Mistress of the Elgin Marbles

by Susan Nagel

  Although she and Elgin went to parties on Sundays in order not to offend anyone, she set a new tone at the British Embassy by banning card games and dancing on the Sabbath.

  On Tuesday morning at five she got into her gold chair, escorted by Janissaries and “flambeaux,” to board a boat at the waterside. At dawn she arrived at the Seraglio, the first Western woman ever to be invited inside its gates and see Topkapi (Cannonball) Palace. The Seraglio was a city unto itself with a maze of chapels, gardens, military barracks, slave quarters, and the legendary harem. The Elgins went through the Imperial Gate into the first court, through the Middle Gate and the Gate of Felicity to the third and fourth courts, and then into the sultan’s private world. Countless images of dancing girls entertaining revelers in the sultan’s Hall have been recorded by artists. Selim III, an extremely competent musician, liked to entertain his own audiences in the Hall by playing the ney, the small wooden flute of the dancing dervishes. The sad truth about the lack of male heirs caused the circumcision room at Topkapi to be used during Selim III’s reign more frequently for conferences than religious ritual.

  On this, their first visit, Lord Elgin dined with the Grand Vizier, and Mary with select dignitaries who recognized their guest as “Lord Bruce.” After speeches and exchange of presents, they all finally withdrew to the sultan’s apartments. His quarters included a magnificent library and a music room with access through a tiny stairwell near his mother’s quarters.

  His throne was like a good honest English bed, the counterpane on which the Monster sat was embroidered all over with immense large pearls. By him was an inkstand of one mass of large Diamonds, on his other side lay his saber studded all over with thumping Brilliants.

  In his turban he wore the famous Aigrette, his robe was of yellow satin with black sable, and in a window there were two turbans covered with diamonds. You can conceive nothing in the Arabian Nights equal to that room.

  A poet and composer who wrote under the pseudonym Ilhami, “inspired,” Selim consented to be painted in this same room on the same throne with similar accessories: the sword and the pens. He presented himself as the warrior-poet, the ruler of parallel empires, and his Xanadu was a complex city in itself—a pleasure dome where everything revolved around his own desires and commands.

  The sultan’s attendants “were dressed in India Stuffs of Gold embroidery & their Daggers covered with diamonds,” Mary wrote the Dowager Lady Elgin. The satin on the throne was “embroidered all over with large pearls, over his head hung rows of immense Pearls to catch Flies.” She reported that the sultan “looked at me which terrified me so dreadfully that I was obliged to put my hand to my Head to feel whether it was on or off.”

  Mary’s spectacular debut in Constantinople launched her into immediate stardom. Invitations poured in, and she discovered that she needed more clothes. After all, a living legend has to make a fashion statement. She was stylish, but the problem was her expanding figure.

  I want you to bring with you some gauze stockings for me to wear under my silk, and some flannel socks. I have been sadly disappointed in the fine muslins I expected to have got here…. I have sent to India for some fine. The people here admire the coloured muslins amazingly, you can have no notion how much applause your blue muslin has met with. I advise you to bring plenty of coloured muslins with you, they will be more thought of than white, and then when we go they will sell wonderfully.

  Despite the fact that she was incredibly rich, to Mary’s credit, she was a practical girl who paid close attention to value. Since Elgin had no money, the embassy expenses—including refurbishing, lavish supper balls, and reciprocal gifts—came straight out of the Nisbets’ money, as did their own visiting quarters. Mary impressed upon her mother, however, that she always kept her eye on the bottom line. This countess understood a balance sheet. For every quid there was a quo, and Mary showed uncommon thriftiness. Every token was appraised, some sent home to be sold. “I think I did not tell you that the shawl the Captain Pasha gave me is a 70 Guinea one. His Sultana is 22 years old, and her fortune is £30,000 a year.” The Captain Pasha’s sister, who became very fond of Mary, gave her two Turkish dresses: “they are the finest it was possible to make, and cost above £400.” She previewed the bargains her parents might enjoy upon their arrival: “If you wish for green sattin for your London drawingroom … or if you want any sort of silk, bring the patterns with you, and you will get it as cheap as dirt!” Most revealing, she was shopping for Broomhall, anticipating a happy homecoming. She asked for silver candles that, she noted pointedly, had already been paid for and “a box like the one we saw at Maillerdets, with a bird poping out and singing” for the sultana.

