PARVATI
 
 A ROMANCE OF 
 PRESENT-DAY INDIA 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT CHAUVELOT 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 HELEN DAVENPORT GIBBONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1919
 
 Copyright, 1919, by 
 THE CENTUKY Co. 
 
 Published, September, 1919
 
 TO 
 ALBERT BESNARD 
 
 2039575
 
 . . . The day when men master the senses, the 
 Vindhya Mountains will swim across the ocean. 
 
 Kamasutra.
 
 PART ONE
 
 PARVATI 
 
 Back of us, our past stretches, a long perspective. It 
 sleeps there, in the distance, like an abandoned city in the 
 mist. A few mountain peaks outline and dominate it. 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK : Le Temple Enseveli. 
 
 ILBERT DESROCHES was getting 
 VJT U p later than usual. Rays of sunshine 
 were playing in the bedroom of the bungalow 
 where his Highness Bhagavat Singh, Maha- 
 raja of the State of Jeypore, had installed 
 him a few days before, in company with his 
 friend Noel Verdier, Orientalist and theoso- 
 phist. 
 
 Out of doors was the splendor of the morn- 
 ing under the pure sky of India. The velvet 
 and silk of multicolored butterflies rivaled the 
 flowers in the garden of the Guest House. 
 
 3
 
 4 PARVATI 
 
 Turquoise paroquets and emerald parrots flew 
 about and chattered in the branches of palms 
 and tufted banana trees. Dominating the 
 symphony of shrill cries was the grave and 
 monotonous cawing of crows. 
 
 Gilbert stretched himself on his couch, 
 looked at the time, and with one bound stood 
 on the leopard skin that lay on the floor. 
 
 "Zahour! Zahour!" he cried, with the im- 
 patience characteristic of the Frenchman. 
 "Ah! the brute, the animal!" 
 
 A bronzed "boy," with a short black beard 
 and features typical of a despot, appeared, his 
 head adorned with a pale rose turban wound 
 in the Mohammedan fashion. 
 
 "The master called me?" he asked in irre- 
 proachable English, for he boasted of having 
 accompanied a major of the Fifty-seventh 
 Wilde's Rifles for a year's sick-leave to Liver- 
 pool. 
 
 "Did n't I tell you last evening to waken me 
 before seven o'clock? Here it is after eight!" 
 
 "Quite true, Sahib. But last night the mas- 
 ter was late going to sleep. And this morn-
 
 PARVATI 5 
 
 ing I had to clean the guns, brush the khaki, 
 take spots off the pongee suit. The, master 
 was dozing so nicely, I did not dare " 
 
 "Come, that's all right. Help me now." 
 
 The servant smiled proudly, like an august 
 potentate dispossessed, and began to dress his 
 master with an Oriental nonchalance that 
 never left him. Gilbert had accustomed him- 
 self to this exasperating indolence, measur- 
 ing against it the exceptional services the 
 worthy Zahour Mahomed rendered him for 
 so little pay. Zahour's distinguished air 
 pleased him, it flattered his pride. And then, 
 Gilbert's imagination had been refined by long 
 experience in painting the portraits of beauti- 
 ful Parisiennes. 
 
 A voice, colorful and of a sympathetic tim- 
 bre, called through a partition: 
 
 "Gilbert! Gilbert! Your appointment 
 this morning! What are you thinking about? 
 Are you counting on me to plead for you 
 to the maharanee? Mind the all-powerful, 
 mind the foot of the elephant!" 
 
 "Easy now, Noel, easy! I'm not there
 
 6 PARVATI 
 
 yet, thank God I I 'm more afraid of the slow, 
 sad smile of my model. She is not happy 
 every day, poor Parvati! What an exist- 
 ence 1" 
 
 A sigh escaped the lips of the young man. 
 He was standing before the mirror giving a 
 jaunty turn to his crava*. For a few minutes 
 he looked at his pleasing blond face in the 
 mirror. The well-shaven chin with its mu- 
 tinous dimple "a nest of kisses" the little 
 Baroness Sejourne had called it and the 
 mustache ends, upturned by a slight touch of 
 the curling-iron, showed the care Gilbert took 
 each morning with his toilet. 
 
 The warm voice began again: "I do not 
 say but take care ! Don't go too far. There 
 is nothing in it for either of you. It is not 
 like the baroness. And then, the game is 
 dangerous, and I advise you not to play it. 
 Our prince takes women seriously, especially 
 his own. And you know, since the death of 
 his father, he is absolute sovereign in his 
 state." 
 
 "You are right, but what can I do? I can't
 
 PARVATI 7 
 
 resist her. The more I see of her, the more I 
 pity-" 
 
 "More than that, you are in love with her! 
 You cannot deny it. I can see through you. 
 I know you as though I had made you myself. 
 I tell you, you are imprudent!" 
 "Yes, yes, I will be good, my dear fellow!" 
 Gilbert Desroches had been an orphan for 
 many years. Although he had passed thirty, 
 he had come to look upon Noel as upon a 
 father. It was not that Gilbert had no fam- 
 ily ties. He had the affection of his elder 
 brother, Dr. Philippe Desroches, specialist in 
 nervous diseases, and consulting physician of 
 the Salpetriere, who had acquired along the 
 line of his science a legitimate and enviable 
 reputation. But after Philippe, it was Noel 
 Verdier, the companion of his childhood, who 
 held the chief place in the heart of the con- 
 firmed bachelor. Gilbert had grown up, 
 worked, achieved success, with these two men 
 beside him. They had been his refuge. His 
 artist soul "had looked to them for comfort, for 
 the energy that he lacked, for the will to con-
 
 8 PARVATI 
 
 quer his sensitive nature. In the struggle for 
 existence these valiant workers came to his aid 
 with a forceful encouragement that was vital 
 to him. 
 
 The intellectual activity of Doctor Des- 
 roches was consecrated to the mysteries of 
 physiological study, to the little-explored field 
 of the relation between the mental and the 
 physical, called by believers soul and body. 
 The ddttor was a peaceable unbeliever and in 
 no sense sectarian. In technical language, he 
 termed them "Brutal matter and noble ele- 
 ments." 
 
 Noel Verdier! What a striking and satis- 
 fying contrast to Philippe, the smiling atheist 1 
 All that the soul of a neurologist contains of 
 material force, circumscribed in the neces- 
 sarily restricted field of immediate and tangi- 
 ble experience, Noel possessed superbly in the 
 unlimited domain of philosophy. The vo- 
 cation of theosophist and transcendental oc- 
 cultist came to Verdier, one day, quite unex- 
 pectedly. He was listening to a gentle and 
 luminous exposition by a white-haired lecturer
 
 PARVATI 9 
 
 whose face was eternally youthful. It was 
 in the silent intimacy of a lecture room whose 
 walls were decorated with symbolic engrav- 
 ings, whose pillars were of carved lilies and 
 jasmine. Annie Besant was speaking. Her 
 voice was full of caressing inflections that were 
 almost maternal. She told of the suffering 
 of animals, and how that suffering brings 
 tears to the eyes of those who are able to see it. 
 With the persuasive eloquence of an Esse- 
 nienne she described the useless torture of ani- 
 mals sacrificed to scientific discoveries of mas- 
 ters, and, worse still, to the experimental edu- 
 cation of students. "Her words had a pro- 
 phetic assurance. She seemed the reflection 
 of an inner flame, of an essence not material, 
 quasi-divine! 
 
 Noel left the place with his heart oppressed. 
 It was his road to Damascus. From that day 
 he broke with cherished habits, became a vege- 
 tarian, and sought solid instruction in the doc- 
 trines of H. P. Blavatsky. Fundamentally 
 a mystic detached from, realities, he neg- 
 lected his profession, his beloved mathematics
 
 io PARVATI 
 
 forgetting, ungrateful son that he was, that 
 it had brought him at the age of twenty-one 
 his doctor's degree for an admirable thesis. 
 From now on he had eyes only for the reading 
 of texts in liturgical Sanscrit. 
 
 Gilbert, although frivolous and superficial, 
 was at first profoundly impressed by the 
 metamorphosis of his friend. He twitted 
 Noel affectionately about the sudden and in- 
 explicable evolution. But with him Noel af- 
 fected a little air of jovial condescension and 
 a camaraderie so protective in its superiority 
 that the riddle remained unsolved. To other 
 eyes Verdier was the same, a good giant with 
 shoulders broad enough to carry other peo- 
 ple's troubles, a brilliant conversationalist full 
 of the joy of life. In reality, the mask hid 
 suffering, the suffering which comes to over- 
 developed intelligence that realizes its own 
 ignorance. The truth was, Noel had too 
 much knowledge and not enough understand- 
 ing. His case was a pathological one, and in- 
 dicated, like t-hat of Goethe, the incurable and 
 special disease called genius.
 
 PARVATI ii 
 
 It was chance, sovereign dispenser of hu- 
 man encounters, that had brought these two 
 together in the sacred land of the Brahmans. 
 It happened that Gilbert, the favorite painter 
 at the courts of Denmark and Russia, was set- 
 ting out to India to paint the portrait of the 
 Queen of Jeypore, the Maharanee Parvati, 
 while Noel, at the same time, was sent to rep- 
 resent a Paris newspaper at the Theosophic 
 Congress at Madras. The philosopher found 
 it easy to hasten his departure by a month. 
 He was only too happy to accompany le 
 petit to that country of fever and peril, en- 
 chanted but dangerous cradle of the fanati- 
 cism of tumultuous and suffering humanity. 
 
 Half-way between the Guest House and the 
 stables of the prince, Gilbert accompanied 
 by the faithful Zahour, his "Prime Minister 
 and Lord High Guardian of the Paint 
 Brushes" met the favorite elephant which 
 was sent every d'ay by the queen. The faith- 
 ful beast, Rama, stopped for him at the bunga- 
 low and carried him to the Amber palace,
 
 12 PARVATI 
 
 three or four kilometers from the City of 
 Roses. At a signal from her driver Rama 
 knelt down obediently to receive the accus- 
 tomed passenger. 
 
 It had been the maharanee's fancy to choose 
 for the background of the portrait the ruins 
 of the ancient Rajput capital. Crumbling 
 crenelated walls marked the ancient city. 
 Marble palaces open to the sky, the remote 
 and mysterious harem or zenana, the romantic 
 lake and the hanging gardens all these at- 
 tracted the queen from the first. The pink 
 light resting softly upon the ruins drew her 
 there like a seductive charm. Parvati ap- 
 preciated this jewel of architecture because 
 she had brought back from Europe a profound 
 affection for poetry and art. The Occident 
 had been her school, but the Orient meant to 
 her the quintessence of the beautiful. And 
 the pleasure she found in the esthetic mystery 
 of Asia was all the greater because she knew 
 why she admired. 
 
 She was no longer the timid and ignorant 
 little Hindu, "the little savage," who during
 
 PARVATI 13 
 
 the first few days of the voyage westward sat 
 bewildered on the deck of the great liner, re- 
 fusing to take anything to eat. Lady Doug- 
 las, a woman of heart and intelligence, had ac- 
 complished the miracle of taming the child. 
 It was she who had brought up the descendant 
 of the deposed King oi Guzerat. The vener- 
 able Maharaja of Jeypore, feeling his end was 
 near, had designated the child Parvati as the 
 future wife of his son Tikka, the direct heir to 
 the throne. 
 
 Parvati, growing in grace and beauty, 
 shared the family life of Lady Douglas, and 
 enjoyed the pleasures of an existence that was 
 necessarily mondaine. Lady Douglas loved 
 to travel, and the scene changed, according to 
 her whim, from aristocratic drawing-rooms in 
 London to those of Paris, from watering- 
 places like Brighton or Eastbourne to Dau- 
 ville and Dinard. Parvati was petted by Sir 
 James Douglas, former Governor of Bengal, 
 and by his daughters as well. She was the 
 baby of the house, and her chaperon dreaded 
 the hour of separation.
 
 H PARVATI 
 
 But the time was approaching. The little 
 princess was sixteen years old, the age when 
 Hindu girls are married. The impending 
 farewell was hard for the girl and for her 
 adopted mother. In vain Lady Douglas tried 
 to enjoy the magnificent fetes of Jeypore when 
 she, with her husband and daughters, took the 
 princess back to India to be married. Nor 
 did Parvati succeed in hiding her sadness. 
 Too quickly and easily had she become accus- 
 tomed to the gentleness of European life not 
 to see that from the day when she became 
 queen she must say good-by to freedom and 
 to the hope of loving. 
 
 For Parvati made a loveless match. She 
 married the son of a king because it was her 
 destiny to mount a throne, because her caste 
 for more than ten centuries had been of the 
 noblest. She had seen her fiance twice for a 
 few minutes during two summers in London, 
 when he was completing his Anglo-Saxon edu- 
 cation at the University of Cambridge. She 
 knew that Tikka was an accomplished horse- 
 man, a champion polo-, tennis-, and golf-
 
 PARVATI 15 
 
 player; she saw that he had an easy manner 
 that was agreeable and even sympathetic. 
 But of his character, of his intimate aspira- 
 tions, of his real self, she knew nothing. And 
 this hiatus seemed to her a great abyss black, 
 empty, fearful. 
 
 On his way to Amber, Gilbert thought 
 about these things. He reflected upon the 
 strange and painful destiny of the Oriental 
 princess, a thousand times more disenchanted 
 than her Ottoman sisters, because, after giving 
 her the veneer of civilization and a taste of 
 modern education, the cruelty of her caste 
 placed her in an Indian harem, where zenana 
 windows were forever closed. She could con- 
 sider herself fortunate that, after the death of 
 the old monarch, her husband allowed her to 
 leave the palace of the royal wives three 
 times a week at five o'clock in the afternoon 
 and mingle with his European guests. The 
 painter was sad as he thought of the little 
 fairy sovereign who, like the Queen of Cha- 
 telet, spoke his language so prettily. He 
 was seized with a secret desire to prolong in-
 
 16 PARVATI 
 
 definitely the sittings for the portrait. Dur- 
 ing the fifteen days he had been working on it, 
 an irresistible and voluptuous attraction had 
 lured him on. 
 
 Ahl how different she was from artificial 
 Parisienne blondes, this svelte daughter of 
 rajas! Her eyes were dark with mystery. 
 Her long brown tresses were parted and 
 braided on the white Aryan forehead. Her 
 supple figure showed the strength and ardor 
 of her race, and her delicate, fragile frame 
 proclaimed the purity of her blood. An emo- 
 tion, born of desire unconfessed, more than 
 of disinterested compassion, invaded his soul 
 when he called forth the welcoming smile of 
 the prisoner. She came toward him each 
 morning to greet him as to a jailer who de- 
 livers. The little kindly phrase of welcome 
 that came to the tempting vermilion lips said 
 more than "good morning." 
 
 To-day the sensation was stronger than ever. 
 He hastened to get there. He wished to ex- 
 cuse himself for his unintentional lack of gal- 
 lantry in being late, and to make up exquisite,
 
 PARVATI 17 
 
 fugitive minutes. With voice and gesture he 
 urged on the colossal animal, who advanced 
 with her majestic step at her own gait to the 
 tune of many little silver bells that fringed her 
 scarlet saddle blankets. 
 
 "TchellaoL djaldi! Go on! quicker!" 
 Prodded by the steel hook with which the 
 keeper pricked her ears, the good Rama ac- 
 celerated her pace. She pushed loitering ur- 
 chins from her path, and made great flocks of 
 pigeons fly away from the trees, in the square 
 called Manak-Chowk, when she tossed her 
 trunk up among the branches. 
 
 The City of Roses lay before him like a 
 shining cameo. Avenues laid out in rectan- 
 gles, as in New York, swarmed with busy, 
 colorful, chattering humanity. There was 
 endless buying-and-selling. The merchants 
 squatted on the sidewalks along salmon-col- 
 ored palaces adorned with arches, columns, 
 balconies, and flat moldings above which 
 were arabesques picked out in white, sculp- 
 tured embroidery. They were selling grain, 
 or brass, or silken materials, or arms inlaid
 
 i8 PARVATI 
 
 with gold. At one time the traffic on the high- 
 way was blocked by two young girls holding 
 up a long bolt of damp material that they were 
 drying in the sun. Children played on the 
 door-sills near a pyramid of rice. Girls with 
 their noses pierced with silver rings, and arms 
 and ankles laden with jingling bracelets, 
 passed by, vending their wares. It was the 
 rush hour. 
 
 Gilbert looked upon this scene with eyes 
 that were far away. The moving color that 
 had enchanted him a few weeks before no 
 longer made more than a superficial kaleido- 
 scopic impression. He saw a marble foun- 
 tain in the city of Amber where Parvati 
 stooped to look at her image mirrored among 
 perfumed, trembling lotus flowers.
 
 II 
 
 Ah ! to live days that lead to the tomb, 
 
 To have the heart swell like fruit that one presses, 
 
 So that the sweet juice drips, and the flavor perfumes 
 
 the air, 
 
 Full of abundant hope and light-heartedness ! 
 COMTESSE MATHIEUX DE NOAILLES: Le Caeur 
 Innombrable. 
 
 "TTOW much longer, Zahour?" 
 A J. "Twenty minutes, Sahib. We can 
 already see the ramparts." 
 
 "Make Rama hurry, my good Zahour. 
 One rupee for the keeper and another for you, 
 if we are in the court of the palace before ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 "We shall be there, Sahib." 
 
 In the distance, the suburbs of Jeyporc were 
 fading into the blue horizon. One could no 
 longer make out long lines of heavily laden 
 buffaloes and dromedaries. Only a few sorry 
 teams of zebus, with painted horns, trotted 
 slowly along a road hedged on each side with 
 
 19
 
 20 PARVATI 
 
 aloes and cactus. Peasants from the scattered 
 huts were carrying rice and vegetables to the 
 city. 
 
 The hot sapphire sky seemed to come close 
 to the earth. 
 
 When, at the command of the keeper, the 
 elephant turned into a portico and slowly 
 knelt on the marble floor, the artist's watch 
 showed exactly ten o'clock. The boys had 
 kept their word. Coins rang on the tiled step. 
 Bronzed faces lighted up. 
 
 And now Gilbert, preceded by the eunuch 
 on guard, found his way through the corri- 
 dors of the ancient dwelling to a hall where 
 the fancy of the Rajput kings had amassed all 
 that the human mind could imagine in the 
 way of marbles. It was the Dewankhana, 
 or the Hall of Mirrors a magic vision of 
 mosaics in glass and gold. Too glittering, 
 perhaps. A multitude of gaily colored shin- 
 ing surfaces finally tires the eye. Under the 
 double row of columns that supported a mas- 
 sive triforium ran a profusion of designs 
 flowers, birds, interlaced geometrical figures.
 
 PARVATI 21 
 
 The infinite complication of detail recalled 
 the marble treasures of the Grand Moguls of 
 Agra and Delhi, or the decorations of the pal- 
 aces of Jahangir and of Ranjit Singh at La- 
 hore. Many religious myths were expressed 
 allegorically by the frescos. It was here that 
 the kings of Amber affirmed their unshaken 
 Brahman faith. Here it was Ganesha, the 
 many-armed elephant god with his trunk 
 wound up like a spiral on his abdomen. 
 There it was Karttikeya, the peacock god who 
 presides over war. Again, it was Hanuman, 
 the monkey god, ally of man, the most oft- 
 sung hero in the epic page of Ramayana. 
 
 The faces of the vaults, made of mirrors 
 tarnished by saltpeter, reflected to infinity the 
 halls where, long ago, favorites, courtezans, 
 and dancing-girls from the plains of Punjab 
 or the far-away mountains of Kashmir, re- 
 posed after voluptuous baths and massage. 
 What royal debauches, what mad orgies these 
 walls had sheltered walls sometimes stained 
 with the blood of beautiful captives whom the 
 monarch ordered to be flogged for his own
 
 22 PARVATI 
 
 pleasure! Amber kept the secret of these 
 mysteries of love and suffering. The dead 
 city itself, buried in verdure, hidden under 
 devouring ivy, seemed a city of ruin half seen 
 in an opium dream. Abandoned temples, 
 crumbling porticos, tumble-down palaces, 
 thorny gardens, dried-up ponds. In the dis- 
 tance, the interminable ramparts crouched in 
 the valley, blocking the pass. Beyond that, 
 mountains and more mountains. And the 
 desert the dry, yellow desert that would 
 never end. 
 
 The painter had felt the luxuriance of this 
 scene so profoundly that even at the first sit- 
 ting for the portrait, in the central hall, he had 
 frowned because of feeling that was more than 
 significant. It was clear that the exaggerated 
 brilliance of the decoration would "kill" the 
 model. It would be better to place the easel 
 in a cornerof the veranda, in order to get a 
 background of softer shades and tones. This 
 would also show successive colonnades melt- 
 ing into the cloudy distance toward the ruins 
 and the little lake of Tal-Kutora.
 
 PARVATI 23 
 
 And Parvati had clapped her hands at 
 this fancy of Gilbert's. Her background 
 would be like scenery in an opera. They 
 would gossip about it in Paris and in London, 
 as they still talked about the celebrated picture 
 of Chartran showing his Majesty Jagatjit 
 Singh, Maharaja of Kapurthala, posed in an 
 attitude full of nobility. 
 
 When Desroches entered, the maharanee 
 was already seated upon her throne of chiseled 
 silver. She was chatting with a tall, angular 
 Englishwoman, one of her ladies in waiting, a 
 sort of half-spy employed by the king to 
 chaperon the sovereign. 
 
 "How late you are this morning, my dear 
 fellow!" cried Parvati, lifting her soft white 
 veil with a graceful gesture. She smiled, to 
 soften the reproach. "I was wondering 
 whether you were not delaying because of an- 
 other somebody. Come, confess, you heart- 
 breaker!" 
 
 Gilbert blushed. The memory of a con- 
 versation with the Baroness Sejourne and the 
 lateness of the hour when he had parted from
 
 24 PARVATI 
 
 her made him uncomfortable, and, in truth, 
 there were accusing dark circles under his 
 blue eyes. But Odette and her kisses were far 
 away now. 
 
 "Alas, Princess!" he said evasively, "I am 
 lazy, and I find my excuse in the greater lazi- 
 ness of my Hindu valet, who forgot to wake 
 me in time. A word from you and I turn 
 over to you the real culprit." 
 
 "Poor Zahourl" said Parvati, laughing. 
 "I could not forgive myself for depriving you 
 of a good servant. I should as soon think of 
 parting with Miss Brown." 
 
 The Englishwoman gave a sour and con- 
 strained little smile at the mention of her 
 name. She was visibly annoyed at not being 
 able to understand a word of the conversation. 
 She knew no language besides her own, with 
 the exception of a few vague words she had 
 picked up in a beginner's French book. She 
 had shrewdly divined that the mention of her 
 name was a bit ironical. 
 
 Gilbert was seated in front of the canvas. 
 His brush was varnishing the work of yester-
 
 PARVATI 25 
 
 day. The portrait was well advanced. Par- 
 vati was portrayed with one hand on the arm 
 of the throne and the other in her lap, her 
 slender body draped in the silky folds of the 
 national costume, carried out in Nattier blue 
 that gave a little air reminiscent of Mary 
 of Egypt. A golden band, studded with 
 pearls and emeralds, confined her hair. A 
 beryl clasp, marvelously beautiful, held the 
 silk in place on her breast. But it was the lit- 
 tle smile the portraitist had skilfully caught, 
 that relieved the severity of the pose and gave 
 warmth to the picture a smile of goodness, 
 of tenderness, and of love. Looking at the 
 painting, one felt respectful admiration for 
 the queen and sympathy for the woman. 
 
 For a few minutes Gilbert considered his 
 work and his model. He nodded his head ap- 
 provingly at them both. The deep, soft eyes, 
 the refined nose with its sensitive nostrils, the 
 ruddy lips, the little pearly ear, the fluffiness 
 of the hair, all pleased him. The values were 
 good, and the picture had spirit and life. The 
 portrait was coming, and with it the inner joy
 
 26 PARVATI 
 
 that conscious inspiration gives to the heart of 
 the artist. 
 
 "To-day," said he, "I will do the hand, the 
 little hand that knows how to use a tennis 
 racquet so well." 
 
 "What do you know about it?" 
 
 "My friends the Sejournes were talking 
 about it again last night. It appears that your 
 serve is celebrated, and that you came near de- 
 feating the woman champion of Ireland at 
 the tennis club of Eastbourne." 
 
 "Oh! I 'came near' beating her, perhaps, 
 but there is a big difference between that and 
 victory. How are the Sejournes? I saw the 
 baroness yesterday. She came to the palace 
 of Elysium. We talked painting. She even 
 sang your praises how shall I say it? 
 warmly! Is my hand all right like that?" 
 
 "Your Highness may straighten the ring on 
 the little finger like this. There, that is 
 good." 
 
 Parvati sighed. Then she spoke in a 
 changed voice : " 'Your Highness' ! 'your 
 Highness'! You always say it. Oh, I know
 
 PARVATI 27 
 
 well enough that I shall never be any more to 
 you than a model, a model with a crown a 
 little more amusing to do, perhaps, than your 
 European princesses 1" 
 
 Desroches laughed heartily at her little out- 
 burst. It reminded him of trying hours when 
 he had to make the portraits of the jerky little 
 daughters of royal families in Denmark and 
 Russia. 
 
 "You admit, however, Madame, that I can- 
 not call you by your sweet name, Parvati! 
 That would be treason more than that, sac- 
 rilege. Your patroness, la Montagneuse, 
 daughter of Himavat, Shakti of Shiva, would 
 never forgive me. I know what it costs an 
 infidel to speak the name of the vener- 
 ated mother of the sage Ganesha and of the 
 warlike Karttikeya!" 
 
 "Don't make fun of our gods, my friend. 
 They are all-powerful, and they will avenge 
 themselves. Ask Monsieur Verdier, profes- 
 sor of universal knowledge. Our gods are 
 as good as yours. Our theology, our philos- 
 ophy, and our sciences have nothing to learn
 
 28 PARVATI 
 
 from any of your savants and thinkers. You 
 must respect our belief, you see. Imitate Sir 
 James and Lady Douglas, who educated me. 
 You know, in London, for instance, as in 
 Paris and elsewhere, they never required me 
 to eat beef. And none of them ever laughed 
 when, while reciting my prayers in the morn- 
 ing, I bathed myself with water of Father 
 Ganges or of Mother Jumna." 
 
 The painter saw that he had touched a sensi- 
 tive chord in the heart of the maharanee. In 
 her, two things had resisted Europeanization 
 her caste and her religion. One day at the 
 Chateau of Beaulierre near Deauville, where 
 she was visiting the Sejournes, she had re- 
 buked a young snob who jokingly asked her 
 the name of her first ancestor. The little 
 princess, remembering the family legend, 
 pointed to the sun. And in a proud voice she 
 cried: "Try to look at his face!" 
 
 There was a silence in the hall, broken only 
 occasionally by the sharp little cough of Miss 
 Brown. 
 
 It was Gilbert who broke the ice by asking
 
 PARVATI 29 
 
 his model abruptly, "Does the queen set store 
 by all her rings?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "That the hand is too fine and pretty, and 
 the painter must plead its cause. Too many 
 rings hide it, this divine little hand." 
 
 "Well, I do not refuse. See, I am taking 
 off all but this one, a ruby that came to me 
 from my mother. I have promised never to 
 be parted from it. You will let me keep it?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 "Thank you, dear friend." 
 
 Then she added in English to the maiden 
 lady: "Here, Miss Brown, take my rings. 
 Monsieur Desroches does not want them in 
 the portrait. You will be good enough to put 
 them inside the sandalwood jewel-case you 
 know, in my room. You may keep the tur- 
 quoise. I give it to you." 
 
 "Very well," said the Englishwoman, as she 
 left the room, blushing with pleasure. 
 
 They were alone. It was the first time in 
 more than three weeks that chance had placed 
 them face to face with no one looking on.
 
 30 PARVATI 
 
 The unexpected situation embarrassed them, 
 for no confession had ever come from their 
 lips. 
 
 Gilbert stood up. Under the pretext of 
 posing his model's hand better, he lingered 
 over the fingers of the princess. The contact 
 moved him strangely. Touching the exquis- 
 ite satin skin and the polished finger-nails 
 was fascinating. And she, charmed, offered 
 no resistance to his caress. 
 
 Suddenly, dizzy at his touch, she leaned 
 back slightly, eyes half closed, lips smiling. 
 Gilbert seized her hand and pressed it fever- 
 ishly to his lips. 
 
 His action had been so sudden that Parvati 
 did not have time to defend herself. And 
 now she stammered as she pushed away the 
 mouth that clung to her trembling fingers. 
 
 "Monsieur Desroches," she cried, "what are 
 you doing! It is wrong, very wrong, what 
 you have just done. It is with your life, my 
 life, that you are juggling." 
 
 "My life belongs to you. I love you I"
 
 PARVATI 31 
 
 "Then obey me. It is more than a prayer, 
 it is an order." 
 
 "I love you!" 
 
 "Gilbert, stop ! or I must call " 
 
 But he, indifferent to the threat, forgetting 
 everything, pressed the little hand closer. 
 And he said in a low voice that was scarcely 
 audible : 
 
 "No, you will not call, because you love me, 
 because I have felt you tremble, because life is 
 sweet for us who dare to face death!" 
 
 She was not resisting now. Everything 
 seemed to be revolving around her. She for- 
 got the palace. She forgot her position as 
 wife and maharanee, the possibility of the 
 Englishwoman's return, of espionage, discov- 
 ery, and the horrible death that would follow. 
 She yielded with delight to this caress that 
 made the blood course in her veins. Every 
 nerve was tense. She was no longer the 
 daughter of the Brahmans, arrogant in her 
 caste: she was a woman awakened, in love! 
 
 Finally, she recovered possession of herself.
 
 32 PARVATI 
 
 She drew her hand from the vise that impris- 
 oned it. The instinct of preservation not of 
 their existence but of their love separated 
 them gently from each other. They must live, 
 now that they had confessed. The same 
 thought leaped to their brains the instant they 
 came back to self-consciousness. Both real- 
 ized the necessity of silence. They must not 
 pronounce useless words that would compro- 
 mise, spoil the beauty of the first great hour. 
 
 When Miss Brown came back, both faces 
 were calm. Gilbert was before his easel 
 again. Parvati was posing, her soft cheeks 
 warm with fugitive color. 
 
 The scene had lasted only a minute. But 
 the minute was all eternity.
 
 Ill 
 
 How can a man follow the Way or the Great Game, 
 when he is eternally pestered by women? 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING: "Kim." 
 
 DJALIlSTA rested her elbow on a Bokhara 
 cushion as she reclined on a couch in the 
 court of the zenana. Slender fingers toyed 
 with a yellow carnation held between her lips, 
 and, half awake, she was watching her big 
 monkey. The creature was playing with a 
 Siamese cat to attract the attention of his mis- 
 tress. With comic gravity, he advanced an 
 almost human hairy hand toward a ball of 
 gray fur, streaked with yellow and black, roll- 
 ing over and over. But the ball was on its 
 guard. An agile paw opened quickly to 
 scratch. And the hairy hand withdrew as a 
 cry of sudden pain was heard. 
 
 Teasing her pets was one of the courtezan's 
 favorite pastimes. Djalina was the king's 
 
 33
 
 34 PARVATI 
 
 second wife, and the zenana recognized that 
 she was the highest in favor with him. From 
 her mother Djalina had inherited wantonness 
 and indolence. Unusual cruelty made her 
 find pleasure in fights between animals, and 
 in their subsequent suffering. This was an- 
 other taint and she had received it from her 
 father, who used to be the guardian of the 
 royal deer in Travancore. She was of very 
 mean extraction, this former serving-maid of 
 the Maharanee Parvati. The dark beauty of 
 the sorceress had attracted the attention of the 
 king. He had lost no time in making her his 
 concubine, and later had given her a place 
 among his wives. But rich veils and sumptu- 
 ous garments could not hide the stigma of her 
 origin. The glitter of the jewel was false. 
 
 Djalina rose, and with a slow step moved 
 toward the circular gallery leading from her 
 bedroom to the swimming-bath of the Elysium 
 Palace. Warm, stuffy silence reigned in this 
 part of the royal harem. 
 
 The monkey tried to follow his mistress. 
 But, turning swiftly, she shot him a stinging
 
 PARVATI 35 
 
 blow with a leather whip, and he made his 
 escape howling with pain, taking refuge with 
 his adversary of a few minutes before. 
 
 "Minakshi!" called Djalina, in her musical 
 voice, raising a dusky arm adorned with clink- 
 ing golden bracelets and sweeping out of the 
 way of her feet the folds of her silky velvet 
 robe, whose design was a bad mixture of red 
 and amber. 
 
 A slave appeared. She was a girl of Mal- 
 abar, whose eyes were glowing coals and 
 whose closely knit and supple body was 
 wrapped in tight bands of silk that revealed 
 every line. 
 
 "You called me, mistress?" 
 
 "Yes. The bath is ready?" 
 
 "Long ago. Do you care to come with me 
 to the pool? The other ladies are there, and 
 his Highness is coming for the morning visit." 
 
 Djalina stretched herself languidly and 
 yawned. 
 
 "I am tired, still tired, Minakshi. Ah! 
 sleep is good! Do you know I dreamed I was 
 a shakti! Rub me, Minakshi. I adore the
 
 36 PARVATI 
 
 caress of your fingers on the back of my neck 
 and on my shoulders." 
 
 She smiled as she spoke, and the slave 
 rubbed her with accustomed strokes. 
 
 The two were friends. It was whispered 
 in the zenana where everybody, wives and 
 concubines, spent their time spying upon one 
 another that they were accomplices. 
 
 The ranee complained. 
 
 "Not so hard, Minakshi ! You massage as 
 though you wanted to tear out my hair. 
 Gently! That is better. Tell me what was 
 said at the waking-hour this morning. Did 
 they speak of the Feringee painter?" 
 
 "Yes, Ranee. It was late when he got up. 
 They say that last night he went to see a blonde 
 foreigner, the one who lives in the Peacock 
 Bungalow in the Guest House enclosure a 
 European, it appears." 
 
 " The Baroness Sejourne, I wager." 
 
 "Yes, I believe so." 
 
 "Really, Minakshi? the one who came for 
 tea with us the other day?" 
 
 Minakshi nodded her head affirmatively.
 
 PARVATI 37 
 
 For her there was scarcely a doubt. The in- 
 formation came through the mahout of the 
 princess, a grave man, who had noticed the 
 couple going to the palace of the dewan. It 
 was the event of the day, the stir of gossip that 
 brought a little breeze of liberty to the pris- 
 oners, who were like young lionesses born in a 
 menagerie, breathing the air of the plain for 
 the first time from the windows of their cage. 
 
