The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce (28 page)
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Authors: Hallie Rubenhold
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BOOK: The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce
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If the Ottoman officials in Egypt refused to accommodate his wishes, the population of Turkey positively obstructed them. In the autumn of that year, the
Aurora
made for Constantinople. Battling furious winds along the Anatolian coast she managed to reach her destination on the 14th of November. Worsley recorded upon his arrival that ‘the English Ambassador had sent his servants with a boat for me’, and as they rowed from his ship to the dockside at Pera he took in ‘the striking appearance of Constantinople’ as it lay between the sparkling Bosporus and the densely forested hills. The horizon, he wrote, was punctuated by ‘an immense number of mosques with minarets’ which ‘added greatly to its beauty’, while the narrow streets rolling down to the water’s edge were enlivened by ‘a large number of small houses built of wood and painted in imitation of brick buildings’. As a city, he concluded, it was ‘perhaps the most beautiful and agreeable in the world’.
Aurora
made for Constantinople. Battling furious winds along the Anatolian coast she managed to reach her destination on the 14th of November. Worsley recorded upon his arrival that ‘the English Ambassador had sent his servants with a boat for me’, and as they rowed from his ship to the dockside at Pera he took in ‘the striking appearance of Constantinople’ as it lay between the sparkling Bosporus and the densely forested hills. The horizon, he wrote, was punctuated by ‘an immense number of mosques with minarets’ which ‘added greatly to its beauty’, while the narrow streets rolling down to the water’s edge were enlivened by ‘a large number of small houses built of wood and painted in imitation of brick buildings’. As a city, he concluded, it was ‘perhaps the most beautiful and agreeable in the world’.
The baronet spent the winter at the residence of the English Ambassador, Sir Robert Ainslie, who entertained his guest with frequent visits across the Bosporus to the historic centre of Sultan Ahmet, and on several occasions saw him through the ornately tiled halls of Topkapi Palace for audiences with ‘the Grand Signor’. Through Worsley’s contacts at Constantinople he was able to obtain the royal firman necessary for furthering his acquisitive aims. In April of 1786, when the permeating cold of winter had begun to lift, Sir Richard set out on a collecting expedition which he was certain would bear fruit.
Casting into the Sea of Marmara, he sailed for the ancient ruins of Troy. His intention was to make a meticulous seven-week study of the area, where he would not only scour the remains of the once formidable city eulogised in the
Iliad
and the
Odyssey
but push deep into the rural heart of the region. At first Worsley was thrilled by the wealth of relics he encountered at outlying sites around the Dardanelles. ‘I found several large pieces of the finest flushed white marble … a beautiful Ionic capital, several Doric pieces, many shafts of colums of granite,’ he wrote excitedly after surveying the Tomb of Ajax at Rhoeteum. But the British vice-consul there soon dampened his enthusiasm. When the baronet displayed an interest in taking away ‘a bas relief
of several figures’, the vice-consul recounted a story of when ‘he had accompanied another English gentleman to that spot who had bid 400 Venetian sequins for this beautiful fragment’ but who had ‘met with a violent opposition from the inhabitants’, who ‘immediately began to beat the heads off the figures’. He explained that the area’s villagers regarded these relics as talismans and would rather destroy their worth ‘than be prevailed upon to part with them’.
Iliad
and the
Odyssey
but push deep into the rural heart of the region. At first Worsley was thrilled by the wealth of relics he encountered at outlying sites around the Dardanelles. ‘I found several large pieces of the finest flushed white marble … a beautiful Ionic capital, several Doric pieces, many shafts of colums of granite,’ he wrote excitedly after surveying the Tomb of Ajax at Rhoeteum. But the British vice-consul there soon dampened his enthusiasm. When the baronet displayed an interest in taking away ‘a bas relief
of several figures’, the vice-consul recounted a story of when ‘he had accompanied another English gentleman to that spot who had bid 400 Venetian sequins for this beautiful fragment’ but who had ‘met with a violent opposition from the inhabitants’, who ‘immediately began to beat the heads off the figures’. He explained that the area’s villagers regarded these relics as talismans and would rather destroy their worth ‘than be prevailed upon to part with them’.
Even with his firman, Worsley’s designs were to meet with significant opposition. The impressive scale of the ruins at Troy only heightened his frustration. ‘I hardly ever saw such noble or extensive ones,’ he wrote. An hour was passed simply riding through ‘a mass of antique columns and parts of buildings’. The remains, he concluded, ‘could compare with the Colosseum at Rome for grandeur’. Left abandoned to the elements, their abundance and quality tempted him to distraction. To remove even a small piece of neglected marble would have required local manpower on which he could not have relied. Disheartened, he turned his back on Troy, commenting, ‘It was much to my infinite regret that among such considerable remains I was not fortunate enough to find one bas relief or inscription.’ His feelings intensified as they left the site through the adjoining village of Troiki, where along the road Worsley bristled to discover a pile of cannonballs ‘made from antique stones, awaiting shipment to the capital’. ‘The Turks,’ he complained angrily, ‘who are now the barbarous despots of the country’ would only ‘destroy or deface’ the treasures in their care.
