 | CHAPTER V. El Fureidîs |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
What newness of life there is in the recovery from long
illness,—what consciousness of that secret spring of power
and freedom, which glows once more in every member,—
what music in the cheerful sound of human voices, so long
subdued or hushed to silence in the sick-room,—what cloquence
and pathos in the universal voice of Nature, when
she first welcomes forth the convalescent!
Especially is this the case when one rouses, as Meredith
did, from the torpor of utter prostration, and, aided by a
constitution of unusual vigor, feels the current of health
flow back, not by slow and almost imperceptible degrees,
but in a full, strong, gushing tide.
When he first emerged through the arched doorway
of his little prison-house, his limbs tottered, and he leaned
heavily on the arm of Father Lapierre, who had with some
difficulty persuaded him to make an effort to which he
believed himself wholly incompetent. But when seated
on a fallen column just outside the dwelling, the soft summer
air speedily revived him, every fragrant breeze seemed
to bring with it new strength, and, his mind and body alike
invigorated by a sense of contact with the outside world,
he felt ready and impatient for new exertions. So rapidly
indeed did his elastic system recover its wonted tone, that,
so far from encouraging, Father Lapierre now became
only anxious to restrain his charge; but it was no longer
which a less powerful nature would have required
as many weeks to attain; the prisoner had suddenly, and
without warning, burst his bonds, and Meredith felt himself
a free man again.
How beautiful was the scene which lay before him,
beckoning on every side, and inviting him to wander forth
and explore its hidden recesses!
Mount Lebanon was teeming in all the richness of her
summer verdure; her choicest flowers were sending forth
their perfume, and fruits of every clime were ripening in
the sunshine of her vales. The rich plains at her feet
were rejoicing in their wealth of waving grain, and her
terraced slopes were promising to the husbandman that
still more precious harvest which the olive and mulberry
grove yields. The gushing sound of waterfalls proclaimed
the existence of those pure, refreshing springs, which carry
richness and fertility in their course, and the lofty mountains,
which hemmed in the prospect, held out an irresistible
temptation to climb their summits, and catch glimpses
of the picturesque views beyond.
Nor was Meredith slow in obeying nature's summons.
His newly acquired strength was each day tested to the
utmost, his feet urged on and his weariness beguiled by
the novelty, strangeness, and bewildering beauty which
were disclosed at every step, and oftentimes he was only
reminded of his weakness when finding himself stretched
in utter exhaustion upon some moss-grown rock, or in the
shade of some spreading tree.
His first essay at pedestrian exercise brought him
within the precincts of the village, and a part of the
succeeding day was spent in strolling among its cultivated
terraces. Nor was there here any lack of novelty and
songs, and curious implements of the peasants at work
in their gardens and mulberry plantations, the various
domestic occupations which the women were carrying on
in the open air, together with the industrious rearing
and feeding of the silk-worms, which were the chief object
of the housewives' care, all combined to arrest the traveller's
attention, and agreeably occupy his thoughts.
His observations could not, however, be carried on
without his becoming, in turn, an object of curiosity and
interest to the simple villagers. All eyes turned upon
him as he walked, labor suddenly ceased wherever he made
his appearance, children dogged his footsteps, and lean
dogs barked at him from every court-yard, creating a
degree of publicity so distasteful to his reserved character,
that he finally turned his back upon the little hamlet, with
a resolve to abjure its vicinity on future occasions.
The next morning, therefore, he took his course in a contrary
direction, and, following a little goat-path, plunged
down a deep ravine, which stretched in front of Father Lapierre's
dwelling, and at the bottom of which wound the
clear mountain stream, the murmur of whose waterfall was
audible within the cottage, and constituted, as we have observed,
the old man's barometer.
On the opposite side of the deeply wooded gorge, the
mountains rose with unusual abruptness, and although covered
at their base with luxuriant vegetation, their sides
were almost destitute of verdure, save where the hand of
industry had improved the sparse soil, and their tops presented
a stern, bare surface, which formed a severe outline
against the clear blue sky. Half-way up one of these giant
slopes, and only separated from El Fureidîs by the deep
cleft in the mountains, was an ancient, irregularly-built
rock which had furnished the material for its construction,
and out of the heart of which it had been partially hewn.