 "It is absolutely necessary for the maharanee 
 to know this story," said Djalina, with a little 
 wicked laugh that hissed. "But wait a min- 
 ute. Tell me, does her Highness already 
 know of his adventure?" 
 
 "Perhaps, by now. But we are late. Let 
 us hurry." 
 
 They quickened their steps. According to 
 the immemorial custom of the Rajput kings, 
 Djalina must be present when the maharaja 
 came to greet the inhabitants of the zenana. 
 The monarch attached great importance to 
 the strict observance of the rule which called 
 all his women, without regard to rank or caste, 
 to show in this way their respectful obedience
 
 38 PARVATI 
 
 and docility before their lord and master. 
 The ranee knew this was the price of her in- 
 fluence, and she felt secret satisfaction that the 
 noble and proud Parvati had the same yoke as 
 herself. 
 
 Just before they reached the bath, they 
 learned that the queen was slightly indisposed 
 and would not appear this morning for the 
 royal salutation. She had charged the 
 eunuch, Selim, with her expressions of regret 
 to the maharaja. This time, far from being 
 annoyed, the favorite was enchanted at the 
 absence of her rival. She would have every 
 chance in the world to revile the one whom 
 she hated. 
 
 Djalina moved slowly toward a group of 
 undressed women who were laughing together 
 as they sat on the pink Jeypore marble steps 
 o the basin. Here and there, in the water, 
 petals floated. At the approach of the favo- 
 rite hilarity redoubled, and all they were 
 about fifteen of them taking off their veils 
 with charming childish gestures, pushed one 
 another into the mirror of the water. Then
 
 PARVATI 39 
 
 nude bodies white, brunette, and yellow 
 played amid diamond drops. 
 
 Standing erect on the edge of the pool, 
 Djalina craftily questioned her companions. 
 
 "You are gay this morning, my sisters! Is 
 it the sight of me that puts you in such a good 
 humor? Who is your leader? Let me share 
 your joy. Neither the leader nor the rest of 
 you have anything to fear." 
 
 One of the bathers rose from the basin. It 
 was a little Punjabite, blue-eyed, with skin but 
 faintly olive. Her left nostril was pierced 
 with a large ruby, and pearls gleamed in her 
 two long braids of black hair. She was fif- 
 teen years old, and had not long shared the 
 honors of the royal wives. 
 
 "Then it was you, my Lakshmi," said Dja- 
 lina, kissing the child and helping her to 
 stand, all dripping, on the nearest step. 
 "Speak. I repeat that I shall be the first to 
 laugh with you." 
 
 "It is this way, Ranee. We were talking, a 
 little before you came, of the famous portrait 
 of the maharanee, the portrait which the
 
 40 PARVATI 
 
 European begins each day and never finishes. 
 Our master deceives himself, or is deceived, if 
 he allows such things to go on. And we were 
 asking ourselves which one of us should tell 
 his Highness. We thought first of Sonemale, 
 the wife of the dewan. Then suddenly you 
 appeared among us like Vasantasena, the 
 courtezan, in 'The Little Clay Cart' of our 
 great Shudraka. And it was so amusing to 
 have you appear that way that we all laughed 
 without knowing why. That is all, I assure 
 you." 
 
 And the little Sikh clung to the shoulder of 
 her friend, overcome with laughter, and Dja- 
 lina, disarmed, laughed with her. She was 
 sure that the mischievous child spoke the 
 truth, and that there was no offense intended 
 for her in the general mirth which had greeted 
 her coming. Was not the king's favor her 
 best safeguard against any show of unspoken 
 or apparent hostility? No ! from these com- 
 panions, favorites perhaps for an hour, she 
 had nothing to fear. That Parvati might re- 
 place her was the only danger.
 
 PARVATI 41 
 
 Composedly, she said to Lakshmi: 
 
 "Ah! then laugh if you wish. I shall be 
 the one to speak of it to his Highness." 
 
 The laughing ceased. For a moment, all 
 were stupefied. The vow, in the circum- 
 stances, amounted to a declaration of war. 
 
 And to punctuate her defiance with a sym- 
 bolic gesture, the favorite loosened the draper- 
 ies which hid her divine form. When her 
 robes had fallen to the ground and she stood 
 before them, a bronze statue with shining 
 ebony hair, unveiled, there was a low murmur. 
 Even those who were jealous of her favor 
 could not suppress their admiration for her 
 physical perfection. Such beauty com- 
 manded the respect of all. 
 
 The unspoken admiration did not trouble 
 Djalina. She clasped her arms on her breast 
 and, in her turn, threw herself into the fresh, 
 limpid water. 
 
 Bhagavat Singh had come. And he looked 
 at her with enchanted eyes. This was the 
 powerful ruler under whose domination peo- 
 ple, villages, and provinces trembled. To
 
 42 PARVATI 
 
 him for his loyalty, and perhaps for his 
 severity the English had been pleased to 
 grant the right to raise an army, to coin money, 
 and to circulate stamps this clubman with his 
 fine mustache, only a little more bronzed than 
 his London prototypes! 
 
 A pleasant fellow, certainly, but with noth- 
 ing of the king in him. In spite of his ef- 
 forts, of the studied severity with which he 
 tried to give the people an impression of 
 majesty, w"hich he lacked, there showed in his 
 languid and sometimes half-closed eyes, the 
 emptiness of beings who are wholly frivolous 
 and sensual. 
 
 He stood leaning against the arch of the en- 
 trance to the bath. Before him were the at- 
 tendants waiting with perfume till they were 
 needed for the massage. But he saw only one 
 beautiful vision. His eyes followed her 
 movements. Sometimes the dusky mermaid 
 shot like a dart among her wondering compan- 
 ions; and again, with the supple strength of 
 her young body, raised herself to the edge of 
 the basin, and there, with her feet dangling,
 
 PARVATI 43 
 
 she splashed herself, and, laughing, showed 
 her lovely teeth. 
 
 The prince hardly heard the eunuch who 
 told him of the maharanee's absence. The 
 whole being of this man vibrated with the 
 sense of her who played before him in the 
 colorful water. The other, the queen, his 
 rightful wife, was to him now as a dim and 
 flickering light, like distant stars which 
 twinkle to prove the fact of their being. Now 
 sweet music was heard. The air was fragrant 
 with aloes, myrrh, and violet-water which a 
 servant kept tossing into the space between the 
 colonnades. 
 
 As the master approached, the adoring 
 women moved from his path. 
 
 The bathers ceased their play and grouped 
 themselves in the center of the pool. One, 
 called Damayanti, chanted in warm, caressing 
 tones the great "Hymn to the Dawn" from the 
 Rigveda : 
 
 "Daughter of Heaven, Aurora, brilliant and generous god- 
 dess, 
 Conquer the evil spirit of the night.
 
 44 PARVATI 
 
 Banish the great owl which envelops the sky. 
 
 "Raise thy emblem higher than the mountains, 
 
 Come in thy chariot drawn by flaming oxen. 
 
 In her beauty and goodness she smiles. 
 
 Daughter of Heaven, she is resplendent. 
 
 Like the dancer, she uncovers her breast. 
 
 Aurora gives to the world her light. 
 
 Behold! she opens the portals of the sky, 
 
 And adorns herself with the fires of the sun, her lover!" 
 
 Bending forward with clasped hands, all re- 
 peated in chorus: 
 
 "Aurora, bless with the brightness of thy being, 
 The father kneeling in the midst of his children." 
 
 When they had finished the prayer, Bha- 
 gavat Singh waved his hand. All the attend- 
 ants hurried forward to the ranees, and 
 helped them out of the pool. The massage 
 began, progressively, according to good Hindu 
 traditions. Each woman stretched herself on 
 a stone slab, and gave herself over to the care 
 of a slave, who rubbed her gently with agile 
 hands. Then came the dryers, with their 
 arms full of oils and perfumes. 
 
 A gong sounded.
 
 PARVATI 45 
 
 The royal salutation was over, and the king 
 was at liberty to enjoy the intimacy of his 
 harem. He was accompanied by Selim, chief 
 eunuch of the zenana, who after the departure 
 of his Highness, announced the name of the 
 woman to be admitted in the evening to the 
 king's apartment. 
 
 From the baths, the women, wrapped in 
 light veils, went to a Moorish patio. There, 
 once upon a time, a Mussulman architect fash- 
 ioned twenty excavations in the form of baths. 
 They were now furnished with cushions and 
 precious fabrics, and were used as reclining 
 places after the bathing-hour. That is, with 
 the exception of one, which was filled to the 
 brim with hardened cement. 
 
 A mysterious and terrible legend is told of 
 it. It was, they said, the tomb of the adulter- 
 ous queen of the maharaja who preceded the 
 present potentate. The unfaithful princess 
 her name was Sita had been discovered by 
 the king himself. She had met one of the of- 
 ficers of the court here by night. The lover 
 was beheaded at dawn, and the princess was
 
 46 PARVATI 
 
 stripped and tied by her arms and legs to iron 
 rings fixed in the sides of the marble bath. 
 
 The head alone emerged, and into the bath 
 coolies poured pails of water and a large num- 
 ber of sacks of cement. The stone coffin solid- 
 ified slowly. And she who was thus buried 
 alive looked upon a profusion of flowers and 
 fruits and cakes placed about her symbols of 
 her departing life. After horrible suffering 
 she succumbed, with cries and blasphemy. 
 Then the bloodless head of the victim was cut 
 off and thrown to the vultures. The bath was 
 sealed with a new layer of cement, enclosing 
 forever the headless body, token of a fearful 
 punishment. 
 
 Slowly, in single file, the women moved 
 past the sepulcher which reminded them every 
 morning of the penalty for adultery. Then 
 each one found her accustomed couch for rest 
 after the bath. 
 
 Bhagavat Singh, without noticing any of 
 them, made his way to where Djalina was re- 
 clining. She turned her head lazily toward 
 her lover, and gave him a caressing smile.
 
 PARVATI 47 
 
 "Djalina!" said he, in a voice that was 
 hoarse with passion. "Djalina, I love you! 
 At the pool a little while ago, I saw only you. 
 You are as beautiful as Durga the Terrible, 
 the spouse of Shiva. Your eyes are dark and 
 velvety like those of a gazelle that bounds 
 through the jungle. I love your carmine lips, 
 like coral islands in the deep sea. Your teeth 
 are pearls of Singhala, your hair, the ebony 
 of the forests of Nepal." 
 
 And she, with eyes half closed, intoxicated, 
 murmured : 
 
 "My gentle master, I love you!" 
 
 "You are my queen!" 
 
 "Your queen! You forget the other! the 
 one whom you show to your guests, whose por- 
 trait you are having painted by the foreigner; 
 the one who sits by your side at the tables of 
 impious eaters of beef!" 
 
 He answered wearily: "She is the maha- 
 ranee. You are my sweetheart the one that 
 possesses me, the one whom I possess with all 
 the call of the flesh. Djalina, give me one of 
 your kisses!"
 
 48 PARVATI 
 
 Their lips met. They trembled. Then he 
 rose quickly and went away, accompanied by 
 the eunuch, without looking back. 
 
 And Lakshmi, the laughing one, half rising 
 from her bed, cried: 
 
 "Happy night of love for Djalina the 
 Elect!"
 
 IV 
 
 His scorn for humanity increased. The Esseintes un- 
 derstood at last that the majority of the people in the 
 world are good-for-nothing idiots. 
 
 JORIS-KARL HUYSMANS. 
 
 GILBERT was sitting at his desk half 
 dressed, finishing a letter to his brother. 
 Verdier was looking through a magnifying- 
 glass, absorbed in deciphering an old text of 
 the poet Kalidasa, when there was a discreet 
 knock at the bedroom door. 
 
 "May I come in?" inquired a voice out- 
 side. 
 
 'That depends. I am in my pajamas Is 
 that you, Sejourne?" 
 
 "Surely, it is I." 
 
 "Boastful old fool!" grumbled Noel. The 
 puerile fatuousness of the baron annoyed him. 
 
 "Well, come in!" called Desroches, sealing 
 his letter. 
 
 40
 
 50 PARVATI 
 
 The door opened and a stout, apoplectic 
 man, with the side-whiskers of a diplomat and 
 the aspect of a big jovial child, burst into the 
 room. He was rigged up in a hunter's cos- 
 tume a suit of khaki, puttees, helmet, car- 
 tridge-case. Over his shoulder were strapped 
 a pair of revolvers. Dangling at his right 
 hip was a cutlass, the gift of the Marquis of 
 Keregal, his bosom friend, grand master of the 
 hunt in the forest of Quenecan in Brittany. 
 Thus accoutered, he was a sad figure. The 
 poor man was a sorry imitation of Nimrod, the 
 indefatigable hunter, and one wondered what 
 would be the effect upon the gazelles of the 
 jungle if he were suddenly to appear among 
 the bamboo I But valiant Baron Olivier Se- 
 journe did n't bother his head with such 
 details. Did n't he have back of him his 
 renown as a sportsman, his success as an avi- 
 ator? Although it must be said that he had 
 never piloted either monoplane or biplane; 
 the extent of his prowess was financing some 
 enterprise in aviation. 
 
 "Good morning, Gilbert! Good morning,
 
 PARVATI 51 
 
 Monsieur Verdier!" said he heartily, shaking 
 hands with his two friends with such vigor 
 that their knuckles ached. "Come on, come 
 on, hurry up! No joke about it what? 
 Tiger-hunting! this is the great day! I 
 have just left Arwar-Dass. The aide-de-camp 
 of his Highness tells me everything is ready. 
 The elephants will be waiting for us at ten 
 o'clock at Kali-Kiho. By the way, Gilbert, 
 the baroness wants to speak to you before we 
 leave a wager, a philopena, something or 
 other! Stop for me at the bungalow as soon 
 as you are dressed." 
 
 "All right. Give me time to find my 
 clothes. It won't take long. Zahour, bring 
 my boots!" 
 
 The painter disappeared with his boy into 
 the dressing-room. 
 
 "How about you, Verdier?" questioned the 
 baron. "You will come along?" 
 
 "Impossible, my dear fellow. You know I 
 am a theosophist, a bit of a Buddhist, and op- 
 posed to spilling blood, whether with scalpel 
 or gun."
 
 52 PARVATI 
 
 "Even if the game is a wild beast? a 
 tiger?" 
 
 "Even then. What do you call a wild 
 beast? There 's no use talking about it: a dis- 
 cussion would carry us too far afield. I dis- 
 approve of hunting, but every man is free 
 to think as he likes, Monsieur Sejourne, and 
 naturally an intrepid sportsman like you is 
 captivated with the peril and uncertainty of a 
 tiger-hunt. But, by Nandya, the good god- 
 dess, it is a pair of felines that you will bring 
 back to us with these two guns!" 
 
 Verdier put his finger on the double straps 
 tightly fastened around Sejourne's chest. 
 The latter, who was too good-natured to see a 
 dig at himself, accepted the criticism benevo- 
 lently and went on to explain what kind of 
 gun was necessary for shooting birds and how 
 professional tiger-hunters needed only one 
 rifle and a revolver, in case of an emergency. 
 
 An automobile was heard purring along the 
 macadamized park road that joined the 
 bungalows in the Guest House enclosure.
 
 PARVATI 53 
 
 The baron opened the casement and leaned 
 out, shouting to Gilbert: 
 
 "Hurry, mon petit! There is d'Alizay, and 
 Mesnil-Guibert with him. They 're coming 
 for us in the king's Panhard. And Sir Leslie 
 Turner, too. Good for him! We shall be 
 more than enough for the tiger." 
 
 Verdier and Sejourne reached the bottom of 
 the steps just as the limousine came to a stop 
 under the portico. The door opened and 
 three gentlemen in faultless attire stepped out. 
 The Marquis Gustave d'Alizay and the Count 
 Adolphe de Mesnil-Guibert were a comic 
 spectacle. They were inseparable. Yo\i 
 never saw one without the other. This had 
 been true for twenty years. They had gone to 
 school together. They had taken their de- 
 grees the same day. After that, to please his 
 widowed mother, the young marquis had 
 studied law. Cafe life in the Latin Quarter 
 had offered them some recreation to relieve 
 the dull studies of the law school. Even the 
 marriage of the count with Mademoiselle
 
 54 PARVATI 
 
 Jeanne Patrouillat, only daughter of the 
 millionaire oleomargarine manufacturer of 
 Lyons, had not disturbed the friendship. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Adolphe de Mesnil- 
 Guibert was never so bored in his life as he 
 was during the two months of his wedding 
 journey. Fancy two months alone with a 
 common little girl from the provinces who was 
 not only affected but had nothing in the way 
 of looks to help matters! He had married 
 her to get his debts paid. But the two chums 
 made it up afterward. They easily fell into 
 their old life again. Owing to a large inherit- 
 ance from his uncle, the marquis was able 
 to remain a confirmed old bachelor, and 
 Adolphe consoled himself with this friend- 
 ship. 
 
 a And Monsieur Desroches?" demanded the 
 Honorable Sir Leslie Turner, who spoke 
 French the way Englishmen do, always as 
 though he had a hot potato in his mouth. 
 "Is n't he going to help us kill the man- 
 eater?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" replied Noel. "He is a lit-
 
 PARVATI 55 
 
 tie late. Excuse him. Come in, gentlemen, I 
 will tell" 
 
 "All right," said the Britisher, entering the 
 vestibule. "We '11 see him in a few minutes, 
 smoking his eternal cigarette." 
 
 A jolly, vigorous fellow he was, this son of 
 Albion tall and ruddy, clear-eyed, with a red 
 mustache whose drooping ends belied his good 
 nature. He had been detached from the royal 
 government and was now Commissioner at 
 Jeypore. In India, where titles mean a great 
 deal, his post of quasi-diplomat carried 
 weight. In this independent state Sir Leslie 
 had more power than a prefect of a province 
 in France. He superintended the question of 
 duties at the ports, the recruiting of troops, 
 and the exploitation of the royal domains. 
 He watched court intrigues and the gossip of 
 the zenana. He did not hesitate to make 
 trouble when there was good reason, and he 
 kept a well-paid band of spies of both sexes. 
 
 The three men entered the drawing-room, a 
 large room decorated in Oriental style with 
 Persian hangings and trophies of the hunt,
 
 56 PARVATI 
 
 mixed with curious Hindu arms of a forgotten 
 day. The bad taste of the jumbled ornaments 
 always made Gilbert gnash his teeth. 
 
 The marquis hummed a popular air: "If 
 you don't love me, I love you." 
 
 "If you had castanets, I 'd swear we were 
 in Seville," said the marquis. 
 
 "Do you remember Christmas Eve last year 
 in the crowded dining-rooms of the Grand 
 Cafe?" 
 
 "And the two little Spanish girls that were 
 such good friends?" 
 
 "And how we had to tie biane de Com- 
 mercy's feet and hands to take him to Des- 
 roches's studio, dead drunk?" 
 
 "Wow!" laughed Turner. "That was a 
 good Christmas! In France you know how 
 to laugh. When we want to amuse ourselves, 
 we go to Paris. Moulin Rouge forever!" 
 
 "And here?" asked Sejourne. 
 
 "The girls here can't hold a candle to your 
 Parisians." 
 
 "You 're not quite fair, Sir Leslie," de- 
 clared Gilbert, appearing in the doorway.
 
 PARVATI 57 
 
 "It is never safe to generalize. I don't know 
 personally all the ladies of the zenana, but I 
 can testify that the Princesse Parvati, whose 
 portrait I enjoy the honor of painting, rivals 
 any beauty of Buckingham Palace. Cer- 
 tainly more beautiful than any of them," he 
 added with warmth. "Ask these gentlemen. 
 They saw the maharanee at the court gala last 
 week." 
 
 D'Alizay and Mesnil-Guibert protested 
 gallantly against Sir Leslie's unfavorable 
 criticism of the Indian type of beauty. The 
 baron, who in a discussion always made a 
 buffer of himself, pointed out that Sir Leslie 
 had meant the women of the people, and prob- 
 ably had a better opinion of Indian aristo- 
 cracy. This diplomatic remark relieved the 
 theosophist of pleading the cause of Hindu- 
 ism, and of wasting his eloquence on the evi- 
 dent prejudice of the Anglo-Saxon function- 
 ary. 
 
 When the hunters were settling themselves 
 in the limousine, Zahour Mahomed appeared 
 on the porch.
 
 58 PARVATI 
 
 "The master was forgetting the revolver," 
 said he. 
 
 "Do I need that?" said the painter, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 "Better take it," advised the baron. "You 
 never know what will happen. Look, I have 
 two with me, although I hope I shall not need 
 both." 
 
 They shook hands with Noel, and the auto- 
 mobile moved off. It was run by a turbaned 
 chauffeur, a Rajput whom the maharaja had 
 sent to Paris for his training. 
 
 There was a short stop at the Peacock 
 Bungalow, where the Sejournes lived, to allow 
 Desroches and his companions to speak to the 
 ladies before departing for Kali-Kiho. The 
 Baroness Odette was the most gaily dressed 
 of the bevy of ladies among whom she came 
 and went, gravely occupied with making in- 
 cendiary cocktails. Lady Gladys Turner was 
 helping her. When the men entered, the con- 
 versation turned to tigers and hunting. There 
 was an opportunity for the little Countess 
 Jehanne as Madame de Mesnil-Guibert, nee
 
 PARVATI 59 
 
 Jeanne Patrouillat, liked to call herself to 
 exhort everybody to be prudent. She was 
 seconded by a corpulent old maid, Made- 
 moiselle Aspasie Agathopoulos, an eccentric 
 multimillionairess whom the maharaja had 
 met on board a Peninsular steamer. She 
 made a trip around the world every year, 
 escorted by a noisy suite that included a secre- 
 tary and a physician. Even Mrs. Williams, 
 doctor at the court the widow of a major 
 who had given his life for his country in the 
 Transvaal joined the chorus of good advice. 
 Her concern was that of one devoted to the 
 quiet relief of human misery. 
 
 Profiting by the general confusion, the 
 baroness drew Gilbert aside, and, hidden be- 
 hind a Japanese screen, began to scold him. 
 
 "I don't like it," she whispered, pouting. 
 "You promised me faithfully to let them go 
 on their dangerous expedition without you! 
 This morning I find out you are with them. 
 Oh, I know it is n't thrilling for you to spend 
 a whole day with me. You like me better 
 in the evening."
 
 60 PARVATI 
 
 "Hush, my dear. Don't make it disagree- 
 able for me. You know I am fond of you." 
 
 "But you 're leaving me to-day!" 
 
 "Did I promise? Perhaps. But I didn't 
 swear I would n't go. Listen to me. This 
 hunt tempts me. I long for a new experience, 
 a new sensation. And then, the landscape, 
 the color; you must not forget that I am a 
 painter." 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut! What a heap of poor rea- 
 sons! And I don't see anything in the jungle 
 that could tempt you to paint." 
 
 "Well, I promise to be good. I will be 
 careful on my elephant and I will use no 
 other weapon than my opera-glasses. As soon 
 as the tiger is done for, I will give the signal 
 to return. Will that please you?" 
 
 "Swear to me." 
 
 "On my life! We must join the others. 
 They will notice our absence." 
 
 It was time to go. The baron was bored. 
 He had finished his cocktail and wanted to 
 be off. Farewells followed, and they de-
 
 PARVATI 61 
 
 parted, the ladies waving good-by with their 
 scarfs. 
 
 The Panhard climbed a little hill hedged 
 with flowering magnolias, and was lost in the 
 verdure of an enchanted garden.
 
 I love you when your eyes shed hot tears, 
 When, in spite of my caresses, 
 Anguish overcomes you. 
 
 BAUDELAIRE : Les Fleurs de Mai. 
 
 BHAGAVAT SINGH was having an in- 
 formal interview with his aide-de-camp, 
 Captain Arwar-Dass of the Fisst Brigade, 
 Lancers of Jeypore. The king's uncle, Nana 
 Singh, an old man with a bristling grizzly 
 beard, was standing near by, looking at a map. 
 He was explaining to the special physician 
 of Mademoiselle Agathopoulos, Dr. Pelo- 
 pidas Canaridis, the itinerary of the hunt 
 about to take place. The eighteen elephants 
 to be used were grazing in the vicinity. 
 
 "I see," said the maharaja to his aide-de- 
 camp, "that you have carried out my instruc- 
 tions. I want this hunt to be done exactly 
 
 right. The marquis and his friend are good 
 
 62
 
 PARVATI 63 
 
 shots, although they did not hunt tigers when 
 they were at Gwalior. I want them to take 
 away a better impression of Rajputana. As 
 for the painter, I don't know how well he can 
 shoot, but he will not have much difficulty in 
 doing better than poor Sejourne." 
 
 "All will go well, your Highness," replied 
 the officer. "The sirdar tells me that roaring 
 was heard last night in the direction of Tal- 
 Devi. Herds of antelope are reported to be 
 feeding at the foot of Subramanya Moun- 
 tain. And then, there are plenty of wild boar 
 and leopards near Pali." 
 
 "Very well. I count on you and the sirdar. 
 There will be plenty of game. The Euro- 
 peans know that this jungle is my own, and 
 they respect it!" 
 
 The scream of a siren horn tore the air. 
 Everybody looked in the direction of the City 
 of Roses. A cloud of dust was approaching 
 on the road. 
 
 "They are coming!" cried Arwar. 
 
 "To be on time is the exclusive privilege 
 of kings," observed the monarch. "Guests
 
 64 PARVATI 
 
 need not bother! To be sure, the commis- 
 sioner accompanies them. They will arrive 
 here reeking with whisky and gin. You will 
 see, that will get them into trouble." 
 
 The maharaja never let a chance escape him 
 to condemn what he called the drunkenness 
 of his guests. It is true, the word was an ex- 
 aggeration. Like his fathers, he carefully 
 abstained from alcoholic drinks, and he re- 
 gretted that anything of the kind was admitted 
 to his kingdom. But courtesy and hospitality 
 imposed the duty of stocking the cellar of his 
 palace every year with choice wines. 
 
 "We are a little bit late," observed Sejourne 
 as he jumped out of the automobile. "We 
 are sorry, your Highness. But it is the fault 
 of the ladies, who did not want to let us come." 
 
 The Europeans shook hands with their 
 noble host, who hid his vexation with a smile. 
 The mahouts were placing their elephants in 
 a semicircle. Submitting with docility to the 
 guiding prods of their keepers, the animals 
 knelt down. The baron with difficulty man- 
 aged to get his rotund person into place on a
 
 PARVATI 65 
 
 wooden saddle. All his trappings got in his 
 way. Gilbert chose a young elephant with 
 short tusks because she appealed to him as 
 the most picturesque. The other hunters 
 mounted without caring which animal they 
 took. 
 
 "All aboard!" commanded Arwar-Dass. 
 
 The procession moved in Indian file along 
 a road hedged with aloes. In half an hour 
 they had reached an abandoned temple. 
 Twenty shikarees carrying lances scrambled 
 down from their elephants and presented arms 
 before his Highness. The king responded 
 with an indifferent salute. Then the train 
 moved along almost noiselessly until it reached 
 a plain thickly covered with wheat. The 
 sirdar, the leader of the hunt, blew a whistle 
 twice. The elephants formed in a fan-shaped 
 group. 
 
 The hunt had begun. 
 
 The elephants had bravely advanced into 
 the underbrush. At times the big beasts dis- 
 appeared entirely into dried-up bushes which 
 their heavy feet trampled to the ground at
 
 66 PARVATI 
 
 every step. All that could be seen were the 
 helmets of the seated hunters, and the barrels 
 of their guns. There was absolute silence. 
 
 A movement was seen in the sea of green. 
 Graceful antelopes, with soft, pacific eyes, 
 watched the advancing company, then took 
 flight into a clearing. Several guns were 
 fired. 
 
 "Nilgau!" cried the sirdar. 
 
 "Don't shoot!" cried Arwar. "They are 
 sacred animals!" 
 
 But he spoke too late. A shot had come 
 from the direction of Mesnil-Guibert's ele- 
 phant. The ardent Nimrod had not been 
 able to contain himself. The antelope rolled 
 on the ground, its flank pierced by a large 
 ball. The poor beast got to its feet. Al- 
 though its body was shaking, it succeeded in 
 gathering its strength. It bounded on three 
 legs into the thick vegetation and disappeared. 
 
 It was a moment of stupefaction for the 
 Hindus. Bhagavat Singh was frowning. 
 His subjects worshiped the nilgau as much as 
 they did the cow, although it bore no resem-
 
 PARVATI 67 
 
 blance to the sacred cow of Brahman law. 
 The tradition was dear to the Rajputs, and 
 there was danger that the ignorant shikarees 
 would avenge the sacrilege. Nana Singh, the 
 uncle of the king, to avoid a conflict, hastened 
 to explain in Hindustani: 
 
 "The European did not know!" Then in 
 English, to his nephew's guests : "Gentlemen, 
 his Highness begs you not to fire upon nilgau 
 and peacocks. All the rest of the game is 
 yours." 
 
 The shooting began again. The marquis 
 brought down a superb deer. It was as large 
 as a mule. But in spite of the beauty of its 
 steel-blue coat, it did not enjoy sacred im- 
 munity. In the meantime, the others added 
 spiral-horned black bucks, wild boar, and 
 game of all sorts. These were picked up by 
 the shikarees, who occasionally had to use their 
 lances to complete the killing. 
 
 For some time, although Desroches had 
 done his share in bagging the game, he had 
 been noticing that his elephant showed signs 
 of fatigue or perhaps nervousness. She went
 
 68 PARVATI 
 
 on, although it was apparently against her 
 will. Despite unsparing prodding, she was 
 always behind the others. Doctor Pelopidas, 
 who was the nearest to the painter, inquired 
 the cause of the elephant's lagging. Gilbert 
 said he had concluded that the animal was 
 confused and frightened by wild boar running 
 so close to her legs. From time to time she 
 trumpeted and shook with fear. Finally Gil- 
 bert succeeded in getting his elephant to the 
 place where the rest of the party had stopped. 
 Under a sycamore tree were tents. The first 
 part of the hunt was finished. 
 
 "Bless me!" cried the baron. "Hurry up, 
 you slow-pokes! the table is set. I have the 
 appetite of an ogre. If you do not hurry, 
 there will be nothing left for you." 
 
 "I hope, my dear fellow," said d'Alizay, 
 helping Desroches to dismount, "that you have 
 had no accident. There seemed to be some- 
 thing the matter with your elephant." 
 
 "Probably hungry," Gilbert replied, laugh- 
 ing. "She is like us, glad to see food at lunch- 
 time."
 
 69 
 
 The tents had been set up the evening be- 
 fore. They made a pretty picture, nestling 
 under the tufted palms and the branches of 
 the sycamore trees. The guests sat down to 
 a delicious meal, served with the best of 
 French wines. Of course the conversation 
 was all about the morning's work and the 
 afternoon in prospect. Bhagavat Singh, 
 whose conversation generally was little more 
 than platitudes, was interested and at home 
 when it came to discussing a hunt. He en- 
 tertained his guests with stories of his own 
 prowess. 
 
 "My respected father," said he, "used to 
 know Sir Dunlop, the superintendent of 
 Hardwar, and also Lord Combernere. With 
 Captain Mundy and Lieutenant Rice, they 
 were the best riflemen of my father's day. I 
 am opposed," he went on, "to the methods of 
 some hunters. I don't like the way they take 
 refuge in bamboo cages from which they can 
 destroy their enemy without the least peril 
 to themselves! No, believe me, gentlemen, 
 there is but one way to fight wild beasts : that
 
 70 PARVATI 
 
 is to attack them face to face like a duelist. 
 The tiger is a worthy adversary for man!" 
 
 The maharaja was standing now. His face 
 was lighted up with interest and animation. 
 Evidently the proud old blood of Rajput con- 
 querors came into its own when it was a mat- 
 ter of making powder speak. Desroches was 
 impressed by the quick change that had come 
 over the face of the young monarch. He told 
 himself that powerful reserves of action and 
 vigor were latent in the king, whom he had 
 judged to be a weakling. He was conscious 
 that he held the husband of Parvati in new 
 esteem. His jealousy of the man who pos- 
 sessed the only woman he had ever loved was 
 suddenly tinged with satisfaction and pride. 
 He realized that the obstacle between him and 
 Parvati was no small one. 
 
 The lines were forming again. The ele- 
 phants were finding their advance more and 
 more difficult as they entered a narrow path. 
 Water from little springs oozed up from the 
 earth, and the road was not an easy one. 
 They were entering the domain of his Ma-
 
 PARVATI 71 
 
 jesty the tiger. At the top of a little knoll 
 was a spot of bright color. It was the Lasciate 
 ogni speranza of the danger zone, a strange 
 shrine put up at the place where a man had 
 recently been devoured. At an order from 
 the sirdar the shikarees stopped. Their role 
 had become useless, and it would have been 
 cruel to expose the poor devils to certain 
 death. They would be needed later, at the 
 close of the hunt, to carry home the carcass of 
 the victim. 
 
 Vegetation became dense. In the distance 
 one could make out the lake of Tal-Devi, 
 where the animals came to get water. As 
 the party was rounding its banks, the atten- 
 tion of the hunters was attracted by the sound 
 of beating wings. On the edge of the pond, 
 in a clump of reeds, lay the carcass of an 
 antelope half-devoured by jackals. On torn 
 pieces of flesh sat vultures. This meant that 
 the quarry was near. The elephants, as if 
 to corroborate this first sign, moved with cau- 
 tion. They raised their trunks above the 
 level of the grass or even folded them on their
 
 72 PARVATI 
 
 foreheads. They were conscious of danger 
 and of the vulnerability of their trunks. The 
 hunters were grave, motionless, silent, a little 
 pale with the pallor that comes when we know 
 an invisible enemy is near. A soft sound 
 among the dead leaves, as of breaking twigs, 
 was heard. It seemed to come from a little 
 rise of ground not more than twenty paces 
 away. Monkeys were hurrying out of the 
 reeds into the branches of the trees, uttering 
 shrill cries. Frightened peacocks flew away. 
 The elephants made an instinctive movement 
 of retreat. 
 
 "Tiger Sahib!" whispered the sirdar. 
 
 The reeds parted, yielding to a mysterious 
 movement, and a royal tiger appeared. It 
 was a superb male. His enormous flat head 
 was framed in whiskers. His mustaches stif- 
 fened, revealing blood-red gums. He stopped 
 five paces away from the elephant upon which 
 d'Alizay was seated. Then, with a ferocious 
 roar, he advanced toward his nearest assail- 
 ant. Well out of the way, on the top of his 
 motionless mount, perched the marquis. He
 
 PARVATI 73 
 
 had hunted the lion at Nairobi and the grizzly 
 in the Rockies. He waited for the tiger to 
 spring. With marvelous coolness he took aim 
 and touched the trigger. 
 
