anyone else I would advise you to go into Persia, far away from her,
and there give yourself up to other beauties and lose all memory even
of this one woman; but my lord should take the high way. If you can
conquer such a passion you can do anything. It is not the food that
gives the pleasure, but the appetite. Restraint will increase your
desire and any new girl will seem wonderful to you.’
“‘Do you know what you are advising?’ asked the king, turning on him
with hard eyes.
“Abulfazl nodded his head.
“With one movement Jelàl was on his feet.
“‘So be it,’ he said quietly, after a pause. ‘If you have made a
mistake you shall be impaled. If by following your advice I lose my joy
of life and my delight in living I shall see you die with pleasure; but
if you are right, and by conquering myself I win content, you shall be
master in my kingdom and I shall be second to you.’
“‘You would not be my master,’ replied Abulfazl quietly, ‘if you could
thus punish your best friend.’
“‘I am my own best friend,’ retorted the king gloomily; ‘but love is
surely a madness and there may be some wisdom in your counsel.’
“For a month the king went in and out and paid no attention to the
girl or to Abulfazl. He then started off suddenly to Agra, and when he
returned he sent for Abulfazl again:
“‘You were right in one thing,’ he said, ‘and wrong in another; fasting
does sharpen appetite amazingly, but you were wrong when you said any
dish would give pleasure. I want nothing but this one girl: no other
can tempt me, and I am mad with longing for her.’
“‘I have thought, too, while my lord was absent,’ said Abulfazl, ‘it
may be that the princess is indeed the king’s complement and meant for
him. In that case seek her out, get to know her soul and body, and give
her time and occasion to know you. As you are greater than she is
she will be drawn to you--that’s the law; the greater draws the less;
besides, she is already curious about you. She will love you. In this
way you may both win love and make love your servant.’
“The king broke in:
“‘The woman at Agra told me to hide my desire and make the girl fear
she had lost me. Women, she said, all want what they can’t have or what
is above them.’
“‘All men too,’ said Abulfazl, meeting the king’s eyes and smiling as
he spoke, for he saw that the master was again at one with him; ‘the
woman’s counsel is wise.’
“Jelàl then began what he always afterwards called his ‘discipline.’ It
was a long struggle and only one or two incidents in it were decisive.
Each day the princess was told to attend the king while he listened to
complaints in the morning and gave judgments in the Great Hall. Now
and again in difficult cases he would ask her advice, but he seldom
took it, and soon the girl had to admit to herself that the monarch
knew life and men better than she did. But just when she was getting
impatient under cumulative evidence of her inferiority, the king with
fine wit took care to praise her for some mental quality or grace of
spirit she did not possess, and this appreciation pleased her greatly.
“In spite of his passion Jelàl pretended to take only a mild interest
in her and showed himself always engrossed in affairs of State. Still
the girl would sometimes smile to herself, as if she saw through his
acting. But when she let her eyes rest on him or encouraged him by
smile or word, and he would turn away to talk to some Minister, she
would grow thoughtful, and the women of the harem said her temper was
not so even as it used to be.
“As soon as the woman at Agra learned that the king had aroused the
girl’s interest and made her doubt her empire over him, she advised him
to send for her lover and offer to marry them, and the king consented,
for the counsel pleased him. He himself had noticed from time to time
an uncertain humility in the girl’s manner and in her eyes a sort of
appeal. Others noticed that she had begun to drape her tall figure
after the fashion of the women in the harem, and now swathed herself so
closely that her shape could be seen through the soft stuffs just as if
she had been coming from the bath.
“It was in this mood that the lover of her girlhood appeared to her.
Half unconsciously she had idealized him and exaggerated his charm to
herself, and now she saw that the attraction he had had for her had
completely disappeared, and to her consternation she realized that he
was much more concerned to win the emperor’s favour than her love. He
seemed to her paltry and immature; yet she could not bear to admit her
mistake to the great king. What was to be done? She resolved to carry
it through.
“In full Court the king came to her, leading the Khandesh noble:
‘Here, lady,’ he said, ‘is one who loves you, and your father consents
to your marriage.’
“‘Only if Akbar wishes it,’ added the unfortunate youth, bowing low.
“As the girl flushed with anger at her suitor’s obsequiousness, the
king turned away and shortly afterwards left the palace.