From every point of view the convent was a prominent
and striking feature in the landscape: it was the deep-toned
bell of its high tower which had sounded Meredith's first
welcome to El Fureidîs: he had in the earliest hour of his
release from illness been attracted by the picturesque old
eyry, and it now furnished the object and motive of his
morning's excursion.
But despite his experience on his recent journey, he
had yet to become convinced of the deceptions peculiar
to these mountain districts, where the existence of a narrow
gorge, or empty river-bed, may place weary miles
between places apparently within a stone's throw of each
other.
Thus he toiled on for some time, at first with buoyancy
and zest, as occasional openings in the landscape revealed
the convent, apparently within half an hour's walk, then
with an air of languor and fatigue, as, after descending many
a precipice, and climbing many an ascent, he lost sight of
the building altogether, and began to suspect that it was still
far distant. He had crossed the little winding stream so
many times that he had become bewildered, and uncertain
whether it were the right or left bank which he ought to
pursue, and at length, having reached a point where the
goat-path that he had been following suddenly ceased, he
paused and looked around him for some landmark by which
to direct his steps. The footprints of various animals were
here and there discernible, but they crossed each other in
different directions, giving no indication of an accessible
route. Far up on the slope above him, however, he could
observe a flock of sheep, climbing the mountain-side in long
set out anew, confident in the belief that they would lead
him into the vicinity of the convent sheepfold.
It was now high noon. The sun, from which the thick
shade of the valley had hitherto protected him, beat mercilessly
upon his head, as he toiled across barren slopes and
around flinty ridges, still keeping in view the flock of noiseless-footed
animals, and following the long fleecy line, as one
might follow in the white wake of a steadily receding ship.
The consciousness of his recent illness, and of his still diminished
strength, began now to force itself upon him, and
his curiosity to visit and explore the Maronite convent was
lost in the stronger and more immediate desire to gain some
shady retreat, where he might rest a while before proceeding
on his way.
It was with no slight satisfaction, therefore, that, as he
rounded a little point behind which he had a moment before
lost sight of his fleecy convoy, he beheld one of those basins
of verdure which are sometimes found even at great altitudes
among the mountains, and towards which the sheep,
having now broken into a full run, were hastening with a
speed which betokened the refreshment they anticipated
beneath its shade.
With equal eagerness, and an accelerated pace, Meredith
followed, and, without caring farther to pursue the sheep,
which speedily disappeared in the thicket, he threw himself
down on a flowery bank under the shade of a huge wild
oak, and, baring his temples to the breeze, indulged in the
long, free respiration which relieves the frame overtaxed by
exercise and fatigue.
How long he lay here he scarcely knew; indeed, he could
not be sure that he had not fallen into a light slumber, when
he was startled by a slight crackling sound, as of some one
in the vicinity of his resting-place. Bethinking himself of
his need of a guide, and supposing this might be the shepherd
in search of his stray flock, he suddenly raised himself
on his elbow and uttered a loud “Halloo!” The sound had
scarcely left his lips, when he distinguished, just above his
head, a footfall scarcely heavier than that of a hare or an
antelope, and, with a light bound, a figure stood before him,
which caused him to spring to his feet, and stand for an
instant almost paralyzed with astonishment. It was so like
the young girl whom he had seen, clothed in white, in the
village church, and who, similarly attired, had dawned upon
him like a vision in his sick-room, that he was sure he could
not be mistaken as to her identity; and yet it was so unlike
the creature of his imagination and his dreams, that he half
suspected his senses were playing him false. Her long
white robe was exchanged for a full skirt of the striped
silk-and-wool material common among the Arabs, and
which, terminating above the ankle, displayed her neatly
fitfing little boot of red Damascus leather. She wore a
jacket of scarlet cloth, and, in place of the long white muslin
veil, a gay kefiyeh, or striped handkerchief, fantastically
bound around her head, its long pointed ends, with their
deep silken fringe, shading each side of her face.
Beside her, attendant on her slightest motion, was a small,
graceful gazelle, whose large, dark eyes, invariably following
those of his mistress, seemed to impart to her a double
power of observation, and aided not a little in disconcerting
Meredith, who, as he sprung to his feet, found himself face
to face with both pair of melting orbs. Had Diana herself,
attended by one of her wood-nymphs, suddenly burst from
the thicket, Meredith could scarcely have experienced any
greater awe and amazement than that which took possession
Havilah and her little companion. He commenced an awkward
and stammering apology for his rude shout to the
supposed shepherd, but was interrupted and still further embarrassed
by a sweet, child-like laugh, a spontaneous gush
of merriment, which at once betrayed the young girl's
natural and innocent consciousness of the surprise her presence
occasioned.