 The animal fell back, shot through the 
 heart. 
 
 "Bravo!" cried the maharaja. "You killed 
 him with your first shot!" 
 
 But d'Alizay, a veteran hunter accustomed 
 to surprises, did not allow himself to be car- 
 ried away by the compliment of his host. 
 Phlegmatically he slipped a new cartridge 
 into the barrel of his gun. 
 
 "You are right," said the sirdar. "I think, 
 too, that there is another." 
 
 They advanced farther into the under- 
 growth, to explore it. Nana Singh, Arwar- 
 Dass, and Doctor Canaridis executed a turn- 
 ing manoeuver. This was meant to shut off 
 the retreat of the animal in case it should try 
 to take flight in the direction of the nullah. 
 The plan could not fail. 
 
 A shot was heard, followed immediately by 
 a second one. It was Desroches, whose ele-
 
 74 PARVATI 
 
 phant had come upon the mate of the tiger 
 killed by d'Alizay. A little surprised at the 
 sight of the animal, Gilbert had fired, his 
 shot going wild. With his second ball he 
 had broken a rib without touching any vital 
 organ. The wounded tigress gave a hoarse 
 roar. Then, crouching, she sprang to the 
 haunches of the elephant. It was an agoniz- 
 ing minute. 
 
 "Don't fire!" cried the sirdar. "You might 
 hit his Majesty." 
 
 But the elephant, feeling the sharp claws in 
 her flesh, was crazed with fright. She started 
 to run through the brush, in spite of the des- 
 perate shouts of her keeper. Still clinging to 
 the elephant, the tigress brought her paw 
 down upon the shoulder of the painter with 
 a terrible blow. She withdrew it dripping 
 with blood. Despite the terrible pain, the 
 unfortunate man had the strength to tear his 
 revolver from its case. Then, aiming directly 
 at the red mouth, he fired twice. The tigress 
 released her hold and rolled to the ground,
 
 PARVATI 75 
 
 with her skull fractured, her eyes fixed, and 
 her tongue hanging. 
 
 "Waou! Sawbash sahib!" cried the Hin- 
 dus, while the doctor, followed by his com- 
 panions, hastened toward the elephant, now 
 under control. 
 
 But Gilbert saw and heard nothing. It 
 seemed that he was sinking into ground that 
 opened up under him. With a cry he fell 
 backward and fainted in the arms of his 
 mahout. 
 
 That evening, when the procession filed by 
 under the windows of the palace of Elysium, 
 the women of his Highness made out a 
 stretcher upon which lay a man's form. One 
 shoulder was done up in white bandages. 
 The mahouts carried him with infinite care. 
 
 Parvati leaned forward, her face grew pale, 
 and she put her hand to her heart. 
 
 Djalina saw it. A smile of hate curled 
 her voluptuous lips.
 
 VI 
 
 But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to be 
 filled. I longed for the love which had before filled it to 
 overflowing. 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN FOE : "Eleanora." 
 
 DOCTOR CANARIDIS had made a di- 
 agnosis. The terrible blow of the ti- 
 ger's paw had broken the left shoulder-blade, 
 put the shoulder out of joint, and torn the 
 flesh so that stitches had to be taken. The 
 patient was tormented with fever for the first 
 few days, but, thanks to the skilful care given 
 him by Mrs. Williams, his temperature was 
 soon normal. Naturally, the complication to 
 be feared was tetanus. But the danger of this 
 had been avoided by the antiseptic precautions 
 carefully seen to by the young Greek physi- 
 cian. The medical attention was simple but 
 intelligent. And now, tenderly watched over 
 by his dear big friend, Desroches was reclin- 
 ing on a steamer chair in the hall of the 
 
 76
 
 PARVATI 77 
 
 bungalow. His left arm was in a sling, and 
 with his right hand he was fanning himself 
 with a black ostrich-feather fan. 
 
 "I can't help shivering when I think of it," 
 he was saying to Verdier. "I owe my life 
 to my brave Zahour. If he had not put the 
 revolver into my hands just as the motor was 
 leaving, you would have gone back to Paris 
 alone, old fellow." 
 
 "Don't let 's talk about it," answered Noel. 
 "You must try to put it out of your memory. 
 The important thing is that you are here. 
 In a few minutes you will go to the party 
 your friends have arranged for you at the 
 tennis-courts. D'Alizay and the Mesnil- 
 Guiberts came back yesterday from their two 
 weeks in Kashmir. They are delighted to be 
 here in time to help celebrate your first ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 "What day is this?" 
 
 "Tuesday." 
 
 "Ah!" murmured Gilbert, pensively. A 
 faint color rose to his pale, thin cheeks. 
 
 Tuesday!
 
 78 PARVATI 
 
 It was one of the days when the maharanee 
 could leave the Elysium. She would be there 
 at the tennis-courts, perhaps, looking on at 
 the game. Her position as queen prevented 
 her from playing. The thought of seeing her 
 filled him with joy. How many times during 
 his hours of delirium had he called to his 
 bedside the woman who reigned now in his 
 heart! How many times had he thought he 
 was pressing his burning mouth to the cool 
 white hand! But he had awakened in con- 
 fusion to meet only the fingers of the theoso- 
 phist, or to touch the wedding-ring of the 
 widowed Mrs. Williams. He had seen a sur- 
 prised and indulgent smile on the lips of the 
 Irishwoman. 
 
 And for three long weeks he had been with- 
 out news. How he worried over her anxiety! 
 It had been impossible to correspond with 
 her. He was afraid she would be changed, 
 indifferent. He was timid, for he was gen- 
 uinely in love. It never occurred to him to 
 confide in the doctor, although she probably 
 had received many confidences in her time.
 
 PARVATI 79 
 
 As for speaking with Verdier, he would see 
 himself dead before he would risk a scolding 
 from his friend. He knew well enough that 
 Noel Verdier would not spare him for launch- 
 ing upon so romantic an adventure. And so 
 his new passion put between the friends the 
 barrier of a secret. They both remained 
 silent. The silence weighed upon Verdier. 
 He looked at his watch. 
 
 "It is a quarter of five. Perhaps we had 
 better be on our way." 
 
 "Just as you say," Gilbert acquiesced, rising. 
 
 They went outdoors. In the street there 
 was unusual traffic. Coolies passed by, laden 
 with boards. Zebus drew carts filled with 
 hardware, bunting, and flags. The rasping 
 voice of a foreman shouting orders could be 
 heard. Farther along, two court architects 
 were absorbed in superintending the construc- 
 tion of a triumphal arch. His Highness 
 would pass under it upon his return from the 
 feudal ceremonies of the Durbar. 
 
 The royal birthday was approaching, and 
 this year the festivities bid fair to outshine all
 
 8o PARVATI 
 
 the others. When they arrived at the courts, 
 Arwar-Dass, perched on one of the benches, 
 sang out: 
 
 "Thirty-forty!" 
 
 "A fast set," the marquis whispered in the 
 Sejournes' ears. "But they were not able to 
 steal it with the balls they cut. I don't like 
 that game." 
 
 There was applause, courteous but at the 
 same time discreet. The king had been 
 beaten, and much enthusiasm would have been 
 out of place. The arrival of the convalescent 
 Frenchman furnished a welcome diversion. 
 
 "Hello! there's our invalid!" laughed the 
 baron, who had been the first to see Gilbert 
 and his friend. 
 
 There was a tempest of joyful greetings. 
 Bhagavat Singh himself forgot his habitual 
 indifference. 
 
 "My warmest congratulations, my dear fel- 
 low!" he said, shaking the hand of the painter. 
 "I have twenty- two tigers to my credit, but 
 well, I have never seen a closer shave than 
 you had. I hope you have recovered fully."
 
 PARVATI 81 
 
 "The doctor has prescribed the scarf, your 
 Highness, but only to be on the safe side. In 
 three days at the time of the feasts I shall 
 leave it off: it makes me look like a wounded 
 highwayman. I am deeply grateful to your 
 Highness," he added, "for your kindness dur- 
 ing my illness. I was profoundly touched." 
 
 "Ah! but it was natural that I should be 
 concerned! Were you not my guest and the 
 portraitist of the maharnee? Which reminds 
 me, Lady Turner: did you not tell me that 
 the princess was coming here to congratulate 
 Monsieur Desroches?" 
 
 "Yes, your Majesty," replied the English- 
 woman. "But it is only five o'clock. The 
 queen has just left the Elysium." 
 
 "Your Highness is too good," replied the 
 painter. "After the kind wishes which she 
 has sent me, I want to thank her. As soon as 
 I can remove this scarf, I shall return to my 
 work. And I hope that in one or two sittings 
 I shall be able to finish the portrait." 
 
 The maharaja smiled enigmatically, a little 
 constrainedly. The seeds of suspicion which
 
 8a PARVATI 
 
 Djalina had sown had begun to shake his con- 
 fidence. His consciousness of power did not 
 release him from distrust. Gilbert read all 
 this in the king's look, and he hastily changed 
 the subject. 
 
 Gilbert's friends gathered around. All of 
 them, especially the women, hurled questions 
 at him. Had he suffered much? Had he 
 realized the danger? Desroches thanked 
 them, laughing at the thought that, without 
 dreaming of it, he had become a hero. His 
 friends hung upon his words, and their hair 
 stood on end as they listened to the recital 
 of his unsought adventure. Men brought 
 glasses for champagne. People gave him 
 flowers. 
 
 While Gustave-Adolphe were launching 
 upon the account of their journey in Kashmir, 
 the little baroness disappeared. She came 
 back in a few minutes, accompanied by her 
 husband. He had a package in his arms. It 
 was sizable, and elaborately tied up. 
 
 "And what is this?" asked Gilbert.
 
 PARVATI 83 
 
 "A surprise," replied Odette. "Undo it 
 yourself." 
 
 The painter tackled one of the knots. The 
 paper was opened and revealed first a formid- 
 able paw, then a flat, mustached head fol- 
 lowed by the splendid skin. 
 
 "Your trophy!" cried Mademoiselle Aspa- 
 sie. 
 
 "You mean to say this is the animal whose 
 victim I nearly was!" replied the "hero," 
 stroking the tiger skin. 
 
 "It was not the will of Shiva," said a grave, 
 musical voice, at the sound of which every- 
 body turned instinctively. 
 
 Gilbert trembled. Parvati was standing in 
 front of him, holding out her daintily gloved 
 hand. She was exquisitely dressed in Euro- 
 pean fashion. She had on a white embroid- 
 ered dress. On her head was a black velvet 
 picture-hat trimmed with soft roses. She was 
 accompanied by Miss Brown, whose hideous 
 tailored suit emphasized the beauty of the 
 queen.
 
 "I want to hear the story of your terrible 
 experience," said Parvati to Gilbert. 
 
 The maharaja, racquet in hand, moved to- 
 ward the court, to take his revenge. The 
 queen sat down beside Gilbert, a short dis- 
 tance from the judge's tribune. And there 
 Desroches told the maharanee and her chap- 
 eron of his dramatic adventure. 
 
 And Parvati, with half-shut eyes, listened 
 to the painful story. Sometimes it was diffi- 
 cult for her to hide her feelings, but she held 
 herself in admirable control. She knew very 
 well that all eyes were upon her. When he 
 came to the part where he fainted, she stopped 
 him. 
 
 "Finish in French," she said. "I love your 
 language. It is vibrant, expressive." 
 
 Gilbert told her how he suffered as the 
 procession filed silently beneath the closed 
 windows of the palace of Elysium. And- his 
 voice suddenly lowered, he murmured: 
 
 "To know that at the moment when I was 
 passing your windows, perhaps dying, you
 
 PARVATI 85 
 
 were a prisoner in that jail, that I might have 
 to die without seeing you again! You will 
 never realize what I felt!" 
 
 And she put in softly: "I was there, back 
 of the lattice." 
 
 "You saw me?" 
 
 "Yts. Take care. Some one is watching 
 
 us." 
 
 "Why could I not have died? You could 
 have loved me without fear. As it is " 
 
 "Don't say that." 
 
 "Then I may hope?" 
 
 "Oh, be careful! They are spying upon us. 
 You know well enough I am surrounded by 
 enemies." 
 
 "What difference does that make! I will 
 snatch you from their claws, in spite of your- 
 self if I must!" 
 
 "Speak English, please speak English! At 
 least for a while, because of Miss Brown." 
 
 Half willingly, he obeyed, and in natural 
 tones, continued the story. But it was hardly 
 necessary, for the chaperon was carried away
 
 86 PAR VAT I 
 
 by the tennis and had no time to listen. The 
 painter noticed that, and involuntarily re- 
 turned to French: 
 
 "I know you are unhappy, condemned. 
 Yes, condemned," he repeated, with a warmth 
 that stirred her deliciously. "You are the 
 queen, of course, but you are not loved! My 
 life is an episode in human existence, and we 
 know very little about human existence. I 
 am concerned only with the present. In the 
 present I met you. I don't want you to be 
 unhappy! If you only knew how much I 
 love you !" 
 
 "Be quiet, my friend, you must not " 
 
 "Yes, I love you, I want you, I will have 
 you! Don't say 'No.' It is written. It must 
 come. I cannot live like this. I tell you, it 
 must be. I shall do something desperate, you 
 know." 
 
 And she, suddenly apprehensive, said hur- 
 riedly: 
 
 "Not that, my friend. We should both be 
 lost. We must be reasonable, you see. I am 
 willing to be your friend, to have you the
 
 PARVATI 87 
 
 master of my thoughts, if I may put it that 
 way. But for the rest, you know I am not 
 free. I do not belong to myself. I am bound 
 by sworn pledges." 
 
 "I shall find a way to have you for mine, 
 and then you will be the first one to laugh 
 at your scruples." 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 The tennis was progressing. The players 
 were beginning the sixth game. The ma- 
 haraja was beaming. His opponents were 
 weakening. The spectators were following 
 the game closely now. 
 
 "Listen to me," Gilbert began again. "I 
 must see you, I must talk to you for the sake 
 of our peace of mind. Don't refuse. You 
 cannot escape me." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "The Durbar festivities are coming. Sur- 
 veillance is bound to be less strict. There 
 will be fetes at the court. Arrange a meeting. 
 After that, you can do with me what you will. 
 I will leave the country, if you command it." 
 
 "I cannot"
 
 88 PARVATI 
 
 "Then I know what is left for me to do." 
 "Gilbert!" 
 
 "Answer me! One evening, one hour?" 
 "I will try." 
 
 Applause. Bhagavat Singh had won the 
 second set.
 
 VII 
 
 Women have honey in their words and poison in their 
 hearts. KAMASUTRA. 
 
 MARQUISE DE KEREGAL 
 Villa "Marie Hermine" 
 
 Cannes-Californie : Alpes-Maritimes 
 
 JEYPORE: RAJPUTANA 
 
 December 4, 19 
 My dear Christiane: 
 
 Your nice letter, which came yesterday, 
 gave me a great deal of pleasure. Write me 
 sixteen-page letters often ! I promise that you 
 will not lose in the exchange, and, as a proof 
 of good faith, I warn you that this letter will 
 not be less than twenty pages long! 
 
 You are warned twenty pages! If you 
 have better things to do, leave your Odette's 
 scribble and amuse yourself with your golf, 
 your auction bridge, your puzzles, and your 
 
 89
 
 90 PARVATI 
 
 flirtations. You can come back to my letter 
 later in the evening, in bed with your husband. 
 On second thought no ! I 'd rather have you 
 read it at once, and by yourself. There are 
 confidences for you alone. The men hide so 
 many things from us that we must get back 
 at them a little. 
 
 My last letter gave you details of the acci- 
 dent to poor Desroches. A narrow escape for 
 our portraitist! For three days he was de- 
 lirious with fever. The doctor who attended 
 him Doctor Pelopidas Canaridis, a Greek, 
 not a bad sort, despite his ridiculous name 
 was afraid of tetanus. You can guess how 
 nervous we all were. And now, thank 
 heaven, he 's safe. We have planned a little 
 celebration in his honor champagne, flowers, 
 speeches, and, in conclusion, my noble hus- 
 band the baron will present the skin of the 
 tigress. 
 
 And now there are all kinds of celebrations, 
 no end of them. As I write, the cannon 
 booms, the people acclaim their ruler. It 's 
 the Durbar, the solemn annual demonstration
 
 PARVATI 91 
 
 in honor of the birthday of his Highness. It 
 involves a religious service, a speech from the 
 throne, a review with a parade, the offering 
 of feudal dues, a garden-party, polo matches, 
 cricket, tennis, military sports, cock- and ele- 
 phant-fights (not together!), the distribution 
 of gifts to the common people, and others to 
 the Brahmans ; and endless other things. Day 
 after to-morrow evening a gala dinner at the 
 court, followed by music, songs, and native 
 dances. Then fireworks. The park and the 
 sacred crocodile and turtle pond will be illu- 
 minated. 
 
 Poor beasts! 
 
 What interested me most was the religious 
 service. It took place yesterday morning 
 under a canopy stretched in the royal court. 
 The maharaja was arrayed in a magnificent 
 costume of emerald-green silk, piped with 
 gold solid gold, you know. The buttons 
 were of large Mogok rubies (pigeon-blood, 
 my dear!) . Around his neck was a pearl col- 
 lar with twelve rows of pearls (as big as nuts, 
 and brilliant! I shall never want to wear
 
 92 PARVATI 
 
 mine). On the aigrette of his turban glit- 
 tered a diamond the size of the one in the 
 regent's crown. And yet you won't believe 
 me the prince did not look in the least 
 pleased, even with those wonderful adorn- 
 ments. The golden saber incrusted with 
 turquoises got in his way when he moved. 
 And during the ceremony, if you could have 
 seen how pathetic he looked ! But, then, put 
 yourself in his place. There he was, squat- 
 ting on his cushions with enough jewels to 
 fill a show window on the Rue de la Paix. 
 He was surrounded by European guests. 
 Loads of beautiful women I don't refer to 
 myself; you know me! And then he was 
 doomed to listen for half an hour, and with 
 a rapt expression, to the endless droning of 
 a litanized horoscope by a Brahman who 
 flatted. You '11 admit that it was n't the most 
 amusing thing in the world to do ! 
 
 Well, our Bhagavat was admirable. The 
 priests threw rice in his face, according to 
 the rites, and he did n't move a muscle. The 
 joke of it was that we fired rice at him, too!
 
 PARVATI 93 
 
 A question of politeness. We ought to intro- 
 duce that fashion next summer at Deauville. 
 To begin with, we '11 try it on our husbands. 
 Nothing better for one's health. Better even 
 than physical culture! 
 
 At the end of the religious ceremony, the 
 Brahman women were charmingly attentive. 
 They offered us cakes made of rancid butter, 
 all according to the rites. They crowned us 
 with yellow flowers (very amusing: the men 
 made such faces!) and, last of all, chalked 
 marks on our foreheads just above the bridge 
 of the nose. In return for these courtesies, 
 the maharaja presentee! each one of the women 
 with a white horse, a zebu, and a measure of 
 rice not a bad offering, you will admit. 
 
 And when I left, I still had on my forehead 
 the seal of Shiva-Tandava, vanquisher of the 
 demon king of Tripura; the princely "De- 
 stroyer" of the Trimurti or Brahman trinity. 
 (You must think me learned; it is our austere 
 Verdier who has tutored me.) But really, I 
 don't mind being tattooed with the seal of the 
 god of love and death occasionally, in pass-
 
 94 PARVATI 
 
 ing; but if I had to end my days in a Hindu 
 harem! Brr! I 'd much rather cut my hair 
 off at once and take the veil with our good 
 Dominican Mothers. And yet you will re- 
 member that in the Rue de Lubeck I did not 
 exactly have the divine calling! 
 
 To give you an idea of the life of the ranees 
 of his Highness, day before yesterday I visited 
 them at the Elysium. These women and 
 some of them are of highest caste; for ex- 
 ample, Maharanee Parvati live the life of 
 courtezans and slaves. And even at that they 
 must deem themselves very happy that they 
 need no longer accompany the dead body of 
 their hu-sband to the crematory. To-day, shut 
 in, -cloistered (like cattle conveniently herded 
 for the royal pleasure), they have one fixed 
 idea to envy and hurt one another. There 
 are some, too, who love one another too well, 
 sometimes! They are the cast-off ones, those 
 whom his Highness does not honor with his 
 visk. Most of them hate one another ; it helps 
 to pass away the time. Imagine fifteen 
 women living together from one year's end to
 
 PARVATI 95 
 
 another! With the exception of the mahara- 
 nee, who is favored because she is semi-Euro- 
 pean, these poor creatures never go out except 
 by fours, in a carriage hermetically sealed and 
 drawn by horses or camels safe from the 
 eyes of impious foreigners or two by two 
 carried in a closed palanquin by inhuman 
 eunuchs with bloodshot eyes. 
 
 The maharaja has no children. The suc- 
 cession will probably go to his cousin Arjouna, 
 eldest son of his uncle Nana Singh. The 
 lack of children among the fifteen ranees of 
 the zenana is a blessing. For no one of them 
 is superior to another in this respect. In- 
 terminable disputes between the mothers and 
 those who have no children are avoided. But 
 other reasons jealousy, ambition, love in- 
 cite them sometimes to base vengeances, even 
 to murder. The instrument of death implies 
 a refinement of cruelty and deception which 
 surpasses anything one can imagine. Now it 
 is a cord which strangles; now it is the poi- 
 soned brew that puts you to sleep never to 
 wake again. Again, it is a tarantula or scor-
 
 96 PAR VAT I 
 
 pion hidden in a mosquito-netting, not to 
 speak of secret poisons that kill without leav- 
 ing a trace. These women never eat candy 
 without first making sure it is harmless by 
 trying it on a slave. There were lately two 
 sudden deaths at the Elysium that have re- 
 mained a mystery. The culprits are unpun- 
 ished and live without remorse and with 
 smiles on their lips. 
 
 Lady O'Brien, the wife of the English po- 
 litical representative at the court of Ambala, 
 told me one of these tragedies of the harem. 
 She got it straight from her husband's lips, and 
 it is enough to make your hair stand on end! 
 
 One of the princesses of this zenana, the 
 Ranee Prithivi, bid fair to supplant the Ranee 
 Bawani in the favor of the king. Bawani was 
 a dangerous creature, of a superb bronze color, 
 who had the sovereign under her thumb. A 
 plot was formed against the unfortunate 
 Prithivi, and with the greatest secrecy her 
 death was planned. One day she lay down, 
 with a headache, first sending a servant to 
 ask the druggist of the palace for some anti-
 
 PAR VAT I 97 
 
 pyrin capsules. Within an hour, a box of 
 capsules was placed on the table beside her 
 bed. The princess took one of them. In the 
 evening, the remedy having relieved the pain, 
 she ate a little supper and went to sleep. Dur- 
 ing the night she died in agony. Under 
 orders of the maharaja, an investigation was 
 made by the prime minister, the dewan. 
 They made an autopsy and found in the stom- 
 ach a white powder, which, after analysis, was 
 recognized to be the antipyrin delivered by the 
 druggist. But on investigating further, the 
 doctors discovered that the intestines were 
 perforated with stiff white hairs. A criminal 
 hand had opened the capsules while the ranee 
 was asleep and had slipped into them tiny 
 bundles of rolled-up hair, from the mustache 
 of a tiger. The heat of the body had made 
 the hairs straighten and they had done the 
 work of destruction. Of course the affair was 
 hushed up. The absence of the Princess 
 Prithivi was noticed. To those who inquired 
 for her health an evasive answer was made: 
 "The ranee is traveling. She is in the
 
 98 PARVATI 
 
 Himalayas." And after that no one pursued 
 the matter. 
 
 Enough of this dark drama. Let us come 
 back to the Durbar. 
 
 Yesterday we had the feudal ceremony. It 
 is a symbol of the vassalage of the subjects of 
 his Highness. By subjects I mean the minis- 
 ters, chamberlains, and other court dignitaries, 
 superior officers, notables of the cities, farmers, 
 tenants, and rich merchants of the capital, 
 representing the people. Each one of these 
 vassals, when his name was called according 
 to the hierarchical order, passed before the 
 king, repeating phrases formally prescribed. 
 As he bowed, he dropped a rupee on a silver 
 tray. This lasts for three long hours, al- 
 though at the end of ten minutes you are 
 weary of it. 
 
 There is a curious custom, however, show- 
 ing how great is the Hindu superstition even 
 in this court. A chamberlain, a favorite up 
 until this time, goes before the throne. Un- 
 fortunately, he catches his foot in a fold of 
 the carpet. He loses his balance and his piece
 
 PARVATI 99 
 
 of tribute money falls before the king can 
 touch it with his hand. The latter gives the 
 courtier a black look, so that he blushes, stam- 
 mers an apology, and withdraws in confu- 
 sion. I asked Noel Verdier, who understands 
 these things, for an explanation of the inci- 
 dent. It appears that by failing to touch the 
 hand of the sovereign with the symbolic rupee 
 the vassal implied his bad faith. Custom de- 
 mands in this case of the "judgment of God" 
 that the functionary be deprived of office. 
 
 Poor fellow! Now I understand his dis- 
 comfiture. I must ask the wicked Bhagavat 
 to pardon him. 
 
 For three days we Ve had a constant stream 
 of princely guests. Special apartments have 
 been fitted up for them. Most of the poten- 
 tates of India (except the Nizam of Hydera- 
 bad, a blase, worldly fellow who turns up 
 his nose at Brahman fetes because he is a 
 Moslem), were invited for the five-day fes- 
 tivities. The Gaikwar of Baroda, a reformer 
 of the school systems, arrived here the day 
 before yesterday in company with the Ma-
 
 ioo PARVATI 
 
 harana of Udaipur and the Raja of Jind. 
 The Udaipur one is a dear. To-day they 
 expect the Jam of Nawanagar, a crack cricket- 
 player and a personal friend of our host, the 
 Begum of Bhopal a sort of Hindu Wilhel- 
 mina who administers her kingdom a la 
 feministe; that is to say without the help of 
 the prince consort and his Highness the 
 Agha-Khan from Calcutta! 
 
 The maharajas of Gwalior, of Bikanir, and 
 of Jodhpur are announced for to-morrow 
 morning, together with our great Parisian 
 from Kapurthala. It will be a joy to see him 
 here with his faithful aide-de-camp. You 
 know, the charming captain was the rage of 
 Dinard; you don't forget him! Have I told 
 you, my darling, that upon our arrival at 
 Jeypore, Olivier and I had a pressing and 
 friendly invitation from Kapurthala? If it 
 had n't been for the accident to Gilbert, and 
 the Durbar fetes, we should be there now. 
 I am anxious to visit the capital and to see 
 the splendid French palace he has built there 
 and especially his gardens laid out in our own
 
 PARVATI 101 
 
 style. Mansart and Lenotre in the midst of 
 the Punjab, next-door to Lahore, like a replica 
 of the pagoda of the Duke of Choiseul at 
 Chanteloup. That is a feat! It could be 
 performed by nobody else but his Highness 
 Jagatjit Singh! 
 
 I don't know yet what Gustave-Adolphe 
 will do. I think they will make straight for 
 Benares, but I have no desire to go with them. 
 D'Alizay and Mesnil-Guibert are jolly com- 
 panions, but unfortunately they are mixed up 
 with a little fool, the Countess Jehanne, who 
 thinks she is somebody since she has added 
 to her husband's seal her own, a golden pot 
 of oleomargarine in a field of azure. 
 
 I like the purple papal crown of my hus- 
 band better. But don't let me get silly. I 
 have already described to you the good face 
 of the fat old maid, Mademoiselle Agatho- 
 poulos, who admires the stronger sex. Lady 
 Gladys, who has rather a long tongue, says 
 that Mademoiselle is a vicious woman. To 
 tell the truth, she appears with a different 
 secretary each year, generally a handsome fel-
 
 102 PAR VAT I 
 
 low. This time Aspasie went to Naples to 
 find her Pericles, a certain Titto Ricciotti, 
 who adores tennis. But the caro signor has 
 his nose out of joint since the Hindu guests 
 of his Highness arrived. By Jove, but they 
 are good-looking! as our little Miss K. D. S. 
 Eppleton of Washington, D. C., says. 
 
 And Desroches? Just between ourselves, 
 he is a bit changed, our Gilbert. I attribute 
 his melancholy air more to the flirtation with 
 his model than to the wound the tiger gave 
 him. Do you suppose he is in love? I 'd 
 wager it is the first time. I must look into 
 it. Gilbert in love! the butterfly that never 
 has stopped very long with any flower; he who 
 has shot so many cruel darts and has never 
 been hit, himself! And who has made him 
 lose his head, I ask you? A little dark- 
 skinned girl who poses as a Parisian! Hon- 
 estly, I never understood what Tikka saw in 
 her. It is true that our host has lost interest 
 since the honeymoon and is quadrupling his 
 harem. 
 
 But he laughs best who laughs last! You
 
 PARVATI 103 
 
 can hang me if I do not demonstrate to our 
 illustrious portrait painter by A plus B that 
 he is playing with fire. We are not on Eng- 
 lish soil; and with all his air of indifference 
 Bhagavat is perfectly capable of sending Gil- 
 bert on a "voyage in the Himalayas" like 
 poor Prithivi, and of complaining afterward 
 to the consul, even to the viceroy! 
 
 Here is the end of my gossip. You have 
 the twenty pages I promised you in the be- 
 ginning. There is only one hour before the 
 garden-party and I must slip into my tussor. 
 
 With many loving kisses, I am 
 Your friend, 
 
 ODETTE.
 
 VIII 
 
 He was going crazy; it seemed to him they were kiss- 
 ing each other before his eyes. "That is impossible, in 
 my presence ; my reason is gone." 
 
 STENDAHL: La Chartreuse de Parme. 
 
 figures clothed in red tunics and 
 white trousers, their heads adorned with 
 king's-blue turbans, rolled high, a la sikhe, 
 were mounting guard. On the staircase of 
 honor their lances formed a vault of steel. 
 The men were superb, almost giants. A 
 strange dark light flashed from time to time 
 from their eyes, and on their lips was an enig- 
 matic smile. They were the Lancers of the 
 Guard mountaineers from the North re- 
 cruited from roundabout the Aravalli Hills, 
 and nomads from the arid desert of Thur. 
 Many of them had embraced the Jainism of 
 the twenty-four prophets. Nevertheless, they 
 
 had not wavered in fidelity to their sover- 
 
 104
 
 PAR VAT I 105 
 
 eign, who was an orthodox Brahman. They 
 proved their good faith in the service of the 
 empire when some engaged in the Afghan 
 campaign and others formed a part of the 
 Somali expedition, two wars where in brav- 
 ery and audacity they rivaled the legendary 
 prowess of the troops of Kapurthala and 
 Bikanir. 
 
 European guests, princes, courtiers were 
 slowly moving up the marble steps between 
 the human hedges, who in the splendor of the 
 illuminations recalled the imposing legions of 
 long ago, those whom Tippoo and Nana 
 Sahib led, the first to victory, the second to 
 defeat. The warlike country independent, 
 historic was living again a past of useless but 
 grand heroism. And there were darkness and 
 mystery in the eyes of these living statues, who 
 to-night looked upon the great of India pass- 
 ing by. 
 
 Within the palace, guests crowded around 
 a dinner-table set for sixty. An informal 
 reception was to follow the banquet. Two
 
 io6 PARVATI 
 
 dancers, imported at great price from Delhi 
 and Agra, were to entertain the assembly. 
 The evening was to end with fireworks. Cus- 
 tom demanded that the entertainment be ex- 
 clusively national: a Hindu dinner, a royal 
 table, and another for the officers. To this 
 end, the maharaja, careful to offend the re- 
 ligious prejudices of no one, had arranged for 
 the use of two wings of the palace. The left 
 wing was for the lieutenants and captains and 
 majors of the Brahman religion. There were 
 two tables, two kitchens. It was curious to 
 see brothers in arms separated for a time by 
 the question of their bill of fare. One set 
 had a horror of beef, the other indignantly 
 repudiated ham I 
 
 In the drawing-rooms one heard many 
 languages Hindustani, Urdu, Bengali, Eng- 
 lish, French, Italian, and even Greek. The 
 costumes, too, were of an infinite variety, from 
 the low-cut gowns of European women to the 
 soft draperies of the Far East. But the 
 Asiatic note dominated. 
 
 A silence fell. The assembly rose respect-
 
 PARVATI 107 
 
 fully when a hussar opened the doors. The 
 chamberlain, master of ceremonies, appeared 
 on the threshold and in a ringing voice an- 
 nounced, "Their Highnesses the Maharaja 
 and the Maharanee of the State of Jeypore." 
 Bhagavat Singh and Parvati were in full 
 court costume. He wore a purple velvet 
 tunic, with sapphire buttons and fringes of 
 gold, and white satin trousers, baggy at the 
 knees and close-fitting at the ankles. On his 
 head was a diadem studded with brilliants and 
 pearls that held in place a Venetian doge's 
 cap, surmounted by an aigrette. She wore 
 the national Rajput costume of Nattier blue 
 (caught at the breast with a beryl brooch), 
 and a veil of white tulle. Her hair was 
 parted and held in with a band of pearls and 
 emeralds, just as Gilbert's inspired brush had 
 painted it. The monarch assumed the solem- 
 nity required by circumstances, but his sem- 
 blance of majesty was no illusion to the throng. 
 The people saw in him only a multimillion- 
 aire who knew how to spend his immense 
 wealth, near whom one could always pick up
 
 io8 PARVATI 
 
 a few plums. The two of them advanced 
 toward the princes of royal blood and after 
 saluting them ceremoniously, mingled with 
 the crowd. The maharaja, noticing among 
 the guests the gala uniform of the English 
 Governor of the District of Ajmir, moved 
 toward him, accompanied by the dewan, 
 Dhanpat-Roy. 
 
 The prime minister was the only man 
 among those grouped around the king who 
 was worth anything. Bengali by birth, he 
 had the adaptability of his race and the mar- 
 velous gift of masking secret hatred of for- 
 eigners with an affable smile. He was a con- 
 summate diplomat, but his xenophobia, dic- 
 tated by ardent patriotism, might lead to ter- 
 rible consequences. He would not admit that 
 a nation of more than one hundred million 
 souls should be governed by fewer than a 
 hundred thousand soldiers and functionaries 
 from the Occident who had never demon- 
 strated to him any superiority in thought or 
 in art. Had not the initial domination been 
 the work of merchants and navigators?
 
