Читать книгу The Thistle and the Cedar of Lebanon - Habeeb Risk Allah - Страница 4

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My earliest recollections are associated with the lovely and rural village of Shuay-fât, my birth-place, on the Lebanon; and where, if not the happiest, certainly the most innocent years of my childhood were passed. My late father had no fixed residence at that place, but he, with the rest of his family, usually resorted there to spend the summer months and part of the autumn and spring. In winter the cold became intense, owing to the elevated position of the village; consequently most of its inhabitants and summer visitors, including amongst these latter my own family, invariably wintered at Beyrout. My uncle, Sheikh Faris Biridi, filled the important and respected post of katib, or secretary to the Emir Beshir Shahab, the late prince of Lebanon, who resided at the village of Deyr-al Kamar, situated a few hours’ journey from Shuay-fât. At least three times a week my uncle’s duties compelled him to visit the Emir. Sheikh Faris was universally respected amongst the villagers; his house was the best—his grounds the most extensive, and he himself in reality, an intelligent and well-informed man. For a Syrian, he was deeply read and well skilled in the use of his pen; but above all, he was an earnest and devout Christian, a kind father, and a good friend—virtues which gained for him the esteem and love of all the neighbouring villagers, as well Moslems and Druses as the Christians.

Under the favourable auspices of this kind man’s tuition, I first learned to read and write my native tongue; and, as I was afterwards informed, even at that early age, gave cheering proofs of an active mind, and evinced an aptitude and love for the acquirement of knowledge. I could not possibly have had a better guide, both as regards precept and example. So long as I remained under his hospitable roof, his great and chief care was to richly stock my young mind with doctrines well adapted to promote the welfare of the soul in after years on all important business. His household arrangements were an example for others. He was an early riser himself, and insisted on all his household following this healthful practice: his maxim was that sleep was for the dark hours of the night—work and recreation for the light—prayers and thanksgivings for all seasons.

My uncle was accustomed when at home to repair every morning, during the spring and summer seasons, to the top of a neighbouring hill, which commanded a view over an extensive range of country. On these occasions it was my wont to accompany him. A servant preceded us carrying a small carpet and a cushion or two; I carried my uncle’s pipe and tobacco-pouch with flint, steel, and tinder, in one hand; in the other, the Kitab Mukaddas, or Arabic Bible, printed in England, by the Church Missionary Society. As soon as my uncle had seated himself, and assumed his pipe, he would make me sit at his feet and read out to him from the good Book, illustrating and commenting as opportunity occurred. The hundred and fourth Psalm, than which none could be better suited to the time and place, was usually his favourite.

From our elevated position, we could command a view, not only of our own dearly cherished and beautiful hamlet, but also of many of the surrounding villages. At our feet lay Shuay-fât, with its neat little cottages and cleanly swept court-yards, surrounded by a dense little forest of mulberries, oranges, lemons, apricots, olives, countless vines, and many other fruits; the dark leaves of an occasional poplar lending variety to the beauty and shading of the foliage. Not a man, woman, or child, moved to and fro in the narrow little streets, but their names and occupations were well known to us. The dogs wagged their tails in happy recognition of my shrill sharp whistle, and a thousand echoes caught up the signal. The verdant hills and valleys that surrounded us were thickly dotted with cattle and sheep contentedly browsing upon the rich pasturage. Peeping over the densely wooded plantations, the tops of the little whitewashed houses pointed out the locality of some well-known village. Clear streams of water sparkling in the glowing sunlight, often intersected the plains and valleys, or rushed headlong down the steep sides of some deep dell, abounding with wild flowers and myrtle bushes. Far below, where the distant fields in square patches of variegated hues, green bespangled with blue and crimson flowers; sometimes covered, like a sheet of pure gold, with countless buttercups, and sometimes in uncultivated patches of sombre brown; but what I most dearly loved to gaze at was the broad blue sea in the distance, looking so pleasantly cool and calm, with here and there a patch of deeper blue, where the breeze sportively ruffled the waves. I always thought of Nabiy Yunas [8] and the great fish, and wondered if many such fish were yet taking their pastime in the deep. How little I imagined at that time that I was destined to traverse those mighty waters, and to suffer myself to be borne away on their waves hundreds of miles from shore, exposed to raging tempests in a fragile bark! Such a notion would then have been scouted by all my friends; and I myself should have been foremost in deriding the idea, and in opposing, that which has since proved conducive to my best interests, temporal, and I trust eternal; but I was then a child, and understood and acted as a child.

From this pleasant spot, my uncle gazed with rapture upon the surrounding scenery, as the first rays of the sun peered above the snow-capped peaks of lofty Lebanon, and spread a golden mantle over the vast panorama; from my childhood, I have known how to appreciate the beauties of nature in all their poetry; and I admire them still, but with a milder and more subdued admiration.

“He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills.” This was a portion of a morning’s reading lesson; the force and beauty of the verse were illustrated by everything around me. My worthy preceptor would impress this fact upon my mind. The men, the cattle, the trees, shrubs, flowers, birds, butterflies, even the most insignificant insect that crawls upon the earth—all these are preserved, he argued, by the bounty and beneficence of the Creator—without this water how would nature subsist? In short the whole of that delightful Psalm seemed as though expressly composed to illustrate the country around us, especially that passage which says, “The cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted; where the birds make their nests.”

