Orlando

compounded of beauty, birth, and some rarer gift, which we may call glamour and have done with it. “A million candles,” as Sasha had said, burnt in him without his being at the trouble of lighting a single one. He moved like a stag, without any need to think about his legs. He spoke in his ordinary voice and echo beat a silver gong. Hence rumours gathered round him. He became the adored of many women and some men. It was not necessary that they should speak to him or even that they should see him; they conjured up before them especially when the scenery was romantic, or the sun was setting, the figure of a noble gentleman in silk stockings. Upon the poor and uneducated, he had the same power as upon the rich. Shepherds, gipsies, donkey drivers, still sing songs about the English Lord “who dropped his emeralds in the well,” which undoubtedly refer to Orlando, who once, it seems, tore his jewels from him in a moment of rage or intoxication and flung them in a fountain; whence they were fished by a page boy. But this romantic power, it is well known, is often associated with a nature of extreme reserve. Orlando seems to have made no friends. As far as is known, he formed no attachments. A certain great lady came all the way from England in order to be near him, and pestered him with her attentions, but he continued to discharge his duties so indefatigably that he had not been Ambassador at the Horn more than two years and a half before King Charles signified his intention of raising him to the highest rank in the peerage. The envious said that this was Nell Gwyn’s tribute to the memory of a leg. But, as she had seen him once only, and was then busily engaged in pelting her royal master with nutshells, it is likely that it was his merits that won him his Dukedom, not his calves.

Here we must pause, for we have reached a moment of great significance in his career. For the conferring of the Dukedom was the occasion of a very famous, and indeed, much disputed incident, which we must now describe, picking our way among burnt papers and little bits of tape as best we may. It was at the end of the great fast of Ramadan that the Order of the Bath and the patent of nobility arrived in a frigate commanded by Sir Adrian Scrope; and Orlando made this the occasion for an entertainment more splendid than any that has been known before or since in Constantinople. The night was fine; the crowd immense and the windows of the Embassy brilliantly illuminated. Again, details are lacking, for the fire had its way with all such records, and has left only tantalizing fragments which leave the most important points obscure. From the diary of John Fenner Brigge, however, an English naval officer, who was among the guests, we gather that people of all nationalities “were packed like herrings in a barrel” in the courtyard. The crowd pressed so unpleasantly close that Brigge soon climbed into a Judas tree, the better to observe the proceedings. The rumour had got about among the natives (and here is additional proof of Orlando’s mysterious power over the imagination) that some kind of miracle was to be performed. “Thus,” writes Brigge (but his manuscript is full of burns and holes, some sentences being quite illegible), “when the rockets began to soar into the air, there was considerable uneasiness among us lest the native population should be seized⁠ ⁠… fraught with unpleasant consequences to all⁠ ⁠… English ladies in the company, I own that my hand went to my cutlass. Happily,” he continues in his somewhat long-winded style, “these fears seemed, for the moment, groundless and, observing the demeanour of the natives⁠ ⁠… I came to the conclusion that this demonstration of our skill in the art of pyrotechny was valuable, if only because it impressed upon them⁠ ⁠… the superiority of the British.⁠ ⁠… Indeed, the sight was one of indescribable magnificence. I found myself alternately praising the Lord that he had permitted⁠ ⁠… and wishing that my poor, dear mother.⁠ ⁠… By the Ambassador’s orders, the long windows, which are so imposing a feature of Eastern architecture, for though ignorant in many ways⁠ ⁠… were thrown wide; and within, we could see a tableau vivant or theatrical display in which English ladies and gentlemen⁠ ⁠… represented a masque the work of one.⁠ ⁠… The words were inaudible, but the sight of so many of our countrymen and women, dressed with the highest elegance and distinction⁠ ⁠… moved me to emotions of which I am certainly not ashamed, though unable.⁠ ⁠… I was intent upon observing the astonishing conduct of Lady ⸻ which was of a nature to fasten the eyes of all upon her, and to bring discredit upon her sex and country, when”⁠—unfortunately a branch of the Judas tree broke, Lieutenant Brigge fell to the ground, and the rest of the entry records only his gratitude to Providence (who plays a very large part in the diary) and the exact nature of his injuries.

Happily, Miss Penelope Hartopp, daughter of the General of that name, saw the scene from inside and carried on the tale in a letter, much defaced too, which ultimately reached a female friend at Tunbridge Wells. Miss Penelope was no less lavish in her enthusiasm than the gallant officer. “Ravishing,” she exclaims ten times on one page, “wondrous⁠ ⁠… utterly beyond description⁠ ⁠… gold plate⁠ ⁠… candelabras⁠ ⁠… negroes in plush breeches⁠ ⁠… pyramids of ice⁠ ⁠… fountains of negus⁠ ⁠… jellies made to represent His Majesty’s ships⁠ ⁠… swans made to represent water-lilies⁠ ⁠… birds in golden cages⁠ ⁠… gentlemen in slashed crimson velvet⁠ ⁠… Ladies’ headdresses at least six foot high⁠ ⁠… musical boxes.⁠ ⁠… Mr. Peregrine said I looked quite lovely which I only repeat to you, my dearest, because I know.⁠ ⁠… Oh! how I longed for you all!⁠ ⁠… surpassing anything we have seen at the Pantiles⁠ ⁠… oceans to