_Parleyings_
IN AN almost circular valley, surrounded by mountains, Amalek, great
Sheikh of the Rechabite Bedouins, after having crossed the peninsula of
Petrasa from the great Syrian desert, pitched his camp amid the
magnificent ruins of an ancient Idumæan city. The pavilion of the chief,
facing the sunset, was raised in the arena of an amphitheatre cut out of
the solid rock and almost the whole of the seats of which were entire.
The sides of the mountains were covered with excavated tombs and
temples, and, perhaps, dwelling-places; at any rate, many of them were
now occupied by human beings. Fragments of columns were lying about, and
masses of unknown walls. From a defile in the mountains issued a stream,
which wound about in the plain, its waters almost hid, but its course
beautifully indicated by the undulating shrubbery of oleanders,
fig-trees, and willows. On one side of these, between the water and the
amphitheatre, was a crescent of black tents, groups of horses, and
crouching camels. Over the whole scene the sunset threw a violet hue,
while the moon, broad and white, floated over the opposite hills.
The carpet of the great Sheikh was placed before his pavilion, and,
seated on it alone, and smoking a chibouque of date wood, the patriarch
ruminated. He had no appearance of age, except from a snowy beard, which
was very long: a wiry man, with an unwrinkled face; dark, regular, and
noble features, beautiful teeth. Over his head, a crimson kefia, ribbed
and fringed with gold; his robe was of the same colour, and his boots
were of red leather; the chief of one of the great tribes, and said,
when they were united, to be able to bring ten thousand horsemen into
the field.
One at full gallop, with a long spear, at this moment darted from the
ravine, and, without stopping to answer several who addressed him,
hurried across the plain, and did not halt until he reached the Sheikh.
‘Salaam, Sheikh of Sheikhs, it is done; the brother of the Queen of the
English is your slave.’
‘Good!’ said Sheikh Amalek, very gravely, and taking his pipe from his
mouth. ‘May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! When will they be
here?’
‘They will be the first shadows of the moon.’ ‘Good! is the brother of
the Queen with Sheikh Salem?’
‘There is only one God: Sheikh Salem will never drink leban again,
unless he drink it in Paradise.’
‘Certainly, there is only one God. What! has he fallen asleep into the
well of Nummula?’
‘No; but we have seen many evil eyes. Four hares crossed our path this
morning. Our salaam to the English prince was not a salaam of peace. The
brother of the Queen of the English is no less than an Antar. He will
fight, yea or nay; and he has shot Sheikh Salem through the head.’
‘There is but one God, and His will be done. I have lost the apple of
mine eye. The Prince of the English is alive?’
‘He is alive.’
‘Good! camels shall be given to the widow of Sheikh Salem, and she shall
be married to a new husband. Are there other deeds of Gin?’
‘One grape will not make a bunch, even though it be a great one.’
‘Let truth always be spoken. Let your words flow as the rock of Moses.’
‘There is only one God: if you call to Ibrahim-ben-Hassan, to Molgrabi
Teuba, and Teuba-ben-Amin, they will not be roused from their sleep:
there are also wounds.’
‘Tell all the people there is only one God: it is the Sheikh of the
Jeilaheens that has done these deeds of Gin?’
‘Let truth always be spoken; my words shall flow as the rock of Moses.
The Sheikh of the Jeilaheens counselled the young man not to fight, but
the young man is a very Zatanai. Certainly there are many devils, but
there is no devil like a Frank in a round hat.’
The evening advanced; the white moon, that had only gleamed, now
glittered; the necks of the camels looked tall and silvery in its beam.
The night-fires began to blaze, the lamps to twinkle in the crescent of
dark tents. There was a shout, a general stir, the heads of spears were
seen glistening in the ravine. They came; a winding line of warriors.
Some, as they emerged into the plain, galloped forward and threw their
spears into the air; but the main body preserved an appearance of
discipline, and proceeded at a slow pace to the pavilion of the Sheikh.
A body of horsemen came first; then warriors on dromedaries; Sheikh
Hassan next, grave and erect as if nothing had happened, though he was
wounded, and followed by his men, disarmed, though their chief retained
his spear. Baroni followed. He was unhurt, and rode between two
Bedouins, with whom he continually conversed. After them, the bodies of
Sheikh Salem and his comrades, covered with cloaks and stowed on camels.
