Études écossaises

10 | 2005 La Réputation de personnalités historiques écossaises et du théâtre écossais Reputation

Jean-Pierre Simard et Laurence Gouriévidis (dir.)

Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesecossaises/106 DOI : 10.4000/etudesecossaises.106 ISSN : 1969-6337

Éditeur UGA Éditions/Université Grenoble Alpes

Édition imprimée Date de publication : 31 mars 2005 ISBN : 2-84310-061-5 ISSN : 1240-1439

Référence électronique Jean-Pierre Simard et Laurence Gouriévidis (dir.), Études écossaises, 10 | 2005, « La Réputation » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 09 octobre 2008, consulté le 21 septembre 2020. URL : http:// journals.openedition.org/etudesecossaises/106 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/etudesecossaises.106

Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 21 septembre 2020.

© Études écossaises 1

Les articles de ce numéro, consacré à la réputation, sont organisés de la manière suivante : une première section propose d'analyser la réputation de personnalités de l'histoire écossaise ; la deuxième revient sur la réputation du théâtre écossais.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 2

SOMMAIRE

Avant-propos Jean-Pierre Simard

La réputation de personnalités historiques écossaises

Introduction Laurence Gouriévidis

Reputations and national identity, or, what do our heroes say about us? James J. Smyth et Michael A. Penman

King Robert the Bruce (1274-1329) Michael A. Penman

The Reputations of Mary Queen of Scots Jayne Lewis

Charles Edward Stuart Murray G. H. Pittock

Patrick Sellar Laurence Gouriévidis

David Livingstone Andrew Ross

Keir Hardie: Radical, Socialist, Feminist W. Hamish Fraser

La réputation du théâtre écossais

Introduction Jean-Pierre Simard

In exile from ourselves? Tartanry, Scottish popular theatre, Harry Lauder and Tartan Day Ian Brown

Scottish Women Playwrights Against Zero Visibility New Voices Breaking Through Ksenija Horvat

Norme et marginalité De la bonne ou de la mauvaise réputation dans The People Next Door de Henry Adam Danièle Berton-Charrière

Towards a reassessment of Douglas Young Motivation and his Aristophanic translations Bill Findlay

Populaire, politique et poétique Réévaluer la réputation du théâtre écossais Jean-Pierre Simard

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 3

Atelier Ecosse SAES/SEEEc

Parcours et détours en Écosse. Dark Earth de David Harrower Danièle Berton-Charrière

Les atermoiements de la pensée politique de John Knox Parcours et détours d’un combattant de Dieu Armelle Dubois-Nayt

Esquisse d’un paysage ontologique dans A Highland Trilogy de Kenneth Steven Jean Berton

Parcours et détours d’une loi Le Drainage Act de 1846 et son application dans les Hautes Terres d’Écosse Christian Auer

L’Exécutif écossais en guerre Stratégies de lutte contre le sectarisme religieux Nathalie Duclos

Autres communications

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 4

Avant-propos

Jean-Pierre Simard

1 Avec la présente livraison, « Réputation », Études écossaises inscrit l’exploration et la déconstruction de nos certitudes, de nos amnésies, de nos frustrations dans la continuité. Il m’échoit désormais de diriger la revue scientifique du Centre d’étude sur les modes de la représentation anglophone à l’université Stendhal-Grenoble 3. C’est une lourde responsabilité et un honneur tant cette publication doit aux deux directeurs qui m’ont précédé. En la fondant, Pierre Morère a fait œuvre pionnière en situant son espace dans le mouvement des idées et l’histoire des représentations culturelles. Il est sans conteste un fondateur des études écossaises en Europe. Keith Dixon a su faire fructifier cet héritage en associant notre réflexion collective à celle d’équipes invitées dans la dynamique offensive de la pensée contemporaine. Je me devais d’associer, dans ce dixième numéro de la revue, les partenaires de mon champ de recherche au thème qu’il avait retenu et confié à Laurence Gourievidis pour refléter les travaux des chercheurs réunis à l’université de Stirling avant son départ. Ainsi, la cohérence avec les précédentes livraisons qui lui tenait à cœur se prolonge. Trois parties, des collaborations internationales avec deux universités écossaises dans le champ de l’histoire et du théâtre, une sélection des communications qui, heureux hasard font souvent écho à notre thématique, données dans le cadre de l’atelier SAES / SFEEc au printemps dernier à Saint-Quentinen-Yvelines marquent la reconnaissance du rôle scientifique fondateur de Pierre et Keith. Espace ouvert aussi aux chercheurs français au-delà de notre centre d’études, opiniâtre, Études écossaises pérennise son apport au champ en pleine expansion de l’étude de la pensée et des cultures vivantes en Écosse.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 5

AUTEUR

JEAN-PIERRE SIMARD Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 6

Laurence Gouriévidis (dir.) La réputation de personnalités historiques écossaises

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 7

Introduction

Laurence Gouriévidis

1 La conférence organisée en juin 2003 à Stirling autour du thème de la « réputation » de personnalités écossaises, dont les pages qui suivent présentent certaines contributions, s’inscrit dans le domaine beaucoup plus vaste de l’étude des mentalités et en particulier la construction de la mémoire collective. Cette conférence, tout autant que l’élaboration en cours du Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women1 offrent un nouveau regard sur les processus qui entourent la construction de personnalités historiques. Au départ, comme l’expliquent Michael Penman et Jim Smyth, l’étude de la notion de réputation a débuté par un cours de licence visant à explorer la (les) représentation(s) de grands noms de l’histoire écossaise dans la mémoire collective. Il s’agissait moins de s’attacher à des biographies successives qu’à des modes d’interprétation, de sélection, des silences et des emphases qui font partie intégrante de la manufacture de héros ou leur contraire. Inscrire ces modes narratifs dans leur temps, ces personnages dans leur contexte et celui de leur (ré-)interprétation s’avérait aussi important, sinon plus, que leur propre cheminement et carrière.

2 Les articles ci-après montrent que les images ancrées dans la mémoire populaire sont souvent totalement imperméables aux travaux révisionnistes d’historiens et aux études critiques émanant du monde universitaire. Nombre d’entre elles prennent leurs sources dans des ouvrages populistes (biographies, histoire), mais aussi dans des oeuvres littéraires ou artistiques (romans historiques, peintures). À toute figure de l’histoire étudiée correspond donc souvent une construction binaire – souvent écartelée entre l’image du héros et celle du traître – ou multiple, avant tout le contrepoint d’enjeux économiques, politiques et sociaux du moment. Ces articles mettent aussi en lumière les intérêts qui se profilent dans la naissance, le recyclage ou l’appropriation de la réputation d’un personnage et montrent bien à quel point toute re-construction est prisonnière d’idéologies variées et évolutives.

3 Dans le cadre politique de l’Écosse du XXIe siècle, l’étude de la notion même de « réputation » de figures historiques est l’illustration parfaite de ce phénomène et marque la volonté écossaise de redécouvrir son histoire. Intimement liée à la notion d’identité nationale, la réputation de certains héros va prendre des tonalités différentes selon les inclinations des biographes ou commentateurs. David Livingstone sera, au

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 8

début de sa carrière, l’explorateur britannique par excellence ; au tournant du XXe siècle, il deviendra un héros national écossais et, à l’heure actuelle en Zambie, un monument le consacre « Africa’s first freedom fighter ». Certaines valeurs peuvent aussi décider de la longévité ou de l’éclipse de héros du passé, et Michael Penman s’interroge sur le poids du mythe du « lad o’pairts » dans le choix opéré par l’Écosse du XIXe siècle, faisant la part belle à William Wallace et reléguant au second rang Robert the Bruce. La portée de symboles iconiques peut aussi se trouver inversée, comme le crucifix dans les portraits de Mary Stuart, tantôt brandi comme un poignard ou signe de bénédiction, ou la casquette de Keir Hardie, faisant de lui un homme du peuple ou révélant une excentricité vestimentaire délibérée. En général, l’image publique s’accommode mal des failles que révèlent les facettes du privé et les passe sous silence : l’alcoolisme de Charles Edward Stuart ou les relations adultères de Keir Hardie avec Sylvia Pankhurst. En définitive, pour qu’une réputation défie le temps, il lui faut être éminemment adaptable, et, tout en conservant des linéaments, elle doit pouvoir être inlassablement refaçonnée.

NOTES

1. Sue Innes, « Reputations and remembering: work on the first biographical “Dictionary of Scottish Women” », Études écossaises, n° 9, 2003-2004, p. 11-27.

AUTEUR

LAURENCE GOURIÉVIDIS Université Blaise-Pascal, Clermont-Ferrand

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 9

Reputations and national identity, or, what do our heroes say about us?

James J. Smyth and Michael A. Penman

1 It seems appropriate to be writing this introduction in the same week as the new Dictionary of National Biography (ODNB) is launched and the Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women celebrates the completion of the commissioning of its entries. Whatever scruples some historians may have over the worth or relevance of biography, there is no doubting its popularity; the tables and shelves of every bookshop groans under the weight of biographies and ghosted autobiographies of past and present football legends and current pop stars. Much of this output represents either an exercise in marketing or cashing in on transient fame, but, as the two volumes mentioned above illustrate, academia has retained, or rediscovered, its own fascination with biography.

2 The motivation behind biographical dictionaries is to assemble a record of a particular grouping or entity, most notably on a national basis. While they have a collective ambition – the national dictionary, women in Scotland – they remain necessarily selective; no matter how wide ranging the editors may seek to be, they simply cannot include everyone. What wider purpose they serve, in terms of what insights they offer into a nation’s history or psyche, is not clear. As contributors to both of these dictionaries, we are aware that they are collections of entries by individual scholars, rather than single-authored entities. Even in the case of the dictionary of Scottish women, with its twin aims of not simply recording, but also re-examining and re- assessing the historical account through the prism of gender, it seems to us that the former purpose must predominate. As Sue Innes has written, « We face the basic task of finding historical women… » (Innes, 2003, p. 14). The DNDB has a less complicated agenda. Its web-site explains that the dictionary’s 50,000 entries contain the « biographies of the men and women who shaped all aspects of Britain’s past » (www.oxforddnb.com/oxforddnb/info/). If one removed the words « all aspects of », this would read much like the Victorian model of national biography. J. R. Findlay, the private donor whose money established the Scottish National Portrait Gallery in the late nineteenth century, explained the purpose of the gallery as, « the illustration of

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 10

Scottish History and the men who made that history » (J. R. Findlay to Secretary of the Board of Trustees, 3 Dec. 1895, NAS NG 7/6/1/14). And it is exactly this taint of Victoriana – great men, or great figures determining events and shaping history – that has led some historians to dismiss biography altogether (Pimlott, 2004).

3 Our purpose here is not to attempt any sort of complete account of famous Scots, nor is it to rediscover forgotten, though undoubtedly worthy individuals, or to correct any existing biases in the historical account. Our concern lies, at least initially, with the existing canon, that is with those figures whom historians would recognise as among the most significant in Scotland’s history. Our focus lies on the famous and on the reasons why their fame has been sustained or declined over time.

4 Our approach has emerged out of an undergraduate course which we devised on famous characters in Scottish history. The object of the course has been not just to provide a series of biographies but to look at the processes by which certain individuals have become famous or significant within the history of Scotland. Our aim is to challenge students to look beyond the popular view or perception of famous historical figures, and to examine how reputations could be made and lost, interpreted and reinterpreted over time. Essentially we are giving our students a course in sources and methods (though without telling them), and, along the way saying something about Scotland and Scottish identity.

5 However, the academic structure of an undergraduate course is something of a limitation or obstacle to our own wider ambitions. Our choice of figures has been constrained by the need to select individuals on whom there already exists an accessible academic literature. But, it is our belief that in creating and sustaining a reputation the work of academics is not of particular significance. In challenging the popular view of a figure, we have become increasingly aware of how difficult it is to make much if any impact upon that perception beyond the lecture theatre or seminar room. In the face of an icon like Wallace – and the power with which the legend can be represented in a medium like film – then academic criticism of « Braveheart » can be so much pissing in the wind.

6 This is not to denigrate either the « academic » or the « popular » view, nor does it necessarily mean that the popular and the academic need be strictly opposed to one another, or hermetically sealed off from each other. It seems clear that the popular image of famous figures, as revealed in chap books, short pamphlets, even spoken stories, relied partly on some awareness of the recognised authorities on the lives of the individuals concerned. What we are suggesting is that once an image has become established it is remarkably immune to academic criticism and revision.

Key Questions

7 While it is our duty as historians to challenge the preconceptions that exist about famous figures, to question their reputations, we do not think that we should leave it at that. In fact, we want to go backwards in a sense, and examine where these preconceptions come from. What are the factors or ingredients that go together to cement a reputation? Is there a folk tradition, and if so, how is it expressed? Are literature and other forms of artistic representation critical in making a popular reputation? Are visual images particularly important, given that they can sum up a life

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 11

in a short series of vignettes that are easy to remember? Does the professional heritage industry have an important role to play?

8 It seems to us that there are three questions to be confronted: 1. The popular image – what makes it? The popular image need not be a singular view, but what goes into the recipe which creates a genuinely popular image? By this we mean, a figure who is instantly recognisable among the mass of the population, not just among academics or enthusiasts. 2. How do we research a popular image? What stress or explanatory power should we give to various elements? Could we quantify the process by which a reputation is made? For instance, the number of statues commemorating a specific figure, the number of streets named after a figure? 3. Is there a national model of the popular historical figure? Or, put another way, do these figures and their enduring popularity say anything about national histories and identities?

Biography or Reputation

9 There have been recent, and current, explorations of reputations, with at least three publishers’ series using the same title we are aware of. In the late 1980s Batsford, and in 1998 Longman brought out series aimed at young readers. The intent clearly being the admirable one of introducing young readers to historical debate and interpretation.

10 More significant is the Arnold series of academic biographies, currently numbering ten but with more in the pipeline. Published works so far are: Thomas More, Thomas Becket, Disraeli, Louis XVI, Napoleon, Nixon, Neville Chamberlain, Cromwell, Gorbachev and Thatcher. The general editorial preface asserts that: There is more to the series than illumination of ways in which recent discoveries or trends have refashioned identities or given actions new meanings… The corresponding aim is to provide readers with a strong sense of the channels and course of debate from the outset: not a Cook’s Tour of the historiography, but identification of the key interpretative issues and guidance as to how commentators of different eras and persuasions have tackled them.

11 We can all agree with the merit behind this approach. It echoes the thinking behind our own taught course. It seems to us that this is the direction biography ought to take if it is to make a serious contribution to historiography. It is similar to the argument of Richard Holmes in his call for « virtually a new discipline, which might be called comparative biography » (Holmes, 2002, p. 15-16). Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. A recent review of a biography of Isaac Newton complains that, « Everyone’s writing about reputations rather than people nowadays », and called for more of the story of Newton’s life rather than « pontifications on… cultural significance » (The Independent on Sunday, 25 May 2003). And just when we thought we were doing something new and interesting, we discover we are in the middle of a backlash. That said, biographical studies ignore the personal life of their subject at their peril. The human aspects of « a life », the narrative of an individual life history can help to humanise history. Or own course insists that students appreciate the « life and times » of the selected figures, as well as their subsequent reputations.

12 The selection of subject matter in all three series appears to be eclectic in approach, essentially any and all famous figures in history. Holmes’s « comparative biography »,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 12

for all its emphasis on literary figures, does not offer a model beyond the practice of biography itself. What is distinctive about our approach is that firstly we are operating on a national basis (and would welcome parallel national studies). Secondly, that our concern is with the popular perception more than the academic analysis. To paraphrase Richard Finlay, « we do not wish to destroy the myth, but to understand it » (Finlay, 1997, p. 123).

Public Memorials or Urban Wallpaper: Chalmers, Livingstone, Dewar

13 Are there characters whose life and work is so important that they cannot be ignored by succeeding generations? Or, has a popular reputation nothing to do with significance, but more with a dramatic or romantic life story that simply captures the imagination in the way that a fictional character might?

14 In the centre of Edinburgh, separated by no more than half a mile, there are statues honouring two giants of nineteenth century Scotland. The first is Thomas Chalmers, situated on George Street at the junction of Castle Street and North Castle Street. Thousands of people must walk past that statue every day but how many even bother to look at it? That lack of interest may be because such public structures, over time, simply fade into the background, becoming part of the urban wallpaper. We no longer look at them because we are so familiar with them. It is the tourist who stops to look and admire, not the local inhabitant.

15 However, Chalmers has been forgotten. Not among academics. Historically and intellectually there has been considerable interest in Chalmers through attention given to the Disruption and to reform of the poor law. A lot of this interest had been to debunk his reputation, but at least he has not been ignored by historians; a quick check list of publications would indicate that. There can be no doubt that Chalmers was a giant of nineteenth century Scotland, a man whose life and memory was revered by many.

16 And, in the early twentieth century even Protestant social reformers who disagreed with Chalmers’ belief in unfettered political economy, still included him as one of the paragons of Scottish history alongside Wallace and Knox (Stewart, 2001, p. 21). Moreover, it does not seem beyond the bounds of probability to imagine that with the rise of the New Right in the 1970s and 1980s, and even with New Labour in the 1990s, Chalmers may have been rediscovered as having a contemporary relevance to the issues of welfare and community. However, our view is that any vox pop that asked about Chalmers would get an almost unanimous « don’t know » in response.

17 Chalmers’ fall from popular grace seems to have occurred quite early in the twentieth century, and to have taken place very quickly. Judging by entries in the annual index to the Glasgow Herald (1906-1984), Chalmers was referred to quite often in the pre-1914 years and during the First World War itself. After 1920, however, he is mentioned only fleetingly if at all. Perhaps the reality of mass, long-term structural unemployment alongside working class animosity to the means test explains the lack of references to Chalmers. Yet, Protestant Scotland in the inter-war years, was searching for the « godly commonweal » that had so exercised the « reverend professor ».

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 13

18 In sharp contrast is the reputation of the subject of our second statue. Located at the far east end of Princes Street Gardens is a sculpture of David Livingstone. Two items of interest are immediately apparent about this structure. One is that it is literally in the shadow of the Scott Monument. The second is that there is no detail other than a single word, « Livingstone ». David Livingstone has been the subject of a series of recent biographies but then so has Chalmers, if not to quite the same extent. Why is it Livingstone who remains immediately identifiable today?

19 Was Livingstone’s enduring popularity secured by the meeting with Stanley, and that almost unbelievably understated introduction? What Michael Fry has described as « the most famous conversation of the century… so stilted as to have soon turned into an overworked gag in the music-halls » (Fry, 2001, p. 148). The joke has certainly outlived the variety theatres, and has become almost an item of everyday speech. Is there anyone reading this who has not either heard, or themselves said, the punch-line « I presume »? Perhaps in Livingstone’s life this was the « structural moment » which literary commentators see as so important in establishing a reputation (we owe this point to Rory Watson of Stirling University).

20 As we all know, there is a great deal to Livingstone, and a great deal about his life which remains relevant to us today. Ruaridh Nicoll, a columnist in The Observer last year, wrote that as a missionary and an explorer Livingstone was no great shakes, but that, nonetheless, « he is one of Britain’s greatest » (The Observer, 15 June 2003). Niall Ferguson made more or less the same point when he admitted that his expected debunking of Livingstone had turned into hero-worship (« My Hero », BBC History, March 2003).

21 The causes of mission and empire – with which Livingstone’s early reputation was inextricably linked – have faded and today have little support or appeal within Scotland. But, Livingstone’s attack on slavery, his anti-racism and belief in a common humanity, represent a cause with which many people today do feel a commitment to. In short, he remains relevant and sympathetic.

22 And yet, at the same time, Livingstone’s reputation can be seen as being « manufactured ». In sharp contrast to the eclipse of Chalmers, the 1920s witnessed the cementing of Livingstone as a Scottish national icon. In one of the earliest examples of the « Heritage industry », or « history as themepark », the « David Livingstone National Memorial » was established in the tenement block in Blantyre where the great explorer was born and grew up. The Centre opened its doors in 1929 and by 1946 it had hosted one million visitors (Glasgow Herald, 13 Aug., 1946).

23 Both Chalmers and Livingstone are represented by statues in the centre of Edinburgh, but the fate of neither reputation has been determined by those statues. Just as no-one is aware of Chalmers on his plinth in George Street, few know that Livingstone is located in Princes Street gardens. This neglect begs the question how would we commemorate a famous figure today? Well, in the case of Donald Dewar, Scotland’s first First Minister, it has been by constructing a statue, a piece of public art the Victorians would have recognised, though possibly not fully appreciated.

24 It is not exactly clear why that decision was made, but it does seem, at least initially, somewhat old-fashioned. This response may be unfair and miss the point, since we are informed that the work is « the most important recent example of figurative memorial sculpture » (Herald, 8 May 2002). But, at nine feet tall, on a plinth of only one metre, the

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 14

bronze figure is hardly monumental in the Victorian style. Dewar is dressed not in a roman toga but in his usual work-day clothes. The effort seems to have been to capture the essence of the man which includes a lack of pretension and genuine modesty. The statue which, we predict, will gradually fade into the background, has been kept in the news by the repeated vandalism of it. Apart from the usual traffic cone, there has been actual damage to Dewar’s spectacles. But, and this seems to us a very human touch, friends of the First Minister have suggested that this only serves to make the statue more life-like, since Donald Dewar’s glasses were usually held together by sellotape or string.

25 As one of the architects of devolution and Scotland’s effective prime minister, it was clearly felt that Dewar’s passing had to be marked in a public and symbolic way; hence the statue. On the plinth are Dewar’s own words, « There Shall be a Scottish Parliament ». Of course Dewar’s legacy was contested both when he was alive and at his death. In the 1980s, labouring under the frustration of the apparent permanent Tory majority in England, one pro-devolution journal depicted Dewar as Burn’s « timrous beastie » (Radical Scotland, No. 9, June/July 1984). Amid all the plaudits to Dewar’s career and personality, the correspondence page of the Herald contained at least one letter pointing out (critically) that Dewar had died a millionaire.

26 Nonetheless, Dewar’s reputation was at a high point at the moment of his death. Whether it can survive the never-ending scandal that is the new Parliament building remains to be seen. The early sessions of the Fraser Inquiry into the escalating costs of Holyrood seemed to threaten to permanently demolish Dewar’s memory. The final published Report lays most of the blame on the senior civil servants while stating that there was « no single villain of the piece » (The Herald, 16 Sep. 2004). Whether this will be enough to exonerate Dewar in the public eye remains to be seen. It may well be that Dewar’s reputation is inextricably bound up with that of the building he was so determined to see constructed.

27 It would be a mistake, however, to dismiss this as simply a local matter of corruption or incompetence. Throughout Europe current and recent political leaders are facing, or are threatened with, similar scrutiny: Chirac, Kohl, Berlusconi, even Tony Blair. And, beyond these immediate scandals, we are forced to ask the question, is it possible to have heroes today?

28 In the age of the mass media the constant intrusion of that media make it impossible for any character to remain unblemished. If, as Jayne Lewis (in this collection) says about Mary Queen of Scots, that everyone knows who she was only because no-one knows who – or what – she was, how do we deal with individuals about whom we appear to know more or less everything? Could John F. Kennedy have achieved his almost mythic status in modern American history, if his womanising had been subject to the same forensic scrutiny as Bill Clinton’s? Closer to home, could Keir Hardie’s reputation as something of a secular saint have survived tabloid investigation into the « true » nature of his relationships with the Pankhursts? What has Edwina Currie done for John Major’s « reputation »? Are people right to be cynical about leaders, or does the constant and prurient examinations of public lives mean that there cannot be any more heroes?

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 15

Heroes and National Identity

29 Heroes are, for the most part, national. It is true that certain individuals can claim genuine international or world recognition and respect, even in their own lifetime; Nelson Mandela springs to mind. But most heroes, or even just famous figures, are located in a particular country or nation. Winston Churchill was recently voted the most famous Briton in a television poll, but Churchill, for all his international significance in resisting Hitler, remains essentially a local hero. Indeed, it is a moot point if he would have received a similar accolade in a poll only of Scottish or Welsh viewers asked to nominate a « British » figure. More than this we know that one nation’s hero can be another (and usually neighbouring) country’s villain. Wallace may be Scotland’s Braveheart, but he does not get that accolade south of the Tweed. Henry V, as immortalised by Shakespeare, is one of England’s great heroes, but, if there were historical courts of law, the French could prosecute him as a war criminal.

30 This is not to say that national figures do not have a resonance beyond their national borders. After all Wallace has that, and in spades because of that film. But most, if not all, figures perform – at least initially – on a national stage. And they contribute – again at least initially – to a national history and a sense of national identity.

31 Would parallel studies of famous figures say anything significant about differing national histories and cultures? If Scotland had remained independent would her list of heroes be different? Would Bruce dominate over Wallace? As a stateless nation we Scots do not have « official » heroes, we do not have a Pantheon or the pantheonisation of the French. But, does that make the popularity of Scottish heroes more genuine? More truly popular than populist?

32 We would suggest that there are effectively two rival ways, or narratives, of identifying and explaining Scotland’s heroes, and these can be related, roughly, to rival political perspectives. One is a left wing/nationalist viewpoint which emerges out of and echoes the earlier mythology of the « lad o’pairts ». In the nineteenth century, the image of the upwardly mobile young man reinforced the middle classes’ belief in laissez faire and meritocracy against the inherited and unfair advantages of the aristocracy. By the late twentieth century, however, the « lad o’pairts » had become more identified with the working class, and especially the fast-disappearing skilled manual workforce of industrial Scotland. Indeed, a common remark, and very often expressed as a complaint, is that in Scotland, contemporary figures need to be working class before they can be recognised. Both periods have projected their values backwards, and so Wallace (representative of the people and naturally noble) has remained the greater hero, with Bruce (an ambitious and ambiguous aristocrat) relegated to a follower of Wallace’s dream of an independent nation. Whether we are democratic enough to include women in our pantheon of heroes remains to be seen, though the forthcoming Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women ought to make some impact.

33 The second narrative is that of a conservative/elitist perspective which is uncomfortable with the recent past and contemporary direction of Scottish politics and culture. This can be summed up in the perennial complaint that the Scots love failures and, the logical corollary, are suspicious and resentful of success. It is an argument made by the Conservative historian Michael Fry, and was given public expression recently in the responses to a newspaper commissioned opinion poll (Scotland on Sunday, 29 Dec. 2002) to find the « Greatest Ever Scot ».

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 16

34 The director of the right-wing think tank, the Adam Smith Institute, complained about how the selection revealed Scots as « better disposed to the culture of tartan, sprigs of heather and Scottie dogs than they are to the true great thinkers who helped shape the world ». Malcolm Rifkind (ex-Secretary of State for Scotland, and ex-Foreign Secretary) remarked, « in Scotland we concern ourselves more with people who failed than those who succeeded ».

35 This appears to be such an instinctive response that one wonders whether Pirie or Rifkind actually read the list; where is the concern with failure in choosing a Nobel Prize winner? Out of a choice of twelve figures, Alexander Fleming was voted top. What this knee-jerk reaction reveals is how far out of touch Scottish Conservatives are with modern Scotland. A recent article in the ferociously anti-devolutionist Scotsman, bemoaned the lack of recognition given to Adam Smith in his native land, and, in a nod towards conspiracy theory, suggested that a « subtle left-wing bias against what he is presumed to have stood for » was the explanation for this (Kerevan, 2004). The author, an ex-Trotskyist, managed to write his piece without once referring to how Conservatives and free-marketeers have shamelessly exploited Smith’s reputation for years, or considering that the association of Smith with unpopular policies such privatisation of the health service might possibly explain the neglect. Perhaps this right-wing complaint is simply a back-handed compliment to the « independent- minded and egalitarian outlook… [that is] a characteristic part of the Scottish spirit » (Watson, 1984, p. 1). And if the Scots do embrace failure, we can ask why are there no Tory heroes – they have been failing consistently in Scotland for half a century.

36 Scottish heroes seem to need to be validated by connection with the general population (the people). This is difficult to reconcile with the popularity of Mary Queen of Scots and Bonnie Prince Charlie, two of our more internationally recognisable heroes. The romance of their failures obscures the uncomfortable realities behind their dynastic ambitions; the throne of England. However, as Murray Pittock has argued, the Jacobite cause has become part of the nationalist cause, regarded less as a bid for personal power than as emblematic of opposition to a unitary British state (Pittock, 1991).

37 Of course, struggling, and possibly dying, for a cause is often what makes a life heroic, and our heroes seem to resonate more when they are associated with a cause. This could lead to charges of opportunism as historical figures are simply appropriated to serve current political ends, as in France with the National Font’s identification with Joan of Arc. Yet, whatever legitimacy a political party may seek in national heroes, it is not evident that the tactic can be easily translated into votes. There can be little doubt that « Braveheart » had a significant cultural impact within Scotland, but the film’s success did not lead to an upsurge in support for the Scottish National Party, even though the SNP sought to identify itself with Wallace. At the same time, however, the continuing popularity of Wallace owes little to direct or immediate political issues. Neither Hollywood nor nineteenth century Liberal Unionism created the Wallace myth, though both have helped it to thrive in new circumstances (Morton, 2001).

38 Perhaps, a heroic or iconic figure, if their reputation is to be sustained, needs to be flexible, to be open to interpretation and re-interpretation. The less we know of the precise details of the individual life the better. The canvas is never entirely blank, but some empty spaces may be necessary. Yet, surely there is a limit to this process. Figures cannot simply be reinterpreted or reinvented at will. As the fate of Thomas Chalmers

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 17

indicates, public monuments and academic tomes are not enough to sustain a reputation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BROWN S. J., Thomas Chalmers and the Godly Commonwealth in Scotland, Oxford, 1982.

FERGUSON N., « My Hero », BBC History, March 2003.

FINLAY R., « Heroes, Myths and Anniversaries in Modern Scotland », Scottish Affairs, 18, 1997, p. 108-125.

FRY M., The Scottish Empire, East Linton, 2001.

Glasgow Herald.

Glasgow Herald Index.

HOLMES R., « The Proper Study? », in P. France & W. St Clair(eds.), Mapping Lives: the Uses of Biography, Oxford, 2002, p. 7-18.

INNES S., « Reputations and Remembering: Work on the first Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women », Études écossaises, n° 9, 2003.

KEREVAN G., « It is time to honour our forgotten son », The Scotsman, 9 August 2004.

LEWIS J., Mary Queen of Scots: Romance and Nation, London, 1998.

MORTON G., William Wallace: Man and Myth, Stroud, 2001.

National Archives of Scotland (NAS), NG7, « Scottish National Portrait Gallery, 1871-1985 ».

NICOLL R., « Livingstone Lives », The Observer, 15 June 2003.

PIMLOTT B., « Picture This », The Guardian, 28 August 2004.

PITTOCK M.G.H., The Invention of Scotland: the Stuart myth and the Scottish Identity, 1838 to the Present, London, 1991.

Radical Scotland.

ROSS A., David Livingstone: Mission and Empire, London, 2002.

Scotland on Sunday.

STEWART J., « ‘Christ’s Kingdom in Scotland’: Scottish Presbyterianism, Social Reform, and the Edwardian Crisis », Twentieth Century British History, 12, 1, 2001, p. 1-22.

WATSON R., The Literature of Scotland, Basingstoke, 1984.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 18

AUTHORS

JAMES J. SMYTH University of Stirling

MICHAEL A. PENMAN University of Stirling

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 19

King Robert the Bruce (1274-1329)

Michael A. Penman

1 The initial concerns of this study were twofold. Firstly, that it would find that Robert Bruce only existed in the shadow of his predecessor in Scotland’s fight against England, the purer patriot William Wallace (d. 1305). Secondly, in working through works of the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-centuries, that it would find that Bruce’s image had become fossilised as a result of the acceptance and perpetuation by writers like Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) of Archdeacon John Barbour’s poem, The Bruce, of the 1370s. A glance at the structure of most works on Bruce from the late fourteenth-century to the present seems to justify this fear. Barbour’s poem, some 14,000 lines long, takes over three-quarters of its length to follow Bruce from his seizure of the throne in 1306 through many struggles to his triumph in battle against England at Bannockburn in 1314: the remaining fifteen years of « Good King Robert’s » reign is then covered quickly by Barbour (Duncan, 1997). This shape to the story of Bruce can be found in general histories, biographies, fiction, poetry and even visual imagery to the present day.

2 However, a selective look at works on Bruce to c.1945 may answer two important questions. That is – can professional historians really make an impact on the popular image of an iconic national figure or does the essence of reputation remain the preserve of oral and local tradition, fiction, verse, song and the visual arts – a populist image that has even come to dictate the establishment view? And beyond this, have peculiarly Scottish processes of change over time coalesced to leave this hero king with a reputation which would, in another country, have taken a more vibrant form far sooner?

John Barbour

3 Since its first publication in Edinburgh in 1571, John Barbour’s The Bruce has been issued in twenty subsequent editions, although eleven of these were issued before the Parliamentary Union of 1707 and only one further by 1800: in the same period to 1800, some thirty-three editions of the medieval counterpart of Barbour’s Bruce, Blind Hary’s The Wallace of c.1470, were printed (Brunsden, 2000, p. 88-89). However, whereas the

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 20

historical authenticity of Hary’s verse was queried in print as incredible as early as the 1520s (Maior, 1892), it was not until the late eighteenth-century that historians and editors began to tentatively question the value of Barbour’s epic as fact, even then only to continue to reproduce many of its tales as « traditionary » or « typical » of Bruce’s adventures, especially of the years 1306-1314 (Innes, 1856; Skeat, 1870-1889). The courtly romance value and antecedents of Barbour’s vernacular middle Scots verse have been well discussed by modern literary commentators. Sufficient comment has also been made about the political context of the 1370s in which Barbour’s take on Bruce formed part of the emergent « mirror of princes » tradition, giving loyal advice to rulers, using history as allegorical lesson (e.g. McDiarmid & Stevenson, 1985; Ebin, 1972).

4 But Barbour’s most recent editors have also brought to light the likely pre-1370 sources which the poet must have used. This includes now-lost verse and/or chronicle lives of Bruce and his key followers. These lost works were surely commissioned by these men themselves after 1314 (Duncan, p. 14-32). Above all, such an evolution of sources underlines the degree to which Bruce wanted contemporaries and posterity to focus upon God’s legitimation of his regime and an independent Scottish realm at Bannockburn – hence that battle and Bruce’s role therein dominated the lost sources and Barbour’s poem. Yet Bruce was also anxious to craft his reputation to highlight and, more importantly, to hide other very specific things. Thus Barbour asserts that the Bruces were the true heirs to Scotland’s throne – not John Balliol who briefly ruled 1292-1296; and it follows that Barbour needed to make no mention at all of either William Wallace’s fight in Balliol’s name or of what we will see is the crucially difficult issue for almost all other commentators of Robert Bruce’s uncertain loyalties between 1297 and 1306. Barbour also exonerated Bruce’s sacrilegious murder in a church of his other rival, John Comyn, as the just slaughter of a traitor. But this is no mere whitewash. The grave suffering which Bruce and his supporters then endure after 1306 also represents a series of chivalrous adventures in which Bruce proves himself worthy of his prize. A long set-piece description of Bannockburn then provides Barbour’s Bruce with the stage to establish his fame. The remaining fifteen years of the reign is condensed by Barbour but presents Bruce’s part just as carefully: for example, blaming his brother, Edward Bruce, for the Scots’ failed invasion of Ireland.

5 This then was a highly selective narrative. Barbour provided future readers with a reservoir of striking vignettes, most of which later commentators would insist could be verified from documentary evidence. As we shall see, well into the twentieth-century, these tableaux would survive the challenge of scholars and remain the core of popular representations of Bruce. Here, though, we might first raise the chicken-and-egg question of provenance for such stories. Incidents like Bruce’s single-combat with an English knight at Bannockburn could be verified from (near-) contemporary English chronicles. But did this and other events also exist as traditional oral tales or ballads popular among Bruce’s common and courtly subjects alike? Or were many of these tales – like the English hunt for Bruce through Galloway with bloodhounds in 1307 – best remembered in a particular locality? Or did such tales circulate orally only after Barbour or the now-lost sources gave them currency, perhaps even invented them or borrowed them from other literary works replete with such motifs (such as Bruce’s repeated slaying of enemy groups of three)? Is it the case that many of these stories were only popularly disseminated with the advent of cheap print in early-modern

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 21

Scotland? These are questions not made any easier to answer when further famous tales of Bruce were added to the Barbour repertoire.

The Late-Medieval Chronicles

6 A number of such tales crucial to Bruce’s image are certainly added to Barbour’s poetic history by late medieval Scottish chroniclers. Crucially, unlike Barbour, clerical historians like John of Fordun’s anonymous Latin source of the 1380s (Skene, 1871-1872) and the continuator of this work, Abbot Walter Bower, author of the Latin Scotichronicon c.1440-1449 (Watt, 1987-1999), could not so easily avoid those events in Bruce’s life which were potentially damaging to his reputation. Again both Fordun’s source, Bower and others clearly had access to now-lost sources commissioned about 1314-1329 as well as to Barbour’s poem. A large amount of courtly verse was certainly commissioned from Abbot Bernard of Arbroath, Bruce’s Chancellor; at least three different poets were also called on to celebrate Bannockburn (including a speech to his troops attributed to Bruce) and also to compose epitaphs for the king (Watt, vi, p. 353-377). One of the latter – reproduced by Bower – underlines the heights to which Bruce himself and his supporters wished to push his reputation as a defence against future enemies. This poem equates Bruce with Hector, Achilles, Ulysses, Arthur, Caesar, Charlemagne and Solomon, rendering faint the praise of Barbour. In conjunction with Bruce’s specified funerary arrangements – his body was to be buried at the royal mausoleum, Dunfermline, while his heart was to rest in the border abbey of Melrose after it had been taken to the Holy Land – this must have been designed to awe his subjects and enemies (Simpson, 1999).

7 Unless, that is, Bower embellished such iconic imagery to his own ends. Indeed, it is in Bower that we first encounter the tale of William Wallace’s dialogue with Bruce across the river Carron after the Scots’defeat at the battle of Falkirk (1298) during which, according to Bower, Bruce had fought for the English against Wallace’s Scots (Barbour never mentioned this battle). In reply to Bruce’s taunt that Wallace, a lesser knight, should seek power, Bower’s Wallace rebukes the claimant king for his « inactivity and womanish cowardice ». According to Bower: On account of all this Robert himself was like one awakening from a deep sleep; the power of Wallace’s words so entered his heart that he no longer had any thought of favouring the views of the English. Hence, as he became every day braver than he had been, he kept all these words uttered by his faithful friend… (Watt, vi, p. 95-97)

8 It is known from documentary records – first scrutinized by modern historians – that Bruce was not at Falkirk in 1298 but he did resubmit to England in 1302 in fear of a Balliol revival (Barrow, 1988, p. 121-124). But Bower gives us none of this: his Bruce re- emerges a patriot in 1305 with his bid for the throne betrayed by Comyn before Wallace is executed, a direct reversal of historic events (Watt, vi, p. 313-317). Now, it is possible that Bower had to produce such a tale. Fordun’s incomplete annals had first left hanging fire the assertion that Bruce had fought Wallace at Falkirk: thereafter, really, Fordun followed the elements and chronology to 1329 given by Barbour, whom both Fordun and Bower acknowledged they had read (Skene, ii, p. 323): the other great Scottish chronicle source, The Original Chronicle of Prior Andrew Wyntoun (c.1355-1422) merely referred readers to Barbour for the events of 1306-1329. But Bower may also have sought to forge a narrative « mirror of princes ». By allowing his Wallace, the subject, to correct Bruce, the ruler, Bower could advocate Bruce’s reform through

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 22

« good counsel » as a model for kings whom Bower himself served in the turbulent fifteenth-century, James I and II (Brown, 2000).

9 However, it is also possible that Bower felt compelled to include the Carron Shore interview both because of the growing reputation since 1297 of Wallace as a patriot against Scotland’s natural enemy by 1400, England (Morton, 2001), and because of lingering doubts about Bruce’s behaviour before 1306. The suggestion that Wallace passed the torch to his friend, Bruce, was not merely a convenient way to gloss over black marks in Bruce’s career and justify Balliol’s deposition; but the essence of this exchange at Carron Shore has become and remains an accepted assumption of Scottish nationalism and popular history.

Blind Hary and Early-Modern Writing

10 It is, of course, Blind Hary’s fabulous poem, The Wallace, which, borrowing from Barbour and Bower, cements in place as part of Scotland’s « usable past » this component of Bruce’s reputation – as a hero brought to duty by Wallace. Hary’s twentieth-century editors have shown that this vernacular verse of 11,000 lines also had a « mirror of princes » agenda. Composed c.1474-8, Wallace’s just wars and his turning of Bruce were designed as an allegory for the reform of the then King James III’s anglophile policies (McDiarmid, 1968). So in Hary’s work Bruce’s conversion at Carron Shore is further imagined and word of Wallace’s execution is conveyed at the close to a tearful but vengeful Bruce, his path to 1306 and 1314 thus set. It was to be the huge influence of the many editions of Hary’s poem after c.1508 (some fifty by 1900 including all the runs of William Hamilton of Gilbertfield’s anglified version of Hary after 1722) and the growing importance of Wallace as a highly usable Scottish political icon which would ensure the perpetuation of this seminal moment in the development of Bruce’s reputation (King, 1998, p. XI-XXIX).

11 For those writing after 1500, however, Bruce could not remain so clear-cut. The problem was, though, that the histories of Wallace and Bruce had been so authentically set by Barbour, Hary and the chroniclers that it was difficult to recraft the careers of these two icons to exactly suit rapidly changing politico-religious circumstances after c. 1560. This perhaps explains why Scottish writers as diverse as John Maior, the pro- British regnal-union academic (1521), or Aberdeen humanist, Hector Boece (1522), or – after the Reformation in 1560 – pro-French Bishop John Leslie or Presbyterian legitimist and tutor to James VI, George Buchanan, could all include in their Histories essentially the same version of the years 1286-1314 and Bruce’s career (Maior, 1892, p. 193-287; Boece, 1938-1941, p. 247-292; Leslie, 2 vols., 1895, i, p. 345- and ii, p. 1-14; Buchanan, 2 vols., 1827, ii, p. 386-447). Inherited sources dictated that these writers should all uphold the Bruces’claim over Balliol’s, all report Carron Shore’s exchange and gloss over Bruce’s movements pre-1306 and follow Barbour and Bower for Bruce’s achievements in detail to 1314 and less detail to 1329.

12 However, here we do find the first hint of divergence between the scholarly narratives and the popular, folk perception of Bruce. For Buchanan does not openly assert that Wallace’s words after Falkirk genuinely converted Bruce. Buchanan preferred to emphasise Bruce’s responsible, aristocratic removal of tyranny rather than that of the potentially socially-subversive Wallace. In addition, of course, pro-English/British Presbyterian writers after 1567 could only make subdued use of such an anti-English,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 23

Roman figure as Bruce (Pittock, 1991; Kidd, 1993). This surely explains why much of the Scottish writing of the sixteenth-, seventeenth- and eighteenth-centuries failed to make convincing use of Bruce. For example, the enigmatic royalist Patrick Gordon (c. 1589-1650), probably of Aberdeen, took apologist pains to play down the anti-English sentiment in his Famous Historie of the Renown’d and Valiant Prince Robert sirnamed the Bruce… of 1613, a decade after the union of the Crowns. Gordon’s verse adapted Barbour, Bower and Hary, opening in 1305 with the death of Wallace and trotting out all the standard Bruce tales until his conclusion at Bannockburn in an attempt to commemorate what he saw as « the never enough praised virtues of that most admirable prince ». But Gordon’s derivative romance could not be comfortably used by Covenanters, Absolutists or Republicans in the mid-seventeenth-century (Allan, 1993, p. 61). In part, Gordon’s work typifies what might be described as the vague invocation of the « spirit » of Wallace and Bruce or their victories of 1297 and 1314 without making either figure historically specific. For the sake of space, it might be stated that similar constraints affected the (mostly poetic) writing about Bruce during the periods of Restoration, Parliamentary Union and Jacobitism of the late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-centuries (e.g. John Harvey’s Homeric Life of Robert Bruce [Edinburgh, 1729]).

Modern Scholarship

13 However, the spirit of enlightened documentary scholarship of the late-eighteenth and early nineteenth-centuries (Ash, 1988) launched reassessment of Bruce’s career. Lord of Session, David Dalrymple Lord Hailes, in his Annals of the events of 1057 to 1371, first published in Edinburgh in 1769, researched Bruce’s movements before 1306 and revealed a « capricious and desultory » record of uncertain loyalties. But Hailes offered, too, evidence that Bruce had not fought at Falkirk in 1298. Thus Hailes expressed amazement that the « trash » story of Wallace and Bruce’s exchange at Carron Shore should have « gained credit ». He gave similar scrutiny to Bruce’s popular justification for killing Comyn, but with the diffident admission that he knew his readers – reared on Barbour and Hary – would not be pleased with such « pragmatical and dangerous » alternatives. Nonetheless, although Hailes’Annals described Barbour’s tales of the years 1307-1314 as « romantic » and « fabulous », he still recounted these within the established chronology to be found in Barbour and Bower (Hailes, 1819, ii, p. 25-26, 298-360).

14 Yet Hailes set the ball of scholarly debate rolling, encouraged by the publication of medieval documents by Historical Clubs. Those studies which were not merely general histories of Scotland bear particular scrutiny. Whiggish Edinburgh pamphleteer, Robert Kerr, was the first to produce a prose biography of Robert Bruce in two volumes in 1811. He followed Hailes in criticising Bruce’s actions before 1306 but, crucially, tried to explain them within the specific « circumstances » of the times. Nonetheless, there are interesting tensions within this work and its successors. Kerr was reluctant to dismiss all Barbour’s traditionary tales. The same was true of Sir Patrick Tytler in the 1820s/ 1830s – in both his History and Worthies – written at the urging of Sir Walter Scott. However, Tytler also argued that Bruce’s behaviour before 1306 – not influenced by Wallace – was not capricious, but utterly consistent to himself (Tytler, 1841, iii, p. 113-361). Alternatively, the Reverend William Burns – in his well-received two volume The Scottish War of Independence – its Antecedents and Effects of 1874, which again

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 24

closed with Bannockburn, cited documentary proof of Bruce’s movements in 1298 to argue that he was on the English side at Falkirk but his behaviour was dictated by the « special conditions » of the time. Nonetheless, for Burns, although there was no meeting at Carron Shore, had there been no Wallace, there would have been no Bruce; had there been no Stirling Bridge, there would have been no Bannockburn; and it may be added, humanely speaking, had there been no Bannockburn there would have been no John Knox and no Scottish Reformation (Burns, 1874, ii, p. 518-521).

15 It was, though, a clutch of studies written at the turn of the century which really challenged Bruce’s reputation. Sir Herbert Maxwell, a Conservative Member of Parliament for Galloway and a Cabinet minister – in a sorely neglected scholarly work, Robert the Bruce – the Struggle for Independence (1897), damned all histories of Scotland before Hailes’, refuted the value of Barbour’s tales and argued that Bruce was an Anglo- Norman lord with a « humiliating record » of loyalty before 1306 and may even have seen Wallace executed in London (Maxwell: 1897, p. 5-12, 121-122). These were themes taken up by Aberdeenshire crofter’s son, scholar and lawyer, A. F. Murison, in his 1899 volume on Bruce for Edinburgh publisher Oliphant’s Famous Scots series. Murison found Bruce before 1306 « spotted and inconstant », condemning the servile adulation – as he put it – of Barbour and subsequent writers but nonetheless concluding that thanks to Bruce’s building on Wallace’s foundations « the figure of the hero still remains; Bruce completed the national deliverance » (Murison, 1899, p. 8, 25, 156).

16 The popular backlash to Maxwell and Murison was strong with critics rising to Bruce’s defence in a considerable section of the press and especially in journals dedicated to political independence, Home Rule, for Scotland – e.g. The Thistle. However, crucially, much of this defence of Bruce had the primary aim of protecting people’s champion, Wallace. Alec McMillan, Professor of Indian History and Law at King’s College London, rounded on Bruce’s critics in his Vindication (1901) but reserved his greatest ire for the suggestion that Bruce had seen Wallace executed. Arguably, such patriotic denial is representative of a potent uneasiness about Bruce’s early loyalties which affected both these new scholarly treatments and the popular perception of Bruce, a universal reluctance to give up the patriotic link provided by Bower and Hary at Carron Shore.

17 The importance of this link had, of course, been emphatically underlined for modern Scots by that other great working-class national hero for the future, Robert Burns (1759-1796). Inspired by the « Scottish prejudice poured into [his] veins » by Hamilton’s version of Hary’s poem, Burns had composed his ballad, « Robert Bruce’s Address at Bannockburn », as well as two poems entitled « The Ghost of Bruce », in 1793 (King, 1998, p. XIV; McIlvanney, 2002, p. 212-214). Burns admired Bruce – he had himself pseudo- knighted while wearing a relic said to be Bruce’s helmet during a visit to Bannockburn. But the fact that Burns’ incredibly popular work opens « Scots Wha Hae wi’Wallace Bled » confirms the popular belief that Wallace had inspired Bruce and such verse as allegories for contemporary political liberties. The potency of this collective forgetting about Bruce was further perpetuated by the more popular works of history of the nineteenth- and early twentieth-centuries written by nonetheless historically-aware authors, very often churchmen: for example, George Grant’s Life of Robert Bruce – the Restorer of Scottish Independence, printed in Dublin in 1849 or the Reverend William Graham of Trinity, Edinburgh’s telling pamphlet of 1873, Robert Bruce and John Knox.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 25

18 In sum, the scholarly questioning of Bruce’s early career either does not seem to have penetrated works more accessible to the literate public or favoured by those more readily shaping popular opinion; or it had provoked refutation. It should come as no surprise, then, that works of a populist and fictional nature about Bruce and the Wars were even more resistant of blackening « Bruce of Bannockburn » and, above all, as Wallace’s friend.

19 Here, the study took a sample of over twenty School Readers of c.1810-1940, many of them by Scottish publishers. The younger the audience aimed at in these works the simpler the version of the Wars depicted, really, through a series of anecdotal tableaux which could all-so-easily be lifted from Barbour, Bower, Hary and – as we’ll see – Walter Scott. Very often this meant avoiding completely such difficult issues as Bruce’s behaviour before 1306 but in works such as the Reverend Thomas Thompson’s History of Scotland for the Use of Schools (1849) or H. W. Meikle’s The Story of Scotland for Junior Classes (1907), the link between Wallace and Bruce was firm: « when Wallace was dead, it came into the heart of Bruce to try to save the country » (Meikle, 1907, ch. 19). Most such school works then follow Barbour’s vignettes of Bruce from the murder of Comyn through the trials of 1306-1307 to the height of 1314, adding little of events to 1329.

20 Content similar to these scholastic works can also be discerned in the tradition of cheap 1d or 2d Chapbooks popular from the eighteenth-century on. The National Library of Scotland preserves a large sample of such frequently reprinted ‘juvenile literature’on both Wallace and Bruce (e.g. NLS ABS.1.203.018). In many of these books (with naive illustrations) Carron Shore features prominently as do the tales of Barbour and Bower up to Bannockburn. As with many of the School Readers these works often contain obvious messages of self-improvement, for example duty, repentance and perseverance. And, of course, as with most works in this period – including even some « academic » histories – these also assert that Wallace and Bruce thus kept Scotland independent so that the realm could enter into a union of equals with England after 1707, « enjoying the blessings of international tranquility » in Empire (Morton, 1999, ch. 7).

21 However, if the message in such works about Bruce is obvious it is much more emotively felt in that genre which had the greatest influence in shaping public perceptions of this icon: popular fiction in prose, verse and drama. One of the earliest of such updates of Barbour and Hary was the most influential. Borders-born Jane Porter saw her novel, The Scottish Chiefs, published in 1800, and it would go through over twenty editions worldwide by c.1930. Like Hary its main hero was Wallace with Bruce’s image shaped by light thrown from that figure. Porter’s work underlines the difficulty many clearly perceived in dealing with Bruce before 1306 and the wish-fulfillment that he be remembered as a friend of Wallace. Thus Porter’s Wallace is attacked at Falkirk by the middle Robert Bruce, the future king’s father. The younger Bruce then comes for his interview at Carron Shore and is a committed ally thereafter. The novel closes with Bruce invoking Wallace at Bannockburn, clearly influenced by Robert Burns’hit poem. In the preface to her 1835 edition, Porter remembers that such tales of Wallace and Bruce as friends were told to her as a child by an old neighbour-woman living as a cottar, a memory similar to those shared by Walter Scott, Hugh Miller, Andrew Carnegie and John Muir (Ash, 1990).

22 The power of that image of the Wars – passed on so intimately – was very difficult for professional historians to challenge. It had been difficult, indeed, even for a Unionist

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 26

Tory like Sir Walter Scott to resist. Scott’s anecdotal Tales of a Grandfather (1827) included no meeting at Carron Shore – surely to downplay the role of a potentially radical Wallace: Scott’s Bruce was brought to contrition by imagining the blood of his countrymen on his hands. Scott clearly preferred Bruce, making sure he secured a cast of Bruce’s skull in 1818 and also, of course, adding the tale of Bruce in the cave and the persevering spider in 1306, borrowing from the sixteenth-century chronicler of the Douglas family, Hume of Godscroft. But in some of his late work, Scott yielded some ground to pressure from his publisher for a book on Bruce and the notion of a Wallace link (Grierson, 1979, iv, p. 23, vii, p. 280, xi, p. 9). In the novel Castle Dangerous (1831) – which like his poem The Lord of the Isles (1815) was based mostly on Barbour – Scott imagines Wallace as a supporter of Bruce’s claim against the background of the events of 1305-1308 (Robertson, 1894, p. LXXXI). If this link was good enough for Scott, it is little wonder that subsequent playwrights and novelists also obsessed about Bruce as Wallace’s friend, for example, David Anderson’s King Robert Bruce or the Battle of Bannockburn (1833) or Gabriel Alexander’s five-hundred page romance Robert Bruce – the Hero King of Scotland (1852, written after his Wallace – the Hero of Scotland) or Imperialist author, G. A. Henty’s In Freedom’s Cause of 1894.

23 Furthermore, there is evidence that this need to improve Bruce through Wallace increased after 1800, especially amidst growing class-consciousness and calls for electoral reform. Turning to a selection of the Public Commemorations and Monuments associated with Bruce c.1800-1945, the press material covering almost annual Electoral Reform or Home Rule meetings held on the battlefield on Bannockburn day from 1800 onwards shows that the crowds focused more upon Bruce’s association with Wallace and the independence won for the people of Scotland than upon the king himself. To give just one example, reporting on 1914’s gathering on Bannockburn Day the Glasgow Herald could remark that « it was noticeable how insistent during the day was the harking back to Wallace’s fight at [Stirling] Bridge » and how songs about Wallace, not Bruce, dominated: Burns’ « Scots’Wha Hae » was always first choice. The twentieth- century Scottish National Party’s adoption of Bannockburn Day (although thrown into doubt in 2003) intensified this evocation of Wallace rather than Bruce, an association heightened from 1995 with the Oscar winning film Braveheart’s dependence upon Hary’s poem: the film itself contained a version of Bruce’s conversion at Carron Shore (Edensor, 1997).

24 It is clear that it was Bruce’s aristocratic heritage which made him second choice as a national icon in meritocratic later nineteenth- and twentieth-century Scotland: Bruce was not a martyred « lad o’pairts » (Finlay, 1997, p. 111-118). This surely goes a long way, too, to explaining why monuments to Bruce trailed behind those to Wallace and why public subscription often failed to pay for such works. One would perhaps have expected the discovery of Bruce’s bones at Dunfermline Abbey in February 1818 to prompt an explosion of interest in the King. Indeed, between then and the ceremonial re-interment of the remains in November 1819, Ebeneezer Henderson, minister and historian of Dunfermline insists that the talk in « newspapers, magazines and fly- sheets » was all absorbing (Henderson, 1879, p. 594-605; Jardine, 1821). However, a search of the Scotsman, Edinburgh Courant, Glasgow Herald, Blackwood’s Magazine and The Times for the period suggests that this may be an exaggeration for a local’s hero. King George IV did not visit Dunfermline in 1822 (Mudie, 1822) and a campaign for a large statue of Bruce nearby failed to raise interest. Besides, what public comment lingered again leant towards Wallace: Blackwood’s Magazine (December 1819, p. 496) even ran a

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 27

competition to pen the best exchanges between Wallace and Bruce at Carron Shore! Imagine the wider popular reaction, though, if Wallace’s remains had been found?

25 Even the National Wallace Monument’s foundation stone had been laid at Stirling on Bannockburn day in 1861 in front of 50,000 people who heard Stirling’s Provost remark upon the purity of Wallace above the politicking of the Wars (Scotsman, 25 June 1861). Indeed the focus on Burns’song to the detriment of Bruce’s own reputation was noticed by J. B. Mackie in his 1910 Bruce: Patriot or Statesman, a pamphlet for Dunfermline’s Men of Mark series: this noted that Burns’song – translated into « a dozen languages » – had stifled revivals of Bruce’s image after 1818. This regret is echoed in the memoirs of millionaire industrialist and philanthropist (another « lad o’pairts »), Andrew Carnegie (1835-1919), who, although he refused to donate money to a 1904 campaign for a Bruce statue because it celebrated a King, and he favoured Wallace’s work for « the people » in letters to Germany’s Kaiser, admitted that in learning his Scottish history as a boy from his uncle’s tales and books « Bruce never got justice » as a hero (Carnegie, 1920, p. 18, 367).

26 Further themes and periods in the formation of Bruce’s reputation remain to be fully studied, including Heritage presentation, relics, portraiture, ballads, local legends or place names. But a final illustration may serve to stress the ambivalence and contradictions active in shaping Bruce’s image. Lewis-born Agnes Mure Mackenzie, a trained historian, nationalist and Secretary of the Saltire Society, remarked in the introduction to her 1935 study, Robert Bruce King of Scots, that she, like Walter Scott, had to be persuaded by her publisher to attempt such a work because, despite the popularity of Barbour, Hary and Porter: I had, like most of my generation, been bred to the conventional view of Bruce, as a treacherous and rather contemptible figure who somehow, by a violent conversion, was changed into the strong and beloved leader of a national struggle.

27 However, Mackenzie added that her examination of the original sources – and her reading of Professor Evan Barron’s The Scottish War of Independence (1914), now caused her to find the opposite to be the case: that the charges of disloyalty leveled by the likes of Maxwell were wrong and that: « the old folk-tradition was right, and that the old popular hero was a hero. Such a conclusion I know is very shocking » (Mackenzie, 1935, p. VII-IX). Nevertheless, in 1944 Mackenzie penned a well-bought novel, Apprentice Majesty, which follows Bruce from 1297 to his inauguration in 1306. Yet despite the author’s earlier confidence in scholarship to exonerate Bruce she still felt compelled – like Bower, Hary, Burns and Porter before her – to forge a link between Bruce and Wallace. In her version Bruce is a patriot hamstrung by his father but whom Wallace persuades to the rightful path. This work and its well-read author are suitably emblematic of the difficulty which all Scottish commentators since 1329 – and probably within Bruce’s own lifetime – seem to have had with this king’s reputation and to be part of the long-term Scottish processes whereby Bruce’s image has been skewed.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 28

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ALLAN D., Virtue, Learning and the Scottish Enlightenment, Edinburgh, 1993.

ASH M., The Strange Death of Scottish History, Edinburgh, 1980.

ASH M., « William Wallace and Robert the Bruce: the life and death of a national myth », in R. Samuel and P. Thompson (eds.), The Myths We Live By, London 1990, p. 83-94.

BARROW G. W. S., Robert the Bruce and the Community of the Realm of Scotland, 3rd ed., Edinburgh, 1988.

BOECE H., Chronicles of Scotland, 1522, trans. J. Bellenden, 1531, R. W. Chambers and E. C. Batho (eds.), Scottish Text Society, 1938-1941.

BROWN M., « Vile Times: Walter Bower’s Last Book and the Minority of James II », Scottish Historical Review, lxxix, 2000, p. 165-188.

BRUNSDEN G. M., « Aspects of Scotland’s Social and Cultural Scene in the Late 19th and Early 18th Centuries, as Mirrored in the Wallace and Bruce Tradition », in E. J. Cowan (ed.), The Polar Twins, East Linton, 2000, p. 75-113.

BUCHANAN G., History of Scotland, J. Aikman (ed.), 4 vols., Glasgow, 1827.

BURNS W., The Scottish War of Independence, 2 vols., Glasgow, 1874.

CARNEGIE A., Autobiography, London, 1920.

DUNCAN A. A. M. (ed.), John Barbour, The Bruce, Edinburgh, 1997.

EBIN L. A., « John Barbour’s Bruce: Poetry, History and Propaganda », Studies in Scottish Literature, 9, 1972, p. 218-247.

EDENSOR T., « Reading Braveheart: Representing and Contesting Scottish Identity », Scottish Affairs, 21, 1997, p. 135-158.

FINLAY R. J., « Heroes, Myths and Anniversaries in Modern Scotland », Scottish Affairs, no. 18, 1997, p. 108-125.

GRIERSON H. (ed.), The Letters of Sir Walter Scott, 11 vols., Oxford, 1932-1979.

HENDERSON E., The Annals of Dunfermline, Glasgow, 1879.

INNES C. (ed.), The Brus, Spalding Club, Aberdeen, 1856.

JARDINE H., Lord Remembrancer’s Report relative to the tomb of King Robert Bruce, London, 1821.

KIDD C., Subverting Scotland’s Past: Scottish Whig Historians and the Creation of an Anglo-British Identity, 1689-c.1830, Cambridge, 1993.

KING E. (ed.), William Hamilton of Gilbertfield – Hary’s The Wallace, 1722, Stirling, 1998.

LESLIE J., Historie of Scotland, J. Dalrymple (ed.), 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1895.

MACKENZIE A. M., Robert Bruce, King of Scots, London, 1935.

MAIOR J., A History of Greater Britain, 1521, A. Constable (ed.), Scottish History Society, 1892.

MAXWELL H., Robert the Bruce and the Struggle for Independence, London, 1897.

MCDIARMID M. P., Vita Nobilissimi Defensoris Scotie Wilelmi Wallace Militis, Scottish Text Society, 1968.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 29

MCDIARMID M. P. and Stevenson J. A. C. (eds.), Barbour’s Bruce, 3 vols., Scottish Text Society, 1985.

MCILVANNEY L., Burns the Radical: Poetry and Politics in Late Eighteenth-Century Scotland, East Linton, 2002.

MEIKLE H. W., The Story of Scotland for Junior Classes, Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh/London, c.1907.

MORTON G., Unionist Nationalism: Governing Urban Scotland 1830-1860, East Linton, 1999.

MORTON G., William Wallace: Man and Myth, Stroud, 2001.

MUDIE R., A Historical Account of his Majesty’s Visit to Scotland, Edinburgh, 1822.

MURISON A. F., Famous Scots Series: King Robert the Bruce, Edinburgh, 1899.

PITTOCK M. G. H., The Invention of Scotland: the Stuart Myth and the Scottish Identity, 1638 to the present, Cornwall, 1991.

ROBERTSON J. L. (ed.), The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Oxford, 1894.

SIMPSON G. G., « The Heart of King Robert I: Pious Crusade or Marketing Gambit? », in B. E. Crawford (ed.), Church, Chronicle and Learning in Medieval and Early Renaissance Scotland, Edinburgh, 1999, p. 173-186.

SKEAT W. W. (ed.), The Bruce, Scottish Text Society, 1870-1889.

SKENE W. F. (ed.), John of Fordun, Chronicle of the Scottish People, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1871-1872.

TYTLER P. F., History of Scotland, 2nd ed., Edinburgh, 1841-.

WATT D. E. R. et al. (eds.), Walter Bower’s Scotichronicon, c.1440-9, 9 vols., Aberdeen, 1987-1999.

AUTHOR

MICHAEL A. PENMAN University of Stirling

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 30

The Reputations of Mary Queen of Scots

Jayne Lewis

Talked of poor Mary of Scots’execution, which M. said Elizabeth delayed too long, for that her Ministers had been urging it. […] Talked of poor Mary. “She was a bad woman,” said Lord M., “she was a silly, idle, coquettish French girl.” I pitied her. Diary of Queen Victoria (Friday, 12 July 1839)

1 As reputations go, that of Mary Queen of Scots was never an especially Scottish one. Nor does it appear ever to have been very good. Bred in the permissive Renaissance court of the Valois king, Henri II, this “silly, idle, coquettish French girl” was branded a harlot by many of her own Scottish subjects (Esher, 1912, I, p. 219). She was suspected of complicity in the murder of her second (English) husband, then accused of adultery with the man who soon became her third, and at whose side she waged war on many of her own people. When Mary was so famously beheaded, in England, in the winter of 1587, it was for plotting to kill her cousin once-removed, Elizabeth Tudor. How on earth could anyone have “pitied her”? And yet, from another point of view, Mary’s reputation could hardly be better: she died a self-proclaimed martyr to her Roman Catholic faith, after nineteen years of captivity that won the sympathy even of some of her English captors. Her brief, disastrous personal rule in Scotland has shown many historians a gentle and tolerant spirit ill-equipped for the Realpolitik of a determined Protestant ascendancy. Her virtually life-long separation from her only child, James VI of Scotland and I of England, is poignant, her generous affection for the women who cared for her legendary (Donaldson, 1983; Lynch, 1988; Wormald, 1988).

2 The cultural value of “reputation” would appear to lie in its ability to assign stable meaning to its referent, which assignment produces collective understanding and guarantees the symbolic transmission through time that further binds groups together. YetMary Queen of Scots seems born to expose the frailty of “reputation” as a stable sign, and thereby to frustrate the twin possibilities of social coherence and historical

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 31

persistence. Even in her own day, she was visible only through conflicting, indeed contradictory images, each of which so noisily trumpeted both its truth to life and its bid to compel monolithic response that it revealed in the end little more than its own ideological construction (Phillips, 1964). For every Protestant who saw Mary as a bloodthirsty harlot there was thus a Catholic to see her as a pious martyr. For every Scottish person who had heard she was a Frenchified interloper, there was a French one who understood her to be the rightful unifier of the thrones of England, Scotland, and France. For every man who loathed and repudiated her as a Jezebel, there was a woman to love her as a composite of the biblical Marys who participated in Christ’s passion.

3 As it maps onto an enduring system of binaries – religious, geopolitical and gendered – the war of reputations around Mary would seem to guarantee her invisibility as anything other than a political sign, one whose crude transparency robs it of any of the authority it was contrived to wield. Not coincidentally, from a strictly iconographic point of view, contemporary visual images of the Queen of Scots also lack consistency and referential authority. Of the several portraits of Mary that were painted in her own lifetime, that is, none really resembles any of the others: the most accurate may indeed be Francois Clouet’s so-called “White Deuil” portrait, which shows a very young Mary’s unremarkable face dissolving into the riddling mists of a snowy veil of mourning for her first French husband (Smailes & Thomson, 1987, pp. 30-31) Strong disagreements among the remaining contemporary portraits of the Queen of Scots drove Walter Scott, over 200 years after her demise, to exaggerate the case, lamenting that “there are no absolutely undoubted originals of her” only “innumerable copies” which leave Mary “as unfortunate in this as in other particulars of her life”(Anderson, 1977, p. 3). Two late Victorian critics rightly accepted some of the Renaissance portraits as authentic, but wished that “the crayon of Holbein might have given expression” to Mary’s face, unleashing “the self-betrayal of personality” and saving future viewers the trouble of having to fill in the blanks (Bradley & Cooper, 1890, p. V).