 PARVATI 109 
 
 Dhanpat-Roy could not be convinced that 
 commercial activity in which the Parsees ex- 
 celled could become a slow but sure element 
 of conquest. 
 
 He had done everything in his power to dis- 
 suade Tikka from marrying Parvati. He felt 
 that she had been too much Europeanized 
 to preserve real Hindu nationality, despite her 
 illustrious caste. But Bhagavat had disre- 
 garded the alarm of his counselor. His mar- 
 riage also displeased the high priest of the 
 Brahmans, Khoudarsha, who consequently be- 
 came the natural ally of the dewan. And 
 the maharaja, old and failing, did not dare 
 oppose his son. After her coronation the 
 maharanee had no worse enemies than these 
 two men. They were biding their time, skil- 
 fully hiding their intentions until the day 
 should come to strike the blow. 
 
 Parvati instinctively sensed the double 
 hatred. And to-night, in the midst of the 
 confusion, she met looks that were either in- 
 different or hostile. She did not dare to ap- 
 proach Gilbert, the only soul that loved her,
 
 no PARVATI 
 
 for fear she would show only too clearly what 
 she felt. But by the invisible telepathy 
 through which heart speaks to heart, she felt 
 his sympathetic presence. They did not need 
 to see each other to have close communion. 
 They were bound to each other irrevocably 
 even by the danger of betraying themselves. 
 
 The guests were moving toward a hall that 
 had been draped with silken hangings. It 
 had been decorated with arms and fitted up 
 as a dining-room especially for the occasion. 
 Servants were moving about bearing enor- 
 mous platters piled high with rice. Eath 
 guest had a shallow bowl at his left hand, for 
 the rice was meant to take the place of bread. 
 An endless number of strange, highly seasoned 
 dishes were served dried fish, mutton stew, 
 roast kid, stuffed woodcock, wild-boar steaks. 
 With meat one had to take a sauce, usually 
 containing curry, and always fiery. There 
 were palm cabbages, shoots of young bamboo, 
 and, finally, heavy, unappetizing pastry. 
 There was no speech, and after this unusual 
 and exotic feast the guests were invited to the
 
 PARVATI in 
 
 terrace, where they sat in the moonlight, lis- 
 tening to the plaintive music of an orchestra 
 violins, flutes, and tam-tams hidden behind 
 potted palms. A concert preceded the danc- 
 ing. 
 
 "Let me give you a cordial, my dear?" said 
 the baroness, addressing d'Alizay. The mar- 
 quis, enveloped in a cloud of smoke from his 
 pipe, had just begun to tell about a lion-hunt. 
 His listeners were grouped about him, the 
 central figure being that indefatigable hunter, 
 the Maharaja of Gwalior. 
 
 "A finger of Chartreuse, if you please. 
 There, that 's it! A thousand thanks!" 
 
 "And you, Desroches?" She put the lac- 
 quer tray down and approached the artist, 
 who was standing by himself, resting his el- 
 bow on a railing between two boxed orange 
 trees. He was quietly looking at the play of 
 the moonlight on the lake and the gardens of 
 Paradise. "Very melancholy this evening. 
 Be careful, it is becoming chronic!" 
 
 Gilbert turned. 
 
 "Look," he said simply, and, stretching out
 
 ii2 PARVATI 
 
 his arm, he pointed to the enchanting pano- 
 rama. "No palette could render that color," 
 he went on. "What a blend of gray, deep 
 blue, purple 1 Ah ! the painter can never hope 
 to be more than a plagiarist of Nature, the 
 master!" 
 
 But she, realizing that art, the rival of 
 woman, was stealing him away from her, made 
 herself tempting, desirable. She leaned to- 
 ward him, for she knew very well that contact 
 is irresistible. 
 
 He felt her charm and smiled with pleas- 
 ure. 
 
 "How do I look this evening?" she said, in 
 her musical voice. 
 
 "Beautiful as Diana, the huntress of Fantin- 
 Latour." 
 
 She smiled, flattered by the compliment. 
 
 "And yet, though you are sure of me, you 
 would leave me for another? She is uncer- 
 tain. Ah! I have seen it all! We women 
 possess a sixth sense, so that we know the de- 
 gree of our own seductiveness." 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 PARVATI 113 
 
 "You know well enough. Don't try to put 
 me off the track. I warn you the adventure is 
 perilous. Others better authorities than I 
 perhaps have told you the same thing. 
 And then, what is the good of letting certainty 
 slip through your hands for the sake of a 
 shadow?" 
 
 Gilbert sighed without answering. Odette 
 had reawakened in him a doubt which had 
 often made him despair, a bitter uncertainty 
 concerning the final issue. Would it not be 
 better, after all, not to pursue this romance 
 that could never come to anything? Parvati 
 herself, by her silence, seemed to be losing in- 
 terest in his love. A few days before, at the 
 tennis-court, he had with difficulty made her 
 promise to meet him somewhere, but as yet it 
 had resulted in nothing. Perhaps the princess 
 was only trying to vary the monotony of her 
 solitude with a flirtation. She who was with 
 him this evening in the magic of the tropical 
 moonlight perhaps was the real sweetheart, to 
 whom he had only to open his arms. 
 
 For a time they listened in silence to the bar-
 
 ii4 PARVATI 
 
 baric music. They could hear people whis- 
 pering around them, some admiring the sur- 
 prising beauty of the decorations, others thrill- 
 ing again over some hunting-exploit. 
 
 She had slipped her hand into his, pru- 
 dently drawing her silken scarf over their 
 arms. 
 
 "Come," she murmured, "it is better down 
 there. The dancers have not begun yet." 
 
 They went down the steps and seated them- 
 selves on the bench under a yucca tree in full 
 bloom. 
 
 "You are regal to-night!" remarked Gilbert. 
 "The diamond tiara in your blond hair I 
 have never seen you so beautiful as now!" 
 
 "Think so? The Nawab of Dacca told me 
 the same thing a while ago. Really, those 
 handsome bronzed princes don't mind staring 
 at me! But there is only one man I care to 
 please. It is for you alone that I have made 
 myself beautiful this evening." 
 
 "You are exquisite!" 
 
 He kissed her. 
 
 "Oh!" It was like the stifled groan of a
 
 PARVATI 115 
 
 strangling child, something that was agonized 
 but at the same time suppressed. 
 
 They broke away, a little frightened. But 
 they could see nothing unless it was a fold of 
 blue silk that disappeared among the orange 
 trees on the deserted terrace. 
 
 Everybody was crowding into the drawing- 
 room to watch the two dancers. 
 
 " Somebody was there, and saw us," said 
 Desroches. 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "I am sure of it. I heard a little cry. And 
 then the dress disappearing." 
 
 "Let us go in quickly, through different 
 doors." 
 
 They separated and entered the drawing- 
 rooms from opposite sides, one a few minutes 
 after the other. 
 
 Soft round arms, a straight body, a waist 
 held in by the belt of a shimmering skirt; 
 bare feet with rings on the toes she per- 
 formed the miracle of her dance in the vast 
 corridor filled with seated spectators. 
 
 Profullia Flower-of-Joy^ was her name.
 
 n6 PARVATI 
 
 The muffled orchestra accompanied her 
 dance and she mimicked and sang, consum- 
 mate actress that she was amorous, wanton, 
 sorrowful, ironical, and terrible. Her eyes, 
 like two jewels set in jet, looked out through 
 eyelashes dark with charcoal. Changing 
 lights, unknown shadows, and dark magnet- 
 ism played there. Her movements were ca- 
 denced, harmonious, plastic. She was like an 
 ebony statue suddenly animated by the breath 
 of divinity, and her ephemeral function 
 seemed to be to reduce an imaginary enemy to 
 submission. 
 
 And this enemy, according to the traditions 
 of Hindu dancing, she had chosen at random 
 from the audience. It was Gilbert, who had 
 slipped into the first row so as not to lose any 
 of this ballet, she had chosen as her mute part- 
 ner. The painter knew the game and he 
 smiled, amused and flattered that she chose 
 him. 
 
 The theme of the dance was borrowed from 
 the loves of the fickle Krishna, the human 
 incarnation of the god Vishnu bucolic, lib-
 
 PARVATI 117 
 
 ertine, and of Sanskrit descent. The danc- 
 ing-girl sang and declaimed the text of a pass- 
 age of the Puranas. She told of the treachery 
 of the god, how he had abandoned his wife, 
 the goddess Radha, to fly to the arms of the 
 nymph Viraja, tormented with love. 
 
 And living the poem intensely, the dancer 
 twisted her arms with their bracelets of gold, 
 clutched her round, firm throat with both 
 hands until it seemed she must wound herself 
 with her own finger-nails. Flower-of-Joy 
 poured reproaches, superb indignation, and 
 scorn upon Gilbert, penetrating him with an- 
 gry and fascinating glances. 
 
 Now she flung at him the final virulent fare- 
 well, bidding the god to descend from 
 heavenly heights to the earth to live a human 
 life. 
 
 The supple body spiraled toward the 
 ground, then rose and remained motionless. 
 The head, helmeted and jeweled, turned 
 slowly from right to left, signifying impossi- 
 bility of pardon, irreparable outrage. The 
 outstretched palms simulated repulsion, dis-
 
 ii8 PARVATI 
 
 gust that was deepened by the scorn on the 
 lips. 
 
 The acting was so eloquent that Gilbert, 
 without grasping the meaning of the words, 
 was embarrassed. He withdrew a little, de- 
 siring to escape the hypnotism of the dancer 
 and the ridicule brought upon him by her in- 
 vectives. 
 
 He sought Parvati's eyes. 
 
 She was seated at the right of the maharaja 
 and was following every movement of the 
 dancer. Desroches was struck with her pal- 
 lor. When the frantic applause followed the 
 ending of the pantomime, he saw the queen 
 whisper in her husband's ear. Then she rose 
 and went away, accompanied by her chape- 
 ron. Gilbert was troubled. 
 
 "Do you suppose she is ill?" he murmured 
 to Verdier. 
 
 "Bah!" replied the philosopher. "Prob- 
 ably she feels faint: it is hot as an oven in 
 here." 
 
 Flower-of-Joy reappeared, her forehead 
 moist with perspiration. She gave a tired lit-
 
 PARVATI 119 
 
 tie smile, happy over her triumph, and ac- 
 knowledged the cheers of the crowd with 
 modest little bows a I'hindoue, while she hid 
 her face with her jeweled hands. The inter- 
 mission was to be followed with more dancing. 
 
 "Let us go out," said the painter. "I am 
 stifled, too." 
 
 The two friends drank in the cool air of the 
 night. It whipped their faces deliciously. 
 Gilbert lit a cigar, and Noel, who was not 
 guilty of even this vice, was content to follow 
 his friend toward the lake, where the illumi- 
 nated arches and garlands were reflected. 
 They walked in silence along an alley bor- 
 dered with soft foliage, above which vampires 
 whirled in slow and heavy flight. Gilbert 
 was worried. 
 
 Was it really because of indisposition that 
 Parvati had withdrawn? Vague remorse 
 haunted him without his knowing why. 
 
 "Shall we go back?" asked Noel. "It is 
 time; I hear the gong. Come and see Nour- 
 Djahane, the Lady-of-Light, in her peacock 
 dance."
 
 120 PARVATI 
 
 "Go if you like. I 'd rather finish my 
 cigar." 
 
 "You don't care to see the other dances?" 
 
 "One is enough. Being her unwilling part- 
 ner has unnerved me. Go along, and don't be 
 anxious about me. I want to be alone." 
 
 The theosophist hesitated. He did not 
 wish to leave the friend whose sudden melan- 
 choly troubled him. And yet he wished to see 
 the famous dancer interpreting a fragment of 
 Sanskrit poetry. Desroches saw this and had 
 no difficulty in overcoming the indecision of 
 his companion. 
 
 "When the dance is over, Verdier, you will 
 find me here, unless the sacred crocodiles leave 
 nothing of me except the end of my cigar." 
 
 Gilbert watched Noel go. He felt affec- 
 tionate appreciation for solicitude that was al- 
 most maternal. There was at least one who 
 loved him for pure friendship. He strolled 
 toward the stone steps that led down to the 
 limpid water. From time to time a long 
 hideous greenish nose disturbed the surface 
 of the pond and then disappeared with a sinis-
 
 PARVATI 121 
 
 ter snapping of jaws. The crocodiles were 
 scenting their prey. Desroches could not 
 help shivering a little. A false step could 
 make him slip down among the monsters. 
 Instinctively he withdrew toward the lawn. 
 As he reached the top step he stifled a cry. A 
 few paces away a man appeared. It was a 
 half-naked Hindu, frightfully thin. Gil- 
 bert's hand felt for the revolver in his pocket. 
 The unknown man did not move. He held 
 out a letter and mysteriously lifted a finger to 
 his lips. 
 
 Gilbert tore open the envelop and, seeking 
 a spot of bright moonlight, read these simple 
 words written in French: 
 
 This evening, at midnight, at the Astronomical Observ- 
 atory of Jay Singh in the Pavilion of the Stars. 
 Come ! 
 
 When he turned around again the messen- 
 ger had disappeared.
 
 IX 
 
 Anitra! True Daughter of Eve! I yield to your 
 magnetic charm. For after all, I am a man; . . . "The 
 eternal feminine draws me." 
 
 IBSEN: "Peer Gynt." Act IV. 
 
 IT was the folly of a raja to build this ob- 
 servatory in the eighteenth century. Jay 
 Singh astronomer, prince, and founder of 
 Jeypore had studied in the books of Europe 
 the norms of cosmography, the theorem of ce- 
 lestial triangulation, and the principal hy- 
 potheses concerning falling stars. As a states- 
 man, he had created and maintained an 
 era of prosperity in his kingdom. But he was 
 a thinker, too. For recreation he turned to 
 mathematical analysis. His dream had been 
 to observe for himself, in India, the phenom- 
 ena of the planetary system. This dream 
 had been realized through the happy coinci- 
 dence of his immense riches and the arrival 
 in the country of a famous English architect. 
 
 122
 
 PARVATI 123 
 
 The latter had no trouble in demonstrating to 
 the monarch the possibility of constructing in 
 this corner of the park a building suitable to 
 be used as an observatory. The maharaja had 
 himself drawn the plan of the foundation. 
 
 Jay Singh was dead. Others had succeeded 
 him, but none of these warlike or indolent 
 potentates had dreamed of demolishing the 
 buildings created to please the fancy of 
 their ancestor. Everything had remained as 
 he left it. Nobody frequented this solitary 
 spot. The memory of the great king reigned 
 here. It seemed to preserve the structure 
 from the hand of time and humanity. 
 
 The sound of a step was heard in the alley 
 that joined the gardens to the astronomer's 
 buildings. A shadow slipped along among 
 the hawthorn toward the Pavilion of the Stars. 
 At a gentle push from the outside, the door 
 opened. It was as though everything were 
 ready for the nocturnal visit of some one who 
 was expected. 
 
 Gilbert stopped at the door for a few min- 
 utes, to listen. Nobody had followed him.
 
 124 PARVATI 
 
 He sighed with satisfaction. It had not been 
 easy for him to give the slip to his friends who 
 wanted him to go with them to the lawn 
 to watch the fireworks. He had pleaded 
 fatigue, and declared he was going home to 
 bed and would not stay for the supper that 
 would follow the fireworks. The maharaja 
 was taken up with his guests and superintend- 
 ing the exhibition. 
 
 As a matter of precaution, Desroches had 
 buttoned up his coat and turned the collar up 
 about his throat. He took from his pocket the 
 scrap of paper containing the precious words. 
 He had not thought of questioning their origin 
 and the possibility that a trap had been laid. 
 And then, there was no signature ! He could 
 have covered everything by saying the meet- 
 ing was with the baroness. He reread it. 
 The writing was a little shaky, indicating 
 nervousness in the one who had penned it. 
 So Parvati had made a decision! She had 
 been able to elude surveillance, to escape from 
 her prison in spite of spies. In a few seconds, 
 perhaps, she would be there and he could tell
 
 PARVATI 125 
 
 her all his love, all the bitterness he had ex- 
 perienced before the unforgetable minute that 
 brought him to her and they could be all 
 alone. A mad hope filled him, making the 
 blood beat in his temples. 
 
 Sand thrown gently against the window- 
 pane woke him from his reverie. In the 
 shadow of the alley a man beckoned to him. 
 He recognized the skeleton Hindu who had 
 delivered the message. The man seemed to be 
 inviting him to follow. 
 
 "Something has happened to prevent her," 
 he thought as he joined the guide. 
 
 He wrinkled his brow. Probably Parvati 
 had changed her mind; and this man was 
 charged with notifying him orally, or by a sec- 
 ond letter, of the sudden impossibility of her 
 carrying out her promise. The danger to 
 which the queen was exposing herself was 
 great. He remembered the horrible legend 
 of the zenana the cemented bath become the 
 sepulcher of the adulteress. 
 
 But the unknown man beckoned again for 
 him to follow, always keeping a finger to his
 
 i 2 6 PARVATI 
 
 lips. Gilbert determined to follow him with- 
 out asking for explanations. They moved to- 
 ward the Jaya Prakash Yantra, which the 
 royal astronomer had hollowed with winding 
 caves underground. 
 
 "Why don't you go down?" whispered Gil- 
 bert, in English. 
 
 The man recoiled in fear. He knelt, 
 touched the ground with the palms of his 
 hands, and mumbled confused sentences. 
 From the gestures Desroches guessed that the 
 poor creature belonged to a low caste, and 
 that for him to breathe the same air with the 
 maharanee, who was of divine descent, was 
 abominable sacrilege. Desroches shrugged 
 his shoulders with pity for the poor devil, and 
 resolutely walked down the steps. 
 
 In the uncertain light of the moon he made 
 out the forms of two women crouching at the 
 bottom of the cave. One of them came to- 
 ward him with her hand extended to greet 
 him. 
 
 It was Parvati. But with her was a woman 
 whom he did not know.
 
 PAR VAT I 127 
 
 Gilbert could not hide from the princess 
 an involuntary expression of surprise. 
 
 "It is Madavi, my nurse," she said. "She 
 has been with me since I was very little. To- 
 day, at a sign from me, she would throw her- 
 self to the crocodiles or kill her two daugh- 
 ters. Is n't that true, Madavi?" 
 
 The old Hindu prostrated herself- before 
 her idol. 
 
 "You know it is true, Maharanee. I am 
 your mother and your slave. Do with me as 
 you wish." 
 
 But the queen had raised her from the 
 ground. 
 
 "Go, nurse." Parvati spoke lovingly. 
 "Guard the approach from the Elysium; and 
 tell Kousha to do the same from the lake. 
 Remember the signal the call of the owl, 
 repeated three times." 
 
 The woman climbed the steps and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Gilbert caught Parvati's hands and pressed 
 them feverishly in his own. 
 
 "I bless you!" he murmured. "You are
 
 i 2 8 PARVATI 
 
 good. You understood my agony. This 
 meeting I could not have waited longer!" 
 
 But she was pale, cold, distant, and did not 
 return his caresses. 
 
 "Sit down, Gilbert. I made you come here 
 because there are things I must say to you. 
 You know it is my honor, my life, that I risk 
 at this moment It is our first meeting alone. 
 I must tell you, it will be our last. We can 
 never see each other again!" 
 
 The look of a wounded animal passed over 
 Gilbert's face. 
 
 "You have chosen the moment when you 
 were to give me the illusion of happiness to 
 tell me of your cruel decision? Ah! it is not 
 hard to understand that you do not love me, 
 that you have never loved me!" 
 
 "And your gratitude!" she answered, and 
 her voice was bitter. "Shall I tell you how 
 you have recompensed me for having tried the 
 impossible for your sake? For you for the 
 man who has poured into my ears lying words, 
 who, to pass his time, to please his fancy, has 
 played with me the comedy of love!"
 
 PARVATI 129 
 
 "Parvati!" 
 
 "You cannot deny it. I was there, not 
 many hours ago. On the terrace I saw. I 
 heard the kiss. Oh ! the horror of it!" A sob 
 choked her. Then, tense and hostile, she went 
 on. "What evil spirit possessed you? What 
 wrong had I done you? I was alone, sad. I 
 lived with the sorrow of the life I had given, 
 of my lost youth. And then you came, the 
 seducer, the enemy! You knew how to con- 
 quer me slowly but wholly! It was only a 
 wager. You loved some one else. Perhaps 
 it was a wager with her, that you might laugh 
 together. Oh, Gilbert! I believed in a feel- 
 ing that you did not have for me!" 
 
 Tears ran down her proud face, and fell 
 warm on Desroches's hands. She had tried 
 till now to hold back the bitterness that she 
 felt. But she could not. She was a woman 
 in love, overcome with anger, rancor, and de- 
 spair. Jealousy had blotted out hope. Feel- 
 ing that she had nothing more to lose, she 
 sobbed the confession of her beautiful vain 
 dream.
 
 130 PARVATI 
 
 "Listen to me!" said Gilbert. "You must 
 hear what I say! It is you I love. The other 
 is nothing to me. I amused myself with her 
 long before I saw you. And these days when 
 she has seen me listless and sad because I was 
 without hope, she has tried to bring me back 
 to her. Ah, Parvati, I did not guess! I 
 thought you were trifling with me. I 
 doubted. And you loved me I You loved 
 me! The sweetness of what you have told 
 me! I can never describe to you what your 
 confession has meant to me. Now that I 
 know, I am indifferent to everything else. 
 Death itself would be joy if it would take you 
 with me!" 
 
 Parvati interrupted him. She was un- 
 moved by what he said. 
 
 "Words! words! Can you blot out that 
 kiss? No, no! you do not love me!" 
 
 "But you, you avoided me. My longing 
 for you became anguish. Do you not see now 
 that you cannot escape your destiny that 
 what must be, is? This hour had to be; the 
 confession of our passion makes us see that we
 
 PARVATI 131 
 
 cannot fight against fate. Come, I want to 
 dry your tears with my kisses, little queen of 
 my being, of my soul!" 
 
 He pressed her to him. He could hear her 
 heart beating against his. She was breathing 
 rapidly as he slowly kissed lips given will- 
 ingly. 
 
 It was the beginning of possession, the 
 haunting superterrestrial relationship that she 
 had never had with her husband. And now, 
 perhaps, her lover would reveal it to her. 
 
 Clouds coming from the western sky veiled 
 the moon. 
 
 A multicolored Roman candle flashed 
 across the dark, followed almost immediately 
 by thundering applause. The Rajput people 
 are grown-up children. They clapped their 
 hands and shouted with joy over the fireworks. 
 Next year devastating famine might strangle 
 them, but to-night all was happy. 
 
 A little red star could be seen through the 
 opening of the vault above them. For a few 
 seconds it twinkled in its place in the artificial 
 constellation that grew dim and died.
 
 132 PARVATI 
 
 "Our lives are like that," murmured Gil- 
 bert. "Love alone gives meaning to our little 
 span and makes us equal to the gods. You 
 are the star of my sky!" 
 
 "The star is red!" she sighed, with sudden 
 trouble. 
 
 To dispel the cloud of superstition, the 
 painter went on gaily: 
 
 "You have not told me, dear, by what 
 miracle of diplomacy you escaped from your 
 chaperon. Do you know this meeting in the 
 moonlight is worthy of Byron? And your 
 fakir!" 
 
 "Poor Kousha!" replied Parvati, smiling. 
 "You flatter him, my friend. Fakir! Prob- 
 ably because he is so pitifully thin, you fancy 
 he has magic powers. You are mistaken; he 
 belongs to the sect called 'The Stranglers of 
 Nerbudda.' He is of the paraiyan pariahs, 
 you call them. His work is to feed the croco- 
 diles and turtles in the pond every morning." 
 
 "What is his past?" 
 
 "Very romantic. I saved him one day from 
 some fanatics who were going to stone him.
 
 PARVATI 133 
 
 The poor fellow had dared to drink from the 
 cup of a Brahman. He was nearly dying with 
 thirst. I had pity on him and ordered them 
 to stop. Since then he has been my slave. 
 But I have to avoid him as much as possible. 
 You know, according to our religion, the 
 pariah does not escape condemnation even 
 when he is dead. His life is reincarnated in a 
 lower animal. That is why Madavi says I de- 
 base myself by speaking to him. I don't 
 knew whether I think she is right or not. I 
 never call upon him excepting upon some rare 
 occasion like to-night, for instance." 
 
 "And the woman?" 
 
 "A daughter of the Kshatriyas. She is al- 
 most noble, for her ancestors were warriors. 
 She was my wet-nurse. Poor woman! Her 
 husband went crazy after a sunstroke : he had 
 to be shut up. She had two sons. The elder 
 died of the plague in Guzerat, and the second 
 one was devoured by a tiger last year during a 
 hunt in Gwalior. She rarely sees her mar- 
 ried daughter. The younger one, her favo- 
 rite, is a dancer at Jabalpur."
 
 i 3 4 PARVATI 
 
 And the princess added, in a melting voice 
 full of emotion : 
 
 "Dear, good Madavi! It is thanks to her 
 that I was able to get away from the zenana 
 this evening, after I dismissed Miss Brown. 
 That Englishwoman was dying to see the fire- 
 works. Happily, my nurse has a key to the 
 gardens. When we were sure that nobody in 
 the harem was spying upon us, we were able 
 to come here. We are safer in this cave than 
 in the Pavilion of the Stars, where I told you 
 to go first." 
 
 "My darling! To think of your risking so 
 much for me! I hope I " 
 
 "Hush! listen! Hooting, three times! I 
 am lost!" 
 
 She clutched his hand nervously. The 
 sinister warning sounded again, three times. 
 They kept quiet, holding their breath. 
 
 Voices were approaching. Steps were 
 heard in the alley; conversation, in English. 
 
 "Yes," said one, "the whole thing needs 
 renovation. His Highness has given orders to 
 an architect in Bombay. I persuaded the
 
 PARVATI 135 
 
 Council of Ministers to approve the project. 
 They signed an order authorizing us to pay 
 for it out of the state budget." 
 
 Parvati trembled. She thought she would 
 faint. She had recognized the voice of the 
 dewan, Dhanpat-Roy, who, with the high 
 priest Khoudarsha, had always hated her. 
 Mechanically Gilbert reached into his pocket 
 for his revolver. 
 
 "And in here," said a second voice, (it was 
 the Governor of the District of Ajmir), "are 
 not these the caves of Jay Singh?" 
 
 "Does your Excellency wish to see them?" 
 
 "Willingly. But it is dark. I am afraid 
 of spoiling the embroidery of my robes. 
 Court dress is deucedly inconvenient." 
 
 "Let me go in first. Has your Excellency 
 a box of matches, by any chance?" 
 
 "No, but if the light of my cigar " 
 
 "Let us go and get a light." 
 
 They withdrew. The maharanee breathed 
 freely again, but the danger was none the less 
 imminent They were sure to come back. 
 
 "Not a minute to lose," whispered
 
 136 PARVATI 
 
 roches to the princess, taking her hand to 
 help her out of the cave. "We can go to 
 the Kotori Pavilion. There we shall have 
 nothing to fear. It is hardly likely they will 
 come there. The supper will soon be served." 
 
 "I am afraid," stammered Parvati. 
 
 "Courage, little one ! This will save us." 
 
 The short barrel of his revolver shone in his 
 hands. They hurried. When they reached 
 the pavilion, they saw through the open door 
 that the dewan and the English functionary 
 were entering the caves. They were lighting 
 the way with wax matches. 
 
 Gilbert feverishly gripped the queen's arm. 
 
 "Come," he said, shutting the door. "We 
 shall be safer at the back of the building. 
 The moon is coming out of the cloud. They 
 might see us through a crack of the door." 
 
 "No, nol" she cried. "Not this way! I 
 don't dare, I ought not 1" 
 
 "You must." 
 
 "Gilbert, please!" 
 
 And he dragged her along brutally, like a 
 victim to an altar. His desire irritated him.
 
 PARVATI 137 
 
 With possible death so near, a secret, morbid 
 joy urged him on. 
 
 She yielded. 
 
 And there, upon the sofa where they fell 
 panting for breath, they listened to receding 
 steps. They saw tiny lights glimmer and dis- 
 appear. 
 
 They were safe. They smiled at each 
 other. Gilbert drew Parvati to his breast. 
 His tender caresses thrilled her. A delirious 
 kiss brought their lips together. And, with a 
 sigh, she yielded.
 
 X 
 
 'A bird of prey, perhaps, 
 
 That lights joyously 
 
 Upon the hair of the patient martyr, 
 
 With a mad laugh 
 
 The laugh of a bird of prey ! 
 
 NIETZSCHE: Ecco Homo. 
 
 THE moon was shining again, but now 
 her light was pale. Wisps of fog 
 floated close to the earth. Upon the grass lay 
 dewdrops. Silence everywhere, for dawn 
 was near. 
 
 "We must go now, Maharanee," said the 
 grave voice of Madavi. She half opened the 
 door. "Supper is nearly over. Some people 
 have already gone to the Guest House." 
 
 "Already 1" sighed the painter. He gazed 
 at Parvati with a long smile. 
 
 Instinctively, when she saw her nurse, Par- 
 vati slipped her veil over her face. So this 
 was love! the love that is sung by poets, the 
 love described in novels that she had read, 
 
 138
 
 PARVATI 139 
 
 the love that is a god, the love that is a king, 
 Shiva the Destroyer, of old Hindu legends, to 
 whom her coreligionists had put up imposing 
 temples, whom the Brahmans worshiped in 
 their prayers. Ah ! now let them come to take 
 her, bury her alive like poor Sita ! She would 
 die happy. She knew now what it was 
 Love! But the nurse was getting impatient. 
 She stood there in the alley at a disdainful dis- 
 tance from Kousha. The pariah was beckon- 
 ing to the queen to come. 
 
 "Gilbert! Good-byl" 
 
 "Not yet!" he begged. "I don't want you 
 to leave me like this. Ah! think of imprison- 
 ing such beauty, such youth !" 
 
 "Be more hopeful, my dear. I go back to 
 the Elysium transformed, ready for struggle, 
 for death!" 
 
 "I love you!" 
 
 "You shall free me, so that I can be yours 
 again. Your love will show you a way to 
 take me out of their hands. When the time 
 comes, you shall tell me the day and the hour. 
 I will follow youl"
 
 i 4 o PARVATI 
 
 Again they kissed each other. And this 
 time Parvati clung to him feverishly. 
 
 "Now I must leave you," she whispered. 
 "Let me go." 
 
 "When shall I see you again?" 
 
 "To-morrow, if possible. You shall know 
 through Madavi or the pariah." 
 
 She waved her scarf to him in farewell. 
 Then the two women, preceded by the Hindu, 
 disappeared among the branches of young 
 bamboo trees, in the direction of the Elysium 
 Palace. 
 
 A porcupine frightened them for a second, 
 and they laughed at it. No other incident dis- 
 turbed them as they made their way to the 
 lower door of the zenana. When the two 
 women reached their destination, Parvati in- 
 voluntarily lifted her hand to her breast as if 
 to touch something. 
 
 "Nurse!" she murmured. Her face was 
 white. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "My beryl brooch! It's lost! Heavens! 
 if some one finds it in the pavilion 1"
 
 PARVATI 141 
 
 "Do not be afraid, my child. I am here. 
 I shall look for it." 
 
 Noel Verdier had taken the arm of the mar- 
 quis. Behind them, the Mesnil-Guibert fam- 
 ily were saying good-night to the Sejournes. 
 Three days of festivities in the tropics had be- 
 gun to show in their faces ; they no longer had 
 the enthusiasm for overdoing things which 
 they had inherited with their position as 
 Parisians. 
 
 "It was a debauch," laughed the theoso- 
 phist, "a real orgy! Just think of me, d'Ali- 
 zay, an Indian scholar like myself, an auditor 
 of the College of France, going to bed at three 
 o'clock after a Sardanapalus dinner! Gilbert 
 sets us an example of wisdom." 
 
 "Hum ! hum !" The marquis was skeptical. 
 "Are you sure that he is sleeping at this mo- 
 ment, like the good boy you think he is? I 
 am rather inclined to think that he sang us 
 that proper little verse from the Fille de I' Air 
 as an excuse to meet some little aborigine con- 
 quest of his."
 
 142 PARVATI 
 
 "You slander him. And what is more I 
 wish what you say were true. For I found 
 him this evening a romantic Gilbert, a melan- 
 choly Gilbert, a new Gilbert whom I did not 
 know and who troubles me." 
 
 "Oh, it 's nothing but some disappointment 
 in love! Try to make him leave with you to- 
 morrow for Agra and Benares. That will 
 make him forget. The portrait is finished. 
 There is no reason for him to stay here any 
 longer. India is big." 
 
 Verdier diplomatically ignored the sugges- 
 tion. He did not fancy becoming a third 
 member of the "Gustave-Adolphe partner- 
 ship." Although he liked the marquis for 
 his frankness, his chivalrous air, and his pas- 
 sion for parade and adventure, Verdier had his 
 own ideas about traveling. Gilbert, as a zeal- 
 ous artist, could adjust himself to delays. The 
 deciphering of inscriptions and hieroglyphics 
 often detained the scholar. There was always 
 a sketch-book in Gilbert's pocket. He put in 
 time sketching bits of landscape, monuments, 
 and native types. Tourists and globe-trotters,
 
 PARVATI 143 
 
 men of the world, would have allowed Noel 
 his snail's pace with very bad grace. 
 
 They had reached the Persian kiosk where 
 the two gay inseparables had chosen to live 
 with the Countess Jehanne. The weariness 
 that comes with late hours showed in the eyes 
 of the scholar. 
 
 "The sandman!" he thought. "Am I that, 
 too? How shocking!" 
 
 A round form wrapped in gray plaid, re- 
 clining in the shadow of the porch, moved 
 at the approaching footsteps. The servant 
 showed his black face. 
 
 "It 's I, Zahour." 
 
 "Good evening, Sahib. Shall I wait for 
 the other gentleman?" 
 
 "What do you mean by the other?" cried 
 Noel, amazed. "Isn't Gilbert back?" 
 
 "No, Sahib." 
 
 "It is n't possible! You are still dreaming, 
 my boy. He left me at eleven o'clck. He 
 came in without your hearing him. You must 
 have been asleep." 
 
 "No servant sleeps more lightly than
 
 144 PARVATI 
 
 Zahour Mahomed," answered the native, in an 
 injured voice. "He hears the very rustle of 
 the naja on the sand." 
 
