Of the literature just alluded2 to Scott was the inventor. It is founded on the fortunes and misfortunes of the Stuart family, of which Scott was the zealous4 defender5 and apologist, doing all that in his power lay to represent the members of it as noble, chivalrous6, high-minded, unfortunate princes; though, perhaps, of all the royal families that ever existed upon earth, this family was the worst. It was unfortunate enough, it is true; but it owed its misfortunes entirely7 to its crimes, viciousness, bad faith, and cowardice8. Nothing will be said of it here until it made its appearance in England to occupy the English throne.
The first of the family which we have to do with, James, was a dirty, cowardly miscreant9, of whom the less said the better. His son, Charles I., was a tyrant10, exceedingly cruel and revengeful, but weak and dastardly; he caused a poor fellow to be hanged in London, who was not his subject, because he had heard that the unfortunate creature had once bit his own glove at Cadiz, in Spain, at the mention of his name; and he permitted his own bull-dog, Strafford, to be executed by his own enemies, though the only crime of Strafford was that he had barked furiously at those enemies, and had worried two or three of them when Charles shouted, ‘Fetch ’em!’ He was a bitter, but yet a despicable, enemy, and the coldest and most worthless of friends; for though he always hoped to be able some time or other to hang his enemies, he was always ready to curry11 favour with them, more especially if he could do so at the expense of his friends. He was the haughtiest12 yet meanest of mankind. He once caned13 a young nobleman for appearing before him in the drawing-room not dressed exactly according to the court etiquette14; yet he condescended15 to flatter and compliment him who, from principle, was his bitterest enemy — namely, Harrison, when the Republican colonel was conducting him as a prisoner to London. His bad faith was notorious; it was from abhorrence16 of the first public instance which he gave of his bad faith — his breaking his word to the Infanta of Spain, that the poor Hiberno–Spainard bit his glove at Cadiz; and it was his notorious bad faith which eventually cost him his head; for the Republicans would gladly have spared him, provided they could have put the slightest confidence in any promise, however solemn, which he might have made to them. Of them it would be difficult to say whether they most hated or despised him. Religion he had none. One day he favoured Popery; the next, on hearing certain clamours of the people, he sent his wife’s domestics back packing to France, because they were Papists. Papists, however, should make him a saint, for he was certainly the cause of the taking of Rochelle.
His son, Charles the Second, though he passed his youth in the school of adversity, learned no other lesson from it than the following one — take care of yourself, and never do an action, either good or bad, which is likely to bring you into any great difficulty; and this maxim17 he acted up to as soon as he came to the throne. He was a Papist, but took especial care not to acknowledge his religion, at which he frequently scoffed18, till just before his last gasp19, when he knew that he could lose nothing, and hoped to gain everything by it. He was always in want of money, but took care not to tax the country beyond all endurable bounds, preferring, to such a bold and dangerous course, to become the secret pensioner20 of Louis, to whom, in return for his gold, he sacrificed the honour and interests of Britain. He was too lazy and sensual to delight in playing the part of a tyrant himself; but he never checked tyranny in others, save in one instance. He permitted beastly butchers to commit unmentionable horrors on the feeble, unarmed, and disunited Covenanters of Scotland, but checked them when they would fain have endeavoured to play the same game on the numerous, united, dogged, and warlike Independents of England. To show his filial piety21, he bade the hangman dishonour22 the corpses23 of some of his father’s judges, before whom, when alive, he ran like a screaming hare; but permitted those who had lost their all in supporting his father’s cause, to pine in misery24 and want. He would give to a painted harlot a thousand pounds for a loathsome25 embrace, and to a player or buffoon26 a hundred for a trumpery27 pun, but would refuse a penny to the widow or orphan28 of an old Royalist soldier. He was the personification of selfishness; and as he loved and cared for no one, so did no one love or care for him. So little had he gained the respect or affection of those who surrounded him, that after his body had undergone an after-death examination, parts of it were thrown down the sinks of the palace, to become eventually the prey29 of the swine and ducks of Westminster.
