_Astarte is Jealous_
WHEN Fakredeen bade Tancred as usual good-night, his voice was different
from its accustomed tones; he had replied to Tancred with asperity
several times during the evening; and when he was separated from his
companion, he felt relieved. All unconscious of these changes and
symptoms was the heir of Bellamont.
Though grave, one indeed who never laughed and seldom smiled, Tancred
was blessed with the rarest of all virtues, a singularly sweet temper.
He was grave, because he was always thinking, and thinking of great
deeds. But his heart was soft, and his nature most kind, and
remarkably regardful of the feelings of others. To wound them, however
unintentionally, would occasion him painful disturbance. Though
naturally rapid in the perception of character, his inexperience of
life, and the self-examination in which he was so frequently absorbed,
tended to blunt a little his observation of others. With a generous
failing, which is not uncommon, he was prepared to give those whom
he loved credit for the virtues which he himself possessed, and the
sentiments which he himself extended to them. Being profound, steadfast,
and most loyal in his feelings, he was incapable of suspecting that his
elected friend could entertain sentiments towards him less deep, less
earnest, and less faithful. The change in the demeanour of the Emir
was, therefore, unnoticed by him. And what might be called the sullen
irritability of Fakredeen was encountered with the usual gentleness and
total disregard of self which always distinguished the behaviour of Lord
Montacute.
The next morning they were invited by Astarte to a hawking party,
and, leaving the rugged ravines, they descended into a softer and
more cultivated country, where they found good sport. Fakredeen was an
accomplished falconer, and loved to display his skill before the Queen.
Tancred was quite unpractised, but Astarte seemed resolved that he
should become experienced in the craft among her mountains, which did
not please the Emir, as he caracoled in sumptuous dress on a splendid
steed, with the superb falcon resting on his wrist.
The princes dined again with Keferinis; that, indeed, was to be their
custom during their stay; afterwards, accompanied by the minister,
they repaired to the royal divan, where they had received a general
invitation. Here they found Astarte alone, with the exception of Cypros
and her companions, who worked with their spindles apart; and here, on
the pretext of discussing the high topics on which they had repaired
to Gindarics, there was much conversation on many subjects. Thus passed
one, two, and even three days; thus, in general, would their hours be
occupied at Gindarics. In the morning the hawks, or a visit to some
green valley, which was blessed with a stream and beds of oleander, and
groves of acacia or sycamore. Fakredeen had no cause to complain of
the demeanour of Astarte towards him, for it was most gracious and
encouraging. Indeed, he pleased her; and she was taken, as many had
been, by the ingenuous modesty, the unaffected humility, the tender and
touching deference of his manner; he seemed to watch her every glance,
and hang upon her every accent: his sympathy with her was perfect; he
agreed with every sentiment and observation that escaped her. Blushing,
boyish, unsophisticated, yet full of native grace, and evidently gifted
with the most amiable disposition, it was impossible not to view with
interest, and even regard, one so young and so innocent.
But while the Emir had no cause to be dissatisfied with the demeanour of
Astarte to himself, he could not be unaware that her carriage to Tancred
was different, and he doubted whether the difference was in his favour.
He hung on the accents of Astarte, but he remarked that the Queen hung
upon the accents of Tancred, who, engrossed with great ideas, and full
of a great purpose, was unconscious of what did not escape the
lynx-like glance of his companion. However, Fakredeen was not, under any
circumstances, easily disheartened; in the present case, there were many
circumstances to encourage him. This was a great situation; there was
room for combinations. He felt that he was not unfavoured by Astarte; he
had confidence, and a just confidence, in his power of fascination. He
had to combat a rival, who was, perhaps, not thinking of conquest; at
any rate, who was unconscious of success. Even had he the advantage,
which Fakredeen was not now disposed to admit, he might surely be
baffled by a competitor with a purpose, devoting his whole intelligence
to his object, and hesitating at no means to accomplish it.
Fakredeen became great friends with Keferinis. He gave up his time and
attentions much to that great personage; anointed him with the most
delicious flattery, most dexterously applied; consulted him on great
affairs which had no existence; took his advice on conjunctures which
never could occur; assured Keferinis that, in his youth, the Emir
Bescheer had impressed on him the importance of cultivating the friendly
feelings and obtaining the support of the distinguished minister of the
Ansarey; gave him some jewels, and made him enormous promises.
On the fourth day of the visit, Fakredeen found himself alone with
Astarte, at least, without the presence of Tancred, whom Keferinis had
detained in his progress to the royal apartment. The young Emir had
pushed on, and gained an opportunity which he had long desired.
