Fiction--Fair and Foul. · 2

Now this sentence is in the first place a piece of Scottish history of quite inestimable and concentrated value. Andrew’s temperament is the type of a vast class of Scottish--shall we call it ’sow-thistlian’--mind, which necessarily takes the view of either Pope or saint that the thistle in Lebanon took of the cedar or lilies in Lebanon; and the entire force of the passions which, in the Scottish revolution, foretold and forearmed the French one, is told in this one paragraph; the coarseness of it, observe, being admitted, not for the sake of the laugh, any more than an onion in broth merely for its flavour, but for the meat of it; the inherent constancy of that coarseness being a fact in this order of mind, and an essential part of the history to be told.

Secondly, observe that this speech, in the religious passion of it, such as there may be, is entirely sincere. Andrew is a thief, a liar, a coward, and, in the Fair service from which he takes his name, a hypocrite; but in the form of prejudice, which is all that his mind is capable of in the place of religion, he is entirely sincere. He does not in the least pretend detestation of image worship to please his master, or any one else; he honestly scorns the ‘carnal morality[171] as dowd and fusionless as rue-leaves at Yule’ of the sermon in the upper cathedral; and when wrapt in critical attention to the ‘real savour o’ doctrine’ in the crypt, so completely forgets the hypocrisy of his fair service as to return his master’s attempt to disturb him with hard punches of the elbow.

Thirdly. He is a man of no mean sagacity, quite up to the average standard of Scottish common sense, not a low one; and, though incapable of understanding any manner of lofty thought or passion, is a shrewd measurer of weaknesses, and not without a spark or two of kindly feeling. See first his sketch of his master’s character to Mr. Hammorgaw, beginning: ‘He’s no a’thegither sae void o’ sense, neither;’ and then the close of the dialogue: ‘But the lad’s no a bad lad after a’, and he needs some carefu’ body to look after him.’

Fourthly. He is a good workman; knows his own business well, and can judge of other craft, if sound, or otherwise.

All these four qualities of him must be known before we can understand this single speech. Keeping them in mind, I take it up, word by word.

You observe, in the outset, Scott makes no attempt whatever to indicate accents or modes of pronunciation by changed spelling, unless the word becomes a quite definitely new and scarcely writeable one. The Scottish way of pronouncing ‘James,’ for instance, is entirely peculiar, and extremely pleasant to the ear. But it is so, just because it does not change the word into Jeems, nor into Jims, nor into Jawms. A modern writer of dialects would think it amusing to use one or other of these ugly spellings. But Scott writes the name in pure English, knowing that a Scots reader will speak it rightly, and an English one be wise in letting it alone. On the other hand he writes ‘weel’ for ‘well,’ because that word is complete in its change, and may be very closely expressed by the double e. The ambiguous ’u’s in ‘gude’ and ‘sune’ are admitted, because far liker the sound than the double o would be, and that in ‘hure,’ for grace’ sake, to soften the word;--so also ‘flaes’ for ‘fleas.’ ‘Mony’ for ‘many’ is again positively right in sound, and ‘neuk’ differs from our ‘nook’ in sense, and is not the same word at all, as we shall presently see.

Secondly, observe, not a word is corrupted in any indecent haste, slowness, slovenliness, or incapacity of pronunciation. There is no lisping, drawling, slobbering, or snuffling: the speech is as clear as a bell and as keen as an arrow: and its elisions and contractions are either melodious, (‘na,’ for ‘not,’--‘pu’d,’ for ‘pulled,’) or as normal as in a Latin verse. The long words are delivered without the slightest bungling; and ‘bigging’ finished to its last g.

I take the important words now in their places.

Brave. The old English sense of the word in ‘to go brave’ retained, expressing Andrew’s sincere and respectful admiration. Had he meant to insinuate a hint of the church’s being too fine, he would have said ‘braw.’

Kirk. This is of course just as pure and unprovincial a word as ‘Kirche,’ or ‘eglise.’

Whigmaleerie. I cannot get at the root of this word, but it is one showing that the speaker is not bound by classic rules, but will use any syllables that enrich his meaning. ‘Nipperty-tipperty’ (of his master’s ‘poetry-nonsense’) is another word of the same class. ‘Curlieurlie’ is of course just as pure as Shakespeare’s ‘Hurly-burly.’ But see first suggestion of the idea to Scott at Blair-Adam (L. vi. 264).