His brother, who succeeded him, James the Second, was a Papist, but sufficiently30 honest to acknowledge his Popery, but, upon the whole, he was a poor creature; though a tyrant, he was cowardly; had he not been a coward he would never have lost his throne. There were plenty of lovers of tyranny in England who would have stood by him, provided he would have stood by them, and would, though not Papists, have encouraged him in his attempt to bring back England beneath the sway of Rome, and perhaps would eventually have become Papists themselves; but the nation raising a cry against him, and his son-inlaw, the Prince of Orange, invading the country, he forsook31 his friends — of whom he had a host, but for whom he cared little — left his throne, for which he cared a great deal, and Popery in England, for which he cared yet more, to their fate, and escaped to France, from whence, after taking a little heart, he repaired to Ireland, where he was speedily joined by a gallant32 army of Papists whom he basely abandoned at the Boyne, running away in a most lamentable33 condition at the time when, by showing a little courage, he might have enabled them to conquer. This worthy34, in his last will, bequeathed his heart to England, his right arm to Scotland, and his bowels35 to Ireland. What the English and Scotch said to their respective bequests36 is not known, but it is certain that an old Irish priest, supposed to have been a great-grand-uncle of the present Reverend Father Murtagh, on hearing of the bequest37 to Ireland, fell into a great passion, and, having been brought up at ‘Paris and Salamanca,’ expressed his indignation in the following strain: ‘Malditas sean tus tripas! teniamos bastante del olor de tus tripas al tiempo de tu nuida dela batalla del Boyne!’
His son, generally called the Old Pretender, though born in England, was carried in his infancy38 to France, where he was brought up in the strictest principles of Popery, which principles, however, did not prevent him becoming (when did they ever prevent anyone?) a worthless and profligate39 scoundrel. There are some doubts as to the reality of his being a son of James, which doubts are probably unfounded, the grand proof of his legitimacy40 being the thorough baseness of his character. It was said of his father that he could speak well, and it may be said of him that he could write well — the only thing he could do which was worth doing, always supposing that there is any merit in being able to write. He was of a mean appearance, and, like his father, pusillanimous41 to a degree. The meanness of his appearance disgusted, and his pusillanimity42 discouraged the Scotch when he made his appearance amongst them in the year 1715, some time after the standard of rebellion had been hoisted43 by Mar44. He only stayed a short time in Scotland, and then, seized with panic, retreated to France, leaving his friends to shift for themselves as they best could. He died a pensioner of the Pope.
The son of this man, Charles Edward, of whom so much in latter years has been said and written, was a worthless, ignorant youth, and a profligate and illiterate45 old man. When young, the best that can be said of him is that he had occasionally springs of courage, invariably at the wrong time and place, which merely served to lead his friends into inextricable difficulties. When old, he was loathsome and contemptible46 to both friend and foe47. His wife loathed48 him, and for the most terrible of reasons; she did not pollute his couch, for to do that was impossible — he had made it so vile49; but she betrayed it, inviting50 to it not only Alfieri the Filthy51, but the coarsest grooms52. Doctor King, the warmest and almost last adherent53 of his family, said that there was not a vice54 or crime of which he was not guilty; as for his foes55, they scorned to harm him even when in their power. In the year 1745 he came down from the Highlands of Scotland, which had long been a focus of rebellion. He was attended by certain clans58 of the Highlands — desperadoes used to freebootery from their infancy, and consequently to the use of arms, and possessed59 of a certain species of discipline. With these he defeated at Prestonpans a body of men called soldiers, but who were in reality peasants and artizans, levied60 about a month before, without discipline or confidence in each other, and who were miserably61 massacred by the Highland56 army. He subsequently invaded England, nearly destitute62 of regular soldiers, and penetrated63 as far as Derby, from which place he retreated on learning that regular forces, which had been hastily recalled from Flanders, were coming against him, with the Duke of Cumberland at their head. He was pursued, and his rear-guard overtaken and defeated by the dragoons of the Duke at Clifton, from which place the rebels retreated in great confusion across the Eden into Scotland, where they commenced dancing Highland reels and strathspeys on the bank of the river for joy at their escape, whilst a number of wretched girls, paramours of some of them, were perishing in the waters of the swollen64 river in an attempt to follow them. They themselves passed over by eighties and by hundreds, arm-inarm, for mutual65 safety, without the loss of a man, but they left the poor paramours to shift for themselves; nor did any of these canny66 people, after passing the stream, dash back to rescue a single female life — no, they were too well employed upon the bank in dancing strathspeys to the tune3 of ‘Charlie o’er the water.’ It was, indeed, Charlie o’er the water, and canny Highlanders o’er the water, but where were the poor prostitutes meantime? In the water.
