original short stories-13-第13部分

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hands　of　fairies　and　not　by　those　of　druggists。

This　is　a　country　of　ravines。　　The　surface　of　the　mountains　is　cleft；
hollowed　out　in　all　directions；　and　in　these　sinuous　crevices　grow
veritable　forests　of　lemon　trees。　　Here　and　there　where　the　steep　gorge
is　interrupted　by　a　sort　of　step；　a　kind　of　reservoir　has　been　built
which　holds　the　water　of　the　rain　storms。

They　are　large　holes　with　slippery　walls　with　nothing　for　any　one　to
grasp　hold　of　should　they　fall　in。

I　was　walking　slowly　in　one　of　these　ascending　valleys　or　gorges；
glancing　through　the　foliage　at　the　vivid…hued　fruit　that　remained　on　the
branches。　　The　narrow　gorge　made　the　heavy　odor　of　the　flowers　still　more
penetrating；　the　air　seemed　to　be　dense　with　it。　　A　feeling　of　lassitude
came　over　me　and　I　looked　for　a　place　to　sit　down。　　A　few　drops　of　water
glistened　in　the　grass。　　I　thought　that　there　was　a　spring　near　by　and　I
climbed　a　little　further　to　look　for　it。　　But　I　only　reached　the　edge　of
one　of　these　large；　deep　reservoirs。

I　sat　down　tailor　fashion；　with　my　legs　crossed　under　me；　and　remained
there　in　a　reverie　before　this　hole；　which　looked　as　if　it　were　filled
with　ink；　so　black　and　stagnant　was　the　liquid　it　contained。　　Down
yonder；　through　the　branches；　I　saw；　like　patches；　bits　of　the
Mediterranean　gleaming　so　that　they　fairly　dazzled　my　eyes。　　But　my
glance　always　returned　to　the　immense　somber　well　that　appeared　to　be
inhabited　by　no　aquatic　animals；　so　motionless　was　its　surface。
Suddenly　a　voice　made　me　tremble。　　An　old　gentleman　who　was　picking
flowersthis　country　is　the　richest　in　Europe　for　herbalistsasked　me：

〃Are　you　a　relation　of　those　poor　children；　monsieur？〃

I　looked　at　him　in　astonishment。

〃What　children；　monsieur？〃

He　seemed　embarrassed　and　answered　with　a　bow：

〃I　beg　your　pardon。　　On　seeing　you　sitting　thus　absorbed　in　front　of　this
reservoir　I　thought　you　were　recalling　the　frightful　tragedy　that
occurred　here。〃

Now　I　wanted　to　know　about　it；　and　I　begged　him　to　tell　me　the　story。

It　is　very　dismal　and　very　heart…rending；　my　dear　friend；　and　very
trivial　at　the　same　time。　　It　is　a　simple　news　item。　　I　do　not　know
whether　to　attribute　my　emotion　to　the　dramatic　manner　in　which　the　story
was　told　to　me；　to　the　setting　of　the　mountains；　to　the　contrast　between
the　joy　of　the　sunlight　and　the　flowers　and　this　black；　murderous　hole；
but　my　heart　was　wrung；　all　my　nerves　unstrung　by　this　tale　which；
perhaps；　may　not　appear　so　terribly　harrowing　to　you　as　you　read　it　in
your　room　without　having　the　scene　of　the　tragedy　before　your　eyes。

It　was　one　spring　in　recent　years。　　Two　little　boys　frequently　came　to
play　on　the　edge　of　this　cistern　while　their　tutor　lay　under　a　tree
reading　a　book。　　One　warm　afternoon　a　piercing　cry　awoke　the　tutor　who
was　dozing　and　the　sound　of　splashing　caused　by　something　falling　into
the　water　made　him　jump　to　his　feet　abruptly。　　The　younger　of　the
children；　eight　years　of　age；　was　shouting；　as　he　stood　beside　the
reservoir；　the　surface　of　which　was　stirred　and　eddying　at　the　spot　where
the　older　boy　had　fallen　in　as　he　ran　along　the　stone　coping。

Distracted；　without　waiting　or　stopping　to　think　what　was　best　to　do；　the
tutor　jumped　into　the　black　water　and　did　not　rise　again；　having　struck
his　head　at　the　bottom　of　the　cistern。

