Three Letters of Cabala
IS THERE any news?’ asked Adam Besso of Issachar, the son of Selim, the most cunning leech at Aleppo, and who by day and by night watched the couch which bore the suffering form of the pride and mainstay of the Syrian Hebrews.
‘There is news, but it has not yet arrived,’ replied Issachar, the son of Selim, a man advanced in life, but hale, with a white beard, a bright eye, and a benignant visage.
‘There are pearls in the sea, but what are they worth?’ murmured Besso.
‘I have taken a Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, ‘and three times that I opened the sacred book, there were three words, and the initial letter of each word is the name of a person who will enter this room this day, and every person will bring news.’
‘But what news?’ sighed Besso. ‘The news of Tophet and of ten thousand demons?’
‘I have taken a Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, ‘and the news will be good.’
‘To whom and from whom? Good to the Pasha, but not to me! good to the people of Haleb, but not, perhaps, to the family of Besso.’
‘God will guard over his own. In the meanwhile, I must replace this bandage, noble Besso. Let me rest your arm upon this cushion and you will endure less pain.’
‘Alas! worthy Issachar, I have wounds deeper than any you can probe.’
The resignation peculiar to the Orientals had sustained Besso under his overwhelming calamity. He neither wailed nor moaned. Absorbed in a brooding silence, he awaited the result of the measures which had been taken for the release of Eva, sustained by the chance of success, and caring not to survive if encountering failure. The Pasha of Aleppo, long irritated by the Ansarey, and meditating for some time an invasion of their country, had been fired by the all-influential representations of the family of Besso instantly to undertake a step which, although it had been for some time contemplated, might yet, according to Turkish custom, have been indefinitely postponed. Three regiments of the line, disciplined in the manner of Europe, some artillery, and a strong detachment of cavalry, had been ordered at once to invade the contiguous territory of the Ansarey. Hillel Besso had accompanied the troops, leaving his uncle under his paternal roof, disabled by his late conflict, but suffering from wounds which in themselves were serious rather than perilous.
Four days had elapsed since the troops had quitted Aleppo. It was the part of Hillel, before they had recourse to hostile movements, to obtain, if possible, the restoration of the prisoners by fair means; nor were any resources wanting to effect this purpose. A courier had arrived at Aleppo from Hillel, apprising Adam Besso that the Queen of the Ansarey had not only refused to give up the prisoners, but even declared that Eva had been already released; but Hillel concluded that this was merely trifling. This parleying had taken place on the border; the troops were about to force the passes on the following day.
About an hour before sunset, on the very same day that Issachar, the son of Selim, had taken more than one Cabala, some horsemen, in disorder, were observed from the walls by the inhabitants of Aleppo, galloping over the plain. They were soon recognised as the cavalry of the Pasha, the irregular heralds, it was presumed, of a triumph achieved. Hillel Besso, covered with sweat and dust, was among those who thus early arrived. He hastened at a rapid pace through the suburb of the city, scattering random phrases to those who inquired after intelligence as he passed, until he reached the courtyard of his own house.
‘’Tis well,’ he observed, as he closed the gate. ‘A battle is a fine thing, but, for my part, I am not sorry to find myself at home.’
‘What is that?’ inquired Adam Besso, as a noise reached his ear.
‘’Tis the letter of the first Cabala,’ replied Issachar, the son of Selim.
‘Uncle, it is I,’ said Hillel, advancing.
‘Speak,’ said Adam Besso, in an agitated voice; ‘my sight is dark.’
‘Alas, I am alone!’ said Hillel.
‘Bury me in Jehoshaphat,’ murmured Besso, as he sank back.
‘But, my uncle, there is hope.’
‘Speak, then, of hope,’ replied Besso, with sudden vehemence, and starting from his pillow.
‘Truly I have seen a child of the mountains, who persists in the tale that our Eva has escaped.’
‘An enemy’s device! Are the mountains ours? Where are the troops?’
‘Were the mountains ours, I should not be here, my uncle. Look from the ramparts, and you will soon see the plain covered with the troops, at least with all of them who have escaped the matchlocks and the lances of the Ansarey.’
‘Are they such sons of fire?’
