The Ninety
Third Annual Dinner
Madam Deputy Provost, Mr Chairman,
Dame Jean Maxwell-Scott,
My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen
In The Bride of Lammermoor, when the Master of Ravenswood has been
insulted by Lady Ashton, he gallops away taking the path to the Mermaiden’s
Fountain. There he sees a figure
that he takes to be Lucy Ashton. But it
is the ghost of blind
“We
are bound to tell the tale as we have received it; and, … this could not be called a Scottish
story unless it manifested a tinge of Scottish superstition.”[1]
So, this being a Scottish occasion, let
me begin with a tinge of Scottish superstition.
In February last year, I was sitting
on a train from
I arrived back in
Naturally, Scottish superstition
made it impossible for me to refuse, and, for your part, you must believe, for
good or ill, that it was ‘meant’. But
you have set me an impossible task.
Everything that can be said about Scott has already been said many times
before, and even that has been said several times before by my predecessors.
I think Stanley Baldwin said it
best. I found his Presidential Address
of 1930 in a book of speeches with the unpromising title of This Torch of Freedom.[2] Incidentally, it is an interesting reflection
on the literacy of that generation of politicians that, after his address on
Walter Scott comes one on the artist, Sir Edward Burne-Jones. At any rate, this is how he began:
“I cannot imagine a greater
compliment which you have in your power to pay to an Englishman than to invite
him to be president of this club and to address such a gathering in Walter
Scott’s own city. I accepted your
invitation with alacrity and I am indeed proud to be here.
“But when the hour is come that I
should speak to you of Scott, my mind goes back to the bewilderment with which,
as a small boy, I read the opening paragraph of The Tale of Two Cities – ‘It was the best of times: it was the
worst of times; it was the age of wisdom: it was the age of foolishness.’
“And so I might say of my task - it
is the easiest of tasks; it is the hardest of tasks. Easy, because whatever I shall say will come
straight from the heart; hard, because everything that can be said has been
said before. There speaks to you no
professor of literature; you will hear no subtle criticism, no profound
analysis; but a plain, unadorned account of what Walter Scott has meant to one
of the millions of those who dwell in that part of
“The first books in the library at home
which swam into my ken were the author’s edition of the novels. … Before I
could read them, I used to pore over the little steel engraved frontispieces
and vignettes, every one of which is stamped in my earliest memory. The picture of Di Vernon on her father’s arm
stirred my romantic heart, for she - I confess it to you - was my first
love: the vignettes of Dirk Hatteraick
breaking Glossin’s neck strengthened my faith in an ultimate justice that ruled
the world. …
“Such was Scott to me in my earliest
days. A household word at home, the
gateway which enticed my first steps into the world of poetry, history and
romance. ...”
Sadly, Scott was not my
gateway to poetry, history and romance.
Like too many others, I was given the wrong book at the wrong age. When I was eleven or twelve, my headmaster
told me to read A Legend of Montrose.
In Nelson’s Classics, that book has 22 pages of Introduction and a
further eleven pages of description before anybody speaks. At that age, I had not yet learned to skip. (I only learned that much later – it’s the
only way lawyers can keep their sanity.)
So I never got beyond those 33 pages, and I did not look at Scott again
for almost ten years. Then I picked up a
pocket edition of The Antiquary in a second-hand bookshop in
It is said that Lord President
Inglis used to read the
Before I go on, I pause a moment to
pay tribute to the editors and publishers of the Edinburgh Edition. Many passages, particularly in the Scottish
novels, have become more vivid. Some
fascinating things are restored – notably Colonel Mannering’s descriptions of
those he meets in
What did I learn from this year of
Scott that I can usefully pass on to this audience, many if not most of whom
know a great deal more about him than I do?
Nothing, I think, except – taking my cue from Stanley Baldwin – a little
of what Scott has meant to me.
I knew already that, of all the
great writers, he is the one I would most like to have met. Indeed, in an odd sort of way, having spent
25 years working in Parliament House, I almost feel that I have met him. Parliament House is full of Scott and the
Scottish novels are full of Parliament House.
As you go in and out of the Advocates’ Library, there he is, sitting
with his coat over the back of his chair and his stick between his knees. Sic sedebat, says the inscription,
“This is how he used to sit”. It is
significant that the Faculty chose to have a statue, not of a lawyer in robes
or dressed as a latter-day Roman senator, but of Scott as they knew him day by
day.