“Next day the girl heard that he had gone again to Agra and the women
of the harem assured her that he had gone back to his first wife, for
men visited a woman for only one thing. It was noticed that the girl
seldom spoke of her betrothed, and when the king returned she prayed
him to see her.
“Schooled by Abulfazl the king replied that he would surely see her as
soon as he had concluded some urgent business, and he kept her waiting
nearly a week. By this time the girl had grown sick with fear lest she
had lost the monarch’s love. When she was admitted to his presence she
could only cry:
“‘My lord, my lord.’
“‘What can I do to pleasure you?’ asked the king. ‘Will you be married
to your compatriot at once?’
“The girl saw that his eyes were laughing and took it that he despised
her.
“‘As the king does not want me,’ she retorted proudly, ‘I wish to be
sent back to my father.’
“‘But you said you didn’t want the king,’ persisted the monarch, ‘and
you loved this young man. Why have you changed?’
“‘I was young,’ she said, gulping down the lump in her throat, ‘and
knew no better.’
“‘And now?’ asked the king.
“‘There is only one man in the world for me,’ she said, ‘and that is
the king,’ and she lifted her eyes to his and gave herself in the look.
“Though his heart thrilled with joy, the king kept his control: ‘Go to
the harem,’ he said, ‘and wait for me.’ And she turned, glowing, and
went like a child.
“In the harem the king found her another woman. After he had convinced
her of his love she broke into praises of his looks and strength,
and when he said that there were many handsomer and stronger men she
wouldn’t listen, but covered his mouth with her hand and declared
that there was no one in the world like him, and that he was the most
splendid man in the Court, though he was only a little taller than the
average.
“Because she was very fair, with skin like ivory and eyes as blue as
sapphires, she praised his black eyes and hair and his loud, deep
voice, and even the small wart on the left side of his nose; he was her
god, the ‘Most High--Akbar,’ she exclaimed, and she would never call
him by any other name.
“But when he told her he would have to earn it first, and thus recalled
to his ambitions made ready to leave her, he found another woman still.
“‘You shall not go!’ she cried boldly; ‘the cook’s mistress at Agra
calls, you shall not go!’
“And when he said that he went to Agra for counsel and not for love,
for the woman was cunning and had taught him much, she wouldn’t have it.
“‘You shall not see her,’ she panted, ‘not yet--not till you know me
better--promise, not till I give you leave!’
“She was so passionate in her pleading that the king promised and
caressed her, and then she burst into tears and said he might go if he
liked, but it would break her heart and she was very unhappy and----
Her tears set off her beauty better than her pleading or her pride, and
her quick changes of mood charmed the king, who could not help showing
his astonishment. He had thought her proud and reserved at first, he
said, and at that she smiled deeply, saying love was a magician and
fashioned a woman to her lord’s desire.
“‘But you did not love me at first,’ he said; ‘it was only by feigning
indifference and holding off that I won you.’
“At that she looked up at him from the divan, smiling. ‘It was the wise
Abulfazl, was it not, who gave Akbar that counsel?’ And she said this
though she knew in her heart the counsel came from the woman at Agra,
but she would not keep her memory alive by making mention of her.
“The king was astonished by her intuition.
“‘How did you guess,’ he asked, ‘that I went to him for counsel?’
“She pouted and said carelessly: ‘If I had not loved Akbar from the
beginning, no holding off would have won me.’
“‘But if you loved me why did you plague me so at first by pretending
coldness and aversion?’
“‘Because I loved,’ she said. ‘I saw that all things came to Akbar too
easily and so I held away, though when he took me in his strong arms
and kissed me in spite of my resistance I almost yielded.’
“‘Akbar blamed himself afterwards for forcing you,’ said the monarch.
“Again, unexpectedly, she laughed aloud:
“‘You child!’ she cried, ‘you child! You would never have tasted my
lips had I not let you; the resistance, like the coldness, was all
feigned. There! I’ve given my secret away. We women are all traitors to
ourselves.’
“In wonder the king exclaimed:
“‘I believe you know more about women than even the woman I have called
“wise” at Agra!’
“The smile left her face and a change came over her: ‘All women know
women,’ she said, ‘but she is a vile creature, fit only for the bazaar.’
