FOOTNOTES:
[139] Life of Dudley North, p. 108.
[140] Life of Dudley North, p. 108; Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[141] Life of Dudley North, p. 109.
[142] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[143] Life of Dudley North, p. 109.
[144] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[145] Covel’s Diaries, p. 268.
[146] See Winchilsea to Nicholas, May 20, 1662; Harvey to Williamson, Sept. 5, 1670, S.P. Turkey, 17 and 19. Rycaut’s Memoirs, pp. 105, 154, 285; Hammer, vol. xi. pp. 163-4, 336.
[147] Covel’s Diaries, pp. 269-72.
[148] Life of Dudley North, p. 110.
[149] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[150] Ibid.
[151] Life of Dudley North, p. 110.
[152] See Rycaut’s Memoirs, p. 318.
[153] Life of Dudley North, p. 111.
[154] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
CHAPTER XI
FROM PURGATORY TO PERA
The price had been paid. Yet the goods were not forthcoming. The pashas were always about to act, but never acted. And, in the meantime, the Plague grew fiercer and fiercer. There was no escaping the foul visitant: it pursued the fugitives even into their privacy. Count Bocareschi came constantly to dine with the Ambassador, and one day, as he sat next to him at table, Sir John noticed that, contrary to habit, he ate little. After looking at him he remarked that his countenance was changed. The Italian answered that he died daily of fear: he was not yet Moslem enough to despise the Plague, but his wife, a born believer, would not hear of moving: however, whether she would or not, he had made up his mind to move. Alas! it was too late—the noble parasite had eaten his last free meal.[155] All this was very depressing, and it was not all: “The weather was excessive hot, and the air stagnated in a manner, we being placed in a pan or flat: so that it was plague enough merely to stay there.... The terrible heat of the sun reflected from a dry barren sandy soil, and the fulsome foggy aire, broyled us and choked us.”[156] So pass the sultry dog-days in the most purgatorial manner; and the whole month of August. And still nothing accomplished.
Under these conditions the poor Ambassador’s patience and temper broke down utterly. For weeks he had waited weary and dissatisfied with everything and everybody: not knowing what to trust to after so many disappointments, or where to lay the fault, whether in the incapacity of his Dragomans or the insufficiency of his own diplomacy. In this uncertain and perplexed state, often abused and deceived by the men who professed to be his friends, Sir John had possessed his soul. He could possess it no longer. One day his feelings burst through all restraint and leapt from his lips. He railed against the Dragomans, blaming them for all the delays and vowing that, if in forty-eight hours he had no categorical answer as to when his business should be done, or where it had stuck, he would apply to the Grand Vizir through Dr. Mavrocordato, or himself go to the Kehayah without them. This explosion braced up Signor Giorgio and Signor Antonio to fresh efforts, and about three days after they brought Sir John word that all was arranged: next Friday, please God, his Excellency would have his farewell audience of the Grand Vizir and receive from his hands the new Capitulations as well as the Grand Signor’s and his own answers to the King’s letters.[157]
A little psychological essay would not be out of place here. The English of that day attributed the Porte’s dilatoriness to sheer indolence intensified by debauchery. They noted that, since Ahmed Kuprili had espoused the bottle, State affairs had suffered as much as his health, “soe that all business which must pass the Vizir is done with great disadvantage and after many delays.”[158] That was true; but perhaps it was not the whole truth. In the first place, we know that the Turks had been offended by Sir John’s delay in coming to present his Credentials, and we may surmise that they paid inertness for inertness. This so far as the Vizir’s subordinates are concerned. As to the Vizir himself, Ahmed may have been above petty pique; but Ahmed, as the Rev. John described him, as everybody who had dealings with him said, was “a subtle cunning man.”[159] All his actions and inactions were premeditated, all his steps were measured, all his words were carefully weighed. The whole of his life was nothing but a part which he played with that consummate astuteness, dissimulation, and suppleness of mind which mark the born diplomat. He knew human nature, and he had apparently gauged pretty accurately Sir John’s nature. The Ambassador, the Vizir reasoned, if he only made his sojourn long enough and disagreeable enough, would get impatient to return to his comfortable home at Pera, and would waive points that he might otherwise have insisted upon. All he had to do was to wear him out by a process of procrastination. For the rest, Ahmed had tried exactly the same system a few years before in the same place on another highly-strung Frank, the Marquis de Nointel, with complete success. That he was no less successful now can easily be shown.
