by Susan Nagel
Now my Dear Lady Elgin this Journal is totally for yourself, for I asked E. before I sat down whether he thought if I wrote You a long History you would shew it: & assured me positively you would not—I can scribble very comfortably to you & not mind what I say, but I cannot write when I think my Letters are to be seen and criticized.
Her fifteenth letter home included the advisory “This is a family letter. It is nonsense writing tautology and I have said all I could think of.” The Dowager Countess of Elgin, upon returning a group of Mary’s letters to Mrs. Nisbet, complimented her daughter-in-law’s skill.
Dear Lady Elgin’s Tour … a very charming performance … may be shewn anywhere—so neat & so concise a description I don’t think I ever saw, & I have many well wrote Travels—My ever Dear Lady Glenorchy’s Travels Thro Italy are very well wrote, and I havae a very well wrote account of Italy & Swiserland by a once Dear Friend also—I mean Lady Morton—who writes well. But they are none of them equal to Our Dear Daughters—a sort of clearness & Simplicity & chearfullness that is through all her writings.
Mary carefully numbered her letters to each person for many reasons. First, mail delivery was erratic, and the numbers on the letters could indicate to the recipient the order in which they should be read. Second, the recipient would know when some mail had not been delivered and inform Mary of such; Mary, in turn, could then reiterate her news. Third, she could keep her own paper trail if she were accused of neglect and, in fact, could then go on the offensive when necessary. She paid methodical attention to detail and on one occasion chided her mother-in-law for inattention: “I keep a book in which I put down the letters I send and receive.”
Mary’s talent for satire makes for very humorous reading. Two days after arriving in Lisbon, she casually wrote that nothing really exciting had happened, then continued, “Bye the bye, I forgot to tell you … that we have had an earthquake the night before last. It was the most violent one they have had for these three years past.” She often used the “afterthought” technique to deflate the dramatic; or she might write melodramatically about something very insignificant that she knew would amuse the Grosvenor Square assemblies like “Defend me from an Ambassador!”
When her “choakings” (asthma) plagued her along the journey, Elgin sent for a doctor who came some nineteen miles to see her. This was a serious asthma attack necessitating the attendance not by one of those foreign doctors, but by a man who knew her “People.” He had even been to Archerfield and would not accept money for his troubles, and when she complained of a pain in her thumb, he reassured her that another patient had suffered similarly. “I was disappointed, for I really flattered myself mine was at least original.”
On September 20, after having left Portugal for Gibraltar, she described a wild chase and skirmish with a gunboat, a life-threatening escapade that would have frightened most people. Recounting the intolerable heat, their exchange of fire, and their extraordinary escape, she dryly concluded, “I can assure you I have gained a wonderful character.”
The Countess of Elgin’s concern about her mail was not the result of paranoia or her heightened emotional state. Her suspicions were right on target. Many of her letters were opened, stolen, or perused by people seeking the kind of information that might further their careers, injure the career of another, or reveal some secrets of government or war. In one case, she commented on Lord Nelson desiring a peek; on another occasion, she even mentioned the unreliability of Sir William Hamilton: “perhaps the old Body has lost them.” On March 24, 1800, from Constantinople, she actually accused him of tampering with her mail: “I daresay that my letters from Palermo and Messina, were opened by Sir William Hamilton, and I am sure he would not send them if he took a peep.”
As if her own countrymen’s curiosity wasn’t enough, there was a greater danger that enemy spies would intercept her letters, or that her letters would not arrive at all owing to other difficulties. Mail delivery would certainly have been interrupted in wartime. Friends would often carry letters with them on journeys to assure their safe arrival. Mail itself, the lifeline for the young wife of the diplomat, caused an emotional roller coaster.1
In her tenth letter home, written from Constantinople, Mary lamented, “I trust my letters to you have arrived safer than yours to me, for I know how wretched it is to lose any.”