 Verdier did not wait to listen to the Ori- 
 ental's boasts. In a bound he reached his 
 friend's room. All was quiet and deserted 
 there; the bed had not been touched. A feel- 
 ing of anxiety came over the philosopher, and 
 a suspicion flashed through his brain. Sup- 
 pose that the marquis had been right that 
 Gilbert had not returned to the house that 
 night? His prolonged absence was inex- 
 plicable and disquieting. Verdier felt in- 
 stinctively that this was not an ordinary ad- 
 venture: he remembered how suddenly the 
 maharanee had gone out after the first native 
 dance and Desroches's determination not to 
 remain for the second one. Then the pretext 
 of being tired, when the painter had excused 
 himself from the fireworks and the supper. 
 There was a connection between these two 
 things, a semblance of coincidence that re- 
 quired further reflection. Gilbert had lied, 
 there could be no doubt of it; he had invented
 
 PARVATI 145 
 
 the story to get away. And now, perhaps, his 
 folly had cost him his life. 
 
 Noel felt that something was wrong. And, 
 trying to forget the, anxiety that filled him, he 
 went unhesitatingly to look for his friend. 
 
 Having ordered the servant to wait for him 
 and not to leave his post before his return, 
 Verdier hurried along the Guest House road 
 to the palace. There were still a few lights in 
 the windows. He had brought with him a 
 little electric light Instinctively he took the 
 path to the lake. At the thought that the 
 artist might have slipped, or been thrown, into 
 the muddy waters, he shuddered. The croco- 
 diles would not give back the body. He 
 closed his eyes to escape the horrible vision. 
 No, no! This could not be the explanation. 
 He would meet le petit at the turn of the 
 alley, he would scold him severely for his 
 foolish escapade, and then he would throw 
 himself into Gilbert's arms. 
 
 A shadow moved near the cinnamon-tree 
 pavilion. He rushed up to it. 
 
 "Gilbert!" he cried. "You, at last! What
 
 146 PARVATI 
 
 a fright you gave me!" But he stopped sud- 
 denly. In the light of his lamp he had seen 
 the turban of Dhanpat-Roy. 
 
 "Are you looking for Monsieur Des- 
 roches?" the dewan asked, good-naturedly. 
 "But he must surely have returned at this 
 hour: it seems to me that he left us after the 
 first nautch" 
 
 "Unfortunately not, your Excellency. Par- 
 don me, I took you for him ; you have the same 
 figure and walk. I have just come from the 
 bungalow. He was n't there. I cannot un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "He has perhaps fallen asleep on a bench. 
 Would you like me to look with you?" 
 
 Verdier accepted ^ the minister's offer. 
 They decided to go in different ways the 
 dewan in the direction of the observatory and 
 the Elysium; Noel, toward the palace and the 
 pond. 
 
 "The minister may be right," thought 
 Noel. But how reckless it was to go to sleep 
 in the garden at night! How many Euro- 
 peans had been attacked by vampires, and
 
 PARVATI 147 
 
 sometimes, exhausted from the loss of blood, 
 had not wakened at all. 
 
 The search around the lake was fruitless. 
 The scholar went on to the palace, the stables, 
 and the store-rooms. The servants, whom he 
 questioned in their own language, could give 
 him no satisfaction. Gilbert could not be 
 found. 
 
 Fearing the worst, Verdier decided to re- 
 join the dewan. Hurried footsteps made him 
 turn around. 
 
 A happy voice Zahour's cried breath- 
 lessly: "He has come back, Sahib!" 
 
 "At last!" exclaimed the philosopher. And 
 a joyous smile spread over his face. 
 
 "This way, your Excellency, I beg of you," 
 he added, addressing himself to the dewan, 
 who was solicitously coming toward him. 
 "We have just found Desroches, the rascal I 
 He has given me a bad scare." 
 
 And without knowing why he did it, Ver- 
 dier, filled with childish gaiety, shook the 
 hand of Dhanpat-Roy. In confused phrases 
 he thanked the minister for his help, as if the
 
 148 PAR VAT I 
 
 man had something to do with the return of 
 the prodigal. 
 
 The courtier received the avalanche of 
 compliments with a politeness that was a little 
 constrained. His preoccupation showed itself 
 in his forced smile, but he tried to hide his 
 feelings under a mask of courteous congratula- 
 tion. Noel could not help noticing the re- 
 serve. It contrasted so markedly with the 
 friendliness of a few minutes before. Verdier 
 was astonished at the change and could see 
 no reason for it. He noticed, too, that the 
 minister held his left hand carefully closed. 
 He seemed to be hiding some mysterious ob- 
 ject, a jewel, perhaps. A gleam of platinum 
 showed through the fingers. Verdier con- 
 cluded that the dewan's irritation was natural: 
 the police duty into which he had been drawn 
 by the tragic aspect which the case had pre- 
 sented at first, had developed into a burlesque. 
 
 They exchanged vague wishes of good 
 night, and went away in opposite directions: 
 the dewan to his apartments, Verdier to the 
 Guest House.
 
 PARVATI 149 
 
 But on his way Dhanpat-Roy changed his 
 mind, retraced his steps, and made his way 
 again to the observatory of Jay Singh. When 
 he reached the Pavilion of Kotori, he care- 
 fully examined the footprints in the dust, and 
 shook his head with an expression of doubt on 
 his face. 
 
 An evil smile spread over his face. He 
 slowly opened his left hand. In it gleamed a 
 beryl brooch. Clenching his fist as if to 
 crush what it held, he growled, "I hold her 
 like this."
 
 XI 
 
 If the astral body does not exist, then almost all of the 
 phenomena of the centuries, the relations between one be- 
 ing and another, the experiences of telepathy, hypnotism, 
 cases of somnambulism, or of dual personality, are inex- 
 plicable. 
 
 FRANCOIS DE NION : La Morte Irritee. 
 
 THE sheets and blankets slipped out of 
 the mosquito-netting. Gilbert awakened 
 with his body wet with perspiration and his 
 eyes dilated with fear. 
 What a queer dream! 
 
 By the magic wand of one of those innumer- 
 able Hindu goddesses with whom he had be- 
 gun to be familiar, he had been transported to 
 the edge of a deep lake of clear sapphire water 
 upon whose golden sands peacocks proudly 
 walked. A perfumed breeze charmed him 
 with soft and penetrating sweetness. The 
 fragrance was of jasmine, and iris, and roses. 
 
 150
 
 PARVATI 151 
 
 Women's voices, accompanied by violins, 
 were heard. The soft music seemed to come 
 from thick bamboos and palms, green-tufted, 
 impenetrable as the jungle itself. 
 
 But on the beach there came a white silhou- 
 ette, diaphanous and vague as the morning 
 mist. 
 
 It was a legendary princess, whose long 
 black lashes fringed dark eyes that were al- 
 most too big. On her forehead rested a 
 wreath of lotus; in her arms were flowers. 
 And she was laughing. A little cry escaped 
 her youthful mouth when her naked foot 
 touched the cool water. 
 
 Scattering petals as she went on her way, the 
 princess tripped along. Her long brown 
 tresses half hid pearly shoulders. She looked 
 at herself with instinctive coquetry as the lake 
 gave back the reflection of her loveliness. In 
 the distance the music rose again, moving and 
 dramatic. The voices chanted in a minor key. 
 The love-song told of fear and suffering. 
 The violins sobbed and wept. But the prin- 
 cess seemed to hear nothing.
 
 152 PARVATI 
 
 Horrors! Back of her, cutting off all re- 
 treat, monstrous heads covered with hideous 
 black hides emerged from the water. Their 
 eyes were glassy. Their nostrils blew out 
 streams of water. Hideous jaws opened and 
 shut. Gilbert saw the danger. He tried to 
 give a warning cry, but no sound came from 
 his throat. Agony paralyzed his tongue. 
 
 The princess turned. At the sight of the 
 horrible beasts, she screamed. The roses and 
 jasmine fell from her trembling hands. The 
 monsters swelled and swayed in rage. Their 
 drooling jaws closed and they uttered menac- 
 ing growls. Cowed by the radiant beauty of 
 the child and by the perfume of the flowers, 
 they retreated as if some magic force com- 
 manded them to go back to their deep hiding- 
 place. 
 
 She laughed joyously and with a touch of 
 irony. She sang. 
 
 But how long the road was ! And now the 
 sand seemed to give way under her flying 
 steps. Was the promontory as firm as it was a 
 while ago? She tried to withdraw, but in
 
 PARVATI 153 
 
 vain. It had become an island surrounded by 
 sapphire water. 
 
 The princess was in a panic; she did not 
 know how to swim. The water around her 
 was rising relentlessly. Her feet sank into 
 the sand, then her body, her arms, and her 
 lovely head. Even the abundant curls disap- 
 peared, buried in the quicksand. Only a 
 lotus flower was left floating upon the water. 
 
 "Sahib, there is a woman here to speak with 
 you," said Zahour, raising the curtain. 
 
 "A woman?" 
 
 "Yes. Something urgent. She told me 
 her name Madavi." 
 
 Desroches leaped to the foot of the bed. 
 Putting on his pajamas and slippers, he or- 
 dered Zahour to show the woman in. The 
 bad dream was still with him, and he sensed 
 something ominous in the early visit of the 
 queen's old nurse. 
 
 In wretched English, reinforced by a 
 sprinkling of French words learned from the 
 maharanee, Madavi explained the object of
 
 154 PARVATI 
 
 her visit. The loss of the brooch gave Parvati 
 deep concern. She and the nurse hoped the 
 painter might have chanced to pick it up be- 
 fore returning to the bungalow. He did his 
 best to dissipate the terror his negative reply 
 produced in the good woman. To cheer her 
 up, and to divert her from her anxiety, he in- 
 quired if Parvati intended to appear that aft- 
 ernoon at the elephant-fight with which the 
 maharaja was winding up the Durbar festivi- 
 ties. 
 
 "The princess was sleeping when I left, but 
 I think you will see her at the arena beside her 
 husband." Then coming back to the subject 
 that was uppermost in their minds, she said 
 stolidly: "The brooch must be found. It is 
 serious, Sahib; don't you see? I am afraid of 
 death!" 
 
 She departed. 
 
 In order not to attract attention she followed 
 the ramparts to the stables, where grooms 
 were brushing and currying the two hundred 
 and fifty horses belonging to the maharaja. 
 The superb animals, the majority of which
 
 PARVATI 155 
 
 came from Marwadi, were tied by the right 
 foot to chains attached to the ground. As she 
 passed, Madavi stroked a proud, glossy neck, 
 and the animal neighed in appreciation of the 
 caress. 
 
 She crossed the camel yard, where the su- 
 percilious creatures were already tied two by 
 two and caparisoned with the thick carpet- 
 like trappings they wore when conveying the 
 ranees to the combat. The elephant-fight is 
 preceded by a cock-fight. The attention of 
 the spectators is concentrated upon the birds 
 as they attack and counter-attack. No other 
 small creature puts such ferocity into a strug- 
 gle. It is not unusual to ee the victor crack 
 the skull of his opponent with his beak, so that 
 the poor creature is brained. Then enthusi- 
 asm knows no limit. The triumphant cock is 
 cheered, his wounds are dressed, and he eats a 
 dainty meal. To the feverish audience the 
 birds become the toys of delirious cruelty, the 
 symbol of Shiva the sensual and of the blood- 
 thirsty Kali. 
 
 Madavi hastened toward the quarter in
 
 156 PARVATI 
 
 which the bazaar of the antiquaries and brass- 
 makers was situated, where there dwelt in a 
 squalid hut a fakir renowned for his triple 
 power of reconciling enemies, of recovering 
 lost objects, and of prophecy of the future. 
 He worked his charm through simple contact 
 with a jewel or any other personal possession 
 of the inquirer. He was called Salamya. 
 Many people had seen him perform miracles. 
 He often heard the ring of native and foreign 
 coins as they fell into his round wooden bowl, 
 heaping up the fortune that was to keep him 
 in his old age. Perhaps the holy man would 
 reveal the hiding-place of the compromising 
 beryl trinket. This was the thought that oc- 
 cupied the nurse as she hurried on, too ab- 
 sorbed to answer the greetings of the mer- 
 chants that she knew. She entered a dirty lit- 
 tle dwelling. A potter crouching over his 
 work pedaled the flat stone upon which his 
 clay rested. An old woman was turning a 
 primitive spinning-wheel. A half-grown boy 
 was crushing grains of millet with a pestle and
 
 PARVATI 157 
 
 a hollow stone. Near by a white goat with 
 black ears was suckling a miserable baby. 
 
 Without hesitation, Madavi penetrated a 
 court where a primitive lean-to sheltered two 
 men sitting on their heels. She recognized 
 Salamya. The fakir was being shaved by an 
 ambulant barber. Patiently, and without say- 
 ing a word, she waited for the operation to be 
 completed, without giving a single gesture or 
 sign to show that she was there. The barber 
 folded up his dirty towel, rubbed the razor on 
 the back of his hand, and went away after re- 
 ceiving his pittance. 
 
 "What do you want now?" demanded the 
 fakir, roughly. 
 
 "To consult your Holiness," said Madavi. 
 
 A Is it a quarrel between impious Moham- 
 medans and sacrilegious foreigners? For 
 that, go to the imam or to the priest. I recog- 
 nize neither Allah nor Christ." 
 
 "It is something that is lost." 
 
 "Then pay quickly, in advance; I must go 
 to the baths."
 
 158 PARVATI 
 
 The nurse dropped a rupee on the worn car- 
 pet The man took it up and hid it quickly in 
 the folds of his belt. Then she took from 
 around her neck a little golden charm depict- 
 ing Ganesha. Its marvelous carving had 
 meant the use of the magnifying glass and infi- 
 nite patience on the part of the artist who had 
 made it. The maharanee had inherited it 
 from her father, who had got it in his youth 
 from a venerable Brahman. It was therefore 
 impregnated with the astral personality of the 
 owner, and, as she always wore it, it was a per- 
 fect pledge. 
 
 The fakir seized it quickly without looking 
 at it, without stopping to admire the intricate 
 carving. It was enough for him to press it 
 tightly in his hand as he closed his eyes and 
 concentrated. He trembled from head to 
 foot. 
 
 "The pledge is strong," he muttered. 
 
 "Yes, yes, holy man!" exclaimed Madavi, 
 admiringly. "Oh, I knew! That is why I 
 brought it." 
 
 But Salamya did not hear. His eyes were
 
 PARVATI 159 
 
 fixed. He had gone into a trance. He was 
 filled with the astral personality radiating 
 from Parvati. The Hindu was suffering 
 visibly. In vain he tried to mask the pain that 
 psychic substitution caused him. At last he 
 was overcome. The object rolled down on 
 the carpet. 
 
 "It is hard !" he whispered. Beads of sweet 
 stood out on his forehead. "Give me another 
 rupee, my good woman. The pledge burns 
 me!" 
 
 The nurse put down another piece of silver. 
 After a short pause, the fakir picked up the 
 pledge again and this time entered a state of 
 calmer hypnosis. The magnetic contact was 
 established, and it facilitated the adoption of 
 the spirit world to the problem. 
 
 "Listen!" he hissed, through dry lips. 
 
 "I am listening." 
 
 "The pledge belongs to a woman, some one 
 placed very high, some one of caste. It is 
 a married woman. Guilty the dog! And 
 her companion is a foreigner, a flesh-eater." 
 
 "Not so loud!" warned Madavi.
 
 160 PARVATI 
 
 "She has lost her caste, tainted forever. 
 Danger lurks near her. The lost object is a 
 brooch. A powerful enemy has found it. 
 The adulteress is lost. She will never see the 
 jewel again. She must run away. If not, 
 Shiva takes revenge 1" 
 
 "Do you see anything more?" asked Ma- 
 davi, panting. 
 
 "Nothing more." 
 
 "No way to get the brooch back? No hope 
 of escaping revenge?" 
 
 The Hindu pressed the charm again. He 
 communed with the unknown. There were 
 drops on his temples. 
 
 "There is suspicion. Her husband doubts 
 her," he continued. "The woman escapes 
 death through the lack of convincing proof. 
 She is imprisoned. Oh, what enemies I" 
 
 "And the foreigner?" asked the nurse. 
 
 "Will die unless he goes away," said the 
 fakir. 
 
 Then he added mournfully: "That is all. 
 I cannot see further." 
 
 "Thank you, your Holiness."
 
 PARVATI 161 
 
 Another coin fell into the wooden bowl. 
 Salamya restored the pledge, and, mopping 
 his forehead, he asked: "Are you satisfied?" 
 
 Madavi bowed her head and went away.
 
 XII 
 
 . . . Subtle souls rise from blood that is spilled, a spirit 
 awakens in us the dormant brute. For humanity it is a 
 bath of youth, the freshest youth, which is still close to 
 the animal. 
 
 MAURICE BARRES: Quelques Cadences. 
 
 DUST, cries, sunlight. The crowd pushes, 
 presses, elbows. The roadway is in- 
 vaded, the pedestrians overflowing the side- 
 walks which have become all too narrow 
 for them. All the population of Jeypore 
 two hundred thousand souls seems to have 
 deserted houses and shops to crowd in compact 
 groups behind the circus enclosures, near the 
 Guwala-Rasta and the Sanganeer Gate. It is 
 worse than a corrida real at Seville. The 
 sight brings back the picture of Roman mobs, 
 the fierce, idle mobs thirsting for blood, who 
 threw to the Augustans and the emperor the 
 double ultimatum of pleasure or revolt: 
 "Panem et Gircenses!" 
 
 In times of peace the games were organized 
 162
 
 PARVATI 163 
 
 lavishly to make the populace forget hunger. 
 Rarely had the Rajput people witnessed a 
 more splendid display than now. The bril- 
 liancy and pomp glorified the power and mag- 
 nificence of their royal hosts. Carriages, 
 palanquins, curious chariots with heavy silver 
 mountings that clanked as they moved, were 
 seen on the highway. A detachment of 
 eunuchs with expressionless black faces es- 
 corted the women of the zenana, walking 
 slowly beside dromedaries. Barbaric music 
 burst forth near the two minarets of the 
 gate, and a battalion of volunteer Nagas de- 
 filed through. 
 
 Savage-looking Janissaries, forming the pri- 
 vate guard of the king, marched in time to war 
 music. They advanced rhythmically, in per- 
 fect formation. Their dark tunics were em- 
 phasized when the sun caught the brass shields 
 and the tips of the lances. In the eyes of the 
 warriors themselves their claim to prestige 
 rested upon a refusal to accept European 
 equipment. They wished to be distinguished 
 from the British troops.
 
 1 64 PARVATI 
 
 The great square was thronged with specta- 
 tors who had come long ahead of time. They 
 did not wish to lose a minute of the elephant- 
 fight. The panorama included the vast space 
 between the City of Roses and the British 
 cantonment. 
 
 The Nagas were grouped about the foot of 
 the terrace upon which had been erected the 
 official tribunes. The benches for distin- 
 guished spectators had been covered with 
 green velvet, fringed with gold. Directly op- 
 posite the tribunes, the elephants were con- 
 fined in their stables. The animals, who had 
 been fasting since yesterday, waved their 
 trunks furiously, stretching them far out over 
 the confining bars. 
 
 The beating of a drum announced the ar- 
 rival of the sovereigns. The maharaja was 
 dressed in rose-colored silk and on his head 
 was a dazzling diamond tiara. He took his 
 place in the central box. Beside him was 
 the maharanee, clothed in white, with her 
 face half veiled by a flowing scarf. Grouped 
 about them were the princes: Nana Singh
 
 PARVATI 165 
 
 and Arjouna, the Agha-Khan, the mahara- 
 jas of Gwalior, Bikanir, Kapurthala, and 
 Jodhpur, the Maharana of Udaipur, the 
 Raja of Jind, the Jam of Nawanagar, and 
 the Nawab of Dacca. In a prominent spot 
 the Gaikwar of Baroda and the Begum of 
 Bhopal were stared at by everybody because 
 of their extravagant display of jewels. All 
 the legendary wealth of Golconda swept 
 before the masses in a wave of fabulous splen- 
 dor. In a loggia hermetically enclosed with 
 lattices, the ranees of the Elysium were iso- 
 lated. 
 
 Desroches had a place on the tribune re- 
 served for European guests. He was seated 
 beside the dewan, the obsequious. The 
 painter could not take his eyes off the royal 
 box. He half listened to the pleasant expla- 
 nations of the minister. He regretted that 
 Noel Verdier could not see the charm of the 
 vision, worthy of the "Thousand and One 
 Nights." But the theosophist was obdurate. 
 His doctrine made it impossible for him to 
 sanction bloody duels between animals.
 
 166 PARVATI 
 
 A bell rang in a tower. The gates were 
 opened. The first elephant came out, fol- 
 lowed immediately by the second, his rival. 
 The struggle began, full of hatred, rage, and 
 cold cruelty, with surprising alternatives of 
 ruse and dissimulation. 
 
 The two antagonists measured each other 
 with their eyes. Their heaving breath made 
 little balls of white foam drop from drooling 
 lips. The two mountains of flesh hurled 
 themselves against each other. It was as if a 
 polar steamer blocked between two monster 
 icebergs groaned and creaked. Tusks locked 
 and remained motionless. Trunks were in- 
 terlaced and neither animal would let go. 
 Riveted to each other by this death grip, the 
 combatants took advantage of the pause to get 
 their breath and devise new tactics. The 
 sight was magnificent and painful; odious, 
 also, for it meant that two kindly beasts had 
 been lashed to anger and destructive hatred 
 toward each other. 
 
 The trunks relaxed, and after a retreat the 
 animals charged again, heads lowered, tails in
 
 PARVATI 167 
 
 the air. Storms of applause rose from the 
 tribunes. Covered with blood and foam, the 
 big brutes rushed at each other, uttering cries 
 of fury. It was horrible, repugnant. 
 
 Gilbert looked away from the bloody sight. 
 His eyes sought Parvati's. 
 
 The maharanee was standing now, and, 
 fascinated, was gazing at the horror. He saw 
 the beauty of her figure, and as he gazed, she 
 was to him altogether desirable. Gilbert had 
 only contempt for the prince, and for the fail- 
 ure he had been as a husband. 
 
 The dewan caught this look. Gilbert had 
 betrayed himself. A cold smile hovered on 
 the lips of the minister. 
 
 "A good fight, was n't it?" said he, turning 
 to the ladies. 
 
 "Oh, but the blood!" cried Odette. The 
 combat was a little too much for her. 
 
 Arwar-Dass broke in. 
 
 "Oh, the winner has only a small wound 1" 
 he exclaimed. "He will get over that, my 
 dear baroness. The dead animal was a 
 beauty. His Highness could not have paid
 
 168 PARVATI 
 
 less than ten thousand rupees for him. Don't 
 worry; you must forget about it. The people 
 must be amused. The king buys two new ele- 
 phants to add to his stables every year at the 
 time of the Durbar." 
 
 "Very beautiful!" observed Sir Leslie 
 Turner. "It was almost as good as a prize- 
 fight." 
 
 "I 'm surprised," observed Mesnil-Guibert, 
 "that his Highness was not approached by a 
 cinematograph man. It would have made a 
 splendid film." 
 
 "Our sovereign would certainly have re- 
 fused it," replied Dhanpat-Roy. 
 
 "What a subject for your palette, Monsieur 
 Desroches!" It was Dhanpat-Roy who had 
 taken Desroches aside on purpose to pay him 
 this compliment. 
 
 "Goodness, your Excellency, I am a por- 
 trait-painter! I could only make a mess of 
 my canvas if I tried to paint that scene. You 
 are exaggerating my ability." 
 
 "Not at all! I saw the portrait of her 
 Highness, the maharanee, yesterday. What a
 
 PARVATI 169 
 
 likeness, and how well you have caught her 
 expression! Ah, you understand women, 
 Monsieur Desroches. Now I know why she 
 chose you to paint her picture. You are a 
 specialist, not only on account of your brush, 
 but through your personal charm as well." 
 
 Gilbert bowed, a little embarrassed. It 
 seemed to him that the flattery was overdone, 
 and a bit ironical. Perfidious irony, no 
 doubt, and it was disquieting to find it in the 
 man who so nearly surprised them in the ob- 
 servatory of Jay Singh. Gilbert affected to 
 see in the words of the minister only courteous 
 admiration. 
 
 "By the way," added the dewan, "his High- 
 ness begged me to give you this envelop. It 
 contains a check on one of our banks in Cal- 
 cutta. We heard that you were leaving to- 
 morrow with your friends for Benares, and 
 our regrets do not make us forget our grati- 
 tude." 
 
 Gilbert went pale. This unexpected and 
 prompt settlement of the account was equiva- 
 lent to a dismissal. It was polite but unmis-
 
 iyo PARVATI 
 
 takable. In spite of them something of their 
 love had been revealed and noticed. With- 
 out protesting, he took the envelop from the 
 hands of the dewan and stammered words of 
 formal thanks. 
 
 Was their beautiful romance, just begun, to 
 end in so banal a way? He had to go. The 
 pretext of the portrait would no longer work, 
 for the picture was done. He had never 
 faced the fact that the day would come when 
 the conventions would make it necessary for 
 him to go away from her. She had little by 
 little taken such a big place in his heart that 
 he looked upon her as a life companion. 
 And it was just because he had not allowed 
 himself to think of these things that he was 
 able to give himself, heart and soul, to the 
 worship of her. He bowed his head before 
 the pitiless decree that exiled him. 
 
 And when he stepped down from the trib- 
 une, by chance he caught the eye of the queen. 
 He read there so much love, mute suffering, 
 and tenderness, that he remembered the words 
 she had sent him:
 
 PARVATI 171 
 
 Whatever comes, fix the day and the hour. I will fol- 
 low you ! 
 
 He was filled with infinite hope. He re- 
 mained the master of the future.
 
 PART TWO
 
 Nothing existed; nothing visible, nothing invisible. 
 No air, no sky. All was confusion. Being reposed in 
 chaos, the universe was being born, through its own piety. 
 
 VEDAS. 
 
 To DR. PHILIPPE DESROCHES 
 
 Salpetriere, Paris 
 
 BENARES 
 
 December 15, 19 . 
 My dear Philippe: 
 
 Flaubert could never have been consoled 
 for living and dying without having known 
 Benares. You old friend Noel will have 
 lived to see it and survive the sight. 
 
 It is true that birth, life, and death are the 
 three terms of the human syllogism, and that 
 for a neopositivist like you the whole thing 
 is summed up in simple attractions and dis- 
 persions of molecules. From my point of 
 view as a theosophist, however, we are only 
 the successive reincarnations, accomplishing 
 
 175
 
 176 PARVATI 
 
 their upward spiral toward the immanent and 
 the divine. 
 
 But a discussion of these things is not the 
 purpose of my letter. 
 
 Do you know that your genial artist brother 
 is a big fool? that he has imagined and 
 realized a dream, a romance worthy of a 
 painter psychologist; or, better still, of a poet? 
 He has become the lover of a queen! 
 
 Yes, a queen, my friend! And you will 
 understand of whom I am speaking. It may 
 do some good to tell you all we have been 
 going through here. Perhaps afterward I 
 shall have time to tell you how Benares im- 
 presses your theosophist. 
 
 The thing happened very recently, during 
 the festivities. Before that I thought it was 
 a flirtation. I closed my eyes to it or, rather, 
 half closed them. But it is no flirtation. We 
 have on our hands a serious love-affair. The 
 worst of it is that echoes of it have reached 
 the royal ears. Result? We have been dis- 
 missed politely, to be sure, but firmly. As 
 for the unfortunate queen, I suppose that at
 
 PARVATI 177 
 
 this moment she is in prison, and will pass 
 the rest of her days shut up in the cloistered 
 and pitiless zenana. We are without news 
 of her. 
 
 To come back to your brother, I confess 
 that his state of mind is disquieting. I watch 
 him closely for fear he will do something we 
 should all regret. I am wondering if I can 
 carry out my mission. The Congress of 
 Madras opens in less than a month. You may 
 be sure I will not leave Gilbert alone. His 
 present mood might lead him to do anything. 
 I am convinced that he is perfectly capable 
 of going back there to attempt to bring about 
 the escape of the princess. This would mean 
 certain death for them both. 
 
 What shall I do? I am in the deepest per- 
 plexity. There is a clash between my duty to 
 the newspaper that sent me out here, and my 
 responsibility to you and Gilbert. Perhaps 
 it would do some good if you would write 
 to the incorrigible fellow; he has become ac- 
 customed to my daily admonitions. 
 
 I can only give you a sketch of my impres-
 
 178 PARVATI 
 
 sions here. My head is too full of our problem 
 to permit me to concentrate upon a lengthy 
 description. Benares, my dear friend, is tre- 
 mendous. You should see it in the morning 
 just as you must look at Stamboul at noon, or 
 at Venice at twilight. Soft mists float on the 
 Ganges ; the people are bathing on the banks. 
 Along the quays priests light bonfires, one by 
 one bonfires that will consume human re- 
 mains. Under wide parasols crouching Brah- 
 mans sell good counsel and prayers to kneel- 
 ing believers. And above in his minaret, 
 Nanaga-Baba, the ascetic, meditates upon the 
 futility of earthly destinies as he watches the 
 flowing river and the burning corpses. It is 
 a picture of calm piety, of supreme scorn of 
 death, of lofty indifference for that which is 
 only dust. 
 
 But the exposition of their philosophy must 
 come at another time. I hold out my two 
 hands to you, and to our mad Gilbert, with 
 all the affection of which I am capable. 
 Your devoted 
 
 NOEL VERDIER.
 
 II 
 
 Men hold themselves cheap and vile: and yet a man is 
 a fagot of thunder- bolts. 
 
 EMERSON: "The Conduct of Life." 
 
 THE horses of the Blues galloped madly 
 up to the ball, and in two successive 
 bounds succeeded in reaching the goal-posts, 
 which were seven meters apart and marked 
 the Reds' boundary line. One of the players 
 raised his stick, but his pony, suddenly fright- 
 ened, jumped, and the light wood grazed the 
 field without touching the ball. There was 
 a moment's hesitation in the opposing team. 
 The Reds were beginning to realize how close 
 they had been to defeat. They rallied, spur- 
 ring their mounts. 
 
 It was indescribable confusion. The po- 
 nies, covered with foam, hurled themselves 
 one against the other. The riders tried to 
 dislodge the ball which the ponies were 
 
 179
 
 i8o PARVATI 
 
 trampling. At last, seeing a slight opening, 
 little Arjouna deftly slid his mallet under the 
 stomachs of the horses, and gave the ball a 
 swift blow which sent it whirling in a straight 
 line to the opposing side. 
 
 The Blues had won the point. They yelled 
 triumphantly. Shouts rose from the boxes. 
 The maharaja clapped vigorously. 
 
 "Very nice polo-player!" said Sir Leslie, 
 approvingly, to Nana Singh, the father of 
 the boy whose clever play had saved the game. 
 
 "Do you really think so?" replied the old 
 man, flattered by the Englishman's congratu- 
 lations. "And yet, I assure you, it 's only his 
 third really serious game. It is true that he 
 plays golf, and that has helped his stroke sur- 
 prisingly." 
 
 "Whatever it is, he plays like a profes- 
 sional," said the commissioner. "The prince 
 must join the Rajput team in the match with 
 the Polo Club of Lucknow." 
 
 The old prince nodded his head rather hesi- 
 tatingly. In the coming month Arjouna was 
 to go tiger-hunting with the Maharaja of
 
 PARVATI 181 
 
 Kuch-Behar. The engagement was of long 
 standing, and it would be a difficult one to 
 break. But the stubborn Englishman was al- 
 ready laying his scheme before the heir ap- 
 parent himself, who was now beating the dust 
 off his boots with his stick, at the foot of the 
 grand stand. Then to make sure of the exact 
 date of the United-Province match, the two 
 men made their way to Lady Gladys, who was 
 at that moment talking with good Mrs. Wil- 
 liams. 
 
 "But it is on January seventh," said the 
 beautiful Englishwoman. "Mrs. Woodland 
 told us so yesterday. Don't you remember, 
 Leslie? Oh, that is true I beg your pardon 
 it was before you got back to the Bungalow. 
 It is on the seventh, I am sure. Major Forbes, 
 Mrs. Woodland's brother, has signed up for 
 it. The viceroy is offering a silver cup. It 
 will be the great event of the Oudh." 
 
 And without paying further attention to Sir 
 Leslie, who was hurrying toward Arjouna, 
 Lady Turner and her companion continued 
 the interrupted conversation.
 
 i8a PARVATI 
 
 "And you found her as ill as ever?" 
 
 "Rather more so, depressed and listless," 
 replied the doctor. "This imprisonment is 
 gradually undermining her health. Just 
 think! shut up from morning till night in a 
 secluded pavilion, far from everything and 
 everybody, with her nurse and Selim, the 
 enunch, for her only companions!" 
 
 "It will kill her I" 
 
 "I am afraid it will. Oh, the poor little 
 thing!" continued the Irishwoman, in an un- 
 steady voice. "How this thing has changed 
 her! She is so pale and thin. You would 
 hardly recognize her. At times she has bursts 
 of energy that astonish me. Yesterday, for 
 example, she dictated a long document her 
 defense which she wished taken to his Ma- 
 jesty. But the dewan was on the watch. The 
 manuscript did not reach its destination." 
 
 "It's terrible! We cannot allow this state 
 of affairs. I shall speak of it to my husband 
 this evening. The government will inter- 
 
 vene." 
 
 "Thank you. But whatever you do, don't
 
 PARVATI 183 
 
 hurry matters. A false move might spoil 
 everything. I hope we can save her." 
 
 "Yes, you are right, Mrs. Williams. But 
 I cannot resign myself to the thought that 
 our poor friend should be the victim of a 
 conspiracy, that she should be shut up all 
 her life for a trifle; that is inconceivable. 
 After all, it was nothing but a flirtation, an 
 innocent flirtation!" 
 
 Mrs. Williams nodded her head vaguely. 
 Nevertheless, because she did not know how 
 to lie easily, her cheeks flushed. She had 
 been made a confidante; but rather than re- 
 veal a suspicion of what she knew, she would 
 have given her life. She rose, and to hide the 
 embarrassment she felt, left Lady Gladys. 
 
 "Good-by," she said. "I am going back 
 to the Elysium." 
 
 From the latticed box which looked out on 
 the polo field, Djalina, with the other ranees, 
 had watched Arjouna and the Blues win their 
 victory. She was filled with secret joy. Was 
 not he who had excelled on the polo ground
 
 1 84 PARVATI 
 
 the artless lover who had allowed himself 
 to be ensnared by her witching voice, and 
 the grace of her supple body? She remem- 
 bered, with a slight feeling of uneasiness, the 
 first awkward expressions of admiration from 
 this frivolous boy. He had soon become 
 bolder and more determined in his advances. 
 At first the favorite had wished to con- 
 strue this increasing familiarity as only the 
 caprice of a spoiled prince. He was not 
 to be discouraged, because he was the heir 
 apparent to the throne to which she also 
 aspired. Her ambition for power encour- 
 aged her to fence herself about with alliances 
 which she would make use of for her own 
 ends. 
 
