_The Mountains of Lebanon_
HOW do you like my forest?’ asked Fakredeen of Tancred, as, while
descending a range of the Lebanon, an extensive valley opened before
them, covered with oak trees, which clothed also, with their stout
trunks, their wide-spreading branches, and their rich starry foliage,
the opposite and undulating hills, one of which was crowned with a
convent. ‘It is the only oak forest in Syria. It will serve some day to
build our fleet.’
At Gaza, which they had reached by easy journeys, for Fakredeen was very
considerate of the health of Tancred, whose wound had scarcely healed,
and over whom he watched with a delicate solicitude which would have
almost become a woman, the companions met Scheriff Effendi. The magic
signature of Lord Montacute settled the long-vexed question of the
five thousand muskets, and secured also ten thousand piastres for the
commander of the escort to deliver to his chief. The children of Rechab,
in convoy of the precious charge, certain cases of which were to be
delivered to the great Sheikh, and the rest to be deposited in indicated
quarters of the Lebanon, here took leave of the Emir and his friend,
and pursued their course to the north of Hebron and the Dead Sea, in the
direction of the Hauraan, where they counted, if not on overtaking
the great Sheikh, at least on the additional security which his
neighbourhood would ensure them. Their late companions remained at Gaza,
awaiting Tancred’s yacht, which Baroni fetched from the neighbouring
Jaffa. A favourable breeze soon carried them from Gaza to Beiroot,
where they landed, and where Fakredeen had the political pleasure of
exhibiting his new and powerful ally, a prince, an English prince,
the brother perhaps of a queen, unquestionably the owner of a splendid
yacht, to the admiring eye of all his, at the same time, credulous and
rapacious creditors.
The air of the mountains invigorated Tancred. His eyes had rested so
long on the ocean and the desert, that the effect produced on the nerves
by the forms and colours of a more varied nature were alone reviving.
There are regions more lofty than the glaciered crests of Lebanon;
mountain scenery more sublime, perhaps even more beautiful: its peaks
are not lost in the clouds like the mysterious Ararat; its forests
are not as vast and strange as the towering Himalaya; it has not the
volcanic splendour of the glowing Andes; in lake and in cataract it
must yield to the European Alps; but for life, vigorous, varied, and
picturesque, there is no highland territory in the globe that can for a
moment compare with the great chain of Syria.
Man has fled from the rich and servile plains, from the tyranny of the
Turk and from Arabian rapine, to clothe the crag with vines, and rest
under his fig tree on the mountain top. An ingenious spirit, unwearied
industry, and a bland atmosphere have made a perpetual garden of the
Syrian mountains. Their acclivities sparkle with terraces of corn and
fruit. Castle and convent crown their nobler heights, and flat-roofed
villages nestle amid groves of mulberry trees. Among these mountains
we find several human races, several forms of government, and
several schemes of religion, yet everywhere liberty: a proud, feudal
aristocracy; a conventual establishment, which in its ramifications
recalls the middle ages; a free and armed peasantry, whatever their
creed, Emirs on Arabian steeds, bishops worthy of the Apostles, the
Maronite monk, the horned head-gear of the Druses.
Some of those beautiful horses, for which Fakredeen was celebrated, had
awaited the travellers at Beiroot. The journey through the mountain was
to last three days before they reached Canobia. They halted one night at
a mountain village, where the young Emir was received with enthusiastic
devotion, and on the next at a small castle belonging to Fakredeen, and
where resided one of his kinsmen. Two hours before sunset, on the third
day, they were entering the oak forest to which we referred, and through
whose glades they journeyed for about half an hour. On arriving at the
convent-crowned height opposite, they beheld an expanse of country; a
small plain amid the mountains; in many parts richly cultivated,
studded by several hamlets, and watered by a stream, winding amid rich
shrubberies of oleander.
Almost in the middle of this plain, on a height superior to the
immediate elevations which bounded it, rose a mountain of gradual
ascent, covered with sycamores, and crowned by a superb Saracenic
castle.
‘Canobia!’ said Fakredeen to Tancred, ‘which I hope you never will
quit.’
‘It would be difficult,’ rejoined Tancred, animated. ‘I have seldom seen
a sight more striking and more beautiful.’
In the meantime, Freeman and Trueman, who were far in the rear amid
Fakredeen’s attendants, exchanged congratulating glances of blended
surprise and approbation.
‘This is the first gentleman’s seat I have seen since we left England,’
said Freeman.
‘There must have been a fine coming of age here,’ rejoined Trueman.
‘As for that,’ replied Freeman, ‘comings of age depend in a manner upon
meat and drink. They ain’t in noways to be carried out with coffee and
pipes. Without oxen roasted whole, and broached hogsheads, they ain’t in
a manner legal.’
A horseman, who was ahead of the Emir and Tancred, now began beating
with a stick on two small tabors, one on each side of his saddle, and
thus announced to those who were already on the watch, the approach of
their lord. It was some time, however, before the road, winding through
the sycamore trees and gradually ascending, brought them to the outworks
of the castle, of which, during their progress, they enjoyed a variety
of views. It was a very extensive pile, in excellent condition, and
apparently strongly fortified. A number of men, in showy dresses and
with ornamented arms, were clustered round the embattled gateway, which
introduced the travellers into a quadrangle of considerable size, and of
which the light and airy style pleasingly and suitably contrasted with
the sterner and more massive character of the exterior walls. A fountain
rose in the centre of the quadrangle which was surrounded by arcades.
Ranged round this fountain, in a circle, were twenty saddled steeds
of the highest race, each held by a groom, and each attended by a
man-at-arms. All pressed their hands to their hearts as the Emir
entered, but with a gravity of countenance which was never for a
moment disturbed. Whether their presence were habitual, or only for
the occasion, it was unquestionably impressive. Here the travellers
dismounted, and Fakredeen ushered Tancred through a variety of saloons,
of which the furniture, though simple, as becomes the East, was
luxurious, and, of its kind, superb; floors of mosaic marbles, bright
carpets, arabesque ceilings, walls of carved cedar, and broad divans of
the richest stuffs of Damascus.
‘And this divan is for you,’ said Fakredeen, showing Tancred into a
chamber, which opened upon a flower-garden shaded by lemon trees. ‘I
am proud of my mirror,’ he added, with some exultation, as he called
Tancred’s attention to a large French looking-glass, the only one in
Lebanon. ‘And this,’ added Fakredeen, leading Tancred through a suite of
marble chambers, ‘this is your bath.’
In the centre of one chamber, fed by a perpetual fountain, was a large
alabaster basin, the edges of which were strewn with flowers just
culled. The chamber was entirely of porcelain; a golden flower on a
ground of delicate green.
‘I will send your people to you,’ said Fakredeen; ‘but, in the meantime,
there are attendants here who are, perhaps, more used to the duty;’ and,
so saying, he clapped his hands, and several servants appeared, bearing
baskets of curious linen, whiter than the snow of Lebanon, and a variety
of robes.