“Dear Scott,” says Cockburn, “when he was among us we
thought we worshipped him, at least as much as his modesty would permit and now
that he is gone we feel as if we had not enjoyed or cherished him half
enough. I still hear his voice and see
his form. I see him in court and on the
street, in company and by the
The novels are full of
Parliament House allusions and Parliament House humour. I hope it is not indelicate, in present
company, to remind you how Meg Dods, mistress of the Cleikum Inn, reacts when
Mr Touchwood tells her that a lord has come to stay at St Ronan’s Well, the
rival ‘Spaw’:
In Parliament House at least, the
authorship of the
“The
end of uncertainty is the death of interest, and hence it happens that no one
now reads novels.”
“Hear him, ye gods!” returned his
companion, “I assure you, Mr Pattieson, you will hardly visit this learned
gentleman, but you are likely to find the new novel most in repute lying on his
table, snugly intrenched, however, between Stair’s Institutes or an open volume
of Morison’s Decisions.”
“Do I deny it?” said the hopeful jurisconsult, “or wherefore should I, since it is well known these Delilahs seduce my wisers and my betters. May they not be found lurking amidst the multiplied memorials of our most distinguished counsel, and even peeping from under the cushion of a judge’s arm-chair? Our seniors at the bar, within the bar, and even on the bench read novels, and, if not belied, some of them have written novels into the bargain.”[5]
“Our seniors within the bar”
were, of course, the Clerks of Session and Scott was one of them.
One of the most touching pictures of
Scott as a member of Faculty comes at the end of an early Chapter of Lockhart’s
Life:
“[Scott] was earnest and serious in
his belief that the new rulers of the country were disposed to abolish many of
its most valuable institutions; and he regarded with special jealousy certain
schemes of innovation with respect to the courts of law and the administration
of justice, which were set on foot by the Crown Officers for
Luckily, we have an almost verbatim
report of Scott’s speech on that occasion, and it is stirring stuff. Incidentally, it shows that the practices of
the spin doctors were not unknown in the early years of the nineteenth century:
“Mr Walter Scott rose, to express to
the Faculty, before entering upon the merits of the question, his surprise at
the very peculiar form, in which the business had been brought forward by the
proposers of the motion. He could not
but recollect that, about six months ago, a meeting of Faculty had been held
upon the subject, at which it was proposed to consider the abstract
propositions contained in the resolutions of the House of Lords; and in
particular, whether the evils, in the administration of civil justice, were so
great as to require a positive interference of the Legislature. In answer to this, the Faculty had been told
pretty roundly, that it would be the height of presumption to attempt to
criticise the proposed measure till they should see it in detail, till they
should learn all its bearings, and thereby become actually and intimately
acquainted with the intentions of Government.
The language employed, was much that which an old gentleman, with a very
emphatic name, Sir Anthony Absolute, employs to his son: - ‘Sir,’ says the
young man, ‘it is surely unreasonable in you to make me marry a young lady whom
I never saw.’ – ‘Sir,’ retorts the father, ‘I think it is much more
unreasonable in you to object to a
young lady you never saw.’ The Faculty
yielded. This mess of political and
judicial cookery was prepared with due mystery and secrecy. The Judges of the Supreme Courts, the
Professors of the Civil Law, and Law of Scotland, every man that wore a bar
gown, or was qualified by education to form an opinion on so important a
subject, were carefully excluded, by the state artists, from even witnessing
their operations; - just as children are driven from the kitchen under pain of
a dish-clout being fastened to their tails.
At length it is served up to table; the covers are removed by the
honourable mover and seconder of the motion, who seem to act as traiteurs; and
now the question put to the unfortunate wights for whom it is prepared, is not,
‘Is this a good dinner?’ but, ‘Gentlemen, ought you to have ordered a dinner,
or no?’
…………..
“There was much founded upon the
general clamour of the country against the administration of the courts. This he thought was greatly exaggerated, both
in extent and foundation. … As to the usual clamour of the ‘Law’s delay’, it
had existed in every country, under every form of judicial administration, from
China to Peru; it was the usual theme of
satirists in all ages; and would
continue to be so, until justice should learn to move at as quick time as the
wishes of the litigants. Were the
English courts exempted from such imputation?
