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We must now return to Sir John Finch.

We left him in the middle of 1674 at Pera, and there we still find him at the end of the year. In the interval the Grand Vizir, after a successful summer’s campaign, had returned to Adrianople and taken up his winter pastime—negotiations for peace. French emissaries and Hungarian malcontents fostered these attempts with all their might in the hope of turning the attention of the Turks against their Austrian enemy. The Turks, Sir John understood, were “heartily weary of this lean warr in so cold and beggarly a country, having spent allready in it 13 Millions of Dollars,” but as the Poles were in precisely the same mood, Ahmed Kuprili, like a good diplomat, had no mind to come to terms in a hurry. Hostilities, therefore, were to be continued, but in a languid fashion, and to be pleasantly diversified with festivities. The Sultan had decided to pass the next season in mirth and jollity, celebrating the circumcision of his son and the marriage of his daughter. Both these interesting domestic events had been in contemplation since 1669—when the boy was about six and the girl not more than one year old; but circumstances over which the happy father had no control had caused their postponement. They were at last to take place in the spring of 1675, “with all the magnificence that at such a feast can be shown. The Records of the Serraglio here being to this effect sent for to Adrianople, it being 60 years since this publick festivall has bin celebrated.” So Sir John reported, adding, “My Audience I have designd’ to be at the same time that I may see the Grandeur of this Empire in all its glory; I imagine that I shall see a Great Army, Great Quantity of Excellent Horses; Most rich furniture and Livery’s as to Jewells and all Pompe of Embroaderys.”[70]

It would have been better for Sir John, if he had hastened to a Court whither business called him, and where he was expected, instead of waiting for festivals to which he had not been invited. But, at any rate, in the months that were yet to elapse before he moved, he found at Constantinople plenty of scope for his diplomatic skill.

First of all, it was in these months that the thread of Sir John Finch’s career became intertwined with that of his French colleague, the extravagant, eccentric, magnificent, and altogether picturesque Marquis de Nointel, who aimed at notability and achieved notoriety. He broke in upon Sir John’s life at this moment like a flaming meteor, to illumine it or otherwise we need not say: perhaps the story itself will show. The connection was inevitable. By the Treaty signed at Dover in May 1670, Charles, for a consideration which he hoped would enable him to settle domestic affairs to his own liking, had bound himself, in foreign affairs, to the chariot of Louis. Thanks to this covenant, the secular antagonism between the Governments of England and France had ceased, and together with it the friction between their representatives at the Porte. This is not to say that English diplomacy in Turkey had become entirely subservient to French diplomacy. Sir John’s immediate predecessor Harvey, as is made abundantly clear by his despatches, knew perfectly well where to draw the line. During his last two years at Constantinople (1671-1672) he had lived on the most intimate terms with Nointel. Yet not only he never did anything calculated to prejudice the interests of his country, but showed the greatest vigilance in checking every encroachment on the part of his friend: watching his attempts to obtain from the Porte privileges detrimental to English commerce or prestige, preparing to counteract all such attempts, if necessary, and reporting home the French Ambassador’s failures with undisguised satisfaction.[71] In the queer business of diplomacy co-operation on some points does not preclude opposition on others, and the closest friendship can flourish beside the bitterest enmity. It is perhaps the only field of human activity that presents such a constant combination of incompatibles. It was part of Sir John’s duty to continue this qualified cordiality.

Unfortunately, since his arrival, there had occurred some incidents which, unless very tactfully handled, threatened to jeopardise the success of his efforts.

Although the Courts of England and France were at this time allies, the English and French nations in the Levant continued to be as, without interruption, they had always been, jealous rivals in trade and everything else; and the intercourse between them had not been improved by the character of that alliance: the English felt irritated at the humiliating position in which the policy of Charles placed them, while the French felt proportionately vain of the eminence they owed to the power of Louis. In these circumstances every tiff was magnified into a tempest, as must be the case whenever the point at issue, however trivial in itself, can be brought into any relation with national pride. When men meet each other in a spirit of discord, predisposed at every moment to give or receive offence, how soon is difference converted into hostility, hardened into hatred, exasperated into rage. What folly and outrage may not be expected to ensue! These psychological conditions rendered the incidents Sir John had to deal with serious—even alarming.