“I am a stranger,” he once more began; “and—” He
checked himself abruptly, as the thought darted through his
mind that she could not probably comprehend a word of
English, or any other language he had at command. He
now actually colored with confusion, for Meredith, the student,
the traveller, the man of thirty, was a novice in female
society, and utterly free from vanity in respect to the sex.
Moreover, despite the animation of Havilah's manner, and
the peculiarity of her dress, which imparted to her a singularly
youthful appearance, he could not forget the sanctity
with which he had hitherto regarded her, nor the spiritual
influence which her presence had exercised upon him.
The unsophisticated mountain girl was, however, far from
sharing his embarrassment. She did not even seem to perceive
it, but, responding merely to the doubt expressed in his
countenance, said with frank simplicity,—speaking in his
mother tongue, with merely that slight shade of accent
which proved it was not habitual to her,—“I understand,—
I speak English,—and it is the English stranger, Father
Lapierre's guest, whom I am happy to have the honor of
seeing in El Fureidîs.” She bent her head gracefully as she
thus saluted him, and, though Meredith's curiosity regarding
her continued unsatisfied, he felt that no studied reception
could be more courtly or more dignified than that with
which this young creature, half child, half woman, thus
mountain home.
Reassured by the familiar language and usages with
which an Englishman, least of all men, knows how to dispense,
he bowed, thanked her, and added, “I left Father
Lapierre's cottage this morning for the purpose of visiting
the convent. I have been wandering for some hours
through the valley, and when I shouted so loud, it was in the
hope of hailing a guide, for I find myself completely lost
among your hills.”
“Not lost,” exclaimed she, with an arch expression of
amusement at the fruitless circuit he had made, and his
ignorance of the present locality; “for, see! we are close
to the village.”
As she spoke, she darted through the woods, waving her
hand, and beckoning him to follow her. So rapid was her
movement, that ere he could part the thick undergrowth
sufficiently to admit his tall form, she had gained the extremity
of the little thicket, and when he emerged from the
wood she stood awaiting him on the verge of a giddy precipice,
which overhung a deep valley below.
At one point of this mountain height a huge mass of
rock stretched itself above the gorge, projecting its sharp
angles and slender needles of flint into mid-ether, and
apparently offering no foothold save to the birds of the air.
Giving one glance back to see if she were observed and
followed, Havilah mounted this wild acclivity with a step as
light and fearless as that of the gazelle by which she was
closely pursued; without pausing to take breath, or measure
her course, she scaled, one after another, each intervening
cliff, and faltered not until she stood on the outermost projection,
a thin surface of table-rock, which overhung the
abyss at a fearful angle. Startled at her temerity, and
exercises, followed as he best might, but soon found
himself distanced by her nimble foot; and when at length
he beheld her, just floating, as it were, on the edge of the
giddy parapet, he half believed her some mountain sprite,
and expected that the next moment would see her vanish
into nothingness.
A touchingly human expression overspread her countenance,
however, as, looking up to address a word to her
companion, she observed him standing at some little distance,
pale with the efforts he had made, and struck dumb by horror
at her perilous position. Wholly mistaking the cause of
that hesitation, which forbade him to venture on the thin
platform of rock that seemed scarcely capable of sustaining
her own light weight, and noticing only his sudden
pallor, she unconsciously relieved his agitation on her
account by at once deserting her exposed post; and, hastening
to his side, she exclaimed, in a tone of regret and
anxiety, “You are ill; I have been very thoughtless; I
quite forgot how ill you had been.”
“O no,” answered Meredith, at once deprecating her
sympathy; “I am well, perfectly well, except as you make
me sick with fears for your safety. I trembled lest that
slender ledge of rock should give way beneath your feet.”
“What! the rock? the Falcon Perch give way?” replied
she. “O no, it is as firm as the heart of the mountain.
