Whilst I was remaining upon the coast of Syria I had the good fortune to
become acquainted with the Russian Sataliefsky, {47} a general officer,
who in his youth had fought and bled at Borodino, but was now better
known among diplomats by the important trust committed to him at a period
highly critical for the affairs of Eastern Europe. I must not tell you
his family name; my mention of his title can do him no harm, for it is I,
and I only, who have conferred it, in consideration of the military and
diplomatic services performed under my own eyes.
The General as well as I was bound for Smyrna, and we agreed to sail
together in an Ionian brigantine. We did not charter the vessel, but we
made our arrangement with the captain upon such terms that we could be
put ashore upon any part of the coast that we might choose. We sailed,
and day after day the vessel lay dawdling on the sea with calms and
feeble breezes for her portion. I myself was well repaid for the painful
restlessness which such weather occasions, because I gained from my
companion a little of that vast fund of interesting knowledge with which
he was stored, knowledge a thousand times the more highly to be prized
since it was not of the sort that is to be gathered from books, but only
from the lips of those who have acted a part in the world.
When after nine days of sailing, or trying to sail, we found ourselves
still hanging by the mainland to the north of the isle of Cyprus, we
determined to disembark at Satalieh, and to go on thence by land. A
light breeze favoured our purpose, and it was with great delight that we
neared the fragrant land, and saw our anchor go down in the bay of
Satalieh, within two or three hundred yards of the shore.
The town of Satalieh {48} is the chief place of the Pashalic in which it
is situate, and its citadel is the residence of the Pasha. We had
scarcely dropped our anchor when a boat from the shore came alongside
with officers on board, who announced that the strictest orders had been
received for maintaining a quarantine of three weeks against all vessels
coming from Syria, and directed accordingly that no one from the vessel
should disembark. In reply we sent a message to the Pasha, setting forth
the rank and titles of the General, and requiring permission to go
ashore. After a while the boat came again alongside, and the officers
declaring that the orders received from Constantinople were imperative
and unexceptional, formally enjoined us in the name of the Pasha to
abstain from any attempt to land.
I had been hitherto much less impatient of our slow voyage than my
gallant friend, but this opposition made the smooth sea seem to me like a
prison, from which I must and would break out. I had an unbounded faith
in the feebleness of Asiatic potentates, and I proposed that we should
set the Pasha at defiance. The General had been worked up to a state of
most painful agitation by the idea of being driven from the shore which
smiled so pleasantly before his eyes, and he adopted my suggestion with
rapture.
We determined to land.
To approach the sweet shore after a tedious voyage, and then to be
suddenly and unexpectedly prohibited from landing—this is so maddening to
the temper, that no one who had ever experienced the trial would say that
even the most violent impatience of such restraint is wholly inexcusable.
I am not going to pretend, however, that the course which we chose to
adopt on the occasion can be perfectly justified. The impropriety of a
traveller’s setting at naught the regulations of a foreign State is clear
enough, and the bad taste of compassing such a purpose by mere
gasconading is still more glaringly plain. I knew perfectly well that if
the Pasha understood his duty, and had energy enough to perform it, he
would order out a file of soldiers the moment we landed, and cause us
both to be shot upon the beach, without allowing more contact than might
be absolutely necessary for the purpose of making us stand fire; but I
also firmly believed that the Pasha would not see the befitting line of
conduct nearly so well as I did, and that even if he did know his duty,
he would hardly succeed in finding resolution enough to perform it.