Her letters and the newspapers, the Herald and the Sun, which all arrived willy-nilly, were her lifeline to home, and she was ecstatic whenever she received them:
Monday Night, Nov. 25th—My very dearest Mother, what Joy! Just as I was getting into my chair to go to the Phaetons boat, Smith came running with a large packet from Vienna, and I got my own Mother’s No. 6. How happy it made me. I have got a letter from Bluey, and a nice one from Suzanne and Lady Elcho. Will you write 3 lines to Susan for me to say I have received both her letters? They still say I shall get your first Nos. 1-4 by Italy.
In January, she wrote:
As I shall only have time to write one letter, of course I shall direct it to my Mam, tho’ I hope she will not receive it. I am quite in the dumps, for two mails are arrived without any letters, excepting one, that I got from the General, at Windsor, 24th of November. The last mail has not even brought newspapers. It is indeed sadly vexing to have one’s letters lost, particularly at this moment when I am so exceeding anxious to know whether you have left England.
In March, Mary wrote:
The last post made me very happy indeed, for I got your Nos. 11, 12, & 13, Lady Robert’s No. 1, and Bluey’s No. 2—one from Lady Elgin, one from Mag, and two from Caro—only think what a treat.
The mail also became a cause of tension between Mary and her parents on a few occasions. Once, her mother criticized her for not being original—a breach of etiquette—and Mary defended herself. Because of the constant possibility that the mail would be discarded or stolen, Mary sent multiple letters to different places, which contained the same information, in order to disperse as much information as she could. She wrote to those who adored her, worried about her safety, and would be very surprised if she suddenly became grandiose.
I think you do me very ill, suspecting me of copying my letters. I write EVERYTHING to you and Grosvenor Square, so of course I extract the Quintessence of my stories for my other friends; I think that very fair.
I, to be sure, wrote 5 letters very like one another; but I sent one to Russia, another to Palermo, the third to Holland, the fourth to England, and the fifth to Scotland; now how could I suppose they would ever meet? I cannot write you the particulars, as this letter goes by the German Post; and I think it will very probably be opened.
Another time, she defended Elgin when he and Mr. Nisbet had had a tiff over mail that had not been franked. As a man of privilege, William Nisbet could well afford to pay the necessary postage for packets sent to Britain, but apparently he did not offer his new son-in-law that privilege and economy, so the Elgins’ letters arrived “C.O.D.,” causing them embarrassment:
I must now vindicate my Eggy’s brains that you accuse so unjustly. For be it known unto you, that from Portsmouth he enclosed the heavy letter for my Father, to Frere—and desired him to frank it, which I find he did not do. Indeed I have now quite quarreled with Frere, for I suspect he has never franked my letters, and I have sent packets of nonsense to people that I should be very sorry had to pay for them.
The franked mail, a small financial matter, became a tiny symbol for a very big issue growing between the men. Mr. Nisbet, a trustee of Elgin’s affairs, was constantly irritated by his son-in-law’s spending. Mary was often placed in the middle and forced to wheedle money out of her parents. She often used the excuse that her husband was doing his duty for the Crown. When Elgin hired Lusieri, a foreigner, to accompany them on the journey to Constantinople, she argued that Elgin had made a sound investment on behalf of their museums: “I never in my life saw anything so beautiful as his drawings. My Father would be delighted with them—so very superior to any we saw
in London.” That comment was a dig at the British painter Turner, who had turned down the offer to be artist-in-residence in the East. (Elgin didn’t offer him enough money, and the fee also covered art lessons for Lady Elgin, a prospect that the artist found insulting.) Mary parroted her husband’s contention that since Lusieri was Italian, he would be more familiar with the classical world. They hoped that Mr. Nisbet would be satisfied with that theory. When all else failed, they reported how much cheaper the Italian was to get than any English painter. She lovingly flattered her father by comparing him with the other great men she met along their journey, and, of course, they never measured up. On one occasion, Elgin and his men shot partridges but missed all the birds. “I told them how differently I should have been treated had my Dad been there!”