Just as things had reached that point, there arrived from Smyrna an express courier with a letter from Consul Rycaut. It was signed by all the English merchants, who prayed his Excellency to protect them against an administrative innovation that threatened their interests and privileges. In different circumstances, Sir John would have turned every stone: as it was, he did not even acknowledge receipt of the complaint.[160] The same lassitude and anxiety to shake the dust of Adrianople from off his feet were manifest in what follows.
On the Thursday before the Friday fixed for his farewell audience, Signor Antonio Perone went to the Kehayah to see if the appointment held. He found that the appointment stood good, but that—the Capitulations lacked the Grand Signor’s autograph (Hattisherif). To his protest the Kehayah blandly replied that, as the Venetians, the French, and the Dutch were content to do without the Imperial autograph, there was no need for it. The Dragoman insisted; but all the answer he obtained was, Olmaz—it could not be! Thereupon, without going back to the Ambassador for instructions, he ran straight to the Rais Effendi and besought his help. The Rais Effendi also said, Olmaz: the Grand Vizir had decided that there should be no Imperial autograph—only the Imperial cipher. It was no use pressing him: he knew the Vizir to be a man who never changed his mind. Signor Antonio returned to the Kehayah and implored him so earnestly that at last he got him to write to the Vizir’s Muhurdar, or Keeper of the privy seal, and ask him to approach his master on the subject. But the Muhurdar also declined to interfere. The Dragoman, at his wits’ end, ran and fetched the old Capitulations, as renewed by Lord Winchilsea, and, laying them before the Kehayah, showed him the Grand Signor’s handwriting upon them: here is the precedent, he said, and pointed out what an unreasonable thing it was that the new Charter should want the force of the old. In the end the Kehayah unbent so far as to send a Memorial to the Grand Vizir, and by and by informed Signor Antonio that the thing was as good as done: “Give the Ambassador my salaams,” he said, “and tell him that I hope to get everything ready in a few days more: you may say three to the Ambassador, but I doubt not that I shall have it done in two.” Meanwhile, the audience, naturally, was postponed.
The news was calculated to perturb a nature much less combustible than Sir John’s. No language could express his rage and despair. He was furious—furious with the Kehayah and Rais Effendi for not informing him of the hitch sooner, but at the eleventh hour putting him off; even more furious with the Dragoman for having insisted on the Hattisherif! Rather than wait another day, Finch would have gone without, thinking it enough that the other Europeans had none, and forgetting how it must have reflected on his diplomatic dexterity to lose an advantage his predecessors had secured—and one, too, “whereof,” says Dudley North, “we had swaggered and gloried so much!” So efficacious was Ahmed’s system for dealing with ambassadors. Luckily, there was our Treasurer to prevent mischief. In him both the Vizir and the Ambassador had found their match. To Ahmed’s impassivity North opposed his tireless perseverance, and to Sir John’s febrile impatience his imperturbable phlegm. Often, disapproving of his Excellency’s orders to the Dragomans, he countermanded them behind his back, and now he defeated his insane inclination to play into Kuprili’s hand: all the time managing Finch’s pride by an attitude of absolute submissiveness.[161] North had a sense of humour.
“In two days,” had said the Kehayah. But many more than two days pass, and the thing is not yet done. The Dragomans are at their old trade of soliciting for dispatch, prodded on by the Treasurer. Sometimes they find the Kehayah arguing against the necessity of having the Grand Signor’s autograph, but he always ends by telling them that they will have it. One day he says that the Capitulations are in the hands of the Vizir’s Muhurdar, waiting to be presented to the Grand Signor with several other documents as soon as the signing-time should arrive. Thereupon Sir John orders four vests to be sent to the Muhurdar.
