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opened with a cordial hospitality; and one who brought away from it pleasant and grateful recollections has attempted in these pages to leave some memorial of its interesting possessor.

He is, in truth, an admirable specimen of that type of man so little known in this country, and yet so worthy of observation, a real soldier of the French Empire. The Restoration, like all other periods of forced and unwelcome government, degraded the vigour and tarnished the simplicity of this phase of national character, and made rare that spirit of unconscious devotion, of idolatrous patriotism, to which France had been as much, and Napoleon more, than ever were Rome and Cæsar to the legions. This feeling, so distinct from national vanity and admiration of power, never possessed a human breast more absolutely than that of Suleiman Pasha; admitting no comparisons, it requires no jealousy to defend it; refusing all criticism, it implies no injurious deductions, no perversion of right or blindness to wrong. This idiosyncrasy requires to be seen to be understood, at least by Englishmen, in whom the military spirit is something accidental and alien, and who never worship heartily either a man or an idea. The feeling of the Irish towards O'Connell is the nearest

approach to it in our time; and in France it is only to be found where the soldier of the Grand Army has retired from active life and subsists upon his memories. There was little of it to be detected in the metropolitan crowd that received the ashes of Napoleon; but I have seen it in remote villages, where the old soldier has become again the peasant, and, after having helped to change the face of the world, recovers his little portion of patrimony, and has no more selfish pride about what he has done than an old crusader would have had for having recovered Jerusalem. I remember seeing in a Norman village a half-pay captain, who had fought from Fleurus to Waterloo, enjoying his cider and cake of buckwheat, as contented as an English officer at the United Service Club.

This peculiarity certainly forms a great charm of the society of Suleiman Pasha, but his shrewd observation and practical sense would have made him distinguished in any class or time; while his great benevolence and humanity are really astonishing in a man who has gone through so many scenes of strife and suffering. For he has preserved his feelings so uncorrupted by all this contamination that he invariably speaks of war with pain and repugnance, and seems forgetful of none of its

horrors, though he has shared in all its glories. An Austrian officer, of the name of Durand, tried to cut off the supplies of food from the large and irregular body of Egyptians, including hundreds of women and children, with whom he was retreating over the desert in 1840. If I had caught him,' said Suleiman, I would have hung him before the whole army; as if war was not horrible enough without these infernal resources of diplomacy.'

In 1845 Suleiman accompanied Ibrahim Pasha to France, and brought his son to be educated at Paris. 'He might be a great man in the East,' said his father, but I can make him nothing but a Frenchman.' When Ibrahim came to England Suleiman accompanied him, and, during a short visit, interested and delighted all the public personages and men of letters with whom he became acquainted.

There was one subject to which no one would, of course, refer but himself-namely, his adoption of the Mohammedan religion. He, however, does so frequently and always apologetically, and prays his hearers to remember what was the religion of the Revolution and the Empire, and not to judge him as one who had known the full truth of Christianity. 'Ah!' he would say, 'si vous saviez ce que c'était

la religion de l'armée dans ce temps-là, vous trouveriez que j'ai beaucoup gagné en devenant mussulman. Quand nous étions dans la Terre-Sainte, on se demandait, "Pourquoi ce nom-là ?" On n'avait pas l'idée de l'histoire du pays.' To the eastern Christians both in Egypt and in Syria he has been of essential service, and, though bearing the name of a renegade, has been covered with the blessings of the rayahs protected from pillage, violence, and persecution.

The only parallel, I believe, in modern history to the subject of this sketch is Count Bonneval, Achmet Pasha. He, too, distinguished himself by feats of arms in the war of the Spanish succession and under Prince Eugene, and, having betaken himself to Constantinople, was received by Mohammed V. with great honour, and conformed to the religion and institutions of Islam; but here the resemblance ends: Bonneval's life was one of flagrant profligacy, only relieved by dashing bravery; he fought against his own country, and tried to betray that which he had adopted: his excesses drove him from France and made him a State prisoner in Austria; and he only retreated to the East when banished from Europe. He held, indeed, high office in the Turkish service, but was

prevented from effecting the only object he attempted-the reformation of the artillery-by the jealousy of those in power, and easily consoled himself by a life of unbridled licence. There is nothing in this description in common with the entire loyalty, the unblemished honour, the chivalrous zeal, the sagacious prudence, the simple habits, and the generous disposition of Suleiman Pasha.

I have only to add to the above delineation of a very interesting man that he came to England once again shortly after the commencement of hostilities that led to the war in the Crimea. Vous prendrez Sébastopol,' he said, 'mais il y aura des œufs cassés.' He went by special invitation to the Reviews at Boulogne, where he was received with great distinction by the Emperor. It was not the first time that they had met. The portrait attached to this memoir was drawn on the occasion of his first visit to this country, by that eminent artist M. Gudin at a picnic in Richmond Park, where Prince Louis Napoleon made one of the party. I remember well the interest the Prince took in the Pasha's narrative of his chequered life, and the invitation he

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