by Karen Essex
The next day, Perikles went to the Assembly and vowed to reimburse the city for the entire project from his private funds, adding that he would be happy to do this, but that he would also make the dedications in his own name rather than in the name of the city. It was a calculated risk, but it paid off.
The opposition, applauded only moments before, was silenced. By the end of the session everyone had agreed that these great monuments must be made in the name of all Athenians, all of whom enjoyed the protection of Athena, and not just one great man, Perikles.
In the evening he came to me as usual, but brought into the bedroom a white linen shawl shimmering with gold threads.
“Stand up, Aspasia,” he said. He draped it over my face like a veil and then lifted it. “In the eyes of the gods, I take you as my wife. Will you accept me as a husband?”
“What has brought you to this?” I asked, stunned that he had, on that first night, actually listened to and taken to heart the sorrows of a pitiable woman, and now sought to assuage my grief. For nowhere in the stories that women tell of the fate of other women had I ever heard of such generosity and tenderness on the part of a man.
“You and I are like Athens itself, which is strong only when its citizens are united. I will be more if I stand with you than if I stand alone.”
I turned my face upward and looked at him, hoping that he did not see how surprised I was. I was afraid that I might do or say something to make him withdraw whatever love he had miraculously and mysteriously mustered for me in our short months together.
“Will you stand with me?” he asked.
“Forever,” I said. I had started to shake. He produced a necklace of gold with garnet jewels made to look like little pomegranate seeds, Persephone’s symbol of fertility.
“This is my wedding gift to you,” he said, placing it around my neck. “May it bring us sons and daughters.”
I offered him my left hand, as I would have done in a true marriage ceremony. He took it and, kissing it, he led me to the bed. I had given him my body on that first night, but at this moment, I gave him my heart.
In the realm of the Turks, 1799
MARY PUT ONE HIGH-HEELED shoe on the accommodation ladder, hoping that she would not slip and fall backwards into the sea in front of the delegations of several nations. That would not be too fine an introduction to the high Turkish official and his staff who waited on the deck of the Selim III, watching in astonishment as an unveiled female—head bare, face raised to catch the fresh sea air and warm afternoon sun—put one prettily-turned-out foot and then the next on the rungs of taut rope, climbing up to her first official duty as ambassadress to the Ottomans.
The official who had come to greet Mary on the Phaeton, a handsome prince, Isaac Bey, had spoken perfect English and French, and explained to her, as he presented her with sumptuous golden pillows, that Lord Elgin would be dining aboard the Turkish barge. He’d tried in a diplomatic way, eyes downcast, voice low and solicitous, to explain that Mary would not care to dine with the gentlemen, since, in Turkish life, women were sequestered out of respect. But Mary had assured him in her own diplomatic way—eyes wide open and seeking to engage his—that she did care to dine with the gentlemen, for, in English life, ladies were terribly upset when they were left out. Once she had him in her gaze, she saw that she would prevail. The prince, as polite a man as ever lived, did not wish Lady Elgin to feel left out.
“I will not be responsible for your unhappiness,” he’d said. So he had waited patiently while she dressed to meet her husband and Hussein Bey, the Capitan Pasha, aboard the latter’s luxurious barge.
Now the seas were calm again after the Capitan Pasha had fired nineteen cannon rounds to welcome the Elgins into Turkish waters. Mary had wished that Emma Hamilton had been there to see how an ambassadorial couple should be received, remembering the snub of that woman’s early-morning note of regret. No matter. Those days were behind her now, and she was ready to bask in the notorious lavishness of Turkish hospitality.
Mary took a moment to look about at the Dardanelles, the narrow strait the ancient Greeks had crossed to conquer the Trojans, as had Alexander the Great and so many other generals with their armies since time out of mind, in search of the riches of the East. And here she was, Mary Elgin, taking her own place in history, she could not help but think, as her eyes scanned the mere mile, the troublesome fissure between Greece and Turkey that separated the East from the West. The two lands looked substantially the same to her eyes, yet for centuries, crossing from one to the other always seemed to signify entering an exotic land. Often, the crossers were doomed, she thought, like poor Leander who swam from shore to shore every night to see his lover, Hero, high priestess of Aphrodite, before the light she used to guide him burned out and the two drowned in the sea.
