The Abbot

  Produced by Alan Millar, David Moynihan, Charles Franksand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

  THE ABBOT.

  BEING THE SEQUEL TO THE MONASTERY.

  By Sir Walter Scott

  ROLAND GRAEME AND CATHERINE SETON BEFORE QUEEN MARY.]

  INTRODUCTION--(1831.)

  From what is said in the Introduction to the Monastery, it mustnecessarily be inferred, that the Author considered that romance assomething very like a failure. It is true, the booksellers did notcomplain of the sale, because, unless on very felicitous occasions,or on those which are equally the reverse, literary popularity is notgained or lost by a single publication. Leisure must be allowed for thetide both to flow and ebb. But I was conscious that, in my situation,not to advance was in some Degree to recede, and being naturallyunwilling to think that the principle of decay lay in myself, I wasat least desirous to know of a certainty, whether the degree ofdiscountenance which I had incurred, was now owing to an ill-managedstory, or an ill-chosen subject.

  I was never, I confess, one of those who are willing to suppose thebrains of an author to be a kind of milk, which will not stand abovea single creaming, and who are eternally harping to young authors tohusband their efforts, and to be chary of their reputation, lest it growhackneyed in the eyes of men. Perhaps I was, and have always been, themore indifferent to the degree of estimation in which I might be heldas an author, because I did not put so high a value as many others uponwhat is termed literary reputation in the abstract, or at least upon thespecies of popularity which had fallen to my share; for though itwere worse than affectation to deny that my vanity was satisfied at mysuccess in the department in which chance had in some measure enlistedme, I was, nevertheless, far from thinking that the novelist orromance-writer stands high in the ranks of literature. But I spare thereader farther egotism on this subject, as I have expressed my opinionvery fully in the Introductory Epistle to the Fortunes of Nigel, firstedition; and, although it be composed in an imaginary character, it isas sincere and candid as if it had been written "without my gown andband."

  In a word, when I considered myself as having been unsuccessful in theMonastery, I was tempted to try whether I could not restore, even atthe risk of totally losing, my so-called reputation, by a new hazard--Ilooked round my library, and could not but observe, that, from the timeof Chaucer to that of Byron, the most popular authors had been themost prolific. Even the aristarch Johnson allowed that the qualityof readiness and profusion had a merit in itself, independent of theintrinsic value of the composition. Talking of Churchill, I believe,who had little merit in his prejudiced eyes, he allowed him that offertility, with some such qualification as this, "A Crab-apple can bearbut crabs after all; but there is a great difference in favour of thatwhich bears a large quantity of fruit, however indifferent, and thatwhich produces only a few."

  Looking more attentively at the patriarchs of literature, whose earnerwas as long as it was brilliant, I thought I perceived that in thebusy and prolonged course of exertion, there were no doubt occasionalfailures, but that still those who were favourites of their agetriumphed over these miscarriages. By the new efforts which theymade, their errors were obliterated, they became identified with theliterature of their country, and after having long received law from thecritics, came in some degree to impose it. And when such a writer was atlength called from the scene, his death first made the public sensiblewhat a large share he had occupied in their attention. I recollected apassage in Grimm's Correspondence, that while the unexhausted Voltairesent forth tract after tract to the very close of a long life, the firstimpression made by each as it appeared, was, that it was inferior toits predecessors; an opinion adopted from the general idea that thePatriarch of Ferney must at last find the point from which he was todecline. But the opinion of the public finally ranked in successionthe last of Voltaire's Essays on the same footing with those which hadformerly charmed the French nation. The inference from this and similarfacts seemed to me to be, that new works were often judged of by thepublic, not so much from their own intrinsic merit, as from extrinsicideas which readers had previously formed with regard to them, and overwhich a writer might hope to triumph by patience and by exertion. Thereis risk in the attempt;

  "If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim."

  But this is a chance incident to every literary attempt, and by whichmen of a sanguine temper are little moved.

  I may illustrate what I mean, by the feelings of most men in travelling.If we have found any stage particularly tedious, or in an especialdegree interesting, particularly short, or much longer than we expected,our imaginations are so apt to exaggerate the original impression, that,on repeating the journey, we usually find that we have considerablyover-rated the predominating quality, and the road appears to be dulleror more pleasant, shorter or more tedious, than what we expected, and,consequently, than what is actually the case. It requires a third orfourth journey to enable us to form an accurate judgment of its beauty,its length, or its other attributes.

  In the same manner, the public, judging of a new work, which it receivesperhaps with little expectation, if surprised into applause, becomesvery often ecstatic, gives a great deal more approbation than is due,and elevates the child of its immediate favour to a rank which, as itaffects the author, it is equally difficult to keep, and painful tolose. If, on this occasion, the author trembles at the height to whichhe is raised, and becomes afraid of the shadow of his own renown, he mayindeed retire from the lottery with the prize which he has drawn, but,in future ages, his honour will be only in proportion to his labours.If, on the contrary, he rushes again into the lists, he is sure to bejudged with severity proportioned to the former favour of the public. Ifhe be daunted by a bad reception on this second occasion, he may againbecome a stranger to the arena. If, on the contrary, he can keep hisground, and stand the shuttlecock's fate, of being struck up and down,he will probably, at length, hold with some certainty the level inpublic opinion which he may be found to deserve; and he may perhapsboast of arresting the general attention, in the same manner as theBachelor Samson Carrasco, of fixing the weathercock La Giralda ofSeville for weeks, months, or years, that is, for as long as the windshall uniformly blow from one quarter. To this degree of popularity theauthor had the hardihood to aspire, while, in order to attain it, heassumed the daring resolution to keep himself in the view of the publicby frequent appearances before them.

