IT is one of the most striking proofs of the
abiding fascination of the East that in novels by English writers where the dramatis personae comprise Orientals as well as Europeans, setting aside a very few exceptions, the former are infinitely more interesting and better drawn than the latter. In Mr. Conrad's and Mr. Kipling's books the balance is well maintained ; but in Mrs. Steel's striking stories the natives compare very favourably with their rulers from the point of view of general picturesqueness and psycho- logical interest, while the discrepancy is even more marked in Mrs. Penny's otherwise excellent story of The Sanyasi. The heroine falls into the category of the conventionally un- conventional modern girl, rich, adventurous, emancipated, and boyishly frank in manner and speech. Of her two lovers, one is the typical, self-possessed, priggish official, and the other an impecunious, chivalrous youth, driven by stress of circumstances to act as rough-rider to a horse-dealer; but both are alike in the stilted precision of their conversation. All these personages are essentially commonplace, with the exception of the merchant's wife, Mrs. Dunbar, a well-drawn specimen of the maitresse femme, and it is impossible to feel much interest in the vicissitudes of their career. At an early stage of the story one realises that they are not destined to appeal keenly to our sympathies or to undergo any thrilling experiences. The temporary depression of Vansittart's fortunes is artificially contrived so as to accentuate his ultimate emergence from a not very dignified position. In other words, Mrs. Penny convinces her readers almost from the very outset that the demands of poetic justice will be fully met in the case of the European dramatis personae. But the native part of the story is of a totally different and immensely superior quality. One may harbour a certain amount of incredulity as to the success with which the real hero of the story contrives to preserve the secret of his dual existence so long, but the con- ception is picturesque and the working out ingenious. Yytalingam, who is the natural son by an Indian mother of an English merchant—the father of the heroine— spends half the year on his estate at Trichinopoly as a prosperous and respected Indian gentleman, while for the other half he roams the country as a Sanyasi or ascetic, living on charity and relieving the sick and needy out of the superfluity of the alms which he receives. His double life, his education, and a certain knowledge of medicine enable him to pass as a miracle-worker and thought-reader, but the mixed forces of heredity are expressed in a special leaning towards his white relations. Thus in the disguise of the Sanyasi he saves his half-sister from being trampled underfoot by a savage horse, and in his character of a wealthy native merchant takes an active part in promoting the welfare of her impecunious but otherwise unexceptionable suitor. Yet with all his force of character and endowments the Sanyasi falls a victim to a vindictive native woman, the wife of a goldsmith, whom the spretae injuria formae drives to wreak a strange and terrible vengeance on the man who has rejected her advances. By way of humorous relief there is an extremely entertaining figure in the Madrasi butler and major-domo of the Dunbar household, whose relations with his subordinates and superiors, and fertility in resource, diplomacy, and excuse, are a never-ending source of amuse- ment. So long as Miguel or the Sanyasi is on the stage the action never flags, while the episode of the pearl-fishing expe- dition is brought home to the eyes—and, let us add, the nose —of the reader with remarkable vividness.
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