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<body>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF THE LADY HESTER STANHOPE, AS RELATED BY HERSELF IN CONVERSATIONS WITH HER PHYSICIAN, VOL. 2 (OF 3) ***</div>

<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter">
 <br>
 <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg"
 alt="frontispiece">
 <p class="caption">LADY HESTER STANHOPE IN HER SALOON<br>
 London, Henry Colburn, 1845</p>
</div><!--end figcenter-->

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">
<h1>
<span class="ls">MEMOIRS</span><br>
<span class="muchsmaller allsmcap">OF THE</span><br>
<span class="larger">LADY HESTER STANHOPE,</span></h1>

<p class="center tall">
<span class="smaller">AS RELATED BY HERSELF</span><br>
IN CONVERSATIONS WITH HER<br>
PHYSICIAN;<br>
<br>
<span class="smaller">COMPRISING</span><br>
HER OPINIONS AND ANECDOTES OF<br>
SOME OF THE MOST REMARKABLE PERSONS<br>
OF HER TIME.
</p>
</div>

<p class="muchsmaller">All such writings and discourses as touch no man will mend no
man.—<span class="smcap">Tyers</span>’s <cite>Rhapsody on Pope</cite>.</p>

<p class="p2 center">
<span class="strong">Second Edition.</span><br>
<br>
IN THREE VOLUMES.<br>
<br>
<span class="larger"><abbr title="Volume Two">VOL. II.</abbr></span></p>
<br>

<p class="center tall"><span class="ls">LONDON:</span><br>
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,<br>
<span class="smaller">GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.</span></p>
<hr class="short">
<p class="center">1846.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<p class="center">
<span class="ls">FREDERICK SHOBERL, JUNIOR,</span><br>
PRINTER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE ALBERT,<br>
<span class="muchsmaller">51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET, LONDON.</span></p>
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<p class="center">
CONTENTS<br>
<br>
<span class="smaller">OF</span><br>
<br>
<span class="ls">THE SECOND VOLUME.</span>
</p>
</div>
<table>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Lady Hester Stanhope’s descent—The Author’s first introduction
to her—Her reasons for quitting England—Anecdotes of
her childhood and womanhood—Her motives for going to live
with Mr. Pitt—Mr. Pitt’s opinion of Tom Paine—Lady Hester
noticed by George III.—Anecdote of Sir A. H.—Of Lord G.—Of
Lord A.—Impertinent questioners—Anecdote of the Marquis
* * *—Mr. Pitt’s confidence in Lady Hester’s discretion—and
in her devotion to him—His opinion of her cleverness,
and of her military and diplomatic abilities—Her tirade against
doctors—Her reflections on prudery—Anecdote of General
Moore—Of the Duc de Blacas, &amp;c. </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Sir Nathaniel Wraxall’s Memoirs—The three duchesses—Anecdote
of Mr. Rice—How Prime Ministers are employed on
first taking office—The Grenville make—P—— of W——
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span>
at Stowe—Mr. Pitt and Mr. Sheridan—Duke of H—— —Mr.
Pitt’s disinterestedness exemplified—His life wasted in
the service of his country—Mr. Rose—Mr. Long—Mr.—— —Grounds
at Walmer laid out by Lady Hester—Mr. Pitt’s
deportment in retirement—His physiognomy—How he got
into debt—Lord Carrington; why made a peer—Extent of
Mr. Dundas’s influence over Mr. Pitt—Mr. Pitt averse to
ceremony—Mr. Pitt and his sister Harriet—His dislike to
the Bourbons—Lady Hester’s activity at Walmer—Lord
Chatham’s indolence—Mr. Pitt’s opinion of Sir Arthur
Wellesley </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Duchess of Gontaut—Duc de Berry—Anecdotes of Lord H.—Sir
Gore Ouseley—Prince of Wales—The other princes—The
Queen’s severity—Men and women of George the Third’s
time—The Herveys—Lady Liverpool’s high breeding—Lady
Hester’s declining health </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Conscription in Syria—Inviolability of consular houses—Panic
and flight of the people of Sayda—Protection afforded
by Lady Hester—Story of a boy—Mustafa the barber—Cruelty
to mothers of Conscripts—Conscription in the villages—Lady
Hester’s dream—Inhabitants of Sayda mulcted—Lady
Hester’s opinion of negresses—Severity necessary in
Turkey—Case of Monsieur Danna—Captain Y.—Mustafa
Pasha’s cruelty </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Rainy season—Lady Hester’s despondency—Her Turkish
costume—Turkish servants—Terror inspired by Lady Hester
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span>
in her servants—Visit of Messieurs Poujolat and Boutés—Lady
Hester’s inability to entertain strangers—Her dejected
spirits and bad health </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">The Delphic priestess—Abdallah Pasha’s ingratitude—His
cowardice—Lady Hester’s spies—Her emaciation—History
of General Loustaunau </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Seven">VII.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Lady Hester like the first Lord Chatham—Her recollections
of Chevening—Her definition of insults—Her deliberate
affronts—Her warlike propensities—Earl C—— Marquis of
Abercorn—Logmagi—Osman Chaôosh—Letter from Colonel
Campbell—George the Third’s flattering compliment to Lady
Hester—Her Majesty Queen Victoria—Lord M.—Prophecy
of a <i>welly</i>—Lady Hester’s poignant affliction—Her intractability—Her
noble and disinterested benevolence </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Eight">VIII.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Lady Hester’s system of astrology—Sympathies and antipathies—People’s
<i>nijems</i> or stars—Mesmerism explained—Lord
Suffolk—Lady Hester’s own star—Letter to the Queen—Letter
to Mr. Speaker Abercrombie—Messieurs Beck and
Moore—Letter to Colonel Campbell—The Ides of March—Lady
Hester’s reflections on the Queen’s conduct to her—Letter
to Sir Edward Sugden—What peers are—Junius’s
Letters—Spies employed by the first Lord Chatham—Mr.
Pitt’s opinion of the Duke of Wellington—Lady Hester’s
letter to his Grace, &amp;c.</td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Nine">IX.</abbr>
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Lady Hester in an alcove in her garden—Lucky days observed
by her—Consuls’ rights—Mischief caused by Sir F. B.’s
neglect in answering Lady Hester’s Letters—Rashes common
in Syria—Visit of an unknown Englishman—Story of Hanah
Messâad—Lady Hester’s love of truth—Report of her death—Michael
Tutungi—Visit from the Chevalier Guys—His
reception at Dayr el Mkhallas—Punishment of the shepherd,
Câasem—Holyday of the Korbàn Byràm—Fatôom’s <i lang="fr">accouchement</i>—Lady
Hester’s aversion to consular interference—Evenings
at Jôon—Old Pierre—Saady </td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="2">CHAPTER <abbr title="Ten">X.</abbr></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">Visit of Mr. Vesey Forster and Mr. Knox—Lady S. N.’s
pension and Mr. H.—Lady Hester undeservedly censured by
English travellers—Mr. Anson and Mr. Strangways—Mr. B.
and Mr. C.—Captain Pechell—Captain Yorke—Colonel
Howard Vyse—Lord B.</td>
    <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr>

</table>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span>
<h2>
<span class="smaller ls">MEMOIRS</span><br>
<br>
<span class="muchsmaller">OF</span><br>
<br>
<span class="ls">LADY HESTER STANHOPE.</span></h2>
</div>

<hr class="tb">

<h2 class="no-break"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="One"><span class="allsmcap">I.</span></abbr></h2>


<p class="small short">Lady Hester Stanhope’s descent—The Author’s first introduction
to her—Her reasons for quitting England—Anecdotes of
her childhood and womanhood—Her motives for going to live
with Mr. Pitt—Mr. Pitt’s opinion of Tom Paine—Lady Hester
noticed by George III.—Anecdote of Sir A. H.—Of Lord G.—Of
Lord A.—Impertinent questioners—Anecdote of the Marquis
* * *—Mr. Pitt’s confidence in Lady Hester’s discretion—and
in her devotion to him—His opinion of her cleverness,
and of her military and diplomatic abilities—Her tirade against
doctors—Her reflections on prudery—Anecdote of General
Moore—Of the Duc de Blacas, &amp;c.</p>


<p class="p2">It probably will be known to most readers that
Lady Hester Stanhope was the daughter of Charles
Earl of Stanhope by Hester, his first wife, sister to
Mr. William Pitt, and daughter of the first Earl of
Chatham. He had issue by this first wife three
daughters—Hester, Griselda, and Lucy. The earl
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span>
married a second wife, by whom he had three sons:
the present earl; Charles, killed at Corunna; and
James, who died at Caen Wood, the villa of his
father-in-law, the Earl of Mansfield.</p>

<p>I became acquainted with Lady Hester Stanhope
by accident. The chance that introduced me to her
was as follows:—I was going to Oxford to take my
degree; and, having missed the coach at the inn, I
was obliged to hurry after it on foot, for the want of a
hackney-coach, as far as Oxford-road turnpike, where
I overtook it, and mounted the box in a violent perspiration.
The day was bitterly cold, and, before
night, I found myself attacked with a very severe
catarrh. The merriment of a college life left me little
time to pay attention to it; and, after about fifteen
days, I returned with a troublesome cough, to London,
where I took to my bed.</p>

<p>Mr. H. Cline, jun., (the son of the celebrated
surgeon) being my friend, and hearing of my indisposition,
came to inquire after my health very
frequently. One day, sitting by my bedside, he
asked me if I should like to go abroad. I told him
it had been the earliest wish of my life. He said,
Lady Hester Stanhope (the niece of Mr. Pitt) had
applied to his father for a doctor, and that, if I liked,
he would propose me, giving me to understand from
his father that, although the salary would be small, I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span>
should, if my services proved agreeable to Lady
Hester, be ultimately provided for. I thanked him,
and said, that to travel with such a distinguished
woman would please me exceedingly. The following
day he intimated that his father had already spoken
about me, and that her ladyship would see me. In
about four days I was introduced to her, and she
closed with me immediately, inviting me to dine with
her that evening. Afterwards, I saw her several
times, and subsequently joined her at Portsmouth,
whence, after waiting a fortnight, we sailed in the
Jason, the Hon. Captain King, for Gibraltar.</p>

<p>The reasons which Lady Hester assigned for leaving
England were grounded chiefly on the narrowness of
her income. Mr. Pitt’s written request, on his deathbed,
that she might have £1500 a year, had been
complied with only in part, owing to the ill offices of
certain persons at that time in the privy-council, and
she received clear, after deductions for the property-tax
were made, no more that £1200. At first, after
Mr. Pitt’s death, she established herself in Montague
Square, with her two brothers, and she there continued
to see much company. “But,” she would say,
“a poor gentlewoman, doctor, is the worst thing in
the world. Not being able to keep a carriage, how
was I to go out? If I used a hackney-coach, some
spiteful person would be sure to mention it:—‘Who
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span>
do you think I saw yesterday in a hackney-coach?
I wonder where she could be driving alone down those
narrow streets?’ If I walked with a footman behind
me, there are so many women of the town now who
flaunt about with a smart footman, that I ran the
hazard of being taken for one of them; and, if I went
alone, either there would be some good-natured friend
who would hint that Lady Hester did not walk out
alone for nothing; or else I should be met in the
street by some gentleman of my acquaintance, who
would say, ‘God bless me, Lady Hester! where are
you going alone?—do let me accompany you:’ and
then it would be said, ‘Did you see Lady Hester
crossing Hanover Square with such a one? he looked
monstrous foolish: I wonder where they had been.’
So that, from one thing to another, I was obliged to
stop at home entirely: and this it was that hurt my
health so much, until Lord Temple, at last, remarked
it. For he said to me one day, ‘How comes it that
a person like you, who used to be always on horseback,
never rides out?’—‘Because I have no horse.’—‘Oh!
if that is all, you shall have one to-morrow.’—‘Thank
you, my lord; but, if I have a horse, I must have
two; and, if I have two, I must have a groom; and,
as I do not choose to borrow, if you please, we will
say no more about it.’—‘Oh! but I will send my
horses, and come and ride out with you every day.’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>
However, I told him no: for how could a man who
goes to the House every day, and attends committees
in a morning, be able to be riding every day with me?
And I know what it is to lend and borrow horses and
carriages. When I used to desire my carriage to go
and fetch any friend, my coachman was sure to say,
‘My lady, the horses want shoeing;’ or the footman
would come in with a long face, ‘My lady, John would
like to go and see his sister to-day, if you please:’
there was always some excuse. All this considered, I
made up my mind to remain at home.”</p>

<p>For some time did Lady Hester remain in Montague
Square: but her brother and General Moore, having
fallen at the battle of Corunna, I believe she grew
entirely disgusted with London; and, breaking up her
little establishment, she went down into Wales, and
resided in a small cottage at Builth, somewhere near
Brecon, in a room not more than a dozen feet square.
Here she amused herself in curing the poor, in her
dairy, and in other rustic occupations: until, not
finding herself so far removed from her English
acquaintances but that they were always coming
across her and breaking-in upon her solitude, she
resolved on going abroad, up the Mediterranean.</p>

<p>Arrived at Gibraltar, she was lodged at the governor’s,
in the convent, where she remained some
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span>
time; and then embarked for Malta in the Cerberus,
Captain Whitby, who afterwards distinguished himself
in Captain Hoste’s victory up the Adriatic. At
Malta, she lived, at first, in the house of Mr. Fernandez:
afterwards, General Oakes offered Lady
Hester the palace of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Antonio, where we resided
during the remainder of her stay.</p>

<p>We departed for Zante in the month of June or
July, 1810. From Zante, we passed over to Patras,
where she bade adieu to English customs for the rest
of our pilgrimage. Traversing Greece, we visited
Constantinople, and, from Constantinople, sailed for
Egypt. At Rhodes we were shipwrecked, and I there
lost my journals, among which were many curious
anecdotes that would have thrown much light on her
ladyship’s life. I shall relate what I have since
gathered, without observing any order, but always, as
far as I could recollect, using her very expressions;
and, in many instances, there will be found whole
conversations, where her manner would be recognized
by those who were acquainted with it. I shall sometimes
preface them with observations of my own.</p>

<p>Speaking of her sisters, Lady Hester would say:
“My sister Lucy was prettier than I was, and
Griselda more clever; but I had, from childhood, a
cheerfulness and sense of feeling that always made me
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span>
a favourite with my father. She exemplified this by
an anecdote of the second Lady Stanhope, her stepmother,
referring to the time when her father, in one
of his republican fits, put down his carriages and
horses.</p>

<p>“Poor Lady Stanhope,” she said, “was quite unhappy
about it; but, when the whole family was
looking glum and sulky, I thought of a way to set all
right again. I got myself a pair of stilts, and out I
stumped down a dirty lane, where my father, who was
always spying about through his glass, could see me.
So, when I came home, he said to me, ‘Why, little
girl, what have you been about? Where was it I saw
you going upon a pair of—the devil knows what?—eh,
girl?’—‘Oh! papa, I thought, as you had laid down
your horses, I would take a walk through the mud on
stilts; for you know, papa, I don’t mind mud or anything—’tis
poor Lady Stanhope who feels these things;
for she has always been accustomed to her carriage,
and her health is not very good.’—‘What’s that you
say, little girl?’ said my father, turning his eyes away
from me; and, after a pause, ‘Well, little girl, what
would you say if I bought a carriage again for Lady
Stanhope?’—‘Why, papa, I would say it was very
kind of you.’—‘Well, well,’ he observed, ‘we will
see; but, damn it! no armorial bearings.’ So, some
time afterwards, down came a new carriage and new
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span>
horses from London; and thus, by a little innocent
frolic, I made all parties happy again?”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>

<p>Lady Hester continued. “Lucy’s disposition was
sweet, and her temper excellent: she was like a
Madonna. Griselda was otherwise, and always for
making her authority felt. But I, even when I was
only a girl, obtained and exercised, I can’t tell how,
a sort of command over them. They never came to
me, when I was in my room, without sending first to
know whether I would see them.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt never liked Griselda; and, when he
found she was jealous of me, he disliked her still more.
She stood no better in the opinion of my father, who
bore with Lucy—ah! just in this way—he would say
to her, to get rid of her, ‘Now papa is going to
study, so you may go to your room:’ then, when the
door was shut, he would turn to me, ‘Now, we must
talk a little philosophy;’ and then, with his two legs
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span>
stuck upon the sides of the grate, he would begin—‘Well,
well,’ he would cry, after I had talked a little,
‘that is not bad reasoning, but the basis is bad.’</p>

<p>“My father always checked any propensity to finery
in dress. If any of us happened to look better than
usual in a particular hat or frock, he was sure to have
it put away the next day, and to have something coarse
substituted in its place.</p>

<p>“When I was young, I was always the first to promote
my sister’s enjoyments. Whether in dancing,
or in riding on horseback, or at a feast, or in anything
that was to make them happy, I always had
something to do or propose that increased their pleasure.
In like manner, afterwards, in guiding them in
politics, in giving them advice for their conduct in
private life, in forwarding them in the world, I was
a means of much good to them. It was always Hester,
and Hester, and Hester; in short, I appeared to be
the favourite of them all; and yet now, see how they
treat me!</p>

<p>“I was always, as I am now, full of activity, from
my infancy. At two years old, I made a little hat.
You know there was a kind of straw hat with the
crown taken out, and in its stead a piece of satin was
put in, all puffed up. Well! I made myself a hat
like that; and it was thought such a thing for a
child of two years old to do, that my grandpapa had a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>
little paper box made for it, and had it ticketed with
the day of the month and my age.</p>

<p>“Just before the French revolution broke out, the
ambassador from Paris to the English Court was the
Comte d’Adhémar. That nobleman had some influence
on my fate as far as regarded my wish to go abroad,
which, however, I was not able to gratify until many
years afterwards. I was but seven or eight years old
when I saw him; and when he came by invitation to
pay a visit to my papa at Chevening, there was such a
fuss with the fine footmen with feathers in their hats,
and the count’s bows and French manners, and I
know not what, that, a short time afterwards, when I
was sent to Hastings with the governess and my
sisters, nothing would satisfy me but I must go and
see what sort of a place France was. So I got into a
boat one day unobserved, that was floating close to the
beach, let loose the rope myself, and off I went. Yes,
doctor, I literally pushed a boat off, and meant to go,
as I thought, to France. Did you ever hear of such
a mad scheme?</p>

<p>“But I was tired of all those around me, who, to all
my questions, invariably answered, ‘My dear, that is
not proper for you to know,—or, you must not talk
about such things until you get older; and the like.
So I held my tongue, but I made up for it, by treasuring
up everything I heard and saw. Isn’t it extraordinary
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span>
that I should have such a memory? I can recall
every circumstance that ever occurred to me during
my life—everything worth retaining, that I wished to
remember. I could tell what people said, how they
sat, the colour of their hair, of their eyes, and all about
them, at any time, for the last forty years and more.
At Hastings, for example, I can tell the name of the
two smugglers, Tate and Everett, who attended at
the bathing-machine, and the name of the apothecary,
Dr. Satterly, although I have never heard a word
about those persons from that day to this.</p>

<p>“How well I recollect what I was made to suffer
when I was young! and that’s the reason why I have
sworn eternal warfare against Swiss and French governesses.
Nature forms us in a certain manner, both
inwardly and outwardly, and it is in vain to attempt
to alter it. One governess at Chevening had our
backs pinched in by boards, that were drawn tight
with all the force the maid could use; and, as for me,
they would have squeezed me to the size of a puny miss—a
thing impossible! My instep, by nature so high,
that a little kitten could walk under the sole of my foot,
they used to bend down in order to flatten it, although
that is one of the things that shows my high breeding.</p>

<p>“Nature, doctor, makes us one way, and man is
always trying to fashion us another. Why, there was
Mahon, when he was eight or nine years old, that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span>
never could be taught to understand how two and two
make four. If he was asked, he would say, four and
four make three, or ten, or something: he was shown
with money, and with beans, and in every possible
way, but all to no purpose. The fact was, that that
particular faculty was not yet developed: but now,
there is no better calculator anywhere. The most
difficult sums he will do on his fingers; and he is
besides a very great mathematician. There was a son
of Lord Darnley’s, a little boy, who was only big
enough to lie under the table, or play on the sofa,
and yet he could make calculations with I don’t know
how many figures—things that they have to do in the
Treasury. Now, if that boy had gone on in the same
way, he would by this time have been Chancellor of
the Exchequer. But I hear nothing of him, and I
don’t know what has become of him; so I suppose he
has not turned out anything extraordinary.</p>

<p>“But nature was entirely out of the question with
us: we were left to the governesses. Lady Stanhope
got up at ten o’clock, went out, and then returned to
be dressed, if in London, by the hair-dresser; and
there were only two in London, both of them Frenchmen,
who could dress her. Then she went out to
dinner, and from dinner to the Opera, and from the
Opera to parties, seldom returning until just before
daylight. Lord Stanhope was engaged in his philosophical
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>
pursuits: and thus we children saw neither the
one nor the other. Lucy used to say that, if she had
met her step-mother in the streets, she should not have
known her. Why, my father once followed to our own
door in London a woman who happened to drop her
glove, which he picked up. It was our governess; but,
as he had never seen her in the house, he did not know
her in the street.</p>

<p>“He slept with twelve blankets on his bed, with no
nightcap, and his window open: how you would have
laughed had you seen him! He used to get out of
bed, and put on a thin dressing-gown, with a pair of
silk breeches that he had worn overnight, with slippers,
and no stockings: and then he would sit in a
part of the room which had no carpet, and take his
tea with a bit of brown bread.</p>

<p>“He married two wives; the first a Pitt, the second
a Grenville; so that I am in two ways related to the
Grenvilles.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester continued: “As I grew up, Lady
Stanhope used to chuck me under the chin, and cry,
‘Why the kurl (girl) is like a soap ball; one can’t
pinch her cheek:’ and I really used to think there was
something very strange about me. Soon after Horne
Tooke took notice of me, and pronounced flatteringly
on my talents. And when Mr. Pitt followed, and
kindly said, ‘Why I believe there is nothing to find
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>
fault with, either in her looks or her understanding,’
I began to know myself. Mr. Elliott, (who married
Miss Pitt) used to say to me, dear man! in his <i lang="fr">bontonné</i>
manner, ‘You must not be surprised, my love,
if you make a great noise in the world.’</p>

<p>“Sir Sydney Smith said of me, after he had known
me fifteen years, and when my looks were much
changed by illness, ‘When I see you now, I recall
to my recollection what you were when you first <em>came
out</em>. You entered the room in your pale shirt, exciting
our admiration by your magnificent and majestic
figure. The roses and lilies were blended in your face,
and the ineffable smiles of your countenance diffused
happiness around you.’</p>

<p>“The Duke of Cumberland used to say to me—‘You
and Amelia (Princess Amelia) are two of the
most spanking wenches I ever saw; but, if (alluding
to my ill-health) you go on in this way, I do not
know what the devil you will make of it.’”</p>

<p>When mentioning this, her ladyship added:
“Doctor, at twenty, my complexion was like alabaster;
and, at five paces’ distance, the sharpest eye could
not discover my pearl necklace from my skin: my lips
were of such a beautiful carnation, that, without
vanity, I can assure you very few women had the like.
A dark blue shade under the eyes, and the blue veins
that were observable through the transparent skin,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
heightened the brilliancy of my features. Nor were
the roses wanting in my cheeks; and to all this was
added a permanency in my looks that fatigue of no
sort could impair.”</p>

<p>I am now writing when disappointments and sickness
have undermined her health, and when she has
reached her 54th year. Her complexion had now
assumed a yellow tint, but her hands were still exceedingly
fair, and she had the very common though
pardonable fault of often contriving to show them.
There were moments when her countenance had still
something very beautiful about it. Her mouth manifested
an extraordinary degree of sweetness, and her
eyes much mildness.</p>

<p>She never would have her likeness taken, when in
the bloom of her beauty, and it is not probable it can
be ever done now. There is a sort of resemblance
between her and Mr. Pitt, (if I may judge from his
portraits.) She has told me also, that she was like
the late Duchess of Cumberland. Her head, seen in
front, presented a perfect oval, of which the eyes
would cover a line drawn through the centre. Her
eyebrows were arched and fine, I mean slender; her
eyes blue, approaching to gray; her nose, somewhat
large, and the distance from the mouth to the chin
rather too long. Her cheeks had a remarkably fine
contour, as they rounded off towards the neck; so that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span>
Mr. Brummell, as has been related, once said to her
in a party, “For God’s sake, do take off those earrings,
and let us see what is beneath them.” Her
figure was tall (I think not far from six feet), rather
largely proportioned, and was once very plump, as I
have heard her say. Her mien was majestic; her
address eminently graceful; in her conversation, when
she pleased, she was enchanting; when she meant it,
dignified; at all times, eloquent. She was excellent
at mimickry, and upon all ranks of life. She had more
wit and repartee, perhaps, than falls to the lot of most
women. Her knowledge of human nature was most
profound, and she could turn that knowledge to
account to its utmost extent, and in the minutest
trifles. She was courageous, morally and physically
so; undaunted, and proud as Lucifer.</p>

<p>She never read in any book more than a few pages,
and there were few works that she praised when she
looked them over. History she despised, considering
it all a farce: because, she said, she had seen so many
histories of her time, which she found to be lies from
beginning to end, that she could not believe in one.
She had a great facility of expression, and, on some
occasions, introduced old proverbs with wonderful appositeness.
Conversation never flagged in her company.
But to return to Lady Hester’s own account
of herself.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span>
“I can recollect, when I was ten or twelve years old,
going to Hastings’s trial. My garter, somehow, came
off, and was picked up by Lord Grey, then a young
man. At this hour, as if it were before me in a picture,
I can see his handsome but very pale face, his
broad forehead; his corbeau coat, with cut-steel buttons;
his white satin waistcoat and breeches, and
the buckles in his shoes. He saw from whom the
garter fell, but, observing my confusion, did not
wish to increase it, and with infinite delicacy gave
the garter to the person who sat there to serve tea
and coffee.</p>

<p>“The first person I ever danced with was Sir Gilbert
Heathcote.</p>

<p>“When I was young, I was never what you call
handsome, but brilliant. My teeth were brilliant, my
complexion brilliant, my language—ah! there it was—something
striking and original, that caught everybody’s
attention. I remember, when I was living with
Mr. Pitt, that, one morning after a party, he said to
me, ‘Really, Hester, Lord Hertford’ (the father of
the late lord, and a man of high pretensions for his
courtly manners) ‘paid you so many compliments
about your looks last night, that you might well be
proud of them.’—‘Not at all,’ answered I: ‘he is
deceived, if he thinks I am handsome, for I know I
am not. If you were to take every feature in my
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span>
face, and put them, one by one, on the table, there is
not a single one would bear examination. The only
thing is that, put together and lighted up, they look
well enough. It is homogeneous ugliness, and nothing
more.’</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt used to say to me, ‘Hester, what sort
of a being are you? We shall see, some day, wings
spring out of your shoulders; for there are moments
when you hardly seem to walk the earth.’ There
was a man who had known me well for fifteen years,
and he told me, one day, that he had tried a long
time to make me out, but he did not know whether I
was a devil or an angel. There have been men who
have been intimate with me, and to whom, in point of
passion, I was no more than that milk-jug” (pointing
to one on the table); “and there have been others
who would go through fire for me. But all this depends
on the star of a person.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt declared that it was impossible for him to
say whether I was most happy in the vortex of pleasure,
in absolute solitude, or in the midst of politics; for he
had seen me in all three; and, with all his penetration,
he did not know where I seemed most at home. Bouverie
used to say to me, when I lived at Chevening, ‘I know
you like this kind of life; it seems to suit you.’ And
so it did: but why did I quit home? Because of my
brothers and sisters, and for my father’s sake. I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
foresaw that my sisters would be reduced to poverty if
I did not assist them; and, though people said to me,
‘Let their husbands get on by themselves; they are
capable of making their own way,’ I saw they could
not, and I set about providing for them. As for my
father, he thought that, in joining those democrats, he
always kept aloof from treason. But he did not know
how many desperate characters there were, who, like
C——, for example, only waited for a revolution, and
were always plotting mischief. I thought, therefore,
it was better to be where I should have Mr. Pitt by
my side to help me, should he get into great difficulty.
Why, they almost took Joyce out of bed in my
father’s house; and when my father went to town,
there were those who watched him; and the mob
attacked his house, so that he was obliged to make his
escape by the leads, and slip out the back way. Joyce
was getting up in the morning, and was just blowing
his nose, as people do the moment before they come
down to breakfast, when a single knock came to the
door, and in bolted two officers with a warrant, and
took him off without even my father’s knowledge.
Then, were not Lord Thanet, Ferguson, and some
more of them thrown into gaol? and I said, ‘If my
father has not a prop somewhere, he will share the
same fate;’ and this was one of the reasons why I
went to live with Mr. Pitt. Mr. Pitt used to say
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
that Tom Paine was quite in the right; but then he
would add, ‘What am I to do? If the country is
overrun with all these men, full of vice and folly, I
cannot exterminate them. It would be very well, to
be sure, if everybody had sense enough to act as they
ought; but, as things are, if I were to encourage Tom
Paine’s opinions, we should have a bloody revolution;
and, after all, matters would return pretty much as
they were.’ But I always asked, ‘What do these
men want? They will destroy what we have got,
without giving us anything else in its place. Let
them give us something good before they rob us of
what we have. As for systems of equality, everybody
is not a Tom Paine. Tom Paine was a clever man,
and not one of your hugger-mugger people, who have
one day one set of ideas, and another set the next, and
never know what they mean.’</p>

<p>“I am an aristocrat, and I make a boast of it. We
shall see what will come of people’s conundrums about
equality. I hate a pack of dirty Jacobins, that only
want to get people out of a good place to get into it
themselves. Horne Tooke always liked me, with all
my aristocratical principles, because he said he knew
what I meant.</p>

<p>“No, doctor, Bouverie was right: I liked the country.
At the back of the inn, on Sevenoaks common, stood
a house, which, for a residence for myself, I should
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>
prefer to any one I have ever yet seen. It was a perfectly
elegant, light, and commodious building, with
an oval drawing-room, and two boudoirs in the corners,
with a window to each on the conservatory.
When I visited there, it was inhabited by three old
maids, one of whom was my friend. What good ale
and nice luncheons I have had there many a time!
What good cheese, what excellent apples and pears,
and what rounds of boiled beef?”</p>

<p>The next day these personal recollections were renewed.</p>

<p>“I remember, when Colonel Shadwell commanded
the district, that, one day, in a pelting shower of rain,
he was riding up Madamscourt Hill, as I was crossing
at the bottom, going home towards Chevening with
my handsome groom, Tom, a boy who was the natural
son of a baronet. I saw Colonel Shadwell’s groom’s
horse about a couple of hundred yards from me, and,
struck with its beauty, I turned up the hill, resolving
to pass them, and get a look at it. I accordingly
quickened my pace, and, in going by, gave a good look
at the horse, then at the groom, then at the master,
who was on a sorry nag. The colonel eyed me as I
passed; and I, taking advantage of a low part in the
hedge, put my horse to it, leaped over, and disappeared
in an instant. The colonel found out who I
was, and afterwards made such a fuss at the mess about
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span>
my equestrian powers, that nothing could be like it.
I was the toast there every day.</p>

<p>“Nobody ever saw much of me until Lord Romney’s
review. I was obliged to play a trick on my
father to get there. I pretended, the day before, that
I wanted to pay a visit to the Miss Crumps” (or some
such name), “and then went from their house to
Lord Romney’s. Though all the gentry of Kent were
there, my father never knew, or was supposed not to
have known, that I had been there. The king took
great notice of me. I dined with him—that is, what
was called dining with him, but at an adjoining table.
Lord and Lady Romney served the king and queen,
and gentlemen waited on us: Upton changed my
plate, and he did it very well. Doctor, dining with
royalty, as Lord Melbourne does now, was not so
common formerly; I never dined with the king but
twice—once at Lord Romney’s at an adjoining table,
and once afterwards at his own table: oh! what wry
faces there were among some of the courtiers! Mr.
Pitt was very much pleased at the reception I met
with: the king took great notice of me, and, I believe,
always after liked me personally. Whenever I
was talking to the dukes, he was sure to come towards
us. ‘Where is she?’ he would cry; ‘where is she?
I hear them laugh, and where they are laughing I
must go too:’ then, as he came nearer, he would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span>
observe, ‘if you have anything to finish, I won’t come
yet—I’ll come in a quarter of an hour.’ When he
was going away from Lord Romney’s, he wanted to
put me bodkin between himself and the queen; and
when the queen had got into the carriage, he said to
her, ‘My dear, Lady Hester is going to ride bodkin
with us; I am going to take her away from Democracy
Hall:’ but the old queen observed, in rather a prim
manner, that I ‘had not got my maid with me, and
that it would be inconvenient for me to go at such a
short notice:’ so I remained.</p>

<p>“It was at that review that I was talking to some
officers, and something led to my saying, ‘I can’t
bear men who are governed by their wives, as Sir
A. H*** is; a woman of sense, even if she did govern
her husband, would not let it be seen: it is odious, in
my opinion:’ and I went on in this strain, whilst
poor Sir A. himself, whom I did not know, but had
only heard spoken of, was standing by all the time. I
saw a dreadful consternation in the bystanders, but I
went on. At last some one—taking commiseration
on him, I suppose—said, ‘Lady Hester, will you
allow me to introduce Sir A. H*** to you, who is
desirous of making your acquaintance.’ Sir A. very
politely thanked me for the advice I had given him;
and I answered something about the regard my
brother had for him, and there the matter ended.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>
“When first I went to live with Mr. Pitt, one day
he and I were taking a walk in the park, when we
were met by Lord Guildford, having Lady —— and
Lady ——, two old demireps, under his arm. Mr.
Pitt and I passed them, and Mr. Pitt pulled off his
hat: Lord G. turned his head away, without acknowledging
his bow. The fact was, he thought Mr. Pitt
was escorting some mistress he had got. ‘Well,’ said
I, ‘there goes Falstaff with the merry wives of Windsor.’
‘Yes,’ rejoined Mr. Pitt, ‘and I think, whatever
he may take you to be, he need not be so prim,
with those two painted and patched ladies under his
arm.’</p>

<p>“The same thing happened with Lord A.; and,
when Mr. Pitt soon after came into office, Lord A.
called on Mr. Pitt, who, being busy, sent him to me.
Lord A. began with a vast variety of compliments
about ancient attachments, and his recollection, when
a boy, of having played with me: so I cut him short
by telling him his memory then must have sadly failed
him the other day, when he passed me and Mr. Pitt in
his curricle with Lady ——. After many, ‘Really,
I supposed,’ and ‘Upon my honours,—Sense of
propriety on account of Lady ——, and not knowing
who I was’—I laughed heartily at him, and he went
away. When he was gone, Mr. Pitt came to me, and
said, ‘I don’t often ask questions about your visitors,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span>
but I should really like to know what excuse Lord A.
could offer for his primosity<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> to us, when he was
riding with such a Jezebel as Lady ——.’</p>

<p>“Yet it might have been very natural for Mr. Pitt
to do so.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> How many people used to come and
ask me impertinent questions, in order to get out
his state secrets: but I very soon set them down.
‘What, you are come to give me a lesson of impertinence,’
I used to say, laughing in their faces.
One day, one of them, of rather a first-rate class, began
with—‘Now, my dear Lady Hester, you know our
long friendship, and the esteem I have for you—now
do just tell me, who is to go out ambassador to
Russia?’ So I was resolved to try him; and, with a
very serious air, I said, ‘Why, if I had to choose,
there are only three persons whom I think fit for the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>
situation—Mr. Tom Grenville, Lord Malmesbury,’ and
I forget who was the third: ‘but you know,’ I added,
‘Lord Malmesbury’s health will not allow him to go to
so cold a climate, and Mr., the other, is something
and something, so that he is out of the question.’
Next morning, doctor, there appeared in ‘The
Oracle,’ a paper, observe, that Mr. Pitt never read—‘We
understand that Lord M. and Mr. T. G.
are selected as the two persons best qualified for
the embassy to Russia: but, owing to his lordship’s
ill health, the choice will most likely fall on
Mr. T. G.’</p>

<p>“I was highly amused the following days, to hear
the congratulations that were paid to Mr. Grenville:
but, when the real choice came to be known, which
was neither one nor the other, oh! how black the inquisitive
friend of mine looked; and what reproaches
he made me for having, as he called it, deceived him!
But I did not deceive him: I only told him what was
true, that, if I had the choice, I should choose such and
such persons.</p>

<p>“There are, necessarily, hundreds of reasons for
ministers’ actions, that people in general know nothing
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>
about. When the Marquis —— was sent to India
it was on condition that he did not take —— ——
with him: for Mr. Pitt said, ‘It is all very well if
he chooses to go alone, but he shan’t take —— ——
with him; for—who knows?—she may be, all the
time, carrying on intrigues with the French government,
and that would not suit my purpose.’</p>

<p>“There might be some apparent levity in my
manner, both as regarded affairs of the cabinet and
my own; but I always knew what I was doing.
When Mr. Pitt was reproached for allowing me such
unreserved liberty of action in state matters and in
affairs where his friends advised him to question me
on the motives of my conduct, he always answered—‘I
let her do as she pleases; for, if she were resolved
to cheat the devil, she could do it.’ And so I could,
doctor; and that is the reason why thick-headed
people, who could never dive into the motives of what
I did, have often misinterpreted my conduct, when it
has proceeded from the purest intentions. And, in the
same way, when some persons said to Lady Suffolk,
‘Look at Lady Hester, talking and riding with
Bouverie and the Prince’s friends; she must mind
what she is about’—Lady Suffolk remarked, ‘There is
nothing to fear in that quarter; she never will let any
body do a bit more <a id="chg1"></a>than she intends: what she does
is with <i lang="fr">connoissance de cause</i>.’ And she was right;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>
nobody could ever accuse me of folly: even those
actions which might seem folly to a common observer,
were wisdom. Everything with me, through life,
has been premeditatedly done.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt paid me the greatest compliment I ever
received from any living being. He was speaking of
C******, and lamenting he was so false, and so little
to be trusted; and I said, ‘But perhaps he is only
so in appearance, and is sacrificing ostensibly his own
opinions, in order to support your reputation?’—‘I
have lived,’ replied Mr. Pitt, ‘twenty-five years in the
midst of men of all sorts, and I never yet found but
one human being capable of such a sacrifice.’—‘Who
can that be?’ said I. ‘Is it the Duke of Richmond?
is it such a one?’ and I named two others, when he
interrupted me—‘No,—it is <em>you</em>.’</p>

<p>“I was not insensible to praise from such a man;
and when, before Horne Tooke and some other clever
people, he told me I was fit to sit between Augustus
and Mæcenas, I suppose I must believe it. And he
did not think so lightly of my lectures as you do: for
one day he said to me, ‘We are going to establish a
new hospital, and you, Hester, are to have the management
of it: it is to be an hospital for the diseases
of the mind; for nobody knows so well as you how to
cure them.’ I should never have done if I were to
repeat the many attestations of his good opinion of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>
me: but it was no merit of mine if I deserved it:
I was born so. There was a man one day at table
with Mr. Pitt, an old friend of his—Canning told me
the story—who, speaking of me, observed that he supposed
I should soon marry, and, after some conversation
on the subject, concluded by saying, ‘I suppose
she waits till she can get a man as clever as herself.’
‘Then,’ answered Mr. Pitt, ‘she will never marry
at all.’</p>

<p>“In like manner, in the troublesome times of his
political career, Mr. Pitt would say, ‘I have plenty of
good diplomatists, but they are none of them military
men: and I have plenty of good officers, but not one
of them is worth sixpence in the cabinet. If you
were a man, Hester, I would send you on the Continent
with 60,000 men, and give you <i lang="fr">carte blanche</i>;
and I am sure that not one of my plans would fail,
and not one soldier would go with his shoes unblacked;
meaning, that my attention would embrace
every duty that belongs to a general and a corporal—and
so it would, doctor.”</p>

<p>After musing a little while, Lady Hester Stanhope
went on. “Did you ever read the life of General Moore
that I have seen advertised, written by his brother?
I wonder which brother it was. If it was the surgeon,
he was hard-headed, with great knowledge of men, but
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span>
dry, and with nothing pleasing about him. His wife
was a charming woman, brought up by some great
person, and with very good manners.</p>

<p>“As for tutors, and doctors, and such people, if,
now-a-days, mylords and myladies walk arm-in-arm
with them, they did not do so in my time. I recollect
an old dowager, to whom I used sometimes to be
taken to spend the morning. She was left with a
large jointure, and a fine house for the time being,
and used to invite the boys and the girls of my age, I
mean the age I was then, with their tutors and governesses,
to come and see her. ‘How do you do, Dr.
Mackenzie? Lord John, I see, is all the better for
his medicine: the duchess is happy in having found
a man of such excellent talents, which are almost too
great to be confined to the sphere of one family.’—‘Such
is the nature of our compact, my Lady, nor
could I on any account violate the regulations which
so good a family has imposed upon me.’—‘It’s very
cold, Dr. Mackenzie: I think I increased my
rheumatic pains at the Opera on Saturday night.’—‘Did
you ever try Dover’s Powders, my lady?’
He does not, you see, tell her to use Dover’s
Powders; he only says, did you ever try them?
‘Lord John—Lord John, you must take care, and
not eat too much of that strawberry preserve.’</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span>
“‘How do you do, Mr. K.?—how do you do, Lord
Henry? I hope the marchioness is well? She looked
divinely last night. Did you see her when she was
dressed, Mr. K.?’—‘You will pardon me, my lady,’
answers the tutor, ‘I did indeed see her; but it would
be presumptuous in me to speak of such matters. I
happened to take her a map,’ (mind, doctor, he does
not say a map of what) ‘and, certainly, I did cast my
eyes on her dress, which was, no doubt, in the best
taste, as everything the Marchioness does is.’ Observe,
here is no mention of her looks or person.
Doctors and tutors never presumed formerly to talk
about the complexion, and skin, and beauty, of those
in whose families they lived or found practice. Why,
haven’t I told you, over and over again, how Dr. W——
lost his practice from having said that a patient of his,
who died, was one of the most beautiful corpses he had
ever seen, and that he had stood contemplating her for
a quarter of an hour: she was a person of rank, and it
ruined him. Even his son, who was a doctor too,
and had nothing to do with it, never could get on
afterwards.</p>

<p>“Then would come in some young lady with her
governess, and then another; and the old dowager
would take us all off to some show, and make the
person who exhibited it stare again with the number
of young nobility she brought with her. From the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span>
exhibition, which was some monster, or some giant, or
some something, she would take us to eat ices, and
then we were all sent home, with the tutors and
governesses in a stew, lest we should be too late for a
master, or for a God knows what.</p>

<p>“I have known many apothecaries cleverer than
doctors themselves. There was Chilvers, and Hewson,
and half-a-dozen names that I forget: and there was
an apothecary at Bath that Mr. Pitt thought more of
than of his physician. Why, I have seen Sir H——
obliged to give way to an apothecary in a very high
family. ‘We will just call him in, and see what he
says:’ and the moment he had written his prescription
and was gone out of the house, the family would
consult the apothecary, who perhaps knew twice as
much of the constitution of the patient. ‘You know,
my lord, it is not the liver that is affected, whatever
Sir H—— pretends to think: it is the spleen; for,
did not we try the very same medicine that he has
prescribed for above a week? and it did your lordship
no good. You may just as well, and better, throw
his draught away:’ and sure enough it was done.
Sir Richard Jebb the same.</p>

<p>“Do you think,” continued she, “that the first
physician in London is on terms of intimacy with the
mylords he prescribes for? he prescribes, takes his
guinea, and is off: or, if he is asked to sit down a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span>
little, it is only to pick his brains about whether somebody
is likely to live or not: but I am not, and never
was, so mean: I always liked people should know
their relative situations. Ah! Dr. Turton, or some
such man as that, would be perhaps asked now and
then to dinner, or to take a walk round the grounds.
A doctor’s business is to examine the <i lang="fr">grandes affaires</i>,
talk to the nurse, and see that his blister has been
well dressed, and not to talk politics, say such a
woman is handsome, and chatter about what does not
concern him.”</p>

<p>Whilst Lady Hester was going on with her strictures
on the poor doctors, a favourite theme with her,
I produced from the back of a cupboard a miniature
print of General Moore, which had been lying at Abra,
neglected for some years. She took it from my hand,
and, looking at it a little time, she observed that it was
an excellent likeness of what he was when he became
a weather-beaten soldier: “Before that,” said she,
“those cheeks were filled out and ruddy, like Mr.
Close’s at Malta.”</p>

<p>After a pause, Lady Hester Stanhope continued:
“Poor Charles! My brother Charles one day was
disputing with James about his handsome Colonel,
and James, on his side, was talking of somebody’s leg
being handsome, saying he was right, for it had been
modelled, and nobody’s could be equal to it; when
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>
Charles turned to me, and asked with great earnestness
if I did not think General Moore was the better
made man of the two, I answered, ‘He is certainly
very handsome.’—‘Oh! but,’ said Charles, ‘Hester,
if you were only to see him when he is bathing, his
body is as perfect as his face.’ I never even smiled,
although inwardly I could not help smiling at his
naïveté.</p>

<p>“I consider it a mark of vulgarity and of the association
of bad ideas in people’s minds when they make
a handle of such equivoques in an ill-natured way, as
you recollect Mr. T. did when he was at Alexandria.
People of good breeding do not even smile, when, perhaps,
low persons would suppose they might show a
great deal of affected primosity. Only imagine the
Duc de Blacas to be announced;—what would my old
servant, poor William Wiggins, have done? He would
never have got out the word.” Here Lady Hester set
up laughing most heartily, and then she laughed, and
laughed again. I think I never saw anything make her
relax from her composure so much.</p>

<p>“As for what people in England say or have said
about me, I don’t care that for them,” (snapping her
fingers); “and whatever vulgar-minded people say or
think of me has no more effect than if they were to spit
at the sun. It only falls on their own nose, and all
the harm they do is to themselves. They may spit
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>
at a marble wall as they may at me, but it will not
hang. They are like the flies upon an artillery-horse’s
tail—there they ride, and ride, and buz about, and
then there comes a great explosion; bom! and off
they fly. I hate affectation of all kinds. I never could
bear those ridiculous women who cannot step over a
straw without expecting the man who is walking with
them to offer his hand. I always said to the men,
when they offered me their hand, ‘No, no; I have
got legs of my own, don’t trouble yourselves.’ Nobody
pays so little attention to what are called punctilios as
I do; but if any one piques me on my rank, and what
is due to me, that’s another thing: I can then show
them who I am.”</p>

<p>October 16.—These conversations filled up the
mornings and evenings until the 16th of October, when
I went to Mar Elias for a day. Whilst there, a
peasant arrived with an ass-load of musk grapes and
<i>mukseysy</i> grapes that Lady Hester had sent. An ass-load
in those happy countries is but a proof of the
abundance that reigns there. A bushel-basket of
oranges or lemons, a bunch of fifty or sixty bananas,
ten or twelve melons at a time, were presents of frequent
occurrence.</p>

<p>October 18.—I returned to Jôon, and employed
myself busily in fitting up the cottage intended for our
dwelling. The nearer the time approached for bringing
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>
my family close to her premises, the more Lady Hester
seemed to regret having consented to the arrangement.
Petty jealousies, inconsistent with a great mind, were
always tormenting her. Of this a remarkable and
somewhat ludicrous instance occurred during the latter
part of the month of September. Most persons are
probably aware that Mahometans have a religious
horror of bells, and, in countries under their domination,
have never allowed of their introduction even
into Christian churches. It is not uncommon, by way
of contempt, to designate Europe as the land of bells.
This pious abhorrence penetrates the arcana of private
life; and, in a Turkish house, no such thing as a bell
for calling the servants is ever to be seen. A clap of
the hands, repeated three times, is the usual summons;
and, as the doors are seldom shut, the sound
can be easily heard throughout every part of the
dwelling.</p>

<p>Lady Hester, however, retained her European
habits in this one particular; and perhaps there never
existed a more vehement or constant bell-ringer. The
bells hung for her use were of great size; so that the
words <i>Gerass el Syt</i>, or my lady’s bell, echoing from
one mouth to another when she rang, made the most
indolent start on their legs; until, at last, as nobody
but herself in the whole territory possessed house-bells,
the peasantry and menials imagined that the use of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>
them was some special privilege granted to her by the
Sublime Porte on account of her exalted rank, and
she probably found it to her advantage not to disturb
this very convenient supposition.</p>

<p>On taking up our residence at Mar Elias, there
were two bells put by in a closet, which were replaced
for the use of my family, with bell-ropes to the saloon
and dining-room, none of us ever suspecting that they
could, by any human ingenuity, be considered otherwise
than as most necessary appendages to a room:
but we calculated without our host. This assumption
of the dignity of bells was held to be an act of <i lang="la">læsa
majestas</i>; and the report of our proceedings was carried
from one person to another, until, at last, it
reached Lady Hester’s ears, endorsed with much
wonder on the part of her maids how a doctor’s wife
could presume to set herself on an equality with a
<i>meleky</i> (queen). Lady Hester, however, saw the
absurdity of affecting any claim to distinction in such
a matter, and, therefore, vexed and mortified although
it appears she was, she never said a word to me on
the subject. But, one morning in September, when
we were all assembled at breakfast, on pulling the
bell-rope no sound responded, and, examining into the
cause, we discovered that the strings had been cut by
a knife, and the bells forcibly wrenched from their
places. Much conjecture was formed as to who could
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span>
have done all this mischief. The maids were questioned;
the porter, the milkman, the errand-boy, the
man-servant, every body, in short, in and about the
place, but nobody knew anything of the matter. Understanding
Arabic, I soon found there was some mystery
in the business; and answers, more and more
evasive, from the porter, the harder he was pressed,
led to a presumption, amounting almost to a certainty,
that her ladyship’s grand emissary, Osman Chaôosh,
had arrived late at night, armed with pincers, hammer,
etcetera, and, before daylight, had carried off the bells
to Lady Hester’s residence. I concealed my conjecture
from my family, wishing to cause no fresh
source of irritation; and, having occasion to write
that day to Lady Hester, I merely added, as a postscript,
“The two bells have been stolen during the
night, and I can find no certain clue to the thief. For,
although I have discovered that Osman el Chaôosh
has been here secretly, I cannot think it likely that
any one of your servants would presume to do such a
thing without your orders; nor can I believe that
your ladyship would instruct any one to do that clandestinely
which a message from yourself to me would
have effected so easily.”</p>

