The interrogator then called a soldier, who happened to be near, and

gave him his horse to hold, while he himself ruthlessly entered the

tent. On removing the blanket, he found the Arab’s wife, all alive,

and holding the pet _sloghi_ in her arms. On being thus detected, the

poor woman cried out most beseechingly, ‘Do not take the dog!’ and the

whole company, men, women, and children, most imploringly re-echoed

the cry.

The intruder then turned to old Ali, and with an ironical smile

said,—‘You see your _dear_ wife is not _quite_ dead!’”

The Prince, as we have said, was a keen sportsman, and not one of his

dogs could compare with Ali’s _sloghi_; but his veneration for justice

predominated even over his love of the chase. “Ali is rich,” said he,

when the hound was brought to him, “and money will not tempt him, else I

would gladly offer it him. Send the _sloghi_ instantly back!”

The day after the junction of Smeeda and his noble Dreeds, the

expedition entered the district of the Majer,—a tribe (numbering 200

tents, or 1200 souls) of a peculiarly rascally character, and the larger

portion of whose scanty resources is obtained by the robbery and murder

of travellers. For these outrages they are rarely brought to account,

save when the Prince, or other representative of the Regency of Tunis,

makes a tour in person among the tribes. On the present occasion they

had a heavy debt to pay,—the value of a life, in the Desert, being

generally reckoned at from twenty-five to thirty camels. Within the

precincts of this tribe are the ruins of Spaitla, the ancient Sufetula;

and, by the favour of the Prince, our author set out to visit them.

Under the guidance of the Majer chief, and escorted by twenty soldiers

well mounted, and armed to the teeth—after a gallop over a beautiful

plain, and thence crossing a district of hill and dale, “all covered

with verdure, and occasionally bordering upon the picturesque,” Mr Davis

and his party arrived at the ruins. On their first approach all was

perfectly still. Not a sound but their own was audible, save the

rippling of a brook which glides past the ruins on their north-eastern

side. Not a human being was to be seen, either among the ruins or in

their vicinity; and even animal life seemed to have for ever departed

from the sombre walls and mansions of the ancient Sufetulans. But such

was not really the case. In the holes, caverns, and clefts of the rocks

on which the city stands, were dispersed numbers of the followers and

subjects of the Majer chief. From their dwellings they issued forth

imperceptibly to the travellers. And most unpleasant company they must

have been; for, says our author, “all the corrupt ramifications of the

human heart,—all the vile actions of which man is capable, could be

traced, and that distinctly, in the features of these sons of Ghiath.”

The situation of this ancient city is delightful. It is built upon an

eminence, commanding a panoramic view of an expanse of country which,

even in its present barren and deserted condition, has a charming

aspect. Wild olive, juniper, and almond trees in abundance stud the

banks of the brook. Of the place itself, Mr Davis says, “I had no

conception of the extent of the ruins to be found here; so that my

companions, as well as myself, were absolutely amazed on beholding the

magnificence of some of them. As I viewed these from some angles, I

could almost fancy myself again on the majestic ruins of Baalbec.” He

especially notices a sumptuous triumphal arch of the Corinthian order,

with a lesser arch on each side. From this he proceeded to three

temples,—upon which time, and the innate destructive disposition of the

Arabs, have left evident traces. “Parts are in a most dilapidated

condition, yet it is surprising to meet with so much which, with very

little trouble and expense, might easily be restored to its former

grandeur. The front and entrance to the temples are in ruins, and large

masses of stone are lying about in all directions, and block up the

ingress; but the backs, which face the triumphal arch, are in capital

repair.”

On his return from visiting the ruins of Spaitla, our author and his

companions, miscalculating the movements of the main body of the

expedition, found themselves very much out of their reckoning. Night

came on,—their guide, the Majer chief, disappeared at the very time his

presence was most required; and what with the fear of his rascally tribe

before their eyes, as well as of the wild beasts of the desert, the

night which the little party had to pass on the sands before they could

rejoin the main body was anything but a comfortable one.

Lions are common in these parts, and their tracks were occasionally

visible; but the king of beasts nowhere appeared in person, and the

Prince, who longed to try his skill on this lordly tenant of the wastes,

was balked of his sport. Hyenas are likewise to be met with; and the

manner in which they are taken by the Arabs in these parts is very

peculiar. Its subterranean abode, it appears, is so narrow as not to

permit of the animal turning about in it; and hence, to use the Arab

phraseology, it has “two doors,” by one of which it enters, and by the

other goes out. The Arabs, lying _perdus_ in the vicinity of one of

these dens, watch the particular hole by which the hyena enters, and

then proceed to place a strong rope net over the opposite hole,—whilst

one of their fraternity, skilled in the business, and prepared with a

rope, works his way in by “the door” which the animal has entered. As he

nears the brute (which cannot turn upon him), he “charms it,” according

to our author’s informants, saying,—“Come, my dear little creature; I

will lead you to places where many carcases are prepared for you,—plenty

of food awaits you. Let me fasten this rope to your beautiful leg, and

stand quiet whilst I do so.” This sentence, or something very similar to

it, is repeated till the operation is effectually achieved; when the

daring son of the Sahara begins to gore the brute with a dagger, till he

is forced to rush out, when he is caught in the net, and either killed

on the spot or carried off alive. If any blunder happens, however,—as is

sometimes the case—through which the hyena is enabled to struggle and

re-enter its abode, the “charmer,” in spite of his charming, falls a

victim to its savage rage, and frequently his companions can scarcely

contrive to get clear without feeling something of its effects.

The powerful Hamama tribe was the next which our travellers fell in

with,—two hundred of this tribe coming to pay their respects to the

heir-apparent of the throne, and escort him to the city of Cafsa. “There

was much in their appearance,” says Mr Davis, “to make me regard this

tribe with a great degree of interest. They are genuine Arabs, and of

this they are very proud. ‘Their hand is against every man, and every

man’s hand is against them.’ An officer from the reigning sovereign of

Tunis, (who has just joined our expedition) with a number of cavalry

soldiers, is now amongst them, in order to enforce a fine of 2000

camels, for murders and other outrages committed by these genuine

descendants of Ishmael. They are at enmity with the Dreeds, jealous of

the Farasheesh, and almost constantly at war with the Mamshe—a tribe

inhabiting the western borders of the regency, quite as powerful and as

full of pretensions as their own.” As seldom more than thirty camels are

ever demanded for a single life, these two thousand camels symbolise

upwards of sixty murders committed by this tribe, and known to the

Government!

His Highness the Prince made his entry in grand style into Cafsa,—the

Mamlooks on their choice horses, and in their best uniforms—a native

band playing their national tunes—a host of unfurled banners—and at the

wings several companies of cavalry. In all, including the various tribes

that had joined, the camp now amounted to no less than 30,000 men, about

50,000 camels, and 2000 horses and mules! “A just estimate of the size

of the expedition,” says our author, “can only be formed by viewing it

from some eminence as it is moving along, either in some large plain, or

over the seas of sand which now and then it is traversing. Often have I

taken my position on a little hillock, and could see nothing for miles

before me or behind but the living masses which composed the inhabitants

of our canvass city. How similar to this must have been the marching of

the Children of Israel in the wilderness, on their way from Egypt to the

Promised Land!”

The morning was lovely as they approached Cafsa. Not a speck could be

discovered in the sky, and everything around seemed to have an aspect of

contentment and cheerfulness. The city is surrounded by gardens, gay

with clusters of date, olive, lemon, orange, pomegranate, pistacchio,

and other fruit trees. “In walking among these gardens, richly watered

by a delicious brook, which has its supply from two fountains, one

within the citadel, and the other in the centre of the city, a stranger

can imagine himself in some more temperate region, and among a people

more advanced in civilisation.” But on entering the city, the charm (as

usual) vanishes. Cafsa is the ancient Capsa, (built three hundred years

before Carthage), the stronghold of Jugurtha; of the inhabitants of

which place Florus says, “They are in the midst of their sands and

serpents, which defend them better from those that would attack them

than armies and ramparts would.” Marius, however, after some adroit

manœuvring, pounced upon and took the city;—and as the inhabitants were

strongly attached to the Numidian prince, the Roman general, after

giving the place up to be plundered by his soldiers, levelled it with

the ground, and put the inhabitants to the sword, or sold them as

slaves. The modern city, built on the ruins of the ancient one, is

situated upon a rising ground, and has a population of about three or

four thousand inhabitants. Within it there is a spring, the waters of

which, at their source, are tepid, but are considerably cooled in the

large basin into which they discharge themselves. This is in all

probability the _Tarmid_ of Edrisi and the _Jugis aqua_ of Sallust. A

small kind of fish, about two or three inches in length, is to be found

in this slightly tepid basin.

The capture of one of the Hamana tribe at this place, who had been

“preaching up a kind of crusade against the Government, and instilling

Chartist principles,” (!) not unnaturally suggests to Mr Davis the

recollection of certain cases of capital punishment which he had

witnessed at Tunis. One of these he thus describes:—

“A crowd near the Carthagenian gate attracted my attention, and on

inquiry I found that the five or six hundred persons had assembled to

see the sentence of their despot carried into execution. In a few

minutes six _hambas_ (policemen) made their appearance on the wall,

some forty yards distant from the gate, and about thirty feet in

height, leading two culprits, whose hands were pinioned in front. They

stepped firmly, and seemed quite callous and indifferent about their

doom. The hambas set at once about their work. They fastened ropes

round the necks of the criminals, which they secured to the

battlements, on the wall. No ecclesiastic was present to administer

any religious consolation; but the executioners now and then

ejaculated the words, _Maktoob_, ‘it is so predestinated,’ and _Hacka

yehab rubby_, ‘such is the will of God.’ When desired to take the

position pointed out to them, they did so without manifesting the

slightest reluctance, or exhibiting the least symptom of fear. Each

took his seat between two of the battlements, their feet hanging over.

They looked for a moment on the crowd beneath; and when one of the

hambas desired them to pronounce their creed, they cried out, ‘O

Moslems! pray for us.’ Then, turning their eyes heavenwards, they

pronounced in a clear, distinct, and audible voice, the words,’There

is no God but God, and Mohammed is his apostle.’ When the last word

was uttered, the executioners pushed them simultaneously off the wall,

and thus the wretched men were launched into eternity. The conduct of

the assembled spectators was very orderly—indeed, grief seemed

depicted on every countenance.”

In Mohammedan law, sentences, whether capital or otherwise, are no

sooner pronounced than they are carried into execution. There is a

delectable variety in the modes of exit from this world, which the law

prescribes for capital offenders. Arabs are generally hanged, seldom

decapitated; Turks are mostly strangled; Jews are dealt with after the

manner of Arabs. Women are drowned; and the higher classes, and princes,

enjoy the privilege of being poisoned. In some few cases, criminals are

sentenced to be burned. One mode of death—which we Europeans regard as

rather an honourable one—is regarded by the Koran-readers and the

orthodox portion of the community as heterodox in the extreme. A

knowledge of Roger Bacon’s invention, gunpowder, never having been

vouchsafed to the Prophet in any of his revelations, the Faithful, of

course, are unable to find a single passage in the Koran to justify

sentencing a soldier to be shot. But in this, as in many other

instances, the common sense or convenience of the Pasha leads him to

deviate from the Cadi’s opinion, and to overrule the _Sharrah_.

On leaving Cafsa, our travellers found themselves fairly in the Sahara.