The first had occurred at the very moment of his landing at Smyrna. A number of French merchants had been sent by their Consul to greet him and to grace his entry into the town. But the cavalcade had scarcely moved when a lively dispute about precedence broke out between the French and the English Factors, and the former—hot-tempered and not overbred Marseillese for the most part—in spite of Consul Rycaut’s endeavours to appease them, left the procession, hurling at the English words unfit for polite ears. After this scene Sir John during his sojourn at Smyrna received from the French “Nation” none of those civilities to which the representative of a Court in alliance with theirs was entitled, nor any mark of respect from the French ships on his departure, though all the other European vessels in the harbour hoisted their flags and fired their guns in his honour. Sir John was sorely vexed: he had intended his advent to be an occasion for strengthening Anglo-French relations, and it had been the signal for fresh animosities. Doubtless he would have offered an explanation to the French Ambassador as soon as he reached Constantinople, but that gentleman was at the time away on a tour through the Levant—visiting the various centres of French enterprise, commercial and religious, and spreading the fame of France over the Orient. Thus the matter remained pending, and meanwhile to the Smyrna incident had been added another at Aleppo.

On June 22nd, 1674, three Majorca corsairs—part of a squadron of 20 that was infesting the Syrian coasts—entered the port of Scanderoon, where an English man-of-war, the Sweepstakes, lay refitting after a bad storm, and two French merchantmen ready to sail for home. On the appearance of the corsairs the French vessels besought the protection of the English warship, the captain of which, though in a sad plight himself—his topmast was down—promised to protect them, on condition they took no action until they saw him begin. In accordance with this promise, when the pirate flagship came within speaking distance, he hailed her and warned her not to violate the peace. The pirate replied in the affirmative, and then, passing under the stern of the Sweepstakes, cast anchor between her and the French vessels. The latter, panic-stricken, fired, whereupon the Majorcans made short work of them. The French of Aleppo furiously denounced the English commander to the Turkish authorities as an accomplice of the pirates, and, when they had cooled a little, referred their grievance to M. de Nointel, who just then was at Tripoli in Syria. The English Consul of Aleppo stopped the mouth of the Turkish governor with a bribe of 1500 dollars and wrote to the French Ambassador the truth of the matter. But Nointel, unconvinced, sent to Sir John the French version of the affair, accusing the English commander of treachery and collusion, and asking that Finch should give a proof of his friendship and at the same time furnish the King of England with the means of restoring the honour of his flag by procuring the punishment of one who, whether from interest or from whatever other motive, had tarnished it in such a cowardly manner.[72]

This “imbroyl” had cost the English Factory no small trouble. Nevertheless, when presently M. de Nointel came to Aleppo, our factors went out in a body to meet him—a troop of young cavaliers whose looks, mounts, and garments excited in the French Ambassador’s entourage admiration and envy mingled with astonishment. Why, these English traders were cadets of good family—even “des fils de milords,” making their own fortunes in a far-away land! But M. de Nointel spurned them, for they had come without their Consul, and therefore their homage was not “dans les formes.”[73]

Evidently the noble Marquis was, to use the slang of the times, “in a Huff”; and it was in no amiable frame of mind that, on the 31st of December, the very anniversary of Sir John’s arrival, he touched at Smyrna on his return voyage.

