Dr. Mitchell and I went to the museum one afternoon to see two famous marble tombs that had recently been unearthed at Sidon, upon discovery by Hamdy Bey, director of the museum. Both these tombs were supposed to be of the best period of ancient Greece. One was known as the Alexander tomb because it portrayed in high bas-relief the battle of Issus and also a hunting scene, in each of which one of the figures was identified as portraying Alexander. At first some scholars believed it to be the tomb of the monarch himself, but that seemed not to be correct, and it was doubtless the tomb of one of his generals. The other tomb was of equal size and proportions, about five feet high and ten feet long. Round its four sides it had a number of figures of a woman in various phases of mourning, the same figure with varying expressions. This ancient work of art appealed to the bereaved heart of Dr. Mitchell and he sat before it for quite a while. Later he wrote an "Ode to a Lycian Tomb," one of the best, if not the best, of his poems. He sent me a copy when it was privately printed, and subsequently it appeared in the "Century Magazine."
The inauguration of trips to the Orient by the Hamburg-American and the North German Lloyd Steamship Companies frequently brought hundreds of Americans to Constantinople at a time. In March the S.S. Augusta-Victoria arrived with three hundred and fifty American visitors. The Sultan was most gracious to them. Through one of his aides he asked me to invite them to Selamlik, after which he arranged a luncheon for them on the grounds of the ambassadorial kiosque, and had them visit the royal stables. When they left, the Sultan's aide carried on board the ship for them a large assortment of delicious Turkish candies and cigarettes, which they appropriately acknowledged in a letter that I transmitted to the Palace for them.
From time to time, especially when the weather was fine, I attended Selamlik, as was customary among the diplomats. On one very beautiful Friday I took with me my little son Roger, then seven years old. It was the Sultan's birthday and the pageant was exceptionally fine. From the window of the ambassadorial kiosque Roger leaned out as far as he possibly could to get a good view of the Sultan as he passed beneath in his victoria. The Sultan bowed in acknowledgment of our greeting, when suddenly Roger realized that he had not taken off his cap and pulled it off rather comically. This made the Sultan smile, and it was the only time I ever saw his habitually sad face wreathed in a smile.
After a strenuous winter, replete with difficult and trying negotiations, I took advantage of the invitation of M. Paul Stefanovich-Schilizzi, a philanthropist of Greece, to visit him in Athens in May. He was a man of great wealth and beloved throughout the Near East by reason of his benevolence. It is his niece, who was a frequent guest at our home, who recently married Eleutherios Venizelos, the famous Greek statesman.
En route to Athens we stopped for several days at Smyrna, where we met Kiamil Pasha, the Grand Vizier with whom I had so satisfactorily carried on a number of important negotiations during my first mission. He was now vali at Smyrna, highly regarded, and justly called the "grand old man" of Turkey, being about seventy-five years old. Amid the corruption of his time no one ever questioned his honesty. He had been grand vizier several times. He spoke English fluently, doubtless acquired in his youth at Cyprus, where he was born.
He deplored the hopeless condition of affairs at Constantinople, where all the power had gradually been concentrated at the Palace. Thus the grand vizierate became a post without power, which, he explained, did not interest him any longer. Besides, he did not agree with the Sultan's methods, though he was thoroughly loyal to Turkey. His sympathies, as between the contending powers, were with Great Britain; he believed good relationship with her was the surest guarantee for the welfare of his country.
From Smyrna we took a ship for Piræus, a sixteen-hour trip. There we took a carriage, instead of the train, to Athens. We stayed at the Hotel Grande Bretagne, which was owned by our friend Stefanovich. It was, and doubtless still is, the leading hotel on the square near the King's palace, and from the balcony of our rooms we had a clear view of the Acropolis.