You Go Out
From Your Queenly London - The Centre Of The Greatest And Strongest
Amongst All Earthly Dominions - You Go
Out thence, and travel on to
the capital of an Eastern Prince, you find but a waning power, and
a
Faded splendour, that inclines you to laugh and mock; but let the
infernal Angel of Plague be at hand, and he, more mighty than
armies, more terrible than Suleyman in his glory, can restore such
pomp and majesty to the weakness of the Imperial city, that if,
WHEN HE IS THERE, you must still go prying amongst the shades of
this dead empire, at least you will tread the path with seemly
reverence and awe.
It is the firm faith of almost all the Europeans living in the East
that Plague is conveyed by the touch of infected substances, and
that the deadly atoms especially lurk in all kinds of clothes and
furs. It is held safer to breathe the same air with a man sick of
the plague, and even to come in contact with his skin, than to be
touched by the smallest particle of woollen or of thread which may
have been within the reach of possible infection. If this be a
right notion, the spread of the malady must be materially aided by
the observance of a custom prevailing amongst the people of
Stamboul. It is this; when an Osmanlee dies, one of his dresses is
cut up, and a small piece of it is sent to each of his friends as a
memorial of the departed - a fatal present, according to the opinion
of the Franks, for it too often forces the living not merely to
remember the dead man, but to follow and bear him company.
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