We left him in the middle of 1674 at Pera, and there we still find him at the end of the year. In the interval the Grand Vizir, after a successful summer’s campaign, had returned to Adrianople and taken up his winter pastime—negotiations for peace. French emissaries and Hungarian malcontents fostered these attempts with all their might in the hope of turning the attention of the Turks against their Austrian enemy. The Turks, Sir John understood, were “heartily weary of this lean warr in so cold and beggarly a country, having spent allready in it 13 Millions of Dollars,” but as the Poles were in precisely the same mood, Ahmed Kuprili, like a good diplomat, had no mind to come to terms in a hurry. Hostilities, therefore, were to be continued, but in a languid fashion, and to be pleasantly diversified with festivities. The Sultan had decided to pass the next season in mirth and jollity, celebrating the circumcision of his son and the marriage of his daughter. Both these interesting domestic events had been in contemplation since 1669—when the boy was about six and the girl not more than one year old; but circumstances over which the happy father had no control had caused their postponement. They were at last to take place in the spring of 1675, “with all the magnificence that at such a feast can be shown. The Records of the Serraglio here being to this effect sent for to Adrianople, it being 60 years since this publick festivall has bin celebrated.” So Sir John reported, adding, “My Audience I have designd’ to be at the same time that I may see the Grandeur of this Empire in all its glory; I imagine that I shall see a Great Army, Great Quantity of Excellent Horses; Most rich furniture and Livery’s as to Jewells and all Pompe of Embroaderys.”[70]
It would have been better for Sir John, if he had hastened to a Court whither business called him, and where he was expected, instead of waiting for festivals to which he had not been invited. But, at any rate, in the months that were yet to elapse before he moved, he found at Constantinople plenty of scope for his diplomatic skill.
First of all, it was in these months that the thread of Sir John Finch’s career became intertwined with that of his French colleague, the extravagant, eccentric, magnificent, and altogether picturesque Marquis de Nointel, who aimed at notability and achieved notoriety. He broke in upon Sir John’s life at this moment like a flaming meteor, to illumine it or otherwise we need not say: perhaps the story itself will show. The connection was inevitable. By the Treaty signed at Dover in May 1670, Charles, for a consideration which he hoped would enable him to settle domestic affairs to his own liking, had bound himself, in foreign affairs, to the chariot of Louis. Thanks to this covenant, the secular antagonism between the Governments of England and France had ceased, and together with it the friction between their representatives at the Porte. This is not to say that English diplomacy in Turkey had become entirely subservient to French diplomacy. Sir John’s immediate predecessor Harvey, as is made abundantly clear by his despatches, knew perfectly well where to draw the line. During his last two years at Constantinople (1671-1672) he had lived on the most intimate terms with Nointel. Yet not only he never did anything calculated to prejudice the interests of his country, but showed the greatest vigilance in checking every encroachment on the part of his friend: watching his attempts to obtain from the Porte privileges detrimental to English commerce or prestige, preparing to counteract all such attempts, if necessary, and reporting home the French Ambassador’s failures with undisguised satisfaction.[71] In the queer business of diplomacy co-operation on some points does not preclude opposition on others, and the closest friendship can flourish beside the bitterest enmity. It is perhaps the only field of human activity that presents such a constant combination of incompatibles. It was part of Sir John’s duty to continue this qualified cordiality.
Unfortunately, since his arrival, there had occurred some incidents which, unless very tactfully handled, threatened to jeopardise the success of his efforts.
Although the Courts of England and France were at this time allies, the English and French nations in the Levant continued to be as, without interruption, they had always been, jealous rivals in trade and everything else; and the intercourse between them had not been improved by the character of that alliance: the English felt irritated at the humiliating position in which the policy of Charles placed them, while the French felt proportionately vain of the eminence they owed to the power of Louis. In these circumstances every tiff was magnified into a tempest, as must be the case whenever the point at issue, however trivial in itself, can be brought into any relation with national pride. When men meet each other in a spirit of discord, predisposed at every moment to give or receive offence, how soon is difference converted into hostility, hardened into hatred, exasperated into rage. What folly and outrage may not be expected to ensue! These psychological conditions rendered the incidents Sir John had to deal with serious—even alarming.
