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The Memoirs of a White Elephant
The Memoirs of a White Elephant
FOREWORD
(Avant-propos)
We are told by writers of antiquity that elephants have written sentences in Greek, and that one of them was even known to speak. There is, therefore, nothing unreasonable in the supposition that the White Elephant of this history, the famous "Iravata" so celebrated throughout Asia, should have written his own memoirs.
The story of his long existence – at times so glorious, and at other times so full of misfortune – in the kingdom of Siam, and the India of the Maharajahs and the English, is full of most curious and interesting adventure.
After being almost worshipped as an idol, Iravata becomes a warrior; he is made prisoner with his master, whose life he saves, and whom he assists to escape.
Later he is deemed worthy to be the guardian and companion of the lovely little Princess Parvati, for whose amusement he invents wonderful games, and to whom he renders a loving service.
We see how a wicked sentiment having crept into the heart of the faithful Elephant, usually so wise and good, he is separated for a long time from his beloved Princess, and meets with painful and trying experiences.
But at last he once more finds his devoted friend the Princess, and her forgiveness restores him to happiness.
J. G.
FOREWORD TO THE AMERICAN EDITION
My DEAR CHILDREN: —
This Story was written by Mademoiselle Gautier, a French lady who lives in Paris. She is very handsome, and very learned, and is able to write and speak Chinese, which is the most difficult language in the world.
She has also written beautiful tales of Persia, Japan, and other far-away countries.
This Story was meant for French children, but I have made it into English, so that my little American friends can have the pleasure of hearing all about "Iravata" the good and wise Elephant, and his friends, the King and Queen of Golconda, and the charming little Princess Parvati.
Iravata meets with many surprising adventures. At one time he becomes a "War-Elephant," and goes into battle in magnificent armour carrying the King on his back. He fights tremendously, but nevertheless is taken prisoner, and the King, his master, is condemned to death by his cruel enemies. But the clever Elephant finds a way to liberate his Master, and they escape together, and after many adventures reach home safely.
Later on Iravata becomes restless and unhappy, and runs away, and after many wanderings, he joins a Circus. Here he performs many amusing feats. But, growing homesick, he is at last only too glad to return to his home in the Palace of Golconda, where he lives happily ever after.
S. A. B. H.
Atlantic City, 1916.
CHAPTER I
THE STUDENT OF GOLCONDA
First of all I must tell you how I learned to write. This knowledge came to me somewhat late in my long life, but it has to be mentioned at the outset, for although you men have taught my race to perform many laborious tasks, you have not been in the habit of sending us to school, and an elephant capable of reading and writing is a phenomenon so rare as to seem almost incredible. I say rare, for I have heard it stated that my case is not entirely unique. During my long association with mankind I have come to understand much of their speech. I am even acquainted with several languages; Siamese, Hindustani, and a little English.
I might have been able to speak; I attempted to do so at times; but I only succeeded in producing such extraordinary sounds as set my teachers laughing, and terrified my companion elephants, if they chanced to hear me; for my utterances resembled neither their own language nor that of mankind!
I was about sixty years old (which is the prime of youth with us), when chance enabled me to learn letters, and eventually to write the words which I was never able to pronounce.
The enclosure reserved for me in the Palace of Golconda, where I was permitted to roam entirely at liberty, was bordered on one side by a wall of bricks enameled in blue and green. It was quite a high wall, but it reached only to my shoulder, so that I could, if inclined, look over the top very easily.
I spent much of my time at this place, owing to some tall tamarind trees, which cast a fresh and delicious shade all around.
I had plenty of leisure, indeed, I was actually idle, for I was rarely called upon except for processions. So, after my morning bath had been taken, my toilet made, and my breakfast finished, my guardians, or rather my servants, were at liberty to sleep, or to go about visiting and amusing themselves – while I stood motionless under the trees, going over in my mind the many experiences of my past life.
Every day there arose from an adjoining courtyard merry shouts and laughter, which would be followed by a silence, and then by a monotonous chanting. It was a class of little boys who were reciting the Alphabet, for a school was being taught there.
Under shady trees, on turf covered here and there with small carpets, a number of children with red caps romped and played, when the Master was not there. As soon as he appeared all was silence, and he seated himself upon a larger rug, under an old tree.
On the trunk of the tree was fastened a white Tablet, on which he wrote with a red pencil.
I looked and listened, at first without much interest, noticing chiefly the mischievous antics of the children, who made faces at me, and glanced over with all sorts of grimaces – exploding suddenly with laughter for which no cause was apparent… Punishments rained! Tears succeeded laughter! And I, who felt myself somewhat the cause of the disturbance, no longer ventured to show myself. But my curiosity was awakened. The idea of trying to learn what was being taught to the small men became fixed in my mind.