We ordered the boat to be got in readiness, and the officers on shore
seeing these preparations, gathered together a number of guards, who
assembled upon the sands. We saw that great excitement prevailed, and
that messengers were continually going to and fro between the shore and
the citadel. Our captain, out of compliment to his Excellency, had
provided the vessel with a Russian war-flag, which he had hoisted
alternately with the Union Jack, and we agreed that we would attempt our
disembarkation under this, the Russian standard! I was glad when we came
to that resolution, for I should have been sorry to engage the honoured
flag of England in such an affair as that which we were undertaking. The
Russian ensign was therefore committed to one of the sailors, who took
his station at the stern of the boat. We gave particular instructions to
the captain of the brigantine, and when all was ready, the General and I,
with our respective servants, got into the boat, and were slowly rowed
towards the shore. The guards gathered together at the point for which
we were making, but when they saw that our boat went on without altering
her course, _they ceased to stand very still_; none of them ran away, or
even shrank back, but they looked as if _the pack were being shuffled_,
every man seeming desirous to change places with his neighbour. They
were still at their post, however, when our oars went in, and the bow of
our boat ran up—well up upon the beach.
The General was lame by an honourable wound received at Borodino, and
could not without some assistance get out of the boat; I, therefore,
landed the first. My instructions to the captain were attended to with
the most perfect accuracy, for scarcely had my foot indented the sand
when the four six-pounders of the brigantine quite gravely rolled out
their brute thunder. Precisely as I had expected, the guards and all the
people who had gathered about them gave way under the shock produced by
the mere sound of guns, and we were all allowed to disembark with the
least molestation.
We immediately formed a little column, or rather, as I should have called
it, a procession, for we had no fighting aptitude in us, and were only
trying, as it were, how far we could go in frightening full-grown
children. First marched the sailor with the Russian flag of war bravely
flying in the breeze, then came the general and I, then our servants, and
lastly, if I rightly recollect, two more of the brigantine’s crew. Our
flag-bearer so exulted in his honourable office, and bore the colours
aloft with so much of pomp and dignity, that I found it exceedingly hard
to keep a grave countenance. We advanced towards the castle, but the
people had now had time to recover from the effect of the six-pounders
(only of course loaded with powder), and they could not help seeing not
only the numerical weakness of our party, but the very slight amount of
wealth and resource which it seemed to imply. They began to hang round
us more closely, and just as this reaction was beginning the General, who
was perfectly unacquainted with the Asiatic character, thoughtlessly
turned round in order to speak to one of the servants. The effect of
this slight move was magical. The people thought we were going to give
way, and instantly closed round us. In two words, and with one touch, I
showed my comrade the danger he was running, and in the next instant we
were both advancing more pompously than ever. Some minutes afterwards
there was a second appearance of reaction, followed again by wavering and
indecision on the part of the Pasha’s people, but at length it seemed to
be understood that we should go unmolested into the audience hall.
Constant communication had been going on between the receding crowd and
the Pasha, and so when we reached the gates of the citadel we saw that
preparations were made for giving us an awe-striking reception. Parting
at once from the sailors and our servants, the General and I were
conducted into the audience hall; and there at least I suppose the Pasha
hoped that he would confound us by his greatness. The hall was nothing
more than a large whitewashed room. Oriental potentates have a pride in
that sort of simplicity, when they can contrast it with the exhibition of
power, and this the Pasha was able to do, for the lower end of the hall
was filled with his officers. These men, of whom I thought there were
about fifty or sixty, were all handsomely, though plainly, dressed in the
military frockcoats of Europe; they stood in mass and so as to present a
hollow semicircular front towards the upper end of the hall at which the
Pasha sat; they opened a narrow lane for us when we entered, and as soon
as we had passed they again closed up their ranks. An attempt was made
to induce us to remain at a respectful distance from his mightiness. To
have yielded in this point would have have been fatal to our success,
perhaps to our lives; but the General and I had already determined upon
the place which we should take, and we rudely pushed on towards the upper
end of the hall.
Upon the divan, and close up against the right hand corner of the room,
there sat the Pasha, his limbs gathered in, the whole creature coiled up
like an adder. His cheeks were deadly pale, and his lips perhaps had
turned white, for without moving a muscle the man impressed me with an
immense idea of the wrath within him. He kept his eyes inexorably fixed
as if upon vacancy, and with the look of a man accustomed to refuse the
prayers of those who sue for life. We soon discomposed him, however,
from this studied fixity of feature, for we marched straight up to the
divan and sat down, the Russian close to the Pasha, and I by the side of
the Russian. This act astonished the attendants, and plainly
disconcerted the Pasha. He could no longer maintain the glassy stillness
of the eyes which he had affected, and evidently became much agitated.
