The other six suitors were men of weight in Court and commercial circles: Sir Thomas Thynne, Mr Thomas Neale, Major Knatchbull, Sir Phi. Matthewes, Sir Richard Deereham, and Lord Chandos. The last-named candidate was particularly well furnished with the qualifications that count. On one hand, he was connected, though remotely, with the Earl of Berkeley, Governor of the Company, and on the other, very closely, with Sir Henry Barnard, an influential Turkey Merchant whose daughter he had married. To these merits Chandos had just added by taking his freedom of the Company. Thus amply supported, he made no secret of his hopes to get the appointment; and the event showed that he was right. In the ballot mentioned, he was chosen by 72 voices as against the 55 given for Sir Thomas Thynne. There was some little doubt whether the King would confirm the choice, for Chandos was one of the “petitioning lords”—that is, one of the band of politicians who at that time of extreme party virulence were bitterly hated by the Court and its adherents for ventilating their views in the form of petitions addressed to the Crown: a hate which they repaid with generous interest, the nation being, in fact, divided into “Petitioners” and their “Abhorrers,” epithets equivalent to those of “Whig” and “Tory” that were just coming into fashion. Although the King could not punish these importunate patriots, he was not obliged to show them any preference. But, in truth, the very argument used to the disadvantage of Chandos was a very strong one in his favour. Charles at that particular moment had every reason to conciliate the popular party. He therefore magnanimously forgave Chandos his little indiscretion, and before the end of the year 1680 the Letters which accredited “Our Right Trusty and well belov’d James Lord Chandos, Baron of Sudely and one of the Peeres of this Our Kingdome of England” to the Porte, were signed at Whitehall.[269]
Meanwhile Sir John at Constantinople had enough to keep him busy. Two days had hardly elapsed since the adjournment of the case, when he received from Kara Mustafa’s Kehayah a request not to write to his king, as the Pasha of Tunis would appear against him no more—the Grand Vizir had freed him wholly from that suit—wherefore he expected a present commensurate with the service rendered. This was, of course, the logical sequel to the grant of time. Kara Mustafa in putting forward his demand was simply asking, in perfect good faith, for the fulfilment of what he imagined to be a tacit understanding. Sir John, as we have seen, had neither understood himself nor had he asked some more experienced Englishman to enlighten him. So he also in perfect good faith answered that, as to not writing, he could not oblige the Vizir, having already done so. As to his being wholly freed, he could not think himself clear of the Pasha’s pretensions until he had a formal sentence given in his favour, and a copy of it delivered to him. Had that been done, the Grand Vizir would not have found him wanting in due acknowledgments, but, as things stood, he was far from having any such security. Although he had appealed to the Capitulations, and to the Pasha’s own acquittances, he had been overruled on every point; nay, indeed, he had not heard one word in his favour except from the Cadilesker, who had rejected the Pasha’s witnesses. In the circumstances, he was “out of all capacity of answering the Visir’s expectation.”
The Kehayah, shocked at the Giaour’s perfidy, sent him word that he would make him, some way or other, pay the sum demanded thrice over, and drove his Dragomans out of the room with the coarsest abuse, calling them “infidels” and “dogs.” The wretched Interpreters fled in dread of being drubbed. Sir John’s feelings on hearing of this—who could paint them better than he?
In great amazement, the Ambassador sat down to give an exhaustive account of what had happened to both Secretaries of State at once, so that, if the Earl of Sunderland should be too preoccupied, he might at least secure the attention of Sir Leoline Jenkins. To Sunderland he writes: “My Lord, affayrs in this Court are incredible, indicible, nay really inconceivable. What is true to-day, is not true to-morrow. No promise is strong enough to bind. No reasons, be they never so cogent, powerfull enough to perswade. Impetuous passion, accompanyd’ with avarice, over rules all Laws and Capitulations....”[270]
The letter to Jenkins is even more pregnant with comments which depict the writer’s mental condition: “This is the State of things. I pray Acquaint his Majesty with it, that the Ambassadour here may be sure not to want Positive Orders and Directions, how to proceed by the end of February; that being the uttmost Time limited by the Visir. Nay Truly, The Violence of the Times here is such that I know not whether they will have Patience with me till the 150 dayes from the first of October are expired. For it may justly be feard, That by the Turkish Violence offerd’ to my Person, and to the Estates of the Kings Subjects under my Protection here, that I may be compelld’ to doe that, which is abhorrent to the Trust reposd’ in me, and my own reason. I have twice in Person appeard’ before this Visir in Publick Divan, a thing that no Publick Minister ever yet durst doe under this Visir, though His Prince was attacqud’. In these Appearances I may modestly say, I usd’ some resolution even when the Visir expressd’ much anger: I gott from Him 150 dayes respite, which I believe He now repents to have granted, thinking that all Ministers will from this Precedent, make the like plea when any demands are made upon them.”
