In
The Crusades My Wicked Sympathies Have Always Been With The Turks.
They Seem To Me The Better Christians Of The Two:
More humane,
less brutally presumptuous about their own merits, and more
generous in esteeming their neighbours.
As far as I can get at the
authentic story, Saladin is a pearl of refinement compared to the
brutal beef-eating Richard - about whom Sir Walter Scott has led all
the world astray.
When shall we have a real account of those times and heroes - no
good-humoured pageant, like those of the Scott romances - but a real
authentic story to instruct and frighten honest people of the
present day, and make them thankful that the grocer governs the
world now in place of the baron? Meanwhile a man of tender
feelings may be pardoned for twaddling a little over this sad
spectacle of the decay of two of the great institutions of the
world. Knighthood is gone - amen; it expired with dignity, its face
to the foe: and old Mahometanism is lingering about just ready to
drop. But it is unseemly to see such a Grand Potentate in such a
state of decay: the son of Bajazet Ilderim insolvent; the
descendants of the Prophet bullied by Calmucs and English and
whipper-snapper Frenchmen; the Fountain of Magnificence done up,
and obliged to coin pewter! Think of the poor dear houris in
Paradise, how sad they must look as the arrivals of the Faithful
become less and less frequent every day.
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