A Companion and Useful Guide to the Beauties of Scotland/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
James the First of England, was born in a small room, or rather closet, in Edinburgh Castle; in which, when I saw it, soldiers were drinking porter. There is a dwelling-house in the castle for the governor; but almost the whole of the edifice is now converted into barracks.
Edinburgh is built upon the sides of a mountain; and the Castle is on the summit of a huge rough rock on the west side of that mountain, high and perpendicular above the level ground, and inaccessible on every side but one. The Abbey, or Holyroodhouse, is at the bottom of the mountain, at the distance of a mile from the Castle. The High-street, which is wide, is a regular descent; and is, as it were, a communication from the Castle to the Abbey, down the face of the mountain. The rest of the town lies sloping on each side of the High-street, continuing to the flat ground, or more properly the trench, at the foot of the mountain. Many of the houses in the High-street have, from their sloping situation, three or four stories more at the back part of them, than in front. The houses, in general, in the old town, are very high; some in the High-street have fourteen or more stories, or, as they are termed in Scotland, flats. Each flat contains a family, and is completely shut up from the staircase. There is but one staircase leading to all the flats in the house; and it may easily be imagined in what condition this common, cork-screw, stone staircase, must always be. There is but a very small winding flat space or trench, between the low parts of the town, around the Abbey, and the sharp rise of Salisbury Crags, Arthur's Seat, and Calton Hill; so that the situation of Edinburgh, setting aside the prospects from it, is unique; for it is built upon an infinity of irregularities of a huge rock, sloping to flat ground on one side, and on the other to a trench, whence quickly rise prodigious mountains.
The violent gusts of wind, continually to be felt in the streets of Edinburgh are, I imagine, owing to its situation, and must be the cause of health to its inhabitants (they are very healthy); for had not the atmosphere of that city some powerful refiner, such as a constant high wind, it would, by its nauseous scents, poison the race of beings living in it.
About the middle of the High-street it is intersected by two wide streets, the one leading to the north bridge, over the dry trench to the new town; the other to the south bridge, over the Cowgate, a street so called. In passing over the south bridge, it may not be observed to be a bridge, as it is very wide, with handsome shops on each side, except over the arch. Near the south bridge is the old university, and an exceedingly handsome new college, begun some time since; but when I was at Edinburgh, it was at a stand for want of money. The very large pillars, in front of the building, are each of one huge stone. It was with infinite labour, and danger, they were brought and fixed in their places; for they were hewn at the quarry, and afterwards conveyed to the college.
George's square, in the old town, is very pleasant; nearly equal, I think, to any place in the new town.
In one of the old churches I had the great satisfaction of hearing the good and venerable Dr. Blair, whose sermons have been edifying the world for some years past.
The Register-office, in the new town, is a fine building. Princes-street is a noble street, or rather row of houses, looking over the dry trench up to the backs of the houses in the old town; some of them, as I have before observed, fourteen stories high, on that side of the High-street; having almost all of them little sloping gardens, with pieces of rocks, and trees interspersed among them. From Princes-street too is seen, at the extremity of the High-street to the west, the Castle, and the irregular perpendicular side of the bold projecting rock on which it stands.
Most of the new town is built with free-stone, hewn, something like that of Bath. St. Andrew's square is grand; but Queen-street, for view, beats all the other parts of the town. It is a row, rather than a street; it being in front open to every thing that is beautiful, towards Belle Veue, Leith, the Forth, and the lofty hills of Fifeshire beyond it. The fronts of the houses, however, in Queen-street are not so complete as those in St. Andrew's square, because they are not all finished of hewn stone. The rough stone looks unhandsome; much like a comely face pitted with the small-pox.
Lord Moray's house stands pleasantly, and under the bank on which it is built is St. Barnard's well, a romantic little spot; but the simplicity of it is spoiled by a temple in the style of the Cybele's temple at Tivoli.
There cannot be much passing and repassing in the new town in summer, for in almost every street the grass grows.
The Canongate joins, and in fact makes a part of the High-street, in the old town, and leads to the Abbey; and a fine place it is, for every thing that is disagreeable. The houses are high, and chiefly inhabited by the lower order of people. As the street narrows on the left in going down, is a tottering bow-window to a house, whence Knox thundered his addresses to the people.
I never saw any thing like the swarms of children in the Canongate. I believe they do every thing but sleep in the street. It may be truly said that they are fat, ragged, and saucy: and it is not to be wondered at; for what can be expected from an education begun and ended in the street. I was one fine evening walking up this inviting Canongate, nicely dressed, in white muslin: an arch boy eyed me, and laid his scheme;—for when I arrived opposite a pool, in the golden gutter, in he dashed a large stone, and, like a monkey, ran off chuckling at his mischief.