‘When the Queen of the Ansarey refused to deliver up the prisoners, and declared that Eva was not in her power, the Pasha resolved to penetrate the passes, in two detachments, on the following morning. The enemy was drawn up in array to meet us, but fled after a feeble struggle. Our artillery seemed to carry all before it. But,’ continued Hillel, shrugging his shoulders, ‘war is not by any means a commercial transaction. It seemed that, when we were on the point of victory, we were in fact entirely defeated. The enemy had truly made a feigned defence, and had only allured us into the passes, where they fired on us from the heights, and rolled down upon our confused masses huge fragments of rock. Our strength, our numbers, and our cannon, only embarrassed us; there arose a confusion; the troops turned and retreated. And, when everything was in the greatest perplexity, and we were regaining the plain, our rear was pursued by crowds of cavalry, Kurds, and other Giaours, who destroyed our men with their long lances, uttering horrible shouts. For my own part, I thought all was over, but a good horse is not a bad thing, and I am here, my uncle, having ridden for twenty hours, nearly, without a pause.’
‘And when did you see this child of the mountains who spoke of the lost one?’ asked Besso, in a low and broken voice.
‘On the eve of the engagement,’ said Hillel. ‘He had been sent to me with a letter, but, alas! had been plundered on his way by our troops, and the letter had been destroyed or lost. Nevertheless, he induced them to permit him to reach my tent, and brought these words, that the ever adorable had truly quitted the mountains, and that the lost letter had been written to that effect by the chieftain of the Ansarey.’
‘Is there yet hope! What sound is that?’
‘’Tis the letter of the second Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim.
And at this moment entered the chamber a faithful slave, who made signs to the physician, upon which Issachar rose, and was soon engaged in earnest conversation with him who had entered, Hillel tending the side of Besso. After a few minutes, Issachar approached the couch of his patient, and said, ‘Here is one, my lord and friend, who brings good tidings of your daughter.’
‘God of my fathers!’ exclaimed Besso, passionately, and springing up.
‘Still, we must be calm,’ said Issachar; ‘still, we must be calm.’
‘Let me see him,’ said Besso.
‘It is one you know, and know well,’ said Issachar. ‘It is the Emir Fakredeen.’
‘The son of my heart,’ said Besso, ‘who brings me news that is honey in my mouth.’
‘I am here, my father of fathers,’ said Fakredeen, gliding to the side of the couch.
Besso grasped his hand, and looked at him earnestly in the face. ‘Speak of Eva,’ he at length said, in a voice of choking agitation.
‘She is well, she is safe. Yes, I have saved her,’ said Fakredeen, burying his face in the pillow, exhausted by emotion. ‘Yes, I have not lived in vain.’ ‘Your flag shall wave on a thousand castles,’ said Besso. ‘My child is saved, and she is saved by the brother of her heart. Entirely has the God of our fathers guarded over us. Henceforth, my Fakredeen, you have only to wish: we are the same.’ And Besso sank down almost insensible; then he made a vain effort to rise again, murmuring ‘Eva!’
‘She will soon be here,’ said Fakredeen; ‘she only rests awhile after many hardships.’
‘Will the noble Emir refresh himself after his long journey?’ said Hillel.
‘My heart is too elate for the body to need relief,’ said the Emir.
‘That may be very true,’ said Hillel. ‘At the same time, for my part, I have always thought that the body should be maintained as well as the spirit.’ ‘Withdraw from the side of the couch,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, to his companions. ‘My lord and friend has swooned.’
Gradually the tide of life returned to Besso, gradually the heart beat, the hand grew warm. At length he slowly opened his eyes, and said, ‘I have been dreaming of my child, even now I see her.’
Yes, so vivid had been the vision that even now, restored entirely to himself, perfectly conscious of the locality and the circumstances that surrounded him, knowing full well that he was in his brother’s house at Aleppo, suffering and disabled, keenly recalling his recent interview with Fakredeen, notwithstanding all these tests of inward and outward perception, still before his entranced and agitated vision hovered the lovely visage of his daughter, a little paler than usual, and an uncommon anxiety blended with its soft expression, but the same rich eyes and fine contour of countenance that her father had so often gazed on with pride, and recalled in her absence with brooding fondness. ‘Even now I see her,’ said Besso.
