John Patrick, Third Marquess of Bute, K.T. (1847-1900), a Memoir

by Sir David Oswald Hunter Blair

CHAPTER XII

PLUSCARDEN—BUTE AS ARCHITECT—PSYCHICAL
INTERESTS—CONCLUSION

1898-1900

The latest addition made by Bute to his large landed possessions in Scotland was one which on several accounts was the source of much interest to him during the last years of his life. Just as the chief attraction of Falkland, which he purchased in 1887, had been the fact that it included the ancient royal palace and its hereditary Keepership, so the principal inducement to him to acquire, as he did in 1897 from the Earl of Fife, the Morayshire estate of Pluscarden, was that he thereby came into possession also of one of the most beautiful and interesting ecclesiastical relics in Scotland.[[1]] This was the roofless church, as well as considerable remains of the domestic buildings, of Pluscarden Priory, founded by King Alexander III. seven centuries before for monks of the little-known Order of the Cabbage-valley.[[2]] In the middle of the fifteenth century Pluscarden had passed into Benedictine possession; and connected with this change of ownership were several architectural problems of the kind which it always interested Bute to attempt to solve. He had a dislike of the word "restoration," as applied to ancient edifices which were, and still are, so often spoiled in the process; but he expended much time and care, and not inconsiderable sums of money, in putting the different portions of the venerable buildings—choir, chapter-house, dormitory, and calefactory—into such repair as was possible. He was deeply moved and gratified at being able to arrange, in the summer of 1898, for the celebration of Mass (the first for fully three hundred years) by a Scottish Benedictine monk, in the perfectly-preserved oratory of the prior's lodgings.

PLUSCARDEN PRIORY.

It was characteristic of Bute's scrupulous regard for tradition and order, that before taking possession of Pluscarden he applied to Rome, through the Bishop of Aberdeen, for a sanatio, in other words, a sanction of his acquisition of the property of the Church, and asked if he should, as a preliminary step, give the refusal of the buildings to the Benedictines of Fort Augustus. A reply was received in September, 1897, from Cardinal Ledochowski, Prefect of the Congregation of Propaganda, to the effect that such an offer was not necessary, and that the great benefactions already made by Lord Bute to the Catholic Church were to be considered as ample compensation.

Building achievements

Pluscarden Priory was the last, and to himself not the least interesting, of the many ancient and historic buildings to the maintenance of which Bute was in a position to apply his profound archæological knowledge as well as the architectural skill and taste which made him, as it was expressed by one well qualified to pronounce an opinion, "the best unprofessional architect of his generation." It will be appropriate in this place to give a brief conspectus of the principal building operations which he undertook in the course of the thirty-two years between his coming of age and his too early death.

The restoration and partial rebuilding of Cardiff Castle was the earliest work of the kind undertaken by Bute. The lofty tower conspicuous on the southwest of the castle enclosure, the restoration of the great southern curtain wall, with its covered way, and the erection of the noble staircase were among the most important of his building operations at Cardiff, which included also the discovery and partial restoration of the old Roman walls and gateway, the re-excavation of the moat, and the clearing and re-marking the sites of the mediæval friaries of the Dominicans and Franciscans. Most of the work at Cardiff was carried out under the direction of the distinguished architect William Burges, who was responsible for the whole of the fanciful and elaborate interior decoration both of the castle and of Castell Coch, the thirteenth-century fortress some five miles north of Cardiff. This castle, which was in a completely ruined condition, was restored by Bute, under Burges's direction, to its original state; and experts in such works have pronounced it one of the most perfect restorations ever carried out.

Two anecdotes of Burges, whose personality and genius were both somewhat of the eccentric order, may be here related on the authority of a distinguished and venerable member of his own profession, who knew him well. Bute invited him to come and see his new house at Mountstuart, then nearly complete, and took him into the great drawing-room, where he called his attention to the ceiling with its lining of panelled mirrors, on which were painted clusters of grapes and vine-leaves. Burges looked up, shrugged his shoulders, muttered "I call that damnable," and walked on.

Burges was accustomed to keep with him in his office a favourite terrier, which made itself occasionally disagreeable to visitors who called. When it was pointed out that the effect of this might be to keep away possible clients, Burges only grumbled out, "A good thing too! I have far too many as it is." Once a sporting friend came in to see him, bringing his own terrier, which he boasted was the best ratter in the country. Burges would not hear of this, and the matter was at once put to the test. The office-boy was sent out to some neighbouring purlieu for a sack of rats: a rat-pit was extemporised out of drawing-boards, architectural folios, and other paraphernalia of the office; and an elderly and distinguished client who chanced to call, intent on business, found the rat-hunt in full cry, and the eminent architect and his friend in their shirt-sleeves, hallooing on their respective champions to the slaughter.

