At fifty-seven, the heartiest of us is no longer young. It is time to think of the past and prepare for the great future. I am in my fifty-seventh year, and in no good case in mind, body, or estate. My anxieties are numerous; I have had two of the “Three Warnings,” being lame and purblind, such property as I ever had is departed from me, and literature no longer affords me the ample income I derived from it during more than a quarter of a century; yet all is not gloom: my memory is unimpaired, my spirit often buoyant:
“Il cor mi sento in sen’
vegeto e fresco,
Ed in vecchi anni giovenil
pensier.” |
Now, I have thought that, while this memory lasts, I might, at least, amuse
my solitude by jotting down some of my reminiscences. I have been, to a considerable extent, a
traveller and sojourner in foreign countries, and it has been my fortune, both at home and
abroad, to be thrown among very many remarkable persons, of some of whom the world still talks
and writes, and will continue to talk and write. I will say my say of these, and give some of
their sayings and doings. I have never Boswellized; I have never thought it fair to go from a
man’s table straight to one’s diary, and before his dinner be digested or the
flavour of his claret passed away, to sit down and enregister all that he has been saying in
the confidence or carelessness of conviviality. But though I took no “notes,” I
pondered over and treasured what I heard—as also what I saw—and as my memory has
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I cannot promise to myself that in these souvenirs I shall be always and invariably eulogistic. I have known something as well of the bad as of the good side of human nature; and that which I have by far most frequently encountered has been the mixture of the good and bad, or that vertu mediocre which makes no impression and leaves no remembrances.
De mortuis nil nisi bonum is a benevolent-looking maxim, but it will not do in practice; it would be the death of history, of biography, of anecdote. I believe, however, that my tastes, habits of thought, and natural disposition, will lead me to dwell much longer on the good than on the bad, and to deal much more in praise than in censure. As for mediocrities,
“Non ragionam di lor, ma guar da e
passa.” |
* Thus far in MacFarlane’s distinct but tremulous handwriting; what fallows is written by several amanuenses, except on a few pages which will be indicated. |
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To Charles—should God only grant him life and health—these notes will be very dear; and to him, by anticipation, I inscribe them.
Possibly the books will include descriptions of scenes and places as well as of persons, personal adventures, and some recollections derived from my varied reading. I have written a great deal, but I have never yet gone through a work and brought it to its close in strict conformity with my original plan, or in precisely the manner I contemplated when beginning it. I suspect that no author has ever done this au pied de la lettre. I shall attempt no order, no chronological or other systematic arrangement, but shall dictate my anecdotes as they occur to my memory.
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