“As the day advanced,” says Mr Davis, “the heat increased, and by noon

became almost intolerable. Besides the excessive heat of a burning sun,

we had to endure the noxious influence of the southerly wind, which,

fortunately for us, did not blow with all its wonted fury. Its effect,

however, was apparent, not only on myself, but also on some of my

friends. The weakness and lassitude these combined agencies produced,

manifested themselves by the perfect stillness and sullenness which

prevailed in every group of travellers, as they either walked or rode

along. The heat it collected in its sweep across the burning sands, it

now freely vented on us,—and that to such a degree that some of its

puffs actually resembled in their effects the flames issuing from a

furnace.” No wonder that the Psylli of old should have attempted the

extermination of so destructive a tenant of the waste! This nation, says

Herodotus, who in ancient times inhabited a district bordering on the

_Regio Syrtica_, having once had all their reservoirs of water dried up

by the south wind, advanced into the Sahara in order to make war upon

it; but the enemy, defying bow and arrow, opposed them by blowing with

extreme violence, and raised such clouds and torrents of sand that the

poor Psylli were overwhelmed, and all of them perished! What African

traveller does not regret that the victory was on the side of the

noxious element!

Mr Davis never saw the Simoom in its full and dreadful force, nor did he

witness any of those astounding exhibitions of sand-columns, circling in

numbers over the surface of the desert, and overwhelming everything that

come in their way, that Bruce once gazed upon with awe and wonder. But

of snakes and scorpions, and suchlike poisonous inhabiters of the

Desert, our author had his fill. On one occasion, when about to encamp,

they found the ground literally covered with snakes, whose bite, the

Arabs say, is certain death. “Happily for man,” said one of Mr Davis’s

companions, “these reptiles have not the benefit of sight;—had they not

been deficient in this, the world could not have existed, as these

enemies of man would undoubtedly have extirpated him from the face of

the earth! So powerful is their sting, that they have been known to have

penetrated the large iron stirrup of the Hamama.” The snake thus alluded

to—and we need hardly say, our readers may take the description _cum

grano salis_—is the _liffa_ or _liffach_,—a reptile about a yard in

length; and the account which the Arabs give of the death of those who

have been bitten by it tallies very closely with the description which

Lucan gives of the death of Nasidius in the same locality:—

“A fate of different kind Nasidius found:

A burning _prester_ gave the deadly wound,—

And straight a sudden flame began to spread,

And paint his visage with a glowing red.

With swift expansion swells the bloated skin,

Nought but an undistinguish’d mass is seen:

The puffy poison spreads and heaves around,

Till all the man is in the monster drown’d.”

The next place the expedition reached was Tozar,—a town fairly in the

Sahara, and beyond even the farreaching sway of the old _Dominos rerum_

and their redoubtable Legionaries. “Before Tozar,” says our author,

“there are a few hillocks, dotted with some majestic palm-trees;

affording a delightful shade: and the silvery rivulet, winding its way

among these in devious directions, adds to the charm of the scene. As we

approached, we found the hillocks and the trees literally covered with

men, women, and children,—assembled to witness the entry of Prince

Mohammed and the camp, with their shrill notes of _lo-lo-lo-lo_!” Tozar,

like the other cities of the Sahara, is in one important feature

different from those on the coast. Generally speaking, the streets of

all the towns of Barbary, like those in Egypt and Syria, are exceedingly

narrow, so that one camel, laden with wood or merchandise, is sufficient

to obstruct the thoroughfare. But in the towns of the Sahara the streets

are generally very wide,—the object of which is, to allow the furious

winds of the Desert, charged with immense masses of sand, to sweep clean

through, instead of being checked in their course, and therefore

blocking up the streets with their noxious deposit. From these

sand-storms of the desert, the coast-towns have little to fear, on

account of the intervening mountain-chains robbing those terrible

visitants of their deadly burden; and accordingly the inhabitants of the

Barbary towns can afford to build their streets very narrow, so as to

exclude the fierce rays of the sun,—a luxury which their southern

brethren dare not indulge in.

The population of Tozar amounts to about five thousand,—for the most

part of a swarthy complexion, with a cast of features bordering upon

that of the Negro. Indeed every fresh stage one makes in the journey

into Central Africa, a gradual change is perceptible in the features and

complexion of the population,—the white man, by a slow but invariable

process, changing into a Negro. “Were it possible,” says Mr Davis, “to

introduce into Europe an ethnological collection, classified

latitudinally, from the northern coast to Central Africa, the greatest

sceptic might be convinced of the fact, that _time_ and _place_ alone

made our coloured fellow-creatures what they are. The slave-dealer, and

the Negro-dealer, might thus have an ocular demonstration of the great

truth, that the black man is our brother, and that circumstances alone,

with the nature of which we are not fully acquainted, made him to differ

from us.” He mentions, as an additional proof of this, that even among

the Jews (who, he says, “have probably lived in this part of Africa from

the time the Phœnicians first settled here”) a striking difference is

perceptible between those on the coast and those residing in the

interior. He adds the curious fact, that in the desert the Jews

certainly do not live for many centuries; and thence deduces the

conclusion, that if its influence is so clearly shown in them, both as

regards colour and features, it is not to be wondered that it should

have told to a much greater extent on those to whom the Sahara has been

a home for thousands of years. Of all these vari-coloured sections of

the North African population, the most merry and gay are unquestionably

the Negroes, whether male or female. To ask a Moor or an Arab if he

danced, would be to offer him a serious insult—the former especially

being too grave to have a regard even for music. But the black people

are almost always cheerful, and enjoy life even when in a state of

bondage. “Often have I seen them,” says Mr Davis, “congregated by

hundreds in some open space, singing and dancing, and playing, for hours

consecutively. The ability of the Negro to accommodate himself to

circumstances is surprising. What would depress and crush a white man is

supported with a marvellous resignation by the black, whose light heart

enables him to toil and to sing, to suffer, and yet not despair.”

Within the oasis of Tozar, and its date-forest, are half-a-dozen

villages, besides four marabouts with their cupolas, around each of

which are a few huts. The houses of the Desert are generally only one

storey high, and are built, like those of Cafsa, of bricks, with rafters

of palm-wood. The interior of the houses is as humble as their exterior.

The rooms are long and narrow, with only a hole here and there to admit

the light; and from the rafters of the ceiling of every apartment is

suspended the stock of dates which, with milk, forms the principal

articles alike of food and of commerce. It is by the sale, or rather

barter, of their dates to the wandering tribes that the inhabitants of

the oasis of Tozar procure for themselves wheat, barley, cloth, cattle,

&c. In former times their commerce was not of so simple or so innocent

description—for a flourishing business used to be done here with Tunis

in human flesh. A slave was given in exchange for two or three

hundredweight of dates, or at the intrinsic value of about £3; and when

the rich planter’s shed was filled, he marched the unhappy objects of

his purchase northwards to the coast, where they were shipped for their

various destinations. “Before the abolition of slavery in the regency of

Tunis,” says our author, “I have often seen caravans from this place

exposing their merchandise in the slave-market of the capital, and

selling them at the rate of £12 or £15 per head. But this lucrative

business is now stopped, at least so far as Tunis is concerned, and loud

are the complaints of the Tozarians on this subject.”

Besides the stock of dates pendant from the ceiling, the chief ornaments

which decorate the rooms of the Sahara towns, are a strange medley of

jars, jugs, dishes, plates, bottles, and glasses, suspended on the wall

facing the entrance-door. Here they are exhibited promiscuously, totally

irrespective of size, shape, colour, or order, and by the quantity of

these, an estimate is formed of the wealth of the owner. A low table, a

few stools made of the branches of the palm-tree, and, in some

instances, a couch or divan, complete the furniture of an apartment,—and

an apartment generally forms the residence of a single family. At night,

sheepskins, rugs, or mats, are spread on the floor, and supply the place

of beds. Every household, we may add, has one or more immense jars, into

which any loose or stray dates are thrown. Within an inch or two of the

bottom of these jars there is a top, by which they draw off a species of

date-honey, which they use in cooking and for other purposes.

Date-honey, however, is not the only species of juice which the

Tozarians obtain from the palm-trees of their oasis; for we are informed

that though the devout believers in the Koran there scrupulously abstain

from _wine_, they indulge freely in _lagmi_, or the juice of the

palm-tree, which, when fermented, is quite as intoxicating in its

effects as the beverage prohibited by the Prophet. This juice is easily

obtained, and if possible still more easily prepared. At a certain

season of the year, an incision is made in the tree just beneath the

branches,—a jar is then so fastened as to receive the liquid as it

exudes,—and, in this manner, they usually procure from a tree, during

the course of a night, from a quart to a quart and a half of _lagmi_.

When drunk immediately, this liquor tastes like genuine rich milk, and

is perfectly free from an intoxicating influence; but when allowed to

stand for a night, or at most for twenty-four hours—during which time

fermentation takes place—“it partakes (with the exception of the colour,

which is whitish) of the quality and flavour of champagne, and that of a

much superior sort to what is usually offered in the British markets.”

This date-tree wine is to be found in every house, and has its victims

reeling through the streets of Tozar just as beer and whisky have in our

streets at home. But the curious part of the matter is, that “the

faithful” openly justify themselves against the charge of transgressing

their Prophet’s precept. “_Lagmi_ is not wine,” they say, “and the

Prophet’s prohibition refers to _wine_.”

Of the social relations at Tozar, Mr Davis says:—“My first impression,

on visiting several families, was such as to induce me to believe that

greater domestic happiness prevailed here than in the Mohammedan cities

on the coast. The females are not kept in distinct and separate

apartments, nor do they even cover their faces when in the presence of

strangers, but appear perfectly free, and seem exceedingly affable.” A

closer examination, however, sufficed to show that the regulations of

Mohammedanism in regard to females produced very much the same results

here as elsewhere. Marriage is usually contracted very early,—so that it

is no uncommon thing to see boys of thirteen and fourteen in possession

of wives of eleven or twelve, or even younger; and the result, here as

elsewhere, is, that girls of twelve look as old as European females do

at twenty, and at thirty they are almost fit to be placed on the retired

list. Indeed, as Colonel Dow in his _Ferishta_ says, polygamy in the

East is founded very much on natural causes, as, owing to early

marriages, and the effects of the climate, a man there keeps his vigour

long enough to see two or three wives bloom and fade in succession.

Moslems consider it wrong, and even sinful, if a man has reached his

twentieth year without marrying. The young couple are joined together on

the good faith of their parents or relations; for they are not permitted

to see each other before the nuptial night. Certain persons,

however,—generally old women, relatives of the parties—are sent from the

man, who examine the lady, and bring him back a report of her bodily

accomplishments. If the man finds himself disappointed, he has a right

to send her back to her parents, without restoring to her the portion

that was promised her,—or rather, the price that was to be paid for her,

as the wife is bought by the husband. The young damsels, it must be

allowed, take all pains to avoid so lamentable a catastrophe. “Excessive

obesity,” says Mr Davis, “is considered the perfection of female beauty

among the Mohammedans on the coast; hence a young woman, after she is

betrothed, receives gold or silver shackles upon her hands and wrists,

and is fed so long till these are filled up. A kind of seed called

_drough_, and their national dish _coscoso_, are used for the purpose.

The young lady is literally crammed, and some actually die under the

spoon.”

These African beauties, it would appear, are subject to strange

fantasies and superstitions. The Jenoon, or devil, we are told,

sometimes causes a lady to fancy some article of dress or jewellery; and

until her husband (for the lady is always a married one) procures her

the article, the Jenoon torments her in a most pitiless manner. But the

tormentor is not satisfied by the lady obtaining the article. He must

have something for himself, in return for the trouble he takes in the

matter,—and that something is nothing less than a splendid feast

exclusively of ladies. Our reverend author, however, by special favour,

was once present at a feast of this kind at Nabil, the ancient Neapolis;

and as the spirits do not seem to have stood much in awe of “the cloth,”

he is able to furnish us with the following account of this Jenoon or

devil feast:—

“The room in which it was celebrated was beautifully illuminated, and

surrounded with ottomans, upon which the ladies, amounting to forty,

were luxuriously reclining, and amongst them the lady possessed by the

Jenoon. All of them were beautifully dressed, and none of them,

judging from their appearance, were more than forty years of age,

though some of them were still in their teens. After I had been there

a few moments, supper was brought in; and coscoso, the favourite dish

of Barbary, was of course not excluded. They all sat down on the

ground, and some with wooden spoons, whilst others with their hands,

partook freely of the repast. I was invited to join them, which I did,

and had also the pleasure to be favoured with a spoon.” (We hope it

was a _long_ one!)