Enough, Lady Pining, she said to herself, quoting her husband, who laughed at what he called a woman’s tendency to wallow in the romantic. She turned her attention to this important ascent, trying to protect her small pregnant belly by holding her body farther from the ladder than she would have liked. She tried not to think of the precariousness of her position, moving as gracefully as possible in the awkward circumstances, when a large brown masculine hand reached out to take hers.
She had heard that there were twelve hundred men and one hundred thirty-two guns aboard the Capitan Pasha’s vessel, and now she believed it because all—men and cannons alike—were lined up on deck to greet her. Elgin must have prepared his host for the fact that it was unlikely that his wife would remain on her own ship, because as soon as she stepped a foot onto the deck of the grand barge, a band of pipes and drums began to play what sounded like a Turkish interpretation of a ceremonial English tune. The turbaned officers, swarthy and unsmiling, drew gleaming swords to salute her, while similarly dressed but unarmed youths played their instruments. Most eyes were straight ahead, perhaps in respect or embarrassment, though no one seemed discomfited by her presence. Soon Elgin and a tall man in a red turban crowned with a peacock feather came rushing to meet her. She was glad that she had taken her time and dressed for the occasion. The grandeur of the Capitan Pasha was apparent in the bright colors of his silken robe and the elaborate carving in the handle of the weapon sheathed at his side. His beard was as black as onyx and shaped so finely that it appeared that each bristle had been individually groomed. Everything about him was crisp, except his eyes, which were a soft amber color. He was not old, but not as young as Elgin, and he walked at a stately but brisk pace commensurate with his position as military commander of the Ottoman Empire. He had a strong, beaklike nose of a kind that Mary had also seen on men of her own country, and she marveled at how a characteristic could repeat itself on individuals existing in lands so far apart, with so little else in common in coloring and appearance. He had the demeanor of a military man, which made sense. She knew that he had spent many years fighting with the Russians and had been engaged in the conflict with the French in Egypt.
“Welcome, Lady Elgin,” he said with a slight bow before whisking her into his cabin, where she was met with a taste of the Turkish magnificence that had previously been only a rumor. The room was large and the walls were lined with lush sofas made of bright yellow silks embroidered through with gold. Above in ornate cabins sat an extensive collection of weapons old and new—guns, pistols, swords, knives, and scimitars.
“I did not know that ships’ quarters could equal the most elegant drawing rooms of England,” Mary said to him, thinking of the squalid conditions she had just endured for months at sea.
“I have never seen anything equal to the sharpness of these swords,” Elgin said, carefully running his finger along the metal. “You should see the rest of the vessel, my dear,” he said to his wife. “Even Captain Morris said that nothing could equal the order with which everything is done.”
“You are very kind,” the pasha said. Could it be that he was speaking English with a French accent? Perhaps he had learned English from the French
. Given the long alliance with France, the pasha’s command of that language would be stronger than his command of English. Prince Isaac was on hand to interpret if necessary, but the pasha was getting along with the Elgins quite well by himself. His voice was deep, Mary thought. It reminded her of something that had rich, sweet overtones, like fine chocolate or certain vintages of wine.
Dinner was served on exquisite Dresden china at a table set as if for a king’s banquet. The pasha helped Mary into her chair, and then the men sat down. Out of nowhere, a dozen attendants appeared with silver-domed dishes and suddenly the room was filled with the heavy scent of spices and roasted meats. Servings of dish after dish of meats and vegetables in strongly flavored sauces of butter and onions were put on Mary’s plate. She worried that her stomach, in its present condition, would reject the rich foods on the basis of aroma alone, but she picked up her fork, noticing how heavy the silver instrument felt in her hand.