Restorations in Bute

Bute contributed handsomely to the restoration funds of such historic edifices as St. John's Church at Cardiff and others on his Glamorgan estate; and he re-roofed and put in complete repair the small twelfth-century church of Cogan, near Cardiff, which had fallen into decay. It may be of interest, in this connection, to quote a letter which he addressed to his brother-in-law and fellow-Catholic, Lord Merries, who had consulted him as to the propriety of his subscribing to the restoration fund of Selby Abbey, which had been in great part destroyed by fire:

The question is one of some delicacy; but its solution is facilitated by the circular which you have sent me, which specifies various objects for which subscriptions are invited. I can only advise you in accordance with my own practice in such matters. You may reasonably decline to provide such adjuncts or accessories to Anglican worship as pulpits and litany-desks, service-books and altar-cloths, lecterns and candlesticks. But to give a donation towards the actual rebuilding of a most venerable monument of Christian piety (which your ancestors probably helped originally to erect) is a thing which, I conceive, you may very properly do—and all the more so in view of your official connection with the county.[[3]]

Bute's native and titular island, which within its comparatively small area contains perhaps as many interesting remains of feudal and ecclesiastical antiquity as any district in the kingdom, afforded him, of course, many opportunities of applying his archæological and architectural knowledge to the congenial task of repairing and preserving these venerable fragments of the past. Prominent among them is the ruined eleventh-century castle in the middle of Rothesay, of which Bute was hereditary keeper, and of which he restored the gateway, drawbridge, and moat, clearing away the mean modern tenements abutting on the castle, and also re-building and re-roofing the great hall. The ruined church of St. Blane, also of the eleventh century, was likewise partially restored by Bute four years before his death, when a large number of interesting objects were discovered among the foundations of the early Celtic buildings.[[4]] Bute also restored the ancient castle of Wester Kames, and rebuilt the wall round the venerable chapel of St. Michael in North Bute, to preserve it from further depredations.

The greatest architectural enterprise undertaken by Bute in his native island, or, indeed, anywhere else, was the erection, from the designs of Mr. (afterwards Sir Robert) Rowand Anderson, of the palatial house of Mountstuart, which replaced the plain old mansion burned down in 1877. This great pile of pink sandstone, with its curious upper storey of brick and oak, vast marble hall and staircase, high-pitched roofs, corbelled oriel windows, and beautiful private chapel with vaulted crypt, was begun in 1879, and at Bute's death twenty-one years later was still unfinished. His characteristic slowness in completing any architectural work which absorbed him is treated of, with much else of interest in the same connection, by Sir R. Rowand Anderson in his valuable appreciation of Bute in his relation to architecture and architects.[[5]]

Work at Falkland Palace

Bute's acquisition in 1887 of the estate of Falkland, carrying with it the hereditary keepership of the ancient royal palace, gave him even more scope than Mountstuart for indulging what some one once designated his "passion for stone and lime," or, as the phrase would run in England, for bricks and mortar. Falkland appealed to him not only as an architect, but as an antiquarian. The varied beauty of its sadly-dilapidated buildings, and the long and romantic story of the palace and its occupants, were to him of equally absorbing interest. He spared neither time nor money in his work of restoring the historic pile to something of its ancient grandeur; and it was said that for a number of years he devoted the whole available income of the estate to his building operations at the palace. The corridors and floors were laid with oak and teak; many of the rooms were elaborately panelled in oak, and their ceilings emblazoned with heraldic and other devices; while in the Chapel Royal, the royal pew and ancient pulpit, and the magnificent oaken screen, were completely and carefully restored.[[6]] Besides the costly interior work, mostly in the main or southern block, Bute executed much judicious excavation in and about the palace; and it was a great satisfaction to him to discover in the garden the foundations of the great twelfth-century round tower, dating from the time when Falkland was in the possession of the Earls of Fife. Another interesting work was the restoration of the old royal tennis-court, which Bute was accustomed to say had been, he believed, last used for play in the reign of James V., the father of Mary Queen of Scots.

Mention has already been made of Bute's purchase of the site and remains of the Augustinian priory of St. Andrews, where he did a great deal of careful excavation and made many valuable discoveries. At Elgin, too, as has been seen, he was able to acquire the interesting old monastery and church of the Greyfriars; and it was a particular happiness to him, as it has been also to his youngest son, who inherited his property in the county of Elgin, that this unpretending sanctuary—now a convent of Sisters of Mercy—should have been once again, after more than three centuries, made available for the religious worship to which it was originally dedicated.

