University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Nothing could be more strictly in accordance with the
peculiar bent of Meredith's taste and genius than the situation
in which he found himself in El Fureidis.

We have seen that, in the outset of his Oriental travels,
he shrunk from the ordinary routes and stale experiences
of other men. Indeed, it would have been impossible for
him, if he would, to pursue the old time-worn routine. It
had never been his lot to follow in life's beaten track. It
was not in his nature. The sports of his very childhood
had either been solitary or diverse from those of his playmates.
As a boy, he had scorned the ordinary boyish competitions
of strength and skill, to astonish his rivals at an
unlooked-for crisis by some strange feat which none other
dared attempt. As a student, he had shown no eagerness
for the prizes which excited his schoolfellows to toil, relinquishing
to his inferiors the outward plaudits and manifest
rewards, while he forced for himself a new mine of knowledge,
or strained his ardent mind in some erratic pursuit,
of which none might see the fruits. And when life held
out its dazzling prospects to the man, he suffered others to
precede him in the race, whose goal he had no wish to
win, and either turned to muse amid the by-paths, or, on
the wings of a poetic imagination, soared above the crowd,
and smiled at the selfish greed with which they strove for
the thing he called a bubble.

And so, because he disappointed men's hopes, and had no
sympathy with their pursuits, they dubbed him odd,—and
rightly so.

He had a mind too vigorous and refined, a heart too fresh
and sensitive, to permit him to mould his life on the stereotyped
plan; but he had not yet learned the noblest use for
which that life was given. How, then, could he be otherwise
than strange, erratic, and unlike his fellows,—unlike
them in that he failed to share their motives, aspirations,
and schemes,—unlike them, inasmuch as, having no fixed
purposes and aims of his own, he drifted idly on the sea of
time, and brought no fruit to perfection?

What he needed was a life motive, and that the highest.
But of this need he had not yet become conscious. It was
enough for him, if, escaping the satiety and the paltriness of
conventional usages, he could find some sufficient spur to his
enthusiasm, some temporary impulse to mental and physical
activity. And this he found in El Fureidis.

Meredith was too experienced a traveller, too genuine
and earnest a man, to be satisfied with superficial knowledge,
whether of places or people. Still, the restlessness and impetuosity
of his character, combined with a certain slowness
of adaptation to new circumstances and associates, would
probably have hurried him through the Holy Land, and left
him with prejudiced, if not erroneous, views of the country,
but for the seeming accident which served to link him to
the soil, to furnish a central point round which his future
plans might radiate, and to render this little Lebanon valley
the nucleus of his Eastern wanderings.

Had the delay in his journey proceeded from other than
natural causes, he would have chafed bitterly at such irreparable
loss of time; had the hospitality he was now enjoying
been importunately thrust upon him, he would have

proudly repelled it, as an encroachment upon his freedom of
thought and action. As it was, his illness and consequent
debility had served to habituate him to the interruption of
his plans, while the cordial and unaffected kindness of which
be had become the subject effectually disarmed his pride,
excited the warmest emotions of gratitude, and developed
those genial and social qualities of his nature which had seldom
before been fully called into exercise.

Immediately upon the re-establishment of his health, it is
true, the force of former habit threatened to gain the ascendency
over his newly acquired ingenuousness of heart and
manner. Thus it was with something of the precision of
studied politeness, something of the reserve of aristocratic
breeding, that he took an early opportunity to thank M.
Trefoil in the warmest terms for his unmerited kindness and
hospitality, at the same time expressing the intention to depart
at once on his travels.

The sensitive pride which shrank from incurring obligation
was not, however, proof against the simple mingling
of disappointment and generosity with which this announcement
was received by the benevolent manufacturer. Genuine
surprise and regret were depicted on every line of his
honest countenance. He even uttered a few interjectional
phrases, expressive of heart-felt sorrow at the thought of this
unexpected parting, and hinted at future schemes of personal
pleasure and gratification which it would inevitably
frustrate; but with simple disinterestedness he forbore urging
them upon his guest, deprecated with childlike simplicity
the selfishness of seeking to detain him longer in a place
which offered so few attractions to the man of pleasure as
El Fureidis, and ended by begging to know if he could be
of any use in furnishing horses, engaging guides, or otherwise
facilitating the Englishman's journey.

