Eva’s Affianced Bridegroom
WE OUGHT to have met at Jerusalem,’ said Tancred to Besso, on whose right hand he was seated, ‘but I am happy to thank you for all your kindness, even at Damascus.’ ‘My daughter tells me you are not uninterested in our people, which is the reason I ventured to ask you here.’
‘I cannot comprehend how a Christian can be uninterested in a people who have handed down to him immortal truths.’
‘All the world is not as sensible of the obligation as yourself, noble traveller.’
‘But who are the world? Do you mean the inhabitants of Europe, which is a forest not yet cleared; or the inhabitants of Asia, which is a ruin about to tumble?’
‘The railroads will clear the forest,’ said Besso. ‘And what is to become of the ruin?’ asked Tancred.
‘God will not forget His land.’ ‘That is the truth; the government of this globe must be divine, and the impulse can only come from Asia.’
‘If your government only understood the Eastern question!’ said Mr. Consul-General Laurella, pricking up his ears at some half phrase that he had caught, and addressing Tancred across the table. ‘It is more simple than you imagine, and before you return to England to take your seat in your Parliament, I should be very happy to have some conversation with you.
I think I could tell you some things——’ and he gave a glance of diplomatic mystery. Tancred bowed.
‘For my part,’ said Hillel Besso, shrugging his shoulders, and speaking in an airy tone, ‘it seems to me that your Eastern question is a great imbroglio that only exists in the cabinets of diplomatists. Why should there be any Eastern question? All is very well as it is. At least we might be worse: I think we might be worse.’
‘I am so happy to find myself once more among you,’ whispered Fakredeen to his neighbour, Madame Mourad Farhi. ‘This is my real home.’
‘All here must be happy and honoured to see you, too, noble Emir.’
‘And the good Signor Mourad: I am afraid I am not a favourite of his?’ pursued Fakredeen, meditating a loan.
‘I never heard my husband speak of you, noble Emir, but with the greatest consideration.’
‘There is no man I respect so much,’ said Fakredeen; ‘no one in whom I have such a thorough confidence. Excepting our dear host, who is really my father, there is no one on whose judgment I would so implicitly rely. Tell him all that, my dear Madame Mourad, for I wish him to respect me.’
‘I admire his hair so much,’ whispered Thérèse Laurella, in an audible voice to her sister, across the broad form of the ever-smiling Madame Picholoroni. ‘Tis such a relief after our dreadful turbans.’
‘And his costume, so becoming! I wonder how any civilised being can wear the sort of things we see about us. ‘Tis really altogether like a wardrobe of the Comédie.’
‘Well, Sophonisbe,’ said the sensible Moses Laurella, ‘I admire the Franks very much; they have many qualities which I could wish our Levantines shared; but I confess that I do not think that their strong point is their costume.’
‘Oh, my dear uncle!’ said Thérèse; ‘look at that beautiful white cravat. What have we like it? So simple, so distinguished! Such good taste! And then the boots. Think of our dreadful slippers! powdered with pearls and all sorts of trash of that kind, by the side of that lovely French polish.’
‘He must be terriblyennuyéhere,’ said Thérèse to Sophonisbe, with a look of the initiated.
‘Indeed, I should think so: no balls, not an opera; I quite pity him. What could have induced him to come here?’
‘I should think he must be attached to some one,’ said Thérèse: ‘he looks unhappy.’
‘There is not a person near him with whom he can have an idea in common.’
‘Except Mr. Hillel Besso,’ said Thérèse. ‘He appears to be quite enlightened. I spoke to him a little before dinner. He has been a winter at Pera, and went to all the balls.’
‘Lord Palmerston understood the Eastern question to a certain degree,’ said Mr. Consul-General Laurella; ‘but, had I been in the service of the Queen of England, I could have told him some things;’ and he mysteriously paused.
‘I cannot endure this eternal chatter about Palmerston,’ said the Emir, rather pettishly. ‘Are there no other statesmen in the world besides Palmerston? And what should he know about the Eastern question, who never was in the East?’
‘Ah, noble Emir, these are questions of the high diplomacy. They cannot be treated unless by the cabinets which have traditions.’
‘I could settle the Eastern question in a month, if I were disposed,’ said Fakredeen.
Mr. Consul-General Laurella smiled superciliously, and then said, ‘But the question is, what is the Eastern question?’
