Alexander reminded him of the health problems he suffered, especially the bouts of feverishness and pain.
‘How can you ride on horseback for many miles every day, Robert, and in all weathers? And think of the hospitality that will be pressed on you everywhere you go and how your stomach cannot thole drink. I would feel much happier if I knew you were safely at home on the farm.’
Burns said, ‘My dear friend, I am not a woman to be kept protected at home. I am a man and must face life like a man. But I know you mean well, and I appreciate your concern.’
Before he set off, he attended to some business, like arranging for a stone to be erected over the grave of the poet Fergusson. Burns had been shocked and outraged when he’d visited the grave and found it neglected and unmarked. He wrote to the bailies of the Canongate for permission to erect a headstone to ‘my elder brother in misfortune and by far my elder brother in the muse.’ Earlier he’d written something that Alexander suspected would get him into bother,
O Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law’s dry, musty arts!
My curse upon your whunstane hearts,
Ye E’nbrugh gentry!
The tythe o’ what ye waste at cartes
Wad stow’d his pantry!
Robert had tried to persuade Alexander to accompany him on his Borders tour but Alexander was too busy at the hospital. And he was still working on his poetry with the plan of eventually publishing another book.
‘Well, perhaps we can visit the Highlands together at a later date.’
‘Perhaps,’ Alexander said.
‘I will write and tell you all that is happening on my travels. I will let you know when I’ll be returning to Edinburgh.’
His Edinburgh friend Bob Ainslie ended up as his travel companion. Ainslie was a law student and fellow Mason whose family came from the Border country. No doubt en route both men, certainly Burns, would have romantic as well as other kinds of adventures, Alexander thought with some bitterness, while he was slaving away in the hospital and having only a few hours late into the evening to sit at his desk with a candle and his quill.
Although Burns still had feelings for Jean Armour, he’d recently confided, ‘… to tell the truth among friends, I feel a miserable blank in my heart for want of her, and I don’t think I shall ever meet with so delicious an armful again. She has her faults: and so have you and I; and so has everybody.’
So why didn’t he go back to his country woman and be done with it? Surely now that Robert was so famous, the Armours would accept him. Hadn’t old Armour dropped his criminal proceedings?
But Burns was still feeling hurt and bitter at being rejected by Jean and the Armours. Nothing would divert Robert from his Borders tour. ‘I might never have the same chance again,’ he said. ‘What use am I to anyone as a loyal Scot if I don’t know my own country?’
Catch the moments as they fly
And use them as ye ought, man!
Believe me happiness is shy
And comes not aye when sought, man!
‘Anyway, Alexander,’ he added, ‘I’ve business to do. Books to deliver and book monies to collect en route from various subscribers.’
An approach by the musical printer, James Johnson, who wrote asking him if he’d help in creating lyrics, came too late to stop the tour. However, Robert had immediately written back to Johnson explaining they were on the point of leaving but he would be in touch again as soon as he returned.
He’d bought a mare for four pounds in the Grassmarket and called it Jenny Geddes. Jenny Geddes had been the woman who had hurled a foot stool at Bishop Lindsay in St Giles’ Cathedral on 23 August 1637 when he was trying to introduce the Book of Common Prayer. She was enraged at the cleric for daring to ‘say Mass in my lug’.
The artist Naysmith, with whom Robert had become friendly, had supplied a portrait of him for the first Edinburgh edition of his poems and Beugo had done engravings. Naysmith was such an admirer of Burns, he refused to take payment for the portrait.
Robert packed three dozen proof-prints of the Beugo engravings in his travel bag, ready to give away to admirers if asked for. So, Alexander thought, he now expects adulation from everyone, everywhere.
Alexander tried to appear jovial as he waved Burns off on his journey. But he experienced one of his now worryingly frequent surges of jealousy. Robert’s heavy farmer’s build was flattered on horseback. He looked tall and at ease. It was only when he walked that his years of hard labour on the farm showed in his solid, heavy tread. On horseback, he could have passed as one of the gentry.