4 Of course, the authority of real presence is an invention of romantic modernity, one that has come undone in postmodern representations of Mary like Liz Lochhead’s drama of 1992, Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off, where, the play of discrete, inscrutable personae – servant, Scottish schoolgirl, French dowager – is presented as Mary’s essence. Structurally, the only difference between Lochhead’s Queen of Scots and her sixteenth-century counterpart is that in the sixteenth century Mary’s various masks were split between competing political camps. For instance, one of the most notorious contemporary representations of Mary was a cartoon depicting her as a mermaid that made the rounds among the Queen of Scot’s enemies as they wrestled her from her Scottish throne. The image literally replaced the adulatory French portraits of “la reine dauphine” that multiplied during her girlhood and brief marriage to the French crown prince, Francois II, dumping Mary’s image from the echelons of courtly art to the streets of Edinburgh, where the mermaid flew on many a militant banner. Just so the last known portrait of the living Mary (made during her English captivity) survives in two versions: in one (the work of an English artist), Mary’s sharp features and wary, slanting eyes connote craft and threat; a crucifix glints like a dagger just below her breast (Smailes & Thomson, plate 32). After Mary’s execution, however, one of her women in waiting commissioned a revision of this same portrait. In the new version (Smailes & Thomson, pp. 54-56) the queen’s face is rounded and gentle, the crucifix raised as if to scatter benediction. Similarly, we have inherited two very

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 32

different pictures of Mary at the hour of her death. One is verbal and comes courtesy of the English Protestant Robert Wyngfield, who witnessed her execution and painted her as a lascivious carnival queen, tricked out in “borrowed hair” garish green and crimson silk, and frivolous “boots of Spanish leather”. When this vain, manipulative Mary’s head was finally severed, Wyngfield gleefully reported, “her dressing of lawn fell from her head, which appeared as if she had been seventy years old, polled very short, her face being in a moment so much altered from its form when she was alive, as few could remember her by her dead face” (Wyngfield, 1884-1886, I, p. 11). Yet almost immediately after Mary’s death a very different portrait, this one visual rather than verbal, circulated in Catholic Europe. In Robert Verstegan’s book of saintly martyrdoms, Theatrum Crudelitatum (1587) , an almost maidenly Mary kneels in sacrificial innocence, one gash already marring her neck to announce the executioner’s exorbitant cruelty (Petti, 1959-1960).

5 This division in Mary’s contemporary reputation is gruesomely literalized in the fate of her body, since the headsman’s axe was meant not just to sever her body in two but to separate Mary definitively and permanently from her better reputation. Her mortified body was meant to prove that she was a very “bad woman” indeed, and that there were no two ways about it. But the execution was botched: it took the executioner three strokes to finish the job (leaving, as Wyngfield put it, “a little gristle behind”) and when he was done Mary was merely ready for her afterlife in Catholic and continental propaganda against English Protestant barbarism. Wyngfield himself reported the grotesque detail that Mary’s “lips stirred up and down almost a quarter of an hour after her head was cut off” and though Wyngfield intended this as a parodic, demeaning detail, it also “speaks” to Mary’s endurance as a cultural icon (Wyngfield, I, p. 13) For though both the Scots and the English so often repudiated her in her lifetime, Mary’s tomb is today one of Westminster Abbey’s most popular attractions, and Mary’s bedchamber at Holyrood House enjoys a similar status in Edinburgh, as do the ruins of the castle on Lochleven where she was forced to sign away her throne, where she allegedly gave birth to stillborn twins, and whence she escaped, disguised as a laundress. At the popular Mary Queen of Scots House in the border town of Jedburgh, pencils and paperweights proclaim her sovereignty in the kingdom of present-day tourism. Such shrines and icons merely summarize over four centuries of literary and artistic involvement with Mary’s memory. Again and again, novels, poems, plays, paintings, and music have all resurrected the Queen of Scots for private consumption and collective scrutiny, and in both of these registers there is little disagreement between English people and Scots, women and men, Catholics and Protestants, that she is worthy of such attention.

6 Through all of this, reputation has continued to matter whenever, as Victoria put it, people “tal [k] of poor Mary”. Beside every “bad woman” a good one still stands, and vice-versa. In attempting to understand how this bifurcation could persist, and what its consequences and significance might be, I want to propose that because rival public images cancel one another out, exposing each other as mere signs of political contest, they create room for a drastically different order of response, one that seems to belong less to the mess and contingency of history than to the seeming (if to some extent always illusorily) autonomous realm of art. As the poet Joseph Brodsky put it, “there’s nothing, barring Art, sub lunar creatures/can use to comprehend [her] gorgeous

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 33

features”. Brodsky adds, significantly: “leave history to good queen Bess” (Brodsky, 1991, p. 22).

7 Second, though, I want to suggest that Mary’s place beyond reputation was less a utopia outside history than one in which the human reality of lived history and those areas of fantasy and desire that seem to lie outside history actually converge. This is perhaps most visible in the modern sub-genre of historical fiction, whose aspirations she virtually embodies, and whose favorite heroine, from Walter Scott to Jean Plaidy, she has long been. In any event, Mary cannot be said merely to have been driven from political history into private romance or pure “Art”. She is, rather, a key to understanding the enduring if evolving relationship between these two, improperly dichotomized, realms of ego investment and cultural activity.

8 Elizabeth herself described Mary as “the daughter of debate, that eke discord doth sow,” and as J. E. Phillips was the first to show, every event in Mary’s life up to and including her death was represented and interpreted from radically opposing points of view, depending on the political passions and desires of whoever happened to be interpreting or representing them. The schism was charted and exemplified in the differences between the Protestant George Buchanan and the Catholic Bishop of Ross, John Leslie. Buchanan’s virulent Detection of the Douings of Marie was published shortly after Mary’s abdication and denounced her “unnaturalness, hatred, barbarous fierceness [and] outrageous cruelty” (Buchanan, 1721, p. 57). In the inflammatory view of the man her rebellious Protestant subjects hired to hold it, Mary is a “poisoning witch” who not only killed her second husband but took wanton pleasure in the spectacle: “As she had satisfied her heart with his slaughter, so she would needs feed her eyes with the sight of his body slain” Buchanan wrote. “For she long beheld, […] with greedy eyes, his dead corps” (Buchanan, p. 27). By contrast, the Catholic Bishop John Leslie made Mary the pious and long-suffering heroine of his Defence of the Honour of […] Marie (1569). Here, Mary could not be farther from Buchanan’s poisoning witch. Instead of a bloodthirsty and lascivious wife, she is a “most careful, tender mother with all” whose “godly and virtuous life past, do far repel and drive away all suspicion” (Leslie, 1569, p. 6). Both Buchanan and Leslie used narratives about Mary to support arguments about the legitimacy of female rule and about the desirability of a Catholic monarchy; their images of her are as extreme as their difference of opinion on these points, and indeed the contending reputations they forged for the Queen of Scots are alike in that both are most legible as icons of political passion. But they are also tokens of artistic power on the power of each verbal portraitist, and in this likeness a strange coherence of purpose – indeed of ego investment – may be discerned. Be it that of “poisoning witch” or “tender mother” that is, Mary’s reputation tells us little about her, but everything about the beliefs and interests of Buchanan and Leslie – interests which converge, it must be said, in the desire to master Mary’s reputation and its attendant imageries.

9 Though in subsequent eras politics did not revolve around the question of the legitimacy of female rule, the rival Marys created by Buchanan and Leslie persisted, and continued to map themselves onto partisan lines, particularly in England. Under her descendants, the star-crossed Stuarts who came to the throne with James, Mary was thus rehabilitated in pro-Stuart propaganda as the wronged and sainted mother of the line – a “sad and most illustrious pattern of all Misfortune” whose destiny was so sadly repeated in the beheading of her grandson, Charles I (Camden, 1636, p. 661). But

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 34

in the turbulent seventeenth century Buchanan’s virulent Detection was also reprinted to justify Puritan revolt against the Stuarts. Then, in the eighteenth century, with the Stuarts off the throne, Mary became the heroine of an emerging, bourgeois sentimental culture. Waxwork models of her execution were erected and wept over in middle-class parlors, and popular romantic accounts of her life were translated from the French to become best-sellers (Haywood, 1725). Jacobite biographers and historians drew on both. They urged a widening circle of readers, all newly inclined to affective and identificatory reading to give Mary the benefit of every doubt, and painted new and melting pictures of her inarguably sad life. Particularly up to 1745, these were often thinly veiled pleas for the return of the ousted Stuarts (Goodall, 1754; Tytler, 1759; Robertson, 1759; Hume, 1778).

10 An emergent sexual politics organized around the idea of the distinctively British woman also drafted Mary into its controversies. Newly popular memoirs of Britain’s “illustrious women” like George Ballard’s in 1752, drew verbal portraits of Mary that demonstrated her “stric [t] obedience and most obliging behaviour toward her husband” along with her “peculiar sweetness of temper and incomparable address” (Perry, 1985, p. 171). Mary stands as a model for a new, bourgeois femininity. At the same time, though, a skeptical enlightenment historiographer like David Hume could become famous for bellowing into the ear of a drunken colleague that “queen Mary was a whore” (Chambers, 1835, II, p. 453). And in short order, inspired by the French Revolution, feminist historians like Mary Hays and Anna Jameson were seeing in the Queen of Scots the unbridled exercise of female desire – an embodiment of what Jameson called “the true feminine idea of empire, viz., the privilege of saying je le veux” (Jameson, 1832, p. ix). As for the Victorians, the popular nineteenth-century historian Agnes Strickland insisted that Mary embodied the most pious “charities and instincts of woman’s nature” (Strickland, 1844, II, p. 130). Indeed, Strickland’s popular and novelistic biography of Mary enshrined the Queen of Scots as the prototype of the Victorian angel in the house. Yet to Strickland’s no less popular contemporary, James Anthony Froude, Mary was a “wild cat” full of “cynical proficiency” and “sustained and elaborate artifices” wholly given over to her own “power of gratifying herself” (Froude, 1862, XII, p. 360). Strickland, Froude, and equally engaged Victorians like Algernon Charles Swinburne were no longer exercised about Jacobites or Jacobins, but Mary was still useful in mapping contradictory beliefs about female cultural authority and the nature of empire.

11 We can in other words follow the Buchanan/Leslie dichotomy through the history of British writing about Mary Queen of Scots with very little trouble indeed. If we did so, we might conclude that that debate’s ability to change shape according to prevailing political controversies – to the political binary du jour – is what kept the woman at its center in some manner alive. This is of course to see the matter very much from the point of view of the author, or artist, whose political opinions and cultural attitudes Mary’s reputation simply reflects and potentially legitimates. But it is also to assume that very little changed in British symbolic practice over several centuries: that Mary’s reputations were always mere puppets of ideology. Above all, it is to leave out those who looked at the visual portraits of Mary, and read the literary ones. While we’ve seen that the Queen of Scots herself is necessarily absent from her own reputation and the pictures that promulgate it, and while we’ve seen that those who represented her were overwhelmingly present, we haven’t yet considered those who “consumed” her

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 35

reputation and image. Yet they are part and parcel of the idea of Mary Queen of Scots, and – suspended between opposing reputations – they are in fact the key to that idea’s persistence through history.

12 A graphic example of the fusion of image and reception – reputation and interpretation – is the half-posthumous memorial portrait (Smailes & Thomson, pp. 54-56) in which Mary’s mourning waiting women actually appear in the frame and reach into the portrait to touch her dress. The painting indeed adds historical events, including Mary’s execution, that occurred subsequent to the painting of the central portrait. It thus incorporates temporality as well as subjectivity into the usually strictly spatial fixity of the queen’s image. Here indeed we might recall Queen Victoria’s exchange with her Prime Minister, Melbourne. Remember that when Melbourne invoked Mary’s reputation as a “bad woman” Victoria did not counter that she was rather a good one but only said, “I pitied her”. Indeed, we don’t know whether she said this at all, or only thought it. It doesn’t matter. The point is that Victoria’s pity is not necessarily a defense of Mary, a flinging of Leslie’s “tender mother” in the face of Buchanan’s “poisoning witch”. Victoria incorporated the memory of rival reputations but out of them generated an entirely different kind of response – pity – whose structure makes the respondent (here, Victoria) part of the figure to which she responds. She thus grounds that figure in a specific historical moment, even as she is projected beyond it.

13 Significantly, Victoria and Melbourne were discussing Mary’s execution, “which Lord M. said Elizabeth delayed too long”. Indeed, Mary’s beheading was controversial, inadvertent, and botched, and as Jane Austen playfully pointed out in her History of England, it was the event that came closest to giving Elizabeth herself a reputation – and a very bad one too. Elizabeth did, famously, delay the execution, knowing full well the political support her kinswoman enjoyed. Though it may well have been staged for political gain, Elizabeth’s ambivalence has been written into many subsequent representations of Mary herself, where it has been given the modern turns of pity and identication. Witness John Banks’s durable 1686 tragedy about Mary, The Island Queens, Schiller’s Maria Stuart, Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda, and of course the Vanessa Redgrave film, Mary Queen of Scots (1972), all of which include in their portraits of Mary an other’s complicating, complicated response to her.

14 For a historical figure of enduring (if dichotomous) repute, Mary is largely lacking in iconic accessories, but if there is one exception, it is the “dressing of lawn” Wyngfield noticed on her head as she knelt at the scaffold, a version of the same veil of mourning Clouet gave us. Prominent in the Renaissance portraiture, this headpiece appears again and again in later, perforce imaginative depictions of the queen. In the eighteenth century, it became a frilled mourning cap like the one we see in David Hume’s influential History of England (Lewis, 1998, p. 128). It was the one indispensable feature of the popular Mary Queen of Scots masquerade costume of the same era, and women who indulged in the long-lived fashion of having themselves painted as Mary likewise always made sure to adopt it (Lewis, ch. 6). Most of the many nineteenth-century history paintings that featured Mary retain some version of the cap, or of Clouet’s mystifying white veil. Yet the head dress is an odd icon for a queen. Surely a crown would be more appropriate. In Gavin Hamilton’s 1776 painting of Mary’s abdication, indeed, the crown is being relinquished but the cap remains. Hamilton thus inscribes the queen in a myth of private emotion, one that invites her viewer’s identification,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 36

even as the Scottish artist subtracts her from a divisive myth of political influence and agency (Lewis, p. 114).

15 This is, in a very important sense, to remove Mary from the fray of rival reputations. It is a disarmingly modern move, one not fully conceivable before the eighteenth century, which is just when private women began dressing like Mary and writing poetry in which they assumed her voice, while male historians translated her love letters, and male poets forged new ones (Campbell, 1824). It was toward the end of this time that Walter Scott supposed that the disparities built into Mary’s reputation (and captured in so many visual images of her) actually produce a different order of coherence, one that oddly delivers the Queen of Scots from the interminable, if charged, back and forth of mere reputation.

16 Scott’s personal fascination with Mary’s face led him to keep a drawing of her “head cut off and lying in a dish” on his wall at Abbotsford, and to put her at the center of his 1829 novel, The Abbot, which work was to inspire numerous nineteenth-century paintings of Mary and stage dramatizations of her life (Bolton, 1992, pp. 375-393). Early in The Abbot, Scott’s narrator supposes that although there are indeed so many competing pictures of the Queen of Scots: amidst their discrepancy, each possesses general features which the eye at once acknowledges as peculiar to the vision which our imagination has raised while we read her history for the first time, and which has been impressed upon it by the numerous prints and pictures we have seen. Indeed, we cannot look on the worst of them […] without saying that it is meant for Queen Mary; and no small instance it is of the power of beauty that her charms should have remained the subject not merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous interest, after the lapse of such a length of time (Scott, 1820, II, p. 181).

17 In the very multiplicity of detached, detachable, and thus so often contradictory “pictures” of Mary that have accumulated (and continue to accumulate) over time, a different order of coherence, continuity, and even identity emerges, one that begins in historical assessment of Mary’s openly unreliable reputation, but quickly transcends it. Scott’s novel presents Mary through the eyes of an ambivalent boy of the Borders who becomes her valet while she languishes in Lochleven. Not without regret and a kind of proleptic nostalgia that stands as both a historical and a fictive mirror for Scott’s own, he watches her give up her crown to become a queen of sentimental historical fiction, safely ensconced between the leaves of a novel. But in becoming such a queen, Mary mirrors the still historical and political beings who, like Scott and his hero, have such ambivalent responses to her, and reminds of their own place in history.

18 The Abbot was neither the first nor the last historical novel to feature Mary Queen of Scots, and in closing – as well as in hopes of illustrating more clearly the place beyond reputation that Mary actually occupies – I’d like to look at Scott’s most important predecessor. The English novelist Sophia Lee’s three-volume fiction, The Recess; or, A Tale of Other Times was published between 1783 and 1785, which is to say almost exactly midway between Mary’s death and the present day. Lee’s best-selling, oft-reprinted novel features two heroines, twin sisters of the Elizabethan age who have been brought up in secret. Their clandestine home, the “recess” of Lee’s title, is the cellar of a ruined abbey, their surrogate mother a governess, one Mrs. Marlow. One day, the twins accidentally stumble across a “whole-length pictur [e]” which “represented a lady in the flower of youth, drest in mourning, and seeming in every feature to be mark’d by sorrow; a black veil half-shaded a coronet she wept over” (Lee, 1786, I, p. 20). Though

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 37

they do not know who the “lady” is, the twins find themselves weeping too. Their tears inspire their guardian to tell them that the lady stripped of political power is Mary Queen of Scots, and that they are her daughters, spirited away to be kept safe during their mother’s long English captivity. “Your mother lives, but not for you” Mrs. Marlow tells the dumbfounded girls, thus at once consoling them and filling them with desolation.

19 Mary’s legacy – of sorrow and female disempowerment, of relegation to the private (the recess of Lee’s title) – seems clear: no wonder her daughters are depressed. And Mary is here clearly an image of women’s traditional exclusion from political life; she does not stand for herself at all but very much for her female readers. In any case, their discovery that they are Mary’s daughters initiates a long and baroque series of misadventures that brings her fictive daughters to Elizabeth’s court, into often torrid relationship with various historical figures, to Jamaica, and finally to France, where the surviving twin (the other has gone mad and killed herself) looks toward her own grave and at last puts down her pen. In all this time, her daughters see Mary herself only once, and then only through barred windows, as she is taking an airing in a nearby castle. “We wept” writes Matilda, the dominant twin, who also happens to resemble Mary exactly: we incoherently exclaimed – and striking ourselves against eagerly against he bars, seemed to hope some supernatural strength would break them. More afflicted at seeing her thus, than not seeing her at all, I neither could behold her for my tears, or resolve to lose a look by indulging them […O] ur hands, which we had thrust, in supplication, through the bars, caught her attention. – She raised her fine eyes… to the window – I would have spoke, but my lips denied all utterance. Alas! that blessed, that benignant glance, was the first, the last, the only one we ever received from a mother. – When she withdrew her eyes, she carried my very soul with her (Lee, I, pp. 196-197).

20 As in the novel’s first portrait of Mary Queen of Scots, the queen’s image is reliably linked to a historical response to her. Yet the reality of this response lies in its admission that those who have it are, like Mary, now alienated from any possibility of self-utterance.

21 Lee’s literary portraits of the Queen of Scot, in other words, draw on the positive dichotomy of her historical reputation but also give us protagonists who internalize that dichotomy, maintain it as ambivalence, and upon that negation, or recess, build a fiction of personal and political identity. In The Recess, Mary becomes the grounds of the heroines’sense of themselves both as historical agent and as coherent subjects (of, among other things, language itself). She also undermines those very grounds – the girls are of course inventions, and even within the terms of the novel, they feel themselves “cut from the chain of creation” (Lee, I, p. 14). Mary’s reputation doesn’t really matter to Lee – she is more saintly than otherwise, but the important thing is that she is eventually absorbed into self-confirming – and self-eradicating – emotional response to her. Yet this response generates a new and perhaps even more demanding order of historical and political commentary.

22 Lee’s was only the first in a long line of female-authored fictions of response to Mary, and there is a point to be made about the British women’s special relationship to Mary Queen of Scots – the frequency with which it has been specifically female emotion and desire that fuse with Mary’s image, and the disproportionate degree to which women have identified Mary’s seeming status as a manipulated sign with their own cultural

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 38

invisibility and with insight into the kinds of denial and deception that underwrite political identity and historical confidence. “There is no odds that I can spy, /’ Twixt mary Queen of Scots and I” wrote a female working-lass poet of the 18th century, Mary Leapor, who came to this ungrammatical but arresting conclusion while contemplating her own gravestone (Leapor, 1748-1751, I, p. 41). The sub-history of female response to Mary that we find in her work and Lee’s epitomizes and catalyzes the revision of her fractured reputation as a source of identificatory attachment grounded in unique historical awareness.

23 For instance, in Penelope Lively’s Moon Tiger (1986), the heroine recalls a girlhood history lesson. While dutifully copying down the names and dates of English history, she hears her teacher praise Elizabeth’s beheading of Mary Stuart: I put up my hand: “Please Miss Lavenham, did the Catholics think she was right to cut off Mary’s head?” “No, Claudia, I don't expect they did.” “Please, do Catholic people think so now?” Miss Lavenham took a breath: “Well, Claudia” she said kindly. “I suppose some of them might not. People do sometimes disagree. But there is no need for you to worry about that. Just put down what is on the board. Make your headings nice and clear in red ink…” And suddenly for me the uniform grey pond of history is rent; it is fractured into a thousand contending waves; I hear the babble of voices. I put my pen down and ponder; my headings are not nice and clear in red ink; I get 38% (Fail) in the end of term exams. (Lively, 1988, pp. 14-15)

24 Claudia’s “failure” to enter one kind of history is the condition of her entrance into a very different one, one which both assimilates and transcends the battle of reputations Miss Lavenham attempts to exploit in the interest of a conventional history lesson.

25 We saw at the outset that Mary Queen of Scots foregrounds the problem of reputation as a guide to historical knowledge: because she has more than one reputation, and because those reputations compete with one another, they tend to cancel each other out. But as we’ve now seen the problem of reputation that Mary really raises is more complicated than that: by inviting sympathetic identification in excess of reputation, Mary also undermines reputation’s authority, detaching moral value from emotional power in such a way as to carry us beyond the nascent political, national and linguistic boundaries her very existence once challenged. Today, Mary’s reputation is still unstable if we insist on thinking in moral, national or political terms. Even if we want to write a history of culture, we are hard-pressed to fix her anywhere. Who can say whether she was “a bad woman” or not, a mere “French girl” or not? The categories persist but “Mary Queen of Scots” also overrides them, bound to her beholder’s tangled longing both to be in history and to escape it, to write history and yet to redefine what it means to do so. It may be Mary’s singular fate to give such longings a face, if not a reputation or a name.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ANDERSON W. F. K. (ed.), The Journal of Sir Walter Scott, Oxford, 1977.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 39

BOLTON H. P. (ed.), Scott Dramatized, London, 1992.

BREDLEY K. and COOPER E., The Tragic Mary, London, 1890.

BRODSKY J., Urania, London, 1991.

BUCHANAN G., A Detection of the Actions of Mary, Queen of Scots, 1587, London, 1721.

CAMDEN W., Annals, or the History of the Actions of Mary, Queen of Scots, 1571, London, 1721.

CAMPBELL H., Love Letters of Mary Queen of Scots to James, Earl of Bothwell, London, 1824.

CHAMBERS R., Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen, 4 vols., Edinburgh, 1835.

DONALDSON G., All the Queen’s Men: Power and Politics in Mary Stewarts’s Scotland, London, 1983.

ESHER V. (ed.), The Girlhood of Queen Victoria: A Selection from her majesty’s Diaries Between the Years 1832 and 1840, 2 vols., London, 1912.

FROUDE J. A., The History of England, 12 vols., London, 1862.

GOODALL W., An Examination of the Letters Said to be Written by Mary, Queen of Scots, Edinburgh, 1754.

HAYWOOD E., Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, Being a Secret history of Her Life and the Real Causes of All Her Misfortunes, London, 1725.

HUME D., History of England, London, 1778.

JAMESON A., Memoirs of Celebrated Female Sovereigns, London, 1832.

LEAPOR M., Poems Upon Several Occasions, 2 vols., London, 1748-1751.

LEE S., The Recess: Or, A Tale of Other Times, 3 vols., 2nd ed., London, 1786.

LESLIE J., A Defence of the Honour of… Marie, London, 1569.

LEWIS J. E., Mary Queen of Scots: Romance and Nation, London and New York, 1998.

LIVELY P., Moon Tiger, New York, 1988.

LYNCH M. (ed.), Mary Stewart, Queen in Three Kingdoms, Oxford, 1988.

PERRY R. (ed.), Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain, London, 1752.

PETTI A. G., “Richard Verstegan and Catholic Martyrologies of the later Elizabethan Period”, Recusant History, v (1959-1960), pp. 64-90.

PHILLIPS J. E., Images of a Queen: Mary Stuart in Sixteenth-Century Literature, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1964.

ROBERTSON W., The History of Scotland During the Reigns of Queen Mary and King James VI, Edinburgh, 1759.

SCOTT W., The Abbot, 2 vols., London, 1820.

SMAILES H. and THOMSON D., The Queen’s Image, Edinburgh, 1987.

STRICKLAND A., Lives of the Queens of Scotland and English Princesses, 6 vols., London, 1844.

TYTLER W., An Inquiry Historical and Critical into the Evidence against Mary Queen of Scots, London, 1759.

WORMALD J., Mary Queen of Scots: A Study in Failure, London, 1988.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 40

WYNGFIELD R., “An Account of the Execution of Mary, the Late Queen of Scots (1587)”, in The Clarendon Historical Society Reprints, series II, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1884-1886.

AUTHOR

JAYNE LEWIS University of California, Irvine

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 41

Charles Edward Stuart

Murray G. H. Pittock

1 In April 1746, as events at Culloden drifted away from the Jacobites, Lord Elcho called on his leader Charles to charge forward and save the day. When he failed to do so, and instead left the field, Elcho termed him “an Italian coward and a scoundrel” (Scott, p. 213; Ewald, 1875, II, pp. 27-33), sometimes popularized as “There you go, you cowardly Italian”. Elcho’s squadron of Lifeguard cavalry were one of the Jacobite army’s few crack units: their wealthy and arrogant commander had already loaned Charles Edward 1500 guineas, a loan that was never repaid: to Charles it was a wager on success, to Elcho a commercial transaction, as Frank McLynn (1988, p. 141) has argued.

2 In April 1746, as events at Culloden drifted away from the Jacobites, a cornet in the Horse Guards noted that the Prince wanted to charge forward and save the day. Colonel O’Sullivan ordered Colonel O’Shea of Fitzjames’s (whose name did not appear in the 1984 Muster Roll) to take Charles to safety (Livingstone, 1984). “They won’t take me alive!” he screamed, minutes before being led off the field, guarded by Glenbucket’s men and the soldiers of the Edinburgh Regiment. Still he tried to return to the fray, before a Scottish officer, Major Kennedy, “seized the bridle and led the prince firmly away from the scenes of carnage”. As he later said, “he was forced off the field by the people about him” (McLynn, 1988, p. 257; RA Stewart 307/173).

3 The sources for this latter account are O’Sullivan, Elcho, the Stuart Papers and the HMC papers. The source for the former account is not Elcho himself (though he loathed Charles and had little motive to conceal it), but an article by Sir Walter Scott in the Quarterly Review. Scott’s account was comprehensively rebutted by A. C. Ewald in 1875, who noted that it was not in Elcho’s MS Journal and was inconsistent with other accounts (Ewald, p. 1875, II, pp. 27-33). It is not the only piece of Scottish historical evidence for which Scott is the uncorroborated source. Yet, despite the comprehensive documentation available elsewhere, it remains frequently cited, even if its original source is forgotten. In Michael Hook and Walter Ross’s account of The ‘Forty-Five, it has assumed the status of a “tradition” (Hook and Ross, 1995, p. 110). We need to ask the question why an unsupported allegation of Scott’s which shows Charles in a bad light is preferred to the surviving documentary evidence. Is it the same reason, for example, that kept and to some extent keeps figures such as Sir James Steuart, John Law and

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 42

Andrew Ramsay out of the comforting collective dubbed the Scottish Enlightenment, and which banished Jacobite patriots from early biographies of distinguished Scots?

4 In August 1746, not Elcho but another east coast peer, Lord Balmerino, officer commanding the 2nd troop in Elcho’s Lifeguards, stood on the scaffold in London. Prince Charles, proclaimed the patriot martyr (even his blindfold for the axe was tartan) was a man of “incomparable sweetness… affability… compassion… justice… temperance… patience… courage”. David Morgan, the English barrister who also died for his brief part in the Rising, likewise described his Prince Regent as having a character which “exceeds anything I could have imagined or conceived. An attempt to describe him would seem gross flattery” (Balmerino, 1746, 2, pp. 15-16).

5 All these three men knew the Prince personally, though only Lord Elcho was a long- term member of his Council (Morgan was co-opted by the Prince to give advice at Manchester on English Jacobitism) (McLynn, 1983, p. 99). Elcho, though he almost certainly never said the words long attributed to him, grew to dislike Charles. Charles in his turn violently disliked Lord George Murray, whose reputation was in turn espoused by Chevalier de Johnstone, his aide-de-camp. The Murray faction and its supporters deprecated the qualities of O’Sullivan, and the low estimate of the Prince’s Irish advisers became a staple of a history which has long arguably reflected rather than addressing the faultlines in the Jacobite camp (Pittock, 2004; Reid, 1996). Of these the most important is the assessment of the Prince’s character: and this brings us back to Elcho’s attributed quotation, and the preferential treatment it has received.

6 If contemporaries were divided in their opinion of the Prince, and became even more so during the long aftermath of Culloden, the typology of Jacobitism also threw up a polyvalent image in the struggle over Charles’portrayal. An heroic figure to his supporters, anti-Jacobite rhetoric sought to deflate Charles’ glittering image by portraying it as insubstantial (one cartoon in the Blaikie collection at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery shows his proposed invasion of 1744 in the form of images of ships floating round him in bubbles, with all the overtones of illusionary projecting thus conveyed), and to undercut his bravery and leadership qualities by showing them as rash and foolhardy. In this sense, Charles’reputation as a myth is as much a site of contention as is his standing as a historical figure. In the 1740s, he was a source of both hope and fear, and the language of hope and fear alike is hyperbole. This too has had its effect on the historiography, as will be demonstrated later in this essay.

7 Among the chief typologies of the Stuarts was that deriving from Vergil. The Stuart family in exile had long been associated with the story of Aeneas: this typology is used, inter alia, by the Earl of Maitland, John Dryden, Oliphant of Gask and the author of AEneas and his Two Sons, published in London in 1746 (Pittock, 1995, i and ii). In the same year, a further interpretation appeared: the Prince as Ascanius; or the Young Adventurer, a book by Ralph Griffiths which retailed the detail of Charles’sojourn in Britain in 1745-1746, and which was in turn based on Alexis; or, The young adventurer, also published in that year, Alexis being the ungrateful youth of Vergil’s second Eclogue: though Charles is characterized as a patriotic Scottish shepherd in the 1746 version. Ascanius of course was Aeneas’son: the subtitle, The Young Adventurer, remains a staple description of the Prince, suggestive to many of reckless rashness (cf. Donald Nicholas, The Young Adventurer, 1949, Margaret Forster, The Rash Adventurer, 1973). Ascanius was also published in Spain and in France: in the latter country, Charles was “L’illustre Avanturier”, illustrious, bright and distinguished rather than merely young. The Lille

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 43

edition of 1747 was reprinted at Paris in 1763 with a spurious Edinburgh imprint; but the other title had greater staying power, still appearing in Glasgow and London printings at the end of the nineteenth century. Other texts extolled the typology of Charles as the young genius of Britain, a native leader, a patriot prince, a view expressed in William King’s Oxford speech of 1747, which called for Charles’return in the terms of the Fourth Eclogue (“Redeat Magnus Ille Genius Britanniae”, following Vergil’s “iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna”, with its prophecy of the return of justice and the golden age: itself used by Dryden as the heading for his Astraea Redux, celebrating the restoration of Charles II in 1660).

8 Just as pro-Jacobite material identified Charles’struggles for restoration with those of his great-uncle, so anti-Jacobite material sought to avoid any such identification, through its emphasis on Charles’foreign-ness, sexual license, religious bigotry and alien rootlessness (though some of these would have fitted Charles II better than Charles Edward): examples include Amours of Don Carlos (1750), perhaps a reply to the pro- Jacobite Don Carlos of Southern Extraction engraving of 1749 (Monod, 1993, plate 6). Charles’supposed status as a jure divino sacred monarch was also mocked: hence perhaps The Book of the Lamentations of Charles the Son of James (1746). However he was interpreted, both the ‘Forty-five and the Prince’s subsequent career were a source of immediate fascination: hence texts such as An authentick account of the conduct of the Young Chevalier: from his first arrival in Paris, after his defeat at Culloden, to the conclusion of the peace at Aix-la-Chapelle (1749).

9 Charles was, of course, routinely termed “the Young Pretender” in government circles in the mid eighteenth-century (cf. Allardyce, 1949, 17), a partisan term which has stuck as a supposedly neutral description despite its origins in the description of Charles and before him his father as “the pretended Prince of Wales” (cf. The Pretended Prince of Wales’s Manifesto and Declaration, 1745). “Prince” Charles was usually in his lifetime a Jacobite appelation; “Bonnie Prince Charlie” a name first recorded in Scotland on 17 September 1745; “Chevalier” a title of courtesy given by Whig contemporaries (such as Jemmy Butler in his Hudibrastick attack of 1744, The strolling hero; or Rome’s Knight- errant) more polite than the ostensibly detached historians of today, who if they used “Papist” or “Mahometan” as they use “Pretender” in the way the Whigs of the 1740s did, would soon be in trouble. Queen Victoria’s imprimatur to sentimental Jacobitism (she even had tableaux vivants from the Rising regularly played out in the grounds of Balmoral) and her adoption of Royal Stuart tartan, changed the position, and made the use of “Prince” respectable, as it was in Charles Klose’s Memoirs of Prince Charles Stuart (1846), John Adams’ Oxford prize poem of 1847 and H. A. Bryden in 1899 (McLynn, 1988, p. 148; Allardyce, 1949, pp. 2, 33). In Scotland, the courtesy had begun even earlier, in George Charles’History of the transaction in Scotland in the years 1715-1716 and 1745-1746 (1816-1817), for example, and was reinforced by the publication of contemporary narratives by the historical clubs, such as James Maxwell of Kirkconnell’s Narrative of Charles, Prince of Wales’expedition to Scotland in the year 1745, published by the Maitland Club in 1841. While “King Charles III” remains a provocative party title, the continuing avoidance of “Prince” for “Pretender” in the historiography is indicative of an inbuilt and surviving set of prejudices which surface both through the treatment of the Jacobite movement at large, and the character of Charles himself. No-one who has read the sharp dispute between Boswell and George III on how to title Charles Edward can

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 44

have much doubt that the term used to indicate his status has always been deeply politicized (Lustig and Pottle, 1981).

10 After the demise of serious Jacobitism (leaving aside the fin-de-siecle neo-Jacobite cult, and its little magazines such as The Royalist, The Fiery Cross, The Legitimist Ensign and The Jacobite (“the only Jacobite paper in New Zealand”) (The Jacobite, I, 5, 1920, p. 18), the battle over Charles’reputation became primarily a contest between sentiment and prejudice, the degenerate descendants of his mythos. The first usually took the form of a sometimes vacuous nostalgia located in the Prince’s personal charm and the glamour and so-called doomed loyalty of his Rising; the second was born of a continuing political antipathy to all that Jacobitism represented, and located, where it was personalized at all, in the long and gloomy aftermath of unemployment and alcoholism suffered by the Stuart Prince. In the first camp we might find Alan Reid’s Prince Charlie and the’45 (1886), Evan Barron’s Prince Charlie’s pilot: a record of loyalty and devotion (1913), Sir Compton Mackenzie’s Prince Charlie (1932) and Prince Charlie and his Ladies (1934). For Eric Linklater in 1965, “Charles was the candle who lighted the bonfire, but they [the Highlanders] were the timber that filled a dark sky with their splendid ardour” (Linklater, 1965, p. 150), while Hugh Douglas in 1998 sets out to show “why Charles… was so greatly loved by almost every woman he met, yet was never able to return that love even when his ardour burned white hot” (Douglas, 1998, p. IX). This kind of writing, in which the Prince remains a mysterious, elusive figure: almost a personification of la gloire, fawned on by his avid partisans, is thus still to be found. The second camp, those who dislike Charles or do not rate him have been less likely to write a full-length study of him for obvious reasons, although Susan Maclean Kybett’s 1988 biography is an exception. Some recent historians, such as Bruce Lenman in his Jacobite Risings in Britain 1689-1746 (1980) and elsewhere, adopt a polemical assessment of the Prince as a despotic and egotistical military incompetent, “autocratic, immature, totally self-centred” while having some respect for the movement he headed (Lenman, 1980, pp. 247, 287, 288; 1995, p. 13).

11 For the sentimentalists, the Prince and the Stuart cause were still articulations of patriotism, locked into a picturesque but increasingly irrelevant Scottish past. At its most extreme, this could lead to the idealization of figures such as the Sobieski Stuarts, living manifestations of a past that they largely invented, on both personal and national levels; at its most commercial, it debased the Prince’s charisma into the reified kitsch attendant on all mass production devoted to converting personal charm into marketable commodity. Genuine Jacobite survivals jostled with fake Victorian drinking-glasses, and the combination of such relics with imitations typical of Victorian encounters with the past was also reinforced by the Exhibition of the Royal House of Stuart in London in 1889; the importance of Jacobite memorabilia also merited a section (under “Historical and Personal Relics”) in the Scottish National Memorials Catalogue of 1890, based on the 1888 Glasgow International Exhibition (Duncan, 1890, pp. 127-154). Fifteen of the 31 Jacobite items listed here were personally linked to Charles Edward.

12 Sentimental Jacobitism ultimately upheld the feminized “pretty boy” image of Charles rather than its masculine equivalent, that of the licentious Don Carlos or returning fertile Prince, and some of its imagery shows a Prince almost too young to be a sexual being at all. Popular images of Charles in the shortbread Jacobitism genre are often based on the 1750 portraits of Robert Strange and William Mosman, which curiously

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 45

themselves (particularly Mosman’s) show the Prince at thirty as more youthful in the face than Louis-Gabriel Blanchet’s 1738 portrait, being yet further removed from the wily and arrogant gaze of Maurice Quentin de La Tour’s 1748 pastel (Nicholson, 2002). In the eyes of his Scottish adherents, Charles was a “marvellous Boy”, an image which suited the rash youth portrayed by his detractors. The feminized depiction of the Jacobite leadership had been carried to considerable lengths by Government propaganda in 1745, which, following the Betty Burke episode (when Charles dressed as a maid to evade capture), depicted the Prince as a fair maid in a bonnet, and Lord Lovat as an old woman smoking a pipe (Pittock, 1999, Figs 12 and 13).

13 Serious biography began to develop with Alexander Ewald’s two-volume The Life & times of Prince Charles Edward Stuart (1875), which drew on the State Papers, Stuart Papers and papers of the Italian states. Ewald worked at the Record Office, and was responsible for making “a calendar of the State Papers of the reigns of the first two Georges”. This put him in an excellent position to do what, as he observed, had never been done before: To my surprise, I found that nothing worthy to be called a biography of Prince Charles had been written. Works calling themselves “Lives of the Young Pretender” were endless, but the information contained in their pages began and ended with the Rebellion of ‘The Forty-Five’. Little beyond what was due to mere conjecture was known of the Prince’s early life and declining years… (Ewald, 1875, I, pp. V, VI, 4)

14 Ewald nonetheless paid some tribute to Charles Klose’s 1846 study in his own generally positive view of Charles, which divided the man of 1745 from the aftermath of decline in a pattern of assessment repeated many times since. Further works, including Andrew Lang’s lively Prince Charles Edward (1900), C. S Terry’s Life of Prince Charles Stuart the Young Pretender (1903) and W. Drummond Norie’s three-volume Life and Adventures of Prince Charles Edward Stuart of the same year followed. Charles also had a steady Continental biographical tradition, of which Joseph Pichot’s Histoire de Charles Edouard (1833), Marchesa Nobili-Vitellelleschi’s two-volume Charles Edward Stuart and the Romance of the Countess d’Albanie (1903) and L. Dumont Wilden’s The Wandering Prince (English translation, 1934) were examples.

15 The emergent Scottish nationalism of the early-mid twentieth century also showed some interest in Charles and Jacobitism, from William Power’s Prince Charlie (1912) and W. G. Blaikie Murdoch’s The Spirit of Jacobite Loyalty (1907) through the pages of the Scots Independent and Compton Mackenzie’s relentlessly upbeat work to Hugh MacDiarmid’s view of Charles as a symbol of the Gaelic Commonwealth restored (MacDiarmid, 1945, p. 1) and F. W. Robertson’s The Scottish Way 1746-1946 (1946).

16 From the 1930s, books on Charles Edward and Jacobitism hailed down rapidly, perhaps indirectly reflecting gradually rising interest in the real rather than the sentimentalized politics of the Scottish past. Not only were there the two books from Compton Mackenzie mentioned above, but also Clennell Wilkinson’s Bonnie Prince Charlie (1932) and Carola Oman’s Prince Charles Edward (1935). Winifred Duke’s, Prince Charles Edward and the’Forty-five (1938) and In the Steps of Bonnie Prince Charlie (1953), were accompanied by Henrietta Tayler’s Bonnie Prince Charlie (1945), (a biography for children among a torrent of more heavyweight books from the Taylers), Sir Charles Petrie’s, The Jacobite Movement (1948, 50) and Peter de Polnay’s, Death of a Legend: The True Story of Bonny Prince Charlie (1952). The Taylers and Petrie were on the whole sympathetic: Petrie’s essay “If” being a fantasy of Jacobite victory had Charles marched on from Derby. By 1967, John Gibson began his now standard Ships of the’45 (subtitled

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 46

“The Rescue of the Young Pretender”, perhaps in tribute to Charles’enduring glamour, and its marketability) with an apologia for the necessity of yet another book on Jacobitism. Specialized monographs such as Gibson’s remained the exception, however, as the well-trod path was trodden again and yet again: indeed Duke began her 1938 study by saying that her book “does not profess to contain anything new” (Duke, 1938, p. VII). Eric Linklater’s The Prince in the Heather (1965), whose romantic close is quoted above, David Daiches’Charles Edward Stuart (1973) and Hugh Douglas’ Charles Edward Stuart, the man, the King, the Legend (1975) likewise added little to an understanding of the Prince or Jacobitism: but the background of their authors indicated a declining interest in either the movement or its leader among professional historians, particularly in the wake of G. H. Jones’ The Main Stream of Jacobitism (1954), John Owen’s The Rise of the Pelhams (1957) and Sir John Plumb and Sir Lewis Namier’s emphasis on stability and a lack of ideological conflict in eighteenth-century Britain. Consensus squeezed out the Jacobite challenge, and this approach is still to be found in the work of an older generation of historians such as John Cannon (e.g. The Whig Ascendancy, 1981) and Bill Speck.

17 Yet by the 1970s the picture was changing, following an assault on Namierism from a Namierite heartland, the History of Parliament project. In the volume on The House of Commons 1715-1754 (1970), Eveline Cruickshanks put forward the argument that the Tory party survived the accession of George I and was thereafter principally a Jacobite party. Although few historians have adopted Cruickshanks’maximalist position for Tory Jacobitism, the argument both for the survival of the Tories and for some degree of Tory Jacobitism is won. With the revenance of Jacobite politics in mainstream history, interest was once again bound to be kindled in Charles Edward as a political leader, not just a rash adventurer: and his central position was confirmed by Cruickshanks’Political.

18 Untouchables: The Tories and the’45 (1979). The Prince remained, however, a subject of continuingly partisan assessments, as was recognized in A. J. Youngson’s clever portrayal of the ‘Forty-five and its leader from a dual perspective in The Prince and the Pretender (1985). Such was the zest for celebratory anaphora in Jacobite scholarship, that Frank McLynn (pace Ewald and more specialized work such as L. L. Bongie’s The Love of a Prince: Bonnie Prince Charlie in France, 1744-1748 (1986)) could still claim in the Preface to his magisterial Charles Edward Stuart (1988) that “there has never been a comprehensively scholarly biography” of his subject (IX). This McLynn most definitely undertook, consulting “nearly 100 000 individual documents in the Stuart papers and tens of thousands in other manuscript collections, especially in the Vatican archives” (IX).

19 The bicentenary year of 1988 also saw the publication of three other biographies, which illustrated why McLynn’s was necessary: Fitzroy MacLean’s Bonnie Prince Charlie, which brought a soldier’s eye to the military side of the ‘Forty-five, but offered little else that was new; Rosalind Marshall’s identically titled conventional assessment of secondary sources and Susan Maclean Kybett’s rather un Bonnie Prince Charlie, a prejudiced and error-strewn hatchet job, which brings to mind the question as to why it is necessary to view a long-dead historical character in such narrowly partisan terms. Kybett’s view that the Stuart papers were “almost virgin treasure trove” purchased by Queen Victoria “between 1804 and 1816” was not untypical of the standard of scholarship in a book which cited no scholarly work published in the previous thirty years (Pittock, 1990, pp. 107-108). Carolly Erickson’s yet again Bonnie Prince Charlie (1989) completed

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 47

the bicentennial celebrations, indicating that it was no coincidence that the biographies which described their subject by his popular title were those that did least to change popular opinion. After McLynn, normal service has been resumed. Diana Preston’s The Road to Culloden Moor (1995), Hugh Douglas’s Bonnie Prince Charlie in Love of the same year, and its reappearance as The Private Passions of Bonnie Prince Charlie (1998) and Douglas and Michael Stead’s The Flight of Bonnie Prince Charlie (2000) all ensure ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’s continuation as a brand. Few figures so long dead can be so inseparable from their own kitsch. The sentimental tradition is alive and well, and this continues to leave serious historians free play for prejudiced or lazy reactions to the evidence, which remain common in part no doubt because Charles Edward’s biographers often not only bear out the historian’s distrust of biography’s distorting perspectives, but also more than occasionally provide an assessment more akin to the gushing language used of celebrities by the mass media. Charles Edward’s rising receives a page in the New Penguin History of Scotland: its leader is described as viewed by nearly all his contemporaries as “an Italian drunk” (Lenman in Houston and Knox, 2001, p. 323). What is the point of this assessment, and what does it contribute to a comprehensive view of the enormous imaginative significance of the ‘Forty-five and the mythos of its leader? If there is one thing that the study of mentalites can achieve, it is to help historians understand that political defeat is neither predicated on nor the cause of cultural absence. We should avoid Children of the Mist and drunken Italians alike in searching out Charles Edward’s reputation, while recognizing that they are two sides of the same coin, prejudice and sentiment, alike as hyperbolic as was their common ancestor, the propaganda war of the 1740s.

20 Where lies the truth? The documentary evidence on Prince Charles is vast (as the scale of McLynn’s researches makes clear), and so is the secondary literature, which is of extremely uneven quality because so much emotion continues to be invested in the reputation of this man, iconic in his own day, and not less so two centuries after his death. It would thus be presumptuous to offer a definitive answer to the question of how high the Prince should stand on the scale of reputation. But a number of observations can be made nonetheless.

21 The first is that a disproportionate part of any assessment rests on Charles’conduct in Scotland in 1745-1746. In turn, a good part of this rests on our judgement of the relative qualities of Charles and Lord George Murray. Was it the case, as Chevalier de Johnstone argued, that if Charles had only had the good judgement to sleep through the campaign, he would have awoken crowned in London? Few historians who quote this soundbite with approbation go on to note that Johnstone was Murray’s ADC, perhaps because Murray’s pessimism about ultimate Jacobite success is in hindsight more congenial than Charles’ hopes of victory. Few historians either are interested in day-to- day relations within the Jacobite army. From those that are, such as Frank McLynn, a different picture emerges. Although the Duke of Perth had sounded out Lord George on the possibility of joining the Rising, his almost certainly unionist views and by now close relations with the Hanoverian establishment (he had probably kissed George II’s hand in 1743) roused the suspicion of many, including Murray of Broughton, and concerns that Lord George was a traitor persisted in parts of the Jacobite camp during the campaign: they were not merely the paranoid delusions of the Prince, though both he and Lord George shared a tendency to high-handedness and acting without consultation. Lord George’s superior understanding of drill and tactics was combined with a safety first strategy which it remains difficult to understand in the

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 48

circumstances of such a bold venture: its continuing popularity is an indication of how far the historiography predicates the inevitability of the Rising’s fate. It was Lord George who opposed Charles’declaration abolishing the Union, who contravened his wish to march on London and then his wish to attack Wade, and who opposed the presence of Catholics on the Prince’s Council, resigning his commission in a pet when Charles suggested that the Duke of Perth, a Catholic nobleman, should take the surrender of Carlisle. On the march south, it was Lord George who was the most persistent in nagging for retreat. On the other hand, it was Charles who blocked Lord George’s support for indispensable espionage, who misrepresented French intentions, and who wrongly predicted that Sir Watkin Williams Wynn and his horse would join between Macclesfield and Derby. Both expected too much of the English Jacobites on the march south. Whether or not the decision to retreat was the right one (and the mixture of affronted pride and military judgement on both sides remains inextricable), Lord George came into his element in managing retreat, while Charles sulked, drank and idled, self-destructively lingering at Preston and leaving a garrison behind at Carlisle. Back in Scotland, Lord George suggested that Charles “relinquish power” to his military commanders, and, following some psychosomatic illness on the Prince’s part. Murray led “a mutiny in all but name” in insisting on retreat from Stirling while exaggerating the number of deserters to support his case. After he called off the night attack before Culloden without Charles’authority, he was never trusted by the Prince again: in April 1747, he wrote to tell his father that Lord George should be imprisoned. Charles was not alone: for a Jacobite commander like John Roy Stewart could also write of “George Murray… The flatterer of merciless guile” (McLynn, 1983, p. 11 ; Hook and Ross, 1995, pp. 88, 92; Campbell, 1933, p. 173). The campaign was in some ways a struggle between the personalities of the Prince and his chief commander, and our assessment of Charles is symbiotically tied to our assessment of Murray. Was Lord George a genius or a good but arrogant and pessimistic conventional commander? Was Charles a visionary strategist or a mendacious adventurer? Were his Irish officers, O’Sullivan (who had a reasonably distinguished French military career) chief among them, obsequious incompetents or simply the Murray faction (Elcho, Murray, Ogilvy’s) hated rivals? Spin is not a new invention, and the accounts of the Rising we have from its participants contain plenty of it, though not always seen as explicitly as in the spleen with which the Master of Sinclair describes the ‘Fifteen.

22 Charles was undoubtedly prey to oscillation between euphoria and depression, and the retreat from Derby was heavily marked by the latter. His conduct in fighting Culloden on poor ground was self-destructive and exacted a heavy price from his troops: yet it must be said that all the alternative tactical options involved the abandonment of Inverness, the last burgh of any size held by the Jacobites. He was merciful to his enemies, unwilling to condone needless slaughter, and arguably showed a strong instinct for strategy, in his desire to make a rapid advance on London when many of his commanders (including Lord George) overestimated their ability to prosecute war in Scotland, being both overconfident of their own safety in the case of any reverse and misjudging both the ability of the Royal Navy to blockade and the financial power that the British state could bring to bear if given time to do so (McLynn, 1988, pp. 159, 169-71, 250-1, 551).

23 The second issue of reputation surrounds the Prince’s conduct after 1745. As early as 1744, his father noted his predilection for alcohol, and during his flight through the heather two years later he was drinking a bottle of brandy a day, and even engaging in

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 49

drinking contests. His established liability to mood swings can only have been exacerbated by this. Always irritable when thwarted, by 1750 he displayed signs of uncontrolled rage when his will was crossed; when women crossed him, they could experience physical as well as verbal violence: as Voltaire put it in 1763, George II secured Canada “at the very time the Stuart Prince was aiming kicks and blows at women” (McLynn, 1988, pp. 379, 461). From the 1760s, except when hunting, Charles began to be almost perpetually drunk. His drinking and rages, which alienated his declining band of supporters, finally led to a parting of ways between himself and the last of his senior Scottish staff, Andrew Lumisden, his private secretary, in 1768. The severe stroke which brought Charles’life to a close was no doubt linked to his drinking.

24 This is all well established. Yet if we stand back and assess the Prince’s life, rather than engaging in it as tabloid reportage, we surely need to bear in mind not only Charles’ forty-year experience of redundancy and disappointment, but also the general standard of eighteenth-century personal and political conduct. Charles remained courteous while sober, and was both merciful and sentimental. He endured the prolonged anticlimax of his adult life less well than his father had done, because he was less resigned to disappointment, and because he had come closer to the Crown, and knew it. The aftermath of fame and success is habitually bitter to those who lose it early: Charles in this respect was merely of the vin ordinaire of humanity. John Buchan’s picture of the Prince’s marginality and failure in “The Company of the Marjolaine” is arguably the product of better judgement than some of the snipes of parti pris Charles had dignity and charm, the latter sometimes irresistible; he had charisma, strategic vision and the ability to take risks to achieve it; he was bitter, authoritarian and paranoid, an alcoholic prone to violent rages. He was a Catholic who converted to Anglicanism and angered his Nonjuring supporters by reputedly attending Lutheran services in Germany; he was an opportunist and a liar, generous, merciful, miserable and possibly racked with an element of guilt: after 1746 he would never again countenance the use of Scotland as a scene for a diversionary Rising (McLynn, 1988, p. 325). He was also ambitious and abusive; and the submission of this essay is that Charles Edward’s character is so complex that its assessment requires careful judgement, in preference to being charged with the extremes so characteristic of its subject.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ALLARDYCE M., Aberdeen University Library MacBean Collection, Aberdeen, 1949, 17.

True Copies of the Papers Wrote by Arthur Lord Balmerino,et al., London, 1746.

CAMPBELL J. L., Highland Songs of the ‘Forty-five, Edinburgh, 1933.

DOUGLAS H., The Private Passions of Bonnie Prince Charlie, Stroud, 1998.

DUKE W., Prince Charles Edward and the ‘Forty-five, London, 1938.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 50

DUNCAN J. Dalrymple, “The Jacobite Period”, in “Historical and Personal Relics”, in J. Paton (ed.), Scottish National Memorials, Glasgow, 1890.

EWALD A. C., The Life and Times of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, 2 vols., London, 1875.

HOOK M. and ROSS W., The ‘Forty-Five, Edinburgh, 1995.

Jacobite, The Anonymous article, 1920.

LENMAN B., The Jacobite Risings in Britain 1689-1746, London, 1980.

—, “The Place of Prince Charles and the’45 in the Jacobite Tradition”, in Woosnam-Savage, v., Pittock, 1995i.

—, “From the Union of 1707 to the Franchise Reform of 1832”, in R. A. Houston and W. W. J. Knox (eds.), The New Penguin History of Scotland, London, 2001.

LINKLATER E., The Prince in the Heather, London, 1965.

LIVINGSTONE OF BACHUILet al., Muster Roll of Prince Charles Edward Stuart’s Army 1745-1746, Aberdeen, 1984.

LUSTIG I. S. and POTTLE F. A., James Boswell: The Applause of the Jury, 1782-1785, New York, 1981.

MACDIARMID H., “A Scots Communist looks at Bonny Prince Charlie”, Scots Independent, August 1945.

MCLYNN F., The Jacobite Army in England in 1745: The Last Campaign, Edinburgh, 1983.

—, Charles Edward Stuart, London, 1988.

MONOD P. K., Jacobitism and the English People, 1688-1788, Cambridge, 1993 (1989).

NICHOLSON R., Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Making of a Myth: A Study in Portraiture, 1720-1892, Lewisburg, 2002.

PITTOCK M. G. H., “Review of Kybett”, in British Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies, 13:1, 1990.

—, The Invention of Scotland, London, 1991.

—, “Jacobite Culture”, in R. Woosnam-Savage (ed.), 1745: Charles Edward Stuart and the Jacobites, Edinburgh, 1995i, pp. 72-86.

—, “The Aeneid in the age of Burlington: a Jacobite Text”, in T. Barnard and J. Clark (eds.), Lord Burlington: Life, Mind and Art, London, 1995ii, pp. 231-249.

—, Celtic Identity and the British Image, Manchester, 1999.

—, “Lord George Murray” and “Charles Edward Stuart”, entries in the New Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004).

SCOTT, Sir Walter, Quarterly Review, LXXI, p. 213.

AUTHOR

MURRAY G. H. PITTOCK University of Manchester

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 51

Patrick Sellar

Laurence Gouriévidis

Patrick Sellar became a totemic figure in Scottish history, a figure of vilification, the strength of which has shown extraordinary stamina into the late twentieth century. His enduring infamy into the present is remarkable […]. In the literature of the Highland clearances, Sellar’s name is used to evoke images of extirpation, genocide and even the Holocaust (Richards, 1999, p. 5).

1 With these words Eric Richards defines the grim images that Patrick Sellar’s name continues to conjure up since his involvement in the Sutherland Clearances from 1811 as factor to the Sutherland family. In 1814 he oversaw the Strathnaver Clearances which stand out in Highland – let alone Sutherland – history because of their scale, the violence with which they were allegedly undertaken and, most importantly, the controversy which surrounded them. Eventually, in 1816 Sellar was brought to trial for arson and culpable homicide and was acquitted. However, in T.C. Smout’s words, “in time, the verdict in Sellar’s favour has been reversed, not in law, but in popular opinion” (T. C. Smout, 1969, p. 331).

2 The abiding opprobrium which Sellar’s name and persona still command, as well as the ink which has flowed to rehabilitate his reputation1, all testify to the difficult process of the construction of memory, particularly when dealing with historical moments of social dislocation. Sellar’s treatment in collective memory is intimately linked with one of those traumatic moments and reflects the tensions which dominate the interpretation of the causes and nature of the Highland Clearances. In history writing, the memory of the period is plural and fragmented, so is the image projected of Sellar. According to Richards’s biography, he is alternatively depicted as a “great farmer in the north of Scotland” achieving prominent status in civil society as Clerk of Supply or, on the other hand, as “the harshest Highland evictor” (Richards, 1999, p. 247). In collective memory it is this infamous reputation which has been perpetuated. It seems that the work of historians, such as Richards, who have sought to place Sellar in the intellectual and cultural context of his time in order to analyse and rationalise his decisions and

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 52

behaviour, has had little impact on the selection which is operated and the motifs which recur in public consciousness.

3 The manner in which a traumatic event is interpreted by social actors and the manner in which it is transmitted are many and professional historians are one of its many transmitters. In the production and consumption of history, novelists, political scientists, film directors, museum practitioners all have a voice which colours and shapes the perception and representation of past events and figures. Collective memory implies a representation which is socially shared; it may also be given meaning and power through the work of institutions, associations, parties, churches and so on. Recent studies have also emphasised that such “official” representations have to coincide with the living memory – the experience as it is remembered or transmitted by the social group concerned – or pockets of resistance will emerge (Lavabre, 2001, pp. 8-13). In the case of the Sutherland Clearances and Sellar, an overall consensus appears in the productions of such memory entrepreneurs as popular historians, literary figures and museum practitioners which feed on and nourish the vision of Sellar as an unrelenting hater of the Gaels and evictor. The aim of this paper is to chart the phases in the making of Patrick Sellar’s image and examine the reasons behind the longevity of his infamous reputation. Light will be shed on the dichotomy which surrounds interpretations of his work and personality and divides those who partake in the construction of memory.

A dissonant reputation

4 From the time of Sellar’s trial two types of interpretation shaped by two different world views emerged; they were to have a profound incidence on the development of subsequent historiography. These two interpretations find their expression in the clash of two forms of discourse which in turn frame the representation of Sellar. The first sees the clearances as a major event in the economic transformation of the Highlands and Islands. This discourse was used by dominant groups stressing the region’s development with its widespread beneficial consequences within the private, local and national arenas. This also implied that the values of the social group to be reformed – the Gaelic-speaking population – were underrated or derided in the justification or assessment of the elite group enforcing changes. In the twentieth-century version of this form of discourse, the process of transformation is also regarded as including serious social fracture and human suffering. The second discourse sees the Clearances as a major traumatic and foundational event with respect to the Highland and Island communities – initiating dramatic and irreversible changes, in social, demographic, cultural and agricultural terms. Within the context of a study of the notion of reputation, this has undeniable consequences as, social actors are frequently made to fulfil the roles of “victim”, “perpetrator” or “witness of the events”. Clearly in the first case, Sellar is merely an agent of change – and a very successful one at that – whilst in the second he is the callous perpetrator of a destructive policy.

5 These two irreconcilable visions of the Highlands, their use and their inhabitants directed the reading of Sellar’s actions in the nineteenth century. Beyond the press, the intervention of two groups of writers brought Sellar into the public domain; some clearly incriminated him after his trial, others, either connected to the Sutherland estate management or Sellar’s own family, vindicated his policy (Loch, 1820; Stewart of

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 53

Garth, 1822; Macleod, 1841; Sellar, 1883). Of these retrospective works, Macleod’s is the most important because it is presented as an eye-witness account of the Strathnaver evictions detailing individual cases of brutality such as that of a pregnant woman falling from a roof and going into premature labour, and, most spectacularly, the case of William Chisholm’s mother, aged 100, who was lying in bed in a cottage about to be set on fire. Sellar, on being asked to delay the removal, allegedly exclaimed: “damn her the old witch, she has lived long enough, let her burn” (Macleod, 1996 [1841], p. 24). It also contains a long section on Sellar’s trial, presenting him as the member of a powerful class, inured to legal proceedings owing to his experience as lawyer and Justice of the Peace and supported by the clergy and gentry. The implication is that from the start, the confrontation was unequal and the verdict could not be but biased. If Macleod’s work is an unequivocal indictment of Sellar, couched in poignant and indignant terms, Loch’s apologia is more ambiguous. His book was written more in defence of the policy of improvement adopted by the Staffords on their Highland estate than in clear defence of Sellar’s behaviour during the evictions. The embarrassment of the landowners during Sellar’s trial and the averse publicity it generated, underpin the distance taken by the author as regards a man who, in spite of official acquittal, still remained a prisoner in the dock in the eyes of many, not least in those of the inhabitants of the estate and their supporters. Interestingly, Sellar’s own son, whilst seeking to exonerate his father in the most emphatic terms and to appeal to public opinion – hitherto misinformed in his eyes – also includes the strength of the economic argument to reinforce his position: On the whole, who can question the immense benefits derived from the changes effected? And who can doubt, on the other hand, what the state of the population would have been, had they been left in the glens and on the hill-sides of the interior? These changes were carried out compulsorily; but they were not carried out with wanton or other cruelty. That, in particular, Mr Patrick Sellar did not commit the acts of inhumanity, only to be characterised as stupid or reckless, which are sought to be fixed on him, it is the purpose of the following pages to demonstrate. (Sellar, 1883, 19)

6 Subsequently, it is Macleod’s work which was followed, in the nineteenth century, by other writers of renown who, in Ian Grimble’s words, repeatedly put Patrick Sellar on trial. This process of telling and re-telling culminated in the work of Alexander Mackenzie who in effect produced the first book entitled “History of the Clearances”, published in 1883. More propaganda than history, it is an anthology of numerous accounts – mainly but not only journalistic – covering over twenty different evictions from the east to the west coast of the region. Mackenzie’s work is crucial because it brings together the voices of a great many witnesses and commentators and, interestingly, it opens with MacLeod’s account. Mackenzie aims at promoting the clearances as an event of barbaric cruelty against innocent victims and indicting the perpetrators among whom Patrick Sellar is singled out. The accounts selected are largely pathos-charged, insisting on gruesome details, such as cases of violence during evictions, obfuscating more critical analysis of the socio-economic process at work. More importantly, the book was written at the time of the land agitation in the Highlands, when demands for land reform were being voiced and the government was displaying a more conciliatory attitude towards the position of the peasantry of the Highlands and Ireland. Changes were taking place in the perception of the basis of the structure of landownership – the root cause of the policy of evictions – in particular with the appointment in 1883 of the Napier Commission. Mackenzie’s political objective

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 54

was crystal clear and his collation of narratives was meant to publicise the wrongs of the clearances while attempting to sway public opinion and the Commission in favour of the crofters. Some people may ask “why rake up all this iniquity just now?” We answer that the same laws which permitted the cruelties, the inhuman atrocities, described in this book, are still the laws of the country, and any tyrant who may be indifferent to the healthier public opinion which now prevails, may legally repeat the same proceedings whenever he may take it into his head to do so. (Mackenzie, 1883, VIII)

7 Nowadays, if the context of his writing is not always remembered, his work stands as a memorial to Clearances victims and an attack on the ruthlessness of their oppressors. It acts as a clearances site of memory, in much the same way the monuments or cairns erected in the region do. This owes much to the personality, visibility and position of Mackenzie and the very form and nature of his work which, although not unusual at the time, still functions as a repository of collective misery and persecution. In it, Patrick Sellar stands as one of the earliest and most callous oppressors.

8 About the same period, the Napier Commission was touring the Highlands in order to hear a variety of people recounting their own clearance experience or that of their forebears transmitted by word of mouth. For the first time, “victims”, “persecutors” and “witnesses” or their descendants were given an official public space where they could give vent to their feelings and wishes. In the case of the evictees, for each area visited, a representative of the crofter and cottar population was elected; many read out prepared statements before being asked personal questions. Beyond the cathartic dimension of the process, now widely recognised in international law and practice, the act of collective remembering and re-telling undoubtedly created a sense of shared experience in the crofting community. Furthermore, it established a framework and a rich source of personal memories for subsequent narratives of the events. As regards Sutherland, statements clearly inculpate Sellar: Helmsdale – Angus Sutherland: The people of the parish of Kildonan, numbering 1574 souls, were ejected from their holdings, and their houses burned to the ground under circumstances of the greatest hardship and cruelty – the houses in many instances having been set on fire while the people were still in them. These burnings were carried out under the direction and supervision of Mr Patrick Sellar, who was at the time under-factor of the estate, and who was also accepted tenant of the land from which the people were evicted, and which their ancestors had held from time immemorial. (Napier, 1884, III, 2431) Bettyhill – Angus Mackay: There was a woman came in and said – “Won’t you wake up, Sellar is burning at a place called Rhistog”. We got such a fright that we started out of bed and ran down the river. (Napier, 1884, II, 1617)

9 Such echoes of Macleod’s account are not only interesting because of their congruence but also because some of their features such as the “burnings” were frequently integrated within the narratives of other estates; likewise when they touch upon the thorny question of the responsibility for eviction, the focus is on Sellar’s name as his son was quick to point out in his own statement: There runs through the Sutherland evidence which has been presented to you the impression that to Mr Sellar was due the initiative of the policy of the clearances carried out in that county, and that he alone was responsible for the execution of that policy. No other agent is ever referred to. (Napier, 1884, IV, 3179)

10 Here transpires the distorting and selective process of reminiscences filtered through years of telling and debating; transfers, oversimplifications, archetypal images take

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 55

precedence over the lived experience and are telling indicators of the community’s underlying values and beliefs (Cregeen, 1974). These images gradually turned the Sutherland Clearances and Patrick Sellar into emblematic features of the period of the clearance as a whole.

