Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Bollywood Rewatch 3: Kandukondain Kandukondain

Be still, my beating heart:
Tabu (Sowmya) and Aishwarya (Meenu) in Kandukondain Kandukondain
I'm not sure why there haven't been more cinematic adaptations of Jane Austen novels in India, unless perhaps it's because Austen has a leading place in the literary canon of the British oppressor. Her books would seem to lend themselves perfectly to filmi treatment. They concern the plight of women in a male-oriented society and the economic, social and emotional barriers to the love of the heroine and the hero. In every Jane Austen novel the key question is whether the correct couple(s) will be united at the end. And even though we know the answer to that question in advance (except, perhaps, in Persuasion), the pleasure of the resolution is undiminished.

I'm aware of only three film adaptations of Austen with Indian settings (so please let me know if I've overlooked any). In reverse chronological order, they are:  

Aisha (2010, based on Emma), written by Devika Bhagat and Manu Rishi Chaddha and directed by Rajshree Ojha: In my post "Who cares if Tanu weds Manu?: The new Bollywood romantic comedy," I wrote that as Aisha/Emma, Sonam Kapoor "is pretty enough, but blank: her performance suggests that Aisha really is as shallow as she seems."  

Bride & Prejudice (2004, based of course on Pride & Prejudice), written by Paul Mayeda Berges and Gurinder Chadha and directed by Chadha: Yes, Chadha is of Anglo-Indian ancestry, and this film is primarily in English. It's included here because it is set in India, and because it features Indian actors such as Aishwarya Rai, Anupam Kher and Sonali Kulkarni. But, as I wrote in "A Bollywood Persuasion," it is "fatally handicapped by New Zealand actor Martin Henderson's lackluster Darcy and...Chadha's mediocre script."

Perhaps the first time was the charm. The excellent Tamil film Kandukondain Kandukondain (I Have Found It, 2000, based on Sense & Sensibility), written and directed by Rajiv Menon, manages to be surprisingly faithful to its source while believably updating the story to the present. If anything, I found Menon's film to be even better on our recent rewatch than I remembered. (And yes, I know it's a Kollywood, and not Bollywood, product, but I don't yet have a "Kollywood Rewatch" series.)

Aishwarya plays the headstrong, romantic Meenakshi/Marianne, with Tabu as her older and wiser sister Sowmya/Elinor. When Meenakshi (Meenu) meets her future husband, she wants lightning, thunder,

and a godlike man stepping forth out of them

Sowmya doesn't have such fanciful expectations; in fact, as the eldest daughter of a wealthy family, she is facing an arranged marriage:

so why should I choose my husband?

But as it turns out, both sisters fall in love. Meenu is swept away by poetry-quoting investment banker Srikanth (Abbas), whom indeed she meets during a raging storm. Sowmya, mistakenly thinking that he is the groom that has been arranged for her, finds herself being charmed almost against her will by aspiring film director Manohar (Ajith Kumar). Complicating matters for Meenu is Major Bala (Mammootty), who makes no secret of his admiration for her, but who is twice her age and is a physically and emotionally wounded veteran. Complicating matters for Sowmya is that Manohar has a prior commitment—to his career: he wants to direct his first film before he contemplates marriage. Any resemblance of Srikanth to the untrustworthy Willoughby, Manohar to the unsettled Edward Ferrars or Major Bala to the unrequited Colonel Brandon is entirely intentional.

As does Marianne in Austen's novel, Meenu loves music and dancing; at a party she teases Sowmya about her feelings for Manohar in "Kannamoochi Yennada":

The wonderful soundtrack was composed by AR Rahman, with lyrics by Vairamuthu; K. S. Chithra is Aishwarya's playback singer.

The sisters' lives are suddenly upended when a relative inherits their family home and they are forced to leave. Together with their mother, their youngest sister, and a loyal servant, the now-penniless sisters move to Madras/Chennai, where Sowmya struggles to take on the role of breadwinner. And now both sisters face the loss, not only of their social standing, but of their romantic hopes...

