the modern athens 16

the modern athens 16

That the loyalty of official men, of all conditions, in Scotland, is

as fawning and obsequious, as in any country under the sun, I could

not fail to observe: as little could I fail to observe, that that of

the people of Scotland is of a very different character, and not to

be judged of by their shouting or not shouting at a royal pageant.

With them, loyalty is, like every thing else, a matter of reason and

reflection, and not of mere impulse and passion; and they never lose

sight of the original and necessary connexion between the King and

the people. They do not look upon the King as one who is elevated

above man and mortal law, and who holds a character directly from

Heaven, in virtue of which, he can, at his pleasure, and without being

accountable, put his foot upon the neck of millions of the human race.

They consider him as originally set up by common consent, and for the

common good, and they admit of the law of lineage and succession just

because it saves the chance of civil war, and gives a centre and a

rallying point to the strength and energy of the country.

 

The melancholy, which the now deserted state of the Athens, contrasted

with its recent bustle and activity, was calculated to produce, was

increased by the day of the King’s departure being one of the most

gloomy and comfortless that it is possible to imagine. The wind

alternately swept in hurricanes which drove immense masses of clouds

over the city, and died away in dead calms which allowed those clouds

to retain their positions and pour out their contents in torrents.

Early as was the season, the leaves from the few trees in the vicinity

of the Athens had begun to fall; and, as the wind freshened, they

coursed each other along the dirty and deserted streets in ironical

mimickry of those processions by which they had so lately been filled.

It was no day either for examining the still life of the Athens, or

for studying the manners of the Athenians; and so, as my chief purpose

had been delayed by every display during the King’s visit, I thought

it just as well to see the end,--to mark the difference of feeling and

__EXPRESSION__ that the people would have at the time of a King’s coming

and at that of his going. Accordingly, I set out for Hopetoun House,

where royalty was to be refreshed, ere he again attempted the waters.

 