<p>When I saw Lady Hester a day or two afterwards,
she never alluded to the bells, nor did I; and nothing
was ever mentioned about them for two or three months,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>
until, one day, she, being in a good humour, said,
“Doctor, it was I who ordered Osman to take away
the bells. The people in this country must never
suppose there is any one connected with my establishment
who puts himself on an equality with
me, no matter in what. The Turks know of only one
Pasha in a district; the person next to him is a nobody
in his presence, not daring even to sit down or
to speak, unless told to do so. If I had let those
bells hang much longer, the sound of my own would
not have been attended to. As it is, half of my servants
have become disobedient from seeing how my
will is disputed by you and your family, who have
always a hundred reasons for not doing what I wish
to be done; and, as I said in my letter to Eugenia,
I can’t submit to render an account of my actions;
for, if I was not called upon to do so by Mr. Pitt, I
am sure I shan’t by other people; so let us say no
more about it.” Of course, I complied with her
whims; or rather, I should say, admitted the good
sense of her observations: for I knew very well that
she never did anything without a kind or substantial
motive. So, after that, the exclamation of <i>Gerass el
Syt</i> recovered its magical effect.</p>

<p>October 23.—I escorted my family to their new
residence, which was called the Tamarisk Pavilion,
from a tamarisk-tree that grew from the terrace.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>
They were all delighted with it, and happiness seemed
restored to its inmates.</p>

<p>October 25.—The very day on which my family
came up, Lady Hester took to her bed from illness,
and never quitted it until March in the following
year. She had now laboured under pulmonary catarrh
for six or seven years, which, subsiding in the summer
months, returned every winter, with increased violence,
and at this time presented some very formidable
symptoms.</p>

<p>November 9.—About six o’clock, just as I had
dined, a servant came to say that her ladyship wished
to see me. On going into her bed-room, which, as
usual, was but faintly lighted, I ran my head against
a long packthread, which crossed from the wall,
where it was tied, to her bed, and was held in her
hand. “Take care, doctor,” said she; “these stupid
beasts can’t understand what I want: but you must
help me. I want to pull out a tooth. I have tied a
string to it and to the wall: and you, with a stick or
something, must give it a good blow, so as to jerk my
tooth out.”</p>

<p>Knowing her disposition, I said, “Very well, and
that I would do as she wished. But, if you like,”
added I, “to have it extracted <i lang="la">secundem artem</i>, I
fancy I can do it for you.”—“Oh! doctor, have you
nerve enough? and, besides, I don’t like those crooked
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span>
instruments: but, however, go and get them.” I had
seen in the medicine-chest a dentist’s instrument, and,
returning with it, I performed the operation; with
the result of which she was so much pleased, that she
insisted upon having another tooth out. The relief
was so instantaneous, that the second tooth was no
sooner gone than she commenced talking as usual.</p>

<p>The cough with which Lady Hester had been so
long indisposed occasionally assumed symptoms of
water in the chest. Sudden starts from a lying
posture, with a sense of suffocation, which, for a
moment, as she described it, was like the gripe of
a hand across her throat, made me very uneasy about
her. Her strong propensity to bleeding, to which she
had resorted four or five times a year for the last
twenty years, had brought on a state of complete
emaciation, and what little blood was left in her
body seemed to have no circulation in the extremities,
where her veins, on a deadly white skin, showed themselves
tumefied and knotty.</p>

<p>It was difficult to reason with her on medical subjects,
especially in her own case. She had peculiar
systems, drawn from the doctrine of people’s stars.
She designated her own cough as an asthma, and had,
for some time, doctored herself much in her own way.
Such is the balmy state of the air in Syria, that, had
she trusted to its efficacy alone, and lived with habits of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>
life like other people, nothing serious was to be
dreaded from her illness. But she never breathed
the external air, except what she got by opening
the windows, and took no exercise but for about
ten minutes or a quarter of an hour daily, when,
on quitting her bed-room to go to the saloon, she made
two or three turns in the garden to see her flowers
and shrubs, which seemed to be the greatest enjoyment
she had.</p>

<p>She prescribed almost entirely for herself, and only
left me the duties of an apothecary; or, if she adopted
any of my suggestions, it was never at the moment,
but always some days afterwards, when it seemed to
her that she was acting, not on my advice, but on the
suggestions of her own judgment. She was accustomed
to say, if any doubts were expressed of the
propriety of what she was going to do, “I suppose I
am grown a fool in my old age. When princes and
statesmen have relied on my judgment, I am not going
to give it up at this time of life.”</p>

<p>But it was not for herself alone that she thus obstinately
prescribed; she insisted also upon doing the
same for everybody else, morally as well as medically.
One of the prominent features in her character was the
inclination she had to give advice to all persons indiscriminately
about their conduct, their interests, and
their complaints: and, in this latter respect, she prescribed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>
for everybody. I was not exempt, and I
dreaded her knowing anything about the most trifling
indisposition that affected me. Greatly addicted to
empiricism, she would propose the most strange remedies;
and, fond of the use of medicine herself, she
would be out of humour if others showed an aversion
to it. There was no surer way of securing her good
graces than to put one’s self under her management
for some feigned complaint, and then to attribute the
cure to her skill. Hundreds of knaves have got presents
out of her in this way. For they had but to
say that, during their illness, they had lost an employment,
or spent their ready money, no matter
what—they were sure to be remunerated tenfold above
their pretended losses. Let it however be said to her
honour, that, among the number she succoured in real
sickness, many owned with gratitude the good she had
done: and no surer proof of this can be given than
the universal sorrow that pervaded half the population
of Sayda, when, in the course of this her illness, she
was reported to be past recovery.</p>

<p>It was in compliance with this foible of hers that,
when I returned to Dar Jôon, after being laid up with
a bad leg, she would insist on my wearing a laced
cloth boot, which she ordered to be made, unknown to
me; on my washing the œdematous leg in wine with
laurel leaves steeped in it; and on sitting always,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>
when with her, with my leg resting on a cushion
placed on a stool. Her tyranny in such matters was
very irksome; for it was clothed in terms of so much
feeling and regard, and of such commiseration for
one’s overrated sufferings, that, to escape the accusation
of ingratitude and bad breeding, it was impossible
to avoid entire acquiescence in every one of her
kind commands.</p>

<p>She was ever complaining that she could get nothing
to eat, nothing to support a great frame like
hers: yet she seldom remained one half hour, from
sunrise to sunset, or from sunset to sunrise (except
during sleep), without taking nourishment of some
kind. I never knew any human being who took food
so frequently: but, from that very frequency, it might
be doubted whether she had a relish for anything.
And may not this, in some measure, account for her
frequent ill-humour? for nothing sours people’s temper
more than an overloaded stomach, and nothing promotes
cheerfulness more than a light one.</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a>
In accordance with his republican principles, Lord Stanhope caused
his armorial bearings to be defaced from his plate, carriages, &amp;c.
Nothing was spared but the iron gate before the entrance to the house.
Even the tapestry given to the great Lord Stanhope by the king of
Spain, with which one of the rooms in Chevening was ornamented, he
caused to be taken down and put into a corner, calling it all damned
aristocratical. He likewise sold all the Spanish plate, which Lady
Hester said weighed (if I recollect rightly) six hundred weight.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a>
A friend has suggested that <i>primosity</i> is not in Johnson’s
Dictionary; it was however a word of frequent recurrence in Lady
Hester’s vocabulary; and it scarcely, I think, need be said, that it
means prudery:</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry small">
  <div class="verse indent0">“What is prudery? ’Tis a beldam,</div>
  <div class="verse indent0">Seen with wit and beauty seldom.”</div>
  <div class="author"><span class="smcap">Pope.</span></div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a>
 “In 1800, Mr. Pitt, for the third time, contemplated renewing his
attempts to make peace with France, and he offered the mission again
to Lord Malmesbury. Lord Grenville wished to appoint his brother, Mr.
Thomas Grenville; and Lord Malmesbury, whose deafness and infirmity had
much increased, readily consented.”—<cite>Diaries and Correspondence of
the Earl of Malmesbury.</cite></p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Two"><span class="allsmcap">II.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Sir Nathaniel Wraxall’s Memoirs—The three duchesses—Anecdote
of Mr. Rice—How Prime Ministers are employed on
first taking office—The Grenville make—P—— of W——
at Stowe—Mr. Pitt and Mr. Sheridan—Duke of H——
—Mr. Pitt’s disinterestedness exemplified—His life wasted in
the service of his country—Mr. Rose—Mr. Long—Mr.——
—Grounds at Walmer laid out by Lady Hester—Mr. Pitt’s
deportment in retirement—His physiognomy—How he got
into debt—Lord Carrington; why made a peer—Extent of
Mr. Dundas’s influence over Mr. Pitt—Mr. Pitt averse to
ceremony—Mr. Pitt and his sister Harriet—His dislike to
the Bourbons—Lady Hester’s activity at Walmer—Lord
Chatham’s indolence—Mr. Pitt’s opinion of Sir Arthur
Wellesley.</p>


<p class="p2">On leaving Marseilles, in 1837, I ordered Sir
Nathaniel Wraxall’s Memoirs to be sent after me
to Syria, thinking that, as relating to Mr. Pitt’s
times, and to people and politics with whom and in
which both he and she had mixed so largely, these
memoirs could not fail to amuse her. I received them
soon after my arrival at Jôon, and many rainy days
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>
were passed in reading them. They served to beguile
the melancholy hours of her sickness, and recalled the
agreeable recollections of her more splendid, if not
more happy, hours. She would say on such occasions,
“Doctor, read a little of your book to me.” This was
always her expression, when I had brought any publication
to her: and, ordering a pipe, lying at her
length in bed, and smoking whilst I read, she would
make her comments as I went on.</p>

<p>“Let me hear about the duchesses,” she would say.
After a page or two she interrupted me. “See what
the Duchess of Rutland and the Duchess of Gordon
were: look at the difference. I acknowledge it proceeds
all from temperament, just as your dull disposition
does, which to me is as bad as a heavy weight
or a nightmare. I never knew, among the whole of
my acquaintance in England, any one like you but
Mr. Polhill of Crofton” (or some such place): “he
was always mopish, just as you are. I remember too
what a heavy, dull business the Duchess of R.’s parties
were—the room so stuffed with people that one could
not move, and all so heavy—a great deal of high
breeding and <i lang="fr">bon ton</i>; but there was, somehow, nothing
to enliven you. Now and then some incident
would turn up to break the spell. One evening, I
recollect very well, everybody was suffering with the
heat: there we were, with nothing but heads to be
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span>
seen like bottles in a basket. I got out of the room,
upon the landing-place. There I found Lady Sefton,
Lady Heathcote, and some of your high-flyers, and
somebody was saying to me, ‘Lady Hester something,’
when, half way up the staircase, the Duke of Cumberland
was trying to make his way. He cried out,
‘Where’s Lady Hester? where’s my aide-de-camp?
Come and help me; for I am so blind I can’t get on
alone. Why, this is h—l and d——n!’—‘Here I
am, sir.’—‘Give me your hand, there’s a good little
soul. Do help me into this h—l; for it’s quite as
hot.’ Then came Bradford; and, whilst he was
speaking to me, and complaining of the intolerable
heat and crush, out roared the Duke of Cumberland,
‘Where is she gone to?’—and up went his glass, peeping
about to the right and left—‘where is she gone to?’
There was some life in him, doctor.</p>

<p>“Now, at the Duchess of Gordon’s, there were
people of the same fashion, and the crowd was just as
great; but then she was so lively, and everybody was
so animated, and seemed to know so well what they
were about—quite another thing.</p>

<p>“As for the Duchess of D.’s, there they were—all
that set—all yawning, and wanting the evening to be
spent, that they might be getting to the business they
were after.”</p>

<p>It may be mentioned that Lady Hester was always
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span>
very severe on the Duchess of D. and her friends,
whenever her name or theirs was mentioned. She
said she was full of affected sensibility, but that there
was always a great deal of wickedness about her
eyes.</p>

<p>The mention of the Duchess of Rutland’s name
also led to an amusing anecdote. Lady Hester was
speaking of the grand <i lang="fr">fête</i> given by the duchess when
her son came of age. The arrangements were entrusted
to a person named Rice, and to some great confectioner.
Mr. Rice had been <i lang="fr">maître d’hôtel</i>, or in
some such capacity, in Mr. Pitt’s family.</p>

<p>“Rice told me,” said Lady Hester, “that when he
and the other man were preparing for the <i lang="fr">fête</i>, he never
lay down for ten nights, but got what sleep he could
in an arm-chair. The duchess gave him three hundred
guineas. One day she looked at him over her
shoulder; and when one of the beaux about her said,
‘What are you looking after, duchess? You have
forgotten something in the drawing-room?’—‘No, no,’
said she, pointing to Rice, ‘I was only thinking that
those eyes are too good for a kitchen.’ And then one
talked of the eyes, and the eyes, and another of the
eyes and the eyes, until poor Rice quite blushed. He
had very pretty eyes, doctor.”</p>

<p>But the anecdote I was going to relate was this.
Most simple persons, like myself, imagine that prime
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span>
ministers of such a country as England, when promoted
to so elevated a station, are only moved by the
noble ambition of their country’s good, and, from the
first moment to the last, are ever pondering on the
important measures that may best promote it. No
such thing. Let us hear what Lady Hester Stanhope
herself had to say on this subject.</p>

<p>“The very first thing Mr. Pitt did,” said she,
“after coming into office the second time, was to provide
for Mr. Rice. We were just got to Downing
Street, and everything was in disorder. I was in the
drawing-room: Mr. Pitt, I believe, had dined out.
When he came home, ‘Hester,’ said he, ‘we must
think of our dear, good friend Rice. I have desired
the list to be brought to me to-morrow morning, and
we will see what suits him.’—‘I think we had better
see now,’ I replied. ‘Oh, no! it is too late now.’—‘Not
at all,’ I rejoined; and I rang the bell, and desired
the servant to go to the Treasury, and bring me
the list.</p>

<p>“On examining it, I found three places for which
he was eligible. I then sent for Rice. ‘Rice,’ said
I, ‘here are three places to be filled up. One is a
place in the Treasury, where you may fag on, and, by
the time you are forty-five or fifty, you may be
master of twenty or twenty-five thousand pounds.
There is another will bring you into contact with poor
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>
younger sons of nobility: you will be invited out,
get tickets for the Opera, and may make yourself a
fine gentleman. The third is in the Customs: there
you must fag a great deal, but you will make a great
deal of money: it is a searcher’s place.’</p>

<p>“Rice, after considering awhile, said—‘As for the
Treasury, that will not suit me, my lady; for I must
go on plodding to the end of my life. The second
place your ladyship mentioned will throw me out of
my sphere: I am not fit for fine folks; and, if you
please, I had rather take the third.’ So, the very
next morning, I got all his papers signed by everybody
except Mr. Long, and they made some excuses
that he was not come, or was gone, or something; but
I would hear of no delay, and desired them to find him.</p>

<p>“Rice went on swimmingly, doctor, for a long time,
and made one morning a seizure that brought for his
share £500. But I had given him some very long
instructions, and he was not like you, for he listened
to my advice. Sometimes, when I was teaching him
how he was to act, he would say, ‘My lady, I believe
that is enough for this time: I don’t think my poor
head will contain more; but I’ll come again.’ I told
him he was to learn the specific gravity of bodies, that
when they told him (for example) it was pepper, he
might know by the volume that it was not gunpowder
or cochineal.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span>
“When the Grenville administration wanted to
introduce new regulations into the Customs, and
diminish their profits, I wrote such a petition for
them, that Lord Grenville read it over and over, and
cried out—‘There is only one person could write this,
and we must give up the point.’ He sent the Duke
of Buckingham to me to find out if it was I, and the
duke said, to smooth the matter—‘Lady Hester, you
know, if you want any favour, you have only to ask
for it.’—‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘I shall ask no favour of
your <em>broad-bottomed</em> gentry; what I want I shall take
by force.’—‘Now, Hester,’ cried the duke, ‘you are
too bad; you are almost indelicate.’</p>

<p>“Oh, I made a man laugh so once when speaking of
an officer, who, I said, would not do for an hussar,
as he wanted a little more of the Grenville make
about him.”</p>

<p>After a pause, as if reflecting, Lady Hester resumed—“Is
there nothing in the book about the
G********’s getting the Prince down to Stowe?
They received him with extraordinary magnificence,
and the most noble treatment possible: they fancied
they were going to do wonders. But I said to
them—‘Do you think all this makes the impression
you wish in the Prince’s breast? You suppose, no
doubt, that you gratify him highly with such a splendid
reception: you are much mistaken. From this
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span>
time forward he will be jealous of you, and will hate
you as long as he thinks you can rival him.’ The
event proved how justly I knew his character.</p>

<p>“There they were, shut up: and when they told me
they had got their conditions in black and white, I
told them how it would be. I said he would take
them in; for what was a paper to a man like him?
I wrote them such a letter, doctor, that they all
thought it was Mr. Pitt’s—Mr. Pitt’s best style, too—until
I swore he never knew a word about it. They
fancied they had got all the loaves and fishes. One
was to be Prime Minister, one First Lord of the Admiralty,
and so on: but their ambition destroyed
them. What have they been since Mr. Pitt’s death?
Nothing at all. Who ever hears now of the Duke of
B*********?”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p>

<p>I turned over the pages, and next read Wraxall’s
account of Mr. Sheridan, which Lady Hester said was
very much to the purpose. “Mr. Pitt,” she added,
“always thought well of him, and never disliked my
talking with him. Oh! how Sheridan used to make
me laugh, when he pretended to marry Mr. Pitt to
different women!”</p>

<p>I came to the passage where Sir Nathaniel finds
fault with Mr. Pitt’s having refused Sheridan’s generous
offer of co-operating with him in suppressing the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>
mutiny at the Nore. “Why,” interrupted Lady
Hester, “what could Mr. Pitt do? He was afraid,
doctor; he did not know how sincere such people
might be in their offers: they might be only coming
over to his side to get the secrets of the cabinet, and
then turn king’s evidence. It required a great deal
of caution to know how to deal with such clever men.”</p>

<p>Where Sir Nathaniel relates the history of the
Burrell family, she spoke highly of all the daughters,
but especially of Mrs. Bennett, and considered that
the author was wrong in saying that all but Mrs. Bennett
were not handsome.</p>

<p>Of the D. of H. she observed, that he never lived
with the duchess. He was in love with Lady ——,
and used to disguise himself as a one-legged soldier—as
a beggar—assuming a hundred masquerades, sleeping
in outhouses, &amp;c. He would have married her,
but he could not, for he had got one wife already.
That was the woman F. M**** married. “Oh, doctor,
there was a man!” (meaning the Duke of H——)
“perfect from top to toe, with not a single flaw in his
person.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester was so delighted with Sir Nathaniel’s
Memoirs that she said, more than once, “How I wish
I had known that man! I would have made him a
duke. What an excellent judgment he has, and how
well he knew everybody! But how was I to find out
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span>
all those people, when the stupid and interested set
that surrounded Mr. Pitt kept them all in the background.”</p>

<p>November 11.—This evening I remained with Lady
Hester about three hours. She was better, but complained
of great pain in the left hypochondrium, and
could not lie easy on either side, or on her back.
Yet, notwithstanding her ailments, talking was necessary
for her; and from the incidental mention of Mr.
Pitt’s name, she went on about him for some time.</p>

<p>“Nobody ever knew or estimated Mr. Pitt’s character
rightly. His views were abused and confounded
with the narrow projects of men who never could comprehend
them; his fidelity to his master was never
understood. Never was there such a disinterested
man; he invariably refused every bribe, and declined
every present that was offered to him. Those which
came to him from abroad he left to rot in the Custom
House; and some of his servants, after quitting his
service, knowing he never inquired about them any
more, went and claimed things of this sort: for Mr.
Pitt would read the letter, and think no more about it.
I could name those, who have pictures hanging in their
rooms—pictures by Flemish masters, of great value—procured
in this way.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt used to say of Lord Carrington, when he
saw him unable to eat his dinner in comfort, because he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span>
had a letter to write to his steward about some estate
or another—‘<i lang="fr">voilà l’embarras de richesses</i>:’ but when
he heard of some generous action done by a wealthy
man—‘There’s the pleasure of being rich,’ he would
cry. He did not pretend to despise wealth, but he
was not a slave to it, as will be seen by the following
anecdotes:—</p>

<p>“At one time a person was empowered by his city
friends to settle on him £10,000 a year, in order to
render him independent of the favour of the king
and of everybody, upon condition (as they expressed
it) that he would stand forth to save his country.
The offer was made through me, and I said I would
deliver the message, but was afraid the answer would
not be such as they wished. Mr. Pitt in fact refused
it, saying he was much flattered by their approval of
his conduct, but that he could accept nothing of the sort.</p>

<p>“Yet these people,” added Lady Hester, “were
not, as you might at first suppose, disinterested in
their offer: I judged them to be otherwise. For if it
had been to the man, and not to some hopes of gain
they had by him, would they not, after his death,
have searched out those he esteemed as angels, and
have honoured his memory by enriching those he loved
so much? (alluding to herself and brothers.) But no—they
thought if Mr. Pitt retired from public affairs,
the country and its commerce would go to ruin, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span>
they, as great city men, would be the losers; whereas,
by a few thousand pounds given away handsomely, if
they got him to take an active part in the government,
they would in turn put vast riches into their
own purses, and make a handsome profit out of their
patriotism.” She added, “There are no public philanthropists
in the city.”</p>

<p>“I recollect once a hackney-coach drawing up to
the door, out of which got four men: doctor, they
had a gold box with them as big as that” (and she held
her hands nearly a foot apart to show the size of it),
“containing £100,000 in bank-notes. They had
found out the time when he was alone, and made him
an offer of it. It was all interest that guided them,
but they pretended it was patriotism:—rich merchants,
who were to get a pretty penny by the job. He
very politely thanked them, and returned the present.</p>

<p>“I was once in the city at an Irish linen warehouse—very
rich people, but such a nasty place—so
dark! You know those narrow streets. They offered
to buy Hollwood for him, pay his debts, and make him
independent of the king, if he would contrive to take
office; for he was out at the time. I mentioned it to
him, as I thought it my duty to do so; but he would
not listen to any such proposal.</p>

<p>“When I think of the ingratitude of the English
nation to Mr. Pitt, for all his personal sacrifices and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span>
disinterestedness, for his life wasted in the service of
his country!”—Here Lady Hester’s emotions got the
better of her, and she burst into tears: she sobbed as
she spoke. “People little knew what he had to do.
Up at eight in the morning, with people enough to see
for a week, obliged to talk all the time he was at
breakfast, and receiving first one, then another, until
four o’clock; then eating a mutton-chop, hurrying off
to the House, and there badgered and compelled to
speak and waste his lungs until two or three in the
morning!—who could stand it? After this, heated
as he was, and having eaten nothing, in a manner of
speaking, all day, he would sup with Dundas, Huskisson,
Rose, Mr. Long, and such persons, and then
go to bed to get three or four hours’ sleep, and to
renew the same thing the next day, and the next, and
the next.</p>

<p>“Poor old Rose! he had a good heart. I am
afraid he took it ill that I did not write to him. Mr.
Long used to slide in and slide out, and slide here and
slide there—nobody knew when he went or when he
came—so quiet.”</p>

<p>I here interrupted Lady Hester: “It was a lamentable
end, that of Mr. ——,” said I.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> “So much the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span>
better,” answered Lady Hester. I thought she had
not heard me well. “It was a lamentable end, that
of Mr. ——,” I repeated with a louder tone. “So
much the better,” said she again; “it could not be too
bad for him. He died in bodily torment, and C——
had the torment of a bad conscience for his falsehoods,
and W—— lived in mental torment. They all three
deserved it.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester resumed. “When Mr. Pitt was at
Walmer, he recovered his health prodigiously. He
used to go to a farm near Walmer, where hay and corn
were kept for the horses. He had a room fitted up
there with a table and two or three chairs, where he
used to write sometimes, and a tidy woman to dress
him something to eat. Oh! what slices of bread and
butter I have seen him eat there, and hunches of
bread and cheese big enough for a ploughman! He
used to say that, whenever he could retire from public
life, he would have a good English woman cook.
Sometimes, after a grand dinner, he would say, ‘I
want something—I am hungry:’ and when I remarked,
‘Well, but you are just got up from dinner,’
he would add, ‘Yes; but I looked round the table,
and there was nothing I could eat—all the dishes were
so made up, and so unnatural.’ Ah, doctor! in town,
during the sitting of parliament, what a life was his!
Roused from his sleep (for he was a good sleeper) with
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>
a despatch from Lord Melville;—then down to Windsor;
then, if he had half an hour to spare, trying
to swallow something:—Mr. Adams with a paper,
Mr. Long with another; then Mr. Rose: then, with
a little bottle of cordial confection in his pocket, off to
the House until three or four in the morning; then
home to a hot supper for two or three hours more, to
talk over what was to be done next day:—and wine,
and wine!—Scarcely up next morning, when tat-tat-tat—twenty
or thirty people, one after another, and the
horses walking before the door from two till sunset,
waiting for him. It was enough to kill a man—it was
murder!”</p>

<p>Lady Hester reverted to Walmer, and went on,
after musing a little thus—“I remember once what an
improvement I made at Walmer, which arose from a
conversation with some friends, in which Mr. Pitt
agreed with them that Walmer was not certainly a
beautiful residence, but that it only wanted trees to
make it so. I was present, but did not seem to hear
what was passing.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt soon after went to town. Mindful of
what he had let drop, I immediately resolved to set
about executing the improvements which he seemed
to imply as wanting. I got (I know not how) all the
regiments that were in quarters at Dover, and employed
them in levelling, fetching turf, transplanting
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>
shrubs, flowers, &amp;c. As I possess, in some degree,
the art of ingratiating myself where I want to do it, I
would go out of an evening among the workmen, and
say to one, ‘You are a Warwickshire man, I know
by your face’ (although I had known it by his brogue).
‘How much I esteem Lord Warwick; he is my best
friend.’—‘Were you in Holland, my good fellow?’ to
another. ‘Yes, my lady, in the Blues.’—‘A fine
regiment; there is not a better soldier in the army
than colonel so-and-so.’—‘He was my colonel, my
lady.’ Thus a few civil words, and occasionally a
present, made the work go on rapidly, and it was
finished before Mr. Pitt’s return.</p>

<p>“When Mr. Pitt came down, he dismounted from
his horse, and, ascending the staircase, saw through a
window, which commanded a view of the grounds, the
improvements that had been made. ‘Dear me, Hester,
why, this is a miracle! I know ’tis you, so do not deny
it: well, I declare, it is quite admirable; I could
not have done it half so well myself.’ And, though it
was just dinner-time, he would go out, and examine
it all over, and then was so profuse in his praises!—which
were the more delightful, because they applauded
the correctness of my taste. Above all, he was charmed
that I had not fallen into an error (which most persons
would have done) of making what is called an English
garden, but rather had kept to the old manner of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>
avenues, alleys, and the like, as being more adapted to
an ancient castle. Such was the amiable politeness of
Mr. Pitt.</p>

<p>“When Mr. Pitt retired from office, and sold
Hollwood, his favourite child, he laid down his carriages
and horses, diminished his equipage, and paid
off as many debts as he could. Yet, notwithstanding
this complete revolution, his noble manners, his agreeable,
condescending air, never forsook him for a
moment. To see him at table with vulgar sea captains,
and ignorant militia colonels, with two or three
servants in attendance—he, who had been accustomed
to a servant behind each chair, to all that was great
and distinguished in Europe—one might have supposed
disgust would have worked some change in him.
But in either case it was the same—always the admiration
of all around him. He was ever careful to cheer
the modest and diffident; but if some forward young
fellow exhibited any pertness, by a short speech, or
by asking some puzzling question, he would give him
such a set down that he could not get over it all the
evening.”</p>

<p>In answer to a question I put, “By whom and how
ministers effected their purposes in the city,” she told
me that they got hold of one of the great squads, as
Lloyd’s, the Angersteins, the Merchant Tailors, and
so on; and by means of one body set the rest to work.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>
Lady Hester was saying of herself that she was
very fit for a diplomatic character. “Nobody can ever
observe in me any changes in my countenance; and
when I am sitting still under a tree, nobody that
passes and sees me, I will venture to say, would ever
suppose what was in me, or say that’s a person of
talent. Mr. Pitt’s face was somewhat the same. In
regarding him, I should have said that he had a sort
of slovenly or negligent look: and the same when he
was in a passion. His passion did not show itself by
knitting his brows or pouting his mouth, nor were his
words very sharp: but his eyes lighted up in a manner
quite surprising. It was something that seemed to
dart from within his head, and you might see sparks
coming from them. At another time, his eyes had no
colour at all.</p>

<p>“That Mr. Pitt got into debt is no wonder. How
could a man, so circumstanced, find time to look into
his affairs? And of course there were many things I
could not attend to, whatever disposition I might have
had to do so. The bills that were given in by the
cook, by the valet, and such people, I looked over.
Merely the post-chaises and four were enough to run
away with a moderate income. Every now and then
I fixed on some glaring overcharge, and made some
inquiry about it, just to put a check upon them; and
on such occasions I would say, ‘Take care that does
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>
not happen again:’ but, what with great dinners, and
one thing and another, it was impossible to do any
good. As for your talking about English servants
being more honest than those of other countries, I
don’t know what to say about it.</p>

<p>“Where Wraxall, in his book, insinuates that
Mr. Pitt gave Mr. Smith a title, and made him Lord
Carrington, merely to discharge a debt for money
supplied in his emergencies, he is wrong, doctor. Mr.
Pitt once borrowed a sum of money of six persons,
but Lord Carrington was not of the number, and the
title bestowed on him was for quite another reason:
it was to recompense the zeal he had shown in raising
a volunteer corps at his own expense at Nottingham,
and in furnishing government with a sufficient sum to
raise another. Mr. Pitt had also found Mr. Smith a
useful man in affording him information about bankers’
business, which he often stood in need of, and in
making dinner parties, to enable Mr. Pitt to get rid
of troublesome people, whom he otherwise would have
been obliged to entertain at his own table. But Mr.
Pitt never knew what I heard after his death, by mere
accident, that the principal part of the loan, which
Mr. S. presented to government in his own name, was
in reality the gift of an old miser at Nottingham;
who, being unable or unwilling to go to town to see
the Chancellor of the Exchequer in person, and to be
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>
put to the trouble of addressing the crown, got Mr. S.,
who was an active man, to do it for him. It suited
Mr. Pitt very well, in making Lord Carrington governor
of Deal castle, to have somebody near at hand
who could take off the bore, and the expense too, of
entertaining people from London.”</p>

<p>“Sir Nathaniel Wraxall speaks of Mr. Pitt’s supposed
inclination for one of the Duke of Richmond’s
daughters, and goes on to say that he showed one of
them great attention.” Lady Hester Stanhope interrupted
me at that passage, and said, “So he did
to all.”</p>

<p>She denied that Mr. Dundas had any direct influence
over Mr. Pitt, as Wraxall avers. Her words
were, “Because Mr. Dundas was a man of sense, and
Mr. Pitt approved of his ideas on many subjects,
it does not follow, therefore, that he was influenced
by him.” With the exception of Mr. Dundas,
Lord —— and another that she named, “all the
rest,” said Lady Hester, “were a rabble—a rabble.
It was necessary to have some one at their head to
lead them, or else they were always going out of
the right road, just as, you know, a mule with a good
star must go before a caravan of mules, to show them
the way. Look at a flight of geese in the air: there
must always be one to lead them, or else they would
not know in what direction to fly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span>
“Mr. Pitt’s consideration for age was very marked.
He had, exclusive of Walmer, a house in the village,
for the reception of those whom the castle could not
hold. If a respectable commoner, advanced in years,
and a young duke arrived at the same time, and there
happened to be but one room vacant in the Castle, he
would be sure to assign it to the senior; for it is
better (he would say) that these young lords should
walk home on a rainy night, than old men: they can
bear it more easily.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt was accustomed to say that he always
conceived more favourably of that man’s understanding
who talked agreeable nonsense, than of his who
talked sensibly only; for the latter might come from
books and study, while the former could only be the
natural fruit of imagination.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt was never inattentive to what was passing
around him, though he often thought proper to
appear so. On one occasion, Sir Ed. K. took him to
the Ashford ball to show him off to the yeomen
and their wives. Though sitting in the room in all
his senatorial seriousness, he contrived to observe
everything; and nobody” (Lady Hester said) “could
give a more lively account of a ball than he. He
told who was rather fond of a certain captain; how
Mrs. K. was dressed; how Miss Jones, Miss Johnson,
or Miss Anybody, danced; and had all the minutiæ
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span>
of the night as if he had been no more than an
idle looker-on.</p>

<p>“He was not fond of the applause of a mob. One
day, in going down to Weymouth, he was recognized
in some town, and, whilst the carriage stopped to
change horses, a vast number of people gathered
round us: they insisted on dragging the carriage,
and would do so for some time, all he could say.
Oh, doctor! what a fright I was in!</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt bore with ceremony as a thing necessary.
On some occasions, I was obliged to pinch
his arm to make him not appear uncivil to people:
‘There’s a baronet,’ I would say; or, ‘that’s Mr.
So-and-so.’</p>

<p>“I never saw Mr. Pitt shed tears but twice. I
never heard him speak of his sister Har-yet” (so Lady
Hester pronounced it) “but once. One day his niece,
Harriet Elliott, dined with us, and, after she was
gone, Mr. Pitt said, ‘Well, I am glad Harriet fell
to my brother’s lot, and you to mine, for I never
should have agreed with her.’—‘But,’ observed I,
‘she is a good girl, and handsome.’—‘She ought to
be so,’ said Mr. Pitt, ‘for her mother was so.’”</p>

<p>Lady Hester said, that those who asserted that Mr.
Pitt wanted to put the Bourbons on the throne, and
that they followed his principles, lied; and, if she
had been in parliament, she would have told them so.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>
“I once heard a great person,” added she, “in conversation
with him on the subject, and Mr. Pitt’s
reply was, ‘Whenever I can make peace,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> whether
with a consul, or with whosoever it is at the head of
the French government, provided I can have any dependance
on him, I will do it.’ Mr. Pitt had a
sovereign contempt for the Bourbons, and the only
merit that he allowed to any one of them was to him
who was afterwards Charles X., whose gentlemanly
manners and mild demeanour he could not be otherwise
than pleased with. Mr. Pitt never would consent
to their going to court, because it would have been
a recognition of Louis XVIII.</p>

<p>“Latterly, Mr. Pitt used to suffer a great deal
from the cold in the House of Commons; for he complained
that the wind cut through his silk stockings.
I remember, one day, I had on a large tippet and
muff of very fine fur: the tippet covered my shoulders,
and came down in a point behind. ‘What is
this, Hester?’ said Mr. Pitt; ‘something Siberian?
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span>
Can’t you command some of your slaves—for you
must recollect, Griselda, Hester has slaves without
number, who implicitly obey her orders’ (this was
addressed to Griselda and Mr. Tickell, who were present)—‘can’t
you command some of your slaves to
introduce the fashion of wearing muffs and tippets
into the House of Commons? I could then put my
feet on the muff, and throw the tippet over my knees
and round my legs.’</p>

<p>“When we were at Walmer, it is incredible what
a deal I got through in the day. Mr. Pitt was
pleased to have somebody who would take trouble
off his hands. Every week he had to review the
volunteers, and would ride home in such showers of
rain—I have been so drenched, that, as I stood,
my boots made two spouting fountains above my
knees. Then there was dinner; and, if I happened
to be alone, when I went to the drawing-room, I had
to give the secret word for spies, to see the sergeant
of the guard, and then the gentlemen would come in
from the dining-room. But, if they were late, oh,
how sleepy I got, and would have given the world to
go to bed!</p>

<p>“One day, Lord Chatham had to review the artillery,
and he kept them under arms from daylight
until three o’clock. Bradford went to him several
times to know if he was ready. ‘I shall come in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>
about half an hour,’ was the constant reply; until,
at last, seeing no chance of his appearance, I agreed
with the aide-de-camps to go off together and settle
matters as well as we could: so, getting Lord Chatham’s
leave, off we went. Colonel Ford, the commanding-officer,
was a cross man; and that day he
had enough to make him so. But I managed it all
very well: I told him that pressing business detained
Lord C.; that he had commissioned us to apologize;
and that I should have pleasure in saying the men
looked admirably: then I added that Mr. Pitt
hoped to see him in the course of a few days at the
Castle, and so on. The colonel looked dreadfully out
of temper, however, and Bradford and I rode back
at a furious rate. It was one of those dark, wet days
that are so peculiar to England. A day or two after,
the colonel and some of the officers were invited to
Walmer, and I behaved very civilly to them; so that
Lord Chatham’s laziness was forgotten.</p>

<p>“Lord Chatham never travelled without a mistress.
He was a man of no merit, but of great <i>sâad</i> (luck):
he used to keep people waiting and waiting whilst he
was talking and breakfasting with her. He would
keep his aide-de-camps till two or three in the morning.
How often would the servant come in, and
say supper was ready, and he would answer, ‘Ah!
well, in half an hour.’ Then the servant would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span>
say, ‘Supper is on the table;’ and then it would
be, ‘Ah? well, in a quarter of an hour.’ An aide-de-camp
would come in with a paper to sign, and
perhaps Lord Chatham would say—‘Oh, dear! that’s
too long: I can’t possibly look at it now: you must
bring it to-morrow.’ The aide-de-camp would present
it next day, and he would cry, ‘Good God! how can
you think of bringing it now? don’t you know there’s
a review to-day?’ Then, the day after, he was going
to Woolwich. ‘Well, never mind,’ he would say;
‘have you got a short one?—well, bring that.’</p>

<p>“Doctor, I once changed the dress of a whole regiment—the
Berkshire militia. Somebody asked me,
before a great many officers, what I thought of them,
and I said they looked like so many tinned harlequins.
One day, soon after, I was riding through Walmer
village, when who should pop out upon me but the
colonel, dressed in entirely new regimentals, with
different facings, and more like a regiment of the line.
‘Pray, pardon me, Lady Hester’—so I stopped, as
he addressed me—‘pray, pardon me,’ said the colonel,
‘but I wish to know if you approve of our new uniform.’
Of course I made him turn about, till I inspected
him round and round—pointed with my whip,
as I sat on horseback, first here and then there—told
him the waist was too short, and wanted half a button
more—the collar was a little too high—and so on;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span>
and, in a short time, the whole regiment turned out
with new clothes. The Duke of York was very generous,
and not at all stingy in useful things.</p>

<p>“I recollect once at Ramsgate, five of the Blues,
half drunk, not knowing who I was, walked after me,
and pursued me to my door. They had the impertinence
to follow me up-stairs, and one of them took
hold of my gown. The maid came out, frightened
out of her senses; but, just at the moment, with my
arm I gave the foremost of them such a push, that I
sent him rolling over the others down stairs, with
their swords rattling against the balusters. Next
day, he appeared with a black patch as big as a
saucer over his face; and, when I went out, there
were the glasses looking at me, and the footmen
pointing me out—quite a sensation!”</p>

<p>During these conversations respecting Mr. Pitt’s
times, Sir Nathaniel’s Memoirs were generally in my
hand, and when there was a pause I resumed my
reading. In giving Sir Walter Farquhar’s private
conversation respecting Mr. Pitt’s death, the author
says—“Mr. Pitt mounted the staircase with alacrity.”
Here Lady Hester stopped me, with the exclamation
of—“What a falsehood, doctor! Just hear how it
was. You know, when the carriage came to the door,
he was announced, and I went up to the top of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>
stairs to receive him. The first thing I heard was a
voice so changed, that I said to myself, ‘It is all over
with him.’ He was supported by the arms of two
people, and had a stick, or two sticks, in his hands,
and as he came up, panting for breath—ugh! ugh!
I retreated little by little, not to put him to the pain
of making a bow to me, or of speaking:—so much for
his alacrity!</p>

<p>“After Mr. Pitt’s death, I could not cry for a
whole month and more. I never shed a tear, until
one day Lord Melville came to see me; and the sight
of his eyebrows turned grey, and his changed face,
made me burst into tears. I felt much better for it
after it was over.</p>

<p>“Mr. Pitt’s bust was taken after his death by an
Italian, named, I think, Tomino—an obscure artist,
whom I had rummaged out. This man had offered
me at one time a bust worth a hundred guineas, and
prayed me to accept it, in order, as he said, to make
his name known: I refused it, but recollected him
afterwards. The bust turned out a very indifferent
resemblance: so, with my own hand, I corrected the
defects, and it eventually proved a strong likeness.
The D. of C. happening to call when the artist was at
work in my room, was so pleased, that he ordered one
of a hundred guineas for himself, and another to be
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span>
sent to Windsor. There was one by this Tomino
put into the Exhibition.</p>

<p>“A fine picture in Mr. Pitt’s possession represented
Diogenes with a lantern searching by day for an honest
man. A person cut out a part of the blank canvas,
and put in Mr. Pitt’s portrait.</p>

<p>“When Mr. Pitt was going to Bath, previous to his
last illness, I told him I insisted on his taking my
eider-down quilt with him. ‘You will go about,’
said I, ‘much more comfortably; and, instead of
being too hot one day under a thick counterpane, and
the next day shivering under a thin one, you will
have an equable warmth, always leaving one blanket
with this quilt. Charles and James were present,
and could not help ridiculing the idea of a man’s carrying
about with him such a bundling, effeminate
thing. ‘Why,’ interrupted I, ‘it is much more convenient
than you all imagine: big as it looks, you may
put it into a pocket-handkerchief.’—‘I can’t believe
that,’ cried Charles and James. ‘Do you doubt my
word?’ said I, in a passion: ‘nobody shall doubt it
with impunity:’ and my face assumed that picture
of anger, which you can’t deny, doctor, is in me pretty
formidable; so I desired the quilt to be brought.
‘Why, my dear Lady Hester,’ said Mr. Pitt, ‘I am
sure the boys do not mean to say you tell falsehoods:
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span>
they suppose you said it would go into a handkerchief
merely as a <i lang="fr">façon de parler</i>.’”</p>

<p>Lady Hester, when she told me this story, here
interrupted herself—“And upon my word, doctor, if
you had seen the footman bringing it over his shoulder,
he himself almost covered up by it, you would have
thought indeed it was only a <i lang="fr">façon de parler</i>.”</p>

<p>She continued. “I turned myself to James. ‘Now,
sir, take and tie it up directly in this pocket-handkerchief.
There! does it, or does it not go into it!’</p>

<p>“This,” concluded Lady Hester, “was the only
quarrel I ever had with Charles and James. James
often used to look very black, but he never said anything.</p>

<p>“When Mr. Pitt was going to Bath, in his last illness,
he told me he had just seen Arthur Wellesley.
He spoke of him with the greatest commendation, and
said the more he saw of him, the more he admired
him. ‘Yes,’ he added, ‘the more I hear of his exploits
in India, the more I admire the modesty with
which he receives the praises he merits from them.
He is the only man I ever saw that was not vain of
what he had done, and had so much reason to be so.’</p>

<p>“This eulogium,” Lady Hester said, “Mr. Pitt
pronounced in his fine mellow tone of voice, and this
was the last speech I heard him make in that voice;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>
for, on his return from Bath, it was cracked for
ever.” Then she observed, “My own opinion of the
duke is, that he is a blunt soldier, who pleases women
because he is gallant and has some remains of beauty:
but,” she added, “he has none of the dignity of courts
about him.”</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a>
This of course refers to the late Duke.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a>
“I dislike ——, both as to his principles and the turn of his
understanding: he wants to make money by this peace.”—<cite>Diaries and
Correspondence</cite>, &amp;c.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a>
“Mr. Pitt has always been held up to the present generation as
fond of war; but the Harris papers could furnish the most continued
and certain evidence of the contrary, and that he often suffered all
the agony of a pious man who is forced to fight a duel. The cold and
haughty temper of Lord Grenville was less sensitive. Our overtures to
France were synonymous with degradation, and he could not brook the
delays of the directory.”—<cite>Diaries and Correspondence</cite>, <abbr title="volume three page">v. iii.,
p.</abbr> 516.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER </span> <abbr title="Three"><span class="allsmcap">III.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Duchess of Gontaut—Duc de Berry—Anecdotes of Lord H.—Sir
Gore Ouseley—Prince of Wales—The other princes—The
Queen’s severity—Men and women of George the Third’s
time—The Herveys—Lady Liverpool’s high breeding—Lady
Hester’s declining health.</p>


<p class="p2">“One of Mr. Pitt’s last conversations, whilst on his
death-bed, was about Charles and James. Mr. Pitt
had called me in, and told me, in a low, feeble voice—‘You
must not talk to me to-day on any business:
when I get down to Lord Camden’s, and am better, it
will be time enough then.’ He seemed to know he
was dying, but only said this to console me. ‘But
now, my dear Hester,’ he continued, ‘I wish to say
a few words about James and Charles. As for Charles,
he is such an excellent young man that one cannot
wish him to be otherwise than he is; and Moore is
such a perfect officer, that he will give him every information
in his profession that he can possibly require.
The only apprehension I have is on the score
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span>
of women, who will perhaps think differently of him
from what he thinks of himself: but with James the
case is otherwise. He is a young man you must keep
under; else you will always see him trying to be a
<i lang="fr">joli garçon</i>. For Charles’s steadiness, I do not fear;
but the little one will one day or other fall into the
hands of men who will gain him over and unsettle his
political principles. You can guide him, and, so long
as he is under your care, he is safe:’ and,” added
Lady Hester, “Mr. Pitt was right, doctor; for the
moment I quitted England he fell into the snares of
Lord B. and his party, and instead of being in
Mr. Canning’s place, which he might have been, he
became nothing.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester went on: “When Charles and James
left Chevening,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Mr. Pitt said to Mahon (the present
Earl Stanhope), ‘You know that, when your father
dies, you will be heir to a large property—whether
£15,000 a-year or £25,000 it does not much signify.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span>
Now, as far as a house goes and having a table where
your brothers may dine, I have got that to offer. But
young men in the army have a number of wants, for
their equipment, regimentals, &amp;c., and for all this I
have not the means. You, therefore, Mahon, must
do that for them; and, if you have not money, you
can always let their bills be charged to you with
interest, as is very common among noblemen until
they come to their fortune. You ought to raise a
sum of money for them, and see to their wants a little:
your two brothers should not be left to starve.’</p>

<p>“Mahon said he would. Charles one day told me
that, as a poor captain of the army, the baggage warehouse
and his tailor were rather shy of trusting him;
and if Mahon would only go and say to them—‘Do
you let my brothers have what they want, and I will
be answerable for them;’ then I could get on. Mahon
did that too; and, in reliance on this arrangement,
they had clothes and other things, considering him as
responsible for them. After Mr. Pitt’s death, several
tradesmen applied for their bills.”</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p>So, recollecting an old peer, who had been one of
Mr. Pitt’s particular friends, I sent off James to him
to his country-seat with a letter, relating the whole
business: this person immediately gave James a draft
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>
for £2,000, with which he returned, and paid his own
and Charles’s debts.</p>

<p>“Well, it was agreed between Charles, James, and
me, that whoever had the first windfall should pay the
£2,000. Charles died: James was not rich enough
at any time to do it; and it fell to my lot to pay it
since I have been in this country. And that was the
reason of my selling the Burton Pynsent reversion,
which, you know, I did in 1820 or thereabouts; and
when Mr. Murray found fault with me for my
extravagance, and said he would have no hand in the
business, neither he nor anybody else knew then why
I sold it.</p>

<p>“When Coutts wrote me word that my brother
James had been very good to me in having given me
£1,000, he did not know that the civility was not so
disinterested as he imagined. James might think he
did a great deal for me: but, let me ask you—did I
not make a pretty great sacrifice for Lord Mahon and
him? I sold a pretty round sum out of the American
funds, and James took possession of about five hundred
pounds’ worth of plate of mine, and of my
jewels, and of Tippoo Saib’s gold powder-flask, worth
£200, and of the cardinal of York’s present, which,
to some persons who wanted a relic of the Stuarts,
was invaluable. Then there was a portfolio, full of
fine engravings of Morghen and others, that the Duke
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>
of Buckingham bought of him: so there was at least
as much as he sent me.</p>

<p>“If I had not been thwarted and opposed by them
all, as I have been, and obliged to raise money from
time to time to get on, I should have been a very rich
woman. There was the money I sold out of the
American funds; then there was the Burton Pynsent
money, £7,000; my father’s legacy, £10,000; the
(I did not distinctly hear what) legacy, £1,000:” and
thus her ladyship reckoned up on her fingers an amount
of £40,000.</p>

<p>“Is it not very odd that General G. and Lord G.
could not leave me a few thousand pounds out of their
vast fortunes when they died? They knew that I was
in debt, and that a few thousands would have set me
up; and yet in their wills, not to speak of their lifetime,
they never gave me a single sixpence, but left
their money to people already in the enjoyment of
incomes far exceeding their wants, and very little
more nearly related to them than I am. Well, all
their injustice does not put me out of spirits. The
time will soon come when I shall want none of their
assistance, if I get the other property that ought to
come to me. Oh! how vexed Lady Chatham always
was, when Lady Louisa V. used to point at me, and
say—‘There she is—that’s my heir.’ Lady L. was
deformed, and never thought of marrying; but
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span>
Lord G. did marry her nevertheless, and she had a
child that died.</p>

<p>“Then there is the reversion of my grandfather’s
pension of £4,000 a-year, secured for four lives by
the patent: the first Lord Chatham one, the late
Lord Chatham the next, and I, of course, the
third.”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p>

<p>Nov. 14.—I saw that Lady Hester grew weaker
every day, and I felt alarmed about her. Still, whenever
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span>
I had to write to the person she, about this time,
most honoured with her confidence, Mons. Guys, the
French consul at Beyrout, she would not allow me to
make any further allusion to her illness than to state
simply that she was confined to her bed-room with a
cold. “I see you are afraid about me,” she said, “but
I have recovered from worse illnesses than this by
God’s help and the strength of my constitution.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span>
My wife sent to her to say that she or my daughter
would, with pleasure, come and keep her company, or
sit up with her: this she refused. I then offered
Miss Longchamp’s services: but Lady Hester’s pride
would not allow her to expose to a stranger the
meagreness of her chamber, so utterly unlike a
European apartment. It was indeed an afflicting
sight to behold her wrapped up in old blankets, her
room lighted by yellow beeswax candles in brass
candlesticks, drinking her tea out of a broken-spouted
blue teapot and a cracked white cup and saucer,
taking her draughts out of an old cup, with a short
wooden deal bench by her bedside for a table, and in a
room not so well furnished as a servant’s bed-room in
England.</p>

