INVERGOWRIE: IN SCOTTISH HOMES
We have many times and in many countries proved the measure of truth
that is contained in the quatrain which William Shenstone wrote upon
the window of a hostel:--
“Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round,
Where’er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.”
The American traveller can also agree in part with Dr. Johnson that
“there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much
happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn,” yet who, except
Leighton, that sunny soul, the principal of Edinburgh University,--who
was “not militant enough to please his fierce co-presbyters,”--could
say “that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn”?
Our experiences of Scottish hotels, “temperance,” “hydro,” ordinary,
fashionable, rural, rustic, and what not, were almost invariably
pleasant, and our hosts were honest in their dealings; yet in the many
British homes in which we were guests the welcome was so warm and the
care taken of us so thorough, thoughtful, and minute, that Shenstone’s
verse seems to have in it more verbal music than experimental reality.
Leighton’s wish seems strange, indeed, especially in the light of
memory, when sickness, apparently nigh unto the bourne of life, proved
the depth of Scottish hospitality and friendship.
Yet of all the pictures of either the stately or the modest homes
of Scotland, which now hang in the gallery of memory, none exceeds
in beauty and charm those of the home at Invergowrie, where we were
several times guests. Here was a typical Scottish family of character
and culture. Father and mother were in the prime of life, health, and
manifold activities. Around them had grown up a family of sons and
daughters, from the youngest, a blooming maiden of eighteen, educated
in Germany and at Brussels, to the eldest son, who, besides being
active in business, was an officer in the local volunteer artillery
corps. At night he loved to put on his Highland suit for comfort and
enjoyment, as we chatted with his friends on British and American
politics. One of these talks, in the billiard-room, was soon after
President Cleveland had issued his strenuous proclamation concerning
Venezuela, when British feelings were hurt and when a combination of
tact, some knowledge of history, and of the political and personal
motives of American Presidents was necessary to the guest and
peacemaker.
The Invergowrie family honored the American in Scotland more than
once by inviting, to the dinners given in his honor, the professional
gentlemen of the neighborhood and from Dundee.
While in Scotland one must beware of what toes he is likely to tread
upon, should he nurse opinions differing from those welcomed by people
holding any of the various shades of Presbyterianism, whom he will
probably meet anywhere and everywhere. It was in Scotland, above every
other country, that we learned what it meant to “mind your p’s,” yet
our hope is that we succeeded measurably. The garden parties, in
which the young people had their fun and amusement, the five o’clock
teas, at which the ladies of the neighborhood dropped in for chat and
friendly calls, were as delightful to enjoy as they are now pleasant to
recall. Yet, as in the United States the county fair excels all other
inventions and facilities for seeing the real, average American, so I
valued most, for intimate knowledge of the Scottish populace of all
grades and ages, the local exhibitions, “bazaars,” and gatherings.
To be present, as we often were, to see the modern version of
“The Cotter’s Saturday Night,”--though in this version we mean a
luxurious home, with all the appointments of comfort, culture, and
of service,--crowned all delights. This social situation in Scotland
is necessarily different from that in America, where, in the cities
at least, native-born maidens so rarely take domestic service in
families. With our composite people, also, there is usually such a
disagreement as to the theories of the universe, as taught by priest,
parson, and rabbi, that worship of the same God by all, at one time,
in the same way, and in one household, seems impossible. The head of
the house or the mistress holds usually to one form of dogma or ritual,
while the servants have been reared in an atmosphere so very different
that family worship, with the “help” joining in or present, is, to
say the least, not customary in “the land of the free.” Occasionally
British visitors, who imagine that the very mixed people called
Americans are descended chiefly from insular instead of continental
stock, like the late James Anthony Froude when in New York city, for
instance, make disagreeable discoveries. At times, in our democracy the
kitchen rules the parlor.
At Invergowrie, as in a score or more of homes on the island in which
I have been so often a guest, the two or three maids and perhaps a
man-servant came in with their Bibles and read, with the children of
the household, the Word which is above every other word--the Father’s
message to his children. Where there was but one servant, the same rule
usually held. At Invergowrie, besides a chapter of Scripture and a
prayer by the father, the high priest of the family, the older son read
one of the Psalms in Rous’s metrical version.
