Lady Hester, who was favourable to the cause of the Sultan and abhorred the Emir Beshýr, whilst she admired the military talents and known courage of Ibrahim Pasha, determined, nevertheless, to stigmatize him as a rebel, and work his overthrow, if she could: she, therefore, encouraged in every way the hostile disposition of the Druzes. From the beginning of Ibrahim Pasha’s successes in Syria, the protection she afforded to the refugees and wounded from Acre sufficiently manifested her tendencies. Mahomet Ali, who was aware of her political abilities, her unflinching opposition to him, and her fearless support of the Sultan, had written, through Boghoz Bey, to deprecate her interference in the affairs of the province, and to signify that, if she afforded an asylum and counsel to his enemies, the tranquillity of Syria could not be secured. A portion of her answer has already been given; but when Ibrahim Pasha made so easy a conquest of the mountain, a word fell from his mouth, which, if ever the Druzes succeed in expelling him, may be said to have been the cause of his reverses. He is reported to have exclaimed from his divan, when the news of the entire occupation of Mount Lebanon without firing a single shot was brought to him, “What, those dogs of Druzes had not a single bullet for us!” This little sentence was repeated to Lady Hester, and not long afterwards a Druze of some note came to pay her a visit. As he entered the room, she abruptly addressed him in the same words, “Dog of a Druze! what, hadn’t you one single bullet for Ibrahim Pasha?”—and then, with a sort of sarcastic pity, dilated on Ibrahim Pasha’s exultation over them. She made it a by-word among her servants; and not a Druze came near the house but he was saluted with, “Dog of a Druze! what, had not you a single bullet for the Pasha?” To people connected with Ibrahim Pasha’s government, she told the same story, seemingly as if in praise of the Pasha’s bravery, who loved war so much that he could not bear an easy and bloodless conquest, even though to his own advantage. In every quarter, through every channel, the Pasha’s saying was echoed in the Druzes’ ears: and his followers, thinking it an anecdote that told well for their master, did not consider that it rankled in the bosoms of the Druzes, who, stung to the core by these cutting words, swore never to sleep until the hour of vengeance came.
We will now return to the narrative of the occurrences which were passing in Lady Hester’s house.
Saturday, April 7.—This day, when I saw Lady Hester, she asked me if, on entering, I had observed anybody under the olive-tree outside of the gate: I answered I had. “Well,” said she, “go and talk to her.”—“But the person I saw was a poor man,” I replied.—“Ah! that’s the one,” resumed Lady Hester; “that’s not a man, but a woman in man’s clothes: that woman, at the siege of Acre, used to carry water to the artillerymen on the ramparts, during the fire, to drink, and was never in the least afraid; she is worth seeing: she comes to me every year for a little money. I used to give her 150 or 200 piasters: but, as I am poor now, take her fifty, and tell her I am rather short of money.” I went, and sat down and talked with her. She had a small gray eye and a placid countenance: she seemed to be very well aware of the movements of the Pasha’s troops, and it struck me afterwards that she might be accustomed to use her disguise for the same purposes in Lady Hester’s service that the woman spoken of in a former part did for the first Lord Chatham. I told her Lady Hester was ill, and that there was no chance of seeing her: I added some tobacco to the present which her ladyship had sent her; and, in very proper terms, she returned thanks, and went away.
Sunday, April 8.—Osman Chaôosh had been sent to Beyrout for money, and returned to-day, bringing only £40, the bill on Mr. Michael Tutungi having been protested. The steamboat from England had arrived, and there were no letters.
Monday, April 9.—When I first came to Jôon, Lady Hester Stanhope had expressed an inclination to see one of Lady Charlotte Bury’s novels: so, having at length received, on the preceding evening, the “Memoirs of a Peeress,” which I had written for to France, I began reading it to her to-day. She was calm and composed. The history of events, so well known to her, seemed to afford her singular pleasure; and it was evident that if she had always sought for amusement in books, instead of spending her time in disciplining incorrigible knaves and wenches, she might have found many happy hours, even in the midst of sickness and solitude.
Lady Hester had been looking into the book in the course of the day. “I do not think,” observed she, “that the heroine’s character is hers;” (meaning Lady Charlotte’s,) “it seems to me a fictitious one, made up partly of her own observations, partly of what has happened to herself: if it is anybody, it must mean Lady Caher. Perhaps Lady Charlotte’s husband writes the books, and she supplies the materials. The style is not that of a woman like her; she is more likely to set off on foot three or four miles to see how they ploughed (at Abra, for example,) like an active Scotch woman; but, as for writing a book, I think she was no more likely to do it than I am.[11] I could not write a book, doctor, if you would give me the world. Ah! I could dictate a little to anybody who wanted to write down a correct account of circumstances that I know.
“I remember Lady Charlotte’s first going to court, and the effect was very much what she describes of Miss Mordaunt:—that is, somebody said she is too thin—very handsome, to be sure, but too thin: and somebody else observed that, in a year’s time, when she filled out, she would be remarkably beautiful, which turned out to be the case. She was three years older than me, but she had such a hand and arm, and such a leg! she had beautiful hair too, gold colour, and a finely-shaped nose, and fine complexion. In about three years she all at once disappeared from the beau monde: she married her cousin, who was poor, and was still Lady Charlotte Campbell, but always in uneasy circumstances. When he died, she travelled into Italy, for the sake of educating her children, and there she married the tutor:—some of those tutors are very good-looking men. There was a daughter of the D*** of B*******, who married a tutor. To be sure they were carroty, although she was the prettiest; but the D*** would not see her for three years, and, at last, they gave him a living. One of the R****** family also married a tutor.”
I read on, and came to the passage where the heroine speaks of herself as grown old, and having lost her charms. Here Lady Hester interrupted me:—“That cannot be her,” said she; “for C. told me she is still a loveable woman, and that the Persian Ambassador left England desperately in love with her.”
An Englishman, as it was supposed, in the course of the day, was seen to pass the gate, and was observed taking sketches towards the south side of the walls; he spoke to nobody, and went his way: who or what he was no one knew.[12]
Thursday, April 12.—The whole of the last week had been a busy one with Lady Hester, who, in spite of her weakness, had rummaged out all her best sheets, bought new dinner-napkins, had particular and strange marks put to them, and, on the certainty of the prince’s coming, had ordered the road within the gate up to the strangers’ garden to be new laid and rolled, the doors to be fresh painted, and such other preparations to be made as should give an air of cleanliness, if of nothing else, to her solitary abode.