  Mary reported on a level of extravagance and luxury that even the richest land-owning Scots would find unimaginable. Extravagant hospitality even extended to servants. At a time when a male house servant in Scotland would receive about £6 a year, and women house servants approximately £2, she marveled when on one occasion Elgin sent employees over to the sultan’s palace to deliver a chandelier, and

  they were treated with dinner on a silver gilt table with a beautiful embroidered cloath laid under it, and embroidred napkins. They had 40 people to wait on them, and 50 dishes. Besides which, they gave Duff £72, Molwitz £21, the Butler £21, Andrew £16, and Thomas £16. I wish you had heard Andrew’s adscription of it; he could hardly articulate for joy. I assure you he talked more of the civil treatment and magnificent dinner than even of the money … [the Grand Seigneur put the chandelier] in the Sultana’s apartments. He talks of building a room on purpose for it.

  Her popularity was an asset and an expensive liability in more ways than one. Mary complained that their cost of living was enormous. “We have sixty people to feed every day, independent of the company at our own table, that we have almost constantly. We shall go into the country as soon as I am able, and then I shall get rid of as many people as I can.” The number of times Mary wrote “tonight we are having 60 for dinner,” or “tonight we have 30 Hottentots,” is inestimable, however for all of her busyness and gaiety, Mary’s heart weighed with worry about friends and loved ones engaged in the wars, and she grew distressed with reports of riots, beheadings, and the fickle behavior of despots. Yesterday’s favorite minister was today’s hanging corpse. And although she longed to hear firsthand reports of British victories from her uncle, General Robert Manners, she mourned the loss of men who so recently, in her memory, were boys.

  She was not a depressive personality, but for all of her constant activity and lively company, she was lonely. She was anxious that the Nisbets might change their minds and stay at home. “My whole thoughts are taken up with the hopes of getting you and Dad here, every thing would then be comfortable … you will have a bedroom and dressingroom, and my Father a dressingroom next you.” She nervously enticed them promising “famous Whist players here.” She was also extremely anxious, although she tried to minimize it, about the imminent birth of her child in a foreign country where the medical care was different from what she had been used to in Edinburgh and London. Childbirth was certainly dangerous anywhere in the world in 1800, and Mary wanted her mother by her side. Thus she would continue to plead for the speedy arrival of the Nisbets, luring them with phrases like “by the time you arrive we shall have the finest weather in the world. I declare I don’t say this to take you in, everybody says the same thing” and “let Duff have the arrangement and he will land you at Constanti without your knowing you have left England.” She even dangled prizes, presents for them from the Captain Pasha who “says it is impossible you can resist such a daughter.” When she thought she had exhausted all of her arsenal, she used the ultimate weapon: they would soon be grandparents.

  Without her parents for the first time that Christmas, 1799, she was desperately lonely. Elgin was sick in bed and sent a servant to her room with a beautiful emerald on a tray. It cheered her up—but not much. She presented a merry face to the crowd she entertained on Boxing Day
, but her heart was wherever her parents were. She handled the “30 Hottentots” all alone because Elgin was still indisposed, having had leeches placed on his face to cure a “head rheumatism.” “MacLean says he never saw such leeches in his life, so very violent. They bite much more than any he ever saw in England.” Vicious leeches, a number of serious fires, and rampant disease (bodies were carried away in the middle of the night so that the populace would not panic) provided the backdrop to the toppling Ottoman Empire, gnawed away at by Napoleon, the Russians, and others aspiring to control its waterways and natural resources. Mary, thrown into this blight, chose instead to focus on simple pleasures—the infrequent, quiet dinners with her “Eggy,” the arrival of the Nisbets, her unborn baby—and a plethora of packages delivered on a constant basis from the adoring Captain Pasha.

  After the New Year, on January 23, 1800, she “packed up my little traveling bed, with Adieu Eggy, took a very pleasant woman interpreter, and my three maids, and away I went to the C.P.” She details her extraordinary visit to the harem as the guest of the Captain Pasha and his sister Hanum, who had ordered two magnificent Turkish dresses made for Mary. Elgin arrived for dinner and did not recognize his wife dressed “à la Turque,” which caused a riotous joke. The Captain Pasha and his sister did not want to let her go home, and she livened up the party even more when she sent for her pianoforte and they all danced Scottish reels. Elgin’s favorite tune, Mary wryly noted, was “The Battle for Prague,” a lively, pounding march that told the story of Frederick of Prussia’s victory over Bohemia.

