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Goussain, and this was the method by which he succeeded in making himself famous. One morning some peasants who were coming into the town saw, near M. Rousselet's bungalow, at the cross-roads from the Residency, a holy man occupied in tying several thick ropes to the branch of a tree overhanging the road; and great was their astonishment when they saw the Goussain place his feet in two slip knots, and then, having stretched himself on the ground. haul himself up gently by means of a third


rope, until he was suspended by the feet, like a calf in a slaughter-house. In the course of an hour a vast crowd surrounded the fakir, who, still in the same position, tranquilly mumbled his prayers, while telling his beads. After hanging in this manner for several hours, he let himself down and returned to the town, escorted by a crowd of enthusiasts. On the morrow he returned to the same spot, to go again through the same performance. M. Rousselet went there with several Europeans, and

they all saw that, although the Goussain had then been suspended by the feet for some hours, his face was calm, that he spoke without difficulty, and certainly appeared to feel no inconvenience; when they asked him how he had managed to accustom himself to that position, he answered that God had given him this power as an evidence of his sanctity. Of course it would have been difficult to obtain any other explanation. For more than a month this holy man remained thus suspended like a ham during the greater part of each morning, and gained by it a good round sum. The rajah, however, never came to see him.

Still another type of these religious enthusiasts and beggars M. Rousselet encountered at Bhopaul. These fakirs go about entirely naked, except a strip of cloth around their loins, and announce their presence by a series of lamentable cries while they dance a mournful kind of dance. In the midst of their contortions they brandish about long, sharp poniards of peculiar shape and ornamented with little charms of steel. From time to time one of these enthusiasts thrusts the poniard into his body, for the most part striking his chest, his arms, or his thighs. He keeps up these stabs until, to calm his apparent madness, the by-standers have thrown him a goodly number of coin. These unfortunates, streaming with blood, were hideous to look upon, and M. Rousselet's sympathies with them were excited not a little until Houssein

Khan, who accompanied him, satisfied him that the daggers which they flourished so furiously, and which they thrust into themselves so recklessly, were purposely so made with rounded points that it was almost impossible for them to inflict serious wounds. Besides, the fakirs were careful to strike themselves always in parts which were not vital, and the wounds they made were seldom more than skin deep.

A much more pleasing performance, and one which might perhaps better have been mentioned in connection with the exploits of the jugglers, is the "egg dance." This is not, as one might expect from the name given it, a dance upon these fragile objects. It is executed in this wise: The dancer, dressed in a corsage and very short skirt, carries a willow wheel of moderate diameter fastened horizontally upon the top of her head. Around this wheel threads are fastened, equally distant from each other, and at the end of each of these threads is a slip noose, which is kept open by a glass bead. Thus equipped, the young girl comes toward the spectators with a basket full of eggs, which she passes around for inspection to prove that they are real, and not imitations. The music strikes up a jerky, monotonous strain, and the dancer begins to whirl around with great rapidity. Then, seizing an egg, she puts it in one of the slip nooses, and, with a quick motion, throws it from her in such a way as to draw the knot tight. The swift turning of the dancer produces a centrif

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ugal force which stretches the thread out straight like a ray shooting from the circumference of the circle. One after another the eggs are thrown out in these slip nooses until they make a horizontal aureole or halo about the dancer's head. Then the dance

becomes still more rapid, so rapid in fact that it is difficult to distinguish the features of the girl; the moment is critical; the least false step, the least irregularity in time, and the eggs dash against each other. But how can the dance be stopped? There is but one way, that is, to remove the eggs in the way in which they have been put in place.

This operation is by far the more delicate of the two. It is necessary that the dancer, by a single motion, exact and unerring, should take hold of the egg, and remove it from the noose. A single false motion of the hand, the least interference with one of the threads, and the general arrangement is suddenly broken, and the whole performance disastrously ended. At last all the eggs are successfully removed; the dancer suddenly stops, and without seeming in the least dizzied by this dance of twenty-five or thirty minutes, she advances to the spectators with a firm step, and presents them the eggs,

which are immediately broken in a flat dish to prove that there is no trick about the performance.

Shortly after his arrival at Baroda, M. Rousselet was formally received at the Palace by the Guicowar, one of the most powerful of the Indian sovereigns. The manners of the Guicowar were full of courtesy and affability. After smoking a few minutes, he handed his hookah to a servant, and began to question M. Rousselet as to the object of his journey, and the length of stay he proposed to make at Baroda. "He was charmed," writes our traveler, "to find me answer him direct in his own language. We conversed for some hours, during which he passed in review, with much interest, all the States of Europe, asking me respecting their relative importance, their revenues, their forms of government, and their intercourse with one another. He appeared well informed in the affairs of France, England, and Russia, and the encroachments of the Muscovite Power in Central Asia engaged his attention considerably. With the other nations he was quite unacquainted. When we rose to take leave, he held my hand while he expressed the pleasure my visit had afforded him; and I took it for granted that this was merely a complimentary form; that he saw in our sojourn a means of recreation, and that was enough for a man of so capricious a character. But

he made me promise that I would come to see him every morning of my stay at Baroda, and when I tried to excuse myself by alleging the great distance between my abode and the palace, he told me that he would have a residence prepared for me in a place nearer at hand." And the Guicowar was as

good as his word. A few days afterward, M. Rousselet was notified that the Motibaugh, or "Garden of Pearls," not far from the Royal Palace, was at his disposal, and he was soon duly installed there. Statues, fountains, and kiosks surrounded this delightful retreat, to which coolness, shade, and a beautiful prospect all lent their attractions. In addition, the Guicowar placed at the disposal of M. Rousselet a numerous staff of servants, and his table was supplied with the choicest dishes and the best wines of Europe, all at the expense of his generous host.

