Читать книгу Under the Turk in Constantinople: A record of Sir John Finch's Embassy, 1674-1681 онлайн

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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.”ssss1

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.