LITMIR.BIZ

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the greatest of all the cities of the earth: for men were pouring into it from all quarters; horsemen and chiefs, merchants and munugemein (astrologers and learned men who consult the stars); the fame of her beauty and benevolence having reached to Bagdad and Isfahan, to Bokhara and Samarcand; the greatest men of the East being desirous of beholding it for themselves.” The Arab, who firmly believed all this, narrated the return from Palmyra in the same romantic strains; and ended by repeating his regret at the misfortune of not having been one of the happy multitude, assembled on that occasion; he having been then on some business with another tribe to the south of the Dead Sea72.

      Lady Hester is now dead. The following account is taken from a paper published originally at Smyrna: “We announced in our last number the death of Lady Hester Stanhope. Our readers will no doubt be glad to have a brief sketch of the principal circumstances of that extraordinary woman’s life. It was at Djouni, in Syria, that Lady Hester died, after a long illness, at the age of sixty-four. That reader must be indifferent, who reverts not with interest to his recollections of a woman, who has expired on the borders of the desert, amidst the Druses and Turkomans, over whom that noble daughter of the Infidels once exercised so strange and so marvellous a sway. The destiny of Lady Stanhope presents one of those features of which not another instance could, perhaps, be found in the annals of the East. Only imagine forty thousand Arabs suddenly assembled upon the ruins of Palmyra, and these wandering, savage, and indomitable tribes surrounding, in silent astonishment and admiration, a foreign woman, and proclaiming her Sovereign of the Desert and Queen of Palmyra! Convey yourself in thought to the scene of this incredible triumph, and you will then conceive what woman that must have been, who imposed silence on Mussulman fanaticism, and created for herself, as it were, by magic, a sovereignty in the domains of Mohammed. ‘Lady Hester Stanhope,’ says M. de Lamartine, in his admirable work, ‘was a niece of Mr. Pitt. On the death of her uncle, she left England, and visited various parts of Europe. Young, handsome, and rich, she was everywhere received with the attention and interest due to her rank, fortune, mind, and beauty; but she constantly refused to unite her fate to that of her worthiest admirers; and, after spending some years in the principal capitals of Europe, embarked with a numerous suite for Constantinople. The real cause of this expatriation has never been known. Some have ascribed it to the death of a young English officer, who was killed at that period in Spain, and whom an eternal regret rendered for ever present in Lady Hester’s heart: others have imputed her voluntary banishment to a mere love of adventure in a young person of an enterprising and courageous character. However this might be, she departed, spent some years at Constantinople, and then sailed for Syria in an English vessel, which carried also the larger part of her fortune, as well as jewellery, trinkets, and presents of all sorts, of very considerable value.’ The vessel encountered a storm in the gulf of Macri, on the road to Caramania; the ship was wrecked, Lady Hester Stanhope’s property was all lost, and it was as much as she could do to save her own life. Nothing, however, could shake her resolution. She returned to England, gathered the remainder of her fortune, sailed again for Syria, and landed at Latakia, the ancient Laodicea. She had at first thought of fixing her abode at Broussa, at the foot of the Olympus; but Broussa is a commercial city, situate on the avenues to the Ottoman capital, and reckoning not less than sixty thousand inhabitants; and Lady Hester sought the independence and solitude of the desert. She therefore selected the wilderness of Mount Lebanon, whose extreme ramifications lose themselves in the sands. Ruined Palmyra – Zenobia’s ancient capital – suited her fancy. The noble exile took up her residence at Djouni, prepared for every vicissitude. ‘Europe,’ said she, ‘is a monotonous residence; its nations are unworthy of freedom, and endless revolution are their only prospects.’ She applied herself to the study of the Arabic language, and strove to obtain a thorough acquaintance with the character and manners of the Syrian people. One day, dressed in the costume of the Osmanlis, she set out for Jerusalem, Damascus, Aleppo, and the desert; she advanced amidst a caravan loaded with wealth, tents, and presents for the Scheiks, and was soon surrounded by all the tribes, who knelt to her, and submitted to her supremacy. It was not solely by her magnificence, that Lady Hester had excited the admiration of the Arabs: her courage had been proved on more than one occasion; and she had always faced peril with a boldness and energy which the tribes well remembered. Lady Hester Stanhope knew also how to flatter the Mahomedan prejudices. She held no intercourse with Christians and Jews; she spent whole days in the grotto of a santon, who explained the Koran to her; and never appeared in public without that mien of majestic and grave inspiration, which was always unto oriental nations the characteristic of prophets. With her, however, this conduct was not so much the result of design, as of a decided proneness to every species of excitement and originality. Lady Hester Stanhope’s first abode was but a monastery. It was soon transformed into an oriental palace, with pavilions, orange-gardens and myrtles, over which spread the foliage of the cedar, such as it grows in the mountains of Lebanon. The traveller, to whom Lady Hester opened this sanctuary, would behold her clad in oriental garments. Her head was covered with a turban made of red and white cashmere. She wore a long tunic, with open loose sleeves; large Turkish trousers, the folds of which hung over yellow morocco boots, embroidered with silk. Her shoulders were covered with a sort of burnous, and a yataghan hung to her waist. Lady Hester Stanhope had a serious and imposing countenance; her noble and mild features had a majestic expression, which her high stature and the dignity of her movements enhanced. The day came when all this préstige, so expensively kept up, suddenly vanished. Lady Hester’s fortune rapidly declined; her income yearly decreased; in short, the substantial resources, which had, at one time, sustained the magic of her extraordinary domination, were daily forsaking her. The Queen of Palmyra then fell back into the rank of mere mortals, and she who had signed absolute firmans, enabling the traveller to visit in security the regions of Palmyra – she, whose authority the Sublime Porte had tacitly acknowledged – soon saw her people disown her omnipotency. She was left the title of queen, but it was but an empty name, a mere recollection; and again the monastery’s silence ruled over the solitude of Djouni. A queen, stripped of her glory of a day, Lady Hester Stanhope has expired, the sport of fate, at the moment the East is convulsed. She has expired in obscurity and loneliness, without even mingling her name with the great events of which it is now the theatre.”