  After her visit, the Captain Pasha broke all precedence and reciprocated, appearing at the Elgins, “a thing that was never before heard of.” She wore one of her new Turkish dresses to receive him, and he was charmed, giving Mary “the most beautiful sapphire set round with diamonds … it is the finest I ever saw.” The Captain Pasha made no secret of his devotion to Mary. When she was going to be a godmother at a wedding, the “C.P.” sent the bride “a fine diamond sprig for the hair, good large diamonds, which he said he gave her out of compliment to me … my three maids got packets of Indian stuffs … he left £40 to be divided amongst our servants, is he not a fine Fellow? His sister has sent to beg I will go there, tomorrow.” They simply couldn’t get enough of her, and everyone else was furious. “The foreign Ministers are as envious as they can hang in their skins; I really don’t care what they say. I wonder what they will do, when I go to visit his Sultana and to the Seraglio, to visit the Grand Seigneur’s Mother which I am to do, and nobody ever did but me?”

  She visited the Captain Pasha’s home regularly and even played cards with the men. She noticed every curious custom and reported back to Grosvenor Square that before she sat down to dinner a vast number of women waited with silver basins containing warm, perfumed water to wash her hands. Silver ewers poured this soft, fragrant, and luxurious liquid onto the guests’ hands before they began to eat. Once seated, she observed that her hosts did not know how to eat with a knife and fork. The servants had placed Dresden china and silver knives and forks on the table for Mary, but the Turks “make only use of a horn spoon.” They all ate meat, “which they tear in pieces with their fingers in the neatest manner possible…. They never put more than one dish on the table at a time. We had about 32.” To her London audience, Mary was a real-life Scheherazade, offering them spellbinding details they would never experience firsthand.

  She liked holding an audience captive and was quite content. She was married to the man she loved, she was about to become a mother, and she was the toast of two continents—literally, since Constantinople straddled both Europe and Asia. Her popularity, however, was beginning to cast an ominous shadow on her husband’s career. She easily dismissed controversy as jealousy; but Elgin had real enemies—and these enemies could do serious damage to his own credibility and the survival of the British Empire.

  The powerful Smith brothers—Captain (later Admiral) Sidney and Levant Company representative Spencer—were angry about the arrival of the newly appointed ambassador extraordinaire. As the English had little opportunity in the past for political advancement with the Turks, most of their dealings with the Turks had been in commerce. Spencer Smith, as the Levant Company’s local figure, had been able to operate with great freedom in the region. Sir Sidney Smith, a naval renegade who often flouted authority, never liked the idea of having anyone to report to. Elgin’s authority would be supreme, and both brothers resented the diminishment of their positions. They targeted Elgin and circumvented his authority at every turn, and for a while they were indulged despite their brashness because they were cousins of both Prime Minister William Pitt (the Younger) and Lord Grenville, the foreign minister. Spencer, who had great experience with the Turks, even waged a campaign against Mary in order to hurt Elgin. He sent false stories home to London about Mary. Although Spencer Smith was godson to Mary’s own grandmother—and in a sense “family”—this mobilized the Nisbets and Bruces, who had significant clout of their own, into action. They immediately closed ranks against both Smith brothers, vigorously defending in London the Elgins. Elgin’s own letters home to Grenville responded to the Levant Company man’s injurious innuendos; but it was clear that Spencer Smith wanted Elgin off his turf. He caused Elgin daily migraine headaches, and in March 1800, Mary wrote home that “all intimacy between Mr. Smith and Us is over.”

  Mary supplied anecdotes to her mother-in-law, knowing, once again, that these letters would be passed around at Court. Her intent was to make the point crystal clear: Spencer Smith was a petty troublemaker. “You would laugh could you see Mr. Smith’s behavior to me, he is so prodigiously civil & attentive, the fondest Lover could not be more so.” At one party, Elgin amused the crowd, who knew of their split, when he walked around the room with his arm around Smith, enjoying his own joke. Mary reported that her husband was in “highest spirits” after that prank.