He could say no more, for the sweetest form in the world had locked him in her arms.
‘’Tis the letter of the third Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim.
Tancred Returns to Jerusalem
TANCRED had profited by his surprise by the children of Rechab in the passes of the Stony Arabia, and had employed the same tactics against the Turkish force. By a simulated defence on the borders, and by the careful dissemination of false intelligence, he had allowed the Pasha and his troops to penetrate the mountains, and principally by a pass which the Turks were assured by their spies that the Ansarey had altogether neglected. The success of these manoeuvres had been as complete as the discomfiture and rout of the Turks. Tancred, at the head of the cavalry, had pursued them into the plain, though he had halted, for an instant, before he quitted the mountains, to send a courier to Astarte from himself with the assurance of victory, and the horsetails of the Pasha for a trophy.
It so happened, however, that, while Tancred, with very few attendants, was scouring the plain, and driving before him a panic-struck multitude, who, if they could only have paused and rallied, might in a moment have overwhelmed him, a strong body of Turkish cavalry, who had entered the mountains by a different pass from that in which the principal engagement had taken place, but who, learning the surprise and defeat of the main body, had thought it wise to retreat in order and watch events, debouched at this moment from the high country into the plain and in the rear of Tancred. Had they been immediately recognised by the fugitives, it would have been impossible for Tancred to escape; but the only impression of the routed Turks was, that a reinforcement had joined their foe, and their disorder was even increased by the appearance in the distance of their own friends. This misapprehension must, however, in time, have been at least partially removed; but Baroni, whose quick glance had instantly detected the perilous incident, warned Tancred immediately.
‘We are surrounded, my lord; there is only one course to pursue. To regain the mountains is impossible; if we advance, we enter only a hostile country, and must be soon overpowered. We must make for the Eastern desert.’
Tancred halted and surveyed the scene: he had with him not twenty men. The Turkish cavalry, several hundreds strong, had discovered their quarry, and were evidently resolved to cut off their retreat.
‘Very well,’ said Tancred, ‘we are well mounted, we must try the mettle of our steeds. Farewell, Gindaricâ! Farewell, gods of Olympus! To the desert, which I ought never to have quitted!’ and, so speaking, he and his band dashed towards the East.
Their start was, so considerable that they baffled their pursuers, who, however, did not easily relinquish their intended prey. Some shots in the distance, towards nightfall, announced that the enemy had given up the chase. After three hours of the moon, Tancred and his companions rested at a well not far from a village, where they obtained some supplies. An hour before dawn, they again pursued their way over a rich flat country, uninclosed, yet partially cultivated, with, every now and then, a village nestling in a jungle of Indian fig.
It was the commencement of December, and the country was very parched; but the short though violent season of rain was at hand: this renovates in the course of a week the whole face of Nature, and pours into little more than that brief space the supplies which in other regions are distributed throughout the year. On the third day, before sunset, the country having gradually become desolate and deserted, consisting of vast plains covered with herds, with occasionally some wandering Turkmans or Kurds, Tancred and his companions came within sight of a broad and palmy river, a branch of the Euphrates.
The country round, far as the eye could range, was a kind of downs covered with a scanty herbage, now brown with heat and age. When Tancred had gained an undulating height, and was capable of taking a more extensive survey of the land, it presented, especially towards the south, the same features through an illimitable space.
‘The Syrian desert!’ said Baroni; ‘a fortnight later, and we shall see this land covered with flowers and fragrant with aromatic herbs.’
‘My heart responds to it,’ said Tancred. ‘What is Damascus, with all its sumptuousness, to this sweet liberty?’
Quitting the banks of the river, they directed their course to the south, and struck as it were into the heart of the desert; yet, on the morrow, the winding waters again met them. And now there opened on their sight a wondrous scene: as far as the eye could reach innumerable tents; strings of many hundred camels going to, or returning from, the waters; groups of horses picketed about; processions of women with vases on their heads visiting the palmy banks; swarms of children and dogs; spreading flocks; and occasionally an armed horseman bounding about the environs of the vast encampment.
Although scarcely a man was visible when Tancred first caught a glimpse of this Arabian settlement, a band of horsemen suddenly sprang from behind a rising ground and came galloping up to them to reconnoitre and to inquire.