1899, Catholicity of taste

It is unnecessary, even were it possible, to give anything like a catalogue raisonné of Bute's less important architectural achievements. For more than thirty years, in the graphic phrase cited by one of the most distinguished members of the profession, "his hands were never out of the mortar-tub." No one familiar with the multitudinous and varied work executed under his immediate supervision during those years could fail to be struck by the catholicity of his taste, as well as by his curious and detailed knowledge of all architectural styles and periods. The feudal massiveness of Cardiff and Castell Coch, of Rothesay Castle and Mochrum, the graceful Gothic of Pluscarden, the Franciscan austerity of Elgin, the rich Renaissance and Jacobean details of Falkland, the Byzantine perfection of Sancta Sophia (copied by him in miniature at Galston)—all these appealed to him, each in its degree, with equal interest and force; and this catholicity of taste was reflected not only in the new buildings which he raised, but in the ancient buildings which he repaired, re-roofed, or restored with such careful reverence. Every detail of such work was personally supervised by himself; and he would be equally at home, and equally absorbed, in working out an heraldic design for the roof of an abbey church,[[7]] excavating among the almost shapeless ruins of a mediæval cathedral,[[8]] elaborating a purely Greek scheme of decoration for the oratory of his house in London,[[9]] or studying the details of the Sainte Chapelle at Paris, the upper basilica of Assisi, and the Gothic dome of Zaragoza,[[10]] in order to reproduce something of their varied beauties in his exquisite private chapel at Mountstuart. The transparent honesty which was part of his character was manifested in such restorations as he undertook at Cardiff, Rothesay, and St. Andrews, where at the cost of some æsthetic sacrifice, and often at much added expense (for the materials had sometimes to be brought from afar), he carried out the work in a stone different in colour from the ancient building, so that there should be no possible future confusion between the old and the new. Altogether it must be said that to Bute's other titles of honour is to be added that of a noble patron of a noble art. He enriched his native land with many splendid edifices, and he probably did more than any man of his generation to preserve and secure for posterity the venerable and priceless relics of his country's' past. Cor suum dabat in consummationem operum, et vigilia sua ornabat in perfectionem.[[11]]

One of the last publications issued by Bute (it appeared in 1899) was a book entitled "The Alleged Haunting of B—— House," a curious, if not altogether convincing, account of certain phenomena said to have occurred at a country residence in Perthshire, which Bute had leased for the purpose of psychical investigation. He had always, and more especially in the later years of his life, been attracted by such questions, and was at the time of his death a vice-president of the Society for Psychical Research. He was particularly interested in the subject of second sight, of which he endeavoured to obtain first-hand evidence by instituting inquiries among the Catholic Highlanders of north-west Scotland; but the person whom he commissioned to conduct the inquiry was to a great extent baffled by the insuperable reluctance of the Highlanders to communicate on such matters with a stranger. Bute himself maintained a very open mind as to all such phenomena, although he did not of course dispute their objective possibility. He had a profound distrust of paid and professional mediums, and was fully alive to the physical, moral, and spiritual risks attendant on all such researches unless conducted with due precaution and under proper guidance.

One of the chief ornaments of the judicial bench, who knew Bute well, once observed of him that if his vocation had been to the law, he might have reasonably looked to attain the highest honours of that profession:

Industry, learning, patience, impartiality, capacity for work, a remarkable power of grasping facts and weighing evidence, clearness of expression, and a single-minded desire for truth—if these, combined with a noble presence and a lofty integrity of character, are qualifications for judicial office, Bute possessed them all, and in a high degree.

1899, Effect of psychical study

Such qualities, or most of them, were no doubt equally serviceable when brought to bear on the obscure phenomena of psychical research, which Bute approached with the same unprejudiced detachment as he did the study of astrology, or the problems from the nooks and corners of history with which he loved to grapple. A friend ventured to ask him, not very long before his death, if he grudged the many hours he had devoted to these recondite investigations. He replied emphatically in the negative, adding after a pause: "I cannot conceive any Christian, or, indeed, any believer in life after death, not being painfully and deeply interested in such questions. For my own part, I have never doubted that there is permitted at times a real communication between the dead and the living, but I am bound to say that I have never personally had any first-hand evidence of such communication which I could call absolutely convincing." The last words were spoken with a certain melancholy earnestness which made a deep impression on the hearer. That Bute's interest in these matters had no frightening or depressing effect on himself is shown clearly enough from a note in his diary in which, after referring to his own rapidly-declining health, he adds: "My study of things connected with the S.P.R. has had the effect of very largely robbing death of its terrors."[[12]]

With the resignation of his Lord Rectorship of St. Andrews at the end of his second term of office, Bute's public work may be said to have come to an end. He had, as has been seen, conditionally accepted his re-election as Provost of Rothesay, but as the time drew near his resumption of the office was seen to be impossible. It was, in fact, in August, 1899, three months before the time due for the election, that he was struck down with what proved to be the beginning of his fatal illness. He rallied for a time, and his mind remained as unclouded, and his interest in many things as keen, as they had ever been; but it became before long increasingly evident that there was no prospect of any return to the activities of the past. 1900 was the year of the Passion-play at Ober-Ammergau; and he had always hoped to go thither once again with his family, and to renew in their company the well-remembered impressions made by his three previous visits. When this could not be, he rejoiced that his children were able to make the pilgrimage under the escort of an old friend, and he interested himself in every detail of their journey.