Where the baronet’s hopes of expanding his collection were concerned, the situation was not to improve. Contrary to what he had believed, there were no hidden riches in the countryside. Worsley was horrified to learn that even antique medals and precious coins from the era of Alexander the Great, when found ‘were immediately carried to the copper smith and melted down to be employed as kitchen utensils’. ‘They place no value on them,’ he bemoaned before declaring, ‘ … what profound ignorance are the inhabitants of the delightful Mysia now reduced to!’ To exacerbate matters, on his return journey to Constantinople he found his plans to visit the Palace of Balkisa, the alleged residence of Helen of Troy, foiled by the petty obstinacy of a local official who even prevented him from ‘making copies of the inscriptions’ he had discovered among several ancient buildings.
Disappointed and empty-handed, Sir Richard arrived back at the ambassadorial residence in May and immediately began making arrangements for
his departure to Russia. However, before setting sail for Sebastopol the baronet was determined to make at least one purchase of significance.
his departure to Russia. However, before setting sail for Sebastopol the baronet was determined to make at least one purchase of significance.
In August of the previous year, Worsley had sat at a window belonging to a French merchant in Cairo, observing the waters of the river rush into the canal below. The inundation of the Nile was an annual event which drew hordes of spectators from across the city. In addition to Cairo’s poorer inhabitants who came ‘dancing and singing’ and ‘leading monkeys’ to the festivities, could also be seen ‘the wives and mistresses of many prominent Turks’. ‘I had the opportunity of seeing several very fine women through the lattices of the opposite houses,’ the baronet confided, after an innocent indulgence of his voyeuristic tendencies. He was enchanted by their mysterious figures, silk wrapped and bejewelled, as they fluttered like birds behind the wrought-iron cage-work. ‘These women are slaves from Georgia, Circassia and Armenia,’ he wrote with a stirring of arousal, ‘and most of them are very fair and handsome.’
Slavery was a ubiquitous feature of daily life in the Ottoman-ruled territories. Slaves formed the majority of the labouring class, performing manual and menial tasks in and outside of the home, working in agriculture and industry. They comprised much of the army, guarded the mosques and the palaces, served as entertainers and bulked out the harems of wealthy men. Where in Britain, a tide of moral sentiment was gathering against the indignities of the trade in human lives, in Egypt and Turkey such notions would have been inconceivable. Slavery existed under the Ottomans in an almost classical context, as it would have in ancient Rome or Greece and Worsley, so consumed in his worship of antiquity, became increasingly fascinated with the state of subjugation that he witnessed. It appealed to something dark and unhealed within him: the desire to own and control a woman absolutely.
More than three years had elapsed since his betrayal by Lady Worsley. Thousands of miles of water, earth and sand had passed beneath his feet and still his months under a foreign sun had not managed to burn away the anguish. As the baronet’s travel journals indicate, his heart continued to howl with pain. In the course of his voyages, Worsley not only maintained a log of his route, carefully recording details of each of the locations he visited, but also gave voice to some of his inner thoughts. At the back of his journal, Sir Richard wrote in bold ink at the top of a page ‘Miscellaneous Remarks, observations, quotations and extracts from ancient and modern authors made in the course of my travels’, and beneath it copied out lines
of poetry and philosophy as they resonated with his mood. While some of these were ruminations on the rise and fall of empire, many more dwelt on the treachery of love. Perhaps the most revealing of these is the only modern excerpt to appear: the words of a Turkish folk song, ‘translated at the beginning of the present century’. The lyrics, Worsley writes, ‘were composed by a lover on meeting with a repulse from a lady he courted and wanted to make his fourth and favourite wife’. The vengeful, bloodthirsty verses relate the tale of a hard-hearted woman and the man whose pride she injured. Throughout the song, her rebuffed suitor threatens her with increasing vitriol:
of poetry and philosophy as they resonated with his mood. While some of these were ruminations on the rise and fall of empire, many more dwelt on the treachery of love. Perhaps the most revealing of these is the only modern excerpt to appear: the words of a Turkish folk song, ‘translated at the beginning of the present century’. The lyrics, Worsley writes, ‘were composed by a lover on meeting with a repulse from a lady he courted and wanted to make his fourth and favourite wife’. The vengeful, bloodthirsty verses relate the tale of a hard-hearted woman and the man whose pride she injured. Throughout the song, her rebuffed suitor threatens her with increasing vitriol:
… She denied the proffered bliss,
And durst refuse to wed
But if she suffers not for this
May I be lost when dead
And durst refuse to wed
But if she suffers not for this
May I be lost when dead
Calling to the heavens to smite her, the author’s curse becomes the song’s refrain–
O Mahomet, O prophet you who can,
Hear and revenge an injured Mussul Man
Hear and revenge an injured Mussul Man
–before ending with a crescendo of fury, undeniably reflective of Worsley’s own impassioned resentment;
But tho’ she proudly dares rebel
The time will come when I shall see,
The poor inferior wretch in hell
Not worthy once to look on me
Then slight, conceited slave, if there you can,
The proffered courtship of a Mussul Man.