One of the entertainments which the Guicowar ordered for the amusement of his guest was an elephant-fight. This combat is of so novel and extraordinary a character, that we give M. Rousselet's account of it in full. The elephant, which is personally known as an animal of very gentle disposition, can, seems, be brought, by a system of exciting nourishment, to a state of rage, which the Indians call musth. He then becomes furious, and attacks whatever comes in his way, men or animals. Males alone, however, are

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capable of becoming musthi, and to bring them to this state, it is necessary usually to feed them with sugar and butter for three months. The day before the combat M. Rousselet accompanied the king to see the elephants which were to fight, and upon which many wagers had already been staked. The immense brutes were loaded with iron chains of considerable weight, and were shut up separately in strongly fenced enclosures. A dense crowd was pressing round them, praising or criticising the good qualities or defects of each. The king went to and fro in the midst of the courtiers like a private individual, gesticulating and shouting like the others. The betting was carried on with spirit, and M. Rousselet laid wagers with the king and several of the courtiers, merely for the sake of following the general example, for it would have been difficult for a novice to decide on the merits of one animal over those of another. On the occasion of the combat M. Rousselet was favored with a seat in the king's box, overlooking the elephants' arena, occupying a chair next the Guicowar, while the nobles were disposed of on cushions. The arena was in the form of a vast parallelogram, about three hundred yards long by two hundred wide. It is entirely surrounded by thick walls; a great number of narrow doors allow of entrance or exit to the attendants, without permitting the elephant to follow them. The summits of the walls are provided with balconies, open to the public, who seem passionately fond of spectacles of this kind. The roofs of the neighboring houses, even the trees, are covered with a motley and, as usual, noisy crowd. On an elevated mound are placed the female elephants, and these, it appears, have a decided taste for such sights. In the arena itself are the two males, each chained to one of the extremities, expressing their wrath by trumpetings, and fiercely digging their tusks into the sand. By instinct the elephant always recognizes his mahout, or driver, and allows him to approach him even while in this condition. Gracefully formed young men, nearly naked, are walking about in groups. These are the sâtmari-wallahs, who play the same part here as the toreadors at bull-fights in Spain, and who may be called elephantadors. They wear nothing but a light, colored turban, and a scanty, tight-fitting pair of drawers, which give the elephant nothing to lay hold of. The most active carry only a horsewhip and a veil of red silk; others are armed with long lances; and, lastly, a small num

ber have only a fuse fastened to the end of a stick, and a lighted match. These last have the least showy but the most important functions to perform. They must post themselves at different points of the arena, and run to the rescue of the elephantador when in danger. Rushing in front of the infuriated animal, they flash their fuses in his face, when he recoils in terror, and they succor the wounded. But they are not allowed to have recourse to this stratagem unless there is real danger. If they make a mistake, they are reprimanded; if they allow the elephantador to be killed, they are severely punished. They are all selected from among the handsomest and best-made men that can be procured, and are endowed with wonderful agility.

A few minutes after the arrival of M. Rousselet and his friend, the Guicowar entered the box, and took his seat between them. At a given signal the arena is cleared for the contest. Each mahout seats himself on the neck of his elephant, the chains are cast loose, and the two animals are in full view. After an instant's hesitation, they approach each other, with their trunks raised, and trumpeting fiercely; their pace increases, and they meet in the center of the


Their foreheads strike together, and the violence of the shock is so great that their fore feet give way, and they remain leaning against each other. They wrestle with their trunks, which they entwine like arms, and the mahouts have sometimes to defend themselves with their goads. For some minutes the elephants remain head to head, until one of them, finding himself growing gradually weak, feels that he is going to be conquered. It is a critical moment, for the creature well knows that in taking flight he must present his flank to the enemy, who may pierce him with his tusks, or throw him prostrate. The worsted one, therefore, summoning up all his strength, pushes his adversary back by one desperate thrust, and takes flight. The combat is decided; shouts re-echo on all sides, and the spectators are occupied more with their wagers than with the elephants. The vanquished one has now to be taken away, and the field left free to the conqueror. A party of men come with great iron pincers, indented, with long handles united by a spring. They skillfully fix a pair on one of the hind legs of each elephant, where, through the operation of the spring, they remain tight. The long handles get entangled with the other three legs, and, as the teeth of the

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