‘For my part,’ said Hillel Besso, in a most epigrammatic manner, ‘I do not see the use of settling anything.’
‘The Eastern question is, who shall govern the Mediterranean?’ said the Emir. ‘There are only two powers who can do it: Egypt and Syria. As for the English, the Russians, the Franks, your friends the Austrians, they are strangers. They come, and they will go; but Syria and Egypt will always remain.’
‘Egypt has tried, and failed.’
‘Then let Syria try, and succeed.’
‘Do you visit Egypt before you return from the East, noble sir?’ asked Besso, of Tancred.
‘I have not thought of my return; but I should not be sorry to visit Egypt. It is a country that rather perplexes us in Europe. It has undergone great changes.’
Besso shook his head, and slightly smiled.
‘Egypt,’ said he, ‘never changes. ‘Tis the same land as in the days of the Pharaohs: governed on their principles of political economy, with a Hebrew for prime minister.’
‘A Hebrew for prime minister!’
‘Even so: Artim Bey, the present prime minister of Egypt, formerly the Pasha’s envoy at Paris, and by far the best political head in the Levant, is not only the successor but the descendant of Joseph.’
‘He must be added then to your friend M. de Sidonia’s list of living Hebrew statesmen,’ said Tancred.
‘We have our share of the government of the world,’ said Besso.
‘It seems to me that you govern every land except your own.’
‘That might have been done in ‘39,’ said Besso musingly; ‘but why speak of a subject which can little interest you?’
‘Can little interest me!’ exclaimed Tancred. ‘What other subject should interest me? More than six centuries ago, the government of that land interested my ancestor, and he came here to achieve it.’
The stars were shining before they quitted the Arabian tabernacle of Besso. The air was just as soft as a sweet summer English noon, and quite as still. The pavilions of the terrace and the surrounding bowers were illuminated by the varying tints of a thousand lamps. Bright carpets and rich cushions were thrown about for those who cared to recline; the brothers Farhi, for example, and indeed most of the men, smoking inestimable nargilehs. The Consul-General Laurella begged permission to present Lord Montacute to his daughters Thérèse and Sophonisbe, who, resolved to show to him that Damascus was not altogether so barbarous as he deemed it, began talking of new dances and the last opera. Tancred would have found great difficulty in sustaining his part in the conversation, had not the young ladies fortunately been requested to favour those present with a specimen of the art in which they excelled, which they did after much solicitation, vowing that they had no voice to-night, and that it was impossible at all times to sing except in a chamber.
‘For my part,’ said Hillel Besso, with an extremely piquant air, ‘music in a chamber is very charming, but I think also in the open air it is not so bad.’
Tancred took advantage of this movement to approach Eva, who was conversing, as they took their evening walk, with the soft-eyed sister of Hillel and Madame Nassim Farhi; a group of women that the drawing-rooms of Europe and the harems of Asia could perhaps not have rivalled.
‘The Mesdemoiselles Laurella are very accomplished,’ said Tancred, ‘but at Damascus I am not content to hear anything but sackbuts and psalteries.’
‘But in Europe your finest music is on the subjects of our history,’ said Eva.
‘Naturally,’ said Tancred, ‘music alone can do justice to such themes. They baffle the uninspired pen.’
‘There is a prayer which the Mesdemoiselles Laurella once sang, a prayer of Moses in Egypt,’ said Madame Nassim, somewhat timidly. ‘It is very fine.’
‘I wish they would favour us with it,’ said Eva; ‘I will ask Hillel to request that kindness;’ and she beckoned to Hillel, who sauntered toward her, and listened to her whispered wish with a smile of supercilious complacency.
‘At present they are going to favour us with Don Pasquale,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘A prayer is a very fine thing, but for my part, at this hour, I think a serenade is not so bad.’
‘And how do you like my father?’ said Eva to Tancred in a hesitating tone, and yet with a glance of blended curiosity and pride.
‘He is exactly what Sidonia prepared me for; worthy not only of being your father, but the father of mankind.’
‘The Moslemin say that we are near paradise at Damascus,’ said Madame Nassim, ‘and that Adam was fashioned out of our red earth.’
‘He much wished to see you,’ said Eva, ‘and your meeting is as unexpected as to him it is agreeable.’