Alexander managed a smile as he waved him off. He even wished him good luck. Of course, he told himself, he meant what he said. He would never wish Robert any harm. But Robert should have taken his advice. As a doctor, he knew that despite Robert’s hard, powerful-looking appearance, he had serious underlying medical problems. He needed rest and warmth. He needed to take care, not strain his constitution and allow himself to be soaked by rain and battered by all the elements as he rode for hour after hour, day after day, through open countryside.
‘Oh well,’ Alexander thought, ‘I’ve done my best.’
But long after Robert had left, he was still haunted by bitter thoughts of the unfairness of life. He was just as talented as Robert Burns. Indeed, more so because he was a clever doctor and surgeon as well as a poet. Yet what did his life amount to? He had no home of his own, no wife, not even a mistress. He would have captured some lady’s heart by now, he was sure, but at every turn he was overshadowed by Burns. Even if Burns was not with him in person, his name would always come up in conversation and ladies especially would go into raptures of praise of him. Female society in Edinburgh seemed to think of nothing or nobody else. He experienced, just for a second, a black wish for something to happen to Burns that would prevent him ever returning. Immediately ashamed, he choked it off.
Robert was still the same generous-hearted loving friend of his Ayrshire days. And he, Alexander, was still the same friend who loved him in return. Of course he was. Nothing had changed. But in his heart of hearts, Alexander knew perfectly well that everything had changed completely.
18
Burns set off in great excitement, togged up in new travelling clothes.
‘I’m so glad I’ve you for my travel companion,’ he told Ainslie. ‘I love Alexander like a brother, but he’s a very serious fellow and he fusses around me like a mother hen. With you, I can talk nonsense, laugh at everything and nothing, and do foolish things without fear of a lecture.’
Ainslie laughed. ‘That’s because I’m as daft as you are, Rab.’
And so they set off in high spirits, their horses sometimes cantering at a leisurely pace, sometimes slowing to pick their way over rough terrain. Then coming to a decent path, they would spur the animals into an exhilarating gallop as they raced each other.
In Dumfries, they were given hospitality by Mr Burnside, a clergyman, and his wife, Anne. Robert raved about Anne afterwards.
‘God forgive me, Ainslie, I almost broke the tenth commandment on her account. What simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition, good humour, kind hospitality – if I say one word more about her, I’ll be directly in love with her.’
Robert rode the six miles out of Dumfries to meet and confer with his friend, Patrick Miller. Miller wanted him to lease a farm on an estate Miller had bought.
‘I know he means well, Ainslie, but oh, something whispers to me that I’d be happier doing anything else but farming. He means no doubt to give me a bargain but more than likely, it would be the ruin of me.’
‘Are you still thinking of Jamaica, then?’
Robert shrugged. ‘I can’t settle my mind. Farming is the only thing of which I know anything, and heaven knows I understand very little even of that. If I don’t fix, I will go to Jamaica. Should I stay in an unsettled state, at home, I would only dissipate my small fortune and ruin what I intend shall compensate my little ones for t
he stigma I’ve brought on their names.’
As it was, Ainslie noticed that his friend was constantly dispatching five pounds notes to his brother, Gilbert, to help him.
He also penned very brief descriptions of the scenery on their journey but wrote six times as much about the people they met. To Robert, landscapes always came second to the people, especially the women.
They visited Ainslie’s parents and Robert was particularly bowled over by Rachel, Ainslie’s sister. They quickly became friends. There was no flirting from either side. Robert did not feel it right to have any sport with his best friend’s sister.
But when they all attended church and the minister was bawling out a sermon about a text containing a severe denunciation of obstinate sinners, Miss Rachel, Robert noticed, was in great agitation at the minister’s hell-fire preaching and was leafing through her Bible trying to find the text.
He gently took the Bible from her and wrote in the fly leaf:
Fair maid you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue;
‘Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
Not angels such as you.
