That Eurasian. By Aleph Bey

Preface

. In a letter accompanying the manuscript of the following book were these paragraphs: " Some years ago, while traveling in Southern France, I met with an accident that nearly ended my life. I was tenderly nursed to health in a family for which I formed the highest respect aud a lasting friendship. Some years later I met the ridow with her beautiful grown-up children. One of the sons was devoted to science, the other to litera ture, and both becoming known in the world, while the daughter was engaged in landscape painting, 'until,' as she said with a most bewitching smile, ' the right man comes along. ' " Talking of her husband, the widow said that he had left some manuscript which I might like to see. She then brought me a bundle neatly bound up in tape. Looking it over, I suggested its publication, and she gave it to me unreservedly to do with it as I thought best.

I have not erased a line or altered a word. It is an autobiography of undeserved shame and sorrow, as well as an earnest effort of well doing. It is a pity that such a life should have been, and I trust that its lessons will be heeded by those who need them most." The word Eurasian is made of Eur, from Europe, and Asian, from Asia, and applied to the children of a Euro pean and an Asiatic and to their descendants, of whom there is a large class in India.

Chapter I

On the southern coast of France, upon ground overlook ing 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 mas siveness 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 mod ern parts added beauty and grace, making the whole con sonant 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 back ground, 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 tbe 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 THAT EURABIAN. 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 sur roundings. The halls were adorned with solid, grand antique furniture, statuary, and paintings, the accumula tion 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, com posed of almost priceless old books, and the best of more modern authors. In all the apartments there seemed to be nothing wantiug 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, edueation, 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 chil dren, of whom I was one or would have been, tbat is, if this fancy picture was a reality and I had had a choice in the matter of rny birth, those would have been my parents and there the place where I would have been bom if such events could have been decided by myself. Had the sub ject 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 fatber and mother. Alas! aud 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, aud yet made responsible for what results from our inher ited 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 de clared 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 re gard 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.

Chapter II

My first consciousness, my very first idea or remem brance 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 shin ing 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 for mer 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?" Bhe 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 ex claimed: "You always told me that I was your bibi, your own dear wife, that you would never leave me, and now yoti 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 aud 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 would0-' "That would be impos.ible." 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 un happy 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?" She ceased, bitterly weeping. He stood speechless, somewhat moved by her piteous appeals, yet as I remember him, he regarded her with a look of hardened con tempt.

A moment after uttering the last words she quickly threw the rupees from her lap, scattering them all over the floor and leaping from the charpoy, flung herself at his feet and putting her arms around his legs placed her face upon his boots, wailing piteously and praying him not to desert his children. "Throw me aside forever," she said, "but, oh! the children, your own children, do not forsake them! For Allah's sake, take care of them." Her long abundant black hair fell over her shoulders. Her face showed the intense agony of her soul and her large eyes filled with tears that dropped from her face as if each one was a drop of hot blood from her heart. He remained silent, as I remember him, with a cold brutal in difference, without saying a word until she seemed nearly exhausted in her anguish.

He tben lifted her up and placed her upon the charpoy, and taking her hand saying, "I cannot help it, pyari, it is my kismet, I must go," and kissing her, said: ,T Salaam, good-bye, God bless you," and rushed from the room. Is it strange that I should remember such a scene? This was my first consciousness of life. I remember noth ing previous to that night, and what I saw and heard then was burned into my very being to remain a part of it as long as I continue to be. She was my mother, my own, my darling mama. I am now an old man and the sands in my hour-glass are nearly run out. I have had trials enough to have hardened all my feelings into iron, yet as I think of my dear little mama, in her agony and despair on that memorable night, great tears run down my fur rowed cheeks. I cannot help their coming, and I would not if I could.

Blessed tears! that relieve us in our sor rows and moisten our hearts with tenderness. It was a strange scene to me. I was frightened into silence and could not stir, and dared not cry. I could understand that my mama was in great trouble, though I knew not why it was, nothing of the cause of it. I sat in a corner partly con cealed by a cloth hung on a rope that was stretched across the room. I now see every little thing as it was then, my mother's eyes, the big tear drops on her cheeks are now in my sight, after all these years, just as I saw them then. I hear my mama's voice, its wailing tones of entreaty, of despair. I see her body quivering in her agony as she was clinging to the feet of the sahib, just as vividly as if she was before me now. As I learned afterward, he used to come late at night, so that I was asleep in a little side room when he came.

At the front of the court was a large gate, but I was told the sahib never came in by that way. At the back end of the court there was a little narrow door, through which the rubbish and sweepings were carried and thrown, into a gully that wound its way to the old canal beyond the city. It was by the gully where the rubbish lay and through the door by which the sweepings went out that the sahib came in, never by daylight, but always near dead of night. Shall I now express my opinion of that very brave Chris tian English gentlemans coming up through that stinkiug gully, through that little back door at the hour of midnight ? A man who would do that would not only destroy the woman he had called his wife, make outcasts of his own children, but would barter his own soul and betray his God to gratify his lust.