‘We ought to have met long before,’ said Tancred. ‘When I first arrived at Jerusalem, I ought to have hastened to his threshold. The fault and the misfortune were mine. I scarcely deserved the happiness of knowing you.’
‘I am happy we have all met, and that you now understand us a little. When you go back to England, you will defend us when we are defamed? You will not let them persecute us, as they did a few years back, because they said we crucified their children at the feast of our passover?’
‘I shall not go back to England,’ said Tancred, colouring; ‘and if you are persecuted, I hope I shall be able to defend you here.’
The glowing sky, the soft mellow atmosphere, the brilliant surroundings, and the flowers and flashing gems, rich dresses and ravishing music, and every form of splendour and luxury, combined to create a scene that to Tancred was startling, as well from its beauty as its novel character. A rich note of Thérèse Laurella for an instant arrested their conversation. They were silent while it lingered on their ear. Then Tancred said to the soft-eyed sister of Hillel, ‘All that we require here to complete the spell are your beautiful children.’
‘They sleep,’ said the lady, ‘and lose little by not being present, for, like the Queen of Sheba, I doubt not they are dreaming of music and flowers.’
‘They say that the children of our race are the most beautiful in the world,’ said Eva, ‘but that when they grow up, they do not fulfil the promise of their infancy.’
‘That were scarcely possible,’ said the soft-eyed mother.
‘It is the sense of shame that comes on them and dims their lustre,’ said Eva. ‘Instead of joyous-ness and frank hilarity, anxiety and a shrinking reserve are soon impressed upon the youthful Hebrew visage. It is the seal of ignominy. The dreadful secret that they are an expatriated and persecuted race is soon revealed to them, at least among the humbler classes. The children of our house are bred in noble thoughts, and taught self-respect. Their countenances will not change.’
And the countenance from whose beautiful mouth issued those gallant words, what of that? It was one that might wilder the wisest. Tancred gazed upon it with serious yet fond abstraction. All heavenly and heroic thoughts gathered around the image of this woman. From the first moment of their meeting at Bethany to this hour of sacred festival, all the passages of his life in which she had been present flashed through his mind. For a moment he was in the ruins of the Arabian desert, and recalled her glance of sweet solicitude, when, recovered by her skill and her devotion, he recognised the fair stranger whose words had, ere that, touched the recesses of his spirit, and attuned his mind to high and holiest mysteries. Now again their eyes met; an ineffable expression suffused the countenance of Lord Monta-cute. He sighed.
At this moment Hillel and Fakredeen advanced with a hurried air of gaiety. Hillel offered his hand to Eva with jaunty grace, exclaiming at the same time, ‘Ladies, if you like to follow us, you shall see a casket just arrived from Marseilles, and which Eva will favour me by carrying to Aleppo. It was chosen for me by the Lady of the Austrian Internuncio, who is now at Paris. For my part, I do not see much advantage in the diplomatic corps, if occasionally they do not execute a commission for one.’
Hillel hurried Eva away, accompanied by his sister and Madame Nassim. Tancred and Fakredeen remained behind.
‘Who is this man?’ said Tancred.
‘’Tis her affianced,’ said the Emir; ‘the man who has robbed me of my natural bride. It is to be hoped, however, that, when she is married, Besso will adopt me as his son, which in a certain sense I am, having been fostered by his wife. If he do not leave me his fortune, he ought at least to take up all my bills in Syria. Don’t you think so, my Tancred?’
‘What?’ said Tancred, with a dreamy look.
There was a burst of laughter in the distance.
‘Come, come,’ said Fakredeen, ‘see how they are all gathering round the marriage casket. Even Nassim Farhi has risen. I must go and talk to him: he has impulses, that man, at least compared with his brother; Mourad is a stone, a precious stone though, and you cannot magnetise him through his wife, for she has not an idea; but Madame Nassim is immensely mesmeric. Come, come, Tancred.’
‘I follow.’
But instead of following his friend, Tancred entered one of the marble pavilions that jutted out from each corner of the terraced roof, and commanded splendid views of the glittering and gardened city. The moon had risen over that unrivalled landscape; the white minarets sparkled in its beam, and the vast hoods of the cupolaed mosques were suffused with its radiancy or reposed in dark shadow, almost as black as the cypress groves out of which they rose. In the extreme distance, beyond the fertile plain, was the desert, bright as the line of the sea, while otherwise around him extended the chains of Lebanon and of the North.