  It must be added, that the author's incognito gave him greater courageto renew his attempts to please the public, and an advantage similar tothat which Jack the Giant-killer received from his coat of darkness.In sending the Abbot forth so soon after the Monastery, he had used thewell-known practice recommended by Bassanio:--

  "In my school days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot another of the self-same flight, The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth."

  And, to continue the simile, his shafts, like those of the lesser Ajax,were discharged more readily that the archer was as inaccessibleto criticism, personally speaking, as the Grecian archer under hisbrother's sevenfold shield.

  Should the reader desire to know upon what principles the Abbot wasexpected to amend the fortune of the Monastery, I have first to requesthis attention to the Introductory Epistle addressed to the imaginaryCaptain Clutterbuck; a mode by which, like his predecessors in this walkof fiction, the real author makes one of his _dramatis personae_ themeans of communicating his own sentiments to the public, somewhat moreartificially than by a direct address to the readers. A pleasing Frenchwriter of fairy tales, Monsieur Pajon, author of the History of PrinceSoly, has set a diverting example of the same machinery, where heintroduces the presiding Genius of the land of Romance conversing withone of the personages of the tal
e.

  In this Introductory Epistle, the author communicates, in confidence, toCaptain Clutterbuck, his sense that the White Lady had not met the tasteof the times, and his reason for withdrawing her from the scene. Theauthor did not deem it equally necessary to be candid respecting anotheralteration. The Monastery was designed, at first, to have contained somesupernatural agency, arising out of the fact, that Melrose had been theplace of deposit of the great Robert Bruce's heart. The writer shrunk,however, from filling up, in this particular, the sketch as it wasoriginally traced; nor did he venture to resume, in continuation, thesubject which he had left unattempted in the original work. Thus, theincident of the discovery of the heart, which occupies the greaterpart of the Introduction to the Monastery, is a mystery unnecessarilyintroduced, and which remains at last very imperfectly explained. Inthis particular, I was happy to shroud myself by the example of theauthor of "Caleb Williams," who never condescends to inform us of theactual contents of that Iron Chest which makes such a figure in hisinteresting work, and gives the name to Mr. Colman's drama.

  The public had some claim to inquire into this matter, but it seemedindifferent policy in the author to give the explanation. For, whateverpraise may be due to the ingenuity which brings to a general combinationall the loose threads of a narrative, like the knitter at the finishingof her stocking, I am greatly deceived if in many cases a superioradvantage is not attained, by the air of reality which the deficiencyof explanation attaches to a work written on a different system. In lifeitself, many things befall every mortal, of which the individual neverknows the real cause or origin; and were we to point out the most markeddistinction between a real and a fictitious narrative, we would say,that the former in reference to the remote causes of the events itrelates, is obscure, doubtful, and mysterious; whereas, in the lattercase, it is a part of the author's duty to afford satisfactory detailsupon the causes of the separate events he has recorded, and, in a word,to account for every thing. The reader, like Mungo in the Padlock, willnot be satisfied with hearing what he is not made fully to comprehend.

  I omitted, therefore, in the Introduction to the Abbot, any attempt toexplain the previous story, or to apologize for unintelligibility.

  Neither would it have been prudent to have endeavoured to proclaim,in the Introduction to the Abbot, the real spring, by which I hopedit might attract a greater degree of interest than its immediatepredecessor. A taking title, or the announcement of a popular subject,is a recipe for success much in favour with booksellers, but whichauthors will not always find efficacious. The cause is worth a moment'sexamination.

  There occur in every country some peculiar historical characters, whichare, like a spell or charm, sovereign to excite curiosity and attractattention, since every one in the slightest degree interested in theland which they belong to, has heard much of them, and longs to hearmore. A tale turning on the fortunes of Alfred or Elizabeth in England,or of Wallace or Bruce in Scotland, is sure by the very announcementto excite public curiosity to a considerable degree, and ensure thepublisher's being relieved of the greater part of an impression,even before the contents of the work are known. This is of the lastimportance to the bookseller, who is at once, to use a technical phrase,"brought home," all his outlay being repaid. But it is a different casewith the author, since it cannot be denied that we are apt to feel leastsatisfied with the works of which we have been induced, by titles andlaudatory advertisements, to entertain exaggerated expectations.The intention of the work has been anticipated, and misconceived ormisrepresented, and although the difficulty of executing the work againreminds us of Hotspur's task of "o'er-walking a current roaring loud,"yet the adventurer must look for more ridicule if he fails, thanapplause if he executes, his undertaking.

  Notwithstanding a risk, which should make authors pause ere they adopta theme which, exciting general interest and curiosity, is oftenthe preparative for disappointment, yet it would be an injudiciousregulation which should deter the poet or painter from attempting tointroduce historical portraits, merely from the difficulty of executingthe task in a satisfactory manner. Something must be trusted to thegenerous impulse, which often thrusts an artist upon feats of which heknows the difficulty, while he trusts courage and exertion may affordthe means of surmounting it.

  It is especially when he is sensible of losing ground with the public,that an author may be justified in using with address, such selection ofsubject or title as is most likely to procure a rehearing. It was withthese feelings of hope and apprehension, that I venture to awaken, ina work of fiction, the memory of Queen Mary, so interesting by herwit, her beauty, her misfortunes, and the mystery which still does, andprobably always will, overhang her history. In doing so, I was awarethat failure would be a conclusive disaster, so that my task wassomething like that of an enchanter who raises a spirit over whom heis uncertain of possessing an effectual control; and I naturally paidattention to such principles of composition, as I conceived were bestsuited to the historical novel.

  Enough has been already said to explain the purpose of composing theAbbot. The historical references are, as usual, explained in the notes.That which relates to Queen Mary's escape from Lochleven Castle, is amore minute account of that romantic adventure, than is to be found inthe histories of the period.

  ABBOTSFORD,

  1_st January_, 1831.