After Ainslie’s holiday time was up, he returned alone to Edinburgh. Robert made for home and Mauchline. When he’d left Mauchline, he had been penniless and unknown. Now he returned a national celebrity. In Edinburgh and on the Borders tour, he had rubbed shoulders with the highest in the land. He had been lavishly entertained by the nobility and lionised by the literati. His tinder heart had been set alight by a whole series of attractive ladies, yet once home, his thoughts turned longingly to Jean Armour.
He went to her parents’ house to see her and found himself as hopelessly in love with her as ever.
‘But,’ he told his friend, Gavin Hamilton, ‘I’m absolutely disgusted by the Armours’ servile, fawning, flattering attitude towards me. They practically threw Jean at me.’
Hamilton shook his head. ‘Changed days, eh Robert?’
‘Practically everybody’s changed. Especially the servility of all the work-folk. Since I’ve returned home, their fawning attitude has nearly sickened me.’
Soon he was confined to the house with one of his lingering stomach complaints. To be so confined in such small, quiet surroundings – especially compared with his stay in the busy metropolis – lowered his spirits to zero. To divert himself and help keep his mind from dwelling on his misery, he wrote letters, especially a long, autobiographical letter to Dr Moore, a friend that Mrs Dunlop had introduced him to. And of course, he wrote to Mrs Dunlop, who had become his sort of mother-confessor.
After a couple of weeks, he felt physically much better but still restless and unhappy, despite discovering that his bonnie Jean was still as willing and as passionate as ever. He made love to her and held her in his arms and wished he could lie close to her like that forever. But urgent and exhausting book business called and he was forced to set off to Edinburgh again.
He also had a promise to his mother and sisters to keep. It meant making stops en route to purchase bolts of mode silk which he dispatched home to them. This was for the new bonnets, cloaks and gowns that they were eagerly looking forward to having made.
In Edinburgh, he went straight to Alexander’s lodgings and asked if Alexander would like to accompany him on a tour of the West Highlands where he had many books to deliver and money to collect for them. Alexander, as it happened, was due some time off and he was persuaded on this occasion to be his travelling companion. Not for the first time, Robert was sorely tempted to enquire about Susanna’s whereabouts and her condition, but was too conscientious to break his solemn promise to the poor girl not to even mention her name to anyone.
He felt furious every time he thought about Neil Guthrie and what he must have done to Susanna to get her into such a state of terror. But the girl must be all right now, otherwise Alexander would have said something. Nevertheless he felt sad and disturbed at the thought of her.
It helped that despite Alexander’s serious nature and the fact that he kept a conscientious doctor’s eye on Robert, the journey was full of interest. It lifted Robert’s spirits. Inveraray in Argyll was the most northern part of their journey. The Duke and Duchess of Argyll were subscribers to Robert’s book, and from John Campbell, the fifth Duke of Argyll, Robert had a long-standing invitation to visit.
Robert and Alexander were soaking wet and travel-weary when they came to an inn where hopefully they could find rest and refreshment.
‘No, no,’ the innkeeper insisted – not knowing who they were – as he abruptly turned them away. ‘I’m full up and far too busy with the overflow from the castle. His Grace is President of the Fishery Society and he’s hosting members and officials before he leaves for the Hebrides first thing tomorrow morning.’
Robert had recently acquired a diamond-pointed stylus (a present from the Earl of Glencairn), such as was used by glass engravers, and he was so fatigued and angry, he scratched on one of the window panes of the inn before turning away,
Who’er he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case.
Unless he comes to wait upon
The lord their god, ‘His Grace’.
However, the next day, they met up with a merry party of more hospitable Highland gentlemen. They stayed overnight at the mansion of one of the gentlemen, and despite Alexander’s warnings about needing to rest in preparation for the next day’s journey, Robert danced and made merry after Alexander had retired to bed, and the ladies left at three in the morning. Next evening, they spent the night at Dumbarton where they were given more Highland hospitality. Robert was also given the Freedom of Dumbarton. Alexander had lost count of the places where such honours had been conferred on Burns. It was beginning to make him feel painfully depressed. He could hardly bring himself to speak to Robert eventually.