“After supper they all took their former places; and a band of music

began to strike up some of their national tunes. All the ladies sat

quiet—till of a sudden one of them, a young woman of about twenty,

arose and began to dance by herself. She was soon followed by several

others, who were wheeling rapidly round; and all of them worked

themselves into such a frenzy that from weakness they dropped to the

ground, where they lay, till, recovering their strength, they

recommenced their madness. This lasted a considerable time. The lady

with the Jenoon was sitting quietly on the ottoman. When the visitors

had finished their amusement, she started up, and followed their

example; and when she, like the others, was stretched on the floor,

one of the spectators arose, and asked what article she fancied,—to

which she made no reply. The former then named several articles of

dress, asking whether she wished any of them; and when the article

which the Jenoon lady desired was mentioned, (I believe a shawl), she

suddenly started up,—and this was the signal that the Jenoon feast was

considered as ended.”

When Barbary ladies play the _Jenoon_ with their husbands at this rate,

it is not to be wondered at that a separation from such fantastic

spirits should be placed within easy reach of the man. Barbary husbands,

at least if they be Moslems, can take back their divorced partners after

a first divorce, but not after a second, unless—strange provision!—she

has in the interim been married to another man. A husband may oblige his

divorced wife to nurse any infant she has borne him, until it is two

years old; and no man can marry a divorced woman sooner than four months

and a half after her total separation from the former husband. The

facility with which a divorce can be procured in Northern Africa, even

for the most trivial causes, cannot be otherwise than most pernicious to

the social welfare of the community. Mr Davis narrates the following

anecdote in illustration of this ridiculous as well as most mischievous

license:—

“A servant of mine of the name of Ali, once very pressingly applied

for leave to go out for a short time. It was not my custom to inquire

into the nature of his business, but, on that occasion something

unaccountable prompted me to put the question,—‘And where are you

going to, Ali?’

“Holding up a piece of paper, he very coolly answered,—‘To give my

wife this divorce; and shall soon be back, _Arfi_,’ (my master).

“‘To give your wife a divorce! Well, you may go; but remember, if you

divorce her, I from this very moment divorce you.’

“Handing me the paper, Ali exclaimed,—‘Here, master, take it; on such

conditions I shall not divorce my wife.”’

Tozar was the most southerly point which the expedition reached; and

here it remained for the space of three weeks, during which time Mr

Davis and his three French companions made excursions to the

neighbouring oases. Accompanied by the Governor and Cadi of Nefta, with

a retinue of some twenty well-mounted servants, they set out over the

sands to visit that place. “Never,” says Mr Davis, “had the propriety of

styling the camel _the ship of the Desert_ been so apparent to me as

this day. The whole way from Tozar to Nefta, the Desert had completely

the aspect of a vast bed of an ocean, and we seemed to plough the sandy

waves of the Sahara as the ship does those of the sea. The morning was

rather hazy, and the sky was overcast with a number of detached small

white clouds, which (particularly those along the horizon) very often

assumed the form of a variety of sailing crafts; and thus added

considerably to the delusion, under the influence of which we Europeans

were quite willing to abide, viz. of navigating some expansive lake. By

seven o’clock, however, the sun burst forth in all his brilliance; every

cloud was speedily dispersed, and a clear, blue ethereal sky was

stretched over us as far as the eye could reach.” When fairly launched

upon the Deserts, the sameness of the scenery becomes most oppressive.

Seldom is the traveller’s eye refreshed by anything in the shape of a

mountain or a green plain. One sea of sand succeeds another; and were it

not for an occasional mirage, which for a time diverts them, or, for the

circumstance that the glaring sun and drifting sand-clouds compels them

sometimes for hours together to envelop their faces in the _bornoos_, or

cloak, so that they are able to dream of the fantastic groups of

date-trees, and the gentle rivulets winding amongst them in their native

land, their journey through such portions of the Desert would be the

most intolerable and dreary imaginable. These alleviations, or

“comforts,” as an old voyager of the Desert called them, being mere

illusions, are rather calculated to vex the heart of the inexperienced

traveller. But those who have been in the habit of crossing the sandy

ocean from their infancy, and to whom every spot on its surface is

familiar, are diverted, and even cheered by such illusions. “It is a

change for them,” said one of these veteran voyagers, “and any change in

a monotonous life is agreeable.”

On the present occasion, however, our travellers were embarked on a much

shorter journey. A few hours’ ride sufficed to carry them over the

waste, and bring them to the oasis of Nefta—of the extreme antiquity of

which town the Cadi had the most assured belief. “Nefta,” said he, “was

built—or, rather the foundation of it was laid—by _Saidna Noah_ (our

Lord Noah): peace be upon him! Here he discovered the first dry spot;

and hence he disembarked here, and erected an abode for his family.” The

inhabitants of these oases of the Desert are not without their

etiquette; and on approaching the town, the Governor assumed his

dignified aspect, made his entry with all possible gravity, and was no

sooner seated in his own residence than the sheikhs and aristocracy of

Nefta assembled to welcome him, some kissing his head, some his

shoulder, some his elbow, and some the palm of his hand. The worthy

Governor, however, who had a good dash of humour in his composition,

loved other things better than etiquette. “No sooner was the assembly

dismissed,” says our author, “than our lordly host again resumed his

easy and affable manner. When the sound of the feet of the last grandee

had died away, Ibrahim rose up, and assumed an attitude which might have

been a subject for the study of an artist. There he stood, not unlike

what I could fancy a Demosthenes, a Cato, or a Cicero, when on the point

of commencing one of their thrilling orations. Ibrahim remained in that

position a few seconds, and then turning to us, said, ‘I am glad to be

free again. Gentlemen! you no doubt are hungry as well as myself; have

you any objection to a good dinner?’”

Having despatched the dinner, which justified the host’s eulogium of it,

and reposed for a few hours after their fatigues, Mr Davis and one of

his companions set out by themselves to ride all round the oasis of

Nefta. “All went on well at first,” he says, “and we even enjoyed our

ride along the outskirts of the thick forest of magnificent and majestic

date-trees, till we suddenly perceived our horses sinking beneath us.

‘Pull up! pull up!’ screamed my companion; ‘the ground is unsafe!’ We

were on the brink of getting on the _Kilta_, a dangerous swamp, which

receives the surplus waters of the head-fountain, after they have

supplied the vast date-plantations. The _Kilta_ joins the ‘Sea of

Pharaoh,’ and never have I seen anything of a more delusive character.

The surface of the swamp had precisely the same appearance as the solid

ground; and had we been riding at full speed, we might have perished in

this deceitful abyss.” The _Ras Elain_—“head fountain or spring,”—which

is the source of the _waad_, or river, constitutes the charm and luxury

of this delightful oasis. The spring is surrounded on three sides by

hillocks, and is embowered amidst a cluster of palm-trees, so thickly

and eccentrically placed that our travellers had much difficulty in

approaching it so as to taste its waters. _Fi kol donya ma atsh’

kaifho’_,—“In the whole world there is nothing like it!” exclaimed their

guide. “And I must candidly confess,” says Mr Davis, “that though he had

never left the locality of his birth, he was pretty correct on this

point. Never did I taste more delicious water; and we unanimously agreed

that the Neftaweens might well be proud of their _Ras Elain_. What a

boon is this spring, located as it is amidst the burning sands!”

But the great marvel of this district is the mysterious _Bakar Faraoon_,

the “Sea of Pharaoh.” The whole tribes of the vicinity look with awe and

terror upon this so-called “sea,” and superstitions innumerable are

connected with it. Not only has the army of that wicked monarch after

whom the sea is called, perished in it, but hosts of infidel sovereigns,

persecutors of the Faithful, with their myriads of warriors, been

engulfed in it, and are still sinking down its bottomless abyss! Such

are the reports of the Moslems, confirmed by the weighty asseverations

of our author’s learned friend, the Cadi of Nefta. “Not only have

numberless armies been seen marching and re-marching on its surface by

night,” said that erudite expounder of the Koran, “but repeatedly have

they been seen during broad daylight. Giants on monstrously large

horses, have been seen galloping about in various directions, advancing

and receding, and then suddenly disappearing again in that ‘sea.’”

“‘Have you ever, my Lord Cadi, seen any of those submarine warriors?’

_Cadi._—‘No, _I_ never have.’

‘Can you mention any trustworthy person of your acquaintance who has?’

_Cadi._—‘I certainly cannot.’

‘Then what evidence have you for the truth of those marvellous

apparitions?’

_Cadi._—‘Every one believes in all I have told you.’

‘Is it not possible that all this belief may be the result of the

fevered imagination of some superstitious individual?’

_Cadi._—‘It certainly is possible,—but all believe it.’”

This wonderful “sea” is a vast lake, dry for about nine months of the

year, extending about seventy miles in length, by forty broad at its

widest part. It receives several streamlets, such as the _Ras Elain_ of

Nefta; and, during the rainy season, the torrents from the mountains

which on two sides at least adjoin it. During the winter, portions of

the lake-bed retain for a short time the waters thus poured into it; but

during the greater part of the year, a deposit of salt only is visible

on its sandy surface. It abounds in marshes, quicksands, and trap-pits;

and at no time can it be crossed save by a single route, which is

pointed out by trunks of palm-trees, placed at short distances,—and

hence its proper name, _the Lake of Marks_. Tufts of very sickly-looking

grass, and mounds clothed with consumptive shrubs, fringed its shores at

the time our travellers visited it; and its surface was wavy, and

covered with saline incrustations. Towards the north-east part of the

lake there is a kind of island, about four miles in circumference, which

is covered with palm-trees. The Arabs say that those trees have grown up

from the kernels left there by Pharaoh’s troops,—and this they regard as

an additional proof that the Egyptian monarch and his army perished

there!

At last the three weeks’ stay at Tozar drew to a close, and a most

lovely night was that which preceded their departure. Mr Davis seldom

indulges in scenic description; and we give the following as a rare and

charming picture of a night-scene in the Desert:—

“At half-past ten, when every inmate of my establishment had retired

to rest,—the tranquillity, the universal stillness, and balmy

atmosphere seemed to invite me to leave my tent again. All was serene

and calm without, and everything appeared to inspire the mind with

serious and sober reflection.

‘Nature was hush’d, as if her works adored,

Still’d by the presence of her living Lord.’

The sultry heat of the day had now ceased, and a cool northerly breeze

gently waved the branches of the stately palm-trees. The darkness

gradually vanished before the bright rays of the moon, whose silvery

light streamed through the forest; and in a few minutes, she rode high

above the loftiest of its countless trees, and by her splendour and

brilliancy so illuminated every object around, that day appeared again

perfectly restored. And the stars, too,—

‘Those quenchless stars! so eloquently bright.

Untroubled sentries of the shadowy night,’—

vied with each other in lustre, to contribute to the magnificence of

this majestic scene,—to add dazzling refulgence to the prodigious

theatre exhibited for the admiration of wondering man!

