BY EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

These two famous specimens of ruined Gothic architecture have been written and sung by many historians and poets. Scott says:

But the ordinary commonplace tourist can not always plan his trips by the almanac, and thus it was that we saw it not by moonlight, when indeed it must be a scene of enchantment, but under the broad sunlight of a glorious midsummer day. Though several years have passed since then, there comes to me now as in a dream, a perfect picture of the noble ruin, superb even in its desolation and decay, with the greenest, softest grass for its floor and the glorious canopy of a perfect summer sky for its roof, the soft sunlight streaming athwart pillar and carved window and the rich ivy clinging lovingly to its mouldering sides. And ah! how the birds sang, its only music now. And what must it have been with its roof, buttresses and pinnacles entire, its gorgeous windows ablaze with color, with chime of bells and solemn peal of organ resounding through its naves and aisles—an object of reverence and admiration to the brave, the good, the noble of the land of Wallace and Bruce!

Melrose was founded in 1136 by David I. of Scotland, who also founded the abbeys of Holyrood, Kelso and Dryburgh, and was consecrated ten years later with all the pomp and circumstance peculiar to the ecclesiasticism of those days. By royal charter it was granted to the Cistercian order of monks, which, previous to this, had been established in France. This monastery was the mother church to all of this order in Scotland. In the retreat from Scotland of Edward II., in 1322, the English wreaked their fury on religious houses, and among others destroyed Melrose.

To the end that the abbey might be rebuilt, King Robert made a grant of £2,000 to the Abbot of Melrose. Had it not been for this destruction we should have missed the exceeding beauty of this famous ruin, for at the time the church was restored, the Gothic style of architecture had attained its most perfect development.

In 1384 Richard II. made an inroad to Scotland, lodged one night in the abbey and set fire to it in the morning. Afterward he made grants to the church, which meant, let us hope, that his majesty repented his act of vandalism.

Again was the monastery destroyed in 1545 by the Earl of Hertford. Tradition has it that the English on their return at that time had passed the abbeys of Melrose and Dryburgh when the bells were rung to express the joy of the monks at their escape; on hearing the sound, the English were not slow to return and turn their joy into sorrow.

Soon after the Scottish reformation took place and the abbey was never again rebuilt. After the reformation, one James Douglass, commendator, took down a good share of the ruin to build a house. His example was quickly followed by others, and for some time the people of Melrose used the venerable ruins for a quarry, and it is said there is not an old house in Melrose but has a stone from the abbey in its walls. Since it passed into the hands of his grace, the Duke of Buccleuch, every precaution has been taken to prevent its further decay. The rules of the Cistercians were very rigid, and for many years were strictly enforced. But there came a time when wealth flowed freely into the monastery, when royalty and nobility vied with each other in heaping costly gifts upon it, when the brothers waxed fat and loved their flesh-pots and goodly libations, and holy living was neglected and the name of the monks of Melrose came to be a hissing and a by-word.

Melrose, like all the other abbeys of olden time stands east and west. Nothing of the original structure remains save the side chapels on the south aisle, the first three of which are roofless. These chapels have been used as burying places for families of note in the vicinity. In one is a carved representation of the heads of David I. and his queen Matilda. In another is an ancient kneeling-stone facing toward the sunset, four horseshoes on its back and this inscription on its top: “Orate pro anima fratris Petre, Ærari?” Pray for the soul of brother Peter, the treasurer.

The charm of the south transcript, lies chiefly in the wonderful carving and the graceful proportions of the various parts which form so symmetrical and perfect a whole. Perhaps the most exquisite specimen of carving is on the capital of a pillar which bounds the south aisle on the east, separating it from the nave; it represents the Scotch kale and is a most delicate piece of point lace carving. From the south transept also one can best see the small high window in the wall of the north transept, the tracery of which is quite perfect, and is said to represent the crown of thorns. In this part of the abbey are some curious and quaint inscriptions, one of which reads:

Another inscription a little higher up tells who this John Morrow was, and his connection with the abbey:

He is said to have been the first Grand Master of the Freemason lodge of Melrose.

Just east of this transept is St. Bridget’s chapel, where is still to be seen a statue of that saint beside one of the windows. In a corner between this chapel and the chancel is according to the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” the grave of the wizard Michael Scott.

Just beyond this grave is a flat stone which was the favorite resting place of that other wizard, Sir Walter Scott, when he came here to feast on the mournful beauty of the scene. To the magic influence of this noble ruin we may be indebted for many of the beautiful thoughts he has given us. Doubtless that wonderful imagination of his peopled those silent chapels and dim shadowy aisles with a host of illustrious dead. In speechless dignity and beauty they passed in review before him, a glorious company of the departed whose names, brightened by his magic touch, will live forever. But the chief place of interest is the chancel, under whose floor lie the ashes of those long, long dead. Alexander II. and Waldevus, the second Abbot of Melrose, a man of holy life, much loved for his exceeding gentleness, lie here.

The “Flower of Chivalry,” the famous Black Douglas, who was killed by his kinsman while hunting in Ettrick Forest, was buried here. Another Douglas, James the Earl, killed by Harry Hotspur, was here buried with the greatest pomp and ceremony.

