Sir Walter Scott | Page 4

as may and do belong
to the class of compilation--that is, consist in bringing the materials
together and leaving them to produce their own effect....
'No one admires or delights in the Scotch Novels more than I do, but at
the same time, when I hear it asserted that his mind is of the same class
with Shakespeare, or that he imitates nature in the same way, I confess
I cannot assent to it. No two things appear to me more different. Sir
Walter is an imitator of nature and nothing more; but I think
Shakespeare is infinitely more than this.... Sir Walter's mind is full of
information, but the "o'er informing power" is not there. Shakespeare's
spirit, like fire, shines through him; Sir Walter's, like a stream, reflects
surrounding objects.'
I may not at this time quote much more of Hazlitt's criticism, but the
point of it would be misunderstood if it were construed as depreciation
of Scott. What may be considered merely memory in contrast to
Shakespeare's imagination is regarded by Hazlitt as a limitless source

of visionary life when compared with the ideas of self-centred authors
like Byron. This is what Hazlitt says in another essay of the same
series:--
'Scott "does not 'spin his brains' but something much better." He "has
got hold of another clue--that of Nature and history--and long may he
spin it, 'even to the crack of doom!'" Scott's success lies in not thinking
of himself. "And then again the catch that blind Willie and his wife and
the boy sing in the hollow of the heath--there is more mirth and heart's
ease in it than in all Lord Byron's Don Juan or Mr. Moore's Lyrics. And
why? Because the author is thinking of beggars and a beggar's brat, and
not of himself, while he writes it. He looks at Nature, sees it, hears it,
feels it, and believes that it exists before it is printed, hotpressed, and
labelled on the back By the Author of 'Waverley.' He does not fancy,
nor would he for one moment have it supposed, that his name and fame
compose all that is worth a moment's consideration in the universe.
This is the great secret of his writings--a perfect indifference to self."'
Hazlitt appears to allow too little to the mind of the Author of
Waverley--as though the author had nothing to do but let the contents of
his mind arrange themselves on his pages. What this exactly may mean
is doubtful. We are not disposed to accept the theory of the passive
mind as a sufficient philosophical explanation of the Scotch novels. But
Hazlitt is certainly right to make much of the store of reading and
reminiscence they imply, and it is not erroneous or fallacious to think
of all Scott's writings in verse or prose as peculiarly the fruits of his life
and experience. His various modes of writing are suggested to him by
the way, and he finds his art with no long practice when the proper time
comes to use it. After all, is this not what was meant by Horace when
he said that the subject rightly chosen will provide what is wanted in art
and style?
Cui lecta potenter erit res Nec facundia deseret hunc nec lucidus ordo.
It was chosen by Corneille as a motto for Cinna; it would do as a
summary of all the writings of Scott.
The Waverley Novels may be reckoned among the works of fiction that

have had their origin in chance, and have turned out something
different from what the author intended. Reading the life of Scott, we
seem to be following a pilgrimage where the traveller meets with
different temptations and escapes various dangers, and takes up a
number of duties, and is led to do a number of fine things which he had
not thought of till the time came for attempting them. The poet and the
novelist are revealed in the historian and the collector of antiquities.
Scott before The Lay of the Last Minstrel looked like a young
adventurer in the study of history and legend, who had it in him to do
solid work on a large scale (like his edition of Dryden) if he chose to
take it up. He is not a poet from the beginning like Wordsworth and
Keats, devoted to that one service; he turns novelist late in life when
the success of his poetry seems to be over. His early experiments in
verse are queerly suggested and full of hazard. It needs a foreign
language--German--to encourage him to rhyme. The fascination of
Bürger's Lenore is a reflection from English ballad poetry; the reflected
image brought out what had been less remarkable in the original. The
German devices of terror and wonder are a temptation to Scott;