“Here we have our white canvass city, and, a little beyond it, the

sombre buildings of Tozar. Here again is the thick forest of graceful

palms, with their clusters of ‘fruits of gold,’ pendant beneath their

feathery branches. The rippling brook flows on in its eccentric

course, bearing on its surface the reflection of the host of stars in

the firmament. All nature—animate and inanimate—as far as my vision

could embrace, not only declared the omnipotence and benevolence of

the great Eternal, but seemed to proclaim universal peace and safety,—

‘’Twas a fair scene,—a land more bright

Never did mortal eye behold!’

“The only sound audible, besides that of the sentries, and the

rippling stream close by, was the voice of a _dervish_ or saint, who

was entertaining the inmates of a tent, pitched a short distance from

mine, with some extraordinary Mecca legends. I was on the point of

re-entering my tent, when one of the party, attracted by the scene

without, called upon his companions to behold the wonderful works of

God. All obeyed; and my thin texture partition enabled me to listen to

their repeated exclamations of _Allah Kabeer_, ‘God is great!’ Thus

the Moslem, like the Christian, was led, from a survey of the

stupendous works of nature, to contemplate nature’s omnipotent God.”

We need not follow the steps of the expedition as it slowly retraced its

path northwards through the Desert, from oasis to oasis, till it fairly

reentered the region of verdure and perennial waters. Nor can we stay,

even in passing, to tell of the many French deserters who have sought

refuge among the tribes and towns of the Sahara, nor of their strange

adventures, nor of the hardship and death which in so many cases has

overtaken them. We merely reconduct Mr Davis, with a velocity unknown to

desert-travelling, back to Tunis, and there leave him. His book is a

very creditable performance,—though one-half of it might have been as

well written (and perhaps was so) in comfortable lodgings in London as

in “My Tent” in the Balad Ejjareed. It is not a book of personal

adventure. The author is a reverend gentleman, who has no ambition to

rival the feats of Gordon Cumming among the lions and hippopotamuses of

the African wastes; still less is he inclined to become a “free lance”

in the ranks of General Pelissier’s _Zouaves_, and spin us thrilling

tales of hairbreadth escapes, such as have lately issued from the press

of Germany. But he has been a considerable time—six years—in Northern

Africa, and has made himself well acquainted with the language and

customs of its people,—upon which subjects we know of no writer in whom

we would place more confidence. He is also well acquainted with the

works of adventure and travel already published on this part of the

world, and of which he very properly makes use to lend additional value

or interest to his own. Indeed we think we have recognised several

anecdotes in his book which we have already quoted in our pages, when

reviewing the foreign works in which they originally appeared. Hence

these _Evenings in my Tent_ do not contain so much fresh matter as we

anticipated; yet the substance of their pages is, on the whole, both

good and readable—if we except the antiquated chapter on the

Slave-trade, and a few passages where the author’s clerical habits

incline him to sermonise rather more than may suit the tastes of his lay

readers.

THE COST OF THE COALITION MINISTRY.

It is probable that ere these pages issue from the press, war will have

been formally declared with Russia, and Great Britain will be

irretrievably engaged in a contest of which it is impossible to see the

termination. Already our choicest troops have left our shores for the

Mediterranean, inspired by the cheers and accompanied by the blessing of

many hundreds of thousands of their fellow-countrymen, who, for the

first time in their lives, have witnessed so solemn yet exciting a

spectacle. Already has a noble fleet sailed for the waters of the

Baltic, to sweep that inland sea, and to launch its thunders against the

foe. Wellnigh forty years have elapsed since such din of martial

preparation has been heard. On the last occasion, Russia and Britain

were combined against France—now, Britain and France are combined

together against Russia. Such a struggle, so commenced, must be a

desperate, but not therefore necessarily a short one. We cannot yet

calculate on the part to be taken by the central powers of Europe; for,

notwithstanding Lord Clarendon’s assurance that Austria is with us, we

have every reason to believe that the government of that country is so

closely leagued with Russia, that when compelled to throw off its

appearance of neutrality, its forces will be ranged upon her side.[11]

We cannot depend upon the cordial co-operation of Prussia—which power,

besides having no direct interest in the Eastern quarrel, is intimately

allied with Russia, and has always acted, during times of European

disturbance, with a view to its own aggrandisement. It would be folly to

underrate the magnitude of the contest in which we are engaging. The

re-pacification of Europe cannot be achieved without an enormous

expenditure of blood and treasure, and without very considerable

alterations in its territorial adjustment. The war once begun, Russia

will know that she is fighting, not for the occupation of the Danubian

provinces, but for the retention of the territories which she has

absorbed or pillaged from her neighbours. The penalty she must pay in

the event of defeat is dismemberment, and she will resist that to the

uttermost.

We must not, therefore, blind ourselves to consequences, which, in so

far as human judgment can go, appear to be inevitable. We may be able to

disperse or even to annihilate the Russian fleets in the Baltic and the

Black seas—we may be able to prevent the colossal northern power from

crossing the Danube, or even beat it back from the Principalities—but

the contest will not end there. We are on the verge of a general

European embroilment, in which there will not only be wars, but bloody

revolutions; and as we have been the first to enter, so we must be the

last to withdraw. We do not say this for the purpose of checking

enthusiasm—God forbid! We are already committed to the struggle; and if

in the minds of any there has lingered a doubt as to the propriety of

Christian intervention for the maintenance of a Mahometan power in

Europe, that ought to be dispelled by the revelations recently made of

the objects of the Russian ambition. The Czar is no crusader; nor is he

influenced by any tender regard for the religious liberties of the

Christian population dwelling beneath the government of the Sultan. He

has set his eyes upon Turkey, just as Catherine in 1772 fixed hers upon

Poland, and he has had the astounding effrontery to propose that Great

Britain should take part in the spoliation. Here is his own proposition,

as communicated to Lord John Russell, by Sir G. H. Seymour, in his

despatch of 22d February 1853:—

“The Emperor went on to say that, in the event of the dissolution of

the Ottoman empire, he thought it might be less difficult to arrive at

a satisfactory territorial arrangement than was commonly believed.

‘The Principalities are,’ he said, ‘in fact an independent state under

my protection; this might so continue. Servia might receive the same

form of government. So again with Bulgaria. There seems to be no

reason this province should not form an independent state. As to

Egypt, I quite understand the importance to England of that territory.

_I can then only say that if, in the event of a distribution of the

Ottoman succession upon the fall of the empire, you should take

possession of Egypt, I shall have no objections to offer. I would say

the same thing of Candia: that island might suit you, and I do not

know why it should not become an English possession._’”

Such was the language used by the Emperor of Russia to the British

minister at the Court of St Petersburg, and we really cannot imagine

anything more absolutely infamous. It was a bribe, tendered evidently in

the belief that it would be accepted; and the offer ought to have been

at once most indignantly repelled. Was it so? We shall see presently—for

the correspondence recently published is far too remarkable and

momentous to be passed over with a single extract from its contents.

The Government of Lord Aberdeen, it will be remembered, acceded to

office in the latter part of December 1852. On the 9th of January

following, the Emperor Nicholas, at a private meeting in the palace of

the Grand-duchess Helen, thus approached Sir G. H. Seymour. We shall be

as short in quotation as possible; but it is absolutely necessary that

the leading points of such an extraordinary transaction as this should

be kept before the public view. We quote from Sir Hamilton Seymour’s

despatch to Lord John Russell, then Foreign Secretary, of date 11th

January 1853:—

“The Emperor came up to me, in the most gracious manner, to say that

he had heard with great pleasure of Her Majesty’s Government having

been definitively formed, _adding that he trusted the Ministry would

be of long duration_.

“His Imperial Majesty desired me _particularly to convey this

assurance to the Earl of Aberdeen_, with whom, he said, he had been

acquainted for nearly forty years, and for whom he entertained equal

regard and esteem. His Majesty desired to be brought to the kind

recollection of his Lordship.”

Then follows the report of some expressions regarding the close amity

which ought to prevail between the two countries, and their community of

interests, which, being general, we may pass over: but Nicholas speedily

comes to the point—

“In the mean time, the Emperor went on to say—‘I repeat, that it is

very essential that the two Governments—that is, that the English

Government and I, and I and the English Government—should be upon the

best terms; _and the necessity was never greater than at present_. I

beg you to convey these words to Lord John Russell. When we are agreed

(_d’accord_), I am quite without anxiety to the west of Europe; it is

immaterial what the others may think or do. As _to Turkey, that is

another question_; that country is in a critical state, and may give

us all a great deal of trouble. And now I will take my leave of you,’

which His Majesty proceeded to do by shaking hands with me very

graciously.”

The Czar probably thought that he had said enough in the first instance,

and that it would be prudent to allow Sir Hamilton Seymour to chew, for

a day or two, the cud of thought. But that active and astute diplomatist

saw that something more than common was intended, and pressed for a

further explanation. The following conversation is certainly as curious

as any which is recorded in the pages of history:—

“‘Sir,’ I observed, ‘your Majesty has been good enough to charge me

with general assurances as to the identity of views between the two

Cabinets, which assuredly have given me the greatest pleasure, and

will be received with equal satisfaction in England; but I should be

particularly glad that your Majesty should add a few words which may

tend to calm the anxiety with regard to the affairs of Turkey, which

passing events are so calculated to excite on the part of Her

Majesty’s Government. Perhaps you will be pleased to charge me with

some additional assurances of this kind.’

“The Emperor’s words and manner, although still very kind, showed that

His Majesty _had no intention of speaking to me of the demonstration

which he is about to make in the South_. He said, however, at first

with a little hesitation, but, as he proceeded, in an open and

unhesitating manner—‘The affairs of Turkey are in a very disorganised

condition; the country itself seems to be falling to pieces (_menace

ruine_); the fall will be a great misfortune, and it is very important

that England and Russia should come to a perfectly good understanding

upon these affairs, and that neither should take any decisive step of

which the other is not apprised.’

“I observed in a few words, that I rejoiced to hear that His Imperial

Majesty held this language; that this was certainly the view I took of

the manner in which Turkish questions were to be treated.

“‘Tenez,’ the Emperor said, as if proceeding with his remark, ‘tenez;

nous avons sur les bras un homme malade—un homme gravement malade; ce

sera, je vous le dis franchement, un grand malheur si, un de ces

jours, il devait nous échapper, surtout avant que toutes les

dispositions nécessaires fussent prises. Mais enfin ce n’est point le

moment de vous parler de cela.’

“It was clear that the Emperor did not intend to prolong the

conversation. I therefore said, ‘Votre Majesté est si gracieuse

qu’elle me permettra de lui faire encore une observation. Votre

Majesté dit que l’homme est malade; c’est bien vrai, mais votre

Majesté daignera m’excuser si je lui fais observer, que c’est à

l’homme généreux et fort de ménager l’homme malade et faible.’

“The Emperor then took leave of me in a manner which conveyed the

impression of my having, at least, not given offence, and again

expressed his intention of sending for me on some future day.”

It is proper to subjoin Sir Hamilton Seymour’s own impressions of this

interview, as communicated to Lord John Russell.

“Your Lordship will pardon me if I remark that, after reflecting

attentively upon my conversation with the Emperor, it appears to me

that this, and any overture of the kind which may be made, tends to

establish a dilemma by which it is very desirable that Her Majesty’s

Government should not allow themselves to be fettered. The dilemma

seems to be this:—If her Majesty’s Government do not come to an

understanding with Russia as to what is to happen in the event of the

sudden downfall of Turkey, they will have the less reason for

complaining if results displeasing to England should be prepared. If,

on the contrary, Her Majesty’s Government should enter into the

consideration of such eventualities, they make themselves in some

degree consenting parties to a catastrophe which they have so much

interest in warding off as long as possible.

The sum is probably this:—That England has to desire a close concert

with Russia, with a view to preventing the downfall of Turkey; while

Russia would be well pleased that the concert should apply to the

events by which this downfall is to be followed.”

