The Press. — London, England, 1858-06-05 00:00:00

THE PRESS, JUNE 5, lB5B. 53G We hesitate to recommend Mme. de PonOs to continue her work in the manner she proposes. She is not by any means a profound critic, and we cannot expect from her much new light upon Go the or Schiller. But her style is equable and pleasant, and while she narrates she can be read. her reflections, however, are somewhat common place, and we recommend her by all means to curtail her love-stories. In and Around Stamboul. By Mrs. Edmund Hornby. Two Vols. London : Bentley. TitEsE are two volumes of lively and agreeable letters written by an English lady to her circle at home. If we were limited to a single word for the characterization of Mrs. Hornby's style, we should say it was " bright." There is no dulness, no prosy insipidity, no dissertation, in her fluent epistles. They are not exactly bril liant; there is nought in them to dazzle, though there is much to please; they have not much sentiment, though there is more than enough of sentimentality (how widely different are the two things !) ; but they are always spirited, and some times sparkling. It greatly adds to the merit of the freshness and force of these volumes that Mrs. Hornby has to encounter the recollections of Eliot Warburton's admirable " Crescent and the Cross," and of the Times correspondent's elabo rate descriptions. She has also to struggle against the circumstance that the libraries have been absolutely drugged with the quantity of books about Oriental Europe during the last four years. But in so wide a field there is room still for judicious gleaners, and Mrs. Hornby had many special advantages for personal observation. Her husband left England with a responsible public duty to discharge, and Mrs. Ilornby consequently had several opportunities which are only open to observers with official influence at their back. Her account of' the Sultan, of the British Em bassy at Constantinople and its entourage, and her description of Turkish ladies and of the in teriors of the harems, have the value of fresh matter. Iler letters also convey a favourable impression of the way in which our countrymen can assimilate abroad. In other accounts there was only a too painful fidelity in the details about the quarrels and misunderstandings of John Bull's family abroad, but Mrs. Hornby has painted another picture of the English colony at the Bosphorus, and her letters give as cheerful a view of things as is shown in Lord Carlisle's " Diary in Greek and Turkish Waters." Things were probably "made pleasant" to both the writers. "Nice" yachts, "lovely" views, "beau tiful " scenes, "pleasant " cups of tea, " delight ful " balls, " charming " dresses, &c. &c., meet one in every chapter; and at the end of the second volume of these letters one cannot help recollecting the poet's description : a bundle of beautiful things,— A peacock's tale, a butterfly's wings, A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl, A mantle of silk and a bracelet of pearl, And a packet of letters, front whose sweet fold Such a stream of delicate odours rolled After all, the pleasure of perusing these letters is front the personal character of them. They are a lady's account of real persons, and have that gossip and graphic description which arc so much liked by readers of light literature. We suspect that Mrs. Iloniby must have carefully read Miss Austen's novels, for she has something of the talent for minute detail which marked the writer of " Pride and Prejudice." We shall choose some extracts which will show how well she can describe. We shall comma at the .Embassy : But I must tell you about the Christmas dinner at the Ilrobassy, fur everything is so different here to any other part of the *Grid. lily tireek maid has run away, so Lady l'ouhtt most kindly allows her English one to dress me, which is a great rel of to my mind, coming from such savage parts as I do. We go down stairs together. Two ridiculously painted and gilt sedan-chairs are in the hall, with the Turkish bearers for each. Mrs. klysseri cornea out of her room to " see us dressed," and, loving &sem so much herself, has kindly made up for Lady roulett and myself a lovely bunch of myrtle and roses, which she declares is all that is wanting to strike all beholders. Our gentlemen in mailing, dressed for the dinner-party at the palace likes ise, sad with Crimean orders on their breasts (don't envy as too much, young ladies,—we are the only creatures of a onitinkind amongst hundreds of our oountry• men,, ads auce to put rn our %tappings. We stilt into our chairs, and feel ourselves picked up as it We were linUtt 4l ) by thy warvelloas streagai of our bearers. Three with a Christmas dinner Turks carrying lanterns, each containing two or three candles, escort our party. Once outside the doors of your hotel at night you begin to feel nervous. The streets are now almost deserted, except by the patty going to the Embassy. The houses are closely shut up, and only gleam out in their picturesque irregularity by the fitful glare of the lamps as the Turks pick their way over the great loose stones of the " pavement " and heaps of filth here and there. Every now and then a dark figure steals by, wrapped in a large cloak, and you feel, what is so