At　the　same　moment　the　young　boy　who　had　risen　to　the　surface　was　waving
his　stretched…out　arms　toward　his　brother。　　The　little　fellow　on　land　lay
down　full　length；　while　the　other　tried　to　swim；　to　approach　the　wall；
and　presently　the　four　little　hands　clasped　each　other；　tightened　in　each
other's　grasp；　contracted　as　though　they　were　fastened　together。　　They
both　felt　the　intense　joy　of　an　escape　from　death；　a　shudder　at　the
danger　past。

The　older　boy　tried　to　climb　up　to　the　edge；　but　could　not　manage　it；　as
the　wall　was　perpendicular；　and　his　brother；　who　was　too　weak；　was
sliding　slowly　towards　the　hole。

Then　they　remained　motionless；　filled　anew　with　terror。　　And　they　waited。

The　little　fellow　squeezed　his　brother's　hands　with　all　his　might　and
wept　from　nervousness　as　he　repeated：　〃I　cannot　drag　you　out；　I　cannot
drag　you　out。〃　　And　all　at　once　he　began　to　shout；　〃Help！　　Help！〃　But　his
light　voice　scarcely　penetrated　beyond　the　dome　of　foliage　above　their
heads。

They　remained　thus　a　long　time；　hours　and　hours；　facing　each　other；　these
two　children；　with　one　thought；　one　anguish　of　heart　and　the　horrible
dread　that　one　of　them；　exhausted；　might　let　go　the　hands　of　the　other。
And　they　kept　on　calling；　but　all　in　vain。

At　length　the　older　boy；　who　was　shivering　with　cold；　said　to　the　little
one：　〃I　cannot　hold　out　any　longer。　　I　am　going　to　fall。　　Good…by；　little
brother。〃　　And　the　other；　gasping；　replied：　〃Not　yet；　not　yet；　wait。〃

Evening　came　on；　the　still　evening　with　its　stars　mirrored　in　the　water。
The　older　lad；　his　endurance　giving　out；　said：　〃Let　go　my　hand；　I　am
going　to　give　you　my　watch。〃　　He　had　received　it　as　a　present　a　few　days
before；　and　ever　since　it　had　been　his　chief　amusement。　　He　was　able　to
get　hold　of　it；　and　held　it　out　to　the　little　fellow　who　was　sobbing　and
who　laid　it　down　on　the　grass　beside　him。

It　was　night　now。　　The　two　unhappy　beings；　exhausted；　had　almost　loosened
their　grasp。　　The　elder；　at　last；　feeling　that　he　was　lost；　murmured　once
more：　〃Good…by；　little　brother；　kiss　mamma　and　papa。〃　　And　his　numbed
fingers　relaxed　their　hold。　　He　sank　and　did　not　rise　again　。　　。　　。　　。
The　little　fellow；　left　alone；　began　to　shout　wildly：　〃Paul！　Paul！〃　　But
the　other　did　not　come　to　the　surface。

Then　he　darted　across　the　mountain；　falling　among　the　stones；　overcome　by
the　most　frightful　anguish　that　can　wring　a　child's　heart；　and　with　a
face　like　death　reached　the　sitting…room；　where　his　parents　were　waiting。
He　became　bewildered　again　as　he　led　them　to　the　gloomy　reservoir。　　He
could　not　find　his　way。　　At　last　he　reached　the　spot。　　〃It　is　there；　yes；
it　is　there！〃

But　the　cistern　had　to　be　emptied；　and　the　proprietor　would　not　permit　it
as　he　needed　the　water　for　his　lemon　trees。

The　two　bodies　were　found；　however；　but　not　until　the　next　day。

You　see；　my　dear　friend；　that　this　is　a　simple　news　item。　　But　if　you　had
seen　the　hole　itself　your　heart　would　have　been　wrung；　as　mine　was；　at
the　thought　of　the　agony　of　that　child　hanging　to　his　brother's　hands；　of
the　long　suspense　of　those　little　chaps　who　were　accustomed　only　to　laugh
and　to　play；　and　at　the　simple　incident　of　the　giving　of　the　watch。

