I was not surprised to find castes in England, high castes, middle
castes, low castes and also outcasts, as I had personal experience of
these among the English in India, but what seemed strange was that among
these civilized Christian people, there was such a deep-rooted prejudice
against tradesmen. A story was told me that illustrates this. A tailor,
who had plenty of money as well as brains and education, often assisted
a young lord, and quite an intimacy sprang up between them. The lord
took his friend to Scotland for the shooting season, where they were the
guests of a laird, and met a number of distinguished people. In his cups
the lord was quite abusive, and his friend, the tailor, had to suffer.
His best whip was merely to say, “Well, my lord! to-morrow morning I
shall introduce myself to your friends here as your tailor.”
“For heaven’s sake,” begged the lord, “don’t do that or I shall be
disgraced forever.”
What also surprised me was that there were two kinds of justice; one for
the rich people of rank and another for the poor.
It appeared that there was a Mary Joyce in the city. Her husband was a
mechanic, a good workman, temperate and industrious. She was a careful,
prudent woman. They lived well upon his earnings. One day he was killed
by an accident. It took all the wife’s savings to bury the body of her
husband. Then, to sustain herself and child, the articles in her rooms
were sold, one after another, until nothing was left but the clothes on
her body, a tattered quilt, some straw on the floor, an iron spoon and a
dish or two. She had tried to get work time and again, but failed. She
had asked for help, but was refused. One night, hungry herself, but
thinking only of her starving child, she wrapped it in the quilt and
placed it upon the straw and went out into the darkness. She came to a
baker’s shop. Without a thought but of her dying babe, she seized one of
the loaves and rushed away. A cry was raised, a policeman caught her and
took her to prison, and the next morning at the Mansion House Court she
was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment. She was placed in a foul
smelling cell, given the smallest allowance of the coarsest food for
herself and babe. By day she had to be in the company of the vilest
humanity, and submit to the insults and cruelties of the gaolers, and
all this for taking a loaf of bread to keep her child from starving.
The other case was of a duchess, a woman of intelligence, position and
wealth. She knew better than to do wrong. There was no need for her to
violate the laws. She committed a crime, and the judge stated his regret
that he was obliged by law to convict her. If he could possibly have
found an excuse he would have released her on account of her rank and
wealth, as he expressed himself, so he gave her a sentence of six weeks,
and all “society” stood aghast to think they should be attacked in that
way. She was allowed two large, airy rooms in a prison. The floors were
carpeted. Fine furniture was placed in them. She was permitted two
attendants of her own. Excellent food was prepared outside and brought
to her. She had books and papers, and was allowed to receive visitors,
and to have her daily walks without seeing the other prisoners. She was
an aristocrat, a lady in “society,” and it would not do for a judge to
place her on a level with a poor woman of lower class blood! What would
“society” say?
But is there an aristocracy in crime? Is not a thief a thief? Did not
the higher rank and intelligence of the duchess entitle her to a greater
punishment? Poor Mary Joyce, obeying a God-given instinct to save her
starving babe, took a loaf of bread. The duchess, to gratify a whim of
her haughty nature, committed a greater crime than the other and was not
punished at all but slightly disgraced, which society readily condones
and regards her as a martyr. Such is impartial English justice!
We have, however, something like it in India. A rajah has amassed wealth
by oppressing his ryots and taking usury from the poor. On account of
some paltry gift to the Dufferin Fund or subscription to some begging
paper to raise a monument to some man whom the people would not care to
remember, he is granted the privilege by Government of not obeying a
summons to appear as a witness in court. He could be driven there every
day and it would be only a pleasure nor would there be any loss to him
in any way.
Another, a ryot of this man, is obliged to go from twenty to fifty miles
on foot. He is compelled to hang around from a week to twenty days or
has to go several times. While away from home his fields are neglected
and the crop on which he and his family depended for the year’s food is
lost. What recourse has he? None whatever. What is the difference in the
two cases? It is this. The one is a wealthy rajah and the other a poor
devil of a ryot. Such is justice in India so like that in England.
My best argument for immortality is this, that there must be, in all
justice, some other place or some future when the accounts of this life
shall be balanced, for there is no equity here.
These were my reflections in my room at my lodgings at the close of my
privileged leave.