Mary often hid her homesickness behind false frivolity. Under the strain of her pregnancy and great discomfort, she, first and foremost, tried to keep her parents from worrying about her and worked at cheerfulness. She was gay and breezy when describing dinner parties and the latest fashions; however, she reported important political events with the unflinching accuracy of a seasoned journalist. As an eyewitness to a skirmish between the Russian and Sicilian navies, she noted, “Sir William tells me that ever since he has lived in Italy, upon quite a moderate computation there are never less than 4000 people killed privately by the stiletto every year.”
How heartbreaking that she dreamt of the day she would return to Broomhall, for she had just left Scotland and her journey was only beginning:
We dined at Mrs. Lock’s to-day, and I have discovered Mrs. L. is not the affected Miss O. but her sister…. Now Mother, listen with attention to what I am going to say and write me an immediate answer because it is of consequence. I must begin, that silk here is as cheap as dirt!—Do you remember the blue silk chairs I shewed you at Broomhall? Now give me your opinion and lose no time about it, for I cannot settle without you. Do you not think it would be extremely handsome to hang the walls with blue silk, the same pattern with a gold border round it, both for the drawingroom and breakfast room?
After Palermo, the Elgins were feted in Messina. At one endless dinner party at the home of Italian nobleman Il Principo di Crito, a very bored Mary thought about home and wrote a letter. After the tiresome event, she dutifully sent home, wrapped in the letter, the prince’s calling card.
It was such a long business, dish after dish, walking round the table…. Only think of sitting whilst 26 dishes go round and everybody eats; it is beyond conception the quantity they consume, and the immense quantity of wine the ladies drink. I eat of a dozen dishes I believe, and yet they made such a splutter about my not eating, that Elgin had to apologize on account of my bad cold…. Oh how your poor Mary wished for her bit of Archerfield mutton.
In her sixth letter home, written on October 17 from Messina, she reminded her parents of their promise to join her in Turkey:
in spite of Elgin’s kindness and affection for me, when we are sitting alone, we begin talking of Archerfield and we figure to ourselves what you are all about. Oh, pray, my dear Mother, come to us soon, and then everything will be comfortable.
Often disgusted by the gluttony of society both in Italy and the Middle East, she never displayed her dissatisfaction in public and earned a reputation as a charming guest; and for that, she sweetly thanked her mother for instilling in her good manners. Although she found decadence fascinating to report on, she would remain the good, simple (albeit rich), Christian Scottish lass they all knew and loved. Even halfway round the world, she consulted her group of important women on everything concerning small and great things. She longed for their approval and affection and got her strength from their loving notes from home. No whining for Mary. For no Scottish girl would be any less than brave; but to her mother, the closest person to her heart, she revealed her innermost sadness:
Mother, you know this is a private letter so I may acknowledge my faults; sometimes when I have to sit down to my bad breakfasts without cream, butter, or bread that I could eat, I have actually felt the tears get someway or another down my cheeks and then my poor Eggy looks so miserable.
After letting down her guard, she cheered herself up by enclosing a note Elgin tossed off to her father of “very bad stories” (smutty jokes).
One pleasant night, she attended the opera with the Marchesa di Palermo and her husband, who had gained Mary’s favor by telling her how “uncommonly handsome” Lord Elgin was. Pleasantries dispensed with, she repeated her “query about which I am exceedingly anxious … do you think the hanging the drawingroom with blue silk (like the chairs) with a broad gold border round it, would be prettier than paper?” Mary clearly was mentally focusing on returning to Scotland.
The Elgins boarded the Phaeton once again on Saturday, October 19. Eleven days later, on October 30, Mary wrote about their rough days at sea and once again she felt “all but dead!” Quite disgruntled at this point, she complained:
we are now lying at anchor off Tenedos as it is impossible to get up the Dardanels, and here we may remain this month…. I have done nothing since I left England but tell you of my disappointments; now I shall croak more than ever, for all places the Archiipelago least answers the descriptions given it. There are plenty of islands, but Mytilene is the only one that had any green trees on it, all the others look a dismal brown burnt up desert.
