CHAPTER XXXII. MELROSE MEMORIES. Discovery of Melrose Abbey-A Ready-made Quarry- A MONG the many places that the genius of Sir Walter Scott may be said, in a measure, to have discovered, Melrose ought to be included. For, until January 1805, when the publication of 'The Lay of the Last Minstrel' had so fully and faithfully set Melrose before the public, that 'far-famed glorious ruin,' as Burns called it, was excessively glorious, but anything but far-famed. Of course full descriptions of it were to be found in typographical and historical works; but to the general British public it was comparatively unknown, and, as a tourist's 'lion,' it had not yet attracted attention. Unfortunately, like too many other similar buildings in Scotland, it had attracted attention as a ready-made quarry, from whence its sculptured stones could be transported to the laird's new farmstead with less expense than new stone could be excavated. The greed of gain overbalanced the love for a national memorial, and bade fair to scatter among cow-sheds and bullock-hovels a mine of the most perfect architectural NEW SHRINE FOR PILGRIM-TOURISTS. 321 wealth. Happily, Sir Walter Scott arose and discovered Melrose. His Lay' opened the eyes of the public, and if anything else had been needed to complete the cure of the national ophthalmia, it would have been effected through the medium of The Abbot' and 'Monastery,' which made the million readers of the Waverley novels intimate with Kennaquahair and St. Mary's. This, however, was fifteen years later than The Lay,' to which alone may be assigned the honour of having made Melrose far more famous than it had ever been in the days of its greatest prosperity. · A year before The Lay' was published, Sir Walter had removed his summer residence from Lasswade to Ashestiel, on the banks of the Tweed, where, as Lockhart says, 'a more beautiful situation for the residence of a poet could not be conceived.' His day-dreams then were but limited; they were (probably) embodied in the lowly bower' mentioned in the concluding lines of 'The Lay,' and had not soared to the ambitious structure of Abbotsford. Lasswade had brought him near to Roslin, and Ashestiel had placed him within a few miles of Melrose; and, naturally enough, the celebrities of either place were introduced into his first great poem. To the circumstance of his residence at Ashestiel, we probably owe that minute description of 'St. David's ruin'd pile,' which is so well known. It denoted a new shrine for thousands of pilgrim-tourists, who shortly flocked to the spot to realise with the eye of sense the beauties that the great Wizard of the North had brought before their mind's eye with the magic spell of genius; and now Melrose, his loved haunt, lying midway between his two earthly homes of Abbotsford and Dryburgh, is the convenient centre of a triple attraction for the quick-recurring throngs of visitors Y whom the railway carries to within a few yards of the Abbey. In fact, it is this visible nearness of the railway (as in the case of Furness Abbey) that is a sad drawback upon the solitude and quiet that are so much in harmony with ecclesiastical ruins; added to which, the town of Melrose shoulders its streets and buildings close up to the Abbey,* which is kept in such an uncomfortable state of neatness, that the idea of ruin and desolation can scarcely be maintained. Melrose is certainly the trimmest of ruins; not a blade of grass or single stone is suffered to interfere with that perfection of neatness to which, by misdirected care, it has been brought. All the scattered fragments of sculptured work have been zealously gathered together and piled up into pseudoaltars, before which (to speak in a figure) the guide worships, and to which he directs the visitor's attention with an evident expectation of receiving that visitor's gratitude, instead of (possibly) inspiring him with a desire to kick these structures over, and restore the idea of Melrose being a real ruin instead of a modernantique. While I am about it, I will liberate my spirit, and get rid of my grumblings against Melrose. Messrs. Billings & Burns say, 'All the tourists in Scotland who are put into the proper groove for seeing "what one should see," are as infallibly sure to find themselves at Melrose, as the traveller on a railway line to reach the first station. Not that they carry away any very distinct *Artists get over this difficulty, per saltum, by omitting the town. Thus, David Roberts' view of Melrose Abbey, from the S.E., which has been engraved in The Gallery of Modern Artists, 1836, and elsewhere, shows the Abbey standing in a wooded waste, backed by a range of hills, and with nothing to indicate a human habitation. FIRST IMPRESSIONS UNFAVOURABLE. 323 impression of it-they have seen it, and that is enough. Indeed, universally and exceptionally, as they flock thither, it is possible that many of them, were they to confess to all, would admit a feeling of disappointed expectation in the nature and effect of the ruin, for it is not of the kind best calculated to satisfy vulgar curiosity.' I fear that I must be classed with this vulgar herd. At any rate, let me be honest enough to 'confess all,' and say that, on the whole, I was disappointed with Melrose. Undoubtedly this disappointment did not arise so much from the Abbey itself as from its position and surroundings, although its trim neatness had something to do with engendering the feeling. As the Abbey is also approached immediately from the street, and the visitor is at once admitted into the nave with its hideous modern vaulting overhead to destroy the light aerial effect of the rest of the building, the first impressions are almost sure to be unfavourable. Of course these first impressions will be modified, if not obliterated, by the after-study of the building; but the causes which gave them birth will still remain as eye-sores and detractions. Dr. Arnold remarks that the first view of St. Peter's at Rome is usually a disappointing one, and that the same feeling arises in the first sight of celebrated mountains; but, he says, a closer acquaintance with these and with other grand or beautiful objects, convinces us that our first impression arose not from the want of greatness in what we saw, but from a want of comprehensiveness in ourselves to grasp it. What we saw was not all that existed, but all that our untaught science could master. As we know it better it remains the same, but we rise more nearly to its level; our greater admiration is but the proof that we are become able to appreciate it more closely."* Perhaps I had formed too exaggerated ideas of Melrose, and had imagined that Tintern, Fountains, and Furness were to be thrown into the shade by their northern rival, and that I should, when Home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair. Mrs. Stowe says that the building is so perfectly beautiful that, even for the sake of being original, you could Had not in conscience declare you did not admire it.' the American lady any misgivings, that she should thus hint at the nil admirari? But, Melrose is beautiful, notwithstanding the drawbacks referred to; so, having got rid of our grumble, let us, in a charitable and contented frame of mind, devote ourselves to an inspection of those rose. Works of Art, that shed, on the outward frame Of worship, glory and grace, which who shall blame Yet, first, let us rapidly run over the history of MelThis is not the first abbey that bore the name, nor am I the first Bede who has ventured upon a description of the building. The original abbey was some two miles farther down Tweedside, where is now the picturesque village of Old Melrose. It dated back to the seventh century, and the introduction of Christianity into Scotland. Its site was, as usual with the old ecclesiastics, well chosen, and hard by a river which could supply them with choice dinners on fast days; though, according to the scandalous ballad, O the monks of Melrose made gude kale On Fridays when they fasted; * Inaugural Lecture on the Study of Modern History. |