  An astute hostess who had learned the Jane Austen maxim “Important things happen at parties” at her mother’s knee, Mary knew that if you feed them they will come. Instead of hosting dances, she hosted suppers with dancing, and she fed her guests so lavishly that an invitation from Lady Elgin became the most coveted in town. She especially enjoyed planning masked balls. Europeans could purchase exotic silks and trimmings in Constantinople, and the evenings would be pure fantasy. She stopped inviting Spencer Smith, but apparently he couldn’t stay away from these fabulous balls and so he came anyway, uninvited. Mary knew exactly what she was doing. If anyone at Court or in the government had an ounce of respect for Smith before, they certainly would change their perception of him once word got back that he crashed the Elgins’ parties.

  I never invite the Smiths, but they force themselves in uninvited; he has been here two or three public Evenings without Elgin’s taking any notice of him, every body sees that, so I wonder at Smith’s affronterie; He tries to make up to me & whatever I say to him civil or uncivil he yelps out a loud laugh, to endeavor to make people believe we are great friends.

  Spencer was eventually recalled—to Elgin’s relief—but he was really the more benign of the two brothers, for it was his brother, Sidney, who practically ruined Elgin’s credibility with Selim and caused a near massacre of the British Navy.

  Sir Sidney Smith attained folk hero status when in 1798 he escaped from the Temple Prison in Paris. Songs were written about him, jugs were fashioned with his portrait on them, and babies were named for him. A theatrical, flamboyant personality, Smith, aboard his ship, the Tigre, once again achieved fame when he vanquished the French at Acre, the Israeli port where intense fighting had taken place during the Crusades. Smith’s victory, evoking the romantic lore of Richard the Lionhearted, stole Nelson’s thunder, and Nelson didn’t much care for him despite (because of) public opinion.

  Like his brother, who had overstepped when he tried to negotiate trade tariffs fully knowing it was Elgin’s job to do so, Sidney Smith took it upon himself to negotiate a peace treaty, believing he had th
e authority to do so. After Napoleon had abandoned his own troops to return to France in late 1799, he had left Alsatian general Jean-Baptiste Kléber in charge. Kléber and Sidney Smith signed, in January 1800, the Treaty of El Arish, allowing for the safe passage home of French troops from the Middle East. Although Elgin’s emissary, Carlyle, was on board Smith’s Tigre during the negotiations, he was an academic and not a politician; therefore, Elgin had no role in the discussions, even though he was the senior representative in the region. Had he been a participant, he would have known how to avert a diplomatic crisis that almost destroyed the new alliance between Britain and the Sublime Porte.4

  First, Smith’s discussions were originally approved of, but the situation had changed in Europe, unbeknownst to him, and his original instructions became contrary to the British government’s position. Second, he had opened discussions based on information that was planted into his hands and was entirely false. Smith believed that the French forces were about to collapse, and thought the French were no longer much of a threat. Because of this, his terms did not include complete French surrender. Selim, happy to have the French out of his territory without much cost, had no problem accepting the compact of El Arish. En route to Elgin, however, was the letter from Parliament with instructions that any truce must include complete French capitulation.

  Having thus far enjoyed an excellent and convivial relationship with the Grand Vizier, the Captain Pasha, and the sultan, Elgin now had to face these men to explain this diplomatic mess. He had to explain to Selim that Sidney Smith did not have the authority to deal on behalf of the king. The Turks could not understand the English waffling and became nervous about Lord Elgin and their new ally. Selim, wanting the French out of Ottoman territory at any cost, made a counterproposal: allow the French to depart under false pretense and then capture them! Elgin would not agree to this underhanded plan, but it made its way back to French officials who accused Elgin of masterminding it. Rethinking their position, the British government did another about-face, ordering Elgin to go ahead and accept the terms Smith had negotiated. Elgin’s credibility was now diminished, and his embassy was in jeopardy. The Turks, believing that peace was no longer at hand, sent some 50,000 troops to face the French; General Kléber, unaware of the second British about-face, battled the Grand Vizier and his men with a vengeance. The Turks blamed the wavering, indecisive British; for fifteen months, the carnage was horrific.