In the treasurer's books which relate to the reign of James IV. of Scotland, there is the following entry for April, 1503: "The king went again to Whethorn." (A place of pilgrimage.) "While there he heard of the death of his brother, John, Earl of Mar, and charged the priests to perform a 'dirge and soul Mass' for his brother, and paid them for their pains."
In Montalembert's beautiful description of Iona, he mentions the tradition which declares that eight Norwegian kings or princes, four kings of Ireland, and forty-eight Scottish kings were buried there, as also one king of France, whose name is not mentioned, and Egfrid, the Saxon King of Northumbria. There is the tomb of Robert Bruce, the tombs of many bishops, abbots, and of the great chiefs and nobles, the Macdougalls, Lords of Lorn; the Macdonalds, Lords of the Isles; the Macleods, and the Macleans. Nowhere, perhaps, has death placed his seal on a more imposing assemblage, of truly royal stateliness, of astonishingly cosmopolitan variety. In the midst of it all, in the very centre of the burying-ground, stands a ruined chapel, under the invocation of St. Oran, the first Irish monk who died in this region. The church was built by the sainted Margaret, the wife of Malcolm Canmore, and the mother of St. David. Its mission there was obvious. From its altar arose to the Most High, the solemn celebration of the dread mysteries, the psalm and the prayer, for prince and for prelate, for the great alike in the spiritual and temporal hierarchy.
The Duke of Argyle, in his work on Iona, seems astonished to find that St. Columba believed in all the principal truths of Catholic faith, amongst others, prayers for the dead, and yet he considers that he could not be called a Catholic. The process of reasoning is a curious one.
Mention is made in the history of Scotland of a famous bell, preserved at Glasgow until the Reformation. It was supposed to have been brought from Rome by St. Kentigern, and was popularly called "St. Mungo's Bell." It was tolled through the city to invite the citizens to pray for the repose of departed souls.
In the great cathedrals of Scotland, before the Reformation, private chapels and altars were endowed for the relief of the dead, while in the cities and large towns, each trade or corporation had an altar in the principal churches and supported a chaplain to offer up Masses and prayers as well for the dead as for the living. The following incident is related in the life of the lovely and so sadly maligned Mary Queen of Scots. In the early days of her reign, when still struggling with the intolerant fury of Knox and his followers,—it was in the December of 1561—Mary desired to have solemn Mass offered up for the repose of the soul of her deceased husband, the youthful Francis. This so aroused the fury of the fanatics about her, that they threatened to take the life of the priests who had officiated. "Immediately after the Requiem was over, she caused a proclamation to be made by a Herald at the Market Cross, that no man on pain of his life should do any injury, or give offense or trouble to her chaplains."
The poet Campbell in his dirge for Wallace, makes the Lady of Elderslie, the hero's wife, cry out in the first intensity of her sorrow;
"Now sing you the death-song and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight 'so dear.'"
We shall now leave the wild poetic region of Scotland, and with it conclude Part First, taking up again in Part Second the thread of our narrative, which will wind in and out through various countries of Europe, ending at last with a glance at our own America.