Assembly Rooms

The stone facade with tall windows conceals several rooms for assemblies, subscription-based social evenings entered through a prepaid subscription. The townspeople themselves paid for the construction, and the city council gave over the site on condition that two balls be held here every year in aid of the hospital and the workhouse. Inside were a ballroom, a tea room, a large salon, and smaller rooms: people dined, danced, and made acquaintances here, while the master of ceremonies could refuse a young man entry because of his boots or an untidy hairstyle.

On February twenty-third, eighteen twenty-seven, tables were laid behind this portico for about three hundred guests. The dinner raised money for the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund. An actor depended on their own body: losing their voice, memory, or mobility meant losing their income, and few managed to save for old age. The Fund was meant to support those who could no longer go on stage.

Sir Walter Scott presided—a celebrated poet and an official of Scotland's highest civil court who wanted to help theatrical performers. The Assembly Rooms were chosen for this dinner. The name means rooms for assemblies, subscription-based social evenings. The townspeople paid for the construction together, and the city council provided the site, but imposed a condition: two charity balls had to be held here every year, in aid of the royal hospital and the workhouse. Inside, there was a ballroom, a tea room, a large salon, and several smaller rooms. The master of ceremonies decided whom to admit; young men could be left at the door because of their boots or hair that was unpowdered or untied. People came here to dance, dine, make acquaintances, and raise donations.

At the theatrical fund dinner, Scott had his own reason to avoid publicity. Since eighteen fourteen, his historical novels had appeared under the name the Author of Waverley. A novel was considered a less respectable pursuit than poetry, and Scott valued his reputation as a court official and initially wanted to test the book without risking his name. Later, the secret also concealed his involvement in the publishing and printing business.

A year before the dinner, firms connected to Scott collapsed. He was left with a debt of one hundred twenty-one thousand pounds. Bankruptcy threatened the loss of his library, furniture, and the right to live on his own estate. Scott made an agreement with his creditors: everything earned by new books would go to them; he would keep his salary as a court official. After the collapse, the publishing papers ended up in other hands, and it was now almost impossible to keep his authorship secret.

Before the guests sat down at the table, Lord Meadowbank—a judge of the highest civil court and a patron of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund—asked Scott whether he still wished to conceal his connection with the novels. Scott replied that too many people knew the secret and that he no longer cared. He did not understand why the question had been asked.

Later, Meadowbank was asked to propose a toast to the chairman. The judge spoke so directly about the celebrated author of the novels that silence would already have meant an admission. Scott rose before the three hundred guests and said that all the virtues and shortcomings of the books belonged to him alone. He understood in advance that his words would reach the newspapers. The Great Unknown, as the mysterious novelist was called, received a name.

The admission did not free Scott from debt. He continued writing, and his creditors received his literary income. By the time the writer died, fifty-three thousand pounds remained; the final part of the debt was paid off in eighteen forty-seven through the sale of the copyrights. Behind the portico, the ballroom and salon still remain, where dinners, performances, and meetings are held. And in October eighteen twenty-seven, the preface to Chronicles of the Canongate bore the signature Walter Scott for the first time.