11 The context of production of the narratives of the Sutherland Clearances inevitably frames the reading constructed. In the 1880s, it was propitious to anti-improvement discourse and attacks on its advocates. Doubts were cast on the validity of orthodox Victorian economic thinking given the economic recession which was gripping Britain since the mid-1870s, particularly her agricultural sector, together with the land agitation which was polarising the Irish and Highland populations. Simultaneously, the growth of interest in Celtic studies also had a major impact, with such vocal enthusiasts of Gaelic culture as Prof. John Stuart Blackie taking up the cudgels for the crofters’cause and speaking out against Sellar, much to the anger of his descendants. Just as the political climate is an important catalyst, so can be the nature of the work produced, as is the case with history predicated upon its authors’aims, method, and approach. The dichotomy outlined earlier largely applies to modern historical works2 in which Sellar appears.

The pattern confirmed: Sellar in twentieth-century history

12 In the view of some historians, the strength of commitment in nineteenth-century polemic accounts has weakened their validity as reliable sources of information (Hunter, 1976, p. 4-5). It is not the view of popular historians whose work, in the sixties, was largely based on contemporary accounts of a polemic nature and gives prominence to the tragic impact of the process on the population (Grimble, 1962; Prebble, 1963). Both Grimble and Prebble condemn the Clearances and Patrick Sellar’s role; their work neither adds to the corpus of knowledge on the period nor provides new perspectives, but seeks to bring these past events to the attention of a wider audience. The tone of their indictment is one of indignation and moral outrage. Importantly, through their work runs the theme, openly stated in Prebble’s conclusion, of the cultural subjugation of the Gaels; the Clearances are thus seen as one phase in the destruction of Gaelic culture and the colonisation of the region (Prebble, 1962, p. 304). This is a point more recently taken up by James Hunter, the historian of the crofting community, who in his cultural study of the Scottish Highlands refines the interpretation adopting Edward Said’s orientalist model. Within this reading, Sellar stands as a paradigm of anti-Celtic prejudice: Just as racist gibes which were originally hurled against Celts could afterwards be directed against Africans and Asians, so new and improved taunts were increasingly imported from overseas colonies to be targeted on Celts. Such practices are particularly evident, as far as the Highlands are concerned, in the career of Patrick Sellar. (Hunter, 1995, p. 30)

13 Much of the basis of Hunter’s argument relies on Sellar’s correspondence quarried and widely quoted by Richards in an earlier article. In Sellar’s view, the Highlanders are no better than “a parcel of beggar with no stock” or “Aborigines shut out from the general stream of knowledge and cultivation” (Richards, 1971). If Sellar was keen to clear his tarnished reputation, he certainly was not conscious of writing for posterity and his

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 56

prose does away with any form of restraint when he alludes to the inhabitants of the region. Richards, in his biography, portrays Sellar as a man wholly committed to the ideology of improvement and private property, whose thinking and beliefs were deeply rooted in early nineteenth-century principles of political economy and Lowland vision of Gaelic culture. He also highlights his vindictiveness, his obsessive mind, which led him to pursue whoever stood against him as his enemy, and his paranoia. Yet in ultimately: he merits comparison with the great captains of industry who performed a parallel task in other sectors of British industrialisation. Sellar carried the torch of economic change into one of the most remote regions of the British economy. (Richards, 1999, p. 6)

14 Richards’ leanings towards economic history leads him to emphasise the extent to which Sellar’s ethos is illustrative of the Scottish Enlightenment. Before him, Gaskell in his study of Morvern, where Sellar had owned property, had adopted the same approach. If their work partakes in the rehabilitation of Sellar’s persona, it owes much to their own economic rationale which flies in the face of the crofting community’s priorities and leaves little scope for a study of its mindset. Having little consonance with the crofting community’s psyche, it is doubtful that this image will ever be legitimised in collective consciousness, particularly since in the cultural domain, the opposite interpretation has been overwhelmingly embraced.

The power of literature in Sellar’s reputation

15 Literature is a major source of historical understanding as many readers apprehend the past through fiction or drama rather than through history books. Both historians and historical novelists or playwrights seek to help readers understand, feel and know the past. Yet literature also appeals to emotions and, through its own apparatus, – characterisation and atmosphere-building – turns imaginary or real figures into heroes or antiheroes. In the case of Sellar, his literary persona is unambiguously one on whom hatred and blame crystallise3. In Consider the Lilies Ian Crichton Smith’s commentary on the role of literature in the construction of Sellar’s “reputation” subtly encapsulates the power of art forever fixing an image. In the novel, Sellar is confronted with Donald Macleod who warns him about the image Gaelic poets have already projected of him – an everlasting image which will be transmitted from generation to generation: There are some poets, we call them bards, who have written songs about you. Did you know that? Shall I quote a bit? “Patrick Sellar, I see you roasted in Hell like a herring and the oil running over your head.” That, of course, is only part of it. You see, Mr Sellar, you will become a legend. Are you flattered? Is that perhaps what you wanted? You talk about the future. Yes, true enough, you too will have a future. Children will sing about you in the streets in different countries, countries you will never visit. They may even recite poems about you in the schools. Yes, your name will be on people’s lips. (Smith, 1977 [1968], p. 144)

16 Modern literature has in fact taken over from oral tradition and folklore with Sellar portrayed as the archetypal villain – abhorrence of the new schemes and their implementation fastening itself upon him. What matters in the realm of the manufacturing of reputation is on the one hand, the repetition of this image, and on the other the strength of its meaning and its unity through time.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 57

17 In literature, a number of clearances motifs echo. Firstly, the period is depicted as a fall from the golden age of pre-clearance era which, although not idealised, is conveyed in images of close-knit communities, of a life following nature’s perennial rhythms and of a stable social and cultural order. Secondly, the threat of evictions looms large in all narratives. Though the plot might not actually include any eviction scene as in Consider the Lilies, in all the works the process is nevertheless explicitly equated with destruction, and more graphically with fire and the burning of houses with powerful connotations of hell and hell-fire acting as clear indictments. Finally, the question of responsibility for the evictions is firmly attached to Sellar, since the landlord is shown as absentee, entrusting the latter with the practical enforcement of policies adopted. Patrick Sellar is omnipresent in such scenes, showing great zeal in urging on his men. He is thus perceived as the perpetrator of the evil deed, all the more so since evictions, when detailed, are memorable for their extreme violence. In all representations, the association with evil underpins the persona of the factor. Smith and McGrath chose to retain the name of Sellar, whilst the other two opted for highly symbolic substitutes. In Butcher’s Broom, Sellar becomes Heller, the embodiment of evil wreaking havoc in his wake; in And the Cock Crew, he is Byars, “a devil’s servant”, recurrently identified with satanic forces. As a character, he has little to endear him to the reader. He is devious and calculating in Consider; he is the more complex Heller standing for improvement, materialism and the civilising of the Gaels but also for wanton destruction in a grim eviction scene in Butcher’s Broom. In And the Cock Crew, he is the mono-chromatic Byars defined by his coarseness, sheer cruelty and sadistic hatred of the Gaels. In McGrath’s play where caricature and burlesque dominate, Sellar is glaringly ignominious, reminiscent of a Punch and Judy character – particularly in the eviction scene. The play is the only work to include a parody of Sellar’s trial, showing his arrogance and self- righteousness and its farcical ending intimates that this was but a travesty of a judgement. Overall, in spite of variations in degree, representations of Sellar are consistent and coherent.

18 Consistency also applies to the sources consulted by the authors, although, of course, they vary according to the time of writing. For the ideology of improvement, Loch’s and Sellar’s accounts were used particularly by Gunn and McGrath; all however plundered Macleod’s reminiscences which shape eviction scenes and their inhumanity. Gunn and MacColla refer to the same individual cases cited by Macleod, in Gunn’s case identifying them with some of the key characters in his fictional community. What is impressed on the reader are visions of chaos and apocalypse, meant to elicit a sense of injustice and horror. Writing later on, Smith and McGrath also resorted to the work of modern historians. In the case of the former, Grimble’s and Prebble’s works are mentioned as a source of inspiration whilst in the latter’s case, ironically Richards, who unearthed Sellar’s correspondence, is quoted verbatim. There is little doubt however that Macleod’s account impressed all writers. We know rather exactly and vividly what happened in the glens of Sutherland because of the accounts of eye-witnesses and the explanations of contemporaries. Donald Macleod […] described the lurid scenes of burning and destruction in a series of letters […]. No army of invading barbarians ever left behind it desolation so complete as did that ruthless handful of the chief’s servants. And Sutherland to this day is haunted by that “gloomy memory”. (Gunn, 1987, p. 31) There did exist a person called Donald Macleod (one of the characters here) who was a stone mason and who writes attacks on the power of his time. I have made him an atheist though there is no evidence that he was. He seems to have been a

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 58

wholly admirable person with a great concern for his people and a desire to speak out and tell the truth. (Smith, 1977 [1968], p. 7)

19 In their selection of sources, authors were obviously directed by their convictions. These were subject to their own perception of the Highland region and Scotland at large, their personal experiences, and also their political leanings. Crude a generalisation though it may be to found the reading of a novel on the political stand of their authors, the point nonetheless remains that through the underlying meaning of a narrative may filter an ideological vision.

20 Gunn’s deep interest in the depressed economic situation of the Highlands in the 1930s and 40s, its causes and possible solutions seeps through the narrative which could be read as his commentary of the roots of the Highland problem. Furthermore, both he and MacColla were writing at a time of resurgent nationalist fervour. If inserting Butcher’s Broom into a nationalist analysis is not viable, in the case of MacColla’s novel, the nationalist dimension is one of the keys to its understanding. MacColla had been a member of the National Party of Scotland since 1928, after a spell with the ILP which he left because of Labour’s gradual volte-face on Scottish self-government following their election to office in 1924. He had decided to take action and had been involved in a raid on Rum which was meant to attract the attention of the press and the public to “the realities of Scottish History” and “to let the large world know about the clearances, that long-continued genocidal episode”. His objective was to compel labour to take a stand in the Highlands leading to the end of the sporting estate system…; the repopulation of the Highlands – and with a Gaelic pop: the salvation of the lge. In effect, the Clearances in reverse (MacColla, 1977 [1945], pp. 88-95).

21 Interestingly, in the case of The Cheviot, the Nationalist Party tried to hijack McGrath’s play, and Billy Wolfe, when the play was first performed, invited 7: 84 to stage it at an evening’s entertainment for delegates after the party’s annual conference. However, this was not the political reading that MacGrath intended: “nationalism is not enough. The enemy of the Scottish people is Scottish capital, as much as the foreign exploiter” (MacGrath, p. 66). In the play, the historical material on the Clearances is organised in order to argue against capitalist doctrines and support a socialist ideology. As for Smith, his attack focuses on the “straitjacketting” effects of ideologies and is two- pronged, targeting Scottish Calvinism and the materialism of nineteenth-century improving ideology (Smith, 1986). Although an ideological stance might direct the authors’representations of the clearances period, Sellar’s despicable image remains unaltered. The memory of the Clearances may be recycled to serve different political purposes, but the memory of Sellar retains its texture. Like literature, museums have done little to modify Sellar’s image.

Patrick Sellar’s reputation in local museums

22 Sellar features in the displays of two community museums in the Sutherland region, at Bettyhill (Strathnaver museum, 1976) and Helsmdale (Timespan Heritage Center, 1987). Different though they are in methods and overall purpose with Timespan’s exhibition clearly inclined towards “edutainment” – laying emphasis on the sensational aspects of historical events – their assessment of the Sutherland clearances tends towards consensus. They both rely heavily on written information. Ian Grimble was

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 59

instrumental in establishing Strathnaver museum in the 1970s and is largely referenced as a source for the display, complemented by the archaeological research undertaken by Horace Fairhurst in the 1960s. Also scripted, Timespan’s presentation ultimately revolves around the vivid tableau of an eviction scene with sound effects – strictly derived from Macleod’s account – featuring Sellar coercing a family into abandoning their home. It is a spine-chilling scene meant to illustrate evictions on the estate. The images of fire and unjustifiable mercilessness prolong the atmosphere created by the preceding sets presenting the last burning of a witch and murder in Helsmdale castle. Timespan’s narrative technique plainly hinges upon a re-arrangement of the past around selected climaxes. The highly emotive scene involving Sellar is in keeping with the general aim of the Centre to relate “the dramatic story of the Highlands” (Timespan advert, non dated) with a clear presentation of the winners and losers in history. The underlying assumption is that loss and misery have a powerful commercial appeal; this private heritage venture needs to be self-sustaining and attract visitors – offering families entertainment and information when they wish to escape from the vagaries of the Scottish weather or the midges… Ultimately, history is hijacked in a designer-led and consumer-centred display.

23 Beyond Timespan’s sensationalism, the appraisal of the period and conclusions reached in the two museums are identical. The tenantry’s circumstances declined during the period and the main motive behind the changes initiated on their estate by the Staffords was the maximisation of profits. Most importantly as regards Sellar, the methods used during evictions were violent and verging on barbarity; they displayed a lack of the most basic human feelings towards the inhabitants of the straths, perceived as slothful, primitive and needing “civilising”. In both cases, there is no doubt as to Sellar’s involvement and ruthless acts. Strathnaver for instance, contrasts the outcome and dubious proceedings at his trial with an extract from Donald Macleod’s damning account. Incidentally, amongst the factsheets available at Strathnaver, one focuses on Donald Macleod who is quoted as saying: I have devoted all my spare time and means, for the past thirty four years, expostulating, remonstrating with, and exposing the desolators of my country, and extirpators of my race, from the land of their birth… considering that I could not serve God in a more acceptable way than to help those who could not help themselves. (Strathnaver, factsheet 9, non dated)

24 In both venues, the selection and interpretation of evidence invite visitors to empathise with the evicted tenantry and denounce Sellar as a remorseless oppressor whose trial was a fraud.

25 In collective memory, Patrick Sellar’s sinister reputation stems from two irreconcilable world visions which led to clashing interpretations of the Clearances and divided the tenantry and the landowning class of the Highlands and Islands. For the latter, the Clearances meant progress and made economic sense whilst, for the former, they meant trauma. The improvement ideology, which Sellar advocated relentlessly, was even more odious to the tenantry because it purported to act for the common good and spurned their own social and cultural values. Beside Gaelic lore, the vision incriminating Sellar was most forcefully developed by Donald MacLeod whose work has been endlessly appropriated in subsequent narratives of the Sutherland clearances. He stands as the champion of the Strathnaver evictees and redresser of a wrong left unacknowledged and unpunished by the Law. His vision was given added power at the time of the Napier Commission because the voices of Strathnaver victims were heard in

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 60

an official public space. Their testimonies articulate the notion of a wronged people demanding recognition of and compensation for the crimes of the past. In their memories of evictions, the figure of Sellar looms large and stands accused. Undoubtedly this collective experience became empowering and was given legitimacy in the changing ideological context of the 1880s. Political but also economic priorities thus go a long way towards explaining Patrick Sellar’s execrable reputation in collective memory - the new heritage ventures often pander, in the name of realism, to the public’s taste for blood and gore. Most importantly, to paraphrase Raphael Samuel: “it is disaster rather than the record of progress which leaves the deepest impression on the public mind” (Samuel, 1994, p. 16).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

CREGEEN E., “Oral Sources for the Social History of the Scottish Highlands and Islands”, Oral History, vol. 2, n° 2, autumn 1974, pp. 23-44.

Evidence Taken by Her Majesty’s Commissioners of Inquiry into the Condition of the Crofters and Cottars in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, vols. II, III, and IV, Edinburgh, 1884; In text referred to as “Napier”.

GASKELL P., Morvern Transformed, Cambridge, 1968.

GRIMBLE I., The Trial of Patrick Sellar, London, 1962.

GUNN N., Butcher’s Broom, Edinburgh, 1934; reprinted London, 1977.

—, “Caithness and Sutherland”, in A. McCleery (ed.), Landscape and Light, Aberdeen, 1987, pp. 25-34.

HUNTER J., The Making of the Crofting Community, Edinburgh, 1976.

—, On the Other Side of Sorrow. Nature and People in the Scottish Highlands, Edinburgh and London, 1995.

LAVABRE M.-C., “La mémoire fragmentée. Peut-on agir sur la mémoire ?”, Cahiers français, n° 303, 2001, pp. 8-13.

LOCH J., An Account of the Improvements on the Estates of the Marquess of Stafford. Part I – Sutherland, London, 1820.

MACCOLLA F., And the Cock Crew, Glasgow, 1945, reprinted London, 1977.

—, Ro Fhada Mar So A Tha Mi. Too Long in this Condition, Caithness, 1975.

MACKENZIE A., The History of the Highland Clearances, Inverness, 1883, reprinted London, 1986.

MACLEOD D., Gloomy Memories, Edinburgh 1841, reprinted Bettyhill, 1996.

PREBBLE J., The Highland Clearances, London, 1963.

RICHARDS E., “The Mind of Patrick Sellar, 1780-1852”, Scottish Studies, n° 15, 1971, pp. 1-20.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 61

—, Patrick Sellar and the Highland Clearances, Edinburgh, 1999.

RICHARDSON D., The Curse on Patrick Sellar. An Incident in Sutherland in 1814, Stockbridge, 1999.

SAMUEL R., Theatres of Memory, London and New York, 1994.

SELLAR T., The Sutherland Evictions of 1814, London, 1883.

SMITH I. C., Consider the Lilies, London, 1968, reprinted Exeter, 1977.

—, Towards the Human, Edinburgh, 1986.

SMOUT T. C., A History of the Scottish People 1560-1830, London, 1969.

STEWART OF GARTH, Sketches of the Character, Manners, and Present State of the Highlanders of Scotland; with Details of the Military Service of the Highland Regiments, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1822.

NOTES

1. Thomas Sellar published a defence of his father’s actions in 1883; the latest attempt at revision was produced in 1999 by his great grandson’s wife, Dorothy Richardson: The Curse on Patrick Sellar. An Incident in Sutherland in 1814. 2. Extensive analyses of the Clearances only emerged in the sixties, being previously limited to short chapters within wider studies. 3. The literary works included here are: Neil M. Gunn, Butcher’s Broom, 1934; Fionn MacColla, And the Cock Crew, 1945 but started a decade earlier; Iain Crichton Smith, Consider the Lilies, 1968 and John McGrath, The Cheviot, the Stag and the Black, Black Oil, 1973.

AUTHOR

LAURENCE GOURIÉVIDIS Université Blaise-Pascal, Clermont-Ferrand

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 62

David Livingstone

Andrew Ross

1 Even before his Viagem contra Costa, as the Portuguese referred to his extraordinary march one and a half times across south central Africa, Livingstone already had a reputation in the United Kingdom among those interested in travel and exploration as well as in missionary circles. He first came to the attention of this audience in 1849 after he, together with William Cotton Oswell (someone who would remain his life-long friend) and Mungo Murray of Lintrose, were the first Europeans to see Lake Ngami. They were able to confirm the existence of the lake which had been the subject of a good deal of speculation among Europeans in southern Africa. (DL to D. G. Watt 17-1-1841) More importantly they reported that although a desert had to be crossed to reach central Africa from the Cape, the region was not a vast desert but a well-watered and well-populated savannah, crossed by a great river.

2 I have to make a small but necessary digression from the topic at this point. Why was the misunderstanding of Central Africa as a vast desert so prevalent in Britain even among the membership of the Royal Geographical Society? The Portuguese knew very well that Central Africa was not a desert.

3 Livingstone reported this sighting of Lake Ngami and the information he and his companions had gained about the great river (the Zambesi) to Arthur Tidman, Secretary of the London Missionary Society, who immediately contacted Sir Roderick Murchison, the newly elected Secretary of the Royal Geographical Society.

4 Ordinarily Livingstone’s report might have expected to end up as an interesting communication at the next scheduled meeting of the Royal Geographic Society and then been forgotten, African exploration was not yet the rage it was to become. This did not happen because Murchison and Tidman each made a great deal of this « discovery ». It was the deliberate public relations efforts of these two men in London that made the discovery an « event ». Tidman, as ever, was seeking to increase the financial and recruitment base of the LMS and publicising Livingstone’s discovery seemed a good way to do it. His ideas meshed neatly with the plans of Roderick Murchison, the new Secretary of the RGS, who was determined to increase the public’s awareness of the Society. Whether these efforts significantly improved the prospects of

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 63

their two societies or not, their efforts certainly succeeded in making Livingstone’s name known to the readers of the nation’s newspapers and serious periodicals.

5 As for Livingstone, the Ngami journey was a major step in his growing certainty that God was calling him to be a pioneer in Africa and the agent of focussing the Christian world’s attention on that continent. This was an idea that had entered his mind as early as his first trek in Africa, the journey from Port Elizabeth to Kuruman. His letters written on the journey to various friends reflect a fierce enjoyment of life in the bush and a growing sense that pioneering was perhaps his true calling. In one such letter he wrote prophetically to his friend Watt in July 1841: What do you say to my going up to Abyssinia? This is talked of by many of the missionaries as a desirable object, and some propose doing it. Would it not promote our cause by making known to the churches he awful degraded state of an immense population? Look at the map… you see far beyond us « very populous country » etc. I think one may be quite safe if alone and without anything to excite the cupidity of the natives. I should cost the society nothing during those years I should be away. It might be for six or seven years before I should return but if the languages are dialects of the Bechuana I should soon make known a little of the liberal plan of mercy to the different tribes on the way and if I should never return perhaps my life will be as profitable spent as a forerunner as in any other way.

6 In keeping with his new resolution Livingstone repeated the journey to Ngami the next year 1850, this time with Mary and the children. On the journey Mary gave birth to a little girl and worries about the health of mother and child meant that Livingstone had to return earlier than he had intended and again failed to meet with Sebituane and the Kololo who dominated the area politically and whose language he spoke fluently. (The Kololo were the only Tswana/Sotho speaking people to leave what is now South Africa to settle in Central Africa as a result of the Difaqane, the others Shangaan, Ndebele and Ngoni were all Nguni speaking.) Livingstone, with his characteristic stubbornness went north again with Oswell in 1851. This time the travellers reached the Kololo capital of Linyanti and Livingstone was able to talk at length with Sebituane before the sudden death of that great man.

7 By this time, Livingstone was convinced that if he could find a readily travelled route from the West Coast, the Kololo could provide the channel for the entry of Christianity and commerce to Central Africa. The well-watered and well-populated Zambesi basin was very different from the sparsely populated and semi-desert Tswana lands where Robert Moffat had planted his famous Kuruman mission and where Livingstone had worked at Kolobeng and Mabotsa. Not only was the Zambesi basin fertile with a large population, it was free from the threat of white invasion, unlike the Tswana lands that were under constant threat from the expansionary pressure of the Transvaal and of the British in the Cape. In addition Livingstone had the confidence of Sekeletu, Sebituane’s son and successor, who saw Livingstone as a friend who could bring new wealth and power to his people.

8 The route from the Cape, which Livingstone had now travelled three times, was clearly unsuitable for any kind of commerce. He was convinced that it as his duty to go back north and seek a route that would link the Kololo with the Portuguese ports on the Atlantic coast.

9 In 1851 Livingstone and Mary together made the fateful decision that she and the children would go to Scotland while he followed what she and he firmly believed was a divine. The long separation that ensued which saw Mary suffer so badly from loneliness

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 64

in, for her, a totally alien environment, has been the source of severe criticisms of Livingstone in the latter decades of the twentieth century. Had Mary and David foreseen that the separation would be four years not eighteen months would they have made the same decision? It also has to be asked why Mary and children did not go to stay with her parents at Kuruman her old home. Mary’s relations with her formidable mother, Mary Moffat, need to be looked at before judgement is finally passed on that episode on this sad episode.

10 When Livingstone eventually set off from the Cape he had such meagre financial backing that when, in May 1853, he reached Sekeletu’s court, he had no resources save his wagon and his somewhat limited medical kit. He was consciously or unconsciously acting out the kind of African travel he wrote of in those letters to Watt and company ten years before. He turned to Sekeletu for help. Each of these men had affection for the other, but each also saw how they could use the other. To cap it all Livingstone, somewhat inadvertently, saved the chief’s life during an attempted coup d’État (Ross, 2002, p. 92). In response to Livingstone’s urging it was Sekeletu then who created the resources for an expedition to explore a route to and from the West Coast. Thus Livingstone embarked on this journey as the head of a party of Kololo warriors, as an « nduna » of Sekeletu and as an ambassador to the Portuguese authorities seeking to gain their cooperation, or at least their acquiescence in the establishment of a viable route into the Kololo lands from Loanda. It was as such an embassy that he and his party were received by the Portuguese Governor-General in the Angolan capital.

11 In Loanda the next critical moment occurred in the creation of a national reputation for Livingstone, both in the short term as well as in the long term. There were ships of the Royal Navy’s anti-slavery squadron at Loanda, where Edmund Gabriel, an Anti- Slavery Commissioner, was stationed. Gabriel and the British naval officers received Livingstone with enthusiastic admiration and the Royal Navy offered him a free passage back to the UK on a man of war.

12 By then Livingstone had, however, decided that the West Coast was not a suitable point of entry for his projected highway for commerce and Christianity. The decision was forced on him by the increase of Portuguese slave raiding in the area he and the Kololo had just traversed. He decided therefore to go back and try to find an East Coast route. He explained his situation to Gabriel and to the naval officers, adding that in any case the Kololo had to get back home. How far the naval officers or Mr Gabriel were responsible for the very different story that was presented to the British public, or how far a sober report from them was transformed by Tidman and Murchison or how far they all contributed to the story is not now clear. The story reported widely in Britain and elsewhere was not simply the story of an extraordinary journey but was reshaped as that of « the lone European hero, who, rather than return to the plaudits of his countrymen, plunged back into darkest Africa in order to take his poor native followers home »!

13 That moment was the creation of the first of those inaccurate snapshots that shaped Livingstone’s reputation well into the twentieth century. At that time, and for the majority of writers up to the end of the twentieth century, this journey has been described as a great feat of European exploration, the lone European traveller triumphing against the odds. When in the second half of the nineteenth century the exploration of East and Central Africa became a massive concern of the British public in the era of Burton, Speke and company, Livingstone’s leadership of the Kololo

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 65

expeditions was judged to be the beginning of the movement. It was not. The journey to Loanda was an African embassy attempting to open a route for trade with the outside world. The nduna of the party was a European but it was financed by the Kololo and was made up of free warriors carrying their chief’s ivory and not a massive expedition of professional porters paid by European funds. The march to the East Coast that followed, after Livingstone and his men returned to Linyanti, the Kololo capital, was an extension of that effort. Livingstone says so utterly unambiguously on page 516 of his best seller, Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa. On page 272 of the same book Livingstone had already made explicit for the reader that his authority over these men on the journey was not that of an employer but that of an nduna of Sekeletu. Nonetheless the great walk from the centre of Africa to the West Coast and the return back to Linyanti and on to Quilemane on the East Coast has remained in the British popular imagination and in the literature African travel as a great European journey of exploration.

14 Having heard the dramatic reports of Livingstone’s decision to march back into Africa, the British public waited eagerly to see if the white hero would re-appear out of the African forest. So the report of his arrival at Quilemane with news of the Zambesi as God’s highway into the centre of Africa and of the astonishing falls he was the first European to see and had named after Queen Victoria, provoked a vast amount of publicity. The new railway system and the beginning of a modern cheap press enabled him, on his return to the United Kingdom, to gain a national image in a way that would not have been possible earlier in the century. He was run ragged by trying to fulfil as many as he could of the invitations to speak which flooded in. The only peace he had was when he sat down in a rented house in Sloane Square, Chelsea, to write his Travels and Researches.

15 Although he was a popular hero at that point, his whole stance on Africa and her future was being questioned by the pioneers of scientific racism. As a result, Dr Monk who edited for publication Livingstone’s famous Cambridge Lectures used his Introduction to the Lectures to attack scientific racism and cited Livingstone’s understanding of Africans as fully human beings in arguing against the new science of race.

16 Popularity did not mean understanding, as the public perception of his aims shows. How alien he was in the British society which welcomed him so warmly is exhibited in the story told by Professor Sir Richard Owen about his escorting Mary Livingstone to a reception and display of photographs at Kings College, London. Mrs L., with a straw bonnet of 1846 and attired to match, made a most singular exception to the brilliant costumes. Who could that odd woman be that Professor O., is taking around the room and paying so much attention? I caught sight of Will’s countenance… disgust and alarm strongly portrayed. He could not conceive what badly dressed housemaid I had picked up to bring to such a place. Carry was equally mystified. The extraordinary scrutinies of many fine ladies as they shrank from contact as far as the crowd permitted! But when the rumour began to buzz abroad that it was Dr and Mrs Livingston… what a change came over the scene. It was which of the scornful dames could first get introduced to Mrs Livingstone and the photographs were comparatively deserted for the dusky strangers. (Owen, 1894)

17 It was on the crest of this wave of hero-worship, which can be measured by the astonishing publishing success of his Missionary Travels that Livingstone returned to Africa as head of the Government Zambesi Expedition which lasted from 1858-1863. This is not the place to discuss the expedition which, despite real achievements, was a

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 66

failure, the Zambesi was not navigable as he had hoped and the dramatic increase in slaving by the Swahili and by the Portuguese had disrupted traditional society profoundly and removed any hope of the peaceful development in what are now Zambia and Malawi which he had so confidently predicted.

18 When he returned to the UK the public response to him ranged from deep disappointment to savage criticism. His astonishing achievement, after the Expedition was officially over, of sailing a three-foot draught riverboat crewed by Africans who had never seen the sea, from the mouth of the Zambesi to Zanzibar and then on across 2 400 miles of the Indian Ocean to Bombay. A genuine « Boys Own Paper » piece of British derring-do that would have been expected to gain wide acclaim went unnoticed. This example of Livingstone’s leadership, navigational skill and courage was not publicised and so it was as if it had never existed in terms of affecting Livingstone’s reputation.

19 On his return he was seen widely as someone who was either a deliberate liar or a romantic unrealistic dreamer; in any case he was not someone to be trusted by Government, missions or business. In particular the failure of the UMCA mission in southern Malawi and the tragic deaths of London Missionary Society missionaries to the Kololo were blamed on him quite unfairly, and as far as the British and South African public were concerned Livingstone’s heroic Kololo were revealed as revengeful and cruel savages. A classic example of the hostility which Livingstone and his ideas aroused can be found in a long article first printed in a minor periodical then reprinted in the Times and other important newspapers. The writer berates Livingstone thus: We were promised cotton, sugar, indigo… and, of course, we got none. We were promised trade; and there is no trade, though we have a Consul at $500 a year. We have been promised converts to the Gospel, and not one has been made. In a word, the thousands subscribed by the Universities, and the thousands contributed by the Government, have been productive only of the most fatal results. (Times, 20 January 1863)

20 In stark contrast with the desperate burden of lecture tours imposed on him during his last stay in Britain, this time there were very few invitations to speak. Two of the few were, however, particularly significant. The first was an invitation to address the British Association, which is a reminder that at the time Livingstone continued to be highly regarded as a scientist, particularly as an accurate observer and reporter. The other invitation was from the Duke of Argyll, who invited him to stay at Inverary Castle and tour Livingstone’s ancestral area of Argyll. What is interesting is that in Argyll he was warmly and enthusiastically welcomed by the people of the Gaeltacht. Significantly, it was at that time that the story emerged in the local oral tradition that Livingstone’s great-grandfather did not die at Culloden but was one of the Livingstones who rescued from the red-coat guarded gibbet, the body of James Stewart of the Glen who had been convicted of the Appin murder; an incident not recorded in the official records Was this the Gaels claiming him as their own and, in a fashion of typical of nineteenth century Gaeldom, going against mainstream UK opinion?

21 After Livingstone began his last extraordinary journey and in 1866 disappeared into that area of Africa, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, eastern Congo that was being ravaged by ever increasing Portuguese and Swahili slave-raiding, a gradual but massive change took place in regard to his reputation. In a very short time the British public again became fascinated by him and admiration appeared to overcome the bitter criticisms that had been heaped on him on his return from the Zambesi Expedition. Yet this was

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 67

at a time when he is not able to communicate with the outside world, or was it because it was such a time? Very soon the only word of Livingstone are rumours coming out of the bush – he had been murdered, married a young woman chief and so on. The process of people creating their own Livingstones without his being able to challenge or contradict them had begun.

22 The rapid rebirth of an admiring fascination with Livingstone at this time has still to be explained. As early as 1868, the British Government financed an expedition to southern Malawi to check on the story that he had been murdered there, this cost much more money than the derisory grant they had allowed him to help his return to Africa. From that first government-sponsored expedition the interest went on increasing and there followed a series of six search and or rescue expeditions. It has often been argued that it was H. M. Stanley’s despatches and his rapidly produced book of 1872, How I Found Livingstone, which sparked off interest in an almost forgotten man but that is not so as these search expeditions and the publicity they generated show. The hard-nosed businessman, who owned the New York Herald, Gordon Bennet, was not going to finance an expedition unless he knew that the story was going to be a big one and it was. What undoubtedly is true, however, is that Stanley’s despatches and his book imprinted on the public imagination a picture of Livingstone divorced from anything Livingstone ever wrote. This was Livingstone, the gentle, almost helpless, worn-out old man, doggedly staying on in Africa to do his duty, an image that the British public took to its heart.

23 The subsequent dramatic story of Livingstone’s faithful companions carrying his body 1 400 miles from the Bengweulu swamps to the coast; the massive crowds and military escort meeting the body at Dover; the all-but state funeral with the Queen’s empty carriage following the cortege, watched by thousands lining the London streets; these constituted the apotheosis of the unreliable romantic dreamer and embarrassing negrophile into the supreme hero, not only of Christian mission but even more of British pluck and Imperial virtue.

24 A great deal of this was also due to Horace Waller, who had been part of the UMCA mission to Malawi. He had bombarded the Times with letters about Livingstone throughout the absent years and kept the interest aroused by the funeral at a high pitch with his publication of Livingstone’s Last Journals. He carefully edited these journals to suit the taste of the wide audience in the UK and US who had been well prepared by Stanley’s work. Engraved on the cover of each volume of the Journals was a drawing of Livingstone sitting on the shoulders of Chuma while crossing a stream. Again we have an example of a hopelessly inaccurate but important snapshot defining the public image of Livingstone. When, near the end of his life when he was physically almost helpless Livingstone was thus carried across streams and through marshes, but throughout the rest of his life in Africa Livingstone had prided himself on being able to out-walk anyone, African or European. Indeed, Stanley remarked in his despatches how the old man had insisted on walking from Ujiji to Tabora when he had offered a machila to ease his hero’s burden. What is seen and remembered, however, is the picture of Livingstone on the back of the African.

25 Waller’s editing removed not only DL’s bouts of bitter anger and depression, but also his intimacy with those whom he had called « my faithfuls ». As well as the men, Chuma, Susi, Amoda et al. these included Amoda’s wife Halima, and Ntaoeka, whom Livingstone had married off to Chuma because he insisted she was far too good looking

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 68

to be allowed to stay with the company otherwise. It was this intimacy with Africans which began in his earliest days in Africa which forces me to disagree with those writers sympathetic to Livingstone who insist that David Livingstone was a paternalist, he was not. No paternalist could act as « nduna » to an African chief as Livingstone did to Sekeletu, nor have his ability to relate to many individual Africans in the way he did, as in the case of the beautiful and naked woman chief Manenko. But here’s the rub; you only get a true picture of these relationships from the diaries and notebooks, the intimacy is dramatically toned down by editors like Waller, or indeed as with Halima and Ntaoeka, the objects of that intimacy are simply erased from the record. This process was begun by Livingstone himself in the best-seller Missionary Travels and Researches. The beginning of the invention of an expurgated Livingstone began with his own published writing, leaving the way open for those who would transform his image into the opposite of who he was. The worst example of this was the awful Narrative of an Expedition to the Zambesi and its Tributaries, attributed to David and Charles Livingstone, but thoroughly edited and re-shaped by a committee of Livingstone’s establishment friends.

26 Even in his published writing, particularly Missionary Travels, his attitudes can be discerned by those who have eyes to see. Just recently in a BBC interview with Chinua Achebe on Joseph Conrad, the interviewer, in reply to Achebe’s accusation that Conrad’s view of Africans was essentially paternalist if not racist, said surely that was true of all Europeans in Africa at that time. Achebe instantly replied David Livingstone was not like that, he saw Africans simply as people, some he loved, some he liked, some he disliked and some he abhorred – they were just people. Livingstone’s intimacy with his African friends and his radical ideas on human equality are completely absent from the literature on him, good bad and indifferent that followed his death and he must bear some of the blame for this himself.

27 To explain Livingstone’s self-editing we have to go back to Cape Town in 1851 where he had gone to see Mary and the children off on their fateful voyage to Scotland. Livingstone found the Colony at war with the Xhosa people. He was appalled by British policy towards the Xhosa and towards their allies, the so-called « Cape Coloured » rebels. He produced, after much careful re-writing, a passionately argued attack on the war policy. This article was based on his insistence that the Xhosa had every right as human beings to take up arms against the British to defend their independence. In the article he tried to use what he had gleaned from periodicals to play on what he understood to be British public attitudes. So he asserted that the Xhosa had as much to right to fight for their freedom and nationhood (concepts which at that time and for another hundred years most Europeans did not believe applied to groups like the Xhosa) as any Magyar, playing on the widespread support in Britain for the Magyar rising of 1848. This was to no avail and no one in Britain would publish this piece.

28 This essay is in sharp contrast with what writers, even those as well informed as John Mackenzie assert, which is that the freedom Livingstone talked of was not a political one. The freedom of which Livingstone spoke was as political as the ANC would have wished and he makes this explicit again in letters to relations and friends insisting that only if Africans could get guns would they have any hope of being free.

29 After the complete brick wall he ran up against in trying to get his condemnation of British South Africa policy published, (people were ever ready to publish his condemnation of Transvaaler policies) he learned his lesson. So afterwards when

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 69

writing to try to arouse British commercial, governmental and religious concern about Africa he tempered his beliefs and played down what he believed might not be acceptable. Thus in a way he began the slippery slope that, in the last decade of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century, led to his reputation as a hero of liberal or paternalist imperialism, and an icon for those Christian and missionary interests that saw the Empire and race as part of God’s purposes. A classic example of this is Edward Hume’s study of Livingstone for the National Sunday School Union It is not too much to say that the work of exploration and development carried on by his successors has been made easier by the perfect frankness with which he dealt with the coloured races of Africa. In such a sense, therefore, Livingstone still lives. And as confidence in the honesty of purpose of the governing race will need to be the foundation of British rule in South and Central Africa, as it has been in India, so the man whose labours resulted in strengthening this reputation for fairness has a claim on Anglo-Saxon gratitude which each year should see deepened and extended.

30 It was this Livingstone in whose name Selous led the settler columns into Zimbabwe, that Stanley and Leopold wrought their havoc in the Congo, that Harry Johnston carried out his Imperial tasks, that « Slim Jannie » Smuts envisioned southern Africa’s future. It was still this Livingstone that was celebrated in Britain during the nation- wide festivities and special church services that took place in 1913.

31 That same year, however, signs of a change appeared. Hamish McCunn, the Scottish composer, published his cantata « Livingstone the Pioneer ». This has been seen by some as the beginning of an association of Livingstone with a renewed sense of Scottish national identity. It was not a beginning, however, but a further step in an existing link between Livingstone and a renewed Scottish assertiveness. This association began in the late 1880s and developed in parallel with the Livingstone, hero of imperialism movement. It began with the concerted pressure of the Scottish public, Tory and Liberal, Free Kirk and Auld Kirk, to persuade the British government to intervene and prevent the Portuguese occupation of what is now Malawi. This movement continued its activities into the 1890s with the campaign which succeeded in preventing Cecil Rhodes incorporating Malawi into his greater Rhodesia. That development, it was asserted, would be a betrayal of Livingstone and of Scotland’s obligation to attempt to fulfil their hero’s dream. It is important to note that, at this point in Scotland at least, unlike later in the twentieth century, Livingstone and Rhodes are seen as opponents.

32 This association of Livingstone with a renewal of Scottish self-consciousness continued into the 1920s and took a new and class twist, class and nationhood have been peculiarly intertwined in the modern Scottish story. In this case the focus was the tenement block and its outhouses in Blantyre, where Livingstones had grown up. In the late nineteen-twenties it was to be demolished but a campaign, particularly strong in the West of Scotland saved it. Funds raised primarily by public subscriptions enabled the property to be bought, refurbished and turned into the National Memorial; it is to be noted a national not a church or missionary memorial. At a time of terrible post General Strike poverty among the working class of Scotland, Sunday Schools and Kirks in working class communities in central and west of Scotland provided a disproportionate amount of the needed funds. As McNair described it and wanted it to be, it became a shrine, a centre of pilgrimage for Sunday school trips and picnics from

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 70

the late twenties until well into the 1960s, David Livingstone had become Scotland’s specifically working class hero.

33 This reputation continued alongside Livingstone’s reputation as British imperial and missionary hero until after the Second World War, then in the nineteen-sixties and seventies there appeared works that pictured Livingstone primarily as scientist and as an obsessive geographer rather than as a missionary (Coupland, 1945; Debenham, 1955; Gelfand, 1957). The centenary of Livingstone’s death in 1973 saw the publication of Jeal’s massive biography which concentrated to a marked degree on the failure of the Zambesi Expedition and Livingstone’s appallingly bad relations with the original Europeans recruited for the adventure. Whether this and the other more insubstantial works published at the time made any difference to Livingstone’s reputation in Scotland, England and elsewhere is not at all clear.

34 It is interesting and somewhat puzzling that since 1990 at least three substantial biographies of Livingstone have appeared and been well reviewed in the London quality press and academic journals but ignored by the Scottish broadsheets. On the other hand in Michael Fry’s Scottish Empire, Livingstone is very sympathetically treated as he was also in the African episode of Tom Devine’s series, Scotland’s Empire, on BBC2 in 2003.

35 What would be much more important to David Livingstone, were he alive, is how he is remembered in the areas of Africa where he spent his life. He would have been pleased that when all the European names of places in East and Central Africa were being removed, in Zambia and Malawi three names only did not change, the town of Livingstone still exists as do Blantyre and Livingstonia. Perhaps what would have pleased Livingstone most was President Kaunda of Zambia’s decision to raise a memorial over where his heart lies at Chitambo’s and there to declare him, « Africa’s first Freedom Fighter ».

BIBLIOGRAPHY

The Livingstone Papers in Council for World Mission Archives housed at School of African and Oriental Studies.

The Times.

COUPLAND R., Livingstone’s Last Journey, London, 1945.

DEBENHAM F., The Way to Ilala, London, 1955.

GELFAND M., Livingstone the Doctor, Oxford, 1957.

JEAL T., Livingstone, London, 1973.

HUME E., David Livingstone, London, 1910.

OWEN R., The Life of Sir Richard Owen, London, 1894.

ROSS A., David Livingstone, Mission and Empire, London, 2002.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 71

AUTHOR

ANDREW ROSS University of Edinburgh

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 72

Keir Hardie: Radical, Socialist, Feminist

W. Hamish Fraser

1 When Keir Hardie died in September 1915 one of the strongest tributes came from James Connolly in the Workers’Republic: By the death of Comrade James Keir Hardie labour has lost one of its most fearless and incorruptible champions, and the world one of its highest minded and purest souls… James Keir Hardie was to the labour movement a prophetic anticipation of its own possibilities. He was a worker, with all the limitations from which no worker ever completely escapes, and with potentialities and achievements such as few workers aspire after, but of which each worker may be the embodiment... he was a living proof of the truth of the idea that labour could furnish in its own ranks all that was needed to achieve its own emancipation, the proof that labour needed no heaven-sent saviour from the ranks of other classes. He had been denied the ordinary chances of education, he was sent to earn his living at the age of seven, he had to educate himself in the few hours he could snatch from work and sleep, he was blacklisted by the employers as soon as he gave vent to the voice of labour in his district, he had to face unemployment and starvation in his early manhood and when he began to champion politically the rights of his class he found every prostitute journalist in these islands throwing mud at his character, and defaming his associates. Yet he rose through it all, and above it all, never faltered in the fight, never failed to stand up for truth and justice as he saw it, and as the world will yet see it.

2 Adjectives like “fearless”, “incorruptible”, “prophetic”, and “high-minded” are the ones which have generally stuck to his reputation. Although, one could argue, that he was conspicuously unsuccessful during his lifetime in persuading Scots – and particularly Scottish miners – to abandon their attachment to Liberalism and to support independent Labour – after all, it was in London and Wales that he had to find a parliamentary seat – nonetheless, he seems to embody much that the Scots include in their historical self-image: self-educated, true to his working-class origins, radical in politics and religion, single-minded, unbending and with a deep attachment to his native heath. In folk memory and in the populist discourse of Labour Party rallies he remains the embodiment of the ideal leader who, unlike his successors, rejected the

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 73

political path of compromise and concession. There is little evidence that academic modifications to the myth have done anything to alter that popular reputation.

3 The biographical outlines are well-enough known. Born in Lanarkshire in 1856, the illegitimate son of Mary Keir, a domestic servant, who married David Hardie, a ship’s carpenter. He called himself James Hardie until the 1880s when he adopted Keir. He started work at the age of 8, with various jobs and when his father went back to sea in the mid 1860s, he went to work as a trapper in the coal pits. Both mother and step- father were free-thinkers, rejecting Christian belief, and were readers of Charles Bradlaugh’s secularist National Reformer. Hardie, however, at the age of twenty-one was converted and became a member of the Evangelical Union, a group of churches which challenged the Calvinist notion of election, which still held sway in most Presbyterian churches, with the belief in universal atonement. He joined the growing temperance movement, the Good Templars, which had spread from the United States in the early 1870s, and which Brian Harrison describes as “a pseudo-masonic organization of the most extreme temperance zealots” (Harrison, 1971, p. 241). Throughout the 1870s he was involved in the process of self-education, going to night school, teaching himself shorthand and submitting short pieces for publication to the Glasgow press. In 1879 he played a major part in organising the Lanarkshire Miners’Union and became miners’agent. When the Lanarkshire Union began to crumble he was invited to help form an Ayrshire one, and in 1880 he moved, with his recent wife, to Cumnock, which was to be his family home for the rest of his life.

4 As well as his union activities he began writing a column in the local weekly paper, and became active in the Liberal Association. He remained a prominent Good Templar and an occasional lay preacher. He helped establish a Scottish Miners’ Federation in 1886 and became its secretary, at the same time launching, his own monthly paper, The Miner. He was clearly developing political ambitions and in 1888 put himself forward as a candidate at the by-election in Mid Lanark. When the Liberal Association failed to select him he stood as an independent labour candidate, on what could be seen as a radical, but still Liberal, programme: home rule, nationalisation of land, abolition of the House of Lords, direct local veto on public houses. He got a mere 667 votes. He was immediately accused of being in receipt of “Tory gold” to split the Liberal vote. It was an accusation which was to follow him throughout his life, and it was not without justification in these early days, with funding via H. H. Champion from the Tory Democrat, Maltman Barry. Immediately afterwards Hardie, with a group of disenchanted Liberal radicals, formed the Scottish Labour Party – the first party committed to independent labour representation and to socialism. He was quite specific: “Liberalism is one thing, Socialism is quite another, and the new Labour Party is Socialistic” (Hardie, 1927, p. 32). In the next few years he began to become known nationally with speeches at the Trades Union Congress and visits to London, where he came into contact with other socialists. He attended the Marxist International Congress in Paris in 1889 and developed lasting international contacts, while rejecting the possibility of a revolutionary Marxist road to socialism in Britain.

5 Eventually, in 1892, he was elected as Member of Parliament for South West Ham in London. This is when the first mythical image of Hardie emerges. He was carried to Westminster by a waggonette full of supporters, including one with a trumpet playing the Marseillaise (Davies, 1992, p. 16) and with Hardie reputedly wearing a cloth cap – as opposed to the normal parliamentary uniform of the frock coat and top hat. The Liberal

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 74

Daily Newsclaimed that he arrived “with a blare of trumpets” wearing “a tweed cap, which, taken in conjunction with a short jacket, trousers frayed at the heel, a flannel shirt, and no necktie” appalled it (Lowe, 1923, p. 64). To later generations it indicated that he was “impervious to the blandishments of Parliament with its sense of ease and self importance” (Davies, 1992, p. 28). In Parliament he took up the issue of unemployment and miners’causes and generated the occasional Parliamentary scene. Outside, he played a major part in the formation in 1893 of the Independent Labour Party and was its chairman for the next eight years. Despite this, he and all ILP candidates went down to disastrous defeat in 1895 and it looked as if his political career was at an end. He did, however, continue to have a voice in that The Minerhad been turned into the weekly Labour Leader large parts of which were written by Hardie himself, under various pen-names.

6 Between 1895 and 1900 he worked with great energy and endless travel to persuade the trade unions to back independent labour and he played down the socialism. He wrote: The unity of the working class is the one thing that matters. That can never be a thing of rapid growth. Abstract theories with them count for very little… Socialism supplies the vision and a united working class satisfies the senses as a practical method of attaining its realisation. To attain that unity is, and must be, the first object of all who desire Socialism. (Johnson, 1922, p. 4)

7 Elsewhere he wrote that “a mere abstraction, be it ever so demonstrable scientifically, will never move masses of people” (Hardie, 1927, p. 93). To win over Nonconformist trade unionists socialism had to be presented as an ethical gospel.

8 The result was the formation in 1900 of the Labour Representation Committee, uniting socialists and trade unionists in a Party committed to evolutionary change. It was under the auspices of the LRC that Hardie was again returned to Parliament in 1900, this time for Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, which he continued to represent until his death in 1915. In this election in the midst of the South African War, he was elected on a pro- Boer stance. According to Michael Holroyd, Hardie “pictured the Boers as pure-living, God-fearing farmers grazing peacefully under the Christ-like guardianship of President Kruger” (Holroyd, 1989, p. 38). On the other hand, like most of the pro-Boers, he regarded the war as an “evil war of aggression, waged by capitalist imperialists anxious for quick profits on the Rand” (Morgan, 2003, p. 59). When the LRC became the Labour Party in 1906 with 30 MPs, Hardie became leader of the Party in Parliament, but only for about 18 months, during which he was, according to Philip Snowden, “unbusinesslike, unconciliatory and unreliable” (Morgan, 1975, p. 155).

9 A hectic pattern of propaganda work on top of parliamentary duties took its toll and he had frequent illnesses. After one in 1907 he set off on a world tour causing a great furore when he made sympathetic noises in favour of Indian nationalism. In South Africa, he caused another row by suggesting to white miners that their union be opened up to black workers. Here he was quite consistent since, almost alone in Parliament, he questioned the way in which the rights of the black population were being swept aside in order to conciliate the Boers and persuade them to accept a South African Union (Morgan, 2003, pp. 64-65).

10 As European tension mounted, Hardie placed a great deal of faith in international working-class action to stop war, supporting the idea of a general strike. In August 1914 this proved a chimera. As he said, most of his former associates turned out to be “poor slaves who imagined themselves Socialists until the touchstone of war found them out

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 75

and exposed them for what they are” (Hughes, 1931, p. XIII). His death in September 1915 was often reputed to be due to despair at the failure of the international working class. Tom Johnston’s Forward declared, “Hardie has died of a broken heart” (Memoir, 1915, p. 7).

11 A grudging obituary in the Times newspaper regarded him as a failure, who had never adjusted to the patterns of the House of Commons: He never caught the ear of that assembly and was an ineffective leader of the independent group which owed its existence in great measure to his unflagging energy. He… did not at any time gain the complete confidence of the working class. The Labour Party disappointed his hopes. (McLean, 1975, p. 159)

12 Within the Independent Labour Party a certain element of deification very quickly appeared. Bruce Glasier wrote: Keir Hardie was the greatest agitator of his day. He stood in many respects unprecedented as a working-class leader in our country. He was the first man from the midst of the working-class who completely understood them, completely sympathised with them, completely realised their plight, and completely championed them. He was the first working-man who fought his way to Parliament for them with no badge but that of Labour and Socialism on his shield. He was the first working man who, having entered Parliament, never deserted them, never turned his back on a single principle, which he had proposed, never drifted away from his class in thought, in feeling or in faith. (Glasier, 1919a, p. 2)

13 Glasier, who had worked with Hardie since the 1880s, was the obvious biographer, but he died in 1920 after a very long illness and the memorial committee appointed William Stewart, one of the journalists on the Labour Leader, to complete the official biography, which appeared in 1921. As Ramsay MacDonald wrote acerbically in the introduction, Stewart approached the task as a “worshipper”, although MacDonald himself did much to add to the hagiographical approach: “He will stand for ever as the Moses who led the children of Labour in this country out of bondage”, an image that Hardie had used of himself as early as 1883 (Reid, 1978, p. 63). “He was a simple man, a strong man, a gritty man”, said MacDonald, who “got more Socialism from Burns than from Marx” (Stewart, 1921, p. XXIII).

14 In the aftermath of the Great War a good deal of the focus was on Hardie as the pacifist, the campaigner against war and the internationalist. Various short biographical pieces appeared in the 1920s from the ILP. David Lowe’s From Pit to Parliament (1923) and Francis Johnson’s Keir Hardie’s Socialism (1922) emphasised his role in the formation of the Labour Party and his socialism. Both made extensive use of Hardie’s own writing in the Labour Leader and in the Merthyr Pioneer. His son-in-law, Emrys Hughes, also began what was a long sustained defence of the memory with a set of extracts from Hardie’s own writing (Hardie, 1927). All of these quote Hardie’s own story – oft repeated and claimed as a formative influence – of his experience as a child of 10 in 1866 arriving late for work, his mother ill and with no food in the house, being forced to stand in front of his employer, a baker, who was tucking into breakfast, only to be dismissed for lateness. There is no collection of Hardie papers of any great significance so all accounts of his early life have to depend to a substantial extent on his own versions.

15 There also emerged the contrast with Ramsay MacDonald: No doubt if Hardie had been Premier it (1924 Labour Government) would have been defeated sooner but the spirit of the Party would not have been sapped and weakened, and it would have retained its idealism, its independence and its self respect. (Hughes, 1931, p. 14)

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 76

16 A fuller biography appeared in 1935 by the journalist Hamilton Fyfe. This was in the aftermath of 1931 and the split in the Labour Party occasioned by Ramsay MacDonald’s defection to a coalition government. Here again the myth was strengthened. Hardie was the man who always stayed true to his principles and always remained the man of the people, unlike MacDonald with his constant search for “respectability” and his attraction to aristocrats like Lady Londonderry (Fyfe, 1935). G. D. H. Cole, writing during the Second World War, saw Hardie’s importance in his having devised a specifically British way to socialism: Hardie was as much a Socialist as Hyndman, and as fully convinced of the necessity of overthrowing the capitalist order; but he disbelieved in the possibility of building in Britain an effective class-war party on strictly Marxist lines, and insisted that no Socialist Party worthy of the name could be created unless the Trade Unions could be induced to take part in it. (Cole, 1941, p. 48)

17 He too liked the sacking story and the cloth cap, which he suggested was deliberately chosen to emphasise Hardie’s difference from the ultra-respectable Lib-Lab trade union MPs. There is something of a lacuna in the 1950s and 1960s with the exception of a semi-fictionalised biography, John Cockburn’s The Hungry Heart. A Romantic Biography of James Keir Hardie, in 1956. It has the lot: the struggle against poverty, the self education, the cloth cap, the man of unbending principle, the archetypal Scot whose heart was always in Cumnock with his wife and family, but who was driven to work endlessly for the cause. However, soon afterwards, a history of the Labour Representation Committee for the first time revealed details of the MacDonald-Gladstone pact with the Liberals in 1903 and Hardie’s role in the secret negotiations which form the background to Labour’s success in 1906 (Bealey, 1958, pp. 30-31).

18 Not until 1975 do we have the next substantial biography by Iain McLean. This was a time when there was much debate within the Labour Party about the direction its politics should be taking, and McLean was in sympathy with those who in 1981 broke away from Labour to form a short-lived, centrist Social Democratic Party. It also coincided with the rehabilitation of Ramsay MacDonald in the writings of David Marquand, another supporter of the SDP (Marquand, 1977). McLean was concerned to play down the significance of Hardie’s socialism. He suggests that his socialism, well into the 1890s, was not much more than a belief in land nationalisation – ”the word had no particular implications about attitudes to industrial organization” (McLean, 1975, pp. 20-21). Rather he sees him emerging from a Liberal-Radical position and retaining many of the Liberal-Radical attitudes. His position, he argues, was one of Labourism. It was the first really critical biography, enlarging on Hardie’s readiness to discuss pacts with Liberal radicals, to talk about redrawing party lines and creating a progressive alliance. Hardie, he notes, “was sometimes extraordinarily ruthless, to the point of unscrupulousness, when aroused” (McLean, 1975, p. 75). He also rather delicately hinted at “an emotional over involvement with the WSPU”.

19 It was left to Kenneth Morgan in his biography, coming out in the same year, to take this further. Morgan sees Hardie as bringing a fusion of late 19th century radicalism and socialism, but with the latter coming only gradually. Even as late as 1887 he argues, Hardie, while something of a collectivist, was far from being a thoroughgoing socialist. Marxism was virtually unknown to him. He had no vision of industrial society beyond the limited world of the Scottish miners (Morgan, 1975, p. 22).

20 Before looking at Morgan further, however, we should note Fred Reid’s important thesis and eventual book on the young Hardie, which came out at about the same time

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 77

as Morgan and McLean’s work. He, to a much greater extent that the other two, fits Hardie into a Scottish tradition. He made use of the concept of the independent collier, a mythical concept of the collier as independent labour aristocrat, to explain many of Hardie’s attitudes. But he has no doubt that by 1887 Hardie was converted to socialism and familiar with much socialist writing thanks to his mentor in Lanarkshire, William Small, and to a lively radical group in Cumnock. His socialist utopia was one of independent craftsmen cooperating - cutting out the middle man – but socialism just the same (Reid, 1978).

21 Morgan dealt with the cloth cap image of 1892. Far from its being a cloth cap, it was a country gentleman’s deer-stalker. The trousers were yellow tweed – with checks on which you could play draughts according to John Burns – the tie was bright red. This was not a typical Scottish working man. This was “a Bohemian, an eccentric” (Morgan, 1975, p. 55). James Mavor, one of his contemporaries in Glasgow, described him as “very fastidious about his dress… Hardie looked like an artist, and indeed in general his point of view was that of an artist”. Bruce Glasier noted that “in his manner of dress he had a curious tendency to bizarrerie… he might have been taken for a North Country professor, or perhaps an editor, a literary man or a naturalist” (Glasier, 1919). He liked to be the outsider. The attraction of the unconventional to him also came out in his relationship with Sylvia Pankhurst, which Morgan was the first to write about.

22 The traditional picture had been of Mrs Hardie, the wife at home in Cumnock, with no great interest in politics and bringing up a family in considerable poverty, and Hardie, the devoted family man, who had to sacrifice all this for the cause. It was not quite so. Mrs Hardie claimed after his death that she had on more than one occasion expressed the desire to come to London, but was actively discouraged. She was with him in Merthyr Tydvil at the 1900 election and actually addressed the crowd. Hardie, on the other hand, was not averse to having his own life in Nevills Court, off Fleet Street in London. He seems to have developed passions for the occasional, young Labour woman. Some of his letters of 1893 to Annie Hines, a young Oxfordshire woman, 20 years his junior, survive. He refers to her as “Sparks” and there was clearly a running theme of Hardie as the Knight Errant and she the lady fair he was rescuing from gloom (Morgan, 1975, p. 58). His great passion was for Sylvia Pankhurst, youngest daughter of Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst. Morgan has them having a brief relationship in 1911-1912. A later study of Sylvia suggests that it lasted from around 1905 until his death in 1915. Hardie’s interest in women’s suffrage long pre-dated this. He had known the Pankhursts since the early 1890s and under the pseudonym of “Lily Bell” he had written pieces in the Labour Leader on the position of women: Surely it is an utter absurdity to tell a girl that marriage and motherhood are her chief end in life, as men are so fond of doing, and then even to consider the possibility of allowing her to enter upon such duties in ignorance, leaving her to find out from bitter experience whether or not she is fitted to fulfil them… There is too much prudery, too much fear of speaking plain among us. To what depths of degradation has our humanity fallen, when the very means by which this humanity is perpetuated is regarded as unclean, and almost as if it were “of the devil”, instead of God. (Stevens, 1987, p. 66)

23 Sylvia came to London to study art in 1904 when she was 22 and Hardie was 48. She and Hardie probably became romantically involved soon afterwards and he visited him often at Nevills Court. Letters between them survive from 1911, when Sylvia was in the USA, and 1912. The relationship is not hidden. Sylvia writes to “My Angel dear”,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 78

“darling” and “my dearie” “I don’t want anyone but you but I want you so”. Hardie writes to his “Little Sweetheart” and recalls “the pressure of my arms around you” (Stevens, 1987, p. 112). Fenner Brockway recalls once seeing Sylvia sitting on Hardie’s knee (Brockway, 1977, p. 22).

24 By this time, the great complaint of his colleagues in the Labour Party was that he showed little interest in anything but women’s suffrage and he was more accessible to the suffragettes than to trade unionists. He was prepared to go with the Women’s Social and Political Union in pressing for only limited suffrage to get at least some women the vote, rather than the complete reform to bring universal suffrage which the party was demanding. As MacDonald later noted, “he sorely tried the loyalty of our own women by going out of his way to greet those who had done everything in their power to harass and insult them” (Stewart, 1921, p. XXIII). Caroline Benn suggests that by 1912 “Sylvia was becoming tiring and Hardie escaped whenever possible to do what he really loved, his ‘open air’ work” (Benn, 1992, p. 322). When he died Sylvia wrote movingly of him in The Woman’s Dreadnought of his “deep-set eyes like sunshine distilled, as we see it through the waters of a pool in the brown earth”.

25 In the 1980s Hardie was taken up by the Moral Rearmament Movement as a religious socialist in contrast to atheistical socialism, with a play by Henry MacNicol, The Man they could not buy, and as Christian Socialism has regained influence in the ranks of the recent Labour Governments so Christianity’s importance for Hardie has been emphasised (Dale, 2000, pp. 26-38). The most recent substantial biography was by Caroline Benn in 1992. If one can get behind some of the factual errors and misunderstandings of Scotland in the volume, there are some new and quite interesting things in it. She has a great deal on the family and shows much empathy for a family that had to play second fiddle to the political demands (Benn, 1992).

26 The saintly Hardie still remains in the myths of the Labour Movement, still a name to be contrasted with the pragmatism of New Labour. But a more realistic portrait has now emerged. Whatever he was, he was not the Scottish working man incarnate. He was a one off, but that is not to say that his Scottishness was not important and he ensured that home rule for Scotland became part of the Party’s programme. His socialism was about creating a new type of person and a new society, not about solving industrial problems – “a blinding vision of a new society, in which man would be purified and re-incarnated and mundane human relationships superseded”, according to Morgan (Morgan, 1975, p. 45). He was intolerant of the poorest who were somehow not seen to be trying to improve themselves. As Fred Reid says, he tended to despise the poorest for a lack of moral discipline and was attracted by the idea of home colonies to generate that moral discipline (Reid, 1978, p. 180). In Hardie’s fullest statement of his credo, From Serfdom to Socialism, he wrote, “Socialism is much more than either a political creed or an economic dogma. It presents to the modern world a new conception of society and a new basis upon which to build up the life of the individual and the state” (Hughes, 1956, p. 143). Philip Snowden, on the other hand, makes the point that “though he (Hardie) repudiated the dogma of the ‘class war’, his appeal was invariably to the workers as a class” (Hughes, 1956, p. 220). Although Hardie separated himself from formal, organised religion and wrote against what he called “churchianity” (Benn, 1992, p. 106), he never lost his evangelical fervour. Hyndman wrote of Hardie’s “queer jumble of Asiatic mysticism and supernatural juggling… called Christianity” and Hardie’s closest friend was the Salvation Army officer, Frank Smith.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 79

The busts that adorned his room in Nevills Court were those of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Walt Whitman, although there was a portrait of Marx. But this mixture of Christianity, transcendentalism and socialist theorising was the world of Scottish socialism in the 1880s when Hardie was discovering it. It was not about trade unionism and the ownership of industry: “It is not by talking economics that the world will be made better” (Lowe, 1923, p. 104). It was about a personal transformation.

27 There is no doubt that he was not an easy person. Mary MacArthur, at his funeral, pointed out that he was a “very lonely man… and that he had very few real cronies”. His journalist colleague, Lowe, wrote of him as “a difficult man, reticent”. At the same time, he had considerable vanity, as came out in his appearance and his treatment of colleagues. He had the evangelical’s sense of an inner voice “and only when he was propelled by it was he assured that his work would prevail” (Glasier, 1919, p. 63). But he also could be devious, “an overcunning Scot whose demagogic artfulness one cannot trust”, according to Engels (Morgan, 1975, p. 71). There were others who came to dislike him intensely. As early as 1893 Mrs Webb, who regarded him as “vain and egotistical”, noted in her diary that John Burns’s “hatred of Keir Hardie reaches about the dimensions of mania” (Webb, 1982, 12 October 1893). At a later stage Burns told Hardie to his face that “he would be known as a leader who never won a strike, never organised a Union, governed a parish, or passed a Bill” (Morgan, 1975, p. 277). MacDonald often accused him of vanity and showmanship and a refusal to consult colleagues (Marquand, 1977, p. 108). Robert Blatchford never liked him. Even in old age he declared that Hardie has “neither brains nor guts” (Benn, 1992, p. 135).

28 Hardie was much more an opportunist ready to trim and adjust and collaborate with non socialists than was once admitted. To quote Morgan, “He persistently advocated short-term agreements in pursuit of minimalist goals” (Morgan, 1975, p. 135). In his limited theorising he is not so different from MacDonald or even from the Fabians in seeing socialism coming gradually: That Socialism is revolutionary is not in dispute, but that it can only be won by violent outbreak is in no sense true… I can imagine one reform after another being won until in the end Socialism itself causes no more excitement than did the extinction of landlordism in Ireland a year ago. (Hardie, 1927, p. 121)

29 Morgan makes the point that the problem in Hardie and MacDonald’s relationship was that they were too alike in temperament, “both solitary brooders” (Morgan, 1992, p. 142). The difference was that Hardie was almost incapable of compromising with others, not in theory but in practice. He was clearly driven by some inner vision and inner resolve, a sense of mission, to create a mass working-class party that would actually achieve power, not just be on the fringes of it, but he lacked the temperament to build it. Philip Snowden probably got him about right. He was the unsparing iconoclast who sought to break the illusions and conventions of his generation. He had set himself an ideal which he pursued regardless of the hostility and opposition of enemies and often with scant regard for the criticism and advice of his friends. (Hughes, 1956, p. 3)

30 Nonetheless Hardie’s belief that socialism has to be about the transformation of the individual as well as of society continues to inspire many and the myth remains powerful.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 80

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BEALEY F. and PELLING H., Labour and Politics 1900-1906: A History of the Labour Representation Committee, London, 1958.