Our Factory seized the opportunity to pay the French back in kind: neglect for neglect, and slight for slight. Twenty-four boats, carrying the French Consul and all his compatriots—also the Consuls of Venice, Genoa, and Messina, each in a boat flying his national colours—met the man-of-war that bore the noble Marquis in the middle of the bay; but of the English Nation there was no sign or ensign. Neither did the good ship Hunter that chanced to be in port hang out her “Ancient” or fire a gun as the French Ambassador passed by. We simply did not know that “any such person was come.” The French received exactly the treatment they had meted out to us a year ago. “Onely our Consul did more like a Gentleman then theirs.” That this snub might not seem strange to the noble Marquis, Mr. Rycaut sent him a letter in beautiful French, explaining at length the weighty reasons of national dignity which compelled us to abstain from paying his Excellency the homage, etc. M. de Nointel returned a verbal answer: he was sorry for that misunderstanding, but he was none the less the courtly Consul’s friend and servant. “Thus farr things seemd’ to looke like reciprocations, and to be layd asleep.” But Eris—the dread goddess of strife—slept not. She lay awake revolving in her heart how to set the “Nations” by the ears. And behold: twenty-four hours after, at break of day, discord broke forth afresh.

As dawn spread her saffron twilight over the Bay of Smyrna, two French ships sailed in: they came from Marseilles, bringing, among other things, many letters for the English Factory. The Hunter did not salute them. And M. de Nointel retaliated by detaining the English letters. Let it be said at once that this fresh neglect had nothing of human design in it: it was a pure accident—solely the work of the mischievous goddess aforesaid. The commander of the Hunter, in Sir John’s own words, “having bin merry over night, was not so early in the morning fitted either for ceremony or buisenesse.” Mr. Rycaut, after reprimanding him very severely, sent to the French Consul his excuses, protesting that what seemed a deliberate affront was really done without order and was due entirely to the fact that Captain Parker had passed the night ashore—folk at all acquainted with the traditions of Smyrna did not need to be told more. He begged that the letters might be delivered. But our candid apology met with a worse response than it deserved. The French Consul, in a mighty passion and with much noise, cried out that his Ambassador was highly offended with Mr. Rycaut, that he regarded both him and his Nation as enemies, and that his Excellency was resolved not only to keep those letters, but also to give orders at Marseilles to throw overboard all English despatches that should be consigned to French vessels.

This was surely hitting below the belt: this was degrading a stately duel to the level of a sordid business squabble. Not thus did Mr. Rycaut understand the law of retaliation. He sent his passionate colleague word that this was more than the English in time of war did to their foes; but it mattered not: every day the Smyrna factors expected English ships which would bring them copies of their letters, and also many letters for the French, which he would deliver, notwithstanding the detention of ours. But both this and several subsequent applications remained fruitless: the English mail was kept from the 2nd of January until the 8th of February, to the great prejudice of the whole Levant Company and to the scandalisation of all disinterested foreigners who, looking upon letters as the life of trade, pronounced the interception of them an act unfriendly and all the more unpardonable since the Dutch, who were actually at war with France, had their mail duly delivered to them. Meanwhile Mr. Rycaut makes another effort “to moderate,” as he says, “the heat of contests, not knowing how farre they may proceed nor in what point they may terminate.” Two English ships, the William and John and the Bonaventure, as they came into port, saluted, by order of their Consul, the French man-of-war; but they received no return of the compliment by express order from the French Ambassador. So pass the days; and one’s hopes of reconciliation are baulked; and Eris goes on adding fuel to the flame....