Enquire in Westminster Hall: Go
into the Court of Chancery; or rather
ask those whose suits depended on either, whether the easy and unexpensive
access to the Temples of the Law, or the extreme expedition with which she
dismissed her votaries, were there the usual themes of panegyric. …
“He disliked the proposed bill, as
being founded and defended on what he should venture to call Anglomania – a
rage of imitating English forms and practices, similar to what prevailed in
Scott’s Toryism was not blind. Later in the same debate, he voted with his
contemporaries, Francis Jeffrey and George Joseph Bell, both of them
enthusiastic Whigs, in favour of a motion to reduce the number of judges
in the Court of Session on the grounds, as Jeffrey put it, that “nothing
degrades Judges in the opinion of the world, so much as having nothing to do”.
Nor was his devotion to Scottish
legal institutions a blind devotion to Scots law as such, much as he loved its
peculiarities and preserved them for us to enjoy. We know from
What comes out, from his speech to
the Faculty, from the Life of Napoleon and from many of the novels, is
Scott’s conviction that institutions adapt themselves to the needs of the
people for whose benefit they exist. And
that is a lesson that has not been lost on me in the particular institution
where I work.
Most of the Scottish institutions
Scott was concerned to preserve have long passed away, not always for the
better. But if what made Scotland
Scotland was the spirit, the language and the sense of humour of its people,
then Scott did more to preserve them for us than any other man, even Burns.
It has been a curious experience
rereading the
I would have to admit that, in comparison
with his Scots characters, some of Scott’s English-speaking heroes and heroines
are pretty limp. But then, so are some
of the heroes and heroines in Jane Austen and Dickens. Becky Sharp is more fun than Amelia Sedley,
and we love Glencora Palliser because she is naughty. Yet there are some fine passages for the
heroines too.
In
“My
Nowadays, we have a designer
historian to tell us about the Civil Wars on the television. There is an actor with a wart on his nose to
play the part of Cromwell and another one with a wispy beard to play Charles I. There are lots of noisy, and ultimately
meaningless, shots of blood, slaughter and mayhem. I don’t know whether, in the light of modern
research,
Here he is at
“That
Flemish painter, that Antonio Vandyke – what a power he has! Steel may mutilate, warriors may waste and
destroy, still the King stands uninjured by time; and our grandchildren, while
they read his history, may look on his image, and compare the melancholy
features with the woeful tale. It was a
stern necessity – it was an awful deed!
The calm pride of that eye might have ruled worlds of crouching
Frenchmen, or supple Italians, or formal Spaniards; but its glances only roused
the native courage of the stern Englishman. …
“What
is that piece of painted canvas to me more than others? No, let him show to others the reproaches of
that cold, calm face – that proud yet complaining eye. Those who have acted on higher respects have
no cause to start at painted shadows.
Not wealth nor power brought me from my obscurity. The oppressed consciences – the injured
liberties of
That, so it seems to me, is not simply historical
imagination, but real psychological insight.
Since September last year, we have been preoccupied with the psychology
and persuasive power of the religious fanatic.
For us in the modern west, it has become hard to understand. But Scott understood it and could describe it
– deranged, perhaps, but inspired – in
“Who
talks of signs and wonders? Am I not
Habakkuk Meiklewrath, whose name is changed to Magor-Missabib, because I am
made a terror unto myself and unto all that are around me? – I heard it – Where
did I hear it? Was it not in the tower of the Bass, that overhangeth the wide
wild sea? – And it howled in the winds, and it roared in the billows, and it
screamed, and it whistled, and it clanged, with the scream and the clang and
the whistle of the sea-birds, as they floated, and flew, and dropped, and
dived, on the bosom of the waters. I saw
it – Where did I see it? – Was it not from the high peaks of Dumbarton, when I
looked westward upon the fertile land, and northward on the wild
“We
receive the command” exclaimed more than one of the company. “Six days he hath not spoken nor broken
bread, and now his tongue is unloosed! – We receive the command; as he hath
said, so will we do.”[11]
And more calmly, but hardly less scarily, Balfour of Burley:
“Thou
wilt find,” he said, “that the stubborn and hard-hearted generation with whom
we deal, must be chastised with scorpions ere their hearts be humbled , and ere
they accept the punishment of their iniquity.
The word is gone forth against them, ‘I will bring a sword upon you that
shall avenge the quarrel of my Covenant.’
But what is done shall be done gravely, and with discretion, like that
of the worthy James Melvin, who executed judgment on the tyrant and oppressor,
Cardinal Beaton.”
“I
own to you,” replied Morton, “that I feel still more abhorrent at cold-blooded
and premeditated cruelty, than at that which is practised in the heat of zeal
and resentment.”
