Re: Mitchell, Bisset says he was a dedicated Whig, which appears to be true as far as it goes, but then a) Bisset himself is one (remember, he snarks that ALL the Stuarts were worthless and never did anything making them worth fighting for other than tracing themselves back to Robert the Bruce), and b) most of those letters quoted in the two volumes are adressed to his English bosses whom he wants to be trusted by. He does quote Fritz' disdain for Cumberland with a certain dedication, though always without comments. ;)
This reminds me that Boswell, a generation younger, when being in London for a year at age 19 in 1762, i.e. only a few years later, who like Mitchell is a Lowland Scot, is eternally torn on this subject as well. On the one hand, he loves London, and tries all his life to make it his home, being depressed whenever he has to settle for Edinburgh. He is apologetic about being Scottish during that famous first meeting with Dr. Johnson, who had an anti-Scottish bias as a lot of English people did at the time, hence that first exchange: “Indeed I am from Scotland, but I cannot help it” “That, Sir, is what I find a great many of your countrymen cannot help”. And Boswell was absolutely and completely in love with London in particular and the idea of English greatness in general. But every now and then, English disdain for Scots was just too much for him, and we get scenes like this one in his diary:
Wednesday 8 December 1762: At night I went to Covent Gardin and saw Love in a Village, a new comic opera, for the first night. I liked it very much. I saw it from the gallery, but I was first in the pit. Just before the overture began to be played, two Highland officers came in. The mob in the upper gallery roared out, “No Scots! No Scots! Out with them!”, hissed and pelted them with apples. My heart warmed to my countrymen, my Scotch blood boiled with indignation. I jumped up on the benches, roared out, “Damn you, rascals!” hissed and was in the greatest rage. I am very sure at that time I should have been the most distinguished of heroes. I hated the English; I wished from my soul the Union was broke and that we might give them another battle of Bannockburn. I went close to the officers and asked them of what regiment they were of. They told me Lord John Murray’s, and that they were just come from the Havana. “And this,” said they, “is the thanks that we get – to be hissed when we come home. If it was French, what could they do worse?”
Boswell at 30 is similarly torn:
“Ogilvie then said Scotland had a great many noble wild prospects. “Sir,” said Johnson, “I believe you have a great many noble wild prospects. Norway too has some noble wild prospects; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects. But, Sir, I believe the noblest prospect that a Scotsman ever sees is the road which leads him to England!” We gave a roar of applause to this most excellent sally of strong humour. At the same time, I could not help thinking that Mr. Johnson showed a want of taste in laughing at the wild grandeur of nature. (…) Have I not experienced the full force of this when gazing at thee, O Arthur Seat, thou venerable mountain! Whether in the severity of winter thy brow has been covered with snow or wrapped in mist; or in the gentle mildness of summer the evening sun has shone upon thy verdant sides diversified with rugged moss-clad rocks. Beloved hill, the admiration of my youth! Thy noble image shall ever fill my mind!”
Given Boswell's father and Mitchell were friends, I venture to guess these mixed feelings might have been found in Mitchell as well.
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Tangentially: 17th Century Scots in identity crisis
Date: 2020-02-19 10:44 am (UTC)This reminds me that Boswell, a generation younger, when being in London for a year at age 19 in 1762, i.e. only a few years later, who like Mitchell is a Lowland Scot, is eternally torn on this subject as well. On the one hand, he loves London, and tries all his life to make it his home, being depressed whenever he has to settle for Edinburgh. He is apologetic about being Scottish during that famous first meeting with Dr. Johnson, who had an anti-Scottish bias as a lot of English people did at the time, hence that first exchange: “Indeed I am from Scotland, but I cannot help it” “That, Sir, is what I find a great many of your countrymen cannot help”. And Boswell was absolutely and completely in love with London in particular and the idea of English greatness in general. But every now and then, English disdain for Scots was just too much for him, and we get scenes like this one in his diary:
Wednesday 8 December 1762: At night I went to Covent Gardin and saw Love in a Village, a new comic opera, for the first night. I liked it very much. I saw it from the gallery, but I was first in the pit. Just before the overture began to be played, two Highland officers came in. The mob in the upper gallery roared out, “No Scots! No Scots! Out with them!”, hissed and pelted them with apples. My heart warmed to my countrymen, my Scotch blood boiled with indignation. I jumped up on the benches, roared out, “Damn you, rascals!” hissed and was in the greatest rage. I am very sure at that time I should have been the most distinguished of heroes. I hated the English; I wished from my soul the Union was broke and that we might give them another battle of Bannockburn. I went close to the officers and asked them of what regiment they were of. They told me Lord John Murray’s, and that they were just come from the Havana. “And this,” said they, “is the thanks that we get – to be hissed when we come home. If it was French, what could they do worse?”
Boswell at 30 is similarly torn:
“Ogilvie then said Scotland had a great many noble wild prospects. “Sir,” said Johnson, “I believe you have a great many noble wild prospects. Norway too has some noble wild prospects; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects. But, Sir, I believe the noblest prospect that a Scotsman ever sees is the road which leads him to England!”
We gave a roar of applause to this most excellent sally of strong humour. At the same time, I could not help thinking that Mr. Johnson showed a want of taste in laughing at the wild grandeur of nature. (…) Have I not experienced the full force of this when gazing at thee, O Arthur Seat, thou venerable mountain! Whether in the severity of winter thy brow has been covered with snow or wrapped in mist; or in the gentle mildness of summer the evening sun has shone upon thy verdant sides diversified with rugged moss-clad rocks. Beloved hill, the admiration of my youth! Thy noble image shall ever fill my mind!”
Given Boswell's father and Mitchell were friends, I venture to guess these mixed feelings might have been found in Mitchell as well.