‘We are brothers,’ said Baroni, ‘for who should be the master of so many camels but the lord of the Syrian pastures?’
‘There is but one God,’ said the Bedouin, ‘and none are lords of the Syrian pastures but the children of Rechab.’
‘Truly, there is only one God,’ said Baroni; ‘go tell the great Sheikh that his friend the English prince has come here to give him a salaam of peace.’
Away bounded back the Bedouins, and were soon lost in the crowded distance.
‘All is right,’ said Baroni; ‘we shall sup to-night under the pavilion of Amalek.’
‘I visit him then, at length, in his beautiful pastures,’ said Tancred; ‘but, alas! I visit him alone.’
They had pulled up their horses, and were proceeding leisurely towards the encampment, when they observed a cavalcade emerging from the outer boundary of the settlement. This was Amalek himself, on one of his steeds of race, accompanied by several of his leading Sheikhs, coming to welcome Tancred to his pavilion in the Syrian pastures. A joyful satisfaction sparkled in the bright eyes of the old chieftain, as, at a little distance, he waved his hand with graceful dignity, and then pressed it to his heart.
‘A thousand salaams,’ he exclaimed, when he had reached Tancred; ‘there is but one God. I press you to my heart of hearts. There are also other friends, but they are not here.’
‘Salaam, great Sheikh! I feel indeed we are brothers. There are friends of whom we must speak, and indeed of many things.’
Thus conversing and riding side by side, Amalek and Tancred entered the camp. Nearly five thousand persons were collected together in this wilderness, and two thousand warriors were prepared at a moment’s notice to raise their lances in the air. There were nearly as many horses, and ten times as many camels. This wilderness was the principal and favourite resting-place of the great Sheikh of the children of Rechab, and the abundant waters and comparatively rich pasturage permitted him to gather around him a great portion of his tribe.
The lamps soon gleamed, and the fires soon blazed; sheep were killed, bread baked, coffee pounded, and the pipe of honour was placed in the hands of Tancred. For an Arabian revel, the banquet was long and rather elaborate. By degrees, however, the guests stole away; the women ceased to peep through the curtains; and the children left off asking Baroni to give them backsheesh. At length, Amalek and Tancred being left alone, the great Sheikh, who had hitherto evinced no curiosity as to the cause of the presence of his guest, said, ‘There is a time for all things, for eating and for drinking, also for prayers. There is, also, a season to ask questions. Why is the brother of the Queen of the English in the Syrian desert?’
‘There is much to tell, and much to inquire,’ said Tancred; ‘but before I speak of myself, let me know whether you can get me tidings of Eva, the daughter of Besso.’
‘Is she not living in rooms with many divans?’ said Amalek.
‘Alas!’ said Tancred, ‘she was a prisoner, and is now a fugitive.’
‘What children of Gin have done this deed? Are there strange camels drinking at my wells? Is it some accursed Kurd that has stolen her sheep; or some Turkman, blacker than night, that has hankered after her bracelets?’
‘Nothing of all this, yet more than all this. All shall be told to you, great Sheikh, yet before I speak, tell me again, can you get me tidings of Eva, the daughter of Besso?’
‘Can I fire an arrow that will hit its mark?’ said Amalek; ‘tell me the city of Syria where Eva the daughter of Besso may be found, and I will send her a messenger that would reach her even in the bath, were she there.’
Tancred then gave the great Sheikh a rapid sketch of what had occurred to Eva, and expressed his fear that she might have been intercepted by the Turkish troops. Amalek decided that she must be at Aleppo, and, instantly summoning one of his principal men, he gave instructions for the departure of a trusty scout in that direction.
‘Ere the tenth day shall have elapsed,’ said the great Sheikh, ‘we shall have sure tidings. And now let me know, prince of England, by what strange cause you could have found yourself in the regions of those children of hell, the Ansarey, who, it is well known, worship Eblis in every obscene form.’
