Бенджамин Дизраэли - Tancred

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.

AWAY, away, Cypros! I can remain no more; my heart beats so.' 'Sweet lady,' replied Cypros, 'it is surprise that agitates you.' 'Is it surprise, Cypros? I did not know it was surprise. Then I never was surprised before.'

'I think they were surprised, sweet lady,' said Cypros, smiling.

'Hush, you are laughing very loud, my Cypros.' 'Is that laughter, sweet lady? I did not know it was laughter. Then I never laughed before.'

'I would they should know nothing either of our smiles or of our sighs, my Cypros.'

She who said this was a girl of eighteen summers; her features very Greek, her complexion radiant, hair dark as night, and eyes of the colour of the violet. Her beautiful countenance, however, was at this moment nearly shrouded by her veil, although no one could possibly behold it, excepting her attendant, younger even than herself, and fresh and fair as a flower.

They were hurrying along a wooden gallery, which led, behind the upper part of the divan occupied by the travellers, to the great square central tower of the quadrangle, which we have already noticed, and as the truth must always, or at least eventually, come out, it shall not be concealed that, availing themselves of a convenient, perhaps irresistible position, the fair fugitives had peeped into the chamber, and had made even minute observations on its inhabitants with impunity. Suddenly, Fakredeen rising from his seat, a panic had seized them and they hurried away.

The gallery led to a flight of steps, and the flight of steps into the first of several chambers without decoration, and with no other furniture than an Eastern apartment always offers, the cushioned seat, which surrounds at least two–thirds of the room. At length they entered a small alcove, rudely painted in arabesque, but in a classic Ionic pattern; the alcove opened into a garden, or rather court of myrtles with a fountain. An antelope, an Angora cat, two Persian greyhounds, were basking on the sunny turf, and there were many birds about, in rude but capacious cages.