“‘Why do you say that?’ asked the king, and the girl responded: ‘If
anyone killed my lover I would never forgive him, never. When he put
his hands on me I should feel the blood sticking on them; hate would be
in my heart for him, and I’d curse him by day and by night.’
“‘He was only a cook,’ said Akbar.
“But the girl wouldn’t have it.
“‘If I had stooped to my lover, still more would I have felt his loss:
it is our sacrifices for you that endear you to us!’
“Suddenly the king turned on her, for he was curious:
“‘Why did you resolve all at once to yield to me?’
“She answered quietly:
“‘When Akbar brought that man here and offered me to him before the
Court, my heart was as water lest I had lost my lord’s love: I had
enough of the struggle or’--and she took his head in her hands and
kissed his mouth--‘I wanted you----’ And she sighed in content.
“That first communion with his love showed the king that the instinct
of his desire had been right and that he had an extraordinary
mistress--as changeful as the sky in the monsoon and charming with all
the gaiety and liveliness of girlhood; but he was soon to find that she
was more.
“Almost from the first day she made up to Abulfazl, and not only won
his admiration and affection but found out from him quickly sides of
the king’s character which she might otherwise have been years in
discovering. From this counsellor she learned that the deepest motive
in the king was his ambition, and not ambition merely to conquer, or
even to consolidate his empire, but to grow himself, to become wiser
and better than any man on earth. Her lover was indeed a king of kings.
“She even found out from Abulfazl without his knowing it the true
explanation of the kindness shown to the woman at Agra.
“‘The king doesn’t keep her now for counsel,’ he said, ‘but to remind
him of what he first learned by forgiving. He wishes now that he had
forgiven the cook. I believe,’ he added, ‘that if the cook had lived
the king would long ago have sent him to his love at Agra.’
“At that the girl gasped; for such magnanimity was beyond her. But
she had learned the chief lesson, that Akbar, like all great and
generous natures, was to be moved by an appeal to the highest much
more easily than by tempting the animal in him or by urging his own
self-interest. And with this key in her hands and her woman’s intuition
that everything is to be done with a man by praise, she became a real
companion to her lord and an inspiring helpmate. She pleaded for the
gentler virtues, and Akbar, having already begun to realize that a
great man should have a good deal of the woman in him, was ready to
listen to whatever was wise in what she said and to profit by the new
insight.”
And here the Sufi stopped, as if he had come to the end of the story;
but I was too interested in Akbar to let him off so easily.
“You have told me half the tale,” I began, “and have told it fairly
well for a learned man; but you have left the more important part
unexplained. I understand now why ‘Akbar’ honoured Abulfazl and why men
honoured Akbar; but I don’t see yet why Abulfazl wrote Akbar’s deeds
and words and showed such unfeigned admiration of his master.”
“Jelàl was not called ‘Akbar’ for nothing,” replied the Sufi: “he was
the first Conqueror whose empire survived him, and it survived because
it was built on sympathy and not on suspicion, on love and freedom and
not on fear and hate.”
“What do you mean exactly?” I asked.
“Previous conquerors,” said the Sufi, “held down each province they
subdued by a standing army. Akbar not only allowed each province to
govern itself, but gave the peoples greater freedom than they had had
before, while insisting on complete religious toleration. Personal
ambition even found scope and security under his rule. That was why his
empire lasted till the white traders conquered Hindustan two hundred
years later.”
And again the Sufi paused.
“You have yet to tell me,” I persisted, “when and why he took the name
of ‘Akbar’: was it pride or----?”
“The best Mussulmans,” said the Sufi, “blame him for taking the divine
attribute--‘The Highest,’ but if ever a man deserved it, he did. His
mind was never at rest. When there were no more foes to conquer he
invited to his Court Lamas from Tibet and Padres from Goa, and was the
first to declare that Jesus was not only a great prophet, as Mohammed
had said, but greater than Mohammed himself, the greatest of all. Jesus
and Mohammed, he used often to say, were like stars in the heaven, and
greater and brighter luminaries would yet come to throw radiance on the
ways of men. He even went so far,” and the Sufi whispered the words as
if in dread of some eavesdropper, “as to assert that every man might be
Mohammed and Jesus besides being himself, for he too had come from God
as they had come.”
“Interesting,” I said; “and so Akbar lived as a god, ‘happy ever
after.’”