In a postscript to this despatch, we learn that the Emperor had

communicated _to the Austrian Minister_ the tenor of the above

conversation. That circumstance is, to say the least of it, significant.

Five days afterwards, Sir Hamilton Seymour waited upon the Emperor, at

the request of the latter, and was favoured from the imperial lips with

a remarkably choice specimen of what our Irish friends denominate

_blarney_. The Czar began by asseverating that he had not the least

intention of increasing the extent of his territorial dominions. The

only danger, he said, which he could foresee to Russia would arise from

an extension given to an empire already too large. From this general

statement he presently condescended to particulars.

“Close to us lies Turkey, and, in our present condition, nothing

better for our interests can be desired; the times have gone by when

we had anything to fear from the fanatical spirit or the military

enterprise of the Turks, and yet the country is strong enough, or has

hitherto been strong enough, to preserve its independence, and to

insure respectful treatment from other countries.”

These were, we venture to think, injudicious premises on the part of the

Emperor, for they are tantamount to an admission that Turkey, if left

alone, was quite able to maintain its own position. We are not quite

sure that the same could be said of Austria, which, but a few years ago,

owed its integrity to the intervention of Russian bayonets. Be that as

it may, the Emperor went on to state that he had the right of

surveillance over some millions of Christians in the Ottoman empire—a

right which he regarded as a duty, but used sparingly, because it was

“attended with obligations occasionally very inconvenient.” And then we

arrive at a statement, quite inconsistent, we think, with what had gone

before.

“Now, Turkey, in the condition which I have described, has by degrees

fallen into such a state of decrepitude, that, as I told you the other

night, _eager as we all are for the prolonged existence of the man_

(and that I am as desirous as you can be for the continuance of his

life, I beg you to believe), he may suddenly die upon our hands (_nous

rester sur les bras_); we cannot resuscitate what is dead: if the

Turkish empire falls, it falls to rise no more; and I put it to you,

therefore, whether it is not better to be provided beforehand for a

contingency, than to incur the chaos, confusion, and the certainty of

a European war, all of which must attend the catastrophe if it should

occur unexpectedly, and before some ulterior system has been sketched?

This is the point to which I am desirous that you should call the

attention of your Government.”

We had better give _in extenso_ the conversation which immediately

followed; because we think that Sir Hamilton Seymour might, without any

breach of propriety, have used more decided language than he did employ,

with regard to the view likely to be taken by the British Cabinet. We

are quite aware of the difficulties of an ambassador in such a

situation; still we cannot avoid the conclusion that Sir H. Seymour was

unnecessarily timid, and not nearly decided enough in the tone which he

assumed. He objected, indeed, but the objection was rather feeble; which

was unfortunate, as his principal in England immediately adopted the

like inconclusive tone.

“‘Sir,’ I replied, ‘your Majesty is so frank with me that I am sure

you will have the goodness to permit me to speak with the same

openness. I would then observe that, deplorable as is the condition of

Turkey, it is a country which has long been plunged in difficulties

supposed by many to be insurmountable. With regard to contingent

arrangements, her Majesty’s Government, as your Majesty is well aware,

objects, as a general rule to taking engagements upon possible

eventualities, and would, perhaps, be particularly disinclined to

doing so in this instance. If I may be allowed to say so, a great

disinclination (_répugnance_) might be expected in England to

disposing by anticipation (_d’escompter_) of the succession of an old

friend and ally.’

“‘The rule is a good one,’ the Emperor replied, ‘good at all times,

especially in times of uncertainty and change, like the present: still

it is of the greatest importance that we should understand one an

other, and not allow events to take us by surprise; maintenant je

désire vous parler en ami et en _gentleman_; si nous arrivons à nous

entendre sur cette affaire, l’Angleterre et moi, pour le reste peu

m’importe; il m’est indifferent ce que font ou pensent les autres.

Usant donc de franchise, je vous dis nettement, que si l’Angleterre

songe à s’établir un de ces jours à Constantinople, je ne le

permettrai pas; je ne vous prête point ces intentions, mais il vaut

mieux dans ces occasions parler clairement; de mon côté, je suis

également disposé de prendre l’engagement de ne pas m’y établir, _en

propriétaire il s’entend, car en dépositaire je ne dis pas_; il

pourrait se faire que les circonstances me misent dans le cas

d’occuper Constantinople, si rien ne se trouve prévu, si l’on doit

tout laisser aller au hazard.’

“I thanked his Majesty for the frankness of his declarations, and for

the desire which he had expressed of acting cordially and openly with

her Majesty’s Government, observing at the same time that such an

understanding appeared the best security against the sudden danger to

which his Majesty had alluded. I added that, although unprepared to

give a decided opinion upon questions of such magnitude and delicacy,

it appeared to me possible that some such arrangement might be made

between her Majesty’s Government and his Majesty as might guard, if

not for, at least against certain contingencies.

“To render my meaning more clear,” I said, further, “I can only

repeat, Sir, that in my opinion her Majesty’s Government will be

indisposed to make certain arrangements connected with the downfall of

Turkey, _but it is possible that they may be ready to pledge

themselves against certain arrangements which might, in that event, be

attempted_.”

We have no desire whatever to reflect upon the conduct of the prudence

of Sir Hamilton Seymour, but we cannot help saying that he seems to have

missed one very material point—that being _a distinct explanation of the

quarter from which the anticipated danger to Turkey was to arise_. Sir

Hamilton was perfectly justified in intimating that Britain did not

intend to subvert the integrity of Turkey, and that she would not be

passive if France were to manifest such a design. There was no earthly

danger from either quarter; and certainly Austria, whatever she may wish

to have or is ready to receive, would not have dared, under existing

circumstances, to disturb the peace of Europe. Turkey itself was in a

far better position than it ever had been. “L’homme gravement malade,”

was exhibiting every symptom of convalescence, and the only danger to be

apprehended was from the Muscovite doctor, who, without being summoned,

was preparing to administer his pills. Therefore, we think that the

rejoinder to the Emperor’s confidences—subject, of course, to the

official Cabinet approval—should have been in the shape of a query as to

the nature of the apprehended danger. The Czar had protested, in the

most emphatic language, that he was “eager for the prolonged existence

of the man;” and, if that were the case, his dissolution was an event

much less likely than that of many a dynasty of Christian Europe. With

Russia and Britain as determined protectors, who was to give him the

_coup-de-grace_? Surely Sir Hamilton Seymour erred in not putting that

point more forcibly and distinctly in his confidential conversations

with the Emperor.

We say this, because the last paragraph in Sir Hamilton Seymour’s

despatch, of 22d January 1853, to Lord John Russell shows that he was

not altogether uninfluenced by the Imperial blandishments and

affectation of perfect sincerity.

“A noble triumph would be obtained by the civilisation of the

nineteenth century if the void left by the extinction of Mahommedan

rule in Europe could be filled up without an interruption of the

general peace, in consequence of the precautions adopted by the two

principal Governments the most interested in the destinies of Turkey.”

Precautions indeed! Precautions which would have made Russia, without

assuming the name of proprietor, the virtual and absolute occupier of

Constantinople, with the power of the keys of the Bosphorus! It is

marvellous that so acute a minister as Sir Hamilton Seymour—who

otherwise deserves great praise for his lucid exposition of the designs

and motives of the Czar—did not perceive that any approach to an

arrangement for disposing of the inheritance, was tantamount to a

declaration of the immediate dissolution of Turkey.

In answer to these communications, Lord John Russell, on the 9th

February, forwarded a despatch, of the wisdom of which it is for the

public to form their own opinion. It commences with an acknowledgment of

“the moderation, the frankness, and the friendly disposition of his

Imperial Majesty.” Why the first of these terms should have been

employed, we really do not comprehend. Then Lord John, adverting to the

indirect proposal of the Emperor, observes that—“In considering this

grave question, the first reflection which occurs to Her Majesty’s

Government is, that no actual crisis has occurred which renders

necessary a solution of this vast European problem”—that “there is no

sufficient cause for intimating to the Sultan that he cannot keep peace

at home, or preserve friendly relations with his neighbours”—and that

“it occurs further to her Majesty’s Government to remark that the event

which is contemplated is not definitely fixed in point of time.” After

pointing out the impropriety as well as the impolicy of devising a

partition for providing for a settlement under such circumstances, Lord

John intimates, in tolerably distinct terms, that “neither England nor

France, nor probably Austria, would be content to see Constantinople

permanently in the hands of Russia.” He then draws the following

conclusions:—

“Upon the whole, then, Her Majesty’s Government are persuaded that no

course of policy can be adopted more wise, more disinterested, more

beneficial to Europe, than that which His Imperial Majesty has so long

followed, and which will render his name more illustrious than that of

the most famous sovereigns who have sought immortality by unprovoked

conquest and ephemeral glory.

“With a view to the success of this policy, it is desirable that the

utmost forbearance should be manifested towards Turkey; that any

demands which the Great Powers of Europe may have to make should be

made matter of friendly negotiation rather than of peremptory demand;

that military and naval demonstrations to coerce the Sultan should as

much as possible be avoided; that differences with respect to matters

affecting Turkey, within the competence of the Sublime Porte, should

be decided after mutual concert between the great powers, and not be

forced upon the weakness of the Turkish Government.”

To this succeeds a passage which we cannot help considering as

unfortunate, because it gives decided colour to the Russian pretext,

that a protectorate over Turkey was necessary for securing the rights of

the Christian inhabitants. There was no occasion whatever for its

introduction, especially as the Emperor had not thought it necessary to

ask advice upon the subject:—

“To these cautions Her Majesty’s Government wish to add, that in their

view it is essential that the Sultan should be advised to treat his

Christian subjects in conformity with the principles of equity and

religious freedom which prevail generally among the enlightened

nations of Europe. The more the Turkish Government adopts the rules of

impartial law and equal administration, the less will the Emperor of

Russia find it necessary to apply that exceptional protection which

his Imperial Majesty has found so burdensome and inconvenient, though

no doubt prescribed by duty and sanctioned by treaty.

We observe that the _Times_, notwithstanding its notorious ministerial

leaning, has declined awarding praise to this state document, and we are

not surprised at it. It is dissuasive and declinatory, but it is

altogether feeble. We should have expected to find in it, not

hypocritical acknowledgments of Imperial moderation and so forth, but a

distinct, firm, and energetic protest against any attempt to disturb the

peace, or to violate the integrity of Turkey. The infamous proposals

made to Britain—for they were infamous not only as regarded Turkey but

other European powers—should have been rejected in a manner that could

have left no doubt in the mind of the Czar as to the part which the

British Government was prepared to take in the event of his entering

into hostilities with the Sultan. From the beginning to the end of this

despatch there is not a single word which can be construed into a plain

warning to the Czar, that any attempt made by him upon Turkey would

provoke the hostility of Britain. On the contrary, the declinature to

participate in the scheme is mainly founded on the fact that no “actual

crisis” has yet arrived; but there is nothing said to indicate that

Britain would oppose the forcing on of such a crisis, if Russia thought

proper to precipitate it; and a more unlucky expression than “_that the

event which was contemplated is not definitely fixed in point of time_”

it is utterly impossible to conceive. The perusal of this despatch could

leave no other impression upon the mind of the Czar, than that the

British Ministry were afraid to commit themselves by entering into any

secret or separate treaty with Russia for the disposal of the Turkish

dominions, until a crisis actually should occur. That they would have

preferred the maintenance of the _status quo_ to a disturbance of it,

was tolerably clear; but it was not in the least degree clear that they

would take umbrage at an act of aggression, or be indisposed to treat

with Russia after the aggression was made, and the weakness of the

Ottoman empire exhibited by its being forced to succumb to the attack of

the northern Colossus. The despatch, in short, was not couched in such

manly, distinct, and positive terms as a British Secretary of State for

foreign affairs should have employed on such an occasion. It is weak,

timid, and almost subservient; and we are not in the least degree

surprised to find that the Czar considered that it gave him sufficient

encouragement again to renew his attack. Here is an extract from his

next conversation with the British envoy, Sir Hamilton Seymour.