He had written thus far when the Dragomans whom he had sent to the Porte about the present, given in accordance with the usual etiquette by all ambassadors at the Bairam, returned and told him that the Kehayah had said curtly, They had no need of his presents. If a Turk’s demand for bakshish was disturbing, his refusal of bakshish was terrifying. It was an act which, as the poor Ambassador added in his despatch, “every one that knows Turky, knows how to interpret.” It meant the Seven Towers. At the best that Ottoman Bastille was a miserable gaol, and even robust ambassadors had been known to contract in it mortal diseases. Sir John was anything but robust. The possibility that at any moment he might find himself shut up in that hideous prison—his body wasting away with sickness and his soul withering with hope of deliverance deferred—was more than he could bear. He closed his despatch with a heart-rending cry, which seems still to ring in the reader’s ear across the gulf of the dead centuries: “God Almighty protect me!”[271]
Shortly afterwards the Grand Signor left for Adrianople, followed by the Grand Vizir and his Kehayah, whose parting words to Sir John’s Dragoman were: “Let your Ambassador vaunt that he has outwitted us.” Outwitted them! when? how? Incredible though it will sound, Sir John even now has no inkling of the tragedy of cross-purposes in which he has entangled himself: so utterly out of touch, after seven years’ residence in Turkey, he remains not only with the Turks and their ways, but also with his own countrymen. Any factor at Galata could have solved the riddle for him; his Dragomans likewise. But Sir John is too aloof to ask them for a solution, and they do not volunteer one, because obviously they think that he has, indeed, outwitted the Vizir. Thus, while the world about him admires his astuteness, Sir John dolefully wonders what the meaning of that cryptic utterance may be. “I am apt to believe,” he repeats, “that the Visir was surprisd’ in granting me 5 moneths time; Upon second thoughts imagining that all Ministers would, upon all demands, from this Precedent, recurr to the same Expedient, which made the Kehaiah tell my Druggerman when he parted, in anger, Let your Ambassadour vaunt that he has outwitted us.” The more he thinks it over, the more probable does this explanation appear to Sir John. But, however that may be, “these things being thus, Wee are not to expect now (what I insinuated in my first letter as possible) any prorogation of time, but rigorous Proceeding. In the meantime how they will deal with Me or the Merchants by their forgery’s and Avanias, God know’s; for the Visir I fear sayes within Himselfe Who has resisted My Will? But at the best if His Majesty’s Commands and Directions accompanyd’ with His Letters to the Visir arrive not by the 27th of February next, The Ambassadour here will be at a great losse.”[272]
Sir John casts about for some means of conjuring away the storm he sees hanging over his head. At length an idea comes to him: those Bairam presents—true, the Kehayah had rejected them once; but what if we paid him the respect of sending them a day’s journey after him, “accompanyd’ with the addition of a rare pendulum, an excellent gold watch, and a long Perspective glasse”? Surely, such an act of humility could not fail to soften even an unspeakable Kehayah’s heart. But alas! the Kehayah is uncajoleable: he dismisses both the olive branch and the dove that brought it with contumely.
The days drag on, and the face of things remains as black as ever. It is the beginning of November. A month ago Sir John, buoyed up by his imaginary respite, was proud to feel that he had “carry’d this case so high”—that he had made good his bit of resolution—that he was the one mortal who had prevailed, if but for a short season, against the fiend incarnate. But he does not feel at all proud now. The disdainful silence of the Porte somehow cows him more than the vehemence to which he had been subjected before. He lives trembling at what this silence may portend. Utterly mystified and profoundly alarmed, he sends one of his Dragomans to the friendly Hussein Aga “to penetrate into the sense of the Court.” The Customer, being the last man who took leave of the Kehayah, would probably know what dark designs lay behind that cryptic utterance. The Dragoman returned just as Sir John finished his report. We have the result in a Postscript. Before the emissary opened his mouth, Hussein of his own accord said that he had twice spoken to the Kehayah, telling him that the King of England had suspended commerce with Turkey (he had the news from the Hollanders) and that now he might as well throw up his office and shut up the Custom-House, as the English were the only people who brought any considerable profit to it. That, he said, had made the Kehayah pause, but had not elicited one word. Next day, he added, he told the Kislar Aga, or Chief of the Black Eunuchs, the same thing. He concluded by sending Finch a message to the effect that he did well to keep up his resolution, for “things at last would end well.”[273]