<p>The general state of wretchedness in which she lived
had even struck Mr. Dundas, a gentleman, who, on
returning overland from India, staid some days with
her: and, as Lady Hester observed, when she told
me the story, “He did not know all, as you do.
I believe he almost shed tears. ‘When I see you,
Lady Hester,’ said he, ‘with a set of fellows for
servants who do nothing, and when I look at the
room in which you pass your hours, I can hardly
believe it is you. I was much affected at first, but
now I am more reconciled. You are a being fluctuating
between heaven and earth, and belonging to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span>
neither; and perhaps it is better things should be as
they are’” Lady Hester added, “He has visited me
two or three times: he is a sensible Scotchman, and
I like him as well as anybody I have seen for some
years.”</p>

<p>November 15.—It was night, when a messenger
arrived from Beyrout, and brought a small parcel
containing a superbly bound book presented to her
ladyship by the Oriental Translation Fund Society.
It was accompanied by a complimentary letter from
the president, Sir Gore Ouseley. The book was
“<cite>The History of the Temple of Jerusalem, translated
by the <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> J. Reynolds</cite>.” After admiring it, and
turning over the leaves, she said to me, “Look it over,
and see what it is about,” and then began to talk of
Sir Gore. “I recollect, doctor,” said she, “so well
the night he was introduced to me: it was at Mr.
Matook’s (?) supper.</p>

<p>“You may imagine the numbers and numbers of
people I met in society, whilst I lived with Mr. Pitt,
almost all of whom were dying to make my acquaintance,
and of whom I necessarily could know little or
nothing. Indeed, to the greater part of those who
were introduced to me, if they saw me afterwards,
when they bowed I might return the salutation, smile
a little, and pass on, for I had not time to do more:—a
person’s life would not be long enough. Well, I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span>
recollect it was at a party where Charles X. was present—I
think it was at Lord Harrington’s—that somebody
said to me, ‘Mr. —— wants to know you so
much! Why won’t you let him be introduced to you?’—‘Because
I don’t like people whose face is all oily,
like a soap-ball,’ answered I. Now, doctor, upon my
word, I no more knew he had made his fortune by oil,
than I do what was the colour of the paper in your
saloon at Nice; and when his friend said, ‘You are
too bad, Lady Hester,’ I did not understand what he
meant. However, they told me there would be all the
royalties there, and so I consented.</p>

<p>“I have had an instinct all my life that never deceived
me, about people who were thorough-bred or
not; I knew them at once. Why was it, when Mr.
H*******n came into a room, and took a long sweep
with his hat, and made a stoop, and I said: ‘One
would think he was looking under the bed for the <em>great
business</em>;’ and all the people laughed, and when at last
Mr. Pitt said, ‘Hester, you are too bad, you should
not be personal,’ I declared ‘I did not know what he
meant?’ Then he explained to me that the man was a
broken-down doctor, a fact which, I honestly assured
him, I never heard of before. But my quickness in detecting
people’s old habits is so great, that I hit upon
a thing without having the least previous intimation.</p>

<p>“As I passed the card-table that evening where the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span>
Comte d’Artois was playing, he put down his cards to
talk to me a little, so polite, so well-bred—poor man!
And there were the other three old dowagers, who were
playing with him, abusing him in English, which he
understood very well, because he had stopped the game.
After he had resumed his cards, I was leaning over
the back of a chair facing him, reflecting in one of my
thoughtful moments on the uncertainty of human greatness
in the picture I had then before me, when I gave
one of those deep sighs, which you have heard me do
sometimes, something between a sigh and a grunt, and
so startled the French King, that he literally threw
down his cards to stare at me. I remained perfectly
motionless, pretending not to observe his action; and,
as he still continued to gaze at me, some of the lookers-on
construed it into a sort of admiration on his part.
This enraged Lady P., and her rage was increased
when, at every knock at the door, I turned my head
to see who was coming, and he turned his head too;
for I was expecting the royalties, and so was he: but
she did not know this, and she took it into her head
that the Prince and I had some understanding between
us.</p>

<p>“I never thought any more of the matter; but, in
the course of the evening, somebody brought Lady P.
to me, and introduced her. ‘I have longed,’ said
Lady P. ‘for some time to make your acquaintance:
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span>
I don’t know how it is that we have never met; it
would give me great pleasure if I sometimes saw you
at my parties,’ and so on. The next day I had a visit
from Lady P., and the day after that came her card,
and then an invitation; and, day after day, there was
nothing but Lady P. So, at last, not knowing what
it meant, I said to an acquaintance, ‘What is the
reason that Lady P. is always coming after me?’—‘What!
don’t you know?’ she replied: ‘why, the
King of France is in love with you?’ And this is the
art, doctor, of all those mistresses: they watch and observe
if their lovers are pleased with any young person,
and then invite her home, as a lure to keep alive the
old attraction.”</p>

<p>Here Lady Hester paused, and, after a moment,
added: “How many of those French people did I see
at that time, especially at Lord H.’s! There was the
Duchess of Gontaut, who was obliged to turn washerwoman;
and even to the last, when she was best off,
was obliged to go out to parties in a hackney-coach.
Why, the Duc de Berry himself lodged over a greengrocer’s
in a little street leading out of Montague
Square, and all the view he had was to lean out of his
window, and look at the greengrocer’s stall. I have
seen him many a time there, when he used to kiss his
hand to me as I passed. The Duchess of Gontaut
afterwards brought up the Duke of Bordeaux. That
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span>
was a woman quite admirable; so full of resources, so
cheerful, she kept up the spirits of all the emigrants:
and then she was so well dressed! She did not mind
going in a hackney-coach to dine with the Duke of
Portland.</p>

<p>“Lord H********** scraped up a reputation which
he never deserved,” continued Lady Hester, as her
reflections led her from one person to another. “Insincere,
greedy of place, and always pretending to be
careless about it, he and my lady lived in a hugger-mugger
sort of a way, half poverty half splendour,
having soldiers for house servants, and my lady dining
at two with the children (saying my lord dined out),
and being waited on by a sergeant’s daughter. How
often have I seen a scraggy bit of mutton sent up for
luncheon, with some potatoes in their skins, before
royalty! The princes would say to me, ‘Very bad,
Lady Hester, very bad; but there! he has a large
family—he is right to be saving.’ And then Lady
H**********, with her little eyes, and a sort of
waddle in her gait (for she once had a paralytic
stroke), with a wig all curls, and, at the top of it,
a great bunch of peacock’s feathers—then her dress,
all bugles, and badly put on—horrid, doctor, horrid!
and why should they have lived in such a large
house, half furnished, with the girls sleeping altogether
in large attics, with a broken looking-glass,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span>
and coming down into their mother’s room to dress
themselves!</p>

<p>“But to go back to Sir Gore Ouseley: it was at
Mr. M.’s supper, when getting up from the card-table,
and advancing towards me, he made a diplomatic bow,
accompanied with some complimentary speech. That
was the old school, very different from the fizgig
people now-a days. Just before, the Prince had been
standing in the middle of the room, talking to some
one I did not know, first pulling up the flap of his
coat to show his figure, then seizing the person he
spoke to by the waistcoat, then laughing, then pretending
to whisper; and this he continued for nearly
an hour. ‘What can the Prince be talking about?’
said some one next to me: ‘He does not know himself,’
said I. Soon after, the person who had been
talking to the Prince approached the sofa, when the
mylord, who was sitting next to me, observed, ‘We
have been looking at the Prince and you; what in
the world was he talking about?’—‘He don’t know
himself,’ answered his friend, ‘and I’m sure I don’t
know.’—‘That’s just what Lady Hester said,’ rejoined
the first speaker. ‘I have been wishing to make my
bow to Lady Hester all the evening,’ said the friend,
who then sat down by me.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester went on: “What a mean fellow the
Prince was, doctor! I believe he never showed a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span>
spark of good feeling to any human being. How
often has he put men of small incomes to great inconvenience,
by his telling them he would dine with them
and bring ten or a dozen of his friends with him to
drink the poor devils’ champagne, who hardly knew
how to raise the wind, or to get trust for it! I recollect
one who told me the Prince served him in this
way, just at the time when he was in want of money,
and that he did not know how to provide the dinner
for him, when luckily a Sir Harry Featherstone or a
Sir Gilbert Heatchcote or some such rich man bought
his curricle and horses, and put a little ready money
into his pocket. ‘I entertained him as well as I could,’
said he, ‘and a few days after, when I was at Carlton
House, and the Prince was dressing between four
great mirrors, looking at himself in one and then in
another, putting on a patch of hair and arranging
his cravat, he began saying that he was desirous of
showing me his thanks for my civility to him. So he
pulled down a bandbox from a shelf, and seemed as if
he was going to draw something of value out of it. I
thought to myself it might be some point-lace, perhaps,
of which, after using a little for my court-dress, I
might sell the remainder for five or six hundred
guineas: or perhaps, thought I, as there is no ceremony
between us, he is going to give me some banknotes.
Conceive my astonishment, when he opened
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>
the bandbox, and pulled out a wig, which I even believe
he had worn. ‘There,’ said he, ‘as you are
getting bald, is a very superior wig, made by—I forget
the man’s name, but it was not Sugden.’ The
man could hardly contain himself, and was almost
tempted to leave it in the hall as he went out. Did
you ever hear of such meanness? Everybody who
had to do with him was afraid of him. He was sure
to get a horse, or a vis-à-vis, or a something, wherever
he went, and never pay for them. He was a man
without a heart,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> who had not one good quality about
him. Doctor,” cried Lady Hester, “I have been intimate
with those who spent their time with him from
morning to night, and they have told me that it was
impossible for any person who knew him to think well
of him.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>”</p>

<p>“Look at his unfeeling conduct in deserting poor
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>
Sheridan! Why, they were going to take the bed
from under him whilst he was dying; and there was
Mrs. Sheridan pushing the bailiffs out of the room.
That amiable woman, too, I believe, died of grief at
the misery to which she was reduced. The Prince
had not one good quality. How many fell victims to
him! Not so much those who were most intimate
with him—for they swallowed the poison and took
the antidote—they knew him well: but those were
the greatest sufferers who imitated his vices, who were
poisoned by the contagion, without knowing what a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span>
detestable person he was. How many saw their prospects
blasted by him for ever!”</p>

<p>Lady Hester continued: “Oh! when I think that
I have heard a sultan” (meaning George IV.) “listen
to a woman singing <cite>Hie diddle diddle, the cat and the
fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon</cite>, and cry, ‘Brava!
charming!’—Good God! doctor, what would the
Turks say to such a thing, if they knew it?</p>

<p>“There was Lord D., an old debauchee, who had
lost the use of his lower extremities by a paralytic
stroke—the way, by the by, in which all such men
seem to finish; nay, I believe that men much addicted
to sensuality even impair their intellects too—one
day met me on the esplanade, and, in his usual
way, began talking some very insipid stuff about his
dining with the Prince, and the like; when James,
who overheard the conversation, made an impromptu,
which exactly described one of the Prince’s dinners;
and, though I don’t recollect it word for word, it was
something to this effect:—</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
    <div class="verse indent0">‘With the Prince I dine to-day:</div>
    <div class="verse indent2">We shall have prodigious fun.</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">I a beastly thing shall say,</div>
    <div class="verse indent2">And he’ll end it with a pun.’</div>
</div>
</div>

<p>“I remember the Prince’s saying to Lord Petersham,
‘What can be the reason that Lady Hester,
who likes all my brothers, does not like me?’ Lord P.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span>
told me this, and I replied—If he asks me, I will
have an answer ready for him, and that is, ‘When
he behaves like them I shall like him, and not before.’
I loved all the princes but him. They were
not philosophers, but they were so hearty in their
talking, in their eating, in all they did! They would
eat like ploughmen, and their handsome teeth would”
(here she imitated the mastication of food, to show me
how) “at a pretty rate.</p>

<p>“The Prince is a despicable character. He was
anxious enough to know me whilst Mr. Pitt was
alive; but the very first day of my going to court,
after Mr. Pitt’s death, he cut me, turning his back on
me whilst I was talking to the Duke of Richmond.</p>

<p>“As for the princesses, there was some excuse for
their conduct: I do not mean as regards myself—for
they were always polite to me—but as to what
people found fault with them for. The old queen
treated them with such severity, shutting them up in
a sort of a prison—at least the Princess Sophia—that
I rather pitied than blamed them.</p>

<p>“But look at the princes: what a family was there!
never getting more than four hours’ sleep, and always
so healthy and well-looking. But men generally are
not now-a-days as they were in my time. I do not
mean a Jack M. and those of his description, handsome,
but of no conversation: they are, however,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>
pleasant to look at. But where will you see men like
Lord Rivers, like the Duke of Dorset? Where will
you find such pure honour as was in the Duke of
Richmond and Lord Winchelsea? The men of the
present generation are good for nothing—they have
no spunk in them.</p>

<p>“And as for women, show me such women of
fashion as Lady Salisbury, the Duchess of Rutland,
Lady Stafford, and” (three or four more were named,
but they have slipped my memory). “However, doctor,
I never knew more than four fashionable women, who
could do the honours of their house, assign to everybody
what was due to his rank, enter a room and
speak to everybody, and preserve their dignity and
self-possession at all times: it is a very difficult thing
to acquire. One was the old Duchess of Rutland, the
others the Marchioness of Stafford, Lady Liverpool,
and the Countess of Mansfield:<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>—all the rest of the
<i lang="fr">bon ton</i> were <i>bosh</i>” (in Turkish, good for nothing).
“The Countess of Liverpool was a Hervey; and men
used to say, the world was divided into men, women,
and Herveys—for that they were unlike every other
human being. I have seen Lady Liverpool come into
a room full of people; and she would bow to this one,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span>
speak to that one, and, when you thought she must
tread on the toes of a third, turn round like a
teetotum, and utter a few words so amiable, that
everybody was charmed with her. As for the Duchess
of D*********, it was all a ‘fu, fu, fuh,’ and ‘What
shall I do?—Oh, dear me! I am quite in a fright!’—and
so much affectation, that it could not be called
high breeding; although she knew very well how to
lay her traps for some young man whom she wanted
to inveigle into her parties, and all that. Then there
were some, with highly polished manners, who would
pass along like oil over water, smooth and swimming
about: but good breeding is very charming, doctor,
isn’t it?</p>

<p>“The last time I saw Lady Liverpool was at Lord
Mulgrave’s. The dinner was waiting: Mr. Pitt and
I had got there; but Lord Liverpool, being long in
dressing, was still behind. Everybody was looking at
the door or the window. At last his carriage was
seen, and dinner was ordered. If you had been present
when Lady Liverpool entered the room, and had
marked the grace with which, whilst we were standing,
she slipped in and out among the guests, like an
eel, when she turned her back, turning her head round,
speaking to this person and to that, and all with such
seasonable courtesies and compliments, it was really
wonderful. But Lady Liverpool was a Hervey, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span>
the Herveys, as I told you before, were a third part
of the creation.</p>

<p>“Oh, Lord! when I think of some people, who
fancy that abruptness is the best way of approaching
you—how horrid it is! I recollect one man, a sensible
man too, who came into the room with—‘Lady
Hester, I understand you are a very good judge of a
leg; you shall look at mine: see, there are muscles!
they say it is an Irish chairman’s; but isn’t it the
true antique?’ Another would enter, and begin—‘What
a horrid bonnet Lady So-and-so wears; I
have just seen her, and I never shall get over it.’ A
third would cry, on seeing you—‘Do you know Lord
Such-a-one is given over? He has tumbled down from
a terrible height, and is so hurt!’—‘Good God!
what’s the matter?’—‘Why, don’t you know? He
has tumbled from his government:’ and then they
fancy that wit.</p>

<p>“Such conversations as we hear in people’s houses
are, in my mind, no conversations at all. A man
who says, ‘Oh! it’s Sunday; you have been to
church, I suppose?’—or, ‘You have not been to
church, I see;’ or another, who says, ‘You are in
mourning, are you not? what, is the poor Lord So-and-so
dead at last?’—and is replied to by, ‘No, I
am not in mourning; what makes you think so? is
it that you don’t like black?’—all this is perfect nonsense,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>
in my mind. I recollect being once at a party
with the Duchess of Rutland, and a man of some note
in the world stopped me just as we entered the room.
‘Lady Hester,’ said he, ‘I am anxious to assure you
of my entire devotion to Mr. Pitt:’ so far he got on
well. ‘I had always—hem—if you—hem—I do assure
you, Lady Hester, I have the sincerest regard—hem—G—d
d—n me, Lady Hester, there is not a
man for whom—hem—I esteem him beyond measure,
and, G—d d—n me—hem—if I were asked—hem—I
do assure you, Lady Hester—hem and here the
poor man, who could not put two ideas together,
coming to a stand-still, the Duchess of Rutland, to
relieve his embarrassment, helped him out by saying,
‘Lady Hester is perfectly convinced of your sincere
attachment to Mr. Pitt’s interests.’ He had a beautiful
amber cane, doctor, worth a hundred guineas, that he
had sent for from Russia.”</p>

<p>November 16.—Lady Hester Stanhope’s features
had a very pallid and almost a ghastly look. The fits
of oppression on her lungs grew more frequent, when,
from a lying posture, she would start suddenly up in
bed and gasp for breath. As she had not been beyond
the precincts of her house for some years, I suggested
the increased necessity of her getting a little
fresh air, by going into her garden at least every day.
She said, ‘I will do as you desire, and if you will ride
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span>
my ass a few times to break her in, and make her
gentle, I will try and ride about in the garden: but,
as for going outside my own gates, it is impossible;
the people would beset me so—you have no idea.
They conceal themselves behind hedges, in holes in the
rocks, and, whichever way I turn, out comes some one
with a complaint or a petition, begging, kissing my
feet, and God knows what: I can’t do it. I can ride
about my garden, and see to my plants and flowers:
but you must break her in well for me; for, if she
were to start at a bird or a serpent, I am so weak I
should tumble off.’</p>

<p>November 18.—I had taken some physic without
consulting her, upon which she launched out into a
tirade against English doctors. Impoverishment of
the blood is a very favourite theme among people who
are well off, and who shut their eyes to the robust health
of many a labourer, whose whole sustenance amounts
not to the offals of their table. So she began—“What
folly you have been guilty of in impoverishing your
blood! Look at a stupid Englishman, who takes a
dose of salts, rides a trotting horse to get an appetite,
eats his dinner, takes a cordial draught to make him
agreeable, goes to his party, and then goes to bed:—for
worlds, I would not be such a man’s wife! where
is he to get a constitution? But the fault is not
all their own—part is you doctors: you give the same
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span>
remedies for everybody. If I look at the mouthpiece
of my pipe” (Lady Hester was smoking at the time)
“I know it is amber; and, when I know it is amber,
I know how to clean it: but, if I did not know that,
I might attempt to clean it in some way that would
spoil it: so it is with you doctors. Not half of you
can distinguish between people’s <i>nijems</i> [stars], and
what you do often does more harm than good. The
constitution you take in hand you do not well
examine; and then how can you apply proper remedies
for it?”</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a>
 Lady Hester, soon after she went to live with Mr. Pitt, was anxious
that her three half-brothers should be removed from their father’s
roof, to be under her own guidance: fearing that the line of politics
which Earl Stanhope then followed might be injurious to their future
welfare and prospects. To this end, Mr. Rice, a trusty person, of whom
mention is incidentally made elsewhere, brought them furtively to
town in a post-chaise, and they afterwards remained under Mr. Pitt’s
protection until his death.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a>
Whether Lady Hester Stanhope was justified in entertaining
expectations of the G. property and title, I am unable to say; but
having by me a copy of the grant to the first Lord Chatham, it is
inserted here as conclusive against her ladyship, as far as regards
the pension. The circumstances were these:—the day following his
(then Mr. Pitt’s) resignation of office, a pension of £3,000 a-year
was settled on <em>himself</em> and <em>two</em> other lives, and at the
same time a title was conferred on his lady and her issue. He resigned
office Oct. 9th, 1761, and the next published Gazette announced all
these transactions. The notification ran thus:—That a warrant be
prepared for granting to the Lady Hester Pitt, his wife, a Barony of
Great Britain, by the name, style, and title of Baroness Chatham,
to her heirs male, and also to confer upon the said William Pitt an
annuity of £3,000 sterling during his own life, that of Lady Hester
Pitt, and her son, John Pitt. Shortly after his death, May 11th,
1778, His Majesty sent a message to the Commons thus:—George R.—His
Majesty having considered the address of this house, that he will be
graciously pleased to confer some signal and lasting mark of his royal
favour on the family of the late William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and
being desirous to comply as speedily as possible with the request of
his faithful Commons, has given directions for granting to the present
Earl of Chatham, and to the heirs of the body of the late William Pitt,
to whom the Earldom of Chatham may descend, an annuity of £4,000 per
annum, payable out of the Civil List revenue; but his Majesty, not
having it in his power to extend the effects of the said grant beyond
the term of his own life, recommends it to the house to consider of
a proper method of extending, securing, and annexing the same to the
Earldom of Chatham in such a manner as shall be thought most effectual
to the benefit of the family of the said William Pitt, Earl of Chatham.</p>
<p class="p0 footnote right">Signed “G. R.”</p>

<p class="footnote">On May 20th, in the House of Commons, Mr. Townsend moved in a committee
on the king’s message—“That the sum of £4,000 be granted to his
Majesty out of the Aggregate Fund, to commence from 5th July, 1778,
and be settled in the most beneficial manner upon the present Earl of
Chatham and the heirs of the body of the late William Pitt, to whom the
Earldom of Chatham shall descend.” The resolution was agreed to without
opposition, and a bill was ordered to be brought in thereon, which
passed the Commons without debate.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a>
“The second day of the king’s illness, and when he was at
his worst, the P. of W. went in the evening to a concert at Lady
Hamilton’s, and there told Calonne (the rascally French ex-minister)
‘Savez vous, Monsieur de Calonne, que mon pere est aussi fou que
jamais.’”—<cite>Diaries and Correspondence</cite>, <abbr title="volume four page">v. 4, p.</abbr> 20.

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a>
<i lang="la">Audi alteram partem</i> is a maxim that holds good wherever
accusations are levelled against individuals, illustrious or mean.
Lady Hester may have maligned the Prince from personal pique or from
some other cause; and, whilst she placed his foibles and failings
in a conspicuous point of view, may have studiously concealed the
good qualities which he possessed. Sir Walter Scott, who read men’s
characters if any body could, has left upon record a very different
opinion of him; and, unless we suppose that Sir Walter had motives of
his own for eulogizing him, we must place his testimony in the balance
against Lady Hester’s spite. In a letter, he describes George <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>
as—“A sovereign, whose gentle and generous disposition, and singular
manners, and captivating conversation, rendered him as much the
darling of private society, as his heart felt interest in the general
welfare of the country: and the constant and steady course of wise
measures, by which he raised his reign to such a state of triumphal
prosperity, made him justly delighted in by his subjects.”—<cite>Letter
from Sir W. Scott</cite>, p. 65, vol. ii., <cite>Mem. of Sir Wm. Knighton,
Bart.</cite>—Paris edit. Sir Walter could not have written worse prose
if he had tried. It shows how difficult it is to string words together
on a subject where perhaps the convictions of the heart were not
altogether in unison with the sentiments expressed.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a>
Louisa, in her own right Countess of Mansfield, is here meant.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER </span> <abbr title="Four"><span class="allsmcap">IV.</span></abbr></h2>
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span>

<p class="small short">Conscription in Syria—Inviolability of consular houses—Panic
and flight of the people of Sayda—Protection afforded
by Lady Hester—Story of a boy—Mustafa the barber—Cruelty
to mothers of Conscripts—Conscription in the villages—Lady
Hester’s dream—Inhabitants of Sayda mulcted—Lady
Hester’s opinion of negresses—Severity necessary in
Turkey—Case of Monsieur Danna—Captain Y.—Mustafa
Pasha’s cruelty.</p>


<p class="p2">November 18, 1837.—The conscription for Ibrahim
Pasha’s army, called the <i>nizàm</i> or regular troops, was
going on at this time, and created much distress in
the towns and villages. Forced levies were unknown
previous to the conquests of that ambitious prince; as
it was customary for the pashas to keep in their pay
mercenary troops, composed chiefly of Albanians, a
nation that for some centuries had sent its hordes into
different parts of the Turkish empire, under the guidance
of enterprising chieftains, to seek military service. There
were also Bosnians, Kûrds, and some Mograbýns or
Moors: these, with the Janissaries or standing militia,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span>
had exempted the inhabitants in general from enlistment;
and, although the martial and turbulent disposition
of the Mohametans had frequently manifested
itself in their provincial insurrections and in the petty
contentions between neighbouring chieftains, yet a man
always went to the camp from choice and from the
hopes of booty, and quitted it when tired of the
service. But Ibrahim Pasha, among the innovations
which he found it necessary or politic to introduce for
the furtherance of his father’s views, saw that his whole
dependance must be on the adoption of a conscription,
after the manner of France and other European states.
He had already drained Egypt, in this manner, of all
her able-bodied youths; and, to supply the constant
waste of men carried off by war and disease, he had,
since his first taking possession of Syria, made an
annual levy after harvest time.</p>

<p>At first, the idle, vagabond, thievish, and ardent part
of the population supplied the numbers he required;
and, as fast as they could be collected, they were shipped
off to Egypt; where, marched to the Hedjàz and to
distant wars, the major portion of them left their bones,
whilst some gained rank and lucrative situations, and
a few returned to tell the story of their exploits. For
with Ibrahim there was no defined term of service;
once a soldier, every man continued so until death or
desertion broke the chain. In the same way the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>
Egyptian conscripts were sent into Syria: so that no
sympathy, in either case, existed between the troops
and the people amongst whom they were quartered,
which acted as a direct check upon the spirit of
insurrection.</p>

<p>So far, everything had gone on peaceably, and the
quiet portion of the inhabitants rejoiced in seeing their
neighbourhood cleared of such troublesome rabble.
But latterly the conscription had begun to fall on the
families of shopkeepers, tradesmen, small farmers, and
the like: and it will be seen that, of all the changes
introduced by Ibrahim Pasha into the government of
the country, the conscription became the most odious.</p>

<p>The first intimation people had of the levies this
year was one evening, when, as the inhabitants of
Sayda were coming out of their mosques, gangs of
soldiers suddenly appeared at the doors, and laid hands
on all the young men. At the same moment, similar
measures had been taken at the coffee-houses, and
nothing was to be seen but young fellows dragged
through the streets, or running off in all directions to
secrete themselves in some friend’s house, stable, vault,
or the like. The city gates were closed, and there
was no outlet for the fugitives: but Sayda, although
walled in, has many houses with windows looking on
the fields; and from these, during the night, some let
themselves down and escaped to the gardens, or villages,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span>
or to Mount Lebanon. The next day the city
wore the appearance of a deserted place: the shops
were closed, and consternation reigned in every face.
The panic became general.</p>

<p>It is customary in Turkish towns to consider consular
residences as inviolable; a point on which, from
apprehension of tumults and for personal safety, the
consuls have ever been very tenacious. France possesses,
from a long date, a khan or factory-house in
Sayda, wherein the subjects of that nation reside. It
is a square building with one gateway, containing a
spacious quadrangle, surrounded by vaulted warehouses,
and, over these, commodious habitations with a handsome
corridor in front. It may be compared to a
quadrangle of a college at the Universities. To this
khan many of the young men fled, being admitted out
of compassion, and in some cases for a consideration of
a more tangible nature.</p>

<p>The number of conscripts for Sayda, as was made
known afterwards, had been rated at one hundred and
eighty. When the first press was over, the government
found the quota had not yet been half supplied:
but the secret of the deficiency was kept, and it was
given out that no more would be wanted. A smiling
face was assumed by the commandant and his staff,
and every expression of sympathy was in their mouths,
to demonstrate the cessation of all farther oppressive
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>
measures. By calming the people’s fears in this way,
information was obtained as to those concealed in the
French khan, and scouts were sent about the country
to get tidings of the fugitives.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the caverns and excavations,
once the beautiful sepulchres of the ancient Sidonians,
in which the environs of Sayda abound, were converted
into hiding-places, all well known to the peasantry
and gardeners: but no soul was found capable of betraying
the fugitives. Some were concealed by the
Christian peasants in cellars, although the punishment
of detection was a terrible bastinadoing. At the end
of about a fortnight, when everything seemed calm
again, all of a sudden the fathers of those who were
known to be in the French khan were seized in their
dwellings and shops, and brought before the motsellem
or mayor. They were told that their sons’ hiding-places
were known, and that means would be resorted
to for forcing them to come out, if they, the fathers,
did not immediately use their paternal authority to
compel them. Anxious to save their children, they
strenuously denied any knowledge of their places of
concealment. Then it was that the dreadful work of
bastinadoing began. From the windows of the east
side of the khan was visible the open court in the front of
the motsellem’s gate, where, according to the Eastern
custom, he often sat to administer justice or injustice,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span>
as the case might be, and through those windows the
sons might behold their aged fathers, writhing with
agony under that cruel punishment, until pain and
anguish extorted the appeal of, “Come forth, for
mercy’s sake! and save a father’s life.” Some yielded
to the call, and some thought only of their own
safety.</p>

<p>As happens always in all Turkish matters, much
bribery arose from this state of tribulation. Nobody
in these countries is inaccessible to a bribe.
Many were the men in office who received gratifications
of vast sums to favour the exemption or escape of
individuals. Substitutes could hardly be got, even at
the enormous premium of 10,000 piasters each, or
£100 sterling; such a dread had the natives of being
expatriated and subjected to military discipline! for
in Ibrahim Pasha’s army the drill is indeed a terrible
ordeal. There, inadvertency, slowness of apprehension,
or obstinacy, is not punished by a reprimand,
a day’s imprisonment, or double drill; but the poor
recruit is, at the moment, thrown on the ground,
and lacerated without mercy by the korbàsh.</p>

<p>Among the fugitives, there were two young men, the
sons of a respectable shopkeeper, who, during twenty
years, had been employed, more or less, by Lady
Hester: these two fled for refuge to Jôon. No
notice was taken of the circumstance by the government;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>
and, after remaining about six weeks under her
protection, they returned to Sayda, where they remained
unmolested. Her ladyship’s servants also enjoyed
an exemption from the press; and, had she chosen to
avail herself of the dilemma in which these unfortunate
young men were placed, she might easily have
ensured their servitude without pay, by the mere
threat of turning them adrift: in which case they would
have been compelled to remain upon any conditions
she might have thought proper to propose.</p>

<p>An old Turk presented himself, one day, at my
gate with his son, a boy about fourteen years of age,
and, with earnest entreaties, begged me to take the
son as my servant, no matter in what capacity, and
for nothing. I asked him how he could be apprehensive
for a stripling, too young to carry a musket;
but he told me that his age was no safeguard. “Alas!”
said he, “these unprincipled Egyptians will lay hold
of him; for there are other kinds of service besides
carrying a gun: you do not know them as well as
we do.” I was very unwillingly obliged to refuse the
man’s request; for how could a stranger violate the
laws of a country in which he resided, any more than
he could harbour a deserter in France, for example,
where he would be brought to justice for so doing?
But some of the agents of European powers do not
scruple, in these parts, to enrich themselves by affording
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>
protection to Turkish deserters, contrary to the
edicts of a sovereign prince, and then set up, as an
excuse, the want of civilization in Mahometan countries.</p>

<p>A woman, the widow of Shaykh Omar ed dyn,
came also on a donkey to beg Lady Hester’s intercession
with the commandant for one of her sons, a
lad, who had been pressed in the streets. Lady
Hester sent out word to her that she could not mix
herself up in the business, and desired me to give her
500 piasters—I suppose to help her to buy him off.
This son, Lady Hester told me, was a beautiful boy,
and that she once had him in her house, but could
not keep him—he was too handsome! * * * A sad
picture this of the morals of the Syrian Turks, and
yet a true one!</p>

<p>November 20.—After a succession of sunny days,
finer and warmer than an English summer, the wind
got up at the change of the moon, and it blew a gale.
The effect of gloomy weather in climates naturally so
genial as that of Syria is perhaps more impressive
than in one like that of England, where clouds and
fogs are so common. I was therefore in a fit humour
to listen to the melancholy stories of her ladyship’s
secretary, Mr. Michael Abella, who had been absent
a day or two to see his father and mother at Sayda.
He told me that the press for recruits continued with
unabated severity, and that the military commandant
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span>
and motsellem were resorting to measures, which, I
thank God, are unknown in England! From imprisoning
and bastinadoing fathers, with a view to
make them produce their children, a measure which
had already induced several families to abandon their
homes, they now proceeded to bastinado the neighbours
and acquaintances of the fugitives, in order to
wring from them the secret of their hiding-places.</p>

<p>The reader is already in some degree familiar with
the name of Mustafa, the barber, well-known in Sayda
for his skill in shaving, phlebotomizing, and curing
sores and wounds. He had four or five sons, and he
had taken his donkey and ridden up to Jôon to beg
of Lady Hester Stanhope to admit one or two of
them into her household, in order to save them from
the conscription. In the interim, two others had
taken refuge in the French khan, and one had fled to
Tyr; but the father said he expected hourly to be
seized and put to the torture, if some means were not
afforded him for protecting his children. “A letter
from the Syt mylady to the commandant,” added
Mustafa, “would be sufficient to save my two boys
who are in the French khan, and it is so easy for her
to write it.” Lady Hester, being ill, could not see
Mustafa, and I went to her and stated his supplication.
She considered the matter over, and, as
Mustafa was rather a favourite, she said at first—“I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>
think I will write to the commandant; for poor Mustafa
will go crazy if his children are taken away from
him. I have only to say that I wish the commandant
to <i>bakshýsh</i>” (make a present of) “these boys to me,
and I know he will do it:” then, reflecting a little
while, she altered her mind. “No, doctor,” says she,
“it will not do: I must not do anything in the face
of the laws of the country; and, besides, I shall
have all the fathers and mothers in Sayda up here.
Go, tell him so.” I did, and Mustafa returned very
much dispirited to Sayda.</p>

<p>He had scarcely got back to his shop, when, as he
had anticipated, he was summoned before the motsellem,
and questioned about his children. With an
assumed air of cheerfulness and submission, he answered
that they were within call, and, if necessary,
he would fetch them immediately. The motsellem,
by way of precaution, was about to send a guard of a
couple of soldiers, to see that no trick was played
him; but Mustafa, laughing, exclaimed—“Oh! don’t
be afraid of me: I shan’t run off. That man” (pointing
to a small merchant of his acquaintance standing
by)—“that man will be bail for my appearance.”
The man nodded his head, and said—“There is no
fear of Mâalem Mustafa: I will be responsible for him.”</p>

<p>Mustafa went towards his house, and, as soon as he
was out of sight, looking round to make sure that he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>
was not followed, he hurried to one of the outlets of
the town, entered a lane between the gardens, and,
mounting again on his own donkey, which he had
left with a friend in case of such an emergency, rode
off. Not appearing within the expected time, search
was made for him, and, when he was not to be found,
the man, who so incautiously vouched for his reappearance,
was seized, bastinadoed, and thrown into
gaol. Mustafa, in the mean time, had taken the
road to Jôon,—not to Lady Hester’s residence, but
to Dayr el Mkhallas, the monastery, where he had
a good friend in the abbot, and was immediately sheltered
in a comfortable cell. Nor did he, when he heard
what cruelties had been inflicted on his bail, move
one inch from his retreat, but there remained for
about six weeks, until, by negociations with the commandant
and by the sacrifice of a good round sum,
he was informed that his children were safe, and that
he might return unmolested.</p>

<p>The secretary told me that, in some cases, mothers
were suspended by the hair of their head, and whipped,
to make them confess where their children were concealed.
Surely such horrors are enough to make men
hold these sanguinary tyrants in abhorrence, who,
whatever their pretended advances towards civilization
may be, never suffer it to soften the barbarity of their
natures. Of civilization, they have borrowed conscription,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span>
custom-houses, quarantines, ardent spirit
and wine-drinking, prostitution, shop licensing, high
taxation, and some other of our doubtful marks of
superiority; but whatever is really excellent in an advanced
state of society they have forgotten to inquire
about. The secretary added that, when down at
Sayda, he had seen a lad, nursed in the lap of luxury,
the only child of respectable parents, at drill on the
parade outside of the town, with two soldiers who
never quitted him. The drilling was enforced by cuts
of the korbàsh. So long as the recruits remain in
Sayda, their parents are allowed to supply them with
a meal and other little comforts; but, when transported
to Egypt, and perhaps to the Hedjàz, they are
exposed to hardships unknown to European troops.
Their pay is fifteen piasters (3<abbr title="shillings"><i>s.</i></abbr> 2<abbr title="pence"><i>d.</i></abbr> English) a month.</p>

<p>After the expiration of two or three weeks, the
shaykhs or head-men of the villages in Mount Lebanon,
received orders to levy their contingent of
recruits, and pretty much the same scenes were acted
over again. From the village of Jôon eight conscripts
were required; for, although the population
might be five hundred persons, there were but few
Mahometan families. No sooner had the estafette,
who brought the order, alighted at the Shaykh’s
door, than the mussulman peasants to a man seemed
to guess what its contents were, and every one who
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span>
thought himself liable to serve made off to the
forests. Among the lads put down on the roll were
two, the brothers of Fatôom and Sâada, Lady Hester’s
maids. The girls fell on their knees, kissed her
feet and the hem of her robe, and prayed her, for
God’s sake, to save them. Lady Hester returned the
same answer she had done to Mustafa, the barber,
and to the other applicants, that she could not act
contrary to the laws of the country, and that they
must take their chance.</p>

<p>Three or four days had elapsed, when, quitting my
house in the morning to go to Lady Hester’s, I found
that all her people were full of an extraordinary
dream she had had. She had seen in her vision a
man with a white beard, who had conducted her
among the ravines of Mount Lebanon to a place,
where, in a cavern, lay two youths apparently in a
trance, and had told her to lead them away to her
residence. She attempted to raise them, and at the
same moment the earth opened, and she awoke. As
soon as I saw Lady Hester, she recounted to me her
dream to the same effect, but with many more particulars.
Being in the habit of hearing strange things
of this kind from her, I thought nothing of it, although
I well knew there was something intended by
it, as she never spoke without a motive.</p>

<p>Next morning I saw, as I passed the porter’s lodge,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span>
two peasant lads sitting in it, and, as soon as I got to
Lady Hester’s room, she asked me if I had observed
them.—“Isn’t it wonderful, doctor,” said Lady
Hester, “that I should have had exactly the same
dream two nights following, and the second time so
strongly impressed on my mind, that I was sure some
of it would turn out true: and so it has. For this
very morning, long before daylight, I had Logmagi
called, and, describing to him the way he was to go in
the mountain until he should come to a wild spot
which I painted to him, I sent him off; and, sure
enough, he found those two lads you saw, concealed,
not in a cavern, but in a tree, just where I had directed
him to go.</p>

<p>“They are two runaway conscripts, and, although
I know nothing of them, yet I seem to feel that God
directed me to bring them here. Poor lads! did you
observe whether they looked pale? they must be in
want of nourishment; for the search that is going on
everywhere after deserters is very hot. Logmagi
himself had no very pleasant duty to perform; for, if
they had mistaken him for a man in search of them,
one against two in the heart of the mountain ran some
risk of his life. You know, one deserter the other
day wounded three soldiers who attempted to take
him, and another killed two out of five, and, although
taken, was not punished by the Pasha, who exchanged
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span>
willingly an athletic gladiator, who had proved his
fighting propensities, for two cowards.”</p>

<p>These lads, whom Lady Hester pretended not to
know, were the two brothers of Fatôom and Sâada:
they were put into a room in an inner enclosure,
where they had comfortable quarters assigned them,
and were kept for two months hid from observation;
by which means they escaped the conscription of that
year. At the end of their term, they were one day
turned out, told they might go home in safety, and
warned that, if ever they made their appearance near
the house, they would be flogged. Such were Lady
Hester’s eccentric ways; and just as they were
wasting their breath in protestations of gratitude, they
were frightened out of their senses. No doubt, the
reason was that, as from their long stay in the premises,
they were more or less acquainted with every
locality, it might be that they had formed plans to
carry off stolen goods, which Lady Hester thus had
the foresight to frustrate. She never told me that
her dream was an invention, but I believe that it
was.</p>

<p>In addition to the loss of a son, or a husband, or a
brother, which the dozen families of Jôon (for there
were no more) had to complain of, these same families
were taxed at the rate of one, two, or three hundred
piasters each, in order to furnish the equipment of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span>
soldiers draughted from among them. For, under
the pretext of sending off each recruit with a good
kit and with a little money in his pocket, a benevolence
tax was invented, the greatest part of which, after
the parings of the collectors, went to the Pasha’s
treasury, and the half-naked recruit was left to take
his chance. Oh! that a European soldier could see
what these men are compelled to live on—how they
sleep, how they are flogged—and how they are left to
die!—and yet suicide is unknown among them.</p>

<p>The bastinado in Sayda was succeeded by mulcts.
An order was published by the Pasha, that those
whose sons had concealed themselves, or did not
appear by a certain day, should be taxed collectively
1,300 purses, a sum more than enough to pay for
substitutes. An appeal was made to Ibrahim Pasha
to lessen the fine, but the result never came to my
knowledge.</p>

<p>November 19.—I had taken to my house to read
the book that Sir Gore Ouseley had sent Lady Hester
Stanhope, and I related to her the anecdote of the old
woman and the copper dish.<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> This threw a gleam of
satisfaction over her countenance. “Ah!” said she,
and she made a sigh of pleasurable feeling, “these are
the people I like; that’s my sort: but the people
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>
now-a-days, who call themselves gentlemen, and don’t
know how to blow their nose!—when the first peer
of the realm will go about bragging what a trick he
has played some poor woman whom he has seduced!
Cursed be the hour that ever the name of gentleman
came into the language! I have seen hedgers and
ditchers at my father’s, who talked twice as good
sense as half the fine gentlemen now-a-days—a pack
of fellows, that do little else than eat, drink, and
sleep. Can one exist with such persons as these?
or is it to be supposed that God can tolerate such
brutalities?”</p>

<p>I sat by, as I was accustomed to do, on such occasions,
mute; knowing that a word uttered at that
moment would only increase her irritation, instead of
appeasing it. She went on: “And whilst you show
no more sensibility than that wall, here am I, a poor
dying creature” (and then she wept so that it was
piteous to hear her), “half killed by these nasty black
beasts. Last night, instead of coming refreshed out
of my bath, soothed by a gentle perspiration, I was
drier than ever, with my mouth parched, my skin
parched, and feebler than I was yesterday. But they
will all suffer for it; not here, perhaps, but in the
other world: for God will not see a poor miserable
creature trampled under foot as I have been.”</p>

<p>As she grew a little calm, I expressed my regret to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>
see her so annoyed and tormented by her servants.
The conversation then turned on blacks: and I asked—“Are
they then never susceptible of feeling: can kind
treatment never work on their sensibility?”—“Doctor,”
answered Lady Hester, “they have neither one nor
the other: it is a bit of black skin, which the people
of the country say you must work on with the korbàsh,
and with nothing else. I recollect an aga, who told
me that he had a black slave, who, when he first
bought her, one day got hold of his poniard, and
seemed as if she was going to stab him with it. He
started up, seized his sabre, and gave her a cut or
two; then, with a switch, beat her pretty handsomely.
From that day she became fond of him, faithful, and
so attached, that, when he wanted to sell her, she
would not be sold, but always contrived that the contract
should be broken by her swearing she would kill
herself, throw herself over the terrace, or something,
that made the buyer refuse to take her.</p>

<p>“I recollect another story. There were five European
travellers coming down the banks of the Nile on
horseback, when they saw an aga, who was sitting in
the open air, lay hold of a black woman by the hair of
her head, throw her down, and flog her most unmercifully
with the korbàsh. One of the party was a
German count, or something, who, being what you
call a humane man, said he must interfere; but the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span>
others told him he had better not. However, he did:
and what was the consequence? why, the woman immediately
jumped up, called him an impudent rascal,
slapped his face with her slipper, hooted him, and
followed the party until she fairly frightened them by
her violence.</p>

<p>“No, doctor, they do not like mild people. They
always say they want no old hens, but a <em>jigger</em>” (I
believe her ladyship meant some ferocious animal)
“for their master. As for what you say, that the
common people of this country stand in respect of
nobody, I can tell you that they do. You should
have seen the Shaykh Beshýr, how they respected
him. When I was at his palace, I recollect, one day,
one of his secretaries brought in a bag of money. ‘Is
it all here?’ said the Shaykh, with a terrible, cross,
frowning face. ‘It is, your felicity,’ said the man.
‘Very well,’ said the Shaykh, still with the same
fierce countenance; and I asked him what he put on
such a severe look for to a very pleasing-looking man.
‘Why,’ answered he, ‘if I did not, I should be robbed
past imagination: if I said to him, I am much obliged
to you, sir; you have given yourself a great deal of
trouble on my account, and the like compliments, he
would go away and chuckle in his own mind to think
his peculations were not suspected; but now he will
go, and say to himself, I will bet an <i>adli</i> some one
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span>
has told the Shaykh of the five hundred piasters that
were left for me at my house: I must send directly,
and desire they may be returned—or, he knows about
the tobacco that was brought me by the peasant; I
had better get rid of it; and so on. Their peculations
are past all bounds, and they must be kept under with
a rod of iron.’</p>

<p>“There was Danna, the poor old Frenchman, who
lost his trunk with all his doubloons in it: do you
think he would ever have found them, if the Emir
Beshýr had not sent Hamâady to that village about a
league off—what do you call it?—where the robbery
was committed? He assembled all the peasants, men
and women, and he told them—‘Now, my friends,
Monsieur Danna does not want anybody to be punished,
if he can help it; therefore, you have only to produce
the money, and nothing farther will be said: for the
money was lost here, and some of you must know
where it is.’ To see what protestations of innocence
there were, what asseverations! and from the women
more than the men. So Hamâady, finding that talking
was of no use, heated his red-hot irons and his copper
skull caps, and produced his instruments of torture;
and, seeing that the women were more vociferous than
the men, he selected one on whom strong suspicions
had fallen, and drove a spike under her finger-nails.
At the first thrust, she screamed out—‘Let me off!
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span>
let me off! and I will acknowledge all.’ She then immediately
confessed—would you believe it?—that the
curate’s son had robbed Danna, and she had shared
the money with him.</p>

<p>“Now, tell me, was it best that the old Frenchman
should die of starvation, or that the rascally thief of a
woman, who had induced the curate’s son to commit
the robbery, should be punished, as a warning to
others? If such severe punishments were not used
among them, we should not sleep safe in our beds.
How well is it known that they have with pickaxes
opened a roof, and thrown in lighted straw to suffocate
people, that they might rob in security.</p>

<p>“I recollect once, when Captain Y. was here, I was
showing him the garden; and, seeing some lettuces
which were badly planted, he said to me, ‘That’s not
the way to plant lettuces: they should be so and so.’—‘Yes,’
I replied, ‘I have told the gardener so a
hundred times, and he will never listen to me.’—‘Oh!
oh!’ said he, ‘won’t he? Let me bring a boatswain’s
mate to him, and I’ll soon see whether he will or not?—‘You
are very good,’ was my answer; ‘but then I
should lose your company for half a day, and I had
rather have no lettuces than do that.</p>

<p>“When I first came to this country, you know
perfectly well that I never behaved otherwise than
with the greatest kindness to servants. You ask me
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span>
why I don’t now try gentle measures with them, rewarding
the good, and merely dismissing the idle and
vicious: my reply is, I did so for years, until I found
they abused my forbearance in the grossest manner.
Do you think it would frighten the rest, were I to
turn away one or two? no such thing. Why, upon
one occasion, four of them, after they had received
their wages, and had each got a present of new shawls,
new girdles, and new kombázes, all went off together,
clothes, wages and all, in the night. It is by degrees
I am become what I am; and, only after repeated
trials and proofs of the inefficiency of everything but
severity, that I am grown so indifferent, that I do
nothing but scold and abuse them.</p>

<p>“But you talk of cruelty: it is such men as
Mustafa Pasha, who was one of those who besieged
Acre when Abdallah Pasha was <i>firmanlee</i>” (proscribed),
“that you should call cruel; he was indeed
a sanguinary tyrant. Doctor, he made a noise
sometimes like the low growl of a tiger, and his
people knew then that blood must flow. It was his
custom, when the fit was on him, to send for some
poor wretch from prison, and kill him with his own
hand. He would then grow calm, smoke his pipe,
and seem for a time quieted. But he was a shrewd
man, and a clever pasha. He wrote with his own
hand (which pashas never do, except on particular
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span>
occasions) a letter to the Shaykh Beshýr, desiring him
to pay marked attention to me. The Shaykh was
highly flattered with the distinction shown him.”</p>

<p>The recollection of the Pasha’s civility and the
Shaykh Beshýr’s letter recalled her thoughts to what
she had proposed to do at the beginning of the
evening, which was to write an answer to Sir Gore
Ouseley, and to thank the Oriental Translation Fund
Society for their present. This was done in a letter
from which the following are extracts:—</p>


<p class="p2 center"><i>To the Right Hon. Sir Gore Ouseley, Bart.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right">
Djoun, on Mount Lebanon,<br>
<span class="r2">November 20, 1837.</span></p>

<p>Forgotten by the world, I cannot feel otherwise
than much flattered by the mark of attention which
it has pleased the society of learned men to honour
me with. I must therefore beg leave, in expressing
my gratitude, to return them my sincere thanks.
You must not suppose that I am the least of an
Arabic scholar, for I can neither read nor write one
word of that language, and am (without affectation) a
great dunce upon some subjects. Having lived part
of my life with the greatest philosophers and politicians
of the age, I have been able to make this
<em>observation</em>, that all of them, however they may dispute
and ingeniously reason upon abstruse subjects,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span>
have, in moments of confidence, candidly declared
that we can go no <em>farther</em>. Here we must stop—all
is problematical: therefore I have wished, however it
may appear presumptuous, <em>to go farther</em> and remove
some of these stumbling-blocks, not by erudition, but
by trusting to some happy accident.</p>

<p>It is extraordinary that many of this nature have
occurred to me during my residence in the East. First,
many proofs of the fallacy of history; next, the denial
of many curious facts, which are even scouted as gross
superstitions, and are pretended to be doubted, because
no one knows how to account for them, but which real
knowledge can clearly substantiate. Then there is a
gap in history which ought to be filled up with the
reign of Malek Sayf (a second King Solomon), and
his family, and after him with that of Hamzy, the
sort of Messiah of the Druzes, who is expected to
return in another form. I once saw a work, which
clearly proved the Pyramids to be antediluvian, and
that Japhet was aware the deluge was to be partial, as
he placed <em>that</em> which was most valuable to him in
another quarter of the world.</p>