At the feet of the satrap there stood a trembling Italian.
This man was a sort of medico in the potentate’s service, and now in the
absence of our attendants he was to act as interpreter. The Pasha caused
him to tell us that we had openly defied his authority, and had forced
our way on shore in the teeth of his own officers.
Up to this time I had been the planner of the enterprise, but now that
the moment had come when all would depend upon able and earnest
speechifying, I felt at once the immense superiority of my gallant
friend, and gladly left to him the whole conduct of this discussion.
Indeed he had vast advantages over me, not only by his superior command
of language and his far more spirited style of address, but also in his
consciousness of a good cause; for whilst I felt myself completely in the
wrong, his Excellency had really worked himself up to believe that the
Pasha’s refusal to permit our landing was a gross outrage and insult.
Therefore, without deigning to defend our conduct he at once commenced a
spirited attack upon the Pasha. The poor Italian doctor translated one
or two sentences to the Pasha, but he evidently mitigated their import.
The Russian, growing warm, insisted upon his attack with redoubled energy
and spirit; but the medico, instead of translating, began to shake
violently with terror, and at last he came out with his _non ardisco_,
and fairly confessed that he dared not interpret fierce words to his
master.
Now then, at a time when everything seemed to depend upon the effect of
speech, we were left without an interpreter.
But this very circumstance, which at first appeared so unfavourable,
turned out to be advantageous. The General, finding that he could not
have his words translated, ceased to speak in Italian, and recurred to
his accustomed French; he became eloquent. No one present except myself
understood one syllable of what he was saying, but he had drawn forth his
passport, and the energy and violence with which, as he spoke, he pointed
to the graven Eagle of all the Russias, began to make an impression. The
Pasha saw at his side a man not only free from every the least pang of
fear, but raging, as it seemed, with just indignation, and thenceforward
he plainly began to think that, in some way or other (he could not tell
how) he must certainly have been in the wrong. In a little time he was
so much shaken that the Italian ventured to resume his interpretation,
and my comrade had again the opportunity of pressing his attack upon the
Pasha. His argument, if I rightly recollect its import, was to this
effect: “If the vilest Jews were to come into the harbour, you would but
forbid them to land, and force them to perform quarantine; yet this is
the very course, O Pasha, which your rash officers dared to think of
adopting with _us_!—those mad and reckless men would have actually dealt
towards a Russian general officer and an English gentleman as if they had
been wretched Israelites! Never—never will we submit to such an
indignity. His Imperial Majesty knows how to protect his nobles from
insult, and would never endure that a General of his army should be
treated in matter of quarantine as though he were a mere Eastern Jew!”
This argument told with great effect. The Pasha fairly admitted that he
felt its weight, and he now only struggled to obtain such a compromise as
might partly save his dignity. He wanted us to perform a quarantine of
one day for form’s sake, and in order to show his people that he was not
utterly defied; but finding that we were inexorable, he not only
abandoned his attempt, but promised to supply us with horses.
When the discussion had arrived at this happy conclusion _tchibouques_
and coffee were brought, and we passed, I think, nearly an hour in
friendly conversation. The Pasha, it now appeared, had once been a
prisoner of war in Russia, and a conviction of the Emperor’s vast power,
necessarily acquired during this captivity, made him perhaps more alive
than an untravelled Turk would have been to the force of my comrade’s
eloquence.
The Pasha now gave us a generous feast. Our promised horses were brought
without much delay. I gained my loved saddle once more, and when the
moon got up and touched the heights of Taurus, we were joyfully winding
our way through the first of his rugged defiles.
APPENDIX—THE HOME OF LADY HESTER STANHOPE
It was late when we came in sight of two high conical hills, on one of
which stands the village of Djouni, on the other a circular wall, over
which dark trees were waving; and this was the place in which Lady Hester
Stanhope had finished her strange and eventful career. It had formerly
been a convent, but the Pasha of Sidon had given it to the
“prophet-lady,” who converted its naked walls into a palace, and its
wilderness into gardens.