The Jacobite farce67, or tragedy, was speedily brought to a close by the Battle of Culloden; there did Charlie wish himself back again o’er the water, exhibiting the most unmistakable signs of pusillanimity; there were the clans cut to pieces — at least, those who could be brought to the charge — and there fell Giles Mac Bean, or, as he was called in Gaelic, Giliosa Mac Beathan, a kind of giant, six feet four inches and a quarter high, ‘than whom,’ as his wife said in a coronach she made upon him, ‘no man who stood at Cuiloitr was taller’— Giles Mac Bean, the Major of the clan57 Cattan, a great drinker, a great fisher, a great shooter, and the champion of the Highland host.
The last of the Stuarts was a cardinal68.
Such were the Stuarts, such their miserable69 history. They were dead and buried, in every sense of the word, until Scott resuscitated70 them — how? — by the power of fine writing, and by calling to his aid that strange divinity, gentility. He wrote splendid novels about the Stuarts, in which he represents them as unlike what they really were, as the graceful71 and beautiful papillon is unlike the hideous72 and filthy worm. In a word, he made them genteel, and that was enough to give them paramount73 sway over the minds of the British people. The public became Stuart-mad, and everybody, especially the women, said: ‘What a pity it was that we hadn’t a Stuart to govern.’ All parties, Whig, Tory, or Radical74, became Jacobite at heart, and admirers of absolute power. The Whigs talked about the liberty of the subject, and the Radicals75 about the rights of man still; but neither party cared a straw for what it talked about, and mentally swore that, as soon as by means of such stuff they could get places, and fill their pockets, they would be as Jacobite as the Jacobs themselves. As for the Tories, no great change in them was necessary; everything favouring absolutism and slavery being congenial to them. So the whole nation — that is, the reading part of the nation, with some exceptions, for, thank God, there has always been some salt in England — went over the water to Charlie. But going over to Charlie was not enough; they must, or at least a considerable part of them, go over to Rome, too, or have a hankering to do so. As the Priest sarcastically76 observes in the text, ‘As all the Jacobs were Papists, so the good folks who, through Scott’s novels, admire the Jacobs must be Papists too.’ An idea got about that the religion of such genteel people as the Stuarts must be the climax77 of gentility, and that idea was quite sufficient. Only let a thing, whether temporal or spiritual, be considered genteel in England, and if it be not followed it is strange indeed; so Scott’s writings not only made the greater part of the nation Jacobite, but Popish.
