THE LAY OF THE LAND: DUNFERMLINE
How many people, in their inmost souls, wish to be considered prophets!
Andrew Lang, in his “History of Scotland,” calls attention to that
“wisdom after the event,” which is so often exhibited, not only by
the commonplace person, who loves to be an incarnate “I told you so,”
but even by those who pose as genuine prophets. To such, the map of
Scotland seems in part a foreshadowing of her history. One thinks of
the Highlands as an extension northeastwardly of the older Scotia,
or Ireland, or as but the island itself moved diagonally or in the
direction named. Draw a line reaching from Dumbarton, on the Clyde, to
Stonehaven, on the German Ocean, and you have, on the north and west,
Celtic Scotland. Here, for the most part, are ranges of mountains,
lines of hills, and the great waterway from southwest to northeast. In
the extreme north, however, in Sutherland and Caithness, both upraised
land and flowing water seem, for the most part, to run from south to
north.
In other words, one would suppose from the map that the people dwelling
on the rather flat lowlands would be of one race and with one kind
of civilization, while the inhabitants of the hills would greatly
differ. In the Highlands, defence would be easy and offence would
be hard, strongholds would be more numerous, general communication
impracticable, social improvement slow, and common feeling with
the Lowlanders be a long time coming. The Celtic clansmen of the
hills, usually living and dying in the same glen, were not famed as
travellers. “All travel has its advantages,” says Dr. Johnson. “If the
passenger visits better countries, he may learn to improve his own,
and if fortune carries him to worse, he may learn to enjoy it.” So
wrote Dr. Samuel Johnson, in his “Journey to the Western Islands of
Scotland.” That famous book gave most Englishmen their first idea of
the region which is now a summer annex to England--enormous tracts of
the Highlands being in latter days the property of English landlords.
Yet, while it is true that the map might lead an observer to anticipate
that the later comers, of Germanic race and speech, would dispossess
the Celts and form a kingdom separate from and hostile to theirs,--with
no union until six hundred years had passed by,--we may ask another
question. What is there, in Scottish topography, that would be a
prophecy of the northern half of the British Isles separating into a
Scottish nation apart from England?
We may answer, without fear, that it was not natural features or
climate, but historical events, that made two peoples, instead of one.
These events could not be foreseen by a mere student of the topography.
Even though the men of both realms spoke the same language and were
of the same blood, originally, there issued an English and a Scottish
nation, which again had two stories of development. The Highlands
have a third, their own story,--usually of isolated combats and clan
feuds,--with only the slow infiltration of ideas that in time made a
united island, bringing the men of the glens in contact with the rest
of Europe.
The chief scene of Scottish history, with its art, architecture,
commercial prosperity, and general likeness to Christendom, is in
the Lowlands. Here are almost all her great cities, industries, and
monuments. In this region, and not in the Highlands, Scotland’s two
greatest, or at least most famous, men were born and reared, and here
are the cities, which are “the hope of democracy.” In fact, the Celtic
Scots never produced a distinct civilization of their own. The Celts,
with all their charming traits and bold achievements, have nowhere
brought to perfection this composite flower of history.
For purposes of research in libraries, enjoyment in rambles from a
convenient centre, and for the study of all classes of the people in
town and country, on moors and by the sea, we chose Dundee as the seat
of our summer sojourns, seven in number from 1891 to 1913. There in
Scottish homes and with companions in plenty, both native and imported,
for picnics, tramps, river excursions, and historical explorations,
near and far, whether on foot, awheel, by horse, boat, or motor-car,
our memories focus on “Scotia’s grandeur,” as well as on “homely joys
and destiny obscure,” and, not least, on personal delights.
Before reaching Dundee, the American in Scotland must visit the ancient
capital of her kings, Dunfermline, which is on the road thither.
Birthplace of “the librarian of the universe,” Andrew Carnegie, and
enriched by him with munificent gifts, from money made in the United
States, we shall by visiting Dunfermline pay our respects to Scotland’s
ancient glories while renewing home memories.