If you haven't yet seen Kandukondain Kandukondain or read Sense & Sensibility, I urge you to do so without delay. You can watch the full movie on YouTube, with English subtitles, thanks to Rajshri films. (Unfortunately, on YouTube you don't get the full richness of the colors or the sharpness of the images of Ravi K. Chandran's lovely cinematography, as you do on the Kino International DVD.) Sense & Sensibility is a free download from Project Gutenberg and Open Library.

Opposites Attract
There is one issue that I want to talk about with Kandukondain Kandukondain, and it's impossible to do so without revealing the ending. So be forewarned if you haven't read Austen's novel or seen the movie: spoilers follow.

As sympathetic, as honorable, as steadfast, and as sincere as we and Meenu/Marianne find Major Bala/Colonel Brandon, the question of whether she will be completely happy or fulfilled in their marriage remains naggingly open at the end of the film. In the novel Marianne is 17 and Colonel Brandon is "on the wrong side of five and thirty"; she considers him "an absolute old bachelor" (Ch. 7). In the film, Meenu seems to be in her late teens or early twenties (Aish was in her mid-20s, but looks and plays younger), and Major Bala is clearly well over 40 (Mammootty was in his late 40s at the time of filming).

Don't confuse mercy and love
Excellent advice from Major Bala (Mammootty)

But more significant than the difference in their ages is the difference in their sensibilities. Major Bala is blunt, no-nonsense, practical, and (literally) down-to-earth, although his choice of profession may hint at a emotional side he otherwise doesn't reveal: he's become a commercial flower grower. Meenu is impulsive, headstrong, playful and romantic, a lover of music, dance and song. Bala is clearly dazzled by her and will take care of her with great devotion; but will that be enough to overcome their differences?

I was reminded of the conversation between Lady Laura Kennedy and Violet Effingham in Chapter 10 of Anthony Trollope's Phineas Finn, in which Lady Laura lists the reasons Violet should marry her brother:
"Because it would save him. Because you are the only woman for whom he has ever cared, and because he loves you with all his heart..."
Violet responds,
"It seems to me that all your reasons are reasons why he should marry me;—not reasons why I should marry him."
Should Meenu marry Major Bala? (And come to think of it, is Manohar, who is tied to the glitz, glamour, crassness and shallowness of the film industry, a good match for the the shy, serious Sowmya?)

Perhaps I'm guilty of viewing this movie from an American perspective, where we (so realistically!) expect total compatibility in all areas between husbands and wives. But it seems to me that these couples are likely to experience problems down the road.

Two counter-examples
Or perhaps not. There are (at least) two other Indian films that may have been influenced by Sense & Sensibility that also treat relationships between couples that at first glance don't seem to be well-matched: Parineeta (The Married Woman, 1953) and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (My Heart Belongs to You, 1998). Both movies have endings that, while ambiguous, are distinctly hopeful.

In Parineeta, the reserved Shekar (Ashok Kumar) is twice the age of the irrepressible Lalita (Meena Kumari), and has watched her grow up in the household next door. Nonetheless, or maybe inevitably, love blossoms between the two. Misunderstandings and family feuds separate them, and both receive proposals from kind, sincere people that they don't love. Their connection is severely tested,

but—spoiler alert!—ultimately is made stronger for surviving the trial.

In Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, Aishwarya plays Nandini, the vivacious daughter of Pandit Darbar, a musician (see "Bollywood Rewatch 1" for videos of her spectacular dance numbers from HDDCS). Nandini falls in love with the teasing Sameer (Salman Khan), a visiting Italo-Indian student of her father. But when the Pandit finds out about their romance, he banishes Sameer and arranges Nandini's marriage to the wealthy Vanraj (Ajay Devgan in one of his best performances). Vanraj is several years older than Nandini, and is quiet, reserved, and thoughtful to the point of brooding—like, dare I say it, Colonel Brandon to Nandini's Marianne, or Shekar to Lalita.

When Vanraj discovers that his wife loves another man, he decides to try to reunite them. They go on a journey to Italy (or, rather, "Italy"; the locations were shot in Hungary) and—spoiler alert!—after many difficulties and a near-tragedy, track down Sameer. Nandini is faced with the choice of leaving the kind and devoted Vanraj for the object of her first crush, or staying with her husband. Her decision, and the reasons and emotions that inform it, give us (or at least me) hope for the future of the couple—and perhaps for Meenu and Major Bala as well.

