BALMORAL
If the cry for vital being--
‘Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant,
More life, and fuller, that I want’--
ever came from Norman Macleod, it was answered only too well; like a
certain prayer for rain, which was interrupted by a ridiculous flood.
Not only were his activities immense and various, but there was always
an expenditure of corresponding emotion; nay, and what in the life of
most men would have been simply an event was in his a crisis, what was
a fleeting image with others was with him an indelible impression.
He was summoned to the unique ordeal of ministering to the
newly-widowed Queen.
About twenty years before, during a visit to the West of Scotland,
Her Majesty had for the first time attended a presbyterian service,
on which occasion the preacher was Norman Macleod, the high priest of
the Highlands and minister of St. Columba’s. His son first appeared
at Balmoral in 1854. The invitation of the minister of Crathie he
had refused (having in hand a special service at the Barony), but was
informed that it had been sent at the instance of Her Majesty. He
preached without any notes a sermon never fully written out, which he
had delivered fifteen times. The Queen wrote in her Journal: ‘We went
to kirk as usual at twelve o’clock. The service was performed by the
Rev. Norman M’Leod of Glasgow, son of Dr. M’Leod, and anything finer
I never heard. The sermon, entirely extempore, was quite admirable:
so simple, and yet so eloquent, and so beautifully argued and put.
The text was from the account of the coming of Nicodemus to Christ by
night, St. John, chapter iii. Mr. M’Leod showed in the sermon how we
_all_ tried to please _self_, and live for _that_, and in so doing
found no rest. Christ had come not only to die for us, but to show us
how we were to live. The second prayer was very touching: his allusions
to us were so simple, saying after his mention of us, “Bless their
children.” It gave me a lump in my throat, as also when he prayed for
“the dying, the wounded, the widow, and the orphans.” Every one came
back delighted: and how satisfactory it is to come back from church
with such feelings! The servants and the Highlanders--_all_--were
equally delighted.’
In the evening he was sitting on a block of granite within the grounds,
when he was aroused by a voice asking whether he was the clergyman who
had preached that day, and found himself in the presence of the Queen
and the Prince Consort. This was his first meeting with Her Majesty,
and it was only for a moment.
On the next occasion, two years later, he dined with the royal family,
and afterwards had some conversation with the Queen; referring to
which he says, ‘I never spoke my mind more frankly to anyone who was
a stranger and not on an equal footing.’ This he did, because he
perceived that Her Majesty was anxious to go to the root and reality of
things, and abhorred all shams. His sermons had a peculiar fascination
for the Queen. Of the recorded estimates of Macleod’s preaching, that
of Victoria, if the warmest, is not the least discerning, and will be a
telling memorial when the sermons are forgotten.
The Prince Consort died at the close of the year 1861. In the May
following, the Queen came to Balmoral. She sent for Norman Macleod.
What a moment! How was he to deal with stricken Majesty--
‘Her over all whose realms to their last isle
The shadow of a loss drew like eclipse,
Darkening the world’?
It was purely as a minister of religion that he had the honour of his
sovereign’s command. The truth of God, as he believed it, the same
message which a hundred times he had spoken to bereaved wives in the
lowliest homes, that, and nothing other, would he carry to the royal
widow, whom he should regard only as ‘an immortal being, a sister in
humanity.’ Their first meeting was at divine service, and if the
occasion was a trying one to the preacher, it was evidently exciting
to the Queen. ‘Hurried to be ready,’ so runs the royal Journal, ‘for
the service which Dr. Macleod was kindly going to perform. And a little
before ten, I went down with Lenchen and Affie (Alice being still in
bed unwell) to the dining-room, in which I had not yet been.... And
never was service more beautifully, touchingly, simply, and tenderly
performed.... The sermon, entirely extempore, was admirable, all upon
affliction, God’s love, our Saviour’s sufferings, which God would not
spare Him, the blessedness of suffering in bringing us nearer to our
eternal home, where we should all be together, and where our dear ones
were gone on before us.... The children and I were much affected on
coming upstairs.’ After dinner he was summoned to the Queen’s room,
and there, after some conversation about the Prince, he told about
an old woman in the Barony who had lost her husband and several of
her children, and who, on being asked how she had been able to bear
her many sorrows, replied, ‘When _he_ was ta’en it made sic a hole in
my heart that a’ other sorrows gang lichtly through.’ When Macleod
recalled this period, he would express the whole burden of it in the
solemn murmur, ‘_That May_.’ He has written: ‘God enabled me to speak
in public and private to the Queen in such a way as seemed to me to be
the truth, the truth in God’s sight--that which I believed she needed,
though I felt it would be very trying to her spirit to receive it. And
what fills me with deepest thanksgiving is that she has received it,
and written to me such a kind, tender letter of thanks, which shall be
treasured in my heart while I live.’
In the spring of the following year he was for several days a guest
at Windsor. ‘I walked,’ he says, ‘with Lady Augusta to the mausoleum
to meet the Queen. She had the key and opened it herself, undoing
the bolts; and alone we entered, and stood in solemn silence beside
Marochetti’s beautiful statue of the Prince.’
With the royal family he was both a social favourite and a trusted
counsellor. To Prince Alfred, who seemed to be particularly attached
to him, he once gave this advice,--that ‘if he did God’s will, good
and able men would rally round him; otherwise flatterers would truckle
to him and ruin him, while caring only for themselves.’ Both sons and
daughters, when residing on the Continent, had flying visits from this
chaplain. One Monday he left Glasgow for Windsor; thence, on royal
errands, he proceeded to Bonn and Darmstadt; he was back at Windsor on
the Friday: and on the Sunday following, it may be added, he preached
three times in the Barony Church.
The Prince of Wales (with whom he sometimes stayed at Abergeldie) once
put in a plea for short sermons. Said the Doctor, ‘I am a Thomas à
Becket and resent the interference of the State’; and sure enough, at
the first opportunity, he preached for three-quarters of an hour, only
so well that His Royal Highness wished it had been longer. To show how
much he was thought of at Court, it may be mentioned that one day he
was at Inverness to meet the Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia, the
next (which was a Saturday) at Balmoral, and for half of the following
week with Prince Alfred at Holyrood. But here is the crowning instance:
‘The Queen sat down to spin at a nice Scotch wheel, while I read Robert
Burns to her, _Tam o’ Shanter_ and _A man’s a man for a’ that_, her
favourite.’
Her Majesty never forgot what Dr. Macleod had been to her in the
time of her desolation, but extended her confidence, nor failed to
take an interest in his personal cares. Some of the truest and most
touching words ever written of Norman Macleod are from the pen of Queen
Victoria.