 | CHAPTER I. El Fureidîs |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
The sun was setting over that far-famed Eastern land,
which, when the Most High divided unto the nations their
inheritance, He gave unto his chosen people,—that land
which the leader of Israel's hosts saw from afar, though he
entered not in,—that land immortalized as the paradise of
our earthly parents, the Canaan of a favored race, the birthplace
and the tomb of prophets, the scene of Jehovah's
mightiest works, the cherished spot whence the dayspring
from on high has visited us, the blessed soil which the
feet of the Prince of Peace have trod.
Lazily on the bosom of that classic sea which skirts the
shore of Syria there floats a light and graceful bark, whose
dreamy motion, as it skims the tide, harmonizes and keeps
pace with the sweet and glowing fancies, the unuttered longings,
the irrepressible awe, which fill the mind of one who,
bound on an Oriental pilgrimage, is now nearing the land of
promise, of beauty, of ancient records, and of sacred lore.
Englishman that he is by birth, scholar that he has become
by study, and philosopher that he fain would be, he forgets,
in the scene before him, the race from which he sprung, the
learning that has made him wise, the logical reasonings of a
himself up, with all the rapture of a poet's enthusiasm, to the
emotion of the hour.
The dim and wavy outline of a distant mountain chain, the
almost invisible specks upon its sides, and the crest of what
seemed at first an airy, floating cloud, are gradually assuming
form and color as the slow-moving vessel draws nearer
and nearer to the shore;—and now the cedar-crowned
heights of Lebanon stand boldly out to view, clothed in the
deep purple light of the descending sun, white monasteries
with lofty towers here and there crown the beetling cliffs,
and Mount Carmel rears its cone-like peak in a majesty
solemn and sublime, while the gilded waters of the Mediterranean
fold the whole in a sheet of living flame.
Now feasting his eager eye upon the harmonious picture,
then lifting it with equal wonder and delight to the deep-blue
canopy of sky above, and anon gazing into the fiery
depths below, through which the bark is cutting its trackless
way, and all the while breathing in an atmosphere whose
purity and fragrance are nowhere else inhaled, the Eastern-bound
traveller acknowledges all his longings satisfied, all
his day-dreams realized.
The little merchant-vessel, bound from Cyprus to Beyrout,
boasts but scanty accommodations,—a circumstance of
which its solitary passenger is far from being disposed to
complain, since he owes to it the exclusive occupancy of
both deck and cabin. More especially, as he nears the
shore of Palestine, and his soul drinks in the inspiration of
the scene and hour, does his English reserve find subject
for congratulation in the absence of the restless movements,
the jargon of tongues, and the inquisitive eyes, which in
recent journeyings have often broken in upon and marred
the subjects of his reverie.
The breeze is so light and soft, the air so balmy with a
thousand sweets, the sky so serene and cloudless, and the
stillness so unbroken, that, lulled into a species of trance,
midway between sleep and ecstasy, he experiences, even
before setting his foot on land, something of the luxury of
Oriental repose.
But an Eastern twilight is short, and so was the undisturbed
meditation of our traveller. The fading of the purple
light on the Syrian hills, and the shooting forth of a
galaxy of stars, each one of which was like a brilliant gem
starting out from its dark background, proved the signal
for a tumult and confusion which formed as strong a contrast
to the previous stillness as did the darkness of night
to the glories of the sunset hour.
The little schooner had come to anchor about a mile from
shore, and was at once surrounded by shoals of boats,
manned by Arab boatmen, whose shrill voices and eager
gestures, as they climbed the vessel's side, seemed to the
startled Englishman little less than demoniac. Thus suddenly
roused from Elysian dreams to find himself encompassed
by a swarm of savages, of whose importunities he
was the sole victim, it may well be supposed that his state
of mind suffered a no less sudden transition. He felt himself
injured, indignant, and resolved to resist.
But what availed his determined attitude, scornful repulse,
and English expostulations, against ignorance of his
language and superior physical force? So hopeless indeed
was the contest with numbers, so evident the necessity of
availing himself of one of the small craft which lay alongside,
that, summoning all his philosophy, he wisely concluded
to conform to the customs of the country, and permit
himself to be carried bodily, first to a boat, and then to
the opposite shore.