For other posts in this series, please see:

Bollywood Rewatch 1: Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam

Bollywood Rewatch 2: Vivah and India's missing daughters

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Suggested reading: Google Glass

Novelist Gary Shteyngart wearing Google Glass.
Photo: Emiliano Granado
Another in the occasional series of my favorite recent articles, posts, etc. from around the web:

1. Gary Shteyngart on the seductions and irritations of Google Glass ("O.K., Glass: Confessions of a Google Glass Explorer," The New Yorker, Aug. 5, 2013):
'Outside, the summer is coming together at last and Manhattan is just on the right side of sweltering. The man jerks his head, and slides his finger against the right temple of the glasses, across the so-called touch pad. A pink rectangle above his field of vision, which looks like a twenty-five-inch television screen floating some eight feet away from him, is replaced by another message: "SVO Hav Su flight 150 225pm delayed." The man has been Googling the N.S.A. leaker Edward Snowden on his computer, and now his glasses, which are synched to his Google Plus account, are informing him of a delay on the next Aeroflot (Su) flight to Havana out of SVO (Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport). Another flick of the index finger, and a different screen clicks into place. Now it would appear that someone named Chris Brown is defending himself on Twitter and that a water bed for cows has been developed. The man has subscribed to all the news sources currently available for his spectacles: the New York Times, CNN, and Elle...

'There is too much traffic on Park Avenue and Second Avenue to take a taxi downtown to the Momofuku Ssäm Bar. The man does not remember telling his glasses about enjoying that restaurant, but somehow they know.'

2. John Lanchester on the implications and consequences of Google Glass ("Short Cuts," London Review of Books, 23 May 2013):
'Look at the videos and it’s hard not to be impressed by the technologies incorporated in Glass. Think about it for five minutes, though, and it’s hard not to be alarmed by what they might mean. To dispense with one of the subtler consequences first, what does this mean for the user of Glass, in their interactions with other people? We already have an unprecedented range of tools for not-being wherever we are and not-doing whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing. But at least when we take out a phone to check our messages, people can see that we’re doing it. What if we could do that without anybody knowing? The already extensive ecology of Google Glass parodies dwells with some force on this point: we see a first-dater ask his date’s surname then check her page on Facebook. He finds out she likes dogs, looks up some dog jokes, then gets bored and, after photographing her cleavage when she bends over the table, starts watching a football match on his Glass. All of this unbeknownst to her. The user of Glass has the option to be permanently not-there. She can go into internal exile, at will and for ever...

'The cruder and more obvious problem with Glass is less to do with the user’s self-engagement, and self-withdrawal, and self-whatever, and more to do with the effect on the rest of us. Imagine a world in which anyone around you can be recording anything you say, filming anything you do....It’s hard to get one’s head around the disruptive potential of this omnipresent recording. At the end of an hour’s general chat in a newspaper office the other day, the conversation turned to Glass, and we all replayed the talk in our heads, editing out the bits we wouldn’t have said if it had been possible someone present had been recording everything. The conclusion was we’d have managed about five minutes’ small talk about the weather, followed by a 55-minute silence.'
You can see the Google Glass parody Lanchester refers to, "How Guys Will Use Google Glass," along with many others, on YouTube.

3. Google Glass will make designing cheating-proof college assignments and exams even harder. But James M. Lang writes that the high number of college students who cheat do so not because they can, but because they are encouraged to ("How college classes encourage cheating," The Boston Globe, August 4, 2013):
'College administrators largely seem to have accepted the notion that the blame for cheating lies either at the feet of morally bankrupt students or within the overall campus climate. As a result, their efforts to reduce cheating have focused on creating first-year orientations or seminars on academic integrity, or on instituting deterrent measures like suspensions or expulsions for cheaters who are caught.

'But the stability of cheating rates over the past 50 years suggests that these efforts are not having their desired effect—and an interdisciplinary new line of research in education and psychology may help explain why. Increasingly, these findings point to a radical proposition: that the very nature of the college education we provide to our students, in both its design and delivery, may turn out to be the deepest cause of cheating on campus.

'In other words, it may be that cheating rates are so high because too many university curriculums and courses are designed for cheating. And, based on current trends in college education, the problem may be about to get worse.'