Thus profitably and pleasantly the early hours of the day would be consumed. I was then dismissed with sage advice, to remember throughout the day what I had read and heard; and my uncle being called away by his avocations, I was left to amuse myself with my play-mates in the village, until the hour of noon summoned us to our substantial mid-day meal. Like most boys, we were prone to mischief. I remember a favourite game amongst the village lads, which occasionally terminated in a squabble, and was known by the name of Al Cadi, or The Judge. The Cadi was chosen by lot, as were the officers of his court, and the imaginary plaintiffs and defendants. Squatted on the ground, under the pleasant shade of some mulberry-tree, we then held a court. Sentence was recorded and executed; and sometimes the boy who personated the imaginary criminal was sentenced to be bastinadoed. On these occasions, the executioners laid about them so smartly with the light switches of the mulberry and olive, that though the boy’s shoes were never removed, the lash penetrated to the sole of the foot, and then the pretended culprit, smarting from pain, would lose all command over his temper; a melée would ensue, which outraged the dignity of the court, and usually terminated by all the members, the Cadi included, being summarily whipped for their naughtiness.

When the hour of mid-day was announced by the striking of gongs, which in Syria are usually substituted for bells at some churches, all our family assembled for futar, and my uncle would enter, followed by the peasants employed about his plantations, together with his other servants. This was the signal for the cook and her assistant to carry into the centre of the yard a large iron cauldron, containing the ruzz-mufalfal, or whatever was prepared for the day for the supply of the whole household. Clean shining platters were ranged in piles round this cauldron, and a blessing having been first asked, the food was ladled out—a goodly portion for each—enough and no waste. The only distinguishing mark at this family meal was, that the members of my uncle’s family were all seated round a low circular table, and reclined upon carpets and against cushions. The others sat where their fancy dictated; but they chiefly crowded under that side of the court-yard wall which afforded a shade from the heat of the sun. In addition to the contents of the cauldron, there was generally a dish of stewed meat and vegetables; or (if the season was Lent), of the egg-vegetable, or batinjan, and the vegetable-marrow, sliced and fried in oil—with as many cucumbers, pickles, lettuces, radishes, and young onions, as any one wished and asked for. During the repast, one of the servants usually stood at the door to watch for any poor wayfarers who might pass, to ask them to partake of our hospitality. When all had finished, the fragments were divided into equal portions amongst the cats and dogs of the establishment; and what was left by them was given to the fowls and sparrows. Our evening meal differed but little from that of the morning, except on days when the national dish of Kubbee [10] superseded everything else. Then we had Kubbees in soup made of laban, or curdled milk, and Kubbees fried, and Kubbees baked; for the Syrian can never tire of eating of this delicious dish. The interval between mid-day and the evening was occupied variously—but first came the indispensable siesta, indulged in by men, women, and children. The men would then return to their respective labours, while the women occupied themselves in household matters, and most of the children were sent to the village school; but for myself, my afternoons were occupied with our family spiritual adviser, an excellent old man, who came daily and instructed me, from the hours of two to four p.m. After supper, my uncle would sit in state and receive the visits of the neighbours, who usually dropped in for an hour or two every evening. They sat and smoked, and talked about agricultural matters or village affairs; and sometimes one of the party would tell an amusing story, and another would sing a song—sweetmeats, coffee, and other refreshments being from time to time handed round—and thus the evenings would be spent in pleasant harmless enjoyment. This, with very little variety, is a faithful picture of what was our every-day life at Shuay-fât: and so passed the years of my infancy.

I have omitted to make any personal allusion to the various members of my family. I hope, however, that I shall be pardoned in making a slight reference to my uncle’s lovely daughters, nine in number; these fair cousins of mine outrivalled each other in beauty and amiable qualities, and each had a trait of beauty peculiar to herself. In Syria, it is the custom to distinguish the various members of a family by a soubriquet, which has reference to some perfection or failing. Thus our groom, Yusuf, who limped a little, was called “Topal,” or the lame; and one of my cousins, “Al Shams,” or the sun, owing to her very bright eyes; whilst another, who had mild blue eyes, was designated, “Al Kamar,” or the moon. Al Kamar was so noted for her beauty and sweet disposition, that two of the chiefs of Lebanon sought her hand in marriage—and this, though they had never seen her; but Al Kamar was not ambitious of honors and riches. The creed of the sheikhs also differed widely from her own; so she refused them both. All these nine daughters are now married and settled in life; so I take leave of them with a fervent prayer, that the Almighty may graciously watch over them, and crown their end with eternal happiness.

Shuay-fât, like most of the surrounding villages, produces a large quantity of silk; but it is in particular celebrated for the excellence of its wine, its olives, and olive-oil. Of the first, I can affirm, that I have, in after-years, heard good judges of wine, when quoting its excellence, refer to it as verifying the words of Hosea (xiv. 7), “The scent thereof shall be as the wine of Lebanon.” It is certainly very odoriferous. The olives and olive-oil are not to be surpassed in all Syria.

The inhabitants, both men and women, are a fine, healthy people, and the males are particularly athletic. To describe them well, I cannot use better or more appropriate language than that of the prophet Ezekiel (xxxi. 3), “Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of a high stature.”

Yet with all these combined advantages, of health, a delicious climate, and a fertile soil, many of the poor peasants are oppressed and miserable. This arises from the iniquitous system of extortion practised on them by land-owners and subordinate officers. It must, however, be confessed, that the mountaineers are, to a certain extent, more independent than the inhabitants of the plains, who are ridden over roughshod by the petty and tyrannical under-strappers in office.

I had barely attained my tenth year, when, much to my grief, I was removed from the family of my kind uncle, and taken to Beyrout, there permanently to reside; but, alas for short-sighted mortals, an event was even then brewing, which burst like a tempest, over the Beyroutines, and which materially affected my father’s plans and wishes with regard to my future career in life.