The first had occurred at the very moment of his landing at Smyrna. A number of French merchants had been sent by their Consul to greet him and to grace his entry into the town. But the cavalcade had scarcely moved when a lively dispute about precedence broke out between the French and the English Factors, and the former—hot-tempered and not overbred Marseillese for the most part—in spite of Consul Rycaut’s endeavours to appease them, left the procession, hurling at the English words unfit for polite ears. After this scene Sir John during his sojourn at Smyrna received from the French “Nation” none of those civilities to which the representative of a Court in alliance with theirs was entitled, nor any mark of respect from the French ships on his departure, though all the other European vessels in the harbour hoisted their flags and fired their guns in his honour. Sir John was sorely vexed: he had intended his advent to be an occasion for strengthening Anglo-French relations, and it had been the signal for fresh animosities. Doubtless he would have offered an explanation to the French Ambassador as soon as he reached Constantinople, but that gentleman was at the time away on a tour through the Levant—visiting the various centres of French enterprise, commercial and religious, and spreading the fame of France over the Orient. Thus the matter remained pending, and meanwhile to the Smyrna incident had been added another at Aleppo.
On June 22nd, 1674, three Majorca corsairs—part of a squadron of 20 that was infesting the Syrian coasts—entered the port of Scanderoon, where an English man-of-war, the Sweepstakes, lay refitting after a bad storm, and two French merchantmen ready to sail for home. On the appearance of the corsairs the French vessels besought the protection of the English warship, the captain of which, though in a sad plight himself—his topmast was down—promised to protect them, on condition they took no action until they saw him begin. In accordance with this promise, when the pirate flagship came within speaking distance, he hailed her and warned her not to violate the peace. The pirate replied in the affirmative, and then, passing under the stern of the Sweepstakes, cast anchor between her and the French vessels. The latter, panic-stricken, fired, whereupon the Majorcans made short work of them. The French of Aleppo furiously denounced the English commander to the Turkish authorities as an accomplice of the pirates, and, when they had cooled a little, referred their grievance to M. de Nointel, who just then was at Tripoli in Syria. The English Consul of Aleppo stopped the mouth of the Turkish governor with a bribe of 1500 dollars and wrote to the French Ambassador the truth of the matter. But Nointel, unconvinced, sent to Sir John the French version of the affair, accusing the English commander of treachery and collusion, and asking that Finch should give a proof of his friendship and at the same time furnish the King of England with the means of restoring the honour of his flag by procuring the punishment of one who, whether from interest or from whatever other motive, had tarnished it in such a cowardly manner.[72]
This “imbroyl” had cost the English Factory no small trouble. Nevertheless, when presently M. de Nointel came to Aleppo, our factors went out in a body to meet him—a troop of young cavaliers whose looks, mounts, and garments excited in the French Ambassador’s entourage admiration and envy mingled with astonishment. Why, these English traders were cadets of good family—even “des fils de milords,” making their own fortunes in a far-away land! But M. de Nointel spurned them, for they had come without their Consul, and therefore their homage was not “dans les formes.”[73]
Evidently the noble Marquis was, to use the slang of the times, “in a Huff”; and it was in no amiable frame of mind that, on the 31st of December, the very anniversary of Sir John’s arrival, he touched at Smyrna on his return voyage.
Our Factory seized the opportunity to pay the French back in kind: neglect for neglect, and slight for slight. Twenty-four boats, carrying the French Consul and all his compatriots—also the Consuls of Venice, Genoa, and Messina, each in a boat flying his national colours—met the man-of-war that bore the noble Marquis in the middle of the bay; but of the English Nation there was no sign or ensign. Neither did the good ship Hunter that chanced to be in port hang out her “Ancient” or fire a gun as the French Ambassador passed by. We simply did not know that “any such person was come.” The French received exactly the treatment they had meted out to us a year ago. “Onely our Consul did more like a Gentleman then theirs.” That this snub might not seem strange to the noble Marquis, Mr. Rycaut sent him a letter in beautiful French, explaining at length the weighty reasons of national dignity which compelled us to abstain from paying his Excellency the homage, etc. M. de Nointel returned a verbal answer: he was sorry for that misunderstanding, but he was none the less the courtly Consul’s friend and servant. “Thus farr things seemd’ to looke like reciprocations, and to be layd asleep.” But Eris—the dread goddess of strife—slept not. She lay awake revolving in her heart how to set the “Nations” by the ears. And behold: twenty-four hours after, at break of day, discord broke forth afresh.