<p>The Bedoween Arabs may be divided into two
distinct classes, original Arabs, and the descendants
of Ismael, whose daughter married the ninth descendant
of the great Katàn, out of which germ sprang
the famous tribe of the Koreish, subdivided into many
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span>
tribes, and which are a mixture of Hebrew blood.
One of the most famous tribes was that of the Beni
Hasheniz, from which spring the Boshnàk and the
Beni Omeyn, the Irish, always famed for the beauty
of their women. The Scotch are likewise Koreish—the
nobility descending from the King Al Yem (and
his court), father of Gebailuata, who headed the
50,000 horse, when they took their flight from the
Hedjáz, after a quarrel with the Caliph Omar. They
resided some time in Syria; but, when the town of
Gebeili became inadequate to contain their numbers,
many took themselves off to the Emperor Herculius,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>
towards Antioch and Tarsus.</p>

<p>You must look over the Scotch titles and names
of persons and places, and you will see how many
there are, who, it is plain to perceive, are of Arabic
origin; and you will soon observe the relation they
bear either to circumstances, former employments,
propensities, or tastes.</p>

<p>You cannot expect, as when a Frenchman remains
forty years in England, and can neither pronounce nor
spell a name, that, during such a lapse of time, many
of these names should not have undergone changes;
but their origin is yet evident.</p>

<p>The Duke of Leinster’s motto (<i>Croom Aboo</i>—his
father’s vineyards) has a grand signification, alluding
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>
to the most learned of works, of which only two
copies exist, and which was not well understood even
by the great Ulemas until about five hundred years
afterwards, when Shaikh Mohadeen of the Beni Taya
found out the key.</p>

<p>If the philosopher of chance should have presumed
to have offered a little heterogeneous information
to the learned, you, sir, must forgive me.
Your star denotes you to be of admirable good taste
and great perspicuity, and therefore well calculated to
investigate the subjects I have had the honour to lay
before you.</p>

<p>You will forgive me for having used the pen of
another, but my sight and state of health will not at
all times allow of my writing a long letter.</p>

<p class="right">
I salute all the philosophers with respect,<br>
<span class="smcap r2">Hester Lucy Stanhope</span>.&emsp;</p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a>
See the History of the Temple of Jerusalem, translated
from the Arabic by the <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Mr. Reynolds, <abbr title="page">p.</abbr> 403.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a>
Heraclius?</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Five"><span class="allsmcap">V.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Rainy season—Lady Hester’s despondency—Her Turkish
costume—Turkish servants—Terror inspired by Lady Hester
in her servants—Visit of Messieurs Poujolat and Boutés—Lady
Hester’s inability to entertain strangers—Her dejected
spirits and bad health.</p>


<p class="p2">November 24.—Still rain, rain! The courtyards
were deep in mud and puddles, and the men-servants
walked about in wooden clogs, such as are worn in
breweries. The flat roofs, which cover the houses in
most parts of Syria, are made of a cement of mortar
and fine gravel, in appearance like an asphaltum
causeway. In the hot months fissures show themselves;
and it rarely happens, when winter comes on,
that, during the first heavy rains, the wet does not
filter through. Lady Hester, therefore, had to suffer,
as well as all the house, from this annoyance, hardly
bearable when a person is in health, but extremely
distressing and even dangerous in sickness. For some
days past pans had been standing on the bedroom
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>
floor to catch the droppings, and it continued to rain
on. The sloppy communications from door to door,
where every door opens into a courtyard, gave likewise
a damp to the apartments only supportable in a
climate as mild as that of Syria. Snow had covered
the upper chain of Mount Lebanon in great abundance,
and the wind blew furiously. Everybody was
out of humour, and many of the servants were labouring
under bad coughs and colds: but the women, notwithstanding,
always moved about the house with
naked feet. It was a wonder to see how, with coughs
that might be heard from one courtyard to another,
they constantly went barefoot, and yet got well; and
a servant, if sent to the village, was sure to leave his
shoes at the porter’s lodge, and, drawing his <i>sherwáls</i>
or trousers up above his knees, to set off as light as a
deer through the pelting storm, careless of wet, if he
could but cover his head.</p>

<p>I saw Lady Hester about two in the day: she
was in low spirits, lying in her bed with the window
and door open from a sense of suffocation which had
just before seized her.</p>

<p>“Would you believe it,” said she, as I entered,
“those beasts would leave me to die here before they
came to my assistance! and, if I happen to fall asleep,
there is not one would cover my shoulders to prevent
my taking cold.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span>
Poor Lady Hester! thought I, the contrast between
your early days and your present sufferings is
almost enough to break your heart. So I abused the
maids handsomely; and then, being satisfied with the
warmth of my expressions, and having vented her own
anger, she began to talk composedly.</p>

<p>I remained until near dinner-time, and, after dinner,
went to her again. She observed that the nights were
dreadfully long, and that she should be obliged to me if
I would read to her. Her stock of books, and mine too,
was very small, and, after naming a few, which did
not please her, I recollected she had asked me once if
I had by me a heathen mythology, and she immediately
fixed on that. So, writing on a slip of paper
to my daughter to send me hers, Lady Hester said,
“First let me order a pipe for you:” for this was usually
the preliminary to all business or conversation.
Every sitting was opened with a pipe, and generally
terminated with one; as her ladyship would say, “But,
before you go, doctor, you must smoke one pipe more.”
When the book came, she desired me to turn to the
part about Jupiter Ammon, and it will be seen farther
on why she did so. After a page or two, she began
to talk of the coming of the Mahadi, and the conversation
was prolonged far into the night. She afterwards
ordered tea—for I now drank tea with her almost
every evening—and I then returned to my house,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span>
covered with my thick capote, which, in the short distance
of a few hundred yards, could hardly save me
from being wet through.</p>

<p>November 25.—The annual fast of the Mahometans,
called Ramazàn, had begun on the preceding day. It
is customary for persons of rank to make presents of
clothes and other things to their dependants, during
the lunar month that the Ramazàn lasts, in order that
they may appear dressed up in finery on the first day
of the succeeding new moon, at the holyday of the
Byràm, which succeeds it, as Easter-day does Lent
among Christians. Lady Hester, who never was behindhand
in beneficence, made it a rule to clothe all
her Mahometan servants anew at this season, as she
did all her Christian ones on New Year’s Day or at
Easter. New capotes, pelisses, sherwáls, shirts,
shifts, turbans, gowns, &amp;c., were always bought
previous to the time; and, the best being given to
the most deserving, the worst to the least so, with
none at all to the lazy and worthless, some sort of
activity was observable in their service previous to
the expected time. But the objects they coveted once
in their possession, they soon relapsed into their customary
sloth.</p>

<p>Some of these articles of dress were lying on the
floor, Lady Hester having had them brought for her
to look at. She said to me, “You must take home
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span>
one of these abahs<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> to show to your family. You
must tell them,” continued she, “that once I had all
my servants clothed in such abahs as that: but they
played me such tricks, I have given it up. Some sold
them; and, on one occasion, four of them marched off
within twenty-four hours after I had dressed them
from head to foot, and I never saw them again: isn’t
it abominable? At the time that I dressed them so
well, and rode out myself with my bornôos, crimson
and gold, the gold lace being everywhere where silk
tape is generally put, I did not owe a shilling in
the world.”</p>

<p>“Once,” she continued, “when riding my beautiful
Arabian mare Asfoor, near a place called Gezýn, in
that crimson bornôos, with a richly-embroidered dress
under it, and on my crimson velvet saddle, I happened
to approach an encampment of the Pasha’s
troops. Several <i>benát el hawa</i>” (street ladies), “who
were living with the soldiers, ran across a field to come
up with me, thinking I was some young bey or binbashi.
Every time, just as they got near, I quickened
my horse’s pace, that they might not see I was a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span>
woman: at last, two fairly came and seized my knees,
to make me turn and look at them. But what was
their confusion (for such women are not so hardened
as in Europe) when they saw I had no beard or mustachios,
and was one of their own sex!”</p>

<p>Lady Hester related this droll adventure to me
more than once, to show, I believe, what a distinguished
and real Turkish appearance she made on
horseback, which was perfectly true: but to return to
the servants.</p>

<p>A Turk for work is little better than a brute animal:
he moves about nimbly, when roused by vociferation
and threats, and squats down like a dog the
moment he is left to himself. England produces no
type of the Syrian serving-man. He sets about his
work as a task that is given to him, and, when it is
over, sits down immediately to smoke his pipe and to
gossip, or seeks a snug place near at hand, and goes
to sleep. You call him, and set him to do something
else, and the same practice follows. The next day
you expect he will, of his own accord, recommence
what was shown to him on the preceding one; but
no such thing: you have to tell him over again, and
so every day. He is a thief from habit, and a liar
of the most brazen stamp, as no shame is ever attached
to detection. In plausible language, protestations
of honesty and fidelity, he has no superior;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>
and, if beaten or reviled, he will smother his choler,
nay, kiss the hand that has chastised him, but waits
a fit opportunity for vengeance, and carefully weighs
kicks against coppers. He is generally so servile as
to make you bear with his worthlessness, even though
you despise him; and, when your anger appears to
threaten him with the loss of his place and is at the
highest, he smooths it down with an extraordinary
day’s activity, making you hope that a reformation
has taken place in him: but it is all delusion. And
think not that you, a Christian, can raise your hand
against the meanest servant, if a Mahometan: when
you would have him beaten, you must employ another
Mahometan to do it, who will, however, lay on to your
heart’s content.</p>

<p>What has been said above applies to the menials of
towns and cities. Of another class of servants taken
from the villages, Lady Hester used to say, “I have
tried the Syrian <i>fellahs</i>” (peasants) “for twenty years
as servants, and I ought to know pretty well what
they are fit for. It is my opinion that, for hard
work, lifting heavy things, going with mules and
asses, for foot messengers across the country, and for
such business, you may make something of them, but
for nothing else. The women are idle, and prone to
thieving; and it is impossible to teach them any
European usages.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span>
One day, in walking through the back yard, I
observed two stakes, about six feet high and sharply
pointed, stuck deep and firmly into the ground, which
had before escaped my notice. I inquired what they
were for, but got no satisfactory answer, the dairyman,
to whom I addressed myself, using the reply so
common throughout the East, <i>Ma aref</i> (I don’t know);
for no people in the world have so quick a scent of the
danger of being brought into trouble by professing to
know what is inquired about as the Orientals. A
Jew, in a street in Turkey, and a Christian likewise,
is sure to answer the most simple question by an “I
don’t know”—“I have not heard”—“I have not
seen;” for he fears what that question may lead to,
and that, if he knows a little, a bastinadoing may be
resorted to to make him know more: so I afterwards
asked Lady Hester. “Oh!” replied she, “I’ll tell
you how those stakes came there: I had forgotten all
about them. One day, at the time they were robbing
me right and left, I ordered the carpenter to make two
stakes, such as people are impaled upon, and to erect
them in the back yard. I spoke not to any one why
or wherefore I had given the order; but if you had
seen the fright that pervaded the house, and for weeks
how well the maids behaved, you would then have
known, as I do, that it is only by such terrible means
that these abominable jades can be kept under. From
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span>
that time to this it appears the stakes have remained;
for, as I never go into that yard, I had forgotten
them: but since they are there still, there let them be.”</p>

<p>Thus Lady Hester was dying in a struggle to cure
her men and maids of theft, lying, and carelessness,
whilst they ended the month with the same indifference
to honesty, truth, and cleanliness, as they began
it.</p>

<p>Each one was a sycophant to those who had authority
over him; each one distrusted his comrade.
Lady Hester might say with truth, “If I did not act
so, they would cut your throat and mine:” but why
did she keep such wretches about her? why not turn
them away, and procure European servants? or why
continue to live in such a wild mountain, and not
make her dwelling-place in or near a city, where consular
protection was at hand? The first three questions
I have endeavoured to answer already; and, as
for the last, respecting consular protection, he that had
dared to suggest such an expedient of safety to her
would have rued the observation. To name a consul
in that sense to her was to name what was most
odious; and the epithets that were generally coupled
with their names were such as I have too much
respect for that useful body of magistrates to put
down in writing.</p>

<p>Saturday, November 25.—As I was returning from
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span>
the village about four in the afternoon, on ascending
the side of the hill on which Lady Hester’s house
stands, I met four persons mounted on mules, and
conjectured them, by their boots, which were black,
and reached up to the calf of the leg, not to be of the
country; for in Syria either red or yellow boots are
always worn. They had on Morea capotes, and their
dress was that of the more northern provinces of
Turkey. In passing them, I said, “Good evening!”
in Arabic, but, on receiving no answer from the two
nearest to me, I looked hard at them, and immediately
saw they were Europeans.</p>

<p>On alighting at my own door, I asked the servant
if he had seen anybody go by, and his reply was, that
three or four Turkish soldiers had passed. I then
inquired of one of Lady Hester’s muleteers, who was
unloading some provisions he had brought from Sayda,
if he knew who the four men were whom I had seen;
and he answered that, at the foot of the hill, they had
inquired of him the road to Jôon, and that they were
Milordi travelling: Milordo being the term applied to
every European who travels in the Levant with a
man-servant, and has money to spend.</p>

<p>I went in to Lady Hester a few minutes afterwards,
and told her that some travellers, as I thought, to get
a nearer view of her house than could be had from the
high road, had made a round, and had just ridden past
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span>
the door. About a quarter of an hour afterwards, the
maid brought in a message from the porter to say that
two Franks, just arrived at the village of Jôon, had
sent their servant with a note, and the porter wished
to know whether the note was to be taken in. For
Lady Hester had been so tormented with begging
letters, petitions, stories of distress, &amp;c., that it was
become a general rule for him never to receive any
written paper, until he had first sent in to say who
had brought it, and from whom it came; and then
she would decide whether it was to be refused or not.
The note, accordingly, was fetched.</p>

<p>Lady Hester read it to herself, and then the following
conversation took place, which will explain
some of the reasons why she did not always receive
strangers who presented themselves at her gate.
“Yes, doctor,” said she, “you were right: they are
two travellers, who have been to Palmyra and about,
and want to come and talk to me concerning the Arabs
and the desert. Should you like to go to Jôon, and
tell them I can’t see them, because I have been confined
to my room for several days from a bad cold?”
I answered, “Certainly; I would go with the greatest
pleasure.” She then rang the bell, and desired the
servant to order my horse. She continued, “One of
the names, I think, is a man of a great family.”—“What
is it?” I asked. She took up the note
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span>
again. “Boo, poo, bon—no—Boo—jo—lais—Beaujolais,
I think it is. No, Pou—jo—lat; it is Poujolat.”—“Then,”
interrupted I, “I guess who they are:
there was a Monsieur Poujolat, who came into the
Levant six or seven years ago, to make researches
respecting the crusades: I saw him at Cyprus; he
and Monsieur Michaud were together. They were
considered men of talent, and I believe were contributors
to some Paris newspaper during Charles the
Tenth’s time. They had published already some
volumes of their travels before I left Europe, and the
greatest part of the ground was travelled over, as I
surmise, in the saloons of their consuls, during the
long evenings when they were shut in by the plague
of 1831 and 1832; for they speak of many places
where they could hardly have gone. But this is not
unusual,” I added, “with some writers; for Monsieur
Chaboçeau, a French doctor at Damascus, told me, in
1813, when I was staying in his house, that Monsieur
de Volney never went to Palmyra, although he leads
one to suppose he had been there; for, owing to a
great fall of snow just at the period when he projected
that journey, he was compelled to relinquish the
attempt. Monsieur Chaboçeau, an octogenarian, had
known him, and entertained him as his guest in his
house; and he answered me, when I reiterated the
question, that Volney never saw Palmyra.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span>
“Oh! if they have written about the crusades,”
said Lady Hester, paying no attention to what I said
about Volney, “tell them that all the crusaders are
not dead, but that some of them are asleep only;
asleep in the same arms and the same dress they wore
on the field of battle, and will awake at the first resurrection.
Mind you say the first resurrection; for
I suppose you know there are to be two, one a partial
one, and the last a general one.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p>

<p>“But there, doctor, I must not detain you. Now,
just listen to what you have got to do. Mohammed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span>
shall take to them two bottles of red wine, and two
bottles of <i lang="es">vino d’oro</i>” (ding, ding.) “Zezefôon, tell
Mohammed to get out four bottles of wine, two of
each sort; of my wine—you understand—and he is to
put them in a basket, and be ready to go with the
doctor to Jôon.” Then, addressing herself again to
me, “You must say to them that I am very sorry I
can’t see them, but that I am not very well, and that
I beg their acceptance of a little wine, which, perhaps,
they might not find where they sleep to-night. Say
to them, I should be very much pleased to talk over
their journey to Palmyra with them; and add that
the respect I bear to all the French makes me always
happy to meet with one of their nation. Say that the
wine is not so good as I could wish it to be, but that,
since Ibrahim Pasha and his soldiers have been in the
country, they have drunk up all the good, and it is
now very difficult to procure any. If they talk about
Ibrahim Pasha, say that I admire his courage, but
cannot respect him; that I am a faithful subject of
the Sultan, and shall always be so, and that I do not
like servants that rise against their masters; for
whether Cromwells, or Buonapartes, or people in these
countries, it never succeeds. If they allude to the
horrors of the recruiting service, and to the nizàm
troops, tell them that I never interfere in matters like
that; but that, when heads were to be saved and the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span>
wounded and houseless to be succoured, as after the
siege of Acre, then I was not afraid of Ibrahim Pasha,
or any of them. Well, I think that’s all:” then,
musing a little while, she added, “I ought, perhaps,
to ask them to pass the night here; but, if I did, it
would be all confusion: no dinner ready for them—and,
before it could be, it would be midnight, for I
must have a sheep killed: besides, it would be setting
a bad example. There would be others then coming
just at nightfall to get a supper and be off in the
morning, as has happened more than once already.
So now go, doctor, and” (ding, ding) “Fatôom! who
is that woman that lodges strangers sometimes at
Jôon?”—“Werdy, Sytty, the midwife.”—“Ah! so;
very well. Tell them, doctor, that they had better
not think of going to Sayda to-night, as the gates
will be shut; and that they will be nowhere better
off for sleeping in all the village than at Werdy, the
midwife’s: for she has good beds and clean counterpanes:
so now go.”</p>

<p>I half rose to go, still hanging back, as knowing her
ladyship would, as usual, have much more to say.
“Oh! by the bye,” she resumed, “if they inquire
about me, and ask any questions, you may say that
sometimes I am a great talker when subjects please
me, and sometimes say very little if they do not. I
am a character: what I do, or intend to do, nobody
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span>
knows beforehand; and, when done, people don’t
always know why, until the proper time, and then it
comes out.” Here she paused a little, and then
resumed. “I dare say they came here to have something
to put in their book, so mind you tell them
about the crusaders; for it is true, doctor. You
recollect I told you the story, and how these sleeping
crusaders had been seen by several persons; and I
don’t suppose those persons would lie more than other
people; why should they?”—“Why should they
indeed?” I answered. “They were martyrs,” resumed
her ladyship, “and those who sleep are not only of
the Christians who fought, but of the Saracens also;
men, that is, who felt from their souls the justice of
the cause they fought for. As for yourself, if you
don’t believe it, you may add you know nothing about
it; for you are lately come into the country, and all
these are things which are become known to me during
my long residence here.”</p>

<p>At last I went, mounted my horse, and rode out of
the gate, Mohammed following with the basket of
wine. But, instead of having to go to the village, I
found the strangers waiting on their mules about two
or three hundred yards from the porter’s lodge. My
horse, taken from his feed, for it was near sunset, and
seeing the mules, jumped and pranced so that I was
obliged to dismount before I could approach them. I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>
delivered Lady Hester’s message to them, and in
answer they expressed, in polite terms, their regret at
not seeing her, and their still greater regret that the
reason was from her ill state of health. Unlike what
some Englishmen have done on similar occasions, they
uttered not the slightest murmur about her want of
hospitality, nor the least doubt of the veracity of the
excuse; but, as soon as they found that they should
not be admitted, they cut short all further conversation;
lamenting, as night was fast approaching, that
they could not stop, and that they were under the
necessity of bending their way somewhere as fast as
possible to get a night’s lodging. I pointed to the
village, recommended them to go there, and repeated
Werdy, the midwife’s name, two or three times, as a
cottage where they would be comfortably lodged. But,
yielding to the advice of their servant, who, as is the
case with all travellers ignorant of the language in a
strange country, seemed to lead his masters pretty
much where he liked, they were induced to set off for
Sayda, where they could not arrive in less than three
hours, instead of passing the night at Jôon, where
they would have been housed in ten minutes. So,
presenting them with the wine, and having informed
them of the name of the French consular agent at
Sayda, where they would do well to demand a lodging,
I wished them good night, and took my leave. They
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span>
mounted their mules, and descended the bank by the
narrow path that led under the hill to the Sayda road;
when, as I was going back to the house, I heard one of
the gentlemen calling out to me, “But the empty
bottles?” Now the interview had been conducted, on
my part, with all the etiquette I was master of, and
on theirs, up to the moment of saying good night,
with the politeness so natural to the French nation.
But the exclamation, “What’s to be done with the
empty bottles? you gave us the wine, but did you
give us the bottles too?” sounded so comic, and in the
vicinity of that residence too, where it was customary
to give in a princely way, that the speaker fell a degree
in the scale of my estimation on the score of breeding,
how much soever he might be commended for his
intended exactitude and probity.</p>

<p>I returned to Lady Hester. During my short
absence, one of her maids had informed her that the
Franks, although they had made a show of going to
Jôon when first they passed the gate, had in fact only
retired into the valley between the two hills, where
they had unpacked their saddle-bags and shifted
themselves, in order to make a decent appearance
before her. This increased her regret at the trouble
they had so uselessly put themselves to. The rain
came on soon after, and their unpleasant situation was
the subject of conversation for a good half hour. The
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span>
name of the other gentleman who accompanied Monsier
Poujolat was Boutés.</p>

<p>Much has been said of Lady Hester Stanhope’s
rudeness to her countrymen and others in refusing
them admittance when at the door, and probably
Messrs. Poujolat and Boutés might have complained
at Sayda of her inhospitable conduct: but it is
scarcely necessary for me to say that her real motives
for acting as she did were not from a dislike to see
people, since nobody enjoyed half-a-day’s conversation
with a stranger more than she did. A few days after,</p>

<p>December 2.—I had taken a long ride in the morning,
and had seen a frigate under her studding sails
running towards Sayda. The arrival of a ship of
war was always an event to set the house in commotion;
for it was very well known that, if her colours
were English or French, the chances were ten to one
that either the captain or some of the officers would
come up to Jôon. Accordingly, on returning home at
about 4 o’clock, I told Lady Hester Stanhope of it:
but she was not well, had passed the night badly, and
all she said was,—“Well, if they come, I shall not
see any of them.” Now, it is not improbable, if any
of the officers had presented themselves, and had been
told that her ladyship was unable to receive them,
owing to the state of her health, that they would have
gone away discontented, and disposed to attribute her
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span>
refusal to any other cause than the real one: but let
any one, who reads what follows, say if she was in a
fit state to hold conversation with strangers.</p>

<p>Her health was still very far from good, and this
day was a day of sorrow. Her maids had been
sulky and impertinent, and her forlorn and deserted
situation came so forcibly across her mind, that she
raised up her hands to heaven, and wept. “Oh!”
said she, “if these horrid servants would but do as
they are told, I could get on by myself, and should
not want anybody to help me: but they are like
jibbing horses, and the only good horse in the team
is worked to death. Were I well, I would not care
for a thousand of them; I should know how to manage
them: but, sick as I am, hardly able to raise my
hand to ring the bell, if anything were to happen
to me, I might die, and nobody would come to my
assistance.”</p>

<p>I offered, as I had done almost daily, to have my
bed removed to the room next to hers, and to sleep
there, in order to be at hand if she should want my
assistance: but she would not admit of it; and I
could only use my best efforts to soothe her, which
was no easy matter. I remained six hours with her,
sitting the whole time in a constrained posture, that I
might catch her words, so low was her voice. And I
could not move without sensibly annoying her, as she
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span>
was sure to construe it into a wish to be gone, or a
disregard of her situation, and to say she was neglected
by everybody.</p>

<p>It is incredible how Lady Hester Stanhope used to
torment herself about trifles. People, who never happened
to meet with a person of her peculiar character,
would be amazed at the precision with which she set
about everything she undertook. The most trivial
and fugitive affairs were transacted with quite as
much pains and exactitude as she brought to bear
upon the most important plans. This was, in fact,
the character of her mind, exhibiting itself throughout
her entire conduct. I have known her lose nearly a
whole day in scolding about a nosegay of roses which
she wished to send to the Pasha’s wife. For the purpose
of sending nosegays safely to distant places, she
had invented a sort of canister. In the bottom part
was placed a tumbler full of water, in which the flower-stalks
were kept moist; and the nosegay was thus
carried to any distance, suspended to the mules,
saddle, or in a man’s hand. The servants, who could
not understand why such importance was attached to
a few flowers, were remiss in keeping the canisters
clean, nor would the gardener arrange the flowers as
Lady Hester wished. For a matter like this she
would storm and cry, and appeal to me if it was not a
shame she should be so treated.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span>
December 3.—To-day, a servant, who was ill, had
become the object of her immediate anxiety. “As
for myself,” cried she, “I care not how ragged, how
neglected I am; but I am in a fever if I think a poor
creature is in want of such comforts as his illness may
require. Such is my despotism: and I dread every
moment of the day lest his necessities should not be
attended to. Who is to see his room warmed, to take
care he has proper drinks, to give him his medicine?
I know nobody will do it, unless I see to it myself.”
I assured her he should have every attention possible.</p>

<p>It was in vain to expect any sentiment or feeling
from servants and slaves, who had no prospect before
them but one constant round of forced work, against
their habits and inclinations. Although Lady Hester
Stanhope had adopted almost all the customs of the
East, she still retained many of her own: and to condemn
the slaves to learn the usages of Franks was
like obliging an English housemaid to fall into those
of the Turks. Thus, the airing of linen, ironing,
baking loaves of bread instead of flat cakes, cleaning
knives, brightening pots, pans, and kettles, mending
holes in clothes, and other domestic cleanly usages,
were points of contention which were constantly fought
over and over again for twenty years, with no better
success at the last than at the first.</p>

<p>Her conversation turned one day on Sir G. H.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span>
“What can be the reason?” said she, “I am now
always thinking of Sir G. H. Seven years ago, when
you were here, you spoke about him, and I thought
no more of him than merely to make some remarks at
the moment; but now I have dreamed of him two
or three times, and I am sure something is going to
happen to him, either very good or very bad. I have
been thinking how well he would do for master of the
horse to the Queen, and I have a good way of giving
a hint of it through the Buckleys: for I always said
that, next to Lord Chatham, nobody ever had such
handsome equipages as Sir G.: nobody’s horses and
carriages were so neatly picked out as theirs. Sir G.
is a man, doctor, from what you tell me, that would
have just suited Mr. Pitt. That polished and quiet
manner which Sir G. has was what Mr. Pitt found so
agreeable in Mr. Long. It is very odd—Mr. Pitt
always would dress for dinner, even if we were alone.
One day, I said to him, ‘You are tired, and there is
no one but ourselves; why need you dress!’ He replied,
‘Why, I don’t know, Hester; but if one omits
to do it to-day, we neglect it to-morrow, and so on,
until one grows a pig.’”</p>

<p>December 7, 1837.—Poor Lady Hester’s appearance
to-day would have been a piteous sight for her
friends in England. I saw her about noon: she was
pale, very ill, and her natural good spirits quite gone.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span>
“Doctor,” said she, in a faint voice, “I am very
poorly to-day, and I was still worse in the night. I
was within that” (holding up her finger) “of death’s
door, and I find nothing now will relieve me. A little
while ago, I could depend on something or other,
when seized with these spasmodic attacks; but now
everything fails. How am I to get better, when I
can’t have a moment’s repose from morning till night?
When I was ill on former occasions, I could amuse
myself with my thoughts, with cutting out in paper;—why,
I have a closet full of models, in paper, of
rooms, and arches, and vaults, and pavilions, and
buildings, with so many plans of alterations, you can’t
think. But now, if I want a pair of scissors, they
can’t be found; if I want a needle and thread, there is
none forthcoming; and I am wearied to death about
the smallest trifles.”</p>

<p>She here began to cry and wring her hands, presenting
a most melancholy picture of despair. When
she had recovered a little, she went on: “To look
upon me now, what a lesson against vanity! Look at
this arm, all skin and bone, so thin, so thin, that you
may see through it; and once, without exaggeration,
so rounded, that you could not pinch the skin up.
My neck was once so fair that a pearl necklace scarcely
showed on it; and men—no fools, but sensible men—would
say to me, ‘God has given you a neck you
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span>
really may be proud of: you are one of nature’s
favourites, and one may be excused for admiring that
beautiful skin.’ If they could behold me now, with
my teeth all gone, and with long lines in my face—not
wrinkles, for I have no wrinkles when I am left
quiet, and not made angry: but my face is drawn out
of its composure by these wretches. I thank God
that old age has come upon me unperceived. When
I used to see the painted Lady H. dressed in pink
and silver, with her head shaking, and jumped by her
footman into her sociable, attempting to appear young,
I felt a kind of horror and disgust I can’t describe.
I wonder how Lady Stafford dresses, now she is no
longer young: but I can’t fancy her grown old.”</p>

<p>She paused, and then resumed. “I have,” she
said, “been under the saw” (drawing the little finger
of her right hand backward and forward across the
forefinger of her left) “for many years, and not a
tooth but what has told; but it is God’s will, and I
do not repine: it is man’s ingratitude that wounds
me most. How many harsh answers have even you
given me, when I have been telling you things for
your good: it is that which hurts me.”</p>

<p>I confessed my fault, and expressed my deep regret
that I had ever caused her any pain.</p>

<p>She went on. “When I see people of understanding
moidering away their time, losing their memory,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span>
and doing nothing that is useful to mankind, I must
be frank, and tell them of it. You are in darkness,
and I have done my best to enlighten you: if I have
not succeeded, it is not my fault. As for pleasing or
displeasing me, put that out of your head: there is
no more in that than in pleasing or displeasing that
door. I am but a worm—a poor, miserable being—an
humble instrument in the hands of God. But, if
a man is benighted, and sees a light in a castle, does
he go to it, or does he not? Perhaps it may be a
good genius that guides him there, perhaps it may be
a den of thieves: but there he goes.”</p>

<p>In this mournful strain Lady Hester went on for
some time. Every thing around me presented so
affecting a picture, that, unable to restrain my emotions,
I burst into tears. She let me recover myself,
and then, making me drink a finjàn of coffee, with a
little orange-flower water in it, to restore my spirits,
she advised me to go and take a walk.</p>

<p>An hour or two afterwards I saw her again. She
was much better, and was sitting up in her bed, cutting
out articles of clothing, and fixing on patterns for
new gowns for her maids. “I hate money,” she said,
“and could wish to have nothing to do with it but
saying, ‘Take this, and lay it out so and so.’” Ever
sanguine, she was forming plans of what she should
do in the spring, when she purposed remodelling her
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span>
household, and replacing her present servants by a
fresh set. The world was to be convulsed by revolutions,
nations were to be punished by sickness and
calamities; and her object was to secure, for those in
whose welfare she felt interested, an asylum in the
coming days of trouble.</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>


<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a>
 An abah is either a long cloak, or else a woollen frock-coat,
sometimes brocaded in a triangle of gold thread (the base going from
shoulder to shoulder, and the apex pointing at the waist), on a
marone-coloured ground, as this was, and presenting a very brilliant
appearance.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a>
It was by such speeches as these that Lady Hester sometimes left
an impression on her hearers that she was insane. The reader must judge
for himself. There are, however, strong reasons for believing that
there was a profound and deeply-planned method in all her actions,
and those who said she was unsound in her intellects would have had
great difficulty in proving it before a competent tribunal. The vast
combinations of her mind, when it was possible to get a glimpse
of them, filled one with surprise, and set at naught all previous
conjecture or conception; whilst separate and particular conversations
and reasonings wore the stamp of great oddity and sometimes of
insanity. Let Mr. Dundas, Lord Hardwicke, Mr. Way, Lord <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Asaph,
Count Delaborde, Count Yowiski, if still alive, Count de la Porte,
Dr. Mills, <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Lamartine, Count Marcellus, and a hundred others who
have conversed with her, say what was the impression she left on their
minds; and not till then let persons who have never held intercourse
with her of late years pronounce her mad.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Six"><span class="allsmcap">VI.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">The Delphic priestess—Abdallah Pasha’s ingratitude—His
cowardice—Lady Hester’s spies—Her emaciation—History
of General Loustaunau.</p>


<p class="p2">December 8.—A most violent storm of rain, thunder,
and lightning, kept me prisoner. The courtyards
were flooded. When all the house was in confusion
from the wet, and clogs were heard clattering on all
sides, I entered Lady Hester’s room, and remained
for about an hour, talking on indifferent subjects, without
hearing from her one word in allusion to the state
of the weather. At last she said, “Doctor, I find
myself better from the thunder!” And when I replied
that there were many persons who felt oppressed
from an electric condition of the atmosphere and were
relieved by its explosion, she observed, with some
sharpness, “that I must be a great booby to make
such a remark to her, as there was not a servant in
the house who did not know that she could always
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>
tell, three days beforehand, when a thunder-storm was
coming on.”</p>

<p>In the evening I sat with her about four hours.
She was up, and had placed herself in a corner of
her bed-room on a low ottoman (as it is called in England),
which the Syrians name <i>terâahah</i>. The candle
was put far back in the window recess, the light being
thrown on my features, whilst it left hers in obscurity.
This was her custom on almost all occasions, even
when she had strangers visiting her, under pretence
that she could not bear the light in her eyes, but, in
fact, as I have reason to believe, to watch the play of
people’s countenances.</p>

<p>She resumed the subject of the preceding evening.
I was too weary when I left her, and too busy next
morning, to be able to write down her conversation,
but, could I have done it, it must have left a profound
impression on the reader’s mind, an idea of
sublimity, whether he held her visionary opinions to
be the mere rhapsodies of a disordered intellect, or
the deductions of great reasoning powers, aided by remarkable
foresight. Her language was so forcible and
sublime, that I sometimes suspended my breath, and
from time to time tried to assure myself that I was
not hearkening to a superhuman voice. The smoke
from our pipes by degrees filled the room, closely shut
up as it was, and cast a deep gloom around us. The
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span>
wind howled without, with now and then occasional
echoes of the thunder among the mountains: and it
required no great stretch of imagination to believe
one’s self listening to the inspired oracles of the Delphic
priestess, as she poured forth the warnings of what
seemed a preternatural insight into futurity.</p>

<p>December 9.—The morning was employed in writing
letters, and in the evening I remained until half-past
one with Lady Hester. She spoke of the alarm
created in Mahomet Ali’s cabinet, by her affording
protection to Abdallah Pasha’s people after the surrender
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jean d’Acre. “That impudent fellow
C********,” said she, “sent me a packet of letters
from Colonel Campbell, and told me I was to prepare
a list of all the people in my house, giving their
names, nation, a description of their persons, &amp;c. I
returned him the packet, and desired him to forward
it to the quarter whence it came, adding, ‘These are
all the commands that Lady Hester Stanhope has at
present to give to Mr. C********.’ To Colonel C. I
wrote ‘that it was not customary for consuls to give
orders to their superiors; that, as for the English
name, about which he talked so much, I made over to
him all the advantage he might derive from it.’ And
my letter to Boghoz was to the effect that, ‘in confessing,
as he did, that I rendered the state of this
country unsettled by my measures, he acknowledged
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span>
the weakness of his master’s cause; that I disdained
all partnership in it; and that the column on which
Mahomet Ali’s exaltation rested would, before long,
sink beneath him, and his greatness melt like snow
before the fire.’ I added, ‘there could be little honour
for Mahomet Ali to make himself a gladiator before a
woman;’ and here I meant that, as a gladiator was
some criminal who descended into the arena to fight,
so he was a malefactor too.</p>

<p>“As for Abdallah Pasha, he was not worth the
pains I took about him; but I did it for my master,
the Sultan. I kept and maintained for two years two
hundred of his people, wounded, sick, and proscribed;
and when I wrote to him to know what I should do
with them, as the expense was too great for me, the
answer of this ungrateful wretch was to ask me for a
loan of twenty-five purses, and not even to send his
remembrance to one of those who had bled and suffered
in his cause. His ingratitude, however, has partly
met with its reward: for the Sultan himself has heard
of his cold-hearted conduct, and has taken away half
what he allowed him. This is the man whose head I
saved by my intercession with a person in power.</p>

<p>“He was a coward, after all. The last day of the
siege of Acre he lost his senses quite. As Ibrahim
Pasha had effected a breach, some of Abdallah Pasha’s
officers forced him to come upon the ramparts to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span>
encourage the soldiers; for he had remained during the
whole time shut up in a vault under-ground with his
women and boys, and had never once appeared. Well,
the first thing he did was to sit down amidst the fire,
quite bewildered. He then asked for an umbrella:
then he called for some water; and, when they presented
to him an <i>ibryk</i><a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> as being the only thing they
had near at hand, not supposing that at such a moment
he would mind what it was he drank from, he
would not drink out of it?”</p>

<p>They fetched him a goblet, and he made them take
it back, because it was a glass he drank sherbet out of,
and not water. The very man who handed it to him
told me the story. At last they placed him in one
corner of the battery, and covered him with a cloak.
All this time the bullets were flying about.<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>
Lady Hester continued:—“Of all those to whom
I gave an asylum and bread, after the siege, I can’t
say there were many who showed the least gratitude—four
perhaps: the rest robbed me, and abused my
goodness in every possible manner. One family alone
consisted of seventeen persons. Will it be believed,
that when I had new clothes made for the women for
the Byrám holyday, they had the baseness to grumble
at the stuff, the make, and everything, complaining
they were not good enough for them? But this did
not hurt me half so much as the little credit I get for
everything I do among my relations and the English
in general. My motives are misconstrued, or not appreciated;
and, whilst a mighty fuss is made about
some public subscription for people in Jamaica, Newfoundland,
or God knows where, I, who, by my own
individual exertions, have done the like for hundreds
of wretched beings, driven out of their homes by the
sabre and bayonet, am reviled and abused for every
act of kindness or benevolence.</p>

<p>“I knew a pretty deal of what was going forward
during the siege of Acre by my own spies. Hanah,
your old servant—Giovanni, as he used to be called—was
one of them. He carried on his trade of a barber,
and was married in Acre; and, when the bombarding
began, he got out somehow, and came to me. So I
furnished him with a beggar’s dress. But first I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>
made him take leave of the other servants, and set off
from the door. Then, hiding himself under a rock,
when he was at a distance, he dressed himself as a
<i>fakýr</i>, and, so perfect was his disguise, that, when he
came back to me, I did not know him. He was a poor
timid fellow, and that was the reason why I chose
him as fit for my purpose. In such a nice business
as that, I wanted a man that would follow my instructions
exactly, and do nothing out of his own
head: and Giovanni was in such a fright, that I was
sure of him in that respect. Well, he succeeded perfectly
well. There was a poor devil of a <i>sacca</i>, or
water-carrier, in the camp, who used to take water to
Derwish Pasha’s tents. Meanly dressed, and with
his head held down, like one in misery, nobody paid
any attention to him; at night he would frequently
creep between the ropes of the Pasha’s tent, and
seem to sleep there like an unhappy being who had
no hole to put his head in. Through a slit in the
tent, he could see and hear much that passed, communicating
whatever information he obtained to
Giovanni, who brought it at convenient opportunities
to me. But when I wanted a stout-hearted fellow to
carry a letter through the entrenchments to the foot of
the walls, to be drawn up, then I chose a different sort
of a messenger; for I had them all ready.”</p>

<p>December 16.—The last three days Lady Hester
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span>
had suffered greatly. To-day she was in very low
spirits, and sobbed aloud and wrung her hands, while
she bitterly deplored her deserted state. “I believe
it will do me good to cry,” she said, and she gave way
freely to her emotions; but her weeping was not
woman-like: it had a wild howl about it, that was
painful to me to hear; she seemed not to be made of
stuff for tears: and, if Bellona could have ever wept,
she must have wept in this way. After she had given
vent to her feelings, she gradually recovered, and her
natural fecundity of language returned.</p>

<p>December 17.—Christmas day was approaching,
but the weather was of extraordinary mildness. Some
idea may be formed of the climate of Syria from the
circumstance that my house had no glass to the windows,
and that the family sat always with the doors
open. It was only during the heavy rains that the
rooms felt chilly, and then a brazier, with lighted coals,
was agreeable and quite sufficient to obviate the cold.</p>

<p>Lady Hester made me observe how thin she had
become. Her bones almost protruded through her
skin, and she could not lie comfortably in any posture;
so that it was difficult for her to get rest. Her fretfulness
had increased to such a degree as to be equally
distressing to herself and to those about her: yet the
vigour of her mind never forsook her for a moment
when anything called for its exertion.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>
December 20.—was a rainy day, and, when I entered
her ladyship’s chamber, I saw it would be a melancholy
one. She was seated in the corner of the room,
her features indicating great suffering. She burst into
tears the moment I approached her. She had not
slept the whole night, and had passed the hours, from
the time I left her, in getting up and walking about
supported by her women, and then lying down again,
seeking relief from the feeling of suffocation and oppression
which so much distressed her. The floor of
the bed-room was covered with plates, pots, and pans,
turnips, carrots, cabbages, knives and forks, spoons,
and all other appurtenances of the table and kitchen.</p>

<p>I must observe that, on the preceding day, at Lady
Hester’s request, I had ridden over to Mar Elias to
see General Loustaunau, the decayed French officer,
who had now lived on her bounty for a period of more
than twenty years. And although, from being of a
choleric and violent temper, he had, on more than one
occasion, embroiled himself with her, yet the only
difference it made in her treatment towards him was
merely to keep him at a distance from herself: but
she had never, for one day, ceased to occupy herself
with his wants and to provide for his comforts. He
was now, as I was told, eighty years old, and his mind
was possessed with hallucinations, which he fell into
from a belief that he could interpret the prophecies in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>
the Bible. He was constantly poring over that book,
and he went very generally by the name of the Prophet:
Lady Hester herself always called him so.
He had a maid-servant to take care of him, a barber,
on fixed days, to shave him. Lamb, mutton, or beef,
flour for his bread, and wine, were sent as his consumption
required, money being liberally furnished him
for purchasing everything else from Sayda.</p>

<p>Finding that he was very much neglected by the
woman who was appointed to attend him, I mentioned
the fact on my return to Lady Hester, and to this
communication was to be attributed the extraordinary
display on the floor of her bed-room; for, from her
accustomed sensibility to the sufferings of others, she
had fancied that the poor man was in want of everything.
“See,” she said, “what I am reduced to:
ever since daylight this morning” (and it was then
nearly noon) “have I been handling pots and pans to
make the Prophet comfortable. For on whom can I
depend?—on these cold people—a pack of stocks and
stones, who rest immoveable amidst their fellow-creatures’
sufferings? Why did not you give that
woman a dressing? I’ll have her turned out of the
village—an impudent hussy!”</p>

<p>Here, from having raised her voice, she was seized
with a spasm in the throat and chest, and, making a
sudden start, “Some water, some water! make haste!”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span>
she cried, and gasped for breath as if almost suffocated.
I handed her some immediately, which she greedily
drank: I then threw the window open, and she became
better. “Don’t leave me, doctor: ring the bell;—I
can’t bear to be left alone a moment; for, if one of
these attacks were to come on, and I could not ring
the bell, what could I do? You must forgive me if I
fall into these violent passions; but such is my nature:
I can’t help it. I am like the horse that Mr. Pitt
had. Mr. Pitt used to say, ‘You must guide him
with a hair; if I only move my leg, he goes on; and
his pace is so easy, it’s quite charming: but, if you
thwart him or contradict him, he is unmanageable;’—that’s
me.”</p>

<p>But, to return to General Loustaunau, or the Prophet—as
his name has already appeared several times, it
may not be amiss to give a short outline of his life, the
particulars of which he communicated to me himself.
From a village in the Pyrenees, near to Tarbes, one
day, a young man, about twenty-four years of age,
sallied forth, he knew not whither, to seek his fortune.
Sprung from a family of peasants, he had received
little or no education, and had nothing to depend on
but his well-knitted frame, an intelligent and handsome
countenance, robust health, and activity. He directed
his steps towards one of the great sea-ports of France,
resolved to work his passage to America. But, when
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span>
walking the quays and inquiring for a vessel bound
across the Atlantic, he was told there was none; there
was, however, a large merchant-ship freighting for the
East Indies. Learning that the country she was
chartered for was still more distant than the western
colonies, he concluded, in his ardent and youthful mind,
that it would open to him a still greater chance of
meeting with adventures and of enriching himself.
He accordingly got himself rated to work his passage
as a seaman, and arrived in safety at the ship’s
destination.</p>

<p>It would be useless to occupy the reader’s time with
the struggles which every man, unknown and without
recommendations, has to make on a foreign shore, before
he gets a footing in some shape congenial to his
talents or his inclination. Natural talents Loustaunau
had; for, in the space of a few months after his arrival
on the Indian coast, he was spoken of as an intelligent
young man to the French ambassador, Monsieur de
Marigny, residing at Poonah, the Mahratta court,
as far as I could understand: since it is to be borne
in mind that Mr. Loustaunau, when he related all
this, was eighty years old, had almost lost his memory,
and was relapsing into second childhood. He
soon after became an inmate of the embassy, on terms
of some familiarity with Monsieur de Marigny, who
discovered, in the young adventurer’s conversation, so
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span>
much good sense and elevation of mind, that he used
to say to him, “It strikes me that you are no common
man.”</p>

<p>It so happened that the war between the English
and the Rajah of the Mahrattas brought the hostile
armies into the field at no great distance from Poonah;
and Mr. L. one day told the ambassador, that, as he
had never seen what war was, and had not far to go
to do so, he should be much obliged if he would permit
him to absent himself for a short time to be spectator
of the action, which, report said, must soon take
place between the two armies. Monsieur de M. tried
to dissuade him from it, asking him of what use it
would be to risk his life for the satisfaction of an empty
curiosity. Mr. L.’s reply was, “If I am killed, why
then <i lang="fr">bon jour</i>, and there will be an end of me:” M. de
Marigny, therefore, complied with his wishes, and sent
him with some of his own people and an introductory
letter, to General Norolli, a Portuguese, who commanded
the Rajah Scindeah’s artillery.</p>

<p>He had not to wait long for the gratification of his
curiosity. An action took place: the forces were
warmly engaged, and Mr. L. walked about within
musket-shot distance to observe the manœuvres of the
two armies. The English had planted a battery on a
rocky elevation, which made much havoc among the
Mahratta forces. Between this battery on its flank
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span>
and an opposite cliff there was a deep ravine, which
rendered all access from one height to the other impracticable:
but a sloping ground, by making a
circuit in the rear of the Mahratta forces, afforded
a practicability of bringing field-pieces to the summit
of the cliff to bear on the English battery from the
Mahratta side.</p>

<p>Mr. L. took an opportunity of addressing himself
to General N., and pointed out to him the probability
of silencing, or, at least, of annoying the English
battery from the cliff in question; but the general
treated his remark in a slighting manner, and, riding
to another part of the field, took no farther notice of
him. Mr. L. had seated himself on a hillock, still
making his reflections, when an old Mahratta officer,
who had heard the conversation between Mr. L. and
the general of the artillery, and had partly understood
what Mr. L. proposed should be done, approached
him. “Well, sir,” said he, “what do you
think of our artillery?”—“If I were a flatterer,” replied
Mr. L., “I should say that it was well served;
but, as I am not, you will pardon me if I think it
bad.” The officer went on—“You see the day is
likely to go against us—what would you do if you
had the command?”—“Oh! as for the command, I
don’t know,” rejoined Mr. L., “but this one thing I
do know, that, if I had but two pieces of cannon, I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span>
would turn the day in your master’s favour.”—“How
would you do that?” asked the officer: “perhaps I
could put two field-pieces at your disposal.”—“If you
could,” said Mr. L., “I would plant them on yonder
height” (pointing at the same time to it), “and let
my head answer for my presumption, if I do not effect
what I promise.”</p>

<p>The bearing of the Frenchman and his energetic
manner of speaking, together with his evident coolness
and self-possession on a field of battle, made a
great impression on the Mahratta officer. “Come with
me, young man,” said he, “I will conduct you to the
rajah.”—“With all my heart,” replied Mr. L. When
brought into his presence, Scindeah asked the officer
what the stranger wanted, and the officer repeated the
conversation that had just passed. “Well,” says
Scindeah, “he does not ask for money, he only asks
for guns: give them to him, and let them be served
by some of my best gunners. The idea may be good:
only be expeditious, or we may soon be where that
infernal battery of the English can annoy us no
longer.”</p>

<p>Accordingly, without a moment’s delay, two field-pieces
were dragged up by the back of the cliff to the
spot pointed out, Mr. L. entrusting the command of
one of them to another Frenchman, whose curiosity
had brought him on the field also. The very second
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span>
shot that was fired at the English battery blew up an
artillery waggon (caisson) full of powder. The explosion
dismounted some of the cannon, killed several
men, and created so much confusion, that the English,
in consequence of it, eventually lost the battle, and
were forced to retreat. Mr. L. had two or three of
his men killed. “There! you may take your cannon
back,” said he, as soon as the explosion took place;
“I have nothing farther to do;” and he and his
brother Frenchman walked away to watch the result
of the mischief they had done.</p>

<p>When the day was over, an officer of the rajah’s
conveyed to Mr. Loustaunau his master’s request that
he would attend on him at his tent. Mr. L. presented
himself, and Scindeah received him with marks
of great consideration. Addressing himself to Mr. L.,
“You have done me, sir,” said he, “a most essential
service to-day; and, as a small recompense for your
gallantry and the military talent you have shown, I
beg your acceptance of a few presents, together with
the assurance that, if you like to enter my service,
you shall have the command of a company immediately.”
Mr. L. thanked him in proper language,
and, declining the presents offered, said, “Your
highness will excuse me if I refuse your gifts: I will,
however, with pleasure accept the sword which I see
among them, but nothing else. The offer of a commission
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span>
in your army I must equally decline, as I am
bound to return to our ambassador, to whom I owe
too many obligations to take any step without his
permission.” Scindeah could not but approve of this
reply; and Mr. L., making his bow, returned towards
the place where he was lodged.</p>