And then came the great prize, Tancred, mounted on a dromedary, his
right arm bound up in a sling which Baroni had hastily made, and
surrounded and followed by a large troop of horsemen, who treated him
with the highest consideration, not only because he was a great prince,
whose ransom could bring many camels to their tribe, but because he had
shown those feats of valour which the wild desert honours.
Notwithstanding his wound, which, though slight, began to be painful,
and the extreme vexation of the whole affair, Tancred could not be
insensible to the strange beauty of the scene which welcomed him. He
had read of these deserted cities, carved out of the rocks of the
wilderness, and once the capitals of flourishing and abounding kingdoms.
They stopped before the pavilion of the great Sheikh; the arena of the
amphitheatre became filled with camels, horses, groups of warriors; many
mounted on the seats, that they might overlook the scene, their arms and
shawled heads glistening in the silver blaze of the moon or the ruddy
flames of the watch-fires. They assisted Tancred to descend, they
ushered him with courtesy to their chief, who made room for Tancred on
his own carpet, and motioned that he should be seated by his side. A
small carpet was placed for Sheikh Hassan, and another for Baroni.
‘Salaam, brother of many queens, all that you see is yours; Salaam
Sheikh Hassan, we are brothers. Salaam,’ added Amalek, looking at
Baroni, ‘they tell me that you can speak our language, which is
beautiful as the moon and many palm trees; tell the prince, brother of
many queens, that he mistook the message that I sent him this morning,
which was an invitation to a feast, not to a war. Tell him we are
brothers.’
‘Tell the Sheikh,’ said Tancred, ‘that I have no appetite for feasting,
and desire to be informed why he has made me a prisoner.’
‘Tell the prince, brother of many queens, that he is not a prisoner, but
a guest.’
‘Ask the Sheikh, then, whether we can depart at once.’
‘Tell the prince, brother of many queens, that it would be rude in me to
let him depart to-night.’
‘Ask the Sheikh whether I may depart in the morning.’
‘Tell the prince that, when the morning comes, he will find I am his
brother.’ So saying, the great Sheikh took his pipe from his mouth and
gave it to Tancred: the greatest of distinctions. In a few moments,
pipes were also brought to Sheikh Hassan and Baroni.
‘No harm can come to you, my lord, after smoking that pipe,’ said
Baroni. ‘We must make the best of affairs. I have been in worse straits
with M. de Sidonia. What think you of Malay pirates? These are all
gentlemen.’
While Baroni was speaking, a young man slowly and with dignity passed
through the bystanders, advanced, and, looking very earnestly at
Tancred, seated himself on the same carpet as the grand Sheikh. This
action alone would have betokened the quality of the newcomer, had not
his kefia, similar to that of Sheikh Amalek, and his whole bearing,
clearly denoted his princely character. He was very young; and
Tancred, while he was struck by his earnest gaze, was attracted by
his physiognomy, which, indeed, from its refined beauty and cast of
impassioned intelligence, was highly interesting.
Preparations all this time had been making for the feast. Half a dozen
sheep had been given to the returning band; everywhere resounded the
grinding of coffee; men passed, carrying pitchers of leban and panniers
of bread cakes hot from their simple oven. The great Sheikh, who had
asked many questions after the oriental fashion: which was the most
powerful nation, England or France; what was the name of a third
European nation of which he had heard, white men with flat noses in
green coats; whether the nation of white men with flat noses in green
coats could have taken Acre as the English had, the taking of Acre being
the test of military prowess; how many horses the Queen of the English
had, and how many slaves; whether English pistols are good; whether the
English drink wine; whether the English are Christian giaours or Pagan
giaours? and so on, now invited Tancred, Sheikh Hassan, and two or three
others, to enter his pavilion and partake of the banquet.
‘The Sheikh must excuse me,’ said Tancred to Baroni; ‘I am wearied and
wounded. Ask if I can retire and have a tent.’
‘Are you wounded?’ said the young Sheikh, who was sitting on the carpet
of Amalek, and speaking, not only in a tone of touching sympathy, but in
the language of Franguestan.