The countenance of Tancred was more than serious, it was sad, as, leaning against one of the wreathed marble pillars, he sighed and murmured: ‘If I were thou, most beautiful Damascus, Aleppo should not rob me of such a gem! But I must tear up these thoughts from my heart by their roots, and remember that I am ordained for other deeds.’
A Discussion About Scammony
AFTER taking the bath on his arrival at Damascus, having his beard arranged by a barber of distinction, and dressing himself in a fresh white suit, as was his custom when in residence, with his turban of the same colour arranged a little aside, for Baroni was scrupulous as to his appearance, he hired a donkey and made his way to the great bazaar. The part of the city through which he proceeded was very crowded and bustling: narrow streets, with mats slung across, to shield from the sun the swarming population beneath. His accustomed step was familiar with every winding of the emporium of the city; he threaded without hesitation the complicated mazes of those interminable arcades. Now he was in the street of the armourers, now among the sellers of shawls; the prints of Manchester were here unfolded, there the silks of India; sometimes he sauntered by a range of shops gay with yellow papooshes and scarlet slippers, and then hurried by the stalls and shelves stored with the fatal frippery of the East, in which it is said the plague in some shape or other always lurks and lingers. This locality, however, indicated that Baroni was already approaching the purlieus of the chief places; the great population had already much diminished, the brilliancy of the scene much dimmed; there was no longer the swarm of itinerant traders who live by promptly satisfying the wants of the visitors to the bazaar in the shape of a pipe or an ice, a cup of sherbet or of coffee, or a basket of delicious fruit. The passengers were few, and all seemed busy: some Armenians, a Hebrew physician and his page, the gliding phantoms of some winding-sheets, which were in fact women.
Baroni turned into an arcade, well built, spacious, airy, and very neatly fitted up. This was the bazaar of the dealers in drugs. Here, too, spices are sold, all sorts of dye-woods, and especially the choice gums for which Arabia is still celebrated, and which Syria would fain rival by the aromatic juices of her pistachio and her apricot trees.
Seated on what may be called his counter, smoking a nargileh, in a mulberry-coloured robe bordered with fur, and a dark turban, was a middle-aged man of sinister countenance and air, a long hook nose and a light blue eye.
‘Welcome, Effendi,’ he said, when he observed Baroni; ‘many welcomes! And how long have you been at Esh Sham?’
‘Not too long,’ said Baroni; ‘and have you been here since my last visit?’
‘Here and there,’ said the man, offering him his pipe.
‘And how are our friends in the mountains?’ said Baroni, touching the tube with his lips and returning it.
‘They live,’ said the man.
‘That’s something,’ said Baroni.
‘Have you been in the land of the Franks?’ said the man.
‘I am always in the land of the Franks,’ said Baroni, ‘and about.’
‘You don’t know any one who wants a parcel of scammony?’ said the man.
‘I don’t know that I don’t,’ said Baroni, mysteriously.
‘I have a very fine parcel,’ said the man; ‘it is very scarce.’
‘No starch or myrrh in it?’ asked Baroni.
‘Do you think I am a Jew?’ said the man.
‘I never could make out what you were, friend Darkush; but as for scammony, I could throw a good deal of business in your way at this moment, to say nothing of galls and tragacanth.’
‘As for tragacanth,’ said Darkush, ‘it is known that no one in Esh Sham has pure tragacanth except me; as for galls, every foundling in Syria thinks he can deal in afis, but is it afis of Moussoul, Effendi?’
‘What you say are the words of truth, good Darkush; I could recommend you with a safe conscience. I dreamt last night that there would many piastres pass between us this visit.’
‘What is the use of friends unless they help you in the hour of adversity?’ exclaimed Darkush.
‘You speak ever the words of truth. I am myself in a valley of dark shadows. I am travelling with a young English capitani, a prince of many tails, and he has declared that he will entirely extinguish my existence unless he pays a visit to the Queen of the Ansarey.’
‘Let him first pay a visit to King Soliman in the cities of the Gin,’ said Darkush, doggedly.