The city lies in the “ancient kingdom” and modern County of Fife,
probably of all Scottish shires the richest in striking monastic,
feudal, and palatial ruins. Within its borders are Roman, Celtic,
and early Christian and mediæval remains. Its name has no relation
to a musical instrument, although the screaming tube of military
association, comrade of the drum, seems an appropriate symbol for a
region so long identified with war. The Tay and the Leven Rivers,
within its borders, are famous in song and story, and within the bounds
of Fife lie Cupar, St. Andrew’s, Dunfermline, Falkland, Lindores,
Kirkcaldy, Burntisland, Crail, and Dysart, all of historical interest.
One who is curious to get at the linguistic secrets locked up in
Scottish names calls in the aid of the Celtic scholar and learns that
the word, “Dunfermline,” when dissected, yields the meaning, “The
Castle of the Winding Stream,” or, more precisely, “The Fort on the
Crooked Linn,” the latter word meaning a waterfall between two rocks.
When, however, we search into the origin of Fife, the county’s name, we
find it to be of Frisian origin; that is, only another form of “Fibh,”
which, in Jutland, means “forest.” In the fourth century, when the folk
from the Continent were crossing the German Ocean and settling on the
island, they gave the newfound woody land a descriptive name true to
the facts.
Situated three miles from the water and rising above the level of
the Firth, upon a long swelling ridge, Dunfermline is an imposing
place. Here, in 1070, King Malcolm Canmore founded an abbey for the
Benedictine monks, whom his English Queen Margaret had brought from
Canterbury. Dunfermline brings up many memories of this noble queen, to
whose influence, greater probably than that of any other one person,
Bonnie Scotland owes so much of its civilization.
In a sense, the town, though showing little of royal grandeur, contains
Scotland’s Westminster Abbey. Dunfermline Abbey, besides being one of
the most important remains in Scotland, has, except Iona, received
more of Scotland’s royal dead than any other place in the kingdom. Not
only were the sovereigns David, James, and Charles born within the
old castle walls, but here rest the bodies of Malcolm Canmore, Queen
Margaret, Edgar, Alexander I, David I, Malcolm the Maiden, Alexander
III, Robert the Bruce, his queen Elizabeth and his nephew Randolph,
Anabella, queen of Robert III, and Robert, Duke of Albany.
[Illustration: THE MONASTERY, DUNFERMLINE ABBEY]
Who has not read how Robert Burns knelt down and kissed, with a poet’s
fervor, the broad flagstone over the grave of Robert the Bruce? What
boy has not spoken the piece, “Scots whom Bruce has often led”? In 1821
when building the new modern edifice, they opened the tomb of Robert
the Bruce and found his skeleton entire. The evidence of its being his
consisted mainly in the fact that the breastbone was sawn asunder, in
order to reach the heart, which had been extracted. The remains were
re-interred with fitting pomp below the pulpit of the new church. In
1891, to bestow more honor on Scotland’s hero, the pulpit was moved
back and a monumental brass inserted in the floor to indicate the
royal vault. The tomb of St. Margaret and Malcolm, which was within
the ruined walls of the Lady chapel, was restored and enclosed at
the command of Queen Victoria. The nave of the abbey church was of
noble proportions, but of the abbey itself, only portions of the
refectory, tower, and arched gateway remain. The devastating reformers
of March, 1560, spared the nave, which served as a parish house of
worship until the nineteenth century. Now it forms the vestibule of the
new edifice.
Another interesting ruin is part of the palace of the Stuart kings,
overhanging the romantic glen of Pittencrief. It is a noble wreck,
showing massive flying buttresses. The last royal tenant of the palace
was Charles II, who occupied it just before marching south to the
battle and rout of Worcester in 1651. Within its walls also he signed
the National League and Covenant.
Dunfermline has a long ecclesiastical history. The first settlers
in this place, who brought news of an unseen world, other than
that inhabited by those who sought the Eternal through the Druids,
were the Culdees. Then followed the Celtic, Anglican, and modern
forms of religion. In Dunfermline arose also the modern Dissenters,
Ralph Erskine and Thomas Gillespie, who added a new variety of
Presbyterianism to the many forms already existing, though the
religious bodies which they founded are now one, under the name of
“United Presbyterians,” whose influence, in both Scotland and America,
has been so notable.