The time will come when I shall see,
The poor inferior wretch in hell
Not worthy once to look on me
Then slight, conceited slave, if there you can,
The proffered courtship of a Mussul Man.
Like the composer of the verses, the baronet was aching from an injury not just to his heart but to his dignity and sought to reassert his authority in another sphere in order to heal his wounds.
Instinct and curiosity had drawn Worsley to the Cairo slave market. His first encounter was with ‘the Ethiopians’ who ‘bring the black slaves to sell’. ‘I saw many of these wretched objects of compassion,’ he wrote, ‘who only
seem anxious of getting masters.’ When enquiring about their prices he was told ‘that the women sell for more than the men’, before being warned by the trader that ‘Christians are permitted in Egypt but not in Turkey to purchase them.’ ‘They cost according to their goodness,’ the Ethiopian continued, ‘from three hundred piastres to a hundred’, and then, guessing at the baronet’s designs, cautioned him once more that these slaves ‘were not permitted to leave Egypt’. However, the chained captives that Worsley surveyed were not the sort he had admired from his window. ‘These unfortunate creatures,’ as he compassionately calls them, ‘come generally from Nigritia in the centre of Africa, but some come from the nearer countries of Nubia and Abyssinia …’ He found their appearance striking: ‘they are quite black and their heads are covered with a short black wool’, but he concluded, ‘they are not so handsome in countenance and figure as the Asiatic blacks’.
seem anxious of getting masters.’ When enquiring about their prices he was told ‘that the women sell for more than the men’, before being warned by the trader that ‘Christians are permitted in Egypt but not in Turkey to purchase them.’ ‘They cost according to their goodness,’ the Ethiopian continued, ‘from three hundred piastres to a hundred’, and then, guessing at the baronet’s designs, cautioned him once more that these slaves ‘were not permitted to leave Egypt’. However, the chained captives that Worsley surveyed were not the sort he had admired from his window. ‘These unfortunate creatures,’ as he compassionately calls them, ‘come generally from Nigritia in the centre of Africa, but some come from the nearer countries of Nubia and Abyssinia …’ He found their appearance striking: ‘they are quite black and their heads are covered with a short black wool’, but he concluded, ‘they are not so handsome in countenance and figure as the Asiatic blacks’.
Although it was against Ottoman law for him to do so, the possibility of purchasing a female slave continued to tantalise Sir Richard while he remained within the domain of Turkish rule. His arrival at Constantinople presented him with further opportunities. The alluring Circassian slaves that he coveted, the renowned white-skinned jewels of the seraglio, prized for their exquisite features and accomplishments in singing and dancing, could be acquired at the city’s Avret Bazaar, where women were traded every Friday. However, as Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, a visitor to Turkey earlier in the century observed, such treasures of the harem were a rarity in the marketplace. Rather than offering them for public sale, most owners ‘who grew weary of them’ might choose to ‘either present them to a friend or give them their freedoms’. Consequently, when they did appear in the enclosed courtyard of the bazaar these precious commodities fetched a premium, often exceeding several thousand piastres. A man of not inconsiderable means, the baronet attended the slave market in anticipation of success. He bid on several Circassian girls but, according to the philosopher Jeremy Bentham who was also in Constantinople at the time, ‘the price was too high’. Worsley had not anticipated that competition would be so fierce.
