The Statement of MR. MURTHWAITE (1850)
(In a letter to MR. BRUFF)
Have you any recollection, my dear sir, of a semi-savage person whom you
met out at dinner, in London, in the autumn of 'forty-eight? Permit me
to remind you that the person's name was Murthwaite, and that you and
he had a long conversation together after dinner. The talk related to
an Indian Diamond, called the Moonstone, and to a conspiracy then in
existence to get possession of the gem.
Since that time, I have been wandering in Central Asia. Thence I have
drifted back to the scene of some of my past adventures in the north
and north-west of India. About a fortnight since, I found myself in
a certain district or province (but little known to Europeans) called
Kattiawar.
Here an adventure befell me, in which (incredible as it may appear) you
are personally interested.
In the wild regions of Kattiawar (and how wild they are, you will
understand, when I tell you that even the husbandmen plough the land,
armed to the teeth), the population is fanatically devoted to the old
Hindoo religion--to the ancient worship of Bramah and Vishnu. The few
Mahometan families, thinly scattered about the villages in the interior,
are afraid to taste meat of any kind. A Mahometan even suspected of
killing that sacred animal, the cow, is, as a matter of course, put to
death without mercy in these parts by the pious Hindoo neighbours who
surround him. To strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the people, two
of the most famous shrines of Hindoo pilgrimage are contained within the
boundaries of Kattiawar. One of them is Dwarka, the birthplace of the
god Krishna. The other is the sacred city of Somnauth--sacked, and
destroyed as long since as the eleventh century, by the Mahometan
conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni.
Finding myself, for the second time, in these romantic regions, I
resolved not to leave Kattiawar, without looking once more on the
magnificent desolation of Somnauth. At the place where I planned to do
this, I was (as nearly as I could calculate it) some three days distant,
journeying on foot, from the sacred city.
I had not been long on the road, before I noticed that other people--by
twos and threes--appeared to be travelling in the same direction as
myself.
To such of these as spoke to me, I gave myself out as a Hindoo-Boodhist,
from a distant province, bound on a pilgrimage. It is needless to say
that my dress was of the sort to carry out this description. Add, that
I know the language as well as I know my own, and that I am lean
enough and brown enough to make it no easy matter to detect my European
origin--and you will understand that I passed muster with the people
readily: not as one of themselves, but as a stranger from a distant part
of their own country.
On the second day, the number of Hindoos travelling in my direction
had increased to fifties and hundreds. On the third day, the throng had
swollen to thousands; all slowly converging to one point--the city of
Somnauth.
A trifling service which I was able to render to one of my
fellow-pilgrims, during the third day's journey, proved the means of
introducing me to certain Hindoos of the higher caste. From these men I
learnt that the multitude was on its way to a great religious ceremony,
which was to take place on a hill at a little distance from Somnauth.
The ceremony was in honour of the god of the Moon; and it was to be held
at night.
The crowd detained us as we drew near to the place of celebration. By
the time we reached the hill the moon was high in the heaven. My Hindoo
friends possessed some special privileges which enabled them to gain
access to the shrine. They kindly allowed me to accompany them. When
we arrived at the place, we found the shrine hidden from our view by
a curtain hung between two magnificent trees. Beneath the trees a flat
projection of rock jutted out, and formed a species of natural platform.
Below this, I stood, in company with my Hindoo friends.
Looking back down the hill, the view presented the grandest spectacle of
Nature and Man, in combination, that I have ever seen. The lower slopes
of the eminence melted imperceptibly into a grassy plain, the place of
the meeting of three rivers. On one side, the graceful winding of the
waters stretched away, now visible, now hidden by trees, as far as the
eye could see. On the other, the waveless ocean slept in the calm of
the night. People this lovely scene with tens of thousands of human
creatures, all dressed in white, stretching down the sides of the hill,
overflowing into the plain, and fringing the nearer banks of the winding
rivers. Light this halt of the pilgrims by the wild red flames of
cressets and torches, streaming up at intervals from every part of
the innumerable throng. Imagine the moonlight of the East, pouring in
unclouded glory over all--and you will form some idea of the view that
met me when I looked forth from the summit of the hill.
A strain of plaintive music, played on stringed instruments, and flutes,
recalled my attention to the hidden shrine.
I turned, and saw on the rocky platform the figures of three men. In the
central figure of the three I recognised the man to whom I had spoken
in England, when the Indians appeared on the terrace at Lady Verinder's
house. The other two who had been his companions on that occasion were
no doubt his companions also on this.
One of the spectators, near whom I was standing, saw me start. In a
whisper, he explained to me the apparition of the three figures on the
platform of rock.
They were Brahmins (he said) who had forfeited their caste in the
service of the god. The god had commanded that their purification should
be the purification by pilgrimage. On that night, the three men were to
part. In three separate directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims
to the shrines of India. Never more were they to look on each other's
faces. Never more were they to rest on their wanderings, from the day
which witnessed their separation, to the day which witnessed their
death.
As those words were whispered to me, the plaintive music ceased. The
three men prostrated themselves on the rock, before the curtain which
hid the shrine. They rose--they looked on one another--they embraced.
Then they descended separately among the people. The people made way
for them in dead silence. In three different directions I saw the crowd
part, at one and the same moment. Slowly the grand white mass of the
people closed together again. The track of the doomed men through the
ranks of their fellow mortals was obliterated. We saw them no more.
A new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose from the hidden shrine.
The crowd around me shuddered, and pressed together.
The curtain between the trees was drawn aside, and the shrine was
disclosed to view.
There, raised high on a throne--seated on his typical antelope, with
his four arms stretching towards the four corners of the earth--there,
soared above us, dark and awful in the mystic light of heaven, the god
of the Moon. And there, in the forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow
Diamond, whose splendour had last shone on me in England, from the bosom
of a woman's dress!
Yes! after the lapse of eight centuries, the Moonstone looks forth once
more, over the walls of the sacred city in which its story first began.
How it has found its way back to its wild native land--by what accident,
or by what crime, the Indians regained possession of their sacred gem,
may be in your knowledge, but is not in mine. You have lost sight of it
in England, and (if I know anything of this people) you have lost sight
of it for ever.
So the years pass, and repeat each other; so the same events revolve in
the cycles of time. What will be the next adventures of the Moonstone?
Who can tell?