They were speaking of the Lebanon; Fakredeen had been giving Astarte,
at her request, a sketch of Canobia, and intimating his inexpressible
gratification were she to honour his castle with a visit; when, somewhat
abruptly, in a suppressed voice, and in a manner not wholly free from
embarrassment, Astarte said, ‘What ever surprises me is, that Darkush,
who is my servant at Damascus, should have communicated, by the faithful
messenger, that one of the princes seeking to visit Gindarics was of our
beautiful and ancient faith; for the Prince of England has assured me
that nothing was more unfounded or indeed impossible; that the faith,
ancient and beautiful, never prevailed in the land of his fathers; and
that the reason why he was acquainted with the god-like forms is, that
in his country it is the custom (custom to me most singular, and indeed
incomprehensible) to educate the youth by teaching them the ancient
poems of the Greeks, poems quite lost to us, but in which are embalmed
the sacred legends.’
‘We ought never to be surprised at anything that is done by the
English,’ observed Fakredeen; ‘who are, after all, in a certain sense,
savages. Their country produces nothing; it is an island, a mere rock,
larger than Malta, but not so well fortified. Everything they require
is imported from other countries; they get their corn from Odessa, and
their wine from the ports of Spain. I have been assured at Beiroot that
they do not grow even their own cotton, but that I can hardly believe.
Even their religion is an exotic; and as they are indebted for that to
Syria, it is not surprising that they should import their education from
Greece.’
‘Poor people!’ exclaimed the Queen; ‘and yet they travel; they wish to
improve themselves?’
‘Darkush, however,’ continued Fakredeen, without noticing the last
observation of Astarte, ‘was not wrongly informed.’
‘Not wrongly informed?’
‘No: one of the princes who wished to visit Gindarics was, in a certain
sense, of the ancient and beautiful faith, but it was not the Prince of
the English.’
‘What are these pigeons that you are flying without letters!’ exclaimed
Astarte, looking very perplexed.
‘Ah! beautiful Astarte,’ said Fakredeen, with a sigh; ‘you did not know
my mother.’
‘How should I know your mother, Emir of the castles of Lebanon? Have I
ever left these mountains, which are dearer to me than the pyramids of
Egypt to the great Pasha? Have I ever looked upon your women, Maronite
or Druse, walking in white sheets, as if they were the children of ten
thousand ghouls; with horns on their heads, as if they were the wild
horses of the desert?’
‘Ask Keferinis,’ said Fakredeen, still sighing; ‘he has been at
Bteddeen, the court of the Emir Bescheer. He knew my mother, at least by
memory. My mother, beautiful Astarte, was an Ansarey.’
‘Your mother was an Ansarey!’ repeated Astarte, in a tone of infinite
surprise; ‘your mother an Ansarey? Of what family was she a child?’
‘Ah!’ replied Fakredeen, ‘there it is; that is the secret sorrow of
my life. A mystery hangs over my mother, for I lost both my parents in
extreme childhood; I was at her heart,’ he added, in a broken voice,
‘and amid outrage, tumult, and war. Of whom was my mother the child? I am
here to discover that, if possible. Her race and her beautiful religion
have been the dream of my life. All I have prayed for has been to
recognise her kindred and to behold her gods.’
‘It is very interesting,’ murmured the Queen.
‘It is more than interesting,’ sighed Fakredeen. ‘Ah! beautiful Astarte!
if you knew all, if you could form even the most remote idea of what I
have suffered for this unknown faith;’ and a passionate tear quivered on
the radiant cheek of the young prince.
‘And yet you came here to preach the doctrines of another,’ said
Astarte.
‘I came here to preach the doctrines of another!’ replied Fakredeen,
with an expression of contempt; his nostril dilated, his lip curled with
scorn. ‘This mad Englishman came here to preach the doctrines of another
creed, and one with which it seems to me, he has as little connection
as his frigid soil has with palm trees. They produce them, I am told, in
houses of glass, and they force their foreign faith in the same manner;
but, though they have temples, and churches, and mosques, they confess
they have no miracles; they admit that they never produced a prophet;
they own that no God ever spoke to their people, or visited their land;
and yet this race, so peculiarly favoured by celestial communication,
aspire to be missionaries!’
‘I have much misapprehended you,’ said Astarte; ‘I thought you were both
embarked in a great cause.’