strange tc the English, that murder lurks in every dark place Then we are treated to the interior of the palace : The palace looked very beautiful—its spacious white stone corridors, richly and warmly carpeted, and an air of perfectness very striking here. Beautiful orange and lemon trees, bearing both flowers and fruit: bright,shining myrtles, and gorgeous scarlet cacti. had a charming effect. There were a tew branches of Turkish holly, which is small and stnnted, but not a single berry of the cherished starlet. Misseltoe is found on many of the old oak-trees in the Crimea, but I have never seen any here. The ladies at the Embassy have great taste in the arrangement of flowers and shrubs, and the drawing-rooms seem so beau tiful to me after our savage little kiosk, that I feel like an Esquimaux suddenly imported into Belgravia, and, seated on a low sofa canopied with orange and myrtle, delight mine eyes exceedingly. I never thought to have looked with so much interest at a blazing fireplace as I do now, not having seen one for months. Lady Stratford was not in the drawing room when we arrived. We found General and Mrs. Mansfield, Lady Frederick Fitzroy, Sir Houston Stewart, and several officers, naval and military. The Ambassador most cordially wished everybody a happy Christmas. His lordship always wins my heart by asking the latest news of Edie, and he can talk so delightfully on light matters when he has time, which is not very often. Like poor broken. hearted Lord Raglan, he has deeply and painfully felt the attack made on him about Kars. He had a pleasant chat about Orta-kioy, its ancient name, the curious fraternity of dervishes now living there ; and about a Russian Princess whom Lord Stratford had once visited in a fine old Armenian house just above our kiosk,—a kind of good fairy, of whom the Greeks of the village still speak with reverence, she being of their own Church, and very cha ritable. But by-and-by the drawing.room doors are thrown open. and the ambassadress enters, smiling n kind anti gracious welcome. Behind her are her daughters; by her side, a tall. fashionable, haughty beauty. I could not help thinking how beautiful she looked ; lint the next instant my eyes wandered trom her cold unamiable face to a lady modestly standing on the other side of Lady Stratford. And who was this lady ? It was the same whose name Mrs. Ilornby had observed on "huge packages" on board the steamer at Marseilles. As the lady in question rarely appears in any public place except those in which prayers are offered or deeds of mercy done, we shall extract the following photograph of—" Miss Nightin gale ": At first T thought she was a nun, from her black dress and close cap. She was not introduced, and yet Edmund and I ionkrd at (twit other ai the same moment to whisper, " It is Miss Nightingale!" Yes, it was Florence Nightingale, greatest of all now in name and honour among women. I assure you that I was glad not to be obliged to speak just then, for I felt quite dumb as I looked at her wasted figure and the short brown hair combed over her forehead like a child's, cut so, when her life was despaired of from fever but a short time ago. Her dress, as I have said, was black, made high to the th:oat, its only ornament heing tt large enamelled brooch, which looke 1 to me like the colours of a regiment surmounted with a wreath of !mire], no doubt some grateful offering from our men. To hide the close white cap a little, she had tied a white crape handkerchief over the back of it, only allowing the border of lace to be seen ; and this gave the nunlike appearance which first struck me on her entering the room; otherwise Miss Nightingale is by no means sulking in appearance. Only her plain black dress, quiet manner, and great renown, told so powerfully altogether in that assembly of brilliant dress and uniforms. She is very slight, rather above .be middle bright ; her face is long and thin, but this may be from recent illness and great fatigue. She bas a very prominent nose, slightly Homan ; and small dark eyes, kind, yet penetrating : but her face does not give you at all the idea of great talent. She looks a quiet, persevering, ortierlv, ladylike woman. I have done my best to give you a true pen and ink portrait of this celebrated lady. I suppose there is a hum all over the world of " What is she like?" Miss Nightingale was too sacredly occupied in the Crimea to think of writing any account of what she saw. We cannot tOrget that amongst her many remarkable qualities is the know ledge of languages and of the works of literature enshrined in them. Her " Eilthen " would, if written, not improbably surpass in permanent depth of interest the letters of Kinglake. There would be both pain and pleasure in the retrospect of what she saw. We have chosen the foregoing extracts be cause they are a fair specimen of the sort of matter which is to be found in these volumes. We cannot resist adding the following amusing passage : The nii.ltlies were wild with delight, and 'award the grestest nnhusenienu, now thut they telt quite at their ease. Their *cling ut the metisive fuu of Flaying with the a.ltniral was intense. In one of the games Sir Houston ran round the wide circle, ball in hand, and crying, ‘• Earth, nir, water !" The game is, y ou k now, that the person into whose hip the hall is thro..vn must name some object, or some animal, from the last-named element, which is sometimes difficult in a second, for the ball comes to you when you least expect it, and the words are very rapidly spoken. " Earth !" cries the admiral, to a merry-looking, fair haired middy. " An ass !" promptly replies the little fellow. " An ass! So you mean to call me an ass, do you, sir?