As time passed on, and his weakness increased, reading and writing, which had been the chief solace of his life, were of course no longer possible to him. He suffered little bodily pain during his last illness, but much weariness and depression, which he bore with his usual quiet fortitude and patience; and the gradual declension of his remarkable mental faculties, his keen intellect, vivid imagination, and retentive memory, was (it is a consolation to believe) far less distressing to himself than it was to the devoted watchers at his sick-bed. In the summer of 1900 he was removed to Dumfries House, in the hope that its more bracing air might be beneficial to him. He had always, as has been already remarked, loved the beautiful old home of his Crichton ancestors, which both within and without was one of the most notable works of the brothers Adam, although the amenity of its surroundings had been to some extent spoiled by the numerous coalpits. "Falkland is probably, the most luxurious of my houses," he had once remarked, "but I think Dumfries House is, perhaps, the homeliest of them all." The improvement to his health wrought by this change was unhappily only transient: he grew gradually weaker, and on October 9, 1900, a few hours after being attacked by a second stroke, he quietly breathed his last, being then in the fifty-fourth year of his age.

1900, Death and funeral

Bute was buried, according to his own wish, in the chapel close to the sea, within the grounds of Mountstuart, which he had fitted up some twenty years previously for Catholic worship. The funeral service was all the more impressive because of hired pomp and grandeur there was absolutely none. His coffin, made by his own carpenters, was borne by his own workmen from Dumfries House to the little wayside station, whence it was conveyed to the sea, and thence across the Firth of Clyde to Kilchattan Bay, in Bute, where a great assemblage awaited its arrival, and followed it for nearly five miles on foot, the only carriage being that of the widow. One who was present thus describes the sad procession:

Through the russet and gold of the October woods it passed, preceded by the cross and a long array of bishops and clergy, and followed by the young sons, the Duke of Norfolk, Lords Loudoun, Glasgow, and Herries, and many other notable people. Night was falling as our cortége reached the little chapel on the shore where the remains were to rest; and the pine torches carried by the assistants threw a sombre glare on the coffin, on which were laid a black and gold pall, and the dead peer's coronet and the chain and green velvet mantle of the Thistle. Vespers of the dead were sung: black-robed sisters watched by the bier all night; and next morning the dirge was chanted, the requiem mass celebrated, the five absolutions reserved for prelates and great nobles solemnly pronounced. The single bell tolled from the little turret as the mourners silently dispersed, leaving John Lord Bute to rest in peace within the ivy-covered walls washed by the waves which encircled his island home.

A few days after the last sad rites, Bute's widow, with her daughter and three sons, left England for the Holy Land, in order to carry out his long-cherished desire that his heart should be interred in the sacred soil of Olivet. It was reverently laid in the tiny garden of the Franciscans, outside the humble chapel known as Dominus Flevit—"The Lord wept"—the traditional spot, half-way up the holy mountain, where the Saviour shed tears over the approaching fate of the beloved city. An oleander tree alone marks the place of sepulture; but at the entrance of the little sanctuary is affixed a marble tablet bearing the following inscription:[[13]]

PAX ESTO AETERNA
ANIMAE PIENTISSIMAE
JOANNIS PATRICII MARCHIONIS III DE BUTE
IN SCOTIA
VII ID OCTOBR
ANNO DOMINI MDCCCC
MORTEM IN CHRISTO OBEUNTIS
CUJUS COR
IN TERRAM SANCTAM
SUPREMA TESTAMENTI CAUTIONE
DELATUM
GUENDOLINA CONJUX
IN HORTO
HUIC DOMINUS FLEVIT AEDICULAE
ANNEXO
QUATUOR ADSISTENTIBUS FILIIS
ID NOVEMBR EODEM ANNO
PROPRIIS RELIGIOSE MANIBUS
SEPELIVIT

[[1]] Conversing with a friend not long before his death, Bute thus characteristically referred to the point of view from which he regarded his acquisition of these two interesting estates. "Having bound myself to provide landed property of a certain value for my younger sons, I looked about for places which I might play with during my own life, and leave to them afterwards. Hence Falkland and Pluscarden."

[[2]] The Valliscaulians ("Val des Choux" was the name of their first house, in Burgundy), founded about 1193 by Viard, a Carthusian lay-brother, had about thirty houses, most of them in France. There were none in England, but three in Scotland—Pluscarden, Beauly, and Ardchattan, of which the last two became Cistercian priories a century before the Reformation. The Order dwindled and became finally extinct about thirty years prior to the French Revolution.

[[3]] Lord Merries held the office of Lord-Lieutenant of the East Riding of Yorks from 1880 until his death in 1908.

[[4]] These are described in much detail, and copiously illustrated, in the "Proceedings of the Soc. of Antiq. of Scotland" (vol. x. 3rd series, pp. 307 seq.).

[[5]] This appreciation, specially written by the distinguished architect for the present biography, is given in Appendix V.

[[6]] Lord Bute's second son (and successor as Keeper of Falkland Palace), the late Lieut.-Col. Lord Ninian Stuart, M.P., who fell gallantly in action in 1915, further enriched the Chapel Royal in 1906, by hanging on its walls some magnificent Flemish "verdure" tapestries of the seventeenth century.

[[7]] Paisley.

[[8]] Whithorn.

[[9]] St. John's Lodge.

[[10]] Called by the people the "media naranja," or half orange.