“Compliments to you English,” Prince Isaac said, “for we use only our hands when we eat.”
The Capitan Pasha muttered something to the prince, who turned to Mary. “The lady is not content with her food? It shall be changed and the cook reprimanded.”
Mary felt even more alarmed. She would not have a cook’s head on her conscience. “No, the food is lovely. Please forgive me. Perhaps you did not know that I am expecting a child, and sometimes it is difficult to eat.”
No sooner had she uttered the information than the climate in the room changed. “The state of being with child is a holy one, say the prophets. It is one of the highest forms of worship,” said Isaac Bey. “The rewards from Allah for this are so great as to be unimaginable.”
She was brought a special tea that would soothe her nerves, and a spectacular shawl of woven silks in different shades of red to wrap around her. “From India,” the pasha explained. “I bought it for my sister, but I know that she will want you to have it.”
“Our ladies here are crazy for these items,” added the prince.
When she admired the diamond-shaped coffee cups brought with the dessert, a platter of quince and pears and sweetmeats, the pasha insisted that they be sent to her as a gift. After dinner, a special mound of elegant cushions was arranged for Mary to sit upon. More coffee was served, and pipes were brought in for the men, and a plate of dates for Mary alone, which she was told were crucial in building the flesh and bones of the unborn child.
Tall candlesticks lit the circle of damask-covered sofas, and sweet smoke began to fill the air. Mary leaned against the cushions of gold, allowing her head to sink into the soft mass, and as Elgin held conversation with the men, she found herself entranced by a group of squiggling goldfish swimming in a large glass bowl.
The pasha left the men’s conversation and sat beside Mary. “You like my friends? I will have them sent to the embassy. When you look at them, you will think of me.”
“That is most kind,” Mary said. He sat very close to her, smelling of things that she did not recognize, but liked—cloves, musk, lavender? Heavy and light at the same time.
“I want to say something,” he announced. He seemed to search the air in front of him for words. Then he summoned Prince Isaac to his side and whispered furiously into his ear.
“Hussein Pasha would like to be made aware of all the wishes of Lady Elgin so that he might have the privilege of fulfilling them.”
The pasha made a sign to the prince to continue. The prince smiled. “He says that if he were the Sultan and you were his subject, he would command you to tell him of your every wish. It would be an order.”
Mary turned her attention from the pasha to her husband, who was staring at her, anticipating how she would respond. She could not apprehend Elgin’s thoughts. Was there some request he would like her to make? Or some request that she might make that he would consider improper or outlandish? Or was he offended by the pasha’s attention to Mary but restraining himself under the circumstances? Elgin waited silently for Mary to speak, but whether his face showed fear, caution, jealousy, or remonstration, she could not say.
Mary decided to be safe. She turned to the pasha and said in her most genteel voice, “Thank you, sir, you are most kind and hospitable, but I have everything I need at this moment. What could one possibly want after such a lovely meal? You have anticipated and exceeded our every need and desire.”
“Do you like perfumes?” the pasha asked.
“Does not every lady like perfumes?”
The pasha said something in his language and two attendants disappeared, returning later with a black velvet box richly embroidered. The pasha took it and opened it for Mary, revealing ten small glass bottles in a rainbow of delicate colors. “The glass is from Venice,” he said. “The scents inside are the favorites of my sister, and my sister is the favorite wife of the Sultan. I hope you will like them.”
Mary knew that the pasha was an important military man, but she’d had no idea that he was so closely tied to the Sultan. She realized that for the length of their mission, he could provide a direct conduit to the man whose word was law everywhere in the empire. His attention to her took on new meaning and significance, and she wondered if these thoughts were running through Elgin’s mind as well.
She opened one of the vials, inhaling the sweet, soft scent of rose. “Lovely. I shall use them sparingly so that in years to come, when we are no longer in your country, I will still have these delicious scents to recall the occasion of our first meeting, and your graciousness to me.”