<p>When night came, and General Norolli, having
made his dispositions, had also returned to his quarters,
whilst yet on horseback, and, as if moved by jealousy
to repress the exultation which he imagined Mr. L.
might have indulged in, he called out in a loud and
angry tone, “Where is Mr. Loustaunau, where is
that gentleman?” Mr. L., who was standing not far
off, approached, and, as the general dismounted, said,
“Here I am, general, at your command.”—“I saw,”
observed Mr. L. (interrupting himself whilst relating
this part of his story to me) “that the general was in
a rage, which appeared more plainly as he continued.”—“Who,
sir, authorized you to present yourself to
the rajah without my leave? don’t you know that all
Europeans must be introduced by me?”—“General,”
replied Mr. L., “I was summoned by his highness,
and I went: if you are angry because I have done
some little service to your master, I cannot help it.
You are not ignorant that I pointed out to you first
of all the commanding position which struck me as
fitted for planting a battery: you refused to listen
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span>
to my suggestion; and, if it was afterward adopted
by others, that is your fault, not mine.”—“Sir,”
cried the general, irritated more and more by this
remark, “you deserve to have this whip across your
shoulders.”—“General,” retorted Mr. L., “you suffer
your anger to get the better of your reason: if you
have any whippings to bestow, you must keep them
for your Portuguese—Frenchmen are not accustomed
to take them.” The general’s fury now knew no
bounds; he put his hand on one of the pistols in his
girdle, intending to shoot Mr. L. “But I,” said
Mr. L., “was ready; and, with my eyes fixed on
him, would have seized the other, had he drawn it
out, and I would have shot him; for, you know, in
self-defence, one will not stand still to have a bullet
through one’s body, without preventing it, if possible.
However, some officers held the general’s arm, and
shortly after I retired, and, remaining a day or two
more in the camp, returned to the place where I had
left our ambassador.</p>

<p>“When I told him what had happened—‘Stay
with me, Loustaunau,’ said he; ‘it is my intention
to raise a few troops here, and, since you seem to like
fighting, you shall be employed:’ but in a few weeks
the ambassador was recalled to France, and he offered
to take me with him, promising to get me employment
at home. However, I considered that I had
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span>
better chances in remaining where I was, than in
going to my native country, where birth, patronage,
and the usages of good society, are necessary for a
man’s advancement, all which I wanted.”</p>

<p>Mr. Loustaunau, left to his own exertions, recollected
the rajah’s offer; and on applying to him, received
a commission in the Mahratta army. Eminently
qualified by nature for military command, his
advancement was rapid; and, after distinguishing
himself in several actions, and showing likewise a
very superior judgment in political affairs, he finally
became general of Scindeah’s troops, although I could
not ascertain in how short a time. His reputation
spread rapidly through the territory, and his noble
conduct and intrepidity must have been very generally
known, since, on one occasion, after having been
severely wounded in his left hand, two fingers of
which he had lost, the commander of the English
forces sent a flag of truce and his own surgeon with
an offer of his professional assistance, fearing that
Mr. L. might not have a European surgeon to attend
him. Scindeah, in his despatches to him, styled him
a lion in battle, and a lynx in council. He consulted
him in difficult negociations with the East
India Company’s servants; and, in acknowledgment
of his services, he gave him a village as an appanage
to his rank. Mr. L. married the daughter of a French
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span>
officer, by whom he had four or five children, one of
whom is now living at Givet, in the department of the
Ardennes.</p>

<p>Mr. L. was fearless at all times, and inimical to
despotism even in the centre of its worshippers.
Scindeah had unjustly imprisoned an Armenian
merchant, whose wealth he intended to confiscate for
his own benefit. As the oppressive act was founded
on no just grounds, and application had been made to
General Loustaunau for his interposition, when he
found that entreaties were of no avail, “one day,”
said he, “I took fifty of my men, fellows <i lang="fr">de bonne
volonté</i>, and, marching strait to the rajah’s palace at a
time when I knew he was in his divan, I entered,
walked up to him, and in a mild, but pretty determined
tone, said, ‘Your highness, be not alarmed, I
am come to ask a favour of you: you must release
the Armenian merchant, as I have sworn to set him
free.’ Scindeah saw that I meant not to trifle, and,
assuming a friendly air, he complied with my request.
The guards were astounded at my audacity, but they
dared not stir, for I and my men would have sabred
them instantly.”</p>

<p>After having covered himself with glory, as the
French express it, he obtained his congé; and, being
resolved to return to France, he visited some of the
English settlements in his way to the place of his
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span>
embarkation, where he was most honourably and hospitably
treated. He always spoke of this period as
the happiest of his life, and mentioned the names of
some English gentlemen with the highest encomiums
and most pleasing reminiscences.</p>

<p>Having converted what property he could into
money, he obtained bills on France, and set out for
his native country. The revolution had broken out;
and, on his arrival, his bills were all paid, but in
assignats; so that in a few weeks he found himself
almost penniless. Of this calamitous part of his history
I could gather but few details. I have heard
him say that some branch of the Orleans family
assisted him. Certain it is that he had either money
or friends yet left; for, with the wreck of his property,
or by some other means, he established an iron-foundry
near the place of his nativity. He was so close, however,
to the frontiers of Spain, that, during the war
with that country and France, in an incursion of the
enemy, all his property was destroyed.</p>

<p>How he got to Mahon, or for what purpose, I am
equally ignorant: but, embarking from that port, he
found his way to Syria, probably intending to make
his way overland to India, there to reclaim his property.
But his intellects must have been already
somewhat disordered: for, when we heard him first
spoken of in Palestine, in 1812 or 1813, he was described
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span>
as a man living almost on the alms of the
Europeans, and generally to be seen with a bible
under his arm, negligent of his person, housed in a
hovel, and going, even then, by the sobriquet of the
Prophet.</p>

<p>At the time I am now speaking of, the bare mention
of politics or catastrophes was sure to set him
wandering on the prophetic writings, and then common
sense was at an end. But I had known him for
twenty years, when his lucid intervals were only
occasionally interrupted by these hallucinations; and
I had seldom met with a man who had such an independent
character, such naturally noble sentiments
couched in such appropriate language, and such an
intuitive discernment of what was suitable in unlooked-for
emergencies. He was bold as a lion; and, when
in anger, had the physiognomy and expression of that
noble animal. He had never served in diplomatic
situations before his elevation, had never studied
political economy, moral philosophy, literature, or
anything else, that I could find; and yet, in all these,
the innate dictates of his mind responded at once to
the call, and he could see the right and wrong, the
<i lang="fr">utile et decorum</i>, the expediency and the evil, the loveliness
and the ugliness of every subject presented to
him. He had a strong memory, and retained many
of the passages of the best French authors by heart.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span>
He was handsome in his person, rather tall, and his
demeanour was suitable to his station in life. In a
word, he was born to “achieve greatness.”</p>

<p>General L. had now lived five and twenty years on
Lady Hester’s bounty. His family, consisting of two
or three sons and some daughters, were left with not
very bright prospects in France. Lady Hester Stanhope
had at different times employed persons to assist
them, and, to my knowledge, had sent 1000 francs
through a merchant’s hands at Marseilles, besides
other sums, of which I have heard her speak. She
also paid for the education of one daughter some
years. In 1825, one of the sons, who had by his
military services obtained the rank of captain in Napoleon’s
Imperial Guard, being left, by the fall of that
Emperor, in inactivity, resolved to visit Syria, to see
his father.</p>

<p>General L.’s intellects were so far weakened, that
nothing which happened to him personally seemed to
affect him, only as it verified some of his favourite
predictions, drawn from texts in the Bible. He therefore
beheld his son’s arrival with indifference, as far as
paternal affection went, but discovered in it other bearings,
of immense importance in the political changes
that were at hand. Not so Lady Hester Stanhope:
she knew that the general had a right to the revenue
of a whole village in the Mahratta country,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span>
which had been given to him by Scindeah; and she
resolved to furnish Captain L. with money to enable
him to go and recover his father’s possessions.</p>

<p>The captain remained at Dar Jôon for some months:
he had his horse, was lodged in a pavilion in the
garden, and treated with every mark of respect.
Restless, hasty in his temper, overbearing, and accustomed
to the blustering manners of a camp, he occasionally
got into difficulties with the natives, both
Mahometans and Christians. Not aware of the necessity
of much precaution in shunning checks of perspiration
in hot climates, he one day caught a fever,
which almost brought him to his grave. He recovered,
however, and was convalescent, when his imprudence
caused a relapse, and he died. He was buried in Lady
Hester’s garden, where his tomb, ornamented with
flowering shrubs, and entirely shaded by a beautiful
arbour, still remains.<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> The poor father never would
believe in his death. “He is not interred,” he used
to say, “but is still alive and on the earth: do not
be grieved about him; in the year 1847 he will join
me here. I and my lady shall then be made young
again, and your little daughter is destined to be my
future wife.” The poor old general, it was observed
by us, seemed to have no greater pleasure than watching
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span>
our daughter whilst she watered her flowers or fed
her <i>bulbuls</i>.</p>

<p>The way in which Lady Hester herself sometimes
sought to lighten the weight of the obligations she
conferred on the general will serve to show the delicacy
of her feelings. At different periods, several places
had been chosen for his residence, according as he
grew tired of one or the other: for he was a testy old
man in some respects, and seemed to forget how much
it was his duty not to put her ladyship to more
trouble and expense than he could help. Once, when
she had had a comfortable cottage fitted up for him in
a village called Aynâaty (from taking in dudgeon
something that happened to him), he suddenly quitted
it, and went off to Beyrout. “He went off,” said
Lady Hester, “with no less than five trunks full of
clothes and other things, with two watches bought
with the money I had given him, and with a good bag
full of piasters: for he had little occasion to spend, as
I sent him every two days fresh meat of my own
killing, flour for his bread when it was wanting, sugar,
tea, coffee—and everything, I may say, except milk
and vegetables. He went to Beyrout, and there lived
and talked away largely and foolishly, and gave out
that he would sooner live with the devil than with
such a woman as I was. After a time, his resources
failed him, his friends grew cool, and he returned to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span>
Sayda, where he fastened himself on Monsieur Reynaud,
who soon grew tired of keeping him, and little
by little I heard he was reduced to great straits.”
The fact is, he found no friend, except for an occasional
invitation to dinner, and Lady Hester knew he
must be in want; but she knew also, in the state of
mind he was in, he would refuse assistance from her:
she therefore made use of an expedient to furnish him
with money.</p>

<p>Sending for one of the Pasha’s Tartars, and putting
a bag of gold into his hand, she told him he was to
ride into Sayda, and proceed strait to the gate of the
French khan (where Mr. Loustaunau was), dusty and
sweating, as if from a long journey. There he was
to inquire if they knew anything of a Frenchman, once
a general in India; and, after apparently well ascertaining
it was the man he was in search of, the Tartar
was to desire to speak with him, and to say—“Sir,
when on my road from Damascus, a Hindu mussulman
on his pilgrimage to Mecca, who once served
under you in India, but is now rich and advanced in
years, learning that you were in these countries, and
anxious to testify the respect which the natives of
Scindeah’s territories still retain for you, has commissioned
me to put this into your hands.”—“Having
done so,” added Lady Hester Stanhope, “you are
not to give him time to see what it is, but to ride
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span>
away.” The vile fellow promised faithfully to execute
his commission, received in advance a recompense
for his trouble, and then rode off with the money, and
kept it. But Lady Hester, who was careful to ascertain,
by indirect means, whether a Tartar had made
his appearance at the khan, on learning his perfidy,
caused it to be spread among the Pasha’s and the
government Tartars; and they were so indignant at
his little trustworthiness, a quality on which, from the
nature of their employ, they are obliged to value
themselves, that they turned him out of their corps,
and he never dared to show his face again.</p>

<p>To finish what remains to be said of this once
shining character, but now the pensioner of an English
woman, he had resided for the last ten years at a distance
from Lady Hester Stanhope’s residence, and
they had not even seen each other for five or six years.
“I have been obliged to keep him at a distance,” said
her ladyship, “for the last ten years, in order that people
might not think I had taken care of him to make him
trumpet my greatness: for you don’t know what harm
that man has done me. He used to go about preaching
that all the queens in Christendom were a pack of
women of the town, and that I was the only real queen.
He told everybody he would not change situations
with the first prince in Europe; for the day would
come when, through me, he should be greater than
any of them.”</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> An <i>ibryk</i> is a common earthenware jug with a spout to it,
the usual drinking-vessel of the lower classes.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a>
This Pasha was so afraid, in the midst of all his power, of being
poisoned, that he had the dishes brought to his table under padlock.
When he travelled, a horseman in his suite had the office assigned
him of carrying the implement that makes such a distinguished figure
in the farce of Pourceaugnac. When he was shaved, he always had some of
his guards standing round the barber with their pistols cocked, and he
himself had a drawn sabre lying across his lap. Fancy the situation of
a man who, in the midst of these formidable preparations, is obliged to
keep his hand steady.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a>
In this same tomb Lady Hester herself was afterwards interred.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span>
<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Seven"><span class="allsmcap">VII.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Lady Hester like the first Lord Chatham—Her recollections
of Chevening—Her definition of insults—Her deliberate
affronts—Her warlike propensities—Earl C—— Marquis of
Abercorn—Logmagi—Osman Chaôosh—Letter from Colonel
Campbell—George the Third’s flattering compliment to Lady
Hester—Her Majesty Queen Victoria—Lord M.—Prophecy
of a <i>welly</i>—Lady Hester’s poignant affliction—Her intractability—Her
noble and disinterested benevolence.</p>


<p class="p2">December 21, 1837.—I had sat up until two in the
morning, despatching letters to Europe, which I had
written by Lady Hester’s dictation, through the channel
of <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys, the French consul at Beyrout, who,
alone, among the Europeans there, had contrived to
remain on friendly terms with her. In my letter to
him, Lady Hester required that I should tell him she
was in a state of convalescence. Alas! she was far
from being so; for, on going to her, I found her
labouring under many bad symptoms, against which
she contended with a spirit that seemed to brook no
control—not even from nature herself. As she could
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span>
not talk, I read to her, out of the Speaker, a character
of the first Lord Chatham. She recognized, and so
did I, so many points of resemblance between herself
and her grandfather, that she said, more than once,
“That’s me.” At the words, “He reigned with unbounded
control over the wilderness of free minds,” I
observed that there was something contradictory in
control and freedom. “No, there is not,” said she.
“If you are walking on the road, and you inquire the
way of some person you meet, he tells you the best
road is in such a direction, and then takes his leave;
you turn round, every now and then, as long as the
person is in sight, to look at him to see if he points to
you that you are going right; but you are free to go
which way you will.”</p>

<p>December 31.—I saw Lady Hester in the morning,
after which I took a walk with my family: on my
return, I went again to inquire how she was. One of
her maids told me that, soon after I had left her, she
suddenly burst into tears, and cried a great deal, they
could not tell why; that she had called for Zezefôon
to dress her, had, in a manner, rushed out of her bed-room,
and had gone to the saloon, where, in consequence
of her long confinement, she found all the sofa
cushions piled up, and the sofa mattresses removed,
so that she had not a place to sit down on; that then
she had left the saloon abruptly, on seeing the state it
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span>
was in, and returned to her bed-room, where she gave
a loose to her sorrow.</p>

<p>My presence being announced, I was admitted.
“Doctor,” said she, “to-night in my father’s house
there used to be a hundred tenants and servants sitting
down to a good dinner, and dancing and making
merry. I see their happy faces now before my eyes:
and, when I think of that and how I am surrounded
here, it is too much for me. When you left me this
morning, things of former times came over my mind,
and I could not bear to sit here, so I went out to
break the chain of my thoughts. I would have gone
into the garden, if it had not rained.”</p>

<p>I endeavoured to say something consolatory to her.
“Everybody,” she continued, “is unkind to me. I
have sought to do good to everybody, either by relieving
their distresses or purifying their morals, and
I get no thanks for my pains. I sometimes make
reproaches to myself for having spent my money on
worthless beings, and think it might have been better
otherwise; but God knows best. I had hoped to find
some persons whose minds might have been enlightened,
and who would have felt the importance of
what I tell them. But you even, of whom I had
some hope, are as bad as the rest; and, if you assent
to the truth of what I say, you make so many hums
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span>
and hahs that I don’t believe you care a farthing about
it. I want nobody that has no conviction.”</p>

<p>“I should think it a sin if I saw people acting
foolishly, not to tell them of it. It does not signify
who it is, you or the stable-boy; if I can make them
aware of their folly, I have done my duty. Why do
I scold you so much, but because I wish you to prepare
yourself for the convulsions that will shortly take
place. I always acknowledge your spotless integrity,
and thank you for the care you bestow on my affairs,
and in keeping things a little in order; but, in these
times, something more is wanting: a man must be
active, and prepared for great events. People are
teaching their children to read and write, when they
should be teaching them to drive a mule: for of
what use are your reading men, who sit poring for
hours over books without an object? I have a thorough
contempt for them, and for all your merchants,
and your merchants’ clerks, who spend their time between
the counting-house and the brothel.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester reverted again to Chevening, and
spoke at great length of her grandmother Stanhope’s
excellent management of the house, when she (Lady
Hester) was a child. At all the accustomed festivals,
plum puddings, that required two men to carry them,
with large barons of beef, were dressed, &amp;c., &amp;c. All
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>
the footmen were like gentlemen ushers, all the
masters and mistresses like so many ambassadors and
ambassadresses, such form and etiquette were preserved
in all the routine of visits and parties. Every person
kept his station, and precise rules were laid down for
each inmate of the family. Thus, the lady’s maid was
not allowed to wear white, nor curls, nor heels to her
shoes, beyond a certain height; and Lady Stanhope
had in her room a set of instruments and implements
of punishment to enforce her orders on all occasions.
There were scissors to cut off fine curls, a rod to whip
with, &amp;c., &amp;c.</p>

<p>No poor woman lay-in in the neighbourhood, but two
guineas in money, baby linen, a blanket, some posset,
two bottles of wine, and other necessaries, were sent
to her. If any one among the servants was sick, the
housekeeper, with the still-room maid behind her, was
seen carrying the barley-water, the gruel, the medicine,
&amp;c., to administer to the patient, according to
the doctor’s orders. In the hopping time, all the
vagrants and Irish hoppers were locked up every night
in a barn by themselves, and suffered to have no communication
with the household. A thousand pieces
of dirty linen were washed every week, and the wash-house
had four different stone troughs, from which the
linen was handed, piece by piece, by the washerwomen
from the scalder down to the rinser. In the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span>
laundry a false ceiling, let down and raised by pulleys,
served to air the linen after it was ironed. There
was a mangle to get up the table-linen, towels, &amp;c.,
and three stoves for drying on wet days. The tablecloths
were of the finest damask, covered with patterns
of exquisite workmanship. At set periods of the
year, pedlars and merchants from Glasgow, from Dunstable,
and other places, passed with their goods.
The housekeeper’s room was surrounded with presses
and closets, where were arranged stores and linen in
the nicest order. An ox was killed every week, and a
sheep every day, &amp;c., &amp;c. In the relation of these
details, which I spare the reader, as being, probably,
what he has observed in many other families, Lady
Hester by degrees recovered her self-possession, whilst
they only served to impress more forcibly on my
mind the sad contrast which reigned in everything
about her between her former and her present condition.</p>

<p>January 10-15, 1838.—The cough continued, attended
by spasms in the limbs. Yet, although she was
thus exhausted and harassed by continued suffering,
the elasticity of mind she exhibited in the few intervals
of ease she enjoyed was astonishing. The moment
she had a respite from actual pain, she immediately
set about some labour for the benefit of others;
and the room was again strewed over with bundles
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span>
and boxes. But, in spite of these delusive appearances,
I could not conceal from myself that a hectic spot occasionally
marked the inroads which disease was now
making on her lungs.</p>

<p>January 17, 1838.—What a day of anxiety and
sorrow for me, and of anguish for Lady Hester!
From morning until midnight to see a melancholy
picture of a never-dying spirit, in an exhausted frame,
wrestling with its enemy, and daring even to set the
heaviest infirmities of nature at defiance. Yet, who
does not bend under the power of disease? Lady
Hester held out as long as a human being could do;
but at last her anguish showed that, like Prometheus
bound, she was compelled to acknowledge the weight
of a superior hand, and that resistance was vain.</p>

<p>The reflections she made on her abandoned situation,
neglected by her friends and left to die without one
relation near her, were full of the bitterness of grief.
In these moments, as if the excess of her indignation
must have some object to waste itself upon, she would
launch out into the most fierce invectives against me,
and tell me I was a cannibal and a vulture that tore
her heart by my insensibility.</p>

<p>A day or two before, in defending myself against
the accusation of coldness and want of feeling, I had
inadvertently said that it was an insult to a person,
whose intentions she could not but know were well
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>
meaning, to heap so much abuse on him. To this
her ladyship said nothing at the time; but to-day,
being in a state of excitement, the word <em>insult</em> recurred
to her recollection. “Do you not know,” she asked,
“that people of my rank and spirit are incapable of insults
towards their friends: it is only the vulgar who
are always fancying themselves insulted. If a man
treads on another’s toe in good society, do you think
it is taken as an insult? It is only people like ——
and —— who take such things into their heads. I never
have hurt a person’s feelings in my life intentionally,
except, perhaps, by my wit. But if people expect
that I should not tell them the truth to their face,
they are much mistaken; and if you or anybody else
act like a fool, I must say so. Such people as Lord
Melville and Mr. Pitt would stop, perhaps, until a
person was gone out of the room to say, ‘That man is
the most egregious ass I ever saw;’ but I, were he a
king, must say it to his face. I might, if I chose,
flatter and deceive you and a hundred others. There
is no one whom I could not lead by the nose, if I chose
to do it; I know every man’s price, and how to buy
him: but I will not stoop to the baseness of making
you run your head through a wall, even though I saw
some advantage for myself on the other side. As for
your saying, that’s your character, and that you can’t
bear to be spoken to as I speak to you, what do you
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span>
talk to me of character for? Everybody has a character,
and so they have a behind: but they don’t go
about showing the one any more than the other. Fools
are always crying out, ‘That’s my disposition;’ but
what’s their disposition to other people more than
their anything else?</p>

<p>“Let us have no more of that stuff; for, though
not a man, I shall no more put up with it than if I
were; and I warn you that, if you repeat that word,
you stand a chance of having something at your
head.”</p>

<p>Let not the reader imagine that this was all, or
even one half of what her ladyship said on this occasion:
it is only a tissue of the most striking sentences.
Never had I seen her so irritated as that one expression
of mine had made her. She went on in this
merciless way for four hours; and, although I frequently
attempted to soothe her by assurances and
explanations, she continued in the same strain until
evening, when she subsided into a gentler tone. Being
now restored to a calmer temper, she seemed
desirous to atone by kindness for the wound she
had inflicted on my feelings, and wanted, amongst
other things, to get ponies for my children to ride.
The generosity of her nature was obvious in all this,
and I resolved, whatever language she might make
use of in future, never to take the slightest notice
of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span>
This haughty assumption of superiority over others
on almost all occasions was a salient feature in her
character. It must have created her a host of enemies,
during the period when she exercised so much power
in Mr. Pitt’s time; and probably those persons were
not sorry afterwards to witness her humiliation and
downfall.</p>

<p>Once, at Walmer Castle, the colonel of the regiment
stationed there thought himself privileged to take his
wife occasionally to walk on the ramparts of the
castle. I do not know the localities, and am ignorant
how far, in so doing, these two persons might infringe
on the privacy of Mr. Pitt and Lady Hester Stanhope:
but, without intimating by a note or a message
that such a thing was disagreeable, she gave
orders to the sentry to stop them when they came,
and tell them they were not to walk there. Let
any one put himself in the place of Colonel W.,
and fancy how such an affront must have wounded
his pride.</p>

<p>Mr. B., a Frenchman, who for many years had
been her secretary, and who afterwards held the post
of French vice-consul at Damascus, paid her a visit
at Jôon, and, in the leisure of the morning, took his
gun and went out partridge-shooting. On his return
to the house, he gave the birds he had shot to the
cook, desiring they might be dressed for Lady Hester’s
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span>
dinner; but, when they were served up, to his astonishment,
she ordered them to be thrown out of the
window; observing that it was strange he should
presume to do that in Syria which he would not dare
to do in his native country; for she thought that, at
the restoration of the Bourbons, all the ancient game-laws
were revived. She had a secretary afterwards
who was an Englishman, who also went out shooting,
and to whom she expressed her notions in much the
same way, and wondered where he got his licence to
carry a gun. Yet in Syria, every person, from the
European stranger to the lowest Mahometan slave, is
at liberty to go after the game wherever he likes.</p>

<p>If any one expected from her the common courtesies
of life, as they are generally understood, he would be
greatly disappointed. In her own way, she would show
them, that is, mixed up with so many humiliations,
and with such an assumption of personal and mental
superiority in herself, that much was to be borne from
her, if one wished to live amicably with her. Her
delight was to tutor others until she could bring them
to think that nobody was worthy of any favour but by
her sufferance. Where she had the means, she would
assume the authority of controlling even thought. Her
daily question to her dependants was—“What business
have you to suppose? what right have you to think? I
pay people for their hands, and not their stupid ideas.”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span>
She would say—“What business have people to
introduce their surmises, and their ‘probably this,’ and
‘probably that,’ and ‘Lady Hester Stanhope, no doubt,
in so doing,’ and ‘the Pasha, as I conjecture, had
this in view?’ how do they know what I intended, or
what the Pasha thought? I know that newspapers
every day take such liberties, and give their opinions
on what ministers and kings intend to do; but nobody
shall take such a liberty with me without my calling
them out. My name is everything to me, and nobody
shall say he presumes this was what I had in my
mind, or that was what I intended to do. At least,
if people must pick pockets, let them pick it of a clean
pocket-handkerchief, and not of a dirty one. Others
are not to be made responsible for their dirty opinions.”</p>

<p>From her manner towards people, it would have
seemed that she was the only person in creation
privileged to abuse and to command: others had
nothing else to do but to obey, and not to think.
She was haughty and overbearing, impatient of control,
born to rule, and more at her ease when she had
a hundred persons to govern than when she had only
ten. She would often mention Mr. Pitt’s opinion of
her fitness for military command. Had she been a
man and a soldier, she would have been what the
French call a <i lang="fr">sabreur</i>; for never was any one so fond
of wielding weapons, and of boasting of her capability
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span>
of using them upon a fit occasion, as she was. In her
bed-room, or on her <i lang="fr">divàn</i>, she always had a mace,
which was spiked round the head, a steel battle-axe,
and a dagger; but her favourite weapon was the mace.
When she took it up, which sometimes was the case if
vociferating to the men-servants, I have seen them
flinch and draw back to be out of the reach of her
arm; and, on one occasion, a powerful Turk, a man
about forty, of great muscular strength, and with a
remarkable black beard, on her making a gesture as if
to strike him, flew back so suddenly that he knocked
down another who was behind him, and fell himself.
But, though fearless and unruffled in every danger,
Lady Hester Stanhope was magnanimous, gentle to
an enemy in her power, and ever mindful of those who
had done her any service. Her martial spirit would
have made a hero, and she had all the materials of
one in her composition.</p>

<p>Two more anecdotes may serve to show how she
sometimes rendered herself disliked. Once, at a
cabinet dinner, Lady Hester Stanhope entered the
room in a way so as to pass the Earl C. who was
ushered in just at the same moment; and, as she did
not bow or speak to him, Mr. Pitt said, “Hester, don’t
you see Lord C.?” Lady Hester replied, “No, I saw
a great chameleon as I came in, all in pigeon-breasted
colours, if that was Lord C;” this was because he was
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span>
dressed in a pigeon-breasted coloured court-dress.
“And,” she added, as she related the story, “I gave
it him prettily once: I said his red face came from the
reflection of red boxes; for, when at breakfast and
dinner, he was always calling for his despatch-boxes,
and pretending mysterious political affairs, although
they were no more than an invitation to a party, or a
present of a little Tokay, or something equally trivial.
Lord C. had learned his manners, I suppose, from Lord
Chesterfield, or some book or another. He attempted
being pompous with his large stomach, and his garter
on a bad leg, and his great whiskers sticking out as
far as this,” (here Lady Hester put her fore-fingers
indexwise to her cheeks to show how far) “and a
forehead quite flat like the Bourbons. He would talk
very loud in the lobby as he came in, or contrive to
have his red box brought to him, as if he had papers
of great importance in it.”</p>

<p>“One day, at court,” continued Lady Hester, “I
was talking to the Duke of Cumberland of Lord Abercorn’s
going over to Addington, and saying I would
give it to him for it, when Lord Abercorn happened to
approach us. The prince, who dearly enjoyed such
things, immediately cried out—‘Now, little bulldog,
have at him.’ This was uttered at the moment I
advanced towards him. You know, doctor, he had
asked for the Garter just before Mr. Pitt went out,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>
and, not having obtained it, had toadied Addington,
and got it. I thought it so mean of him, after the
numberless favours he had received from Mr. Pitt, to
go over to Addington, that I was determined to pay
him off. So, when I was close to him, looking down
at the garter round his leg, I said—‘What’s that you
have got there, my lord?’ and before he could answer,
I continued—‘I suppose it’s a bandage for your broken
legs:’ for Lord Abercorn had once had both his legs
broken, and the remark applied doubly, inasmuch as
it hit hard on Addington’s father’s profession. Lord
Abercorn never forgot this: he and I had been very
great friends; but he never liked me afterwards.”</p>

<p>Tuesday, January 23, 1838.—I found Lady Hester
to-day out of bed, seated on the ottoman. She wished
me to talk or to read to her, so that she might not be
forced to speak herself; but her cough, which was
incessant, precluded the possibility of doing either.
The accumulation of phlegm in her chest made her
restless to a painful degree. Shortly afterwards, her
spasms began, which caused her arms and sometimes
her head to be thrown from side to side with jerks.
Her irritability was excessive. Without consulting
me, she had been bled the preceding night by a
Turkish barber. Her conversation the day before
had turned in a general manner on bleeding; and
having ascertained my opinion that bleeding would not
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span>
be proper for her, she said no more, but took the
opposite course.</p>

<p>The fear of remaining in a recumbent posture made
her get up from her bed, and her figure, as she stalked
about the room in a flannel dress, having thrown off
her pelisse and abah, was strange and singular, but
curiously characteristic of her independence.</p>

<p>The only newspaper she received was “Galignani’s
Messenger,” which, whether I was in Syria or in
Europe, I had for some years caused to be sent to her
from Marseilles, and a file generally came by every
merchant-vessel that sailed for Beyrout, which, on an
average, was about once a month. Sometimes there
was much irregularity in the departure of vessels, as
in the winter season, and then, in the solitude of
Mount Lebanon, one might remain ignorant of every
event in Europe for six weeks and even two months
together.</p>

<p>She had latterly shown a particular desire to have
those passages read to her which related to the Queen,
either as describing her court, her rides, or any other
circumstance, however trivial, of a personal nature.</p>

<p>Wednesday, January 24.—Lady Hester sent to
me to say that she could see nobody, and requested
that I would do nothing, as the day was an unlucky
one.</p>

<p>January 25.—Although suffering in a manner that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span>
would have incapacitated any other person from undertaking
any occupation, Lady Hester was busily
employed in making up a mule-load of presents for
Logmagi. “You see, doctor,” said she, “how I act
towards those who serve me: this man neglects his
business in town for me, and I, in return, try to make
him comfortable. I have packed up a few coloured
glass ornaments to stick up in his cupboards, and some
preserves and sweetmeats to treat his old messmates
with, who would eat him out of house and home, I
believe, if I did not take care of him. Only think,
too, how he beat his breast and cried, and what signs
of sorrow he showed at my illness, the last time I saw
him!</p>

<p>“I must have that stupid fellow, Osman, in, to
talk to him about new roofing the dairy, but I shall
stick him behind the curtain. Poor man, his mother
is very ill, and I think I must let him go to Sayda.
He, Mahjoob, and Seyd Ahmed, may have asses
when they go to town, but all those other lazy fellows
shall walk: I won’t have one of them ride, unless
they have more than eight or ten rotoles in weight to
bring back, idle beasts as they are!”</p>

<p>Now Osman’s mother might be ill, and no doubt she
was; the dairy, too, might be the ostensible cause of
his being called in; but it is also more than probable
that, besides all this, she wanted Osman for other
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span>
purposes. The truth was, he was no stupid fellow,
but a wily knave and a clever spy, and Lady Hester
was often in the habit of employing him on secret
missions—to find out the reason of any movement of
the pasha’s troops for instance, or to get a clue to
some intrigue of the Emir Beshýr’s. But she would
say, “Osman is gone to town to see his sick mother;”
and nobody dared to say otherwise.</p>

<p>January 27.—To-day the secretary requested me to
acquaint Lady Hester that he wished to see her on
important business. He was admitted, and showed a
letter from his father, the English consular agent at
Sayda,<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> signifying that, in the course of the day, he
should be the bearer of a letter to Lady Hester
Stanhope, which had been sent by Mr. Moore, Her
Britannic Majesty’s consul at Beyrout, which he was
charged to deliver into her ladyship’s own hands himself.
I had retired when the secretary entered; but,
when he was gone, Lady Hester sent for me, and I
found her in a violent passion. “There is that man, the
old Maltese,” said she, “coming to pester me with his
impertinence, but I have sent off his son to meet him
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span>
on the road, and drive him back. If anything in the
shape of a consul sets his foot within my doors, I’ll
have him shot; and, if nobody else will do it, I’ll
do it myself. See that he sets off this very instant,
and tell him to return with the letter, without
stopping.”</p>

<p>I did so, and returned to Lady Hester. Conceiving
that this letter was an answer she was expecting to
one she had written to Sir Francis Burdett, about the
property supposed to have been left her, her agitation
and impatience rose to such a degree, that I thought
she would have gone frantic, or that her violence
would have ended in suffocation. She complained she
could not breathe. “It’s here, it’s here,” she cried in
extreme agitation, taking me by the throat to show
me where, and giving me such a squeeze, that now,
when I am writing, twenty-four hours after, I feel it
still. I tried in vain to calm her impatience. I sent
off a servant on horseback to hurry the secretary back,
but he did not appear, and the day, until about four
o’clock, was passed in this manner.</p>

<p>To account for this extraordinary agitation, it must
again be observed that, at the recurrence of the period
of each steamboat’s arrival at Beyrout, Lady Hester
anxiously expected an answer to her letter to Sir
Francis Burdett; for it was on the strength of this
property supposed to have been left her that she had
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span>
intimated to some of her creditors her expectation of
being soon enabled to satisfy all their demands. It
was in reliance on this, too, that she had invited me
to come over. And not doubting in the least the
truth of the information secretly conveyed to her by
some one of her friends, it may be supposed that a
packet to be delivered into nobody’s hands but her own
was readily conjectured to relate to this business.</p>

<p>About four o’clock, Mr. Abella, the English agent,
his son, and the servant, made their appearance. The
secretary was called in. “Tell your father I shall
not see him; and, doctor, go and take the letter, and
bring it to me,” was Lady Hester’s exclamation. I
went to Mr. Abella, but found him determined not to
part with it, unless he gave it into Lady Hester’s own
hand. I urged upon him the impossibility of his doing
so, as she had seen nobody for some weeks; at last, on
his still persisting, we became somewhat warm on the
matter. This was better than going to Lady Hester
to ask her what was to be done; for her answer probably
would have been to desire two of her stoutest
Turks to go with sticks, and take it from him by
force. At last, Mr. Abella gave up his trust, upon
condition that I would write a paper representing that
he had done it forcibly; in such a fright was he lest
Mr. Moore should turn him out of his place.</p>

<p>Instead of being an answer from Sir Francis Burdett,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span>
the letter was from Colonel Campbell, signifying
that, in consequence of an application made to the
English government, by Mâalem Homsy, one of Lady
Hester Stanhope’s creditors, an order had come from
Lord Palmerston to stop her pension, unless the debt
was paid.</p>

<p>It might have been supposed that the double disappointment
of not hearing from Sir Francis Burdett
and of receiving such a missive from Colonel Campbell
would have considerably increased her anger: but,
on the contrary, she grew apparently quite calm,
gently placed the letter on the bed, and read the
contents:—</p>


<p class="p2 center">
<i>Colonel P. Campbell, Her Majesty’s Consul-general for</i><br>
<i>Egypt and Syria, to Lady Hester Stanhope.</i><br>
</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Cairo, Jan. 10, 1838.<br>
</p>

<p class="indent2">Madam,</p>

<p class="indent5">I trust that your ladyship will believe my
sincerity, when I assure you with how much reluctance
and pain it is that I feel myself again<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> imperatively
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>
called upon to address you upon the subject of the
debt so long due by you to Mr. Homsy.</p>

<p>The Government of the Viceroy has addressed that
of Her Majesty upon the subject, and, by a despatch
which I have received from Her Majesty’s Principal
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, I am led to
believe that a confidential friend of your ladyship will
have already written to you to entreat you to settle
this affair.</p>

<p>Your ladyship must be aware that, in order to procure
your pension from Her Majesty’s Government, it
is necessary to sign a declaration, and to have the
consular certificate, at the expiration of each quarter.</p>

<p>I know that this certificate has hitherto been signed
by <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys, the consul of France at Beyrout; but,
in strict legality, it ought to be certified by the British,
and not by any foreign consul; and, should your
ladyship absolutely refuse the payment of this just
claim, I should feel myself, however deeply I may
regret it, forced to take measures to prevent the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span>
signature of the French, or any other consul but the
British, being considered as valid, and consequently
your bill for your pension will not be paid at home.
I shall communicate this, if your ladyship’s conduct
shall oblige me so to do, to <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys and the other
foreign consuls of Beyrout, in order that your certificate
may not be signed—and also send this under
flying seal to Mr. Moore, Her Majesty’s consul at
Beyrout, in order that he may take the necessary
steps to make this known to those consuls, if your
ladyship should call on them to sign the quarterly
certificate for your pension.</p>

<p>I trust your ladyship will be pleased to favour me
with a reply, informing me of your intentions, and
which reply will be forwarded to me by Mr. Moore.</p>

<p>I beg your ladyship will be assured of the pain
which I experience in being obliged to discharge this
truly unpleasant duty, as well as of the respect with
which I have the honour to remain, your ladyship’s
most obedient humble servant,</p>

<p class="right">
<span class="smcap r2">P. Campbell,</span><br>
Her Majesty’s Agent for Egypt and Syria.</p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p>When she had finished, she began to reason on the
enormity of the Queen’s and her Minister’s conduct.
“My grandfather and Mr. Pitt,” said she, “did something,
I think, to keep the Brunswick family on the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span>
throne, and yet the grand-daughter of the old king,
without hearing the circumstances of my getting into
debt, or whether the story is true (for it might be
false), sends to deprive me of my pension in a foreign
country, where I may remain and starve. If it had
not been for my brother Charles and General Barnard,
the only two who knew what they were about when
the mutiny took place against the Duke of Kent at
Gibraltar, she would not be where she is now; for her
father would have been killed to a certainty.”</p>

<p>She mused for some time, and then went on.
“Perhaps it is better for me that this should have
happened: it brings me at once before the world, and
let them judge the matter. It would have looked too
much like <i>shucklabán</i>” (the Arabic for charlatanism—and
Lady Hester was accustomed now to interlard
her conversation with many Arabic words) “if I had
to go and tell everybody my own story, without a
reason for it: but now, since they have chosen to
make a bankrupt of me, I shall out with a few things
that will make them ashamed. The old king<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> wrote
down on the paper, ‘Let her have the greatest pension
that can be granted to a woman:’—if he were to
rise from his grave, and see me now!”</p>

<p>“Did I ever tell you what he said to Mr. Pitt one
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span>
day, on Windsor Terrace? The king and all the
princes and princesses were walking, and he turned
round to him—‘Pitt,’ says he, ‘I have got a new
minister in your room.’ Mr. Pitt immediately replied—‘At
your majesty’s pleasure; and I shall be happy
that your majesty has found one to relieve me from
the burden of affairs: a little retirement and fresh
air will do me good.’ The king went on, as if finishing
his sentence, and without heeding what Mr. Pitt
had said—‘a minister better than yourself.’ Mr. Pitt
rejoined—‘your majesty’s choice cannot be but a wise
one.’ The king resumed—‘I tell you, Pitt, I shall
have a better minister than you, and, moreover, I
shall have a good general.’ The raillery began to
grow puzzling, and Mr. Pitt, with all his courtly
manners, was at a loss to know what it meant. So he
said, ‘Do, pray, condescend to tell me who this unknown
and remarkable person is, that I may pay him
the respect due to his great talents and your majesty’s
choice.’ The king relieved him from his embarrassment:
‘<em>There</em> is my new minister,’ said he, pointing
to me, whom Mr. Pitt had under his arm. ‘There is
not a man in my kingdom who is a better politician
than Lady Hester: and’ (assuming an air of seriousness,
which his manner made quite touching) ‘I have
great pleasure in saying, too, there is not a woman
who adorns her sex more than she does. And, let
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span>
me say, Mr. Pitt, you have not reason to be proud
that you are a minister, for there have been many
before you, and will be many after you; but you have
reason to be proud of her, who unites everything that
is great in man and woman.’ Doctor, the tears came
in Mr. Pitt’s eyes, and how the court ladies did bite
their lips!</p>

<p>“The <em>what what what?</em> certainly did the old king
harm, in point of dignity, when no subject of conversation
interested him; but he sometimes was more
serious, and could assume a manner and a tone befitting
a king. A peer, who had never known the Duke
of Cambridge, told me that, on the return of the Duke
from the continent, the king presented him to H.R.H.
with this short but fine compliment—‘This is my son,
my lord, who has his first fault to commit.’ How fond
the king was of him and the Duke of York!<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> He was
a fine man, and with a person so strong, that I don’t
think there was another like him in England.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span>
“The king liked me personally. I recollect once,
at court, when we were standing, as he passed round
the circle, he stopped at Harriet E., my cousin, and
said to her something about her dress; and then,
coming to me, he remarked how well I dressed myself,
and told me to teach H. E. a little. She was so
vexed that she cried: but it was her own fault; for,
with a good person, good fortune, and fine dresses, she
never could get a husband.</p>

<p>“I suppose the Queen is a good-natured German
girl. Did you ever see Lord M——? he has got fine
eyes; and, if he is fattened out, with a sleek skin
and good complexion, he may be a man like Sir
Gilbert, and about his age: such men are sometimes
still loveable. He used to be a prodigious favourite
with some of the handsomest women in London: so
that his friends used to say, when he married Lady
M., though she was not a bad-looking woman—‘Poor
fellow! what will he do? you know he can’t like her
long?’ I recollect seeing her and Lady —— sitting
at a party on the top of the stairs, like two figures in
a pocket-book—both little creatures; those that you
call delicate.</p>

<p>“Lord M. is a very handsome man. His eyes are
beautiful, and he has spent forty years of his life in
endeavouring to please the women. I recollect, the
last time I saw him, he was behind Sir G. H., as
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span>
they came into Lord Stafford’s. I had dined there,
<i lang="fr">en famille</i>, and there was a party in the evening. I
was in the second room, and the Prince was standing
by the fire, showing his behind, as usual, to everybody,
and there was Lord M., always looking about
after somebody whom he did not find perhaps for
three or four hours. They say he is filled out: he
was slim when I knew him. Doctor, he is a very
handsome man; but he must be sixty, or more.”</p>

<p>Ever and anon, Lady Hester Stanhope would revert
to Colonel Campbell’s letter. “Yes,” she said;
“if he feels regret at being obliged to write it, I will
say to him, ‘No doubt, he feels pain at having to do
with one of the most blackguard transactions I ever
knew;’ but I dare say he feels nothing of the sort.”
Then, after a pause, <a id="chg2"></a>she added, “I think I shall take
the bull by the horns, and send a letter to the Queen.
If getting into debt is such a crime, I should like to
know how the Duchess of K—— got into debt.</p>

<p>“Doctor, would you believe it? a <i>welly</i>” (in Arabic,
a sort of soothsayer) “foretold what has happened to
me now so exactly, that I must relate the story to
you. He was sitting in a coffee-house one day, with
one of my people, and had taken from the waiter a
cup of coffee; but, in carrying it to his mouth, to
drink it, his hand stopped midway, and his eyes were
fixed for some time on the surface of the liquor in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span>
silence. ‘Your coffee will get cold,’ said my servant:—the
<i>welly</i> heaved a deep sigh. ‘Alas!’ said he, ‘I
was reading on the surface of that cup of coffee the
fate of your lady, the <i>meleky</i>. There will rise up evil
tongues against her, and a sovereign will try to put
her down; but the voice of the people will cry aloud,
and nations will assemble to protect her.’ Now, doctor,”
said Lady Hester, “does not that mean just
what has happened? Is not the Queen trying to put
me down, and going to deprive me of my pension?—and
you will see, when I have written my letter, how
many persons will turn on my side. But isn’t it very
extraordinary how that man in a coffee-house knew
what was going to happen?—yet so it is: they have
secret communications with spirits. A glass, or something,
is held before their eyes, which nobody else can
see; and, whether they can read and write or not,
they see future events painted on it.”</p>

<p>January 30, 1838.—Lady Hester was still very ill;
the convulsive attacks returning now regularly every
day. She began to be sensible that fits of passion,
however slight, did her injury, and she was more
calm for a continuation than I had ever known her to
remain since I had been here. But a fresh occurrence,
trifling in its nature, although she gave much importance
to it, excited her anger considerably to-day,
and did her mischief in proportion. She had reason
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span>
to suspect that her secretary had been endeavouring
to ascertain whether she was consumptive, and how
long she was likely to live. To dispel such a suspicion,
she made a great effort, got up, and went and
sat in the garden. Before she left her room, her wailings
were for some moments heart-rending. “Oh,
God, have mercy! oh, God, have mercy!” she cried;
“only keep those beasts away: who is to take care of
me, surrounded as I am with those horrible servants?—only
take care they don’t rob me.”</p>

<p>While she remained in the garden, her chamber
was put to rights (a process which it much required,
in consequence of her long confinement); and, at her
earnest request, I superintended the performance.
“Overlook them,” she said, “or they will rob me.”
But oh! what a sight!—such dust, such confusion,
such cobwebs! Never was a lady’s room seen before
in such a condition: bundles, phials, linen, calico,
silk, gallipots, clothes, étuis, papers, were all lying
about on the floor, and in the corners, and behind and
under the scanty furniture; for all this while she had
been afraid to get the chamber put into order, lest her
servants should take advantage of the opportunity to
plunder her.</p>

<p>When she returned to her room from the garden,
she was raving. “You had better leave me to die,”
she cried, “if I am to die; and, if I am not, oh!
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>
God, only let me crawl to my own country” (by her
own country she meant Arabia, among the Koreýsh),
“and there, with not a rag on me, I may be fed by
some good-natured soul, and not such cannibals as
these servants! What are they good for? I will be
obeyed; and you are not a man, to see me treated in
this manner.”</p>

<p>Thus she went on, walking up and down her room,
until she worked herself up into a state of madness.
I was afraid she would rupture a blood-vessel. All
my attempts to pacify her were in vain—indeed they
only excited her the more. Seeing her in this way,
I left the room, and sent Fatôom to her; but, before
Fatôom could get there, she rang her bell violently,
and I heard her say, “Where’s the doctor?—where’s
the doctor?” so I returned again to her. “Don’t
leave me;” she cried; and she expressed her sorrow
for the excess of her passion. “I am much obliged
to you, very much obliged to you, for the trouble you
take on my account; but you must not be angry
with me. Perhaps, if I get worse, I shall ask you to
let Mrs. M. come and sit with me.” Soon after, as if
her very violence had relieved her, she <a id="chg3"></a>grew calmer.</p>

<p>Up to this time she had never seen my wife, since
her second visit to Syria; nor my daughter nor the
governess at all. I had, since her illness, said more
than once that they would be happy to come and sit
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span>
with her by day or by night, to relieve the tedium of
her solitary situation. But her dismantled room, her
ragged clothes, her altered appearance—and, above
all, her pride, compromised as it was by these unfortunate
circumstances—always made her turn off the
subject, although her secret feelings must have often
prompted her to avail herself of the solace thus frankly
and cordially offered to her. The exclamation by
which she usually evaded the proposal was, “Oh!
how I hate everything Frankified! how I hate everything
Frankified!” or, “I must not see them until I
get into my saloon.” After about half an hour I left
her. “I must see nobody this evening,” she added;
“so good bye!”</p>

<p>I went home, and, for the first time, told my family
how ill Lady Hester was. Alas! I had not dared to
do so before: she had enjoined me not. “To say I
am ill,” she would observe, “would be bringing a host
of creditors upon me, and I should not be able to get
food to eat.” Consequently, I had kept them and
everybody, as much as I could, in ignorance of the
real state of her health; indeed, there was too much
truth in what she said not to make me see the mischief
such a disclosure would entail. She had now
only twenty pounds left in the house to provide for
the consumption of two months; and, as her pension
was stopped, there was every probability she would be
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>
left penniless, with the exception of a few dollars
which I had by me. Yet, in spite of all this, she
commissioned me, a day or two before, to give 150
piasters to a leper, 150 to a distressed shopkeeper, and
some other small benefactions to other pensioners on
her inexhaustible bounty.</p>

<p>It may be said that any one, like myself, might
have represented, from time to time, the necessity of
a little more economy—I did so once: but I received
such a peremptory injunction never to give my advice
on that subject again, that I took good care how I
committed myself a second time. She fired up, and
said, “You will give me leave to judge what I ought
to do with my own money. There are various ways
of spending: you may think it best to be just before
being generous; but I, with my character and views,
must be even munificent, and trust to God, as I
have hitherto done, for helping me on in my difficulties.
Never touch on that subject again: I will
have no human being interfere with me as to what I
am to do with my money.”</p>

<p>All I can say is that, like her grandfather, she was
so intractable, that I never yet saw the mortal who
could turn her an inch from her determinations. It
was easy to lead the current of her bounty into one’s
own pocket; for I believe any person who knew her
foibles might have kept it flowing in that direction
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span>
until he had enriched himself. It was only necessary
to encourage her dreams of future greatness, to say
the world was talking of her, to consider her as the
associate of the <i>Mahedi</i>, the Messiah of nations, to
profess a belief in visions, in aërial beings, in astrology,
in witchcraft, and to bear witness to apparitions
in which her coming grandeur was prognosticated,
and then she would refuse nothing: but that was
not my forte, and I never did so. I went to her with
a small patrimony; was with her, off and on, for
thirty years; and left her somewhat poorer than I
went.</p>

