Many times did he sit talking in the silence of the night, using vague words. I heard him calling the ghosts with a voice like that of a sorcerer. You may ask the neighbours who talked to him and found beyond doubt that he was insane. He never answered when one spoke to him, and when he spoke, he uttered cryptic words and phrases unknown to the listener and out of the subject. His mother knows him well. Many times she saw him gazing at the distant horizon with glazed eyes and speaking with passion, like a small child, about the brooks and the flowers and the stars. Ask the monks whose teachings he ridiculed and criticized during their sacred Lent. He is insane, Your Excellency, but he is very kind to me and to his mother; he does much to help us in our old age, and he works with diligence to keep us fed and warm and alive. Pity him, and have mercy on us.”

The Governor released John, and the news of his madness spread throughout the village. And when the people spoke of John they mentioned his name with humour and ridicule, and the maidens looked upon him with sorrowful eyes and said, “Heaven has its strange purpose in man.… God united beauty and insanity in this youth, and joined the kind brightness of his eyes with the darkness of his unseen self.”

*    *    *    *    *

In the midst of God’s fields and prairies, and by the side of the knolls, carpeted with green grass and beautiful flowers, the ghost of John, alone and restless, watches the oxen grazing peacefully, undisturbed by man’s hardships. With tearful eyes he looks toward the scattered villages on both sides of the valley and repeats with deep sighs, “You are numerous and I am alone; the wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all.”

*A rich abbey in North Lebanon with vast lands, occupied by scores of monks called Alepoans. (Editor’s note.)

The Enchanting Houri

The Enchanting Houri

WHERE are you leading me, Oh Enchanting

Houri, and how long shall I follow you

Upon this hispid road, planted with

Thorns? How long shall our souls ascend

And descend painfully on this twisting

And rocky path?

Like a child following his mother I am

Following you, holding the extreme end

Of your garment, forgetting my dreams

And staring at your beauty, blinding

My eyes under your spell to the

Procession of spectres hovering above

Me, and attracted to you by an inner

Force within me which I cannot deny.

Halt for a moment and let me see your

Countenance; and look upon me for a

Moment; perhaps I will learn your

Heart’s secrets through your strange

Eyes. Stop and rest, for I am weary,

And my soul is trembling with fear

Upon this horrible trail. Halt, for

We have reached that terrible crossroad

Where Death embraces Life.

*    *    *    *    *

Oh Houri, listen to me! I was as free

As the birds, probing the valleys and

The forests, and flying in the spacious

Sky. At eventide I rested upon the

Branches of the trees, meditating the

Temples and palaces in the City of the

Colorful Clouds which the Sun builds

In the morning and destroys before

Twilight.

I was like a thought, walking alone

And at peace to the East and West of

The Universe, rejoicing with the

Beauty and joy of Life, and inquiring

Into the magnificent mystery of

Existence.

I was like a dream, stealing out under

The friendly wings of the night,

Entering through the closed windows

Into the maidens’ chambers, frolicking

And awakening their hopes.… Then I

Sat by the youths and agitated their

Desires.… Then I probed the elders’

Quarters and penetrated their thoughts

Of serene contentment.

Then you captured my fancy, and since

That hypnotic moment I felt like a

Prisoner dragging his shackles and

Impelled into an unknown place.…

I became intoxicated with your sweet

Wine that has stolen my will, and I

Now find my lips kissing the hand

That strikes me sharply. Can you

Not see with your soul’s eye the

Crushing of my heart? Halt for a

Moment; I am regaining my strength

And untying my weary feet from the

Heavy chains. I have crushed the

Cup from which I have drunk your

Tasty venom.… But now I am in

A strange land, and bewildered;

Which road shall I follow?

My freedom has been restored; will

You now accept me as a willing

Companion, who looks at the Sun

With glazed eyes and grasps the

Fire with untrembling fingers?

I have unbound my wings and I am

Ready to ascend; will you accompany

A youth who spends his days roaming

The mountains like the lone eagle, and

Wastes his nights wandering in the

Deserts like the restless lion?

Will you content yourself with the

Affection of one who looks upon Love

As but an entertainer, and declines

To accept her as his master?

Will you accept a heart that loves,

But never yields? And burns, but

Never melts? Will you be at ease

With a soul that quivers before the

Tempest, but never surrenders to it?

Will you accept one as a companion

Who makes not slaves, nor will become

One? Will you own me but not possess

Me, by taking my body and not my heart?

Then here is my hand—grasp it with

Your beautiful hand; and here is my

Body—embrace it with your loving

Arms; and here are my lips—bestow

Upon them a deep and dizzying kiss.

Behind the Garment

Behind the Garment

RACHEL woke at midnight and gazed intently at something invisible in the sky of her chamber. She heard a voice more soothing than the whispers of Life, and more dismal than the moaning call of the abyss, and softer than the rustling of white wings, and deeper than the message of the waves.… It vibrated with hope and with futility, with joy and with misery, and with affection for life, yet with desire for death. Then Rachel closed her eyes and sighed deeply, and gasped, saying, “Dawn has reached the extreme end of the valley; we should go toward the sun and meet him.” Her lips were parted, resembling and echoing a deep wound in the soul.

At that moment the priest approached her bed and felt her hand, but found it as cold as the snow; and when he grimly placed his fingers upon her heart, he determined that it was as immobile as the ages, and as silent as the secret of his heart.

The reverend father bowed his head in deep despair. His lips quivered as if wanting to utter a divine word, repeated by the phantoms of the night in the distant and deserted valleys.

After crossing her arms upon her bosom, the priest looked toward a man sitting in an obscured corner of the room, and with a kind and merciful voice he said, “Your beloved has reached the great circle of light. Come, my brother, let us kneel and pray.”

The sorrowful husband lifted his head; his eyes stared, gazing at the unseen, and his expression then changed as if he saw understanding in the ghost of an unknown God. He gathered the remnants of himself and walked reverently toward the bed of his wife, and knelt by the side of the clergyman who was praying and lamenting and making the sign of the cross.

Placing his hand upon the shoulder of the grief-stricken husband, the Father said quietly, “Go to the adjoining room, brother, for you are in great need of rest.”

He rose obediently, walked to the room and threw his fatigued body upon a narrow bed, and in a few moments he was sailing in the world of sleep like a little child taking refuge in the merciful arms of his loving mother.

*    *    *    *    *

The priest remained standing like a statue in the center of the room, and a strange conflict gripped him. And he looked with tearful eyes first at the cold body of the young woman and then through the parted curtain at her husband, who had surrendered himself to the allure of slumber. An hour, longer than an age and more terrible than Death, had already passed, and the priest was still standing between two parted souls. One was dreaming as a field dreams of the coming Spring after the tragedy of Winter, and the other was resting eternally.

Then the priest came close to the body of the young woman and knelt as if worshipping before the altar; he held her cold hand and placed it against his trembling lips, and looked at her face that was adorned with the soft veil of Death. His voice was at the same time calm as the night and deep as the chasm and faltering as with the hopes of man. And in voice he wept, “Oh Rachel, bride of my soul, hear me! At last I am able to talk! Death has opened my lips so that I can now reveal to you a secret deeper than Life itself. Pain has unpinioned my tongue and I can disclose to you my suffering, more painful than pain. Listen to the cry of my soul, Oh Pure Spirit, hovering between the earth and the firmament. Give heed to the youth who waited for you to come from the field, gazing upon you from behind the trees, in fear of your beauty.