A Woman Watches Over the Destiny of Lebanon

Jeanne Arcache is a Lebanese woman writer, well known in Egypt.

Her book on the life of Emir Fakhreddine II, entitled "The Emir with the Cross," is one of the finest books drawn from the history of Lebanon.

From this work we retain the passage relating to the Emir's childhood, and in it we see the very important role played in his destiny by his mother, SITT NASSIBA, who, by her faith and her sacrifice, changed the destinies of Lebanon.

IBRAHIM PASHA reigns over Syria. KORKMAS, son of FAKHREDDINE I, of the Ma'an family, is dangerous to the Ottomans, who seek his death.

The nights, the days pass; the anxiety remains. Two women keep watch beside KORKMAS. They preach nothing but mistrust. It is the weapon of those who are afraid and feel themselves alone. SITT NASSIBA studies the faces of the servants. The gift of prophecy is in her, like a leaven of misfortune, and condemns her to live calamity in advance. A sad Cassandra she will be her whole life long, one who weeps at always being right. In vain she tries to drive away the evil shadows by which she feels herself surrounded. Her clear sight cannot turn destiny aside: KORKMAS must die. She who loves him knows it. Fate is upon him.

In vain does SITT NASSIBA beg, as a favor, the dismissal of one of the servants most devoted in appearance. KORKMAS refuses. He is sure of this man.

One day the whole country learned that the last of the Ma'ans had just died of poison. The Turk was at last completely avenged. In Constantinople, Ibrahim Pasha, recently named Vizier, rejoiced at this final victory over the Druzes. With KORKMAS dead without leaving a son, it was said, the race of Fakhreddine I had disappeared, and for long years nothing more would disturb the established order. Yet, in the shadow of the mountains of Lebanon, there are a few who still hope, and who know that in the silence of oblivion a woman is preparing the revenge. Above all, let IBRAHIM PASHA remain ignorant of the existence of KORKMAS's two sons. And SITT NASSIBA, to lend credit to the news of their death, wants to be seen alone, with the humble air of childless widows, a double defeat upon her face. But her task is a hard one. To whom shall she turn for help and protection? She fears to awaken suspicion by addressing herself to the Druzes. Among the Maronites, those first Christians of Lebanon, the Ma'ans count faithful allies: the Karams and, above all, the great family of the Khazens.

SITT NASSIBA has no religious fanaticism. She knows nothing of sectarian hatreds and judges men by their worth and not according to their religion. She has faith in Abou-Ghazen, and the women of that Christian family have long been her friends. But it takes a singular confidence, a magnificent liberality of spirit, to ask strangers to raise her elder son, the young Fakhreddine, whose name, she is sure, will make men forget that of his grandfather and will become synonymous with the Prince of the Druzes. All her hope is in this child of twelve years, and, if he is to live, she must not only go far from him, but make him pass for dead.

One evening, accompanied by a few servants, SITT NASSIBA leaves the castle, never to return. She takes Fakhreddine with her and clasps in her arms YOUNES, still an infant. She goes quickly along the water-soaked paths. A sound of springs runs through the mountain. Winter has passed, the snow has melted; at once there spring up between the stones the cyclamens in great mauve clumps, and the adonis, a blazing red flowering born of the blood of a young god. The earth is in flower with mint and oregano. Fresh scents float in the air.

SITT NASSIBA goes toward the Kesrouan, a country of gentle hills turned toward the sea. This province, peopled with Christians, the most skillful farmers of Lebanon, has been less sorely tried than the rest of the country. The widow of KORKMAS looks at the hillsides planted with mulberry trees. There are already buds on the branches. The young woman is a prophetess and a poet — that is to say, twice a magician. She looks again, she presses the fingers of a child who goes trusting toward his destiny, and, as she guides him, she feels the hour of revenge ripening in her hand. In Lebanon the secret was well kept, and

this tacit understanding marks the first sign of union among the men of the Mountain. And here is the little boy receiving his education from Master CHEIVAN.

CHEIVAN pauses to look at his pupil. His Oriental soul loves enigmas, the symbolism in which initiates, poets, and diplomats delight. The Turkish yoke has taught him to conceal his thought. The gracious hours around a basin where a jet of water sings have given him the leisure to meditate on the tangled meanings of words, and it is this science of mature men that he wants to make known to the child seated at his feet, squatting like him on the same mat.

— Do not forget, O my son, that sympathy must be your strength. The strength of the Chief comes from the love of the humble. Tolerance will be the condition of union. The country belongs to each of us. Maronites, Muslims, Druzes — we are all attached to the same soil, different and yet united like the five fingers of the same hand. He who knows how to make himself loved by each will have the support of the whole country, something no Emir has yet been able to achieve.

For a moment Fakhreddine imagines that far-off princess TAIBE, whose fate was decided by allegories. Then he dreams of a very beautiful Emira whom he would boldly carry off, so as to triumph twice over his enemy.

Sometimes a woman dressed in dark cloth comes to attend these lessons. She keeps silent and crosses her hands under her very long sleeves. But silence and time are her allies. There are black eyes that see farther than the present hour and already smile at victory.

Jeanne Arcache
"The Emir with the Cross"