4. What about the data that Google collects from Glass wearers? Not only can it be used by Google to bombard you with personalized, geospatially-specific ads (as in this scene from Minority Report (2002)), but as reporters Glenn Greenwald and Ewen MacAskill recently revealed, the National Security Agency collects data on users directly from the servers of Google—as well as Yahoo, Facebook, Skype, Apple, and Microsoft—including the content of communications ("NSA Prism program taps in to user data of Apple, Google and others," The Guardian, 6 June 2013):
'The National Security Agency has obtained direct access to the systems of Google, Facebook, Apple and other US internet giants, according to a top secret document obtained by the Guardian.

'The NSA access is part of a previously undisclosed program called Prism, which allows officials to collect material including search history, the content of emails, file transfers and live chats, the document says.

'The Guardian has verified the authenticity of the document, a 41-slide PowerPoint presentation—classified as top secret with no distribution to foreign allies—which was apparently used to train intelligence operatives on the capabilities of the program. The document claims "collection directly from the servers" of major US service providers.'
The companies have denied that they are cooperating with the NSA, but perhaps we should give their denials the same weight we give to Director of National Intelligence James Clapper's testimony before the Senate, as discussed June 10 on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (hosted by John Oliver):

5. Amy Davidson writes about reports in The Washington Post that the NSA broke its own rules on collecting data on U.S. citizens 2776 times in 2012. We know this, by the way, only because the NSA itself has said so. The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) court that supposedly oversees requests by the NSA and other agencies for data collection within the U.S., according to its chief judge Reggie B. Walton, "does not have the capacity to investigate issues of noncompliance" ("Breaking the Rules Thousands of Times at the N.S.A.," The New Yorker, August 16, 2013):
'As it turns out, there are numbers packed into the numbers. An "incident" can have affected multiple people—even multitudes. In a single one of the two thousand seven hundred and seventy-six cases, someone at the N.S.A. made a mistake in entering a number into a search request. As a result, instead of pulling information on phone calls from Egypt (country code 20) the agency got data on "a large number" of calls from Washington, D.C. (area code 202). How many, and what did they learn?...Another incident involved "the unlawful retention of 3,032 files that the surveillance court had ordered the NSA to destroy…. Each file contained an undisclosed number of telephone call records." The Post said that it was not able to tell how many Americans were affected in all. Those two examples suggest that the number could be very, very big—even by the N.S.A.’s standards.'

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Cairo in flames

Cairo, August 16, 2013. Photo: AMR Abdallah Dalsh, Reuters/Landov
What was going on in Cairo?

Cautiously, he began to walk, then beckoned to a man coming toward him. 'What's going on in town?' he asked.

'The last day's come,' was the bewildered reply.

'What do you mean? Protest deomonstrations?'

'Fire and destruction,' the man yelled, moving on...

The din was unbearable, as though every atom on earth were yelling at once. Flames were spreading everywhere, dancing in windows, crackling on roofs, licking at walls, and flying up into the smoke that hung where the sky should have been. The burning smelled hellish, a concoction of wood, clothes, and different kinds of oil. Stifled cries could be heard coming out of the smoke. Young men and boys, in frenzied unconcern, were destroying everything, and walls kept collapsing with a rumble like thunder. Concealed anger, suppressed despair, unreleased tension, all the things people had been nursing inside them, had suddenly burst their bottle, exploding like some hurricane of demons...

Men on the street corners urged people on. 'Burn! Destroy! Long live the homeland!' they yelled...

The streets were full of smashed cars; the sky had turned a deep red color as the fires blazed away under their black cloud of smoke.
—Naguib Mahfouz, Al-Summan wal-Kharif (Autumn Quail), 1962.*


* Translated by Roger Allen and John Rodenbeck, Anchor Press, 2000, pp. 292-295.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Opium addiction, Wilkie Collins and The Moonstone

Opium addiction, mixed-race parentage, same-sex affection, and anti-imperialism: all feature in what T. S. Eliot called 'the first, the longest and the best of modern English detective novels,' Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone (1868) [1].