Here new clamors awaited him,—cries of backsheesh,
offers of service, and the usual invectives of the disappointed
applicants against their more fortunate, because
more prompt and energetic, rivals. By the time he reached
the comfortable Hôtel de Bellevue, to which his swarthy
conductors guided him with ready instinct, his flattering
visions of the romance of Eastern life had subsided; the
vivid consciousness of his own individuality had become
completely restored, and with it the conviction that a good
dinner, a good bed, and all the comforts of a sober English
home, were vastly preferable to the excited anticipations
and painful realities of a country which presented such
abrupt and powerful contrasts.
As if to test, however, the conclusion to which his recent
and rough experiences had brought him, and prove the
truth that discontent is inherent in the nature of man, he
now unexpectedly found himself in circumstances calculated
to gratify all his national prejudices, and restore him
to the normal condition of his being.
Not only was he conducted to a room furnished in the
European style, attended by a waiter in European costume,
and accosted in the familiar Saxon tongue, but at dinner he
encountered a party of English travellers, who had just
returned from the stereotyped tour up the Nile and through
the most frequented portions of the Holy Land. The party,
moreover, included some old friends of his,—a gentleman
who had been his fellow-student at Oxford, a lady who
had married a connection of his family, and an army officer
whom he had met in London. In a word, he found
himself restored at once to the familiar atmosphere of
home. What more could he ask to fill up the measure of
his satisfaction?
And yet, strange to say, this unforeseen encounter only
countrymen dwelt lightly on the pleasures of their late
excursion, talked loudly of its hazards and inconveniences,
boasted of their own prowess and indifference to danger,
abused the excellent wine of the country, and ended by
advising him to secure a dragoman at once, attach himself
to a party similar to their own, do up Egypt and Syria in
the shortest possible time, and join them in Derbyshire
in season for the autumn races.
The ladies talked learnedly of Thebes and the Sphynx,
Baalbec and the hidden treasures of Nineveh, interspersing
their quotations from the guide-book with inquiries concerning
the Queen's visit to Scotland and anticipations of a gay
winter in Paris.
Our fastidious traveller felt an unspeakable thrill of annoyance
and disgust. The conversation was natural, harmless,
just what might have been expected from the mental
calibre of the individuals. Its effect, however, was to excite
at once the qualities of his character most antagonistic to the
society in which he found himself. The imaginative and
poetic enthusiasm of his nature was again aroused. He
resolved not only to see Eastern lands, but to imbibe their
spirit; and for this purpose he would travel alone, abjure
even the companionship of a dragoman, take the least frequented
routes, and, above all things, avoid any intercourse
with his fellow-countrymen.
Accident seemed to facilitate the execution of this purpose,
affording him a prompt opportunity for carrying out
his rash and hastily formed project.
His English friends had come from Damascus to Beyrout
under the guidance of a professed dragoman, who had
in his turn availed himself, among the mountain passes, of
the assistance of a youthful Arab, son of a noted desert
and possessed a perfect familiarity with the route between
the two cities, had proved an efficient aid upon the journey,
and he now came, late at night, to receive the promised
compensation for his services. Hearing that he was about
to return the next day by a somewhat circuitous route, our
traveller immediately conceived the idea of accompanying
him. The reserved Englishman forbore any expression of
this intention, being anxious to escape the inquiries and expostulations
which would be sure to follow; but, after bidding
his unsuspecting friends good-night, he sought the
youth, made the necessary contract for safe-conduct, and
spent the remaining hours until sunrise in hasty preparations
for the journey, which was to commence at daybreak.
A written apology and farewell sufficed to acquaint his
friends with his sudden departure, though it must be acknowledged
that their comments upon the singularity of the
proceeding were not unwarrantable.
Nor was it strange that in solemn conclave they summed
up those events of his past career which had come under
their knowledge, and passed the joint resolution that Meredith
had always been an eccentric fellow, for whose whims
there was no accounting.
| CHAPTER I. El Fureidîs | |