and, in some instances, cotton wicks soaked in oil, and lighted, are stuffed up the nostrils, &c. The Doorgah, or shrine, at which the fair is held, is outside the village. The demoniacs are collected in the court-yard attached to it; and in front of this court-yard is a raised platform, on which stands the officiating priest. He receives a present, in the first instance, from the friends of the demoniacs admitted into the courtyard-women for the most part. None are admitted without some fee, although the amount varies with the ability of the friends-from a pice to a gold mohur; that is, from a farthing to thirty-two shillings. This constitutes the larger portion of the revenue of the Doorgah, and is quite distinct from the professional fees paid to the ojah or exorcist. A miraculous influence is supposed to pervade the court-yard at the period of the méla, and hence the anxiety of the friends to have their afflicted relatives admitted to the holy precincts. Each particular ojah must be feed before he will undertake his incantation, and his fees are determined, as to their amount, by the ability of the friends of the sufferer. It is a pitiable sight to see that mass of afflicted humanity collected in the court-yard; old men and old women, young men and young women, youths and maidens, even little children, too, are there. But the women are vastly more numerous than the men, usually three times as many. Some of them are fixed and immovable in gaze, taking no interest in anything around them, their eyes set in a glazed stare, without intelligence or change. They will gaze at a portion of the building, or at some distant object, as if entranced. Others are violent and noisy, screaming, howling, hooting, or hissing, or imprecating terribly by all their gods; some, in the madness of maniacal aberration, tearing their hair, beating their breasts, crying, kneeling on the ground, bowing their heads with monotonous iteration, sometimes with extraordinary swiftness. Some are tied with ropes, they will not allow any clothing to remain on them if not restrained, whilst others are dangerous in their phrenzy. Idiots, maniacs, and hysterical patients are all mixed together in this terrible court-yard, and it is a fearful scene. A ceaseless beating of gongs is kept up, bells are frantically rung. The ojahs, or exorcists, seem to delight in making it as terrible as possible. The whole place resounds with the shrieks of the supposed demoniacs, and the prayers or objurgations of their friends and attendants. In such a scene it is no wonder if the simple spectators become possessed. The nerves are abnormally acted upon. Women lose their modesty. Men become furies. 6 'During the méla that has recently taken place at Ghouspore,' writes an intelligent correspondent of the Pioneer, a very pretty and interesting looking young woman was kneeling by the side of her husband. He was duly instructed by an ojah, or exorcist. He grasped her firmly with one hand by the hair; in the other hand he held a stout stick. Under the instructions he received he forced her head down, in repeated bowings, almost to the earth. After every third or fourth obeisance, he asked a question at the suggestion of the ojah. If the answer was satisfactory he said, 'good, good.' If otherwise, he beat her unmercifully with the stick. It was supposed to be an obstinate devil, and could be removed only by beating. But some of the poor wretches operated upon were simply idiots.' A woman named Sidooe had two brothers-in-law, Kublass and Jugroo. Kublass had a child ill with spleen. He sent for a wise man, or soothsayer, named Jerbundhun, to prescribe for the child. Jerbundhun pronounced the child to be possessed of a devil, with which Sidooe, the aunt, who was also a widow, had bewitched it. Sidooe was asked to withdraw the demon. She protested her innocence and ignorance, but, as Kublass was importunate with her, she naturally felt indignant, and took out of his hands the management of her property, and gave it to his brother Jugroo. The child of Kublass became worse. Jerbundhun, the mischief-maker, was again called in. What the nature of his secret conference with Kublass was, may be inferred from the fact that Sidooe and Jugroo both died soon after. The police heard of the suspicious circumstances attending their death, and a trial ensued. But there was no proof against either of the prisoners, and they were acquitted. Yet there can be little doubt that they compassed the deaths, both of the widow and the brother, probably by poison. So baneful is this superstition about evil spirits! Nor did the deaths of Sidooe and Jugroo save the child of Kublass, for it died too. The educated Bengali is more than a match for the pretended exorcist and the ignorant priest of the Ghouspore Doorgah. The educated Bengali is the Athenian of India. Although often deficient in physical stamina, he is almost invariably intellectually acute. Ghouspore is north-east of Benares, and an intelligent member of the household of the Maharajah of Benares, Sanut Kumára by name, who had been educated at the College, happening to be in the neighbourhood, got into conversation with one of the ojahs attached to the Doorgah. Sanut Kumára did not believe the professions of the ojah, or his wonderful tales of Demon exorcism, but, professing credulity, he told him one of his servants was mysteriously afflicted, and promised to bring him to the Doorgah. When the servant was brought, the ojah, after a hasty examination, declared that he was afflicted with a devil, and offered to cure him. A day was fixed for the encounter with the demon, and, in the meantime, a certain diet and regimen were prescribed for the sufferer, a poor and meagre diet. On the appointed day the servant appeared before the exorcist, dumb and stolid as before, apparently senseless. Evidently a very obstinate devil had got hold of him. The ojah demanded his fee of twelve rupees before operating. The amount was paid. Then the ojah commenced his incantations, which were apparently useless. Failing by words, the ojah began to have recourse to blows. These the unruly patient resented. The ojah called on Sanut Kumára to help him in binding the unhappy possessed, so that he might operate on him without hindrance. Sanut Kumára demurred at first, but at length consented, in order that the ojah might treat him completely at his ease. Sanut Kumára pretended to comply, but so inefficiently was the athletic young man bound, that after a question or two had been demanded of him, to which there was no reply, and a blow or two struck, he shook off his bonds and seizing the stick from the ojah, he belaboured him soundly, Sanut Kumára in vain acting as mediator. 