BENN C., Keir Hardie, London, 1992.

BROCKWAY F., Towards Tomorrow, London, 1977.

COLE G. D. H., James Keir Hardie, Fabian Society Biographical Series, 1941.

DALE G., God’s Politicians. The Christian Contribution to 100 Years of Labour, London, 2000.

DAVIES A. J., To Build a New Jerusalem. The British Labour Movement from the 1880s to the 1990s, London, 1992.

FYFE H., Keir Hardie, London, 1935.

GLASIER J. B., James Keir Hardie. A Memorial, Manchester, 1919.

—, Keir Hardie: The Man and His Message, London, 1919a.

HARDIE J. K., Speeches and Writings from 1888 to 1915, Emrys Hughes (ed.), Glasgow, 1927.

HARRISON B., Drink and the Victorians. The Temperance Question in England 1815-1872, London, 1971.

HOLROYD M., Bernard Shaw. The Pursuit of Power, London, 1989.

HUGHES E., Keir Hardie. Some Memories, London, 1931.

—, Keir Hardie, London, 1956.

JOHNSON F., Keir Hardie’s Socialism, London, 1922.

LOWE D., From Pit to Parliament. The Story of the Early Life of James Keir Hardie, London, 1923.

MARQUAND D., Ramsay Macdonald, London, 1977.

MCLEAN I., Keir Hardie, London, 1975.

Memoir of James Keir Hardie MP and Tributes to his work by Robert Smillie, J. Ramsay Macdonald MP and Mary MacArthur, Glasgow, 1915.

MORGAN K. O., Keir Hardie. Radical and Socialist, London, 1975.

—, “Britain’s Vietnam? Lloyd George, Keir Hardie and the Importance of the ‘Pro-Boers’”, in W. R. Louis (ed.), Still More Adventures with Britannia, London, 2003.

REID F., Keir Hardie. The Making of a Socialist, London, 1978.

STEVENS C., A Suffragette and a man; Sylvia Pankhurst’s personal and political relationship with Keir Hardie, 1892-1915, Ph. D. thesis, University of Rochester, 1987.

STEWART W., J. Keir Hardie. A Biography, London, 1921.

WEBB B., The Diary of Beatrice Webb, N. and J. MacKenzie (eds.), London, 1982.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 81

AUTHOR

W. HAMISH FRASER University of Strathclyde

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 82

Jean-Pierre Simard (dir.) La réputation du théâtre écossais

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 83

Introduction

Jean-Pierre Simard

1 Il m’a semblé judicieux de placer une réflexion sur le théâtre écossais en perspective avec la nouvelle lecture de quelques figures historiques significatives de cette nation qu’avait proposée le colloque organisé à l’université de Stirling.

2 D’abord, s’emparer de l’histoire est une des spécificités du discours théâtral. Elle concerne plus encore les dramaturges écossais préoccupés de l’histoire de leur nation et de ses relations ambiguës avec sa voisine anglaise. Les personnalités évoquées dans la première partie hantent maints textes dramatiques. À la suite de l’article que Ian Brown a consacré à cette pratique dans l’ouvrage collectif dirigé par Randall Stevenson et Gavin Wallace, Scottish Theatre since the Seventies (1996), divers chercheurs ont approfondi cet examen. Le matériau historique est toujours inscrit dans une dialectique dynamique avec les personnages, les événements ou le vécu social contemporains. Cette conscience de l’identité de la nation et une lecture nouvelle des formes contradictoires de mythification réifiée débouchent sur une perception critique plus sereine, plus complexe, tant d’un présent de la nation en perspective que des potentialités du théâtre écossais comme art du questionnement sous des formes expressives spécifiques. L’espace limité de la revue inscrit les exemples retenus en cohérence avec une réflexion dynamique désormais riche depuis la publication de l’ouvrage cité précédemment, puis la création de la revue en ligne International Journal of Scottish Theatre à Queen Margaret University College d’Édimbourg.

3 Le lecteur aura ainsi accès à un nombre impressionnant d’auteurs et plus encore de pièces de théâtre actuelles ou effacées de la mémoire collective par le déni de ce qui fonde une spécificité thématique et esthétique du théâtre écossais. La réévaluation opérée à partir des années 1990 ouvre des perspectives aux chercheurs des autres champs culturels. Études écossaises se situe depuis l’origine comme un lieu essentiel d’une telle relecture. Il permet aujourd’hui de porter un regard nouveau sur la (non?)- réputation du théâtre écossais. La réflexion que Ian Brown nous propose ici aboutit à un renversement précieux des a priori sur les racines populaires de la représentation en Écosse. En débusquant la contradiction entre les valeurs progressistes défendues par la Scottish Renaissance et ces réticences, il contribue à l’identification d’une spécificité ancienne de la scène écossaise sur laquelle s’appuiera le renouveau d’un théâtre

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 84

populaire animé notamment par John McGrath dans les années 1970. Le large panorama des écritures féminines proposé par Ksenija Horvat confirme cette spécificité écossaise prometteuse, en écho aux travaux antérieurs de Lizbeth Goodman, et à ceux d’Adrienne Scullion ou de Jan MacDonald à l’université de Glasgow, ou encore au bilan offert par Audrey Bain (Stevenson et Wallace, 1996, chap. 11), dans son chapitre « Loose canons: Identifying a woman tradition in playwriting ». Mais surtout, elle nous propose une première analyse des œuvres de toutes jeunes dramaturges émergentes. En examinant tour à tour, ici et dans la troisième partie, la réputation complexe et l’influence de deux créations essentielles du Traverse Theatre lors du festival 1993 à Édimbourg, The People Next Door de Henry Adam, et Dark Earth, la dernière pièce de David Harrower, désormais reconnu dans le nouveau paysage théâtral européen, Danièle Berton détaille deux reflets significatifs de la place de l’histoire dans les arts dramatiques en Écosse. Son article sur Henry Adam confirme la réputation du théâtre de la nation en nous présentant une nouvelle voix, masculine cette fois. Bill Findlay peut alors attirer notre attention sur la traduction des classiques grecs ou européens à l’intention du public écossais. Le travail de Douglas Young, qu’il analyse, s’inscrit dans la perspective de la Scottish Renaissance. Le désir, qu’exprimait alors cette avantgarde intellectuelle, de promouvoir une langue Scots institutionnelle pour contrer la domination de l’anglais permet de reconsidérer aujourd’hui le débat sur l’élitisme de ce mouvement. Bill Findlay avoue en conclusion préférer l’inscription du théâtre de la nation dans ses langues vernaculaires, en écho à la contribution de Ian Brown, comme à d’autres articles de sa main dans les ouvrages antérieurs en référence. Les questions que provoque l’effort de nombreux dramaturges ou traducteurs pour offrir dans ces langues populaires des textes du répertoire international au public local nourrissent le débat sur la réputation. Il m’échoit alors de rechercher les fils de cohérence d’un théâtre proprement écossais pour affiner notre regard sur cette notion et sur l’apport longtemps négligé des siècles passés que John McGrath et les compagnies 7:84 puis Wildcat ont su, avec l’aide des reflets télévisés, réintroduire dans le paysage culturel, en parallèle avec leurs propres créations. Leur influence est désormais reconnue. Celle de Liz Lochhead et des femmes dramaturges émergentes est aujourd’hui confirmée par la reconnaissance acquise par David Harrower et David Greig. Une réponse dynamique collective semble donc esquisser un démenti aux inquiétudes sur l’absence de figures emblématiques de l’écriture dramatique en Écosse. En tout cas, les publications antérieures évoquées constituent, avec le présent numéro comme avec les contributions aux précédentes livraisons de notre revue, un socle critique qui contribue à la reconnaissance du théâtre écossais comme objet de recherche incontournable.

AUTEUR

JEAN-PIERRE SIMARD Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 85

In exile from ourselves? Tartanry, Scottish popular theatre, Harry Lauder and Tartan Day

Ian Brown

1 Within the interactions of any culture, discussion concerning what is « authentic » or « true » is subject to intellectual fashion, social snobbery and political manufacture and profoundly affects responses to cultural expression. Where a « home » culture has a significant diaspora, these discussions may be even more fraught. Questions arise about the nature of « authenticity », the « true » repository of correctness and who has the right to judge what is « true ». Often the home or metropolitan culture will see itself, rightly or wrongly, as having the « authentic » tradition, or at any rate the right to adjudicate on what is « authentic » within its own cultural expressions. These in turn are promoted as the lodestone for any assessment of « authenticity » within the diaspora culture. These cultural expressions are, often, of course, developed and presented in theatrical and quasi-theatrical modes, including popular theatre performance and the management of public ceremonial. This article will consider the cultural expression of « Scottishness » through tartanry and popular theatre forms. In doing so, the question of what purposes the use of such terms as « authenticity » or « truth » serve with regard to such cultural expression will be considered. It will be argued that, in fact, such terms or their cognates have sometimes been appropriated in a way that distracts discussion and understanding away from important issues in the dynamics of cultural identity.

2 As time passes, and traditions emerge, or are manufactured, coteries of interest form, claiming the right to define what is acceptable, correct or right. Whether authorised by others, as with Louis XIV’s foundation of the Académie Française, or self-appointed as with, for example, the members of the Scottish Renaissance Movement, such coteries arrogate to themselves the right to define and promulgate what is « authentic » or « true ». Clearly the degree of authority any such coterie is formally assigned or achieves through custom and practice will vary from case to case and time to time. The working of such coteries – and they include critical coteries – nevertheless affects the ways in which a culture perceives and values itself. Internally, coteries often establish powerful and even autocratic rules of taste that may mean that the very reading of history is profoundly affected by prevailing perceptions or permitted readings. In turn, these «

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 86

rules » may affect relations with diaspora members and the perceptions of the diaspora’s own view of what is « authentic ». This paper considers the perception of certain strands of Scottish popular culture and theatre, both historic and current, and seeks to consider larger lessons to be learned from an analysis of the historical context behind such perceptions. In doing so, it will address the ways iconic figures like Harry Lauder have been seen. It will consider whether the time has come to re-evaluate aspects of popular theatre and culture that have in recent years been regarded as « inauthentic » and somehow unworthy. It will finally relate these considerations, drawing on personal observations of the author, to the public ceremonies of Scottish diaspora communities, including such public theatre as the Tartan Day celebrations in the United States of America.

3 In 1981 Murray and Barbara Grigor curated an exhibition, Scotch Myths presented at St Andrews and Edinburgh. Out of the experience of this exhibition a number of articles1 and, above all, Colin McArthur’s collection of essays, Scotch Reels (1982) was published, critical of tartanry and all its works. McArthur himself observes: Denied by history [because of the effects of Unionist imperialism and precocious industrialisation] a place in the cadres of the forces of progress […] and shorn of the role of shaping – through particular works of art and polemic – the ideologies appropriate to a burgeoning nation, Scottish artists and intellectuals, where they did not leave Scotland and function solely within the discourses of other cultures, produced works in or about Scotland which were deformed and « pathological ». Undoubtedly the most dominating on the « pathological » discourses are Tartanry and Kailyard, traditionally a source of dismay and aversion to Scottish intellectuals, but regrettably not the object of any sustained analysis2.

4 Cairns Craig observes of these so-called « pathological » discourses: Tartanry and Kailyard, seemingly so opposite in their [noble Celtic and mundane, parodic lowland] ethos, are the joint creations of an imagination which, in recoil from the apparently featureless integration of Scottish life into an industrial culture whose power and whose identity lies outside Scottish control, acknowledges its own inability to lay hold of contemporary reality by projecting itself upon images of a society equally impotent before the forces of history. This turning of the back on the actuality of modern Scottish life is emblematically conveyed in the figure of Harry Lauder – Kailyard consciousness in tartan exterior – who evacuates from his stage persona, indeed from his whole identity, the world of the Lanarkshire miners from which he began3.

5 Murray Grigor, in the same collection, remarks of the development of tartanry: Banned for almost a generation after the’45, the wearing of the tartan was wholly legitimised and appropriated when George IV appeared kilted in Edinburgh in 1822. Tartan gave way to Tartanry in a massive mythicising surge with MacIan’s prints [of romanticised Highlanders] […] offering historically inaccurate but ideologically fulfilling models for Victorian Scots bent on constructing their own personal Scottish past4.

6 John Caughie continues the attack: It is precisely the regressiveness of the frozen discourses of Tartanry and Kailyard that […] can be drawn upon to give the « flavour of Scotland », a petrified culture with a misty, mythic, and above all, static past5.

7 The overarching theme of both exhibition and articles was to excoriate tartanry, the sentimentalisation of Scottish culture through the manufacture of what was presented as a false representation of Scottish identity, and what was represented as its interlinked partner in cultural identity theft, Kailyard.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 87

8 Yet, it must be clear that identity is never simply any one thing. There can be no doubt, from the very fact that the exhibition was possible, that for many decades what was called by its critics « Tartanry » had been an important definer of aspects of Scottish identity, both at home and among diaspora members. It was not then, and never had been, the case that all Scottish identity was bound up in tartanry. Tartanry was and, despite the assaults by its critics, still is one of the elements that go to make up perceptions of Scottishness. Of course, in their assaults on tartanry such critics were part of a tradition in Scottish cultural politics that goes back at least as far as Hugh MacDiarmid’s famous attacks on Harry Lauder in poetry and prose: It’s no’sae easy as it’s payin’ To be a fule like Lauder […] The problems o’the Scottish soul Are nocht to Harry Lauder6.

9 MacDiarmid praises his own « singleness of mind » to which he claims « a sense of humour » is enemy and boasts, in this context, of my furious attacks on Sir Harry Lauder, Will Fyffe, Tommy Morgan, and the other Scotch comedians – and the « chortling wut », like the offscourings of the patter of these clowns which is so large a constituent of Scottish life on every social level. (MacDiarmid, 1943, p. 80)

10 Earlier, MacDiarmid had claimed to have « never met a single intelligent Scot, who would be seen at a Lauder performance »7. The vehemence of his stance and his desire to separate Lauder from « the Scottish people » leads MacDiarmid to claim, in the same article, that the reason Lauder’s performances in Scotland played to full houses was because « There are plenty of non-Scottish people in Scotland to supply him with the necessary audiences » (MacDiarmid, 1997, p. 114). Regrettably, we appear not to have data regarding audience composition with which to prove or disprove such an assertion. It must be said, however, that the idea of Lauder’s filling the largest theatres in Scotland on a regular basis on the basis of the non-Scots in the population seems a little far-fetched. Indeed, such an assertion might seem a little like a desperate – and unsustainable – attempt to maintain MacDiarmid’s argument that Lauder is not really « truly » Scottish. (Or it may even be that he considers Scots who attend Lauder’s performances as not « really » Scots, that is, redefining these Scots as « non-Scots ». If it were this, then the spuriousness of the self-serving legerdemain would seem entirely clear – and threadbare). MacDiarmid’s attempt to separate Lauder from his full houses of Scots reminds us of Craig Beveridge and Ronald Turnbull’s description of such a stance as « inferiorism ». Discussing the application of Frantz Fanon’s term « inferiorisation » in describing the cultural dimensions of colonialism, they talk of the role of the « intelligentsia », including, presumably, critics, as follows: Drawn to an external culture which is hostile or condescending towards Scotland, the intelligentsia display a marked alienation from their compatriots. A pointed example is to be found in the way intellectuals write about the working class8.

11 And, it might be added, working class entertainment, especially when it might be seen as having a right-wing bias and even when they have working class roots themselves. It is sometime hard in considering the views underlying these attacks not to discern something of what Paul Maloney calls: the demonising tendencies of crusaders against music halls of the 1870s, one of whom had written that « one’s blood runs cold to think that there are men and

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 88

women in our midst who can pander to the vile tastes of those who frequent such places »9.

12 Such underlying views have recently come into serious question. David McCrone, for example, argues: Indeed, if our argument is correct that, far from being dependent on or subservient to England since 1707, Scotland has operated with a considerable degree of civil autonomy, then it follows that its cultural formations and expressions reflected that. Those who point out that nineteenth-century Kailyard was not the simple expression of a deformed culture, but one manifestation of a developing international literature, have their analogue in those who attribute the popularity of tartanry to the development of music hall and vaudeville in the twentieth century. In practice, the ant-tartanry, anti-Kailyard obsessions of writers on the 1970s have not only been questioned as historically inaccurate, but many of the symbols themselves have been mobilised as icons of opposition against current political arrangements. (McCrone, p. 187)

13 McCrone goes on to summarise his position: Much of the attack on tartanry and Kailyard has depended on an uncritical assumption that their impact has been comprehensive and homogenous. (McCrone, p. 189)

14 On the question of tartanry itself, Murray Pittock has offered acute, sustained and historically deeply researched critiques of the mythology of « Scotch Myths ». He observes, for example: we may do right if we feel uneasy about the degree of demythologisation which has challenged the kitsch of tartanry in the last quarter of a century, […] such demythologisation is effectively only the creation of a new myth. In Scottish popular history and cultural studies, the exposure of so-called « myths » to which our cultural identity has been in thrall has become quite an industry. The exposure of « myths » is held to be of service. I cannot find it so. […] the destruction of myths is itself a manifestation of the values of a centring « British » history. The attack on tartanry is only a further attack on self, yet another example of those earlier attacks which themselves were responsible for simultaneously limiting and exaggerating the role of tartan in Scottish identity. (Murray, p. 117-118)

15 Pittock has recently summarised his view on the role of tartan and tartanry as follows: tartan was not the synthetic production of nationality by WS [Walter Scott], but the badge of « old Scotland », hence the Jacobite armies were uniformed in it in 1688-1746, irrespective of origin. When it was revitalized in C19, it was not the invention, but the reaccommodation of the national self within a British paradigm which allowed its survival as – well, as theatre – eventually music-hall and the degringolade which led us to 1980s Hogmanay programming. To excoriate it for being false Scottishness on those grounds is to deny Britishness any formative role in modern Scottish identity. The reappropriation of it (as in the US) I think more mature than the striving for « authenticity », especially when that « authenticity » is, as in the Invention of Tradition accounts of tartan, erroneous & inadequate10.

16 Dealing with the topic of Scottish popular theatre and particularly Harry Lauder’s predecessor W. F. Frame, Alasdair Cameron and Adrienne Scullion reinforce the points being made by McCrone and Pittock when they observe of the image of the Scotch comic: We want to reconsider this image, and with that the other images of Scotland, Scottishness, Scotsmen and Scottish women created for and disseminated by the Scottish popular stage, insisting upon the enormous success and appeal of such images for the audience for whom they were created. Further, we want to suggest that the totemic images of the Scotch comic […] were approved and even celebrated

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 89

as symbols of a nationality which, under normal circumstances, audiences were never allowed to express. These images, be they nostalgic, parochial or romantic, were produced and maintained within the entertainment ecology of Scotland but were given their universal power and currency by their appeal to the Scottish diaspora of North America and the Empire11.

17 It is noteworthy that Cameron and Scullion revise McCrone’s dating of tartanry as a music hall phenomenon back from the twentieth to the nineteenth century.

18 Certainly, Lauder with his overstated tartan costumes and couthy humour has often been seen as the reductio ad absurdum of a synthetic Scottishness. For this he has been excoriated both in his time and since. Yet Lauder and his predecessor, W. F. Frame, were not only popular in Scotland, but international stars. Lauder himself travelled throughout Britain, Canada, the USA and Australia. What he was engaged in was ideologically controversial; clearly, it was not in any sense unpopular with Scots at home or in the diaspora. Part of the purpose of this article is to argue that the assault on Lauder and his peers, and by extension what is called « tartanry » as a « Scotch Myth », fails to take account of a number of factors both cultural and theatrical that shaped his performances. His function was far more positive than MacDiarmid, for one, understood. In order to understand this function, it is worth considering the position of Scotland within the United Kingdom throughout the nineteenth century.

19 Cairns Craig has recently argued that there has been a misreading of the relationship of Scotland and England since the Union, one which sees Scotland as somehow subsumed within Britain and « Britain » another term for « England ». Craig, however, suggests: there is an alternative way of viewing these relationships: what nineteenth-century Scotland developed was a Scoto-British constitutional identity whose nationalism consisted in the long-drawn-out struggles to maintain the independence of precisely those institutions – church, law and education – which had originally been guaranteed by the Act of Union. The paradox, in other words, is that Scotland’s nationalism was already enshrined within the Act of Union, and defence of the Union was the first and immediate resort for those defending the rights of Scottish culture. As Graeme Morton has argued, « unionist nationalism » was the very basis of nineteenth-century Scottish culture, so that « however strange it may seem to twentieth-century nationalists: Scotland wanted more union, not less. Scotland’s mid-nineteenth-century nationalists believed their nation had entered the union of 1707 as an equal, and that was how they demanded to be treated ». Indeed, the movement for Scottish Home Rule developed not so much out of resistance to the Union but out of insistence upon it, and upon the fact that the treaty was being breached by the Westminster parliament12.

20 Craig’s insight is interesting, albeit perhaps rather general, and, like any good theory, provides explanations for observed phenomena. In particular it offers another explanation for the absence of separatist nationalism of any great force in Scotland during the nineteenth century. Then, in other European nations nationalism was a strong force, whether for unification in Germany or for separatism in the Austro- Hungarian Empire (culturally, as for example in the foundation of the Croatian National Theatre as long ago as 1832, or politically, as in the 1848 Hungarian Rising). The engagement of Scots in the enterprise of Empire may well provide economic and social reasons to complement and support « unionist nationalism », and incidentally provide the reason for some of the diaspora’s existence. The political thrust identified by Craig, however, provides one possible unifying ideology for Scots engaged in Empire. Craig’s argument complements Pittock’s on the embracing of tartanry as a unifying Scottish symbol from before the time of the Treaty of Union to that of Harry Lauder and beyond.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 90

Within the framework of the Union, it was essential to find easily identifiable and specifically Scottish symbols that might mark the continuing identity of the equal partner in the Union that Scotland constituted. Lauder, like his predecessor, W. F. Frame, effectively follows, even if he exaggerates, the use of Highland dress as symbol of « old Scotland ».

21 Lauder’s use of tartan, further, had an underlying theatrical dimension that lay in the nature of the music hall in which he made his career. A number of theatre historians have made the point that the music hall in Scotland is a separate institution from that of England with its own development and traditions. Paul Maloney, for example observes that the music hall that evolved in Scotland has a special place in the nation’s theatrical life: highly influenced by the fairground tradition, it was not, as in England, necessarily seen as a cruder appendage to an aesthetically rich legitimate theatre, but rather as something much closer to the mainstream, and to the Scots vernacular stage which constituted many people’s experience of theatre-going. (Maloney, p. 8)

22 Maloney goes on to discuss the fact that music hall in Scotland enshrines popular Scottish people’s theatre – alongside pantomime in the wake of the decline in the mid to late nineteenth-century of the National Drama. The latter was, of course, shaped by highly popular adaptations of Scott’s novels for the stage that made use of Scots language, theatrical conventions and actors. Barbara Bell identifies this form as responding to a real sense of frustration among many Scots at the perceived cultural and institutional drift towards reducing the status of their nation to « North Britain », which was only partly halted by the work of Burns and Baillie. Dramatisations of the Waverley Novels began to effect a real change. […] Their comparative respectability, despite their setting in Scotland’s recent past, allowed their transfer on to the stage, where they made Scotland’s history an acceptable subject for representation. […] for the first time in many years, Scotland’s actual history and character were considered serious subjects for plays and players. […] the Scots, hungry to reassert their shared cultural identity in a public arena, returned again and again to see their national heroes and heroines portrayed in authentic Scottish settings by Scottish actors with Scottish accents. (Barbara Bell, « The Nineteenth Century », Findlay, 1998, p. 141)

23 The Scottish musical hall, then, according to Maloney, continued in some way to portray, in Bell’s words, « Scottish settings by Scottish actors with Scottish accents ». Indeed, he argues that its influence did not cease in the nineteenth century: In this context the Scottish music hall can be seen to have been directly in the line of a mainstream Scottish popular theatre tradition that continued through the socialist plays of Joe Corrie and the Fife Miners’Players, who performed their one- act plays to working-class audiences in music halls and variety theatres, to the radical popular theatre of companies such as Wildcat and John McGrath’s 7: 84 Theatre Company in the 1970s and 1980s, who claimed its legacy as their own. (Maloney, p. 8-9)

24 This places Scottish music hall and its performers within a rather subversive genealogy.

25 The linkage between the performers in the popular National Drama and later popular forms such as the music hall is clear. Bell, referring to Charles Mackay, leading performer for W. H. Murray’s Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, famed for his performances in Scott, pre-eminently as Baillie Nicol Jarvie, and the byword of authenticity as « the real Mackay », notes:

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 91

Very early on the National Drama had also spawned the phenomenon of characters who stepped out of their play settings to perform songs or monologues as individual acts, the forerunners of the well-loved characters created by Scottish variety artists. Mackay, for example, toured an « Interlude » ostensibly from St Ronan’s Well, which was a thinly veiled opportunity for him to sing « There cam a young man to my Daddy’s door » in character as Meg Dods. (Bell, Findlay, p. 153).

26 It is difficult to know in light of current research whether Mackay was following an existing tradition of working across boundaries between what would now be seen as text-based and variety theatre or establishing such boundary crossing as an acting mode for the first time. It is, nevertheless, certain that since his time such boundary transgression by leading actors has been a specific dimension of Scottish theatre practice. Bill Findlay notes, for example, that James Houston, having established himself as a Scotch comic, « was invited to take the part of Bailie Nicol Jarvie in Rob Roy at the Theatre Royal, Glasgow, in 1875. He was then forty-seven years old »13. At that age, Houston was already established as a Scotch comic and so Findlay’s observation that he now established himself as a « natural comic actor » reminds us of the continuity of the line from Mackay himself. Indeed, Houston makes the point that he had now, in his own words, « secured the mantle of his noted predecessors »14 who included Mackay himself. This line in Scottish performativity continues even into modern times. Such current figures as Una McLean, Andy Grey, Forbes Masson and Elaine C. Smith, for example, work on the Scottish stage in both straight drama and pantomime.

27 Alasdair Cameron and Adrienne Scullion place the genesis of Scottish music hall in the Saltmarket area of Glasgow, one of the most deprived areas of the city and home to first the waves of dispossessed Highlanders who came to Glasgow in the wake of the Clearances and subsequently to the Irish immigrants who came in the wake of famine and in pursuit of work. In the pubs and shebeens of this community drink gave way to ceilidhs and informal sing-songs and music making. (Cameron and Scullion, p. 40)

28 Scullion further suggests that, whatever the linked, but separate, English experience may have been, in Scotland « a particular and significant influence in the evolution towards music halls per se came from this ceilidh tradition, which these communities brought with them to industrialising Glasgow ». She goes on: I, therefore, see the ceilidh as a key factor in the development of what is a uniquely independent Scottish popular theatre. It may indeed by the case that music hall in Glasgow developed slightly ahead of music hall in London (which tends to be dated in the 1850s), and although this needs more careful sourcing, the influence of the immigrant Highlanders moving to Glasgow, combined with the particular scale and reputation of the Glasgow Fair points to an independent (and significantly early) evolution of this type of entertainment. (Cameron and Scullion, p. 40, fn. 3)

29 It is widely accepted that « free and easies », which were « informally organised concerts put on in the backrooms of public houses » and effectively a form of ceilidh, were immediate antecedents of the music hall (Maloney, p. 27). Scullion’s theory, then, has much to commend it in the particular cultural context of early and mid nineteenth- century Glasgow.

30 Adrienne Scullion is not alone in detecting and identifying specific Scottish cultural elements in Scottish music hall and « Scottish Variety », its later development. Femi Folorunso, for example, places the latter firmly in a popular tradition going back four centuries:

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 92

from its introduction until the late 1940s, it was the most popular and richest form of entertainment in Scotland […] and […] occupied the middle space in a direct line from the seventeenth-century popular entertainment to contemporary drama in Scotland15.

31 Indeed, he dates the interaction of popular and text-based theatre to a very early period: We now know, for instance, that a pattern of utilitarian drama was established in Scotland before the Reformation. This pattern achieved its highest standards in Sir David Lindsay’s Ane Satire of the Thrie Estaitis. A close scrutiny of the language and techniques of this play suggests very much the kind of imposition […] of literary order on popular elements in order to make some urgent, serious political statements. (Stevenson & Wallace, p. 182)

32 Folorunso also discusses the origin of the specific popular theatre form of the Scottish pantomime. He argues that this perpetuates elements of the wonderful and supernatural that may initially have been inspired by Celtic folklore, or descended partly from seventeenth-century circuses and mountebank shows (Stevenson & Wallace, p. 183). His work, then, concurs with that of Scullion, Cameron and Maloney in seeing Scottish popular theatre in its various forms as embodying not just an assertion of Scottish difference, but doing so on the basis of its development out of, and incorporation of, older Scottish forms. Such difference continues to the present day. In discussing the development of 7: 84 (Scotland) Theatre Company, Maria DiCenzo observes: One of the advantages of the Scottish [7: 84] company was that it could merge class politics with specific regional/national problems for an audience more than ready to listen to and support them. Scottish issues provided a focus for the subject matter of the plays and popular Scottish entertainment (both rural and urban) provided the language through which to reach audiences. (DiCenzo, p. 85)

33 She goes on to note: In theatrical terms, what Scotland could claim to be its own was a tradition of popular forms such as music hall and panto – live forms of entertainment in which music and comedy figure prominently. (DiCenzo, p. 87)

34 An additional and central element in this tradition is, of course, the Scots language. While there has not been extensive study of its use in itself on the Scottish stage, there is clear evidence that the use of Scots forms a conscious part of the tradition of contemporary variety performers (and indeed playwrights). Doctoral research currently being completed by Margaret Munro makes entirely clear that this is in part in order to assert community of culture with audiences16. Bill Findlay, following work by Alasdair Cameron, talks of the use of Scots language in the nineteenth century as addressing « a nationalist assertiveness in Scottish audiences » preference for Scottish material on the Victorian stage’bound up with the creation of a new national identity: the demand for Scots language material can, at least partly, be seen as reflecting an assertion of community. Although it is, of course, important not to forget the sheer enjoyment aspect, in terms both of the shared pleasure of linguistic and cultural recognition, and the escapism afforded by comedy, in a complementary way I think the demand for Scots language material can also be seen as contributing to the creation of a national identity through Scottish types. (Findlay, p. 34)

35 One of the attractions of asserting cultural community is the potential for establishing a cultural identity of using language that may be difficult for others to understand. Ian Brown and Katja Lenz have drawn attention to just such a device in the use of Scots in

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 93

the BBC television comedy series The High Life, written and performed in by the actors Forbes Masson and Alan Cummings and broadcast in 1995. Brown and Lenz talk of the writer/performers’ « linguistic awareness » and their concern to exploit the creative potential of the interaction of English and Scots in dialogue, and their use of Scots words and forms, particularly those incomprehensible to English-only speakers, to achieve a subversive comic effect17.

36 The subversive effect undermines the authority of a monolingual English-speaking hegemony that cannot understand the implications of what is addressed to its members in Scots. At times, this subversion extends beyond the drama into the authors’relationship to the BBC itself. The word « fud » was used freely on several occasions in this series. This, of course, is the Scots word for the female genitalia and to Scots speakers can cause offence as much as its English equivalent, which is so proscribed that it is often referred to as the « c-word ». It is inconceivable that the English word would be used in an early evening programme like The High Life, or perhaps at all, on BBC television, while Masson and Cummings were able to infiltrate this word into their scripts at apparent will. Presumably this was possible because monolingual English editors did not understand the effect of what was being said in terms of producers’guidelines about what was permissible before the nine o’clock watershed. This is a particular case, of course, but illustrates the power of Scots still to act as a cultural identifier. In this performance context, Scots language use can often seem to have the subversive role of camp language. « Camp » engages and politicizes by providing alternative, even oblique sensibilities which broaden and more often than not challenge, traditional ways of perceiving situations and objects. It creates new ways of seeing and relating to authority, […] Camp is always undermining authority, whether this be aesthetic, literary or artistic « rules » or political or social power. (Lucas, p. 115)

37 Particularly in popular culture, this function of undermining authority is one that Scots language use often fulfils.

38 Given all of this historic and contextual material, it seems wise to re-evaluate the role of figures like Harry Lauder as significant and positive emblems of aspects of Scottish culture within a potentially hegemonic and metropolitanised politico-cultural context. Indeed, such phenomena as the BBC Television programme, The White Heather Club, which ran from 1958 to 1968, may stand as emblem for more recent versions of Lauderism and tartanry that have been easy to excoriate, but have served more positive functions than a middle-class establishment has always been ready to allow. The BBC’s own Website, in referring to this programme as a key product of its period, observes in a queasy self-commentary: Andy Stewart presented and sang in the Scottish country dance music show which, at its peak, drew in an audience of 10 million and turned Stewart into an international star. This very Scottish image, awash with kilts and fiddles, is one which the rest of the network took to be a true representation of Scotland18!

39 The exclamation mark speaks for the unease of the modern commentator faced with the sentimentality of The White Heather Club. Yet, it is truly doubtful that anyone in their right mind could have taken the tartanised sentimental faux-jollity of The White Heather Club as a « true » and full representation of Scottish life in all its complexity and richness in age when, for example, both coal and ship-building industries were in full swing. Indeed part of the problem with such a misperception is that is assumes that

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 94

there is in fact such a thing as a « true representation » of Scotland. Even significant critics have fallen into such an essentialist trap. John Caughie has observed: the memory of The White Heather Club lingers on as if it were only yesterday […] and although Hogmanay specials only happen once a year it takes at least twelve months to forget them. As well as being almost fascinating in their awfulness, such programmes have a particular regressive potency precisely because they slot into the recognisable discourses so smoothly. However infrequent they may be, they have a certain defining power, confirming and reinforcing the image of the « essentially Scottish ». (McArthur, p. 120)

40 It is certainly not hard to agree with Murray Pittock’s description of the process that led to 1980s Hogmanay programming as a degringolade, a sharp decline, but that is a matter of critical taste about a particular form of programming and performance. Such a view is entirely understandable and many reading this article would agree with it. Such a judgement of taste should, however, not be confused with arguments such as Caughie presents about conceptions of essential Scottishness, a doubtful concept in any case, requiring severe interrogation.

41 It is equally questionable that Harry Lauder, a contemporary of, to name but three, Andrew Carnegie, Sir Alexander Fleming and Hugh MacDiarmid himself, could be seen as, on his own, the archetypal Scot. What both Lauder and, later, The White Heather Club with Andy Stewart do is sustain a specific strand within a varied Scottish culture. This strand, like it or not, incorporates popular and music hall traditions which are at times trivial and fatuous in ways that infuriate such intellectuals as Hugh MacDiarmid, but are nonetheless Scottish for that. And this strand is part of range of means by which Scots maintained their cultural identity and self-awareness in the context of what Craig, quoting Graeme Morton, calls unionist nationalism. Such devices, however, while arising in a context in which unionist nationalism is important in maintaining a Scottish identity within a separate but equal political union, are not restricted to that function. They also serve a sense of identity that may work against, as much as for, unionism. However Lauder’s version of tartanised Scottishness arose within a unionist context, tartanry itself serves the sense of Scottish identity first and foremost, not that of unionism. It sustains one of the wide range of Scottish identities that may as easily find a new expression outside the Union as within.

42 Anyone who watches the exaggerations of Lauder and The White Heather Club will recognise two further factors. One is that, within the dramaturgic context of music hall and variety where most « turns » lasted around four to seven minutes and had far fewer to establish an impact, caricature was a crucial theatrical convention, whether provided by Scotch Comedians or Cockney Singers like Marie Lloyd. The second is that an ironic and self-caricaturing function is served by such performances, not unlike, in a similar politico-imperial context, that of the Good Soldier Schweyk. Indeed, the campness of the costumes of Lauder or The White Heather Club dancers, singers and dancing serves for the informed observer precisely the subversive function of Camp mentioned earlier. There is knowingness about Andy Stewart’s version of Scottishness that challenges its being taken at face value. Certainly, the tendency to sentimentality often works against the material being presented. Lauder’s « Keep right on to the end of the road » is often seen as a sentimental song about homecoming when it is more appropriately read as a counsel against despair, and even suicide, written by a widower whose only – and childless – son has been killed in war. Stewarts’Scottish Soldier is undoubtedly a paean at one level to Scottish militarism. Nonetheless, its braggart

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 95

patriotism is asserted through flaccid rhymes – « soldier… none bolder » – that undermine the very braggadocio being asserted.

43 It is not the purpose of this paper to assert that all was admirable about the phenomenon of tartanry or the sentiments of the Scottish music hall. Rather it seeks to assert that they embody far more complex realities than more condemnatory critics have allowed. It is arguable that those critics have responded to a surface and simplistic reading of a phenomenon that has greater complexity, richness and importance for the sustenance of the varieties of Scottish identity than their arguments appear to grasp. A full critique of Lauder cannot be found in the polemic and politically committed stances of MacDiarmid or of tartanry in those of Grigor and McArthur. It is not possible here, either, to attempt a detailed critique of Lauder’s performances, but the merest review of the iconography of his costumes will establish his use of tartanry as an identifier of a version of Scottish culture. And the varieties of Scottish culture remain important differentiators in the context of the dangers of globalisation. As John McGrath has observed of the value of diversity: Diversity in nature, in human experience, in the language of living, in peoples, is one of the great sources of joy. A culture that is loved, guarded, and developed will tend to have more subtlety, more specific reference, more density than a demotic that has to serve the needs of half the world19.

44 Even the commercialised version of Scottishness embodied in Lauder’s music hall and The White Heather Club serves in conjunction with other expressions of Scottish identity, including the poetry and prose of MacDiarmid, the function of asserting diversity.

45 It remains true, however, that contemporary Scots in Scotland often feel unease at such versions of their culture. Such unease may be found in current critical discourse. The drama critic, Joyce McMillan, for example, faced with W. S. Gilbert’s ironic use of the stereotypical Stage Scotsman of melodrama, observes in a review of Gilbert’s Engaged at Pitlochry Festival Theatre: The play opens in a kitsch Victorian version of Scotland, where the wily locals have taken to derailing trains so that they can turn a honest penny by offering shelter and refreshments to the travelling gentry; whether modern Scots are supposed to find this casual slap of metropolitan attention flattering or enraging is hard to say, but it’s certainly formidably silly20.

46 Clearly, in this context, McMillan might have allowed more tolerance to a theatrical convention that is now nearly a century and half old, relating to another time and now presented on stage as a historical phenomenon. Yet, her unease reflects something of the general unease of contemporary Scots faced with such a phenomenon. The Stage Irishman of the melodrama is now easily tolerated, even celebrated, as in various revivals over the last two decades, at the Royal National Theatre, Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum Theatre and the Abbey Theatre, of Boucicault’s classic melodrama, The Shaughran. It may be that the Irish stereotype is more acceptable because of the different political status of Ireland in the modern age. It would certainly be a sign of growing maturity and historical understanding if the Victorian theatre’s Stage Scotsman were equally well understood and accepted as the product of specific historical conditions21. It is a double irony that WS Gilbert’s satire on a melodramatic convention should be taken at face value and so criticised in a modern review.

47 Scottish culture in any case is not just for Scotland. The market offered by diaspora Scots, for example, sustained the careers of earlier icons like Frame and, especially, Lauder. Yet, while Scottish culture is mother culture for the diaspora, the diaspora

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 96

preserves its own versions of that Scottish culture that it holds in high regard, however they are perceived at home. In Wagram, North Carolina, for example, on the morning of Saturday, 6 September 2002, the author was witness to the following ceremonial events. The sound of bagpipes was to be heard as police stopped the traffic on that small town’s main street. Along came a kilted pipe band playing Scotland the Brave and on the main crossroads of the town the procession halted. A group of young people toward the front of the procession in Highland dress Highland danced on that crossing. The procession then proceeded with fire engines and other civic vehicles representing the whole local community. The band members and dancers clearly included a majority of Hispanic Americans and Lumbee Indians – probable descendants of Native Americans’intermarrying with Walter Raleigh’s abandoned Roanoke Island settlers. This was their culture as much as anyone’s. Their version of Scottishness had become appropriated and appropriate to their needs and their diaspora Scottish cultural identity – even to the extent that it included those who had adopted a diaspora Scots identity in the Scottish dominated areas of North Carolina. It is possible for home Scots to regard such activity and the many Highland Games of North America and Australia as sentimental and old-fashioned. Yet, they clearly celebrate something that is the Scottish diaspora’s – and another strand of Scottishness. Indeed it is hard to argue that what was seen at Wagram – or in the more famous manifestations of Tartan Day, established as recently as 1998 – is in fact old-fashioned. However based on historic forms, it is a public re-fashioning of another aspect of Scottish identity. It is as much a part of the world culture that is Scottish as the work of the most cutting-edge home- based modern artists and critics. One thing that a study of the history of popular theatre, of the music hall and Harry Lauder, teaches us is that there are those, often self-appointed and even seeming unco guid, who would narrow the definition of Scottish culture by the use of their own manufactured shibboleths. Another thing such a study teaches is that Scottish culture is a large, dynamic and international mansion with many houses filled by many varieties of « authenticity » and « truth » to such an extent that these terms may serve little valuable function22.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

CAMERON Alasdair and SCULLION Adrienne (eds.), Scottish Popular Theatre and Entertainment, Glasgow, Glasgow University Library, 1996.

DICENZO Maria, The Politics of Alternative Theatre in Britain, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996.

FINDLAY Bill (ed.), A History of Scottish Theatre, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1998.

HOLDSWORTH Nadine (ed.), Naked thoughts that roam about, London, Nick Hern Books, 2002.

LUCAS Ian, Impertinent Decorum, London, Cassell, 1994.

MCARTHUR Colin (ed), Scotch Reels: Scotland in Cinema and Television, London, British Film Institute, 1982.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 97

MACDIARMID Hugh, Lucky Poet: A Self-Study in Literature and Political Ideas, London, Methuen, 1943.

MACDIARMID Hugh, Complete Poems 1920-1976, vol. 1, Michael Grieve and W. R. Aitken (ed.), London, Martin Brian & O’Keeffe, 1978.

MACDIARMID Hugh, The Raucle Tongue: Hitherto uncollected prose, vol. II, Angus Calder, Glen Murray and Alan Riach (ed.), Manchester, Carcanet, 1997.

MALONEY Paul, Scotland and the music hall 1850-1914, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2003.

MCCRONE David, Understanding Scotland: The sociology of a stateless nation, London, Routledge, 1992.

MEISEL Martin, Shaw and the Nineteenth-Century Theater, Princeton NJ and London, Princeton University Press, 1963.

MURRAY G. Pittock, The Myth of the Jacobite Clans, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1995.

SCHNEIDER Edgar W. (ed.), Englishes Around the World, vol. 1, Amsterdam/Philadelphia, John Benjamins Publishing Company, 1997.

STEVENSON Randall and WALLACE Gavin (eds.), Scottish Theatre since the Seventies, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1996.

NOTES

1. See, for example, Colin MacArthur [sic], « Breaking the Signs: “Scotch Myths” as Cultural Struggle », Cencrastus, no. 7, Winter 1981-1982, p. 21-25; Colin McArthur, « Scotch Reels and After », Douglas and Ouainé Blair, Gillian Skirrow, « Woman, Women and Scotland: “Scotch Reels” and Political Perspectives », Cairns Craig, « Visitors from the Stars: Scottish Film Culture », all grouped under the heading, « Scotland: The Reel Image », Cencrastus, no. 11, New Year 1983, p. 2-11. 2. « Introduction », McArthur, 1982, p. 2. 3. Cairns Craig, « Myths Against History: Tartanry and Kailyard in 19th-Century Scottish Literature », McArthur, p. 13. 4. Murray Grigor, « From Scott-land to Disneyland », McArthur, 1982, Scotch Reels, p. 17. 5. John Caughie, « Scottish Television: What Would It Look Like? », McArthur, p. 116. 6. « To Circumjack Cencrastus », McDiarmid, 1978, p. 248. 7. Hugh MacDiarmid [identified as « Special Correspondent »], « Scottish People and Scotch Comedians », The Stewartry Observer, 23 August 1928 (MacDiarmid, 1997, p. 114). 8. Craig Beveridge and Ronald Turnbull, « Inferiorism », Cencrastus, no. 8, Spring 1982, p. 4. 9. (Maloney, 2003, p. 140), quoting from « A Night in a Glasgow Music Hall », letter, North British Daily Mail, 24 February 1875, p. 4. 10. Murray G. Pittock, personal communication, October 2004. 11. Alasdair Cameron and Adrienne Scullion, « W. F. Frame and the Scottish Popular Theatre Tradition » (Cameron & Scullion, 1996, p. 39). 12. Cairns Craig, « Constituting Scotland », The Irish Review, no. 28, Winter 2001, p. 5. 13. Bill Findlay, « Scots Language and Popular Entertainment in Victorian Scotland: the Case of James Houston » (Cameron and Scullion, p. 16). 14. James Houston, Autobiography of Mr James Houston, Scotch Comedian (Glasgow and Edinburgh: Menzies and Love, 1889), p. 69, quoted by Findlay, p. 16. 15. Femi Folorunso, « Scottish Drama and the Popular Tradition » (Stevenson & Wallace, p. 177).

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 98

16. Margaret Munro, Language and Cultural Identities in the Scots Comic Tradition, PhD thesis, Queen Margaret University College, Edinburgh, currently submitted for examination. 17. Ian Brown and Katja Lenz, « “Oh Dearie Me!”: dramatic rhetoric and linguistic subversion in the Scottish situation comedy, The High Life » (Schneider, p. 112). 18. Information at . 19. John McGrath, « Scotland: the Writing on the Wall », The Weekend Guardian, 1-2 April, 1989, p. 2-3 (Holdsworth, p. 189). 20. The Scotsman, 5 May 2004. 21. For further discussion of the actual and ironic use of such conventions of melodrama, see, for instance (Meisel, 1963). 22. In researching and drafting this paper, I am, as ever, indebted to Dr Bill Findlay for his generous advice and assistance.

AUTHOR

IAN BROWN Poet and Playwright

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 99

Scottish Women Playwrights Against Zero Visibility New Voices Breaking Through

Ksenija Horvat

1 Women playwrights have always been an important creative force in Scottish theatre, and though they may have been in minority, their voices rose above the social constrictions of the society they lived in. In the past centuries, many wrote anonymously, mostly for family entertainment, but there were also those who had their plays published either under their own name or a pseudonym. One only has to remember Joanna Baillie (1762-1835), native of Bothwell in Lanarkshire, whose historio-biographical play De Montford was produced at Drury Lane in 1800, with Sarah Siddons and John Philip Kemble in the main roles. A century later, the authors such as Naomi Mitchison (1897-1999), Ada F. Kay (aka A. J. Stewart) and Ena Lamont Stewart (1912-) were hailed as representatives of a small but significant number of women dramatists whose work focused on the positionality of women in family and society at large. These dramatists wrote about domesticity, femininity and gender struggle in predominately patriarchal Scottish society long before early feminist movements began to identify and systematise their ideological agendas

2 Out of the three, Naomi Mitchison is better known as a novelist and a poet, however, she also wrote plays which nowadays often take the back seat to her other writing output. Like many of her contemporaries, she had a keen interest in Scottish history and published a collection of History Plays for Schools (1939). In the aftermath of the world war, many authors turned to historical and social themes trying to make sense of the changing world around them, and revisit the way Scotland’s past was perceived at home and abroad. Ada F. Kay turned to these topics, gaining international acclaim with The Man from Thermopylae (1959), a powerful allegory on the human condition set against the background of ancient Spartans’fateful battle against Persian armies in 479 BC, and March Home Tomorrow (1964). One of the most significant women authors in the post-war Scotland, her work was rarely performed after the late 1950s. Ena Lamont Stewart, a prolific author with the pendant for plays with a socialist bite, suffered similar fate. In her early plays Starched Aprons (1945), and Men Should Weep (1947)

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 100

Lamont Stewart explored the lives of working class women in Edinburgh’s closed society, was only revived in the 1970s after her play Business in Edinburgh received dramatised reading at the Citizens Theatre in Glasgow in 1970, and in particular after her 1976 revision of the original setting of Starched Aprons to an earlier era of 1920s, in order to emphasize the nostalgia of the piece, was produced. Her popularity was finally cemented by the revival of Men Should Weep in May 1982 by 7: 84 Scotland, and directed by Giles Havergal.Lamont Stewart’s, Kay’s and Mitchison’s plays are inherently embedded in the state of Scottish psyche, and are a powerful testament for that time’s quest for national and social identity. Soon, they would be joined by another woman playwright whose appearance on the Scottish theatre scene in the 1960s marked stylistic and thematic change. Concerned with individual struggle of a woman to be recognized in phallocentric society, she brought onto the stage personal considerations, from female perspective, through powerful metaphors and linguistic and structural innovations. This playwright was Joan Ure (aka Elizabeth Clark nee Carswell).

3 Joan Ure challenged in her plays patriarchal preconceptions by stepping away from a naturalistically-based linear narrative and focusing on the positionality of the feminine in her plays such as Something in it for Cordelia (1971), Something in it for Ophelia (1971)or Take your old rib back, then (1979). It remains unclear what exactly stirred a strong response from amongst the ranks of critics and practitioners, her irreverent use of classical texts as a starting point, or the fact that this was a woman writer breaking taboos and removing her female characters from the domestic/marginal sphere making them central protagonists of her dramas. Somehow it always seemed that Ure’s writing was before her time, and her experimentation with different styles, such as lyricism of movement, surreal settings, her experimentation with lyrical styles in dramatic language, and her feminist themes were often met with suspicion and disparagement. In reality, Ure was never censorious of or adverse to men in her plays, she merely sought to explore the nature of human identity and relationships on all levels, in order to expose the falseness of the clichés of femininity firmly entrenched in both social and literary context. She was a proactive figure in theatre circles in Scotland, and was, together with Ada F. Kay and Ena Lamont Stewart, involved in the formation of the Scottish Society of Playwrights in 1973. Ure felt that despite the presence of a number of women playwrights, Scottish theatre was still largely dominated by men. In an interview with John McGroarty at the Traverse in May 19931, she reflected Helene Cixous’remark that going to the theatre was like witnessing her own funeral. Ure was not alone in her interest in gender and social politics, many Scottish women playwrights have investigated the themes of social responsibility and the contradiction between one’s individual desires and social obligations in their roles as wives, mothers and daughters. The canonised perception that family was seen as woman’s greatest achievement was rejected by Ure as sacrificial, oppressive and barren. Sue Glover (1943-) was going to comment on this perception in her play The Seal Wife (1980), through her character Rona: RONA. Babies don’t stop you being on your own. They grow up and away and fend for themselves2.

4 With the appearance of Sue Glover in the early 1980s, after she had spent most of the previous decade writing for radio, the idea slowly began to crystallize about opening a school of women playwrights. Soon the foundation of Edinburgh Playwrights Workshop followed marking the 1980s, in the eyes of some, as a sort of a renaissance period of

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 101

women’s playwriting tradition in Scottish drama. It was in this decade that 7: 84 Scotland revived Lamont Stewart’s Men Should Weep, and the need to give voice to unspoken histories of women and re-tell history from a female viewpoint gave rise to appearance of significant women playwrights such as Liz Lochhead (1947-), Marcella Evaristi (1953-), Ann Marie di Mambro (1950-), Sharman Macdonald (1951-), Rona Munro (1959-), Anne Downie, and Aileen Ritchie. This dream of a unified school or tradition of female playwriting in Scotland never implied any singularity of style and content. On the contrary, the strength was always in their plurality, expressing the whole range of different experiences and preoccupations. Firmly rooted in socialist tradition, these plays dealt with pertinent social issues, they created revisionist histories by questioning the well-trodden Burnsian, Scottesque, tartan-clad image of Scotland’s past, and they set out on a search for Scotland’s identity, its position and function in modern world. They explored these themes from female perspective, having as their main aim not only probing into what it means to be Scottish, but more distinctly, into what it means to be white, Scottish, female and working-class. In some cases, men were removed from the stage to enable female voices to tell their own stories. Often these stories were told through non-linear structure and poetic language, going back to historical tales and oral tradition of storytelling, the authors would include dreamlike, chimerical, fairytale elements, repetition and fragmentation to show the women’s dislocation from modern world.In terms of style, for example, Liz Lochhead, Marcella Evaristi, Rona Munro, Fiona Knowles (the so-called The MsFits) and Morag Fullerton began their work in theatre by using the genre of revue. Writers such as Lochhead and Jackie Kaye explored the relationship between poetry and drama, such as in dramatised readings of their collections and specially devised work, and Glover and Munro used folk tales as the starting point and inspiration for their deconstruction of traditional female types such as maiden, strumpet, mother and hag.

5 Sue Glover had her stage debut in 1980, when Tom Gallacher, then writer-in-residence at the Royal Lyceum Theatre, commissioned her to write her first full-length play, The Seal Wife, for the Little Lyceum. From the outset, her playwriting has been heavily influenced by Scottish storytelling tradition and Scottish landscapes. Glover has always placed emphasis on the language, infusing her plays with strong mythic, chimerical elements, and using folkloric and historical elements to tell women’s stories and to deconstruct clichés imposed by the rigid patriarchal structures. In her plays Glover is always concerned with the protagonists who live on the margin of the society, and who are uncomfortable in their own skin. In The Seal Wife (1980), she employs the Nordic legend of the selkies, the seal-people, to give strong criticism of women’s position being only seen through her domestic situation. Rona, the young seal wife, is uncomfortable in her role as a wife and a mother, and her final rejection of her family is a strong metaphor for nature vs. nurture concept, the final myth/reality paradox between who these protagonists are and what they are seen to be by the society in which they live. Glover continues to explore the theme of marginalisation in An Island in Largo (1980) which was first produced by the Byre Theatre, St Andrews in 1981. The play, inspired by Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe dissects Selkirk’s emotional and physical alienation from his social environment. The establishment – the Church, medical science or politicians, and in some cases even the community itself – is always seen as an oppressive force with a crippling effect on one’s sense of self, the theme that Glover further investigates in The Bubble Boy (1981), The Straw Chair (1988), Bondagers (1991) and Sacred Hearts (1994). Mixing history and mythologies, Glover offers a powerful criticism

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 102

against the double standards of patriarchal society where the feminine is always seen as the other, the inferior, the chaotic and the godless, something that needs to be subdued and tightly controlled. In Bondagers and Sacred Hearts in particular, female body becomes an epitome for the land itself, and the universal issues of the exploitation of land and Scotland’s struggle to define her own national identity are explored through intimate stories portraying the plights of female field-workers in the Borders in the 18th century, and Lyons’ prostitutes in 1975 respectively. In Bondagers Glover goes one step further by inventing the language these characters speak based on long forgotten 18th century Lallans. She herself is quick to remind that the language she uses in this play is a folkloric concoction, and not a real language in any sense. It is through this use of folkloric/mythic elements in her plays that Glover raises her female protagonists to a mythological level where their personal identities become a strong metaphor for national identity.

6 Another playwright who explores different possibilities of use of Scots language, and the concepts of nature vs. nurture and personal vs. national identity from a distinctive feminist perspective, is Liz Lochhead. In the original version of her first full-length play Blood and Ice (1980), inspired by Mary Shelley’s life and work, Lochhead weaves a non- linear, stream-of-consciousness narrative on the subject of nature vs. nurture and the “monstrosity” of women’s biological and artistic creation. Unfortunately, while the original 1980 version was a powerful re-telling, or rather a reconstruction of a history from a female point of view, the revised version produced at Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh, in 2003, witnessed the author’s attempt to return to some form of linearity and historical contextualisation. By doing so, the play lost a distinctly feminine perspective that was at the core of the original piece. This begs a question whether the return to linearity reflects a direction in which Lochhead’s creative development is heading at the moment, or perhaps it is a statement pertaining to the positionality of feminist thought in the 21st century? Does it mark the change of direction of formal and linguistic experimentation that was a landmark of so much dramatic production by women in the 1970s and 1980s? Or is it just a coincidence? Perhaps it is too early to judge, and one will only be able to reflect upon this after a substantial body of critique has been created about the most recent generation of women playwrights in Scotland, whose work appeared at the dusk of the 20th century. Most critics still seem to consider Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off (1987) to be Lochhead’s most perfect creation, presenting a revisionist view of historical characters of Mary and Elizabeth, the former becoming a representative of kingless, powerless Scotland, dethroned and beheaded in the face of the growing force that would become the British Empire. In this play, she, without a shadow of a doubt created one of the greatest mythical characters of Scottish theatre, La Corbie, a folkloric symbol of Scotland, a cawing crow or a scalloped female bard, presaging the country’s past, present and future in a profoundly sardonic voice. The play’s first production, by Communicado Theatre Company at the Royal Lyceum Theatre in August 1987, emphasised this by setting the play in a circus ring, taking in such a way her interest in deconstruction of histories, and creating emotional distance between the beholders and the “beheld”. Still, in terms of her exploration of female identity, Blood and Ice, and Dracula (1985) remain her most distinctive achievements. The visual metaphor of “sisterhood”, the deconstruction of virgin/strumpet, chalk/cheese dichotomy as clichés by which women are seen through the male gaze, is discreetly underplayed though still omnipresent in Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off in the characters of Mary/Mairn and Elizabeth/Leezie. This

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 103

metaphor is far more overtly presented in the earlier two plays with the direct parallels being drawn between the characters of Mary and her half-sister Claire in Blood and Ice, and the Westerman sisters, Mina and Lucy in Dracula.

7 Gender and national politics always go hand in hand, and it was in the 1980s that some playwrights began to explore the lives of minorities living in Scotland. Two major Scottish-Italian authors came from the west coast of Scotland in that period, Marcella Evaristi and Ann-Marie di Mambro, each with their own unique experiences. Marcella Silvia Evaristi’s first play Dorothy and the Bitch opened to great acclaim at Demarco Gallery, Edinburgh in 1976, followed by a number of successful plays exploring the lives of Italo-Scottish women such as Scotia’s Darlings (1978), Hard to Get (1980), Wedding Belles and Green Grasses (1981), Eve Set the Balls of Corruption Rolling (1982) and Commedia (1982). She became known as the first to focus on the Italo-Scottish theme for the Scottish stage, and her earlier plays were inspired by her childhood experiences of growing up in the suburbs of Glasgow, bringing in the strong theme of female rite of passage and budding sexuality. In the latter play, Commedia, which premiered at the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield in 1982, she explored another taboo, the relationship between a middle-aged widow and a young man. Though thematically progressive for the time when they were written, Evaristi’s plays never reached the linguistic potency and structural complexity of her early revue Mouthpieces, which explores the gender and class relationships in a series of humorous sketches. Ann Marie di Mambro use of Italo- Scottish theme is much more understated and she looks at the gender issues in the framework of a more general context of modern urban life. Her plays such as Joe (1987), Visible Differences (1988), The Letter-Box (1989) and Tally’s Blood (1990) repeatedly deal with the lives of women in small urban communities, and the inadequacies of these communities to understand and protect women’s needs. Her plays are much more somber than Evaristi’s, lacking the latter’s ability to laugh at the life’s gravest conditions; they are also less scatological and poetically more powerful, laden with rich multi-layered images.

8 Another playwright of that period who, similarly to Evaristi, experimented with coming-to-age comedy and scatological humour was Sharman Macdonald. In her plays such as When I Was a Girl I Used to Scream and Shout (1984), When We Were Women (1988) and The Winter Guest (1993) the concept of sisterhood is continuously reiterated, and, like Lochhead in Dracula, Macdonald turns this concept on its head. Her female protagonists live in the fatherless world, dislocated from their families and their pasts. They are successful and independent, and emotionally and spiritually emptied shells, with the need to go back and recapture the childhood time of innocence in order to understand who they are. This theme of displacement and the need to re-capture past would also be touched upon in Anne Downie’s stage adaptation of Jessie Kesson’s The White Bird Passes (1986) and Aileen Ritchie’s plays Shang-a-Lang (1986) and Asking For It (1989). Rona Munro (1959-) also explores coming-to-age theme in her plays such as Fugue (1983) where the sexual frustrations and fear of dying turns a teenage protagonist into a pathological sufferer of the fugue (a walking illness), Saturday At the Commodore (1989) where she explores a protagonist’s budding lesbian desires in a small northeast Scottish rural community, and Bold Girls (1990) which focuses on the battle between reality and illusion, loyalty and betrayal, against the backdrop of Northern Irish troubles. Interestingly, men are physically absent from all three of these plays, as they are from Glover’s Bondagers, but they are nevertheless constantly referred to as absent brothers, fathers and lovers who, through their very absence, make demands on

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 104

women in this distinctly man’s world. In her play Piper’s Cave, commissioned by Paines Plough Theatre Company in 1985, Munro uses a folk tale about the pied piper as a starting point for a tale about men’s violence against women, similarly to The Maiden Stone (1995) where the Scottish tale of the devil and the maiden was used to explore the lives and choices of several generations of women in the harsh rural landscape of northeast Scotland, epitomised in the fate of the play’s main protagonist, an early 19th century actress Harriet, and her family. The Maiden Stone is a story about choices, or the lack of them, that women are forced to make in the world, a powerful refusal of a cliché that denies women a possibility to be seen as anything other than wives and mothers, the theme that is recurrent, overtly or otherwise, in the works of all of the so far mentioned female authors.

9 Some of these authors continued to write for the stage throughout the 1990s, such as Liz Lochhead, who gained further prominence with her adaptations of Moliere’s comedies and well-known Greek classics such as The Greeks (2000), Medea (2000), and Thebans (2003). Her original work, sadly, continues to suffer from increased use of linear narrative style, thematic and stylistic preoccupation with popular soap opera such as Britannia Rules (1998), Perfect Days (1998) and, most recently, Good Things (2004). A 39-year-old-desperate-to-conceive Glasgow hairdresser Barbs from Perfect Days, and Good Things’Susan, a 49 year-old lovelorn charity-shop keeper, are far removed from the mythical protagonists of her earlier plays. Others, like Evaristi, Downie or Ritchie moved into radio or film, making less regular appearances on stage such as Evaristi’s 2003 fantasy musical Nightflights at Dundee Repertory Theatre, Downie’s Parking Lot in Pittsburgh (2002) at Byre Theatre, St Andrews and Ritchie’s The Juju Girl, across-time saga of self-discovery in central Africa produced by Traverse Theatre in Edinburgh in 1999. Furthermore, some, such as Evaristi and Macdonald chose to leave Scotland and re-locate to London for personal and career reasons, the decision that would subsequently affect the nature and style of their later output. In the 1990s they were joined by other female voices including Linda McLean (1952-), Catherine Lucy Czerkawska (1959-), Nicola McCartney (1972-), Lara Jane Bunting (1969), Grace Barnes, Louise Ironside, Isabel Wright, and Zinnie Harris (1973-).

10 In the 1990s the themes and preoccupations changed and diversified, reflecting the current changes in Scottish society. In the 1980s Scotland was looking outside for new definitions of nationhood and its positionality in the United Kingdom and larger international community. Accordingly, the plays written in this period reflected the plagues of contemporary society, from more personal issues such as the women’s plight to escape traditional roles, to larger social issues such as precariousness of economic market, disintegrating families, violence and racism. The tone was the one of negative positivism, expressing doubts but also hope that future may still bring change, and, as Peter Zenzinger argued in his article “The New Wave” in Scottish Theatre Since the Seventies (1996), an encouraging, pervasive sense of challenge and high energy, and a commitment to the crucial problems Scottish society faces at the approach of the new millennium […].

11 From the mid-1990s onwards Scotland seemed to have turned inwardly again to explore the nature of its society and its peculiarities. Scotland’s face was fast changing in terms of migration and economy, and the position of women was changing too, resulting in the women turning their attention to issues other than feminist struggle for equality and recognition. This is not to say that writing by women playwrights in

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 105

Scotland at the turn of the 20th century lost its political ardour, quite the contrary. However, as the meaning of “political” and “politics” altered, so the women playwrights began to transform, and further fragment, a theme of personal politics, and explore possible meanings and relevance of the concepts of “identity” and “community” in the 21st century.

12 For example, intricacies of family relationships in the chaos of modern world have been explored in the work by Catherine Czerkawska, who returned to stage, after having replaced her early 1980 theatre debut of Royal Lyceum Theatre’s production of Heroes and Others with a decade of writing for radio and television, with Wormwood (1997), a story about a family torn by Chernobyl disaster, and Quartz (2000), a play about solitude and religious devotion. Domestic violence and father-daughter relationship is portrayed with chilling accuracy in Linda McLean’s One Good Beating, which premiered in Traverse Theatre as part of the triple bill in 1998, and fragility of human life and need for others is explored in her 1999 play Riddance, which delineates a childhood memories of two men and a woman in a Glasgow tenement, and in her version of Laura Rouhonen’s Olga (2001), a tender story about friendship between an 85 year old woman and a eighteen year old “Ned”3.

13 Experimentations with Scots language continued in the plays such as Linda McLean’s Word for Word (2003), produced by Magnetic North at Traverse Theatre, about three generations of women in one family, who pass down stories that contain hidden truths. Much of the play’s central conflict comes from McLean’s use of rhythm of language, repetitions and the lack of understanding between Scots speaking women and English speaking cameraman who comes to film them. In her review of the 2003 production, “The Scots have a word for it” in Evening News4 Andrea Mullaney affirmed that Word for Word “posits that words have power and that in losing our native tongue we could be losing much more”5 Isabel Wright, another up and coming playwright, tries her hand at contemporary urban Scots in her Scots translation of Francois Archambault’s play 15 Seconds, produced by Traverse Theatre in 2003. Similarly, political issues are being re- visited and old wounds are now being moved to the new territories, such as in Linda McCartney’s Heritage (1998), where Northern Irish conflict goes transatlantic to affect the lives of teenagers in 1914 Canada.

14 Social issues are being explored by a number of women playwrights in the late 1990s and early 2000s, however, they seem to have been running out of steam, and the women playwrights are increasingly turning towards romantic plays depicting lives of single women in the contemporary urban society. Grace Barnes’s attempt to write a romantic murder mystery, Lavender Blue (2002) which was produced by Stellar Quines at Royal Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh, resulted in an uneven play with two-dimensional characters. Barnes is better known as a founder of The Skeklers Theatre Company in 1999, which continues, under her artistic direction, to develop theatre on Shetland, while balancing this mostly community-based work with touring to London’s West End. Barnes herself indicated the specific problems of making theatre in an environment which is not traditionally theatrical in her “Notebook” published in Scotland on Sunday on Sunday 22 September 2002, where she explains that professional theatre in Shetland is limited to mainland theatre companies touring one or two shows a year at the Garrison Theatre in Lerwick. Not since the Communicado’s tour in 1980s had a show toured to any of the more remote areas, and many of the audience would therefore be “made up of non-theatre goers or people who had only ever experienced amateur

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 106

drama — a hugely popular pastime in Shetland”6. For that reason, Barnes and her company are committed to creating a specific kind of drama that would be a fusion of poems, traditional folk music, dance and strong visual images. For example, Barnes’s play Circles and Tides (2002) draws inspiration from the local history, and is created to appeal to the audiences of all ages. In Circles and Tides, for example, the poems were written in dialect by local author Laureen Johnson.

