Highlander pronounces upon the name, nature, and cure of every possible disease? A little girl, whom my friend found begging at her door, gave us a very extraordinary account of the situation of her step-mother.
"She taks the uncoest loups, Mem," said she; "she'll spend aff o' that chair ona that table." We were a little incredulous, but the child persisted in her story. "Me!" said she, "it fleyed me whan I saw her loupin' like a pyet."
"And what does your father do, when he sees her in such a state?"
"He just yokes to, and he laughs--For, ye see, she'll rin on the house-taps like a cat."
"What can be the matter with the woman?" said my friend to me.
"Ou, Mem," interrupted the girl, as if quite au fait, "It is just the fly in ague. A hantle o' folk has't about us."
I suppose this woman had St Vitus's dance.
In general, nothing is more ridiculous than a Highlander's description of his maladies. It is such a mixture of shrewdness, confidence, and total ignorance; it is so absurdly minute, and yet so loaded with apologies to the delicacy of the listener, that I have many a time been obliged to laugh, at the expence of being thought a monster of insensibility.
What excuse can I make for writing all this nonsense to you? I remember entering warmly into the feelings of an officer, who, having been long immured in one of Tippoo's forts, far from every British sight and sound, found, I know not how, a few pages of an English spelling-book. The thing was worthless in itself; but the very accents of home would be music to his ear. I need not make the application of this story to a true-hearted Scotchwoman.
I am,
Your obedient and affectionate,
M. B.
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When this part of the book was nearly completed, Waverley was published. It came into her hands while she was in the country, ignorant of its plan, or of its claim to regard; she was so fascinated by it, that she sat up till she had finished the reading of the whole. Her anticipations of its success were, from the first, confident and unhesitating. With the honest buoyancy of a kindred spirit, she exulted in the prospect of its author's fame; and, in rejoicing that a favourite object had been accomplished so admirably, forgot at first how much the plan interfered with her own. When this view of the subject struck her, with all the native openness of her mind she felt and acknowledged her own inferiority. Not from disappointment or ill-humour, but from pure and unaffected humility, she resolved at first to cancel the Highland part of her own story altogether. I could not agree to the sacrifice. I endeavoured to convince her that the bias which Waverley might give to the public taste, might rather prove favourable to her plan; that public curiosity would be roused by what that great master had done; that the sketches of a different observer, finished in a very different style, and taken from entirely a different point of view, would only be the more attractive, because attention had previously been directed to their subject. She allowed herself to be persuaded; she allowed, at least, her objections to be over-ruled; she returned to her work, but she returned to it slowly and hesitatingly; and it was finished with far less both of spirit and of hope, than attended the tracing of the original design.
The manuscript of this novel was completed before any part of it was sent to press. It was published in December 1814.
The composition of Self-Control could not be noticed in her correspondence with her own relations; for she had not avowed herself even to them as its author. But she mentions Discipline very freely both to them and to Mrs Izett, in such passages as the following.
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TO MRS IZETT.
Nov. 3, 1812.
* * * Ellen comes on slowly; but she will do better by and by, if I can adhere to my resolution of writing a little every day. To tell you the truth, I now feel that my stock of wits, such as it is, is not properly my own; but is under the management and controul of a higher power, who can say, "Go, and it goeth; or come, and it cometh." You will answer, "Have you not long thought so?" Yes, I have long believed it, but now I feel it. Do you not see the difference? Either by His own operations on the soul, or by His providence ordering matters over which we have no controul, He rules our understanding--our will--our conscience--our belief. Oh! then how zealous ought we to be in asking direction, since He can afford it in such a variety of ways; and since circumstances, which to us appear as trivial as the sports of flies, may by Him be made to accomplish His promise, that all shall work together for good to them who love Him.
You see to whom the success of Self-Control was owing. I hope I may lawfully ask a blessing for this thing also! It would be sinful to enter upon a work of years, which was so trivial, or useless, or unlawful, that I could not ask a blessing for it. But, if I do ask one, it will be a manifest absurdity to trifle over my employment. The other began as pastime. This has been work from the beginning.
I find that the serious style best suits my talent and my inclination. I hope, therefore, that when I come to the serious part of the book, I shall proceed with more ease and pleasure. It is not far off now.
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*The first edition was in two large volumes.
This presentation of Emmeline. With Some Other Pieces., by Mary Brunton is Copyright 2003 by P.J. LaBrocca. It may not be copied, duplicated, stored or transmitted in any form without written permission. The text is in the public domain.