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 name of the other gentleman who accompanied Monsier Poujolat was Boutés.
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,
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 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.
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.”
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
Her conversation turned one day on Sir G. H. “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.’”
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. “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.”