[[11]] "He gave his heart to the consummation of his works, and by his watchful care brought them to perfection."—Ecclesiast. xxxviii. 31.

[[12]] See Mr. F. W. H. Myers' remarkable obituary notice [Appendix VI].

[[13]] Written by Dowager Lady Bute, and translated into Latin at her request by the author of this memoir.

APPENDIX I (p. [2])

ENGLISH PRIZE POEM

(Written by Bute at Harrow School, æt. 15-½.)

Subject: EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE.

(The footnotes are the young author's own)

When the long requiem's assuaging strain
Sounds high and solemn through the holy fane,
And loud and frequent in the darkened pile
The organ's heavy swell is heard the while,
Askest thou, pilgrim stranger, wherefore low,
In prayer unceasing, mournful hundreds bow;
Why choral hymns unceasingly arise,
And thuribles with incense cloud the skies,
While dying tapers glimmer pale and low
Upon the bloodless alabaster brow
That only represents the hero now?
Read sculptured on a grave that royal name,
So often blown abroad by noisy fame:
Yes; low as other men, the caitiff tomb
Has dared to shroud his splendour in its gloom!
Edward, who once the Knight of England shone,
Lies cold and stiff beneath this sculptured stone.
The brilliant Phosphor of a brighter day
Too soon in night is passed for aye away!
The lordly thistle blooms in purple pride;
The shamrock clusters by her sheltering side;[[1]]
And, though from each full many a spray is riven,
Unshaken yet they rise to friendly heaven.
The golden lily, even in her tears,
Full many a flower of vernal promise bears;
The pomegranate hangs fruitful on the tree;
The olive waves o'er many an eastern sea;
And strong beneath her eagle's sable wings
The pine upon her fir-clad mountains clings;
The rose alone, the fairest of them all,[[2]]
Is doomed to see her bud of promise fall!
The green genista's golden bloom is shed,
Her brightest offspring numbered with the dead.
O! plundered flower, O! doubly plundered bloom
Whose fairest fragrance only feeds the tomb!
'Tis said that when upon a rocky shore
The salt sea billows break with muffled roar,
And, launched in mad career, the thundering wave
Leaps booming through the weedy ocean cave;
Each tenth is grander than the nine before,
And breaks with tenfold thunder on the shore.
Alas! it is so on the sounding sea;
But so, O England, it is not with thee!
Thy decuman is broken on the shore:
A peer to him shall lave thee never more!

Ring forth, O mournful harp—no nobler strain
Than this to-day shall e'er be thine again.
See where amid her ruined towns and towers
France broods upon her country's shattered powers.
Ask her his glories—at the fatal name
Her olive cheek grows red with burning shame,
The tear starts flashing to her careworn eye,
She points where stiff and cold her children lie,
Beneath the bloody sod of many a plain,
By victor Edward's dreaded arrows slain;
From where on Cressy's dark and trodden ground
Two kings were slain and princes died around,
To where Limoges' streets ran red with blood,
And lives of thousands fed the crimson flood;
Or where, again, in Poitiers' fatal lane
The flower of all her gay noblesse were slain,
And trodden down amid the gory clay,
In useless valour threw their lives away;
While many a lordly tower and holy spire
Fell blackened ruins to the invader's fire.

But not upon thy fields, O France, alone
Like meteor shot from sphere of light he shone.
Rise, Spain, and witness how thy fair Castile
Has bled upon Najarra's fatal hill,
When sullen Najarilla's voiceless flow
Rang to the buckler's clang and falchion's blow,
And legions melted as a morning's snow.
But own that, when before his victor brand
He stretched defenceless all the humbled land,
It then was Edward's voice that stemmed the tide,
And Guzman only for his treason died.
Ungrateful Pedro! gilt and sceptred slave!
Ill hast thou merited the crown he gave!

"The crown he gave," and now, alas! has he
Who was the heir to England's sovereignty
No diadem except the cerecloth band,
No sceptre but the taper in his hand!
The glory that embalms his brilliant name
Alone is deathless through the voice of fame;
Or where, adorned in many a loyal heart,
It burns unmoved till life itself shall part—
It lives undying there. What other throne
So meet for him who called those hearts his own?

But O! when history with frigid eye
Shall write the lengthened list of deeds gone by,
And deal with justice, passionless but true,
The meed deserved the living never knew,
Forbid it, Heaven! her voice divine should stay
The tide of praise that swells his name to-day.
Tell how, when victory had wreathed his arms,
And peace at length replaced war's dread alarms,
(Such peace is theirs who can resist no more)
When captive led from France's vanquished shore
A conquered monarch graced the victor's car,
The splendid trophy of the finished war.
Say how, eclipsed in an inferior's guise,
He scorned to feed with show the people's eyes;
And spurning Roman conqueror's gaudy pride,
Rode, humble, by the French usurper's side.
Such deed as this shall live to mock decay
When time has borne war's fading wreaths away.

