AGRA
We left Jaipur for Agra on the 29th of December, finding the usual
excited crowd at the station. The train passed through a rather dry,
plain country, though varied by crops under irrigation. We changed at
a junction named Bandakni, the train we were in going on to Delhi. It
was a refreshment station. Here a good tiffin was procurable. Going on
about 4.30 in the afternoon, we entered a more fertile and interesting
country, the crops being more abundant, and the wells also. There were
some fine groves of trees, and distant ranges of hills to be seen.
Curious mounds and tumbled boulders varied the plains here and there in
places. Peacocks were plentiful, and they even occasionally strayed on
to the railway metals at the stations. Antelopes were also to be seen,
and once an animal resembling a wolf was seen in the jungle. A jungle,
by the way, is not necessarily a slice of tropical forest, full of long
grass, tangled creepers, and tigers, but may be any bit of uncultivated
country.
We reached Agra about 9 P.M. after a comfortable journey. We put up at
the Metropole Hotel—a kind of extended bungalow, with a two-storied
centre and two long, low wings of rooms under the usual arcaded
arrangement, with a garden in the middle. The rooms were spacious and
lofty, but bare, cheerless and cold. The traveller of course must not
expect any old-fashioned welcome or personal interest in his comfort or
welfare in any country at any modern hostelry in these days. He writes
or wires for his room, and he may be thankful if it is ready for him
when he arrives. He must be content to be merely No. So-and-so, and
may not even see the host or manager at all. There was, naturally,
more or less of a rush on Agra about this time, as the preparations
for the reception of the Amir of Afghanistan were far advanced, and
distinguished visitors were beginning to arrive. The English tourist
who had not furnished himself with introductions in such a place
was apparently regarded as a mere worm by the superior military and
official British circles.
Driving to the fort next morning we were stopped by an English sentry,
who produced a written card of Regulations forbidding the entrance of
carriages, so we got out and walked through the Emperor Akbar’s great
Delhi gate (1566), which is on a fine scale, and passed on to the Pearl
Mosque, the Moti Musjid, built by Shah Jehan in 1654—the private chapel
of the court of the Mogul Emperors—a beautiful white marble building in
a fair court. An Arabic inscription records when it was built and why.
We passed on to the great square of the fort which was busily preparing
for the reception of the Amir, who was expected to arrive on the 9th
of January. They were actually building out an extra portico in solid
masonry adding it on to the existing Durbas Hall (Diwan-i-Khas), which
was so blocked with workmen and materials it was not possible to see
much inside, and our bearer, who was by way of acting as guide when
he could, was roughly turned back by an English official. We made the
round of the great Akbar’s Fort, which is certainly on a noble scale,
and returning to the Delhi gate by ugly and mean British barrack
buildings, which have been put up within its massive walls, we could
not but be struck with the contrast between the work of one Empire and
that of another. Over Akbar’s great gate, however, floated our Union
Flag.
[Illustration: AGGRAVATING AGRA]
Our next expedition was to the renowned Taj Mahal, the beautiful
marble tomb erected by Shah Jehan in memory of his favourite wife, and
which was to be his own monument also. The way thither lies through
the cantonments and the government gardens. We passed through great
encampments, then in a state of busy preparation. On the road was being
erected a large triumphal arch in the Moslem style, upon which native
workmen were engaged painting and decorating. Native police in khaki
and red turbans lined the route at intervals, and saluted as we drove
past. The Viceroy’s camp was beautifully laid out and arranged with
turf, walks, and flowers. We saw a procession of native women carrying
palms and plants in pots on their heads, from ox-carts unloading them,
for the camp. Camping in India, indeed, seems to be a fine art, and
is carried out in every detail with the utmost completeness. In the
government gardens the ideas of the English landscape gardener were in
evidence. They were laid out with serpentine walks and drives in the
modern public parks style, the large shadeless stretches of would-be
turf struggling to show a little green under repeated waterings, with
groups of young trees here and there. A big statue of Queen Victoria
was placed conspicuously on the high ground in the centre of one of
these desert-like lawns. A little beyond we came to the magnificent
gate of the Taj, a noble structure of red sandstone and white marble,
approached by steps. Passing through its deep shadow under the great
arch the wonderful tomb in all its pearly whiteness, with its graceful
dome and slender minarets, rising sparkling in the full sunlight above
a green bower of trees against the deep blue of the sky, and reflected
in the still water of the long tank, breaks upon the sight like a fairy
vision. The tank with terraced walks, flagged with stone, extends from
the steps of the entrance gateway to the front of the Taj itself, its
long line only broken by a raised marble terrace with seats about half
way. Rows of slender cypresses enforce the long perspective which leads
the eye up to the shrine. The Moslems certainly felt the importance of
spacing and proportion, and the art of leading the eye and preparing
the mind for the appreciation of beautiful art and architecture by
careful planning of the setting and surroundings of their great temples
and tombs. Space is as important an element in their design as the
exquisite handicraft which produced their unrivalled detail. The Taj
itself is on a raised platform of stone, and is flanked on each side by
two noble mosques of red sandstone splendidly inlaid with white marble.