‘It is a long tale,’ said Tancred, ‘but I suppose it must be told; but now that you have relieved my mind by sending to Aleppo, I can hardly forget that I have ridden for more than three days, and with little pause. I am not, alas! a true Arab, though I love Arabia and Arabian thoughts; and, indeed, my dear friend, had we not met again, it is impossible to say what might have been my lot, for I now feel that I could not have much longer undergone the sleepless toil I have of late encountered. If Eva be safe, I am content, or would wish to feel so; but what is content, and what is life, and what is man? Indeed, great Sheikh, the longer I live and the more I think——’ and here the chibouque dropped gently from Tancred’s mouth, and he himself sunk upon the carpet.
The Road to Bethany
BESSO is better,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo to Barizy of the Tower, as he met him on a December morning in the Via Dolorosa.
‘Yes, but he is by no means well,’ quickly rejoined Barizy. ‘The physician of the English prince told me——’
‘He has not seen the physician of the English prince!’ screamed Pasqualigo, triumphantly.
‘I know that,’ said Barizy, rallying; ‘but the physician of the English prince says for flesh-wounds——’
‘There are no flesh-wounds,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo. ‘They have all healed; ‘tis an internal shock.’
‘For internal shocks,’ said Barizy of the Tower, ‘there is nothing like rosemary stewed with salt, and so keep on till it simmers.’
‘That is very well for a bruise,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo.
‘A bruise is a shock,’ said Barizy of the Tower.
‘Besso should have remained at Aleppo,’ said the Consul.
‘Besso always comes to Jerusalem when he is indisposed,’ said Barizy; ‘as he well says, ‘tis the only air that can cure him; and, if he cannot be cured, why, at least, he can be buried in the Valley of Je-hoshaphat.’
‘He is not at Jerusalem,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo, maliciously.
‘How do you mean?’ said Barizy, somewhat confused. ‘I am now going to inquire after him, and smoke some of his Latakia.’
‘He is at Bethany,’ said the Consul.
‘Hem!’ said Barizy, mysteriously. ‘Bethany! Will that marriage come off now, think you? I always fancy, when, eh?——’
‘She will not marry till her father has recovered,’ said the Consul.
‘This is a curious story,’ said Barizy. ‘The regular troops beaten by the Kurds.’
‘They were not Kurds,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo. ‘They were Russians in disguise. Some cannon have been taken, which were cast at St. Petersburg; and, besides, there is a portfolio of state papers found on a Cossack, habited as a Turkman, which betrays all. The documents are to be published in numbers, with explanatory commentaries. Consul-General Laurella writes from Damascus that the Eastern question is more alive than ever. We are on the eve of great events.’
‘You don’t say so?’ said Barizy of the Tower, losing his presence of mind from this overwhelming superiority of information. ‘I always thought so. Palmerston will never rest till he gets Jerusalem.’
‘The English must have markets,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo.
‘Very just,’ said Barizy of the Tower. ‘There will be a great opening here. I think of doing a little myself in cottons; but the house of Besso will monopolise everything.’
‘I don’t think the English can do much here,’ said the Consul, shaking his head. ‘What have we to give them in exchange? The people here had better look to Austria, if they wish to thrive. The Austrians also have cottons, and they are Christians. They will give you their cottons, and take your crucifixes.’
‘I don’t think I can deal in crucifixes,’ said Barizy of the Tower.
‘I tell you what, if you won’t, your cousin Barizy of the Gate will. I know he has given a great order to Bethlehem.’
‘The traitor!’ exclaimed Barizy of the Tower. ‘Well, if people will purchase crucifixes and nothing else, they must be supplied. Commerce civilises man.’
‘Who is this?’ exclaimed the Consul Pasqualigo.
A couple of horsemen, well mounted, but travel-worn, and followed by a guard of Bedouins, were coming up the Via Dolorosa, and stopped at the house of Hassan Nejid.
‘’Tis the English prince,’ said Barizy of the Tower. ‘He has been absent six months; he has been in Egypt.’
‘To see the temples of the fire-worshippers, and to shoot crocodiles. They all do that,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo.
‘How glad he must be to get back to Jerusalem,’ said Barizy of the Tower. ‘There may be larger cities, but there are certainly none so beautiful.’
‘The most beautiful city in the world is the city of Venice,’ said Pasqualigo.
‘You have never been there,’ said Barizy.
‘But it was built principally by my ancestors,’ said the Consul, ‘and I have a print of it in my hall.’