The golden corn shall wave on Cressy's plain,
The thrush shall sing in Poitier's woods again;
The rosemaries upon Najarra's hill
Shall perfume Najarilla's noiseless rill;
The fields of France shall bloom in verdant pride,
Unstained by ruthless conquest's crimson tide;
The summer roses bloom in far Castile—
While, levelled by the dart we all must feel,
The mortal victor lies—a wreck of clay,
Once brilliant and as perishing as they.
There mark the armour that in life he wore
Hangs o'er his dreamless head! O never more
Shall coat so princely fence so meet a heart!
And still, as if demanding ne'er to part,
There yet the leopards in their sanguine shield
Alternate with the lilies' heavenly field.

One step aside, and blazing through the gloom,
The pinnacles that deck the martyr's[[3]] tomb
Rise high and glittering o'er the golden urn;
And there for aye the dying tapers burn,
As if they cried to men in protest high
That soon their earthly honours all must die;
But that upon the Christian's sainted shade
Alone is bound a wreath that cannot fade.
O! ye who lie together, levelled here,
In life so sundered and in death so near—
He who has shed men's blood to win a throne,
And he who for Religion shed his own;
What thoughts unnumbered on the rapid mind
Arise, with mingled grief and awe combined!

O! for a worthier art with skill to paint
The light eternal that surrounds the saint:
And justly mete the song of swelling praise
The hero's virtues force our hearts to raise!
Shades of the great, the holy, and the brave,
Whose earthly vestment slumbers in the grave,
Teach us by bright example each to tread
The heavenward pathway hallowed by the dead.
What though the trembling element of earth
May swell again the clay that gave it birth;
What though again the wanton breeze reclaim
The vital breath it lent to warm your frame;
Not less ye live because our feebler race
Your lordly presence now no more shall grace.
Where'er the wild and careless winds can blow,
Where'er the ocean's cold, dark waters flow,
Where'er the heart heroic dares to die,
There—there your fadeless memory lives for aye,
Till Ruin claims her universal sway,
And worn-out Time himself shall pass away.

BUTE.

[[1]] Edward Bruce was once King of Northern Ireland.

[[2]] The symbols of the chief powers of Europe are taken from a royal masque in the reign of Henry VIII. The pomegranate represents Spain, the olive Italy, and the pine-cone Germany.

[[3]] St. Thomas of Canterbury.

APPENDIX II (p. [51])

HYMN ON ST. MAGNUS

(Written by Bute at Kirkwall during a visit to Orkney,
in July, 1867, æt. 19.)

Glory be to Jesus
In the highest heaven,
For His grace triumphant
Unto Magnus given—
Wondrous grace that made him,
Looking on the Cross,
For the love of Jesus
Count all things but loss.

Born to all earth's splendour,
Cradled by a throne,
He in very childhood
Knew God's love alone;
Nazareth's holy stripling
Boyhood's pattern made;
Through the years of manhood
By his Saviour stayed.

Like to Paul converted
From a world of sin,
He into our Master's
Sheepfold entered in—
Till God's love within him
Lit and warmed him through,
As the bush of Horeb
Burned but ever grew.

With the saintly maiden.
Whom he made his bride,
For ten years a virgin
Lay he side by side;
Like unto the angels
Of our God in heaven,
Who in carnal wedlock
Give not nor are given.

From the Lord's own altar
Haled, the martyr died;
Him the Lord's own offering
His last breath supplied.
Earthy lilies stricken
Perish on the ground,
But God's witness dying
Fadeless glory found.

Jesus, by whose mercy
Magnus was victorious,
Give us grace to follow
In his footsteps glorious;
So by Thee, our Saviour,
Truth, and life, and way,
We may come where he is
In undying day.

Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,
Glory to the Spirit,
Three, and three in one,
Glory from his creatures
Both in earth and heaven
To the King of Martyrs
Endlessly be given. Amen.

APPENDIX III (p. [51])

"OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS"

(Written by Bute in November, 1867, æt. 20.)

The world is very foul and dark,
And sin has marred its outline fair;
But we are taught to look above,
And see another image there.
And I will raise my eyes above—
Above a world of sin and woe,
Where sinless, griefless, near her Son,
Sits Mary on her throne of snow.

Mankind seems very foul and dark,
In some lights that we see it in,
Lo! as the tide of life goes by,
How many thousands lie in sin.
But I will raise my eyes above—
Above the world's unthinking flow,
To where, so human yet so fair,
Sits Mary on her throne of snow.

My heart is very foul and dark;
Yes, strangely foul sometimes to me
Glare up the images of sin
My tempter loves to make me see.
Then may I lift my eyes above—
Above these passions vile and low,
To where, in pleading contrast bright,
Sits Mary on her throne of snow!

And oft that throne, so near our Lord's,
To earth some of its radiance lends;
And Christians learn from her to shun
The path impure that hellward tends,
For they have learnt to look above—
Above the prizes here below,
To where, crowned with a starry crown,
Sits Mary on her throne of snow.