It was the rich decorative effect of such materials no doubt which
suggested to the Maharajah of Jaipur the painting of his town red,
which I refer to in a previous chapter, but the reality compared with
the imitation is as wine to water.
[Illustration: THE TAJ MAHAL, FROM THE GATEWAY]
The Taj first impresses one by its beautiful proportion, and the
completeness of its ensemble. It is like a fair woman whose general
carriage and aspect charms the eye before we are near enough to
appreciate the full beauty of her face and form, or to note the
exquisite taste of her delicate attire.
As one approaches this wonderful shrine which, although so ornate,
possesses a fine breadth in general effect, the beauty and finish of
its decorative detail excites a new admiration. There are delicate
designs of lilies and tulips and crown imperials cut in marble in low
relief, forming the panelling of the lower walls. These are framed
in small-scale, formal floral designs, inlaid with precious stones,
such as jasper, coral, bloodstone, sardonyx, lapis-lazuli, onyx,
turquoise, and other kinds done in a manner associated with Florentine
work, and it is said Italian workmen were employed here. Then we have
the crowning beauty of the pierced work in the marble screens which
enclose the tombs, and break the brilliant light at the apertures
under the dome. These are the jewellery and lace of this architectural
personality. There is something of the fine lady about her—if one may
use the personal pronoun, but one cannot forget the twenty thousand
workmen whose twenty-two years’ toil contributed to her splendour;
and it is recorded, too, that their work was done under conditions of
semi-starvation, and at the price of many lives, over and above the
four millions of money at which the cost is usually estimated. Well,
it remains _their_ monument as well as that of Shah Jehan and his wife
Arjamand Banu: 1648 is the date of the completion of the Taj.
I was somewhat disappointed not to find the eastern garden described
by Edwin Arnold, and which was seen here by Mr W. S. Caine—a bowery,
romantic garden full of fruit trees—“orange and lemon, pomeloes,
pomegranates, palms, flowering shrubs and trees, with marble fish-ponds
and fountains, speaking of the East in every whisper of their leaves
and plash of their waters.” There is still a charming garden, but
an Anglicised one, with open lawns, broken by masses of beautiful
and varied but rather consciously and professionally arranged trees
and shrubs and palms. The hand and taste of the modern gardener is
a little too evident. It looks as if the original somewhat wild and
characteristic Eastern garden had been taken in hand by an expert from
Kew, and it had been tamed, its wild locks cut off, and the remainder
combed and brushed.
There is an English country-seat or even suburban suggestion about it
in parts. I cannot but think that it was a pity not to maintain the
garden in its Eastern character, considering the monument it encloses.
However, it would take even more professional treatment to prevent
beautiful trees and flowers from being delightful.
The garden is still a pleasant place to wander in, and interesting
views of the white domes and minarets, rising above masses of foliage,
can be had everywhere in it. Here, at the end of December, one enjoyed
the temperature, and the sunshine, tempered by the shade of trees, of
a normal June day in England.
[Illustration: THE MAINSTAY OF INDIA. AQUARIUS—THE WATER-BEARER]
As regards the garden, I was told that when it was in its original
state as a fruit garden a certain amount of revenue was realised by
the sale of the produce. When Lord Curzon heard of this he considered
it not fitting, and I understood that he was responsible for the
alteration in the character of the garden, which requires the constant
attention of the water-bearer with his goatskin.