In one sense, Andrew Carnegie, “the star-spangled Scotchman,” is the
most celebrated of all Dunfermline’s sons, as he is certainly her
greatest benefactor. He gave to his birthplace its Free Library, its
public baths, and the estate of Pittencrief Park and Glen, together
with bonds yielding $100,000 a year, in trust, for the maintenance of
the park, a theatre, the promotion of horticulture among the working
classes, periodical exhibitions of works of art and science, and the
encouragement of technical education in the district.
The visiting American feels proud that this once poor Scottish boy,
without favor, rank, patrons, or special opportunities, having amassed
his wealth in the United States, has used it so generously all over the
world--a type of America’s mission. I have seen and met Mr. Carnegie
on many occasions, at public dinners, as guest of honor, or presiding
at famous celebrations, notably when the double centenary of the birth
of Benjamin Franklin was celebrated by the Pennsylvania University, in
Witherspoon Hall, in Philadelphia. I remember that, in bestowing upon
a lady recipient of a learned degree her diploma, he nearly demolished
her chignon. Nevertheless, the canny Scot seemed greater in redeeming
his fault than even in doing successfully mightier things--the mark
of a master of men. One of the strongest points in the career of the
bonnie ironmaster has ever been his power to neutralize the possible
evil effects of an error, whether that were a downright blunder or a
mistake in judgment. No one is more fertile in those resources, which
negative what might, with an ordinary man, become a calamity.
I last met this optimist at Cornell University, to which he had come
to see and hear the grand organ in Bailey Hall, which he, through
Dr. Andrew D. White, had presented to the New York State College of
Agriculture. The gates of hell had already been opened beyond sea, and
international insanity--the chronic disease of Europe--was covering the
plains of Belgium with blood and corpses. I asked Mr. Carnegie whether
he was not discouraged, since, after all these years of his working
diligently for peace, war had again broken out. “Discouraged?” said he,
with vehemence. “Don’t know the meaning of the word.” Long live Andrew,
with his incorrigible and invincible optimism!
In this historic city my thoughts were mostly of Queen Margaret, the
gentle conqueror of the Scottish people, and one of the greatest of
all women born in Britain. When, after the battle of Hastings in 1066,
the Saxon King Edgar fled into Scotland, with his two sisters, King
Malcolm Canmore took Margaret, styled “the Beautiful,” for his wife,
and was wedded at Dunfermline. Her husband, in 1093, refusing to be
a vassal of the South, and indignant at his reception by Rufus at
Gloucester, returned home. He then invaded England, only to be met and
slain, together with his son, at Alnwick. This double blow, coming
in a moment of ill health, was too much for Margaret, and she died in
Edinburgh Castle. In the violence of the times, when Celt and Saxon
were ever at war, her body may have been in danger of outrage. So
her corpse was quietly conveyed, by way of the West Port of the then
walled city, under cover of a mist, and without ceremony was removed to
Dunfermline.
One sometimes wonders why the history of Ireland and of Scotland,
especially in their relations to the larger island, England, are so
different, notwithstanding that the same race of men so largely peopled
the two countries. Yet, if we look down the long perspective of the
centuries, we see how the political winds, which were so harsh to
Ireland, were so tempered to Scotland.
In “the Pope’s Green Isle,” nearly all the changes that have been
wrought by the English or Normans came in the wake of conquest and the
sword; whereas in Scotland, the new ideas and institutions introduced
by the Anglo-Normans entered slowly by infiltration. The potency of
initial changes, in the one case, was that of man; in the other, of
woman. It was an English queen, with her English children, who wrought
gently but surely the reforms which brought Scotland in harmony with
the civilization of Europe. Queen Margaret’s life was one long ministry
of reconciliation of Celt and Saxon mainly in direct service of her
people, through religion, in both theory and practice. She was a saint
in reality as well as by canon.
In Ireland, even in the Church, there were, beside a heritage of hate,
a Celtic and an Anglo-Norman party always at one another’s throats or
reputations. From such legacies of bitterness Scotland was happy enough
to escape because it was through a wise woman’s wit and tact that the
initial changes were gently and gradually made. It is no wonder that
the Scots, as well as the office of canonization, call her “Saint”
Margaret.