 | CHAPTER XVI. El Fureidîs |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
It was now Meredith's first wish to leave El Fureidîs.
He had seized the moment when Havilah rose from the
breakfast-table to broach the matter to M. Trefoil, and the
preparations for departure were already going forward.
Despite his genuine hospitality, the transparent face of the
manufacturer gave unmistakable evidence of the relief this
decision afforded to his embarrassment, and it was with a
ludicrous mixture of sadness and alacrity that he took
upon himself the final offices of a host, and devoted all
his bustling energies to the requisite arrangements for his
guest's approaching journey.
With his usual impetuosity and contempt of obstacles,
Meredith had resolved to set out that very day. But when
he named his intention, M. Trefoil lifted his eyebrows, and
fixed his round, honest eyes on the young man, as if doubting
his sanity; and Abdoul, upon being consulted, gravely
pronounced the thing impossible. M. Trefoil knew the
necessities of an Eastern traveller, bound, as Meredith professed
to be, on a distant pilgrimage, and the young Arab,
despite the sly satisfaction which he felt at the prospect of
the Englishman's bidding farewell to El Fureidîs, would
not abate one iota of his preconceived notions in regard to
a due equipment for the journey.
Twenty-four hours was pronounced the least possible time
in which the necessary preparations could be completed, and,
causes of delay, this period was finally lengthened to several
days.
During this interval Abdoul made himself busy in his
own department, affecting all the airs of a finished dragoman,
and issuing lordly directions in reference to the shoeing
of horses, the repairing of saddles, and the burnishing and
replenishing of his own and his master's stock of fire-arms.
M. Trefoil, meanwhile, deaf to all other claims, whether of
business or of pleasure, might be seen, at almost any hour
of the day, perambulating the village, pausing at almost
every cottage, and making drafts upon every quarter which
could be rendered available for contributing to his friend's
personal outfit, tent furniture, or travelling canteen.
The management of his affairs being thus assumed by a
despotic servant and an indefatigable commissariat, Meredith
would have found himself destitute of both employment
and society but for M. Lapierre, who, as he had been the
first to welcome the stranger to El Fureidîs, and had played
towards him a paternal part, now seemed called to exercise
a new ministry in his behalf. No amount of worldly tact or
selfish policy, nothing but the truest Christian courtesy, could
have inspired the benevolent and successful zeal with which
this village pastor, placing himself in the vacant social niche,
contrived to furnish occupation for Meredith's idle hours, and
soothe the mind which was visibly preying on itself.
The very fact that the traveller's time was limited afforded
a pretext for urging him to those scientific and antiquarian
researches which were yet incomplete, and each day
saw the young man and the patriarch sallying forth from the
village on excursions which each felt to be on his own part
merely nominal. Father Lapierre, however, was far too
wise and cautious to betray any suspicion of the Englishman's
lofty train of thought, the well-poised intellect, of one who
had overcome passion and the world, acted as a lever upon
Meredith's mental powers; and the tender pity which had
prompted the effort for his sake was exalted into admiring
sympathy, as the veteran warrior of the cross, who loved a
strong and invincible nature, saw with what equanimity of
force the freshly stricken sufferer sustained his burden.
For although stoical and pitiably sad, there was something
heroic and grand in the calmness and dignity with which,
after the first shock, this disappointed lover took his misfortune
to heart, hugged it there unresistingly, and without
wincing suffered it to swallow up and absorb all those secret
springs of joy which latterly had been to him a fountain of
fresh life.
A practised courtier, a professed connoisseur in the ways
of the human heart, would perhaps have moved an appeal
from M. Trefoil's abrupt verdict, would have meditated new
modes of approach, and still courted success. But Meredith
was a stranger to coquetry in all its forms. He was earnest,
simple, and true. To him a repulse was a defeat; the
tilt with fortune was ended, and the discarded lover was a
perpetual exile from his mistress's smiles.
Still less did it occur to him to question the manner in
which his courtship had been conducted. The very terms
in which his rejection had been couched forbade this. The
decision had rested solely with Havilah. She was indifferent
to him. It was enough. He asked no further
explanation. He could even find it in his heart to be
grateful to M. Trefoil, who had by his friendly intervention
saved him from a more direct repulse.