15 The rationale behind using local artists is political as well as artistic, Barnes is well aware of the fears raised over the last few years about the Shetland dialect dying out, particularly amongst the younger generation. The Skeklers Theatre Company, therefore, produces more than mere entertainment for the local community, their work is also educational as it advocates the use of the old dialect amongst the teenagers.

16 Amongst other women playwrights who write about topical issues one should mention Isabel Wright, Kate Atkinson and Viven Adam. Wright is another talented writer who has sprung out of Traverse Theatre’s playwriting workshops. After the earlier success of her work with Boilerhouse, with Blooded (2001) and Initiate (2001), and with Frantic Assembly’s 2002 production of Peepshow, her dramatic critique of medical trials in Scotland, Mr Placebo (2003), produced by Traverse, suffered from various structural problems, verbosity and weak characterisation. It seems that ever-decreasing rehearsal periods are partly to blame, the playwrights are sometimes required to complete their plays in the timeline that is unpracticable to them which can result in staging plays that are a couple of drafts short of a final version. Kate Atkinson and Vivien Adam’s work can perhaps be most accurately described as a hybrid between melodrama and television soap opera, and Adam has indeed latterly moved into television, first working as a storyliner for High Road, and later as a script associate, producer and series producer for Channel 5’s series Family Affairs. The trend towards working for radio and television continues proportionately to the number of stage plays written by both men and women who would stylistically and topically be better placed in television medium. Still, there are several women playwrights whose vivacious theatrical vision stands out above the rest. Amongst them are Lara Jane Bunting, Louise Ironside and Zinnie Harris, all three offering their very different theatrical visions written in their unique styles.

17 Lara Jane Bunting first started writing for theatre after winning the Scottish Young Playwright award in 1987 and 1988. Her plays such as Vodka and Daisies (1989), Love but Her (1990) and My Piece of Foreign Sky (1996) are slice-of-local-life stories in which she explores the themes such as coming-of-age in small Scottish west coast urban environments, friendship, love, machismo, homosexuality, provincial bigotry and thwarted expectations. In many ways, her writing is reminiscent of Lamont Stewart’s or Glover’s plays with a similar sense of social responsibility and poetic license. In her most accomplished play so far, My Piece of Foreign Sky, she depicts the life of a mining family in Catrine, Ayrshire, and the effects of redundancy on the main protagonist’s relationships with her son and husband. Bunting’s portrayal of a middle-aged woman who lives through her son, wishing him to fulfill the dreams that she never could is all too real, reflecting the lives of women in small mining communities. A piece of sky from the title becomes a metaphor for woman’s aspirations and hopes for an inner space that would be hers alone. While most authors of her time place their female characters outside domestic sphere, Bunting subverts it by having men invade it. Nell

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 107

and Sanny’s relationship is threatened when Sanny loses job, in a similar way that the Morrisons’relationship in Lamont Stewart’s Men Should Weep deteriorates when John becomes unemployed. Bunting juxtaposes Nell with the character of Ellen, a young woman Nell’s son Lex is engaged to, who seems to be perfectly happy to stay at home and who lacks ambition or expectations that would go beyond the dreams of marriage and family. Ellen’s character, like her author, belongs to post-feminist generation who feels that the feminist struggles from earlier period are something that are a thing of the past, and who live in quite a different world, with different view of reality.

18 Louise Ironside’s writing stands on the other side of a scale from Bunting’s, as a much starker, bolder, politically louder voice. Her 1993 play Risk, commissioned by Lung Ha is the result of a devised process of working with disabled actors on creating powerful visual images and characters who, though readily recognisable in everyday life, are far from being mere clichés. The impetus for writing Risk was the 1988 legislation by then Conservative government concerning entitlement to Income Support for young people. This move, which cut entitlement to basic Income Support for sixteen and seventeen year olds proved to have a devastating effect on a generation of young people with no, or hardly any, job prospects. The remit of Risk, commissioned by The Grassmarket Project, was to explore the topic of young people at risk and highlight certain areas of personal experience of the project’s participants, such as physical and sexual abuse, underage prostitution, crime and homelessness. This resulted in a script, by Ironside, that focused on five young beggars in order to show risks of being young, poor and homeless in 1990s Edinburgh. The piece that Ironside created was neither judgmental nor sentimental in its style and content but sought to give voice to, in Ironside’s own words, “some of the young people who have found themselves at the very bottom of our Classless Society”7. Her other piece, also written in collaboration with Lung Ha Theatre Company and John Mitchell, The Home Made Child (1997) was inspired by the story of Bluebeard, and bears more than accidental resemblance to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The play is written as a series of visual images, a sot of a fragmented fairy- tale with more than ever relevant issue of ethics of medical science at its core.

19 Zinnie Harris’s work is probably most poetic out of the three, and also most intimate. Originally trained as a director, Harris is also most multi-faceted of all playwrights discussed here, she has worked as director for Royal Court before moving to Edinburgh to work with Traverse. She also collaborated on projects with Edinburgh’s Theatre Workshop, including directing Self-Service by Ksenija Horvat and Zee Sulleymanfor the 1999 Fringe. Her plays include By Many Wounds (1998), Gravity (2000), the award winning Further Than a Furthest Thing (2000), Nightingale and Chase (2001), and Midwinter (2004). Further Than the Furthest Thing is an inspired story about a closely-knit community living on an isolated island similar to Tristan da Cunha who are eventually forced by an erupting volcano to sail away to Southampton, and it includes some of the most striking images ever written for the Scottish stage in recent years. In an interview for The Guardian on 6 July 2002, she admits that she was encouraged in her efforts by Irina Brown, who directed the original production: When I was working with Irina Brown on “Further…”. I had a scene where the stage direction was “A naked, pregnant woman emerges from the sea”. If you think about that on stage you can see that this is quite a tall order. But at no point in the development process did she ask, “How do you think I can stage this? Can’t you make it simpler?” She simply encouraged me to write the play I wanted8.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 108

20 Benedict Nightingale wrote in The Times on 8 August 2000 that Harris manages to introduce “genuine magic into the dramatic equation without loss of plausibility”9. For her 2001 play Nightingale and Chase, Harris spent some time preparing in a prison, which makes her story hauntingly real. Nightingale and Chase is a play about a young mother getting out of jail and being met by her middle-aged partner, structurally it consist of three consecutive monologues written in a colloquial language. The play, premiered at the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs in October 2001, had a lukewarm reception with the critics. Her next play, Midwinter (2004) is a soul-searching play about a woman who, at the end of war, takes custody of a dumbstruck boy, and the trouble that this act causes when her husband returns home from war. While Further Than the Furthest Thing and Nightingale and Chase deal with the sense of displacement and coming to terms with a loss, Midwinter is a play about the ways in which people can form new identities, new histories for the future.

21 The last three decades of theatre production in Scotland have brought to attention a number of successful women playwrights, however, the work of many still remains an uncharted territory. The reason for this is partly that much work, even in performed once, often remains unpublished and buried in the depths of theatres’archives. Sarah Jones argues in her article “Women creating a scene” that “the prominence of female playwrights is a recent phenomenon”10. Her take is that many women only started having their voices heard in the Scottish theatre world in the early 1980s. However, this is only partly true. Scottish theatre has always known the work of exceptional women writers, and many a work has been performed on the stages throughout Scotland. Proportionally less represented than male authors in theatre, women traditionally preferred to write for radio and television, where their work was more readily commissioned. It is also true that more traditional theatres choose to programme classics rather than new writing, and new writing Scottish theatre houses like Traverse Theatre are few and far between. There is a hint that this tide might change in the future, with Mark Thomson’s mission to bring new writing onto the stage of Royal Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh. The recent staging of Lochhead’s revised play Blood and Ice is an indication that women’s writing may be gaining new incentive in recent years. To expect that statistically a number of female versus male playwrights will even out in the future is unrealistic, however, Scottish theatre should celebrate the voices of female authors who have contributed to its development throughout modern history. Only few names of these fine artists have been mentioned here, there are many more whose voices are yet to be acknowledged.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BAIN A., “Loose canons: identifying a women’s tradition in play writing”, Scottish Theatre since the Seventies, Stevenson and Wallace (eds.), Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1996, pp. 138-145.

CHRISTIANSON A. and LUMSDEN A., Contemporary Scottish Women Writers, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 2001.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 109

GIFFORD D., “Making them bold and breaking the mould: Rona Munro’s Bold Girls”, Laverock 2, Aberdeen, Association for Scottish Literary Studies, 1996, pp. 2-8.

GOODMAN L., “Rona Munro”, Contemporary Dramatists, K. A. Berney (ed.), London, St James, 1993, pp. 172-173.

HARVIE J., “Desire and difference in Liz Lochhead’s Dracula”, Essays in Theatre/Études Theâtrales, 11 (2), Guelph, University of Guelph, 1993, pp. 133-143.

HORVAT K., “Silences and Utterances: An Interaction Analysis of Gender Differences in Language in The Straw Chair, Dracula and Mouthpieces”, International Journal of Scottish Theatre, vol. 1, no. 2, 2000.

KOREN-DEUTSCH I., “Feminist nationalism in Scotland: Mary Queen of Scots got her head chopped off”, Modern Drama, 35 (3), 1992, pp. 424-432.

MCDONALD J., “Scottish women dramatists since 1945”, A History of Scottish Women’s Writing, Douglas Gifford and Dorothy McMillan (eds.), Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1997, pp. 494-513.

MCDONALD J. and HARVIE J., “Putting new twists to old stories: feminism and Lochhead's drama”, Liz Lochhead’s Voices, Robert Crawford and Anne Varty (eds.), Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1993, pp. 124-147.

MUNRO R., “Sex and food”, Theatre Scotland, 1 (3), Edinburgh, 1992, pp. 15-21.

SCULLION A., “Contemporary Scottish women playwrights”, The Cambridge Companion to Modern British Women Playwrights, Janelle Reinelt and Elaine Aston (eds.), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000, pp. 94-118.

STEPHENSON H. and LANGRIDGE N. (eds.), “Sharman Macdonald”, Rage and Reason: playwrights on play writing, London, Methuen, 1997, pp. 61-70.

STEVENSON R. and WALLACE G., Scottish Theatre Since the Seventies, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1996.

STRACHAN A., “Sharman Macdonald”, Contemporary Dramatists, K. A. Berney (ed.), London & Chicago, St James Press, 1993, pp. 404-405.

VARTY A., “The mirror and the vamp: Liz Lochhead”, A History of Scottish Women’s Writing, Douglas Gifford and Dorothy McMillan (eds.), Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1997, pp. 641-658.

NOTES

1. Reproduced in J. McGroarty, “Interview with Joan Ure”, Theatre Scotland, 2, 1993, p. 25. 2. S. Glover, The Seal Wife (unpublished manuscript), 1980, p. 52. 3. Scottish colloquial term for a teenage hoodlum. 4. A. Mullaney, “The Scots have a word for it”, Evening News, 20 March 2003. 5. Idem. 6. G. Barnes, “Notebook”, Scotland on Sunday, 22 September 2003. 7. L. Ironside, Note to Risk manuscript (unpublished), 1993. 8. Quoted from “An Interview with Zinnie Harris”, The Guardian, 6 July 2002. 9. B. Nightingale, “Further than the furthest Thing”, The Times, 8 August 2000. 10. S. Jones, “Women creating a scene”, Scotland on Sunday, 18 January 2004.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 110

AUTHOR

KSENIJA HORVAT Queen Margaret University College, Edinburgh

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 111

Norme et marginalité De la bonne ou de la mauvaise réputation dans The People Next Door1 de Henry Adam

Danièle Berton-Charrière

1 Bonne ou mauvaise, la réputation flotte autour d’une personne comme son odeur. Elle peut être agréable, parfumée, capiteuse ou nauséabonde. Pourtant, loin de se dégager de l’indivu, elle lui est imposée par autrui. Cette opinion, point de vue subjectif qui juge, devient chose impalpable qui donne valeur et notoriété. Immatérielle, elle loue et encense ou condamne et dégrade. Elle soutient et fait honneur ou blâme et nuit selon qu’elle est positive ou négative. Elle s’empare d’une qualité ou d’un défaut, l’enrobe et vante ses mérites ; elle enfle et se colporte ; la rumeur s’en nourrit ; la gloire et l’opprobre aussi.

2 La pièce de Henry Adam met en scène des héros dont la réputation n’est apparemment plus à faire : Nigel est un drogué marginal, fragile et quelque peu déséquilibré2 ; Phil travaille pour les services secrets britanniques ; l’univers manichéen de la réputation est posé comme allant de soi, inévitablement relié aux stéréotypes socio-culturels. Pourtant, Henry Adam s’emploie à les dévoyer tout au long de sa pièce. L’agent est « ripou »3 ; la vieille dame au dessus de tout soupçon est dangereuse ; l’enfant-victime se transforme en bourreau. Contre-pied aux clichés, les personnages et les événements qui donnent vie à la diégèse remettent en question les a priori dont fourmille notre quotidien, sur le mode satirique.

3 Ce drame à l’aigre-douce relate un certain nombre de parcours et de détours personnels, d’itinéraires parallèles ou croisés : celui de Nigel, jeune anglais d’origine pakistanaise dont certains pourraient dire, à tort ou à raison, qu’il appartient à la « deuxième génération » ; celui de Salif, son alter-ego virtuel, fanatique en devenir ; celui d’une institution et d’une nation chrétienne décadentes, en croisade ; celui de Karim islamiste fondamentaliste, sacrifié et perdu ; celui d’une famille recomposée en construction – véritable nid de marginaux en quête d’identité et de sécurité communautaires – ; enfin et surtout, celui de Henry Adam, pacifiste, révulsé par les doctrines sectaires et les dogmatismes.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 112

4 Nigel Brunswick est le héros de cette pièce. Son patronyme paraît être tout à fait représentatif de son appartenance à la communauté britannique et pourtant, les premières phrases de Nigel reposent sur un problème d’identité : My name is Salif, bwa. That’my name. Salif. That’an African name bwa, Moslem name. Salif, meaning « … ?? », well, I don’t know what it mean but that’be my name now bwa. Salif. Oh sure, you saying – I know you. That ain’t no Salify bwa. I went to school with that bwa. That bwa his name be Nigel. Nah, nah, nah, nah, see – my name ain’t Nigel. My name Salif. And now Salif is hungry. Salif is gonna make his self some – […] soup ? Soup ? Yeah bwa, soup. […] This ain’t no Nigel soup, bwa. This be Salif soup. (p. 3)

5 Dans cette scène d’ouverture, Nigel semble réapprendre qui il est. Il éprouve, pour ce faire, quelque difficulté. Il parle de lui à la troisième personne. Il est Nigel ; il est Salif ; Salif est un autre ; Salif est lui. Je est moi, lui et un autre… Désarmé et dérouté, Nigel dérive mentalement entre deux ego, deux cultures, deux religions, deux pays, deux continents : « That’an African name bwa, Moslem name. » La linguistique corrobore le topos puisque dans son écriture volontairement hors norme, ici idiolectale et idiosyncrasique, Henry Adam confie à Nigel deux des formes lexicales et syntaxiques typiques des communautés afro-américaines : ce sont le signifiant « bwa » mis pour « brother » et la forme verbale « be » non conjuguée dans « that’be my name ». Et, même si l’adjectif « African » paraît étonnant dans le contexte extra-linguistique qui est donné dans la première didascalie externe4, il n’est pas, de ce fait, hors propos. En fait, Nigel symbolise la mosaïque culturelle complexe dans laquelle il est né, fruit de siècles d’histoire. Il est une figure-carrefour : NIGEL: He said – « Who are you man? I don’t know you? » I said « It’s me. Nigel. You know me. » And he said « I don’t know you. How can I know you? You dress like an American, you talk like a Jamaican, how can I know you? How can I know you if you don’t know yourself? » (p. 79)

6 En compagnie de Marco, présenté comme « of mixed race, predominantly Afro- Caribbean » et de Mrs Mac – diminutif de MacCallum – qui se singularise grâce à « a distinctive Scottish burr » il s’affiche comme emblème de brassage et de métissage dans une nation où les principes de l’intégration et de l’assimilation ne sont pas exigés par la loi.

7 Le dédoublement d’identité, voire de personnalité, dont semble souffrir Nigel pourrait être le signe de troubles pathologiques liés à un comportement schizophrène dans la mesure où il vient de sortir d’un établissement psychiatrique. Il y avait été interné pour toxicomanie et narco-dépendance. Pourtant, l’humour et la satire sociale sont présents pour démentir cette interprétation. L’écriture de Henry Adam est empreinte d’un comique grinçant. La scène où Nigel rencontre Phil pour la première fois joue sur cette tonalité. Phil est un policier de la brigade anti-terroriste et il lui demande de confirmer son identité ainsi : PHIL: You’re Nigel Brunswick, 34 C Warrender Gardens. I mean that is your name, isn’t it? Nigel? NIGEL: Ah, no, no see… that’s where you’re wrong. My name is Salif, see. You got the wrong guy. PHIL: Yeah. Wallet. […] [il prend son porte-feuilles et vérifie son nom sur ses papiers] PHIL: Nigel Brunswick. Nigel Brunswick. Nigel Brunswick. Nigel Brunswick. NIGEL: It ain’t official yet. I’m changing it soon though. I got the forms an’everyt’ing.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 113

PHIL: Okay. So you’re going to change your name. Not yet though, eh? I mean you’re still going to be Nigel Brunswick for the immediate and foreseeable aren’t you? For the purpose of this conversation I can still call you Nigel, can’t I, Nigel? (p. 7)

8 Dans ce passage, la fonction sociale du nom est clairement mise en avant par Phil qui balaie, d’un revers, les méandres de la psychologie. Lien entre la sphère publique et la sphère privée, le nom permet l’identification, la re/connaissance de l’individu par ses congénères. Le policier ne voit dans le changement souhaité par Nigel qu’un moyen d’échapper au repérage et un frein au plan qu’il a élaboré. Son seul souci est celui de la lisibilité des données spatio-temporelles qui rendent son travail possible.

9 Clin d’œil au théâtre shakespearien et aux drames élisabéthains et jacobéens où nom et renom s’insèrent dans un ensemble plus vaste défini comme la lignée, le problème existentiel de Nigel pose celui de ses racines. En ce début de pièce, le spectateur, intrigué, se demande pourquoi Nigel veut s’appeler Salif et pourquoi Phil vient le déranger chez lui.

10 Nigel est né d’une mère britannique et d’un père pakistanais, musulman. Ce dernier avait déjà une famille, légale et officielle. L’arrivée de Nigel dans ce monde organisé et codifié selon des valeurs morales cadres n’était ni prévue, ni attendue, ni souhaitée. Enfant illégitime, il est donc socialement condamné à porter le poids de sa « bâtardise ». La réputation d’un individu lui échoit comme le fruit d’un déterminisme contre lequel il ne peut rien. Nigel dit n’avoir vu son père que trois fois dans sa vie. Sa culpabilité « d’être » se teinte de regret et d’amertume. L’absence du père engendre une certaine confusion et une gêne chez le jeune homme, comme si son déséquilibre provenait de sa famille monoparentale ressentie comme un handicap. Paradoxalement, la réputation du géniteur n’est pas écornée : NIGEL : My father, right – the guy who fuck me my mother to get me – he got this family, see. Way over on the other side. Respec’able see. (p. 14)

11 Mais Nigel n’est pas un enfant unique. Il a un demi-frère qui s’appelle Karim. Admiratif, mais un peu jaloux, Nigel dit que Karim fait la fierté de leur père car c’est un bon musulman, lui. Karim est un bon fils. Il est doué en tout : NIGEL: He resourceful. He a smart kid. Anyway – I’m like fuck off kid, I ain’t your brother. I ain’t no Paki, am I? […] I’m fucking English man, I ain’t no Paki. (p. 33)

12 Ce demi-frère s’avère être un double dont Nigel ne peut se défaire : « He’s like my fucking shadow man » (p. 32). Il incarne l’autre moitié de sa double culture : « My little Paki shadow. I walk, he walk. I stop, he stop » (p. 32). De fait, paradoxalement, l’aura de l’un fait de l’ombre à l’autre : Nigel, lui, se qualifie de mouton noir. Le système est binaire et manichéen car il met en scène le bon et le mauvais fils, achétypes pour lesquels Abel et Caïn ont servi de modèles. L’absence de Karim (jamais en scène) est compensée par le caractère obsessionnel des peurs de Phil qu’il alimente sans le savoir. En contrepoint, la présence de Nigel est perçue comme vide de sens : « paumé », il est inutile. Parasite, malade et oisif, il n’est bon à rien : « I tell him I’m the bad boy. I’m the black sheep » (p. 14).

13 La réputation des deux frères a fait tache d’huile et elle sous-tend la stratégie inductive et déductive de Phil : le fils parfait serait devenu fanatique5 et le fils oiseux pourrait aider les forces de l’ordre à le démasquer. L’ironie dramatique pervertit le scénario car Nigel ne comprend que très lentement de quoi il s’agit. Les liens du sang ne font pas

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 114

vraiment partie de son schéma mental. De plus, le jeune homme n’est plus en phase avec l’actualité. Son séjour à l’hôpital psychiatrique a accru son décalage avec la société dans laquelle il a toujours eu du mal à vivre. Il ne sait même pas que, depuis les événements du 11 septembre, les Pakistanais musulmans sont soupçonnés d’appartenir à des groupes terroristes : MARCO: Jesus Nigel. They got a fucking hard-on for Moslems nowadays man. Moslems are the new gangsters. Moslems are like the worst shit ever. NIGEL: Ah. Nah. Nah, nah, nah see. He ain’t no Malcom X Moslem see. He just a Paki Moslem. It’s not the same thing. He ain’t a cool Moslem see. He jus’a good little boy go to Mosque every Sunday. MARCO: Fucking Hell; Nigel. Where you been? It’s the fucking Paki Moslems that’s been at it. NIGEL: At what? MARCO: At fucking everything man. Bombing people, gassing people, driving fucking aeroplanes into the fucking Empire State Building! Man, if your brother… if your brother’s one of them. Fuck. You’re fucked, Nigel. If they’re after him they ain’t letting you til they caught him. That mean you. They ain’t letting go you. (p. 15)

14 Nigel prend alors conscience que ce frère qu’il n’a pas vu depuis sept ans est une source d’ennuis et que Phil qui s’est déjà montré brutal et dépourvu de scrupule ne va pas le lâcher de sitôt. À contre-cœur, le jeune homme va devoir épier sur commande, lui qui s’évertuait à se protéger de la curiosité que favorise la vie communautaire. Et c’est ainsi que Nigel se métamorphose en Salif et que point son potentiel fanatique. La déconstruction et la reconstruction du héros passent par une quête de soi et un retour aux sources introspectif. La violence de son parcours est ponctuée par celle de Phil, lui même cuirassé par la réputation de l’institution à laquelle il appartient. Pourtant, l’agent de l’Etat excerce un pouvoir abusif : PHIL: The imbalance of power here. That’s what you should be thinking about. The power I’ve got and the power you don’t got. You got it yet? (p. 9)

15 Il pratique une sorte de chantage sur le jeune homme et, chaque fois qu’il refuse de coopérer ou de collaborer avec lui, il le menace de l’accuser de trafic de drogue. Il prétend le prendre en flagrant délit de détention de produits illicites alors qu’il les dépose lui même dans l’appartement. Nigel est terrorisé par ce policier consommateur d’héroïne : NIGEL: That man, Mrs Mac, that policeman is a fiend. He is blackmailing me. He planted drugs on me, you know? He says you help me or I’m putting you in jail. (p. 58)

16 Nigel est faible et déstabilisé. Son passé de toxicomane l’a fragilisé et Phil le pousse à sombrer dans l’enfer de la drogue. Le marché que le policier lui présente est simple : soit il espionne les gens qui se rendent à la mosquée, soit on l’enferme. Comment refuser une telle tractation ? Armé d’un enregistreur, Nigel devient donc indicateur- délateur pour les services secrets de son pays. Ainsi, Phil l’oblige à pénétrer un lieu de culte qu’il ne connaissait pas. Ce ne sont pas les trois brèves rencontres avec son père biologique ou ses antécédents génétiques qui auraient pu être sources de foi pour lui ! La peur au ventre, il part donc en mission. Il infiltre le milieu que les services spéciaux pensent infesté d’islamistes. Ironie du sort, il y découvre un univers toile d’araignée qui l’attire : on lui offre une oreille compatissante et une raison de vivre. Il se sent digne à nouveau :

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 115

NIGEL: He told me I needed guidance. Too right I need guidance. I don’t know who I am anymore. […] He told me to come to this meeting. What’s it called (He pulls a flyer out of his pocket.) « Principles of Jihad-the-holy warrior and the secular state. » (p. 48)

17 La « conversion » psychologique de Nigel est lente mais, paradoxe et ironie obligent, elle est à la fois positive et ostensible. L’arroseur est arrosé. Phil a joué avec le feu en le poussant à la métamorphose. Dans un premier temps, Nigel pense se déguiser en musulman stéréotype – voire exotique – et Phil en est abasourdi. Puis il prend son rôle au sérieux. Il le peaufine et l’investit : les réticences cèdent le pas à l’enthousiasme. Pièce maîtresse du démantèlement d’un réseau supposé terroriste, Nigel est piégé par une religion qui le met en valeur et le grandit. Les parcours de Nigel et de Phil sont inversement proportionnels. Plus l’un s’élève, plus l’autre s’avilit.

18 A priori, Phil est une figure métonymique de la police, de « l’institution » légale qui maintient l’ordre social et moral dans la nation et qui garantit sa cohésion. Malgré son prénom, il n’est cependant pas l’archétype de la philantropie. Il est corrompu et corrompant. Il se drogue ; il est contaminé et contaminant. Phil est une caricature de « ripou ». Binarité oblige, il présente deux faces dont l’une est celle d’un Mr Hyde pervers : « NIGEL sits, still not entirely convinced that “Nice Phil’s” evil twin has entirely left the building » (p. 31). Il harcèle Nigel quand celui-ci refuse de continuer : la raison d’état lui donne tous les droits. Il prend à son compte les besoins de son pays et repousse sans cesse les limites.

19 Le fait que Phil exerce en civil, fait planer sur lui quelques relents d’illégitimité. Il n’a pas d’uniforme et Mrs Mac le prend pour un usurier. La fiction dramatique rend compte d’une réalité que la vieille Ecossaise connaît trop bien. Les laissés pour compte ont souvent recours aux « marchands du temple » pour survivre. Son affection pour Nigel la pousse à le protéger de telles pratiques aussi humiliantes qu’économiquement dangereuses. Elle ne veut pas qu’il puisse tomber plus bas. Mrs Mac porte un regard sévère sur Phil. Elle doute de lui-même lorsque’il lui montre sa carte : « anyone could make one of those. I’m sure my grandson has one just as good » (p. 25). À plusieurs reprises, Nigel fait remarquer au policier que les apparences ne sont pas trompeuses et que ses vêtements et ses accessoires ne sont pas authentiques : « You, you cheap Armani seconds TK-Maxx wearing cunt » (p. 33) ; « Cartier got an I in it. Just between the t and the e. That’s a Carter watch you got there man » (p. 27). Phil ne fait pas illusion. Il n’est pas à la hauteur. Vil rouage d’une grosse machine mondialement connue, il ne peut se faire passer pour son cerveau : PHIL: Trust me, Joe – you keep the Super off my back a few more days and we’ll all come out of this smelling of roses. Forget Special Branch! We’ll be living in an Islamic Republic before Special Branch get up off their arses to see what all the noise is about. I know these people, Joe. I know how they work. I’m inside their heads. (p. 26) […] Yeah, I know it’s not authorised but I’m on to something. Remember that guy I told you about? Yeah. I got him inside. Yeah, he’s in there. Yeah, I know. I told you, didn’t I? We’ll bust that mosque wide open while Special Branch are still scratching their arses. Yeah, I thought you’d like the sound of that. We pull this off and the sky’s the limit. Hey, if you want a blow job off Blunkett I’m sure that could be arranged. And I’ll be right there beside you, mate, snorting coke off Tony’s fat, spotty arse. Yeah, couple of heroes, mate. Yeah. Typical, ain’t it – a billion dollars’worth of spy planes and it’s still the humble British bobby who gets the results. You just get me that wire, mate. I’ll take care of the rest. (p. 50)

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 116

20 L’avers et le revers, le vrai et le faux sont des éléments structurels et structurants : Henry Adam joue sur l’ironie du sort qui rapproche les deux frères jusqu’à ce que l’un soit en mesure de se substituer à l’autre quand ce dernier disparaît. La fin reste ouverte et le spectateur peut imaginer de quoi l’avenir de Nigel sera fait.

21 Tout au long de la pièce, Nigel ne cesse de louer les mérites de son demi-frère. Il le présente comme un bon élève et un bon garçon : NIGEL: Study, he say. Study! I told you, Karim, him a good bwa. Him study, see. Study, study, study. He probably a doctor out there now. Curing sick kids. That’s the sort of thing he into, not blowing up planes. (p. 34)

22 Il ne sait rien de lui mais sa fin violente est un choc pour son esprit fragile. Henry Adam choisit Phil et la vidéo pour raconter comment Karim, blessé, est littéralement abattu à bout portant, sans sommation. Phil commente le « film » avec un enthousiasme et une surexcitation non feints et indécents. Le style elliptique et très rhétorique souligne le rythme et le suspens : PHIL: France. Down south. Nice, eh? Look there. That house, on the corner. Karim’s in there. Now wait. Wait, wait, wait. Now! There he goes. […] That was him, running across the road. You can’t hear it cause there’s no sound, but there’s some French cops round that corner, just plastered the place. […] See the toy shop window, that shadow. Oh wait, here he comes, here he comes, out the fucking door, bang! Bang bang! Bang bang bang bang bang bang! Fucking hell. What a show. […] He’s not dead yet. Look. See this guy. The fat one. See the way he’s bending down. He’s checking his pulse. Now he’s looking up. He’s looking at his superior. And there. See. That’s where he must have done it. You’ve gotta fucking admire them, man. They got a wounded terrorist, mountains of paperwork, so what do they do? The fat one looks up, gestures he’s still alive. Officer in charge nods his head. See. There. Fat guy takes out his gun. Puts it to his head. and… bang! Hmmp. Now he’s dead. Now he’s dead, see! (p. 76)

23 Dans cette scène où le terroriste est éliminé sans appel, le dramaturge met la réalité et les media en abyme afin de « brouiller » les cartes. Il critique ainsi le voyeurisme des spectateurs du petit écran et la confusion qui s’opère dans leur esprit devant des reportages et des documentaires qui prennent des airs de courts métrages de fiction. Il peut ainsi pointer du doigt tous ceux qui entretiennent le flou et les amalgames. Phil s’identifie à ses homologues français. Tous les surnoms que Nigel lui avait attribués deviennent signifiants : Super cop et Robocop gagnent à tous les coups dans un monde de séries télévisées et de bandes dessinées. Nigel vit dans un univers où les seules références sont cinématographiques et télévisuelles. Il se protège ainsi d’un monde de prédateurs qui l’effraie.

24 Henry Adam joue sur divers systèmes et modes d’écriture qu’il connaît bien et où les signes sémiotiques et les signes linguistiques se complètent. Au Traverse Theatre, la mise en espace de l’univers des personnages était révélatrice puisque la cage d’escalier était donnée à voir en perspective frontale. Ainsi, les appartements ressemblaient à des vignettes. Les degrés que les uns et les autres montaient et descendaient pour se rendre chez eux ou chez leurs voisins étaient autant de passages raccords.

25 Dans la littérature écossaise, le topos des anciens « tenements » se nimbe presque toujours de nostalgie et ses caractéristiques sont stéréotypées. Le texte de Henry Adam permet de le visualiser essentiellement en noir et blanc. Non seulement la couleur de la

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 117

peau, signe d’appartenance ou de différence, obsède les esprits mais elle hante aussi la parole de ses répétitions.

26 Le transcodage imposé par le discours écrit préalable à la scène rappelle la bande dessinée ou le dessin animé. L’auteur donne même une référence explicite au modèle : « NIGEL curses under his breath, cartoon style, then opens the door a crack » (p. 4). Parfois, les didascalies indiquent que le mouvement se fige ou le tableau se fixe : Mrs MAC: He was getting on a bus. If you run you might just catch him. They’re not the fastest buses in the world. Phil is stopped in his tracks. (p. 24) […] NIGEL sticks his thumb in his mouth, stands on one leg, wraps his free hand around his head and hums repetitively – a strange rhythmic droning noise that totally freaks out Phil. (p. 29) […] NIGEL […] (Imitates a plane flying into a building with his voice and his hands.) (p. 35)

27 Beaucoup de répliques se réduisent à une expression comprenant une, deux ou trois syllabes, fortement ponctuée par des « ! » et des « ? ». Ellipses et onomatopées abondent : MARCO is sneaking up behind him. MARCO: Boo! NIGEL: Aaaaagh! NIGEL, being wound up already, jumps a metaphorical six feet in the air. MARCO laughs. (p. 20)

28 Pièce sur les jeux de rôles et sur les faux-semblants, The People next Door trace une satire de notre société où la peur d’autrui et les sectarismes dynamitent tout espoir de cohésion. Les personnages sont des solitaires qui ne demandent qu’à briller de leur éclat. La scène 18 où le mensonge final prend corps leur offre l’éclairage qui révèle leur nouvelle nature. Enfin libérés, les marginaux désormais au-dessus de tous soupçons ont créé une cellule qui leur est propre.

29 Henry Adam m’a dit avoir aussi voulu jouer sur les familles recomposées. Il en a reconstitué une avec Mrs Mac et Marco. Marco, est un adolescent de couleur maltraité et battu ; il a 15 ans ; il est en quête d’affection et de douceur. Il s’est réfugié chez Nigel son voisin. Mrs Mac, écossaise émigrée en Angleterre, se sentait exclue. Elle passait son temps à nettoyer l’escalier et à entretenir une conversation assidue avec son défunt mari. Son portrait est caricatural.

30 Chacun des personnages de la pièce personnifie à lui seul une catégorie marginalisée (les vieux et les jeunes, les Écossais, les Noirs et les Anglo-pakistanais…). Ces personnages sont isolés et perdus dans un univers qui les désocialise. La solidarité y est réduite à une portion congrue, maigre reste du « Welfare State » mis à mal par la politique ultra-libérale de Mme Thatcher. Nigel vit dans un appartement fourni par « l’État providence ». La solitude et la peur finissent par les unir. Leur force tient de ces liens qu’ils vont tisser jour après jour pour lutter conte les aléas de la vie mais aussi contre Phil et son organisation. l’Angleterre ne leur offre que du malheur. Ils vont lui opposer leur désespérance et leur quête d’un brin de bonheur. L’explosion de l’appartement de Mrs Mac la jette à la rue. Elle s’impose chez Nigel comme Marco l’avait fait précédemment dans sa fuite des coups maternels. Cette explosion n’est pas dûe à une attaque terroriste mais à une bonne vieille cuisinière à gaz : une mauvaise fuite est embrasée par la cigarette de la vieille dame. Après la déflagration, lorsqu’elle

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 118

apparaît en scène, Mrs Mac est clownesque, un mégot « cramé » à la bouche. Ici, le message est ambigu. L’explosion est source de fusion et elle répare la scission. Les trois reclus apprennent la tolérance et les concessions de la vie en commun. La vieille Mrs Mac protège les deux garçons comme s’ils étaient ses fils. Elle vole à leur secours quand besoin est. Lorsque Phil menace Nigel avec son revolver, Mrs Mac l’assomme avec le pique feu. Puis, Marco ramasse l’arme et le tue. Ils mettent fin à une forme de mise en danger de leur nouvelle cellule.

31 Henry Adam m’a confié avoir été très choqué par l’arrestation de certains de ses voisins pakistanais soupçonnés d’appartenir à des réseaux islamistes. La réalité d’une atmosphère de peur et de délation lui a sauté aux yeux. La proximité d’un événement implique chacun de nous. Le terrorisme élargit le champ de bataille à la planète entière. Chaque être vivant devient le petit soldat d’une cause qu’il méconnaît la plupart du temps. Quand il joue son rôle d’espion, Nigel le marginal toxicomane s’approprie le jargon des fanatiques investis de missions : NIGEL: I said to him… « I have always felt myself to have a warrior’s soul. The frustrations of my life come from this. From being a warrior in a time of no war. » MARCO: Fucking hell Nigel. Did you make that up? NIGEL: What? No. it was in a comic. X-men or something. MARCO: You amaze me. (p. 49)

32 Sous la plume de Henry Adam, le décalage qui sépare les propos du garçon et la réalité est à la fois source de comique et d’inquiétude. La référence source de la citation qu’il utilise pour répondre aux questions qu’on lui pose dans la mosquée accroît l’effet recherché. Nigel est devenu sycophante par obligation mais sa vie est en danger : si les gens qu’il rencontre sont des terroristes, il court des risques sérieux. Pourtant, pour se protéger, il se contente d’entrer dans son rôle comme le ferait un acteur de théâtre. Pis encore, le texte qu’il se donne est tiré d’une bande dessinée. Le procédé technique désamorce le suspens et amplifie le comique à double tranchant. Nigel s’identifie à un héros de vignettes. Le transfert éradique sa frayeur, pourtant justifiée, et sublime son évolution personnelle. Il transcende, par là-même, la réalité de la situation mortifère et sa propre réalité de raté. L’emprunt linguistique le met en adéquation avec son rôle usurpé par force. L’entrée en scène de Salif est rendue caricaturale par l’auteur à dessein : NIGEL peeps out again, checking PHIL’s eyes are closed. He comes out. He is wearing a long Moslem-style suit or robe beneath a camouflage flak jacket, topped off with a little Moslem style hat and mirror shades […] PHIL: You’re supposed to be some disturbed misfit, not a fucking Mujahadin tank commander. […] NIGEL: I got it off Oxfam years ago. Just liked the colour. You really thought I was going to turn up at the mosque dressed like this. Sucker. I ain’t mad. Well, I am, but not that mad. I was just joshing with you man. Thought it would break the tension. Obviously not. (p. 43)

33 Comme Mrs Mac, Nigel vit constamment dans l’entre-deux. Il ne participe pas de deux mondes ; il est rejeté par les deux. Il s’est donc créé une troisième voie entre la fiction qui lui est accessible et le quotidien. Ses modèles et références repoussoirs sont des héros issus de bandes dessinées et de séries télévisées. Le texte regorge de leurs noms. Sa vie se glisse entre le rêve et la réalité. De temps en temps, les informations télévisées envahissent son cocon. Il « zappe » et fait disparaître les intruses. La télécommande à la

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 119

main, il contrôle et dénie. Néanmoins, à la séquence 17, il doit faire face, sans ciller, à la mort de Karim qui lui est relatée par cassette vidéo interposée. Le drame de Henry Adam met en abyme la mise en scène du guet-apen organisé par la police française. Ce dernier anime l’écran de télévision en circuit interne. Cependant, il rappelle en écho l’événementiel qui s’est inscrit dans notre propre réalité avec ce que les journalistes ont appelé « l’affaire Kelkhal ». Les limites des espaces théâtraux et spectatoriels éclatent ainsi et englobent notre propre passé de « spectateur télé ». Les images de ce vécu qui nous appartient jouent avec celles que le metteur en scène et le scénographe ont créées pour nous.

34 Nigel et ce frère qu’il ne connaît même pas ont peu de choses en commun. Toutefois, le spectateur sent germer chez l’un la graine qui a conduit l’autre à la mort.

35 Henry Adam se délecte à manier l’ironie. Phil, l’agent de l’état britannique n’est pas exemplaire. De plus, il périt sous les coups d’une vieille écossaise armée d’un pique-feu et d’un adolescent martyr, victime de maltraitance familiale. Le burlesque s’empare de la scène du crime, pied de nez aux modèles du genre. La scène finale annoncée non sans malice comme « a picture of domestic bliss » est emblématique et sa causticité est peu anodine. Mrs Mac, Marco et Nigel vivent très heureux dans le pire des mondes, parfaitement protégés dans le cocon qu’ils se sont bâti. Ils symbolisent le bonheur et l’espoir. La nouvelle cellule familiale (quasi « monoparentale » sur deux générations) est constituée d’une écossaise, d’un noir et d’un anglo-pakistanais. Ils regardent tous trois la télévision : le petit écran leur transmet des nouvelles du conflit qui a été la source de tous leurs ennuis. Ils font taire le présentateur du journal télévisé en choisissant un programme divertissant et récréatif.

36 L’image d’Épinal qui s’affiche à la fin de la pièce ne résout pas l’ambiguïté morale qui transpire tout au long du drame. Les trois héros ne sont pas punis pour leur crime ; ils demeurent, selon l’auteur, « innocent and blissful ». De plus, les spectateurs ont été savamment amenés à haïr Phil et ce qu’il personnifie. Henry Adam, pacifiste, se vengerait-il ainsi, par drame interposé, de décisions prises par le gouvernement britannique ? Sanctionnerait-il l’intervention du Royaume-Uni dans la deuxième guerre du Golfe ? Comment l’auteur écossais se refuserait-il d’égratigner l’Angleterre qui, pour les citoyens du nord de l’archipel, sont responsables de telles décisions et de tant de maux ?

37 En dehors de toute démarche politique, l’auteur élabore aussi une forme dramatique de questionnement sur la place de l’illusion théâtrale dans notre monde qui est de plus en plus théâtralisé et dans lequel les oxymoroniques « reality-shows » attirent de plus en plus de spectateurs dans leurs filets et leurs labyrinthes.

38 Enfin, grâce à ses personnages marginaux et son drame à l’aigre-douce, il partage avec le public le malaise qu’il a connu seul, dans une communauté à laquelle il n’arrivait pas à s’identifier. Attiré par le théâtre et les « choses » intellectuelles, il a laissé Wick, ses « Broons »6 et le monde ouvrier loin derrière, pour un parcours autre que celui que le déterminisme socio-culturel lui avait tracé. Adolescent, Henry Adam n’a pas été étranger aux « galères » de Nigel mais, avec cette deuxième pièce écrite pour le festival d’Edimbourg 2003, il asseoit sa réputation de dramaturge et renforce sa position dans la nouvelle écriture à la fois écossaise et britannique.

39 Inspiré par des faits divers dont il a été le témoin, le drame qu’il nous fait partager se regarde comme une fenêtre ouverte sur une création inscrite dans un environnement

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 120

paradoxalement défini comme local, national et international. Un jeune homme juge ses pairs et ses contemporains et livre, par là-même, une part de son passé douloureux. Il contextualise le décor dans une architecture typique des « tenements » : les scènes se passent dans une cage d’escalier autour de laquelle s’articulent et s’organisent des appartements, modestes, de taille réduite, qui abritent maux et chaleur humaines. La solidarité, légendaire du lieu, est le ciment qui scelle les pièces disparates d’un puzzle social déclassé. À la fois huis clos et vitrine exposée au regard de tous, l’œuvre se plaît à multiplier les perspectives.

40 Amorale et pessimiste pour certains, immorale pour d’autres, optimiste pour d’autres encore, la pièce de Henry Adam laissera une trace de notre histoire contemporaine commune. Notre présent s’y lit dans ses choix et ses fantasmes. L’événementiel s’y décrypte comme autant de critiques passées sur une société de laissés-pour-compte qui joue avec cynisme sur le désarroi d’êtres humains tout droit sortis de leurs rôles et de leurs fonctions stéréotypes. La peur alimente le quotidien de tous mais elle huile aussi les mécanismes politiques. Comment réagir face au terrorisme mondial, épée de Damoclès, sans verser dans l’excès ? Comment se préserver à la fois des bombes fanatiques et de ceux qui les pourchassent ? Notre monde est confus. Il n’est plus explicite et lisible car chacun n’y a plus une place dûment réservée. Son avenir y est plus qu’incertain. Comment vivre au jour le jour emprisonné dans un nombrilisme qui défend et rassure alors que la mondialisation est en marche ? Henry Adam pose ces questions qui hantent les jeunes de partout.

41 Avec Dark Earth de David Harrower et The Strait de Gregory Burke, la saison (f) estivale du Traverse Theatre 2003 a offert aux spectateurs du monde entier des regards sur la fragmentation, la décomposition et la recréation d’une nation qui se cherche encore et qui tente de ré/concilier son passé colonial impérial, source de grandeur et de gloire, ses « régionalismes », sources de richesses et de dissensions, ses aspirations et ses réticences face à l’Europe et au monde en marche. Comment être et avoir été ? Comment être tout et partie à la fois ? Comment sauvegarder alliés et alliances ? Sous couvert de drames limités à des microcosmes, les trois auteurs s’attaquent à des topoï qui débordent très largement de leurs confins. Egocentrés, les personnages étouffent dans leurs vies étriquées : la porosité de leurs bulles annonce leur délitescence : l’intrusion d’un « autre » est déstabilisante et désagrégeante. Pourtant elle aide aussi à se re/construire.

42 Dans chacune de ces trois pièces, la réputation légendaire cliché du pays est mise à mal. Taillée en pièces, elle sert de limon à une écriture novatrice et fertile qui sert admirablement son renom.

NOTES

1. Toutes les références à cette œuvre renvoient à l’édition NHB (en association avec le Traverse Theatre) ; Henry Adam : The People next Door, NHB, Londres, 2003. 2. NIGEL: « I’s mental » (p. 22).

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 121

3. Nigel appelle le policier « Babylon » et dit de lui : « he ain’t no normal person » (p. 21) ; « [a] dope-smoking psycho cop [s] with a licence to kill » (p. 22). 4. « A small housing association flat in modern-day Britain » […] « NIGEL is a big lanky man of mixed, indeterminate race » (p. 1). Les allusions à « Campbell’s Cream of Tomato soup » et au supermarché « Tesco » banalisent et contextualisent le « héros » et son univers. 5. « Look Nige, I know you’re having a bit of trouble getting your head round all this, but we’ve got a trail on Karim going back to 1998. We can connect him to gangs in Germany, France and Morocco. We’ve got his prints all over the kitchen of a bomb factory in Lyon. And now we’re right back where it all started. The Bentley Road Mosque. » (p. 61) 6. The Broons : bandes dessinées qui paraissent dans le Sunday Post et qui sont publiées par D. C. Thomson & Co. LTD, Londres. Le slogan qui les définit : « Scotland’s Happy Family That Makes Every Family Happy! » Une des publicités les décrivait ainsi : The BROONS They’re jist like the family we a’wish we had, The Broons and their antics, that make us feel glad, That places like Glebe Street, at hoose number ten, And up in the hills at the wee But an’Ben, Are full o’the laughter, the daftness and cheek, That keep us all happy for week efter week! Follow The Broons every Sunday in The Sunday POST.

AUTEUR

DANIÈLE BERTON-CHARRIÈRE Université Jean-Monnet Saint-Étienne

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 122

Towards a reassessment of Douglas Young Motivation and his Aristophanic translations

Bill Findlay

1 In recent years Greek classical drama has achieved a new profile in Scottish theatre through a surge of translations and versions done into English or Scots, mostly by prominent playwrights, and created from Greek or from other languages and plays through which the Greek originals have been mediated1. Two of the most significant examples are Liz Lochhead’s Scots version, “after Euripides”, of Medea (2000), and Edwin Morgan’s Scots translation of Racine’s Phaedra (2000). The former originated as part of a triple bill collectively titled Greeks, which included versions of Electra by Tom McGrath and of Oedipus by David Greig. The most recent of a number of other examples is, at time of writing, Peter Arnott’s House of Murders (2004), a reworking of Aeschylus’s Oresteia. Lochhead’s and Morgan’s choice of Scots as their medium had precursors of sorts, not just in relation to their earlier translations of, respectively, Molière’s Tartuffe (1986) and Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac (1992), but in other renderings of Greek classics into Scots: Bill Dunlop’s version of Klytemnestra’s Bairns (1993), taken from the Oresteia; Ian Brown’s version of Antigone (1969), based on the plays by Sophocles and Anouilh2; and Douglas Young’s translations of two of Aristophanes’plays, The Puddocks (1958) and The Burdies (1959; 1966)3.

2 The Puddocks was first staged by “The Reid Gouns”, a St Andrews University student group, who performed it at the Byre Theatre in the town in February 1958. Later that year, an amateur group, “The Sporranslitters”, staged an open-air production at the Braidburn Theatre in Edinburgh as an Edinburgh Festival Fringe event. The Burdies was premiered in 1959, again by “The Reid Gouns”, but in the Cathedral Hall, Albany Street, Edinburgh, at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. It was subsequently given full professional performance in 1966, when the Royal Lyceum Theatre Company, Edinburgh, in its inaugural season, made the translation the vehicle for the company’s first main- programme contribution to the Edinburgh International Festival. This prestigious production, featuring a large cast, along with a chorus of singers and a band of musicians, drew on the talents of many of the best-known names in Scottish theatre,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 123

with actor Tom Fleming as director, and, in the cast, luminaries such as Duncan Macrae, Fulton Mackay, Lennox Milne, Jean Taylor Smith, Callum Mill, and a youthful Brian Cox.

3 The translation of foreign drama into Scots is essentially a modern development that commenced in the 1940s with Robert Kemp’s Let Wives Tak Tent (L’École des femmes), added to by him, in 1955, with another Molière, The Laird o’Grippy (L’Avare) (Kemp, 1983, 1987). Young was the first to follow up on Kemp’s example, and to him must go the credit for initiating translation of Greek classical drama into Scots4. Young’s reputation has tended to be based on his work as a poet and polyglot translator of poetry; the equal or greater significance of his contribution as an early translator of drama into Scots has only very recently, in the form of an essay by J. Derrick McClure published in 2004, begun to receive the attention previously given to that other work. McClure offers an appreciative analysis of the use of Scots in the two translated plays, helpfully opining that Young’s “most substantial exercises in translation […] are not in the field of lyric but of dramatic poetry”. He makes brief mention of the question of Young’s reasons for embarking on those translation, noting that “[t]he translation of literature is an act in which individual motives are liable to play an important role”5. Rather than offer further analysis of Young’s stage Scots, the discussion here will pick up on that comment by McClure in exploring the motives informing The Puddocks and The Burdies by way of a contribution to encouraging a reorientation in study of Young that takes greater account within his œuvre of his Scots translations of Greek drama and the considerations shaping them. At the back of the discussion, too, will be awareness of a more general observation made by McClure in a 1983 essay on the use of Scots in dialogue: “the mere fact of writing in a tongue other than the official standard […] implies some conscious decision on the part of the author; and his possible motivation, and the mode in which it emerges in his work, has been investigated much less extensively.”6 In that McClure has offered an initial analysis of Young’s “mode” in his Aristophanic translations, the following will offer some investigation of his “motivation”.

4 When Young made his play translations he was a lecturer in Classics at St Andrews University. The immediate reason for the translations was to satisfy requests from his students. In a foreword to the published script of The Puddocks (Puddocks, p. VI).he acknowledged “Mr Gordon Stirling Maxwell, a member of the Honours Classics class, at whose request I undertook the translation in July, 1957”, and he stated in his verse- address, “Epilogue (Spoken on the final nicht [of the student production], 28th February, 1958)”: But here’s the richt Initiator, that set on fuit this play sae fine, Gordon Maxwell frae Corstorphine. It was his idea tae dae in Lallans this auld Greek play; he waled the callans and lassies here, wi rowth o talents. Gordon produced it, gleg and slee. (Puddocks, p. 55)

5 Young recorded: “that play [The Puddocks]having met with some acceptance, the group of students concerned, calling themselves “The Reid Gouns”, then asked for a version of The Burdies in time for the Edinburgh International Festival of 1959”. (Burdies,p. III)

6 However, one can go beyond these immediate instigations to locate a wider range of motivational factors coalescing to inform Young’s translations of Aristophanes into

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 124

Scots. What these were can be identified in part through a biographical résumé. Douglas Young was born in Fife in 1913 and died in the USA in 1973. His father worked in India and he spent his early years there before becoming a boarder at Merchiston Castle School in Edinburgh. He went on to study Classics at St Andrews University, which he chose, in preference to the Oxbridge route urged on him by his schoolmasters, out of “a sort of Nationalist instinct”7. That “instinct” became for him a lifelong dedication as a cultural-political activist of left-wing sympathies to the cause of Scottish independence. As well as standing as a parliamentary candidate for the Scottish National Party, he served as Chairman of the party for a period. He also closely aligned himself with the Scottish Renaissance literary movement initiated by Hugh MacDiarmid in the 1920s, and followed MacDiarmid in his vigorous advocacy of the Scots language. He became one of the most prominent writers associated with the second wave of the Scottish Renaissance that emerged in the late 1930s and 1940s, to which he made significant contributions as a polemicist, poet, critic and translator; indeed, a profile of him in The Scots Review in 1947 stated: “Still in his early thirties Young is the acknowledged pillar of the Renaissance.”8 After St Andrews University, Young continued his studies at Oxford University, then took up a Classics post at Aberdeen University in 1938. During World War II he refused conscription out of nationalist principle and served two terms of imprisonment. While he was in Barlinnie Prison, his first collection of Scots poems and verse translations from a variety of languages, Auntran Blads, 1943, was seen through the press by friends; his second, ABraird oThristles, followed in 1947. The publicity attracted by his two trials and prison sentences caused him employment difficulties but he eventually secured a post at St Andrews University, where he remained from the late 1940s until 1968 when he took up a Classics chair, first in Canada and then in the USA. In a memorial volume published after his death, one tribute concluded: “He was a polymath […] with a fantastically well- stored mind, enriched by the widest reading, constant travel, and contacts with people of all lands and of all conditions.”9

7 As regards Young’s Scots translations of Aristophanes, one can see from this summary of his life that informing factors are likely to include, centrally, his politicocultural nationalism, and, flowing from this, his commitment to the ideals of the Scottish Renaissance and promotion of the Scots tongue, and service to these through his linguistic scholarship as both a polyglot and a Classicist. The importance of these factors is confirmed by Hugh MacDiarmid’s foreword to Young’s Auntran Blads, where, in discussing what he refers to as the “Scottish Renaissance movement” and Young’s place within it, MacDiarmid singles out as defining elements, as instanced by Young’s work: “a revived Scottish Nationalism”, “a thorough-going critical revaluation of the Scottish past in all its aspects, and a new insistence on the Scots Lallans language”, “wide-ranging linguistic and scholarly interests”, and “internationalism”10.

8 What MacDiarmid means here by “internationalism” overlaps with his stress on “linguistic and scholarly interests”, and can be illuminated with reference to a statement he made about the Scottish Renaissance poets of Young’s generation: These new Scots poets […] are internationalists in their literary sympathies […] and have translated into Scots a great body of poetry from German, French, Russian, and other European languages […] [These] healthy intromissions with the whole range of European literature […] have been a notable feature of our recent literary history, like a veritable return to the Good Europeanism of our mediaeval ancestors11.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 125

9 In 1940 MacDiarmid invited Young and other poets to visit him at his then home on the Shetland island of Whalsay. In response Young wrote a verse-letter in Scots, “Letter to Hugh MacDiarmid, 1940”, in which he salutes the linguistic internationalism of MacDiarmid’s work (MacDiarmid having translated or adapted poetry into Scots from a number of languages): Icelandic and Scots and German and whiles Greek, Provençal, Chinese, and the lave that ye speak, – aa your galvanic energie fizzan and sputteran12.

10 Young’s verse-letter embodies this same impulse that he admired in MacDiarmid, admixing the Scots with lines of Gaelic, Greek, French, German, Latin, and Russian. We see this polyglot practice at work, too, in his Auntran Blads, which has poetry by him written in Scots, English, Greek, Latin, French, and German; poems by Burns translated into Greek; and translations into Scots of poems from Gaelic, Greek, Latin, Italian, French, German, Lithuanian, Chinese, and Russian (Young, 1943). His second collection, A Braird oThristles, features poetry in Scots, English, and French; and translations of poetry into Scots from Gaelic, Welsh, Lithuanian, French, Hebrew, Russian, German, Greek, and Chinese (Young, 1947). As McClure has noted, Young’s work “contains the widest range of translations in the œuvre of any single writer in recent Scots poetry”13.

11 The fruits of his multilingualism served a nationalist purpose in reasserting Scotland’s independent links with the world and demonstrating the potentialities that still resided in Scots as a literary medium capable of translating effectively a variety of languages and writerly styles. Kurt Wittig has suggested that, “though there is [in Young’s case] something Goliardic in it, all this is also reminiscent of the Scots humanists of the sixteenth century, and it betokens a genuine effort to establish cross-relations with other cultures” (Wittig, 1958, p. 298). In other words, Young’s polyglot translation work also allowed a reconnection with an earlier period of internationalism (“the Good Europeanism of our mediaeval ancestors”, in MacDiarmid’s phrasing)14. This had a special significance in relation to Young’s translation of the Classics into Scots, as hinted at in Wittig’s reference to Scottish humanism. In discussing what he terms “the Post-MacDiarmid Makars”, Tom Hubbard remarks of Young’s fellow Renaissance poet Robert Garioch’s translations into Scots of Latin plays by George Buchanan that, “together with Douglas Young’s versions of Aristophanes […] they reassert what Dr George Davie has called “the vernacular basis of Scottish humanism”, the once-proud relationship of mastery of the classics to mastery of Scots”15. This tradition of Scottish vernacular humanism and its influence on Robert Garioch’s motivation in translating into Scots Buchanan’s two sixteenth-century Latin plays has been discussed elsewhere at length by me16. Suffice to say here that the tradition entailed translation of Classical texts into Scots as a challenging means of “stretching” and enlarging the language, and of enhancing its status through association with prestige literature. It was a tradition with its roots in the sixteenth century but it had become broken by the twentieth century. Its revival was one aspect of the more general recovery of and reconnection with Scotland’s cultural past associated with the MacDiarmid-led Scottish Renaissance.

12 I have argued elsewhere that Robert Garioch, Douglas Young, and W. L. Lorimer all sought to revive Scottish vernacular humanism in their respective translations from Classical languages17. Lorimer translated from the original Greek The New Testament in Scots which, though not published till 1983, can be considered, because of its decades of gestation, as a late fruit of the MacDiarmid-led Scottish Renaissance18. Lorimer, like

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 126

Young, was a professional Classicist and a Scots language enthusiast with nationalist sympathies. He was a long-standing colleague of Young’s at St Andrews University and was instrumental, as head of the Classics department, in gaining Young employment there after his imprisonment in the 1940s19. In translating The Puddocks and The Burdies Young acknowledged his indebtedness to Lorimer “with regard to matters of both Scots and Greek usage” (Puddocks, p. VI) & (Burdies, p. V). Lorimer, too, was a polyglot, and drew on his command of several languages in reading foreign translations of the New Testament to assist him in preparing his Scots translation. In this respect, one notes as well that Robert Garioch, in addition to his translations of Buchanan’s Latin plays, translated into Scots a substantial body of poetry from different languages. This again confirms the complementariness of linguistic scholarship and vernacular humanism as one of the means by which mid-twentieth-century Scottish Renaissance writers could, through translation, as in Young’s Aristophanic translations, exercise and elaborate the resources of Scots and thereby demonstrate the language’s expressive powers.

13 The promotion through translation of Scots – or of “Lallans”, his preferred term – was for Young part of a larger agenda in relation to the language. In J. D. McClure’s words, Young was “aiming, from motives as much political as literary, to devise a national language based on vernacular speech which would compete with the dominant lingua franca”20. There is ample evidence of this in statements by him, as in these two separate examples: [The] national status of Lallans must be emphasised, if only because so many superficial readers or propagandist hacks have dubbed it a mere dialect of English, a provincial variant of the King’s English. Lallans is a language of a nation, Hugh MacDiarmid and others are restoring it in full vigour for all the purposes of national self-expression […] After prolonged coma, Scotland is waking up, and the Renaissance in Lallans is […] one manifestation of this process21.

14 We see here the coming together of two of the elements that MacDiarmid defined as key features of the Scottish Renaissance, namely, “a revived Scottish Nationalism” and “a new insistence on the Scots language”. The linguistic politics that flowed from this required strategies for both the practice and the propagandising of writing in Scots. As regards practice, as has already been noted, it had to be demonstrated through original writing of ambitious range, and through translations of high literature, that Scots had the capacity to be considered a “language”; or at least, a “language-inwaiting”. Also, methods for expanding the resources of Scots and asserting its distinctiveness had to be developed. The political dimension to the nature of the practice flowing from this, as indicated by that italicising, can be illustrated by a statement by Young such as the following: IfLallans fails, coin something from Latin or Greek if you like, as King’s English does; if all else fails admit a Hottentotism rather than another Anglicism. This should be our intransigent policy for the next five hundred years or so22.

15 At other times his position is less inflexible: I approve the principle of taking in a good English word if it expresses a concept or shade of meaning for which there is no Lallans word, just as English admits French words like “Chic”or Urdu terms like “Pukka”. But we must be canny about this and not take in an undue share of Anglicisms. (Puddocks, p. VI & Burdies, p. V)

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 127

16 But whatever the shifting tone that we find in these and similar statements by Young, the political stance informing his viewpoint on evolving Lallans as a national language is transparent.

17 As regards his propagandising on behalf of Lallans, he pursued this through public lectures, articles, and pamphlets such as “Plastic Scots” and the Scottish Literary Tradition (1946) and The Use of Scots for Prose (1949) – both based on public lectures, with the former, significantly, chaired by Hugh MacDiarmid (Young, 1949). Another arm of his activism was his “language planning” activities, as in the instrumental part he played in drawing up in 1947, under the aegis of the Makkars’ Club in Edinburgh, the “Scots Style Sheet”, comprising recommendations for the standardisation of Scots spelling. One reason for his concern here related to the parlous contemporary state of Scots: What we should realise, I think, is that there is today a crisis for the Scots tongue. […] it cannot be denied that it is more and more being relegated to the position of a dialect, or series of patois, whose literary value is confined to the comic or the sentimental. With the influence of the English wireless and the American cinema we shall require a good deal of vigilance and effort to maintain the old speech in anything like its integrity. One part of that effort must, I submit, be directed to prose. (Young, 1949, p. 19)

18 Because of the loss of a formal prose register for Scots in the seventeenth century, from when, he said, “dates the confused and unrealistic orthography of Lallans” (Plastic Scots, p. 12), any attempted recreation of a Scots prose would require a settled spelling system for the benefit of writers and readers. As he saw it, this, too, had a political dimension: Supposing it be desired to develop the potentialities of Scots for prose as an independent literary medium, as distinct from English as it is from German or Norwegian, can it still be done, and if so how? […] It is partly a political question, language being in large measure a political instrument. (Young, 1949, p. 17)

19 He argued that one of the ways in which a prose could be developed was through translation, which he considered to be “indispensable” for advancing Scots (Young, 1949, p. 19). Indeed, he called for a society to be formed “[t]o sponsor and subsidise translations into Scots”, and suggested that an organisation such as the Saltire Society or the Burns Federation might sponsor “a series of translations”23. It can therefore be claimed that his translation of drama, like his translation of poetry and his call for translation of prose, can be placed within the larger context of a strategy to extend the literary range of Scots and thereby contribute to enhancing its status culturally, socially, and politically. Prose and play translations in turn would sit alongside original writing where, in his words, “the theatre and other media will be carrying into daily life and journalism and prose literature the work done in Lallans verse” (Plastic Scots, p. 32). Of plays in particular, he stated approvingly in 1947, in an article written in Scots, “Robert Kemp and Robert Maclellan hae shawn what can be duin wi Lallans in stage-plays, whaur dialogue whiles gangs aff intil extendit discourse that comes near a richt prose”24. He explicitly related all of this to what he called MacDiarmid’s “propaganda for a Scottish Renaissance” when, in 1952, in enumerating his mentor’s aims, he gave as “first, the extended use of the distinctive national languages, Lallans and Gaelic, not only for verse but also for drama and prose and all the purposes of discourse”25. One notes here the recurring references to the importance of work for the stage as a key part of a wider programme for advancing the status and capacities of Scots.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 128

20 In sum, then, and returning to Young’s motivation specifically in translating The Puddocks and The Burdies, the foregoing allows one to argue with confidence that informing factors included his politico-cultural nationalism and his close identification with the ideals of the twentieth-century Scottish Renaissance, particularly as regards promotion of Scots to national status. Achievement of the latter entailed application of his linguistic erudition in extending the reach of Scots, and included in the strategy for so doing was the revival of a translation tradition inspired by a historical awareness of Scottish humanism and an internationalism of outlook. These shaping considerations are confirmed in Young’s own formulation of the common motivation behind his and his fellow Scottish Renaissance writers’efforts: “[We] share a desire to re-establish the cultural contacts of Lallans with other literatures which the English predominance had occluded, and to retrieve, refine, and extend Lallans as a national language fit for all purposes of verse, and indeed of literature generally.” (Plastic Scots, p. 19)

21 That quotation, with its reference to retrieval, refinement and extension of Lallans, provides a pointer to Young’s method in his use of Scots in striving for an aggrandised medium that was, in his words, capable of “amplitude and exaltation” (Plastic Scots, p. 15). However, although he numbered himself among those Scottish Renaissance writers whom he described as “full-canon Lallanders”(Plastic Scots, p. 17), he was aware, as evidenced by his translations of Aristophanes, that there was a risk attached to an overly-scholarly and over-literary approach to creating a synthetic Scots whose focus was primarily poetry: [G] in Lallans verse-makin isna tae be an academic dilettante ploy like Greek elegiacs or Latin hexameters, the “Plastic” Makars maun uis the leid for ither purposes than poetry, namely for prose and for speakin. Itherweys the vitality o the leid maun be tint26.

22 Drama, as a quintessentially speech-based genre, was a means by which “the vitality o the leid” could be exercised and demonstrated. One can find in many of Young’s statements a tension between concepts of “good” and “bad” Scots27, particularly in relation to colloquial contemporary urban Scots, that might be thought to militate against this. Just the same, the Scots in The Puddocks and The Burdies is generally less densely synthetic and more vernacular in nature than is the case with most of his poetry and translated poetry. This does not negate problems of intelligibility for an audience, as confirmed by the controversy centred on that issue that surrounded the 1966 production of The Burdies at the Edinburgh International Festival (Young, 1966).But, as that translation shows, the hybrid Greek-Scots world he created, with its topical allusions to Scottish life, from Celtic and Rangers to razor gangs to the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, and his hybridising employment of contemporary Scottish, English and American usages, together betray a less principled and more pragmatic stance than might be judged from some of his severer statements on language and culture such as those instanced earlier in relation to his motivation. The same more relaxed attitude may be seen in the leeway on performance language he proffers with The Puddocks: “producers have my entire goodwill in discreetly watering down my Scots reading version with whatever English, American, Irish, or other expressions they may think proper to their purpose” (Puddocks, p. IX). This is one reason why his play translations are of particular interest, as study of them, and the link between motivation and mode of medium, offers a corrective to the impression of a more puristic stance on Scots than his reputation to date, based on his other work, suggests. What such study also does, from the perspective of Scottish theatre, is to highlight that

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 129

his mode of approach in The Puddocks and The Burdies – in juggling many varieties of register and fashioning an experimental “stage-Lallans”28 commingling, promiscuously, past and present usages, and contemporary anglicisms and Americanisms (contradicting his earlier-quoted wish to reject such imports) – foreshadowed by almost three decades, as an exemplar-in-principle, the individualistic theatrical Scots that characterises Liz Lochhead’s Tartuffe and Edwin Morgan’s Cyrano de Bergerac29. This is further reason why Young’s achievement with his Aristophanic translations is deserving of greater attention.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

CORBETT John, Written in the Language of the Scottish Nation: A History of Literary Translation into Scots, Clevedon, Multilingual Matters, 1999.

