CHAPTER XXIV. THE TROSACHS. Scott's Description-The Pencil and the Pen-Pictures by THE HE Trosachs, which is the Gaelic for 'rough, or bristled territory,' is an unusually romantic defile between Lochs Katrine and Achray. It is barely a mile in length; but in that brief space is crammed a wilderness of fantastic rocks, smothered in foliage and heather, and guarded by mountains that are unusually picturesque even for the Highlands. Sir Walter Scott's celebrated description of this pass must be so familiar to everyone, that it would be useless to fill a page by quoting it, even though that page could not be better occupied than by the transcript of lines so exquisitely beautiful, and at the same time so true to Nature. If in them Scott said that he 'presumptuously attempted to describe the romantic pass,' what shall be said of the poor efforts of any after writer? To say that they are failures is to say but little; for even Scott's description must, in a certain sense, be pronounced a failure; and of this his words just quoted seem to infer that he had a full knowledge. In short, how can the undescribable be described? Reading the well-known lines in The Lady of the Lake' will give to those who have not seen the Trosachs as good an idea of the scene as it is possible to convey by words; but that idea will be very far short of the reality, and (as I shall presently attempt to show) may also, in a certain instance, be far from corSketches and photographs will, in this case, do much more than Scott's or anyone else's words to convey to the mind an inkling of the scenery between Loch Katrine and Loch Achray. rect. The Trosachs appear to be so hopelessly indescribable with the pen-at any rate in such a way that an adequate idea of the scene may be formed merely from reading a description of it-that, in this case, the pencil gains a very easy victory over the pen. The spot was peculiarly suited to the powers of Turner, and the engravings from his pictures must be well known. Of the whereabouts of the pictures themselves I cannot tell; and I do not remember seeing any other painting by Turner of the Trosachs than one that was exhibited during the season of 1850, by Mr. Grundy, of Regent Street. It was an early picture of our great master, and in his best style, the elaboration of the details being very great, but not sacrificed to the general effect. There are many engravings which must have made the scenery of the Trosachs more familiar to thousands who have never visited the spot, than the word-painting of Scott could ever do. The engravings in Beattie's Scotland,' from the water-colours of Mr. Bartlett, will be familiar to most readers, and, with the exception of a little 'fudge' and 'touching-up,' are both characteristic and true. Then there are Mr. Birket Foster's pretty, yet somewhat fanciful, sketches in Black's illustrated edition. of The Lady of the Lake.' There are also Nelson's PICTURES BY TURNER AND OTHERS. 247 cheaper engravings, and a hundred others. But, above all, there are the photographic views, of which the 'stereographs' by Moffat may be specially mentioned. Thus far the Trosachs have been abundantly represented by the artist and by the photographic 'pencil of nature.' Yet, for a due appreciation of the Trosachs' manifold and peculiar charms, nothing less than a visit to the spot will suffice. And even then it must not be that scampering visit which is made on the top of the coach, although this ten minutes acquaintance of the Trosachs is better than nothing; and, if the tourist keeps his eye open, will be such a ten minutes as he is not likely to forget to the end of his days. And when such a one has been thus driven rapidly through the Trosachs, we may easily imagine that, when he recalls the scene, Scott's lines will be realised So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The only erroneous impression which, as it seems to me, the perusal of Scott's verse would leave on the mind of the reader who had not seen the Trosachs would be gathered from the lines— Each purple peak, each flinty spire, But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle. Here the words spire, pyramid, and pinnacle are used to convey the idea of certain rocky masses whose forms are anything but pyramidal, and no more resemble a spire and pinnacle than they do a minaret' or 'mosque of Eastern architect.' They are certainly more like to a 'dome;' for, as Ruskin says, 'all the rocks are heavily rounded, and the introduction of the word "spire" is a piece of inaccuracy in description, ventured merely for the sake of the Gothic image.' He says further, Suppose Sir Walter Scott, instead of writing each purple peak, each flinty spire," had written, "each purple peak, each flinty 'pediment.' Would you have thought the poem improved? And, if not, why should it be spoiled? Simply because the idea is no longer of any value to you; the thing spoken of is a nonentity. These pediments, and stylobates, and architraves never excited a single pleasurable feeling in you -never will-to the end of time. They are evermore dead, lifeless, and useless, in art as in poetry.' But, on the other hand, that strange and thrilling interest with which such words strike you as are in any wise connected with Gothic architecture-as, for instance, vault, arch, spire, pinnacle, battlement, barbican, porch, and myriads of such others, words everlastingly powerful and poetical when they occur-is a most true and certain index that the things themselves are delightful to you, and will ever continue to be so.'* This is a most characteristic passage of the writer, who is contending that language and literature is so steeped in Gothic ideas, that Sir Walter Scott cannot get through a description of Highland scenery without help' from them. And then he instances the 'flinty spire.' The argument that he builds upon this idea is pure Ruskinism. The mere mention of the words vault, arch, and porch, must surely pass harmlessly through the minds of most men, and can never be the *Lectures on Architecture and Painting, 51-2. SUNSET AT THE TROSACHS. 249 agents of such witchery as to enable them to strike with a strange and thrilling interest. I have, indeed, heard of a clergyman who, by the pathos that he infused into the utterance of the word Mesopotamia,' could melt his audience to tears; but then they were a country congregation, and Mesopotamia was a polysyllable, and a word of which they knew not the meaning. Yet, I fancy that this pathetic parson may have tried all his arts on the utterance of Mr. Ruskin's Gothic words, and yet not have moved those Goths, his hearers, to any feeling of delight, or to any thrill of strange interest. It was my good fortune to see the Trosachs illuminated by just such a sunset as Sir Walter Scott describes; but, while there was the usual contrast of vivid light above and purple shadows below which must attend upon all sunsets in glens and defiles, yet I failed to notice that depth of gloom which Sir Walter's lines appear to indicate. A portion of the Trosachs, indeed, is so comparatively open that the term 'dark ravine' is not very applicable. Sketching this sunset view within the Trosachs, and having light enough to do so up to a late hour of the evening, I also could not but help thinking, as I stood literally knee-deep in heather, and with its magnificent blossom making great breadths of pink and purple tints on every side of me, how utterly deficient Sir Walter's description is in all mention of this beautiful and prominent portion of the landscape. It is true, that he speaks of 'creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,' which might refer to the heather, and of each plant or flower, the mountain's child,' which would certainly include the heather; but there is no specific mention of it, although it is afterwards referred to in a hundred ways. Seen as I saw it, |