The breakfast in Scotland, as in the British Isles generally, is one
that suits admirably the free-born Briton. It is certainly a festival
of freedom for the servants, who are usually apt to be upstairs or
attending to other domestic duties, though in a large family, the
members of which sit down at the same time, there is usually one
maid present to wait upon the table. At several places where I was
entertained, even in well-to-do families, the grown sons and daughters
or members of the household came and went at their convenience, helping
themselves at will from dishes on a sideboard. After the table has been
laid by one of the maids, who may or may not remain present, it may
be that the elder daughter serves. At Invergowrie there was a large,
normal family, consisting of parents and children, with sufficient
uniformity of dispositions and habits to make both the breakfast and
the dinner time a delightful gathering, with merriment and leisure.
The news of the day, the happenings of the neighborhood, the things
alike and different as between Scotland and America, the annals of
the village fair, or the social chat, or those pleasant nothings that
lubricate life, made the moments pass all too rapidly.
That father benign and mother of imposing presence have been long laid
to sleep; but in London, and Edinburgh, and Dundee, in the world at
large, live yet these sons and daughters of “Bonnie Scotland” who have
made the Americans’ memories of their lovely home in their home land a
storehouse of delight.
Besides the private grounds of the home, with their trees and
shrubbery, there were walks that afforded plenty of room for rambles.
Still farther afield, yet not far away from either the house or the
railway station, were ruins of Dargie Church. These touched the
imagination and called history to resurrection. It appeared strange
to come across the footprints of our old friend St. Winifred, or
Boniface, whom we met with in our studies of the Pilgrim Fathers, and
in the Netherlands, whose varied and strenuous life, as ecclesiastical
politician as well as saint and soldier of the Papacy, quite as much as
preacher of the gospel, was one of such amazing activity. At Scrooby
in England, at Dokkum in Friesland, in France and in Germany, where I
visited the places made historic by his activities, he left enduring
marks of his influence and power.
At Invergowrie I meditated among the ruins of the old kirk, in which,
or near by, it is said, St. Boniface, the apostle to Germany and a
legate from the Church of Rome, in the eighth century preached and
planned to neutralize the work of the Irish monks in favor of British
uniformity, and by means of conformity with Rome. Here also are still
to be seen some singular examples of ancient sculptured stone monuments.
In 1107, Alexander I, son of Margaret of England, had a residence at
Invergowrie, which, however, he did not long possess, for assassination
was so much of a pastime with many and a settled custom with a few
in those days, that, after having escaped the dirk only by a narrow
margin, he left Invergowrie, built a church at Scone, and then turned
over the property he left behind him for its support.
I recall that it was at the last of our visits and entertainment at
Invergowrie, which was in 1900, after the ladies had left the dinner
table and the gentlemen adjourned to the billiard-room for a smoke,
the conversation turned on the next European war, and the possible
relations of Great Britain and the United States in the alignment of
friends, foes, allies, and neutrals. One prominent Dundeean confessed
himself not so much exasperated, as hurt, by President Cleveland’s
sharp method of reasserting the Monroe Doctrine, in regard to the
boundary of Venezuela. From our town of Ithaca, the two scholars,
the ex-president of Cornell University and Professor George Burr,
had been summoned to consult archives, rectify boundaries, and help
keep the peace. After the American in Scotland had emptied his cruse
of oil upon the waters, by explaining some of the ins and outs of
American politics, the conversation drifted to regions across the North
Sea--the growth of the Kaiser’s navy, the salient features of German
politics, and the reports, then very direct from the Fatherland, that
the “Kultur” of the twentieth century required that “England [Great
Britain] needed to be taught a lesson.” The hope was warmly expressed
that, in the coming clash,--then looked for to come before many
years,--the sympathy, and even aid, if necessary, of “the States” would
be forthcoming. With American friendliness and the possession of the
coaling-stations of the world, it was believed that the United Kingdom
could withstand the coming shock and recover triumphantly.