Meredith was staggered in his resolution. He had steeled
himself against hospitable solicitations and entreaties, had
armed himself with arguments in favor of what he deemed
a well-concerted plan of travel; but he was quite unprepared
for the evident pain his announcement had caused, as
well as for the unsophisticated friendliness and cordiality
with which his kind host had kept his own hopes and wishes
in the background, while he lent himself to the accomplishment
of his guest's schemes.

The young man was conscious that decision of purpose
had imparted to his manner an air of chilling reserve; he
feared that his abrupt departure might savor of ingratitude,
and almost repented the resolution which had been dictated
by independence of spirit and a characteristic fear of intrusion,
rather than by his own secret preferences.

It was not without inward satisfaction, therefore, that he
listened to the paternal advice of M. Lapierre, who, being
appealed to on the subject, gravely put a veto upon Meredith's
projected route, pronounced the season unsuitable for
extending his travels into Southern Judæa, and earnestly
recommended, both in consideration of his health and his
advantage as a traveller, that he should devote the remainder
of the summer to excursions in the interesting and salubrious
regions of the Lebanon and the Anti-Lebanon.

Thus encouraged, M. Trefoil hesitated not warmly to
second the proposition; and Meredith, whose mood of mind
had been sensibly modified during the conversation, was
without difficulty persuaded to make El Fureidis his headquarters
for the present, to dismiss Abdoul, who was impatient
to join his desert tribe, and to postpone the journey to
Jerusalem until after harvest, at which time M. Trefoil confessed
that he had proposed to offer himself as his friend's
travelling companion to the Holy City.

Meredith still thought proper to protest against the excess
of hospitality which now led M. Trefoil to claim him as his
guest for an indefinite period. The young man even went
so far as to propose an independent residence, and to negotiate
with the village sheik, whose dignity was merely nominal,
and who for a moderate compensation was ready to
evacuate his premises in the Englishman's behalf. But before
this purpose could be put in execution, the destined
occupant discovered that M. Trefoil, who had reluctantly
conceded this point, was resolved none the less to constitute
himself his friend's host; that arrangements were going
forward for transporting from the villa to the sheik's house
all the articles of furniture and domestic luxury that would be
required; that well-trained servants were even being drafted
from the manufacturer's dwelling to be placed at Meredith's
disposal; and, in a word, the latter had the mortification of
perceiving that he had thoughtlessly occasioned a degree of
trouble and inconvenience which he had never foreseen, and
had suffered the villa to be ransacked and its quiet disturbed
in order to satisfy his pride and furnish him with a separate
establishment.

Thus his final attempt to escape obligation was rendered
abortive, and resulted, as might be conjectured, in an explanation,
a remonstrance, and the utter demolition of all those
barriers which English exclusiveness had opposed to Syrian
hospitality. In the hearty shaking of hands and the perfect
understanding which ensued, a seal was at once set to Meredith's
fastidious scruples: he suffered himself to be considered
a legitimate member of M. Trefoil's household, and,
in the perfect liberty he there enjoyed, the utter freedom
from conventional restraints, he soon became habituated to
his novel and agreeable mode of life, and, shaking off the
reserve which had elsewhere existed as a veil between him

and his fellow-men, suffered his character to appear in its
true light.

Nothing could have appealed more strongly to every finer
quality of Meredith's nature than the unquestioning and
guileless trust which his new friends reposed in him. He
had entered this mountain valley as a stranger, and been
welcomed as a brother and a friend. He had brought with
him no other credentials than those which were expressed in
his face and bearing, yet he had been freely admitted to the
privacy of a domestic circle. It was well for his simple-hearted
and unworldly host, that nobleness and generosity
were prominent traits in the character of the man with
whom he had to deal, for, as will soon be seen, M. Trefoil's
confidence in Meredith was unlimited.