The French then, as now, were governed by their hearts more than by their heads. But, in the present instance, they were not prompted wholly by wounded amour propre. Their vindictiveness had its roots somewhat deeper. Just before M. de Nointel’s arrival at Smyrna a French manufacturer of spurious dollars had been detected by an interpreter of the English Embassy who had had a number of such coins foisted upon him, and through Mr. Rycaut’s exertions had been caught in the act and committed to the French Consul’s prison, whence, however, he was soon after released. In the same way, during the last year, two or three other French coiners had been exposed and allowed to escape, the French authorities, in order to save the face of their Nation, smothering the crime and spiriting away the criminals. The English, however, whose business suffered by the circulation of false money, considered it a vital interest to bring the culprits to book, and Mr. Rycaut, despite the rejection of his apologies, lodged a vigorous protest with the French Ambassador against the release of that offender. M. de Nointel, in a very short and very sharp reply, characterised the Consul’s Memorial as “ripiena di falsità”—“full of falsehood”—denouncing the English factors as abettors of the forgeries, and declaring that he would demand from their Ambassador reparation for the “calumny.” This scurrilous reply inflamed the whole English colony. In a petition to Sir John Finch they indignantly repudiated Nointel’s aspersion—“an accusation of this nature, given under the handwriting of an Ambassador,” they said, “carry’s force of beliefe and weight and authority in it selfe”: what would the Levant Company think of them: what would be the impression upon their principals, “and perhaps some of our Relations at home?” Therefore, they concluded, “Wee most humbly beseech Your Excellency to take this matter into your serious consideration, that in some publick manner the ancient repute of our Nation may be justify’d and maintaind’, and that this occasion may be so improved by a strict examination of this affayr as may wholely discover and disappoint the farther progress of false coyners by the punishment of whom others taking example may be deterr’d.”[74]

Here was a pretty state of things for a diplomat anxious to consolidate the Anglo-French alliance. But diplomacy is nothing if not the application of intelligence and tact to the management of international susceptibilities. Sir John could not believe that M. de Nointel would push matters so far as to make accommodation impossible. Their correspondence had hitherto been marked by a friendliness which he hoped a personal interview would not diminish. Certainly he intended to do all that in him lay to preserve a good understanding with the impetuous Frenchman. At the same time, he was not prepared to sacrifice one jot of his dignity. “If He comes in Person to make me a Visit as Ambassadours of long Residence, are obligd’ to them that come after them;” he wrote to the Secretary of State, “Our Intercourse will not easily breake off; But if by the returning newly from a long Journy, He hopes, or designs, to evade that Act of respect due to my character; His Majesty’s Honour will never permitt us to meet. But,” he added, “the Prudence of His Excellency conversant with buisenesse; will I presume never putt me upon that necessity.”

A few days afterwards M. de Nointel arrived at Constantinople,[75] and immediately Sir John sent his Secretary to inform him of a fact with which the Marquis was already perfectly well acquainted: namely, that he had come here, whilst Nointel was touring, as English Ambassador to the Porte, and to congratulate him on his safe return to his accustomed residence: so there could be no doubt which of the two was the new-comer and entitled to the first visit. Very politely Nointel, within half-an-hour, sent his Secretary to tell Finch that it was that Secretary’s fault that he had been forestalled, adding that he desired very close relations with him. Finch thanked the Marquis, assuring him that, on his own part, nothing would be wanting to promote such relations, “since that, there passing between both the Kings our Masters a friendship of most entire confidence, t’ would be scandalous in the face of the world for their Ministers to admitt of a conversation that had anything repugnant to intimacy.” Would the noble Marquis take the hint? Desire for cordiality battled with sense of dignity in Sir John’s bosom, filling it with tremulous speculation: “When He has made me a visit, as according to His obligation He is bound, and His Secretary tells me He designs; I shall then see upon what Basis our conversation is like to be built. I have reason to believe, if once wee meet, that all the past misunderstandings will be rectifyd’ and redressd.” But would they meet? Would the noble Marquis be reasonable enough to pay the first visit?

For about a fortnight this question racked the bosom of Sir John. During that fortnight the Carnival ended and Lent began. M. de Nointel, a good Catholic, sent to Sir John “for some white Herrings.” Sir John gave his Excellency not only herrings, but “all the sorts of our English salt fish” that were to be found among our factors at Galata. Not to be outdone in generosity, his Excellency “made a return of a Doz: bottles of Vin de St Laurens and a Barell of Cyprus Birds”—a veritable Trojan of a Frenchman this: rare wines and birds for white herrings. It augured well. Better still, at the end of the fortnight M. de Nointel’s Chief Dragoman made Sir John “a very large complement in his Name; and the Visit is appointed at three of the clock this afternoon.”

