[Illustration: (With apologies to the Indian Surveys.)]
Dined at our hostlerie; in every direction vistas of uniforms, ladies'
dresses, maharajahs, rajahs, turbans, and jewels, the marble pillars and
the arches of blue night over the bay for background.
Then we got away in a bustle of hundreds of other carriages and
gharries, all bound for Government House. We started a little late; you
may have observed that with ladies you are apt to be late for social
functions, but rarely miss a train! H. and I drove ahead with soothing
cigars, and the ladies came close behind.
On our left we passed the R.H. Artillery Camp, rows of tents frosted
with moonlight against the southern sea, some had lamps glowing inside;
and further on we passed their lines of picketted horses, with silent
native syces squatted on the sand at their feet.
... The dust hangs heavily from the gharries in front of us as we drive
north round the Back Bay, which we are told is very beautiful, and like
the Bay of Naples in the daytime; what we see on this warm night is a
smooth, dark sea, which gives an infrequent soft surge on the shore, a
few boats lie up on the moonlit sand and figures lie asleep in their
shadows, and others sit round little fires. Dark palm stems and banyan
trees are between us and the sea, and to our right are fern-clad rocks
and trees in night green shade, rising steeply to where we can
distinguish white walls and lights of villas of the wealthy Bombay
natives.
We pass the Parsis' Towers of Silence, where vultures entomb the dead,
and inhale for a long part of the road the smoke of burning wood and
Hindoos--an outrageous experience. The road rises gradually and gets
narrower as we leave the shore, and the procession of carriages goes
slower. On either side are low white walls and villas and heavy foliage.
Coloured lamps are hung in every direction, and their mellow lights
blend pleasantly with the moonlight and shadows, and shine through the
flags that hang without movement, and light up ropes of flowers and
ribands with gold inscriptions of welcome, that stretch from tree to
tree across the road. You read on them in golden letters, "Tell papa how
happy we are under British Rule," and on the walls, sitting or lying at
length, and in the trees are bronze-coloured natives in white clothes,
or in the buff, silently watching the procession of carriages, and they
do look as contented as can be; and so would we be too, if we had to get
into their evening undress instead of hard shirts and broad cloth on
such a damp, hot night. It is November and ought to be cool, but this
year everyone says it is just October as regards temperature and
moisture, and October, they say, is the beastliest month in the twelve.
The drive of four or five miles takes over an hour, and looking south we
see the lights shining across the bay from where we started. We climb
slowly up Malabar Hill in the dusky shade of the heavy foliage and come
to a stop amongst crowds of other carriages opposite Government House.
I'd like to stop and paint this scene, it would suit the stage--the
marquee on the right, pale moonlight on its ridge, and warm light and
colour showing through its entrance as ladies go in to put off their
cloaks; its guy ropes are fast to branches and air roots of a banyan
tree; and to the left there is another graceful tree, with wandering
branches, hung with many red and yellow paper lamps, the branches like
copper in the light and in shadow black against the dark blue sky. In
front is part of Government House, dim white with trellis work and
creepers round a classic verandah, and lamplight coming through the open
jalousies. Leading up to the verandah are wide steps in shadow; and on
these, a light catching now and then on a jewel or scabbard, are groups
of Indian Princes. Beside us on the lawn are people in all kinds of
dresses, soldiers in uniform and the gold dull in the shadows, ladies in
fairy-coloured ball dresses, and Parsi men in frock-coats and shiny
black hats, their women in most delicate veils over European dresses.
The figures move quietly and speak softly, and the air is full of the
rattle of crickets or cicadas and a pleasant scent of night flowers, and
cheroot smoke, with a whiff of old ocean.