It had been expected, that the King would grace with his royal

presence, Dalmeny Castle, the beautiful seat of Lord Roseberry, but he

contented himself with a drive through the grounds. Nor was the day

such as to permit him to see the prospect in descending Roseberry Hill

to Queensferry. The view there is peculiarly fine, and to Scotchmen it

must be highly interesting. Immediately below is the Forth, spotted

with islands and covered with shipping. To the left are the rich

woods and extensive demesnes of Hopetown, with the ancient burgh of

Queensferry at their entrance. To the right, are the bolder shores of

Fife, over which rises the beautiful ridge of Ochills. The towers of

Stirling, long the seat of kings, rise in the centre; and at no great

distance is the field of Bannockburn; and to the right, amid the grey

pinnacles of Dunfermline, sleep the ashes of the Bruce. Further off

Benledi, Ben-an, and Ben-voirlich raise their lofty crests, and the

noble peak of Ben-lomond pierces the most distant cloud. Altogether it

is a scene worthy of royal attention, and within its ample circuit are

countless recollections not unworthy of kingly meditation. The place

where Græme’s Dyke set bounds to the ambition of the Romans, till the

Caledonians fell a prey to luxury and corruption, may tell that the

strength of a people is not in walls and ramparts, but in courage, in

virtue, and in freedom. The stone near the banks of Carron, where the

royal standard of Scotland first was displayed triumphant after years

of suffering and humiliation, and the spot at which the battle-axe of

Bruce cleft the helm and head of the invader’s champion, tell what may

be done by an independent people, under the conduct of a brave and

virtuous prince; the veneration with which Scotchmen yet look towards

the crumbling ruins of Dunfermline, proclaims that the patriotism of a

King far outlives mere pomp and tinsel; and the fields of Falkirk and

Sherriff-muir, might have whispered in the ear of George the Fourth,

how hard Scotchmen had struggled in order that his family might wear

the crown. It seemed, however, that Nature had refused his majesty a

glance of the talismans of these recollections; and that, as he had

confined his attentions (we mean his private attentions, which, of

course, are exclusively at his own disposal,--in his public displays he

was equally attentive to all,) to one family or party, so the glories

of Scotland were shrouded from his view. During the whole day, a thick

cloud lowered over the western horizon, through which only the nearest

summit of the Ochills was but dimly seen. When his majesty came to

Queensferry, it seemed as if “Birnam Wood had come to Dunsinane,” for

the whole fronts of the houses, with their appendages, were covered

with boughs; boughs too were hung across the street, and showed like

triumphal arches turned topsey-turvey, as in sorrow at the departure of

the King. A small platform was erected at Port Edgar, a place a little

to the west of Queensferry, about which there is some idle tradition

of an ideal kingly visit, and deliverance from shipwreck. Thence to

Hopetoun House, a distance of about two miles, a road was now made

along the margin of the Forth. In the halls of the gallant Earl, a

_dejeunér à la fourchette_ was prepared for the King, a select few of

the nobility, and many of the neighbouring gentry. The country people

had assembled on the lawn, to the amount of some thousands, and were

regaled with two or three butts of October.

 

The King arrived at the place of embarkation about three o’clock,

walked to the platform, leaning on Lord Hopetoun’s arm, and was

received on the platform by the venerable chief commissioner, Adam, as

convener of the Queensferry trustees. He took his old friend cordially

by both hands, and was by him conveyed to the royal barge, which he

entered, and reached the yacht in about six minutes. Although the

King’s “last speech” had been hawked through the streets of the Athens

in the morning, there is no evidence that he made one; and, indeed,

gradually to its close, the whole matter had melted away, like a

dream from the recollection of the half-awakened. Scarcely, too, had

his majesty got on board the yacht, when the dark clouds veiled his

whole squadron like a curtain, and the incessent pelting of the rain

scattered the remnant of the people.

 

It was with some difficulty, and at a late hour, that I was able to

return to the Athens; and when I arose on the following morning, and

sallied out to begin my survey, the contrast was too strong for my

feelings. The whole line of George Street was unbroken, except by the

hoary form of a beggar crawling along in front of those assembly-rooms

which had lately been so gay; and the trim and active figure of the

editor of the Edinburgh Review, who, with a great bundle of law-papers

under one arm, and a new book under the other, shot along with as much

rapidity, as though the most strong and skilful of the archer-band

had discharged him from his bow. Queen Street was desolate; and in

King Street, the only thing that I could notice was one or two of the

personages who had lately flaunted their tails as highland chiefs,

taking leave of their law-agents, with downcast and sorrowful looks.

The regalia of Scotland were again consigned to their dull and greasy

apartment in the castle; the High Street, which so recently had rung

with the acclamations of serried multitudes, now echoed to the grating

croak of the itinerant crockery-merchant, and the ear-piercing screams

of the Newhaven fish-wife. The gewgaws, which for the last two weeks

had glittered in the windows of the shop-keepers, had again given place

to sober bombazines and webs of duffle; and the shop-keepers themselves

were either leaning against the posts of their doors, and yawning to an

extent which would have thrown any but Athenian jaws off the hinges,

or sitting perked upon three-footed stools within, casting looks, in

which hope formed no substantial ingredient, upon the long pages which

their country friends had enabled them to write in their day-books;

and of which, to judge from appearances, it was pretty plain that the

term of payment would be to the full as long as the amount. Every

where, in short, that I came, there was an air of desolation; not by

any means that the Athens was mourning for the departure of the King,

for among the few persons who were visible, his name was not so much

as mentioned, but in her own appearance she was mournful indeed, and

though she retained the same form as during the display and rejoicing,

her spirit seemed to be clean gone; and it was quite evident that, in

order to catch the average and peculiar likeness of this boasted city,

I must tarry till the present appearance had passed off, or remove to

a distance, till the natural one should return.

 

I preferred the latter alternative, and resolved, after resting for

that day, to forget both the glory and the gloom in a month or two

among the Scottish mountains; and then return to the Athens, when the

return of business, of people, and of prate, should have been brought

back to their ordinary channels.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV.

 

THE ATHENS AND THE ATHENIANS IN GENERAL.