“No, no,” cried the Sufi with Eastern wisdom; “happiness is not for
wise or great men: Akbar was tried beyond the ordinary. His two
favourite sons drank themselves to death, and the son who ultimately
succeeded him in the empire revolted against him and got his friend
Abulfazl murdered. That grief and disappointment changed all life for
Akbar. What good was vengeance and what profit was there in anger when
he knew by a sort of instinct that wild envy and jealousy had induced
his son to kill a better man than himself.
“Akbar saw he might as well forgive his son, for nothing he could do
would bring Abulfazl back to life or put light again in those kindly
hazel eyes which were always warm with love for him.
“The murder of Abulfazl, who was too gentle to have any enemies,
brought the nothingness of life very close to Akbar. From the afternoon
when the sad news reached him he resolved to live as if every day were
to be his last; that marked his conversion to the ideal life....
“In maturity he had been gross of body, as strong men often are who
carry the appetites of youth into middle age; but after this Akbar
became an ascetic and lived altogether on rice and fruit.”
“Did he ever take the title of Akbar himself?” I interjected.
“It was given to him very early,” explained the Sufi, “by many when he
was only thirty; but he never took it himself till after Abulfazl’s
death. We can see how he came to it,” the Sufi added, as if in apology,
“for he was always frank and sincere as a child. His studies of various
prophets had taught him that they were all alike in some qualities,
and recognising in himself in later life the same characteristics of
gentleness and lovingkindness, he came to believe that he, too, was
divine and sent by God as His vicegerent on earth, or khalifa.”
“Very interesting,” I could not help interjecting. “Did he then speak
of himself as the khalifa?”
“He did,” replied the Sufi solemnly, “and in this conviction he put
forth a new creed, Din-i-Ilahi--‘The Divine Faith’--which contained the
best in a dozen religions, and so long as he lived it was adopted and
practised throughout the empire.”
“You amaze me,” I cried; “what was this new religion?”
“Akbar,” replied the Sufi slowly, “took the ceremonies of it from the
Parsees and the spirit from Jesus, and he built the Ibadat-Khana or
palace-temple at Fatepur-Sikri for men of learning and genius; and
there he gathered about him prophets from Persia and painters from
Francia, and allotted pensions to writers and saints and men of talent
of all kinds, and his fame spread abroad throughout the world. All over
his empire he built roads and founded schools, for there was peace in
his time, though men said he had ‘forgotten how to punish.’...”
“But was his religion followed?” I asked. “Had he any real converts?”
“Myriads of disciples and hakim,” replied the Sufi, “for in love of his
wife he took Mohammed’s heaven into his gospel and said that perfect
happiness was only to be found in the love of women....”
“What was his end?” I asked.
“Alas! alas!” exclaimed the Sufi, “it came all too soon. He worked
too vehemently, always galloping in the dark after that flaming ball,
so that he died worn out when he was only a little over sixty; but he
had the consciousness of having lived a great life and left a noble
example. Some of us still believe,” added the Sufi, as if speaking to
himself, “that he was indeed a son of God, the true Khalifa, and the
faith he set forth was worthy of the name he gave it--‘The Divine.’
“Toward the end of his life, though he always passed much of his time
in the harem, it was for counsel chiefly, and there it was said that
he was happy, for he would have no other companion but his wife, the
king’s daughter, though she was childless, and she was at his side when
the darkness took him.”
A FIT OF MADNESS
A FIT OF MADNESS
Even specialists in mental aberration had rarely met a case like that
of Rambeau.
Henri Rambeau was a very strong fellow, nearing forty years of age.
He loved to laugh and eat and drink, was possessed of a considerable
fortune, and appeared to be gifted with an extraordinarily healthy
and strong body and mind. He never used his mind much and certainly
exhausted neither it nor his body.
Each morning he spent an hour and a half on horseback riding in the
Bois; he devoted the afternoon now to visits, now to golf; in the
evening he either went out with his wife to some social party or to
the theatre. Latterly he had become accustomed, when his wife did
not want him, to spend an evening watching the gambling at the club
while smoking a cigar. He disliked all excessive emotions, and the few
affairs of the heart that he was supposed to have had were not very
absorbing. In fine, he led a most useless but healthy and pleasurable
existence.