‘I am not sure that he will not, some time or other,’ replied Baroni, ‘for he is a man who will not take nay. But now let us talk of scammony,’ he added, vaulting on the counter, and seating himself by the side of Darkush; ‘one might get more by arranging this visit to your mountains than by enjoying an appalto of all its gums, friend Darkush; but if it cannot be, it cannot be.’
‘It cannot be.’
‘Let us talk, then, of scammony. You remember my old master, Darkush?’
‘There are many things that are forgotten, but he is not one.’
‘This capitani with whom I travel, this prince of many tails, is his friend. If you serve me now, you serve also him who served you.’
‘There are things that can be done, and there are things that cannot be done.’
‘Let us talk, then, of scammony. But fifteen years ago, when we first met, friend Darkush, you did not say nay to M. de Sidonia. It was the plague alone that stopped us.’
‘The snow on the mountain is not the same snow as fifteen years ago, Effendi. All things change!’
‘Let us talk, then, of scammony. The Ansarey have friends in other lands, but if they will not listen to them, many kind words will be lost. Things also might happen which would make everybody’s shadow longer, but if there be no sun, their shadows cannot be seen.’
Darkush shrugged his shoulders.
‘If the sun of friendship does not illumine me,’ resumed Baroni, ‘I am entirely lost in the bottomless vale. Truly, I would give a thousand piastres if I could save my head by taking the capitani to your mountains.’
‘The princes of Franguestan cannot take off heads,’ observed Darkush. ‘All they can do is to banish you to islands inhabited by demons.’
‘But the capitani of whom I speak is prince of many tails, is the brother of queens. Even the great Queen of the English, they say, is his sister.’
‘He who serves queens may expect backsheesh.’
‘And you serve a queen, Darkush?’
‘Which is the reason I cannot give you a pass for the mountains, as I would have done, fifteen years ago, in the time of her father.’
‘Are her commands, then, so strict?’
‘That she should see neither Moslem nor Christian. She is at war with both, and will be for ever, for the quarrel between them is beyond the power of man to remove.’
‘And what may it be?’
‘That you can learn only in the mountains of the Ansarey,’ said Darkush, with a malignant smile.
Baroni fell into a musing mood. After a few moments’ thought, he looked up, and said: ‘What you have told me, friend Darkush, is very interesting, and throws light on many things. This young prince, whom I serve, is a friend to your race, and knows well why you are at war both with Moslem and Christian, for he is so himself. But he is a man sparing of words, dark in thought, and terrible to deal with. Why he wishes to visit your people I dared not inquire, but now I guess, from what you have let fall, that he is an Ansarey himself. He has come from a far land merely to visit his race, a man who is a prince among the people, to whom piastres are as water. I doubt not he has much to say to your Queen: things might have happened that would have lengthened all our shadows; but never mind, what cannot be, cannot be: let us talk, then, of scammony.’
‘You think he is one?’ said Darkush, in a lower tone, and looking very inquiringly.
‘I do,’ said Baroni.
‘And what do you mean by one?’ said Darkush.
‘That is exactly the secret which I never could penetrate.’
‘I cannot give a pass to the mountains,’ said Darkush, ‘but the sympathy of friends is a river flowing in a fair garden. If this prince, whose words and thoughts are dark, should indeed be one—— Could I see him, Effendi?’
‘It is a subject on which I dare not speak to him,’ said Baroni. ‘I hinted at his coming here: his brow was the brow of Eblis, his eye flashed like the red lightning of the Kamsin: it is impossible! What cannot be done, cannot be done. He must return to the land of his fathers, unseen by your Queen, of whom he is perhaps a brother; he will live, hating alike Moslem and Christian, but he will banish me for ever to islands of many demons.’
‘The Queen shall know of these strange things,’ said Darkush, ‘and we will wait for her words.’
‘Wait for the Mecca caravan!’ exclaimed Baroni. ‘You know not the child of storms, who is my master, and that is ever a reason why I think he must be one of you. For had he been softened by Christianity or civilised by the Koran——’
‘Unripe figs for your Christianity and your Koran!’ exclaimed Darkush. ‘Do you know what we think of your Christianity and your Koran?’
‘No,’ said Baroni, quietly. ‘Tell me.’
‘You will learn in our mountains,’ said Darkush.
‘Then you mean to let me go there?’
‘If the Queen permit you,’ said Darkush.
