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.
The Europeans during the prevalence of the plague, if they are
forced to venture into the streets, will carefully avoid the touch
of every human being whom they pass. Their conduct in this respect
shows them strongly in contrast with the "true believers": the
Moslem stalks on serenely, as though he were under the eye of his
God, and were "equal to either fate"; the Franks go crouching and
slinking from death, and some (those chiefly of French extraction)
will fondly strive to fence out destiny with shining capes of
oilskin!
For some time you may manage by great care to thread your way
through the streets of Stamboul without incurring contact, for the
Turks, though scornful of the terrors felt by the Franks, are
generally very courteous in yielding to that which they hold to be
a useless and impious precaution, and will let you pass safe if
they can. It is impossible, however, that your immunity can last
for any length of time if you move about much through the narrow
streets and lanes of a crowded city.
As for me, I soon got "compromised." After one day of rest, the
prayers of my hostess began to lose their power of keeping me from
the pestilent side of the Golden Horn. Faithfully promising to
shun the touch of all imaginable substances, however enticing, I
set off very cautiously, and held my way uncompromised till I
reached the water's edge; but before my caique was quite ready some
rueful-looking fellows came rapidly shambling down the steps with a
plague-stricken corpse, which they were going to bury amongst the
faithful on the other side of the water. I contrived to be so much
in the way of this brisk funeral, that I was not only touched by
the men bearing the body, but also, I believe, by the foot of the
dead man, as it hung lolling out of the bier. This accident gave
me such a strong interest in denying the soundness of the contagion
theory, that I did in fact deny and repudiate it altogether; and
from that time, acting upon my own convenient view of the matter, I
went wherever I chose, without taking any serious pains to avoid a
touch. It seems to me now very likely that the Europeans are
right, and that the plague may be really conveyed by contagion; but
during the whole time of my remaining in the East, my views on this
subject more nearly approached to those of the fatalists; and so,
when afterwards the plague of Egypt came dealing his blows around
me, I was able to live amongst the dying without that alarm and
anxiety which would inevitably have pressed upon my mind if I had
allowed myself to believe that every passing touch was really a
probable death-stroke.
And perhaps as you make your difficult way through a steep and
narrow alley, shut in between blank walls, and little frequented by
passers, you meet one of those coffin-shaped bundles of white linen
that implies an Ottoman lady. Painfully struggling against the
obstacles to progression interposed by the many folds of her clumsy
drapery, by her big mud-boots, and especially by her two pairs of
slippers, she works her way on full awkwardly enough, but yet there
is something of womanly consciousness in the very labour and effort
with which she tugs and lifts the burthen of her charms. She is
closely followed by her women slaves. Of her very self you see
nothing except the dark, luminous eyes that stare against your
face, and the tips of the painted fingers depending like rose-buds
from out of the blank bastions of the fortress. She turns, and
turns again, and carefully glances around her on all sides, to see
that she is safe from the eyes of Mussulmans, and then suddenly
withdrawing the yashmak, {6} she shines upon your heart and soul
with all the pomp and might of her beauty. And this, it is not the
light, changeful grace that leaves you to doubt whether you have
fallen in love with a body, or only a soul; it is the beauty that
dwells secure in the perfectness of hard, downright outlines, and
in the glow of generous colour.
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