In spite of his disappointment, Sir Richard’s determination to acquire a human prize persisted undaunted. In recent months, as if in anticipation of becoming a slave owner, Worsley’s grip on his servants had tightened into a tyrannical stranglehold. He had become not only callous, but ruthless and violent. His aggressive temperament eventually drove Willey Reveley from
his employment. On reaching Constantinople, the artist and his patron parted company. Reveley later complained to Bentham of his ill-treatment, saying that the baronet regarded him not as an educated gentleman but as a lowly drudge. Outraged, the artist reported that, ‘His commands were given in the style of a pasha–in a word’ and that ‘his dependants were in the situation of slaves in the presence of a despot’. Worse still, Sir Richard had ‘even menaced them with the rod and the scourge’. At the end of the eighteenth century, such unenlightened behaviour certainly would have raised censorious comment and even questions of legality among many of Worsley’s contemporaries in Britain.
his employment. On reaching Constantinople, the artist and his patron parted company. Reveley later complained to Bentham of his ill-treatment, saying that the baronet regarded him not as an educated gentleman but as a lowly drudge. Outraged, the artist reported that, ‘His commands were given in the style of a pasha–in a word’ and that ‘his dependants were in the situation of slaves in the presence of a despot’. Worse still, Sir Richard had ‘even menaced them with the rod and the scourge’. At the end of the eighteenth century, such unenlightened behaviour certainly would have raised censorious comment and even questions of legality among many of Worsley’s contemporaries in Britain.
By the 29th of May, the day he boarded the Russian sloop
Danube
bound for the Crimea, an alteration in the baronet’s character had become noticeable. The more sinister shades of his personality, ‘the passions’, that he had claimed to keep in check as a young man had been given much freer rein while he roamed the Mediterranean. Answerable to no one within English polite society, he had grown accustomed to inventing his own morality, one which was more suited to his notions of hierarchy, power and privilege. A sense of entitlement demanded that Worsley not depart the Ottoman Empire without a few spoils. After much perseverance and some bribery he had managed to obtain a handful of items for his collection, including ‘a bas-relief from the floor of a cottage at Ephesus’, which he purchased through a dealer in Constantinople. He had also made a few additions to his growing collection of intaglios and engraved gems. Among the most valued of these was ‘an engraved sardonyx’ on which appeared an epigraph written in Greek,
People say what they please, what then? I don’t care’
. These objects, along with another of even greater significance, were secured below deck for a voyage to the Black Sea.
Danube
bound for the Crimea, an alteration in the baronet’s character had become noticeable. The more sinister shades of his personality, ‘the passions’, that he had claimed to keep in check as a young man had been given much freer rein while he roamed the Mediterranean. Answerable to no one within English polite society, he had grown accustomed to inventing his own morality, one which was more suited to his notions of hierarchy, power and privilege. A sense of entitlement demanded that Worsley not depart the Ottoman Empire without a few spoils. After much perseverance and some bribery he had managed to obtain a handful of items for his collection, including ‘a bas-relief from the floor of a cottage at Ephesus’, which he purchased through a dealer in Constantinople. He had also made a few additions to his growing collection of intaglios and engraved gems. Among the most valued of these was ‘an engraved sardonyx’ on which appeared an epigraph written in Greek,
People say what they please, what then? I don’t care’
. These objects, along with another of even greater significance, were secured below deck for a voyage to the Black Sea.
Sir Richard had come aboard the
Danube
following an afternoon lounging at the table of the Russian envoy. Full of dinner and conviviality, his spirits only began to dip ‘on passing the first castles’ along the Bosporus at which point ‘the Turkish custom house officers came on board to visit the ship’. Worsley was not so concerned that they would confiscate the few antiquities in his possession for which he had been granted a firman, but he feared for his other property. As he explains in his journal, the customs officials were in search of smuggled slaves. Should any be found, Turkish law stipulated that the Sultan had the right to seize both the cargo and the ship transporting it. Sir Richard was anxious and later confessed in his diary that
in spite of its unlawfulness, ‘I had purchased [a slave] at Constantinople of a Turkish Aga who had been taken in Abyssinia, brought to Cairo, there sold and sent to Constantinople’. As the authorities paced the boards of the vessel, Worsley hoped they would not notice that ‘the boy was concealed under the hatch way’. However, to his great relief, ‘they did not pretend to make a regular search so he was not seen’.
Danube
following an afternoon lounging at the table of the Russian envoy. Full of dinner and conviviality, his spirits only began to dip ‘on passing the first castles’ along the Bosporus at which point ‘the Turkish custom house officers came on board to visit the ship’. Worsley was not so concerned that they would confiscate the few antiquities in his possession for which he had been granted a firman, but he feared for his other property. As he explains in his journal, the customs officials were in search of smuggled slaves. Should any be found, Turkish law stipulated that the Sultan had the right to seize both the cargo and the ship transporting it. Sir Richard was anxious and later confessed in his diary that
in spite of its unlawfulness, ‘I had purchased [a slave] at Constantinople of a Turkish Aga who had been taken in Abyssinia, brought to Cairo, there sold and sent to Constantinople’. As the authorities paced the boards of the vessel, Worsley hoped they would not notice that ‘the boy was concealed under the hatch way’. However, to his great relief, ‘they did not pretend to make a regular search so he was not seen’.
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