However, in vindication of myself, that to make some atonement,—as I am
not without good impulses at times—for the misdemeanors of the morning,
if such they may be called, in going to see the ranks of the city, high
rank and low rank, the latter of the rankest kind,—I went to a church in
the evening where there was a very quiet unpretentious service in which
there was a real sincere worship of God. I felt better for it, thanking
God that while there was so much of vanity, vice and want in the city,
there were also some righteous people, truly noble, belonging to the
nobility of heaven.
Our wedding day was fixed at an early date and we were to try “the
terrible test of wedlock” as Carlyle hath it. We were married already in
heart and mind, but to conform to the usages of society there was an
outward ceremony required. The father and mother were invited from their
home in Ireland. I had not yet met them in this new phase of affairs and
had some considerable curiosity about our first meeting. I had no fear
of them as I had outgrown that. To be really truthful I had but little
regard for them such as a man should have for his prospective
parents-in-law. They had cruelly treated me as well as their daughter.
Worse still, they had insulted me and deliberately. However it may tell
against me, I must confess that I can never forget an insult. I can
forgive it, and treat the offender with civility and all that, but I can
never regard him as if he had not injured me. This lapse of propriety
shows the nature and make-up of the man and I am always on my guard lest
he should wound me again. My former respect and friendship has gone and
I doubt if anything he might ever do would restore him again to me as he
was. I know that some say they can forget as well as forgive and act as
if nothing unpleasant had ever occurred, yet I doubt if they have really
analyzed and understood their feelings. I have not been made of that
elastic kind of material and each one must act for himself.
The parents received me most cordially and made no reference to the
past. Very prudent in them, as I was in a position to first throw down
the gauntlet or to take up their’s at the slightest hint from them. It
was not long before the wedding was referred to and I do not know just
why, but I could not help suggesting that I hoped there would be no
shooting or burying this time. I would have rather lost a year’s income
from my villages than to have missed the blushes and confusion of the
pair at this remark. “O no,” said the mother. “I have left my pistols at
home, Mr. Japhet.” “And I,” said the father, “have no intention of
becoming a sexton.”
The daughter enjoyed this intensely, and when the laughter had subsided,
remarked, “I married once wholly to please you, now I am going to marry
to please myself.” No reference was ever made to this subject again.
We were married and the bonds duly ratified by some sovereigns to the
high priest of the occasion. For further particulars read the society
papers in which it was stated that an Indian Prince had made a captive
of one of Albion’s fairest daughters. I could not help forgiving and
blessing the ignorance of the penny-a-liners, for if they had told the
truth that I was not an Indian Prince but only the son of a —, and my
wife was not of Albion, but of the Emerald Isle, the paragraph would
have appeared with a different kind of aurora about it.
If the real truth were known and told about people and things, what a
different appearance they would make! The gloss of the world is like the
apocryphal mantle of charity, covering a multitude of defects and sins.
We were extremely happy, as might be supposed, and everything wore a
roseate hue as is usual in such cases, so there is no need of going into
any ecstasies of description. I recall what a great English writer has
said, “Of all actions of a man’s life his marriage does least concern
other people, yet of all our life ’tis most meddled with by other
people.” So I will act upon his suggestion, be wise for once, and not
give people a chance to meddle with what does not concern them. We had
passed the giddy stage of life and had not reached that, when it could
be said of either of us, “There is no such fool as an old fool.”
Of course we had to visit the parents and they treated me so kindly that
I was tempted to forget, as I had forgiven them, their former outburst
of anger towards me. What rather modified my feelings was the remark of
the mother to her daughter in the privacy of her bed chamber, that if
she had known Mr. Japhet was such a fine man, a real gentleman, indeed,
she would never have objected to him. This my wife related to me with
much satisfaction, as it was a compliment to her former good judgment,
as well as to myself. They accepted the inevitable with such good grace
and kindness that I almost fell in love with my mother-in-law, and that
is saying all that is necessary.