‘Not severely,’ said Tancred, less abruptly than he had yet spoken, for
the manner and the appearance of the youth touched him, ‘but this is
my first fight, and perhaps I make too much of it. However, my arm is
painful and stiff, and indeed, you may conceive after all this, I could
wish for a little repose.’
‘The great Sheikh has allotted you a compartment of his pavilion,’
said the youth; ‘but it will prove a noisy resting-place, I fear, for a
wounded man. I have a tent here, an humbler one, but which is at least
tranquil. Let me be your host!’
‘You are most gracious, and I should be much inclined to be your guest,
but I am a prisoner,’ he said, haughtily, ‘and cannot presume to follow
my own will.’
‘I will arrange all,’ said the youth, and he conversed with Sheikh
Amalek for some moments. Then they all rose, the young man advancing to
Tancred, and saying in a sweet coaxing voice, ‘You are under my care.
I will not be a cruel gaoler; I could not be to you.’ So saying, making
their reverence to the great Sheikh, the two young men retired together
from the arena. Baroni would have followed them, when the youth stopped
him, saying, with decision, ‘The great Sheikh expects your presence; you
must on no account be absent. I will tend your chief: you will permit
me?’ he inquired in a tone of sympathy, and then, offering to support
the arm of Tancred, he murmured, ‘It kills me to think that you are
wounded.’
Tancred was attracted to the young stranger: his prepossessing
appearance, his soft manners, the contrast which they afforded to all
around, and to the scenes and circumstances which Tancred had recently
experienced, were winning. Tancred, therefore, gladly accompanied him
to his pavilion, which was pitched outside the amphitheatre, and stood
apart. Notwithstanding the modest description of his tent by the young
Sheikh, it was by no means inconsiderable in size, for it possessed
several compartments, and was of a different colour and fashion from
those of the rest of the tribe. Several steeds were picketed in Arab
fashion near its entrance, and a group of attendants, smoking and
conversing with great animation, were sitting in a circle close at hand.
They pressed their hands to their hearts as Tancred and his host passed
them, but did not rise. Within the pavilion, Tancred found a luxurious
medley of cushions and soft carpets, forming a delightful divan; pipes
and arms, and, to his great surprise, several numbers of a French
newspaper published at Smyrna.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Tancred, throwing himself on the divan, ‘after all
I have gone through to-day, this is indeed a great and an unexpected
relief.’
‘’Tis your own divan,’ said the young Arab, clapping his hands; ‘and
when I have given some orders for your comfort, I shall only be your
guest, though not a distant one.’ He spoke some words in Arabic to an
attendant who entered, and who returned very shortly with a silver lamp
fed with palm oil, which he placed on the ground.
‘I have two poor Englishmen here,’ said Tancred, ‘my servants; they must
be in sad straits; unable to speak a word----’
‘I will give orders that they shall attend you. In the meantime you must
refresh yourself, however lightly, before you repose.’ At this moment
there entered the tent several attendants with a variety of dishes,
which Tancred would have declined, but the young Sheikh, selecting one
of them, said, ‘This, at least, I must urge you to taste, for it is
a favourite refreshment with us after great fatigue, and has some
properties of great virtue.’ So saying, he handed to Tancred a dish of
bread, dates, and prepared cream, which Tancred, notwithstanding his
previous want of relish, cheerfully admitted to be excellent. After
this, as Tancred would partake of no other dish, pipes were brought to
the two young men, who, reclining on the divan, smoked and conversed.
‘Of all the strange things that have happened to me to-day,’ said
Tancred, ‘not the least surprising, and certainly the most agreeable,
has been making your acquaintance. Your courtesy has much compensated me
for the rude treatment of your tribe; but, I confess, such refinement is
what, under any circumstances, I should not have expected to find among
the tents of the desert, any more than this French journal.’
‘I am not an Arab,’ said the young man, speaking slowly and with an air
of some embarrassment.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Tancred.
‘I am a Christian prince.’
‘Yes!’
‘A prince of the Lebanon, devoted to the English, and one who has
suffered much in their cause.’
‘You are not a prisoner here, like myself?’