CRAIGCairns (ed.), The History of Scottish Literature, vol. 4, Twentieth Century, Aberdeen, Aberdeen University Press, 1987.

DUNLOP Bill, Klytemnestra’s Bairns, Edinburgh, Diehard, 1993.

FINDLAY Bill (ed.), Frae Ither Tongues: Essays on Modern Translations into Scots, Clevedon, Multilingual Matters, 2004.

HARDWICK Lorna and GILLESPIE Carol (eds.), The Role of Greek Drama and Poetry in Crossing and Redefining Cultural Boundaries, Milton Keynes, The Open University, 2003.

HAUGEN E. et al. (eds.), Minority Languages Today, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1981.

KEMP Robert, Let Wives Tak Tent, Glasgow, Brown, Son & Ferguson, 1983.

—, The Laird o’ Grippy, Glasgow, Brown, Son & Ferguson, 1987.

LINDSAYMaurice (ed.), Poetry Scotland: Second collection, Glasgow, William MacLellan, 1945.

LOCHHEAD Liz, Tartuffe: A translation into Scots from the original by Molière, Glasgow, Third Eye Centre/Polygon, 1985.

—, Medea (after Euripides), London, Nick Hern Books, 2000.

LORIMER W. L., The New Testament in Scots, Edinburgh, Southside, 1983.

MACAFEE Caroline and MACLEOD Iseabail (eds.), The Nuttis Schell: Essays on the Scots language, Aberdeen, Aberdeen University Press, 1987.

MCCLURE J. Derrick (ed.), Scotland and the Lowland Tongue, Aberdeen, Aberdeen University Press, 1983.

MORGAN Edwin, Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, Manchester, Carcanet, 1992.

RACINE Jean, Phaedra: Translated from French into Scots by Edwin Morgan, Manchester, Carcanet, 2000.

SUTHERLAND R. G. [a.k.a. Robert Garioch], George Buchanan’s JepthahandThe Baptist translatit frae Latin in Scots, Edinburgh, Oliver and Boyd, 1959.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 130

WITTIG Kurt, The Scottish Tradition in Literature, Edinburgh, Oliver and Boyd, 1958.

YOUNG Douglas, Auntran Blads, Glasgow, William MacLellan, 1943.

—, A Braird oThristles, Glasgow, William MacLellan, 1947.

—, “The Use of Scots for Prose” being The John Galt Lecture for 1949, Greenock, Greenock Philosophical Society, 1949.

—, Chasing an Ancient Greek: Discursive reminiscences of an European journey, London, Hollis & Carter, 1950.

—, The Puddocks: A Verse Play in Scots from the Greek of Aristophanes, 2nd ed., Tayport, The author, 1958.

—, The Burdies: A Comedy in Scots Verse from the Greek of Aristophanes, 1st ed., Tayport, The author, 1959.

—, Scots Burds and Edinburgh Reviewers: A Case Study in Theatre Critics and Their Contradictions, Edinburgh, Macdonald, 1966.

NOTES

1. See Lorna Hardwick, “Classical Theatre in Modern Scotland – A Democratic Stage?”, Hardwick & Gillespie, pp. 1-13. 2. Unpublished but discussed in: Ian Brown and Ceri Sherlock, “ Antigone : A Scots/Welsh Experience of Mythical and Theatrical Translation”, in Unity in Diversity? : Current Trends in Translation Studies, ed. by Lynne Bowker and others, Manchester, St Jerome, 1998, pp. 25-37; Ian Brown, John Ramage and Ceri Sherlock, “Scots and Welsh Theatrical Translation and Theatrical Languages”, IJoST: International Journal of Scottish Theatre, 1: 2 (2000), . 3. (Young, 1958 & 1959). The Burdies will be included in John Corbett and Bill Findlay (eds.), Serving Twa Maisters: An Anthology of Scots Translations of Classic Plays, Glasgow, Association for Scottish Literary Studies, forthcoming, 2005. 4. Contemporaneously, Robert Garioch translated into Scots two sixteenth-century Latin tragedies by George Buchanan drawing on Greek classical sources; however, though Garioch’s translations were published in 1959, they were not staged. 5. J. Derrick McClure, “The Puddocks and The Burdies ‘by Aristophanes and Douglas Young’”, (Findlay, pp. 215-230, reference, pp. 215-216. Hardwick, “Classical Theatre in Modern Scotland – A Democratic Stage?”, p. 4, reports that Ronald Knox gave a paper on Douglas Young at the 100th anniversary conference of the Classical Association of Scotland in April 2002 which included discussion of his translations of Aristophanes. See also note 29 below. 6. McClure, “Scots in Dialogue: Some Uses and Implications” (McLure, 1993, p. 148). 7. (Young, 1950, p. 55). He also gives an account, on pp. 55-66, of the origins of his Scottish nationalism, his involvement in parliamentary elections for the Scottish National Party, and his trials and imprisonment for refusing conscription. 8. “Scots Whae Hae no. 13 – Douglas Young”, [anon.], The Scots Review, 8: 1 (April 1947), p. 10. 9. A Clear Voice: Douglas Young, poet and polymath, [no ed.], (Loanhead: Macdonald, [n.d.; 1974]), p. 31. 10. “Foreword by Hugh MacDiarmid” (Young, 1943, p. 5). 11. Hugh MacDiarmid (ed.), The Golden Treasury of Scottish Poetry, London, Macmillan, 1946; repr. 1948, p. XXIV.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 131

12. D. Young, “Letter to Hugh MacDiarmid, 1940” [and accompanying author’s notes] (Lindsay, 1945, pp. 25-29. The quotation is on p. 27). 13. J. Derrick McClure, “Three Translations by Douglas Young”, Macafee & Macleod, p. 203. 14. Young’s Chasing An Ancient Greek is testimony to his multilingual skills and his “Good Europeanism”. That book also demonstrates his appreciation of sixteenthcentury Scottish humanism and its “Good Europeanism” (chapter 5, pp. 2634): is given over to discussion of Henry Scrymger, a Dundonian and Hellenist, whom Young places within a larger context of Scottish Renaissance humanists who studied and held professorial posts at Continental European universities. 15. Tom Hubbard, “Reintegrated Scots: The Post-MacDiarmid Makars” (Craigs, 1987, p. 181). For Garioch’s translations of Buchanan’s Latin tragedies, see note 4 above. 16. Bill Findlay, “Robert Garioch’s Jephthah and The Baptist: Why he considered it ‘My Favourite Work’”, Scottish Literary Journal, 25: 2 (November 1998), pp. 45-66. 17. William [Bill] Findlay, “Diaskeuasts of the Omnific Word”, Cencrastus, 23 (JuneAugust 1986), pp. 48-52. 18. The “Editor’s Introduction”, by R. L. C. Lorimer, (Lorrimer, 1983) confirms the long gestation of the translation and the linguistic nationalism informing his father’s wish “to resuscitate and recreate Scots prose” (pp. XIV-XV). 19. See A Clear Voice, p. 20. It is mentioned there, too, that Lorimer “had much sympathy also with his [Young’s] nationalist views”. 20. McClure, “Three Translations by Douglas Young”, p. 198. 21. Douglas Young, “Plastic Scots” and the Scottish Literary Tradition: An authoritative introduction to a controversy [Glasgow, William MacLellan, 1947], pp. 3 and 31. 22. (Young, “Plastic Scots…”, p. 23). Corbett (1999, p. 159), judges that the “linguistic exclusivism” demonstrated in this statement “smacks of the unsavoury side of nationalism”. 23. Loc. cit. 24. Douglas Young, “Thochts Anent Lallans Prose”, The Scots Review, 8: 1, April 1947, p. 14. 25. “Foreword by Douglas Young”, in Scottish Verse 1851-1951, selected by Douglas Young (London, Thomas Nelson, 1952), pp. XXVI-XXVII. 26. “Thochts Anent Lallans Prose”, p. 14. 27. These terms are coined and defined in A. J. Aitken, “The Good Old Scots Tongue: Does Scots have an Identity?” (Haugen, 1981, pp. 85-86). An example of Young’s dismissal of what he calls there “debased patois of Scots” is reprinted in A Clear Voice, p. 82. 28. The term “stage-Lallans” is borrowed from John Corbett, (1999, p. 155), where it is specifically applied to Young’s translation of Aristophanes. 29. For discussion of these and other aspects of Young’s use of Scots in The Puddocks and The Burdies, see Bill Findlay, “Motivation and method in Scots translations, versions, and adaptations of plays from the historic repertoire of continental European drama”, unpublished doctoral thesis, 2 vols., Queen Margaret University College, Edinburgh, 2000, vol. I, chap. 4.

AUTHOR

BILL FINDLAY Queen Margaret University College, Edinburgh

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 132

Populaire, politique et poétique Réévaluer la réputation du théâtre écossais

Jean-Pierre Simard

1 L’importance de procéder, aujourd’hui, à un nouvel examen de la réputation du théâtre écossais réside précisément dans le fait que critiques, intellectuels et artistes ont longtemps contesté son existence autonome. C’est à la suite d’un élan notoire dans la décennie 1970 que l’on a commencé à interroger sa qualité et sa spécificité. L’existence d’un patrimoine négligé ou sous-estimé et l’analyse des causes de cette amnésie seront repérées tant dans la présente livraison que dans les publications récentes. Randall Stevenson en témoigne dans son introduction à l’ouvrage qu’il a co-dirigé avec Gavin Wallace (1996, p. 1-19). Il définit le socle d’une nécessaire relecture. Ce recueil prend le contre-pied du pessimisme auto-dévalorisant de la pensée écossaise traditionnelle. Les contributions d’Ian Brown (1996, ch. 7, p. 84-99) ou Mark Fisher (1996, ch. 3, p. 49-56), notamment, affirment la spécificité de ce théâtre de la nation, de l’écriture à la réception par son public, qui, autre particularité, ne doit pas être négligé. Ainsi se dessine la naissance d’un genre, paradoxalement très divers, mais propre à la scène écossaise dont beaucoup de critiques situent la prise de conscience avec la création de la pièce de John McGrath The Cheviot, the Stag and the Black, Black Oil, qui offre une réponse richement complexe aux habitus culturels écossais (1973). Ce spectacle est perçu comme fondateur d’une forme de proto-drama adapté à une Écosse autonome. Mais R. Stevenson (1996, p. 100-111) inscrit cette œuvre dans une floraison complexe alors. N’est-ce pas le théâtre qui le premier, en réintroduisant également les parlers vernaculaires, signe de reconnaissance pour le public d’Écosse, trace la voie que suivront les auteurs de roman ou de poésie du Scottish Revival, notamment à Glasgow avec J. Kelman, William Mac Ilvaney et autres Tom Leonard – sans en recueillir comme ces derniers les fruits d’une notoriété nationale et internationale. Pour affiner cette analyse liminaire de la réputation présente du théâtre écossais, le triple prisme de sa pertinence, populaire, politique et poétique sera privilégié.

2 Ce proto-drama est populaire. Ian Brown souligne dans la présente livraison d’Études écossaises le paradoxe qui a conduit les chantres même d’une écriture politiquement dynamique au XXe siècle, avec l’essor de la Scottish Renaissance à mésestimer le cabaret. Son article offre un éclairage nouveau au propos de Ferni Folorunso dans Scottish

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 133

Theatre since the Seventies (ch. 14, p. 176-185). La sympathie (plutôt que l’empathie) avec un public populaire, s’appuie sur des sketches, la pantomime, la musique et la chanson. Jusque dans l’expression des variantes les plus locales, cette dernière n’est-elle pas traditionnellement un outil de reconnaissance de la diégèse ? Auteurs et metteurs en scène jouent désormais du paradoxe pour restituer la mémoire, dès le XIXe siècle, d’un théâtre, ou d’un spectacle musical écossais populaire. La chanson de music-hall à Glasgow, comme les veillées rurales, les Ceilidhs dans les Highlands, sont convoquées avec d’autres formes populaires de distraction pour écrire un idiome du spectacle théâtral écossais dont l’évidente nécessité est héritée des spectacles de J. McGrath, du Cheviot à Border Warfare1. Les ressorts idéologiques et affectifs et les principes théoriques d’un tel recours pour dessiner une esthétique proprement nationale, qu’examine F. Folorunso, avaient été théorisés par J. McGrath lui-même2 (1981 et 1990). Dans son article Border Warranty, R. Stevenson (IJOST vol. 3, n° 2,) souligne la pertinence de ces formes avec la matière historique, notamment lorsque J. McGrath et la compagnie Wildcat ont recréé la pièce du XVIe siècle de Sir David Lindsay Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estates ou lorsque, avec la « Clydebuilt Season », ils célèbrent le théâtre ouvrier de la « Red Clyde ». Cette analyse éclaire les évocations du passé dans la quasi totalité des spectacles proposés par 7 : 84 ou Wildcat. On peut y lire une filiation dans les pièces de Sue Glover, dans Julie Allardyce3 dans plusieurs pièces de David Greig4, et aujourd’hui, dans l’histoire immédiate qui innerve les textes des jeunes dramaturges, G. Burke ou H. Adam, Linda McLean, Isabel Wright, Kate Atkinson ou Vivien Adam par exemple.

3 Ces voix nouvelles perpétuent ainsi un genre instauré par les auteurs des années 1970, et repris par la génération du théâtre « In-Yer-Face » dans les années 1990. Cependant, la tonalité proposée rappelle parfois l’auto-dénigrement traditionnel. H. Adam par exemple décentre ses personnages à Londres, où lui-même a fui la culture ouvrière de Wick. Mais Danièle Berton évoque l’intertextualité avec la bande dessinée et les dessins animés qui, ironisant sur l’Écosse, la placent paradoxalement à l’avant-scène. H. Adam invente une britannité recomposée à l’image de la parodie de famille provocante réunie autour du couple gay constitué par Nigel et Marco, adolescent caribéen, qui clôt The People Next Door (2003). Nigel, décentrement de l’auteur, appelle la présence de la vieille dame rebelle écossaise, qui, elle, renvoie à maintes héroïnes chez J. McGrath comme Old Hen, reprise en écho par Old Victoria dans Victoria D. Greig. Contrairement aux personnages de J. McGrath, l’évolution des sensibilités politiques contraint ces personnages à fuir l’Écosse. Je lis également dans le dessin du protagoniste anglo- pakistanais une intertextualité flagrante avec le chantre d’une autre périphérie culturelle en Angleterre même, Hanif Kureishi, dont les personnages, passionnés d’art vivant, notamment de chanson et de théâtre, sont écartelés dans leur culture et leur sexualité. Chez H. Adam, cet écho évoque aussi la communauté immigrée de Glasgow. Enfin, ces personnages, comme l’auteur, dans leur fuite vers Londres, ne seraient-ils pas les héritiers des héros de Trainspotting après la tempête ? Chez D. Greig aussi, par exemple dans Europe ou The Architect, les héros ont cette soif de fuite5. Ainsi, l’exemple de The People Next Door suggère un équilibre instable dans l’entre-deux entre britannité et scottitude. Londres et l’Angleterre sont un trompe l’œil, tandis que l’Écosse apparemment niée comme chez maints auteurs dans leurs premiers textes dramatiques, affleure au fil des indices. L’universalité apparente des lieux de l’action dans The Architect de D. Greig, évoquant n’importe quelle métropole portuaire, devient un archétype des pièces qui suintent de traces culturelles écossaises en vérité. Ce localisme se manifeste la plupart du temps par une focalisation émue sur les exclus, les

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 134

nouveaux marginaux et l’immobile perspective des microsociétés solidaires qu’ils reconstituent. Les nouvelles voix de la scène accompagnent les incertitudes d’un présent contradictoire d’une écriture plus heurtée, plus en vignettes, dans un huis clos fréquent qui remet à l’honneur le milieu ouvrier, chômeur, populaire en tout cas, et l’inscrit dans la filiation écossaise. Gagarin Way de G. Burke en fut l’exemple éclatant créé au Traverse Theatre lors du festival d’Édimbourg 2001. Jeune, tenté par la fuite, l’auteur se réinsère par un cri théâtral qui interpelle la nation. Brutale, drôle et confiante sa première pièce confirme une tradition d’écriture ouvrière à l’imaginaire poétique brutal, comme la suivante, The Straits (2003) qui confronte, aujourd’hui, les jeux parodiques de l’adolescence à l’impérialisme militaire. Elle raccourcit le temps historique de la fiction du Trafalgar de Lord Nelson à la guerre des Malouines. Cette linéarité populaire du théâtre écossais suggère au fil du temps des interprétations politiques paradoxales qu’il convient de mettre en perspective.

4 Le trait politique revisité aujourd’hui me semble exprimer une sensibilité écossaise distincte du traitement du théâtre politique en Angleterre ou en Irlande. Les dramaturges et les compagnies, notamment itinérantes, ont lors du nouvel élan théâtral des années 1970 inscrit leur contribution esthétique dans le débat sur l’autonomie en élaborant un modèle épique écossais. Conduite par D. Greig, la génération suivante affiche sa méfiance envers un théâtre de proclamation, rendant provisoirement anachronique, avec la fin de ce que communément on appelle les « Grandes Narrations », une macro-représentation des clivages sociaux, quand l’idéologie de la nouvelle droite comme celle du New Labour proclament la primauté de l’individu et l’amnésie des valeurs collectives. Mais en témoignant des injustices et des violences du monde, la seconde génération affine le trait d’une représentation épique sociale de l’Écosse. La rébellion des personnages privilégie le cercle privé. Elle offre un regard solidaire sur l’effet des politiques sur les périphéries rejetées : chômeurs de l’Europe dans Europe de D. Greig, des cités, dans The Architect ou Caledonia Dreaming, pour ne donner que quelques exemples. K. Horvat explore, dans la présente livraison, la sensibilité féminine de la revendication, que P. Zenzinger avait examinée dans sa contribution à Scottish Theatre since the Seventies (1996, p. 125-137). Si la deuxième génération privilégie donc l’intime des personnages, la fragmentation des communautés, les exclus qu’elle se donne comme héros s’inscrivent aussi dans une filiation avec ceux de J. McGrath et des auteurs écossais engagés de la génération antérieure. Ces derniers avaient célébré les figures historiques, politiques, syndicales ou culturelles dont certaines sont soumises à réévaluation dans la première partie de la revue. Leurs pièces décrivaient aussi la diversité, les solidarités rebelles des Highlands, les figures de l’historicité, la ville et ses exclus, Glasgow6, trope phœnix des récits, enfin, Aberdeen et le pétrole, qui à la suite du Cheviot deviendront un thème récurrent7. Les pièces de Sue Glover, notamment Bondagers8 s’inscrivent en continuité avec ce genre. L’apparition thématique d’Édimbourg est plus tardive, presque insolite. L’image qu’elle renvoie écorne l’aura d’une capitale sereine. Le paysage des frustrations et des exclusions offert par les adaptations théâtrales de Trainspotting qui privilégient la musique « acid-house » en tournée, contribuera à populariser le roman. L’esthétique heurtée et la violence du cri de deuxième génération s’inscrit dans l’histoire d’une scène écossaise en révolte. Le discours d’I. Welsh rejoint d’ailleurs le propos clairement politique de la génération McGrath. Headstate9(Welsh, 1996)ou The Life of Stuff10, préfigurent les pièces de G. Burke ou H. Adam aujourd’hui. Le succès rencontré par ces représentations provocantes d’une Écosse de l’exclusion séduit le public et provoque la

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 135

réaction des critiques. Paradoxalement, si ces regrettent la violence des représentations que I. Welsh nous propose de l’univers de la jeunesse marginalisée et de la drogue, ils négligent sa dénonciation des responsabilités des appareils politiques dans cette crise. La réputation qui lui est faite l’inscrit en négatif au panthéon des icônes écossaises que d’autres dramaturges insèrent métaphoriquement dans leurs propres pièces. Il y est contesté, par exemple par D. Greig dans Caledonia Dreaming11. À l’évidence, pourtant, I. Welsh, D. Greig et leurs contemporains s’accordent pour détourner, et implicitement célébrer les topoï McGrathiens de lutte solidaire lorsqu’ils s’emparent de l’identité écossaise ou portent leur regard outre Écosse. Le désir de fuir est progressivement tempéré chez leurs personnages au fil de leur œuvre par la décision de rester en Écosse. Les femmes dramaturges complètent cette conscience sociale en rejetant une société patriarcale qui les réduit au rôle servile et au dédain. Leur revendication à la dignité fait elle aussi écho au discours de J. McGrath. que Nadine Holdsworth inscrit néanmoins dans un cadre mental masculin12. La traduction la plus poétique, tant de la scottitude et du rôle des femmes, que de l’hésitation entre fuite et résistance, nous est offerte par Knives in Hens de David Harrower13. L’article que Danièle Berton consacre dans la troisième partie de la présente livraison à sa dernière pièce Dark Earth, créée sur commande au Traverse Theatre en 2003, dévoile parfaitement l’ambiguïté entre la réputation de ce dramaturge, ou celle de D. Greig d’ailleurs. Leur discours est perçu comme enraciné dans la scottitude et affectueusement critique de l’auto-dénigrement écossais, quand eux-mêmes tentent de nous convaincre de leur apolitisme. L’argument de l’auteur quant à la présentation de vues opposées conférée aux divers personnages constitue, qu’il le veuille ou non, une intervention idéologique qui reflète l’indécision des perceptions actuelles. Ce hiatus conforte ma propre interprétation, partagée par le public et la critique. Enfin, Dark Earth, comme Knives in Hens confirme la prédilection de cet auteur pour une relecture contemporaine critique de l’histoire et de la réputation des figures mythiques. Elle prolonge, avec son décor rural, la thématique récurrente des racines érigées au rang de mythe terrien de la souffrance et de l’échec et alourdi par le désir ou la menace de l’exil vers les banlieues urbaines. La filiation avec J. McGrath ou Sue Glover est évidente. On notera que dans l’intervalle, les pièces Kill the Old, Torture Their Young puis Presence étaient vouées à la ville, Glasgow d’abord, puis Berlin, au retour d’exil d’un cinéaste écossais pour la première, à l’exil des Beatles, icônes culturelles britanniques alors balbutiantes, sur fond de néo-nazisme pour l’autre. Avec une production parcimonieusement ciselée, D. Harrower distille les thèmes qui innervent le théâtre écossais. Sa contribution poétiquement édifiante au débat sur la réalité de la culture écossaise sertit une pierre précieuse dans sa réputation.

5 À l’évidence, ces dramaturges ajoutent une tonalité écossaise au pessimisme provocateur du théâtre « in-yer-face » britannique. La violence, le sexe, la sensibilité aux périphéries marginalisées esquissent une parabole esthétique postmoderne dérangeante des frustrations nationales. L’histoire, immédiate ou ancienne, omniprésente dans le théâtre écossais éclaire le présent, social et culturel. Je partage ici le point de vue de R. Stevenson dans sa contribution à IJSOT14. Aujourd’hui, les plus jeunes s’inscrivent dans leur trace. On assiste, lors du tout dernier festival 2004, à un renouveau d’un théâtre politique. Le pacifisme irrigue les évocations du conflit palestinien dans de nombreux spectacles. Le plus remarqué est sans conteste l’adaptation que D. Greig a fait du roman de Raja Shehadeh When the Bulbul Stopped Singing. La rencontre publique avec l’auteur et son adaptateur au théâtre Traverse où

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 136

l’œuvre a été créée a permis à D. Greig de réaffirmer « son scepticisme envers des choix partisans15 ». La nouvelle création de la compagnie 7 : 84, donnée en tournée dans toute l’Écosse lui oppose un contre-exemple. Private Property reflète l’impact de la mondialisation sur le peuple écossais et ses services publics. Elle recourt à la panoplie des formes festives, burlesques et musicales d’une représentation épique qui sollicite le public populaire ou non.

6 Si la génération Harrower, Greig, Munro, Di Mambro et Glover est devenue dans sa diversité éthique, le porte-drapeau d’un théâtre écossais qui partage ses émotions entre scottitude et universalisme, les voix de la troisième génération émergeante, G. Burke, H. Adam ou les jeunes dramaturges féminines y ajoutent une nuance sociale moins voilée. La vision politique des artistes s’adapte aux valeurs idéologiques du présent de leur écriture. Une avant-garde use de l’histoire pour traduire les enthousiasmes ou les frustrations de la société qui produit ses récits. Il y a à l’évidence plus qu’une survivance de l’interventionnisme dans le théâtre écossais. Trois générations d’auteurs contribuent donc à asseoir définitivement la réputation d’une écriture et d’une représentation théâtrale de la nation.

7 Fondée sur les traditions populaires et politiques, la riche diversité des écritures dramatiques contemporaines en Écosse aujourd’hui dessine la poétique spécifique d’une oralité enracinée et vernaculaire. Elle épaule une relecture des traditions populaires de la société écossaise dans sa diversité. Quand des pièces reconnaissables du patrimoine musical populaire ne sont pas directement insérées, musique et chanson diégétiques, aux tonalités, aux accents et au discours reconnaissables adressent un fréquent hommage intertextuel à ce corpus préexistant. Je souligne, en outre, particulièrement ici, un autre héritage, dû à J. McGrath, qui devient forme représentative complémentaire de la plupart des pièces récentes du théâtre écossais : un réalisme festif et caustique fondé sur une représentativité stéréotypée complexe des personnages est assorti d’une épaisseur psychologique et émotionnelle. En privilégiant ce réalisme du discours des personnages au naturalisme des situations, les auteurs écossais, jusqu’aux plus jeunes, confèrent à leurs pièces une saveur qui caractérise l’écriture dramatique écossaise contemporaine. Cette complexité chaleureuse, essentiellement tirée de la mémoire culturelle populaire, s’inspire des principes développés par Lucacz. Il définit en effet le réalisme comme une forme de narration, fondée sur le discours des personnages, qui renvoie à Tchékov plutôt qu’à un naturalisme descriptif des situations et des circonstances historiques et sociales à la Zola. D. Greig s’en revendique, tandis que l’étude que Stephen Lacey consacre à Blood Red Roses en situe la pertinence avec précision ( IJOST, vol. 3, n° 2). À la suite de J. McGrath, la plupart des dramaturges écossais va s’inscrire dans cette esthétique du personnage et trouver ainsi un accueil favorable du public qui va associer la fiction à sa mémoire culturelle, à la fierté qu’il éprouve à s’identifier à de telles figures proches de son entourage. C’est flagrant dans l’œuvre de D. Harrower ou celle de D. Greig, de Liz Lochhead. Simplement, aux certitudes manifestes, quoique souvent aussi teintées de doute, des personnages des années 1970 (Old Hen notamment), va succéder une forme écossaise de la confrontation des points de vue indécis dans des dialogues parallèles, chez D. Greig par exemple.

8 L’exemple des pièces de D. Harrower ou D. Greig appelle d’autres réflexions. Ne sont-ils pas, après J. McGrath, devenus, avec leur propre réputation, parmi les auteurs de la deuxième génération de l’élan nouveau du théâtre écossais, les Yeats ou Synge dont les

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 137

intellectuels écossais de la Renaissance pleuraient l’absence au début du XXe siècle ? Leur stature internationale postmoderne résulte manifestement de leur choix de rester fidèles à Glasgow et d’alterner des thématiques enracinées dans la culture écossaise ou plus universelles sensibles aux injustices du monde. La langue des dialogues évite, à l’inverse d’autre dramaturges, la généralisation des parlers vernaculaires en privilégiant un rythme sonore, une stance, un imaginaire poétique plus recherchés, sans refuser ces références au quotidien. On les désigne volontiers comme les porte- drapeaux du succès écossais en scène. Leur voix fait autorité dans les débats accompagnant le festival d’Édimbourg, et ils ne craignent pas d’intervenir, par presse interposée, par exemple dans les débats sur la politique culturelle de la nation. Ils avaient ainsi pris position contre la suppression des subventions à Wildcat et 7 : 84. S’ils se revendiquent des grands maîtres réalistes du théâtre européen, et contribuent à l’importer en Écosse, ils avouent également devoir beaucoup à J. McGrath et L. Lochhead.

9 S’ils sont fondateurs d’un genre national et poétique nouveau, McGrath et Lochhead, puis Harrower ou Greig notamment, s’affirment aussi comme héritiers, comme passeurs. Nous avons déjà rappelé la redécouverte d’un corpus théâtral antérieur dont R. Stevenson situe les enjeux dans son chapitre huit « In the Jungle of the Cities » (1996, p. 100-111). Il convient de souligner l’importance égale d’un apport complémentaire dû à L. Lochhead. Elle ne se contente pas de traduire en Scots, pour les rendre accessibles au public populaire les classiques français et grecs, tandis que Bill Findlay fait de même avec le corpus canadien contemporain. L’article de ce dernier dans cette revue examine l’élan nouveau qu’elle donne aujourd’hui, à l’initiative des intellectuels de la Scottish Renaissance, Young et Hugh MacDiarmid. Il souligne qu’elle se distingue d’eux lorsqu’elle défend la spécificité vernaculaire et poétique induite par une contextualisation moderne et locale des situations. Cette médiation favorise le transfert des mythes fondateurs européens au spectateur écossais populaire. Les dramaturges contemporains s’opposent aux tenants d’un Scots officiel institutionnel littéraire censé contrer l’hégémonie culturelle de la langue anglaise. Le choix de ce nouveau véhicule linguistique, alors cohérent avec un mépris des formes musicales populaires, éxcluait le peuple. Dans sa conclusion, Bill Findlay approuve cette diversification. Elle fonde, me semble-t-il, une poétique spécifique, populaire et diverse sur une oralité rythmée, une fluidité de la langue théâtrale contemporaine en Écosse. Les variantes personnelles de Scots que proposent les auteurs, de fiction comme de théâtre, depuis 1970, cherchent, pour refléter le statut social de leurs personnages, tant chez Kelman que Tom Leonard, chez McGrath ou Welsh, à multiplier les différenciations locales et sociales, jusqu’au sociolecte provocateur des jeunes rebelles que I. Welsh restitue dans Trainspotting et ses romans ultérieurs. Les adaptations théâtrales de ce roman font varier les thématiques pour s’adapter aux publics ciblés. Le choix des lieux de représentation répond aux habitus du jeune public peu enclin à fréquenter les théâtres. D’autres spectacles similaires16 surgissent grâce aux compagnies alternatives dans la première moitié des années mil neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix. La scène écossaise s’enrichit précisément, de cette émulation inventive.

10 Au-delà de la langue, le théâtre écossais, grâce encore à J. McGrath, se préoccupe certes de la place accordée au public dans l’espace esthétique ou thématique de la représentation. Mais surtout, il a connu un élan nouveau avec la place accordée au public aussi dans l’espace matériel de l’échange (tournées, salles des fêtes, tente de cirque, lunchtime theatre, mobilité au Tramway à Glasgow, qui rend le spectateur témoin

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 138

actif). John Brown’s Body et Border Warfare en sont les archétypes popularisés dans toute la Grande-Bretagne par l’écriture télévisuelle qui leur offre une attractivité spécifique17. Sollicité pour participer, interpellé, (chant, protestation, complicité avec les dénonciations de ses propres travers, etc.), le public est, d’une façon ou d’une autre, impliqué dans le spectacle. Cette complicité est confortée par les tournées des nombreuses compagnies itinérantes, qui ont quasi disparu en Angleterre, ou par l’implantation dans des salles rénovées. Il convient d’y associer le rôle des directeurs artistiques, notamment au Traverse Theatre18. Le développement des résidences d’écriture et la formation des dramaturges, ou l’incitation thématique annuelle sont évoqués par D. Berton et K. Horvat. Il conviendrait d’évaluer l’influence complémentaire des festivals et du sponsoring, ou de l’intervention au parlement écossais du pouvoir politique national pour définir aujourd’hui une politique de la culture. Les financements, notamment du Scottish Arts Council, s’opposent parfois à la dynamique populaire que nous avons décryptée ici. Le refus, sur des critères purement économiques, de soutenir les tournées dans les villages les plus reculés, privés de centres dramatiques modernes, donne lieu à un vif débat, à une résistance des créateurs.

11 La diffusion des œuvres créées confirme désormais la réputation d’un théâtre spécifiquement écossais fort des trois caractéristiques mises en avant dans le présent article. L’effort de publication, avec un tirage limité, certes, est développé, par exemple par le Traverse Theatre. Il permet une popularisation des textes réelle mais éphémère. La publication d’anthologies leur assure un relais ultérieur. Cet effort permet, outre de populariser les écritures nouvelles, de rééditer des pièces tombées en désuétude, même si elles avaient provoqué l’engouement d’un vaste public, notamment populaire, à leur création et restaient présentes dans la mémoire collective. C’est là un paradoxe de la richesse de la production théâtrale en Écosse, favorisée par le tissu serré des lieux d’échange (salles, festivals, tournées, évoquée précédemment). Cette réhabilitation par l’édition invite à de nouvelles mises en scène du patrimoine artistique perméables à la sensibilité actuelle. Elle enracine culturellement, aux yeux du monde, la réputation historique du théâtre écossais.

12 On apprécie mieux les causes multiples d’une confirmation croissante de cette réputation autour des piliers topiques de ses thématiques nationales, autour de la représentation réaliste chaleureuse des typologies de ses personnages populaires, autour de formes esthétiques spécifiques. Depuis l’intervention des dramaturges des années 1970, la mise en forme et en espace des riches matériaux d’un corpus, que l’on retrouve certes dans le théâtre britannique en général, place l’expérience intime du public en perspective avec l’affirmation des préoccupations contemporaines d’une conscience culturelle nationale. Divers composants trouvent une cohérence sur la scène écossaise : la culture ouvrière de Glasgow, celle plus moderne associée à l’industrie pétrolière et à ses conséquences, une tradition théâtrale renouvelée à Dundee, l’histoire, les figures de résistance, notamment féminines, la ruralité et la diaspora consécutive aux bouleversements économiques, la désespérance devant l’industrie ancienne dévastée et la fragilité sociale des banlieues nouvelles des années 1970-1980, le mal-être de la jeunesse, le désir d’affirmation des différences ethniques ou sexuelles.

13 Enfin, la médiation de l’image filmée contribue à privilégier les formes esthétiques et le discours éthique (politique) virulent du Cheviot à Trainspotting et d’autres créations

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 139

rebelles pour dessiner un profil à la culture écossaise. Ces formes ont popularisé bien au-delà de la nation les signes de sa propre identité (Kelman, McGrath, Welsh, Leonard), éveillant en retour une reconnaissance locale teintée de fierté. Les marginalités représentées, ou la totalité d’un peuple dans d’autres productions historiques, ont provoqué la sympathie bien au-delà de la nation à qui ces spectacles sont destinés en priorité, précisément parce que la télévision, outil de culture populaire parfois contestable aujourd’hui, favorise les solidarités avec un public qui retrouve des traits, des récits, un langage proches des siens. Cette reconnaissance universelle n’a-t- elle pas favorisé la friction intellectuelle productive d’un corpus incontestable désormais avec celui des autres nations européennes ? Lorsqu’il privilégie l’expression artistique de ses frustrations, le pouvoir de l’image valorise la créativité écossaise. Le rôle historique de J. McGrath conforte le Booker Prize accordé à James Kelman pour How Late it was, How Late. Mais aujourd’hui, si la relecture des acquis d’une tradition populaire, politique et poétique peut aider à réhabiliter l’image du théâtre d’une nation, il serait dommageable que la dénonciation de l’intellectualisme des figures de la Renaissance écossaise aboutisse à occulter leur propre résistance à la culpabilisation prolongée ou à la vassalisation culturelle dans la britannité.

14 On peut aisément conclure cette réévaluation de la réputation du théâtre écossais. De la célébration historique des figures de résistance comme d’une poétique des formes, de l’utilisation des langues vernaculaires véhiculaires d’une culture populaire et de ses fractures, naît la conscience artistique complexe d’une Écosse nouvelle qui émerge aujourd’hui, plurielle, ouverte sur le monde, attentive à ses racines, une Écosse des métissages. Grâce à l’élan des années 1970, les auteurs dramatiques, les passeurs en scène, les lieux d’échange avec le public acquièrent une confiance accrue dans une nouvelle modernité de la nation qui s’appuie sur une relecture critique de son passé. Le théâtre écossais, reflet des contraintes subies par le peuple rural, ouvrier ou urbain peut désormais construire sa réputation sur la diversité des voix et des choix personnels d’une cohorte longtemps sous-estimée de dramaturges, notamment féminins, qui réhabilitent leurs aînés oubliés ou célébrés hier. L’art de chacun assied l’universalité du théâtre écossais sur l’enracinement de ses personnages, de leur voix, de leur chant. Cette représentation des individus qui se nourrit d’un bagage esthétique et historique ou culturel partagé, revalorise l’esprit de communauté que la destruction de la mémoire sociale, industrielle ou rurale, par la spirale libérale avait dilué. La rencontre d’un texte avec son public, cet échange qui constitue une spécificité écossaise en est indiscutablement l’atout majeur. On peut en attribuer un large pan du mérite à l’intervention populaire, politique et poétique de J. McGrath en Écosse.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE

Ouvrages

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 140

BERTON Jean (éd.), Le loisir en Écosse, actes du colloque SFEEc, J.-P. Simard, p. 59-72, « 1973-2003, spectacle et interventionnisme culturel, les représentations du loisir en Écosse », Saint-Étienne, Publications de l’Université de Saint-Étienne, 2004.

CHRISTIANSON A. and LUMDEN A., Contemporary Scottish Women Writers, Édimbourg, Edinburgh University Press, 2001.

FINDLAY Bill (ed.), Frae Ither Tongues, Essays on Modern Translations into Scots, Clevedon, Buffalo, Toronto & Sidney, Multilingual Matters Ltd, 2004.

GIFFORD D. and MCMILLAN D. (eds.), A History of Scottish Women’s Writing, notamment le chapitre de Jan McDonald, « Scottish women dramatists since 1945 », p. 494-513, Édimbourg, Edinburgh University Press, 1997.

MCGRATH J., A Good Night out, Londres, Methuen Drama, 1981 (réédité 1989).

—, The Bone Won’t Break Londres, Methuen Drama, 1990.

—, Naked Thoughts that Roam about, edited by Nadine Koldsworth, Londres, NHB, 2002.

STEVENSON R. and WALLACE G. (eds.), Scottish Theatre since the Seventies, Édimbourg, Edinburgh University Press, 1996.

Revues

Cycnos, vol. 18, n° 1, 2001, Le théâtre britannique au tournant du millénaire, G. Chevalier (ed.), J.- P. Simard, « Rupture et continuité, le théâtre écossais au passage du millénaire », p. 133-144, Nice, Presses universitaires de Nice Sophia Antipolis.

Études écossaises, Grenoble, Ellug, revue annuelle du centre de recherches sur les modes de la représentation anglophone. Dirigée successivement par P. Morère, K. Dixon, puis J.-P. Simard. Notamment : numéro 5 (1998) deux articles sur le théâtre : J.-P. Simard, p. 99-110, « Autour de l’autonomie, la part du théâtre écossais », et Ian Brown, p. 111-126, « A new spirit abroad in the North: MacDiarmid and cultural identity in contemporary Scottish theatre » ; numéro 7 (2001), J.-P. Simard, p. 83-96, « Irrationnel et étrange, outils poétiques de l’initiation dans Knives in Hens de David Harrower ».

Internationl Journal of Scottish Theatre,revue en ligne de QMUC, dirigée par Ian Brown. 2 numéros par an, juin et décembre depuis 2000. Consultable à l’url suivante : . Les références dans le présent article renvoient notamment au vol. 3, n° 2, décembre 2003 : The Variety of John McGrath.

Pièces citées dans l’article

ADAM Henry, The People Next Door, Londres, NHB & Traverse Theatre, 2003.

BURKE Gregory, Gagarin Way, Londres, Faber & Faber & Traverse Theatre, 2001. The Straits, Londres, Faber & Faber & Traverse Theatre, 2003.

DONALD Simon, The Life of Stuff, publiée dans Made in Scotland, Ian Brown & Mark Fisher (eds.), Londres, Methuen Drama, 1995.

GREIG David, Europe, The Architect, in Plays One, introduced by Dan Rebellato, Londres, Methuen Drama, 2002. Victoria,Londres, Methuen Drama & RSC, 2000. Outlying Highlands, Londres, Faber & Faber, Traverse Theatre, 2002.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 141

GLOVER Sue, Bondagers, publiée dans Made in Scotland, Ian Brown & Mark Fisher (eds.), Londres, Methuen Drama, 1995.

HARROWER David, Knives in Hens, Londres Methuen Drama & Traverse Theatre, 1995. Dark Earth, Londres, Faber & Faber, Traverse Theatre, 2003. Kill the Old, Torture Their Young, Londres, Methuen Drama & Traverse Theatre, 1998. Presence, Londres, Jerwood & Royal Court Theatre, 2001.

MCLEAN Duncan, Julie Allardyce, publiée dans Made in Scotland, Ian Brown & Mark Fisher (eds.), Londres, Metheun Drama, 1995.

MCGRATH John, The Cheviot, The Stag and the Black, Black Oil, Londres, Methuen Paperback, 1981. John Brown’s Body et Borderwarfare, inédites, manuscrits personnels. Blood Red Roses, publiée dans Two Plays for the Eighties, Aberdeen, 7 : 84 &Aberdeen People’s Press, 1981.

SHENADHEH Raja, When the Bulbul Stopped Singing, Londres, Profile Books, 2003, adaptation théâtrale, D. Greig, Traverse Theatre, Édimbourg, 2004, inédite.

WELSH Irvine, Trainspotting et Headstate, Londres, Minerva, 1996, 7 : 84 Scotland : Private Agenda, inédite. Références au spectacle sur le site : .

Anthologies

BROWN Ian and FISHER Mark, Made in Scotland,Londres, Methuen Drama, 1995.

CAMERON Alexander, SCOT-Free, New Scottish Plays, Londres, NHB & Traverse Theatre, 1990.

CRAIG Cairns and STEVENSON Randall, Twentieth Century Drama, Édimbourg, Cannon Gate Classics, 2001.

HOWARD Philip, Scotland Plays, New Scottish Drama, Londres, NHB & Traverse Theatre, 1998.

NOTES

1. La dernière création de 7 : 84 Scotland, Private Agenda entournée notamment dans les Highlands, à Glasgow et au Traverse Theatre d’Édimbourg cet automne 2004 reflète mon propos. 2. J’en avais proposé une analyse dès ma thèse Ethique et esthétique dans le théâtre de J. McGrath, 1958-1991, Université de Metz, 8 avril 1994 et dans diverses études. 3. Créée par la compagnie Boiler House au Lemon Tree Theatre à Aberdeen, 1995. 4. Ses pièces traitant de l’Écosse peuvent être rapprochées de celles de J. McGrath. Citons Victoria, qui s’en réclame, Caledonia Dreaming ou Outlying Islands. 5. J’ai analysé ce trait thématique dans Cycnos (2001). 6. In the Jungle of the Cities(R. Stevenson, 1996, ch. 8, p. 100-111) s’attache à la représentation collective de Glasgow et dévoile les contours d’une fiction allégorique du réel politique chez les auteurs de roman. Celle-ci me semble pertinente pour le théâtre. 7. Je pense notamment à Victoria de D. Greig, ou à Julie Allardycede D. McLean. 8. Créée au Tramway de Glasgow dans le cadre du Mayfest en mai 1991, transférée la même saison au festival d’Édimbourg. 9. Créée par la compagnie Boilerhouse le 18 octobre 1994 au Lemon Tree Theatre, à Aberdeen. 10. Créée au Traverse Theatre au festival d’Édimbourg en 1992. 11. J’examine cette interpellation intertextuelle par d’autres dramaturges de la réputation « mythique » de Welsh ou S. Connery dans Le Loisir en Écosse (Berton, 2004).

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 142

12. Dans son article sur le théâtre de cet auteur, Class, Gender and the Multinationals: A Year in the Work of 7: 84 England, (IJOST, vol. 3, n° 2, 2002). Le féminisme de J. McGrath dans ses pièces écossaises valorisant militantes historiques (Mairhi Mohr) ou syndicales, ou mettant en avant la résistance des femmes lors des Clearances à Skye dès le Cheviot mérite un examen attentif. 13. J’en ai développé l’analyse dans Études écossaises, n° 7, 2001. 14. Border Warranty: John McGrath and Scotland (IJOST, vol. 3, n° 2). 15. Cette création, et celles qui abordaient différemment le même thème ont fait l’objet d’un article de Joyce MacMillan, Theatre of Conflict dans le Scotsman du 28 juillet 2004. On le trouvera à l’url : . 16. Je pense particulièrement à The Life of Stuff de S. Donald (1992), Risks de Louise Ironside (1993)ou Headstate de I. Welsh (1994). 17. Sur la contribution de la télévision à la réputation du théâtre écossais, avec sa propre esthétique, on lira avec intérêt les analyses du transfert des spectacles de J. McGrath proposées dans IJOST par S. Lacey et R. Nelson (vol. 3, n° 2, 2002). 18. Scottish Theatre since the Seventies y consacre notamment sa première partie Stages and Companies.

AUTEUR

JEAN-PIERRE SIMARD Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 143

Atelier Ecosse SAES/SEEEc

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 144

Parcours et détours en Écosse. Dark Earth de David Harrower

Danièle Berton-Charrière

1 En 2003, pour le festival d’Édimbourg, le Traverse Theatre a demandé à quelques dramaturges d’écrire une pièce sur un thème commun : « Britishness ». Parmi les auteurs retenus, David Harrower proposait une œuvre intitulée Dark Earth qui met en scène un détour campagnard, véritable parcours politique.

2 L’histoire de cette terre sombre, met en scène deux jeunes citadins : Euan et Valerie. Un samedi, ils partent faire une promenade en voiture et ils tombent en panne dans une zone non urbaine particulièrement déserte. Pendant que l’un attend près du véhicule, l’autre se rend dans la ferme la plus proche pour chercher de l’aide. C’est ainsi que, séparément, ils rencontrent un des membres de la famille Cauldwell. Le jeune homme fait la connaissance de Ida qui ouvre la porte à laquelle il est venu frapper. La jeune femme, elle, est secourue par Petey qui la voit au bord du chemin sur lequel il passait en voiture.

3 Démarche ou hasard, c’est ainsi que des Écossais des villes rencontrent des Écossais des champs et c’est ainsi que naît l’histoire banale d’une coïncidence qui met en relation deux couples que rien, en dehors d’un incident mécanique, n’aurait amenés à se croiser. Les uns vivent en milieu urbain ; ils sont plein d’avenir et ils démarrent une carrière prometteuse ; tout semble leur sourire même si leur couple connaît quelques soubresauts après deux ans et demi de vie commune. Les autres demeurent au cœur d’une nature dure mais pittoresque qui s’étend à perte de vue et que jouxtent çà et là les « vestiges » du mur d’Antonin.

4 La pièce donne à voir l’histoire triste d’une rencontre qui tourne à la confrontation. Sur scène, la mise en contact d’éléments détonants est expérimentale et David Harrower procède à sa mise en œuvre au cœur d’un laboratoire niché dans l’entre-deux des Basses et des Hautes Terres.

5 Ne pouvant plus se rendre à destination, les jeunes gens acceptent l’hospitalité de la famille Cauldwell dont la gentillesse devient de plus en plus envahissante, pesante,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 145

gênante et insupportable. Ida et Petey font preuve d’une chaleur humaine caricaturale carcan : IDA: Cannae be that busy. Cup o tea for you there. EUAN: No, I should be – IDA: It’s made now. Drink it. Aye, sit down. […] EUAN: Right, I should be off. IDA: What for? See round here, dinnae finish a cup o tea someone’s made you, causes offence. True. Seen it happen. Folk harbour it for years.

6 Parce que les uns sont détournés de leur itinéraire initial et parce que les autres sont économiquement contraints au départ, ils sont tous amenés à faire un bout de route ensemble, selon l’expression consacrée. Le mouvement dramatique général est intéressant car, comme les arabesques, il est fait de rencontres et de séparations, de convergences et de divergences.

7 Les deux Glaswégiens quittent leur ville réputée dynamique et, comme on le disait dans les années 1980, « on the move » pour une journée que Val voulait romantique. Journée de rupture avec la routine pour éviter une rupture affective subrepticement en marche. Elle a délibérément « oublié » les téléphones portables dans leur appartement. Le cordon ombilical ainsi coupé avec la vie citadine, ils vont à la campagne.

8 Leur parcours est interrompu par une panne d’embrayage. Est-il nécessaire de rappeler que cette pièce de mécanique permet de changer de vitesse et d’initier l’accélération ou la décélération opérées par d’autres ? Le système rompu, la voiture n’avance plus et Val et Euan se retrouvent « coincés » au milieu de nulle part où tout s’immobilise. Leur impatience, quasi juvénile, reflète l’inhabituelle staticité que l’incident leur impose. Ils perdent tous leurs repères et la carte qu’ils ont emportée ne leur semble pas d’un très grand secours. Ils essaient de l’interpréter et se disputent en vain. Les deux personnages découvrent qu’ils sont hélas sur une des pliures du précieux document. Dès le départ, leur position est donnée comme délicate et ambiguë et leur situation semble inextricable comme si le sort s’acharnait contre eux. Toutefois, la pièce n’est pas à l’image d’une tragédie classique et les jeunes gens ne manquent pas de ressources.

9 Leur seul point de référence devient alors le mur d’Antonin, ou ce qu’il en reste. De fait, n’étaient-ils pas partis de Glasgow pour le voir ? Cette ligne de démarcation d’une soixantaine de kilomètres environ devient alors un repère sûr et fiable pour « se retrouver », « trouver son chemin » et « trouver le bon chemin ». Vestige de la grandeur et de la ténacité de leurs ancêtres pictes, n’est-elle pas le symbole de la survie de l’Écosse et donc, pour Euan et Val une emblématique raison d’espérer ? C’est un indice maigre mais précieux pour re/trouver sa voie quand on est perdu dans ce labyrinthe ouvert. Le manque de culture patrimoniale et nationale des deux jeunes gens les contraint à la conjecture. Ce pays est le leur, mais l’univers tourbeux dans lequel ils viennent de s’échouer leur est inconnu et étranger, tout comme ils sont étrangers au monde rural que symbolise la famille de l’allégorique Petey Cauldwell1. Tous les jeux de l’onomastique sont permis ici. Ils expliquent aussi l’attitude de chacun des personnages. Les Cauldwell se sentent privilégiés et métaphoriquement supérieurs aux jeunes gens : Val, diminutif de Valerie, rappelle la vallée sur laquelle se déversent toutes les eaux qui, selon Ida, deviendront stagnantes : PETEY: You won’t be used tae that, will you, Val? Peace an quiet – livin across there in that swamp. VALERIE: Swamp? Is that what you think o us?

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 146

PETEY: Naw. it’s geography. IDA: We’re up high here – the water drains down either side. East an west. You get our slops. PETEY: The glacial shelf, Val, that’s what it is. Nothin can be done about it.

10 Pourtant, le mur d’Antonin et la pliure de la carte sont à la fois des barrages (« cauld ») et des gués, des seuils. Selon les points de vue, ils sont obstacles ou protection. Ils poussent au franchissement, à l’intrusion. Mais, lieux de rupture, ils définissent aussi un entre-deux de rétention qui canalise la progression de l’autre. Topoï statiques, ils séparent deux mondes et deux tranches de temps. L’avenir de Val et Euan mis entre parenthèses un moment, le drame de David Harrower donne ainsi à voir un parcours initiatique en milieu clos, un voyage au cœur de l’Histoire, véritable va-et-vient entre le révolu et l’actuel. Deux étapes y sont marquantes : l’invasion romaine et la tentative de restauration du pouvoir des Stuart. Ces deux épisodes se cristallisent autour du personnage de Christine Cauldwell, la fille, qui possède un livre sur la construction du mur et qui connaît en détail cette période : elle voue un véritable culte à Bonnie Prince Charlie. Source de savoir et de culture personnelle, sa passion pour la figure historique n’en est pas moins donnée comme ridicule car elle est comparée à celle d’une jeune fan, déraisonnable et futile pour son idole. Quant au livre, cadeau touchant et symbolique d’un père à sa fille, Euan essaiera de le lui voler, instinctivement, de façon compulsive, sans trop savoir pourquoi.

11 Les repères pris, la conjoncture évaluée, les deux jeunes décident d’agir pour éviter tout enlisement dans une situation inconfortable et désagréable. Le jeune homme quitte la voiture et son amie et il se met à marcher en direction d’une hypothétique habitation, source de vie et de secours. Il se déplace vers les autochtones. Sa démarche est forcée. Il n’a aucune envie de rencontrer l’habitant et de se faire héberger chez lui. Il veut juste contacter un garagiste ou la RAC, cordons ombilicaux de substitution. De son côté, son amie n’attend pas très longtemps. Petey Cauldwell lui propose de la ramener vers la ferme. Une fois arrivés là, les faux départs et la fuite vont alterner avec l’immobilité et l’immobilisme du locus.

12 La structure de la pièce offre un rythme parfois syncopé, parfois très lent. La confrontation de deux modes de vie et de pensée en est le motif. Chez les Cauldwell, le couple de Glasgow n’est apparemment pas en danger : il est à l’abri des intempéries et de la nuit. Mais le garagiste se fait attendre. Les voilà maintenant bloqués dans la ferme où petit à petit, ils vont se sentir pris en otages : prisonniers de la situation rendue compliquée par l’inefficacité des services de dépannage qui font des allers-retours inutiles sans pour autant réparer la pièce défectueuse puisqu’ils n’arrivent pas à repérer le lieu de l’incident. Ils sont ainsi captifs de l’hospitalité de leurs hôtes et de la mauvaise humeur de leur fille Christine, particulièrement agressive. Tout au long de la pièce, les cinq personnages vont cheminer les uns vers les autres puis, un instant les deux couples vont donner l’impression d’aller ensemble dans la même direction et enfin, comme des étrangers, ils vont se séparer sous les insultes et les propos haineux.

13 Le parcours effectué par les jeunes gens peut se calculer en miles et se suivre sur une carte, d’ouest en est, de Glasgow à Falkirk et ses environs parsemés de repères historiques et géographiques comme Callendar, Prestonpans et Creighill. Pourtant, le détour imposé par la panne les contraint à des parcours transversaux complexes et douloureux. Le couple va se perdre « des yeux et du cœur » l’espace de quelques heures, égarés qu’ils sont dans ce milieu étrange et graduellement hostile. Ils vont se

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 147

chamailler et, envisager un avenir commun, c’est-à-dire regarder ensemble dans la même direction, va leur paraître inconcevable. Puis l’épreuve va les souder dans un même combat contre l’adversité. Pourtant, tout au long de la pièce la distance psychologique qui les sépare est rendue palpable. Tout à fait égocentrés, ils se réfugient dans des bulles de réconfort individuel.

14 Au Traverse Theatre, la scénographie bloquait la perspective spectatorielle par un mur oblique et haut contre lequel s’appuyait une véranda, bulle étroite et modulable, seul espace de vie et de jeu visible. Dans la pièce de David Harrower, l’isolement est étouffement. Il est contagieux. Tous les personnages ont besoin d’air et de liberté dans ce grand espace ouvert où paradoxalement ils se sentent confinés. La modernité et le progrès ont eu raison des fermiers. Leur hospitalité n’est pas gratuite et leur aide n’est pas désintéressée. Elles demandent un retour. Les fermiers ont vendu leurs terres à un voisin plus chanceux ou plus doué pour les affaires et leur survie dépend de leur mutation c’est-à-dire de leur conversion : ils veulent se tourner vers le tourisme et faire de leur exploitation un Bed and Breakfast pour échapper à l’exil et aux HLM de Falkirk : IDA: But what I’m sayin is it’s no impossible. It’s better than fossilisin isn’t it, on some estate in Falkirk. Isn’t it, Val? Better than fossilisin an then dying, trapped somewhere like that where we dinnae know a soul.

15 La réussite de leur entreprise passe par le coup de main qu’ils demandent aux deux citadins qui, comme dans les clichés, symbolisent le modernisme et le savoir. Valerie a quelques notions de comptabilité et Ida lui confie, sans honte, celle de la maison. Euan se moque des deux femmes parce que les connaissances de son amie dans le domaine se limitent à une année d’étude dans la spécialité qu’elle n’a pas approfondie depuis huit ans. De plus, stratégie mercantile oblige, les Cauldwell impliquent les citadins dans ce qui est plus un rêve qu’un projet parce qu’ils pensent que, de retour à Glasgow, ils peuvent leur faire de la publicité et tisser un réseau, véritable toile attrape touristes. Leur notoriété se déplacerait de bouche à oreille comme le vent sur les bruyères mauves. L’ironie de David Harrower affleure : qui ne pense que la communication est salvatrice de nos jours ? Pourtant, la tentative est noble ou légitime, même si elle est désespérée.

16 Ida fait peu à peu entrer Valerie dans son rêve empreint de fausse naïveté ou de fausse candeur. En réalité, les deux femmes ne sont pas aussi aveugles aux subtilités et aux méandres du monde économique qu’elles veulent bien le laisser paraître : IDA: It’s futures on that piece o paper there. VALERIE: I know it is. IDA: An you’re goin tae need another column on the side there for the extras. VALERIE: Extras? What extras? What’re the extras? IDA: Petey takin them tae the Wall like he took you – that’s the extras. We could charge for that – no? You’d have paid for that, wouldn’t you? Learnin all that knowledge.

17 Petey est sceptique ; Euan et Christine franchement contre. Puis, le doute se glisse par les interstices et les lézardes des désillusions et ils investissent graduellement les cerveaux et les cœurs. Lorsque l’évidence et la réalité refont surface, l’amertume et la haine s’emparent de tous les personnages et la rupture est définitivement consommée. Chacun retrouve son camp, son clan.

18 L’ironie dramatique souligne la désespérance. Le mur aurait pu/dû être aussi beau et solide que le mur d’Hadrien. Hélas, il se réduit à un fossé symbole de force et de faiblesse, de fragilité, de fractures et de fêlures. Petey serait donc un guide touristique

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 148

du presque vide et du presque néant. La nature organique et emblématique du mur a donné son titre à la pièce : Dark Earth. David Harrower prend la peine d’en donner la définition en incipit : DARK EARTH buried soil found in archaeological excavation which often reflects prolonged periods of abandoned settlement; alternatively, deposits of silty soil reworked by earthworms to produce grassland.

19 L’expression est évidemment polysémique puisque c’est dans ce terreau que David Harrower trouve ses racines et celles de L’Écosse moderne qui tente de se démarquer et de transgresser les seuils de l’Histoire porteuse de tragédies et de clichés exotiques et folkloriques. La virée d’un samedi à la campagne décidée à la hâte par Val et Euan2 tourne court et se métamorphose en un retour aux sources, un voyage au cœur d’une histoire où le privé et le national se confondent et s’affrontent. Mais ces fondations/ fondements patrimoniaux, aussi riches d’enseignement et de matière soient-ils, s’avèrent inutiles dans la société moderne : Christine n’a pu les exploiter dans le système scolaire : CHRISTINE: Well, I’m no goin anywhere. School was torture enough. Why’d I want tae prolong the pain o that? They’d never give you a chance to learn what you really wanted tae. Sit an listen tae all kinds o subjects I couldnae give a toss about and then they couldnae understand me wanting to know everythin I could about what really interested me. Where I live. Round here. I know all about round here. All there is tae know. I’d tae learn most of it myself cause with them it was always, right, we need tae move on now but I never wanted tae. I know about the Romans an their empire an Agricola an Antonius an the Votadini and the Selgovae. I know about Charlie an the seven men o Moidart an the genius Lord George Murrau an old Jamie the Rover bidin hid time in Rome. I know more people from round here joined him than any o them fuckin Highlanders. You don’t know any o that, do you? Or about dairy herds and set-aside and cereal prices. I know about where I live.

20 Pas un instant, elle ne croit que cela puisse intéresser qui que ce soit :

CHRISTINE: What’s it like then? Tell me. Standin on a garrison station starin across a strange, unfamiliar wilderness, God knows who’s lyin in wait over the horizon. (Pause) What did he tell you? We used tae swap sides just for the hell o it, choose a side o the wall tae stand on – tae get the argument goin. The Wall was a perimeter or a line o defence? What was he sayin? VALERIE: That it was a perimeter. CHRISTINE: Cause who’d want north o here? All those mountains an bogs. Waste o time an manpower, eh? An who’d want tae go tae the bother o fighting them stinkin Caledonian hordes, eh? Naw, leave them tae scrap amongst themselves. Was that his line?

21 Le locus dramatique est marqué par cette ligne de terre que certains voient en creux et d’autres voient en plein. Équidistant entre Glasgow et Édimbourg, près du mur d’Antonin, il est perdu en pleine nature. La rencontre entre les deux groupes de personnages aboutit au huis clos. La véranda où se concentre l’action, est un topos de l’entre-deux. Dans la pièce de Harrower, elle affiche une fonction paradoxale : symbole d’ouverture sur l’espace extérieur alentour vaste et rafraîchissant – vivifiant – elle est la vitrine de l’enfermement et de l’isolement des Cauldwell et de la nation. Christine y est retenue prisonnière par l’amour de ses parents. Elle a vingt ans et pourtant sa maturité et son sens des responsabilités l’enchaînent à ses sources/racines. Ultime tentative de vivre sa propre vie de jeune femme moderne, elle décide de fuir avec Euan, mais en vain. Petey les rattrape et son discours affectueux et désespéré l’enlise et la reprend dans ses rets. Il l’embourbe, il l’englue à jamais dans ce « boggy land » qui n’est

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 149

plus tout à fait le leur puisque leurs voisins Duncan et Susannah Craig3 ont racheté leur propriété.

22 À l’image de celui qui a inspiré son prénom, Christine est sacrifiée sur l’autel d’une idéologie passéiste : IDA: Christine? What’s more important? We have tae survive. If it means sacrificin her – She should know by now what kind o people we are. We fight wi all we’ve got. It’s best she’s gone, it’s best. She should’ve been out here long before now – but it was Petey. Petey held ontae her. She’s her father’s daughter. Could you see us leavin here? How would we? In daylight? No – the dead o night. We wouldnae be able tae look at each other, me an Petey. Our daughter, brought up here, leading us away? No. (Beat) Know what it is wi her? Know what it is wi Christine? She came too late. We had her too late.

23 Leur milieu est clos et le temps y a une place tout à fait particulière. L’événementiel y fait date et tous les raccourcis temporels y sont possibles par le jeu des mises en abyme de l’Histoire dans l’histoire.

24 Le dépanneur n’ayant pas trouvé la maison des Cauldwell, il est reparti : Val et Euan doivent donc accepter l’hospitalité d’Ida et de Petey et ne repartir que le lendemain. Ce report, qui leur est imposé porte un coup d’arrêt au départ et initie un retour sur le passé. Le problème immédiat résolu, tous les personnages se détendent. L’ambiance est joyeuse. On boit beaucoup de pur malt, (du Bunnahabhain). On parle de souvenirs chaleureux et Ida demande à son mari et à sa fille de chanter leur chanson préférée comme dans le bon vieux temps des soirées entre voisins. Ils entonnent donc The Young Pretender d’Elvis Presley. Par le biais des associations d’idées et par le procédé du palimpseste, David Harrower entraîne les personnages dans une série de quiproquos fondés sur des jeux de superpositions. L’amoureux transi dont parle le rockeur américain dans son tube international devient Bonnie Prince Charlie, héros romantique, tragique et modèle charismatique pour Christine. Abusée par les plaisanteries de ses hôtes, Val croit un instant que l’on parle du petit ami de la jeune femme. Les discours jouent sur l’implicite et le non-dit, sur l’évident et le non-su, et le comique de situation s’en nourrit : VALERIE: Is Charlie your boyfriend? IDA: Her boyfriend – ! She wishes. EUEN: Charles Edward Stuart, Val. IDA: Bonnie Prince Charlie. EUAN: The Young Pretender. VALERIE: Oh, I didn’t even realise! Oh, that’s awful! CHRISTINE: King James the Third tae you lot. The title he’d have used. PETEY: Pathetic Prince Charlie. IDA: His army marched right past us here, Val, right outside, on their way tae Edinburgh. CHRISTINE: On their way tae take Edinburgh. On their way tae defeat jitterin Johnny Cope at Prestonpans. IDA: Stayed the night just up the road there in Callendar House wi the Duke o Atholl.

25 En filigrane, l’auteur nous passe un tout autre message que rendent lisible des jeux de miroir et des échos. La réalité du héros auquel Christine et son clan s’identifient est pathétique : Bonnie Prince Charlie était alcoolique (Ida boit beaucoup trop et Valérie l’imite). Son errance après Culloden est emblématique du désir de fuite de Christine et d’une certaine catégorie d’Écossais velléitaires, à l’image de Petey et de Ida, qui se complaisent dans leur « statut » de victimes, éternellement coupables – victimes de

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 150

l’Histoire et d’un certain déterminisme socio-culturel. David Harrower accuse l’Écosse d’être fière de son statut de « loser’s land » : CHRISTINE: Make it easier for you, Val, get you involved. You’re from the west so you’re one o the Damnonii. Your homeland’s the Clyde Valley. A tribe that never made peace wi the Romans – we were the Votadini, we did, tradin an that. But always wanted tae know why you didnae. Me an my dad always admired you for that. What was it about them? Did you no trust them? What was it? […] VALERIE: This area – the land around here – your dad said it was loser’s land. Short pause. CHRISTINE: He said that? VALERIE: There’d been victories, yeah, but most of it was losing, most of it was lost causes.

26 Ida, dont le prénom est phonétiquement modal, marque de son empreinte l’irréel du présent : que pourrait-elle encore envisager à regret pour que se modifie la situation qui l’accable et qu’elle nie ? Sa désappropriation, cette perte de biens, de patrimoine et d’identité se lit aussi à la lumière des mesures de rétorsion et des « clearances » décidées en leurs temps par le pouvoir en place après le passage de l’icône rebelle, symbole qui tient lieu et place de « gendre idéal » pour les Cauldwell. Les échos se répondent en un drame polyphonique.