Sir John, you see, and from this you may gauge his trepidation, rushed to his escritoire and picked up his quill the moment the Dragoman was gone: he could not wait until the visit was over to let the Secretary of State know how it went off: he must needs relieve his heart by pouring out what was in it: “When I receive him, this being the first time wee have seen each other, I shall give a fayr guesse how affayrs are like to proceed between us.” It would all depend on the Marquis’s manners and pretensions: he would have measure for measure: neither more nor less: “This, Sir, you may be assurd’ of, I shall not part with the least puntiglio of the King’s Honour, or the Publick Interest. And I am halfe perswaded He will decline the trespassing against either, for I hear that He is a Prudent, and Good Naturd’ Gentleman, but how he comes to be misled by false informations I know not.”

The momentous interview took place on the 24th of February 1675. It lasted three hours—three hours spent mostly “in Expostulations upon the mutuall dissatisfactions receivd’ and given.” Item was set against item, in the usual debit-and-credit style, so that it might be ascertained on whose side lay the balance of offence. And now it transpired that, after all their neglects at his entrance into Smyrna, our factors had inflicted upon M. de Nointel an affront of a peculiarly exasperating nature. It was this: one fine day, as the noble Marquis was passing by the sea-shore, he espied on a gallery that overlooked the sea three or four of those blades. Did they salute him? Far from it: the moment they saw him, they set their hats fast upon their heads, lest peradventure the wind should blow them off and the accident be construed into a salute, and then sat still with their arms “a kimbow.” Stifling his wrath, the Marquis tried a ruse, by ordering those of his retinue who followed close behind him to salute first, which was accordingly done; but it worked nothing: the young Englishmen kept their original posture, for all the world as if they were not aware of his Excellency’s existence. What had Sir John to set against this piece of cool effrontery? Sir John rose to the occasion: “As to the unmannerly young men; I could not but confesse That it was high rudenesse”; but when he was at Smyrna he passed, not once but several times, under the French Consul’s gallery without his taking any notice of him: “And this was done by a Magistrate in goverment who should know and practise more Civility.” Having thus beaten back the attack, Sir John proceeded to carry the war into the enemy’s territory: “I told Him He must now Give me Leave to Instance in Two things which I had reason to beleive He could not Parallel.” The first was the detention of the English mail, the second the aspersion on the English factors’ character. Nointel answered the first by explaining that it was done upon the petition of the French Captains whom the Hunter had omitted to salute, but it was only a temporary delay: the letters were delivered after his departure. As to his accusation of our factors, he confessed that he had been provoked to it by Mr. Rycaut’s assertion that the French coiner had paid to one of Sir John’s interpreters “35 false Dollars, which in Truth were but five.”

Enough has been said to show that in this combat of wits, which was continued for three more hours on Sir John’s return visit three days later, the French Marquis found more than his match in the English Knight. On this, as on other occasions of the same kind, Finch proved, to the satisfaction of any impartial critic, that he had inherited a sufficient share of his family’s forensic talent. It is pleasant to hear that the combat was conducted on both sides “with patience, mutuall deference, and reciprocall respect.” It ended as it ought. “I thought it most proper,” says Sir John, “that they who had first divided us, should make the first step towards the uniting us. And therefore I propounded that the French Consul meeting our Consul at Smyrna in the usuall walke of the Cappuchin’s Garden; Should Be the First to addresse Himselfe to our Consul Telling Him That He had orders from His Ambassadour to endeavour to begett a mutuall good understanding between themselves and the reciprocall Nations; which passe being made, our Consul is to reply That He has the same orders from me.” The proposal, after some hesitation, was accepted, and the incident closed, to Sir John’s no small content with himself and with his French colleague: “I cannot but say That the character I formerly gave His Excellency is fully made good by Him; of being a Gentleman of Great Prudence and Civility.”[76]