“To think that I might linger in your memory is the highest honor,” the pasha said through the more fluent tongue of Prince Isaac.
Mary gave the pasha a gracious smile. She expected to see Elgin do the same, but the ambivalent look on his face had now turned more specific—to one of consternation and impatience. “We really must get back to our ship,” Elgin said, standing. “We must rise early in the morning. We’ve arranged to tour the area that is thought to be the site of ancient Troy.”
“Ah yes, that first invasion of the Greeks,” said Prince Isaac. “How history has reversed itself. They plagued us for many centuries with their expansionist ideas, but we have kept them subdued for three hundred fifty years, praise Allah.”
“My husband is fanatical about studying Greek antiquities,” Mary said. “My lord, did you tell the pasha about your project on the Acropolis?”
“I have hired a team of artists and craftsmen to remain in Athens during my mission and to make precise drawings and plaster copies of all the ancient architectural elements to take home for our English artists to study,” Elgin said.
“We will never understand the English and French fascination with the old stones of past Greek civilizations,” said the pasha, shaking his head.
“You are all made to read the blind Greek poet when you are mere boys, and it inspires much sentimentality for those times,” Prince Isaac said. “Here, we have our own legends of conquest and heroism, and our own sacred monuments, so I understand. But these Greek stones are nothing but rubble now, not fit to decorate the home of a slave who empties piss pots, monuments to gods no one believes in any longer.”
Mary smiled, but hoped that Elgin would not see fit to explain the reasoning to the Turks, for if so, they would be on the ship all night long. Fortunately, Elgin was first and foremost a diplomat, schooled in the art of pursuing discussions that could bring about positive results, and even more skilled at avoiding discussions that might be insulting to men with foreign and otherwise strange ideas.
“If you are a fanatic for old Greek things, you will be very happy tomorrow when you visit the village at Cape Sigeum, where the local people say the battle for Troy was fought, for there is much of the old rubble there. The Greeks who live there hold it all most holy. They are still a very ignorant people,” Prince Isaac said with a mixture of pity and disdain.
Elgin’s mood brightened. “Then we shall take our artists with us so that they can make copies of all that we see. We found the mos
t exquisite Italian draftsman in Sicily,” he said. “It took much convincing to entice him to join us, but he agreed. His name is Lusieri. You will be hearing much about him in the future, I am sure. I believe that the work he does for me in Athens will bring him a great reputation.”
Mary would not soon forget the recent, arduous journey to Messina, riding in the hot sun on an ornery donkey while four months pregnant, only to arrive to meet Signor Lusieri, who spoke no English and had to be communicated with in French, which was exhausting after the first hour or two. There were times in Messina that Mary thought she would not survive the heat, nor the journey back. But she did think that Lusieri’s drawings were superior to any that she and Elgin had seen in London. Elgin was delighted that she approved of his choice because, he announced, she would have to write to her father to ask him to cover the artist’s salary, as the English government would not. Dutifully, Mary did so, certain that Mr. Nisbet would understand the urgency and importance of Elgin’s ambition. To her surprise, Mr. Nisbet saw things differently. Hiring a grand Italian artist was an extravagance. So Mary had to write a separate letter to her mother to plead the case, which Mrs. Nisbet did satisfactorily.
The prince interrupted her thoughts. “Lady Elgin, do you share your husband’s love of the ancient Greek arts?”
“Of course. It is the duty of a wife to share in her husband’s interests.” Mary thought that she should make a wifely comment, at least in part to remind the pasha that she was married.
The pasha conferred with the prince in their language. “Lord Elgin, you may take whatever you like,” the prince announced.
“What do you mean?”
“From the village. Take whatever old Greek rocks you wish to take. The pasha does not understand why the English and the French would have these useless things rather than bars of gold or purses full of gems, but he will not quarrel with your ways as long as you do not quarrel with ours. I am sure that, to you, we are also sometimes inscrutable.”
