James Hogg's 'The Brownie of Bodsbeck' 1818

 

William Blackwood first edition - 1818

At last, I have read a work by James Hogg (1770-1835). 'The Ettrick Shepherd' repeatedly cropped up in my researches into early 19th century Scottish literature. A great pal of Sir Walter Scott - in 1801 he was recruited to collect ballads for Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border - he was also friends with the poet Allan Cunningham (I have three of his works still to read) and dined with John Galt. He was born on a farm near Ettrick in Selkirkshire, his father being a tenant farmer there. His mother, Margaret (née Laidlaw) was well-known for collecting native Scottish ballads. James did general farm work and acted as a shepherd's assistant during his early years. In 1788 he was given his first job as a shepherd, learning to read while tending his flock. In 1790, he began ten years of service to James Laidlaw of Blackhouse in the Yarrow Valley. Laidlow lent James books from his own library as well as from a local lending library. James actually founded a debating society of shepherds. By the early 1800s, he had published a booklet on Scottish pastorals, made three tours of the Highlands, began working for the Edinburgh Magazine, and had letters to Scott published in the Scots Magazine.

James Hogg

By the early 20th century, Hogg's work had fallen out of fashion; but the situation changed in 1924 when the French writer André Gide was loaned a copy of the Scottish author's The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner: written by himself  (1824) and wrote that It is long since I can remember being so taken hold of, so voluptuously tormented by any book. I have a dust-wrappered copy of the republication of the book in 1947 with a laudatory introduction by Gide  - this edition not only helped to bring about the modern critical appreciation of the novel, but also brought Hogg's work to the fore again.

Although The Brownie of Bodsbeck was published in 1818, Hogg maintained that he had composed some years earlier, possibly (at least contemplated) in 1813. This matters, in that it has been seen as a counterblast to Sir Walter Scott's very different Old Mortality, which came out in December 1816. Scott's version of the Covenanters is less sympathetic to them and his portrayal of Claverhouse less harsh (see my Blog of 8th February 2021, where the latter has the higher attributes of undaunted and enterprising valour as part of an unbiassed picture of that unhappy period - Scott's own words). Hogg's short novel depicts a very different Claverhouse: the violence of all tender ties of nature was his delight...the way in which he threatened and maltreated children, and mocked and insulted women, not to mention more brutal usage of them, proved him at once to be destitute of the behaviour and feelings becoming a man...he seemed to regard all the commonalty in the south and west of Scotland as things to be mocked and insulted at pleasure, as beings created only for the sport of him and his soldiers, while their mental and bodily agonies were his delight. There was more than a grain of truth in one Covenanter's shaft: Gude-sooth, lad, but ye'll mak mae whigs wherever ye show your face, than a' the hill preachers o' Scotland put thegither.

Walter Laidlaw of Chapelhope, a man of minimal religious views, aids a group of Covenanters hiding near his farm. His daughter, Katharine, is also secretly helping them; in addition she is encouraging the idea, based on local superstition, that their leader is a Brownie. Claverhouse is prowling the area with his troops and takes Walter into custody. Walter witnesses the viciousness and lack of humanity shown by Claverhouse. On being taken to Edinburgh for trial, Walter makes mockery of his accusers and is released. When he returns to his farm, his daughter finally admits she has been helping the fugitives and takes Walter to see them in their hideaway cave.

Laidlow's daughter Katharine/Kate/Keatie is the real heroine of the tale. She is the one who gives regular succour to the Brownie and his companions - in fact, John Brown and his fellow Covenanters; she is the one who sees off the lascivious curate Clerk (ignorant, superstitious and fanatical); and she is the one who takes her father to the Covenanters' hideaway by the precipitous linn on the South Grain. The author clearly had a very soft spot for her: Katharine's mien had a tint of majesty in it, but it was naturally serious. She scarcely ever laughed, and but seldom smiled; but when she did so, the whole soul of delight beamed in it. Her face was like a dark summer day, when the clouds are high and majestic, and the lights on the valley mellowed into beauty. Her smile was like a fairy blink of the sun shed through these clouds

And the Brownie? In Scottish folklore, Brownies are small, shaggy, brown-clad spirits that haunt farms, barns and homes, working at night to perform tasks such as churning butter or threshing corn. Thanks to John Brown's disfigurement, his small stature further despoiled by mistreatment which included a twisted back, his sightings around the Laidlow steading was easily mistaken for one of the spirits. This worked in the Covenanters' and Katharine's favour, scaring away the rural folk. Here is Hogg's description of 'the Brownie': small of stature, and its whole form utterly mis-shaped. Its beard was long and grey, while its look, and every lineament of its face, were indicative of agony - its locks were thin, dishevelled, and white, and its back hunched up behind its head.

A major problem for me was the frequent and sustained use of the Scots vernacular. Some of the dialogue/speeches I could scarcely understand. No matter; I managed to get the gist of them! Only two words I looked up:

dass = ledge (on a hill etc.); leglen  = milk pail.

The volumes also includes two much shorter stories, one of which I enjoyed, the other I endured! The Wool-gatherer, which involved a young Laird, Lindsey, being harangued for his idleness by his stirring, talkative, industrious mother. He rather grudgingly takes up fishing, but gradually gets to enjoy it. Out one day, he ventures further upstream and comes to a clear pool where the farmers had lately been washing their flocks and by the side of it a most interesting female, apparently not exceeding seventeen years of age, gathering the small flakes of wool in her apron that had fallen from the sheep in washing; while, at the same time, a beautiful well-dressed child, about two years old, was playing on the grass. Well - he chats to her, finds out she is an orphan, the little boy calls her 'Mamma' but she is not married. Notwithstanding this, Lindsey meets her in her little cottage regularly. His mother hears of this and by some gerrymandering gets the girl to leave the area, luckily being helped by a young shepherd lad, Barnaby, who escorts her to his elderly, doting parents. Of course, he falls for her, as had Lindsey. The latter, after raging at his mother, offers a reward for her finding  and she is brought back by Barnaby, who pockets a sizeable reward but not Jane/Jeany. The latter has to tell her backstory - the child is her deceased sister's who, it is found out, had married Lindsey's brother (killed in the Peninsular War). So the little lad is actually Lindsey's nephew! The tale ends: It was not many months until this amiable pair were united in the bonds of matrimony, and they are still living, esteemed of all their acquaintances. Barnaby is the laird's own shepherd, and overseer of all his rural affairs...

I wasn't keen on the second novella - The Hunt of Eildon - which was a tale of the supernatural, based around Melrose and district. Walter Scott was no fan, either. He called it a ridiculous story and wondered whether Hogg had any 'tradition' or source for it. He then thought he may have heard a similar tale when I was on the nurse's knee or lying in the cradle. Whatever; Scott still thought it a very ridiculous story...the most ridiculous of any modern story I have ever read. What a pity it is that you are not master of your own capabilities for that tale might have been made a good one. Does one detect an element of authorial jealousy here?! The combination of supernatural and religious elements from Borders traditions just did not appeal to me. The heroine and her lover are transformed into moorfowl, where they live in harmony - 'till last year, that Wauchope shot the hen and a group of Edinburgh folk ate it. This gave rise to a Scottish proverb: when anyone is in a peevish humour, it is said has got a wing of Wauchop'es moor-hen. The cock survived.