 Little by little, an intimacy had grown up 
 between the low-caste beauty and the Aryan 
 descendant of Rajput kings. In the discreet 
 shadows of the zenana, their lips had met 
 kisses full of promise. Arjouna had even 
 suggested something more audacious. The 
 affair was progressing. Djalina encouraged 
 the youngster. She was too far-seeing to lose
 
 PARVATI 185 
 
 her head ; but this keen and wayward woman 
 had a plan worthy of Catherine the Great. 
 She would have a son by the heir apparent, 
 and swear that the child was the maharaja's. 
 She would be the mother of a royal prince, 
 and could therefore oust the childless Parvati. 
 
 The favorite was pondering all this. Her 
 face lighted up with haughty joy. If she did 
 not have a male child, she would at least 
 have secured an ally whom she could control 
 if she needed to, for he could not betray her 
 without giving himself away. 
 
 And there, in the loggia, the one-time ser- 
 vant to the queen smiled. 
 
 The doctor was seated in a carriage driven 
 by a turbaned coachman who wore the royal 
 livery. She was hurrying toward the bunga- 
 lows and tents of the British quarter. She 
 had been deeply impressed by the warmth 
 with which the wife of the commissioner 
 had defended the maharanee. Mrs. Williams 
 knew she could depend upon the sincere and 
 disinterested cooperation of the English-
 
 1 86 PARVATI 
 
 woman, who from the very first day had recog- 
 nized in Parvati a high-class Hindu worthy 
 of friendship. In this Gladys was different 
 from her husband. He looked upon all 
 Hindu women with scorn, and called them 
 natives. Nor did Lady Turner hide from 
 Mrs. Williams her distrust of Djalina. She 
 was not deceived by the growing favor with 
 which the maharaja treated the courtezan. 
 The wife of the commissioner never lost sight 
 of Djalina's mean origin, and was thoroughly 
 acquainted with her intrigues. 
 
 The carriage was taking the direction of 
 the zenana. Mrs. Williams, changing her 
 mind, told the coachman to go first to the 
 English post-office where she received her 
 mail. Every day she found in her box a pile 
 of letters and pamphlets bearing the stamps 
 of London, of the big Anglo-Indian cities, 
 and of places in Europe. The kindly woman 
 did not confine her energies to her field of 
 local activity. As vice-president of the Lady 
 Dufferin Dispensary at Calcutta and as a 
 member of the Red Cross, she frequently sent
 
 PARVATI 187 
 
 to London and Paris and America detailed 
 reports upon work for women in India. She 
 did not leave her patients in the hospital or 
 in the palace of Elysium very often, and when 
 she did, it was usually in order to answer let- 
 ters. 
 
 When she opened her box, she found a no- 
 tice advising her to call at the delivery win- 
 dow for a registered letter from Calcutta. 
 The handwriting on the outside of the en- 
 velop was not familiar to her. She quickly 
 broke the seal: 
 
 CALCUTTA 
 Christmas, 19 
 Dear Mrs. Williams: 
 
 I am without news of her who is all the world to me. 
 In my distress I appeal to you you, the consoler of all 
 who suffer. 
 
 Since my separation from the being that I love with all 
 my heart, I have considered putting an end to my life. 
 The present has no goal and there is no future. I must 
 turn to you, hoping that if you judge it wise, you will 
 restore my faith and courage. You will find with this 
 letter, a second envelop which I beg you to deliver. Its 
 destination could not be guessed by any one that might 
 pick it up, but you know whom I mean. You love her, 
 and have defended her with your pity.
 
 i88 PARVATI 
 
 Pity me, too, Mrs. Williams. The present state of 
 things will be fatal to me. Our love has made me an 
 exile. To her it has brought perpetual captivity, perhaps 
 death. 
 
 Affectionately and gratefully, 
 
 G. D. 
 
 P. S. I shall wait eight days for an answer, either 
 from you or from her. After that time nobody here be- 
 low will need to worry about me any more. 
 
 Mrs. Williams was startled by this strange, 
 heartrending note. Making sure that no one 
 was watching her, she read it again. She did 
 not question the author of the letter. The 
 second envelop, without the shadow of a 
 doubt, contained a communication from Gil- 
 bert to Parvati. Mrs. Williams trembled 
 when she thought of the trust that had been 
 confided to her. She was almost sorry that 
 she had signed the receipt for the letter. It 
 was not that she was afraid, but rather that 
 she was faced with painful alternatives: 
 either she must become the willing accomplice 
 of adultery and strive to make further offenses 
 possible for the lovers; or she must consent 
 to the ruin of two human beings both of whom
 
 PARVATI 189 
 
 were to be pitied, the one a prisoner who was 
 slowly dying, the other at liberty but on the 
 point of plunging into the shameful oblivion 
 of suicide. 
 
 The struggle with herself left her cold and 
 trembling. She could not decide which 
 course to take. The sense of her own respon- 
 sibility dazed her, till she could no longer 
 think. What was her duty? Should she be 
 an intermediary in the crime? No, no! She 
 could not do that! Her honor, her self-re- 
 spect would not allow it. Was she not the 
 widow of a hero? Was she not a fervent 
 Catholic, and the vice-president of an asso- 
 ciation of irreproachable and highly respected 
 women? At the thought of the shame that it 
 would bring upon her, that she would have 
 to blush for her action, she felt a choking 
 sensation and the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 But then, after all, was she not exaggerating 
 her fears? Was there really such danger in- 
 volved? She had eight days of grace in 
 which to find some way out of the mission 
 chance had thrown in her way. If necessary,
 
 190 PARVATI 
 
 she would go to Calcutta to prevent Gilbert 
 from carrying out his mad plan; she would 
 make him listen to reason, beg him to be sane 
 and resigned to his fate. She, who knew so 
 well how to talk to the sick would not find it 
 hard to bring him back to his senses, to show 
 him that he must live for his art if he could 
 not live for his love. 
 
 Resolutely she slipped the letter into her 
 blouse. She felt her heart beating faster with 
 the protective complicity that the action sig- 
 nified. 
 
 "Straight to the Elysium," she said to the 
 sais who stood by, respectfully awaiting her 
 orders.
 
 Ill 
 
 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my 
 beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love. 
 
 THE SONG OF SOLOMON. 
 
 PA.RVATI lay on a couch, listless and sad. 
 One hand hung almost to the ground, the 
 other held in place on her knees a large, richly 
 bound volume which was so old that its quaint 
 water-color illustrations were torn and tat- 
 tered like old medieval manuscripts. This 
 treasure, containing the works of the national 
 poet, Kalidasa, who lived in the seventh cen- 
 tury, would have been coveted by the most 
 blase of book-collectors. 
 
 She was reading a tragedy called "Shakun- 
 tala." The artist who had illuminated its 
 pages had drawn the graceful heroine of the 
 poem in profile, like a Persian miniature. 
 She held a tame gazelle by a leash, and was 
 
 feeding the soft-eyed creature with fragrant 
 
 191
 
 192 PARVATI 
 
 herbs from the jungle. The maharanee had 
 closed the book at the place where the gentle 
 Shakuntala is recognized by her husband, 
 King Dushyanta. 
 
 "Kalidasa speaks to lovers," thought the 
 queen. "Love that is reborn must drive away 
 not only sorrow but also repentance. Alas, I 
 have not even that consolation! Shall I ever 
 see my lover again?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she sobbed 
 softly. 
 
 The nurse, who was crouching near by, rose 
 quickly to her feet. 
 
 "I don't want you to cry," she protested, 
 wiping away Parvati's tears. "Listen, your 
 Majesty: I had a dream last night. It was 
 revealed to me that our sufferings will soon be 
 at an end. Only, you will not be queen any 
 more. Let us run away. Then we shall be 
 free. You can go to your foreigner. I will 
 follow you to the ends of the earth." 
 
 "Poor Madavi! What of my caste? I 
 must not give it up. You think of me only 
 as a woman in love, suffering. Men and the
 
 PARVATI 193 
 
 gods would have their revenge. Does he still 
 love me?" 
 
 "He loves you, I am sure of that. My 
 dream told me so. He loves you and is dying 
 for you." 
 
 "A dream is only a dream 1 I must have 
 proof." 
 
 She put down her book, listlessly, and fell 
 to watching the sky. The clouds were sta- 
 tionary, for there was no wind. You could 
 hear the regular tread of the Rajput sentinel 
 walking up and down at the foot of the tower 
 staircase. There was always a sentinel there, 
 guarding the prisoners night and day. Above 
 the roof pigeons circled. 
 
 "Look at the cloud," said the maharanee. 
 "It seems to be floating eastward toward Cal- 
 cutta. He must be there." 
 
 "It is floating in the direction of liberty 1" 
 said Madavi, very softly. "It is showing us 
 the way, my mistress ; let us follow." 
 
 "Go your, way, my beautiful cloud," mur- 
 mured Parvati. "Go, like the Meghaduta, 
 your poet. Nurse, give me the book again,
 
 194 PARVATI 
 
 the old book of our great Kalidasa. I want to 
 sing the verses about the Messenger Cloud." 
 
 She seized the love poems from the hands 
 of her servant, fingered the jeweled clasps of 
 the volume, and turned the pages. Then she 
 sang: 
 
 "O cloud, you are far above all troubles. 
 
 Carry news of me to my beloved, 
 
 Him from whom my angry master separates me. 
 
 Go to the City of Kalighat, 
 
 Whose palaces are white 
 
 Under the shining moon. 
 
 ....* 
 
 "Listen to me, O cloud, 
 
 I will tell you the way, 
 
 I will give you the message. 
 
 If the long journey tires you, 
 
 Rest upon the eternal mountains; 
 
 The pure wet air that rises from the rivers 
 
 Will give you new courage." 
 
 Parvati stopped to meditate. Then she 
 sang again : 
 
 "Go. You will find hint reclining on his white bed, 
 Shedding tears. 
 
 He has grown thin like the moon when it is on the wane, 
 He is sighing, and he longs for sleep,
 
 PARVATI 195 
 
 That will bring him a happy dream of kisses 
 Of his beloved. 
 
 "His sadness will make your tears to fall; 
 And those who do not know will call it rain. 
 When at length, O friendly messenger, 
 You shall see him consoled, 
 Behold him taking life again. 
 Float back and bring me word from him, 
 That will refresh me as your dewdrops revive 
 Thirsty flowers." 
 
 She could not finish singing the stanza. 
 The book slipped from her fingers. She held 
 out her hands supplicating hands to the 
 cloud. It was fading. 
 
 When the last fleck of the cloud had dis- 
 appeared, she sobbed and threw herself into 
 the arms of the faithful nurse. 
 
 "You must persuade her to lie down. And 
 bathe her temples," declared Mrs. Williams. 
 "Go, Madavi, tell Selim to give you my medi- 
 cine case. Poor little queen! She is so frail! 
 She needs a stimulant. I shall give her a 
 hypodermic." 
 
 In her alarm Madavi ran into the vestibule,
 
 PARVATI 
 
 where the eunuch was awaiting orders. The 
 maharanee had fainted just as he arrived with 
 Mrs. Williams. Quickly the Irishwoman lis- 
 tened to the heart of her patient. Happily, 
 there was no cause for alarm here. But she 
 was concerned lest the anemia persist, bring- 
 ing grave complications. Parvati ate little or 
 nothing, nightmares troubled her sleep. The 
 rules of the prison did not permit exercise. 
 The maharaja, urged by Djalina and the 
 dewan, was implacable. He insisted upon 
 strict adherence to the rules relating to pris- 
 oners. Djalina and the dewan hoped this 
 treatment would bring about the prompt dis- 
 appearance of their enemy. 
 
 "Where am I?" stammered Parvati. She 
 was reviving. "Is that you, Gilbert?" 
 
 "It is your friend, my princess, your good 
 friend Mrs. Williams. Come, this is noth- 
 ing! Drink your medicine," coaxed Madavi. 
 
 The doctor administered a cordial which 
 she had hastily prepared. She was kneeling 
 beside the limp body. She tenderly raised 
 the head of the queen. The maharanee took
 
 PARVATI 197 
 
 the glass and obediently swallowed the drink 
 that would put life into her. 
 
 "It is you, my darling? Why did you wake 
 me? It was so good, I thought I was dying, 
 like the cloud. It was a sweet sensation the 
 end of everything." 
 
 "You must not lose your grip, dear little 
 one. You must brace up." 
 
 "What is the use! Is life worth living? 
 I am so tired 1 Everything is against me. 
 Enemies, prison for the rest of my days, the 
 scaffold. I have too much against me. I 
 give up the fight. I am conquered! con- 
 quered!" 
 
 She burst into tears again. Her great sor- 
 row, expressing itself almost childishly, went 
 straight to the heart of the doctor. She took 
 Parvati's hands in her own, stammering futile 
 words : 
 
 "Poor little friend! Yes, I pity you. But 
 you must have courage." 
 
 "Courage?" cried Parvati, and her voice 
 was shrill. "Oh, I have none left! To have 
 the strength to live, I must have hope. My
 
 198 PARVATI 
 
 only hope is in him, for he loves me. But he 
 has gone away; he has forgotten me." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 The little queen straightened up suddenly. 
 She devoured Mrs. Williams with eyes dilated 
 with fever. There was so much pleading in 
 those eyes lighted with inner fire, that the 
 doctor felt she had no right to torture her 
 patient by keeping back the truth and depriv- 
 ing her of Gilbert's letter. 
 
 "Listen," she said softly, so troubled that 
 she breathed quickly. "I promised myself 
 not to tell you, not to give you I mean I did 
 not want to become an accomplice. But you 
 are suffering too much. It is n't fair, it would 
 not be human!" She drew Gilbert's letter 
 out of her blouse. "No!" she added, "he has 
 not forgotten you. He loves you. Read 
 this!" 
 
 Trembling, the maharanee seized the let- 
 ter. Mrs. Williams was crouching on the 
 divan with her head in her hands, while 
 Parvati read the hastily written lines of her 
 lover.
 
 PARVATI 199 
 
 THE GREAT EASTERN HOTEL, CALCUTTA 
 
 Christmas, 19 . 
 My darling: 
 
 Like Werther, I write you a letter a letter that is 
 supremely sorrowful. But will you get it in time? Or, 
 like Charlotte, are you coming to find me? 
 
 To-day is Christmas. A happy Christmas! Cognac is 
 burning on puddings. Champagne is flowing. Men are 
 kissing girls under the mistletoe. 
 
 And I am alone! All alone! 
 
 But I did n't want any of this to trouble my little talk 
 with you. I have even sent away from me my devoted 
 friend, who is like a brother to me. He tried to make 
 me go out and enjoy myself, hoping to inspire me with 
 his own gaiety. But I preferred to stay here alone with 
 your sweet image. I wanted the memory of those fleeting 
 exquisite days. 
 
 If only I could be sure that this letter would finally 
 come to your hands! 
 
 I have based all my hopes, the few hopes remaining to 
 me, upon the aid of a kind woman. She is the only one 
 who understands. She alone will assume the responsibil- 
 ity of what might come to pass. Her goodness will as- 
 suage my pain and yours ! 
 
 They tell me, my dear, that you are deposed, that there 
 has been a plot in the palace. They have succeeded in 
 making you a prisoner. And I tremble lest this be a 
 mask hiding a horrible reality. Perhaps I am writing 
 this letter to a dead woman. This thought turns me to 
 ice. Shall J have been the involuntary murderer of her
 
 200 PARVATI 
 
 for whom I should be willing to give the last drop of my 
 life's blood? 
 
 No, no! I cannot admit that possibility. I must be- 
 lieve that you are living, and that you still cherish the 
 love for which you have so nobly sacrificed peace, 
 liberty, your very existence. Something tells me that 
 the future can still be beautiful for us who laugh at 
 death. 
 
 Ah, the sadness of my departure, my precious queen! 
 Do you remember that last look you gave me the very 
 moment that the enemy was closing in upon us? The 
 memory of that look never leaves me. There was in it 
 your proud, independent soul. And it was to save you 
 fiom horrible punishment that I fled the next day. My 
 own sacrifice was nothing, your safety everything ! Did it 
 succeed ? Only you can tell me. 
 
 And since then? 
 
 Ah, since then, what martyrdom! I shall never forget 
 it. The marvel of Benares, Calcutta, and its pleasures 
 cannot supplant the magic of that moonlight night ! 
 
 And must I say good-by to everything? 
 
 No, I have struggled, suffered, wept, tried to forget, 
 but I cannot. I long for you ! 
 
 And so, my dear girl, when you receive this, you will 
 decide my fate. Life without you is meaningless, a black 
 gulf that swallows up all faith in justice, art, goodness. 
 You have revealed to me something that I have never be- 
 lieved could exist. You would not allow this, your 
 handiwork, to disappear because I had to take my own 
 life!
 
 PARVATI 201 
 
 If you love me, you must join me at any cost ; you must 
 forget rank, caste, and your gods. 
 
 Not till then can I believe that you are that divine 
 being, the faithful beloved who never forgets. 
 
 From him who dies because he is separated from you, 
 and waits 
 
 G. 
 
 Happy tears were falling down her face. 
 There was so much fervor in his pleading, so 
 much tenderness and sincerity in his confes- 
 sion, that she, in turn, was amazed. 
 
 Could it be true that this frivolous French- 
 man, this man of the world, this spoiled 
 Parisian whom she had thought to be a skep- 
 tic, was capable of a strong passion? Could 
 he offer her a love that would endure for all 
 time? It was more than she had hoped. The 
 brightness of the vision made her close her 
 eyes. She was quiet and dumb in the face of 
 such ecstasy. 
 
 The Irishwoman was still sitting there with 
 her head in her hands, conscious that she had 
 crossed the Rubicon, conscious of her com- 
 plicity. Parvati threw her arms about her 
 friend, covering her face with kisses.
 
 202 PARVATI 
 
 "I am so grateful to you, my darling, for 
 the comfort you have brought me! Now I 
 believe, I hope." 
 
 "Don't!" stammered the doctor. "I am a 
 culprit. I ought not to have done it. I shall 
 suffer with remorse all my days!" 
 
 "Don't say that, dear, dear Mrs. Williams! 
 What you have done is glorious; you have 
 saved two souls." 
 
 The door opened and a pale and trembling 
 Madavi appeared. The doctor turned away, 
 but Parvati, transfigured, threw herself into 
 the arms of her nurse. 
 
 "He loves me! He loves me! You were 
 right, Madavi! See, he has written to me. 
 He is waiting for me. We will go to him!" 
 
 "Yes, we must escape from these cursed 
 walls. Vishnu be praised! Dreams never 
 go wrong." 
 
 She drew Parvati into the embrasure of the 
 window. 
 
 "Look," said she. "The cloud is going to- 
 ward the east. It is a good omen!"
 
 IV 
 
 And now, the opium he had abandoned took its revenge. 
 A confused sensation flowed through his muscles. Some 
 were numb. Others tingled. Felze, motionless and with 
 his eyes closed, no longer felt the weight of his body as it 
 rested upon the braided reeds. 
 
 CLAUDE FARRERE: La Bataille. 
 
 KOUSHA was carving meat, cutting it 
 into small pieces ready to be distributed 
 among the inhabitants of the pond. The 
 pariah, pitiful creature that he was, was proud 
 of this duty. He boasted that he had a real 
 place among the officials of the maharaja. 
 Feeding his master's pets had become the ob- 
 ject of his existence. He spent his time tam- 
 ing odd creatures. He charmed them with 
 soft music, a rhythmic whistle he gave with 
 his lips, without the help of an instrument. 
 The sound of Kousha's music was a reminder 
 of feeding-time. Voracious tortoises and 
 hideous lizards glided through the sleepy 
 water, pushing aside the reeds and the lotus, 
 
 303
 
 204 PARVATI 
 
 swimming swiftly toward the stone steps. 
 There, bit by bit, the pariah threw them their 
 abundant meal. 
 
 "Rocco! Rocco! Atcha!" scolded Kousha, 
 kicking an enormous crocodile, more greedy 
 than the others, that was trying to get more 
 than his share of the red meat. 
 
 The animal retreated. He lashed the 
 water with his tail, and snapped his jaws 
 noisily. But Kousha remained stern. He 
 loved to electrify a European visitor by stick- 
 ing his foot calmly into an enormous mouth. 
 There had never been an accident; the mon- 
 sters apparently had learned to love their mas- 
 ter. 
 
 Little sharp cries were heard, and the beat- 
 ing of wings. Frightened egrets flew away 
 from the water grass. Somebody was walk- 
 ing along the alley. The early morning fog 
 made it impossible for Kousha to make out 
 who it was. He squinted his eyes, and looked 
 again. It seemed to him very much like 
 Madavi, although, he reflected, it was hardly 
 likely at this hour. Service of the maha-
 
 PARVATI 205 
 
 ranee scarcely ever required Madavi to be 
 about so early. But now there was no doubt; 
 the old woman was beside him. She was 
 certainly looking for him. He threw the re- 
 maining bits of meat into the cloudy water. 
 The crocodiles hastened to capture it, splash- 
 ing and struggling to get ahead of one an- 
 other. 
 
 The Hindu knelt on the marble, before 
 Madavi. 
 
 "Speak! I obey." 
 
 "First of all," said Madavi, "swear to me 
 that you will not reveal to a living soul the 
 secret I am going to confide to you. It does 
 not belong to me." 
 
 "I swear!" 
 
 "You must take an oath, you must make the 
 vows of your sect, the vows made by your 
 brothers, the Nirvanist P'aousigars, the 
 rirvirl" 
 
 The man was seized with a trembling. His 
 cheeks paled; he hesitated. 
 
 Before the commanding eyes of Madavi, he 
 conquered his distress, closed his eyes, ex-
 
 206 PARVATI 
 
 tended his right arm, and repeated confused 
 phrases that appeared to give satisfaction to 
 the servant of his queen. 
 
 "That is right," said she, reassured. "I 
 trust you. Remember that you have repeated 
 before a woman of caste your most sacred vow. 
 Ankayal kannamaya! You know what awaits 
 you if you break it I" 
 
 "I know," murmured the pariah in a low 
 voice. "Let the string of my boots strangle 
 me, and let Mrityu, the god of Death, and 
 Yama, the god of Decay, take me if I faill" 
 
 "Now come closer." 
 
 She made sure that they were alone. Then 
 she whispered to him the queen's plan to take 
 flight, to escape from her enemies. She told 
 Kousha how, by chance, she Jiad learned that 
 to-night, at the second hour, the relief of the 
 guard was to be made by Mohammedan 
 sepoys. She told him of the duty that 
 awaited him. Not a muscle moved in the 
 bronzed face; only a fugitive light shone in 
 the dark eyes when he heard that the second 
 watch was to be taken by sentinels belonging
 
 PARVATI 207 
 
 to the abhorred sect of Islam. But the face 
 immediately regained its look of a mask, pas- 
 sive, motionless, impenetrable. When Ma- 
 davi had finished her long and detailed in- 
 structions, the pariah bowed his head, indicat- 
 ing by this mute and simple gesture his 
 acquiescence in the plan. 
 
 With an instinctive movement, Kousha's 
 hand went to his belt. A leather thong, care- 
 fully hidden under his blouse, was tied by a 
 curious knot to the belt. Madavi exchanged 
 with Kousha a comprehending smile. 
 
 "That is well," she whispered. "Above all, 
 don't let her see you! She would not under- 
 stand that certain things are necessary." 
 
 Selim had one fault without which he 
 would have been his Highness's model wait- 
 ing-man. He gave way in secret to his favor- 
 ite and only passion, opium. He had no other 
 means of satisfying his sensual cravings. 
 After several pipes of the drug, he experi- 
 enced a sense of enjoyment which amounted 
 to ecstasy. A feeling of well being came to
 
 208 PARVATI 
 
 the good Mussulman, like a taste of the heav- 
 enly joy to come later in the Paradise of Allah 
 and Mohammed. To his sorrow, the oppor- 
 tunities for getting the precious drug, and en- 
 joying it at his leisure, were becoming rare. 
 His hours were long, and his task rigorous. 
 He had the responsibility of watching over 
 the prisoner queen. His position as head 
 eunuch imposed upon him the inspection of 
 the posts and the relief of the sentinels of the 
 zenana. 
 
 But temptation had never been greater than 
 to-night. When he got to his room after din- 
 ner, in the corridor that led to the maha- 
 ranee's cell, where he placed his bed at night, 
 he stumbled over a small, neatly wrapped 
 package. It had fallen there as if by accident. 
 The brave Selim trembled with joy when he 
 found that the parcel contained a complete 
 smoking-outfit a pipe, a little lamp with 
 bulging glass bottom, long needles, and the 
 pot holding the brown substance with its 
 haunting, irritating taste. No doubt some 
 sepoy had lost the precious packet
 
 PARVATI 209 
 
 Selim suddenly thought of a plan first, to 
 make sure that his coreligionists would attend 
 to the relief of the second watch; then, to 
 protect himself by asking the mail-clerk to 
 see that the guards went on duty at the proper 
 time. Now it happened that the eunuch's 
 plans were carried out exactly as he had made 
 them. The promise of a few pipefuls won 
 for Selim the assurance that his friend Ser- 
 geant Abdallah would replace him. 
 
 "By the sacred stone of the Kaaba!" mur- 
 mured Selim when he entered his own room. 
 "The first puff of smoke rises to the praise 
 of the one who deserves it the unknown gen- 
 erosity to which I owe it." He undid his 
 sleeping-roll. Out of respect for the maha- 
 ranee, he placed a sandalwood screen at the 
 door of his prisoner's cell. He was good 
 enough to spare her the nauseating fumes of 
 the drug. Then lying down on his side, with 
 a couple of books for a pillow, he began to 
 make the first little ball. With the silver 
 needle his agile fingers mixed the opium. He 
 carefully placed the drug in the hollow bam-
 
 210 PARVATI 
 
 boo receptacle above the little lamp. A long 
 gurgling inhalation. He held his breath. 
 And then a luxurious expiration as he blew 
 clouds of smoke from his nostrils. 
 
 One pipe, two pipes, three pipes, ten pipes, 
 then twenty, then thirty. The restless needle 
 never stopped plunging into the brown paste. 
 He realized that the aroma had a peculiar 
 tang about it. 
 
 Hours passed, and Selim, with wide-open 
 eyes, fastened the gaze of his dilated pupils 
 on the door leading to the corridor. Strange! 
 The polished brass knob, reflecting the glim- 
 mer of the lamp, seemed to exercise upon his 
 weary retina a sort of fascination, a hypno- 
 tism that finally troubled him. It became an 
 obsession, and then turned to suffering. To 
 escape from it, the man tried to get control 
 of himself. He made an attempt to rise from 
 his couch. But his legs were unsteady. He 
 fell back on his bed, struggled vainly against 
 the torpor that was creeping over him, and 
 finally was sleeping profoundly.
 
 PARVATI 211 
 
 Is it the effect of the opium, or has 
 some unknown hand introduced a narcotic? 
 Through the blankness that has come over 
 his brain a shadow passes. The eunuch 
 thinks he sees the door to the royal chamber 
 open. A bronzed hand gently pushes back 
 the screen. Then two dim figures, with 
 muffled steps, emerge into the vestibule. 
 The taller form holds a dark-lantern, and 
 beckons to the other, hesitating in the middle 
 of the room, to follow. 
 
 Indistinguishable words are exchanged. 
 Then the smoker, in spite of his paralysis, 
 hears the following: 
 
 "Are you sure that he is asleep?" 
 
 "Yes, I gave him a triple dose." 
 
 "But if he should speak?" 
 
 The larger shadow smiles and murmurs: 
 "Impossible. Come!" 
 
 And Selim knows now that what he sup- 
 posed was an hallucination is reality. He tries 
 to shout. His lips contract over dry gums, his 
 burning throat responds only with a hoarse
 
 212 PARVATI 
 
 breathing. The two feminine forms are al- 
 ready at the door; they turn for the last time 
 to look at the sleeper. Reassured, they dis- 
 appear as mysteriously as they came. Selim, 
 with a fainting heart, hears their soft footfalls 
 on the floor of the corridor. 
 
 The fear on his face changes to hatred, and 
 he grimaces in diabolic joy. 
 
 Are not the faithful Abdallah and his 
 cronies below? They will stop the fugitives. 
 
 With straining ears, they listen for a few 
 minutes to the steps of the sentinel before the 
 northern postern. Inside the barracks, the 
 silence of death. Although, muses Madavi, 
 there must be two or three guards within, 
 waiting to relieve others. They are smoking, 
 gambling, laughing, perhaps! With vague 
 disquiet she descends quickly, and risks being 
 seen in the narrow hall. A strange sight is 
 before her: three sepoys, stretched out, face 
 down, are on their pallets. No disorder in 
 the room, where a sooty little lamp is dying. 
 
 She advances.
 
 PARVATI 213 
 
 On the threshold a man rises, seeming to 
 bar the way. Madavi stifles a cry at the sight 
 of Kousha. 
 
 "Well?" asks the nurse anxiously. 
 
 "Kali is great and protects you," was the 
 laconic reply of the pariah. 
 
 Then, showing the old woman the leather 
 thong, he adds in a whisper: "Hurry 1 One 
 more, and the road is open." 
 
 "This is good. I am pleased with you. 
 You are faithful." 
 
 She ascends to the maharanee, while the 
 Nirvanist crawls along the wall leading to 
 the northern postern gate. 
 
 Before the sentinel-box, the guard tramps 
 back and forth in the fog. He is unconscious 
 of danger, full of health and good humor, 
 swinging along with the gait drilled into him 
 by Anglo-Saxon conquerors. Suddenly he 
 utters a cry. He stretches out his arm, and 
 his gun falls to the ground. He writhes, 
 with the death-rattle in his throat. His eyes 
 are wide open, showing only the whites. 
 Some one had sprung at him and thrown him
 
 214 PARVATI 
 
 down, binding him as if with steel wires. A 
 few struggling movements, a spasm, a sigh, 
 then nothing more. 
 
 The sinister work is done. Two minutes 
 and a lightning blow suffice to put an end 
 to a young and robust soldier. The strangler 
 rises, and coolly knots his thong to his belt. 
 Loading his victim on his back, he throws the 
 body into the sentinel-box. 
 
 Soft steps. It is the fugitives, who have 
 been joined by their faithful Kousha. They 
 pass through the gate. The nurse has shaded 
 her lantern, but the road is familiar. How 
 many times has Madavi made her way through 
 little obscure streets to the Chand Pole, one of 
 the central gates of the City of Roses 1 From 
 there she used to reach the British Quarter, 
 either by the Kasha-Bandha or by the station 
 road. The latter leads straight to the station, 
 passing in front of the summer palace, hidden 
 in verdure. By this road, also, she has often 
 gone to the uncomfortable hotel frequented 
 by tourists, to carry some royal message to 
 distinguished foreign visitors.
 
 PARVATI 215 
 
 But to-night the road seems very long. 
 
 "Your Highness, we must hurry. We must 
 get there before the half-past one train. We 
 have a quarter of an hour." 
 
 "I am following you, my good Madavi. 
 I am so weak, you see so tired!" 
 
 In their second-class compartment the fugi- 
 tives, dressed in Parsee costume, look out at 
 the quays. The night is cool. Under clumps 
 of trees poor creatures lie shivering in their 
 thin red blankets. 
 
 "Heavens! How slowly the minutes pass! 
 Why this delay? When will they give the 
 signal for the train to start?" murmurs 
 Parvati. 
 
 "Ah! they are coming, the people who are 
 holding up the train!" adds Madavi. 
 
 Three Hindus appear, one an old man with 
 a white beard. Certainly the flight of the 
 prisoners has been discovered! Surely these 
 three emissaries will stop them and throw 
 them into prison before turning them over to 
 frightful torture!
 
 2i6 PARVATI 
 
 And Parvati broken, terrified throws 
 herself upon Madavi's breast. Madavi fran- 
 tically clutches the dagger she is concealing 
 under her veils. But the train whistles, and 
 then moves slowly. It was only a false alarm. 
 And this time, Parvati raises her head, happy, 
 transfigured. She is no longer the queen 
 only a loving woman 1
 
 V 
 
 Leaders of men are most frequently not men of thought, 
 but men of action. They are not clairvoyant, they could 
 not be clairvoyance generally leads to doubt and inertia. 
 GUSTAVE LsBoN: Psychologic des Foulcs. 
 
 "/CHARGE!" shouted the major. The 
 ^^ cavalrymen spurred their mounts. 
 There was an indistinct blur of red and black. 
 Rifle-shots rang out here and there, and the 
 crowd burst into clamors of fright, cries of 
 supplication, and indignant exclamations. 
 Old men with bloody heads were in flight; 
 women groaned, trampled under the horses' 
 hoofs; children fell, struck by bullets. The 
 shooting continued. The students had raided 
 the MacDonald warehouses, and had opened 
 murderous fire against their assailants. 
 
 Major Hutchinson pale, wounded in the 
 shoulder, despairing of the cause gave his 
 lancers the signal of retreat. He had seen 
 a detachment of police pouring through an 
 
 217
 
 2 i8 P,ARVATI 
 
 adjacent street. They were followed by 
 Ghurka infantry, armed to the teeth. The 
 unexpected reinforcements rallied the courage 
 of the imperial troops. But the raiders were 
 still strong; their unreasoning fanaticism, 
 aggravated by peril, had stirred them into su- 
 preme revolt. It was evident that they would 
 fight as long as their supply of ammunition 
 let them make a show of resistance. Finally, 
 however, overcome by numbers, the survivors 
 retreated in good order toward the Hugli. 
 The most prudent ran to the river banks and 
 hastily rowed to the other side; others swam 
 across. But the majority of them fell into 
 the hands of the loyalists. Among them was 
 the student, Dulah Singh, and the baboo, 
 Rama Mukkerji, instigators of a movement 
 for which the funeral of the martyr student, 
 Tanaagotto, had been only a pretext. 
 
 It had been the result of the tolerance of 
 the English. They had been too optimistic, 
 too sure of themselves, too desirous of main- 
 taining their attitude of patience. After the 
 hanging of a young anarchist the editor-in-
 
 PARVATI 219 
 
 chief of the Yugantar (secret journal of revo- 
 lutionary Shwadeshism), and organizer of an 
 attempt to bomb the Bombay-Calcutta Ex- 
 press the body had been confided to the 
 man's comrades. They were going to cre- 
 mate it, according to Brahman ritual. The 
 warden of the prison, after telephoning to the 
 viceroy for permission, had granted the re- 
 quest of the students. The procession was 
 formed under the friendly eyes of the police 
 and the regular troops. The body of the 
 martyr was carried by a delegation from the 
 university through the principal streets of the 
 city. It was a quiet procession that made a 
 favorable impression upon the populace. 
 