Some men's vanity festers, becomes inflated and more
offensive than ever, when it has chanced to receive a sting.
concerned, the blow to the young man's self-esteem was
fatal. He sought not to undervalue the prize which he had
failed to win; but was content to believe that the unworthiness
was all his own. He ceased to dwell on those bewitching
graces which had hitherto captivated him; and
beholding her rather in that character of lofty and mysterious
beauty which had sometimes placed her above his
comprehension, he wonderingly asked himself how he had
ever dared aspire so high. So keenly conscious was he,
indeed, of his own inferiority, that, if possible, he reverenced
her the more for having been conscious of it too.
There was nothing mean or degrading in this self-abasement;
it sprung from the noblest generosity,—a generosity
which had lavished a wealth of love where it met no
return, but which would not recall the gift; was ready to
sacrifice its best affections, to let them flow out like water,
but scorned to believe that they had been misplaced.
It is rare to find a man just towards those whose friendship
has cost him dear. Meredith was more than just; he
was magnanimous. The child-like confidence of Havilah's
manner towards him could not be restored; but she ceased
to shrink and drop her eyelids in his presence when a single
day's experience had proved that, though pricked to the
heart by her avoidance, Meredith forbore to importune her
with his presence, addressed to her only words of courtesy,
and denied himself even a stolen glance at her face, from
the dread of disconcerting or giving her pain.
Nothing could be more distasteful to the self-love of the
Englishman than the unsought and unwelcome pity constantly
evinced in Ianthe's demeanor towards him; but
his better feelings gained the mastery, gratitude triumphed
over pride, and her touching solicitude was responded to by
invalid that not a particle of resentment rankled in his
breast.
But to no one was Meredith's generosity so great a cause
of satisfaction as to M. Trefoil. It never occurred to either,
to their credit be it said, that their pecuniary relations would
be in the slightest degree affected by the present embarrassment.
The forgiving temper of the manufacturer also forbade
him to doubt that a good understanding would finally
be established between himself and his friend. But the
clumsy tactician was conscious of the awkward part he had
played, in first blindly encouraging, then totally blasting,
the hopes of a lover; he had been shocked at the palsied
stupor with which Meredith had learned his fate, and was
fully prepared either to behold the young man the victim of
despair, or to find himself the subject of bitter and deserved
reproach.
Relieved from both these apprehensions by Meredith's
friendly and self-possessed demeanor, the elastic spirits of
M. Trefoil at once recovered their tone; his penetration,
which seldom probed beneath the surface, took no note of
any effort on Meredith's part; he saw him calm, believed
him cheerful, and, deceived by his apparent recovery from
the blow, even went so far as to doubt whether it had been
such a heart-stroke after all.
Outward acts of liberality are insignificant compared with
generosity of soul; still they have their secret spring in the
heart, and often carry with them a silent appeal. No one
who had the slightest acquaintance with Meredith was surprised
to learn that he had roused the gratitude of the
village by the profuseness of his gifts at departure, and that,
from the aged brotherhood of Maronite monks to the youngest
child in the village school, none was left without a token
might have been anticipated; but a deeper chord was
touched, and deeper memories stirred among the inmates
of the villa, as many a trifling circumstance revealed, when
it was too late for thanks, their recent guest's thoughtfulness
for those whom he left behind, and his own utter self-abandonment.
He took with him only what his bare
necessities required; every article, whether of use or ornament,
which he had imported into the villa, every curious
relic, every costly trifle, his most claborate fire-arms, his
amber-mouthed pipes, all were found in their accustomed
places. Not a book among the library brought thither from
Beyrout was removed from its shelf, and costly furs, and
fabrics of Persian manufacture, were found heaped together
on the divan of his room. A beautiful gray mare, which
Havilah had occasionally ridden, was left in M. Trefoil's
stable, the gayly housed saddle and silver-mounted bridle
were still suspended from the wall. The portfolio, in which
Meredith's pupil had sometimes practised drawing, lay upon
her stool in the open alcove, every pencil and crayon freshly
pointed for use.
Among all the contributions to comfort and enjoyment,
which had dated from the time of the Englishman's arrival,
nothing was left wanting but his now unwelcome self.