Collins' novel isn't actually the first English detective novel; that honor, according to crime writer and critic Julian Symons, belongs to The Notting Hill Mystery (1865) by the pseudonymous 'Charles Felix' [2] (recently discovered to be the publisher Charles Warren Adams, thanks to detective work by Paul Collins [3]). Mention should also be made of Inspector Bucket (in Charles Dickens' Bleak House (1853), and the Chevalier Dupin (in American writer Edgar Allan Poe's "Murders in the Rue Morgue" (1841) and other stories) as precursors. But Collins' novel remains compelling, less for the implausible solution of the mystery than for what it reveals about its author's unconventional life and unusual attitudes.

The Moonstone is a huge (and, legend has it, cursed) diamond brought back from India by a British soldier, who looted the jewel and murdered its guardians during the storming of Seringapatam. This is only the latest in a series of thefts of the diamond: it was originally taken from a Hindu temple by a soldier in the army of the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb; all of its owners have met untimely ends. Decades later the British soldier bequeathes the sacred diamond to his niece, Rachel Verinder, on her 21st birthday, and at midnight the same night it is stolen from her bedroom.

Three mysterious Indian "conjurors" have been seen in the neighborhood, and at first suspicion falls on them. But when the famous detective Sergeant Cuff is brought in to solve the mystery, he deduces that someone in the house has stolen it. The housemaid Rosanna Spearman and Rachel herself are soon the chief suspects. But after Rosanna's apparent suicide and Rachel's refusal to tell all she knows, Sergeant Cuff's investigation reaches a dead end. A year later, the case is reopened by Rachel's cousin Franklin Blake, who had been in the house the night of the theft, aided by the physician's assistant Ezra Jennings.

Mixed-race parentage: Jennings' skin is "of gipsy darkness," his nose "presented the fine shape and modelling so often found among the ancient people of the East, so seldom visible among the newer races of the West," and his "thick closely-curling" black hair is turning white, but in irregular piebald patches [4]. The description is clearly intended to suggest that Jennings has mixed-race parentage, which indeed he confirms just a bit later in the novel. While some of the other characters view him with suspicion on this account, Blake treats him with sympathy and respect. And as it turns out, it is Jennings who largely solves the mystery of the theft of the Moonstone.

Opium use: We also discover that Jennings is suffering from a debilitating disease, to allay the symptoms of which he regularly uses opium. Jennings complains to Blake about the general "ignorant distrust of opium" [5] and gives him a copy of Thomas De Quincy's Confessions of an English Opium Eater (1821). But Jennings also tells us about the "dreadful night[s]" that are "the vengence of...opium, pursuing me through a series of frightful dreams" [6]. Jennings is caught in a double bind: he needs opium to free himself from the pain of his disease, but it is gradually destroying his ability to function:
"The one effectual palliative in my case, is—opium. To that all-potent and all-merciful drug I am indebted for a respite of many years from my sentence of death. But even the virtues of opium have their limit. The progress of the disease has gradually forced me from the use of opium to the abuse of it. I am feeling the penalty at last. My nervous system is shattered; my nights are nights of horror. The end is not far off now." [7]
Collins knew whereof he wrote. He had begun using laudanum (opium powder dissolved in alcohol) in the mid-1860s to alleviate chronic pain and headaches, and his use of the drug quickly became habitual. Jennings reports that his own "full dose" is 500 drops [8], and he tells Blake that this is "ten times larger" [9] than a typical dose given to an unhabituated adult. Since Collins had been using laudanum regularly for several years by the time he wrote these passages, we can guess that his own levels of use were approaching those of Jennings.

The Koh-i-Noor Diamond
There is a legend, promulgated later on by Collins himself, that he dictated large sections of The Moonstone while under the influence of the drug and virtually unconscious of what he was producing. Editor John Sutherland's recent examinations of the manuscript, though, found that there was only a portion of the "Miss Clack" section (about eight pages in the 1999 Oxford edition) that aren't in Collins' own handwriting, although the twelve pages that follow the dictated section are in pencil, which may indicate that Collins wrote them while laid up in bed [10].