• said the admiral, pretending to frown. I really thought the little boys would have expired with laughing at the bare idea! Miss Nightingale was still very weak, anti could not join in the games, but she sat on a sofa, and looked on, laughin ,, until the tears came into her eves. There was afterwards a dark room, with a gigantic dish of snap. dragon, and we all looked dreadfully pale in the blue light, The red coats of the officers turned orange colour, their stars and• orders of the most unearthly I ra te; and each wondered at the other's spectral looks, except the middies, who showed a marvellous capacity for eating fiery plums. I thought, as I looked round, what a ciniens group it was playing children, even the children having acted their part in this fe,lrftil war-struggle. Many a scar still remained on the cheek and brows of officers now scrambhug for snap—dragon ; the poor doctor from Kam looked like the spirit of a famished man ; Miss Nightingale's min like head dress, still more quaint in that strange blue light. I said to her, " How delighted the mothers of these boys would be to see them now !" She replied, " Ah, the poor mothers !" How the middies enjoyed the good things and delicious sweetmeats afterwards handed round! And there are many other passages as light and lively. Mrs. Ilorriby treats her readers to glass after glass of literary sherbet, pleasant, and nicely flavoured; but many would wish for something more substantial and stimulating. Some readers will object to passages like the following as being rather too much of a parade of the letter-writer's private circle : But farewell, my dear Mrs. Austin. Will you give my kind love to Lady Duff Gordon when you see her? I have got some delicious wood of aloes for her to burn in her favourite dressing-room ; it will make her dream a story of the Arabian Nights. I saw the advertisement of Lady Easthope's translation of Übicini's book on Turkey, but have not been able to get it yet. One treasures up the re membrance of graceful kindnesses like so many precious jewels, especially when so far away. How often I think of you, my dear Mrs. Austin! You most pardon me, but it is sometimes so tempting to express feelings of gratitude and affection; and I think that the world would be much pleasanter if, with sincerity, was joincd a little more de- Of Nature, of the gorgeous panoramas in the East, of the profound emotions excited by them in a deeply; reflective or philosophic mind, Mrs. Hornby has only a conventional idea. She is not a professed authoress, although she addresses many of her letters to Lady Easthope, Mrs. Austin, and others. She does not seek to take rank with writers like Mrs. Jamieson, and that class, though she might dispute the pas with Miss Pardoe if she chose. When the grand, the startling, or the wonderful are to be described, her pen fails her. She is excellent when prat tling about the pretty, but she is commonplace when in sight of the sublime. Thus, " the beauty of the Bosphorus" has exercised many pens, and one of Mr. W. 11. Rus sell's literary triumphs is his gorgeous description of it. Mrs. Hornby attempts the picture, but wisely lays down her pencil: — The Bosphorus is certainly one of those beauties formed to turn all the heads in the world. She smiles, and nothing on earth can be more radiantly bright and sparkling ;—she is angry, and dashes *long with a wild, un• tameshl-, yet graceful fury; the hills around grow dark and sorrowful, and the tall cypress.trees wave their lvads in stately submission to her stormy humour. Some people think her most beautiful then, but others are enchanted with her quiet, dreamy moods, when she murmurs gently on the shore, and takes delight in picturing fairy-white palaces, and shady rose and orarwe gardens, and fragrant branches waving in the scented wind. Or in the stiller nights, when she flashes back every touch with a gleam of gold, and sparkles with golden stars as she moves along irrthe pale grey light. But you may tire of my attempt at description, — you never would of beholding the reality. And then she goes off at once to another topic. Her rapture in the foregoing passage is rather affected, and the fact of personifying the Bos phorus as " a female beauty " shows penury of the higher descriptive faculties. We state this not to deprecate the value of these lively letters, which arc really very enter taining. She thus sketches the Sultan : --- T lie English Ambassadresa's bnl costume was the mast magnificent and picturesque one poss ible to conceive ; it deserves a letter to itself, so I will send you a full account. Lord Stratford asked Edmund very kindly to be one of his staff who met the Sultan rt the entrance. It ass A mc ' st interesting sight : the grand staircase was lined *ill! Crimean troops, moon thundered, and the baud 151'04 1 r