We visited various places of interest, in “Ould” Ireland and I was
delighted with the quaint manners, and charmed with the open hospitality
of its people. One incident I will relate. One day at Larne I took a
stroll alone and then fell in with a couple of foreign gentlemen from a
steamer for New York that was laying to for the day. We sauntered out
towards the country and passing by a field where there were some
beautiful cows grazing in clover, I suggested that we go to the house
and ask for a cup of milk. The gentlemen expressed surprise that I
should think of such a thing. I saw no harm in it as I proposed to pay
for what we received, so we would not be beggars, and as I persisted,
they said they would follow me. I accosted a man raking the yard and
made my request. He replied that he would see the maister, and soon the
latter appeared and invited us by the front door into his drawing room,
beautifully furnished. He then called a maid and she soon brought a
large glass pitcher of creamy yellow milk, that was a sight to me from
India where we have to be happy with dudh pani, but with more pani than
dudh. She also brought a large plate of biscuit and glasses. Our host
handled the pitcher and served us with generous hospitality. We meantime
had a delightful chat. He had just returned from the continent and was
full of fresh incidents of his trip and asked many questions about
India. He then took us into his garden where he showed, and also gave us
some of his ripe gooseberries large as pigeon eggs, that he was
reserving for the Annual Fair, stating that the year previous he had
taken thirty-two prizes for various exhibits. All this greatly
interested me. He then took us to his raspberry bushes laden with ripe
fruit and bade us help ourselves while he picked liberal handfuls for
us, we all the while keeping up a running talk. On leaving we thanked
him again and again, and especially I, who had been the leader in this
foray. I handed him my card and received his, when he informed us that
the place was the Manse and he was the Presbyterian minister. He pressed
us to call again when we came that way and stated that he would always
remember us with pleasure. I could not help making a comparison between
him and our Indian padris. It is true they have no gooseberry or
raspberry bushes or such cream, and yet—but as comparisons are odious to
those on whom they reflect, I will cease my mental meanderings. My two
foreign comrades, the one from Vienna, the other from Berlin thanked me
most courteously for the treat I had given them. I doubt if they knew
that I was an Eurasian and do not believe it would have made any
difference to them as they were real gentlemen.
My wife and I went to the huts of the poor, as I was anxious to see this
phase of life. The status of a country is shown by the condition of its
poor people and not by that of its few grasping rich. The glamour of
India in its great cities and scenery in the cold season, seen by the
racing globe-trotters, no more conveys an idea of the real condition of
its vast millions, than a peasant’s holiday attire does of his everyday
clothing and impoverished life. We heard the stories of poverty and
oppression, and they were not Irish exaggeration for the one fact alone
of the exorbitant rents they had to pay, was proof sufficient of the
truth of their stories. Yet with all their poverty, ignorance and
superstition, the Irish are said to be the most virtuous race on the
earth. This to me will atone for all their other sins.
We never entered a hut, however poor the inmates, but they offered us
some token of their kindness, even if it were only a roast potato raked
from the ashes. If there is anything that makes tears come into my
heart, it is the generosity of the poorest poor, sharing their needed
mouthfuls with others. How often have I thought with moistened eyes, of
those famine stricken people in that old court of my childhood, sharing
their scanty grains of rice with me and my little sister, and of that
old faqir.
What delighted me most was the courtesy and grace, the sparkling
witticisms of these people when receiving us, so natural and free from
any of the snobbery and formalities of society. We were entertained by
the rich and they were polished and educated and I can speak in the
highest praise of them, and yet I think I felt more grateful when eating
a potato from the bare board-table in an Irish hut with the good dame
pressing me to take just another one, than I did with my feet under the
mahogany of some wealthy host, the table loaded with silver and served
with the richest viands. This may be strange in me, yet I cannot help
it, for God has made me up in that way.
We visited Scotland, the “land o’ cakes,” as well as “the land of the
leal,” and I was delighted with the brusque, frank manners of its
people.
They are an honest, manly race, careful to keep all they have and to get
as much as they can, but honestly. One of them said: “We are sair strict
in making a bargain, but when it is closed we abide it, aye to our ain
loss.” They are all aristocrats by nature, of the manly kind, and the
mechanic with grimy hands and greasy clothes at work, will look one in
the eye, and talk as nobly as if he was the chief of some Highland clan,
to doff his cap to no man.
They were a study to me in many ways. A little incident I recall. One
morning, going out of the hotel, my boots rather tarnished with the
everlasting mud—for as they told me that it always rains there except
when it snaws, there is always mud—I hailed a boy boot-black with cheeks
as red as ripe cherries. While he was doing his job, I asked a policeman
near by how much I should give him. “A penny,” he said. On handing this
to my little friend, he, raising his cap with all the politeness of a
polished courtier said, “Wad ye no gie me the other wing o’ that?” My
hair was so thick that his meaning did not penetrate my understanding
until he had bowed and gone, and I then realized his idea of the
necessity of two wings for anything to fly properly. One great mental
fault of mine is nearly always being a little behind time. My best
thoughts often come just after their opportunity. I was pleased with the
rosy cheeked lasses, so full of health and purity, and I think I rather
offended my wife by saying that if I was not already wifed I would try
to win one of Scotia’s fair daughters.