Mixed-race parentage and opium use are not the only subjects about which surprisingly positive attitudes are expressed in The Moonstone. Other areas where monolithic assumptions about Victorian points of view are challenged include:

Same-sex affection: In an era where middle- and upper-class men and women occupied virtually separate spheres, feelings of friendship between members of the same sex could be expressed in terms that may strike modern ears as rather heated. Jennings, for example, when writing of Franklin Blake, uses the words "attraction" and "yearning":
"What is the secret of the attraction that there is for me in this man? Does it only mean that I feel the contrast between the frankly kind manner in which he has allowed me to become acquainted with him, and the merciless dislike and distrust with which I am met by other people? Or is there really something in him which answers to the yearning that I have for a little human sympathy—the yearning, which has survived the solitude and persecution of many years; which seems to grow keener and keener, as the time comes nearer and nearer when I shall endure and feel no more?" [11]
Such impassioned declarations also occur between women in the novel. Lucy Yolland, the daughter of a local fisherman, says of the housemaid Rosanna Spearman,
"'I loved her...She was an angel. She might have been happy with me. I had a plan for our going to London together like sisters, and living by our needles. That man [Franklin Blake] came here, and spoilt it all...I meant to take her away from the mortification she was suffering here...Where is he?...Where's this gentleman that I mustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is not far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they may begin with him. I pray Heaven they may begin with him.'" [12]
Anti-imperialism: The Moonstone would seem to be full of orientalist exoticism: a cursed Indian diamond pursued across the centuries by mysterious, inscrutable and murderous Hindu holy men. But a closer look reveals something a bit different. In his preface to the first book edition Collins wrote that he based the Moonstone in part on the Koh-i-Noor Diamond, "the subject of a prediction, which prophesied certain misfortune to the persons who should divert it from its ancient uses" [13]. Since the Koh-i-Noor had become part of the British Crown Jewels in 1850, Collins would seem to be issuing a warning to his fellow Britons about imperial plunder.

And on the night of the re-creation of the Moonstone's theft, among Franklin Blake's reading material is Scottish novelist Henry Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling (1771), which includes the following sentence: "You tell me of immense territories subject to the English; I cannot think of their possessions, without being led to enquire by what right they possess them" [14].

There is also the ultimate fate of the Moonstone. In the final pages of the novel (spoiler alert!) the English adventurer Murthwaite, in disguise as a Hindu pilgrim, travels to a religious ceremony outside the western Indian city of Somnauth (where there is indeed an ancient temple). He describes the setting and the huge crowd as "the grandest spectacle of Nature and Man, in combination, that I have ever seen" [15].  When the image of the four-armed god Shiva is revealed to the ecstatic celebrants, Murthwaite sees the gem gleaming from the statue's forehead. It's difficult not to feel that Murthwaite, and his creator Collins, think that this is the stone's rightful place.

Film and TV adaptations: The Moonstone has been filmed three times, in 1909, 1915, and 1934, and was adapted for television by the BBC in 1959, 1972, and 1997. The 1997 version stars Keeley Hawes (later of Wives and Daughters (1999) and Tipping the Velvet (2002)) and Greg Wise (of Sense and Sensibility (1995)); the 1972 version features Vivien Heilbron and Robin Ellis (earlier featured in Sense and Sensibility (1971) and Elizabeth R (1971), and later the star of Poldark (1975-77)). If I see any of the BBC Moonstone adaptations I'll update here.


1. T. S. Eliot, Selected Essays: New Edition, Harcourt Brace, 1950, p. 413.
2. Julian Symons, Bloody Murder: From the Detective Story to the Crime Novel, Faber and Faber, 1972, pp. 53-54.
3. Paul Collins, "The Case of the First Mystery Novelist," New York Times, January 7, 2011.
4. Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone, edited by John Sutherland, Oxford World's Classics, 1999, p. 319. Mention should be made of Sutherland's excellent introduction and notes to this edition, which raise many of the issues discussed in this post.
5. The Moonstone, p. 381
6. The Moonstone, p. 392.
7. The Moonstone, pp. 375-376.
8. The Moonstone, p. 405.
9. The Moonstone, p. 387
10. John Sutherland, "A Note on the Composition," in The Moonstone, p. xxxvii.
11. The Moonstone, p. 393.
12. The Moonstone, p. 184.
13. The Moonstone, liii.
14. Henry Mackenzie, The Man of Feeling, Oxford World's Classics, 1987, pp. 102-103.
15. The Moonstone, p. 465.