Opensteek hems. More description, or better, of the later Gothic cannot be put into four syllables. ‘Steek,’ melodious for stitch, has a combined sense of closing or fastening. And note that the later Gothic, being precisely what Scott knew best (in Melrose) and liked best, it is, here as elsewhere, quite as much himself[172] as Frank, that he is laughing at, when he laughs with Andrew, whose ‘opensteek hems’ are only a ruder metaphor for his own ‘willow-wreaths changed to stone.’

Gunpowther. ’-Ther’ is a lingering vestige of the French ’-dre.’

Syne. One of the melodious and mysterious Scottish words which have partly the sound of wind and stream in them, and partly the range of softened idea which is like a distance of blue hills over border land (‘far in the distant Cheviot’s blue’). Perhaps even the least sympathetic ‘Englisher’ might recognise this, if he heard ‘Old Long Since’ vocally substituted for the Scottish words to the air. I do not know the root; but the word’s proper meaning is not ‘since,’ but before or after an interval of some duration, ‘as weel sune as syne.’ ‘But first on Sawnie gies a ca’, Syne, bauldly in she enters.’

Behoved (to come). A rich word, with peculiar idiom, always used more or less ironically of anything done under a partly mistaken and partly pretended notion of duty.

Siccan. Far prettier, and fuller in meaning than ‘such.’ It contains an added sense of wonder; and means properly ‘so great’ or ‘so unusual.’

Took (o’ drum). Classical ‘tuck’ from Italian ‘toccata,’ the preluding ‘touch’ or flourish, on any instrument (but see Johnson under word ‘tucket,’ quoting Othello). The deeper Scottish vowels are used here to mark the deeper sound of the bass drum, as in more solemn warning.

Bigging. The only word in all the sentence of which the Scottish form is less melodious than the English, ‘and what for no,’ seeing that Scottish architecture is mostly little beyond Bessie Bell’s and Mary Gray’s? ‘They biggit a bow’re by yon burnside, and theekit it ow’re wi rashes.’ But it is pure Anglo-Saxon in roots; see glossary to Fairbairn’s edition of the Douglas Virgil, 1710.

Coup. Another of the much-embracing words; short for ‘upset,’ but with a sense of awkwardness as the inherent cause of fall; compare Richie Moniplies (also for sense of ‘behoved’): ‘Ae auld hirplin deevil of a potter behoved just to step in my way, and offer me a pig (earthern pot--etym. dub.), as he said “just to put my Scotch ointment in;” and I gave him a push, as but natural, and the tottering deevil coupit owre amang his own pigs, and damaged a score of them.’ So also Dandie Dinmont in the postchaise: ’’Od! I hope they’ll no coup us.’

The Crans. Idiomatic; root unknown to me, but it means in this use, full, total, and without recovery.

Molendinar. From ‘molendinum,’ the grinding-place. I do not know if actually the local name,[173] or Scott’s invention. Compare Sir Piercie’s ‘Molinaras.’ But at all events used here with bye-sense of degradation of the formerly idle saints to grind at the mill.

Crouse. Courageous, softened with a sense of comfort.

Ilka. Again a word with azure distance, including the whole sense of ‘each’ and ‘every.’ The reader must carefully and reverently distinguish these comprehensive words, which gather two or more perfectly understood meanings into one chord of meaning, and are harmonies more than words, from the above-noted blunders between two half-hit meanings, struck as a bad piano-player strikes the edge of another note. In English we have fewer of these combined thoughts; so that Shakespeare rather plays with the distinct lights of his words, than melts them into one. So again Bishop Douglas spells, and doubtless spoke, the word ‘rose,’ differently, according to his purpose; if as the chief or governing ruler of flowers, ‘rois,’ but if only in her own beauty, rose.

Christian-like. The sense of the decency and order proper to Christianity is stronger in Scotland than in any other country, and the word ‘Christian’ more distinctly opposed to ‘beast.’ Hence the back-handed cut at the English for their over-pious care of dogs.

I am a little surprised myself at the length to which this examination of one small piece of Sir Walter’s first-rate work has carried us, but here I must end for this time, trusting, if the Editor of the Nineteenth Century permit me, yet to trespass, perhaps more than once, on his readers’ patience; but, at all events, to examine in a following paper the technical characteristics of Scott’s own style, both in prose and verse, together with Byron’s, as opposed to our fashionably recent dialects and rhythms; the essential virtues of language, in both the masters of the old school, hinging ultimately, little as it might be thought, on certain unalterable views of theirs concerning the code called ‘of the Ten Commandments,’ wholly at variance with the dogmas of automatic morality which, summed again by the witches’ line, ‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair,’ hover through the fog and filthy air of our prosperous England.