We wait and chat outside with acquaintances, and some ladies practise
curtseys whilst the natives are being received--the coloured man first,
the white man and his womenfolk when they may! Then we all go up the
steps and into the brilliant interior, which is Georgian in style, and
light and prettily coloured. It is distinctly a sensation, to come from
semi-darkness into full light and such an extraordinary variety of
people and colour and costumes. The figures in the half light outside
were interesting, in the full blaze of hundreds of candles from many
chandeliers the effect is just as brilliant as anything one could
imagine. The strong colours of the natives' turbans, silk coats, sashes,
and jewels enrich the scene, and their copper colour helps to set off
the splendid beauty of our women with their dazzling skins and
delicately coloured dresses. Positively these princes were inches deep
in emeralds, diamonds, and pearls.
[Illustration]
Then comes the tableau of the evening, the Prince and Princess walking
with aides-de-camp through their Eastern and Western subjects, with an
introduction made here and there. The Prince walks in front and the
Princess a few steps behind. She seems very pleased and interested, and
still, I think, looks under her eye lest she should fail to recognise
some one she would wish to notice, and the Prince's expression is so
pleasant, quiet, and possessed in repose, and with a very ingratiating
smile. He stops and speaks to right and left, to one of our officers, or
a native prince. One, a tall grizzled old fellow with gorgeous turban
and the eye and air of a hunter, bends very low over the offered
hand, and talks a moment, possibly tells how he shot with the King when
he was Prince, and how there are tigers and devoted subjects waiting in
the north in his state all at the service of the son of the Great White
Raj, and as the Prince goes past, the old man follows him with a very
kindly expression. I must say that these people's jewels interest me
more than their expressions; but this one man's face was exceptional,
and he was lean! You see the thing above these people, that is the
punkah; when it waggles about it makes a cold draught and you get hot
with annoyance.
[Illustration: Waiting for Carriages after Reception at Government House,
Bombay]
Immediately the Prince passed, the crowd pressed towards a side room for
champagne and iced drinks, the native Princes gallantly leading the
charge. At the start we were all pretty level, but we Britons made a bad
finish, and the native waiters and champagne were somewhat exhausted
when we came in, but for what we did receive we are truly thankful, for
it was sorely needed.
How we got home again now seems like a dream. I have just a vague
recollection of hours and hours in the warm dusk, and crowds of people
in evening dress waiting till their carriages came up. Perhaps the
arrangements could not have been better? Some of us dozed, some smoked
Government House cheroots, which were good, and the time passed. All
conversation gradually stopped, and you only heard the number of the
gharry or carriage shouted out with a rich brogue and sometimes a little
stifled joke and a "Chelo!" which seems to stand for "All right," "Go
ahead," "Look sharp," or "Go on and be damned to you," according to
intonation and person addressed. I do not quite understand how it took
such hours to get everyone away, and I do not understand how we ever
managed to get up that vast square staircase up the enormous central
tower of the Taj Hotel, for G. was deadly tired, so of course the lift
wasn't working--it looked so big and grey, and silent in the cold light
of morning.
Then to sleep, and tired dreams of the whole day and evening; I dreamt I
was in a Government House and the guests had gone and I met a dream
Prince and a dream of an A.D.C. in exquisite uniform who said, "quai
hai," and in an instant there were dream drinks, and cheroots such as
one used to be able to get long ago, and we planned ways to remedy
abuses, and the greatest was the abuse of the Royal Academical
privileges; and at such length we went into this, that this morning I
wrote out the whole indictment and it covered six of these pages, and so
it is too long to insert here. And our remedy as it was in a dream was
at once effective--sculpture and painting became as free and as strong
an influence in our national life in Britain as literature is at this
moment--then came a frightful explosion! and I awoke, and the sun was
blazing out of a blue sky through the open windows--then it came again,
a terrific bang! and the jalousies rattled and the whole of the Taj
Hotel shook for the war ships were saluting The Prince of Wales, and he
and his aides-de-camp and all the officials in his train had been up for
hours, "doing their best to serve their country and their King," whilst
we private people slumbered.