But I must not let my feelings overcome me. Yet I cannot help saying that often since then, when I have thought of that night scene, I have felt like tearing a passion to tatters, aye more than that, to be really truthful, to murder somebody; even that man. my own father, for the infamous wrong done my darling mother. As I have said, when this sahib so suddenly appeared 1 was terribly frightened. He seemed to me a giant, so tall and big. Then tbe ghastly pale face; the reddish hair; the strange clothes, he might be one of the bhuts or jins that carry away little boys and eat them, one each day, for his dinner. Was it strange then, that I sat crouching iu my corner, scarcely daring to breathe, lest he might hear me and seize me for his next day's meal? The clinking of the rupees is written on the first page of my memory.

The sound and sight of them gave me a thrill of pleasure, but a moment after came the fright at the sight of the strange being. Scared as I was, I saw everything, heard all that was said and felt a thousand times more than I now can find words to describe. All was so sudden, strange and incomprehensible, that I was dumb with fear at the great thing standing so high up in the room, and when my mother began her piteous wailings, I was hushed to silence with my intense feelings of sorrow for her. As the sahib rushed from the place, my mama threw herself upon the bare earthen floor with a shriek, and there lay moaning and crying out in heart-piercing tones, " My Sahib! my Sahib!" I sprang from my corner, and sat down by her, and placing her head upon my lap stroked her hair back from her face and begged of her "mama, pyari mama! why do you cry so?"

There was no answer, but "my Sahib! my Sahib!" O! the agony of that hour! It has never left me, it became a part of my life and is with me now, for I feel it. What could I do, a little tot that had never been out of the court? I do not know how long I sat there; I must have become exhausted and gone to sleep, for in the morning I found myself lying on the char poy where I suppose my mama placed me. As I awoke, my first thought was of her. I glanced around the room and saw her sitting on a low stool facing the court. Her eyes were turned towards the western sky, but evidently she was not looking at anything. I awakened as from a horrible dream and could not at once realize what had happened, but when I saw that haggard, pallid face, those wide open eyes, that looked and saw nothing, all the night scene flashed upon me and I cried out, "Mama, mama!"

She turned her head, without a word, toward me and began agaiu to look far away as if for something beyond mortal ken. I was told years after, that before that night she was the most happy woman of all in the court, always so pleasant to her neighbors, always smil ing, laughing and romping with her children, but after that awful night, the light of her life had gone out into utter darkness, for she never smiled again. The rupees were gathered up and put in the rough wooden box, fastened with a big padlock. They were taken out one by one to pay the rent aud to buy a little flour, rice and bread and a few vegetables for our daily food. There was a little sister, too young, thank God, to know anything of the trouble in the house. An old woman went to the bazar to purchase our food and did the cook ing.

At first a few of the neighboring women looked in at the door and tried to be friendly, but the little mother took ho notice of them and they ceased coming. One day I overheard one of them say to the other as an excuse for her silence, " Her Sahib has gone." The little sister and I passed our time as I est we could with the few cheap playthings we had, eating our cheap food, occasionally delighted with some native sweets that the old woman bought for us. The dear mama would sit on her little stool with her hands clasped over her kuees, her face turned toward the west, hor large eyes strained wide open as if to see something in the far away distance. At early morning I would find her sitting thus. Nearly all the day she would sit looking in utter silence. Some times the little sister and I would fall upon her knees and chatter to her.

She would turn her head toward us for a moment and perhaps say a word or two and then take up her looking again. There was never a ripple of laughter. such as used to cheer everybody around her, as they told me years after, not even a smile for us, her children. She seemed to be alone, and as I remember her and am now able to think about her condition and actions, it appears to me her heart was dying, gradually, to be sure, but dying. I could not understand anything about it then for I was too young to realize what had occurred. I had scarcely ever been outside our rooms and never outside the little court or muhalla. I had no companion but the little sister. I knew nothing of the great world or little world outside, and had only seen a few native people in the court as I looked down from our veranda.

As to the names, father or papa, I had not heard them, and if spoken to me I would not have understood what they meant. I was not aware that I had a father or ever had one. It was better per haps as it was, for had I been told that the sahib I saw was my father; that it was he who had treated my mama with such infamous cruelty; that for him she was breaking her heart, dying day by day, as she kept looking toward him in the west, as he was going home to enjoy life and get a new wife, forsaking our dear mama and casting off us, his own children, for whose being he aloue was responsible; had I known this, my life would have undoubtedly been altogether different and not for the better either. Knowledge is power, but it is often best not to have too much of it, nor to have it before we are capable of usiDg it.

Chapter III

I do not know how long this kind of life continued. It may have been a year or only a few months. There was nothing to break the monotony, nothing to be as time marks to show the passing days and months. The little mama took less and less interest in everything. One day coming out of the other room I found her lying on the floor. I saw by the look of her face that something was the matter with her, so I ran quickly and called the old woman, who placed her carefully upon the charpoy. She did not utter a word, made no sign of pain or distress, but kept on looking in the old direction with those large bril liant eyes, so wide open, peering into the distance. How bright they seem to me now, how they have haunted me all these years! Many a night have I awakened to see those eyes before me as if in reality they were there.