<p>But it is not to be supposed that knaves, such as
some I have alluded to above, were the only objects of
her bounty. No; the widow, the orphan, the aged,
the proscribed, the sick, the wounded, and the houseless,
were those she sought out in preference: and
time will show, when gratitude can speak out, the
immeasurable benevolence of her nature.</p>

<p>It may not be useless to observe here that many
stories have been circulated of Lady Hester’s harshness
to petitioners who presented themselves at her
door, which, if explained, would wear a very different
aspect. Sometimes a suppliant, apparently unworthy of
her commiseration, would gain admittance to her presence,
and be dismissed with a handful of piasters;
and sometimes another, known to be a fit object of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span>
benevolence, would receive nothing but a rude repulse.
Lady Hester said to me, “Do you suppose,
doctor, I don’t know that many people think I fool
away my money in giving it to adventurers? that
others say I am capricious? that some call me mad?
Why, let them: I am not bound to give reasons for
what I do to anybody. The good I do, first of all, I
don’t wish to be known: and, again, many times the
publicity of an act of charity would be injurious to
him it was intended to serve. I’ll give you an instance.
There was a merchant at Acre, who was <i>avanized</i><a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> by
Abdallah Pasha, to whom he was obnoxious, until all
his property was squeezed out of him, and nothing was
left but a house, of which he was not generally known
to be the proprietor—for, had it been known that
the house was his, the Pasha, who fancied he had reduced
him to beggary, would have persecuted him
until he had got that also. The man wished to sell
his house, and then to retire into Egypt; he therefore
came to me, and told me his story, begging my assistance.
As I was obliged to use an interpreter, who, I
feared, would talk of any act of kindness of mine for
the man, it appeared to me that the best thing I could
do was to turn the applicant roughly out of doors,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span>
which I did at once, bawling out as he went, that I
did not want to be pestered with beggars. Well, my
strange harshness, of course, was talked of, and of
course was repeated to the Pasha, who, thinking the
object of his oppression was now an object of contempt
also, was perfectly satisfied, and left the man, as he
supposed, to utter ruin and degradation. But, after a
few days, I privately sent to the poor distressed merchant,
provided a purchaser for his house, smoothed
the difficulties in the way of the sale, and, furnishing
him from my own purse with a sum of money sufficient
to begin the world with again, I shipped him off with
his family to Egypt.”</p>

<p>Lady Hester was indeed generous and charitable,
giving with a large hand, as Eastern kings are represented
to have given. She would send whole suits of
clothes, furnish rooms, order camels and mules to convey
two or three quarters of wheat at a time to a
necessitous family, and pay carpenters and masons to
build a poor man’s house: she had a munificence
about her that would have required the revenue of a
kingdom to gratify. Hence, too, sprung that insatiable
disposition to hoard—not money, but what money
could buy: she seemed to wish to have stores of whatever
articles were necessary for the apparel, food, and
convenience of man. Beds, counterpanes, cushions,
carpets, and such like furniture, lay rotting in her
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span>
store-rooms. Utensils grew rusty, wine spoiled;
reams of paper were eaten by the mice, or mildewed
by the damp; carpenters’ work lay unserviceable from
an over-supply; mats rotted; candles, almonds,
raisins, dried figs, cocoa, honey, cheese—no matter
what—all was laid by in destructive profusion; and
every year half was consumed by rats, ants, and other
vermin, or otherwise spoiled. One store-room, which
was filled with locked-up trunks, full of what was
most valuable, had not been entered for three years:
and, oh! what ruin and waste did I not discover!</p>

<p>When I told her of all this, and suggested that it
would be better to give them to her poor pensioners,
she said—“Such things never cause me a moment’s
thought: I would rather they should have been used
to some good purpose; but, if I have got such rascals
about me, why, let the things all rot, sooner than
that they should profit by them. Money can replace
all that; and, if God sends me money, I will
do so; if he does not, he knows best what should
be: and it would not give me a moment’s sorrow to
lie down in a cottage with only rags enough to keep
me warm. I would not, even then, change places
with Lord Grosvenor, the Duke of Devonshire, the
Duke of Buckingham, or any of them: they can’t do
what I can; so of what use are all their riches?
I have seen some of them make such a fuss about the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span>
loss of a ten guinea ring or some such bauble:—not
that they cared for it, but they could not bear to lose
it. But if I want to know what is passing at Constantinople,
or London, or anywhere, I have nothing
to do but to turn my thoughts that way, and in a
quarter of an hour I have it all before me, just as it is;
so true, doctor, that if it is not actually passing, it
will be in a month, in three months—so true: isn’t it
extraordinary?”...</p>

<p>Upon some occasions, her munificence wore the appearance
of ostentation. She would bestow on strangers,
like dervises, sheykhs, and fakyrs, large sums of money,
and yet drive hard bargains with those about her
neighbourhood; and would sometimes make presents,
apparently not so much to comfort those who received
them as to display her own superiority and greatness
over others.</p>

<p>I have said, in a preceding chapter, that she used
to give new suits of clothes to her people on Byràm
day, and at Easter, according to their religion: but it
should be mentioned that, on those days, every servant
was called in, and received forty piasters; and
one thousand piasters were divided by Logmagi among
the persons in Sayda who in any way were occasionally
useful to her or her people. These were the porter of
the French khan and the janissary there; the porters
of the town-gate; the harbour-master; the gardener
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span>
who supplied vegetables; the fisherman who sent her
choice fish, &amp;c. Two hundred piasters were paid
annually to old Jacob, a tailor; fifty here and there to
the imàms of particular mosques; as much to the mistress
of the bath to which she sent her maids to be
washed. Mr. Loustaunau generally had about five
hundred piasters a quarter. Of many of her benefactions
I never knew anything. Had I kept a list of
the sums which, besides these customary donations,
she gave to the distressed, few would wonder that she
was so beloved and so generally lamented. Thus, when
the <i>ferdy</i> and <i>miri</i>, two onerous taxes, fell due, she
commonly paid them for such of her servants as were
burdened with families, or whose means were scanty:
she did the same when unusual contributions were
levied, as during the conscription. On the 8th of
December, I find a note that I gave fifty piasters and
a counterpane to a poor shepherd boy, labouring under
anasarca from an indurated spleen, a most common
complaint in the country, the effect of protracted agues;
and eighty to an old man, who had some years before
been her <i>asackjee</i>. To Logmagi mostly fell the distribution
of all these sums, and it was only occasionally
that I was the almoner to this truly noble
and disinterested woman; else I should have been
able to have cited more examples.</p>

<p>January 31.—Being Wednesday, it was a rule with
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span>
Lady Hester Stanhope to shut herself up from Tuesday
at sunset until the sunset of Wednesday, during
which time she saw nobody, if she could avoid it,
did no business, and always enjoined me to meddle
in no affairs of hers during these twenty-four hours.
Wednesday was an unlucky day with her, a <i lang="la">dies
nefastus</i>. After sunset, I waited on her, and found
her languid, moaning, and still visibly suffering from
her yesterday’s exertion; for it appeared, although
I had not seen her, that she had walked about
her garden, forcing her strength so far as to deceive
the gardeners, who had given out that she would soon
be as well as ever; and this was what, no doubt,
she aimed at, for the purpose of confounding the
secretary.</p>

<p>Reminding her of the wish she had expressed to
have Mrs. M.’s company, I now proposed that she,
my daughter, and the governess, should sit with her
by turns, suggesting that, by this means, much of
the disagreeable service of the maids, whom she constantly
complained of, might be dispensed with. But
to this she answered, “No, doctor, it will not do:
you must tell them how very much obliged to them
I am for their kind offers and intentions, but that
their presence will only be an embarrassment to me.
You don’t consider the matter in its true point of view,
as you never do anything. In the first place, it kills
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span>
me to talk; I can’t fatigue myself by giving them information
about the country, and be a Pococke: and,
as for giving them good advice, the world is so turned
topsy-turvy, that everything one says is lost on everybody.
Then, as for being of any use to me, they
could be of none: if I wanted anything, they don’t
know where it is; and how are they to tell the nasty
wretches, who only speak Arabic? Besides, I am not
sure their <i>nijems</i> would suit me; and then they
would do me more harm than good. Poor little
Eugenia! I had thought that I might derive some
consolation from looking on her innocent face whilst
she sat working at my bedside; but some one told me
her star perhaps would not agree with mine: is it so,
doctor? I am like Mr. Pitt: he used to say, ‘I
hear that man’s footsteps in the passage—I can’t bear
it; do send him away to town, or to Putney:’ so
it is with me. There was my grandfather, too—how
he felt the effect of the peculiar star of those people
who did not suit him!—he could bear nobody near
him, when he was ill, but Lady Chatham, and an old
woman who had been a sort of woman of the town:
he sent all his children to Lyme Regis; and even
his tutor, Mr. Wilson, he could not bear. I know
the reason of it now, from my recollection of them,
but I did not at the time. My grandfather was born
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span>
under Mars and Venus; Lady Chatham was born
under Venus, and so was the old woman, but both in
different <i>burges</i> [houses]: and that is why their sympathies
were the same.”</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> The English consular agent at this time was Signor Abella, whose
father was a Maltese: hence Mr. Abella was known as El Malty. The noble
family of Testaferrata and Abella is the stock from which Signor Abella
is descended; but in Turkey, <i lang="la">Stemmata quid faciunt</i>?</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a>
At the word “again,” Lady Hester made the following remarks:—“He
never addressed me on the subject, neither has any one else. Nearly
two years ago, there was a report in the Bazar that my debts had been
spoken of to the King; that my pension was to be seized; that I was to
be put under consular jurisdiction; and a set of extravagant things
that nobody ever heard the like; and certainly those who had ventured
to charge themselves with such a message would have found that I was a
cousin of Lord Camelford’s.</p>

<p class="footnote">“Another version was, that the King talked very good sense upon the
subject, and had taken my part, and had been much surprised that I
had been so neglected by my family, to whom he said some sharp and
unpleasant things. There the matter rested, and I heard no more of it,
until Colonel Campbell’s letter.”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a>
 Lady Hester means George <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a>
The Duke of York’s behaviour is incomparable; he is their great
and only comfort and support at the Queen’s house, and without
his manly mind and advice neither the Queen nor Princesses would
be able to bear up under their present distress.—<cite>Diaries and
Correspondence</cite>, <abbr title="page">p.</abbr> 20, <abbr title="volume">v.</abbr> 4.</p>

<p class="footnote">It is pleasing to find in persons so entirely different in every
respect a corresponding testimony to the merits of an excellent prince.</p>


<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a>
 To <i>avanize</i> is the expression used throughout the Levant to
signify oppressive and forcible exactions of money from individuals,
without right or claim.

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Eight"><span class="allsmcap">VIII.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Lady Hester’s system of astrology—Sympathies and antipathies—People’s
<i>nijems</i> or stars—Mesmerism explained—Lord
Suffolk—Lady Hester’s own star—Letter to the Queen—Letter
to Mr. Speaker Abercrombie—Messieurs Beck and
Moore—Letter to Colonel Campbell—The Ides of March—Lady
Hester’s reflections on the Queen’s conduct to her—Letter
to Sir Edward Sugden—What peers are—Junius’s
Letters—Spies employed by the first Lord Chatham—Mr.
Pitt’s opinion of the Duke of Wellington—Lady Hester’s
letter to his Grace, &amp;c.</p>


<p class="p2">In order to render intelligible to the reader many
passages which have occurred, and will occur again,
in Lady Hester’s conversations, respecting what she
called people’s <i>nijems</i> or stars, it may not be amiss
to give an outline of her system of astrology, and
of the supposed influence that the position of the stars
in the heavens at our nativity has on our future fate
and on our sympathies. I must preface what follows
by observing that she had a remarkable talent for
divining characters by the make of a person. This
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span>
every traveller will testify who has visited her in
Syria; for it was after she went to live in solitude
that her penetration became so extraordinary. It was
founded both on the features of the face and on the
shape of the head, body, and limbs. Some indications
she went by were taken from a resemblance to animals;
and, wherever such indications existed, she
inferred that the dispositions peculiar to those animals
were to be found in the person. But, independent
of all this, her doctrine was, that every creature is
governed by the star under whose influence it was
born.</p>

<p>Every star has attached to it two aërial beings, two
animals, two trees, two flowers, &amp;c.; that is, a couple
of all the grand classes in creation, animal, vegetable,
mineral, or etherial, whose antipathies and sympathies
become congenial with the being born under the same
star. She would say, “My brother Charles vomited
if he ate three strawberries only: other people, born
under the same star as his, may not have such an insurmountable
antipathy as his was, because their star
may be imperfect, whilst his was pure; but they will
have it, more or less. Some persons again will have
as much delight in the smell of particular flowers as
cats have in the smell of valerian, when they sit and
purr round it.</p>

<p>“The stars under which men are born may be one
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span>
or more. Thus Mr. H*****, an English traveller,
who came to see me, was born under four stars, all
tending to beauty, but of no good in other respects.
His forehead was as white as snow; his mouth” (I
think she said) “was good, with a handsome small
black beard; but his stars were otherwise dull: for
you know the stars in the heavens are not always
bright and twinkling, but sometimes heavy and
clouded. It is like engravings—some of them are
proofs, and those are perfect. Some persons may
have a good star, but it may be cracked like a glass,
and then, you know, it can’t hold water.</p>

<p>“The influence of stars depends, likewise, on whether
they are rising, or in their zenith, or setting;
and the angle at which they are must be determined
by calculations, which good astrologers make very
readily. But a clever man will, from his knowledge
of the stars, look even at a child and say, ‘That child
will have such and such diseases, such and such virtues,
such and such vices;’ and this I can do: nay,
what is more, I can give a description of the features
of any person I have never seen, if his character is
described to me, and vice versa. There is a learned
man at Damascus, who possesses the same faculty in
an extraordinary degree. He knew nothing of me
but by report, and had never seen me: but a friend of
his, having given him a description of my person and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span>
features, he noted down my virtues, vices, and qualities
so exactly, that he even said in what part of my body
I had got a mole, and mentioned the small mark on
my shoulder, where Mr. Cline removed a tumour.
There’s for you? do you believe these things, or do
you not?</p>

<p>“A man’s destiny may be considered as a graduated
scale, of which the summit is the star that presided
over his birth. In the next degree comes the good
angel<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> attached to that star; then the herb and the
flower beneficial to his health and agreeable to his
smell; then the mineral, then the tree, and such other
things as contribute to his good; then the man himself:
below him comes the evil spirit, then the <a id="chg4"></a>venomous
reptile or animal, the plant, and so on; things
inimical to him. Where the particular tree that is
beneficial or pleasurable to him flourishes naturally,
or the mineral is found, there the soil and air are
salubrious to that individual; and a physician who
understood my doctrines, how easily could he treat his
patients!—for, by merely knowing the star of a person,
the simples and compounds most beneficial to him in
medicine would be known also.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span>
“How great the sympathies and antipathies are in
stars that are the same or opposite I have told you
before in my grandfather’s case, in Mr. Pitt’s, and in
my own. Lord Chatham, when on a sick bed, could
bear three people only to wait on him—Lady Chatham,
Sarah Booby, and somebody else. My grandmamma’s
star and Sarah Booby’s star were the same—both
Venus—only grandmamma’s was more moderate; she
could keep it down. Mr. Pitt, when he was ill at
Putney, had such an aversion to one of the footmen,
that he was nervous when he heard his step; for you
know people, when they are sick, can hear a pin drop:
he said to me, ‘Hester, do send that fellow to town.’
I did not let him know why he was sent to town, but
I got him off as quickly as possible: he was, notwithstanding,
a good servant, clean, and had otherwise
good qualities; but Mr. Pitt’s and his star were
different. As to myself, since I have been here, I
had a professed French cook, called François—the
people named him <i>Fransees el Franjy</i>. His skill was
undoubted; yet, whenever he dressed my dinner, I
was always sending for him to complain, and sometimes
threw the dish in his face: a sweetmeat from his
hand turned bitter in my mouth. But, what is most
extraordinary of all, Miss Williams’s star was so disagreeable
to me that I could not bear her to be near me
when I was ill:—if I was in a perspiration, it would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span>
stop the moment she came into the room. You know
how many good qualities she had, and how attached
she was to me, and I to her: well, I always kept her
out of my sight as much as I could, when anything
was the matter with me.</p>

<p>“Such is the sympathy of persons born under the
same star, that, although living apart in distant places,
they will still be sensible of each other’s sufferings.
When the Duke of York died, at the very hour, a
cold sweat and a kind of fainting came over me, that
I can’t describe. I was ill beyond measure, and I
said to Miss Williams, ‘Somebody is dying somewhere,
and I am sure it is one of my friends: so I
made her write it down. Some time after, when she
was poking over a set of newspapers, she came to me,
and said, ‘It’s very singular, my lady; but, the time
you were so very ill, and could not account for it, corresponds
exactly with the date of the Duke of York’s
death—the hour, too, just the same!’ Now, doctor,
wasn’t it extraordinary? You drawl out ‘Y—e—s,’
just as if you thought I told lies: oh, Lord! oh,
Lord! what a cold man!</p>

<p>“The proof of sympathy between the stars of two
persons, or, in other words, of the star of another
being good for you, is, when a person puts his finger
on you and you don’t feel it. Zezefôon, when Mademoiselle
Longchamp touches her with her fingers in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>
examining the Turkish dress, shudders all over: that
is a proof that her star is not good for her, and yet
Miss L. uses more kind expressions to her than anybody;
but that makes no difference; there is no sympathy
in their stars.</p>

<p>“Animal magnetism is nothing but the sympathy
of our stars. Those fools who go about magnetizing
indifferently one person and another, why do they
sometimes succeed, and sometimes fail?—because, if
they meet with those of the same star with themselves,
their results will be satisfactory, but with opposite stars
they can do nothing. Some people you may magnetize,
some you cannot; and so far will the want of sympathy
act in some, that there are persons whom it
would be impossible to put in certain attitudes: they
might be mechanically placed there, but their posture
never would be natural; whilst others, from their
particular star, would readily fall into them. Oh!
if I had your friend, Mr. Green,<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> here, I could give him
some useful hints on choosing models for his lectures.</p>

<p>“There are animals, too, under the same star with
human beings. I had a mule whose star was the same
as mine; and, at the time of my severe illness, this
mule showed as much sensibility about me, and more,
than some of the beasts who wait on me. When that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span>
mule was first foaled, I had given orders to sell the
foal and its mother; but, happening to see it, I
countermanded the order immediately. It received a
hurt in its eye, and when, with my hand, I applied
some eye-water with camphor in it, which, of course,
made the eye smart, it never once turned its head
away, or showed the least impatience of what I was
doing. When this mule was dying some years afterwards,
she lay twenty-four hours, every minute seeming
to be going to breathe her last; but still life
would not depart. They told me of this, and I went
to the stable. The moment she saw me, she turned
her eyes on me, gave an expressive look, and expired.
All the servants said she would not die until my star,
which was hers, had come to take her breath: isn’t
it very extraordinary? Serpents never die, whatever
you can do to them, until their star rises above the
horizon.<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p>

<p>“Some can do well only when under the guidance
of another person’s star. What was Lord Grenville
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>
without Mr. Pitt? with him to guide him he did
pretty well; but, as soon as Mr. Pitt was dead, he
sunk into obscurity: who ever heard of Lord Grenville
afterwards? So again Sir Francis Burdett has never
been good for anything since Horne Tooke’s death.
So long as Napoleon had Josephine by his side he was
lucky: but, when he cast her off, his good fortune left
him. You know you sent me her portrait: well, it
was a good engraving, and I have no doubt was a likeness.
I observed in her face indications of much
falsity, and a depth of cunning exceedingly great: it
was her <i>sâad</i> (luck) that held him up. You may see
so many examples of such good fortune depending on
men’s wives. Mahomet Ali owes all to his wife—a
woman without a nose. What saved the Shaykh
Beshýr but the sâad of the Syt Haboos? Hamâady
told the Emir Beshýr, ‘You will never do anything
with the Shaykh Beshýr until you get rid of her, and
then the Shaykh is in your power.’ So what did he
do? he sent his son—the little Emir Beshýr, as they
call him—who surrounded her palace with twenty
horsemen, and, when she attempted to escape, drove
her into her own courtyard, and stabbed her: her
body was cut in pieces, and given to the dogs to eat.</p>

<p>“What is to account for some people’s good fortune
but their star? There was Lord Suffolk, an
ensign in a marching regiment, and thirteenth remove
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span>
from the title—see what an example he was! It was
predestined that he should arrive at greatness, although,
when the news was brought him that he was
come to the title, he had not money enough to pay for
a post-chaise: but nothing could hinder what his good
star was to bring him. Lady Suffolk, the daughter
of a clergyman of a hundred a-year, was a very clever,
shrewd woman, and filled her elevated station admirably.”</p>

<p>I have embodied thus much in Lady Hester Stanhope’s
own words of what may give a tolerable idea of
her notion of planetary influence. What her own
star was may be gathered from what she said one day,
when, having dwelt a long time on this, her favourite
subject, she got up from the sofa, and, approaching the
window, she called me to her—“Look,” said she, “at
the pupil of my eyes; there! my star is the sun—all
sun—it is in my eyes: when the sun is a person’s
star, it attracts everything.” I looked, and replied
that I saw a rim of yellow round the pupil.—“A
rim!” cried she; “it isn’t a rim—it’s a sun; there’s
a disk, and from it go rays all round: ’tis no more a
rim than you are. Nobody has got eyes like mine.”<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span>
Lady Hester Stanhope, in a letter she wrote to
Prince Pückler Muskau, describes her system briefly
as follows; and she desired me to keep a copy of it,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span>
that I might not, as she said, substitute my own ideas
for hers.</p>

<p>“Every man, born under a given star, has his
aërial spirit, his animal, his bird, his fruit-tree, his
flower, his medicinal herb, and his dæmon. Beings
born under any given star may be of four different
qualities and forms, just as there may be four different
qualities of cherries, having little resemblance one to
another, but being nevertheless all cherries. Added
to this, there may be varieties in the same star, occasioned
by the influence of other stars, which were
above the horizon in particular positions at the hour
of a man’s birth: just as you may say that a ship
is more or less baffled by certain winds, though she is
standing her course. Again, a man being born under
the same star with another man, whilst that star is in
one sign of the zodiac, changes somewhat the character
and appearance when in another sign of the
zodiac: just as two plants which are alike, when one
grows where there is always shade and the other where
there is constantly sunshine, although precisely of one
and the same kind, will differ slightly in appearance,
odour, and taste.</p>

<p>“A man born under a certain star will have, from
nature, certain qualities, certain virtues and vices,
certain talents, diseases, and tastes. All that education
can do is merely artificial: leave him to himself,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span>
and he returns to his natural character and his
original tastes. If this were better known, young
people would not be made to waste their time uselessly
in fitting them for what they never can be.</p>

<p>“I have learned to know a man’s star by his face,
but not by astrological calculations, as perhaps you
fancy; of that trade I have no knowledge. I have
been told that the faculty which I possess is much
more vague than the astrological art, and I believe
it: but mine is good for a great deal, though not for
calculating the exact epoch of a man’s maladies or
death.</p>

<p>“You will ask me how it is possible to know mankind
by looking at their features and persons; and so
thoroughly too. I answer—a gardener, when he sees
twenty bulbs of twenty different flowers on the table
before him, will he not tell you that one will remain
so many days under ground before it sprouts, then it
will grow little by little, very slowly, and in so many
days or weeks will flower, and its flowers will have
such a smell, such a colour, and such virtues: after
so many days more, it will begin to droop and fade,
and in ten days will wither: that other, as soon as it
is out of the ground, will grow an inch and a half in
every twenty-four hours: its flowers will be brilliant,
but will have a disagreeable smell; it will bloom for
a long time, and then will wither altogether in a day
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span>
and why may not I, looking on men, pronounce on
their virtues, qualities, and duration in the same way?
This may not be well explained, but a clever person
will divine what I mean.”</p>

<p>Such were, in the main, the opinions of Lady
Hester on astrology, to which several travellers have
alluded, but which, from defective information, they
have hitherto misrepresented. It will be seen that
there was at least method in her belief. We will
now return from this digression.</p>

<p>Our narrative broke off in the middle of a conversation
on the evening of January 31, 1838.</p>

<p>Tea was ordered; but so simple a process as getting
tea ready was now a painful business. If it did not
come immediately, Lady Hester grew so impatient,
that it was distressing to see her agitation. She
would then ring for a pipe, and perhaps send it back
to be fresh filled or changed four or five times in succession,
each one being, for some trifling reason, rejected.
Alas! it was not the tea nor the pipes that
were in fault; it was Colonel Campbell’s letter that
had given a stab to her heart, from which she never
recovered; and, in proportion to the apparent calm
which she endeavoured to assume, when speaking on
that subject, did the feeling of the supposed indignity
which she had received prey on her spirits and on
her pride.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span>
She reverted to the letter. “The thing to be
considered,” she said, “is whether I shall write a
letter to the Queen, and ask the Duke of Wellington
to give it to her, or whether I shall put it in the
newspapers: for I am afraid, if I send it to him, he
will not give it to her; or, if he does, they will say
nothing about it. I should like to ask for a public
inquiry into my debts, and for what I have contracted
them. Let them compare the good I have done in
the cause of humanity and science with the D——s
of K——’s debts. When I am better, I’ll set all
this to rights. I wonder if Lord Palmerston is the
man I recollect—a young man just come from College,
that was hanging about, waiting to be introduced to
Mr. Pitt. Mr. Pitt used to say, ‘Ah! very well;
we will ask him some day to dinner.’ Perhaps it is
an old grudge that makes him vent his spite. He is
an Irishman, I think.”</p>

<p>February 1.—To-day Lady Hester was much the
same as on the preceding days: her pulse was low;
her lungs were loaded with phlegm; aphthæ had
shown themselves on her tongue; her nails were
cracked from the contraction of the surrounding integuments;
the tips of her fingers were cold; her back,
as she sat up in bed, was bent; her bones almost protruded
through the skin, from being obliged to lie
always on one side. Speaking of her inability to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span>
sleep, except in some particular position, she observed
that she was like those little figures of tumblers;
place her as you would, she rolled over to the left side,
as if there was a weight of lead there.</p>

<p>After the usual preliminaries of smoking a pipe and
a little conversation, she dictated her letter to the
Queen and to Mr. Abercrombie, speaker of the House
of Commons.</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p class="p2 center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to the Queen.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Jôon, February 12, 1838.</p>

<p>Your Majesty will allow me to say that few things are
more disgraceful and inimical to royalty than giving
commands without examining all their different bearings,
and casting, without reason, an aspersion upon
the integrity of any branch of a family who had faithfully
served their country and the house of Hanover.</p>

<p>As no inquiries have been made of me what circumstances
induced me to incur the debts alluded to, I
deem it unnecessary to enter into any details upon
the subject. I shall not allow the pension given by
your royal grandfather to be stopped by force; but I
shall resign it for the payment of my debts, and with
it the name of English subject, and the slavery that
is at present annexed to it: and, as your Majesty has
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span>
given publicity to the business by your orders to consular
agents, I surely cannot be blamed in following
your royal example.</p>

<p class="right r2">
<span class="smcap">Hester Lucy Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p class="p2 center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to Mr. Speaker Abercrombie.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">Jôon, February 12, 1838.</p>

<p class="indent5">Sir,</p>

<p>Probably the wheel-horse has forgotten his driver,
but the latter has not forgotten him.<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> I am told that
the chief weight of the carriage of state bears upon
you; if so, it must be a ponderous one indeed, if I can
judge by a specimen of the talent of those who guide it.</p>

<p>You, who have read and thought a great deal upon
men and manners, must be aware that there are situations
almost unknown in Europe from which persons,
in what is called a semi-barbarous country, cannot
extricate themselves with honour without taking a
part either for or against humanity: besides, there
are extraordinary gusts of knowledge—of extraordinary
information—which, if you do not take advantage of
them at the moment, are lost to you for ever. I have,
therefore, exceeded my pecuniary means, but always
with the hope of extricating myself without the assistance
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span>
of any one; or at least (and ever before my
eyes, should the worst come to the worst) with that of
selling the reversion of what I possess. Your magnificent
Queen has made me appear like a bankrupt
in the world, and partly like a swindler; having given
strict orders that <em>one</em> usurer’s account must be paid, or
my pension stopped, without taking into consideration
others who have equal claims upon me. Her Majesty
has not thrown the gauntlet before a driveller or a
coward: those who are the advisers of these steps
cannot be wise men.</p>

<p>Whatever men’s political opinions may be, if they
act from conscientious motives, I have always respected
them; and you know that I have had friends in all
parties. Therefore, without any reference to the present
or past political career of ministers, or her Majesty’s
advisers, their conduct would appear to me,
respecting myself, identically as it was, gentlemanlike
or blackguard. But, having had but too strong a
specimen of the latter by their attempting to bully a
Pitt, and to place me under consular control, it is
sufficient for me to resign the name of an English
subject; for the justice granted to the slave of despotism
far exceeds that which has been shown to me.
Believe me, with esteem and regard, yours,</p>

<p class="right r2">
<span class="smcap">Hester Lucy Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->


<hr class="tb">

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span>
Friday, February 2.—To-day, I found her ladyship
busied in sorting out certain articles of apparel,
which had just before been brought home for herself:
they had been made by the wife of Lufloofy, the
person at Sayda who generally lodged English travellers.
As the fair sex may like to know what the
texture of ladies’ under-garments is in the East, these
were made of half cotton and half silk, and, to the
appearance and touch, not unlike crape. Some women
have them all silk. Either kind is favourable for
absorbing perspiration, and, under any circumstances,
never strikes cold to the body.<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p>

<p>There had arrived, also, from Marseilles six cases of
claret, two of brandy, one of rum, twelve baskets of
champagne, one case of Kirsch water; and from Leghorn
six cases of Genoese <i lang="fr">pâte</i>, two Parmesan cheeses,
some Bologna sausages, pots of preserve, one barrel of
salmon and tunny, one ditto of anchovies, brooms,
scuppets, perfumery, two chests of tea, and numberless
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>
other good things, to meet the wants of her expected
guest, the Baroness de Fériat, who was coming from
the United States. It was sad enough that Lady
Hester herself, with abundance of choice provisions
and wines, was unable to partake of any. However,
when samples of them were brought in, as the cases
were opened one after another, to be shown her, her
usual (what shall I call it?) greediness of manner
manifested itself. She tasted everything, and swallowed
a great deal: the natural consequence of which
was that she threw herself back in her bed, gasping
for breath, and suffering horribly. On these occasions,
her favourite plan was to relieve the succession of
momentary symptoms by a host of palliatives, never
leaving her stomach empty or her digestive organs at
rest, and always fancying that it was want of nourishment
that generated uneasiness or caused the oppression
on her chest, from both of which she never was
free; nor would she listen to any arguments that
tended to show she was in error.</p>

<p>February 4, Sunday.—This morning it was discovered
in my house that a silver spoon had been lost.
I had a man-servant and a boy, the former a Greek,
the latter a Mahometan. The Greek had one of the
most sinister countenances I ever beheld: he was the
same man who had accompanied Mr. Moore and Mr.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span>
Beck to the Dead Sea,<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> and had been sent to me from
Beyrout by the innkeeper there: he was a knave, a
drunkard, and a liar. Suspicion fell on him, and he,
to throw it on others, first accused the milk-girl, and
then the water-carrier.</p>

<p>Theft, in houses in Turkey, where many are suspected,
generally leads to the punishing of them
all; and Logmagi suggested that he should apply the
korbàsh to all three, to elicit the truth. However, I
thought it more just to resort to the European way,
saying if the spoon were not found, the two servants
must pay for it, not doubting the innocence of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span>
water-carrier, a hard-working fellow of good repute.
Logmagi objected to this. “You must flog that
Greek,” said he, “or you will lose, one by one,
everything of value you possess.”</p>

<p>Here the matter rested, as the morning had been
fixed for answering Colonel Campbell’s letter: so I
wrote from her ladyship’s dictation the following
laconic <a id="chg5"></a>epistle to him, and the friendly one to Mr.
Moore, British consul at Beyrout. When I had
finished them, I asked Lady Hester what she would
have me put at the close, and how she chose to subscribe
herself. “Say nothing,” replied she: “how
many times I have said I could never call myself the
humble servant of any body. I hate and detest all
those compliments so unmeaning and so false: but to
Mr. Moore you may express my esteem and regard.
I know I shall have a great liking for Mrs. Moore, if
ever I see her: is she so very handsome as they say?
When you go to Beyrout, you must tell her that I
consider it a duty to like her: she does not know
why, no more do you.”</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p class="p2 center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to Colonel Campbell.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Jôon, February 4, 1838.</p>

<p class="indent5">Sir,</p>

<p>I shall give no sort of answer to your letter of the
10th of January (received the 27th), until I have
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span>
seen a copy of her Majesty’s commands respecting
my debt to Mr. Homsy, or of the official orders from
her Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs,
as also of Mr. Homsy’s claim, as well as of the statement
sent to England—to whom, and through whom—in
order that I may know whom I have to deal
with, as well as be able to judge of the accuracy of
the documents.</p>

<p>I hope in future that you will not think it necessary
to make any apologies for the execution of your duty;
on the contrary, I should wish to recommend you all
to put on large Brutus wigs when you sit on the woolsack
at Alexandria or at Beyrout.</p>

<p class="right r2">
<span class="smcap">Hester Lucy Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p class="center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to Mr. Moore, British Consul at</i><br>
<i>Beyrout.</i><br>
</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Jôon, February 4, 1838.</p>

<p class="indent5">Sir,</p>

<p>The sacrifice which I have made of your acquaintance
and your society, that you might stand quite
clear of everything that affects me, appears to be to
little purpose. You will have some very disagreeable
business to go through, as you will be made Colonel
Campbell’s honourable agent, and he the agent of the
wise Lord Palmerston, and he the agent of your magnificent
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span>
Queen. There is Colonel Campbell’s answer,
which I leave open for your perusal, as he did his.</p>

<p>If in the end I find that you deserve the name of a
true Scotchman, I shall never take ill the part that
you may have taken against me, as it appears to be
consistent with your duty in these dirty times.</p>

<p>I remain with truth and regard, yours,</p>

<p class="right r2">
<span class="smcap">Hester Lucy Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p>Besides these letters, I wrote others for England
and for Beyrout—in all about a dozen. What with
waiting and listening to her conversation, I was with
her five hours before dinner and five hours after. I
had to seal and put covers to all these; and just at
the moment when I was about to retire to my study,
a little room set apart for me in her house, to do this,
Lady Hester stopped me, and returned to the subject
of the silver spoon. After some consideration, she
recommended also the use of the korbàsh.<a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p>

<p>“How am I to live,” cried she, “with thirty servants
in my house, and such a man as you are that
can’t say boh! to a goose? How do you expect they
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span>
will mind me, if you don’t keep them under?
Hamâady is coming to-morrow to Jôon: he must be
sent for, and shall interrogate the rascal; I warrant
you, he’ll soon bring it to light.”</p>

<p>When I left her for dinner, she had said to me,
“Send me word a quarter of an hour before you
return to say you are coming.” This, in my hurry to
get through so much writing for her, I had neglected
to do; and it, therefore, served now as the text for a
new grievance. “Didn’t I say,” she asked me, “let
me know a quarter of an hour beforehand when you
are ready to come to me? that quarter of an hour
was everything to me: I wished to have more candles
brought in on account of your eyes, to have the paper
and ink got ready, and to collect my thoughts; but
no! everybody must do as they like, and poor I be
made the sacrifice.—I <em>will</em> live by the rule of grandeur.”</p>

<p>Then she called her maids in, one after another,
poured on them a torrent of abuse for their laziness,
dirt, and insolence. My heart sickened to think what
would be the consequence of all this to herself; for I
knew very well that her whole frame, the next morning,
would be debilitated from such excitement: yet
all this time her passion was sublimely eloquent, and,
sick though she was, terrible. Her maids tumbled
over each other from fright, and the thunder that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span>
rolled in the sky (for a storm was raging at the time)
was but a faint likeness of her paroxysm. When it
was over, we drank tea, and at half-past one separated
for the night.</p>

<p>February 5. The weather was still stormy. Snow
fell in abundance on the higher chains of Mount
Lebanon, where it lay apparently very thick.</p>

<p>When I paid my morning visit, Lady Hester held
out her hand to me the moment I approached her
bedside. “I said too much last night,” she observed;
“think no more about it, doctor; but you know my
irritability, and you must bear with it.” She was
pale, languid, and extenuated: her hands and arms
were jerked in convulsive flings. Strong electrical
shocks could not have shaken her so much. Alas!
I sympathised too deeply with her wrongs not to
forget all her ebullitions of anger the moment they
were over.</p>

<p>When she found herself a little easier, she asked me
to explain to her Julius Cæsar’s calendar, which she
had on some occasion lighted on in Ainsworth’s dictionary.
“When I was a girl,” said she, “I knew
all the constellations in the heavens, and was so quick
at astronomy, that they took my books and maps
away, fearing I should give myself up to it, to the
neglect of my other studies. I had it all before my
eyes, just like a pocket-handkerchief. What day are
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span>
the ides of March?” I told her. “I think,” she
continued, “the word Ides must be derived from
<i>âayd</i>, [Arabic: عيد].” I guessed at once what was passing in
her mind. It was an illusion with her that her destiny
and Cæsar’s, or her character and his, had some
resemblance: and, when she mentioned Brutus-wigs in
her letter to Colonel Campbell, it had a reference to the
stabs they were giving her from England in depriving
her of her pension, and putting insults upon her.</p>

<p>She was deeply wounded in her pride by the treatment
she had received from home. “The Queen,”
she would say, “should have desired her ministers to
write to me, and say, ‘It grieves me that you should
have exceeded your income, and incurred debts, which
you know, when complaints are made to me, I cannot
countenance; endeavour to pay them by instalments,
and all may yet be well,’ or something to that effect—
* &emsp; * &emsp; *  &emsp; *  &emsp; *  &emsp; *
But no! she shall have my pension, and, if they
make me a bankrupt, why, let them pay the usurers
themselves.”</p>

<p>February 9.—I did not see Lady Hester the whole
of the preceding day: she had sent me a message to
say she did not wish to trouble me. I attributed this
to the state of the weather; for the wind was high,
the atmosphere wet and cold, and everything about
the residence uncomfortable. To go from my house
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span>
to Lady Hester’s, I was obliged to wear high wooden
clogs and a thick Greek capote with a hood to it.
Umbrellas, from the gusts of wind, were out of the
question. The ground was like soap. But it was not
the weather that made her decline my visit: she had
been closeted with a doctor of the country from Dayr
el Kamar, the son of that <i>Metta</i> of whom mention has
been made in a former part of these pages as having
bequeathed his family as a legacy to her. He was come,
as it was supposed, to give his opinion on her case.
I took no umbrage at this. Lady Hester and I differed
<i>toto cœlo</i> on medical points; and she told me very often,
after discussions of this sort, that she had invited me
to come this time, not as her physician, but as a friend;
one in whom she had confidence to settle her debts.</p>

<p>The muleteers had been sent on the 7th of February
to Mar Elias, to bring away the effects which had been
lying there, rotting and spoiling, since Miss Williams’s
death. I accompanied them to superintend the moving,
as also to pay a visit to General Loustaunau. Heavens!
what waste was I witness to! In one closet was a
beautiful wax miniature of Mr. Pitt, a portrait of the
Duke of York, some other pictures, stationery, glass,
china, medicines, &amp;c., enough for a family. In one
room were carpets, cushions, counterpanes, mattresses,
pillows, all completely destroyed by mould and damp.
In a store-room were large japan canisters with tea,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span>
preserves, sugar, wine, lamps, &amp;c. From another room,
(the roof of which had fallen in at the time of the
great earthquake,) had disappeared, according to Lady
Hester’s account, 3 cwt. of copper utensils, in cauldrons,
boilers, saucepans, kettles, round platters, called <i>sennéyah</i>,
and many other things. A leather portmanteau
lay with the lock cut out; a trunk had its hinges
wrenched off; and both were emptied of their contents.
Everywhere proofs of pillage were manifest, and the
village of Abra was notoriously thriving by it. For
ten years this plundering system had been going on,
and yet what still remained would have almost filled a
house. Among other things were papers and boxes
of seeds, roots, dried plants, and a variety of such
matters, which Lady Hester had collected: “for,”
she would say, “the importance of people’s pursuits
is judged in a different way by different individuals.
For example, Sir Joseph <a id="chg6"></a>Banks would think I had
done wonders if I found a spider that had two more
joints than another in his hind-leg; and Sir Abraham
Hume would embrace me if I had got a coin not in
his collection; but I have hoarded up something for
everybody. And yet, whether I have done good for
humanity or for science, those English give me credit
for nothing, and never even once ask how I got into
debt.”</p>

<p>February 10.—I spent four hours with Lady Hester
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span>
Stanhope this evening. She was very ill, and greatly
convulsed during the greater part of the time:—she
moaned a good deal—yet, in the intervals of ease that
she got, she had two baskets of good things packed up
as a present to an old French widow, and two for an
infirm old man, her pensioner, residing at Sayda.</p>

<p>Monday, February 13.—Lady Hester to-day dictated
the following letter to Sir Edward Sugden:—</p>


<p class="p2 center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to Sir Edward Sugden.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Jôon, February 12, 1838.</p>

<p class="indent5">Sir,</p>

<p>Born an aristocrat (for this assurance I received
from your father, whom it appeared to annoy as much
as it delighted me), with these genuine feelings it will
not be necessary for me to make any excuses for
bringing so abruptly before you a subject, which relates
to this cause as well as that of justice.</p>

<p>I will not bore you with long details; for it will be
sufficient for you to know that after my arrival in the
East I was not regarded by any class of persons with
the same eyes of suspicion as strangers generally are.
I have had it in my power, without making use of
intrigue or subterfuge on my part, or hurting the
religious or political feeling of others in any way, to
hear and investigate things which had never yet been
investigated. This fortunate circumstance does not
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span>
relate to those who profess Islamism alone, but to all
the curious religions (not sects) which are to be found
in the different parts of the East. Not that I have
learned the secrets of one religion to betray them to
another—on the contrary, I have observed an inviolable
silence with all; but it has served to enlighten,
as well as consolidate my own ideas, and given me an
opportunity of seeking corroboratory evidence of many
wonderfully important and abstract things, which has
been hitherto very satisfactory.</p>

<p>The revolutions and public calamities, which often
take place in what is called a semi-barbarous country,
call for great presence of mind and energy, and a
degree of humanity and liberality unknown in Europe.
To have unfortunate sufferers starving at your gate
until you have had an opportunity of inquiring into
their private life and character, and of investigating
how far it is likely to endanger your own life, or risk
your property, in receiving them—these reflections are
not made in the East. One takes one’s chance; and if
one wishes to keep up the character of either an Eastern
monarch or an Eastern peasant, you must treat even an
enemy in misfortune <i lang="fr">avec les mêmes égards</i> that you
would do a friend. Starting upon this principle (which
is, indeed, a natural one, and was always mine), there
were times in which I have been obliged to spend more
money than I could well afford, and this has been the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span>
cause of my incurring debts; not that I owe a farthing
to a poor peasant or a tradesman, but all to usurers
and rascals, that have lent their money out at an
exorbitant interest. You may judge of their conscience.
In the last levy of troops, made about two
months ago by Ibrahim Pasha, some rich peasants
gave 100 per cent. for six months for money to buy
off their sons who were conscripts.</p>

<p>I often abuse the English; and for why? because
they have nearly lost their national character. The
aristocracy is a proud, morose, inactive class of men,
having no great fundamental principles to guide them,
and not half the power that they give to themselves—very
little more worthy of being trusted by their Sovereign
than by the people—full of ideas, all egotistical,
and full of their own importance and weight in a
country, which may differ from an ounce to a pound
in twenty-four hours by the wavering political line of
conduct that they may observe during that time, and
which neither secures the confidence of the people, nor
the friendship of their Sovereign. And these columns
of state may be reckoned a sort of ministers without
responsibility, but who ought to be willing at all times
to make every possible sacrifice for the honour of the
crown and for the good of the people in cases of
emergency and misfortune.</p>

<p>Had I been an English peer, do you suppose I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span>
would have allowed the Duke of York’s debts to
remain unpaid? I should have laid down a large sum,
and have engaged my brethren to have done the same.
If I had not succeeded, I should have broken my
coronet, and have considered myself of neither greater
nor smaller importance than the sign of a duke’s
head in front of a public-house. But, ever willing to
come forward with my life and property, I should
expect that the Sovereign would treat me with
respect, * * * * * *</p>

<p>I have been written to by the Consul-General for
Egypt and Syria, Colonel Campbell, that, if I do not
pay <em>one</em> of my numerous creditors, I shall be deprived
of my pension. I should like to see that person come
forward who dares to threaten a Pitt! Having given
themselves a supposed right over the pension, they
may take it all. In the early part of my life, there
was nothing I feared so much as plague, shipwreck,
and debt; it has been my fate to suffer from them all.
Respecting my debts, of course I had expectations of
their being settled; but if I was deceived in these
expectations, I kept in view the sale of my pension,
as well as of an annuity of £1500 a-year, left me by
my brother, if the worst came to the worst. The
importance of the plan I was pursuing must, as you
can easily imagine, have appeared most arbitrary,
from my coolly deliberating that the moment might
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span>
arrive when I should make myself a beggar; but I
should have done my duty. What sort of right,
then, had the Queen to meddle with my affairs, and
to give orders, in total ignorance of the subject,
upon the strength of an appeal from a man whose
claims might be half fabulous, and to offer me the
indignity of forbidding a foreign consul to sign the
certificate that I was among the number of the living,
in order to get my pension into her hands? * *
I have written a few lines on the subject, and there is
my final determination:—“I shall give up my pension,
and with it the name of an English subject, and
the slavery that is entailed upon it.” I have too
much confidence in the great Disposer of all things,
and in the magnificent star that has hitherto borne
me above the heads of my enemies, to feel that I have
done a rash act. I can be anything but ignoble, or
belie the origin from which I sprang.</p>

<p>I have been assured by those not likely to deceive
me, that a large property has been left me in Ireland,
which has been concealed from me by my relations.
I have put this business into the hands of Sir Francis
Burdett; but should I in future require a law opinion
upon the subject, <em>the little aristocratical rascal</em> (whose
acquaintance I was about to make when a child, had
not a democratical quirk of my father’s been the
reason of shutting up his family for some time in the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span>
country, and preventing the execution of your father’s
intention of presenting you to me) will not, I hope,
take it ill that I should apply to his superior talents
for advice.</p>

<p>There is a horrible jealousy respecting the friendship
that exists between me and Mr. Henry Guys,
the French Consul at Beyrout. His grandfather, a
learned old gentleman, was in constant correspondence
with the great Lord Chesterfield. It is natural, therefore,
that his son, the present Mr. Guys’ father, should
feel interested about me when I first came into the
country, and Mr. Henry Guys has always put into
execution his father’s friendly intentions towards me.
He is a very respectable man, and stands very high in
the estimation of all classes of persons: and, as at
one time there was no English consul or agent at
Sayda, the French agent sent a certificate of my life
four times a-year to England. At the death of this
man, Mr. Guys sent it himself. If you honour me
with a reply, I request you to address your letter to
him (<i lang="fr">aux soins de <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> le Chevalier Henri Guys, Consul
de France à Beyrout</i>), notwithstanding he has been
named for Aleppo; as it is the only way I am likely
to receive my letters unopened, or perhaps at all.</p>

<p class="right">
Believe me, with esteem and regard, yours,<br>
<br>
<span class="smcap r2">H. L. Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>
I was much exhausted to-day. I had written six
hours to her dictation the preceding day, and now sat
talking until midnight; but, from the late hour at
which I left her, it was as usual impossible for me to
note down even a hundredth part of what she said.
For example, it is now nearly one o’clock in the
morning; and much as I could wish, whilst my recollection
is fresh, to make a few memorandums of the
many things she has been saying, my eyelids droop,
and I am forced to lay down my pen: yet one anecdote
I must try to commit to paper. In reading over
the letter to Sir Edward Sugden, she made the following
remark: “The peers in England may be compared
to doctors who have made their fortunes: if they continue
to practise, they do it out of regard to some
particular families, or from humane motives. They
know better than those who are sick what is good for
them, because they have had long practice; and, if
their sons are no doctors, they have heard so much
talk about the matter, that they sit in a corner, and
watch the effect of the medicine.”</p>

<p>I was struck with the resemblance of Lady Hester’s
style to Junius’s in her letter to Sir Edward. This
led me to reflect, as I had observed on many occasions,
that Lady Hester’s language was the counterpart of
her grandfather’s, whether Lord Chatham might not
have been the author of Junius’s Letters; but it has
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span>
since been suggested to me that there would be an
absurdity in such a supposition (for I had no opportunity
of consulting books where I was), because some of
the most eloquent passages of Junius are his panegyrics
on Lord Chatham, and it is not likely that he would
have been guilty of writing a eulogium on himself;
however, I mentioned it to her. She answered, “My
grandfather was perfectly capable and likely to write
and do things which no human being would dream
came from his hands. I once met with one of his
spies,” continued she, “a woman of the common class,
who had passed her life dressed in man’s clothes: in
this way she went, as a sailor, to America, and used
to write him letters as if to a sweetheart, giving an
account of the enemy’s ships and plans in a most
masterly way, in the description of a box of tools, or
in something so unlike the thing in question that no
suspicion could be had of the meaning of the contents.
This woman by accident passed me at a watering-place,
whilst I was sitting near the sea-side
talking to my brother, and stopped short on hearing
the sound of my voice, which was so much like my
grandfather’s that it struck her—and there is nothing
extraordinary in this: I have known a horse do the
same thing. My father had two piebald horses: they
were very vicious, and hated one of the grooms so,
that, one day, whilst he was taking them out for
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span>
exercise, one threw him, and the other flew at him,
and attempted to strike him with his fore-feet; but, as
he could not succeed, the other, that had run off,
turned back, seized the groom with his teeth, and bit
him and shook him: that very horse went blind, and
got into an innkeeper’s hands, who made a post-horse
of him. One day, on the high road, I saw him, and
made an exclamation to somebody who was with me.
The horse, although blind, knew my voice, and
stopped short, just like the woman. I too was struck
with the woman’s manner; and, without saying anything,
went next morning at daylight, before anybody
was about, to the same spot, and, finding the woman
there again, inquired who and what she was. A conversation
ensued, and the woman was delighted, she
said, to behold once again something that reminded
her of her old employer. As for the ministers of the
present day, she observed, they are good for nothing:
when I went to prefer my claim for a pension, one
called me Goody-two-shoes, and told me to go about
my business.</p>