‘It is three hundred miles to your country, if it be an hour’s journey,’ said Baroni. ‘What with sending the message and receiving the answer, to say nothing of the delays which must occur with a woman and a queen in the case, the fountains of Esh Sham will have run dry before we hear that our advance is forbidden.’
Darkush shook his head, and yet smiled.
‘By the sunset of to-morrow, Effendi, I could say, ay or nay. Tell me what scammony you want, and it shall be done.’
‘Write down in your tablets how much you can let me have,’ said Baroni, ‘and I will pay you for it to-morrow. As for the goods themselves, you may keep them for me, until I ask you for them; perhaps the next time I travel with a capitani who is one of yourselves.’
Darkush threw aside the tube of his nargileh, and, putting his hand very gently into the breast of his robe, he drew out a pigeon, dove-coloured, but with large bright black eyes. The pigeon seemed very knowing and very proud, as he rested on his master’s two fingers.
‘Hah, hah! my Karaguus, my black-eyes,’ exclaimed Darkush. ‘What, is he going on a little journey to somebody! Yes, we can trust Karaguus, for he is one of us. Effendi, to-morrow at sunset, at your khan, for the bazaar will be closed, you shall hear from me.’
The Mysterious Mountains
AT THE black gorge of a mountain pass sat, like sentries, two horsemen. Their dress was that of the Kurds: white turbans, a black shirt girt with cords, on their backs a long lance, by their sides a crooked sword, and in their girdles a brace of pistols.
Before them extended a wide, but mountainous landscape: after the small and very rugged plain on the brink of which they were posted, many hilly ridges, finally a lofty range. The general character of the scene was severe and savage; the contiguous rocks were black and riven, the hills barren and stony, the granite peaks of the more eminent heights uncovered, except occasionally by the snow. Yet, notwithstanding the general aridity of its appearance, the country itself was not unfruitful. The concealed vegetation of the valleys was not inconsiderable, and was highly cherished; the less precipitous cliffs, too, were cut into terraces, and covered with artificial soil. The numerous villages intimated that the country was well populated. The inhabitants produced sufficient wine and corn for their own use, were clothed in garments woven by themselves, and possessed some command over the products of other countries by the gums, the bees’-wax, and the goats’ wool which they could offer in exchange.
‘I have seen two eagles over Gibel Kiflis twice this morning,’ said one of the horsemen to his companion. ‘What does that portend?’
‘A good backsheesh for our Queen, comrade. If these children of Franguestan can pay a princess’s dower to visit some columns in the desert, like Tadmor, they may well give us the golden keys of their treasury when they enter where none should go but those who are——’
‘But they say that this Frank is one.’
‘It has never been known that there were any among the Franks,’ replied his comrade, shaking his head. ‘The Franks are all Nazareny, and, before they were Nazareny, they were savages, and lived in caves.’
‘But Keferinis has given the word that all are to guard over the strangers as over the Queen herself, and that one is a prince, who is unquestionably one of us.’
‘My father had counted a hundred and ten years when he left us, Azaz, and he had twenty-four children, and when he was at the point of death he told us two things: one was, never to forget what we were; and the other, that never in his time had one like us ever visited our country.’
‘Eagles again fly over Gibel Kiflis: methinks the strangers must be at hand.’
‘May their visit lead to no evil to them or to us!’
‘Have you misgivings?’
‘We are alone among men: let us remain so.’
‘You are right. I was once at Haleb (Aleppo); I will never willingly find myself there again.’
‘Give me the mountains, the mountains of our fathers, and the beautiful things that can be seen only by one of us!’
‘They are not to be found in the bazaars of Haleb; in the gardens of Damascus they are not to be sought.’
‘Oh! who is like the Queen who reigns over us? I know to whom she is to be compared, but I will not say; yet you too know, my brother in arms.’
‘Yes; there are things which are not known in the bazaars of Haleb; in the gardens of Damascus they are not to be sought.’
Karaguus, the black-eyed pigeon, brought tidings to the Queen of the Ansarey, from her agent Darkush, that two young princes, one a Syrian, the other a Frank, wished to enter her territories to confer with her on grave matters, and that he had reason to believe that one of the princes, the Frank, strange, incredible as it might sound, was one of themselves. On the evening of the next day, very weary, came Ruby-lips, the brother of Black-eyes, with the reply of her Majesty, ordering Darkush to grant the solicited pass, but limiting the permission of entrance into her dominions to the two princes and two attendants. As one of these, Baroni figured. They did not travel very rapidly. Tancred was glad to seize the occasion to visit Hameh and Aleppo on his journey.