‘I never heard that Venice was comparable to Jerusalem,’ said Barizy.
‘Jerusalem is, in every respect, an abode fit for swine, compared with Venice,’ said Pasqualigo.
‘I would have you to know, Monsieur Pasqualigo, who call yourself consul, that the city of Jerusalem is not only the city of God, but has ever been the delight and pride of man.’
‘Pish!’ said Pasqualigo.
‘Poh!’ said Barizy.
‘I am not at all surprised that Besso got out of it as soon as he possibly could.’
‘You would not dare to say these things in his presence,’ said Barizy.
‘Who says “dare” to the representative of a European Power!’
‘I say “dare” to the son of the janissary of the Austrian Vice-Consul at Sidon.’
‘You will hear more of this,’ said Pasqualigo, fiercely. ‘I shall make a representation to the Inter-nonce at Stamboul.’
‘You had better go there yourself, as you are tired of El Khuds.’
Pasqualigo, not having a repartee ready, shot at his habitual comrade a glance of withering contempt, and stalked away.
In the meantime, Tancred dismounted and entered for the first time his house at Jerusalem, of which he had been the nominal tenant for half a year. Baroni was quite at home, as he knew the house in old days, and had also several times visited, on this latter occasion, the suite of Tancred. Freeman and True-man, who had been forwarded on by the British Consul at Beiroot, like bales of goods, were at their post, bowing as if their master had just returned from a club. But none of the important members of the body were at this moment at hand. Colonel Brace was dining with the English Consul on an experimental plum-pudding, preliminary to the authentic compound, which was to appear in a few days. It was supposed to be the first time that a Christmas pudding had been concocted at Jerusalem, and the excitement in the circle was considerable. The Colonel had undertaken to supervise the preparation, and had been for several days instilling the due instructions into a Syrian cook, who had hitherto only succeeded in producing a result which combined the specific gravity of lead with the general flavour and appearance of a mass of kneaded dates, in a state of fermentation after a lengthy voyage. The Rev. Mr. Bernard was at Bethlehem, assisting the Bishop in catechising some converts who had passed themselves off as true children of Israel, but who were in fact, older Christians than either of their examinants, being descendants of some Nestorian families, who had settled in the south of Palestine in the earlier ages of Christianity. As for Dr. Roby, he was culling simples in the valley of the Jordan; and thus it happened that, when Tancred at length did evince some disposition to settle down quietly under his own roof, and avail himself of the services and society of his friends, not one of them was present to receive and greet him. Tancred roamed about the house, surveyed his court and garden, sighed, while Baroni rewarded and dismissed their escort. ‘I know not how it is,’ he at length said to his intendant, ‘but I never could have supposed that I could have felt so sad and spiritless at Jerusalem.’
‘It is the reaction, my lord, after a month’s wandering in the desert. It is always so: the world seems tame.’
‘I am disappointed that Besso is not here. I am most anxious to see him.’
‘Shall I send for the Colonel, my lord?’ said Baroni, shaking Tancred’s Arabian cloak.
‘Well, I think I should let him return naturally,’ said Tancred; ‘sending for him is a scene; and I do not know why, Baroni, but I feel—I feel unstrung. I am surprised that there are no letters from England; and yet I am rather glad too, for a letter——’
‘Received some months after its date,’ said Baroni, ‘is like the visit of a spectre. I shudder at the sight of it.’
‘Heigho!’ said Tancred, stretching his arm, and half-speaking to himself, ‘I wish the battle of Gindarics had never ceased, but that, like some hero of enchantment, I had gone on for ever fighting.’
‘Ah! there is nothing like action,’ said Baroni, unscrewing his pistols.
‘But what action is there in this world?’ said Tancred. ‘The most energetic men in Europe are mere busybodies. Empires are now governed like parishes, and a great statesman is only a select vestryman. And they are right: unless we bring man nearer to heaven, unless government become again divine, the insignificance of the human scheme must paralyse all effort.’