Though the whole of the town of Edinburgh is far more cleanly, in one article, than it used to be, yet the Canongate still bears strong marks of its old customs; for haud your haund, haud your haund, is still very necessary to cry out; and even that will not do in the Canongate now, if perchance one should be there after ten o'clock in the evening: for at that hour one begins to hear, stop—here, there, and every where. Even in the middle of the street, where decent folks generally walk for fear of accidents, they are not exempt from splashes, unless they are in high good luck.
At times one's nose recalls to the mind Sawney's soliloquy on coming within the distance of twenty miles of the capital of Scotland, when he exclaimed, "ah! canny Edinburgh, I smeel thee nooe!" At the bottom of the Canongate is the Abbey: its first appearance, at present, is not amiss. The tower of Duke Hamilton's apartment, that of Lord Adam Gordon's, and the gateway under the Holy Cross, to the quadrangle; with a grass plat in front, contribute to make it look somewhat palace-like; but twelve years back, I remember it resembling a state-prison. It formerly bore the name of the Monastery of Cœnobium; of Sanctæ Crucis; and the Abbey of Holyroodhouse. The chapel of the Abbey was erected by David the First, in the year 1128, in memory (as it is said) of his miraculous deliverance from the horns of an enraged hart, by the interposition of Heaven in the form of a cross. It was converted into a palace by James the Fifth, in the year 1528, who built the north wing of the present front. The form in which it now stands was completed by Charles the Second, in 1664. Whoever erected the side of the square now standing, from Duke Hamilton's apartment to the chapel, must have been a barbarian, and a murderer of taste. Look at the west front of the ruined chapel, and you will be of my opinion. The grand door of entrance was certainly there, facing the beautiful large window to the east. The whole of the west side of the chapel, judging from what remains of it, must have been in the highest style of Gothic architecture, and the most beautiful in Scotland, except the chapel at Roslin. The chapel at Holyroodhouse was certainly at first in the exact form of a cross; but by the erection of that vile north side of the quadrangle, one part of the cross, and half the grand door, are entirely taken away. Without doubt, originally, that fine door must have been perfect and entire; and to complete the front, a projecting square, similar to the one which now stands to the north of the door, must also have existed on the south of it, forming, on the whole, the exact shape of a cross. The out-building now called Mary's Kitchen, must also have been erected long since the chapel; and all the outlets belonging to the apartments of Duke Hamilton and Lord Dunmore, with the ground on which Queen Mary's Kitchen stands, must have been, in David the First's time, an area before the grand entrance into the chapel. The outside of the fine ruin is at present better worth looking at, than the inside; though a stranger may as well see both. Poor Darnley's bones (if they be his) are often disturbed by the rude hand of the shewer of them. The beautiful roof of this chapel fell down in the year 1768.
For the accommodation of the Comte d'Artois, Government has wonderfully improved the Abbey, both external and internal. The long gallery is new floored, and painted white; and the suite of rooms on the same story with it, are all new sashed, painted, papered, and fitted up and furnished in the modern taste, and in the neatest manner. Amongst the French of fashion in Holyroodhouse in 1796, the venerable and most respectable appearance of the unfortunate Duc de Serrent, struck me the most: all that is good and amiable is strongly marked in his countenance, rendered more interesting by his flowing grey hairs, and the sweet though melancholy tone of his voice; and a manner that must be a magnet to every heart susceptible of affection, or conversant with the feelings of paternal suffering; for, poor man, he was, when I saw him, still weeping for his murdered sons, his only children; who, I have been informed, were both very amiable and accomplished.
I was told, during my visit at the Abbey, that the first day of every month the Bank of Scotland, by order of Government, sent down to Monsieur one thousand guineas for his maintenance. How far it is true, I cannot say. His Royal Highness was glad to take refuge in the liberty of Holyroodhouse, from whence he could not safely stir, by reason of large debts contracted in England, probably before the French Revolution. A chère amie of the Prince had a house in the park; he made her a visit every morning at eleven o clock, and again at eight in the afternoon, and supped with her. A gentleman of his suite always attended him to her door, and again at his return to his apartment. Monsieur is a fine man in person, and looks far younger than he can be. His manner is very graceful and gracious.
