I am _not_ a man, Sir!——said the Little Gentleman.——I was born into
this world the wreck of a man, and I shall not be judged with a race to
which I do not belong. Look at this!——he said, and held up his withered
arm.——See there!——and he pointed to his misshapen extremities.——Lay your
hand here!——and he laid his own on the region of his misplaced heart.——I
have known nothing of the life of your race. When I first came to my
consciousness, I found myself an object of pity, or a sight to show. The
first strange child I ever remember hid its face and would not come near
me. I was a broken-hearted as well as broken-bodied boy. I grew into
the emotions of ripening youth, and all that I could have loved shrank
from my presence. I became a man in years, and had nothing in common
with manhood but its longings. My life is the dying pang of a worn-out
race, and I shall go down alone into the dust, out of this world of
men and women, without ever knowing the fellowship of the one or the
love of the other. I will not die with a lie rattling in my throat. If
another state of being has anything worse in store for me, I have had
a long apprenticeship to give me strength that I may bear it. I don’t
believe it, Sir! I have too much faith for that. God has not left me
wholly without comfort, even here. I love this old place where I was
born;——the heart of the world beats under the three hills of Boston, Sir!
I love this great land, with so many tall men in it, and so many good,
noble women.——His eyes turned to the silent figure by his pillow.——I
have learned to accept meekly what has been allotted to me, but I cannot
honestly say that I think my sin has been greater than my suffering. I
bear the ignorance and the evil-doing of whole generations in my single
person. I never drew a breath of air nor took a step that was not a
punishment for another’s fault. I may have had many wrong thoughts, but
I cannot have done many wrong deeds,——for my cage has been a narrow one,
and I have paced it alone. I have looked through the bars and seen the
great world of men busy and happy, but I had no part in their doings.
I have known what it was to dream of the great passions; but since
my mother kissed me before she died, no woman’s lips have pressed my
cheek,——nor ever will.
——The young girl’s eyes glittered with a sudden film, and almost without
a thought, but with a warm human instinct that rushed up into her
face with her heart’s blood, she bent over and kissed him. It was the
sacrament that washed out the memory of long years of bitterness, and I
should hold it an unworthy thought to defend her.
The Little Gentleman repaid her with the only tear any of us ever saw him
shed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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