‘Hem!’ said Baroni, kneeling down and opening Tancred’s rifle-case. The subject was getting a little too deep for him. ‘I perceive,’ he said to himself, ‘that my lord is very restless. There is something at the bottom of his mind which, perhaps, he does not quite comprehend himself; but it will come out.’ Tancred passed the day alone in reading, or walking about his room with an agitated and moody step. Often when his eye rested on the page, his mind wandered from the subject, and he was frequently lost in profound and protracted reverie. The evening drew on; he retired early to his room, and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. At a later hour, Colonel Brace returned, having succeeded in his principal enterprise, and having also sung the national anthem. He was greatly surprised to hear that Lord Montacute had returned; but Baroni succeeded in postponing the interview until the morrow. An hour after the Colonel, the Rev. Mr. Bernard returned from Bethlehem. He was in great tribulation, as he had been pursued by some of the vagabonds of that ruffianly district; a shot had even been fired after him; but this was only to frighten him. The fact is, the leader of the band was his principal catechumen, who was extremely desirous of appropriating a very splendid copy of the Holy Writings, richly bound, and adorned with massy golden clasps, which the Duchess of Bellamont had presented to the Rev. Mr. Bernard before his departure, and which he always, as a sort of homage to one whom he sincerely respected, displayed on any eminent instance of conversion.
The gates of the city were closed when Dr. Roby returned, laden with many rare balsams. The consequence was, he was obliged to find quarters in a tomb in the valley of Jehoshaphat. As his attendant was without food, when his employer had sunk into philosophic repose, he supped off the precious herbs and roots, and slaked his thirst with a draught from the fountain of Siloah.
Tancred passed a night of agitating dreams. Sometimes he was in the starry desert, sometimes in the caverned dungeons of Gindarics. Then, again, the scene changed to Bellamont Castle, but it would seem that Fakredeen was its lord; and when Tancred rushed forward to embrace his mother, she assumed the form of the Syrian goddess, and yet the face was the face of Eva. Though disturbed, he slept, and when he woke, he was for a moment quite unconscious of being at Jerusalem. Although within a week of Christmas, no sensible difference had yet occurred in the climate. The golden sun succeeded the silver moon, and both reigned in a clear blue sky. You may dine at night on the terrace of your house at Jerusalem in January, and find a serene and benignant atmosphere.
Tancred rose early; no one was stirring in the house except the native servants, and Mr. Freeman, who was making a great disturbance about hot water. Tancred left a message with this gentleman for the Colonel and his companions, begging that they might all meet at breakfast, and adding that he was about to stroll for half an hour. Saying this, he quitted the house, and took his way by the gate of Stephen to the Mount of Olives.
It was a delicious morn, wonderfully clear, and soft, and fresh. It seemed a happy and a thriving city, that forlorn Jerusalem, as Tancred, from the heights of Olivet, gazed upon its noble buildings, and its cupolaed houses of freestone, and its battlemented walls and lofty gates. Nature was fair, and the sense of existence was delightful. It seemed to Tancred that a spicy gale came up the ravines of the wilderness, from the farthest Arabia.
Lost in prolonged reverie, the hours flew on. The sun was mounting in the heavens when Tancred turned his step, but, instead of approaching the city, he pursued a winding path in an opposite direction. That path led to Bethany.
Arrival of the Duke and Duchess
THE crest of the palm tree in the garden of Eva glittered in the declining sun; and the lady of Bethany sat in her kiosk on the margin of the fountain, unconsciously playing with a flower, and gazing in abstraction on the waters. She had left Tancred with her father, now convalescent. They had passed the morning together, talking over the strange events that had occurred since they first became acquainted on this very spot; and now the lady of Bethany had retired to her own thoughts.
A sound disturbed her; she looked up and recognised Tancred.
‘I could not refrain from seeing the sun set on Arabia,’ he said; ‘I had almost induced the noble Besso to be my companion.’
‘The year is too old,’ said Eva, not very composed.
‘They should be midsummer nights,’ said Tancred, ‘as on my first visit here; that hour thrice blessed!’ ‘We know not what is blessed in this world,’ said Eva, mournfully.
‘I feel I do,’ murmured Tancred; and he also seated himself on the margin of the fountain.
‘Of all the strange incidents and feelings that we have been talking over this day,’ said Eva, ‘there seems to me but one result; and that is, sadness.’
‘It is certainly not joy,’ said Tancred.