It was after quitting the latter city, and crossing the river Koweik, that they approached the region which was the object of their expedition. What certainly did not contribute to render their progress less difficult and dangerous was the circumstance that war at this moment was waged between the Queen of the Ansarey and the Pasha of Aleppo. The Turkish potentate had levied tribute on some villages which owned her sway, and which, as he maintained, were not included in the ancient composition paid by the Ansarey to the Porte in full of all demands. The consequence was, that parties of the Ansarey occasionally issued from their passes and scoured the plain of Aleppo. There was also an understanding between the Ansarey and the Kurds, that, whenever any quarrel occurred between the mountaineers and the Turks, the Kurds, who resembled the inhabitants of the mountain in their general appearance, should, under the title of Ansarey, take this opportunity of ravage. Darkush, however, had given Baroni credentials to the secret agent of the Ansarey at Aleppo; and, with his instructions and assistance, the difficulties, which otherwise might have been insuperable, were overcome; and thus it was that the sentries stationed at the mouth of the black ravine, which led to the fortress palace of the Queen, were now hourly expecting the appearance of the princes.
A horseman at full gallop issued from the hills, and came bounding over the stony plain; he shouted to the sentries as he passed them, announcing the arrival of the strangers, and continued his pace through the defile. Soon afterwards appeared the cavalcade of the princes; themselves, their two attendants, and a party of horsemen with white turbans and long lances.
Tancred and Fakredeen rode horses of a high race. But great as is the pleasure of being well mounted, it was not that circumstance alone which lit up their eyes with even unwonted fire, and tinged their cheeks with a triumphant glow. Their expedition had been delightful; full of adventure, novelty, and suspense. They had encountered difficulties and they had overcome them. They had a great purpose, they were on the eve of a stirring incident. They were young, daring, and brilliant.
‘A strong position,’ said Tancred, as they entered the defile.
‘O! my Tancred, what things we have seen together!’ exclaimed Fakredeen. ‘And what is to follow?’
The defile was not long, and it was almost unbending. It terminated in a table-land of very limited extent, bounded by a rocky chain, on one of the front and more moderate elevations of which was the appearance of an extensive fortification; though, as the travellers approached it, they perceived that, in many instances, art had only availed itself of the natural advantages of the position, and that the towers and turrets were carved out of the living rock which formed the impregnable bulwarks and escarpments.
The cavalcade, at a quick pace, soon gained the ascending and winding road that conducted them to a tall and massy gateway, the top of which was formed of one prodigious stone. The iron portal opening displayed a covered way cut out of the rock, and broad enough to permit the entrance of two horsemen abreast. This way was of considerable length, and so dark that they were obliged to be preceded by torch-bearers. Thence they issued into a large courtyard, the sunshine of which was startling and almost painful, after their late passage. The court was surrounded by buildings of different styles and proportions; the further end, and, as it were, centre of the whole, being a broad, square, and stunted brick tower, immediately behind which rose the granite peaks of the mountains.
There were some horsemen in the court, and many attendants on foot, who came forward and assisted the guests to alight. Tancred and Fakredeen did not speak, but exchanged glances which expressed their secret thoughts. Perhaps they were of the same opinion as Baroni, that, difficult as it was to arrive there, it might not be more easy to return. However, God is great! a consolatory truth that had sustained Baroni under many trials.
They were ushered into a pavilion at the side of the court, and thence into a commodious divan, which opened upon another and smaller court, in which were some acacia trees. As usual, pipes and coffee were brought. Baroni was outside, with the other attendant, stowing away the luggage. A man plainly but neatly dressed, slender and wrinkled, with a stooping gait but a glittering eye, came into the chamber, and, in a hushed voice, with many smiles, much humility, but the lurking air of a master, welcomed them to Gindarics. Then, seating himself on the divan, he clapped his hands, and an attendant brought him his nargileh.
‘I presume,’ said Tancred, ‘that the Emir and myself have the honour of conversing with the Lord Keferinis.’ Thus he addressed this celebrated eunuch, who is prime minister of the Queen of the Ansarey.