The sun was setting as we entered the enclosure, and we were soon
scattered about the outer court, picketing our horses, rubbing down their
foaming flanks, and washing out their wounds. The buildings that
constituted the palace were of a very scattered and complicated
description, covering a wide space, but only one storey in height: courts
and gardens, stables and sleeping-rooms, halls of audience and ladies’
bowers, were strangely intermingled. Heavy weeds were growing everywhere
among the open portals, and we forced our way with difficulty through a
tangle of roses and jasmine to the inner court; here choice flowers once
bloomed, and fountains played in marble basins, but now was presented a
scene of the most melancholy desolation. As the watchfire blazed up, its
gleam fell upon masses of honeysuckle and woodbine, on white, mouldering
walls beneath, and dark, waving trees above; while the group of
mountaineers who gathered round its light, with their long beards and
vivid dresses, completed the strange picture.
The clang of sword and spear resounded through the long galleries; horses
neighed among bowers and boudoirs; strange figures hurried to and fro
among the colonnades, shouting in Arabic, English, and Italian; the fire
crackled, the startled bats flapped their heavy wings, and the growl of
distant thunder filled up the pauses in the rough symphony.
Our dinner was spread on the floor in Lady Hester’s favourite apartment;
her deathbed was our sideboard, her furniture our fuel, her name our
conversation. Almost before the meal was ended two of our party had
dropped asleep over their trenchers from fatigue; the Druses had retired
from the haunted precincts to their village; and W-, L-, and I went out
into the garden to smoke our pipes by Lady Hester’s lonely tomb. About
midnight we fell asleep upon the ground, wrapped in our capotes, and
dreamed of ladies and tombs and prophets till the neighing of our horses
announced the dawn.
After a hurried breakfast on fragments of the last night’s repast we
strolled out over the extensive gardens. Here many a broken arbour and
trellis, bending under masses of jasmine and honeysuckle, show the care
and taste that were once lavished on this wild but beautiful hermitage: a
garden-house, surrounded by an enclosure of roses run wild, lies in the
midst of a grove of myrtle and bay trees. This was Lady Hester’s
favourite resort during her lifetime; and now, within its silent
enclosure,
“After life’s fitful fever she sleeps well.”
The hand of ruin has dealt very sparingly with all these interesting
relics; the Pasha’s power by day, and the fear of spirits by night, keep
off marauders; and though we made free with broken benches and fallen
doorposts for fuel, we reverently abstained from displacing anything in
the establishment except a few roses, which there was no living thing but
bees and nightingales to regret. It was one of the most striking and
interesting spots I ever witnessed: its silence and beauty, its richness
and desolation, lent to it a touching and mysterious character, that
suited well the memory of that strange hermit-lady who has made it a
place of pilgrimage, even in Palestine. {49}
The Pasha of Sidon presented Lady Hester with the deserted convent of Mar
Elias on her arrival in his country, and this she soon converted into a
fortress, garrisoned by a band of Albanians: her only attendants besides
were her doctor, her secretary, and some female slaves. Public rumour
soon busied itself with such a personage, and exaggerated her influence
and power. It is even said that she was crowned Queen of the East at
Palmyra by fifty thousand Arabs. She certainly exercised almost despotic
power in her neighbourhood on the mountain; and what was perhaps the most
remarkable proof of her talents, she prevailed on some Jews to advance
large sums of money to her on her note of hand. She lived for many
years, beset with difficulties and anxieties, but to the last she held on
gallantly: even when confined to her bed and dying she sought for no
companionship or comfort but such as she could find in her own powerful,
though unmanageable, mind.