He never read or studied anything exciting; he had no ambition except
to appear just what he was--a gentleman rather well off, well-fed,
well-bred, well-dressed, up to date in every respect.
Curiously enough he went in for athletics more than an ordinary
Frenchman. He was a little stronger than the average and looked like
an American; always shaved completely, and had a well-balanced face
lit up by ordinary blue eyes. He always tubbed in the morning and went
in for half-an-hour’s Swedish gymnastics. He had been an idle, playful
little boy; a young man of all the virtues; a husband of perfect
respectability--the last person in the world to go wrong in any way!...
Madame Rambeau could never get over the surprise she felt one morning
when she came into her husband’s room and found him in his pyjamas
kneeling on the bed, holding in one hand a small English flag and in
the other one of those little playthings in the shape of a wheel which
make a creaking noise. As soon as he saw his wife he cried out: “Go
away! Go away!” and hid himself under the clothes.
“What is the matter with you?” cried Madame Rambeau; “it is midday and
you are not up yet, Henri--that is why I came in.” He looked at his
wife in absolute fear, and to her amazement replied: “What does this
lady want of me?”
“Do, do be sensible,” said the wife. “It is me! me, Germaine!” But
after trying in vain for a quarter of an hour to make him realise his
position, his wife had to say that Henri Rambeau had been struck by a
fit of madness.
Curiously enough, he talked sensibly in a wrong-headed way. “I am not
well!” he said. “My head’s clear and I would willingly drink my coffee,
but I cannot remember where I am or who I am, or who this lady is who
speaks to me so familiarly. It’s quite funny. I’m thirty-eight years
of age, yet everything appears to me to be new; this apartment, this
furniture, this pretty woman who pretends to be my wife and the servant
who tells me he has served me since I was a child.
“It seems to me as if I have had a sleep for years or had died and
come to life again: a strange life!... Please do not cry, madame; I am
willing to admit that I married you. You are really charming, neither
too fat nor too thin and very dark, and I have always liked dark women.
You call yourself Germaine--I like the name too, but I cannot call
you ‘Germaine’ like that, straight off; I ought to say ‘madame’ or
‘mademoiselle.’ Do I frighten you? I am sorry! You tell me that my name
is ‘Henri Rambeau,’ no title, no distinction.... I do not mind this
place here: it seems comfortable and I am perfectly at my ease.
“That old servant came in; he says he saw me born; smiles because he
thinks I am drunk. I am not drunk. Perhaps I have had a little accident
of memory. You will please go into the next room to let me get up; I
cannot dress before you!”
After he had dressed and had come into the sitting-room he consented to
see the doctor. The doctor took numberless notes and recommended Madame
Rambeau to keep him as quiet as possible and humour him in everything.
At one o’clock they had _déjeuner_ together; he became very
affectionate to his wife in the course of the _déjeuner_. He said to
her: “You please me infinitely, you know, my dear lady. I discover all
sorts of beauty in you I had not dreamt of. Your voice awakens all
kinds of feelings in me. I believe we are going to be very happy. Will
you allow me to kiss your hand?”
In fine, he made love to his wife as he had done fourteen years before,
and he was so charming, told her so many flattering things, that she
began to blush as she had blushed in the days of their first meetings.
“I am so afraid,” he said, “of annoying you with my affection.”
“Do not be afraid,” replied Germaine, speaking with an eagerness she
could hardly explain, “I, too, have a feeling as if you were partly
unknown to me, but I do hope you will go on liking me. What are we to
do this evening, because you know the Delaroches have invited us to
dinner?”
“The Delaroches,” he repeated.
“Your cousins, you know,” said his wife.
“Oh, do not let’s go. Let’s stay here, and when the twilight comes I
will read you some verses.... I never noticed before what a pretty foot
you have. Please let us be together and keep the foolish world out; you
know how I love you!”
It was evident that he only thought of his wife and had fallen as
intensely in love with her as he had done fourteen years before. His
desire, his admiration, his flatteries troubled her, moved her and
finally won her as they had won her before.
He followed her with all sorts of little attentions, with a passion
that seemed to know no respite and yet was always respectful. The poor
woman did not know what to make of it, but the doctor had told her to
humour him in every way, and really she found it easy to humour him!
Without sharing his madness she became the young wife she had been
fourteen years before. Henri’s devotion was so complete that it really
won her heart as she had never been won.