Then back to England, in a round of sight-seeing and visits among the
Britons, where, led by my wife, I was well received, though inwardly I
felt with some questioning as to my rank and station. This is the great
characteristic of the English. Their first question is, not what you are
as a man, in ability, attainments or morals, but what is your standing
or caste in “society.” And probably the newest made, the fledglings in
society, with the thinnest kind of blue blood in their veins, would be
the most exacting, whose pedigree would be greatly damaged by the
slightest investigation.
This society fad notion of the English, is worse than their oppressive
fogs, and, like the sight of a black pall at a funeral, making one tread
softly and speak in whispers. Some one, remarking of this, said that
when out calling the lady of the house came up close to her without
bowing, with a prying, inquisitive look, saying, “I really don’t know
who you are,” but after learning the rank of her caller she became
amiability itself. To give them their due, when once you are inside
their ring, and are acquainted, you know, they are very kind and
agreeable.
I had often read of the Arctic regions, and traveling to my humor
inclined, I suggested to my traveling companion that we go to the
extreme, or as far as we could, and see the contrast, if not of
Greenland’s icy mountains, then those of Norway, with India’s burning
sands. And a contrast it was, so much so that my oriental bones ached
with the cold, and I was glad when our steamer turned its prow southward
to come under the sun again.
Yet I shiver even now as I think of that indescribable, penetrating
cold, for the blood under my tropical skin seemed to stagnate and
congeal. I thought of Dr. Johnson’s remark about his visit to the
Hebrides, “worth seeing, but not worth going to see.” But he was such an
old egotistic exaggerator that I do not accept everything he says as
gospel true.
Yet one saying of his I could heartily endorse, remembering the tips I
had to make in England, worse than the baksheesh among the natives in
India. “Let me pay Scotland one just praise—there was no officer gaping
for a fee; this could have been said of no city on the English side of
the Tweed.”
The constant tips to every one at every turn is a real nuisance. England
may boast of her freedom, yet all her people are in the bonds of slavery
to the tipping custom. I fell in with a couple of young English
gentlemen just starting for China to spend their holidays. They said
they could better afford a foreign tour than to accept invitations from
their friends, as it would be less expensive, for at each house they
might visit, they would have to tip everybody, not with shillings, but
with sovereigns. My American friend spoke of this as one of the fads
that the Anglo-maniacs were trying to introduce into his country,
because it was good form, “like the English, you know.”
Anent this, I must mention a couple of incidents, though not about
“tips,” rather of sharp tricks, which reflect on myself.
On our steamer reaching port I was approached by a well-dressed man, who
handed me his card, saying that he was connected with Grinder & Co., my
bankers, and that he would be pleased to assist me in every way. I told
him that I had only a small amount of luggage, that I myself could
easily look after, but as his offer was so friendly I could not abruptly
decline his services, so he gave an order to a porter to carry my
baggage to a cab. A few days afterwards, when I went to look over my
account at the Grinders & Co., I found that I was charged twenty-five
shillings for the distinguished services of this very plausible clerk. I
do not recall the items exactly, but I think there was a shilling for
the bit of card he offered me.
Another. Just after arriving at my first lodgings in Craven street,
Strand, and had dressed to go out to some restaurant for dinner, the man
of the house, with the most saccharine smile and tone of voice, said
that they were just about to sit down to a family dinner, and he would
be pleased to have me join them. An uncle or aunt, if I had either,
could not have invited me with more grace and suavity. It was a very
good dinner, and I tried to do the agreeable in conversation, telling
them about India, as it seemed I ought to give some return for their
kindness, but I had a different feeling when I came to settle my bill,
and found myself charged with four shillings for the dinner.
I was cutcha in the ways of the civilized world, that is, green, unripe,
and am so still, even in my old age, and doubt if I ever shall be ripe,
for I am often taken in by the plausibility of men and also women. After
some such experience a kind of mental gloom comes over me, and I feel
like repeating Hamlet, after his grandest eulogy of man, “And yet to me
what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, no, nor woman
neither.”
Talking about tips, one day my American fellow voyager told me this: “A
Yankee, standing on the stern of a steamer leaving Liverpool, held up a
shilling and cried out, ‘If there’s a man, woman or child in this island
I’ve not tipped, come forward now, as this is your last and only
chance.’”