Mr. Moore, our consul at Beyrout, hearing she was ill, rode over the
mountains to visit her, accompanied by Mr. Thomson, the American
missionary. It was evening when they arrived, and a profound silence was
over all the palace. No one met them; they lighted their own lamps in
the outer court, and passed unquestioned through court and gallery until
they came to where _she_ lay. A corpse was the only inhabitant of the
palace, and the isolation from her kind which she had sought so long was
indeed complete. That morning thirty-seven servants had watched every
motion of her eye: its spell once darkened by death, every one fled with
such plunder as they could secure. A little girl, adopted by her and
maintained for years, took her watch and some papers on which she had set
peculiar value. Neither the child nor the property were ever seen again.
Not a single thing was left in the room where she lay dead, except the
ornaments upon her person. No one had ventured to touch these; even in
death she seemed able to protect herself. At midnight her countryman and
the missionary carried her out by torchlight to a spot in the garden that
had been formerly her favourite resort, and here they buried the
self-exiled lady.—_From_ “THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS,” _by Eliot
Warburton_.
Footnotes:
{1} A “compromised” person is one who has been in contact with people or
things supposed to be capable of conveying infection. As a general rule
the whole Ottoman Empire lies constantly under this terrible ban. The
“yellow flag” is the ensign of the quarantine establishment.
{2} The narghile is a water-pipe upon the plan of the hookah, but more
gracefully fashioned; the smoke is drawn by a very long flexible tube,
that winds its snake-like way from the vase to the lips of the beatified
smoker.
{3} That is, if he stands up at all. Oriental etiquette would not
warrant his rising, unless his visitor were supposed to be at least his
equal in point of rank and station.
{4} The continual marriages of these people with the chosen beauties of
Georgia and Circassia have overpowered the original ugliness of their
Tatar ancestors.
{5} There is almost always a breeze either from the Marmora or from the
Black Sea, that passes along the course of the Bosphorus.
{6} The yashmak, you know, is not a mere semi-transparent veil, but
rather a good substantial petticoat applied to the face; it thoroughly
conceals all the features, except the eyes; the way of withdrawing it is
by pulling it down.
{7} The “pipe of tranquillity” is a _tchibouque_ too long to be
conveniently carried on a journey; the possession of it therefore implies
that its owner is stationary, or at all events, that he is enjoying a
long repose from travel.
{8} The Jews of Smyrna are poor, and having little merchandise of their
own to dispose of, they are sadly importunate in offering their services
as intermediaries: their troublesome conduct has led to the custom of
beating them in the open streets. It is usual for Europeans to carry
long sticks with them, for the express purpose of keeping off the chosen
people. I always felt ashamed to strike the poor fellows myself, but I
confess to the amusement with which I witnessed the observance of this
custom by other people. The Jew seldom got hurt much, for he was always
expecting the blow, and was ready to recede from it the moment it came:
one could not help being rather gratified at seeing him bound away so
nimbly, with his long robes floating out in the air, and then again wheel
round, and return with fresh importunities.
{9} Marriages in the East are arranged by professed match-makers; many
of these, I believe, are Jewesses.
{10} A Greek woman wears her whole fortune upon her person in the shape
of jewels or gold coins; I believe that this mode of investment is
adopted in great measure for safety’s sake. It has the advantage of
enabling a suitor to _reckon_ as well as to admire the objects of his
affection.
{11} St. Nicholas is the great patron of Greek sailors. A small picture
of him enclosed in a glass case is hung up like a barometer at one end of
the cabin.
{12} Hanmer.
{13} “. . . ubi templum illi, centumque Sabæo
Thure calent aræ, sertisque recentibus halant.”
—Æneid, i, 415.
{14} The writer advises that none should attempt to read the following
account of the late Lady Hester Stanhope except those who may already
chance to feel an interest in the personage to whom it relates. The
chapter (which has been written and printed for the reasons mentioned in
the preface) is chiefly filled with the detailed conversation, or rather
discourse, of a highly eccentric gentlewoman.
{15} Historically “_fainting_”; the death did not occur until long
afterwards.
{16} I am told that in youth she was exceedingly sallow.