'You want to know who was my father,' said the youth; 'take that, son of a vile mother! and let honest men alone for the future,' and, so saying, he brought down the stick upon the ojah's back. Sanut Kumára lifted his hands imploringly, beseeching his servant to have mercy. "He wants to know how long the devii has been in me,' said the servant again; 'let him discover his own devil first, and cast him out, a lying devil, a cheating devil, a robber,' and with every epithet down came a blow. 'O pray, pray, desist,' said Sanut Kumára, now raising himself in earnest, for he saw that the cries of the ojah were attracting the attention of the priests and servants of the Doorgah. With some difficulty peace was restored, and that ojah escaped from the hands of Sanut Kumára and his servant, a wiser, but a sorer, man. He subsequently denounced both master and servant to the authorities of the Doorgah, but nothing came of it. Both Hindus and Mahommedans resort to the Doorgah at Ghouspore, bringing with them their afflicted relatives to be exorcised-idiots, lunatics, hysterical patients, all are brought, for the ignorant villagers class them all in the same category; they are all equally possessed with devils, and Ghouspore is the place to have the demons cast out. Cures must of course be sometimes effected, or the superstition could not survive; cures doubtless the result of the action of pain or unwonted excitement on diseased nerves. Faith in Ghouspore, and its efficacy in the cure of those possessed with devils, is spread all over the adjoining country. W. KNIGHTON. ALEXANDRE DUMAS. ALEXANDRE DUMAS-the elder and greater bearer of that name-has perhaps been more persistently underrated, in England at least, than any modern writer of his calibre. There is, so far as I know, only one English biography of him in existence; and this biography seems to be devoted to the task of belittling in every possible way the name and fame of one of the greatest figures of modern European literature. The compiler appears to have believed all the malevolent stories collected, exaggerated and invented by a pseudonymous libeller and pamphleteer of a past time concerning Dumas. Surely Alfred de Musset must have had some such person as this libeller in his mind's eye when, in one of his beautiful dialogues between the Muse and the Poet, he introduced these lines of satire addressed to the Poet by the Muse. The Muse is urging the Poet, borne down by stress of real or fancied grief, to new exertions. 'Shall we,' she cries to him, 'compose some pastoral elegy?' or Shall he of Waterloo recount his deeds To stab at genius and its lofty hopes, And bite the laurel that his breath had fouled ?' The thrice-sold name of the pamphleteer who stabbed at Dumas as at many others of his great contemporaries was Jacquot. He, who was among those who sneered at Dumas for sometimes reminding people that he had a genuine claim to a noble title, proved how much he would have liked himself to have such a claim by dropping the name of Jacquot and assuming the more brilliant designation of Eugène de Mirecourt, under which title he wrote some of the basest, most venomous, and least trustworthy accounts of the distinguished writers of his time that it is possible to conceive. Jacquot has long been known for what he is worth-and mighty little that is in France; and his efforts at detraction might have obtained scarcely any attention in England but for the unfortunate industry with which they have been raked out of their native mire. This has made it necessary to refer to them; but I do not propose now to dwell upon this matter further than to say that like most slanders which attain some success, Jacquot's relations are ingenious examples of malicious exaggeration and invention built upon one brick of truth. Apart from the imputations made in this way upon Dumas's private character in his literary dealings, his literary works have, it seems to me, very seldom been rated at their true merit by English people. One great English writer did indeed leave his appreciation of the great French writer on record. That was Thackeray; and in this connection I cannot do better than refer to a singularly appreciative study of Dumas which Mr. Saintsbury published some time ago in the Fortnightly Review. Mr. Saintsbury has been dwelling as I have dwelt upon the curious notions current about Dumas's place in literature. He finds in what he says is a deservedly popular book of reference that Dumas's crisp hair and thick lips bear testimony to his African origin, a testimony confirmed by the savage voluptuousness and barbaric taste of his innumerable compositions.' He finds in this book of reference that Dumas's 'works are for the most part worthless, and for the most part not his own' (mark the wonderful logic of this passage)—and he finds Thackeray's Roundabout Papers 'full of complimentary expressions to Dumas, while On a Peal of Bells contains a formal panegyric devoted to the creator of Chicot and Dante's D'Artagnan and Coconnas.' I have myself lately come across just such an account as Mr. Saintsbury quotes, in another and an equally popular book of reference. Here Dumas is spoken of as the author of many frivolous works, the low moral tone of which does not appeal to an English mind. The writer of this last account has, however, the grace to add, 'Dumas also wrote a treatise on cookery.' Mr. Saintsbury in his article quotes a passage from Thackeray which bears particularly upon the many invectives levelled at Dumas on the ground that he was in the habit of putting his name to work which was not executed by himself :- Of your heroic heroes,' writes Thackeray, 'I think our friend Monseigneur Athos, Count de la Fère, is my favourite. I have read about him from sunrise to sunset with the utmost contentment of mind. He has passed through how many volumes? Forty? Fifty? I wish for my part there were a hundred more, and would never tire of him rescuing prisoners, punishing ruffians, and running scoundrels through the midriff with his most graceful rapier. Ah! Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, you are a most magnificent trio. I think I like D'Artagnan in his own memoirs best; I bought him years and years ago, price fivepence, in a little parchment-covered, Cologne-printed volume, at a stall in Gray's Inn Lane. Dumas glorifies him, and makes a marshal of him if I remember rightly. The original D'Artagnan was a needy adventurer who died in exile very early in Louis XIV.'s reign. Did you ever read the Chevalier d'Harmenthal? Did you |