“‘I think your Government does not well understand my object. I am not

so eager about what shall be done when the sick man dies, as I am to

determine with England what shall not be done upon that event taking

place.’

“‘But, sir,’ I replied, ‘allow me to observe, that we have no reason

to think that the sick man (to use your Majesty’s expression) is

dying. We are as much interested as we believe your Majesty to be in

his continuing to live; while, for myself, I will venture to remark

that experience shows me that countries do not die in such a hurry.

Turkey will remain for many a year, unless some unforeseen crisis

should occur. It is precisely, sir, for the avoidance of all

circumstances likely to produce such a crisis that Her Majesty’s

Government reckons upon your generous assistance.’

“‘Then,’ rejoined the Emperor, ‘I will tell you that, if your

Government has been led to believe that Turkey retains any elements of

existence, your Government must have received incorrect information. I

repeat to you, that the sick man is dying; and we can never allow such

an event to take us by surprise. We must come to some understanding;

and this we should do, I am convinced, if I could hold but ten

minutes’ conversation with your Ministers—with Lord Aberdeen, for

instance, who knows me so well, who has full confidence in me, as I

have in him. And, remember, I do not ask for a treaty or a protocol; a

general understanding is all I require—that between gentlemen is

sufficient; and in this case I am certain that the confidence would be

as great on the side of the Queen’s Ministers as on mine.’”

The despatch, containing the report of this conversation, was written on

the 21st February, and received at the Foreign Office on 6th March 1853;

so that the Emperor Nicholas, whatever may be thought of his conduct

otherwise, cannot be justly charged with deliberate perfidy in

concealing his views from our Government. Indeed, Sir Hamilton Seymour,

in this very document, gave Lord John Russell a distinct intimation of

the real objects of the Czar.

“It can hardly be otherwise but that the Sovereign, who insists with

such pertinacity upon the impending fall of a neighbouring state, must

have settled in his own mind that the hour, if not of its dissolution,

at all events for its dissolution, must be at hand.

“Then, as now, I reflected that this assumption would hardly be

ventured upon unless some, perhaps general, but at all events intimate

understanding, existed _between Russia and Austria_.

“Supposing my suspicion to be well founded, the Emperor’s object is to

engage Her Majesty’s Government, in conjunction with his own Cabinet

and that of Vienna, in some scheme for the ultimate partition of

Turkey, and for the exclusion of France from the arrangement.”

On the following day a more particular, and, if possible, more

interesting, conversation took place between the Czar and the British

envoy. We regret extremely that our limits will not allow us to detail

this so fully as we could wish, but we shall advert to the principal

points, which were in the form of a commentary upon Lord John Russell’s

despatch. The Emperor began by saying,—

“That he was, perhaps, even more interested than England could be in

preventing a Turkish catastrophe, but that it was constantly

impending; that it might be brought about at any moment, either by an

external war, or by a feud between the old Turkish party and that of

the ‘new superficial French reforms,’ or again, by a rising of the

Christians, already known to be very impatient of shaking off the

Mussulman yoke. As regards the first cause, the Emperor said that he

had a good right to advert to it, inasmuch as, if he had not stopped

the victorious progress of General Diebitch in 1829, the Sultan’s

authority would have been at an end.”

Next he descanted upon what could _not_ be permitted in the event of a

break-up of the Ottoman empire. This is perhaps the most curious passage

of the whole.

“‘Well, there are several things which I never will tolerate; I will

begin by ourselves. I will not tolerate _the permanent occupation_ of

Constantinople by the Russians; having said this, I will say that it

never shall be held by the English, or French, or any other great

nation. Again, I never will permit an attempt at the reconstruction of

a Byzantine empire, or such an extension of Greece as would render her

a powerful state; still less will I permit the breaking up of Turkey

into little republics, asylums for the Kossuths and Mazzinis, and

other revolutionists of Europe; rather than submit any of these

arrangements I would go to war, and as long as I have a man and a

musket left would carry it on. These,’ the Emperor said, ‘are at once

some ideas; now give me some in return.’”

This was an awkward demand, but Sir H. Seymour seems to have acquitted

himself with sufficient adroitness. He put the following case: “How

would it be if, in the event of any catastrophe occurring in Turkey,

Russia and England were to declare that no Power should be allowed to

take possession of its provinces; that the property should remain, as it

were, under seals, until amicable arrangements could be made as to its

adjudication?” Of course this notion could not be countenanced; and the

Emperor’s reply allowed Sir Hamilton the opportunity of making the

following remark:—

“‘Sir,’ I then observed, ‘if your Majesty will allow me to speak

plainly, I would say that the great difference between us is this—that

you continue to dwell upon the fall of Turkey, and the arrangements

requisite before and after the fall; and that we, on the contrary,

look to Turkey remaining where she is, and to the precautions which

are necessary for preventing her condition from becoming worse.’ ‘Ah!’

replied the Emperor, ‘that is what the Chancellor is perpetually

telling me; but the catastrophe will occur some day, and will take us

all unawares.’”

Then follows a passage of very great interest at the present moment,

when the course which Austria may adopt is still matter of speculation.

Our impression has been, and is, that she will ultimately co-operate

with Russia.

“Being desirous, if possible, of ascertaining whether there was any

understanding between the Cabinets of St Petersburg and Vienna, I

added, ‘But your Majesty has forgotten Austria; now all these Eastern

questions affect her very nearly; she, of course, would expect to be

consulted.’ ‘Oh!’ replied the Emperor, greatly to my surprise, ‘but

you must understand that when I speak of Russia I speak of Austria as

well: what suits the one suits the other; our interests as regards

Turkey are perfectly identical.’ I should have been glad to make

another inquiry or two upon this subject, but I did not venture to do

so.”

Next comes the bribe—for we can call it nothing else—implied in the

Emperor’s statement, already quoted, that he saw no reason why, in the

event of the dissolution of the Ottoman empire, Great Britain should not

obtain possession of Egypt and Candia! And so completely does he seem to

have considered that point settled, that a few days afterwards, and

without any further intercourse with Britain (for so we are given to

understand), a confidential memorandum, dictated by the Czar, and

containing the following passage, was placed in the hands of Sir

Hamilton Seymour:—

“In short, the Emperor cannot but congratulate himself at having given

occasion for this intimate interchange of confidential communications

between Her Majesty and himself. He has found therein valuable

assurances, of which he takes note with a lively satisfaction. The two

Sovereigns have frankly explained to each other, what in the extreme

case of which they have been treating, their respective interests

cannot endure. England understands that Russia cannot suffer the

establishment at Constantinople of a Christian Power sufficiently

strong to control and disquiet her. She declares, that for herself she

renounces any intention or desire to possess Constantinople. The

Emperor equally disclaims any wish or design of establishing himself

there. England promises that she will enter into no arrangement for

determining the measures to be taken in the event of the fall of the

Turkish empire, without a previous understanding with the Emperor. The

Emperor, on his side, willingly contracts the same engagement. As he

is aware that in such a case he can equally reckon upon Austria, who

is bound by her promises to concert with him, he regards with less

apprehension the catastrophe which he still desires to prevent, and

avert as much as it shall depend on him to do so.”

This is, perhaps, the most extraordinary note that was ever issued. If

founded upon nothing else than Lord John Russell’s single despatch of

9th February 1853, it is an attempt to make a memorandum supply the

place of a treaty, and that not with regard to existing circumstances,

but to a contingency involving the destruction of an ally. The Emperor

must, indeed, have had great faith in the subserviency of the British

Cabinet to his views, before he could have ventured on such a step. Lord

Clarendon now comes into action, as the successor of Lord John Russell

in the Home Office; but we need not pursue the correspondence further

than to say, that it was conducted on the same principle of

remonstrance, though very feeble on the part of the British Minister,

against the assumption that Turkey was absolutely in a critical state,

and of assertion to the contrary on the part of the Czar. His object was

to alienate Britain from France—to keep the latter power out of any

arrangement which might be made for the partition of the Turkish

territories—and to hasten the crisis as fast as possible, in order that

Britain might be compelled to come to definite terms. Lord Clarendon’s

despatches are couched in terms quite unworthy of his position. Lord

John Russell, who had primarily to state the views of the British

Cabinet, may be excused for a certain weakness of expression; but no

such apology can be made for Lord Clarendon, who was bound emphatically

to have informed the Czar that this country disdained his proposals, and

was prepared, at any hazard, to maintain the integrity of Turkey. We say

that he was bound to have done so, on the supposition that the Aberdeen

Ministry disapproved of the partition of Turkey, and were prepared, by

force of arms, to oppose it. Disapproval is of two kinds: There is the

faint remonstrance, which is usually considered to imply reluctant

consent; and there is strong distinct denial, which cannot possibly be

misinterpreted. We find no such strong distinct denial in Lord

Clarendon’s despatches. They are filled with almost fulsome adulation of

the Czar, who had previously tendered a bribe. Thus, in the despatch of

23d March, we find the following passage:—

“The generous confidence exhibited by the Emperor entitles His

Imperial Majesty to the most cordial declaration of opinion on the

part of Her Majesty’s Government, who are fully aware that, in the

event of any understanding with reference to future contingencies

being expedient, or indeed possible, the word of His Imperial Majesty

would be preferable to any convention that could be framed.”

Scarce less miserably sycophantish are the terms of the despatch of

April 5th. “My despatch of the 23d ult. will have furnished you with

answers upon all the principal points alluded to in the memorandum which

Count Nesselrode placed in your hands; but it is my duty to inform you

that that important and remarkable document was received by her

Majesty’s Government with feelings of sincere satisfaction, as a renewed

proof of the Emperor’s confidence and friendly feelings; and her

Majesty’s Government desire to convey their acknowledgments to his

Imperial Majesty for having thus placed on record the opinions he

expressed at the interview with which you were honoured by his Imperial

Majesty.”

We do not profess to know much about the language of diplomacy; but if

these are the sort of terms to be addressed to an avowed disturber of

the peace of Europe, who has attempted to engage us in a conspiracy by

offer of a bribe, we are at a loss to know what language can afford by

way of adequate encomium to a really honest ally. The excuse of sincere

belief in the sincerity of the Czar is entirely precluded by the terms

of the previous communications from Sir Hamilton Seymour, which not only

indicate but demonstrate the game which the Autocrat was playing. It is

certainly remarkable to observe the extreme cordiality with which the

Emperor greeted the accession of his old friend, Lord Aberdeen, to

power, and the fervency of his wishes for his long continuance in

office. Immediately thereafter—or rather on the same occasion—he begins

to develop his designs upon Turkey, states his prognosis of the

condition of the sick gentleman, and requests to be informed what are

our views as to the partition of his property. Our Ministers demur as to

the fact of the sickness; but the Imperial Doctor assures them that it

is so, or shall immediately be so, and states that he will be contented

with a temporary occupation of the dying man’s domicile—the catastrophe

to be hastened by a bolus of his own administration—but that we are

perfectly welcome to seize upon certain outlying hereditaments! And in

return to such proposals, which, if agreed to, would have made us

deservedly infamous throughout Europe, the Ministers of Queen Victoria

think fit to beslaver the Czar! Since the days of Charles II. England

has seen no similar instance of adulation to a foreign potentate.