{17} This was my impression at the time of writing the above passage, an
impression created by the popular and uncontradicted accounts of the
matter, as well as by the tenor of Lady Hester’s conversation. I have
now some reason to think that I was deceived, and that her sway in the
desert was much more limited than I had supposed. She seems to have had
from the Bedouins a fair five hundred pounds’ worth of respect, and not
much more.
{18} She spoke it, I dare say, in English; the words would not be the
less effective for being spoken in an unknown tongue. Lady Hester, I
believe, never learnt to speak the Arabic with a perfect accent.
{19} The proceedings thus described to me by Lady Hester as having taken
place during her illness, were afterwards re-enacted at the time of her
death. Since I wrote the words to which this note is appended, I
received from Warburton an interesting account of the heroine’s death, or
rather the circumstances attending the discovery of the event; and I
caused it to be printed in the former editions of this work. I must now
give up the borrowed ornament, and omit my extract from my friend’s
letter, for the rightful owner has reprinted it in “The Crescent and the
Cross.” I know what a sacrifice I am making, for in noticing the first
edition of this book reviewers turned aside from the text to the note,
and remarked upon the interesting information which Warburton’s letter
contained. [This narrative is reproduced in an Appendix to the present
edition.]
{20} In a letter which I afterwards received from Lady Hester, she
mentioned incidentally Lord Hardwicke, and said that he was “the
kindest-hearted man existing—a most manly, firm character. He comes from
a good breed—all the Yorkes excellent, with _ancient_ French blood in
their veins.” The under scoring of the word “ancient” is by the writer
of the letter, who had certainly no great love or veneration for the
French of the present day: she did not consider them as descended from
her favourite stock.
{21} It is said that deaf people can hear what is said concerning
themselves, and it would seem that those who live without books or
newspapers know all that is written about them. Lady Hester Stanhope,
though not admitting a book or newspaper into her fortress, seems to have
known the way in which M. Lamartine mentioned her in his book, for in a
letter which she wrote to me after my return to England she says,
“Although neglected, as Monsieur le M.” (referring, as I believe, to M.
Lamartine) “describes, and without books, yet my head is organised to
supply the want of them as well as acquired knowledge.”
{22} I have been recently told that this Italian’s pretensions to the
healing art were thoroughly unfounded. My informant is a gentleman who
enjoyed during many years the esteem and confidence of Lady Hester
Stanhope: his adventures in the Levant were most curious and interesting.
{23} The Greek Church does not recognise this as the true sanctuary, and
many Protestants look upon all the traditions by which it is attempted to
ascertain the holy places of Palestine as utterly fabulous. For myself,
I do not mean either to affirm or deny the correctness of the opinion
which has fixed upon this as the true site, but merely to mention it as a
belief entertained without question by my brethren of the Latin Church,
whose guest I was at the time. It would be a great aggravation of the
trouble of writing about these matters if I were to stop in the midst of
every sentence for the purpose of saying “so called” or “so it is said,”
and would besides sound very ungraciously: yet I am anxious to be
literally true in all I write. Now, thus it is that I mean to get over
my difficulty. Whenever in this great bundle of papers or book (if book
it is to be) you see any words about matters of religion which would seem
to involve the assertion of my own opinion, you are to understand me just
as if one or other of the qualifying phrases above mentioned had been
actually inserted in every sentence. My general direction for you to
construe me thus will render all that I write as strictly and actually
true as if I had every time lugged in a formal declaration of the fact
that I was merely expressing the notions of other people.
{24} “Vino d’oro.”
{25} Shereef.
{26} Tennyson.
{27} The other three cities held holy by Jews are Jerusalem, Hebron, and
Safet.
{28} Hadj a pilgrim.
{29} Milnes cleverly goes to the French for the exact word which conveys
the impression produced by the voice of the Arabs, and calls them “un
peuple _criard_.”
{30} There is some semblance of bravado in my manner of talking about
the plague. I have been more careful to describe the terrors of other
people than my own. The truth is, that during the whole period of my
stay at Cairo I remained thoroughly impressed with a sense of my danger.