On Tenedos, Mary tasted the two wines for which the island is known and received a gift of this lovely wine, and sheep. This animal was beautiful. “I wish you had it at Archerfield.” The women wore their “nails painted a deep red.”
As the winds were not favorable for their journey on to Constantinople, Elgin and his party went off to visit what Mary mistakenly called Troy, some twelve miles from shore. “They are to ride there so I had prudence enough to remain here, I hope you give me credit … I don’t expect they will see anything.” The next day she corrected herself, reporting what stories the gentlemen brought back from “Troas,” which apparently included a visit to “an immense quantity of ruins…. Some people have mistaken this for Troy.” (She poked fun at her own gaffe.)
At last, the Phaeton was ready to enter the straits of the Dardanelles, and they were “now alongside of the Captain Pasha’s ship…. He sent his head man here early this morning to say he was coming to pay his respects to our Excellencys; we saluted him, 19 Guns, and then Elgin went with Isaac Bay [a prince], the Pasha’s Great Man.” The Captain Pasha, named Hassan Bey, was called “the Sultan’s brother-in-law” out of respect but was really a cousin. He was, however, the most powerful military man in the country and would in fact be brother-in-law to a subsequent sultan who reigned after Selim’s assassination.2 The Captain Pasha’s sister, Hanum, was a favorite at the Seraglio, and that cemented the Captain Pasha’s status and access to the Grand Seigneur and his mother, the Valida Sultana.
Although Mary personally reviled gluttony, a major sin, she had no problem observing her neighbors enjoy their excess. Throughout her time in the East, Mary described the hypnotic interiors, clothes, and jewels of Turkey’s upper classes. She, in turn, made her own impression on them from the moment of her first foray into their Byzantine society.
Only half an hour after Elgin left, Isaac returned with golden stuffed cushions for her. Instead of remaining quietly in her place, Mary issued the first of what was to become many novel requests for this part of the world, where women were sequestered and veiled. She asked Isaac to take her on board the pasha’s ship to join the men. Dr. William Wittman, a physician assigned to the British military legation, noted this extraordinary moment in his own memoirs: “His Excellency, together with Lady Elgin … accepted of the Captain Pacha’s invitation to partake of a Turkish supper.”3 Wittman, not invited to attend, was left aboard his own sailing vessel as the Phaeton’s VIPs went on board the Selim III. Mary wrote her mother the details of the ship’s inner sanctum.
Well, but now hear my story…. I dressed myself smart, and away in this fine T
urkish boat did I sally (I took Masterman with me). On coming to the Selim, I found the best accommodation ladder I ever met with; Isaac handed me up; on deck I found all the troops drawn out for the Ambassadress Poll, as somebody dares to call me; they presented their arms and play’d English music—fifes and drums. At the door of the cabin the Pasha and Elgin came to meet me, but all possible description must fall short of the magnificence of his cabin, beautiful embroidered sophas, made of yellow silk richly worked over with gold, guns, pistols, and swords and other arms embossed with gold … how I longed to have had you with me … I said I wished extremely to see the ship … [the pasha] took us all over it…. He made them exercise the guns, which part of the performance I resign all knowledge of … 1200 men on board…. After we had seen everything, he conducted us to his cabin again and in came coffee in beautiful Dresden china, excellent coffee and fine sugar for me, one attendant brought a large silver tray with a dozen diamond cups—(like what we have) only all rose diamonds…. During the whole time I can assure you the conversation was very lively and pleasant; he kept beging we would not go, and at last said that if I had no objection to return to his ship again and dine and sup with him, it would be doing the greatest favor in the world…. Isaac said he would make the cook dress some French dishes, and that every thing should be done to make it as comfortable as possible, and that we should have wine…. I was annoy’d I could not get at my gold muslin, but there being no help for that, I contented myself with putting on my diamond cross letting it hang on the outside of my handkerchief…. I must not forget to tell you the Shaw [pasha] saluted us with 19 Guns.