‘The dwarf exclaimed, “The Commander of the Faithful, the Sultan of Sultans, has spoken. His word cannot be broken. I claim Leila for my wife.”
‘The Sultan looked displeased; and, after a pause, with a severe expression on his countenance, ordered the dwarf to leave the room; then, turning to Leila, said, “Retire. Henceforth consider yourself the wife of the dwarf. A dowry shall be given you, and the wedding shall forthwith take place. Depart from my presence. I see you no more.”
‘The Circassian, as she left the room, turned towards the dwarf, who was also about to withdraw, and cursed him, saying, “Monster! The day will come when you will rue and bitterly repent your cruel treachery.”
‘Leila duly became the wife of the dwarf. She drove about in her “araba” through the streets of Pera, and, wearing a transparent “yashmak” lowered to the chin, even entered the shops, and conversed—when not observed—with Europeans. She visited the studio of a French artist, by whom her portrait was painted in water-colours, and of which she allowed copies to be taken to present to favourite Franks with whom she became acquainted. Her conduct became a source of great scandal, and was brought under the notice of the Sultan.
‘H.I.M. said, “Let her be free to do what she pleases. I committed a great injustice in giving her to the dwarf; but my word could not be set aside.”’
The police officer having thus concluded his story, I inquired where the French artist lived, and, calling on him, offered to purchase a copy of the portrait. He told me he could not give it without the consent of the wife of the dwarf. I then requested him to let her know that the ‘Frank,’ one of the British Secretaries, of whom she had requested the gift of a pin at the ‘Sweet Waters,’ begged for her portrait. Her consent was thereupon given, on condition that I should not show it to any one in Constantinople.
I paid a round sum for the water-colour, and on my return to England, after Lord Ponsonby had resigned the post of Ambassador, I gave the portrait of the beautiful Circassian to Lady Ponsonby—from whom I had received great kindness—as a souvenir of Constantinople.
* * * * *
Very extraordinary hours were kept at the Embassy: we rarely sat down to dinner before 9.30, and frequently not till ten p.m. At eleven o’clock Lord and Lady Ponsonby had a rubber of whist in which I was always required to take a hand, it being thought I knew more about the game than the other members of the Embassy. As his Excellency required that Lady Ponsonby should be his partner, and as that charming lady knew very little about the game, they almost invariably lost.
After whist, Lord Ponsonby was wont to request one of the attachés to remain and converse, and his Excellency would then hold forth for hours upon events present and future, both in Turkey and Egypt; foretelling much that has since happened to the ‘Sick Man.’ One night, when it was my watch, and I had listened to his Lordship until I nearly fell asleep and was conscious that dawn was approaching, he rose, opened one of the blinds and said, ‘The sun is rising. I think it is time, Mr. Hay, to go to bed. Have you followed and understood my views upon the Eastern Question?’ I answered, I had, to the best of my ability. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘have the goodness to embody to-morrow in a memorandum all that you may have retained.’ Observing that I looked aghast at having such a task imposed upon me, he patted me on the shoulder and added, ‘Well, well, don’t trouble yourself. Eat, drink, and sleep; the rest’s a joke.’