"I returned then to my own country. I married; but nothing was able to snatch from my heart the hope which God had placed there; only I had hidden it in myself as a precious treasure which I feared to see misunderstood. Then I heard it related that a great princess of Europe had arrived in Syria, and I recognised the Queen whom the prophecy had announced to me."
And Pierre embroidered with fertility and imagination on this unique theme.
Lady Hester heard people talking of the doctor's strange recruit. Amused by the extravagant tales of the former soldier of Bonaparte, secretly flattered at seeing ascribed to her a part of the first importance, a situation of which she was very fond, disturbed also by the remembrance of the predictions of Brothers, she caused the "cook-prophet" to enter her service. But had she not already foreseen that she would be able to make use of him, or another? The sovereigns of the West had buffoons at their Courts who made the mob laugh; the pachas of the East had prophets who made it fear. And there is there a symbol which did not want for realism. Lady Hester, who was looking for a corner of the earth where she could play the petty potentate, procured a precious auxiliary to impose her wishes on the people, willingly credulous when the Korbach is behind. And Pierre was placed in reserve for a favourable opportunity. He accompanied the traveller for seven years.
CHAPTER VI
FAR NIENTE AT DAMASCUS
ON August 27, 1812, Lady Hester had left Deir-el-Kammar, edified on the subject of Eastern hospitality. The Emir Bechir had supplied all the requirements of her table with great magnificence, it is true, but had caused a hint to be conveyed to her, by one of his intimates, that he expected a present of equivalent value. It cost her 2000 piastres, pieces of brocade and gratuities to all the servants, from the major-domo to the meanest scullion, and they formed a tribe! She left disgusted by an invitation which had cost her so dear. As for the horse with which Bechir had presented her, one which the doctor had admired, he was vicious, and Lady Hester got rid of him, to the profit of the janissary.
Bruce, in company with one of the two Bertrands—one does not know which—had started for Aleppo, after having uselessly endeavoured to take his friend. Lady Hester screened her refusal behind her contempt for the Levantine race, neither Turkish nor European, which inhabited this town. The true reason was much more personal: she simply was afraid of catching the Aleppo pimple, that facetious ulcer which chooses as a rule a prominent part of the face, nose or cheek, to lay there its hideous scar. A woman, even though she wears breeches, attaches importance to her face. And this little weakness brings Lady Hester nearer to her poor sex.... She had written to the Pacha of Damascus to inform him of her desire to visit his capital, and he had sent her a page with a most courteous invitation.
Was not Damascus the Porte of the Desert, and had not Lady Hester already the project, still vague as to the means, but certain as to the end, of making a little stay amongst the wandering Bedouin tribes?
The caravan journeyed slowly; the news which the page had brought did not stimulate rapidity; there was revolution at Damascus, where the commandant of the troops had refused to recognise Sayd Soliman, the new pacha. He was shut up in the citadel, and blood was flowing in streams in the streets.
The travellers occupied four days in traversing the Lebanon and the Anti-Lebanon. Pierre's stories diverted the evenings. In proportion as they climbed, the air was charged with aromatic effluvia and icy breaths. At the summit of their route, they perceived all at once the plain of the Bekaa, which, like a long serpent, unrolls its green rings, writhes and lies down between two mountain barriers. The Litami traced a furrow of sombre tint, and the plain with its fresh herbage was a pleasure to behold. The parallel tops of the two Lebanons were tawny and red; the parched earth was cracking under the midday heat. And to the South, Hermon rose victoriously, like a great sherbet, to the eternal snows on the plateau glittering with light. To the North, a jet of light, which Lady Stanhope recognised as Baalbeck: the temple of the sun was saluting its god.
At last, excellent news arrived from Damascus: the rebel age had been strangled and order was entirely restored. After halts at the village of Djbb-Djenin and Dimas, the travellers stopped at the gardens of Damascus. The gardens of Damascus! Fêtes and orgies of apricot-trees, orange-trees and pomegranate-trees, succumbing beneath the exuberance of the vines, whose heavy and juicy grapes fell so far as the ground. The river with its seven branches chanted the joy of living, and the song of the waters was full of voluptuousness, refreshing and boundless.