The correspondence is now before the world, and the public must decide

whether it is such as to justify Lord Aberdeen’s assertion, in reply to

Lord Derby, “that if he thought it would be found to contain anything on

which a charge could be founded against the Government, he would find

himself egregiously mistaken.” Undoubtedly they are not chargeable with

connivance—but they are chargeable with incapacity and misconduct so

gross, that even connivance could not have produced effects more

disastrous. If they did not play directly into the hands of the Czar,

they failed to make him aware of the part which they were bound to take

should he persist in his nefarious designs. They manifested no kind of

honourable indignation at his offers; they received his cajolements with

complacency, and paid him back with compliments and assurances not one

whit more sincere than his own. If this really is the style in which our

diplomatic intercourse is usually conducted, there is ample room for a

reform. They cannot with justice assert that the Emperor was keeping

them in the dark as to the nature of his own projects. He was, on the

contrary, particularly frank. He insisted, over and over again, that

Turkey was on the eve of dissolution; he even indicated that he might

himself be the agent to force on that catastrophe—and yet Lord Aberdeen

and his colleagues are now maintaining that he had deceived them! How,

where, and when were they deceived? He showed them the victim,

prophesied his immediate death, intimated that the fatal deathblow might

be given by his hand, told them that he was in accord with Austria,

invited them to declare their wishes as to the subsequent partition, and

emphatically assured them that there was no time to be lost. Let us call

things by their proper names. Stigmatise the conduct of the Czar, if you

will, as ambitious, tyrannical, unprincipled, or nefarious—but do not

accuse him of having concealed his purpose from the British Ministry.

Were the Ministers then so blind that they failed to perceive his

purpose? Of course they were not. The Cabinet which contained Lords

Aberdeen and Palmerston, both of them experienced in foreign affairs,

could be at no loss to divine his meaning, even if that had been more

obscurely expressed; and consequently we must conclude that so early as

March 1853 they were put thoroughly on their guard. They were aware that

the Czar meditated the destruction of the Ottoman empire, and having

that knowledge, every movement of his in the East, whether diplomatic or

military, could only be regarded as progressive means towards the end

proposed.

Now there were two courses open to Ministers. The one was to have

intimated at once, without any circumlocution or compliment, that Great

Britain would not submit to any invasion of the Turkish territories on

the part of a European power, but would be prepared, by force of arms,

to resist any such attempt. That would have been a manly and honourable

course; and we are satisfied that, if adopted, the Czar would not have

had the temerity to provoke a crisis. Unfortunately no declaration was

made. A faint dissuasive, accompanied by an immense deal of

complimentary sugar, was all that our Ministers ventured to tender; and

the Czar was accordingly allowed to proceed, under the evident

impression that Great Britain would not actively interfere to prevent

his designs upon Turkey, any more than she interfered to prevent those

of his ancestress upon Poland.

The other course was to have maintained a strict neutrality, and to have

treated the Eastern question as an affair entirely between Russia and

Turkey. To that, however, it is more than doubtful whether the people of

this country would have submitted. The appetite of Russia for

territorial aggrandisement is so insatiable, and her advances have been

pushed so far, that the virtual cession to her of so fair and fertile a

country as Turkey, and the entire command of the entrance to the Black

Sea, would, very justly, have been deemed an act of culpable cowardice.

Setting aside the position of India, and the facilities which the

occupation of Turkey would afford for any hostile demonstration upon

that part of our dominions, we have now, in consequence of Free Trade, a

direct interest in the Danubian Principalities, as so many granaries for

our home consumption. Since we ceased to act upon the principle of

growing corn for our own population, and made ourselves dependent upon

foreign supplies, it would be suicidal to give Russia the power of

cutting us short both in the north and on the south—in the Baltic and

the Black Seas. Still that was the only other course which Ministers

could consistently have adopted, if they wished to avoid or postpone the

terrible calamity of a war.

They followed neither the one course nor the other. They did not tell

the Czar that, if he persisted in the schemes which he had disclosed to

them, he must be prepared to meet Britain in the field; nor did they

tell him that, in so far as they were concerned, he might do what he

pleased with Turkey. THEY HALTED BETWEEN TWO OPINIONS. In full knowledge

of his designs, they allowed him to commit himself—to pick a quarrel

with Turkey about some rubbish relating to the keys of the Holy

Places—to march his forces across the Pruth—to occupy the

Principalities,—to do, in short, the work of one effective campaign.

They never intimated to the country that the religious questions,—on

which Russia, with scandalous hypocrisy, rested her justification of

invasion,—were mere pretexts to mask the avowed intentions of Nicholas.

They did not even send a fleet at once to Constantinople, but kept it

hovering between Malta and Besika Bay, in the attitude of observation,

long after the Russian guns were roaring upon the Danube. Is it fair to

suppose that Nicholas,—after having frankly communicated to them his

intentions more than a twelvemonth ago; after having told them that the

sick gentleman was sure to die immediately; and after having taken

measures to secure the fulfilment of that prophecy,—could consider their

late hesitating and dilatory movement as otherwise than a convenient

sham? It must have appeared to him that if the British Government was

determined to oppose his project, they would at once have said so, with

the same openness which he manifested in his communications to them.

They said nothing of the kind. They gave him fulsome compliments. Of

course he went farther, and marched into the sick man’s territory. What

did our Ministers then? _They concealed what they knew_, and entered

into negotiations about the Russian Protectorate of Christian subjects

in Turkey, as if that were the sole point which had occasioned the

disturbance! What, under such circumstances, could the Czar conceive,

but that they were playing into his hands? He had apprised them, in

almost as many words, that he intended to take possession of Turkey, so

that they knew perfectly well that the question involved was not one of

religion, but of political aggrandisement. It was, however, his policy

to make it appear to the uninitiated that religion was his paramount

motive; and when the British Cabinet began to negotiate and issue notes

upon that footing, he was, after the confidential correspondence which

had taken place, fairly entitled to believe that they were not in

earnest. The Czar is a remarkably able man—we question whether,

politically speaking, he is not the ablest man in Europe—but his own

extraordinary position precludes him from understanding the effect of

public opinion in such a country as our own. He is accustomed to deal

with Cabinets, not with nations or parliaments; and he attributes more

power to the former than they possess, at least according to the

constitution of Great Britain. The British Cabinet cannot, like that of

Prussia or Austria, commit the country to a course which is inconsistent

with or derogatory to its honour.

In consequence of this irresolution on the part of our rulers, we are

now precipitated into war, and are already beginning to feel some of its

inconveniences. Let us now endeavour to ascertain the causes which have

led to so very serious a denouement as the disruption of the peace of

Europe. It is important that we should do so now, and not leave the

question entirely to the future speculation of historians.

During Lord Derby’s short tenure of office, relations of peculiar amity

had been established between Britain and France. Lord Malmesbury, than

whom no more able or judicious minister ever held the seals of the

Foreign Office, saw that the interests of civilisation not only in the

west, but throughout the whole of Europe, could only be maintained by a

close and permanent co-operation, and mutual good understanding between

these two countries; and he addressed himself to the task with equal

discretion and success. It is not too much to say that Britain and

France never were more cordially united and confidentially allied than

during the period we refer to. This, of course, was anything but

agreeable to the Czar, whose opportunity lay in a separation of the

interests of the two great powers of the West.

The dissolution of Lord Derby’s Government and the accession of the

Aberdeen Ministry effected a material alteration. The new Premier, Lord

Aberdeen, had been for a great many years on the most intimate footing

with the despotic Courts and Cabinets. He had not, it was true, the

ability of the Nesselrodes or Metternichs; but he was considered in the

highest diplomatic circles as a person who might easily be led, and upon

whom a certain show of deference would not be thrown away. It was

supposed, also, that he regarded with particular dislike the recent

changes in France, and was not favourable to the re-establishment of the

Empire under the rule of Napoleon III. This veteran ally of the despotic

powers was now associated with men whose former political opinions had

differed greatly from his, but who were openmouthed and unscrupulous in

their attacks upon the Emperor of the French. We need hardly remind our

readers of the highly reprehensible language which was employed by Sir

James Graham, and Sir Charles Wood—both of them Cabinet Ministers—in

respect to the Emperor Napoleon, or of the foul and scurrilous attacks

upon him with which, about the beginning of last year, the columns of

the Liberal press abounded. All that is changed now. There is, indeed,

plenty of invective and abuse, but it is directed towards another

quarter. The French Emperor, formerly pilloried by the Coalitionists,

has become the object of their laudation. The Russian Emperor, whom they

formerly lauded, is now put into the pillory.

Such being the declared views of the Coalitionists in regard to France,

it very naturally occurred to the Czar, that a more favourable

opportunity could not possibly arise for detaching Britain from the side

of France, and so rendering a future combination between these two

powers impracticable. Accordingly, as the published correspondence

shows, he did not lose a moment in opening his views to the British

envoy at St Petersburg: France, as we have seen, was not to be consulted

at all regarding the disposal of Turkey. Provided Britain and Russia

were of accord, it mattered nothing what view might be taken by any

other European power. France might do as she pleased, but the others

would be an overmatch for her. Here are the expressions which the

Emperor used on the 21st February:—

“His Imperial Majesty spoke of France. ‘God forbid,’ he said, ‘that I

should accuse any one wrongfully, but there are circumstances both at

Constantinople and Montenegro which are extremely suspicious; it looks

very much as if the French Government were endeavouring to embroil us

all in the East, hoping in this way the better to arrive at their own

objects, one of which, no doubt, is the possession of Tunis.’

“The Emperor proceeded to say that, for his own part, he cared very

little what line the French might think proper to take in Eastern

affairs, and that little more than a month ago he had apprised the

Sultan that if his assistance was required for resisting the menaces of

the French, it was entirely at the service of the Sultan!”

But for the temptation held out by the accession of the Coalition

Ministry to power in Great Britain, it is more than improbable that the

Czar would have made any overtures of the kind. But at the head of that

Ministry he saw Lord Aberdeen, “who knows me so well, who has full

confidence in me as I have in him”—the extent of that confidence being

marked by the statement, that he was convinced he could bring his

lordship to an understanding in the course of ten minutes’ conversation.

He had also remarked that at least two members of the Cabinet, in

violation both of decency and of their duty as Ministers of the Crown,

had been indulging in coarse and unmannerly invective against the

Sovereign of France; and, as a matter of course, he arrived at the

conclusion that they would be more ready to coalesce with him than to

ally themselves cordially with a government which they had spoken of in

public in such unexampled terms of contempt. In this calculation,

however, he was deceived. Wrong-headed as Lord John Russell is, we do

not believe that he would, for one moment, have allowed himself to

become a consenting party to such a flagitious transaction as the

partition of Turkey; and the same thing may be said of Lord Palmerston,

whose exclusion, through short-sighted jealousy, from the Foreign Office

at that particular time, we must regard as a national misfortune. But

that matters not in the consideration of the point before us. Both

circumstance and time concur to show that it was the accession of the

Coalition Ministry to power, and the unwarrantable language used by some

of its members towards the Emperor of France, that encouraged the Czar

to bring forward, and to put into shape, the project which, no doubt, he

had long entertained, but which could not be previously pursued for the

want of a fitting opportunity.

We regard, therefore, the formation of the Coalition Ministry in Britain

as the event which directly led to the original overture—the hopes of

the Czar being founded upon the political connections and understood

tendencies of Lord Aberdeen, and also on the declared aversion of some

of his colleagues to the head of the French Government. But for the

formation of that Ministry the designs of Russia upon Turkey would have

been postponed.