At length, the Turks having exhausted the possibilities of delay, news comes that the Grand Signor has signed the Capitulations and that his Excellency should be ready to receive them from the Grand Vizir’s hands on Wednesday, the 8th of September, at three in the afternoon.
Of a truth, the long-promised will now be done!
Sir John, in his eagerness, went too soon and had to wait in the Kehayah’s apartment till prayers were over. Coffee and sherbet were served, while Dr. Mavrocordato, like Finch a medical graduate of Padua, entertained him with light talk about the Plague—no topic could be more topical: in that very apartment there were many sick Turks. After a time Ambassador and suite were conducted into the Vizir’s room. Ahmed’s face, especially about the eyes, looked bloated. The guests understood that the Vizir had had as much as he could carry the night before. Yet he was in very good humour. “He vested eleven of my Retinue, besides my selfe: my Druggerman informing me that my Predecessor had none at all, and that usually besides the Ambassadour but one was vested who was thought to be Him who was to carry the Gran Signor’s Letters to the King. Thus the Vizir and I setting downe after welcome given me, in the first place He gives me with His owne Hands (which He did not to the French Ambassadour) the Capitulations.”[162]
No bond could be more binding. It secures to the English all their privileges “so long as Charles the Second King of England (whose end may it terminate in Happynesse) maintains good friendship and corrispondence with Us,” and it concludes with a solemn oath to this effect: “Wee swear and promise by Him that has created the Heaven and the Earth and all creatures: By that Creator, the One God, Wee do promise, that nothing shall be done contrary to this Imperiall Capitulation.” There follows the name of the Sultan “in a knott of Great Letters”—and the famous autograph: “Lett every thing be observd’ in conformity to this Our Imperiall Command, and contrary to it lett nothing be done.” So much concerning the form; as to substance, besides the additional articles already familiar to the reader, the Charter contains a surprise: “There passing good corrispondence between Us and the King of England, out of regard of this good friendship, Wee doe grant that two ships lading of Figgs, Raisins, or Currants, may be yearly exported for the use of His Majesty’s kitchin.”[163]
Sir John rose up to receive the imposing document and kissed it. How his fingers must have trembled as they clutched at last that precious, never-to-be-enough-valued parchment which had cost him so many hours of unutterable anguish!
Next the Grand Vizir handed to the Ambassador the Grand Signor’s Letters for his Majesty. Sir John received them standing and likewise kissed them. Then Ahmed gave him his own letter for his Majesty, “which I onely carryd’ to my Breast, at which He smild’.” This done, Sir John, in touching and dignified language, thanked the Vizir for his particularly tender care of our interests, adding that he would see that it received a particularly grateful acknowledgment from our King. Ahmed replied “He knew there was great favour done in them [the Capitulations], but all was owed justly to the Friendship of the King your Master; for He was esteemd’ here for one of the best friends amongst the Christian Princes that the Emperour had.”
There ensued some conversation about international affairs. It turned on the seizure of Prince William of Furstenberg, a plenipotentiary at the Congress of Cologne, by the Imperialists and the consequent breakdown of the negotiations between France and Germany. In reply to a question from the Vizir, the Ambassador said this outrage made Peace very difficult: the French king declared that the Prince was under his protection and refused to treat before his release; while the Emperor would not deliver him until after a Treaty was concluded.
“That,” said Ahmed, “is easily adjusted: Lett the Emperour take off His head, and then all Questions about Him are ended.”
“This had better bin done the first day then now,” replied Sir John, and went on to give another reason why he thought the prospects of peace remote: “The King of France had many of the Town’s and Fortresses of the King of Spaines in Possession, which would hardly be deliverd’, and particularly France could not abandon nor Spayn quitt Messina.”
“This is something,” said Ahmed.
“But Sir,” came from Finch, “now I think better of it, there is one way which if it is taken an adjustment will questionlesse suddainly follow.”
“What is that?”
“Your Excellency’s goeing once more as a Generall into Germany with a Powerfull Army.”