“This southwesterly breeze is most refreshing,” said the
silk-manufacturer, as he rose from his breakfast-table one
fine morning during the first week that the Englishman had
been his guest. “See,” continued he, as he walked to the
window and threw wide the lattice; “the air is as pure as
crystal. How clearly the mountain-tops are all defined,
against the blue sky, and how boldly the old convent stands
out from its wall of rock! You spoke of a wish to visit
the monks,” he added, addressing Meredith, who had joined
him at the lattice. “Why not carry out your plan to-day?
there can never be a better opportunity.”

“I will do so most gladly, if you can furnish me with a
guide,” was Meredith's reply; “there is no spot in the
neighborhood which excites my curiosity so strongly; but
my last attempt to reach it was a failure.”

“I wish I could accompany you,” said the host; “but
this is the busiest season of the year among my work-people.
The cocoons, as you observed yesterday, will soon be forming;
it is a time of labor and anxiety to the villagers, and

my overseer and I must be everywhere at once. However,
Havilah will be glad of an excuse to visit one of her favorite
haunts; she will go with you, I have no doubt, and be a far
better guide than her father. The way is rough; but she is
a mountain-climber by profession, and, I promise you, you
can never be introduced to the Superior more favorably
than under her auspices. Eh, Havilah?” continued he,
laying his hand on the head of his daughter, who was feeding
with bread numbers of tiny blue swallows that boldly
ate from her outstretched palm. “Is there no fresh ointment
prepared for the stiff joints of old Friar Ambrose,
no black-letter manuscript to be restored to Father Anastase?”

Havilah answered by putting to flight the little feathered
flock, which dispersed for an instant, then confidently reassembled
around the handful of crumbs which she had
scattered for them on the table-cloth; and hastening from
the apartment, she soon returned, bringing with her a quaint,
coverless volume, which she laughingly held up before her
father.

“I thought so! I thought so!” exclaimed he, as he took
it, turned over its leaves, and shook his head despairingly
at sight of its unintelligible Arabic characters. “And is
this the only one?”

“The only one,” responded Havilah, with mock sadness;
“there was another for which I teased poor Father Anastase
well, but he persisted in holding up a single finger, and saying,
`One at a time, my daughter, one at a time!' ”

“Ah, the old rogue!” cried M. Trefoil. “He did not
mean you should be long in coming again;”—and carelessly
flinging the volume down upon the divan, he took
up his red tarboosh, fitted it to his temples, and walked
away, saying, “The convent, then, is the order of the

day. Good morning, Mr. Meredith; I shall see you again
at dinner.”

“Take Geita with you, my child,” said Ianthe, as Havilah,
in simple deference to her father's wishes, was about
to leave the room and prepare for her excursion. “Let
Bachmet go too, and carry the date brandy which has
been ready for a week or more. Do not forget the goat's-milk
cheese for Father Ambrose, and as you pass through
the village, you can leave the herbs for poor Tyiby's sick
boy.”

Havilah listened dutifully to her mother's instructions,
then sped away to fulfil them. A few moments only were
required for completing the simple arrangements, which
were matters of every-day recurrence at the villa, and the
morning was yet in its freshness when the little party set
out on their pedestrian expedition. They were a picturesque
group of excursionists,—the tall, athletic Englishman,
in simple shooting-dress of rough gray tweed, his
manly Saxon features exposed to full view beneath his
visorless Glengarry cap,—Havilah, attired in the same convenient
costume in which Meredith had first encountered
her on the mountains, and the rich glow which the fresh
morning breeze imparted to her cheeks well entitling her to
the appellation of the “Lebanon Rose,”—the little Geita
tripping closely beside her mistress, her full trousers and
flowing robe of gayly figured print proclaiming her of
Moslem origin,—and Bachmet, clad in the coarse blue
stuff of the country, unceremoniously trudging some distance
in advance of the other members of the party, swaying
his heavy basket to and fro on his head, and gayly
singing as he went.