No sooner was this bone of contention “buryd” than another affair rose on our Ambassador. The Barbary Corsairs—those redoubtable sea-wolves who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in harassing the friends of their suzerain—were once more at their old game. For some time past English navigation in the Mediterranean had enjoyed exceptional prosperity: all sorts of foreign merchants, whose nations were at war, choosing to convey their goods under the flag of the only country that was at peace with the whole world. By these voyages between Spanish, Italian, and Turkish ports, our countrymen not only reaped the benefit of the foreign freights, but besides put out their money at “Cambio Marittimo”—that is, on security of the merchandise they carried, at 20 and 25 per cent: an immense gain. But lately the Tripolines disturbed this lucrative traffic by seizing two of the vessels engaged in it. The English Consul at Tripoli managed to free the ships, as well as the English men and goods in them, but the property of foreigners, which constituted the bulk of the cargoes, could not be rescued: even as it was, the liberation of the ships and crews had raised a loud outcry against the Dey, whose subjects were either pirates or such as got their livelihood from them; and a revolt had barely been averted. In the circumstances the Dey, even if he had the will, lacked the power to restore the booty, claiming that by her Treaty with England Tripoli had the right to search English ships and to confiscate foreign goods.

These outrages had dealt a severe blow at the prestige of the English flag, and it was feared that they might prove a cause of greater damage still, if left unavenged: “unlesse His Majesty is pleasd to resent this searching of His ships and taking out Strangers Goods,” wrote Finch to the Secretary of State, “T’ will be impossible to keep long Argiers and Tunis from the same Trade and liberty; and at last the Maltese and other Christian Corsari will pretend to the same.” He went on to suggest that the appearance of an English squadron in the Mediterranean would have a salutary effect both as a corrective and as a preventive.[77] As a fact, the English Government had anticipated the suggestion; and presently the Ambassador received from Smyrna a letter enclosing a communication from Sir John Narbrough to Mr. Consul Rycaut: the Admiral, having been denied by the Dey satisfaction, had commenced hostilities. This vigour, no doubt, redounded to the glory of England; but at the same time it created a delicate situation for her representative at the Porte.

The Barbary States still were, at least in name, parts of the Ottoman Empire. When their enormities were brought to the notice of the Porte by European ambassadors, the Grand Signor’s Ministers professed themselves greatly shocked. But what would you? they said. The Barbary people were rebels for whose sins the Grand Signor could not be held responsible. When the ambassador requested that, such being the case, the Grand Signor should not consider himself aggrieved if his master should take his own vengeance and right his own wrongs, the Ministers used to answer that it was only just that malefactors should suffer and that those who inflicted injuries on others should receive injuries themselves. But the Grand Signor could not see with indifference his vassal States attacked: the utmost he would permit was reprisals on pirate ships afloat—an assault on the towns ashore would be regarded as an act of hostility against himself. Hence, every time an English fleet came forth to punish the African rogues, the English in Turkey trembled lest it should do something that might draw the Sultan’s wrath down upon them. Such was the situation created in 1661 by Sir John Lawson’s, and in 1669-71 by Sir Thomas Allin’s and Sir Edward Spragge’s expeditions against Algiers.[78] As Winchilsea and Harvey on those occasions, so Finch now had to bestir himself to prevent disagreeable developments. He began by transmitting the news of the rupture with Tripoli to the Grand Vizir, “that it might not be thought His Majesty Our Master had broken with those Vile People an Agreement subscribd’ by both Monarchs, but according to the Tenour of the Articles.”[79]