Blest be the whiteness of her throne;
That shines so purely, grandly there!
With such a glory passing bright,
Where all is bright and all is fair!
God make me lift my eyes above,
And love its holy radiance so
That some day I may come where still
Sits Mary on her throne of snow.

APPENDIX IV (p. [211])

A PROVOST'S PRAYER

The following was the prayer always said by Bute at the opening of the meetings of the Town Council of Rothesay, during the term of his provostship. It was composed by himself, or rather compiled from two prayers contained in the Roman Breviary—one the Collect for Whit-Sunday, and the other a prayer at the end of the Litany of the Saints.

PRAYER.

"O God, Who dost teach the hearts of Thy people by sending to them the light of Thine Holy Spirit; grant unto us that the same Thy Spirit may inspire us in all our doings by His heavenly grace, and bless us therein by His continual help, that every prayer and work of ours may begin from Thee and by Thee be duly ended, and that we, who cannot do anything that is good without Thee, may so by Thee be enabled to act according to Thy will, which is our sanctification; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen."

APPENDIX V (p. [220])

RECOLLECTIONS BY SIR R. ROWAND ANDERSON

16, Rutland Square, Edinburgh,
October 4, 1920.

I quite appreciate your desire that I should send you something of my recollections of the late Marquis of Bute, for whom I had the honour of doing some important work. Lord Bute's architects certainly had considerable opportunity of meeting him and getting to know him as he appeared in their department, for one of the outstanding facts of his life was that he was never out of the mortar-tub.

It was one of his brothers-in-law, the late Lord Herries, I think, who used to tell him that he would go down to posterity as the Brick-and-Mortar Lord. But no one who had the privilege of knowing him ever associated his works with any of the ideas of quantity, monotony, and mere utilitarianism, which the mention of the humblest of building materials might conjure up in the minds of people who had not that privilege. Quantity of production, and expenditure of time and money had no prescribed relations to each other when time or money was required to procure the most appropriate material, or time was required to determine the precise design. I remember saying to him once, when something had been delayed till I thought it must be tiresome to him, "Why not let it be finished, and off your mind?" His reply was, "But why should I hurry over what is my chief pleasure? I have comparatively little interest in a thing after it is finished." That saying supplied the key to much that, without it, might be misconstrued in the annals of his architectural undertakings. What he did not consider of importance was allowed to go through at once. What he thought of importance he made a matter for his personal thought, and no detail was so small as to be secure of passing unobserved, or so apparently insignificant that an indefinite delay might not be suffered till he had determined whether it was to be converted into a feature, or at least the vehicle of an allusion to some idea which interested him.

The fact is that Lord Bute possessed great imagination, learning, and taste, and an inexhaustible patience and power of calm deliberation before coming to any conclusion which he deemed to be of any importance; and it so came about that he seldom, if ever, changed his mind and ordered anything to be altered after it had once been done.

I have heard a tale which was supposed to exemplify the nicety of his taste and the grand scale on which he gratified it. The story may have been meant for a parable only, but it narrated circumstantially how that his architect had imported a shipload of marble columns from Italy, and put them up in a certain palace which he was building for the Marquis, but that when his lordship came to see them, behold, they were not of the exact tint which he wanted, so incontinently they were thrown out, and another shipload was brought, which turned out, of course, to be perfection, of which the pillars themselves, as they stand there to-day, are the lively proof.

That the story of the throwing out of the pillars, like the tale of the three hundred and sixty Celtic Crosses in Iona, which were said to have been thrown into the sea, is apocryphal, I gravely suspect. The thing which it professes to relate never occurred in connection with any work in which I was concerned, and I think I would have heard of it had it happened in any of Lord Bute's other undertakings, at least in Scotland. The unlikely part of the story is that he had allowed himself to be landed with a vast quantity of the wrong stuff for such an important purpose. The rest of it, his fabled measures for getting himself out of the difficulty, is quite true to his character. I, at least, never knew him to be diverted from his intention on the score of delay or cost.

I remember a case which is somewhat in point, his choice of the railings for the gallery of the great hall of his house, or, rather, palace of Mountstuart, although the case is more interesting as an illustration of his mind in a more important aspect. I had proposed, in accordance with my duty, a design strictly in keeping with the mediæval character of the building. Lord Bute, however, had seen and remembered the ancient and curious bronze railings which stand round the tomb of Charlemagne at Aix-la-Chapelle, and he determined to take, what was to him the opportunity of erecting a facsimile of them in Scotland. I went, therefore, to Aix and made measured drawings of them on the spot. By his directions I had the copies cast in Edinburgh, and they stand now in their place in Mountstuart in all the variety and yet unity of their originals. They are not Florentine, but if you ask me what should have prevented a Florentine nobleman from erecting them in his palace in Florence, I could not tell you. Sentimentally, at any rate, they would have been appropriate. I refer, of course, to the historical fact, of which I am sure the Marquis was aware, that it was no other than Charlemagne who relieved the Florentines from the tyranny of the Longobards, and conferred upon them the freedom of a municipal government.