And so they were riding soberly and quietly down the side of Loch Lomond, when along came a Highlander at a gallop.
‘I’m not going to be out-galloped by any Highlander,’ Burns suddenly announced, obviously pleased at the chance of a bit of excitement.
‘No, wait!’ Alexander shouted in exasperation, as Burns spurred his horse forward. ‘Robert!’ Alexander’s voice rose to a furious bawl. ‘Don’t be a fool!’
But the old mare, Jenny Geddes, strained forward and despite the Highlander’s good horse, began to pass him. Robert shouted with excitement and delight. Then, unexpectedly, the other horse wheeled to one side, throwing his Highland rider and also Jenny Geddes and her rider to the ground.
Within moments Alexander reached the débâcle and helped the two men to their feet. The Highlander quickly recovered and rode off. Burns, however, was quite badly cut and bruised, but he put up his hands and managed good-humouredly, ‘All right. All right. I’m a fool. I ought to listen to you.’
‘Yes, you should, Robert,’ Alexander growled as he examined Robert’s wounds. ‘Fortunately, on this occasion, there are no bones broken. But you won’t feel like riding for a while.’
However, once Alexander had patched him up, Robert felt fit enough by the next afternoon to continue on their journey, although in fact he was still in some pain.
In Paisley, they were spotted by an admirer of Burns’ poetry, a Dr John Taylor. He pleaded with Burns to accompany him to his home. Both Alexander and Burns protested that they should be getting on with their journey. Burns, however, was eventually persuaded by the fact that Dr Taylor was particularly anxious for his young children to meet the poet. Burns had a fatherly fondness for children.
Once in Dr Taylor’s house, his young family were summoned to meet the poet. Burns dandled one chubby little boy on his knee and said he would ‘make an excellent subject for a poem’. This pleased the father enormously. The only thing that displeased him was that his eldest son, a tall, gangly lad, was so overawed by all the previous talk of ‘the great man, Robert Burns’, that he refused to appear.
Later, his father chastised him and said how the time would
come that he’d bitterly regret not having had a sight of the great man to remember. The boy said, ‘But I did see him, Father. I keeked at him through the doors.’
‘Oh? And what did he look like then?’
‘He was a big man, taller than me, with a brown complexion. He was broad-chested, erect and stood on sturdy legs hid in yellow top boots. He wore a blue coat and buckskin breeches. A very impressive figure, I thought.’
‘Well done, lad.’ His father was delighted. ‘Well done. And I agree with you. I don’t know why your mother insists he had a gloomy countenance and bearing.’
The young man smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever allow anyone to say a word against him, Father.’
‘Indeed, I won’t, lad. No, never. The man’s a genius, and I’m proud to have had him in my home. I only wish he could have stayed longer but he said he had to return to Mossgiel.’
Alexander accompanied Robert as far as Tarbolton, because he felt it was time he paid a visit to his parents. He was shocked when he saw them. Admittedly his mother had never been a robust woman and his father was prone to the occasional attack of gout. But he had never before seen either of them in such a sad and worrying state. He soon discovered the reason. They showed him Susanna’s note.
‘We aye knew she was excitable an’ reckless, an’ had an awfu’ imagination,’ his mother said, ‘but this time she seems tae have gone completely mad. Poor Neil has searched an’ searched, aw tae no avail. We’ve aw been quite distracted.’
Alexander was silent and thoughtful for some time.
Eventually his father said, ‘Have ye nothin’ tae say aboot this, Alexander? D’ye no’ care aboot what’s happened?’
‘Of course I care. I care about Susanna. What worries me, Father, is there may be some truth in what she’s written.’
A Darkening of the Heart Page 13