The rupees had been going, one by one, and now that the little mama remained on the charpoy day and night, the old woman took the key of the padlock from my mother's waist-string and opened the box to get a rupee for some food. I saw there was but little in the box, a few fancy bits of clothing, some ornaments and a bundle of papers bound up with a string. The old woman took the best care she could of us all. She evidently saw that the time was short before all her labors, especially for the mama, would be ended. One morning early, coming out of the other room, I saw those wide open eyes as usual, but the strange appearance of the face startled me. I had never seen a dead person, I had never heard of death. I did not know that people died. Yet, ignorant as I was, I saw that something terrible was the matter witb mama.

The old woman came quickly and at the first sight with a wailing cry exclaimed, " gayi! gayi!" gone! gone! I could not comprehend it, mama gone and yet she was lying there before rae! The little sister came and we put our hands on mama's face, we took her hands in ours. They were so cold and strange, we Bpoke to her, but her lips moved not. So unlike our little mama, as we delighted to call her. The old woman beckoned to some women in the court below. They quickly came. One of them took us into the other room and tried to make us understand what had happened but all we could realize was this, that our mama had gone. When we came out into the room again a white sheet was placed over the charpoy and tied at the four corners. All was so still and silent; we went and crouched into a corner clinging to each other in abject fear.

I felt as I did when that fearful white giant was in the room on that dreadful night, that I did not dare to breathe hard for fear some one might discover us. Toward evening two men came and took away the charpoy and all on it, I tried to get the old woman to tell me what had happened, but her only reply was that mama, the dear mama, had gone and we should never see her again. Our little hearts were breaking. We wept together until we fell asleep at night. The morning came but no mama for us to see. How many times in my life since those dark sorrowful days have I thought to myself, Alas! What numbers of women's hearts have been broken by these faithless Chris tian Europeans! These women were only natives to be sure, but they had hearts as warm for those whose soft words of love they had heard, and whose promises they believed, as any of their more favored white sisters.

What is the use of talking of God, of justice, of virtue, of right and wrong, if such deception, cruelties and wrongs are to remain unnoticed and unpunished? Is there to be no recompense to those so cruelly injured? Are there no memories to follow the perpetrators of such infamous deeds ? If not, then this world is one of chance aud confusion. Might makes right, vice is as good as virtue and the sooner we get through the farce of living the better, to die and perish forever. Soon the few remaining rupees were gone, then the trinkets, the few articles of clothing, and lastly, the box itself, all, everything had gone to purchase the little food we needed. There was nothing left with which to supply our wants or to pay our rent. One day tbe old woman took the little sister and me down into a little shelter, made by an old grass roof leaning against the back wall of the court.

This was to be our home. She had gathered some coarse grass on which we were to sleep. Our only furniture consisted of two old earthen pots in which to cook our food if we could get any. All of our beautiful brass dishes that we once looked upon as shining jewels, when, after our meals they were scoured and placed in the sun to dry, had gone, following the trinkets and the box. My best suit consisted of a few inches of cloth and a string around my waist. My little sister had a very short skirt much fringed by long use around the bottom. For awhile the people in the court gave us food, some rice, others vegetables, and others a pepper pod aud a few grains of salt. The little sister and I gathered old grass, and dried manure with which our food was cooked. So we were happy. It takes so little when we are willing to be happy that I sometimes question whether civilization is a benefactor, for it increases our wants and adds to our labor in supplying them.

The old woman lived with us of course, as this was her only home as well as ours. She was so kind that we clung to her as our new mama. Bye and bye the neighbors gave us less and less; not that they were unwilling, but they were all so poor. I did not understand the political economy of either poverty or riches. I did not know fully why the people could not give us anything. However, I well remember a scene, an object lesson of tyranny, and the helplessness of poverty, that occurred one day. A man on a horse rode into the big gate followed by a number of men with long bamboo sticks in their hands. I heard one who lived in a hut next to us say as he ran into his house, that the zemindar who owned the place had come to collect his rents. It seemed that the rents were long overdue, because the people were unable to pay them though they did the best they could.

The people were all called out of their huts where the most of them had con cealed themselves and those that would not come were forced out by tbe men with sticks. The man on his horse demanded the reuts. The people said they had nothing to pay. The little fields outside the city that they cultivated had produced nothing, for there had been 1.0 rain. They had tried to get work but there was none to be had. They could not get the poorest food for their wives and children. They were starving. They would work for him and do any thing he told them, for their lives were in his hands. He turned upon them with scorn, denounced them with all the filthy names he could use and they were many. I could understand only a few of the words, but I knew they were terrible. How angry he was! The men, with the women and children, threw themselves on the ground around his horse and pleaded with him for mercy, but the more they begged the more angry he grew, and then, when he became tired out with his stream of fearful words, he gave orders to his men with the long sticks to search every house, and in they went with a rush.