I　said　to　myself：　〃May　Fate　preserve　me　from　ever　receiving　a　similar
relic！〃　　I　know　of　nothing　more　terrible　than　such　a　recollection
connected　with　a　familiar　object　that　one　cannot　dispose　of。　　Only　think
of　it；　each　time　that　he　handles　this　sacred　watch　the　survivor　will
picture　once　more　the　horrible　scene；　the　pool；　the　wall；　the　still
water；　and　the　distracted　face　of　his　brother…alive；　and　yet　as　lost　as
though　he　were　already　dead。　　And　all　through　his　life；　at　any　moment；
the　vision　will　be　there；　awakened　the　instant　even　the　tip　of　his　finger
touches　his　watch　pocket。

And　I　was　sad　until　evening。　　I　left　the　spot　and　kept　on　climbing；
leaving　the　region　of　orange　trees　for　the　region　of　olive　trees；　and　the
region　of　olive　trees　for　the　region　of　pines；　then　I　came　to　a　valley　of
stones；　and　finally　reached　the　ruins　of　an　ancient　castle；　built；　they
say；　in　the　tenth　century　by　a　Saracen　chief；　a　good　man；　who　was
baptized　a　Christian　through　love　for　a　young　girl。　　Everywhere　around　me
were　mountains；　and　before　me　the　sea；　the　sea　with　an　almost
imperceptible　patch　on　it：　Corsica；　or；　rather；　the　shadow　of　Corsica。
But　on　the　mountain　summits；　blood…red　in　the　glow　of　the　sunset；　in　the
boundless　sky　and　on　the　sea；　in　all　this　superb　landscape　that　I　had
come　here　to　admire　I　saw　only　two　poor　children；　one　lying　prone　on　the
edge　of　a　hole　filled　with　black　water；　the　other　submerged　to　his　neck；
their　hands　intertwined；　weeping　opposite　each　other；　in　despair。
And　it　seemed　as　though　I　continually　heard　a　weak；　exhausted　voice
saying：　〃Good…by；　little　brother；　I　am　going　to　give　you　my　watch。〃

This　letter　may　seem　rather　melancholy；　dear　friend。　　I　will　try　to　be
more　cheerful　some　other　day。






A　CREMATION

Last　Monday　an　Indian　prince　died　at　Etretat；　Bapu　Sahib　Khanderao
Ghatay；　a　relation　of　His　Highness；　the　Maharajah　Gaikwar；　prince　of
Baroda；　in　the　province　of　Guzerat；　Presidency　of　Bombay。

For　about　three　weeks　there　had　been　seen　walking　in　the　streets　about
ten　young　East　Indians；　small；　lithe；　with　dark　skins；　dressed　all　in
gray　and　wearing　on　their　heads　caps　such　as　English　grooms　wear。　　They
were　men　of　high　rank　who　had　come　to　Europe　to　study　the　military
institutions　of　the　principal　Western　nations。　　The　little　band　consisted
of　three　princes；　a　nobleman；　an　interpreter　and　three　servants。

The　head　of　the　commission　had　just　died；　an　old　man　of　forty…two　and
father…in…law　of　Sampatro　Kashivao　Gaikwar；　brother　of　His　Highness；　the
Gaikwar　of　Baroda。

The　son…in…law　accompanied　his　father…in…law。

The　other　East　Indians　were　called　Ganpatrao　Shravanrao　Gaikwar；　cousin
of　His　Highness　Khasherao　Gadhav；　Vasudev　Madhav　Samarth；　interpreter　and
secretary；　the　slaves：　Ramchandra　Bajaji；　Ganu　bin　Pukiram　Kokate；
Rhambhaji　bin　Fabji。

On　leaving　his　native　land　the　one　who　died　recently　was　overcome　with
terrible　grief；　and　feeling　convinced　that　he　would　never　return　he
wished　to　give　up　the　journey；　but　he　had　to　obey　the　wishes　of　his　noble
relative；　the　Prince　of　Baroda；　and　he　set　out。

They　came　to　spend　the　latter　part　of　the　summer　at　Etretat；　and　people
would　go　out　of　curiosity　every　morning　to　see　them　taking　their　bath　at
the　Etablissment　des　Roches…Blanches。

Five　or　six　days　ago　Bapu　Sahib　Khanderao　Ghatay　was　taken　with　pains　in
his　gums；　then　the　inflammation　spread　to　the　throat　and　became
ulceration。　　Gangrene　set　in　and；　on　Monday；　the　doctors　told　his　young
friends　that　their　relative　was　dying。　　The　final　struggle　was　already
beginning；　and　the　breath　had　almost　left　the　unfortunate　man's　body　when