M. Lapierre and my father often sit there together to watch
the coming storm, and Ayib and I come hither to see the
purple sunsets and the rainbows;”—and she laid her hand
affectionately on the head of the little animal by her side,
who, as if catching his mistress's expression, seemed to
peer into Meredith's face with an air of tender concern.
“But you are fatigued,” continued Havilah, evidently
return home. I only wished to show you how near we are
to a place of rest and shelter. The village is just beneath
us: let us go there at once.”
“Not until I too have mounted the perch, and taken
one look into the valley,” said Meredith, pressing eagerly
forward, now that she began to urge him to retrace his
steps. With simple earnestness she held out her hand
to assist his progress; but his sensitive pride had taken
alarm at the possible imputation of cowardice or weakness
on his part, and, feigning not to observe her proffered aid,
he bounded forward, with an agility which would have
done credit to a chamois-hunter, and in an instant stood
erect on the giddy eminence, which a moment before he
had shuddered to see Havilah occupy.
Lost, however, was all sense of personal mortification or
triumph, as, gazing from his eyry-like position, he saw
spread below him, like a little amphitheatre, the village
which he had left in the morning, and perceived at a glance
that, having nearly made the circuit of the place, he now
approached it from an unexpected quarter, and obtained of
it a more extended view than had yet been afforded him.
Hitherto his observations had been limited to the dwellings
of the peasants, and the village church, which stood on the
topmost terrace above them. Now the first thing which
struck his eye was a tall, narrow building with a high bell-tower,
which he at once recegnized as one of the silk-factories
common to the district; and near it, embosomed in a
grove of fruit and ornamental trees, a tasteful house and
gardens, evidently the residence of some European family.
The neat white villa was separated from the factory and its
unsightly appendages by a thick mulberry plantation; but
all were evidently the property of one owner, being built
from the more ancient village by a clear, impetuous stream,
which gushed down the mountain-side in a foaming cascade,
then, rapidly coursing through its narrow bed, turned the
wheel of the modern factory, as well as that of an old olive-mill
on the opposite bank.
“My father's silk-factory,” said Havilah, as, having
watched Meredith's eye, while it roamed delightedly over
the fair prospect, she observed him glance at the tall building,
and turn towards her with a look of inquiry; and ere the
words by which she had anticipated his questioning had
passed her lips, the tower-bell sounded the hour of noon, and
the work-people streamed through the doorway and separated
to their dwellings.
“My father will be at leisure now, for the rest of the day,”
continued Havilah, after a moment's pause, “and my mother
will expect us yonder to the noonday meal,”—and she waved
her hand in the direction of the villa. “Come with me;
the stranger has always a welcome there.”
As she spoke she turned to depart, and Meredith followed
her in silence, a new light having dawned upon him concerning
the probable birth and station of his lovely young
acquaintance and guide.
They soon regained the little thicket, and Havilah struck
at once into a pathway which wound gradually downwards.
They had proceeded but a short distance, however, when
they reached a little opening in the woods, an oasis of flowers
and verdure, which presented at the moment of their
approach a scene of picturesque novelty and pastoral beauty,
such as were associated in the mind of our traveller with
patriarchal ages, in the primitive life of the world. Beneath
the ruins of an ancient grotto, a fountain of crystal
water gushed from the living rock, danced and leaped
away to swell the gurgling streams which everywhere run
among these fruitful hills. Two immense watering-troughs
stood near, which it was the care of the villagers daily to
fill for the use of the animals pastured on the heights above.
A couple of Syrian peasant-girls had just completed this
task at the moment when Meredith and his companion approached
the spot, and now sat leaning on their heavy
water-jugs, idly watching the flock of sheep which had been
Meredith's unerring guides, and which crowded and pressed
around the troughs, where they were eager to slake their
noonday thirst. The two damsels started up as they caught
sight of the new-comers, drew their white veils partially
across their faces, made a formal salutation to the stranger,
and busied themselves with alacrity in dispersing the sheep
in the neighborhood of the fountain, in order to clear a passage
for Havilah, to whom they evidently looked up with
sincere and affectionate respect, while they laughingly responded
to some playful remark which she addressed to
them in their native language.
Meredith now perceived, for the first time, that Havilah
carried in her hand a little pitcher, of antique form, and at
once divined the purpose of her excursion, which was
doubtless to fill the vessel at the clear, cool spring. He
thought of the maidens of ancient Scripture and of classic
lore, and wondered if ever a daughter in Israel, or a
Delphic virgin, was half so beautiful as she looked when
kneeling for a moment beside the fountain, or when rising
and inviting him to taste the water of the thrice-blessed
spring.