“At which the Gran Vizir laughd’ profusely; and so Wee made a friendly Parture.”[164]
Jubilant at such issue of his labours—not quite equal to the best he had hoped, yet far above the worst that, in moments of despondency, he had feared—our Ambassador returned to the camp outside Karagatch; and drank his Majesty’s health in the double bottle of sack he had saved up for the occasion.
Next morning he proceeded to draw up his report: not a syllable had he yet written to the Secretary of State from Adrianople, reserving all he had to say for the end. The letter (eighteen pages) is as interesting as it is long, and not the least interest of it lies in the light it throws upon the writer. The honours he received are accented, while only the faintest allusion is made to the Jew’s house; Kuprili’s affability is heavily underlined; the Grand Signor’s ungraciousness is entirely suppressed; and the whole of the ceremonial part of his mission is presented to the best possible advantage. But it is when he comes to business that Sir John shows how little free he was from the weakness of glorifying his own achievements. He speaks of the “Five Moneths and some dayes” spent on this negotiation and dwells upon the difficulties and dangers it entailed: “I was never under a more tedious, troublesome, and more perplexd’ Negotiation in my life.” But it was worth it. Such Capitulations had never been known: “Taking them at the worst and lett the lowest estimate passe which can be made of them, yett I think, with modesty I may say, that they are farr the greatest Present that ever was made to the Company since the first forming of this Trade.”[165]
For this estimate Sir John had the authority of the crafty Rais Effendi who affected wonder at his phenomenal success, “saying he never knew the like before,”—“that I went away with an honour No Ambassadour had ever receivd’ in this Court, which was the having every Article granted me that I gave in writing”—this, while admitting that one of the Articles had been so eviscerated as to be worthless. Likewise as to the title of Padishah upon which he had set his heart, that it proved unobtainable Sir John could not deny; but he flattered himself that “it was not wholely lost, for at another time it should be brought again,”—so “the Kehayah assured me.” Such was Sir John’s capacity for believing what he wished. In the same way, if he realised how much he owed to others, he was not the man to admit the debt, even to himself. His self-esteem was of that sensitive quality that the slightest wound to it had to be carefully avoided. Not only in general terms he attributes the whole of his success, under God (whom he duly thanks), to his own resourcefulness, energy, and resolution, but he specifically states that it was he who carried the point of the Imperial autograph.[166] Perhaps if the Treasurer’s account had not come down to us, the Ambassador’s claims would have been more convincing. But that he himself was convinced that everything was due to him and him alone can hardly be doubted. The Rais Effendi had told him, “Two things, the first was that I came into this Empire with a great stock of reputation in having bin able to doe so much in Christendome for the Bassà of Tunis; but that I had like to have forfeited it all by staying so long before I came to Audience: The Court being putt upon resolutions to oppose my Instances for that Neglect; But in the second place he told me my way of Treaty had regaind them.”[167]
The “Bassà of Tunis”—yes, indeed, not the least of the results of his trip to Adrianople that Sir John congratulated himself upon was connected with that gentleman. The Vizir was so far from countenancing the Pasha’s pretensions, that he publicly thanked Finch for the service he had done, and sent the Pasha away to a Governorship in the uttermost confines of Arabia. This curious affair was not really over. Resentment had struck root so deeply in the bosom of the Pasha of Tunis that afterwards it shot up and flowered afresh, and grew into a noxious umbrage which was to darken Sir John’s latter years. But of this Sir John knew nothing at the time: he only knew that he had triumphed.
Thus ended the most adventurous and most important transaction Sir John Finch had ever been engaged in. But his troubles had not yet ended. Before he could get away, he had to take out Commands to give effect to the new Articles, also to pay farewell visits to the Kehayah and the Rais Effendi—to thank those worthies for their help. In the houses of both the Plague was more rife than at the Vizir’s; but he “must run the Gantlett.” Fortunately, “both did me the Civility to appoint me a meeting in luogo terzo: the Kehaiah at an Appartment of the Visir’s and the Rais Affendi at his Garden House. A condiscension seldome practisd’ by any Turkes, especially of so great a Figure.”