They would have struck at once into the mountain paths;
but Havilah's commissions among the peasantry must first

be executed, and Bachmet therefore led the way through
the village. Here their interruptions and delays were
numerous. The master's daughter must pause for a kind
word and a blessing from the old miller, whose olive-mill
was at rest at the season when the silkworm was most busy,
and who, as he sat idly smoking his pipe, literally beneath
his own vine and fig-tree, was eager to detain the youthful
pride of the village, that he might at the same time bestow
a long and curious gaze upon her English companion.

She must not pass the mission school without lingering a
moment to distribute among the elder pupils the Arabic
Bibles which had recently been procured for them in Beyrout;
the younger members of the throng meanwhile crowding
round the Englishman, not because his appearance was
still unfamiliar to their inquisitive eyes, but because they
had not forgotten the handful of paras which he had scattered
among them a few days previously.

She must not refuse the pressing entreaties of Tyiby (the
good) that she would enter her low-roofed cottage, and cheer
with a smile the little fever-parched boy, Meredith being
compelled to await his companion without, since Tyiby,
though a convert to pure Christianity, could not quite overcome
her superstitious dread of the evil eye, and of a
stranger's noxious influence upon her countless little servants,
which, arranged on wicker frames inside her dwelling,
were diligently spinning their silken cocoons.

Meredith chafed somewhat at these successive claims upon
his patience; but it was with unruffled good-humor that
Havilah acceded to them all; and it was with a smile as
fresh as the morning, that, as they turned from Tyiby's cottage
at the extremity of the village, she waved her hand to
the handsome matron, saying, “Plenty of cocoons to you,
Tyiby, and a short day.”

“Ah,” replied the peasant-woman, following them with a
wistful gaze as they turned into the path leading to the
foot of the mountain gorge, “labor is the lot of Yoosoof's
helpmeet, and her shadow will be long in coming;[1] but
sunshine and joy to the Lebanon Rose, and long life to the
Frank.”

The distance from the village to the convent, though considerably
less than that which Meredith had accomplished
on his unsuccessful circuit, could not be estimated, even by
the shortest route, at less than three or four English miles.
The first half of the way consisted of a gradual winding descent
to the bed of the mountain stream; and, beyond this,
the opposite cliffs, on which the convent was situated, must
be scaled by means of an abrupt, precipitous ascent, which
offered a severe test to the unpractised climber.

For an hour or more the path which our party followed
was comparatively smooth and feasible, the trees above their
heads forming a continued arbor of shade, and the ground
beneath their feet flower-strewn at every step. Scarlet
anemones, myrtle, and wild roses bloomed in the richest
profusion; every rock and crag was enwreathed with blossoming
vines; and not only was Meredith's botanical taste
gratified to the utmost, but Havilah's superior knowledge
was continually appealed to for the recognition of plants to
which he could give no name.

Thus the box which Geita carried for the purpose was
speedily filled with rare specimens, the senses were well-nigh
satiated with sweet odors, and the progress of the party
was less and less impeded by the temptation to pause or
turn aside from the path.

Had Meredith been forewarned that fate had destined
him to the free and intimate companionship of the beautiful
young creature, the first sight of whom had inspired him
only with admiring awe; had it been whispered to him that
she whom he had respectfully worshipped in the distance
would one day be thrown, as it were, upon his protection
and society; in a word, had he had a dim presentiment
of his present relations with Havilah,—his characteristic
reserve would have taken alarm, embarrassment would have
absorbed all other emotions, and diffidence and mauvaise
honte would have rebelled against such a severe ordeal.

But destiny foreshadowed furnishes but a distorted image
of the destiny which takes men by surprise, and Meredith
in unexpected circumstances proved the very reverse of
what those who knew him best might reasonably have
prophesied. Self-consciousness, even the self-consciousness
of a generous nature, could not exist in the atmosphere of
one so artless, so fearless, so free as Havilah. One might
as well have been abashed by the wild-flowers that reared
their graceful heads on every side, or shrunk from the swallows
that flitted boldly overhead, or feared to look in the
eye of the little gazelle. Havilah was a being of another
stamp from those young women into whose society Meredith
had hitherto been thrown, and in her presence he became
another man.

