That Eurasian

On the southern coast of France, upon ground overlooking one of the beautiful bays of the Mediterranean, stood a chateau. It was nearly a mile distant from the coast, the land gradually descending toward the blue waters of the sea. The main and center part of the building was a relic of the ancient feudal times when strength and massiveness were characteristic of the architecture. The additions had been constructed from time to time, to suit the taste and convenience of the different owners of the property. The old park impressed one with a feeling of reverence for its solidity and quaintness, while the more modern parts added beauty and grace, making the whole consonant with the present age in comfort, luxury and utility. The grounds were spacious. An immense enclosure with its velvet green verdure, was broken here and there by patriarchal trees, of great variety. It was a park of orchards and gardens for use as well as beauty. A broad avenue, lined on either side with trees and trellised vines, led down to the sea where pleasure boats and yachts were moored. This avenue, with the blue waters as a background, formed a most enchanting view from the upper balcony of the castle. The quiet stillness of the place was its greatest charm. In the days of summer there was scarcely a sound to be heard save that of the bees and insects among the flowers, the songs of the birds in the trees, the gentle murmur of the fountains or the sound like that from invisible æolian harps, as the light breezes played among the branches. Occasionally a storm from the loud resounding sea added grandeur to the place. The drives, the walks, every tree and flowering shrub showed the careful attention of the gardeners. Every visitor was in raptures over the beauty of the place, and could say with truth, “If there is a paradise on earth it is here.”

The interior of the chateau corresponded with its surroundings. The halls were adorned with solid, grand antique furniture, statuary, and paintings, the accumulation of centuries, acquired by the wealth and taste of a long line of the ancestry of the present occupants, while the rest of the building was embellished in more modern style, showing excellent judgment and culture. The library was one of which a nation might be proud, composed of almost priceless old books, and the best of more modern authors. In all the apartments there seemed to be nothing wanting and not a thing too much. There was no crowding or confusion, nothing cheap or tawdry, but all in harmony with the massive building, and its noble park, showing the culture of its possessors.

The present occupants, a gentleman and his wife, of excellent lineage, of wealth, education, and most refined tastes, one could scarcely tell whether they were made for the place or it was made for them, as both and all were in such delightful harmony. They often had guests, but of the most select kind. There were several beautiful children, of whom I was one or would have been, that is, if this fancy picture was a reality and I had had a choice in the matter of my birth, those would have been my parents and there the place where I would have been born if such events could have been decided by myself. Had the subject been referred to me, I would have been very judicious in the choice of my parents, for it is better than any amount of wealth to have a good father and mother. Alas! and more’s the pity that so few of us are consulted about our birth, the most important event in our lives; we are brought into life without consideration, and, impelled by fate, are thrown upon our destinies for good or evil, and yet made responsible for what results from our inherited tendencies and circumstances.

Some one, I think a Frenchman, has said that we should select our parents with the greatest possible judgment. I thoroughly agree with him. So much depends on this, yet, as I have said, since very few of us are consulted about this matter, we have to accept the situation, whether it be in a palace or a hut. There is no use opposing the inevitable, still I cannot help finding fault in that we are made responsible for much that we could not in any possible way prevent. Many a one is environed, burdened and crushed by some hereditary impedimenta, and is blamed and cursed through life for that about which he was not consulted and from which he could not escape.

Before the law and human judgment all people are declared equal. Are they? Should not allowance be made for pangs of nature and taints of blood? Yet whatever men may do, I have faith that, if God is our judge, He will regard us for what we might have been as well as by what we are.

As might be supposed, the above is only a flight of fancy. Descending, I will now enter upon the real story of my existence.

My first consciousness, my very first idea or remembrance of anything that I can recall, was on a hot sultry night in the city of Lucknow, in the year 18––, but no matter as to the exact date, for I do not know how old I was then, and do not now know the year in which I was born. I was awakened by the clinking sound of something that caught my ear; then turning my eyes I saw a number of beautiful round glittering things fall into my mother’s lap as she sat upon a charpoy. As I recall the scene, I think there must have been several hundred of these shining pieces. It is strange what an attraction there is in children for metal money, though they know nothing of its value. Is there not a latent love for it in them from a former birth as an inheritance?—but let that rest for the present.

My eyes then went to a man, as I now can designate him, for then it did not seem to me that I was conscious of him any more than that he was a thing of life, a being or something very indefinite, beyond my comprehension. I years after, recalled him as an Englishman, rather tall, of blonde complexion, with a cleanly-shaved face, except a heavy well-trimmed moustache. What struck me was the whiteness of his face and hands, so that I took him for a bhut or ghost, and quaking with fear gazed at him.

He was standing close to the charpoy looking down upon my mother, into whose lap he had thrown the shining things that I afterward learned were rupees and new, just brought from the treasury. After the clinking of the rupees I heard him say in Hindustani: “I must leave you, pyari. I am going to Wilayat, home, and may never see you again?”

“Jaoge! mujh ko chordoge?” said my mother, with trembling lips and a heart-breaking tone. “You are going and will leave me?” she repeated again, so plaintively. “Yes,” he said, “I have got leave and I must go. I have brought you five hundred rupees and hope you will be happy and take good care of the children. I have come to bid you good-bye.” Upon this my mother clasped her hands over her head and bent forward with a wail of anguish that was heart-rending. Amid her tears she exclaimed: “You always told me that I was your bibi, your own dear wife, that you would never leave me, and now you are going and will throw me away as the skin of the mango you have eaten, or as an old coat that you have worn out. You will leave me and go to Wilayat, where you will marry a young mem sahib as all the sahibs do, and she will never know that I am your wife. O Allah! Why did I ever listen to your soft words and become your pyari? Pyari, I have been and true to you in all things. Will you go away and leave me to be called a kusbi by all these people? O Allah! ya Shaitan! why am I thus to be accursed?”

Then she swayed back and forth, wailing as if her heart was breaking. She piteously asked, “Why not take me with you, as you often said you would?”

“That would be impossible,” he replied. “You would not be happy among my people in a strange land; you are of another caste or race, and it would only make you unhappy to go there.”

“I have been your beloved wife, your pyari bibi here, why could I not be there also? I have lived here all these years, discarded and despised by my people because I was a sahib’s aurat, woman, but I loved you, I lived upon the thought of you. The very sound of your footsteps thrilled me with delight. I have been good enough for you as your wife through all these years, for you have called me your pyari bibi, your darling wife, a thousand times, and now you will cast me off and get an English mem sahib. Allah! Allah! have mercy upon me! O my children, my children! They are your children. You were my God. I worshiped you when they were conceived. My love and adoration of you impressed your features upon them. They are more yours than mine, for I gave them no thought of myself but all of you. They are yours, of your own flesh and blood. How can you forsake them? How can you be so cruel to them and me?”