More than once, at these social conferences with Scotsmen, as well as
in the press, I noted the indignation, even anger, expressed, that in
all national affairs it was “England” and “the English” that took and
received the credit for what belonged to the four nations making up the
United Kingdom. The claim was for a more liberal use of “Britain” and
“British” in place of “England” and “English.” Both Scotch and Irish,
to say nothing of the Welsh, resent the assumption that “England” is
the British Empire. In a word, the great need of the language used
in the British archipelago is a common name for the federated four
countries and for all the subjects of the Crown. Here is an instance
of the priceless value of right words. The absence of an acceptable
comprehensive term is a real impediment to patriotism and an obstacle
to perfect union. The fault is in language, not in the human spirit.
The situation reinforces the argument that “words are things.”
We Americans can throw no stones. Canadians, Mexicans, the southern
republics below Panama, all challenge our right to the monopoly of
“America” and “Americans.” Language lags behind events.
When at last, in 1914, the great war did come, and the storm broke,
no part of the Empire responded more quickly, generously, fully than
Scotland, nor did any courage or sacrifice exceed that of the Scots;
yet, not only was the credit usually given to “England,” but even the
prayer of hate, made in Germany, chose “England” as its butt. Yet while
Scottish valor and sacrifice and Irish courage and free-will offerings
of life on the field and waves are unstinted, who can blame the poet,
nay, who does not say “amen,” to his lines, in the Glasgow “Herald,”
written in the closing days of 1915?
“The ‘English’ navy in its might
Is out upon the main;
The ‘English’ army--some in kilts--
Is at the front again;
The dogs of war are loosened
And gathering to the fray,
But the British ships and British troops--
I wonder where are they?
“When blood has flowed like water,
And ’midst the heaps of slain
Lie stalwart Scot and brawny Celt
Who victory help to gain,
The glory will be ‘England’s,’
Like every other thing;
’Tis ‘England’ this and ‘England’ that--
Flag, navy, army, king.
“Still let Scots do their duty
In Britain’s day of war;
A greater cause than ‘England’s’
Nerves Scottish hearts by far.
For Britain and the empire
We Scotsmen draw the sword,
And not like hired mercenaries,
As if ‘England’ were our lord.”
During this trial of the soul of a nation, in the wager of battle, to
decide whether truth is worth living and dying for and whether solemn
compacts are as torn paper--we catch a glimpse of a great part of the
nation at prayer.
It is in St. Giles’s Church, Edinburgh, that the General Assembly of
the Church of Scotland holds its annual sessions and the function is
made decidedly spectacular, as is supposed to become a State Church.
For two hundred and twenty-five years, the meeting has been held
without interruption. In the brilliant procession, the Lord High
Chancellor, as representative of the king, takes part, and usually a
regiment of the garrison troops adds color and a show of worldly might
to the spectacle. Few elements appropriate to the day are omitted, for
this is the august assembly of the “Church established by law.” In
the spring of 1914, the full strength of the Cameron Highlanders was
paraded.
[Illustration: FOR THE WHOLE WORLD
(The Edinburgh Conference of Missions)]
But in 1915, after the gates of hell had been fully opened on the
Continent, swallowing up, it is said, from one regiment, by death and
wounds, no fewer than nine hundred of the Cameron Highlanders, leaving
but one hundred unwounded survivors, the meeting was more than usual
like a gathering of the ministers of the Prince of Peace. The king’s
representative on this occasion, the Earl of Aberdeen, was dressed in
a soldier’s service uniform of khaki and the military escort as guard
of honor was a corps of cadets. The interior phenomena were equally
impressive. Men cared little for debate and turned constantly to prayer
and intercession. The high-water mark of interest in the proceedings
was on Foreign Mission Day. Then a strong note of optimism appeared
regarding that work, in comparison with the depression felt as to
other interests of the Church. It was in Edinburgh that the world-wide
conference upon missions was held in 1913, whose influence is still
felt throughout the whole earth.
Perhaps some thoughts turned to the words of the Almighty to Job, “And
the Lord turned the captivity of Job, when he prayed for his friends.”
Be this as it may, can we not all abide in hope that the ultimate
history of “Bonnie Scotland” will follow that of Job--“Also the Lord
gave Job twice as much as he had before.”