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. THE END UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 001 112085 4