“How delicious! how pure! how icy cold!” he exclaimed,
as, after imbibing a refreshing draught, he removed
the pitcher from his lips, dashed the remainder of its contents
girl, whose face glowed with pleasure at his praise of her
favorite fountain.
“It is the freshly melted snow of Lebanon, filtered
through crystal and spar,” said Havilah. “We call it
Ayn el Bered (the ice-cold spring). M. Lapierre ascribes
to it marvellous virtues; my father calls it our native
Champagne; to my mother it is more welcome than sherbet.
She will thirst for it now that the dinner-hour draws near,
and I must be in haste.” So saying, she turned into the
abruptly descending path, and, carrying her brimming pitcher
with a steady hand, proceeded at so rapid a rate that Meredith
could scarcely keep pace with her flying feet, and had
no opportunity to relieve her of her light burden. She
paused at length beneath a cluster of fig-trees, which, with the
tangled vines that interlaced their boughs, formed a complete
arbor at the entrance of the village, and, waiting an
instant for her companion's approach, pointed to a little foot-bridge
just beyond, exclaiming, “Yonder come M. Lapierre
and my father.”
Meredith glanced in the direction indicated, and at once
recognized his aged friend, accompanied by an individual
who, although he made no claim to British origin, might
well have been mistaken by the Englishman for one of his
own countrymen. He was somewhat beyond middle life,
and his person, though below the medium height, was robust
almost to corpulency; still his step was elastic, and
his every movement and gesture betokened force and nervous
energy. He wore the European costume, with the
exception of a red tarboosh, which sat low on his forehead,
but suffered a few locks of iron-gray hair to escape and
cluster round his temples. Nothing could exceed the good-humor
which reigned in his round, florid face. It was one
written. One felt at a glance that here was a man who
never wore a mask; a man whose frank, confiding nature
revealed itself in every feature; a man whom the world
might disappoint, but could never sour,—whom his fellow-men
might defraud, deceive, betray, but could never teach
distrust.
It was next to impossible that such a man should bestow
other than a cordial greeting even upon a stranger.
As Havilah approached, a few steps in advance of Meredith,
and whispered a word in her father's ear, he patted
her head approvingly, gave an expressive nod, then
came forward with both hands outstretched. Every friendly
assurance, every pledge of future hospitality, were conveyed
in the warmth with which he now saluted the Englishman,
not as an alien, a passing tourist, a possible intruder, but
as his own acknowledged and honored, though hitherto unknown
guest.
Meredith was surprised out of his habitual reserve. The
customary barriers, whether of diffidence, indifference, or
pride, with which he was wont to protect himself from social
contact, gave way before the heartiness of his new friend's
words and manner, and, almost to his own astonishment, he
found himself responding to them with a grateful cordiality
such as had never been called forth by the vast amount of
adulation which had been wasted upon him from his boyhood.
“I have been absent in Damascus during the past week,”
said the silk manufacturer, “or our good father would not
so long have enjoyed exclusive possession of his guest. It
is now my turn.”
“You have wandered too far on the mountains, my son,”
interposed M. Lapierre, his eye resting with some anxiety
upon his patient; “you are overwearied.”
“We have all donw our day's work, I suspect,” said Meredith's
self-appointed host; “you among your parishioners,
M. Lapierre, I among my work-people, and Mr.—I beg
your pardon, sir—”
“Meredith.”
“And Mr. Meredith upon the mountains. So now to
dinner, or Mother Ianthe will be impatient, and will send
her little Turkish damsel in search of us.”
As he spoke, he drew the Englishman's arm within
his, and they took their way through the mulberry grove,
in the direction of the little white villa, Meredith cheerfully
assenting to the invitation, but looking round in vain for
Havilah, who was nowhere to be seen. Neither her father
nor M. Lapierre, however, appeared conscious of her absence,
and Meredith forbore making any comment on the
sudden disappearance of one whose rapid movements were
evidently as independent of all outward restraint, as her
manners were free from any other rules of etiquette than
those imposed by her own native grace and dignity.
| CHAPTER V. El Fureidîs | |