But the most precious deposit, and the one for which these magnificent ruins seem a fitting tomb, is that right royal heart which once beat high with truth, valor and bravery, but which “feels its pulse no more,” the heart of “King Robert the Bruce.” It was the wish of the king that his heart should be buried in this abbey. However, subsequent to that, he expressed a desire that it should rather be interred in the Holy Sepulchre in Palestine. To this end Sir James Douglas set sail with the precious burden, but in Spain encountered the Saracens. Bravely refusing to retreat he fought and fell, but the king’s heart was saved, brought back to his nation’s land, and after such fitful fever was laid to rest at last in fair Melrose. The chancel is lighted by three superb windows, the one to the east being the one of which Scott wrote:

High on the west wall of the north transept can be seen the statues of St. Peter with his book and keys and St. Paul with a sword. When we saw them they were in an excellent state of preservation. In the north wall of the north transept are two doors with rounded arches; the first led into the sacristy or wax cellar, where the tapers and the communion wine were kept; the other it is supposed led to the treasury.

The carving in the north aisle is almost as worthy of admiration as that of the south aisle, being quite fresh and wonderfully beautiful. An ancient inscription here catches the eye:

The cloisters also show much fine carving. In the true Gothic, nature alone was imitated, which accounts for the endless variety of design. At the top of the east wall of the cloisters is an excellent representation of a negro’s grinning face; at the corner is seen the figure of a flying angel. The roof is quite gone, as are the pillars which supported it. The beholder realizes the ruin and decay more here than in any other portion of the abbey. The ornamentation of the central tower can best be seen from the cloisters. There is a legend that Cromwell once turned his cannon upon the abbey from Gattonside heights, and marks on the north wall are shown to carry out the tale.

Grand as is the interior, the visitor is more impressed by the massive yet graceful exterior, with its pinnacles, flying buttresses and its exquisite pillars and windows. The zealous Scottish reformers pulled down nearly all the statues, only two remaining, those of the Virgin and child, and of St. Andrew.

A famous and grotesque gargoyle, a pig playing upon bagpipes, projects from the roof in a noticeable manner.

West of the south entrance is a pedestal supported by the figure of a monk holding a scroll, on which is inscribed:

(When Jesus came the darkness of the world ceased.)

On the opposite side of the doorway is another inscription held by the figure of an aged monk:

(He suffered because he himself willed it.)

Over the doorway is a half length figure of John the Beloved, with this inscription in Latin:

But it is impossible to enumerate all of the interesting carvings, heads, figures and inscriptions. The picture of the magnificent ruin with its delightful accessories, the songs of birds, the soft, genial summer air, the peaceful sky, the half pleasant, half mournful recollections which it arouses, fades from memory, and in its stead rises the semblance of another venerable pile, half abbey, half palace, lying at the foot of lofty crags—the world famous Holyrood.

The story of the founding of Holyrood or Holy Rude is told by ancient chroniclers as follows: The munificent and good King David I. was not absolutely faultless. He was minded to hunt on a holy day, the festival of the exaltation of the cross or Rude day as it was called, in spite of the admonitions of his confessor. Heated with the chase the king had ridden to the “fute of the crag,” when there rushed suddenly upon him the “farest hart that ever was sene,” and threw both him and his horse with violence to the ground. The king threw back his hands between the antlers of the stag to save himself from the blow, when suddenly “the haly croce slaid into his hands.” The stag fled in dismay at sight of the sacred emblem, and the king resolved to found a house to the “Holy Rude,” the Virgin, and all saints on the spot where “he gat the croce.”

This legend, however, is not generally credited, there being a more satisfactory reason given by other chroniclers for the founding of the abbey. Margaret, the grand niece of Edward the Confessor, and mother of King David, gave to her son a cross of pure gold, which opened and shut like a casket, and which contained, it was claimed, a portion of that cross on which Christ died. It might be reasonable to believe that the king built the abbey as a receptacle for this sacred relic, as he bestowed it upon this religious house. This emblem was called “the black rude,” and was for ages regarded as the palladium of the kings of Scotland. It was at last captured from David II. at the battle of Neville’s Cross, and for centuries after was kept in the Cathedral of Durham. But it matters not whether built to form a fitting shrine for the holy relic or to commemorate the king’s narrow escape from death by the interposition of the “Holy Rude,” the noble pile has not been spared by time’s ruthless hand, and only the chapel royal remains of that great monastery, the choir and transepts being entirely gone, and the sole remaining portion even being roofless.

But the crumbling, ivy grown walls have wonderful associations connected with them. The crown of Scotland has here been placed upon many royal brows; here James II. was married to Mary of Gueldres, and James III. to Margaret of Denmark; here James IV. was presented by the legate of his holiness, Pope Julius II., with that sword and crown which are yet preserved among the regalia of Scotland; and here, strangest scene of all its eventful history, under the great eastern window, in an evil moment, the beautiful White Rose of Scotland was married to the profligate Darnley. We are told that this abbey was the last resting place of many great ones, but when the transepts and choir were destroyed the ancient memorials were lost. It is said that David II., James II. and James V. were buried here, but of the tomb of David not a vestige remains, and there is much doubt as to the exact locality of the tombs of the others.