And that was not all: troubles seldom come single. The Pasha of Tunis, it now appeared, was not satisfied with the 30,000 dollars the Ambassador had recovered for him. He affirmed that this sum represented only a fraction of his loss, and claimed 60,000 dollars more. As to Sir John’s settlement with his Aga, the Pasha had already shown what he thought of that transaction in an unmistakable manner. The moment the Aga reached home he received, in lieu of thanks, a merciless drubbing. When he could walk, the wretched Procurator came to Finch, told him how he had been treated, and left with him the written dismissal he had from his master, saying that the Pasha was a bad man, and that document might be of use to the Ambassador one day. Then he went away to Trebizond, where he died. In the meantime the Pasha had obtained a new post at the Porte, and now favoured Sir John with a list of his alleged losses, sent through no less a person than the Grand Vizir’s Kehayah or Steward. How much this unexpected missive perturbed Sir John may be judged by his own expression: “The storm which I had thought had bin blown over, as to the depredation of the Pashah of Tunis, is turnd’ upon me more violent then ever.”[80]

He did not think it politic, however, to betray his agitation by taking direct notice of the claim. But he immediately despatched to Adrianople his second Dragoman, Signor Antonio Perone, under pretence of finding lodgings for his Audience, with instructions to own no other errand: only, after he had been there four or five days to invent an excuse for waiting upon the Kehayah and, in case that official made no mention of the matter, to say nothing about it; but if he broached the question, the Dragoman was primed what to answer. Should the Kehayah prove obstinate, the Dragoman was to address himself, in the Ambassador’s name, to the Grand Vizir and complain of the Tripoline outrages, thus meeting the Pasha’s grievance with a counter-grievance. Even if the Grand Vizir did not allude to the subject of his own accord, Signor Antonio had orders, unless he found him out of humour, to open it himself and predispose him in Sir John’s favour. It was not the weakness of his case that troubled our Ambassador: he believed that in an argument he could more than hold his own; what made him fear was the fact that the Pasha had presented one half of his claim to the Sultan, who just now wanted money badly to defray the cost of the coming festivities: “in order to which extraordinary expense He has imposd’ a great Taxe upon all those that have any charge under Him throughout the Empire.”[81]

The inadvisability of further inaction thus borne in upon our Ambassador from more quarters than one, he hurried on his preparations for the trip to Adrianople.

It was “a grand equipment,” and the task of providing the thousand and one things needed for it—tents, horses for saddle and carriage, hired servants, and so forth—devolved on the Levant Company’s Treasurer. The Ambassador was far too great a man to concern himself about matters of this sort. He serenely abandoned to Dudley North all the drudgery, and, with the drudgery, all the amusement and emolument. North enjoyed both. The only matters connected with the expedition that Sir John seems to have considered worthy of his care were matters which gave rise to points of honour—sundry acts of commission or omission, mere pinholes, maybe, to the ordinary eye; significant enough to one whose guiding maxim was, “Never to part with the least Puntiglio of the King’s Honour.”

Signor Antonio at Adrianople demanded a Command for the Kaimakam of Constantinople to supply the Ambassador with carts. The Command was issued, but it was worded in a way which suggested that the Porte had been annoyed by Sir John’s delay in presenting his Credentials: the Kaimakam was ordered to send the Ambassador to Audience. Signor Antonio returned the document, saying that his Excellency would never come on such terms: why should he be sent, when he had offered to come? The phrasing was altered accordingly. But when the Command reached Constantinople, Sir John found himself obliged to fight for the King’s honour on another “puntiglio.” The Kaimakam allotted him thirty carts, as he had done to his predecessor (Harvey, it would seem from this as well as from other instances, was not very sensitive on “puntiglios”—but then he had not the advantage of an Italian education). On being informed that the French Ambassador, when he went to Adrianople, had double that number, Sir John declared that he “was an Ambassadour of no lesse King, and had as good a Retinue,” consequently he required an equal number of carts. The Kaimakam said it was true that Nointel had been assigned sixty, but had been content with fifty. Very well, was Sir John’s rejoinder, “I would have the same assignment to me and I would be content with fifty-five.”[82]

These points carried, Sir John could proceed to his Audience with an easy mind.