<p>“A government should never employ spies of the
description generally chosen—men of a certain appearance
and information, who may be enabled to mix
in genteel society: they are always known or suspected.
My grandfather pursued quite a different
plan. His spies were among such people as Logmagi*
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span>
*—a hardy sailor, who would get at any risk into a
port, to see how many ships there were, and how
many effective men—or a pedlar, to enter a camp—and
the like. This was the way he got information as
to the state of the armament at Toulon: and such a
one was the woman I have just told you about, who
knew me by the sound of my voice.</p>

<p>“There were two hairdressers in London, the best
spies Buonaparte had. A hairdresser, generally speaking,
must be a man of talent—so must a cook; for a
cook must know such a variety of things, about which
no settled rules can be laid down, and he must have
great judgment.</p>

<p>“Do you think I did not immediately perceive that
those four Germans we met at —— were spies?—directly.
I never told B**** and Lord S**** because
they would have let it out again: François was
the only one who knew it besides myself. He took an
opportunity one day of saying to me, when nobody
was by, ‘My lady, one of those Germans....’—‘Yes,
yes, François, I understand you,’ answered I, before
he had said three words: ‘you need not put me on
my guard, but I am much obliged to you.’—‘Why,
my lady,’ said François, ‘when I was one day standing
sentry at Buonaparte’s tent, there was one of those
very gentlemen I have seen go in and out: I recollect
his face perfectly.’ François was right, doctor: there
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span>
they were—there was the sick one, and the learned
one, and the musician, and the officer—for all sorts of
persons.</p>

<p>“You recollect, when we were at Constantinople,
one day I went to meet the Count de la Tour Maubourg
on the banks of the Bosphorus, and he intimated
to me that I had kept him waiting. ‘Yes,’
said I, ‘there was a spy following my boat: I knew
him directly, and wanted to prevent his dogging me.’
‘Pooh! nonsense,’ replied Mr. de la T. M.: but we
had not talked for half an hour, when, lo! there he
was, taking a look at us. Next day, when I saw
Mr. Canning, ‘Oh! Lady Hester,’ said he, ‘how did
you spend your day yesterday?’—‘Why,’ answered
I, ‘your spy did not spoil it.’—‘Ah!’ rejoined he,
laughing—for he perceived at once it was of no use to
make a mystery of what he had done—‘you should
not do such things—I must write it home to government.’—‘Yes,’
said I, ‘I’ll write a letter, too, in this
way:—My lord, your excellent young minister, to
show his gallantry, has begun his diplomatic career
by watching ladies in their assignations, &amp;c., &amp;c.’ and
then I laughed at him, and then I talked seriously
with him, till I worked on his feelings in a way you
can’t think!</p>

<p>“Spies, as I said before, should never be what are
called gentlemen, or have the appearance of such; for,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span>
however well they may be paid, somebody else will
always pay them better;—unless fortune should throw
in your way a man of integrity, who, from loyalty or
a love of his country, will adventure everything for
the cause he is engaged in: such a man is another
sort of a thing!”</p>

<p>February 14.—Being Wednesday, I was, as usual,
deprived of the honour of seeing Lady Hester until
night; I therefore remained with my family, and,
having recovered the lost spoon, which my servant
produced out of fear of Hamâady’s examination, pretending
to have found it, I took the opportunity of
settling his wages and turned him away.</p>

<p>After sunset I waited on her. She was in low
spirits. “I am very weak,” said she. “Look at my
veins—they did not use to be so: look at my arms,
too—mere skin and bone.” She pointed to the state
of her room: “See how filthy it is again already,”
she observed; “and if I say a word, those wretches
seem not to mind me—they snub me, doctor.”</p>

<p>She attempted to dictate the letter she proposed
writing to the Duke of Wellington, but was unable.
We drank tea. “Do you know,” she said, “when
old Malti” (this was the name Mr. Abella, the
English agent, was generally designated by) “came
in such a hurry, the other day, with Colonel Campbell’s
letter, and made such a fuss about delivering it
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span>
with his own hand, people fancied I was going to
die, and that he was come up to seal my effects the
moment the breath should be out of my body. But,
if I do die, they sha’n’t seal anything of mine, I’ll
take care of that; for I am no longer an English subject,
and therefore they have nothing to do with me.”</p>

<p>Again she asked me to take my pen and paper, and
returned to the Duke of Wellington’s letter. “I
can’t collect my ideas,” she said: “one while I am
thinking of what Mr. Pitt said of him; then of the
letter he wrote when invited down to the country ball;
then of what he is now: so put down your paper, and
ring for a pipe. The duke is a man self-taught, for
he was always in dissipation. I recollect, one day,
Mr. Pitt came into the drawing-room to me—‘Oh!’
said he, ‘how I have been bored by Sir Sydney
coming with his box full of papers, and keeping me
for a couple of hours, when I had so much to do!’ I
observed to him that heroes were generally vain:
‘Lord Nelson is so.’ ‘So he is,’ replied Mr. Pitt;
‘but not like Sir Sydney: and how different is
Arthur Wellesley, who has just quitted me! He has
given me details so clear upon affairs in India! and
he talked of them, too, as if he had been a surgeon of
a regiment, and had nothing to do with them; so that
I know not which to admire most, his modesty or his
talents: and yet the fate of India depends upon them.’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span>
Then, doctor, when I recollect the letter he wrote to
Edward Bouverie, in which he said that he could not
come down to the ball which Bouverie had invited
him to, for that his only corbeau coat was so bad he
was ashamed to appear in it, I reflect what a rise he
has had in the world. Bouverie said—‘You would
like to dance with him amazingly, Lady Hester: he is
a good fellow.’</p>

<p>“He was at first, doctor, nothing but what hundreds
of others are in a country town—a man who
danced, and drank hard. His star has done every
thing for him; for he is not a great general.<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> He is
no tactician, nor has he any of those great qualities
that make a Cæsar, or a Pompey, or even a Buonaparte.
As for the battle of Waterloo, both French
and English have told me that it was a lucky battle
for him, but nothing more. I don’t think he acted
well at Paris: nor did the soldiers like him.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span>
Thursday, February 15.—This morning, the letter
to the Duke of Wellington was written.</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p class="p2 center">
<i>Lady Hester Stanhope to the Duke of Wellington.</i></p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right r2">
Jôon, February 13, 1838.<br>
</p>

<p class="indent5">My dear Duke,</p>

<p>If you merit but half the feeling and eloquent praise
I heard bestowed upon you shortly before I saw you
for the first time, you are the last man in the world
either to be offended or to misconstrue my motives in
writing to you upon the subject in question, or not to
know how to account for the warmth of the expressions
I may make use of, which are only characteristic
of my disposition.</p>

<p>Your Grace’s long residence in the East will have
taught you that there is no common rate character in
England an adequate judge what manner of living best
answers among a semi-barbarous people, and how little
possible it is to measure one’s expenses where frequent
revolutions and petty wars are carried on without any
provision for the sufferers, from its being considered
the duty of every one to assist them as his humanity
may dictate or as his circumstances may afford.</p>

<p>Acre besieged for seven months! some days, 7,000
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span>
balls thrown in in twenty-four hours!—at last, taken
by storm, and little more than 200 of the garrison remaining!—then
the wretched inhabitants, who expected
to find succour from their old friends in the
country, finding their backs turned upon them in the
dread and awe they stood in of Ibrahim Pasha; nay,
it is very strange to say that the Franks likewise held
back in a most extraordinary manner. Therefore,
these unhappy people had no resource but in me, and
I did the best I could for them all. Mahomet Ali,
Ibrahim Pasha, Sheriff Pasha, all set at me at once, in
order to make me give up certain persons, who immediately
would have lost their heads for having fought
well in the cause which they were engaged in. I opposed
them all round single-handed, and said that I
neither protected these persons in the English or
French name, but in my own, as a poor Arab, who
would not give up an unhappy being but with his own
life; that there was no other chance of making me
bend by any other means than by attempting mine.
In this manner I saved some unfortunate beings,
whom I got rid of by degrees, by sending them back
to their own country, or providing for them at a distance
in some way or another. Can you, as a soldier,
blame me for what I have done? I should have acted
in the same way before your eyes to the victims of
your own sword. Then the host of orphans, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span>
widows, and little children, who, to feed or clothe for
nearly two years, took away all the ready money with
which I ought in part to have paid my debts, and
caused new ones!—yet I am no swindler, and will not
appear like one. Your Queen had no business to
meddle in my affairs. In due time, please God, I
should have known how to arrange to satisfy everybody,
even if I left myself a beggar. If she pretends
to have a right to stop my pension, I resign it altogether,
as well as the name of an English subject; for
there is no family that has served their country and
the crown more faithfully than mine has done, and I
am not inclined to be treated with <i lang="fr">moins d’égards</i>
than was formerly shown to a gentleman-like highwayman.</p>

<p>I have been every day in expectation of a reply from
Sir F. Burdett respecting a large property which is
said to have been left me in Ireland, and which has
been concealed from me for many years. In case of
its coming into my hands, I shall still not keep my
pension, in order to cut off every communication with
the English Government, from whom only proceed
acts of folly, which any moment may rebound upon
an individual. I chose Sir Francis Burdett to look
into my affairs, because I believe him to be a truly
conscientious honest man. Although we always disagreed
upon politics, we were always the best friends,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span>
and it appears to me that he is beginning to see things
in their proper light. * * * *
All that I have to entreat of your Grace is to allow
me to appear in the light in which I really stand—attached
to humanity, and attached to royalty, and
attached to the claims that one human being has upon
another. Nor can I allow myself to be deemed an
intriguer; because I have said here, in all societies,
that persons who abet those who attempt to shake
the throne of Sultan Mahmoud shake the throne of
their own sovereign, and, therefore, commit high
treason: and among that class of persons I do not
choose to rank myself. Nor am I to be reckoned an incendiary,
when I seek to vindicate my own character,
that never was marked with either baseness or folly:—it
may have been, perhaps, with too little consideration
for what are called by the world my own interests,
and which I, in fact, despise, or at least only
consider in a secondary point of view. There is
nobody more capable of making the Queen understand
that a Pitt is a unique race than your Grace: there is
no trifling with them.</p>

<p>I have sent a duplicate of the enclosed letter to Her
Majesty to my Lord Palmerston, through the hands
of the English Consul, Mr. Moore. If it has not
reached her safe, I hope that you will see that this
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span>
one does: or otherwise I shall put it in the <cite>Augsburg
Gazette</cite>, or in an American newspaper.<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p>

<p class="center">* &emsp; * &emsp; * &emsp; * &emsp; *</p>

<p class="right r2">
<span class="smcap">Hester Lucy Stanhope.</span></p>
</div><!--end blockquote-->

<hr class="tb">

<p>At eleven at night I joined her at tea in her bed-room.
She then asked me to read all the letters over,
to see if anything wanted correction. After that,
calling for her old parchment-covered blotting-book,
she took them one by one, and folded them herself,
“in order,” as she said, “to give me instructions on
that head.” Generally speaking, she never seemed
more happy than when she had a huge packet of
despatches to put up: I dare say it reminded her of
former times.</p>

<p>She began—“Now, doctor, a letter to a great man
should fold over exactly to the middle—thus. Lord!
what counting-house paper have you got here?—this
will never do” (it was the thin paper common in
France as letter-paper). I told her it was the very
best there was in the house, and added, to quiet her,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span>
that thick paper, when fumigated in quarantine, as
this must be, generally seemed to me to suffer more
than thin; which is the fact. “Humph—ah! well,
it is too late now to alter it; so it must go as it is.”
She then folded the cover with great exactitude;
but, looking round her, she cried, “There, now,
that black beast has not given me the seal!” (ding,
ding). “Zezefôon, where’s the seal?” Zezefôon was
the only servant who was permitted to touch the seal,
and she always had orders to put it away carefully,
so that the other maids should not know where it
was, for fear they should lend it to some rascal, (like
Girius Gemmel, she would say,) who would put her
signature to some forged letter or paper: and Zezefôon,
as is customary with uneducated persons, hid it
very often so carefully that she could not find it herself.
After turning books and papers upside down, at
last she produced it.</p>

<p>Whilst melting the wax in the candle, Lady
Hester went on:—“Doctor, you never now can seal a
letter decently: you once used to do it tolerably well,
but now you have lost your memory and all your
faculties, from talking nothing but rubbish and
empty nonsense to those nasty women; and that’s
the reason why you never listen to anything one
says, and answer ‘yes,’ and ‘no,’ without knowing
to what.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span>
I gave her the letters in succession to seal, until
exhausted by the effort—for now the least thing was
too much for her—she fell back in her bed. She
roused herself again, and said, “Now let’s direct
them: where is the one to the Queen? Write
Victoria Regina—nothing else—in the middle ... that
will do very well. Whose is that?—the
Speaker’s: very well. I wonder if it <em>is</em> the brother
I used to play driving horses with; for there were
several brothers. Now, look for his address—James—ah!
that’s him: direct ‘To the Right Hon.
Speaker’ ... no, stop: put ‘To the Right Hon.
James Abercrombie, with three et ceteras, Carlton
Gardens.’”</p>

<p>The next letter was the Duke of Wellington’s.
Lady Hester said, “Let me see—he’s a field marshal—ah,
never mind: you must begin—‘To His
Grace the Duke of Wellington, K.G.’” I accordingly
did so, and, not knowing how much more was coming
to complete the superscription, I put it all, for fear of
wanting room, into one line. Her eye was on me as
I wrote. “What’s that?—show it me?” she cried out;
and, taking the letter in her hands, she put on her
spectacles. What an exclamation burst from her!
“Good God, doctor! are you mad?—what can you
mean?—what is this vulgar ignorance, not to know
that ‘His Grace’ should be in one line, and ‘The
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span>
Duke of Wellington, K.G.’ in the other: what people
will he fancy I am got among! why, the lowest clerk
in the Foreign Office would not have made such a
blunder: this is your fine Oxford education!” and
then she gave a deep sigh, as if in utter despair, to
think that a letter should go forth from her hands so
different in paper, seal, and address, from those of
her early days, when she reigned in Downing Street,
co-equal with Mr. Pitt. Now it was a rickety old
card-table, a rush-bottomed chair, a white pipe-clay
inkstand, wax that would not be used in a counting-house
in Cheapside; and both the Sultaness and her
vizir (for so I shall presume to style her and myself),
fitting their spectacles on their noses, equally blind,
equally old, and almost equally ailing.</p>

<p>I finished the address to the Duke. “How many
et ceteras have you put?” asked Lady Hester:—“what!
only two? I suppose you think he’s a
nobody!” The remaining letters were directed without
farther trouble, but, by some unaccountable
blunder, Sir Edward Sugden was made a Sir Charles
of. A long deliberation ensued, whether the letter to
Her Majesty should be enclosed in a cover to Lord
Palmerston, or whether it should be left to be seen by
the English consul at Beyrout, to frighten him.</p>

<p>It was now three o’clock in the morning. I quitted
Lady Hester, and had Ali Hayshem, the confidential
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span>
messenger, called out of his bed. I repeated to him
Lady Hester’s instructions as follows:—“You are to
take this packet, and start at sunrise precisely—not
before, and not after—and to take care you deliver
the letters into <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys’s hands before sunset: for it
is Friday, and Friday is an auspicious day. There
are ten piasters for your two days’ keep, and let no
one know where you are going, nor for what.”</p>

<p>Ali was accustomed to this business—laid his hand
on his head to signify that should answer for his
fidelity—made a low salàam—went to the cook for his
five bread-cakes—turned in again upon his libàd—pulled
his counterpane over his body, face and all, and,
I dare say, was punctual to his hour and his instructions.
Men of this sort, who are generally chosen
from the peasantry, are invaluable as foot-messengers.
With a <i>naboot</i> or small bludgeon, well knobbed at
one end, and with a few bread-cakes in their girdle,
they will set off at any hour, in any weather, for any
place, and go as quick as a horseman. They sleep
anywhere and anyhow, and deliver their messages and
letters with exceeding punctuality. Ali was a handsome
fellow, the picture of health, fearless of danger,
and a great favourite with Lady Hester, to whose service
he was devoted; therefore, at every Byràm, Ali
was sure to be seen in a new suit of clothes, the envy
of the men, and the admiration of all the girls of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span>
Jôon: but he knew how to make a proper use of his
money. Already he had begun to trade with some
success in silk, advancing small sums in the winter to
the poor women who breed silkworms, for which he
received silk in payment: this he resold in the city;
and those who may chance to meet with Ali ten years
hence might find in him a warm tradesman, smoking
his pipe in the midst of his obsequious dependants,
and dignified with the title of Shaykh or Maalem.</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a>
 Lady Hester one day said, “I have a little angel under my command,
the angel of my star—such a sweet little creature!—not like those
ridiculous ones who are fiddling in Italian pictures. What fools
painters are, to think angels are made so!”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a>
Mr. Joseph Green, lecturer on anatomy at the Royal Academy.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a>
There is a passage in an interesting domestic tale recently
published (<cite>The History of Margaret Catchpole</cite>, by the <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Mr.
Cobbold), which has a strange coincidence with the superstitious belief
of the Syrians, considering how widely the English are separated from
them. It is as follows: “He told me he was the most venemous snake in
the country. His bite is attended with swelling and blackness of the
body, and, <em>when the sun goes down</em>, death ensues.”—<abbr title="Volume two, page">Vol. ii., p.</abbr>
188.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a>
I once showed Lady Hester Stanhope Raphael’s Madonna della
Seggiola, to hear what she would say about it. “The face,” she
observed, “is congruous in all the lineaments; they all belong to the
same star; but I don’t like that style of face—that is not the star
that pleases me;” and she returned me the engraving, with some signs
of impatience. I imagined, as there was a maid in the room, that she
did so, lest the girl should report that she adored the Virgin Mary. I
then showed her a painting of the Nozze Aldobrandini. “Ah!” said she,
after examining it, “that figure,” pointing to the one farthest on
the spectator’s right hand, “is the star I like, only the eyes do not
belong to that countenance: if the eyes were as they ought to be, that
figure would be charming.” There was much truth in the observations she
made on the blunders of artists and sculptors in giving incongruous
features to their works. An ordinary observer has only to look at the
statues of the ancients, and he will find that the forehead, nose,
mouth, ears, and limbs of a Minerva, are such as he will see in grave
and dignified women, totally different from the same features in a
Diana or a Venus. Each temperament, each class of beings in nature, has
its external marks, which never vary in character, but only in degree.
But painters are accustomed to make a selection of what they suppose
the most perfect Grecian lines, and to clap them on to a body, whether
it be for a muse, an amazon, a nymph, or a courtezan: this is obviously
false. “There are some women who are born courtezans,” Lady Hester
would say, “and whatever their station in life is, they must be so.
Thus, Lady —— was so by nature; from the time she first came out, she
had the air of a woman of the town: Mademoiselle de ——, who married
one of the ——, nothing could have ever altered her. There was a woman
for great passions! it was almost indecent to be where she was.”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a>
This alludes to the childhood of Lady Hester Stanhope, when she
had played at horses with Mr. Abercrombie.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a>
Lady Hester one day showed me fourteen of these articles of
ladies’ apparel, six or seven of which were in slits and holes, so that
a maid-servant in England would not have accepted them as a gift: she
said her maids had torn them by their rough handling in dressing her.
I had them sent to my house, and they were all mended. She expressed
herself as grateful for this little service to my daughter and the
governess, as if she had been a pauper clothed at their door!</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a>
I was once speaking of the great results which might be expected
from Messrs. Beck and Moore’s successful investigation of the natural
phenomena of the Dead Sea: but Lady Hester damped my admiration of
those gentlemen’s hazardous undertaking, by exclaiming that all English
travellers were a pack of fools, and that they entirely neglected the
objects that ought to be inquired into. “There are none of them,” said
she, “that know half as much as I do. I’ll venture to say they never
heard of the forty doors, all opening by one key, in which are locked
the forty wise men who expect the Murdah. Didn’t I tell you the story
the other day?” I answered, if she had, I must have forgotten it,
which was fortunate, as I was always reluctant to show my dissent from
her opinions; having, by experience, learned how necessary it was to
proceed cautiously in doing so. “Yes, so it is,” rejoined Lady Hester:
“I talk for half a day to you, wasting my breath and lungs, and there
you sit like a stock or a stone—no understanding, no conviction!”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a>
The korbàsh is a thong of the raw hide of the buffalo or
rhinoceros, about the length of a hand-whip, and cut tapering in a
similar form. In the hand of a powerful flagellant it becomes an
instrument of great torture.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a>
There is a strong resemblance between Lady Hester’s character of
the Duke of Wellington and that of Frederick the Great of Prussia: for
see what Lord Malmesbury says of the latter, in his <cite>Diaries and
Correspondence</cite>, <abbr title="volume one, page">vol. i., p.</abbr> <span class="lock">8:—</span></p>

<p class="footnote">“His <em>fort</em> is not so much his courage, nor what we generally
understand by conduct; but it consists in a surprising discernment,
in the day of battle, how to gain the most advantageous ground, where
to place the proper sort of arms, whether horse or foot, and in the
quickest <i lang="fr">coup d’œil</i> to distinguish the weak part of the enemy.”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a>
 Several lines are here wanting, owing to a half sheet of paper
having been lost in the confusion created by fumigating papers in
quarantine. They were highly complimentary to his grace, and their
omission is to be regretted.

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span>
<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Nine"><span class="allsmcap">IX.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Lady Hester in an alcove in her garden—Lucky days observed
by her—Consuls’ rights—Mischief caused by Sir F. B.’s
neglect in answering Lady Hester’s Letters—Rashes common
in Syria—Visit of an unknown Englishman—Story of Hanah
Messâad—Lady Hester’s love of truth—Report of her death—Michael
Tutungi—Visit from the Chevalier Guys—His
reception at Dayr el Mkhallas—Punishment of the shepherd,
Câasem—Holyday of the Korbàn Byràm—Fatôon’s <i lang="fr">accouchement</i>—Lady
Hester’s aversion to consular interference—Evenings
at Jôon—Old Pierre—Saady.</p>


<p class="p2">Friday, February 16, 1838.—About two in the
afternoon, on going to pay my visit to Lady Hester
Stanhope, I proceeded to her bed-room, thinking, as
usual, to find her there, but was told by her maids
she was gone into the garden. The day was overcast,
and there was every appearance of rain. I found her
standing in one of the garden-walks, leaning on her
stick (such as those which elderly ladies were accustomed
formerly to use in England, and perhaps may
now), and pale as a ghost. “Doctor,” said she, “I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span>
have got out of my room that those beasts may clean
it? but, if you don’t go to them, they’ll steal everything.”
After expressing my fears that she had
chosen a bad day to come out, I left her. I saw her
room put into as much order as the confusion in it
would admit of. It was crowded with bundles one
upon another, as before, which she dared not put into
any other part of the house, lest they should be
stolen.</p>

<p>Independent of her desire to be more clean and
comfortable, I guessed at once why she had left her
bed-room to go into the garden. It was the struggle
which the sick often make—the resolution of an unsubdued
spirit, that finds corporeal ailments weighing
down the body, whilst the mind is yet unsubdued. It
was Friday too, the day in all the week she held as
most auspicious.</p>

<p>When I returned into the garden, I found her
lying on a sofa, in a beautiful alcove, one of three or
four that embellished her garden, and an attendant
standing with his hands folded across his breast, in an
attitude of respect before her. At these moments, she
always wore the air of a Sultaness. In this very
alcove, how often had she acted the queen, issued her
orders, summoned delinquents before her, and enjoyed
the semblance of that absolute power, which was
the latent ambition of her heart! Hence it was that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span>
she at last got rid of all European servants, because
they would not submit to arbitrary punishments, but
would persist in raising their voices in self-justification.
With the Turks it was not so. Accustomed, in the
courts of governors and Pashas, to implicit obedience
and submission, they resigned themselves to her rule
as a matter of course. In transferring, however, their
servility to her, as their mistress, they also transferred
the vices and dangers which servility engenders:
namely, lying, theft, sycophancy, intrigue, and
treachery.</p>

<p>Saturday, February 17.—During the whole of this
day I did not see Lady Hester, and I was not sorry
for it. Her thoughts were now constantly running
on the inexplicable silence of Sir Francis Burdett.
“He is a man of honour,” she would say. “I suppose
he has to write to Ireland, and to the right and
left about my property; or perhaps they have got
hold of him, too;—who knows? I am sure something
must have happened.” As each succeeding steamboat
arrived, a messenger was sent to Beyrout, but
still no answer. Then she reflected what she should do,
if Sir Francis at last should furnish her with proofs
that no property had been left her:—beggary stared
her in the face. In the mean time she had no means
of raising a single farthing before the first of March,
when she could draw for £300. But of this sum £200
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span>
were due to Mr. Dromacaiti, a Greek merchant at
Beyrout, who had lent her money at an exorbitant
interest, but on her word, and this, therefore, she
would pay, I knew, if possible. During all this time,
my family remained in almost total ignorance of what
was going on within Lady Hester’s walls as much as
if they had been living in China. I was also, as I
have said above, obliged to conceal, in a great measure,
her illness from them. They rode and walked out on
the mountains, fed their bulbuls, enjoyed the fine climate,
and wondered what made me look so thin and
careworn: for thought and care preyed on my spirits,
and I wasted away almost as perceptibly as Lady
Hester herself.</p>

<p>Sunday, February 18.—To-day Lady Hester was
sitting up in the corner of her bed-room. Her look
was deadly pale, and her head was wrapped up in
flannels, just like her grandfather the last day he appeared
in the House of Lords. Without intending it,
everything she did bore a resemblance to that great
man.</p>

<p>Ali had returned from Beyrout without a letter.
“Did Ali Hayshem,” she asked me, “set off at sunrise
on Friday? I am glad he did. Do you know, I
once sent Butrus to Beyrout to fetch money; and I
said to him, ‘If you get in on Monday night, don’t
come away on Tuesday or Wednesday; for those are
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span>
unlucky days; loiter away those two days, and be
here on Thursday night. However, he paid no attention
to my instructions, and on Wednesday evening
he made his appearance. ‘Why did you come before
Thursday?’ I asked him. He answered, ‘That the
bag of money having been delivered to him, he had
brought it immediately, and you see, Mylady, here it
is: nobody, thank God! has robbed me.’—‘That
does not signify,’ I told him; ‘you will see there is
no <i>bereky</i> [blessing] in it.’ Do you know, doctor, I
paid the people’s wages immediately, and it was well
I did; for some ten or twelve thousand piasters, chest
and all, disappeared the next day. ‘There, look!’
said I to him; ‘I told you that money never would
turn to account.’”</p>

<p>The conversation reverted to Colonel Campbell’s
letter. “I have told the secretary,” said she, “to tell
his father, that, if he dares make his appearance here
again, I’ll send a bullet through his body. Not one
of them shall lay their vile hands on me or mine. I
have strength enough to strangle him, and I would
do it, though it should cost me my life. As for Mr.
Moore, he may perhaps have a <i lang="la">habeas corpus</i> by him;
but it is good for twenty-four hours only, and I should
know how to manage. Consuls have no right over
nobility; they may have over merchants, and such
people: but they never shall come near me, and I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span>
would shoot the first that dared to do it. The English
are a set of intermeddling, nasty, vulgar, odious
people, and I hate them all. The very Turks laugh
at them. Out of ridicule, they told one, if he was so
clever, to straiten a dog’s tail. Yes, he might straiten
and straiten, but it would soon bend again; and they
may bend me and bend me, if they can, but I fancy
they will find it a difficult matter: for you may tell
them that, when I have made up my mind to a thing,
no earthly being can alter my determination. If they
want a devil, let them try me, and they shall have
enough of it.</p>

<p>“When the steamboat came, and brought no letter
to-day from Sir Francis Burdett, you thought I
should be ill on receiving the news: but I am not a
fool. I suppose he is occupied with his daughter’s
legacy, or with parliamentary business.”</p>

<p>I had received a letter from a lady, which I had
occasion to read to her. When I had done, and
she had expressed her thanks for the flower-seeds sent
her, she added, “What I do not like in Mrs. U.’s
letter is that foolish way of making a preamble about
her not liking to leave so much white paper in all its
purity, and all those turns and phrases which people
use. That was very well for a Swift or a Pope, who,
having promised to write to somebody once a fortnight,
and having nothing to say, made a great number
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span>
of points to fill up the paper; but a letter that
has matter in it should be written with a distinct
narration of the business, and that’s all. Do you
think such people as Mr. Pitt or Lord Chatham, my
grandfather, liked those nonsensical phrases? No,
they threw the letter aside, or else cast their eyes over
it to see if, on the other page, there was anything to
answer about.”</p>

<p>February 19.—I was riding this morning with my
family beyond the village, which is separated by a deep
valley from Lady Hester’s residence, when I saw two
servants on the verge of the opposite hill, vociferating—“Come
directly, come instantly!” and waving their
white turbans. I reflected that, if I put my horse into
a gallop, the people of the village would immediately
conclude that Lady Hester was dying; and the news
(as news always gains by distance) would be the next
day at Sayda that she was dead: I therefore continued
the same pace; and, although the servants redoubled
their signs and cries, I steadily retraced my steps.
When I had dismounted, I was told her ladyship was
in a deplorable way, unlike any thing they had ever seen.
I hurried to her bed-room. She was sitting on the
side of her bed, weeping and uttering those extraordinary
cries, which I have before compared to something
hardly human. She clasped her hands and
exclaimed repeatedly, “Oh God! oh, God! what
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span>
misery! what misery!” When she was a little
calmed, and I could collect from her what was the
matter, she told me that, having fallen into a doze,
she awoke with a sense of suffocation from tightness
across her chest, and, being unable to ring or call, she
thought she should have died: “thus,” said she, “am
I treated like a dog, with nobody to administer to my
wants;” and so she went on in the usual strain. I
was suffering at this time from the nettlerash, but
treated it lightly, and thought Lady Hester would do
so too: until, having unluckily alluded to it, a fresh
source of uneasiness was inadvertently started. “Good
God, doctor!” she cried, “to come out of doors with
a nettlerash on you! go to your house immediately;
get to bed, keep yourself warm, and remain there
until it is cured. After four or five days, take such
and such things; then go to the bath, then take some
bark, &amp;c., &amp;c. How many persons have I known go
mad and die from it! You treat it as nothing? why,
you will drive me crazy. In God’s name, never mind
<em>me</em>; only go and take care of yourself. You will act in
your own usual inconsiderate manner, and I shall have
to bury another in this house. Oh, God! oh, God!
what am I doomed to!” and then followed fresh cries
and fresh lamentations.</p>

<p>Could Sir Francis Burdett have seen all this, and
have known that five words of a letter, sent a month
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span>
or two sooner, in answer to her inquiries about the property
she thought was left her, would have probably
saved all this excitement, he would have found reason
to reproach himself for his long silence. I knew the
workings of her mind full well, and that her proud
spirit, wounded by the general neglect she met with,
vented itself in tears, seemingly, for other causes than
the real ones. I recollected a succession of similar
scenes about twenty years before at Mar Elias, when
she was expecting letters from the Duke of Buckingham;
but then she was sounder in bodily health, and
could better bear such convulsive paroxysms of grief:
now, she was labouring under pulmonary disease, was
old, was in distress, and the consequences might prove
fatal.</p>

<p>I left her before dinner. “Good by, doctor!” she
said, in a kind tone: “I cannot tell you how much I
am obliged to you for everything you do for me; and
send me a servant twice a day to let me know how you
are. I shall be uneasy about you: I can’t help it:
from my childhood I have been so. How many times
in my life have I spent days and days in trying to
make others comfortable! I have been the slave of
others, and never got any thanks for it.”</p>

<p>I went to my house, collected all the money that
remained, which was about eleven pounds, and sent it
to her to meet the current expenses of the household:
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span>
for so she wished, that I might not be annoyed, she
said, and have the rash driven in on my brain.</p>

<p>I experienced no ill effects from the nettlerash. Few
persons, new to the climate of Syria, escape a rash of
some description, sometimes pustular, sometimes
miliary, but most frequently in the form called prickly
heat, which generally attacks them in summer or
autumn, and is truly distressing by the pricking sensation
it produces on the skin, as if thousands of needle-points
were penetrating the cuticle. Little is required
in such cases but cool diet, fruit, and diluents. I
performed my quarantine of four days, in compliance
with Lady Hester’s wishes, and then returned to my
customary mode of life.</p>

<p>Saturday, February 24.—As I had anticipated, a
report had become very general in Beyrout and in the
Mountain that Lady Hester was dead, and I received
a letter from <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys acquainting me with it. This
report was confirmed by an English gentleman, who
presented himself at my gate this day after breakfast.
I was carpentering at the time, and went down the
yard to him with my hatchet and chisel in my hand.
He seemed not to know what to make of me, dressed
as I was in Turkish clothes, with a beard, and with
my sleeves turned up like a mechanic. He held out a
letter to me, addressed in a fair hand to Lady Hester:
I told him this was not her gate, and that a little
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span>
beyond he would find it. He said he had heard she
was dead: I assured him that was not the case, but
that she was greatly indisposed. I regretted to myself
that I could not ask him in, or enter into conversation
with him; but Lady Hester had exacted from me a
solemn promise that I never would hold any parley
with English travellers, until I had first conferred
with her on the subject, and had described them, so
that she might obtain the necessary indications to
enable her to guess what their business was, or until
she had read their letter of introduction, if they bore
one. So he quitted me, first asking whether I was an
Englishman; to which I answered that I left him to
judge. He appeared to be about twenty-one years of
age: he had with him for his servant a Ragusan,
whom my servant knew, and who, he assured me, was
a drunken reprobate. Short as the stop at the gate
was, the Ragusan found time to tell the other that he
had famous wages: I think it was eight dollars a
month. Now I gave mine, who was also a European,
four, which was considered good pay, the rate being,
in Lady Hester’s house, from one to three. Europeans,
however, always get more than people of the
country, and have more wants to satisfy. How many
travellers are obliged, on their landing in these countries,
to take fellows into their service without a
character, outcasts of society, and who in England
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span>
would hardly be allowed to see the outside of a
gaol!</p>

<p>Of this English gentleman Lady Hester never spoke
to me, nor did she ever even allude to his visit: he
did not see her, and, I presume, continued his road;
but, if these pages ever meet his eye, he may be
assured that he would have met with a hospitable
reception, had she been well enough to receive him, or
had I been at liberty to entertain him.</p>

<p>Whilst at dinner, a servant came to say Lady
Hester would be glad to see me in the evening. I
found her weak and wan: her cheeks were sunken,
and her voice was less distinct than usual; for never
was there a person who spoke generally with so clear
an enunciation. Logmagi was with her. Instead of
receiving her welcome, and those obliging expressions
which she usually employed even after the most
trifling ailment, she addressed me harshly, and seemed
to take pains to mortify me by using slighting expressions
in Arabic that Logmagi might understand what
she said. The theme of her conversation was the debasement
of men who suffered themselves to be controlled
by their wives. Although to mortify people
was one of her constant practices through life, whether
in action, correspondence, or conversation, yet it never
was done to gratify any malignant feelings of her own,
but from a fearless disregard of the conventional rules
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span>
of civilized society, where she hoped to rescue an individual
from debasement, or counteract the machinations
of designing and wicked men. On this principle it is
true, likewise, that she would deliberately inflict those
incurable insults which cover a man with a sort of
shame for life; as may be shown, for example, by the
case of Mr. Hanah Messâad, the son of the British
agent at Beyrout, one of whose whiskers and eyebrows
was shaved off before the whole village, for having
made an assertion then supposed to be false, but which
was afterwards, by her own confession to me, admitted
to be true.</p>

<p>Hanah, or John Messâad, a handsome young man,
a native of Beyrout, and the son of a former English
vice-consul, was interpreter and secretary to Lady
Hester for some time, and her ladyship has since bestowed
great praise, in my presence, on his capacity,
usefulness, and knowledge of languages. There was
in her service also Michael Tutungi, son of an Armenian,
who had been under-dragoman, as I understood,
to the English embassy at Constantinople. Messâad,
it was thought, was jealous of Michael.</p>

<p>It was reported in the family that Michael had
been seen under a tree in very close conversation with
a peasant girl, and the report was traced to Messâad.
Now, the Emir Beshýr affected, or really felt, a great
horror of all licentiousness, and never failed to bastinado
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span>
severely every man detected, in his principality,
in any such conduct. Lady Hester knew what imputations
might be cast on her establishment, if such
things were left unnoticed; and, fearing that Messâad’s
intrigues (of which she thought this report but
a link) might injure Michael’s character, and destroy
his prospects of getting a place in the English embassy
at Constantinople, to which he had some pretensions
from his father’s services, she resolved to save him by
making a signal example of Messâad.</p>

<p>She, therefore, ordered all the villagers from Jôon
to be assembled on the green in front of her house,
and sent for Mustafa, the barber, from Sayda, with
two or three other tradesmen to be witnesses. Seating
herself on a temporary divan, with all the assembly in
a circle around her, not a soul dreaming what was
going to take place, and Michael and Messâad standing
in respectful attitudes, with their arms crossed,
and covered, down to the fingers’ ends,<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> with their
benyshes, by her side, she began: “That young
man,” said she, pointing to Michael, “is accused of
irregularities with” (here she mentioned the girl’s
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span>
name, and the place and time of the meeting). “Now,
if any one of you knows him to have been guilty of
similar actions, or if, from his general conduct, under
similar circumstances, any one of you thinks the thing
probable, speak out, for I wish to do justice. Messâad
is his accuser: they are both my people, and
equally entitled to impartiality.” As nobody answered,
she appealed to them all again, and all replied
they did not believe it.</p>

<p>She then turned to Messâad, and said: “Sir, you
have accused this young man, who is about to be
launched into the world, and has only his good name
to help him on, of abominable things: where are your
witnesses?” Messâad, frightened out of his senses,
replied, “that he had no witnesses; that he had seen,
with his own eyes, what he had asserted, and, therefore,
knew it to be so: but, as he was alone, it must
rest on his own word.” Her ladyship told him his
word would not do against the concurring testimony
of all the servants, and of a whole village; and she
added, in a judge-like tone, “As your mouth and
your eye have offended, the stigma shall remain on
them. Servants, seize and hold him; and, barber,
shave off one side of his mustachios and one eyebrow.”</p>

<p>This was done. Michael was kept about a month
or two, in order that the protection he enjoyed might
seal his unblemished reputation, and then was packed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span>
off to Constantinople. “Thus,” said Lady Hester,
“I saved a young man from destruction. Messâad
has now a good place under the Sardinian consul at
Beyrout; his eyebrows and mustachios are grown
again; he has married, and has a family; and I dare
say the Sardinian consul, if he knows anything of the
story, thinks not a bit the worse of him.”</p>

<p>The above are the words in which Lady Hester, on
the 20th of January, 1831, related this singular
punishment, inflicted with the best intentions on poor
Messâad. One evening, in 1837, when writing a
letter to the same Messâad, for certain commissions
which he had to execute for her ladyship, who was in the
habit of employing him to buy pipes, cloth, and sundry
other articles found in the shops at Beyrout, she spoke
to me as follows. “You know, doctor, all that affair
about Michael and Messâad, and how I had one side
of his face shaved. Well, I found out afterwards
that what Messâad had said was every bit of it true.
I have made it up to him since as well as I could:
he does not want abilities, and kept my house in excellent
order whilst he was with me.”</p>

<p>But this was not the first time Lady Hester had
resorted to this singular mode of punishment; some
years before, a chastisement for similar frailties, not
unlike that which Messâad underwent, as far as regarded
the eyebrows, fell to the lot of a peasant girl
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span>
in her ladyship’s service at a village called Mushmôoshy.
This was in the year 1813. How fallible
are the most clearsighted persons is the only comment
which can be made on such unintentional errors!</p>

<p>For those who were not exempt from the common
weaknesses of our nature she was a dangerous person
to hold intercourse with. “Live at a distance from
my lady,” General Loustaunau used to say to
Mrs. M. (when she wanted to remove from Mar
Elias to Dar Jôon, in order to be near me); “live
at a distance, or you will find, to your cost, that
her neighbourhood is a hell.” But be it said, to her
honour, that it was from an unfeigned horror of everything
mean, dishonest, or vicious, she so resolutely
refused to keep terms with people who suffered themselves
to be led into the commission of such acts; and
her indignation descended with equal impartiality on
friends and foes when they happened to deserve it.
Her disposition to utter the truth, whether painful or
disagreeable, overruled all other considerations.</p>

<p>Few people conversed with her, or received a letter
from her, without being sensible of some expression or
innuendo, which they were obliged to treat as a joke
at the moment, but which was sure to leave its sting
behind. Of upwards of a hundred letters which I
have penned for her at her dictation to correspondents
of every rank in life, there were few which did not
contain some touch of merited sarcasm or reproof;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span>
except those which were expressly written to alleviate
distress, or encourage the hopeful efforts of modest
worth. Never was there so inflexible a judge, or one
who would do what she thought right, come what
would of it. <i lang="la">Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum</i>, might have
been written on her escutcheon.</p>

<p>Sunday, February 25.—Having recovered her tranquillity,
she was to-day all kindness. I mentioned to
her the report rife in Beyrout respecting her death,
as <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys had written it. She observed on it, “If
I do die, those consuls, thank God, can have nothing
to do with me! I am no English subject, and they
have no right to seal up my effects. Why do I keep
some of my servants, although I know them to be
desperate rascals, but because they have one or two
qualities useful to me? It would not do for every one
to run the risk, but it will for me, who know how to
manage them. For example: I have got two that I
can depend upon for shooting a man, or giving a
consul a good blow, if he dares to set his foot within
my doors, so as to prevent his ever coming again;
and such are what I want just now.”</p>

<p>She turned over in her mind how she could raise
a little money, and bethought herself of Mr. Michael
Tutungi, the Armenian, of Constantinople, who had
formerly served her in the capacity of dragoman. To
him she had written in 1836, offering him the same
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span>
situation he had held before, and, on his promise to
come, had forwarded to him 500 dollars for the expenses
of his journey and for some commissions: but
he subsequently declined the engagement, neither had
he executed the commissions. She therefore desired
me to draw a bill on him, payable to <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys’s order,
and to request <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys to discount it; for, during
my nettlerash, Lady Hester had given away the
greatest part of the 1,190 piasters to a family ruined
by the earthquake. It was in vain to represent to
her that she was in want of the money herself: “I
can’t help it,” she would say; “I am not mistress of
myself on such occasions.”</p>

<p>Tuesday, February 27.—Lady Hester got up, went
into her garden, and felt better. She had at last
found out that repletion, arising even from what would
be called small quantities of food and drink in health,
was very injurious in sickness; and she had grown
more moderate in her diet, not swallowing one liquid
upon another, nor eating four or five times a day.
Honey and butter mixed was now what she derived
most benefit from, and spermaceti linctuses. The
moment she found anything soothed her cough, she
immediately sent off an order to Beyrout for an immense
quantity of it, or to Europe, if at Beyrout it
was not to be had: she was never satisfied that her
medicine-chest was full enough. It will hardly be
credited that of Epsom salts she had a cask full, of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span>
the size of a firkin. She masticated aniseeds as a
remedy against dyspepsia, and smoked them sprinkled
on the tobacco of her pipe: of course, they were very
injurious to her, but it was idle to remonstrate.</p>

<p>February 29.—Lady Hester’s first topic of conversation
to-day was her maids. “What a <i>hywán</i>
[beast] is that <i>Sâady</i>!” she said: “when she awakes
in the morning, she crawls on all-fours exactly like an
animal. I am convinced she is nothing more: her
back is only fit to carry a pair of panniers.” I agreed
with her ladyship, and told her what I had seen her
do the day before. With one springing lift she raised
from the floor to her head a circular <i>mankàl</i> or chafingdish,
two feet in diameter, and piled up with live
coals—and, without holding it, but merely balancing
it on her head, she stooped perpendicularly, and
seized with her two hands another mankàl of baked
earth of equal size, filled with live coals also, and,
lifting it, carried them both at once into the drawing-room
to warm the apartment. These are the feats of
dexterity and strength in which Syrian women excel,
and in which they far surpass all European maids.</p>

<p>March 1.—Monsieur Henry Guys, the French
consul, having been advanced to the superior situation
of Aleppo, and being about to quit our part of the
country, arrived unexpectedly at Jôon to take his
leave. It was Tuesday, and just after sunset, when
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span>
he entered the gate. Lady Hester had, about a
quarter of an hour before, hurried me away from
her, as the sun was going to set, and it would have
been unlucky, had I left her a minute after the sun
was down. “I shall not see you to-morrow,” said
she, “as it will be Wednesday:” therefore, when she
was told that Monsieur Guys was come, it discomposed
her very much, and she sent word that, whatever
his business was, she could not see him until
after sunset next day.</p>

<p>As <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys was thus transferred to me for twenty-four
hours, I took the opportunity of letting him
know how disquieted I felt at having such great
responsibility on my shoulders, whilst Lady Hester
was so ill, and surrounded by a set of servants whom
I considered as so many cut-throats.</p>

<p>My position was extremely uncomfortable. Should
Lady Hester die, I foresaw that I should be exposed,
alone as I was, to many difficulties and dangers. The
Druze insurrection afforded every facility to an
assassin or robber for putting himself beyond the
reach of justice: since, in about five or six hours, he
could find a sure refuge from capture. He revived
my spirits by assuring me I need be under no alarm.
“All of them are known,” said he, “and have their
families and relations hereabouts: that one circumstance
must always be a check upon them. If they
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span>
were not natives of the province, then I should say
you were not safe among them. As for Lady Hester,
you know her determined character—if she is resolved
to keep them, you cannot help it. There is one,”
added he, “whom I could wish not to be here; I
thought him gone a year ago:” this was the one whom
Lady Hester relied on for sending a bullet through
the consul’s body.</p>

<p>There is a large stone edifice of great extent, distant
about three-quarters of a mile, as the crow flies, from
the village of Jôon, more like a fortress than the
peaceable habitation of cenobites. It is the monastery
of <i>Dayr el Mkhallas</i>, or the Saviour, and contains about
fifty friars of the Greek Catholic church, which repudiates
the pope, recognizing as its spiritual head its
own patriarch. <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys enjoyed the unlimited confidence
of these people as the well-tried and efficient
friend of the Catholic church throughout Syria; and it
was no sooner known that he was in the neighbourhood,
than the superior of the monastery gave him to
understand that a visit from him would be received as
a great honour by the monks. <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys devoted the
morning to this gratifying object, and his reception
was in the highest degree flattering. When he arrived
at the foot of the Mount, on the summit of which the
monastery stands, he was saluted by a merry chime of
church-bells, and then the whole body of the friars,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span>
with the cross borne before them, came out in procession
to meet him. The greatest ceremony was observed
on the occasion, and sherbet, coffee, pipes,
aspersion of rose-water, and homage, were lavished on
him, not less in the hope of securing a continuation of
his good offices, than as expressive of gratitude for
past kindnesses: for no man holding official rank in
Syria has ever enjoyed more popularity, or obtained
more general consideration, than the Chevalier Guys.
Descended from an ancient family of Provence, in
which the consular rank may be almost said to have
become hereditary, the Levant saw, at the beginning
of the present century, the rare occurrence of three
brothers holding consulships at the same time.</p>

<p>After dinner, <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Guys was summoned by Lady
Hester Stanhope, and I availed myself of the opportunity
it afforded me of remaining at home for the
evening. The next morning he departed before I was
up; but, being anxious to ascertain his opinions of
Lady Hester’s situation, I mounted my horse, and,
by taking a short but somewhat dangerous path down
the mountains, I overtook him. Nothing particular,
however, had transpired in their conversation, which
lasted for four hours; but he told me that he was
shocked to find her so much altered, and that he had
never heard such a hollow sepulchral cough. He
added that, frequently during the time he was with
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span>
her, she fell back on the sofa from exhaustion. She
spoke, too, a good deal, and in rather an odd way, of
extraordinary sights she had seen, of two apparitions
that had appeared to her, and of serpents near Tarsûs,
which go in troops devouring all before them, and with
a tone of conviction as if she believed it all. “What
does it mean,” he asked me—“and why do you let
her smoke so much?”</p>

<p>March 2.—Lady Hester was now getting better
slowly, but, as usual, her strength no sooner began to
return than it brought out all the unmanageable points
of her character in full relief. Something happened
in the house which ruffled her, and produced a discussion
between us, I hardly know how; but it ended by
her calling me a crabbed old fool: upon which I observed,
that I never heard such expressions from the
lips of ladies before. This set her off upon her inexhaustible
theme of fearless speaking. “If you were a
duke,” said she, “I would use exactly the same expressions.”—“Your
ladyship’s talents,” I ventured
to observe again, “are inexpressibly great, but, without
questioning that, I only lament the intemperate
use of them.” Taking up this observation, she dwelt
at great length upon the “sweetness of her temper,”
and I made my peace at last, by saying that a physician
should be the last person to complain of the
irritability of his patients. Apophthegms of this
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span>
submissive character were never lost upon her, provided
they were true, as well as apologetic; so pipes
were ordered, and we entered into an armistice for the
rest of the evening.</p>

<p>A curious but characteristic incident occurred about
this time. In the ravines of the mountains, where the
few living creatures that are to be found may be supposed
to be drawn into closer communion by a common
sense of loneliness, a shepherd named Câasem, who
was nearly fifty years old, formed a <i lang="fr">liaison</i> with a
village girl, whose occupation consisted in leading a
cow about in the solitary green nooks where any scanty
herbage was to be secured. The circumstance reached
Lady Hester’s ears before it was known to anybody
else, and she immediately ordered the man to be flogged
at break of day, with instructions that nobody should
tell him why or wherefore. “He will know what it
is for,” she exclaimed; then turning reproachfully to
Logmagi, to whom the execution of the order was
entrusted, she added:—“How is it you leave me to
be the first to discover these disgraceful acts, giving
the Emir Beshýr an excuse to say that I encourage
depravity in my servants, when it is your duty to
know everything that passes about my premises?”
Logmagi went, gave the shepherd a beating, and sent
him about his business. Lady Hester used to justify
severities of this description on the ground that it prevented
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span>
the recurrence of similar licentiousness, and
“kept the fellows in order.”</p>

<p>March 5.—This being the vigil of the <i>Korbàn
Byràm</i>, or the Mahometan Easter, which is their
great holyday, Lady Hester, who had previously given
her orders to a person who had some reputation as a
pastrycook, despatched at twelve at night three servants,
each with a <i>sennýah</i>, or round tray, on which
they were to bring back from Sayda by daylight the
<i>baklâawy</i>, <i>mamool</i>, and <i>karýby</i>, three delicious sorts of
sweet cakes, which are scarcely exceeded in delicacy
by the choicest pastry of Europe.</p>