I may almost say, that I lived in perpetual apprehension, for even in
sleep, as I fancy, there remained with me some faint notion of the peril
with which I was encompassed. But fear does not necessarily damp the
spirits; on the contrary, it will often operate as an excitement, giving
rise to unusual animation, and thus it affected me. If I had not been
surrounded at this time by new faces, new scenes, and new sounds, the
effect produced upon my mind by one unceasing cause of alarm might have
been very different. As it was, the eagerness with which I pursued my
rambles among the wonders of Egypt was sharpened and increased by the
sting of the fear of death. Thus my account of the matter plainly
conveys an impression that I remained at Cairo without losing my
cheerfulness and buoyancy of spirits. And this is the truth, but it is
also true, as I have freely confessed, that my sense of danger during the
whole period was lively and continuous.
{31} Anglicé for “je le sais.” These answers of mine, as given above,
are not meant as specimens of mere French, but of that fine, terse,
nervous, _Continental English_ with which I and my compatriots make our
way through Europe. This language, by-the-bye, is one possessing great
force and energy, and is not without its literature, a literature of the
very highest order. Where will you find more sturdy specimens of
downright, honest, and noble English than in the Duke of Wellington’s
“French” despatches?
{32} The import of the word “compromised,” when used in reference to
contagion, is explained on page 18.
{33} It is said, that when a Mussulman finds himself attacked by the
plague he goes and takes a bath. The couches on which the bathers
recline would carry infection, according to the notions of the Europeans.
Whenever, therefore, I took the bath at Cairo (except the first time of
my doing so) I avoided that part of the luxury which consists in being
“put up to dry” upon a kind of bed.
{34} Mehemet Ali invited the Mamelukes to a feast, and murdered them
whilst preparing to enter the banquet hall.
{35} It is not strictly lawful to sell _white_ slaves to a Christian.
{36} The difficulty was occasioned by the immense exertions which the
Pasha was making to collect camels for military purposes.
{37} Herodotus, in an after age, stood by with his note-book, and got,
as he thought, the exact returns of all the rations served out.
{38} See Milman’s “History of the Jews,” first edition.
{39} This is an appellation not implying blame, but merit; the “lies”
which it purports to affiliate are feints and cunning stratagems, rather
than the baser kind of falsehoods. The expression, in short, has nearly
the same meaning as the English word “Yorkshireman.”
{40} The 29th of April.
{41} These are the names given by the Prophet to certain chapters of the
Koran.
{43} It was after the interview which I am talking of, and not from the
Jews themselves, that I learnt this fact.
{44} An enterprising American traveller, Mr. Everett, lately conceived
the bold project of penetrating to the University of Oxford, and this
notwithstanding that he had been in his infancy (they begin very young
those Americans) an Unitarian preacher. Having a notion, it seems, that
the ambassadorial character would protect him from insult, he adopted the
stratagem of procuring credentials from his Government as Minister
Plenipotentiary at the Court of her Britannic Majesty; he also wore the
exact costume of a Trinitarian. But all his contrivances were vain;
Oxford disdained, and rejected, and insulted him (not because he
represented a swindling community, but) because that his infantine
sermons were strictly remembered against him; the enterprise failed.
{45} The rose-trees which I saw were all of the kind we call “damask”;
they grow to an immense height and size.
{46} A dragoman never interprets in terms the courteous language of the
East.
{47} A title signifying transcender or conqueror of Satalieh.
{48} Spelt “Attalia” and sometimes “Adalia” in English books and maps.
{49} While Lady Hester Stanhope lived, although numbers visited the
convent, she almost invariably refused admittance to strangers. She
assigned as a reason the use which M. de Lamartine had made of his
interview. Mrs. T., who passed some weeks at Djouni, told me, that when
Lady Hester read his account of this interview, she exclaimed, “It is all
false; we did not converse together for more than five minutes; but no
matter, no traveller hereafter shall betray or forge my conversation.”
The author of “Eothen,” however, was her guest, and has given us an
interesting account of his visit in his brilliant volume.