Thus, in reply to her simple and guileless queries, he
talked to her freely of his English home, told her what
flowers were native to an English soil, what were the peculiarities
of an English climate, and what the most striking
points of contrast between her own sunny land and the distant
isles of Great Britain. Then, led on by the child-like
attention and womanly intelligence of his eager listener, he
described to her his travels in the farther West, in the land

which she cherished and loved as her father's birthplace
and the home of his boyhood; told her of the boundless
prairies, which had been the red man's hunting-ground, and
of streams so broad and long that the boasted rivers of
Damascus and of Lebanon were as feeble rills in comparison.

Nor was the conversation of which this usually reserved
man assumed the burden, and with which he effectually
beguilded the way, made up alone of his own experience
in life or travel. Every trifling incident and object in
their walk furnished a suggestion to a mind rich in rare
attainments and refined and poetic culture, and Havilah's
large eyes glowed with strange interest and surprise, as
one by one he unlocked at her bidding and for her benefit
those treasures of learning and of taste hitherto studiously
shut from the eye of the world, but of which this child of
nature had by her own simple intuition found the key.

The quiet of the mountain solitudes, which had only been
now and then interrupted by the clear warbling of a bird,
was at length broken by the distinct, monotonous sound of
rushing water, and, as the party drew near the border of the
stream which they had been gradually approaching, they
recognized the musical plash of one of the foaming cascades
that were frequent in the wild ravine, where the current in
its downward course leaped from crag to crag, as joyously
as a child at play. Nothing could be more picturesquely
beautiful than this little cataract, whose silvery spray rose
high in the air, glimmered an instant in the sunshine, then
fell laughing back into the stream, to continue its race, and
take its next wild plunge into the valley below. Meredith
and Havilah paused involuntarily to enjoy the refreshing
sight and sound; then the former, observing that the torrent
at the foot of the waterfall was possessed of considerable

depth, and that there were no apparent means of crossing it,
looked about him for the material from which to construct a
temporary bridge. No branch or log offered itself for the
purpose, but an instant's glance revealed a huge stone so
placed that his unaided strength could easily hurl it into the
bed of the current, and he had placed his hand upon it for
this purpose, when, looking up, he saw that he was laboring
for his own benefit alone. Havilah had already crossed the
flood, by means of some little points of rock scarcely discernible
amid the spray, and on which her foot had been
planted so lightly that she now stood dry-shod upon the
opposite margin, watching the motions of Meredith, as also
those of Geita and Bachmet, who had removed their shoes,
and were deliberately fording the stream somewhat lower
down. It only remained for Meredith to follow the example
of Havilah, which he did unhesitatingly, though not
escaping a wet foot and a slight shade of mortification at the
advantage she had gained over him.

Nor was this advantage in any degree lost by his young
guide during the rough and tortuous ascent which commenced
the moment the stream was crossed. Meredith
might scale precipices and surmount rude, flint-strewn staircases
in the rock, with a rapidity and energy which astonished
himself, but he could never be in advance of his fairy-footed
companion, nor gain a point where his gallantry could
be of any service to her. If he lost sight of her for a moment,
and looked back, suspecting she had paused to take
breath, he would hear her voice above him, and, glancing
upward, would behold her standing on some apparently inaccessible
crag, smiling at his bewilderment. If he sought to
warn her against a sliding stone, or insidious pitfall, she
would have safely passed the dangerous crisis before the
word could escape his lip; and, so far from attempting to

offer his aid, it soon became the Englishman's sole effort to
at least equal her in boldness and agility.

Thus vying with each other in that mountain exercise
which, to the healthy and the young, has always in it something
inspiring, they soon gained the lofty and desolate eminence
on which the convent stood, having left far behind
them the weary Geita, and Bachmet, panting beneath his
load.