“Thou
art yet but a youth,” replied Balfour, “and hast not learned how light in the
balance are a few drops of blood in comparison to the weight and importance of
this great national testimony. …”[12]
Claverhouse and Lauderdale, on the other side, are equally
ruthless, and have no compunction in ordering the immediate execution of Morton
or Macbriar because they refuse to disclose the whereabouts of Balfour of
Burley.
In a different but parallel mode is the poetical insanity of
Madge Wildfire, and I think, too, that we can learn something of human nature
from Scott’s sympathetic picture of her:
“But
that is Madge Wildfire, as she calls herself,” said the man of law ….
“Ay,
that I am,” said Madge, “and that I have ever been since I was something better
– Heigh ho. … But I canna mind when that was – it was lang syne, at ony rate,
and I’ll ne’er fash my thumb about it. –
“I glance like the wildfire through country and town;
I’m seen on the causeway – I’m seen on the down;
The lightning that flashes so bright and so free,
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. …
“I’m Madge of the country, I’m Madge of the town,
And I’m Madge of the lad I am blithest to own –
The Lady of Beever indiamonds may shine,
But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine.
“I am Queen of the Wake, and I’m Lady of May,
And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole today;
The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free
Was never so bright or so bonny as me.”[13]
Madge is Scott’s creation, her madness is his creation and
her songs are his creation, especially Proud Maisie which she sings on
her death-bed (but I would not dare to recite it). And yet always, even with
the tragedy, there comes humour, and it struck me, when I varied my reading
with a bit of Compton Mackenzie, that Scott is also the first in a line of
great Scots humorists.
One of the sub-plots in Old Mortality is the story of
Cuddie Headrigg, always in search of a quiet life, and his mother Mause, always
ready with a word in season – except it’s the wrong word in the wrong
season. She hopes that Lady Margaret
Bellenden will be brought to see the error of her ways.
“The
error of my ways?” interrupted Lady Margaret, “The error of my ways, ye
uncivil woman? .. I’ll hae nae whiggery in the barony of Tillietudlem – the
next thing wad be to set up a conventicle in my very withdrawing room.”[14]
When Morton returns to Milnewood bringing Cuddie Headrigg,
the old housekeeper, Ailie Wilson, says:
“Cuddie? What garr’d ye bring that ill-fa’ard, unlucky
loon alang wi’ ye? It was him and his
randie mither began a’ the mischief in this house.”
“Tut,
tut,” replied Cuddie, “ye should forget and forgi’e mistress. Mither’s in
Is that not the inspiration for the moment in Whisky
Galore, when Mrs Campbell scents that her son, George, the headmaster of
Garyboo, is minded to marry Catriona Macleod?
“Well,
I’m not going to interfere in the matter.
I’ll go and live in
“But
you hate
“Never
mind if I do. The Lord chastiseth those
whom he loves, and who am I to set myself up against the Lord.”[16]
Madam Deputy Provost, with that entirely irrelevant
side-swipe at your native city, our sister-city of the west, it is time for me
to come to an end. I haven’t said half
the things that I could have said or that I would like to have said.
Mr Chairman, Dame Jean, My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, you
have done me a great honour in asking me to be your President. I can only thank you for taking me back yet
again to Scott, and it is with pride and genuine enthusiasm that I ask you now
to rise and drink a toast to his memory.
Sir David Edward
1st March 2002
The
[1] The Bride of Lammermoor, Chapter 23.
[2] Stanley Baldwin, This Torch of Freedom,
Hodder & Stoughton,
[3] Quoted by Lord Cameron in his Presidential
Address (1966) – in Alan Frazer (ed.) An Edinburgh Keepsake, University
Press,
[4] St Ronan’s Well, Chapter 15.
[5] Heart of
[6] J.G. Lockhart, Memoirs of Sir Walter Scott, Chapter 15 (end).
[7] Substance of the Speeches delivered by some Members of the Faculty of Advocates at the Meetings on 28 February, 2 and 3 March 1807 to consider the Bill “for better regulating the Courts of Justice in Scotland and the Administration of Justice therein” (Advocates’ Library, Law Tracts, I, 2), page 32 ff.
[8] Life of Napoleon, Chapter 66. Professor Jane Milgate told me after the dinner that this quotation was taken from David Hume without acknowledgment!
[9]
[10]
[11] Old Mortality, Chapter 22.
[12] Ibidem.
[13] Heart of
[14] Old Mortality, Chapter 7.
[15] Ibidem, Chapter 27.
[16]