‘Ah, you learnt that from Darkush!’ quickly replied Fakredeen. ‘You see,
beautiful Astarte, that I have no personal acquaintance with Darkush. It
was the intendant of my companion who was his friend; and it is through
him that Darkush has learnt anything that he has communicated. The
mission, the project, was not mine; but when I found my comrade had the
means, which had hitherto evaded me, of reaching Gindarics, I threw
no obstacles in his crotchety course. On the contrary, I embraced the
opportunity even with fervour, and far from discouraging my friend from
views to which I know he is fatally, even ridiculously, wedded, I looked
forward to this expedition as the possible means of diverting his
mind from some opinions, and, I might add, some influences, which I am
persuaded can eventually entail upon him nothing but disappointment
and disgrace.’ And here Fakredeen shook his head, with that air of
confidential mystery which so cleverly piques curiosity.
‘Whatever may be his fate,’ said Astarte, in a tone of seriousness,
‘the English prince does not seem to me to be a person who could ever
experience disgrace.’
‘No, no,’ quickly replied his faithful friend; ‘of course I did not
speak of personal dishonour. He is extremely proud and rash, and not
in any way a practical man; but he is not a person who ever would
do anything to be sent to the bagnio or the galleys. What I mean by
disgrace is, that he is mixed up with transactions, and connected with
persons who will damage, cheapen, in a worldly sense dishonour him,
destroy all his sources of power and influence. For instance, now, in
his country, in England, a Jew is never permitted to enter England; they
may settle in Gibraltar, but in England, no. Well, it is perfectly well
known among all those who care about these affairs, that this enterprise
of his, this religious-politico-military adventure, is merely undertaken
because he happens to be desperately enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus,
whom he cannot carry home as his bride.’
‘Enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus!’ said Astarte, turning pale.
‘To folly, to frenzy; she is at the bottom of the whole of this affair;
she talks Cabala to him, and he Nazareny to her; and so, between them,
they have invented this grand scheme, the conquest of Asia, perhaps the
world, with our Syrian sabres, and we are to be rewarded for our pains
by eating passover cakes.’
‘What are they?’
‘Festival bread of the Hebrews, made in the new moon, with the milk of
he-goats.’
‘What horrors!’
‘What a reward for conquest!’
‘Will the Queen of the English let one of her princes marry a Jewess?’
‘Never; he will be beheaded, and she will be burnt alive, eventually;
but, in the meantime, a great deal of mischief may occur, unless we stop
it.’
‘It certainly should be stopped.’
‘What amuses me most in this affair,’ continued Fakredeen, ‘is the cool
way in which this Englishman comes to us for our assistance. First, he
is at Canobia, then at Gindarics; we are to do the business, and Syria
is spoken of as if it were nothing. Now the fact is, Syria is the only
practical feature of the case. There is no doubt that, if we were all
agreed, if Lebanon and the Ansarey were to unite, we could clear
Syria of the Turks, conquer the plain, and carry the whole coast in
a campaign, and no one would ever interfere to disturb us. Why should
they? The Turks could not, and the natives of Fran-guestan would not.
Leave me to manage them. There is nothing in the world I so revel in as
hocus-sing Guizot and Aberdeen. You never heard of Guizot and Aberdeen?
They are the two Reis Effendis of the King of the French and the Queen
of the English. I sent them an archbishop last year, one of my fellows,
Archbishop Murad, who led them a pretty dance. They nearly made me King
of the Lebanon, to put an end to disturbances which never existed except
in the venerable Murad’s representations.’
‘These are strange things! Has she charms, this Jewess? Very beautiful,
I suppose?’
‘The Englishman vows so; he is always raving of her; talks of her in his
sleep.’
‘As you say, it would indeed be strange to draw our sabres for a Jewess.
Is she dark or fair?’
‘I think, when he writes verses to her, he always calls her a moon or a
star; that smacks nocturnal and somewhat sombre.’
‘I detest the Jews; but I have heard their women are beautiful.’
‘We will banish them all from our kingdom of Syria,’ said Fakredeen,
looking at Astarte earnestly.
‘Why, if we are to make a struggle, it should be for something. There
have been Syrian kingdoms.’
‘And shall be, beauteous Queen, and you shall rule them. I believe now
the dream of my life will be realised.’
‘Why, what’s that?’
‘My mother’s last aspiration, the dying legacy of her passionate soul,
known only to me, and never breathed to human being until this moment.’
‘Then you recollect your mother?’
‘It was my nurse, long since dead, who was the depositary of the
injunction, and in due time conveyed it to me.’
‘And what was it?’
‘To raise, at Deir el Kamar, the capital of our district, a marble
temple to the Syrian goddess.’
‘Beautiful idea!’
‘It would have drawn back the mountain to the ancient faith; the Druses
are half-prepared, and wait only my word.’
‘But the Nazareny bishops,’ said the Queen, ‘whom you find so useful,
what will they say?’
‘What did the priests and priestesses of the Syrian goddess say, when
Syria became Christian? They turned into bishops and nuns. Let them turn
back again.’