 But a breath was enough to fan smoldering 
 fires. At a street corner, as the students were 
 approaching the spot where the cremation was 
 to take place, a young man climbed upon a 
 wall and harangued his comrades. He urged 
 them, out of respect for the dead, to take off 
 their boots, and to follow their late companion 
 barefooted. This would be a pledge of fra- 
 ternal and patriotic solidarity. The short and
 
 220 PARVATI 
 
 vibrant discourse of the student, Dulah Singh, 
 had electrified his followers. Murmurs ran 
 through the crowd, subdued at first, but soon 
 rising in force. Then a chant, intoned by 
 the baboo, Mukkerji, in the language of 
 Bengal, was taken up by ten thousand voices. 
 
 Then it was that Major Hutchinson had in- 
 terfered, at the head of his lancers. He was 
 met with hisses and jeers. 
 
 The charge had done the rest. 
 
 "If only he is not caught in that fracas 1" 
 Parvati whispered into the ear of her nurse. 
 They had succeeded in making their way 
 through the curious onlookers who crowded 
 around the stretchers. "I tremble when I 
 think he might be among the dead or the 
 wounded. Come, Madavi, let us hurry to his 
 hotel." 
 
 At the Great Eastern they were much re- 
 lieved to learn that the two French gentle- 
 men had left three days before for the Him- 
 alayas. Their mail was to follow them to 
 Woodland's Hotel at Darjiling.
 
 PARVATI 221 
 
 That evening, the two women took the train 
 for Siliguri. At Darjiling, Parvati would 
 talk with Gilbert and the theosophist as to the 
 plans for their flight. 
 
 It was hardly possible that the escape of 
 the Queen of Jeypore had not been discovered. 
 All India must know of it. However, upon 
 her arrival at Calcutta, Parvati saw nothing in 
 the newspapers about it. This silence, al- 
 though superficially reassuring, troubled her 
 profoundly. Better than anybody else, she 
 understood the pitiless jealousy of the maha- 
 raja. She feared the consequences of his 
 wounded vanity. She felt that this lack of 
 news was ominous. 
 
 To avoid curious eyes in the dining-room 
 of the boat, Parvati and Madavi were sitting 
 well forward on the deck. They were watch- 
 ing a Hindu boatman sounding the channel. 
 This was a necessary precaution. Navigation 
 on the Ganges has to guard against sandbars. 
 
 Wide as the sea, the Ganges flowed by the 
 women. Silence reigned upon its mournful 
 immensity. One could make out in the fog
 
 222 PARVATI 
 
 occasional fishermen casting their nets from 
 phantom boats. The maharanee felt a wave 
 of remorse sweep over her. In vain she tried 
 to chase it away. The waters of the sacred 
 river, in which she had bathed even in Europe, 
 during her childhood, reproached her. A 
 sudden dizziness drew her mysteriously to- 
 ward the brown water. And who knows 
 whether, if she should try to drown all her 
 sadness, the waves would not wash her up 
 upon the banks, refusing to condone her sacri- 
 lege! 
 
 Even the image of her beloved could not 
 completely dispel dark presentiments. 
 
 Her beloved! the man for whom she had 
 given up everything! Could his tenderness 
 ever equal her sacrifice? Would Gilbert 
 ever learn to love her sacred mountains? 
 
 Ah ! Her thoughts tortured her 1 
 
 The slow climb in the Himalaya train, and 
 the wild beauty of the scenery, gave the fugi- 
 tive queen a happy diversion. Although she 
 knew India well, she had never visited Sik-
 
 PARVATI 223 
 
 him. Snowy peaks, impenetrable virgin for- 
 ests, cascades tumbling through ravines, were 
 a revelation to her. The perpetual zigzag 
 of the well-constructed roadbed interested 
 her, too. There was a locomotive at the head 
 of the train and another at the rear end, for 
 there were many steep places. 
 
 And then the type of the inhabitants was 
 different. It was no longer the fine Aryan 
 profile, the straight nose, the oval chin, and 
 big black eyes, but an ethnic transformation. 
 The change was complete, and very striking. 
 She saw Mongol and Tibet types, mountain 
 types men with yellow skin and almond eyes, 
 with wide smiling mouths that did not show 
 the lassitude she was used to seeing among 
 her own compatriots. When they had passed 
 through the tea plantation of the Kurseong, 
 they came face to face with the majestic peaks 
 of Kunchinjinga. Oh, the untrodden and im- 
 maculate barrier of snow! It seemed to her 
 that upon these formidable heights, these 
 domes and peaks and needles, a prophetic hand 
 had graven this command :
 
 224 PARVATI 
 
 "Stop! Thou shalt go no farther!" 
 
 And now she allowed herself to be carried 
 toward Woodland's Hotel. The weight of 
 her primitive chair was borne by women's 
 arms. In this strange Darjiling, women do 
 the work. The men are occupied in smoking, 
 meditating, gossiping, or turning little prayer 
 mills. She was thinking about the attitude 
 she would adopt shortly. She would register 
 at the hotel as Madame Sorabjee. It was the 
 name of one of her Parsee friends in Bombay. 
 She hoped this precaution would prevent 
 suspicion. And then, without disclosing what 
 she was doing, she would find out from the 
 register the number of the room occupied by 
 Gilbert and Noel. Madavi would be charged 
 with carrying the joyful message to her lover. 
 
 Then, timidly knocking twice at a door, the 
 nurse made her way to the veranda where Des- 
 roches was working. The painter started. 
 His pastels fell to the floor and were smashed 
 in many pieces. 
 
 "Madavi! Is it possible!" he stammered. 
 
 A waxen pallor came over his features. He
 
 PARVATI 225 
 
 leaned against a column, clutching the door- 
 knob. 
 
 "I understand." He spoke with effort. 
 "She is dead. They have killed her. And 
 you come to " 
 
 "No, no, Sahib! She is living, she loves 
 you, she is free! She is waiting for you I" 
 
 The faithful Hindu woman hurriedly told 
 the story of their flight. She explained how 
 the sovereign had not hesitated to lay aside 
 the dignity of her position as maharanee, her 
 rank as a royal wife, her prejudices of caste 
 and religion, to come to him. Joy lighted up 
 Gilbert's face. 
 
 "Noel!" he called. "Noel! Come quickly! 
 She is here. I am saved. I love her. I 
 live." 
 
 The theosophist appeared in the doorway 
 leading to the next room. At the sight of the 
 nurse and of the transfigured Gilbert, he un- 
 derstood all. On his lips was a kindly smile, 
 slightly tinged with irony. 
 
 "Listen," said he, when the first moment of 
 exaltation had passed, and his friend had let
 
 226 PARVATI 
 
 go the hand he had been pressing without 
 knowing it. "All this is lovely, but you will 
 oblige me by remaining quietly in your room. 
 Do not budge from here. I shall go to meet 
 her first. In the state you are in, you would 
 forget yourself and compromise us all. More 
 than ever, you must be prudent to-day." And 
 when Gilbert protested and tried to get away, 
 Noel barred his path. "Oh, people in love 
 are all the same! Five minutes of patience 
 and I will bring her to you." 
 
 Soon the door flew open, and Parvati threw 
 herself into the arms of her lover. 
 
 "You! It is you!" he repeated, kissing her 
 again and again. "Oh! I 'd give my whole 
 life for this!" 
 
 And, overcome, the proud descendant of 
 Surya, the shining god of glorious dawns, 
 stammered : 
 
 "I love you!"
 
 VI 
 
 He returns, and my days will be happy again, 
 For they will find peace and light. 
 Hand in hand, we shall journey toward the dawn, 
 We shall not fear when we depart, an early morning in 
 summer. 
 
 A. BARRATIN: Lueurs du Soir. 
 
 THEY spent five dream days. The vital- 
 ity of one revived the other. The color 
 came back to Gilbert's cheeks, and the princess 
 regained strength. The only witnesses of 
 their happiness were the two beings who lav- 
 ished upon them tenderness, fraternal or hum- 
 ble. No echo of their flight was heard in the 
 newspapers. No' doubt in the zenana the 
 scandal had been hushed up. In her happi- 
 ness, Parvati succeeded in gradually regain- 
 ing confidence. 
 
 She could now believe that her enemies 
 were disarmed. If the affair remained 
 
 strictly the secret of the king and his imme- 
 
 227
 
 228 PARVATI 
 
 diate associates, what would be the object of 
 hunting her like a wild beast? What had 
 been the motives of Djalina? to supplant 
 her? This had been done. What was the 
 purpose of the combined intrigues of Dhan- 
 pat-Roy, the dewan, and of the Grand Brah- 
 man? To put her off the throne, to recover 
 their former influence, and to govern through 
 the favorite? Their machinations had suc- 
 ceeded beyond their hopes. Dead, the maha- 
 ranee might have brought upon them later on 
 who knows? terrible retaliation. Living, 
 she had been voluntarily dishonored, had 
 renounced forever the privileges of her rank 
 and of her caste. 
 
 Would the jealousy of Bhagavat Singh 
 enter into play? His new passion for the 
 beautiful Djalina would soon pacify his ini- 
 tial rage, and would cause him to forget an 
 adulterous wife. Perhaps he had even se- 
 cretly welcomed the combination of circum- 
 stances that had liberated him from bonds 
 that had grown too heavy. 
 
 Parvati had no trouble in making her lover
 
 PARVATI 229 
 
 agree with her conclusions. Gilbert smiled 
 and shrugged his shoulders, when Noel, more 
 thoughtful and less enthusiastic, tried to rea- 
 son about his blind optimism. The philoso- 
 pher, owing to his profound study and his 
 remarkable faculty of objective observation, 
 understood the soul of the Hindu better than 
 the painter. Without pushing to an extreme 
 the theories of Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling 
 the gods of his early university days Noel 
 professed that nothing in human deductions 
 is absolute. 
 
 One is always suspicious, said he, of human 
 deductions, for they are tinged with subjec- 
 tivism. In his mind, there was no reason to 
 conclude that the enemies of the fallen queen 
 would abandon their projects of hatred and 
 persecution. The victorious Djalina and the 
 contented dewan would rest with the abdi- 
 cation of the sovereign; he could admit that. 
 But that the maharaja would bow before 
 the affront to which he had been subject, 
 without seeking revenge, that seemed to him 
 to be beyond belief. And then, there was
 
 230 PARVATI 
 
 the dark, enigmatic face of the high priest, 
 Khoudarsha. His fanaticism could become a 
 formidable adversary. 
 
 This evening they went to their rooms early. 
 An excursion was planned for the next day. 
 They were to be wakened at four o'clock in 
 the morning to see the sunrise on the Hima- 
 layas. A carriage had been ordered for Par- 
 vati. She was to be escorted by the two 
 friends riding on ponies. The itinerary was 
 the usual one over the mountain; a halt at 
 Tiger Point where they could see the view, 
 and the light of the sun on the summit of 
 Gaurisankar, called Mount Everest by the 
 English. After a meal that they would carry 
 in their basket, they would make the descent 
 across an abandoned village. There Verdier 
 proposed to visit an old hermit, a deposed 
 raja, who had been converted to Buddhism. 
 In his bamboo hut he lived a life of medita- 
 tion, detached from all earthly desires. 
 
 A thick fog lay over everything when the 
 little caravan started on its way. Guides went 
 ahead with lanterns. At first the ascent was
 
 PARVATI 231 
 
 rough and fatiguing, across a maze of zigzag 
 paths. The hoofs of the ponies dislodged 
 little stones, which rolled down noisily. No- 
 body talked very much. The three travelers 
 rode along most of the way in Indian file. 
 Their eyes, becoming used to the darkness, 
 distinguished a kind of rustic shack erected 
 on a ledge where, on one side, it commanded 
 the limitless plain, and the basin of the 
 Ganges. In the other direction were five suc- 
 cessive chains of mountains, ending in a mass 
 of white giants. The same splendid impres- 
 sion moved them again to silence when, arriv- 
 ing at Tiger Point, where they were lost in 
 morning mist, they could see the first light 
 of dawn. 
 
 There was a diffused silver light that 
 pierced the horizon in a parallel band that 
 tapered at the two extremities. This thin, 
 filtering light revealed confusedly the mean- 
 dering rivers and tributaries and ponds that 
 seemed like so many veins and arteries feed- 
 ing the vast body of the Hindustan penin- 
 sula. Black clouds stood out fantastically in
 
 232 PARVATI 
 
 the pearly light that was losing its whiteness 
 little by little, and turning to straw-yellow and 
 amber and orange. And then the clouds were 
 torn away and a lake of fire appeared. The 
 vision was Dantesque, sinister, terrifying. 
 The black clouds became lost souls dancing 
 in an infernal ring, hideous and eternal! 
 
 Parvati, clinging to Gilbert, appeared to be 
 fascinated by the magnificent and awful pano- 
 rama. Trembling seized her, although the 
 painter leaned over her with mute and tender 
 inquiry. But she remained inscrutable, her 
 eyes riveted on the spectacle. Finally, as he 
 pressed her to answer, she murmured, "He is 
 coming!" 
 
 Two tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 "You are crying!" exclaimed Gilbert, 
 alarmed. "Why, my darling?" 
 
 "Because it is beautiful!" 
 
 She spoke the truth. It was beautiful, a 
 fairy scene. 
 
 Now the lost souls grew dim and faded into 
 the lake, become an ocean. The sea was 
 purple now, and blood-red, doubtless from
 
 PARVATI 233 
 
 their suffering and their repentance. In his 
 supreme gentleness God granted that the pun- 
 ishment of the sinners should not endure for 
 centuries, despite the implacable word he had 
 given them in the Scriptures. An era of pity 
 and of mercy was opening in this golden light, 
 in which, perhaps, the sublime Redeemer 
 would descend a second time. 
 
 But while the believing Desroches was in 
 an ecstasy of imagination, Parvati, proud and 
 erect and with quivering nostrils, was look- 
 ing straight at the sun. Neither adultery nor 
 sacrilege could efface from her mind the 
 legend with which the Brahmans themselves 
 had fed her childhood, the legend that you can 
 read on every page of the Vedas. It was the 
 legend that all India proclaims. 
 
 "Daughter of Surya! Daughter of the 
 Sun!" 
 
 A great joy entered into her, despite her 
 crime, despite her denial of her caste, despite 
 the outrage to her gods. Whatever might be 
 undertaken against her, never, never could any 
 one deny her celestial origin, or contest the
 
 234 PARVATI 
 
 glory that swept back of her into the past for 
 tens and tens of centuries. She was thinking 
 of all that. And Gilbert, who had guessed it, 
 bowed his head, conscious of his humble rank 
 and birth, and turned sadly away from her. 
 She noticed his distress, and it made her heart 
 swell with pity. 
 
 She approached him, and gazing up at him, 
 kissed him. 
 
 When they entered the little garden of the 
 hermit, where chickens were feeding on a 
 pile of refuse, the old man was seated out of 
 doors on a throne made of teakwood. The 
 throne was marvelously carved by unknown 
 artists, and was the only vestige of past glory. 
 The hermit took pleasure in sitting upon it, 
 meditating upon human vanity. And with a 
 fine scorn for his surroundings, the former po- 
 tentate was pleased to surround his throne with 
 manure and rubbish through which he had to 
 pass each time he wished to sit upon the 
 throne. Penance for his past life, for de- 
 bauches, and for tyranny? Or symbol of the
 
 PAR VAT I 235 
 
 compromises that cowardice and villainy used 
 to bring about his accession to power? 
 
 In spite of his repugnance, Noel had to soil 
 his boots with the vile earth of the little gar- 
 den in order to hand to the motionless dreamer 
 the letter of introduction from his friend of 
 the House of the Sages of Benares. The 
 ascetic took it without a word, and read it with 
 lusterless eyes. 
 
 Then, reluctantly shaking himself out of his 
 hypnosis, he remarked to the theosophist: 
 
 "Then there are among the foreigners that 
 come from the West men who seek instruction 
 in our doctrine?" 
 
 "Yes, master," replied Verdier. 
 
 Pointing to Parvati, the old man continued : 
 
 "She does not belong to your country. It 
 seems to me there flows through her veins 
 blood that is not very different from mine." 
 
 "It is a noble lady of the Parsees, who is 
 interested in your wisdom and in your science. 
 Like me and like my friend, she longs to hear 
 words of truth from your lips." 
 
 "Parsee, you say, Parsee!" he answered,
 
 236 PARVATI 
 
 shaking his head as if he doubted it. "My 
 eyes have probably lost the habit of reading 
 the faces of women. Anyway, be what she 
 may, she is welcome, since she accompanies 
 you." And with serenity he added: "Find 
 some chairs. And may the Holy Light of 
 Gautama be with you !" 
 
 Gilbert brought three little worm-eaten 
 benches which he had found in the cabin, 
 not without difficulty. They had evidently 
 served as perches for the hens. Parvati and 
 the two men sat in front of the old man. 
 
 "My son, you see in me," continued the 
 thinker, addressing himself particularly to 
 Noel, "a man who, although deprived of his 
 kingdom and of his riches, rejoices in the only 
 true happiness that this reincarnation has ac- 
 corded him. As a king, I learned to know 
 men. They are nothing but lies, intrigue, 
 treachery, treason. I who speak to you now 
 have been, I am still, the vilest of men. But 
 why struggle against that which we are un- 
 able to explain? And what is more, I am con- 
 scious of a former state, when I 'was lower
 
 PAR VAT I 237 
 
 and more miserable still. Therefore, the 
 progress announced by the Master is a reality. 
 Nothing of what is destined happens before its 
 time. It is the part of the sage to be patient, 
 to await his approaching and more nearly per- 
 fect evolution. But man is ambitious. He 
 is impatient to precipitate his development 
 without regard to the normal advance. I was 
 a king; I commanded people and armies; I 
 wished to dominate other men. And I was 
 punished for it. I saw men cut the throats of 
 my wives and of my sons; I saw my palaces 
 burned and my riches confiscated; I saw my 
 titles abolished. It is the just chastisement of 
 my sins." 
 
 And he veiled his face, murmuring: "Om 
 Brahma kripai kevolom! Brahma, let thy 
 goodness alone be accomplished!" 
 
 He lapsed into silence, 
 
 For a few minutes his visitors respected it. 
 Then Noel questioned the old man about doc- 
 trines that were familiar to them both. The 
 sage, a subtle Vedantist, discussed at length the 
 sacred books of the Upanishads and the Aran-
 
 238 PARVATI 
 
 yakas. Together they criticized the coarse 
 dogmas of Tantrism, and the depraved cult 
 of the Shaktis of Shiva. Gilbert and Parvati, 
 outside a conversation that was incomprehen- 
 sible to them, smiled at each other tenderly. 
 The hermit saw them. Interrupting himself 
 in the middle of a commentary upon the sixth 
 Darshana of Hinduism, and fixing them with 
 a stern eye, he rebuked them : 
 
 "The chaste alone can understand the divine 
 words. But it is written in the Kamasutra: 
 'The day when men master the senses, the 
 Vindhya Mountains will swim across the 
 
 ocean.' " 
 
 The lovers looked at each other. And both, 
 involuntarily, bowed their heads. 
 
 Upon their return, Gilbert found on his 
 table a letter from Mrs. Williams. It was 
 dated yesterday, and had been sent from the 
 dispensary of Lady Dufferin in Calcutta. 
 The doctor said that everything had been dis- 
 covered. The maharaja had sent secret emis- 
 saries everywhere ; the strangling of the senti-
 
 PARVATI 239 
 
 nels at the prison had wrought up his anger to 
 the highest pitch. He had sworn to take 
 prompt revenge. India was no longer safe 
 for the two culprits. It was- a question now of 
 their lives, and she urged the lovers to take the 
 earliest possible boat for Europe.
 
 VII 
 
 Alas, the hero from of old has had to cramp himself into 
 strange shapes : the world knows not well at any time what 
 to do with him, so foreign is his aspect in the world ! 
 
 CARLYLE: "On Heroes," etc. 
 
 \ STRANGER drew several rupees from 
 ./A. his pocket and slipped them into the 
 hands of the porter. 
 
 At the Great Eastern the guests had not ac- 
 customed the servants to expect large tips in 
 exchange for information. Anybody could 
 have access to the bulletin board hung in the 
 hall of the hotel, where the numbers of occu- 
 pied rooms were indicated, with the names of 
 their occupants. The inquirer had questioned 
 the porter narrowly but in so charming a man- 
 ner that the man had to reply to insistent and 
 rather indiscreet demands. The visitor, it is 
 true, had alleged that it was a "matter relat- 
 ing to a family secret." And the interest of 
 the person was involved. Also, the greatest 
 
 possible discretion was necessary. A few 
 
 240
 
 PARVATI 241 
 
 more rupees were urged upon the good Mala- 
 bar. 
 
 Well, yes! The two rooms did communi- 
 cate ; certainly, there was something odd about 
 that. Although he had twelve years of serv- 
 ice in Calcutta to his credit, he could not sup- 
 press a little cry of surprise when, this morn- 
 ing, he saw the communicating door between 
 No. 17 and No. 18 was open. The rooms had 
 been given the night before to two travelers 
 who did not know each other. Of course, no- 
 body could teach him anything about the 
 demi-mondaines of the palaces. Now the 
 nextdoor neighbor of the young Frenchman 
 had never stopped at the hotel before. 
 Clearly, however, she was not a professional, 
 but a lady, and was accompanied by her serv- 
 ant. 
 
 "You can judge for yourself, sir. Here she 
 
 is." 
 
 The unknown man quickly hid himself be- 
 hind a pillar in the hall. This happened just 
 as a very beautiful young woman, dressed in 
 the Parsee costume, approached, followed by
 
 242 PARVATI 
 
 an older woman. The action of the stranger 
 had been prompt, but not prompt enough to 
 escape the new arrival. She grew suddenly 
 pale, took her key off its hook, and went hur- 
 riedly to her room. Then, more dead than 
 alive, she threw herself on the divan, murmur- 
 ing: 
 
 "Go quickly, Madavi. You must find 
 him." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In the smoking-room. Hurry! I shall 
 lock myself in, and if they force the door, they 
 will not find me alive." 
 
 She held in her hand a little oval-shaped 
 amber-colored bottle adorned with brilliants 
 and gold tracery. Her eyes were shining with 
 excitement. Her breath came and went rap- 
 idly. 
 
 In a few minutes the painter had joined her. 
 
 "You are here, at last!" she cried. "Oh, 
 save me, my darling 1 You are all that I have 
 in the world. I am followed, tracked down 
 like an animal. A little while ago in the street 
 I was stared at by two individuals dressed as
 
 PARVATI 243 
 
 policemen. Just now I was narrowly watched 
 by a third, who hid himself back of a pillar in 
 the hall. Oh! I am lost, lost!" 
 
 She was sobbing now. Gilbert took her 
 head in his hands, the dear head into whose 
 deep eyes he loved to gaze. He kissed away 
 her tears. He had taken her on his knee and 
 was now comforting her with affectionate 
 words. She instinctively took refuge in his 
 arms, the only shelter left to her. She had a 
 presentiment of the power in this man. He 
 protected her as one would a little child, and 
 this was new to her. Her mother had died 
 when she was very young, so that she had never 
 had the sense of sheltering arms. 
 
 "Oh, keep me safe with you!" she repeated. 
 "I need to be consoled, to be petted and made 
 much of. Who taught you pity? Nobody 
 has ever talked to me as you have just done! 
 I knew nothing about love when I came to you. 
 Sometimes I feel like opening this window 
 and going out on the balcony and telling every- 
 body, 'Well, yes, it is I! Look at me! I am 
 Parvati, the Maharanee of Jeypore. And
 
 244 PARVATI 
 
 here is my lover. I love him and he loves me. 
 We are not afraid of any of you!' Tell me, 
 my Gilbert, shall we do that? I am not 
 afraid, you know. And it would be so funny, 
 so funny!" 
 
 She laughed merrily. Her face was re- 
 laxed, all the tension was gone. And Gilbert, 
 big child that he was, had caught her enthusi- 
 asm. The lilt of her laughter was contagious. 
 
 "My word!" cried the philosopher, discon- 
 certed by the gaiety of his friends. "You are 
 impossible! Death lurks all around you, 
 traps are being laid for you, you are caught in 
 an inextricable net, and you laugh! You 
 think of nothing but your love; but, unfortu- 
 nate souls that you are, you don't know what I 
 have learned from Mrs. Williams. I saw 
 her, at last, at the dispensary. Cheerful news 
 I have for you ! You had better laugh !" 
 
 There was a serious tone in his affectionate 
 voice. His face was drawn with pain. The 
 doctor reported that the maharaja had sent 
 spies everywhere. A trap had been laid and 
 there seemed to be no way of escape.
 
 PARVATI 245 
 
 "Well, let then come!" said Gilbert, coldly. 
 "They will take us together." 
 
 "Yes, together," confirmed Parvati, nestling 
 closer to her lover. "We will never, never 
 leave each other, Gilbert." 
 
 "But, my poor friends," continued Noel, 
 "you don't realize what is before you. Grant- 
 ing that the government of the viceroy is will- 
 ing to let you alone, the millions of subjects of 
 Bhagavat Singh will track you down. I tell 
 you, there 's only one thing to do fly for your 
 lives. I have taken it upon myself to arrange 
 for this without consulting you. I have just 
 left Cook's office. Two steamers leave this 
 evening, one for Rangoon and Singapore, the 
 other, a French boat, for Pondicherry and 
 Colombo. Make your choice. I have re- 
 served places on both in the hope of putting 
 them off the track. I have hired an automo- 
 bile. It will be waiting for you in the inner 
 court of the hotel and will take you to the 
 quay. Once on board, you must not leave 
 your state-rooms before the steamer sails. As 
 for me, I shall stay here a few days after your
 
 246 PARVATI 
 
 departure. To outwit the police, I have 
 bribed some one to be disguised as Parvati. 
 She is about your size and looks like you. 
 This is my affair. If it is necessary, I will 
 play the role of lover your role, Gilbert al- 
 though that is hardly in my line. Come, 
 which is it: Birmania or Ceylon?" 
 
 "Oh, Noel, you are really my brother!" 
 cried Desroches. 
 
 Parvati was standing now. Her face shone 
 with joy and gratitude. She recognized the 
 efficiency, the heroism of Verdier. But she 
 protested against the sacrifices. Were they 
 not unburdening their problem upon him? 
 No! she could not consent to such cowardice 
 on their part, such a risk on his. 
 
 "But if I insist?" said Noel. "I tell you it 
 is the only way to save Gilbert. His danger 
 is as great as yours. I shall be all right; don't 
 worry about me. Once you are gone, I shall 
 drop my mask. They can do nothing to me. 
 I, too, have friends in India powerful, secret 
 friends, who will protect me. But for the 
 present, we must play our roles. Do as I say.
 
 PARVATI 247 
 
 I repeat, in saving yourself, Parvati, you are 
 saving Gilbert." 
 
 She was still wavering, but Gilbert made 
 the decision. 
 
 "We accept," said he. "Friendship alone, 
 friendship that performs miracles, can save us 
 from our enemies. Promise me, Noel, that 
 you will telegraph us at Pondicherry, and that 
 you will join us at Ceylon as soon as the Con- 
 gress at Madras is over. If you do that, we 
 will sail to-night." 
 
 They agreed to everything Noel suggested. 
 They were all beaming with happiness. 
 They arranged a telegraphic code. Then, 
 after charging Gilbert to remain in his bed- 
 room, and advising Parvati to exchange her 
 Parsee costume for a plain dark traveling-suit, 
 European style, he left them. 
 
 Pulleys groaned, cables grew taut, a warn- 
 ing bell was ringing. The siren shrieked: 
 three long wails tore the air. Then slowly 
 the Himalaya, bearing on her prow the enig- 
 matic figurehead of the Messageries Man-
 
 248 PARVATI 
 
 times, moved through the brown waters of the 
 Ganges. The flat river banks slipped away 
 behind the ship. A few first-class passengers 
 stood on the deck for the last view of Calcutta. 
 
 The doors of two cabins opened simultane- 
 ously, revealing two passengers, a man and a 
 woman, both young and smiling. 
 
 "Madavi!" It was a woman's voice speak- 
 ing. A Hindu woman hurried along the cor- 
 ridor. "My green scarf." 
 
 "Green, the color of hope," said a man's 
 voice, vibrant with happiness. Then in a 
 softer tone, with a touch of sadness, "Poor 
 Noel!"
 
 VIII 
 
 \ 
 
 Kali is Time. She devours all things. 
 
 JULES Bois: Visions de I'Inde. 
 
 IT would soon be a month since the lovers 
 had taken refuge in Pondicherry. A let- 
 ter from Mrs. Williams, forwarded by Noel, 
 said that the enemy seemed to have made a 
 truce. The influence of the favorite was in- 
 creasing in Jeypore. To the surprise of 
 everybody, Djalina was pregnant. This cre- 
 ated a great stir. People talked of nothing 
 but her approaching coronation. She was to 
 be the maharanee. No one spoke of Parvati. 
 If by chance her name was mentioned, the 
 person was warned not to do it again. 
 
 For Parvati and Gilbert a veil had fallen 
 over the past. They were indifferent to their 
 surroundings. Neither "Pondy," a dead 
 provincial city, nor its population, tempted 
 their curiosity. For them the universe was 
 
 limited to this little house hidden in palm 
 
 249
 
 250 PARVATI 
 
 trees. Gilbert had had the good fortune to 
 find it. 
 
 It was a little house decorated in the style 
 of the century of the Pompadour. The fur- 
 nishing of the bedroom especially was char- 
 acteristic. Parvati amused herself, one morn- 
 ing, putting up her hair a la Pompadour, 
 powdering it lavishly, and adding a patch of 
 black court-plaster on her dainty chin. Then, 
 walking on tiptoes, and holding her breath, 
 she went to surprise Gilbert in his studio. 
 
 "See," she said, peeping through the cur- 
 tains, "I am Madame Dupleix." 
 
 And she danced the minuet. How they 
 laughed! She had never been so gay. Gil- 
 bert gathered her into his arms like a little 
 child, and put her down on the sofa. 
 
 "Now, then, Madame Dupleix, be good 
 enough to keep still for five minutes. I must 
 get in a few touches just a few corrections, 
 on the right hand." 
 
 "Gladly, Monsieur Watteau, but on one 
 condition." 
 
 "And that is?"
 
 PARVATI 251 
 
 "That you kiss me before and after." 
 
 "Before yes. But after we '11 see. It 
 depends on how good you are." 
 
 After five minutes the painter more than ful- 
 filled his promise. 
 
 "And now, Madame Dupleix, run away and 
 take off that white powder. And then come 
 back to me, because I love you." 
 
 She made her escape with peals of merry 
 laughter, her little slippers tapping on the pol- 
 ished floor. 
 
 Noel's letter of this morning was explicit. 
 The philosopher told the lovers of his plans. 
 Now that the congress was over, he insisted 
 that it was necessary for them to leave Pondi- 
 cherry. They must all three go to Colombo 
 without delay, and then to France. There, 
 alone, could they be really safe. There, alone, 
 could they face a happy future. Perhaps the 
 spirit-of revenge was sleeping in the maharaja, 
 but his minister was on the watch. Since the 
 coronation of Djalina, the popularity of the 
 dewan had been steadily increasing. From 
 him they had everything to fear. As for the
 
 252 PARVATI 
 
 high priest, Khoudarsha, he appeared less 
 dangerous. It was said that he had gone on a 
 pilgrimage to the temples of Coromandel and 
 Malabar. At Jeypore there was no news of 
 him. 
 
 Gilbert reread Noel's letter. Madavi had 
 brought it to him with the breakfast. He 
 frowned. It would be hard to break the news 
 to Parvati. Their time at Pondy had been 
 sweet, fugitive. But he dared not disobey his 
 friend. They must go. 
 
 Parvati was still sleeping. She lay there in 
 the big bed, her breath coming and going with 
 soft regularity. She had the serene expres- 
 sion of a slumbering child. When Gilbert 
 pushed back the mosquito-netting she half 
 opened her eyes and smiled. 
 
 "Up already!" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" said he. "We must dress 
 quickly and get ready." 
 
 An expression of surprise and disquiet 
 arched her eyebrows. Gilbert handed her 
 the envelop bearing the postmark of Madras. 
 
 "Here, read this, little queen."
 
 PAR VAT I 253 
 
 Rubbing her eyes and stretching to make 
 sure she was n't dreaming, she took the letter 
 and read it feverishly. As she gradually un- 
 derstood the plan as developed by Noel, the 
 plan urging them to meet the day after to- 
 morrow at the station in Madura, her face ex- 
 pressed a protest. Finally she burst into tears. 
 
 "Go away? already!" she complained. 
 "Ah, destiny pursues us ! There was too much 
 joy and peace. We Ve been crazy. The day 
 had to come when we should be wanderers 
 again." Then nestling to him, she spoke in a 
 lower tone: "You see, Gilbert, I 'm afraid 
 afraid of the unknown, afraid of to-morrow. 
 Stay here oh, stay here! Telegraph Noel to 
 join us. One month more; that is all I ask, 
 only one month more! We will take the next 
 Messagerie steamer. We must not go now; it 
 would bring bad luck," she pleaded. 
 
 Desroches tried to laugh away her blues. 
 Why should they be anxious over so short a 
 journey? A few hours spent in Madura be- 
 fore sailing for Tuticorin could not upset a 
 couple of tourists like them. Noel would
 
 254 PARVATI 
 
 have arranged everything. Had he not man- 
 aged well, so far? Was it not thanks to his 
 initiative that they had been able to get away 
 from Calcutta? No, no, they must trust Noel. 
 Happy days were coming, happiness that 
 would last always, when they could settle 
 down in his house at Auteuil. There she 
 would always be a queen. 
 
 "Auteuil! Auteuil!" she said to herself. 
 Would they ever be as happy there as in 
 Pondy? 
 
 They followed Verdier's instructions to the 
 letter. Their departure from Pondicherry 
 the next morning aroused no suspicion. 
 Good Mademoiselle de Cloud, their landlady, 
 was sorry to lose the lovers. She attended to 
 their baggage herself, and accompanied Gil- 
 bert and Parvati from Pondy to Villupuram, 
 where they changed cars for Madura. 
 