We have already commented upon the course which was pursued by the

Ministry from the time when they were apprized of the designs of the

Czar, down to that when the Danubian Principalities were invaded. We

have expressed our opinion that a serious remonstrance, coupled with a

plain intimation that Great Britain would not permit an occupation of

the Turkish territory, would have sufficed during the earlier part of

last year, and before any overt step was taken, to have deterred the

Czar from proceeding with his project. We ground that view upon the

policy which has been invariably pursued by Russia—which is to bully and

cajole, not to fight. Let us grant that the possession of Constantinople

is the darling project of the Czar—let us grant that, in order to attain

it, he would run considerable risk, and submit to extraordinary

sacrifices; still we are of opinion that had he been aware, before

utterly committing himself, that he would be opposed by the combined

forces of Britain and France, he never would have plunged into the

contest. See what he risks. First, the annihilation of his fleets, both

in the Baltic and in the Black Sea, for he can hardly hope to contend

with Britain and France upon the waters. Next, the derangement and

stoppage of trade, so vital to the real interests of Russia, and

equivalent to a sentence of bankruptcy against many of her nobles and

merchants, who depend entirely upon the amount and continuance of their

exports. Then there are the chances of insurrection in Poland, and

revolt in Finland; and the certainty that Russia, if worsted, will be so

dismembered as to prevent her from again disturbing the peace of Europe.

These are very serious considerations; and we may be certain that the

Czar, great as his appetite undoubtedly is for appropriation, would

rather have foregone his purposes upon Turkey, than have proceeded had

he believed that the two Western powers would be firm and united in

their resistance. Indeed, singular as it may appear, we are about to

engage in a war for which no one country in Europe is desirous. Britain,

with her eight hundred millions of debt, is by no means desirous to

increase the burden of taxation, or to imperil or impede that commerce

to which she owes so much of her greatness. In like manner France has no

interest to go to war, for she also is heavily burdened, and the present

Emperor has nothing so much at heart as to restore the state of the

finances. Austria has anything but an interest that war should take

place, for in that event, if she takes the side of Russia, there will be

immediate insurrection both in Hungary and Lombardy; and if she takes

the other side, she must quarrel with a very old partner in iniquity.

Prussia has no interest, for the age of subsidies has gone by, and she

is likely to suffer to whichever side she adheres; but most especially

if she adopts the cause of Russia. Neutral she cannot remain. We need

not say that Turkey, the state which is attacked, does not desire war;

and we are thoroughly convinced that the Czar, were he not committed so

deeply, would be glad to withdraw his pretensions. Now, who suffered him

to commit himself so deeply? We answer, the Coalition Ministry.

Had they been of one accord among themselves, nothing of this kind would

have happened. If Lord Aberdeen had been sole and supreme master in his

Cabinet, it is possible that Russia might have succeeded in acquiring a

protectorate over Turkey. The Sultan could hardly have attempted to

resist without powerful European aid; and France, had she found Britain

lukewarm or indifferent, could not be expected to come forward as the

defender of the balance of power without a single ally. No doubt, had

this occurred, it would have given Russia a most dangerous preponderance

in Europe, and probably necessitated a future struggle; but, in the mean

time, there would have been no war. Had the Cabinet been under the

guidance of Palmerston or Russell, the first advances of the Emperor, if

made at all, would have been met by a distinct and peremptory refusal,

and by a threat which would have effectually deterred him from moving a

step further. But unfortunately—most unfortunately for us, and for our

children, and for the general peace of Europe, this is _not_ a united

Cabinet. It is a congregation of men holding totally opposite

opinions—bred up in adverse schools—adhering to antagonistical

traditions—influenced by jealousy among themselves—and unable, upon any

one important point, whether it relates to foreign or domestic policy,

to arrive at a common conclusion. Take the case now before us. But for

Palmerston and Russell, and their other adherents in the Cabinet, Lord

Aberdeen might have established the principle of non-interference

between Russia and Turkey—and there would have been no war. But for Lord

Aberdeen and his adherents, Palmerston and Russell might have checked

the designs and met the overtures of the Czar, by declaring at once that

they would not suffer him to send a single soldier across the Pruth, and

that if he persisted in his design, they would invite the co-operation

of France, and defend Turkey to the uttermost—and in that case also

there would have been no war. But the Cabinet was split into two, if not

three, parties; and the adoption of a middle course, of feeble

dissuasion, unaccompanied by any hint of ulterior consequences, but

rather couched in terms of extreme and unworthy subserviency, deceived

the Czar, encouraged him to proceed,—and now war is all but declared,

and our fleet is riding in the Baltic. We have approached the subject in

anything but a party spirit—we have perused the correspondence, recently

published, over and over again, in the hope that we might gather from it

a justification of the course which the British Ministry has pursued—but

we are unable to arrive at any conclusion except this, that but for the

formation of the Coalition Cabinet, the ambitious schemes of Russia

would not have been developed; and that, but for its continuance and

internal divisions, those schemes would have been effectually checked.

In plain language, had it not been determined by a secret cabal that

Lord Derby’s Government should be overthrown by the most extraordinary

combination of parties ever known in this country, there would have been

no war; and it is right that the country should know to whom they are

indebted for the burdens which are now to be imposed upon us.

We do not object to the principle upon which the war proceeds. We think

it full time that the grasping ambition, insidious progress, and

inordinate arrogance of Russia should receive a check. It is to us

matter of pride and congratulation to know that, in the coming struggle,

the colours of Britain and France will be displayed side by side. But we

detest war, for its own sake, as fervently as any member of the Peace

Society can do, and we are perfectly alive to the awful consequences

which it entails. What we wish is, that the public should not

misapprehend the real cause of the present rupture of the peace of

Europe. That it originally arose from the exorbitant ambition of the

Czar, is beyond all question; but ambition can be controlled, and,

fortunately, the Czar is not yet master of the universe. Nay, he is not

yet master of Europe; for although, by spoliation and absorption, he has

secured to himself a vast extent of territory to which he had no

patrimonial claim; and although he exercises a great influence over

States which, in former times, have acquired accretions by unprincipled

subserviency to his house, he has yet to encounter the exerted power and

civilisation of the West. Had our Cabinet been united, and true to their

trust, that encounter might have been avoided. But it was not so. Some

of them were Russian, and some anti-Russian in their views, principles,

and antecedents; and so, in consequence of having a Coalition Ministry,

which, after being warned of the designs of Russia, egregiously bungled

our finance, and left us with a prospect of a deficit, we are to be

forced into a war of which no man can foresee the issue.

Let those who shudder at the cost, at least know to whom the cost is

due. We are now paying, and are likely to pay for a long time to come,

for the privilege of having a Coalition Ministry. But we submit, that

the continuance of such a form of government is not desirable. We have

shown, in regard to foreign affairs, and from evidence which cannot be

gainsayed, what are its results; we could show, if space allowed us, its

results upon domestic legislation. But we shall not enter into the

lesser topics now. We have, as yet, but touched upon a part of the

expediency of coalition; and our deliberate conclusion is, that to the

fact of the formation of the Coalition Ministry we must attribute the

development of the schemes of Russia, and to its extraordinary

vacillation and want of concert the catastrophe of a European war.

_Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._

-----

Footnote 1:

_Histoire des Marionettes en Europe depuis l’antiquité jusqu’à nos

jours._ Par CHARLES MAGNIN, Member de l’Institut. Paris, 1852.

Footnote 2:

These common Italian marionettes have travelled far. Daniel Clarke

found them in Tartary, all the fashion amongst the Cossacks of the

Don.—_Vide_ his _Travels in Various Countries_, part I.; _Russia,

&c._, p. 233.

Footnote 3:

Casperle is a comic countryman, who replaced Jack Padding on the stage

of the Austrian puppet-shows, and became so popular that the principal

marionette theatre of the Vienna faubourgs received the name of the

Casperle Theatre, and the coin which was the price of a place in the

pit was called a casperle.

Footnote 4:

“You have exactly caught his manner of clearing his throat and

spitting, but as for his genius....”—_Wallenstein’s Lager_, Scene vi.

Footnote 5:

The accomplished and lamented author of La Chartreuse di Parme; Le

Rouge et le Noir; Rome, Naples, et Florence, &c. &c., of whose

complete works a new edition is now appearing at Paris, under the

editorship of his friend, M. Prosper Mérimée.

Footnote 6:

M. Magnin here refers to an engraving at page 47 of the fifth volume

of the _Théatre de la Foire_ (1722) to prove that Punch’s humps, both

in front and rear, were formerly much less prominent. It is easy to

understand how, in the hands of ignorant showmen and manufacturers of

puppets, that which was at first the reflection of a popular metaphor

(of origin difficult to trace) was exaggerated into a senseless and

scarcely ludicrous deformity. _Rire comme un bossu_, to laugh like a

hunchback, is to the present day one of the vulgarest of French

colloquial similes. It is not easy to say whence it arose, or why a

hump between the shoulders should render the bearer more prone to

laughter than his straighter made fellows.

Footnote 7:

Another strange office of the headsman, at least in some parts of

Germany, was to collect the periodical fine or impost levied from

houses of an infamous class. Some striking particulars of his various

opprobrious functions in the Middle Ages, which the peculiar genius of

the German people and their literature has environed with a ghastly

mystery that at times borders on the supernatural, is to be found in a

curious work, entitled _Das Malefiz Buch_, reviewed in Blackwood’s

Magazine for February 1848.

Footnote 8:

On the 31st May M. Drouyn de Lhuys wrote to Count Walewski, the French

Ambassador in London, in the following terms:—“Monsieur le Comte, as I

have already several times mentioned, there is by the side of

diplomatic negotiations another action to exercise, and it is the

attitude assumed by the Cabinet of St Petersburg itself which has

shown the necessity of it. When we knew that the army cantoned in the

south of Russia was on a war footing, that it was provisioned as on

the eve of a campaign—when the fleet at Sebastopol was ready to weigh

anchor—when considerable purchases of wood were made for throwing

bridges over the Pruth and the Danube—if all this did not indicate

that hostilities were declared, it at least showed that they were

approaching, and that their commencement only depended on a word. Who

could guarantee us that, under the influence of a first movement, that

word would not be pronounced at St Petersburg, and that, if it had

been, that the city of Constantinople would be protected from a _coup

de main_? It was a danger of this kind that we feared, and as, if it

were to be realised, the game would be lost at the outset, prudence

imposed on us the duty of doing everything to prevent it. In what

could such a measure of foresight more resemble a provocation than did

the armaments of Russia herself? Why should not France and England,

for the object of maintaining the treaty of 1841, have the right of

doing that which one of the Powers which signed that convention was

doing with such very different designs? Such are the considerations

which determined us to send our fleet to Salamis, and which we now

recommend to draw closer to the Dardanelles, not to take the

initiative in an aggression, not to encourage Turkey to refuse every

arrangement, but to secure her against an immediate danger, and to

reserve in case of need to diplomacy the resources which it would no

longer have if it had to struggle against _faits accomplis_.”

Footnote 9:

It is but fair to say that the noble Lord seemed to feel the sarcasm

conveyed in the term “beau,” as the word is translated “important” in

the papers laid before Parliament.

Footnote 10:

_Evenings in my Tent; or, Wanderings in Balad Ejjareed. Illustrating

the Moral, Social, and Political Conditions of various Arab Tribes of

the African Sahara._ By the Rev. W. Davis, F.R.S.S.A. 2 vols. London:

1854.

Footnote 11:

In January 1850 (_vide_ article “The Year of Reaction”), after

commenting on the interposition of Russia to save Austria in the

Hungarian war, we stated our belief that the Czar did not render such

a service to his brother-despot for nothing. “_It is more than

probable_,” we said, “_that a secret treaty, offensive and defensive,

already unites the two powers_; that the crushing of the Magyars was

bought by the condition that the extension of Muscovite influence in

Turkey was to be connived at; _and that the Czar will one day advance

to Constantinople without fear, because he knows that his right flank

is secure on the side of Austria_.”

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in

spelling.

2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

3. Re-indexed footnotes using numbers and collected together at the end

of the last chapter.

4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.