These “visits of congé” took place on September 16th. “The Kehaiah was very melancholy, having that very morning buryed four out of his house, two of which were his near kinswomen.” The Rais Effendi felicitated Sir John on his release, saying that there never had “bin in the memory of man known such a Plague in Adrianople.” At one of these calls, two men with running sores stood for a full quarter of an hour within a yard of the Ambassador: even the luogo terzo offered no security.[168]
The final departure for Constantinople was a hustling and thoroughly undignified affair: all other considerations yielding to that of self-preservation. Not only the ceremonies but the very decencies of life were sacrificed, without scruple or shame, on the altar of the primitive goddess who knows no law. At her behest all those acquired habits fell away from our punctilious diplomat like so many borrowed plumes.
After his leave-takings, the Ambassador went back to the tents, where thirty carts had already arrived to load for the return journey; and there, within twenty-four hours, five of his retinue were stricken with the hideous pest. Sir John and Sir Thomas fled incontinently to the village again, leaving the rest to shift for themselves—and even leaving one of their Greek servants unburied in the fields. The other Greek and Armenian servants, utterly unable to appreciate this knightly conduct, mutinied and were going up to the Ambassador’s cottage in a threatening tumult, when the invaluable Mr. North came to the rescue, and quelled the riot. After this, Sir John would not wait another minute. With the carts already provided he set out, leaving his luggage to be sent after him, and two of his Dragomans to receive the Commands which had been promised.
But notwithstanding his haste, Sir John had not yet seen the end of his woes. Just as he was starting, one of his carters dropped dead beside his cart; and before he reached the first station, news overtook him that a servant of one of the Dragomans left behind had fallen sick. His anxiety on account of the long-suffering and indispensable Dragomans increased as he went on, for though they had both given him assurances to overtake him before the end of the journey, he heard nothing from or of either of them for weeks.[169]
All the way home our pilgrims felt miserable in a transcendent degree. The road was full of the disease and full of robbers. To escape the first peril, they shunned the towns and camped in the open. Every day they sent their tents before them to be pitched at the next konak. When they arrived there, they drew all the carts and coaches around them, made a great fire, supped, and then lay down to rest, as best they could, in their boots and clothes. But though they themselves did not go into the towns, most of their wagoners and servants did, so the danger of infection was, in a measure, the same. As to the other danger, not a day passed but they heard of some fresh exploit of the gangs that scoured the country-side. These stories had a most deplorable effect upon their nerves. They dared not straggle an inch from the road, and, the Rev. John says, “a calf with a white face disheartened them all”; observing thoughtfully, “if we had not had guards, it would have been very easy cutting our throats.”[170]
In this dishevelled manner our friends journeyed back the way they came, reaching their destination on September 27th.
It was a very weary ambassador who returned to Pera. But there was no rest for him yet. The Plague raged at Constantinople as at Adrianople. And that was not the worst. Two of his retinue, it now appeared, had the disease all the way home undiscovered. One of them, an Arab conductor of his litter, died the day after his arrival. The other, a young footman who always was about Finch and Baines, fell sick two days later in the Embassy. “I suspecting it might be the Plague, sent him out of my House to be attended by Armenians that are accustomd to it; and within two days the Boy dyed of the Plague.” With wondrous agility both knights fled to St. Demetrius Hill, which henceforth became Sir John’s summer resort.[171]
Distressing as all this was, it might have been worse. Lord Winchilsea had lost not only two servants, but also his daughter, and fled from place to place—from Pera to Yarlikioi, from Yarlikioi to Belgrade, from Belgrade to Zacharlikioi—in “perplexity where to find security unless in the providence of the Almighty,”—he fled with a wife in hourly expectation of a child, pursued by “this disconsolate disease.” Sir John’s other predecessor and kinsman, Harvey, on his way to Salonica had to carry in his own coach a friend who had fallen sick of the Plague on the road, “as longe as he was able to suffer the Journie,” and “to leave him att last at a town,” in Macedonia, where he died.[172]
It was all in the day’s work.