Her bed-room, at the end of every twenty-four hours, was strewed with tobacco and ashes, to be swept away and again strewed as before; and it was always strongly impregnated with the fumes.
The finest tobacco the country could produce, and the cleanest pipes (for she had a new one almost as often as a fop puts on new gloves), could hardly satisfy her fastidiousness; and I have known her footman get as many scoldings as there were days in the week on that score. From curiosity, I once counted a bundle of pipes, thrown by after a day or two’s use, any one of which would have fetched five or ten shillings in London, and there were one hundred and two. The woods she most preferred were jessamine, rose, and cork. She never smoked cherry-wood pipes, from their weight, and because she liked cheaper ones, which she could renew oftener. She never arrived at that perfectability, which is seen in many smokers, of swallowing the fumes, or of making them pass out at her nostrils. The pipe was to her what a fan was or is in a lady’s hand—a means of having something to do. She forgot it when she had a letter to write, or any serious occupation. It is not so with the studious and literary man, who fancies it helps reflection or promotes inspiration.
[23] About the time of the Duke of York’s affair with Mrs. Clarke, Lady Hester went into Wales, and, in an inn at Builth, she got round her the exciseman, the apothecary, the landlord, and some of the village farmers. “Pray, Mr. Innkeeper,” she said, “how should you like a painted wife, with half-a-dozen fine gentlemen about her, shaking the hair-powder on her face? Or is it agreeable, Mr. M., to have the window opened at dinner-time, in a cold November day, to let out the smells of a parcel of dogs? I suppose, if you had an uncomfortable home, you would think yourself at liberty to take a little pleasure elsewhere.” With speeches of that sort she won them all over to the duke’s side. To hear her relate the story herself, with her mimickry of the men and the landlady, to each of whom she addressed some question, which brought the case home to their own feelings, was infinitely amusing: it was one of the best scenes I ever heard her act.
CHAPTER VII.
Journey to Beyrout—Death of Mrs. K—— —Mr. George Robinson and M. Guys—The River Damoor—Khaldy—Letter from Lady Hester to Mr. K.—Lord Prudhoe—Mrs. Moore—Lady Hester’s dislike to be the subject of occasional poetry—Striking a Turk—Lady Hester’s opinion of Lord Byron—Arrival of Maximilian Duke of Bavaria—Letter to the Baron de Busech—Letter to H.R.H. the Duke Maximilian—Adventures of the Duke—Illness of the Duke’s negro, Wellington—Vexation of His Royal Highness—Letter to Mr. K., merchant at Beyrout—Letter to Lord Brougham—Professional visit to Sulyman Pasha’s child—League between the maids and receivers of stolen goods—Black doses for the Prince’s suite—Letter from Lady Hester to the Duke of Bavaria on his intended visit—The Duke leaves Syria.
Tuesday, May 15.—I had been to Sayda to-day, and was within a mile of Jôon, on my return, when I saw a servant making towards me in breathless haste. A letter had arrived for me from Beyrout, which Lady Hester had immediately forwarded to me on the road by this man, charging him to deliver it with all possible speed, so that it should reach me before the close of daylight. The reason of all this extraordinary haste was that I might be enabled to communicate at once with her, if necessary, concerning its contents; as the vigil of Wednesday commenced at sunset on Tuesday, from which hour till the following sunset she could neither see me, nor admit of any message from me. The reader will remember that on every Wednesday, from sunset to sunset, her ladyship was invisible.
There was indeed occasion, as it happened, for all this haste. The letter was from Mr. K., an English merchant at Beyrout, informing me of the alarming illness of his wife, and begging, in the most pressing terms, that I would use all expedition to come (as he was pleased to express himself) and save her.
As the sun was now setting, I desired the servant to tell Lady Hester that there would not be time in the interval for me to see her, and that I should be obliged to set off that night to Beyrout. I made my arrangements accordingly, and started at three o’clock in the morning, about two hours before daylight, accompanied by a servant. The horses were all at grass some miles from the house, so that I was compelled to perform the journey on an ass. It took me eleven hours; and, on my arrival, I found that Mrs. K. had died in the morning.
There was a very decent inn at Beyrout, kept by one Guiseppe Paraschivà, a Greek, who gave the most copious repasts that a hungry traveller can desire to find. Having ordered my dinner, I went to the French consul’s house, thinking there to meet with the physician who attended Mrs. K. In the quadrangle of his residence I saw a number of persons assembled, and an auction going on. I had not made three steps towards the circle, when a gentleman who knew me advanced in a hurried manner towards me. “Touch nobody,” said he; “the plague is in the town: it has taken us by surprise; three persons have died to-day in the blacksmiths’ street.”[24] I thanked my friend, and, having seen Monsieur Guys, who confirmed the bad news of the plague and of Mrs. K.’s death, I hastened away, and went to the English consul’s, Mr. Moore. He was already in quarantine, and received me at the doorway of his house, where it happened Lord Prudhoe was then sitting, in the same predicament.
The funeral of Mrs. K. took place in the evening. Her case had been a melancholy one: her sufferings must have been excruciating; and the affection of the husband, anxious to save the life of a wife he loved to distraction, induced him to allow of certain unskilful efforts for her relief, no doubt well intended, but assuredly baneful to the patient. The lady was a German, a model of domestic purity and affection, and idolized by her husband.