27 Traverser l’histoire et se l’approprier leur permet tous les raccourcis, ciments de leçons morales faciles : Petey rappelle que les Highlanders n’ont jamais dénoncé Charles Stewart. Dans les Hautes Terres, on ne trahit jamais sa famille et son clan. Christine doit se le tenir pour dit, elle qui tient à ce que toutes les décisions se prennent en famille et non individuellement. Ainsi, le libre arbitre est canalisé et le parcours de chacun semble bien balisé. Le passé délimite le présent. C’est probablement la raison pour laquelle, c’est hors de leur champ natal, c’est-à-dire à Falkirk, que Petey et Ida se sentiraient fossilisés et morts/mourants.

28 Mais pourquoi Charles Stuart leur serait-il si familier ? Son passage fugace, près de leur maison, quelques deux siècles et demi auparavant ne peut légitimer un tel attachement. Leur topos est aussi creux et terne que le mur qui le borde. Le rappel historique l’éclaire de son prestige, l’espace d’un instant, même s’il connote l’échec et le sang.

29 Euan n’est pas sous le charme de l’Histoire. Il se plaît à rappeler les failles de l’anti- héros. De fait, la vie de Bonnie Prince Charlie s’est terminée à Rome dans une oisiveté peu glorieuse. Le signifiant « Rome », symbole de grandeur et de décadence, initie d’autres détours mémoriels ; Val se souvient de son séjour dans la capitale italienne, du soleil qui était chaud, de sa délicieuse immobilité et de ses cafés bondés et vivants4. Dans son désir hégémonique, Rome avait envoyé tant de ses soldats et de ses hommes sur les routes de la Gaule, de l’Angleterre et de la farouche Calédonie : la boucle est ainsi bouclée. Et c’est ainsi que David Harrower dit avoir travaillé. Ses incursions dans les livres d’histoire, travail préalable à l’écriture du drame, ont alimenté digressions et détours au gré de toponymes et de faits découverts ou repérés, mis en abyme ça et là dans la pièce. L’histoire du mur d’Antonin est inscrite dans le livre de Christine que Euan a tenté de dérober. Mais ni Euan ni David Harrower n’ont pu déposséder les Cauldwell du terreau culturel qui est le leur : la pièce se termine sur des didascalies5 indiquant que le rideau se referme sur le trio familial, assis dans la véranda. Seul le livre posé sur une table sépare Petey et Ida : mais les sépare-t-il vraiment ? Ne les relie-

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 151

t-il pas à jamais dans le fossé de leur passéisme, véritable tranchée terreuse nourrie du sang de leurs ancêtres ? Leur départ avorté dans la voiture de Euan, « empruntée » un instant, semble l’indiquer. Tous les chemins les ramènent au point de départ. Ils tournent en rond : Euan: What the hell were you thinking of? That’s my car. Christine: I wanted a go in it. Feel it for myself. I wanted tae take my parents out for a spin.

30 Lors de la rencontre auteurs/spectateurs organisée au Traverse Theatre en août 2003, David Harrower a déclaré ouvertement ne pas vouloir être un porte-parole, un dramaturge ostentatoirement militant qui défendrait la cause et l’écriture écossaises ou une toute autre cause politique d’ailleurs. Cette image qui lui colle à la peau, il la nie et dit l’abhorer. Pour le prouver, il explique longuement à qui veut bien l’entendre qu’il monte ses pièces autour de lieux et de personnages et non autour d’un thème ou d’une histoire. Il revendique une écriture dramatique plus technique que politique. Il la veut centrée sur ce qu’il appelle « counterpointing ». Toute chose est contrebalancée par son contraire ou par une autre qui est différente. Par exemple, l’hospitalité écossaise est rééquilibrée par le souci économique d’une société en pleine paupérisation6. Ou encore, ce qu’il définit de façon ironique comme « national mourning », c’est-à-dire la gloire et l’honneur dans la défaite, idiosyncrasies écossaises séculairement héréditaires, devenues la force et la survie de l’Écosse avec « Culloden » comme moteur qui génère le pouvoir et l’identité d’une nation !

31 Comme Spike Lee le fait pour les noirs d’Amérique, David Harrower se délecte à démontrer que les Écossais sont multiples et différents. Au travers des personnages, il se plaît à opposer ceux de l’est trop pauvres à ceux de l’ouest plus riches, ceux des villes modernes et ceux des campagnes traditionnelles, ceux des Basses Terres et ceux des Hautes Terres, comme s’ils n’étaient pas tous dépositaires d’un même passé atavique. Ce n’est pas sans ironie que, l’espace d’un instant, David Harrower transforme Petey en porte-parole des fermiers de l’est qui blâment les ouvriers de l’ouest d’être à la source de leurs plus grands maux. Corporatiste et populiste à souhait, le raisonnement est absurde et simpliste et Euan en reste pantois. Petey affirme que les grèves des mineurs sont responsables de l’épizootie ravageuse. Il prétend qu’à cause d’elles, les usines d’équarrissage n’ont pas pu chauffer leurs produits à une température suffisante et qu’elles ont fourni aux paysans des farines animales contaminées par des bactéries. Ainsi nourries, leurs bêtes ont contracté l’ESB7.

32 Signes évidents d’un aveuglement et d’une étroitesse d’esprit que David Harrower condamne, les propos de Petey trouveraient assurément leur contrepoint chez les mineurs fustigés. La démonstration est patente : l’unité nationale se désagrège en une constellation de particules individuelles égocentrées. Le terreau dont parle le dramaturge résulte d’une lente décomposition organique naturelle. Il est emblématique et métonymique. Les terres dont Ida vante l’air si pur et frais grouillent de vieux démons à l’image du sol qu’aèrent les asticots. Et c’est dans ces terres sombres-là, qu’à la fin du drame, les Cauldwell s’enterrent vivants.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 152

NOTES

1. « Petey » est homophone de « peaty » : l’homme et la tourbe peuvent être perçus comme des synecdoques traditionnelles de leur environnement. Métonymie du topos, le patronyme « cauld », signifiant « cold », « stiff » et « clayey », renvoie vers ses idiosyncrasies. L’embourbement qu’il connote retient l’homme prisonnier. 2. Euan ne serait-il pas envisageable comme la synecdoque du demi-tour ou « U turn » ? 3. Le signifiant « Craig » dénotant le rocher et ce qui est en hauteur, qui émerge, il peut-être perçu comme leur blason. 4. Anachronismes et raccourcis temporels jouent sur l’enchaînement et l’association d’idées qui permettent de ramener à soi le général et l’historique : « VALERIE: I think the Romans just got homesick for Rome – for the sun and the ice – cream and the pavement cafés – I think that’s why they left. » 5. Ida sits down./The book remains on the table between them./End. 6. Désespoir et pauvreté transforment l’hospitalité en traquenard : CHRISTINE: Freeloader! Thief! You’re due us! Where’s our money? EUAN: Money? PETEY: Aye, where is it? EUAN: We don’t owe you anything. CHRISTINE: One night’s bed and breakfast. EUAN: It was hospitality last night, I seem to remember. 7. PETEY: Aye. Cause an energy shortage meant that cattle-feed factories werenae able tae heat their furnaces hot enough so’s tae kill off all the bacteria. Listen, – dinnae laugh. It’s known. Healthy cattle were fed wi animal remains full o bacteria. That was the start o the BSE. Cows fallin in the fields. Beef banned. Nobody trustin us – naebody byin from us. That’s how we’re bein gotten rid o.

AUTEUR

DANIÈLE BERTON-CHARRIÈRE Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 153

Les atermoiements de la pensée politique de John Knox Parcours et détours d’un combattant de Dieu

Armelle Dubois-Nayt

1 Le parcours intellectuel du réformateur écossais John Knox est un parcours complexe qui lui a valu d’être affublé d’étiquettes aussi variées que celles de théoricien du contrat (Murray, 1926, p. 119), de monarchiste1, de révolutionnaire (Percy, 1937, p. 38-47) et plus récemment de démocrate (Graham, 2001, p. 12). La difficulté, peut-être même faut- il parler d’ineptie, inhérente à toute tentative de labelliser la pensée politique de Knox tient à la nature hétérogène de son œuvre. Composée sur trois décennies, celle-ci ne constitue pas en effet un ensemble monolithique. Sur le plan des idées, elle se caractérise par une absence de linéarité et de systématicité. Cette variété se retrouve dans les enveloppes textuelles dans lesquelles elle s’exprime et qui s’adaptent à l’occasion, aux destinataires, à la situation de l’émetteur, à ses besoins, à ses envies, à ses humeurs. Autant de paramètres susceptibles de modeler l’objet texte et de lui faire prendre des formes différentes. Récits historiques, épîtres, sermons, traités doctrinaux, lettres familières, lettres d’affaires, pamphlets, Knox les utilise tous, tour à tour.

2 Le parcours de l’ensemble de l’œuvre de Knox s’impose donc de fait comme le seul programme de lecture possible des textes qui la composent individuellement. Aucun ne peut en être extrait et lu comme une entité autonome sans risquer d’en altérer le sens car la pensée politique du réformateur écossais se construit et se déconstruit au détour de chacun d’eux. C’est ce que je souhaite démontrer à travers l’étude de la théorie du droit de résistance qu’il élabore entre 1546 et 1572. Je m’efforcerai de montrer, dans un premier temps, que le parcours du théoricien de la violence suit une progression ternaire qui s’ouvre naturellement sur une période initiatique conduisant à l’engagement, c’est-à-dire à l’incitation à la révolte, puis au désengagement. Ce retour vers une voie médiane qui ne sera cependant jamais synonyme de rétractation sera précédé par un détour par la question du droit des femmes à gouverner, question secondaire dont Knox se serait bien volontiers détourné s’il ne s’en était trouvé de plus sensibles que lui au sort des représentantes les plus illustres de la gent féminine. Dans un second temps, je souhaite redonner brièvement aux pérégrinations de Knox à

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 154

travers l’Europe la place qui leur revient de droit dans l’altération des propositions du réformateur itinérant. J’étudierai les raisons de ces déplacements à travers l’Europe pour conclure qu’ils furent principalement motivés par la vaine recherche d’un ou du royaume de Dieu sur terre.

3 D’ouverture la figure de Knox impose à l’historien l’humilité puisque l’essentiel de sa vie nous est à jamais inconnue. Knox qui a pourtant pris soin de consigner le récit de son histoire individuelle à la troisième personne dans The History of the Reformation in Scotland passe en effet sous silence les trente ou quarante premières années de son existence. Contrairement à un Luther où à un Calvin, il a de toute évidence jugé que le parcours spirituel qui le conduisit au près du martyr Wishart en janvier et février 1546, et plus fondamentalement à sa réforme intérieure, était dénué d’intérêt pour son lecteur. Ainsi, plutôt que d’évoquer les années où il officia au sein de l’Église catholique comme notaire apostolique, il choisit de faire son entrée sur la scène publique et dans The History sous les traits de l’écuyer garde du corps de son maître Wishart2. La mort du martyr y est du reste mise en scène du point de vue narratologique comme l’agent originel de sa carrière de réformateur. En s’affichant aux côtés de Wishart, Knox était en effet sorti de l’ombre et s’était exposé à la répression que subissaient les hérétiques, répression qui s’accéléra après l’assassinat de son principal ordonnateur, le cardinal Beaton. Pour y échapper, Knox rejoignit les meurtriers du Prélat de l’Église d’Écosse au château de Saint Andrews, où il se laissa prendre malgré lui au jeu de la prédication. Knox qui aime se dépeindre à cette époque une épée à la main était pourtant encore partisan de la non-violence et il en sera ainsi pendant les premières années de son activité de réformateur. Dans le passage de l’History dans lequel il évoque le départ de Wishart seul vers son supplice il a d’ailleurs, il faut le reconnaître, l’humilité de se dépeindre remettant cette épée et non la brandissant (Knox, I, p. 137).

4 Cette période, qui verra par deux fois sous les yeux de Knox les chances du protestantisme réduites à néant d’abord en Écosse au moment où le château de Saint Andrews tombe aux mains des Français puis en Angleterre à la mort du « bon roi Edouard VI », n’épuisa pas la patience du réformateur et sa confiance absolue dans l’aide de Dieu à la cause réformée. Ainsi sur la Notre Dame, galère française sur laquelle il est détenu avec d’autres de ses compagnons du château, il autorise l’évasion de Wallace et de ses acolytes à condition qu’aucune goutte de sang ne soit versée au cours de l’opération. Son propos se veut aussi lénifiant dans l’épître qu’il adresse en 1547 aux fidèles demeurés au château de Saint Andrews. Sur un ton messianique, il leur annonce la venue sur le trône d’Écosse d’un roi salvateur qui prendra fait et cause pour la vraie religion3. Il est tout aussi convaincu de la défaite prochaine de ses oppresseurs et son positionnement en simple héraut épargne à son discours un détour par les modalités de la vengeance divine. Pour le moment, le discours de Knox se réduit à un acte de langage simple, l’affirmation, qui appartient selon la taxinomie de Searle à la catégorie des « assertifs ». La fonction du discours se trouve légèrement modifiée dans le premier texte adressé aux fidèles anglais qui est plus « directif » au sens pragmatique du terme. Dans sa Declaration of the true nature and object of prayer composée en 1553, il appelle en effet les fidèles à la prière mais les objectifs de cet acte de langage, lui-même « exercitif », prier c’est à la fois selon la définition du Robert « s’adresser à Dieu » et « demander de façon instante », restent modestes. Knox les enjoint en effet à prier pour la conversion du monarque4. Cela semble indiquer qu’il ne l’inclut pas dans les branches pourtant « fières, luxuriantes et stériles » qu’il implore Dieu de couper quelques lignes plus haut (Knox, Works, III, p. 107). Dans An Exposition of the Sixth Psalm of David, qu’il

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 155

compose à l’intention de la seule Elisabeth Bowes, sa belle-mère, il l’invite à fuir la tyrannie en Dieu5, mais quelques une de ses lignes trahissent la difficulté croissante qu’il éprouve à conserver une position de repli. Il souhaiterait de nouveau prendre part à la bataille contre le papisme (Knox, Works, III, p. 135)

5 La ferveur catholique de Marie Tudor le pousse finalement dans les mois qui suivent à réorienter son discours sans toutefois bémoliser les devoirs des sujets de la reine. Knox se contente de condamner et cela lui permet de ne pas rompre avec le principe d’obédience chrétienne sous l’effet de la colère car le pouvoir « verdictif » du langage suffit à imposer « la » ou du moins « une » sanction. L’ire du réformateur se propage dans un flux ininterrompu à tous les textes majeurs qu’il compose l’année 1554, et dans lesquels il condamne le tyran papiste qu’il voit en Marie Tudor. C’est le cas dans A Godly Letterto the Faithful in London (Works, III, p. 167 & 168) où Marie Tudor est présentée comme une punition que Dieu impose à un peuple ingrat mais aussi dans les trois textes qui suivent Two Comfortable Epistles et The Faithful Admonition. Si le thème de la tyrannie (Works, III, p. 208) est récurrent, tous les textes en tant qu’actes de langage distincts et autonomes ne se positionnent pas de la même façon vis à vis du tyran. On observe un va et vient dans la pensée de Knox qui oscille entre le respect du principe d’obédience chrétienne et des positions moins conservatrices. Ainsi il prophétise l’intervention divine dans A Godly Letter (Works, III, p. 215), y invite le « magistrat civil » à tuer les idolâtres (Works, III, p. 194) et chaque chrétien à s’éloigner d’une reine diabolique (Works, III, p. 193), mais il se soumet à la volonté de Dieu dans A Comfortable Epistle to his afflicted Brethren (Works, III, p. 234). Plus tard, il recommande à ses paroissiens, dans A Comfortable Epistle to Christ’s afflicted Church, de prier patiemment pour les tyrans et de les plaindre plutôt que de les craindre ou de les haïr (Works, III, p. 244). Dans The Faithful Admonition en revanche il annonce de nouveau prophétiquement l’imminence de la vengeance divine et amorce une démonstration de la nature tyrannique du gouvernement de Marie. Il s’y défend cependant d’encourager la guerre sainte6. Dans ce dernier texte, Knox abandonne le discours strictement « verdictif » – c’est-à-dire qui consiste à prononcer un jugement – ou « exercitif » – c’est à dire qui consiste à formuler une décision en faveur ou à l’encontre d’une suite d’actions – pour adopter un mode « expositif ». Knox passe par le menu les exactions de la reine catholique pour conclure à la tyrannie d’exercice. The Faithful Admonition constitue à ce titre le libelle le plus achevé contre le régime de Marie la sanglante. Il n’est cependant toujours pas un texte que l’on peut considérer comme en rupture avec le principe d’obédience chrétienne puisque Knox n’y confesse que ses prières pour un tyrannicide inspiré.

6 Ceci nous conduit à un premier élément de conclusion quant au chemin parcouru par Knox le penseur politique entre 1549 et 1554. Pour retracer cet itinéraire intellectuel il est plus concluant de repérer les modifications de la finalité pragmatique de ses écrits plutôt que celles de leur contenu. Celui-ci en effet ne s’est guère modifié. Knox est resté fidèle à une position de soumission et n’a jamais lancé un appel aux armes. Il n’a à aucun moment non plus cessé de croire en l’immixtion de Dieu dans les affaires des hommes. Ainsi comme le texte de The History of the Reformation (Works, I, p. 180) occulte le relais humain dans l’assassinat du Cardinal Beaton en 1549 pour ne mettre en relief que l’action de la main de Dieu, la trompette de Dieu annonce à Marie Tudor l’imminence de sa punition divine dans The Faithful Admonition7. Il n’y mêle pas les hommes. En revanche si l’on aborde ces textes comme des actes de langage on y décèle une propension accrue à l’argumentation signe d’une modification de leur finalité pragmatique. À la fin de cette première période d’écriture, il ne s’agissait plus

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 156

seulement pour Knox de consoler ou d’enjoindre, il était devenu essentiel de convaincre.

7 Dans les quatre années qui suivirent, Knox allait cependant perdre. Comme les autres exilés protestants sur le continent, il est soumis à une double pression. D’une part, il doit expliquer le retour au catholicisme en Angleterre. De l’autre, il doit empêcher sa propagation. Les exilés anglais ne pouvaient pas en effet évoquer l’intervention de la roue de la fortune car elle était contraire à la croyance des protestants en l’omniscience et en l’omnipotence de Dieu. Le thème de la punition divine contre la nation anglaise qui s’était montrée indigne de l’alliance contractée avec Dieu au moment de la conversion nationale sous Henri VIII puis sous Edouard VI va donc coloniser sa pensée. Il est la réponse du réformateur à la question « pourquoi, si la protestantisme est la vraie religion, Dieu a-t-il permis le retour du catholicisme ? ». Pour ce qui est de sa seconde tâche, empêcher sa propagation à toute l’Angleterre, il en est momentanément distrait par l’opportunité qui lui est donnée en 1555-1556 de renouer avec sa terre natale, l’Écosse. Ces six mois passés en Écosse vont en effet ralentir momentanément la radicalisation de sa pensée. Les semaines qu’il passe au milieu de cellules protestantes encore dans l’enfance le ramènent à un discours pacifique où il n’est plus question de tyrannie. Dans la première version de la lettre à la Régente qu’il compose en 1556, il exprime de nouveau l’espoir en ce roi salvateur dont il avait déjà annoncé la venue à sa congrégation de Saint Andrews presque dix ans plus tôt. Mais cette fois, pour la première fois d’ailleurs car il ne s’est jamais précédemment directement adressé à une souveraine catholique, il l’investit solennellement au nom des lords de la congrégation et en son nom propre de sa mission réformatrice8. La seule menace qu’il profère porte sur le salut de son âme (Works, IV, p. 79). Pour le reste il réaffirme le principe d’obédience chrétienne dans les limites du respect de la loi de Dieu (Works, IV, p. 78). Et c’est dans cette délimitation que s’incarne l’esprit de ce deuxième temps de l’idéation : le temps qui sera à la fois celui de l’argumentation et des limites. Dans A Letter of Wholesome Counsel9, il pose des limites aux lois civiles qui viennent buter sur la liberté de conscience matérialisée dans les murs de la maison-église que les fidèles sont invités à se construire. Dans A Letter to the Professor of the Truth in Scotland (Works, IV, p. 284-285), il pose des limites aux prérogatives royales en matière de réforme religieuse. Enfin dans The First Blast against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, il pose des limites aux droits des femmes qui ne peuvent « assumer le pouvoir, la prééminence, la domination ou l’empire sur quelque domaine, nation ou cité que ce soit »10. Le développement de cette théorie politique qui cherche à légitimer sinon le tyrannicide du moins la résistance arrive à maturité on le sait trop tard. Lorsque le First Blast franchit la Manche et pénètre en Angleterre, Marie Tudor est morte et Elisabeth lui a succédé. Ainsi le détour de la pensée de Knox par la question de la gynécocatrie ne se prolongera pas au-delà de son texte légendaire. Dès la lettre qu’il adresse quelque temps après à Marie de Guise, deuxième mouture du texte qu’il avait composé à son attention deux ans auparavant, on retrouve le prophète de la vengeance divine qui menace une nouvelle fois la régente de damnation si elle faillit à sa mission réformatrice11. Il ne l’accuse à aucun moment d’être un tyran d’usurpation. Le jurisconsulte d’occasion a complètement disparu. Jane Dawson explique la brièveté de ce détour par la problématique juridique de la juste exhérédation des femmes du trône en arguant de l’unicité de l’alliance contractée entre la nation anglaise et Dieu à l’époque12. Cette alliance aurait conféré aux covenantaires anglais un statut privilégié et des droits singuliers dont celui d’éliminer le tyran d’usurpation lorsqu’il est apostat.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 157

On peut aussi, plus simplement, évoquer le bon sens de Knox qui voulait d’une part continuer de ménager une régente qui s’était illustrée jusqu’alors par sa tolérance, et d’autre part tenter de ne pas détériorer davantage encore ses relations avec la protestante Elisabeth.

8 Quelles qu’aient été les raisons qui poussèrent Knox à se désintéresser aussi brutalement qu’il s’y était intéressé à la question du droit des femmes à gouverner, il n’a pas pour autant abandonné entièrement l’entreprise de démarcation des prérogatives de chacune des strates du Commonwealth. Au magistrat suprême revient en priorité l’ius reformandi déclare-t-il dans sa lettre augmentée à la Régente mais dans l’éventualité d’une défaillance du magistrat suprême (Works, IV, p. 445), c’est au magistrat intermédiaire que revient cette charge13. The Appellation from the Sentence (Works, p. 501) ajoute un niveau supplémentaire dans ce système politico-religieux de check and balance, le peuple, qui peut à son tour se substituer au magistrat intermédiaire s’il vient à manquer à son devoir. On le voit Knox ne devient démocrate que lorsque les systèmes monarchique et aristocratique ont fait faillite. Le dialogue qu’il reprend avec l’Angleterre au moment où elle redevient protestante va du reste transposer symétriquement dans le reproche (acte de langage verdictif) et non cette fois dans l’incitation (acte de langage exercitif) le principe de la responsabilité tripartite. Dans The Epistle to the Inhabitants of Newcastle and Berwick (Works, V, p. 491) ainsi que dans A Brief exhortation to England for the Speedy embracing of the Gospel14, il dénonce en effet la défaillance collective du monarque, de la noblesse et du peuple, idée qu’il reprend dans le courrier individuel qu’il adresse à Guillaume Cecil15. Quant à la mort naturelle de Marie Tudor, elle le ramène une nouvelle fois vers le credo politique auquel il est pour l’essentiel resté fidèle depuis le premier et unique assassinat politique auquel il assista, l’exécution de Beaton, à savoir : la libération vient toujours de Dieu (Works, V, p. 505).

9 « Toute activité idéologique se présente sous la forme d’énoncés compositionnellement achevés. Cet achèvement est à distinguer de la finition structurale à laquelle ne prétendent que quelques systèmes philosophiques aussi bien que les religions » (Kristeva, 1969, p. 137). La pensée politique de Knox bien que lourdement inspirée par la religion n’est pas un système, c’est-à-dire selon la définition qu’en donne Condillac « la disposition des différentes parties d’un art ou d’une science dans un ordre où elles se soutiennent toutes mutuellement, et où les dernières s’expliquent par les premières » (Condillac, 1991, p. 1). Il n’y a pas d’ordre dans les compositions de Knox, il n’y a qu’un va et vient entre des idées qui se précisent au fil des textes et d’autres qui disparaissent. En 1558, Knox a rédigé l’ensemble de ses œuvres politiques et son idéologie a pris la forme d’énoncés achevés. Le long parcours qu’il avait entamé dix ans plus tôt l’a conduit à affirmer que l’autorité de tous les magistrats qu’ils soient suprêmes ou intermédiaires est une autorité service à vocation religieuse et corrélativement qu’elle est aliénable si elle s’opère à l’encontre de la parole de Dieu. Ce parcours pour l’essentiel linéaire puisque les idées s’enchaînent les unes aux autres de texte en texte fit néanmoins un détour remarqué par la question du droit ou plus exactement du non droit des femmes à ceindre la couronne. L’ironie du sort a voulu que ce détour reste longtemps marqué dans l’esprit de ses contemporains et qu’il passe ensuite à la postérité. De fait, aujourd’hui encore, The First Blast est l’unique écrit de Knox régulièrement réédité avec, bien sûr, The History of the Reformation. Pourtant, et c’est sur ce point que je souhaiterais finir, le First Blast demeure un accident de parcours dans l’acception cette fois géographique du terme. Il est à ce titre représentatif de la forte empreinte des déplacements physiques de Knox sur son parcours spirituel. Il est

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 158

un fait, par exemple, que le long séjour de Knox sur le continent le fit passer de l’influence du zwinglianiste Wishart à celle de son maître Calvin. La réforme écossaise s’en ressentit puisqu’elle s’éloigna du luthérianisme de ses premières heures pour adopter le dogme et la discipline calvinistes. Il convient donc avant de conclure de reconstituer, ne serait-ce que succinctement, l’itinéraire de Knox à travers l’Europe.

10 Une première remarque s’impose au biographe de Knox : il convient de le ranger parmi les grands voyageurs de son temps. Son endurance inspire le respect et l’on peut pour en attester en premier lieu rappeler qu’il traversa à neuf reprises la France de Dieppe à Genève faisant lors d’une de ses traversées un long détour par Francfort-sur-le-main. Si l’on s’appuie sur l’estimation d’un contemporain de Knox, Charles Estienne, auteur d’un Guide des chemins de France (1553) qui considère que « le royaume de France rentre dans un losange de vingt-deux journées de large et de dix-neuf de long » (Goulemot et al., 1995, p. 57), on peut à notre tour évaluer à 94 le nombre de jours que Knox passa à cheval et ce seulement dans le cadre de ses périples dans l’hexagone. Tout porte donc à croire qu’il était familier des douleurs prosaïquement évoquées par un marchand allemand de la fin du XVIe siècle qui conclut son récit de voyage en confiant à son lecteur : « J’ai eu si peu de repos que la selle n’a jamais cessé de m’échauffer l’arrière- train » (Hake, 1998, p. 153). Certes, il nous est impossible d’affirmer catégoriquement que Knox voyagea toujours à cheval. Il est probable qu’il se soit parfois déplacé dans une charrette équipée de sièges comme cela se faisait fréquemment à l’époque. Mais le témoignage d’Érasme en la matière suffit à nous convaincre qu’indépendamment du moyen de transport emprunté, ces expéditions étaient toujours éprouvantes. À l’occasion de son voyage de Cologne à Aix, Erasme eut l’occasion d’essayer le transport en charrette et n’en fut pas du tout satisfait. Il écrit a son sujet : « Je suis arrivé épuisé par les secousses de la voiture, qui étaient si pénibles… que j’aurais préféré être assis sur mon cheval » (Hake, 1998, p. 153).

11 Knox retenu par la pudeur et le sens du devoir ne nous livre jamais aussi platement les détails de ses voyages. Il confie cependant furtivement à ses amis la réticence qu’il éprouve parfois à reprendre la route et plus métaphoriquement l’épreuve que représente les voyages en bateau. L’image du navire des fidèles secoué par la tempête est, en effet, un topos de ses épîtres-sermons 16. Si elle a une valeur allégorique indéniable et une origine biblique incontestée, on peut croire qu’elle lui fut en revanche inspirée par les risques réels que faisaient courir les voyages maritimes à l’époque moderne. Knox traversa en effet à cinq reprises la Manche. Il passa de plus dix-neuf mois sur les galères françaises. Il était donc aussi familier des dangers des flots et ce serait se méprendre sur la personnalité du réformateur que de croire que l’on pouvait exposer inutilement sa vie de la sorte sans se mettre dans le cas de subir ses foudres. C’est l’expérience que firent les lords de la congrégation en 1557 lorsqu’ils revinrent sur leur invitation et obligèrent Knox à rebrousser chemin. La frustration mêlée de colère qui envahit Knox pendant les semaines où il attend un nouveau contrordre à Dieppe, puis son voyage de retour à Genève constitue le contexte psychologique dans lequel Knox composa le First Blast. Il ne doit en aucun cas être sous- estimé. Ce voyage inachevé, ce parcours interrompu, ce détour inutile par Dieppe est en effet un détonateur majeur du pamphlet de 1558. Si l’on tente d’en classer les facteurs déclenchants par ordre d’importance, il figure à mon sens immédiatement à côté du désillusionnement d’un homme qui en vint à ne plus croire que ses chevauchées

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 159

répétées à travers l’Europe le conduiraient au royaume-église qu’il souhaitait construire sur le modèle de la cité-église de Genève.

12 C’est en effet dans cette quête unique qu’il faut chercher la raison des pérégrinations incessantes de Knox et c’est sur ce point que je terminerai l’étude de sa pensée par le filtre de la notion de « parcours ». Un rapide rappel des principales étapes de ce long voyage suffit à s’en convaincre. Knox, on s’en souvient, quitte l’Angleterre tombée aux mains de la catholique Marie Tudor en 1554. Il ne connaît pas encore Genève. Il y séjourne dix semaines pendant lesquelles il poursuit sa réforme personnelle au contact des réformateurs helvétiques. L’année même il retourne cependant à Dieppe dans l’espoir de se réembarquer pour l’Angleterre. Au lieu de cela, il est contraint de se rendre à Francfort-sur-le-main où il est chargé de veiller sur les exilés anglais qui y sont réfugiés. Le conflit doctrinal qui l’oppose dans les semaines qui suivent à Cox et sa défaite publique consacre sa rupture avec un peuple qui en optant pour une réforme tronquée aboutissant à l’anglicanisme a apporté la preuve que le royaume d’Angleterre ne serait jamais vraiment celui de Dieu. Au lendemain de cette première désillusion, Knox reprend le chemin de Genève où il savoure pendant quatre ou cinq mois le plaisir de l’étude au sein d’une communauté authentiquement réformée. Mais il n’en est pas encore à la fin de son désenchantement. Knox, nous avons déjà eu l’occasion de l’évoquer à plusieurs reprises, connaît une déception de même ampleur trois ans plus tard avec les Écossais. Lorsqu’il arrive à Dieppe en 1557, il a déjà fait un premier séjour de six mois dans son pays natal. Il a cru y déceler une terre propice à la culture de la vraie foi au contact des protestants qui l’y ont ému par leur soif religieuse et de leurs chefs qui l’ont rassuré par leur sérieux. On comprend donc aisément qu’il se soit senti trahi par les lords de la congrégation qui, à ses yeux, s’enlisaient dans leurs procrastinations.

13 Ce sentiment ne fera que croître au fil des ans. Knox on le sait se réembarqua finalement pour l’Écosse en 1559 et œuvra activement à la construction de l’Église presbytérienne. Il ne repartit jamais, hormis pour de furtifs séjours en Angleterre dans le cadre d’une mission diplomatique en 1559 et à titre personnel en 1566. Mais il ne faut pas se méprendre sur le sens qu’il convient de donner à cette sédentarité retrouvée. Knox, le nomade, n’a pas trouvé ce qu’il cherchait. Il y a tout bonnement renoncé. Il est désormais convaincu que ni l’Angleterre, ni l’Écosse ne seront jamais ces royaumes- églises. Il n’est d’ailleurs retenu en Écosse que par la pression de Calvin et le poids de la culpabilité qu’il éprouve toujours à l’idée d’avoir abandonné à leur triste sort les protestants anglais entre 1554 et 1558. L’Écosse lui offre à ce titre une seconde chance de faire la preuve de sa bravoure. Mais dans l’intimité de sa correspondance, Knox se laisse volontiers emporter par ses rêveries vagabondes. Lorsqu’il est optimiste, il a la nostalgie de Genève17 où il aimerait partir retrouver son ami Goodman. Lorsqu’il est plus sombre, il se languit du grand voyage, dernière et unique étape avant de pénétrer enfin dans le Royaume de Dieu (Works, VI, p. 558). Triste parcours donc que celui de la trompette de Dieu, un parcours semé d’embûches, de trahisons et d’échecs qui si l’on en croit l’épitaphe composée par le Comte de Morton, se traça cependant sous l’œil bienveillant de Dieu (Calderwood, I, p. 242)18.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 160

BIBLIOGRAPHIE

Calderwood D., History of the Kirk of Scotland, Edinburgh, Wodrow Society, 1842-1849.

Collin F., Pisier E. & Varikas E. (éd.), Les Femmes de Platon à Derrida, Paris, Plon, 2000.

Condillac, Traité des systèmes, Paris, Fayard, 1991.

Graham R., John Knox Democrat, Londres, Robert Hale, 2001.

Goulemot J.-M., Lidsky P. & Masseau D. (éd.), Le voyage en France, Anthologie des voyageurs européens en France, du Moyen-Age à la fin de l’empire, Paris, Robert Laffont, Collection « Bouquin », 1995.

Hake J., La civilisation de l’Europe à la Renaissance, 2nde édition, Paris, Perrin, 1998.

Knox J., The Works of John Knox, Laing D. éd., New York, AMS Press Inc, 1966.

Kristeva J., Sémiotiké – Recherches pour une sémanalyse, Paris, Éditions du Seuil, Collection « Tel Quel », 1969.

Murray R., Political consequences of the Reformation: Studies in Sixteenth Century Political Thought, Boston, Little, Brown and Company, 1926.

Percy E., John Knox, Londres, Hodder and Stoughton, 1937.

NOTES

1. J. Gray, « The Political theory of John Knox », Church History, VIII, June 1939, p. 143. 2. J. Knox, History of the Reformation,Works, I, p. 137. 3. J. Knox, Epistle to the Congregation of the Castle of St Andrews, Works, III, p. 6-7. 4. J. Knox, Declaration of the true nature and object of prayer, Works, III, p. 107. 5. J. Knox, An Exposition of the sixth psalm of David, Works, III, p. 135. 6. J. Knox, An Admonition to the Professors of God’s Truth in England, Works, III, p. 270. 7. J. Knox, A Faithful Admonition to the Professors of God’s Truth in England, Works, III, p. 302. 8. J. Knox, A Letter to the Queen Dowager, Regent of Scotland, Works, IV, p. 79. 9. J. Knox, A Letter of Wholesome Counsel, addressed to his Brethren in Scotland, Works, IV, p. 137. 10. Traduction de Patrick Savidan et Eleni Varikas, F. Collin et al., 2000, p. 162. 11. J. Knox, A Letter to the Queen Dowager, Regent of Scotland: Augmented and explained by the author, Works, IV, p. 437. 12. J. Dawson, « The Two John Knoxes: England, Scotland and the 1558 Tracts », Journal of Ecclesiastical History, vol. 42, n° 4, octobre 1991, p. 567. 13. J. Knox, The Appellation from the sentence pronounced by the bishops and clergy: addressed to the Nobility and Estates of Scotland, Works, IV, p. 480. 14. J. Knox, An Exhortation to England, Works, IV, p. 513-514. 15. Letters chiefly relating to the progress of the Reformation in Scotland, 1559-1562, Works, VI, Knox to Sir William Cecil, 10th of April 1559, p. 16. 16. J. Knox, A Faithful Admonition to the Professors of God’s truth in England, Works, III, p. 273. 17. J. Knox, Letters, etc., during the later period of Knox’s life, 1563-157, Works VI, Knox to Mr. John Wood, february 14, 1567-1568, p. 559. 18. « Here lyeth a man who, in his life, never feared the face of man: who hath bene often threatnd with dag and danger, but yitt hath ended his dayes in peace and honour. For he had God’s providence whatching over him in a speciall maner, when his verie life was sought. »

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 161

AUTEUR

ARMELLE DUBOIS-NAYT Université de Valenciennes

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 162

Esquisse d’un paysage ontologique dans A Highland Trilogy1 de Kenneth Steven

Jean Berton

1 Le terme « trilogy » se justifie moins parce que les trois romans regroupés sous le titre A Highland Trilogy se lisent comme des tragédies puisque le pathétique l’emporte sur le tragique que parce que ces trois romans distincts traitent des Highlands sous des angles différents. Ces trois romans comportent des éléments communs tels que la hantise de l’exil ou bien l’opposition ville-montagne, ou bien encore les tableaux brossés en quelques lignes.

2 Dan est un roman de 135 pages qui relate la dernière journée du héros éponyme, Dan, un octogénaire qui vit dans sa ferme des Highlands. Après avoir mangé son porridge matinal, Dan décide de revisiter les lieux de son enfance et de toute sa vie. Lentement, comme un chemin de croix, station après station, il remonte le ruisseau vers le tumulus des temps préhistoriques où plane le souvenir des Pictes. À chaque pause il se remémore les temps forts de sa vie. L’ensemble est comme ce film au ralenti dont on dit que les gens confrontés à une mort soudaine perçoivent en quelques instants. Le récit va de la première guerre mondiale à la dernière décennie du XXe siècle. Revisitant sa vie, le héros fait revisiter au lecteur le siècle vu par un Highlander, qui est un homme ordinaire. En effet, la vie de Dan n’est en rien exceptionnelle et ce choix de l’auteur lui permet de mettre en relief un certain nombre de détails, dont la somme peut se comprendre comme une évaluation critique de l’évolution des Highlands tout au long de ce XXe siècle. De même que la confrontation de Dan avec les événements marquants de sa vie permet au lectorat des Highlands d’entamer une introspection non dénuée de nostalgie avant la venue du millénaire, de même les aquarelles qui émaillent le récit créent un contraste entre la nature et les hommes.

3 The Summer is Ended est un roman de 105 pages qui décrit la dernière semaine de vacances de Cam (eron) avant qu’il ne parte à l’université de Aberdeen. Cam est inquiet et sent qu’il entre dans une nouvelle phase de sa vie : « He suddenly felt as if he would be going into exile » (151). Il dit au revoir en se remémorant à son amour d’enfance,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 163

Rosie, à son grand-père Cameron, à son ami, Richard, mort noyé 15 mois plus tôt. Il solde les désaccords d’enfance et d’adolescence avec son frère aîné, Robert.

4 West of the World est le récit de Roddy Gillies, natif de St-Kilda, qui finit sa vie dans une maison de retraite à New York. Il écrit ses mémoires pour faire le point avant de mourir. Ce faisant il raconte la fin de la communauté de St-Kilda avant que les habitants ne soient rapatriés en Argyll en août 1930. Il évoque leur mode de vie, prisonniers de l’océan et des tempêtes depuis l’arrivée des ancêtres vikings, la dureté de leur vie mais leur amour de leur île. Puis viennent les difficultés d’intégration dans le village de Kinlochallan, les dépressions et les morts prématurées. La bizarre folie de Iain, trop heureux de partir à la guerre, sert de contrepoint au mariage heureux de leur sœur Morag qui va vivre à Lewis, l’île natale de son mari. West of the World est un roman historique qui permet d’avoir un angle de vue différent sur les Highlands, devenues une terre d’immigration, une terre étrangère.

5 La composition de la trilogie imprime un mouvement géographique vers l’ouest : du centre des Highlands, à la côte ouest, puis à St-Kilda, on peut rajouter ici que le narrateur autobiographe écrit de sa maison de retraite à New York. St-Kilda est extérieure aux Highlands mais les personnages sont rapatriés sur la côte ouest, au nord de Mull. St-Kilda, ou West of the World, fait office de mise en abîme de l’ensemble de la trilogie et permet de considérer les Highlands d’un point de vue extérieur tout en s’y intégrant. Ce paradoxe du point de vue intérieur/extérieur renforce cette sensation permanente d’entre-deux.

6 Cette trilogie parvient à composer un paysage que l’on serait tenté d’appeler oxymorique parce que le rêve s’y mélange à la réalité (bien que fictionnelle), parce que le factuel banal côtoie le fantastique, parce que le passé se mêle au présent et implique le futur, parce que le matériel se heurte au symbolique. Dans chacun des trois romans nous trouverons assez de références à la réalité de la vie quotidienne qui illustrent l’affirmation de Iain Crichton Smith2 : les îliens en général, les Hébridiens en particulier, sont des gens réels qui vivent sur des terres réelles ; ils ont les mêmes problèmes que tout le monde et des problèmes spécifiques liés à leur insularité. Les angoisses de Cam à la veille de son départ pour l’université, la calme autorité de son père qui a fait le choix délibéré d’être paysan, la jalousie inquiète de son frère Robert qui projette de succéder à leur père, la frustration de son grand-père d’avoir dû revenir à la terre à son retour de la guerre : ce sont là des situations ou des destins à la fois particuliers et universels. Les Highlanders, et plus encore les îliens, refusent d’intérioriser une singularité désignée et un sentiment d’infériorité imposé par les citadins venus en touristes : « Oh the tourists meant well enough, but they could be trying… » (276). Les habitants de St-Kilda rejettent le rôle de bon sauvages qui est imposé à l’ensemble des Highlanders depuis le XVIIIe siècle : « […] we were a kind of spectacle for them to stare at, and laugh about » (273).

7 Crichton Smith, cité plus haut, conviendrait que rural ou urbain, le roman aussi réaliste qu’il puisse sembler reste une œuvre de fiction, de même que, une fois peint sur une toile, un paysage devient un tableau. Le paysage panoramique, que je qualifierais d’ontologique des Highlands, s’affirme face aux romans urbains d’abord parce que pour l’essentiel les actions se passent dans le nord de l’Écosse et que les personnages principaux font l’expérience négative de la ville – Glasgow, en l’occurrence (320) – ensuite parce que ce paysage fictionnel est construit sur des éléments qui

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 164

appartiennent au domaine du réel, et du sensible. L’objet de cette étude est d’en présenter les éléments principaux.

La nature

8 L’eau est omniprésente sous forme de brume, de nuage, de pluie (« The rain chimed and sang, it came in at cracks and formed a pool on the pantry floor » – 237), de neige, de lac, de rivière, d’océan. Sous des formes multiples l’eau est un élément essentiel du paysage. Elle est porteuse de symboles variés que je ne développerai pas dans le détail ici : la rivière que remonte Dan lui sert de fil d’Ariane pour filer le récit de sa vie.

9 La nature minérale est un autre élément essentiel du paysage des Highlands, qu’il s’agisse de la pierre à l’état brut ou travaillée par l’homme pour construire des maisons ou des cercles de pierres dressées. Les monolithes ne sont pas les seuls à exercer un attrait indéniable : « It always stilled my thoughts to look at the rocks » (274). Les pierres dans les champs peuvent cacher un trésor symbolique, tel qu’une harpe (152). Cet épisode met en avant l’oxymore de la musicalité de la pierre caressée ou frappée par le vent, qui est aussi un élément nécessaire : « I used to know a man on the island who would get his tunes that way, straight off the edge of the wind » (259).

10 La montagne, et le phénomène ne se limite pas à la Calédonie, exerce une force d’attraction irrésistible chez le Highlander : « […] Maybe I could have been a merchant banker in London, but every night I’d have been looking out of the window to catch a glimpse of the moon on Ben Luan! » (254). Le sens premier de « luan » étant la lune, on saisit le trait d’humour dans la tautologie. Et si l’on tient compte du fait que « dobhran » signifie la loutre, le seul toponyme Ben Dobhran, dans sa simplicité, rassemble la montagne, la rivière et le règne animal ; il forme ainsi un portrait qui se suffit à lui-même. La montagne, habillée d’un toponyme ancestral, peut cacher des trésors.

11 La nature végétale est présente, mais K. Steven évite les clichés des documents touristiques : le « machair » est simplement évoqué. On note l’opposition entre la rareté des arbres et des fruits sur les îles ou leur profusion au cœur des Highlands : « I never saw a tree at all until I went to the mainland » (277).

12 La nature animale non domestiquée, cervidés, oiseaux, loutres, etc. est instrumentalisée pour des transferts de sentiments ; les biches (239) sont sauvages mais proches de l’homme : « [a whole herd of deer] had come to find food; they had come down out of the hills to find sanctuary and warmth. This was not their world and they had no love for it, but in the end they had come rather than starve » (309). Les romans étant situés en dehors d’un contexte de famine, la nature animale est respectée, voire admirée : « [the dragonfly] was like the bar of a brooch, a tropical blue, kingfisher blue even; as it moved up on to his finger he saw that the four wings were made out of hundreds of tiny panes, all of them shining like the paper of Chinese lanterns » (203) ; cette libellule esseulée est élevée au rang d’œuvre d’art et de trésor modeste et libre.

13 La surabondance de l’eau, l’omniprésence de la pierre et la profusion d’animaux sont réalistes, mais elles ne peuvent être décrites que dans des tableaux, comme ceux que peignait la mère de Dan en cachette, parce que toute représentation de la création de Dieu risquait fort d’être qualifiée de blasphématoire… ou dans des scènes que l’on peut aisément isoler du récit, comme un tableau dans une exposition. Il y a un détournement

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 165

flagrant du naturalisme au profit de l’artistique par le regard qui est porté sur l’environnement.

La terre

14 La terre est à considérer en tant qu’objet de possession et d’héritage : on passe du plan économique au plan social puis psychologique ; i.e. du réel à l’intangible. A Highland Trilogy expose la jalousie et surtout la peur de perdre la terre que l’on s’estime seul digne de recevoir en héritage, d’où des scènes violentes de l’expulsion du frère potentiellement rival, syndrome de Caïn oblige.

15 Aborder la question de la propriété terrienne entraîne l’évocation des propriétaires absents, ce qui est un thème fondamental du paysage fictionnel des Highlands. Ces propriétaires absents ne sont pas déréalisés dans la fiction, ils deviennent emblématiques de la possession qui est un concept étranger au gaélophone qui ne dit pas « j’ai une terre », mais littéralement « il y a une terre à moi » : dans Dan on voit que le manoir passe des mains d’une famille de possédants écossais peu appréciés des villageois à celles de nouveaux propriétaires anglais, les Turner. Les propriétaires sont montrés sous un aspect caricatural car la terre est vue comme un bien immobilier : à l’injonction, « Get off my land », le grand-père rétorque : « My people were Mackays. They were thrown off this land once – their own land. But I’m not going to be. I believe I have more right to be here than you have » (249). Cette conception de propriété exclusive s’oppose à la vision calédonienne de l’appartenance à la terre, et dans Dan on observe la fin pathétique du héros, prisonnier de la clôture censée protéger la propriété des cervidés autochtones. On peut penser que Dan meurt de froid à cause de l’égoïsme du propriétaire qui a construit cette clôture symbolique : « He did not see the deer fence until he was only a few steps from it. Towering over him by several feet, it seemed in his imagination a giant that stood in his way » (144).

16 La propriété, selon le mode de penser anglo-saxon, est un bien immobilier exploitable financièrement : ainsi la notion de valeur marchande s’oppose-t-elle clairement à l’attachement à la terre des ancêtres. Ces ancêtres défunts sont un élément inéluctable du paysage même s’ils ne sont pas visibles. Le Highlander lui appartient au point qu’il est naturel que le défunt soit inhumé dans sa terre natale à laquelle il appartient, comme on en est informé dans West of the World à propos du tumulus censé abriter les dépouilles de Pictes. Dans The Summer is Ended (249) Cam exprime son attachement : « “I keep wanting to go and not wanting to go.” / His father smiled and ruffled his hair./“That’s been the story of this country snice the beginnning of time”» (251).

17 Dans West of the World, à propos de la mort du frère à la guerre (312), l’équation est donnée clairement : la terre aimée c’est la vie. La vision de la terre est modulable : les Highlands sont perçues clairement comme une terre étrangère par les immigrés de St- Kilda. Cette vision subjective est portée à son comble lorsque les habitants de St-Kilda, conscients qu’il leur faudra bientôt être évacués, regardent la terre métropolitaine s’approcher de jour en jour (284).

18 L’expulsion, tout autant que l’évacuation, de la terre natale implique la notion d’exil économique vers les Highlands, vers Glasgow, puis vers l’Amérique qui n’est pas l’Eldorado qu’elle paraît ! La victimisation des Highlanders, cependant, fait l’objet de débat, ainsi que le montre cet aveu : « […] I allowed myself to acknowledge that I was not, in fact, being driven away ; I was driving myself away » (317). L’exil a son corollaire

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 166

qui est l’échec de l’exil, qui est une réalité sociale des Highlands. Associée à la force d’attraction des Highlands. l’échec de l’exil, ou le retour de l’exilé, n’est pas un fait entièrement négatif ; ce peut même être considéré comme une victoire des Highlands sur le mirage de la fortune en argent. Il n’en reste pas moins que la force d’attraction de la terre natale ne nécessite pas de justification : « It seemed to me that there was always a kind of restlessness in Morag’s husband, even if he were to travel to the end of the world he would always be fretting for Lewis » (319).

19 Enfin, la notion d’héritage des biens immobiliers, maison natale et terres attenantes, est liée à l’étude de la relation père-fils, décrite ici comme avide de tendresse non manifestée. A Highland Trilogy donne des cas de relations père-fils mal vécues, comme celle de Iain malheureux de ne pas se sentir aimé « by his father who had not shown him enough love » (319) et d’autres qui sont réussies, ce qui n’empêche pas les crises nécessaires : « He had told me he loved me – something he had never done – and a dry, brittle wall crumbled inside me » (287). De surcroît, la transmission de la terre ne va pas sans la transmission des valeurs qui lui sont attachées, ce qu’illustre la relation entre Duncan et ses deux fils Cam et Robert.

Le village

20 Le village est un élément de la réalité tangible des Highlands : les habitations sont décrites avec suffisamment de détails pour que l’on puisse les dessiner objectivement. Mais le foyer des Highlands est comparable à celui de tous les pays avec son confort psychologique et ses conflits ordinaires du couple, de la fratrie ou des générations, bref, de la maisonnée. Le détail qui fait la différence, ne serait-ce qu’au sein du Royaume- Uni, c’est le ceilidh (The Summer is Ended) où la boisson ne l’emporte pas sur la musique, le chant ou le conte.

21 La société du village est une communauté qui dans cette Trilogie n’est pas idéalisée, mais elle est assumée avec le plus grand réalisme. Elle ne nourrit plus la culpabilité et la honte longtemps inculquées : « Oh, I know you’re going to university in Aberdeen; I understand that all right, but what I’m saying is, don’t ever be afraid of coming home » (250). Steven en souligne son meilleur aspect qui est la solidarité surtout devant l’adversité : « News came by way of letters, and that was another strange thing. Deaths had always been suffered together, just as we had been together during the joy of birth. But now we were scattered; the thin seed of those who survived had been carried to every corner » (299). C’est une communauté de pêcheurs ou de paysans : Duncan n’est en rien une caricature, mais une image réaliste du paysan instruit et intelligent. Duncan est aussi un homme qui assume sa paternité avec beaucoup d’intelligence et de cœur. Ce personnage est l’antithèse du Highlander prisonnier de la boisson.

22 Le pasteur est un des personnages centraux de la communauté : dans la Trilogie le pasteur, représentant de la Kirk, n’est pas dépeint sous un aspect outrageusement noir, contrairement à celui de Lewis. La religion presbytérienne est liée à la notion de culpabilité qui est ouvertement remise en question par les paroissiens aux prises avec le doute (190) : dans Dan on observe l’évolution des pasteurs au fil des générations ; le premier est un accusateur (20) « de la vieille école » puis son successeur est ouvert et humain. Il reste un fait historique lié à St-Kilda où le pasteur était appelé « missionnaire » (288). La religion n’est pas récusée dans cette Trilogie : « And now, more than any other time, I missed the strong wall of their presence. Once, I had often

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 167

found fault with the strictness and unyielding conformity of the bleak religion of the island; now I saw another side which I had been too blind to acknowledge » (306).

23 La naissance et la mort sont les bornes visibles de la vie dans la communauté. La mort surtout est un élément incontournable des romans des Highlands ; cela dit, elle ne saurait en rien être considérée comme un trait marquant du roman calédonien Dans le roman calédonien le fait que les hommes meurent dehors et les femmes dans la maison est à mettre sur le compte de la fiction. La naissance de Iain et la jalousie du frère aîné, ou la naissance du neveu de Roddy sont des événements naturels qui peuvent avoir un intérêt dramatique sans qu’ils revêtent une valeur symbolique spécifique. Il en va de même pour la mort naturelle ou accidentelle telle que la noyade de Richard ou la mort de la vieille tuberculeuse Mary MacQueen. On trouve dans le roman des Highlands la mort absurde du jeune homme que le gouvernement de Londres a envoyé combattre loin d’Écosse pour une cause qui lui est étrangère.

Le gaélique

24 La langue gaélique participe du paysage social des Highlands : sa réalité est souvent contestée par les non-gaélophones, et sa survie mise en doute par les gaélophones ; mais il n’en demeure pas moins que la réalité économique de l’impact de la pratique du gaélique est perceptible dans la Région de Highland, la Région d’Argyll ou la Région des Western Isles… Le gaélique participe du réel et de l’émotionnel. Cette langue véhicule bien moins une nostalgie qu’un besoin de confiance légitime : « For all my new-found ease with English, there was one book I always read in Gaelic, and to me it was by far the most important of all; my mother’s old Bible » (348). Le gaélique est non seulement une langue maternelle, donc reçue et partagée, mais aussi, depuis que la Bible a été traduite, une « langue de Dieu » à l’égal de l’anglais. Si sa position fait l’objet de polémiques c’est surtout à l’extérieur des Highlands. And maybe, too, the language would survive, maybe it would come back before it was too late. If it did not it would be a death, like the death of his own grandfather. He saw him now as he had been in weakness during his last days in the house; in him as a language and a way of life, both dying with him. And he was suddenly aware of how precious and fragile life was. (246)

25 La Trilogie de Steven est écrite en anglais et la langue gaélique, en dehors de toponymes clairement celtiques, Ben Dobhran, Achnagreine, Balree, ou Toberdubh, reste peu visible. Elle n’en est pas moins présente à travers de multiples évocations, à tel point que l’on pourrait parler de la spectralité du gaélique : on en parle mais on ne le voit pas, sauf peut-être sur les pierres tombales : « Gus am bris an latha » (until the day breaks).

L’immatériel

26 L’esprit est spontanément lié à la mort. Il faut noter, en passant, la relation entre la mort et la pierre. Et il faudrait faire le compte, dans les romans des Highlands, des hommes adultes qui meurent en voulant soulever une pierre trop grosse ! Le père de Roddy, Morag et Iain meurt écrasé par la trop grosse pierre qu’il pose sur le mur qu’il veut reconstruire. Si pareil accident est réaliste et vraisemblable, il n’en prend pas moins une valeur symbolique car la nature ne veut pas se laisser domestiquer. « And I

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 168

began to see that this intense mourning was not only for my father but for the island itself. Our island was dying and we, its children, were mourning its loss » (289) : la vie de l’île, comme celle du glen, est liée à celle de la communauté qui l’habite. Le lien entre l’individu, îlien ou montagnard, et son lieu de vie est bien plus fort en milieu rural qu’en milieu urbain.

27 La mort est liée aussi aux fantômes ou plutôt aux mânes des ancêtres : Cam ressent la présence du fantôme du grand-père dans sa maison à Toberdubh. Dan visite très souvent le tumulus où des Pictes ont été ensevelis parce que c’est un lieu de paix et de réconciliation. Aussi, avec les sapins qui ont poussé à son sommet, le tumulus évoque l’image du bateau poussé par le vent (184). Les esprits des ancêtres font partie du paysage ontologique familier pour le Highlander, ils ne sont pas effrayants, leur présence est perçue tout naturellement… Ils font partie de la dimension surnaturelle aux manifestations multiples qui vont de l’aurore boréale (236) aux superstitions, comme celle de la lumière sur Ben Luan (175) dans The Summer is Ended.

28 Le réel et le rationnel se mélangent au merveilleux. Dans A Highland Trilogy les visions prémonitoires sont banales, par exemple dans West of the World, le héros voit par anticipation l’accouchement difficile de sa sœur, la mort de son père et celle de son frère : « Suddenly, quite clearly, I saw the figure of Iain standing by the foot of the bed. He was looking right at me and I could see in detail the whole of his uniform, although he was there for only a few seconds » (311). Le don de double vue n’est pas introduit dans la fiction comme une rareté dans les Highlands. S’il reste sujet à caution dans la vie réelle parce qu’il ne s’appuie sur aucune base scientifique, la fiction lui laisse libre cours car il s’apparente à l’ironie tragique.

Les histoires

29 L’univers fictionnel calédonien se caractérise souvent par l’entre-deux : entre la vie et la mort, entre le rêve et le réel, entre le récit et la fiction : « Tonight, though, it’s a comfort. If I switch off the light, if I close my eyes and listen, I could be back there, back in the very middle of childhood » (260). Les histoires sont insérées dans le récit pour produire des effets de mise en perspective : le troisième roman est une autobiographie de Roddie qui utilise de manière alternative le temps de la narration et le temps du récit, avec des confusions illustrant la confusion mentale du vieillard. Roddie, le narrateur, se déclare « an ungrown child » (290) ; ce qui permet de justifier les passages inopinés du présent au passé, et inversement : […] I will go on with this story. All the same, I am afraid that when the last word is written (and I will be very certain of that moment) I will have nothing else to live for. And so I am caught. I want to be done – for how can I be happy when something remains – and yet I fear I am writing my own death sentence. (311)

30 La fiction romanesque intègre les souvenirs, les événements rapportés, ou les légendes « … Now he became uneasy; he recalled what old Cameron had told him of the strange light that appeared on the shoulder of Ben Luan » (175). La Trilogie de Steven confirme ce que Crichton Smith avait illustré avant lui3 : celui qui sait raconter des histoires est un personnage positif ; celui qui apprend à raconter est en train de s’amender – quoi qu’il en soit, une histoire n’est jamais purement gratuite : « “That’s about the end of the story really, Cam!” said the minister. “Not my most cheery one, I’m afraid. But can you perhaps guess something of what I’m trying to say in it?” » (195).

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 169

31 Le premier roman de la Trilogie abonde en tableaux pittoresques croqués dans un paysage vaste ; ces illustrations d’ekphrasis, pour ainsi dire, paraissent au lecteur comme autant d’aquarelles vite brossées, en quelques lignes : He opened the window wide, lifting it so that he could lean right out into the early evening. There was a beautiful scent in the air; he did not know what it was. The low sun was weaker now, weak enough to look on full, and it came in a buttery yellow across the fields and the moors, changing and shifting, as elusive as a running child or a summer butterfly, searching and searching without ever coming to rest… (161)

32 Steven, peut-être pour aider son lecteur, ajoute dans le premier roman un personnage inattendu qui s’adonne de temps à autre au plaisir de la peinture : il s’agit de la mère du héros qui profite du beau temps et d’un peu de temps libre pour dessiner et peindre ; elle fera son dernier tableau peu de temps avant sa mort : de sa chambre elle peint ce qu’elle voit par la fenêtre, acte gratuit puisque le tableau reste dans la maison, si ce n’est de mise en abyme.

33 Le tableau du romancier et le tableau du peintre sont un indice clair de la dimension artistique accordée au souvenir qui s’affirme réaliste. Ces tableaux sont des miroirs que traversent les personnages parce qu’ils font partie des deux mondes, devant le miroir et dans le miroir. Dans les Highlands, les rivières et les lacs sont de grands pourvoyeurs de miroirs.

34 Ainsi, dans cet environnement tantôt sobre et dépouillé, tantôt exubérant et coloré tout élément insolite ou ordinaire est susceptible de revêtir une valeur symbolique : les loutres de la rivière, le sorbier que l’on vient d’abattre (40), la harpe découverte dans un cairn, la plume d’oie réputée magique (185)… Chaque élément chargé de valeur symbolique engage le lecteur vers une réflexion qui peut être aussi une remise en question de soi ou de son monde.

Le temps

35 Dans chaque roman de cette Trilogie, la préhistoire est présente par le retour fréquent au tumulus ou par l’évocation des Vikings à travers les légendes ; les souvenirs du vieux Dan ou ceux du vieux Roddie font le lien entre le passé et le présent d’autant plus fort que la mémoire n’est pas toujours spontanée car ces deux vieux narrateurs doivent parfois faire un effort pour se rappeler (« He decided he must stop these ramblings, and go on with his journey through memory » – 140) ; la fiction est du faux présent comme la légende est du faux passé¤; enfin, la vision prémonitoire est du présent-futur. Ces trois récits, dont le présent n’est qu’un passage ponctuel du futur dans le passé, construisent un entre-deux temporel où l’homme est dépendant du temps alors que la nature sous tous ses aspects participe de l’éternité.

36 Au critique se plaignant d’une impression d’entendre ressasser le passé, on peut rappeler que le roman historique a été inventé par un Écossais… et que l’appartenance au clan crée un lien fondamental avec le passé : on est « fils de » comme le montrent les patronymes en « mac ». Bien qu’aboli après 1746, le clanisme ne cesse de perdurer, comme en témoignent les lointains cousins d’Amérique revisitant le village de l’ancêtre et découvrant son tartan… De plus, il devient plus difficile de déclarer que la réalité des mânes des ancêtres est sujette à caution dans le paysage des Hautes Terres où les jeux de lumières traversant « l’hygrométricité » variable et mouvante donnent parfois à voir

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 170

au voyageur attentif ou perceptif des plans multiples d’un paysage. Les phénomènes climatiques naturels peuvent perturber le rationnel dans une dimension panoramique.

37 L’interaction de la nature et de l’humain est plus spontanément ressentie dans un milieu rural qu’urbain : At times on evenings like this he felt the strangest melancholy, as if the blackness itself came over his spirit, with mist clogging his chest, making it an effort for him to breathe. It was a nowhere time, this period between the end of summer and the beginning of winter, seemingly bleak and dead. Maybe these days were something that only Scotland could produce; perhaps the nature of the land itself, beneath these skies, added to the gloom. (232)

38 La fiction permet de compacter (« The times when he had asthma during his childhood were all rolled into one now in his mind », 234) et de dilater le temps à volonté. Le récit de Dan se déroule dans l’unité de temps d’une journée commençant au réveil de Dan et se terminant à la tombée de la nuit. Le récit est suivi d’un épilogue. Le parcours du héros est symbolique puisqu’il revisite sa niche écologique : en remontant le cours du ruisseau il gravit la colline, il repasse par le tumulus, vestige des temps passés. Il procède par étapes et chaque étape correspond à un souvenir. Le héros meurt au terme de son parcours. L’ensemble du récit se perçoit comme un résumé de la vie du héros tel qu’il pourrait le visionner au moment de mourir. Dans la mesure où le résumé de vie compactée est dilaté pour remplir une journée, on peut saisir la relativité de la perception du temps qui se fond dans l’intemporalité : « It seemed like no time at all » (187).

39 Kenneth Steven joue habilement du temps de la narration pour fondre le passé, le présent et le futur en une seule phrase : « She was standing near the fire, her hands busy with cleaning, and as I looked I suddenly saw her not as she now was, but as what she would become » (278). Ce jeu est subtil car la rationnalité grammaticale le dispute à l’émotion suscitée par l’expérience du vieillissement partagée avec le lecteur : « The darkness fell as a weight across his shoulders. Time frightened him these days; he was conscious as never before of its passing, of so many journeys and changes, of his own powerlessness; he had reached a landmark, the end of the first part of his life. »

40 L’échelle du temps dans les Hautes Terres est le facteur humain : les constructions des hommes se détruisent et se changent, alors que la nature se régénère en se modifiant très lentement à l’échelle de la vie humaine. La conscience manipulée du narrateur permet d’exprimer les paradoxes nécessaires à la description d’un paysage ontologique : « The music went on until three in the morning; it seemed to go on to a timeless place where all that mattered were the songs themselves, and the singing » (217). Il importe de noter que, dans le contexte des Highlands, cette gestion du temps est d’autant plus naturelle que la langue gaélique fonctionne sur deux temps, le futur et le passé, et use du temps présent comme d’une modalité, de la même manière que le futur est une modalité plus qu’un temps en anglais.

41 Ce qui passerait pour des clichés accumulés : les montagnes, les daims, ou les fantômes, (les kilts sont absents de la Trilogie), n’est qu’un ensemble de repères qui constituent la marque du paysage ontologique des Highlands où évoluent des personnages mimant les personnes. La manière est primordiale : elle a la simplicité apparente de l’aquarelle. Ces clichés ou instantanés composent un tableau, ici un triptyque de miroirs où l’intertextualité sensible crée une assurance d’héritage septentrional et une spectralité calédonienne où les références internes aux Highlands sont multiples, telles que

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 171

Highland River de N. Gunn, ou The End of Summer de Iain Crichton Smith. S’il faut ne privilégier que deux éléments constitutifs du paysage des Highlands, on choisira la pierre et l’eau qui sont, pour le poète et le romancier, d’une richesse infinie.

NOTES

1. Kenneth Steven, A Highland Trilogy, Dalkeith, Scottish Cultural Press, 2002. Cette trilogie se compose de Dan, publié en 1994, The Summer is Ended, publié en 1997 et West of the World, publié en 2002. Les numéros de pages donnés entre parenthèses à la suite des citations renvoient à cette édition. 2. Iain Crichton Smith, Towards the Human, Édimbourg, Macdonald Publishers, 1986. 3. Dans Consider the Lilies (1968), entre autres.

AUTEUR

JEAN BERTON Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 172

Parcours et détours d’une loi Le Drainage Act de 1846 et son application dans les Hautes Terres d’Écosse

Christian Auer

1 Un an après l’Irlande, en 1846, la pomme de terre des Hautes Terres d’Écosse est à son tour victime du mildiou. La famine qui sévit alors dans les Highlands, dont l’ampleur n’est certes pas comparable au fléau qui frappe l’Irlande, va néanmoins fortement contribuer à déstabiliser une région qui dépend en grande partie de la culture de la pomme de terre. Le sud de l’Écosse avait été touché dès 1845 mais les Hautes Terres avaient échappé à la contagion ; les récoltes dans les Highlands furent même plutôt bonnes à un point tel que certains propriétaires purent réaliser de substantiels bénéfices en acheminant des tonnes de pommes de terre vers les régions du Sud. En cette fin d’année 1845, le climat était même plutôt orienté à l’optimisme : la York Horticultural Society indiquait que « the disease is not as bad as has been represented1 » et dans un article de novembre 1845 le Inverness Journal notait avec satisfaction que les dégâts causés par le mildiou avaient été largement surévalués : « It is satisfactory to have reason to think that the apprehensions entertained on this point, both in this country and in Ireland, have been greatly exaggerated2. » Le printemps 1846 fut doux et agréable et le début de l’été, chaud et sec, laissa présager une bonne récolte. Mais les conditions climatiques changèrent subitement à la fin du mois d’août avec l’apparition de la pluie, et, quelques semaines plus tard, le fléau tant redouté fit son apparition dans les Highlands avant de se propager à une vitesse considérable sous l’effet conjugué de l’humidité et du vent. L’hiver 1846 fut froid et neigeux; le typhus et le choléra commencèrent à faire leur apparition et même le scorbut, qui avait pourtant disparu des Hautes Terres depuis plus d’un siècle, réapparut dans certaines régions.