Agra possesses a fine mosque in the Jama Musjid, built by Shah Jehan in
1644. It is a building of red sandstone and white marble. The big dome
is inlaid in zigzags of white marble and red sandstone alternately,
the whole surface being covered in this way with striking effect.
It is an interesting drive through the bazaars and over the bridge of
boats across the river Jumna, and through a native village, to the
mausoleum of Itmad-ud-Daulat. In this beautiful building, which is
approached through a massive arched gateway of red sandstone and across
a walled garden, one sees a prototype of the Taj Mahal. In this case
there is a central dome and four minarets, only the cupola is lower
and of a flatter curve, and the minarets are not detached from the
body of the building which is much lower than the Taj. In the design
and execution of its decorative detail, however, it surpasses the
Taj in inventiveness, and variety and richness, both in pierced and
carved work and its _pietra dura_. The detail of the Taj, beautiful
and finely finished as it is, has in comparison, perhaps, rather the
look of having been done to order, whereas in buildings of earlier date
like this one we seem to see the more spontaneous invention of the
craftsman. The restoring hand of Lord Curzon, however, has touched this
monument also, and a new marble balustrade around the flat roof has
been added under his orders. There are lovely views from the minarets.
We visited the Taj Mahal again by moonlight. It was the 30th of
December and the moon was full, but it was chilly driving out after
dinner and wraps were necessary. There was a light mist from the river
which hung over the garden, and slightly veiled the lower part of the
building as we approached it down one of the long paths chequered by
the shadows of the trees. The front was in shadow and looked mysterious
in the mist, but the dome seemed made of pearl rounded in the full
moonlight in splendid relief against the dark deep blue of the night
powdered with brilliant stars, while the four minarets were like
helmeted sentinels in shining armour, guarding the sacred shrine.
The moonlight was bright enough for me to make a sketch by. I also
made two coloured drawings of the Taj by daylight, one of which—“the
Taj Mahal from the rose garden” was afterwards purchased by H.M. The
Queen, and the other, from the gate, is reproduced here. Agra was full
of British and native soldiers, and more were continually arriving.
We passed trains of field artillery marching through the government
gardens, and bell tents covered the ground like mushrooms. In many
places earth banks had been cut in tiers for seats, and strings of
small flags fluttered across many of the streets, and there were also
seats and stands of timber being erected. Agra could think of nothing
but the Amir.
The English and other churches are not admirable examples of modern
architecture, and never seem to look at home in India. There was a
Roman Catholic Church here after the manner of an eighteenth century
one, but any merit it might have had was obscured by its colour. It
had been, so to speak, put into a grey uniform with buff facings. The
English Church was treated in the same way. This must be military
influence. My impression certainly was that civilians did not count for
much at Agra.
In the bazaars we found we were able to make purchases with rather less
accompaniment of drama than at Jaipur. European goods were much in
evidence, of the cheap and nasty sort as a rule, ugly socks and scarves
and cottons, and tin ware. I saw a crowd of natives clustering round
the trumpet mouth of a gramophone—an instrument which seems to have
considerable charms for them.
It was chilly enough in the early mornings and in the evenings at Agra,
and our ground-floor rooms were none of the warmest, although, of
course, the sun was very powerful in the middle of the day. The Hotel
proprietors were looking forward to full houses and high prices during
the Amir’s visit, and enormous sums were mentioned as probable charges
for rooms, but we had no intention of staying through the festivities.
Our last excursion from Agra was to Sikandra—five miles away to the
North West—where we drove to see the tomb of Akbar. The road was a
dusty one, but through pleasant acacia avenues. We passed through
several mud-built villages, and presently saw white minarets rising
above a belt of trees in the distance. At one part of the road where
the square tower of an English Mission Church was seen among trees we
were reminded for a moment of a bit of Norfolk, but only for a moment.
