Just like being there

Blogging Rob Roy chapters 19 and 20

Chapter 19 features a couple of clever literary device. The first is a bit of inflation and reduction at poor Andrew Fairservice's expense. We ended the previous chapter with a dramatic trip through the hills at night with poor Frank only able to follow by watching the sparks struck up by the shoes on the horse Andrew is riding. A horse that is stolen and whose theft Andrew justifies with a  kind of rough and ready morality. A morality that he further thinks will be backed up by a friendly Scottish judiciary.

It doesn't quite work out as Andrew hopes and he is brought to earth with a great crash.

Now this isn't just a story about a guy who stole a horse and didn't get away with it. Sir Walter wants to disabuse his readers of their fanciful views of Scotland. he leads them into Scotland the way Andrew leads Frank, with great romance and sense of entering a world where different rules apply. And then he pulls that rug out from under both Andrew and his readers at the same time.

And note how he subtly does the same in describing the highlanders in town. It's a nice bit of historical anthropology in which he reminds us that they were not the giant heroes of much poetry and film but rather small, undernourished people scraping by  on land that could barely support them.

 The Minster Church
 Okay, now that I have that out of the way, let's get onto the second device and Sir Walter Scott at his best. Last post I wrote about what Austen could do and Scott could not. Well, the rest of Chapter 19 and Chapter 20 area good example of what Scott could do and Austen could not.

It starts, as I said above, with a neat literary device. Andrew is leading Frank to the church and Frank pauses to consider the view. The trick here—and it is such a simple trick that it seems a little silly to point it out—is that the narrative breaks for a digression just as Frank breaks to admire.

He goes on at some about the things he sees and it never bothers us that none of this is germane or necessary to the plot. Instead we slide into this account of what it was like to see and go to a service at the Cathedral in Glasgow with great joy. It is sometimes said that Austen writes the sort of dialogue that is very easy to film. Well, Scott writes the sort of atmosphere that would be a positive joy to film. This entire account of the church and its interior is very cinematic and so powerful that I can’t do it justice. Just read it yourself.

But even as this description is going on, Sir Walter is shaping our understanding. He says it is,

“… the Minster, or Cathedral Church of Glasgow.”

 What is happening here, of course, is that Scott is subtly reminding us that the heritage of this church is Catholic. It’s beauty, everything that made it desirable to preserve the building as it was, was a consequence of its being Catholic. He underlines the point by bringing in Andrew to tie himself in knots trying to explain that it was wonderful that the place was preserved but still say that this has nothing to do with “Paperie”.

And then he takes us inside, not to the main church but to the crypt where the service takes place. And oh the atmosphere. You can picture it and wish you were there.

But, at the same time Scott is dropping some powerful hints about Presbyterianism between the lines. He starts off by telling us how wonderful the harmony of the voices singing with true devotion is. That is, when heard from a distance. The closer we get, the more disenchanted Scott seems with Calvinism. There are reminders that piety was enforced by law such that those failing to live up some standards could be arrested. But Scott goes on to suggest, very convincingly, that even the pious differed quite a bit below the surface and his description of the attitudes of attendees is brilliant and convincing. Take this passage, which I produce in full below into any church today and you can find all the attitudes he describes. (By the way, a special treat follows it.)

Among the attentive group which I now saw, might be distinguished various expressions similar to those of the audience in the famous cartoon of Paul preaching at Athens. Here sat a zealous and intelligent Calvinist, with brow bent just as much as to indicate profound attention; lips slightly compressed; eyes fixed on the minister, with an expression of decent pride, as if sharing the triumph of his argument; the forefinger of the right hand touching successively those of the left, as the preacher, from argument to argument, ascended towards his conclusion. Another, with fiercer and sterner look, intimated at once his contempt of all who doubted the creed of his pastor, and his joy at the appropriate punishment denounced against them. A third, perhaps belonging to a different congregation, and present only by accident or curiosity, had the appearance of internally impeaching some link of the reasoning; and you might plainly read, in the slight motion of his head, his doubts as to the soundness of the preacher’s argument. The greater part listened with a calm satisfied countenance, expressive of a conscious merit in being present, and in listening to such an ingenious discourse, although, perhaps, unable entirely to comprehend it. The women in general belonged to this last division of the audience; the old, however, seeming more grimly intent upon the abstract doctrines laid before them; while the younger females permitted their eyes occasionally to make a modest circuit around the congregation; and some of them, Tresham (if my vanity did not greatly deceive me), contrived to distinguish your friend and servant, as a handsome young stranger, and an Englishman. As to the rest of the congregation, the stupid gaped, yawned, or slept, till awakened by the application of their more zealous neighbours’ heels to their shins; and the idle indicated their inattention by the wandering of their eyes, but dared give no more decided token of weariness.

It is often said of modern writers that it is a mistake to respond to them by going to the places they describe. To respond to Proust by going to Combray and eating Madeleines is to secure the disdain of intellectuals everywhere. But with Scott it is not so. He takes you there in the imagination so you will want to go there for real. Most of his readers would never get the chance but he wanted them to want to do it.

Anyway, read the text below and then click on"Read more".

The contents of these sad records of mortality, the vain sorrows which they preserve, the stern lesson which they teach of the nothingness of humanity, the extent of ground which they so closely cover, and their uniform and melancholy tenor, reminded me of the roll of the prophet, which was “written within and without, and there was written therein lamentations and mourning and woe.”

The Cathedral itself corresponds in impressive majesty with these accompaniments.

The Minster, or Cathedral Church of Glasgow (image courtesy of Wikipedia)