There scarcely can be a finer view than that from the Calton Hill, which rises from the town of Edinburgh. I have never seen the view of Naples, to its Bay, but I am told, those who have seen both, are in doubt to which of the two to give the preference.
The immediate front when on Calton Hill, is to the North, over the flat ground of a mile and a half, between Edinburgh and Leith, enriched by villas, gardens, wood, and fine land; over which is seen the town of Leith; its road, crowded with ships, and the Forth, like an arm of the sea, seven miles broad, flowing from Stirling to the German ocean; with the prodigious mountains of Fife closing the scene. To the east is the course of the river, with islands adding to its beauty; and a rich vale towards Musselburgh, Preston Pans, and Haddington, bounded by the great rock in the sea, called the Bass. To the south-east, Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags rise boldly, sheltering the palace of Holyroodhouse. On the west are the towns, the castle, and a rich vale beyond them, bounded by gigantic mountains; and the Pentland Hills finely close the scene to the south-west. Such is the charming prospect from Calton Hill. But as that hill is the common, daily, and nightly lounge of all the vagabonds and loose tribe of the town, the walk over it must be taken with a gentleman in company, else women of any description will be insulted.
The view from Arthur's Seat is very extensive, and worth the trouble of a fatiguing walk to it. It is called by that name from a tradition, that Arthur, King of England, sat at the top of this mountain to behold a sea-fight. In going up to Arthur's Seat, I passed by St. Anton's, or St. Anthony's well, of extremely pure water, also the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, or Restalrig Church.
At a short mile in the Musselburgh road are new barracks; the square before them forms a spacious fine parade, and the apartments within are very convenient.
I walked round Salisbury Crags, in the middle path by the quarries, which requires a tolerably steady head; for had I taken a roll down the precipice, there would have been an end of me. At the quarries I saw vast heaps of the hard rock divided into small pieces, ready for shipping; and I was told great quantities of that crag were sent to London for paving the streets. After I had descended Salisbury Crags, and crossed the road by which the carts carry the broken stones into town, I came to some fragments of rocks, where I made my servant try to discover the fine echo, in which he at length succeeded; and I thought it the most distinct I had ever heard. By continuing the track I was in, I came to a new foot-way round the base of Arthur's Seat. The large pieces of rock strewed on the green below the path, a few years back, broke away from the mountain with a tremendous noise, to the great terror of the washerwomen and bleachers, constantly busy on that green; but very fortunately, as a talkative gude wife told me, none of them were very near that spot at the moment the huge pieces of rock separated from the mountain. From that foot-way I had a distant view of Crag Miller Castle, the favourite retirement of Queen Mary, when in love with Bothwell. Proceeding on my way, the first sight of Dediston small lake and house, much pleased me; and, indeed, the whole walk, from Dediston round to the Abbey, afforded me much pleasure; and a pleasant view towards Preston Pans; the Barracks; the Forth; the Bass; and the mountains of Fifeshire.
In my way to Dalkeith, I passed very near Crag Miller Castle; the view of it after I had passed it, was by far the best, but nothing striking. At the bridge, at Dalkeith, I again crossed my beautiful friend the North Esk River, where its broken banks are sweetly covered with wood. The town of Dalkeith, is a dirty, shabby place; and the Duke of Buccleugh has done wisely to build a bridge very near his house; by which the approach to it will be, and I suppose now is, far handsomer than that I arrived at, through the town. I did not go to Scotland to see fine houses, nor dressed places. The simple beauty of nature, is my hobby-horse; and where can a hobby-horse of that breed find greater scope than in Scotland? particularly in the Highlands. I did not attempt to enter the house at Dalkeith, but contented myself with seeing the pleasure grounds, park, &c. The bridge, viewed from the house, must be a fine object; it is of one arch; a simicircle of 70 feet; thrown from rock to rock. The wood, and banks of the river about the bridge, are very romantic; and, to me, beautifully rough and broken.
On my expressing my admiration of all I saw, I was answered by an overseer of the bridge, then not finished, that by and by it would be much finer; for the bed of the river was to be cleared; and the banks smoothed, and dressed. Fye on the shavers, as Mr. Knight calls them, how unmercifully do they "shave the Goddess whom they come to dress!" And will they not spare even the lovely North Esk? I admired the South Esk and its wooded banks, as it ran through the Duke's grounds to join its namesake; and both roll on together, till they fall into the firth of Forth, at Musselburgh. Dalkeith, on the whole, is a place well worth seeing. I was conducted to a spot in the Duke's grounds, to admire a frightful animal of the monkey kind; a disgusting little black beast. I was glad to turn from his nauseous prison, to the fine woods and grounds in which he is confined. The South Esk River graces the scenes of Newbattle, which lies low to its banks, amidst thick wood; about a mile from the town of Dalkeith.