‘The Prince of England,’ replied Keferinis, bowing, and speaking in a very affected voice, and in a very affected manner, ‘must not expect the luxuries of the world amid these mountains. Born in London, which is surrounded by the sea, and with an immense slave population at your command, you have advantages with which the Ansarey cannot compete, unjustly deprived, as they have been, of their port; and unable, in the present diminished supply of the markets, to purchase slaves as heretofore from the Turkmans and the Kurds.’
‘I suppose the Russians interfere with your markets?’ said Fakredeen.
‘The noble Emir of the Lebanon has expressed himself with infinite exactitude,’ said Keferinis. ‘The Russians now entirely stock their harems from the north of Asia.’
‘The Lord Keferinis has been a great traveller, I apprehend?’ said Tancred.
‘The Prince of England has expressed himself with extreme exactitude, and with flattering grace,’ replied Keferinis. ‘I have indeed visited all the Syrian cities, except Jerusalem, which no one wishes to see, and which,’ he added, in a sweet calm tone, ‘is unquestionably a place fit only for hogs.’
Tancred started, but repressed himself.
‘Have you been in Lebanon?’ asked Fakredeen.
‘Noble Emir, I have been the guest of princes of your illustrious house. Conversations have passed between me and the Emir Bescheer,’ he added, with a significant look. ‘Perhaps, had events happened which did not occur, the great Emir Bescheer might not at this moment have been a prisoner at Stamboul, among those who, with infinite exactitude, may be described as the most obscene sons of very intolerable barbarians.’
‘And why did not you and the Emir Bescheer agree?’ inquired Fakredeen, eagerly. ‘Why has there never been a right understanding between your people and the House of Shehaab? United, we should not only command Syria, but we might do more: we might control Asia itself!’
‘The noble Emir has expressed himself with inexpressible grace. The power of the Ansarey cannot be too highly estimated!’
‘Is it true that your sovereign can bring five and twenty thousand men into the field?’ asked Tancred.
‘Five and twenty thousand men,’ replied Keferinis, with insinuating courtesy, ‘each of whom could beat nine Maronites, and consequently three Druses.’
‘Five and twenty thousand figs for your five and twenty thousand men!’ exclaimed Fakredeen laughing.
At this moment entered four pages and four maidens bringing sweetmeats from the Queen, and goblets of iced water. They bowed; Keferinis indicated their purpose, and when they had fulfilled their office they disappeared; but the seasonable interruption had turned the conversation, and prevented Fakredeen making a sharp retort. Now they talked of the Queen, who, Keferinis said, would be graciously pleased not to see them to-day, and might not even see them for a week, which agreeable intelligence was communicated in the most affable manner, as if it were good news, or a compliment at least.
‘The name of the Queen’s father was Suedia,’ said Fakredeen.
‘The name of the Queen’s father was Suedia,’ replied Keferinis.
‘And the name of the Queen’s mother——’
‘Is of no consequence,’ observed Keferinis, ‘for she was a slave, and not one of us, and therefore may with singular exactitude be described as nothing.’
‘Is she the first Queen who has reigned over the Ansarey?’ inquired Tancred.
‘The first since we have settled in these mountains,’ replied Keferinis.
‘And where were you settled before?’ inquired Fakredeen.
‘Truly,’ replied Keferinis, ‘in cities which never can be forgotten, and therefore need never be mentioned.’
Tancred and Fakredeen were very desirous of learning the name of the Queen, but were too well-bred directly to make the inquiry of Keferinis. They had endeavoured to obtain the information as they travelled along, but although every Ansarey most obligingly answered their inquiry, they invariably found, on comparing notes, that every time they were favoured with a different piece of information. At last, Baroni informed them that it was useless to pursue their researches, as he was, from various reasons, convinced that no Ansarey was permitted to give any information of his country, race, government, or creed, although he was far too civil ever to refuse an apparently satisfactory answer to every question. As for Keferinis, although he was very conversable, the companions observed that he always made it a rule to dilate upon subjects and countries with which he had no acquaintance, and he expressed himself in so affected a manner, and with such an amplification of useless phraseology, that, though he was always talking, they seemed at the end of the day to be little more acquainted with the Ansarey and their sovereign than when Baroni first opened the subject of their visit to Darkush at Damascus.