      All this, if no exaggeration had been employed, might have served to the excitation of a smile: but the matter did not rest there. Lady Hester, or the Princess, as she was styled, having given to the Sheik an absurd paper of authority, no one is permitted to visit Palmyra without paying a thousand piastres! “The consequence of which is,” says Mr. Carne, “several travellers have left Syria without seeing the finest ruins in the world73.”

      NO. XI. – PATRÆ

      “Night overtook us,” says Mr. Williams, “before we reached Patras, anciently called Patræ. But such a night! the moon was in full splendour; and while we travelled among the mysterious scenes, we were often tempted to pause and ask what could be those shadowy towers, that were perpetually arresting our attention? Nothing could be more pleasing or more romantic, than the winding of our cavalry among the projecting rocks and dismal hollows, when first a gleam of light prevailed, and then a solemn darkness veiled and softened all in sweet composure. The glow-worms, peeping from the bushes, seemed like fairies’ eyes; fireflies glanced in thousands, like the sun’s bright rays stealing on rippling waters in ebon shade; and how divine the evening star appeared, tipping the dark chain of Mount Olonos! The blackbird, too, with its train of dear associations, awakened our peculiar interest. All seemed, by their look of delight to say, ‘Sing on, sweet bird! and tell us of our absent friends and beloved country!’”

      Patræ was a town of Peloponnesus, anciently called Aroe.

      Diana had a temple there, and a statue formed of ivory and gold, which was considered a masterpiece. Apollo also had a temple, in which was a statue of the god, raised by Icadius.

      In the time of Pausanias, Patræ was also adorned with porticoes, a theatre, and an odéum; the last of which was superior to any in Greece, with one exception, viz. that of Herodes Atticus at Athens. In the lower part of the city was a temple of Bacchus, in which was an image preserved in a chest. There was also one of Ceres, with a pleasant grove and a prophetic fountain, which determined the events of illness. After supplicating the goddess with

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