2 Dans un premier temps, le pire put être évité grâce à la Free Church, qui, bien avant tous les autres, avait pris conscience de la gravité de la situation. Son organisation efficace et sa parfaite connaissance du terrain lui permirent de réagir très rapidement pour collecter les fonds et les répartir en fonction des besoins les plus immédiats. En novembre, fut constitué le Free Church Destitution Committee qui récolta jusqu’à 1 000 livres. Ces aides furent dénuées de tout sectarisme : même les régions dans lesquelles

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 173

vivaient des paysans de confession catholique, comme les villages de Moidart et Arisaig, bénéficièrent de cet élan de générosité.

3 Pourtant, le gouvernement avait déjà réagi ; en effet, le ministre de l’intérieur, Sir George Grey, avait décidé de confier une mission d’enquête à un haut fonctionnaire, Sir Charles Trevelyan, qui, début septembre, avait envoyé un de ses subordonnés sur place. Edward Pine Coffin3 avait pour mission de dresser un bilan de la situation dans les régions concernées, et, si besoin était, de prendre les mesures nécessaires. Coffin avait une expérience précieuse dans le domaine de l’aide aux populations victimes de la famine: depuis janvier 1846 il était en effet responsable de l’assistance aux victimes de la famine en Irlande. Après une visite de quelques semaines dans les régions les plus touchées par la maladie de la pomme de terre, il décida d’établir deux dépôts de farine dans la région, l’un à Portree, dans l’île de Skye, et l’autre à Tobermory, dans l’île de Mull.

4 Le gouvernement décida également d’utiliser le Drainage Act, qui venait d’être voté par le Parlement le 28 août 1846. Cette loi, An Act to authorise the Advance of Public Money to a limited Amount, to promote the Improvement of Land in Great Britain and Ireland by Works of Drainage4, faisait partie des mesures destinées à compenser l’abrogation, le 28 mai 1846, des lois protectionnistes sur les céréales. Elle devait également permettre d’atténuer les effets de la crise irlandaise en offrant la possibilité aux propriétaires d’emprunter des fonds pour la restructuration de leurs domaines et, ce faisant, de donner des emplois à leurs paysans.

La loi sur le drainage et ses dispositions

5 Le préambule soulignait que la loi avait été adoptée pour accroître la productivité et la valeur des terres par le biais du drainage ; il était également spécifié que les travaux devaient permettre de lutter contre les maladies et améliorer l’état de santé des communautés concernées5. Les propriétaires qui souhaitaient obtenir des prêts devaient adresser leurs demandes aux commissaires en charge des enclosures6. Ces demandes devaient fournir des informations précises quant à la superficie des terres destinées à être drainées et les techniques utilisées et devaient être accompagnées d’un devis des dépenses ainsi que d’une estimation de la plus-value résultant des travaux de drainage7. Les commissaires, s’ils le jugeaient nécessaire, pouvaient décider de procéder à une inspection des terres concernées ; la loi imposait au propriétaire de prendre en charge les frais encourus par les personnes désignées pour évaluer la pertinence des travaux mais les autorisait à faire appel à des personnes recrutées localement8. Le propriétaire devait également faire paraître sa demande dans la Edinburgh Gazette et dans un journal local. Après un délai de deux mois, les commissaires du Trésor délivraient une attestation provisoire qui autorisait le propriétaire à débuter les travaux9. Le gouvernement prêtait ces fonds à un taux de 6,5 % remboursables sur vingt-deux ans10.

6 Pour comprendre à quel point cette loi était avantageuse pour les élites foncières je prendrai l’exemple de Fraser Tytler, propriétaire du domaine d’Aldourie près d’Inverness qui sollicita, à la fin du mois d’octobre 1846, un prêt d’un montant de 3 600 livres. Il demanda une avance de 600 livres pour 150 acres de terres arables, soit 4 livres par acre, et une avance de 3 000 livres pour 250 acres de terres en friches. Il justifia sa demande en indiquant que les terres arables pourraient dégager un bénéfice

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 174

supplémentaire de 150 livres alors que les terres en friches pourraient, une fois drainées et clôturées, rapporter un total de 1 250 livres. Il est aisé de se rendre compte de l’excellente rentabilité de l’opération ; l’investissement de Fraser Tytler était en effet amorti en moins de trois ans11.

7 Très vite, cependant, l’on se rendit compte que l’application de la loi sur le drainage présentait un certain nombre de problèmes ou de difficultés. Il existait un réel décalage entre la lenteur de la procédure et l’urgence que requerrait la situation, la loi ayant été votée avant que le mildiou ne fasse son apparition dans les Highlands. L’article 8 de la loi stipulait en effet qu’aucune avance de fonds ne pouvait être accordée sans l’aval du ministère des finances. Le délai de deux mois entre la publication de la demande du prêt dans la Edinburgh Gazette et le démarrage des travaux posait de réelles difficultés aux propriétaires dont les paysans étaient au bord de la famine. Dernier problème de taille : la loi n’accordait des fonds que pour les travaux de drainage, une mesure qui s’avérait peu utile si le propriétaire ne disposait pas des fonds propres pour les indispensables travaux de terrassement et de clôture. Comme le remarqua le Révérend Alexander Macgregor, The statute [the Drainage Act] may be good and judicious in its enactments, but is in no way calculated to afford that immediate relief which is now so very urgently required. Its machinery is too complicated, its provisions too contracted, and its operations far too tedious and restricted for the present use12.

La pression des élites foncières et l’écoute bienveillante du gouvernement

8 La consultation de la correspondance échangée entre les propriétaires et les représentants du gouvernement permet de se rendre compte de l’intense activité déployée par les élites foncières afin d’obtenir un élargissement du champ d’application de la loi. Il n’est sans doute pas excessif d’affirmer que les propriétaires des Highlands se livrèrent à une véritable stratégie de harcèlement. Nombreux furent les propriétaires qui prirent l’initiative d’envoyer des courriers aux hauts fonctionnaires chargés de la mise en application de la loi13.

9 Certains d’entre eux mentionnaient qu’ils ne s’exprimaient pas uniquement en leur nom personnel mais agissaient en tant que porte-parole d’une communauté locale, comme cela fut le cas de James Baillie Fraser qui envoya un courrier à George Grey au début du mois d’octobre 1846 dans lequel il disait s’exprimer au nom des propriétaires du comté d’Inverness14. Un propriétaire du nom de Robertson envoya une lettre à Grey dans laquelle figurait un texte adopté lors d’une réunion qui s’était tenue à Tobermory dans l’île de Mull. Le texte spécifiait que la nature particulière des sols de l’île conjuguée à l’absence cruelle de routes dignes de ce nom rendait inopérante l’application de la loi dans l’île15. D’autres propriétaires, comme par exemple le marquis de Breadelbane, eurent recours à l’envoi de pétitions ; les signataires y demandaient généralement que la loi prenne en compte les travaux indispensables à la mise en culture des terres en friches16. Les propriétaires avancèrent toute une série d’arguments destinés à convaincre le gouvernement de la nécessité d’assouplir les dispositions de la loi. L’un des points les plus importants de leur stratégie consistait à agiter le spectre de la famine. Macleod of Macleod estima que si l’on respectait les dispositions de la loi à la lettre la région entière sombrerait dans la famine17. Les

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 175

propriétaires insistèrent également sur le fait que les « aménagements » de la loi sur le drainage permettraient non seulement de fournir du travail à une grande partie des personnes sans ressources mais aussi d’accroître la rentabilité de terres jusqu’alors insuffisamment exploitées et, ce faisant, de modifier le paysage des Highlands de façon permanente. Pour ce qui est de la loi elle-même, la stratégie des propriétaires consista à mettre l’accent sur sa complexité. C’est ainsi que Campbell of Islay, au début du mois d’octobre 1846, indiqua que la loi était un projet excellent dans son intention mais qu’elle était également « injuste » et « compliquée »18 à mettre en œuvre 19. Certains propriétaires tentèrent de démontrer, par des exemples pratiques, qu’il était inutile d’accorder des prêts pour le drainage et de les refuser pour les travaux connexes. Our unimproved lands require to be trenched by manual labour, and cleared of the stones, often so abundant in the soil as to cover the whole surface trenched; operations of which the expense is seldom under 10 l. an acre, but by which, accompanied by drainage, an arable surface is created capable of yielding from five to seven quarters of grain. To drain such land without trenching would be a waste of money20.

10 On ne manquera pas de remarquer que pour les élites foncières les travaux connexes pouvaient être de nature excessivement diverse. Les propriétaires s’accordaient généralement à reconnaître qu’il était indispensable d’élargir le champ d’application de la loi aux travaux de terrassement et de clôtures. Cependant, certains propriétaires avaient une vision très particulière de ce que pouvait représenter la notion de travaux connexes. C’est ainsi qu’un propriétaire de l’île de Mull considéra que la construction de routes et d’infrastructures portuaires pouvait entrer dans le champ d’application de la loi21 et que le marquis de Breadelbane estima que la loi devait prendre en compte les travaux de plantation, les bâtiments agricoles ainsi que les habitations des paysans : … there are other agricultural improvements, besides draining, which are as permanent, and may with advantage be made the subject of assistance under the provisions of the Act, especially in the western districts of the coast of Sutherland. Your memorialists respectfully submit, that enclosing and planting, together with the improvement of agricultural buildings and the dwellings of the labouring poor, are often the most valuable improvements of which the nature of the ground is susceptible22.

11 Il s’avéra donc bien vite nécessaire de clarifier les dispositions de la loi et c’est ainsi que courant octobre le commissaire principal chargé de son application, un haut fonctionnaire du nom de Blamire, décida de diffuser une lettre d’information aux propriétaires des Highlands23. Le document, d’une longueur d’une page et demie, revenait sur certaines des clauses de la loi. Blamire rappelait ainsi qu’en vertu de l’article 14, tout propriétaire désireux de solliciter un prêt devait, avant toute autre formalité, remplir un formulaire. Si le propriétaire demandait des prêts pour des travaux concernant plusieurs parcelles ou domaines différents, il lui était nécessaire d’indiquer le montant précis pour chacun des domaines. Blamire précisa que les dépenses encourues par les commissaires et les géomètres dans le cadre de leurs travaux d’inspection devaient être prises en charge par les propriétaires mais se hâtait de préciser que ces inspections pouvaient être effectuées, si tel était le souhait des propriétaires, par des personnes recrutées localement, à condition qu’elles soient compétentes et dignes de confiance. Blamire aborda ensuite des questions de nature plus technique : il indiqua que les propriétaires avaient toute latitude pour choisir la forme de drainage qu’ils souhaitaient utiliser. Pour les terres cultivées, la profondeur ainsi que l’espacement des drains devaient être déterminés en fonction de la nature du

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 176

sol et des expériences déjà menées dans des terrains de nature équivalente24. Il termina cette note explicative en précisant qu’il était disposé à étudier toutes les suggestions qui permettraient de faciliter l’application de la loi : If after the perusal of this rough outline of the proposed mode of carrying the Act into operation, you should still be of opinion that it is defective, you would confer a great obligation upon me by being good enough to explain to me what are the points on which you consider the Act mainly requires amendment25.

12 Cette dernière remarque prouve de façon très explicite que les autorités étaient disposées à engager un véritable dialogue avec les propriétaires et à adapter la loi en fonction de leurs demandes et de leurs besoins.

La loi et son interprétation

13 Le gouvernement se trouva placé devant un délicat dilemme : comment inciter les propriétaires à recourir à la loi sans la rendre trop « libérale » ? James Baillie Fraser, dans un courrier adressé à Grey au début du mois d’octobre 1846, demanda au ministre de lui fournir une « interprétation exacte26 » de la loi. L’association de ces deux termes semble peu pertinente pour évoquer une loi : il est dans la nature même d’une loi d’être interprétée; en revanche une interprétation « exacte » ne peut être que le résultat d’une lecture de la loi parmi d’autres. Derrière le terme « exact » transparaît le souhait des propriétaires, au demeurant légitime, d’obtenir une interprétation qui leur soit favorable, ce qui est d’ailleurs confirmé de façon plus explicite quand l’auteur de la lettre, quelques lignes plus loin, parle « d’interprétation libérale ». Dans sa réponse datée du 13 octobre, Grey reprenait mot pour mot les termes utilisés par Baillie ; il utilisa le terme « interpretation »27 mais également celui de « construction ». Il évoqua tout d’abord la nécessité de proposer une « interprétation juste » et indiqua ensuite que le gouvernement ferait tout son possible pour proposer une « interprétation libérale28 » de la loi. Il ne fait aucun doute, à la lecture de cette lettre, que les instances gouvernementales, considérant que la loi n’était pas figée mais qu’elle se devait d’évoluer en fonction des événements, étaient tout à fait disposées à examiner les demandes des propriétaires avec la plus grande bienveillance. Comme le laisse entendre un échange de courriers entre le ministre de l’Économie et des Finances et le Procureur général pour l’Écosse, le gouvernement reconnaissait qu’il était prêt à céder à la pression des propriétaires ou du moins à s’adapter à leurs besoins : I write to say that we are well disposed to put a liberal construction on the word « drainage », as applied to your out of the way Highland districts. The Act professes only to advance money for drainage, and therefore what is undertaken should have some connection with drainage, but if the proprietors in these districts apply for loans, under such circumstances as would include their works under a large interpretation of the word, we will not be very critical in examining the nature of what is proposed to include with drainage29.

14 L’analyse proposée par le ministre de l’Économie et des Finances tient du paradoxe ; il semble en effet pour le moins difficile d’une part de remarquer que la loi ne prévoit d’accorder des prêts que pour les travaux de drainage et d’autre part de soutenir que la loi permet également d’accorder des fonds pour des travaux qui présentent un quelconque rapport avec ces mêmes travaux de drainage. Deux jours plus tard, le ministre confirmait qu’il était disposé à « étirer » la loi à son maximum : « I am willing to strain it [the Drainage Act] to the uttermost30. » La notion « d’interprétation libérale »

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 177

devait rencontrer un succès grandissant auprès des propriétaires qui se réjouissaient de constater l’évolution de la position du gouvernement, une évolution qui, comme l’écrivit Maclean of Coll, ne pouvait qu’encourager les propriétaires à avoir recours à la loi : « The liberal interpretation will no doubt bring many applications from this country31. » La question fondamentale qui obsédait les élites foncières était donc de savoir quelle était la nature précise des travaux susceptibles de pouvoir bénéficier des dispositions de la loi. Les propriétaires de même que les représentants du gouvernement se livrèrent à de véritables manipulations lexicales qui avaient pour but d’établir un rapport incontestable entre la notion de drainage et les travaux connexes. On se contentera de citer quelques exemples parmi les plus significatifs : Fraser Tytler parla de drainage et de travaux « identiques32 », le ministre de l’intérieur, quant à lui, évoqua la question des travaux « nécessairement liés33 » au drainage et le Procureur général pour l’Écosse estima que les travaux présentant un « rapport nécessaire34 » avec le drainage devaient être pris en charge.

Le parcours de la loi

15 Il convient à présent de nous pencher sur la chronologie des événements. Dès le début du mois d’octobre, le ministre de l’intérieur envisagea la possibilité d’une prise en charge des travaux avant l’autorisation officielle de leur démarrage à condition qu’une demande ait été effectuée en bonne et due forme35. Le Procureur général effectua la même analyse dans une lettre adressée au ministre de l’Économie et des Finances quelques jours plus tard36. Évoquant ensuite la question des remboursements des prêts, il indiqua qu’il semblait inopportun d’exiger des propriétaires qu’ils commencent leurs remboursements une fois leurs prêts obtenus mais qu’il était préférable de les autoriser à débuter leurs remboursements dans un délai de deux ou trois ans, période nécessaire pour que les travaux entrepris dégagent des bénéfices. Le Procureur général craignait de voir les propriétaires du sud et de l’est de l’Écosse, des régions qui, ajoutait-il, avaient déjà entrepris d’importants travaux de modernisation agricole, solliciter des prêts en nombre aussi important que les propriétaires des Highlands. Il cita à ce sujet une conversation avec un propriétaire qui lui avait indiqué que ses paysans étaient tout à fait disposés à payer une partie importante des remboursements des prêts en sus de leurs loyers.

16 Deux autres dispositions de la loi furent considérablement assouplies au courant du mois d’octobre. Grey laissa tout d’abord entendre que le propriétaire pouvait solliciter des prêts pour des travaux de drainage qui n’avaient fait l’objet d’aucune demande préalable. L’une des clauses fondamentales de la loi devenait ainsi presque caduque37. Il évoqua également la possibilité de prendre en charge les travaux qui ne soient pas stricto sensu des travaux de drainage38. Cette information capitale fut confirmée deux semaines plus tard quand Grey indiqua que les travaux de terrassement pouvaient entrer dans le champ d’application de la loi, à condition que les pierres ainsi dégagées soient utilisées pour le drainage ; il estimait par contre que les travaux de clôture ne pouvaient être pris en charge39. I think that where trenching is essential to draining, and affords the means of getting the stones for the drains, we should be safe enough. But “fencing”, I am afraid, could not be brought within the terms of the Act40.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 178

17 La restriction concernant les travaux de clôture devait elle aussi être levée quelques semaines plus tard, comme le confirme une lettre d’Edward Coffin de janvier 1847 adressée au propriétaire de l’île d’Ulva. Coffin indiquait que le gouvernement était disposé à donner une suite favorable à toute demande de prêt concernant des travaux de clôture qui seraient entrepris après les travaux de drainage41.

18 Edward Coffin, qui, par ses multiples contacts avec les propriétaires, avait acquis une parfaite connaissance du terrain, intervint à plusieurs reprises pour proposer des idées originales. Il suggéra ainsi d’étendre l’application de la loi à l’ensemble des travaux permettant d’une part d’augmenter la superficie des terres arables et d’autre part d’accroître la rentabilité des terres cultivées. Il proposa également, démarche tout à fait originale, de donner la possibilité aux tenanciers et aux curateurs des domaines placés sous tutelle financière de solliciter des fonds auprès d’organismes privés42. En janvier 1847, il proposa que l’on donne l’autorisation aux propriétaires de rémunérer les paysans occupés aux travaux de drainage par des distributions de nourriture43. Cette proposition fut rejetée par Charles Trevelyan qui répondit que cette mesure s’apparentait à une forme d’assistanat et que de toute façon le gouvernement ne disposait pas des structures nécessaires pour contrôler de telles distributions. Trevelyan ajoutait qu’il n’était absolument pas souhaitable que l’état se substitue aux propriétaires, des propriétaires qui, ajoutait-il, se devaient d’utiliser leurs propres ressources pour venir en aide à leurs paysans44.

La loi sur le drainage : un réel succès

19 La loi sur le drainage connut un succès indéniable pour deux raisons principales : elle permit au gouvernement d’apporter une aide indirecte à une région sinistrée et elle donna l’opportunité aux propriétaires des Hautes Terres de subvenir aux besoins de milliers de paysans sans ressources. La remarque du régisseur de Lord Macdonald exprime le sentiment général qui prévalait au sein des élites foncières : « we have, like drowning men catching at a straw, been obliged to lay hold of it [the Drainage Act] as the only means within our reach of keeping the working-classes from starvation45. » Autre exemple avec James Riddell, propriétaire dans le comté d’Argyll, qui exprima sa satisfaction de voir que la loi avait été appliquée de manière « libérale46 » Riddell écrivit en effet que la loi sur le drainage avait été une mesure « patriotique47 » et remerciait chaleureusement Blamire pour ses explications et son aide précieuse. La satisfaction de Riddell se comprend aisément quand l’on sait qu’il fut l’un des grands bénéficiaires de la loi ; il sollicita en effet des prêts d’un montant global de 4 500 livres pour une superficie de 100 000 acres48.

20 Dans son rapport final, Edward Pine Coffin remarqua que le Drainage Act avait eu une incidence immédiate en permettant tout d’abord d’apporter une aide ponctuelle mais substantielle aux populations victimes de la famine et un effet à plus long terme en contribuant à la modernisation des Highlands par une augmentation significative de la superficie des terres arables49. Cette analyse fut confirmée par Charles Trevelyan qui se félicitait de voir que la loi avait, dans une certaine mesure, permis d’amener le Highlander sur la voie du progrès : By far the brightest page in the dark chapter of these Irish and Scotch relief operations, is the effectual manner in which the Drainage Act has been made available for the present alleviation of the distress arising from the scarcity in the

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 179

Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and for the permanent renovation of society in those neglected districts50.

21 Les statistiques officielles qui couvrent la période de septembre 1846 à février 1847 indiquent que les réticences initiales des propriétaires furent rapidement surmontées. Les « clarifications » apportées par le gouvernement associées à la pression des élites foncières expliquent sans doute en grande partie l’augmentation exponentielle des demandes de prêts. En septembre 1846, une seule demande en provenance des Highlands fut enregistrée, celle de Hugh Maclean, propriétaire dans le comté d’Argyll, qui sollicita un prêt de 1 000 livres. Pour octobre, trois demandes furent enregistrées, deux en provenance du comté d’Inverness et une du comté de Caithness. Pour l’ensemble de l’Écosse, vingt demandes furent recensées en novembre. En décembre, vingt-sept demandes furent enregistrées pour un montant de près de 95 000 livres. En janvier on assista à une véritable explosion avec cent-dix demandes correspondant à un montant d’un demi million de livres. James Matheson, propriétaire de plusieurs domaines dans le comté de Ross, sollicita des prêts d’un montant global de 56 000 livres pour une superficie de 337 000 acres51. Entre septembre 1846 et janvier 1847, les demandes en provenance des Hautes Terres atteignirent 281 810 livres ; pour février et mars le montant fut de 206 901 livres. À la fin du mois de mars, les sommes demandées par les Highlands représentaient à elles seules 18 % de la somme globale attribuée à la Grande-Bretagne52. On peut remarquer que les commissaires du gouvernement, conscients de l’augmentation exponentielle des prêts en provenance d’Écosse et plus particulièrement des Highlands, se sentirent obligés de préciser que les dépenses afférentes aux travaux de terrassement et de clôture avaient elles aussi été acceptées : The Commissioners think it right to state, that in some of the applications received from Scotland, the expenses of fencing and trenching the land proposed to be drained, are included in the amount applied for53.

22 La loi qui fut votée le 30 mars 1847, An Act to explain and amend the Act authorizing the Advance of Money from the Improvement of Land by Drainage in Great Britain, ne faisait qu’entériner certaines des modifications apportées au texte de 1846. Il y était stipulé que les travaux de terrassement et de clôture pouvaient entrer dans le champ d’application de la loi54. Elle mentionnait que les propriétaires des régions d’Écosse victimes de la maladie de la pomme de terre pouvaient solliciter des prêts d’un montant supérieur à celui fixé par la loi55.

23 Cependant, à partir de mars 1847, les lois sur le drainage perdirent quelque peu de leur utilité car une nouvelle structure avait fait son apparition sur la scène des Highlands. En février 1847, le Free Church Destitution Committee, le comité d’Édimbourg et le comité de Glasgow, qui jusqu’à alors étaient venus en aide aux habitants des Highlands de façon indépendante, furent regroupés au sein d’un même organisme appelé Central Board of Management of the Fund for the Relief of the Destitute Inhabitants of the Highlands. Les propriétaires des Hautes Terres pouvaient ainsi recourir aux services du Central Board au printemps et en été et bénéficier des dispositions du Drainage Act en automne et en hiver, les saisons pendant lesquelles le Central Board suspendait ses activités.

24 Les sommes considérables injectées dans l’économie des Highlands par le biais de la loi sur le drainage ne furent rien moins qu’une subvention indirecte du gouvernement aux élites foncières. Cet exemple de politique interventionniste constitua une entorse majeure au credo victorien. En effet, la Grande-Bretagne, à cette époque, adhérait sans réserve aux principes de l’économie libérale qui prônaient notamment la non-

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 180

intervention de l’État dans le secteur de l’économie. Laissez-faire et libre concurrence faisaient partie intégrante de l’orthodoxie économique victorienne. La loi, initialement prévue pour financer les travaux de drainage dans un cadre très strict, fut graduellement dépouillée de ses aspects les plus contraignants pour se transformer, en l’espace de quelques mois, en une gigantesque entreprise de financement de travaux de toutes sortes destinés, certes à employer les paysans sans ressources, mais également à améliorer la productivité et la rentabilité des domaines des Highlands. Les grands bénéficiaires de cette loi furent sans conteste les propriétaires ; la situation fut nettement moins favorable pour les petits paysans des Highlands car les remboursements des prêts vinrent souvent s’ajouter à leurs loyers, ce qui eut pour effet d’alourdir leur endettement. Les auditions de la commission Napier56 de 1883-1884 révélèrent que, près de quarante plus tard, de nombreux paysans des îles des Hébrides n’avaient pas fini de rembourser les sommes qui avaient été avancées en 184757. La loi devait encore connaître plusieurs modifications avant de se transformer, en août 1851, en un texte destiné à faciliter l’émigration des paysans les plus pauvres des Hautes Terres58. Il est ironique de constater que le Drainage Act, une loi destinée à aider les propriétaires à fournir du travail à leurs paysans, se trouva ainsi détournée de sa vocation première pour devenir un moyen de contribuer au dépeuplement des Highlands.

NOTES

1. « The Potato Disease », The Inverness Courier, 2 octobre 1845. 2. « The Potato Failure », The Inverness Journal, 7 novembre 1845. 3. Même les historiens les plus critiques envers les autorités dressent un portrait plutôt flatteur de Coffin. Prebble le décrit comme « the intelligent and conscientious Commissionary-General » (J. Prebble, The Highland Clearances, Londres, Martin Secker et Warburg, 1963, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1969, p. 174) et Hunter considère qu’il fut « a kindly, painstaking man of marked ability » (J. Hunter, The Making of the Crofting Community, Édimbourg, John Donald Publishers, 1976, p. 57). 4. The Statutes of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Volume the Eighteenth, Containing the Acts 9 and 10 Victoria (1846) and 10 and 11 Victoria (1847), Londres, 1847 (p. 344-353). 5. The Statutes of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, vol. XVIII, article 1, p. 344. 6. Ibid., article 9, p. 345. 7. Ibid., article 14, p. 346. 8. Ibid., articles 9, p. 345 et 16, p. 346. 9. Ibid., article 18, p. 347. 10. « The Land […] shall be charged with the Payment to Her Majesty in respect of such Advance of a Rent charge after the Rate of Six pounds Ten Shillings Rent for every One hundred Pounds of such Advance […] to be payable for the Term of Twenty-two Years. » (Ibid., p. 350) 11. National Library of Scotland, Parliamentary Papers, Correspondence relating to the measures adopted for the relief of the distress in Scotland (désigné ci-après sous RC, Relief Correspondence), vol. LIII, 1847, Fraser Tytler to Blamire, 20 octobre 1846. 12. RC, Alexander Macgregor to Gray, 27 octobre 1846.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 181

13. Certains d’entre eux demandèrent même à leurs représentants de rencontrer Edward Coffin pour tenter d’obtenir des aides du gouvernement. Comme l’atteste la remarque du régisseur de Maclaine of Lochbuie après une entrevue avec Coffin en janvier 1847, la démarche se révélait bien souvent infructueuse : « With regard to assistance to proprietors he [Coffin] says he has but one answer: take money under the Drainage Act. From Government nothing else is to be got. » (Maclaine of Lochbuie papers, National Archives of Scotland, GD 174/28/2, Gregorson to Maclaine, cité par Hunter, p. 59-60). Coffin ne faisait que suivre les instructions de Trevelyan qui lui avait conseillé d’inciter les propriétaires à avoir recours au Drainage Act. Trevelyan avait envoyé cent exemplaires du texte de loi à Coffin en lui demandant de les distribuer aux propriétaires (RC, Trevelyan to Coffin, 11 septembre 1846). 14. RC, Baillie to Grey, 5 octobre 1846. 15. RC, Robertson to Grey, 14 octobre 1846. 16. RC, Marquess of Breadalbane to Grey, 13 octobre 1846. 17. RC, Macleod of Macleod to Grey, 28 septembre 1846. 18. RC, Campbell of Islay to Grey, 10 octobre 1846. 19. Même les fonctionnaires en charge des mesures d’aide aux Highlanders reconnaissaient que la procédure était compliquée : « It [the Drainage Act] is an unwieldy and complex process while the present pressure admits of no delay. » (RC, Captain Pole to Coffin, 13 octobre 1846). 20. RC, Mr Tytler to Mr Baillie, 1er octobre 1846. 21. RC, Robertson to Grey, 14 octobre 1846. 22. RC, Marquess of Breadalbane to Grey, 13 octobre 1846. 23. RC, Blamire to Trevelyan, 28 octobre 1846. 24. Comme l’atteste un document distribué aux personnes chargées des travaux de drainage en Irlande, la procédure à suivre pouvait être très détaillée : « In filling in the stones, great care should be taken that the bottom of the drain be clean, and that no clay or dirt be put in along with the stones, a sod, grass side down, or a few inches of clay, to be placed on the surface of the stones and trodden firmly; the drain should then be filled up with the stuff previously shovelled out, observing to keep the active soil for the top. The putting in of the stones to be commenced at the highest part of head of the drain. » (NAS, HD 7/33, Papers relating to the Drainage of Land Act 1847 including Returns, Instructions to persons employed in reporting on thorough drainage, subsoiling, fencing, irrigation, etc., 1847, 15 p., p. 8). 25. Ibid. 26. RC, Baillie to Grey, 5 octobre 1846. 27. RC, Grey to Baillie, 13 octobre 1846. 28. Ibid. 29. RC, The Chancellor of the Exchequer to The Lord Advocate, 11 octobre 1846. 30. RC, The Chancellor of the Exchequer to The Lord Advocate, 13 octobre 1846. 31. RC, Maclean of Coll to Blamire, 2 novembre 1846. 32. RC, Fraser Tytler to Blamire, 20 octobre 1846. 33. RC, Grey to Marquess of Breadalbane, 20 octobre 1846. 34. RC, The Lord Advocate to The Chancellor of the Exchequer, 18 octobre 1846. 35. RC, Grey to Macleod, 5 octobre 1846. 36. RC, The Lord Advocate to the Chancelleor of the Exchequer, 18 octobre 1846. 37. RC, Grey to Marquess of Breadalbane, 20 octobre 1846. 38. RC, Grey to Baillie, 9 octobre 1846. 39. RC, Grey to Blamire, 24 octobre 1846. 40. Ibid. 41. RC, Coffin to Clarke, 26 janvier 1846. 42. RC, Coffin to Trevelyan, 15 octobre 1846. 43. RC, Coffin to Trevelyan, 12 janvier 1847 et Coffin to Mneill, 15 janvier 1847.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 182

44. RC, Trevelyan to Coffin, 22 janvier 1847. 45. RC, McKinnon to Captain Pole, 28 décembre 1846. 46. RC, Sir James Riddell to Blamire, 12 décembre 1846. 47. Ibid. 48. NAS, HD 7/33, Papers relating to the Drainage of Land Act (1847) including returns. 49. NAS, HD 6/2, Coffin to Trevelyan, FINAL REPORTS of Sir Edward Coffin on the effect of the late Measures for the Relief of the Distressed Districts in Scotland, and on their existing State. 50. RC, Trevelyan to Blamire, 4 décembre 1846. 51. NAS, HD 6/1, Return of all applications made for the advance of public money, under the provisions of the act 9 & 10 Vict, c 101, as regards England and Scotland; distinguishing the applications made for each country, february 1847. 52. T. M. Devine, The Great Highland Famine, Edimbourg, John Donald Publishers, 1988, p. 101. (Il convient de remplacer « september 1847 » par « january 1847 »). 53. NAS, HD 6/1, Return of all applications made for the advance of public money, under the provisions of the act 9 & 10 Vict, c 101, as regards England and Scotland; distinguishing the applications made for each country, february 1847. 54. « Be it enacted […] That the Expences herein-after mentioned shall be deemed to be and may be included among the Expences of Works of Drainage […] And the Expence of fencing, trenching, and clearing the Surface of Land to be drained for the Purpose of converting the same from Waste or Pasture into Arable or Tillage Land, where such fencing, trenching, and clearing respectively shall appear to the Commissioners to be necessary to secure and render productive the proposed Improvements by Drainage. » (The Statutes of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, vol. XVIII, article 1, p. 466-468) 55. Ibid., article 7, p. 467. 56. La commission, présidée par Lord Napier and Ettrick, avait comme mission d’étudier les conditions d’existence des paysans dans les Highlands et les Hébrides. 57. J. Hunter, op. cit., p. 60. 58. An Act to authorize the Application of Advances (out of Money now authorized to be advanced for the Improvement of Landed Property) to facilitate Emigration from certain distressed Districts of Scotland.

AUTEUR

CHRISTIAN AUER Université Louis-Pasteur, Strasbourg

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 183

L’Exécutif écossais en guerre Stratégies de lutte contre le sectarisme religieux

Nathalie Duclos

1 Dans les jours qui suivirent les attentats du 11 septembre 2001, plusieurs mosquées écossaises subirent des dégradations. Ces agressions anti-musulmanes relancèrent la réflexion sur la haine religieuse dans cette région du Royaume-Uni et provoquèrent la mise en place, en novembre 2001, d’un groupe de travail transpartisan au sein du Parlement écossais. Le Cross-Party Working Group on Religious Hatred fut chargé de déterminer si l’intolérance religieuse pouvait être combattue par des moyens législatifs et de considérer des propositions de réformes à cet effet. Le rapport final du groupe de travail, intitulé Tackling Religious Hatred, parut un an plus tard, le 5 décembre 20021. Le jour-même, le First Minister Jack McConnell déclara que le sectarisme religieux était la « honte secrète de l’Écosse2 » et que désormais, la lutte contre cette forme d’intolérance constituerait l’une des priorités nationales. Cette prise de position, que beaucoup jugèrent excessive ou même injustifiée, soulève plusieurs questions. D’une part, à quoi le chef de l’Exécutif écossais faisait-il référence lorsqu’il parlait de sectarisme religieux ? Peu de ses compatriotes sont réellement convaincus que la société écossaise dans son ensemble soit sectaire et la plupart pensent plutôt que l’intolérance religieuse est l’apanage des habitants des quartiers pauvres de la région de Glasgow, voire des supporters de certaines équipes de football de tradition sectaire. Il s’agit donc, dans un premier temps, de cerner le phénomène du sectarisme religieux tel qu’il se manifeste en Écosse et d’expliquer pourquoi les déclarations de Jack McConnell ont fait débat dans le pays. D’autre part, quelles stratégies l’Exécutif se proposait-il de mettre en œuvre pour lutter contre le sectarisme religieux ? À ce jour, le gouvernement a déjà adopté certaines des douze suggestions énoncées dans le rapport de décembre 2002 sur la haine religieuse. Il a surtout fait voter un article de loi faisant de la haine religieuse une circonstance aggravante dans le jugement d’un délit ou d’un crime.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 184

Définir le sectarisme écossais : remarques historiques sur le sectarisme politico-religieux

2 Dès l’été 1999, le compositeur écossais James MacMillan avait fait scandale en prononçant à l’occasion du Festival international d’Édimbourg un discours intitulé « Scotland’s Shame », termes que devaient reprendre Jack McConnell plusieurs années plus tard. Dans ce discours désormais célèbre, le compositeur, qui est de confession catholique, s’était élevé contre ce qu’il percevait comme les tendances manifestement anti-catholiques de la société écossaise. De la même manière, le rapport du Cross-Party Working Group on Religious Hatred pourtant fondé après les attentats du 11 septembre 2001 ne fait que marginalement référence à la question des agressions subies par la communauté musulmane, et se concentre plutôt sur le problème du sectarisme inter- chrétien, qui opposerait certains Écossais de confession protestante, principalement des membres de différentes Églises presbytériennes, notamment l’Église d’Écosse, à leurs compatriotes catholiques, pour la plupart descendants d’Irlandais arrivés en Écosse dans la seconde moitié du XIXe et au début du XXe siècle. Aujourd’hui, l’Écosse compte environ 800 000 Catholiques, parmi lesquels 80 % seraient d’origine irlandaise3; comme dans le reste de la Grande-Bretagne, la communauté catholique constituerait donc près de 17 % de la population écossaise totale. Toutefois, lorsqu’on parle d’intolérance religieuse inter-chrétienne dans le contexte britannique, c’est presque toujours en référence à l’Irlande du Nord et non à l’Écosse, et l’idée que certaines formes de sectarisme puissent survivre en Écosse fait débat. Steve Bruce, professeur de sociologie à l’Université d’Aberdeen et spécialiste de la question, souligne par exemple que la société écossaise, contrairement à la nord-irlandaise, ne se définit pas par ce clivage religieux ; les mariages mixtes y sont notamment chose courante, alors qu’ils restent très minoritaires en Irlande du Nord4. Par ailleurs, si le sectarisme religieux a sans conteste représenté un vrai problème de société à la fin du XIXe et au début du XXe siècle, au plus fort de l’immigration irlandaise, et surtout dans l’entre-deux-guerres, lorsque l’Ordre d’Orange connut en Écosse ses heures de gloire, Bruce rappelle qu’il a nettement décliné dans le pays depuis la fin des années 19305. Certains sont néanmoins d’avis que le sectarisme a refait surface en Écosse depuis les années 1970 et la reprise des « troubles » en Irlande du Nord. À l’appui de cette théorie, on peut évoquer les deux attentats dont des pubs de Glasgow furent la cible en 1979, et qui furent commis par deux frères, Colin et William Campbell, membres de l’une des sections locales de l’Ulster Volunteer Force, célèbre organisation paramilitaire protestante. Notons toutefois que ces attentats n’ont heureusement fait aucune victime, et qu’ils sont restés des actes isolés, puisqu’ils demeurent à ce jour les seuls actes terroristes sectaires commis sur le territoire écossais. Quant aux agressions d’origine religieuse, jusqu’en juin dernier, il était très difficile d’en évaluer le nombre, car elles n’étaient recensées ni par les services de police, ni par les tribunaux, et seuls deux incidents récents étaient unanimement reconnus comme ayant une telle origine. Le plus célèbre d’entre eux reste le meurtre de Mark Scott à Glasgow le 7 octobre 1995. Pour avoir porté le maillot du Celticde Glasgow, club de football de tradition irlandaise et catholique, cet adolescent âgé de 16 ans à peine fut égorgé à son retour d’un stade de football par un jeune supporter du club rival de tradition protestante, les Glasgow Rangers. Ce meurtre a donné lieu à la fondation de Nil By Mouth, qui est aujourd’hui la principale association de lutte contre la haine religieuse en Écosse. Le second incident est très similaire au

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 185

premier : le 31 mars 1999, Thomas McFadden, supporter du Celtic, lui aussi âgé de 16 ans, fut tué par deux supporters des Rangers à sa sortie d’un pub de Glasgow où il avait suivi un match de football opposant les deux équipes. En l’absence de statistiques officielles sur le nombre d’agressions religieuses commises en Écosse, ces deux meurtres sont les seuls dont personne ne conteste l’origine sectaire. Deux attentats et deux meurtres sectaires en vingt ans : peut-on vraiment parler de « sectarisme » dans le cas écossais, d’autant que certains de ces incidents sont liés, souligne Steve Bruce, puisque l’assassin de Mark Scott, nommé Jason Campbell, n’est autre que le fils de l’un des frères Campbell responsables des attentats de 1979 ? Bruce en conclut que l’intolérance religieuse reste en Écosse un phénomène très marginal6.

3 Pourtant, il semblerait que la population écossaise soit presque unanimement persuadée de la survivance du sectarisme dans le pays. Un sondage de l’institut ICM Research nous apprend qu’en février 1998, 89 % des Écossais considéraient encore le sectarisme comme un véritable problème de société7. Aujourd’hui, beaucoup d’entre eux pensent toutefois qu’il ne survit guère que dans l’Ouest du pays, notamment à Glasgow et dans les villes industrielles des alentours, où la population catholique d’origine irlandaise constitue près du quart de la population totale. En outre, certains estiment que le sectarisme dans sa version écossaise ne constitue rien d’autre qu’une forme de hooliganisme, et qu’il se limite aux provocations et agressions entre supporters de clubs de football rivaux de tradition catholique d’un côté, et protestante de l’autre, c’est-à-dire notamment les deux principaux clubs de Glasgow, les Rangers et le Celtic, mais aussi les deux clubs rivaux d’Édimbourg, les Hearts (ou Heart of Midlothian), club protestant, et les Hibs (ou Hibernian), club catholique. Il existe en Écosse un dernier club de tradition irlandaise et catholique : c’est l’actuel Dundee United, qui s’est appelé par le passé Dundee Harp, puis Dundee Hibernian. Tout match opposant un club de tradition catholique à un club de tradition protestante est donc potentiellement le lieu de manifestations d’ordre sectaire, mais jamais l’intolérance religieuse n’est aussi visible et aussi bien partagée que lors des matchs opposant les Rangers au Celtic, qui sont non seulement les deux meilleurs clubs écossais (et de loin), mais qui sont aussi les plus anciens clubs de Glasgow, ce qui leur vaut d’être qualifiés d’Old Firm. Devant le stade où se joue le match Rangers-Celtic, des vendeurs à la sauvette proposent des articles à la gloire et aux couleurs des deux équipes, mais aussi des articles plus contentieux, qui renvoient au conflit nord-irlandais, tels que des drapeaux ou des bannières, des écharpes, des T-shirts, ou même des articles paramilitaires. Pendant le match, des milliers de supporters des deux équipes entonnent des chants provocateurs, dont l’hymne national irlandais d’un côté, l’hymne britannique ou Rule Britannia de l’autre, mais aussi certains chants engagés irlandais qui appellent ouvertement à la violence sectaire. Les chants des supporters du Celtic sont souvent des chansons folkloriques irlandaises, mais certains d’entre eux sont plus controversés, comme par exemple The Boys of the Old Brigade, qui relate l’histoire d’un père rejoignant les rangs de l’IRA. Du côté des supporters des Rangers, parmi les chants les plus ouvertement politiques, on peut notamment citer The Sash My Father Wore, qui est un des chants traditionnels des défilés orangistes et qui fait référence à la victoire de Guillaume d’Orange face aux troupes du roi catholique Jacques VII d’Écosse et II d’Angleterre lors de la Bataille de la Boyne, le 12 juillet 1690, ou le chant Hullo, Hullo qui, dans sa version détournée8, inclut une phrase qui appelle ouvertement à la violence sectaire9.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 186

4 Peut-on qualifier de sectaire l’attitude de ces supporters ? Pour beaucoup d’entre eux, ces chants ne sont guère que des mots, et, à ce titre, ne représentent pas de véritables agressions sectaires. Cet argument, qui consiste à dire que le sectarisme n’est pas dangereux ni condamnable dès lors qu’il reste verbal, n’est bien sûr pas défendable. Jimmy Reid, ancien dirigeant du Communist Party of Great Britain et aujourd’hui partisan du Scottish Socialist Party, a par exemple dénoncé le fait que jusqu’à très récemment, les institutions politiques étaient prêtes à considérer comme de véritable agressions les attaques verbales d’origine raciale, par exemple, mais non celles d’origine religieuse. Faisant allusion à la fameuse phrase « We’re up to our knees in Fenian blood », il s’est notamment demandé si la classe politique ne serait pas plus prompte à condamner le chant Hullo, Hullo et les milliers d’Écossais qui l’entonnent s’il avait contenu le terme « Nègre » (« Nigger ») au lieu du terme « Fenian »10. Dans un tel contexte, on comprend que l’un des principaux objectifs de l’association Nil By Mouth soit d’obtenir des Écossais la reconnaissance du fait que les mots peuvent à la fois être une forme de violence en soi et conduire à la violence physique. Par ailleurs, de nombreux Écossais sous-estiment la gravité du phénomène sous prétexte que l’immense majorité des supporters appelant à la violence sectaire pendant les matchs mettent leur sectarisme entre parenthèses lorsqu’ils rentrent chez eux. Le patriotisme écossais a dans le passé été qualifié de « patriotisme de 90 minutes11 » ; le sectarisme écossais serait-il lui aussi un « sectarisme de 90 minutes » ? Selon les tenants de ce point de vue, l’attitude extrême de certains supporters relèverait davantage du hooliganisme que de l’intolérance religieuse à proprement parler. Dans un article précisément intitulé « Hooliganism is the Real Source of the Problem », publié le lendemain des déclarations de Jack McConnell sur le sectarisme, Steve Bruce a par exemple affirmé que les actes de violence qualifiés de sectaires étaient tout autant, voire davantage motivés par la pauvreté, l’alcool, la drogue ou le manque d’éducation que par l’intolérance religieuse12. Cette dernière ne concernerait que les hooligans et la jeunesse défavorisée et désœuvrée ; elle ne serait donc pas un problème de société. Certains incidents récents semblent néanmoins contredire cette logique. On peut notamment citer le scandale qui a frappé les Rangers en mai 1999, quand la presse a révélé que Donald Findlay, le vice-président du club, avait chanté The Sash My Father Wore lors d’une réception donnée pour célébrer la victoire des Rangers contre le Celtic en finale de la Coupe d’Écosse. Cet incident, qui s’est produit le même soir que le meurtre de Thomas McFadden par deux supporters des Rangers, a convaincu beaucoup d’Écossais que l’intolérance religieuse existait à tous les niveaux de la société, et non pas seulement au sein de la classe ouvrière et chez les personnes les moins éduquées. Notons qu’en plus d’être vice-président des Rangers, Donald Findlay était à la fois avocat de la Couronne (Queen’s Counselor) et recteur de la vénérable Université de St Andrews, poste dont il dut d’ailleurs démissionner à la suite de cet incident. Tous les Écossais ne partagent donc pas le point de vue de Steve Bruce sur le sectarisme religieux. Scott Barrie, député travailliste au Parlement d’Édimbourg, a par exemple affirmé, lors d’une réunion de la commission à la justice à laquelle il appartenait, que le phénomène du sectarisme était plus généralisé qu’on l’avait souvent affirmé par le passé13. L’absence de consensus concernant l’étendue du sectarisme dans le pays ou même la signification des comportements sectaires a longtemps justifié le mutisme des institutions politiques sur la question. Ce fut donc un véritable coup de théâtre lorsque, le 5 décembre 2002, le First Minister et son Ministre de la Justice, Jim Wallace, annoncèrent la mise en œuvre de plusieurs mesures, d’un « plan d’action »

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 187

selon les termes de Jim Wallace, destiné à la fois à mieux cerner le phénomène du sectarisme en Écosse, et à mieux lutter contre ses manifestations.

La lutte contre le sectarisme : les mesures préconisées par l’Exécutif écossais

5 Ce plan d’action s’inspirait largement des douze recommandations qui concluaient le rapport du groupe de travail sur la haine religieuse. Leur première et troisième recommandations concernaient la mise en place d’un système de recensement de toutes les agressions à caractère religieux, par la police d’une part, et par la justice d’autre part. Le Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service, qui est une branche de l’Exécutif écossais14, devait notamment recenser à la fois toutes les agressions à caractère religieux portées devant les tribunaux, et l’issue des procès : il s’agissait de déterminer si le mobile religieux était systématiquement pris en compte dans le jugement d’une affaire. Dans sa deuxième recommandation, le groupe de travail proposait que les procureurs, ou Procurators Fiscal, soient systématiquement informés du caractère sectaire d’une agression, comme c’est le cas pour les crimes à caractère racial notamment ; il condamnait ainsi une pratique, autrefois courante, selon laquelle les procureurs pouvaient abandonner le chef d’accusation « agression à caractère religieux » si l’accusé acceptait de plaider coupable pour un délit de moindre importance. Dans sa quatrième recommandation, le groupe de travail conseillait à l’Exécutif de lancer un programme de recherches sur la haine religieuse, afin de mieux cerner le phénomène du sectarisme et d’en proposer une définition scientifique. Les recommandations cinq à huit concernaient la Scottish Football Association et les clubs de football. Le rapport suggérait que la SFA n’accorde de licence qu’aux clubs ayant développé une politique de lutte contre le sectarisme, et qu’elle pénalise tous ceux qui ne se tenaient pas à cette politique. Les clubs eux-mêmes devaient se charger de pénaliser leurs supporters à l’attitude sectaire, en les privant d’abonnement pour toute une saison par exemple, ou de façon définitive pour ceux coupables d’une agression particulièrement grave. La police devait également informer les clubs à chaque fois qu’elle arrêtait un de leurs supporters. Enfin, les matchs Rangers-Celtic devaient continuer à être programmés plus tôt que les autres, la police ayant constaté qu’une telle mesure faisait diminuer le nombre d’agressions commises après les matchs. La neuvième recommandation visait les collectivités locales, notamment le conseil local de Glasgow. Le groupe de travail jugeait souhaitable que les conseils locaux interdisent la vente devant les stades d’articles paramilitaires et d’articles incitant à la violence sectaire. Aujourd’hui, le comité aux licences du Glasgow City Council envisage donc de délivrer une licence à tous les vendeurs de rue de façon à pouvoir exercer un contrôle sur la marchandise vendue devant les stades. Dans ses trois recommandations finales, le groupe de travail se prononçait en faveur d’une plus grande coopération entre la police, l’Exécutif, les collectivités locales, les organisations telles que Nil By Mouth et les clubs de football, qui devaient financer des projets communs de lutte contre la haine religieuse. Il conseillait également à l’Exécutif de lancer sa propre campagne de lutte contre le sectarisme15.

6 Dès décembre 2002, l’Exécutif s’est déclaré favorable à l’ensemble des recommandations du groupe de travail. Certaines d’entre elles ont déjà été adoptées. L’association Nil By Mouth, en partenariat avec le conseil municipal de Glasgow, le Celtic,

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 188

les Rangers, l’Église catholique et l’Église d’Écosse, au sein de l’association SOS (Sense Over Sectarianism), a notamment obtenu de la Millennium Commission, qui finance des projets avec l’argent de la National Lottery, une subvention d’un montant de 402 000 livres sterling destinée à financer des projets individuels et locaux de lutte contre la haine religieuse. Une autre mesure récemment votée par le Parlement écossais s’inspire non pas des recommandations du groupe de travail sur la haine religieuse, mais d’une proposition de loi, la Protection from Sectarianism Bill, qui avait été déposée le 12 juin 2001 par un député libéral-démocrate, Donald Gorrie. La proposition visait à inclure dans la loi la notion selon laquelle le mobile religieux pouvait être retenu comme circonstance aggravante d’un crime ou d’un délit. Elle avait été abandonnée, mais l’idée sur laquelle elle reposait fut adoptée dès le 11 décembre 2002, soit quelques jours à peine après la publication du rapport sur la haine religieuse. Elle fut votée par l’une des deux commissions à la justice du Parlement écossais (la Justice 2 Committee), sous la forme d’un amendement à un projet de loi, le Criminal Justice (Scotland) Bill, qui était en cours d’examen à Édimbourg16. Le jour du vote, Donald Gorrie avança plusieurs arguments en défense de l’amendement. D’une part, la société écossaise semblait y être largement favorable. C’était le cas de l’Exécutif, et notamment du Solicitor General for Scotland, l’un des deux juristes membres de l’Exécutif (l’autre étant le Lord Advocate). C’était aussi le cas de l’ensemble des Églises écossaises, à l’exception de la Free Church of Scotland, qui est très minoritaire et qui, selon Gorrie, l’avait qualifié d’« antéchrist » pour avoir osé déposer une proposition de loi sur la haine religieuse. Gorrie affirma également avoir obtenu le soutien de la Law Society of Scotland, de l’association Nil By Mouth ou encore de plusieurs collectivités locales. D’autre part, l’un des principaux arguments avancés en faveur de l’adoption d’une loi ou d’un article de loi faisant du mobile religieux une circonstance aggravante était qu’une telle loi existait déjà dans le cas des crimes à caractère racial. L’amendement fut donc rédigé sur le modèle d’un article du Crime and Disorder Act concernant les crimes et délits à caractère racial et voté par le Parlement britannique en 199817. Quatre des sept membres de la commission parlementaire à la justice votèrent en faveur de l’adoption de l’amendement18. C’est donc sous sa forme amendée que le Criminal Justice (Scotland) Bill fut voté à la Chambre le 20 février 2003, et qu’il reçut l’assentiment royal le 27 juin 2003.

7 L’inclusion d’un article sur les crimes et délits à caractère religieux dans le projet de loi sur la justice pénale avait été accueillie avec scepticisme par une partie des légistes écossais, qui avaient souligné l’inutilité de l’article dans un contexte où la haine religieuse était déjà prise en compte dans le jugement des délits et des crimes. En outre, beaucoup d’entre eux avaient été d’avis que le vote de cet article ne donnerait pas de résultats immédiats et qu’il faudrait beaucoup de temps avant que la police et les plaignants ne s’en saisissent. Toutefois, leurs prévisions se sont avérées infondées. Le 29 février 2004, le Crown Officea rendu publiques ses premières statistiques officielles concernant le nombre d’incidents d’origine sectaire qui lui avaient été rapportés par la police. Entre juin 2003, date du vote du Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act, et février 2004, ce sont 262 incidents d’origine sectaire, soit en moyenne plus d’un incident par jour, que la police a porté à l’attention des procureurs. Malgré tout, les Écossais restent sceptiques quant aux effets concrets que peuvent avoir des mesures d’origine institutionnelle, et a fortiori gouvernementale, sur les mentalités. Les efforts déployés par la police dans la lutte contre le sectarisme religieux, notamment pendant les matchs Rangers-Celtic,en contraignant par exemple les supporters du Celtic à attendre que tous ceux des Rangers aient évacué le stade avant de quitter les tribunes, ont bien

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 189

contribué à réduire la violence physique pendant les matchs, mais non à réduire l’intolérance des spectateurs. De plus, il semblerait que les violences sectaires soient plus nombreuses à la sortie des pubs où les matchs sont retransmis qu’à la sortie des stades ; c’est du moins ce qu’a affirmé Donald Gorrie en défense de l’amendement au Criminal Justice (Scotland) Bill. Or, si l’on peut sécuriser les stades et leurs abords, on ne peut faire surveiller chaque pub du pays. La police et la justice dénoncent également l’inapplicabilité de certaines des mesures gouvernementales. L’absence de statistiques officielles sur le sectarisme religieux jusqu’en juin dernier tenait par exemple à plusieurs facteurs. Du point de vue des autorités, il est beaucoup plus hasardeux de définir une agression à caractère religieux qu’une agression à caractère racial, par exemple, la haine religieuse étant difficile à isoler d’autres facteurs tels que la politique d’inspiration nord-irlandaise et l’identification nationale, à la République d’Irlande d’un côté, et au Royaume-Uni de l’autre. Peut-on considérer, par exemple, que chanter un hymne national ou faire le signe de la croix constituent des agressions à caractère religieux ? Imaginons un contexte dans lequel un supporter du Celtic attaque un homme portant un bonnet aux couleurs des Rangers et une écharpe arborant la Red Hand Of Ulster, qui orne le drapeau sectaire des Protestants d’Irlande du Nord. Dans un tel contexte, qu’est-ce qui a motivé le supporter du Celtic à commettre cette agression : le fait que sa victime soutienne le mauvais club de football, qu’elle soutienne des positions politiques contraires aux siennes, ou qu’elle ne soit pas de même confession que lui ? De plus, même si l’on juge que l’origine sectaire d’un meurtre ne fait aucun doute, notamment lorsqu’une personne est tuée pour avoir porté un maillot de football indiquant son appartenance religieuse, comment prouver le caractère sectaire d’une agression lorsqu’il n’y a pas de signe extérieur visible de cette appartenance religieuse ? Toutefois, si l’on peut douter de l’efficacité à court terme des mesures préconisées par l’Exécutif, il ne faut pas en minimiser l’importance symbolique. Les responsables politiques écossais ont trop longtemps ignoré le problème du sectarisme religieux, et c’est la mise en place d’un Parlement et d’un Exécutif autonomes à Édimbourg en 1999 qui aura permis à la lutte contre le sectarisme de devenir l’un des grands chantiers nationaux écossais.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE

BRUCE S., « Hooliganism Is the Real Source of the Problem », Herald, 6 décembre 2002.

CROSS-PARTY WORKING GROUP ON RELIGIOUS HATRED, Tackling Religious Hatred, Édimbourg, The Stationery Office, 2002.

DEVINE T. M. (éd.), Scotland’s Shame? Bigotry and Sectarianism in Modern Scotland, Édimbourg et Londres, Mainstream Publishing, 2000.

MULHOLLAND M., Northern Ireland. A Very Short Introduction, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2002.

MURRAY B., Bears, Bhoys and Bigotry. The Old Firm in the New Age, Édimbourg et Londres, Mainstream Publishing, 1998.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 190

MURRAY B., The Old Firm: Sectarianism, Sport and Society in Scotland, Édimbourg, John Donald Publishers, 2000.

SANDERS A., « Football and Sectarianism: A Background Picture », .

ANNEXES

Annexe 1 : Exemple de chant sectaire Hullo, Hullo (extrait de la version originale) Hullo, Hullo We are the Rangers Boys Hullo, Hullo You’ll know us from our noise We’ll give anything to see our team At Ibrox* or away ’Cause we are the Glasgow Rangers Boys (*Nom du stade des Rangers.) Hullo, Hullo (The Billy Boys) (extrait de la version sectaire) Hullo, Hullo We are the Billy Boys Hullo, Hullo You’ll know us from our noise We’re up to our knees in Fenian blood Surrender or you’ll die ’Cause we are the Glasgow Billy Boys Annexe 2 : 2e et 7e sections de l’article 74 du Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act de 2003 (voté au Parlement écossais) 2) An offence is aggravated by religious prejudice if: a) at the time of committing the offence or immediately before or after doing so, the offender evinces towards the victim (if any) of the offence malice and ill-will based on the victim’s membership (or presumed membership) of a religious group, or of a social or cultural group with a perceived religious affiliation; or b) the offence is motivated (wholly or partly) by malice and ill-will towards members of a religious group, or of a social or cultural group with a perceived religious affiliation, based on their membership of that group. […] 7) In this section, « religious group » means a group of persons defined by reference to their- a) religious belief or lack of religious belief, b) membership of or adherence to a church or religious organisation; c) support for the culture and traditions of a church or religious organisation; or d) participation in activities associated with such a culture or such traditions.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 191

Annexe 3 : 2e section de l’article 33 du Crime and Disorder Act de 1998 (voté au Parlement britannique ; article s’appliquant uniquement à l’Écosse) 2) A course of conduct or an action is racially aggravated if- a) immediately before, during or immediately after carrying out the course of conduct or action the offender evinces towards the person affected malice and ill-will based on that person’s membership (or presumed membership) of a racial group; or b) the course of conduct or action is motivated (wholly or partly) by malice and ill-will towards members of a racial group based on their membership of that group.

NOTES

1. Cross-Party Working Group on Religious Hatred, Tackling Religious Hatred, Édimbourg, The Stationery Office, 2002. 2. « It is time for the decent majority of Scots to stand up and be counted and to say that religious hatred should be put in the dustbin of history. It is time for Scotland’s secret shame to be put in the past. » 3. Cette dernière estimation provient de l’ouvrage suivant : I. R. Paterson, « The Pulpit and the Ballot Box: Catholic Assimilation and the Decline of Church Influence » (Devine, 2000, p. 228). 4. Les mariages mixtes représenteraient à peine 5 % des mariages en Ulster, alors que selon les régions, ils représenteraient entre une bonne moitié et la grande majorité des mariages écossais (Mulholland, 2002, p. 223). 5. S. Bruce, « Hooliganism Is the Real Source of the Problem », Herald, 6 décembre 2002. 6. S. Bruce, op. cit. 7. . 8. Deux versions de ce chant, l’une traditionnelle et l’autre sectaire, sont reproduites en annexe au présent article. 9. Il s’agit de la phrase « We’re up to our knees in Fenian blood », dans laquelle « Fenian » est un terme hautement péjoratif signifiant catholique. En 1858, John O’Mahony, un révolutionnaire irlandais arrivé en Amérique cinq ans auparavant pour convertir à sa cause les immigrés irlandais, devint le chef d’une nouvelle organisation, la Fenian Brotherhood, quelques mois après la fondation à Dublin d’une société secrète, l’Irish Republican Brotherhood, par un autre révolutionnaire, James Stephen. Le terme « Fenian » fut ensuite utilisé pour désigner l’ensemble des conspirateurs révolutionnaires, puis l’ensemble des Catholiques. La Fenian Brotherhood tirait elle-même son nom d’une bande de guerriers menée par un héros gaélique légendaire nommé Finn Mac Cool (ou Fionn Mac Cumhaill, ou Find Mac Ctjmaill). 10. « What if, instead of “Fenian”, the word “nigger” had been used […] would the politicians have stood through proceedings dominated by chanting of thousands who wanted to be up to their knees in nigger blood? » Cité par Sanders Andrew, « Football and Sectarianism: A Background Picture », . 11. Le nationaliste écossais Jim Sillars avait noté à son grand regret que les Écossais ne se redécouvraient patriotes que pendant les matchs Écosse-Angleterre : « The great problem is that Scotland has too many 90-minute patriots whose nationalist outpourings are expressed only at major sporting events. » 12. S. Bruce, art. cit. : « What troubles me about this debate is an inability to distinguish two separate issues: casual violence and religious intolerance. The west coast of Scotland is blighted by hooliganism. We should be deeply troubled that so many young men drink too much, take drugs, carry sharp weapons, and like violence. Just because some of that violence occurs at Old

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 192

Firm football matches and is glorified by the language and symbols of competing national and religious identities does not mean that sectarian animosity is a major social issue in Scotland. » 13. « The issue is too easily characterised as a problem in Scottish society that is associated only with football and with two football teams in particular. However, the issue runs much deeper than that and is much more insidious. In the football context, the problem is at least open and obvious, but a great deal of hidden sectarianism permeates a large part of Scottish society. » Les comptes rendus des réunions de commissions parlementaires sont reproduits sur le site Internet du Parlement écossais à l’adresse suivante : . 14. Ce ministère est dirigé par le Lord Advocate, qui est secondé par le Solicitor General for Scotland. 15. Notons qu’une telle campagne pourrait s’inspirer de la courte mais populaire campagne d’affichage organisée par Nil By Mouth dans la ville de Glasgow à l’été 2000. Sur l’une de leurs affiches, on pouvait par exemple voir un visage couvert de cicatrices, accompagné du slogan : Sectarian jokes can have you in stitches. 16. Amendement 148 au Criminal Justice (Scotland) Bill. Justice 2 Committee, Official Report, Col. 2470, 49th meeting (2002), session 1. 17. On notera la parenté qui existe entre l’article 74 du Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act, qui s’intitule « Offences aggravated by religious prejudice », et l’article 33 du Crime and Disorder Act concernant les crimes et délits à caractère racial. Ces articles sont reproduits en annexe au présent article. 18. Deux députés s’opposèrent à l’amendement, et un s’abstint.

AUTEUR

NATHALIE DUCLOS Université Toulouse Le Mirail

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 193

Autres communications

1 Les trois communications suivantes complétaient l’atelier de la Société française d’études écossaises animé par Edwige Camp lors du congrès 2004 de la SAES à l’université de St-Quentin-en-Yvelines.

Représentations de l’Écosse dans l’œuvre romanesque de Mary Shelley

Caroline VARENNE – Université Jean Monnet, Saint-Étienne

2 Enchantée par ses deux séjours en Écosse à l’adolescence, Mary Shelley considérait ces mois heureux dans une famille écossaise comme la période de gestation de sa créativité littéraire. Pourtant, les représentations de l’Écosse dans son œuvre ne sont pas à l’image de ces souvenirs émerveillés. Les Écossais, quand les héros ont le moindre contact avec eux, sont dépeints le plus souvent comme des barbares belliqueux et fourbes. Les paysages désolés du nord du pays, en revanche, ont un attrait sublime indéniable. Ils favorisent l’éveil de l’imagination, donnent un sentiment de puissance et de liberté et évoquent le Dieu qui les a créés. Mais la nature grandiose semble aussi accentuer la sauvagerie des habitants. Après la perte de son mari, Mary Shelley a donc modifié sa perception enfantine de l’Écosse, sans doute pour mieux idéaliser l’Italie ensoleillée où elle a vécu plusieurs années avec Percy Shelley. L’Écosse nordique devint un détour dans le parcours de l’auteur.

Les députés écossais à la Chambre des Communes depuis 1999

Edwige CAMP – Université de Valenciennes

3 Depuis la mise en place des institutions décentralisées en Écosse en 1999, la représentation écossaise à la Chambre des Communes est inchangée. Le profil des deux catégories de députés est semblable (à l’exception des femmes, plus nombreuses à Édimbourg), mais les carrières demeurent distinctes.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005 194

4 À Londres, les Écossais semblent relativement inutiles, car les organisations écossaises sont moins actives ; mais ils se consacrent aux matières réservées. Les Travaillistes suscitent des critiques car ils occupent des fonctions prééminentes, et permettent au Premier ministre de gagner des votes décisifs.

5 Pour le traitement des problèmes de leurs électeurs locaux, les députés doivent compter avec les élus à Édimbourg et ne peuvent accepter leur manque d’expérience ni l’attention médiatique dont ils bénéficieraient. Ils accusent de surcroît les élus de liste de braconnage dans les circonscriptions.

6 Leur nombre va diminuer, mais ils pourraient devenir plus controversés selon le type de gouvernement en Angleterre et en Écosse.

Thomas Chalmers and the 1843 Disruption: from Theological to Political Clash

Claire PUGLISI KACZMAREK – Université de Toulon et du Var

7 Dans le sillage de John Knox et du covenantaire Alexander Henderson (1583-1646), Thomas Chalmers serait l’auteur de la « troisième Réforme ». À l’issue de dix années de conflits théologiques et politiques, Chalmers fonda l’Église Libre d’Écosse en 1843. En digne héritier du presbytérianisme écossais, le pasteur défendit le principe d’indépendance spirituelle de l’Église par rapport à l’État.

8 Depuis la Réforme, les paroissiens élisent leur pasteur. Cependant, ce principe démocratique fut souvent remis en question face aux abus du patronage. Dans certaines paroisses, les Patrons appuyaient fortement l’élection des candidats de leur choix, et contraignaient la congrégation à se plier à leur volonté. La question du patronage ne fut pas la seule cause de la scission. En raison de décennies de désaccords théologiques, ecclésiaux et politiques, les rapports entre l’Église et l’État se sont dégradés jusqu’à la rupture en 1843.

9 Je me propose d’étudier le parcours spirituel de Thomas Chalmers dans les conflits politico-religieux de 1833 à 1843, en tenant compte des schismes théologiques et des faits politiques et sociaux marquants de la Réforme à 1843. Parallèlement, je redéfinie la place de Thomas Chalmers au sein du mouvement évangélique et du parti populaire de l’Église d’Écosse. L’objectif du pasteur fut de concilier les forces temporelles et spirituelles dans sa quête d’idéal communautaire.

Études écossaises, 10 | 2005