But whither have I strayed in this discourse? Am I not rather wandering
from the point, as the cook remarked to the eel, telling dreams instead
of making notes on a cold weather tour as I proposed; so I will stop
here, and tell what, by travel and conference, I have observed about
Royal functions.
The day has passed to the accompaniment of "God bless the Prince of
Wales," and gun firing, and "God save the King," on brass bands, and
more gun firing. Somehow or other "God save the King" in India, where
you are surrounded by millions of black people, sounds a good deal more
impressive than it does at home--perhaps there's more of the feeling of
God save us all out here.
I find it impossible to remember nearly all I have seen and heard in
one of these bustling days; I should think that even a resident, long
familiar with all these everyday common sights that are so new and
interesting to us, could barely remember the ceremonies of one day in
connection with the Royal Visit.
[Illustration]
I remember a dock was opened to-day, and we were favoured with tickets
which gave us an admirable view. Again there were shears, at the bottom
of a place like a Greek theatre, very large shears this time, and a
stone suspended from them. The Prince and Princess came down a wide
flight of steps to a platform with two thrones on it. Behind them at the
top of the steps were splendid Ionic pillars and a pediment swagged with
great wreaths of green. The Prince was followed by officers and ladies
and leading Bombay citizens mixed with only a few Indian princes. Sir
Walter Hughes of the Harbour Trust presented a magnificent piece of
silver in the shape of a barque of the time of Charles II., with high
stem and forecastle and billowy sails, guns, ports, standing rigging,
and running gear complete, including waves and mermaids, and all made in
the School of Art here to Mr Burns' instructions. We sat opposite, in
half circles of white uniforms and gay parasols and dresses and dreams
of hats. Behind us and all around and outside the enclosure were
thousands of natives in thousands of colours. There were speeches, of
course, and the Prince touched a button and the stone descended into the
bowels of the earth and made the beginning of the new dock.
Then everyone got their carriages, gharries, bicycles, pony carts, dog
carts or whatever they came in, as best they could, and we all went
trotting, cantering, jambing, galloping, go-as-you-please down the
central thoroughfare between high houses of semi-European design, with
verandahs and balconies full of natives. The crowds on the pavement
stood four or five deep all the way, and hung in bunches on the trees,
some in gay dresses, others naked, brown and glistening against the
dusty fig trees, stems, and branches. You saw all types and colours, one
or two seedy Europeans amongst them, and Eurasians of all degrees of
colour, one, a beautiful girl of about twelve I saw for a second as we
passed; she had curling yellow hair and white skin, might have sat for
one of Millais pictures, and she looked out from the black people with
very wide blue eyes, at the passing life of her fathers. Most of us made
for the Yacht Club for tea on the lawn; for the Prince, it had been
said, was to visit it informally, so all the seats and tables on the
lawn were booked days before!
It was rather pretty there; I should not wonder that Watteau never
actually saw anything so beautiful. There were, such elegant ladies and
costumes, and such an exquisite background, the low wall and the soft
colour of the water beyond; the colour calm water takes when you look to
the East and the sun is setting behind you, the colour of a fish's
silver. And the lawn itself was fresh green; trees stood over the far
end of the Club House, and under these the band played. When the lights
began to glow along the sea wall and in the Club, and under the trees
to light the music, the Prince and the Princess, with Lady Ampthill and
Lord Lamington, came and walked up and down and spoke to people, and all
the ladies stood up from their tea tables as they passed, and I tell you
it was good; such soft glowing evening colours and gracious figures,
such groups there were to paint--my apologies for the hasty attempt
herewith. The Prince you may discover in grey frock-coat speaking to the
Bandmaster of the 10th Hussars, the Princess and Lady Ampthill near.
[Illustration]
I've worked at Saturday's pictures and Sunday's and written my journal,
and seen Royal sights all day till now, and _opus terrat_ and it is late
and hot, and the mosquitos tune up--the beast that is least eating the
beast that is biggest; the beast that is biggest to sleep if it may.