 There Desroches engaged a room on the sec- 
 ond floor of the station hotel. There was 
 only one night to pass before the arrival of 
 Noel. 
 
 After checking their baggage, they decided
 
 PARVATI 255 
 
 to put off seeing Madura until the next morn- 
 ing. To-day they would drive to Teppa- 
 Kulam to see the temple and the sacred lake. 
 
 The city and its suburbs were animated, and 
 the streets were full of people. The symbolic 
 marriage of Shiva and Minakshi had been 
 celebrated the night before. This is done 
 every year, in the month of April. The cere- 
 mony had taken place, according to the cus- 
 tom, in the gallery of the Prakaram. There, 
 under a canopy made of gilded paper, the 
 Brahmans and the students of Sanskrit had in- 
 toned their chants. With the accompaniment 
 of tom-toms and shrill flutes the emblematic 
 union had been sung. Then the procession 
 moved to an adjacent gallery, to make offer- 
 ings before Shiva and Minakshi. This even- 
 ing all Madura was celebrating. They would 
 bring out the chariots upon which the idols 
 were to be placed and solemnly drawn through 
 the streets. The procession, with its flaring 
 torch-lights, would proceed from the temple 
 to the main streets of the city. Men, women, 
 and children would have their arms filled
 
 256 PARVATI 
 
 with flowers. Boys with their heads shaven 
 at the crown and their hair braided in the 
 Chinese fashion would contend for the pos- 
 session of necklaces and wreaths of flowers. 
 Little girls, naked save for fringed girdles, 
 would -be crowned with carnation wreaths. 
 Proud young girls, with faces and necks and 
 hands stained yellow with the juice of herbs, 
 moved here and there. Some were bargain- 
 ing with squatting perfumers for paste, un- 
 gents, and cosmetics. Others bought sherbet 
 with floating slices of pineapple in it. Above 
 the roofs eagles turned and screamed. 
 
 "Ei! Einipof Lookout!" 
 
 The coachman cracked his whip as the in- 
 quisitive crowd approached to gaze at the for- 
 eign sahibs. The carriage left the city now 
 and entered a dark, shady avenue. Gilbert 
 and Parvati, nestling close to each other, gave 
 themselves up to a mute contemplation of the 
 tropical scenery to which to-morrow they must 
 say good-by forever. They spoke very little 
 only when a new sight interested them: nuts 
 being bruised for the extraction of oil, cocoa-
 
 PARVATI 257 
 
 nuts sliced for drying, or rice being sorted. 
 
 "Sikaraml Faster, f aster ! f ' 
 
 The horses trotted along briskly. Des- 
 roches wished to make a few sketches before 
 sundown. Beggars waiting for their bakshish 
 appealed to him as paintable. 
 
 As they rounded a clump of bamboo, both 
 exclaimed in admiration. Teppa-Kulam, the 
 sacred island, was before them, and upon it 
 a marble pagoda fringed with verdure and 
 palms. The central tower, with its five stories 
 of bas-reliefs topped with a cupola, and the 
 four pavilions at the corners, were reflected 
 in trembling white water. The calm of this 
 vision of another world was disturbed only 
 when century-old carp showed diamond fins 
 above the surface of the water. 
 
 After making a tour around the lake, the 
 carriage stopped before a low building made 
 of marble, red and white like the border of the 
 pond. A diminutive, pyramidal clock-tower 
 surmounting it, recalled the Temple of Subra- 
 manya at Tanjore. There were no windows, 
 unless you count a narrow airhole lugubriously
 
 258 PARVATI 
 
 grilled, like the window of a prison. The 
 porch was dark. It looked more like the en- 
 trance to a wild animal's lair than the thresh- 
 old of a monument fashioned by human hands. 
 But what attracted the eye was the incredible 
 profusion of female statuettes, in compact 
 rows on the roof. It was a veritable army of 
 earthen dolls with clasped hands, and eyes of 
 vermilion. Their expression was uniformly 
 terrible. 
 
 "This is extraordinary!" cried Gilbert. 
 
 "Our Mother Kali's house," murmured the 
 driver fearfully, under his breath. 
 
 Parvati trembled. She remembered the in- 
 struction she had received in childhood, how 
 the Brahmans of Guzerat had secretly initi- 
 ated her in the rites of the frightful ogress. 
 A horrible memory came to her of a new-born 
 babe sacrificed by a white-bearded priest, the 
 altar bathed in blood, the delirium of specta- 
 tors in the prey of furious fanaticism. She 
 saw again the little heart of the innocent vic- 
 tim held aloft in the clawlike hand of the 
 priest.
 
 PARVATI 259 
 
 They entered the cavern, wondering if they 
 could get out again. The coachman, who had 
 left his horses under some sycamore trees, had 
 obligingly offered to serve as guide. They 
 learned from him that, thanks to the energetic 
 intervention of the British Government, child 
 sacrifices have become very rare, the little vic- 
 tims being replaced by lambs or goats. The 
 fresh blood and the cries of the dying creatures 
 are pleasing to the goddess. In the jungle, 
 however, and in certain subterranean temples, 
 the Hindu assured them that human sacrifices 
 still occur. Mothers still push their fanati- 
 cism so far as to be able to deliver their own 
 children to the priests. 
 
 Parvati and Gilbert breathed more freely 
 when they had come away from the altar. 
 Desroches had chanced to meet a fakir shod in 
 hobnail clouts. The man was going on foot 
 to the seven pagodas of Madras. In exchange 
 for a little money the pilgrim, a voluntary 
 martyr, consented to pose. 
 
 Parvati, who wished to see the other side of 
 the temple, had gone along with the guide.
 
 26o PARVATI 
 
 They made the tour of the edifice, and pene- 
 trated a little alley, where twenty natives 
 formed a ring around a blind dancer. Par- 
 vati's curiosity made her try to talk with them, 
 but she soon had to give it up, for the Tamil 
 language is totally different from the Hin- 
 dustani. 
 
 "What are they saying?" she asked her 
 guide in English. 
 
 "They are consulting her, and she answers 
 them." 
 
 "On what subject?" 
 
 "She knows the future." 
 
 "How is that? She is blind!" 
 
 "She sees with her hands, by touching the 
 face. She has announced strange things that 
 came true." And solemnly the man added: 
 "Vishnu speaks through her mouth. We re- 
 spect her. She is a saint." 
 
 The dancer was seated on the edge of a wall. 
 She was speaking. In spite of her great age, 
 the vestal guardian of the temple wore the 
 classic costume of her profession: a choli, a 
 sort of jacket with short sleeves, satin bloomers,
 
 PARVATI 261 
 
 a bodice of muslin held in with a sash, and 
 clinking gold amulets. She was telling the 
 fortune of a young man. He knelt before her, 
 submitting with good grace to her facial mas- 
 sage. 
 
 "A good nose a little long," she said, "but 
 firm. You will marry the daughter of an inn- 
 keeper. I see her. She is plump, with big 
 feet. You will be rich. Many children. 
 But she will make you unhappy, for she has a 
 bad disposition." 
 
 "Very well I I will beat her," said the 
 young man, with resolution. 
 
 Shouts of laughter. The old woman con- 
 tinued, stroking the cheeks of her patient: 
 
 "Ah! ah! you are tough-skinned. What a 
 jaw! You will live longer than she; but you 
 will grow thin." 
 
 Laughter again from the crowd. 
 
 "What have you to say to me?" inquired 
 Parvati. Little by little, she had advanced to 
 the first row. "Can you tell me 
 
 "Kneel down," commanded the prophetess. 
 
 Her rough hands felt the satin skin of the
 
 262 PARVATI 
 
 princess. Contact with its fine, aristocratic 
 texture made her tremble. 
 
 "You are noble, beautiful! Loved, very 
 much loved! And you love, too!" 
 
 She wrinkled her eyebrows. 
 
 "You have suffered, suffered a great deal! 
 You have wept. But now you are happy." 
 The hand slipped from the temple to the ear. 
 The blind woman started, and uttered a cry. 
 "Ah! the ears! Beware of the itediki, my 
 daughter ! It will betray you ; and through it, 
 you will meet great peril!" 
 
 "The itediki?" chaffed Parvati, upon whom 
 the unusual prophecy of the old woman made 
 little impression. "But I don't wear them, 
 and probably never shall. Look!" 
 
 And to the silent onlookers she showed her 
 ears, innocent of rings or pendants. 
 
 The old woman shook her head. 
 
 "That does n't matter!" she went on. "Be- 
 ware of the itediki! Beware!" And sud- 
 denly, her face grown grave, she closed her 
 lips, and would say nothing more.
 
 IX - 
 
 From the dark depths of the temple, distant music 
 comes to me, while my hands are rilled with strange treas- 
 ure : rolling of tom-toms, the plaint of sacred conches, and 
 bagpipes. 
 
 PIERRE LOTI: Ulnde sans les Anglais. 
 
 A FREIGHT-TRAIN bound for Tuti- 
 -^A. corin passed whistling through the sta- 
 tion. In the distance, among the palms, the 
 lights of Madura gleamed and twinkled. 
 
 From the platform Gilbert and Parvati 
 watched it disappear into the night. For a 
 long time their eyes followed the little lantern 
 at the rear of the last car. The train was 
 moving southward to the South, where they 
 would be to-morrow, sheltered from persecu- 
 tion and on the way to sure happiness. 
 
 "To-morrow," said the painter, tenderly. 
 "Do you know where we shall be to-morrow, 
 little queen? Oh! When I think that we 
 shall have left your country, that with Noel 
 
 263
 
 264 PARVATI 
 
 we shall be floating far out in the Gulf of Man- 
 naar toward Ceylon, the enchantress when I 
 think of all that, my heart thumps as if it 
 would break!" 
 
 "Who knows!" she murmured. And she 
 added, half seriously, half laughingly: "Lis- 
 ten, darling: do you want to please me? 
 There is something I have wanted to ask you 
 for a long time. Until now I have not dared 
 to speak of it, for fear of saddening you. We 
 are not immortal, alas! And the hour will 
 sound, one day, when we must return to the 
 earth. If I die before you " 
 
 "Oh! don't say that!" protested Gilbert, 
 grief-stricken. "Why have dark thoughts 
 when we are about to find freedom?" 
 
 "Let me finish, Gilbert. Call it a caprice if 
 you like, but it is a caprice that is dear to me. 
 If I should happen to die before you, prom- 
 ise me, swear to me that you will carry out my 
 
 vows." 
 
 "Please, darling!" 
 
 "However I may have sinned against our 
 gods and the sacred Brahman faith, I remem-
 
 PAR VAT I 265 
 
 her my origin and what I owe to my ancestors. 
 If I die" 
 
 "But you know well enough I could not sur- 
 vive you!" 
 
 "But you must, if you love me. The being 
 I adore here below must fulfil my supreme 
 vows, my last request." 
 
 Her tense voice, with its soft caressing in- 
 flections, implied a command. 
 
 "I desire that my body be placed upon a 
 pyre, and cremated according to the rites of 
 my race. But, as I recognize that my remains 
 are unworthy to be mingled with the sacred 
 waters of our Father Ganges, or our Mother 
 Jumna, you will scatter my ashes to the four 
 winds of heaven without preserving a particle. 
 There! swear, if you love me!" 
 
 "It is childish, my sweetheart!" 
 
 "One more reason for satisfying me." 
 
 "Well, then, I swear it. But you must be 
 good enough to chase these ideas out of your 
 brain; they will only spoil our last evening in 
 India." 
 
 Happy now, as if relieved of a care that had
 
 266 PARVATI 
 
 weighed upon her, she smiled at her lover as 
 he pressed her to him passionately. They 
 went up the little wooden staircase and sat 
 down side by side on the terrace. Desroches 
 lighted a cigarette, and before they slept they 
 drank deeply of the infinite calm of the tropi- 
 cal night. 
 
 At their feet the country lay vibrant with 
 the violin-like music of crickets a symphony 
 full of the tremolo that sang of the joy of liv- 
 ing. 
 
 In the distance, beyond black sycamore 
 trees, yellow torches flared. Sounding tom- 
 toms and gongs preluded the nocturnal proces- 
 sion which in a few hours would bring thou- 
 sands of fanatics to their knees, or under the 
 wheels of chariots. 
 
 Desroches arose, suppressing a yawn. 
 
 "Are you coming?" said he. "It is late." 
 
 "A little longer," she begged. "It is our 
 last evening in India; you said so yourself, 
 a while ago. I love this marvelous night. 
 And, then, Madavi has not come back yet.
 
 PARVATI 267 
 
 You go along; I will wait for her to undress 
 
 me." 
 
 He kissed her at the back of her neck. She 
 trembled. His caress always stirred her. 
 
 Left alone, she leaned back in her rocking- 
 chair, her nostrils dilated with the night air. 
 The odor of cocoanut, and the damp, sweet 
 smell of the turf told of the prodigious rich- 
 ness of this earth, recalled to her evenings in 
 early childhood when she used to play in the 
 mountains of Guzerat. She loved the dank 
 aroma of burning brush, to which Europeans 
 can never become accustomed. Everything 
 conspired this evening to evoke in her regret 
 for the past, and for the present to which to- 
 morrow she must say good-by without hope of 
 return. The minutes slipped by. Then an 
 hour. 
 
 In the distance, the sacred fete turbulent, 
 popular was being organized in the darkness 
 of a propitious night. And Parvati pondered. 
 A mad, irresistible desire seized her to mingle 
 with the crowd. She wanted to see the ele-
 
 268 PARVATI 
 
 phants, and hear the chanting of the priests. 
 Oh! it would be good to be lost for once, for- 
 gotten in this wave of humanity, jostling el- 
 bows with these bronzed people 1 After all, 
 they were her brothers. Yes, to share the 
 ecstatic joy of the faithful, to follow them, to 
 prostrate herself before the sacred symbols, the 
 crude fetishes that -were naive, no doubt, but 
 whose tangible form veiled the highest of 
 philosophies. 
 
 The sound of steps was heard. It was Ma- 
 davi who was coming up. 
 
 "How late you are, my nurse!" 
 
 "Oh! if you knew," replied the Hindu 
 woman, panting, "if you knew how fast I ran, 
 all the way from the temple! But I wanted 
 to see. It is magnificent. The procession 
 was forming more than five thousand Brah- 
 mans. There are twenty elephants, and ban- 
 ners, and torches, and music. The treasures 
 of the goddess are on view. The priests have 
 placed them in the gallery of the Prakaram. 
 You cannot imagine the beauty of it all. It is 
 enough to dazzle your eyes."
 
 PARVATI 269 
 
 "Really!" said Parvati, suddenly interested. 
 "You saw the jewels?" 
 
 The old woman nodded her head. Her 
 eyes shone. "Gold, diamonds, rubies, emer- 
 alds, turquoises, and pearls! The ransom of 
 all India if she wished to shake herself free 
 from the foreigner!" 
 
 "Oh! how I should love to see it!" mur- 
 mured Parvati. 
 
 Her heart beat quickly. There was hum- 
 ming in her ears. Eagerness brought the 
 color to her satin cheeks. 
 
 "Listen, Madavi," she went on. "If you 're 
 willing, perhaps we could go back there to- 
 gether? Just for an hour! We could put on 
 veils. Gilbert is in bed; he is asleep. He 
 would not know we had gone. Tell me, will 
 you?" 
 
 The nurse hesitated. A sense of responsi- 
 bility frightened her a little. Was it not folly 
 to go about alone in the night among these 
 fanatics, to expose themselves to the bustling 
 crowd? They might be hurt, even trampled 
 upon! And, then, Parvati might be recog-
 
 270 PAR VAT I 
 
 nized, denounced, captured. That was too 
 great a price to pay for a few minutes of pleas- 
 ure. It called for reflection. 
 
 But, with pretty obstinacy, the princess came 
 back to her idea. 
 
 "For one thing," she declared, "we must be 
 prudent. We will keep away from the densest 
 part of the crowd. As for our being recog- 
 nized behind our Persian veils, I defy any- 
 body!" 
 
 And then with a little mocking laugh, 
 pointing to her ears, she added: "Don't be 
 afraid, nurse. As long as my ears are inno- 
 cent of pendants, no danger can threaten me. 
 The fortune-teller told me that yesterday at 
 Teppa-Kulam. It is by the itediki that I 
 shall die. And, as I am not wearing any, I 
 am immortal. Do you see? Now, then, 
 come! We must hurry!" 
 
 When the two women left the station, Des- 
 roches was sleeping soundly under his mos- 
 quito-net. As a measure of precaution, and so 
 that he should not worry about their short ab-
 
 PARVATI 271 
 
 sence, Parvati had pinned a note to the net- 
 ting. The few scrawled words would calm 
 Gilbert if he should waken and miss them. 
 
 They hurried downstairs. The station plat- 
 form was almost deserted. One of the em- 
 ployees, a watchman at a switch, looked at 
 them with indifference as they passed him. 
 They found an exit through a door that had 
 only to be pushed softly to make it open. In 
 the square, with the same spontaneous gesture, 
 they lowered their veils. Dressed in the In- 
 dian costume and with their faces hidden from 
 indiscreet eyes, they could mingle with the 
 crowd without risking anything. 
 
 They took the avenue called Permal-Kohil. 
 It was a wide highway leading to the lake of 
 the same name. On their way they passed the 
 church belonging to the Catholic Mission. It 
 was the rich Brahman quarter. Parvati and 
 Madavi hurriedly traversed the street called 
 Massis, which cuts the avenue Permal-Kohil 
 at right angles. A fountain is erected there, 
 the gift of a rich lady of Madura. The
 
 272 PARVATI 
 
 monument depicts the gods Subramanya and 
 Ganesha beside Minakshi, together with their 
 symbols. 
 
 When they reached the street of the West- 
 ern Tower, at the end of which rises the first 
 wing of the temple, their eyes were attracted 
 toward a troop of Nirvanists grouped around 
 a little votive altar dedicated to Shiva. 
 
 The fanatic followers of Kali were bathing 
 the altar with blood, the altar that had been 
 previously decorated by the women with inter- 
 laced garlands of jasmine and carnations. 
 Several of these Nirvanists had had their 
 cheeks newly slashed with sabers. Others had 
 little steel darts sticking in the muscles of 
 their backs. Horrible torn places in the flesh 
 marked where more darts had been. Par- 
 vati turned away in disgust. Crossing the 
 porch of the Western Tower, they left behind 
 them the row of sycamore trees that outlined 
 the first court of the temple, a court decorated 
 with the colors of Vishnu. Then they fol- 
 lowed an alley planted with banana trees, and 
 leading to the southern gate. The gate was
 
 PARVATI 273 
 
 flanked by two colossal stone elephants. 
 Crowds of people had already found places 
 upon the terraced steps around the lotus pond. 
 Red and white lights illuminated the palms; 
 and above all was the silvery moonlight. 
 
 There was a surging throng around the en- 
 trance of Peret Hall, where sacred parrots 
 screamed in their cages. With considerable 
 trouble, the two women found their way 
 among the pilgrims at the gate to the covered 
 gallery. 
 
 "Where are the treasures of Minakshi?" de- 
 manded Parvati of her companion. 
 
 "There, my mistress, at the center of the 
 Prakaram." 
 
 Madavi drew the princess toward the sec- 
 ond inner aisle of the temple. Beyond was an 
 immense hall. Ordinarily, the place was 
 dark, even in the afternoon; but to-night it 
 blazed with torches. 
 
 They took their places in the long line of 
 people waiting a turn to approach the table 
 where the fairy jewels were exhibited. The 
 space immediately around the table was roped
 
 274 PARVATI 
 
 off, and three Brahmans, with long white 
 beards, stood guard over the amazing treasure 
 said to belong to the goddess. 
 
 Regretfully Parvati tore herself away from 
 the fascination of the jewels. She followed 
 her nurse toward the altar of the Constella- 
 tions of the Planets. This place exhaled an 
 agreeable odor of mellow fruit. An old 
 priest continually sprayed the stones of its 
 base with perfumed oils. 
 
 After a glance at a thousand columns en- 
 veloped in shadows, they came out by the door 
 of Lakshmi. Beggars crowded about crip- 
 ples and blind men, or simple fakirs, breathing 
 a benediction or a curse, according as people 
 threw them a coin or ignored them. And the 
 two women emptied their purses into dirty 
 grasping hands. 
 
 "Don't forget me, our good maharanee!" 
 said a nasal voice. 
 
 Parvati turned around, white with fear. 
 Somebody had recognized her in spite of her 
 veil I 
 
 In a state of panic, she was about to take
 
 PARVATI 275 
 
 flight, when the nurse placed a hand on her 
 arm. With a smile, Madavi pointed to a 
 poor, humpbacked beggar. A miserable fel- 
 low he was, cross-eyed and pitifully thin. 
 
 "Alas!" sighed the princess, "you come too 
 late. I have given away all I had." 
 
 "May your cursed life pass out like a dog's !" 
 he muttered. He hobbled away with the leer 
 of a hyena on his face. 
 
 "Shall we go home now?" suggested Ma- 
 davi. 
 
 And Parvati answered, breathlessly, 
 
 "Yes. That man frightens me."
 
 X 
 
 You have been a sacrilegious interpreter of your god, 
 whose eternal integrity you have compromised by your 
 treason. All perjury diminishes in the measure of the 
 promise betrayed, the very being of him who accomplishes 
 or inspires it. 
 
 VILLIERS DE L'lSLE-ADAM: Akedysseril. 
 
 "T? K/ do! tin! tchar! panch! tche! sat!" 
 -1 ' They counted up to seven, the reveal- 
 ing numbers, dear to divinity. Their muscles 
 were tense. They panted under the effort they 
 were making. Their splendid bronze tor- 
 sos were dripping with sweat, but the wheels 
 were deep in the ruts, and the chariot refused 
 to move. It was as though the solid weight 
 had taken root in the clay. Broken sea-shells 
 and cocoanuts were scattered about under the 
 wheels in the hope that they would yield to the 
 strength of a thousand strong arms. The 
 whole procession of priests, torch-bearers, mu- 
 sicians, and dancers was in collision, due to 
 
 276
 
 PAR VAT I 277 
 
 the sudden halt; and it moved back now, 
 menaced in front by the retreat of the ele- 
 phants, caparisoned and groomed as if for the 
 hunt. But there was no disorder, for this in- 
 cident occurred each year. A few hundred 
 more human arms were added to the task. 
 Would their strength be sufficient? 
 
 An appeal was made for levers and cables. 
 Twenty volunteers straddled tree-trunks that 
 had been cut obliquely at one extremity. 
 With a mighty and united push, the vehicle 
 was released. Then enthusiasm knew no 
 bounds. The crowd shouted like barbarians; 
 the tom-toms and the flutes and the bagpipes 
 made a delirious din. 
 
 Between a double line of prostrate believers 
 the chariots advanced. Ten youths with 
 trumpets, grouped upon a platform, blew a 
 hollow, deafening bellow announcing the pass- 
 age of Shiva, the Destroyer, and Minakshi, his 
 preferred bride. The previous evening, be- 
 fore taking down the canopied sheds that 
 had sheltered the rolling edifices, slaves had 
 greased the hubs with oil. Leather thongs
 
 278 PARVATI 
 
 had been tested, and reinforced by experts. 
 The harness of the monstrous wooden horses 
 placed in front of the chariots, had been re- 
 painted and gilded. Silken purple curtains 
 concealed the throne of the idol. Garlands of 
 yellow and white flowers were hung about the 
 immense vehicles. 
 
 The two women had been caught in the 
 crowd and forced, in spite of themselves, to 
 the front row among the spectators. From a 
 distance, and not without trepidation, they 
 watched the formidable structures approach- 
 ing them. Closely pressed against each other 
 and with throbbing hearts, they contemplated 
 the dazzling vision. 
 
 A long, low murmur suddenly stirred the 
 Brahmans and the guards whose powerful 
 arms dragged the first carriage. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Parvati. 
 
 The nurse leaned forward and saw two 
 frightfully mangled bodies being picked out 
 from under the front wheels. 
 
 "Fanatics," she answered, "who have thrown 
 themselves under the chariot of Shiva."
 
 PARVATI 279 
 
 "It is horrible!" stammered the princess, 
 half-fainting. 
 
 The bodies had been carried away. The 
 procession had not been interrupted. But the 
 priests, in honor of the voluntary martyrs, in- 
 toned the hymn of Yajur-Veda: 
 
 "Oh, Brahma! Splendid sun, be willing to hear our vows! 
 
 Let our vile bodies be scattered by the breath of the winds, 
 
 But let our souls be saved ! 
 
 We have committed sins without number. 
 
 Wash us clean of impurity and crime. 
 
 Make us fit to inhabit your celestial empire. 
 
 Oh, Brahma! Show us the way to felicity!" 
 
 The solid wheels, still disgusting with blood 
 and spattered brains, turned slowly, creaking 
 and groaning. Directly in front of the char- 
 iots marched the great Brahmans, delegates 
 appointed by the rajas of different independent 
 states. Grouped about them were throngs of 
 Nirvanists, bearing torches. Their eyes were 
 the haggard eyes of beings possessed. 
 
 Parvati, gently elbowing aside her neighbor 
 toward the left, a woman of the people cov- 
 ered with jewels and silver chains, leaned for-
 
 280 PARVATI 
 
 ward, dumb with an irresistible curiosity. 
 She could not take her eyes from the advanc- 
 ing group that was only a few steps away from 
 her now. The Brahmans filing by some old, 
 others young and unshaven were all grave, 
 austere, inscrutable. The tallest of them, a 
 man with a snowy beard, appeared now in the 
 first row, only a step ahead of those who were 
 dragging the chariot of Shiva. And with a 
 slight, involuntary movement, he turned his 
 head toward the veiled woman who was such 
 a contrast to the humble crowd about her. 
 
 The princess met the cold, inquiring look. 
 A scream of agony and fear strangled her. 
 She had recognized her enemy Khoudarsha, 
 the high priest of Jeypore. She tried to run 
 away, and in her frantic struggle to slip 
 through the crowd her veil caught on the 
 itediki of her neighbor. The tulle had re- 
 vealed her face in the torchlight as the veil 
 was torn away. The venerable priest had seen 
 the stricken face, its eyes wide with terror. 
 With one bound he leaped beyond the torch- 
 bearers, and seized the unfortunate woman.
 
 PARVATI 281 
 
 He crushed her to her knees, spitting curses in 
 her face: 
 
 "You dog! To deny your caste! Sacri- 
 lege! Prostitute among pariahs! He has 
 driven you from his bed, then, your foreigner 
 he who insults our gods!" And to the 
 fanatics, in a thundering voice : "You see her, 
 this woman, this impostor, this courtezan? 
 She was a queen, the descendant of Surya the 
 Radiant. She threw aside everything race, 
 religion, scepter, country for the infamous 
 couch of a foreigner!" 
 
 "Mercy! Pity!" cried Madavi in supplica- 
 tion. "She is so young! She did not know!" 
 
 But already a dozen Nirvanists were sur- 
 rounding the two women, while the crowd, 
 now out of hand, demanded, 
 
 "Her name! Tell us her name!" 
 
 The high priest, placing his hands to his 
 mouth to make a trumpet, shouted : "Parvati, 
 Maharanee of Jeypore!" 
 
 The crowd was clamoring. The chariot 
 was upon them. 
 
 "She must die, curse her! She must die!"
 
 282 PARVATI 
 
 There was a struggle among the Brahmans. 
 The princess disappeared, roughly carried 
 away by twenty arms. A cry of agony. The 
 sound of bones and flesh being crushed. 
 
 And Shiva the Invisible passed by, be- 
 hind purple silk curtains.
 
 XI 
 
 MRS. WILLIAMS'S inspection was fin- 
 ished. In the main ward of the In- 
 dian Civil Hospital of Bombay, she was 
 giving final instructions to the surgical nurses, 
 when a boy all out of breath pushed his way 
 through the group of white-uniformed attend- 
 ants. With a respectful bow, he handed Mrs. 
 Williams a letter. 
 
 "What does this mean?" asked the doctor, 
 with a little frown. "The superintendent left 
 strict orders that we were not to be disturbed." 
 
 "Excuse me," answered the native servant, 
 with a smile that showed his white teeth, "but 
 this letter was given me just now by the drago- 
 man of the French Consul. It arrived from 
 Marseilles this morning in the pouch. It is 
 urgent. The consul insisted upon its being 
 delivered at once." 
 
 "That was quite right," said the Irish- 
 woman. "Give it to me. Thank you." 
 
 283
 
 284 PARVATI 
 
 With feverish fingers she broke the seal of 
 the envelop. At first, as she rapidly scanned 
 its contents, her face expressed immense sur- 
 prise, then anxiety, and finally increasing agi- 
 tation. She went pale, put her hand to her 
 heart, and, overcome by emotion, sank into a 
 chair. 
 
 "What is the matter?" Miss Gannett 
 showed affection that was more than profes- 
 sional solicitude. She was a young Phila- 
 delphian who, with the devotion of a tireless 
 apostle, had been nursing cholera cases for 
 nearly three years in the Indian Civil Hos- 
 pital. 
 
 "Nothing," replied Mrs. Williams. "Or 
 something extraordinary that I cannot tell 
 you. I mean it is a secret. Imagine getting 
 a letter from a dear friend whom for two 
 months you have believed to be dead ! dead, 
 through a terrible event! If I were not sure, 
 as I am, about the handwriting and the au- 
 thenticity of the postmarks, I should believe 
 myself the victim of an hallucination. But 
 there is no doubt about it. This letter is from
 
 PARVATI 285 
 
 my friend. And this friend, thank God, has 
 escaped death in such an incredible way, such 
 a miraculous way, that it makes me tremble 
 still. Excuse me now. In a little while I 
 will see you in the superintendent's office. 
 Then, if you like, we will go through the con- 
 tagious wing, where you are the good fairy." 
 
 Left alone in the white ward where the sun 
 was streaming in, hot and golden, the vice- 
 president of the Lady Dufferin Dispensary re- 
 read the strange letter that had come to her 
 from Europe across the seas : 
 
 Dear Mrs. Williams: 
 
 It is with gratitude that I write you the first letter 
 from the country that is from now on to be my one and 
 only homeland France. As I write, I see your dear 
 face, and I think of the good you did me when I was the 
 queen powerful, respected, feted. To-day, I am none 
 of that just a woman in love who will become to-mor- 
 row the wife of a painter of genius. To my family, to 
 the friends I left in the sacred land of my ancestors, to 
 India, to everybody excepting you, my darling, I am dead, 
 crushed under the wheels of the chariot of Shiva. There 
 is no Parvati. She who used to bear that name, who used 
 to look proudly at the sun, her Rajput ancestor, is no 
 more. Through her willingness to cross the black ocean,
 
 286 PAR VAT I 
 
 she lost her caste. Om Brahma kripai kevolom! Of all 
 that she was in the past, slipping away in the shadows of 
 her memory, there remains only her friendship for you. 
 When, on your way to London and Dublin, you see her 
 again next autumn in Paris, you will not be able to recog- 
 nize the Hindu girl, proud and orthodox, in this converted 
 Christian, who is now humble and who sees clearly. The 
 last bond that tied her to her religion, to her gods, and 
 to her legends will be broken. Love accomplishes this 
 miracle love and death! 
 
 To your loyal and tested friendship, I owe it to explain 
 that there was a miracle, a double miracle. Ah! my 
 friend, I tremble still, and I wonder I who write this 
 letter, here beside my beloved Gilbert in the drawing- 
 room of a Marseilles hotel, a step away from the turbu- 
 lent and animated Canebiere whether all I have lived 
 through has not been a dream, or rather, a nightmare! 
 
 Night had fallen. After the furious clamoring of a 
 delirious mob, silence had come. I lay almost inanimate 
 on the ground. I distinguished the confused music of 
 tom-toms, gongs, and bells; the horrible, devastating ma- 
 chine withdrawing toward other crimes, new intoxication ! 
 Near by, a white form, bloody, shapeless. Poor Madavi ! 
 She did not want to survive me. It was she who, thrust- 
 ing me from under murderous wheels, sacrificed her life 
 to save mine. I did not move. I seemed not to feel any- 
 thing. I fainted. Then I waited minutes that seemed 
 centuries. I was waiting for the final blow to crush me. 
 Then voices. Two Nirvanists were approaching us with 
 soft padded footsteps. They were coming to carry away
 
 PAR VAT I 287 
 
 our bodies and burn them on a pyre, according to the 
 rites. Thus I saw the remains of my beloved nurse dis- 
 appear. My turn came. 
 
 Now the miracle. The fanatic who held me in his 
 arms lingered. He meant to put a greater distance be- 
 tween him and his companions. At a turn in the road he 
 suddenly went more slowly, and stopped. The moon was 
 shining. I opened my eyes and stifled a cry. 
 
 "Kousha!" 
 
 The man's face lighted up with joy, and he put a finger 
 to his lips. I understood. Endless wandering through" 
 palms toward the station, where instinctively my rescuer 
 was taking me. You may guess the rest, my friend. But 
 what you can never imagine is the night we passed Gil- 
 bert, the pariah, and I hearing every sound, the slightest 
 indication that could make us think that the enemy and 
 what an enemy ! was on our trail. How far away it all 
 seems to me, now that I am safe in this hospitable land 
 of liberty, safe with the love I have chosen ! 
 
 "But Kousha?" you ask. It is true, I have not told you 
 his story, how this admirable creature figured in my final 
 escape. Chance rather, the divine intervention of the 
 Christ in whom I now believe brought him to Madura 
 with his brother Nirvanists, the terrible P'aousigars. In 
 a twinkling he had understood all: the anathema of the 
 great priest Khoudarsha, the delirious mysticism of the 
 Shaivas, and the necessity, if he was going to save me, of 
 showing himself among the most fanatic of my assailants. 
 Good Kousha's fate is now the same as ours: I am no 
 longer Maharanee, and he is no longer Pariah. Gilbert
 
 2 88 PARVATI 
 
 has him as his inseparable valet, and he will pose for our 
 next canvas for the autumn Salon in Paris. 
 
 Good-by, darling! I am not selfish in my love. I 
 think of you tenderly as the most generous heart I knew 
 in what I call my other life. It seems as though I had 
 been born a few hours ago, and I am so happy that I ask 
 myself whether the past really existed. 
 
 The doctor smiled, then sighed deeply. 
 Before her wet eyes was the image of the 
 dear and glorious soul that had illuminated 
 so ephemerally, alas! her early married 
 life, whose body rested back there under a 
 South African tumulus in the Transvaal in the 
 little cemetery of Bloemfontein, beside those 
 of other British heroes fallen on the field of 
 honor. Her lips trembled in a mute prayer. 
 
 Then, straightening up, she moved with a 
 firm step toward the contagious ward. 
 
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