The most striking feature of the abbey is the western front, consisting of a great square tower, and an immense gateway with two curious windows above it. This tower is a superb specimen of the architecture of the period of transition from the Romanesque to the Early English. Above the doorway and between the windows is a tablet placed there by Charles I., who also was crowned here, which bears this inscription, strange indeed, under the circumstances:

But interesting as is this ancient abbey, the palace is of more attraction to visitors. Ill-fated James IV. founded it, and it was no sooner completed than he brought his bride to live therein. They were married and she was crowned in the chapel royal. Here also came the fair French princess Magdalene, first queen of James V., received with every indication of joy and affection, blooming in youth and beauty, only to be laid in the earth forty days after her arrival. The second queen of James and mother of Mary Stuart, Mary of Guise, was also crowned in the chapel. But of the multitude of famous women who have swept in the glory of their pride and beauty through the halls of this palace, the most thrilling interest clusters round the name of the ill-starred Mary Stuart. Here occurred those events which will forever link the name of Holyrood with that of the unfortunate “White Queen.”

To Holyrood she came first after her arrival from “her pleasant land of France” she loved so much; here she married the inferior and dissolute Darnley, and her Rizzio was foully murdered before her eyes; in the council chamber of the palace she married “Black Bothwell,” and her last night before being sent a captive to Lochleven was spent within these walls.

That part of the palace built by Charles II. is of quadrangular shape, having a court in the center. It was while passing through this court that we met a pompous, overdressed woman who was saying in a loud voice to her companion, “Well, what of it? What if Mary Stuart did live here? What does that amount to?”

The great picture gallery is in this part of the palace. It is one hundred and fifty feet in length and is hung round with portraits of a hundred Scotch kings. This room is of historical interest, for “Bonnie Prince Charlie” used it for a ball room, while he was staying at Holyrood. Readers of “Waverley” will remember the description in that book of the great ball given in this room. From this vast room the visitor may enter Lord Darnley’s apartments, which are soon scanned, for one is more eager to see Queen Mary’s room. At last we mount a gloomy stairway and enter what is perhaps the most famous and sadly interesting suite of rooms in all Europe.

The queen’s audience chamber is a large room lighted by two windows. The walls are draped with faded and time-worn tapestry. Here stands the bed upon which two other unfortunate Stuarts laid their uneasy heads, Charles I. and the Pretender, and after “Culloden’s bloody field, dark source o’ mony a tear” the conqueror of the latter, the Duke of Cumberland, slept upon the same pillow. It was in this room that Mary had those stormy scenes with Knox, the Scottish reformer.

In the bedroom still stand her chairs, her bed with its faded hangings, and the basket which Elizabeth sent her filled with baby linen. There is also a bit of her embroidery, carefully preserved in a glass case. On the walls hang the sadly tarnished mirror which has so often reflected her lovely face, her portrait and those of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, given her by the Virgin Queen, “her sister and her foe.”

Poor, unhappy queen! How she must have pined for her sunny France, among those cold, northern people. How often has she stood at these very windows and turned her beautiful eyes, filled with tears, toward those great mountains which shut her in. Whatever she was, good or vile, an abused, suffering woman, or an unprincipled, intriguing queen, we can think of her only with pity. But the most famous room is that little chamber, no larger than a good sized closet, where Rizzio was so cruelly murdered. Into this little room rushed the conspirators, overturning the table and putting out the lights, dragging their victim from Mary’s feet out through her bedroom, audience chamber, and into the hall beyond, stabbing him at every step and leaving him at last with fifty-six wounds in his body. And to this room the brutal Ruthven returned and demanded a cup of wine, and in the frightened queen’s presence tossed it off with wine red hand. Could it have been imagination only that loaded the air of that dark, damp, silent palace with heavy sighs? that caused one to look behind, at sound of footsteps and the sweeping of robes? that peopled those empty rooms with tenants of air, troubled ghosts of the illustrious dead?

Each old ruin has a charm all its own. Under these ivy-grown battlements how many fair women and brave men have lived, eaten, drunken, danced, sorrowed, loved and died; within these gray old walls what heartaches, ambitions, loves and hates have been nurtured, all to end at last and leave only silence and decay.

We left the palace and went out into the glad sunlight, to the green fields, to the flowers, to life; leaving behind desolation, death. Slowly we turned back to the city, and the last thing we heard was the mournful song of the birds which were flying about the ruins.

The rich man, indeed, is better able to indulge his passions, and to bear up against any harm that may befall him. The poor man’s condition prevents him from enjoying such advantages; but then, as a set-off, he may possess strength of body, freedom from disease, a mind relieved from many of the ills of life, is blessed in his children, and active in his limbs. If he shall, besides, end his life well, then, O Croesus, this is the happy man, about whom thou art curiously inquiring. Call no man happy till thou knowest the end of his life; up till that moment he can only be called fortunate.—Herodotus.