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
his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and
laid him on the stone floor of the room, so that,
stretched out on the earth, our mother, he should
yield up his soul, according to the command of Brahma.