<p>At noon, the servants, dressed in all their new
finery, sat down to a copious dinner composed of the
most luxurious Eastern dishes. But there was no
wine; for, whatever transgressions these people may
commit in that way in private, they never touch wine
in public. Logmagi and some others were known not
to be much troubled with such scruples, when they
could indulge themselves in secret: but Logmagi
always excused himself on the score of being a Freemason,
which is held in Turkey to be equivalent to a
jovial fellow who does not care much what he does.
The women, also, had their own feast, and a piece of
gold the value of twenty piasters was presented to each
of the servants. The day was literally abandoned to
pleasure; but what a contrast do the sober manners of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span>
Mahometans form to those of Europeans? Gambling
and noisy revels are out of the question in the tranquil
and easy delights in this simple race. Dancing is
generally confined to the boys, or to some buffoon who
gets up and wriggles about to the music of a small
tambourine, beaten with a single stick and producing
a dull sound, which they consider musical, and which
habit renders not disagreeable even to European ears.
Every man smokes his pipe; and a good story-teller
(for such a one is rarely wanting in a party of a dozen,)
relates some traditionary tale, which absorbs for the
time all the faculties of his hearers. The cook was
one of this sort, a Christian of the village of Abra, a
shrewd fellow, who went by the name of <i>Dyk</i>, or the
Cock, from his rather strutting air, or from the vigorous
exercise of his authority over his wife, whom
he beat every now and then to keep her in proper discipline—a
redeeming quality in the eyes of Lady
Hester, who otherwise would have dismissed him from
her service.</p>

<p>Lady Hester’s astrological powers were put to a
practical test to-day. Fatôom, one of her maid servants,
whose name has frequently occurred in these
pages, required my medical services, under the following
circumstances. About six years before, having, in
league with Zeyneb, a black girl, and some men of the
village, robbed her mistress of several valuable effects,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span>
she was turned away: but, upon exhibiting great
repentance, she was taken back again. Lady Hester
found no difficulty, as may be supposed, in extracting
from her a confession of the system of plunder that
had been carried on, and the names of her accomplices.
“I could hang them all,” was her constant expression
in speaking of them. Fatôom had been in her ladyship’s
service ten or eleven years, and was not yet
twenty; and, being very pretty, and decked out in the
finery to which she was enabled to help herself by her
share of the plunder, she had vanity enough, when she
was turned away, to hope that she should get at least
an aga for a husband: but she was disappointed, and
was obliged to put up with a small farmer. She consequently
came back a married woman, in poor plight
as to circumstances, with the prospect of having her
difficulties aggravated by a speedy increase to her
cares. On this day, 5th March, Fatôom complained
of pains. There was not a moment to be lost: the
midwife was instantly sent for; Fatôom was hurried
away to her mother’s in the village, and, before the
expiration of a quarter of an hour, she gave birth to a
boy.</p>

<p>As soon as Lady Hester learned the result, she
requested me to go and see her. I found Fatôom
sitting on a mattress on the floor (for nobody in the
East has a bedstead) with from fifteen to twenty
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span>
women squatted around her, the midwife supporting
her back, and the child lying by her, covered with a
corner of the quilt. Fatôom, very yellow, looked as
if she had been in a great fright, and was astonished
there was so little in it. After feeling her pulse, and
delivering to her mother a basket of good things, such
as lump sugar, six or eight sorts of spices, &amp;c., with
which it is customary to make the caudle upon these
occasions, as also a new counterpane, and two silk
pillows, for her lying-in present, I took a glance at
the village gossips. There they were, holding forth
much in the same way as the peasantry in other
countries, with this difference, that here my presence
was no restraint, and the minutest details of the recent
event were discussed with as little reserve as if they
had been talking of the ordinary incidents of the day.</p>

<p>Having returned to Lady Hester with an account
of what I had seen, she immediately set about casting
the infant’s nativity, first ascertaining accurately the
hour at which he was born—a quarter before two.
“He will have,” said she, “arched eyebrows, rolling
eyes, and a nose so and so: he will be a devil, violent
in his passions, but soon pacified: his fingers will be
long and taper, without being skinny and bony:” and
thus she went on, in a manner so impressed with
faith and earnestness, that it is not to be wondered at
how persons of good judgment have lent their ears to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span>
astrologers, where the study has been fortified by a
previous knowledge of man, his temperaments, and
the innate and external characteristics of passions, of
virtue, and of vice. She gave him the name of Selim,
and sent word to say his star agreed with hers very
well. This was good news for Fatôom, as it was equivalent
to Lady Hester’s taking charge of the infant.</p>

<p>The cradle had already been prepared: it was of
wood, painted green, something like a trough, and
perforated at the bottom, as is usual in the East. A
tube of wood with a bowl to it, exactly of the form of a
tobacco-pipe, is tied to the child’s waist, a rude but
ingenious contrivance to save trouble to the nurse, the
bowl serving as the immediate recipient, and the tube
passing through the side of the cradle.<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p>

<p>March 7.—This being Wednesday, Lady Hester,
as usual, was invisible. What she did on these mysterious
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span>
days I never heard: for a person once away from
her might as well divine how the man in the moon
was employed as guess how she was passing her time.</p>

<p>Thursday, March 8.—I saw Lady Hester about
four o’clock: she was in a very irritable state: she
complained bitterly, as usual, of her servants—of their
neglect, ignorance, and heartlessness: she said she
would rather be surrounded by robbers; for there is
some principle amongst thieves. “Oh!” she exclaimed,
“that I could find one human being who knew his
Creator!”</p>

<p>She went on:—“I have had a very bad night, and
whether I shall live or die, I don’t know: but this I
tell you beforehand, that, if I do die, I wish to be
buried, like a dog, in a bit of earth just big enough to
hold this miserable skin, or else to be burnt, or thrown
into the sea. And, as I am no longer an English
subject, no consuls, nor any English of any sort, shall
approach me in my last moments; for, if they do, I
will have them shot. Therefore, the day before I die,
if I know it, I shall order you away, and not only
you, but everything English; and if you don’t go, I
warn you beforehand, you must take the consequences.
Let me be scorched by the burning sun<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a>—frozen by the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span>
cold blast—let my ashes fly in the air—let the wolves
and jackals devour my carcase;—let”—here the
agitation she was in, and which had kept increasing,
brought on a severe fit of coughing, and it was a
quarter of an hour before she could recover strength
enough to speak again. Her exhaustion reduced her
to a little calm.</p>

<p>After dinner I saw her again, but now her irritability
had passed away. “Take your chair,” said she,
“here by the bed—turn your back to the window to
save your poor eyes from the light—never mind me:
there—I am afraid I have overworked them by so
much writing. But I know, if you did not write for
me, you would be writing or reading for yourself:
you are just like my sister Griselda.”</p>

<p>She went on:—“You are angry with me, I dare
say, because I told you I would not have you near me
when I am dying: but I suppose I may do as I please.
No English consul shall touch me or my effects: no:
when I was going, sooner than that, I will call in all
the thieves and robbers I can find, and set them to
plunder and destroy everything. But I shall not die
so:—I shall die as <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Elias and Isaac did; and,
before that, I shall have to wade through blood up to
here” (and she drew her hand across her neck), “nor
will a spark of commiseration move me. The <i>bab el
tobi</i> [gate of pardon] will then be shut; for neither
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span>
king, nor priest, nor peasant, shall enter when that
hour comes. You and others will then repent of not
having listened to my words.”</p>

<p>Saturday, March 10.—Let us take this night as a
sample of many others, to show sometimes what was
doing in a solitary residence on Mount Lebanon, in
which the vivid fancies of European writers had conjured
up an imaginary mode of existence wholly
different from the sad reality. From eight o’clock at
night until one in the morning, Lady Hester Stanhope
had kept the house in commotion, upon matters
which would seem so foreign to her rank, her fortune,
and her supposed occupations, that, when enumerated,
they will hardly be believed. First, there was a deliberation
of half an hour to decide whether it would
be best to send the mules on the next day or the day
after for wheat: then several servants were to be
questioned, one after another, in order to compare
their conflicting testimony, whether her fields of barley
had come up, and how high, and what crops they promised;
next, whether the oranges, now fit to be
gathered, should be put under the gardener’s care, or
into a store-room in the house. Then ensued a conversation
with me, whether Fatôom was not playing some
deep game in pretending to be separated from her
husband; and so on, with a score of other topics
equally unimportant, but with all of which she worried
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span>
herself so effectively, that it seemed as if she wilfully
sought refuge in such petty annoyances, for the sake
of escaping from secret heart-burnings, which she did
not choose to betray. In this way she had the secretary
called up twice from his bed, and the bailiff
once, keeping the rest of the servants in continual
motion, whilst I was obliged, in civility, to sit and
listen to it all.</p>

<p>Old Pierre had been sent for from Dayr el Kamar.
As a person who figures occasionally in these domestic
scenes, I must make the reader a little acquainted
with his history. In the year 1812, when Lady
Hester was travelling from Jerusalem along the coast
towards Damascus, we reached Dayr el Kamar,
where Pierre came and offered himself to me as a servant.
I took him; but his various talents as a cook,
a guide, and an interpreter, and most of all as an adventurer,
who had an extraordinary fund of anecdotes
to relate, soon brought him into notice with Lady
Hester, and she asked him of me for her own service.
He accompanied us to Palmyra and through different
parts of Syria, resided with her at Latakia and Mar
Elias, and remained in her service many years. Having
amassed a little money, he obtained permission to
retire to Dayr el Kamar, where he kept a cook’s-shop,
or, if you will, a tavern.</p>

<p>But Lady Hester never lost sight of him. From
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span>
time to time, when any traveller left her house to
traverse Mount Lebanon, or to journey to Damascus
and Aleppo, or even to Palmyra, Pierre was recommended
as interpreter and guide, and, I understand,
always discharged his duties to the satisfaction of his
employers. He is known to many Englishmen,
among the rest to the <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Mr. Way, who seems to
have been very good to him; and Pierre, on his side,
retains a most grateful remembrance of that gentleman’s
bounty.</p>

<p>Pierre springs from a good family, by the name of
Marquis or Marquise, originally of Marseilles, and
afterwards established as merchants in Syria. When
he was a boy, he accompanied an uncle to France,
who took him to Paris. The uncle wore the Levantine
dress; and, having some business to transact connected
with government, was on one occasion summoned
to Versailles, where the court was. Chance or
design threw Pierre in the way of the king, Louis XVI.,
who talked to him about the Levant, as did also Monsieur,
afterwards Louis XVIII. Of this conversation
Pierre never failed to make considerable boast.</p>

<p>On his return to Syria, Pierre lived with his relations,
until Buonaparte laid siege to Acre, where his
knowledge of the French language recommended him
to the notice of that general. He bore a commission
in his army; and, on the retreat of the French into
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span>
Egypt, accompanied them, and remained there until
the final evacuation, when he obtained a pension; but
of which, he declared, he had never touched a sou, in
consequence of residing abroad.</p>

<p>Mons. Urbain, a contributor to the <cite>Temps</cite>, happening
to meet with Pierre when he was travelling in
Syria, was so highly diverted with his anecdotes, that,
on his return to France, he wrote no less than three
<i lang="fr">feuilletons</i>, or notices on <cite lang="fr">Le Vieux Pierre</cite>; at least, so
I was informed by Monsieur Guys.</p>

<p>Pierre had been sent for by Lady Hester Stanhope,
and she assigned him a room close to the doors of her
own quadrangle, that he might be always within call.
Pierre was a man exceedingly thin, with an aquiline
nose, and a steady eye, full of gasconade to be mistaken
for courage, wonderfully loquacious, and deeply
imbued with all the mystic doctrines that Lady
Hester sometimes preached about. But Pierre’s chief
merit lay in his star, which, she assured me, was so
propitious to her, that it could calm her convulsions,
and lay her to sleep, when books, narcotics, and everything
else failed.</p>

<p>Glancing in these desultory memorials from one
person to another, I may here mention, that one of
the maids, named Sâady, incurred the particular aversion
of Lady Hester, just as strongly as Pierre was
favoured with her partiality. Poor Sâady never
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span>
entered her presence without being saluted by some
epithet of disgust or opprobium: yet Sâady worked
from morning till night, and seldom got to bed until
three, four, or five o’clock in the morning. But Lady
Hester insisted on the necessity of treating her servants
in this way for the purpose of keeping them on
the alert; and she would frequently quote her grandfather’s
example to prove how powerful particular
aversions were in people of exalted minds—such as
hers and his. In this way she kept herself in a state
of constant irritation, as if she were determined obstinately
to oppose the inroads of disease by increased
exertion, exactly in proportion as her physical strength
became more and more weakened and reduced.</p>

<p>Monday, March 12.—Two servant boys were
flogged by Logmagi for having quitted the courtyard
both at the same time, when one at least was wanted
to carry messages from the inner to the outer courts.
These punishments were inflicted by making the delinquent
lie at his full length flat on the ground, his
head being held by one servant, and his feet by another
while the stripes were administered. My disposition
revolted at these whippings; although perhaps they
were necessary, as Lady Hester said. The servants
would not have borne them, but that they had in fact no
choice, knowing well that they must either remain and
be flogged, or be sent to the Nizàm, where they would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span>
be flogged twice as much, with the risk of being killed
to boot.</p>

<p>Wednesday, March 14.—Lady Hester was in very
low spirits this evening, and, as night advanced, she
had a paroxysm of grief, which quite terrified me.
With a ghastly and frenzied look, she kept crying
until my heart was rent with her wretchedness.
When I left her for the night, although she was somewhat
composed, her image haunted me, even when
sleep had closed my eyes.</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a>
 No dependant stands before his superior in the East without
covering his hands with his robe or with the hanging sleeves customary
among Orientals. In sitting, the feet and legs are likewise hidden; at
least, so good-breeding requires, and persons alone who are on terms of
familiarity would thrust them out, or let them hang pendent.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a>
In the cottages of Mount Lebanon there are many things occurring
daily which would greatly surprise an English practitioner. A luxation
of the shoulder-joint in an infant, real or supposed, was cured,
they told me, by taking the child by the wrist and swinging it round
with its feet off the ground, until the bone got into place again. I
assisted, for the second time, at the cure of a sore throat, in a man
thirty-six years of age, who suffered a pocket-handkerchief to be drawn
tightly round his neck until his face turned black and he was half
strangled. The man declared the next day he was well, and the operator
assured me it was a never-failing remedy.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">[36]</a>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry smaller" lang="it">
    <div class="verse indent0">“Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Arbor æstivâ recreatur aurâ,” &amp;c.</div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="footnote">Yet Lady Hester had never read Horace.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span>

<h2><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span> <abbr title="Ten"><span class="allsmcap">X.</span></abbr></h2>
</div>

<p class="small short">Visit of Mr. Vesey Forster and Mr. Knox—Lady S. N.’s
pension and Mr. H.—Lady Hester undeservedly censured by
English travellers—Mr. Anson and Mr. Strangways—Mr. B.
and Mr. C.—Captain Pechell—Captain Yorke—Colonel
Howard Vyse—Lord B.</p>


<p class="p2">Mr. Forster and Mr. Knox, two English gentlemen,
came up to Jôon this morning to pay a visit to
Lady Hester. To my great surprise, I found them
seated at the porter’s lodge among the servants, who
were standing around them; a situation to which they
accommodated themselves with the good sense of men
of the world. They had sent in a message that two
Franks were at the gate, having a letter for the Syt
Mylady, and were patiently awaiting the result.</p>

<p>I took the liberty of inquiring their names, and
hastened to her ladyship; whilst orders were given to
conduct them immediately to the strangers’ room.
Lady Hester, who had got their letter in her hand,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span>
told me one was a relation of Sir Augustus Forster,
our ambassador at Turin. “Go instantly to them,”
said she, “for Sir Augustus is an old friend of mine,
and be particularly attentive to Mr. Forster—indeed,
to both of them. Tell them, I am very sorry I can’t
see them; for, when I get into conversation, I become
animated, and then I feel the effects of it afterwards;
but assure them that they are welcome to make their
home of their present lodging for a couple of days or
a couple of hours, or as long as they like. Do they
look gentlemanlike?” she asked. “Ah!” continued
she, “what a charm good-breeding gives to mankind,
and how odious vulgarity is after it! Only reflect!
I, who have been all my life accustomed to the most
refined society, what I must feel sometimes to have
nothing to do but with beasts. But go, go! and make
them as comfortable as you can.”</p>

<p>They were in the strangers’ room, which stood in a
small garden, ornamented with a few rose-bushes,
pomegranate and olive-trees, and some flowering
plants. It was a little enclosure, which had by no
means a disagreeable aspect, surrounded by a wall
topped with prickly thorn-bushes. Once inside this
place, the new comer could know nothing of what was
passing without. Such were Lady Hester’s contrivances:
everything about her must wear an air of
mystery.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span>
I lost no time in conveying Lady Hester’s message
to them, and, for the short hour I enjoyed the pleasure
of their conversation, had every reason to rejoice
in the opportunity of making their acquaintance. As
this visit of two travellers may serve as a specimen of
what occurred, with slight variations, on every similar
occasion, when Englishmen came to her house, who
were little aware how much trouble their unexpected
arrival sometimes caused her, I shall detail what passed
as minutely as I can.</p>

<p>I had hardly paid my compliments to them, and
inquired whether they would take an English breakfast
or something more solid, when a message came
from Lady Hester to say she wanted to see me for a
moment. This was always her way. The ruling
passion of ordering what was to be done and what was
to be said on all occasions made her impatient about
things passing out of her sight.</p>

<p>“Well, doctor,” cried Lady Hester, “what age do
they appear to be, and where do they come from?”
Having satisfied her on the first head, I told her
they were last from the Emir’s palace at Btedýn:
then, after some trifling observation, I added, the
Emir complained to them that <abbr title="Monsieur">M.</abbr> Lamartine, in his
recent work on Syria, had greatly compromised him
with Ibrahim Pasha, in having said that he, the
Emir, had entertained the most friendly dispositions
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span>
towards Buonaparte and the French during the siege
of Acre. This the Emir denied, and averred that
his great friend was Sir Sydney Smith: meaning,
probably, as I observed from myself, to compliment
his present guests at the expense of the absent French.
“He was very civil to the two travellers,” I added,
“and, understanding they were going to see your
ladyship, he sent his compliments to you.”—“Ah!”
replied she, “that looks as if he were fishing for
friends, in case he should shortly have to fly; for they
say that Sherýf Pasha has been defeated in the Horàn,
and the Emir begins to tremble; for the Druzes will
not spare him.”</p>

<p>I then told Lady Hester they had refused tea or
coffee, but, as they were come from a distance, would
probably like something more substantial: they had
expressed, too, a wish for a glass of lemonade. Here
Lady Hester, suddenly raising herself in her bed, interrupted
me with “Good God!—lemonade! why,
the maid said that the secretary had been to ask for
some violet syrup for them: now, which is it they
want? Can nobody ever take upon them to direct
the simplest thing but they must blunder? must
everything fall upon me?”—“Well, but,” observed I,
“lemonade, or violet syrup, it does not much matter
which!”—“Not matter!—there it is again: and
then who is there can make lemonade?—not a soul
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span>
but myself in the whole house: and poor I am obliged
to wear my little strength out in doing the most
trivial offices. Here I am; I wanted to write another
letter to go by the steamboat, and now all my thoughts
are driven out of my head. Zezefôon!” (ding, ding,
ding, went the bell) “Zezefôon! order the gardener
to bring me four or five of the finest lemons on the
tree next the alley of roses—you know where I
mean—and prepare a tray with glasses.” This was
accordingly done, and Lady Hester, sitting up in
bed, went to work squeezing lemons and making
lemonade.</p>

<p>In my way to her ladyship’s room from the strangers’,
I had called the cook, and directed him to dress a
mutton-chop, to make a vermicelli soup, a dish of
spinach and eggs, a little tunny-fish salad, and with a
cold rice pudding (which I recollected and sent for
from my house), and some Parmesan cheese, I trusted
there would be enough for a hasty meal. Whilst
making the lemonade, the following conversation went
on. “Now, doctor, what can be got for their <i lang="fr">déjeûner
à la fourchette</i>? for there is nothing whatever
in the house.” I mentioned what I had ordered.
“Ah! yes,” resumed Lady Hester, “let me see:—there
is a stew of yesterday’s, that I did not touch,
that may be warmed up again, and some potatoes may
be added; and then you must taste that wine that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span>
came yesterday from Garýfy, to see if you think they
will like it. The spinach my maid must do. Dyk”
(the cook) “does not know how to dress spinach, but
I have taught Zezefôon to do it very well.” (Ding,
ding, ding.) “Zezefôon, you know how to boil
spinach in milk, and you must garnish it with five
eggs, one in each corner, and one in the centre.”—“Yes,
Sytty.”—“And, Zezefôon, send the <i>yackney</i>”
(stew) “to Dyk, and let it be warmed up for the
strangers. They must have some of my butter and
some of my bread. Likewise give out the silver
spoons and knives and forks; they are under that
cushion on the ottoman, there; and mind you count
them when you give them to Mohammed, or they will
steal one, and dispute with you afterwards about the
number:—a pack of thieves! And let the cook send
in the dishes necessary: for I will not have any of
mine go out.</p>

<p>“You must tell the travellers, doctor, and especially
Mr. Forster, for he is an Irishman, that I have
a great deal of Irish and Scotch blood in me, and no
English. Tell him I have made great investigations
on the subject of the origin of the Scotch, and could
prove to him that they came originally from this
country. Tell him how beautiful the Irish women
are, and that I, having had opportunities of seeing
some of the finest Circassians and Georgians of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span>
harýms of great Turks here and at Constantinople,
think there are none like Irish women.</p>

<p>“If Mr. Forster asks you anything about the
Druzes (as he seems to interest himself concerning the
religion of that people), say to him that the Druzes,
the Ansàries, the Ishmäelites—all these sects—must
and will remain a mystery to strangers. There was
Monsieur Reynaud, one of the forty <i lang="fr">savants</i> who wrote
the great book on Egypt, and was afterwards consul at
Sayda—if any body could comprehend the secret, he
could; yet, although he had four of the Druze books
in his possession, and five learned persons of this
country to assist him in translating and explaining
them through a whole winter, he could make out
nothing: because, even if you understand the text,
you are still not a bit the wiser. Suppose, for example,
you open a page, and you find these words—‘Do
you use senna leaves?’ which is one of their questions
of recognition, like similar apparently vague questions
in freemasonry: what do you know about that? You
may understand the answer clearly enough, so far as
mere words go; but it is useless unless you understand
the thing of which the words are a symbol;
for they are all symbolical. You must know that it
refers to an insurgent, who, in the cause of their faith,
raised the standard of revolt, centuries ago, in the
land where senna grows, and that it implies, ‘Do you
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span>
adopt his tenets?’ and so of other passages. The
chiefs of their religion cannot make any disclosures;
for, if they did, their lives would be the forfeit. Tell
him they are a bold, sanguinary race, who will cut a
man in pieces themselves, or see it done by others,
and never change colour. Why, one of them, not
long since, killed or wounded with his own hands five
of Ibrahim Pasha’s soldiers, who were sent to seize
him as a refractory recruit.”</p>

<p>Here Lady Hester, having finished making the
lemonade, stopped for a moment to desire Zezefôon to
take it out and send it to the strangers’ room. She
then resumed, “Tell them, doctor, that no people
will bear a flogging like the Druzes. The Spartans
were nothing to them: isn’t it the Spartans that were
such floggers? for I am such a dunce that I never can
recollect some things which every schoolboy knows;
and I always said I was a dunce in some things,
although Mr. Pitt used to say, ‘Hester, if you would
but keep your own counsel, nobody could detect it.’
But it is the truth, and when you talk to me of paper
money and the funds (although I may understand for
the moment what you try to explain to me), I forget
it all the next morning: yet, on subjects which my
inclination leads me to investigate, nobody has a better
judgment. My father, with all his mathematical
knowledge, used to say I could split a hair. Talk to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span>
the point, was his cry: and I could bring truth to a
point as sharp as a needle. I divested a subject of all
extraneous matter, and there it was—you might turn
and twist it as you would, but you must always come
back to that.</p>

<p>“The Druzes like me, and all the Emir Beshýr’s
hatred of me arose from my friendship for the Shaykh
Beshýr.<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> After you left me, I went to stay with him
at Makhtâra, where he assigned me a wing of the
palace to live in. He was a clever man, and afterwards,
in his troubles, came to me for advice and succour: he
offered me a third of his treasures, but I refused them.
When he fled, the Emir Beshýr got about a third of
them; an equal portion they say is buried: and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">323</span>
the remainder was carried off by his wife, but afterwards
lost. Poor woman! she is dead now. It was
the attempt to relieve her, amongst other causes, that
drew me into embarrassments. She had fled—her
husband was a captive at Acre—and the Emir was
pursuing her in every direction to take her life. The
snow was thick on the ground. She had with her a
child at the breast, one two years old, and another:
two were with the father in prison. I despatched
people with clothes and money to relieve her immediate
wants; they found her in the Horàn, where she
had taken refuge with an old servant. Her daughter
also applied to me for assistance, but I was penniless,
and could do nothing for her. Poor girl! she was
afterwards married, but Ibrahim Pasha cut off her
husband’s head, and she went raving mad. To complete
the tragedy, Hanah Abôod, one of those I sent
to look after her, fell asleep out of weariness, after
having returned home on foot through the snow, and
got an inflammation in his eyes, which ended in total
blindness. The journey back occupied I think forty
hours. I have been obliged partially to maintain the
poor fellow and Werdy, his wife, ever since.</p>

<p>“Perhaps, doctor, Mr. Forster and Mr. Knox may
have heard of the extraordinary conduct of the English
government towards me; so let them know that I am
not low-spirited about it; and, although the Queen may
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span>
think herself justified in taking away my pension, I
would not, even if I were a beggar, change places with
her. As for the Queen’s interfering in my affairs,
she might just as well go and stop Sir Augustus
Forster’s salary, on the plea that he had left his tailor’s
bill unpaid. My debts were incurred very often for
things I did not care about for myself. For example,
what are books to me, who never look into them? If
I had been like you doctors, who tell your patients to
take turtle soup, and then contrive to be asked to
dinner, it were another thing: but my researches were
for the good of others, and for no advantage of my
own.</p>

<p>“When I think what I have done, and what I could
have done if I had had more money! There was a
book came into my hands, which the owner, not
knowing its value, offered for my acceptance as you
would offer an old brass candlestick. I consulted several
persons about it; and, when all assured me it was a
valuable manuscript, I scorned to take advantage of
the man’s ignorance, and returned it to him, telling
him when I was rich enough I would buy it of him.
Ought not a person to act so?” “Undoubtedly,” I
replied, “a person of principle would not act otherwise.”
“Principle!” she exclaimed; “what do you
mean by principle?—I am a Pitt.”</p>

<p>As I did not understand precisely why a Pitt should
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span>
be above principle, although it would seem there is a
species of integrity higher than principle itself, I held
my tongue, and Lady Hester went on. “I know
where to find a book that contains the language spoken
by Adam and Eve:<a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> the letters are a span high.
Such things have fallen into my hands as have fallen
into nobody’s else. I know where the serpent is that
has the head of a man, like the one that tempted Eve.
The cave still exists not far from Tarsûs; and the
villages all about are exempted from the <i>miri</i> in consideration
of feeding the serpents. Everybody in that
neighbourhood knows it: isn’t it extraordinary? why
don’t you answer? is it, or is it not? Good God! I
should go mad if I were obliged to remain three whole
days together in your society—I’m sure I should. Such
a cold man I never saw; there is no getting an answer
from you: however, think as you like. These serpents
will march through the country to fight for the
Messiah, and will devour everything before them.”
Here she paused for about a minute, and then added,
“I think you had better not tell them anything about
the serpents; perhaps their minds are not prepared for
matters of this sort.”</p>

<p>I have already observed that Monsieur Guys had
mentioned, with some surprise, the serious manner in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span>
which Lady Hester spoke of these serpents; and, although
he did not express it, yet he half intimated
that he thought her intellects a little disordered: we
shall see hereafter if they were so.</p>

<p>Lady Hester resumed: “But now, doctor, if you
can spare a minute, you must write a line by the
messenger to Monsieur Guys, and tell him I had
begun a letter to him, but that the arrival of two
English travellers, one of whom revived a number of
recollections, had obliged me to stop short, and I could
write no more. Doctor, this Mr. Forster must be
one of the children of the Irish Speaker. He was left
with ten; and I remember very well one day that
H******** was standing before me at a party, making
a number of bows and scrapes, turning up his eyes,
and cringing before me so, that when we got home,
Mr. Pitt said to me, ‘Hester, if I am not too curious,
what could H******** have to say that animated him
so much: what could he be making such fine speeches
about: what could call forth such an exuberance of
eloquence in him?’—‘Oh! it was nothing,’ answered
I; ‘he was telling me that all the power of the Treasury
was at my service—that he would take care that
Lady S**** N*****’s pension should be got through
the different offices immediately—that he had nothing
so much at heart as to execute my orders—that he
would see all that was necessary should be done according
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span>
to my wishes, and so on; but, as I despise
the man, I only laughed at him and turned my back
on him; for I drink at the fountain head.’</p>

<p>“‘Now, this is really too good a thing,’ interrupted
Mr. Pitt, lifting up his eyes in astonishment. ‘It
was but this very day, at three o’clock, that he was
urging me not to let this very pension be given, or at
least to prolong the business for a year, if it were possible;
till, by tiring her patience, the thing might be
dropped, or something turn up to set it aside; adding,
that it would be opening the door to abuses, and, if I
granted this too readily, I should have Forster’s ten
children to provide for.’”</p>

<p>Lady Hester went on: “From that day, I knew
my man. I then said to Mr. Pitt, ‘Let me show
him who he has to deal with; do give your orders
that the thing may be done immediately.’—‘Oh! but
it is too late to-night,’ said Mr. Pitt. ‘No, it is not,’
I cried; ‘for I see a light in the Treasury.’ So I
rang, and sent for” (here her ladyship mentioned a
name which I could not catch, but I think it was
Mr. Chinnery)—. When he came, I said to him,
‘Will you be so good, sir, the first thing in the morning,
to see that all the signatures are put to Lady
S. N.’s paper: there is Mr. Pitt; ask him if it is so
or not.’ Mr. Pitt of course assented, and there the
matter ended. Doctor, I had a great deal of trouble
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span>
with those sort of people, like H——. Now, if
Mr. Forster is about thirty-five years old, he must be
one of that family.<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p>

<p>“Do tell Mr. Forster what a pack of beasts those
servants are. Ask him if he ever heard of women
throwing themselves down to sleep in the middle of a
courtyard, or on the floor of a kitchen, dragging their
quilt after them from place to place: tell him that is
what mine do, and that I am obliged to wait a quarter
of an hour for a glass of water.</p>

<p>“You may talk to them a little about stars, but I
dare say you will commit some horrible blunder, as
you always do, and that is what makes me so afraid
of your having to say anything that concerns me.
Tell Mr. Forster that in people’s stars lie their abilities,
and that you may bring up a hundred men to
be generals and another hundred to be lawyers, but
out of these perhaps four or five only will turn out
good for anything. When a grand Llama is to be
chosen, why do they go about until they have found
a particular boy with certain marks, known to the
learned of that country—a child born under a certain
star? It is because, when they have found such a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span>
one, he has no occasion for instruction; he is born the
man for their purpose.</p>

<p>“Thus, the Duke of Wellington is not a general
by trade—I mean by instruction; for, if examined
before a court-martial on all the branches of military
tactics, perhaps he would be found deficient. Hundreds
may know more of them than he does: but he
is a general by his star. He acts under a certain
impulse, which makes him hit on the stratagem he
ought to practise, and, without the help of previous
study or even the suggestions of experience, he knows
that his manœuvre is right. It was thus with me
when I was young. People might preach and talk;
but, when I saw them doing things or reasoning about
them, I could at once distinguish the things that were
right from the things that were wrong; but I could
not say why or wherefore. My father said I was the
best logician he ever saw—I could split a hair. The
last time he saw me, he repeated the same words, and
said I had but one fault, which was being too fond of
royalty.”</p>

<p>I observed here to Lady Hester, that in many
things she reminded me of the ancient philosophers,
to whom she bore a strong resemblance on most
points; but that in this one particular she differed
from them widely, as most of them were strenuously
opposed to royalty and monarchical power. “My
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span>
liking for royalty,” she answered, “is not, indiscriminate,
but I believe in the divine right of kings;
for I have found it out. And you may ask Mr. Forster
also why the bottle of oil came from India to anoint
the kings of France. I dare say they never heard of
Melek es Sayf, a hero whose exploits and name are
hardly inferior in the East to those of Solomon. Is it
not extraordinary, that in Europe they know nothing
of those people—of him and his forty sons, all of whom
were men of note in their time? This must be so;
for some of the gates of Cairo are named after them.</p>

<p>“If you happen to speak about the Albanians and
the other soldiers that I had here, tell them I did not
see them all; I only saw the most desperate, and
those whose violence was to be kept under. When I
admitted them to my presence, I was always alone,
and they always wore their arms; but I never feared
them.”</p>

<p>Thus Lady Hester went on talking: the dish of
potatoes, the dessert, and several other things were
forgotten. So, reminding her that Mr. Forster and
Mr. Knox must be all this time marvelling what
could have detained me, I at last made my escape.
In the mean while, the breakfast had been served up
as well as the resources of the place would admit.
The scene must have been highly curious to her ladyship’s
guests, who could not fail to be amused as well
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">331</span>
as surprised at the sight of a deal table, rush-bottomed
chairs, cheese put on first and a pudding in a copper
dish after it, with other anomalies that would have
made even a third-rate Brummell shudder. But the
occasions for eating in the European way in Lady
Hester’s house occurred very rarely, and the servants,
who were habituated to Turkish usages or to the
mongrel service of some Levantine dragoman, had no
notions of the regulations of an English table. In my
own house, I had two tolerably well-trained boys;
but there was an interdict against their ever crossing
the threshold of Lady Hester’s gate, in order that no
information of what was going on within her walls
should be carried out to the female part of my family.
In the most common concerns, Lady Hester’s servants
made much bustle and did little. They ran in different
directions, jostled and crossed each other half a
dozen at a time for the same thing, entirely reversing
one of her favourite maxims, that everything in a
great person’s house should be done as if by magic,
and nobody should know who it was set it a going.
These servants had but one spring of action, and that
was the <i>bakshysh</i>, or present, which they all looked
for on the departure of a stranger. It was a painful
thought to me, as these gentlemen left the gate, that,
when they were about to mount their horses, the mercenary
spirit of such a set of varlets might be charged
to the connivance of the mistress.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">332</span></p>

<p>The two travellers made a miserable repast, and,
when it was over, signified their desire to take leave.
It seems they had taken Lady Hester’s invitation “to
make the place their home for two hours or two days”
in its literal acceptation; and it is scarcely necessary to
say that there was no time for me to enter into an explanation
on the subject, nor, indeed, to deliver a tenth
part of the discursive matter with which Lady Hester
had charged me. It was from these gentlemen I
learned, for the first time, that a committee had been
appointed, on the motion of Mr. D. W. Harvey, for
inquiring into the pensions on the civil list. It had so
happened that no newspapers had reached us for a
long time, and, consequently, this was the first intimation
her ladyship had received of a measure in which
it might be supposed she felt no inconsiderable
interest, although in reality she did not.</p>

<p>As Mr. Forster and his friend had to cross a deep
valley and mount a steep ascent before they could take
the road to Beyrout, to which town they were now
going, I sent Ali Hayshem, the messenger, to put them
on their way. He returned in the course of an hour
or two, and was despatched the same evening on foot,
with letters to Beyrout, where he arrived next day
before Messieurs Knox and Forster. He told me, on
his return, that their surprise was very great on finding
him at the inn, knowing that they had left him
behind them, the morning before, up the mountain.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span>
Ali’s account of Mr. Forster’s regimentals, in which
he saw him dressed at Beyrout, was very flaming: and
from that day, in speaking of the two, he always distinguished
him from Mr. Knox by the title of ‘the
general.’</p>

<p>Lady Hester deeply regretted that she was not able
to see these gentlemen. “Ah!” said she, “how
many times have I been abused by the English when
I did not deserve it, and for nothing so much as for
not seeing people, when perhaps it was quite out of
my power! There was Mr. Anson and Mr. Strangways,
who, because I refused to see them, sat down
under a tree, and wrote me such a note! Little did
they know that I had not a bit of barley in the house
for their horses, and nothing for their dinner. I could
not tell them so; but they might have had feeling
enough to suppose it was not without some good reason
that I declined their visit. Many a pang has
their ill-nature given me, as well as that of others. I
have got the note<a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> still somewhere.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span>
“Among the visitors I have had was the duchess
of Gontaut’s brother, she that brought up the Duke
of Bordeaux. I supposed she must have talked of me
to her brother, whom I never recollect: however, he
came with his two sons; but I would not see him.
It was that time when Monsieur Guys, after sitting
and staring at me some minutes, exclaimed—‘Madam,
when I see you dressed in that abah’ (the Bedouin
cloak), ‘in that <i>keffiah</i>’ (the Bedouin vizor), ‘and
when I think you are that Lady Hester Stanhope, <i lang="fr">qui
faisoit la pluie et le beau temps à Londres</i>, I am lost in
wonder how you could have come and fixed yourself
in these desolate mountains.’</p>

<p>“Another of Charles the Tenth’s courtiers came
here, but a higher personage, whom I also refused to
see: he was dreadfully savage about it too. I fancy
Charles the Tenth had a secret intention of resigning
the crown, and of coming to this country to finish his
days in the Holy Land like another <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Louis? and I
think this man had something to ask me about it:
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span>
however, I refused to see him. But it was not
caprice, nor, as this proves, was it Englishmen alone
I denied myself to. Sometimes I was not well enough
to sustain a conversation—sometimes I had no provisions
in the house, perhaps no servant who knew how
to set a table; but travellers never fancied that there
could be any other reason for my refusal, but the determination
to affront them. God knows, when I
could, I was willing to receive anybody.</p>

<p>“Once I had a visit from two persons whom we
will call Mr. A. and Mr. B., or Mr. B. and Mr. C.—what
letter you like. I thought Mr. B. very stupid,
but, good God! doctor, there never was anything so
vulgar as Mr. C. When I got his note to ask leave
to come, the name deceived me; I thought he might
be a son of Admiral C. But when he came into the
room with his great thighs and pantaloons so tight
that he could hardly sit down, I thought he was more
like a butcher than anything else. He was a man
entirely without breeding, with his Ma’ams and ladyships.
I asked him a few questions, as—‘Pray, sir,
will you allow me to ask if you are a relation of
Admiral C’s.?’—‘No, ma’am, I am no relation at all.’—‘Will
you permit me to inquire what is the motive
of your visit to me?’—‘Only to see your ladyship,
ma’am.’—‘Do you come to this country with any
particular object?’—‘To be a merchant.’—‘You are
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">336</span>
probably conversant in mercantile affairs?’—‘No,
ma’am, I am come to learn,’—and so on. After
some time, I told them that I never saw people in the
morning, and would take my leave of them, as they
probably would wish to set off early; and I desired
them to order what they liked for their breakfast.
Next morning, when I thought, as a matter of course,
they were gone, in came a note from them to say,
they were not going till next day, and then another
to say they did not know, and then a third to say
that, as they expected ships, and God knows what,
they must go.—Good God! they might go to the
devil for me: I had taken my leave of them, and
there was an end of it. Mr. C. was a downright
vulgar merchant’s clerk, come to Syria, I suppose, to
set up for himself. Lord <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Asaph said to me—‘Lady
Hester, you really should consider who you
are, and not allow people of that description to pay
visits to you.’</p>

<p>“There was a man who bore a great resemblance to
the Duke of Cambridge and the Duke of Clarence,
but something between both, who passed two or three
years in this neighbourhood and sometimes came to
see me; he was good-natured, and I liked him. He
went about with a sort of pedlar’s box, full of trinkets
and gewgaws to show to the peasant woman, thus
bringing the whole population of the village out of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">337</span>
their houses: and then giving away beads and earrings
to get the young girls around him.</p>

<p>“Of the English, who have visited me here, I liked
Captain Pechell and Captain Yorke very much, and
thought them both clever men.</p>

<p>“Colonel Howard Vyse one day came up to the
village and wrote me a note, and did everything he
could to see me. He was an old Coldstream:—it
broke my heart not to see him; but it would have
revived too many melancholy reflections. Poor man!
I believe he was very much hurt; but I could not
help it.</p>

<p>“A man came here—I believe the only one who
was saved out of a party that was killed going across
the Desert—and asked me for a letter to the Arabs.
I sent him away, telling him that he might just as well
come and ask me for a pot of beer. What had I to
do with their schemes and their navigation of the
Euphrates? Yet, for this, this officer wrote verses
upon the wall of the room against me.</p>

<p>“Then Mr. Croix de la Barre came, but I could
not see him. He said he wanted to talk politics
with me, and learn the customs and manners of the
natives. I should tire you, doctor, if I were to tell
you how many have come. I saw Lord B******,
when he was travelling, at the baths of Tiberias,
where Abdallah Pasha happened to be. Lord B.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">338</span>
proposed calling on the pasha, and equipped himself
for that purpose with a pair of pistols and a <i>yatagàn</i>
in his girdle, after the fashion of a Turkish subaltern;
for the Franks, who surrounded him as dragomans and
menials, had taught him to adopt what accorded with
their ideas of finery, and not what was suitable to his
rank. Luckily, he mentioned his intention the day
before to me, and I told him that there was a full
dress of ceremony in Turkey as well as in Europe,
and I lent him the most essential part of it, a <i>benýsh</i>,<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a>
with which he presented himself. At first there was
some hesitation, on his entering the room with his
people, as to which was the great Mylord; for his
lordship’s doctor, who sat down close by him, and
poked his head forward with an air of great attention
to what the pasha said, made him doubt whether the
doctor was not the chief personage; it being a part
of Oriental etiquette that no dependant should obtrude
himself into the least notice in his superior’s presence:
nay, generally speaking, it is required that doctors,
secretaries, dragomans, and the like, should remain
standing during such interviews. This difficulty being
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">339</span>
got over, the pasha, after some questions about Lord
B.’s health, asked him what brought him to Tiberias,
a part of his province the least beautiful and most
barren. The question would have led most persons
to say that, knowing the pasha was there, he seized
the opportunity of paying his respects to him, or
some such complimentary speech. But Lord B., with
a <i lang="fr">naïveté</i> somewhat plebeian, replied, that he came to
see the baths. The pasha coldly desired that proper
persons should show them to him, and soon after broke
up the interview. The very attendants of his Highness
were struck with the incivility and want of tact
which Lord B. showed, and it was one of them who
told me the story. But this was not all: the pasha,
who is fond of consulting European doctors, requested
Lord B., who was to depart next day, to leave his
doctor behind for twenty-four hours; which request
Lord B. refused. After he was gone, the pasha
sent me a pelisse of considerable value, with a request
that I should present it in his name to Lord B., but
I returned it, saying Lord B. was gone; for I did not
think his incivility deserved it. So much for English
breeding! and then let them go and call the Turks
barbarians.</p>

<p>“Mr. Elliot came to see me from Constantinople, in
order to make the pashas and governors of the neighbouring
provinces treat me well. He fell ill, and I
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">340</span>
sent for the doctor of a frigate that was on the coast
for him—a man who could kick his forehead with his
toe. I quizzed Mr. Elliot a great deal.</p>

<p>“But now, doctor, what did Mr. Forster say about
the Scotch? If he agrees with me that they sprang
from hereabouts, I might have given him some useful
hints on that subject: but we will write him a letter<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a>
about it.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">341</span>
When I told her that Mr. Forster had spoken of
a work of Sir Jonah Barrington’s on Ireland, in which
it was said that Mr. Pitt got up the Irish rebellion
in order to make the necessity of the Union more
palatable to parliament, she observed that, if she met
him, she would settle his business for him. “Mr.
Pitt liked the Irish,” said she. “There were some
fools who thought to pay their court by abusing them,
and would talk of men’s legs like Irish porters, or
some such stuff: but I always answered, they would
be very much pleased to have their own so, which was
much better than having them like a pair of tongs:
and I was certain to observe a little smile of approbation
in Mr. Pitt’s eyes, at what I had said.”</p>

<p>In this way her ladyship would run on from topic
to topic—with a rapidity and fluency which frequently
rendered it difficult to preserve notes of even the heads
of her discourse. Her health was slightly improved:
she attended a little more closely to my advice, but
still would never allow me to see her until her coughing
fit was over, which usually lasted for about a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">342</span>
couple of hours. Notwithstanding this, her pulse
maintained a degree of vigour which was very extraordinary,
considering the state of attenuation to which
she was reduced. She had a great reluctance in touching
on her bad symptoms, but dwelt readily on such as
were favourable. “I certainly have got small abscesses,”
she answered to me, “but it is not consumption:
because there are hours in the day when my lungs are
perfectly free, as there are others when I can hardly
breathe. Sometimes, doctor, my pulse is entirely
gone, or so thin—so thin!—as to be but just perceptible,
and no more. You pretend to find it very readily
and tell me it is not bad: but Zezefôon can’t feel it,
and Sàada can’t feel it, and old Pierre has tried, and
says the same. I think, too,” continued she, “I was
a little delirious this morning; for, when I awoke, I
asked where Zezefôon had gone, although there she
was, sitting up on her mattress by my bedside before
my eyes.”</p>


<div class="footnotes"><p class="center">FOOTNOTES:</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">[37]</a>
 The reader ought to be informed that, a few years before this
time, Beshýr Jumbalàt, a man of the first family of the Druzes, had
risen by his possessions and influence to such power in Mount Lebanon
as to excite the jealousy of the Emir Beshýr, the recognized prince
of the Druzes, by right of investiture from the Porte. The Emir (who
is a Mussulman) entertained such fears of being supplanted by a chief
of his power and popularity, that, after a variety of intrigues and
plots, he at last succeeded in effectually awakening the distrust of
Abdallah, the Pasha of Acre, who finally united with the Emir in a plan
for his destruction. The person of the unfortunate Beshýr Jumbalàt was
accordingly seized, his palace razed to the ground, and his possessions
confiscated; nor was their jealousy set at rest until they ultimately
got rid of him by strangulation.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">[38]</a>
Ben Jonson, in his “Alchemist,” alludes to such a book, “Ay, and a
treatise penned by Adam.”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">[39]</a>
It may be right to mention that Mr. Forster, as I believe, is not
one of the family alluded to in this anecdote: but, as Lady Hester’s
remarks hinged on his name, I thought it best to retain it.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">[40]</a>
This note I afterwards read and copied. These two gentlemen
presented themselves at the gate, and Lady Hester dictated the
following message to them, which Miss Williams wrote:—“Lady Hester
Stanhope presents her compliments to Mr. Anson and Mr. Strangways,
and acquaints them that she is little in the habit of seeing European
travellers, therefore declines the honour of their visit.” To this was
returned following answer:—“Mr. Anson presents his compliments to
Lady Hester Stanhope, and begs to assure her he has not the slightest
wish to intrude where his visit is accounted disagreeable: but having,
during a three months’ residence among the Arabs, met with universal
hospitality, he took for granted that he would not have met with the
first refusal in an English house.”</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">[41]</a>
The benýsh is a large mantle, reaching to the ground, ample, and
folding over, with bagging sleeves hanging considerably below the tips
of the fingers. When worn, it leaves nothing seen but the head and
face. This is synonymous with a dress coat.</p>

<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">[42]</a>
A long letter was subsequently written, in which she explained
her theory of the origin of the Scotch; and, having learned by a
note from Mr. Forster that they would return from Beyrout to Sayda
in their way to <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jean d’Acre, I rode down to Sayda in the hope of
meeting him. Circumstances, however, made them set off a day sooner
than they intended and I missed them. The letter Lady Hester took back
into her own possession, and seemed to set so much value on it that
she would not even give me a copy. At the time I could have repeated
the substance of it with tolerable accuracy from memory; but, as she
strictly regarded it in the light of a private communication, I did not
consider myself justified in making any use of it without her sanction.
It will be sufficient to say that she found a great resemblance between
the names of the Scotch nobility and certain terms in the Arabic
language, indicating patronymics, dignities, offices, &amp;c. Her general
notion was that Scotland had been peopled by the flight of some tribes
of Arabs in the middle ages. She once had an intention of writing to
Sir Walter Scott, to urge him to make some researches on that head,
and she showed me a list of Scotch names apparently of Arabic origin.
Thus she would say Gower meant Gaôor, or infidel; and by a stretch of
deduction, commonly indulged in even to still greater excess by people
who have a favourite theory to sustain, she would argue that, as Mr.
Pitt used to say that Lord Granville was the counterpart of the statue
of Antinous, with the same face and the same <em>pose</em> when he stood
talking unconcernedly, therefore the race of Antinous, which was also
Eastern, was continued in him.</p>

</div><!--end footnotes-->
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<p class="p4 center">END OF <abbr title="Volume Two">VOL. II.</abbr></p>

<p class="p4 center">
<span class="ls">FREDERICK SHOBERL, JUNIOR,</span><br>
PRINTER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE ALBERT,<br>
<span class="smaller">51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET, LONDON.</span></p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Note">Transcriber’s Note</h2>
</div>

<p>This book was written in a period when many words had not become
standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
left unchanged unless indicated below. Obsolete and alternative
spellings were left unchanged.</p>

<p>Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of
the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down,
or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final
stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added.
Punctuation was adjusted to standard usage. Duplicate letters and
words at line endings or page breaks were removed.
</p>

<p>Footnotes <a href="#Footnote_3">[3]</a> and <a href="#Footnote_22">[22]</a> were missing anchors in the text. Anchors were
added where they may have belonged.</p>

<p>The following items were changed:</p>
<ul>
  <li>that to <a href="#chg1">than</a></li>
  <li>Pourcignac to Pourceaugnac, <a href="#Footnote_17">Footnote [17]</a></li>
  <li>Dairies to Diaries, <a href="#Footnote_22">Footnote [22]</a></li>
  <li>he to <a href="#chg2">she</a></li>
  <li>crew to <a href="#chg3">grew</a></li>
  <li>venemous to <a href="#chg4">venomous</a></li>
  <li>espistle to <a href="#chg5">epistle</a></li>
  <li>Bankes to <a href="#chg6">Banks</a></li>
</ul>

</div><!--end Transcriber Note-->
<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF THE LADY HESTER STANHOPE, AS RELATED BY HERSELF IN CONVERSATIONS WITH HER PHYSICIAN, VOL. 2 (OF 3) ***</div>
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