Here some people will exclaim — whose opinions remain sound and uncontaminated — what you say is perhaps true with respect to the Jacobite nonsense at present so prevalent being derived78 from Scott’s novels, but the Popish nonsense, which people of the genteeler class are so fond of, is derived from Oxford79. We sent our sons to Oxford nice honest lads, educated in the principles of the Church of England, and at the end of the first term they came home puppies, talking Popish nonsense, which they had learned from the pedants80 to whose care we had entrusted81 them; ay, not only Popery, but Jacobitism, which they hardly carried with them from home, for we never heard them talking Jacobitism before they had been at Oxford; but now their conversation is a farrago of Popish and Jacobite stuff: ‘Complines and Claverse.’ Now, what these honest folks say is, to a certain extent, founded on fact; the Popery which has overflowed82 the land during the last fourteen or fifteen years has come immediately from Oxford, and likewise some of the Jacobitism, Popish and Jacobite nonsense, and little or nothing else, having been taught at Oxford for about that number of years. But whence did the pedants get the Popish nonsense with which they have corrupted83 youth? Why, from the same quarter from which they got the Jacobite nonsense with which they have inoculated84 those lads who were not inoculated with it before — Scott’s novels. Jacobitism and Laudism, a kind of half Popery, had at one time been very prevalent at Oxford, but both had been long consigned86 to oblivion there, and people at Oxford cared as little about Laud85 as they did about the Pretender. Both were dead and buried there, as everywhere else, till Scott called them out of their graves, when the pedants of Oxford hailed both; ay, and the Pope, too, as soon as Scott had made the old fellow fascinating, through particular novels, more especially the ‘Monastery’ and ‘Abbot.’ Then the quiet, respectable, honourable87 Church of England would no longer do for the pedants of Oxford; they must belong to a more genteel Church — they were ashamed at first to be downright Romans — so they would be Lauds88. The pale-looking, but exceedingly genteel, non-juring clergyman in Waverley was a Laud; but they soon became tired of being Lauds, for Laud’s Church, gewgawish and idolatrous as it was, was not sufficiently tinselly and idolatrous for them, so they must be Popes, but in a sneaking89 way, still calling themselves Church of England men, in order to batten on the bounty90 of the Church which they were betraying, and likewise have opportunities of corrupting91 such lads as might still resort to Oxford with principles uncontaminated.
So the respectable people, whose opinions are still sound, are, to a certain extent, right when they say that the tide of Popery, which has flowed over the land, has come from Oxford. It did come immediately from Oxford, but how did it get to Oxford? Why, from Scott’s novels. Oh! that sermon which was the first manifestation92 of Oxford feeling, preached at Oxford some time in the year ‘38 by a divine of a weak and confused intellect, in which Popery was mixed up with Jacobitism! The present writer remembers perfectly93 well, on reading some extracts from it at the time in a newspaper, on the top of a coach, exclaiming: ‘Why, the simpleton has been pilfering94 from Walter Scott’s novels!’
Oh, Oxford pedants! Oxford pedants! ye whose politics and religion are both derived from Scott’s novels! what a pity it is that some lad of honest parents, whose mind ye are endeavouring to stultify95 with your nonsense about ‘Complines and Claverse,’ has not the spirit to start up and cry, ‘Confound your gibberish! I’ll have none of it. Hurrah96 for the Church, and the principles of my father!’
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1
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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5
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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7
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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10
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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haughtiest
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| haughty（傲慢的，骄傲的）的最高级形式 | |
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caned
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| vt.用苔杖打（cane的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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14
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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15
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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16
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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pensioner
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| n.领养老金的人 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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bequests
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| n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 )；遗产，遗赠物 | |
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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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legitimacy
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| n.合法，正当 | |
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pusillanimous
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| adj.懦弱的，胆怯的 | |
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pusillanimity
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| n.无气力，胆怯 | |
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43
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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45
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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46
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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48
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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49
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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51
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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52
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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53
adherent
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| n.信徒，追随者，拥护者 | |
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54
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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55
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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56
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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60
levied
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| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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64
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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65
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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66
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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69
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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resuscitated
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| v.使（某人或某物）恢复知觉，苏醒( resuscitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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72
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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74
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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75
radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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76
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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77
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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78
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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80
pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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81
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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83
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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84
inoculated
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| v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
laud
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| n.颂歌；v.赞美 | |
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86
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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87
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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88
lauds
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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90
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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91
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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92
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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93
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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94
pilfering
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的现在分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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95
stultify
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| v.愚弄；使呆滞 | |
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96
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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