The influence of the art of Peter de Luna, as seen in the style which was chosen by Lord Bute in matters connected with the Chapel at Mountstuart, occurs to mind in this context. That the famous Spaniard was an architect, or a discriminating patron of architecture, Saragossa testifies; but he was more to Lord Bute, he was the Pope, the Benedict XIII., whose papal bull confirmed the foundation charter of St. Andrews University. He was not acknowledged as Pope by England or Italy, but he was acknowledged by Scotland, and that went a long way with Lord Bute. That his lordship reflected on the possibility of his choice giving pain to any one who did not accept de Luna's pontificate is, I think, unlikely, seeing that without question, he was confiding the execution of his whole ideas to an architect who was actually a member of a Reformed Church. I pointedly omit to make any allusion in this context to the traditional authorship of the design of the Cathedral of Cologne.

Lord Bute's mind was steeped in history; and on that account, though he by no means always bowed the knee to authority, his ideas, like his conversation, in matters of architecture were always interesting. Soon after the first occasion on which he did me the honour to consult me, he told me that he made it his practice not to give all his undertakings into the hands of any one architect, that he liked always to be in touch with several of the profession; it was to his advantage, he was good enough to say, as well as his pleasure, to hear the opinions of different men on the things of their trade. If I may judge by the numbers of specialists in very different departments, whom I used to meet on my visits to his lordship, he had a satisfaction in their conversation and their ways of looking at things which was perhaps similar to that which Sir Walter Scott records in his Journal that he had found in the conversation of Robert Stevenson, the engineer to the Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses.

So far as I know, Lord Bute never had any building done for himself in this country after any varieties of the style of Ancient Greece. That this abstention in his particular case should be credited only to his wise sense of its unfitness for his purposes in a climate such as ours, must be the opinion of any one, who, like myself, ever had the privilege of visiting the remains of Ancient Greece in his company, and of observing the extraordinarily deep impression which they made on him.

R. ROWAND ANDERSON.

P.S.—By way of footnote to the paragraph in which I mention Peter de Luna, I may say that it was on a visit which I made to Saragossa on Lord Bute's behalf that I was fortunate enough to procure a cast of de Luna's now mummified head. The cast I have now confided to the care of St. Andrews University.

APPENDIX VI (p. [225])

OBITUARY NOTICE BY MR. F. W. H. MYERS

(From the Journal of the Society for Psychical Research,
November, 1900.)

THE MARQUIS OF BUTE, K.T. (VICE-PRESIDENT, S.P.R.).

Magnus civis obît. The death of the Marquis of Bute has removed from earth a great chieftain, a great magnate, a great proprietor, yet withal a figure, a character, which carried one back into the Ages of Faith. Many will mourn the close of that life,—magnificent at once and munificent; far-governing, and yet gently thoughtful in minute detail. Some will miss in more intimate fashion the massive simplicity of his presence; the look in his eyes of trustfulness at once and tenacity—that look which we call doglike, when we mean to imply that dogs are nobler than men. The youth whose vast wealth and eager religion suggested (it was said) to Lord Beaconsfield the idea of his "Lothair" had become constantly wealthier and more religious as years went on. Amid the palaces of his structure and of his inheritance he lived a life simple and almost solitary; a life of long walks and long conversations on the mysteries of the world unseen. To a fervent Roman Catholicism he joined a ready openness to the elements of a more Catholic faith. That same yearning for communion with the invisible which showed itself in his Prayer-books and Missals, his Byzantine Churches restored, his English Churches built, showed itself also in the great crystal hung in his chapel at St. John's Lodge; as it were the mystic focus of that green silence in the heart of London's roar; and in the horoscope of his nativity painted on the dome of his study at Mountstuart; and in that vaster, strange-illumined vault of Mountstuart's central hall.

[Greek: 'En dé tà teírei pánta ta t' ou'ranos e'stephanôtai]

Hardly had such a sight been seen since Hephæstus wrought in flaming gold the Signs of Heaven, and zoned the Shield of Achilles with the firmament and the sea. For in like manner at Lord Bute's bidding was that great vault encircled with a translucent zone which pictured the constellations of the Ecliptic; the starry lights represented by prisms inserted in that "dome of many-coloured glass." Therethrough, as through a fictive Zodiac, travelled the sun all day; with many a counterchange of azure stains or emerald on the broad floor below, and here and there the dazzling flash of a sudden-kindled star. It seemed the work of one who wished, by sign at least and symbol, to call down "an intermingling of heaven's pomp" upon that pavement which might have been traversed only by the pacings of earthly power and pride.

Through such scenes their fashioner would walk; weary and weighted often with the encumbering flesh; but always in slow meditative brooding on the Spiritual City, and a house not made with hands. "A cruel superstition!" he said once of those who would presume to fetter or forbid our communication with beloved and blessed Souls behind the veil. A cruel superstition indeed! and hardly with any truer word upon his lips might a man pass from the company of those who listen, to those who speak.[[1]]

F. W. H. M.

[[1]] Mr. Myers himself died on January 17, 1901, only a few weeks after