‘There comes over me a great despondency,’ said Eva, ‘I know not why, my convictions are as profound as they were, my hopes should not be less high, and yet——’
‘And what?’ said Tancred, in a low, sweet voice, for she hesitated.
‘I have a vague impression,’ said Eva, sorrowfully, ‘that there have been heroic aspirations wasted, and noble energies thrown away; and yet, perhaps,’ she added, in a faltering tone, ‘there is no one to blame. Perhaps, all this time, we have been dreaming over an unattainable end, and the only source of deception is our own imagination.’
‘My faith is firm,’ said Tancred; ‘but if anything could make it falter, it would be to find you wavering.’
‘Perhaps it is the twilight hour,’ said Eva, with a faint smile. ‘It sometimes makes one sad.’
‘There is no sadness where there is sympathy,’ said Tancred, in a low voice. ‘I have been, I am sad, when I am alone: but when I am with you, my spirit is sustained, and would be, come what might.’
‘And yet——’ said Eva; and she paused.
‘And what?’
‘Your feelings cannot be what they were before all this happened; when you thought only of a divine cause, of stars, of angels, and of our peculiar and gifted land. No, no; now it is all mixed up with intrigue, and politics, and management, and baffled schemes, and cunning arts of men. You may be, you are, free from all this, but your faith is not the same. You no longer believe in Arabia.’
‘Why, thou to me art Arabia,’ said Tancred, advancing and kneeling at her side. ‘The angel of Arabia, and of my life and spirit! Talk not to me of faltering faith: mine is intense. Talk not to me of leaving a divine cause: why, thou art my cause, and thou art most divine! O Eva! deign to accept the tribute of my long agitated heart! Yes, I too, like thee, am sometimes full of despair; but it is only when I remember that I love, and love, perhaps, in vain!’
He had clasped her hand; his passionate glance met her eye, as he looked up with adoration to a face infinitely distressed. Yet she withdrew not her hand, as she murmured, with averted head, ‘We must not talk of these things; we must not think of them. You know all.’
‘I know of nothing, I will know of nothing, but of my love.’
‘There are those to whom I belong; and to whom you belong. Yes,’ she said, trying to withdraw her hand, ‘fly, fly from me, son of Europe and of Christ!’
‘I am a Christian in the land of Christ,’ said Tancred, ‘and I kneel to a daughter of my Redeemer’s race. Why should I fly?’
‘Oh! this is madness!’
‘Say, rather, inspiration,’ said Tancred, ‘for I will not quit this fountain by which we first met until I am told, as you now will tell me,’ he added, in a tone of gushing tenderness, ‘that our united destinies shall advance the sovereign purpose of our lives. Talk not to me of others, of those who have claims on you or on myself. I have no kindred, no country, and, as for the ties that would bind you, shall such world-worn bonds restrain our consecrated aim? Say but you love me, and I will trample them to the dust.’
The head of Eva fell upon his shoulder. He impressed an embrace upon her cheek. It was cold, insensible. Her hand, which he still held, seemed to have lost all vitality. Overcome by contending emotions, the principle of life seemed to have deserted her. Tancred laid her reclining figure with gentleness on the mats of the kiosk; he sprinkled her pale face with some drops from the fountain; he chafed her delicate hand. Her eyes at length opened, and she sighed. He placed beneath her head some of the cushions that were at hand. Recovering, she slightly raised herself, leant upon the marble margin of the fountain, and looked about her with a wildered air.
At this moment a shout was heard, repeated and increased; soon the sound of many voices and the tramp of persons approaching. The vivid but brief twilight had died away. Almost suddenly it had become night. The voices became more audible, the steps were at hand. Tancred recognised his name, frequently repeated. Behold a crowd of many persons, several of them bearing torches. There was Colonel Brace in the van; on his right was the Rev. Mr. Bernard; on his left, was Dr. Roby. Freeman and Trueman and several guides and native servants were in the rear, most of them proclaiming the name of Lord Montacute.
‘I am here,’ said Tancred, advancing from the kiosk, pale and agitated. ‘Why am I wanted?’
Colonel Brace began to explain, but all seemed to speak at the same time.
The Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had arrived at Jerusalem.
ENLARGE