It was a cold and comfortless morning when Meredith
bade adieu to El Fureîdis. So chilly was the atmosphere,
so keen the wind on the mountains, that Ianthe dared not
follow her guest to the threshold, and he was summoned to
an inner room to take leave of her.
The change in the season was making its mark on the
invalid. She lay on her couch wrapped in a long white
robe, and her face wore the pallor of the grave. Moved by
a sudden and yet solemn impulse, the tall Englishman bent
brow of the dead. It brought his eyes close to hers. He
seemed to read her soul. “Farewell, madam,” he said,
deeply moved; “I shall see you no more; but my time, my
wealth, my influence, are all at your command. I can never
know any higher joy than in serving you. Only give me
the opportunity, and I will gladly prove to you, whenever
and wherever I may, that the disappointed lover can yet be
a friend.”
“God bless you!” said Ianthe, “and farewell! Few men,”
she added, in a broken voice, “could do as you have done.
Havilah's mother thanks you, and will not forget.”
Havilah stood at the head of the upper flight of steps.
She had witnessed Meredith's interview with her mother.
Large tears stood in her eyes, and the hand which she offered
in parting trembled visibly. Almost any other man
than Meredith would have been emboldened by the poor
child's agitation. But it was the reverse with the Englishman.
He scarcely ventured to clasp the little fluttering
hand, dropped it as if fearful his touch might offend, and
with husky voice ejaculated the hasty word, “Good by!”
Even to the last moment the excited spirits of M. Trefoil
found vent in the eager and officious zeal with which he devoted
himself to every detail of the travelling accountrement.
Even at the last shaking of hands, his restless eye was inspecting
the leather strap of a saddle-bag; even when the
party were fairly started, he ran bare-headed down the bridle-path
to suggest an alteration in the length of Meredith's
stirrup; and it was not until the riders had finally turned the
angle of the granite boulder, and were lost to sight, that the
good man drew out his handkerchief, wiped his ruddy face,
and stifled a sigh with the philosophical soliloquy, “Heyday!
So we meet and part! A good fellow! A noble fellow!
my day's work at the factory.”
The travellers had scarcely proceeded ten rods, when a
low cry arrested Meredith's attention. He drew in his horse,
and, peering beneath the shadow of a little stone enclosure
or shed, beheld stretched upon the ground the nearly lifeless
form of the wounded gazelle. The poor animal was
in the agonies of death, and the cry which had reached
Meredith's ear was its last low moan. The boy Bachmet
stood beside it watching its struggles.
Meredith had not thought of the little creature since the
day when he brought it home in his arms; but he waited
now, a silent spectator of the scene, until, after a few convulsive
twitchings, it stretched itself out and lay stiff and still.
The boy looked up with an expression of disappointment
and regret in his face, which was succeeded by a glow of
grateful surprise, as Meredith leaned from his horse and
placed in his hand the silver which was to have been the
reward of successful treatment, saying, in a tone full of
mournful meaning: “It is not your fault, my boy; you
have done the best you could; there are some wounds that
never can be healed.”
At the door of Father Lapierre's dwelling Meredith
paused again, and found the old man, staff in hand, at the
threshold, waiting to bestow a blessing upon him. Springing
from his horse and leading him by the bridle, Meredith
walked beside the venerable priest, who insisted upon accompanying
him to the farthest extremity of the village, saying,
“I was the first to welcome you to El Fureidis, my son, I
will be the last to bid you farewell.”
But the village benefactor was not to be suffered thus
peacefully to depart with the solitary blessing of the holy
man upon his head. A peasant throng had assembled to do
marshalled themselves into a band, and hailed him with
music and with shouts of joy; and when, after proceeding
some distance on foot, he had grasped Father Lapierre's
hand, had received the missionary's final benediction, and
had mounted his horse to depart, the air range with the
“Sala el kaer!” (Be this a blessed day to ye travellers!)
which was the unanimous salutation of the crowd.
What a mockery it seemed to Meredith! What a mockery
seemed to him all the hospitalities, honors, and joys
which he had experienced in El Fureidis! The little village
had dawned upon him three months ago as an Eden of rest;
its united voice followed him now with a triumphal song;
but it had lured the sick of body to a short repose, only to
send him sick at heart, empty, and beggared away.
| CHAPTER XVI. El Fureidîs | |