 

 

“A city set on an hill, which cannot be hid.”

 

IN point of diversity of situation and beauty, and durability of

building materials, few cities have the same advantages as the Athens;

and I know of no city, of which the general and distant effect, upon

what side soever one approaches it, is more picturesque and striking.

But, as is the case with most things that look well as wholes, one

is miserably disappointed when one comes to examine the details. The

ground upon which the Athens is built bears some resemblance to a fort

with a ditch and glacis. The Castle and High Street, with the clustered

buildings on each side, compose the fort; the Cow-gate on the south,

the Grass Market on the west, and the North Loch on the north, form

the ditch, which bears some resemblance to a noose thrown round the

Castle, and having the ends stretching away eastward by the Holyrood;

and beyond this ditch the glacis slopes toward St. Leonard’s, the Loch

of Duddingstone, and the Meadows on the south, and toward the water

of Leith on the north. The central division, although its situation

be very airy, and also very favourable for cleanliness, has nothing

to boast of in either of these respects. The houses are so closely

huddled together, that, excepting the High Street itself, which is

rather spacious, the inhabitants may almost shake hands from the

windows of the opposite houses; and they are built to such a height,

that scarcely a glimpse of sunshine can find its way within two storeys

of the foundations. In all this part of the Athens, there seems to be

the greatest dislike to subways and common sewers; and thus, unless

when the High Street is washed by a torrent of rain, it is by no means

the most pleasant to perambulate. The southern ditch, or Cow-gate,

is, throughout its whole extent, as filthy and squalid as can well

be imagined; and, with the exception of a few public buildings, and

one or two little squares, there is not much to be commended on the

glacis beyond. Indeed the whole, southward of the North Loch, which

the Athenians style the sublime part of their city, is more remarkable

for the sublimation of mephitic effluvia than of any other thing. The

new town again, or the portion between the North Loch and the water of

Leith, is as dull as the other is dirty. The principal streets consist

of long lines of stone building, without any break or ornament except

wicket-doors and trap-hole windows, which render the whole very heavy,

and induce one to believe that they are constructed with the intention

of being as inaccessible and dark as possible. Princes Street, which is

a single row, looking across the tasteless and unadorned gulf of the

North Loch toward the beetling and shapeless masses of the old town,

had originally been intended for private dwelling-houses, at the rate

of a whole family per floor. Circumstances have changed, however. The

Athenian fashionables (contrary to the natural tendency of the Scotch)

have moved northwards; their places have been supplied by drapers from

the Lawn Market, barbers from the Parliament Stairs, and booksellers

from the Cross; and, as the immense weight of tall stone-houses renders

the alteration of the ground-floor dangerous, without taking down and

rebuilding the whole, the expense of which would be very great, Princes

Street is perhaps the most tasteless and clumsy line of shops in the

island of Great Britain; while, so anxious are the people to huddle

upon the top of each other, that it is not uncommon to find four or

five shops for very opposite kinds of wares, in a pile up and down

the same stair-case. George Street is the most gloomy and melancholy

that can well be imagined; and a walk along its deserted pavements is

sufficient to give any one the blue devils for a week. Queen Street

is longer, but not a whit more lively; and, though the view from it

be both extensive and varied, it seems no great favourite with the

Athenians. Farther to the north the buildings are newer, and there is

occasionally an attempt at the recurrence of architectural ornaments at

the end of certain lengths of the buildings; but these ornaments want

taste in their form, and force in their projections, and thus increase

the poverty of the effect. Throughout the whole private dwellings of

the Athens, you are impressed with the cold eternity of stone and

lime, and you look in vain for that airy elegance, that rich variety

of taste, and that repose of comfort, which you find in other places.

Villas, self-contained houses, and snug or even decent gardens, seem

to be held in the greatest abhorrence. You meet not with one of the

delightful little boxes which are scattered round London by thousands,

and of which there are always a few in the vicinity of even third-rate towns in England. The ambition of the Athenians appears to be, to make every four stone walls a joint stock company, as dull, as tasteless,and as heavy, as a stack of warehouses in Thames Street.