‘No, I am here, seeking some assistance for those sufferers who should
be my subjects, were I not deprived of my sceptre, and they of a prince
whose family has reigned over and protected them for more than seven
centuries. The powerful tribe of which Sheikh Amalek is the head often
pitch their tents in the great Syrian desert, in the neighbourhood
of Damascus, and there are affairs in which they can aid my unhappy
people.’
‘It is a great position, yours,’ said Tancred, in an animated tone, ‘at
the same time a Syrian and a Christian prince!’
‘Yes,’ said the young Emir, eagerly, ‘if the English would only
understand their own interests, with my co-operation Syria might be
theirs.’
‘The English!’ said Tancred, ‘why should the English take Syria?’
‘France will take it if they do not.’
‘I hope not,’ said Tancred.
‘But something must be done,’ said the Emir. ‘The Porte never could
govern it. Do you think anybody in Lebanon really cares for the Pasha
of Damascus? If the Egyptians had not disarmed the mountain, the Turks
would be driven out of Syria in a week.’
‘A Syrian and a Christian prince!’ said Tancred, musingly. ‘There
are elements in that position stronger than the Porte, stronger than
England, stronger than united Europe. Syria was a great country when
France and England were forests. The tricolour has crossed the Alps and
the Rhine, and the flag of England has beaten even the tricolour; but
if I were a Syrian prince, I would raise the cross of Christ and ask for
the aid of no foreign banner.’
‘If I could only raise a loan,’ said the Emir, ‘I could do without
France and England.’
‘A loan!’ exclaimed Tancred; ‘I see the poison of modern liberalism has
penetrated even the desert. Believe me, national redemption is not an
affair of usury.’
At this moment there was some little disturbance without the tent, which
it seems was occasioned by the arrival of Tancred’s servants, Freeman
and True-man. These excellent young men persisted in addressing the
Arabs in their native English, and, though we cannot for a moment
believe that they fancied themselves understood, still, from a mixture
of pride and perverseness peculiarly British, they continued their
valuable discourse as if every word told, or, if not apprehended, was a
striking proof of the sheer stupidity of their new companions. The noise
became louder and louder, and at length Freeman and Trueman entered.
‘Well,’ said Tancred, ‘and how have you been getting on?’
‘Well, my lord, I don’t know,’ said Freeman, with a sort of jolly sneer;
‘we have been dining with the savages.’
‘They are not savages, Freeman.’
‘Well, my lord, they have not much more clothes, anyhow; and as for
knives and forks, there is not such a thing known.’
‘As for that, there was not such a thing known as a fork in England
little more than two hundred years ago, and we were not savages then;
for the best part of Montacute Castle was built long before that time.’
‘I wish we were there, my lord!’
‘I dare say you do: however, we must make the best of present
circumstances. I wanted to know, in the first place, whether you had
food; as for lodging, Mr. Baroni, I dare say, will manage something for
you; and if not, you had better quarter yourselves by the side of this
tent. With your own cloaks and mine, you will manage very well.’
‘Thank you, my lord. We have brought your lordship’s things with us. I
don’t know what I shall do to-morrow about your lordship’s boots. The
savages have got hold of the bottle of blacking and have been drinking
it like anything.’
‘Never mind my boots,’ said Tancred, ‘we have got other things to think
of now.’
‘I told them what it was,’ said Freeman, ‘but they went on just the
same.’
‘Obstinate dogs!’ said Tancred.
‘I think they took it for wine, my lord,’ said Trueman. ‘I never see
such ignorant creatures.’
‘You find now the advantage of a good education, Trueman.’
‘Yes, my lord, we do, and feel very grateful to your lordship’s honoured
mother for the same. When we came down out of the mountains and see
those blazing fires, if I didn’t think they were going to burn us alive,
unless we changed our religion! I said the catechism as hard as I could
the whole way, and felt as much like a blessed martyr as could be.’
‘Well, well,’ said Tancred, ‘I dare say they will spare our lives. I
cannot much assist you here; but if there be anything you particularly
want, I will try and see what can be done.’
Freeman and Trueman looked at each other, and their speaking faces held
common consultation. At length, the former, with some slight hesitation,
said, ‘We don’t like to be troublesome, my lord, but if your lordship
would ask for some sugar for us; we cannot drink their coffee without
sugar.’