


Transcribed from the 1903 Seeley & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





                                EDINBURGH


                           _Picturesque Notes_
                                   _by_
                          Robert Louis Stevenson

                                * * * * *

                           _People's Edition_.

                                * * * * *

                                  LONDON
                SEELEY & CO. LTD., 38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
                                   1903




CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY.


The ancient and famous metropolis of the North sits overlooking a windy
estuary from the <DW72> and summit of three hills.  No situation could be
more commanding for the head city of a kingdom; none better chosen for
noble prospects.  From her tall precipice and terraced gardens she looks
far and wide on the sea and broad champaigns.  To the east you may catch
at sunset the spark of the May lighthouse, where the Firth expands into
the German Ocean; and away to the west, over all the carse of Stirling,
you can see the first snows upon Ben Ledi.

But Edinburgh pays cruelly for her high seat in one of the vilest
climates under heaven.  She is liable to be beaten upon by all the winds
that blow, to be drenched with rain, to be buried in cold sea fogs out of
the east, and powdered with the snow as it comes flying southward from
the Highland hills.  The weather is raw and boisterous in winter, shifty
and ungenial in summer, and a downright meteorological purgatory in the
spring.  The delicate die early, and I, as a survivor, among bleak winds
and plumping rain, have been sometimes tempted to envy them their fate.
For all who love shelter and the blessings of the sun, who hate dark
weather and perpetual tilting against squalls, there could scarcely be
found a more unhomely and harassing place of residence.  Many such aspire
angrily after that Somewhere-else of the imagination, where all troubles
are supposed to end.  They lean over the great bridge which joins the New
Town with the Old--that windiest spot, or high altar, in this northern
temple of the winds--and watch the trains smoking out from under them and
vanishing into the tunnel on a voyage to brighter skies.  Happy the
passengers who shake off the dust of Edinburgh, and have heard for the
last time the cry of the east wind among her chimney-tops!  And yet the
place establishes an interest in people's hearts; go where they will,
they find no city of the same distinction; go where they will, they take
a pride in their old home.

[Picture: Gate of Holyrood] Venice, it has been said, differs from
another cities in the sentiment which she inspires.  The rest may have
admirers; she only, a famous fair one, counts lovers in her train.  And,
indeed, even by her kindest friends, Edinburgh is not considered in a
similar sense.  These like her for many reasons, not any one of which is
satisfactory in itself.  They like her whimsically, if you will, and
somewhat as a virtuoso dotes upon his cabinet.  Her attraction is
romantic in the narrowest meaning of the term.  Beautiful as she is, she
is not so much beautiful as interesting.  She is pre-eminently Gothic,
and all the more so since she has set herself off with some Greek airs,
and erected classic temples on her crags.  In a word, and above all, she
is a curiosity.  The Palace of Holyrood has been left aside in the growth
of Edinburgh, and stands grey and silent in a workman's quarter and among
breweries and gas works.  It is a house of many memories.  Great people
of yore, kings and queens, buffoons and grave ambassadors, played their
stately farce for centuries in Holyrood.  Wars have been plotted, dancing
has lasted deep into the night,--murder has been done in its chambers.
There Prince Charlie held his phantom levees, and in a very gallant
manner represented a fallen dynasty for some hours.  Now, all these
things of clay are mingled with the dust, the king's crown itself is
shown for sixpence to the vulgar; but the stone palace has outlived these
charges.  For fifty weeks together, it is no more than a show for
tourists and a museum of old furniture; but on the fifty-first, behold
the palace reawakened and mimicking its past.  The Lord