Roslin! sweet Roslin!—even though on a gloomy afternoon, and a good deal of rain, I was charmed, I was enchanted, with its beauties. The chapel was the first thing seen, being very near the inn. Its outside appeared to me like a common looking kirk, with a tiny side door for an entrance. Certainly a larger one, at the end, must have once existed, though now walled up. At present there are only two small Gothic doors, opposite each other. No sooner had I passed the threshold, and entered the side aile, than I was struck with astonishment, at the beautiful structure and workmanship of the ceiling, and pillars; which, I suppose, were originally of a redish stone, which time and weather have changed and softened to a variety of most beautiful tints. This chapel was built in the purest age of Gothic architecture, by a Sinclair of Caithness; who married the daughter of Robert Bruce, King of Scotland. The chapel is a good way from the castle that was Sinclair's residence; which, in its time, must have been a place of great strength from its situation, on a point of a rock, inaccessible on every side but one, and that so narrow, that it is probable it was only a gateway, and drawbridge. The chapel of Roslin has been the burying-place of the Sinclairs of Caithness for ages; but at present they have no property at Roslin.
As one generally learns the legend of the spot one visits, from some garrulous guide, that of Roslin Chapel must not be forgotten; but it was told in language so unintelligible, by the good wife who shewed it, that I fear my tale will be but imperfect. An abridgment, however, may not be amiss. I shall, therefore, only take up her tale from the apprentice's pillar; which is certainly very different from all the others.
The architect employed to build this chapel, could not discover the intent of the plan given him; he was therefore obliged to go to Rome to learn his lesson. In the mean time his apprentice, having more penetration than his master, discovered the design; and in the absence of the architect, wrought the pillar that goes by his name. When the master returned, and found that his lad had more skill than himself, he struck him a violent blow upon his temple, which instantly killed him.
Over what I suppose to have been the great door (opposite the four windows over the altar-piece), is carved the broken head of the poor apprentice, and his mother weeping, for his untimely end. After all his trouble, the architect did not succeed, if the apprentice's pillar was conformable to the original plan of the edifice; for no other part of the work in the chapel resembles it; or the employer did not like the richer, and more complicated style of the apprentice's pillar, so well as the more simple workmanship of the rest of the chapel.—Roslin chapel is not large, but is reckoned to be a specimen of a very chaste and elegant piece of Gothic architecture. It is a ruin, but the most perfect ruin that can be seen. From the chapel to the ruined castle, is a short quarter of a mile, down a very steep hill. There is but a very small part of the castle standing; a middling modern house, being erected on a part of its wall: it is situated, as I have before mentioned, upon a small peninsulated promontory of an immense rock, high above the surrounding river, North Esk, which winds round the castle, rushing hoarsely over its rocky bed, imprisoned by perpendicular sides of towering rocks, finely covered with wood;—its noise, and its romantic beauties, increase as it rolls down towards Hawthorndean, and forms a most picturesque view from the turning at the entrance to the castle. The walks by the river's side, cut through the rocks and woods of Roslin, are enchanting beyond description. It is impossible to do justice to the romantic charms of either Roslin, or Hawthorndean; whose ancient walls rise amidst rocks and wood, hanging over the opposite side of the river, within sight of the walks of Roslin. Hawthorndean belongs to Bishop Abernethy Drummond, and was once the habitation of a poet of the name of Drummond.
In going through Leswade, from Dalkeith to Roslin, we met a country wedding; it was then a very fine day, and the parties had just quitted the kirk, and mounted their horses. The bride and bridegroom were on the first horse, and a long cavalcade followed them; some double on a horse, some single, all trotting after the happy pair. As soon as they got down the steep hill from the kirk, they scampered through the town as fast as they could, in order to escape, as quickly as possible, the gaping curiosity of the towns-folks, who all came crowding to their doors. This, probably, was a penny-wedding. In former times, when money was of far greater value than it is at present, it was the custom, in some parts of Scotland (when a bridegroom was not in circumstances to treat the guests at his marriage), for all who were invited to the wedding to pay each one penny, for dinner, dancing, &c. And although a shilling, or more, be now paid on such occasions, still they are called Penny-weddings. It is no very uncommon thing for the meeting at such weddings to be so numerous, as from the profits of it, to enable the new married pair to furnish their house, or take a small farm.