Soon we reached the great red-stone gateway which was on a splendid
scale, and elaborately inlaid with marble, exceedingly fine in style,
parts had been restored, and all the four white marble minarets were
said to be new and placed there by Lord Curzon, not I presume without
good evidence of the former existence of such minarets, but such
renewals cannot possess any historic interest and are in doubtful
taste. The gate was adorned with Togra and Arabic inscriptions, which,
cut in sunk relief in white marble, formed a frame work enclosing
panels of larger pattern in marble inlay. Pilasters of red sandstone on
the front were in zigzag courses, alternately white and red, like the
work on the dome of the Jama Musjid at Agra.
From the gateway a long and broad flagged way, intersected by tanks,
led us up to the tomb, across a wide park full of fine trees, tamarinds
and mangoes chiefly. Arrived at the great tomb, the cupolas of which
we had seen in front of us as we walked, we first entered a sort
of hall or atrium with richly decorated roof and walls in coloured
plaster, heightened with gold, and with an Arabic text in gold running
round the frieze. There were beautiful designs of trees and vines in
panels. Parts had been picked out in new gold and colour, at somebody’s
expense, to bring out the pattern, but the new work looked hard and
mechanical though on good lines, and the new gold was staring; the
effect of this partial restoration being of course patchy. Still, if
such restorations are allowable at all, it is better that they should
be frank and make no pretence at being really a part of the original
work. It would, however, in this case have been far better to have left
it alone, as the old gold and colour still remaining on the walls and
vault was rich and deep in tone.
From this hall we entered a small corridor, two native attendants
going before us with lanterns to guide our steps. This passage led
into a vast dark domed chamber, in the midst of which was the plain
marble tomb of the great Akbar. It was impressive in its simplicity,
without any inscription or ornament, the usual narrow parallelogram
with a moulded base. One of the men uttered a deep prolonged note
like the exclamation Ah! but sustained and dwelling on the A. This
was answered by a profound and long-continued echo or reverberation,
dying gradually away, caused I suppose by the height and shape of the
dome. One might imagine it was the voice of the dead Emperor. After
seeing three more tombs, one of which was richly and delicately carved
(a lady’s), we ascended to the terraced roof, and from there to a
second arcaded terrace, from which still a third was reached up steps
of ever increasing height in the treads, and finally to a top story,
emerging upon a beautiful spacious arcaded court of white marble, but
with warm tints in it which made it very much the tone of ivory. There
were delicate, pierced, marble screens on each side, through which the
evening sun sparkled like gold. In the centre of the court on a raised
dais was the second tomb of Akbar, according to the usual Mohammedan
custom of placing an upper tombstone to indicate the position of the
actual tomb in the vault below. This tomb was most elaborately and
delicately carved in white marble, with beautifully designed floral
patterns and Arabic texts and borders of scroll work, which were
like reproductions in marble relief of the designs in the best type
of Persian carpets. The aged native custodians told us that the
famous koh-i-noor diamond was once here on Akbar’s tomb. It might be
interesting to trace its history to its present position.
The foliated cresting of the parapet of this marble court was also
delicately carved. Altogether the building was one of the finest things
of its type we had yet seen in India. The blend of Hindu construction
with Mogul work in the corbelled supports of the minarets was
noticeable. These corbels were trebled at the angles, and like most of
the building were of red sandstone.
There was a fine view of the country from this highest story of the
tomb, and we could even see the white dome of the Taj Mahal five or six
miles away. The drive from Agra took about an hour, and the sun had set
before we returned.
This being New Year’s day Moonsawmy our bearer smilingly came up with
an offering—a plum cake with a pink sugared top and “A Happy New Year”
on it, as if it had come out of an English confectioner’s—and this,
too, was accompanied by a garland of yellow and white flowers after
the native manner—one for each of us. He said this was customary,
and with his good wishes he managed to convey a gentle hint that his
“jentilmens” usually made him a little present in return. This rather
rubbed a little of the sugar off, but, of course, we did not forget
him. He was not a bad servant on the whole, though rather too old
and cunning a bird in some ways. He had rather extravagant ideas in
ordering carriages, which we afterwards discovered were not totally
unconnected with certain commissions extracted from the carriage
proprietors. No doubt, however, native bearers regard the European
tourist as fair game—it is not unheard of in Europe—and they, like
other classes after their manner, lose no opportunity of making the
most of the chances of their rather uncertain profession.